#twisted wonder land x reader angst

[nyx-v1]

Hey! I dont know if you do requests/suggestions or not but once you're done w/ your twst boys reacting to your funeral series (fantastic btw makes me wanna roll over and cry everytime) do you think you could write whatever twst boys are your favorite to write for's reaction to finding Yuu/Y/n's ghost? If you don't feel like it feel free to delete this!

TWST Boys reacting to finding your ghost

Here you go Anon! <3

TWST boys reactions to your death:[Heartslabyul],[Savanaclaw], [Octavinelle][Scarabia]

Heartslabyul 

Riddle

The first time he sees you is in Heartslabyul's rose garden. It was late at night and he had forgotten his notebook in the garden, knowing he would need it for the next day Riddle had gone out to get it. 

When he gets there he finds you sitting at the table where he left his notebook. Riddle stands frozen unsure if his mind is just playing tricks on him or not . He slowly approaches you, the closer he gets the colder the air becomes. When he is a foot or two from your ghost you vanish. Slightly disturbed Riddle grabs his notebook and heads back to his room.

The second time he sees you is a few days later. Just as Riddle is about to get into bed, out of the conner of his eye he sees a figure. Alarmed he quickly whips his head around, this time he is sure he's not just seeing things, and you are in fact in his room. Riddle doesn't move from his spot instead he calls out to you, and much to his surprise you turn around at the sound of your name.

Riddle stands still as your ghost approaches him, what keeps him frozen in places is when you give him a hug he can't feel.

He tries to return your embrace on you only to find  that he can't feel you, as the sudden contact  made you vanish.

Riddle spends days waiting for you to show up again, staying up into the late hours of the night, messing up his once perfect sleep schedule.

The third time you appear Riddle is at his desk studying, waiting for you. This time he's ready to not mess up,  he wants to make sure he can at least get the words he had for you off his chest.

When you appear on his bed he walks over to it and sits down next to you, leaving enough space so you wouldn't touch. He let's out a shaky breath before speaking," Prefect, do you know how many rules you've broken by dying?" He isn't surprised you lack of response, from what he's seen it only seems you just watch, so he continues his  monologue, "As upset as I am, I'll forgive you this once, so please don't leave me."

After riddle finishes his speech, he feels a warm feeling wrapping around him, like someone's hugging him as he hears a soft whisper," I won't ever leave you, take care of yourself, Riddle ."

That was the last time he saw your ghost.

Trey

Trey was baking for an unbirthday party when an open bag of flour got knocked over. At first he thinks nothing of if, believing  he has placed the bag to close to the edge. By the fourth time he's starting to get suspicious. When the bag gets knocked off for the fifth time, he places the bag in front of him so he can watch. When he swears he sees something push the bag off the counter, and in a moment of delusion he ask "who's there?". Much to his dismay what ever was messing with him decides to communicate by writing in the flour.

He watches as you struggle to write in the flour. Trey goes from amused to horrified when he sees what was spelt out in front of  him, a very poorly spelt and written "I'm watching you". Slightly scared for his life, trey quickly cleans up the mess and continues on with his day.

When Trey is about to go to sleep he feels very paranoid, as common as ghost are whatever tried to talk to him today seemed slightly different from Twisted Wonderland's normal ghosts. Deciding to put his mind to ease Trey googles easy ways to talk to spirits. He goes through a few articles, before picking something that seemed easy and like it would work.

Trey goes through his room and finds and old piece of chalk that he uses to copy the symbol off of the website, After he says a  small chant, much to his surprise the little chant works, he knows because your blurry and (very) vague ghost appears in front of him.

He adjusts his glasses before giving an awkward smile, "Hey there.. do you need something?" trey tries to sound polite and clam but deep down he's freaking out, he would like to live past 18.

Trey watches in anticipation waiting for something to happen.

Doing your best to communicate with Trey you take the chalk he used earlier, to write a short message," It's me" unfortunately for you you're ghost powers aren't all that good yet, so shortly after writing you disappear. 

This leaves Trey freaked out yet again, he convinced he's upset some sort of spirt, or maybe after death you've sent a  evil spirt after him.

A few days pass as you realize that you've messed up and have started tormenting poor Trey.So you deiced to use you strength to appear to him, in hopefully a more friendly manner.

It's early in the morning and trey is up cooking breakfast, when you decide to pay him a visit.

Trey was in the middle baking when you showed up, causing him drop the his bowl onto the floor. When he takes a good look at what is in fount of him he is sure it's you coming for a visit.

"[name]?" trey asks a pretty obvious question.

"Nooooo, it's another ghost." You let a sarcastic response, to which Trey laughs in response too.

"My bad prefect, I hope you'll forgive me?" 

You nodded your head in response to trey. You move closer to him , Trey stays still in response, having seen his fair share of horror movies he knows that sudden movement could cause you to leave at any second. Trey has small bit of flour on his face, he watches as you spread it all over his face, as you let out a small laugh, " You know Trey, I didn't expect you to be so clam about seeing a  ghost."

Trey lets out a small laugh," Ah well I didn't ever think I would really meet one." with a small pause trey continues," But you know, everyone misses you, and they would love to see you too. But if I'm being honest right now I want to be a little selfish, and think you just came to see me..." His voice trail off at the last part, looking at your face for a reaction, and to his surprise he sees a small smile on your face.

" You can be selfish trey.... and just so you know your the only person I've come to see."

you give trey a small kiss on the check before disappearing.

After that trey hasn't seen or heard your ghost in a while, but he knows you're there when he catches a glimpse of your ghost fallowing him around, true to your word you haven't visited anyone else.

Cater

The first time Cater catches a glimpse of your ghost is in the background of one his recent photos. At first he thinks it was a bad shot, but when in then next couple of photos he sees the same mysterious blob thing in the background moving he know it must be a ghost! Cater really hopes that the ghost in his photos is you. Why does he hope that? It may or may not come from all the super natural romance he's watched thanks to his sisters.(and the part of him that is a hopeless romantic)

Being the smart person he is, he decides to get a Ouija board and try to contact the ghost in his photos, you.

It's a dark and rainy Saturday when Cater sits down to contact your spirt. He sits in his room curtains drawn with a bunch of candles lit, all scented of course.

Cater puts his hands on the planchette, asking "Is anyone there?"

To his surprise the planchette moves towards yes. Being honest Cater didn't think the Ouija board would work.

Despite his horror he continues asking questions, "Who are you?"

He's genuinely happy when he sees the start of your name being spelt and even more happy when your name is fully spelt out.

Cater continues to ask questions, to your ghost, until he ends up falling asleep.

The next morning Cater wakes up to all the candles in his room being blown out, and he is slightly surprised because the last thing he remembers is talking to you.

Later that day when cater comes back to his room he absolutely ecstatic to see sitting by the  Ouija board.

"You know you forgot to say goodbye."

Cater lets out a small chuckle as he rushes to your side, getting close but not close enough to touch your ghost.

He starts taking a selfies from all different angles while telling you to make different poses and faces.

When he's finshed taking photos he sits down next to your ghost, letting out a little sigh as he closes his eyes," You know prefect I've missed you, it's no fair you get to go dying like that? tots not cool to just ghost me like that!"

"Cater did you just make a ghost pun?"

"You've must have heard something."

you let out a small giggle scooting closer to Cater.

Cater stays frozen in place, as you move closer towards him," Don't miss me to much, Cater." You brush the hair away from his face, before vanishing.

For a while you show up in Caters photos in someway, but as the more time passes the less frequent your appearance become, until one day they just stop.

Cater takes all the photos that you showed up and prints them out, putting them into a special little photo book.

Ace  and Deuce  (let's face it they're never apart)

Ever science your un-timely death Ace and Deuce haven't spent much time apart, now they're practically attached at the hip.  As much as they fight they won't spend more that 20 minutes apart.

So of course the first time they meet your ghost  they're together.

The first time they had  contact with your ghost was when the two of them where at Ramshackle, going through your stuff, taking things that Grim might need or want (not their idea it was Trey's).While going through your stuff they hear a faint whisper that sounds like gibberish.

 This freaks the two out so bad  that they run out of the dorm, and don't sleep that night.

The next incident is during a test, Deuce was stuck on one question and couldn't think of the answer, when his pencil rolled onto on of the answers and didn't get off untill he chose it, he tells Ace abut this but Ace tells him he's crazy.

Ace first encounter was after basketball practice, he was staying behind alone in the locker room.

While he was just  waiting in the locker room, something fell out of his basketball locker, he wouldn't have paid much attention to it if it wasn't for what fell. The key chain you had bought for him had fallen off his bag, this freaks him out but not enough to tell Deuce.

The first time they see your ghost is when they are visiting your grave, there they see you  sitting on top of your grave stone.

Ace starts by gently pushing Deuce towards you ,but neither want to approach so Deuce calls out, "Prefect?"

 To their surprise, you turn your head, calling out the them "Deuce!Ace! You know I was trying to get your attention right?"

The two of the quickly turn around, and whisper to each other about whether what they where seeing was real or not. When your ghost approaches them from behind, leading to Ace and Deuce screaming.

Ace was the first to break the silence,"You're real right?Like this isn't some joke?"

You gently flick both of their heads,in demonstration that you where indeed real,"Of course I am."

Much to your surprise the two tackle you into a hug,somehow.

The three of you stand in a tight group hug.

Much to there dismay after a few minute you disappear .

Determined to see your ghost one last time the two try a lot of dumb rituals to contact your spirt, none work.

That's until two days later when they go back to their shared room. When they open the door to their room your sitting on Aces bed, while deuce tries to rush to you ace stop him, telling him the contact could have been what caused to to vanish the first time.

Understanding this the two sit down on the floor in front of you.

You spend hours talking to ace and deuce telling them how much you care for them and how grateful you where for them. Deuce also spills his heart to you, telling you how much he missed you and how he wants you back. what surprises you the most is when ace returns the feelings.

After one last heart filled hug you disappear, this time for good.

[josephandrewstarkey]

beach fight - part 1

warnings: angst, mentions of blood, cussing, topper, fighting, mentions of cheating, Ruthie

disclaimer: this is so satisfying to read — requests are open!!

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

The Pogues were lounging on the beach, enjoying the rare moment of peace. Y/N tried to relax, but the air felt tense, like something was about to go down. She couldn’t help but notice the Kooks pulling up in their flashy cars, parking way too close. Rafe, Topper and the rest of their stupid crew stepped out, making sure everyone saw them.

The last thing Y/N needed was to see Rafe. After everything he did— cheating on her with Sofia. it still stung. they had a thing going on for a while, he changed when they were together— but that all went away when Sofia happened. And now, here they were, together, acting like nothing had happened

Topper and JJ had made a quick agreement not to start anything. Both knew things could get messy fast, so they decided to keep it chill for the day.

Everyone settled back into their spots, but Y/N could feel the tension in her muscles. She couldn’t help glancing over at Rafe, who looked too comfortable around Sofia, his arm draped lazily over her shoulder. Her stomach twisted with a mix of anger and hurt.

Suddenly, Kiara gasped. “Guys, look!”

The Pogues’ attention snapped to the tiny turtle hatch making its way to the ocean.

Everyone gathered around, watching as the turtle moved slowly through the sand. It was a rare moment of quiet wonder, the kind that reminded them why they loved this place.

But then the loud roar of an engine shattered the peace. Ruthie’s truck tore through the sand, heading right for the turtle, swerving dangerously close to the Pogues.

“Watch out!” JJ yelled, grabbing Kiara and pulling her out of the way.

The truck barely missed them, the tires kicking up sand. Ruthie laughed from inside, clearly amused at the chaos she was causing.

“She almost killed them!” Kiara said, horrified, looking back at the little turtles still struggling through the sand.

Y/N clenched her fists, biting her tongue. Her heart raced with anger, but she tried to hold it in. Not yet, don’t explode yet.

But Ruthie wasn’t done. She spun the truck around, her laughter echoing through the air. As she drove past them again, she leaned out the window, holding a drink. Without warning, she tossed it right on Kiara, drenching her in sticky liquid and ice.

Kiara stood there, frozen, dripping wet. “Are you kidding me?”

Y/N felt the last thread of control snap. “Don’t” John B muttered, trying to keep the peace.

But Y/N couldn’t take it anymore. She stormed toward Ruthie, eyes blazing with fury, not caring what anyone said.

“Y/N, don’t!” John B called after her, but it was too late. The anger that had been building for months—Rafe’s betrayal, seeing Sofia here, Ruthie’s blatant disrespect—had reached its breaking point.

Y/N marched right up to Ruthie, who was standing by her truck now, smirking at the mess she’d caused.

“What’s your problem, you bitch?” Y/N spat, her voice shaking with rage.

Ruthie sneered, completely unfazed. “What’s yours, Pogue? Go cry about it with your dirty friends.”

That did it. Without a second thought, Y/N grabbed Ruthie by the shirt and shoved her back, hard. Ruthie stumbled, caught off guard, but before she could react, Y/N swung her fist, landing a solid punch to Ruthie’s face.

Ruthie shrieked in pain, clutching her nose as blood started to drip. “You psycho!”

The Kooks looked on in shock, unsure of what to do. Sofia’s eyes widened as she watched Y/N completely lose it. But she noticed something else—Rafe wasn’t running to Ruthie’s defense. Instead, his eyes were glued to Y/N, a mix of anger and concern flashing across his face.

Ruthie tried to fight back, but Y/N wasn’t having it. She grabbed Ruthie’s hair, yanking her down toward the sand as Ruthie let out another scream. Y/N’s fists flew, fueled by months of pent-up rage.

“Y/N!” Rafe’s voice finally broke through, but she didn’t stop. He rushed over and grabbed her from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her off Ruthie. “That’s enough!”

Y/N struggled against his grip, still fuming. “Let go of me!”

Ruthie lay on the ground, crying and holding her bloody nose. Y/N had done enough damage, but the fire inside her wasn’t out.

Rafe held her tight, his breath warm against her neck as he tried to calm her down. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Get your hands off me, Rafe,” Y/N snapped, finally breaking free of his grip. She spun around to face him, her chest heaving. “What am I doing? I’m doing what you should’ve done—keeping your bitchass friends in check.”

Rafe narrowed his eyes, but Y/N didn’t give him a chance to respond. “You’ve been running around with these Kooks, pretending like nothing matters, while you’re just as bad as them. You cheated on me with her!” Y/N’s voice cracked as she pointed at Sofia, who was standing frozen, watching the whole scene unfold.

Rafe clenched his jaw, but there was a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “That’s not—”

“Don’t even try to defend yourself,” Y/N cut him off. “You lost that right the second you chose Sofia.”

Sofia, who had been silent this whole time, shifted uncomfortably as Rafe’s attention stayed focused on Y/N. She could see how much Y/N still affected him, how his whole demeanor changed around her. His concern, his frustration—it was all for Y/N, and that realization stung.

Y/N turned her back on Rafe and marched back toward Ruthie, who was still sitting in the sand, clutching her bleeding nose. Before anyone could stop her, Y/N grabbed Sofia’s drink from the hood of the truck and dumped it right over Ruthie’s head.

Ruthie gasped, soaked and defeated, blood and soda dripping down her face.

“Don’t ever mess with my friends again,” Y/N hissed, her voice low and dangerous.

Rafe watched in shock, still standing frozen in place, as Y/N walked back toward the Pogues. He barely noticed Sofia next to him, her face twisted in jealousy and confusion as she realized how much control Y/N still had over him.

The Pogues erupted in cheers as Y/N rejoined them. JJ slapped her on the back, laughing. “Hell yeah, Y/N! That was awesome!”

Kiara, still wiping the drink off her, grinned. “You really know how to handle things.”

But as the Pogues celebrated, Rafe stayed behind, his eyes locked on Y/N, conflicted emotions swirling inside him. Sofia glanced between them, noticing the way Rafe’s attention was fixed on Y/N, and it was clear: no matter what had happened between him and Sofia, Y/N still had a hold on him that Sofia could never break.

part 2 here

[lokisgoodgirl]

Deep in the Forest [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Just a short, smutty, imagine. You and Loki in a tent having feelings. Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Mild angst. (w/c 750)

Loki’s lips brush down the delicate skin of your throat; kissing slowly in time with his thrusts. You can feel your pulse inside his breath, flooding the sliver of space between you as his mouth comes to rest on your shoulder with a whisper of praise.

Quiet. You have to be quiet.

The way he moves inside you, the muted whimpers he stifles with every drag of his cock to the tip—if you could absorb a moment, wrap yourself in it forever, it would be this one.

Moments ago, his fingers burst through the thin bottom of your tent. He was willing himself not to explode, or moan so loudly the foxes would begin to howl. Either way, it amounts to the same.

They curl deep in the earth as he roots himself: his digits in soil, his cock in your cunt. The other hand plays with your breast, thumbing the nipple, and his sighs grow heavy while the humidity rises. “Darling,” he murmurs, and you comb damp straggles of hair from his face. His sapphire eyes find yours in the gloom of smothered torchlight; hooded, fogged with a desire he can never name. But you can: ‘love’—and so will he…eventually. The others are in tents dotted around yours.

Cap said, explicitly, ‘no, late night shenanigans’ while looking directly at Loki. And Loki had smiled, innocence swelling in his eyes as he pressed a palm to his chest: wounded. But he came, like he always does, because he can’t resist what you are together. He never can. “Darling,” he chokes again, as another liquid rock of his hips makes you forget your own name. Your legs tighten around him, pushing him deeper, and the torch rolls from its forgotten nest in the sleeping bag. “Shit, Loki…” you hiss, fumbling a hand towards the traitorous torch. Cap'll be all over that like nettle burn. He snorts against your hair, and in a flash, the clunky object vanishes. And with it—the sniff of light. “Hush,” he soothes, making you clench around the root of his cock. For some fucking reason his voice is even more devastating when you can’t see his face. “You wouldn’t want me to be discovered, would you? Deep inside you; deep in the forest of a strange land.” A shiver wrenches down your spine and makes your hips jolt.

Loki groans, stifled by a well-timed kiss. His tongue nudges deeper, a contented sigh rumbling in his chest as you arch into him and his palm slides under your head. Slowly, slowly, he rolls upwards, tugging your clit with his pelvis. It’s inevitable, now.

Climax sparks and begins to blossom outwards, licking between your thighs, tightening every muscle beneath your waist with pure pleasure. It’s inevitable, you think—as he pants quietly in time with your quickening breaths, as he smothers the need to spur you on with loud, filthy commands. A short whine slips between his teeth, and his back muscles tense. “Cum with me, Loki,” you whisper, and his heartbeat hammers against your chest. Long curls pool in your collarbone as his lips find yours in the darkness and Loki of Asgard groans his orgasm deep into your throat.

It’s inevitable, you think again, as your hand slides down his damp back, over the curve of his unbearably hard ass, clutching the twisted sleeping bag in a fist. The two of your are right together, and the world makes sense. He kisses the side of your nose as your silent gasps of orgasm ebb; the tip of your cheekbone, the shell of your ear. Loki's nostrils puff quietly in the humid silence. A droplet from the tent fabric drips onto your leg as you unwind from his body and he shifts to the side. He slips from inside you, seed hot on your inner thigh, and you miss him immediately: a particular kind of emptiness. You wonder if he feels it, too.   “I should go,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t want to. Resistance strings through the syllables like dew on spiderweb. You wait, just in case there’s something else he wants to add to that statement. A confession of love, perhaps. But in the pitch black, the only thing that follows is the trail of a long finger down your cheek, and a brush of his thumb over your lips. And then, his breath hitches. “I…” he starts, and then the words are eaten by the darkness in which they find themselves.

“Go,” you whisper. He leans forward, catching your lips like he’ll never leave. But he does, leaving a gap in the tent flap so you can see the stars. The tent smells of him. “I love you,” you whisper into the pillow with a smile, imagining Loki doing the same four tents over. You’ll say it soon enough. And so will he. It’s inevitable.

Tags in comments❤️x

[skzstannie]

Hii it’s okay if you can’t but I was wondering if you could do a skz x 9th member reader where she was in a car crash as well as the others? But she was badly injured as well and had to be looked after by chan because she wasn’t in good condition? Totally okay if you can’t thanks❤️

"You're awake!"

SKZ-> ot8 x 9th member!reader (Chan-centric)

genre: angst, hurt/comfort wc: ~3,200 cw: some cussing, car accident, reader and skz get hurt

summary: ^^ see request

A/N: Hello! Not super happy with how this came out, but I hope you still like it anon! Started a new semester, so updates will be less frequent, but I'll still be lurking in everyone's feed through likes and reblogs 👀

Masterlist | Happy Scrolling!

"I'm just saying, if penguin's could fly, I think they'd take over the world."

"Felix, literally what are you talking about?" you give him a strange look from where you're seated diagonal from him in the car.

"If penguins ever learned to fly, I think they'd try to overthrow the government in a vengeful fury."

You all sit in silence for a moment, trying to preserve the last of your braincells from deteriorating.

"Okay..." Seungmin responds, quirking his eyebrow at him.

"I am so excited for tonight!" you break the silence that settles, practically vibrating in your seat from the excitement.

"We know, you haven't stopped talking about it," Minho boredly comments, his phone lighting up his face from the shadowy back seat.

Jeongin throws an elbow in his side from where he's seated beside him, earning himself a nasty glare from the man. "Don't be mean to Ynnie, she's just excited to perform."

"I'm so sorry. Let me rephrase that," he clears his throat, setting his phone down in his lap, "Oh my gosh, I know! It's all you've talked about since this morning!" he squeaks, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," you mumble, rolling your eyes at your grumpy member.

Before Minho has the chance to respond, your entire world is shaken when another car T-bones you from the right.

Time seems to slow down as the car is flipped, sending you out of your seat towards the ceiling of the car. Your seatbelt manages to control some of the damage to your head, but it slices into your neck from the pressure. Blood starts to drip out of your wound, but you don't even feel it as your hazy gaze travels over to your members.

Your breath hitches in your throat as your eyes land on Felix's still body in the back seat, his eyelids draped shut. He doesn't appear to have any other injuries, but you're immediately ripped away from the sight of Felix when you hear Minho groan in pain. You Jeongin a quick once over, and upon seeing no visible injuries, keep your eyes moving. You don't miss the way Jeongin's hands are firmly grasped around Felix's forearm as he shakes the older man, trying to wake him.

It's painful to twist in your seat, but you do so anyway. Catching a glimpse of Minho, you see a jagged piece of glass protruding out of his forearm. It appears small, but you know it must still hurt like a bitch. Other than that he looks okay, so you continue to look over your remaining members. His eyes are panicked as he frantically looks over the four of you. "You guys ok?" his voice shakes with fear, and his teeth are clenched from the pain radiating from the glass in his arm.

The ringing in your ears starts to subside a bit, and the grunts coming from your right get louder. Seungmin's arm is twisted at an unnatural angle, and there's blood dripping from his left eyebrow. You can't bring yourself to answer Minho, the shock still clouding your mind.

As the rest of your senses start to come back to you, your focus remains on Seungmin as he huffs in pain. You feel a stinging sensation in your thigh, but as you slowly start to drop your head to look, you feel a shaky finger reach under your chin.

Seungmin's reached his hand out, gently pulling your chin until your eyes meet his again.

"Just keep looking at me, Yn," he whispers. You do as you're told, but the pain is worsening by the second, and your breathing starts to quicken.

All else is tuned out as your eyes remain on Seungmin's unwavering gaze.

Seconds feel like hours as you sit there in the car. Your eyelids start to become heavy, and you fuzzily catch Seungmin's eyes turn frantic as your blinks become slower and more frequent.

"Just keep your eyes open, don't fall asleep," he repeats. His word are gentle at first, but as your mind turns to mud, his voice becomes louder and urgent, almost screaming at you. You feel a rough hand grab your shoulder from behind, shaking you. Their attempts to keep you awake are futile, though, as everything becomes too much for you to handle.

"No, don't close your eyes! Stay with me!" and that's the last thing you hear before you drift off into the darkness.

~ ~ ~

You're awoken to the sound of quiet repetitive beeping.

Opening your eyes is a task all in itself, your eyelids feeling impossibly heavy.

After a moment of struggle, you're met with the bright light from a window to your right. You slowly turn your head to the side, and you see Hyunjin, Chan, and Changbin all perched on the couch. It looks uncomfortable, the way all three of them are scrunched up on the little loveseat.

You let your gaze linger on them for a moment, their presence providing a calming sensation for your jumbled mind.

Suddenly, your surroundings overwhelm you. You become terribly aware of all the wires connected to you. The ECG stickers become your biggest enemy, and the IV sticking out of your hand makes you angry.

Really angry.

You groan when you try to lift your arm, a sharp, shooting pain radiating down from your shoulder. You push through the pain though, urgent to remove all these wires from your body. The bandages littering your body feel as if they're burning your skin, and you've never needed to get something off of you faster.

You begin to peel the bandages from your arms, the pain from the adhesive no match for the pain you had been feeling previous to their removal.

Your agonistic groans manage to wake Changbin, and he panics when he sees you frantically tearing at your ECG stickers.

He jumps up from the couch, earning a yelp from Hyunjin as he was using Changbin as a pillow.

You're too overwhelmed to care about their actions as you continue to tear at your skin, even the blankets covering your body feeling like burning coals on your skin.

"Woah, what are you doing? You can't take those off yet," Changbin tells you, rushing to your side to try and restrain your arms.

"They're hurting me," you mumble, wretching your arms out of Changbin's grip to continue to pull at everything that touches you.

"Yn," Hyunjin gasps, quickly standing to his feet, running over to help Changbin.

Chan awakens from the commotion, alarm bells immediately sounding in his head when he sees your panicked movements.

You become more frantic when Hyunjin grabs one of your arms from Changbin, rendering you immobile.

"Get off!" you screech, yanking on your arms as hard as you can. Chan quickly runs out of the room in search of any healthcare professional he can find.

"You're gonna hurt yourself," Hyunjin struggles against you, holding tightly onto your hand.

"Let me go!" you continue to scream like a banshee, "You're hurting me!"

Neither do as you say, fearing for what you'll do to yourself if they listen.

"You're ok," Changbin pleads, bringing one of his hands away from your arm to rest it gently on your forehead. "Please calm down, everything will be ok."

You're too panicked to notice Chan re-enter the room, a nurse trailing in behind him.

She has a shot in her hand, and she hurriedly comes up beside Changbin to administer the drug. She hastily inserts the needle into your upper arm, and it only takes seconds for your demeanor to soften. Your thrashing becomes weaker, and your shouts become quieter, turning into soft mumbles.

The guys let out a sigh upon seeing your eyes close, your stature finally relaxing into the hospital bed once again.

"What the hell was that?" Hyunjin huffs, slightly out of breath from the physical altercation.

"Sometimes patients can be violent when they wake up out of a coma. It can happen to anyone," the nurse explains, taking the chart off the wall beside the bed. "We'll get some soft restraints to put on her arms before she wakes up again. It's unlikely for her to panic again, but it's just a precaution."

The guys nod, all three of them staring at your now peaceful face.

~ ~ ~

The next time you wake up, you feel as if you're experiencing deja vu. Your eyes open slowly, and you wince at the feeling of them being crusted over from sleep.

You also become strikingly aware of the aching pain radiating from your thigh. Your leg remains immobile, and you feel the constricting cast running from your mid thigh down to your ankle.

You go to bring your hand up to rub your face, but your movements are restricted. Your attention is brought to your hands, now laying limply by your side. There are restraints covering your wrists. Your face contorts into an expression of confusion, and you glance at the couch to your right.

Seated there are Chan, Hyunjin, and Changbin. Your deja vu hits you harder when you see them resting against one another, sleeping soundly.

"Chan," you call out to him, your voice surprisingly hoarse, your throat scratchy and raw.

He immediately jolts up, waking the other two in the process.

"Hey, you're awake," he says, getting up from the couch.

He's cautious as he walks over to you, taking slow steps to get to your bed. Changbin and Hyunjin watch from the couch, keeping their distance. Their expressions rival Chan's, somehow looking even more timid.

"Hi," you suddenly feel shy under their gazes, "Why are you looking at me like that? I can't even move; can we get these things off of me."

"Yea, sorry, the nurse said it was just precautionary. I'll go get someone to take them off of you," Hyunjin gets up from the couch, hurrying out into the hallway.

Realization dawns on you, and you bring your eyes to meet Chan's again. "Did I hurt someone? What happened?"

"You were trying to hurt yourself," a nurse enters the room, answering the question for Chan. "You were in a coma for a couple days. Sometimes, when patients wake, they can turn aggressive. Which you did, but nobody was hurt, the boys stopped you before you could do any damage."

You just nod, not entirely sure how to respond. She explains in more detail what had happened as she takes the restraints off your wrists.

"We had to sedate you, so you were out for an additional day. On the bright side, your coma allowed for your body to do some of the tough healing while you were unconscious. You had a surgery on your thigh the night you were brought in due to a compound fracture in your femur. The surgery was successful. It seems to be doing well for now, of course we'll have to bring you back in for some check-ups, but you should be good to go for now."

Your eyes widen as she goes on and on. Chan sits beside you, rubbing a hand up and down your back to help comfort you. The nurse continues about the paperwork, and leaves to gather it so you can leave.

"How are you feeling?" Changbin asks from the end of your bed.

"Overwhelmed," you answer curtly. The thought of not being able to perform for a while hurts your heart. Not only that, but you can't even walk!

Your suddenly hit with a wave of memories from the night of the accident, and your eyes water at the thought of the rest of your members who were in the car with you.

"Are the other guys alright? Where are they?" your voice is panicked as you ramble off questions.

"They're ok, we promise," Chan reassures you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. "They went home a couple days ago to rest. None of them got hurt as badly as you did. They all got some stitches, Seungmin's got a broken arm, and Felix has a pretty nasty concussion, but they're ok."

You sigh in relief, allowing your head to rest on Chan's shoulder.

The nurse comes back in, a folder filled with paperwork in hand. "As soon as you fill these out, you'll be good to go! Your medications and dosages are in this little baggy. You had some lacerations on your side, but we just covered them with butterfly bandages. The stitches on your neck can be taken out at your next appointment. Just be weary of them as you go about your day, try not to turn your head too quickly," she instructs, handing over the paperwork.

Within a few minutes, everything is filled out and you've been put in a wheelchair. Chan stands behind you, wheeling you out towards the van. Hyunjin carries your crutches from beside you, and Changbin holds your medicine and the paperwork.

Getting in the car was a hassle all in itself, as your leg felt like a million pounds with the cast on it. Your hip was so sore from laying in bed for so long, so you opted to have Chan lift you into the car.

Once finally settled, you lean back against the seat and close your eyes. You don't want to admit it, but you know these next few months are going to be difficult.

~ ~ ~

It's been a few weeks now, and things have started to go back to how they were before the accident. This is the first regularly scheduled week since then, and you're grateful for the normalcy.

Your managers had put everything on hold for a while, allowing you and the rest of your members to recover some. They knew it was a difficult time for all of you, and you were thankful for their leniency.

You have been spending most of your time on the downstairs couch, lounging around in front of the T.V. Various members would join you throughout the day, helping you with whatever you needed. Chan has certainly been the most doting, running at your every beck and call.

Today was no different; Chan decided to stay home with you while the rest of the members went to dance practice. He knew it'd probably put him behind, but they weren't set to perform for a good while, so he'll just catch up a different day. Plus, he knows Minho can handle them all just fine without him there.

The two of you are lounging on the couch, watching one of your favorite T.V shows, when Chan gets up to use the bathroom.

You hear the door close, and realize now's your chance. Your stomach's been growling for the past hour, but you didn't want to make Chan make you something.

However, you are done being the world's longest lounging couch potato, so you rise to your feet, grabbing your crutches from beside you, and make your way into the kitchen.

You know you don't have long before Chan finds you, so you ravage through the fridge quickly to try and find something to eat. You see your leftovers from the other night neatly packed away, so you grab those.

You carefully set your crutches down, leaning them on the counter next to you before hopping, leftovers in hand, to the microwave.

Unfortunately, the rug in front of the sink slips beneath you, and you fall onto the ground, your leftovers opening and spilling out onto you.

"Oh for fuck's sake," you sigh. Thankfully, you're not hurt, your butt just a little sore, but some of the sauce now decorates your cast.

You hear the door fling open from down the hall, and a frantic Chan bursts into the kitchen a mere second later. "What are you doing?" he's panicked as he rushes over to you, his arms looping under yours to pull you up.

"I was just going to heat these up because I was hungry, but then I slipped. I'm fine," you lightly push Chan away from you, knowing fully well that you can stand on your own.

He looks slightly taken back by your attitude, but nevertheless moves towards you again. He wraps his arms around you in an attempt to pick you up, no doubt to carry you back into your permanent spot on the living room couch, but you give him a firmer shove this time. "Did I hurt you?" he worries, his eyebrows scrunching.

"No, I just want to walk to the bathroom myself and get cleaned up," you explain, doing your best to keep your composure.

"I can help, let me grab you a wash rag for your cast," he bends down next to you, rummaging through the cupboard.

"Chan, please," you sigh. As much as you loved being babied at first, enough is enough. "I need some time by myself. I love you guys, but I'm not sure I've had a moment alone since the accident." Your arms are crossed as he stands, a pout forming on his face.

"But we just want to help you," he says, puppy-dog eyes on full display.

"And I thank you for all you guys have done the past month, but I really need to start doing things for myself again," you reach past him, grabbing your crutches and head down the hall to your bathroom. "Now to get this sauce off me," you mumble as you push the door open with the end of your crutch.

~ ~ ~

You're laying on your bed later in the day, knee propped up on a plump pillow to help alleviate some of the pain from your aching leg, when you hear a knock on door.

You tell them to come in, and the door opens to reveal Chan. "Hi," he's timid as he walks in. He takes a seat on the edge of your bed, a guilty look on his face.

"What's up?" you ask, sliding your bookmark into the crease of your novel.

"I wanted to apologize on behalf of all of us. We've been really clingy since the accident, and we didn't realize we were overstepping."

"Chan," you sigh, adjusting yourself to sit next to him. "Please don't beat yourself up about this. Honestly, I was just a little frustrated earlier and took it out on you. You guys have helped me more than you know these last few weeks. I really don't mind all the doting."

His eyes light up at that. "Really?" his voice is giddy, and you regret that you were the cause of his sadness before.

While the overprotectiveness really did get on your nerves a bit, if it brings them that much happiness to take care of you, you suppose you can get past your grumpiness and let them do it.

"Really."

"Guys, she changed her mind!" he yells, and not even a second later, your door swings open, seven smiling faces staring back at you.

They hurry into your room, clumsily fighting each other to sit on your bed. They're still cautious of your leg, but they all manage to fit, even if a little squished.

"Don't make me regret this," you joke, ruffling Seungmin's hair from where he's laid out on your lap.

"You know you love us," Chan comments, smirking at you.

"I certainly do."

[jksoftii]

☆♡ JUNGKOOK FIC RECS ♡☆

this is a list of my favorite jungkook fics! most of these contain smut so no minors allowed. please show your love to all these amazing authors :) !!

a - angst f - fluff s - smut

SERIES

Birds by @missbickerbocker a f s strangers to lovers au (Doctor!Jungkook x TravelBlogger!Reader)

Summary - In Jungkook's world stability is key. He knows what exactly is expected of him as head doctor of Seoul's ER Unit. But when an unfortunate collision lands him at your bedside in his own ER unit, his stable world starts to shift. — the angst, the sexual tension, everything about this is just perfect!! doctor jk 😭🙌🏻

Gradation by @shina913 a f s bestfriend to lovers au fwb slow burn (Bestfriend!Jungkook x Reader)

Summary - On your wedding day your fiancé leaves you at the altar. While reeling from embarrassment and heartbreak, your bestfriend, Jungkook, wants to do everything that he can to help you heal. — i remember coming back to this fic again and again because the entire storyline in itself was so comforting, everyone around oc was so caring and jungkook especially made my heart burst in this one!

Friday nights and takeout by @ahundredtimesover a f s strangers to friends to lovers (Idol!Jungkook x Reader)

Summary - You meet pop star/idol Jeon Jungkook at the café, you get close, and as Hyejin says, you’re like friends with benefits without the sex. But you’re bad at feelings and so is he — i love love love cute happy endings. there was a lot of scolding eachother but their dynamic itself was just endearing 🤧💖 @ahundredtimesover 's other works are also wonderful! you won't be disappointed checking them out!

Lost Stars by @yoongiofmine a f s strangers to friends to lovers au slow burn (Idol!Jungkook x Reader)

Summary - Jungkook was lost. He didn’t know who he was anymore, so he decided to leave and find himself. But he wasn’t expecting to find you along the way, an island girl who has no idea who he is. Jungkook has a secret. But so do you. — i read this in one sitting because it was so interesting! the twists in this story kept me engaged, i felt like i was in a movie.

Coquet by @shina913 a f s fake dating au strangers to lovers (Escort!Jungkook x Reader)

Summary - On your brother's wedding, you dread traveling to see your family–whom you have successfully avoided for over a year after moving across the country for work. In an effort to save face, you hire an escort to get them off your back and perhaps even make your ex–who happens to be the best man–a little jealous. — another one by @shina913 because i can't get enough of their writing! the angst, fluff, smut everything was balanced so well. top notch literally. sexy escort jungkook made me get on my knees no joke 🙌🏻🤧

Once You Realize by @kooala a f s friends to lovers idol au (Idol!Jungkook x Idol!Reader)

Summary - Seeing your friend regularly turned out to be difficult because of your colliding schedules, but seeing him again after a couple of months something about the way you thought about Jungkook seemed to have shifted. If only you wouldn’t have started getting close with someone else before you had realized how you felt about your best friend — this indeed is the cutest falling in love story! it's a slowburn but not overwhelming. sjdhjsjs it's just adorable 🥲

ONESHOTS

In which drabble series by @onlyswan a f s established relationship au (Idol!Jungkook x Reader)

Summary - this is the cutest collection drabbles of boyfriend jungkook!! i recommend all of the installments, the writing is perfect, it's packed with perfectly illustrated details and vivid emotions and you can feel the love radiate from them 🥹 Art is by far my favorite writer on here 🙌🏻 these are a few of my personal favs from the installments -

in which jungkook comes home drunk but bam can’t speak f wc: 2.6k

— no because drunk jk is a menace and we all know it. this was so chaotic and fluffy it made me want to scream!!!

in which jungkook stumbles with his new pair of eyes f wc: 2.8k

— jungkook with glasses. my weakness. but this was so cute and fluffy! it's his little journey figuring out how to handle his glasses with oc!

in which jungkook is giving up on you but you have so much love left to give a f s wc: 8.3k

— this is actually a angsty one but it shows their ups and downs as a couple and gives more insight into their relationship!

The Boy with Galaxies in his Eyes by @oddinary4bts a f s wc: 52.9k strangers to fwb to lovers au (Idol!Jungkook x TattooArtist!Reader)

Summary - you had never thought the night sky could be found in someone’s eyes. That is, until you met Jeon Jungkook and his gravity pulled you in. Will he crush you with the galaxies in his eyes, or will you learn to explore his worlds and make them yours? — this has a LOT of angst, i won't lie i cried a few times reading this too. the character growth in this was just so phenomenonal. i go back a lot to this and read it again and again just to re-live the story. and ofc the smut is an amazing add on toooo 😭🙌🏻

My babysitters a quarterback by @ohpretty-baby a f wc: 30k enemies to lovers high-school au (Quarterback/Babysitter!Jungkook x Cheerleader!Reader)

Summary - after getting cheated on by the star of the hockey team, park jimin, your life (as expected) goes downhill. what you don’t expect is your parents being skeptical of whether or not you’re a good older sibling for your sister. you also don’t expect them to call jeon jungkook—the person you hate most—to babysit the two of you.

or, alternatively: jungkook babysits you even though the two of you are the same age. — i love this so much oh my goshhhhh this is one of the fics which will make you laugh and cry at the same time. it's fluffy and their dynamic is absolutely adorable. it's sooooo beautifully written!! :))

Spring will come again by @baepsaesbae a f s wc: 10.9k strangers to lovers au (Photographer!Jungkook x Baker!Reader)

Summary - Springtime generally brings new beginnings, but being stuck in a small town all your life means nothing ever changes. Finally, something, or rather, someone, stumbles into your life. Can this shy boy manage to change your life forever? — everything in this just feels so warm and comforting and jk is so sweet and so precious in here. there's angst but a very cute happy ending. the writing was so well done and so well articulated!! <333

Safety Net by @pradaksj (TWO-SHOT) a f s enemies to friends to lovers roommates au (Boxer!Jungkook x Reader)

Summary - On new year’s eve, you and jungkook reflect on each other’s entire year together. — this is one of my favorite fics ever. it's hilarious and emotional at the same time. both are literally the definition of dumb and dumber 😭 @pradaksj did a lovely job at illustrating their relationship progression. boxer jk just has my entire heart 😵‍💫🙌🏻

Be-Ghoul-Ment by @dokyeomin f wc: 10.1k idiots to lovers university au (Blonde!Jungkook × Reader)

Summary - [beguilement (noun): an entertainment that provokes pleased interest and distracts you from worries and vexations] --- You hate haunted houses more than you’ve ever hated anything. You don’t understand the appeal. But this Halloween, you decide you might hate Kim Taehyung even more. — the cutest fic ever! jk and oc both being a nervous wreck in this was so relatable 😭, and I loved the side friendships with Taehyung and Hobi. It was so sweetly crafted and left me feeling happy inside.

[sleepymarimo]

𝕨𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕤

summary: he didn't mean to push you away so harshly, to build his walls so high, but he didn't expect you to go running to someone else... pairing: zoro x reader, slight law x reader cw: unrequited feelings (or are they?), angst, no comfort an: set in wano, with some minor tweaks! thought of this last night and had to share my pain...oops also, i plan to have some fluffy straw hat stuff out this weekend ♡( ◡‿◡ ) wc: 3.4k

you'd been harboring feelings for your vice captain, for a while. you never acted on it, his aloof nature making you too nervous to make that jump- to try. even then, you were sure that he had more pressing matters to attend to.

so, you kept it under wraps. you trained and laughed and did everything you were supposed to, did everything right, without letting your feelings get too much in the way. it was manageable, and it made you feel good that you could support your crew, even if it meant holding onto your feelings.

it was the little things that gave you away to him. how your eyes darted away a bit too quickly when he met your gaze, how you sometimes intentionally stood farther away from him in a bid to look inconspicuous, even though it made it so much more obvious. he was as dumb as a rock sometimes, yeah, but not when it came to his crew, not when it came to you. he knew. of course he knew, but he had no reason to call you out on it. clearly you didn't want to discuss it and, as long as it wasn't getting in the way of anything major, he could bear it. it was when your emotions served as a distraction, that things became complicated.

the land of wano brought with it many challenges. most where physical, be it sneaking around the shady capital or handling some rowdy criminals. having crew members split up also made you worried, only heightening your senses and making your brain run rampant with what ifs. it all comes to a sudden standstill when you and brook, on your way to the safe house, walk in on zoro. one of the most beautiful women you've ever seen is snuggled right into his side and you feel a twinge of envy.

your heart does a somersault in your chest, something twisting in your gut at the unusual sight. a part of you, the rational side, knows very well that zoro didn't let people into his personal space with such ease. yet, even with her explanation, your mood can't help but sour. it only worsens when you all sit down and discuss more pressing matters.

the stresses of wano, this whole hiyori situation and her ever present enthusiasm towards the swordsman has you itching to escape. your responses become curt and your hands twitch in your lap. it's not how you should be acting, not given the circumstances, but you can't help it. finally, when there's a break in the conversation, you politely dismiss yourself.

once outside, you take a deep breath and collect your thoughts. leaning against the wall of the safe house, you let out a sigh and stare off at some random point in the distance in a bid to quell your passive aggressive behavior. the sound of the door opening catches you off guard, your arms crossing over your chest as the swordsman approaches you with a hardened expression.

"the hell is up with that look on your face?" he'd grumble, his cold demeanor matching the chill in the air. his arms are crossed, his posture tense. while zoro was one to take things as they came, focusing on the present, he couldn't deny that wano and its secrets were gnawing at him as well. he was irritated, wondering why you'd even bother to think about something as miniscule as feelings while there were enemies and actual threats lurking about. when you don't answer, when he figures you wouldn't even have the guts to bring it up, he huffs. "you think I asked to be cuddled up to like a damn toy?" his eye narrows and he takes a step closer, challenging you. "I don't have feelings for her, or anyone, got it?" the lump in your throat is too large to swallow and you nod, incapable of much else. a torrent of sensations swirl in your chest: embarrassment that he'd been aware of your feelings this whole time, guilt for letting them get in the way, and a bitter resounding sting that came with rejection. with a click of his tongue, he turns back and heads into the safe house, mumbling something about pulling yourself together and focusing on what's important.

you're almost glad when zoro ends up splitting off with hiyori later on, your mind flooded with thoughts. in a bid to defend yourself from further pain, you get your act together and squash down those feelings. you do well to put on a brave and happy face, deciding that, yes, there are some more important matters to attend to.

despite that, it's still hard not to see the samurai a bit differently. you knew he was blunt, even harsh at moments, but his approach to such a sensitive topic was a little much for you to handle. even if his words held some truth, that there were more pressing matters to attend to, the delivery of it just made you feel uneasy and hurt. the rest of your encounters are just as quick, your words just as clipped. if you acted any differently towards him, it wasn't out of malice. subconsciously, you defend yourself from further embarrassment and give him the distance you think he needs. while the chaos ensues, your defense mechanism only serves as a temporary solution. once the dust settled, it would be a different story.

finally, when the horrors of wano are dealt with, you can breathe a minor sigh of relief. in the flower capital, alongside your crew mates, you patiently wait for luffy and zoro to awaken from their slumbers. when they finally do, the air feels lighter

in the wake of it all, your emotions catch up to you, which makes you feel worse since this was supposed to be a joyful moment. it's hard to fight that initial instinct, to head over to zoro and ask if he's alright or if he needs anything. yet, you force yourself to take a step back, even if it does look like his bandages need tending to. it's a lot easier to do so once hiyori reveals that she was the one to help bathe him while he was unconscious, your stomach churning as you look away and walk to a different corner of the room. clearly he had someone looking out for him already. with a polite and slightly forced smile on your face, you find yourself heading over to law, who sits in the corner and chooses to observe the moment rather than partake in any conversation. you'd gotten along well with the surgeon, your relationship only growing stronger as he spent more time with the straw hats. he respected your skills and your perceptiveness, your ability to adapt to the needs of those around you and make them feel at ease. when he hears you approaching, he's naturally wary, but relents and gives you a nod, saying your name as a way of greeting you. satisfied, you take a seat next to him and raise a hand to gesture at his arm. "I know you're a surgeon and all, but d'ya think I can help you with your bandages?" you ask him, sincere and with a soft smile. "y'know, before this whole alliance thing is over and all..." he wants to say no, but the genuine kindness in your eyes has him huffing and looking away. a reddish hue tinges his cheeks and he holds out his arm. "go ahead." his tone fights to maintain its usual indifference, though there's a hint of appreciation laced in. on the opposite side of the room, where hiyori 'fixed' his bandages much too tight, zoro glances over at you. he notes the way you visibly relax around the surgeon, an action that has him growing irritated. he was your crew mate, your nakama, someone who would keep you safe, not that second rate captain. when the bandages cut off his circulation, he growls in frustration and tears some of them off. why weren't you over here doing this for him, when you knew exactly how he liked his bandages? why were you tending to law so gently and giving him that smile, the one you hadn't given him in ages? the swordsman isn't blind. he's been aware of the distance you've put between the two of you, how your 'smile' drops as soon as you turn away from him. as the battles had come to an end, he's now forced to recall the events which occurred at the safe house. he curses as his own shortcomings, his inability to think twice about his actions and how they'll affect the future. turning his attention towards something else, he mentally chides himself. what did he care, after all? he didn't do the whole relationship thing, the whole soft and squishy feelings. he was a swordsman, he had a goal and a crew to protect, including you. his thoughts do little to fight off the twinge of possessiveness he feels when he instinctively looks in your direction and catches sight of you holding law's hand as you secured his bandage. something gnaws at his pride, but he pushes it aside for the sake of maintaining his stoic front.

once everyone is healed, a festival, a grand one, is thrown to celebrate the liberation of wano. lanterns illuminate almost every corner, the scent of food wafting through the air as citizens and samurai and pirates all gather around.

dressed in a lovely kimono of your choice, you're more than eager to join in the revelry. the two bottles of sake that you carry in your hands only highlights your enthusiasm. you'd been hanging around with the crew for a while, smiling and laughing, but your mind was elsewhere. zoro thinks, for a split second, that you'll hand him a bottle. despite his aloof nature, he'd always find himself sharing a drink with you at times like this. yet, when you walk in the opposite direction, your smile beaming, your words have him gritting his teeth. "m'gonna go have a drink with law!" you chirp, your excitement palpable.

zoro's jaw clenches as he watches you walk off, his eyes lingering on your figure before he looks away. something simmers beneath the surface, but he keeps it at bay. it's nami's offhand comment that his frustration threatening to boil over.

"don't have too much fun!" she teases, throwing a cheeky smile your way. the others have the nerve to laugh, to egg you on, all while the swordsman relishes in how the alcohol burns his throat.

his knuckles turn white as he grips the neck of his sake bottle, the glass straining against his hold. a plethora of unfamiliar emotions rattle in his chest, but his bullheadedness and pride have him unwilling to budge, even if he wants to grab your arm and pull you back. it wasn't his place.

even when you're out of sight, his eyes subconsciously work to peer through the crowd in an attempt to catch a glimpse of your kimono, your hair, anything. once again, he scolds himself. he had no place to be so... so what? envious? possessive? he was the one to turn you away, after all. regardless, he can't get your smile out of his head. memories of you flood his mind: the banter and the sparring matches at sunset. all of it. just as quickly, he catches himself, bringing his lips to the bottle in a bid to drown out the bitterness on his tongue.

it's nearly a full hour later when you return to the crew, more than buzzed and clinging to the arm of the raven-haired surgeon. he doesn't seem to mind, his furrowed brows and his apathetic expression doing little to hide the blush dusting his cheeks.

glad to be in the company of your crew mates once more, you turn to law and wrap your arms around his waist, your smile so genuine and radiant it makes zoro's chest ache. "thank you traffy!"

the laughter of the rest of the crew echoes in zoro's ears alongside his own thundering heartbeat and boiling blood. what the hell were you doing? a knot forms in his chest, the unfamiliar sensation bringing him a great sense of unease.

he has to force himself to look away, before he realizes that it's not enough. without excusing himself, he stands and walks off towards a more secluded part of the festival. he needs to get away from whatever all that is. he needs to clear his head and heart and steel himself because he shouldn't be focusing on such things.

if you were any more sober, you would've kept your distance. however, it's in your nature to care, to worry and ensure that your crew mates are okay. that's why, as soon as you register the fact that the swordsman is gone, you release your hold on the surgeon and follow after zoro.

it's almost silent, save for the sounds of the festival off in the distance. the streets in this part of the capital aren't as illuminated, but cast enough of a glow for you to see zoro up ahead.

"zoro?" you mumble, attentive despite the alcohol in your system. "what're you doin' all the way out here?" your words are so genuine and full of concern, which makes it all the harder for zoro to respond.

"huh? what does it look like?" he roughly replies, not even bothering to fully face you as he turns his head to the side. "needed a break from all the noise and drunken idiots."

something bubbles in his throat, a lump of guilt that he swallows for the sake of self-preservation. he knows he has no right to be so callous, but can't help the passive-aggressive comment that slips past his lips. "why don't you just go off with that surgeon of yours? seems like better company."

your stomach drops and you take a step back. something wedges itself into your chest, a sense of anxiety and confusion as your mind briefly flickers back to that moment at the safe house. you'd done everything right, hadn't you? you'd given him space and pushed your feelings aside for the sake of the mission, so why this?

your heart starts to race, unable to look him in the eye as you focus your gaze to the side.

"why're you bein' so mean to me...?" you murmur, your hands nervously fidgeting as you await his answer. you just wanted to make things right.

he has to turn away once he catches the hurt on your face. if you were any more sober, you would've caught how he was the one that was truly nervous. the way you threatened to break down the walls he had built for himself has him needing to take control, even if that meant pushing you away.

"m'just being honest." he says, sharper than he means to. "leave me alone. go and enjoy the rest of the damn festival."

regret and longing make his chest throb, but he keeps on his mask of indifference as he takes a step forward and away from you. he wouldn't budge, couldn't.

meanwhile, you stand there, your inhales slowly turning short and ragged. your lips tremble and you fight to hold back sobs, but shortly after, you start to sniffle.

you hated crying, really crying. the crew had seen you shed silly little tears before, maybe over something cute or emotional, but not this. it's something you usually hide away and display in private, but the nature of the situation and the influence of the alcohol have you shedding an uncontrollable amount of tears.

though you shouldn't be, the utter vulnerability of the moment has you feeling embarrassed. you find solace in your sleeves, the kimono becoming damp with tears that don't seem to end. your cheeks sting, rubbed raw as you hide away from him.

zoro's heart drops.

the sound of your sobs is devastating. guilt claws at his chest, threatening to crack him open. when he turns around, all he can feel is regret. the weight of his words, how he treated you, is almost unbearable and makes him feel disgusted with himself.

his mind is racing, wondering what he should do or say to fix this, but he can't come up with an answer. before he can do anything, his mind goes blank at your next words.

"I wish I never got feelings for you." you choke out, unsure if your words are genuine or if you simply wanted to hurt the swordsman. with your shoulders trembling, you continued to cry into your sleeves. "I should've figured that there was nothing in that heart of yours."

deciding that you couldn't stand being in the same vicinity as him anymore, you run off.

he watches you go, his heart screaming at him to go after you, but he can't. the walls crumble and he can't hide anymore, forcing himself to realize that he cares for you so much that it terrifies him. the air is thick with tension, your sobs echoing through the air until they fade away, replaced by the distant sounds of the festival.

regret, self-loathing and longing all swirl in his chest, a torrent of emotion that threatens to swallow him whole.

you don't make it back to the ship that night.

you're too embarrassed and ashamed, not feeling safe enough to be vulnerable. you mentally apologize to the crew, hoping that they aren't too worried.

it isn't until the next morning that you return, or rather, you're returned.

the sun barely peeks over the horizon when law walks aboard the thousand sunny go with you cradled in his arms. you're in a deep sleep, completely exhausted and hungover. you're dressed in some of his clothes, your expression peaceful despite what occurred the night before.

other members of the crew gather around, worried about your well-being, but law is quick to say that you were just hungover and must have gotten lost. however, zoro can tell by the sharp look that law gives him that there was more to the story.

the vice captain grits his teeth, shoulders tensing as he watches law gently carry you over to your quarters.

a part of zoro wants to force law to give him answers, to tear you out of his arms so he could cradle you in his. he should've been the one to care for you, to protect you when you were vulnerable, but he hurt you instead. something else nags at him, the fact that you sought solace in someone else's arms.

law comes out of your room, quietly closing the door before walking down the deck. as he walks by zoro, he doesn't stop, but he shoots him another hardened glare. "you're an idiot, roronoa-ya."

oh, zoro knows.

when you finally awaken, you put on a brave face and tell the rest of the crew that you were sorry about your little slip up. you do well to cover it up with a laugh and smile. you build walls of your own, adamant on not getting hurt again.

it's once the crew is happy and satisfied that you make your way back to your room, your head hanging low as you walk by zoro.

your legs come to a stop and you can only hold his gaze for a second before you look away, just wanting to put this chapter behind you. the ache in your chest grows as you wonder what could've been. your voice is small. "look..." you start, hands bunching up into the borrowed shirt you're wearing. "let's just forget this ever happened and stay friends... alright?"

'forget?' he thinks. 'how can I forget that look on your face? the sounds of your sobs? do you think i'd let you go so easily?'

yet, despite the war raging on inside of him, the words stay stuck in his throat.

"yeah." what am i saying? "just friends."

as he watches you walk back to your room, he feels defeated. pathetic. he wants to say more, to show you that he can be the man you deserve, but for now, he sinks back into his usual habits and wonders what could have been.

he knows that he let something precious slip away.

steeling himself, he holds his heavy heart high. a sliver of determination cuts through his clouded mind and he hopes that, one day, he can make things right.

[pellucid-constellations]

If It All Fell (7)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Angst, PINING, Azriel's POV and he is incredibly sad

a/n: Yay here's more <3 I promise it gets happy and there's a little teaser of what that'll look like in this part. Let me know what you think pleaseee :)

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

~~

Azriel 

Azriel’s heart came to a thudding halt.

“What was that?” he asked softly, trying to play it off. Trying to pretend as if you hadn’t just asked him the one question he had hoped would never come. Because you were supposed to get better before it came to this. 

He had begged the Mother for any kind of reprieve.

She hadn’t listened, as Azriel had expected. 

“Mates,” you slurred, your head bobbing on his shoulder. The High Lords had exhausted you. “Helion said you… he said something about a mate. I can’t remember exactly… but no one’s told me what that is.” 

Pure adoration tore at Azriel’s chest. Your words blurred together as you sunk deeper into his arms, and Gods, did he love you. He let himself imagine that you were drunk—just for a moment. You were drunk and still his and he was carrying you home after a night at Rita’s. 

“Azriel?” 

The moment ended and panic replaced the temporary comfort that had consumed him. 

“Yes, my love?” It had slipped, a mistake fueled by his clouded mind. Azriel counted his footsteps and held his breath, but you only hummed in response, too drained to notice the endearment that had fallen with such desperation from his lips. 

“You were telling m’about mates,” you reminded him. Your arm slipped from his neck and landed in your lap. Azriel held you closer, feeling your body begin to lose its grip. 

“Of course,” he dutifully replied. “A mate is… it is a gift from the cauldron. An equal to share a bond with.”

“Like a lover?”

Azriel could hardly piece your words together with the way they tumbled out. 

That, and his stomach was twisting, reminding him of the very bond that was crying out within him. This was wrong. It was all so terribly wrong. He didn’t have to have this conversation with you last time; it had hurt you too much to even hint at the topic. 

Back then, Azriel had been so deep in anguish he couldn't keep food down, so desperate to just speak to you that his body rejected all else. 

This was somehow worse.

“Much stronger,” he whispered, pressing his nose to your temple in an act of weakness. You didn’t notice. “Our souls are linked—mates I mean. A mating bond doesn’t always lead to the pair being lovers, but if they choose to do so, it’s enhanced. It’s unexplainable, truly, having someone connected to you that you love so deeply.” 

“That sounds nice,” you mused, a melodic flow of syllables starkly contrasting the effort with which Azriel was trying to string his sentences together. 

“It is.” He gave in to his urges and looked down at you in his arms, your hair flushed against his leathers, your face soft and drowsy. “It is wonderful.” 

You cracked an eye open. Azriel had stopped walking. “Do you have one?” 

“What?” he choked out. 

“You speak as if you know the feeling well. Do you have a mate, Azriel?” 

“I—” There were no thoughts in his head, nothing but the sound of your voice and your question repeating itself like a bell tolling in a vicious pattern. “Yes,” he sputtered out. “I do, yes.” 

You smiled softly, but it was paired with a furrowed brow and a light sigh. “Good,” you nodded to yourself. “You deserve a mate.” 

Too much talking, too much thinking; your head lulled into his arm, face against his chest, and you were asleep. 

Yes, this was much worse than the last time. 

Azriel adjusted his grip and carried you back to the room you didn’t know belonged to the both of you. 

~~

The pounding in your head was your first indication that you were awake. You moved your hand to your hairline before opening your eyes, applying pressure in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure there. 

Useless. 

A small groan made its way up your throat. The night before, or whenever it was—you had no idea how long you’d been sleeping—was a jumbled mess in your mind. You remembered meeting Helion, being told you were in love with him, being told that you actually weren’t in love with him, and then he and Rhysand had entered your mind and left you as nothing more than a vegetable. 

There were other pieces too, like Azriel carrying you back to your room and talking about… mates? Yes, that sounded right—the larger-than-life, effervescent partners bestowed upon fae by the cauldron. 

And he had told you that he had one. 

That was good. Great, even. Something stirred within you, an uncomfortable feeling, but you ignored it in favor of the pain radiating across your head. Gods, why did it hurt so much? 

Helion and Rhysand had been in your mind. They were going to discuss things with you. 

You shot up far too quickly, the motion sending shooting pains up your neck. 

“What?” you heard a voice panic. “What is it? Are you hurt?” 

Another jarring look to the side and you just about passed out from the pain. You caught a glimpse of Azriel before you squeezed your eyes shut to try and manage it, his large form folded into a chair by the door that was certainly not made to accommodate wings. You lowered your head into your hands and heard the chair screech against the floor. 

“What is it, y/n?” Azriel asked, voice closer now. 

You let out a shaky sigh. “Sorry, just—it’s my head, give me a moment.” 

He didn’t speak, but the room became dark. That seemed like an impossible feat, with the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the walls and letting in the rays of the day court sun. But the pounding in your head receded a fraction, and you could tell it was dimmer even from behind your eyelids. 

“Does that help?” he asked, so low you could barely hear him. 

You felt his breath at your arm. 

“Yes,” you whispered back, and when you opened your eyes, Azriel was there. His wings had circled you, encasing you in a darkness that blocked out the world, his knees at the side of your bed. 

“You got up too quickly,” Azriel offered.

“I know, but I wanted to hear what the High Lords had to say about the witch and my memories and what I need to do to fix everything. Have you heard anything?”

“Very little. I’ve been here.” 

“For how long?” 

“You slept for a day and a half.” 

“And you stayed the entire time?” 

“You requested I stay by your side. You’ve been here.” 

You bit into your lip, the heavy weight of guilt loading onto your chest. Azriel flinched as if he felt it himself. “I wanted to stay,” he comforted. “It puts me at ease to… see you while we’re in this court. To know exactly where you are and who’s around you.” 

“Because of last time,” you stated, but it was a question that hung in the air. 

Azriel’s eyes tracked along the planes of your face. His hand twitched. “Yes, because of last time.” 

He looked so serious, bordering on forlorn. Despite the pain in your head and the conflicting emotions rising within you, you attempted to lessen some of the load that seemed to bogg the shadowsinger down. 

“You could have taken shifts with Cassian, you know. Or even, I don’t know, laid on the bed that’s the size of a small apartment. I was out cold the entire time—didn’t wake up once. I wouldn’t have noticed if you did,” you offered with a hint of a smirk playing at your lips. 

Azriel’s gaze dropped to your mouth, his own expression lightening. “Cassian would fall asleep immediately. And, just to let you know, you did wake up. Several times.” 

You gave him a doubtful look. “I think I would remember that.” 

The shadowsinger bit back a smile and something within you shone at the playful look in his eye. “Right, so you don’t remember waking up and practically ripping that from my body?” 

His eyes shot down to your chest, an action which you followed to find a large, unfamiliar sweater swathing your body in warmth. You looked further down at your hands, only to find the sleeves of the garment covering your palms and fingers as well. 

An incredulous laugh bubbled in your chest. “I wouldn’t—I didn’t actually rip this off of you, did I?” 

Azriel shifted his knees into a kneeling position beside you, his wings shuffling and creating a sound you had begun to find comfort in. “Well, you didn’t exactly ask politely.” 

You groaned and shoved your face back into your hands. “Gods, that’s embarrassing. It’s because I was delirious, I swear. Those damn High Lords scrambled my brain.” 

“Y/n, you have a penchant for demanding things in your sleep. Food, water, clothing, more blankets. Once you woke up to ask me for an entire roast duck and in the morning you had no recollection. You were quite aggravated that night.” 

“No, stop, I can’t take this. I am melting into a puddle of mortification and you are making it worse.” 

Azriel chuckled. “It’s alright. I’ve grown used to it over the years. It’s almost charming, really.” 

You peeked through your sweater-clad fingers. “You can’t mean that.” 

“I mean it very sincerely. When you are sick or unwell, you sleep through the entire night. When you wake up and grab the neck of my sweater like you’re robbing me, I know things are okay.” 

You groaned again, this time tilting your head back and immediately regretting the action when a pulse of pain permeated along your temples. But it wasn’t so bad anymore; Azriel and his wings made it better. 

You took a moment to gaze upon his face in the proximity. He was smiling slightly, some humor still shining in his hazel eyes. The occasional shadow made a pass along his cheeks and by his ear, whispering secrets you weren’t privy to and then coming to wind around your body as well. His hair was mused and untamed, landing in soft patterns across his forehead. 

Azriel was so beautiful it hurt. 

“Does your mate ever get upset that we are so close?” you asked, the question not even fully formed in your head before it entered the space.

The smile slipped from Azriel’s lips and you regretted your impulsivity almost instantly. 

“No,” he answered, a slight shake of his head. “I wouldn’t worry about that.” 

“Has something happened? Between the two of you?” 

“Y/n, please don’t worry yourself over—” 

“It’s just—Azriel, I know how hard all of this has been on you. When you spoke of your mate it was the first time I saw you look at peace. That’s why I’m asking.” 

“You remember what I said?” 

“All of it,” you smiled, but Azriel only looked grave. “Az—"

The shadowsinger jutted back as the familiarity left your lips. He sent his shadows out, their configuring forms covering the windows and the cracks in the doors until it was dark enough for him to remove his wings from around you. With him went the comfort of night-kissed air and warmth and all of the things that made sense in this life you had been dropped into. 

“Rhys has requested that we meet in the study to discuss findings,” Azriel relayed, clearing his throat and standing from his place on the bed. “I laid out some of your things and a servant ran a bath when you started to stir. Do you need help—” 

“I’ve got it,” you interrupted, eyes downcast, feeling as though you’d ruined something that was already painfully delicate. 

“I’ll be here if you need me. Just outside the door.” 

You believed him—you did—but something was missing. Something you couldn’t keep up with. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he was in love with someone. Mor, maybe? Or one of the sisters Cassian talked about on occasion? 

The thought of him with his mate made you nauseous. 

You shouldn’t have asked. 

~~

“A replication?” you asked, running a hand along the side of your head in an attempt to look casual about the throbbing taking place there. “So… it is like last time?” 

“Partially, but because the witch’s powers aren’t pure, she was unable to mimic what a full daemati can do. So, same outcome, fewer side effects,” Rhys offered, a calming presence across the table. “Witches often find sources to draw from because they don’t have access to their natural abilities any longer. Your source was—” 

“An opening in her mind,” Azriel concluded, expression guarded as he sat stiffly beside you. “There were remaining injuries in her mind. The witch found her weak points and used them against her.” 

Helion nodded, rounding one of the more ornate chairs and basking in the light streaming through the window. “Very astute. We thought there were no remnants of—” 

“Don’t say his name,” Azriel warned. 

“—of the attack,” Helion quickly corrected, obviously not in the mind to start an argument with the keyed-up spymaster. “But they must have been miniscule. We think she must have been an old witch, very practiced.” 

“So what do we do now?” Cassian gruffly asked, arms crossed as he leaned against the windowsill. You turned to look at him, but the sunlight casting his shadow sent your head ablaze. You quickly righted your gaze and squeezed your eyes shut to compensate. 

You felt shadows stalk beneath your feet and across the floor until they consumed the light of the window. If anyone had any comments on the shadowsinger’s act, they didn’t voice them. 

“Now,” Helion breathed out, dropping into a chair and interlacing his fingers atop the oak table. “We wait. Just like the last time, this kind of power is not something we can simply undo. We need a witch, and witches are incredibly elusive.” 

Trepidation gripped your heart, sending your lungs into a fiery descent. You were just supposed to wait? Wait and hope that maybe, possibly, they would find a witch and fix this before your life moved on without you in it?

Your breath came out in quick, uneven puffs, exacerbating the ache in your head. 

Azriel sat up in his seat, high alert and on the defensive. 

But Rhysand was quicker than his spymaster’s anger. “There is the possibility that this wears off on its own.” 

Your eyes snapped up. “Was that a possibility last time?” 

“No,” Cassian remarked, brows shot up to his hairline. “That’s why you were missing for so long and in so much pain after. You both made it clear that there was no moving whatever the daemati put in her head.” 

Helion and Rhysand shared a look, but your High Lord was the one to speak. “It was weaker this time, more permeable. We think, with time, the wall the witch attempted to replicate will break down and you’ll have everything back. She did only do this to you to flee from attack. It wasn't personal.” 

“How much time?” Azriel strained. 

Helion replied this time. “There is no way to know, shadowsinger.” 

“What about the pain? You said fewer side effects but I couldn’t even have light in my room this morning.” 

Rhysand looked sheepish, eyes darting over to the window still opaque with shadows. “Yes, well—we may have pushed you a bit too far during our assessment.” 

Cassian let out a disbelieving huff from the corner of the room. Azriel gripped the arms of his chair until they groaned. 

“So it’ll go away?” you asked, desperation trickling into your tone. 

The wood beneath Azriel’s hands splintered. 

“Yes, very soon. We can give you some tonics before you leave as well. They will help speed up the process,” Helion promised, eyeing his chair being slowly destroyed. 

In a motion that felt almost second nature, you covered the spymaster’s hand with your own, shadows wrapping around the press of your skin. It was then that you noticed the ring. Silver and unassuming, it took up residence on the ring finger of his left hand and looked like it belonged no place else. 

Our souls are linked, he had said, talking about his mate with such passion. 

You removed your hand from his. 

Azriel flexed his fingers upon your departure. 

“We were thinking,” Rhysand began after a pregnant pause that seemed to blanket the room. “With your pain, we might want to stay a few more days. Winnowing can add extra pressure to the body and flying would—” 

“No,” you were quick to dispute. “No, I want to go home. It’s lovely here, Helion, and I thank you for all you’ve done and are doing, but I want to go back to the Night Court. I want to try and live the life I’ve made for myself, even if I have no idea what I’m doing.” Another pause. “If that’s okay.” 

“Of course that’s okay,” Azriel spoke from beside you. His words sounded dull, his fingers remaining outstretched on the chair. 

“We will continue looking for the witch on our side,” Helion nodded, pushing out of his chair. He came before you then, meeting your gaze. “I cannot apologize enough for what your time in my court has cost you. I only hope that all will return to you. I have missed you, y/n.” 

And then the High Lord of Day was gone, and you had no recollection as to why he would miss you in the first place. Everyone was saying they missed you, even as you stood before them unharmed and intact. 

A harsh reality slammed into you with the departure of the High Lord. 

If you didn’t get your memories back—if there were no witches or deteriorating walls in your mind—they would continue to miss you. You would forever be a husk of your former self, never understanding the full picture of who you were. 

But that wasn’t okay with you—not at all. 

[logoleptic-since-06]

Everything Has Changed

Pairing: Choso Kamo x Fem!Reader Content: Fem!Reader, Choso and Reader are 19-20, Angst, Profanity, Smut, Degradation/Humiliation, Handjob, Fingering, Oral (F!Receiveing), First Time, Dacryphilia (If You Squint), Not Proofread

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MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

As Choso helps you put your shelf back up, he can’t help but notice how quiet you have gotten around him– something you never were. He misses your cheeky grin, your hearty laugh, your random rambles. His heart twists at the sight of your cold eyes that hold nothing but void as you look at him.

Breaking the silence, you speak, “Why did you do that?”

He knows what you mean, yet he asks, “Did what?”

“Not believe me when I told you Asami wasn’t a nice person?”

“I was dumb,” he confesses. “That was the first time I had been getting so much attention– or rather any attention at all.” You walk closer to him as he speaks, your eyes growing icier with every word he says and every step you take.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally as you stand merely inches away from him.

Your voice hums low as you speak. “You’re so fucking pathetic.” Your sultry voice seeps into his blood as he feels it flow down between his legs.

Talk about bad timing.

“I know,” is all he can manage with his shaky voice.

“What’s wrong, hm? You’re all flustered.”

“N-nothing,” he says, toppling over the bed, that is soon followed by you plopping yourself beside him. Much to his dismay, your glance lands between his legs and is greeted by the huge bulge in his pants. At the sight, you can’t help but let out a demeaning laugh.

“Look at that,” you say in between your chuckles as you move your face closer to his. “Is it turning you on, sweetie? Being called pathetic?”

He gazes into your eyes, inhaling deeply.

That’s all you needed to know.

You slide your hand along his inner thigh. Reaching between his legs, you ask, “You like this?”

He nods frantically, wordless. You rub his shaft through his pants, making his breath hitch. “Y/N…”

“Hmm? You want to get rid of these?” you coo as you hook a finger into his waistband. He lifts his hips up and you pull his trousers down, revealing his boxers soaked in precum. “Look at that… what got you so worked up?”

“Please…” he croaks out. Without missing a beat, you pull his boxers down as his hard cock springs out, red with sensitivity. You take it in your hand, the first time you’ve done it– not that he has to be aware of it. It is bigger than you expected. Your touch makes him quiver, almost as though–

“Is this the first time someone touched you?” you ask with genuine curiosity, your hand rubbing along his shaft. He is too breathless to answer, he babbles incoherent sounds instead.

You let out another laugh, stripping him away of any little dignity he had left. “Who sounds fucked out now, huh?” You fist his cock faster, making him arch his back. “Did she really never touch you? Aww you poor thing.”

He lets out a throaty grunt. “Ngh, faster…”

Obliging his words, you tell him, “You really have no shame at all, huh? Getting fucked by the hands of someone degrading you like that?”

He cries out, whether it is in pain or pleasure or both, you can’t tell. With that last cry, he cums all over your palm.

He lays on your bed, panting from the high, soaking in the humiliation, and ignoring your gaze on him. He is glad you are quiet for now, though he will be lying if he says your words didn’t turn him on to the greatest. Once the high dies down, he gets up and puts his pants back on.

You only break the silence after he’s done. “Was that really your first time?”

He decides to not answer. Instead, he says, “I should get going.”

“Right.”

As he steps out of your dorm, he can’t help the thoughts that race in his head. This was clearly a mistake, a moment of weakness. It was indeed the first time someone has touched him so intimately, as Asami had refused to do so, and he still doesn’t know why. Never has he felt so degraded yet satisfied. He wonders if it was your first time being in this position with someone, which makes him realise that–

He is the only one that finished.

Choso may not have been experienced in these, but if there’s one thing he knows, it’s to never leave a woman unsatisfied, and especially not when he had the best orgasm of his life.

He goes back into your dorm.

When you look at him, your eyes widen in surprise. “Choso, what are you–”

He interrupts you by crashing his lips against yours, and you reciprocate with full force. It is your time to stumble onto your bed now, and his to hover over you. He trails his kisses down to your jaw, neck, and then your chest.

“Choso…” you pant.

“Hmm?” is all he says as he brings his kisses down to your hips. Curling his fingers around your waistband, he looks up at you. “May I?”

“Yes.”

He pulls down your sweatpants, revealing your uncovered pussy. You never bother wearing underwear indoors anyways. His breath hitches at the sight. Spreading your legs further apart, he touches your glistening opening. You sigh in response. His fingers work on the outer folds before he spreads your lips, revealing your now engorged clit.

Choso brings his mouth closer and begins to suck on your clit, making you moan out loud. He laps at your cunt as though it is the one meal he has been waiting to try for ages, and perhaps he has.

You arch your back when you feel two fingers enter your pussy, hitting your g-spot while his tongue focuses on your clit. It is the most pleasure you have felt in your life. Your eyes roll back and you feel as though you are going to explode when your orgasm comes crashing in and you cum all over his face. 

He slows down with his tongue but keeps his fingers inside as you ride out your orgasm. You find yourself panting from the high when you realise this was probably the stupidest thing you could’ve done.

You sit up straight, adjusting your clothes. When you look at him, you look for any sign of smugness, but you fail to find any. Despite that, you simply say, “You can leave now.”

“Y/N–”

“It’s okay, we both know what we did is wrong. It’s better if we never speak of it again.”

There is a pause before he says, “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 24

Azriel x third-oldest-Archeron-sibling!reader

a/n: As an extra warning: by my own standards this got very dark in the second part, and was very draining to write. You may find this a walk in the park, but if you feel like anything in this chapter is getting to you please obviously feel free to take a break, or put on some happy instrumental music :)

Also, this was written as one part—Tumblr forced me to split it into two, hence the posting of two chapters in one night

warnings (mostly for part two): angst, death, some blood/gore unfortunately, slight hurt/comfort but it’s complicated, prison-related plot, general misery for reader

word count for part one: 9,448

total word count: 19,262

The plan, as far as you understand it, is to winnow up northeast to the coastal town, Bornemere, then to fly the rest of the way to locate the few traders willing to barter for Illyrian steel, among other things only accessibly through specific trade routes. Like the oxen hide Azriel had mentioned. 

You can’t lie, the idea of having a dagger strapped to your body or tied to an inner pocket has your insides twisting. It seems overkill, to give you a blade when you’d imagine Azriel to have an abundance of his own hidden away. He needs you to navigate the jungle and differentiate between lethal and harmless invertebrate, while you need him to handle any creatures with antagonistic or aggressive tendencies. In other words, you can’t imagine one of you leaving the other’s side. 

It could easily be your imagination that convinces you of the salt in the air, that tangles itself into the roots of your tied-back hair and makes it stiff and sticky, but when the sea comes into view and the screech of marine birds cleave along through the winds, you’re reassured. The town seems large, expanding lengthwise along the coastline rather than seeping back inland that’s filled with dry fields and brown crops where small spots of white graze atop the hills, a few taking shelter in the steep cover of the valleys that seem to zigzag. Although your eyes aren’t quite strong enough to pick it out from such a height, you know streams will be running through their centres, fresh-water springs babbling up from holes in the ground before eventually making their way outwards toward the sea, joining forces until they accumulate into creek, gathering into streams before feeding into rivers. Casting your eyes further along the land you can spot an estuary splitting Bornemere in two, where the river opens into the sea, rock scattering the opening. 

Your ears pop as Azriel begins to descend through the air, keeping his wings spread wide to smooth the long glide down. Air rushes past your cheeks, a single strand of hair stinging your eye as the wind whips it about and you yield half your grip on Azriel’s shoulders to tuck it beneath the scarf wrapped around your head. It had been Elain’s idea, and now, with the wintery coastal air trying to slip its way up your sleeves and beneath the neckline of your dress, or even wrap its way up your legs beneath your skirts, you’re glad you bundled up a little more to combat the harsh winds. 

The plan, that you’d been trying to revise in your head before you’d become distracted by your senses, is to fly by Bornemere, pick up a couple of supplies for yourself—and maybe Azriel, but he hasn’t mentioned anything so you can only suppose—then return to Velaris to gather up the cotton canvas backpacks that will see you through the Summer Court jungles. At the though alone a ray of excitement splits through the grey cold of your mood. You wonder how many of the creatures you’ve read about, vertebrate and invertebrate alike, that you’ll get to see with your own eyes while traveling. The birds and insects are what you’re most looking forward to, having spent considerable time admiring the clean watercoloured illustrations of vibrant feathers, the iridescent shine of beetle shells with the flared sensors on tiny feet. The trip itself should take between two to four days to reach the centre, depending on variables like weather, the safety of the old paths, and whether the map that dates back two centuries is still accurate. 

Likely the two of you will also be making a subtle stop at one or two of the villages on the outskirts of the jungle, finding appropriate clothing as well as canisters for water and more long-lasting food. A small part of you worries over the attire for the journey. It’s no secret that Summer’s climate mostly consists of hot, open-skied days, and you imagine the jungle will be testing the line between  natural humidity and the inside of a birchin. With the insects around it wouldn’t be a good idea to venture in bare-skinned, but the muggy air might quickly change your mind on the compromise. The idea alone has unease settling in the pit of your stomach. You hope the long-sleeved clothing they’ll have will prove breathable enough for suffocation to not be a problem you’ll have to struggle with. 

Azriel drops a few inches down through the air, the circles now not as wide as they once were as his hazel eyes seek out the perfect landing spot to accommodate him. Your stomach lurches with the abrupt decrease in height and your hand that had been tucking hair beneath your scarf quickly shoots back to its original placement around his neck. You do try not let your nails dig into his shoulders, but you’re still so uncomfortable with flying, and the occasional far drop doesn’t help with your nerves. 

His hair ruffles in the wind, like she’s running her fingers through it though he seems unbothered by the cold, features cool and set as always. Dark brows dip together in the middle of his forehead though you can only see his profile, swirling hazel eyes hidden in the private hollow beneath, cast in partial shadow. Lowering incrementally further, you follow the line of his nose, tipping over the curve and falling to his lips. They’re sealed shut against the billowing wind but he looks the same as he always does. Calm, collected, and completely unbothered by the harsh elements. Until you reach his eyes, that is. They’re far too still to be anything other than focused. 

Azriel’s eyes don’t move like you suspect your own do—flitting about the place as you spy more and more colours and things to name. Where your eyes skitter, his hazel set cut. Slicing to wherever he needs them to be with the directive and aim of what you suppose must be a warrior. 

If his eyes are weapons, then his mouth…

Pupils cut into your own and you momentarily fumble, enough of a start that Azriel readjusts the grip of his fingers around your ribs, flexing over the slope of your thigh. Beneath your back and legs his arms recalibrate their tension and he inclines the angle to which you’re falling toward him by a fraction—to make up for the angle of the descent. 

“Once we land I want you to stay close,” Azriel instructs, not minding to acknowledge that he’d probably caught you staring. “Bornemere is a coastal town; the sailor’s here are known to have wandering hands so make sure to keep aware of your surroundings.” You dip your head, breaking the eye contact as you nod once. Even if he hadn’t offered the words of caution you’d have stuck tight to his side anyway, unless a special something had caught your eye, but you’ll certainly feel more at ease now he’s laid the offer down himself. You won’t have to feel like an intruder when walking beneath his shadow. 

“Have you encountered this trader before?” You ask once Azriel’s attention has returned to his mental checkpoint, curiosity perking in your chest. Azriel had mentioned before leaving that you would both be visiting someone in particular he knew dealt with Illyrian goods. In your periphery, he nods. “A few times. When I haven’t wanted to deal with the Illyrians,” he glances down to you and again you quickly look elsewhere. “In that regard, he’s been incredibly valuable.” 

“You don’t like Illyria?” You ask, though it’s quiet enough you worry the words will be swept away by the wind before they get a chance to reach his achingly familiarly curved ears. 

Azriel’s expression hardly shifts, but the features that do contort tell you a story of cruel barbarity, and a hate that runs deeper than the pure icy waters that carve stone in two, far below the earth’s surface. 

“No,” he tells you, “I do not.” 

You swallow, sensing you’ve approached a conversation he isn’t welcoming you to. So instead you nod your head vaguely, trying to create a noise of mild understanding in your chest, “It is quite cold up there. The wind blows right through you.” Your eyes flitter about, eventually settling on a warm part of his chest that you’re held against. “I bet the snow is pretty, though,” you murmur, not fully committing to speaking the words aloud, leaving it up to chance to bring your voice to him or whip it away. 

Hazel eyes cut toward you again but it takes a few moments for his mouth to make the reply, pausing in a way that makes you believe it wasn’t his first choice of comment. “Hold tighter. We’re going to drop.” 

You blink. “Drop…?” 

Your insides clench as his wings fold in, arms strangling themselves around his broad shoulders as his body lowers. Azriel’s wings flap twice more—firm, powerful strokes that send the surrounding grass whipping outward in a circle before his boots touch down. Your legs nearly buckle when he sets you down, adrenaline from having been so high in the sky making them weak and custard-like. It takes a few minutes before you’re confident enough in your strength to tuck your arms inward and nestle them deep in the warm pockets of your dress, concealed beneath a heavy cloak now you’re more certain you won’t need to catch yourself in case you trip over your own feet. 

The walk to the centre of the town isn’t too long, affording you the pleasant chance to take in the streets as their own beauty. Granted, some of the paint is peeling, but more than a couple of houses have been painted happy, uplifting colours, surprisingly fitting for the coast: a pale coral pink; starfish yellow with window sills the colour of crab legs; a house with a roof as dark as the sea beneath a new moon, its door painted an aquamarine blue with a knocker in the shape of a Gold-Gilled Lobster. A few homes have pointed, swirling shells scattered about their front steps and you imagine they must be the homes with children inside. 

For a town Azriel has warned you contains sailors with greedy fingers, you’re surprised by how many homes seem to leave such pretty treasures out. A particularly beautiful shell catches your eye, its spines covered in mother of pearl, the edges turning an oxidised blue-green before giving way to the prawn-pink of the rest of the carapace.

“Up here.” Azriel nods to a narrow alley that cuts between two houses—suspiciously out of the way—but before you can make the turn, Azriel pauses. You peer up at him, curious. 

“He might seem intimidating to you, at first,” Azriel begins. “He isn’t one for small talk, or talk at all, for that matter.” You shift on your feet, nerves beginning to squirm in your thighs and arms, making your body restless and anxious. You nod your head. Azriel nods, but pauses again. Then seems to think better, and turns, letting you quietly follow him down between the houses to a new street and through the darkened door of a low-ceilinged shop. 

The inside smells of leather and a kind of polish or preservative that makes your nostrils sting for the first moments after entering. Tunics and boots and hats and gloves are categorised on separate displays within the wide room, a table in the centre containing the leather pre-craft, and discomfort slithers through your gut as you wrap the skinned leather back up around the animal it once was. 

Azriel turns to you, “Wait here.” Then he’s silently moving behind the desk and through the doorway behind it. Disappearing from view.

With little to do until he returns, you take your time to peer more closely around the shop. More specifically following Azriel’s footsteps to the desk but pausing before passing the invisible threshold where you’re allowed to tread. Mounted on the wall are rows and rows of blades. Most possess only one honed edge of steel but a few are duel pronged and you have to wonder what they could be used for. The blades vary in size, some as long as your little finger, others the length of your leg. One in particular catches your eye, leaned up against one corner of the wall behind the desk, though at first you hadn’t realised it was a blade due to its size. The steel edge has to be at least the height of your body, if not more, and the handle seems like it might be as thick as both your forearms bound together. You allow your gaze to curiously wander over the clean edge, the small notches made along the hilt before returning the selection on the wall. 

It’s strange, when you think about it. Maybe it’s because creatures in Prythian are inherently intertwined with magic, but weight and mass seem to have no affect on them, unlike humans. You’d be able to hear someone walking up behind you, even if they were trying to be quiet. Fae, or rather faeries, seem to be able to silence even their heartbeat if they wish to as you don’t even hear the door go or the creak of floorboards until a gruff voice asks from behind you, “Can I help?” 

You jump, spinning around as your heart pounds, only to be forced to yield enough steps to have the ledge of the desk digging into your shoulder blades so you can crane your neck high enough to find the top of the creature before you. The Ogre’s skin is a dark, forest green mixed with traces of grey over the powerful circles of his shoulders, the soft curls of hair that crawl across the two halves of his upper chest cut off by the linen shirt. His brows are thick and heavy above yellow eyes that are sliced through with horizontal-laying pupils—not unlike the eyes of a goat, or sheep. Long, thick tusks jut out from his lower jaw, pressing into the soft flesh of his upper lip, revealing the slightest hint of pink beneath. Forearms thicker than your thighs are folded over a wide chest, his brows carved downwards in unmistakeable displeasure that borders on aggression. 

Your lips part, his large silhouette entirely eclipsing the limited light, his shadows swallowing your body completely as he looms before you, removing the possibility of escape. You thought the Illyrian’s were built like nature’s supreme beasts, but the Ogre before you would make even Cassian appear the size of an average human man. Frighteningly large for a shop so small. 

“I-…” You stammer, trying quickly to get your bearings. “Are you- You’re the trader?” The Ogre’s brows narrow further and his response comes in the form of a single, rough-edged grunt. You swallow—Azriel should have given you more warnings. Intimidating doesn’t do the mountain of a male before you even an ounce of justice. “My- friend,” you manage, “he brought me here…” You swallow again, finding your lips sticky from the sea air and crisp. “I believe we’re looking for leather coverings? For myself.” Yellow eyes don’t so much as shift before he answers, “You’ll find nothing here.” 

“Nothing…?” You repeat, trying now to lean less of your weight on the desk, its ledge uncomfortably digging into your shoulders—the height makes sense now. “Then, a blade?” 

“Do you know how to hold one?” 

You blink at his harsh reply, then frown. “I require one, and wish to purchase one.” Then you push a little away from the counter, straightening your spine. “Do you have one?” 

The Ogre’s eyes narrow and you try to fight the urge to cower and crawl behind the desk. He tilts his head, “Where’s your friend?” It takes you a few seconds to remember you’d given Azriel that title, but by the time you remember the Ogre’s speaking again. “Are you making the purchase yourself?” 

“I-…I don’t think so…” That was something you hadn’t discussed with him. It’s a logical assumption to guess Azriel will be paying for whatever you need, since he’s the one insisting on a weapon for your person, but it feels wrong to jump to that conclusion. 

The Ogre’s eyes don’t stray from yours, and the need to crawl away beneath the table increases, his gaze piercing into you, “I don’t see your friend anywhere.” An embarrassed flush creeps up your neck—he thinks you’re lying. “He went upstairs. I think to look for you.” 

“Customers aren’t allowed upstairs.” The Ogre’s tone has shifted away from displeasure, having dived deep now into blatant aggression, violence simmering in his eyes. Gleaming too eagerly, despite the glacial fury twisting his mouth. He walks past you, gripping the hilt of the blade that had been leant up against the wall. It looks almost small in his hands. 

“He wouldn’t-” You fumble when the Ogre effortlessly lifts the blade from its standing, palms wrapping comfortably around the thick hilt. You swallow, heart jumping. “I’m sure he wouldn’t go up without reason. He said he’d met you before? Illyrian.” 

The Ogre pauses, ire doused though not entirely—not enough for the pulse of your heart to calm. “His name?” 

You wring your hands. “Azriel…? He said he’d visited you before, so…” The Ogre blows out a sharp huff of breath, the blade returning to its place in the corner—unused. “You should have said so to begin with,” he growls, his glare piercing straight through your flesh right down to the marrow of your bones. 

Your brows narrow uncharacteristically, lip curling faintly. “Quite a temper,” you mutter under your breath, scowl forming above your eyes as you pick out the faint footfalls descending the staircase, a beat quicker than their usual pace. Azriel really should have made it clear just how foul this male’s mood could be.

A heavy growl rumbles through the Ogre’s chest, hairs at the nape of your neck prickling as those yellow eyes glare ire into your skull. Your features twist in the slightest twitch of a snarl, before swiftly mellowing out once Azriel returns from the upper floor, hazel eyes sweeping once across the room, leaving only a second of pause to adjust his surprise before continuing forward to keep at your side. 

“Malachite. It’s good to see you again,” Azriel greets, each male grasping the others’ hand firmly. Azriel’s palm looks the size of your own in the Ogre’s grip who grunts his reply, moving to stand behind the counter while you equally move opposite, circling Azriel who’s left between the two of you. “What can I get for you?” Asks Malachite, attention abandoning you completely, shifting instead to the Shadowsinger who will be putting in the request. 

But Azriel’s attention cuts sidewards to you, and you falter. Shifting beneath his gaze. 

“Do you have anything in her size?” Azriel asks, eyes scanning over your body in a way that makes warmth flow to your cheeks, toes tensing in your shoes, head dipping a dozen degrees. You want him to like what he sees, but that’s probably not even the last thing on his mind. 

Malachite turns his attention back to you, yellow eyes glaring into your own set and you stiffen, bristling beneath the look. Heavy brows narrow over his gaze, casting his irises partially in shadow. “Nothing that wouldn’t hang off her. She has no muscle.” Azriel nods, apparently having thought the same. “Then how long will it take for you to make something?” 

The Ogre grunts, folding thick arms over his full chest. “That depends.”

Hazel eyes narrow by a fraction of an increment. “Twenty. Gold. Thirty if it fits perfectly.” 

“Done.” 

You blink, having expected it to go on for longer. Yellow eyes pin you to the floor, and Malachite nods his head to the back room he’d gotten so aggressive about earlier. “Back there.” 

Azriel goes first, and you hurry yourself to keep close behind him, sharing a glare as you pass by the Ogre, who grunts. 

Passing through another low-ceilinged corridor, Azriel leads you to a room on the right that opens up to reveal a scene you would not have expected an Ogre to enjoy. Threads are displayed neatly on one portion of the far wall, a large pin cushion with bauble-ended needles prickling out. Fabrics and leathers are rolled carefully on the far right side of the room, beneath a window, and on the left is a large mirror. A spinning wheel sits in a darkened corner, made larger specially to handle Malachite’s size. You can’t keep the surprise from your mouth. 

“Over here,” Azriel murmurs to you, pausing in front of the large mirror. You come to a stop just shy of his side, a little more at ease now the room is less cramped. And because Malachite seems to have gone elsewhere for a while. 

You shift on your feet, arms folding around your waist, one hand holding your side while the other sets itself just above your elbow. “The…bartering went quickly,” you say, peering around the floor—it’s surprisingly clean. Save for a few threads scattered between the floorboards. A single sequin glittering up at you. A nail not too far off from that. 

“Illyrian leather is high quality,” Azriel tells you, watching the door patiently, “We both know that.” Teeth squeeze the curve of your lower lip, eyes darting about the room as you once more shift on your feet. “So…you come here when you don’t want to go to Illyria?” You ask, wondering if you’re pushing too far. You can’t help wanting to know, though. You crave education about the world around you instinctively, searching avidly for every drop of information available, sinking into the wonders of an unfamiliar world with insatiable ferocity. It’s undoubtedly what’s helped keep you sane and relatively grounded.

But the way you want to know about the world is different from the way you want to know about Azriel. 

You read everything you can about Prythian because it’s there, and available. Flora, fauna, fashion, and history—there are plenty of tomes to read detailing the recent eras, the fluctuations in Court distinctions. You can’t recall ever desiring knowledge on something so unavailable and you try not to think about it too much. 

How intensely you crave him. 

It’s not good to dwell on. 

“It’s closer,” Azriel reasons, “and time is dwindling.” You shift, glancing sidewards at him, though not lifting you gaze high enough to meet his eyes. “Have you decided on a route for Summer?” You ask, pulling the map into mind. Despite not looking at him directly, you know his eyes are studying you now, turned away from the empty hallway. “I’ve been considering,” he relents, with a slowness that has you guessing at his internal indecision. Until his choice is made. “What do you think?” 

You blink, unable to help from staring at him questioningly. 

“Me?” You blurt out, confused. But Azriel nods as if it makes complete sense. Waiting expectantly. You swallow; lick your lips; swallow again. “I…well, I suppose in the interest of saving time it might better to enter the rainforest via the Winter Court…” You look up at him for approval. 

As if he’s ever given you any for yourself. 

Azriel’s expression is unreadable, and you look away, peering at the floor again. “From the looks of it though, the climb would be much steeper, and I’m not sure…” You trail off, wringing your hands together. You’re not sure you would even be able to cope with a hike like that at full health. Even with the safety of someone competent accompanying you. You clear your throat, “it might honestly take longer… I suppose unless we flew down to the peek of a mountain, then walked the distance to the Temple from above…but with the altitude, and thunderstorms, it probably wouldn’t be safe…” You look at him, “—Can siphons protect from lightening strikes?” 

Azriel nods. 

“Then…would the temperature be a problem? I imagine even packing lightly will still overall be heavy, and you’ll be carrying me, too, plus potentially a few flasks of water, which will swiftly increase the weight…” You pause, thinking. “That plus how thin the air might get, storms, lightening, heat, creatures….” You sigh to yourself. “I don’t think descending from above is a good plan…” 

Your shoulders slope, disgruntled. It had seemed a promising plan at first—a way to halve the time and avoid significant risk.

“Keep going,” Azriel tells you, making you peer at him. “Flying would be impossible, so what next?” 

“Well, we could either pass through Winter, which would be steeper and therefore have a heightened risk, but would probably be faster…” 

“Or?” 

“Or we could start at the foot of the mountains, right on the outskirts of the rainforest, and enter that way? But it would take much longer.” 

“How much longer, do you think?” 

You contemplate, recalling the geography, what the terrain had looked like according to that centuries out-of-date map. “If everything goes smoothly…maybe a day and a half through Winter?” 

“And through Summer?” You nip at your lower lip. Pulling the uppermost layer of skin from your tongue. “Closer to three days. Maybe four. But that would be if everything goes smoothly, which it undoubtedly won’t.” 

Azriel’s brow furrows. “What makes you think that.” 

You peer up at him, surprised. A little caught off guard by the question. 

“Well…” you begin, soft and hesitant. “That’s just how things go, don’t they?” 

Heavy foot thuds draw you from conversation, and your lips dip down at the edges as Malachite pushes into the room, carrying a small crate that proportionally would be the size of three stacked square pillows in your arms. 

He walks to the centre of the room, pausing in front of the mirror, and sets the box down with a rumbling thud, a gust of wind teasing your ankles, the crate hitting the floor with enough weight your foot would have surely been crushed had it been caught underneath. Though the Ogre doesn’t appear the least bit bothered by the heavy weight. He isn’t even breathless. 

“Up on here.” Malachite orders, nodding to the crate he’s placed in the centre of the room. Examining it now, in the context of the room and not his arms, it’s about half your height—not something you can easily step onto. You blink, sizing up the crate. You could crawl onto it, if you got your knee up first, but�� You flush, glancing down at the length of your dress. You’ll have to hike it up, to make sure you don’t trip on the fabric. You clear your throat, a touch awkwardly. “Will you look away, while I climb up?”

Malachite’s piercing yellow eyes narrow, ire igniting once more and you can almost see the aggravated huff of breath he exhales from those round nostrils, thick brows furrowing. Azriel steps forward from your right, palms open as he reaches for you. “I can lift you up,” he tells you gently. But your own brows furrow, stepping out of his reach. “What? No. All I’m asking is for you to look elsewhere for a bit.” You say, turning back to Malachite.

His lips curl, teeth flashing. “Get up there or I’ll put you there myself,” he growls. 

It’s been a long time since ire has taken a hold of you so thoroughly. 

“Try.” You hiss, features twisting in a snarl. “See what happens.” 

The room is completely silent. Golden eyes locked with your own, the third presence holding his breath, likely preparing to cool whatever outburst next ignites. 

You know your hands are glowing. Can feel that tingle glistening at your fingertips. 

Malachite grinds his jaw, then sighs roughly. “Quickly.” He growls, boots thumping as he turns his back. 

You swallow, tension releasing from your spine and shoulders, muscles softening as you hesitantly turn back to Azriel, glancing up to him quietly. His brows are raised by a fraction, a pause of something passing through the air, but then he’s turning away too. 

You don’t waste any time in lifting your skirts and climbing onto the crate, Malachite already having turned back by the time the hem brushes your ankles again. 

“Hold still,” the Ogre orders, unrolling a measuring tape from one of his leather pockets. He takes down the length of your spine, the distance of your nape to your ankles; wrist to your shoulder; one hip to the other; the circumference of your upper- and fore-arm. You tense instinctively when he reaches round your middle, his large forearms brushing your ribcage, forcing you to raise your arms just so he has enough space. The measuring tape constricts sharply around your waist, making you jolt, already prepared to snap something else at him. 

“Careful.” Azriel mutters from the side, so quiet you nearly miss it. “She’s a fraction of your size, Malachite.”

“She can handle it,” the Ogre returns, tone disagreeable and stern, but the bite around your waist loosens, allowing you space to breathe properly as he takes down that last measurement. 

————

Malachite had said your custom clothing would be finished by the end of the day—much to your surprise. You suppose Azriel is paying him well. And the two did seem relatively friendly. Or as friendly as either could get with another like them. And Malachite had seemed a competent craftsmale. 

But now you have a day to spend in this coastal town, and little idea what to do. 

Little more than wanting to make the most of it, if it’s to be spent conveniently close to Azriel’s side.

“Do you…have anything else to do?” You ask, once you’re back out into the salty air, walking leisurely down a main street with the grey-blue sea occasionally visible between coloured houses. You’ve never had a chance to see the sea before. It’s slightly frightening, even from a distance. Azriel shakes his head, and you glance somewhere away, teeth pulling at your lower lip while in thought. 

“Can we see the sea, then?” You ask, looking at him hesitantly. 

Azriel nods, and steers you down an alley, leading between a wooden-made shack with netting strung along its exterior, and a cream-painted house with weathered window panes and a small back garden. You gaze across the flat horizon line, greyish skies meeting blue-grey water, thick and heavy. Bluer than the rivers you’d grown up by, and certainly cleaner looking than the brown-black lakes and ponds of your childhood. 

Stepping foot on the pebbled beach, a gust of wind blows briny air up your nostrils, smelling of something damp and stagnant, and distinctly salty. With the uneven ground beneath your feet, you’re forced to remove your arms from their warm huddle at your sides, stepping further into the beach as you make your way cautiously over to a cluster of black rocks, rich green algae sleeked across the seastone. 

The rock is jagged beneath your fingers, piercing even through your gloves and numbed flesh, but the mild discomfort is worth the treasure of the small pools gathered in smoothed-out hollows. Your lips part, an exited huff of breath puffing from your lungs and you clamber a little higher, careful of your footing. At the beds of the miniature pools is a thick layer of sand and softened shell fragments, spots of brown-pink and orange smudging the pale crusts. In the corner of your chosen pool sits an intact shell, and your lips curve into an exhilarated smile, fingers dipping into the icy water to trace the scalloped edge, grazing the ridges with your nail. 

A startled gasp escapes your mouth as little, armoured legs shoot out from the openings, tiny red pincers cautiously extended as legs scuttle sidewards into the sand, swiftly burying itself deeper and safer. A young crab. You’ve never seen one alive before. Or one so small. 

Gazing further about you recognise all kinds of shapes and globs—a dark maroon jelly clinging to the rock face, a smattering of barnacles with flecks of pearly white glazing their rough exteriors, slimy looking folds that appear like a long-forgotten cousin of landmoss. Even the algae finds ways to be intriguing, coming apart like cotton-based yarn on your fingers, sinewy and stringy. Pale yellow and lush green. It looks soft and cloud-like underwater, but limp and clutching once taken into the open air. 

You decide to leave the remaining creatures unbothered, and tentatively lift yourself from the chosen perch, not too bothered by the darkened hem of fabric that’s become damp and sodden in places. Azriel waits patiently at the foot of the seastone formation, hazel eyes tracking your footing as you descend the jagged rocks, leaving once you’ve reached the small pebbles again. 

Instead of asking, as soon as your eyes land on a flat outcropping of rock, where the pebbles doze away, your feet are moving. Dazedly walking over to peer down into the gatherings of water in the dips and crevices, spotting pops of coloured shells, small creatures skittering about from hollow to hollow. A wave froths over the lower portion of the vast rock surface, and even so far away the water ripples upward. Your curiosity flows with the departing wave, pulled nearer to the sea itself, until you’re forced to pause in order to keep dry. 

Although the sheer mass of water in incomprehensible to your mind, what’s obvious to your eyes alone is enough to have your breath deepening. Mind quietening as the waves spill onto the beach, hushing and shushing as foam clushes over pebbles and stones. You wonder what it might be like to be a creature of the sea. Whether the tides in the deep ocean are at all similar to roads across the country, or currents in the air. Whether the sea-life knows what pull to follow in accordance with the space around them. 

Time must be so different below the surface. 

Pebbles shuffle somewhere in the background of your mind, thousands of tiny stones rinsed with water rubbing against one another as a pressure steps onto them, yielding space to slot together better to accommodate the added weight. A wind roars across the beach, trying to whip the scarf free from your hair, luring strands free to sting and slice when they cut against your cheeks. 

“We should go inland to the market,” Azriel says, pausing at your side. You stand upright, but he’s still taller despite being on a lower plane of the beach. His dark head tips toward the open sea, where the horizon line has come blurred, the sky and water mixing as swollen clouds lethargically glide forward, peppering the smooth water surface with miniature raindrops, hitting the sea like stones. “There’ll be shelter further in, and it will be warmer.” 

You look out to the sea again, lips parting at how swiftly the storm is approaching. How thick the rainfall seems, even from such a far distance. Dense and near-opaque. Your pulse spikes. 

To feel all those raindrops hitting your skin…soaking your clothes and hair…trickling down your spine, behind the curve of your ears, crying down your cheeks and hanging from your lashes like teardrops… 

“Can we stay…?” 

The question comes out of its own accord, but you’re too busy feeling to retract it.

Azriel pauses, hesitance being an interesting texture on him.

“Sure.” 

————

He had been wary when she asked to remain on the beach, not sure she grasped how uncomfortable she would become with rain-drenched clothes paired with ice-cold winds, but the expression that had been on her face had been…compelling. A refusal had been on the tip of his tongue, but when he had looked at her she had been looking back, with her full attention. 

Azriel hasn’t ever seen her look at him completely—likely because a part of her mind has always been straying over him to fully gather her focus in one place. To look at him without another thought in her head. 

When the rain had come he had been able to hear her heart racing. Could pick out the rise and fall of her throat, chin tilted upright to watch the clouds fill the skies. Could see the gradient of her clothes darken, and the pattern of her hair where the thin, pale scarf was suctioned to it. 

He had waited at the beach’s top while she meandered down to the shoreline again, moving over the pebbles like the floor was made of springy moss. Once more scaling the jagged rocks and dipping her then-bare fingers into the filling pools, stirring up sand and life, having left her gloves behind. And this time, keeping dry hadn’t been a worry on her mind. 

Azriel’s stomach had tensed when she’d waded into the water until it was lapping at her calves, had been prepared to help her upright when she inevitably was tipped over by a wave she hadn’t anticipated, or had her footing undermined when stepping on a rock she hadn’t realised was there. And when she reaches down into the water, he’s certain the wind will carry across a yelp when the glacial water touches her stomach, startled enough by the cold that she will tip, or fall, or splash, or become submerged entirely. 

Instead her eyes become wide enough his attention on her narrows, both her arms elbow-deep in the waters, cupping something beneath the waves. Even through the thick curtains of rain she finds him, brows risen as she tips her head toward the sea. Come over here!

With a sigh, Azriel lifts himself from the cobbled wall he’d been stood before, separating the beach from the street, and walks down to the edge of the shore, the bottoms of his leather-bound boots inching into the shallows. Her back is hunched, sea up to her thighs, and when she sees he’s near enough, she lifts her cupped palms from the water. 

Laying flat across her hands is a grey seastone, but gripping to the stone is a dark purple starfish. 

Her eyes sparkle, already having left him to return to the sea creature. 

That’s right—she’s never seen these things before. 

And then he spots the darkness shooting just below the water’s surface. Concealed by the storm. 

————

A series of steadily increasing sizes of bumps run up the starfish’s five limbs, its skin littered in tiny speckles of mauve, blue, and maroon. They’re like the scales on a snake, with threads of soft, grey-pink flesh visible between them. Beautiful, and magical, in their own way. You have to wonder if the fish and animals in the upper parts of Prythian are especially designed, or whether some life is just more beautiful than others, magic having little to do with it. 

Just the luck of the draw. 

Azriel moves suddenly in your periphery, but his shout is muffled by the thundering rain. You startle as the clouds rumble overhead, starfish falling from your palms and splashing into the icy sea, hitting the bed and stirring up sediment.

You know it splashes, because something snatches at your ankle, and water sprays as you’re tipped over. 

You know it’s icy, because the breath is shocked from your lungs the second it snares around your throat. 

You know once it’s in the sea, it hits the ground, because your skull pounds with pain as you hit the rocky bed. 

Searing scratches bleed their way up your calf, claws crawling up your body. Salt water stings at your eyes and nostrils, burning your nose and the back of your throat as it’s swallowed down in a panicked gulp for air. The sea fizzes with tight air bubbles, sound muffled and thick, arms encased in freezing syrup as you try to find something to take hold of, feet thrashing as the bones around your ankle tighten, rocks grazing at your back as you’re dragged along the sea bed, hauled further out to sea, further from the shore. Pressure squeezing your already pounding skull as you go deeper, deeper, deeper. 

You lash out, nails catching on something and more water fills your lungs as you scream, something coming away cold and soft beneath your nails. Clumpy and flesh-like. 

Whatever’s grabbing you recoils briefly, before surging forward with threefold its original strength, claws digging into the flesh of your thighs, scratching at your hips as it climbs higher, a single nail running down the centre of your throat before strong arms are hooking beneath your own, a sudden searing heat blazing just in front of you, and you swear a flash like lightening hits the water. Cold, and blue, despite the brief burn of the water as it came to a boil. 

Water shoots from your nostrils, gurgling in your throat as you try to gasp for air, wind roaring and whipping, rain lashing down into your eyes as you’re hauled back to the surface, Azriel’s arms keeping you clutched tight to his body, wading through the sea to return to the safety of the shore. Your arms spasm, lungs coughing as your stomach clenches and roils, retching as water spills from your lips, spat out upon the slick pebbles of the beach. 

Your eyes are burning, panting and gasping and crying as stinging pain bleeds across your body, able to smell the copper even in the rain-soaked air. 

Through the blinking blur of your vision, you can see Azriel crouched beside you but the wind is too loud to hear what he’s saying. Thunder rumbles through the skies and you try to dig your knuckles into the spongey hollows of your eye sockets, desperate to see, to dry away the salt. 

A hot palm burns your cheek, warm fingers guiding away your pestering hands, pressing dry fabric gently to the inner parts of your eyes. You sniffle, lungs heaving, chest trembling, but slowly the blur subsides, enough for you to pick out the dry finger of a glove trailing carefully beneath your lash-line. 

Your arms tighten themselves on your ribcage, squeezing your sides as you keep your knees close to your chest, shaking violently. 

The raging storm is blotted away as a dark panel slides across the smudged horizon, a hand curving on your shoulder to bring you closer, and terror has paralysed your capacity for shame. 

Eyes burning anew; stinging as tears roll away, your forehead falls to Azriel’s shoulder, huddling into his warmth. Legs crossed at the ankle, hands tucked into your armpits, you can feel the pulse of his jugular against your temple, the line of his jaw grazing the crown of your head. His palm squeezes, your stomach spasming as hot blood recoils from your surface, steadily sinking inwards and slowly draining down your legs where that creature raked its claws. 

Lighting flashes overhead, thunder rumbling only a second later, and you curl yourself tighter, uncaring for the heat it’s wringing from your body. Dripping onto the cobbles below. 

“You have magic,” Azriel whispers, exasperated and strained. “Why didn’t you use it?” 

Your lips tremble, tears mixing with the rain, head hanging as you try to press closer to his warmth to keep away the whipping winds. Hot breath puffs along the length of your throat, and his palm settles over your skull, thumb trailing the perimeter of the wound you know is there. You’re grateful he’s holding you tight enough there’s nearly no room to shake and shudder. 

————

Azriel is convinced it’s one of the escaped immortals. 

His features had been strained when he’d carried you back inland to the town, finding a temporary spot for you to rest, indoors and warm, hot food and drink brought out, and given a quiet backroom to huddle in. The temperature is warm, but your left shoulder and hip and cold without Azriel around. Tingling palm-sized pressures on your ribs and thigh. 

Azriel’s jaw is tight, wings laced with tension, and you wrap yourself tighter, shifting closer to the crackling fireplace. It’s common sense you’ll warm up quicker with the removal of your clothes, but you both know that isn’t an option for you. So you settle for one-sided heat of the fire instead, alternating every now and then to give the opposite side of you a chance to dry. The only item of clothing discarded being your head scarf, hair hanging in clumpy strands from the sea salt. A tangling mess, sticky and sodden. 

Azriel glances to the clock on the wall again, and you reach for your tea, sipping tentatively, wary but not really caring about the scalding burn as it streams down your throat, heating your stomach. Your legs sting if the fire faces them for too long, but other than that, the pain is more than bearable. 

“Can you speak with Rhysand from here?” You ask softly, wrapping your fingers around the mug, peering into the sweetened, stirring liquid. Azriel shakes his head. “Too great a distance,” he replies in your same volume. “It will have to wait until we’re back in Velaris.” 

“Would it be good to leave now, then?” You ask, gaze shifting to the fireplace, already mourning its heat. But Azriel shakes his head again. “There’s still your armour to collect from Malachite. We will fly back once it’s collected.”

“You don’t know when it will be done…” You think aloud, shifting your hold on the mug. “Wouldn’t it be better to return now, than to waste more time waiting for something we aren’t sure will be finished?” 

“I know him. He’ll have it done.” 

Azriel sighs, for the first time since you’ve been given this quiet room in the back of a busy store leaning back in the too-small chair. Flames dance in his glowing eyes, and you wonder if he’s even seeing the fire at all, or if he’s learned to block it out. If such things even affect him anymore. 

The warmth leaves them as they cut to you, no longer reflecting the heat, and it takes a second for you to look away, cradling the mug. “Can you walk?” 

You blink, pausing. Mentally feeling down your body. Thinking how your flesh tingles and stings in different areas. The dull throb at the back of your head. “I think so,” you reply, looking to him, “if I’m fine to?” A phantom sting thrums through your thighs as his eyes cut over you, shins flickering with the grazing itch of a needle, threads of starlight glowing where his eyes trace. 

Azriel contemplates for a pause, eyes glazing as you imagine him once more attempting to reach out to Rhysand. “You’ll live,” he settles on, hazel clear again, “but say if you hurt. We’ll find a place to pause, and we can wait in one of Malachite’s rooms if you need space to rest.” 

You swallow but nod, not mentioning your aversion for the male. You’d prefer to walk on openly bleeding legs than willingly rest under the Ogre’s roof. Disagreeable and unpleasant as he was. 

Azriel gets to his feet, nodding to the mug in your lap. “Finish your tea then, and we’ll head out.” Upon noticing the questioning look in your eyes before you can hide it, he elaborates. “You haven’t seen the market yet, and it might take your mind off the events of the day. And it will allow me time to think on what to do next.” He adds at the end. 

Teeth chew your lip. You suppose if it will also help him…you don’t have to feel bad about dragging him around a town he’s probably seen anywhere from a few dozen to a few hundred times. Maybe more. 

So you finish your tea, wrap the now-dry scarf around your neck, and follow behind him as you trail back into the damp streets, thanking the owner sincerely on the way out. Grateful for the cozy shelter. 

————

The storm has passed by the time you return to open air, but has left its mark on the town. 

Cobbles are black and gleaming, puddles accumulated in between; crystal clear drops of water falling from iron lanterns, dripping from rooftops or the oxidised copper of gate rungs. The smell of the sea is temporarily overpowered by the damp scent of rain and wet brick, earthy with a twinge of brine. 

Still, the market itself is lively, tarpaulin strung atop heavily laden tables to protect from lashing rainfall, the slats that could hang down from the tops like curtains now once more rolled and tied, allowing passersby a better chance to browse the wares on sale. 

There are a few stalls that catch your eye, a surprising amount of variety for what you’d thought was just a coastal town, but that appears to be a centre for trading. The keepers of the stalls each gathering their wares then moving further throughout Prythian, carting special items between courts to sell elsewhere, exchanging where they can’t afford stock in gold. 

It’s strange to think about this world, almost similar to your father’s. 

Some tables are laden with thickly padded blankets, sheets with embroidered corners and tasseled edges, pillow coverings with matching floral motifs, outlined in golden thread. Others hold crockery and cutlery, and a smile tingles just beneath the surface of you lips when you spot a set you imagine came from the Winter Court—Bas’ home court. You swallow thickly, pausing to take in the distantly familiar details, blue ink glazed to the white ceramic, small figures that can’t be any larger than a single knuckle from your fifth finger pickaxing at frozen land. It’s both warming and aching to look upon, the faint taste of regret in your mouth. 

When your vision blurs at the edges, you force yourself to swiftly move on, shifting your attention to the next stall while Azriel keeps to himself, just remaining close enough to keep an eye on you without being invasive. It’s just what you need at the moment, space enough to walk on your own while having the comfort of strength within reach. Having the space to subtly dry your prickling eyes without having to feel the discomfort of shame. 

You pass by a few stalls before another takes your interest, smaller tables displaying knitted quilts and jumpers, thick scarves and three sizes of mittens—all too large for yourself. One table displays silverware: from rings, to locks, to hinges and tools. A box the size of your forearm filled with a variety of iron nails, some sharp as stingers while others twist and swirl, as small as a tooth or as long as one of your fingers. 

The male who watches over the stool has a sibling to this display, a table two thirds the size of the first entirely dedicated to jewellery—the silver and iron pieces made by hand while the ones forged in gold are the result of trade. You’re reminded of the blacksmith you’d spoken with in the Autumn market, who’d had the gruff exterior. For a moment your fingers itch to graze the lobes of your ears, but worry Azriel will somehow put all the pieces together, as impossible as that would be. Unfortunately the skill levels drastically differ here, most of the rings merely plain bands of silver, lacking the flourish you’d found so beautiful in Autumn. Much more practical looking, verging on banality, the exception being the pieces the blacksmith had traded for. 

Gazing over the twinkling gold you have to admit you’re clueless to how he managed to get his hands on jewellery like this. Compared to the iron and silver pieces, they’re stunning. More than a few engraved with small patterns, tiny coloured jewels encrusted in the centres of floral designs. You’re fortunate most of them seem made for male hands—there’s no way you could afford or trade your way into having possession of one of them, and you imagine they might now feel strange around your mostly numb digits. 

Azriel had mentioned some of the sailors having wondering hands… 

You cautiously depart form the stool, as beautiful as it had been, content to continue perusing. 

While the sting in your legs is very much present, you find more enjoyment in the exploration of the market, getting to see such a range of craftsmanship displayed all in one place. 

The next table you pause at is one that’s showing off more variety than any of the others, seemingly a collection of bits and bobs spat out in a disorganised pattern across the stretching table. Other fae bustle around in the space between rows, and you manage to slide into a space that will allow you to better look at the intriguing variety. 

After a while observing on your own, Azriel fills the empty slot beside you, receiving a wary glance from the stall-owner who migrates a little further down the table from where he’d been previously conversing with a customer. 

“See anything you like?” Azriel asks. 

Thankfully his proximity is enough to battle the shifting and shuffling of feet; the general bustle of the market. Your gaze roams across the long table, drawn to the splashes of colour gleaming before you. “Those are pretty,” you reply, nodding to the squares of coloured glass displayed upon pillow-stuffing in a tilted wooden crate. They look like they might be tea coasters, or lovely things to hang from the ceiling near a window, so the light refracts and spills beauty across a previously plain room. Your eyes stray to the other glass pieces, that smile again tingling at your lips when you see a few monocles filled with tinted glass, a pair of spectacles with circular, coloured lenses. 

They’re so ridiculously excessive they make your heart hurt. 

Azriel nods to the pair you were looking at, tinted indigo. “Why not try them on?” 

You look to him, lips parted. Brow furrowing, “Is that allowed?” 

Azriel shrugs, glancing to where the stall-owner is obviously eavesdropping. He blushes at having been caught, folding his arms over a puffed up chest, but gives a curt nod. You look back at the glasses, now in reach. With tentative fingers you pluck them from the display, sliding them over the point of your ears, letting them settle delicately on the bridge of your nose. 

They’re a bit large, but they fit. 

Unthinking, you look up at Azriel, curious for an expression to establish your own thoughts upon, and a beat passes. You swallow. “How do they look?” You ask, feeling heat creeping up your neck. Azriel watches you quietly for a few seconds. “Blue.” 

You nod your head, “they’re a bit too large, I think…” Carefully removing them, you fold back the legs, putting the lovely set back where they came from. “Those are pretty, though,” you say, gesturing to the arrangement of wooden goblets and other small carvings further down the table. Everything’s reminding you of him though. 

With a tightened throat, you lift one of the goblets, examining it in closer detail. The lovely colour of burnt wood, smelling smokey and familiar. Miniature circles ring the top, with eight arches etched into the sides topping two rings holding a series of squares inside. Skilled carvings. “Isn’t it nice?” You ask distantly, not sure whether you’re offering the question to Azriel or just thinking aloud. He nods anyway. “Do you like it?” 

You blink, lowering the goblet and looking to him, having not expected a question in return. You blink again, realising you shouldn’t be so surprised, clearing your throat and returning the carving to its place. “I- guess?” You stammer, not wanting to bring up Bas. It’s too ugly a bruise. “My father did things like this, though not-…practical…things…” 

Azriel hums, and you feel your throat closing up. 

Maybe you should have asked to help visit in the Winter Court, even if it would have meant travelling with Mor. You could have tried to patch things up with her, and maybe while you were there you could visit the statue Bas had once told you about. 

Maybe you should have insisted on seeing him once more, before he left. 

Just in case you didn’t live to say goodbye. 

[rbfclassy]

STILL IN LOVE! #2 — TOJI FUSHIGURO

SYNOPSIS...after still messing around with your ex husband, you began to wonder if you’re still in love with him after finding out about his new girlfriend…

INFO...ex husband!toji x fem!reader, reader & toji have two kids, megumi is readers bio son, jealousy, smut, angst, arguments, alcohol, drinking problem, family problems, arguing in front of kids, toxic behaviors, crying, mentions of divorce

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

It’s been about three weeks since you found out about Toji’s new girlfriend. You still haven’t met her or properly seen her yet, but from what the kids tell you, she seems nice. It still felt weird having to get used to the idea that your ex had actually moved on. It was silly to think about, you know. Having been married over five years and getting a divorce, you’d think that means you would be done with your ex, but no, it was quite the opposite. Toji and you were still at each other, flirting, kissing, having sex. Neither of you had essentially ‘moved on’ from one another. It was normal for the both of you. It just never clicked in your mind that he would actually leave and live his life like a divorce is intended to do.

You’ll pin that blame on yourself, thinking too much into what you had with him is what caused you to feel this jealousy in the first place. Having remembered how you were once her spot, being the girlfriend that he took everywhere and did everything with. Hell, shes even met your kids before she’s even met you. It was clear Toji felt serious about her, otherwise he would’ve never brought her around Megumi and Naya. That thought made something twist in your chest.

“Mommy?” Your daughter’s little voice pulled you from your thoughts. Her big eyes watching as you applied your moisturizer in the bathroom mirror, a stuffie in her arms.

“Yes, baby?” You smiled, kneeling down so you were eye level with her.

“Daddy is at the door. He’s asking for you.” She blinked, squeezing the stuffed animal in her arms. Usually Toji just comes on in announced, startling you when he suddenly speaks, but you found it weird that he was now waiting at the door to speak to you. You grabbed your daughter’s hand, walking her to living room where Megumi was watching teen titans and eating popcorn. “Ooo, is that starfire?!” You daughter ran towards her brother, letting go of your hand.

Your eyes landed on Toji who leaning against the door way, dressed in a black hoodie and gray sweats, a stoic look on his face. “Hi, mama,” he greeted.

“Hey, what’s up?” You asked, folding your arms across your chest.

“Can I talk to you really quick? Outside?” He nodded his head in the direction behind him.

“Yeah.” You nodded, following his footsteps as you shut the front door behind you. “Something wrong?” You looked at him.

“I won’t be able to take the kids this weekend,” he sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Sorry.”

“What do you mean? Why?” Your brows furrowed, standing there confused.

“I got…things to do,” he meekly answered. He kept his answer as vague as possible leaving little to nothing for you to go off of, but deep down you had a feeling it had something to do with his new girlfriend.

“Things to do? Like what?” You questioned, poking the inside of your cheek with your tongue.

“Nothing important,” he quickly replied, sucking in a breath.

“If it’s not important then why can’t you take the kids? They’re not gonna be happy about this,” you try to explain. You couldn’t understand why he was being so secretive towards you all of sudden, especially when it came to his time with the children.

“Can you just accept the fact I can’t take them? Please?” He seemed to be getting impatient, rolling his eyes every time you questioned him on something. It was obviously bothering him.

“Does it have to do with your new girlfriend?” There was no harm in asking him, curiosity getting the better of you.

“That’s none of your business.” He tone was rough and stern, almost like you hit a nerve.

“Oh?” Your brows raised in surprise in his sudden change of attitude. “I think it is my business considering this involves your time with our children and the fact you bring her around our kids, Toji. It’s a simple yes or no question.”

He let out a scoff, averting his gaze in a different direction. A sigh left his lips as he ran his hands down his face. “Here you fucking go,” he groaned. “You’re getting jealous.”

“I’m sorry?” Your eyes narrowed as you stared at him.

“You’re getting jealous of her, aren’t you?” His question hung in the air for several seconds as you stared at him in disbelief.

“Here you go assuming shit like always. See this is why we can never have a normal conversation, cause you always wanna start something! Where the fuck did that even come from?” You were starting to see just why you and Toji got divorced. There was some truth to his words, about being jealous. Though, you were too stubborn to admit such a thing to someone like him. What good would it do you anyway? He’d probably just laugh in your face and walk off. “Have your weekend to yourself, Toji. I’ll find someone else to take care of Megumi and Naya.” You turn around to enter the house, not having the energy to argue with him.

“Woah, what do you mean someone else?” His hand is wrapped around your wrist as he pulls you back towards him. “Why can’t you?”

“Cause I have things planned! Pretty sure Shoko won’t mind watching them.” You snatch your wrist back from him, only for him to grab onto you again, pulling you back. “What, Toji?!” You ask in annoyance, sighing loudly.

“You got things planned? With who?” It almost made you laugh how he was the one asking so many questions, trying to peak in on your life.

“That’s none of your business,” you casually say as you stare him. His jaw clenches, finally letting go of your wrists. Both of you stared at each other for what seemed like several minutes when in actuality it was only a mere second. You had a date on Saturday night, someone you met while you were out shopping for groceries. He was handsome, and kind enough to ask you to a dinner, even offered to pay. It would be wrong if you said no because you wanted to say yes, so you did. His name was Kento Nanami. “Goodnight, Toji.” With those words, you walked back into the house and shut the door behind you, locking it.

“Mommy, what did daddy want?” You daughter asked, peaking up from behind the couch.

“I’ll tell you two tomorrow, just keep watching your show.” You smiled at the both of them, quickly rushing to your room to try shake off the funny feeling that you had. Why couldn’t he just be upfront with you? Tell you the truth? You wouldn’t mind if you he needed time to himself, but to come out and be secretive about it was a different story. Then, to start arguing with you simply reminded you of the times he and you fought over the stupidest things. Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten so defensive, but you couldn’t help it.

You tried not to dwell on the situation too much, instead thinking about the date you soon had. You got walked over to your closet, skimming through the hanging clothes in search of a perfect dress to wear. Something elegant yet sexy is what you were going for. You didn’t want to wear anything too over the top in fear of scaring him away, but you wanted something that also showed him you weren’t a prude.

Finally, you landed on your favorite black dress, the corners of your mouth forming into a smile as your eyes scanned over the piece of fabric. “Perfect.”

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[obxsummer]

mess // ghost of you

pairing: jj maybank x routledge!reader

summary: groff gets grounded, sarah's wifey material, and a statue apparently holds the blue crown, which means someone's climbing to get it.

warnings: usual obx angst

navigation -- series masterlist

ask me anything

--

Morocco was proving to stay a challenge to you all, especially when the vehicle’s motor blew up on Cleo and the poor girl was stuck attempting to fix it. In the meantime, Pope was observing the items John B and Sarah had managed to pull from Terrance’s boat in their quick mission. 

While JJ attempted to help Cleo get the truck started again, John B and Sarah were browsing at nearby booths. This left you and Kie to take the time to chill out and just observe the people around you. 

What your fiancé had begrudgingly revealed to you, was he pickpocketed the gun the mercenary had dropped and it was now tucked in his waistband, clearly visible against the light colored fabric. You had rolled your eyes, but didn’t bother to argue with him. You were all unarmed, in his defense, so it wouldn’t hurt to have some way to fight back.

“John B, I’m tired of driving. Take the wheel.” Cleo waved dismissively as she climbed into a seat next to Sarah, allowing your brother and Pope to take the front.. 

The next location, Agapenta, was supposedly where you’d find some answers. The drive would take a while, a lovely 60 miles of hopefully peace and quiet. JJ happily accepted the empty time, letting you rest against his shoulder as the wind whipped around you all. The ride was as smooth as John B could make it, the road proving itself bumpty and full of twists and turns. 

Eventually, pavement turned into dirt and Pope was pointing out a nearby well to refill water bottles and take a break to stretch. You groaned as the vehicle came to a stop and climbed out, your legs sore from sitting so scrunched together for the time being. 

“Pope, I really hope you’re right about this well,” John B said as he rolled his neck, a popping sound following the movement and he sighed. 

JJ reached up to help you climb down, the dirt hard and dry beneath your feet. You opened your backpack, shuffling through the mess to grab the empty water bottles you’d brought from Poguelandia to pair with the larger ones they’d bought at the market. 

“How does this thing even work?” You asked Pope as you walked toward the well with the various bottles in your arms. “Like is there a pump or-”

“Hello!”

Pope grabbed your arm to pull you back from approaching the stones. The shouting continued in a language you couldn’t quite recognize before you all decided to look down the well at the same time. 

“I guess we found Groff, huh?”

Bile burned your throat as you took a step back from the dark pit in the ground. JJ was standing a few feet away with a tan back in his hands, the contents inside likely belonging to the man stuck at the bottom of the well.

You wondered how he didn’t die from the fall, silently pissed that outside forces couldn’t have just ended this nightmare on your behalf. Because now, there was a decision to make that ultimately landed in JJ’s hands.

JJ gently squeezed your shoulder as he approached the well, a silent communication that he could do it. He looked utterly pissed and disappointed with the realization that he was really the only one to handle the situation, but leaned over the edge to address Groff.

“JJ, is that you?” The voice echoed back.

JJ sighed and looked straight ahead, completely dismissing the man in the well. “What happened?”

“I’m trapped down here because of that… Rafe.”

You snorted, pressing the back of your hand against your mouth to keep your laughter in as Sarah nearly broke her character next to you with a laugh. Leave it to Rafe to shove Groff in a literal well. 

“But now, my boy, my beautiful boy, is here to rescue me.”

That one got a full giggle out of Kiara, and JJ looked at all of you with an unamused look. Annoyance was winning its course here, and really, now you wanted to leave.

“What happened to the scroll?” JJ asked as he played with the flask of water in his hands. 

“Rafe! He took it and he tried to kill me, but I know where it is. I know how to get it back. We’ll go. We’ll go together, just… just throw me the rope!”

The blond boy stepped back from the view of the well, which evidently scared Groff enough that he started yelling again. You stepped away from Sarah and Kie to grab his arm, scanning his face for any hint of how he was feeling.

“You okay?”

To your surprise, JJ’s eyes were full of tears when he looked back at you and he looked angry. “He almost killed you. And now he’s sitting here asking me to help him?” 

The broken whisper felt like a punch to the chest and your fingers unconsciously brushed over where the bruises rested on your skin. You’d support JJ through a lot of rights and wrongs, but this had to be the hardest one. 

You’d come to hate very few people in your life, but Groff was the quickest one to reach that status. He was cruel. There were very few people that were wicked in that way, deep to their core, but he was a perfect example of one. Heartless, even.

JJ sighed, drying away stray tears with the back of his hand. You let your hand coast up his arm to rest on his neck, gently brushing the skin of his cheek with your thumb. “It’s okay. It’s your call.”

He shook his head harshly and stepped out of your grasp to approach the well again as Groff yelled out for him to toss the rope down. JJ picked up the twine with consideration and your heart felt like it was in your throat. 

“JJ, I need you to throw me the rope!”

“Why?” JJ countered as he stared at the object intently. “Why should I do that when you tried to kill not only me, but someone you knew meant the world to me? To us.”

There was a pause before the answer. “I snapped. Sorry.”

John B let out a loud laugh at that one, his head falling back against the seat of the truck before his hand rubbed at his face in disbelief.

“Just get me out of here, JJ, and we will get the crown. Together, just like we planned.”

“You gave me away. You gave me away because you don’t want me. You don’t want a son. Now you come back into my life acting like you had to do that.” 

“No of course not. You’re my boy, I love you.”

JJ reached back with an open palm and you took it wordlessly, making sure to stay out of Groff’s view but close enough that JJ knew you were right behind him. “No.. don’t, don’t say that. You don’t know what that means. You don’t even know me. You never were my father. You never even tried.”

“I’m a weak man, JJ. You wouldn’t kill me for that, would you? That’s not you. You’re better than me.”

JJ scoffed and shook his head before holding the rope out to you, which you took albeit confused. You watched as he untied it from the post next to the well, leaving it disconnected from any anchor point. “Being better than you really isn’t that hard. Bye, Dad.”

Without sparing a glance, JJ took a step back from the well to walk away and you stood there as Groff started yelling in protest for him to come back. You glanced back to make sure he was okay, Pope taking the time to hug him tightly, before you made your own decision.

Peeking over the edge of the well, you could barely make out Groff’s figure at the bottom and his voice was suddenly much louder until he stopped at the sight of you.

“Remember me? Daughter you never had but always wanted?” You asked, a teasing smirk making its way to your lips. Pulling the rope closer, you let it fall from your fingers and watched the saving grace hit the ground with a loud smack as Groff winced. 

With a look of disappointment, you sighed to yourself, “You made your bed, now you can lie in it too.”

--

“Careful, we don’t know what we’re walking into.” John B was tense and on guard as he led the group from the car when the path came to an end. Desert stretched out in front of you all, save for a few bare plants that shifted with the wind.

As you all approached the walled entrance to Agapenta, Rafe’s voice carried across the open land. 

“Okay, just take it easy, okay?” The stress in his tone was obvious enough that JJ was pushing against your shoulder to keep you out of view as they surveyed whatever was going on ahead. 

Peeking through the brush, you made out Rafe’s figure with the map dangling from one hand and the lens from the other. His back was toward you all as he spoke with whoever was threatening him as he held his arms in the air. There was just enough room over the makeshift wall that you could make out the mercenary group with their vehicles and weapons.

“They’re gonna kill him,” Cleo mumbled as a few armed mercenaries started approaching Rafe.

Kie scoffed, “Do we care?”

“Yeah, that’s a good question, Pope. Then they’d take the scroll.”

You glanced over at Sarah, the girl obviously torn between the words being said and the fact that Rafe was her brother. He was trying, she could tell, and at this point, that meant enough to her. 

“There are seven of them, they all have rifles.”

JJ’s hand fell from your shoulders. “I know. That’s why we’re gonna need to think outside the box.”

He moved to grab the gun from his waist, checking the bullets in the chamber before loading it. You swallowed thickly, knowing anything that involved JJ and a weapon didn’t tend to go well. 

“Hey.” You grabbed his arm to hold him still for a moment. “This isn’t Call of Duty, okay? We can’t rush into action right now without thinking this through a little.”

Sarah had evidently thought it through enough and grabbed the gun from JJ’s hand to steady in her own grip, the group falling silent as she did so. “That’s my brother.”

The shot rang out, perfectly nailing the fuel tank on one of the mercenary vehicles to cause an explosion. You stared, amazed, before looking at the girl next to you. “Sarah gets the gun from here on out.”

Rafe took off running as more gunshots started to follow and you decided it was probably a good idea to get away from here. Dust kicked up around everyone as you ran, shouts to go faster or change direction coming like rapid fire. 

The sunshine was so warm against your skin and dust coated your throat as you all came up upon the gates with barely enough time to slip through before Pope and JJ slammed the door shut just in time for gunshots to bust through the wood.

“We gotta move,” Kie called out as the boys barricaded the door as best as possible. Somewhere in the chaos, Rafe had managed to land here as well and brought up the rear as the group went running again. 

“Oh shit!” You yelped as a group of sheep were suddenly in the path. They were just as freaked out as you and took off running, giving you enough time to take a deep breath before JJ was grabbing your arm and pulling you to keep moving. 

An almost stumble in his step told you his side was getting irritated from the constant movement and you shifted to push him ahead of you, your hand pressed into his back to keep him going. You came up on a tunnel, Pope and Cleo coming to a stop as the yelling got closer to your location. 

“What are you doing?” JJ slowed to look at the couple, the gun now in Cleo’s hands as John B, Sarah, Kie, and Rafe kept moving.

“We got it, we’ll hold them off,” Pope explained, his hand falling on your back to continue moving you and JJ along. JJ hesitated, hating the idea of splitting up but Pope had already made up his mind. “Hey, let me protect you for once, okay? You’re not the only one who shot teddy bears.”

Cleo gave you a stern look and nudged you in the direction. You gave her an uncertain smile, squeezing her arm in encouragement before you grabbed JJ’s hand in yours and pulled him with you. “Be safe!”

“We’ll be so safe!” Pope called back as they disappeared from view. 

Your chest was heaving, sweat pouring across your skin as the tunnels and stairs weaved their way through the town. Before long, you guys managed to catch up to the others where Rafe so lovingly had John B at knifepoint. 

“What the hell is going on?” You gasped, your hand pressing against your chest where it hurt to breathe as Kiara put her focus on JJ’s now bleeding side. You slid your backpack off, handing it to her wordlessly as she began to sort through the first aid supplied lying within. 

“Rafe, I just saved your life!”

The elder Cameron sibling turned toward her, the knife following as he disagreed. “No, no, no, no, no. You did it so you could steal it from me. There was something in it for you. Not to actually help me, I know that.”

“Rafe, we don’t have time.”

“We can read that, you can’t,” Sarah argued back, completely unphased by the way he was shaking in front of her.

“Why would I help you? I don’t trust you. I don’t trust any of you, do you understand?” He panted, scanning the room where you all had him basically surrounded. He focused back on Sarah, taking a step closer. “Dad trusted you. You remember what happened to him? Remember?!”

You flinched as he yelled, taking a step back in shock as Sarah pushed Rafe away from her. 

“Dad died saving my life,” She shouted before taking a second to breathe. “And you’re so eager to blame me for everything, you won’t even listen to what happened. Singh’s men had me at gunpoint. I was gonna die. Dad took those bullets for me. And if he was still around, he’d want us to work together. I know you know that.”

Rafe’s angry exterior was dropping with each word and as Sarah’s face crumbled with the recount, he was slowly beginning to think he had it all wrong. Shaking his head, his defensive stance disappeared. “No, you’re just going to screw me like everyone else in my life. I know you will.”

“No, no, because I’m all you’ve got,” Sarah reminded him, her voice thick with tears. “And you’re the only family I have left.”

The two siblings stared at each other for a moment, shaking breaths coming from each of them as they spoke through the things that had been left unsaid for almost two years now. You’d never seen Rafe like this, so broken and confused by what he was hearing. 

For so long, Ward had such a deathly grip on Sarah and Rafe both. Rafe had received the brunt of the pressure, as the eldest child and male of the family, Ward used him instead of growing him in a way that a parent should. 

“Alright, if we…uh, if we work together, I still get my cut. So-”

Sarah pushed the scroll aside and fell into her brother’s chest with a sob, her hands wrapping around him tightly. Rafe’s eyes filled with tears at the action, his own arms hesitating before holding her back as the two of them cried together.

Yelling nearby broke apart the peaceful moment, just as Kiara finished rewrapping JJ’s side with fresh bandages after cleaning the skin. She zipped your backpack before returning it, her eyes glancing to where the yelling is coming from. “I hate to break this up, but we need to go.”

John B was quick to get Sarah back to his side, taking her hand protectively as the group shifted out of the room to keep moving. You stayed back with JJ, moving just a bit slower to keep his side from reopening and letting the others gain some lead on you.

“You okay?” You asked as he winced and pressed his hand where the wound was. 

He nodded, letting out a breath. “Just moving a lot. I don’t think fighting the waves was the best idea for it, yeah?”

You shook your head at him, eyes glancing over before you caught sight of a large, dark storm cloud on the horizon. “J? What’s that?”

He looked up and followed your gaze to where the impending issue lied. “Oh fuck. We gotta go.”

Not asking any further questions, you continued up the hill with him until you caught sight of John B, Sarah, Kie, and Rafe. Your brother was holding the map up to the sky, a shaped figure coming back in the reflection of the paper that looked nearly identical to the statue that was up ahead. 

“Crown’s gotta be up there. Come on, let’s go.”

--

a/n: hi i'm so sorry this is short and took forever, just wanted to give a lil something before we get to the next scene

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[kiemiu]

𝓒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐍: 𝓟𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝓐𝐧𝐝 𝓑𝐥𝐮𝐞

pairing kang sae-byeok x fem!reader | wc: 4.7k

summary -> an aggressive argument with your boyfriend carries with you throughout the day and sae-byeok notices. warnings -> angst, angst, and more angst. little to no comfort at all, david is drunk and briefly gets physically aggressive with the reader and leaves a bruise on her wrist.

( beneath the quiet masterlist )

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐃 awake, the groggy haze of sleep still clinging to your senses. The sound of the door creaking open had pulled you from whatever fleeting dreams you were lost in, wondering if it was Sae-Byeok in need of something, quickly blinking away the sleep that clouded your vision. The faint light spilled in from the hallway, casting a soft glow over your mattress. Once your vision cleared your body couldn’t help but immediately tense instinctively as your eyes landed on him—your boyfriend—standing in the doorway, a half-empty beer bottle dangling loosely from his hand. The smell of alcohol was sharp, cutting through the stale air of your apartment, overpowering the fresh linen and traces of her that were left behind.

You didn’t know what time it was, but you knew it was early. Too early for this. The shadows beneath his eyes were dark, his face a mixture of exhaustion and something harsher—something that made your stomach twist in a nauseating way. Slowly, you lifted yourself up onto your forearms. Your heart sank as he lazily leaned against the doorframe, his calculating gaze falling over your dazed figure as the faintest smirk tugged at his lips. It wasn’t the type of smirk that was warm and reassuring. It wasn’t even playful, It was sharp, like the edge of a knife.

“You have someone over?” he slowly asked, his voice low and rough, but tight with an edge that made your pulse quicken.

Your first thought immediately fell to Sae-byeok. Was she still here? Had he seen her? Had he scared her away? The questions rushed through your mind, tangled with guilt and panic. You shook your head quickly, almost too quickly. “No,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

The lie felt heavy on your tongue, but it wasn’t the first time you’d lied to him, and it wouldn’t be the last. You didn’t even know if Sae-byeok was still here or not, but it didn’t matter. You knew how he’d react if he thought someone else—especially someone he didn’t know or approve of—had been in the apartment. He was so untrusting, even though it was your apartment he still felt the need to monitor who you let into your home, as if he was granted that authority. His temper was a fuse like no other, and you were always careful to try not to light it.

But lying never worked with him. He could read you too easily, and it was something you despised about him. He knew every inch of you, every fear, every insecurity, every button to push. It was a power he wielded mercilessly, always knowing exactly how to make you crumble, sometimes all it took was a look. Each argument always had the same outcome, him leaving with his head held high, while you shrunk in on yourself.

“Why was the pullout bed out, then?” he asked, his tone sharper now, his eyes narrowing.

You didn’t respond. Instead, you pushed yourself out of bed and walked past him, your bare feet padding against the cold floor as you made your way into the living room. The sound of your blood pumping mercilessly in your ear only made your pace quicken before coming to a full stop.

Relief silently washed over you once you saw all traces of her gone as if she had never stopped by in the first place. Even with the pullout bed still being out, the blanket and pillow she had used were folded and stacked neatly at the edge. Sae-byeok had left quietly, just as you’d hoped.

Your eyes landed on the empty bowl sitting on the table, the faint remnants of tteokbokki staining the edges. A small smile flickered across your face. She’d eaten. That meant she’d been comfortable enough to stay for at least a little while. You hoped she was okay, wherever she was now.

“See?” you said, gesturing toward the empty room. “No one’s here. You’re making something out of nothing, as always.”

But he wasn’t convinced. “Don’t play games with me,” he snapped, his voice rising. “You’re lying, and you’re terrible at it. I know you had someone over. Just tell me the truth for once in your life!”

Your blood boiled at his words, the anger bubbling up despite your best efforts to suppress it. “You don’t know anything,” you shot back, spinning around to face him. “You always think you do, but you don’t.”

His smirk returned, that cruel twist of his lips that made your skin crawl. “Oh, I know plenty,” he said, his voice dripping with venom. “I know you’re hiding something. I know you’re lying to my face right now. And I know you’re too much of a coward to admit it.”

“Coward?” The word stung, but you refused to let it show. “You’re the one standing here accusing me of things that aren’t even true. You’re the one who can’t trust me, no matter how many times I try to prove myself to you!”

He stepped closer, his face inches from yours now, his eyes boring into you. “Maybe I don’t trust you because you’re not trustworthy,” he said, his voice low and cutting. “Ever think about that?”

The air between you was thick with tension, the kind that made your chest ache and your throat tighten. You wanted to scream, to push him away, to make him leave, but you knew it wouldn’t make a difference. He’d find a way to twist it all back on you, as he always did.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, turning away from him.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he said sharply, grabbing your arm before you could take another step.

The force of his grip made you wince, and you instinctively tried to pull free, but he held on tighter. “Let me go,” you said through gritted teeth, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear.

He didn’t. Instead, he yanked you backward with such force that you stumbled, your knees hitting the floor hard. Pain shot up your legs, but before you could steady yourself, he pulled you back to your feet, his face inches from yours.

“Not until you stop acting like this,” he said, his eyes flashing with frustration. “You think you can just brush me off? Ignore me? Like I’m nothing?”

“You’re hurting me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper now. “Please, just let go.”

He didn’t move, his fingers digging into your skin as if to make a point. “Maybe if you’d stop lying to me, I wouldn’t have to do this,” he said coldly.

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “I’m—I’m not lying,” you said, though the words felt hollow even to you.

He scoffed again, finally shoving you back with enough force to make you stumble. You caught yourself against the wall, your arm throbbing where his fingers had been.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head as he turned toward the door. “You’re lucky I put up with you.”

With that, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him. The sound echoed through the apartment, leaving a heavy silence in its wake.

You stood there for a moment, frozen in place, the sting of his words and his touch lingering long after he was gone. Then, slowly, you sank to the floor, your body trembling as the tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over.

You pressed a hand to your wrist, feeling the faint outline of a bruise already forming. The pain wasn’t just physical—it was the ache of knowing this wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Eventually, you forced yourself to your feet, wiping your face with shaky hands. You had to get ready for work. You had no choice. But as you stared at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, the girl looking back at you felt like a stranger. Her eyes were swollen, her face pale, her expression hollow.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You couldn’t let this break you—not yet. But as you held a cold compress to your wrist, you couldn’t help but wonder how much longer you could keep pretending everything was fine.

As you stepped outside, the crisp morning air hit your face, but it did little to clear the fog clouding your mind. Your wrist throbbed faintly beneath the sleeve you had tugged down to hide the mark, and the soreness in your body felt like a cruel reminder of everything you couldn’t seem to escape.

Each turn you took toward the orphanage felt heavier than the last, like you were dragging the weight of the entire argument behind you. You tried to focus on the rhythm of your tires rolling against the pavement, hoping the steady sound of wind from the outside would drown out the voice in your head replaying his words. “You’re not trustworthy.” The phrase echoed over and over, sharp and relentless, like it was carving itself into your chest.

Anger flickered in your chest, hot and fleeting, only to be smothered by a wave of exhaustion. How had it come to this? How had you ended up here, walking away from yet another fight that had left you feeling so small, so powerless? You pressed your lips together, trying to fight the tears threatening to spill again. You’d already cried too much, and there was no time to redo your makeup for a second time.

The roads were eerily quiet, the early hour leaving the world in a kind of stillness that should have been comforting but wasn’t. Your thoughts wandered back to the apartment, to Sae-byeok and whether she had made it out unnoticed. You hoped she was okay, that she got far enough to not hear the argument or see the aftermath.

You hated the way he could get under your skin, how he knew every little crack in your armor and exploited them without hesitation. The memory of his smirk made your hands clenched tightly around the wheel, your nails biting into your palms. It wasn’t just the physical pain that lingered—it was the emotional toll, the constant battle between wanting to fight back and feeling like it wouldn’t make a difference.

As you turned the corner and the orphanage came into view, a bittersweet wave of relief washed over you. This place, at least, felt like an escape, even if only for a few hours. The children didn’t know about the chaos in your life. They didn’t see the bruises or hear the fights. To them, you were just you, someone who cared, someone who showed up.

But even that small comfort came with its own weight. You thought about how the kids would look at you today, the ones who always noticed everything, Cheol. Would he be able to see the sadness in your eyes or the tension in your smile? Would he ask questions you weren’t ready to answer? You hated how easily he could sense when something was wrong, even when you tried your best to hide it.

And then there was your mother and aunt. The thought of facing them made your stomach churn. Hearing news of your aunt’s arrival was like another kick to the stomach. The last thing you wanted was for the evil twins to pester you about your love life and what you did out of work. Their constant jabs and sharp words felt like a second storm waiting to hit, and you weren’t sure you had the strength to weather it. You imagined their voices already, dripping with judgment. “Why do you look so tired? Did you even bother with makeup today? You’re so sloppy sometimes.”

The lump in your throat grew in anticipation, but you swallowed it down, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. You couldn’t let them see you cry, not again.

As you pushed open the door to the orphanage, the familiar sound of laughter greeted you, though it felt distant, like you were hearing it through a thick wall. You still managed to plaster on a smile, the kind you’d perfected over the years, the kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes but was convincing enough to pass.

Each step felt like a battle, but you told yourself to keep moving. You told yourself to focus on the kids, on the work, on anything other than the ache in your wrist or the echo of his words in your mind.

But deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were teetering on the edge of something you couldn’t come back from. The argument, the bruises, the lies—they were all piling up, brick by brick, building a wall around you that felt impossibly high. How long could you keep pretending? How long could you keep it all together before it came crashing down?

As you prepared to step into the chaos of the day, a part of you whispered that it didn’t matter. You didn’t have the luxury of falling apart—not here, not now. So you squared your shoulders, pulled your sleeve down a little lower, and stepped into the bright, noisy room filled with the sound of children’s voices.

For now, you’d push everything else aside. For now, you’d pretend everything was fine. But the weight of it all stayed with you, a quiet, constant pressure that you couldn’t seem to shake. And as you forced another smile, you couldn’t help but wonder how much longer you could keep this up.

The moment you walked into the orphanage’s main hall, you saw them—your mother and aunt—seated at the round table near a big beautiful bay window, sipping their tea and chatting like they were the queens of the place. The tight knot in your stomach pulled even tighter as their heads turned in unison, their sharp eyes landing on you. It was as though they had been waiting for you, their smiles curling in that way that always made you feel more like prey than family.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up,” your aunt said, her voice loud and chipper, but the undertone was cutting. She set her cup down with a clink and leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest. “You’re running a bit late, aren’t you? Trouble getting out of bed this morning?”

Your mother gave a soft, dismissive laugh and shook her head. “Oh, you know how she is,” she said lightly, though her words carried a sting. “Always rushing in at the last minute, looking like she just rolled out of bed.”

You forced a smile and tightened your grip on your bag. “Good morning,” you said evenly, ignoring their comments. Your goal was to get past them as quickly as possible, to get to the kitchen or anywhere they weren’t.

But they weren’t about to let you off that easy.

“Oh, honey, wait,” your aunt called after you, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. “Come here for a second.”

You hesitated, but you knew better than to ignore her. Taking a steadying breath, you walked over, stopping just short of the table.

“Yes?” you asked, keeping your tone polite but distant.

Your mother tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as she gave you a once-over. “What happened to your face?” she asked. “You look pale—and your eyes are all puffy. Are you crying? Or is it just that you didn’t bother with makeup today?”

Your hand instinctively moved to your face, brushing against your cheek as if you could somehow erase their scrutiny. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “Just tired, that’s all.”

“‘Tired,’” your aunt repeated with a chuckle. “You’re always tired, aren’t you? You’re young—you shouldn’t be dragging yourself around like some old woman. Maybe if you didn’t spend so much time doing… whatever it is you do, you’d have a bit more energy.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the burn of their words even though you tried not to. “I’ve been busy,” you said quietly, keeping your eyes fixed on the floor.

“Busy?” your mother echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Doing what? You work here, don’t you? It’s not like you have a high-stress job or anything. Honestly, sometimes I think you use this place as an excuse not to do more with your life.”

Your jaw tightened, and you had to fight the urge to snap back. Instead, you focused on your breathing, counting to five in your head before responding. “I love working here,” you said simply, refusing to rise to their bait.

“Oh, we know you do,” your aunt said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s just that you could do so much more if you tried. But I suppose ambition isn’t for everyone.”

The words landed like a slap, but you kept your expression neutral, refusing to let them see how deeply they cut.

“And what’s with your wrist?” your mother suddenly asked, her gaze zeroing in on the spot where your sleeve had slipped slightly, exposing a faint bruise. “Did you hurt yourself again? Honestly, you’re so clumsy sometimes.”

You quickly pulled your sleeve down, your pulse quickening. “It’s nothing,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just bumped into something.”

Your aunt rolled her eyes. “She’s always bumping into something, isn’t she? Honestly, you’d think she’d learn to be a bit more careful by now.”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, the sting of their words mingling with the ache in your wrist. You wanted to scream, to tell them to stop, to leave you alone—but you knew it wouldn’t make a difference. They’d just twist it around, make it seem like you were overreacting, like you couldn’t take a joke.

Just as you were about to make an excuse to leave, the sound of the front door opening caught your attention. You turned, relief flooding through you as you saw Sae-byeok step inside. She carried herself with the same quiet confidence she always did, her expression calm but her sharp eyes taking in everything.

As she disappeared down the hall to meet Cheol at the visitors area, you started to feel your footsteps follow towards her.

“Where are you going?” your mother called after you, her tone sharp.

“To work,” you said without looking back. “Where I’m supposed to be.”

And with that, you walked away, your heart pounding and your mind racing, wondering just how much Sae-byeok had noticed—and how much she might say.

With Sae-byeok arriving in the middle of the day to have lunch with Cheol, you felt a flicker of relief. Her presence was steady, grounding, and it gave you a chance to remove yourself from the scrutiny of your mom and aunt.

In the comfort of the ‘Visitor Area’ Cheol had been scarfing down his rice, he was halfway through his meal, his chopsticks darting between bites of rice and kimchi, when he suddenly glanced toward the kitchen. “Noona, we should get Miss Kim to eat with us!” he said, his face lighting up with excitement.

Sae-byeok, seated across from him, barely looked up from her plate. “She seems busy,” she replied, though her eyes flicked briefly toward the doorway.

“She’s always busy,” Cheol said with a pout, pushing his tray aside. “If she’s not eating with me, then she's not eating at all! Meaning she’s probably not eating right now. I’ll go get her!”

Before Sae-byeok could say a word, he was already out of his seat and darting toward the kitchen. She sighed, setting her chopsticks down and leaning back in her chair. A part of her agreed with Cheol—she had noticed how you often put everyone else before yourself, to the point of neglecting your own needs, which weighed on her heavier than she'd like to admit. Who was taking care of you while you took care of everyone else?

She couldn’t ponder on the question like she’d wanted to, you appearing only a moment later, reluctantly following Cheol, Sae-byeok straightened in her seat. You were clearly uncomfortable, your arms crossed over your chest as you approached the table. Cheol was practically dragging you along, his enthusiasm radiating as he babbled about how much you needed to join them.

“Miss Kim, sit with us! Pleaseee,” he begged, tugging on your sleeve like an impatient child.

“I really can’t stay long,” you murmured, your voice low and hesitant. But when your eyes briefly met Sae-byeok’s, something in her steady, unreadable gaze made it impossible to refuse.

Cheol pulled out the chair beside Sae-byeok and all but pushed you into it. “See? Was that so hard?” he teased, running to the other side of the table to finish resuming his meal.

You gave a weak smile, your hands fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve as you sat. Sae-byeok noticed immediately how tense you were, the way your shoulders were slightly hunched, as if trying to make yourself smaller.

Cheol chattered away about his day at school, completely oblivious to the subtle undercurrent of unease at the table. “Miss Kim, our teacher said my project was the best! Even better than Donghyun’s! And he always wins everything!”

“That’s great, Cheol,” you replied softly, though your voice lacked its usual warmth.

Sae-byeok’s eyes stayed on you, her food forgotten. She noticed everything—the way your fingers twisted in your lap, the faint shadow of exhaustion under your eyes, the way you flinched ever so slightly whenever Cheol’s excitement made him lean too close. And then her gaze dropped lower, drawn to the movement of your hand as you reached for the spoon.

That’s when she saw it.

Your sleeve slipped just enough to reveal the edge of a bruise on your wrist, dark and unmistakable against your skin. Her stomach dropped, and something sharp and hot coiled in her chest.

Your hand froze midair, and the moment you realized what had happened, panic flashed across your face. You pulled your sleeve down hastily, your fingers trembling. “I’ll go grab some water,” you said quickly, your voice barely above a whisper as you stood.

“Miss Kim?” Cheol asked, confused by your sudden departure.

“I’ll be right back,” you murmured, avoiding both their gazes as you hurried toward the kitchen.

Sae-byeok’s eyes followed you until you disappeared behind the door, her hands clenched into fists beneath the table.

“What’s wrong with Miss Kim?” Cheol asked, frowning. “Did I do something wrong?”

Sae-byeok shook her head, forcing her voice to stay calm. “It’s not you,” she said quietly. “She’s just… tired.”

Cheol nodded slowly, but his worry lingered. “She works so hard. I wish she’d let people take care of her for once.”

Sae-byeok didn’t respond immediately, her thoughts racing. That bruise wasn’t just from some minor accident—she was sure of it. The way you had hidden it so quickly, the fear in your expression, it all pointed to something much worse.

Her jaw tightened as an unfamiliar yet undeniable sense of protectiveness surged within her. She had seen enough in her life to recognize the signs, and the thought of someone hurting you ignited a quiet fury deep in her chest.

She glanced toward the kitchen door again, debating whether to follow you. Every instinct told her to check on you, to make sure you were okay. But she hesitated, unsure if you’d let her in—or if she’d even know what to say.

Cheol’s voice pulled her back to the moment. “Noona, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, though her voice was quieter than usual. She reached over to ruffle his hair, earning a playful glare from him. “Finish your food before it gets cold.”

As Cheol resumed eating, Sae-byeok’s gaze drifted back to the kitchen door. Her thoughts were heavy, as she forced herself to finish her meal. But her thoughts never left the image of that bruise—and the questions it raised.

When it was time for her to leave, she hesitated again. She stood near the door, her hand gripping the strap of her bag tightly as she glanced in your direction. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but something stopped her, and her figure only froze at your figure suddenly appearing around the corner. Both of you looked just as startled to see the other.

Sae-byeok stood there for a moment, her gaze softening as she took a small step closer to the door, giving you the space you needed, even though a part of her didn’t want to leave you alone in that moment. She could feel the weight of her emotions—concern, worry, and a protective instinct she couldn’t ignore—but she couldn’t force you to open up about a topic you seemed guarded about. Not yet.

“I’m going to head out,” Sae-byeok said softly, her voice almost a whisper. She didn’t want to leave you, but she knew staying too long might only make you build your walls up even further. It was better this way. At least, that’s what she told herself.

You barely acknowledged her words, your face still a mixture of tension and exhaustion. You didn’t say anything, didn’t ask her to stay, which only made the silence between you more difficult. The air between you felt thick with unspoken words, a heavy weight neither of you knew how to lift.

Sae-byeok turned toward the door, her heart a little heavier than before. She paused in the doorway, her hand on the handle, and took one last look at you. There was so much she wanted to say, but she didn’t want to overwhelm you. She knew you needed time, and as much as it pained her, she had to respect that.

“I’ll be around,” she added, her voice calm but carrying a sense of reassurance, though she wasn’t sure if you could hear the sincerity behind her words. “If you need anything, I’m just a call away.”

You didn’t respond, your gaze still facing the ground as you nodded to her words, your shoulders relaxing just the slightest bit gave her the smallest bit of relief. That maybe if you really did need something you’d call on her for it.

Sae-byeok left without another word, the door closing softly behind her. She felt a strange pang in her chest—a mixture of sadness and determination. It wasn’t just about the bruises or the pain you were hiding. It was about everything else that lay beneath the surface—the unspoken fears, the silent battles you were fighting on your own. She couldn’t walk away completely, not when she knew you were still hurting. But for now, she would give you the space you needed.

Her fingers brushed over her phone, still tucked in her pocket, as she stepped out into the cool air outside. She wanted to reach out, but she knew she had to give you time. As much as it tore her up, she couldn’t force you to open up.

Slowly, she pulled out her phone as she began her walk to the subway, typing out a simple message: ' Thank you. '

It was a frustratingly inadequate thing to say, but it was all she could manage. The message could have meant anything—gratitude for letting her brother stay, for feeding her, for being kind in ways she didn’t deserve. If you’d asked her, she would have said it was for everything.

Her mind lingered on the bruise she’d glimpsed, the faint shadow of pain you tried to hide. She wanted to know how you’d gotten it, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she stared at her phone, watching as the message shifted from Delivered to Read.

You started typing, the three dots appearing on her screen, but they disappeared just as quickly. Her stomach twisted with unease, but before she could dwell on it, her phone rang.

“Hey,” Ji-yeong’s voice came through, light and casual. “I need help getting this mold out of the gym locker room. Can you come quickly? And grab some bleach on the way.”

Sae-byeok sighed, shoving her phone into her pocket. The questions still swirled in her mind, but for now, they would have to wait.

' 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ' 📷 : @miabcuzz @twicesuuui @kissyslut @kritkalhit @st4rcs @dumbbellxo @theforestchoseme3 @wlvlurvsfimmia @genshinenjoyer @theweirdanimation @ch-3-rry @nenukkjhj @giaqnn @crack240 @pookalicious-hq @laurenkenss @sheinhamood @pooksterrr @bbynai @diorzs @beaaluv @colorfulkittenperfection @yourl0caltrash @kidicaruslover911 @sherryuki-callmeyuki @i0nic02 @knfthxv @mina-has-been-here @monroesturnns @lyuuw

a/n: i'm so sorry 😭 i pinkie swear it gets better later on

[koyagifs]

𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂 𝓭𝓪𝔂

pairing: mingi x reader au: college | supernatural | genre: angst word count: 9.720k synopsis: everyday a different body. everyday a different life. everyday in love with the same girl. warning(s): mentions smoking, bad boyfriend, very toxic relationship. bad yunho and wooyoung. mingi is a simp for the reader. author note: sorry not sorry :(

Mingi hadn’t planned for this. When he first realized he was waking up in someone else’s body each day, his priorities were simple: blend in, figure out their routine, survive the day, and move on. It wasn’t a glamorous life, but it was manageable. He didn’t expect to stumble into anything that would shake the fragile balance he’d created for himself.

But then you happened.

At first, it was just a fleeting curiosity. You were someone who kept popping up no matter where he landed. Your smile, your laugh, the way you carried yourself—it started to stick with him, even when he moved on to another body, another life. He found himself looking for you in crowds, wondering what you might be doing, and hoping, against all odds, that the universe would align and bring him back to your orbit.

When it finally did, he wasn’t prepared.

Being near you felt like everything and nothing all at once—a whirlwind of emotions he couldn’t name, but knew he wanted to hold onto. He tried to act casual, but his heart betrayed him every time you were near. The problem wasn’t just falling for you—it was knowing he couldn’t stay. Tomorrow, he'd be someone else, somewhere else, and you wouldn’t remember him.

But Mingi couldn’t stop himself from wanting more. Against his better judgment, he let himself care. Even if it hurt. Even if it was fleeting. Because with you, every borrowed moment felt like it belonged to him.

When Mingi opened his eyes that morning, it took him a moment to adjust. The light filtering through the blinds was unfamiliar, the weight of the blankets heavier than what he was used to. But that wasn’t new—this was his life now.

He pushed himself up, his limbs sluggish in a way that felt wrong. His hands. They weren’t his. As usual.

Rolling over, he reached for the phone on the nightstand, the first step in piecing together whose life he was borrowing this time. The screen lit up, and his breath caught in his throat.

The wallpaper was you.

Your radiant smile, the one he had memorized, shining back at him. But you weren’t alone. No, your arm was wrapped around the guy he was stuck in—your boyfriend.

Mingi froze, staring at the photo. His stomach twisted, a mix of guilt and nausea washing over him. He hadn’t even known you had someone in your life, let alone someone who clearly meant so much to you. He ran a hand down his face, the unfamiliar contours of another man’s jawline reminding him of his predicament.

His first instinct was to put the phone down, to shove it away and pretend he hadn’t seen it. But the truth stared back at him, undeniable. For the next 24 hours, he was this guy—the man you loved, the one you trusted.

And all he could think was how wrong it felt.

Mingi leaned back, clutching the phone tightly. He knew he shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be privy to this part of your life. But he was. And for the first time since this strange cycle started, he wished he could undo it all. Because loving you was already complicated enough.

Now? It felt impossible.

───

When Mingi saw you, it was like the world shifted on its axis. You were standing at the edge of the park, waving toward him with that warm smile he had come to adore, your eyes lighting up in a way that made his heart ache. For a second, he froze, his body betraying him as if it belonged to him again, as if you were waving at him, not the man whose body he was borrowing.

He had to do a double take, the weight of reality crashing down on him like a cold wave. You’re her boyfriend today, he reminded himself, the thought laced with guilt.

He forced a smile, the one he imagined your boyfriend might give you, and waved back. Each step closer felt like walking a tightrope—one wrong move and you’d see through him. But you didn’t. You rushed up to him, your hands brushing against his as you leaned in for a quick kiss.

Mingi stiffened for a fraction of a second before he leaned into the moment, knowing he had no choice but to play the part. Your touch was gentle, familiar, and it broke his heart because it wasn’t meant for him.

“How was your morning?” you asked, your voice filled with easy warmth as you laced your fingers with his.

Mingi swallowed hard, nodding as he struggled to answer. “It was... good,” he managed, his voice steady even as his heart raced.

You didn’t seem to notice his hesitation, instead tugging him toward the coffee stand nearby. As you talked about your plans for the day, your excitement bubbling over, Mingi tried to focus, tried to memorize every detail of this moment even as it tore at him.

Because tomorrow, he’d be gone. And you’d still belong to someone else.

Mingi shook his head, snapping out of his thoughts as your voice cut through the haze of confusion that had settled over him. He blinked a few times, realizing that he had been staring at you, lost in the swirl of emotions he didn’t know how to process.

"Hello? Earth to Yunho?" You said, waving your hand in front of his face with a teasing smile, clearly unaware of the storm brewing inside him.

Mingi forced a laugh, his heart pounding in his chest. Yunho. Right. I'm Yunho for the day.

"Sorry," Mingi muttered, giving you a sheepish grin. "I just... got distracted."

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "hm well, i'm surprised you're not smoking right now. Did you finally quit?"

He glanced at you, forcing himself to meet your eyes. You were smiling, but there was a softness there, a genuine curiosity in your expression that made him feel even more like an imposter.

“Quit?” Mingi repeated, his voice a little too sharp, a little too detached. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

Mingi’s heart skipped a beat when your smile widened, a playful glint in your eyes as you leaned in, going up on your toes to place a kiss on his lips. It was brief, just a fleeting moment, but it hit him like a thunderclap. He had prepared himself for this—knowing he would have to mimic Yunho’s actions, act like the man you were in love with—but nothing could have prepared him for the rush of feelings that came with that kiss.

You pulled back, still grinning, and linked your arm with his, as if the gesture was second nature. But then, the words slipped from your lips, completely catching him off guard.

“Thank god,” you said, your voice light, teasing, “I always hated kissing you because you would just taste so nasty.”

The words felt like a punch to his gut, a bitter reminder that Mingi was only pretending to be Yunho. That he wasn’t the one who got to share these intimate moments with you. The taste of that kiss, even if it was fleeting and meant for someone else, still lingered on his lips like a cruel joke.

His throat tightened, and for a second, he didn’t know how to respond. His hand clenched instinctively, wanting to pull away from the contact, but he forced himself to stay still, to play the part.

“Yeah?” Mingi forced out a laugh, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll be glad to see I’ve cleaned up my act.”

You chuckled, completely oblivious to the turmoil under the surface. “You better have. I think I can finally kiss you without feeling like I’m about to puke.”

Mingi’s chest felt like it was caving in, the weight of your words suffocating him. It was hard to reconcile the way you spoke to him, so casually, so affectionately, with the gnawing truth that he wasn’t the one you were supposed to be with. It made the whole thing feel so painfully temporary, like a dream he’d eventually wake up from, leaving him with nothing but emptiness.

" have you seen the news baby? I'm really proud of you and wooyoung, i know how much you've been practicing "

Mingi’s stomach tightened at your words, the unexpected shift in topic almost making him forget where he was for a moment. The news? His mind raced, trying to process what you were referring to.

You smiled up at him, clearly excited, but Mingi felt a rush of panic. What had Yunho been practicing?

He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual, even though his heart was pounding in his chest. "Uh, news? What about it?"

You squeezed his arm, your eyes sparkling. "They mentioned you and Wooyoung in the sports segment! You two have been working so hard on your routines. I know it's been tough, but look, it's paying off."

Mingi smiled, trying to mask the unease with a lighthearted tone. “Oh yeah—uh, no, I didn’t see it. I’ll make sure to talk to Wooyoung later,” he said, his words flowing easily even though his mind was spinning. He hoped it sounded convincing enough, but the truth was, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was playing a part in a story that wasn’t his.

You beamed at him, completely unaware of the internal conflict brewing inside him. “You should! I’m sure he’ll be so proud to hear how much you’ve been pushing yourself,” you said, the excitement in your voice only making Mingi feel more like a fraud.

“Yeah, we’ve been at it for a while now,” he replied, the words coming naturally enough, but there was an edge of strain in his voice.

You squeezed his arm again, leaning in a little closer, and Mingi couldn’t help but feel the warmth of your affection. He wished things were different—wished he could be the one deserving of it. But all he could do was wear this borrowed life and act like he belonged.

“I wish i could see you guys in action but i know you don't want me to embarrass you”

Mingi’s chest tightened at your words. You said them with such lightheartedness, as if teasing, but there was an undertone that made him pause. Embarrass you? Did you really think you’d embarrass him? The thought made him ache in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

Mingi’s fists clenched in quiet frustration, the rage bubbling up inside him like a storm he couldn’t control. He was trapped in a life that wasn’t his, playing a part he wasn’t meant to play.

Instead, he forced his breath to steady, his heart still racing as the anger and the ache bled into one overwhelming urge. Without thinking, he pulled you into his arms, his hands wrapping around you tightly, needing to feel your warmth, the pulse of life that reminded him he wasn’t completely lost in this borrowed reality.

“Come to the next one,” Mingi said, his voice low, rough with a mixture of yearning and pain. He could feel your body against his, the steady rhythm of your breath, and in that moment, everything seemed so achingly close—so impossible. “I’d love to see you there.”

His words were sincere, more so than they had been in a long time, but there was an undercurrent of desperation there that even he couldn’t hide. He wanted to believe that, for just a moment, you could see him, not as Yunho, but as someone who really wanted to share a life with you. Even if he couldn’t stay.

You tilted your head back, looking up at him, eyes sparkling with that familiar affection, unaware of the storm brewing inside him. “I’d love to,” you replied with a smile, brushing your hand over his chest in a gesture that felt so intimate, so real. “I’ll be there. You know I’ll always support you.”

And in that instant, Mingi felt the weight of it all—a love he couldn’t claim, a future he couldn’t have. But it didn’t matter. Right now, he had you in his arms, and for once, that was enough to keep him from falling apart.

───

Mingi’s eyes narrowed as he scrolled through Yunho’s phone, the light from the screen casting a cold glow on his face. Each message he passed felt like a punch to the gut. The number of girls Yunho had messaged, the flirtatious banter, the innuendos, it made Mingi’s stomach turn. But it wasn’t just that. It was you—your name kept popping up in the conversations, scattered across messages that were anything but innocent.

Mingi’s eyes burned with fury as he stared at the messages between Yunho and Wooyoung, his hands trembling with a mixture of rage and disbelief. The words on the screen were a blur, but he didn’t need to read them again to know exactly what they were saying. They were talking about you—about how stupid you were to believe in all the late-night practices, how you were just another pawn in their game.

He swallowed hard, trying to push the sick feeling in his stomach down, but it wouldn’t budge. The worst part came when he scrolled further, his breath catching in his throat as he saw the photos. Nude pictures of you—your trust, your vulnerability, turned into a joke between two people who should have known better. They were laughing at you, making fun of you like you were nothing more than an object for their amusement.

Mingi’s vision blurred, his body trembling with the sheer weight of the anger crashing through him. His hands clenched into fists so tightly, his nails digging into his palms, but the pain didn’t even register. How could they do this to you? How could Yunho—betray you like this?

He kept reading, unable to stop himself, the disgust building with every word. The way they laughed about the pictures, talking about how easily they could manipulate you, how you would just keep coming back no matter what they did. And the worst part? They thought you were nothing more than a game. They treated you like you were some toy to pass around, to laugh at, to degrade.

Mingi’s chest felt tight, like the air had been sucked out of the room. His mind raced, the voices of Yunho and Wooyoung echoing in his head, and all he wanted to do was scream, to tear everything apart, to make them feel the weight of their betrayal.

He could already imagine you, the way you must have trusted them, believed in them, thought you were loved. And they had taken that and twisted it into something ugly, something unforgivable.

“How could you?” Mingi whispered, his voice barely audible, as he stared at the screen in disbelief. The phone felt like a foreign object in his hands, the connection to a life he never wanted to be a part of. His throat tightened with the need to lash out, to make things right for you. But in that moment, he couldn’t. All he could do was sit with the rage, the helplessness, and the heartache of knowing that you, of all people, didn’t deserve any of this.

───

Mingi woke up to the sound of a different alarm, the familiar buzz jarring him from sleep. His hand instinctively reached for the phone, his fingers brushing over the screen to silence it. But as he looked at the wallpaper, a picture of a cat stared back at him—A small, irritated groan escaped his lips, a frustrated sound that escaped before he could catch it.

He pushed himself up, groaning in frustration again, running his hands through his hair, trying to clear the fog in his mind. The frustration bubbled up again as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cool floor beneath his feet grounding him.

" san, hurry up! We're going to be late!"

Mingi froze for a moment, the voice pulling him back to reality. San? His mind spun as he realized whose body he was in now. So that's who I'm stuck with today. He grumbled under his breath, dragging his hand over his face, trying to clear his thoughts before walking towards the closet.

"San!" the voice came again, this time more insistent, and Mingi snapped out of his thoughts, his frustration boiling over once more. He slammed the closet door shut and moved toward the door. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming!" he muttered under his breath, trying to force the irritation down.

Mingi made his way down the staircase, his steps slower than usual as the weight of the morning pressed on him. The moment he stepped into the living room, he saw them—Wooyoung and Yunho. They were casually lounging on the couch, talking and laughing, but the instant Mingi's eyes landed on them, the irritation surged within him like a tidal wave.

Wooyoung was the first to notice, his eyes flicking up to Mingi with a mischievous glint. "Someone's in a mood today," he teased, leaning back and crossing his arms. "What’s up with you, San? You look like you’re about to murder someone."

Mingi's jaw clenched, the annoyance already building as he stepped farther into the room, trying to shake off the anger that was threatening to spill over. Of course, Wooyoung would point it out. He knew he wasn’t exactly hiding his frustration well, but it felt impossible to keep his cool when everything around him felt like a mess.

Yunho, lounging lazily beside Wooyoung, caught the tension in the air too, though he didn’t seem to care much. "What’s got you so worked up, San?" he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips as if he knew something Mingi didn’t.

Mingi’s hand curled into a fist for a moment before he forced himself to relax, fighting against the overwhelming urge to snap. He hated that he couldn’t just be himself, that he had to pretend to be someone else when it felt like the world around him was falling apart. But the last thing he wanted was for them to know that he wasn’t really San.

" dude you with yn all day yesterday, what was up with that?" Wooyoung asked, looking at Yunho in confusion.

Mingi’s stomach dropped as Wooyoung’s words cut through the silence of the kitchen. He could feel his pulse race in his neck, the tension so thick it made the air feel suffocating.

" what the fuck are you talking about? why would i spend the whole day with her?" yunho asked.

Mingi gulped at he looked at the two. Wooyoung blinked, clearly thrown off by Yunho’s defensive response. “Dude, I don’t know, I just heard from a few people that you were with Yn all day yesterday. No one could get ahold of you, and you weren’t answering your phone.”

Yunho scoffed, " i don't even remember yesterday. All i remember is playing games with you the night before."

Mingi's throat went dry as he tried to process the exchange before he left. He needed to find you and quick.

───

You jumped when you San approached you, confusing you as you held your bag close to you. Mingi’s heart skipped a beat as he approached you, the sharp tension in his chest still lingering from earlier and last night.

" you're yn right" Mingi’s voice came out much softer than he intended, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you’d notice something was off.

You looked up at him, confusion flashing across your face. It didn’t seem like you expected him—San—to be the one to approach you like this.

“Yeah, I’m Yn...” Your voice trailed off, still unsure about his sudden appearance. “i'm sorry but- who are you? ”

Mingi froze at your question, his pulse quickening, trying to stay calm, he forced a smile, though it came off as awkward and a little too stiff. “Oh, uh… I’m San, don’t you recognize me?” His voice sounded off even to his own ears, not the usual warmth and familiarity that came with being in San’s body. He cursed under his breath mentally, wishing he could have gotten a grip on the situation before it escalated.

You frowned, still holding your bag close, clearly skeptical. “San?” You repeated, your eyes scanning him, trying to figure out if something was off.

Then your eyes widen as you recognized him, " oh! you're yunho's teammate. Sorry, yunho didn't really introduce me to his teammates, said it was too soon."

Mingi felt fury rush him as you smiled up at him, " yeah..his teammate. Sorry he can such a dick sometimes,"

Mingi’s eyes flickered with a mix of frustration and something else as you stepped back, your expression faltering. He could feel the tension building in his chest. Your defense of Yunho—he’s not a dick—set something off in him, but he tried to hold it together, the fury bubbling just beneath the surface. He didn’t have time to process it all, not when he was already teetering on the edge of control.

The hiss that escaped his lips surprised even him, sharp and filled with emotion he didn’t want to acknowledge. “Can we talk? Somewhere private?” His voice came out more intense than he intended, and he immediately regretted the sharpness.

You seemed to hesitate for a split second, but then you nodded, your voice soft as you agreed, “Sure, San, we can.”

Mingi fought the urge to sigh in relief. At least he had a chance to talk to you, to try to make sense of the situation. He led the way, his thoughts racing.

As you followed him, Mingi kept his pace steady, his steps purposeful. But every time he looked back at you, the soft, uncertain way you moved, the trust in your eyes, it stirred something inside him that made his stomach twist.

When you reached a quiet corner in the hallway, away from the others, Mingi turned to face you, his heart still hammering in his chest. He could feel his pulse in his ears, the silence between you both thick with unspoken words. His eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

“I need to know something, Yn,” he began, his voice low and tense. “What do you really think of Yunho?”

You looked at him confused, " that he loves me and that -"

“He doesn’t,” Mingi’s voice came out sharper than he intended, cutting through the space between you both like a blade. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, but he kept them still, the fury barely contained beneath the surface.

You looked at him, confusion and concern growing in your eyes. “San, what are you talking about? Yes he does.”

You sounded so sure, so certain that Yunho loved you, and that belief—those words—drove Mingi mad. He couldn’t let you continue to believe in something that felt so hollow to him, something he had seen with his own eyes—the lies, the distance, the way Yunho treated you like an afterthought.

“Sure, I don’t go to his games and I never met any of his friends, but he loves me in his own ways.”

Mingi’s heart pounded painfully in his chest, the words stinging more than they should have. He felt anger surge through him, but there was something else mixed in with it—a twinge of something darker, more personal, a mix of envy and bitterness that he wasn’t prepared to confront.

“No, Yn, he doesn’t love you,” Mingi bit out, his voice strained. He took a step forward, unable to hold back the frustration. “Not in the way you think. He doesn’t love you, not like you deserve.”

The words tumbled out before he could stop them, as if the fury and the hurt had finally found their voice. He wanted to take them back the second they left his mouth, but it was too late. The damage was done.

You blinked, the confusion on your face slowly turning to something else—hurt? Disbelief? “What are you saying? Why are you saying this?” Your voice wavered, the trust you’d had in Yunho seeming to crack under the weight of his words.

Mingi swallowed hard, guilt flashing through him, but he couldn’t stop now. “I’m saying he’s not the person you think he is. He’s playing games, and he’s stringing you along. I’m telling you this because I care about you—” he caught himself, realizing how that might sound. But he couldn’t backpedal. Not now. “You deserve better than this, Yn.”

" ... but you're not any better and im surprised you're even talking to me right now. You hate me San, why should i believe anything you're saying?"

Mingi froze at your words, the sting of your accusation cutting deeper than anything he had expected. His breath hitched as you spoke, and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air between you both.

Your gaze was intense, but there was hurt there too—a deep, raw kind of hurt that made Mingi’s throat tighten. His mind reeled, unsure how to respond. It was a moment where he could either try to salvage whatever fragile trust you might still have or tear everything down completely.

He wanted to say something, anything to make you understand, but his thoughts were muddled. The frustration, the anger, the guilt—it all tangled together in a mess he didn’t know how to untangle.

“You’re right,” Mingi finally muttered, his voice quiet and heavy with a mixture of frustration and resignation. He couldn't lie to you anymore, couldn’t pretend like everything was fine. “I… I’ve been a dick to you. I know that. I’ve been awful, and I’m not gonna pretend like I’m some perfect guy who knows how to fix everything.”

He exhaled sharply, trying to steady himself, the tension in his body palpable. “But that doesn’t change what I’m saying. About Yunho. About what he’s doing.”

He wasn’t sure if he was still speaking in Yunho’s voice, but at that moment, it didn’t matter. He just needed you to see the truth.

“I know I’ve treated you badly, but you’re right about one thing—I don’t hate you. I’ve never hated you. And I wouldn’t say any of this if I didn’t care.” His voice softened, the anger and defensiveness fading, replaced by something more raw. “You deserve more than someone who isn’t there for you. You deserve better than Yunho.”

Mingi bit his lip, unsure if the words were enough. He wasn’t sure if you’d believe him, but he couldn’t stand by and watch you fall for someone who was lying to you.

Mingi stood frozen, his chest tightening with each step you took away from him. The sight of you walking away, tears streaming down your face, hit him harder than he ever expected. His anger, his frustration—it all seemed meaningless in that moment, swallowed by the guilt that gnawed at him.

I shouldn’t have said that. The thought echoed in his mind, but there was no taking back the words now. He had tried to warn you about Yunho, but at what cost? He had only made you cry, made you doubt everything.

He watched you retreat, each step further away from him, and a pang of regret struck him so deep it felt like a physical blow. He should have handled this differently. He should have been better—kinder, more understanding. Instead, he had let his emotions and frustrations get the best of him, and now you were walking away, hurt by the very person who had promised to look out for you.

“Yn, wait...” Mingi finally called out, his voice weak and desperate. He took a few steps forward, but his feet felt heavy, like he wasn’t even sure if you’d stop for him.

He wasn’t sure if it was pride, guilt, or something else that kept him from moving faster to catch up, but he felt rooted to the spot. The last thing he wanted was for you to walk away with that look on your face, feeling like he had betrayed your trust.

But it was too late.

Mingi could only watch helplessly as you walked away, his heart sinking lower with each passing second.

You walked right up to Yunho who smiled widely at you, cigarette in hand. You seemed to hesitate for just a moment, your eyes flicking to the cigarette before you looked up at Yunho’s face. The memory of yesterday—the way Yunho had treated you, felt like a lie.

" I thought you quit?" you asked, your voice soft. It was a simple question, but it carried so much more meaning. The disappointment, the worry—it was all there in your voice.

Yunho looked at you with confusion in his eyes, as if the question didn’t even register. “What are you talking about?” he asked, his tone casual, like he didn’t even care that it might hurt you.

" yesterday - when we literally spend all day together?" you asked, confused.

Yunho put out the cigarette with a slow, deliberate motion, shaking his head as he responded, “Why is everyone saying that?” His tone was dismissive, almost annoyed, like it didn’t matter at all.

Your heart sank as you process his words. " we were at the park? you even invited me to the game..."

Yunho stood there, still distant, not understanding the gravity of the situation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, almost bored with the conversation. He clearly wasn’t taking you seriously, and that broke your heart.

" and don't bother coming to the game, you know how embarrassing you can be"

Your jaw dropped and was ready to speak but you felt a hand on your shoulder - pushing you back. You looked at San in confusion.

The sound of Mingi’s fist connecting with Yunho’s nose echoed through the air, and for a brief, horrifying moment, everything went silent. The sickening crack reverberated through the space, leaving you frozen in shock. You gasped, your eyes wide as you stared at the scene unfolding before you.

Mingi stood there, chest heaving with anger, eyes blazing with fury, while Yunho stumbled back, clutching his nose. Blood began to drip from Yunho’s nostrils, staining the front of his shirt as he glared at Mingi with a mix of shock and rage.

“What the fuck, San!?” Yunho shouted, his voice thick with disbelief and pain. He wiped at his nose with the back of his hand, his face contorted in a mixture of anger and surprise.

You stood there, unsure of what to do, your heart racing as your mind tried to process what had just happened. Mingi had—he had hit Yunho. It was almost like something snapped inside of him, like all the anger and frustration he had been holding back finally erupted. But now, the air between the three of you was thick with tension, and you didn’t know whether to step in, back away, or just scream.

Mingi’s hands were still clenched into fists, but his expression had shifted. It wasn’t just rage anymore—it was something deeper, something that had been building for far too long. The fury that had driven him to strike Yunho wasn’t just about the current moment. It was about everything that had come before—the hurt he saw you endure, the lies Yunho had fed you, and the way he had dismissed your feelings.

He took a shaky breath, his jaw tight as he stared at Yunho. “You don’t get to treat her like that anymore, Yunho.” His voice was low, controlled, but you could hear the weight of the emotion behind it. “You don’t get to belittle her, use her, and make her feel worthless.”

Yunho sneered, still holding his bleeding nose. “Who the fuck do you think you are, huh?”

But Mingi didn’t back down. He stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. “I’m someone who’s not going to stand by and watch you destroy her,” he spat, his voice thick with conviction.

You still stood frozen, the shock of it all hitting you harder than anything you had ever expected. This was more than a fight—it was a breaking point, and you could feel the weight of it all crashing down on you. The air around you felt heavy with unspoken words, and you weren’t sure how to fix this.

But what was clearer than anything in that moment was that something inside Mingi had finally snapped. He wasn’t going to let you be a victim to Yunho anymore—not in his body, not in any world.

───

Mingi watched you shakily take the tissue from him, his heart aching at the sight of your tears. He never wanted to see you like this—broken and crying, caught in the aftermath of a mess that should’ve never happened in the first place. Your body shook with sobs, and it made everything in him ache with a kind of helplessness he hadn’t expected to feel.

“I... I didn’t want this to happen,” Mingi said softly, his voice breaking through the silence between you two. He stepped a little closer, but his eyes stayed focused on the ground, not wanting to invade your space too much. “I didn’t want you to see all of this. I just—I couldn’t stay quiet anymore.”

You sniffled, wiping your eyes, and Mingi felt a rush of guilt. He had never imagined things would go this far—never expected to end up so tangled in your life, in Yunho’s mess. But here he was, watching you struggle to piece things together, watching as your faith in Yunho shattered.

“San, you didn’t have to do that,” you whispered, still unsure of how to even respond to everything. The words barely escaped your lips, tinged with the disbelief that still clung to you.

Mingi hesitated, his fingers twitching at his sides, wanting to reach out, but unsure if you wanted him to. He felt so many emotions swirl inside him—anger at Yunho, guilt for hurting you like this, but also something softer, something protective.

“I couldn’t just stand there and watch him do this to you,” he said, his voice more steady now, but still laced with emotion. “You don’t deserve to be treated like this. You deserve so much better than him.”

Mingi’s heart ached as you shook your head, still trying to make sense of everything. He could see the confusion and hurt in your eyes, the weight of everything that had just happened pressing down on you. You barely whispered a “thanks…” as you took the tissue from him, and it made something in his chest tighten.

" yn.."

Mingi’s heart sank as you stood up and asked, “San, please… can this wait for another day?” Your words cut through him like a cold wave, leaving him frozen in place. His chest tightened, and his breath caught in his throat as he watched you walk away, leaving him standing there, helpless and unsure.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out. He wanted to stop you, to tell you that he understood, that he was here for you no matter what. But the silence that followed felt like the only answer he could give.

───

Mingi’s stomach churned as he stepped into the house, the sight of Hongjoong and Yunho on the couch immediately making his heart drop. Yunho, with a bandage on his nose, was glaring at him with an intensity that Mingi could feel even from across the room. The atmosphere was thick with tension, and Mingi knew this was coming.

“San, want to explain what happened?” Hongjoong’s voice was calm, but the undercurrent of frustration was unmistakable.

Mingi’s mind raced, his thoughts tangled in the chaos of the day. The confrontation with Yunho, the way he’d lashed out, the look in your eyes when you walked away from him—it all felt like a whirlwind he could barely keep up with.

He opened his mouth, but no words came at first. He couldn’t just apologize. He couldn’t just pretend that hitting Yunho was some isolated incident. It was about more than that. It was about everything Yunho had done to you, everything he had seen you suffer through.

He let out a shaky breath, trying to steady himself. “I’m not sorry for what I did,” Mingi said, his voice raw but steady. He wasn’t backing down now. He’d already crossed a line, and it wasn’t just about the fight anymore. “He had it coming.”

Yunho's eyes narrowed, and he sat up straighter on the couch. “What the fuck are you talking about?” His voice was laced with disbelief and anger. “I don't know what your fucking problem is, but that doesn’t give you the right to hit me like that.”

Mingi clenched his fists at his sides, the anger that had been simmering all day bubbling back to the surface. “You don’t get to treat her like that, Yunho. You don’t get to make her feel worthless, and you sure as hell don’t get to talk about her like she’s nothing.”

Hongjoong sighed, rubbing his temples as if he’d seen this coming. “San…”

“She’s not nothing,” Mingi shot back, his voice louder now, the emotion he’d been holding in finally breaking through. “She deserves more than the way you’ve been treating her. She deserves more than the lies you’ve been feeding her.”

Yunho looked at him like he was insane. “You don’t know anything about what I’ve been doing, San.”

Mingi took a step forward, his eyes locked onto Yunho’s with an intensity that surprised even him. “I know enough. I know how you’ve been treating her, and I’m done letting you get away with it.”

There was a long silence, the tension between the three of them palpable. Mingi felt like he was standing on the edge of something he couldn’t turn back from. He knew that what he’d done—what he’d said—had pushed things too far, but he wasn’t going to apologize for standing up for you. Not now.

Hongjoong finally broke the silence, his voice calm but firm. “San, you’re not wrong to be angry. But this isn’t the way to handle it.”

Mingi’s chest heaved with frustration. “I don’t care anymore, Hongjoong. I’ve had enough.”

Yunho opened his mouth to argue, the anger still clear in his expression, but as Mingi turned to leave, something about the finality in his stance stopped him. The intensity of Mingi’s words, the anger he had shown, and the unspoken weight behind them seemed to deflate Yunho, just a little. He sank back into the couch, a frown pulling at his features as he wiped his hand over his face in frustration.

Hongjoong observed the shift in the room, his eyes flicking between Yunho and Mingi's retreating form. He didn’t say anything for a moment, his gaze lingering on Yunho, who was now looking smaller than he had just moments ago. The tension was still thick in the air, but it felt different now—Mingi had made it clear that he wasn’t going to just let things slide anymore. Yunho's usual confidence seemed shaken, even if he didn’t want to show it.

Mingi didn’t look back as he walked away, his steps purposeful and heavy, the weight of the day still hanging over him. His chest still ached from everything he had witnessed, everything he had seen you go through. He didn’t know how to fix this, how to make things right for you. But one thing was clear—he wasn’t going to let Yunho get away with hurting you any longer.

And for the first time, Mingi didn’t feel the need to apologize. He wasn’t wrong.

When he made it to his room, he collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, his mind racing with everything that had happened. He wasn’t sure if you would ever forgive him for getting involved in such a mess, but he knew one thing for sure: he was done sitting back.

───

You stood there, a little taken aback by Seonghwa’s sudden appearance and his nervous demeanor. His usual calm, collected nature seemed to have been replaced by a subtle unease as he rubbed his palm against his jeans. The way he hesitated made you feel even more confused, wondering what he wanted to talk about in this empty classroom.

“Seonghwa, what’s going on?” you asked, your voice softer, but still unsure about the situation. “You look like you’re about to confess something.”

Seonghwa blinked, his gaze flickering away for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “I… uh… I need to talk to you about something,” he started, his voice a little more hesitant than usual. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way.”

You raised an eyebrow, a small frown pulling at your features. “What’s going on? Is this about Yunho? Because honestly, I don’t—”

“No, it’s not about Yunho,” Seonghwa interrupted, though his voice still carried a tone of uncertainty. “It’s about… something else. It’s about me.”

You stared at him, the confusion only deepening as Seonghwa’s words seemed to hang in the air. “About you? What do you mean?”

Mingi let out a sigh, " i'm not seonghwa- at least, not for today."

Your eyes widened as you processed Mingi’s words. The room seemed to hold its breath, and for a moment, you couldn’t quite believe what you were hearing. Seonghwa wasn't himself? Not today? The realization hit you like a cold wave.

“Wait, what do you mean you’re not Seonghwa?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, confusion overwhelming you. You took a cautious step back, looking at him closely, trying to see if there was something you missed. But everything about his demeanor felt like Mingi—yet the way he spoke felt different, too.

Mingi let out a small, frustrated chuckle as he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly not expecting this reaction. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but I’m actually in Seonghwa’s body right now. It’s… complicated,” he explained, glancing away for a moment. “But it’s me, Yn. Mingi. I don’t know how to make sense of all this either, but I’m the one here.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you felt tears weld up " if this is some sick joke -"

Mingi’s expression hardened at your words, and he took a deep breath, trying to steady his emotions. He could see how upset you were, how hurt—and that only made him feel worse. He had never intended for you to think this was a joke, but he understood why you might think that, given everything that had been happening.

“It’s not a joke, Yn,” he said quietly, his voice carrying an edge of pain. He took a step closer, careful not to invade your space, but wanting to make it clear that he was serious. “I swear to you, this is real. I’m in Seonghwa’s body right now, but I’m still the same Mingi. I’m not playing games with you.”

You took a step back, feeling the lump form in your throat. You couldn’t tell if you were angry, confused, or just emotionally drained from everything that had been going on.

" hwa, you know how much i miss mingi but you playing this stupid trick on me is ridiculous "

Mingi froze at your words, his heart sinking. He knew this was going to be hard to explain, but hearing you say his name like that—believing he was someone else entirely—cut deeper than he expected.

“Yn, I’m not trying to trick you,” he said softly, the desperation in his voice unmistakable. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I know how much you miss me—because I miss you, too. But I swear, it’s me.”

You shook your head, backing away further as tears welled in your eyes. “Stop it, Seonghwa. Just... stop. You don’t get to play games like this. I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but pretending to be Mingi? That’s low. Even for you.”

Mingi stepped closer to you, holding you by your shoulders, " yn, please you have to believe me. I've been searching for you since -"

You tugged away from him, " just stop it seonghwa, did yunho put you up to this?"

“Yn, this isn’t Yunho. This isn’t Seonghwa. It’s me, Mingi.” His voice cracked with desperation, but he forced himself to keep going, knowing that if he gave up now, you might never believe him.

You stared at him, your chest heaving as you tried to process everything. The way he spoke, the way he looked at you—it felt familiar, but your heart couldn’t let you believe it. It was too much, too surreal, and it felt like a cruel trick. “How am I supposed to believe you?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “How am I supposed to know you’re not just saying what you think I want to hear?”

Mingi hesitated for a moment, his mind racing. He knew he had to say something that only he would know—something to prove to you that he wasn’t lying. “Do you remember the night we got stuck in the rain?” he said, his voice quieter now, almost tentative. “You were so mad because I dragged you out without an umbrella, but then you started laughing because we ended up dancing in the middle of the street. You said it was the happiest you’d felt in months. You kissed me right there, even though we were soaked.”

Your breath hitched, the memory rushing back like a tidal wave. It wasn’t something you’d ever shared with anyone else, not even Seonghwa. Your walls started to crack, the anger and confusion giving way to something else—something terrifyingly vulnerable.

“How... how do you know that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mingi stepped closer, his expression softening. “Because I was there, Yn. It was me. It’s always been me.”

“It’s not possible,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

Mingi felt a lump in his throat as he watched you struggle with everything he’d just said. He took a hesitant step forward, his voice softer now, pleading. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I promise you, it’s me. Look at me, Yn. Really look at me. Can you honestly say you don’t feel it? That you don’t recognize me?”

Your lips trembled as you glanced up at him, and for a moment, you let yourself meet his gaze. There was something in his eyes—something achingly familiar—that made your chest tighten. But it didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.

“Stop it, Seonghwa,” you said again, though your voice was weaker now, less certain. “Just... stop. Please.”

Mingi swallowed hard, his heart breaking at the sight of your tears. He wanted to reach out, to hold you, to make you believe him—but he knew that pushing too hard would only drive you further away.

“I’m not giving up on you, Yn,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the pain he felt. “Even if you don’t believe me right now, I’m not going to stop trying to show you the truth. You mean too much to me.”

Without waiting for a response, Mingi turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, torn between the impossibility of his words and the nagging feeling in your heart that maybe, just maybe, he was telling the truth.

───

Seonghwa glanced up from his phone, his sharp features softening when he saw you. He nodded, offering a small smile as he slipped the phone into his pocket. “Of course, Yn. What’s up?”

You shifted on your feet, suddenly second-guessing your decision to approach him. The memory of your last conversation with him—or whoever he’d been that day—still lingered, leaving you with more questions than answers.

“It’s about... the other day,” you started, your voice barely above a whisper. “What you said to me... about Mingi.”

Seonghwa’s expression froze for a split second before he quickly recovered, his brow furrowing in concern. “i'm sorry ynie, but i can't remember anything from yesterday. Did i say something to upset you? "

Your heart sank at his words, the weight of confusion and frustration pressing down on your chest. His tone was sincere, his expression genuinely concerned—but that only made it worse.

“You don’t remember?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Seonghwa shook his head, his brow furrowing deeper as he took a step closer to you. “No, I don’t. Yn, if I said something to hurt you or upset you, I’m really sorry. It wasn’t my intention.”

You stared at him, searching his face for any sign that he was lying. But all you saw was sincerity, which only made the situation more confusing. “You didn’t hurt me, Seonghwa. It’s just... the things you said—they didn’t make sense. You talked about Mingi, about things only he would know, and... I don’t understand how you could know them.”

Seonghwa’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of something—panic, maybe—crossing his features before he quickly masked it. “Mingi? Yn, are you sure you’re not mixing things up? Maybe I said something that reminded you of him, but—”

“No!” you interrupted, your voice trembling. “It wasn’t just that. You knew things, Hwa. Personal things. Things I’ve never told anyone. And now you’re telling me you don’t remember?”

Seonghwa hesitated, his jaw tightening as he glanced away for a moment, as if searching for the right words. When he looked back at you, his gaze was softer, almost pleading. “Yn, I swear, I’m not trying to confuse you or mess with you. I really don’t remember anything from yesterday.”

Your shoulders slumped as the lump in your throat grew. You wanted to believe him—you really did—but the nagging feeling in your chest wouldn’t let you let it go. “I don’t know what’s going on, Seonghwa, but something isn’t right. And I can’t just ignore it.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I get it. If I were you, I’d feel the same way. But I promise you, if I remember anything or figure out what’s going on, I’ll tell you. Okay?”

You nodded reluctantly, though the unease in your chest remained. “Okay.”

As Seonghwa gave you a reassuring smile and walked away, you couldn’t help but feel like you were missing something—like there was a truth just out of reach, waiting to be uncovered.

You glanced up, your heart still racing from the sudden interruption. The person next to you gave a sheepish smile, their presence radiating a kind of easy charm that put you slightly at ease despite your initial shock.

“hi ynnie,"

Your face paled as you looked at the stranger. " can i help you?"

The stranger put his bag down as he put his and your laptop close together. " sorry i disappeared a few days. I got stuck a couple hours away. I'm actually glad i woke up in Yeosang body."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, your body tensing as you stared at him. “What did you just say?”

The stranger—Yeosang, or whoever was claiming to be in his body—smiled softly, leaning in slightly to keep his voice low. “I said I’m glad I woke up in Yeosang’s body. It’s me, Yn. It’s Mingi.”

Your breath hitched, your mind racing as you processed what he’d just said. “This isn’t funny,” you whispered sharply, glancing around to make sure no one else was paying attention. “If this is some kind of sick joke—”

“It’s not a joke,” he interrupted, his tone calm but firm. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s me. I’ve been trying to get back to you ever since... well, since everything started happening.”

You shook your head, your hands trembling slightly as you clutched the edge of your desk. “No, this doesn’t make any sense. You’re not—Mingi’s gone.”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but think about it. Think about what I told you when I was in Seonghwa’s body. Or when I was in San’s. You know it’s me, Yn. Deep down, you know.”

His words sent a chill down your spine. He was saying things that no one else could know, things that lined up too perfectly with the strange events of the past few days. But how could it be true?

“If it’s really you... prove it,” you demanded, your voice barely above a whisper.

Yeosang—or Mingi, as he claimed—nodded, his expression softening. “maybe we can go somewhere private?

You hesitated, your gaze flickering to Yeosang’s—or Mingi’s—face. The sincerity in his eyes made your heart ache, but the sheer impossibility of his claim left you rooted to your seat.

“I... I don’t know,” you stammered, glancing around nervously. The other students in the room were too focused on their own conversations to notice the tension between you two, but it still felt like the walls had ears. “This is... a lot.”

Mingi nodded in understanding, his voice soft but steady. “I get it. It’s overwhelming. But please, just give me a chance to explain. Somewhere quiet, where no one can overhear us.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of everything pressing down on you. Against your better judgment, you found yourself nodding. “Fine. After class.”

Relief washed over his face, and he gave a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Ynnie. That’s all I’m asking for.”

The professor walked in moments later, starting the lecture. You tried to focus, but your mind kept wandering to the person sitting next to you. You didn’t know what to believe, but one thing was clear: whatever was happening, it wasn’t ordinary.

When the class ended, Mingi—or Yeosang—waited for you at the door. He didn’t say anything, just gestured for you to follow him. You walked in silence, your nerves twisting into knots with every step.

Finally, you found yourself in an empty corner of the library, tucked away behind rows of bookshelves. The air felt heavier here, as if the truth you were about to hear carried its own gravity.

Mingi turned to face you, his expression serious. “ask me anything, to prove that i'm mingi"

You looked up at him, " what did i say to you on our last night together.."

Mingi’s eyes softened, and for a moment, the confident façade cracked, revealing the vulnerability beneath. He hesitated, as if the memory was too precious to put into words. Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet and tinged with emotion.

“You said... you weren’t ready to say goodbye.” His gaze met yours, unwavering. “You kept trying to act strong, but I could see how much it hurt you. You held onto my hand like you never wanted to let go, and you told me you’d wait for me, no matter how long it took. That you’d always believe in me.”

Your breath hitched, tears pricking at your eyes. “And then?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“And then, I told you I’d come back to you. That no matter what happened, I’d find a way. I promised you, Ynnie, and I meant it.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with the weight of the truth you couldn’t deny. No one else could have known that—no one but Mingi.

Your legs felt weak, and you stumbled slightly, gripping the edge of a nearby bookshelf for support. “Mingi... it really is you, isn’t it?”

He stepped closer, his hands hovering as if afraid to touch you, afraid this moment wasn’t real. “It’s me, Yn. I’m here.”

A sob escaped your lips as you covered your mouth, overwhelmed by the whirlwind of emotions. Relief, confusion, anger, and love all collided, leaving you breathless.

“How is this possible? How are you here, in his body?” you choked out.

Mingi looked down, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know. I don’t understand it either. I’ve been waking up in different people’s bodies for months, trying to find my way back to you. Every time, I get closer, but I don’t know how to stop it or why it’s happening.”

You reached out instinctively, grabbing his wrist as if anchoring yourself to the moment. “I thought I lost you forever, Mingi...”

He shook his head, his voice firm. “You’ll never lose me. I’ll keep fighting to stay with you, no matter what it takes.”

You sobbed on his chest as he held you tightly. " what happens now?"

Mingi shrugged his shoulders, " hopefully, i wake up in my body and i make my way back you. permanently this time,"

You clung to him, the weight of his words sinking in. “But what if you don’t? What if this doesn’t end?” The fear that had been gnawing at you all this time crept back into your chest, tight and suffocating.

Mingi’s hands gently cupped your face, lifting your head so he could look into your eyes. There was a softness there, but also determination. “I don’t know what will happen, Yn. But I know this...” His thumb gently traced the edge of your cheek. “No matter what, I’ll keep fighting to come back to you. I promise.”

His voice, though full of uncertainty, was unwavering in its conviction. And even in the face of the unknown, you felt the weight of his promise settle in your heart.

You nodded, wiping your tears away, trying to steady your breathing. “I believe you. I just... I just want you to stay.”

Mingi gave a soft smile, his hands still holding you gently, as if afraid to let go. “I’m here now, and I’ll be here as long as I can.”

You took a deep breath, trying to gather yourself, to believe that this wasn’t just a dream you’d wake up from. But even if it was—no matter how impossible it seemed—you weren’t willing to give up on this, on him, on the chance that somehow, someway, you’d be able to find your way through it together.

"Then I’ll wait for you, Mingi.” You whispered, your voice filled with determination of your own. "No matter how long it takes."

[miamidorin]

𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

pairing ── kim minji x female reader

summary ── minji doesn't believe in soulmates, more than believing in fate until her red string around her pinky finger tugs her in to meet her soulmate.

contains ── angst, non idol au, high school au, emotional, crying, painful, painfully relatable minji, heartbroken reader, soulmates au, red strings/thread

taglist ── @flyingcigarettes

[masterlist]

── ── ꒰ 𓍼 ꒱ ── ──

the classroom was as it always was— a place where pens scratched on paper, muted conversations filled the air, and the sunlight filtered in through the clear windows. but for minji, it was a prison.

a prison, one whose walls were painted with the vibrant red of the string tied around her pinky finger. she stared at it blankly, her lips set in a thin line, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts she couldn't escape.

it had been a month since the string appeared. a month of sleepless nights of staring at the glowing thread and wondering who was on the other side. a month of bitterness gnawing at her heart.

her parents had once been soulmates, their fingers tied by the same ethereal string that mocked her now. and where had that gotten them?

divorced. broken. bitter.

soulmates weren't forever. love wasn't eternal. the idea of fate was nothing but a cruel joke.

minji clenched her jaw and flicked the string with her finger as if trying to snap it. obviously, it didn't snap. it simply quivered, swaying back into place like it was taunting her.

she wanted to hate whoever was on the other side of the string. they were a stranger, a faceless figure tied to her by some cosmic force she had no control over— and yet, she couldn't bring herself to hate them— not truly.

but she could resent them, and she did.

"minji, are you even listening?" a familiar voice cut through her jumbled thoughts.

she blinked, her head snapping up to meet her friend's annoyed gaze. "what?" she muttered annoyingly.

hanni sighed, "i was asking if you're coming to the cafe after school."

minji shook her head, exhaustion finally catching up to her. "i've got stuff to do." the excuse was as empty as she felt. right now, she doesn't want to deal with anyone in this sort of state. she doesn't feel like it.

"right..." hanni rolled her eyes but didn't press further.

minji was grateful for that— the last thing she wanted was to explain why she'd been zoning out more than usual lately.

as hanni turned away, minji's eyes wandered around until they suddenly landed on you.

you were seated a few rows ahead, your head bent over your notebook, your hair fell into your face, and you absentmindedly pushed it back behind your eyes, revealing a look of quiet concentration.

minji's gaze drifted lower— to your hand, where your pinky finger rested against the table. then, her breath caught in her throat when she saw it: the red string.

your red string, swaying softly against the table.

you must have felt her stare because you looked up. for a moment, your eyes met hers— it was like the world around her faded away, leaving only the soft warmth of your gaze.

as she stares at you more, you look... kind. nervous, but kind. and when your eyes flickered down to the strings connecting the two of you, minji's stomach twisted.

she tore her gaze away, her heart pounding in her chest and her cheeks warming in red. she hated this feeling— the way you made her feel vulnerable and exposed. the way her thoughts seemed to circle back to you no matter how hard she tried to focus on anything else.

she hated it.

she hated you.

— no. that wasn't true.

she hated herself for not being able to hate you.

─────

the day dragged on, and each seconds felt like an eternity.

minji avoided looking at you, but it was impossible to ignore the way her mind kept replaying that brief moment when your eyes had met. when the final bell rang, she practically bolted out of her seat, eager to escape the suffocating weight of her own thoughts.

"minji," your voice abruptly stopped her in her tracks.

she looked down to the floor, then she turned slowly, her expression carefully neutral. you were standing a few feet away, clutching the strap of your bag and looking at her with a mixture of determination and hesitation.

"can we talk?" you asked her, your voice soft but steady. "behind... the school?"

"i..." she wanted to refuse you, to walk away and pretend this wasn't happening. but the words caught in her throat, and before she knew it, she was nodding.

minji's heart sank. she didn't need to ask what this was about. she knew. how could she not? the string tied you both together like a cruel joke, and now, the punchline was here.

─────

the back of the school was quiet, save for the rustling of leaves in the breeze. the sun was low on the horizon, casting long shadows and painting the shy in hues of orange and pink.

minji leaned against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest, her heart thumping rapidly as she watched you fidget nervously a few feet away.

you were quiet for a moment, clouded gaze fixed on the ground.

then you took a deep breath and looked up at her. minji felt herself flinching slightly. "i... i have been thinking about this for a while, minji." you began, your voice trembling slightly.

"about the red string."

minji's stomach churned. she stayed silent, her expression unreadable, one that she had to keep to hide the pain.

"i won't lie," you continued, your hands clutching the hem of your uniform shirt.

"i'm scared." her breath hitched, "the idea of having a soulmate... it's terrifying. what if it doesn't work out? what if it just... hurts in the end?" your breath trembles so much, and minji's chest tightened. she knew that fear all too well.

"but," you said, your voice slightly gaining strength. "i think it's worth trying, minji." you looked into her eyes, her heart pounding relentlessly.

"if this string means we're meant to be together, then i want to embrace it. i want to embrace you."

her breath hitched further, to the point she couldn't breathe. the sincerity in your voice, the hope in your eyes— it was all too much. her walls, the ones she had carefully built over years of bitterness and pain, began to crack.

because of you, one of her circle of friends and one she fears of having her fate intertwined with.

"no," she said abruptly, her voice was sharper than she intended.

...

you blinked, taken aback. "...what?"

minji pushed off the wall, her hands balled tightly into fists at her sides. "i don't want this," she said, her tone cold and distant. "i don't want you, y/n."

the words tasted bitter and painful on her tongue, but she forced herself to say them. she needed to— for her own sake. for yours.

"i don't believe in soulmates," she continued, her voice trembling with suppressed emotions. "i don't believe in forever. this..." her teary eyes glaring at her red string connecting to yours.

"...this red string is nothing but... a damned burden."

the silence that followed was deafening yet ear-piercing at the same time. she expected you to yell, to argue, to slap her, to cry out like a baby, to hate her. but you didn't.

instead, you smiled— a small, broken smile that made her chest ache so terribly, suffocating her with the sudden guilt.

"i... see," you whispered brokenly, tears brimming in your eyes, and lips barely holding onto your smile. "i'm sorry for burdening you with this, minji."

you turned to leave, but minji's knees buckled as a searing pain shot through her chest like an arrow. her eyes widened as she gasped, clutching at her heart as if it were being torn apart ruthlessly.

the red string quivered violently, and she realized with horror that the pain wasn't hers— but rather, it was yours.

through the haze of agony, through the blurry sight due to her tears, she saw you pause. you knew what happened to her, your shoulders shaking, but you didn't look back.

"...i won't bother you anymore," you said, your voice barely audible.

"but i won't give up on you just yet, minji."

and then you were gone.

minji remained on her knees long after the pain faded, her chest heaving as tears streamed down her face, pained gaze lingering on your previous spot where you once stood with such sincerity and pain.

she clutched at her heart, the excruciating ache refusing to subside, a raw large wound that she couldn't ignore with such indifference. the red string around her pinky trembled but didn't snap. didn't break.

it stayed intact, fragile yet unyielding— a cruel reminder of what she had just done.

"i won't regret this," she muttered shakily, her voice barely above a whisper. "i won't..." but the words rang hollow, and her tears betrayed her.

"i'm sorry," she whispered into the empty air, then louder and brokenly, "i'm sorry—! fuck..." the apology fell from her quivering lips again and again, like a mantra she couldn't stop.

her hands clenched into fists, drawing blood, trembling with the heavy weight of emotions she didn't want to feel.

when she finally forced herself to stand, her legs wobbled beneath her, and the journey home felt endless like a loop.

─────

once inside the quiet of her room, minji immediately collapsed onto her bed. the darkness wrapped around her like a suffocating, but it did nothing to quiet the storm of gnawing emotions raging in her chest.

she squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to sleep, but the tears kept coming, unbidden and relentless. her eyes ache so much, just like her heart constantly breaking into pieces like a fragile glass.

pain gnawed at her chest, an ache so deep it felt as though her very soul was unraveling. she hated it. she hated the way she couldn't stop crying. the way her thoughts refused to stop replaying the look in your eyes. the sound of your trembling voice. the way you had walked away without looking back—

she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.vshe hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.she hated it.

and yet... she didn't fight it. she let the tears fall, let the pain consume her— because she deserved it. all because of her fear of being left behind once loved so unconditionally.

hours passed, and minji found herself sitting up in bed, her exhausted gaze drawn to the faint glow of the red string in the darkness, as if it was slowly dying but trying to stay awake.

it quivered so softly, a fragile thing that seemed so easy to break yet remained unbroken.

"you..." she said breathlessly, "you really won't give up on me, will you?" she murmured so quietly, her voice hoarse and painful from crying her heart out.

the thought lingered, unwelcome yet persistent. and for the first time, minji felt a small flicker of something she didn't expect. it wasn't dread or bitterness. no... it was much softer, quieter— a tiny spark buried beneath the weight of her fear and regret.

maybe... just maybe, tomorrow wouldn't be so bad.

her tears slowed as she lay back down, staring at the ceiling. the red string still glowed faintly, a constant reminder that you were still there, connected to her.

and despite everything— a small, reluctant part of her was looking forward to seeing you again.

and maybe to find that yearning love she has been seeking so desperately.

── ── ꒰ end ꒱ ── ──

[apollogeticx]

✧˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ LABOUR ♡·˚

— [♡] ; souls tied by fate will inevitably cross paths again. ｡°. gojo satoru

tags: endgame gojo satoru, afab!reader, slow burn, pregnancy, regret, hurt/comfort, angst, co-parenting, vulnerable gojo satoru, past suguru geto x reader, past rejection, longing, bittersweet, I'm dramatic so I write dramatic shit, chapter one of ten

wc. 2.7K

prologue | part 2

The decision settled in your heart like a stone—cold, hard, and undeniable. You couldn’t stay at Jujutsu High anymore, not after everything that had happened. There was nothing left for you here but the constant reminder of Gojo’s rejection, and the emptiness it left inside you. Suguru Geto had offered a new path, one that resonated with the bitter anger building in your chest. It was risky, dangerous even, but at this point, you didn’t care. What did you have to lose?

The world outside Jujutsu High seemed vast and unforgiving, but it was nothing compared to the loneliness you felt within its walls. Geto’s name was whispered among the students with fear and disdain, but you saw something different now. He had the strength to break away, to challenge the system that had let him down, and if anyone could understand the pain of rejection, it was him.

The first step was to find him, which was easier said than done. Geto was no longer a visible presence in the sorcerer world. He had gone underground, building his own network of cursed users and spirits. The whispers about his whereabouts were few and far between, but you clung to the faintest rumors like lifelines, searching for any clue that would lead you to him.

Your chance finally came one evening, as you overheard two upperclassmen talking in hushed tones about a recent sighting of Geto. They mentioned a remote area where cursed energy had been felt, a place known for being a hideout for rogue sorcerers. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

You left that night, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination. You knew the consequences of what you were about to do—if anyone found out, you’d be labeled a traitor, just like Geto. But that didn’t matter now. All that mattered was getting away from the pain that had consumed you and finding a new purpose.

The journey was long and arduous, taking you through unfamiliar streets and rural roads. With each step, the doubt in your mind grew louder. What if he didn’t want you? What if he turned you away, just like Gojo had? The thought of facing yet another rejection made your stomach twist in knots, but you pushed forward. You had to know. You had to try.

Finally, after what felt like na eternity, you arrived at the rumored hideout—a dilapidated building on the outskirts of na abandoned village. The air around the area was thick with cursed energy, almost suffocating. You hesitated at the threshold, fear creeping up your spine, but you steeled yourself and stepped inside.

The interior was dark, lit only by the faint glow of cursed energy radiating from various objects strewn about. You could sense the presence of others, though you couldn’t see them. Shadows moved in the corners of the room, watching you, but you kept your focus straight ahead.

And then, you saw him.

Suguru Geto stood at the far end of the room, his back turned to you as he spoke quietly with one of his followers. Even from this distance, his presence was commanding, the air around him heavy with power. There was something about him that felt both intimidating and strangely familiar, as if you were looking at the reflection of everything you had been feeling—the bitterness, the anger, the sense of abandonment.

He turned around slowly, his gaze landing on you with a piercing intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. His dark eyes seemed to see right through you, reading every thought and emotion as if they were laid bare before him. For a moment, you wondered if you had made a mistake—if this had been a foolish, reckless decision.

But you had come too far to turn back now.

“What do we have here?” Geto’s voice was smooth and calm, but there was a dangerous edge to it. He studied you, his expression unreadable. “You’re not one of mine.”

You swallowed, your throat dry, and forced yourself to speak. “I came to find you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I—I’ve been studying at Jujutsu High, but I can’t stay there anymore. I’ve seen… I’ve read about what you believe in. And I… I want to join you.”

There was a flicker of amusement in Geto’s eyes as he raised na eyebrow. “You want to join me?” he repeated, his tone laced with skepticism. “And what exactly do you think you have to offer?”

Your heart sank at his words. You knew you were nothing compared to the powerful sorcerers that surrounded him. You were just a student, someone who had been cast aside by the very person you had admired most. But you also knew that your desire to serve his cause, to belong somewhere, burned stronger than anything else.

“I don’t have much,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I’m not the strongest sorcerer, and I don’t have any followers. But I understand how it feels to be abandoned, to be rejected by the world. I’m ready to serve your purpose, whatever it takes.”

For a long moment, Geto said nothing, his eyes never leaving yours. The silence was suffocating, each second stretching into eternity. You stood there, exposed and vulnerable, waiting for his judgment. In that moment, it felt as if your entire life hung in the balance. If he accepted you, you would have a new purpose, a new place to belong. But if he rejected you…

Finally, after what felt like na eternity, Geto’s expression softened, and a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“You’re eager,” he said quietly. “That much is clear. But eagerness alone isn’t enough. My cause isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s dangerous, and it requires a level of conviction that few possess.”

You nodded quickly, desperation creeping into your voice. “I understand. I’ll prove myself, if you give me the chance.”

Geto regarded you for another long moment, as if weighing his options. Then, with a slight nod, he turned away from you, signaling the conversation was over. “Very well,” he said. “If you want to join me, go back to Jujutsu High. Pack your things. Leave everything behind. Once you’ve done that, come back. If you’re serious, I’ll know.”

Your heart leapt in your chest at his words—he was giving you a chance. It wasn’t a full acceptance, not yet, but it was something. You bowed your head quickly in gratitude before turning to leave.

As you stepped out of the hideout and into the cool night air, your mind raced with a mixture of excitement and fear. You had taken the first step toward a new life, toward leaving behind everything that had hurt you.

Now all that was left was to return to Jujutsu High, pack your things, and leave for good. There was no turning back now.

The night was unnervingly quiet as you made your way back to Jujutsu High, the soft rustling of leaves the only sound accompanying you. The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light casting long shadows across the ground. Your mind buzzed with the events that had just unfolded—Geto had accepted you, even if it was only tentative. The prospect of belonging to something, of having a purpose again, gave you a strange sense of comfort, but it was wrapped in na unsettling realization.

To fully embrace this new path, you had to leave everything behind.

As you approached the school grounds, a wave of nostalgia hit you. The familiar hallways, the training grounds, even the library where you had spent so many hours—all of it felt like a distant memory, as if you were already na outsider looking in. These places had once held significance, but now they were nothing more than relics of a past life. You had made up your mind; you would abandon all of it for a chance at something more—something that could give meaning to the ache you carried inside.

The dormitory was dark and still when you returned to your room. Your belongings were strewn about, a quiet reminder of the life you had lived here. You hesitated for a moment, standing in the doorway and letting your gaze drift over the small space that had been your home for so long. It was strange how quickly it all felt irrelevant.

With a deep breath, you began packing your things. You moved with mechanical precision, folding clothes and stuffing them into your bag, taking only what you absolutely needed. As your hands grazed over small personal items, you realized how little they meant now. There was no point in holding onto these things—mementos of a life you no longer wanted to be part of. A gift from a classmate, a framed photo of your team during a mission, a charm you had once carried for protection—they all seemed to mock you now.

Your hand hovered over the chocolates you had made for Gojo, the same ones he had so casually rejected weeks ago. They had been sitting untouched for so long, the once carefully crafted gift now rotting and forgotten. A bitter taste filled your mouth as you stared at the box, the last remnant of your foolish hopes - now laying in your trashcan.

As you zipped up your bag, you felt a strange sense of liberation. You were finally doing it—leaving behind the person you had been, the person who had been too afraid to act, too afraid to take control of her own fate. You were stepping into a new future, one where you could be strong, where your pain had a purpose. Suguru Geto had shown you that.

You slung the bag over your shoulder, taking one last look at the room. It felt distant already, like a ghost of a life you once knew. Without hesitation, you turned and left, walking silently through the darkened halls of Jujutsu High. Every step away from the dorms felt like shedding na old skin, leaving behind the memories and emotions that had weighed you down for so long.

Your feet moved automatically, each step taking you further from Jujutsu High and further from Gojo, you didn’t dare look back, afraid that if you did, you might falter, might hesitate. You had made your choice. You had committed to this path, and there was no turning back now.

The night air was cold against your skin, and with every step, the familiar halls and grounds of Jujutsu High faded into the distance. There was na ache in your chest, a deep, gnawing pain that threatened to overwhelm you, but you forced it down, telling yourself that this was the right choice. That Geto would understand, that his ideals would give you the strength you needed to find purpose.

By the time you reached the outskirts of the town, the sky had started to lighten, a soft glow spreading across the horizon as dawn approached. You kept your head down, avoiding the few early risers who were beginning their day. No one paid you any attention. To them, you were just another traveler, just another person passing through.

Your destination was clear—the same dilapidated building you had found before, where Geto’s presence had been strongest. The cursed energy in the area was unmistakable, and the faint pulse of it called to you like a beacon, guiding you back to him.

As you walked, the reality of what you were about to do began to settle in. You were leaving everything—your friends, your teachers, your life as a jujutsu sorcerer behind. The people you had trained with, the ones who had fought alongside you, they would all consider you a traitor. But for some reason, that didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. You were tired of being invisible, of feeling like na outsider in your own life. With Geto, maybe you would finally belong somewhere.

After hours of walking, you finally reached the hideout once again. The building loomed before you, dark and foreboding, just as it had before. There was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there the first time, as if the entire area was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

You hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside.

This time, the space felt different. The shadows seemed heavier, and the cursed energy more oppressive. You could sense other presences here—Geto’s followers, cursed spirits lurking just out of sight, their eyes on you, watching, waiting. But you didn’t waver. You had already made your decision.

As you ventured deeper into the building, you found him in the same spot as before, standing with his back to you, his long dark hair spilling over his shoulders. He was speaking with one of his followers in a low voice, but the moment you entered the room, his attention shifted. Without turning around, he acknowledged your presence with a quiet, “You came back.”

His voice sent a shiver down your spine—not out of fear, but because of the power it carried, the certainty in his words. It was so unlike the doubt you had felt at Jujutsu High. Here, in Geto’s world, there was no room for second-guessing. Everything he said, everything he believed, had a purpose. You wanted to be part of that.

“I did,” you replied, your voice steady despite the nervousness you felt. “I left everything behind, just like you said.”

Geto finally turned to face you, his eyes sharp and assessing. He looked you over, taking in the sight of you with your bag slung over your shoulder, your expression determined despite the fear you tried to hide. A slow, almost approving smile curled at the corner of his lips.

“And why, exactly, should I take you in?” he asked, his tone calm but laced with a challenge. “What can you offer me that my other followers can’t?”

You had expected this question, but it didn’t make answering it any easier. You had thought about this moment the entire way back, rehearsing what you would say, but now that you stood in front of him, words failed you. What could you offer? You weren’t the strongest sorcerer, you weren’t experienced in battle. All you had was your conviction, your desire to follow him.

“I—I’m not the strongest,” you admitted, your voice faltering for just a moment before you regained your composure. “But I’m ready to dedicate myself to your cause. I’ve seen how the world works, how it doesn’t care about people like us. I want to change that, to be part of something greater.”

Geto’s eyes remained fixed on you, his expression unreadable. He studied you for what felt like na eternity, and you could feel the weight of his judgment pressing down on you. Then, finally, he spoke again, his voice softer, but no less commanding.

“Conviction is important,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “But dedication without strength is a liability.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say anything, Geto raised a hand to silence you. “Still, you’ve come this far, and I can see that you’re serious. I’ll give you a chance to prove yourself.”

Relief flooded through you, though it was quickly tempered by the realization of what that might entail. Geto wasn’t someone who handed out second chances easily. Whatever he asked of you, it wouldn’t be simple.

“You’ll stay here, for now,” he continued, gesturing to the room around you. “Train with my followers, learn from them. When the time comes, we’ll see if you’re truly ready to stand by my side.”

You nodded, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and excitement. This was what you had wanted—a chance, a purpose, something to fight for. And now, Geto had given it to you.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, bowing your head in gratitude.

Before you could fully process it, a voice rang out from the entrance of the hideout, sharp and commanding.

“So, this is where you ran off to.”

Your heart froze in your chest.

Satoru Gojo stood at the threshold, his blindfold gone, revealing his piercing blue eyes that glowed with a mixture of anger and something else—something deeper, more intense.

He had found you.

notes: thank you for reading the first chapter! if you wanna be tagged just let me know!

taglist: @username23345 @arminswifee @tomiokasecretlover @ffyona1214 @tojirin @eggrollforyou @ironicsss

©apollogeticx ⋆ all rights reserved.

[loveshotzz]

I guess it’s never really over

mechanic!steve harrington x fem!reader exes to lovers

chapter three -

This has got to be the longest crush ever

Robin’s bad date, and a late night that changes everything.

warnings: 18+ A little bit of queer and mid twenties crisis angst for Robin, with comfort obvi. Tension, but are we surprised at this point?, and a secret third thing, wonder what it could be? 😚

wc: 6.3k

authors note: Hi babies! I am taking just a week off from my posting schedule for this week long work trip I’m taking on Monday. There’s lots of conferences and I won’t have much down time. We will resume our normal posting schedule for chapter four starting 3/20 🌻🧡

series masterlist | series playlist

June -

Would you believe me if I said I’m in love? 

                            Baby, I want you to want me.

You can’t believe you landed yourself in detention.

All your late night study sessions for the SAT’s that led to oversleeping and missed alarms finally catching up to you just like Robin warned you it would. Miss O’Donnell is the one who makes your best friend's predictions come true, handing you that notorious pink slip for walking into her class ten minutes late for the third time this week. 

When you arrive at exactly 3:15, the classroom is mostly empty. Your eyes scan the bored faces of the few students joining you, hoping to at least see Eddie’s familiar head of curls. But of course, today of all days, he’s managed to be on his best behavior or just didn’t get caught. 

Sighing defeated, you give Mr. Clark a tight lipped smile, ignoring the shocked look on his face seeing you in here. Picking an empty desk in the middle away from anyone, you decide to busy yourself with the Algebra homework you’ve been avoiding for the better half of a week. It’s when you lean over to unzip your backpack that you catch the sounds of sneakers squeaking against the ceramic floors.

”Ahh, Mr. Harrington. Even fashionably late to detention, I see. Your hair looks good enough to sit in silence for an hour and a half to me.” Mr. Clark announces the king of Hawkins's grand entrance with the kind of sarcasm that makes you smirk as you start arranging your things on your desk.

“That’s good to know 'cause I was doing it for you Mr. C.”

Steve Harrington always thinks he’s so charming

Snorting as you click your pen, you dare to look up only to catch ‘the hair’ looking right back at you with that golden smile that you’ve seen take even the strongest soldiers out. 

Oh no. 

Eyes going big, you quickly bring your attention back down to your homework, silently hoping he doesn’t take the seat next to you and land you in here next week too. 

“So thoughtful of you. Now why don’t you take a seat and do some studying for that test on Monday. And maybe this semester you won’t have to worry about relying on extra credit to keep playing basketball.” Mr. Clark dismisses him, earning a low whistle from the boy who holds his hands up in surrender, Nike covered feet coming down your row.

No, no, no, NO.

You still don’t look up, rereading the same question over and over again because no matter how many times you try, you’re too distracted by the cedar and clove that invades your senses kicking them into overdrive. The whites of his sneakers catch in your peripherals when he does the unimaginable and sits next to you.

Staring at the equation with the kind of concentration that’ll be sure to give you a migraine later, it takes him a good thirty seconds before he temporarily gives up trying to get your attention to grab something that gives the illusion of studying out of his backpack. 

Trying to play it cool, your stomach twists in nervous knots worse than the ones you get when Robin forces you on the janky rides at the summer fair every year. Sure, you’ve been hit on by a guy here and there, but no one can prepare you for what it’s like to catch Steve Harrington’s attention—especially for someone in your Hawkins hierarchy who would never be on the receiving end of it.

He flips through the pages of his textbook loudly, earning his first warning glare from Mr. Clark, and you decide to write your name on the top of the page so at least it looks like you’re doing something. After a couple bounces of your knee, you can feel the heat of his gaze back on you.

”Psst, hey.” 

The last letter of your name comes out illegible, and you jump at the hushed sound of his voice. Taking a deep breath, you work up the courage to meet his flirtatious smirk and golden brown eyes. The sun leaking through the windows gives you a glimpse of the green that hides inside them from this close. You hate to admit that he’s just as pretty as everyone says he is.

”Hi,” you smile a little shy, offering a small wave of your pen and it lights up his whole face, making your body buzz.

”You have a highlighter I can use or something?” He keeps up his ruse, the whites of his teeth showing in a grin.

You arch an eyebrow at him, something sarcastic reminiscent of Mr. Clark flashing behind your eyes. 

“What? You don’t think I’m actually going to study?” He acts shocked, slapping his giant hand across his chest and it earns the kind of giggle from you that pushes him full steam ahead.

”It’s blue, is that okay?” Giving into the bait, you try and hide the way your face warms, ducking down to dig in the bottom of your backpack.

”Are you kidding? I love blue. Favorite color actually.” Laying it on thick, you can see the way he scoots to the edge of his seat, the spice of his cologne making you bite at your bottom lip as your fingers wrap around what you’re looking for.

Sitting up in your seat, you aren’t expecting him to be so close and it threatens to steal the air right out of your lungs.

”H-here,” you manage, holding the blue writing utensil in the small space that's left between you.

Steve's eyes roam your face freely, pink tongue coming out to wet his full bottom lip before they settle back on your gaze, lids a little heavy, voice low and somehow sticky sweet.

”Thanks, honey.” He leans forward more, purposely brushing his fingers with yours when he takes it out of your grasp, “but now, I’m afraid the only way you’re gonna get it back is to let me drive you home after this.”

“I’ve got plenty, you can keep that one,” you try to stay strong, but when that second giggle slips out, you seal your fate.

”I can’t do that, this is your favorite one.” He tisks like it’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard, with a crooked grin that makes you bite the inside of your cheek.

”Is it?”

”Absolutely.”

“Are you two done? Or should we schedule a second date for next week?” Mr. Clark interrupts.

”That would actually be date number three. We’re going on two after this is over.” Steve smirks, throwing you a wink ignoring the harsh way you whisper of his name. 

Yeah… you were fucked.

“I’ve got a date tonight!” 

Robin sings excitedly, bursting through the front door in a wild ball of energy, successfully waking you up from your nap on the couch. Blinking slowly, as you start to recognize your surroundings, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you force yourself to sit up, wincing at your stiff neck and the fact that you dreamed about Steve Harrington again. 

“A date with who?” You grumble, still a little grouchy, yawning with a stretch that pops in your back.

”This girl that I met at the record store this morning, we talked about Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos for what felt like hours. She’s just, wow, she’s so cool. Almost too cool for me, you know? She’s a senior in college-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up.” Cutting her off before she can ramble any longer, you wave your hands for her to stop: “First of all, no one is too cool for you, okay? If anything, it’s always going to be the other way around.”

“Yeah, okay, Steve.”

It takes a minute for her words to sink in about the man you haven’t seen in almost a week and a half, but when they do, the glare that settles on your face makes her laugh. 

“Ha ha, very funny.” You deadpan with a tight-lipped smirk, before clearing your throat, “Well where are you guys going? Do you want me to go undercover in case you need saving? I’m fully prepared for a stakeout.”

Robin rolls her eyes, but her smile, which spreads wide enough to see all her teeth, gives away her love for your dramatics. 

“No, I don’t need you to go undercover or anything. I mean, it is going to be nice knowing you’ll be here waiting for me to tell you all about it instead of having to call you and hope the city girl answers.” She teases, earning the scoff from you that she was looking for.

“I’m choosing to ignore that, and if at any point you change your mind, you know your own number.”

Earning a genuine laugh from Robin always makes your soul feel lighter, so when your joke lands and you get one, the heaviness of Steve that’s been weighing down on your shoulders eases up just a little bit.

”I’ve just never been approached in public before like that, you know? It’s not just the other girl you know is gay on campus. I don’t know, it feels good.” Your best friend’s confession makes you want to wrap her up in a hug, keeping the urge to remind her of your offer to move to the city with you to yourself for right now, letting her bask in the moment.

”Well, you're hot. Can you blame her? If you weren’t basically like a sister to me, I’d be all over it.” Wiggling your eyebrows, she flips you off, but you still catch the tinge of pink that paints her cheeks rosy.

”Please, Steve would have my head on a stake.” She snorts, purposely trying to get under your skin now.

”Robin.”

”What? I thought he was going to pop a blood vessel in his eye when I mentioned your little ‘adventure’ last week” She giggles, heading towards her bedroom.

If only she knew just how much those words were true. Your thighs meet like in the memory you can’t stop playing on a loop, palms turning sweaty, remembering the velvet of his lips so close to your neck.

”Wait! Did you ask that on purpose?!” You gasp, jumping to your feet to follow her.

”Maybe.”

”Maybe?!”

”You know what I do need help with?” She ignores you, spinning on her heel to meet your narrowed eyes.

”What?”

”Help me pick any outfit?” Pushing out her bottom lip, she gives you the kind of puppy dog eyes that no one in their right mind could say no to.

Sighing heavily, your feet drag on the carpet before flopping yourself onto her bed huffing out a “Fine” as the box springs squeak.

The rest of the day is spent going through what feels like every outfit in Robin’s possession, even getting desperate enough to try on some of your clothes despite your clashing styles. Settling on a pair of boot cut jeans, a black half crop top with a flannel shirt that you’re pretty sure she stole from Steve and the Dr. Martin’s you got her for her birthday last year, she was ready to break hearts. Blue eyes roll in the back of her head when you make her say ‘I’m the prize’ until you feel like she halfway believes it before handing over her I.D. that you’d found stuffed between the cushions of the couch in a frenzied panic to search for it only ten minutes prior.

The sun starts to set on Robin’s small apartment after she finally heads out the door, and the shadows that bounce off the white walls bring back the thoughts of Steve you’d successfully gotten rid of for a few fleeting hours. 

Huffing to yourself with crossed arms, you watch the flat bag of popcorn spin around in the microwave. You can still hear the beginning Moonstruck playing on the TV in the living room, over the loud hum of the machine. Comfortable in an oversized shirt that lands just at the bottoms of your cotton sleep shorts, goosebump dot across your legs from the cool of the A/C. Your skin still tingles everywhere he touched and the week of radio silence feels worse the second time around. 

The shrill sound of Robin’s phone and the first kernel of popcorn exploding in the bag overpower your ears all at once, making you jump. Mumbling cuss words under the now constant sound of popping, you try to calm your heart rate down, wandering to the living room. Your hand hovers over the phone, the realization about who might be on the other line making your stomach drop. He hadn’t called Robin yet. There’s a moment of hesitation, but you take a deep breath, letting the air expand in your lungs, silently counting to three before you grab the phone off its hook.

”Buckley residen-“

”I need you to come get me, I- I’ve made a huge mistake and I’m just so fuck - “ Robin cuts you off, the rasp in her voice cracking like she’s trying not to cry, “I’m just really embarrassed, please come get me.”

“What happened? Where are you? I’m coming, just - just tell me where you are.” Running to her bedroom to grab your sneakers with the phone pressed to your ear, you can hear her sniffle.

”Benningans, it’s the next town over. I’ll be outside -“

”Are you safe?” You panic, slipping your foot into your shoe as quickly as you can.

”I’m safe, I’m just, I’m embar- I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’m safe, I’ll be outside.” She mutters.

”I’ll get there as fast as I can, okay?” Feeling a little helpless, you try to ease the hurt that’s evident in her tone with soft reassurance. 

”I’m just, I’m really glad you're here. I’ll see you soon.” She manages to get out before the line clicks dead.

Slipping your second shoe on, the realization that you don’t actually have a car to save her with, hits you like a ton of bricks. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Stomping back to the living room, your eyes find the mustard yellow address book next to the phone’s dock. Your fingers fumble through its pages, eyes squinting as you try to read Robin’s messy writing, searching for a familiar name. You find two:

Eddie and Steve.

You stare at the page, your moral compass going haywire. Despite the way he’s rented a space in your mind, the thought of seeing him alone again makes your stomach twist. Eddie would be simple. Eddie would be easy. Your thumb hovers over the first number in the one she has scribbled down for him, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t bring yourself to press it. She needs Steve.

You groan loudly, stomping your foot for good measure, before letting out a long breath through your nose, dialing his number that you knew you should have all along. 

It only rings twice.

“Whatever it is, the answer is no,” Steve deadpans.

”Is that really how you answer your phone?” You scoff, doing your best to ignore the butterflies you’ve managed to stifle as they start to come alive at the sound of his voice.

“I thought this was - shit, I thought this was Henderson - erm I mean Dustin, you remember Dustin?” He stammers and you know that hand of his is running through his hair right now.

“Yeah, the middle schooler.”

“Well, he’s like nineteen now -“

“I didn’t call you to talk about Dustin, Steve,” You sigh heavily, rubbing the bridge of your nose, “Robin called me really upset from Bennigans, and I don’t have a car or any way to go get her-” 

“I’m on my way.” He cuts you off without any hesitation,“Be outside in five minutes for me?”

”My shoes are already on.”  

After a click, you’re left with the sound of the dial tone in your ear. You hang up the phone as warmth floods your body, easing some of your temporary worries. 

Steve Harrington is making it hard to hate him.

The short walk to Steve’s BMW from Robin’s front door feels like stepping through a time machine.

One that takes you back to late nights sneaking out your bedroom window, always being extra careful not to wake your parents up so you could go make out with your secret kind of boyfriend under the stars. Those were always your favorite nights with him. The nights he’d put away the king Steve armor, those nights he’d just be Steve. A boy who just wanted to make his father proud, thinking maybe he’d stay home more if he was.

You can feel the way his eyes roam your body, the heat of his stare lingering on your exposed legs, setting your skin on fire. Suddenly more than aware of your lack of pants, only part of you regrets not changing into some leggings, but you try not to think about that too hard right now.

He clears his throat when you open the passenger door, the smell of leather and the dark woody sweet scent of oil surrounding you as you slide into your seat. The spice of his cologne tickles your nose when you close yourself in, clicking your seatbelt in place before daring to meet his eyes. The golden brown inside them shimmers with something you’d missed in the orange glow of the street light and the nerves still feel the same way they did five years ago. The only thing that hasn’t changed.

”Thanks for doing this,” you offer with a weak smile.

When he realizes you’ve put your weapons down for the night, his face softens with a crooked grin, subtle pink dusting the apples of his cheeks.

”I meant it when I said I can’t say no to you,” he starts, selfishly letting his eyes roam the smooth lines of your face that are finally not twisted up into a glare before realizing his slip up, “and Robin, my best friend obviously.”

”Our best friend, Steve.” You tease trying to ignore the tension that crackles in the empty space between you even worse than before.

”Whatever you have to tell yourself,” he winks, forearm flexing as he puts the car in drive.

Scoffing a ‘whatever’ with a playful roll of your eyes, you let your muscles relax into the familiar seat. The Police’s Every Breath You Take spills through the speakers just loud enough to be heard over the low rumble of the engine, and you become hyper aware of his hand resting on the stick shift, the tips of his fingers just close enough to brush against your thigh every time you hit a bump. 

There’s a silence that falls between you once the street lights run out and his full focus shifts to the pitch black road ahead. The quiet is filled with what almost happened in his room, unspoken words that don’t dare to roll off of sober tongues. You wait until he’s too distracted looking for surprises that might run out from the woods on either side of you to let your eyes wander over and really take him in.

A white drawstring hangs low on his heather gray sweatpants that fit tight over his thighs spread wide. Your throat goes dry at the white tank top that hugs his broad chest, the gold chain that wraps around his neck getting lost in the thick patch of curls on display. You’re finally able to really make out more of his tattoo for the first time, thin, precise lines that look like feathers attached to a set of sparrow wings.

”Did she tell you what happened? I mean, is she safe?” He interrupts your greedy stare, eyes lighting up when he catches you, tucking it away for another time.

”Uhh, yeah,” you answer with a shake of your head, teeth biting down on your bottom lip with hot cheeks, “she’s safe, she kept saying she’s embarrassed but wouldn’t tell me why, just kept begging me to come get her.”

He just hums, lost deep in thought of all the things it could be, and his grip on the steering wheel tightens with worry. 

“We’re only ten minutes away, so it won’t be too much longer now.” 

He reassures you, but it feels like he needs it too, especially when his hand leaves the stick shift to run through his hair that looks more tousled than usual, making you wonder if he was lying in bed before this. A worried breath exhales through his nose, with a tight jaw, and you hate the way your stomach drops when both his hands find the steering wheel after he tugs on his roots a little bit. 

Nervous fingers play with the bottoms of your sleep shorts, trying your best not to stare while you keep your gaze out the passenger window. Stolen glances are followed by tight lipped smiles when you’d always find him staring back. Honey and chestnut make your stomach flutter, and you think maybe some things never change. 

It takes less than the ten minutes that Steve promised for the back roads to turn busy, and bright with the kind of lights a small town on a Saturday night has. A slouched frame sitting on the side of the road catches in his headlights, getting closer you see that Robin’s waves have lost all the bounce she left the house with, along with the rosy tint in her cheeks. The flashing Bennigans sign spins a block behind her, and the orange bulbs match the burning ember on the end of her cigarette that dangles from her full lips. 

“Shit, it’s bad if she’s smoking,” Steve mutters, turning on his hazards as he pulls up next to her, the wheels of his car coming to a stop. 

She hollows her cheeks out, taking one last drag, waving at you to stop unbuckling your seat belt as she gets to her feet. Blowing the smoke from her lungs into the wind, she flicks the half smoked butt into the street before opening the back door, sliding into the leather seats with an exasperated huff.

“Just, don’t – I’m okay,” she starts, closing the door and shutting out the whir of the traffic outside. “Turns out her boyfriend’s best friend really likes Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos too. She really thought me and him might hit it off after our talk at the record store today. I don’t want to talk about it, I just want to go home with my two favorite people and feel sorry for myself.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” Steve doesn’t miss a beat. Turning around in his seat, he flashes her his million-dollar Harrington smile. “I’m the king of feeling sorry for myself.”

Her lips twitch, but when she sees the natural roll of your eyes at the boy next to you, it turns into a full blown smile. A little shimmer came through in the dulled-out color of her eyes.

Got me up all night

            all I’m singing is love songs.

“Honestly, now that I’m thinking about it, this girl sounds like a scammer, Rob. I mean, come on.” Steve snorts, rifling through her cupboards in the kitchen. Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos, what kind of game was she playing at anyway?”

Robin giggles from her place next to you on the couch, her head resting on your shoulder, the green apple of her shampoo still lingering on her curls that tickle your cheek. 

“Plenty of people like those artists, Steve.” She sighs, but you can still hear her smile, “It’s fine, I’ll just stay the lonely Hawkins lesbian for the rest of my life, no big deal.”

”Shut up!”

”Will you stop?!”

You and Steve chide her at the same time, hard eyes meeting from across the living room and softening. He doesn’t even try to stop the lopsided grin that pushes up your favorite cheek and you hope Robin doesn’t feel the way it makes your skin warm. 

“Whatever, I already warned you I’m going to be miserable. Gimmie a break, and you’re actually taking forever in there, by the way.” Whining, she sits up, sending a rush of fruit and leftover tobacco to your nose.

“Yeah, well, I can’t find your peanut butter,” he mutters, opening up the cabinet above the sink, the bottom of his tank top rising enough to see a sliver of sun kissed skin and a few more freckles. Why does it feel like there's always more?

”What are you even making anyway?” you ask, ignoring the way Robin’s head whips around. A smirk spreads wide across her face because you’re actually trying to make conversation with Steve.

“Just a little something that’s going to cure my best friend’s heartbreak,” he winks, the jar of JIF extra crunchy looking extra small in his grasp, twisting the cap off. “We came up with it together, actually.o biggie.”

Your gaze narrows, but he doesn’t miss the way the corners of your mouth twitch, something sparkling inside the dark gold in his eyes.

”Interesting, considering I ran to the store earlier to grab my best friend’s favorite ice cream, just in case.” You counter, something mischievous twisting up your lips. “You didn’t even think to stop and get it on our way home. Some friend.”

Robin’s smile lights up the room, very obviously enjoying the show, maybe even a little too much. Clapping her hands together, she lets out a content sigh before leaning back into the couch cushions.

”I really could get used to this,” she beams, “maybe we should have a contest, see which one of you can do the nicest things for me.”

You can’t stop the snort or the roll of your eyes that has Steve throwing his head back in a fully-bellied laugh, giving you the perfect view of his neck, and only Robin clocks the way your giggles are cut short and the secret way your eyes glaze over.

”I’m not gonna lie as much as I love crunchy peanut butter banana s’mores, I have to say Steve, the fact that she actually called you makes her the winner for the night.” She smirks, chuckling harder when you shove her with a hushed ‘Robin!’

His smile doesn’t fade as he starts to cut banana slices. Big eyes meet yours with the kind of look that threatens to melt you into the couch.

”That’s alright, I’ll be a gracious loser tonight, but just know, honey, I’m very competitive.” He warns, long fingers spreading the fruit evenly throughout the peanut butter that messily coats graham crackers.  

“I don’t like to lose, so it’s fine.” Your quick reply deepens the smile lines in his cheeks, putting the finishing touches on your snacks.

“Yeah, this is definitely the life I was meant to live,” Robin gloats, nudging you, “I’m the prize, right?”

It’s your turn to throw your head back in the kind of laugh that rattles in your rib cage, too distracted to see the lovesick way Steve bites his bottom lip watching you from across the room.

But Robin does.

With a heart so full it might burst, tears threaten to spill from the ocean in her eyes, daydreaming about moments like this, only ever thinking they would be something that stayed trapped in the confines of her mind. The warming feeling of happiness wraps around Robin like a blanket when she gets to sit between you both on the couch. A distant friend she hasn’t seen in a long time, a secret she’s kept mostly to herself. 

With a messy plate of half eaten treats and sticky fingers, she’s content watching Cher and Nicholas Cage fight over how much they love each other. Fully knowing that Steve is sneaking looks at you from over her head, smiling to herself at the nervous way you fiddle with your hands in your lap because of it.

Robin doesn’t fight the exhaustion that starts to make her eyelids heavy just a little halfway through the movie. It’s easy to give in when your body weight relaxes deeper into her side, and how Steve drapes his arm over the back of the couch, tucking you both into his chest with evening breaths.

You’re warm, cozier than normal, and it surrounds every part of you.

Cheek pressed against something that’s not firm enough to be the couch, you nuzzle yourself deeper, chasing the heat and the sleep that’s threatening to evade you. Your cushion starts to move, making eyes shift behind lids that aren’t ready to open yet. Lashes flutter, feeling the way your leg is slotted between someone else’s, and the warmth of a palm finds the small of your back, pulling you closer.

A deep sigh rumbles in your ear before fingertips lazily trace up and down the dip of your spine. Stubble tickles your forehead, and as coherency starts to come back to you, a softer patch of hair rubs against your cheek. The kind of spice and lingering sunshine that could only come from one person hits your senses, and the white cotton of Steve’s tank top finally becomes visible. 

The shift in your breathing brings his soft touches to a halt, the muscles you’re pressed on your side against stiffening. Realizing your hands are sprawled across his chest, just under your chin, you can feel the way his heart races under your palm. He’s everywhere, and despite the way you’ve told yourself you hate him, your fingers curl into the cotton of his shirt because it feels like home. Toes pressing into his calf, you wind your leg around his tighter, and it turns timid fingertips sure of themselves, tracing patterns between your shoulder blades. You don’t dare look up at him yet, or it would make the way your own hand starts to explore his abs that twitch under your red nails real. 

He feels different than you remember, there's more of him now, harder in spots that used to be soft. Your fingers get greedy, the blunt ends of your nails scratching along the outline of his happy trail, earning a low groan from him that vibrates deep in your core. Those butterflies that have made a permanent home out of you start to stretch their wings, and when they feel the soft velvet of his lips against your forehead, they tickle at your ribcage and kick up your heart rate. You wonder if he can feel it.

It’s the faintest kiss, one that you’re not sure you would’ve even felt if you were asleep, but it makes you lean in closer. Inhaling deeply, tears sting at the corner of your eyes when the familiar scent only makes you crave him more. After years spent denying the existence of his touch from your memory, it’s almost overwhelming to feel it again. 

The muscles in his arm underneath your neck twitch, and the fingers that have been drawing lazy circles on your back move slowly up your shoulder. The backs of them run down your arm before they finally connect with your skin, goosebumps exploding underneath his touch in a ball of electricity that you can feel on the pads of them that start a new path up the loose sleeve of your shirt.

You fiddle with the bottom hem of his tank top, the heat of his body radiating against already flushed skin. Brave fingers dare to dip underneath only to get stopped by a large palm wrapping around your wrist 

“Baby,” there's a hint of a smile and a little bit of grogginess in his voice that gives away that he hasn’t been awake that much longer than you, “I think you should at least look at me before I let you get under my shirt.”

Biting at your bottom lip, you push yourself deeper into his chest, embarrassed, feeling the gentle shake of his body when he laughs. 

“Come on pretty, let me see your face.”

His affection makes your heart swell, and you know what it means if you look him in the eyes. Your nails dig into the cotton, tugging at the fabric a little while you pull yourself together, lashes fluttering against your cheeks, shaking the rest of the sleep. Lifting your head up from its hiding place, you cross the line you promised yourself you wouldn’t, but when you meet the green that shimmers in the darkness of his eyes, and the crooked grin that twists up his full pink lips, it feels good to give in.

Releasing the hold on your wrist, he’s gentle, almost hesitant, when his warm palm cups your cheek. The rough pad of his thumb traces the line of your cheekbone feather light, and you can’t help but lean into his touch. No more armor, fleeting glances, or stolen looks, not when he’s this close and even more handsome in the glow of the moonlight. 

“Beautiful.” He murmurs just loud enough for you to hear, and your legs somehow wrap around his tighter.

”Yeah?” you whisper, your fingers coming up to the play with the gold chain dangling from his neck. “Why didn’t you kiss me then?”

”What?”

”Last week,” 

”That wasn’t the right time,” he sighs, eyes tracing every line of your face like he’s committing it to memory, “It would have ruined it.”

“Ruined what?” You press, twisting the metal between your fingertips, heartbeat ringing in your ears.

“My chance at trying to do this the right way, the way you deserve.” He doesn’t hesitate to say it, like it’s something he’s thought about for years, and it makes your head spin.

“What about now?” 

“That depends,” he hums, the pad of his thumb dragging across the slight pout of your bottom lip, threatening to steal the air from your lungs.

”On?” Your voice comes out just above a whisper. Tilting your chin up, you can still smell the peanut butter on his breath.

”If you want me to.”  He breathes, the tip of his nose running along the length of yours. 

Your hold on his gold chain tightens, pulling him even closer. His eyebrows pinch together when he feels the slightest brush of your lips against his, and he can still taste the sweetness of the banana.

”Please tell me you want me to.” 

The desperation in his voice is enough for you to tug him down, closing what’s left of the small gap, your top lip catching against his full bottom one. Just enough to feel the familiar silk that could leave a wildfire in their wake before you finally speak.

“Kiss me, Steve.”

A groan rattles deep in his chest, and he doesn’t hesitate to do what he’s wanted to since he saw you. Applying just enough pressure to wake up every last butterfly, the tip of his nose pushes into your cheek when he slots his lips with yours. It’s soft at first like he’s testing the waters, taking it slow so he can savor it, just in case you never let him do it again.

He pulls away enough to look at you, chestnut eyes blown out wide, and you hate that you already miss his kiss. Giving into everything you’ve fought for so long, it’s your turn to capture his lips. It stuns him at first, but when you open your mouth, his body melts easily into yours, and that big hand of his moves from your cheek to hold the back of your neck. Tongue swiping boldly across your lower lip, he begs you to let him in.

Moans get hidden, muffled inside each other's mouths after you grant him access, your fingers tangle themselves inside the thick forest of his hair that’s still just as soft as you remember. Nipping at his bottom lip, the grip on the back of your neck tightens and you can feel the way he kicks up in his sweats because of it. Your own thighs threatening close when you’re reminded of what’s between his legs.

“Baby,” he warns in between kisses, feeling the roll of your hips, but you don’t miss the subtle way he tries to meet them with his own.

It’s too easy to get lost in him, and the years it took to move past him make even more sense when your tongue finds his again. Fighting for dominance, you try not to think about the irreversible damage tonight might do to you as you tug at his roots, teeth scraping together, the kiss turns more heated by the second. Years of anger and longing come out in desperate touches. His hand finds its way to your hip, the pads of his fingers brushing against the skin under your shirt, sending a shiver up your spine, letting you roll them one, two, three times before tightening his hold.

He pulls you closer, letting you win before his nose nudges against your cheek, his lips finding the corner of your mouth. Catching his breath, he trails them along your jaw before making his way down your neck. Your chest heaves, fingers turning soft and slowly running through his hair. He hums against your skin, his hand staying under your shirt, the warmth of his palm covering the small of your back, leaving wet kisses on the sensitive spot behind your ear.

”Let me take you on a date,” he whispers, leaving one more under his jaw before pulling back to look at you.

”Steve -“

”Just one,” he begs, bumping his nose with yours, smirking when it makes you smile.

”Let me sleep on it,” you sigh, ducking your head under his chin to hide. Too many thoughts trying to occupy space in your mind with a head still dizzy from his lips.

”I’ll take what I can get,” he laughs, the tips of his fingers starting up the familiar patterns that started all of this, quickly make your eyelids heavy, nuzzling deeper into his chest. You weren’t ready to think about tomorrow yet.

🌻 chapter four