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mydearestbeloved · 5 months ago

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Chapter 23 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

“What’s with this traffic jam? It’s really backed up.” Jinwoo asked, his voice breaking the lull as he drummed his fingers lightly on the steering wheel. As the car inched forward at an agonizingly slow pace, he muttered something about taking the subway, eyes scanning the congested road ahead, a faint crease of irritation forming on his brow.

You glanced up from your musings, your elbow propped on the car door, chin resting in your palm. Your eyes were fixed on the distance, far past the endless rows of brake lights ahead—almost indifferent, as if the raving engines and honking vehicles just outside were nothing more than background noise.

“Maybe a gate popped up in the middle of the road?”

Jinwoo turned his head to you, giving you an incredulous look. His sharp stare lingered until you caught it out of the corner of your eye, remaining unfazed. “What?”

Before Jinwoo could respond, his phone buzzed to life, the name on the screen flashed: Chairman Go Gun-hee.. He answered, listened intently to the voice on the other end, and replied as necessary. The situation was, in fact, just as you had guessed—a gate had indeed materialized, right in the middle of the highway too, hence the massive traffic disruption.

After the call ended, Jinwoo turned back to you with a similar expression as before. The hint of amused resignation was new though.

“What?” you repeated, your voice carrying that deliberately lackluster touch of feigning innocence.

This time, instead of being interrupted in a timely-good manner, his silence was broken by a soft chuckle as he leaned back in his seat, his posture relaxed, as did the uptilt of his lips, despite the urgency of the situation.

After a beat, that easy smile was directed towards you. “You gonna come with?”

You tilted your head slightly, mimicking his casual demeanor but with an air of mockery that was all your own. “Depends. Let’s see what the system has to say.”

“So, not a no?” Jinwoo’s tone took a turn as he leaned closer, leaving no other way for you but to meet his eyes, his grin just as daring.

Perhaps reflex played a role when you raised your hand and planted it against his face before he could get too close, gently pushing him back with just enough pressure to send a clear message: Don’t push your luck. Jinwoo showed little resistance, the twinkle of mirth in the backdrop of grey peeking between your fingers unmistakable.

You dismissed how you could distinctly feel his mouth move as he played along with your antics. How the soft brushes of lips felt on the border of your palm and wrist, teetering so close to where one could feel vital signs through the skin.

“Shut up,” you grinned back, and the following vibrations on your hand, mimicking the act of chuckling, told you more than enough.

It was good to know that he was now comfortable enough around you to be like this.

“I’ll do a quick detour for our emergency preparation,” you added, finally pulling your hand back and breaking eye contact. Your gaze shifted out the window as if searching for something unseen. “I have a feeling it’s going to rain.”

Jinwoo raised a brow, stealing a glance at the sky through the windshield. The sun shone unobstructed, the horizon was clear, with no sign of rain clouds in sight. Still, he’d learned by now that your ‘feelings’ were rarely wrong.

Cryptic words and double meanings, he just had to figure them out—figure you out.

The game both of you had been playing since the very start.

How thrilling.

Jinwoo hummed, opting for another question, though it was one he already had a pretty good guess on the answer. His smile never left. “How many backups have you planned, really?”

“A lot.” —a simplistic answer that was just so you, flashing him a sweet smile of your own.

With that, your form began to shimmer, your edges dissolving into myriads of lights, the chimes of your butterflies filling the air.

Through the mirror of his iris, the beautiful fragments swirled. Jinwoo closed his eyes briefly as the luminous insects flitted past his face, bringing forth passing warmth against the skin.

“You go on ahead,”

When he opened them again, only a single butterfly remained where you once sat, its iridescent wings fluttering softly. It went to perch on his instinctively half-outstretched hand, and Jinwoo brought it closer, feeling the faint, ticklish brush of its wings on his lips.

I’ll find my way to you.

The butterfly dissolved into nothingness, yet he knew it was keeping him company, always, despite its lack of visibility.

He was not alone, not anymore.

Jinwoo leaned back in his seat, raking a hand through his hair as the corner of his mouth curved into a grin, lingering all the way as he made his way to the gate’s location.

If he had truly looked at himself in the rearview mirror at this moment, would the faint color of his cheeks and the creeping warmth had only been the effect of the rosy-hued sky and the golden glow of the setting sun?

Jinwoo muttered under his breath, though there was no mistaking the fondness in his every little action then.

“What a difficult woman.”

---

Jinwoo stood amidst the wild greens of the foliage; the air as ominous as ever if not more. The oppressive heat and humidity were immediately followed by the torrential downpour. The thick jungle surrounding him, water cascading down the leaves and pooling into muddy streams, and the dense magical energy crackling in the air all pointed to one thing.

“You know…” Jinwoo said to no one, his tone as flat as it was dry, despite him literally soaked from head to toe. “However I see it, this feels like a red gate.”

“I told you so,” your voice rang out light, and Jinwoo looked up to see you hovering in the air, donning your usual raid ensemble, your form bathed in faint iridescent white glow. The rain parted around you and the butterflies flitted, refracting light in a way that made Jinwoo feel like he was witnessing a scene from one of those vibrant stained-glass windows.

Divine—that word again.

Soft chimes mixing harmoniously with the rhythm of harsh pitter-patter. Despite his enhanced physique, the falling rain still dug uncomfortably into his skin, under the layer of wet fabric. But even so, he couldn’t look away.

As for you, for a moment, you entertained the idea of looking after a wet cat.

With a subtle motion of your hand, Jinwoo suddenly found himself enveloped in the same translucent glow and phantom warmth. The raindrops now bounced and slid off him harmlessly, though the protective barrier couldn’t undo the soaked clothes below.

“You’re a little late, don’t you think?” Jinwoo quipped, though there was no bite to his words.

Yeah—a sopping wet, fussy black cat.

“You seem fine enough,” you quipped back, starting to make your descent. “I’ll help you dry off once we’re out—shit!”

The next second, the world seemed to blur as the storm surged louder in your eardrums—a brief flicker caught Jinwoo’s attention before his instincts kicked in.

Time seemed to slow after—closer than either of you expected, stealing the air from your lungs, senses overwhelmed by proximity’s warmth. Dimly, you felt familiar, sturdy arms supporting you, and the scent of damp earth mixed with something distinctly him.

Déjà vu—and the disconcert of living through a cliché.

Chaotic fluttering, the butterflies’ notes twisted into a cacophony of delight, increasing in volume alongside heavy rain and thunder. Yet, all seem to blend into the background of mingling breaths, inches apart.

None spoke, eyes locked with another in a moment that felt stretched too long and too short all at once. Light danced in between, shadows fleeting across each other’s features.

Somewhere, amidst the cold shower and warm softness in his hold, Jinwoo felt a strange awareness settle within each heartbeat.

And then, the moment broke. The chimes quieted, and everything faded into the storm’s veil once more.

---

[A hunter is born to hunt.]

“So,” Jinwoo started, attention flicking between you and the battle up ahead. “you can teleport from outside now?” Intrigue flashed in his eyes, though his tone retained its usual calmness.

“…”

“(Name)?”

“…Yeah,” you finally replied. Distracted was an understatement of the nearly two decades you’d been thrown into this world. “The recent ascension automatically leveled up some skills. My teleportation works the same as before, but now it’s more… precise.”

“Precise?” Jinwoo’s brow arched in question.

“Mm-hmm. Visualizing the destination is no longer enough; I need to know the place like the back of my hand.” Your eyes followed a purple butterfly fluttering past his shoulders. “Being manually taxing is a recurring drawback to my powers, so I’m not too surprised. The good thing that came out of this is that there are less restrictions. Dungeons are basically another world altogether, but now I can go in and out even after the gates closed, granted I still have memory of the place and that nothing unusual happened. Still researching on that.”

“Bless my children, since I still need an ‘anchor’ for the first travel.” The butterfly joined the fray. “Under normal circumstances, they can travel on their own. But for traversing between realms? In case they’re not strong enough to withstand the force, they need to attach to someone who can cross to the other side. Once inside, that child can send me the specific ‘data’ via telepathy—the area’s distinct wavelength, for example.”

You made a light sweeping motion with your hand. “And voilà.”

A hunter’s foe isn’t limited to monsters.

Jinwoo hummed thoughtfully, his gaze sweeping across the battlefield. He watched his soldiers press forward; their footwork precise even on the rain-slick, muddy ground. The flitting butterflies wove among them as usual, shimmering beacons boosting any soldier in close range and playing with their food the enemies. What was unusual was the flashes of forms far too humanlike to be his shadows.

Jinwoo narrowed his eyes, studying the contrasting figures. Their movements were seamless, as if rehearsed, covering each other’s blind spots. As chaotic as these fights could get, there was an unmistakable rhythm to them. A Danse Macabre brought to life.

“They can fight too?” Jinwoo asked, his voice tinged with slight awe.

Following his line of sight, you smiled faintly. “Yes. At first, it was the adults’ initiative. I’m fine with them as they are, but my darlings wanted to make the most of it now that they can maintain corporeal forms without the hassle of constantly using hallucinations.” You nodded toward the entities in question. “Their skills heavily depend on what I’m capable of myself, since they weren’t initially designed for direct combat, but…” You tilted your head toward the nearest skirmish. “What can I say? Adaptation is one of our mottos.”

[A hunter must take care not to become the hunted.]

Jinwoo followed your gesture and saw Igris, his long sword cleaving through enemies with practiced ease. Covering his back stood a familiar elegant figure, crimson strands in a braid and wielding dual rapiers. She was as pristinely suited as the first time she introduced herself. The tailcoat, patterned like her wings, followed her movements fluidly, making her seem like she was dancing.

Hup!

Light on her feet, she launched herself in the air and struck. The thrust precise and deep despite how delicately thin the blade looked, evident by the fountains of blood erupting from her staggering victims before Igris followed up with swift decapitations. With how calm she looked at times, her eyes were another level of intense, like an undying flame.

She landed with a bow and—did the raining blood just turn into showering petals?!

“You’ve already met Red,” you said casually, though Jinwoo detected a hint of pride. “My right hand.”

Gaze lingering on the pair, Jinwoo was unsure what was more baffling: the eerie theatrics or how seamlessly Red fought alongside Igris without a single word exchanged.

His attention shifted to another figure, starkly different in demeanor and a paler complexion.

On top of her head were triangular-shaped ears blending into straight snowy-white locks. The color contrasted sharply against the battlefield’s murky tones, as did her pale blue eyes. Seemingly a staple to your children who gained a more tangible form, the black and white attire she wore was adorned with fluffs from neck to boots.

The situation can always reverse,

“That’s Blanche.” You chuckled softly seeing the girl reflexively nuzzle into her thick scarf, only for droopy eyes to narrow, clearly displeased with the wetness clinging to her usual comfort. Even her long fluffy tail wasn’t spared, slumping dejectedly in response.

Peeking out from the tufts of her of sleeves were clawed hands of clear ice, at least twice a normal sized hand. That same hand tore straight through an adversary’s chest. As the beast dangled from her grip, she flicked them off with ease to swipe at another incoming attackers.

What was interesting to Jinwoo was how the minion sent flying looked stiff. Only when Tank caught them with his mouth did Jinwoo have his answer. The chilling crunch when the shadow munched on them, how pieces of the body cracked like glass and fell off with no sign of the usual dripping warm liquid, suggested that they were frozen solid. It was a frigid carnage.

“She’s dozing off.” Jinwoo noted dryly as Blanche retracted her claws and leaned onto the massive ice bear, sinking into his wispy black fur.

“Leave my baby alone. It’s nearing her hibernation hour anyway.” You cooed in the pair’s direction, seeing that Tank decided to not disturb Blanche’s nap and just sat there, munching away at the frozen enemies she left behind.

“And when exactly is that?”

“Almost all the time.”

Jinwoo didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or sigh at you.

“You’re spoiling her.”

“Blanche always got her job done before going to sleep, so I see no problem.” You trailed off.

[And it’s the mark of the first-rate hunter to avoid becoming complacent.]

Jinwoo chose not to comment further. He followed your wandering eyes toward a blonde figure next. Hair tied in ponytail, she wielded a massive shield with an ease that belied its size, using it to batter enemies in a manner that seemed more recreational than necessary.

“There are two of them now.” Jinwoo deadpanned.

True to his words, it was quite a sight.

Iron was, unsurprisingly, doing what Iron did best: slamming down the blunt end of his battle axe on what appeared to be an enemy, a pretty much dead one. The blonde woman, with eyes resembling the sun, mimicked his actions with her shield and an almost childlike glee. The two were taking turns in smashing the unfortunate foe until it was simply unrecognizable.

“That’s Sol,” you said, sweatdropping. “She’s, well, energetic.”

Jinwoo sighed, and honestly, you couldn’t blame him.

“I can see that.”

“…Sol’s a good child.” You continued with a wry smile. “Just a curious spirit most of the time.”

“Right. And she follows Iron around because…?”

“She finds him amusing.”

“That sounds even worse somehow.”

You could only offer a helpless shrug.

The next child Jinwoo noticed was perched comfortably on Tusk’s shoulder, nonchalantly swinging her legs and humming a tune. Turquoise eyes glowed against dark bronze canvas, various runes of the same bluish-green circling her, and a tome floated by her side. Her hair was a striking red, blue, and the occasional hints of white and purple, shifting hues with every movement like a living aurora. Her ears were long and the tips pointed, Jinwoo noted.

Whether you hunt tens, or even hundreds, of monsters,

“That’s Neonie.” you introduced. “Abilitiy-wise, think of her as a living magical artifact.”

Each motion of the her fingers brought forth circles of magic, materializing across the battlefield. Glittering mist flowed out, a blanket of cloud around the High Orc Shaman and magic unit below, amplifying spells’ firepower, restoring mana, and decreasing casting cooldowns in a near constant cycle. Some smaller magic circles stationed strategically around the fog-affected areas automatically shot projectiles to melee foes closing in on the mages.

Jinwoo was squinting at this point. Mist aside, the output of spells back-to-back were blinding enough.

“Can we adjust the brightness?”

“Sure! When you managed to control your first instinct to not glare at my sorceress every time you see her, we’ll talk.”

“Huh?”

“Oh please, I saw how your face scrunched up seconds ago. I already made Baruka’s remains a stat boost for your dagger, give the guy a break.”

You rolled your eyes, though the twitch on your lips betrayed you when he made a face again.

A strong gust of wind swept past, ruffling your hairs and prompting you and Jinwoo to glance upward. Kaisel soared overhead, his massive wings stretching over the rain-drenched jungle below, cutting through the winds. Trailing close behind was what seemed like a flurry of butterflies in a weird formation, a blur of royal blue.

You whistled and the cluster halted in its flight, only then did Jinwoo could get a proper look at the silhouette. The most attention-grabbing feature was the pair of wings, flapping in brief intermissions to keep the bearer afloat. They weren’t the delicate blue and black structures patterned on her uniform; instead, there were layers of translucent feathers, matching the end of her trench coat. She had rich blue eyes; dark brown strands framed her face in a bun.

[You must hunt ceaselessly.]

“Jinwoo, meet Gale.” The aforementioned bowed to Jinwoo. “The best flyer of my butterflies.”

“And also,” Jinwoo barely had time to process this before his sharp ears caught a distinct metallic clack from above. His gaze snapped back to Gale—was that a minigun?!

“Our aerial support—”

“Everyone duck!”

The assault began, the shots ripped through the ranks of enemies below. Jinwoo’s caught another detail then: like the briefest projection, the feathers spread wide dispersed light in a way that momentarily resembled the intricate patterns of a butterfly. They flared, and from the 'eyes', beams of light shot downward, incinerating adversaries that got caught in its line, leaving charred remnants in her wake.

As the dust began to settle, Jinwoo quickly noted that his soldiers and your children remained unharmed, courtesy of Tusk’s and Neonie’s protective barrier that had shielded the allied forces nearest to the blasts. Iron and Sol too, raised their shield to protect the others nearest to them.

“…and sniper—”

BOOM!

Yeah, no.

The resulting shockwave left Jinwoo’s hair slightly disheveled, and he noted with some amusement that yours wasn’t spared either.

That was a fucking missile.

Again, none of his shadows nor your butterflies had been harmed. Gale’s actions might seem reckless, but, as far-fetched as it sounded, the attacks were isolated in a way, suggesting some level of careful handling and not just reckless abandon.

“I…” You looked dumbfounded if anything, mouth parting a little bit, and Jinwoo found it cute. At least that reaction was enough of a confirmation for him: you didn’t, in fact, planned that, not to this degree at the very least. Jinwoo reckoned Gale took some liberties, and it was just good bad timing on your part. “…I’ll speak to Gale on toning it down.”

“Good call.” Jinwoo chuckled.

You cleared your throat, a strange look of avoidance passed through your expression. “Well, that’s all of them that are present anyway”.

Even when you said that, Jinwoo’s gaze drifted past you, landing on the peculiar silver-haired figure standing still under the rain. She seemed wholly engrossed in her own world, her face tilted upward to let the water trail over her features. Her expression painstakingly crafted to exude pensiveness, it was as if she were playing out a dramatic scene in some high-budget movie—you know, where a character’s thoughts were spoken aloud by outside voice? Minus the pile of corpses beneath her heels of course.

“What is she doing?” Jinwoo finally asked, his tone edged with skepticism, finding it very hard not to be openly judgmental this time. Your lips twitched, unsure whether to laugh away the embarrassment like a maniac or dig yourself a hole and simply die with it.

[As that unknown presence does too.]

The King has no plan to stop his hunt—"Ouch!”

The woman in question abruptly yelped in pain and doubled over. Her hands flying to the top of her head where an angry red bump had formed. Her face scrunched up into a teary expression as yellowish-orange orbs turned to the crimson-haired figure now looming over her.

“What in Mother’s name was that for, Sist-AH! Ow…” Trick’s indignant protest was cut short as another sharp smack landed squarely on her head, resulting comically in a bump on the previous bump. Red stared down at her younger sibling, arms crossed, twin rapiers momentarily sheathed by her hips.

“Stop monologuing.” Despite how flatly the delivery was, each word was emphasized with a progressively terrifying glare that could have frozen a lesser soul.

Poor Trick got the heebie-jeebies. The adult silver butterfly pouted and whined, still clutching her head as she pointed to the air where intricate golden-white screen glitched to life. “They started it!”

[ :D ]

The red butterfly could care less.

“Get. To. Work,” With one last warning look, Red turned her back without waiting for a response. She strode back toward Igris, who had paused mid-swing to glance in her direction. The shadow knight tilted his head slightly, a silent inquiry.

Red’s expression softened in an instant, throwing her rapier to stab the battered magical beast, formerly twitching hand about to grab the shadow knight’s leg while he was distracted, now laid as limp as it was dead. “I’m alright, Sir Igris. Thank you. Let’s continue,” Her tone gentle and respectful. Igris gave a small, almost imperceptible nod before they resumed their rhythm.

Meanwhile, you pressed your fingers to your temple, trying to stave off the impending migraine while watching Trick sulking nearby at the slightest possible prospect of the older butterfly ignoring her. She shot a glare toward the hovering interface.

“(ಥ﹏ಥ) …Traitor.”

[ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ]

“Just ignore her.” You sighed, already too tired to deal with this today.

As if to prove your point, Beru chose that exact moment to land near with a thud that sent a wave of muddy water splashing in all directions, including Trick’s, who let out a hiss like a bristling feline. The former ant king let out some clicking noises.

“What are you doing?”

“Nun-ya.”

“What?”

“Nun-ya business.”

“Yeah,” Jinwoo followed your lead and turned away at the sparks practically flying between the two summons. “Let’s. Ignore them.”

Unfortunately for the several totem-masked monsters who thought they could take advantage of the apparent distraction, lunging toward the insect pair, they unknowingly only hastened their doom. With a snap of Trick’s fingers, the attackers froze mid-charge, consumed by sheer terror as they clutched at invisible wounds. It was borderline terrifying how convinced they were that they had already been slashed to pieces, only for Beru to tear through them for real a fraction of a second later.

“Kekeke. First to 30 wins?” Beru’s multifaceted eyes had a competitive glint in them aside from the bloodlust.

Trick shot back with an eerily wide grin, showcasing inhumanely sharp canines hidden below her usual mischievous smile.

“Now we’re talking!”

Gunshot pierced through a few masked foes in groups. The twin guns disappeared from slender hands just as fast as they appeared at the start of a different moveset from the humming butterfly.

An up wave of her hands was followed by several foes cut vertically from the bottom—

“One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.”

Up, down, cross, side, up…!

—and the rest was as follows.

Only after the motions slowed down did the rain and blood shine light to the glinting threads wrapped around Trick’s fingers into various directions, including the beasts that got shot at the start, limp bodies serving as effective anchors.

Trick turned around, hands now on her hips and sticking out her tongue, only to yelp when she saw a body thrown in her direction. Reflexively cutting it in half with her threads revealed the sight of Beru’s smug look not far off, already done with his fair share of enemies.

“Watch it, you—”

“kEKEKEKEKE!”

“That girl sure knows how to hold a grudge.”

“The pot calling the kettle black. Beru also indulged her too much.”

You and Jinwoo locked eyes in a silent battle of wills for a few seconds before bursting into laughter.

As the laughter died down and the two forces tore into the enemy ranks, that strange feeling from the very first start of this battle settled in you again—the sense of being out of place. Should you feel weirded out that you could only bring yourself to comment on it now?

“Jinwoo.”

“Hmm?”

“Put me down,” you said bluntly, your tone carefully devoid of emotion as you tried to school your expression despite the steady warmth creeping up your neck. And your back. And the back of your thighs—whatever parts of your body that were touching Jinwoo’s right now!

“…”

“…Please?”

“No.”

This man! He purposely waited for you to do that only to reject you, didn’t he?

Jinwoo looked at you with a maddeningly fake smile of innocence, his tone leaving no room for debate. His arms around you didn’t loosen; if anything, they tightened when you started wriggling around, successfully securing you in place.

Sure, it was not the first time he had done this. At the end of your second trip to the demon castle, Jinwoo only let your feet touch the ground after the two of you arrived at the hospital, where you could just sit and rest safely as he tended to his mother. You admit that you were exhausted, very well out of your mind, and thus you were thankful to him—back then.

This is different!

“I can walk on my own—”

“Nope.”

…What a mean man.

From the moment your children had somehow hijacked your landing to now, Jinwoo had been carrying you in classic bridal style, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Oh, you could feel his muscles—and you almost leaned closer in an attempt to hide your growing fluster.

You don’t even know where to put your hands. Sure, you wrapped your arms around him, once, to steady yourself right after you fell into his arms—God, that sounds so cheesy. Right now, though, you were awkwardly fiddling with your fingers on your lap. This dilemma came to a much quicker end than the ongoing mental gymnastics in your mind when Jinwoo started walking, where you instinctively held onto his shoulder, simultaneously giving up on the matter of being carried like some damsel in distress until who knew when.

Even as the path ahead cleared—his shadow soldiers bowing deeply on either side and your butterflies fluttering like honor guards—Jinwoo showed no intention of putting you down. And you have to admit, there was undeniable comfort in the way he held you, grounding and unwavering just like his presence.

You almost forgot that you were inside a dungeon.

When did you start being this comfortable around Jinwoo?

Was it before meeting Norma Selner, the very first-time trust between you felt balanced in scale? Was it while on your first trip to the demon castle, when you brought yourself to hold his hand to calm him in what otherwise would be a precarious situation? Or was it further back?

How romantic!

Isn’t this basically ‘walking down the aisle’?

Mother—

You winced as the telepathic chatter from your children filled your mind, their voices buzzing with excitement and a variety of commentaries.

Love?

To a man who deserved everything and more? When you couldn’t even be sure of your place in this world, how could you do that to him? To the man who [̴]̷[̵]̶[̵]̶[̴]̴[̷]̵ you?

…?

Jinwoo [̸̦̄́̈́]̶̲̭͐̂̕[̸̭̄͘]̴̼͖̌͒̽[̵̲̝͂]̷̘͂͊͒[̵̙̦̬̒̈́̽]̸̥̈́͆[̶̙͊]̸̨͎͎̏ you.

???

[̴̨͚̥̤͖̣͍̱̥̥̃̽̂͂́̕]̷̞͋̀̍̆[̸̥̀̊̀]̴͍̑̇[̸̺̬̲͉̯̱̭̥̖͔͊̉̓]̸̧̡̛̳̰̬͉̰̗̮͙̄[̴̺̳̮͇͕̩̌̅͜]̴̢̥̭̮̩͉̜̼̽́͠[̶͚̓͂̃̿̇̃̀͝͝]̶̡̨̰̙͔͚̀͜ͅ—!

W-What is…my memories—

“-me)…(Name)!”

You jolted. For a few moments, the only thing you could see was grey.

“I knew it, you’re—”

“I’m fine, Jinwoo. And stop making that face.”

“What—”

“It doesn’t suit you.”

“Oi—”

Before he could let out another syllable, you circled your arms around him and buried your face on his shoulder. You were well-aware of how his muscles tensed then, how his breath hitched when yours warmed his neck, and how he shivered when you played with his hair at the base with your fingers. It was a sly move on your part, to distract him like this.

How far can I go? What a dangerous thought.

It was impossible not to notice the signs, how confusing they all were.

It might have been a stretch to assume, might even be delusional, but unless it was normal behavior of this time and age to kiss the back of another’s hand—other than family’s—you doubted you read the situation too far in that case. The gesture might be normal occurrences for affectionate people, and you wouldn’t claim to know how Jinwoo would be if he had someone who truly accompanied him on his journey, step by step. What you did know was that Jinwoo showed that he cared, less with words, more through actions.

So, what did his actions so far told you?

For a lone wolf such as he, Jinwoo had been quite... tactile. You doubted he would be to just anyone.

Comfort, maybe?

Which led to the next question: you no longer fit in the category of ‘just anyone’ to him, weren’t you? After all, it was one of the many possibilities you had entertained, especially when he didn’t leave you much of a choice but to stay close.

Trust?

“…” You pursed your lips.

Or something else?

Y̸̦̖͓͛o̵͕̦͎͆̃ụ̶͎̗̒̈́ ̴̻̩̳̏ d̶̩̉i̸͓̭͒̕d̴͙͑̍ň̶̝͍͠'̶̧̙̍t̴̹̓ ̸͓͍̎̎ŕ̴̲̩͕̅͋e̴͔̾m̷̦̞͗e̴̢̥̗͑̔m̵͖̳̄b̴͈͎͋̌e̵̡͔̜̍̅̈́r̶̨̳̜̂̉͑ ̶̘̒͘i̶̡̖͘̚f̴̺̳̎̀ ̶͍͍͔̐̏́ý̵͍̳͐͝ò̸̦͇͑̀u̷̧͌ e̶̜͓͗̕v̵̬͈̱̀̃̌ḛ̸̛͋͘r̴̺̀̋ ̷̛͙͕̻̑͆h̶͇̻͛̕å̸͙͖̭͒d̵͕̮̃ ̴̰̒̍a̷̻̘͌̂ ̸̹̔͑͜ͅl̴͙̈́ô̶̹̣̼v̴̘̪̄̂e̵̡̓͘͝ṟ̴̽́̏ ̴̺̌̑̐b̵̫͕̦̄̇e̴͔̅̀͐f̶̰̍o̷̩̐͝r̷̘̥̒̔e̶͚̦͒.̸̪̝̉͊͝

You were a fan of Jinwoo, yes, just one of the many, and a hopeless romantic to boot, considering the amount of romance genres you consumed in your free time up till now. It was a good thing if he actually found some comfort in you, God knew this man deserved more, so you didn’t really mind the hand-holding, hugging, and overall proximity. If you were being honest, every time he sought you out, it never failed to make you feel giddy—too giddy.

It was hard to turn a blind eye to the changes.

How could you describe this? Feverish, fuzzy, and your stomach did the thing? It felt too textbook copy-paste—everything was—which was fitting, considering your situation. But, simply ‘feeling’ it was not enough. What an excuse that was, when there was not yet definitive evidence to support your claims. Would you stoop that low?

In any case, you were threading onto treacherous grounds.

But—

You tightened your hold on Jinwoo, hiding yourself from the world.

System, can I afford to indulge myself?

[ … ]

“Enjoying yourself?” Jinwoo asked, and while you couldn’t see it, you just knew that he had to be smirking.

Look who’s talking. That question could apply to him too.

You mumbled something incoherent into his shoulder, and Jinwoo tilted his head, his smile widening. “What was that?”

You didn’t feel like gracing him with the answer he wanted this time. Instead, you nuzzled further into him, your head bumping against his chin from below, and your lips inches away from his Adam’s apple.

Just as you predicted again, Jinwoo shut his mouth pretty quick.

Revenge sure tasted sweet, but you decided that you would spare him some mercy. After all, you were still thankful for the distraction he provided, knowingly or not.

A small smile bloomed against his shoulder.

For all your children’s teasing, a small part of you couldn’t help but agree: this moment, despite every absurdity that surrounded it, was undeniably romantic.

Just this once.

Behind the curtain of the rainy dungeon, you just hoped this wouldn’t become a habit.

End Note:

Unfinished Draft of [30/11/2024] -

Dear [Trial Player]'s Readers,

Happy New Year! 🎉

First, I’d like to apologize for not posting this chapter on New Year's Eve as planned. Time was tighter than I expected, and honestly, this chapter could have been better. My apologies for that. If you have any questions, feedbacks, & comments, feel free to send them here or send in an ask—I may be slow, but I’ll do my best to respond as soon as I can! ❤️

With this chapter, we’ve officially reached the end of Season 1 of the Manhwa. Huzzah! 🎊

This chapter is a whirlwind, I admit. There’s a lot happening, such as: new revelations, developments, and information; foreshadowing and scattered implications; and official introductions to several new characters—the mysterious [???], also known as the [Children of 'Trial Player']! I have used these twenty-ish chapters so far to 'set up the stage', all will be revealed in the events of Season 2 of the Manhwa, so stay tuned! 🦋✨️

I’ll be returning to college for exams starting on January 6th, which will keep me busy for about three weeks. As such, there won’t be any major updates to this story until late January or early February. In the meantime, I’ll try to answer the asks you all have already sent to my inbox. Thank you so much for your patience and for showing interest in this work—I truly appreciate it. I apologize for the late responds in advance. 🙏

Thank you for all your support so far, everyone! 💖

#solo leveling imagine #solo leveling #only i level up #solo leveling x reader #sung jin woo x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #jinwoo sung x reader #sung jinwoo #solo leveling jinwoo #sung jin woo #solo leveling fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #x reader #fem reader #female reader

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kennedysbaby · 1 year ago

Text

be my angel

content: re4r leon x female reader. domestic fluff. making out. established relationship. angst elements. author's note: inspired by the mazzy star song! the lack of leon kennedy fluff is concerning. also first time posting on tumblr yay.

₊⊹⁀➴ ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55001149

if it weren't for you, leon probably would've lost his mind a long time ago. you were so sweet, so gentle, so understanding—he sometimes questioned if he even deserved someone as unscathed as yourself. it was comforting dating a regular civilian, someone who wasn't exposed to the daily nightmares he faced in his line of work. being so blissfully ignorant to the horrors of the world was a luxury he no longer afforded, never did.

leon hated the sad look that'd cross your perfect features as he left for one of his gruesome missions, that last goodbye kiss that had him tightly gripping the steering wheel as he pulled out of the driveway, the asphalt crackling beneath the tires. the fact that he couldn't tell you much about said missions, given their classified nature, only made him more upset—it felt like wordlessly forsaking you for one-to-two weeks at a time.

oh, but the sweet expression you'd have on your face as you twisted the metal doorknob, the way it lightened up at the mere sight of him. it had leon's chest tightening and breath hitching, wanting nothing more than to pull you into a long, hard kiss. you had him acting a fool, needless to say.

tonight was a little different, though. the digital clock on the dashboard read 12:47 am, causing leon to scoff lightly under his breath. he disliked coming home late, knowing most likely that you were probably up, huddled on the couch with thick blankets wrapped around you, wishing it was his arms keeping you warm instead.

leon's gaze then drifted back up towards the heavy rain thrashing vehemently against the ground, the deafening silence disrupted by the droplets pattering against the window and the swiping of the windshield wipers doing their job, giving him a clear view of the road ahead. he was still a good twenty minutes away from home, and that fact alone makes him press his foot against the gas a little harder, damning any traffic laws at the moment.

though, crashing the car in an attempt to see you sooner was a bit counterintuitive—and he'd be seeing god, if anyone.

once leon finally pulled up to the quaint little townhouse the two of you owned together, he parked the car, pulling the keys out of the ignition and shoving them into the pocket of his black cargo pants. with a soft sigh, he quietly shut the car door, and walked up the steps to the front door. the rain had calmed down a bit, simply drizzling now.

knock, knock, knock . his fisted hand gently rapped against the door a few times, but to leon's dismay, he still hadn't heard your footsteps leading up to him. it then hit him that it was one in the morning, and it was more than likely that you'd fallen asleep—possibly from staying up for him. a frown creased onto his lips, upset with himself for coming back so late. even if it wasn't his fault, he still felt guilty. despite how much you reassured him, leon always thought you could a whole lot better than him.

reluctantly, leon pulled his set of house keys out of his pocket, and slid the metal through the lock, opening the door with a click . inside was dark, quiet…yet peaceful. as he padded across the area, the floorboards lightly creaking beneath his feet, he took notice of how clean it was; someone had used their time wisely, he thought with a smile. well, either that, or you had just gotten so bored out of your mind waiting for him. he was well aware of how antsy you'd get on the days you knew he was coming back.

leon was also now aware of how disappointed you probably were now, seeing as he came back far later than anticipated.

that's when his eyes land upon you, snoring away softly on the sofa, and—just like he imagined—curled up beneath a warm, knitted blanket. the open tv cast a soft glow across the tidy living room, alongside a few warm-scented candles you had lit. that, alongside the rhythmic thrumming of the rain against the windowpane, made for a very cozy atmosphere. leon took careful steps towards the couch, kneeling down in front of you.

"i'm sorry, angel," leon mumbled, his voice soft as to not wake you up. he brushed a few stray strands of hair behind your ear, the contrasting feeling of his calloused fingers against your soft skin roused you a bit, causing you to stir in place. leon chuckled at your tired grumbles, pressing a chaste kiss against your forehead.

the kiss is what fully wakes you up, instantly jolting upwards, sitting yourself upright. the blanket rustles around you as your sleepy eyes widen, registering the fact that your boyfriend—that you hadn't seen in two weeks—was right in front of you, giving you the softest smile. "leon?" you muttered, still in disbelief.

"go back to sleep baby, we can talk in the morning," he said, peppering gentle kisses across your face. your skin burns beneath his lips, any feelings of exhaustion slowly slipping away. if leon really wanted you to go back to sleep, he damn well knew better than to act all sappy like this.

"no, no, no," you quickly—and incoherently—mumbled, blinking a few times to adjust your eyesight, "it's okay, i'm not sleepy. i was waiting on you anyway," that's when you started to excitedly ramble, "i just…forget about me, what kept you so long?" you raised a curious eyebrow. "something bad happened?"

"nah," leon shook his head, still smiling—god, it felt so good seeing you after so long. "writing up that report took a little longer than anticipated. i'm really sorry, pretty." his smile then shifted into a frown, a soft sigh escaping from the depth of his lungs. "so sorry," he whispered as he kissed your lips for a quick second.

the look of pure anguish contorted on his sharp features sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. despite how tired you were, seeing leon look so upset over the fact that he couldn't see you sooner made your mind dizzy with love.

"that's okay. it happens. i understand." you replied honestly. you were aware of leon's job before getting wrapped up in a relationship with him. and you also knew just how much this man loved you, even if he couldn't see how amazing he was. flaws were human, you'd tell him. people tended to forget that—leon might be a zombie-killing machine, but deep down, he was only a man. one with feelings and emotions.

dating leon made you feel like such a special girl. he was a closed-off, reserved man. just one quick look at him and you could tell that he most definitely could kill a man with his bare hands alone—if he wanted to, that is. he was cold, intimidating, and brutal on the field. but you didn't see that side of him.

no, you saw a total sweetheart. in your presence, leon was a complete softie. it was actually quite adorable seeing him sleepily pouring himself a cup of coffee at the crack of dawn, dressed only in loose pajama pants, his chiseled abs put on display just for you . his blonde hair framed his face so perfectly, the soft strands falling in front of his face. despite being a total fucking unit, having biceps nearly bigger than your face, he was so gentle with you, treating you as if you were a porcelain doll.

at least, he tried to be, but sometimes he got a little… carried away .

you were the person who got to see him leaning over the bathroom sink, holding a razor to the lower half of his face, shaving away the light stubble that had formed after neglecting the duty for a few days simply because he got too lazy. you saw him narrowing his eyes at the god awful instruction booklet that came with ikea furniture as he attempted assembling a new bookcase. you loved the way he would sometimes squint while looking at something afar, then claiming he "didn't need glasses" when you pointed it out.

it was so raw, so real.

leon just sighed, shaking his head in disbelief, "you do realize you are too sweet for your own good sometimes, right? you should be upset i was late, i promised i'd be home for dinner." he chuckled dryly, climbing onto the sofa and taking a seat right next to you, sitting above the comforter.

"i dunno what i'd do without you," his gaze was trained on you, admiring how pretty you were in this state—with messy hair, half-lidded eyes, and puffy cheeks. "i love you so much." would it be too awkward to mention that he'd marry you in a heartbeat at this time of night? probably.

you can only laugh in response, trying to downplay how much his words were affecting you. "you're so corny. i love you too, lee." yeah, if he was so corny, then why was your heart beating of your chest?

leon was being dead serious, even if his execution made it seem like he was just playing around. you were his light in the darkness, his sole comfort amidst his disastrous life.

he slid his brown leather jacket off, letting it fall to the ground. your eyes fall to his arms and how yummy they look in his compression shirt. would it be weird to say you just wanted to take a bite out of them sometimes? lovingly, of course. "i missed you," leon mumbled, his own voice taking on a sleepy lilt.

"me too." you shook your way out from beneath the thick blanket, scooting closer to your precious boyfriend. you cradle his cheeks with your hands, smiling as you stared into his icy blues. his eyes really were to die for, you could just get lost in them sometimes. he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut. you go in for a kiss, soft lips meshing with his chapped ones.

the action elicits a soft, content sigh from leon, his big hands running up and down your back above your thin tank top as the two of you stayed like that for a few moments, lips moving against one another languidly. your chest presses up against his, sending a pleasant rush through leon's veins. when you two pull away for air, a bit breathless and frazzled, you can only marvel at the sight of him before you.

his lips were parted, taking slow and deliberate breaths, his pale cheeks now a little rosy, and his tired eyes now glazed with lust, drunk on your lips alone. you chuckle softly, your hands still cradling his cheeks as you brush your thumb over his bottom lip. he kisses the tip of it, allowing you to slid it between his lips for a split second. it's so awfully intimate, causing waves of satisfaction to wash over leon.

that's when you plunge right back in, this time your tongue slipping past his lips, interlocking with his. he moans so softly, his hands roughly gripping your hips, drawing out a sigh of your own. leon mutters hoarsely, "you're too good for me, sweetheart. way too good. what did i do to deserve you?" he's still so in disbelief that a precious thing like yourself is all his .

this causes you to part again, a slight look of confusion crossing your features. "are you serious, leon? what didn't you do?" you shake your head, sighing. "you're way too hard on yourself, baby. i swear, i've never had a man that's as perfect as you before, regardless of what you might think. you deserve this. you deserve everything after what you've been through."

you loop your arms around him tightly, hugging him as your bury your face in his chest. your thumb traces little circles on his back, as you whisper, "don't ever think you aren't enough." that was a little something you'd picked up on in the three years you'd been dating leon. he was very unsure of himself. he didn't deem himself worthy of love, no less the amount you poured out for him.

"i love you, in all your blonde glory," you chuckled, not wanting to sound too deep, even if your words carried an incredibly heavy weight.

leon couldn't help but feel a swell of emotions all at once, instinctively holding you even tighter, pulling you close and never wanting to let go of you. not even for a single second. "you're so corny," he mocked, letting out a light laugh as he pressed a kiss on top of your head. god, you fit him just like a puzzle piece.

"it's all your fault, asshole. you started it." you grin, lifting your head up from his chest, and leaning into kiss his perfect lips again.

"hmm," leon mumbled, a low chuckle erupting from his throat, "guess that's too bad, then."

finally, after kissing him for a good several minutes, taking labored breaths through your nose, you pulled apart, a thin trail of your mixed saliva following suit, now dripping down your chin. you chuckled, wiping it away with the back of your hand. your hips shift a bit suggestively as you climb off of his lap, causing leon to inhale sharply.

"you need a shower. i'm going to bed." is what you say with a snicker as you turn on your heel, padding across the wooden floors to your shared bedroom. leon just scoffs, and shakes his head, watching as you stumble away from him.

"that's not fair." he grumbled to himself, his hands falling to his thighs.

he did tell you to go back to sleep earlier, though. damn it.

#𐙚˖˚ mina's fics #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #re4 remake #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil #leon kennedy oneshot #re4 leon #first post #leon kennedy x y/n #leon scott kennedy #i literally love him so much

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goblin-jr · 2 months ago

Text

PHASE II: OBSERVATION PERIOD

Jason Todd x Reader

=============================================== CONFIDENTIAL – GOTHAM PSYCHOSOCIAL RESEARCH UNIT CASE FILE #: JX-1989 DOCUMENT TYPE: Postmortem Longitudinal Trial Summary TRIAL MASTERLIST: A Character Study in Grief TRIAL DESIGN: Three-Phase Emotional Disruption Model STATUS: Ongoing SECURITY CLEARANCE: ALPHA+ ===============================================

Study Brief

Following Subject B’s confirmed fatality, Subject A was not informed of cause, location, or timeline of death. Information was withheld under the assumption that emotional distance would aid in recovery. This proved inaccurate.

Subject A exhibits retaliatory behavior: elevated interpersonal volatility, targeted defiance, and academic overperformance with obsessive tendencies. Subject begins ritualized grave-site visitation. Behavior escalates to regular overnight stays, regardless of weather. Subject appears emotionally stabilized by the act.

Unclear if this is maladaptive or a coping mechanism. Subject refuses all external intervention. Continued observation advised.

Read full report below.

a/n: please make sure to click on all the links as you read through, they are pivotal to understanding the story <3

After she found out, Y/N showed up at the manor the next day. And the day after. And the day after that.

When she didn’t have money for the bus, she walked. Two hours each way. Through rain, sun, traffic. One time she got blisters so bad her socks stuck to the blood. She came anyway.

Sometimes Alfred let her in. Sometimes he didn’t.

When he did, he sat her down in the same too-big room. Gave her tea in the same porcelain cup. Two sugars. One cream. Just like Jason used to take it.

She asked for answers. Every time.

She asked him every time.

What happened. Where was he. Was he alone. Did he scream.

She thought if she knew how, maybe she could stop imagining worse.

Alfred never said no. But he never said yes, either.

“The family is still grieving, Miss Y/N.”

“So am I.”

“I understand.”

“You don’t.”

Finally, after six visits and eleven cups of tea, she got a date.

“April twenty-seventh,” Alfred said softly. “That’s when we lost him.”

She wrote it down on her wrist in pen and didn’t wash it off for a week.

Bruce never showed.

Not once.

Y/N started saying things into the air when she was sure he was upstairs listening.

At first it was soft. “You’re a coward.” Then louder. “He was better than you’ll ever be.”

One day, soaked through from the rain, her coat hanging off her shoulders, she stared straight into the security camera and said:

“Tell Bitch Wayne I’m not leaving until someone tells me the truth.”

Alfred met her at the door that time. No tea. No eye contact.

“The family is unavailable,” he said.

The gate didn’t open after that.

–

After being locked out of the mansion, Y/N was angry.

Not the sharp kind of angry—the loud, throw-punches-in-the-hallway kind. She stopped waiting for reasons. She took offense like it was oxygen. Shoved people. Slammed lockers. Told a teacher to go to hell for asking if she was okay.

But rage made her think of Jason.

Fighting reminded her of every time he’d pulled her off someone by the hood, or shoved a protein bar into her hand to shut her up.

So she stopped fighting. And she got quiet.

She started staying late in the library. At first, just to be alone. Just for the silence.

Then she picked up a physics textbook. It made her head hurt in a good way. Every word she didn’t understand was a distraction. Every problem she solved felt like not feeling for five minutes.

So she didn’t stop.

By the end of the month, her notes were immaculate. Her backpack was heavier than it had ever been. She read entire units ahead. Watched lectures online. Solved problems she didn’t know how to pronounce.

Her classmates noticed.

So did her teachers.

“She used to fail everything,” someone whispered.

“Has to be cheating,” another said.

Someone reported her anonymously after she got 100% on three exams in a row.

So the principal pulled her into his office and told her to do the next math test under supervision. Paper. Pen. No calculator. Just her and two proctors watching like hawks.

She finished in twelve minutes.

Turned it in. Walked out.

The next day, they called her back in.

The principal looked shaken. The math teacher was sitting in the corner with her head between her knees.

“Is she okay?” Y/N asked, chewing gum.

The principal blinked. “She… fainted.”

Y/N nodded. “Happens.”

She got a perfect score.

They stopped questioning her after that.

She didn’t feel proud. Didn’t feel much of anything. Just relief that for once, something worked the way it was supposed to.

The numbers made sense. The answers stayed put.

She still couldn’t sleep. Still thought about April 27th every night. But the formulas didn’t lie to her.

So she kept going.

== 1 Year Subject B Postmortem == Subject A: Age 16 == Subject B: Dead April 27

It was the first time in months Y/N woke up smiling.

She even hummed that morning—something low and shapeless under her breath as she zipped her backpack and crossed the courtyard in the gray half-light of Gotham spring. Her chem teacher noticed. Asked, jokingly, what had her in such a good mood.

She didn’t answer.

What was she supposed to say?

Today’s the day I finally go home. Today’s the day I dig up a grave and climb inside.

She just smiled politely, sat down, and took her notes with perfect posture. She answered every question. Got every answer right. At lunch, she gave away her chips because she wouldn’t be needing them tomorrow.

Every clock ticked her closer to 11 p.m.

She dressed carefully that night.

Not because she wanted to be pretty—there was no one left to see her. But because she needed to be clean. Her hair was brushed. Her nails trimmed. She wore her best hoodie, the one Jason gave her when they were thirteen, now stretched too thin at the elbows but still warm in the chest.

She took the long route on purpose. Didn’t want to be early.

By the time she reached the wall surrounding Wayne Manor, her hands were trembling. The security lights blinked in slow rotations. She crouched in the blind spot between two hedges and hoisted herself over the gate with aching arms, her knees scraping the stone. She landed in wet grass, breath knocked loose.

The family plot sat tucked behind the greenhouse, silent and black against the storm clouds.

The rain started as mist, then thickened.

Of course it does. Because Jason Todd couldn’t just die—he had to die in theatrical lighting. Thunderstorms. Gothic fog. The kind of weather that belongs in operas and open graves.

She mutters dramatic asshole under her breath as she hoists herself up the back edge of the Wayne estate’s wrought iron perimeter. She lands hard on the inside, knees cracking, palms stinging. She’s soaked to the skin already.

She clutches the shovel to her chest like a weapon. It’s old. Heavy. Rusted at the handle. She stole it off a construction site four months ago and hid it under a pile of junk in the group home basement. She told herself she was “saving it.”

It was darker than she expected. The trees loomed like sentries, and the grave markers glowed faint under the slick sheen of rain. She walked slowly, every step heavier than the last, until she found it.

Jason Peter Todd.

Beloved Son.

That was it.

That was all that was left of him in the world.

Y/N stared at the words as the wind pulled at her sleeves and the rain needled her scalp. She waited for something to click. Some revelation. A crack in the sky. A scream.

There was nothing.

Only silence.

And then—

her legs folded under her like wet paper.

She hit the ground hard, palms sinking into the mud, shovel falling beside her with a thud.

She couldn’t do it.

She was here. She had made it. Months of planning. Stealing the shovel. Hiding it. Waiting.

And she couldn’t lift it.

Jason wouldn’t want this.

She knew it. She hated it. She knew it.

But she couldn’t stop crying.

It started slow—just a sting behind the eyes—but it kept building until she was gasping, sobbing, shaking so hard her teeth ached from the clench of her jaw.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, voice hoarse and cracking. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. You know I didn’t. I was just—God, I was so angry, and you were too, and I thought we’d have time—”

She pressed her forehead to the headstone.

“I thought you’d come back.”

Her fingernails scraped at the moss clinging to the bottom of the grave. Her fingers hurt. Her chest hurt. Everything hurt.

“It should’ve been me,” she whispered. “I should’ve died. Not you. You had everything. You had a family. You had a future. I had you.”

She hiccuped into silence.

The rain didn’t stop.

The grave didn’t answer.

Her throat closed around the scream she wouldn’t let out.

“I hate you,” she said quietly, venomless. “You died mad at me. You died and we didn’t fix it. We didn’t get to fix it.”

She wrapped her arms around the stone, shaking and soaked and utterly alone.

“I don’t want to keep doing this without you.”

Her voice broke on the last word.

And still, the world stayed the same.

So she curled up beside him, cheek pressed to the earth above his bones. The shovel stayed untouched. Her plan, undone. She didn’t care anymore.

For a moment, it almost felt like the radiator again. Cold, but close. Lifeless, but not alone.

And finally, finally, her body gave out.

She fell asleep like that, in the mud and the rain and the ruin of everything she had left.

(click link for log:)

🔒 [ACCESS: INTERNAL WAYNE SECURITY LOG — 4C-17]

Observation Feed: Sector 17 | Subject A | Initial Incident | April 27, Year One

== 2 Years Subject B Post-Mortem == Subject A: Age 17 == Subject B: Dead April 27

Y/N arrived just past eleven, soaked to the knees from the walk, hair already sticking to her cheeks from the damp. She didn’t bother sneaking this time. The cemetery was darker than she remembered. The trees had grown thicker over the past year, and the grass was overrun, slick and tall from spring rains. But the grave was exactly where she left it. Row four, center-left. Under the ugly old tree that dropped leaves too early in the fall and bloomed too late in the spring.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just walked up to the headstone, knelt down in the wet grass, and pressed a kiss to the cold marble like it was skin. Then she leaned her forehead against it, breathing in slow through her nose, like the stone might still hold some trace of him if she got close enough.

“Hey, dumbass,” she said, quiet and flat and so familiar it hurt. “Did you miss me?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. She never did.

“I missed you,” she added, sitting back on her heels. “Not that you care. Not that you’re doing anything about it.”

She set her bag down on the grass and started unpacking: the fleece blanket with the fraying edges, her umbrella with the cracked handle, and the heavy paperback she had considered leaving behind more than once. She’d packed the night before. Took her time folding everything. She even checked the weather. It didn’t matter. It always rained.

“I brought your stupid book,” she said as she sat down, pulling the umbrella under her arm and cracking open the cover. “You’re welcome.”

The rain hadn’t really started yet—just a mist clinging to everything—but she angled the umbrella anyway. It made her feel better, like maybe this whole thing had rules. Like maybe if she did it all the right way, she’d finally earn a dream where he answered her.

She cleared her throat, flipped to chapter one, and started to read.

It wasn’t for long. Her voice grew hoarse by chapter 3, not from crying, just exhaustion. The kind that sat low in her chest and never really went away. She paused halfway through a sentence and looked up at the headstone again, resting the book in her lap.

“I still hate this, by the way. Elizabeth deserves better. Darcy’s the human equivalent of an eye twitch. You were just obsessed with the way people in old books argue.”

She smirked, tugging at a thread on the hem of the blanket.

“You always said you liked the tension. ‘It’s better when they don’t say how they feel.’ That’s what you told me.”

Her smile dropped.

“Well. Congrats. You got what you wanted.”

She picked at the grass near the grave for a while. Watched it flatten under her touch. Thought about how he used to tug at her hoodie strings when he was nervous, and how she’d slap his hands away and pretend it annoyed her.

“I’m doing fine, by the way,” she said after a while. “School’s good. I’m a freak now. The smart kind. People look at me like I might snap and take the curve down with me. It’s great.”

She glanced at the grave like it might be raising an eyebrow at her.

“Shut up. You’d love it.”

She shifted the book to one side and leaned back on her hands, feeling the water seep through the blanket and soak her jeans.

“They want me to apply to Harvard,” she said. “I don’t know why. Probably because I stopped getting in fights and started turning in everything early. I scare teachers now. It’s the most fun I’ve had all year.”

Then, softer: “But it doesn’t really matter.”

The headstone didn’t answer, but she let the silence stretch anyway.

“I wonder what you’re wearing down there,” she said, tilting her head. “Did they put you in a suit? Something dumb? Please tell me Alfred gave you that hideous green tie you hated. I hope he did. I hope you’re pissed about it.”

She picked at the grass near the grave for a while. Watched it flatten under her touch. Then kept scratching. Just a patch near the stone. Her nails dug in, absentminded. She didn’t stop until dirt caked under her fingers. She didn’t seem to notice.

Her smile was tight, but it stayed.

“I almost dug you up last year, you know. I brought a shovel and everything. Thought I could, like, climb in and wait it out. Figured if anyone would understand, it’d be you.”

She leaned her head back against the stone again. It was colder than she remembered. Sharper. She told herself that was better. At least he wouldn’t be warm without her this time.

“I lost my nerve. You probably think that’s funny.”

The clock on her phone read 3:07 a.m. when she finally shifted. She pulled her knees to her chest, shivering from the cold but too tired to do anything about it.

“I’m gonna take a nap,” she mumbled. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Then she snorted, eyes slipping closed.

“I’m hilarious.”

She curled up on her side, cheek pressed to the edge of the blanket, rain darkening the back of her hoodie. The umbrella had slid sideways. She didn’t fix it. It didn’t matter. She was already soaked. Besides, it felt wrong to be dry when he wasn’t.

She didn’t cry this year.

She just lay there beside him, like she had all the time in the world.

And let the rain come down.

🔒 [ACCESS: INTERNAL WAYNE SECURITY LOG — 4C-17-A2]

Continued Observation | Subject A | Annual Ritual Reinforcement | April 27, Year Two

✉️ [ACCESS: OUTGOING EMAIL — B.WAYNE@WAYNETECH]

Subject: Admission Revocation | Candidate Y/N | Gotham University | October 12

🎓 [ACCESS: UNIVERSITY ADMISSIONS FILE — HARVARD.EDU]

Acceptance Notice | Radcliffe Scholars Award | Issued November 10 | Confidential Addressee

⛔️ [ACCESS: WAYNE FAMILY CRYPT — SENSOR LOG SECTOR 17]

Alert Trigger: Casket Integrity Breach | Grave 4C–17 | Status: Empty | December 9

== 3 years Subject B Post-Mortem == Subject A: Age 18 == Subject B: 4 Months Reborn. Current location: Nanda Parbat, Lazarus Pit Site IV April 27

It was raining again.

Because of course it was.

Because Gotham couldn’t let her have even one Jason Day without turning it into some gothic tragedy backdrop, like it was trying to compete with her grief. Like the sky needed to remind her who it took.

The train had been late. She’d forgotten how grimy the Gotham station was, how the platform lights flickered like they were afraid of staying on too long. Her coat was already damp by the time she got off, and the wind kept trying to wrench her umbrella sideways like even it wanted her to give up and go home.

But she didn’t go home. She went to the cemetery.

Because that was home.

Because he was.

By the time she reached the Wayne family plot, her jeans were soaked through and her boots were squelching with every step. She didn’t care. She knew the way in the dark now. Could’ve done it blindfolded. Right at the greenhouse. Left at the broken stone bench. Through the rusting gate with the hinge that squeaked just once.

The grave was there. Of course it was.

Same spot. Same stone. Jason Peter Todd. Beloved Son.

She dropped her bag onto the ground and knelt down with a grunt, the wind whipping her braid against her face. Her scarf was coming loose but she didn’t fix it. Her hands were shaking but she didn’t care.

She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of the stone, her lips cold against the rain-slick marble.

“Hey,” she said, her voice hoarse from wind and silence. “Miss me?”

She sat back and wiped her hands on her jeans, then started unpacking. Blanket. Umbrella. Book. She didn’t bother trying to shield herself from the rain tonight—it was already in her bones. She just opened the book to the page with the little tear at the bottom and settled in against the grave like it was a person and not a fucking headstone.

“I’m back,” she muttered. “Surprise, surprise. Third year in a row. You must be thrilled.”

She adjusted her weight and looked up at the storming sky, then back down at the stone.

“You’d say I’m dramatic,” she added. “But I wasn’t the one who died in the middle of Gotham’s storm season like it was some kind of narrative climax, so maybe shut up.”

She smoothed the corner of the page down with her thumb. It was shaking.

“I brought your stupid book again,” she said. “Still hate it. But you liked it. And I…” her voice faltered, then came back quieter, “I like your voice in my head when I read it.”

The rain picked up. Fat, heavy drops now. It made everything louder—her breath, her heartbeat, the crackle of leaves overhead. She cleared her throat.

“Alright, you corpse. Chapter Twelve.”

And she started to read.

She read out loud. A few pages, maybe ten. Long enough for her voice to scratch at the edges, for the rain to start soaking into her coat again. Her breath was visible, the kind of fog that shouldn’t come from someone alive.

Eventually, she closed the book and let it rest in her lap.

“I’m better at pretending now,” she said. “Pretending things are okay. Pretending I’m not counting days like a lunatic. Pretending that I don’t want to break into the Batcave and scream until someone admits this city ruins everything it touches.”

She was quiet for a while. Just the rain and the wind, and the faint hum of Gotham below.

Then, she looked back at the stone.

“Batman has a new Robin.”

The words came out like a confession, low and guilty.

“I saw him on the news. New suit. Smaller frame. He’s fast. Good with a grapple. Bit reckless. So—basically your type.”

Her voice wavered.

“I don’t know who it is. I don’t want to. Feels like if I say his name out loud, I’m giving something away.”

She blinked up at the sky.

“I haven’t told you about him before. I guess I didn’t want you to feel… I don’t know. Replaced.”

She looked down at the stone.

“But that’s not what it is. No one could replace you. No one was you.”

She shook her head.

“Still. Didn’t feel right.”

Her fingers traced the groove of his name.

“I hope you’re not mad.”

Lightning cracked across the clouds. She didn’t flinch.

She reached back into her bag and pulled out a thermos, unscrewed the lid, and took a slow sip. Then she offered the steam to the headstone, like it could drink too.

“It’s pumpkin coffee,” she said. “You’d hate it. I got it just to spite your memory.”

She smirked at that, but it didn’t last long.

“I miss you so bad it makes my spine hurt.”

The wind howled.

“I started sleeping on my side again. You used to say it made me snore. I hope it annoys you from beyond the grave.”

She leaned her head against the stone, just for a moment.

“Sometimes I still think I’ll see you. Like, walking around a corner. At a bookstore. I had a dream a few weeks ago that you knocked on my dorm door and said, ‘Took you long enough.’ I woke up and threw up in my trash can.”

She smiled faintly. Then closed her eyes.

“Anyway. That’s where I’m at.”

The storm grew louder. A branch snapped somewhere nearby.

“I know I sound okay. But I’m not. Not really. I’m just… good at school now. Good at nodding. Good at making it through the day. But I haven’t told anyone the truth in a long time. Just you.”

She laid down slowly, curling up on her side with her cheek resting on the blanket and her fingers tucked under her chin.

“I’ll stay a little while. Just a nap. Don’t haunt me.”

She paused.

“Unless you want to.”

Then, quietly, like a secret:

“Please do.”

🔒 [ACCESS: INTERNAL WAYNE SECURITY LOG — 4C-17-A3]

Annual Visit | Subject A | Audio Enabled | Observers Present | April 27, Year Three

🌙 [ACCESS: RESURRECTION RECORD — NANDA PARBAT, SITE IV]

Scrolls of the Demon | Subject Reinstated | Soul Status: Unknown | Year of the Crooked Moon

📰 [ACCESS: NEWS CLIPPINGS — GOTHAM CITY, NJ]

Gotham Gazette | New Robin | GCN Live

🏠[ACCESS: GOTHAM CHILD & FAMILY SERVICES — INCIDENT REPORT #117-A]

Unconfirmed Intrusion | Location: Youth Residence | No items stolen | North dormitory window breached

🖥️ [ACCESS: UNSANCTIONED DIGITAL TRACE — GOTHAM CAFE TERMINAL 6]

Subject: RED HOOD | Activity: Directory Search | Student File Accessed | Window Destroyed

🔒 [ACCESS: WAYNE INTELLIGENCE DATABASE — CASE FILE RH-27]

Identity Confirmation: RED HOOD = TODD, JASON P. | Tactical Threat Level: Discretionary | Do Not Notify Subject A

== Subject A: Age 19 == Subject B: 1 year and 4.5 months Post Resurrection April 27

He came to break it.

The grave.

He brought a crowbar, because of course he did. Something poetic in that. Steel and blood and an old habit that never quite left his hands. He hadn’t decided if he was going to smash the headstone or pry it out of the ground with his bare fucking hands.

All he knew was that it needed to go.

It was a lie. A performance. A monument to a boy nobody saved.

Jason Peter Todd. Beloved Son.

Jason scoffed. It should’ve said: Failure. Weapon. Forgotten.

But then—

She walked in.

11:00 p.m., on the dot.

Not a minute early. Not a second late. Gotham's skies were still pissing rain, and the cemetery was nothing but wind and shadows, but she moved like this was routine. Like he was routine.

Jason saw her before she saw the stone. And when she did see it, she smiled.

Fucking smiled.

It wasn’t big. It wasn’t happy. It was… soft. Familiar. Like she was walking up to a door she’d knocked on a thousand times before.

She knelt. Rain soaking into her jeans like it didn’t matter.

“Hey,” she whispered, brushing the top of the headstone with the edge of her sleeve. “Sorry I’m late. The train was full of assholes. I sat next to a guy who took a business call on speaker and then fell asleep on my shoulder. I almost bit him.”

Then, like always—

She kissed the stone.

Jason flinched so hard he nearly dropped the crowbar.

He stayed hidden.

Not because he was scared—just wrong. Glitched. Like seeing a ghost that never left.

She unpacked like she’d done it a hundred times. Blanket. Umbrella. Book.

Same goddamn book.

Pride and Prejudice. His copy. The one she said made her want to light Victorian England on fire.

She flipped it open, cross-legged in the mud, holding the pages flat like she didn’t want them to wrinkle more than they already had.

“You’d be proud of me,” she said. “I didn’t rip the cover off this year.”

She started reading. Loudly. Terribly. With dramatic voices and complaints about Darcy's inability to say anything without sounding like he was about to propose or commit arson.

Jason felt like his brain was splitting open.

He had spent months believing she moved on. He tried to find her after he clawed his way out of the grave. He really did.

But she was gone. He pulled up her records in a shitty internet cafe. Her grades were good. She was smiling.

Happy.

He’d been so fucking angry.

But now? She was here.

Same bag. Same biting voice. Same crooked smile.

And that look on her face as she read to his grave?

That wasn’t someone who moved on. That was someone who never left.

“And,” she said, flipping the page, “I kissed a guy last month. At a party.”

Jason blinked.

Her voice dropped into something mocking. “I know. Shocking. I had to make sure I wasn’t dead inside. Good news—I’m not.”

She scratched at her nose, still reading.

“He looked kinda like you. Like, if someone described you to a sketch artist while drunk. I thought maybe kissing him would—do something. I dunno.”

She paused. Tilted her head at the stone like it owed her an apology. “I started coughing after. I think my body rejected the emotional risk.”

She laughed at her own joke. Jason almost staggered.

She took out her phone after that. Showed the stone photos, one by one.

“This is my room. That’s my bed. The view’s ugly but I painted the windowsill.”

Click.

“This is the sandwich shop I told you about. The guy there calls me ‘Harvard’ even though I never told him my name.”

Click.

“This one’s me. I’m smiling, but it’s fake. You’d have called me out for it.”

Jason’s throat felt dry inside the helmet.

She talked for another hour. About classes. About people she didn’t like. About writing a paper that made her cry in the library. About lying and saying she was okay.

He hung on every word.

And when she finally went quiet—when she curled up on the blanket, hoodie pulled tight around her, book folded against her chest—Jason stayed rooted to the spot.

It was 5:58 when she stood.

She packed slowly, like she hated it. Adjusted the strap of her bag, checked the blanket for mud, folded it twice.

Then she crouched again. Kissed the headstone one more time.

“See you next year, dumbass.”

She walked out the same way she came in. Didn’t look back.

Then Jason stood, picked up the crowbar—

And went out to break some bones.

He needed to bleed something that wasn’t her name.

== Subject A: Age 20 == Subject B: 2 years and 4.5 months Post Resurrection April 27

He wasn’t going to come.

Jason told himself that all day. Told himself last year was a fluke. Told himself she’d stopped coming. That she finally let go. Told himself he was showing up to prove it.

Not because he cared.

Definitely not because he hoped.

She was done. She had to be. Last year was closure.

It was 23:18 when he showed up. Just to be sure.

Helmet on. Gloves pulled tight. Boots silent on wet grass. The grave was empty. He felt something in his chest go still.

See? he told himself. She’s gone.

The rain was light. Fog at ankle height. The cemetery looked like a painting someone had tried to wash away. He stood at the tree line, just watching. Still. Nothing happened.

23:20.

Still nothing.

23:30

Jason cursed to himself, but his feet didn’t move.

23:43.

He heard her before he saw her.

First a breath—sharp and broken. Then a sob. Then the squeal of the cemetery gate she never opened gently.

Footsteps followed. Fast. Sloppy. Waterlogged.

She was running.

Jason rose from the grass like someone had set a match to his spine. His heart didn't race—it seized, locked so hard in his chest it nearly choked him.

She stumbled into the clearing like the earth had tipped her forward on purpose. Fell to her knees at the grave like gravity remembered her all at once.

Her palms hit the stone first. Then her forehead. Then the words poured out.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I’m so sorry—I missed the first train, and then someone pulled the emergency stop, and I thought I—I thought I wasn’t gonna make it.”

Her shoulders shook violently. Her voice cracked in three different places. She pressed her face into the marble like she could disappear into it.

“I know it’s just a day. I know. But I couldn’t miss it. Not this one. I’ve been on time every year. You’d have laughed so hard if you saw me trying to fight the turnstile. I think I bruised a rib. You’re welcome.”

She stayed like that for a long moment. Clutching the stone like it might float away if she let go.

Jason couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

She was here.

Not out of habit. Not by accident. Not as a goodbye.

She had run.

She wiped her eyes roughly with the sleeve of her hoodie, sniffed, and sat back on her heels. Then—unbelievably—she smiled.

“Okay,” she breathed. “Let’s pretend I didn’t just have a full-blown breakdown in public transit.”

She unpacked her bag the same way she always did. Ritual. Precision. Like if she skipped a step, the world might end.

Book. Blanket. Coffee. A crumpled bag of off-brand cookies.

She laid the blanket down, sat cross-legged in the mud, knees knocking together, and looked at the stone like it had been waiting for her.

“Let’s do this again. Hi. I missed you.”

Jason forgot how to breathe.

He was twenty feet away. Soaked to the bone. Still clutching a crowbar like it could protect him from her voice.

And she was talking. Smiling. Offering cookies to the headstone like it might take one.

“You’d hate my dorm,” she said around a mouthful. “My bed is, like, four feet long. I keep kicking the wall in my sleep. Which is fun, because my roommate thinks I’m haunted.”

She laughed. Then softened.

“I saw this couple at the station. Holding hands. Laughing. I think the guy called the girl ‘babe’ unironically. You would’ve gagged.”

She paused, but not long.

“I still think of you when I see stuff like that.”

Jason’s grip tightened on the crowbar until his fingers ached.

He had come here to be right. To prove to himself that she was gone, that she had moved on.

But she hadn't.

She just kept going. Like if she stopped, she’d come undone.

“Anyway. Class is fine. Professors are pretentious. I’m still terrifying the curve. It’s great.”

She opened the book. His book. Found the familiar page.

“Chapter Nineteen. You always said Darcy should’ve gotten punched here.”

And then she read.

Jason watched, paralyzed. Her voice was stronger now, steadier. She laughed at the same lines. Did the same terrible voices. It was awful and beautiful and so stupidly hers that it made something in him want to crawl into the dirt.

She was so alive. So full of him.

And still here.

She read until her voice went hoarse—not from grief, just from being alive. From pouring everything into the air like he might still catch it.

When she finished, she kept the book open in her lap, finger tucked between the pages like a promise.

Then she yawned. Loud. Shameless.

“God, I forgot how long this chapter is,” she muttered, leaning back on one arm. “Everyone in this book needs therapy and a taser. Especially Darcy. And definitely Collins. Honestly, if I ever meet a man who talks like that, I’m kicking him in the shins.”

She glanced at the stone, smirked.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. ‘That’s rich, coming from the girl who cried during Shrek 2.’”

Jason’s heart wasn’t working right. It was doing things it hadn’t done in years. Things it wasn’t supposed to do anymore.

She pulled out her phone and started scrolling.

“I know I swore I wasn’t gonna do the slideshow thing again,” she muttered, “but you’re dead. You don’t get a vote.”

She turned the screen toward the headstone like it was part of the conversation. “This is Juliette. She’s from Boston. She’s weirdly obsessed with ska and she lets me copy her chem notes, so we’re tight. No criminal history yet, but we’re working on it.” Swipe. “This is Kenzie. She has three exes named Josh. I trust her completely.” Swipe. “This is the whole group at the lake last fall. I didn’t swim. Still weird about that. But they’re good people. Chill. Not bad for a bunch of nerds.”

She paused. “But they're no Jason Todd.”

Jason’s whole body flinched.

She kept going.

“This is Steve. I hate Steve. Just wanted you to know.”

Swipe.

“This is Marianne. She’s a plant. Possibly suicidal. Or dramatic. I relate.”

And then—

“This one’s me.”

Jason leaned forward before he could stop himself.

She wasn’t smiling. Just looking. Still. Real.

“You still think I’m pretty?” she asked the stone.

He did. God, he did.

“Pity your eyes probably decomposed by now.”

She grinned.

“I’m actually hot when I’m not covered in street grime and surviving on vending machine peanuts, by the way. Big reveal. You missed the glow-up arc.”

Jason pressed a hand to his helmet like it could hold the rest of him together.

She was slaying him. Casually. Unintentionally. Entirely.

“I eat real food now. Mostly. That’s gotta be worth a few hot points.”

She tucked her phone away. Yawned again. Then flopped backward like the stone was a pillow.

“Gonna take a nap now,” she mumbled. “Do not disturb unless it’s life or death.”

Jason flinched so hard it felt like his ribs cracked.

“Note to my subconscious—make him appear in my dream tonight. Bonus points if he’s hot.”

She sighed. Then went still.

Her breathing evened. Her body quieted.

And Jason just stood there, still rooted to the spot like he was the one carved in stone.

She had shattered him—gently. Sweetly. In that offhand, matter-of-fact way only she could.

She came late.

But she came. And he was still hers.

She drifted off slowly.

One hand curled under her cheek. The other tucked beneath the blanket like it mattered. Her legs shifted once, twice, then stilled. A sigh slipped out of her mouth as she settled, and then—

Silence.

The cemetery held its breath.

Jason didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

He stood there like he was carved out of the same stone she was sleeping against. Not breathing. Not blinking. Just watching.

It was 3:48 when the rain stopped.

He counted every second.

At one point, she shifted in her sleep and mumbled something. A name. Maybe his. Maybe not. His knees nearly gave out anyway.

She looked different now.

Not grown up—real. Like time had added depth without erasing softness. Her hair was longer. Her face fuller. But her mouth still did that thing when she slept, the way it had back when they used to pass out on rooftops and couches and bus benches—like she was halfway through a retort even in her dreams.

Jason couldn’t look away.

Even as the sky began to lighten. Even as the first birds dared to whisper. Even when the cold settled deep enough into his bones that it hurt to stay standing.

He stayed.

Because she stayed.

Because she still stayed.

At 5:02, her eyes fluttered open.

She blinked once. Sat up. Yawned without covering her mouth.

Jason tensed.

She stretched her arms above her head, groaned, and muttered, “Ugh. Wet blanket. Literally.” Then looked down at the grave and smiled like she was seeing an old friend.

Like waking up beside him was something she always did.

“Morning,” she said softly.

Jason’s stomach dropped through the earth.

She took her time packing. Folded the blanket carefully, tucked the book into her bag like it was gold. Checked her phone. Frowned at something.

Then crouched down, just once more. Brushed a smudge of dirt off the top of the stone with the sleeve of her hoodie.

“I’ll be back next year,” she promised.

Leaned in. Pressed her lips to the marble like it was skin.

Then stood. Pulled her bag over her shoulder. Walked out the same way she came—quiet now, like the storm had been worked out of her.

She didn’t look back.

She never did.

Jason stayed until her footsteps disappeared.

Then he moved.

Crossed the grass, slow and silent, until he was standing over the stone she’d just kissed like it still belonged to someone living.

He knelt.

Pressed his lips to the same spot.

The marble was cold. It didn’t matter.

His voice was quieter than the wind when he said,

“Next year, I’ll be here too.”

Then he stood. And vanished before the sun could find him.

== INTERLUDE — Year Five to Year Six Timeframe: April 28 – April 1

Jason didn’t change overnight. He didn’t wake up with clarity or crawl out of the grave a better man.

But after April 27, something shifted.

It wasn’t guilt. It wasn’t hope. It was her.

She’d run through the rain for him. Cried for being twenty-three minutes late. Laughed like he was still there to hear it.

And Jason—hidden in the dark, soaked to the bone—had watched her fall apart just to put herself back together again. For him.

He couldn’t keep showing up as a ghost.

He started pulling his punches. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to. Because he was tired of seeing her face in the blood on his gloves.

He stopped killing. Started listening. Let people go.

He showed up at the manor once. Helmet on. Didn’t go inside. A week later, Alfred left a bag of supplies on his fire escape. Jason didn’t say thank you. But he used every single thing in it.

A month passed. He let himself get patched up in the Cave. Didn’t speak. Didn’t make eye contact.

Then another month. He said three words to Bruce. Five to Tim. Six to Damian. Nine to Dick, and one of them was sorry.

The next time Alfred handed him tea, he drank it.

He didn’t ask for forgiveness. He didn’t think he deserved it.

But he wanted to be better.

Not for Bruce. Not for Gotham.

For her.

For the girl who sat cross-legged in the rain and kissed a grave like it might kiss her back.

For the voice that read him Victorian novels and called him loverboy like it was a joke, even though her eyes said otherwise.

He wanted to be someone worth talking to again.

So next year, when she came back—

He wouldn’t be in the trees.

He’d be standing right there.

Real. Alive. And hers.

END OF PHASE II — Observation Period

Lead Investigator’s Note:

Subject A continued annual mourning behaviours with ritualistic consistency. No deviation. No decline. No disassociation. Subject A remains unaware of Subject B’s resurrection at Year Three. Subject B returned to Gotham. No attempt at contact. Multiple opportunities for disclosure ignored. Subject B maintained visual surveillance of Subject A during Year Five ritual. Subject A arrived late. Displayed emotional distress. Subject B remained hidden. Post-encounter behavioral shift confirmed. Subject B has entered a self-directed reformation phase. No formal intervention triggered. Familial contact limited but functional. Motivation rooted in Subject A’s continued belief. Attachment remains mutual. Unacknowledged. Untouched. Unstable. Subject A remains in a sustained grief loop. Subject B now seeks reintroduction. Proximity imminent. Volatility high.

Proceed to Phase III — Reintroduction Protocol.

a/n: I really hope all the links worked and it was easy to follow! the last part will be less choppy

taglist: @4rachn3 , @mercuryathens , @the-halloween-jack

#batfam #jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason todd imagine #JX-1989-logs

54 notes · View notes

bigtreefest · 11 months ago

Text

Marshmallow Dream

Pairing: Jake Jensen x Reader

Summary: A rainy day can still be a good one if the right person knows how to turn it around. Jake is perfect for that.

Word count: 2,562

Content/warnings: MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY, SMUT, unhealthy eating habits, feeding a partner pizza, cockwarming, p in v sex, light nipple worship, indoor flames, what’s a word for a mixture between smut and fluff?, crying, torrential downpour, swears

A/N: Written for my 300 follower summer celebration. Prompts include: rain spoils summer outdoor plans and bonfire.

Jakey never leaves my mind. You know that. Enjoy dear hoes. I luv you. A special thanks to @stargazingfangirl18, I told you, I swear I don’t hate the CE babes😉

Comments, likes, reblogs, and asks are so appreciated. Thank you for reading!!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Main Masterlist

Today was not off to a great start. You forgot to set your alarm clock before you went to sleep last night, so you left for work late after scrambling to get into clothes you weren’t fully sure were clean. In your haste, you forgot to grab your lunch, and with endless meetings, you had no time to go out and get one at the office, either, so you were stuck with a grumbling tummy throughout the entire day, a product of not really eating breakfast, either. You didn’t drink any water, your bottle sitting empty on the corner of your desk, and hardly had the time to stretch your legs between meetings twice, but were ready to go home as soon as the clock hit the mark.

The thing was, in your marathon of work, you’d hardly looked out the window. At some point between a call with Russia and a talk with your boss, the sky had opened up. Rain poured and hit the glass in sheets. You had no idea how you hadn’t heard it thus far. It was like a monsoon, and that’s when your phone went off with the severe thunderstorm warning. Great. Just as you were ready to head home. And to top it all off, your car was at the far side of the parking lot because you got in so late today. If one more thing went wrong, you were going to combust. You just knew it.

You looked out the window one last time, gathering your things, and let out a huff. Well, fuck it. The weather report you pulled up on your phone showed no signs of stopping for the next several hours, which was a total contrast to the way it said clear skies earlier this morning. Might as well make a run for it then, before the nearby river flooded the parking lot and engulfed your car. You just needed to get home. That was it. It would be fine.

Well, it wasn’t really fine, was it? Your drive home took way longer than usual, as you passed accident after accident, causing traffic and a slow meandering pace. You would’ve rather had that instead of crazy drivers, though, who went way too fast for weather conditions like this. But every call you tried to make home to Jake failed because of the cloudy skies disrupting your signal. And then, your phone died because you forgot to charge it last night, of course.

You finally returned home an hour later on a drive that was supposed to be twenty minutes and parked in the driveway, throwing your forehead on the steering wheel. You were trying to build up the courage to go inside. It wasn’t because the rain was still pouring. Your clothes, and now your drivers seat, were already thoroughly soaked, but it was the fact that Jake’s niece was there.

She wasn’t bad, or a terror, she was actually a delight, but after the day you had, there was no way you held the energy to keep a smile on and entertain her. With a sigh, you opened the door, rushing into the house, hoping you, and your resolve, didn’t crumble from the rain.

Jake was in the kitchen stretching out pizza dough when he heard the door open. He brushed off his floury hands on his apron before untying it and hanging it on the hook, meeting you in the hall.

He’d expected you to be home awhile ago, and none of his calls and texts seemed to be going through, but he’d figured you were just running late, and apparently he was right.

The view he was met with was…out of the ordinary. You were standing there, work bag in hand, soaked clothes draping off your body, and hair matted down as your shoulders slumped. Normally, he would’ve laughed at the sight of you looking like a drowned rat, water dripping onto the floor in a puddle, and especially if it were one of his buddies, but when he caught a glimpse of your face, he came rushing towards you.

“Honey, what’s wrong?”

His hands flew to your shoulders as he checked you once over, trying to see if anything was physically wrong. You shrugged and shook your head, then tried to give off a fake smile, although it was more of a grimace, in anticipation of his niece running in your direction at any second.

“Nothing, nothing Jake. Just a long day at work, but where’s our little visitor, is she excited for a sleepover?”

You were looking over his shoulders back into the house to see if she was waiting somewhere else, but it was quiet, besides the faint music playing from the kitchen speaker.

“No, baby. The concert got rained out so my sister and her friends are staying home. So it’s just you and me tonight. And if I’m being honest, you look like you need it.”

You dragged your eyes from the floor up to meet his. His brows were pulled together in concern, bright blue irises darting all over your face from behind his glasses. At his care, you couldn’t help how you broke down.

You threw your head into this neck and sobbed as Jake pulled you closer, one hand flat and rubbing you between the shoulder blades, the other cradling the back of your head as you let it all out and told him about your day where nothing could go right.

Rain water was seeping into his clothes from yours, but that was the least of his worries right now. Jake was so sweet about it all, comforting you and whispering reassurances of active listening in your ear, holding you tight until your shoulders stopped shaking from the gasps.

“I know, I know, baby. It’s okay. You’re home now, I’m gonna take care of you, alright?”

He pulled away and put his hands on your cheeks so you could see him. “Why don’t you go take a shower. I don’t care if you strip right here, I’ll take care of it all. I’ll lay you out some dry, comfy clothes, finish up dinner, and you and me can have a nice, relaxing night together in the living room. Sound good?”

You sniffled and nodded your head, as Jake softly smiled at you and gave you a kiss on the forehead. “Atta girl. Take as long as you need to, okay? There should be plenty of hot water. You do what you gotta do. And if you need me, call my name.”

You shuffled off towards the bathroom, shucking off your clingy clothing piece by piece, leaving a sopping wet trail, as Jake got to work.

When you emerged from your shower into the steamy bathroom, a warm, plush towel and clothes were sitting on the sink. You reveled in the softness and the scent of the materials. The sweatpants and shirt laying there, folded with military precision, were Jake’s. Your favorite. You brushed your hair and slipped it on, along with a nice pair of fresh socks and padded out to the living room.

You expected to see Jake just lounging there, one of his favorite discovery shows on the TV, but you were met with something totally different. Definitely not your everyday view. The first thing to hit was was the sweet smell of tomato sauce. The next thing you noticed was the video of a crackling bonfire playing on the TV, and in your line of sight just below that was a pillow and blanket fort made out of the couch. Emerging from behind the sheet that served as the fort’s roof popped a set of frosted tips, slowly ascending, making way for your boyfriend’s smiling face.

“Hi honey, all better?”

You nodded and beamed back at him, happiness rising in your stomach, dissipating the storm clouds that had overtaken your mind all day. You waltzed around the end of the couch and over to him, when your eye caught the spread on the coffee table: fresh, homemade pizza next to a sweet-smelling lit candle and a tray with all the necessary materials for s’mores, beautifully and methodically arranged. It must’ve been what he planned to have for his niece, especially if the rain had held off enough to make a fire in the backyard, but it didn’t cheapen the gesture at all.

Your eyes began to tear up, and you pointed your gaze back to Jake, seeing his nervous and tentative demeanor. You didn’t think it was possible, but you loved him more right now than ever before. You needed him right now, more than you’d realized, so you pounced, tackling the heap of muscle into the pile of pillows scattering the living room, turned on by the domestic gesture.

Jake was taken aback, eyes wide in surprise before they fluttered shut when your lips greedily met his. He was pinned down, almost, your hips straddling him as your hands roamed everywhere, pushing up his shirt so you could tuck your fingers under the band of his underwear and sweatpants, shoving them down his thighs. You were speaking in whispers while still keeping your mouth pressed up against his.

“Thank you. It’s perfect. I love you. Need to show you.”

Jake hummed and pulled away from you as much as he could, gasping in deep breaths and watching the way your hand stroked up and down his length, already half hard from your actions. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, stopping the motion as he pressed his eyes closed and swallowed, gathering himself.

“Baby, baby, wait. Hold on. I get it, and I appreciate it so much that you wanna make me feel good, but I need to take care of you first. You need to eat.”

You whined, hand still trying to move despite his soft, yet strong hold on you. Jake let out a small huff with the little hopeful smile he gave you, but you were unrelenting.

“If you really cared about me, you’d be inside me right now, Jakey.”

His face grew into a mischievous grin. “I’m going to try and not take that as a jab at the significance of the beautiful spread I made for you, but that’s besides the point. I think we can find a compromise, honey.”

His hands stroked over the softness of your hips as he looked up at you with a raised brow. You bit your lip and leaned in for a peck, nipping at his lower lip as you retreated, relishing in the groan he unsuccessfully stifled.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Your voice was smooth and sultry, in contrast to the rough, strained words that came out of Jake next.

“Yes, baby. If you’re good, you can warm my cock while I feed you pizza, which I slaved over all day, and you and I can make some candle s’mores. And once you’ve had your fill and I decide that your soft tummy is nice and full, you have me for whatever you want. Deal?”

You tapped a finger on your lip, acting like you were contemplating the flawless offer, before nodding and leaning in for another kiss. “Deal. But I refuse to lift a finger. Gotta save my energy to ruin you.”

You didn’t miss the way Jake’s teeth gritted in restraint at that statement, but he nodded. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now open up, love.”

You didn’t miss the double entendre as he helped you to slip off your sweatpants and comfy underwear. You resettled into this lap and closed your eyes, just letting yourself feel him as his tip caught your entrance, slowly sliding in and stretching you as you did your best to release all the tension in your body to take him as deep as possible.

Four slices of pizza and some progressive squirming later, you were leaning in to kiss Jake, testing the waters with a circle of your hips. His fingertips dug into your ass as he gave you a warning glance.

“Not yet, sweetie. S’mores first?” You huffed, but assented, leaning back as he shifted forward to gather everything needed, holding the marshmallow on a small stick above the flickering flame. You made one, as well, for him so the two of you could share in having them at the same time.

The background held the sounds of rain pelting the windows, mixed with the crackling fire of the TV, while you waited for the marshmallows to toast.

Jake fed you a bite first, though, watching as a string of marshmallow pulled from between your mouth and his fingers before kicking up onto your cheek. Your eyes squinted slightly at the interesting flavor as Jake’s thumb swiped off the melted mallow and rested at your lips. You took his finger into your mouth, looking straight into his eyes but he couldn’t pull his eyes from your lips, as you released his thumb with a pop.

Jake smiled up at you again, this time with eyes half-lidded as you felt his dick twitch inside of you. “How is it, honey?”

You huffed a small breath out of your nose as you laughed a little. “Waxy.”

Jake winced at your admittance and the way your body shifted as you turned around to look at the candle. You faced him again as he set down the s’more.

“Marshmallow dream.”

Jake tilted his head to the side. “What? Is that like a new nickname for me or something?”

You giggled and shook your head. Jake admired you as he observed your response, a satisfaction brewing deep inside of him that he helped you reach this good mood again after the day you had.

“No, silly. It’s the candle scent. Marshmallow dream. Although, I don’t think it would be an inaccurate name for you. You’re a big softie, and totally dreamy. Not to mention sweeter than any treat.”

You wrapped your arms around Jake’s neck, leaning in for another slow, deep kiss, smile still on your face as you listened to his soft breaths become moans, then groans, then near-growls as he devoured you.

Jake flipped the two of you over and you squealed at the sudden motion, feeling the pillows cushion your back. You needed that, though, as his first thrust hit you hard, practically knocking the wind out of you as you screamed in pleasure. Jake couldn’t help the way his pent-up energy manifested. All that self-control had to go somewhere, but now he was smoothly rolling his hips against yours, keeping you filled and beyond satisfied. His fingertips traced up your hips and soft tummy, pulling your shirt up with them, as your hands ran through his hair.

He pushed the fabric above your chest, leaning in and sucking a nipple into his mouth, massaging the other in his hand as his tongue danced across the skin. Your breathing was getting heavier by the minute, music to his ears as he turned his head, face still pressed to your soft skin.

“These, baby. These are my marshmallow dream.”

You giggled and slapped his shoulder playfully, allowing him to continue on, take whatever he wanted because he deserved it. And he did take you, all night, shrouded in a pillow fort of comfort, fairy lights, and unbridled love.

Bonus A/N: I’ve had an idea similar to this swirling in my head for awhile, I think I said something of the like in an ask, but I can’t find it now. Anyway, when a candle burns, wax vaporizes, which is why it likely caught on the marshmallows hovering above the flame. Yuck, but at least the candle fit the theme? 😂

Related: Jake’s Rough Days That Should Be Me

Taglist: @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly

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saywhat-politics · 3 months ago

Video

youtube

'Rapid unscheduled disassembly': Another Musk SpaceX rocket explodes, interrupting air traffic

A rocket launched by Elon Musk's SpaceX exploded and rained dangerous debris over a wide area, forcing a pause in air traffic and disrupting the lives of thousands as their travel plans were delayed. The FAA is still investigating the previous SpaceX rocket explosion that rained down debris and halted air traffic.

#youtube #msnbc #the rachel maddow show

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van-goghs-smoking-skull · 2 years ago

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2023 is such an interesting year for Burning Man. 70,000 (depending on the source, otherwise it's 'tens of thousands') people are stranded, finding out that deserts and rain are messy af. Environmental activists from Europe protested Burning Man, but were removed by Tribal Police due to trespassing on Piute land and disrupting traffic on the Rez. The protestors were trashing the place and while it's unsure as to whether they were going to start a fire (NOT a great time for fires, considering how dry it had been - brush fires spread like crazy with that much dry creosote everywhere), but they did not bring water.

It's like Mother Nature said she's sick of everyone's shit, and Paiutes said they are sick of white people making a mess on their land and fucking up their traffic flow to protest other white people damaging the environment at Black Rock.

#Burning Man #protests #indigenous issues #environmentalism gone wrong

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pimosworld · 1 year ago

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Unrequited

Pairing- Santiago Garcia x f!reader x Francisco Morales

Series Summary- Francisco was always afraid of settling down. He left Santiago to pick up the pieces after Colombia and now someone else is taking his place. Now he must cope with repairing the past without disrupting his future.

CW-18+,NSFW,MDNI, Angst, hurt/comfort, lovers to enemies to friends, friends to lovers, PTSD, mentions of addiction, therapy,canon typical violence, depression, anxiety, smut, m/m, m/m/f, eventual poly relationship, alcohol consumption,infidelity, unprotected piv,oral f receiving, oral m receiving, marriage proposals)

WC-5.2k

A/N- I hope you enjoy the first chapter and I’m just going to apologize now for the angst but it will get better…eventually. Happy Frankie Friday. @triplefrontier-anniversary

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Not beta read

Chapter 1 Love sick

adjective: love-sick

in love, or missing the person one loves, so much that one is unable to act normally.

Frankie hates how everything feels the same. When the wheels touched down and he exited the plane, it smelled the same. All of his favorite places to eat, the usual stores, the same amount of unbearable traffic. He wanted this to feel different when he returned home. Like he expected his friends and him to be waiting at the airport to greet him with open arms. Like they would roll out the red carpet for him because they all missed him so much. How could he expect that when he couldn’t bother to tell anyone he was still alive let alone returning home? That’s like expecting to win the lottery but never playing. That delusional part of your brain where you imagine how you would spend the money and how you wouldn’t tell anyone.

He’s home now.

The bile starts to rise up in his throat as he approaches the neighborhood he was going to spend the rest of his life in. He was going to live a peaceful, quiet life with him. After Colombia they would have enough money to do whatever they wanted. Relax and finally work out some of that trauma from their shared experiences in the military. He supposed everyone did settle down anyway. What choice did they have after coming back with practically nothing. He heard Will eventually got married and Benny took what little money he had and opened up a boxing gym. Santi-

How was he supposed to return to this life with him after everything that happened in Colombia. Santiago finally gave him everything he wanted on a silver platter, everything Frankie had been asking of him for years. Love me out in the open, Love me out loud, Love me without fear or consequence of failure. So he did. He finally told him ‘after this, no more playing games. We do this for real or not at all, I'm all in if you are.’

His response was to flee. One month turned into six, six months turned into a year. Now three years later he’s coming back to the man he broke and he’s not sure what he’s expecting but it’s making him nearly break out in hives. The outside of the house looks a little different but he can’t put his finger on why. It’s brighter and somehow cleaner. Maybe Santiago had it painted recently. He huffs his bag out of the cab suddenly feeling a thousand times heavier than any pack he’s carried through the jungle with rain soaked clothes all the way down to his socks.

The bench is still there on the front porch that Frankie found at a garage sale. The first piece of furniture that graced the home they picked out together.Frankie told the guys it would be easier if they bought it together. He’s not sure who he thought he was fooling but it certainly wasn’t Benny and Will. Tom didn’t give a shit, he was such a cheap bastard he truly believed they would buy a house together to save money. Another example of Santiago going along with whatever Frankie said as long as he got to call it theirs.

His hands are sweaty and his arms are shaky as he raises them up to knock on the door. Santiago hated doorbells, such a weird quirky thing he never explained makes him laugh now, easing some of the tension in his shoulders. He waits…an uncomfortable amount of time before he thinks he could just turn around and act like he was never here until the door flies open.

You’re standing there practically beaming at him, he’s sure he’s got the most dumbfounded look on his face as he takes you in. You’re adorable as you lean against the door frame in a pair of leggings and a shirt he sort of recognizes, waiting for him to say something. Maybe he has the wrong house and you’re just sparing him the embarrassment. He’s completely bewildered when you surge forward and wrap your some around his middle, he instinctively despite you being a complete stranger embraces your hug. You’re like liquid in his arms as you press your chest to his and he can feel something awaken in him. The amount of warm bodies he found himself under or on top of over the years couldn’t compare to this consuming feeling. The worst part is how innocent you seem and how his thoughts are nothing but. He can smell you, a hint of orange and peach. Body wash, shampoo or perfume he doesn’t really care at the moment.

You mumble something that’s inaudible as you pull back and look at him, something sparkling in your eyes. “I was beginning to think you were like bigfoot, or the Easter bunny…or maybe even Santa Claus.” You giggle and it’s something else he has to add to the list. “Forgive me…it’s nice to meet you Francisco.”

“I see you’ve met my girlfriend.” That voice. The low sultry voice he’s sure he could never forget, not even if he tried. Frankie cried the day his phone was smashed and the voicemail Santi had left for him was lost forever. The last one he left, begging for him to come back, to come home. “Sorry she’s a hugger.” You sheepishly extract yourself from him as his body goes taut.

Santi steps up behind you, protectively and it cuts like a knife. His hand starts at the small of your back and wraps around to your front as he pulls you into his chest. You preen at the touch as you lean against him, kissing the dark stubble on his cheek. Frankie’s sure you don’t notice the fire in your boyfriend's eyes, a threatening stare that was usually only reserved for his enemies. He can see it then, shrouded in hurt and anger. She’s mine. Santiago won’t let him hurt you the way he was hurt. Thrown away and cast aside. That’s how Frankie thinks he’d paint the picture but that’s far from the truth. He was sparing him a lifetime of disappointment.

The feelings he had for you are going up in gray smoke like water doused onto a fire. This is a dangerous feeling, seeing you in his place. It’s not your fault at all that you met Santiago and walked into years of love,torment and jealousy. Frankie can tell how blindly you love Santiago, the way he loved Frankie all those years. He would lay down on a live wire for him, take a bullet for him, take public scrutiny and throw away his family’s judgmental stares for him. Being that vulnerable only puts you in danger.

“Invite him in silly.” You nudge Santi and he barely budges as he scoops up Frankie’s bag and slings it over his shoulder. You yelp as he pats you on the ass to coax you inside.

“Come on in Frank, make yourself at home.” His voice is raw and open, like Frankie’s heart. He grinds his teeth at the name he hates and the implication of home. But he deserves that. Santi is going to make him hurt.

****

The house looks relatively the same on the inside.

Some extra plants and a bookshelf, the distinct smell of lavender and vanilla are the only differences. He wishes it wouldn’t look the same, like everything else. It was like he never left, the same couch they used to spend late nights on, watching the same tv that sits in the corner. The same dining table that they would eat breakfast before going to work and dinner after a long day.

“I’m gonna make some cookies, since it’s a special occasion.” You wink at him and start moving around his kitchen like you know everything. The oven is preheated and you're mixing something into a bowl before he can blink. Humming some tune he’s sure he’s heard as he realizes the shirt you’re wearing is Santi’s favorite.

Santi slides up behind you kissing your neck. “Sounds like a good idea baby.” You glance up at Frankie looking a little bashful as you narrow your eyes at Santi.

“Why don’t you go put your stuff down in the spare bedroom.” Santi doesn’t move and that annoys him even more. He doesn’t have to show him where the room is because this used to be his house, still is technically. He stomps down the hall glaring at some artwork and photos he’s never seen. Stopping in his tracks when he sees a photo of the five of them in Delta. A stupid grin on Santi’s face because Frankie’s grabbing his ass while the photo is being taken. The younger faces of the Miller brothers and Tom.

He stops again when he sees the bedroom they used to share. Nothing much has changed about that either. The bedspread and the ungodly amount of pillows maybe…hopefully the mattress.

He sets his bag down against the wall and opens the window to let some air in. It’s stale and muggy so he shuts it immediately. He can still smell you on him and it’s driving him nuts. He got a whiff of Santi’s cologne during the brief greeting. That was different. He stopped wearing the one Frankie bought him on a mission in Morocco. Santi hadn’t so much as touched him during their hello and he’s not sure if that hurts worse than being able to hold him.

His body eases into the queen mattress as he leans back against the pillows. It’s much more comfortable than the previous one. Frankie never cared about the comfort of others and they argued about it. "It's just a spare bed, what's the problem?” Santiago would roll his eyes and he wanted to kiss that smug look off his face. ‘Our guests should be comfortable too.” He didn’t think they would ever have guests staying in their home other than Benny or Will and those bastards didn’t need a four star plush hotel stay. Now he’s a guest, in his own home and he hates how comfortable he is.

He’s exhausted…mentally, physically, emotionally. Too fatigued to even stand and turn on the ceiling fan that he’s staring at. He’s just starting to close his eyes when he hears a soft rap on the door. He sighs out in frustration, he needs a break from you right now, you’re too perfect and he’s too broken so he just needs a moment. He goes to protest when the door opens but it’s not you who greets him.

Santiago stands in the doorway with a plate of cookies and a glass of milk. He looks as though he’s approaching a wild animal in a cage with their favorite treat to calm them down just before they tranquilize them. Frankie sits up as he steps into the room and sets the items down on the bedside table.

“They’re still hot.” His tone is warning like he knows Frankie is going to shove one whole in his mouth the moment he leaves the room and then complain that it burned his tongue.

Frankie wants to say something but now doesn’t feel right. His tongue is heavy like lead in his mouth and his eyes can’t quite possibly say all that he wants to. I love you, I’m sorry. “You look good.” It’s weak, Santiago knows it as he huffs out a laugh.

“You look tired.” It’s said more of a truth than an insult. He’s sad when he looks at him like someone he used to know. Frankie probably hasn’t had a good night's sleep in three years and that is Santi’s only consolation prize. He got a broken heart and Frankie got perpetual insomnia. “You can stay as long as you want Fish…dinner will be ready in an hour.” Santi exits the bedroom, closing the door softly, leaving his new cologne in the omnium of your scent that clings to him.

As long as he wants and as long as he needs are two very different things. He’s just glad as he takes a bite of the cookie that he’s graduated from Frank to Fish. This cookie tastes how you look. Sickly sweet and warm on his tongue. He’s glad Santi has left the room because he didn’t recognize the sounds coming from him as he savored his first homemade provisions in over three years. Surviving on street food that his stomach hated and questionable canned meat products. He can taste you on his tongue as he finishes the first cookie in the blink of an eye. Four of them stacked on the plate before eating dinner seemed like overkill at first but Santiago had tasted your cookies... He gets to indulge in them whenever he wants and this is just his way of taunting Frankie. He knows Frankie is a weak man who hasn’t let himself enjoy the pleasures in life for quite a while. Temporary pleasures don’t measure up to this.

He kicks off his shoes and props himself up against the pillows again as he absentmindedly reaches for another. A cool breeze whips his face as he looks up at the spinning blades. Santiago must have turned it on without him noticing. His mama always used to tell him to slow down and enjoy his food so he does in this moment. The first one he ate with such urgency like it would be his last, this one he can savor the hints of cinnamon and vanilla. The gooey chocolate makes a mess on his fingers. He glances over to see no napkin so he licks it off getting a hint of salt and peanut butter. There’s no way you could know unless Santiago told you. He holds it in front of him to inspect and sees the small peanut butter chips melted in. That was always his favorite and only Santi knew.

It’s much easier to fall asleep as he polished off the last cookie and most of the milk. This one hour felt better than any full night of sleep he got when he wasn’t home.

****

Frankie feels like his body weighs a ton. Waking up from his nap is disorienting as he remembers where he is. Sleeping in a room he never thought he’d be in, in a place he never thought he’d ever come back to. This short slumber after being sleep deprived for so long is like serving someone an appetizer and telling them the restaurant is closing early.

He showed up unexpectedly and you took it in stride. Like you’ve been here waiting for him this whole time to put the pieces back together. Frankie doesn’t think you’d mind if he skipped out on dinner for some much needed rest but his stomach grumbles as he stares at the empty plate next to him. The smell of garlic,onions and peppers coax him out of the bed as he stretches his creaky bones. He can hear laughter and the clinking of plates as he walks down the hallway, it dawns on him that he hasn’t showered in twelve hours but he doesn’t want to keep you waiting any longer. He’s been enough of a burden these last few years and he won’t let you bear the load any longer.

“Hola bella durmiente.” Santi’s teasing voice hits his ears before he sees him. He wants to flip him off but he’s too tired and that feels too normal.

Frankie glances at the time on the oven as you finish plating something that smells like home. “Shit it’s been two hours.” Santi whistles at him to sit down as he scrubs his hands through his hair.

“Don’t worry about it Francisco, this man takes four hour naps.” You lean over setting the plate down in front of him and your boyfriend. He watches you plant a kiss on Santi’s head, not to flaunt it but just because it’s second nature.

“You never take naps.”

“I’ve learned to relax.” Santi says with a mouthful of food as he points his fork. “You should learn to do the same, Frankie.”

He can breathe a sigh of relief that he can be Frankie again, even in jest.

He takes a bite as you settle in across from him, it’s perfect much like the cookies as he closes his eyes not afraid of the moan that leaves him. “Holy shit this is better than Santi’s Chile verde.”

Santi takes your hand placing a kiss on your fingers. “That’s why I don’t make it anymore.”

“Well don’t be shy, there’s plenty on the stove.” You smile at him and he notices then that you changed. A light touch of makeup and a little perfume. Santi’s still in his tee shirt and jeans but you’ve ditched the old ratty Metallica shirt and swapped it for a bright yellow blouse and jeans.

Santi clears his throat interrupting Frankie observing you. “She’s an amazing chef. She takes a lot of pride in her work, and I take my job as the Guinea pig very seriously.” He leans back and pats his belly.

You’re practically beaming at him as you stand to take his empty plate. He gently grabs your wrist urging you to sit as he absentmindedly grabs Frankie’s to serve them up some more.

****

Frankie used to run from his compliments or brush them off as nothing. He was always too afraid of the praise not realizing how hurtful it was to the other man when he would wave him off. Santi loves you in the way he always wanted Frankie to love him.

He’s grateful for the small talk during the rest of the evening. A few beers and a way too nice bottle of wine has him comfortably buzzed as he listens to you talk about how you met Santiago. In true Santiago form he almost ruined it before it even began.

It was at Will's wedding a little over a year ago.Santiago assumed you were a guest of the bride because he’s certain he would remember meeting you in the many years he’d known Will. He saw you just before the ceremony in a navy blue silk suit, the plunging neckline leaving nothing to the imagination. You looked lost and a little irked when he approached you asking to save him a dance.

He looked for you in the sea of unfamiliar faces during the ceremony and again during the reception. It wasn’t until a very unfortunate moment with a clingy bridesmaid in his lap drunkenly telling him about her new piercing that he locked eyes with you. There was a humorous look on your face as you winked at him. Two men approached you in matching white button ups and black ties and you snapped to attention. He could always tell when someone was giving orders and needed to be taken seriously. The men scurry away when you’re done speaking and start gathering plates and cutlery. Your face relaxes again and you wink at him exiting the ballroom as the girl screeches in his ear ‘are you even listening to me?”

“No sweetheart I’m not.” He quickly displaces her from his lap as she stands there dumbstruck by his actions.

He bursts through the doors and is met with a mostly empty kitchen. You’re standing there wide eyed with another girl in the matching uniform. “Finish boxing up the leftovers for the newlyweds and then you’re good to go.” You brush her arm as you walk past and beeline it straight for him.

“Lost?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“No I ugh…you…-“ He’s scrambling as you stare him down unwavering.

“A man of many words I see.” You pick a piece of lint off his suit jacket and he notes your close proximity.

“You never danced with me.” He teases and you laugh a little. It’s a start

“You seemed to already have a dance partner…and as you can see.” You gesture around the kitchen. “I was a little busy.”

“Oh her…I don’t even know her name.” He winces as you give him an incredulous look.

You’re already walking away toward the ballroom doors before he can recover. He’s hot on your heels, never one to back down from a challenge. “So I can’t convince you to dance with me?”

You spin and he has to stop himself from crashing into you. “Maybe some other time Santiago.” You kiss him on the cheek, leaving a red lipstick reminder for any unknown nameless women.

“Wait…how do you know my name!?”

“I was warned about you.” You yell over your shoulder as you exit the kitchen leaving him there stunned.

It took a lifetime of bribes and I owe yous and promises of future baby sitting to get your number from Will. His wife Emma was pissed until you weaved your way into their lives and the rest is history.

****

It’s been at least an hour since you went off to bed, saying your goodnights to both men. They stayed mostly silent on the couch as they stared at some movie on the tv. Neither one of them paid any attention. Just waiting for any signs of life from you to die down in the bedroom down the hall.

Santi knew your night routine like the back of his hand. You’d wash your face of any makeup and apply what he thought was an absurd amount of creams and oils. You’d sit gingerly on the edge of the bed as you applied this lotion that smelled of rose and coconut, taking your time to cover every inch of your body. Smiling at him all the while asking if he’d like to join to which he’d just tell you one of you had to be rough in the relationship. On the nights he didn’t personally see to it that you were passed out you’d read a few chapters of your book before falling asleep with your finger marking the page and he’d gently retrieve it from you before kissing your forehead making sure not to wake you.

It’s this thought that’s ticking away at him as he counts down the minutes silently while he watches Frankie’s leg nervously bounce beside him. He’s sitting in the spot he used to but he feels miles away. Stark contrast to how they used to be on this couch, cuddling and laughing while they talked about their future.

“Do you love her?”

The words that leave Frankie’s mouth rip through the silence like the sound of a thunder clap. Only the light from the tv illuminates the look on Santi’s face but Frankie can see it clear as day. It’s moments like these that Santi’s aware of his high blood pressure as the sound of his heartbeat whooshes in his ears.

“How dare you ask me that.” His voice starts low but the rage behind it is threatening to boil over.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“Yes I love her.” He says a little louder, no lie or waver to his voice.

Frankie scrubs his jaw as he huffs under his breath. “I’m glad you moved on.” The sarcasm dripped from his tone and now Santi is seeing red.

Santi grabs the remote, flicking off the tv plunging them into darkness. “You think I just moved on the moment you left. You do remember being the one who left right?” He hates how Frankie can so quickly get under his skin. This is the exact reaction he wanted from him and he took the bait. “I waited for you. I waited and waited until Will had to pick me up off the floor and make me shower and eat and really take a look at the situation.”

Santi stands and paces the room as Frankie watches someone he thought he knew open up like he’s never done before. Santi loved him but he always let Frankie take the lead. He never put himself first and it almost swallowed him up whole. Frankie knows it’s not fair to judge any of his actions but he’s a scared animal backed into a corner and this is all he’s got left. One last fight before he lunges out in hope’s that Santi will tell him something to justify what he did.

“You may have been torn up for a bit but you look pretty comfortable to me.” Frankie gestures around the room as he stands in front of Santi. “You’ve got nice home cooked meals, all your friends, a beautiful house and someone to fuck at the end of a long day.”

Santi grabs his shirt shoving him back down to the couch. “Don’t act like your bed wasn’t warm these last three years. You and I both know how you are Frank.” Fuck he’s back to Frank.

“I didn’t love any of them.” Frankie says as Santi rolls his eyes.

“You want an award for not falling in love with them.” Frank grits his teeth as the sing song words ooze out of Santi’s mouth while he claps his hands in his face.

“You should keep your voice down, you wouldn't want to wake up your wife.” Frankie says and with no remorse Santi knows he’s wounded. A small part of him is glad for it.

With his voice barely above a whisper as he leans down face to face with Frankie. “She’s not my wife, and you’re not my husband.”

****

Santi quietly closes the door as he watches your sleeping form. It’s one of his favorite things to do. The steady rise and fall of your chest, wondering what peaceful things drift in your dreams. You’re wearing one of his shirts and probably nothing else. Majority of your wardrobe when you weren’t at work consisted of his clothing. It stirred something in him he’d never experienced before you. The way he was possessive over you…he never understood why Frankie would act the way he did when men and women would flirt with him until he met you.

How dare Frankie question his love and his loyalty. He was the one who walked away. How dare he look at you the way he did, thinking Santi wouldn’t notice the desire in his eyes.

“Baby, are you coming to bed or do you want to keep holding the door up?” Your sleepy voice grabs his attention as you pat the spot beside you.

He pushes off the door and pulls his shirt off, tossing it aside.”I thought you were asleep.” His jeans and belt hit the floor with a thud as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“I was but I could hear your thoughts in my dreams.” You sit up wrapping your arms around him. Your hands drift to his stomach, his soft abs flex under your touch as he relaxes against you. You know he wants to say something. The elephant in the room that is Frankie.

“I love you.” His voice barely above a whisper. He squeezes your hand and brings it up to his chest. You can feel the rapid beat of his heart under your fingers.

“I love you too.”He shivers as your lips graze the faint scar traveling down his neck. A reminder of something he’s been through with you that Frankie wasn’t there for. His need for you is made all that more evident with the man he loved, loves in the room down the hall.

He shifts so fast your head is spinning as he pins you underneath him. Whatever thoughts were plaguing him before are long gone with his hands roaming underneath his shirt to graze the soft skin under your breast. His lips swallow your whine as he rolls your nipple between his fingers reveling in the way your body responds to him.

You can feel the hard press of his cock beneath his boxers as he rolls his hips into you. Searching for some kind of friction.

“I need this off.” His voice is strained as he pulls the shirt over your head.

You chuckle trying to reach for him as he shoves his boxers down, laughter dies in your throat at the sight of him. The moonlight in the room illuminates his hard cock, dark at the tip leaking precum on the sheets below.

His hands slide up your thighs as he squeezes the flesh between his fingers. His grip tightens as he cups your ass, lifting you slightly to wrap your legs around him. “Look at you…and you’re all mine.”

You’re breathless as you reach for him, pulling him into your chest.”Santi, kiss me.” You don’t have to ask him twice, your voice is like a siren song as he dips his tongue into you. He can taste the mint from your toothpaste and your cherry chapstick. Mine.

He should go slow, work you open like he always does. He drags the tip through your slick folds and a soft whimper leaves your mouth. You’re being too quiet…because of him. His hands gently press your throat as he buries himself to the hilt. A louder whine escapes you, he knows it drives you crazy as he squeezes just enough to have you panting.

“Fuck I need you, I’m sorry.” He releases your throat and starts an unrelenting pace as you quickly adjust to his size. He’s never been this desperate, not willing to make you come on his mouth or fingers first.

Your body doesn’t seem to care as the slick wet sound of your bodies and your pussy clenching with each thrust has him growling in your ear. “I want to hear you.” He wraps his arms underneath you and grips your shoulders.

“Santi…please.” You don’t want to be used for his anger and revenge but you can’t think straight with his cock ramming that spot deep inside you.

“Please what baby?” He fucks you harder as he watches your face contort in pleasure as you chant his name. He bites down on the swell of your breast and you cry out as he licks and soothes the spot with his tongue.

“Santi…I’m so close.” He knows…he can feel how close you are as your heels dig into his back, your blunt nails scratch at his scalp and you arch your body as your climax washes over you. “Come inside me please, Santi.”

Images flash in his mind of Frankie fucking you through your orgasm as you scream his name, his cock is pulsing and throbbing inside you as he fills you up. His deep ragged breaths in your ear as the aftershocks jolt through him. “I love you.” He says it over and over as he kisses your face, your mouth, your sweat soaked forehead. He’s really saying I’m sorry but those words mean the same right now.

“I love you too baby.” Your voice is wrecked from screaming, having long forgotten about your houseguest. You know this is what he wanted and a small part of you wanted it to. Santiago is yours to keep.

****

Shame washes over Frankie as he cleans his spend off his stomach with his tee shirt. He pulls his boxers up and sits on the edge of the bed staring out into the backyard.

It’s quiet now, in his post orgasmic clarity. All he has are the thoughts running through his mind. The thoughts that have plagued him since he set foot back into this house. How selfish it is to want what’s down the hall in a place he called home.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

Taglist- @ghostslillady @criticalarchitecture @ael-xander @tinytinymenace @for-a-longlongtime @itsokbbygrl-library @mymo-n @lola-lola-lola @readingiskeepingmegoing

Tagging a few who might be interested:

@writefightandflightclub @reallyrallyauthor @campingwiththecharmings

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oneshotnewbie · 2 years ago

Note

Could you write a one shot where there is a really bad storm hitting Seattle. Maya and Carina are stuck at the hospital and the fire station, and are trying but unsuccessful at reaching Reader. So they are both worried out of their minds. Then Maya has to go out on a call and find it was R who wrecked their car trying to get home before the storm hit. (Could be severe or non-severe injuries) R goes to the hospital with Maya in the aid car and Carina joins them in the ER.

Authors note: I heard the song "What the water gave me - Florence + The Machine" while writing this story. I would advise you to listen to the song as well while reading through this story to get the feel of a real Station 19 rescue mission like in the series. Of course it's not a must! ♥

ᕚ---ᕘ

The sky over Seattle steadily darkened as pitch-black thunderclouds rolled in like a tidal wave. The wind began to howl as if playing its own somber tune, rushing restlessly through the skyscrapers of the city. Streets were quickly emptied as people rushed home for shelter. The trees bent under the force of the storm as if begging for mercy, but the storm was relentless. It thundered as if Zeus himself wanted to keep the crowds in their place while the rain fell in thick, large drops and threatened to drown Seattle. The sound of the wind, the falling of the rain and the thunder symphoned in a unique melody and conveyed a frightening atmosphere.

The telephones of the active fire brigade beeped in unison, a warning of the approaching storm that came in way too late. The tough captain of the fire department swallowed hard as she could not reach you, who worked just a few minutes away from her. But you did not answer, the connection was already disrupted, appearing to be off. "She wanted to be here fifteen minutes ago, Carina," both her and the brunette's worries grew with every minute through the phone as they imagined the worst possible scenarios without having any sign of life from you.

"Calm down, Bambina. There is probably total chaos on the streets. Fallen trees, flooding. Maybe she is just stuck in a traffic jam or an emergency came in."

The fire station was flooded with red alarm lights, while the walls shook from violent gusts of wind, preventing the young blonde from speaking further. Raindrops pelted against the roller shutter door, which opened more with every second, allowing the lightning strikes to break through their vision. -Fire engines 19 and 23. Ambulance 19 to Cedar Road Lane 6. Car struck by tree, person seriously injured and trapped.-

The firefighters rushed around, donning their suits and gear before grabbing their helmets. Like-minded, they rushed to the waiting vehicles, only Maya stopped briefly. „Please let me know if you hear anything from her. Stai attenta, bambina!" (Be careful, bambina!). She nodded, knowing that Carina could not see the gesture and hung up before hopping into the squad cars and starting the sirens. Pressing the accelerator, they raced through the whirlwind around them, trying to avoid the tree branches as much as possible.

Lightning flashed across the dangerous-looking sky, and thunder rolled at the same time like an angry demon. Maya clung to the steering wheel as she tried to keep her eyes on the wet, blurry road. They made their way through the flooded streets, branches flying through the air and trash cans tipping over and spilling across the sidewalk.

It was as if the world around her was collapsing in a chaotic dance of wind and water. "Listen guys, I know you want to help the person in the car, but first and foremost, think about your health and your life," the storm roared so loudly that it seemed like it wanted to tear the entire city apart and hardly anyone understood what the captain was saying over the radio. "This is one of the worst storms in years, a state of emergency has been declared and normally no one should be on the roads, so it is a mystery to me why anyone would be so dumb to be driving,"

Her team was clearly tense, the radios crackling in their ears, but they nodded to the captain as confirmation that they had understood the message. Maya did not want to lose any man or woman in her group to the storm. "We are approaching the scene of the accident. Be ready for anything, people. We can do this!" she said calmly and encouragingly while the fire engine´s sirens blared through the dark night.

When the team from Station 19 arrived at the scene of the accident, they were confronted with a dark and serious scene. The car is crammed in by a huge tree and is badly deformed, the hood of which is completely smashed and dented while some branches have pierced through the windshield and turned the interior of the vehicle into a field of rubble.

The fire team jumped out of the emergency vehicles and fought through the wind and rain to reach the car. But the captain remains rooted to the spot in front of the stern of the wreck, looking absentmindedly at the license plate, which was hanging askew. "Y/n.. IT IS Y/N!" she shouted unhindered amid the raging and deafening thunder and her team stopped their tasks in shock, Andy and Gibson focusing their gaze from the thick tree over to the woman in the driver's seat, who Warren was already trying to find vital signs on.

Maya lunged forward, her heart pounding with worry. Her helmet was almost blown away by the wind as she stepped closer, the flashlight shaking in her hand as she shone the light through the shattered window. Her heart seemed to skip a beat as she recognized the familiar features amid the devastation. She was confirmed that she did not have a number twist on the license plate, but that it really was you. Seriously injured and trapped in the car. “Y/n!” she cried, her voice filled with a terror she had never known before. Maya knew she had to stay calm now, that she had to be the professional captain, but her heart was screaming with fear and worry.

The other members of the fire department worked quickly and precisely. "Dean, Montgomery. Grab the hydraulic cutters! We need to get her out of here as quickly as possible. Her vital signs are at risk of plummeting!" shouted Warren. They used cutting tools to fight against the metal of the car on the passenger side and the resistance of the tree while Maya knelt next to the wreckage and held your hand, which was probably thrown out of the broken window after the impact and was now lying on the scratched paint of the outer door. "It looks bad in there! Be careful not to hurt her any further, approach carefully!"

Your eyes were dazed with pain and fear, but you were breathing, albeit weakly. Hearing her voice, you seemed to find some peace for a moment, your dull eyes glued to hers. Desperately wanting to say something, you opened your mouth from which blood began to ooze, but your crushed and injured lungs did not even let in air.

"Hold on, darling. Do not say anything, I am here. We will get you out of there, I promise." The blonde whispered, her voice firm to reassure you even as her own thoughts were caught in a chaos of worry and despair. The minutes stretched endlessly as her team struggled to bend the metal and free their captain's fiancée. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the metal gave way. Using their combined strength, Vic and Warren pulled you from the wreckage, carefully, yet as quickly as possible. As soon as they freed you, they carried you to the ambulance. Maya followed them, never taking her eyes off you. Your condition was serious, but you were still clinging to life. "Carina is coming. She is going to be at the hospital, she will be by your side the second you get there. But you have to fight now, okay? Fight for us."

The rain continued to beat down on you, the storm was still raging, but in the midst of this darkness and chaos there was a glimmer of hope- you were saved, and she would do anything now to help you fight through this storm. But it was hard to keep positive thoughts as the storm continued to sing its destructive song. She closed her eyes tightly as she rode in the ambulance and prayed, with your bloodstained hand in hers, that the next morning would bring a certain light to your health.

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townpostin · 10 months ago

Text

Heavy Rain Causes Waterlogging on NH-33, Inconveniences Commuters

Waterlogging on NH-33 near Dimna disrupts traffic, causes severe inconvenience to commuters. Heavy rain on Friday morning led to severe waterlogging on NH-33, especially near Dimna and opposite Awadh Dental College. JAMSHEDPUR – Jamshedpur Commuters encountered significant challenges on NH-33 near Dimna and Awadh Dental College on Friday morning due to waterlogging caused by torrential rainfall…

#Awadh Dental College #जनजीवन #commuter inconvenience #dimna #drainage issues #Jamshedpur heavy rain #Life #NH-33 waterlogging #roadblock #Tata International Vehicle Application #TIVA #Traffic Disruption

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justchillgurl · 7 days ago

Text

𝓞𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓜𝓪𝓻𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓼☆๑

Check this out!@

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟯: 𝗙𝗼𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗨𝗻𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄𝗻･ั｡๑♡

wc; {16k}...lol?!

･ั｡๑♡Summary:

⸝⸝ 𖦹₊˚⊹ ❝

⟡ She’s silver spoons and splintered glass,

⟡ He’s silence wrapped in steel.

⟡ They meet in margins, not in hearts—

⟡ A rivalry too sharp to heal.

❞ ⊹˚₊𖦹 ⸝⸝

Pairing: Na Baek jin x fem! Reader.

Side note: read the previous part, here babes!°•`

⚠Warnings:

– Emotional neglect and verbal aggression.

– Implied classism and toxic family expectations

– Threatening behavior / mild intimidation.

– Subtle power imbalance

– Hints of emotional repression, slow-burn vulnerability

It had started as a drizzle by fourth period — harmless, barely there, just enough to blur the classroom windows. But by the end of the day, the sky broke open like a warning.

Heavy sheets of rain beat down on the pavement outside Yeo-Il High, fast enough to drown the usual end-of-day chatter beneath a wash of white noise. Students clustered under the school’s covered front steps, shielding themselves with bags, textbooks, or borrowed umbrellas. Others sprinted for the gate, shoes slapping water.

Y/n didn’t run. She didn’t huddle, didn’t flinch. She just stood near the stone railing, arms folded, blazer already soaked through at the shoulders. Her tie hung crooked, the strands of her ponytail damp and sticking to her cheekbones. She wasn’t shivering. Not yet.

Her driver was late.

Which was unusual — very unusual. Her family ran on precision the way other families ran on oxygen. Fifteen minutes late was practically unheard of.

She tapped her phone screen again. Still no message. Still no arrival time.

She told herself it didn’t matter.

Behind her, the school emptied out in a blur of motion and umbrellas, umbrellas, umbrellas. Gray ones, black ones, flimsy ones bent by the wind.

And then — a pause.

She felt it first. That slight disruption in the air, like something or someone had shifted.

When she turned her head, he was already beside her.

Na Baek-jin.

Blazer dry. Shoes clean. Umbrella in hand — not a plastic convenience store one, but something sleek and heavy-looking, with a matte black handle and dark canopy. Of course he’d have an umbrella like that. Of course he’d be dry, calm, carved out of some different atmosphere.

She blinked. “Let me guess. You control the weather, too.”

He glanced at her. Said nothing. Looked down at the umbrella, then back at her.

“You’re waiting?” he asked, flat but not unkind.

“My driver’s late.” A beat.

He nodded once. The rain pulsed harder on the pavement.

Then, without a word, he tilted the umbrella toward her.

She stared. “Seriously?”

He didn’t move it farther. Didn’t coax her under it. Just stood there, arm extended halfway in her direction.

She stepped closer, carefully, warily. “Trying to save my hair or my GPA?”

He didn’t smile — but something behind his eyes shifted. “Neither. Just hate seeing people make stupid decisions.”

“Wow,” she said dryly, easing beneath the edge of the umbrella with him. “You really know how to make a girl feel rescued.”

They stood in silence. Close. Too close.

His shoulder nearly brushed hers, and the umbrella wasn’t large enough for comfort — just function. She could smell faint cologne under the rain: crisp, clean, expensive.

A drop of water rolled from her jaw to her collarbone. He didn’t look at it. Not directly. But she saw his gaze flick away and stay away after that.

Seconds passed. Then minutes.

Still no car.

Her phone buzzed. She checked the screen. A single message.

> “Stuck in traffic. 25 min. Sorry.”

Her smile faltered. Just slightly. But she tucked it away as she slid the phone back in her pocket.

“You can go,” she said. “I’ll wait here.”

He didn’t move.

“I mean it,” she added. “I’m not going to melt.”

A pause.

Then he turned slightly and held the umbrella out to her.

As in — to take.

Her brows lifted. “You’re giving it to me?”

“You’ll be here longer,” he said, slipping his other hand into his pocket. “I’m five minutes from the alley.”

She hesitated.

“That umbrella's probably expensive ,” she muttered.

“Don’t lose it, then.”

She took it carefully, fingers brushing his.

He turned without another word and walked into the rain.

She watched him go.

That night, she found herself in the foyer of her family home, dripping umbrella in hand. The marble floors of the entryway clicked beneath her wet shoes as she stepped inside. The scent of eucalyptus and polished cedar wafted through the air — too clean, too cold.

Y/n placed Baek-jin’s umbrella delicately in the corner by the door. It was heavier than she’d expected, and when she adjusted its angle, something caught her eye — engraved initials near the handle.

𝓝.𝓑.𝓙.

Of course.

Of course the man had his umbrella monogrammed.

She shook her head, amused in spite of herself, and turned to head upstairs.

The rules in her house were simple: you showed up. You looked presentable. You didn’t show cracks. Ever.

By the time she reached her room, her fingers were stiff from the cold. She dropped her bag, peeled off her wet uniform, and headed into the shower. The water was hot, steaming, and she stood there longer than necessary — not for the heat, but for the quiet.

Fifteen minutes later, she was back in her room, dressed in a navy cashmere knit set and soft slippers, hair damp but brushed back into a low, clean ponytail. Gold studs in her ears. A thin golden necklace at her neck. Neutral gloss, light concealer. Unreadable face.

ready.

She descended the stairs slowly, Baek-jin’s umbrella still on her mind.

It sat there at the front door like some unspoken dare. She knew she had to return it. But the weekend started tomorrow. She wouldn’t see him until Monday. And something about keeping it felt… wrong.

She didn’t know why.

Dinner was already underway by the time she entered the formal dining room. The table was a long slab of smoked oak, flanked by high-backed chairs and lit by a chandelier that dripped crystal like frozen tears. Her mother sat at the far end, wine glass half-full. Jun-woo, one of her older stepbrothers, scrolled through his phone between bites. The other was absent.

Her father had just arrived, coat removed, sleeves rolled.

She took her seat silently.

“Did you get the scores?” her mother asked, without looking up.

“Yes.”

“Top again?” Jun-woo said, more amused than proud.

“Tied.”

“With who?” her father asked, eyes narrowing just slightly.

“Na Baek-jin.”

The table quieted.

Her mother’s fork hit the plate with a clink. “The gangster boy?”

Her jaw tightened. “The top student. Same thing, right?”

“I’ve told you before,” her father said, setting down his utensils, “those kinds of people will only hold you back.”

“‘Those kinds of people,’” she echoed softly. “Right. The kind who beat me by two seconds in freshman math.”

“That’s not the point,” her mother snapped.

“No, the point is image, right? Reputation. Appearances.”

Her voice was getting louder now. She didn’t mean it to.

“You walk around like your choices are neutral,” her mother continued, “but they reflect on all of us. On your father’s name.”

“I didn’t ask for his name.”

The room turned cold.

Her father slowly raised his head, eyes locked on hers. “Be careful.”

She pushed her plate away. “I’m not hungry.”

“You’ll sit and eat.”

“No,” she said.

Her mother stood sharply. “Do not walk away from me—”

Y/n rose from her seat and turned without another word.

Her mother’s wine glass hit the table too hard — and spilled.

Y/n didn’t flinch.

She left the dining room, walked straight to the entryway, and picked up Baek-jin’s umbrella.

She didn’t even change.

She just grabbed her white puffer jacket, slipped on sneakers, and left.

It was almost 9:00 p.m. when she stepped out of the town car she’d flagged off the street. The neighborhood was unfamiliar — loud, bright, chaotic in a way that didn’t match the clean silence of Gangnam. Neon signs blinked overhead. K-pop basslines thumped from a fried chicken joint next door.

The bowling alley was tucked between a convenience store and a narrow stairwell that led to a coin karaoke bar. The fluorescent lights outside the alley buzzed, casting everything in an electric yellow glow. People were going in and out, mostly boys. Loud. Smoking. Swagger-heavy. The kind of crowd she knew she had no business walking into alone.

But she did anyway.

She pushed open the door.

The sound hit first — pins crashing, laughter, a low thud of sneakers on wood. The place was crowded, a little hazy, the air full of fried food and cheap cologne.

She paused in the doorway, eyes adjusting.

She did not belong here.

But she walked in like she did.

Baek-jin’s umbrella was in her hand.

A few heads turned. Then a few more.

She walked to the front counter, where a boy in a snapback was half-sleeping over a bowl of tteokbokki.

“I’m looking for Na Baek-jin,” she said.

He blinked at her. “Who?”

“Don’t play dumb. I know he’s here. This is where you lot do your Union boy mafia cosplay, right?”

That got attention.

A couple of guys from lanes three and four looked over. One of them — taller, tattoo on his neck — stepped closer.

“This isn’t a guesthouse, princess,” he said.

She smiled, wide and fake. “Neither is your attitude, but here we are.”

Laughter. A little. The kind that could turn ugly fast.

“I’m serious,” she added. “I’m not leaving until I return something of his.”

The boy in the snapback snorted. “Na Baek-jin doesn’t take drop-offs from randoms.”

That did it.

She stepped back, squared her shoulders, and raised her voice just enough to slice through the noise.

“Na Baek-jin,” she called out, sharp and clear. “I know you’re here. Come out!”

Dead silence.

Then, from the hallway behind the lanes — from somewhere near the office — a door opened.

And there he was.

Na Baek-jin, still wearing his uniform, he looked odd.Calm. Alert. A little surprised.

His eyes scanned the room, found her instantly.

And something in his expression shifted.

He walked forward.

Someone started to say something, but he cut them off with a glance.

“Let her through,” he said.

No one argued.

Y/n walked past the others like they were mannequins. Calm. In control. Still holding the umbrella.

He stepped aside, holding the door to the office open for her.

The moment they were alone, she exhaled — barely.

His office was quieter than the rest of the place. A metal desk, a small couch, a half-shut laptop, and a small glass table facing the couch. On the desk there were papers. Schedules.Homework, probably. None of it surprised her.

“I see you’re still thriving in your villain lair,” she said.

He turned to her, jaw tight. “What are you doing here?”

She held out the umbrella. “Returning this. Before I start getting emotionally attached.”

He didn’t take it. Not yet.

“You came alone?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Do you see anyone else?”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Well, maybe I wouldn’t have to be here if someone answered their text.”

He stared at her. Something unreadable passed behind his eyes.

She softened — just a fraction. “Relax. I wasn’t followed by spies. I came to drop this off. I’m fine.” the joke slipped smoothly.

“You’re not,” he said.

The words were quiet. Flat.

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

He took the umbrella from her finally, resting it on the edge of the desk. “You don’t come out here, in this, unless something’s wrong.” he pointed to her outfit.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she wandered to the other side of the office and glanced at the wall of notes, deflecting like she always did.

“You’re organized,” she said lightly. “Very alpha male of you.”

He didn’t move. “What happened?”

She turned. He was still watching her.

And this time, she didn’t have a joke ready.

“It’s not important,” she said.

“It is to me.”

That startled her.

Something in her posture broke for a second — just one.

Then she looked away. “It was just dinner. Nothing new.”

But her voice was too soft. Her eyes, too quiet.

He stepped closer.

“You shouldn’t have come alone.”

“And yet, I made it.”

He didn’t argue.

After a long pause, he said, “I’ll walk you back.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t ask.”

“I’m not offering,” he said. “I’m doing it.”

She opened her mouth — maybe to protest.

Then closed it again.

“Fine,” she muttered. “You can walk me like a dog.”

“I’m used to strays,” he replied.

She almost laughed.

Almost.

The night air hit colder than before.

The rain had slowed, now just a fine mist catching the glow of the streetlamps. They walked in silence for the first few blocks, the alley’s neon fading behind them, replaced by long stretches of shuttered shops and quiet pavement.

Y/n didn’t ask why he knew the way. She assumed he’d memorized the route from one of the countless background checks the Union ran on everyone in their orbit. Or maybe she’d just left enough breadcrumbs — the right street, the wrong party, the luxury car parked outside a building with a gate and a few guards who never smiled.

He walked a half-step behind her, not beside her, as if unconsciously defaulting to watch for danger, not conversation.

She hated how natural it felt.

She hated how safe it made her feel.

“You don’t usually offer to walk people home,” she said, finally.

“I don’t usually need to,” he answered.

They passed a closed florist. The smell of cold wet leaves lingered in the air. His steps were precise, measured, just like always.

She looked straight ahead. “So why me?”

There was a pause. Then: “You’re unpredictable.”

“Charming.”

“It’s not a compliment.”

“I know.”

Another pause. Softer this time.

“I don’t mind it, though.”

She blinked. “You don’t mind unpredictable?”

“I don’t mind you.”

That made her stop.

She turned to look at him, face unreadable, eyes scanning his like she wasn’t sure he’d actually said it.

He met her gaze, calm. Still.

She shook her head slowly. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Neither are you.”

They kept walking.

Her street appeared in the distance — high gates, dark trees, a security light buzzing overhead.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It just was. Comfortable in its own unease.

“I hate that house,” she said suddenly, voice too soft to be dramatic. “Not because it’s cold. Because it’s full.”

He said nothing.

“You’d think with that many people in it, someone would notice when you’re bleeding.”

Still nothing.

But when she glanced at him, his jaw was tight.

She didn’t want pity. She didn’t want a reaction.

She just wanted someone to hear it, and not flinch.

And he didn’t.

She reached the gate. The security camera light flicked on overhead, casting her face in sterile white.

She turned to him, pulling her sleeves down over her wrists.

“Well. That was depressing,” she said lightly.

“You’re not going in alone next time,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

She looked at him for a moment, lips parted like she might protest.

Then didn’t.

She stepped toward the door.

He stayed at the gate, watching.

She paused, just before the threshold.

“You want your umbrella back?” she asked, lifting a brow.

He shook his head once. “Keep it.”

She stared at him. For a long time.

Then — finally — smiled.

Not her teasing one. Not the sharp, sarcastic grin she used like a blade.

Something small. Real. Just for him.

She stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind her.

Na Baek-jin stood there for a few seconds more.

The mist fell quietly around him, clinging to his sleeves, darkening his collar.

He didn’t smile back.

But his eyes were softer.

And that was almost worse.

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