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lizardboiii · 6 months ago

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At The Tone ┃ DCU

Barry Allen x Spider-Woman!Reader

┃ Summary: Sometimes bad things happen to good people - and that’s where the Justice League comes in. Too bad you weren’t interested.

“Think I forgot how to be happy Something I'm not, but something I can be" Billie Eilish, "What Was I Made For?"

│cw: SFW, alcohol abuse, unhealthy coping mechanisms, grief, hurt/comfort, violent themes

│wc: 3.9k

│chapters: One shot

│notes: This fic has been sitting unfinished (with 2k words!!) in my drafts for a WHILE. randomly decided it needed to see the light of day ig. was gonna make it nsfw but i low key hate it and just wanted too move on oops. enjoy <3

・❥・

│One Shot: At The Tone

You have five new messages.

“Good afternoon, Spider-Woman this is Cla-”

You heard a throat clear.

“It’s Superman. I see you still aren’t picking up any of the team’s calls,” He swallowed thickly, “I understand your recent loss was… hard. Something none of us would have wished for anybody.”

You could feel the tension in his voice.

“Please take all the time you need. The league is more than capable of taking care of New York in your absence for the time being.”

The sound of a pen clicking disrupted the message every so often, “But at least give us some indication you're alive…and well. The team cares about you,” He chuckled warmly, “Even “Mr. I Work Alone” Batman himself.”

His laugh dropped abruptly with a soft sigh, “Call me back when you can.”

Beep

You crawled out of bed slowly, dragging your duvet behind you like a cloak. The plush cotton laid heavy on your shoulders. You wondered if this was how Big Blue felt every morning - the weight of knowing everything depending on him once he bore his iconic red cape.

You knew what that weight felt like, and you knew what it felt like to have it all come crashing down.

You have four new messages

“How’s it hanging, Spidy? Haha, you get it?” A dramatic sigh escaped the machine, “Sorry, poor timing.”

He took a moment to regroup, “It's Green Lantern, just calling to check in. Headquarters has been depressing without you. I mean even Martian Manhunter is down in the dumps. It's a total bummer.”

Another sigh, “Listen you don't have to call me back if you don’t want to, but at least let Flash know you're still alive. He needs you more than he lets on.”

Beep

You groaned at the shrill ring of the answering machine. The outdated tech was too cherished to be discarded but the pulsing headaches you received from it almost outweighed the fond memories of Aunt May.

Thoroughly woken up, you entered your kitchenette. Your eyes shifted between the week old coffee pot on your stove to the half empty Hennessy bottle next to it.

Maybe this time you would make the right choice. A sober evening is a good evening. However, the battle was always rigged to begin with and the winner already predetermined.

The Hennessy felt burdensome in your hand as you took a long swig. It burned violently down your throat, eating at your skin, before finally settling warmly in your stomach. Though you hated to admit it, it satisfied you more than any pot of coffee could.

Staggering to your couch, courtesy of one of New York’s finest sidewalks, you flopped down. The cushions were well used and musty. But who were you to pass up a free couch?

You have three new messages

“Spider-Woman.”

There was a lengthy pause.

“Your recent inactivity has caused some concerns regarding your whereabouts. The league seems to be having a hard time focusing on missions with your absence.”

Bats’ uncertainty leaked through the phone as he thought of his next sentence, “You have my condolences, Webs. However, the league cannot continue to work with this distraction. Please report to the Hall of Justice immediately.”

He hesitated, “We are worried.”

Beep

An involuntary snort escaped you. Bats’ attempt at comfort was interesting to say the least. He was surprisingly awkward for a leader of the Justice League. Though you supposed dark and brooding was his brand.

You have two new message

“Greetings, Spider-Woman, Wonder Woman speaking.”

You could hear muffled arguing in the background.

“Batman may have been a bit…straightforward in that last voicemail,” She attempted a fake laugh, “Please do not mind his bluntness, he is merely just as concerned as the rest of us. In his own way at least.”

A loud slam made her curse under her breath.

“I apologize I must go, the “children” are fighting again. Don’t hesitate to call back. See you soon, Webs.”

Beep

Lifting the liquor to your lips, your brows creased when only a drop hit your tongue. Out already?

You let out an exaggerated sigh before placing the empty bottle on your coffee table. A quick glance at your barren pantry told you everything you needed to know. You’d have to go out and get some more. You felt your face scrunch. That means you have to go out in public.

You weighed your options.

You could stay inside and continue to peacefully hide from the world, but you're guaranteed to sober up eventually.

Or you could make a quick trip to the convenience store down the road and pray the minimum wage employee can’t smell the alcohol on you from a mile away.

You hummed thoughtfully. Though, now that you think about it, there’s a off chance you might run into the supe that’s covering your city for the time being. Then again, there’s a very high chance it’s not someone from the Justice League, a member from The Team at best.

Massaging your forehead, you tried to remember the last time a Justice League member took a leave of absence. A blonde goatee flashed in your mind.

That’s right. Green Arrow was out for a while when he got busted up pretty bad. His protégé, Speedy, ended up babysitting Star City in his absence. You bit your lip.

But you didn’t have one of those anymore.

You have one new message

“Hey Webs! Sent me to voicemail again, huh?”

An awkward laugh made the machine crackle.

“Just calling to check up on you. How are you doing? Feeling alright? Just say the word and I can grab you anything from anywhere. I mean literally anywhere. They don’t call me the fastest man alive for nothing!”

You could practically hear the large smile embedded on his face.

A large sigh passed through the speaker, “It’s been a month now. The team misses you…I miss you. A lot actually.”

He paused.

“Just call me back alright? I need to know if you're okay.”

Beep

Your hand paused over your front door handle. Flash’s deep voice was like a siren's call, beckoning you in.

What you’d give to turn around. What you'd do to call him back. It took everything in you to force yourself away from his voice.

Your best friend.

Your confidant.

Your everything.

You have zero new messages

・❥・

You weaved through the bustling sidewalk with a slight wobble, managing to dodge a third of the people you almost crashed into. Night was quickly approaching. That meant the streets were only going to get busier.

More people = More crime = More superheroes.

Fumbling into a dimly lit alley, you avoided Main Street completely. It was too risky. Even in your civilian disguise there was no guarantee your voice wouldn’t be recognized - mainly by your teammates but especially by… Flash.

You recalled how often you sought each other out in the Hall of Justice. Whether it was meddling in the business of others, or simply enjoying the company of one another.

His hand always seemed to find its way to the small of your back. Gently resting. While his thumb delicately circled the thin fabric of your suit.

He leaned in closer than he should. The dull smell of his cologne inevitably picked up by your heightened senses.

It wasn't how friends should behave - but that's all you ever were. Friends.

Thwack!

You slammed yourself against one of the side walls in surprise, extinguishing your mind of complex thoughts. Creeping closer, you cursed in your head when harsh thumps and muffled grunting filled the air.

“Where’s my money, Huey?”

Crack!

“I-I don’t know! Please!”

Whack!

You recognized the tell-tale sound of blood splattering against the ground, akin to paint splashing. The sound made you nauseous. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you thought of your next move.

Now, on any normal occasion you’d swing in all heroic and save the day. But today was different. You were different.

Excuses flooded your brain as you tried to explain to yourself why you felt little desire to help the abused man.

Your suit was at home crammed somewhere in between an ugly Christmas sweater and a latex bodysuit you practically begged Cat Woman not to give you.

Even if you had the energy, you were still considered MIA to the league. You’d basically be spoon feeding them your location.

Your internal dilemma didn’t last long as the pummeling swiftly came to an end. Peaking around the corner, you watched the assistants retreat into an adjacent alley. They moved lazily. Clearly they didn’t expect to be caught.

You could still catch them.

You found yourself making an internal description. Two Caucasian males both wearing black beanies and disgustingly outdated puffer jackets. The taller one sported purple and green. While the shorter preferred yellow.

Your foot shifted before you felt yourself hesitate. Maybe you shouldn’t. They’d probably be caught soon enough anyways.

If anything, the supe covering your city would swoop in and haul their asses to the local jail. Especially when you called an ambulance for the man who was passed out on the ground. It would put this area on tonight's map. You sighed and finally allowed yourself to relax.

This was fine.

Everything was fine.

Shifting your eyes to the ground, you located the poor soul who suffered the attack. His breathing was ragged and wet. You were quick to put two fingers on his neck, checking for a pulse. A wave of relief crashed through you when you felt a steady beating.

Pulling out your phone, you immediately dialed 911 and requested an ambulance, anonymously of course. You stayed with the man until you could hear loud sirens growing closer. Your sign to leave.

Exiting the alleyway, you reached the small convenience store in record time. The adrenaline in your system was starting to make quick work of the alcohol in your bloodstream.

You could feel your senses beginning to come back. Eyes clearer. Ears sharper. You could practically hear the heartbeats of everyone in the store.

Groaning at your misfortune, you beelined for the alcohol section in the back. My god was it beautiful. Itching to return home, you grabbed a random bottle that had the highest percentage. Taste didn’t matter. Only the effect.

Glancing at your selection you choked on your own spit. 30 dollars?? The glass bottle was swiftly put back as you grabbed the cheapest one you could find. Tucking the Shitty K under your arm, you turned to walk to the register.

“PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP, OLD MAN.”

You froze. Extending your neck out, you caught a glimpse of the register.

Purple, green, and yellow.

You had to be fucking kidding.

You watched as the two assailants from the alley held the elderly cashier at gunpoint. His form shook like a leaf.

“Please! Just take the money and leave!”

You caught his eyes as he begged for his life. Tear filled and shaking. You could have prevented this. If you would have just stopped them when you had the chance none of this would have happened.

You could have saved the man in the alley. Saved the poor cashier.

You could have saved Uncle Ben too.

Your eyes watered. Fucking pathetic mistake. What the hell were you doing? You weren’t a teenager anymore. You were a grown adult who should have learned from your mistakes by now.

Shifting your eyes from the vodka to him, you pressed your lips in a thin line. You didn’t know what hurt more. The fact that you were repeating past mistakes or the fact that you wanted to take the more expensive alcohol and leave unnoticed.

When did you become this?

No wonder you let Spider-Girl die.

You needed a drink. Desperately.

Abruptly, a whiplash of red and yellow snatched you from your daydream. The streaking shape blew over the newspaper stand before spinning around the starstruck perpetrators. You knew those McDonald's colors from anywhere.

Kid Flash.

Like any speedster, he removed the gun in milliseconds before tying up the confused robbers. They stood no chance against the meta-human.

Dusting off his hands, Kid Flash smiled smugly at the dumbfounded duo, “Guns aren’t currency, you know?”

The man in yellow thrashed violently, “What the hell-Kid Flash!? Why are you in New York? Spidey taking a break or something?”

You cringed.

Kid Flash’s boyish voice laughed awkwardly, “Something like that.”

You need to get out of here. Now.

Slowly backing into the aisle, you clenched your teeth when your elbow hit the shelf. The bottles tinked in a symphony, altering everyone in the store of your presence. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Instantly, you snatched your coat hood and covered your face and hair. Staring into the grime covered tiles, you prayed Kid Flash wouldn’t think too much of it.

“Hello?”

Of course. The one time he’s actually thorough.

“Are you alright?”

Bright yellow boots came into your vision as you tried to conceal yourself further. You hunched into yourself with clenched fists. Mistaking your actions for something else, Kid Flash placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, hey it’s okay! You don’t have to be sacred!”

You bite into your lip eager to escape the conversation, “I’m not. Please let go.”

Kid Flash laughed, sounding a little too similar to Flash in your opinion. Removing his hand from your shoulder, he stood next to you with his hands on his hips.

“Then why are you hiding?” A red glove entered your vision. It was headed straight for your hood.

You slapped his hand away, “Didn’t your parents tell you not to talk to strangers.”

He shrugged, “That rule doesn’t really apply to superheroes.”

You couldn’t contain the breathy laugh that left your throat. You hate to admit it but you actually really missed the kid.

However, you failed to realize your mistake. If anyone knew your laugh it was Kid Flash. You spent way too much time around him and Flash for him not too.

There was a long pause.

“…Webs?”

You flinched hard, “Wrong person.” You internally cursed at yourself for the obvious slur in your voice.

“Are you drunk?”

“…No.”

His hand grabbed your upper arm tightly, “Where have you been? Are you okay?”

You gently pulled against his hold, attempting to break free without force, “I’m fine.”

“No you aren’t,” Kid Flash raised his hand to his ear piece, “Just let me notify Flash-”

“NO!”

Your arm flew up to the communicator without thought. Taking advantage of his surprise, you were able to snatch the high tech earpiece from his loosen grip.

“Hey!”

Kid Flash grabbed at you. His lanky limbs attempting to reclaim his lost device, “Let go!”

“You let go!” You shoved his face away with the palm of your hand.

Kid Flash merely continued to grab at the air around you, “Never!”

If this was any other situation you would have laughed. The pair of you looked like children fighting over the last dessert.

However, this wasn't just any situation. This situation involved Flash.

“Listen to your elders you brat!” Finally, after a well fought struggle, you managed to hold the device out of arm's reach. A much needed success after the month you've had-

“Webs?”

You halted in your tracks.

The small communicator in your hand blinked on and off, identifying an unstable signal.

“Webs is that you?” Flash was urgent, “Wait there! I'm coming-”

You crushed the device in your hand. Terrified.

Small fragments engraved themselves into your skin, dotting your hand red. What have you done?

“Batman’s gonna kill you for that, you know?” Kid Flash laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood.

You frowned, uninterested in entertaining him. Kid Flash merely smiled awkwardly. It was evident the boy was taken aback by your unusually serious demeanor.

The thought didn't take up much space in your mind. You could only think of one thing. When would Flash decide to appear out of thin air?

As if conjuring the hero, a red bolt flew through the mostly empty convenience store. The glass doors shook from the force. While newspapers scattered through the air, Vogue landed atop the cashier's head.

Though he moved faster than the speed of light, he stood before you still. Unmoving. It was as if you might fade away if he got too close.

“Webs,” His voice was laced with reverence.

Your mouth went dry, “Flash.”

The tension between the two of you was thick enough to cut with a knife, suffocating you. Maybe this was how Flash planned to get back at you for ignoring him. Slowly killing you with hypoxia. A metaphorical death pertaining to how he felt during your absence.

“Woah, this just got really awkward.”

Kid Flash’s voice suddenly reminded you of his presence. He swayed uncomfortably. Trapped between you and Flash.

The younger male pointed his thumbs at the door, “Should I leave…or?”

“Yes.”

Startled at your synchronous voices, Kid Flash quickly shuffled toward the door, “Alright. See you later?”

Flash nodded his head in response, ushering his protégé away. Kid Flash couldn't leave fast enough. Magazines, once again disturbed, twirled around the ground from where he left.

You stared at the loose paper. Preferring the sight of perfume ads then whatever expression Flash held. From the corner of your eye you should see him shift. He moved with unease. Your mouth curled slightly. He never was able to stop moving for long.

“Webs, I-”

You cut him off, “I’m sorry.”

Flash furrowed his brows in confusion, “You don’t need to apologize. It's not your fault.”

“But it is,” You clenched your teeth in frustration, “It's always been my fault.”

The taller male crossed the space between you hesitantly. You flinched when he placed his large hands on your shoulders, completely engulfing them.

“It wasn't your fault, Webs. Nobody could have known.”

“I could have saved her,” you finally met his gaze, “I was right there.”

You saw his eyes widen slightly, clearly used to your masked form more than your real face.

Your name spilled from his lips.

Not just Webs - your name.

You took a shaky breath, “Barry.”

The name was foreign on your tongue. You had tried to keep your personal life separate from hero work. Though that only lasted a year. Barry managed to weasel his way into your home life before you knew it.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

Barry’s hands slid from your shoulders down to your hands, caressing them softly. “Believe me when I say this,” He took a deep breath, “I’ve been in your position before. We all have.”

Breaking eye contact, your stare bore into the wall of cheap booze, “I know.”

“And I know,” He cupped your cheek, “That drinking away your problems won’t help. It only makes it worse.”

You bit your lip, “I just want to forget.”

“I know. God, I know. I want to go back and change that day every time I open my eyes,” He placed his head in the crook of your neck, “But I've been down that road before. And it's not sustainable.”

Your eyes felt hot, your throat dry, “I don’t know what to do.”

Barry pulled your smaller frame into his arms, “No one does.”

You sunk into his embrace, inhaling his scent.

“Let me take you home, Webs.”

“Okay.”

・❥・

You held tightly onto Barry, arms circling his neck, as he brought you home. You had barely enough time to blink before you were standing in front of your apartment’s door.

Barry hesitantly let you down from his hold. Though his arm stayed wrapped around your waist for support. You gave him a gentle smile as a thank you.

Unlocking your door, you were immediately reminded of the state of your apartment. Dirty laundry and loose items scattered the floor.

Shame crept up your neck. The uncaring attitude towards your humble abode seemingly disappeared.

Barry entered slowly, taking in the messy state. His eyes were quickly drawn to the empty bottles strewn about your floor. Unsurprisingly, he began to pick one up. Then another. And another. You snapped when he started to replace your trash bag.

“Barry.”

His head whipped toward you, only focusing on you.

“That's enough,” You tried grabbing the bag from him, “You don’t need to.”

Barry held onto the plastic tightly, “I want to.”

You shook your head, “It's my mess. Leave it.”

“No.”

You jolted in surprise at his commanding tone, “Why?”

He tossed the bag to the side, “Why?”

Laughing dryly, he shook his head, “Why not? Why wouldn't I take care of you?”

You averted your gaze, “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“But you do,” his voice was imbued with desperation, “If you didn’t, I wouldn't have spent a month doing everything in my power to find you!”

Your face felt hot, “I didn't ask you too!”

Barry closed in the space between you, “You didn't have too!”

You weren't sure when the tears began to pour down your cheeks, “I never wanted you too! I just want to be alone! Why can’t you let me be?”

“Because I can't let you be!” Barry’s hand slammed down on your tiny island counter, “You're all I think about! From the moment I wake up to the time I go to sleep, all I know is you. I would rather you hate me for the rest of my life just to see you for a moment than ever ignore you.”

You felt like a deer in headlights, “What?”

“That day when Spider-Girl died,” He gripped the counter, slightly cracking it under the force, “I felt like I lost a piece of you too. And I could bear it.”

You felt like you lost your breath when Barry met your gaze again. His eyes were laced with anguish. Bloodshot rims already forming.

“I know you're hurting. I know what I am experiencing is nothing compared to what you are going through,” He searched your eyes, “But I'm in love with you! And I have been for as long as I can remember.”

The start of a cry made his voice waver, “And this is definitely poor timing for a confession, but I can’t lose you-”

You weren't exactly sure which one of your muscles was still intact enough for you to move. However, the feeling of plush lips against your own thwarted any other thought.

Barry stood rigid for a moment. Hands clenched at his sides. Then, he dominated the kiss like his life depended on it. His hands held onto your waist tightly, before slowly making their way to your face. You couldn't remember the last time you felt this happy.

Pulling away, you took shallow breaths, “I love you.”

Barry smiled and swiped a loose teardrop from your cheek, “I love you too.”

The warm moment didn't last long. Your mind was quick to remind you that there was a reason Barry had to confess in a messy studio apartment rather than someplace special. That reason was because you were broken.

You pressed you mouth into a thin line, “Do you still want me even if-”

“I want you no matter what,” Barry didn’t allow you to get another word in, “We can go through this together.”

He placed a soft kiss on your forehead, “You're not alone, Webs. You never were.”

You swallowed hard, “Together?”

"Together."

・❥・

#dcu x reader #dcu x mcu #dc universe #justice league #barry allen x reader #barry allen #wally west #the flash #flash x reader #kid flash #young justice #dealing with grief #grieving #unhealthy coping mechanisms #hurt/comfort

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 10 months ago

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A Friend In Need’s A Friend Indeed — Azriel x Cassian.

Summary: Azriel’s been mighty stressed recently. Cassian is a good friend with a good suggestion and a good mouth.

Note: I still haven’t had a chance to sort out my tag lists, I’m sorry. This has been sitting in my drafts for ages. Life has been so busy recently 😅

Warnings: Smut, 18+, minors dni. 💕

It’s clear to Cassian, the second he walks into the room, that the shadowsinger is in a foul mood.

In all honesty, Azriel has been in a foul mood all week.

He’s not very good at striking a work-life balance. Missions and reports and information flood his thoughts and keep him awake at night. They have done every night this week.

So when Cassian slumps down in the armchair opposite his, he eyes his friend and knows — Azriel is not going to be pleasant company tonight.

His brow is deeply furrowed and darkened as he stares down at the papers in his hands. Cassian considers asking him what, exactly, the report pertains to — but he selfishly decides that the information will numb his brain, and he doesn’t think he can bear to hear it right now. Whatever. Az doesn’t even glance up at him.

So Cass pours himself a drink and settles into the chair. And only after the fifth time Azriel sighs — yes, he’s counting — does he ask, “Long day?”

Az simply grunts and turns the page. This is going to be a long night.

"You look like you could use a drink," the Illyrian General pauses. "Or ten."

No reply.

Cass says, "Az."

"What, Cassian?"

"Why don't you put those papers down and have a conversation? Or better yet, let's go to Rita's—"

"I'm busy."

Cassian purses his lips. “The world isn’t going to end if you set your work aside for the night.”

“Your world is going to end if you don’t stop yapping in my ear,” Azriel pauses, scans the paper — and then growls, chucking it onto the coffee table in front of them both. “This is fucking pointless.”

Maybe Cass should ask, he thinks. He studies his friend. “What is it, exactly, that’s had you in such a foul mood all week?”

Azriel’s bleary hazel eyes merely flick up to him; clearly he doesn’t appreciate the observation. Dark smudges sit beneath his eyes. His entire body, shadows and all, is coiled tightly. Tense.

Oh. Oh. A fight, Cassian realises — a fight is what’s going to take the edge off. Goading Az, provoking him…he’s done it more times than he can count in centuries of friendship. Letting him get a few punches in will surely ease the tension. Cass is willing to do that for him.

“You’ve just been a rain cloud of fucking doom all week,” he smirks as the shadowsinger stiffens even more. “Perhaps you need to get laid. Although, no one will surely come near you while you’re walking around with a face like a slapped ass.”

Cassian waits for his retort. For him to surge forward and knock him out of the chair, or for him to demand that they go right up to the training rings at once and speak through their fists, considering Cass clearly has a lot to say.

But Azriel’s jaw ticks, and he merely shoots back, “Suck my dick, Cassian.”

The mischief almost winks out of Cass’s eyes. Almost. It’s not the response he’s expecting.

But he rights himself and sits up, his smirk widening. “Is that what it will take to cheer you up, Az? Getting your cock between my lips? When was the last time someone sucked you dry?”

The irritated twitching of Azriel’s eye tells Cassian that it’s been way, way too long since someone sucked him dry. And that shocks Cass. Az has many lovers dotted about the city — many different people he could lose himself in for a couple of hours. If he’s not even tearing himself away from his stress for some mindless pleasure, it must be bad.

“Cauldron,” Cassian raises an eyebrow. “Maybe I should suck your dick.”

There’s no response. Not even a bark for him to fuck off. Azriel simply shifts in his armchair and clutches a cushion to his lap.

And Cass tracks the movement. He narrows his eyes on that cushion, and it takes him a shamefully delayed moment to realise that it’s been very deliberately placed there. He chokes out a laugh, “Holy shit, are you hard?”

“I wouldn’t be,” Az grits his teeth, “if you’d just shut the fuck up and stop talking about sucking my dick. It’s been a while, okay? I’m wound up.”

“…And is your hand not working, or…”

“It’s not enough. I’ve tried. I can’t…I can’t come.”

Silence settles between them. For once, Cassian isn’t quite sure what to say.

And perhaps Az is expecting him to make a joke, because he shakes his head and quickly stands. Grabs his reports. Makes to book it the fuck out of there.

But Cass says, “Wait.”

“Forget it, Cass—”

“I’m not laughing at you, Az,” he sits up. “You know I’ll always help you in any way that I can.”

Azriel scoffs. “What, like sucking my dick?”

“Why not?”

“Can you be fucking serious for five minutes.”

Cass shrugs, “I’m completely serious.”

Azriel stares back at him, narrowing his eyes. But the usual humour and banter…it’s absent. His face is open, honest.

He’s serious, Az realises. Completely serious.

The shadowsinger raises an eyebrow. “Cass…”

“Are you saying no?”

“…Well, no—”

“So sit down, Az.”

The choice is entirely Azriel’s, and the shadowsinger himself knows that. He can sit down and…and take what Cass is offering…or he can walk out of here and leave that boundary unbreached.

It feels a little surreal as his feet begin moving. Back over to the chair he’d vacated.

He thinks he might be shaking, which is weird, but sex and all that it involves tends to come naturally to Az. But in five centuries, it’s a line that he and Cassian have never crossed. They’ve seen each other naked plenty of times. They’ve fucked other people in the same room. It’s never come to this.

Until now.

Azriel watches as Cassian rises from his chair and stalks over. He can’t believe he’s actually doing this, can’t believe Cassian is actually offering.

But there’s nothing but sheer will in the General’s eyes as he sinks to his knees. Azriel parts his legs for him.

He swallows hard as Cass drags his hands up his legs. And his voice comes out in a rasp as he says, “You don’t have to do this—”

“Az?” Cass cuts him off.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and enjoy it.”

He can hardly argue with that. And as Cassian unlaces Azriel’s breeches and tugs them apart, the spymaster isn’t sure he’d be able to find the words, anyway.

Cassian’s hand is huge and warm and rough and callused. And as he reaches into Az’s breeches and pulls his hardened cock out, both males let out a little breath.

“Oh, yeah,” Cass eyes the rigid length, the swollen head, leaking with moisture. “You really need this.”

Azriel’s response dies on his tongue at the first stroke. He can only manage a grunt.

“Whatever you need, Az,” Cassian pumps his hand, dipping his head. “Fuck my mouth. I can take it.”

And then, gripping Azriel’s cock in his hand, he drags a broad stroke of his tongue, from the base to the head. Azriel’s hips jerk.

“Shit,” he grits his teeth, eyes intently on Cassian’s tongue.

Cassian smiles and does it again, “Like that?”

“Yeah. Yes. Can you…”

“Put you in my mouth?” as his tongue once again reaches the head, he wraps his mouth around it and hums his approval. He laps at that little pearl of moisture that’s waiting there.

“Fuck, Cass,” Azriel gasps. He relaxes in the seat, fingers sinking into Cassian’s hair.

Cass realises quickly that he enjoys this. He’s had the odd experience with males over the years, but it’s mostly females that take his fancy. But this — feeling Azriel’s cock disappear into his mouth, feeling his thigh flex under his hand, feeling him jerking and writhing on the spot — gods above, he’s so fucking hard right now.

His lips and tongue seem to work in tandem. He drags his mouth over Azriel’s length, licking and sucking as he goes. And then he pulls his lips off him and repeats.

Azriel’s breaths are picking up. This is so much better than his hand. He actually feels like he might come, and not just be beating away at pleasure that never comes to anything. He moans, pulling at the strands of Cassian’s hair. And at the same time, he uses his other hand to push Cass’s head down.

“Gods, Cass, your mouth,” he growls, encouraging the bobbing motion that Cassian’s head falls into. With every push, Cass takes him in deeper, deeper.

And with saliva dripping from his chin, and the head of Az’s dick damn near grazing the back of his throat, a single thought crosses Cassian’s mind: he really likes sucking cock.

“Harder,” Az grunts, not even sure he means to say it. But he just wants…wants Cass to be rough. Wants this to be teetering on the edge of pleasured pain.

But Cass pulls his cock out of his mouth, wrapping his hand around the length. He pumps fast, hard, and then says, “Fuck my mouth, Az.”

The second Cassian’s lips are wrapping around him again, Azriel does exactly that.

He’s lifting his hips and gripping Cassian’s head with both hands, and he thrusts, hard, panting and sweating and swearing. Cassian takes it all like a champ, greedily swallowing every taste of him. His hands grip the back of Azriel’s legs, and he slides his mouth all the way down.

And this time, when the head hits the back of his throat, Azriel stills.

“Fuck!” He shouts, groans, gasps, roars. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

His cock is absolutely exploding. A week’s worth of pent-up frustration shoots from him and spills down Cassian’s throat. Cass swallows. And swallows. And swallows. Every last drop. He moans while doing so.

Az thinks his hips are still rolling long after his release has rocked him. He can’t bring himself to let go of the pleasure, to remove his cock from his friends mouth. It twitches on Cassian’s tongue and dribbles the remnants of his seed with every jerk. Cassian stares up at him with swollen lips and lustful eyes.

And then, after what feels like an eternity, the two males finally part. Both are breathing heavily. Cassian wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“That was—” Azriel swallows, tucking himself back into his breeches. He doesn’t bother to lace them up. “When did you learn to do that?”

Cassian’s smirk is purely roguish as he pushes to his feet. “I’ve learned a whole lot of things you can’t even begin to imagine,” he rolls his shoulders. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Az watches him, his eyes falling to that hardened bulge that pushes through Cassian’s own trousers. He clearly enjoyed what just occurred. And that thought alone has Az’s cock twitching to life again.

He leans forward, opening his mouth — to say what, to suggest what, he isn’t sure. But before he can voice his desires, footsteps are approaching.

Both males straighten up as Rhys appears in the doorway, a drink in his hand.

The High Lord sniffs, his brow furrowing. And then he looks between his two friends — Az’s unlaced breeches and heaving chest. Cassian’s swollen lips. He puts two and two together.

“Cauldron fucking boil me,” is all he grouses, and then he’s turning back and leaving the way he came.

Leaving Cassian and Azriel alone once more.

#azriel #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #cassian #cassian acotar #acotar fic #cassian x azriel #smut

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minhosbitterriver · 3 months ago

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──── * ˚ ✦ ECHOES OF US ( stray kids )

❛ After a painful breakup, you and Jeongin struggle to maintain a civil front for your mutual friends, but when he accidentally calls you by your old pet name, unresolved emotions resurface, forcing you both to confront the lingering feelings between you.

𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐣𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧 + gender neutral reader ೯ ( 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 12.6k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 50 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ Say hello to my very first long-fic! It took me an eternity to get this done, but I'm actually very proud of how it turned out! Also, my very rough draft for this was accidentally posted a few days ago, so if you saw that...no you didn't! This was anonymously requested! (Anon, I'm sorry it took me a hot minute to finally finish this, but I hope I made up for it with how long it ended up being 🫠) Reblogs for this teaser are always appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Mentions of sibling death and grief, very brief mention of a dysfunctional home, use of they-them pronouns for Y/N, brief explanation of sibling death, Y/N's sibling has their own name, mentions of being abandoned, heartbreak, awkward re-encounter after almost a year, discussions on mental health, a whole lot of angst, comforting ending, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐣𝐚𝐫 )

When Jeongin stepped through the door he had once shared with you, a sense of dread already coiled tightly around his heart, squeezing with every breath. He knew you'd kept your promise to move out by the end of the week, but the reality of it hit harder than he could have imagined. The front hallway, once cluttered with a chaotic jumble of shoes that you always left haphazardly by the entrance, now stood painfully bare, save for his own neatly aligned row of frequently worn sneakers. The absence of your presence echoed louder than any argument ever had, and suddenly he found himself longing for those moments of trivial annoyance—wishing, with a deep, aching desire, that he could quarrel with you about it just once more.

He kicked off his sneakers, setting them carefully amongst the rest of his now lonely footwear. For a moment, he stood there, hesitant, almost willing to call out your name, hoping against hope that you might answer from the bedroom or kitchen, your voice cutting through the oppressive silence that now smothered the apartment. But he knew better. He moved forward with heavy steps, not even bothering to put on his house slippers. The silence that greeted him as he wandered further inside was a deafening reminder of what he had lost. You were gone, and with you, the vibrant energy that had once filled these walls had vanished too.

The living room—once a collage of your combined tastes—was now stripped of the personal touches that made it home. The furniture remained, the couch where you both had laughed and argued, the coffee table marked with rings from careless mugs of tea during lazy mornings. Yet, all the little decorations, the framed art you insisted on hanging, the plants you’d tried so hard to keep alive—they had all disappeared with you. The emptiness was jarring, like a canvas half-painted and abruptly abandoned, leaving every wall and surface barren, the once warm and cozy atmosphere now reduced to a cold, unfamiliar space.

By the time Jeongin reached the bedroom, the last thread of his fragile composure snapped. The bed—where countless memories had been woven—was stripped down to its bare mattress, the sheets gone. The framed photographs of the two of you were turned face down on the bedside table, as if you couldn’t bear to look at them one last time. His eyes moved to the corner where your ridiculously large collection of stuffed animals had once spilled over, crowding half of the bed. That too was empty now. An overwhelming wave of loss washed over him, dragging him to his knees.

Jeongin's breath came out in shaky gasps as he looked around the hollow shell of what had been your shared sanctuary. You were truly gone. Though he had been the one to end things between you, a decision made in a moment of confusion and pride, he was still hopelessly, painfully in love with you. The realization of his own foolishness crashed over him with unbearable weight, suffocating him in the silence that was once filled with your laughter, your presence, and your love.

Jeongin couldn’t summon a shred of resentment toward you, even if he tried. He understood, all too painfully, that everything that had unraveled between you over the past year was nothing but a sorrowful consequence of your grief. You had once been a soul overflowing with light, always searching for the silver lining amidst the clouds, a spirit who could find a glimmer of hope even in the darkest of times. You, who would often conspire with his mischievous best friend, Seungmin, forming a relentless duo to tease him until he’d feign a pout, forcing you to shower him with kisses until he laughed again. You, who came home every evening brimming with stories about the children you counseled at the school, your eyes alight with passion and care for each of them. All that Jeongin had loved so deeply about you seemed to have been buried alongside your sister, Nari, and this loss was a truth he still grappled with, even now.

As he crawled onto the empty, cold bed that had once been a warm sanctuary for both of you, Jeongin curled into himself, his body folding inward as if trying to shield himself from the harsh reality. His sobs came in ragged waves, tearing through him so violently that he trembled, his breath hitching with each shaky inhale. He missed you more than words could convey—he missed everything about you. The sound of your laughter echoed in his mind like a haunting melody, its tones shifting with your moods: soft and lyrical when merely amused, and loud, unrestrained when joy truly overwhelmed you. He missed those sounds, the ones that used to fill this now desolate space with life and love.

He missed the lazy afternoons you'd spend together, brainstorming new exercises for his music therapy sessions. Those moments would often devolve into impromptu concerts, filled with your carefree, barefoot dancing across the living room floor and his voice following your lead, blending into a harmony of shared happiness. It was in those moments that everything felt right in the world, where nothing existed but the two of you, lost in your own little universe of melodies and movements. He missed those afternoons like one misses the warmth of the sun after too many days of rain.

He missed teasing you in those quiet moments when you were deeply focused, often catching you sticking your tongue out ever so slightly—a quirk of concentration that never failed to endear him. He’d gently pinch it between his fingers, earning himself a mildly exasperated huff as you’d swat his hand away. But he knew that a smile would inevitably creep up on your lips, and you’d turn away to hide it, cheeks flushing with a mix of amusement and affection. It was the kind of simple, tender moment that spoke volumes about the depth of your bond, a bond that now felt irreparably severed.

Every corner of this home whispered memories of you, and he was haunted by them all—the good, the bad, the ones that made him laugh, and especially those that made him cry. Your absence left a void that nothing could fill, a hollow silence where there had once been laughter and love. And even though he knew it was your grief that had driven a wedge between you, he couldn’t help but wish he could find a way back to you, to the person you used to be, and to the love that once made him feel whole.

The night that shattered your world was meant to be a day of celebration: your younger sister Nari’s high school graduation. Jeongin could still see you in his mind's eye that morning, almost vibrating with pure, uncontainable joy. Your eyes were bright, brimming with excitement, and your smile—so wide and beautiful—tugged at his heart each time it graced your lips. Nari was the center of your universe, your pride, your joy, your true soulmate in a world that often felt uncertain and cold. You had been more than just a sister to her; you had been her guardian, her comforter, her everything. You were the one who took on the weight of raising her through the chaotic turmoil of your parents' messy divorce, providing stability where there was none.

Jeongin could recall countless times Nari would recount how you shielded her from the constant, venomous arguments that echoed through your childhood home. Despite your own young age, you found ways to distract her, to pull her out of the chaos—whether it was with whispered jokes or made-up games that filled her mind with something brighter than the screaming. To Nari, you were a star, someone who had hung the moon just for her. She often spoke with a mix of awe and adoration about the afternoons you both spent sneaking into the little ice cream shop on the way home from school, spending hours laughing over melting cones until you were sure your mother had left for work.

Jeongin also remembered the quiet, tender moments he would witness after you had graduated and moved out. Nights when Nari would sleep over, curled up beside you, as if you were her very own safe haven in a world that could be so unforgiving. There was a beauty in how you held her close, how you seemed to provide her with an anchor when everything else felt adrift. Yet, no relationship, no matter how deeply cherished, is without its storms. For as vividly as Jeongin could remember the soft, loving moments, he could just as clearly recall the bitter weeks leading up to Nari's graduation—weeks marked by harsh words and heated arguments.

You and Nari shared many things—your fierce loyalty, your protective instincts—but perhaps most notably, the sharp edge of your words. When tempers flared, both of you possessed a mercilessly cutting tongue that could lash out with a force that left deep, stinging wounds. Jeongin hated those fights, hated the cruel things you would shout at each other in the heat of the moment, words that cut so deeply and yet meant nothing once the anger faded. The conflict had started when Nari began dating an older guy who had already graduated. Neither you nor Jeongin liked him, sensing the danger in his recklessness, his penchant for illegal activities that threatened to drag your sister down a path she wasn't prepared for. But Nari, stubborn and convinced she had found the love of her life, refused to listen. The tension between you both grew unbearable, each argument driving another wedge between you and your beloved sister, and Jeongin could do nothing but stand helplessly on the sidelines, watching as she slowly pushed you away.

The real fracture came on what should have been a night of celebration. Nari was supposed to have dinner with you and Jeongin to celebrate her graduation. She promised to meet you both, to share in the joy of her achievement, but instead, she turned off her phone and ran off with her boyfriend to a party that everyone knew would be dangerous. For hours, you and Jeongin called and texted, reaching out to everyone who might have known where she was, each unanswered ring heightening the tension, every minute stretching into a painful eternity.

And then, the call came—the one that brought your entire world crashing down. Nari had been found dead inside her boyfriend’s car. Both were intoxicated when he decided to drive, his recklessness steering them straight into a tree. The impact killed them both instantly.

Jeongin would never forget the sound that tore through you in that moment, a wail of agony so deep and raw it seemed to shatter the very air around you. It was a sound that would forever echo in his heart, a haunting melody of a love lost too soon and a pain that could never be soothed.

The piercing sound of Jeongin's phone ringing in his back pocket cut through the thick, oppressive fog of memories that had been drowning him ever since he stepped into the cold, empty apartment that was once alive with the warmth of your shared moments. His body still trembled with the aftershocks of his own heartbreak, his face still wet with a cascade of tears that seemed endless. For a moment, he considered ignoring it, letting it fade away into the void of everything else that felt lost to him. But something compelled him to move, to reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. The screen flashed with a name: Chan.

Jeongin’s first instinct was to let it ring out. He wasn’t sure he could bear the gentle, pity-laden concern he knew he would hear in Chan’s voice. The idea of facing someone else’s worry, of being forced to articulate the emptiness clawing at his chest, felt like too much. But he also knew that Chan wasn’t just calling for the sake of it—he was worried. Maybe that thought, the notion that someone still cared enough to reach out, was what finally convinced Jeongin to answer. With a shaky breath, he pressed the phone to his ear.

“Yes?” His voice came out rough and broken, as if he’d swallowed shards of glass, a hoarse rasp that even he barely recognized. On the other end, there was a sharp intake of breath, a small hitch that spoke volumes, followed by the sound of Chan clearing his throat in that awkward, nervous way he had when he didn’t know how to approach a delicate subject.

“Hey, how are you holding up?” Chan’s voice was gentle, tentative, as if afraid that anything more might cause Jeongin to shatter completely. The simple question, so innocuous yet loaded with care, brought fresh tears to Jeongin’s eyes. He swallowed thickly, trying to keep his composure, not wanting to add more weight to Chan’s worry.

“As well as I can be...everything is gone.” The words felt heavy on his tongue, sinking like stones into the silence that followed. There was a sigh on the other end, deep and empathetic, filled with an understanding that was both comforting and unbearable.

“I’ll stop by later, yeah?” Chan’s offer came with a note of encouragement, trying to lift the heavy blanket of despair. “I can bring Minho so he can cook you some food, and we can figure out what comes next.” There was kindness in his words, an attempt to pull Jeongin from the pit he’d found himself in, but the weight pressing on Jeongin’s chest didn’t budge, didn’t ease in the slightest.

“Maybe another time, Channie, thank you,” Jeongin murmured, his voice carrying the exhaustion of someone who had been running a losing race against his own emotions. “I think I just need a few days alone.” The silence that stretched between them after was telling, thick with Chan’s unspoken disapproval. Jeongin could almost see the frown on his friend’s face, the way he’d be chewing on his lip, holding back what he really wanted to say.

Eventually, Chan spoke again, his tone carefully measured, almost as if he were walking on eggshells. “Right. Um, hey...Felix wanted to pay Y/N a visit to make sure everything’s alright and to help with the moving. The problem is, none of us really know where they moved, and we thought that maybe they might’ve told you or something?”

The mention of your name was like a punch to the gut, a sharp twist of the knife that had already been embedded in his heart. Jeongin’s breath caught, and he could feel his throat tightening, the sting of tears threatening to spill over once more. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to stay composed, to not break apart all over again.

“No,” he sighed after a moment, rolling onto his back and staring up at the empty, featureless ceiling that seemed to stretch on like an abyss. “I thought you guys would’ve known... but maybe Y/N needs some time alone for a while too. I’m sure they’ll call when they’re ready.”

The words felt hollow, a brittle hope that tasted more like ash on his tongue, but it was all he could offer. And in the silence that followed, Jeongin could only listen to the faint sound of Chan’s breathing, the weight of their shared helplessness settling in like a cold, unwelcome presence in the room.

Jeongin had clung to a fragile hope that, in time, you would reach out to the circle of friends who had once been your shared lifeline. He never imagined that you would confide in him directly—he knew all too well that the pain of his departure still festered like an open wound. You had made it painfully clear how much you resented him for breaking things off when you needed him most. He could still hear your voice, raw with anger and hurt, echoing in his mind as you stormed out of the apartment for the last time.

But never in his darkest nightmares had he expected you to vanish completely, as if swallowed by the earth itself. There wasn't even a whisper of your whereabouts, not the faintest trace left behind to hint at where you might have gone. It was as if you had been erased from existence. When you left, you didn't just walk out of Jeongin's life—you walked away from everything that had tied you to this place. You resigned from your job as a school counselor, the one located just a short distance from Jeongin’s apartment where you had once found solace in guiding young lives through their own turmoil. Your phone number had changed, your social media accounts lay abandoned and untouched, gathering digital dust like forgotten relics of a past life.

For what felt like an eternity, each member of your once tightly-knit group of friends wore the weight of worry like a second skin, tirelessly searching for any sign of you, some confirmation that you were still out there, somewhere, still breathing. Nights were spent in hushed conversations and whispered theories, each one more desperate than the last, wondering if you were even alive. The silence you left in your wake was deafening, a void that consumed every bit of hope they tried to hold onto.

Yet, as the months dragged on and there was still no word—no signal, no letter, not even a single fleeting message—Jeongin and the others were forced to confront a harsh new reality. The absence of your presence became a palpable thing, a hollow emptiness that settled in their chests. Slowly, reluctantly, they began to understand that they might never see you again. And in that painful understanding, they had no choice but to piece together their broken hearts and try, however feebly, to move forward.

But even as they moved on, a part of Jeongin remained anchored in that lingering silence, waiting for the day it would finally break.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Eight months had passed since you vanished without a word, leaving behind a void that swallowed everything and everyone you once knew. Jeongin found himself seated on a low stool in the center of his sunlit office, a space designed to cradle broken spirits. The room was filled with warmth, the soft, earth-toned walls bathed in a gentle, golden glow that made it feel like a sanctuary amidst the chaos. Around him, cushions were scattered like islands of comfort, and the soft hum of a guitar rested against his body, its strings vibrating gently with each subtle shift of his calloused fingers.

In front of him, a small group sat in a circle, each person a vessel of silent sorrow. Some had their eyes shut tight, trying to shut out the world, while others stared ahead, their gazes distant, lost in the labyrinth of their own pain. Today’s session was centered around grief—a familiar theme that Jeongin had come to understand all too well. His eyes swept over the group, his expression soft and understanding, a silent invitation for them to share their burdens. Directly across from him, a young woman who had recently lost her mother sat rigid, her shoulders taut as bowstrings, her fingers anxiously picking at the frayed edge of her sleeve. Beside her, an elderly man kept his gaze fixed on his wrinkled hands, folded so tightly in his lap it seemed as if he was afraid he might fall apart if he let go.

Jeongin's fingers began to dance over the guitar strings, coaxing out a few gentle notes that floated through the room like a soft breeze on a warm day. The melody was simple, almost like a lullaby—tender and soothing, a soft hand reaching out in the enveloping darkness. It was a song he had crafted with your help, your voice whispering in his mind, guiding the melody with your mesmerizing ideas and gentle critiques. He tried not to think of you now, of the countless hours you'd spent together creating this very piece, but the memory lingered like a ghost.

“Let’s take a deep breath,” he murmured, his voice a low hum that barely rose above the delicate strumming. “Breathe in... and out. Feel the music as it moves through you.” His voice was smooth and warm as he began to sing, threading through the air like a comforting embrace. The lyrics were a balm for weary souls, speaking of finding peace amid the storm, of a quiet place where one could lay down their burdens. He watched the room with quiet intent, observing as the music began to weave its subtle magic.

The young woman’s shoulders, once so tense, began to loosen ever so slightly, her breath easing into a more natural rhythm. The elderly man’s grip on his hands softened, his fingers unclenching as if the melody had given him permission to let go, if only for a moment. Jeongin’s heart ached as he shifted the melody into a new key, a hint of melancholy now woven into the notes. His voice leaned into the emotion, allowing it to crack and falter in just the right places, like a mirror reflecting the fractures of a breaking heart.

He knew the power of those small imperfections—the way a slight fracture in the music could resonate with the cracks in a person’s soul, giving them the courage to confront their own pain. The room felt heavy with unspoken sorrow, yet somehow lighter, too, as if each note was drawing out a little of the darkness from within. And as he continued to sing, Jeongin allowed himself to feel the weight of his own grief, letting it pour into the song, knowing that sometimes, in the quiet beauty of shared pain, there was a kind of healing.

Moments later, a soft sob broke the fragile silence. The young woman's face crumpled as she brought a trembling hand to her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks in rivulets that caught the light. Jeongin’s heart ached for her, a deep, familiar pain unfurling in his chest. His mind flashed back to countless moments where he had seen that same expression etched across your own face—the anguish, the vulnerability. But he didn’t stop playing. Instead, he allowed the melody to swell, his fingers coaxing the guitar strings through the dark waters of sorrow and guiding them back toward a glimmer of hope, like a lighthouse in a storm.

“Let it out,” he murmured, his voice a soft, comforting undertone to the music. “There’s no need to hold back here.” His words were a gentle invitation, a permission to release the emotions that had been held back for far too long. And as if on cue, the room filled with the raw sounds of grief—soft, stifled sobs, muffled cries, the quiet sniffles of those who had long forgotten how to weep openly. Jeongin continued to play, his music becoming a vessel for their pain, a safe harbor where tears could flow without shame or judgment.

Across the circle, he caught a glimpse of the elderly man, his head bowed low, his lips quivering as he mouthed the words of the song. His eyes were squeezed shut, as if trying to ward off a memory too painful to face. Jeongin’s gaze softened, and he let the melody shift, his fingers moving with practiced ease into something softer, gentler—like a lull after the fury of a storm. Each note was deliberate, a quiet caress to soothe the raw edges of the room's collective sorrow. He watched as the weight of grief began to lift, ever so slightly, and the room took a deep breath, exhaling the heaviness that had clung to them like a shadow.

When the final note faded into the stillness, Jeongin let the silence settle, heavy but not suffocating. He set his guitar down gently, his eyes meeting each person’s in turn, offering a silent acknowledgment of their pain. “Thank you for sharing this space with me,” he said, his voice a soft balm even as his own heart bore the scars of past regrets. Too often did Jeongin lose sleep over how he, despite his profession, had failed to help you through your own grief. “Grief is heavy, but together, we can carry it, even if just for a moment.”

The young woman wiped at her tears, her face still etched with the rawness of her emotions, but in her eyes, there was a faint spark—a glimmer of relief, as if, for the first time in a long while, she felt a little less alone. The elderly man’s shoulders sagged, a heavy breath escaping his lips, as though a burden had been lifted, if only for a moment. Jeongin offered a small, gentle smile, a subtle curve of his lips that spoke of understanding and quiet encouragement. He picked up his guitar again, fingers brushing against the strings with a familiar, comforting touch.

“How about we end with something light?” he suggested, strumming a few upbeat chords, his eyes brightening with a hint of mischief. “Maybe a song that reminds us of hope. Even when it’s hard to see, it’s always there… waiting for us.” His words hung in the air like a promise, a tender reminder that there was light even in the darkest of places.

And so, with his voice soft but steady, Jeongin led them into another song—one that spoke of healing, of finding strength in the most shattered places, and of a quiet, enduring joy that could bloom even in the darkest seasons of life. This was a song Jeongin had written and composed in the wake of your absence, in the silence that followed your sudden departure. It was a song born of hope, crafted in those long months of not knowing, a song he had always dreamed of sharing with you. And as he sang, he let that hope fill the room, weaving through the notes, a quiet, resilient thread that held the promise of brighter days.

Nearly thirty minutes had passed since the group therapy session had officially ended, but Jeongin's office was still filled with the quiet shuffling of his patients gradually making their way out. This wasn't unusual; some of them often lingered, seeking a few more moments to connect or share their thoughts, and Jeongin never minded. He found these moments invaluable—an opportunity to touch base, to offer a final bit of encouragement or reassurance.

As Jeongin turned to watch the last patient leave, he was surprised to find his friend Changbin leaning against the doorframe. Changbin’s muscular arms were crossed over his broad chest, his eyes twinkling with a mix of admiration and amusement. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and it only grew wider when Jeongin’s gaze finally met his. "Bin," Jeongin greeted with a slight bow, his dimples appearing as he returned his friend's smile. He moved toward his desk on the opposite end of the room, a space that served as both his office and a therapy room within the clinic.

Without waiting for an invitation, Changbin followed him, settling himself comfortably into the leather chair meant for Jeongin. With a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, Jeongin let out a small huff of amusement at his friend's antics. He took a seat in one of the smaller chairs intended for his patients, his gaze fixed on Changbin. "What are you doing here?" Jeongin finally asked, watching his friend lounging back in the chair, hands interlocked casually behind his head.

Changbin's playful demeanor slowly shifted, his eyes losing their mischievous spark as they settled into something more serious. He sighed, leaning forward to rest his forearms on Jeongin's desk, the sudden shift in atmosphere making Jeongin's heart pick up a little in pace. He tried to keep his expression soft, maintaining a small smile even as he braced himself for whatever Changbin had come to say.

For a moment, the room was filled with a heavy silence as Changbin seemed to struggle with his words, his brows furrowing in thought. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke, "You know how Yongbok and Hannie wanted to have a joint celebration for their birthdays this Friday, right?" Jeongin's brows knit together in confusion; he hadn’t expected such a mundane topic. Still, he nodded, waiting for the real reason behind Changbin's visit.

"Well, everything will be pretty much the same... but we wanted to tell you this before you showed up." Changbin paused, his worried eyes meeting Jeongin's increasingly anxious gaze. After a deep breath, he continued, "Y/N moved back here a little over a week ago and reached out to us almost immediately. We helped them settle back down, and we've been spending some time with them, catching up on everything. Yongbok and Hannie wanted them to be included in their birthday celebration, but we also wanted to check in with you. Make sure you're okay with that first."

Jeongin felt his entire world tilt on its axis, Changbin's words crashing into him like a wave he hadn’t braced for. A million questions stormed through his mind, so fast and furious that he couldn’t quite grasp a single one. "Wait." His hand shot up, signaling his need for a pause as he shifted forward, perching on the edge of his chair. His voice, tinged with betrayal and hurt, spilled out in a rushed breath, "What do you mean Y/N moved back here a week ago? Why am I just learning about this now?"

A look of guilt shadowed Changbin's face, his expression softening with regret. "Y/N asked us not to tell you for a little bit because they weren't ready to handle it yet... but now that everything's settled, they have a new job and everything—Y/N is ready to meet with you if you'd like." He hesitated, and a flicker of panic widened his eyes as he quickly added, "But you didn't hear that last part from me. Y/N wanted to be the one to reach out at some point today or tomorrow."

The silence that followed was heavy, all-consuming, wrapping around Jeongin like a thick fog. He struggled to wrap his mind around the news of your return, the idea of seeing you again so unexpectedly unsettling. The weight of your absence, the questions left unanswered, all resurfaced in that single moment, leaving him adrift in a sea of emotions he wasn’t prepared to face.

Jeongin didn't quite know how to feel about you moving back into town after leaving him without so much as a goodbye. The news of your return stirred a storm of emotions within him, each one more complicated than the last. On one hand, he understood your reasons for leaving—the desperate need to escape from everything that reminded you of your younger sister, Nari, and the weight of your relationship with him, which had grown heavy with grief and unresolved pain. He could see why you had to flee, to distance yourself from the memories that clung to every corner of the town like shadows that wouldn't let you breathe.

But understanding didn't erase the sting of abandonment. Jeongin couldn't ignore the countless sleepless nights he’d endured, his mind spiraling into an abyss of what-ifs and could-have-beens. He thought back to the moments when your relationship had still felt beautiful and safe, long before it had quietly begun to crumble beneath the weight of tragedy. In truth, he realized, the love between you had started to fray the very moment you received the devastating news of Nari’s fatal accident. It had unraveled slowly, painfully, until there was nothing left but a hollow shell of what once was. By the time he officially ended things, the love you shared had already been gone, replaced by a haunting emptiness.

For months after you left, Jeongin had nearly driven himself to madness, caught in a vicious cycle of regret and self-blame. Every waking moment was spent agonizing over all the different ways he might have pulled you out of your grief. Could he have said something different, done something more? Could he have been more patient, more understanding? He had replayed these thoughts over and over, like a broken record stuck on a painful refrain. There was a time when he couldn’t even look at his own reflection without being reminded of his failure—his inability to be the anchor you needed in the storm of your sorrow. He blamed himself for your sudden departure, believing that if he had fought for you a little harder, if he had held on just a bit longer, maybe things would have turned out differently.

Slowly, though, Jeongin had begun to emerge from the shadows of his own grief. He had started to come to terms with the loss—not just of Nari, whom he had loved deeply through you, but also the loss of the future he had imagined with you by his side. He’d begun to accept that his own heartbreak, mixed with the suffocating weight of guilt, was something he needed to release in order to move forward. Jeongin had finally allowed himself to realize that in the grand scheme of things, staying by your side would have meant losing himself in the process, trying to bring back a version of you that had vanished the day Nari did. He’d come to understand that you were never going to be the same person again, and neither was he.

And now, just when he was starting to find a semblance of peace, you chose this moment to step back into his life. It felt like the ground he had just managed to steady himself on was beginning to shake once more. Jeongin wasn’t sure if he was ready to face you again, to reopen wounds that were only just beginning to scar over. Yet, there was also a flicker of something else—a hope, perhaps, or maybe just curiosity—about what this new chapter could bring. But whatever it was, it left him feeling unsettled, standing on the precipice of a past he had tried so hard to leave behind.

As his mind continued to swirl with a torrent of thoughts, Jeongin was startled by the bitterness that began to simmer beneath the surface of his heart. The resentment was unexpected, an emotion so potent that it almost frightened him. It clawed at him, leaving a sour taste in his mouth, a stark contrast to the calm demeanor he usually carried. But as his gaze lifted, his eyes locked with Changbin's, and he saw the concern etched in his friend's face. The anxiety in Changbin's sincere eyes was unmistakable, quietly tracking the cascade of emotions that flickered across Jeongin's vulnerable features like a storm passing through.

Despite the sharp sting of betrayal—the feeling of being kept in the dark by his closest friends, who had not only hidden your return from him but also lied to him so they could spend time with you—Jeongin found a small measure of solace in Changbin’s quiet empathy. It was as if Changbin's presence anchored him, a silent reassurance that he wasn’t navigating these turbulent waters alone. In that brief moment, Jeongin’s chaotic thoughts cleared enough for him to take a deep, steadying breath. He slumped back into his chair, his eyes dropping to his sneakers, suddenly feeling the weight of his own exhaustion. His shoulders sagged, heavy with the burden of emotions he could no longer ignore.

"I don’t know if I’ll be ready to meet with Y/N before the party," Jeongin confessed in a low murmur meant only for Changbin’s ears. The sadness in his voice was unmistakable, a raw and tender ache that clung to every word. He took a moment, trying to gather his thoughts that seemed to scatter like leaves in the wind. "But I’m not going to stand in the way of Y/N joining the birthday party—especially since it’s not my place to decide that. I’ll still be there, and I want to be as civil as possible. So, please, don’t let anyone make it more awkward than it needs to be, or I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it."

His voice trembled by the end, his courage wavering as he finally lifted his eyes to meet Changbin's once more. There was a flicker of something fragile there, something almost hopeful, despite the tangled mess of his emotions. Changbin nodded, a soft smile pulling at his lips, a small gesture of gratitude and understanding. He stood up, moving closer to lay a firm, reassuring hand on Jeongin’s shoulder—a rare show of affection, knowing how Jeongin tended to shy away from touch, especially when his emotions were laid bare like this.

"I’ll talk to the boys," Changbin promised, his voice steady, grounding. It was the most he could offer in that moment, aware of how delicate the situation was.

With that, Changbin turned and quietly exited Jeongin's office, leaving the younger man alone with his thoughts. The room seemed to close in around him, heavy with the weight of everything he was yet to fully comprehend. Jeongin remained seated, lost in the labyrinth of his own complicated emotions—anger, sadness, regret, and something else, something almost like a glimmer of hope—all swirling together in a chaotic dance that he had no idea how to untangle.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

In the three days leading up to the eagerly awaited joint birthday party on Friday—an event hosted by Chan for Felix and Jisung—Jeongin found himself ensnared in a relentless spiral of anxiety and anticipation. The looming prospect of encountering you after nearly a year of absence gnawed at him with a persistence that bordered on torment. He grappled with a thousand imagined scenarios, each one an intricate tapestry of potential outcomes and emotional landmines. The uncertainty was a constant, unsettling presence in his life.

Jeongin’s small apartment, once shared with you, had become a labyrinth of memories and regrets. He often wandered its confines, the soft thud of his footsteps a mournful echo of the unease that had taken residence in his chest. The apartment seemed to sigh with each step he took, as if mourning the lost echoes of a time when you had been there. Despite his efforts to bury himself in work, the thought of you lingered like an unwelcome shadow, a constant undercurrent that refused to be ignored. He would catch himself staring at his phone, repeatedly re-reading the message you had sent him just hours after Changbin’s visit—a message that had become both a lifeline and a tormentor.

Your text, which read:

Hey, Jeongin. It’s been a while. I know I left without much of an explanation and cut off contact... I’m sorry for how I handled things. I’m sorry for a lot of things, actually. But I wasn’t in the best place back then, and I needed time to figure things out on my own. I’m back in town now, and I’d like to talk sometime if you’re open to it. No pressure—I just feel like there are a lot of things that were left unsaid between us. Take care!

Every time Jeongin read these words, a storm of emotions would churn within him. The initial formality of your greeting felt like a cold draft from a distant past, a stark contrast to the warmth that had once existed between you. The passage of time loomed large, a reminder of the endless stretch of days that had passed since your sudden disappearance. He was struck by a poignant blend of nostalgia and pain, the abruptness of your departure a constant reminder of how unfinished your story had been.

Your apology, though a balm of sorts, stirred a complicated mix of relief and frustration within him. On one hand, it acknowledged the hurt you had caused, but on the other, it left a multitude of unresolved questions hanging in the air. Why did you leave so suddenly? Why did you sever all contact? Jeongin understood that you were not in a good place and needed space, but that understanding did little to soothe the sting of abandonment he felt. The sense of being left in the dark, coupled with a profound sadness over his inability to help you, left him grappling with a blend of guilt and anger.

The mention of wanting to talk now jolted him, a surge of conflicting emotions rushing to the surface. He was torn between the desire to reconnect and the fear of reopening old wounds. The prospect of addressing the myriad of things left unsaid between you brought with it a flood of memories—regrets, unresolved issues, and a yearning for closure. Each re-reading of your message plunged him deeper into a whirlpool of complicated thoughts and emotions, the turbulence of his feelings both paralyzing and consuming.

Ultimately, Jeongin found himself unable to craft a suitable response, and so he chose silence. His decision not to reply was one shrouded in uncertainty, a choice that left him questioning whether it was the right one. The silence that followed was both a refuge and a torment, a delicate balance between preserving his own peace and the unresolved echo of your return.

The night of the party arrived under a canopy of crisp, clear sky, the stars shimmering with an almost mocking brilliance. Jeongin drifted through the evening like a specter, his senses overwhelmed by a world that seemed too bright, too noisy, and far too indifferent to his turmoil. His apartment, once a sanctuary, had become a chaotic jumble of discarded outfits—each one cast aside with a frustrated sigh and a sense of resignation. The fabric of his clothes lay strewn about like the remnants of a battle fought and lost against his own anxiety. Nothing felt right, and the more he tried, the more he was convinced that nothing ever would.

Eventually, he settled on a modest ensemble—simple, unobtrusive, and devoid of any hint of personal flair. As he dressed, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror, and what he saw was a stranger staring back—an image of confusion and trepidation. He attempted a smile, one that was supposed to be confident and reassuring, but it fell flat, a mere shadow of what he hoped to project. By the time he arrived at Chan's place, his nerves were a live wire, sparking and fizzing with every heartbeat.

The apartment, already abuzz with the lively hum of music and the warm murmur of laughter, was suffused with the rich, inviting aroma of a feast. Jeongin took a deep breath, steeling himself before stepping into the vibrant chaos. Felix, ever the beacon of warmth, was the first to greet him. His smile was a radiant crescent, eyes sparkling with the playful twinkle of a galaxy etched upon his cheeks and nose. Felix enveloped Jeongin in a tight, enthusiastic hug, and Jeongin could almost gauge the number of drinks Felix had indulged in by the exuberance of the embrace. As he disentangled himself from the fervent welcome, he was met with a slew of half-hidden concern and reassuring smiles that nearly suffocated him with their well-meaning pity.

He made his way to the kitchen, where the counter was a tableau of gifts—boxes and bags for Felix and Han piled high in cheerful disarray. Jeongin added his own contribution to the heap and then sought refuge in the cool solace of the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water to soothe his parched throat. But then, as if fate itself had conspired to make this night even more unbearable, you appeared in the kitchen doorway.

You had been laughing lightly, a melodic sound that seemed to dance on the air, but upon spotting Jeongin, you froze mid-step. The sight of you was like a flash of brilliance in an otherwise dim landscape. You looked as radiant as ever, with a glimmer of the light that had once illuminated your eyes returning to them—a light Jeongin had once lost himself in with reckless abandon. At that moment, the gravity of his own emotions hit him with a brutal clarity. Despite having ended the relationship, he realized with a heavy heart that he was still desperately, achingly in love with you. Even after nearly a year of separation, the feelings remain undiminished.

You slowly composed yourself, though your body remained taut with the remnants of surprise. The smile you gave him was both disarming and electrifying, sending a shiver through him. With a polite bow, you greeted him, your voice soft and warm as you said, “I’m really glad to see you again, Jeongin.” The way you spoke his name made his knees feel weak, the sheer depth of his longing crystallizing in that single, familiar sound. He had not fully grasped how much he had yearned to hear his name on your lips again until that very moment.

Unable to find words, Jeongin merely bowed in return, his smile shy and tremulous. He watched you turn and leave the kitchen with a hurried pace, your earlier purpose forgotten. The realization dawned on him that he might need more than just water to navigate the emotional maelstrom of the evening.

Chan's party was a sanctuary of familiarity, a gathering of a close-knit circle of friends who had weathered years together. The night had unfolded in a haze of laughter and lively banter, and now, as Jeongin found himself pleasantly intoxicated from the endless rounds of drinking games, he couldn't help but revel in the camaraderie that had once again enveloped the room. It felt undeniably comforting to have everyone gathered under one roof again, especially you.

The past year had cast a shadow over the group's dynamic, your absence an unspoken void that lingered between them, palpable despite the silence. Yet now, with your return, the room seemed to breathe with a renewed vitality. It was as though the very air had shifted, carrying with it a sense of ease that had been sorely missed. Jeongin observed you from a distance, his gaze drawn to you as you reengaged with the group. He noted with quiet awe how you moved through conversations with an effortless grace, the same grace that had once been your hallmark.

It was apparent that you had emerged from the clutches of your grief, a revelation that stirred a profound admiration within Jeongin. The way you laughed, genuinely and freely, was a testament to your resilience. Though you had left without a word, seeking solace far away, you had returned with a newfound lightness. The laughter that now danced from your lips was a melody Jeongin had missed, a balm for the aching absence that had haunted him throughout the past year.

Jeongin watched with a bittersweet smile as you engaged with everyone—how your eyes crinkled at the corners when joy sparked within you, how they would occasionally meet his gaze with a fleeting, shy acknowledgment before darting away, leaving behind a gentle blush. Each moment was a delicate brush stroke on the canvas of your reunion, painting a picture of someone who had found a way to heal and reconnect.

The sight of you dancing playfully with Han to a song you both claimed had been crafted just for you was particularly poignant. Your movements were a symphony of carefree delight, a stark contrast to the somber image Jeongin had harbored of you. In these shared, joyful moments, as you reintegrated into the tapestry of old friendships, Jeongin felt his heart tugged with an intensity that defied explanation.

Though the effects of alcohol swirled around him, amplifying emotions and blurring the edges of reality, Jeongin knew that the depth of his feelings for you transcended any inebriation. The love he harbored was as real and potent as ever, a force that no amount of alcohol could replicate or diminish. He was falling for you once more, each glance and shared laugh reaffirming the connection that had never truly faded, only waiting for the right moment to reawaken.

Despite the undeniable truth of his lingering affection for you, Jeongin remained uncertain of how to navigate these turbulent emotions. For now, he chose to keep his feelings veiled in silence, retreating into the solitude of his thoughts. The haze of confusion was abruptly dispelled by the firm, reassuring weight of Minho’s hand settling on his shoulder, grounding him in the present moment.

Minho, his eyes glazed with the soft blur of alcohol—though not nearly as intoxicated as Felix and Han—clapped his hands together, a signal for attention. His voice, amplified by cupped hands, cut through the ambient noise of music and conversation. "Guys! Guys!" he bellowed, drawing the attention of the increasingly inebriated crowd. The room fell into a collective hush, eager eyes fixed on Minho as he continued with a grin that spoke of mischief. "As per Yongbok’s request, we’re about to kick off a game of UNO! But there’s a twist: every time someone lands a Plus Four card, we all take a shot. And the loser—well, they get a revolting concoction of mixed alcohols and juices!"

The announcement ignited a burst of enthusiastic cheers, the crowd’s energy crackling with anticipation. Laughter and playful shoves accompanied the clumsy shuffle to the circular coffee table at the heart of the living room. Jeongin, with a flicker of hope in his heart, watched as you navigated the sea of friends. His wish to have you beside him was met with a hint of disappointment as you chose a seat directly across from him, nestled between Hyunjin and Seungmin.

The seating arrangement became a familiar circle of camaraderie and chaos: You directly across from Jeongin, Seungmin to your right, Chan to Seungmin’s right, Felix to Chan’s right, Jeongin to Felix’s right, Minho to Jeongin’s right, Han to Minho’s right, Changbin to Hyunjin’s right, and Hyunjin bridging the gap between you and Changbin. The table soon overflowed with the raucous sound of drunken laughter, mischievous plotting, and playful bickering.

Jeongin found himself in an unexpected streak of triumph, his luck seemingly endless as he conquered each round of UNO. The others began to whisper suspicions of cheating, their playful accusations accompanied by slurred speech and tipsy frustration. Chan’s voice, tinged with exasperation, rose above the din. "How is it even possible that you’ve been winning non-stop?" he demanded, his words distorted by a chorus of drinks and Seungmin’s relentless strategy.

Jeongin rolled his eyes, a gesture that had become almost automatic in the face of such claims. Han, who had just suffered the fate of the foul concoction, gagged dramatically as he placed the empty cup down with a groan. The room’s attention shifted to you as you slammed your palm onto the table, a spark of mischief lighting up your eyes. The gesture was a beacon of playful challenge, and it made Jeongin’s heart flutter unexpectedly.

"Stand up then, if you’re not cheating," you teased, your voice laced with both suspicion and amusement. The room buzzed with agreement, and Jeongin could not suppress the smile that tugged at his lips as he rose to his feet. He had sobered somewhat since the game began, the action feeling less consequential for him than for the others.

Throughout the night, the games were interspersed with moments of easy banter between you and Jeongin, a reminder of the lighthearted days before the heartache had set in. Each playful remark, every shared glance, and the way you laughed at his jokes tugged at him, rekindling memories of warmth and affection. The realization of how deeply he missed the feeling of being in love with you clenched his heart painfully.

As Jeongin turned around slowly to prove his hands were empty, he couldn’t resist a smirk. "You didn’t empty out your pockets," you persisted, your stubbornness both charming and exasperating.

He met your gaze with a playful smirk of his own, the words slipping out before he could fully process their impact. "Come on, baby, don’t be like that," he said, his tone teasing.

The room fell silent in stunned unison, the playful atmosphere abruptly shifting to one of surprise and second-hand embarrassment. The weight of Jeongin’s unintended endearment hung in the air, leaving everyone, including him, to grapple with the sudden shift in the night’s delicate balance.

Jeongin’s heart sank as he watched the color drain from your face, a pallor of shock and disbelief that spoke volumes in the charged silence that followed. The name he had unintentionally let slip—a relic of a time when you were together—seemed to strike a chord deep within you. For a fleeting moment, your eyes revealed a heartache that cut through the pretense of composure you so desperately tried to maintain. The expression of hurt was almost palpable, like a silent scream against the fabric of the night.

You managed to reassemble yourself with a stubborn facade of mischief, your smile a delicate mask that barely concealed the storm within. Your words, though laced with playful banter, seemed to cut through the tension with a sharp edge. "I just think it's unnatural how many times you’ve won," you remarked with a smirk that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Jeongin’s slip-up hung in the air, a tangible weight that seemed to sour the atmosphere of the gathering. Despite your attempt to downplay the incident with a light-hearted quip, the sting of the old nickname echoed like a ghost of past intimacy, making the room feel suddenly foreign and strained. The previously buoyant mood had shifted, leaving behind an undercurrent of unease that neither the laughter nor the playful jabs could dispel.

Jeongin could feel the churning turmoil within him, his heart pounding relentlessly in his chest. The game continued around him, but he found himself withdrawing, purposefully avoiding your gaze. Each stolen glance, each forced smile, was a reminder of the painful reminder of how things had changed. The night, which had started with such promise, now felt heavy and laden with unresolved emotions.

As the hour grew late and the laughter waned, the group, sensing the shift in energy, collectively decided it was time to call it a night. The revelry that had marked the evening dissolved into a subdued murmur as everyone prepared to leave. For Jeongin, the end of the night came as a relief, though it was tinged with a sense of lingering regret and an unspoken wish for things to be different.

As Jeongin made his way through the dimly lit apartment, exchanging farewells with the departing guests, he caught a fleeting glimpse of you darting out of the building. His heart, already heavy with a tumultuous mix of emotions, quickened its pace as he instinctively sought to follow. With an urgency driven by both concern and an aching need to make things right, Jeongin scrambled to retrieve his jacket and pull on his shoes, the night air already beginning to bite at his skin as he hurried after you.

He managed to intercept you just as you stepped out onto the cold street. Your name slipped from his lips before he could catch it, a desperate utterance that hung in the frosty air between you. You paused, your breath visible in the night’s chill, and both of you stood there for a moment, hearts racing in unison. Jeongin's breath came in ragged bursts as he caught up with you, the weight of his impulsive actions settling heavily on his shoulders.

“Let me walk you home,” Jeongin implored, his voice trembling slightly with a mixture of anxiety and hope. The words, simple yet laden with his longing, seemed to hang in the air, as though the night itself held its breath in anticipation of your response. Your eyes softened, reflecting a tempest of emotions as they met his, and your lips parted slightly as if struggling to find the right words.

Instead of speaking, you turned and began walking forward, your steps deliberate yet hesitant. Jeongin, interpreting your silence as tacit consent, fell into step beside you. The street stretched out before you, unfamiliar and shadowed, and the air between you was charged with unspoken sentiments and lingering regrets. Walking side by side felt oddly reminiscent of days gone by, a bittersweet echo of times shared with friends, now tinged with the ache of what had been lost.

In the week since Jeongin learned of your return, he had been trapped in a cycle of conflicting emotions. The pangs of missing you, of realizing the depth of his feelings that still burned despite everything, battled with the frustration of your unexplained departure. Each time anger threatened to overwhelm him, guilt swiftly followed, a reminder of the suffering you must have endured. His internal struggle was a storm of longing and resentment, a turbulent sea he had yet to navigate.

As he stole glances at your profile in the dim streetlight, the familiar contours of your face brought an unexpected rush of grief. Memories of your younger sister, Nari, flooded his mind—her laughter, a joyful sound that once filled the air, her enthusiastic embraces that had always greeted him with warmth. Your eyes, once so bright with shared mirth, now seemed dimmed by her absence.

The realization that Nari would never again tackle him in playful greeting, that her laughter would never again ring out, was a heavy burden. It pressed down on Jeongin’s heart, a reminder of the irreplaceable void left behind. The twinkle that once danced in your eyes when you laughed at Nari's jokes was now a distant memory, a reminder of how deeply her loss had affected both of you. As you walked together through the unfamiliar streets, the weight of these lost joys seemed to bear down on Jeongin, making each step feel heavier than the last.

Engulfed in the whirlpool of his own somber reflections, Jeongin barely noticed when you came to a halt before an old, weathered apartment building. Absorbed in his tumultuous thoughts, he continued forward for a few steps, his mind adrift in a sea of regret and longing. It was only when the melodic sound of your giggle reached his ears, a playful echo that cut through the fog of his melancholy, that he realized he was walking alone. With a start, he turned, his face flushing with a sheepish smile as he moved to stand before you.

You were standing there, your knuckles clenched tightly around the strap of your bag, a telltale sign of the anxiety simmering beneath the surface. Your lips were caught between your teeth, a nervous habit that Jeongin had come to know all too well. The sight of your distress mirrored his own internal turmoil, causing his foot to tap restlessly on the pavement as he waited for you to speak. The tension in the air was palpable, a heavy shroud that seemed to settle between you.

After a few moments of strained silence, you released a shaky breath and offered him a small, timid smile. "It was good to see you again," you said softly, the words tinged with a trace of the anxiety that laced your voice. It was the same sentiment you had voiced earlier in the night, when you had first reappeared in Chan's kitchen after an eight-month absence.

This time, Jeongin’s response came with a gravity that reflected the depth of your absence. "I’m glad you came back," he said, his voice carrying the weight of the months spent apart, yet softened by a flicker of genuine contentment.

Your smile, though hesitant, shone brightly against the backdrop of the night. It was a beacon that pierced through the haze of Jeongin’s heartache, and despite the unresolved tension, he couldn’t help but return it with a warm, albeit uncertain, smile of his own. The air between you crackled with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings, a delicate balance between the urge to bridge the gap and the inability to articulate the depth of your emotions.

As you cast an awkward glance back at the entrance of your apartment, Jeongin understood that you were grappling with the same indecision that plagued him. "This is me," you said, your voice betraying a trace of nervousness as you cleared your throat. "My place is a bit of a distance from our—sorry, your apartment. If you’re comfortable, I can offer you my couch for the night."

Despite the initial reluctance that had gripped him, the prospect of spending more time with you, however fleeting, was too inviting to resist. Jeongin found himself smiling softly, a gesture of acceptance that was both hesitant and heartfelt. Your genuine, wide smile in response seemed to illuminate the night, lifting the veil of uncertainty that had surrounded him. With a renewed sense of hope and a lingering trace of longing, Jeongin followed you inside, each step towards your apartment a tentative step towards mending the fragile thread that connected your hearts.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Your new apartment, though modest in size, exudes a quiet charm, nestled in a serene part of town far removed from the familiar streets you once traversed with Jeongin. The moment he crosses the threshold, he is enveloped by a dissonance of emotions—a strange fusion of comfort and estrangement. The space is distinctly different from the apartment you once shared, yet your presence lingers in every corner, making Jeongin feel both intimately connected and like an outsider peering into a world that has shifted just out of reach.

The living room, modestly furnished, reflects a minimalist elegance. A soft, neutral-colored couch rests against the wall, draped with a knitted throw blanket that adds a touch of warmth. This room is a far cry from the eclectic mix of your past home—a space once filled with a vibrant blend of your belongings and his—but it still bears the subtle imprint of your personality. A small shelf brims with books, many titles familiar from your old collection, but new ones have also appeared, whispering of the changes and growth you’ve experienced in your absence. The windowsill cradles a few houseplants, their greenery a delicate contrast to the sprawling flora that once filled your old living space. They are smaller, more contained, reflecting a more subdued chapter of your life.

Jeongin’s gaze drifts to the walls, bare and unadorned, stark in their emptiness. Gone are the framed photos and art prints that once animated every corner of your shared apartment. The absence of pictures—particularly those of the two of you—leaves an unexpected sting, a painful reminder of what has been left behind. Instead, there is a single framed photograph of your younger sister on a side table by the window, surrounded by a cluster of candles. It stands as a quiet tribute, a poignant memorial that tugs at Jeongin’s heartstrings, reminding him of the grief that ultimately drove a wedge between you both.

The apartment is imbued with a subdued quietness, a stark contrast to the lively energy of your former home, where laughter and soft music once intertwined to create a vibrant ambiance. Here, the atmosphere is more solitary, introspective, as if the space has been intentionally crafted as a sanctuary for healing—a refuge from the chaos of the past. A small kitchen table, cluttered with a few empty glasses and a half-read book, suggests many solitary evenings spent with your thoughts, lost in the pages or gazing into the distance, ensnared by memories.

The kitchen itself bears no evidence of the late-night culinary adventures you used to drag him into, those joyous moments of laughter and flour-covered countertops. As Jeongin takes in the scene, he is overwhelmed by a complex weave of emotions—nostalgia for what was, sorrow for what has been lost, and a poignant ache for the version of you who now stands before him. The differences are striking, revealing a careful, deliberate solitude you’ve constructed around yourself in this new space. It feels as though you’ve created a bubble of tranquility, a place where you can breathe freely from the weight of the past, and he wonders if there is still a place for him within it or if you have moved on to a new chapter without him.

The emptiness of your new apartment weighs heavily on him. It’s not merely the physical void but the absence of the vibrant, unfiltered you that he used to know. Standing there, a guest in what might have been his world, Jeongin is acutely aware of how much has changed and how deeply he still yearns for the comfort of what once was, now replaced by the stark reality of what is.

As Jeongin steps into your new apartment, he takes in its subtle details with a blend of curiosity and nostalgia. You move about with a quiet, almost anxious energy, as if the mere act of tidying is a way to manage the fluttering tension between you. Your hands, unsure of their purpose, engage in small, inconsequential tasks: smoothing the corner of the knitted blanket draped over the couch, adjusting the book that rests on the kitchen table, and shifting a houseplant slightly to the left. It is evident that you are aware of his gaze, but you strive to give him space to absorb his surroundings.

The silence stretches until you break it, your voice soft yet resolute. "It's not much, but... it's mine." There’s a delicate balance in your tone, a mixture of pride laced with vulnerability. You glance at him, seeking to gauge his reaction, your eyes reflecting a world of untold emotions. As you move towards the small kitchen area, you open a cabinet and retrieve two glasses. "Do you want some water? Tea? I think I have some wine if you'd prefer that." Your words tumble out in a gentle stream, an attempt to fill the quiet with something tangible, yet they carry an earnestness that reveals your underlying uncertainty about where you both stand.

Jeongin watches you, his gaze softening as he observes the careful grace of your movements—each gesture imbued with a quiet protectiveness, as if you're safeguarding something tender within yourself. The silence deepens for a moment before he responds, his voice subdued and tentative. "Water's fine." It is clear that he is navigating this new terrain with caution, his tone reflective of the delicate balance between past familiarity and present distance. You nod and move towards the fridge, your back turned to him as you pour the water.

Jeongin’s eyes wander around the apartment once more, deliberately avoiding the back of your head as you focus on the task at hand. When you hand him the glass, your fingers brush against his, sending a shiver through him. It’s a sensation he’s not quite accustomed to after all this time apart. He accepts the glass with a quiet "thanks," savoring the cool water as it soothes his dry throat.

"Let’s sit," you suggest, motioning towards the couch. There is a steadiness in your voice that carries a quiet confidence, reminiscent of the times you had managed to ground him amidst the chaos. Jeongin follows you and settles beside you on the couch. The cushions feel foreign and different from those he remembers, amplifying his sense of longing for the comfort of the home you once shared.

For a brief moment, Jeongin is at a loss for words, overwhelmed by the tangled emotions in his chest. He is unsure where to begin, but you gently ease the tension. "How’s work been?" you inquire, your voice a soothing balm to the heaviness in the room. "Are you still at the same clinic?"

Grateful for the opening, Jeongin nods. "Yeah, still there. We started a new program recently... working with kids who've been through some really tough stuff. It’s been challenging, but rewarding." He watches as your eyes soften, a sign of the empathy and kindness he’s always admired in you. The sight of your genuine smile, the one he’s missed so dearly, is like a balm on a wound that has long ached.

"That sounds so nice. You've always been so good with children." Your compliment is heartfelt, and Jeongin feels a pang of longing.

He responds with a light-hearted joke, "That’s more your area of expertise," referring to your work as a school counselor. You chuckle softly, taking a sip of water, and Jeongin senses there’s more you wish to share.

"And... what about everything else? How have you been holding up?" Your question is gentle but probing, and Jeongin’s grip tightens around his glass.

"It’s been... different," he admits. "The apartment feels empty without you there. Like something’s missing."

Jeongin hadn't intended for his words to emerge with such raw intensity, but they tumble out before he can rein them in. He watches as they land upon you, the way your gaze falls and a shadow of sorrow flits across your face. "I'm sorry," you murmur, the words almost lost in the quiet of the room. "For leaving like that. I didn’t know what else to do."

Your apology strikes a chord deep within him, a resonance of shared pain and regret. "I know," he replies softly, his voice carrying the weight of understanding. "I don’t really blame you. We both had to figure things out." The atmosphere between you shifts, the earlier tension giving way to something more tender—like an old wound beginning to mend.

Jeongin sits beside you on the couch, his nerves stretched taut, a wire humming with unspoken words. His hands are clenched in his lap, a desperate attempt to hold himself together as the silence stretches, thick and heavy. His gaze is drawn to you, to the way you hold your glass of water—fingers wrapped around it as if it were a lifeline, anchoring you to some semblance of normalcy.

He recognizes that look in your eyes—the one that signals you are about to reveal something profound, something that has been weighing on you. "When I left," you start, your voice so faint it nearly dissolves into the air. Jeongin’s breath catches in his throat. He had no clear expectations for the evening, but he can feel that whatever is coming will be laced with pain.

"I didn’t really have a plan," you continue, your voice trembling with the weight of your confession. "I just... needed to get away." He watches as your eyes drift to the water in your glass, your reflection shimmering and distorted. The impulse to reach out and offer comfort is almost overwhelming, but he remains still, his focus entirely on you.

"I ended up halfway across the country," you say, your voice gaining a faint thread of strength. "I reached out to Lily. You remember her, right? From college?" Jeongin nods, a wistful smile tugging at his lips despite the ache in his chest. He recalls Lily’s vivacious spirit, her constant care for you, and feels a pang of gratitude that she was there for you in a way he couldn't be.

"She didn’t ask questions; she just told me to come," you add. Jeongin’s heart clenches at the image of you in a strange, distant place, the weight of your grief looming like an oppressive storm. He loathes the thought of you feeling so alone and adrift, needing to travel so far for solace.

"She lives in this tiny coastal town," you continue, your voice lightening slightly as you recall the memory. "For a while, I thought maybe that was what I needed—being somewhere far away from everything." Jeongin can almost visualize it—a serene seaside town where the waves gently erase footprints, a place where time seems to stretch indefinitely, offering a balm for the wounded soul.

Yet, beneath the surface of your words, Jeongin senses an undercurrent of dissatisfaction. The coastal retreat, while soothing, evidently fell short of the healing you sought. His heart aches, burdened by the realization that he wasn’t able to provide the support you needed, even as he too was grappling with his own struggles. The distance between your shared past and the present feels vast, and he yearns for a way to bridge that gap, to be the anchor you needed, even though he was floundering himself.

You pause, and Jeongin watches as you swallow hard, the movement of your throat a testament to the weight of your words. "I eventually realized that it wasn't enough," you say, your voice trembling with the effort to hold back tears. "I needed more help. So, I checked myself into a grief recovery program..." The words falter, and Jeongin feels a tightening in his chest, the emotion reflected in your wavering tone. "A place where people go when they've lost someone and don't know how to keep living."

He stares at you, his vision blurring as he grapples with the magnitude of your suffering. He's known grief, but seeing it through your eyes—so raw, so utterly consuming—is a new experience for him. Guilt crashes over him like a relentless wave. He wasn't there for you. He couldn't help. He didn't even know how to begin.

Jeongin opens his mouth, an apology poised on his lips, but you continue, your voice cutting through the silence with a quiet determination. "There were days I wanted to leave, but I stayed. I wrote a lot. I planted a small garden there, just to feel like I was nurturing something again, you know? And slowly, I started to remember things without feeling like they were completely breaking me."

His hands tremble in his lap, the truth of your words stirring a deep regret within him. He should be happy that you found a way forward, relieved that you began to heal, but instead, he is overwhelmed by the ache of not being there for you—by the realization that he had abandoned you when you needed him most. His eyes search yours, desperate for some sign that you don’t harbor hatred towards him.

"I can't imagine what that must've been like," he finally manages, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry I ended things when you needed me. I didn’t know how to help you through it, and I—"

You shake your head, a wistful smile curving your lips. "I didn’t know how to let you help me, either. And I wasn’t ready to accept Nari’s death and move on yet. That’s why I left." Your words settle into the spaces between his ribs, a cold weight pressing heavily on his chest. He wants to explain, to tell you that he was lost too, that he struggled to keep his own head above water while watching you drown. But he stays silent, knowing that this moment belongs to you, just as much as it does to him.

"I needed to find a way to live with the grief," you say softly, "to not let it define every part of me. And maybe I needed to see if I could come back and face everything, including you."

Jeongin’s heart skips at that, a flicker of hope igniting within him. There is a softness in your eyes that he hasn't seen in so long, a hint of something that almost resembles hope. He takes a breath, feeling a slight loosening of the weight of his own regrets. "I'm glad you did," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "I missed you—missed this, even if it wasn’t always easy."

You nod, and he sees a myriad of emotions dance across your face—relief, uncertainty, and perhaps the faintest trace of affection. There is much to unpack, many layers to explore, but for now, this moment of quiet honesty, of shared pain and cautious hope, feels like a tentative step towards understanding.

Jeongin notices his hand is closer to yours than he had realized, and for a fleeting moment, he wonders what it would be like to reach out, to touch your skin once more. But he doesn’t. Not yet. For now, he is content to sit beside you, to listen, and to cherish the hope that this—whatever it is—might be the beginning of finding each other again.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @sunnyrisee @jisunglyricist @nxtt2-u @nebugalaxy @bokk-minnie @tajannah-price1 @lixies-favorite-cookie @madewithchildlabor (Click on the link to join! All you have to do is answer a few questions to help me stay organized!)

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Post taglist: @stascence @xxdwaekkaxx @raspberrii @joyofbebbanburg @drewsandsebastianswife @minholover1 @vangoghsear0 @theodorenottgf @chanshyunjin @cafffeineconnoisseur @villainstayy @qwonyoung23 @fawnoverdawn @sofix-hc7 @softkisshyunjin @anushasstuff

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS!

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poppadom0912 · 10 months ago

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Excuses

Warnings: Mentions of fainting, diabetes, canon-typical injuries

Summary: You suffer the consequences just because your teacher thought you were making excuses.

A/N: First fic of 2024!!! I had plans that I was going to post weekly in the new year just like last year but things went downhill. This january and february has had its very good but also really bad moments and even writing this was a struggle. I've found myself in a weird place of wanting to write but struggling and all of a sudden not being able to balance my schoolwork and writing. So I took a lil step back to solely focus on my work but looking at everything now, my fic updates will be much less frequent but hopefully just as or if not, more fun to read.

I feel bad for not saying or posting anything since the new year but I'm here now and hopefully will be more alive. I've got lots planned for you beautiful people, several series and way too many fics in my drafts that I cannot wait for you all to read. This wasn't as long or as juicy as I intended but my brain completely failed me so I hope this is good enough. I initially wanted to post this at the beginning of March but I finished the final editing today so here you go!!

Final note before we start, I have general knowledge about diabetes but that's all from my grandma. I have no idea if it's the same for teenagers so I'm sorry for any mistakes. Happy reading!!

Your biology teacher had been on maternity for three weeks now and you were seriously contemplating life.

Because of the crappy rules surrounding maternity leave, when your teacher refused to return before her three months ended, your school had a supply teacher fill in for her till she came back.

Since day one, you knew you hated her.

It was mid lesson and you knew as soon as you started feeling sluggish that your sugar levels were dropping. Your thoughts were only confirmed when your Dexcom receiver let you know of your decreasing glucose.

This wasn't a usual occurrence. Will and Jay always made sure you had eaten enough and you had the means to maintain the needed glucose levels so that nothing happened.

Alas, you were up late revising and you were stressing about keeping up your good grades. Jay was rushing you out the door because he needed to go to a scene he'd just been called to and Will was out walking Kol and hadn't seen you leave.

In conclusion, it'd been a hot minute since you last ate something.

The school were well aware of your diabetes. It was one of the very important things your brothers stressed them about when you first started.

Most students knew about it actually, having seen your Dexcom and not understanding since a diabetic child apparently wasn't common according to them.

So, when you randomly pulled out a snack from your bag mid class, no one questioned it and instead would make sure you were okay. There'd never been a problem before in school and everyone wanted it to stay that way.

However, this new teacher, Mrs Byrne was apparently completely unaware of your medical condition.

"Y/N. You know the rules about eating in class." She said strictly, pulling away all the attention from the board onto you.

She stopped you in the middle of opening the packet of fruit gummies. You frowned, looking at her confused along with your classmates.

"I have diabetes." You said bluntly, continuing to open the packet. "I don't eat this and I'll pass out."

Mrs Byrne only rolled her eyes, smiling at you condescendingly. "I've heard that excuse hundreds of times, give those to me."

You scoffed at the audacity, refusing to hand over what was yours.

It was when she started walking towards your desk with a pep in her step that the entire class got involved. Their raised voices overlapped, some angrier than others over what was happening.

However, you too were Stubborn alike to your brothers so you kept as firm of a grip of the packet. You turned a blind eye to the anger fuelled cover teacher. You continued to smile as she spewed threats of all sorts.

Due to your frustration and annoyance over the teacher who wanted to take your gummies away, you didn't notice how everything started change; how hard it was to move your eyes and lips, your limbs getting heavier and you thoughts slowly getting muddled up.

Lost in a daze, you were no longer able to fight back when she pulled harder, successfully snatching the small packet out of your hands. It was now that the class got furious, your friends were already up and at your side but now they were verbally attacking the teacher.

Fed up with her petty behaviour, you were going to get up and go to the nurses office who would take care of you but getting out your seat was harder said than done.

With one of your friends help, you weren't too sure who was helping you from your hazy sight that cleared when you blinked too many times.

You were wobbly on your feet, taking slow and hesitant steps towards the front of the classroom but before you could leave, you felt your legs give out and everything went black.

*****

It turned out that supposed crime scene that he was imminently needed at was nothing but a prank by a bunch of college boys resulting in a grumpy Hank putting them in cuffs and having them fined for a very reasonable reason.

That's how the rest of the unit found themselves finishing up paperwork, catching up about life in general as they debated what they were getting for lunch.

Jay was smugly sitting back, eyes flickering between Kevin and Adam who were bickering over something trivial when his phone rung, catching everyone's attention.

They were all so bored and normally when one of their phones went off during work hours, it meant something came up and they were needed.

In interest, everyone turned their heads towards Jay and waited for him to tell them they got a crime scene.

Picking up his phone, Jay's brows furrowed at the number, confused as to why your school was calling him in the middle of the day. They'd only call him if two things happened: You'd gotten in trouble or you got hurt.

"Hello. Is this Y/N Halsteads brother Jay?" A voice he couldn't recognised asked, most likely some lady from the main office.

"Yeah, that's me." Jay confirmed, sitting up in preparation for whatever he was going to be told.

"So sorry to interrupt you sir but Y/N collapsed in class." The lady said with guilt laced in her words. "Your other brother didn't pick up the phone. We called to let you know we had to call the paramedics and they've taken her to Chicago Med."

"Uh yeah." Jay said, collecting his jacket and keys. "Yes, thank you."

Not waiting for a reply, Jay hung up and quickly knocked on Hank's office door frame.

"Sarge, I gotta get Y/N-"

"Go get her. We're done here."

*****

Wanting to pull his hair out, Will rubbed his eyes in frustration, glaring at his patients scans that only confused him further. He was tired and was coming to half way through his twenty four hour shift.

"Dr Halstead- Uh, Dr Rhodes in T4." Maggie stumbled, looking down at her brick and making sure she read it correctly.

"What's wrong?" Will asked, confused as to why Maggie changed her mind which she usually never did.

"It's Y/N."

Now fully awake, Will followed Connor towards the ambulance bay where you were being rolled in. You were groggily sitting up on the stretcher, you hair a mess and a few scratches around your face and hands from when you fell.

"Sylvie, what happened?" Will asked the blonde paramedic while looking you over. He desperately wanted to check you over himself but let Connor do his thing. He really did not need Ms Goodwin on his case today.

"Teachers didn't tell us much but her classmates said she collapsed after not being able to eat." Sylvie relayed the minimal information she knew, shrugging her shoulders when the two doctors looked at her weirdly. "No one would tell us anything more."

"Y/N, it's Connor. Can you hear me kid?" Connor said while pulling out his penlight. He was like another brother to you, his concern just as high. "Can you tell me what happened?"

You groaned, mumbling nonsense with your eyes screwed closed. Your words were mostly unintelligible but Will understood them mere seconds later.

Fixing the problem you complained about, Will turned down the lights and let Connor continue fussing over you.

It didn't take long to find out the cause of your collapse, Will sighing at the news when he read the numbers from your tests.

"I thought she was always on top of her sugar levels." Connor said, closing the room door so you could sleep in peace.

And what he said was completely true but they weren't aware of why you couldn't today specifically of all days.

"She is." Will said, rubbing a hand down his face in frustration. "Maybe her dexcom malfunctioned or something."

Connor hummed, agreeing with his friend.

"Hmm, maybe."

*****

Arriving at Med, Will gave Jay a detailed rundown of everything he new about your medical state but also the events pre your hospital arrival.

Getting a good look at you, holding your hand in his and kissing you on your forehead, Jay was more than happy to leave you in your oldest brothers safe hands while he got to the bottom of this entire ordeal.

He noticed Sylvie was still at Med, Foster mentioning they were running low on a few supplies so they needed some stocking up. Jay took this opportunity to interview the two paramedics and try to get further understanding on this situation that wasn't making much sense to him.

Arriving at your school, Jay had some thoughts in mind but they weren't very concrete and his confidence wasn't as strong as he'd like it to be.

Walking into the school, Jay immediately noticed an entire class sitting and standing around in the corridor waiting in front of the principals office.

One of the girls who had been sitting in a chair had caught sight of Jay, her eyes widening before she smiled, gently nudging the girl next to her and pointing in his direction. The girls reaction was the exact same.

This created a sort of domino effect as the boy next to her noticed Jay and everyone was telling the other of his sudden arrival. The once silent corridor was now beginning to fill with murmurs and whispers, all their eyes glued onto his figure that moved down the corridor, their shocked faces quickly changing into smiles and smirks.

It seems that Jay had a reputation of sorts.

"Why are you making so much noise? What did I just say about talking-"

The principal cut himself off from his scolding when he suddenly noticed Jay's presence, his face blanching as all the pieces clicked into place.

"Detective Halstead! What a surprise, we weren't expecting to see you so soon-"

This time Jay cut him off, not too bothered about his lack manners. "My brothers with Y/N at the hospital so I thought there was no other perfect time."

The principal remained silent.

"Now, why don't you explain to me why my sister fainted under your watch?"

The students behind Jay couldn't help but snicker knowingly.

#onechicago #one chicago x reader #one chicago imagine #halstead sister #jay halstead #will halstead #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead oneshot #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead x sister!reader #will halstead x reader #will halstead imagine #will halstead x sister!reader

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sthavoc · 8 months ago

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hii can i request something from the previous stories where they meet at the oscars but reader wins an award, so he sees them hug their co star and going up the stage?

- love your work<3

࿐ ࿔ 💎 𝐀𝐃𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐑 | ENZO VOGRINCIC

·˚ ༘ pairing: enzo x actress!reader

·˚ ༘ summary: enzo and you meet at the Oscars. he admires you as you go up the stage to receive your award.

·˚ ༘ warnings: fluff, mentions of nervousness?

·˚ ༘ note: yall I just made up a random movie name lmao. i’ve been so busy I haven’t had time to write one fic, this has been sitting in my draft for weeks now 😓. ps u can tell I love enzo in black. I'm sorry if there's any grammar mistakes. i’ll try to update soon!

Cameras flashed all around the carpet, you embodied every new pose for each camera and revealed a few smiles.

“Y/N look this way!”

“You look amazing!”

After ending a few shots you walked across the carpet trying to get into the venue, that was until you crossed paths with a group of men. One of them bumped into your body frame when you tried walking into the entry of the venue, your hands plopped from the front of your dress.

“Oh- I’m sorry.” You perked up to see a man in a black suit, somewhere between your age, if not older. And you swore you recognized him from somewhere. But you weren’t sure from where.

“I’m sorry, miss.” His accent was thick. You stood by thinking for a second until it hit you—

“¿Enzo?” The tone of your voice seemed with excitement that you couldn’t hold back.

“¿Sí?” He replied with a questionable style, but his lips showed a smile.

You extended your arms in a way of surprise. Meeting other celebrities that you were a fan of because of their work would always get you so hyped up. You still were not used to the fact of meeting other celebrities in person, not just through the screen. “¡No puedo creer que estés aquí! Soy T/N, gran fan tuya—” You shake your head placing your hand on your opened chest. “Excelente trabajo que hiciste en la Sociedad de la Nieve.”

His smile only grew with your praise. It was the hugest one you had ever seen, it almost made you wonder if it didn’t hurt his cheeks. “Ay, pero vos—” he copies your motion of putting his hand on his chest with a small pout of warmness. “Me fascina tu trabajo.”

The both of you kept on lauding each other with so many compliments, that at this moment everybody had seen the two of you together. But for both of it felt like you were just having a normal conversation as two friends, not even two people that had just met.

“Vi que estás nominada a mejor actriz.” He mentions.

Your head nodded with excitement, excitement that you couldn’t hold back. You were so happy to be here and thankful as well that all your hard work got you to where you once wanted to be.

“Estoy muy emocionada pero también muy nerviosa.”

“Ya verás que ganas, vos sos la mejor.” He gave you a side smile with a wink that didn’t seem flirtatious but more friendly. “Y si no, no pasa nada. Un premio no define tus logros y gran trabajo.”

“Ay gracias.” You blushed at his compliment.

The both of you walked into the venue of the Oscars. You had to part ways but you wished each other the best of luck before you went to your respective seats. The nerves inside you never stopped and continued to tremble through the night. Even more with how close they would get to the best actress.

You were trying to repeat the words Enzo had told you. Even if you didn’t win you were still proud and happy to be one of the nominees. That is something that shows how big of an accomplishment you’ve made and it makes you nothing but proud.

When the host got the envelope that revealed who was the winner of tonight’s best actress, your heart felt like it was running the mile.

“And the nominees for best actress are—”

Each of the actresses began to appear on the screen, including yourself, with scenes from the movies. Each of you had a round of applause that made you smile, from the nerves and happiness. This was it.

“And the Oscar goes to—” The screen lit up with all the nominees having a camera facing towards them.

From where Enzo sat he looked only at you through the screen. He smiled seeing how you couldn’t hide your shakiness and nervousness, but also excitement.

“YN. Later On Tonight.” Enzo watched the moment your face went into shock as you did a little jump before turning to look at your co-stars who had the same reaction as you.

The venue erupted into clapping, Enzo with them. He watched how you raised from your chair and walked over towards the stage, your dress slightly dragged on the shiny floor, but it wasn’t important at the moment. Enzo watched how you accepted your Oscar and how you stared at it with shock in the eyes, he was honestly proud.

He thought you looked beautiful, your dress was a light shade of green, your hair was half up and the intention was for it to look messy, for you had a couple of strands on your face. Your makeup wasn’t much, but you could still notice it. There was a little glittery eyeshadow on your eyes and your lips were a tinted strawberry red. You looked like a princess to him.

“Wow, This— I don’t know how to start.” You giggled out of shock. “Thank you so much to everyone in the crew, my parents, friends, and agent, I wouldn’t be here tonight accepting this award if it wasn’t for any of you. I am so grateful, and all of the nominees tonight you all are amazing in what you do, big fan of all of you.”

Your lips let out a sight trying to think, you were able to make contact with Enzo who only smiled and stared softly. You thought of how to finalize your speech.

“A wonderful person tonight told me, and I quote, “Un premio no define tus logros y gran esfuerzo” An award does not define your accomplishments and great effort, and they are right. So to anyone who doesn’t win tonight, or didn't, just know you are amazing at what you do, you are still the best and already winners. Thank you so much.” You raise the Oscar in the air. When you glanced towards Enzo once more you noticed his smile.

He watched you run towards your friends immediately embracing each other in a huge hug. He watched how you jumped up and down, to what he found cute. He watched how you snapped a picture with the award and a silly smile. He assumed your reasons were to show a loved one the award.

You looked pure, mesmerizing. He felt the necessity to snap a picture of your moment and send it to you. You needed this framed. Maybe his way of starting a conversation with you after the events. When he took the picture, he captured you smiling with the Oscar in one hand and covering your mouth in shock with the other.

He’ll see when he sends it.

After all, you'll answer. Will be surprised, but you'll answer.

#enzo vogrincic #enzo vogrincic x reader #enzo vogrincic fic #enzo vogrincic blurb #enzo vogrincic one shot #enzo vogrincic imagine #enzo vogrincic x you

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tojivu · 1 year ago

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# OFFICE HOURS ‣ GOJO SATORU

✰ — author’s note i feel so guilty bc gojo is literally the only character i write for LOL anyway this is an old draft from months ago. idk why this is so long im so horrendously down bad for this fucking snowman.

✰ — cw / tags arrogant ceo!gojo x secretary f!reader, sfw, not rly enemies to lovers bc gojo has fat feelings, gojo satoru being a billionaire playboy

✰ — playing death & taxes by daniel caesar.

✰ — word count ~3k LOL

nothing about gojo satoru really strikes you as the serious type.

even in a professional environment, your boss always has a carefree demeanour. his laugh is so nauseatingly loud that you can hear it from outside the office, and you wonder how someone as busy as him manages through his day; much less with a positive attitude. you take one look at his schedule, and you want to vomit with the way you hardly see any gaps between appointments.

you suppose you could learn that from him. it's his only good quality.

you admit that he's likeable, on surface level. there's a reason why you detest him, though: as his closest colleague, you know him way more than you would prefer. most people would think such a well to do man like satoru would have a wife by his side, but that's unfortunately not the case. you almost feel more miserable than him—because now you're forced to be the listening ear and comforting hand at his beck and call.

you think he'd be just fine if he was just a little more humble. he has a nice face. it's his fault for being so stuck up. you know how many women ask him out—painfully aware, actually.

'they just aren't suited to my taste,' he would say to you. 'i need someone that makes me feel alive.'

one time, gojo even asked you to bail him out of a date—something about the way she held her fork and knife disturbed him, and you were expected to show up at the restaurant and act as if there was an emergency.

'i'm so sorry, sweetheart. i have to go, duty calls.' his disgustingly charming tone made you want to slap him then and there.

she called him again the following week, and he completely forgot who she was. he didn't even save her number.

the sheer number of people asking him out had stroked his ego so hard that gojo firmly believes no woman is deserving enough. he rambles on and on to you about how snobby some of them seem, and it takes everything in you to bite your tongue when he does. 'takes one to know one,' you would say, if not for your job at stake.

you think gojo satoru is full of himself. you are a strong believer of that. a witness, as well—it's not like he didn't try his way with you, too. unlike the women he ranted about, you turned him down every single time.

it's been a long while since any of that has happened, though. the most recent ordeal was months ago, but that didn't inherently mean that people stopped asking him out: it just meant that he was rejecting every single offer.

it's a thursday morning when you find yourself eating a sandwich you purchased on the way to work, at your desk—wondering when the big boss will finally arrive. the clock read 9 a.m., and you're expecting an extravagant "good morning!" to surprise you any moment now.

just then, you notice mr. conceited walk in: except something is different. he has no stride in his step. there was no good morning. there was no playful teasing directed at you as he walked past your desk and into his office, not that you were complaining—it was just strange.

you stand up, a mouthful of your sandwich still being chewed. you take a big sip of water and fix your skirt and blouse, making sure your hair is presentable—before swiftly making your way into his office.

──────

"i cannot believe this." he mumbles. you're standing in front of his desk, but he's not facing your direction.

gojo's chair is turned to the giant window that overlooks the business district, and he's gazing out of it thoughtfully. you think this is the cheesiest thing you've seen him do.

you can see how disheveled his hair was, even from where you were standing. you don't want to irritate him further, in case teasing you was still on his to-do list that day.

"what is it, mr. gojo?"

he swivels his chair around, and he is a mess—just what could have he been up to?

"i woke up late today."

"you're the boss, mr. gojo. you can come in any time you want—"

"not the point." he interrupts you. "i forgot my lunch. i was in the car, with the driver, on the way here already. . . and then i realised i left my donuts at home."

gojo's face is absolutely distraught. he looks like he's gone through a divorce and had his house set on fire with how he stands up dramatically—his hands now on his desk. you open your mouth to speak, but he shuts you up by talking again.

"i didn't want to inconvenience him. i'm too thoughtful, miss y/n."

you want to scoff, but you bite your tongue and hold back.

"so i got out of the car and ran back for it," gojo recounts. "i arrived home after the treacherous journey—only to discover that my donuts are gone."

you feign an expression of shock, just to humour him; he gives you an 'i know right' look, and continues his nonsensical story.

"the maids threw them away, miss y/n."

you can't help yourself: you let a small giggle slip through your lips. you quickly use your hand to cover your mouth, thinking of a quick excuse.

you cough. you pretend to, at least—but gojo satoru is not stupid.

no, maybe a little. though, not enough to be convinced of your terrible acting.

"nothing about this is funny."

you nod, looking down at the floor. "i apologise, mr. gojo, but it's just a few donuts. i'm sure someone in the office could fetch some for you."

"yes, i agree." he says, and you shift your gaze from the marble tiling of his office to his face. his hair is a mess, yes—but he still looks revoltingly handsome. his eyes are piercing through yours, and pieces of hair cover his face in just the right places.

you're staring a little too long and gojo finds his pulse quickening with the eye contact—but the spell he has you under is soon broken when he clears his throat.

you quickly look away, embarrassed that you were caught staring at your boss, by your boss.

"you'll pick some up for me, yeah?" his smooth and silky voice echoes through the empty space of his office.

you look at him again, and there's a gentle smile on his face; one you're all too familiar with.

you're aware of satoru's charismatic nature, his playboy-ish attitude, and all sorts of tricks he uses to make women fall head over heels for him. that didn't mean you were completely resistant to them, though—you find yourself playing with the sleeves of your blouse, your ears beginning to redden. "of course," is all you manage to say.

at least you were self-aware.

your mind was rational. should gojo satoru try to hit on you for the nth time—all it took was some self discipline to say no, and you'd like to think you had plenty.

you think the conversation is done with the way he doesn't speak another word, so you turn on your heels and make your way out of the office.

just as you touch the handle of the door, your boss adds: "i'll come with you."

you turn back to him, confused. you didn't need your boss babysitting you for a donut run, you knew his favourite flavours—it's all he ever insists on buying for lunch. "there's no need for that, mr. gojo."

satoru shakes his head in disapproval. "you don't even know my favourite flavours, miss y/n."

that was a blatant lie. he knew you knew. you were his personal donut grabber for a few months up until august, and it was only october. you suppose that it would've continued on if not for your complaints about the long lines in the morning.

nevertheless, you don't argue with him. gojo satoru was the type to get what he wants, when he wants, if he really wants it.

you smile at his disregard for the months you spent as his errand runner, and how idiotic the excuse he just used was. satoru knows he's lying through his teeth, and your smile makes him more nervous than your eye contact.

so nervous, in fact, that he takes back what he just said. "unless. . . you're fine by yourself."

you're surprised that gojo's confidence is dissipating, or that it could even fade at all. you can tell with the way he's avoiding your eye contact, exactly how you evaded his earlier—the red on the tips of his ears are much too obvious in contrast to his hair.

"i don't mind," you respond a bit too quicker than appropriate. "mr. gojo."

gojo curses himself mentally, thinking about how stupid he must sound. he's usually the one making people nervous, but he doesn't know why it's different when you look at him like that.

──────

the atmosphere is deafening in gojo's favourite bakery. you always knew he had a sweet tooth, so you expected his choice to be a spectacular one—and you weren't disappointed.

you had personally visited this bakeshop before, and the confectionery was truly as good as people made it out to be; it proved evident in the amount of people crammed into this small establishment. though, you can't tell if it was for the food or for your boss, with the way most pairs of eyes are turned in his direction.

you two spend a good five seconds looking at the menu before gojo states his order, which was exactly what you thought it would be—the lady at the cashier smiles a bit too long at satoru, before asking: "eating in?"

you want to open your mouth to say something, but he beats you to it. "of course."

it was still very well your work day. he (or maybe you and him, considering you helped him plan seventy percent of his appointments) had a meeting in 3 hours to prepare for. you think this donut adventure is already unnecessary enough—but here he is, suggesting to waste even more time eating the donuts in the bakery itself.

"we have a meeting in a bit, though. you could eat it in your office."

he looks at you with a confused look, as if he forgot that there was a meeting at all—because he did forget. gojo gasps, turning back to the lady and retracting his previous statement.

──────

gojo eats his donuts agonisingly slow and no conversation is initiated.

you're alternating between staring at both your laptops and the swirls on the wooden desk, unable to say anything because you didn't plan for such an occasion: an eating donuts with your admittedly handsome boss that makes you nervous while simultaneously planning for an important meeting occasion.

"miss y/n, you should try some."

you shift your eyes from the table to gojo, and he's holding a small piece of his donut to your lips: the powdered sugar practically calling your name.

"it's fine, i ate earlier," you decline his generous offer. "you should eat."

"i'm not asking you to eat all of them, miss y/n." he smiles at you. "just a bite. it's really good, y'know."

you sigh, reaching for his hand to take it from him—but he swiftly pulls it away and shakes his head. "open your mouth."

you feel the tips of your ears burning, blood rushing to your cheeks and you wonder how the girls he takes out manage themselves when he's like this—you've worked with him for so long, yet you can't recall a time when his gaze wouldn't make you shudder.

you think you'd stutter if you spoke one more word to him, so you save yourself from the embarrassment and bare with his request.

he feeds you the piece of sugar-coated donut, and you're sure you have powder on the corners of your lips with how it's width barely fits into your mouth.

you chew and swallow, feeling the residue of sugar on your skin.

"do you have any tissues?" you ask him, a serious expression plastered onto your face.

gojo tries to suppress the chuckle itching to escape his throat—the sugar on your lips and cheeks catch him off guard, and after a few seconds he can't help but let a small laugh slip. you stand up from your chair, scanning the room for any boxes of tissues you could lay your hands on.

he stands up as well, shaking his head—still giggling.

"it's not funny," you frown, and the smile on his face only grows wider—you're too cute for your own good when you sulk. "stop laughing."

you're not sure if you want to punch him or let him giggle to himself. for some reason, seeing you embarrassed is a great cause of joy to him. you can't bring yourself to tell him to shut up; you always imagine doing just that, it's strange how you couldn't muster the courage just when you needed it most.

"it's quite funny," gojo's laughter eventually calms down.

he leans closer to you and his right hand gently holds the side of your jaw—he uses his thumb to gently wipe the sugar off your cheek, and then your lips. "i got it."

his thumb stays on your bottom lip after dusting the sugar away. his pupils are locked onto the surface of your lips, which were glossy in the harsh light of his office: they looked so soft.

before long, they trail up your face until he's looking directly into your eyes: and this time you're not nervous, you don't look away, and your heart is completely calm.

satoru's fingers are easy on your skin. he handles you like fragile glass, as if he doesn't want to break you: and it's the same for the way he looks at you. gentle.

you're reluctant to speak because the way satoru has his thumb on your bottom lip sends shivers down your spine. you feel breathless.

you don't want this feeling to leave, not just yet.

a few seconds of tension pass. his hand moves back to your jaw, and your nervousness returns when gojo satoru leans his tall figure even closer to you; his head tilting ever so slightly.

it's a random thursday morning when you discover a few more good qualities gojo satoru possesses: his lips and his hands. maybe the way he kisses, too—it's slow and precise, unlike his attitude. he tastes sickeningly sweet and it makes you want to savour this moment even more.

you promised yourself you wouldn't fall victim to gojo satoru. yet, you just can't pull away: instead finding yourself slithering your arms around his neck and your chest pressing against his.

gojo's hands are wandering down to your waist and he's desperate to have you as close to him as possible, showing in the way he tries to close the already small gap between you two.

it takes only a fraction of a second for a small thought to form in your mind: just how many women have been in this position?

you quickly forget about that thought, though—you think it's pointless to regret it now, gojo satoru kisses you too good to be full of remorse.

gojo thinks he could stay like this: kiss you all morning, afternoon and pay you overtime if it meant he could be this close to you for just a bit longer.

there's hints of neediness in gojo's touch—as if he'd been waiting for this forever, wanting to relish it before it ends. his few seconds of bliss don’t last very long though, because you're soon pulling away—gasping for air.

he sighs mockingly, his hands sliding down from your waist to your hips. "can't last longer than 10 seconds, miss y/n?"

of course he would say some cocky shit like that—you'd forgotten for a minute that this was the same, arrogant mr. gojo you always knew, and no kiss (however heavenly) was going to change that.

"i'm sorry that i don't go on dates with every man that breathes."

gojo smirks at you after you say those words. "come on. just because i go on dates with people, doesn't mean i kiss them like this."

"sure you don't." your jealousy shows a bit too much in your reply, and he finds himself smiling even harder.

"is someone jealous?" he teases you again, rubbing circles with his thumb against the flesh of your hips.

you feel flustered, knowing that you're definitely done for now—he saw right through you. "nobody is jealous, mr. gojo."

"stop it with the formality. just call me satoru."

"it's still office hours. it's only polite."

gojo rolls his eyes, sighing in the process. you grin a little at him, knowing that this was the first thing you denied him of today—complying with the donuts and the kissing was already spoiling him enough.

"then i suppose there's only after work," there's his nauseatingly charming voice again—low and smooth. he knows exactly what he's doing to you, and you know it too. "i'm off after 6."

you think long and hard about whether you want to be mean and add this to the list of things you've declined to do for him. the ratio was starting to get really unbalanced—but you remember the way his hands touch you and how his lips greet yours so lovingly: and you think that there's no point turning back now.

"my boss doesn't let me off until after 8, though." you try to poke at his buttons—you put on a fake pout, knowing you’ll accept his invitation anyway—but gojo satoru is eternally patient when it came to things he sincerely desired.

"fuck your boss." he says, "he'll be fine with it."

you laugh at his response. you never thought you would see the day gojo curses at himself, after all, he's so self-obsessed: but you suppose you've seen—and tasted—parts of him that you never knew existed.

"then i'll see you at 6, mr. gojo."

what was the harm in discovering more?

230323 — i kinda hate this but.. wtv… anyway i couldn’t be bothered to proofread have my brainrot of gojo in a suit Mmmm yumyum

#jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x reader fluff #gojo x reader #gojo x reader fluff #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jjk imagine #jjk imagines #gojo imagine #gojo imagines #gojo x y/n #gojo x you

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ctrldoll · 9 months ago

Text

Perfect Home

Wife!Reader/Husband!Miguel O'Hara

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Genre: Angst (⁠ب⁠_⁠ب⁠)

4.5k words.

Arguments are so tasking to write! They're supposed to be illogical, anyway. :⁠'⁠(

This has been in my drafts for a month! Ideas were not idea-ing! (′д｀σ)σ

Listening to a The Weekend playlist while editing was such a vibe!!! (∩^o^)⊃━☆

Warnings: Cheating, Pressure From Parents, Society’s Marital Standards, Desire To Have A Child, Cursing, Envy, Suggestive & Homely Vibes Are Non-Existent.

Peace and blessings to you, My Love!!!

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑ [𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐏] ➜ He cheated, you found out. You don't know whether to leave him or not. Now what?

The egg in the pan let out a bitter scent before you firmly flipped it. “Ugh.” You let out as you looked at it from your sunken and puffed-out eyes, breathing in mucus as you struggled not to sob once more. “Over an egg? Over an egg, [Name]?!” You thought and picked up a tissue to brush your tears and stray drops of slick over.

Just yesterday, you found out about your beloved husband's cheating with his ex for two months.

You should have caught on to the signs during your parents’ gala that took place two months ago. Dana’s excitement led her to firmly hold on to Miguel's firm arm as Miguel discussed the success of a deal with Stark Industries with the both of you, which should have been a warning sight. It irked you slightly, but you didn't view it as enough to suggest anything. Maybe how Miguel didn't depart from her hand for minutes on end should have done it.

You've always been a bit credulous. Always having one too many friends who didn't really care about your well-being from the beginning, desiring all that your younger self, who faked sickening sweet kindness, had. The public loved every bit of it, as did your parents. You noticed the subtle hints of disrespect and commented on them much later. Far too late.

You made sure your presented nature wouldn't crawl into adulthood, but it spread itself into your relationship.

Miguel was a quiet nerd when you first got to know him. Never the hot topic, he stuck to himself the majority of the time.

You bonded with him while you visited your friend in the institution, watching as she obviously flirted with Miguel's friend while they walked with one another. Surprisingly, you bonded over an idle conversation about cake.

“Tres leches is fantastic! Dios mío, there's no arguing with that!”

“Yes, Tres leches may be fantastic to you, but [ — ] definitely crosses that!”

You both didn't catch the side-eye both friends gave one another.

The next week, a double date was set.

It was the perfect TV show grounding for marriage. It all feels like a waste now that you look back on it with low eyes.

“Mi Alma.” You rolled your eyes as your husband walked into the kitchen in sweats with a water bottle in hand. You felt the chill of the Five AM air for a moment before you turned to place the egg on your plate and turned off the stove.

The crinkle of the wrapper as you pulled out the loaves of bread constantly broke the silence in the room as you looked away from him.

“Were those four years we spent with one another a waste?” You asked after a moment, then opened your mouth to chew on a loaf. A tear poured down your cheek, but you quickly wiped it away.

“No, no, they were not, Cariño. They were the most amazing years of my life.” Miguel sadly sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I'm so sorry, Mi Amor. I promise I'll be better. For you, for us.”

“You don't get to call me that. How am I your love when you cheat on me?” You barked, glaring at him. Your fork clinked when it reached the floor. You sighed in exhaustion and picked it up. You tossed it into the pile of dishes in the sink. “Fuck, I feel done.”

“Can’t we just get past this? We've been through so much for something like this to tear us apart. Miguel tsked and shook his head as he rolled his eyes. Nervousness ran through them, but he wouldn't show it. “Are you fucking serious right now, Miguel?! I should get over it?! Is that what you're saying?!” You yelled, frustrated, and you took deep breaths to calm down. “You’re such a fucking asshole, Miguel.”

“What about you, [Name]?! You're so damn ungrateful! I’m there for you! I support you, but you never support your husband! You barely do anything useful; you're always so caught up in your work that we can't even spend time together!” Miguel yelled, drawing closer to you.

“I have to work, Miguel! What part of that don't you understand?! I don't do anything useful?! Who's the one who does nearly everything in this household?! Me! You aren't even around for us to spend time together! If you aren't working late into the night, you're fucking patrolling! Do you want me to just sit down and wait for you?! I have other things to do!” You couldn't be more thankful in the moment that the room was soundproof. You could let out more than you would have in other spaces.

“You are so damn stubborn! Fuck! We can't even have a conversation without you trying to form an argument!” Miguel yelled, standing at arm's length as he pointed at you.

“Don’t point at me, Miguel.” You demanded and backed away from him to grab your purse. “If you honestly think that this isn't overdue, you're ridiculous. Stop victimising yourself. I’m the one who was cheated on. Go be with Dana, who probably won't piss you off as much as I do.” You said it with a crack at the end of your words as you struggled not to break down.

“[Name], I-” Miguel pushed his hand forward to grab your arm, but you pushed it closer to your form as you quickly left the hotel room. “Read the letter on the kitchen table. Or don’t. I don't really care.” You closed the door and walked away.

On the kitchen table, a letter in cotton paper was laid on it with your mother’s formal handwriting, inviting the both of you for lunch before your departure. Miguel cursed as he read it, the stress already getting to him as he envisioned how it would be.

Meanwhile, you headed to the café, reassuring yourself to calm down as you walked the longer route to it, hoping to have felt better when you reached there.

What you didn't notice was your mother’s gaze upon you from her balcony as she let out another puff from her cigarette while in her white silk nightgown, a black coat with a fluffy neck covering her as she cocked her eyebrows. Her eyes squinted at the moment you paused to quickly rub your eyes. She let out a hum, watching your figure disappear from her sight.

“These crumpets are quite fantastic.” Your father smiled, spreading another with blackberry jam as he chewed the spongy and soft treat. “We should wait for a few moments before requesting lunch, no? It will only take them a few more moments to arrive.” Your mother smiled at the both of you, a glass of water in hand, before taking in a long sip, bothered.

“So, Miguel, how have you been? Is there any success in the partnership with Calahan Tech? I've heard much about it in the Nueva York Times. Business moguls are just as excited about it as I am.” Your father's eyes twinkled in excitement as he imagined the size of the funding he would receive and the amount of votes the results of the collaboration would bring him in the next election as he snacked on a pig in the blanket.

“I’ve been well, Joseph. The agreement to partner has been a bit tough because we've been trying to convince the funders to work with us, but I’m sure we're about to reach a breakthrough.” Miguel responded, proud, as a smile appeared on his face. His hand shifted to your thigh under the table, alerting you as you took a quick look around before shoving it off of you. You were still bothered; he could tell by the way you struggled not to furrow your brows and the quick way your heart beat at his gesture, which reverberated in his ears as you gracefully downed a glass of water to calm your nerves.

“If you ever need some extra help, you know who to call. I can convince those hotshots to remove the sticks up their asses and agree.” “Joseph!” Mary whispered with a hiss, patting his arm as the man chuckled. “No one heard me, Darling. I whispered.” Your father said it with a wink, placed his hand over his wife's, and squeezed it. Her shoulders slouched, pleased even if she didn't verbally express it, at her husband's gesture, and she looked at their intertwined selves, then went back to her drink.

Joseph winked at the both of you once more and separated his hold from hers for the appetisers.

Your heart squeezed with want as you watched them. It was a moment of love, but also a reminder that you couldn't have that anymore. You looked away with a smile, not wanting to endure the feelings of sadness that weighted your heart.

“Hello, Mary. Hello, Joseph”. You heard in the background but were unable to focus on the two new voices in the background as you focused on calming yourself down.

“Cariño, I-” Miguel whispered in your ear, catching onto your feelings, but a sharp noise broke the moment.

“[Name]! Look at you! You're getting more and more gorgeous by the day! My gosh, you're glowing!” Elle, your sister-in-law, beamed and hugged you from your seat. You stood up quickly to hug her and beamed when you saw your brother walking up to the table.

“Aww, you're so adorable! Gosh, we haven't seen you in a bit.” “We apologise for that, by the way.” Micah shook your hand and led Elle to their seats. He smiled at the stink eye your mother threw at the both of them and rolled his eyes once he looked away from her.

“We apologise for arriving so late. Some business had to be taken care of just at the moment I was to leave the office.” Micah said with an apologetic look on his face. “We wish that we could have arrived on your anniversary as well, [Name] and Miguel. Work, once again, occupied us. Happy belated fourth anniversary to the both of you.” Elle congratulated him with a smile and thanked the waiter when he brought their wine.

You internally giggled at her personality change. Elle was always so casual around you but had to become formal when the fact that she's in public sets in. It wouldn't be good for a model to appear improper.

“How are you, Miguel?” Elle was greeted as Micah nodded. “We haven't seen each other in a while, man.”

“I’m doing well, thank you. I’m just taking care of the missus.” Miguel responded to Micah’s approval and your resistance to roll your eyes. “It’s been four years. I still can't believe that [Name] managed to tie someone down. She's so difficult.” Micah chuckled as you glared at him. “Speak for yourself. I still can't believe Elle wanted you. She could have done so much better.” You giggled and dismissed him with a wave of your hand.

“Don’t you remember when you..." Micah began, but Mary interrupted him. "Children, there is no need to complain about one another. To be quite honest, I didn't expect either of you to get married so soon. I thought that you'd both get married after building up your characters.” Your mother giggled, much to both of your dismay.

“Mum? You're cracking a joke? Are you sure you're alright?” Micah questioned, raising a brow that quickly came down when you kicked him underneath the table. “What was that for?” “What are you talking about?” You evaded his glare with a smile.

“I’m just glad to finally see my children and their spouses in the same spot.” Your mother had a gentle smile as she looked at the both of you as your partners looked elsewhere for a moment. She didn't approve of Elle either.

In her view, her children were supposed to marry someone of their status. Someone who is highly regarded. Not anything but that.

However, she regarded your brother in a higher manner when it came down to who he chose to marry.

Elle was a ‘blantant gold digger’ in her words, ‘a model who just wanted someone to raise her higher in the industry’. Micah was a highly praised film director and writer. Who better to expose her to the world of the rich and famous than him?

“Before we continue, Micah and I have an announcement to make.” Elle announced and stood up along with her husband. Your heart dropped as the next sentence echoed in your brain.

“We're pregnant!” They both grinned and hugged one another while grins appeared on your parents' faces. “Congratulations!” Mary cheered and eagerly stood up to hug the couple. “Congratulations. My boy, you've done it again!” Joseph grinned, to which Micah flustered.

“Congratulations!” You finally joined in, grinning as you hugged them both, a bit too tightly. You wanted the moment to feel real. You weren't upset. You couldn't be. You shouldn't be.

“That's a bit tight.” Elle said, causing you to break it. “Oh, I'm sorry. I'm already excited to see your little one or ones.” You grinned. “Congratulations, you two. We can't wait to see the little one.” Miguel smiled next to you, wrapping his arm around your waist.

You could feel the sharp looks from your parents, Micah and Miguel. Elle paused to look at you, and her brows furrowed in worry. "I hope this wasn't inappropriate." She whispered in your ear, looking at Miguel for a moment, holding your hand, to which you tightened the hold. "Elle, are you excited for this new part of your life? I'm so happy for the both of you." You shook your head to hint, and a relieved smile appeared on her face. "Yes, yes, I am." She responded and hugged Micah. He hugged back and smiled at you as a form of assurance and sternly looked at Miguel, to which he looked away.

“I can't wait to find out the gender of your little one. Searching for outfits will be pleasant.” Mary said once you all sat down, smiling at the couple who were in their own moment of adoration as food was brought on the table. Your heart broke as you watched Micah caress Elle’s stomach lovingly, and her hand lifted to squeeze his as they smiled at one another.

You looked at Miguel, whose eyes remained trained on yours, and softly sighed when his hand held yours in assurance, wanting the hurt to end when yours squeezed his. Clinging onto his attention, you hoped that it would rub off the pain you felt, but guilt and shame crawled onto you. You drew your hand from his and onto your fork.

“I just know they'll be spoiled rotten.” Ella giggled as Micah let out a chuckle. “Definately. We'll have to watch out for that.” “I can't wait to meet my first grandchild.” Your mother’s gaze fell on you for a moment, emitting her disappointment in you before having it on the couple as she grinned more.

Much was discussed around the table. The women's attention remained trained mainly on the little one and topics that interested them, as the men were cooped up in their own little world. Soon, it was near the hour of your departure.

“[Name]. Let's chat for a moment in private.” Your mother said once Micah and Elle left to arrange their hotel room. The frown on her features became more evident the more you both drew away from the public eye. You both stepped into an empty break room. Once the click of a lock was heard, you sighed.

“Do you even realise just how disappointed I am in you, [Name]?” Your mother started. “Micah has a child before you. He hasn't even crossed two years with that girl, and he's made so much progress compared to you. You should be ashamed, [Name].” Anger flared in you as the words sunk in. You had already been through so much in such little time. Why did life’s cards decide to add more to your plate?

“Why does it bother you so damn much? I’ll have children when I want to. What part of that don't you understand?” You responded, glaring at the older woman. “You’ve always regarded Micah highly in comparison to me when it comes to marriage.” You rolled your eyes at her glare.

“[Name], Micah’s a man. Whether or not he has children early, he's alright. If he were to even leave Elle, he'd find someone new. He’d be able to have children, regardless. Men get better with age, unfortunately, unlike us. Your clock is ticking, [Name]. You need to progress into the next step of your life before it's too late.” Mary shook her head and sighed at what she believed was your foolishness.

You drifted into lassitude, it clinging to you like glue, with the realisation that she would never be satisfied with you until you did what pleased her. “I can just imagine how the public will react to this. You've set yourself up for failure.”

“I need to go.” You said, looking at the keys in her hand. “[Name]. Why can't you just listen to me? Did I raise such an impudent child? I’m just looking out for you, [Name]. I don't want you to experience regret. It'll never stop. I’m guiding you towards the right path.”

“Open the door.” You said once more, refraining yourself. “Why do you act so childish? I’m trying to help you.” Mary insisted, only further pushing your buttons. “Open the door.” You repeated it and headed towards it. You hand motioned at it. “You’re going to regret it if you continue with what you're doing.” Mary said, placed the key inside the keyhole, and turned it. “Maybe I will; maybe I won't. I respect you so much, Mum. Let's end this.” You said, then opened the door. “This will only end if you do what is right.” Was all you heard her softly say. You left.

“They offered only sixteen million dollars to help fund the project?” Your father questioned Miguel as he puffed the cigar on his lips and blew it out. The smoke waved in the air, and Miguel glanced at it for a moment as he drank his glass of beer. “Yes, they did. They didn't believe in the project’s potential until recently, when testing made a lot of progress.” Miguel responded, then drank the rest of his drink.

“Your drinking tolerance must be high. You've drank four beers since you arrived, and you're still standing straight. You'd do amazing in the drinking competitions that go on in the basement on Saturdays. Don't tell Mary; she wouldn't be pleased to know about them.” Joseph winked, to which Miguel chuckled as he shook his head. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

“Miguel, why won't you have children?” Your father broke the silence and looked at him, somewhat disappointed. “I’m a man as well, Miguel. It's not hard to conclude the possibilities.” The cigar was nearing its last draw.

“My career. I don't think it would let me enjoy the simple pleasures of family life. I do my research late into the night. [Name] does so much to accommodate that. I don't think it would be right of me to bring children into that.” Miguel confessed with a sad gaze as he thought back to your heartbroken expression when you found out about his involvement with Dana.

It hunted him throughout the missions he did that night, rage and shame filling his form, and anyone around him sensed it. Many in the Spider-HQ avoided him in the brief night he was there. Jessica and Peter avoided him as well, aside from brief interactions. They knew he'd pour out his feelings to them eventually.

“As much as using work as an excuse gratifies you, it's a poor choice, Miguel. You'll regret it if you decide to let it linger.” Your father looked at him from the side of his eye and rubbed his moustache.

“My work was easier in my younger days, but I found it just as challenging as I find it now. I was just an assistant to the previous politician at the time, too. You understand what I’m hinting at when I say that, right?” Miguel nodded, to which the older man smiled.

“I had my children either way. It was a struggle to tackle the task of raising them and working. I had days where I thought I didn't do enough for them and that I found my work to be more important. Mary had her own career to focus on. She would work late into the night. I’m assuming that [Name] does the same thing since she chose to be a designer just like her mother. Do I need to be corrected?” “No, you don't. You're right.”

“We still did the best we could, regardless. We could have done some things better, yes. But we can't go back in time to correct ourselves. We can only give advice to those who seem to be going astray.” Joseph hinted, looking at Miguel, who looked back at him.

Joseph knew; he could tell by the way he looked at him, disappointed and angry, but chose to contain himself.

“I only hope you won't regret your decision, Miguel. Just know that I will be alongside my daughter when she decides to tell us.” Your father took in one last puff and let it out. Miguel and Joseph gazed at the smoke one last time until it disappeared into the clear, blue sky over the beautiful atmosphere.

Joseph's cigar remained in its ashtray, the soft red of it fading with each passing moment. Both men took in the peacefulness of the atmosphere with sombre spirits.

Moments after you freshened up, you headed to your husband. “We should head out in a bit.” You said, then placed your head on his shoulder and laid your hand on his chest. He noticed how drained you felt. He sensed the irregularity in your hormones. You felt his arms wrap around you, and you wrapped yours around his. You made your decision at that moment.

“Cariño, I am so sorry. I'll be better. I'll never hurt you again.” He whispered in your ear, his soft tone and the warmness of his breath in your ear making you melt in his arms as you tightened your hold on him.

“We will see each other once more.” Mary stated, across both of you with her husband. She hugged you, then Miguel. Her hands held the sides of both your shoulders and shook them. “Drive safe, alright?” Joseph said, then hugged you and shook Miguel's hand. “Yes, sir. We'll be alright.” Miguel responded and shook the keys with a grin.

“We hope to hear some good news soon.” Your mother commented, smiling as she directly looked at you. “We will soon, won't we, Miguel?” Joseph said, looking at Miguel with a grin. “Hopefully.” Miguel responded and straightened himself. You could tell that something happened between them. “Don’t worry, you will soon.” You responded with a smile and left hand in hand with your beloved.

The strawberry air freshener, coffee, Miguel's spicy cologne, and your sweet perfume lingered in the air of your home when you both stepped in. The cosiness hugged your form, and you took it all in, craving the warmth you desperately needed in the last two days.

“Miel, it feels good to be back, doesn't it?” Miguel placed your luggage on the side and hugged your waist, savouring the comfort of the air before him. You squeezed into his warmth, cherishing it as a longing emotion overcame you. You turned to face him, and before anything could pour from his plump lips, you locked them with your own.

He lifted you, soft lips still entangled, his stamina much greater than your own, to the wall, willing to do all the work as you squirmed in eagerness across him. “Let me help you.” You said, in between gasps, need flaring all over your body as he kissed your neck, nearing your collarbone as kisses and tiny licks trailed towards it.

You could feel the slight sting of a canine; the sensation became foreign as it had been a long time since you embraced in hazy lust. Your body missed it—the curl of your back as you felt it draw a messy line down your collarbone.

“Mikey, please-” You drew out a sharp breath, your eyes hinting towards the stairs that led up to your bedroom, then shut tight when he pressed his hips closer to your own, evidently just as excited as you were. He lifted you in a hug, and your legs immediately clung on to his waist as he tightly held on to you, almost as though you'd disappear right there and then.

“Mi Vida, I promise I will never hurt you again. Te quiero tanto. Te quiero, te necesito tanto, Mi Vida, Mi Todo. Por favor, por favor, déjame tenerte.”

[“I love you so much. I love you, I need you so much, My Life, My All. Please, please let me have you.”]

��You can have me, Mikey. Please.” You dragged on, clinging more to him as want consumed your forms.

The sensual fog filled the house as carnal desire mixed between your bodies late into the night. You finalised your decision as sweat stuck to your body, your gaze on Miguel as he slept soundly. You hadn't seen him like this in such a long time. Your fingers moved to separate a stray lock that stuck to his cheekbone. Pain struck your heart when you thought about how Dana must have seen him this intimately. You wouldn't blame her if she did the same thing you had just done. You just hated that she got to.

The never-ending bustle of Nueva York in the distance was all you drifted off to sleep once more with. You had a fleeting thought of what went on in his mind when he watched you drift off to sleep first. You knew he must have loved it; he must have gazed at you with the same adoration during your first moments together. You missed it all.

“I want a divorce, Miguel.” You calmly let out, scrambled eggs on your plate and his as you ate breakfast with one another, spirits low. He sighed, an indication that he expected this, then looked at you, searching for a sign that you would consider any plea that fell from his lips. He didn't find any. “I’m sorry, Mi Amor.” He apologised, then drank coffee. The cup was placed on the counter a bit loudly for comfort. He looked towards you in apology. You nodded, then turned to eat.

“I know.” You responded, looking out the window at the eggs that softly lay on the nest on top of the tree next to the household, wondering if, by leaving him, you'd unlock the path towards that. The mother bird’s eyes lingered on her eggs for a moment. Maybe it was in adoration.

You let out a hum, making Miguel shift his low eyes towards your own in questioning, and you shook your head, then turned back to your plate.

I’m done!!! Yessssss!!! I don't know whether to continue with this or not. If I do, it'll take a bit to get chapters. This took a bit out of my lifespan but I’m so happy that I wrote this! ꒰⁠⑅⁠ᵕ⁠༚⁠ᵕ⁠꒱⁠˖⁠♡

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fieldsofwriting · 3 months ago

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Could you do a part two to the ask about blurting out a confession to the love interests? I just know March would be a blushy mess

Omg yes. This has been sitting in my drafts forever- I'm so sorry!! But here it is for you!

(More below the cut!)

Friday nights at the Inn were a good way to let loose after a long week. And so, here you were, drinking away at the bar without a care in the world.

You and March are a giggling mess next to each other. Laughing, talking, and sharing longing glances. As most of your drunken interactions go.

But tonight it was different- for you at least. The way that March's cheeks were flushed, how his eyes crinkled with he laughed. His...well everything.

You had to tell him how you felt.

So, after downing more of your drink you turn to him. Grabbing his cute little cheeks and squishing his face. "March. March I need to tell you something."

March gently takes your wrists and holds them. Nodding. "Yeah?"

"I am like- grossly in love with you."

March's entire face both falls and lights up at the same time. Twisting into a scowl and he pulls your hands away, "Don't joke like that Y/N."

But you shake your head, "I'm not! I like you so much, you are just-" You got to squish his cheeks again but he stops you. "You started out mean but thats not the real you. You're kind, and funny, you smell good! Like a campfire! You have a big heart- under all that mean you really are just...perfect." You gaze at him lovingly. But March's face continues to redden.

"If you don't cut the bullshit I'm gonna kiss you." He snaps.

And you smirk. "Blah, blah, blah I'm in love with you, blah, blah, blah!" You tease.

March cups your cheeks and pulls you in for a tender kiss. The whole bar quiets for a moment before you two pull away.

March looks away, blushing madly. "...I'm in love with you too."

A/N: I hope you enjoyed!! I'm so sorry it took me so long!!

#fields of mistria #fields of mistria x reader #fieldsofwriting #fom x reader #march fom #fom march x reader #march x reader #fom march

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stagefoureddiediaz · 3 months ago

Text

Sentences on Sunday!

I have two things I've been working on over the past week to share with you this fine Sunday!

First up - an excerpt from my Buddie fic about Famous Country singer Eddie and Firefighter Buck. This is a small part of the section bout Eddies childhood and how he became a country singer in the first place. Its very much in its draft form (sorry run on sentences I need to fix!) so it may not end up looking like this when I'm done with it, but thats a long way off as this fic is going to take a while to actually write because surprise, surprise it keeps getting longer!

But Eddie was never much good at holding things in for very long. Oh he could bottle things up like the best of them, but it always ended up badly when he did. Building and building until it exploded out of him at importune moments. So, when he got suspended from school for fighting with Luis Garcia after Luis had caught him staring at Noah Johnson in the locker room and had, in the way teenage boys do, proceeded to be a dick about it, he found himself on the receiving end of an angry lecture from his mom and sent to his bedroom with no dinner as his initial punishment until she had spoken with his father and they had decided what was to be done about him. He had angrily sat on his bed, fuming over the injustice of being punished for defending himself against a bully, staring at the guitar propped up in the corner of his bedroom, remembering the words his Abuelo had often said to him; ‘Music, Eddie, is always with you. It lives in you. Setting it free will help you make sense of the world and of yourself. It is your truth, never lose sight of that.’ He remembered those Sunday afternoons at on the porch. They were his favourite time of the week, the few hours when he felt like his true self and free of the expectations placed on him. The guitar had stared back at him and he had found himself crossing the room, picking it up and sneaking out of his window onto the roof. Scrambling up the shingles until he was sat with his back to the chimney stack looking out over his neighbourhood, he began to strum. Rusty fingers fumbling with chords he only half remembered.

And the second thing I have to share - a picture - I'm currently mid editing my submission for the podfic fest coming up in October! I've been having a blast giving podficing a go and I hope you'll all enjoy listening to me reading one of my most favourite Buddie fics when its time to share it (even if I'm convinced everyone will hate my voice and how I've read the fic!!)!!

Tagging the following and anyone else who has something to share! @spotsandsocks @exhuastedpigeon @daffi-990 @honestlydarkprincess @princessfbi

@fruityfirehose @hotshotsxyz @theyarnmaidstale @dorkydiaz @theladyyavilee

#sentences on sunday #seven sentence sunday #even if its more than seven!!#things I'm working on #there are not enough hours in the day #but hyperfocus for the win!#kyms adventures in writing #kyms adventures in podficing #buddie #911 abc #country singer Eddie #he is my most beloved #the moustache may even make an appearance in this fic!#Why did I choose to podfic such a long fic? because its one of my favourites and I do't do things in half measures!#eddie diaz #evan buckley

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aritsukemo · 26 days ago

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Hello! I hope you're having a nice day!^^

I wondered if i could request a fluff Mondo Oowada x Fem!Reader fanfic (possibly the reader being a short, chubby introverted girl, his opposite pratically) where the two finds an injuried stray cat while doing a walk in a rainy day taking care of it as they can? Maybe at her place being the closest? (reader lives alone).

Possibly the two aren't in a relationship yet but they clearly likes each other confessing in a good moment?

My apologies if this is too much 😭

Kitten Love | Mondo Owada

Mondo Owada x Fem Chubby Reader ( @merykitten )

Warnings: Both Mondo and Reader are stupidly in love with each other but have no idea their feelings are reciprocated. Lots of stammering and stuttering ( especially towards the end ). Possibly poor depictions of pet care ahead! The pronouns used for the kitten ( he/him ) are used as an umbrella term! Reader is implied to a short, chubby female and is mention accordingly as such! And of course, mentions of blood up ahead! You have been warned!

A/N: It's finally done! After a literal month ( and some weeks ) of sitting in my drafts, I finally put on my big girl pants and finished this request! I'm sorry you had to wait so long dear and I hope you like this despite me having zero knowledge of anything revolving cats and how to take care of them! :D

The doors of Hope's Peak Academy opened at the chime of the bell. At last, the day was over. You're able to go home and relax, cook a nice, hot meal, and possibly watch an episode or two of an old childhood classic you enjoy.

Alas, the sky wasn't filled with sunshine and rainbows like you would've hoped it would after a long day like today. It was quite the opposite, in fact, and you couldn't even see the sky as it was covered by thick, dark greyish clouds which angrily shed it's frustrations out on the world by drowning it with chilling rain.

And, of course, you just had to believe the weatherman that morning and decide not to bring your umbrella..

With a sigh heaving from your chest, you shake your head, and in the process, shake away the discomforting thought of how gross your clothes are about to feel against your skin for the next thirty minutes or so. You then straighten up, gripping onto your bag hanging against your hip and take your first step outside..

..But when you do, your shoe isn't immediately drowned in water like you thought it would. Furthermore, a large shadow casts itself over you as if it were some guardian angel shielding you from the despicable rain.

Comes to find out, you weren't too far off from your intial assumption. As you peer up to glance at your savior, your eyes laid on the angel that you had the pleasure to call your close friend, Mondo Owada.

"Don't tell me you were about to walk home in the rain," He said, voice gruff as always, but unusually soft-sounding for someone with the terrifying title as the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader. It was a voice reserved only for a very select few people, you included thankfully. After all, you love the way his voice sounds when he's being gentle with someone, especially you.

As of late, it seems you've noticed that you like a lot of things about him.

"The thought crossed my mind," You said, a smile rounding on your plump face, "But it seems that now I won't have to..right?"

"Obviously," He said with a small roll of his eyes, "I'd be a piece a' shit if I let you walk home by yourself, especially in this weather."

"Well, it's not that big of a deal. I walk home everyday and there usually aren't any incidents that occur when I do even when it rains," You hadn't even noticed it, but the two of you had already made it down the street and were waiting to walk across the crosswalk. It wasn't the first time this has happened, and yet, it still surprises you how you seem to completely let go of everything—even your sense of surrounding—when you were with him. It was as if Mondo was the world itself.

It sounds cheesy to admit even in your head, but you've come to realize that, maybe, you've started to see Mondo as your entire world. Or at the very least, the sun that brightens it everyday.

"Still, it's too damn dangerous for a woman to walk home by herself. What if something happens?" He asked.

"Well, I'd probably call you for help," You answered, partially thinking aloud which you realized a fraction of a second too late.

"I- I'm sorry," You spit out quickly, facing beginning to burn despite the cool air surrounding every corner the two of you turn into, "That was..! I- I shouldn't rely on you so much.."

"Nah, it's fine!" He yells and you cringe, your hand coming up to cup over your poor ear. Mondo, who was already pink in the face and now turning red like a cherry, clears his throat, thankfully going back to that gentle tone you're more fond of as he stammers out, "My bad.. 'Didn't mean to- I wasn't trying to.."

"It's okay," You reassure him with a pained smile, and yet, your hand still remained cupped safely over your ear, just in case, "I know you didn't mean to—" "Sccxx..!"

You both pause, your sentence getting cut short by a sudden, loud clang followed by a sharp hiss. You turn your head, gaze landing on the darkness that shrouded the alleyway the two of you stopped besides which produced an ominous vibe along with the discomforting silence that followed so quickly—too quickly—after that noise just now.

Your heart raced as you stared on only for it to then freeze over entirely as you felt the familiar, rugged touch of Mondo's fingers wrapping around your arm as his other hand gently brushed against yours and smoothly slid the umbrella handle into your palm.

"Stay," Was the silent command he told you as he left the safety and dryness that the umbrella provided, having to go through the trouble of lowering his head to pass under the curved edge of the umbrella due to the drastic height difference between you two. You found the sight as silly as you found it embarrassing.

You watched on, surrounded by the loud background noise of the rain pattering violently against the street's pavement and the wet sploshing of Mondo's loafers stepping in puddles as he walked forward.

He paused just before he was swallowed whole by the shadows, looking around as if he had night vision and could see everything in the darkness..

"Do you see anything?" You asked, taking a step into the alleyway when he shakes his head no. You make small, but quick strides over to him. The back of your feet lifting as you stand on your tippy-toes and stretch your arm up as far as you could, a satisfied smile forming on your face when you successfully manage to get him under the umbrella.

You quickly decided that the dull pain shooting up your leg from your feet was just a small price to pay to save Mondo from looking like a drooping, sad puppy dog.

You take the time to glance around the alley yourself, and as he said, there was no one there. Your gaze then falls on Mondo before glancing down at your feet, your mouth moving to say, "Maybe the wind blew something down," as your eyes lingered on the tipped over trashcan at your feet.

"Probably," Mondo grumbles out, but just as he begins to turn back to you, his eyes suddenly dart past you and before you even get the chance to question why, he starts shouting.

"Duck!" And on his command, you immediately bow your head, not expecting him to crash into you immediately after.

The force of his body colliding into yours has you stumbling back into the brick wall. Thankfully, your clothes prevented the rough action from cutting your skin open albeit it still knocked the majority of the air in your chest out which caused the choked gasp you let out.

Your mouth falls open, quickly sucking in as much air as you can to make up for the oxygen lost. It takes a moment, but you eventually succeed in your goal..only for your heart to nearly stop working when you realize the most damming thing; this entire time, you've been face first in Mondo's chest.

You've never been this close to him before but gods do you wish that would change. Unlike what one may believe, Mondo smells nice. Not like cigarettes or blood or drugs. In fact, he smells like a respectable gentleman, like cologne and nature..

It'd probably feel glorious to lay against his chest while enjoying a good show, nap in a field, or do anything really.

Alas, your daydream was cut short quicker than you would've liked it to. As the threat ceased, so did Mondo's warmth against your body. Either that or it was simply that he realized that he was pratically crushing you. You assume that it's a mixture of both. Regardless, you find your chest bottoming out like a deptless pit at the almost painful feeling of the cold creeping in and removing every follicle of warmth his body heat produced against yours. You find yourself struggling as you fight every urge to simply drag him back and keep him against you until the sun shows it's face again.

"M- My bad! I didn't mean to be so rough, I—!" He said, his yelling coming back with a vengence. This time though, he catches himself mid-sentence and forces himself to relax.

"..Did I hurt you?" He asks, and you immediately shake your head and reply, "No, I'm just fine. But more importantly, are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Something jumped out that trashcan just now, but I kicked the fucker away somewhere," He explained and you found yourself nodding along until your ears picked up a small cry for help—the pitiful mew you heard—towards the opening of the alleyway.

You turn your head, eyes widening at the sad sight you were met with. A small kitten laid on it's side, the gash on it's tummy laid visible and red, seeping it's color all over it's white fur—though, you can barely tell it's fur color due to all the brown and black dirt spots covering it's body. It's ears laid flat on it's head, the left one in particular seemingly sliced to the point the bloody top half hung at a slant. All while the rain mercilessly showered the poor thing in freezing rain.

And, of course, you wasted no time in gently pushing Mondo aside and stepping over his now damaged umbrella—that you plan to pay him back for at a later date—to jog over to where the small kitten laid.

"Hey! What's.." Mondo trails off, his hand—which he reached out in your direction as soon as you left him—slowly lowering as he watched you kneel down. Both of your knees dipped in a puddle you took little mind of as you reached your hands out to the kitten that he's just now taking note of.

It was only then that everything clicked. The strange noise, the kicked over trashcan, the feeble attack.. It was all caused by that tiny little ruffian that he put full force into kicking away..

"Poor thing.." You mumbled, voice cracking from just how soft you said your words. Mondo has to fight away the thoughts that surfaced when he heard that. The fantasy of having you call him something—anything—in such a pillowy tone all the while he pretended that he wasn't literally going weak in the knees because of that fantasy. A hard task in hindsight, but he managed regardless, walking up to you without so much as stumble.

"Shit.." He said under his breath as he saw the kitten up close, specifically how grotesque the injuries were, "I didn't mean to do that.. I- I mean if I knew it was just some cat I wouldn't of—"

"It's okay. I get what you mean," You reassured, looking over to shoot him a knowing smile and turning a way a bit too quickly to notice the growing blush that forms on the male's face as you continue looking over the kitten's state.

"A lot of these wounds seem to have been caused before you kicked it, so please don't blame yourself for something you didn't cause," You said after a moment.

"Yeah.. I'll- I'll try not to," He stammered out before his face scrunches out of your view, immeidately cringing at himself for how dumb he sounded just now.

"..Anyways, what are you going to do?" He asked.

"Nurse it back to heath. It's wounds are serious and it seems like a stray.. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I left it here," You answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Of course you'd say something like that. You were always kind—thoughtful—and even when it inconvienced you, you always went out of your way to help everything and everyone around you. You were like a breath of fresh air in a sense. After all the fighting and bloodshed being the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader entails, you were refreshing to hang around which is probably why he's always finding ways and situations to do just that.

Or at least, that's what he told himself.

Mondo watches as you curl your fingers around the kitten's backside, his heart clenching in on itself as he watches the way it weakily swats at you with its paw—which he notices has damaged, uneven nails sprouting at this tips of it.

As you lift the kitten into your arms, its panic seems to spike and makes if go on the offensive, spurring it to let out a shrill cry an aggressively swat at you, managing to successfully knick your skin with its claws. You wince, both at the initial feeling of it's knives-for-hands cutting your skin open and the stinging of the rain water hitting the fresh wound. Mondo's eyes widen, going to reach for your hand before he can even process what he's doing.

"Shit! Are you alright?" He asks urgently. You nod, and as painful as it was to do so, avoided his touch by standing up.

"It's just a scratch. I'll patch it up when I get home," You told him before your gaze drifted back to the kitten, who was still squirming in your grasp. Up close, the kitten looked even worse. Its fur was unkempt, it's face and body littered in tiny cuts that had begun to turn concerning colors, and of course, the big gash on it's tummy that's oozing blood and staining your uniform jacket.

You almost bring yourself to tears imagining what the little thing must've been through to earn such injuries.

"I have some medical supplies at home," You say, "It's not the best thing in the world, but it'll help the little guy at least a little.." You look back, "Let's get going."

Mondo nods, "Yeah, alright," And he stands to his feet and trails after you, his broken umbrella ultimately forgotten by the both of you and left in the dingy alleyway..

The walk home wasn't a very long one, and yet, you still found yourself having an entire ocean in your shoes regardless. Moreoever, after a very uncomfortable and slippery walk up three or four flights of stairs, you were finally staring at the familiar numbers on your apartment's front door.

You wasted no time shifting the kitten, but you made sure to be as gentle as ever in doing so. Your hand, now free, reaches inside your blazer pocket, frantically fishing for your keys when, at last, your fingertips graze against the familiar metalic shape. You hook your finger into the ring and yank it out quickly—breathing out a small curse when they nearly slip from your grasp because of the water that sticks to your fingers.

After that near heart attack, you finally get a good enough grip on your keys to insert the one needed into the keyhole. You twist it until you hear a sharp click and then move to twist the knob, going about taking your key out before finally opening the door..

As the door swings open, you're hit with your earlier mistake; leaving the A/C on. A gust of cool winds slams into you like a truck, feeling like pure icebergs against your soaked body. Your guest must've felt the same, surely, but as you look down and back, it only seems that your little kitten friend seems to be the only one affected. In fact, the cool air seems to get to him so badly that it puts its earlier grudge aside entirely and curls impossibly closer to you.

Despite both of your bodies wanting otherwise, you stepped inside your hom. Your teeth clattered in your mouth and the first thing you did after entering is dart to your thermostat and turn it up ten or twenty degress higher. You then found yourself sighing upon the realization that it'll take at least thirty minutes or so for your apartment to heat up which meant thirty minutes of trying not to turn into a human icicle. Great.

"I- I'll..phoosh— Give me a second, I'll freeze to death at this rate," And you hurriedly hand off the tiny kitten to the large man, turning on your heel and practically sprinting down your hallway

"Feel free to kick your shoes off and make yourself comfortable!" You shouted at the last second before disappearing into your room and closing the door behind yourself, leaving Mondo to awkwardly stand at the entrance of your home.

So this is where you live. Truthfully speaking, he imagined it'd be more like you—much warmer—or, at least, a bit brighter.

This place, however, does remind him of you to some degree. It's lived-in and comfortable looking with cushy pillows overflooding the couch and a nice plant sitting or hanging in every other corner—all of which are alive, thriving, and showing off their pretty green leaves. Your dining table is decorated well with what he quickly noticed was a hand-knitted table runner—a nice touch that gave your small dining room—if you could even call it such—more of a personality. Did you make it yourself, he wondered. It could've easily been a gift from a friend or you could've simply bought it.

..Though, the idea of you propped up in a chair with a smile donning your face as your hands went to work on the table runner does make his heart swoon.

Speaking of nice things..man, does it smells good in here. Like baked goods, flowers, and a hint of your perfume. It smells so much like you that he wishes to just smother his face into every piece of furniture in this home...or bury his face in your chest or shoulder or stomach or—

"Mondo!" He jumps, his head swinging to attention where he's met with the sight of you dressed down in an oversized long sleeve and some pajama bottoms.

And even then you look fucking divine. Gods, did he just want to be held by you right now.

"Mondo, are you alright?" And he freezes at the feeling of your fingertips—which are still cold, but much drier than before—touching his chin and tilting his face down to look at you. He sucks in a small breath as those same fingers dance up his face—as does his blood—and up to his forehead where you place your hand flat against it.

"Are you having chills or something?" You asks, your pretty lashes batting as you peer up at him. Mondo doesn't take much notice of their attractive length as he finds himself watching your lips instead as they move with every pronouciation of your words.

Before he knew it, he found himself imagining what they would feel like if they were to press against his skin, his cheek, his lips, before quickly squashing such thoughts into incomphrensible dust in his head.

"Agh.. I'm- I'm fine. Don't worry, 'just lost in thought and stuff.." He mumbled out. Thankfully, you seemed to take the excuse at face value and didn't press him further.

"If you say so.. Here," You hold up a hoodie and some shorts to him—ones he noticed were bigger in size and unlike your typical style, "These are some clothes my brother left the last time he visted. Don't worry, they're clean." And you reach out, taking the kitten from his grasp and plopping the clothes in his arms.

"Go on ahead and shower and change. I'll tend to this little guy in the meantime."

"Ah..you didn't need to this," He scratches the back of his head, "I was just planning to drop you off. I don't want to lerch off ya' or anything."

"But you don't actually plan on leaving, right?" You ask, before you pause at the realization of how that may of sounded and shooting out your next words like a bullet, "I- I mean, y'know- With it raining and all.. I just thought, like, 'Man, it sure would suck to walk home right now,' and..yeah..."

In the end, you dead any chance of him escaping with a simple, small, quirk of your lips that made him unable to do anything but thank you for your kindness and shuffle to your bathroom..

"Need help?" Mondo popped the question after entering the kitchen, now dry and dressed down in your brother's pajamas. His pompodour still drooping and now slightly frizzy from his shower. You decided not to comment on it, instead nodding your head and urging him over to where you stood at the sink, the kitten latched onto your arms.

"Everytime I try to lower him into the water, he hisses and tries to attack me. I get the reaction, but I nearly drop the little guy once or twice because he was freaking out so badly.." You explained, "At this rate, I'll never be able to clean all this dirt of him."

"Here, I'll hold 'em then," He said, opening his arms enough to slip the kitten into his grasp, "That way you can focus on cleaning him."

"But won't it scratch your hands up?" You said, brows furrowing at the thought. Mondo found your concern cute, but didn't linger on that fact for too long.

"Don't worry about me. I've felt shit worse than a couple a' scratches. I'll manage just fine," He reassured, and although reluctant, you nod and grab the spray head.

After adjusting the water for the nth time as to be extra sure that the water wasn't too hot, you go about the process of grabbing and wetting the cloth you initially set aside before wringing it out just as the video you watched earlier instructed. Once done, you lower the damp cloth on the little kitten..

..And just as you predicted, the kitty hissed loudly and frantically clawed at Mondo's skin with it's uneven, pointy nails, cutting his flesh like a knife would to butter.

"It's fine, keep going.." Mondo said, face having twitched instinctively from the initial pain, but overall composed. You hesitate, but Mondo gives you a reassuring grin. It works wonders on you, relieving you enough to continue.

This time, as you run the lukewarm cloth over the kitten's small backside, you whisper in the most tender tone you could muster, "You're doing great.. We're almost done, 'promise.." And Mondo finds his face heating up like a furnace as your words caress his ears.

He found himself, for just a few seconds, silently envious of the kitten in his arms.

After a few more rinses, the kitten is finally relieved of it's watery torture and is lifted out of the sink. By that point, the poor thing was noticeably trembling, leaving you to wonder if it was from the cool air or the immense stress it's under with having their fur soaked.

"You did great," You cooed as you took the kitten in your arms and wrapped one of your clean shirts around him, smiling softly at how adorable he looked now with it's fur, mostly, a pristine white color. The same can't be said for your poor sink though..

"Look at cha', all clean and pretty now.." You said. Please call him pretty, Mondo wished to say, "We should get it patched up," He said instead.

You nod, "I already laid out everything we need in the living room, let's go," And you led him over to your small little corner where a short couch and middle table lay before a fireplace—which you already took time to prepare—and a tv that was suspended above it.

You walk over to the couch, your hips swishing a little as you do, and plop down, sighing out at the relief you felt when your cushions sink around you and the tentalizing task of walking on your sore feet was finally lifted off your shoulders.

Mondo stood awkwardly. His mind overcome with frivilous thoughts such as trying to decide whether it'd be appropriate or not to sit beside you or if to sit at all. A simple gesture from you ceases those thoughts, though, and has him shuffling to sit beside you.

Slowly, you set the kitten on your coffee table, your hands gliding up and down to pet the non-injured areas as you whisper sweet affirmations, all the while your other hand reaches for the bandages on the side of you. Mondo did nothing but watch, idly waiting for you to call for his assistance while hi mind wandered.

The place his mind sauntered into was quite nice. He was sat with you leaning against his shoulder beside him. Carefully, he stroked you hair and like an addictive song, you hummed compliments in his ear while your nails lightly trailed against the skin of his back—a fantasy one would find odd coming from the nationally-feared Ultimate Biker Gang Leader.

..Then again, a lot of his thoughts pertaining you never came close to reaching that standard. They were the exact opposite, in fact, and were as fluffy as the kitten you were covering in bandages right now.

"Alright, that should do for now," You sighed out after a while as you leaned away from the table and revealed the kitten sitting there, bandages cleanly cut and wrapped around almost every part of it's body. The slight tightness of them squished the fur, making it's frame look quite odd. It was as comical of a sight as it was a cute one.

"Tommorow morning I'll call the vet so that the little guy can get some proper help, until then though.." Your tongue stilled in your mouth. What should you do now? You have the Mondo Owada manspreading beside you and a kitten staring up at you with the most adorable doe eyes you've ever seen.

"If you want, I can leave.." You heard him mutter and you found your heart breaking at the thought. Yes, the thundering patter of the rain had ceased some time ago, but you don't want him to leave your side—ever, if that was possible.

Being sucked in by the depressing feeling the thought brought, you seemed to have forgotten that you still haven't answered him. At your silence, Mondo scratched the back of his head, muttering, "..Really, I'm overstaying my welcome here. I appreciate you lettin' me stay here until the rain let up, but a man shouldn't leech off a woman's kindness, y'know what I mean?"

As he said that, he stood to his feet. Something in you jumped at the sight and with realizing it, you had shot your hand out to grab his wrist. You were surprised when it dawned on you what you had done and, when he turned to look back at you, you realized that Mondo seemed to mirror your expression.

For a moment, you simply stared at him and held his wrist, unable to process the weight of your action or how to make this situation you caused less awkward. Mondo waits, but whether that's because he was still trying to get over his own surprise or was trying to figure out what to say himself was unclear.

"I.." You began. Your face feeling like it had been set on fire as you broke eye contact with him and looked down at your feet, "I..would like it if you stayed with me a little longer.."

Silence. You bit your lip. Why would you say that? Your tone made it seem like you were begging him! Agh! You probably made him uncomfortable, you should just—!

"Alright!" You jump. Your head snapping up at breakneck speed to look Mondo from just how badly he had startled you with the sheer volume of his voice. The sight you're met with is quite confusing to you; Mondo looking everywhere but at you while his face was stained an apple red—a lighter flush from the usual bull-colored shade he gets whenever he's enraged.

"I- I don't mind! I mean- A man shouldn't make a woman sad and if leavin' upsets ya' then..uh.." It was like he was running on fumes—starting off loud and intense only to end up sputtering out quiet mumbles at the end. Oddly enough, it brought you comfort knowing that even he can feel choked up at times.

"I think I get what you mean.." You say, attempting to clear the former awkwardness from the air with a more stable, lighthearted tone. Alas, you still found yourself stammering as you followed up with, "A- Anyways..uhm..wanna watch a movie to pass the time? ..I just bought a new one not too long ago," You stand to your feet, "I don't know if you're into thiller all that much, but maybe..to pass the time we could..—"

"Yeah.. Yeah, that's fine," He replies, his eyes following your figure as you make your way over to the tiny bookshelf in the corner where all your books, movies, and music cds resided. It gained him the courage to ask, "Do you..tend to buy stuff like that?"

And you answered, sounding more relaxed after having shaken off majority of the embarrassment you felt a moment ago, "Well, no. I'm more of an action drama sorta person, but my friend kept telling me about how good this particular movie was and even lended me her copy so I couldn't resist taking the opportunity."

"Ah, alright.. Well, I'm not a real' big movie person myself, but..I- I wouldn't mind taking ya out sometime," You fingers still right above the movie—which took ages to find—as you slowly looked back, your eyes widening.

Did he actually just..

At the sight of your facial expression, Mondo seemed to realize how poorly phrased his words must've been by the way you could practically see his heart freeze over in his chest.

"N- Not like in that kinda way!" He quickly said, "I wouldn't- I mean it's not that you aren't my type—shit—! I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean—!"

His petrified rambles die like a tidal wave as the bells of your pretty giggles bounce off the warm walls of your home and straight into his ears. He pauses, the fear still entangled around his heart as dread seeps through his jacket..until your lips fix to say in a shy mumble..

"If you can find the time for it..I wouldn't mind that. Not at all.."

Even with those reassuring words, it's only when he sees a smile begin to creep up your reddened face that his shoulders finally slack and he exhales a breath he never knew he was holding in the first place, still not being able to believe what he just did, but feeling butterflies now at the thought of the future..date.

And the entire time, your little kitten friend watched in the background with its little head beginning to tilt to the side. The whole scene was like a little kid watching their parents awkwardly flirt with each other like idiots in love.

Which, in this case, wouldn't be too far off from the truth. Neither of you certainly thought so at least.

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

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