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elikajinnie · 5 months ago

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Survive Till Daylight, My Dear - L.H

P: Dead By Daylight Killer!Heeseung X Survivor!Reader (recommended age: 17+)

Warnings: Stalking, Murder, Death, Chasing, Obsession, Blood/Injury, Psychological Thriller, Graphic Descriptions, Suggestive Content, Teasing, Hypnosis?, Yo he kinda sadistic.

Synopsis: Your life was ripped away when you were abducted into a twisted realm ruled by something called the Entity. But while most killers are fixated on winning, one seems dangerously fixated on you.

a/n: during a round of dead by daylight, this idea came when i kept stalking a survivor as ghostface on the withered isle map :3

disclaimer! all the killers and survivors in this is in dbd the game. I do not own any of them. the idea of heeseung was a creative endeavour. (Virtuoso: a person highly skilled in music or another artistic pursuit.)

now playing: the shadows by chris grey | fairytale (violin) by dramatic violin | runaway (violin) by dramatic violin | blood on white satin by naomi scott

jay vers sunghoon vers jake vers

You hated the times when you had to place your trust in other survivors during a trial because, more often than not, they'd leave you to fend for yourself. It wasn’t that they were cruel or uncaring—it was survival instinct. The generators scattered across the map weren’t going to fix themselves, and everyone knew the doors wouldn’t open without power. You’d done the same, sprinting past a screaming teammate once or twice. It wasn’t personal. It was just the way the Entity’s sick little game worked.

This time, though, you were the one left hanging—literally. The Deathslinger had caught you in his harpoon's grip, dragging you back like a trophy he was all too proud to display. Now, you dangled from the hook, the barbed steel biting into your shoulder. Blood trickled down your arm, warm and sticky, as the pain pulsed through you in sharp waves. You’d been hooked before—more times than you’d like to admit—but the agony never dulled. The most you could do was endure it, keeping your body still to avoid making it worse. Attempting to pull yourself free was always a gamble, and one you weren’t eager to take.

The Deathslinger lingered nearby, his rifle clutched tightly in his hands. His breaths came in ragged, heavy puffs, the sound grating like sandpaper against your ears. He wasn’t going anywhere, that much was clear. You groaned, tilting your head to try and catch a glimpse of your teammates. Surely someone would come for you—right?

The faint hum of a generator in the distance made your stomach twist. They were close to getting it done. That was good for them, bad for you. If they got it running, they’d bolt for the exit, and you’d be left to rot in the Entity’s clutches. A bitter laugh bubbled in your throat, but it died when you caught the glint of the Deathslinger’s weapon shifting toward the horizon. He was watching, waiting.

A flicker of movement in the corner of your eye caught your attention. Someone was coming—finally. Your heart leaped, hope flaring like a matchstick, but it fizzled just as quickly when you realized how loud their footsteps were. No stealth, no crouching, just a dead sprint toward you.

“What the hell are they doing?” you muttered under your breath, wincing as the hook shifted with your movement.

The Deathslinger didn’t need more than a second to notice. He turned on a dime, lifting his rifle to aim at the approaching figure. You clenched your teeth, bracing yourself for the sound of the chain snapping free, dragging yet another survivor into his grasp.

"Idiots," you hissed, though a small part of you couldn’t help but admire their courage—or stupidity. Maybe both.

You watched as Adam stumbled right into the Deathslinger’s trap. His scream cut through the air as the harpoon slammed into his chest, the chain rattling as the killer yanked him closer, and within seconds, Adam was up on another hook, his scream loud as the barbed metal tore through him.

Movement caught your eye again, and you turned your head just enough to see Mikaela and Leon slipping out of the shadows. Mikaela was quick on her feet, darting into the Deathslinger’s line of sight with purpose. She waved her arms, yelling something you couldn’t quite make out, and the killer turned to her immediately, his focus shifting.

“About time,” you muttered, feeling your heart race as Leon crouched low and made his way to you.

His hands were on you before you could say anything, quick and practiced as he worked the hook free from your shoulder. You bit down on your lip hard enough to taste blood, the searing pain making your vision blur for a moment. You fell to the ground, and Leon grabbed your arm, hauling you up to your feet.

“Come on!” he hissed, his voice urgent but calm.

You didn’t need to be told twice. Stumbling at first, you forced your legs to move, ignoring the fiery ache in your shoulder as you followed Leon into a nearby building.

Leon pulled you to the far corner of the room, crouching down beside you. His hands were already moving, tearing strips of cloth from somewhere, probably from some medkit he’d grabbed earlier. You barely had time to think about it before he pressed the fabric against your wound.

You hissed at the contact, the pain sharp and immediate, but you bit it back, watching as blood dripped from your shoulder onto the cold cement floor. When Leon’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. “You’re gonna be fine. Just stay still.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as you tried to focus on something other than the pain. “Adam?” you asked, your voice hoarse.

“He’ll be okay,” Leon said quickly, though you weren’t sure if he believed it. “Mikaela’s keeping the Deathslinger busy. We’ll figure something out.”

You wanted to argue, to say there was no “figuring something out” when someone was already on the hook, but you kept quiet. Leon’s hands worked steadily, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the urgency of the situation.

The faint hum of a generator powered up somewhere nearby, followed by the unmistakable sound of the gate alarms. Your heart sank. The others were getting ready to escape, and you were still bleeding out on the floor.

Leon’s hands froze for a moment as the sound echoed through the building, but he quickly resumed. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of doubt. “We’ll get out of here.”

You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to believe him. But as another scream tore through the air—Mikaela’s this time—you felt hopeless.

With your shoulder patched up, you didn’t waste a second. Leon pulled you to your feet, and together you sprinted through the dim, foggy maze of the trial grounds. The air felt heavy, the dark sky above rumbling like it could cave in at any moment. You rolled your eyes at the theatrics—because apparently, the Entity couldn’t help but crank up the dramatics just to remind you that you were always one bad move away from death.

Jumping over a pallet, you stumbled but recovered quickly, your feet pounding against the dirt as you wove around an old, rusted bench. The faint glow of the exit lights appeared ahead, like a beacon calling you home. Relief surged through you when you saw Steve standing there, frantically working the crank to open the massive steel doors.

His head whipped around when he heard your footsteps, his face tense with panic until his eyes landed on you and Leon. He let out a shaky sigh of relief, motioning for you to hurry. "Come on! Almost there!"

The door groaned loudly as it crept open, revealing the inky blackness beyond. Freedom was so close you could taste it. But just as your heart lifted, the sharp, metallic sound of a chain unspooling sent a jolt of terror down your spine.

You stopped running on pure instinct, your body frozen for a split second before the harpoon shot past you, embedding itself in a tree just inches away. The tensioned chain rattled, swaying as it recoiled. Your head snapped toward the Deathslinger, standing only a few meters away.

“Go!” Leon shouted, his voice breaking the trance as he pushed you forward.

You didn’t need to be told twice. Heart pounding, you ducked under the chain, your body nearly brushing against it as you bolted toward the exit. The pounding of your feet grew louder in your ears, mingling with the heavy, ragged breaths you couldn’t control. You threw yourself forward, crossing the threshold into the open landscape beyond just as the Deathslinger took another step closer.

Whipping around, you skidded to a stop and turned to look back. The Deathslinger stood just at the edge of the exit, his rifle lowered as he glared at you, seething. The dark, writhing tentacles of the Entity began to weave their way through the space between you, blocking his path and keeping him trapped inside the trial grounds.

Steve grabbed your arm, pulling you further away from the exit as the doors groaned shut behind you. "Come on, we don’t have time to celebrate!"

You nodded, glancing at Leon, who gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before jogging to catch up with Steve.

You didn’t look back again.

Suddenly, everything around you went dark. The ground beneath your feet gave way, and that all-too-familiar sensation of falling took hold. You didn’t scream—you never did anymore. Instead, you braced yourself for the impact that wouldn’t come.

Moments later, you landed on solid ground, your body jolting slightly as the world around you shifted. When you opened your eyes, the oppressive fog of the trial was gone, replaced by the dim, flickering firelight of the survivors’ camp.

You let out a long sigh, rolling your shoulder experimentally. As expected, the pain was gone, replaced by the dull, phantom ache that always lingered after a trial. You reached up to touch the spot where the hook had torn through your body, finding smooth, unbroken skin beneath your fingers. It was like it had never happened.

That was how it always was with the Entity. No matter how brutal the trial, no matter how close to death you came—or how many times you actually died—you always woke up here, whole again. The physical wounds vanished, leaving nothing but the memory of pain.

You glanced around the camp, taking in the familiar sights. The fire crackled in the center, its warmth doing little to ease the chill that seemed to seep into your bones. A few other survivors were scattered around, some tending to the fire, others sitting quietly with haunted looks in their eyes. They were all like you—trapped in this endless cycle of torment and survival, powerless to escape the Entity’s grasp.

Leon was already here, his jacket was draped over his shoulders, and he was absently cleaning the blood from his hands with a rag. When he saw you, he gave you a small, tired smile.

“Made it back,” he said, his voice low but steady.

You nodded, walking over to join him. “Barely.”

Steve, who had landed nearby, ran a hand through his hair. “That was too close,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I thought he was gonna get all of us at the end.”

You sat down beside Leon, the phantom pain in your shoulder throbbing faintly as you rested your elbows on your knees. “He almost did,” you said, glancing at the fire.

“That’s how it goes,” Feng said softly, appearing from the shadows. She had a medkit slung over her shoulder, though she didn’t need it—not here. “We survive, we heal, and then we go back in.”

Her words were a reminder of the reality you all faced. There was no end to it, no escape. The Entity would call you back into another trial soon enough, and the chase would start again.

You sighed, leaning back and closing your eyes for a moment. The camp was supposed to be a place of safety, a brief reprieve from the horrors of the trials, but it never truly felt like it. The shadows seemed to watch you, the ever-present feeling of being watched lingering even here.

“How’s Adam?” you asked after a moment, opening your eyes to look at Leon.

“He made it back,” Leon said, his voice heavy with relief. “Barely. Mikaela got him up just before the door closed.”

You nodded, grateful but knowing better than to celebrate. It was just another trial, another near-death experience in an endless cycle of them.

For now, you were safe.

Luckily, during the next trial, you weren’t one of the chosen ones. It was a relief, but it didn’t stop the restless feeling gnawing at your muscles. The camp, despite being a sanctuary of sorts, always felt suffocating when others were off risking their lives in the fog. You needed to move, so you decided to take a walk.

Of course, you never strayed too far. Not anymore.

You’d learned that lesson the hard way when you first arrived. Back then, you’d been terrified, too panicked to listen to anyone. The other survivors had tried to explain things to you—what this place was, what the trials meant—but their words only blurred together in the haze of fear clouding your mind. All you knew was that you were somewhere you didn’t belong, and you needed to get out.

So you’d run.

You sprinted as fast as your legs would carry you, ignoring the desperate calls of the others. You didn’t know where you were going, only that you had to escape. The trees around you blurred as you pushed yourself harder, your lungs burning with every frantic breath—until you slammed face-first into something solid.

It wasn’t a tree. No bark, no leaves—just an invisible wall that sent you reeling backward, clutching your nose in pain. You stumbled, dazed and confused, but before you could even think about what you’d just hit, you heard it: deep, guttural breathing, slow and deliberate.

Your head snapped up, and your blood ran cold. A obese figure loomed just on the other side of the barrier. His face was grotesque, smeared with greasepaint that cracked like old plaster. The Clown.

You screamed, scrambling to your feet and bolting back toward the camp. The sound of his laughter—wet and wheezing—chased after you, but when you risked a glance over your shoulder, he wasn’t following.

The Clown remained where he stood, staring at you with those cold eyes. Confusion flickered in your panicked mind, but you didn’t stop running until you were safely back in the camp.

Later, after you’d calmed down and stopped trembling like a leaf, Dwight had sat you down by the fire. He was the first survivor here, or so they all said, and he’d taken it upon himself to explain how the realm worked to newcomers.

“That’s why he didn’t follow you,” Dwight had said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “There’s a barrier between us and them. The Entity doesn’t let killers into our camp. Same way we can’t go into their domain. Not unless it’s during a trial.”

It had taken time for the words to fully sink in, but eventually, you understood. The killers could watch you from the other side of that invisible wall if they wanted to, but they couldn’t cross it. They weren’t allowed to harm you outside of the trials.

Still, that didn’t make the idea of running into them any less horrifying. You already saw enough of them during the trials. You didn’t need to see them here, too.

That’s why, even now, as you wandered through the edges of the camp, you kept your distance. The boundary between the survivors’ camp and the killers’ domain wasn’t visible, but you could feel it, like an unseen pressure in the air. You never dared to go too close.

But alas the camp wasn’t large, so it was almost impossible not to catch at least a glimpse of a killer lingering near the barrier from time to time. You’d gotten used to it, in a way—seeing their shadowy figures pacing just out of reach, watching.

But now, as you rounded a corner near the edge of the camp, you froze. There, just a few yards away, was Chucky.

The little doll hadn’t noticed you, too busy pacing along the barrier and cussing up a storm. You crouched low behind a boulder, not out of fear but curiosity, your eyes narrowing as you caught bits and pieces of his tirade.

“...That smug prick—thinks he’s so damn smart, huh? Always with the ‘grand plans.’ I’ll show him a plan—it’s called taking his head off with a kitchen knife!”

You tilted your head, straining to hear more. The Mastermind—you’d heard that name before. Albert Wesker. You’d faced him twice in trials, and both times, you’d died. He was fast, calculating, and far more terrifying than a doll with a knife. Where Chucky was a chaotic little bastard who relied on deception and sneak attacks, Wesker had power and strategy to back him up. You hadn’t stood a chance.

Still, the idea of Chucky throwing a tantrum over Wesker made you stifle a small, ironic laugh. The Entity certainly had a sense of humor when it came to the killers it pulled into its realm.

You were about to leave, figuring you’d heard enough, when something Chucky said made you freeze.

“...And now there’s a new guy? Already? What the hell does the Entity even need him for? We just got the Houndmaster! Isn’t that freaky dog-pack enough?”

A new killer?

Your eyes widened, and your breath hitched. You instinctively leaned forward, your curiosity overtaking your caution. You’d only just gotten used to the Houndmaster—another recent addition to the roster of killers. And now the Entity was adding someone else?

You thought about how peculiar it was. The Entity usually gave some time before introducing new killers, letting survivors adjust (or break) under the current conditions. The Houndmaster was still fresh, and you with the other survivors were still learning how to navigate her brutal trial. So why now?

You shifted slightly, your knee brushing against the dirt, and froze when Chucky suddenly stopped pacing. His head snapped up, his plastic eyes scanning the horizon, and for a moment, you thought he’d spotted you.

“Whatever,” he muttered, resuming his rant. “If this newbie thinks they can show me up, they’ve got another thing coming. I’ve been doing this way longer. What’re they gonna do? Kill me?”

You slowly backed away, keeping low until Chucky was out of sight. A new killer. The thought sent a ripple of unease through you. It wasn’t like you’d gotten comfortable with the existing ones—the trials were still brutal, the killers relentless—but the idea of facing someone new, someone whose abilities you didn’t yet understand, made your stomach churn.

Who—or what—had the Entity brought into its realm this time?

You couldn’t shake the feeling of dread as you rushed back to the survivors' camp, your mind racing with the news you’d just learned. When you burst into the center of the camp and announced the new arrival, the reactions were varied.

Some survivors, like Dwight and Leon, looked concerned but stayed quiet. Others, like Steve and Yuna, were visibly stressed. But there were those like Yunjin and Yui, who didn’t show any reaction at all.

Just as the murmurs of unease began to settle into the air, the survivors from the most recent trial landed back into the camp, their faces drawn with exhaustion. Before anyone could even ask about their experience, Claudette, always quick to speak, started rambling, her voice trembling with exhaustion.

“New killer,” Claudette gasped, wiping sweat from her brow as she collapsed onto the log near the fire. “The Virtuoso. That’s what he’s called. And he’s... terrifying.”

You felt a chill run down your spine at the name. The Virtuoso.

The other survivors gathered around, listening intently as Claudette, Meg, and Feng started explaining.

“He has a violin,” Meg said, her voice low and shaky. “A violin. He uses it as a weapon. And when he plays it... it’s like... you can’t hear anything. Our ears just—stop working. You lose all sound. It’s like you’re in a void for a few minutes, and you can’t even tell where he is. He would just come up behind us and we wouldn’t hear him at all.”

Feng nodded, her eyes wide with the memory. “And when he’s chasing you, he doesn’t stay silent. He hums or sings under his breath. It’s so creepy.”

You exchanged a look with Leon, both of you registering the horror of their words. A violin as a weapon? That was something you had never imagined.

“So, like the Huntress?” you asked quietly, trying to make sense of it. “He relies on sound to track you?”

Meg gave you a grim nod. “Kind of. But worse. It’s not just about hunting you—it’s about taking away everything you rely on. You can’t hear anything, can’t even react properly. He disorients you. Makes you feel helpless.”

“That’s... unsettling,” Leon muttered, the words heavy with the shared understanding that this new killer was unlike anything you had faced before.

It took a total of three trials before you finally faced the Virtuoso. The first round was against The Shape. You survived by a hair, heart pounding in your chest as you barely managed to escape through the exit. The second trial? Against Nemesis. You didn’t survive that one. His relentless pursuit, aided by the terrifying zombie hordes, had been too much to handle. You’d been caught and ended up on the hook. But the third trial was different—you faced Dracula, but somehow, against all odds, you survived. You’d made it through with flying colors, your team working together to power up the generators and escape.

And now, here you were, entering your fourth trial. This time, it was a new map—a small city that seemed stuck in time. Old, crumbling buildings lined the streets, abandoned cars scattered across the roads, rusted and forgotten. But the centerpiece of it all? A massive theatre that towered over everything, its marquee flickering like a faint ghost of a past long gone. The sight was eerie, and your instincts immediately kicked in.

You crouched low, moving as quietly as possible, not wanting to attract any attention. The map was unfamiliar, and you knew the key to surviving here would be finding a way to adapt quickly. You needed to figure out where the generators were, which killer you were facing this time, and if there were any survivors to find and help.

You made your way into one of the buildings—an apartment complex, judging by the layout. You tried the first door you came to. Locked. The second one, same. You didn’t linger long, knowing that if you wasted too much time, the killer would find you. You had to keep moving.

Your main focus now was to get a feel for the map. The theatre seemed to loom ominously in the distance, a place that probably had its own secrets. You had to remember that the killers loved these big, grandiose settings, where they could trap and hunt survivors in ways that felt like part of their twisted game.

As you cautiously made your way through the city, a sound broke the silence—something distant, but it sent a cold shiver down your spine. It wasn’t the usual rumbling of the Entity’s presence. This was something else. A soft, haunting melody, like the strains of a violin being played somewhere in the distance.

You froze.

That was the Virtuoso. The violin music—it was unmistakable.

You didn't know if he was close or far, but you knew that he was out there. You needed to find a generator, and fast, before he tracked you down. The eerie melody seemed to seep into the air, twisting everything, making it harder to focus. You crouched even lower, scanning the streets, every creak of the buildings or rustle of the wind making you jump. You had to keep it together. This was a new map. The city would be full of hiding spots and escape routes.

You made your way past another apartment, your heartbeat quickening as you heard the faintest hum of the violin. You weren’t sure if it was coming closer or just echoing off the buildings, but you couldn't risk staying in one place for too long. You kept your movements as quiet as possible, crouching behind abandoned cars and ducking into doorways when necessary.

And then you saw it. In the distance, hidden behind an alleyway, the faint outline of a generator. Your heart raced in your chest as you approached, the sound of the violin growing louder, now definitely closer. You had to power up the generator before it was too late.

You focused on the generator, keeping your hands steady as you worked to repair it. The rhythm of your actions matched the increasing intensity of the violin, the music growing louder, echoing through the alley like it was all around you.

Then, without warning, a sharp note sliced through the air, followed by a scream from a survivor nearby. It snapped you out of your concentration for a moment, but you forced yourself to ignore it, refocusing on the task. You had to finish this. But as you continued to work, you heard something else—a short solo, a few drawn-out notes that struck like a delicate thread of sound, and then… everything changed.

Suddenly, your body felt heavy. It was subtle at first, just a slight shift, a tug in your muscles, but then it intensified. Your hands grew sluggish, and your vision blurred at the edges. The music seemed to seep deeper into your mind, invading your senses like a drug. You could feel the melody wrapping around your thoughts, pulling you into a soft, sleepy trance.

You tried to shake it off, to focus on the generator, but the exhaustion hit you hard. You gasped, dropping to your knees, hands gripping the dirt and debris on the ground as you tried to steady yourself. What was happening? You felt dizzy, but not in a sick and bad way, no this was different—it was a comforting kind of dizziness, like being wrapped in a warm blanket that made you want to close your eyes and give in.

It was the strangest feeling. The violin’s notes was almost seductive, pulling you deeper, lulling you into a state of relaxed submission. It wasn’t painful—no, it was... pleasant. Your limbs felt like they were made of lead, and you found yourself slowing down, your movements growing languid, as if you were caught in some spell you couldn’t break. You wanted more of it. Whatever this feeling was, it was unlike anything you’d ever experienced.

Was this the Virtuoso’s ability? You felt your thoughts fuzzing at the edges as his melody played on, each note wrapping around your mind like a gentle whisper, coaxing you further into this strange, hypnotic state. What was he doing to you? The question seemed far away, like it didn’t matter. It was easier to just give in, to let the music take over and stop worrying about the generator, the trial, everything else.

But no. You couldn’t let yourself fall into that trap. You forced your hands to push against the dirt, trying to stand up, to shake off the exhaustion. You had to keep moving, keep thinking. You couldn’t afford to let him win. The Virtuoso was manipulating you with his music, using it to cloud your senses, to wear you down until you couldn’t think straight anymore.

You gritted your teeth, pushing through the haze in your mind, forcing yourself to crawl back to the generator. You had to get it done—now.

Your fingers were slow, trembling as you worked, but the sound of the violin kept playing, surrounding you, tightening its grip on your senses. You were struggling to focus, the exhaustion clouding your thoughts.

Suddenly, you heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind you. You glanced over, your blurry vision making it hard to see clearly. But then you recognized her—Yui. She was stumbling, hurt, her clothes torn, and blood staining her skin. She looked dazed, her eyes half-lidded, like she was under the same spell you were. The exhaustion was evident in her posture, her steps unsteady as she approached.

You whispered, barely able to make the words come out, "Do you want me to heal you?"

But Yui didn’t respond to your voice. She pointed to her ears, a subtle, desperate gesture. She couldn’t hear you.

She crouched beside you, barely able to focus, but she reached for the generator. You could see the struggle in her expression as she tried to push through the same fog you were in. You both sat there working.

Then, you heard it. A scream. The unmistakable sound of a survivor being hooked. Your heart clenched, and panic began to creep in.

“Come on... finish...” You muttered under your breath, barely audible. You could barely focus, every part of you aching.

Yui’s hands were slower than they should have been, her movements sluggish, but she kept working beside you.

But just as you thought the generator might finally be finished, the air grew colder. You could sense something was coming. The music stopped. The silence was deafening.

Your hands trembled, the generator almost done, but you knew you couldn’t afford to be caught now. You had to finish this. You had to.

Just as the generator lit up and blared, signaling that it was finally done, Yui took off, her movements slow but determined. You exhaled in relief, ready to run yourself, but then something caught your eye. Yui was heading straight for a figure standing in the shadows, a tall, looming figure. She didn’t see him until it was too late.

The sound of a sharp, slicing movement filled the air, and you gasped in horror as Yui screamed, the sound cut short by a sudden thud as she crumpled to the ground. Her blood pooled around her, and there, standing over her, was the figure. A man, tall and lean, dressed in a dark and tattered suit that was stained with blood. His white undershirt was ripped, exposing skin underneath. But it wasn’t his clothing that made your heart race—it was his face.

A cracked porcelain mask covered most of it, resembling that of a twisted theater performer. From the cracks, you could see his eyes, dark and hollow, and his lips, painted with an smug expression. His black hair was slicked back, and his white gloves were stained, a deep, crimson red. He was a nightmare made flesh, a figure from a forgotten stage play brought to life in the most terrifying way.

You froze, watching as the man wiped Yui’s blood from the bow of his violin. That’s when you realized—this was him. The Virtuoso.

He looked up at you, and for a moment, you could have sworn there was no emotion in his gaze. His eyes were cold, detached. But then something shifted, the indifference was replaced with something else—something more dangerous. Interest. And that terrified you more than anything else.

The Virtuoso’s hand stretched out, and you saw him pull a black violin from his back, its surface stained with dark splatters of blood. Your heart raced as he held it to his chin, the bow raised, and began to play.

The moment his fingers touched the strings, the haunting melody flooded the air. Your body tensed, your head spinning, and that all-too-familiar exhaustion swept over you again. You gasped, trying to steady yourself, but it was like the music was pulling you under, drowning you in its grip.

Your legs buckled beneath you, and you fell to the ground. Your hands trembled, your head pounding as the exhaustion began to take over. You couldn’t think straight. Your mind felt like it was slipping away, like everything that was you was fading into the background, consumed by the tune he was playing.

Every muscle in your body thrummed with a dull, almost pleasurable ache, like your very essence was being swept away by the music. You couldn’t fight it. You didn’t want to fight it. The only thing that mattered now was the sound of that violin, that song that tugged at your soul.

But you had to stay conscious. You had to—stay awake.

You wanted to scream, to push through, but the tune was so lullingly beautiful. It was too hard to resist. Your eyes fluttered, the world around you starting to fade to black. You could see the Virtuoso’s face, his mask cracked but still emotionless, his cold gaze never leaving you as he played on, the haunting tune weaving its way deeper into your mind.

And then, everything went dark.

When you woke up, it was with a sharp, disorienting breath, your heart racing as your body jerked upright. You found yourself lying on something cold and hard, the rough texture of the floor beneath you. Confusion gripped you, and as you looked around, it hit you like a punch to the stomach: you were on a stage. The grand theater, the one you’d only glimpsed before.

How did you get here?

Did the Virtuoso bring you here? You could barely remember the last moments before everything went black. The music, his violin—it had all blurred together in a haze of exhaustion and pleasure. You shook your head, pushing yourself to your feet. Your legs wobbled slightly, but you managed to steady yourself.

The stage was crumbling around you. The curtains hung tattered and ripped, torn from years of neglect. The floorboards creaked beneath your weight, some of them so loose that they threatened to give way with even the slightest pressure. The way down was a steep, treacherous drop, the ground far below hidden by the darkness that seemed to consume the rest of the theater. The chairs facing the stage were old and covered in dust, their worn fabric peeling away like the remnants of a forgotten time. The air smelled faintly of blood, mixed with the scent of neglect.

A cold shiver ran down your spine as you looked around, your mind still foggy, struggling to grasp the situation. You needed to get out of here, but before you could take another step, you heard it—the familiar, haunting melody.

The violin. It came from somewhere deep within the theater, its sound clear and insistent, just like before. And like before, you felt it. The pull. The music wrapped around your mind like a shroud, soft yet relentless, seeping into your thoughts, digging into the very core of your being. You tried to ignore it, but the pull was too strong.

Before you could even react, you fell to your knees, gasping for air as your hands instinctively flew to your head. The pain was sudden, sharp, like a thousand tiny needles pricking at your mind, but then—then—it melted into something else. Something worse.

It felt too good. Too intoxicating. It was as if the melody had found something deep within you, something buried, and was now scratching at it, pulling it to the surface. You hated it. You hated how it made your heart race and your body burn with a strange, unbidden desire. This was different from the shock therapy The Doctor used. It wasn’t painful in the way you knew pain, like a jolt of electricity that shattered your thoughts. No. This was... pleasure of the mind, something so smooth and alluring, it felt like the essence of who you were was being coaxed from your very soul.

It was like drowning in euphoria and fear all at once. You wanted to stop it. You wanted to tear yourself away from it, but you couldn’t.

The tune continued, crawling deeper into your head, pushing against your will. Every note felt like it was peeling away at your very identity, unraveling the pieces of your mind, piece by piece, until all you could hear, all you could feel, was the melody.

You gasped again, your chest tight as the world around you began to blur. Was this what he wanted? Was this how he claimed his victims? With the music?

Your mind screamed at you to move, to run, but your body refused to obey. The melody still reverberated in your skull, a lullaby of twisted euphoria. And then, you saw him.

He emerged from behind the backstage curtains, the black violin still held under his chin, his fingers expertly gliding over the strings, pulling out notes that made your head swim. His eyes remained fixed on you as he began to hum along, the sound vibrating in the air, setting your nerves on fire.

You groaned, struggling to shake the haze from your thoughts, but it was no use. He was here now, standing before you. His presence towered over you, and you could feel the coldness of his gaze piercing through the haze that clung to your senses.

He stopped playing, the sudden silence swallowing the air around you. Your heart pounded in your chest as he crouched down, bringing his face dangerously close to yours. You could feel the heat of his breath, steady and cold at the same time, but his eyes… those eyes pierced into you, unblinking and filled with an unsettling curiosity.

You tried to look away, to break free from his stare, but before you could move, his gloved hand shot out and grasped your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. His touch was firm, not painful, but there was no escaping it. You felt small, powerless under his grasp.

He studied you, his gaze moving from your face to the rest of your body, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he didn’t speak, just letting the silence linger between you. Then, his voice broke through the tension, deep and smooth, almost like a melody of its own.

"Where has the Entity been hiding you, I wonder?" his words was laced with dark amusement. His voice was soft, but it held an edge, as if he was enjoying your discomfort, your inability to escape him.

You didn’t know how to respond. Your body felt heavy, your mind clouded, but you could hear the taunting tone in his voice.

"You’ve been so quiet," he continued. "All you can do is whine, can’t you? Letting me do whatever I want."

You wanted to fight, to scream, to tell him to stop, but all you could manage was a weak grip on his arm, your fingers barely able to hold onto the sleeve of his bloodstained suit. Your strength was gone, sapped by the music, by him.

His lips curved into a knowing smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes, and he leaned in closer, his voice a soft whisper now.

"I can’t wait to see how long you last."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you realized that, in this moment, you were nothing more than a puppet in his hands. You wanted to speak, to shout, to fight back, but you couldn’t form the words. His hold on you was suffocating, his fingers warm and unforgiving as they gripped your face and tilted your head back.

"You’re so adorable when you try to resist," he purred, his voice dripping with amusement. "You think you can escape, don’t you?"

You were trying to gather strength, to push him away, but before you could react, his hands shot out, swift and sure. In one fluid motion, he lifted you off the ground, throwing you effortlessly over his shoulder. You gasped, the sudden shift making the world spin around you.

You would have fought back against any other killer. You were used to wiggling free, to finding a way to outsmart and escape. But not with him.

He started humming again, each note seemed to echo in your head, making it harder and harder to think clearly, and it lulled you into a stupor.

The two of you passed through the decaying theater, the doors creaking open as he made his way out. The world outside was dark, the streets eerily empty. You tried to shake yourself awake, to fight the haze, and finally, your lips parted in a slow, slurred speech.

"W-where... where is everyone?" you managed, the words feeling foreign as they left your mouth, thick with exhaustion.

The Virtuoso didn’t even flinch, his pace steady as he continued walking, as if this was just another routine. He simply answered, his voice cold and casual.

"They’re gone," he replied, a slight edge of amusement in his tone. "Already given to the Entity. All of them."

The weight of his words sank in, and you froze, your breath catching in your throat as a realization dawned on you.

Oh. You were the only one left. The only survivor.

A wave of cold dread washed over you, and you couldn’t shake the sick feeling that had settled in your stomach.

And now, you were alone with him.

"You’ll learn to enjoy this feeling," he murmured, almost as if he were speaking to himself.

The weight of his words lingered in the air, suffocating you with their twisted promise. "You’ll learn to enjoy this feeling."

Just then the rumbling began, the map trembling under the familiar pressure, you knew the Entity was growing impatient. It wanted this to end quickly—its hunger insatiable. The last survivor, the final piece in its dark game, was about to be consumed. But then the Virtuoso suddenly released his grip on you. You were unceremoniously dropped to the ground, the rough texture of the pavement scraping your palms as you struggled to sit up.

You groaned, looking up to find the Virtuoso no longer watching you. Instead, his attention was fixed on his violin bow, the jagged edges glinting in the dim light, stained with blood.

“What’s happening?” you managed to ask, your voice shaky but filled with desperation.

Without looking up from his bow, he simply uttered one word, cold and commanding. “Crawl.”

You blinked, confusion settling in for a brief moment before your gaze drifted to the distance. Just a few meters away, the hatch—open and waiting. The escape. The only chance you had. Without thinking, you began to crawl toward it. Every movement felt like an agonizingly slow struggle, but you pushed yourself forward, determined to get to the only possible way out.

But as you moved, you heard it—his humming. It was soft at first, the haunting melody following you, filling the air around you. You dared a glance over your shoulder, and there he was. The Virtuoso was trailing behind you, his figure looming with a slow, deliberate pace. His bow was still clutched tightly in his hand, the faint sound of his humming growing louder as he moved closer. His lips curled into a manic smirk, one that sent a chill down your spine.

And then, in a voice that was far too cheerful for what was happening, he began to count.

“Ten...” His voice was smooth, almost musical, like he was savoring each number.

You could feel your heart racing, pounding in your chest, the escape hatch tantalizingly close but still so far away.

“...Nine…”

Every second felt like an eternity, the weight of his presence bearing down on you as you forced yourself to crawl. The sound of his counting echoed in your ears, filling you with dread.

“…Eight…”

You looked back again, sweat beading on your forehead. His expression was twisted, like he was enjoying this far too much.

“...Seven…”

The hatch was so close now. You could almost reach it.

“...Six…”

You pushed yourself harder, faster, but each movement felt like it drained more of your energy.

“...Five…”

The Virtuoso’s steps were closer now, his bow gliding smoothly through the air as he followed behind you, still counting, still humming.

“…Four…”

You gritted your teeth, pushing through the exhaustion, through the haze of his song, your body screaming at you to stop.

“...Three…”

The hatch was just a few inches away now. You could see it beckoning you.

“…Two…”

His humming was louder, almost deafening in its intensity.

“...One.”

And then, in a heartbeat, he stopped. The silence that followed was deafening, as if the world had held its breath. You froze, barely a few inches from the escape hatch. You could hear the sound of his violin bow slicing through the air.

And then, his voice, smooth as silk, reached your ears. “Such a shame, my dear.”

He walked past you, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the silence of the street. Without a word, he approached the escape hatch and closed it with a swift motion, the heavy metal door slamming shut behind him with an almost finality that made your heart race. When he turned back to face you, his smile was chilling, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.

"Time to die," he said softly, his voice low, but filled with a cruel satisfaction.

He moved toward you slowly, deliberately, his every step measured as if he had all the time in the world. Your body trembled, your muscles stiff and weak from the exhaustion, the haze of the melody still clouding your mind. You struggled to move, but the world around you felt distant and blurry.

A haunting melody played in the background, filling the space between you and him, wrapping around your thoughts like a chain. Your vision swayed, the edges of the world fading into a soft blur as his presence grew closer. Then, with a gentleness that made the hairs on your neck stand on end, he positioned the bow against your throat, his touch light but firm.

His face was expressionless, calculating. His eyes locked onto yours as if studying you, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

He began to sing.

His voice was smooth, precise, almost like a lullaby. Each note slipped into your mind, soothing and terrifying all at once, as if he were performing an intimate, private piece just for you. The sound of his voice, along with the melody, distorted everything around you. The air thickened, pressing in from all sides, and you could feel your senses begin to unravel. The world seemed to twist, the music warping, growing louder, more dissonant, filling your head with confusion, a maddening disorientation that made it harder to breathe.

Your vision flickered in and out, the room around you stretching and bending with each note he sang. The pressure on your throat from the bow grew, the coldness of the violin's edge digging into your skin.

And then, without warning, in a single, fluid motion, he swept the bow across your throat.

The sharp strings bit into your skin, cutting deeply, and you gasped, feeling the hot rush of blood spilling from the wound. You fell to the ground, your body crumpling beneath the weight of the pain and the overwhelming sensation of his final song echoing in your ears.

Everything went dark.

The familiar feeling of falling overwhelmed you once more, a sinking sensation that seemed endless. And when you landed, it wasn’t the cold streets of the trial. No. You were back.

You were back in the survivors’ camp.

Alive.

Unhurt.

The sudden shift left you gasping for air, your heart racing as you blinked, trying to process what had just happened. You looked around. The camp was quiet, peaceful, almost like nothing had ever happened.

You sat there for what felt like an eternity, your back pressed against the rough bark of the tree. The camp was unusually quiet, save for the distant murmurs of other survivors. You had a clear view of the barrier between you and the killers, the oppressive feeling of the entity’s domain hanging in the air. It felt like days since you’d last faced a trial, days that stretched on, leaving you to wonder why you hadn’t been called back into the horrors of the realm.

Time blurred together. Trials came and went, but for some reason, you were left untouched, as if the entity itself had decided to leave you be. You watched as others came back, their faces etched with exhaustion and fear. Some spoke of the Virtuoso in hushed tones, their words tinged with dread. You overheard their stories: how they’d tried to outrun him, how they’d failed to survive a single trial with him, how his music had driven them to madness before the end.

But none of them had managed to make it through. None of them had escaped him.

He had become a legend in the realm, and for good reason. His abilities—his haunting song, his control over the survivors—had turned him into a killer of nightmares. No one had survived one trial against him.

You saw him in your dreams sometimes, his haunting music echoing in your ears, his voice soft and cruel. You shivered at the thought of facing him again, knowing that if the entity ever called you back, you wouldn’t stand a chance.

Trials passed, and yet the call never came. You began to wonder if you had been forgotten—left behind, abandoned in the shadows of the camp. Or maybe the entity was just waiting for the perfect moment to drag you back into the trial, to see if you would survive a second time.

Eventually, the call came. You were thrust back into the realm, pulled from the relative peace of the survivors’ camp and thrown into the chaos of the trials once again.

First came the Dredge, you were constantly on edge, and you barely made it through, but you survived.

Next, you found yourself up against the Demogorgon. You escaped—barely—each breath ragged, the taste of fear still fresh in your mouth.

Then, the Oni came, you barely manage to survive, barely.

The Doctor came next, his shock therapy was unbearable, his laughter echoing in your head. But again, somehow, you survived.

And then there was the Hillbilly, you sprinted, dodged, and hid, your heart pounding in your chest as you narrowly escaped the carnage.

You groaned loudly as the familiar feeling of being pulled into the trial washed over you, the world around you spinning before it all dropped away into darkness. When your feet hit the ground, you staggered, blinking against the sudden brightness.

Your eyes widened in horror as you looked around.

You were on his map.

The surroundings were hauntingly familiar—the dilapidated theater looming in the distance, the cracked, decaying streets, the smell of dust and blood in the air. It was as if the very atmosphere of the map itself was alive, pulsing with a sinister energy, beckoning you to come face to face with your worst nightmare.

You had to survive him. You had no choice. You couldn’t afford to fall victim to him again. The thought of hearing that haunting tune again, of being caught in his eerie, hypnotic grip, made your stomach turn. But there was no time for hesitation now.

With a deep breath, you forced yourself to focus. The trial had begun, and your survival depended on staying sharp, on staying one step ahead of him. You crouched low, scanning the environment for any signs of life, any survivors, and most importantly—any generators. You had to find a way out.

The air grew colder, and then you heard it—the soft, deliberate hum of his melody, distant at first, but slowly getting closer. You felt the weight of it, the pull in your chest, as the music seemed to crawl into your mind, trying to seduce you into a false sense of safety. You clenched your fists, forcing yourself not to give in. You couldn’t afford that.

You started moving, every step measured, trying to remain as quiet as possible. Your heart pounded in your chest, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you passed through the eerie streets, passing abandoned vehicles and broken-down walls.

You reached the edge of the map, your eyes scanning the horizon, but no sign of him yet. But you knew better than to relax—he could be anywhere, and the moment you let your guard down was the moment you’d pay for it. You had to stay focused.

Suddenly, you saw movement in the distance. Another survivor? Or was it him, creeping closer? You couldn’t tell, but you had no intention of waiting around to find out. You bolted for the nearest building, hoping to find some semblance of safety.

As you ducked inside, the door creaked loudly behind you, and you froze. The sound of his humming was unmistakable now, closer, almost as if it were right behind you. Panic surged through your veins, but you forced yourself to stay calm. You had survived against killers like the Demogorgon, the Xenomorph, and the Nemesis. You could survive this.

You quickly turned to look for a generator, anything to give you a chance to escape. But before you could make a move, the faintest touch of a violin note reached your ears—and with it, the world around you began to blur.

You staggered, your head spinning, the familiar exhaustion sinking in as the haunting melody wove its way into your mind. It was him, so close now.

Then everything suddenly went quiet.

You froze, your breath shallow, listening intently. There was no sign of the Virtuoso—no sound, no humming. Just silence.

You dared to peek out from behind the window, your eyes scanning the desolate street outside. It was empty, the shadows stretching across the cracked pavement, but you didn’t trust it. You couldn’t trust it. Still, it seemed safe enough to move.

Just as you were about to vault over the low wall and make a break for it, you were hit by a wave of music, a sudden, intense surge that made you gasp. It was like the sound wrapped around your body, heavy, suffocating, and in an instant, your vision blurred. The world felt distorted, like a fog had rolled in, the edges of everything softening into nothingness.

No.

You blinked rapidly, trying to regain focus, and when you turned to your left, you saw him.

He was standing there, so still, his gaze fixed directly on you.

How long had he been standing there?

You didn’t get the chance to ponder over that question, not with the sharp sting that followed.

His bow came down, slicing through the air with a sound that sent chills down your spine. You gasped in pain as the sharp edge slashed through your side, the blade cutting deep into your flesh.

The pain was immediate, and for a moment, everything stopped.

But instinct kicked in.

With a strangled cry, you vaulted, your body screaming in protest, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You held your side tightly, feeling the blood seep through your fingers as you sprinted down the street, desperate to put distance between yourself and him.

Behind you, you could hear the faint hum of his violin, the melody now twisted and taunting, as if it was mocking your attempt to escape.

"Run," he teased, his voice soft and smooth, almost playful as it floated on the wind. "It won’t help."

Your heart hammered in your chest as you pushed yourself harder, the pain in your side nearly blinding, but you refused to stop. The sound of his footsteps echoed behind you, slow and measured, but every time you glanced over your shoulder, you saw him gaining on you, moving like a shadow, a predator closing in.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, each step taking everything out of you. The street stretched out in front of you, the buildings offering little cover. The world felt so small here.

You ran past two survivors, Yui and Meg, working on a generator in the distance. You barely spared them a glance as they turned to look at you, their faces filled with terror before the Virtuoso's haunting violin notes reached them. Their screams echoed behind you, sharp and full of pain as the bow sliced into them.

But you couldn’t look back. You couldn’t afford to stop. You had to keep moving.

With your heart pounding, you bolted for the theatre, slipping through the back door just as his music faded behind you. The building was dark and quiet, save for the creaking of the old floorboards.

Inside, you found a room. Dimly lit, but it had a palette lying against the far wall, a perfect place to take a breath, even for a moment.

You crouched down and pulled out the medkit you had brought with you for this trial, you hissed through your teeth as you started to treat the wound in your side, carefully bandaging it, the blood still dripping down your hands. The pain was a constant throb, but it was nothing you couldn’t handle. You had learned to survive worse.

The violin music grew louder, and you could feel him getting closer, his presence near the door.

You couldn’t stay in one place for too long. Not with him hunting you.

You took a deep breath and prepared to move again. You crept toward the door, every muscle tense, ready to spring into action the moment you heard his violin hum. The sound was becoming more insistent, like a heartbeat you couldn't escape from. You slowly cracked the door open, peering out into the dark hallway beyond.

No sign of him yet.

You made a break for the other side of the room, slipping past the shadowy corners and moving carefully toward a nearby window, hoping to get a glimpse of your surroundings. You had to figure out where the others were, or better yet, where a generator was.

Just as you reached the window, you heard it—a faint humming, followed by a low, dissonant note that made your spine stiffen.

He was here.

The unmistakable sound of the bow scraping against the strings pierced the silence, sending a shiver down your spine. You pressed yourself against the wall, barely breathing, trying to blend into the darkness.

You dared to peek out, your eyes scanning the edges of the room, and there he was. He was standing still, his back to you, seemingly unaware of your presence… but his head tilted slightly, as though sensing you.

Then, without warning, he turned, his eyes narrowed as he locked onto yours.

"Found you," he purred, his voice smooth.

In an instant, his violin was in his hands again, the bow raised, and before you could react, the first note rang out, and you felt it—the exhaustion, the pull of his music sinking into your mind. Your vision blurred, the world spinning around you.

Your body rebelled, but your legs wouldn’t move. It was like his melody had a grip on your very soul, twisting you with every note.

"Run," you whispered to yourself, but the word was drowned out by the haunting sound of the violin as he started moving toward you.

"Why run?" he hummed, his voice taunting as he advanced slowly.

You collapsed to your knees, gasping for air as the melody wrapped around your senses like a velvet noose. Each note sent a shiver down your spine, your body trembling with a mix of fear and something you hated to acknowledge.

The Virtuoso stopped a few feet in front of you, tilting his head as if admiring his handiwork. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "On your knees, just like the music intended. Isn't it beautiful? The way it breaks you down, piece by piece."

You tried to push yourself up, to fight the pull of his haunting melody, but your arms gave out, and you slumped forward, your hands trembling against the floor.

"Stop..." you managed to choke out, though your voice was weak, barely audible over the sound of his violin.

The Virtuoso chuckled, low and smooth, as he crouched down in front of you. He gently rested the bow under your chin, tilting your head up to face him. The cold, sharp edge of the bow scraped lightly against your skin, sending a shiver through you.

"Stop?" he repeated, feigning surprise. "But you don’t really want me to, do you?" His voice softened, almost a whisper. "The Entity chose you for a reason. You were made for this... to be shaped, to be played."

You tried to shake your head, to deny his words, but his gaze pinned you in place. His hand, gloved and stained with dirt and blood, reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face.

"Tell me," he continued, leaning closer, his voice dropping into a husky murmur. "How does it feel to be a part of something so... exquisite? To be at the mercy of art itself?"

You bit your lip, fighting the fog in your mind. Somewhere, deep inside, you knew this wasn’t right. You were a survivor—you had fought through so many trials, endured countless horrors. You had to fight this, too.

But his music was unlike anything you’d faced before. It wasn’t just a weapon—it was a manipulation of your very being, twisting your will, blurring the line between fear and something darker.

He tilted his head, waiting for a response, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement when you stayed silent. "No answer?" he said, his tone mocking. "Perhaps you're finally starting to understand... There's no escape from me."

Your breath hitched as he slung the violin onto his back with an almost practiced elegance. You saw your chance and scrambled to your feet, trying to make a run for it. But you barely got a few steps before a sharp pain erupted across your back.

You screamed as his jagged violin bow slashed through your skin, the searing pain causing you to stumble and fall forward. Blood trickled down your side as you tried to crawl away, but before you could even attempt to push yourself up, his hand gripped your wrist like iron.

With alarming strength, he yanked you back and slammed you against the cold, crumbling wall. The force knocked the wind out of you, leaving you gasping as the world spun.

"Still trying to run?" he murmured, his tone dripping with amusement.

You tried to push him off, but he pressed his body against yours, trapping you between him and the wall.

"Let me go!" you gasped, writhing beneath his grip.

His response was to catch your wrists in one swift motion, slamming them above your head and pinning them there with a single hand. His strength was inhuman, and no amount of struggling could break you free.

With his other hand, he grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. His gloved fingers dug into your jaw, tilting your head back as his eyes roamed over your face.

"Such defiance," he said softly, almost as if he were admiring you. "But even fire can be tamed."

Before you could muster a reply, before you could even process the fear coursing through you, he leaned in. His lips crushed against yours with a sudden, ferocious intensity that left you utterly stunned.

Your muffled gasp filled the air as his mouth moved against yours, his kiss possessive and unrelenting. His grip on your wrists tightened as you tried to pull away, your attempts feeble against the strength that held you in place.

Your heart thundered in your chest, torn between fear, anger, and a bewildering sense of helplessness. The world seemed to narrow down to him—his lips, his overwhelming presence, and the haunting melody of his violin still ringing faintly in the background.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes searched yours. "You can fight all you want," he murmured, his voice dangerously soft, his gloved thumb brushing against your trembling lip. "But you’ll never escape me."

Your legs felt like jelly, trembling beneath you. The weight of his gaze pinned you in place. You should’ve tried to run, screamed for help, done something, but your body betrayed you, too weak to move.

His thumb lingered on your lip, pressing lightly, as if testing your limits. He tilted his head, and that haunting hum escaped his throat again—a melody low and sinister that seemed to seep into your very bones.

“You’re trembling,” he said, his voice smooth and mocking as he studied you. “Is it fear? Or something else?”

You glared at him—or tried to—but the faint tremor in your chin betrayed your attempt at defiance.

He chuckled, low and dark, and his gloved hand left your face, sliding down to your neck. His fingers trailed lazily over your skin, the rough texture of the worn leather leaving a cold, ghostly sensation in their wake.

“You’re so fragile,” he mused as his hand traveled further, tracing the curve of your shoulder and down your arm. “And yet, so strong…”

His words trailed off as he moved closer again, his body pressing lightly against yours to keep you pinned to the wall. His free hand glided down your side, brushing over the torn fabric of your shirt and the faint wound left by his bow. His fingers paused there, pressing gently, almost mockingly.

You flinched, gasping softly at the sting of pain, and he hummed again, as if pleased by your reaction.

“Every mark I leave on you…” he whispered, his voice dripping with sadistic delight. “It’s a masterpiece in its own right.”

His hands didn’t stop, exploring further—over your waist, down to your hips. Each touch was deliberate, calculated, as if he were memorizing every inch of you he could reach. You tried to push him away, but he didn’t even budge.

“Still fighting?” he teased, his lips curling into a cruel smile as his eyes locked onto yours. “I admire your persistence… but we both know how this ends.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, frustration and helplessness bubbling as his hand continued. His touch wasn’t violent—it was careful—but that only made it worse. It wasn’t pain he was inflicting now, but a complete violation of your sense of control.

His gloved hand came back to your face, tilting your chin up so you were forced to look at him. His thumb brushed over your trembling lip again, his gaze piercing into yours.

“I could keep you here forever,” he said, the words chilling in their sincerity.

His lips crashed against yours again, firm and unrelenting, leaving you breathless. You struggled at first, your body instinctively trying to push him away, but his grip on your wrists remained iron-clad. The cold leather of his glove against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his mouth on yours.

You whimpered into the kiss, your resolve crumbling as the sheer intensity of it overwhelmed you. It wasn’t just the act itself—it was him. His presence, his control, the way he seemed to consume you entirely.

His hand on your chin slid down, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw before resting on your throat. The weight of his touch there, firm but not constricting, made your breath hitch, and that only seemed to fuel him further. His tongue brushed against your lower lip, demanding entrance, and though you wanted to resist, your body betrayed you.

You parted your lips, and he wasted no time, deepening the kiss with a hunger that sent sparks of something unfamiliar coursing through you. You should’ve been disgusted, horrified even, but instead, a warmth began to bloom in your chest, spreading through your body like wildfire.

Why did this feel so good?

You had never had time for… this. Whatever this was. After being abducted by the Entity, survival had been your only focus. There was no room for affection, no space for intimacy, no chance to feel anything beyond fear and desperation. But now, under his touch, under his spell, you felt yourself slipping into something dangerously close to surrender.

And then it happened.

You kissed him back.

It was tentative at first, a soft, hesitant movement of your lips against his, as if testing the waters. But when he felt your response, his grip on your wrists tightened, and a low, satisfied hum rumbled in his chest. His other hand, still resting on your throat, flexed slightly, his fingers curling against your skin as if claiming you.

The kiss grew deeper, more intense, and you found yourself leaning into him despite everything. Your mind screamed at you to stop, to pull away, to fight, but your body refused to listen. Every brush of his lips, every flick of his tongue, every subtle shift of his body against yours sent another wave of that intoxicating warmth crashing over you.

You hated him. You feared him. And yet, in this moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to resist.

When he finally pulled back, his lips parted from yours with a soft, wet sound, leaving you gasping for air. His eyes bored into yours, dark and unreadable, as he studied your flushed face.

“There it is,” he murmured, his voice low and almost… tender? “I knew you’d come around.”

You tried to look away, shame and confusion twisting in your chest, but he wouldn’t let you. His hand on your throat moved back to your chin, tilting your face up again so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“Don’t look so conflicted,” he teased, his lips curling into a smirk. “You’re mine now, remember? There’s no going back.”

His hand lingered on your chin, thumb brushing against your skin with an unsettling softness, as though savoring the moment. His smirk widened as he leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice a velvet whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “The pull… the surrender. Fighting me is pointless.”

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as his free hand began to trail down your body, gliding over your shoulder, tracing the curve of your arm, and finally resting at your waist.

Your heart raced as you tried to push him away again, weakly pressing against his chest, but he didn’t budge. If anything, the pressure of his body against yours only increased.

“Shh,” he cooed, his lips ghosting over your ear. “Why do you still resist? Haven’t I shown you how… good this can feel?”

You hated how his words stirred something inside you, how the warmth from before was now spreading like fire under your skin.

He leaned back just enough to study your face, his gaze softened slightly, but there was still a glint of amusement in his eyes, as though he was enjoying watching you struggle with your own emotions.

“You’re so used to running,” he said, almost thoughtfully, as if speaking to himself. “So used to fighting. But here, with me…” His hand on your waist tightened, pulling you closer. “You’ll learn to stay. To submit.”

The word sent a jolt through you, and your eyes widened as you finally found your voice.

“I’ll never—”

But before you could finish, his lips were on yours again, silencing your protest with a kiss far more intense than the last. It was consuming, overwhelming, and despite your words, you felt yourself melting into it. His grip on your wrists remained firm as his other hand moved to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place.

You tried to focus, to think, to fight, but his kiss drowned out every thought, leaving you with nothing but the sensation of him.

When he pulled back this time, he was breathing heavier, his dark eyes locked onto yours. “See?” he said softly, his voice a mix of satisfaction and something deeper. “You’re already mine.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, frustration and confusion boiling inside you. You hated him. You hated how he made you feel, how he twisted your will, how he toyed with you like you were nothing more than a plaything. But most of all, you hated how a part of you wanted to stay.

He tilted his head, watching you with a curious expression, as though trying to decipher the storm of emotions on your face. Then, with a smirk, he leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear once more.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “We have all the time in the world to figure this out.”

And with that, he released your wrists, stepping back and letting you collapse to the ground, your legs too weak to hold you up. You looked up at him, your body trembling, your mind spinning, as he simply stood there, staring down at you with that infuriatingly smug expression.

“Run,” he said, his voice almost playful as he gestured toward the door. “I’ll even give you a head start.”

But you didn’t move. You couldn’t. You were trapped—not just by him, but by your own warring emotions.

He watched you with those sharp, unrelenting eyes as you remained frozen, staring up at him. His smirk faded, replaced by a look of amused annoyance.

“Pathetic,” he muttered, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “I offer you a chance, and yet you just sit there like a lost little lamb.”

Before you could react, he moved with frightening speed, grabbing you and slinging you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. You let out a small yelp, weakly squirming in his grip, but his hold was ironclad.

“Keep struggling if you want,” he said, his tone dripping with disdain. “It won’t make a difference.”

He started walking, his steps slow and deliberate, as though savoring the moment. The sound of his boots against the cracked floorboards echoed through the empty halls of the theater. You hung limply over his shoulder, your mind racing as you tried to process what was happening.

Then, out of nowhere, he started talking.

“You know,” he began, his voice calm and eerily conversational, “they called me a genius once. A prodigy.” He chuckled darkly. “The greatest violinist of my time. My performances brought crowds to their knees. They cried, they cheered… They worshipped me.”

You frowned, unsure of where he was going with this, but he continued, as though you weren’t even there.

“But it wasn’t enough,” he said, his voice tightening with anger. “I wanted more. I needed to create the perfect symphony. Something timeless. Something unforgettable.”

His grip on you tightened slightly, his gloved hand pressing into your back.

“So I poured everything into my masterpiece,” he went on, his tone shifting into something almost wistful. “Years of work. Painstaking detail. Every note, every pause, every crescendo—perfection.”

You hesitated, your curiosity getting the better of you. “…What happened?”

He stopped walking for a moment, his silence heavy and foreboding. Then, he let out a bitter laugh.

“They rejected it,” he said, his voice cold. “Those self-important critics. They said it lacked ‘soul,’ that it was too mechanical, too precise. They dared to insult my work.”

You swallowed hard, already sensing where this was going.

“So,” he continued, resuming his slow, steady pace, “I invited them all to a private concert. My ‘final performance,’ I told them. And they came, eager to tear me apart one last time.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending a chill down your spine.

“But this time, they didn’t leave. Not alive, anyway.”

You stiffened, your breath catching as his words sank in.

“They didn’t understand art,” he said, his voice growing colder. “Not until they became part of it. Their screams, their fear… It was the most beautiful symphony I ever created.”

You could barely comprehend what you were hearing. He wasn’t just mad—he was completely deranged.

“And then,” he said, his tone shifting into something almost reverent, “the Entity came. It saw my genius, my passion, and it gave me a new stage. A new audience.”

He stopped walking, his gloved hand coming up to idly adjust the strap of his violin, which was still slung across his back.

“And now,” he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, “I perform for eternity. Each trial, a new composition. Each scream, a new note.”

You shuddered, your mind racing. His story was horrifying, but what scared you the most was the way he spoke about it—with pride, with satisfaction.

“Why are you telling me this?” you asked weakly, your voice trembling.

He tilted his head, as though considering your question. Then, he chuckled softly.

“Because,” he said, his voice laced with amusement, “you’ll be part of my next masterpiece.”

Your blood ran cold as his words sank in. You wanted to scream, to fight, but your body felt too weak, too drained. All you could do was hang there, helpless, as he carried you deeper into the dark, abandoned theater.

And all you could think was, he’s completely mad.

He carried you through the desolate theater, his footsteps unhurried, as though he were savoring every moment of your despair. When he finally stopped, you felt your stomach churn as your gaze landed on a rusted, blood-stained hook.

“No,” you croaked, struggling weakly in his grip, but he only chuckled darkly, his gloved hand tightening around you.

“Oh, yes,” he replied, his voice dripping with mockery.

With terrifying ease, he lifted you off his shoulder and slammed you onto the hook. Pain shot through your body as the sharp metal pierced your flesh, forcing a scream from your lips. You writhed and struggled, the agony unbearable, but the hook held firm.

Your scream echoed through the empty halls, and his reaction was chilling. His head tilted back slightly, his lips parting as though he were savoring a fine wine. His eyes gleamed with a wild, crazed light, and the corners of his mouth curled into a manic grin.

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice low and trembling with excitement. “That’s it. That’s the sound I’ve been waiting for.”

You gasped for breath, tears stinging your eyes as you glared at him. “You’re insane,” you spat weakly.

His grin only widened. He stepped closer, tilting his head, his gaze fixed on you with a kind of sick fascination.

“Next time I put you up here,” he said, his voice soft but dripping with menace, “I expect to hear you scream my name instead.”

You flinched at his words, your breath hitching. “I—I don’t know your name,” you managed to choke out.

At that, his grin shifted into something even more unsettling—a sickeningly sweet smile that made your blood run cold.

“Then let me enlighten you,” he said, leaning in closer. “It’s Heeseung. And you’d better not forget it.”

His voice dropped lower, dangerously smooth. “Because if you do… I’ll make sure you never forget. I’ll carve it into your mind, your body, your soul.”

Your heart raced as his words sank in, his soft, mocking tone making your skin crawl.

He straightened up, pulling his violin from his back with a flourish. Heeseung’s eyes never left you as he adjusted the instrument beneath his chin, his gloved fingers dancing over the strings.

“And now,” he said, his voice almost playful, “I leave you with a parting gift.”

He raised his bow, but before he began to play, he blew you a kiss—a mocking, exaggerated gesture that sent a chill down your spine.

“Until next time, my dear,” he said, his voice dripping with malice.

Then, he walked away, the haunting melody of his violin filled the air. You hung there, trembling and bleeding, as his tune echoed through the empty theater.

And all you could think, through the haze of pain and exhaustion, was how he and Ghostface would make the best buddies. If they hadn’t already.

You could practically imagine it: Ghostface with his twisted sense of humor, showing pictures of his victims, while Heeseung played a chilling melody in the background. The thought almost made you laugh—a bitter, hysterical sound that was quickly swallowed by a wave of pain.

"Perfect little psychopaths," you muttered under your breath, your voice weak and trembling.

And yet, part of you wondered if they had met. The Entity’s domain wasn’t small, and the killers had their own ways of crossing paths. You could imagine Ghostface mocking Heeseung’s perfectionism, while Heeseung would likely call Ghostface’s theatrics "childish." Still, their combined sadism would leave anyone unfortunate enough to cross their paths wishing for a quicker end.

“Maybe they’re pen pals,” you muttered weakly, clinging to the absurdity of the thought to distract from the throbbing pain.

"How funny would that be," you mumbled to yourself, letting out a breathless, bitter laugh as the Entity’s claws dug deeper. The pain was unbearable, and you could feel your strength fading fast. The realization hit you like a brick wall: no one was coming.

You glanced around weakly, but the map was eerily quiet, void of footsteps or whispers of another survivor. It was just you—hooked, bleeding, and alone.

With a sigh of resignation, you let your hands drop, giving up the fight against the Entity’s claws. “Guess this is it,” you whispered to yourself, closing your eyes as the final pull of the Entity claimed you.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t been through this before. You knew you’d wake up in the survivors’ camp, alive and unhurt. But this time… this time felt different.

When you opened your eyes again, you were sprawled beneath the familiar tree in the survivor camp, your body whole and your wounds gone. The gentle hum of the campfire reached your ears, and the familiar sounds of chatter surrounded you.

But you didn’t join the others. Instead, you sat there, frozen, your thoughts a whirlwind.

Your fingers absentmindedly moved to your lips, grazing the soft skin as if to confirm something. Heeseung’s kiss had been like his music—intoxicating, haunting, impossible to forget. You hated that you could still feel it, like a ghost of his touch lingering there.

You clenched your fists, cursing under your breath. What the hell was wrong with you? He was a killer. A deranged, sadistic monster who found joy in tormenting you. And yet…

You shook your head, trying to banish the thought. But the image of him wouldn’t leave your mind.

The other survivors’ voices seemed to fade into the background as you stared into the campfire, lost in your thoughts. You’d faced countless killers before, survived their wrath, even laughed off their brutality. But this… this was something else entirely.

Heeseung, you thought, his name echoing in your mind like a song you couldn’t forget.

Heeseung.

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anika-ann · 8 months ago

Text

Restless Hearts - S.R.

Type: one-shot, established relationship, next-to-zero plot

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 6,2k

Summary: Moving in together with Steve is the dream come true – or it should have been. You didn't exactly have the chance to benefit from that since he shipped off to a mission for days and is only now coming back.

You grow restless. And to make it worse, you only get to reunite with him on this stupid pompous party instead of your home. Well. Just few more hours of socializing to survive.

You could handle that, right?

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, semi-public sex if you squint, unprotected sex, language, Steve being a menace, two idiots in love who can't keep their hands off of each other

A/N: written for the Smutty September Fest hosted by @mercurial-chuckles . Thank you for hosting 💕 I have chosen multiple prompts - finding a somewhat private area at a fancy party to f* and quickie where you don’t take any clothes off, just tug and pull and expose the essentials 🤭

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; enjoy y'all 🥰

Sparkling lights. Sparkling drinks. Elegant gowns and sharp suits. Subtle polite laughter and conversation occasionally interrupted by a louder exclamation and a genuine burst of laughter from the groups forming around those who knew how to charm a crowd. A non-descript music, one song bleeding into another, a few couples trying to find space on the dancefloor that had mostly changed into an agora, a space for conversation rather than for moving in well-practiced sync.

The dress skirt brushing over your knees and ankles, a slight chill on the back of your neck as someone opened the balcony doors, letting in fresh April air of New York City. The light stink of alcohol and sweat amongst the hundreds of expensive perfumes and colognes. The rich aftertaste of the sting of bubbles, sweet and spicy on your tongue.

The golden lights shone bright but intimate, reflecting in your champagne glass and prompting you to finish your first – and likely one of the lasts – drink of the night.

You weren’t much of a drinker. You indulged every once in a while, more of curiosity about what fancy brand the host had chosen for the occasion and a thing of courtesy, using the glass like a required social prop.

Such was the case tonight too – a fancy evening for investors and associates of the Earth’s mightiest heroes. Politicians, diplomats, government officials, high-ranking military officials and filthy-rich entrepreneurs – mostly not your crowd, to speak plainly. There was a slightly better company too, even if scarce: former agents and other colleagues – well-vetted beforehand, of course – scientists, non-profit representatives, veterans. Several Avengers too, of course.

But your favourite – the one who had brought you deeper into the world of superheroes – was yet to be found.

Steve Rogers most definitely was your favourite; nearly flawless moral compass, loyal, protective of the less fortunate ones and his own. A fighter who had won and lost all too much; an artist, who saw beauty around him nevertheless. A kind soul with an enormous heart, perhaps a tad too big for his own body despite his impressive physique. Larger than life and yet somehow humble enough in his insistence that he was just a man, ordinary, like most; just lucky enough to had been given a chance to fight and to defend.

And to love.

Steve Rogers certainly was your favourite, as he should be; the goodness of the world distilled into one man, with a face and a body of worth of being sculpted by the masters of ancient arts, the warmest smile and a sparkle to his eye a testimony to his brilliant mind and wicked humour. All that at your fingertips; all that supposedly yours, as incredible as it seemed at most times.

He was yours.

Your boyfriend of four months and seventeen days.

Not that you had been counting; perhaps just a little. You were innocent in the matter, however; it was mostly your and Steve’s friends, teasing you about taking things slow. According to Bucky, had you been taking things at Steve’s desired pace, with how smitten he apparently was, he would have already had a ring on your finger.

You didn’t dare to judge, afraid of raising your hopes a little too much; however, there was something to be said about Steve Rogers in love. He made it clear; so painfully and blissfully clear, letting you feel his much-reciprocated adoration in hundreds if not thousands of little moments.

In his touch. In his words. In his actions.

Your demanding jobs perhaps did slow down your progress a bit, making even the settling on a day of your first date quite the feat; but it was one of those good things that made the waiting worth it.

If Steve was smitten, so were you; and while a proposal would feel rather rash, you certainly not at all thinking about how you’d probably say yes anyway, because you simply knew, you’d settle for moving in together.

You had moved in together, thirteen days ago.

And the move in that had left you with half-unpacked boxes, cold bed and an apartment lacking the true aura of a home, because the person you wished to build it with was godknowswhere in a middle of Siberia, having left after a passionate welcome-to-our-new-home and a message delivered at three damn forty a.m.

Steve had left the pleasant warmth of your bed at four, with a profound sleepy apology and a lingering kiss to your forehead.

Left for an off-grid no-contact mission. Lasting for days.

For all the faith you had in his skill and strength, the worry that came with him being away for so long without as much of a short text was eating at you; and then there was the matter of simply missing him, the empty feeling only accentuated by having expected to be nearer to him at last and getting this instead. You were an independent woman and you could live your life without a man just fine, but goddamn were you also a woman madly in love, missing your boyfriend.

And you were growing impatient.

You were still at your first drink, yes, but knowing Steve should appear at any moment did not help calm your nerves, the slightly uncomfortable but exciting swirl of anticipation of seeing him again – in a suit no less – as intense as the yearning for comfort of actually seeing for yourself that he was safe and sound.

He had texted you, at last, about four hours ago, that he was on his way, nothing but a couple of bruises already healing, looking forward to seeing you.

You had agreed to meet at the venue; he would be running last minute, or perhaps even fashionably late, grabbing a quick shower and a shave at his at-hand quarters at the Tower, just throwing on a suit he kept there for such occasions. You had offered to help – for the completely selfish reason of seeing him sooner and in private instead of in front of hundreds of watchful curious eyes – but he had sweetly refused, argumenting that at least one of you should be on time and promising he would find you first thing upon his arrival.

You would have grumbled if you hadn’t been soothed by the Love you, can’t wait to hold you again, he had texted after. He was a charming loveable bastard like that.

As the infamous murmur of excitement arose around you, bringing you back to the present, your eyes easily found the source of the commotion: Steve Rogers himself.

Your heart rate accelerating reminded you that not being able to meet Steve before the event might have been a blessing. Had you had the chance to get your hands on him, you two would probably end up being very much unfashionably late; a welcome home kiss would have simply not sufficed.

He was breathtaking.

The traditional black suit with navy blue glint was fitted for certain; tight where it should be, accentuating Steve’s absurdly broad shoulders and thin waist, pants no doubt hugging all the right places from behind somehow complimenting his long muscular legs too, pristine white shirt with a bowtie matching the suit; the soft blue reflection emphasized the colour of his eyes as they scanned the room without ever stopping his progress, his polite smile spreading wide when his gaze found yours, the blue of his irises turning warmer; the most beautiful feature to his face battling the magnificence of his sharply cut jaw.

The instant relief washing over you screamed of how anxious you had actually been before you had seen him alive and well; the warmth spreading through your veins whispered of comfort, a tidal wave of feeling at home after a long travel; the heat curling in your belly and sending sparkles through every nerve ending reminded you that your body had been missing him in all different ways.

Your gaze zeroed on his every step. He seemed to move too slow and too fast at once; and suddenly he was standing in front of you, one hand gently grasping yours, the other lightly laying on your waist, a chaste kiss to your temple lingering as your body naturally sought his and carefully leaned into his entirely publicly appropriate greeting. The familiar woodsy notes of his cologne and aftershave had your heartbeat pick up and instinctively move closer into his embrace and breathing in deeply, the scent going straight to your head; but following his lead, you didn’t get too close, letting the gentle timbre of his voice soothe your need for connection instead.

At last; he was home. He was here, with you, and his love, while contained in socially acceptable gestures, seemed to draw a protective circle around your pair, shining brighter and warmer than the lights and all the luxuries around combined.

“Hey sweetheart. It’s so good to see you,” he whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek this time, his eyes lit alive as he retreated, a hint of a smile still playing in the corner of his lips. “And you are absolutely stunning. Almost tripped over my feet the moment I set my eyes on you.”

Resisting the urge to tenderly slap his side at the exaggeration, at making your face burn hot – and something inside you purr with satisfaction since you had chosen your outfit with care, much like your makeup and hairdo – you gathered your composure, straightening your posture and charming a smile for him in return.

In one of many late-night conversations, when he had revealed his artistic side to you, he had admitted he loved to feast his eyes on all kinds of art from the most ordinary ones to the rarest; you had understood then that while a fighter and just a man in his core, his soul was a thing seeking beauty and goodness everywhere. In both things and people. A doodle could make him smile and hum in delight as much as a painting or a sculpture, he had said shyly; a building, an arrangement of flowers, a beautiful dress too. The last one, however, he had appreciated most on a woman as bewitching as yourself, he had told you, a tender finger on your jaw, a glint of dark mischief in his eye, lips slanting over yours and stealing your breath in a matter of a second; proving he was appreciative of you just as much when you were wearing nothing at all.

This time, however, you liked to believe he enjoyed the sight of you in the dress indeed; the top was hugging your curves like a second skin, the dark crimson fabric bled into a breeze-light skirt, shorter at the front, longer at the back, offering a less-than-scandalous but still teasing peek of your legs and clear view of your matching heels.

“It’s really good to see you too, love. And you look quite handsome yourself… I nearly dropped my drink upon seeing you,” you reciprocated with a small smirk, pointedly finishing your drink at last, heat flaring in your core when you caught Steve’s gaze lingering on your lips as they barely touched the edge of the glass, not leaving an imprint despite the dangerously red colour of your lipstick.

As you set your glass on the nearest table, you took a satisfactory note of Steve’s gaze flickering even lower, and bit back a smile.

As high as the neckline of your dress was, actually reaching half-up your throat and barely but chastely covering your shoulders, the oval-shaped cut stretching from between your collarbones down over your sternum was a rather intentional trap.

And your Captain had fallen right into it, his Adam’s apple bobbing before his gaze snapped back to your face, pupils wider, irises having gained just a tad darker shade. The fresh surge of confidence was almost as intense as the swoop of desire in your lower belly, sending your thoughts spiralling far away from a behaviour socially acceptable at an event like this.

It made you want to abandon the event and let it sort itself even if Steve had just barely arrived.

Who cared anyway? Steve deserved a proper rest after a taxing mission; rest and more, whatever his heart desired. And maybe not only his heart; if you were honest with yourself, you were only a hot-blooded human being like the rest of the world and were looking forward to truly greeting Steve home in all the ways imaginable.

You could control yourself in the public, of course, and you genuinely understood the importance of networking. But you should bring up simply taking Steve home for his own good; and you could profit from it all the same. From his proximity, from the privacy of your home, from getting your hands on the insanely handsome man’s body.

Whether he sensed the sparkles in the air you weren’t sure; but he leaned towards your face, his voice dripping slow and rich like honey from his lips brushing your ear, sinful despite the words being perfectly innocent.

“It works well then, honey.” He offered you his elbow, straightening his posture as if he was so damn proud to show off what kind of a woman he had on his arm. “Let’s go fulfil our duty of mingling so we can excuse ourselves as soon as possible.”

With his last words carrying alluring notes of an intimate promise, you conceded.

Nodding, you arranged your face in a polite smile, crafted to nonchalant perfection.

“Let’s go mingle indeed.”

Indeed, let’s work so we can sneak away and go home as soon as possible.

Your plan had gone a little awry.

In the glow of delight at Steve’s arrival, you had underestimated the number of people who found it their crucial mission to meet and greet and catch up with Captain America.

You had kept up the pleasant façade through all the conversations, nodding and chuckling politely when the situation called for it; but you were growing weary and you could feel tension gradually building in Steve’s shoulders as well, the way you remained connected by at least an inch of a touch at all times permitting you to observe the change.

You had thought it would help when you subtly nodded towards the dance floor; his smile turned much more genuine as he asked you for a dance, earning your pair a breather and a moment of shared intimacy for a few songs.

But you had been wrong in your strategy; if it were possible, Steve’s jaw appeared locked even tighter than before once your reprieve was deemed to last too long and you agreed to return to socializing. His touch grew into a hold; at moments, it was but a grip, until you felt him forcefully relax and ease the pressure.

You didn’t blame him one bit.

He must have been exhausted; away from home for so long, physically and mentally drained after an intense, albeit successful mission, forced to put on a mask for everyone else’s benefit, because Steve Rogers, to a point, was a poster boy. As much as he was trying to change that, working on allowing himself to show and accept his humanity, he remained the embodiment of a hero who never gave up and raised others on his own shoulders despite scratching the bottom of the barrel of his own energy.

He remained cordial and polite and a gentleman; he offered to get you a drink as you excused yourself to the bathroom, returning only to find him – visibly annoyed, for once – trapped in a conversation with Tony. A conversation which was probably not at all important, but apparently couldn’t wait, at least in Tony’s mind.

“Such a charming woman, standing here all by herself. How is that even possible?” questioned a voice from your left just as you pondered rescuing your boyfriend, causing you to waver.

It was a very male voice. An unfamiliar voice.

And had it been Clint or Sam or Bucky, you’d laugh at the poor line, which would no doubt be told with a drop of teasing; or in Thor’s case, entirely genuine and fitting to Asgardian but not Midgardian ways. Hearing it from a stranger, though, that made you want to roll your eyes.

You were a strong soldier of God so to speak, however; you turned to the source of the voice with a smile with just a slightly sharp edge – one the tall lanky man was oblivious to, as it turned out – and greeted him with a measured Sir.

As he introduced himself, you learned that Mr. Doctor Bowers PhD. might have had two PhDs but none of them was in taking a goddamn hint. Because now you were sort-of trapped much like Steve was, the written and unwritten rules of courtesy not permitting you to make up an excuse of needing to go to the bathroom after you had clearly just come back.

You counted seconds, pondering how soon you could leave the man behind without appearing too rude. You got to a hundred when your patience truly was wearing thin.

He was still not taking any of the hints you had dropped. Worse, even. You weren’t presumptuous enough – unlike some people in the mostly one-sided conversation – to imagine the flirting. He was clearly attempting to flirt and was failing miserably. He was shameless about it too, even if a little condescending.

Ninety-four seconds later, you had enough of him and far too little of Steve; your skin seemed to be already burning where Steve had last touched you, yearning for the contact to return in a perhaps clingy, but entirely honest way.

And suddenly, as if some miracle provided by Asgardian magic, the touch was back.

Steve’s arm was curling around your waist, his side pressing to your hip, his lips making a gentle – and strangely electric – contact with your hairline.

“I’m sorry about the hold-up, sweetheart. Who’s your… friend?”

It was a little funny, really. The man matched Steve in height, but at the biting note in Steve’s voice, he shrank at least a foot and a half.

He introduced himself after clearing his throat, maintaining the remnants of his composure which all of sudden carried no hint of the wannabe seducer. You wanted to kiss Steve right on the lips right there for that alone.

Mr. Doctor PhD also probably regretted extending his hand for Steve to shake; because at Steve’s grip, no doubt stronger than necessary despite his entirely nonchalant mask of politeness, he actually winced.

You were no supporter of violence, much like Steve, which might seem ironic to some given his profession – but the lick of heat at seeing Steve put the guy into back into his place sent a shudder of undiluted want down your spine and straight into your core, your posture involuntarily shifting in response. Steve’s hold on you tightened.

“I have to talk to my girlfriend now, if you excuse us. See you around,” Steve said, already spinning you towards the exit to drive his point to the end.

You didn’t resist.

If anything, you couldn’t walk fast enough, regretting wearing heels and wishing for a pair of sneakers instead to sneak away from the party altogether at last.

Only when Steve led you further and further away from people, deeper into the complex, your heart began thundering in your chest; you noticed that the tension in his muscles you had worried about had grew tenfold and realized that his announcement about needing to talk to you might be more than an excuse.

“Steve, are you alright?”

“Fine,” he responded flatly, yet in a voice carrying hundred times more warmth than just a moment ago.

Right. And the Sun is blue, the pigs can fly and tachyons had always been proven particles of matter.

You swallowed the snarky response, glancing at him as you barely kept up with his long strides; still, you could tell he was holding back, having seen him march with much more hurry and relentlessness.

“Thanks for the rescue, by the way. Really,” you pipped up, one corner of your lips rising despite your stomach turning tight at the unreadable expression on Steve’s face. “Guy simply couldn’t take the hint that I only have eyes for my Captain.”

An uncomprehensible grumbly noise vibrated in Steve’s chest, his arm sliding from your waist in favour of taking your hand in his instead.

Apparently, your attempt at cheering him up failed; you should have known.

The corridor was now completely devoid of people; you had arrived to the part of the floor with three small conference rooms, one an each of them dark and empty – because everyone was at the party.

Your smile turned truly nervous at that point, your mind racing as much as your heart. Steve wouldn’t have led you here unless he wanted to urgently talk about something important. You were a little baffled as to why hadn’t he opted for the elevator and his former quarters instead; but you didn’t question it as he placed his palm on the scanner and practically threw one of the doors open and all but pulled you in, some of the lights automatically flickering to life.

That was all that your ordinary human brain had time to register.

Because then Steve’s hand found firm purchase of your neck, cupping your jaw, lips slanted over yours with ferocity and passion that had your mind snap blank and set your body on fire, your hands limply landing on his firm chest.

Oh. O-okay.

More than okay.

You were forced to walk backwards, Steve’s other hand pressing against your hip to lead your step and steady you at once; an anchor you desperately needed in the whirlwind of puzzlement and madly stirred desire. Your lips parted in invitation just before your ass hit the conference table, an unvoluntary whimper escaping you when Steve’s body aligned with yours, every single part of him bare his lips tight and wound up, his hardness brushing against your thigh.

At the small sound so willingly consumed by his demanding kiss, he squeezed your hip harder, tongue exploring hundred-times explored with delight, air stolen from your lungs, your hands scrambling to grab his suit jacket to pull him even closer.

Who needed breathing anyway?

You didn’t. And you didn’t care how you got here either, be it desire fuelled by impatience or jealousy or the endless time apart, your choice of a dress or your lipstick which you knew Steve liked so much. You didn’t give a damn.

He was the spoilsport, releasing your lips and pressing his forehead against yours, his quick breaths fanning your face, hand from your neck sliding lower, an almost inhuman sound pushing through his teeth when his fingertips found the exposed skin on your breastbone, petting the soft spot adoringly.

You had not known until that moment how much you craved his touch precisely at that spot and how weak in the knees it could make you.

“Please say y-“

“Yes,” you gasped, instantly rewarded by his mouth on yours again with a muttered but hearty-

“God, I missed you-“

-dextrous fingers sliding under your skirts and hiking the fabric up as they travelled up your thigh, Steve’s pelvis rocking against yours, creating delicious friction against your core.

“I missed you too.”

Your hands went to roam over his freshly shaven jaw, over his shoulders, pushing the jacket off just to make him growl in frustration when he had to stop touching you for two full seconds to get rid of it.

“Sorry, want to feel you,” you apologized nonsensically, every single moment of his touch going straight to your head like a strong sweet wine, intoxicating and addictive, much like his scent, his taste, consuming all of your senses.

“Need to have you-”

“You have me,” you said breathily, a plea and a promise at once, thoroughly appreciated by a squeeze to your ass, fingertips wandering towards where you needed him the most--

And then Steve halted in his progress, body turning into a statue as he came in contact with bare skin, lips stilling on yours.

You gulped, trying to judge his reaction despite your haze.

You had had… a little incident when dressing up to the nines. Your broken nail nicked your thigh-high, sending a run up your calf. Uncharacteristically unprepared, you had found out if was your only pair. And sure. You could have run to a store. You could have express-ordered; stores would trip over their feet to deliver to Ms. Captain America in need. You could have worn a pantyhose.

And yet, your mind had steered you towards the drawer where you had kept tights specifically bought for a wholly different occasion than a social outing.

Why not? Your dress was long enough. And having hoped Steve’s mission would bring him home victorious and excited, having missed all of him terribly, you thought you might at least save some time once you two would be home.

Except you weren’t at home now. But that wasn’t on you – you were completely innocent in that matter.

Except you weren’t and your tights were conveniently sewn with a large enough opening to have Steve fit his hand or other parts of his body through, leaving but a flimsy lace panties in his way.

“Sweetheart?” he rasped, licking his lips as if to tempt you further, to confess your sins born of love and lust. He pulled back just an inch, to meet your gaze, his own pupils blown so wide only a thin ring of your beloved blue remained.

You gulped; not ashamed, not truly, perhaps a little apprehensive of his judgement. You had worn what was pretty much an erotic prop to a high-class event and had you not been careful and had had an accident, anyone seeing or god forbid snapping a picture…

“I… wanted to greet you home… and feel you as soon as possible,” you admitted silently, heart thundering in your chest, in your ears, in your temples, in your fingertips fisting the collar of Steve’s shirt.

A beat of silence.

Several wild beats of your heart.

“Christ, I love you-“

You were hoisted up on the edge of the table in a lightning speed and a mouth-watering display of strength, lips devoured by Steve’s with enough force to bend you backwards, the line of your soaked panties pushed aside to not waste time indeed as Steve’s fingertips dipped into your slick with a mutual groan of pleasure.

“Steve-“

“That’s right, honey,” he whispered, lips teasing the soft skin of your throat now, “I’m here now, all yours.”

He teased your lower lips back and forth, once, twice, three times too many and then he finally entered you with two fingers, a dark chuckle coming deep from his throat at the gasp of his name, stepping closer between your spread thighs to press your legs further apart.

He pumped his fingers with ease, driving you towards the stars at a dizzying speed, pressing a soothing kiss to your sternum when you cried out at him curling his fingers just right.

“That’s it, honey… sing for me. Just for me,” he pleaded, contradicting his plea by claiming your lips again and pushing deeper, faster, wicked,your whimpers swallowed greedily, all his, just like you were, on the brink of ecstasy.

You were trembling; in pleasure, in anticipation of absolute bliss, with Steve’s hand firmly pressed to your lower back to hold you close and annihilate you in the most exquisite way known to man. His words, his touch, the husky notes of his voice, the sheer need radiating off him and still making sure you were to steal the first round of fireworks just for yourself.

It exploded through your body without warning.

You broke with a cry of his name, lips freed just so he could hear the delicious sound, so beautifully seconded by his harsh breaths and so filthily accompanied by the wet sound of your pleasure you had no capacity to be ashamed of but revelled in instead.

You knew he did too. Because he had done that to you, for you. It was his and yours and both was a privilege; and lust incarnate, as he brought you down from your high gently as it be, his hand disappearing from your back in favour of undoing his fly and zipper.

Feel as soon as possible; no time to waste. Pants shoved down only as little as necessary, boxers following, a peek of a mouthwatering – and always a little intimidating – sight was all you got.

A small startled sound escaped you when you were being pulled further towards the edge of the table without a moment of reprieve, a chuckle bubbling in your throat at Steve’s impatience – but with no malice. God knew you understood; the moment the head nudged your entrance, coating him in your slick, your orgasmic bliss was long gone, replaced by even more acute need.

You wanted him. Now. All of him. Wanted to feel him deep inside you, wanted him to fill you so completely as only he ever could, devoured by him, desired and loved.

And you wanted to make him feel as delirious with pleasure as he had made you a moment ago, wanted to make his world so hot it turned white for a moment, make his knees buckle with the force of his release.

Your gaze met his, eyes feasting at the beautiful panting mess he already was, all pristine in his suit and bowtie and ready to ruin and be ruined, lips crimson and kiss-swollen and parting with a groan as he slowly pushed into you.

“Look at me, Steve. Want you to see what you do to me,” you whispered, the little broken sound pushing past his lips the only warning you got before he snapped his hips forward with a curse on his lips and sheeted himself fully inside you at once. God, so fully and suddenly that all air got knocked from your lungs.

His hand grasped your jaw, tender but firm, a dangerous glint in his eye, thumb running over your painted lower lip.

“Oh I’m looking, honey.” His gaze flickered down as he retreated almost all the way out, shining with your arousal, and thrusted deeply again, causing your eyes to flutter shut. “And there’s nothing prettier than you falling apart for me, so let. Me. See you.”

He accentuated every word with a sharp snap of his hips, stroking and stretching your walls over and over, setting a rhythm, teasingly slow and punishingly quick, hand and lips roaming, grabbing and caressing, kisses all teeth and all soft, grip on your hips keeping you still to assure he could take you exactly as he liked and encouraging you to roll your hips at your pace as you balanced on the edge of the table all the same.

“Missed you.”

“Love you.

“Need you.”

“So good for me.”

“I’m so damn lucky.”

“Please.”

“Look at me.”

“Give it me, honey.”

Your head was spinning as you were consumed by bliss, spiralling towards your peak so fast you couldn’t tell anymore which words were yours and which were his, where you ended and he began, clinging to each other as you were carried higher and higher, your ears ringing and still allowing you to hear the clinks of the belt buckle and the sinful sound of your rapid love-making; like a lightning running through yours very being, you shattered with a high-pitched whimper of Steve’s name, an echo of a hoarse voice stringing curses and praise barely reaching your conscience.

You panted against Steve’s shoulder as he curled around you, minuscule movements of hips to ride out both of your highs, soft words spilling from his lips as he was barely caching breath himself.

You took a minute, maybe two or five, still, clinging to him all the same, the heady scent of sex and sweat weighing down the air, your tongue heavy and throat parched, fingers carding through Steve’s damp hair softly.

And still, you chuckled breathlessly as Steve kept running his warm hand up and down your back, the sound causing him to press a kiss to your lips that tasted of apology for some reason.

“Well…”

“I’m sorry for pouncing on you, sweetheart,” he muttered, a genuine note of regret nearly lost in the pleasure carried over to his voice.

Your smiled must have looked exhausted, you thought; but blissed out.

Oh, your sweetheart of a boyfriend. As if you hadn’t just both enjoyed this tremendously. Surely, he didn’t really mean it, did he?

“I’m sorry for sort-of setting a trap then…” you followed suit, the words feeling simply wrong on your tongue. “Except I’m not.”

At that, Steve lifted his head, meeting your gaze, his eyes sparkling with mischief and desire still.

“Me neither.”

You grinned, trying not to be acutely aware of his hardness still stretching you to your fullest.

Of course he wasn’t entirely satisfied. One round had barely even been enough.

“That’s what I thought. Good.”

He mirrored your expression, his grin a little boyish and devilish at once, his expression soft but somehow everything but innocent.

Yet, he caressed your face with his fingertips with tenderness, from your damp temple over your cheekbone to your jaw, gently pressing against your lips.

“I love you. And I missed you. So much. I swear I just wanted to go home – take you home, the moment I walked in,” he admitted, causing your smile to turn sympathetic.

You knew all about that; it was all you had been truly thinking about the whole evening.

“I know the feeling.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh…” you trailed off, sensations slowly returning to your body outside the all-consuming pleasure. You felt like you were burning; sweaty and fucked-out for the lack of a better term, most of your body tingling… You chuckled self-deprecatingly. “God, my legs shake so much… what did you do to me?”

Steve’s hands moved to your thighs as if he needed to feel it and steady the trembling, to help, teeth worrying over his lip, just a hint of guilt – and a whole lot more of something you didn’t dare to decode, because those were some dangerous waters.

You expected him to pull out and help you stand then, clean up; after all, he was a gentleman like that, always supporting you.

He did the former, tenderly so as not to hurt you; but not the latter. When he carefully left your body and you tried to stand, he halted your movements with tightening his hold on your thighs, his gaze roaming all over you as you glanced at him all with puzzlement.

“Steve?”

“Maybe you should lie down,” he suggested lowly, his gaze flickering from your still quaking legs to the opening of your dress on your chest and to your lips and then back.

You swallowed against your dry throat.

The dangerous waters you hadn’t dared to explore roared in the back of your head, a shudder of scalding heat running through your body.

He hadn’t cleaned up. He hadn’t tucked himself in. He was still… as always---he-

You licked your lips, your heart stumbling so hard in your chest it was almost painful.

Wordlessly but with his blown pupils observing you like a hawk, one of his hands moved to your shoulder, gently pushing, encouraging you to lie down on the desk indeed.

And who were you to protest? His gaze was once again pleading and challenging you.

Please, say yes.

Like a fallen angel coaxing you to sin; and you’d all but follow hm straight to hell, because you knew he’d show you heaven unparalleled.

The table was cold and unforgivingly hard against your back, but you didn’t care; all you cared about was Steve looking at you like that, like you were a goddess and a prize he had sworn to win, guiding your leg up to rest your ankle against his shoulder, his hot mouth pressing a kiss to your calf. His other hand pushed his pants and boxes down his legs this time, before he reached for your other leg and wrapped it around his waist, once again nudging your sensitive opening.

“Just one more, honey,” he coaxed you, as if you needed convincing, as if the tremble of your body hadn’t turned from blissful and exhausted to one of anticipation. “Just one more and then we’ll go home…”

He pressed another kiss to your calf and met your gaze as he slowly sank back in with ease, something devilish and painfully alluring flashing in his eyes as a shudder ran through your body, sensitive from your earlier activities.

“And when we’re there, I’ll take you once more… once for every day I would have made love to you, had I been in our home with you as I should have.”

In the haze of your mind, the math didn’t seem to math or even matter, even though you felt it should.

But for now, all you could focus on was Steve, finally with you, and soon coming to your shared home with you, at last.

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

The event's masterlist

*chuckles* I’m in danger🥹

I hope Steve makes sure she’s hydrated and eats something in between🤭 And maybe gets some sleep; not all of us are supersoldiers 🥹

ANYWAY. Thank you for reading! Drop feedback if you're willing and may September bring you many smutty cozy evenings and peace 💕

#smutty september fest 2024 #indulge with chuckles #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #captain america x you #captain america fanfiction #captain america fanfic #restless hearts #anika ann #anika writes

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jehhskz · 4 months ago

Text

Love Again - Part 2

she fell first, and she fell harder

summary: you just got back to Seoul, and hopefully you'll get back into his heart too

genre: romance, fluffy cliche, second chances, smut

warning: this fic contains smut, so it was made for adults only, MDNI.

jé's note: did a little something super self indulgent, if you read this, please be kind, it's my first time and english isn't my first language. huge thank you for my girlies for all the support, special thanks to @doitforbangchan & @jeonginsleftcheek for beta reading it, your words made me happy. and it got a little big, so i had to split it into 2, the link for part 1

divider by @saradika-graphics

After the passport issue, Joo-wan rearranged for you to go with the boys to Japan. At first you were excited, making plans just like you did for Australia, but now you were desperate texting everyone from the staff team to go on your behalf, but unfortunately, everybody already had their own plans they couldn’t cancel.

You wanted to cry, you didn't want to be near Hyunjin, you didn't want to hear his voice and didn't want to see him, because you knew you wouldn't be able to hold back the tears, like you weren't now, already feeling them falling down on your cheeks.

You were watching everyone's close friends stories, loving to see the boys partying and having fun, you chuckled seeing the picture Changbin posted of him carrying Hyunjin in their ‘honeymoon’ as he captioned, Joo-wan video dancing to My House by 2PM was amazing, but something you saw in the back caught your attention: Chae-hee going upstairs hugging Hyunjin, your laughing stopped and your heart sank.

Then it was Na-yeon's video with Minho, they appeared in the back again, a new angle, making their way to the stairs, Hyunjin's arm was thrown over her shoulder. But the worst was yet to come.

Heyoon rushed home as soon as she finished her work, finding you crying, curled in your bed, she laid behind you, a comforting hand gently tapping your shoulder as you told her all about it. It all started when you saw the green neon ring, Chae-hee added you to her close friends.

There was a picture of Hyunjin, his back turned to the mirror, you couldn’t see his face, but Chae-hee’s, she was hugging him, head resting on his shoulder and she had her tongue out, looking directly at the mirror as she took the picture.

Next one was them lying in bed, it was mostly their faces but you could still see the clothes on, he had his eyes closed and a slight smile, Chae-hee was doing a peace sign and winking, she wrote ‘the best day’ on it.

Then the last one made your stomach twist, it was the day after, Chae-hee made a video, Slow Down by Chase Atlantic was playing, it was blurry at the beginning but it was clearly Hyunjin lying there, peacefully sleeping, then she turned the camera, giggling and blowing kisses, wearing nothing but his robe, the Hyunjin engraved appearing as she stopped in front of the mirror, ending the vídeo.

Timing's really a bitch. As you saw the grey bar of that last stories coming to an end, you got a new message:

Jagiya: about to catch the flight, missing you 😘

The pang in your heart got worse.

~ {♡} ~

“Oh my God, Na-yeon!” Chae-hee grabbed the younger by her arms roughly “How many times do I have to tell it's three steps then turn to the right, not to the left!”

“I'm sorry, Chae-hee. I'll pay more attention from now on” Na-yeon's voice was shaky.

“You better, we are about to debut, mistakes like this aren’t supposed to happen” Chae-hee glanced at the girls, as if warning.

Their music was still playing and the volume was up, so they only realized the door was opened when you stepped in. Chae-hee was still gripping on Na-yeon's arms, her long nails digging on the flesh, she let go of her roughly when she saw you.

Her grip quickly turned into an embrace, a stupid attempt to fool you or whoever walked in that nothing was happening.

“Oh, excuse me” You said as you rushed to the couch “I forgot my water bottle here”

Of course, of all the people, you had to run on Chae-hee, you didn't notice her grin when she saw you, so triumfant for the way you and Hyunjin fell apart, but you surely noticed the fear in Na-yeon's eyes, when she glanced at you and then your suspicious were confirmed, there it was: the last strike.

With a last glance before closing the door, Chae-hee smirked, waving at you.

Enjoy while it lasts Chae-hee, that smirk will vanish your lips really soon, you thought while you waved back and closed the door.

Now, all you needed was to come with a plan to gather proof. And tag along with the Hyung Line for their solo mv's shooting, a full group mv shooting, going to do christmas shopping and attend a birthday party all in the while keep avoiding Hyunjin. Ugh, the end of semesters can be so tiring.

~ {♡} ~

You were acting weird, Hyunjin realized it as soon as you reunited after he came back from Australia, barely hugging him when you met at the company, which at first he thought it was because there was people around, but then you were taking longer and longer to answer his texts, so cold and distant, so different from your usual bubbly self.

Then, you'd give excuses to not be alone with him and didn't even bring coffee for the boys as you usually did. At first he didn’t pay much mind, you were probably pmsing, Hannah would always get moody around this time of the month, Chan told him.

But damn, how long does a pms lasts? The weeks were passing and it only seemed like you were becoming more distant, more strange.

He was looking gorgeous, yeah you thought it all the time, but this time, wearing a crop top, he was just extra good, the sight of his abs making you want to cry, because there was nothing you wanted more than kiss and lick the exposed skin. And he knew it, so the fact you didn't push him inside the nearest storage room was weird af.

Also, what were you doing typing so fast and with your eyes glued on your phone all the time?

Annoyed, during the break from filming, he grabbed the device from you, his fingers wrapped around your wrist and he pulled you inside a storage.

“Hey, what are you doing? Are you crazy?” You were surprised as you watched him close the door, lean on his back and scroll through your phone, reading your messages.

“All good… will be great… you know the place?… see you tomorrow… can't wait?” He was reading your texts aloud.

“It seems like you're being the crazy one here” He stared at you “Are you cheating on me?”

Hyunjin's audacity was something you always loved, but right now?

It was annoying you beyond limits.

“What?” Your eyes widened as you heard his question, he couldn’t be serious “Are you insane? Of course not!”

“Then what the fuck is this?” He showed the screen to you, your chat with Min Kyu on display.

“It's just some work stuff” You shrugged and he rolled his eyes.

“Some work stuff?”

“Yeah”

“Just that?” He insisted, hoping you'd tell him what exactly you've been up to, but instead you just nodded and then stayed silent.

“So this is how it's going to be? We've got secrets from each other now” He scoffed, running his hand through his hair.

“Yeah, I guess so” You crossed your arms in front of your chest “You didn't seem to care when it was your turn”

“Oh my God, y/n. Is it still about Chae-hee? I told you, I didn’t tell you she was there because it wasn't a big deal!” His tone was hard, he was annoyed you were still holding grudges.

That was what it was for him, no big deal. He cheated on you, he fucked Chae-hee and it wasn't a big deal.

“Right, no big deal. The party? No big deal either” You scoffed.

“Yeah, it’s nothing serious either, you get drunk and those stuff happens”

No big deal. Stuff happens.

You clenched your fists, his luck was him being at work, and being called by another staff that was looking for him.

“Don't think we're done, because we aren’t” His voice was cold, he was clearly mad at you, as if he had any right to be, you thought.

But he still grabbed your jaw to hold you in place and gave you a quick kiss before leaving to film.

Proving your heart and brain weren’t connected, you kissed him back and it made you even more annoyed.

You were avoiding him the majority of time and would have left if Hyunjin didn’t predict that and walked away with your phone, forcing you to wait until he finished filming.

Hyunjin was mad because you were being a brat for no reason. If there was a person who had the right to be mad at him, it was Felix, and the boy was completely fine.

No, Hyunjin wasn’t a heartless bitch like you were thinking, it was simply that you and him had different pov’s of what happened in Australia.

Every story has two sides: what people remember and what really happened.

You knew Chae-hee and Hyunjin's side, now let's go back to that night and find out who was speaking the truth.

~ {♡} ~

“You're so cute, I'm gonna eat bread” Hyunjin threw himself over Jeongin, disheveling the younger's hair.

“Noo, leave me alone” Jeongin held his hands, and Hyunjin sniffed him, murmuring against his head that his hair smelled good.

“I think you should stop drinking” Jeongin said as he fixed Hyunjin's posture, sitting him properly on the couch.

Hyunjin nodded and then leaned on his back.

“No more drinking” He smiled cheekly.

“Seriously, you had enough” Jeongin laughed.

“Inniee, when am I not being serious?” Hyunjin threw his hands up, then looked at Jeongin when the boy opened his mouth to reply “Don't!”

After a few minutes, Hyunjin seemed to be fine, he told Jeongin he didn’t need to worry and that he would head to their room soon. He wasn’t too drunk, it was okay to leave him alone, so Jeongin thought he could make a quick stop at the kitchen.

“Hey there” Hyunjin jolted when Chae-hee sat beside him, making her giggle, she held out a drink for him.

“No, thanks. I'm fine” He waved, but she kept her hand still.

“Please Hyun, I insist” She smiled at him “Just a toast, uh? To celebrate the success of the tour”

He looked at her and then at the cup.

“Please?” She batted her eyelashes and he thought why not, just a cup wouldn’t be bad, he took it and she grinned.

“Cheers!” She clinked their cups, eyes locked with his as they drank.

Her breath caught in her throat when his face twisted, but she breathed again when she saw he kept drinking.

Just one drink became a few more, until Hyunjin got tired and stood up, he tripped when he took a step. Chae-hee quickly stood up and held him.

“Hey, easy there, buddy” Chae-hee giggled, placing his arm over her shoulder and wrapping her arm around his waist.

“C'mon, I'll help you” And just like that, she guided him towards the stairs.

Jeongin saw them going, but since he didn’t know about you and him being together and knew about Chae-hee's interest in Hyunjin, he didn't pay much mind.

Entering the room Chae-hee saw the mirror next to the door and smirked, she turned Hyunjin to stand facing her, hugging him and quickly snapped a picture.

Too drunk to notice, he plopped down on the bed as soon as she let him go, and she laid by his side.

Chae-hee tried to lean closer to him, but he turned to the other side.

She tried again, using her hand to turn his face to her but he turned back again. Chae-hee scoffed and sat down, crossing her arms, thinking.

“Hyun, why are you being so cold with me? Don’t you like me anymore?” Chae-hee whispered, looking down at him, Hyunjin didn’t say a thing.

The girl grabbed her phone and clicked on the filming icon, hopefully she could take a good screenshot later. She laid back again.

“Is it because of y/n, isn't it?” Hyunjin smiled when she mentioned your name.

“I remember the way you used to look at me, watch me practice…” Her breath hit his neck, making him chuckle slightly and shift away.

“You wanted to fuck me, didn't you?” She teased him and he drunkenly nodded, Chae-hee smirked.

“Well, I’m here now, this is your chance” Chae-hee shrugged, seeing he didn’t make a move, she tugged him by his shirt, pulling him closer to her, throwing a leg over his, ‘side straddling’ him.

He groaned, placing a hand on her waist and Chae-hee smirked.

“Chae-hee?” Hyunjin whispered and she leaned closer.

“Yes, Hyun?” Her voice was sultry, she closed her eyes, leaning even closer.

“I'm gonna…” But he didn’t finish the phrase, because he started vomiting.

“Ewwww” Chae-hee screamed and scooted away from him like a flash “What the fuck??”

Hyunjin rolled on his back again, his eyes still closed.

Chae-hee got off the bed with a jump, her face twisted in disgust when she looked at the mattress, but then her gaze landed on the Versace robe thrown over a chair and it gave her an idea.

Luckily she decided to wear a sleeveless top tonight, so when she took her jacket off and wore the robe, positioning her phone on the right angle it gave the illusion she was bare under it. Perfect.

Taking a last glance at him, she assumed he fell asleep, because he didn’t shift. So Chae-hee took the robe off, threw it back on the chair and rushed outside of the room.

She ran into Felix as she was heading back to the stairs, and he believed her lame excuse of the bathroom downstairs being occupied. He was sharing the room with Hyunjin, and was just about to find his drunk friend there.

~ {♡} ~

It was usual for some idols to have a ‘favorite’ practice room, some would even say the aura was different, it gave them good luck and such things. For Chae-hee, her preference for that practice room was because she heard Jong-ho - her staff - saying the security camera stopped working a few months ago.

After you confirmed your suspicions about Chae-hee abusing Na-yeon, you knew you needed more than words to prove it. Learning the camera wasn't working felt very disappointing, but also made sense why that room was always reserved for LuaX.

You knew Na-yeon wouldn’t have the guts to expose Chae-hee, so you had to come with a plan C, and that's when you texted Min Kyu, being a software engineer, he surely would know what to do.

Not telling anyone about your plan was difficult, you hated keeping secrets, especially from Hyunjin, but you thought he would think you were just trying to get rid of Chae-hee because you were being jealous, plus he didn’t tell you she was there in Australia, and Hyunjin had a lot of chances to, and then… he fucked her there, and couldn’t even man up and tell you he fucked up and apologise or break up.

Jagiya: where are you?

To avoid curious eyes, you and Min Kyu met up at the agency on saturday morning, a day you knew the company would be almost empty.

“Are you sure this will work?” You asked, watching him sitting down on the floor, installing a micro camera inside an electrical outlet.

“You'd be surprise with the quality” He looked up and smirked “Why don't you pick the laptop, I'll move around for you to check?”

“Okay” You went to sit down on the couch and put the laptop on your thighs “Is this C34 program?”

“Yeah, just click and it will start automatically”

“Alright” You clicked and the vídeo player appeared on the screen, you saw the room and Min Kyu walking around perfectly.

“It's great!” You clapped, watching him jumping around and you chuckled.

Jagiya: what do you mean you aren’t coming tonight?

Jagiya: yongbok just told me

Jagiya: why aren't you replying to my messages?

Jagiya: never mind, be ready at 7, i'm coming to pick you up

You: don’t, i’m not going

~ {♡} ~

Hyunjin went, and now it was 7:20, you left him on the couch, but he moved to your bedroom, lying in your bed while you were in the shower, because there was no way you’d appear on the holiday festivities of the team wearing sweatpants. Your little jolt of surprise when you walked in and saw him there didn't go unnoticed by him, who laughed even more when you opened your drawer and closet to pick your clothes.

“You can change here, you know?” He said cheekly “It's nothing I've never seen before”

“No!” Your exclamation before shutting the bathroom's door made him chuckle.

You looked pretty, Hyunjin thought, when you came back all dolled up, wearing an army green top and dark wash jeans that matched his and black boots. You were putting on your earrings when he got up.

“You're looking good” Hyunjin said as he stood behind you.

“Thanks, you look good too” He was wearing a light blue shirt that you were pretty sure was from Versace.

“I know” His cocky grin appeared.

You looked at you both in the mirror. He wasn’t supposed to be there first place, but damn, why was it so hard for you to ignore him? Why did you have to be the weakest soldier?

Maybe, just maybe… you had hoped it all was a huge misunderstanding, but then…

You saw the photos, the video, how could you still be so delusional if there was proof?

And why did he keep acting like nothing happened? He didn't have any consideration for you?

If Chae-hee didn't post, he'd be fooling you all that time. This realization made your heart sink.

Chae-hee was still a major bitch, of course, but she actually did you a favor, showing you his true colors.

“Where's your car?” You looked around when you left the house, then turned to face him.

“It's home, I’ll be drinking so I’m not driving tonight” His phone buzzed and he grabbed it from his pocket, he smiled.

“Great, Felix's coming” Hyunjin threw an arm over your shoulder and you shivered, but instead of hugging him back, you crossed your arms in front of you.

“Don't you think you're exaggerating?” You couldn’t tell if he was teasing you or being serious. Either way, it annoyed you.

“I mean, I get you're jealous, it was even kind of cute before, but now it's starting to piss me off” You shifted away from him.

“Well, if I'm bothering you so much, why don't you go out with Chae-hee instead?” You saw him roll his eyes, leaning back against the wall “You two seemed to have so much fun together”

“Damn it y/n!” He ran his hand through his hair and then pointed at you “See? That's why I didn’t tell you she was there, because you'd start a tempest in a teapot”

“Ohh so now it's my fault?”

“I was thinking about you and…” His tone was raising, but you interrupted him.

“Thinking about me? I think I was the last thing crossing your mind while you were there distracting her!”

“I told you I accepted to go out because she was crying, she’s about to debut, that’s not easy y/n, I've been there, I know how it feels!”

“So being the great person you’re, you were just comforting her…” He nodded, despite your ironic tone “Hyunjin's so great, taking his little friend to get ice cream, yeah”

“I know she wasn't sucking just popsicles!” You snapped and his eyes widened.

“What do you mean?”

“The party, Hyunjin. Stop trying to fool me, I know everything, Chae-hee posted you and her together!”

Hyunjin had no idea about what you thought that happened at the party, until now. Damn, he barely had any memories from it, aside from some flashes of him dancing, drinking and the worst headache he ever felt on the next day.

“But y/n, I didn’t… I…”

“Shhh, do us both a favor and don't even start!” You waved him off, turning away, just a little more and you knew you'd be pathetically crying in front of him.

He didn’t have much time to think or even say anything else, because Felix's car was just turning the corner and driving down the street.

You stayed silent the whole drive to the restaurant, staring out of the window and wiping the insistent tears that would escape, glad your mascara was waterproof.

~ {♡} ~

Some of the staff and the boys were already there when you arrived. You made sure to sit with Changbin and Chaeryeong, staying very far away from Hyunjin, avoiding even looking at his way.

Joo-wan was grilling the beefs, Seungmin was making sure no one’s cup was empty and you were concealing your sadness really well, enjoying the chat with your friends.

During the drive there, Hyunjin tried to remember the details of that night, he remembered Chae-hee being at the party, she had some drinks with her, he tripped and then he was already in bed. He remembered her talking to him…

And that was all. He was sure he didn’t do anything, there was no way, but what the hell were those stuff you said you saw?

That was the question burning in the back of Hyunjin's head… until the alcohol kicked in.

“Alright, alright. Time to reveal our resolutions for next year!” Changbin exclaimed excitedly.

“Are we finally seeing your abs?” Minho teased, making everyone laugh.

“Wait, what resolutions?” Jisung's eyes got wide.

“I have no idea” Jeongin chuckled.

“Well, you'd know what I'm talking about if you checked the group chat” Changbin said, annoyed and the boys laughed.

“Which reminds me, where's our list from last year? We gotta check if we achieved it or not” He looked over everyone and nobody had a clue.

“Wait, wasn't Han responsible for that?” Seungmin questioned and Jisung grabbed his phone, checking the notes.

“Oh shit, I lost it” He whined.

“Jisung's resolution: stop losing things!” Minho chuckled when Han cursed him.

“Now Chan, what's your plans for next year?” Changbin turned to the older.

“Okay, let’s see…” Chan thought for a moment “Next year I plan on fixing my sleep”

“I'll learn english!” Minho raised his hand.

And so it went, Chaeryeong was taking notes as everyone would list their resolutions.

“Next year I won’t let people use me as they please” You said looking directly at Hyunjin and despite being drunk, he understood it right away.

“Ohh that's a good one!” Joo-wan high fived you.

“Next year I'll talk to my partner instead of jumping to conclusions” It was Hyunjin's turn, and he stared at you too.

“Oh yeah, communication’s important” A drunk Jeongin nodded.

“I won’t need to jump into conclusions because my partner won’t give me reasons to be suspicious of him” You looked at him again.

“Yes, we love reassuring men!” Nabi, another staff member, clapped.

Han and Felix exchanged looks.

“I'll wear more crop tops on stage!” Jeongin said completely oblivious to the tension going on.

“I won’t waste my time with a girl who doesn't trust me” Hyunjin scoffed.

“Yeah, if she doesn’t trust you, she isn't worth it” Joo-wan said and Hyunjin stared right at you as he nodded.

You couldn’t tell what hurted more, Hyunjin's cold gaze or him calling you a waste of time.

“Oh, you'll definitely have plenty of options to pick, let’s just hope you're smart enough to make the right choice and not let bitches use you again” You hissed and Hyunjin scoffed.

“Okay, this is getting a bit personal” Changbin whispered to Chaeryeong.

“Are they dating?” She whispered back at him and he was about to answer when you stood up and left.

“Uhh, don’t think so anymore” Changbin whispered and they both watched as Hyunjin stormed off after you seconds later.

“Y/n!” You froze for a moment when you heard Hyunjin call you.

“Don't waste your time coming after me!” You started walking again, your heels clicking as you stepped determined to the garbage cans.

“What are you doing?” Hyunjin shouted when he saw you trying to pull the ring he gave to you. His fingers brushed his own automatically.

“What looks like I'm doing?I'll throw this off!” You hissed, struggling to take the ring off of your finger. You cursed under your breath, it was stuck.

You tried some more, whining but wouldn’t give up until you took it off. Gazing at him, your closed hand reached the recycle bin and you opened, the ring making a clink sound as it hit the bottom.

“Y/n, what the fuck did you do?” His eyes widened and he shouted, grabbing you by your shoulders.

He let go of you and went to the bin, trying to shove his arm inside to take it back.

Luckily all the trash was collected earlier and the bins were sanitized.

“You know what? Why don't you take the opportunity since you're already there and throw yourself too?” You crossed your arms in front of yourself.

“But not on this one, no, no. Let's be organized, dildos belong to that one!” You kept running your mouth, pointing to the plastic ones.

He ignored you, too worried about taking the jewel back.

“Damn it, y/n. It was expensive!” Hyunjin shouted again, he took a few steps back, running his hands through his hair.

You shut your mouth, reality kicked in, the ring wasn't a simple one you can buy on those little tents on the street.

It was a jewel, original, a whole year of your salary worth it.

Oh shit.

“Oh my God, I fucked up, I fucked up” You cried out, taking large steps to the bin you threw it and leaning onto it.

In your attempt to trying to reach, you were almost falling inside “I'm so fucked up, I belong in the trash too”

“Y/n, stop…” Han was making his way coming to you.

“Shh, don’t!” Hyunjin stopped him, grabbing him by his shoulder “She started, now she finishes it!”

“Dude, what if she hurt herself?” Both looked at you, butt up in the air, half body almost all in, struggling.

“Ugh, okay. Fine” Hyunjin walked to you and grabbed you by your waist, easily carrying you out.

“Y/n, enough!” His voice was cold as he hissed at you.

“Nooo, let me go. I fucked up, I need to go to the trash” You cried out, trying to escape him.

“Okay” He rolled his eyes and opened his arms, letting you go.

“Hunf, too bad there isn't a bin for toxic garbage here” He scoffed under his breath after seeing you sit down in front of the paper recycle bin.

“Y/nnie, what are you doing now?” Han rubbed his temples, stopping by your side.

Han sighed when he saw you hug your knees and noticed the tears running down your face. C'mon, he was tired, it was late, he just wanted to go back home.

“Hyunjin said I'm toxic, I'm not worth even being recycled!” You sobbed, pointing at him.

“Dude, what the fuck, why are you being mean to y/nnie?” Felix turned to his friend, and Hyunjin's smirk suddenly faded, giving room for the tears appearing in the corner of his eyes.

“Oh shit, what am I doing?” He snapped and when you realized, he was sitting by your side.

“Don't get near me, I'm radioactive, I’ll contaminate you with my toxicity!” You nudged him away.

“Y/N, HYUNJIN!” Felix's deep voice brought you both attention to him.

“Oh Felix” Hyunjin blushed slightly, giggling.

“Enough of this bullshit, the both of you. Stand up, we're leaving now!” Felix didn't need to order twice, you and Hyunjin quickly obliged.

Hyunjin started following Felix and you followed Han, stopping in your tracks when you realized they were heading to the same car. Han held you by your shoulders, preventing you from running and led you to Felix's car.

~ {♡} ~

Felix drove everyone to his place, and he and Han helped the two of you to get inside.

“Shit, they are still drunk” Felix complained to Jisung, as he sat Hyunjin by your side on the bed, the other hands playing with the pedants from his necklace.

“I told you it wasn't a good idea to let them drink that bottle of soju. Why did you have that in your backseat, anyways?” Han looked at Felix with his eyes widened, Felix having a bottle in his car was really random, just like that whole night.

“Are you an angel, Yongbok?” Hyunjin twirled his finger in the blonde's necklace, whispering, mesmerized with the shining pendant.

“Stop it” He pushed Hyunjin's hand away and took a step back “It was a gift, I forgot it was there until y/nnie found it and chugged half of it before Hyunjin could steal it from her”

Meanwhile you were a crying rambling mess, trying to calculate how you'd survive without a paycheck.

“Ugh, they are annoying me. Maybe we should push them under the shower, to sober them up” Han sighed, he was really tired.

“Hey hey, nobody's gonna take y/n's clothes off” He pushed the boys off and stopped in front of you, his hands pushing your jacket off your shoulders “Only I can do it”

“Stop it! Only my boyfriend can undress me” You snapped and pushed him to the side.

He lost his balance and fell on the bed, rolling on it, he groaned dramatically as if you hurted him. You watched the scene unfold in slow motion: Hyunjin rolling off the edge, your hand reaching out to prevent him from falling, losely grabbing his hair, the strands slipping through your fingers and him hitting the floor causing a thud that made you jolt.

“Oh no, Jinniee. Are you okay?” You peaked over the mattress worried, holding your hand out for him who accepted it.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you” You drunkenly cried out, helping him get back and lay down.

Hyunjin murmured something you didn't understand and threw his arms around your neck, swiftly pulling you to him, making you fall.

“I missed you so much, love” His voice was low and muffled as he had his face buried in your hair, but you heard it loud and clear, your heart jumped.

“Me too, jagi. Me too” You softly murmured, a hand reaching up and gently caressing his cheek, he purred.

“That’s just like ferrets sleep, you know? I saw it in the Nature Channel” Jisung chuckled to Felix, who picked up his phone and snapped a picture of you sleeping entangled with each other.

“Although with those biteable cheeks,y/nnie looks more like a quokka” Felix chuckled, he beckoned to Jisung for them to leave the room.

“Nighty nighty, sweet dreams babies” He said cheekly after turning the lights out and then he closed the door.

~ {♡} ~

It was past noon when you woke up, the rays of light escaping through the curtains annoyed you, so you decided to turn around and then you realized not only you weren’t at your bedroom but also weren’t alone.

Although his grip on your waist got tighter, Hyunjin was still sound asleep as you turned around facing him. You opened your eyes slowly and sighed looking at him, sleeping so cutely, a strand of his hair fell in front of his face and you gave in the urge to brush it off, fingertips gently caressing him and he sighed.

So cute, doesn't even look like you test my patience 24/7, you thought, still caressing his face. You leaned a little closer, wanting to kiss him, like you used to do before, but then your gaze fell on your hand, the absence of your ring being a hard confirmation that the last few weeks weren’t just a bad dream.

“You know it’s rude to stare” His hoarse voice made you jolt and you rolled away.

“I wasn’t staring” You scoffed.

“Yeah, right” He chuckled, his eyes still closed as he stirred up like a cat.

You heard knocks on the door and when it opened, Felix appeared covering his eyes.

“Wakey wakey, are you decent?” He said cheekly and you saw Hyunjin's grin when he tossed a pillow at his friend.

Felix grabbed the pillow and threw himself on the bed, between the two of you.

“I came to say that lunch's ready”

“Lunch? What time is it?” Your eyes widened and you covered your mouth in surprise.

“It's 1pm” Felix chuckled and leaned forward, disheveling even more your hair “Seems like you had a great night of sleep” He teased.

“Shut up” You used your pillow to hit him.

“My head hurts” Hyunjin complained and Felix touched his forehead.

“Poor baby, c'mon. Let's eat some lunch, you're gonna feel better” He pouted at the brunette.

As a big fan of their bromance, deep down you were loving the private hyunlix session, but you had to stop watching their chat to go to the bathroom.

Downstairs, Seungmin and Han were finishing settling the table, the delicious aroma of the food made you float towards the dinner table. After enjoying your meal, you offered to wash the dishes, and while you were drying the plates, something small and shining on the counter island caught your attention.

“Is it mine…” Your fingers were just about to touch the ring when Hyunjin covered it with his hand and pulled it to him.

“It's mine now” His smirk didn't meet his eyes as he put the ring on. Felix and Jisung rescued the jewel earlier this morning.

“Yeah, of course” You whispered, looking down, it would be too much audacity of yours to do that whole scene and still want the ring back.

You weren’t even together anymore.

You weren’t even together anymore,

wow, it's real and official now.

~ {♡} ~

Every night after work you grabbed your fluffy blanket, something good to eat and snuggled up on the couch to keep up with C34 like it was Netflix. As if it was a stupid trick of destiny, nothing happened.

Day after day, Chae-hee seemed to be… Lovely, with the girls.

Hugging them, hyping them up, bringing them water and snacks, that Chae-hee made you wonder if you were overreacting, if what you saw that day was just an isolated event, but what about the other times Na-yeon seemed to be hurt? It couldn’t be a coincidence.

And it wasn't.

One night, you were smiling, watching Minho and Na-yeon chatting, then he gave her a quick kiss before running out, the girls appeared minutes later. Your smile stayed in your face as you watched them dancing, they were really good.

Their song was catchy and you were dancing on your spot when it happened, Chae-hee pushed Na-yeon down and the girl fell on her butt. You stopped and leaned closer, paying attention you saw Chae-hee was yelling at her, then another member approached and helped Na-yeon get up, you recognized her it was Ha-ri, she said something to Chae-hee and then covered herself with her arms as Chae-hee stepped up ready to smack her.

You clicked a few times and then the video was saved on the cloud. Your gaze went to the calendar, marked with a star was the date of their presentation pre-debut, which meant they would do a pocket show for the big names in the industry, a little warm up before the actual debut, a little something before their names would drop and their faces would be all over the internet.

~ {♡} ~

“Relax, you're gonna do great!” Minho whispered in Na-yeon's ear, he was hugging her when you walked in.

You laughed slightly when he broke away from her, tapping her shoulder.

“Uh, I'm going to meet up with the boys. Keep up, fighting!” You both waved him bye and you turned to face a tomato-like Na-yeon.

“Ohh, special support from the boys? Sounds nice” You said cheekly and Na-yeon waved her hand in a silent plea for you to stop teasing her and you chuckled.

“So, where's the girls?” You leaned against the vanity, absentmindedly playing with the makeup brushes with your fingers.

“They went grab something to eat and will be here soon” Na-yeon sat on the little couch there and you realized her shoulders were trembling slightly.

“Don't be nervous, Na-ye. Everything will work fine, I saw you dancing and you're really good” You smiled at her and she smiled back.

Na-yeon opened her group's chat and saw a picture Chae-hee sent of the boys waiting for their presentation, the older one made a heart around Hyunjin and sent a screenshot of a text where she basically intimated him to come. She sighed, putting her phone down.

“Y/n, can we meet up for a coffee later?” Na-yeon said shyly, fidgeting the hem of her skirt.

“Sure, I would love to! Coffee's on me, let's celebrate your debut” Seeing Na-yeon's shyness, you assumed she finally gathered courage to share what was happening in her group.

Maybe she was finally ready to ask for help? This would be such a sweet surprise to her, you both would celebrate Chae-hee's departure, but you couldn’t tell her that yet.

But Na-yeon didn't plan on talking about the abuse she has been suffering, the reason she invited you was because she thought you were a good person and didn't deserve what Chae-hee did to you and Hyunjin, so she'd tell you what really happened during their time in Australia.

The door opened and you saw the girls entering, giggling and teasing each other, Chae-hee smirked when she saw you.

“Y/n, what a nice surprise. Came to support us?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything” Your smile was genuine, you were really eager to watch them on stage.

You checked on your phone, just a few more minutes.

“Well, guess I'm going. See you later girls, fighting!” You stood up and waved for them, Chae-hee was still smirking, she had no idea.

You met the boys at the auditorium, and it would be a lie if you said it didn't hurt when you saw Hyunjin was there. Okay, all of the Stray Kids were there, but still.

“Hey y/nnie, come sit with us!” Chan beckoned at you, Hyunjin acted as if you weren’t even there as you passed him by.

You sat down beside Jeongin, Hyunjin was two chairs away, you avoided looking at him until the lights were out.

He had the same idea, peeking over to check on you while you weren’t looking.

“Hello, we're LuaX and we are going to show you our first song, please enjoy it” Chae-hee said shyly, it was insane how different and fake she looked on stage.

Their first mv started being played on the big screen, it was good, they went for a domestic style, mostly of the scenes being filmed by them and it seemed to please the audience.

Everybody clapped when it ended and then another video started, ‘get to meet the girls from LuaX', some claps and whistles could be heard as flashes of clips from each girl appeared, until it all turned into a full black screen and Ha-ri's name appeared blinking, starting her introduction.

After Ha-ri, it was Na-yeon's turn and then Chae-hee, you shifted on your seat. It started like the others, showing little Chae-hee dancing in a school presentation, more videos of her dancing as she grew up until the screen went black again and stayed like this for a minute. The staff exchanged worried glances, imagining it was a malfunction.

“What are you doing? Fix it!” Chae-hee whispered between gritted teeth to the intern who was in control of the laptop.

As the boy was about to tap on the keyboard, the image appeared again, but instead of the interview with Chae-hee, what appeared on the screen made everybody gasp.

Footage of Chae-hee abusing not only Na-yeon, but the others too, yelling at them, harshly stumbling on them during their dances making them fall, gripping them by their arms…

“What the fuck is this? Turn this off, now!” She hissed at the intern and he clicked over and over, but nothing happened.

Desperate, Chae-hee went to him, palms slamming the keyboard, but the images were still up, so she looked around and ran to pull the plug, the last image appearing was her pushing Na-yeon.

“I… I can explain… I…” The lights were turned on, Chae-hee stared desperately at everyone watching, but something inside her clicked when her gaze met yours, the smirk on your lips telling her all she needed to know.

She stormed away from the stage, the whispers filled the room, Hyunjin noticed you chuckling lightly, he was shocked. Hong-jo went to hug Na-yeon, checking if she was alright and the girl nodded, then she looked at you and you smiled, she understood it right away too.

~ {♡} ~

“I still can't believe you exposed Chae-hee, I could never imagine we were being filmed” Na-yeon blushed slightly, playing with the straw of her caramel latte.

You softly chuckled because you knew she was wondering if you saw her and Minho too.

“I had to gather proof because it was a serious accusation” You leaned forward, whispering “But don’t worry, I made sure to save only those parts, all the rest was deleted”

“What happens to us now? Aren’t we going to debut anymore, is LuaX ruined forever?” She asked after thinking for a moment, was her dream ruined?

“No, no. You, Hari and Ji-soo will debut, don’t worry” Na-yeon smiled, relieved.

“You'll just have to work a lot and harder, because there will be need to erase every single trace of Chae-hee”

“Thank you, for helping me…” Na-yeon smiled shyly “The girls appreciate it too, they just aren’t here because I needed to talk to you in private”

“Is there anything wrong?” You put your mocha latte down and looked at her with concern.

“It's about you and Hyunjin” She picked her phone and unlocked it, opening the chat app.

“Oh, Na-ye, I'm sorry but I don’t wanna talk about him today” You looked down and Na-yeon touched your hand.

“No, y/n. It’s really important, listen, please” She said softly and then she clicked play on the audio Chae-hee sent to her a couple days ago.

Your stomach twisted as you heard Chae-hee describing what happened after she took Hyunjin upstairs, followed by her plan of adding only you to her close friends, that way nobody could contest her and you'd break up with him. Hyunjin was telling the truth and you didn't believe him.

“That's why he was acting so nonchalant about it…” You murmured to yourself, feeling the tears coming.

“We had a fight and he said nothing happened, and still I didn’t believe him” You covered your face with your hands, crying.

“Oh y/nnie, it's not your fault, I'd fall for her tricks too” Na-yeon tried to calm you down.

“I didn’t believe him and now he doesn't want me anymore, he said I was a waste of his time” You cried and Na-yeon reached out, gently tapping your arm.

“He's ignoring me, he's probably already dating her now”

“No, no, they aren’t together, I can guarantee you” Na-yeon shook her head.

“Chae-hee's mad af because she wanted to give him another chance after the er… incident, but he keeps turning her down” She whispered and you felt a little relief.

“He still likes you, y/nnie. Minho told me Hyunjin talks about you a lot” She blushed at the mention of Minho, and omitted the part where Hyunjin's talks about you were all complainings, all that mattered was that he was thinking about you, right?

~ {♡} ~

Hyunjin was surprised, he knew Chae-hee was nice to him because she wanted to pull down his boxers, but he didn’t think she was such a bitch. And he still had no idea what she did to him that night, all he remembered was her helping him get to his room and then Felix changing the sheets and taking care of his drunk ass.

Chae-hee leaving was the hot tea on the halls of JYP, no one knew who manipulated the video, but most of the people praised the one who did, saying if they had the chance, they would do the same. Hyunjin would smirk walking down the halls, he knew it was you right away.

So that was that mysterious work thing you didn't want to tell him. He was still hurt because of that, and a lot of other things too, the top on his list was you not believing him, that’s why he had been ignoring you and pretending you didn't exist, and he thought he was doing a great job at it, but the boys wouldn’t agree since he couldn’t stop talking about you.

The girls from LuaX were super busy recording their songs again and changing choreographies, but the days were much better now, without a trace of Chae-hee. You were relieved to walk around the company and not run into her anymore, not big on believing in energies and stuff, but the vibes definitely felt better without her there.

Speaking of vibes, yours weren’t the best as you finished packing for Japan. You tried for the last time to change it, but it didn't work, so there you were, zipping up your last suitcase.

You checked everything in the house one last time, was all good, then went out to wait for Felix, you'd both head to the airport together, the boys flew the day before and he stayed because he had an event to attend on the date.

Leaning on your back against the wall, waiting outside on the street, you sighed when you realized your headphone ran out of battery. As you were putting it back inside your purse, a familiar voice shouting your name caught your attention.

“Chae-hee?” You blinked as you watched her hard steps towards your direction. How the hell did she know where you lived?

“You bitch, I know it was you who made that video!” Chae-hee kept shouting and pointing at you, she was coming closer now.

“Yeah, it was me. Did you like my editing skills?” You scoffed, crossing your arms in front of your body and grinning at her.

Chae-hee closed her hand into a fist and groaned as she advanced towards you, in a quick move, you grabbed her fist mid air as it was about to hit your face and smirked.

“Chae-hee… were you going to punch me?” You pouted, grip on her wrist getting tighter as you shook your head feigning disbelief “I thought we were friends? Close friends even” You mocked.

“Ughh, let me go!” She tried to pull her hand, and you thought for a moment, you weren’t planning on it, but you saw the car parking near you, so you had to, you needed to take the ride.

Unfortunately, that wasn't yours.

“Bitch!” Chae-hee spat, massaging her bruised wrist after you pushed her away, letting go of her hand.

Chae-hee came ready to punch you again, trying to catch you off guard.

“Bitch, don’t you ever try to lay a finger on me again!” You said through gritted teeth as you grabbed her wrist again and lifted her arm, at the same time in a swift move you used your dominating hand to punch her on cheek.

A strangled sound came out of Chae-hee's lips and she fell down, she touched her face, it was stinging really bad and red, you took a step and leaned down, grabbing a fistful of her hair and forcing her to look at you.

“And just so you know, this one was for what you did to Hyunjin. If you wanna keep that pretty face intact, don’t ever get near him again!” You pushed her and she trembled.

“Now get out of here!” You ordered and she crawled backwards a few steps and then awkwardly stood up and ran away.

You sighed, rubbing your temples, the rush of adrenaline slowing down and you were realizing what happened, your hand hurted.

“Y/nnie, are you alright?” You were startlet when you turned around and saw Felix walking up to you.

“Lixie, oh my God. For how long were you here?”

“Long enough” He chuckled and pulled you into a hug.

“Oh, that’s embarrassing” You said shyly, hiding your face on his chest.

“Don't be, it was good. You learned it really well” He laughed.

When you asked Felix to teach you some taekwondo moves, you were just playing around, but in the end turns out it was very useful.

“Thanks to my Sensei”

“This is for karate, in taekwondo we say Sabomnim” He pinched your cheeks.

“Then thanks Sabomnim!” You said cheekly.

“That's better. Now, let's go, I don’t want you picking more fights on the streets” He disheveled your hair, and you groaned.

~ {♡} ~

The moment you stepped in Japan, you changed your mind, you were glad you came, as you looked out of the window, you were excited to go out and explore it all, although fitting your list of places to go and things to do was a real challenge with the busy agenda of the boys.

You and Hyunjin? Well… it was complicated.

In the perfect world, you'd run into his arms as soon as you'd step into the hotel, and you'd tell him all about your talk with Na-yeon and later would be at his room showing how sorry you were for not believing in him. Unfortunately, life wasn't a fanfic and he reminded you that when he ignored you as he passed you by.

But as the days went by, something changed, Hyunjin even quickly grinned at you at the Versace store, during the event he participated and if your mind wasn't tricking you, he murmured to the pinkish fluffly plushie he won, that his new additional's name was now ‘y/nnie’.

When you texted Heyoon about it, she told you not to get your hopes up - too late. You knew she just wanted to protect you from another heartbreak, one more and you could request a song on that TV show where players who score 3 gols get their favorite song played, but what if this time it worked out?

What's the saying? Third time’s a charm?

Yeah, maybe you could request a song, after all, but a romantic instead of a sad one.

~ {♡} ~

Few things made you so happy as day offs, sleeping until noon, going to eat out, shopping, today was that day. You smiled as you checked your phone, the time marked 12:20 when you woke up, no alarm, no messages, no notifications, just silence and peace, wow, when was the last time you felt that?

You sat down, lazily stirring up and went jumping to the bathroom, thinking about the stuff you had planned for today. Your day was going great, you checked out almost all of your list, you realized as you placed your purchases on your bed, admiring all the shopping bags laying there.

And to end it perfectly, time to relax, you said to yourself as you walked though the hotel heading to the hot tub. Your smile got wider when you saw the sign written Relax & Enjoy, oh you'd definitely would.

Your eyes sparked when you opened the door, unraveling the coziness inside, the room was large, floor and walls made of wooden with two walls made fully of glass, presenting a beautiful view of a garden, the trees offering privacy to the guests that can enjoy the hot tub or just light up some incenses and meditate on the lilac futon, adorned with fluffy cushions, you wondered if it was okay to take a nap there later.

You lit some lavender incenses, then kneeled down, pressing some buttons and stood up again, you let the white robe slid down your figure and you stepped into the hot tub, wetting your foot slowly, testing the temperature before lowering your body down in the warm water, sitting down.

Sighing, would be a lie if you said you didn't wish Hyunjin was there with you, thinking about him made you realize, you haven’t seen or heard from him or any of the boys the whole day.

“Wow, I can even hear my thoughts, nice” You giggled, leaning back and closing your eyes “So peaceful…”

Being so relaxed, you were almost napping right there, but your peace didn't last long. You didn't hear the crack of the door opening or the footsteps walking where you were, until you heard the sound of giggling and the water splashing around.

“Spoke too soon” You rolled your eyes after opening them and seeing Jeongin, Han and Felix sitting down around you.

“C'mon, don’t act like you weren't missing us” And there he was, sitting down in front of you, that annoying grin playing on his lips. Your heart skipped a beat.

The whole time, you tried and failed to look away from him, and Hyunjin would often chuckle, not because he thought what one of the boys said was funny, but because he could see his effect on you. The struggle was real, and the boys were noticing too, giggling and exchanging looks.

After what felt like hours, the boys decided to leave, their smirks were unnoticed by you as one by one they stood up, waving you goodbye. You looked at Hyunjin and he shook his head, not making a move to leave, great, you thought.

You laid your head back down and closed your eyes, his soft giggle made you feel butterflies.

“Heard you punched Chae-hee because of me” Hyunjin broke the silence after some time, you weren’t seeing it, but you knew the smirk was there.

“It was…” You started saying, but he interrupted.

“Really hot…” You looked at him as he approached you “Felix showed me the video, that punch was really good, wish I was there to witness in person”

“Oh c'mon” You covered your face, embarrassed that Felix filmed the whole thing and especially that Hyunjin watched it.

“Admit it, you've been wanting to do this since you laid your eyes on her” He teased you, closer now.

You giggled, but nodded, your face still covered.

“I knew it” He chuckled, gently pulling your hands down.

“What are you doing?” You whispered as he held your hands and placed them over his shoulders, leaning closer. You wondered if he could hear your heart beating faster.

“Something you're dying for me to do, since the show last night” He said cocky and before you could say anything, his lips pressed against yours.

Hyunjin's hands went to your waist, pulling you close to him as he teased your bottom lip with his tongue, you gave him entrance and wrapped your arms around his neck, he smiled against your lips when he felt you coming up to sit on his lap, a soft sound escaped your lips as his big hands reached your ass, gripping the flesh hard, pulling you even closer, he groaned as it made you grind against him.

It felt good, he did it again and again, his hands guiding your hips, while his lips left yours to make a trail of kisses on your neck, going straight to the spots he knew you were more sensitive, licking and sucking on the skin.

The way you moaned so softly, digging your nails on his shoulder, dragging your pussy up and down on his bulge, adjusting yourself, he knew you were about to come soon and if he didn’t do something quick, he would too.

You whined in protest when he held you in place, stopping your moves and it made him chuckle.

“Oh I'm sorry, did I interrupt your fun?” He chuckled teasingly.

“Jagiya” He chuckled again, finding your annoyance cute, but he wouldn’t tease you further, not today…

Hyunjin moved you, making you straddle his leg, tensing up his thigh, he helped to adjust you and gave your butt another squeeze, before you started grinding on him again.

You leaned forward, kissing his neck, moans muffled against his wet skin as you kept going, his hands roamed all over your body, until they stopped by the strings of your bikini, working quick to untie them, letting the piece float on the water, hands cupping your breasts, thumbs teasing the sensitive buds. Your legs started getting shaky and your moves sloppy, Hyunjin held you by your hips, guiding your moves as he knew by the way your moans were getting louder and your body tensing up, you were about to come.

And you did, holding tight onto him, burying your face on his shoulder, you gave it a delicate kiss, lips lightly brushing against his skin, nibbling on it as you came down from your high.

“Let’s move to the fuck futon” He whispered in your ear before lightly nibbling your earlobe, making you shiver.

“It's not a futon for fucking, oh my God” You murmured under your breath, embarrassed and he chuckled.

Hyunjin gently pushed you off him and you stood up, followed by him and both walked to the futon, you couldn’t help but smile as he sprawled out a towel on it, before beckoning for you to lay down. You obliged, and he kneeled in front of you, hands running up your thighs until they reached your bikini bottom, his fingers hooked on the waistband, watching in awe as his hands slowly pulled the fabric down your thighs until it reached your ankles and then it was tossed behind him.

“So pretty” He whispered and twiched inside his swimtrucks, that grin appearing.

You wasted no time in wrapping your arms around him when he crawled on top of you, slotting between your legs, he kissed you and his hand started exploring your body again, gripping on your waist, your curves, until it slid down to your thigh, he alternated between caressing and squeezing the flesh, the kiss getting deeper as his touch got bolder, fingertips slowly making their way to your inner thigh, until it reached your middle.

Your own hands explored his body too, feeling his muscles up, pulling him closer, your fingers digged on his biceps as he slid his fingers between your folds, then pressed on your clit, starting to rub lazy circles on it. Hyunjin smirked, feeling how wet you were already, and you moaned against his mouth, nibbling his bottom lip as his finger slid inside you. He pumped it a few times before adding a new one, his lips making a trail of wet kisses to your jaw, then your neck and going down.

“Jinnie…” You moaned a little louder, when he found that sweet spot inside you.

“Here?” His fingers curled up, and his lips attached to your nipple, tongue swirling around the hardening bud, before he started sucking.

You nodded, a little breathless, your hand went to his hair, fingers carding through his locks and his free hand slid up, fondling your breast, while he sucked on the other.

“Don't stop…” You pleaded, hips moving against his fingers that were pumping in and out quickly, his lips latching on your other breast, he kept alternating between them.

Hyunjin withdrew his fingers and started to rub on your clit, he could tell you were about to come again, from the lightly trembling of your body under him, the way you pulled him closer and kept lifting your hips again.

Just one more rub and you'd be gone, he softly chuckled, when you protested as he stoped his moves completely. You groaned in frustation.

“Ah, don’t worry. You're gonna cum…” He brought his coated fingers to your mouth, slowly sliding the digits inside, your eyes locked with his as you licked his fingers clean off your juices. He smirked and stood up. “...but around my cock”

You watched his hands working fast to get rid of his clothing, clenching around nothing as you saw the pinkish tip glistening with precum. He looked at you, biting into his lower lip as he stroked himself a few times before finding his way back between your legs.

He dragged his cock over your slit, hissing as he coated the length with your arousal. Hyunjin stared at you as his tip teased your entrance, and you nodded slightly, he leaned down, capturing your lips as he slid in slowly, opening you up inch by inch.

Even though he prepared you with his fingers, it still burned as he got in, your nails digging on his back and your eyes closed, Hyunjin caressed your cheek and started peppering kisses all over your face and your lips, distracting you as he pushed up until he bottomed out.

The kisses kept going, slowly and sweet. He stood still, letting you adjust to him before he started moving, slowly the burning sensation was disappearing.

“Too big, Jinnie…” Your sweet cry made him push deeper, grinning against your lips.

“Shhh, it's alright. You take me so well, baby” He picked up the pace, going faster.

He held your thigh, lifting it up, the new angle letting him reach deeper, yours and his moans filling up the room. Your nails scraped his back and he hissed with the mix of pleasure and pain.

“So fucking tight” He groaned and you instinctively clenched around him “Oh shit”

Hyunjin leaned in, sucking on your breast again, earning more moans from you as he moved fast, angling his hips to hit that spot that made you see stars as you moved against him, meeting his thrusts.

He made a trail of wet kisses up until he reached your lips, swallowing your moans, you held him tight against you, clenching more around him and pushing him closer to the edge, so his hand reached between you, finding your clit and rubbing circles against the bundle of nerves. Your sweet moans getting louder and more desperate were like music to his ears.

“I love you” The words easily slipped out of your lips when he broke the kiss, it wasn't a reflection of your foggy mind, consumed by the pleasure he was giving to you. You truly meant it.

“I love you too” His words made your heart fluster, and you pulled him closer again, passionately kissing him.

“Jinnie… please” You cried out, breaking the kiss.

“I've got you, doll. You can cum, now” He rubbed faster.

A thing he loved about you, how easily he could make you cum, it was both exciting and endearing for him, every time he felt you were about to, he would slow down his thrusts and his fingers moves, forcing you to last longer, but now that he was almost gone too, he would let you go all the way.

“Jinnie, oh shit!” Your legs started trembling, followed by your body, your nails dug on him as you came, almost making him come too, from all the clenching so hard around him.

He kept rubbing your clit as you came down from your high, his thrusts were getting sloppy and his balls tightening. You noticed when Hyunjin started pulling out.

“Don't you dare!” You said through gritted teeth, wrapping your legs tight around his waist, locking him in.

His eyes widened as he looked at you with surprise, damn, he thought that was hot, he quickly picked up the pace again. Hard, fast, deep.

He groaned against your neck and you felt the warm, white ropes of his release filling you up. You embraced him, legs still wrapped around his waist, keeping him close as he still thrusted a few more times, not letting one drop go to waste.

The moans were replaced by “I love you's” and the sound of breaths hitched, hearts beating rapidly and in sync, you kissed his hair when he collapsed on top of you, lying his head on your chest.

~ {♡} ~

You were nervous, after the fog of the moment dismissed. You knew you both would have to talk, you still needed to apologise to him, make everything clear, and all, plus there was a not so small train of thoughts creeping in the back of your head, what if it was a spur of the moment thing? What if he would change his mind after he kisses you goodnight and leaves you at your door? What if he would come back to his senses and ignore you the next day?

Luckily, all those worries were pushed away as he pulled you closer against him, his grip tight on your waist as he moaned, burying himself into your tight heat.

You hated waking up early in the morning, but that day, you couldn’t be happier to be woken by him. Spooning you, his hard on pressed against your butt, lips teasing your neck, lazily licking and sucking on the skin, and hand shoved under your pajama top, cupping your breast, of course.

“Damn, doll. This pussy's perfect, just made for me” His thrusts were getting sloppy, and you gripped the sheets, his hand rubbing circles against your clit, making you cry out, calling his name as you came for the second time in the morning.

He came shortly after, gripping on your hips and holding you in place as he filled you up, and as you watched him swing off the bed, admiring his cute little butt as he went to the bathroom, to grab a washcloth to clean you both, you couldn’t help but smile. You could get used to this.

Turns out, your trip to Japan was amazing.

You realized that as you two spent the last day there exploring and enjoying your time together, like you used to imagine it would be. No, it was better, because this time it was real.

Was real in the way his fingers intertwined with yours, as you walked on the streets; in the sweet sound of his giggles when you said something that he found funny; in the way his eyes sparked when something caught his attention; in the warmth of his embrace, as you watched the sunset in a park before heading back to the hotel.

And it was perfect, as you received a goodnight kiss, and snuggled up against him to sleep again.

~ {♡} ~

Every fruit produced here's organic, delivered with love from our family to yours.

A smiling and sweet old lady said to the camera, as she walked in joining a small group of people standing in the field, holding baskets, each one had a variety of fruit. A girl, wearing a denim jumpsuit, with a straw hat to conceal her face and a basket full of apples, stepped forward.

Take care of your health, start the new year in the right way, with Organic Life.

You didn't need to see the hat being gone by the wind to recognize that voice, but the scene made everyone in the living room laugh, watching her desperate frown for being recognized, a short desperate shot where you could clearly see she was dropping the basket before the ad ended.

“So, what is it? Chae-hee's an actress now?” Seungmin wondered, switching the tv channel.

“I thought she was banned from the industry, after everything that happened” Chaeryeong

commented, snuggling up against Changbin on the couch.

“And she is!” Na-yeon picked her mug from the coffee table “That's actually her family's farm, she was forced to get back with them because nobody wanted to sign her” She had a smirk as she said that, ever since Na-yeon knew Chae-hee, the older always told her how much she hated the country life, and that she would leave and never look back.

“Well, she can be the cows’ idol now” Minho shrugged and everyone laughed.

The group was reunited at Han and Minho's place to celebrate the New Year's. It had been some weeks since you came back from Japan, you were suppose to be used to reality by now, but as you felt Hyunjin suddenly wrap his arms around your waist, hugging you from behind and nuzzling his nose against your neck, you giggled and realized you were still in a daydreaming state.

He turned you to face him, everyone gathered in the living room, the last presentation of the night ended and now the singers were starting the countdown.

10, 9, 8…

The bright and big numbers flashed on the screen.

7, 6, 5, 4… You wrapped your arms around his neck, both smiling as you leaned closer.

3, 2, 1… Your lips finally connected, happy New Year!

Same night, last year, you were at a party that Heyoon dragged you, closing your eyes and making a wish as the clock hit midnight. Now, one year later, your wish came true.

You and Hyunjin were embracing at the balcony, watching the fireworks.

“Give me your hand” Hyunjin grabbed your wrist and you watched intently as he took his - yours - ring off of his finger.

“I believe this belongs with you” He smirked, sliding the band on yours, then he gazed at you “Just stay away from bin's this time around, okay?”

“Oh wait, wait!” Han stood up and rushed inside, you watched with confusion.

Jisung came back a minute later, waving a tiny bottle, you identified what it was when he approached you.

“Super glue?” Hyunjin's eyes widened, surprised.

“Just to make sure” Jisung explained, trying to grab your hand but you pulled back.

“Hey!” You protected your hand, eyebrows narrowing at him before turning to Hyunjin, your tone soft as you talked to him “Don't worry, this ring's never leaving again”

“It better not, although Jisung's idea isn't so bad” He teased you and you slapped his arm.

Later that night, the subtle sound of clothes begin discarded on the floor, kissing, giggling and whispering were filling your room.

“Thank you, for the ring and for letting me love you again” You whispered between the kisses you were peppering on his face, the last being on his lips.

“I'm the one who should thank you, for coming back to my life” He smiled so sweetly, gently caressing your cheek with his thumb, before swiftly rolling you both, lying on top of you and capturing your lips again.

Maybe it was right, maybe wishes did come true, if you wished hard enough.

#hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut #stray kids smut #My fic #hwang hyunjin smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz imagines #skz x reader

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writingwisterias · 4 months ago

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Day 23: Praise Kink

ID! Leon Kennedy x AFAB! Reader Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Praise Kink, Training, Gun, Training room sex Masterlist

Of course, Leon had noticed your training had begun to slip, he was dragging himself to the shooting range with you every morning. No matter how hard he tried your score never increased. He could see your confidence slipping as the other recruits began to notice your low score. If he wanted to find you he was sure you were in the shooting range. You tried everything you could to get better and yet the more your confidence slipped so did your score. He could see the fire of ambition slowly die inside of you and decided enough was enough.

He hated being awake so early, especially after he spent the night in some stupid bar he stumbled into. At least you were thankful for the extra attention he was offering. He saw you standing outside the door to the shooting range, two coffees held in your hands as you looked off into the distance. Your headphones looked like earmuffs over your head as you wrapped up warm to fight the winter chill. It was early enough the range would be empty, none of the agents assigned to training groups of recruits would be arriving any time soon, and the sky was still dark. Your frame is highlighted dimly with the street lamps.

Your smile was brighter than any lingering stars as you saw him. Your sweater-covered hand holding out the hot drink to him. “I needed one so I thought you might as well” You spoke. He could hear your music as you pulled the headphones away from your head, they now hung around your neck. “Keep listening to music at that volume you won't need any ear protection when shooting” Leon teased. His heart fluttered at your shy smile blush coating your cheeks as your hands began rummaging your pockets for your phone to lower the volume.

Easing into the training wasn’t the hard thing, it was just your aim. It was even worse than before everyone started teasing, Leon predicted the constant bullying from everyone else was a direct result. So instead of following the methods of all the other agents assigned to this task, he took a kinder approach. Hoping his praise and chilled-out attitude would help you relax and not overthink. It worked to his credit; your aim was improving and your score was slowly increasing. Yet your mind loved the extra attention Leon gave you, heart fluttering at every adjustment he would step closer to do. His rewarding words heading to other areas.

You jumped slightly as he stepped closer to readjust your grip, his eyebrows pinching in confusion as his hands touched your hip. “You good? I didn’t mean to make you jump” Leon spoke. His breath tickled your neck causing you to flinch slightly, blush coating your cheeks as you felt bad for your reactions. You knew it was because you had woken up earlier than normal, your toy in your nightstand finding its purpose yet again after another dream of Leon fucking you. Having to face him after such a graphic dream was tough, his close proximity didn’t help either.

“I’m good sorry, I don't know why I’m so jumpy today..must have been a dream I had” You half laughed. Leon clearly assumed it was a nightmare the way he nodded, silently agreeing with you. “I’m here if you want to talk about it. We have time before the others show up”

He was too kind for his own good sometimes, his caring nature making him all the more alluring to him. You could have made up something, some random nightmare but Leon was smarter than that. He would have clocked on instantly. Instead, you chose the cheap side and said you didn’t want to talk about it. Leon just raised an eyebrow.

“Our training sessions are a safe space for everything and anything…Do you trust me?”

Your heart stuttered unable to think of a reply faster than the hot flush set in. “I do trust you…it’s just…just complicated” You muttered, your arms crossing over your chest as you met his gaze. You felt so small and shy like you were about to be scolded by a teacher. Once that was always nice to you and then you suddenly get into their bad books. “Complicated how?” Leon asked, his body now resting on the bench - nudging ammo out of the way to set his arms beside him. His hands looked so good, flexed over the edge of the table. His veins were now more prominent. They always looked well-kept. “Something on my hands?” he laughed meeting your eyeline. You broke out of your trance shaking your head. “No No, they just look good”

“My hands?”

God you were just making this worse. Digging yourself deep into a hole you weren’t sure you could get out of. Leon smirked, his teasing attitude written all over his face. He had already caught you out on your own lie, your body language speaking volumes over your words. Leon stood up, sauntering over to your stuttering form, his hands landing on your shoulders instantly calming you. “Do you ever relax?” He chuckled. Leon was so close, yet there was no gun in your hand. He was voluntarily in your space. “It’s hard to relax sometimes” You muttered back, hand rubbing the back of your neck nervously as you met his eyes. Leon chuckled, his face inches from yours. “Let me help you”

He watched your features for any rejection, giving you time to process his request. His grin grew when he saw it, the subtle nod of your head. His lips were softer than you originally thought they would be as they landed on yours. They worked in sync perfectly with yours. His presence was dominating demanding control which you gladly gave him. Leon spun you around, walking you back towards the shelf he was just perched on. You worked on removing your leggings, whilst he focused on his trousers. The kiss never broke.

He only broke it to hoist you up on the shelf, his body spreading your legs as he invaded your space. “You impressed me today. Seems our 1-1 time is working”

Leon tasted like the coffee you had given him this morning mixed with the faint taste of whiskey he drank last night. It was intoxicating. Your tongue already craving more. His compliments melted your brain as his lips muttered them against your neck. Blemishes making themselves known with the sting he left behind. Leon sunk his cock inside of you with a groan. Your walls instantly welcome him, warming him. “Fuck..pretty girl having such a perfect cunt” He grunted as he began to move.

He made sure you felt every inch, his hips pistoning inside you at such an insane speed. Leon’s hand gripped at your thighs, holding one over his hip as the other hand gripped at your head bringing you in for another kiss. Leon was bold and passionate with you. Worshipping every clench, moan or whimper you gave him as he continued to fuck you. “Such a good girl, I should reward you like this all the time and then maybe you’ll be the best agent there is”

Your brain faltered at creating any form of a coherent response, the letters jumbling up as your head fell against his shoulder. His praise continued to tighten the coil in your stomach, almost ready to snap. “Be a good girl and cum before the others arrive, I want to feel it around my cock”

He groaned loudly as you finally snapped, your cum instantly coating his cock coating his trousers. The forces of your orgasm caused his. He moaned as your legs tightened around him, trapping him inside as he coated your walls. “There's more if you break your record in front of the rest of them”

“Seems like a worthy reward”

Taglist: @kasueli@luvrgreyy@michellekmsh@miss0giarra@cinnabunnysavvy@redollface@my-loved-figure-skates@luvlouiee@drawboo22@moth-quasar@nyxxoxo@crazy-b1tch

#leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #resident evil #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon smut #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader

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wtfsteveharrington · 10 months ago

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love love love your writing, could you do something with luca? maybe reader gets hurt in the kitchen and he has to help her

a/n: thank you so much :’) i went a different kitchen than you meant probably but i hope u like <33

warning!! contains non-graphic mentions of accidental cuts, blood, and a physical injury.

The apartment is peaceful. Candles lit, soft music playing from a playlist you both curate, and it was pretty enough outside to leave the windows cracked open for a breeze.

You’re turning around with a stack of t-shirt’s in your arms, only half paying attention when you feel yourself bump into something that promptly shatters to the ground and disrupts the peaceful environment.

“Shit!” You both echo at the same time from being startled.

Luca’s wrapping a towel around his hand, leaving everything in the kitchen behind as he hunts you down. “Darling? What happened? Are you alright?” He took just enough time to realize that the knife had gotten him when he jumped, acknowledged he was alright, and quickly went to check on you. You’d always come on the top of his priority list.

You’re standing in a pile of glass, a deep set frown on your lips as you look around at mess made by a broken vase. “I’m fine, I’m fine. I was trying to put away our laundry and forgot I moved the vase to the edge of the dresser earlier when we were cleaning. Just caught the corner and it fell.”

Looking up at him with a little pout, “I’m sor-“

You’ve honed in on his towel wrapped hand, the hint of blood soaking through the thin material.

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Absolutely fucked my hand.” He gives you some sort of ‘What can you do’ look while shrugging his shoulders. Luca has had his fair share of kitchen incidents and was much more accustom to injuries. It was deep enough to need stitches, just needed to be rinsed and bandaged.

You, however? Very much not used to seeing your boyfriend like this.

A gasp falls from your lips as you rush over to grab his wrist, taking a peek under the towel and wincing. “Luca!” He doesn’t have time to respond before you’re dragging him back into the kitchen to get him taken care of.

You’re standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the sink, trying to fight the urge to panic at the sight of him injured due to a mistake you made. He can see the way your face is all twisted up with concern and he hates it.

“M’alright… Done much worse to myself before. Won’t even leave a scar.” A scar? You frown more as you make sure the cut is clean and step back to go fish out the first aid kit from the bathroom.

“Stay put, please.”

Luca, a man, stands there as he’s told but does admire the sway of your ass as you barrel away. He then gets to admire the swell of your cleavage under your top and - “Shit!” He hissed out as you’re grabbing his hand again to apply a bit of ointment.

“Shoulda paid less attention to my boobs and you would have seen this coming.” You tease while trying so hard to keep the mood as light as you can muster. There was still a course of guilt running through your veins as you continue patching him up.

“I truly am fine, you know? Comes with the job territory. Won’t be the last time I get cut.” He leans in to press a tender kiss to your head and you gravitate towards the touch. You know it’s not a life or death situation but between being embarrassed over both breaking the vase and indirectly injuring Luca you were a little solemn to say the least.

“I know, just hate I caused this.” The bandaid is smoothed over his skin and you give it another once over before bringing it to your lips, kissing over the bandaid. Luca allows you to continue fretting over the injury for a moment until he’s moving his hand to cup your jaw and make look up at him.

“It was an accident, no?” You both nod. “Exactly… I’m fine, you’re fine, we’re both fine. Don’t want you beating yourself up over this.”

You take a deep breath and allow his words to sink in for a moment before nodding once again. Eyes flickering up to his before you lean in and press a tender kiss to his lips. “M’sorry you got hurt…” Another kiss. “Was kinda hot how well you handled it though.”

Luca laughs against your mouth, a wide grin on his features as he feels your anxiety finally start to settle. He steals one more kiss before stepping back to acknowledge the state of the kitchen, giving your waist a squeeze before he goes.

He glances over the cutting board that was the culprit of injury and the food that started to burn while he was tended to. Shrugging his shoulders, turning to smirk at you with pure love and devotion in his eyes.

“Fuck it, let’s go have a date night out instead.”

A hand claps against the flesh of your ass as he passes you to go get changed.

#chef luca x reader #chef luca x you #chef luca blurb #luca x reader #luca the bear #will poulter x reader #chef luca #carmen berzatto x reader

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joelmillers-wife · 18 days ago

Text

take my hand (joel miller x f!reader) chapter three

18+, MDNI series masterlist: here | please check this for complete series warnings and tags pairing: joel miller x f!reader chapter summary: your patrol with joel takes a detour to find the next edition of Savage Starlight wc: 6.3k rating: this story is 18+ (minors, do not interact), there will be eventual smut in later chapters chapter warnings and tags: moderate amount of violence, cursing and tlou lore accurate outbreak content below, TW: alludes to suicidal ideation (please feel free to message me or send me an ask about specifics if you want clarification before reading), angst, reader has no description besides she has hair, jackson!joel, age difference: reader is in her 30s and joel is in his 50s, sloooow burn, enemies to friends to lovers type-beat ao3 | follow @writtenbynic and turn on notifications for chapters! dividers made by: @saradika-graphics , check them out!

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III. ANOTHER LOVE

And if somebody hurts you, I wanna fight But my hand's been broken one too many times So I'll use my voice, I'll be so fucking rude Words, they always win, but I know I'll lose

Your patrol shifts ended up being every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, with you on standby as extra help for Fridays—each day changing what time you were scheduled as well as the location. After your first patrol, you had anticipated a new partner, only to return the Wednesday after to see Joel still listed next to your name. Not just on that day, but almost every shift after.

It shocked you at first. In your eyes, this was either because Tommy was forcing his brother to be your partner, or maybe Maria wanted to punish Joel.

“Ya know what it took me to convince Maria to let you stay in this damn town? What with her knowin’ everythin’ you’re capable of?”

You recall the conversation you had overheard between Tommy and Joel that morning. The way Tommy had scolded him for his lack of involvement with other people. How Joel dragged him away for another talk after you both had arrived back to Jackson, you assumed Joel yelled at Tommy to change partners. Considering your designated patrol partner for the near future, you settled on the idea that you were being forced to work with Joel as some form of punishment towards him.

But your confusion grew as time went on, because Joel wasn’t always your partner. If it wasn’t Joel, if he wasn’t available on a certain day for whatever reason, then it was Tommy—only ever Tommy and Joel. It felt odd, considering everyone else in town took turns rotating on who their partners were. It was common that the same groups would be together most of the time, but they all still had some changes every now and then. Not you, though—no. It only made things worse when people picked up on your pairings, and you learned that prior to you, Joel only ever went on patrols with his brother.

The question of how trusted you really were began to plague you. Maybe, on that first patrol, Joel saw something in you he didn’t like—something that he didn’t trust and had confided in his brother to keep an eye on you.

That theory didn’t hold much proof to you, though. You had grown closer with Tommy, and Maria with him. Your occasional shifts with Tommy always went well—the two of you bonding over similar interests such as music, or Tommy talking about being a father and how Benjamin was like. You were invited for dinners every now and then at their house, were asked about your opinions on things going on in town or advice on what would best help the community. They made you feel valued. Were you really a liability if they were allowing you into their space so willingly?

It was almost a year of you being in Jackson with your second autumn here coming to end. You had grown somewhat used to the way things were around here and things felt like they had evolved for the better the more time you spent here. The only thing that never changed was Joel.

The two of you never engaged in small talk—all the information you knew about him was limited, and given to you by either Ellie or his brother. You’d see him around town, whether in the mess hall or at the shops, but all he ever offered was a brief glance in your direction with no greeting. Patrols were nothing out of the ordinary as you never encountered anything more than a few stray infected scattered around on their own, far away from Jackson. Your moments with Joel were the same—quiet. The most you ever got out of him was that he transitioned from grunting and scowling at everything you said to giving you nods, still accompanied by his usual frown.

Progress.

You spent most of your time with Ellie as she still would go to you for quality time. The difference is that she stopped being shy about coming up with excuses to hang out, and instead would just show up to places you were and begin conversing with you. You also noticed Joel began expecting her to be where you were—looking for her in the stables or knocking on your door to check her whereabouts. For some reason, it meant something to you. The fact that you had become someone he was comfortable having his “kid” around. A part of you maybe wished he would find your presence somewhat… comfortable? Just enough to make moments like these a bit less awkward.

The morning weather today felt colder than recent, making you believe winter was approaching a bit faster than anticipated. The good news with the cold is that the infected were less likely to be out soon enough. Not because they feel anything, but because everyone else stays as sheltered and secluded as they can to stay safe, giving the infected no reason to wander off.

Today’s shift has been a typical routine that you and Joel have fallen into. Each time you still offer small comments to him with no response, but you stopped paying his reactions any mind.

The two of you had just cleared the outdoor shopping center, finding nothing more than two clickers in one of the stores when Joel spoke up.

“Area’s cleared,” he says before looking behind him to a small road that leads further into another town. Nodding his head in that direction, he says, “Let’s head into the next town over. Tommy told me he saw a comic book store up ‘ere. Wanna try and find the next volume in the series Ellie’s readin’.”

The idea warms your heart before you show slight hesitation. “Are you sure? That part’s way past anything we’re usually allowed to reach… I mean, Maria is in charge, and she is your sister-in-law so I figure they probably don’t mind you—”

Joel cuts you off firmly. “That’s right. They don’t mind. Now c’mon.”

Knowing there is no use in arguing with him, you silently follow his lead.

It takes you about half an hour to reach the town. Upon arriving, you are a bit surprised to see how much bigger the area is than you expected. The layout resembles a square with an empty park and courtyard in the center. Separated from the middle by roads, you see pet stores, abandoned restaurants, a tattoo shop, and more buildings along the perimeter.

A quick glance around showed you that there was no immediate threat, but a part of you still felt anxious. While the land was wide, the arrangement of the shops made it so you felt you were trapped in a box—opening yourself up to anyone, or anything, that could be looking in.

Seemingly unbothered, Joel kept walking along the road before he found a tall and wide building—the comic book store. It looked to be about two floors tall based on what you could see through the molded windows, the dirt and destruction making it hard for you both to get a good view of what lies inside.

“Son of a—fuckin’...” You hear Joel saying. Bringing your attention to him, you see him frustratingly yanking on both of the door handles to the store. Getting no result, he slams his hand on the glass. “God damn fuckin’ doors jammed,” he says with a scowl on his face.

“Oh, um…” You trail off as you try to look around for another way in. You walk over to the neighboring store, a coffee shop, and take a look through the windows for any immediate danger. Finding no signs of infected, you look further back to notice that towards the back of the coffee shop, a door was slightly ajar—a door that was against the wall being shared with the comic book store.

You hear Joel huff back at the doors of the comic book store. “Whatever,” he mumbles to himself while looking at his feet. “Fuckin’ dumb idea anyways.”

You were stunned to see a tinge of sadness from him, and your heart hurt because you knew what was going on. It wasn’t so obvious that everyone in town knew, but if you spent enough time with Ellie you could tell that something was… off between the two of them. She found more excuses to be out with friends at school, and you’d assume Joel would become stricter because of it. The stereotype of a rebellious teenager being scolded by the overprotective father.

Yet he was always very lax when it came to it—letting her hang out as much as she wanted, being more lenient on curfews while also trying to make sure she stays safe. You could tell he was trying, and whatever it was that was happening between them, whatever had caused this very slight tension, he was trying to fix it. Realizing he potentially wanted to get her something to make her happy, you decide you want to help.

Not for him, though. For Ellie of course.

“Hey,” you call out to grab his attention. “I see a door in the back of this place… It’s open and looks like it may lead into the comic book store,” you suggest while pointing towards the back side.

He comes up beside you and ducks down, looking into the window and following his eyes to where your finger was pointing. Your body shudders as his figure hovers over your shoulder. You take note that he’s closer than he’s ever been to you, his breath on your neck and his body heat making you feel warm all of a sudden. You clear your throat before standing up straight and taking a step away from him.

“We could try and see if we can make it through there?” You offer.

Joel straightens up, looking down at you for a moment until his lips settle into a firm line and he gives you a nod in agreement.

The two of you are able to get the coffee shop door pulled open with a little bit of effort. The moment you step in, Joel pushes past you to reach the back door before you can. He holds up his gun before looking at you. Having done this routine with him before, you knowingly nod before mimicking his movements to position your own gun properly.

His hand reaches for the doorknob and twists it slowly, only for the both of you to be surprised at the fact it opened easily. Joel steps a foot across the doorway to enter into the comic book store, but the both of you simultaneously freeze when you hear it.

Clicking. Much more clicking than you recall having experienced together.

Joel turns his head to look back at you with a brief look of worry in his eyes before putting a finger to his lips. You give a nod of understanding and tense up as you wait for him to fully open the rest of the door.

The building is a lot bigger than you anticipated. It feels more akin to one of those large grocery stores you had run into, except with two stories. The place was very open with wide aisles that were lined with rows and rows of not just comic books, but what seemed to be posters, DVDs, and vinyls. The center of the store had a very large circular area that you chalked up to be the check out area. The back of the store held a small stage with chairs thrown across it, as if this place held some kind of game night or community events at one point. In front of the stage were long tables with books scattered across—chairs surrounding the tables in an unorganized manner. A quick look upstairs showcased even more aisles of books and other items from what you could see.

Scattered amongst the store was infected—potentially thirty of them, but you couldn’t make out all of them with the boarded windows blocking the sunlight creeping in. They looked to be a group mixed with runners and clickers. The runners were bent over, curled into themselves twitching. The unnerving sounds of them groaning made your skin crawl—it was almost as if they were in pain.

That’s something you had learned from the shitty government teachings the quarantine zones would give people at the start of the outbreak. To their understanding, the beginning stages of the Cordyceps infection, the runners, were alive. Their minds overtaken by the fungus, driving them mad with a desire to continue growing the fungus. Humans trapped with poisoned minds and unable to control themselves.

Sometimes that’s why you think they make the sounds they do—it’s as if they’re crying out in pain.

The sounds from runners don’t fill you with the same sense of fear as the clickers do. The third stage of the infection has caused their brains to split open as the fungus grows outside of their body—making them blind and reliant on sound. The eerie clicking noises they make being their only source to know what is going on around them through echolocation.

You’ve dealt with this many infected before. You’ve seen, handled, and killed more than your fair share of clickers. You’ve done this before. You’ve done this on your own. You can do it with Joel.

The two of you quietly step through the door, standing next to each other and watching for any signs that your presence has been made known. Seemingly in the clear, Joel looks to you before pointing to one side of the store. He then points to himself while gesturing to the other side of the store—the two of you in understanding of how to go about this.

You both silently pull out your individual knives, crouching and walking as quietly as possible over to your respective areas. The first infected you come up to is a runner with its position making it so that you walk up on its left side. With a silent swiftness, you lunge up and grab it by its throat with your left arm, holding it in a headlock. Before it’s able to screech out in warning, you bring the knife up to its right temple, sinking your weapon into it as you hear a sickening squelching sound. As you feel its struggling stop, you slowly lower its body onto the floor so as to not make a loud sound that alerts the others.

Reaching the end of that aisle, you take a moment to look over to Joel’s side to check on him and find his eyes already on your figure. He holds a firm and cold look in his eyes, but you see something else in him that you aren’t given the chance to figure out. The two of you give each other a quick once-over, and you share a nod before continuing the same routine throughout the store.

After a good amount of time, the two of you were able to clear the entire store quietly and without causing chaos. Joel walks up to you and whispers, “You alright?”

Your voice matching his, you reassure him that you are. A flash of relief passes over his face before he looks around. “Think we got ‘em all. Don’t see or hear anythin’ else… I checked upstairs too,” he says out of breath.

Speaking at a more normal volume, you say, “Guess we gotta go find that comic book now.”

He looks at you and huffs out what sounds like it could be a laugh. “Yeah… Let’s get on that.”

After he shares the name of the book he is looking for, you part ways to silently search different areas of the store to find the book. You recognize the title, Savage Starlight. You’ve been hearing recaps of it from Ellie after she finished each one she had found.

You search your section of the first floor with no luck and climb up the broken escalator to the top floor. You scan through about five more aisles before you feel as though this store won’t have what it is you are looking for. Off to one side of the upper floor you spot signs for some restrooms in a corner, in front of it lies giant broken wooden beams that are stacked on top of each other. You take a quick glance up to see a piece of the ceiling has fallen and covers a section of aisles you had not checked out yet.

Walking up to it, you struggle to read what is held on the row as so much dust and debris covers the space–your body twisting as you try to peek through the pieces of wood to look at the shelves. You decide to pull out your flashlight from your backpack and try to shine light through whatever pieces of the row that were not covered. When you hit the third row, you smile.

No fucking way.

Your smile growing, you lean over the railing on the second floor. “Hey, Joel, guess what I found?”

He hurries up the escalator and makes his way over to stand beside you as you shine your flashlight through the cracks of the beams. His eyes spot what you found when the light settles on the words Savage Starlight.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he says. For the first time since you’ve been to Jackson, he smiles. A real, full smile. The only person who’s smile was contagious to you has been Ellie—yet you’ve never felt the way you do right now seeing Joel smile.

“Looks like this part of the building fell and the beams covered it. I just need your help moving them in order to reach the books if that’s alright,” you share, scanning your gaze up to the ceiling as you look over the beams. You see Joel nod in your peripheral and turn to see him looking at you, still smiling, but it’s a more distracted smile. You stare back at him for a moment, your heart stuttering from the intensity of his gaze before starting to move the wooden beams out of the way.

Joel quickly takes over by moving some of the larger pieces of wood out of the way first. “I got it. Been doin’ shit like this for years before the outbreak. Used to be a contractor,” he says. That was something you had known about him already as Tommy had told you stories about that part of their lives before the outbreak. But it’s the first bit of information that you’ve heard about Joel, directly from Joel.

Another thing you learned about Joel was something that you had noticed when you first saw him. It was that scar on the right side of his temple. You hadn’t paid it any mind until Ellie had talked about it one day when ranting on how he never listens to her.

“He got shot, they missed, and now he has that scar. He says that’s the reason why he can’t hear me that well sometimes, but really I think that’s just him covering up for getting old.”

The little bit of information made moments with Joel make a little more sense. You’d notice that he’d always ride his horse with you on his left side, leaving his good ear to hear anything important from you. Or when you would point out a noise, he’d always angle his head so that he was able to catch the sound a bit more clearly on his left ear. Knowing that about him just helped you understand his habits a bit more.

Which is why you understand how he doesn’t hear it.

He’s crouched over moving a particularly large wooden beam out of the way when he bangs it loudly against the other beams, an echo following the sound as the pieces clang together. The restroom doors you saw earlier were a few feet to his right, leaving his body angled so that his back is to the doors. With his right ear facing the bathroom, his left ear was only picking up the sounds of the wood moving and the building creaking.

As you went to lay a piece of wood against the wall, you heard a clatter from the restroom. You almost didn’t catch it with the sound being so slight. You squint in the direction, not hearing any other noise for a moment. Suddenly, the bathroom door bangs open and you watch as a clicker screeches and rushes out heading straight towards the noise it heard—straight towards Joel.

You don’t have a chance to think before you yell out Joel’s name, trying to run over to him to reach him before it can. You briefly see him turn around, catching that his movements become quicker after his right ear wasn’t the one facing the bathroom. You push him out of the way, towards one of the reading tables lined across the railing of the second floor.

All you could hear is that clicking noise that never fails to make you nauseous before you realize you succeeded in moving Joel out of the way. Instead, the clicker lunges at you, forcing you and it to topple to the ground with it landing on top of you. It makes a particularly loud screech and rapid clicking before its head rears back for a moment before diving towards you. Just in time, you take a stronger grip on the small piece of wood you were about to throw to the side before, and shove the wood in front of your neck.

Too scared to look, you close your eyes and hold your breath until you hear the crunch of wood as it bites down rabidly into the beam. There’s suddenly the sound of scrambling to your left and the sound of a gun being drawn before you hear a loud bang, the clicking noise twisting into garbled cries. You simultaneously feel something warm and sticky spray across your face, followed by the collapsing pressure of a body onto your chest before being pushed off.

You finally open your eyes to see the clicker’s corpse laying on your right side before looking at the wooden beam you were holding in your hand where you noticed teeth marks sunk deep into it. A loud ringing in your ears engulfs your senses.

No fucking wonder Joel went mostly deaf in his right ear.

You drop your head back against the floor with a deep exhale of breath as your muscles sag with relief. You’re alive. You’re not bit.

The moment of relief ends sharply as you feel your body being roughly pulled up—your eyes slightly glazed over as you try to focus on the cause of the sudden movement you endured. You quickly blink away the fog from your eyes in an effort to focus on the outlined figure standing before you.

Joel. Joel is in front of you. His face is so close to yours that if you moved an inch, your noses would touch. His brown eyes are wide, brows furrowed as always but it was different. It wasn’t out of anger or annoyance… It almost looked like fear. Pure fear.

Your eyes continue to move across his face before you realize his lips were moving. How long has he been talking?

His lips seem to be forming the same word over and over again. Oh… He’s saying your name. You hear it now.

Slowly, the ringing subsides and your brain begins to process what is happening.

“Thought you said to always call out before you take a shot so close to someone’s face.”

He doesn’t seem to find your comment funny, or maybe he just didn’t register it. More of your senses are coming back when you begin to feel pain and look down to see Joel harshly gripping both of your arms whilst shaking you to get your attention. Slowly looking back up to his face, you notice his lips moving again.

Fuck. He was still talking.

“Are you okay?” Joel frantically asks. He repeats your name before demanding, “Are you okay?”

You finally nod but he doesn’t seem satisfied. His eyes look over your body as he begins frantically pushing your sleeves up before reaching to pull the collar of your jacket away from your neck. “Are you bit? Did it bite ya? Are you okay?”

You brush off his hands before bending down to hold up the wooden beam. God, who knew he could be so touchy. “Threw this in front of me just in time. It bit this, not me. I’m fine, I’m not bit.”

His wide eyes look between the piece of wood and you—back and forth, back and forth with that same bit of fear in his eyes that you feel like you’ve seen a lot of today.

“Don’t worry,” you try to reassure.

What you intended to be soothing words seem to have the opposite effect on him. Upon hearing what you say, you see his eyes freeze on yours and watch that fear dissipate and turn into anger. It wasn’t just the usual anger you’ve experienced from him—that typical annoyed anger. No… this was something you hadn’t seen before.

This anger… It’s not like you think he would hurt you. No part of you thinks that. But you’re realizing that he is capable of something much darker than what he lets on around most—something that Maria seemed to already be hesitant about.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

What?

“What?” You ask. His voice isn’t that loud in volume but it still makes you flinch. He speaks with a tone that only comes out of people when they are so angry they can’t see straight.

“The fuck were you thinkin’?! Jumpin’ in front of me like that… Pushin’ me over. You could’ve gotten yourself fuckin’ killed.”

You take a second to process his words. He’s right, you could’ve died… But you didn’t. And if you hadn’t acted as quickly as you did, he would have died.

And Ellie would be alone.

“I heard and saw it before you did, Joel. Your back was to it… You wouldn’t have reacted in time. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t—”

Joel cuts you off. “That ain’t your fuckin’ job now is it? You can’t be actin’ so goddamn reckless and throwin’ yourself in front of danger so often. It’s stupid.”

His voice shocks you. His words shock you—how much venom he holds in them. You’re realizing just now how much he really hates you.

So you fight back.

“What the hell was I thinking…? I told you I’m fine. I wasn’t bit so who cares?” You say, your voice increasing in volume.

Joel seems taken aback for a split second before something dark flashes in his eyes. “I care. So why the fuck don’t you?”

You aren’t given a chance to react as you watch his face twist up in even more anger before shifting into some sort of sick humor. Except he doesn’t yell this time. He laughs to himself. “God… I was fuckin’ right about you.”

You feel your heart drop to your stomach, but he’s not done talking.

“All this damn time you've just been breezin’ through life, huh? Come into town, fit right in, make god damn fuckin’ cookies with your neighbors, make friends with all the people in town, and probably hold your little fuckin’ book clubs every Sunday. And Tommy, my idiot little brother, sticks you with me to make me babysit ya on patrol when you haven’t encountered any real threats. You just get to go out, see the fuckin’ scenery, come home and sleep in your nice warm bed without a fuckin’ worry in the world. And here, today, you’re faced with one single real world problem, and you just act completely fuckin’ reckless.”

You stand there, taking in his words as you silently seethe in anger while his chest moves up and down rapidly as he finishes his rant. You don’t respond right away, blinking a few times and looking around before you finally speak.

“Is that what you think of me?” You softly say at first. He doesn’t show any reaction or sign that he has an answer, besides his mouth settling into a firm line. “You think I’m just some kid don’t you—”

“Oh, believe me, I know you ain’t a kid—”

“Really? Then why the fuck do you keep treating me like one?!” You snap.

You notice the anger on his face flicker as his furrowed brows twitch briefly.

Your voice grows louder as you continue. “All you’ve done since I fucking got here is treat me like a child. The way you look at me, the way you treat me, the patronizing, fucking tone you use when you’re forced to actually talk to me…” You trail off as your chest rises and falls harshly to catch your breath as the words rush out of you.

Your face screws up in anger. “I heard you, you know? Talking to Tommy before our first patrol.”

Joel’s frown deepens in confusion before realization settles over his face causing his scowl to relax a bit. “Yeah,” you bitterly say. “I heard you. I wasn’t gonna get in between a conversation with you and your brother back then, but for fuck’s sake Joel… If you hated me that much, then why didn’t you try to further convince him to get you off patrol with me? When we got back I know you talked to him about getting me off the schedule with you.”

At that, Joel’s face turns back to confusion as if what you said is wrong. You don’t take a break to focus on that though as you continue with your own argument.

“Do you just have this idea that you are the only person who has ever experienced horror in this world? To even think it was possible for me to get as far as I did without a single scratch on me? Seriously? That’s realistic to you?” You huff out angrily, waving your hands around in fury.

“You say that you know I’m not a fucking kid, right? You know that means the outbreak happened after I was born. Meaning my whole world and fucking family fell apart the same way it did for you,” your voice breaks. “I lived through the past two decades in this hell. I fucking lost people and saw horrifying things. I have fought countless of those fucking things every damn day before I stepped foot into Jackson. I was alone for months, surviving on my own. Fighting on my own. Doing everything on my own to keep myself alive until I came here.”

You feel tears well in your eyes and furiously brush them away, frustrated with yourself for letting yourself cry in front of him. Recalling the anxieties you felt when you first arrived in Jackson last year, you say, “Ya know… The first thing I felt when stepping foot into Jackson wasn’t comfort—it was fear. Fear of how normal everything seemed. Fear of being too loud in the streets… Wondering how the hell people could do it without worrying about infected hearing and running in. I mean, god… I haven’t had a full night’s sleep for the year that I’ve been here, despite how much it may seem like I’ve acclimated. I can’t even rest without having one eye constantly open, looking at the door and jumping at every noise I hear in my own home.”

“I did it all on my own, because I don’t have anyone. There’s no one back home that would care if I returned dead or alive. There hasn’t been someone for years. But you? You have people, Joel. So, I’m sorry if my reaction seemed reckless to you, okay? Maybe… Maybe I unconsciously did it because I haven’t really cared about surviving an infected encounter or not for the past decade.”

Joel takes a sharp inhale hearing that. Hearing the crack in your voice as you speak, his face flinching as he stands there with his usual frown.

“The difference between you and me is you have people that care. Your brother? Ellie? Fucking… God, Joel… that little girl depends on you for everything and talks about you like you hung the fucking moon. You can’t leave that. So, I’m sorry that you just see me as some dumb kid, but no one depends on me back home. The least I could do is fucking make sure that the people who depend on you can see you again.”

You notice your body's reaction to your words when you finally stop speaking—how your throat hurts from yelling, how your body is shaking from anger, how your chest is rapidly moving in an effort to catch your breath.

Done talking, you take the moment to properly look at Joel—he doesn’t look completely angry anymore. In fact, you can’t tell what expression he has. His brows are pushed together in a frown, but raised ever so slightly in what looks like it could be surprise. His eyes are dark, but not cold. You don’t know if you’d call that a warm look, but it’s different from the cold ones you’re so used to seeing—the ones you saw a moment ago after you told him to not worry.

His mouth goes between being held in a firm line to opening every few seconds as if he wants to say something but can’t. Looking down, you see his fists opening and closing tightly like he’s trying to calm himself down.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment longer before you become fed up. He doesn’t care about what you say, you realize. He probably didn’t even listen—still thinking about how to scold you even more for your actions from a few minutes ago.

Scoffing, you reach over to move the last wooden beam and grab the novel that you two had come here for. You shove it into his chest. “Here’s your fucking comic. I’m going home.”

In your peripheral, you see Joel standing there holding the comic to his chest and watching you walk away. You can’t find it in you to care to wait on him.

You make your way down the escalator and back out the way you guys had entered, marching straight to your horse after leaving the building. Without hesitation, you hop on and head back for Jackson, leaving Joel behind.

A few minutes into the journey, you hear the sounds of Joel behind you somewhere along the way as he finally catches up to you, but you don’t pay him any mind. He stays a few feet behind you, silently letting you lead the way.

Hours later, you reach Jackson and wait for the guards to open the gates for you both. The moment you ride in, you notice Tommy at the gates walking towards you both. He seems to take in your current state as you see concern wash over him.

“Are you okay? Did you guys have a tough run in?”

Joel looks to you before opening his mouth to respond to Tommy, but you cut him off before he had the chance. “We’re fine. Couple stragglers but we had it handled,” you say. Tommy looks between you and Joel with an uneasy look on his face. “Seriously, we’re good.”

“Well… Alright then. You let me know if you need anythin’, okay?” Tommy offers.

You nod and begin to walk your horse back to the stables. Tying her up, you check to see that Joel has gone before you walk over to Tommy.

“I can’t go on patrols with Joel anymore.”

Tommy’s face flinches with surprise. “What? The hell happened out there? You sure you’re okay?”

“I already said I’m fine,” you respond firmly. “I’m sorry to ask you to change things so suddenly, I just… I can’t go on patrols with Joel anymore. Please, Tommy.”

Tommy hesitates briefly and looks as if he considers pushing on the subject. Having heard the pleading in your voice, he seems to decide against it and gives you a nod. “Alright. I’ll get it changed. I’m gonna give you the rest of the week off, though. Let you take care of yourself for a bit and give us time to rearrange things. Does that sound good?”

You nod without a word before walking back home. The moment you reach your block, you see Joel standing outside his front yard with Ellie who is jumping up and down. Trying to remain unseen, you book it to your place and get about halfway up the walkway before you hear your name being called.

Turning around, you see Ellie making a run for you before she collides with you in a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She yells.

You force out a tight smile before pulling her away. “What are you thanking me for?”

She looks back to Joel and pulls up the comic book in her hand. “Joel said you helped him get this for me!”

You look up to see Joel standing there watching you with a shy expression. It feels odd, seeing the normally stoic and cold man you’ve come to know appear so disarmed and uncomfortable.

Looking back down at Ellie, you say, “It’s no worries. Honestly, it was all him. I’m just glad you get to have another in the series.”

Ellie looks as though she wants to continue talking, so you cut her off. “I need to go inside, get washed up. I’ll see you around maybe,” you tell her before walking straight into your house. You wince to yourself as you ignore the look of confusion and disappointment on her face. You just need to get away from them, from him, as soon as possible.

God, what the fuck is wrong with you?

reblogs and comments are appreciated! i hope you all enjoy <3 a/n: hope you guys enjoy :) next chapter will be out saturday april 26th! i also was asked by a few people to be tagged, so here you go! if anyone else wants to be tagged then please let me know! @dendulinka6 @suzysface @koshkaj-blog @orcasoul @emmasveinyahhdih @thatoneperson38747

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #tmh series

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gds-daisy · 23 days ago

Text

stuck by the glue

summary: the one where jiyong makes sure you’re okay when you’re sick

warning: graphic depictions of sickness, jiyong literally being the best husband known to man, fluff.

a/n: i started writing this when i was literally dying from my illness a month ago HELPPPP

You felt like hell on earth. On your day off of all days.

At first it started with a headache, but now it had been several days and the pain was still present in your temples. That wasn’t the only thing though. A few more symptoms had manifested—signs of a cold, a gnarly one at that. You had developed a nasty cough that made you feel like razor blades were attacking your throat and a stuffy nose that made you feel like you were underwater. The coughing was the worst bit. Not only did it give you a sore throat, but it also made your headache that much worse. You were suffering and there was barely anything you could do about it.

You had taken the bitter cough medicine that you absolutely despised and used your prescribed albuterol inhaler when your cough would flare up significantly. None of it worked. You felt like a prisoner in your own body and you felt hopeless. How long would this last? A few days? A week and a half? You had no idea. The only thing you could do right now was hope for the best as your body was currently strewn across the bed, used tissues alongside you. To make matters worse, your husband Jiyong was currently at the studio, recording a song for his new album. You yearned for his presence and would do anything to have him here right now. If he would’ve known you would get sick so quickly after he had left in the morning, he would’ve taken the entire day off to nurse you back to health. That’s what you loved about him. He was so loving and doting toward you in every sense of the word, which there was no denying.

All of a sudden, you could feel your airways become more tight as they were trying to take in more air. You quickly grabbed your inhaler from your bedside table, shaking it vigorously before taking a puff from it. You finally exhale and feel your breathing return to its previous state. Not for long you presumed. You groaned as you rolled around in bed, now throwing the soft blanket over your chilly body. You had accepted defeat at this point and the only thing you could think of was getting some rest. Not only was your body tired, but also your mind. You needed peace.

With each passing second, you found it harder to remain awake. Slowly but surely, your eyes began to close, an indication of just how run down you had become. Your eyes were now completely closed and you had dozed off entirely. If you had waited a few more minutes before going to sleep, you would’ve heard the buzzing noises emitting from your phone.

It was Jiyong.

Jiyong was worried beyond belief. He had been calling you over and over again with no such luck of reaching you. This wasn’t like you at all. You never let his calls go to voicemail. He was already a chronic overthinker and this wasn’t helping. He knew something was wrong. Or maybe he was reading too much into it? Either way, his mind wouldn’t let him rest until he knew what was going on. Today was a big day on set of filming his new music video and he knew productivity was important, but you were even more important. This could wait.

He had gone out to the set to announce the news that he would have to leave early. He was the creative genius after all. It probably wouldn’t sit well with most, which he felt bad about, but he wouldn’t be at his best with his mind racing like this.

“Attention everybody! Unfortunately a personal matter has risen that needs my immediate attention. We’ll have to postpone the shoot until further notice,” he shamefully admits to the entire cast. He could see the disappointment on their faces and it killed him. They shared the same passion he did when it came to the filming process. Jiyong could see that through their eagerness.

The entire crew bowed down out of courtesy for him to which he returned the favor. Even though they were somewhat bummed out right now, they understood that he was a human being just like them. With that, he starts walking briskly towards the exit, exhaling sharply as he does so. Before he knows it, he reaches the exit and opens the door before making his way out. He's met with the sight of his personal car parked in the street. Usually, his chauffeur was the one to pick him up from shoots, but he was currently occupied at the moment.

He wastes no more time before hopping into his car, starting the ignition as he does so. His concern was growing by the second and he couldn't stand another second of it. What if you were purposely ignoring him? What if he had upset you unintentionally? There were too many other "what if's" that came to his mind. His creative, overthinking mind. He wouldn't be at ease until he knew the reason why you were letting his calls go to voicemail. He prayed you were still at home because if you weren't, he would be in agony not knowing for hours if you were mad or not. The man was dying to know for sure.

Finally, he backs the car up, attempting to get out of the parallel parking job he had done. Luckily, there were no cars behind him, which was a surprise to him, but a good one nevertheless. He manages to back up far enough to have enough room to make a swing a sharp left, now driving like a madman.

The 20 minute drive from the studio to your guys' house seemed like ages to Jiyong. He had definitely broken multiple traffic laws along the way, but he couldn't care less about that. His main concern was you. He was now rushing out of his car, not even bothering to lock it in the process. Jiyong noticed that your car was still here, which was a relief to him because if you were actually upset with him, he would be able to smooth things out between you sooner rather than later.

He reaches the front door before instantly swinging it open. Once he steps foot inside the house, he surveys the area like he was some sort of wildlife expert. After a while of looking around with no triumph in locating you, he finally makes his way to your guys' bedroom. When he gets close enough, he notices that the door is slightly creaked open. He reaches his hand out, now pushing the door further back. The sight he's met with is distressful. There you were, strewn out on the bed with an army of tissues surrounding your unconscious body. Next to all those tissues were your inhaler and cough medicine. That's what concerned him.

You had been prescribed an inhaler a few months back due to respiratory issues that had arisen with the change in weather. However, it didn't feel like seasonal allergies. This was something different, even now. The doctor said to only use the inhaler when it was absolutely necessary. This wave of sickness was one of those times.

Even though Jiyong was relieved that his overthinking had been all for nothing, he still hated this. He hated knowing that this was your day off and you couldn't even spend it like you wanted to. He hated that you had to rely on all this medicine that probably didn't help all that much. He hated knowing you were in agony even if you were sleeping at the moment.

Jiyong inches closer to the bed before he sits next to you, the bed dipping a bit underneath in response. He took that moment to run his fingers through your messy hair, feeling a sense of guilt that he wasn't here sooner. At the same time however, he was just glad he could take the day off if it meant taking care of you.

Suddenly, he feels your body shift ever so slightly, which he was alerted to instantly. You roll over a few times in your sleep and before the two of you know it, your eyes flutter open. Your vision was a bit blurry at first, a result of opening your eyes a bit too quickly. Despite this, you could feel a hand nestled in your hair. Luckily, your vision was becoming more focused by the second. You didn't need your vision to know that it was your doting husband, your Jiyong.

"Hi jagiya, welcome back," he says with his adoring smile and his smoother-than-honey voice.

"What are you doing here Ji? I thought you were at your shoot," you question him.

"I was, but when you weren't answering my calls, I got worried and rushed over here as soon as I could," Jiyong answers honestly, his eyes still full of sorrow.

You felt your eyes prick at his words, feeling guilty as all hell. How could you allow this to happen? You made this doting man leave his shoot over you. You should've texted him sooner saying you were sick so this entire situation could be avoided in the first place. You felt even more horrible than you did before you woke up, but not physically. It was your emotions that had made you feel this way.

Like some sick joke, your body betrays you and now your eyes are flooding with streams of tears. "I-I'm sorry Ji. I made you all worried for n-nothing," your voice shaking in between audible sobs.

His hand, which was still tangled in between your locks of hair, found its way to your face, now cradling it. "Shh shh...it's okay, aein. You didn't make me do anything. I wanted to. I wanted to make sure you were okay," Jiyong coos, trying his best to reassure you.

"But your shoot-" you blurt.

"That can wait. You're my number one priority and you always will be," he says, his fingers wiping away your tears as best as possible.

"How did I get someone like you, Ji?" you ask.

"I should be asking myself the same question, jagi. But none of that matters. The only thing that matters is that we have each other," he says adoringly. "I'm going to take care of you until you're all better, I promise you that."

He moves his face closer to yours, his lips hovering over yours for a split second, but not for long. Before you know it, he presses his lips against yours and the whole world seems to fade for you. The kiss was filled with devotion and tenderness, the soft kind. Jiyong wanted to make sure you know how far he would go to fulfill his promise of taking care of you, through sickness and health. And that's exactly what this kiss was. A vow of his commitment. To you.

The kiss is finally broken before the two of you know it and all you can do is stare at his angelic face in awe. His eyes had softened and his smile grew even bigger. This man was the love of your life and you knew that for a fact. He was eternally yours and you were eternally his.

"You best hope you don't get sick from me," you say jokingly.

"It'll be worth it if I get to spend time with you, aein. Besides, you already made me sick...lovesick," he says with the cheesiest grin you have ever seen on ones face.

"You're a dork, Ji," you say before playfully hitting him on the shoulder.

"Only for you, sweetheart."

#kwon jiyong #kwon jiyong x reader #gdragon x reader #gdragon #g dragon x reader #bigbang #kwon jiyong smut

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elliesmainhoe · 11 months ago

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"SUPER GRAPHIC ULTRA MODERN GIRL"

Ellie Williams x Fem!reader

Summary: wasting a friday night on a first dare with a boy you've never met in person was a dumb idea- and suprise! it all goes to shit- but Ellie's there to make sure you have a good time.

Warnings: boys are boring, ellie is hot, suggestive, alcohol, mentions of weed consumption, groping.

WC 500

DAY 2 OF SAPPHIC SUMMER

Fuck you were stupid.

You would think at 23 years of age you would have learned to never waste a sacred Friday night on a first date. So here you were, with your hair straight, glittered eyelids, and glossed lips listening to a man you had met on BUMBLE talk about geo politics or some shit- you had stopped paying attention to whatever he was talking about at least an hour ago- or at least it felt like an hour ago.

Downing another shot, and giving the man in front of you a tight smile- “hey wanna dance? I love this song”

“nah- ‘m not a dancer”

Oh for fuck sake- could this get any worse? Your surrounded by loads of hot couples, grinding on each other, the smell of alcohol, sex and weed engulfed the space around you, and instead of having a hot one night stand with a stranger, you have to listen to this man- who was wearing the most disgusting, fugly skinny jeans which looked like they hadn’t seen the inside of a washing machine in a decade.

As if an otherworldly being had heard your thoughts a meek tap is felt on your shoulder, you turn around to see a pretty girl, around your age, maybe a little younger with a nervous smile on her face.

“uh- ill have that dance, if your still offering…”

With a laugh you take her hand, turning quickly to the man who now looked bewildered “ill speak to you later, or not-” you smile before dragging the girl to the dancefloor, illuminated by pink led lights and packed with people. You grabbed the woman’s wrists wrapping her arms around your waist as you push your ass against her groin, grinding against her to the beat of the music.

Her hands grip at your waist, pushing up against you in retaliation, “what were you doing with that asshole,huh?, a man like him can’t handle a bombshell of a girl like you-”

“what ‘re you saying, think you could handle me pretty girl?” a cocky smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you turn around, so you were now chest to chest with her, looking at the bashful blush on her cheeks at the nickname.

Your hips push forward now pelvis to pelvis with the girl, making her sputter out “ ‘m not pretty- im like so rugged”

You give another teasing laugh, hand brushing up into the girls hair, bodys moving together in unison “rugged huh?” you hum “suppose that makes sense, my knight in shining armour”

She grins at the compliment, hands moving down from your waist and landing on your ass, squeezing at the plush flesh, startling you into a whimper, suddenly becoming aware of how close your faces are, feeling the fan of her breath on her face.

“where you planning on sweeping me away from that asshole as soon as I got in here or what?”

“what can I say, I know what I want… now- your place or mine?”

••••••••••••••

WOOF WOOF WOOF- ALL HAIL OUR SUPREME LEADER CHAPPEL ROAN

not proofread

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colouredbyd · 17 days ago

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The Nightingale V: The Game Begins

Regulus Black x fem!reader Hunger Games AU

summary: The Games have started with violence and confusion. Survival blurs into instinct as alliances shift and shadows grow sharper. Nothing feels safe. Not even the quiet.

warnings: scenes of violence, character death, mention and use of weapons, graphic content, blood, emotional distress, and intense fear, reflective of the brutal nature of the Hunger Games.

word count: 8.3k (idk how it reached this guys)

authors note: this was extremely long omg, also check out my Nightingale masterlist, i made a trailer <3

ps. appreciation for the tree drawing

previous part next part series masterlist main masterlist

The Capitol is alive with energy—its pulse a loud, unyielding thrum that drowns out any remaining thoughts of escape or resistance. The sky is a cruel shade of blue, too bright, too flawless for what today means. The air smells of too much perfume and too much sweat. The streets are crowded with citizens in garish outfits that reflect their love for excess, their eyes wide with that familiar, insatiable hunger—the one that feeds on suffering.

I can hear their voices even from where I stand, outside the towering doors of the holding area. Their cheers, their laughter, their anticipation. To them, this is all a spectacle, an entertainment to quench their thirst for blood.

But for me, it’s the end of something I can never get back.

I stand in the sterile white space, surrounded by walls that are too smooth, too clean, and too cold. There’s no softness here—no warmth, no comfort. Just the coldness of metal and the oppressive silence that fills the room.

I wish I could escape. I wish I could pull back and shut everything out, but it’s too late for that now. Today, the Games begin. Today, I step into the arena, where everything changes and nothing will ever be the same.

I look at myself in the mirror, trying to make sense of what I see. The Capitol uniform clings to me, tight, unforgiving. I am a tribute now, stripped of everything that made me who I was before. The music that once defined me is gone, replaced with this—this suit, this face, this person who belongs to the Games and to nothing else. My fingers tremble slightly as I adjust the collar, but I don’t look away. I can’t. I’m trying to hold onto whatever strength I have left. I won’t let them break me before I even step out of this room.

The door opens with a soft hiss, and Marlene steps inside, her eyes sweeping over me with that perfect, practiced smile that’s been drilled into her. She’s here to prepare me, to keep me in line, to make sure I understand my place in all of this.

“Are you ready?” she asks, and it’s a rhetorical question, one that’s meant to keep up appearances.

I don’t answer right away. What does ‘ready’ even mean anymore? How can anyone be ready for this, for the bloodshed, for the loss of self that comes with entering the Games? The truth sits heavy on my chest, suffocating me.

“Ready?” I repeat, my voice hollow. “Does anyone ever feel ready for this?”

Her smile doesn’t waver. She’s been trained too well for that. “That’s the spirit,” she says, but I can see the flicker of something cold in her eyes. It’s not empathy. It’s not even sympathy. It’s just duty, like everything else in the Capitol. “You’ll do great. You’re a star now, don’t forget that.”

I want to argue, to scream, to tell her that I’m not a star, that I’m not some puppet for them to parade around. But I don’t. Because it won’t change anything. I take a deep breath, swallowing the bitterness that rises in my throat. This is all I have left: silence, composure, pretending.

Marlene leads me through the hallway, her heels clicking against the floor in that all-too-familiar rhythmic pattern, and every step echoes in my ears, getting louder as we get closer to the hovercraft. I know what’s coming. I’ve known for weeks now. But knowing doesn’t make it easier. It only makes it worse.

“Citizens of Azkareign… it is time.”

The voice ruptures the silence like a cannon blast. Smooth, practiced, sweet as poisoned wine. It echoes from every screen, every speaker, every gilded corner of this monstrous city, drilling into my skull and burrowing into my bones.

It is time.

My heart stumbles. My breath forgets how to form.

The square glows in a thousand shades of gold and crimson. Banners rise like flames. Cameras swing toward us. The crowd screams—eager, rabid, dressed in thorns and feathers and things that drip and glitter like blood. I wonder if they know they look like the dead. I wonder if they care.

I don’t.

The sky splits open. The screen flickers to life like a dying god catching fire. Towering above us, it blooms with color—blue, green, scarlet, white—and then it settles into black.

A single symbol appears.

A golden castle, meant to represent the Capitol.

Then the voice returns.

“Welcome to the 70th Annual Hunger Games.”

The world doesn't cheer. It howls.

And then the Games begin—before any of us are even thrown into the arena. The Capitol starts with names. With lives it intends to shred in front of millions. The Reaping was just the choosing. This is the ritual. The display. The turning of people into characters. The dying begins now.

The screen flashes with violent urgency, casting harsh light on the stone below our feet. I flinch, but no one moves. No one dares.

We are lined up like cattle before a slaughter—twenty-four of us, cloaked in silence and stitched into spectacle. Each of us assigned a district. A partner. A fate.

The first faces appear.

“District One. Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black. ”

The screen flares gold behind them. The crowd applauds like they’ve seen something divine.

I try not to tremble.

“District Two. Bellatrix Black and Augustus Rookwood—let the Capitol tremble.”

Images of broken bones and blood-slick blades flood the screen. Bellatrix throws her head back in laughter. The crowd loves her. She’s already a favorite. She’s already doomed.

“District Three. Dorcas Meadowes and Mulciber” He is smirking like he’s already rigged the arena.

“District Four. Evan Rosier and Emmeline Vance” fierce like the sea. Their montage is silent and brutal: darkness, splashes, blades.

“District Five. Peter Pettigrew and Andromeda”. Peter trembles while she stands tall, her eyes like sharpened glass.

The voice doesn’t even hide it anymore. It makes games of us before the blood ever spills.

"District Six."

“Amelia Bones and Wilkes” I watch Amelia. I wonder how someone so calm survives in a world that devours everything gentle.

District Seven.

The world seems to stop..

The screen brightens and there he is now—Regulus Black. Dressed in Capitol black. Head high. Eyes dead.

And beside him—me.

The photo they use isn’t even from today. It’s from yesterday morning, when I was staring out the window at the clouds and thinking about nothing and everything. I look ghostly. Drained. Human.

“District Seven,” the voice croons, softer now, almost reverent.

“Regulus Black, the Capitol’s youngest Victor. And (Y/N) (Y/L/N)”

We are not people. We are prophecy.

The crowd rises in a wave of sound. Screaming. Chanting. Some cry. Some laugh.

The announcements continue. District Eight. Rabastan Lestrange and Hestia Jones.

District Nine—Avery and Marietta. Hunters. Children.

District Ten. Caradoc and Charity. Sweet faces painted for slaughter. Idealists. Idiots. Brave.

District Eleven. Fabian and Gideon Prewett.

District Twelve. Mundungus and Alice.

“These,” the voice sings, as the final frame freezes across the screen, “are your tributes.”

The arena is still hidden. The weapons still untouched. The clock hasn’t begun its countdown.

But we’re already bleeding.

The ground shakes with Capitol applause. The lights flash red. The doors begin to open, leading us to the hovercrafts.

To tracker injections.

To death.

The moment we reach the hovercraft, everything feels too real. The sleek, silver exterior glints under the harsh sun, its cold surface almost mocking the fear coursing through my veins. Inside, the crew is already at their stations, their eyes glazed over, already disconnected from the reality of what’s happening. They don’t look at us. They don’t even acknowledge our presence. We’re just part of the process, just another function to be checked off.

“Sit down,” one of the crew members says, their voice monotone, mechanical. I do as I’m told, my body moving on autopilot, the fear too heavy to control. I don’t fight it. I don’t move. I let them strap me in. I let them take away my agency.

But then, just as I think I might break under the weight of it all, I hear a voice. A voice I know better than my own.

“Starling.”

It’s barely a whisper, but it cuts through the panic in my chest like a knife. Regulus. I don’t need to see him to feel his presence. I don’t need to turn around to know that he’s here, with me, for this. He’s always been there, even when the world tried to tear us apart.

He’s not just my mentor. He’s my tether to something real, something human.

“Regulus…” I say, my voice weak, but I don’t care. He’s here, and for just a moment, that’s all that matters.

His hand touches my shoulder, the pressure light but firm, grounding me. “Don’t run toward the bloodbath,” he says, his voice low and steady, carrying that familiar undertone of urgency that has always made him so dangerous. “Run in the opposite direction. I’ll follow you. You just need to get out.”

I nod. I don’t trust my voice right now. My mouth feels dry, my body shaking with the weight of his words, the weight of what’s coming. But I can’t show it. I can’t let the fear take over.

“Stay quiet,” he adds, his eyes dark with something unreadable. “I’ll find the weapons. You keep hidden. I’ll get to you.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

The moment the door opens, I stop being human and become prey.

The door of the hovercraft opens, and the wind that hits me is like ice. The reality of the Games is upon us. I want to scream, to fight, but there’s no time for that now. The Capitol is watching. They’re waiting.

The countdown begins, and I know there’s no turning back.

Five.

I can feel the tremor in my legs as the floor beneath me vibrates with the force of the countdown. It’s not the same as before. It’s heavier now. It’s final.

Four.

I swallow, but the dryness in my throat won’t go away. The fear coils tighter, the panic threatening to overtake me. But I can’t think about that. I have to focus. I have to survive.

Three.

The air is thick, suffocating. I hear the sound of the crowd, distant but palpable, their voices a wave that crashes against my mind. They’re waiting. They’re waiting for us to give them a show.

Two.

I glance up. I see him, across the field of tributes. Regulus’s dark figure, his eyes sharp and determined. He’s there. I know he’s there. And for a split second, I feel a flicker of something: hope. It’s so small, so fleeting, but it’s there.

One.

The gong rings. And the world explodes.

The tributes around me surge forward, their bodies tense and ready. They’re heading for the weapons, the chaos, the inevitable bloodbath.

I don’t follow them.

I turn and run.

I don’t head for the center. I head toward the woods, toward the trees that have always felt like home, the only sanctuary left in this twisted arena. The ground beneath my feet is uneven, rough, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t look back, I can’t afford to.

The wind stings my face as I push forward, my breath ragged, the sounds of the arena fading behind me. The world narrows down to the sound of my heart pounding in my chest and the rustle of the trees ahead. I run. I run with everything I have left.

Above me, the sky is a cruel, sunless expanse, the clouds swirling like the eye of a storm. The Capitol’s perfect, pristine world has been twisted here into something darker, something designed to break us. There’s no beauty in this place, no solace.

The ground trembles beneath my feet as the thrum of explosions echoes in the distance, the reverberation of the first few moments of battle. I know there are tributes out there—civilians turned killers—fighting for their lives in a way that will break their humanity.

I glance behind me, but it’s no use. There’s nothing but a blur of dark, jagged trees and flashes of movement—figures darting through the underbrush. Everything feels like it’s closing in, like the arena itself is breathing down my neck, whispering for me to falter. The sound of footsteps—someone, something—is behind me. They’re closer now, too close.

The voice of the Capitol booms overhead, unrelenting, filling every corner of the arena. "May the odds be ever in your favor."

I can almost hear the sickening grin in the announcer’s voice. The odds are stacked against me. They always have been.

I run harder, faster, the pain in my side becoming a distant, gnawing throb. But the air… it’s not right. Something shifts in the atmosphere. The weight of it is suffocating—thick with danger, with the kind of oppressive silence that means something is waiting just ahead, something lethal.

I turn a sharp corner between two massive rocks, my breath ragged, but the moment I do, the world changes.

The trees thin out, opening into a clearing that stretches out before me, a haunting landscape of half-dead plants and sparse grass, and the ground here—hard, jagged rock—stretches beneath me like a trap waiting to spring. At the edge of the clearing, something catches my eye. It’s a strange, twisted vine, hanging like a noose from a dead tree branch, swaying in a breeze that shouldn’t be there. I should have known then—the air doesn’t move like that in the arena.

I freeze. My senses scream at me to move, but I can’t tear my eyes away. Something’s off about this place.

“Run,” I whisper to myself, but the voice that breaks through the stillness isn’t mine. It’s Regulus’s—cold and sharp, urging me onward. Don’t stop running.

I don’t hear the roar of the Capitol’s excitement. I don’t hear the cannons signaling deaths, or the screams of the tributes in their fight for survival. All I hear is the sound of my feet pounding against the forest floor, each step a breath of desperation, a promise to never stop running.

The woods are vast—an illusion of safety at first glance, but I know better. I know the Capitol doesn’t leave us anything untouched. The arena is designed to torment, to break us down until we’re begging for mercy that will never come. The air smells of earth and something darker, something metallic, like blood is already seeping into the ground beneath me.

I don’t stop. Not even for a moment.

It’s what Regulus told me, wasn’t it? Run. Don’t go to the bloodbath. Run in the opposite direction. He promised he would follow me. He promised.

I push harder. My legs burn as I surge forward, my mind racing, cataloging everything I know about the arena. The Capitol’s traps, their mutts, the damn birds that could be used as weapons. The rules have always been clear: trust no one. Trust nothing. They’ll manipulate anything, even the sounds of the forest, to trick you into a trap.

The first few minutes of running feel like an eternity. The rush of adrenaline drowns out the fear for now. But as I run deeper into the trees, I realize something—something far worse than all the weapons the Capitol could throw at me. There’s silence.

Too much silence.

I stop for a moment, breath coming in ragged gasps, and listen.

Not a single bird call. Not the rustle of small creatures in the underbrush. No wind. It’s like the entire world is holding its breath, watching, waiting.

And then, far in the distance, I hear it. The faintest rustle. Not a leaf in the wind. Not a small animal.

Footsteps.

Someone’s out there.

I freeze, my heart hammering so loudly I think it might drown out my thoughts. I can’t be sure who it is—not yet—but I know enough to trust the instincts that are screaming at me.

I dart to the side, weaving between the trees, praying that whoever it is won’t spot me. My body knows what to do even if my mind is too rattled to keep up. I push forward, slipping through the underbrush, every branch and twig scraping against my skin.

The footsteps grow louder. Closer.

A branch snaps behind me, and without thinking, I break into a sprint again, heart thumping wildly in my chest. My eyes dart between the trees, searching for some kind of shelter, something to hide behind. But there’s nothing. Not here. Not yet.

I hear a shout. Someone calling out, searching. They’re too close. I can’t outrun them. I have to think. I have to—

A shadow flashes between the trees, too fast to fully register.

I don’t hesitate. I move with instinct, my body twisting to the side, taking cover behind a thick trunk. My breath is steady but quick. I can hear them now, someone moving—much too close—and I know the moment they see me, there’s no escape.

I grip a sharp branch at my side, ready to defend myself, ready to do whatever I can to survive. My heart thuds as if trying to break free from my chest. I’m trying to remember everything they taught us in training. Stay quiet. Stay hidden. Wait.

The sounds of their pursuit grow louder, but there’s something off about their movement. It’s too calculated. Too careful. As if they’re playing a game. My stomach tightens in realization.

They know where I am.

I swallow hard, keeping my body still, the branch clenched in my hands like a weapon I hope I never have to use. The footsteps stop for a moment. The silence grows heavier. I can hear every breath, every rustle of my own clothing.

Every step feels like it carves deeper into the earth, a scream without sound. The light is wrong here—green, fractured, flickering like it’s been dipped in venom. My lungs burn. My legs ache. But I keep running, because I can feel him. I don’t need to look back. I can feel the weight of his eyes sliding down my spine like knives. He’s not frantic.. he’s not wild, he’s walking, he’s quite literally hunting me.

I dive beneath a crooked tree, its roots curling out like claws, and press myself into the hollow shadow it offers. My heart is too loud. It must echo through the leaves, through the ground, through the air. He’ll hear it, he’ll find me. I curl tighter, every muscle screaming to be silent, to be invisible. And then his voice cuts through the stillness.

“You always were too soft for this.”

It’s Mulciber. Of course it is. District Three’s golden boy with a head full of blueprints and a heart full of wires. He builds traps like lullabies. He kills with the grace of someone who’s thought about it too long.

“You think you can hide, little songbird?” he purrs. “You think you’ll survive out here?”

His steps are slow. Measured. Each one sinks into the forest floor like a ticking clock. My body coils. My breath sticks. I stare at the dirt and wonder what my blood would look like soaking into it.

“I saw your interviews,” he continues. “You sang like it mattered. Like that voice would keep you alive. Maybe I’ll let you sing something for me before I cut your throat.”

He laughs then. It’s soft and cruel and it makes me want to scream. I reach for the nearest thing—just a rock, small and sharp-edged. Useless. Still, I grip it like it’s the last memory of home. I close my eyes. I picture a hand in mine. I picture stars carved in wood. I picture the promise in Regulus’s voice—run, I’ll follow. Run, I’ll find you.

A twig snaps. His shadow grows. My breath hitches.

He steps into view.

Boots black as grave dirt. Blade already out. Smile lazy and vicious.

“You gonna beg?” he asks. “Or scream?”

I throw the rock. Not at him. At the tree to the left. It smacks the bark hard, and for a split second, he turns his head. That’s all I need. I break into a sprint so fast it feels like my soul tears from my body. My feet slam into roots and moss. I dodge trees, stumble over rocks, the world a blur of green and red and dread.

I hear him curse. Hear him chase.

He’s close.

Too close.

He’s going to catch me. He’s going to—

A sound breaks the air in two. A wet, heavy sound, like something final.

I trip and the world lurches sideways, breath leaving my chest in a single startled gasp as I crash against the earth, moss and dirt grinding into my skin, the forest spinning around me like it’s laughing, like it knows what’s coming

Something’s wrong

I lift my head just enough to see him — Mulciber, on his knees, spine too straight, body too still, and for a split second I think maybe he’s bowing or pausing or pretending, but then I see the spear, black and wet and final, jutting from the center of his back like some kind of punishment carved into him by the gods we stopped believing in long ago

He doesn’t scream

He doesn’t fall, not at first — he just stays there, body twitching like it’s trying to reboot, like the code of him is failing, hands reaching for something that isn’t there, maybe a weapon, maybe mercy, maybe me.

His mouth opens but nothing comes out, not a sound, not even a gasp, just this broken kind of breath before he topples forward, face-first into the moss, the sound dull and thick and horribly human

I freeze where I’ve fallen, heart thudding so hard I swear it shakes the ground beneath me, every inch of me locked in place, every limb trembling like the air is made of voltage — my throat’s too tight to scream, too dry to speak, and all I can do is stare at the blood crawling out from beneath him, slow and syrupy, soaking into the ground like the forest is drinking him.

A shadow passes behind him, and I know that shape before it’s even clear, that silhouette carved into me like instinct, the way he walks like silence is an ally and rage is a promise

Regulus.

He doesn’t speak right away, just stands there with a blade still clenched in one hand, blood spattered across his arm like war paint

When he does speak, it’s low, calm, too calm, like he’s holding something barely in check underneath, some animal just beneath the surface “Are you alright?”

I try to nod, or maybe I shake my head, I don’t know, my body doesn’t feel like mine anymore, my fingers are shaking too hard to feel, my lungs burn from the run and the fall and the fear, and somewhere in my mouth I taste iron and panic and maybe grief

He drops to his knees in front of me, hands not touching but close, eyes scanning me like he’s checking for fractures, like he’s trying to piece me back together with nothing but his gaze “Did he hurt you?” he asks, voice sharp and quiet and dangerous

“No,” I whisper, barely loud enough to hear myself, “you got to me before he could”

His breath hitches, just barely, and then he exhales like he’s trying to blow something away that won’t move, like the guilt’s sitting on his chest and refusing to leave — he looks down for a second, then stands, strides back to the body and yanks the spear free in one motion, and the sound it makes is awful, wet and real and unforgettable

When he turns, he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away, just holds the weapon out to me like it belongs in my hands now, like survival’s not a question but a command “Take it,” he says, “you need more than hope”

The spear is heavier than I expect, its handle warm, whether from his grip or from the kill I don’t know, and I take it because I have to, because there’s no room for softness anymore

We stand there for a moment, two shadows in a garden that’s trying to eat us alive, the body at our feet like a warning written in flesh and blood

“That’s one less monster,” he says eventually, voice quieter now, and I don’t ask what he means, because I already know

The wind moves through the trees like it’s whispering, and the sun above us is too bright, too wrong, flickering just slightly like it’s been hung there by mistake — nothing in this place is real, not the warmth, not the light, not the silence

Behind us, in the east, I hear a sound that doesn’t belong, not a scream but the echo of one, stretching out like it’s been stuck in a loop, like someone’s worst moment is being played over and over again — I look at Regulus, and he’s already staring in that direction

“The Echo Zone,” he says, voice like stone — “they say time bends in there, that you hear every scream that’s ever happened inside the arena, even ones you haven’t made yet”

I swallow hard, grip the spear tighter

“We won’t go that way,” he adds, more to himself than me “not unless we’re desperate”

He turns then, eyes scanning the horizon like he’s memorizing every flaw in the landscape, every trick hidden in the flowers and trees “We need water,” he says, and it sounds simple but it’s not, not in this place where even the rain can melt skin and the ground bleeds

“Water?” I ask, still catching up, and he nods, already walking

“It’s what’ll kill most of them first,” he says, “not traps, not fights — dehydration”

The false sun shifts above us, flickers again, and a flower nearby closes suddenly, teeth hidden in its petals — this place, this arena, it wants to be beautiful, pretends to be gentle, but everything here lies

We move through it slowly, carefully, past vines that pulse like veins, fruits that gleam too brightly, trees that hum with something almost like music — this isn’t a forest, it’s a trap disguised as paradise

There are places where the ground shudders beneath our steps, places where the birds don’t sing, where the shadows move wrong — this isn’t a place built for life, it’s a place built to break people and call it entertainment

Regulus doesn’t speak again for a while, just leads, quiet and steady, and I follow, because I trust the way he moves, the way he watches everything like it might hurt me, like he’d burn the whole arena down before he lets that happen again.

And as we walk, the screams behind us fade, but I know they’ll return, because here, in this place made of lies and sorrow and blood, nothing ever really stays dead.

The silence between us stretches out. The air around us feels different here, heavy, like it's pressing down on our shoulders, on our backs. It’s not just the weight of the trees, the twisted foliage, or the strange glowing light that floods the space. It’s the knowledge that every breath we take might be our last.

The ground beneath me shifts, ever so slightly, as if it too has a heartbeat. I swallow hard, the words swirling in my mind but never leaving my lips.

“I thought the arena was supposed to be... beautiful,” I whisper, eyes scanning the sharp angles of the trees and the deceptive softness of the vines. The shadows play tricks on the edges of my vision.

Regulus looks at me, his face tight, unreadable. He presses his lips into a thin line. “It’s beautiful if you forget what it’s meant to do. If you forget that every tree, every rock, every shadow hides something that wants to kill you.”

I want to say something, anything to break the tension that clings to us like the humidity in the air, but the words stick to the back of my throat. Instead, I just nod. He’s right. Of course, he’s right. The Capitol doesn’t design arenas for beauty. They design them for brutality, for fear, for games.

He steps away from the small streambed we’ve been working over, his boots quiet against the soft earth. I follow him, though I don’t really know where we’re going. I just know we need to keep moving, keep looking. There’s no such thing as rest here. No such thing as safety.

I glance down at the spear he handed me earlier. It feels foreign in my hands, like it doesn’t belong there, like it’s something that could be used against me just as easily as it could protect me. I grip it tighter. It’s the only thing between me and whatever horrors this place holds.

“Do you think we’ll find other tributes out here?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

“Of course,” Regulus replies, his voice flat, hard. “The other tributes will be hunting too. They’ll be looking for water, food, shelter. And they’ll be looking for us.”

I try not to think about the monsters out there. The ones who will kill without a second thought. The ones who think of this as a game. They’re out there, waiting.

“Why are we just sitting here?” I ask, my voice a little too sharp. “We should be moving. We should be—”

“You’re not ready,” Regulus interrupts, his tone cold. “You’re not going to survive if you don’t pace yourself. We need to stay alert, but we also need to save our energy. That’s how we stay alive.”

I nod, though it feels like I’m swallowing a stone. “So what now?”

“We move west,” he says, his eyes scanning the shadows again, ever watchful. “I think I saw something earlier. A small shelter. Could be a hiding spot. But we have to be careful.”

“Why west?”

“Because the Capitol likes to watch. The more action, the better. West is quieter, less likely to draw attention.”

I try to focus on what he’s saying, but it’s hard. My mind keeps replaying the sound of Mulciber’s body hitting the ground, the sickening thud of the spear piercing his skin. The look on his face when life drained out of him.

“Did you have to do that?” I ask before I can stop myself. My voice shakes as the words leave my lips. “He was... he was just doing what he was told.”

Regulus doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t look at me. “The Capitol doesn’t care if they’re just doing what they’re told. They just want blood.”

“Maybe,” I say, though my voice cracks, “but we’re not like them. We don’t have to—”

Regulus finally turns to face me. His eyes are harder now, colder, the sharp edge of someone who’s seen too much. “You’re wrong. The moment we stepped into that arena, we became like them. The Games change you. Whether you like it or not. And if you don’t learn how to survive, you won’t make it out. I did what I had to do. And you will too.”

The words hit me like a slap, and I wish I could argue. I wish I could say something that would make it all feel like it’s not as terrible as it is. But the truth is there, hanging in the air like a knife. I nod, though it feels like I’ve swallowed something bitter.

The tension between us lingers as we move again, pushing deeper into the forest. Every step we take seems to echo louder in the silence. The trees feel closer now, their twisted branches clawing toward us, their leaves fluttering with a sound that’s almost... too quiet. Almost like they’re waiting, like they know we’re here. Watching.

The ground beneath us is soft, too soft, like it’s hiding something. I glance at Regulus, but he doesn’t look at me. His eyes are focused ahead, his every movement deliberate, calculated.

“We need to find shelter soon,” he says quietly, his voice just above a whisper. “It’ll be dark soon.”

I look up at the sky, and for the first time, I notice how strange the light is. It’s not setting like it should. It’s wrong. The colors bend in ways they shouldn’t. The sun is sinking too fast, too early.

Regulus sees my confusion and explains in a low voice. “Time works differently here. The Capitol makes it that way. They want us to feel disoriented. Off balance. They want to mess with our heads.”

I try not to think about it. I try to focus on what we need to do next. Water. Shelter. Safety. Survival.

We move through the underbrush, every step cautious, every noise amplified in the stillness. I can hear the rustling of leaves, the soft snap of twigs beneath our feet. Every sound feels like a threat. Every shadow feels like it’s hiding something waiting to leap out.

As we round a bend, I spot it. A small hollow, tucked between two large trees, the branches leaning over it like a protective canopy. It’s not much, but it’s something. A place to hide, to rest, to plan.

Regulus stops beside me, his hand brushing the spear as he surveys the area. “We’ll camp here for the night.”

I nod, though the word "camp" feels wrong. It feels like we’re pretending. Pretending like we’re safe when we both know the truth.

We set up quickly, no words between us, just the sound of fabric rustling, the scrape of the blade as Regulus carves into the ground. I sit against the tree, gripping the spear tightly in my hands, watching the shadows stretch and twist in the growing darkness.

Regulus looks up for a moment, his gaze catching mine. For a heartbeat, everything stops. The world outside the arena vanishes. The Capitol fades.

“We’ll make it through this,” he says quietly, as if it’s a promise. His voice is steady, but I hear the tremor beneath it.

I don’t know if I believe him.

I want to. I want to believe that somehow, some way, we’ll find our way out of this place alive. But it’s hard to see past the shadows, hard to see past the screams that echo in the distance, the hunger that gnaws at my stomach, the fear that wraps around my chest.

The camp is nothing more than a hollow beneath an overgrown cluster of ferns and twisting branches, half-hidden behind a fallen log thick with moss. The canopy above is tight, leaves dark and damp, shadowed just enough to mask them from the arena’s blinking sky. Regulus clears the space with quiet efficiency, cutting away anything that crunches too loud, laying down his coat on the driest patch for me. He moves like someone who has done this before, who has slept with a knife in hand and one eye open since he was fourteen and never really stopped.

I sit with my knees pulled tight to my chest, the rough bark of the tree digging into my spine as if even the earth wants to remind me I’m not safe. The spear lies beside me like a silent threat, still slick with the weight of what it did, and my breath stays shallow, shaky, uneven. The kind of breath that can’t quite find its way back to normal because nothing about this is normal. Every inch of me aches now—the sharp, electric kind of ache that comes not from one wound but from every muscle finally realizing the adrenaline is gone and it’s allowed to feel again. My fingers won’t stop trembling. I try to lace them together to keep them still, but the motion just makes it worse. I press them against the ground instead, against the dirt, against something real, but it still feels like I might fly apart.

Regulus crouches beside me, close but not touching, his presence quiet and watchful. When he speaks, it’s so soft it might’ve been the wind if I didn’t know his voice like I know my own heartbeat. “You can sleep,” he says, his eyes never leaving the space between the trees. “I’ll keep watch.”

I turn toward him slightly, my neck stiff, my bones unwilling. “Are you sure?” My voice sounds small in the dark, like it doesn’t belong here, like it hasn’t yet caught up with everything that’s happened.

He nods once, sharp and precise, still not looking at me. His gaze is locked on the shifting blackness, the moving branches, the silence that’s always hiding something. “You need it more than I do.”

I want to argue—I do. I want to tell him he’s wrong, that he’s been in this longer, that he’s the one who should rest while I keep my hands around a weapon for once. But when I really look at him—his jaw tight, his shoulders drawn, his eyes carved from something cold and ancient—I don’t see exhaustion. I see readiness. The kind that scares me because it doesn’t come from strength but from habit. Like he’s been fighting his whole life and the Games are just another war. Another mask. Another lie to wear over the one that came before it.

So I don’t argue.

Instead, I shift slowly, awkwardly, until my side presses into the edge of his coat. It smells like smoke and pine and something metallic, like old blood dried beneath newer blood. My cheek finds the fabric and I let my knees curl tighter, let myself breathe a little deeper even though my heart is still racing too fast to be safe. My eyes slip shut for a heartbeat. Maybe two. Maybe three.

And then I hear it. Not the imagined sound of leaves settling or the groan of a shifting branch. Not the forest whispering the way it always does. This is different. A rustle—low and sharp and deliberate—like something moving with weight. Too close. Too measured. It’s not the soft padding of an animal foraging in the undergrowth or the swoop of wings brushing branches. It’s heavier than that. Two-footed. Human.

Regulus hears it at the same time I do. His head snaps toward the sound, eyes narrowing in an instant, and then he’s moving. Fast but silent. A blur of motion that somehow makes no noise at all. His arm wraps around me before I can even lift my head, his body curling over mine like a shield, and his hand comes up—firm and sudden—pressing against my mouth before I can make a sound. I stiffen at first, panic flaring instinctively, but then I feel him. Not just the weight of his arm or the press of his hand, but the way his chest shudders against my back. The way his pulse hammers through his wrist. He’s scared too. Not frozen, not paralyzed, but alert in the most terrifying way.

His other hand is already at his side, fingers wrapped around the hilt of the knife he always carries, the same one I’ve seen glint in the dark more times than I can count. His grip is so tight it must hurt. The air around us feels thinner now, like it’s being wrung out, like it’s holding its own breath too.

The footsteps come closer. Each one deliberate. Slow. Careful. They crunch softly over dead leaves and brush against the ferns just beyond the veil of green we’re hidden behind. I can’t see them, but I can feel them. Whoever it is—whatever it is—they’re right there. Just on the other side.

My heart climbs so high in my throat I think I might choke on it. I stop breathing altogether. Regulus doesn’t move, not even a twitch. His hand stays on my mouth—not rough, not harsh, just steady. Quiet. It’s not about silencing me. It’s about protecting me. And I know, in that terrible stretch of time, that if I made even the smallest sound, he would have to kill again. Or we would die. There are no in-betweens here.

I nod slowly under his palm. Just once. Just enough to say I understand.

Only then, after another long heartbeat passes, does he pull his hand away.

We don’t speak. We don’t even look at each other. We just listen. The footsteps pause, then move on. Fainter now. The silence that follows feels deafening. Not peaceful—never peaceful—but stretched thin, trembling at the edges like it could tear apart any second.

Still, we don’t move. I don’t think I could if I tried. My skin feels clammy, my body cold and locked tight. I can feel my own pulse beating against my temples, hear it thundering in my ears. My lungs ache from holding back. When I finally do take a breath, it’s shallow, broken at the edges.

And even though the danger has passed—at least for now—I stay curled against him. Not because I have to, but because I don’t know how to untangle myself from the fear still knotting my insides.

“I hate this,” I whisper eventually, my voice so raw it barely scrapes past my throat. “I hate feeling like this. I can’t— I didn’t know it would be this—” The words fall apart in my mouth. They don’t need to be finished. They never do, not with him.

Regulus doesn’t speak right away. He just turns his head slightly, just enough that the low light catches the edge of his cheekbone, and our eyes meet—his gaze steady, mine scattered like dust. There’s no armor in his expression now, no Capitol mask, no Games facade. Just something plain. Something real.

“I know,” he says, and it’s not pity, not emptiness either. It’s too quiet to be a comfort and too honest to be a lie. But somehow, just hearing it—hearing him say it like he’s lived through every inch of the same dread I’m drowning in—makes it easier to breathe.

“You’re not scared,” I murmur. It isn’t an accusation. It’s a longing. Like if I could just crawl inside whatever strength he has, I could hold onto it for a while.

“I am,” he answers, and there’s something in the way he says it that makes me believe him more than anything he’s ever told me. His voice doesn’t waver, but there’s a weight behind it, something pressed down like it’s been buried for too long. “But I’ve learned how to wear it differently.”

“Do you remember the old tree?”

I blink, trying to piece together what he means. My brain is still tangled in panic, in the aftertaste of fear, but something in his tone stirs a memory that’s older than this place, older than the Games, older than pain. I look at him, brow furrowing.

“Which one?”

“Our tree,” he says, and something in my chest breaks a little. Like a door cracking open after years of being nailed shut. “In the clearing. Back home.”

And I do. I remember it before he even finishes the sentence.

“The one past the mill,” I whisper, the words already carrying the echo of summer. “With the branch that curved like a seat.”

He nods, and for a moment I don’t see the boy sharpened by blades and cameras and Capitol cruelty. I see him as he was—barefoot, quick, eyes full of quiet mischief and secrets only we knew how to keep. “We used to race to it,” he says.

“You always won.”

“You always claimed I cheated.”

“You did cheat,” I murmur, and I can feel the breath of a laugh pull at the corner of my mouth, even if it doesn’t quite make it out. “You pushed me once. Right before the last stretch.”

“I was tactical,” he replies, and there’s the ghost of a grin playing at his lips.

“You were awful.”

But I’m smiling now, just barely. The kind of smile that slips out when something sacred is remembered, something lost is returned for a moment. And he’s smiling too—only at the edge of his mouth, a flicker so brief it’s easy to miss. But it’s there. And it’s real. The kind of smile that feels like it’s been waiting to be worn again. Like it’s still laced with the scent of pine and earth and the soft weight of carved birds in my hands.

“You used to bring me those little carved birds,” I say, the memory blooming like a soft ache behind my ribs. “And I’d sing to you under the branches.”

He doesn’t look away. “I never asked you to.”

“I know.”

“You just did. Like the wind told you to.”

“I thought it made you feel better.”

“It did,” he says, and there’s a roughness in his voice now, a gentleness too, like the past has finally caught up with him and it’s not something he wants to run from this time.

We fall quiet again. The kind of quiet that doesn’t just fill the space between two people but settles inside you, like ash. The forest around us seems to breathe—low and slow, like it’s watching, like it knows how close everything came to ending. The leaves stir above us, branches shifting with the weight of wind and memory. Somewhere in the distance, water drips onto stone. It echoes faintly, soft and steady. Everything feels suspended.

I tuck my arms tighter around my body, eyes fixed on the tree just ahead. Its bark is split and ancient, warped with time and weather, like it remembers more than we ever could.

“You carved our names,” I whisper, my voice nearly lost to the hum of insects and the hush of wind threading through branches. “On the trunk.”

He doesn’t answer at first. He leans back just slightly, his eyes unfocused, gaze drifting beyond the fireless camp and into the trees like he’s seeing something that isn’t there—or maybe something that was there, once, and still lingers in the corners of his mind. His breath catches on the inhale, and for a second I wonder if I shouldn’t have said anything at all.

“I carved Shadow + Star,” he says finally, the words falling from his lips like they’ve been waiting years to be spoken aloud. His voice cracks—just faintly, but enough to split the moment open. “Because I didn’t want the Capitol to see your real name on anything. I didn’t want them to take it. I wanted there to be some part of you they couldn’t touch.”

I stare at him. And in that instant, something breaks open in my chest. A thousand memories rushing in all at once. All the things we never said. All the things we had to bury to survive. The weight of his words coils inside me, hot and quiet and unbearable.

He doesn’t wait for me to respond. Just rises—silent as breath—and moves toward the tree just beside us. It’s massive and crooked, hunched over like it’s been guarding this part of the forest for centuries. The bark is dark, furrowed deep like a scowl, but it gleams faintly under the moonlight, like it’s listening.

Regulus pulls the knife from his belt—the same one I’ve seen stained with blood, the same one that ended Mulciber. He runs a thumb along the flat of the blade as if remembering something before turning and glancing back at me.

“Come here,” he says.

I move without thinking, crawling toward him slowly, my knees pressing into damp moss, the air trembling around me. It feels fragile—this moment, this pocket of time carved out of everything brutal. I don’t want to move too quickly. I don’t want to break it.

He doesn’t speak again. Just takes my hand, fingers callused and warm, and guides it over his own. The hilt of the blade is cold beneath our joined palms. I can feel his heartbeat in his wrist, fast and steady.

Together, we press the tip into the bark. It resists at first, tough and ancient, but it gives way. Letter by letter, we carve it—slowly, deliberately. The blade sinks in and curls splinters from the tree’s skin, each cut an echo of something that lived long before the Games ever found us.

SHADOW + STAR

Each letter is a breath. A promise. A rebellion.

It doesn’t feel like we’re just carving nicknames. It feels like we’re remembering who we used to be. Who we still are, beneath all of it—the dirt and the fear and the Capitol’s ever-watching eyes. It feels like claiming something back from the fire.

When the last stroke is done, Regulus releases the knife and runs his thumb over the letters. His touch is slow. Reverent. Like he’s afraid they’ll disappear if he looks away.

“They’ll find this,” he murmurs. His voice is quieter now, almost like he’s speaking to the tree. “Or maybe they won’t. Maybe the forest will swallow it. Doesn’t matter.”

His eyes meet mine again, and there’s something raw in them. Unshielded.

“It’s for us.”

And suddenly the air feels different. Thicker. Softer. I nod, the gesture small, but it carries everything I can’t say. For the first time since the reaping, something inside me eases—not peace, not safety, nothing so whole—but something close. Something like gravity, but gentler.

A thread tying me to the past, to something true.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer. Just sits beside me again, knife at his side, eyes scanning the trees.

I lean against him lightly, barely a touch, but he doesn’t pull away. His shoulder is warm.

“I’m scared,” I admit, finally. “Really scared.”

“I know,” he murmurs, and there’s no judgment in his voice, no cold Capitol mask—just Regulus, the boy who carved birds and memorized the sound of my voice under summer leaves.

“I don’t want to die in here.”

“You won’t, amour.” he says.

“You can’t promise that.”

“No,” he agrees, softly. “But I can promise I’ll do everything to keep you alive.”

He leans forward then, presses his palm to the carving in the bark, and whispers something I can’t hear.

When I ask him what he said, he just shakes his head.

“Nothing the Capitol needs to know.”

And we sit there in silence, shadows wrapped around us like a second skin, two ghosts from the past clinging to each other beneath a tree that now bears our names — again.

He sits motionless beside me, elbows braced on his knees, eyes fixed somewhere distant—like he's not really here, like he's back in some arena that never let him leave. I should stay quiet. I should let him be. But the silence between us is loaded, thick with unsaid things, and my chest is tight with them. Every breath feels like it might splinter me apart.

“I keep thinking about it,” I whisper, my voice barely louder than the wind. “What if we’d never been reaped? What if none of this had ever happened?”

He doesn't look at me, but I see the flicker in his jaw, the way his throat moves when he swallows.

“It wouldn’t matter,” he says, low and tense, “because I’d still be waiting for the world to hurt you.”

There’s something in the way he says it that steals the air from my lungs. I turn to face him fully, drawn by the gravity of him, by the way his voice cracks at the edges like he’s breaking in real time. The firelight brushes across the curve of his cheek, the cut just under his eye, the trembling in his hands that he tries so hard to hide.

I reach for him slowly, instinctively, fingers brushing his wrist. And when he doesn't pull away, when he doesn’t move at all, I start to lean in—carefully, cautiously—as if pressing too quickly might ruin everything. My heart’s beating so loudly I’m sure he can hear it. I don't even know if I mean to kiss him or just feel something human for once—something not twisted by fear or blood or the Capitol’s gleaming teeth—but I lean in anyway. Because he’s here. Because I need him. Because some broken, desperate part of me wants to believe he needs me too.

His eyes finally flick toward mine. And for a second, just one long, burning second, I think he's going to meet me halfway. His lips part, breath stalling. My face is only inches from his now, and the air between us is pulled tight, humming with everything we’ve never said.

Then he jerks back. Like I’m fire. Like I’m something dangerous.

His hand is on my shoulder, pushing—not cruelly, not even roughly, but urgently. And I freeze, blinking at him, confused, humiliated, gut dropping all at once.

“Regulus—” I start, my voice trembling.

But he’s already standing, already moving. His head snaps upward, gaze darting through the branches above us like he's searching for something. I follow his eyes, heart still thudding with the aftershock of rejection—until I see it.

Just a glint. Just the faintest shimmer tucked in the dark of the trees.

His expression hardens. He climbs onto the nearby log in one sharp movement, silent as a shadow, hands reaching up. There's a flash of silver as his fingers close around something hidden in the leaves. Then—snap.

The sound is loud in the silence. Too loud.

He yanks it down. A thin wire dangles, followed by something metal—no bigger than an apple. My blood runs cold.

And then he slams it. Into the ground. Once, twice—until the metal shell splits and the glass eye cracks. He crouches over it, fingers digging into the dirt as if trying to crush whatever’s left, and when he stands again, the world feels different. Like the trees are leaning in.

I stare down at the broken thing, at the jagged shards and bent frame, at the tiny red light still barely pulsing beneath the mess of wires and mud.

My throat is dry. My hands shake. I understand now.

It wasn’t me he was afraid of.

He didn’t pull away because he didn’t want to kiss me. He pulled away because they were watching.

They were always watching.

And now, as I stare at the fractured metal, the faint red light still blinking through the dirt—barely alive, barely there—I understand.

It was a camera.

And they almost caught something real.

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scariusaquarius · 21 days ago

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rehab. 27.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

A/n: it's been so hard to get any sleep as of late and I have no idea why. I already have insomnia rip. I noticed it got worse after getting the Nexplanon birth control. Has anybody else experienced this? aNYWAY PREPARE YOURSELVES FOR A N G S T. Also, if you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee! If you would prefer to read Rehab on Archive, you may do so right HERE!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

Author: ScariusAquarius

rehab masterlist. chapter 26

After a while of just enjoying the music together, a soft knock on the door had the two super soldier's becoming alert. While Bucky turned to see who was knocking, (Y/n) had just stiffened; staring straight ahead as if to be at attention.

When Bucky noticed Steve standing there, he left the music on auto-play before leaving the room. Steve was gazing at (Y/n) as she slowly relaxed, and Bucky greeted the man with a curious look on his face as he closed the lab door.

"What's going on, Steve?"

Steve glanced at Bucky, stating gently.

"We know how HYDRA was able to infiltrate Wakanda. Come on."

Bucky was reluctant, glancing at (Y/n) for a moment, and Steve tilted his head slightly before he comforted.

"Don't worry, she'll be okay."

Bucky rolled his eyes, mumbling.

"I wasn't worried. Give me the rundown."

Steve snorted, raising his blonde brow at Bucky as the two of them began to walk to the meeting room and he teased the ex-assassin lightly.

"Are you sure? Seems like you're pretty worried."

"Shut up, punk, and just tell me what's going on, would you?"

Steve chuckled while Bucky rolled his eyes, and Steve began to launch himself into an explanation of all of the evidence the Avengers had gathered thanks to Wanda and Rollins.

"King T'Challa informed us that he had sent some advisors to the US for diplomacy and discussing some tech-sharing agreements and contracts. We think Rollins intercepted the delegation, forced the advisors to sneak them in, and when the advisors came back with the equipment, HYDRA was hiding in one of the shipments."

Bucky frowned, asking as he crossed his arms, looking over the files and plans.

"How did they get in undetected?"

Steve sighed and explained, his eyes glancing at Bucky.

"We think that the three scientists were threatened, so they bypassed the system by scanning the shipments that HYDRA was hiding in directly. Then, they escaped to the Serpents Valley to hide out until Rollins gave his orders."

Bucky's brow furrowed deeply, annoyance settling deep within his body, and he asked with a low tone to his voice.

"We got them all, right?"

"Yeah. Thanks to Wanda making Rollins' talk, we were able to get the jump on them. They're being escorted to the US as we speak. Shuri and Tony are teaming up to start investigating the other locations that Rollins gave us."

Bucky nodded, staying quiet for a moment before Steve looked at Bucky, giving the man a soft yet apologetic look. Bucky became uncomfortable, looking at Steve with a confused expression.

"What is it?"

Steve sighed before he opened up gently and softly.

"I'm sorry that I doubted you, Buck. I thought that everything was starting to take its toll on you, especially with what happened with Rollins. I know that you didn't want to do this in the beginning, and I pushed that onto you."

Bucky looked surprised before he turned away, crossing his arms and shaking his head slightly as his hair hung slightly within his face.

"At first, I hated the idea. We didn't know who this woman was, didn't know what her orders were...it was an unknown and a huge risk that we took with her,"

His voice paused, a thoughtful expression flashing through his eyes as Bucky continued.

"but now that we know who she is, what they did...what I did...I feel like I owe it to her...like we have a chance. She's been making incredible progress...faster than what I was able to do. I want to help, Steve. So, when you guys go to take down HYDRA...I'm going to stay here with (Y/n)."

Steve's eyes softened, a small smile coming across his face, and Bucky became embarrassed, looking away to stare down at the plans.

"I'm proud of you, Buck."

Bucky just rolled his eyes, but the sentiment was appreciated, his chest swelling slightly. Bucky shrugged, deflecting just the slightest though Steve picked up on it immediately.

"Have to let it go at some point."

"Right."

Bucky gave Steve an exasperated look before he turned, asking Steve as he began to go back to the lab.

"Just keep me updated...and let me know if I need to help."

Steve nodded, and Bucky walked off. Rubbing the back of his neck, Bucky pursed his lips and began to think. If Bucky had to admit it, he was a bit embarrassed that he never thought of them sneaking in through shipments. If HYDRA was known for anything, it was the outlandish ways that they infiltrated places. They were creative and strategic, like cuckoos planting their eggs in another nest.

At the end of it all, Bucky was just happy and relieved that there was finally an opportunity that he, and everyone else affected by HYDRA, could finally rest.

Though, Bucky knew that it wouldn't be that easy. There would still be fallout; a stray agent here and there, but it was finally starting to seem as though the horizon was finally starting to brighten.

When Bucky got back to the lab, his steps froze; planted straight to the ground. In the lab, (Y/n) was hunched over, her arms crossed and being used a pillow as she slept. Her breathing was slow and even, her face completely relaxed, and Bucky's steps became completely undetectable.

The music was still playing, Doris Day's soft voice filtering through the speakers, and Bucky couldn't help but to observe the woman. Her face was calm; unmarred by the hell that came with HYDRA, and Bucky carefully sat down in a chair just adjacent to her. He was careful and quiet as to not disturb her peaceful slumber, and he turned the music down just the slightest.

Although he was trying not to make it seem like he was keeping watch, his body stood alert, his eyes darting around the room and exits. He didn't mean to be so on guard, but Bucky couldn't help it.

Despite the inner turmoil of whether or not Bucky had a right to help her and to be with her, Bucky couldn't help but to feel a strange sense of protectiveness coming over himself as he looked at her.

This woman whose whole life was constructed and concocted since the moment she was born...she had no idea who she could have been without HYDRA. What person she could have become, what decisions she could have made for herself, what her interests and hobbies could have been.

Fidgeting slightly, Bucky slipped his hair up into a half man-bun before resting his elbows onto the table, clasping his hands together. Pursing his lips a little, his eyes looked down at the table as Doris' voice echoed through the room.

"Sweet dreams 'til sunbeams find you Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you..."

Suddenly, (Y/n) shifted a bit in her sleep, her brow furrowing slightly, and Bucky held his breath as she seemed to settle deeper into sleep. A small sigh escaped her scarred and chapped lips, and Bucky finally relaxed again. In his mind, Bucky couldn't help but to think.

'You must be so tired...when's the last time you ever had a peaceful and comfortable sleep?'

There were nights where peaceful sleep was hard to come by. Nightmares would plague him at every turn, every second that he had a moment to be by himself within his thoughts. In a childish way, Bucky couldn't help but to be jealous of the way (Y/n) was sleeping peacefully.

Then again, it was probably the first comfortable sleep that she'd had in a long time. Did she feel safe now, even if it was subconscious? Was she dreaming? Remembering? Bucky's toes curled within his boots a bit, and he became nervous.

What if she was remembering him? The man that helped do this to her? What if she never forgave him? Bucky bit his lip, and he shook his head a little bit. He couldn't think like that. He had to stay positive.

Even if it was hard.

Bucky's eyes flicked to (Y/n) when she flinched, and he immediately noticed the tell-tale signs of a nightmare. She was trembling in her sleep, her brows furrowed deeply, and she was mumbling, but nothing that was coherent. Bits and pieces, whimpers and sniffles, and Bucky wasn't sure what to do.

If he tried to wake her up, there was a possibility of her becoming hostile. While, yes, he could take her in a fight (as he had found out when they first met) but he didn't want it to end up in a fight.

Pursing his lips again, Bucky grabbed his phone and began to play The Everly Brothers again. He turned the music up a bit, and he breathed a sigh of relief when she began to calm down again.

For a moment, she slept again before her eyes began to flutter a little. Her heart rate began to quicken, and she immediately woke up, alert yet disoriented. Her gaze looked around before landing on Bucky, and he comforted her gently.

"Hey, it's okay."

(Y/n) blinked a bit, and she glanced around the lab again before looking at the speaker. She whispered softly after a moment of hesitation.

"I was...dreaming."

Bucky leaned forward, asking her softly.

"What were you dreaming about?"

Her eyes became distant for a moment before she whispered softly in a tone that was unsure.

"Rebecca."

Bucky's heart dropped into his stomach. He hadn't been expecting her to say his little sister's name, but his heart began to race anyway. Rebecca's face came through his mind, and he swallowed thickly. His eyes watered just the slightest, and it took everything in him to keep his voice steady.

"Rebecca? Who...um, who was she to you?"

(Y/n) seemed to pick up on his hesitation, and she tilted her head a little before she glanced away from him, her eyes becoming distant again.

"The woods...we met in the woods. She...smelled like ivory."

Bucky listened intently and patiently, his jaw clenching just the slightest, and she continued slowly while her brow furrowed as if she was confused.

"She was...a friend...I think. She was...pretty...in the sunlight."

Bucky didn't know why, but his heart began to palpitate. Although Bucky remembered his family, remembered Rebecca, it had been a long time since he'd seen her. Hell, Bucky wasn't even sure if she was alive anymore.

He was too afraid, and too ashamed, to find out.

So, instead, Bucky immediately began to latch onto what (Y/n) was saying; envisioning Rebecca the best that he could as the woman spoke.

"What did she look like? Do you remember?"

(Y/n)'s brows furrowed a bit, and she became unsure, rubbing her fingers as she thought.

"I...don't remember...but her voice...I remember. She spoke about the flowers...and how she missed her brother...James."

Like a gut-punch, Bucky's breath was stolen, and the tears began to come out of his eyes. Covering his mouth slightly, he tried to be quiet; tried to conceal his torment, and (Y/n) looked over at him in confusion. She wasn't sure what to do or say. Did she hurt him?

"I...I'm sorry..! I didn't...I didn't mean to hurt you."

She became afraid, closing up, and Bucky exclaimed loudly enough to make (Y/n) jolt.

"No! No...fuck, I'm sorry. I just...sorry."

He got up, the chair screeching across the floor, and Bucky left the room. The second that he was outside of the lab and away from the window, Bucky collapsed against the wall and began to cry. Holding his hands to his head, Bucky's jaw clenched as he tried to stifle his cries, but the pain was too much; the memories too much.

He should have never stayed at Camp Lenigh with Major Samson.

What had Rebecca thought for all of those years when he had been declared KIA? Granted, he was declared dead for a long time, so she must have moved on at some point...but Bucky didn't think that Rebecca would still think about him after all that time. His heart was shattered, and he couldn't help but to think about how much he missed her. How he missed his mom, his dad...home.

What did it look like now? Was the house still there up on the hill; hidden within the flourishing woods that Bucky knew all-too-well? Was his mothers favorite willow tree still in the yard by the dirt road?

Bucky hadn't tried to visit Shelbyville once. While yes, his home had been in Camp Lenigh for a while, and then Brooklyn after leaving Shelbyville, Bucky had always missed the familiarity that came with the countryside. He had difficulty adjusting to the city life when he moved, getting into fights and learning the way of the streets.

That's how he met Steve; such a scrawny, sickly little thing that had way more bark than he did bite, even if he tried. Bucky had done everything he could to protect Steve, adopting him as if he was his own brother; trying to find that sibling connection that he had lost when Rebecca was sent to boarding school and he left Virginia.

Bucky wondered if Rebecca had kept all of his letters; if she ever reread them sometimes. The soft pattering of feet made Bucky glance up, and he was surprised to see (Y/n) standing there. She looked confused, as if she didn't know why she was there in the first place, but she stayed deathly still as she looked down at him.

She observed his wet cheeks and crying eyes, and she slowly knelt down in front of him before cautiously placing her arms in front of him. Bucky was confused for a moment before he realized what she was trying to do.

She was trying to comfort him.

Slowly, Bucky's hands came to her arms, and the image became a mirror of before when she had held onto him; coming down from her panic attack from seeing Rollins.

Bucky, however, did not grip her arms as tightly as she had; understanding that he was still stronger than her by a large margin and not wanting to hurt her anymore than HYDRA, and he, had. (Y/n) tensed slightly before her voice, soft and grounding, spoke gently.

"There you go."

If Bucky hadn't been so sad, he would have chuckled at the robotic way it had come out. His heart swelled a bit, and he took a few deep breaths. When Bucky calmed down enough, his touch softened more, and he murmured shakily.

"I'm sorry."

(Y/n) looked confused for a moment before she asked him quietly.

"Почему ты плачешь?" (why are you crying?)

Bucky closed his eyes, wondering if he should tell her the truth. Granted, Bucky knew that she would know if he was lying or not. Winter Soldiers were trained to detect deception from their targets when desiring information; focusing on every micro-expression, their words, the tone of their voice...there was never any hiding from a Winter Soldier. Ever.

"I was thinking about...my little sister. That's all. Her name was Rebecca too."

"Was she pretty in the sunlight too?"

Bucky let out a breathless laugh, more tears falling down his face as he nodded extravagantly.

"Yes. Yes, she was."

His voice was broken, a regret within his tone that (Y/n) picked up on immediately, and she wasn't sure what to do. Staring down at his hands that were holding onto her arm, she pursed her lips before apologizing with a broken look within her eyes.

"Извините, я не знаю, что делать. Пожалуйста... скажите мне, как завершить мою миссию." (i'm sorry, i don't know what to do. please tell me how to complete my mission)

Bucky quieted for a moment, shaking his head as he tried to think of what to say. He asked her, a confused look settling on his face.

"Your mission?"

(Y/n) nodded, whispering softly.

"Да." (yes)

Bucky pressed further, sitting up just the slightest as (Y/n) continued to look down at his hands, her gaze seemingly distracted as she admired the warmth and cold of each limb that was upon her skin.

"What do you mean 'your mission'?"

(Y/n) then looked up at Bucky, stating seriously as she gathered the correct words to use.

"My mission...to remember...and...escape HYDRA. я готов отвечать." (i'm ready to comply/i'm ready to answer)

Give them a new face to look at.

Bucky stated gently, looking deep into her (e/c) eyes that were gazing into his so intensely that he almost couldn't handle the weight of her gaze.

"That's up for you to decide. I can't help you like that...all I can do is be here with you...to support you."

Her brows furrowed in confusion and worry, her head tilting slightly.

"Что делать, если я не выполню свою миссию удовлетворительно?" (what if i do not complete my mission satisfactorily)

Bucky carefully moved his vibranium hand to her shoulder, the woman squaring them the second he touched her as he whispered to her.

"Потом мы можем попробовать снова. Столько раз, сколько потребуется. Я не откажусь от тебя." (then we try again. as many times as it takes. i won't give up on you)

(Y/n)'s eyes widened slightly before she looked down at his dog tags that hung heavily around his neck. She'd heard the phrase before, but spoken in harsh tones and angry touches that delegated the inability to fail.

But the words gave her a new insight; a strange feeling that didn't make her scared. Instead, (Y/n)'s shoulders slowly relaxed, and she stated suddenly.

"It..it is fuzzy...but...I remember that...two little ones...were often with her."

Bucky's eyes filled with tears again as he listened closely, a feeling of happiness going through him at the realization that he actually did have family...that at some point, he had became an uncle. Despite this, there was also a feeling of despair to know that he had never been there for them. Did they know that he was alive? Did they know the things that he had done?

Would they even want to know him?

"She would tell me...about her brother...about the time...they were in the woods...and he made fun of her for being afraid of the bugs."

Bucky chuckled softly as the memories when through him, and (Y/n) took a moment to think again, trying to remember more.

"She...she left me too...one day. I...I was taken away...and I don't remember any more."

HYDRA thought it would build emotional range. Make (Y/n) more adaptable when the time came to turn her into the Winter Soldier. More believable in a way...but something went wrong.

Bucky swallowed thickly, and he murmured softly, comforting her softly.

"That's alright. We can try again later."

(Y/n) nodded slowly, and she asked quietly.

"Can I listen to the music again?"

Bucky nodded, standing up carefully, and (Y/n) stood up with him. They went back into the lab, and Bucky carefully began to play the music again. (Y/n) returned to her seat in front of the speaker, and Bucky suddenly got an idea.

"(Y/n), I'm going to make a quick trip, okay?"

(Y/n) turned and asked, her eyes confused.

"A trip?"

Bucky nodded and he stated gently.

"Yeah. Just for a little while, but I won't be gone for too long."

(Y/n) nodded before she became nervous, asking.

"Can I keep listening to the music while you complete your mission?"

Bucky handed the phone to her with a smile.

"Sure. I've got another one."

(Y/n)'s facial expression never changed, but even Bucky could see it within her eyes: she was happy.

Bucky could only hope that he, too, could feel as such after his trip.

STORY NOTES: After listening to more music, Steve comes to retrieve Bucky and tell him about what the team had found about the infiltrations. He reveals to Bucky about the diplomacy trip and tech-sharing agreements, and tells Bucky that the team has theorized that Rollins and HYDRA intercepted the delegations and forced them to help HYDRA get in while staying completely undetected. Steve then reveals that Wanda was able to make Rollins reveal where the rest of HYDRA is hiding. Steve then tells Bucky that he is sorry for doubting him and for pushing the rehabilitation program onto him, and Bucky admits that he hated the idea at first. However, now that Bucky knows that he had a hand in her creation, even if it was small, he feels an obligation to help her and commends her for making great progress. Bucky then tells Steve that when the Avengers begin to take down the rest of HYDRA, he will be staying in Wakanda with (Y/n) to continue helping her.

Steve tells Bucky that he is proud of him, and Bucky responds that he has to 'let it go' at some point, meaning the past. Bucky then leaves to go back to the lab, reflecting on the infiltration method that HYDRA used. He then reflects on his feeling of happiness that HYDRA was finally disappearing, and that though there would still be stray agents, hope was still arriving. When Bucky gets back to the lab, he is surprised to find (Y/n) asleep. He thinks on how peaceful (Y/n) looks, and while Bucky doesn't mean to, he begins to quietly guard the woman as she sleeps. He then begins to wonder what (Y/n) would have done and who she would have become if her life hadn't been completely created for her by HYDRA. Bucky reflects on how hard peaceful sleep can be without the presence of nightmares, and though Bucky feels a bit of jealousy for her peaceful sleep, he is happy that she is finally resting.

Suddenly, (Y/n) begins to have a nightmare. Bucky is unsure of what to do, but before he can take action, (Y/n) wakes up abruptly on her own. Bucky comforts her gently, and (Y/n) tells him that she was dreaming. When Bucky inquires about her dream, (Y/n) reveals that she was dreaming about Rebecca. Shocked from her words, Bucky then asks who Rebecca was to (Y/n), and (Y/n) reveals that her and Rebecca had met in the woods. She adds that she believes Rebecca was her friend. (Y/n) then goes on to tell Bucky that while she doesn't remember what she looked like, she remembers her voice and of Rebecca telling her about the flowers and how she missed Bucky. Bucky begins to cry, and (Y/n) is alarmed, thinking that she had somehow hurt him. Bucky leaves the room, and he reflects on his life. He begins to wonder about Rebecca and what she thought about after his supposed death. He then begins to wonder about what his childhood home in Shelbyville now looks like and if the home is still there.

Bucky then begins to reflect on his life after leaving Camp Lenigh in Virginia to move to Brooklyn, and how he met Steve. He thinks about how he tried to rekindle the feeling of sibling connection through Steve, and then wonders if Rebecca ever kept the letters that he would send to her often before his fall from the train. (Y/n) suddenly appears before him, and Bucky is shocked when (Y/n) tries to comfort him in the same way that he had comforted her. He obliges, holding onto her arms, and he becomes grounded before apologizing to (Y/n). (Y/n) then inquires on why Bucky was crying, and he reveals that he was thinking about his little sister. (Y/n) then apologizes to Bucky, telling him that she doesn't know what to do and to tell her how to 'complete her mission'. Bucky becomes confused, and when he asks her what she means, (Y/n) clarifies and says her 'mission to remember and escape HYDRA'. Bucky is floored, but tells her that it was up to her on how to complete her mission. (Y/n) becomes worried, asking him about what will happen if she fails, and Bucky just says that they can try again and he won't give up on her.

(Y/n) becomes surprised and after a moment, she begins to tell Bucky a little bit more about her memories of Rebecca. She reveals that Rebecca had two kids, which makes Bucky begin to silently cry again and happy yet regretful that he had become an uncle. (Y/n) then tells him that Rebecca had told her about the story of when her and Bucky were younger and he would tease her about her fear of bugs while in the woods. However, (Y/n) reveals that she was 'taken away' but doesn't remember anything more after that. Bucky tells her that they could try to remember more later, and (Y/n) asks if she can listen to the music again. Bucky agrees, and then makes a decision to take a trip. He tells this to (Y/n), and when she inquires about it, Bucky tells her that it would be 'for a little while'. (Y/n) asks if she can keep listening to the music while he is gone, and Bucky agrees. End scene.

TRANSLATIONS:

Почему ты плачешь - why are you crying?

Извините, я не знаю, что делать. Пожалуйста... скажите мне, как завершить мою миссию - I'm sorry, I don't know what to do. Please tell me how to complete my mission.

Да - yes

я готов отвечать - I'm ready to comply/I'm ready to answer

Что делать, если я не выполню свою миссию удовлетворительно? - What if i do not complete my mission satisfactorily?

Потом мы можем попробовать снова. Столько раз, сколько потребуется. Я не откажусь от тебя - Then we try again. As many times as it takes. I won't give up on you

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