#love to see him crushed by the weight of being alive in a time that isn't his own

[gullemec]

The Great Divide

Bitten - Part IX

Bitten Masterlist ao3

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You and Joel navigate your relationship, your continued journey, and survival together, now with the addition of Ellie.

Warnings: canon-typical gore & violence, description of injuries, infected attack, more angst because this angst train is going to keep on rolling up until I decide it's time to throw smut into the mix

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 12.8k

A/N: I'm very sorry for going MIA for so long - turns out a masters degree is really hard and no one told me?? (jk lol)

He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.

This girl, foul mouthed and scrappy, tucked under your arm like a little duckling. Clinging to you the way lost things do, like she already knew you’d keep her safe.

She couldn’t have been older than Sarah was when…

Joel clenches his jaw, shaking the thought loose before it can take root.

Since leaving the Fireflies’ compound, you’d barely said a word to him. The silence gnawed at him, worse than any wound, worse than the burn in his muscles from days of relentless walking. He could still see the heavy plumes of smoke rising behind you, curling into the sky like a funeral pyre.

Good, he thought. Let it burn to the fucking ground.

He’d fought like hell to get to you. Laid traps, cut supply lines, picked them off one by one like a wolf thinning the herd. He’d drawn Marlene’s people out and, when there was no time left to lose, stormed in and took you back.

He’d saved you.

And yet, here you are, alive and safe, and you still won’t look at him.

Had he really thought that was all it would take? That dragging you out of there, carrying you through fire and blood, would undo everything? That it would make things right between you again?

What the hell had he been expecting? That you’d throw yourself into his arms, press your face into his chest, whisper a broken, breathless thank you? That you’d see what he couldn’t say, that it was more than obligation, more than survival, that he —

Joel huffs a breath through his nose. Foolish.

Instead, the distance between you remained, like you were a thousand miles away instead of two feet behind him. You spoke more to the girl than you did to him. Soft, murmured comforts, whispered reassurances, your arm thrown protectively around her shoulders as you walked. When she shivered, you rubbed the chill from her arms, tucked her close into your side.

And Joel… Joel watched.

If he was being honest, watching you with her cut him right to the core.

The way you held her close, the way your touch soothed without hesitation, like it was second nature. Like you were made for it. It was a painful reminder of everything the world had stolen from you. Of the life you should have had.

Caring for someone vulnerable came so easily to you. And once, a long time ago, it had come easily to him too.

Joel had been a good father. He could admit that, even from beneath the crushing weight of guilt and grief he carried. He’d made mistakes, sure, but Sarah had always been safe, loved, and happy. And in the years after losing her, that knowledge had been the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

But that part of him was long gone. Rusted over.

He had no business around a kid now. Wouldn’t even know where to begin.

And yet, watching you now, watching the way the girl gravitates toward you, how she clings to you like you’re the only sure thing in this broken world, he feels an already broken part of him shatter.

Another wedge driving itself between you. Another reason for you to pull further away.

…

You should be grateful.

You should have thrown yourself into his arms the moment the last Firefly hit the ground, let relief crash over you like a tidal wave.

You should be grateful that he followed you, through rain and snow, through blood and wreckage. That he fought, killed, and bled for you. That he put a bullet in Marlene’s head without hesitation. For you.

This shouldn’t be so fucking hard.

And yet, every time you look at him, every time those dark eyes flick up to meet yours, you have to look away. Because you can’t bear to see it again.

The fear, the discomfort, the disgust he tried and failed to hide. And beneath all that, something else, something worse.

Hurt.

You don’t want to face it. You don’t want to face him. Because to do that, to reach across this great divide between you, means opening yourself up to the possibility of him hurting you again. And you’re not strong enough for that.

Not yet. Maybe not ever.

And then there’s Ellie.

She clings to you like a lifeline, and you to her. The trust she’s placed in you is staggering, unearned, and yet you find yourself desperate not to let her down. You don’t know why she’s latched onto you so quickly, but you think, maybe, it has something to do with the fact that you’re both members of the world’s most exclusive, most wretched club.

And so you pour yourself into taking care of her, into comforting her, protecting her. It’s easier this way, easier to focus on her than to deal with the mess that lies between you and Joel.

Easier to pretend you don’t still love him.

…

The sun is grazing the peaks of the mountains by the time you finally stop to rest. The air is thick with the damp chill of evening, the scent of wet earth clinging to your clothes. A light breeze rustles the treetops, whispering through the branches like ghosts.

Joel moves through the motions of setting up camp with practiced ease, the kind of efficiency that reminds you just how long he’s been doing this, how survival has become muscle memory to him. He barely speaks, only the occasional rustling of gear and the snap of twigs beneath his boots filling the silence.

You try to help, gathering branches for the fire, shaking out spare blankets to make something resembling a bed for Ellie, but your body betrays you. Your cast knocks awkwardly against things as you move, your fingers stiff and clumsy as you try to tear branches off a dead tree. Every task takes twice as long as it should, and by the time you drop a bundle of kindling near the fire pit, your hands are aching, fingers burning from overuse.

Joel doesn’t say anything, but you feel the burn of his eyes on you when you fumble with the blankets, struggling to smooth them out. His eyes flick to your hands, assessing. Then, without a word, he steps in, finishing what you started. Not unkind, not impatient, just efficient, like he’s used to doing things himself. Like he doesn’t expect anything from you.

The silence between you stretches, and it gives your mind all the space it needs to run wild. You don’t know what you want from him. An acknowledgment, maybe. A sign that things are okay, that you haven’t ruined everything. That what he did back there, back at the Fireflies’ compound, meant something.

Your mouth is dry when you finally force out, “I can help.”

Joel barely glances up from where he’s securing the blankets. “Already got it.” His voice is quiet, flat, like he’s answering just to answer.

The conversation dies right there.

You hesitate, then hold your tongue and retreat, dropping onto a fallen log at the edge of the campsite beside Ellie. She sits with her knees tucked up, picking at bark on the log, watching Joel work with wary curiosity.

After a few moments, she leans over to you and murmurs, “So… Who is he?”

You stiffen, your fingers curling into the fabric of your jacket. The answer should be simple. It isn’t.

“He’s…” You steal a glance at Joel, crouched near the fire coaxing the flames to life with a practiced hand. His face is unreadable, half in shadow, half cast in flickering orange light. You swallow. “He’s just an old friend.”

Ellie frowns, clearly unconvinced. “Yeah? You don’t seem like friends.”

A quiet, humorless huff of laughter escapes you. “What do we seem like, then?”

She tilts her head, considering. “I dunno. Strangers? Enemies? Exes?”

Your throat tightens. You don’t have an answer for that, not one that makes sense, not one that doesn’t unravel everything inside you. You are none of those things, but what are you, then? Before you can even try to come up with something, Joel grunts from across the camp.

“C’mon.” He doesn’t look up. “Let’s eat.”

You and Ellie make your way back to the fire, the warmth licking at your cold fingertips as you sit across from Joel. He hands out the food, canned beans and stale jerky, the kind of meal you don’t even taste anymore.

The three of you eat in near silence, the only sounds the crackling fire, the distant bark of a coyote, the occasional rustling of leaves. Ellie, in an effort to fill the void, asks Joel a few questions; where he’s from, how long he’s been on the road. He answers in clipped, vague sentences, not rude, just uninterested, the way a man does when he’s spent too many years not wanting to be known.

At some point, she glances between the two of you and mutters, “Jeez. You two really know how to bring down a meal.”

Joel ticks his jaw, shaking his head. You don’t respond. You just stare at your food, appetite all but gone.

Eventually, the fire burns down, casting dim, flickering shadows over Ellie and Joel’s faces. You think distantly of telling ghost stories at summer camp, huddled around a fire just like this one. But that was in another life, when stories of spectres and ghouls were benign fodder for an eleven-year-old’s imagination instead of your daily lived reality.

Joel stands with a grunt, adjusting the rifle slung over his shoulder. “I’ll take first watch.”

You don’t argue.

Ellie is asleep in minutes, curled up in the blankets you struggled to arrange. You shift to your feet, moving to squat beside the dying fire, watching it shrink to embers.

“What happened to your wrist?”

His voice is low but it disrupts the silence between you like a stone dropped in still water.

You blink up at him without thinking, caught off guard by the question, by the fact that he’s asking at all. The firelight has all but died now, leaving you both in darkness, but his eyes are steady on yours. Not angry. Not cold. Just… watching.

There’s no malice there. No disgust. Only something quiet and burdensome, like sadness. 

You clear your throat, looking away.

“Slipped on some ice trying to cross a stream,” you say, voice tight. 

Stupid. That’s what it was, what you want to say. Stupid. You should’ve known better, should’ve found another way, should’ve been able to tell the difference between the sounds of a fox and something worse. But you were scared. You were alone, and by your own doing.

“Storm hit not long after,” you continue. “I holed up in a hunting shack. That’s when the infection got me, I think. I was out of it… Hallucinating some pretty crazy shit.”

You hate admitting this. Hate the way the words feel in your mouth, like confessions, like proof. Proof that you weren’t as strong as you thought. That you weren’t as capable without him. That you had left, thinking you could survive without his protection, and you had almost died for it.

It’s a quiet kind of humiliation.

But he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t twist the knife.

Doesn’t say I told you so.

Doesn’t say You shouldn’t have left.

He just sits there, gaze heavy, holding the silence with you.

You force yourself to keep going.

“I was half-dead when I made it to this pharmacy, looking for antibiotics.” A pause. You swallow hard. “That’s where they got me.”

Images flash behind your eyes.

The moment you felt hands grab you, lifting you off the ground. You remember the desperate, delirious relief that hit you like a hook to the ribs. Because you thought it was him. Because for a second, your fevered and broken mind had believed he’d found you.

That relief feels like a cruel joke now.

The fire pops, embers sparkling in the ash. Ellie shifts in her sleep beside you, mumbling something incoherent before settling again.

And Joel still doesn’t speak.

You risk a glance at him, at the way his hands are clenched in his lap, at the hard line of his jaw, the muscle ticking there. His shoulders are stiff, his whole body wound tight as a tripwire. Not angry. Just holding something back.

You wonder if it’s guilt.

Or if it’s something darker. If it’s anger.

Or if it even matters.

Joel gestures for you to come closer, nodding toward your hands. You hesitate for half a second before shifting toward him, extending them palms up. He takes them carefully, turning them over in his rough, calloused grip, the firelight casting deep shadows over the bruising and scabbed over scrapes.

"They look bad," he mutters, reaching for his pack. "But they should heal okay."

He pulls out a bottle of water and an old rag, soaking it before running it over your knuckles. You wince at the sting but don't pull away.

"You feelin’ alright?" he asks after a moment. "Any fever?"

"I'm fine," you say, but he doesn't look convinced. His fingers skim over the tender skin at your wrist, just below the edge of the cast, his brow furrowing.

He looks at the state of your hands, the rough, puckered skin around your knuckles, the bruising that extends out from under your cast. The sight sticks him in his gut, the all too familiar tendrils of guilt beginning to unfurl. He could have prevented this. If he’d been kinder, if he’d confronted his own vulnerabilities, his own fears, would you have been driven away from him? Was there something he could have said that would have made you change your mind?

"Why’d you —"

But he cuts himself off, jaw tightening, shaking his head like he's trying to shove the question back down behind the walls it crawled out of. Not the time or place. 

You sigh, looking past him into the dark woods, just needing to look anywhere but at him. "You should let me take over watch," you say. "I don’t have a sleeping bag anyway.”

Joel scoffs, already reaching for his pack. "Took one from the compound," he mutters, pulling it free and tossing it toward you.

For a second, you just stare at it, your fingers digging into the fabric like it's something foreign. A biting retort claws up your throat, something about how you can take care of yourself, about how you're not some kid he needs to look after. But it dies before it ever leaves your lips.

Why do you do that? Why do you push back against any act of care like it means you’re weak?

“Drink,” Joel says, nodding at the bottle in his hand, and when you don’t move, he presses it against your thigh like he’s daring you to argue. ”Like you’re damn allergic to taking care of yourself.”

It should be annoying. The gruff bossiness, the way he talks like you're some reckless burden he’s always got to account for. It should piss you off.

But you just feel like weeping.

You take the water, swallowing a few mouthfuls before handing it back.

Joel leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, watching the dying fire. His voice is quieter when he speaks next.

“Ellie,” he says, and you don’t need to look at him to know what he’s asking. “What’s her story?”

You huff a soft laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “If I told you the truth, you’d never believe me.”

“Try me.”

You glance at him, and something about the way he’s looking at you, all steady patience, makes the words come easier than you expect.

“She’s immune,” you murmur. “Like me.”

Joel lets out a slow breath, rubbing a hand down his face. He nods, his wildest suspicions confirmed. She was the kid Marlene wanted him to bring to Utah. What kind of fucked up plan did the universe have for him?

You hesitate before asking, "What do you think it means? Do you think there might be more of us?" You pick at a loose thread on your sleeve, suddenly nervous, glancing at him. "Marlene thought there was a cure. She said it could be the start of something, that… that what happened to me might actually mean something."

Your throat tightens, and you hate the way your voice wavers at the end. You liked the sound of it, the idea of being part of something bigger, of your suffering having some kind of purpose.

But Joel doesn’t want to hear this right now. Doesn’t want to listen to you romanticize your death like that. You getting your brain ripped out of you wouldn’t mean a damn thing. You being here, being alive, getting safely to Wyoming, that meant something. Nothing about your life being snuffed out like the flame of a candle could ever mean anything other than the loss of the one thing that Joel still had a tenuous grasp on in this world.

"Marlene was sick." His voice is a dull blade, pressing too hard. "She was gonna kill you. Kill a kid. All in the name of a vaccine we both know was bullshit."

The words land like a slap, and you flinch.

It’s not the anger that gets you. It’s the way he dismisses it outright, like it’s not even worth considering. Like you’re not even worth considering.

You shift away from him, turning toward where Ellie lay sleeping, fingers curling into your palms. "Right," you mutter.

Joel knows he fucked up the second the words leave his mouth, but it’s too late to take them back.

"You wouldn’t understand," you say, willing your voice not to crack. "No one but me and Ellie could understand how this feels."

He watches as you watch over the girl, still curled up in her blankets, her form rising and falling in steady rhythm. You unroll your sleeping bag next to the fire, crawling in. There’s a heaviness in your voice when you continue. "She’s a good kid. And she’s my responsibility now."

Joel’s stomach twists. The words hit him right in that shattered place inside him.

He remembers when you were his responsibility.

Back when it was the two of you against the world, before everything got so fucked up. When you leaned on him without hesitation, when he could look at you and know, without a doubt, that you trusted him to take care of you.

But he knows he lost a piece of that.

Lost it when he let his own fear get the best of him, when he let the rough edges of his walls scrape against your softness until they left wounds too deep to ignore.

He wants to tell you he understands more than you think. That he knows what it means to hold something fragile in your hands and be terrified of breaking it. That he sees you.

But before he can figure out how to say any of that, your body sags, exhaustion overtaking you like a wave.

It only takes a minute before your breathing evens out, your limbs slack and heavy with sleep.

Joel sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. Regret pools like oil, thick and dark. He should’ve apologized. Should’ve told you he was sorry for dismissing you, for snapping at you when you were just trying to make sense of everything.

But he can’t wake you up for that now, can’t disrupt the first real rest you’ve had in God knows how long.

Instead, he watches the embers die one by one, listens to the quiet sounds of the night. And when the first hints of dawn creep over the horizon, casting the world in hesitant pools of light, he finds himself shifting closer to you without really thinking about it.

Carefully, almost hesitantly, he reaches out, pressing his palm lightly to your forehead. Checking for fever, that’s all. Just making sure you’re okay.

His hand lingers longer than it should.

Ellie watches from her makeshift bed, silent and still, eyes barely peeking over the edge of her blanket.

She doesn’t say anything.

She just watches the way Joel looks at you, like he’s carrying something too big for words, something he can’t seem to get a grip on.

Something she doesn’t think she’s ever seen up close before.

And when you wake before the sun a couple of hours later, Joel is right there, dozing beside you, arms crossed as if he’d been keeping watch all night. You don’t know what to do with the warmth that spreads through you at the sight. You don’t know why it hurts as much as it soothes.

…

Morning arrives in gold.

The sun is unseasonably warm, pressing down on you with a gentle heat that seeps into your skin, loosening the stiffness in your bones. It’s almost pleasant, and if you close your eyes and tilt your face toward the sky, you can almost pretend, just for a second, that the world isn’t what it is.

The fire has long since burned out, leaving behind the smell of smoke in the air. You sit back on a log, feeling useless as Joel moves through the familiar motions of breaking down camp. He doesn’t ask for help, doesn’t expect it from you, not after last night. You hate the feeling of being dead weight, of watching instead of doing, but you know better than to push yourself past what your body can handle.

A metal travel mug appears in your line of vision, held out wordlessly.

You blink at it, then up at Joel, who doesn’t meet your eyes.

The gesture is so familiar it nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

You take the cup, fingers curling around the warmth of it, and for a fleeting moment, it almost feels normal. Like no time has passed at all. Like this is just another morning on the road, him handing you coffee the way he always used to.

You don’t thank him, and he doesn’t expect you to.

To your surprise, Joel calls out to Ellie.

"Come on, kid. Give me a hand with this."

What surprises you even more is that instead of scoffing or making some snippy remark, she jumps up, eager to help.

You watch as she moves to his side, waiting for direction. He shows her how to roll up the sleeping bags, how to tie them down so they don’t come loose, how to strap them to a pack in a way that won’t throw off balance.

Kids like to be wanted, you remember. They like to feel important.

She listens intently, taking the task seriously. It’s small, but it’s something. A way to contribute. A way to matter.

By the time everything is packed up, Joel reaches for your pack.

Instinct kicks in before you can think better of it.

"I can do it," you say, grabbing for it at the same time he does.

You can’t, actually.

Your wrist is throbbing, your fingers stiff and sore. Your side aches from walking for miles, and your head still hasn’t fully recovered from the exhaustion of the past forty-eight hours. You didn’t sleep that first night after Joel found you, none of you did. Not until you’d put enough distance between yourselves and the smoldering wreckage of the Fireflies’ compound, the plumes of black smoke rising high into the sky.

You eye the pack, heavy with pilfered supplies. Courtesy of Joel.

He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t bark at you to just let him do it, doesn’t sigh in frustration like he would have before. Instead, he stands there, hands held in front of him like he’s approaching something wild. He’s not pushing. Not pressuring.

Just… waiting.

The silence stretches between you, your pride sitting heavy on your shoulders.

Then, finally, you drop your gaze to the forest floor.

"Okay," you murmur. "You can carry it."

Joel just nods, hoisting it over his shoulder like it’s nothing.

And to your surprise, you don’t feel guilty.

You only feel… surprised.

Surprised at yourself, for letting him do this for you.

Surprised at him for not throwing a barb your way about it.

Maybe you’re both learning something.

…

The Beartooth Pass snakes its way up into the mountains, winding higher and higher, each step a burn in your legs. But the view is enough to keep you from complaining. The land stretches out below, endless pine forests rolling into craggy peaks, stubborn bits of snow clinging to the frosty ground. The sky is an impossible blue, the kind that almost makes you forget the world has gone to hell. Almost.

Joel, leading the way, suddenly slows, scanning the roadside before nodding toward a dirt road that juts off from the highway.

"Map says there should be a freshwater lake up this way," he explains, holding it up for you to see.

You don’t bother looking. 

"I believe you." 

He’s always been better at reading maps than you, and you trust him to get you where you need to go.

An hour later, the cracked pavement gives way to gravel, then dirt, and then a weathered wooden sign emerges from the trees. Lily Lake Campground.

Joel lifts a hand in warning. "Stay put. Lemme check it out first."

You and Ellie wait as he vanishes into the trees. Birds chirp somewhere above, and a breeze rustles through the branches, sending a spray of pine needles careening toward you, landing at the toe of your boot. It’s peaceful here, untouched in a way most places aren’t anymore.

Joel returns a few minutes later with a nod. "All clear."

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight of the lake.

For the first time since crossing into Wyoming, you really see it. The beauty of it. You’d been too exhausted, too cold, too lost in your own head before. But today, the sun is shining, the sky wide and open, and in front of you is a pristine, glassy lake, the surface rippling serenely in the breeze. The water is so clear you can see straight to the bottom near the shore, smooth colorful rocks catching the light beneath the surface. Pines crowd the edges, looming reflections cast long and unbroken over the water.

No one speaks.

Then, as if by silent agreement, the three of you start stripping down to your underwear, kicking off boots, peeling away layers until the cool air kisses your skin.

Ellie is the first in, launching herself forward with reckless enthusiasm, barely pausing before plugging her nose and disappearing beneath the surface.

You hesitate, dipping a toe in before stepping further. It’s cold, but in a way that makes your skin tingle, like a long drink of water after walking in the heat. It wakes you up, reminds you that you’re alive.

Joel lingers at the shore, arms crossed, eyeing the water with deep suspicion.

"You coming in, old man?" you tease.

His glare is half-hearted. "I don’t like cold water."

You laugh, watching as he finally steps in, wincing with each inch of skin that submerges. For all his gruffness, all his strength, this is the thing that undoes him. Cold water.

You don’t see Ellie creeping up behind him until it’s too late.

With both hands, she slaps the surface, sending a wave of water crashing against his entire back.

Joel’s whole body stiffens. He spins, eyes wild, only to see Ellie already kicking away, cackling.

"You little shit!" he bellows, lunging after her.

Ellie shrieks, ducking beneath the water to escape, but Joel isn’t done. He plunges under, disappearing for a second before bursting up again, shaking his head like a wet dog, sending a fresh spray of water in all directions.

You shriek as the cold droplets hit you, shielding your face.

"Okay, enough," you laugh, retreating toward the shore. "If I get this cast wet, I’m screwed."

Joel, catching his breath, watches as you wade back onto land. You grab an old towel from your pack, drying off before slipping back into your clothes, the afternoon sun warming your skin.

Eventually, Joel joins you, dropping onto the shore beside you, running his fingers through his wet hair with a grumble. Ellie stays in the water, drifting lazily on her back, eyes closed, soaking up the moment like it’s the first time she’s ever really felt peace.

You watch her, then glance at Joel.

For once, there’s no urgency. No fear.

Just this.

A moment carved out of the world as it used to be.

He sits beside you, close enough that if you weren’t thinking too hard about it, you could mistake the two of you for something. Companions, maybe. Friends. But you know better.

You aren’t sure what you are anymore. Old friends? Reluctant allies? Strangers with too much history to be strangers at all?

Joel exhales through his nose, nodding toward the water. “Kid’s like a goddamn fish.”

You huff a quiet laugh, the sound unfamiliar in your throat. It doesn’t belong here, doesn’t fit into the broken mess of whatever sits between you now. But it comes anyway, drawn out of you by the sight of Ellie floating on her back, arms splayed wide, completely at peace.

“She’s something,” you agree.

Joel shifts beside you. You can hear him breathing, steady and even, but you swear he’s thinking so loud you can almost hear it. He wants to speak. You can feel it.

You do, too, if you’re being honest.

But what do you even say?

Thanks for saving me. By the way, why did you do that?

… Is it the same reason you couldn’t pull the trigger that day on the river?

Joel clears his throat. “I… I heard about her. Back when we were in the QZ.”

You turn to him, brows furrowing. What?

“What?” you ask, blinking at him. “You…?”

“Ellie, I mean.” He doesn’t look at you, his eyes locked on the water where she drifts lazily, letting the sun warm her face. “I went to see Marlene for a job. Back when we were just talkin’ about leaving. I knew she could get me supplies we needed. I’d done runs for her before.”

You stay silent, waiting. Joel never gave up information freely. He was a locked safe, in the heart of a maximum security prison, and getting anything out of him used to be an art. But now, here he is, offering something up unprompted.

And you’re not about to interrupt him.

“I never brought you along for jobs with the Fireflies. Too dangerous,” he says, rubbing a hand over his face, voice quieter now. “And this time when I went…” 

He seems to consider his words for a moment.

“She mentioned a kid. A girl who was immune. I thought she was full of shit. She wanted me to bring her to Utah so they could— ” His jaw clenches. You can see the tension in him, the way his shoulders tighten, his throat bobs with a hard swallow. “They were gonna kill her.”

There’s a rawness in his voice, like it’s scraped open, bleeding.

You swallow, staring at his profile, at the way he keeps his eyes fixed forward, unwilling to meet yours. He isn’t just talking about Ellie.

“You knew they were going to do the same to me,” you murmur. “And that’s why you came to get me.”

It isn’t a question. It isn’t even an accusation.

Just a fact. A recognition of what he’s done.

Joel thought you were going to be killed, and he put himself between you and the hands of fate. Again.

But Joel shakes his head. 

“I was comin’ for you anyway,” he says, and his voice is steady now, sure in a way that makes your breath catch. “Didn’t even realize they were around ‘til I saw the logo spray-painted nearby. They do that, try to scare raiders off. Got a bad reputation.”

You stare at him. His words filter through your brain slowly, piece by piece.

I was comin’ for you anyway.

You hadn’t been sure what he would do after you left. Maybe go back to Boston. Maybe stay, start over, let go of the weight of you, the burden of your needs, your curse.

You’d assumed he would want that. That he’d find peace in the quiet of Wyoming, without you there to complicate things.

But instead, he’d gone looking.

Not because of duty. Not because of some misplaced sense of responsibility.

But because relief for him wasn’t found in the emptiness you left behind.

What if Joel didn’t want peace?

What if peace, for him, wasn’t something Wyoming could offer, only you?

The thought lingers, curling itself around the messy, broken edges of everything else between you. You don’t know what to do with it. Don’t know how to hold it alongside all the other things you carry, the hurt, the anger, the distance.

Because for all of this, for everything he’s done, there was still that look in his eyes before you left. Still the anger in his voice, the cold way he pushed you away.

How do you hold both things at the same time?

…

That night, as you sit around the campfire, you listen to the stillness in the air.

If it were warmer, there’d be crickets, the distant sounds of life in the forest waking under the moonlight. If it weren’t the apocalypse, there’d be the sounds of other campers, families murmuring, kids giggling as they roast marshmallows, someone playing a guitar off in the distance. The kind of quiet life you once took for granted.

Instead, there’s just you, the child you’ve quasi-adopted, and the man you’re in love with who also makes you want to rip your hair out half the time, splitting a can of vintage baked beans and jerky over the fire.

You’ve learned that Ellie has never been one for silence. She’ll do anything to fill it, whether it’s with half-baked theories, crude jokes, or god-awful puns. Tonight, though, she sets her sights on Joel.

“You know, if you keep making that face, it’ll get stuck that way.”

You glance over at him, catching the deep furrow in his brow, the ever-present scowl that looks like it’s been etched into his face since birth. Something about it makes you laugh, small but genuine, bubbling up before you can stop it.

How the hell did you ever survive these awkward silences with Joel before Ellie came along?

He doesn’t dignify her with a response, just grunts, shaking his head as he stirs the fire. But before he can grumble too much, she throws a question to you both.

“What was your favorite movie, from before?”

You freeze, caught off guard. That’s something you haven’t thought about in… years. More than years. It’s been so long since movies were even a part of your world. The last one you saw was back in the Chicago QZ, crowded around a battery-operated portable DVD player, watching The Phantom Menace with a group of strangers, pretending for a couple of hours that the world outside didn’t exist.

Joel, however, doesn’t hesitate.

“Curtis and the Viper 2.”

You blink, then snort before you can stop yourself.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, brows knitting together.

You shake your head, grinning. “Those movies were cheesy as hell. That’s your favorite?”

Joel lifts his hands in mock offense. “Hey now, those movies had heart.”

“Oh my god, you’re serious.”

Ellie giggles, eyes flicking between the two of you. 

“Damn right I’m serious,” Joel says, poking at the fire. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a little action and adventure.”

You smirk, leaning back against a fallen log. “I just pegged you as more of a Western kind of guy.”

Joel huffs, but there’s amusement behind it, like he’s almost pleased you even gave it that much thought. “Alright then, smartass, what’s your favorite?”

You hesitate, rifling through half-buried memories before grinning as one finally surfaces.

“The Blair Witch Project, for sure.”

Joel’s head snaps up, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. “Your parents let you watch that?”

You let out a giggle. “Jesus, Joel, how old do you think I was?”

Ellie, watching the exchange with barely contained amusement, grins wide. “Wait, wait. What's the Blair Witch?”

You and Joel exchange a glance before turning back to her.

“A horror movie,” you say.

“A damn stupid horror movie,” Joel adds.

You gasp, clutching your chest in mock offense. “Oh, come on, it was terrifying.”

Joel scoffs. “Terrifying? It was a bunch of idiots running around the woods with a camera, scarin’ themselves half to death over nothin’.”

“That’s what made it great. It was all about the suspense.” You wiggle your eyebrows at him.

He just shakes his head, muttering something under his breath about kids these days.

For a moment, there’s an easiness about this, a warmth, reminiscent of how things used to be before everything went to hell. Before he did what he did. Before you ran.

The fire crackles, throwing shadows across Joel’s face, softening the hard edges. He’s watching you, but not with the guarded distance he’s kept since you left. Just… watching.

You swallow, glancing away.

The moment is fleeting, slipping through your fingers before you can grab hold of it. 

Because then Ellie throws a grenade into the air. 

“What was the happiest day of your life?”

A log on the fire pops, sending embers swirling into the night, but everything else stills. The air thickens, pressing in on you, on Joel.

Your eyes find his, and he’s already looking at you.

Because he already knows your answer.

You told him, back when you laid all your cards on the table. When you thought you had nothing to lose.

The closest thing to happiness I’ve felt since… since before the world ended.

A day suspended in liquid gold. Where for a brief, foolish moment, you believed you could reach out and take love in your hands, hold it like something real, something lasting. When words spilled between you in the flickering firelight, when the proximity between you vanished, leaving nothing but warmth and breath and the unspoken promise that maybe, just maybe, there could be something more.

But you can’t tell Ellie that. You can’t even bear the thought of retelling it to Joel.

And Joel… How is he supposed to answer? How does he tell you that the happiest day of his life was the day his baby girl was born? How does he put into words the million little moments that followed - the first time Sarah wrapped her tiny fingers around his, the way she’d laugh until she snorted, the feeling of her arms wrapped around his neck after a long day - without inviting questions? Without unraveling himself right here, in front of both of you?

He’d told you about Sarah before. More than he ever told Tess. More than he ever told anyone. You asked, and Joel, hesitant, careful, had given you those pieces of himself, knowing you would hold them gently.

But he can’t do that now. Not here. Not in front of Ellie.

The silence stretches, growing heavier by the second. Ellie glances between you both, her face scrunching in confusion, then softening with worry.

“Did I say something wrong?” she asks quietly.

You shake your head, only then noticing the tears perched precariously on your waterline. You blink them back and slip an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into your side.

“No, not at all,” you murmur, keeping your voice smooth, steady. Comforting. “It’s just hard to think about sometimes. About everything we lost, you know?”

Ellie doesn’t answer, but you feel her lean into you, just a little.

Across the fire, Joel remains still, gaze fixed on the flames.

It’s like you can read his mind, and he doesn’t like it.

The night wears on, the fire burning lower, the cold creeping in. Eventually, Ellie curls up in her makeshift bedroll, her breathing slowing, evening out.

And then it’s just you and Joel.

The quiet between you isn’t painful, it’s unbearable.

You want to say something.

So does he.

Neither of you do.

The silence stretches like an unseen presence, pressing against you like a bruise you don’t want to touch.

You want to ask Why did you come for me? Really? but the words stay stuck in your throat.

Joel wants to say I’m sorry I pushed you away. Wants to tell you that being without you had felt like severing a limb, that he hasn’t stopped feeling the ghost of it since. But instead, he just grunts and mutters, “You should get some sleep.”

And so you do.

…

You wake early the next day, the chill of dawn clinging to your skin as you set off up the mountain. The world feels greyer today, the cloud cover making the lake look like a giant silver mirror. The air is crisp, but the tension between you and Joel remains, hanging in the air like a fourth traveler.

Unspoken words. Stolen glances. Moments where one of you starts to speak but stops short, swallowing whatever had almost been said.

Ellie senses it, that unseen current passing between you and Joel. She does her best to cut through it, keeping up a steady stream of chatter, throwing out silly jokes, pointless observations, anything to keep things light. But there’s a distance between you and Joel that she can’t quite bridge, a history neither of you are willing to acknowledge out loud. 

After a while, Ellie groans dramatically, pressing a hand to her forehead like a tragic heroine.

“Ugh. My legs. They’re dead. Completely useless. Guess you guys are gonna have to leave me behind.”

You smirk, glancing over at her. This kid has no business being this funny, not after everything she’s seen, everything she’s been through. You admire that about her, the way she refuses to let the world harden her completely.

She turns to Joel with wide, pleading eyes. “Joel, you gotta carry me. It’s the only way.”

You fully expect him to scoff, to grumble something about how she’s not a baby and she can walk just fine. But to your utter astonishment, he stops.

He raises an eyebrow at Ellie, then shifts his backpack around to his front, loosening the straps. With a groaning sigh, he drops to one knee and waves a hand expectantly.

“C’mon, then.”

Ellie’s mouth falls open in disbelief before she whips her head toward you, like she needs confirmation that this is really happening.

And then, with an elated shriek, she scrambles onto Joel’s back.

He grunts as he stands, adjusting her weight before trudging forward. “You ain’t exactly light, kid.”

“Yeah, well, you aren’t exactly young,” she shoots back, grinning against his shoulder.

And you laugh. A real, genuine laugh, already filling the air before you can stop it. Ellie laughs too, and after a moment, even Joel, despite himself, lets out a quiet chuckle.

For a moment, it feels almost normal.

In another life, maybe this could have been yours, properly. A life where Joel is yours, where the world isn’t shattered and unkind, where you’re just walking together on a crisp morning, laughing with a little girl who shares your features, perched on his back without a care in the world. In this fantasy, there’s no weight in Joel’s eyes when he looks at you, no past that threatens to pull you under, no unspoken words wedged between you like a blade. In this fantasy, he loves you back.

You let yourself stay there, just for a second. Suspended in it.

Then the moment shatters.

It happens fast, too fast.

Your breath catches, laughter dying in your throat as something up ahead snags your attention. A shift in the landscape, a movement in the distance. At first, you think it’s just a trick of the light, a shadow cast by the trees. But then you see it.

A wreck.

The mangled remains of an RV, half-sunken in a roadside ditch, its windows shattered, its frame rusted and warped from time and decay. For a second, it’s just another ruin, another forgotten remnant of a world long gone.

But then the movement registers.

Not the wind. Not the trees.

Bodies.

A small horde, circling the wreckage like vultures, dragging rotted limbs, heads jerking in sudden, unnatural twitches. You don’t have time to count them before one stops mid-step, its face snapping toward you, hollow sockets locking onto distant movement. Then another. And another.

Your blood turns to ice.

Joel reacts before you can. Pure instinct.

Ellie barely has time to squeak out a question before he’s dropping her to the ground, shoving both of you toward the brush on the far side of the road.

“Stay down. Stay quiet.”

Ellie nods, wide-eyed, scrambling into the undergrowth, but you hesitate.

Because you know Joel. You know what he’s about to do.

And you can’t help yourself.

Once you’re sure Ellie is hidden, you crawl back up to the road, pressing yourself against the rough bark of a tree, watching his six.

Like old times.

And God, he’s mesmerizing.

He moves like something honed and deadly, all precision and brutal efficiency. A weapon crafted by time and hardship, cutting through the infected like they are nothing, because to him, they are. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t stumble. Every swing of his knife, every crack of his boot, every bullet that leaves the chamber, it’s methodical. Practiced. 

God’s perfect killing machine.

But God’s perfect killing machine has a bad right ear, and he doesn’t catch the flurry of movement behind him.

You watch it slither from behind the overturned RV, moving low, silent. A stalker, its body half-decayed, bones jutting through torn flesh, its milky eyes locked onto Joel like a predator that’s finally caught the scent of its prey.

He doesn’t hear it.

You realize it too late.

A cold sweat spikes down your spine. Your heart kicks into a frenzy, pulse thundering in your ears. You could call out to him, but you know what that would mean. You know how fast these things move. One sound, one wrong step, and it’s over.

For all of you.

But you’re not about to watch your nightmare unfold in front of you. Not again.

The fingers of your good hand close around the hilt of your knife, yanking it from its sheath in one fluid motion. There’s no time to think, just to move. You crouch low, every muscle coiled, and slip toward the stalker as quietly as you can.

Close enough now.

You throw your casted arm around its neck, the thick plaster shielding you from its snapping teeth, and drive your blade deep into its skull. You ignore the way your bone screams from the pressure.

But you’re not steady on your feet yet, not fully healed, not fully back in fighting form. Your balance falters. The dead weight of its body drags you down, and before you can stop it, you’re falling.

A sickening gurgle rattles in its throat as its body spasms against yours, collapsing atop you. You twist the knife deeper, teeth gritted, until the movement ceases.

Silence.

For a second, the world stills.

By the time he’s finished off the last of them, Joel’s head is whipping around, eyes scanning wildly. His ribs are heaving, lungs burning, adrenaline screaming through his veins.

But then it’s like all of that fades into silence, replaced by the feeling of the earth giving out beneath him.

Because when Joel looks back, all he sees is you, sprawled next to the body of a stalker, still as death.

A rush of ice floods his veins. His heart lurches painfully, breath strangled in his throat. A sound, ragged and broken and desperate, tries to claw its way out of his throat.

Not again. Not fucking again.

A half second before his knees give out, you move, body shaking with adrenaline. A wince as you yank the knife free, blood smearing across your fingers. Very much alive.

And something inside him snaps.

It should be relief. It should be gratitude. Instead, it erupts as fury.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

You blink up at him, still catching your breath, thrown by the anger written across his face.

“What?”

It’s not fair. You were helping. You weren’t just standing around, waiting to be saved.

Joel’s jaw is clenched so tight it looks like it might shatter. He gestures wildly toward the corpse beside you, toward where you had been lying so fucking still just moments ago.

“You sneak up on a goddamn stalker like that?” His voice rises. “Do you have a death wish?”

Your pulse is still hammering from the fight, and now it spikes with anger.

“I was helping, Joel,” you snap, stepping forward. “That thing was coming up behind you. I saved your ass.”

He growls, drags a hand down his face, fingers pressing into his beard like he’s trying to ground himself. “You should’ve stayed put.”

You scoff. “Right, I should’ve just stood there and let you get torn apart?”

Something flickers in his expression, dark and pained, but you don’t let yourself falter. You shove past the fear curling in your gut, past the way he’s looking at you like he’s seen a ghost.

“I handled it,” you grit out. “I’ve been handling shit like this since before I met you.”

Joel doesn’t answer. He just stares at you, breaths coming out erratically, like he’s still trying to convince himself that you’re standing here. That you’re not bleeding out on the forest floor.

That he didn’t almost lose you.

Joel’s eyes flash. “That ain’t the damn point.”

“Then what is the point, Joel?”

“The point is I turn around and see you on the goddamn ground, and for a second, I thought —”

He cuts himself off abruptly, like the words have lodged in his throat, choking him. His jaw tightens, fists clenching at his sides.

You stare at him, your breath still coming hard. There’s something in the way he’s looking at you, like he’s barely keeping himself together. The tick of his jaw, the flare of his nostrils, the way his fingers curl and uncurl like he needs something to hold on to.

And it hits you.

He thought he lost you.

Your stomach twists. The blaze of your own anger dies, just a little. But you don’t know how to soften things between you. You don’t know how to dull the double-edged knife that’s lodged between you both. Not when he’s spent so long keeping you at arm’s length. Not when he’s pushed you away again and again.

So instead, you say, “Well, you didn’t.” Your voice is flat. “I’m fine.”

Joel sighs, but it’s not relief, it’s frustration. He shakes his head, turning away like he can’t look at you anymore, but then he turns back just as fast, like he can’t not look at you either.

“You don’t get it, do you? You don’t get what that did to me.”

Your lungs constrict.

“Joel…”

“I thought you were dead.” He says shakily. He steps closer. “For one second, I-” He swallows hard, like the words physically pain him. His gaze pins you in place. “You don’t know what that feels like.”

The words tear out of you before you can stop them.

“Yes, I do.”

Joel freezes.

Your throat tightens. You weren’t going to go here. You weren’t going to bring it up. But the dam has broken, and there’s no stopping it now.

“Yes, I do know what it feels like.” You bite. “You think you’re the only one who’s lost someone? The only one who’s had to watch someone they care about die?”

Joel’s expression darkens. “That ain’t what I said.”

“But it’s what you think, isn’t it?” Your heart is hammering now. “That you’re the only one who gets to feel like this? Like you have permission to treat everyone like shit because you’re hurting?”

“That’s not —” He stops himself, jaw locking like he’s fighting with himself. “That’s not what I meant.”

You’re both standing too close now, neither of you willing to back down. The heat of the fight, of the near miss, of the way things were going so good right up until now, crackles between you, thick like a brewing storm.

Joel clenches his jaw again, shoulders rigid, like he’s holding something back.

“I ain’t losin’ you again.”

Oh.

It’s so quiet, the way he says it.

It’s the closest he’s ever come to saying the thing he won’t let himself say.

You don’t know what to do with this, don’t know how to hold it in your hands without breaking it, without breaking yourself.

So you do what you always do. You deflect. Because it’s easier. Because it’s safer.

"Losing me. Like you weren’t the one who pushed me away?"

His face crumples, like something inside of him has snapped in two.

Then, like an act of God, the sky opens up. A torrential downpour crashes over you, drowning the moment before it can fully take shape.

You don’t think, you just move.

You sprint toward the brush where Ellie is still waiting, pulling her hood up over her head, grabbing her arm. You don’t stop as you run past Joel, past the wreckage, past the bodies. The rain is deafening, hammering against the pavement, but you can just barely hear the heavy thud of his boots behind you. You don’t look back. You can’t look back. You don’t want to see whatever’s on his face right now.

Up ahead, just off the main road, a small dirt lot appears, more old, rusted RVs scattered across it, long abandoned.

You rush into the nearest one, sweeping your eyes over the space, assessing. Empty. Safe enough. You pull Ellie in after you.

The walls are thin, the rain pelting against them like a thousand watery bullets.

A beat later, Joel steps inside, slamming the door harder than necessary. He doesn’t say a word. Just stands there, dripping, arms crossed, jaw set like stone.

At first, there’s only silence, save for your heavy breaths and the downpour raging outside. You shake the water from your hair, peel off your soaked jacket. The space is small, musty, thick with old dust and mold. You take stock quickly. Nothing much useful left behind, but at least the place is mostly intact.

Ellie, sensing the tension, slips toward the back of the RV. She mutters some half hearted excuse about looking for books before disappearing into the bedroom, door latched quietly behind her.

The silence stretches, tight, loaded.

It would be so easy to let it go. To let the rain wash the fight away.

But neither of you are that kind of person.

Instead, you shake your head, scoffing as you remove your wet sheath. “You always do this, you know that?”

Joel growls, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“No, seriously.” You turn to face him fully, arms crossed and eyes aflame. “You always have to be the one making the calls, telling me what I should or shouldn’t do —”

“Because you don’t think!” He cuts you off, words like dynamite. “You throw yourself into danger without a second thought, and I gotta be the one picking up the pieces every goddamn time.”

You bristle. “That’s bullshit.”

“No, what’s bullshit — ” he takes a step forward, “ — is me turnin’ around and seein’ you on the ground like a goddamn corpse.” His face twists, like the image is still burned into his mind. 

“I thought — ” 

He stops short, shakes his head like he can’t even bring himself to say it out loud. His jaw is clenched so tight you can hear the grind of his teeth. 

“Do I gotta spell it out for you why that scared me?”

Your pulse is still hammering from the fight, from the rain, from him. You stare at him, eyes boring a hole into his, trying to shove down the twisting thing in your stomach. “You’re acting like this because I fucking scared you?”

Joel doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”

Your jaw tightens. “I don’t need you to be scared for me, Joel. I can take care of myself.”

Joel laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah? That how you ended up with the Fireflies?”

The words land like a slap.

You blink.  The storm outside rages, wind and rain hammering the metal walls, but it’s nothing compared to the whirlwind inside you.

Joel sees it. Sees the crack in your armor. And like a hunter who’s caught the scent of blood, he runs with it.

“You’re so damn sure you don’t need anyone, but you ran straight into their hands, didn’t you?” He barks. “You left, and look what happened.”

Your breath catches.

He doesn’t stop.

“You think just ‘cause you survived one bite, you can’t die? Immunity won’t stop a horde from tearin’ you to pieces. Won’t stop livin’, breathin’ people who’ll think up a million worse ways to hurt you.”

And he’s right, isn’t he?

Joel doesn’t even realize how deep he’s cut until he sees your face change. The fight bleeds out of your expression, replaced by something hollow, something stricken.

For the first time tonight, you have no comeback. No fiery retort, no quick-witted barb to throw back at him. Just a quiet, stunned look, like he’s finally broken something that won’t be so easily put back together.

Joel’s stomach drops.

He fucked up.

You don’t say anything. You just turn and push past him, yanking the camper door open and stepping out into the storm.

Joel reacts immediately.

“Shit.” He’s out the door before he even thinks about it, boots sinking into the mud as rain bears down in sheets. The wind howls, whipping through the trees, drowning out everything but the pounding of his heart.

You’re already walking away, shoulders hunched against the downpour, your body a rigid line of anger, on the verge of combustion.

Joel catches up in a few strides, grabbing your good wrist, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to stop you. 

“Wait!”

You rip yourself free, spinning on him so fast he barely has time to react.

“Don’t.” Your voice shakes, though whether it’s from anger or exhaustion, you don’t know. Your clothes are soaked through, hair dripping, rainwater running down your face. You wipe at it roughly, but it doesn’t stop the sting behind your eyes.

“I can’t do this anymore, Joel.” You’re nearly shouting over the roar of the storm.. “I can’t stand you acting like I’m a fucking liability. Like I’m a mistake you made.”

Joel’s hands curl into fists at his sides. “I don’t —”

But you don’t let him finish. You’re too wound up, too desperate to get the words out before your courage fails.

“You must regret it. Not shooting me when you had the chance.”

Joel’s face darkens, his whole body tensing like a drawn bowstring. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Say it out loud?” Your voice is almost shrill now, though you’re past the point of caring. “Say that your life would be easier with me gone? Or that I left you and maybe things would’ve been easier if I never came back?”

His eyes flicker like a dying light, wounded and volatile all at once. His breath is heavy, his shoulders tight with restraint.

And when he speaks, it’s quiet. Lethal.

“You really think that little of me?”

You falter. Just for a second. But you can’t stop now.

“You tell me, Joel.” Your voice wavers, but you keep going. “Because you’ve sure as hell been acting like it.”

Joel groans, his hands braced on his hips. “Jesus Christ.” He shakes his head, like he can’t believe this conversation is happening, like he can’t believe you’re happening.

Then, quieter, “You don’t get it.”

“Oh, I get it just fine.” The words snap out before you can stop them. 

“No,” he snaps, stepping forward. “You don’t.” 

The rain lashes down, thunder rumbling in the distance.

“You got no goddamn clue what it was like, wakin’ up and findin’ you gone. What it’s been like since.”

Your breath catches in your throat. But he’s not done.

“You think I resent you?” His voice is bitter now, his brows pulled in disbelief. “No. I’m mad at you. I’m so goddamn angry I don’t know what to do with it.”

You swallow. “Why?”

“Because you left.” 

And he breaks like a frayed rope snapping. Like the words he’s been keeping tethered all this time have finally broken loose. 

“Because you didn’t even give me a goddamn chance to tell you how fuckin’ sorry I was. How sorry I still am, every goddamn day.”

Your heart slams against your ribs.

You don’t know what to do with an apology from Joel, don’t know how to hold it in your broken hands. You shake your head hard, rejecting it.

“I had to go,” you murmur, throat tight, barely able to force the words out.

Joel shakes his head, rain flowing in rivulets down his face, as if coming from the storm in his eyes. “No, you didn’t.”

He’s quieter now, but somehow it cuts deeper, right through the places you’ve tried so hard to keep impenetrable.

You don’t know what to say. Don’t know how to stand under the weight of this moment, how to breathe around the ache tightening in your ribs. 

So you do what you’ve always done when things get too hard. You run.

You push past him into the trees, feet fighting for traction in the mud, heart hammering against your ribs. The rain is endless, beating down in thick sheets, soaking through every layer of you. You don’t care. You just need to get away.

Joel curses under his breath and follows, his boots splashing through puddles. “Damn it, would you just stop?”

And then he’s somewhere else.

The sun, golden, peeking from behind a distant mountain. The warm drizzle on his skin, the air thick with the smell of wet earth and late summer. You, laughing, spinning through the rain with your arms wide, the fabric of your shirt clinging to your skin, your hair dripping down your back. The way you looked at him then, like maybe he wasn’t as ruined as he thought he was. Like maybe, just maybe, he deserved something good.

Then the night you left.

The haunted old house, the sound of rain against the leaky ceiling. The warmth of you in the room, the way his body had finally, finally, relaxed after so many nights on edge. The rare kind of sleep that only came when he let himself believe, just for a moment, that you were safe.

Then waking up to nothing.

The gut wrenching silence, the hollowness where you should have been.

The way it felt like losing everything all over again.

Now.

Joel’s heart clenches so hard it hurts. His breath is ragged, throat tight, stomach churning.

Not this time.

“Hey!” He shouts, cutting through the storm.

You freeze, spinning around to face him.

Joel steps closer, his frame so broad and unaffected by the torrents soaking you, like you could crawl under him for cover.

“You don’t get to do this again.” The rain plasters his hair to his forehead, those dark curls framing his frustrated face. “You don’t get to run like that. Not again.”

You’re drenched, blinking rain from your lashes, but he sees it all in your face. The hurt. The anger. The fear. The weight you’ve been carrying all alone, the one he neglected to help shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” His voice cracks, and he doesn’t even try to hide it. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry, you have no idea.”

You don’t move.

His jaw clenches. He shakes his head, his throat working. “I never wanted to push you away… I never wanted you to go.” 

It feels like lightning the way it shatters something between you. The fight leaves you.

Your shoulders drop, your lips part like you might say something, but you don’t.

Slowly, cautiously, like he’s afraid you might break under his touch or disappear with the rain, Joel reaches for you. A hesitant brush of his fingertips on the slope of your shoulder, a question unspoken.

And you let him.

You let him pull you into his arms, let yourself fold against him, let yourself be.

In this embrace you find shelter in the storm, against everything that’s threatened to pull you apart. His shirt is soaked, his lungs heaving something terrific beneath your cheek. And here, pressed against the thundering beat of his heart, shielded from the downpour, you weep.

For all that you’ve lost.

For all that you and Joel have left in your wake.

For the ugly truths neither of you can take back.

Joel presses his face into your hair, his arms locking around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers again. His lips graze, barely there, against your temple.

And when you finally find your voice, it’s quiet.

“I’m sorry, too.”

He just nods.

“Can we go back inside?” He asks.

You nod against his chest.

Joel keeps an arm slung over your shoulders as he leads you back to the RV. His touch is steady, solid, and you let yourself lean into it. Not because you need to, not really. But because, in this rare moment of honesty you’ve carved out together, there’s a part of you that wants to.

Wants to need him.

Wants to lean on him without the guilt, without the shame that’s rooted itself deep in your bones. The kind that twenty years of survival has carved into you, the voice in your head that says relying on anyone means weakness, means death.

Because maybe that voice is wrong.

Maybe, just this once, you don’t have to listen to it.

Inside the RV, the air is still thick with lingering tension, the scent of damp earth and mildew settling around you both. The rain still beats against the thin metal walls, but it’s quieter now. Muted, almost peaceful.

Joel lowers himself onto the bench seat at the dinette, exhaling as he leans back. That’s when you notice the way his mouth twitches, the way his fingers tighten briefly on the table’s edge.

“You’re hurt?” you ask, eyes narrowing.

He hesitates, but then sighs, dragging the sleeve of his jacket up to reveal a nasty scrape along his forearm. The wound is raw, angry, streaked with dirt. “Got myself on the damn door earlier. I’ll be fine.”

You shoot him a look, arching a brow. “Let me clean it up.”

You expect refusal, annoyance, a trademark scowl.

But Joel doesn’t argue. He just nods, resigned.

You gather the supplies, sitting across from him at the table. He rests his arm between you, his skin warm beneath your fingertips as you gently push his sleeve further up. Your movements are careful but clumsy, your cast making everything harder, your fingers still stiff and uncooperative. Joel could probably do a better job himself, but neither of you acknowledge that. There’s an unspoken understanding between you now. You have to let each other help.

Because it’s not about whether you need it, or whether you deserve it.

It’s about trust. About allowing yourselves to take care of each other, even when it’s uncomfortable, even when it feels like a risk.

You work in silence, dabbing antiseptic onto the scrape, your touch light but deliberate. Joel barely flinches, watching you with an unreadable expression. You press a bandage over the wound, then reach for the roll of gauze to wrap it in place, securing it with slow, precise movements.

Joel still doesn’t speak, just watches you.

Watches the way your brows pull together in concentration, the way your damp hair clings to your cheeks, the way the soft evening light catches on the delicate slope of your nose, the curve of your lips.

You look beautiful like this.

And Joel wants to tell you. Now. Because what does he have to lose? Because the words have been clawing their way up his throat since before you left, since before you broke him that night, and he hated himself for not saying them when he had the chance.

But something stops him.

A promise.

He made a promise. To get you somewhere safe first, to let you decide, openly and freely, what you wanted.

He has failed you in so many ways, so many times.

But this promise, he will keep.

…

Joel tells you you're still a few days out from where he thinks the Wyoming safe haven is.

The truth is that you’re closer than that.

But there’s somewhere else he wants to take you first.

He’s banking on your inability to read a map to pull this off. And despite what he’s muttered in moments of frustration, he knows you’re capable, fiercely so. But you both know geography isn’t exactly your strong suit.

Still, you sense something is up.

"Joel, why are we going this way? We should be heading —"

"Just trust me."

That earns him a pointed look, one that says really? But the thing is… you do trust him.

Ellie, on the other hand, can barely contain her excitement. She keeps sneaking glances at Joel, smirking, dropping hints that only fuel your frustration. You hate not knowing things. And whatever this is, it's something.

Joel is different, too. Not softer, exactly, but focused. Like this matters to him. And maybe it’s because this is the first time in a long time he’s leading without it being about survival.

Since that night in the rain, something between you has shifted. The sting of old wounds still lingers, but there’s something else now, too. Something smoothed over and soothed by your shared apologies.

You don’t know that it’ll ever be the same. But maybe that’s okay. Maybe something stronger can be forged here.

You’re deep in thought when Joel crests a hill ahead of you. He turns back, raising a hand, motioning for you to follow.

And then you see it.

Your breath catches, and for a moment, you forget how to move.

Yellowstone.

Untouched. Preserved. Alive.

For years, you'd feared it would be lost, just another casualty of the world’s ruin. That the image you clung to, the dream of this place, would shatter the moment you laid eyes on it. But it’s here. Whole. The geysers still erupt, steam curling into the sky. The hot springs shimmer in the afternoon light, deep pools of blue and green. A herd of bison gather in the distance, unbothered. The land is still theirs, always has been.

You think about the destruction and the decay and the rot, the way that’s what the world was for you for so long. The desperation of persistent existence in a hostile world. But that’s just human creation, isn’t it? Things that were always unnatural, always a blight on the land. So it makes sense that Earth would reclaim what was hers, what humans tried to make theirs. But here, this beautiful place… This has always belonged to her. Things that are meant to survive, do. 

And then, you understand.

Joel didn’t just bring you here as a detour.

He brought you here for you.

It’s not about survival, or obligation, or guilt.

This is kindness.

And it scares you a little.

Joel is watching you carefully, hands braced on his hips, his expression unreadable. He won’t admit it, but he’s nervous. He doesn’t know what you’ll do. If you’ll say something. If you’ll shut down. If you’ll run.

But you don’t run.

You let yourself have it. The moment, the quiet, the peace.

And then you smile. Wide, real.

Joel’s heart flutters, skips a beat. He’s seen you smile like this before, but only once. In a way that makes you look light, a way that lets him imagine how you might have looked had the world never ended. Like for the first time in a long time, you’re not carrying every awful thing that’s ever happened to you on your shoulders.

You turn to him, your heart so full it almost hurts., but not in that familiar way that wounds.

“Thank you.”

Joel doesn’t know what to do with that. Doesn’t know how to say you don’t have to thank me, I wanted to do this for you. So he just nods.

You look at him, and for maybe the first time, you see him.

Really see him.

You let yourself look, let yourself hold his gaze without fear of what you’ll find. And what you do find nearly brings you to your knees.

Because there’s no anger there. No pain, no regret, no sorrow.

Just joy.

Your joy, reflected back at you, in Joel.

Your fingers twitch at your side before you reach out, hesitating for only a second before taking his hand in yours. Your fingers entwine, squeezing tight.

He squeezes back, two quick pulls.

You linger, just for a moment, before letting go.

Ellie, as always, chooses the perfect time to interrupt.

"Okay, so what do we think? Jumping into one of those colorful pools or a geyser explosion first?"

The answer, of course, is neither, because, No, Ellie, that shit will boil you alive.

Even as you explore the land, watching the geysers erupt into rising plumes of steam, admiring the bison as they graze in the golden light of dusk, feeling the earth itself pulse with life beneath your feet, you can’t stop looking at Joel.

You try to take it all in, try to commit every detail of this place to memory. But more than the mountains or the rivers or the impossibly colorful pools, it's him you can't stop staring at.

For so long, you'd avoided really looking at him, expecting nothing but sharp edges, harsh words, cold indifference, the naked truth of your own fears reflected back at you like a broken mirror. And now that you've let yourself look, really look, and found none of that, you don’t want to look away.

You want to keep watching him in the same way he watches over you, with quiet intensity, with fascination and care and warmth.

That night, you make camp beneath the vast, endless stretch of stars. Yellowstone is quiet, the kind of quiet that feels untouched, sacred. The fire crackles between you, sending embers up into the night sky like sacred offerings. You shiver when the temperature cools, and without a second thought, Joel shrugs off his jacket and hands it to you.

You don’t argue. You just take it, curling it around yourself, breathing him in.

“I never thought I’d actually see it,” you admit, voice soft in the rich stillness.

Joel watches you for a moment, then offers a small, reassuring smile. “Plenty more ahead.”

It surprises you, but you believe him.

But as the fire flickers between you, illuminating his face in warm, shifting light, something else inside of you shifts too.

You’re almost there. Almost to the supposed safe haven. Almost at the end of this journey together.

And you can’t help but wonder, what happens then?

What if it’s real? What if it’s peaceful and quiet and safe and everything you dreamed about?

… And what if Joel gets restless?

Can a man who hasn’t stopped moving in twenty years ever really settle down? Will he stay? Or, once he’s satisfied that you’re safe, will he move on? Will he go back to Boston, back to the life he knew before you?

And if he does stay, if you both do… What then?

Without the forced proximity of survival, without shared danger or a destination binding you together, will he become a stranger again?

Will you?

Across the fire, Joel sees the way your expression shifts, the way uncertainty flickers through your eyes. You watch him warily through the glow of the flames, and something about it makes anxiety flicker inside of him.

He wants to say I don’t want to lose you.

But he doesn’t.

Because saying it out loud makes it real. Makes it something that could be lost.

So instead, he stares into the fire, jaw tight, trying not to think about what happens when you get there. Trying not to think about you finding safety and realizing you don’t need him anymore.

About you meeting someone else, someone better, someone softer, someone who can protect you without hurting you in the process.

He stays quiet. So do you.

And though neither of you says it, neither of you sleeps easily that night, both staring up at the stars, feeling something precious slipping, slipping, slipping through your fingers.

[thewitchblue]

"There's nothing wrong with you, Jay."

You murmured to him. He had a panic attack after a nightmare and panted softly in your arms. Everything was overwhelming, but your calming voice was guiding him back to reality.

The nightmare was bad enough to wake him up on his own instead of staying trapped until you wake him. He couldn't get enough air in his lungs. What's wrong with him? Why are you still putting up with him? You wake up every time he has nightmares, yet you comfort him the entire time.

"There's so much wrong with me, pipsqueak."

He says the nickname with so much love it melted your heart. You showered him in kisses while saying,

"You do what you have to do to survive."

He shuddered. He's a bad man in his mind. He has too much blood on his hands. Even if they were criminals, he still thinks he's a bad man. He felt tainted. He whispered,

"How can you love me when you know what I've done?"

He needed to know how you could even stand looking at him. You were so sweet and kind. You warmly said,

"I can love you because I know you."

He looked at you in confusion. Of course you know him. You wouldn't be sleeping in his bed with him if you were a stranger. You softly explain,

"I know you break into bakeries at night to get me my favourite pastry, but leave money on the counter so you don't feel like a complete jerk. I know you love my cheesy romance books despite pretending you don't. I know you love cooking for me so I can eat the leftovers and remember you."

Jason grumbled. He's always been a man who thinks actions speak infinitely louder than words. Anything is worth it for you. You continued with a smile,

"I know you love my lame jokes. You love to cuddle, and you replay romance scenes with me when you read a story you particularly enjoyed."

Jason hid his face in your hair. The big bad Red Hood was acting like a schoolgirl with a crush, and you loved him for it.

You kissed the top of his head. He was nestled in your side comfortably with his large frame curled to make it easier to cuddle. He placed his head on top of your chest and his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. He needed to be reassured that you were here and alive.

You let him listen to your heartbeat while you played with his hair the way he liked it. You smiled as you said,

"I love your smile, and I don't care one bit about the blood on your hands. You are protecting the ones you love in the only way you think will work. I know you pretend to dislike your family, and you'll fake gag around their significant others, but your romantic heart soars when you see couples being in love."

The gentle hand rubbing his scalp and your soothing heartbeat was luring him back to sleep. So what if he is a bit of a romantic. He can't help the way he feels.

"I know you read the books I recently read just so we can have a conversation about it."

Jason blushed. He thought he'd been sneakier about stealing books. He's read every book in your house during the two years he's been dating you.

He's a book thief, but he always returns the book and even organised the bookcase for you when you complained that you needed to organise it. You were looking for a book to give him, and it took a good fifteen minutes to find the book. You continued,

"I know you love when I lay on top of you because I feel like a weighted blanket, and you love when I hug you from behind to feel the height difference between us."

Jason yawned. You love this man with your whole heart. You don't care about Red Hood. You care about Jason Peter Todd, the love of your life. His large arms tightened around you before relaxing. He rolled you on top of him and kissed your forehead.

"I love you, pipsqueak."

You smiled at him and gave him a long kiss before softly replying,

"I love you too, hoodlum."

[socialobligation]

Hihi!! U said ud like to start doing more writings rather than smaus, so I thought I’d leave u a writing request this time! Okay so picture this, it’s post-war with bakugou x mia!reader who was presumed dead but apparently was just stranded in the middle of nowhere (this part is kind of a plothole but if u could figure out something that would be sososo amazing!!) and after like 6 months finally reunite post-war?? Ofc take ur time and stay healthy author !! Love ur work !!<3333

six months too late | k. bakugo

bakugo thought you were gone. for six months, he lived with that weight. but fate had other plans—and now, you're standing right in front of him.

bakugo had never been good at dealing with grief.

anger? sure. fear? he could mask it. pain? he lived with that shit daily. but grief? real, soul-crushing loss that settled deep in his bones and refused to leave? that was different.

and it was eating him alive.

you had been gone for six months.

the war ended, but not without casualties. the city was rebuilding, heroes stretched thin trying to repair the damage. civilians were starting to feel safe again. life was moving on.

but bakugo couldn't.

because you weren't there.

no body. no trace. no closure.

just... gone.

they'd looked for you. he'd looked for you—refused to stop even after the others tried to tell him it was no use. rescue teams had combed through the rubble, searching collapsed buildings and debris for any sign of you. but all they ever found were reminders of how brutal the battle had been.

a boot. blood on the pavement.

but never you.

bakugo had stood there, watching as they cleared the wreckage, hands clenched into fists so tight his nails left crescent moons in his palms. he didn't speak. didn't move.

he didn't cry.

because if he did—if he let that crack form even for a second—he wouldn't survive it.

he stopped saying your name after the first month.

it hurt too much.

everyone could see it. he wasn't the same.

bakugo still trained with the same intensity, still went through the motions of being a hero-in-training, but the fire was gone. his explosions felt duller. his anger, less controlled.

the dorms were quieter without you. your laugh used to echo through the hallways, bright and infectious. you'd tease him relentlessly, calling him out on his bullshit with that signature grin he pretended to hate.

now? silence.

even his friends had stopped trying to get him to talk about it. they didn't ask how he was doing anymore—probably because they knew the answer.

shitty.

he was doing shitty.

bakugo didn't sleep much anymore.

every time he closed his eyes, he saw you.

not the way he wanted to remember you—smiling, happy, calling him an idiot when he tried to act cool.

no.

he saw you in that moment.

the war. the smoke. the chaos.

"get out of here!" you'd screamed, shoving him back, your eyes wide with desperation. "go, bakugo!"

he didn't listen. he never would.

but then—the explosion.

a flash of light. a deafening roar.

and you were gone.

bakugo woke up most nights with his heart pounding, breath ragged as he reached for something—someone—who wasn't there.

his bed was cold. the dorm was quiet.

and you were still gone.

he should've been there. should've done something. should've protected you.

bakugo had played that moment over in his head a thousand times, wondering where it went wrong. how he let you slip away. how he—of all people—had failed to save the one person he couldn't live without.

six months. that's how long it had been.

life didn't wait for grief to pass. UA moved forward. class 1-a graduated and stayed on as provisional heroes to assist with the rebuilding efforts. the dorms weren't as chaotic anymore. they were quiet. colder. bakugo still trained like his life depended on it. he threw himself into work with relentless determination, trying to drown out the ache that never went away. his body was exhausted, but it was nothing compared to the emptiness that gnawed at him from the inside.

kirishima watched him with worried eyes. mina tried to get him to open up, but he brushed her off. kaminari—even kaminari—stopped cracking jokes about "grumpy bakugo" because this... this wasn't just grumpiness. this was grief. and no one knew how to fix it.

bakugo didn't say it out loud, but he had given up. he stopped checking the reports. stopped listening when the search teams gave their updates. stopped hoping. because hoping hurt too much.

it was a random afternoon when everything changed. the sun was setting, casting long shadows over the UA campus. bakugo was heading back to the dorms after another grueling training session, his body sore and his mind numb. he was used to this feeling by now—the hollow ache in his chest that never fully went away.

but then—

"bakugo." the voice was soft. almost too soft. his brain didn't register it at first. it couldn't.

"katsuki."

that voice. his heart stopped.

slowly, like he was afraid moving too fast would break the fragile illusion, he turned around. and there you were. standing a few feet away, looking tired, worn, and a little worse for wear. but alive.

alive.

bakugo didn't move. didn't breathe.

"hey," you said, voice barely above a whisper, like you weren't sure he'd even want to see you.

bakugo's knees nearly gave out.

"holy shit," he breathed, his voice cracking as his feet finally moved. he stumbled forward like a man possessed, eyes locked on you as if he was afraid you'd disappear again if he blinked.

you didn't move. didn't speak. and then—you were in his arms.

bakugo crushed you against his chest, arms wrapped around you so tightly it was like he was trying to make sure this was real—that you were real.

"you're..." his voice broke, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent like it would anchor him to reality. "you're real."

"i'm real," you murmured, your voice trembling as you clung to him just as desperately. "i'm here, katsuki."

bakugo's body shook. "where the fuck were you?" his voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "do you know how long i—"

"i know," you whispered, pulling back just enough to cup his face in your hands. "i know. i'm so sorry, katsuki."

his eyes were glassy, filled with too many emotions to name. anger. relief. pain. love.

"i thought..." his voice trailed off, and his grip on you tightened. "i thought i lost you."

"you didn't," you smiled, pressing your forehead against his. "i'm here now. i'm not going anywhere."

"swear it." his voice was barely audible, but the desperation in it was palpable.

"i swear."

bakugo's lips crashed against yours. it wasn't gentle. it was raw, desperate—a collision of lips and teeth and everything he'd been holding back for six long months. he kissed you like he was trying to make up for every second you'd been gone, like he was terrified this was still a dream. but you kissed him back just as fiercely.

and for the first time in six months, bakugo katsuki could breathe again.

you didn't talk about it right away. the first night, you stayed curled up in his bed, wrapped in his arms like he was afraid to let go. bakugo didn't sleep—just held you, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin, grounding himself in the steady rise and fall of your breathing. he didn't ask where you'd been. didn't ask how you survived. because right now? none of that mattered.

you were here. that was all that mattered.

days passed before you could bring yourself to tell him. about how the explosion had thrown you so far, so fast, that no one thought to look beyond the city. how you'd been buried under debris, barely clinging to life, until a group of villagers in a remote area found you and nursed you back to health.

how you'd spent every waking moment after that trying to get back to him.

"i tried, katsuki," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you sat on his bed, hands trembling in his. "i tried to come back."

"i know."

bakugo's thumb brushed over your knuckles, his touch gentle despite the storm in his eyes.

"i didn't mean to leave you."

"i know."

his jaw clenched, and he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your skin. "you're not leaving again."

"i'm not."

"swear it."

"i swear."

bakugo kissed you again, slower this time, softer—like he was memorizing every inch of you all over again. and for the first time in six months, he wasn't holding onto a ghost.

you stayed by his side after that. bakugo didn't sleep alone anymore. every night, he fell asleep with his arms around you, grounding himself in the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. and every morning, when he woke up and saw you there—he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay again.

it wasn't easy. some days were harder than others. but you were there.

and bakugo?

he wasn't letting go this time.

not now. not ever.

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗬 𝗔 𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗟𝗘 𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗘𝗥 lando norris x  fem! reader (angst) fic summary . . . after a brutal fight where Yn accuses Lando of being a heartless playboy, she realizes the truth behind his shattered expression—he’s been in love with her all along. part 2 to all I've ever wanted (622words)

( my master list | more of lando norris ) ( requests )

Two days.

It had been two days since you’d shouted at Lando, and the words you threw at him still echoed in your head like a bad song on repeat. Every time you thought about his face—how he looked at you like you’d ripped his heart out and stomped on it—you felt like the worst person alive.

Because you were the worst person alive.

You’d been friends with Lando for years. You knew him better than anyone… or at least you thought you did. But maybe you never really let yourself see the truth. The boy beneath the jokes and the charm. The one who loved you so much it broke him.

And God, you’d hurt him. Bad.

That’s why you were standing outside his apartment now, heart hammering against your ribs like it wanted to break out and sprint down the hall.

You raised your hand and knocked, the sound loud against the door. “Lando? It’s me. I… I want to talk.”

Silence.

But you could hear the TV blaring inside. Some stupid show, the laugh track playing like a cruel joke. He was definitely in there.

A beat later, the TV clicked off.

You almost laughed, almost, because seriously? Did he really think you didn’t hear that?

“Lando,” you sighed, pressing your forehead against the door. “I know you’re in there.”

More silence.

Your chest tightened. He wasn’t going to let you in. You deserved that, honestly. But you weren’t leaving without saying what you needed to.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice cracked, but you kept going. “I was… I was awful to you. I said things I didn’t mean, and I didn’t take you seriously when I should’ve. You’ve always been there for me, and I—” You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe. “I hurt you, and I hate that I did. I’m so fucking sorry, Lando.”

You waited. One second. Two. Ten. Nothing.

The weight of his silence crushed you. Maybe he’d never forgive you. Maybe you’d broken something that couldn’t be fixed.

With a heavy sigh, you turned to leave, your footsteps echoing in the hallway.

But then—

Click.

The door swung open behind you, and you froze mid-step.

“Yn.”

His voice was soft, but it stopped you cold. You turned slowly, your heart leaping into your throat when you saw him standing there, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. His hair was a mess, his eyes puffy and red, but God, he was still Lando. Your Lando.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, your voice trembling.

Lando stared at you for a long moment, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. Then, finally, he spoke.

“If you mean it…” He paused, eyes flickering down for a split second before meeting yours again. “Kiss me on the cheek.”

You blinked, surprised by the request, but then a small, relieved smile tugged at your lips. You stepped closer, your heart racing as you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, lingering just a second longer than necessary.

When you pulled back, his eyes were still on you, softer now, but there was a glint of something else. Something more.

“And…” he added, clearing his throat, trying—and failing—to sound casual, “make dinner.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Make dinner?”

Lando shrugged, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t have anything ready for tonight.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart felt lighter than it had in days. You knew damn well he just wanted you to stay longer. And truth be told, you didn’t want to leave either.

“Alright,” you said, stepping inside. “But only if you help.”

Lando chuckled, closing the door behind you. “Deal.”

[webanglikethat]

Inho and Gihun have consumed my brain: a rant.

their dynamic is absolutely insane, like watching two halves of a broken mirror slowly shift toward each other, each reflecting something so raw, so !! unbearably !!! human !!!

they are opposites in the most obvious way: one, a cold-blooded killer who thrives on power, privilege, and pain (though they both come from a similar background); the other, a man haunted by his own humanity, stubbornly holding on to the last shred of his moral compass, believing in a better life, a greater future.

but it’s the tension between them that burns — the way they orbit each other, drawn together by something darker than either of them is willing to admit. and it drives me insane, insane I tell you.

Inho studies Gihun like a predator; he is disguised as an ally, draped in the mask of sympathy and empathy, but every moment spent with him … it’s like watching a snake move through tall grass, its every flicker of movement calculated, controlled and designed to ensnare, trap, conquer, destroy. he watches his every more, everything he does and he doesn’t do. it’s a real time dissection !! he watches Gihun's cracks, his weaknesses, his flickers of anger and despair. every subtle movement doesn’t escape him.

he needs to see that part of him, the part that’s been broken, the part that still hurts. and in a way, he’s intoxicated by it. it’s like he wants to drink from those wounds, to feel the sharp, stinging taste of anguish on his tongue, to experience that pulse of pain, just so he can savor it, dissect it, and make it his own.

he watches Gihun not because he’s merely intrigued, but because in his suffering, in his brokenness, there is beauty. a beauty that can only be savored when torn apart, shredded, dissected, bruised. and the more he watches, the more he feeds on that agony, the deeper he falls into the nightmare of this endless fucking twisted game.

Inho is too far gone. he’s lived through the games, seen how the system works, and he’s embraced it without shame. to him, the so called ��blood money” he earned is a truth. he doesn’t hide from it. he doesn’t pretend it’s anything else. he has seen too many bodies pile up to think there’s any other way. Inho believes the only way forward is through destruction. he’s accepted the curse of the games. hell, he’s fucking embraced it ! the lives lost are nothing more than fuel for his ascent to power. people are pawns, and pawns don’t matter. it’s all part of the game.

Gihun, though… he’s not like Inho. he too has been brutalized by the games, crushed under the weight of the world’s cruelty, watching as the lives of those he loved dimmed. BUT! even so !! there’s this flicker of light in him — a really fucking stubborn and desperate hope to protect those who still live, to undo the wrongs. for all the pain he’s endured, he hasn’t completely surrendered to the darkness. he’s been pushed, stretched to the breaking point by the horrors he’s witnessed, by the blood shed that he can never wash away and still lingers even in his dreams … but there’s this part of him that still fights to hold on to the fragments of the man he used to be. he’s so stubbornly human.

and yet, it’s not the break that Inho is after imo — it’s the collapse. he doesn’t just want to see Gihun’s humanity crack; he wants to see him fold. he wants to make him question everything, even his need to protect others, even the value of his own moral code. to descend into madness, forsaking logic.

you can see him being fascinated when Gihun agrees to sacrifice people for the greater good. I swear, you can see Inho alive in that moment. I can’t explain it other than he’s feeding on him. he’s watching this man, so different from him, with scars that shine the same way, who once held onto some semblance of hope, succumb to the same darkness that devoured him.

he wants to see the man who refused to let the games destroy him finally fall into the same dark logic that built those games in the first place.

but here’s the thing — Gihun’s resistance, his refusal to just surrender to Inho's desires, drives him insane. Inho, for all his power, for all his twisted thrill at orchestrating this, isn’t immune to that same hunger. he sees Gihun as both a reflection and a challenge. it torments him. he wants to unravel him from the inside. the more he watches, the more he understands just how much it is tearing at him, how much he wants it.

there is a tenderness to it, a chilling, perverse tenderness, where one offers the illusion of safety while the other inches closer to the slaughter.

what drives me insane is that Gihun doesn’t know. he doesn’t know that the man he’s grown to trust, the one who’s quietly listened to his every confession, who has offered him that flicker of human connection in the desolate wasteland of the games, is the very demon he’s been chasing. the one that has orchestrated every nightmare he’s endured. and every time Gihun speaks of his mission, of his burning desire to kill the one who created this nightmare, to undo the games and get revenge Inho just listens intently, relishing in every moment of vulnerability.  and it’s delicious. Gihun is literally unraveling before him, piece by piece, and Inho hasn’t even revealed the true extent of his power!

the betrayal scene is going to be so good. SO FUCKING GOOD. it’s when Gihun talks about revenge, when he plans to end the game, to kill the person behind it all, that Inho feels that twisted thrill in his chest. because what Gihun doesn’t realize is that all those plans, all those quiet declarations of death, have been heard and they’ve been absorbed, broken down, and processed. Inho already knows what Gihun is capable of, what he’s willing to do, and how far he’s willing to go to get his revenge. it doesn’t matter to Inho. it never has. he’s already five steps ahead. Inho has studied Gihun like a surgeon carving through flesh, patiently unraveling his soul, savoring each fragile thread of hope only to tighten the noose, knowing that the moment Gihun’s trust shatters, so too will his humanity.

-> and like … Gihun’s humanity is his greatest weakness. his desperate hope to protect, to save, to make things right when he couldn’t before (example: in season 1 when a dying man reached for him and he looked away, in season 2 he helped a dying man) that's what Inho sinks his teeth into, because he knows that in this world, hope is the ultimate poison, the biggest gamble. every moment Gihun spends clinging to the idea that he can save anyone, that he can stop the game — that he can stop The Frontman — it draws him closer to the truth that will eventually shatter him.

and imo — Inho watches him with a twisted admiration, because in that desperate struggle, he sees himself or rather, the version of him that could’ve been if he had not embraced the game so fully. and in that, their paths, though seemingly different, are always converging. they are the same in the most brutal way: two sides of a coin, both marked by the same blood, the same violence, the same emptiness, and in the end, they are not so different after all. for all their differences, in the end — they are mirrors.

addition cause I saw this post and omg ?? it’s an intentional, almost possessive move. he’s not just playing along with their conversation; he’s LITERALLYYY replacing Jungbae with himself in Gihun’s mind, stepping into the role of someone who belongs in Gihun’s future.

Inho doesn’t just want power or control over the situation — he wants needs Gihun to need him, to see him as the one who’s always there, the one who understands him, the one who can stand beside him.

and to me, it feels like a possessive kind of longing that goes beyond mere rivalry or control. it’s ugh — just the way they orbit around each other, the way Inho needs Gihun to acknowledge him, to see him as more than just the “other guy that joined my team”.

and as much as Gi-hun is fighting to hold on to his humanity and the relationships that matter to him, Inho is just as desperately fighting to be the one that Gihun turns to in the end. it’s obsessive. it’s possessive. it’s dangerously romantic and I need them to fuck it out.

[zerocoded]

summary: when caleb appears at your front door on a random thursday night after faking his death for weeks, you can't help but want to kick him straight in the knees. luckyly for you, you do just that.

authors note: this beautiful drawing that i'm using in the banner is from this lovely artist, credits to them! go check their x account ♡ ANYWAYS, the caleb post i've been daydreaming about the last two days is finally here. CALEB GIRLIES I GOT YOU. let's hold each other's hands until the 22nd comes. i hope i succeed in portraying a real mc bc i'm tired of seeing us being just happy when seeing caleb for the first time when BRO DECEIVED US and played with our emotions like that. without further bs, live laugh love caleb.

warnings: SLIGHT yandere!caleb • gaslighting and manipulation • sfw content • bad writing lol, be warned! • depressive thoughts • reader is on her grieving period • work exhaustion • mental illness mentioned • minor injury • manhandling and pining • height & size difference • caleb literally invades our home • fighting bc reader is a badass and tolerates no bitches • mc bites caleb's hands lol • others LI mentioned • one kissy scene hehe • caleb screams at mc once (boo) • ANGST Y'ALL!

word count: 6.1k

you're here┃caleb uses you as hostage at the farspace fleet┃you punch caleb in the face┃caleb teaches you his love language

your apartment was silent, except for the faint hum of the city outside. tossing your jacket onto the back of the couch, you leaned against the wall, exhaling shakily. the weight of the day pressed down on you like a vice, your fingers brushing the edge of the message from linkon city hall still lying unopened on the counter.

confirmation of deceased: caleb. adoptive grandmother, dr. josephine. cause of death: explosion – classified incident.

you hadn’t needed to open it. the words were already carved into your memory, and the weight of them had crushed you all day. it didn’t matter that the explosion was months ago—seeing their names on an official report felt like losing them all over again.

you pushed away from the counter, willing your mind to focus on anything else. the hunter uniform hugged your frame perfectly, as it always had, and your reflection in the glass windows of your living room showed how tired you looked.

did anyone notice how wrecked you felt? you wondered if tara had gossiped to the other hunters about your predicament, and if she had left you alone because she somehow understood the weight of what had happened to you.

the message was awful. being asked to confirm the deaths of your loved ones had thrown you into a depressive spiral you hadn’t felt in days after returning from the N109 zone. your troublesome heart sometimes made you feel like you shouldn’t have even been born. when you trauma-dumped this on rafayel a few days ago, he had almost hit you with his paint brush, the words coming out of your mouth too much for him to process. the painter was pissed that you could think of yourself like that.

but that was how you felt—unworthy of being alive, because the person who raised you had been brutally killed.

why not me? you wondered.

linkon city was adorned with shiny skyscrapers, and your privileged view of the city made you feel even smaller, your grievance nothing more than a joke to the world outside of your apartment. knowing you’d have to show up to work again tomorrow added to the weight pressing down on your shoulders from choosing to be a deepspace hunter.

these last few weeks, you had questioned why you chose this job in the first place. since coming back from onychinus and befriending sylus of all people, you’d been thinking about your life decisions more frequently. sylus made you question every little thing you had once thought was a virtue, which now seemed like selfishness in disguise.

the man was good at disturbing your thoughts and making you feel things that put you on the spot.

you became a deepspace hunter because you were selfish. you wanted to make a difference, like the people you grew up with had made.

you wanted to be smart like zayne and attentive like josephine. you wanted to be helpful like caleb and as notorious as your other anhaunsen classmates. you wanted to do anything to escape the feeling you’d had since birth—uselessness.

as you sank deep into the living room cushions and exhaled heavily into the lonely air of your apartment, your phone buzzed with a text from zayne.

fate was joking with you today.

are you okay?, it read.

his worry made your heart flutter a little before sadness took over your entire form again.

you didn’t have the heart to respond. lying required more strength than you had in that moment, so you tossed your phone onto the center table and ignored him.

i’m sorry, zayne, i wish i was stronger for you.

your stomach rumbled, and your ribs ached. earlier in the evening, you had let a wanderer get too close before killing it, distracted as you were. the mistake had left you with a swollen rib and a deep sense of shame. you’d promised to take care of it when you got home, but right now, all you could do was discard a few of your sharp weapons onto the floor before dozing off on the couch.

you’d probably hate yourself in the morning for sleeping with these tight boots on.

for you, the hardest part wasn’t the silence left behind. it wasn’t the way the world seemed to keep spinning while yours had shattered. the hardest part was feeling like you needed to smile, to nod politely when people said, “stay strong,” as if strength could stitch together the pieces of your broken heart.

the hardest part was the way people looked at you, expecting you to move forward, to let the memories be enough. but how could you, when the smell of smoke still haunted your nightmares, when you could still hear caleb’s laughter drowned by the deafening roar of the explosion? how could you heal when your soul was still bleeding, the wounds too fresh, the pain still pouring out with every breath you tried to take?

you loved him so much it hurt. you wish you’d told him more times. why didn’t you told him more times?

how could you move forward when you still couldn’t clench your fists as strong as you were accustomed to because you were thrown into the air and broke both of them at the incident?

you wondered if it would ever be enough, and if someday you’d find out who was responsible for all of this pain.

the kitchen candles were the only light in the room when you heard the doorbell ring. sharp and sudden, it cut through the haze and fought off your sleepiness in a second, your hunter’s bells ringing warningly.

your heart jumped, and your hand instinctively went to your side where your pistol usually rested, only to find it absent. you’d left it in your locker at the deepspace headquarters, thinking you wouldn’t need it tonight.

the bell rang again, more insistent this time.

“probably xavier,” you muttered, trying to shake off the lingering unease. your neighbor and cute colleague had been away on a special mission as a hunter. his absence had started to feel noticeable in the quiet moments.

you liked spending time with xavier because he seemed to understand you on another level. he never seemed to expect anything from you, which made grieving next to him a little less daunting. you missed his midnight visits and occasional talks about claw machines and stupid wanderers, and you wished he would respond to your texts asking when he was coming back.

you felt like it would be nice to hear his voice right now.

without thinking much, you unlocked the door, combat boots still on and dark circles framing your usually bright eyes.

“took you long enough—”

the words died on your lips.

it wasn’t xavier.

standing in your doorway, dressed in a pristine daa military uniform, was a man—ridiculously intimidating and strange. he looked at you with judgment and arrogance, making you step back a little and guard more of yourself.

thank god you still had your uniform on and wasn’t wearing some flimsy nightgown. the man seemed to be eating you alive in his head.

before you had the chance to question the stranger’s presence at your door on this random thursday night, he tossed you aside and pressed you against the corridor wall of your kitchen, your breath instantly hitched and your ribs ached from the impact.

your hunter’s awareness triggered instantly, instincts flaring and mind still trying to process what the hell was going on. your hands struggled against his grip, desperately searching for an evol to resonate with. if your mind had already been spiraling out of control before, now you felt like you could fight a thousand wanderers at once and focus on surviving with mere instinct.

you couldn’t scream. his right hand clamped over your mouth, his left gripping both your wrists in front of your chest and preventing you from punching him like you planned to. somehow, this was a professional individual who knew your fighting mannerisms and wrestling tendencies by heart.

with great effort, you managed to bite his hand that was closest to your mouth and heard his pained grunt right after. you swore you heard him cussing before his head raised and his eyes finally met yours.

your heart stopped. the world narrowed to the faint outline of his silhouette as you finally were able to look at his face. his hair was concealed beneath a presumptuous cap, the daa symbol shining bright at its center. black, red, and gold adorned the uniform of the unknown man who handled your body as if it were weightless, plastic.

you thrashed and twisted in his grip until he was forced to pin both your hands above your head, hissing when you managed to land a kick on his right knee. the door clicked shut beside you as he silenced your attempted scream with his hand again.

amethystine eyes stared back at you, thick brows furrowed as your gazes locked. chills ran down your spine. your hunter uniform pressed uncomfortably against the wall, your combat boots barely touching the floor. yet, despite your effort, he towered over you.

you wanted to cry.

the hidden freckles were the first clue your mind was playing tricks on you, the shape of his mouth the second, and his skin tone the third. countless times since the explosion, you’d dreamed of caleb’s touch—more nights than you could count. but as the weight of the day bore down on you, your fighting spirit waned, the initial rush of adrenaline fading as you stared into his eyes.

everything felt cruelly unfair.

his gaze was uncharacteristically hard as he watched you, his bruising grip on your mouth and wrists warming for a moment before you snapped out of your daze.

a smirk made way to his lips and his stupidly manly perfume set itself on your senses. another attempt at kicking him made him press himself further into you, ribs screaming from the pressure. if he noticed your pained expression, he didn’t mention it at all.

“caleb,” you whispered, the name barely audible. your voice cracked, your body frozen in place, your mind unable to reconcile the impossible reality before you.

he didn’t seem to hear you, but his hand left your mouth, his gaze sweeping over your body and his face so close to yours you could count his naturally defined lashes.

the tension between you two shifted as he eyed you closer, curious eyes landing on your pretty figure. he could swear for a moment you wouldn’t recognize him and that thought perturbed his mind for the next few seconds he allowed himself to bask in your beauty.

caleb was familiar with the sight of you in the hunter’s association uniform, but never had he seen you looking this wrecked.

in the weeks leading up to the explosion, he’d promised himself he’d never let you get hurt by ever ever again. now, seeing you like this, he wondered if things looked different from your perspective.

would you hate him?

would you hate him for the decisions he made? for the people he deceived and the families he destroyed? for the secrets he exposed so he could be at advantage and fight for you from a more privileged position?

would you hate him for wanting you all to himself and sharing the same fate as him as a human experiment? for wanting to take you to the ever base and expose you to everyone right before killing them? for being the demise of your life but still wanting to keep you as close as possible?

would you still love him after he told you all of the wrongings he did to make things right for you and him?, he wondered.

the look in your eyes told him no, and because of that, his grip on your pinned hands loosened, the silence between you two remaining charged with tension. he saw the exact moment reality crashed down on you. your gaze faltered, and for a moment, you looked like you were going to cry.

he would hate to see you cry because of him, even though deep down he knew how lovely you looked while pouring your eyes out. he have seen it a thousand times before. caleb wanted to make you cry in other circumstances, not right now.

his lips pressed into a forced smile, and your breath hitched as his eyes shone faintly in the dim light of the kitchen candles. though the light wasn’t very effective, the touch of his gloved hand was enough to confirm the truth: this wasn’t a fucking stranger.

caleb felt when you stopped fighting and caved into his touch, scared to death. he let go of your mouth and stared right at your lips.

“no,” you muttered, shaking your head as if to clear a hallucination. your hands remained bound, your feet still searching for the floor. “this can’t be true.”

he tilted his head slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “it’s me.” his voice was calm, too familiar, too real. too cruel.

your body trembled with his tone, his breath fanning on your cheeks while your eyes scanned his. it felt wrong to say anything at the moment, fear still there in your eyes.

your body snapped into action, reality slamming into you like a tidal wave. you raised your knee, aiming to knock him off balance, desperate to banish the ghost standing in your kitchen.

but the colonel moved faster.

his hand shot out, catching your leg with unnerving precision. before you could react, he hoisted you over his shoulder effortlessly.

you stumbled, panic surging through your veins. your instincts screamed at you to fight, to move, to do something.

“let me go” you demanded, your voice trembling with equal parts fear and fury, punching his back in a futile attempt to stop him. “who are you? who sent you?”

“i came to see you,” he said simply, his voice steady and unnervingly calm. his eyes darted around the apartment, scanning every corner like a predator assessing its prey. “you didn’t think i’d stay away forever, did you?”

why did he sound so smug and heartless? it pissed you off.

realization set heavy on your shoulders—did he... did he fake his own death?

“you’re a fucking asshole.” you didn’t care that this man was more than six feet tall or that he wore a military uniform of all things, you kicked and screamed as much as you could after he threw you onto the couch—the very place you’d landed earlier that evening.

the moment he released you, you inched toward the center table where your spare weapon was stashed.

caleb’s smile faltered, replaced by something darker. his voice dropped, softer but laced with unsettling intensity. “i hope you cooperate from now on, pipsqueak.”

the words sent a chill down your spine.

“who the fuck do you think you are?” you spat, pistol in hand, ready to aim.

his gaze flicked to your movement, and before you could react, he was there. his hand closed around your wrist, pinning it to the couch with a force that made you gasp.

“you’re not going to hurt me, pipsqueak,” he murmured, his tone almost teasing, though the intensity in his purple eyes told a different story. “i’d never hurt you. you know that.”

you struggled against his grip, your heart pounding as fear twisted into anger. “let me go, caleb.”

“not until you listen,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. he leaned closer, his breath brushing against your ear. “will you stop fighting and thrashing around? i need to see if you are ready”

“ready for what?” you spat, your voice trembling with rage.

“for us,” he said simply, his tone calm, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

your breath hitched as his words sank in, the weight of them pressing down on you like a storm. “what the hell is ‘us’? you died. i watched you fucking die, asshole.”

he leaned closer, his forehead almost brushing yours, his voice a low whisper. “and i came back—for you.”

the weight of his presence, his words, was suffocating. for a moment, you froze, your mind racing for a way out.

it sounded so intimate, so romantically unsettling having him above you and saying things that made your heart clench. you hoped the hurt in your eyes was visible to the man. you hoped he still had sympathy and felt guilt somewhere underneath that uniform.

caleb stepped back, releasing your wrist but still blocking your path, his expression softening slightly as he examined you. “i need you to be quiet until i can tell you everything.”

“who do you think you are? you filthy liar”. 

caleb’s gaze flickered as your words hung between you, unspoken accusations slicing through the air like shards of glass. he shifted his weight, his broad frame now more a shadow than a presence in the dim room. for a moment, it seemed like he might say something—anything—but instead, he exhaled, a quiet sound that carried the weight of a thousand unspoken apologies.

"you look as pretty as always, princess", his whisper reached your ears and you felt a wave of anger wash over you.

"i don't know what you did to caleb, but right now is not the time for games". you spat the words with disgust.

"you think you know anything?" he asked, voice low but steady. his eyes, catching the faint glow of the candlelight, held yours. he looked scary above you. 

"you think that you are right?," you bit back, the ache in your ribs forgotten under the pressure of the moment. "faking a death isn’t something i take lightly in my books”.

his jaw tightened, the faintest tremor in his hand betraying him as he sighed. the silence stretched again, taut and heavy, before he finally spoke. “trust me to take care of you as i always did, pipsqueak, i just need more cooperation from you this time. i needed to do that so I could've gotten rid of josephine”.

the vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard, stealing whatever biting retort was forming on your tongue. you searched his face, the faint scars etched into his skin, the weariness in his eyes. "what the fuck did you just say?" you said softly, your voice trembling with the effort to keep it steady. 

caleb’s expression shifted as he saw the tense tone of your voice, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. regret? anger? it was gone too fast to tell. "i said what i said," he replied, his tone measured, almost calm—too calm. "josephine was a threat. she had to go, and i handled it and you should put this in your mind and move on."

"you handled it?" the words came out as a growl. the disbelief, the rage, the grief—it all boiled over. "you’re talking about the woman who raised me, caleb. who raised you. and you expect me to just—what—trust that you had your reasons? that it’s fine because you handled it?"

you got up from the sofa and watched him tower over you once again, not being afraid to fight him out of your house this time. you took a step further and watched the surprise on his face mix with a hint of mischief.

"you must have lost your mind, who the fuck sent you here? answer me." you asked, your voice sharper now, frustration spilling over.

he stepped closer, the shadow he cast stretching long across the dim room. his voice dropped, soft but firm, the kind of tone that brooked no argument. "the sooner you accept the truth, the easier all of this will turn out for you. josephine was a loose thread that could put you at harm and, trust me, i won’t let anything or anyone put you at risk."

"shut up," you snapped, your hands shaking as they clenched into fists. "don’t you dare put this on her. don’t you dare tell me you did this for me." you pushed him with force until he stumbled back a little, eyes on you the entire time. still, he didn’t react. so you pushed yourself past him, pacing to the other side of the room as if distance could lessen the fury building inside you. "you’re out of your fucking mind if you think i’m going anywhere with you. you—i… i mourned you, caleb".

caleb turned, his movements slow and deliberate, his gaze locking onto yours. "you don’t have a choice," he said simply. "if you want a chance of surviving, you’ll accompany me to the farspace fleet so you can prove to me that you are not a threat, this isn’t a quest, Y/N.”

"stop acting like you’re my savior," you shouted, spinning to face him. "you lied to me, faked your death, and now you show up here, in my home, telling me what to do? you’ve lost the right to give me orders, caleb. i don’t have to prove you shit"

his eyes narrowed, and for a moment, something like frustration flashed across his face. "you’re impossible," he muttered, more to himself than to you. “don’t make me take you by force, princess, this is already hard enough for me”.

his presence felt heavier now, more intimidating and more overwhelming. “hear me out on this one, pipsqueak, i can see why you’re upset but here it’s not the right place to talk about this. i promise i’ll explain it later”.

caleb’s gaze didn’t waver, feelings too strong for him to back down.

“you think i trust you wholeheartedly as well? don’t you think i know about what you’re capable to do, what weapon they made you become?”, he questioned, raising more questions about your past to the surface.

you hesitated, your chest heaving as you glared at him, every instinct screaming at you to fight, to run, to do anything but listen.

“you think i don’t know what you’re capable of? you’ve got every right to hate me, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re in danger and i’m the only one who can keep you alive.”

he stepped closer, his boots echoing softly against the tiled kitchen floor, the flicker of candlelight casting shadows that seemed to stretch and twist with your unease. the space between you vanished with every deliberate step he took, and before you realized it, the cool edge of the counter pressed against your back.

“i came here to get you so i can protect you,” he said, his voice softer now, almost tender, though his eyes burned with something far less kind. “won’t you trust me, pipsqueak?”

you swallowed hard, your ribs aching as the tension tightened around you like a vice. the pain flared again on your right side, but you forced it down, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing your weakness. caleb’s arms came up, caging you between them, his palms braced on the counter on either side of you. his breath was warm against your skin, the faint scent of mossy perfume and something metallic clinging to him.

his amethystine eyes locked onto yours, drawing you in and daring you to look away. “josephine wasn’t innocent,” he murmured, the words deliberate, each one cutting deeper than the last. “she was the only way left they could get to you easily. so i had to get rid of her.”

the shock and fury bubbling in your chest clawed their way to the surface, but before you could lash out, he moved. slowly, deliberately, he raised his hands, his movements calm but weighted with unspoken meaning. his right hand hovered between your bodies as he tugged off his glove, revealing cold, gleaming metal where flesh once was.

your breath hitched, your eyes widening despite yourself. the intricate machinery of his prosthetic glinted dully in the dim light, a jarring contrast to the warmth of his other hand still braced beside you.

“i didn’t get out of there without paying a price,” he continued, his tone dipping lower, the faintest hint of bitterness creeping into his words. “if that makes you feel better.”

the sight of the metal, the weight of his confession, sent your mind reeling. you wanted to stay angry, to hold onto the fury that kept you standing, but the cracks in his armor—the familiar of his voice, the faint tremor in his hand—made it harder to breathe.

“turns out i gave them everything they wanted to have even more control over my body,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly, studying your reaction like a predator watching prey. “you’re not the only ever victim in this room, princess, don't you see?”

his words hit like a punch to the gut, the nickname twisting something deep inside you. your eyes burned, the sting of unshed tears making your vision blur. compassion clawed its way forward, fighting against the iron grip of your fury.

he leaned closer, his voice softening, wrapping around you like a velvet noose. “don’t you see now? i’m your only way out. only i can make you safe, princess.” his head tilted slightly, his gaze piercing through the layers of anger and fear you’d built around yourself. “why don’t you see it?”

the way he said it—like it was inevitable, like you were foolish for resisting—sent a fresh wave of defiance coursing through you. your fingers twitched at your sides, curling into fists. the tears threatening to spill were not ones of submission but of frustration, of fury that he could twist your pain and vulnerability into leverage.

your hands trembled as you shoved against his chest, trying to create even an inch of space between you. “you’re the danger here, caleb.”

his expression hardened, though the faintest flicker of something else—hurt? regret?—crossed his features. he caught your wrists before you could push him further, his grip firm but not painful, his proximity suffocating.

“i won’t let you go this time,” he said, his voice quieter now, the sharp edge replaced with something closer to desperation. his eyes seemed to ignore every red signal your body emitted. “what are you afraid of, pipsqueak? c'mon, it’s me, caleb”.

the charged silence that followed was unbearable, the tension between you a living, breathing thing. the weight of his words, the intensity in his gaze—it all felt too much, too close, and yet not close enough.

“answer me.”, he demanded, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. “you need me, Y/N.”

you wanted to scream, to shove him back, to wipe that look of control and simmering frustration off his face, but the words stuck in your throat. it wasn’t fear keeping you quiet—it was the truth you didn’t want to admit. the truth you couldn’t admit.

“you don’t get to do this,” you managed, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “you don’t get to leave me, fake your death, and then come back like nothing happened. like i’m supposed to just—just fall in line and listen to you.”

his lips parted as if to respond, but no words came out. instead, he exhaled sharply, his jaw clenching as his grip on your wrists loosened ever so slightly. “i didn’t come back for you to listen,” he said, his tone soft but laced with an edge of frustration. “i came back to make sure you survive. with me.”

“you are crazy” you spat, shaking your head as you finally yanked your hands free from his grasp. “i don't know why you changed so much. you call this survival? being hunted, manipulated, dragged into whatever mess you’ve made? that’s not survival, caleb. that’s hell.”

“didn’t you want answers?!” he snaps, his voice cutting through the charged silence like a whip. his tone is sharp, frustration crackling in the air between you. for a moment, you flinched at his tone. “answers about your past, about granny, about the aether core that lives inside of you?”. he motions for your chest and you lean away from him.

caleb throws his daa hat on the floor and runs his gloved hand over his hair, desperation clinging into his actions. a move you were so used to seeing him doing as a teenager now seemed to paint his figure as someone totally different.

“guess what,” he continues, stepping closer, his boots scraping against the floor as the small space between you shrinks to nothing. “i’m the only one who can give you that.”

your back hits the counter again, the cold surface biting through your shirt as his presence looms over you. his hands grip the edge of the counter on either side of you, boxing you in, and his voice drops lower, quieter, but no less intense. “i know you’ve been looking for the truth. don’t pretend you haven’t. every decision you’ve made, every risk you’ve taken, it’s all been for answers.”

the weight of his words pressed down on you, heavy and suffocating, as if the walls of the apartment were closing in. his voice, low and deliberate, carried the kind of certainty that felt like a blade against your resolve. you hated that he knew so much, hated the way his presence seemed to draw out every buried question, every lingering doubt you’d tried so hard to silence.

the truth of it stung more than you wanted to admit. because it was true—wasn’t it? every decision, every desperate move you’d made since josephine’s death had been about finding the missing pieces. about understanding why your life felt like a jigsaw puzzle with crucial parts deliberately torn away.

you grew up with people like zayne and caleb so you’d become the best version of yourself. still, you felt unworthy of everything you have ever achieved.

you were... at a loss of words.

your ribs screamed in pain against the counter, the cold seeping through your shirt and grounding you in the moment. you wanted to push him away, to snap back with something that would shatter the arrogance in his voice. but instead, you found yourself staring at him—really staring—seeing the desperation etched into every line of his face. it wasn’t just his words that rattled you; it was the way his shoulders seemed to carry the weight of something far greater than just your shared past.

you noticed the tremor in his hand, the way it lingered too long on the counter’s edge, as if he were holding himself back from reaching for you. the way his eyes, though sharp and unrelenting, flickered with something almost... pleading.

caleb seemed to be holding himself back—as he always did. this time, though, you were not sure if you wanted him to break and consume you or to let you go and forget the two of you. this was the first time in your life where you felt close enough to the truth, close enough to calm the storm of questions in your mind. still, your grip on your ego seemed to be as tight as ever.

everything felt unfair because you were oh so tired. since onychinus, sylus and the aether core, your mind has been settled into finding answers of questions that were never asked in the first place. you were running in circles and you dreamed every night about how you missed caleb. how you knew he would guide you into the right path if he was alive at the moment.

now that he was here, something felt uncharacteristically right for the first time in weeks.

you need me, he said.

it was a bold statement, a manipulative one, but the worst part was the whisper of doubt it planted in your mind. what if he’s right? what if caleb, with all his possessive behavior, really did have the answers you’d been chasing? could you afford to ignore him—risk losing whatever truth he claimed to hold—just because you didn’t trust him right now? just because his posture changed and his eyes seemed a little darker?

had you the privilege of saying no to him?

you have always been so weak for him, haven't you?

your gaze dropped to his gloved hand, still gripping the counter, then to the hat he’d thrown carelessly onto the floor. there was something raw about the gesture, something that pulled at a part of you you’d long thought buried. it was the same caleb you remembered, the one who’d run his hands through his hair in frustration when things didn’t go his way, but now there was a hardness to him, an edge that made him almost unrecognizable.

he leaned in slightly, his proximity sending a shiver down your spine. caleb’s hands cradled your face with an unsettling gentleness, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to memorize every inch of your skin. his breath, warm and steady, fanned over your face, and the proximity made your pulse race despite every instinct screaming at you to pull away.

“do as i say, princess,” he murmured, his voice a mix of honeyed persuasion and steel. “you know deep down that i’m right.”

you hated how easily he saw through you, how his words made your chest tighten with the weight of unspoken truths. but there was a flicker of something else now—a sliver of curiosity, of reluctant consideration.

you stayed in silence.

“you’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, softer, as if the words were meant for no one but you. “what are you afraid of, princess? me?”.

his breath fanned over your cheek, the tension between you felt alive, electric, as if the air itself buzzed with anticipation. caleb’s hands cradled your face with a deliberate slowness, his fingers grazing your jawline like he was afraid you’d shatter under his touch. his thumbs traced lazy circles just below your cheekbones, sending faint shivers rippling down your spine.

caleb was very meticulous about the way he touched you. his words—carved in desperation just for you. he brushed away the tears you were shedding, breath in synch with yours as if he wanted for you to share your burden with him.

his thumb brushed against your skin, warm and steady, the faintest hint of mint and wood lingering in the space between you. the closeness made your pulse quicken, the steady rhythm in your chest now erratic and impossible to ignore. his forehead almost touched yours, his lips dangerously close but not quite there, as if he were savoring the moment, drawing it out until the anticipation was unbearable.

you gripped his forearms, confused at the needy feeling clawing its way out of your chest, the longing for closeness and safety that your brain always seemed to tie with the body in front of you. the tenderness he reserved only for you made your heart flutter despite the cruel truths and harsh words that had passed between you.

“what are you afraid of, princess?” he murmured again, his voice impossibly soft, like a velvet thread weaving its way into your thoughts. “it’s just me.”

the way he said it—low and intimate, like he was speaking to the deepest parts of you—made your knees weak.

his metal hand slid down from your face, the cool pads of his fingers brushing over the curve of your neck and coming to rest lightly on your shoulder. the weight was grounding, steadying, but it also sent sparks racing across your skin. the meaning behind his touch was at odds with the coldness of his prosthetic; it felt like both a tether and a promise.

you wondered if he was using his evol against you, manipulating your emotions, or if it was just your stupid, traitorous heart making you feel like you were floating.

your breaths came shallow and uneven as the tension between you thickened, palpable and inescapable. his gaze flickered to your lips, the intensity in his eyes making your stomach twist with anticipation. you hated how much you noticed the way he leaned closer, the way his presence filled every inch of the space around you, until there was nothing left but him.

“you don’t have to be scared of me,” he said softly, his lips brushing the words into the air between you. “i’d never hurt you.”

the warmth of his breath sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could think of a reason to stop him, he closed the distance.

his lips pressed against yours, slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away. but you didn’t. the kiss was soft at first, hesitant, like he was waiting for you to decide, waiting to see if you would break the moment or lean into it. and for a heartbeat, you froze, the shock of it rooting you in place.

but the tenderness of his kiss, the way his hand tightened slightly on your shoulder as if to steady himself, drew you in. your fingers curled into his forearms, no longer in protest but in something closer to surrender, the heat of his closeness chasing away the cold air of the room. you felt something stir deep inside you when you felt the dips of his muscles underneath his uniform.

when did he became so big?

the kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a mix of urgency and restraint, as though he were holding back a tidal wave of emotion. you felt the shift in him—the desperation, the longing he’d tried to bury under layers of control. it poured out now, raw and unguarded, and it pulled something equally raw from within you.

when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and uneven. his hands stayed where they were, steadying you as much as himself, and for a moment, the silence between you felt heavier than any words could.

“just me,” he whispered again, his voice breaking slightly, as if he needed you to believe it as much as he did.

I JUST POSTED PART TWO OF THIS, go check it out!

author’s note: want to cry more while reading? listen to remember me by d4vd and tell me that this song doesn't describe mc and caleb perfectly. SORRY FOR THE POOR ENDING, i'll make a part two of this post soon, follow me to get updated when i post or just check my masterpost from time to time :) send me a request • my masterpost

[ferrarifinnick]

SWITCHING POSITIONS! | THE HUNGER GAMES HEADCANONS

going feral thinking about thg men and their fav positions to put you in. this was so much fun to write and sooo hot 🫢🫢 also this is a lil bit longer than my other thg headcanons. are we loving longer or shorter headcanons pls lmk?? anyway, enjoy <3

includes: gale, finnick, peeta

warnings: sub/dom, switch, p in v, manhandling, teasing, dirty talk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, cum, creampie.

gale has an insatiable need to overpower you. he likes his body to be on top of yours, pinning you down and threatening to crush you if he ever decides to stop supporting his own weight. he’ll lift your legs over his shoulders in missionary then lean down to kiss you, just so you feel his weight pressing you into the mattress. but he doesn’t just want to weigh you down. no, he wants you to feel powerless. expect him to manhandle you. he’ll toss you around, lifting and bending you into whatever shape or over any surface he desires. and resisting is futile, so if you do, don’t be surprised when he takes hold of your chin and forces you to look up at his disappointed face. “thought you knew better,” is all he’ll say, before he’s lifting you into his big arms and bouncing you up and down on him.

it’ll be too slow, slow enough for you to whine at the punishment, and that pathetic cry is almost enough to bring him to his knees. almost. instead, he’ll say, “oh, so now it’s too slow for you?” with feigned shock. then he’ll shrug and say, “don’t be sorry for what comes next.” cue him pinning you to the mattress, face in the blankets as he rams in and out of your pussy from behind. when you’re crying out at your second orgasm, he’ll say “no tears! you asked for this.”

he comes alive in missionary, standing up cowgirl, and PRONE-BONE (hands on your back, full weight crushing you into the mattress).

when it comes to sex, finnick has very few reservations. despite his sexual past, he will turn very little down for you because for once he feels safety in his sexual explorations. the only nonnegotiable for him is being able to see your face at all times. it grounds him, and more importantly, it encourages him to enjoy sex. like gale, he likes showing off his strength by lifting you up and down on his cock. but finnick is a switch, and he loves the feeling of falling out of power just as much as he loves the feeling of getting it. so when you push him down on the bed (or sand, boat deck, or shower floor), he’ll put up no fight as you climb on top of him and take charge. expect strong eye contact, but don’t blink here or you’ll miss that smirk stretching into a grin. the only time it will disappear is when he’s about to cum. eyes rolled back, throaty moans spilling through his open mouth, and don’t be afraid when he pinches your hips and fucks his own up into you. he just really likes getting deep inside you when he cums.

shines best in standing cowgirl, cowgirl, missionary (he likes watching your face when he first pushes himself inside you).

peeta isn’t fussy. as long as you’re the one who’s over or under him, he’ll be up for anything you want. but being underneath you is his favourite, especially when you get a little bossy and tut at him for trying to push up into you, or when you peel and throw his hands away when he cups your tits without your go ahead. it drives him crazy to be so powerless, and he appreciates every second that he gets to watch you bounce or squat on him, because he knows just how lucky he is that this is his view. but sometimes you go too far. sometimes you pin his hands down for too long, or he’s had enough of your tuttings and teasings. sometimes he thinks you forget that he lets you be in control.

you might miss the dark shift in his eyes when he’s decided you’ve gone too far, but you’ll know it when he has your face pressed into the mattress, strong arms caging you beneath him as he grunts out “think you can tell me off, huh?” between powerful thrusts. “no, peeta,” you’ll cry out, but he’ll ignore you. he’ll keep going, thighs slapping heavily against the backs of your own. “peeta!–” you’ll beg, but this time he’ll tut at you and slide his hand over your mouth. “shh, i didn’t say you could talk, did i,” he’ll say, and when you silently shake your head, he’ll grin and affectionately say “ah, there’s my good girl.”

routinely finds himself in under you in cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, but comes alive in DOGGY!!

sorry but peeta’s makes me GIDDY hehe. please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging. love <3

[winwintea]

tetris

PAIRING ↬ gamer!park jisung x fem!reader (feat. zhong chenle)

TAGS ↬ fluff, action, romance, some angst, hidden feelings, 80s au, video game competitions, unrequited love or so he thought, best friend's girlfriend trope, winwin shows up randomly i love you my winsung anon

SUMMARY ↬ living up to the pressures of becoming a famous tetris player might be hard for a guy like park jisung. but it's much more difficult when the girl he’s got a crush on may actually be his best friend's girlfriend.

WORD COUNT ↬ 10.1k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ happy birthday queen @viasdreams !!! hope you enjoy as much as i had writing this (i suffered) and thank you to @polarisjisung for usual for being my beta reader <33. also i know tetris came out late 80s and was popular during the early 90s too but for aesthetic purposes im saying 80s

PLAYLIST ↬ saturday night - bay city rollers; tetoris - hiiragi magnetite; jessie’s girl - rick springfield; working for the weekend - loverboy; shoot to thrill - ac/dc; don’t play games - martin jensen; i’m still standing - elton john; cherry bomb - the runaways; hold on tight - aespa; one way or another - blondie; i ran - a flock of seagulls; choose your fighter - ava max

THE FIRST TIME PARK JISUNG PLACED HIS HANDS ON AN ARCADE MACHINE, HE WAS HOOKED.

When he felt the rough texture of the joystick, he felt a tremor in his chest. It wasn’t fear, nor excitement, but something in between. The flicker of the screen pulled him into a world he didn’t yet understand but felt desperate to explore.

The arcade around him was alive, buzzing with the electric hum of machines, the crash of digital waves, and the clatter of coins. Yet, in this moment, all the chaos faded into one singular thing: the falling blocks on the screen.

His fingers hovered over the controls, trembling. When they pressed down, the buttons responded with a slight resistance that grounded him, pulled him into the world on the screen. The joystick was smoother than he expected, gliding under his unsure grip. The first piece—a long, yellow bar—fell into place. Then another. And another.

For Jisung, the world seemed to shift with each line he cleared. These weren’t just blocks; they were each a piece of himself, shifting and rearranging to fit into something bigger. Each ping from the machine was a quiet reassurance, telling him that for once, he was doing something right.

The weight of his usual insecurities were being lifted, then replaced by an unfamiliar confidence. His heart raced, not from anxiety but from a kind of joy he didn’t think he was allowed to feel. This machine didn’t care about how shy he was, how awkward his words sounded, or how he tended to shrink away when the world got too loud. All it asked was that he see the shapes, find the patterns, and keep going.

For the first time in his life, he felt like he’d found something. A purpose.

Jisung didn’t think of himself as anything special, and most of the time, neither did anyone else. He was the kind of person who slipped into a room without making a sound, his lanky frame perpetually hunched as if apologizing for taking up space. His dark hair often fell into his eyes, a convenient shield against the world’s attention. At school, he was known only as “that tall, quiet kid.” Teachers liked him for his politeness. Classmates tolerated him for his unobtrusiveness.

His best friend, Chenle, was the exact opposite. The sun to Jisung’s shadow, always shining and dragging Jisung into the light whether he wanted it or not. When Jisung hesitated, Chenle jumped in headfirst, loud and full of laughter. Their friendship didn’t make sense to most people, least of all Jisung, but somehow it worked.

“C’mon, slowpoke!” Chenle called over his shoulder, his voice easily cutting through the noise of the crowded street. “Pixel Haven’s gonna get packed if you don’t move!”

Jisung trailed a few steps behind, his hands stuffed deep into his hoodie pockets. Friday nights at the arcade were a tradition Chenle had started months ago, and Jisung tagged along because… well, because it was Chenle. He didn’t really play the games. Watching Chenle dominate the machines or charm the employees was enough for him.

Pixel Haven came into view, its neon sign glowing pink and blue against the dim evening sky. Inside, the arcade was a sensory overload of flashing lights, cheerful 8-bit melodies, and the unmistakable clink of coins being fed into machines.

Chenle pushed open the door, holding it wide. “Hurry up, man! They got a new game in!”

Jisung shuffled inside, his head immediately dropping down to look at his sneakers. Even though the arcade was bustling with busy teenagers, he felt like every pair of eyes could land on him at any moment. He stuck close to Chenle, who bounded ahead like an excited puppy.

The arcade was Chenle’s kingdom. He knew everyone. He always high-fived the regulars, playfully bantered with his street fighter competitors, and was always trying to introduce someone to Jisung. But Jisung was content being a silent observer, finding a quiet corner to lean against while Chenle made his rounds.

Unfortunately for Jisung, Chenle had other plans.

“Hey, Jisung, check this out!” Chenle pointed to the brand new Tetris machine, it’s screen cycling through vividly colored blocks. “Bet you’d be good at this.”

Jisung blinked at the machine, his lanky frame stiffening as if the suggestion were a spotlight being aimed at him. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” Before Jisung could protest, Chenle shoved a quarter into his hand and practically dragged him toward the machine. The crowd around it thinned slightly, making space as Chenle announced, “Alright, people, make way for my boy here. Jisung’s about to show you how it’s done.”

Jisung’s ears burned as a few heads turned toward him. He could already feel the weight of their eyes, his anxiety prickling at the edges of his mind. “Chenle, I—”

“Stop overthinking,” Chenle interrupted, patting his shoulder. “Just play. I promise, you’ll love it.”

Jisung stared at the glowing screen. The cheerful music beckoned him, the falling shapes almost hypnotic. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward, sliding the quarter into the slot. The machine chimed, and the first piece appeared at the top of the screen.

Although this was his first time, the controls felt familiar. The buttons responded with a satisfying click to his every touch, the joystick smooth under his palm. He hesitated for a split second before rotating the first piece and sending it down. It clicked into place.

Then another piece came, and another. His fingers moved instinctively, rotating, shifting, dropping. The lines started clearing, one after the other, and the game's upbeat sounds grew more frequent.

The world around him faded, the noise of the arcade blending into a dull hum. His focus sharpened, each piece fitting perfectly into a strategy that seemed to form effortlessly in his mind. Shapes became patterns, and patterns became solutions.

“Holy shit. He’s actually good,” someone murmured behind him.

“Good? Are you kidding? He’s crushing it!” Chenle exclaimed, his voice cutting through the growing excitement.

Jisung didn’t register their words, his eyes fixed on the screen. The pace quickened, the pieces falling faster, but he kept up. His long fingers danced over the controls, rotating pieces with precision and dropping them into place. A four-line clear flashed on the screen—a Tetris—and the small crowd erupted into cheers.

Jisung blinked, momentarily snapping out of his trance. He looked over his shoulder, startled by the group that had formed behind him. Chenle was at the front, grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

“Keep going!” Chenle yelled. “You’re on fire!”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Jisung’s lips, the rare feeling of pride warming his chest. He turned back to the game, determined to see how far he could go.

For the next few minutes, Jisung played like he was in a world of his own, the lines stacking and clearing in rapid succession. When the inevitable “Game Over” finally flashed on the screen, a ripple of applause broke out behind him.

Jisung stepped back, his cheeks flushed, his heart racing. Chenle clapped him on the back, his laugh loud and contagious. “What did I tell you? Tetris wiz, right here!”

Jisung glanced at the score on the screen—higher than he’d expected, but the number barely mattered. For the first time, he felt like he belonged, like he’d found something he was actually good at.

And judging by the awed looks from the small crowd, they thought so too.

Jisung didn’t know much about you, other than the obvious. You worked the counter at Pixel Haven most nights, moving between tasks with effortless ease. Always handing out quarters, fixing the occasional glitchy machine, and keeping the arcade running smoothly. And, of course, you were Chenle’s girlfriend. That part was impossible to miss.

Chenle had introduced you once, casually slinging his arm around your shoulders as he bragged about beating the high score on Galaga. Jisung remembered offering a small, awkward wave while you smiled politely, your attention more on Chenle than him. Since then, you’d only been a background presence, someone Jisung saw but never really thought about.

Until tonight.

He’d run out of quarters after his third Tetris run and found himself lingering near the counter, clutching a few crumpled bills in his clammy hands. Chenle was off challenging someone at Street Fighter again, leaving Jisung on his own.

You were busy at the counter, sorting a handful of tokens while chatting with another customer. The neon glow from the sign above cast soft shadows across your face, and for a moment, Jisung hesitated. Asking you for change felt… strange. You weren’t just the person behind the counter. You were Chenle’s girlfriend. That fact alone made this simple interaction feel like crossing some unspoken line.

But he needed quarters, so he shuffled forward, his head down, and placed the bills on the counter.

You looked up, and for the first time, your eyes met his directly. “Oh, hey,” you said, your voice light and friendly. “Need some quarters?”

He froze, the words stuck in his throat. You were smiling. Warmly, like you genuinely wanted to help. Jisung nodded, sliding the bills closer to you.

You took them, your fingers brushing his for the briefest moment as you counted out the quarters. “Here you go,” you said, placing them into his outstretched hand. “Good luck out there.”

That smile. It wasn’t just a gesture. It felt different, even if Jisung knew it probably wasn’t. You were like this with everyone, weren’t you? Friendly, approachable, easygoing. It was why Chenle liked you so much.

But still, Jisung felt something shift inside him. Your smile lingered in his mind as he turned away, clutching the quarters tightly in his fist. His chest tightened, but not with the usual pang of nerves. Instead, it was with something he couldn’t quite name.

It was strange, the way that tiny moment replayed in his head as he walked back to the Tetris machine. He told himself it didn’t mean anything. You were just being nice, just doing your job.

But as the night wore on, Jisung found himself glancing toward the counter more often than he meant to. He tried not to think too much about it, but something small and misshapen had taken root in his chest, fragile but undeniably there.

You were Chenle’s girlfriend. He barely knew you. And yet, your kindness had left a mark he couldn’t ignore.

The arcade quickly became Jisung’s second home. Every chance he got—between school, homework, and the occasional group hangout he reluctantly attended—he found himself back at Pixel Haven.

At first, it was a way to pass the time, a distraction from the things that weighed him down. But soon, Tetris became more than that. The falling blocks weren’t just shapes anymore; they were puzzles waiting to be solved, challenges daring him to do better, to think faster. He didn’t just play the game—he immersed himself in it, memorizing patterns, calculating strategies, and finding a strange sense of peace in the rhythmic clearing of lines.

The change didn’t go unnoticed.

“Dude, you’re, like, a full-blown Tetris addict now,” Chenle teased one night, leaning casually against the machine as Jisung started yet another round. His hands were full of snacks he’d grabbed from the counter, and his grin was as wide as ever. “I should start calling you ‘The Tetris Wizard or ‘TetWiz’ for short”.

Jisung flushed, his long fingers hovering over the controls as the pieces began to fall. “I’m not that good,” he muttered, barely audible over the hum of the arcade.

“Are you kidding me?” Chenle laughed, nearly spilling his soda. “You’re insane at this. Like, next-level insane. You’ve got the whole crowd thing going on, too.”

Jisung paused mid-game, glancing over his shoulder. Sure enough, a few regulars had gathered nearby, casually watching his progress. Their murmured admiration sent a wave of heat to his cheeks.

Chenle clapped him on the back. “See? WizKid status.” He took a swig of his drink, then grinned mischievously. “Hey, you know what? There’s a tournament coming up. Local thing. You should totally enter.”

The words hit Jisung like a truck. No, like someone dropped a T-piece on his head. He fumbled with the joystick, sending a block spiraling into the wrong position. “What? No. No way.”

“Why not?” Chenle’s voice rose in playful disbelief. “You’ve been killing it lately. This is your chance to show everyone how good you are. Plus, think of the bragging rights. I’ll tell everyone I trained you.”

Jisung’s heart pounded, the idea of playing in front of a crowd making his palms sweat. He’d barely gotten used to the small groups that gathered at the arcade. A tournament meant real attention. Real pressure.

“I… I don’t think I can,” he stammered, his gaze fixed on the screen.

Chenle rolled his eyes but didn’t push. “Alright, alright. Baby steps, TetWiz. But think about it, okay? You’d crush it.”

Jisung nodded absently, but the thought lingered long after Chenle wandered off to bother someone else. A tournament? It seemed impossible, unthinkable. Yet, as he continued to play, clearing line after line with growing precision, a small, persistent voice in the back of his mind whispered something different: What if you could?

The flyer for the Pixel Haven Tetris Tournament taunted Jisung from his desk, its bright colors and bold letters shouting promises of prizes, glory, and recognition. He’d stared at it for days, the weight of Chenle’s encouragement and your casual, kind words tipping the scales of his indecision.

“You’d do great,” you’d said just a few nights ago when Chenle joked about Jisung’s reluctance. There wasn’t much to your comment—just a simple smile as you slid quarters across the counter. But it stuck with him, a quiet nudge in the direction he wasn’t sure he could take.

When he finally signed up, his hand trembled so much he nearly misspelled his own name.

The tournament day arrived far too quickly. Pixel Haven was louder than ever, filled with spectators and players buzzing with excitement. The Tetris machine had been moved to the center of the arcade, its screen glowing like a beacon under the dim, colorful lights.

Jisung stood at the edge of the crowd, his heart pounding in his chest. His palms were clammy, his legs stiff, and every sound around him felt amplified—quarters clinking, machines chiming, people shouting.

Chenle found him near the snack counter, looking pale and uneasy. “Hey, TetWiz,” he said, clapping Jisung on the shoulder. “Don’t psych yourself out. You’ve got this.”

Jisung shook his head, barely able to meet Chenle’s gaze. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Of course, you can!” Chenle’s voice was loud, confident, and exactly what Jisung wished he could feel. “You’re the best player here. No one’s even close. Just… pretend it’s like any other Friday night.”

“Except with an even bigger crowd watching,” Jisung muttered under his breath.

At that moment, you appeared, slipping out from behind the counter to join Chenle. Your presence was calm, grounding. “You’ve got this,” you said simply, your eyes meeting Jisung’s.

His stomach twisted. You were Chenle’s girlfriend. 

Off-limits. 

But your words carried a strange weight, one that settled the storm in his chest just enough.

The tournament began. Jisung’s hands trembled as he approached the machine, the controls suddenly feeling unfamiliar under his fingers. The room seemed to close in around him as the first piece appeared on the screen.

The opening rounds blurred together, a mix of adrenaline and fear propelling him forward. Each cleared line earned cheers from the crowd, but Jisung barely registered them. His focus tunneled in on the screen, every move a desperate attempt to keep the pieces from piling too high.

By the time he reached the finals, his nerves were raw, his breaths shallow. Chenle stood nearby, shouting encouragement, and you offered a quiet thumbs-up that somehow cut through the noise.

The final match was intense. His opponent was fast, their moves sharp and deliberate. The pieces fell faster than ever, the music speeding up to a frenetic pace that matched Jisung’s racing heart.

You can do this, he told himself, gripping the joystick tightly. He visualized the patterns, the strategies he’d practiced endlessly. The lines cleared one after another, the Tetris flashes lighting up the screen.

When the final piece fell into place, and the victory chime rang out, the room erupted into cheers. Jisung blinked, his mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened.

“You did it!” Chenle shouted, throwing an arm around Jisung’s shoulders. “First place, TetWiz! I told you!”

Jisung stared at the screen, his name flashing in bold letters at the top of the leaderboard. His hands shook—not with fear, but with something new. Pride.

You approached him, your smile soft and genuine. “Congratulations, Jisung. That was amazing.”

He swallowed hard, unable to find the words to respond. But as the applause continued and the weight of the moment settled in, something shifted inside him. For the first time, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, he was capable of more.

Jisung wasn’t sure when it started. The way his chest tightened whenever you were near, or how your smile lingered in his thoughts. Maybe it was during one of those small, fleeting moments when you actually listened to him. Not the way most people did, with polite nods and half-hearted attention, but really listened.

You never looked bored or impatient when he talked. Never when he stumbled over his words trying to explain a tricky T-spin maneuver or the satisfaction of a perfectly timed Tetris. Instead, you leaned on the counter, your eyes warm and curious, asking questions that made him feel like his passion wasn’t just valid but worth sharing.

And that was the problem.

Because as much as he admired you, as much as his chest filled with warmth during those rare conversations, there was always Chenle. Loud, confident, and so completely your match.

Jisung couldn’t deny it: Chenle made you laugh in a way that lit up the whole room. He’d see you together. Your arm looped through Chenle’s, his jokes drawing out those bright, unrestrained giggles. All of it felt like a sharp, twisting ache in his chest.

He hated the feeling. The guilt. The jealousy.

Chenle was his best friend, the person who dragged him out of his shell, cheered him on, and believed in him when he barely believed in himself. And you—kind, patient, radiant—you were Chenle’s girlfriend. That was the unshakable truth.

So Jisung did the only thing he could think of to cope. He played tetris.

Hours at Pixel Haven turned into entire evenings, his focus narrowing to the Tetris machine like it was his lifeline. The rhythm of the game, the familiar patterns and strategies, became his escape. When the blocks fell into place, clearing line after line, the noise in his head quieted.

He didn’t have to think about the way his heart raced when you smiled at him or the pang of envy when you rested your head on Chenle’s shoulder.

Chenle noticed, of course. “Man, you’re really going hard lately,” he said one night, watching Jisung rack up yet another high score. “Not that I’m complaining. You’re basically a celebrity here now.”

Jisung forced a smile, his hands tightening around the joystick. “Just… trying to get better.”

Chenle didn’t press further, but Jisung could feel his gaze shift, a flicker of concern hidden behind his usual grin.

And then there was you.

Sometimes, you’d wander over to the Tetris machine during a quiet moment at the counter, watching him play with that same patient interest that made his heart ache.

“You’re amazing at this,” you’d say, your voice soft and genuine.

And Jisung would mumble a shy thank you, barely able to meet your gaze. He wondered if you noticed how fast his hands moved on the controls when you were nearby, or how the screen blurred just slightly because his focus wavered.

He told himself it didn’t matter. It couldn’t. You were Chenle’s, and he had no right to feel the way he did.

So he buried it, block by block, line by line, throwing himself deeper into the game as if sheer determination could erase the feelings growing stronger with every interaction.

But no matter how many lines he cleared, the ache in his chest remained.

Chenle wasn’t the type to dwell on things. He lived in the moment, taking life as it came, confident and carefree. But lately, something about Jisung had been bothering him.

It wasn’t just the obsessive way Jisung threw himself into Tetris, though that was part of it. Chenle had always known Jisung to be shy and focused, but lately, he seemed… different. Distracted. Like his thoughts were someplace—or with someone—else.

And then there were the looks.

Chenle didn’t want to read too much into it, but he’d caught Jisung’s gaze more than once when you were around. At first, he brushed it off. Jisung was awkward around everyone—why would this be any different? But the more it happened, the harder it was to ignore.

One night, after another long session at Pixel Haven, Chenle finally decided he couldn’t keep quiet.

Jisung was hunched over the Tetris machine, his face illuminated by the screen’s soft glow. The arcade was quieter than usual, most of the crowd having thinned out as the evening wore on. Chenle approached with his usual grin, though this time, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey, TetWiz,” he said casually, leaning against the side of the machine. “Taking over the world one line at a time?”

Jisung glanced at him, his hands never leaving the controls. “Something like that,” he mumbled.

Chenle studied him for a moment, his grin fading. “You know,” he began, his tone light but laced with something sharper, “you’ve been acting kind of weird lately.”

Jisung’s fingers faltered, and the game over screen flashed before he could recover. He let out a quiet sigh, stepping back from the machine. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Chenle said, crossing his arms, “you’ve been avoiding me, for one. And for another… I’ve noticed the way you look at her.”

Jisung froze, his heart sinking. “What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Chenle raised an eyebrow. “Don’t play dumb, Jisung. You think I haven’t seen it? The way you watch her when you think no one’s looking? How you act all nervous when she’s around? Come on, man. You’re my best friend. If there’s something going on, just tell me.”

Panic surged in Jisung’s chest. He shook his head quickly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “There’s nothing going on,” he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I don’t… I don’t feel that way about her.”

Chenle’s eyes narrowed, his usual easy going demeanor slipping away. That wasn’t what he was suspecting. He actually thought you had said something to Jisung that made him uncomfortable. But having feelings for you? Chenle forgot that was even an option. He suddenly felt a surge of jealousy. “Jisung, I’m not stupid. I know you better than anyone.”

“I don’t!” Jisung’s voice rose slightly, the desperation clear. “I—I swear, Chenle. It’s not like that.”

The tension hung heavy between them, the arcade’s neon lights casting sharp shadows across their faces.

Chenle exhaled slowly, his expression softening just a little. “Look, I trust her, okay? I trust you. But if there’s something you’re not telling me… just be honest. Don’t let this mess things up.”

Jisung’s throat tightened, guilt clawing at his insides. He wanted to tell the truth, to admit the feelings he’d tried so hard to bury. But the fear of losing Chenle—his best friend, his biggest supporter—was too much to bear.

“There’s nothing to tell,” he said quietly, his hands clenched at his sides.

Chenle studied him for a long moment, his jaw tightening. Finally, he nodded, though the tension in his posture remained. “Alright. If you say so.”

But as he walked away, leaving Jisung alone by the Tetris machine, the rift between them felt wider than ever.

For the first time in years, Jisung wasn’t sure if Chenle still believed in him—or if he even believed in himself.

The state Tetris championship was a dream Jisung never dared to dream. And now, as his name sat proudly on the qualifying list, it felt more like a nightmare.

The arcade was quiet that night, the usual hum of voices replaced by the occasional beep of a forgotten pinball machine. Jisung sat slumped on a bench near the Tetris machine, the glow of the screen casting long shadows across his face. His hands fidgeted with the crumpled flyer announcing the championships, the bold letters seeming to mock him.

State Champion. The words felt impossibly big, like they belonged to someone else.

The weight of it all—the expectations, the pressure, the growing distance between him and Chenle—pressed down on him like a heavy block he couldn’t clear. His chest felt tight, his thoughts spiraling in an endless loop of self-doubt.

He didn’t even hear you approach.

“You okay?”

Your voice was soft, cutting through the quiet like a gentle melody. Jisung jumped, his head snapping up to see you standing nearby, concern etched across your features.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him.

You didn’t buy it. Instead, you sat down on the bench beside him, leaving just enough space to respect his shyness. You glanced at the flyer in his hands, then back at him.

“It’s a big deal, huh?” you said, your tone light but understanding.

Jisung hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s too big,” he admitted quietly. “I… I don’t think I can do it.”

The words felt like a confession, raw and vulnerable. He didn’t know why he was telling you this. Maybe it was the way you always seemed to listen without judgment, or the way your presence felt steady and safe.

You tilted your head, your eyes warm. “Why not?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Because… because what if I mess up? What if I let everyone down? Chenle’s been calling me a ‘wizard,’ hyping me up to everyone. People actually watch me now, like I’m supposed to be… someone. But I’m not. I’m just…”

“Jisung,” you finished gently.

He nodded, his throat tight. “Yeah. Just Jisung. And I don’t think just Jisung is good enough for this.”

For a moment, you didn’t say anything. The hum of the arcade filled the silence, a soft, steady rhythm that seemed to match his unsteady breathing.

Then, you leaned forward, your voice quiet but firm. “You know, when I watch you play, it’s not just about the score or the tournament or any of that. It’s the way you light up when you’re in the zone, like nothing else matters. It’s like… you’re in your own world, and it’s incredible to see.”

Jisung blinked, his heart skipping a beat. “I… I don’t know,” he stammered.

“You don’t have to know right now,” you said with a small smile. “But Jisung, this isn’t about being a wizard or a champion or whatever anyone else thinks. It’s about you. Your love for this game, your talent. That’s what matters. Not winning. Just you doing what you love.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. Jisung’s heart raced as your words lingered in the air, wrapping around him like a lifeline. He hadn’t expected you to understand him so completely, let alone say the exact thing he needed to hear.

For a brief moment, he forgot about everything else. The tournament, the pressure, even Chenle. All he could focus on was you. The warmth in your voice, the way you looked at him like he was someone worth believing in.

The weight in his chest shifted, and before he knew it, his thoughts spilled over.

“I—” He paused, the words catching in his throat.

You tilted your head, curious but patient, your expression inviting him to continue.

He could feel it, the overwhelming urge to tell you. To say something, anything, about the way he felt—the way you made him feel. How his heart ached and soared all at once whenever you were near.

But then, just as quickly, reality crashed back in.

Chenle. His best friend. Your boyfriend.

Jisung swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. He couldn’t do it. No matter how much his heart screamed at him to say the truth, he couldn’t betray Chenle like that.

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly, his voice barely steady. He forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks. For, you know… everything.”

Your smile softened, and you nodded, as if sensing that he wasn’t ready to say more. “Anytime,” you replied, standing up to head back to the counter.

Jisung watched you go, his chest heavy with unspoken words. He let out a shaky breath, his hands clenching the crumpled flyer in his lap.

But he wasn’t the only one watching.

Unbeknownst to either of you, Chenle stood near the doorway, hidden by the dim light and arcade cabinets. He had arrived just moments ago, intending to meet Jisung and hang out like they always did. But instead, he found himself rooted to the spot, watching the two of you.

At first, it didn’t seem like much—just a quiet conversation between friends. But the way Jisung looked at you… it wasn’t hard for Chenle to see what was really going on.

It wasn’t the look of someone simply grateful for support. It was something deeper, more vulnerable. Something Chenle had never seen in Jisung before.

His chest tightened, a mixture of emotions swirling within him. He wasn’t angry—not yet. But there was a pang of something sharp and unfamiliar, like jealousy’s distant cousin.

He trusted you, and he trusted Jisung. But trust didn’t erase what he had just seen.

Chenle stepped back into the shadows, his thoughts racing. He couldn’t shake the image of Jisung’s expression—the way his gaze lingered on you, filled with something Chenle couldn’t quite name but knew wasn’t meant for him.

For the first time, Chenle felt uncertain. About Jisung. About you. About everything.

And as he walked away from the arcade that night, the unspoken tension between the three of you began to grow, pulling tighter with each passing moment.

The auditorium buzzed with energy, the hum of anticipation vibrating through the air as rows of arcade cabinets lined the stage, each boasting the Tetris logo in bright neon. Competitors adjusted their machines, the crowd murmured excitedly, and Jisung stood frozen at the edge of it all, feeling impossibly small.

The state Tetris championship. He was really here.

Jisung’s stomach churned, his nerves nearly overtaking him. He gripped the strap of his backpack, his fingers twitching with a restless energy. His mind wasn’t just crowded with thoughts of the game but with everything else—Chenle, you, the weight of unspoken feelings.

Before he could spiral any further, a voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Hey, you okay?”

Jisung blinked and turned to see a tall, relaxed guy about a few years older standing next to him. The stranger held a can of pop, his messy hair framing a face that somehow managed to look both half-asleep and mildly curious.

“I—uh…” Jisung stammered, caught off guard.

“You look like you’re about to throw up,” the stranger said bluntly, taking a sip of his pop. “Big deal tournament jitters?”

Jisung hesitated, but something about the guy’s laid-back demeanor made him exhale a little. “Yeah, kind of,” he admitted.

“Let me guess,” the stranger said, leaning against a nearby wall. “Scared you’ll lose? Or scared you’ll win and, like, your entire life will change forever?”

“Both,” Jisung muttered.

The stranger raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. “Yeah, fair. Tetris is wild like that.”

Something about his casual tone loosened Jisung’s tongue. Before he knew it, he was rambling.

“It’s not just the game,” he confessed, the words tumbling out. “It’s everything else. My best friend…he’s been supporting me, but I think I’ve messed things up between us. And then there’s this girl…” His voice trailed off, his ears burning.

The stranger tilted his head. “Oh, so it’s love and Tetris. Double whammy.”

Jisung winced. “I don’t know what to do. I like her, but she’s with my best friend, and I feel like the worst person in the world. And now I’m here, and I’m supposed to play like none of this matters, but it does.”

The stranger stared at him for a moment, then sighed, setting down his soda. “Okay, look. I’m not great at advice, but here’s what I’ve got: You’re not gonna fix your love life today. But this tournament? It’s yours. You’ve got one job—play your absolute fucking best. Worry about the rest later.”

Jisung blinked, the simplicity of the advice sinking in. “That’s it?” 

“Yep.” The stranger smirked. “Oh, and maybe stop thinking about her for like, five seconds while you play. Otherwise, you’ll never clear a line.”

Despite himself, Jisung let out a nervous laugh. “Thanks, uh…”

“Sicheng,” the guy said, giving a small wave before walking off with his soda.

Jisung stood there for a moment, the stranger’s words echoing in his head. One job. Play your absolute fucking best.

The announcement of his name jolted him back to reality. Heart pounding, he made his way to the stage, the crowd’s cheers swelling around him.

He spotted Chenle instantly, standing in the front row and waving wildly, his energy uncontainable. “Go, TetWiz!” Chenle yelled, his voice cutting through the noise.

Jisung’s chest tightened. Despite everything, the tension, the doubts, Chenle was still there, cheering him on.

And then he saw you, standing beside Chenle. Your smile was quieter, softer, but it carried the same weight of belief that you’d shown him back at Pixel Haven. Your eyes met his, and you gave a small, encouraging nod.

Jisung took a deep breath, his hands gripping the controls as he sat down.

The countdown began.

Three.

The noise of the crowd faded away.

Two.

His fingers hovered over the buttons, his mind sharpening to a single point of focus.

One.

Play your absolute fucking best.

The game began, the familiar shapes dropping from the top of the screen like old friends. His nervousness melted away as he found his rhythm, the blocks slotting into place with satisfying precision.

The crowd roared as he cleared line after line, the tension building with each level. But Jisung didn’t hear it. For the first time in weeks, his mind was clear, his focus solely on the game.

This wasn’t about Chenle, or you, or even the title. This was about Jisung—the quiet boy who found a spark of something extraordinary in the chaos of falling blocks.

Then the final round began, and the stakes had never felt higher. Jisung sat at the machine, his hands steady but his heart pounding as the screen lit up with the familiar grid. Across from him, his opponent—a seasoned Tetris player with years of experience—cracked their knuckles, exuding a calm confidence that only added to Jisung’s nerves.

The crowd quieted as the final countdown began again.

Three.

Jisung tightened his grip on the joystick.

Two.

His gaze locked on the screen, blocking out everything else.

One.

The pieces started to fall, faster than in any game he’d played before. The early levels felt manageable, his fingers moving on autopilot as he cleared lines with precision. But as the speed increased, so did the tension.

His opponent was good. Better than anyone Jisung had ever faced. They kept pace with him, their screen just as clear, their movements just as calculated. It wasn’t just a game anymore; it was a test of endurance, strategy, and nerves.

The minutes stretched on, each line cleared pushing Jisung further into uncharted territory. His heart raced as he reached the kill screen level—the point where the game’s speed maxed out, and most players couldn’t keep up.

Most players.

Jisung’s vision narrowed, his world shrinking to the grid in front of him. His fingers danced over the controls, rotating and dropping pieces with a precision that felt almost otherworldly. The crowd was a distant roar, his opponent a vague shadow in his peripheral vision.

He wasn’t thinking anymore; he was flowing.

When the final piece dropped into place, clearing a line and bringing his score to a record-breaking high, the machine emitted a triumphant chime.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, the auditorium erupted.

The crowd leaped to their feet, cheering and clapping, the noise echoing off the walls. Lights flashed, cameras clicked, and Jisung sat there, stunned, as the reality of what he’d just accomplished began to sink in.

He’d won.

Not just the championship, but something deeper. For the first time, Jisung felt the rush of pride, not just for the victory but for the journey that had brought him here.

Chenle’s voice cut through the chaos, louder than anyone else’s. “You did it, Ji! He fucking did it!”

Jisung turned to see his best friend grinning so widely it looked like his face might split in two. Despite the tension between them, Chenle’s joy was pure and infectious.

And then his eyes found you.

You weren’t shouting or jumping like the others, but the pride in your expression was unmistakable. You clapped along with the crowd, your smile warm and genuine as your gaze met his.

Jisung’s chest swelled, the mix of emotions nearly overwhelming. He stood slowly, his legs shaky, and accepted the medal from the tournament official with trembling hands. The announcer declared his name, calling him a prodigy, a champion, but none of it felt as real as the faces in the crowd—Chenle, you, and everyone who had supported him.

As the applause continued, Jisung looked back at the Tetris screen, now frozen on his record-breaking score. For the first time, he saw himself not as “just Jisung,” but as someone capable of achieving something extraordinary.

The crowd had finally begun to disperse, the cheers fading into the background as competitors and spectators alike spilled out into the night. Jisung stayed behind, lingering near the now-quiet Tetris machine. His medal hung heavy around his neck, a tangible reminder that this wasn’t just a dream.

He turned the medal over in his hands, his mind still reeling. He should have been basking in the glow of his victory, but his thoughts kept circling back to you. How your smile had stood out even among the applause. How your quiet presence had kept him grounded.

“Jisung?”

Your voice startled him, and he looked up to see you standing a few feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of your jacket. The faint hum of the arcade machines illuminated your face in soft, flickering light.

“Oh, hey,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stepped closer, your gaze falling on the medal around his neck. “Congratulations,” you said, your smile warm but understated, as though you understood he wasn’t one for grand celebrations. “You were incredible out there.”

His cheeks flushed, and he looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “Thanks. I… I still can’t believe it.”

“You should,” you replied, your tone gentle but firm. “You worked so hard for this. You deserve it.”

The sincerity in your voice sent a wave of emotion through him, and he found himself meeting your eyes. For a moment, everything else fell away. The noise of the arcade, the lingering spectators, even Chenle.

“It means a lot,” he murmured, “that you were here.”

You smiled softly, stepping even closer. “Of course I was. I wasn’t going to miss this. You’re… special, Jisung. You have something really rare. Not just your talent, but the way you put your heart into everything you do.”

Your words hit him like a gentle but powerful wave, and for the first time, Jisung felt like you saw him, not as Chenle’s shy best friend, not as the Tetris Wizard, but as him.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he reached up and touched the medal lightly, as if offering it to you.

“This… it’s not just mine,” he said quietly. “You helped me get here. You believed in me when I didn’t.”

You shook your head, your smile deepening. “That was all you, Jisung. I just… reminded you what you already knew.”

The air between you shifted, the unspoken feelings thickening the silence. It wasn’t the boisterous, high-energy dynamic you had with Chenle. It was quieter, steadier, like a river carving its way through stone.

You reached out then, your fingers brushing his lightly as you adjusted the medal around his neck. The small, intimate gesture sent his heart racing, but he didn’t pull away.

“You’re going to do even greater things,” you said softly, your voice carrying a certainty that made his chest ache.

For a fleeting moment, Jisung thought about telling you everything. Telling you how much he cared for you, and how much this moment meant to him. But he stopped himself, the memory of Chenle’s unwavering cheers still fresh in his mind.

Instead, he held your gaze and said, “Thanks. For… everything.”

Your smile lingered as you stepped back, leaving a small but undeniable space between you. “You’ve got this, Jisung. Don’t forget that.”

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, the warmth of your touch still buzzing on his skin.

Jisung let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his hands brushing the medal around his neck. His feelings for you weren’t just a crush. They were something deeper, something that scared and exhilarated him in equal measure.

But for now, he would hold onto the moment, replaying your words in his mind like his favorite song.

As you disappeared into the crowd, Jisung stayed rooted to the spot, the medal’s weight now feeling symbolic of something much heavier. His fingers grazed the cool metal, his thoughts swirling in an uncontrollable storm.

He should have felt elated, on top of the world. And part of him did. But the other part felt like he was standing on the edge of something far scarier than any Tetris grid.

She believes in me. She sees me.

The thought filled him with a quiet joy, but it was quickly followed by a pang of guilt. Chenle had been there too, cheering the loudest, always his most loyal supporter. And Chenle was your boyfriend.

Jisung closed his eyes, trying to silence the war inside him. How could he feel this way about you while knowing it wasn’t his place? He’d spent years being the guy who didn’t take up space, who stayed on the sidelines, who let others shine. Was it selfish to want something or someone so badly now?

“Hey, champ.”

The voice startled Jisung, jerking him out of his spiraling thoughts. He turned to see the familiar figure of Sicheng standing a few feet away.

“I, uh…” Jisung stammered, wiping his palms on his jeans. “Didn’t know you were still here.”

Sicheng shrugged, “Yeah, well, figured I’d stick around and see how the hero handles his post-victory glow. Looks like you’re more ‘existential crisis’ than ‘glow,’ though.”

Jisung blinked, unsure whether to laugh or deny it. “It’s… complicated,” he admitted, his shoulders slumping.

Sicheng nodded as if he understood completely. “Love and Tetris, man. Both are way harder than they look.”

Jisung couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him, the tension in his chest easing just a little. “I didn’t say it was about that.”

“You didn’t have to.” Sicheng grinned, leaning against a nearby arcade machine. “You’ve got that look. You know, the one that says, ‘I’m hopelessly in love and it’s ruining my life.’”

Jisung groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to someone as wise and experienced as me,” Sicheng said, his tone deadpan.

Jisung peeked at him through his fingers. “What would you do, then? If you were me?”

Sicheng tilted his head thoughtfully, “I’d probably mess it up completely, to be honest. But here’s the thing—you’re not me. You’ve already done the hard part. You put yourself out there tonight. You faced something scary and came out on top. Maybe it’s time you do the same with… other things.”

Jisung frowned, the words sinking in. “But what if it goes wrong? What if I lose what I already have?”

Sicheng shrugged. “Maybe you will. Or maybe you won’t. But if you keep letting fear decide everything, you’re just gonna stay stuck at the start screen forever. And trust me, that’s no way to play.”

Jisung stared at him, the simplicity of his words somehow cutting through the noise in his head. “You’re… surprisingly good at this,” he said, half-joking.

“I have my moments.” Sicheng smirked, pushing himself off the arcade machine. “Anyway, I’m out. Congrats again, champ. And, uh, good luck with… whatever you decide.”

As Sicheng walked off, Jisung found himself standing a little straighter. The stranger’s words had left him with no concrete answers, but maybe that was the point.

Jisung glanced down at the medal one last time before tucking it under his shirt. For now, he’d focus on the present. The victory he’d earned and the path it was opening up.

But deep down, he knew that the harder game was just beginning.

Jisung didn’t see Chenle after the championship that night. 

The victory should have been enough. It was everything he’d worked for, proof that he wasn’t just the quiet kid in the background. But his mind kept circling back to you—your smile, your words, the warmth in your eyes that seemed to see right through his fears.

Why does it feel like this isn’t enough?

Jisung sighed, his heart heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions. He thought about Chenle. The guilt gnawed at him. Chenle had cheered for him louder than anyone, had believed in him when he couldn’t believe in himself. And yet, every time Jisung saw you two together, it felt like a knife twisting in his chest.

He shook his head, trying to push the thoughts away. This isn’t fair to Chenle. He deserves better than this.

But the memory of your touch, the way your voice softened when you spoke to him, was impossible to ignore. It wasn’t just a crush. It was something deeper, something that made him feel seen in a way he never had before.

“Hey, Wiz.”

Jisung jumped at the voice, turning to see Chenle standing behind him. His best friend’s grin was still as bright as ever, but there was something different in his eyes, something quieter, more serious.

“Oh, hey,” Jisung mumbled, trying to mask the whirlwind of emotions on his face. “What’s up?”

Chenle didn’t answer right away. Instead, he gestured toward the exit. “Come on. Let’s talk.”

Jisung’s stomach sank, but he nodded, following Chenle out into the cool night air. The buzz of the arcade faded behind them as they walked a short distance to a nearby bench. Chenle flopped down first, his usual energy replaced by a rare stillness.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Jisung fidgeted with the edge of his medal ribbon, waiting for Chenle to break the silence.

“I saw you,” Chenle finally said, his voice unusually calm.

Jisung froze, his heart lurching in his chest. “Saw me?” he echoed, his voice tight.

Chenle leaned back, his gaze fixed on the starry sky. “You and her. After the tournament.”

Jisung’s throat went dry. “I—Chenle, it’s not what you think—”

Chenle cut him off with a small, tired laugh. “Relax, dude. I’m not mad. And I know you wouldn’t do anything. You’re too much of a pussy to make the first move.” He turned to look at Jisung, his expression softer than Jisung expected. “I mean, yeah, it stings a little. But I’ve been thinking about this for a while.”

Jisung blinked, confused. “Thinking about what?”

Chenle sighed, running a hand through his hair. “About us….me and her. Don’t get me wrong, she’s great. But... I don’t think we’re great together, you know? We’re fun, we laugh a lot, but it’s not... deep.”

Jisung stared at him, struggling to process the words.

“And then I see the way you look at her,” Chenle continued, his voice quieter now. “And the way she looks at you.” He let out another soft laugh. “I’d have to be blind not to notice it.”

“I’m sorry,” Jisung blurted out, his guilt spilling over. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I swear, I tried not to—”

“Hey, stop.” Chenle held up a hand, cutting him off. “I’m not mad, okay? It’s not like you did this on purpose. Feelings are... messy. Trust me, I get it.”

Jisung’s shoulders slumped, the weight of Chenle’s understanding both a relief and a fresh wave of guilt. “So... what does this mean?” he asked hesitantly.

Chenle shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It means I’m stepping back. You two have something real, Jisung. Something I don’t think I could ever have with her.”

Jisung stared at him, his chest tightening with a mix of emotions. “Are you sure?”

Chenle nodded. “Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’ll probably be a little salty about it for a while. But at the end of the day, you’re my best friend. I want you to be happy.” He clapped Jisung on the shoulder, his grin returning in full force. “And who knows? Maybe this means I’ll finally have time to beat your high score.”

Jisung let out a breathless laugh, the tension easing slightly. “Thanks, Chenle. For everything.”

Chenle stood, stretching dramatically. “Don’t get all mushy on me now. Just... don’t mess it up, okay? She’s too good for that.”

Jisung nodded, his heart lighter but still full. As Chenle walked away, Jisung sat for a moment longer, staring at the medal in his hands.

Jisung’s heart pounded like it had during the tournament, maybe even harder. He clutched the edges of the medal still hanging around his neck, his thumb running along the engraved letters as if they could grant him the courage he desperately needed.

He found you sitting at the counter in Pixel Haven, a quiet lull settling over the arcade now that the evening rush was over. You were tinkering with a small machine part, your brow furrowed in concentration, and Jisung couldn’t help but feel his chest tighten at the sight.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice barely audible over the hum of the arcade lights.

You looked up, surprised but smiling as soon as you saw him. “Jisung! What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be out celebrating your big win?”

He hesitated, shifting on his feet. “I needed to talk to you,” he admitted, his voice trembling slightly.

You set the part down, giving him your full attention. “Is everything okay?”

Jisung nodded, but the lump in his throat made it hard to speak. He took a deep breath, the memory of Chenle’s words earlier that night giving him the final push.

“I—there’s something I need to say. And I don’t know if it’s the right time, or if I’m even allowed to feel this way, but I can’t... I can’t keep it in anymore.” He paused, his hands gripping the medal tightly. “I like you. I’ve liked you for a while now. And I know Chenle’s your boyfriend. Well, was—but I had to tell you.”

Your eyes softened, and you stood, closing the space between you. “Jisung…”

“I’m sorry if this is too much,” he continued quickly, his words tumbling over each other. “I just... you mean a lot to me. More than I can explain. And if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I just—”

“Jisung.” Your voice was steady but gentle, cutting through his nervous rambling.

He stopped, his breath hitching as you placed a hand on his arm.

“I like you too.”

For a moment, the words didn’t register. He blinked at you, his mind struggling to catch up. “You... you do?”

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. “You’re kind, thoughtful, and ridiculously talented. And more than that, you have this quiet strength that I admire so much. I’ve been drawn to you for a while now, even when I didn’t fully realize it.”

Jisung’s cheeks flushed, his heart soaring as your words sank in. “Really?”

“Really,” you said, your smile widening. “But we’ll have to take things slow. This is all new, and I want to make sure we’re both ready.”

Jisung nodded quickly, his nervous energy giving way to a shy grin. “Of course. Slow is good.”

You laughed softly, the sound filling the quiet arcade. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

Jisung’s blush deepened, but for the first time, he didn’t feel the need to hide it.

As the two of you stood there, the arcade lights casting a warm glow, Jisung felt something shift inside him. It wasn’t just the joy of hearing you say you liked him too. He’d taken a risk and won.

And this victory? It felt like the best one yet.

This was it.

The moment he’d worked toward for months.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers, “Park Jisung is on the verge of breaking the world record for highest Tetris score! Can he do it?”

Jisung’s heart thundered in his chest, but it wasn’t fear anymore. It was adrenaline. Focus. Determination.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of you and Chenle in the crowd. You were leaning forward, your hands clasped tightly in anticipation, your eyes shining with pride. Beside you, Chenle was shouting encouragement so loudly it drowned out the rest of the noise.

“Come on, Wizard!” Chenle yelled, his grin so wide it could’ve split his face. “You’ve got this! Show ‘em how it’s done!”

Jisung’s lips twitched into a small smile. Chenle’s voice, your presence, the energy of everyone around him, all pushed him forward.

The final minutes were a blur of movement and sound. The blocks sped up to an almost impossible level, but Jisung’s hands didn’t falter. His brain worked in overdrive, every decision precise and calculated. He could feel the rhythm of the game in his bones.

And then, with one last perfect Tetris, the machine let out a triumphant chime.

The words NEW WORLD RECORD! flashed across the screen, and for a moment, the room seemed to freeze.

Then the crowd erupted. Cheers and applause filled the arcade, the sound almost deafening. Jisung sat back, his hands trembling as he let out a shaky breath. He’d done it.

You were the first to reach him, weaving through the crowd with your face lit up in a beaming smile. “Jisung, you did it!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug.

For a moment, he froze, still overwhelmed by everything, but then he relaxed into the hug, his face flushing as a shy grin spread across his lips. “I... I guess I did.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands still on his arms. “No, Jisung. You didn’t just do it. You literally broke a world record. That was fucking incredible.”

Before Jisung could respond, Chenle burst through the crowd, practically tackling him with a clap on the back. “That was insane, dude! You’re officially a legend!”

Jisung laughed softly, his nerves easing as the weight of his friends’ support sank in. “Thanks, Chenle. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Chenle scoffed, his grin turning playful. “Obviously. I mean, who else would’ve dragged your sorry butt to the arcade every week?”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too. “And who else would’ve cheered louder than the announcer himself?”

Chenle puffed out his chest dramatically. “It’s called dedication. But seriously, man.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to something softer. “I’m proud of you. I always knew you had it in you.”

Jisung blinked, his throat tightening with emotion. “Thanks, Chenle. That... that means a lot.”

“And me,” you added, your gaze locking with Jisung’s. “You’ve worked so hard for this, Jisung. You deserve every bit of it.”

Jisung’s face burned, but he managed a small, grateful smile. “I... I couldn’t have done it without you either. Both of you.”

Chenle grinned, clapping Jisung on the back again. “Okay, enough sap. Let’s go celebrate! First round of drinks are on me!”

“Chenle, you’ve never paid for drinks in your life,” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Today’s a special occasion!” Chenle shot back, already heading toward the counter. “Besides, I’ll just borrow some cash from Jisung’s prize money.”

Jisung chuckled, the sound lighter than it had been in months. He looked between you and Chenle, his chest tightening with a strange mix of gratitude and joy.

In this moment, he realized that no matter how far he went. No matter how high he climbed in the Tetris world. He wouldn’t be alone.

He had Chenle, his loud, chaotic best friend who always believed in him, even when he didn’t believe in himself. And he had you, the person who saw him, really saw him, and made him feel like he could be more than just the quiet kid in the background.

For the first time, Jisung felt like he wasn’t just playing to win. He was playing for the people who mattered most.'

Though it stung at first, Chenle proved himself to be the supportive and selfless friend Jisung had always known. It didn’t take long for him to bounce back—literally. A chance meeting at a K-TV bar introduced him to a bubbly, energetic girl named Yizhuo, whose laughter was as infectious as his own. Their chemistry was instant, and soon Chenle was filling the arcade with stories of his new escapades. He still teased Jisung relentlessly, but it was clear he harbored no ill will.

The trio’s bond remained intact, stronger than ever, though their lives began to diverge.

Jisung, now a bona fide legend in the gaming world, found himself swept into a whirlwind of tournaments, sponsorships, and interviews. Though he remained shy and soft-spoken, his quiet charisma and undeniable skill won over fans around the globe. He still made time to visit Pixel Haven, the arcade that had started it all, but his visits were less frequent now, as his journey took him to stages he’d only dreamed of.

You, on the other hand, had left Pixel Haven behind for a new chapter of your own. Inspired by the energy and community of the arcade, you decided to pursue a career in game design. Late nights were now spent sketching out ideas for games that combined strategy and storytelling, with a little bit of heart and soul, something you’d learned was just as important as the mechanics.

Jisung was your biggest cheerleader, always eager to hear about your latest ideas, even if his input sometimes boiled down to, “As long as it’s not as stressful as Tetris.”

Chenle, ever the social butterfly, had shifted his focus to broadcasting. His infectious personality made him a hit on television screens, where he’d commentate on retro games, pull off absurd challenges, and occasionally rope Jisung into appearances. “The TetWiz and Lele Show,” he called it, though Jisung mostly just sat there, looking flustered as Chenle stole the spotlight.

Still, every once in a while, the three of you would reunite at Pixel Haven, now under new management but still holding its nostalgic charm. You’d share snacks, reminisce about the good old days, and maybe even challenge each other to a game or two—though no one dared to take on Jisung in Tetris.

And as Jisung watched you and Chenle laughing over some ridiculous bet, the soft glow of the arcade lights reflecting in your eyes, he realized that life was a lot like Tetris. The pieces didn’t always fall the way you wanted them to, but with patience, a little bit of courage, and the right people by your side, you could make something beautiful out of the chaos.

GAME OVER.

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania @spacejip @peterm4rker @viasdreams @mango-bear

[saksukei]

simon ‘ghost’ riley has a crush on you

masterlist | subtle things he does for you | simon my love

simon’s feelings hit him like a truck, as if he's a deer caught in the headlights. he only comes to realize it in the heat of the battle, chests heaving up and down as the two of you hide behind a wall for cover. you tell him to reload first and it's something so insignificant, so minute and yet it pieces things together for him. so he does what his first best. swallow the lump in his neck, ignore the swelling of his heart and focus on what’s next.

except

he sucks at it and boy is it evident.

it is so subtle though, subtle enough for it to slip under everyone’s radars including yours. except, captain price is no fool. he's known simon long enough to see the little change in his demeanor when you enter the room. how simon immediately sits up right, in his best posture, giving you a firm nod of acknowledgment.

how simon always looks your way, always. even when you’re not looking, he’ll still check what you're doing, where you are. it’s not intended to be creepy, it's just a form of reassurance that you’re alive, that you’re okay, that he has another chance to confess. (also the type to lean against the door frame and observe you)

what’s shocking is that even during his infamous cigarette breaks, he chooses to hang out with you. he adores the fact that it’s comfortable silence between the two of you. and more importantly, it contains the two best things he needs, silence and you. “what a view” he thinks to himself.

moreso, the lieutenant’s eye for detail is insane. simon is incredibly nuanced, he can notice when your mood is off, when you’re hurt, irritated or whatsoever. he tries to deal with the issue silently, like handing you a bottle of water, leaving a seat for you beside him, ensuring that he does most of the paper work and so on.

simon reacts at the speed of lightning if he notices you’re hurt or in range of fire. he remembers the one time he ran, grabbing you by the waist to make sure you don’t get shot. your small frame clinging against his, your body weight almost nothing to him and he felt lightheaded. he desperately wanted to keep you in his arms but he settles for asking, “you holdin’ up fine?” as he lets you out of his grip.

he enjoys bantering with you so much. such snide and snarky remarks all the time. from “what? can’t handle a little teasing from your superiors?” to “you know it's bad manners cussing behind your lieutenant’s back,” to “thought you were tough?” to “all that back talk, why don't you come and prove it?” he absolutely loves the reactions you give him.

moreso, when he begins getting more and more comfortable, he invites you eat lunch with him as opposed to with the rest of the soldiers. adores the fact that you both can converse without having eyes on the two of you. “plans for lunch?”

oh and of course, the most difficult moment of his life, when you reached forward on your tippy toes to fix his balaclava, simon thought he’d have a heart attack. took all of his strength to not lean forward and press a kiss to your forehead. “looking alright now?” he jokes, you can almost hear his smirk.

he hates the vulnerability, he does. but what he doesn't hate is the fact that it's you. it's you he’s being vulnerable with. and he repeats it to himself every night that you’re the best choice anyway.

[dexxtrosee]

Neverending battle

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x reader

TW: mentions of canon character death, mass casualty event, grief, PTSD, lockdowns

Robby's sitting outside on the steps when you get home.

You reel back slightly, unsure. He has his head between his hands, taking deep breaths with his eyes closed. He's not dirty, still wearing the same cargo pants and black scrub top he left with in the morning. The face full of grief isn’t new either.

There's added weight to his shoulders though, you can see it. It’s almost like he’s doing an effort to stay upright against a crushing weight pushing him downwards, unsure of if he even wants to anymore.

You try your best to get closer without making a sound, slow steps and controlled breathing. His hands clench slightly.

"Jake's girlfriend died on me today."

You freeze.

"Remember I told you I'd give him the tickets so he could go with the girl he told us about? Her name was Leah," his voice breaks when he says her name, "I got to see her alive and happy through a call, and a few hours later I was covered in her blood and she was dead right in the middle of the ER."

You had seen the news, had called him a hundred times before it got through and Dana had answered. He talked to you five, ten seconds maybe, just to tell you to call Jake, to tell you he loved you, that he'd get home late. A watery chuckle was what he got back, and a 'be safe'. They had both sounded wrecked in that controlled way you knew so well, Robby had mastered it ages ago.

Which is why you don’t really know what to do with what’s pouring out of him right now. He hasn't moved, hasn't looked up at you, talking to the floor with his backpack by his side. He never tells you anything, never talks about what eats him alive and wakes you up when he starts crying at midnight.

He can talk about the funny, quirky cases, not with any other details but the fun ones. The girl who broke his arm trying to see how far she could jump, the boy who had a condom stuck inside, the teacher who had an accident in class and had been sneezing glitter for two days.

A month ago he got home laughing his ass off because a bunch of teenagers had gotten to the Pitt in a blind panic from their tongues being blue without "apparent reason", fearing the worst.

They just got high off his asses with a blue brownie and didn't remember, he kept saying, tears streaming down his face from laughing too much. It had made you so happy to see him like that, so carefree and finding something nice at work for once.

The man sat in front of you is a whole different person.

Your mind unhelpully supplies that Leah must have been around those teenagers' age.

"I broke inside the ped's room after Jake told me it was my fault, a-and it is, right? It is. Over a hundred people saved and I let my- I let Jake's girlfriend die."

Irrational anger flames inside your chest.

He's just a boy, you know.

He didn’t see Robby five years ago, though. Didn't spend months having to see him through the car window only, with dark circles around his eyes and thinner than ever. He has no clue about the first time he came back home and woke you up with his retching inside the bathroom, or the way he got paranoic for days and cleaned every single surface again and again. The blind panic that would show up on his face when you so much as sneezed, how he bought packs of facemasks that haven’t run out to this day.

But he’s just a boy, you know. And you know that you would hate anyone too if they were somehow even remotely capable of saving Robby and he died anyway, no matter how crazy it would be. Grief isn’t rational.

"I don't think we're gonna be seeing Jake anytime soon, babe. Sorry."

And he says it just like that, like that boy hasn’t been the shine in his eyes for years.

You sit down next to him, pulling one of his hands away from his head and clutching it between yours. He lets you, but doesn’t move otherwise.

"I think just us two will be fine for a while."

Not like you have any option, but still, he chuckles. "You think?"

Shrugging, you bury yourself into his side, ignoring how tight his entire body feels. You wonder if, this time, it was Jack the one who had to go up and talk. It makes you pull him closer.

"You sayin' I'm not fun enough for you now? Want me to go around pulling odd shit again, like when we first met?"

Finally, he turns slowly and kisses the top of your head. His body trembles slightly, adrenaline rush wearing off. You don’t dare mention it.

"As if I'd need anything else."

You smile.

You'll pressure him into going to therapy tomorrow, again. You're not sure if you should be relieved or worried sick at the fact that your chances at winning seem better this time around, not like the hundred times before.

"Whatever you need, Robinavitch."

You stay outside until his shaking calms down, and let him cry himself to sleep with his head on your chest.

In the morning, he finally agrees.

[leaawrites]

Slim Pickins (LN4)

Lando Norris x fem!photograpgher!reader

Summary: In which, she can't find a guy who's jacked and kind. Until she does.

Warnings: this is all fictional!, reader has a crush on Oscar in the beginning, Lily is an angel as always, swearing, bad jokes, suggestive at moments, Lando being a fuckboy, this is the end of this seriess :( It was so much fun, holy shit.

Wordcount: 9.1k

Masterlist, Short n'Sweet Series

Bright lights. Cars flashing by in a second before her. She made them brighter - more colourful. She made them come alive in a way only pictures could. She made them her own. Adding the preset she usually used and adjusting whatever needed to be adjusted. Whether it be the brightness or whites, darks, shadows, temperature.

The pillow behind her back made the position she was in feel more comfortable than it actually would be. Hunched over her laptop, the light of it illuminating her face, glasses on top of her nose. She had to get the pictures ready before midnight. Headphones over her ears to drown out the noises from the room next to hers. Girlish moans fighting the wall to get through her. But she wouldn’t let them. The loud volume of the music made it impossible for anything to get through to her. Not even the loud banging sound that was heard from the hallway.

Oscar furiously knocked his fist against the room of his teammate. He had a long night already, being dragged out by Lando for a couple of hours beforehand, exploring some clubs and bars and girls. It wasn’t in any of his interest. He had a girlfriend which he loved, he wasn’t in need for more than one. Not like someone else.

In the corner of his eye he saw a shadow slip out of the room next to Lando’s. He felt sorry for the girl, having to hear some kind of animal like Lando after a few drinks and in a horny state. It was unbearable to sleep at that.

“He won’t answer you any time soon,” the girl said, putting the headphones around her neck, stopping the music that was once playing in order to hear him in case he should answer. She hoped he would. She loved his voice. The soothing feeling of it, almost giving you the feeling of his mouth travelling up your skin. Speaking closely; calm.

“Yeah,” he agreed with her, snapping her out her daydreams. “But, thought I might as well try since I can’t sleep now.” He crossed his arms over his body, stepping towards her. Even if only a few centimetres, it was something. Still though keeping a respectful distance between them to not over step any lines.

How can anybody be so perfect? she thought. Her eyes trailing over his face, following his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose.

“No luck, apparently,” she said, leaning against the door frame next to her.

He nodded his head again, looking at Lando’s hotel room door once again. “Where are you off to now in the middle of the night?”

“Just getting a snack before going back to work,” she answered, holding up the wallet in her hand.

“You’re still working?” Oscar always believed that after 8 pm everyone - beside overnight jobs - stopped working, leaving the night to take over. Apparently not.

“That’s the disadvantage of putting it off for the whole night to meet up with friends. And now I’m in a rush and immense need of coffee,” she told him. She felt her eyes already wanting to fall shut.

The answer made him laugh, a breathy sound escaping his mouth. The amusement written clearly on his face. Y/n looked up at him at the sound of his voice a smile on her face, though it quietly faded as she saw the almost brother-like behavior radiating from him. He knew how girls could be, putting off everything until the last second to have a little more fun in life. He knew it all too well. His sister demonstrating her tactic more than often. The feeling of him seeing her as nothing more than just an additional sister weighted her down, the truth knocking on her door, telling her once again that there would be nothing more. She knew he was in a relationship. she wouldn’t wanna change that. Not after seeing how he talked about Lily, how he would mention whenever he could, how he still blushed at the mere mention of her name even after so many years of dating. The jealousy taking over the joy of being friends with him.

Though, the bigger hole she couldn’t fill, was that she didn’t want only him as a partner in particular, she wanted someone like him. Some guy who was willing to commit without fear, some guy who made her feel loved no matter how far away they would be from one another, some guy who saw her as she was, not what he wanted her to be.

It was a never ending story of disappointment in her life when it came to dating: finding a cute guy, going on a date, fucking, being told that it would only be something casual. What were guys so afraid of? Why did they make themselves look so insecure and frightened when it came to relationships? What did it even mean: casual? What was the purpose of dating casually if nothing would come out of it in the end?

Why did guys have to be so goddamn ashamed of love?

The door next to them opened, Lando standing in the doorway. Hair messy, grey sweatpants thrown on, his pupils were deflated, his breath still a bit heavy, eyes dancing between the pair in front of his door. A girl was heard inside, calling out to him with a drunk giggle, before she quietened down and fell asleep. He, himself, was hanging on to the door frame in a drunk manner. His eyes almost falling shut any second.

“What are you doing here?” he stammered, his eyes focusing on the girl for a bit longer before he let his head fell against the wood frame tiredly. His head was throbbing already.

“Getting coffee,” she answered.

“Thinking about handing in a noise complaint,” Oscar answered dryly, making the girl laugh at his answer.

Lando’s eyes flitted over to her frame, softening at the sight until he remembered she didn’t laugh because of him, she never did. She never found him funny, or so he thought. Truth been told, she did like his humour, finding it rather absurd than funny, but still. The only thing holding her back from laughing was the general distaste she had for the person telling the joke. Lando was the definition of everything she despised in a guy. He was a playboy, never taking on anything serious and having more than one girl at once by his side. It made her almost sick.

“Sorry for having a life,” Lando answered annoyed, staring at Oscar with bored eyes.

“You know not everything in life is about sex, right?” the girl asked him, growing more cold with him than she did while talking to Oscar.

“How would you know?” Lando mumbled, ready to head back to bed without further thinking about his behavior.

Y/n narrowed her eyes at him. Oscar looked between the pair. He knew they weren’t particularly fond of each other, preferring to distance themselves when possible, but this - the annoyance at the other’s mere existence or voice - was something he never thought to experience. Lando slipped back into the room, closing the door and leaning against the door. He could still hear them talk, bidding the other goodnight, Oscar apologizing for his behavior, Y/n waving it off as ‘classical Lando’ and probably rolling her eyes at the memory of their interaction. He could hear Oscar telling her, that he had no idea why he acted like that around her and that he didn’t do it with anyone else. To which she only replied, that it was because of the same reason she couldn’t handle him for very long: they were too different to properly see eye to eye. She also said, that she was fine with that and that she even preferred it in that way.

What were they too different in? Lando couldn’t help but wonder about everything they had in common and everything they hadn’t as he laid in bed that night, wide awake. The alcohol breaking down, making him able to think more clearly. They both liked photography, racing, friends, family, travelling. They were both adventurous, both keen to learn new things whenever they could, staying up late, going out, staying in every once in a while. He liked parties, she preferred alone time - maybe even with a possible lover. And that’s when it hit him. When his eyes drifted over to the girl laying in his bed, sleeping tight, naked. He liked the company of people, the roaring feeling of a new experience every night. She liked the image of having one person to feel excited about forever, stepping in and out of the house with them, holding hands, kissing softly in the morning, telling secrets, fears and dreams.

But both didn’t like falling asleep alone.

While he coped with it by never being alone - even when it wasn’t the same as how he’d want it - she let the weight of loneliness heave down her chest. She let herself feel.

Taking a shower at 7 in the morning and leaving his hotel room shortly after, Lando walked out on the still quiet streets, camera in his hands. He caught barely any sleep, always wondering instead. Worrying. About everything he feared he couldn’t make right anymore, that everything he did wrong was already too fucked up to make it stable again. The camera gave him a sense of security, being a reminder that even only one photo was the reminder of something good. But coming back an hour later with his SD-card still empty he lost all hope for a good day. Being depressed in the morning made you feel bad the whole day. That was just the way life goes. He had to accept it. He had to feel it.

With his head bowed low, gaze focused on his shoes rather than in front of him, Lando soon smashed into a body. Catching whoever it was before they could fall down. A light surge of hope rushed through his veins, thumbing to his heart as he imagined it being Y/n. Looking up, he was faced with the girl he went to bed last night. Eyes wide, mouth open in shock. Neither thought it would be the other. She mumbled a little “thank you,” offered him a smile and then hurriedly headed out the hotel, climbing in the uber that stood at the side walk, waiting for her.

“Lovely reunion,” Y/n commented sarcastically as she walked past him. Heading out as well.

She almost slipped away from him until he caught up with her step, exiting the building again. His hands stuffed in his pocket, camera dangling from his wrist. “Where are you going?” he asked. They walked down the street he came from before.

The girl stopped walking, holding up her own camera and taking a picture. It was a way smaller one then she normally used. A digicam instead of a professional camera. He had never seen it before, though it was rather an older one.

Indirectly answering his question, she asked one as well. “Where were you coming from?” They continued walking down the street.

Lando held up his own camera to her, not taking a picture like she did in the process. She knew he liked photography as well, finding his jpg insta account rather quickly after doing a deep dive into him on her first day of work - can’t a girl be prepared? He took good pictures, some great ones even, impressing her more than once when she saw that he had posted new ones. Always interested in others talent and passion, she started conversing with him about the topic at hand.

“What pictures did you take then until now?” She asked eagerly, waiting for him to hand his camera over to her.

“None,” he answered, making her frown.

“What do you mean ‘none’?” She never understood how someone could take zero pictures in a new place. Always being the one finding beauty in the ordinary she felt lucky for such a talent.

Lando switched on his camera and showed her the 0/0 and No Picture Available lining his gallery screen. It almost seemed like mockery in his eyes, how it made him look so boring. She was finally interested in what he was doing and now he had nothing to show her. Y/n frowned at the sight in front of her, her eyes slipping from the screen to the person in front of her. Shaking her head in dismissal of his failure. She couldn’t just sent him back his own way now, could she? Not when she noticed the dark circles under his eyes. Not when she saw the look in his eyes, a rather hopeful one for her allowing him to stay. And when he looked at her like that, how could she deny him? It wasn’t too hard to push away the persona he had at night and at least try to see the version Oscar had told her about - the version almost everybody else told her about.

Lando was sure she would sent him away, sent him back to the hotel. He was ready to turn around and go, leaving her to her peace.

“Looks like we need to change that,” she said, before beginning to walk again.

After looking at her back perplexed for a second, he quickly followed her. Catching up with her quick step. Catching a photo of her figure while doing so.

“What do you shoot besides fast cars on track?” Lando asked, intrigued at seeing her walking through the streets and mostly not even looking twice at the cars driving by.

“Men,” she joked, smirking at him from the side. Seeing the septic look in his eyes, she added, “Just kidding. Only in America.”

Lando cracked a smile at her humour, but the lack of laugh leaving her worried. “Sorry, was it too much?” She asked, turning her head to see him smiling at her, shaking his head. Most people didn’t found her funny. Most guys she was out with thought she was being mean and arrogant, when mostly it was just sarcasm.

“No, don’t worry,” he assured her. “I like your humour.”

“Well, thank you,” she said, hands behind her back, clamping together. Her thumbnail pressing into her palm to keep her from smiling too much. He’s not a good guy, don’t let yourself be fooled, she reminded herself. He wouldn’t want any more from you than all these other douchebags in your phone.

“I mostly just shoot whatever looks beautiful, anything that captures my eye,” she answered again, truthful this time. Lando nodded at her answer, he felt the same, always photographing whatever looked good, never because he felt the need to stick to a certain type of object or action.

“Yeah, it’s kind of the best way to go at it, right?” Lando said, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, why capture something forever if you don’t like it?”

“Exactly,” she agreed with him. Her voice being barely a whisper now, thoughts coming through she wished to have pushed far away.

What’s the purpose of staying if you don’t even like me? A sentence she will never forget. The perfect guy - kind, sweet, alive, nice, respectful, hot - turned out to be another disappointment. That was a year ago, shortly after she was accepted by McLaren as a photographer. She told him about the news, thinking he’d be happy to hear her getting the job. Instead he accused her of not loving him because she would have to travel so much with all the races and not caring about how he felt about that. Was she really so unlovable to not get the one she wanted? The good guy. The one that felt as much a friend as a boyfriend. Was there really no way she could get someone she could truly love?

“Are you okay?” Lando asked, sensing her now stiff body and her sunken mood. Putting his hand on her shoulder to make her stop walking and look at him. He wore a frown on his face, some kind of worry flashing through his eyes when she faced him fully, eyes connecting.

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” she said, mustering a small smile.

Lando learned that, unless they’re your partner, you shouldn’t pressure anyone into talking about something they didn’t openly talk about first.

The longer they walked, the more the streets came alive. But she barely cared about them, she took pictures of the buildings. Doors, windows, architecture. That was what she thought had to be remembered, the things human build and that would eventually fall apart because of them.

“You don’t really like photographing people, do you?” Lando asked as they sat down in a cafe, getting a coffee before walking home again.

They were already two hours outside, finding new streets every few minutes and just walking wherever light shone. When a street would be too dark for her liking, she would just keep on walking, ignoring Lando who promised to protect her. She only said, that she didn’t really trust his martial art skills, so she refused.

“I do, sometimes,” she argued with him. Her eyes turning sharp and a frown came on her face. “I just prefer everything else.”

“And still you photograph me and Osc after every race,” he smirked at her.

Y/n’s face turned red, her eyes widening in surprise that he noticed. She wasn’t assigned to take photos of them after races all too often, being used more to take pictures of the cars throughout the race, qualifying or practice. Still, she would often use her camera to take pictures of them from behind everyone else. Catching angles and moments the assigned photographers weren’t so likely to catch themselves. They were focused on the Instagram account, while she was more focused on sending them to their families for enjoyment and memories. Sometimes she would sent them to Oscar as well, so that he could show them to his girlfriend. A bitter sweet reminder how he saw her.

After being left with silence, Lando continued, leaning forward to talk quieter. ��You sent them to my mom, my dad, even Osc, but never me. Why?”

“I don’t have your number,” she said simply, not having another explanation. It was the truth, but she also wasn’t too keen on having his number in her phone.

“I could give it to you,” he suggested.

“You could,” she said back.

She couldn’t get the perfect guy, but Lando was willing to take her. And maybe that could be enough.

“It was nice today,” Lando said, stopping in front of her room at the hotel. Hands tucked in his pockets.

He took about 130 photos, a third of them being of her. The girl standing in front of him, smiling sweetly and nodding her head.

“Yeah,” she agreed with him. “It wasn’t too bad.”

They stood opposite each other for a while until Y/n cleared her throat.

“I’ll see you later tonight at the dinner?” She asked, reminding him off the plans the team had for the evening.

His eyes widened in remembering, “Oscar said, that you wouldn’t be there.”

“I wasn’t going to go, but my plans got cancelled, so I don’t have anything better to do.” She shrugged.

“OK, then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She waved at him before closing the door as soon as she put a foot in her room again. Leaning against the wooden surface, she lets out a sigh. How did that happen?

Y/n pulled out her phone to look at the time, instead she was greeted by a dozen missed calls. All of them belonging to one particular person, Johanna, her best friend since kindergarten.

Calling back, she heard screaming on the other line: “Where were you? I thought you were kidnapped and killed. Holy shit, girl, don’t do this to me ever again.”

“I’m sorry,” she laughed at her friends exaggeration. “I was just out, taking pictures like usual.”

“For how long?”

“About 3 hours, I think? Maybe only two, I don’t really know,” she answered, falling down on the mattress.

“OK,” she squealed. “Who was with you?”

“I wasn’t with anybody,” Y/n defended herself, biting her lip to keep herself from saying more. To not unravel her lies.

“Sure you weren’t,” Johanna said, knowing she would get through to her in some way. “You would’ve answered my calls if you were alone, because you’d have your headphones on. But you didn’t. So, who were you with? Was it Oscar? Did you finally get him?”

“I was with Lando,” she confessed. Unable to keep anything from her.

Johanna gasped in shock, sucking in her breath while she spoke, “No.”

“We met in the foyer of the hotel and he just came back from being outside, taking pictures. Or at least, attempting to do so, because when I asked him about it, he confessed that he had taken no pictures. So, I offered him to walk with me again and we did. Taking pictures.”

“For 3 hours?” her friend asked, knowing how she could get annoyed very easily when having to pass by photo-possibilities in case of annoying the person she was walking with. That was why she always went out alone, until now.

“For 3 hours,” Y/n confirmed.

“Was he an asshole?” Being on the receiving end of most of the girl’s rants about how annoying Lando could be, she couldn’t stop herself from asking. Some things were just too bizarre to not be curious about.

“Surprisingly no. He was really nice, actually. We talked and when we got back, I asked him if he came to the dinner tonight.”

“He probably said no, because he hates those things.”

“He tried confirming that I came as well, because I actually had plans. Apparently Oscar told him about it.”

“You had plans? Why didn’t you tell me about those plans?”

Y/n sighed, not eager to share the news. “I was supposed to go on a date with this guy, nothing serious in the future, just something to get my fixings, you know? He canceled this morning, saying that he was back with his ex.”

“What an ass,” the girl on the other line said. She never understood why Y/n had to have such a bad taste in men, particularly because she deserved so much more. “Maybe you could use Lando to get your fixings?” she suggested, trailing off at the end of her sentence.

“I’m not gonna use him,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“What does he do with all the other girls? There isn’t much to it. It’s all the same, just you’ll get slut shamed if you’d do the same. Turn the tables,” she said.

Y/n shouldn’t listen to her, she knew that. Being the friend who had been through the most toxic relationships, and only barely holding onto her sanity because of the situationship she had at the moment, she wasn’t someone who should give out advice like it were pennies from her pocket.

“I’ll text you when I come back from the dinner, alright?” Y/n settled on the agreement with herself of leaving today to let things settle, maybe sleeping about it was the wiser choice.

The knock on her door was a signal that she should already be dressed and ready to go. Instead, she stood in front of the mirror for 30 minutes already, pondering if she should wear a jacket or not. She didn’t know whether they sat outside or not, most likely not. Shrugging the extra clothing off and throwing it on the bed, Y/n made her way to the door, expecting Oscar to wait for her.

“Lando, what are you doing here?” She asked the boy who leaned against the wall next to the door, fidgeting with his fingers. Waiting for her, she supposed.

“Waiting for you,” he confirmed. “I thought we could get there together.”

“I was actually already meeting up with Oscar.”

“Oh yeah, he had something he needed to talk about with Lily, so he will come after,” Lando said, scratching the back of his neck as if in need for a good answer to appear.

“Oh, okay,” the girl said, slightly disappointed, before turning around and locking her room.

“You look good,” Lando commented as they walked down the hall.

Standing in front of the elevator, she turned her head towards him. “Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

The dinner went by in mostly silence, besides Lando’s unusual presence and therefore also the unusual amount of bad jokes and laughter filled heated discussions about racing or video games. It wasn’t as irradiating as she thought it would be and the topics weren’t as confusing to her foreign mind as she expected them to be. All because, whenever Lando saw her eyebrows knit together and her lips parting in confusion, he would explain the subject at hand to her in the smallest detail to really make her understand what the conversation was about. Making it easier for her to follow than normally.

They stayed behind, engrossed in conversation with whoever was willing to talk about a certain topic, until even the last engineer decided to head back to their room and get their rest. Now, they were sat next to each other at the big table, all alone. The restaurant wasn’t empty by far, still enough people were talking and maybe even eating. Everyone paid for their own food and drinks, so now the only left open bill was theirs.

“I enjoyed going out to take picture with you today,” Lando confessed into their silence, sipping on his espresso.

“I did too,” she said back, surprised at her soft tone and faint smile. “You weren’t half as annoying as normally.”

He laughed at her answer, her smile growing bigger at the sound of it. “I didn’t expect any other answer.”

Their laughter died down with every passing moment, only smiles remaining, as the slow jazz music filled the place again. Cutlery on porcelain skimming through the air and conversation from different tables surrounding them once more. But in their heads, they heard none of that. All they were aware of was their heartbeat and the comfort they found so suddenly in the other. She felt his hand grazing her leg and he could feel her skin passing by under his fingertips.

“Maybe we could do it again in another city.”

“That would mean that you have to arrive earlier and spent less time in Monaco,” she reminded him, knowing how most drivers - him included - preferred to arrive at track the night before media day. He would never find the time go out with her and explore the city then.

“For you, I’m wiling to do that.” Lando leaned closer, his back against the chair he was sat on, but his hand now on her thigh.

“What a charming man you are,” she said back, mocking him in a way, but her cheeks still turned red at the contact.

“It’s natural,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

She scoffed at his behavior, turning her head away for a second before responding, “And the people on the internet call you Lando Norizz. I really understand it now.”

“Very funny,” he commented back. “Still I got you blushing.”

“It’s just very hot in here,” she brushed it off simply.

“Probably because of me, right?”

There it was again, the reminder why she couldn’t stand him.

“Dream on, Norizz.”

“I will.”

They drank their espresso before heading back to the hotel, walking side by side. With the restaurant being only one entrance next to the hotel, it made it all easier and faster to get back.

“Have a good night, Y/n,” Lando said as they reached her hotel room.

“Good night, Lando,” she said, her hand on the door handle and her mind gambling whether she should play the game or let it be. Turn the tables. She did, kissing his cheek and leaving him left standing with a deep red colour creeping up his neck, before slipping into her room and looking irritated by her own actions at the reflection in the mirror.

Sunday came around the corner and though she photographed Lando, she hadn’t talked to him yet.

Their conversation still hung in the the air every time they passed each other in the paddock or he smiled for a picture of hers. Receiving one in return when she looked at the photo appearing on her screen shortly after. She had never done it before, smiling at his face whenever she saw it, but now she couldn’t help it. Looking at Oscar photo bombing by accident made the picture just a little sweeter.

“You’re blushing,” a voice said from behind her. Turning around in a state of shock, she tried to hide the zoomed in on face on her camera from whoever was invading her private space. “It’s because of my face, right?”

“Oh, you wish, Norris,” she laughed back awkwardly, trying to slip into the easy banter as naturally as he did. Rolling her eyes half jokingly.

Slowly, bit by bit, they fell into a pattern. A pattern of meeting and kissing and flirting and growing closer. And no matter how hard she tried to convince herself that this was all for fun and that he was nothing she wanted, he seemed to become more perfect with every second she spent with him. He was gentle and kind. Funny, romantic, flirty, nice. A good listener and he watched movies with her no one was willing to watch with her before. He kissed her in the mornings and he held her at night. He took her out on dates and he made sure that everything was perfect for her. In his mind, a dream girl deserved a dream life. And he was willing to provide it for her no matter the cost.

She didn’t need much, but all his gentle gestures and romantic words. It was too much of all she learned to mistrust. He was a playboy, why wasn’t he acting like one? Why was he acting like this could actually be something?

She still posted more pictures of Oscar than him, even after they started seeing each other regularly. It had kept him occupied now for a while, the thought that maybe the woman he loved didn’t like him as much as she made pretend. Maybe, he wasn’t the one.

The tension in his apartment had never been this high. With her hunched over her computer, editing new shots from the weekend, which she didn’t get finished on the plane or before he left for his quick morning run she would never participate in, he could see Oscar’s smiling face look back. Trophy in his hand and victory in his eyes. He saw her smiling faintly every time she looked from the regulations of the warmth or colour to his face.

He definitely wasn’t the only one.

“You like him more than me, right?”

“What? Who?” She looked up at him. Confused and scared. Caught. He could see it in her eyes. How she prayed he didn’t ask her about the cards which were already laid out on the table, facing him. She prayed for him to see different cards, the wrong ones, but she knew that only one pair existed.

“Oscar. You like him,” he stated. “He has a girlfriend, you know that, right?”

“Of course, I do.” How could she forget?

“Why still sob after him then?” he asked, genuinely curious. He wasn’t as mad at her as she thought he would be. All that he felt was disappointment. In her. In him. In them.

Why still sob after him?

“He’s perfect,” she finally answered. She knew, being this honest would be a possible mistake. But what did she had to lose? Nobody else would know. As much of an asshole Lando could be, he would never betray someone like that, she knew that much. And they barely ever talked, so it wouldn’t be too awkward (she hoped). “He’s a good guy, with no problematic past. He’s nice and he knows how to be nice, which is even better. I mean, who wouldn’t want the nice guy?”

“You don’t care who it would be as long as they were a nice guy?” Lando asked, looking down at his cup.

“I will never get the nice guy,” she said back.

“Instead you took me? The guy willing to date you? You don’t even care about how I feel, do you? All that is important to you is not being alone, you don’t even care how it makes the others around you feel. God, you’re really an awful person, you know that? So self-centred and completely unaware about anyone else.”

“You aren’t really one to talk, Norris. In fact, you should be the one person to understand. Sleeping with random girls to fill in the void of your unbearable loneliness isn’t much better. At least I tried having something that could last.”

“I tried too, with you. I tried having something meaningful because I actually liked you and yes, I slept with many girls in the past, but at least I never lied to them. They always knew where they were at, they knew it was never meant for something more. I wanted something more with you.”

“Yeah, right.” She laughed dryly, rolling her eyes at his manners. He couldn’t be serious. Why would he want something more with her?

“Why can’t you believe me?” He seemed like he wanted to say more in his defence but she cut him off. Scoffing.

“Because, maybe, you are one of the most entitled people I have ever met. You see nothing more in life than adrenaline, in whichever way it’s closest. And when you want something, you get it. You are everything I never wanted in a man.”

“What?” His voice got quiet and suddenly time stopped. He was stuck there now. He was everything she’d never want, but she was everything he desired. She was everything he loved.

“You are arrogant and snobby and put your opinion above anyone else’s. Every time we went out for dinner with the team it was always you who was missing, out in a club or simply at home, probably with some girl too. You don’t care about the team.” Lando started walking around the living room, picking up stuff that was aimlessly laying around. “And when Oscar won, you weren’t even happy for him. I know they fucked up the strategy, I know that you were angry and I understand why. But god, he even felt sorry about winning. He was in pain the whole time - and I know you didn’t know - but maybe stop assuming you know everything about one’s life, because you don’t. You could’ve at least looked happy for him.”

“Yes, I was angry at the team. Yes, I may have been even a bit angry at Osc in that moment. Yes, I didn’t look happy then, because I fucking wasn’t. But after the race, I talked to him and we are great teammates. We talked it all out, I apologized and then I congratulated him.” He put the stuff into her arms, standing in front of her again. “So, maybe you should stop assuming you know anything about what isn’t happening in front of your eyes. Because you don’t.” She looked down at the stuff. It were a few books, a laptop, a shirt that was discarded on the floor the nigh before - all hers. He also brought a suitcase from the bedroom - hers.

“Leave,” Lando said, turning towards the big window, away from her. “Please.”

4 weeks. It had been 4 weeks already and the heavy feeling weighting down their hearts still felt the same. It felt like they could feel the other’s pain too, but both too prideful to admit that things could’ve ended differently. They should’ve ended differently. Nothing was making sense anymore. All of her pictures looked empty now without his face and huge smile covering half of the photo. All of his passions for racing felt dull now without the exciting ping of his phone whenever she posted a new photo dumb, the excitement of looking if there were any pictures of him in them was gone.

Both blamed it on themselves, but neither got over themselves to knock on the others door and apologize or talk it out.

Y/n knew she fucked up. She knew she deserved the reaction she received and she couldn’t blame him for it, having reacted the same when faced with that kind of situation. Though, for someone like Lando, who had to constantly live with the fear and possibility of being used by those people close to him, actually discovering such thing had to be much worse. He only selected a few people he trusted to be this close to him and she fucked it up. She fucked it up the moment she felt the same way he did, finally. The closeness and awareness she always craved to feel for and with someone was finally in the palm of her hands, until she threw it away.

Lando - though he was still disappointed - thought that maybe he could’ve waited with throwing her out of his flat after calming down and collecting his thoughts, though by the time that happened she was already gone, as was every trace of her. Almost every trace, he reminded himself as he looked at the small camera still laying on his bedside table. He hadn’t looked at the SD-card yet, neither did he tell her she forgot it when she left. He forgot to give it to her. But giving it back felt too real.

His eyes flickered from the TV to the camera every few seconds, the plot and characters only being a background story to his misery, a way of pretending to be alright. Although he would never say it out loud, he missed her. Every part of her, he missed it. And oh, how he hated that he did. Missing someone so cruel was the most devastating thing to happen. Missing the one who hurt you was never a good path to follow, but he did. It looked nicer than the shallow, lonesome one he took all these months before her.

From one moment to the next, the camera was in his hands and the SD-card was out of it, connected with his computer. Lando hesitated for a second before clicking on the folder titled with the camera model. It was the same one she took with her when they walked through Barcelona and the pictures on there were mostly, him. She still hated him then, so why did she take so many pictures of his body and face and shadow. There were hundreds of him, on the streets of Barcelona and after the race. Just him. No Oscar, no engineers or random people. The only person clearly visible was him.

Maybe there was more than she ever said.

God, he couldn’t do this now.

The Dutch Grand Prix was nearing. Practice 1 was good, though it could always be second. Racing on the track where his WDC rival won every consecutive race for the last 3 years, he couldn’t help but feel challenged by him every session he climbed into the car that weekend. If he wanted to stand a chance against Max, he needed to win this.

“People would just get more reasons to hate on me if I fuck this up,” Lando continued talking, oblivious to the stare of his best friend until he didn’t receive an answer. Looking up from his water bottle and stop picking on the straw attached to it, he tried catching Max’ gaze, though the Brit wasn’t focused on him or the ramble of words coming from his mouth, he was focused on something else. Someone else.

“I know you said, that she looked good, but man I doubt my knowledge of your taste now,” he answered without giving any context clues. Lando, slow as ever off track, was wildly looking around the area his best friend was looking at. Not finding what he he meant - or rather who he meant - until Oscar stepped aside for a moment.

There she stood, her face shallow, a forced smile on her lips (though it still looked scarily natural) and no life surrounding her once bright eyes. It all seemed empty now. The way she talked without any enthusiasm lingering in her words or the air around her, the way she shook hands so lazy and unmotivated, the way she stood more hunched over than normally, greeting Lily. Oscar’s girlfriend.

A few months - hell, even a few weeks earlier she would’ve lost her mind when the words left Oscar’s mouth after he called for her. “I wanted you to meet my girlfriend, Lily. Lily, that’s Y/n, the photographer you like.”

“Hi,” the young woman smiled brightly, extending her hand with excitement and looking genuinely happy to meet her. “I really love all the pictures you take, whether it be of Oscar, Lando or just the paddock. You really capture everything perfectly and naturally.”

“Thank you,” she said back, not being able to look past the fact that Lily was simply perfect. Not just from the way she talked or looked or was, she was simply perfect for Oscar. The boy looking at her like Y/n had never seen anyone look at someone. His eyes filled with love and passion for her. “Oscar, told me you were studying to become an engineer, that’s so cool. Like, we really need more woman around here, these blokes are just annoying.”

All three of them laughed and though - she hated to say it - it didn’t feel weird. Everything felt natural and nothing hurt. There was no jealousy or conflict building up inside of her, those people were simply great to be around. Especially together. Lily made Oscar talk more, urging him to answer questions or bringing up new conversation topics whenever the talk started to quieten down.

Though with all these distractions around, she still found him more often than she’d like to admit. In the garage, out on track, on the leader board, it was always his name, his face, his car that she seemed drawn to.

Meeting her eyes, Lando quickly turned around again, hitting Max’ leg under the table when he didn’t avert his eyes from her, but instead waved and smiled.

“What are you doing, mate?” Lando asked, slumping deeper and deeper in his seat as he felt her eyes still on the back of his head.

“What? I’m just being nice,” Max answered back, a smug grin on his face.

“Stop being nice to her. Start being nice to me.”

The drivers started getting ready for the qualifying, sitting in the car and waiting for the go. All eyes were glued to any sort of screen there was, whether it be strategy, the cars or simply the screen broadcasting the session.

Y/n and Lily were both stood against a wall in the McLaren garage, waiting for the cars to get out of the box and onto the track. The silence didn’t feel threatening, not after their conversation earlier, but it was still a bit awkward. Both girls were unsure of what to say.

“What happened between you and Lando?” Lily suddenly asked, breaking the silence and Y/n’s stare at the screen and that one car.

She noticed it, of course she did.

“Nothing,” Y/n quickly replied, a tad too quickly she noticed as Lily looked at her with unconvinced eyes.

“If nothing happened, then why are you so awkward around each other and stare at the other all the time?”

“We do not do that.”

“Yes, you do.”

Y/n took a deep breath; how was she gonna get this over with? She wouldn’t tell the Oscar part, obviously. But what other part wouldn’t be necessary and could milder the catastrophe they found themselves in again?

“Lando and I, we never understood each other much,” she started to explain, looking at Lily to see the focused look in her eyes as she listened to every word the girl had to say to give advice in the end. She knew it was needed. “But then, we went on a walk together, both taking pictures and something just clicked, I guess. We found something similar in our very different perspectives of the other. He kind of always seemed to be this fuckboy, dumb idiot that I could never get to like in my head and because of that, I never tried talking to him or anything. But after that walk, we talked more, on the phone and overall. I guess, we started dating sometime then as well. It was only like a month, but we grew really close until I completely fucked it up. We had a fight where he asked me if I even actually liked him and truth been told, I definitely only saw it as a bit of fun at the beginning, but then I started really liking him, but because of a past relation ship - that wasn’t the best example of healthy by far - I had a really hard time accepting that.” Sensing that she was already talking for far too long, she decided to keep the ending short. “I basically told him, that he embodied everything I never wanted in a man and then he threw me out of his flat, rightfully so.”

Lily was silent for a second longer, processing all the new information before she started to say something. “I think you should talk with him about it. From what you’ve told me, you really like him and pushing that feeling away is only gonna make it worse. You’re working with him, you can’t avoid it forever. And even when he doesn’t forgive you, it would still feel better to have it talked out for both of you.”

“Thanks, Lily,” Y/n answered, smiling gratefully at the girl next to her. She was truly a pure angel. “I just don’t think he wants to talk with me at the moment.”

“All you can do is try.”

He was back in again, looking at the data and thinking about how to get the fastest lap and pole. From Q1 into Q2.

And then it happened.

The garage came alive once more, when his name stood on top of all at the end of Q3. Lando Norris got the pole position for the Dutch Grand Prix, and he couldn’t fuck this up. He just couldn’t. All while she was watching from the sidelines once more with a small mile covering her face. Usually she would go out and take pictures for social media, but she wasn’t needed today. She was just another part of the crowd now.

Their hotel rooms were near once more, like they always were. She could hear the quiet music coming from his room as she sat on the balcony in a hoodie and sweats, watching the sun go down, seizing the moment where the clouds were gone from the sky, allowing it to be looked at by her. And him.

Lando watched her sit in peace from his balcony doorway. He wanted to go out, watch it with her, but then he had to face her and he wasn’t too keen on that. Not after the conversation he had with Max and how he overheard Y/n and Lily talking about the situation and her wanting to apologize. He needed to concentrate. But all his eyes were able to find was her.

Retreating back to his room, Lando put on a pair of his running shoes before exiting the room and building completely, letting his thoughts being swept away by the cold air and fresh breeze that flew through the city at this hour. He wouldn’t let her ruin this weekend for him too.

She watched his figure disappear into the night while he ran towards it. Snapping a picture of his back in the process.

Walking down the hall with her face stuck in her phone, Y/n didn’t notice the figure doing the same walking towards her. She didn’t notice him until he let his phone drop to keep her steady by holding her arms, pulling her towards him in the process.

“Uhm, sorry,” she mumbled, bending down to pick up his phone and give it back to him.

“Yeah, thanks,” Lando mumbled in return before he started walking away again. Ignoring her completely.

It was now or never.

“Lando,” she called after him, making him stop dead in his tracks. Fuck this shit, she thought as she took a step towards him and then another just to not having to yell all her feelings at him once more. Just now it’d be the truth. “I’m really sorry.”

“I wasn’t looking where I was going, don’t worry,” he brushed it off, facing her. He knew what she meant and she could see it in his eyes that it did. Part of him wanted for her to say it, but the other part knew he would run back to her immediately. That latter part knew it wouldn’t be wise to keep on listening to her.

“I’m sorry about what I said to you before Spa. I didn’t mean it, I truly didn’t.” She took a deep breath, collecting herself and trying to keep back the tears threatening to spill her every emotion. “I know I was a dick and I’m sorry about that, I know I’ve hurt you and I never wanted to do that.” He scoffed at her answer. “You were never what I wanted in a partner, but you’re everything I need. You’re really funny and charming and nice. I’m sorry that I took so long to notice all that when you were standing right in front of me all the time.”

She didn’t look up at him once while she was talking, her eyes were angled at the ceiling and when she walked past him, she did it in shame. Eyes on the ground and head low. She didn’t look at him, too afraid of his disgusted face she would receive probably.

But all Lando did, was standing there, in the middle of the hall, with his mouth agape like he wanted to say something in return though he was speechless. No words left his mouth until the elevator doors closed and made a ping sound he hasn’t heard in a long time.

“I’m sorry too.”

The garage was filled with anticipation, he could do this. He could win it.

She was ready for it, for the chaos that would break out and for the run needed to make when he actually crossed the chequered flag first and won. If he didn’t crash into a wall, he could do it. He could have a chance at being a world champion.

The chaos that broke out was worse than she expected, but she was there in Miami, so she had been through worse. The moment he was around the last corner, she started moving with the crowd, choosing another way than most of the engineers and team members to celebrate. She was still having to do her job. Photograph him. The moment Lando got out of the car, everyone seemed to explode in cheers and hollows. 20 seconds. Lando had a lead of 20 seconds.

Fucking amazing, Y/n thought, taking one snapshot after the other. Trying to hit all the angles she learned looked good on him over the last year. Or as in his words, simply lovely.

Lando jumped into the crowd, not as aggressively as in Miami, but the crowd felt the same nonetheless. Wild, ecstatic, prideful. He was so happy that, when he looked at her, he smiled, one finger next to his face and smiling at her. Not at the camera, at her. Y/n stood close enough to see the look in his eyes, he was forgiving her. After all she’d done to him, he was forgiving her and smiling while doing so.

And then he walked away, towards the cool down room, leaving her eyes to flicker down at the screen like she’d done so many times before. This was it. This was what she was hoping to receive, but better. She hoped for a pad on the back and a small smile, but when he looked at her, for a moment, it felt like nothing between them changed. It was still them, being reckless and in love.

The whole team gathered in front of the garage, celebrating the win like they’d always do. A big smile on Lando’s face as he sat in front of the sign with his P1 written on it, the trophies for him and constructor in front of them. The whole team was cheering and the moment the click on the camera went off, the champagne was popped.

It was more an instinct than part of a plan, though the moment Lando started to run away from the sticky liquid, running into her direction to shield her from the champagne. Hugging her waist and bending the part of his upper body what wasn’t already protecting her over her head to protect her hair. He felt her giggles against his chest. The champagne against his back got less and when it did near nothing, he took her hand in his and started running off from the crowd and into the back of the garage.

Letting his back fall against one of the walls, he pulled her in by her waist once more. Pressing their bodies together so they were breathing as one. Their chest heaving up and down from the adrenaline at the same time, both too excited still to process what they were even doing. The people outside were still heard cheering but to them that meant nothing. Especially not when one adventure swept right into the next one.

His lips crashing on hers like they were a lifetime separated. Like nothing they’d done before felt quiet like this and it didn’t. This was more. This was everything.

“I’m sorry for how I reacted and I’m sorry that I didn’t say anything yesterday,” he panted against her lips. “But I swore to myself that when I won today I’m gonna listen to the immature part of me and try to make you mine for real this time.”

“I just wanna be yours.”

[bunnygirllover45]

— VIVISECTION IS ANOTHER WAY OF SPELLING LOVE. ﹑◌﹒WARNINGS﹕Graphical descriptions of the body, Seth wants to study you like you're a computer or something, MC has few to no dialogue, gender neutral MC. Very bizarre at certain points. Medical bullshit and philosophical stuff. Bad English.

♱ ✧ ⤷ Word count: 1,6k words. (This one is a long mf)

The nights always brought the same dream with them; four walls and a room that belonged to an old movie, the walls were decorated with shelves filled with pots, pots with colorful flowers on them, some of them were carelessly placed on top of each other, pressing on top of the poor flower that was under the crushing weight of the other.

This room only had two big windows that illuminated the whole room, illuminating it in a red hue, no matter how much you tried to stare out the window nothing but red was visible. It seemed like if you stared too much into that void for a second, it would swallow you whole, making you part of the bloody landscape.

The furniture was scarce. A table, something that resembled a bookshelf that contained a few books, but the letters were illegible to you since you couldn’t move from your assigned seat; a chair by the aforementioned table. In the center of the table, was a small vase filled with fresh poppies.

The ambiance was a little theatrical, to be honest, you couldn’t even imagine someone living in a place like this, it didn’t look like a place where you could have plants either, most of them were placed against a wall all the way in the back of the room, shrouded by darkness. Not even the crimson light from the window could reach them.

“The light of this place isn’t good for them, I have checked it countless times. Instead of giving them life, it kills them.” You heard the voice of your companion seated in front of you, and when you turned your face to look at him you found the crimson again, but it wasn’t from the window this time, it was from his eyes.

Red. Red. It looked like it wanted to swallow you whole. Those spirals were like the circles of hell, one by one looking at your movements with caution. You tried to answer his words, maybe with a question, maybe with an affirmation, but it was always complicated talking when you entered this ‘dream’ and Seth knew it.

“You know.” he started. 

Standing up from his seat and dragging his fingers across the wood of the table he began to circle it, never breaking eye contact for a second. “I have been reading some very interesting books lately.” he continued, his voice dragging across the whole place with an ominous echo to it, which was impossible due to the small size of the place. “They're medicine books, vivisections, that’s what they call it.” a small smile formed on his lips.

“Vivisections?” you managed to ask, your voice merely a whisper. Seth sharpened his gaze, pleased with the sweet sound of your voice, and then he nodded. 

“Yes, vivisection. It’s like… taking an organism that’s still alive and opening it, to learn how they function on the inside.” 

Seth continued, his leather gloves dragging across the table from side to side while he continued to circle the table, like a vulture, though it looked like a mere distraction, a small gesture he did while talking. It didn’t stop it from being spine-chilling though, the elegance in his movements wasn’t natural. “It seemed interesting to me, sounds nasty, it probably is.” he laughed.

One blink was enough to make him disappear from your sight, but when you felt two hands resting on top of your shoulders you knew he was still there. “Seth?” you called out his name, and he responded with a gentle squeeze against your frame, then you felt his hot breathing against your ear, it made you shiver.

“I’m here,” he reassured, you couldn’t see his expression but you were pretty sure he was still smiling, it was rare to see him without that grin on his face. “Can you close your eyes for a second?”

His petition made you nervous, the fact you couldn’t even turn to look at him worsened the uneasy feeling, your survival instinct screaming for you to not close your eyes, to not give in. But Seth was always good with you every time you came here, so why not? “Please.” Seth whispered against your ear when he noticed you still didn’t close your eyes, the sound of his voice so close it made you tremble.

Going against all common sense you closed your eyes. Feeling Seth’s hands pulling away from your shoulders you almost opened them again unconsciously, but for some reason, it was like they were closed shut by an invisible force, heavy like lead.

“How obedient. How precious. This is one of the many reasons why I like you.” 

First, you felt his gloved hands on your face, the sensation now multiplied thanks to one of your senses being removed, the leather felt softer, the sounds louder, and Seth’s breathing hotter. “The brain is like the body’s computer, an insistent and adaptive little thing, it’s truly fascinating.” 

“I think your mind is the thing I like the most about you. From the small unconscious movements you make while you’re asleep to the most trivial conversations are born in this beautiful place. It never stops to amaze me.” 

Now his voice came from the right, his fingers slipping from your face to your back, your breathing quickening as soon as you felt his hands slipping under your clothes, Seth traced invisible circles on the now exposed skin. “From here I can feel your breathing, you moved a little, do my gloves feel cold?” 

Seth removed his hands and the next second you could feel the touch of his fingertips on top of your skin, it seemed like he had taken off his gloves. “Better~?”

His voice sounded a little playful. “Skin-to-skin contact is even more pleasurable, no? I imagine having your eyes closed makes the experience even more intense.” 

“I can hear your breathing more clearly. Your lungs are closer to my hands.” And you could feel his breathing, even hearing how we swallowed heavily, like trying to hold back any unwanted sounds from escaping. “What a celestial sound.”

“If I put my mouth on top of you right now I could kiss you until you ran out of air. Then you wouldn’t have any other option than breathing the air I give you, that way each particle of oxygen that enters your system would have my name written on it.”

You tried to move, expecting your legs to crash against the table in front of you, but again. you couldn’t move, but you could feel like… everything around you disappeared for a second.

“You like that? You want that?” And when you heard Seth’s voice coming from in front of you it was unmistakable, everything felt like a small space where only you and Seth existed. “Ask me. Ask me and I’ll give it to you, I’ll give you everything.” 

Then everything fell silent, eerily silent. Then his hands felt like they were back again in all the places he previously touched at the same time, your face, your back, your shoulders, his touch was hot, enveloping you like he wanted to swallow you, like the red color outside the window, like the red in his eyes.

“Here.” His fingers moved like snakes against the skin in your chest, you took a deep breath unconsciously, and Seth laughed. “Here’s your heart.” 

“Sometimes I want to push my fingers under your skin, I don’t want to hurt you, of course I don’t, but I would love to see how beautiful you’re from the inside.”

“Like a computer with all its parts exposed, I would like to grab them and build you again like a puzzle, no — like a beautiful statue.” 

Now his fingers moved up and down across your skin, just like the way he had touched the table before, it seemed like he had anticipated this moment from much before, what a macabre little thing his brain was. “Mhm…” you felt Seth’s soft hair against your chest, he was drinking the sound of your heart beating like he was in the middle of the desert and you were the most beautiful oasis. “This sound is even more beautiful.” 

“It’s beating fast, the little thing, how adorable. Is it fear? Is it love? What kind of feeling is accelerating your beautiful core? Is it me? It must be me, there’s no one else here.” 

“Hey, do you love me?” You couldn’t answer, Seth knew that. “I love you too, I love you too much.” 

“I want to grab you in between my arms and squeeze you so hard you’d break, I’ll kiss each piece while I put you back together. I would call you my most beautiful creation, there’s nothing more charming than being God’s favorite creation, no?” 

Now his voice didn’t come from the left nor the right, it felt like you were being enveloped by him, all your senses, your body, Seth wanted to kill you with soft caresses and sweet whispers of eternal devotion. He wanted to swallow you. He wanted to vivisection you.

“When you wake up from this, please remember my touch, remember these sensations, remember our vivisection. You’ll give me that, right?” 

“When you come back I’ll be waiting, I promise I’ll hug you so sweetly you’ll never want to wake up again. I’ll give you a paradise so sweet you’ll want to poison yourself in it.” 

Finally, you opened your eyes, but you weren’t in that eerie room, nor was Seth there anymore. You stared at the sheets of your bed, everything looked too white, it made your eyes hurt. Taking a deep breath you held your hand against your chest.

You could still feel him there. His touch was still present, tingling against your skin.

And when your eyes fell to the skin of your chest you could see it better, the red marks, like the light coming from the light from that room, like the color of the blood flowing through your veins.

The marks of Seth’s fingers were still there, in your skin.

[urcoolgf]

CRY BECAUSE IT’S OVER.ᐟ

pairing. ex bf¡rafe && reader

content. fluff. angst(?). language. suggestive thoughts/content.

summary. you’re too proud to break no contact, but rafe isn’t—not when it comes to you… loosely based on ‘don’t smile’ by sabrina carpenter. also not proofread && there’s a happy ending

you shouldn’t miss him. he was obsessive, and unhinged, and aggressive, and controlling, and insane—but he was yours… emphasis on was.

these had been the longest four weeks of your life. you broke up with rafe a month ago because you couldn’t take it anymore—couldn’t take the fighting and the controlling demeanor.

so, when you saw him with someone new, your heart felt 10 times heavier. you didn’t know why… you had broken up with him. he had every right to move on, but that didn’t mean you wanted him to.

you had written more in your journal in the past month than you had in your whole life. you tried to say it was a ‘coping mechanism’, but at this point you were staring to think it was making moving on even harder.

don’t say that you’ll always love me because you know i’ll bleed myself dry for you… over & over again

i want you to kiss miss me

don’t smile because it happened baby CRY BECAUSE IT’S OVER

i hate myself for still wanting you

HOW are you over us?!!??!!?!

do you say “i love you” to her with the same childish look in your eyes?

I WANNA SCREAM!!!!!

i hope you think about me every time you hold her.

your pages were filled with ink—crossed out thoughts, angry doodles, aggressive words…

seeing rafe with another girl—out and about—enjoying life was like a jab to the heart. you were bleeding out. how could he be fine? the two of you had dated for almost two years. did that mean nothing to him?

you were losing your mind, and you were embarrassed. he clearly didn’t care, or miss you. you felt pathetic for missing him. you had spent the past four weeks in bed, only getting out for food and to shower. the one time you go out for groceries, there he is with a new girl hanging off him. he was your every thought, but you refused to reach out. you broke up with him. if he’s happy with another girl then fuck him good for him!

—

rafe was a damn mess. when he saw you yesterday he swore he could feel his heart shattering. he was nothing without you, and not even a new girl could make him forget the weight of your absence. it was the most intense feeling he had ever experienced, and he was exhausted just from dealing with it.

you hadn’t reached out. not once. rafe was losing his damn mind over you—over the way you smiled, the sound of your laugh, the way you tasted on his lips, the feeling of your skin against his.

he was pathetic. he was pathetic, and he didn’t even fucking care.

he missed you. he needed you. you were the only person he cared about, and he was literally aching without you.

he wondered if you thought about him how he thought about you. rafe knew you were right for breaking up with him—honestly, he was surprised you didn’t do it sooner. you were too good for him, and it was scary. it was weird; he was most himself around you, and yet that was the downfall of it all… he trusted you more than anyone in the world, and the fact he made it so you couldn’t trust him broke him.

he couldn’t read you when he saw your face. he couldn’t tell if it crushed you the same way it crushed him. he didn’t love this girl—didn’t even like her. she wasn’t you, and that was becoming increasingly obvious. he tried to fill the void with her, but it was never going to work.

rafe was over it—he was done acting like this wasn’t killing him, done giving you space, and done with the silence. as he sat in his bed, being eaten alive by his thoughts, he grabbed his phone. his thumb hovered over your contact—you hadn’t blocked him on anything, which rafe saw as a good sign. he clicked the message button before his brain could talk him out of it.

—

rafe: I’m tired of acting like I don’t miss you y/n

rafe: You can hate me all you want. I want you to. You have every right to. But I’m done pretending I’m okay with this because I’m not

rafe: I don’t care how pathetic this sounds. I need you. I need you around and I’ll sound pathetic for the rest of my life if it means I might have another chance with you

rafe: Please just give me a chance to be a better man. I’ll be better for you I promise

the texts flooded in—one after the other—and you read them instantly. you couldn’t help but smile at your phone, and it made you feel like a total idiot. you didn’t respond though, you wanted to see how far rafe would go to make this right—even though you knew this was going to end with you taking him back like nothing happened. it wasn’t your fault, he was the only one you wanted.

rafe: Y/n I don’t know who I am without you. I know you saw me with that girl yesterday… she’s no one. She’s not you.

rafe: I have to think about you every time I’m even around her because she doesn’t make me feel the way you do. No one does and no one ever could

rafe: Let me be the man you deserve. I swear I won’t fuck it up

it’s like he was inside your mind—saying all the right things, saying things you had written. you shouldn’t have been surprised though, you were convinced he had always known you better than you knew yourself.

no matter what it was always going to be him.

you finally typed a response. your fingers only trembling slightly before pressing send. you stared at your phone like he wouldn’t respond if you weren’t looking.

y/n: come over we can talk

rafe: Thank you

rafe: I’ll be there in 5

you giggled like a teenager in love, kicking your feet as you laid in bed, belly down, smiling at your phone as if it was rafe in the flesh. you quickly moved off your bed to put on something… a little less? you knew you didn’t have to impress rafe, or make him want you—clearly he already did—but it didn’t hurt to show a little skin in the process. you stripped yourself of the huge hoodie you were wearing, keeping the tiny sleep shorts, and instead changing into a small, tight tank top that barely left anything to the imagination. you weren’t going to hook up, but making him swoon just a little more—yearn for it—wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

you fixed your hair a bit, taking it out of the messy bun to let it fall around your shoulders and down your back. your grabbed your favorite lip gloss from your nightstand, applying just a bit before flopping back into your bed, waiting for the knock on your apartment door.

—

rafe had never moved so fast in his life. as soon as he saw those five words he was on his way. he didn’t have the reputation of being desperate for anyone or anything, but you? he would get on his knees and beg if that’s what you wanted. hell– he’d do it just to make you smile, just to hear the sound of your laugh again.

he sped over to your place, he knew the route like it was second nature, and not being able to see you for a month didn’t change that. he lived further than five minutes, truthfully, but he couldn’t risk you changing your mind if he took too long.

he made his way into your apartment building, quietly urging the elevator to open faster, close faster, move faster. he was desperate okay? he didn’t think you would want anything to do with him after the break up—especially after seeing him with another girl yesterday.

once they returned back to rafe’s house after having saw you, he broke up with her. not in a mean way, of course, just told her he couldn’t give her what she needed. even when it didn’t involve you—it did—and deep down even the things you didn’t see were attempts of rafe trying to be better. he didn’t want to hurt her, she hadn’t done anything to him… she just wasn’t you, and—because of that—they were doomed from the start (which was only about a week ago anyway).

he was out the elevator doors before they were even open enough for him to fit through, walking fast to your door. when he got to it, he stood—staring—just for a moment. what if that text was actually you being mad? that you called him over here to yell at him, or tell him how fucked up he was for trying to reach out? or maybe you said he could come over just so you could put salt in the wound, and tell him how he could never have you back? rafe’s mind was racing, but he forced them down—forced down the idea that you might not want him back the way he does.

he knocked against the wooden door gently—his signature knock that he would always do when he came over. he placed his hands in his pockets while he waited for your answer, shifting back and forth on his feet. he didn’t know why he was so damn nervous, it was just you. you were perfect, and understanding, and you texted him back. surely that meant something.

—

your heart jumped when you heard the familiar knock at your door. you couldn’t help the childish grin that spread across your face as you hopped off your bed, trotting toward the door. once you stood in front of it, you took a deep breath, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth before reaching to open it.

the sight on the other side had you letting out a relieved breath you didn’t even know you were holding in.

“uh– hi. hey,” he looked nervous, his hands stabilized in his pockets, and he could barely look you in the eyes. it was cute. you weren’t used to seeing him like this—vulnerable, delicate, truly sorry.

“hey, rafe,” you breathed out, a small smile on your face, like you had been waiting for this moment for the past four weeks (you had).

“come in,” you moved out of the way to allow him to walk in. he entered like he shouldn’t have been there—like it was sacred ground he wasn’t supposed to be on.

you moved back into your bedroom, and rafe followed you without instruction. you giggled quietly to yourself when you heard his footsteps treading behind yours.

you sat—legs crossed—in the middle of your bed, looking up at rafe expectantly, like you were waiting for him to explain himself. you were waiting for the desperation from his texts to seep through him, and show you how sorry he really was. you were a mess without him, but you weren’t going to let him off without an explanation, an apology, something.

rafe’s eyes raked over your body—your too-tiny tank top shaped around your tits perfectly, and your tiny shorts were loose enough to make him lose his mind. but, that’s not what he was here for—even though his thoughts immediately went to how good you felt wrapped around him, how much he missed that feeling. your big doe eyes looked up at him. it was evident you weren’t going to speak first, which was fine. he knew what he came here for, and he was ready to prove himself—prove that if you gave him another chance… he wouldn’t waste it.

“listen, y/n… i know i messed up. i know i was controlling, and aggravating, and i wasn’t the easiest person to be around,” he knelt down in front of the bed, his height made it so you were basically eye to eye. you scooted a little closer toward the end—toward the boy literally on his knees for you.

you still didn’t speak, you just let him talk—let him look a little pathetic.

“i took you for granted because you’d been around for so long—put up with my shit for so long… i didn’t realize how much i was hurting you, and i’m so fuckin’ sorry,” his arms went up to rest on your sheets, finger fiddling with the gold ring on his finger.

a subtle smile tugged at your lips, but rafe saw it. a spark of hope flickered through his slightly glossed eyes.

“ev’rythin’ i said over text was real, y/n. ‘m nothin’ without you. i need you around. can’t be around anyone else without thinkin’ about you. these past four weeks have been a livin’ hell. i know i always took advantage of how understanding and forgiving you are, but i’m askin’ you to let me have it just one more time. promise i’ll make it worth it. promise i’ll give you the life you deserve—be the man you deserve. i can’t do this without you, y/n. ‘m jus’ sorry i didn’t realize that before hurting you,” his voice was so raw, so genuine. you hadn’t heard him like this… probably ever.

your head tilted at his words, smile widening. your eyes began to water. it might not have been enough for anyone else, but it was enough for you. this was a completely different person than you broke up with a month ago, and it might have not been obvious to anyone else, but it was obvious to you.

your voice was barely above a whisper when you finally responded, “m’kay,” your grin was childish and hopeful. rafe felt like a 2,000 pound weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

“i’m sorry, y/n.”

“i forgive you,” you replied—soft, understanding—just like he remembered. rafe couldn’t do anything but lower his head to your bed, extending his hands to touch your bare legs.

“i love you s’much,” his voice was muffled by the sheets beneath him. you placed your hands over his that rested on your calf. his head lifted slowly, looking you right in your eyes before quickly moving toward you, tackling you into the sheets. he hugged you so tight, like if he let go you’d disappear, or change your mind. your laugh filled his ears, and he was back in his heaven. he nuzzled his head in the crook of your neck like a little boy latching onto his mom.

“have no idea how much i missed you, baby—no idea how much i cried over you,” he spoke into your neck. your heart melted, and you relaxed into his touch.

“me too, rafe,” you ran your nails gently through his hair, leaving soft traces on his scalp. you both laid like that for awhile—rafe curled into you, murmuring sweet nothings from time to time.

rafe wasn’t perfect, but you weren’t either. in a way, that’s what made you so perfect for each other.

an: say it with me—MEN WHO YEARN, EARN.

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[ginandvodka-riley]

Keep dancing my love

Pairing: Ghost x 141!Reader

Synopsis: Ghost felt in love with the wrong person, a good woman that wasn't good for him. After the grief of a broken heart and feeling like he wasn't worth of being loved, he finally noticed you, dancing and sparkling like a shooting star, making his heart to feel alive again.

Maybe his dreams of love aren't so lost after all.

Cw: Pure fluff, hurt/comfort, intrusive thoughts, reader's callsign is "Firefly", Simon needs and deserves to be loved :( Bad British and Scottish accent.

Word count: 4.5k, One-Shot

Simon knew from the start that that relationship didn't have a future. He knew it, and even so he tried and believed with all his will that things could change.

They didn't.

Lilia, the woman who stole his heart. He really liked her and cared about her even though they weren't in the same team, didn't go on missions together for not once. They just met one day at base while training, the gym was crowded with soldiers and the moment he wanted to use a weight machine she was already there, so they agreed to share.

It wasn't a big deal, just two soldiers training like the rest. However, Lilia was a very social woman, extroverted and fun. He already knew her; it was his job as a Lieutenant and SAS soldier. She was also a Lieutenant, recently ascended, skilled, intelligent and brave, one of the best soldiers around the base.

But that's all, he didn't care about anything else, while she was efficient and knew how to protect herself and the others he didn't need to know more.

That day things changed.

As the congenial woman she was she started a small chat with him, not in an insistent way, he wasn't crazy or stupid, she knew the big intimating Ghost wasn't rude but wasn’t open neither.

Maybe that was what caught his attention, her vibrant personality and her mature behavior, but since that moment something began to be cooked inside his chest.

It started with casual chats in the training room and the mess hall. Soon it escalated to share messages every day that ended up in little flirting.

That was when he knew he was messed up.

He passed from thinking he was a good soldier to feel how his hands started to sweat every time she was near.

But he could control it. Really. Simon Riley was the damn Ghost, the terror itself in the battlefield, enemies trembled just by hearing his name. So, trying to hold back his feelings shouldn't be a big deal.

And at first it wasn't. It was a little crush after all.

Until one day she decided to take a step forward.

"Ghost, I'm going to be honest. I like you, and I know that you like me too."

Straight as always, straight to the point.

He froze for half a second, feeling caught like a deer in headlights. He really thought he was doing a good job hiding his feelings.

Poor silly man.

His heart skipped a beat and for a second, seeing that smile of hers, he swore he could hear little bells around them, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he deserved to be loved too.

“However…” And with that word the bells stopped abruptly, his heart was squeezed inside his chest. Of course he didn’t deserve something more, not with a good woman as her. “That’s all, I just like you, as a man and a friend, nothing more.”

He didn’t move or speak, after all he didn’t know how to feel about that. Was it something good? A bad thing? He could feel his hands trembling and his temperature decreasing, it was like a battle where it was impossible to know who would win since there wasn’t a war to start with.

“It’s okay.” He didn’t how but finally he managed to speak, with his voice deeper than normal since his throat was suddenly dry and tight. “We can still be friends.” He took the last sip of his bourbon and stood up, ready to leave. However, she took his hand softly, stopping him.

“Wait…” Ghost looked at her with his typical neutral expression, but you could see deep inside those chocolate eyes the pain that he was consuming him from the inside. “I was thinking, what about being friends with benefits?”

For a moment he felt as if the world around freeze in the moment, without being able to react or think straight.

Did he hear right? Friends with benefits?

He’s never been the type of person to form casual relationships, it was everything or nothing, no middle grounds. If he loved someone he really did, with heart and soul, and maybe he wasn’t in love right now, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t want to, because he really wanted to be something more.

It was not just a question of love; it was about respect too. Respect to her and to himself, how could he respect her if he only gave her half terms and half of himself? She deserved more, something special.

And the most important thing: trust.

A relationship needs trust, the security of knowing that your partner will be there for you, will love you and give you the same you give in return. Equality. And as someone who was scared deep in his soul, with a lot of nightmares and a past haunting him, he needed someone which he could trust completely, someone with whom he could feel safe, at home. Being in a half-hearted relationship would never give him what he really needed.

And still, something inside him wanted to try it, to hang on dreams of a future where they’d be something more, hoping that someday she loved him truthfully. After all, Lilia was a good woman, mature and with a good heart, maybe that would be enough for now to have hope for love.

Or maybe he just wanted to try because deep inside he knew he didn't deserve something more.

“Fine.” A single word, short and direct, accepting that deal with her.

That was the day when they started a casual relationship, in theory they could be with other people, but neither of them did it. Lilia was satisfied with him, she felt attracted to him and he was an excellent lover. Ghost, on the other hand, as the sweet lover he was, even when he had permission to be with other women he didn’t want to, not when he was a gentleman that respected her.

And especially, not when day by day he began to fall in love more and more. He didn’t have eyes for anyone else.

Simon Riley was a gentleman, a traditional man that gave flowers on random days, kissed his lover’s hand and treat her as a queen.

But above all, Simon Riley had a sensitive heart, of those that were one in a million. He didn’t care about people’s appearance; he didn’t need it to feel attracted but rather the personality. If someone’s way of being connected with him then he gave way to start a relationship, whether for love or friendship, and, in case he took the first step, once that he felt attraction for the person’s psyche then the physical attraction came too.

Reaching that point, falling in love was inevitable.

For him love was intense, sweet and sincere, unable to cheat, and like a flower with proper care, eternal.

Unfortunately, Lilia didn’t feel the same.

She appreciated and respected him, the attraction was still there, but she couldn’t offer something more,  not because she didn’t want to, if it were up to her she’d commit to something more than just friends with benefits, but because she didn’t love him in a romantic way, and love cannot be forced.

While he brought the moon and the whole solar system to her, she could only offer him her body, company and admiration for him in exchange.

For almost five months they were in that situationship, having intimacy from time to time and hanging out as simple friends, until one day the inevitable happened.

Lilia fell in love finally, not with him but with another man.

A civil neighbor of hers, as attentive as Simon but with a different personality. And maybe that was what attracted her, not because he was better than Simon, she’d never dare to compare them as if it was a competition, that man was simply different, there was something in him that lit that flame in her heart that Simon never could not even with all the love he gave her.

The affection and respect that she felt for him finally led her to end that relationship, trying to be as gentle as possible to not to hurt him, although she wasn’t aware about the feelings he felt towards her, she knew that he’d get hurt anyway, and what she least wanted was hurting him.

To give him his own space to heal, Lilia walked away from him, becoming strangers again like that afternoon in the training room.

That’s how thar beautiful woman left as she came.

And that’s how Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley was alone again, with the difference that this time his heart was broken and craving to feel the gentleness of a pair of hands that would touch him from time to time, of soft words when he was naked and the warmth that remained in bed after the act.

That was on the things he missed the most, although they always intimated in near hotels and never in base or in the house of any of them, that sensation of laying in a warm bed was comforting, and every time he went to cover themselves with those warm blankets he longed for them to be his own bed, that it feel that way every night he went to sleep, be able to hug her until they both felt asleep.

Complete intimacy.

The dream that seems he could never get to fulfill.

Sometimes he cried to sleep, sometimes he lost appetite and ate just for mere obligation. For the first weeks he even stopped enjoying the things that made him happy, like being with his brothers, laughing at Johnny’s silly jokes, afternoons drinking black tea with John, and the practices with Kyle.

He went through the grief of a broken heart once more. He became again that little 15-year-old boy that fell in love for the first time, that young soldier in love with his gorgeous Lieutenant, and became that corporal in love with his co-worker, whom he never could tell her how he felt about her because of the fear of being rejected once more.

And no matter how much his brothers wanted to help; he didn’t allow them to. Not because of the lack of confidence but because he felt ashamed of himself, how was it possible that he ended up with his heart broken when he already knew from the start that that relationship would not last any longer? It was stupid from him, embarrassing for a man in his mid-30’s.

How he wished he could go back in time and not allow himself to make that stupid mistake.

Sadly, life continued going on, time didn't forgive him and followed its own course. Three months passed in the blink of an eye, and even when he was better and wasn't in love anymore, the pain was still there, palpable and real. It didn't matter that he felt no attraction towards Lilia anymore, seeing her still hurt.

Hurt that it was a reminder that he wasn't made for love. That all his dreams were just that, naïve dreams that would never come true.

As time passed, Kyle's birthday came soon, Simon almost forgot about it and had to buy a last-minute gift. An elegant black watch since the Sargeant's died a mission ago.

At least he was still aware of what happened around him and his brothers.

That was an improvement, right?

The day finally came, it was celebrated in Kyle's favorite bar, a little one near the base, not much busy but that always had a good ambience, the perfect one to enjoy a peaceful night after a stressful week.

Of course, Kyle went with his fiancée, Price with his wife and Soap with his new beautiful birdie, a beautiful civil woman that turned the youngest's world upside down, in a good way though.

He was the only single man in the team, making him feel more pathetic than he already felt, didn't matter that Kyle invited a few more friends and his sisters too, the feeling of being broken was still there.

The first hour he just passed time sat at their table, drinking a glass of bourbon he couldn’t seem to finish no matter how much he tried to, feeling that he had already drank five glasses when it wasn’t. Like he was just physically there, but not emotionally.

Johnny tried to talk to him from time to time, didn't mention Lilia or his own girlfriend, just talked about whatever crossed his mind at the moment. The last mission, the party itself, even random silly jokes. For moments Simon let out soft laughs and said something more than a yes or no, but nothing else.

And not because he didn't want to. Hell, he really wanted to enjoy his brother's birthday, be the same man he was before Lilia, or at least don't feel like a pathetic miserable man crying for someone who probably was kissing another man right now. But his poor scared heart was still aching, making him feel useless for some imaginary reason, selfish even, for not being capable of making Kyle know how much he loved him.

Fucking idiot.

"She's like a lil sparkling star, doncha think so, LT?" He didn't know about who the Sargeant was talking about, and Soap noticed it so he couldn't help but giggle, making Simon grumble in response. "Our Sargeant over there."

Without seeing where Johny was pointing he finally knew who he was talking about.

You.

The new member of the team. A cheerful woman that was always smiling heartfully and making people laugh. Mature, skilled as hell, loyal and so full of life.

You joined the team just four months ago, when Laswell insisted, they needed a new pair of hands for the next mission since it was dead risky. And from the start you were a breath of fresh air, almost since the first day you fit in perfectly with every member of the team, even their respective partners loved you.

Everyone but him.

He didn't hate you, on the contrary, he considered you a good addition to the team and respected you. However, he was so focused on Lilia that he never took the time to get to know you better. He only knew your name, rank, skills and how cheerful you were. Nothing more. He didn't even know your age, it was between twenty-eight to thirty, right?

God, he hated himself so much.

He was so stupid that he didn't know something as basic as your damn age or your last name, and why? Just because he was infatuated with a woman that didn't feel the same about him. Those three months that he passed mopping around he could use them to, at least, talk with you.

Simon looked over where you were, talking and laughing with Kyle's sisters and Johnny's bird, and as always, you were sparkling like a star.

How didn't he notice before? Now that he was remembering, you always shone wherever you were, like the damn Belem's star made person. And the best part? That didn't prevent you from being a soldier to be feared of.

He couldn't help but smile at that thought, imaging you as some kind of gentle firefly who was able to kill an enemy twice your size.

Wait, wasn't firefly your callsign?

Damn, how many other things have he missed too?

"Firefly, huh?" It was the only thing he could say, and more than a question it was and statement, after all that callsign was perfect for you.

Johnny nodded while smiling at his girlfriend.

"Yeah, and da story's funny as hell." Simon looked at him with doubt, Johnny laughed again seeing his best friend's confused expression. "What? Not even women save themselves from stupid call names, ya know?"

Well, yes, he was conscious about it, but the name was just so you that he couldn't find any other reason to being called firefly.

"Ya should ask'er".

Simon stifled a sarcastic laugh. Was he serious? In four stupid months he hadn’t deigned himself to even ask her about something as simple as her favorite color, right now he felt like a damn idiot because of that, not being able to just look at her.

He tried to change the subject and began to talk about Kyle and how much he seemed to enjoy his birthday, and although Jhonny knew that Simon wanted to know more about you, he didn't push him and went with the flow.

However, for the next minutes Simon couldn't help but look at you from time to time, smiling internally just by seeing you being yourself.

And that smile...

God, he swore your smile was like a balm for his cold soul.

After about fifteen minutes the music began to sound louder and with more rhythm. Your cheerful smile didn't pass unnoticed by him as you took the women's hands inviting them to dance with you.

And it was at that exact moment where everything seemed to stop around him.

He didn't even care when Johnny's girlfriend approached them and apologize to him for taking her man to dance.

No. Nothing mattered.

The moment you started to move your body was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Your movements were so full of life, electrifying, sparkling. Of course they weren't the kind of one professional dancer, but that's exactly what made them special.

Being you was special.

You danced with no fear, without worrying about the world around you, at that moment it was only you and the music. Damn, Simon could even swear he saw sparks dancing and following every move you made, like magic.

His heart beat fast and deep, just seeing you was like a soft balm made for healing even the most wounded hearts.

For the next three or four songs ―he didn’t count them― you danced happily, enjoying yourself, like a free firefly.

He was so absorbed seeing you that by the time he noticed that you were exhausted and decided to take a break, approaching him it was too late.

In the blink of an eye, you were sat right next to him, giggling and trying to catch your breath. Just for a second you gave him a soft genuine smile before asking the waiter for a beer. Once you were calmer you put out your phone and started to respond to a few messages, and not even once your smile disappeared.

And him? He was just there sitting like a statue, frozen in time. On the outside he looked like always, composed, confident and serene ―and maybe a little too intimidating too―, but his mind was a mess, a total chaos ready to explode, his brain stopped working like a computer unable to find the executable file needed to process information. You didn’t notice it, but his hands were trembling slightly and sweaty, itching to touch you to confirm that you were real and not a hallucination.

He wanted to see that smile being directed at him, to hear your voice since he was so dumb to not even remember it, to know you better and not just because you were teammates, it was a genuine wish.

But what would he say? ‘Oh, hey, I’m sorry for being stupid and mopping around for a woman who didn’t even love me, what if we start from the scratch?’

No, that would be so awkward. Not to mention that he would seem more pathetic than he already felt.

“You dance pretty well.” Before he could process his own words, his mouth worked itself, not even registered how weird that sounded.

You gave him your full attention in a fraction of second, not believing what you had heard. Was he talking to you? Your stoic Lieutenant that only shared with you not more than ten words since you joined the team four months ago? You looked behind you thinking that maybe he was talking with Johnny and you didn’t notice he was right at your back. But no, Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley was talking to you.

Seeing your confused expression and incredulous gaze he felt like you slapped him in the face with a cold hand.

Of course, you couldn’t believe it was you who he was talking to.

“Uhm, me?” You asked genuinely, with a trembling confused smile. And God, he wanted to punch himself in the stomach for being so stupid and weird. However, to his surprise you giggled sheepishly. “Of course it was me, you idiot.” You mumbled for yourself although he could heard you. “Sorry, it’s just that…” Your words got stuck in your throat, not knowing what to say without being weird.

How curious that he was feeling exactly the same. Well, weird and guilty for probably causing you a bad impression that he didn’t like you or something like that.

“Never mind.” Finally, you could continue and smiled brightly at him. “Thank you, sir.”

Oh, that beautiful smile of yours. So genuine, so sparkling like yourself, it made him smile slightly, though you couldn’t see it since it was barely the ghost of a smile.

And now that you saw him better and without the mask you could notice how handsome he was. Not in a typical Hollywood way, his crooked nose and strong frown were really attractive, and his scars were like stars decorating his face, especially the one on his lip.

Meanwhile, he felt his chest bubbling and his brain melting just by seeing your smile, wanting to taste a bit of your cheerful heart. The best part was that apparently you weren’t mad at him for being a hermit depressed man those months.

“Don’ be formal sweetheart.” Oh fuck, he couldn’t help but call you by that pet name. “Call me Ghost, or Simon.”

Why? Why was he making himself vulnerable? What were you doing to him?

Well, maybe it was your bright smile that caused his brain to shortcut.

“Ok, si―Simon.” You giggled as you corrected yourself. “Sorry.”

He wanted to make you laugh even more for no reason, just because it felt good.

“’m the one who should be sorry.” He didn’t think twice, he needed to apologize to you, and well, you were making his brain dumb anyway so, whatever. “I didn’ welcome’ya, didn’ even talk to ya. ‘m really sorry.” When he saw that confused expression of yours, he immediately regretted it. If you didn’t talk about it, why the hell did he have to bring it up? “I had a bad time and… that…”

For fucks sake just shut the fuck up, you dumbass.

Before he could stand up and run away to stop making this weirder you waved your hand dismissively and smiled softly.

“Hey, it’s okay, you don’t have to explain yourself. At least you don’t hate me.”

“No, no.” He was quick to answer you. “I could never.” And he was honest, he was far from hating you. How could he? You were a good soldier and a sparkling woman, the team already loved you. “Why firefly?”

That was an abrupt change of theme, but he couldn’t help it. And despite your initial take aback you smiled again and answered. On your first mission you fell on your butt into a couple of crates filled with a colorless powder. Or so you thought until night fell and your butt started glowing greenish yellow, just like a firefly.

You couldn’t stop laughing just remembering that time, and he did the same, chuckling at the image of your brilliant butt in the middle of the night.

And so, you continued telling him some funny stories about different events of your life, and he did the same, he hadn’t as much as you, his life was more a tragedy, but at least his dark sinical humor made you laugh.

Little by little you began to get to know each other, and with every minute that he passed by your side he was enthralled by you, in that moment he could affirm with certainty that you were a shining star full of live, capable of illuminating even the darkest corners.

Including his own heart, which thanks to yours, it didn’t feel sad anymore.

Before you knew it an hour passed during which you both seemed trapped in your own bubble, oblivious to the world around you. You didn’t even touch your drinks again. It was just him and you.

Meanwhile, a song began to be heard in the background, and not just any song but one of your favorites.

“God, I love this song!” You eyes lit up with excitement and Ghost felt his heart race as his palms started to sweat once more. “Do you know how to dance?” You asked curiously, although it was probably a stupid question you did it anyway.

Of course he shook his head.

“‘m sorry love, I have two left feet.” You giggled at his comment and that made his hands became sweatier for some reason.

The intelligent thing would be keeping it like that, give up and let you dance with Kyle’s sisters or with whoever you wanted to, after all just by seeing you moving so freely at music’s rhythm was enough to make him feel a new breath of life soothe his soul.

But he wanted more, needed more, he wanted to be part of your sparkling movements that felt like magic, the most beautiful in the world.

“However,” please don’t look at me with those sparkling eyes, “I’ll made an exception for ya, though I won’ take responsibility if I step on you, luv.”

Despite the fear of making a fool he knew it would be worth falling on his butt in front of the whole bar just so you could smile like that all night, gleaming and shining.

Without further ado you took his hand, making him stand up and, and led him towards the dance floor, making a space for you both in the middle of the hustle and bustle.

“Just relax,” it’d be easier to do it if you weren’t centimeters away from him, feeling the heat emanating from your body “you don’t have to know how to dance, just follow the rhythm, it’s what I do.”

You carefully guided every part of his body, slowly but surely, without following the rhythm of the song precisely since it was fast-paced and you had teaching him step by step.

And for him, every second of his clumsy movements was worth it, because seeing you dancing gave him a new fresh breath, full of life, one that was soft and shimmered in the darkness. Plus, your gentle words congratulating him for every step he made race his heart in a bubbling warm sensation, combined with how good your body felt against his, it was the Eden itself on earth for him.

In that moment he felt that meanwhile you kept dancing by his side everything else would be fine. All he needed was to look into your eyes and feel his body moving with yours to know.

He didn't know what future awaited you both, didn’t even know how to describe the tingling that ran through his skin at the slightest touch of yours, but what he was sure of was that that dancing meant that finally a flower would begin to grow up between the two of you.

[amperstrash]

"Did You See Me?" - Han Jisung x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Slice of Life, Established Relationship, Han x GN!Reader

Summary: You try to watch his comeback stage alone. He video-calls you right after to ask what you thought, like a kid needing praise.

Word Count: 986

A/N: First K-Pop fic! I hope y'all enjoy. My other blog, @deaky-trash has all my old Queen/BoRhap fics, and this is my second fanfic in a long time! I have a bunch of stuff lined up next: a silly Kyrell (Ampers&One) x Reader, and then a cute fluffy friends to lovers for Woonhak (BoyNextDoor)! Feel free to request stuff any time, and I love you all!

----------

Y/N toed off their shoes with a soft groan, their back aching from the weight of the day. The apartment greeted them with quiet— too quiet. The lights hummed low and golden, casting long, familiar shadows across the living room walls. God forbid they ever turn on the overhead— too harsh, too cold. It never felt like home that way.

They set their keys in the tray by the door, shrugged off their jacket, and padded into the kitchen in socked feet to prepare for some downtime. The tea they made earlier— that salted caramel stuff they bought in America, his latest obsession— had gone cold on the counter. They popped it into the microwave without thinking.

It was comeback day. He was already a few cities away, swamped in pre-recordings, outfit changes, and the kind of pre-stage jitters he always masked with bravado. He hadn’t texted in a few hours, but that was normal— the chaos before a stage. The kind of work that made exhaustion settle deep in your bones and had you feeling like you never wanted to move again.

But still, Y/N missed him.

They curled up on the couch, slipping into one of Han’s hoodies he’d left behind. It slouched over their frame, sleeves pulled down to their knuckles. He always liked the oversized ones. The stage was set to air any minute.

Y/N grabbed the remote and powered on the TV, the screen lighting up as they flipped through channels for the Stray Kids comeback stage. They had meant to wait and watch it with him, but… who were they kidding? Han knew better than to expect them to wait days to see their Hannie on stage again.

The fanchants hit first as they pulled a blanket over themselves and took a sip of reheated tea. Then came Stray Kids, commanding the stage just by being there. And there he was.

Han.

Hair pushed back, gaze sharp, jaw set like he meant business. The same guy who tripped over their coffee table two nights ago trying to show them a dance move was now practically eating the camera alive.

Y/N laughed softly, their heart swelling.

His verse in the first song hit— sharp, fast, ridiculous in the best way— and the moment it ended, he smirked, eyes flicking just barely offstage. Like he was checking something. Y/N smiled. Only they would catch that. He was probably making sure a camera cue hit right. He was always worried about those things.

The camera caught Han mid-smirk, all fire and finesse. Y/N’s chest ached in that way it always did when they saw him like this— so far away, and yet still, somehow, theirs.

They watched the rest of the performance, eyes glued to Han the entire time.

I can’t wait to watch this all over again… when he’s next to me.

Y/N smiled to themself, already picturing his smug little grin when he replayed it later, waiting for praise.

The performance ended almost too quickly. Y/N blinked at the screen— dazed, proud, and aching just a little. They were just about to text him ‘you crushed it, baby!!’ when their phone buzzed.

FaceTime. ‘hannie <33’

“Hey!” he beamed, slightly out of breath, sweat dripping down his forehead and glitter clinging to his jaw. “Did you see me?”

Y/N blinked. “Are you calling me from the dressing room?”

“No,” he said, way too fast. “I’m calling you from a… secure, undisclosed location where I definitely wasn’t pretending to be cool for a billion cameras. But for real, how was it?”

“You were fine, I guess… But Hyunjin might have outshined you a little,” they teased.

“Excuse me?!” His voice shot up half an octave. “That was the best 45 seconds of rap Korea has ever seen! I practiced for months!”

Y/N snorted, laughing so hard they had to wipe a stray tear from their cheek.

“No, babe, you looked great. Happy. Like you were having fun.”

Han went quiet for a second, eyes flicking off to the side as he tried not to smile.

“It’s ‘cause I was thinking about you…” he muttered, glancing back with a soft laugh.

“Did I look okay? Were my bangs working with me or against me?”

“You looked great, babe. Bangs were on your side. Fully cooperating.”

From somewhere off-screen came Bang Chan’s voice— quiet but just loud enough to make Y/N laugh: “Stop flirting and take off your mic pack! Get off FaceTime, lover boy!”

“I’m not flirting!” Han called back. “I’m… doing a survey!”

Y/N bit back a grin. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“Your weirdo,” he said easily, grinning like he just won something. “But seriously… I did good?”

The way he asked— quieter now, less dramatic— made something in their chest squeeze. He was still glowing from the stage, but now he looked a little smaller. Just Han again. Not the idol. Just the man who still needed to hear it.

Y/N tucked their knees up to their chest, the ache in their heart blooming into warmth. “You did better than okay. You were amazing, Hannie.”

His smile softened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m proud of you.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just looked at them through the screen like he wanted to step through it. Then, softly: “Thanks. I really needed that.”

Someone called for him again. He sighed, groaned dramatically, and rolled his eyes like it physically pained him. “Okay, okay! I’m coming! Love you, gotta go— call you later?”

“Always,” Y/N said.

He blew a kiss at the camera and hung up mid-smooch. Y/N stared at the lock screen for a second, then laughed to themself, burying their face in Han’s hoodie. It smelled like him. Like his cologne. His tea. Him.

He’d be home in a few days. But for now… this was enough.

[robinvomit]

† love me anyway : various.

⋆˙⟡ "Love me in the quiet, in the chaos, in the ruin. Love me when I am sharp edges and storm-torn hands. Love me not for what I could be, but for what I am and if I break, love me still".

⋆˙⟡ request: not a request - just something from a notebook. ⋆˙⟡ featuring: dick grayson, jason todd, tim drake, damian wayne, cassandra cain, bruce wayne, clark kent, kon-el ↦ kalico note: it's the fact i am nervous to even post. i may take a break from posting anything big for a while, i apologize everyone.

⋆˙⟡ 𝐓𝐢𝐦 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐞

the room feels smaller now, heavy and tight, as if the walls are inching closer every second you stand there in silence. tim hasn't looked up from the floor since it began, his fingers curled into loose fists at his sides, tension visible in his frame like he's fighting a battle you can't see. it's quiet - too quiet - broken only by the faint hum of traffic through the walls, the muffled life of the city that hates you both doing nothing for the darkening mood.

you shift on your feet, swallowing hard, chest tight with something bitter and heavy. "tim," you whisper; it's soft, cracked, because you don't even know how to start, how to make this feel right again. his gaze flickers to yours, exhaustion etched deep in every shadow of his face, his eyes haunted by the kind of doubt that eats someone alive from the inside out. you feel your throat tighten, struggling against the burning in your jaw, the way every word catches, jagged and painful.

"i don't know what you expect from me," you finally whisper, voice tight and strained with emotion. it hurts to say, like pulling glass from your chest, like exposing every wound, every hurt, every insecurity you've both tried so hard to keep hidden beneath the surface. "i don't know how to fix this, tim. i don't.. i don't know how to make you believe that you're enough, you pull away more and more every time i try. and i-" your voice cracks, sharp and sudden, shattering against the quiet. "i don't know what you want."

tim's expression doesn't shift, but something in his eyes flickers; a flash of hurt, brief but intense enough to sting. he swallows, fingers flexing at his sides, knuckles white with restraint as he fights to keep himself still and composed. but the pain is there; it bleeds through in every line of his face, in every shaky exhale, in the unsteady rise and fall of his chest beneath his thin, worn t-shirt.

"love me anyway," he says suddenly, his voice rough and low, barely above a whisper. it feels loud, echoing through the room, through your chest, through every fiber of your being. he lifts his head, meeting your eyes, and the way he looks at you nearly tears you apart. it's desperate and vulnerable in ways tim so rarely lets himself be. "even if you don't know how. even if i don't deserve it- even if you think it's pointless. even if you're tired. even if it's hard. i know, i forget to be present, i have days when i'm barely here at all and i know.. i know ive heard you say you need and i.." he swallows roughly, jaw tightening as he forces out the words. "just love me anyway."

and something inside you splinters, crumbling beneath the weight of his plea. you're frozen, rooted to the spot with an aching in your chest from how how wounded he sounds. you want to reach for him, to close the distance, to promise him every impossible thing he's asking for but your voice dies in your throat, caught in the crushing realization that he'd ever doubted it at all.

tim looks away, the silence returning heavier than before, swallowing the fragile moment whole. "i think… we need a break," he says quietly, his voice barely audible now. it's like he's conceding defeat, like he's finally admitting to himself - and to you - that maybe neither of you can keep pushing through walls that neither knows how to break down.

and you realize, standing there in the silence, heart heavy with the echo of words you can't unsay, that loving someone doesn't always mean you know how to save them. sometimes, love isn't enough to bridge every gap. sometimes, it just means watching helplessly as they disappear behind walls neither of you built but both of you suffer behind.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

⋆˙⟡ 𝐃𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧

the apartment feels too small, too still, as if the silence is pressing down on you, wrapping around your throat and squeezing until you're breathless. dick stands across from you, still soaked from the rain, his jacket clinging heavily to his shoulders, a silent testament to the urgency that drove him here. his chest heaves slightly with uneven breaths, shoulders rising and falling beneath damp leather and the faint chill that clings to his skin. he doesn't say anything, but his eyes - god, his eyes say enough, shadowed and exhausted, pleading with you to understand something he can't quite put into words.

your chest aches with the weight of everything you've left unsaid, weeks of holding back finally fraying at the edges, spilling out in a voice that trembles despite your best effort to hold it steady; "i don't know what you wanted me to do, dick. i don't know what you expect from me!"

he visibly flinches at the rawness in your words, like each one lands sharper than the last, forcing him to finally look you in the eye. his jaw tenses, his shoulders drawing up defensively, and then something snaps in him, a fragile thread he's been clinging to finally giving way.

"love me anyway!" he shouts, voice cracking halfway through, rough and desperate, filled with the ache of a man who's always been strong. a man that's always held the weight of everyone else's world but never learned how to build his own. his hands curl into fists at his sides, knuckles white, his expression a mix of anger and pain. "that's all i ever wanted! i screw up, i know. i run, i get in trouble, i - i never stop, and i hate that i do that to you." his voice drops, quieter but no less intense, eyes burning with unshed tears. "i know it's not fair. but goddammit.. love me anyway."

your throat tightens, every second of silence after his plea stretching painfully between you. the vulnerability on his face hurts worse than any wound, cuts deeper than any fight you've ever had. you've always loved him through everything, even when it hurt, even when he pushed you away but this feels different.

something vital is hanging in the balance.

you're still, your heartbeat a dull ache against your ribs, hands trembling as you force yourself to speak, voice hoarse and barely audible. "i think…i think we need a break."

the words settle like lead between you, heavy and irreversible. dick steps back as if you've struck him, his expression shifting from desperate to blank in the blink of an eye, the shock and pain flickering briefly across his face before fading into a hollow resignation. you can feel the space opening wider, see the way he begins closing off, like the words themselves have forced distance he doesn't want but somehow expected.

he doesn't respond right away, just looks away from you, breathing deeply, and you wonder - achingly, hopelessly - if this is the moment everything finally breaks for good.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

⋆˙⟡ 𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

the fight burns in a slow, devastating silence before either of you speaks a word, and it's almost worse this way because silence means damian is thinking, analyzing, preparing. he's pulling away, stepping backward, eyes dark, focused and distant, like he's already starting to construct walls. preparing to shut you out. his posture is painfully rigid, a soldier at attention, a prince too proud to bend, to break - even in front of you.

you can't handle it. not tonight. not when the air feels charged like a storm. electric and impossibly heavy with the weight of unspoken hurt. you step forward, swallowing back the lump in your throat, forcing words past trembling lips because he needs to understand.

"i don't know what you expect from me, damian," you say, voice soft but threaded with frustration; with an exhaustion you've been carrying far too long. "i don't.. i don't know what else you want me to do."

he lifts his gaze sharply, eyes narrowing, brows furrowing in an instant. but there's something beneath the anger - a brief flash of vulnerability, a crack in the carefully constructed armor that damian has worn from the moment you first met.

"love me anyway," he finally snaps, voice sharp but laced with something deeply wounded, something young and aching and desperately trying not to break. "is that so impossible for you?"

there's the truth of it; the fragile heart beneath the fierce exterior, the boy who still expects rejection, who still braces for it every time love is offered, every time tenderness is shown. your heart shatters because, beneath everything, damian still believes he's unworthy. he still believes he has to earn your love, to prove himself, to constantly fight for something he fears will slip from his fingers at any second.

"damian.." you begin gently, stepping toward him, wanting to reach out but hesitating because he looks so guarded, so closed off. "i do love you. you know that."

he shakes his head sharply, lips pressed into a tight, thin line. "not enough to accept me. not enough to trust that i want you exactly as you are - that i do not need you to change." his voice cracks just slightly, barely perceptible, but you feel it deep down in your bones. "if you can't - if you won't - i believe.. perhaps, we need a break."

the words freeze your blood. damian never retreats, never surrenders - not to anyone, not even you. yet here he stands, voice unsteady and broken, telling you that he'd rather let you go than endure the pain of not being enough. you stare at him, throat burning, eyes stinging with unshed tears because you see it clearly now; the careful defenses, the self-inflicted punishment he believes he deserves.

"i don't want a break," you whisper, heart beginning to ache. "i just want you. i just-"

he inhales sharply, gaze suddenly intense, eyes bright with a pain he's been holding back for far too long. "then prove it," he says softly, desperately. "because right now.. right now, i do not know how to believe you."

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

⋆˙⟡ 𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐝

the air in the apartment feels suffocating, thick with unspoken words and tension that coils around your lungs until every breath feels like swallowing razor blades. jason stands near the window, silhouetted against the dim glow of the streetlights below, his back turned to you as though he can't bear to face what's happening head-on.

he's painfully still, shoulders rigid beneath his worn leather jacket, fists clenched tightly at his sides. you can practically feel the barely contained storm radiating off him; the anger, the frustration, the quiet, desperate hurt that's been building for far too long.

your voice finally breaks the silence, quiet and strained, exhaustion pulling at every syllable. "i don't know what you expect me to do anymore, jason.." your voice cracks under the weight of honesty, frustration, and helplessness. "i keep trying, but.. nothing changes. you won't let me help and you won't let me in. what am i supposed to do? tell me what to do."

jason turns sharply, the motion quick and sudden, like your words have sliced through whatever fragile restraint he had left. his eyes are burning, fierce with anger but deeper still with hurt that he's tried so hard to bury beneath layers of bitterness, control, and sarcasm. his jaw tightens, muscles twitching as he tries to keep steady, and when he finally speaks, his voice is rough, low, breaking under the strain of what he's feeling.

"love me anyway," he snaps, almost desperately, the words shattering like glass between you. his eyes burn into yours, fierce yet wounded, daring you to deny him, challenging you to turn your back; to prove every fear he's ever had right.

"even if i'm fucked up. even if you hate the way i push you away. even if i don't deserve it.. even if it's impossible to keep dealing with me, just-" he falters, breathing sharply through clenched teeth, eyes glistening, more vulnerable than you've ever seen. "just love me anyway. you're supposed to-"

your chest feels like it's caving in, his words echoing sharply inside your ribcage, leaving bruises no one else could see. you want to reach out, to hold him, but you feel paralyzed, stuck between your own hurt and his pain. jason swallows hard, looking away now, eyes darkening as something closes off inside him again, shielding that fleeting vulnerability behind thick walls once more.

after a heavy pause, his voice returns, quieter now, hollowed out by acceptance. "we should take a break," he says, sharp, not meeting your gaze. his eyes fix on the floor, shoulders tense, as if bracing himself against your response, against the hurt he's sure will follow. you stare at him, the ache spreading slowly through your bones, settling into your marrow. neither of you moves, the words hanging heavy and bitter between you, and for a moment, all that's left is silence, stretched unbearably thin.

because loving jason todd has always been complicated; beautiful, painful, chaotic, deep - but you realize, for the first time, that maybe love isn't always enough to save someone who won't let you in. even if you want to love him anyway.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

⋆˙⟡ 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐢𝐧

cass stands quietly, the air around her tense, as if the world itself has paused to listen. her eyes remain fixed on the floor between you, shadows dancing across her features beneath the dim lighting of the training room. you've always been able to read her, even without words, but now the silence feels suffocating rather than comforting. it hangs in the space, heavier with every breath she doesn't take, every move she doesn't make, every heartbeat that feels painfully slow. she's never been good with words, and yet you both know something needs to be said.

"i don't know what you expect from me, cass," you finally say, your voice strained under the weight of exhaustion and frustration, a quiet desperation settling into your bones. "i can't guess what you're thinking or feeling all the time, and it's starting to feel like… like it's not enough. like i'm not enough."

cassandra flinches subtly, her eyes wide and dark, flickering with emotions she struggles to name but you see clearly: confusion, hurt, fear. her fingers twitch restlessly at her sides while she desperately tries to find the words to fix it all. then, uncharacteristically, she takes a careful step forward, eyes locked on yours, silently pleading for you to understand her, to hear what she can't say.

"love me anyway," she whispers, her voice shaking softly, like each word costs her something she can't afford to lose. her gaze searches yours, the quiet tremble in her voice revealing more than she's ever willingly shown. "please…just love me anyway."

you can feel your heart fracturing at the quiet, pleading desperation in her voice. because you do, you love her so fiercely it aches, but it's not enough, not right now, not with this distance growing between you, leaving you both feeling lost and uncertain; distant despite standing mere inches apart. your eyes blur with tears you fight to hold back as you take a slow, shaky breath and whisper words that you know will break you both.

"i think…i think we need a break, cass."

she freezes, shoulders stiffening, the vulnerability in her eyes turning to open, stark panic. cassandra doesn't speak, doesn't make a sound, but her expression says everything she can't. for the first time, you've genuinely shaken her, genuinely hurt her, and the knowledge makes you sick.

she doesn't cry, doesn't shout, but she looks at you as though you've taken something vital away from her, leaving her unsteady, lost.

and yet, even in this silence, even in this hurt, you both know it isn't an end. it feels more like a desperate attempt at preserving what's left, at giving yourselves time to breathe, to heal, to find your way back through the fractures that have grown between you. and as cassie slowly draws herself up, taking a breath that's a little too shaky, a little too unsteady, you wonder if the space will heal or widen the cracks you've already made.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

⋆˙⟡ 𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

the air is heavy, tense with the kind of silence only bruce can summon. he stands there, halfway turned away from you, his profile sharp against the pale glow of the batcomputer. his posture is rigid, shoulders tense beneath the thick fabric of his suit, and you can see the way his jaw is clenched. everything between you is raw, an open wound you've both pretended wasn't there, but now the illusion has shattered completely.

"i don't know what else you expect me to do," you finally say, your voice softer than you intended, heavy with exhaustion. you've carried this burden for so long; loving him, accepting the shadows, the secrets, the distance. you've given all you could, pouring your heart into a man who always seems just out of reach, a shadow slipping between your fingers. "i've done everything, bruce. i've tried to be everything. i've tried to be what you need, what gotham lets you have."

bruce turns then, slow and deliberate, fixing you with a look that makes your heart ache. his eyes are dark, guarded, but beneath that practiced stoicism is a flicker of hurt, a quiet desperation that few ever get to see. "you love me when it's easy," he mumbles, voice rough as sandpaper, each word heavy with accusation. "you love me when it doesn't hurt. but this-" he gestures toward the cavern around you, to the shadows lingering in every corner, the endless responsibilities of a city that never sleeps- "this was never going to be easy. not for me. not for us."

"you've never made it easy, bruce. not once. but i've always stayed," you manage, feeling your voice break despite your best attempts to hold yourself together. your throat aching from the strain of holding back tears. you don't want to crumble now, not in front of him, not when every part of you feels exposed. "i just.. i just don't think i can do it anymore. i think.. we need a break."

his reaction is subtle, almost imperceptible. a flicker of his eyelids, a brief tightening of his lips, but to you, it feels like an earthquake. he's silent for a long, heavy moment, staring at you as if he's trying to decipher a code, trying to understand how he let it get this far. when he speaks, it's softer, lower, more vulnerable than you've ever heard him.

"is that what you really want?"

and god, it hurts. because you don't know how to answer. you're not even sure what you want anymore, what you can bear. you only know this ache, this constant, relentless hurt is tearing you apart. your silence seems to be answer enough and he takes a step toward you, his voice quiet yet impossibly heavy as he finally whispers:

"or just… love me anyway."

the words hit you with enough force that you're not sure if your knees will hold. your vision blurs with unshed tears, your chest painfully tight. you want to say you already do - you have, you always have - but the words won't come. instead, you stare at him, heartbroken, desperately wishing things were different, knowing nothing is ever simple with bruce wayne.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

⋆˙⟡ 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭

the farmhouse is quiet, the soft hum of the wind outside making the silence between you and clark seem louder, heavier, as if every unspoken word had been bottled and finally shattered against the kitchen floor. he stands near the window, bathed in moonlight that makes him look both ethereal and distant, the set of his shoulders carrying the unbearable weight of too many lives; too many expectations. his head is bowed slightly, hands resting against the window ledge, grounding himself against the storm he feels coming. he hasn't looked at you yet, hasn't let you see the hurt he knows is reflected clear as day in his eyes, but you can feel it, radiating off of him in painful waves.

you draw a breath but it feels sharp, uneven, scraping against your ribs. your words come out quieter than intended, a whisper edged with frustration, exhaustion, and confusion. "i don't know what you want from me anymore, clark. i don't know what you expect me to do."

he turns at that, expression tight with something that almost looks like desperation. it's rare - unsettlingly rare - to see him shaken, the unwavering calm he wears for the world fraying at the edges. his jaw is tense, muscles flexing as he pushes back an anger that's not truly meant for you, but for the crushing reality of what loving him means. "i need you to love me anyway," he says firmly, voice edged with raw honesty and aching vulnerability. "even if i can't always be here, even if i have to choose the world over us.. i need you to love me anyway."

your chest tightens painfully, heart squeezing in your chest at the stark truth laid bare between you. it feels like your throat is closing up, because you've always known. you've known that loving clark kent meant sharing him, not just with metropolis, but with the world. you'd accepted it willingly, openly, long ago. but now, standing here in the silence, the truth feels crushing. because sometimes you want selfishness. sometimes you want him to choose you first, even if it's just this once.

your voice breaks quietly into the heavy silence, rough with the ache in your throat and the tears you're barely holding back. "maybe…maybe we need a break then, clark."

the words hang there, still and final, and clark's expression shifts immediately. pain flashes openly across his face, unguarded and profound. he looks like you've struck him harder than kryptonite ever could, and you watch his fingers tighten against the windowsill, gripping it so hard you're almost certain the wood will splinter beneath his touch. he takes a breath, slow and shaky, then looks away, nodding faintly in acceptance as if he'd somehow known this was coming but hoped desperately it wouldn't.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

⋆˙⟡ 𝐊𝐨𝐧

the headquarters feels too quiet, unbearably empty despite the distant murmur of voices in another room. kon stands with his back pressed against the kitchen counter, eyes cast down toward the cracked tile floor, brows furrowed in frustration. the tension between you is thick, stretched thin, like a rubber band about to snap. he's always so casual, so good at brushing things off, shrugging away the weight of the world with an easy smile and a cocky tilt of his sunglasses. but now? that armor has slipped away, leaving something broken and hurt exposed beneath.

you can see it in the hard line of his jaw, the way his shoulders are pulled tight, the bitter edge to his usually carefree expression. kon doesn't show vulnerability easily; he hides behind bravado, sarcasm, and a careful mask of arrogance. but tonight, there's none of that. tonight, he's just standing there, wounded and open, looking at you like he's waiting for something, anything to make sense of the fracture between you.

"i don't know what you expect from me, kon," you finally say, voice trembling but steady, the hurt and exhaustion plain in every quiet syllable. "you're always pushing me away, but then you look at me like i'm the one leaving. what do you want me to do?"

his eyes flash sharply behind his sunglasses and in one swift movement, he pulls them away, dropping them carelessly onto the counter. his gaze is intense, open, painfully honest in a way that steals your breath away. there's a rawness there you've never seen from him, as if something inside him is breaking apart and he's desperately trying to hold it together.

"love me anyway," he says fiercely, voice hoarse and tight by the force of his own emotions. "that's it. that's all i've ever wanted. from anyone. i know- i know i'm a mess, alright? i know i don't always make it easy, but i just- i need you to love me anyway."

your heart twists painfully in your chest, because you've always known. you've known that kon's cocky grin and fearless bravado mask something deeper. you've always loved him through it all, every sharp edge and every hidden hurt. but tonight, standing across from him, you finally understand that love alone isn't enough to fix what's broken between you.

not when he won't let you.

"maybe…" you whisper softly, the ache pressing sharply against your throat, heavy and painful, "maybe we just need a break."

he freezes, breath catching painfully, and you watch the quiet devastation spread slowly across his features, shattering whatever confidence had managed to remain. he opens his mouth as if to say something, then stops, swallowing thickly before looking away.

you stand silently in the hollow aftermath, wishing desperately it didn't feel so final, watching as kon struggles to piece together a response, realizing too late that words aren't always enough; especially when they're the wrong ones.