#wanting to think about them at the same time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lauraneedstochill · 1 day ago

Text

mad about you

pairing: Jack Abbot x lawyer!reader summary: it was supposed to be a one-night stand but Jack can’t stop thinking about you. what he expects the least is for you to arrive at his ER — and not as a patient. (or, alternatively: Jack meets the right person at the right time. and he lets love in)

warnings: 🔞 descriptions of injuries / smut (some teasing, fingering, p in v), Jack being touch-starved and a little rusty (or so he thinks ;). an unexpected amount of domestic fluff, mentions of Jack losing his wife and being shy about his prosthesis / words: 17K / author’s note: I love me a bossy reader but most importantly, I wanted to write someone who can appreciate Jack for the hot man that he is (yes, I got carried away with smut and softness... OH WELL) ♡ {read on AO3}

There is a feeling that’s been growing roots in Jack — it’s agitation that’s akin to premonition. His recent shifts have been too quiet, uneventful, downright boring. With hands trained to save lives, Jack has to spend his nights treating mild burns and accidental cuts, a few drunkards with bruises and concussions, appendicitis being the most exciting diagnosis he made this week. Any sane doctor would be glad to get a break, but Jack finds it annoying.

Because he needs work to keep his head busy, to have something else occupy his thoughts. He wants his hands sweating in gloves, covered in blood — so he’d have an excuse to wash them clean, so he’d get a chance to scrub off the feeling of your body under his fingers—

Jack shakes his head, a movement barely visible, quick like a flinch. He tries shaking off the memories of you — and he keeps failing. Because it feels like they are tucked away in every corner of his flat, and even when exhaustion manages to drag him into sleep, you are the only thing he dreams of. He always wakes up hard. His bedcovers all wet, breath heavy, mind clouded, heart pounding. And what he brims with is not lust but yearning, so strong that he’d go to the other side of town on foot if he could get another chance to see you.

But he’s got no address he can come to, and no phone number he can dial just to hear your voice.

So Jack saddles himself with work — however temporary this fix is, he’s got no other in the meantime. He picks up extra hours, covers extra patients. It isn’t nearly enough. And he is mildly annoyed at this predicament he’s stuck in, at the repeating cycle of the same bland days — nothing to challenge him or bring a speckle of relief. Or keep his mind from wandering back to that moment with you — it’s not the filthiest he can remember but the one he wishes to relive the most:

the hair around your face is damp, and you’re a little breathless — he feels your chest heaving, still pressed to his, arms wrapped around his neck, a tight embrace neither of you wants to break. The bedroom’s dark but he forgot to draw the curtains, and the gloaming light traces your curves and sparkles on your skin that’s glistening with sweat, still heated in every place he touched it. And Jack’s completely spent but something’s kindling in his ribcage — a fire breathed into the embers, the warmth he thought he’d never feel again — it’s growing every time he looks at you — and every time you glance right back at him, and smile at him, and kiss him, and—

“Will you stop fidgeting?” Dana snaps at him mid-yawn. “It’s 7 am, and just looking at you gives me a headache.”

“Then look somewhere else,” Jack flings back. He instantly feels guilty and puts the tablet down. He doesn’t know where to put his hands, fingers unwittingly tapping on the table.

“Oh, someone’s snappy,” but she doesn’t take offence — instead she turns her chair to him, eyes slightly narrowed. “You’ve been walking around all tense and brooding these past few weeks, don’t think I haven’t noticed. Wanna talk about it?”

“It’s nothing,” Jack mumbles. He almost grimaces at his own lie, at how far from reality it is. So he grudgingly sprinkles some truth in: “I guess I’m just bored. Haven’t got much to do. It’s been too qui—”

Dana springs out of her chair and covers his mouth with her palm. “Nope. My shift just started and you already want to jinx it? How about you save that enthusiasm until the night rolls in, and then you can have planes falling from the skies for all I care.”

“I see you finally took matters into your own hands,” Robby strides in with his backpack and takes off the sunglasses, his brown eyes on Dana. “Was he trying to pass on his existential crisis?”

“Can we muzzle him?”

“And put him on a leash? I thought about it. But he will probably escape, and we’ll have an angry dog on the loose and barking,” he grins, gaze darting to Abbot, and Dana laughs.

“You think you’re so fucking funny,” Jack mumbles.

His agitation ebbs a little — enough for him to take a breath as he stretches his back. But your touches must be etched into his muscles because he’s momentarily reminded of your fingertips ghosting his shoulder blades, of your lips trailing for the pulse point on his neck — and what was once a bliss is now a torment he is powerless against. Abbot exhales with exasperation.

The phone rings. Dana loses her smile and gives Jack a glare. “This better not be a mass casualty event,” she whispers before picking it up. But her concerns aren’t brought into existence — her face is only half-focused, mostly apathetic as she informs:

“A shooting at the county court. One victim, GSW to the chest and —” her brows knit together at whatever details she’s receiving. “So it’s two?... Well, it ain’t nuclear physics, just count them. I’d like to know how many people we’re getting... Alrighty, we’ll do the counting ourselves,” she hangs up and clicks her tongue.

McKay runs by to say hi before resuming the heated conversation she is having on the phone. Langdon comes in unhurriedly, hands in his pockets, his eyes drawn to the board. Santos is next, Whitaker trailing after her — he’s always half-asleep, she’s never not excited to get to work.

“Any interesting cases this morning?”

“Waiting for a GSW. Apparently, the main witness on some case — shot in the chest and leg, it’s not looking good. Said they couldn’t use a D-fib on him because he’s coming with a company.”

Robby sends Dana an inquiring glance. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Fuck if I know. I haven’t even gotten my first cup of coffee yet,” she looks at Jack — pensive, stiff, barely listening to her — and snaps her fingers in his face. “Hey, midnight ranger, isn’t it time for you to clock out? We’ve got a whole team, we’ll manage. Go home.”

“I plan on doing that once I finish the paperwork,” he replies flatly, tapping on the screen.

“If that’s what you are into, you can do mine too. Wanna also file my taxes while you’re at it?”

“I’ll gladly tell the IRS to lock you up for tax fraud to get you off my back,” Abbot deadpans, earning a dry laugh from her.

“Gunshot is boring,” Langdon muses.

Dana’s laugh turns into a groan. “Not this again. Why can’t you guys enjoy the peace and quiet?”

“I mean, if he doesn’t die, he’ll go straight to the OR, not much for us to do. I was hoping for something more—” he suddenly stops talking. There is a sound of wheels gliding across the floor, and a pause sweeps over the hall — the conversations die down, the movements halted — and then Jack hears Frank muttering: “What the hell?”

So Abbot absentmindedly follows his gaze. And just like everyone around him, he is left speechless.

The gunshot victim is a man: mid-sixty, stubby-looking, pale-faced and breathing only by some miracle. But he isn’t wheeled in alone — there is a woman sitting right on top of him, her stark white blouse doused with blood, one of her hands pressed to his chest, three of her fingers shoved into his wound. The crimson droplets glisten in her hair, the same color smeared over her hands up to the wrists, but she’s not scared or appalled. There’s not a single crack in her composure, no quiver in her body or her face —

Jack recognizes you in barely a heartbeat.

And he is frozen not out of surprise. He’s marveling at you like you’re under a spotlight and he’s in a daze, and there is no one else left in the hall. Because you look the exact same you did all these days back, the first time that he saw you. The one time he’ll never forget.

Jack met you over three weeks ago (24 days to be exact, not that he’s been counting). It was supposed to be a one-night stand—

No, actually, scratch that.

It was an evening Abbot didn’t plan on spending with anyone but a glass of whiskey. It was the only remedy that he could think of after the shift he had.

A couple was brought in at 4 am: in their early thirties, newlywed — their car swerved off the road, rolled over four times before hitting a tree. The guy died at the scene, his wife crashed twice on the way to the ER. She was three months pregnant. Jack spent oven an hour coding her; she spent twice as much time in the OR. Two blood transfusions, one kidney out, three broken ribs, dozen of stitches on her stomach and her head. He watched her being transferred to the ICU, then he made calls to notify both families: there were heartbreaking cries, prayers he feared would be left unanswered. Jack came up to the roof to catch his breath — the air outside was moist and stifling, the sky draped with the clouds the sun couldn’t plough through. It was his day off but he didn’t leave — instead Jack walked the stairs and halls until his legs ached, until he could do nothing else but pass out in the call room.

He wakes up in the evening, hardly rested — the female patient still hasn’t woken up. And there is a chance she never will. But if she does, he knows that the reality will hurt her worse than broken ribs and bruises.

When he walks out of the ER, the rain is pouring and his head is pounding, and he thinks if he just goes home, the silence would feel too suffocating to let him fall asleep. He’s too distraught to change out of scrubs, he cares not about the cold droplets hitting his face like needles. He wipes them off and runs into the closest bar — he’s met with semi-darkness and cool air, no blaring music and no flashing neon signs. The quiet is comforting, veiled with the faint sounds of jazz, the place smelling of wood and orange peel and liquor. It’s too early for the crowds to swarm it, but Jack pays no attention to the few people that came in. He strides straight to the counter and orders whiskey — double with no ice, then picks a small table in the farthest corner. He’s a few steps away from reaching it when his eye catches on your blouse — silk, silvery, fitted so well around your waist. But he doesn’t allow his gaze to linger. That’s not what he came for, that’s not what he is interested in.

He sits down with a heavy sigh and a heavy heart. He takes the first sip, then the second one. The alcohol spreads slowly through him, wicks up the bitterness of disappointment threatening to clot his blood like poison. Jack breathes a little easier by the time he drinks half of his glass. His gaze sweeps over his surroundings — distractedly, uncaring — before it’s drawn to you again.

You’re sitting on a bar stool with your back to him. You brought your work with you — a small black laptop on the counter, the keyboard soundless under your fingers, eyes on the screen. Occasionally, you reach for the same lowball glass — with ice and lemon, half-full — he guesses it’s a gin tonic. You are too locked in to take notice of what’s going on around you. With each new minute Jack finds it harder to look away.

He tells himself the lighting is to blame — it scatters all over your blouse, drips over every crinkle, making the fabric look like molten metal, like white gold. It’s neatly tucked into the waistband of your pants: dark blue, formal, perfectly tight around your thighs. His eyes snag on them — he feels a flash of hunger, a heat that swiftly spills into his bloodstream.

On the periphery of his vision, Jack sees a guy coming your way. He wears a smirk, eyes roaming over you — he takes a moment to appreciate your curves too, before his gaze lazily moves higher, to your face and to whatever you’re working on —

And then he yelps.

A few heads turn in his direction, but you don’t move a muscle, don’t even send him a half-glance. The guy abruptly loses all his feigned determination. But Jack’s determined like no other.

Because now he is curious. Now he has a better reason to keep looking.

Jack straightens on his seat. He searches eagerly for clues — but you don’t give them out easily: no badge, no uniform, no logo of the company you work for. And there’s confidence in your relaxed pose and posture, a hint of cockiness in the slight curve of your back. Two more guys try to hit on you: the first peeks through your shoulder and retreats with a horrified grimace, the second one manages a word or two before you cut him off, and he has to leave with nothing.

And Jack doesn’t even try to rationalize his actions — the pull he feels is the mere reason he stands up, glass in his hand, eyes fixed on you.

He gets the explanation for everyone’s dismay when your laptop’s screen comes into his view. It’s crime scene photos — bright, brutal, bloody: a dead body, deep and frantic wounds left by a knife. Jack’s seen enough of those in real life to not be bothered. But he thinks it’s impressive how unbothered you are.

He leans on the counter, one stool in between you, his voice nonchalant. “That looks like someone’s getting buried in a closed casket.”

“Yes, 17 stab wounds do that to a person,” you reply curtly, fingers flying over the keys.

His eyes flick down your profile and over every feature of your face — your cool demeanor invites no conversation. His gaze darts back at the stained flesh and scattering of cuts.

“It’s not the stabbing that killed her though.”

“Correct,” you still refuse to spare him a glance.

But Jack’s not used to giving up so fast. And maybe he is champing at the bit to glimpse a part of you no one in here was in luck to see.

“Most wounds are in her stomach area. Was she pregnant?”

Your fingers pause at his remark — for just a moment, yet he notices. A corner of his mouth curls. You keep typing but your voice loses a layer of indifference.

“Careful, you already sound smarter than the entire defense team.”

“Now I am tempted to continue. The suspect is a male, I reckon? A boyfriend or a husband?”

You huff a laugh at his insistence. Jack takes half a step closer. And then you turn to get a look at him, at that man who dared to move into your space.

Your gaze is direct, dissecting — like he is on the operation table, and you’re about to masterfully cut him into parts. It is a gaze that doesn’t make apologies for bluntness, it can effortlessly give warnings and make treats. But you choose to show him mercy.

“She wanted to get married. Naively hoped a baby would encourage him to.”

“And he never wanted kids,” Abbot deduces, not hiding his disapproval. “Did he try an impromptu mix of pills for an abortion?”

“That would require some research and also him having more than one brain cell,” your disapproval sounds like dislike. “He just emptied half a bag of heroin into her tea. She, unsurprisingly, OD’ed. Instead of calling 911, he tried to cover it up.”

“So his one brain cell wasn’t present,” Jack gives a snort of disgust. “And what’s his lawyer’s take?”

“He claims she took the drugs herself, then caused a fight. While being on the brink of death, yes,” there is a furrow in your brow, your tone sharp, simmering. “He wants it classified as a third-degree murder, so in a decade his asshole client can walk out on the promise of good behavior. I want him charged with two counts of first-degree murder. Life sentence with no parole.”

You take your cocktail and finish it in barely two sips, then ask the bartender for a third one. You catch Jack’s gaze, and he notes incredulously: “You seem stone-cold sober.”

“Can say the same about you.”

He looks down at his whiskey like he almost forgot he had it. “It’s actually my first.”

You look at him like you are making an incision and carefully assessing his internal damage. When you get your drink — poured over lemon slices and crushed ice — you swiftly move the glass to him. “You should give mine a try.”

“I’m not sure mixing drinks is a good idea—”

“Trust me on this,” you insist, eyes darting to the badge on his black scrubs, the syllables of his last name softly rolling off your tongue. “Dr. Abbot.”

The sound ripples through his chest, like you just pulled a heartstring that no one’s touched in years. “Jack,” he corrects. “Less formal.”

He asks for your name in return and takes your cocktail, gives it a swirl then has a sip. Jack raises his eyebrow at the taste. He tries some more to get a confirmation.

“This is... plain water?”

You nod with a small smile, without a hint of shame. “I don’t enjoy being drunk. But if I sit here with a bottle of Perrier, that would raise questions.”

“So you ask to make it look fancy, like a cocktail,” Jack figures out, then chuckles. “And you suggest that I stop drinking.”

“You haven’t touched your glass in the last 10 minutes. My guess is that you don’t really want to.”

When your eyes meet, he feels like you can see right through, bypassing all the locks he’s been meticulously putting over his emotions. It’s strange, it’s very new to him. It’s also somewhat thrilling.

Jack finally sits on the bar stool next to you. There is a small space between his legs and yours — he doesn’t cross it. You don’t move away. His hand stays clasped around his glass.

“The first half of it felt nice. Like maybe it could dull things down a little. But I don’t like getting drunk, too.”

“Having trouble at work?” you ask simply, with no pity and no pressure.

He thinks it over like he is looking at the baggage — of his past and present, bad and worse, deciding what bag he can open first. Which one’s less scary. “I work night shifts. The last one was pretty rough.”

But you prefer to start with the worst one — eyes trained on the ring he’s wearing. “So you came here to blow off some steam instead of coming home to your wife?”

The words hit him — not like a punch but like a stream of ice-cold water. He isn’t hurt, he’s startled — by how fast you notice things, how straightforward you are with voicing them. Nothing escapes your eye, no matter how deep it’s been buried. And it’s the grave that he almost laid himself in.

The ring was once a promise, then a wound — after his wife’s death, the metal band only reminded of the pain, of how impossible it seemed to ever heal. He knew the exact time she passed, he counted days and hours he managed to survive alone. It was unbearable and crushing, it felt hopeless. Now he only thinks about her once a year.

Jack doesn’t ponder over his answer for too long. He shares the truth as if he’s offering his palms — so you can read the lines and see the scars he usually keeps hidden.

“I’m a widower. This is just...” he twists the ring slowly with his thumb. “Out of a habit, I suppose.”

You turn your whole body to him, your back straight and hands locked together. Like you are about to interrogate him. “And how long you’ve been a widower?”

Jack doesn’t break eye contact. “Five years.”

“What happened?” you hold his gaze with ease.

“Glioblastoma. She was gone in seven months.”

He sees it flicker across your face — the ache of sympathy for him after what he’s been through. The unexpected understanding of what it feels like.

“That is a tough one. It doesn’t leave much at the end,” your voice softens and so does your gaze. “It’s hard to watch someone die like that. I’m really sorry.”

“Someone you knew also had it?” he takes another guess.

He’s on a lucky streak — you drop your gaze because he’s right again. He wishes that he wasn’t.

“My mentor, the first man I worked for. The best one, I think,” your finger traces the cold rim of your glass. Jack almost reaches out to take your hand. “He was too busy to take care of himself, got diagnosed when it was too late for any treatments. He made it to eight months.”

Jack moves his whiskey to your water, clinks his glass with yours. The look you give him offers an apology. He doesn’t need it — the words he gives you only offer kindness:

“I’m sorry you had to see that too.”

There is a lull in your conversation but it’s not awkward, isn’t heavy. It feels like clearing up the space the grief used to take up. It feels a little bit like hope.

Jack clears his throat and points at the gruesome photos on your screen. “Are you even allowed to open these in public?”

You chuckle dryly and roll your eyes. “The case’s been all over the news because his daddy is some pop music producer. You can find the photos on TMZ.” Then you consider him — a night-shift doctor, a tired man, a stranger who tasted the same pain you did. “Although you are probably too busy for stuff like that.”

You close your laptop with one hand, your sharp attention now all on him. Your knees brush his, and you don’t seem uncomfortable with it.

“What happened to you at work?”

Jack lets out a sigh, twiddles with the black band of his watch. “Got a car crash victim. Not sure she will pull through. She also lost her husband and her baby so waking up won’t be much of a relief either.”

“Was there anything you didn’t do? That could’ve saved any of them?”

“No,” he says without a doubt, although with sadness. “He died on impact. She was three months pregnant, so the baby didn’t have a chance.”

“Which means that none of it is your fault. You didn’t kill anyone, you are actually the reason she did get a chance to live,” you tell him calmly.

Jack shakes his head. “Maybe she won’t.”

“Maybe she will.”

“You are being optimistic,” he argues, a tad glum.

“I’m being rational. Give it a try,” you retort.

“Yes, I’m sure that some good-old rationalizing will make me feel a lot better,” his words don’t bite, but there’s frustration in his gaze, in how he rubs the back of his neck.

“Okay, I’ll do it for you,” and then you lean to him, one knee sliding in between his two, your perfume redolent of bergamot and jasmine, fresh and a tad sweet. Jack is dumbfounded by how close you are, how casually you do it. He makes an effort not to follow the streak of light that sneaks down your neckline. Your eyes are set firmly on him like you’re dead set on changing his whole world. He lets you.

“How many patients did you treat this week? I don’t need the exact number, an approximate will do.”

“I don’t know, over 40. Maybe 50.”

“Let’s say it’s 45. How many of them died? Just those two?” — he gives you a short nod. You move an inch closer so he can hear you over the other voices that already fill the bar. “How many of them were women of fertile age?”

“What?” he blinks with pure puzzlement, his hand going from his neck back to the counter, bumping into yours. “How would I know that, I don’t really—”

“In the US, females outnumber males by less than 1%, and about one-third of them are over 65. Which means around 16 women you treated probably can have kids,” the space between you is shortened by another inch. “Let’s say 10 of them want to and they will. That’s at least 10 babies that will be born because you didn’t fuck up. 10 babies after just one week of you being a good doctor. 40 babies after a month and 480 in one year.”

He doesn’t bother with the counting — instead, he notices: the fragrance you’re wearing also has notes of peach and lilies. And your close presence and your voice make all the noise around him disappear.

“You’re good with numbers,” Jack says with quiet fascination.

“I’m good at recognizing shitty people,” you tell him plainly, your thumb brushing his wrist — on accident, he thinks, but his whole arm warms up. “I’ve dealt with doctors who maimed their patients like it meant nothing. I’ve seen them make the stupidest mistakes they didn’t think twice about. But if you care too much, you need to rewire your brain to make it easier to function,” and when your palm covers his hand — it’s unmistakably intentional, it is a feeling he forgot existed: the comfort of a simple touch. “So next time things don’t work out — not even because of something you did, but because shit happens, — instead of wearing sackcloth and ashes, think of the dozens of chubby babies and dozens of families you gave a chance at happiness because you did everything right.”

You tell it to him like it’s indisputable, the truth that’s carved in stone. Deep down, he is aware that he’s good at what he does and bad at taking credit for it, sometimes downright refusing. But he couldn’t argue with you even if he wanted. Because Jack’s struggling to get his head together — the struggle comes from your hand still being pressed to his. And now that he knows the feeling of your skin, it’s hard to act like just one touch will be enough. Like he isn’t in dire need of more.

“I’ve never thought about it like that,” Jack manages, and it isn’t a lie. The truth lies deeper: he never thought he’d want someone like that, never imagined feeling so touch-starved.

“You should. Maybe you’re single-handedly responsible for keeping this city’s population up,” you smile at him, and it’s sincere. But you’re looking at him like he’s an open book and his feelings are as clear as ink on paper.

And you don’t take your hand away, and Jack can feel the pull again. He welcomes it.

“You keep saying things like that, and it will get to my head,” his voice gets low too — and it’s him who is leaning forward.

Your gaze isn’t wavering from his. “And what’s the worst thing that can happen?”

He doesn’t waver when he says: “I’ll dare to take more risks.”

“What will the first one be?”

“Asking if I can take you home.”

You aren’t surprised and aren’t scandalized. You don’t even take time to think. “Are you suggesting I should wrap up my work session?”

“I think you already did,” a smile ghosts Jack’s lips.

The effect whiskey had on him was fleeting. You are way more intoxicating. Your palm is at his elbow, and his pulse is racing, and for how rational and logic-driven he usually is, this time he doesn’t want to be: he thinks of taking you away from prying eyes, he thinks of kissing you, he thinks he can give one-night stands a go —

There is a sound of sottish laughter, then something splashing and someone cursing. Not much liquid gets on your blouse but Jack gets on his foot like he’s about to get into a fight. The guy who spilled his cocktail on you is too slow-witted to access the threat. You quickly put yourself between them, your hand blindly finding Jack’s, your fingers on his wrist. And instantly his anger goes down by half.

The clumsy partygoer sends you a smirk. “Your man looks like he wants to say somethin'.”

“And you look like someone who doesn’t want to be thrown out of the bar on a random Thursday. Keep walking,” you tell him in a tone so cold, he sobers up, losing his smirk. The guy apologizes incoherently and darts away to blend into the crowd.

When you turn to Jack, he is already looking at you. “Are you okay?”

“I’m pretty sure it was a Mojito, and he mostly spilled the ice. It won’t even leave a stain. I’m just gonna pay a visit to the hand dryer in the bathroom,” you put the laptop in its slim black bag and leave a few bills on the counter. “You probably should wait outside,” and then your hand glides lightly over his chest, like you’re smoothing out his shirt. “Wouldn’t want any drinks spilled on you.”

And as Jack watches you walk — each step with purpose, hips swaying — he surely feels like he needs some air.

By now, the rain has eased, and through the thinned-out clouds he can see wisps of sunset, beads of pink and yellow. And in the chill of the approaching night, his confidence wanes just a little. Isn’t he too old for this? Aren’t you too good for him? How long has it been since he had someone in his bed? The last one he actually knows a clear answer to. It’s hardly reassuring.

Jack catches the sound of your heeled boots before you come out — with no stain on the blouse, no hesitation in your gaze. He knows the more he waits, the less likely he is to go through with it. So he says it — quickly, like ripping off a bandaid:

“My apartment is just around the corner.”

And he thinks you are about to decline. His misperception lasts for barely five seconds — and then your face splits into a smile: not pitying, not forced, but bright like the sunlight he’s been missing. Your words come out a tad pensive:

“You know, I was having such a bad day when I came to the bar.”

“Was?” Jack echoes, eyes on you, all his uncertainty replaced by skin-prickling excitement. He will have you, even if only once. Because you want this, too.

“I think my night might be way better,” you come closer as you give him confirmation: it’s in your mellow gaze, in fingers raring to touch him — they graze his arm, shoulder, base of his neck. The smile never leaves your face. “Your apartment sounds like a good start.”

And Jack wants to kiss you so fucking badly. But not on the steps of some overcrowded bar.

Not while you’re rushing through the drizzle, and your hand catches his, and he holds onto it without thinking. Not at the bus stop where you take a break, and you soak up the fading sunshine with your eyes closed, your skin glowing, his heart skipping a beat, twice. Not in the lobby of his building you walk through hand in hand. Not in the elevator — not even when you press the top button without asking.

“How did you guess?” he wonders, his gaze focused on your lips. He catches you looking at his before you give a reply.

“I just prefer the top floor, too.”

Jack lets you in first and locks the door behind him, not in a hurry but a little bit on edge. He’s trying not to be self-conscious about every part of his apartment. You take your shoes off, your laptop and your phone left on the hinged shelf at the entrance. And then you take it all in, but you aren’t scrutinizing or perplexed or judging. You look around like it’s exactly how you pictured it, like everything about his place makes sense.

The contrast of light walls and dark parquet, a small amount of furniture — minimalistic, spotless, simple. But there is a scattering of things that catch your gaze. A stack of old CDs and a small Sony player, the plastic case already rubbed off at the corners. A tier of books with countless bookmarks tucked between the pages. A pile of med journals and printouts of studies with his jotting in the margins, a dozen multi-colored pens stacked into a whiskey glass. A coffee table that you can tell was made by hand — black walnut wood, coarse-grained, a few tool marks around the apron. You delicately trace them with your finger in silent appreciation of his dedication and his skill. Jack barely can remember why he was even worried.

And then you step into his bedroom, and he can think of nothing else.

It’s half-dark, the floor windows left uncovered because he was in a rush to leave. You keep the lights off. You walk to where the twilight is bleeding through the glass, the hues of red and violet covering the floor. The dim light contours the collar of your blouse, the specks of silver shimmering like moonlight on the water. Jack is so mesmerized, he doesn’t catch it right away — the way your fingers move down to the row of buttons. You turn to face him with the first one carelessly undone.

“I thought you’d want to take this off yourself,” you then unbutton the second one — and look him in the eye. “Do you?”

“You can’t seriously have doubts,” he rasps, his pupils blown wide, mouth craving yours — or any part of you that you can give him.

Your hands stop. And then your voice drops, beckoning. “What are you waiting for?”

Jack crosses the distance in a heartbeat.

It’s not a crash — it feels like it’s a fusion, your body molding perfectly against his as soon as he pulls you closer by the hips. You meet him not with hesitation but with need, your lips sure, soft, searing — he kisses you back so fervently, it makes his head dizzy. It makes him want you more. Your every move sets fire in him, and you tend to it with skill: you grip his shirt with one hand, the other tracing up his spine — until it settles at his nape, your fingers threading through his hair, and his breath hitches. You only pull away to give him air and guide both of his hands up to your blouse. His frail composure barely lasts another minute while he works the buttons — until he sees your bra: thin black lace.

“You wear this on a random Thursday?” Jack groans, then dips his head to leave hot open-mouth kisses down your chest. He tugs at the lace slightly with his teeth, and you tug at his hair.

“Try not to tear it apart,” you tell him, half a joke and half a warning; but your tone suggests that you won’t mind.

His lips find yours again because he can’t stop craving them, hands wandering under your blouse as he walks you blindly to the bed. You’re a step away, and his imagination already paints the picture — your body naked and writhing under his mouth — but then you grab into his clothes, maneuvering him to turn — and in a second he is pushed onto the mattress. Time freezes for the shortest moment as you look him over, your lips parted, your fingertips skating up his cheek, and Jack leans instantly into your touch. With the same hand you bring his mouth back to yours, and now you share the same hunger: you straddle him and tug at the black scrubs and the white t-shirt he wears under, and Jack is fumbling with your bra clasp, too eager and too lost in you —

The pain’s not sharp but sudden. It shoots from his knee up to the hip, and Jack flinches with a hiss, breaking the kiss.

“What’s wrong?” you instantly pull back, studying his face.

Jack feels blood rushing to his cheeks. He shifts uncomfortably in place. “It’s my leg.”

You look down. “Which one?”

He stifles an embarrassed sigh and grudgingly hitches up his right pant leg, revealing the prosthesis. “My muscles cramp up sometimes when I bend the knee,” Jack moves one hand down to help stretch his leg forward, the metal frame catching the light.

You keep your eyes on it as you say musingly: “Oh, you are full of surprises, Dr. Abbot.”

You make a face he can’t match to an emotion — is it regret? Are you disappointed? Will you leave now? But then you reach your hand to where the prosthesis meets the limb and carefully trace the scarred tissue. Your touch is light at first, but slowly you apply more pressure, your thumb and middle finger massaging the sides of his leg.

“Do you need to remove it?” you ask, not bothered in the slightest.

“Not yet,” Jack breathes out in relief, feeling the pain and tension fading — as is his shame.

And when he meets your gaze, you read him once again: his fears, his insecurities, everything he’s used to hide and overthink. And your eyes sparkle with an intent to prove him wrong. You move your fingers up his leg, unhurriedly, unwavering, making a teasing stop to dip your thumb under the waistband of his pants. He almost bucks up his hips. You hitch his shirts up and drag over his head, then throw aside with one quick motion — and when your fingertips skim under his navel, Jack lets out a quivering exhale. Your hands slide up his chest, his every muscle tensing under your touch, your body leaning closer inch by inch, until he feels your breath fanning his face.

Your words are quiet but they burn his mouth: “There isn’t a part of you I don’t find hot.”

Jack can’t think of a time he ever felt so wanted. He also can’t do much thinking when you are kissing him, your tongue darting between his lips, your hips grinding against him, and he is getting harder with each second, with each movement.

“Sorry, should’ve told you sooner,” he mumbles when you break apart. “Didn’t want to ruin the moment.”

Your laughter tickles in the crook between his neck and shoulder, your lips mapping a route to the hollow of his throat. And then your kisses travel higher — the slope of his jaw, the spot behind his ear — and he is aching to get more, and he can never get enough.

“You can’t possibly ruin this,” your eyes are locked on him again so he knows that you mean it. “You barely touched me, and I’m already soaked.”

Jack sucks in a breath. His palm moves to lay flat against your stomach, then glides behind your waistband, to where you’re waiting for his touch. He feels the wetness through the lace — you spread your legs wider — and he pushes the black material aside to find you slick, warm, already throbbing.

His eyes look a shade darker in the amber of the dusk. “This all for me?” Jack asks dazedly, his finger teasing at your entrance.

“Wanna do something about it?” you murmur.

He slips a finger in, drawing a moan from your lips — the sound goes straight to his cock. His other hand moves to your hip, presses you into him so you can feel the bulge beneath his pants. And then Jack starts thrusting into you, precise and fast, his tentativeness melting away like ice on fire.

“How am I doing?” his tone teases.

And he already has his answer — it’s in the sounds you make, in how your hips are moving eagerly to meet his finger. He adds a second one and hears you gasp.

“Good, s-so— fucking good,” you babble. “Didn’t expect— o-ooh anything less.”

It fuels his confidence like nothing else. He leans to you a little, his voice is thick with lust. “Take the blouse off. I don’t want to ruin it.”

Although he sounds pretty ruined himself. And you aren’t shy about reveling in it. Slowly, you let the silver fabric fall halfway down your back — and then your fingers run over your bra and tug roughly at your nipples. Jack watches, spellbound, not blinking, as they harden under the lace.

At last, he yields to his desire since it can no longer be contained. And Jack is nothing if not ravenous for you.

He pulls your bra straps down with his teeth — one then the other — and then his lips are on your skin, leaving a wet trail between your breasts; he pumps his fingers in and out, and they go knuckles-deep. He adds a third, his tongue flickering over your nipple before he gives it a light bite — and you are withering, and struggling for breath, and pleading — yes, please, Jack, d-don’t stop — and he can cum just from you gasping out his name. It doesn’t take much longer: he hits the right spot, not randomly but expertly, his thumb pressed to your clit, his every stroke commanding you to let go — and you do. Your mouth falls slack and your whole body stills, like you are struck by lightning, electric currents rippling through your veins until your blood is sweltering like you’re caught on fire.

Your thighs tremble when he pulls his fingers out. And through the half-closed eyes, you watch as his tongue darts to taste your wetness that his hand is drenched in. You reach for it without warning and lick his fingers clean. Jack groans at the sight — and then you’re swallowing that sound with your mouth. The kiss is messy, tongues and teeth — your blouse and bra join his clothes on the floor before Jack lifts you off him and drops on onto the bed. He gets your pants and panties off, tosses aside and spreads your legs — you are left fully naked, and he drinks you up: your skin the heat is rising off, the parts of you he is desperate to put his mouth on. He readily bends towards you, his kisses climbing higher — from your calf to your knee to the inside of your thigh —

“Come up,” you whisper like an order, and he obeys with bated breath.

Your lips collide, and there is intensity that makes the world around him fade, the vestiges of his old doubts reduced to ashes. You don’t feel like a blaze that scorches and leaves marks — no scratches on his back, no bruises where you touch him — instead, your hands are tender. And he is melting all the same. So when you push him on his side, then on his back, and sit on top of him, Jack voices no complaints.

You aren’t hasty with his remaining clothes — you drag the pants down first, careful around his prosthesis, curios about the traces of his past: your fingers run over the scar on his left knee, over the other on his thigh. And then your eyes move to his briefs, to the sharp outline of his cock. You pull the fabric down to free him — thick, leaking, reddened at the tip. It takes you one — two — three slow strokes — and Jack is trembling all over, his quiet exhale breaking into a low moan.

He points at the bedside table, stumbling over the words. “I forgot to— You should— Top drawer.”

You find them in the bottom one — a couple of condoms shoved into the corner like he thought they’d never be of use. You pick one, sit back on the bed, and tear the wrapper open. And then you put the condom in between your lips and teeth. You purposefully keep eye contact as you get lower — and take him in your mouth, pushing the condom slowly over his cock. Jack flinches, and his head falls back, a loud gasp ripped from his throat.

“F-fucking hell.”

You hollow your cheeks on your way up, then pull off and use your fingers to roll the condom down to the base. He stays still, hands clutching the sheets so hard, the lines of veins pop on his arms, his stomach muscles tense — as is his voice. “Don’t,” Jack pleads through gritted teeth, “I won’t last a minute.”

A grin touches your lips like you already knew he wouldn’t. Your hands go higher so he can take a breath. Your fingertips ghost across his chest, unspooling stiffness from his body and waiting for his reticence to vanish like dew in heat. And when it does, Jack pulls you closer by the arm, pulls you into a kiss that steals the air from your lungs and tastes like pure need. And it’s a need you share.

You promptly grind your hips against his, coating his cock in your arousal, only a few quick moves before you lift your thighs and slip him inside. A shudder travels through your body as he stretches you, as he finally fills you, the pleasure so intense it stuns you both. It takes you a good minute to regain your senses. You roll your hips a couple of times and then start riding him — and almost effortlessly, you find the rhythm that leaves Jack in raptures. It feels electrifying, all-consuming, desire flaring up his every cell, spreading down to his bones. And then you’re both aflame.

Jack sits up, hands roaming over you — his fingers on your hips to help you move, then toying with your nipples to make you gasp. His lips are on your throat where your rugged breath mixes with moans. You try to find the words for it — this feels s-so — fuck, Jack, you are sooo — but you are too overwhelmed to speak, and he is too transfixed on you to care. He feels that you’re getting close — your pace quickens and your voice quavers, hands clinging to his shoulders for support. And he is barrelling toward his orgasm just as fast. He breathes you in and holds you tight, heat trapped between your skin and his as you are arching into him, so soft and pliant and cock-drunk.

It is the friction of your body against his that throws you over the edge — you cry out, face buried in the curve of his neck like you are seeking shelter, unraveling so helplessly and willingly like he’s the only one allowed to have you like this. And in a second the orgasm rips through Jack — euphoric, blinding, emptying, the closest that he’s ever been to ecstasy and to losing his mind.

You are both panting, limbs entangled, your chest still pressed to his.

“I think I need a moment,” you mumble, your fingertips grazing his shoulder blades.

“Yeah, same,” Jack breathes out. “Feeling a little rusty after all these years.”

He doesn’t register the meaning of his words until you slightly pull away. The room is slipping into darkness, but he can see emotions in your eyes, like glints of the sun setting: amazement first, too obvious to hide — was he alone for five whole years? But then there is empathy and an unspoken gratitude — for you being the one that he decided to let in.

You move your hand to cup his face, a smile pulling at the edges of your mouth. “You are very far from rusty, Dr. Abbot.”

Jack leans in first, like he can’t help it — your lips meet his like you want nothing else. And you kiss him so softly, so unhurriedly, it is the kind of fondness that soothes wounds. When he draws back, he is suffused with peace, like all the damage he’s been carrying no longer weighs on him.

Jack puts the blanket over you, up to the very shoulders, and pecks your lips. “Stay right here.”

Begrudgingly, he slides out of you and snaps off the condom, then pulls up his briefs and staggers to his feet. He finds your panties and helps you put them on, his palms following the contours of your thighs like he’s appreciating art. Jack chugs some water in the kitchen, then pours you a glass — and on his way back, he rummages through his wardrobe and drags out a clean t-shirt.

“In case you want something to sleep in,” he offers as you empty the glass. “I don’t know if—”

You take the shirt without question and put it on — and then you take his hand and pull him into bed. He lies down on his back and takes off the prosthesis, letting it slide down to the floor. You drape your arm over his chest and snuggle up to him, already heavy-eyed. You trace his shoulder with your finger, then press a small kiss on it.

“I really like your arms,” you murmur sleepily.

He really likes holding you in these arms, Jack realizes. He is amazed at how easy it comes, of how much he doesn’t want to let you go.

And it feels ridiculous to ask but he can’t help it. “What about my arms?”

He can tell by your slowing breath that you are dozing off. Still, you manage in a whisper: “They are very... steady.”

He thinks about asking for your phone number. And then his mind is flooded by the faded fantasies that promptly take on color: tables for two at restaurants, fresh flowers wrapped in kraft paper, your hands that fit so well in his. Jack gently brushes a stray hair from your forehead when his eye catches on his wedding ring. He looks at it for a few seconds — but the metal band has long lost its meaning. So Jack takes the ring off and carefully turns in bed to put it in the top drawer. And then he tugs you closer, your body warm against his as he falls into the comforting embrace of sleep.

When he wakes up, the warmth’s still there.

His legs are humming, but he isn’t weary, like all the tension’s been unweaved from his sore muscles. Like he’s just had the best sleep in months. But when his hand moves to the side, he finds the bed empty — and instantly he’s overcome with what feels like loss, although he knows it shouldn’t. Because one-night stands aren’t supposed to last. Your scent still lingers on the pillowcase — crisp, clean, raindrops caught in the petals at the sunrise. He turns his head to breathe it in, eyes slowly falling shut —

And then Jack hears it.

The clinking.

The sound usually made by forks, knives, plates. The sound that’s coming from his kitchen.

Jack rubs his eyes and sits up, the remnants of his sleep dissolving in the air. He notices his clothes left neatly folded on the dresser, the prosthesis propped against his side of the bed. And his heart rushes at the thought: you did this for him. And you didn’t leave.

He gets up and gets dressed — but his every move is quiet. Quieter than usual. It is anxiety that turns into anticipation with every step he takes to where the small noises come from. And then he walks into the kitchen like he is walking into a dream he never thought would come to life.

The place is sunlit, the bright rays sprinkling specks of gold on every surface: the metal handles of the cupboards, the scuffed edges of the chairs, the glass table, and the plates on it. And then there’s you, bathing in sunlight, legs bare and hair loose — and his breath catches at the sight. You move around like you’ve already been here, like it’s a habit you just naturally follow: preparing a breakfast for him, in his kitchen, in his clothes. You are still wearing the t-shirt — it hangs loosely around your shoulders but sits tighter at your hips. Jack thinks he’d like to see all of his shirts on you.

“Did I wake you up?” you ask without turning to him, still stirring something in the pan.

“No,” his voice is hoarse from sleep. His nose picks up the smells of sizzling bacon, of something frying, sweet and spicy. “I see, you found the spatula. I genuinely thought I lost it.”

Jack hears the smile in your voice. “It’s not too complicated of a system you’ve got in here.”

Is there a system? He wasn’t aware. He unintentionally says it out loud, and you laugh softly.

“I mean, I see the logic behind it. Knives in the top drawer because you use them the most. Sometimes instead of forks, I’m guessing, because the forks were pushed so deep into the second drawer, like they hadn’t seen the light in weeks. Teaspoons stored in one of your three mugs since you only use them to stir coffee. Two tablespoons were probably left there by accident — and these are all you have, so I suspect you are no fan of soups,” you turn the stove off and move the pan onto the metal trivet, the sun beams skimming up your legs. “I do appreciate that you store all plates and bowls in one place. Although that is the only cupboard that doesn’t creak, so I am a little bit concerned by how often you actually use your dishes. The spatula was in the frying pan, by the way.”

Jack feels his heart swell with a feeling he is yet to name. You look at him over your shoulder as if you didn’t sort through his decades of chaos in a minute. “Come here, try this.”

And you don’t have to ask him twice because he’s always eager to cross the distance.

Jack walks closer, his chest brushing your back, arm circling around your waist. You scoop some food and bring it into his mouth. And almost instantly, involuntarily, he can’t hold back a hum of satisfaction.

“Wait, what is this?”

He sees your lips curling into a smile. “Food, Jack. Eggs and bacon and the two tomatoes that looked edible.”

“That’s not how they usually taste.”

You fully turn to him, another spoonful disappearing into his mouth. “Ever heard of the word flavor? You do know spices exist, right?”

He is a little torn between wanting to kiss you and stealing yet another bite. “I just use salt.”

“I figured. Your salt container is almost empty,” your smile grows wider. You wipe the corner of his mouth with your finger. “But I found a jar of Taco Seasoning in your top cupboard, so I guess you have your moments of enlightenment.”

“Got it for free when I bought a new frying pan. Half a year ago,” and you two move as if you share an instinct: he takes you by the hips, and you step back, ass pressed against the counter — and then you swiftly sit on it, and he stands in between your legs.

You pick a crispy bacon strip — he bites off a half and you eat the rest. His hands stay on your thighs as you give him two more.

“What did you do with the bacon?”

“I baked it,” your phone buzzes nearby but you ignore it, instead reaching for the pan. Jack takes it, and he doesn’t bother with the plates: he feeds you scrambled eggs himself with the utmost diligence. On the fourth spoon you lean to peck his lips, and a smile breaks across his face, eyes crinkling at the corners. And suddenly he is so palpably aware of how much he wants more mornings spent like this. With you.

You give him more bacon, and he can’t refuse it, your fingertips brushing his lips as he takes hungry bites. “It feels less greasy. In a good way.”

“Because I didn’t add too much oil. There is already fat in bacon,” you take the spoon from him and scrape the leftovers off the pan, maneuvering the food into his mouth before he can protest. “Just so you know, I think that not having toasted bread at breakfast is a crime. I’m only cutting you some slack because you had a tough shift.”

He’s struggling to hide a grin. Jack drops the dishes in the sink, then moves closer to you, hands clasped around your waist. He leaves a light kiss on your shoulder.

“Where did you learn to cook?”

“A lot of my clients are immigrants. They often bring me meals as a thank you, and I always ask what they put in,” you gently comb your fingers through the grey curls framing his forehead. Jack leans in, and you bump your nose into his. “Now, I’m not gonna open a Mexican restaurant anytime soon... But I do know my spices.”

Your phone buzzes again, and when Jack’s gaze falls on the screen, he reads the words out loud without a second thought.

“You just received a file called SA (identified 14/01–20),” and then his smile fades. “Does that mean sexual assault?”

Immediately, your face changes — from relaxed to focused: you quickly get off the counter and grab your phone. Jack manages to catch the names of two more files: 10/21–40, 18/41–60.

“That’s classified,” you don’t sound angry but your tone loses its warmth.

You get another notification, your face tensing with concentration. Jack doesn’t want to interrupt but there’s an inkling tugging at his chest.

“It must be something bad,” he remarks.

“It is,” you tell him matter-of-factly, eyes on the screen. It takes a long moment for you to add. “Involves sex trafficking. That’s all I can say.”

A bad feeling creeps over him like frost. He’s got no explanation for it, no real reason to ask questions. So he keeps them to himself. “Sounds like a difficult case.”

Jack isn’t sure you can hear him, your finger sliding over the screen as you keep reading, mindless of the minutes flying by. In about ten you finally look up, gaze distant, wheels in your head turning, some kind of critical decision taking shape. And then it’s not exactly a relief — but clarity that he sees in your eyes, courage and sharp resolve.

“For almost a year it was an impossible case. Now I think I’ve got a real chance at it,” you share with him, half a confession, half a hope. “I have to go,” you sigh, then put the phone down and move to take the clean plates left forgotten on the table.

Jack catches your hand. “Don’t even think about it. I’ll do it.”

He watches you run toward the bedroom, then he pensively takes the plates away. And the unnerving questions keep swarming his head: how dangerous exactly is your job? Are there any safety measures you should take? Do you? It’s probably not his place to ask. It doesn’t make him any less concerned.

He looks at the jar of Taco Seasoning. He thinks of you folding his clothes, easing his fears. Of your laugh brushing his shoulder. Of how easily you fit everywhere in his life, like you are the only part that he’s been missing. He really should ask for your number.

You run back fully dressed — the pants you look sinfully good in, the blouse glistening like liquid silver. Your collarbones peek through, and Jack wants to place a kiss on each.

“You’re now out of mouthwash, so here’s a reminder,” you place a post-it note on his fridge, a few words you wrote in cursive. “And I almost forgot my phone.”

You rush to take it, you are just about to leave. But then you turn on your heels and quickly walk back to Jack, eyes on his mouth — until your lips are too. The kiss is soft for barely a second — and then it’s hot and deep, and Jack’s mind instantly goes blank.

“Don’t forget you’re the best doctor in town,” you smile against his mouth.

You walk out, and he’s left standing in the kitchen, wrapped up in pure bliss. His lips still tingle from the kiss, his body warm all over, the time melting away under the bright sunlight. But soon the realization cuts through his oblivion like a knife through cotton:

he didn’t get your number.

He has no clue where to find you.

Jack literally facepalms himself. And unsurprisingly, he doesn’t find you outside when he runs out of his flat, out of the building. And there are no crumbs that he can follow. Of course, he goes back to the bar — you paid in cash, no card info, they didn’t even ask for your ID. The bartender assures that you’ve never visited before. When Jack learns there are over 7000 lawyers in Pittsburgh, it feels like a lost cause. But he’s not used to giving up so fast. So he spends his free time searching the web: he googles law firms in the area, looks through the countless photos on their sites. And every time he’s in his kitchen, he stares at the blue note left on the fridge:

Buy a mouthwash (and some bread. Carbs are good for you!)

He buys both. One of his pillows smells like you, and he sleeps on the other; your perfume fades in 11 days. And in two weeks his hope starts fading too. He does attempt to look for the bright side of things — now he has something to remember, a reassurance that he isn’t too old for trying something new — but all the memories inevitably lead to one conclusion: he doesn’t want to try again. He just wants you.

And maybe there is a slim chance that you will come back to the bar, Jack tells himself. He goes there in his free evenings, his order boringly the same: just water, but throw some ice and lemon in. The bartender takes pity on him and doesn’t charge him half the time. And Jack keeps looking through the faces on the streets, in the ER, even while he’s driving down the road.

But never in a million years he expected this.

The people he’s surrounded with also find your current situation unexpected. You look up at them, gaze filled with the same unswerving perseverance. Your tone carries just the right amount of sharpness:

“Doesn’t E in the ER stand for emergency? Can we move?”

You don’t see him yet. Jack still can’t look away.

Langdon comes to his senses first. He grabs fresh gloves and rushes to you. “Okay, what am I looking at?”

You glance at him like he is looking stupid.

“Gunshot wounds. We stopped the bleeding from his leg, about 30 minutes ago. But the other one was worse, blood started spurting everywhere. And you can’t put a tourniquet over the chest. So I improvised.”

Frank quirks a brow. “And your first instinct was to stick your fingers in him?”

“You want me to remove them?”

“Do not!” Robby firmly cuts in. “Dr. Langdon just poorly phrased his appreciation for your quick thinking,” he glowers at him. Then finally, they wheel away the gurney you are on. “Let’s take you to trauma#1.”

Your shoulders fall a little — just enough for Jack to notice, your free hand holding tight to one of the side rails. He reads it in your body language: the tension from the inconvenient position, the stress of not knowing what happens next. As you pass by, for only a brief moment your eyes meet. And it’s pathetic how much he cares what you think. If you remember him. If you’ve been reliving that one night too. He discerns glimmers in your gaze — of recognition and surprise, of what he dares to believe is joy —

but then you break eye contact. And Jack follows you with zero hesitation.

The man’s blood pressure plummets on your way to the room. When you are all in, Robby does his best to navigate the turmoil:

“The bullet must’ve nicked an artery. We might need to open him up.”

“They’ll do that in the OR. If he lives for that long,” Frank says while intubating.

“Shouldn’t you take the bullet out?” Jesse is putting an IV line in.

“What are his chances?” you ask quietly. They don’t hear it, but Jack does. He’s standing at the doors, eyes darting from the patient’s vitals back to you. The one person that he cares for is not the injured man.

“We don’t have time to look for a bullet. Once she takes her hand out, he’ll bleed out within 5 minutes,” Frank notes grimly.

Robby is looking at the ultrasound image on the screen: heart and lungs miraculously unharmed. “Then we have 5 minutes to clamp the artery.”

“It can also be 2. We don’t know how much blood he lost,” Frank glances at the gurney doused with crimson. “My guess is that it’s a lot.”

“Do you have anything to offer apart from your pessimism? We’ll clamp the artery and hook him to another blood bag, that’s the plan.”

“And if he goes into cardiac arrest?”

“Is that a serious question?”

“We can’t use a D-fib while her hand is in.”

“Then she’ll take it out, that’s not exactly a complicated process.”

“Do we know if he’s a donor? Because chances are that —”

“He can’t die!” you snap, and there’s so much emotion in your voice, the room goes quiet for a moment.

Jack steps closer, then grabs a gown and gloves on autopilot, but his gaze is riveted to you. You’re only looking at the man who very much is on the verge of dying.

“He’s got a family. He’s been married since 22, she is the love of his life, they have two kids — both miracle babies, a boy and a girl, and they love them to pieces. And he knew that testifying publicly would be dangerous — but he still agreed. He said what if that was my baby, what if someone did that to her? How can I stay silent?” you recollect ruefully but your words are measured. “He can’t die. Not just because I have my whole case built on his testimony but because he was brave enough to do the right thing when no one else wanted to. I can’t let him die for that. Please, you have to do something.”

“Damn, I wish you were my lawyer,” Frank blurts out.

And you answer in an instant, not even looking at him. “Deal.”

“... Really?”

“Save him, and I’ll help any of you, doesn’t matter what’s it about. I take cases pro bono, so it will be one of those.”

Langdon narrows his eyes as if he doesn’t buy it, his voice a mix of skeptical and wry. “Can I have that in writing?”

If looks could cut, Frank would’ve been hemorrhaging on the floor. You glance at him from under your brows, your stare is withering and sharp, a blade that’s glowing red. His face changes like he’s regretting everything he said. And Jack can’t stop the thought: you can be drenched in blood and fuming — and he still won’t look at anybody else.

“My hands are a little busy at the moment,” you tell Frank dryly. “But you have my word. Now the ball is in your field.”

Jack makes a step to you. “You are into soccer?”

When your gaze darts to him, it isn’t cutting — but more so daring. “I’m into winning.”

“Makes two of us,” Abbot notes smoothly.

Robby’s eyes move from you to Jack, like he can glimpse something he doesn’t know what he should call. Frank looks between you like he’s connecting two big dots barely an inch apart. He bites back a smirk.

The monitors get loud as the man goes into cardiac arrest. Robby immediately pushes the ultrasound machine away. “You need to remove your hand now.”

“I’ll help her down,” Jack rushes up to you, and you watch as the others cut off the man’s clothes, preparing defibrillator pads, an intubation tube, clean cloths.

When they’re ready, Robby grabs a hemostat — and steps close. “Okay, move.”

You take your fingers out — Jack hooks his arm around your waist and swiftly drags you backward. Your legs tingle from the rush of blood, your feet a little bit unsteady when you stand. Jack’s palm lays firmly at your lower back, his voice quiet.

“You alright?”

You freeze for a few seconds, staring straight ahead — at the blood pouring, staining the skin, the metal pads, the gurney — the D-fib is charged once — twice — electric shocks sent to the heart. Then Jesse charges the machine again — and on the third attempt the loud beeping gives way to a more measured sound. The intricacies of dealing with a bleed are left to your imagination because you can’t see anything from behind the doctors' backs.

You slowly turn to Jack, as if you’re still thinking over the answer to his question. You can’t come up with a reply concise enough to fit all of your feelings in. You just nod — he doesn’t push for more, his hand on you drawing small circles.

“The bathroom is down the hall to your left. You can hang out at the nurse station while he’s in here.”

You look down at your blooded shirt, then at your palms. “Do you think he’ll make it?” you ask him in a whisper, unprompted, knowing full well that he won’t lie.

And Jack doesn’t.

“At his age and with how much blood he lost, it is a miracle he’s still alive. Which I think means he’s actually got a chance. If they manage to stabilize him—”

Robby half-turns to look at him. “Jack, we really need an extra pair of hands here!” and there’s an urging in his voice, a red splatter on his gown.

“Guess now I’m a part of the saving team,” Abbot mumbles, changing gloves again, wishing he could give you more — if not a promise then at least some hope.

Surely, Jack’s had his fair share of cases more unhopeful — he’s usually good at keeping a cool head, he’s skilled enough to keep his nerves in check. And yet, he feels a pinprick of anxiety: this case is different because he can’t allow himself to fail you.

But when Jack glances at you, the look you give him is not expectant — it’s encouraging. “Seems like his chances just got better,” you manage a small smile. “I’ll let you get to work.”

Him being able to shift focus to the patient is actually another miracle. And work he does: there is more blood because the artery’s too fragile — they change the clamps, they try the wound packing; it’s equally unhelpful. Jack ends up sticking his own fingers in while Robby calls Garcia. She shows up not only quickly but also uncharacteristically excited.

Yolanda flips open an instrument container she brought in. “Aortic hydragrip clamps, they’re gentler. Should work,” then she sees Jack and chuckles. “Of course, you’d be the one to clamp it with your hand. Just like in the good old military days?”

“Can’t say I’ve missed those,” Abbot remarks, and he is void of bitterness: the military did give him plenty of experience so it’s not something he regrets. But he is honest when he says he doesn’t want to go back.

And neither does he want any memories to pop up, so Jack’s mind hooks on the task that calls for his attention. They move with coordination honed over the years: he takes his hand out — Robby goes in with the clamp — Jack takes the second one — the ruptured artery is occluded in barely 20 seconds. They watch it for 10 more to make sure no more blood is coming out.

Robby allows himself a sigh of relief while Jesse suctions the excessive blood. Langdon inspects the leg wound: the bullet went right through, the bone’s intact. He checks the tourniquet — good placement, tight enough, so he just leaves it on.

Garcia comes closer, with an unbothered kind of curiosity, like a cat’s. “I heard the man made quite an entrance.”

Frank huffs. “You should’ve seen his lawyer.”

“The one in the blooded shirt? Oh, yeah, she’s hard to miss,” Yolanda smirks, dark eyes darting to you.

Jack can’t stop himself from looking in the same direction. You’re in the hall talking to Dana, your hands folded over your chest. The blood on you dried up; still, it strikes the eye — a big splotch of dark maroon on the white fabric, and every time Jack looks at you, it startles him a little.

“What now?” he asks. Mostly to make Garcia stop staring at you.

She does, her gaze on the unconscious man again. And her decision-making process is rather quick. “Suture the origin of the artery with pledgets on the aortic wall, then do a bypass between the ascending aorta and the subclavian. For the anastomosis, I’m thinking a termino-lateral type would do the job.”

It’s rare for Frank to be impressed by someone, yet his tone suggests that he most definitely is. “You can do all that?”

She stares him down silently. Then she looks at Robby. “You shocked him how many times? Twice?”

“Three times. 11 units of blood used so far.”

“This is one hell of a lucky man if I’ve ever seen one,” she notes, then looks down at her pager. “The OR will be ready in 5. Check the clamps again, I don’t want him to bleed out in the elevator. I’ll go talk to the lawyer and bring her up in the ICU. We’ve got a room for him so she can wait there.”

She turns to leave, and Langdon glances after her, then mutters, mostly to himself. “Why does everyone keep giving me weird looks today? Like I’m saying something stupid.”

“It’s because you are,” Garcia snickers before going through the doors.

Robby and Jesse check the vitals and the instruments' position, but Jack only catches bits of their conversation — because he’s watching you again: you listen carefully to Garcia’s explanation, the concern on your face dissolving slowly. But not entirely — it would be too soon for that. Garcia walks you to the elevators and out of Jack’s sight; still, his eyes stay on the spot you stood at.

He wishes that he was the one to talk to you. And he wishes he could do much more.

Jack comes back to reality when he catches movement — the gurney being wheeled out of the room.

“Wait, I can —”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll ride up with him,” Robby assures. “Your shift ended hours ago, just go get some rest, man.”

Jack needs no persuasion — he all but runs out, removes the gown and gloves, then goes to the staff’s kitchen. He’s out in five minutes but he stops at the stairs as an idea lits up in his head. Jack walks back to the lockers, unlocks his and takes out a spare clean shirt. He has to slow down then, imagining the likely steps: it takes a minute to get to the upper floor and get you to the right room; a few more minutes for you to ask more questions while the man is being prepped. The surgery will take at least 2 hours — he doesn’t want to waste a second of that time.

Jack finds you sitting in the hall, typing away at your smartphone, fidgeting slightly in your chair. And his determination is diluted with unease — should he interrupt you? Would you even want to chat? He tells himself that he can manage some small talk, that it’s not a big deal. He’s good at this.

Jack walks toward you, trying not to give away his haste. “So, do you stick your fingers into all of your clients?”

You turn to him, your face swept with confusion.

Oh no. He isn’t good at this at all.

“Fuck, sorry. I don’t why I said that, it was —”

And then you laugh. It’s quiet, more so a sound of relief, a little bit amused by him. But you aren’t irritated or displeased.

“Believe it or not, that was my first time. And hopefully, the last.”

Jack takes your calm voice as a good sign. Almost instinctively, he sits right next to you, as if the very thought of putting any distance in between you is downright absurd.

“Coffee. Figured you’d need it,” he hands you a plastic cup, and your fingers brush his when you take it.

And Jack is painfully aware that the brown-colored drink hardly tastes great. But you take sips with zero fuss.

“A caffeine IV would’ve been great, but this is the next best thing. Thank you so much,” your gaze warms up. Then it drops to the piece of clothing he is holding.

“I thought maybe you’d like to change into something that isn’t drenched in blood? I keep a clean t-shirt in case I get some fluids on me. It’s not the most fashionable choice, I know—”

You take it before he even finishes the sentence — your thumb gently brushing the folded cotton fabric, your face breaking into a grateful smile. Jack’s eyes are drawn to it, and he remembers so distinctly how your lips taste. And you look like you know he does.

“Wish I could put it on right now. But I’m counting on my blooded shirt to make me look more intimidating to the DA. Once he wakes up and deigns to text me back.”

Jack moves closer, lowering his voice like he’s protective of a secret you are about to let him in on. “What do you need the DA for?”

Your smile widens as if you find his curiosity endearing. “I need to get Bruno into witness protection. DA’s recommendation will help speed up the process.”

“Will the prosecutor back you up on this?”

“He passed out in the court at the sight of blood. He’ll back me up just fine.”

“So what’s the overall plan?” he drapes an arm across the back of your chair. You don’t mind.

“I’m Bruno’s legal representative, I can apply for the program on his behalf. They’ll also need his family to complete an application form. So once the DA gives me the green light, I have to make a beeline for the closest police station, then dash to their apartment, deal with the paperwork, and help his wife pack. Maybe she can visit him once he’s out of surgery.”

“She must be pretty shaken up,” Jack muses.

You reign your feelings well but he still catches hints of them: sadness, disappointment. Guilt. “The worst part is, she didn’t even sound surprised when I called her. Wasn’t upset with me either. She just asked, Will he pull through? And I had to make her believe that he would.”

He moves his hand up, his palm grazing your back, words sitting on the tip of his tongue: it’s not your fault, you aren’t the one to blame. You helped to save his life. But you shake off your misery, so easily like it’s a long-established habit.

“How’s your tough case, by the way? Did she wake up?”

You are deflecting, he can tell. He also has no wish to make you more upset so Jack holds back his consolations.

“She did, got her discharged a week ago. And the rehabilitation seems to be going well.”

Your grin very clearly says I told you so but you don’t say the words out loud. Instead, you place your hand above his knee — the right one, your touch not fleeting but reassuring and warm. The smile leaps out of him before he can stop it. “How’s the asshole with no brain cells?”

You let out a long-drawn sigh. “He fled the state. Which was a violation of the bail conditions. Then his attorney tried to flee, got wasted on the flight to Cincinnati — one of the CBP officers clocked him at the airport because he kept dropping his carry-on. Turns out, he snuck in a hunting knife, a whole-ass 6-inch blade. And then he got into a fight with them. Mind you, he is 5’3 and had a half-bottle of whiskey in him. I can’t even begin to comprehend that level of dumbassery. I had to visit him in jail four times before the court assigned a new lawyer to replace him. I don’t want to board another plane for at least a month.”

Jack doesn’t say anything at first, but his mouth twitches like he’s suppressing laughter. And then he can discern something unlooked-for in your face — the very evident abashment. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to vent.”

He leans to you and caresses your back. He wishes he could kiss you — on your forehead and cheeks and corners of your mouth, to smooth out every line of worry on your face. So that you don’t hesitate to open up again.

“Wasn’t a vent,” Jack argues. “I am actually very invested now. How did he manage to bring a knife on board?”

“Bribed a couple of nut heads from the PIT security,” you share gladly. “I asked him, Man, ever heard about checked baggage? Who in their right mind puts knives in a carry-on? And he told me — dead serious — that TSA is infiltrated by a gang of international smugglers, so he can’t trust them.”

“Of course you asked,” Jack notes warmly.

“I mean, he’s absolutely useless as a lawyer, at least I had something to laugh at. Besides, the Boone county jail can easily rank first in the list of the dullest places in the States.”

“So it’s the lack of brightness that’s the main problem, not that it’s packed with criminals,” Jack shakes his head in disbelief. “Worrying about you must be someone’s part-time job.”

You are startled for a moment. And then you’re beaming. “Is this you casually trying to find out if I have a boyfriend?”

“Guilty as charged,” Jack’s hand stops at your back, his gaze a cautious revelation. “But I don’t do casual.”

“Neither do I,” you tell him quietly, resting your chin on his shoulder. “And I would’ve never come to your apartment if I had anyone waiting for me at home.”

Your faces are separated by some minuscule inches. This is your second meeting — and yet, to Jack it comes as second nature: holding you close and leaning in, settling into your space as easily as you do in his, like two stars that fall into each other’s orbit. His hand is on your waist and yours moved to his shoulder; he can smell blood on you but then your scent cuts through — jasmine and bergamot and peaches, things they don’t have in hospitals, the fresh sweetness that makes him think of spring and sun. And everywhere you touch him, he feels lighter. In just a second his lips will be on yours—

Someone blows into the hall — very decisive and walking toward you, by the sound of it — but stops midway, so suddenly you hear screeching of the rubber soles against the floor. Then the footsteps retreat, and everything is quiet again, no other visitors or interferences. And yet, the moment’s gone. Jack can’t hold back a groan. You bring your fingers to his face, your thumb skating over his jaw, your body still so close to his. But your watchful eyes dart behind his back.

“The redhead keeps coming back like she’s looking for an excuse to start a conversation. What does she need a lawyer for?”

“That’s Cassie. She’s in the middle of a custody battle over her son. Her ex-husband is a douchebag with a douchebag girlfriend, so it’s messy.”

You look at Jack again. “And what’s the deal with that other doctor? Dark-haired, overly confident. Mildly annoying.”

“Frank,” he chuckles, his index finger drawing numbers on your lower back. “His marriage is in shambles, been like that for a while. But Abby loves him, and he’s not a bad dad. If it ever gets to a divorce, I don’t think she’ll take the kid away from him.”

You ruminate on this but not for long. “Can you please tell Cassie that I won’t bite her head off?”

Jack doesn’t want to move away from you so he only tilts his head back, not in disbelief but in careful wonder. “You’ll help her?”

And he can tell from your firm gaze that you aren’t doing this to please him — you want that case, you are already going through the strategies and options in your head, you grab at every chance to help people like hungry dogs grab bones. “I have about half an hour before the DA gets out of bed. Plenty of time for her to give me the details. Besides, I really enjoy going against douchebag exes.”

“Why is that?” Jack asks with a grin.

You shamelessly grin back at him. “They usually come with douchebag lawyers. It’s always fun to kick their ass in court.”

And as on cue, there are footsteps again — your face confirms it’s the same visitor, and Jack gives in: it’s for a good cause, after all, and he will get more time with you later today. His palm brushes the side of your waist, one touch replacing all the words he is afraid to say too soon: I’ve missed you, I want to spend many more days with you. He has to get up, holding back a sigh, before his feelings burst out. Jack turns around — and, unsurprisingly, Cassie is standing sheepishly at the end of the hall.

“Sorry, did I interrupt you guys?” she asks him with an awkward smile when he comes closer. “Cause it seemed like—”

“Just go talk to her,” he grumbles. When she doesn’t move, Jack softens his approach. “She’ll be happy to help you out, McKay.”

Cassie’s smile turns grateful, and then she strides across the hall to you. Jack offers you some privacy and takes the stairs to the ER. And even though exhaustion is already nipping at him, he’s in no hurry to go home, he doesn’t even feel the weight of it. He also doesn’t notice Dana’s gaze that lands on him when he comes in. He’s blithely unaware for about 15 minutes — Jack gets himself a cup of coffee, relaxes in the quiet of the empty kitchen, stretches his legs and arms.

Dana walks up to him the second he comes back to the nurse station.

“Now, will look at that. A smile on your face? I must be dreamin',” she teases, always astute in her assumptions. “It’s the hot lawyer, isn’t it?”

He’s battling a smile, indeed. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“Well, you see how my mouth’s moving? This means I’m talking, and you are giving me replies. Which does sound like a conversation to me,” Dana playfully bumps his shoulder. “Hey, she ticks all the boxes: smart, brave, stubborn. Did I mention that she’s hot?”

Jack doesn’t meet her gaze as his face gets warm. “Can’t argue with any of that.”

Princess peeks curiously at them from behind the monitor. Dana cackles. “Jesus, are you blushing? That’s so cute. I’m marking this day in my calendar.”

“What are we celebrating?” Perlah swings by.

“Dr. Abbot apparently got himself a date,” Princess reveals, wiggling her brows.

“With the lawyer? And she agreed?” Perlah asks in a doubtful tone.

“Frank said they were flirting in the trauma room,” Dana informs them conspiratorially, earning two hums of approval — and one groan from Jack.

“Are you aware I’m still here? Langdon has no clue what he’s talking about,” but his voice doesn’t sound angry — he’s in too good of a mood for that.

“I hear someone spreading slander behind my back,” Frank stops by.

“It’s hardly slander when you’re an asshole,” Princess glares at him. “Only a senile patient would flirt with you.”

“Is this open hostility at a workplace?” he fakes a gasp. “I don’t need anyone to flirt with me, I’m married. And if you’re talking about the lawyer, she surely seemed thrilled to leave this place.”

Both Jack and Dana look at him. She is the one who asks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just saw her at the parking lot. She ran out and got into a cab so fast, like someone’s chasing her. Or maybe she is chasing someone? Wouldn’t put it past her.”

“Well, no chasing needed for our cowboy,” Dana chuckles with her gaze on Abbot. “Did you choose where you’ll take her? Want me to ask around for recommendations so you can text her a couple of options?”

Jack wants someone to smack him in the head, hard. Because he surely needs to straighten up his mind. Not asking for your number the first time could be blamed on a lapse of sanity, but two times in a row? That’s what you would call a rare level of dumbassery.

As Dana sees his face fall, her own gets visibly confused — then shocked upon realization. “What, you don’t have her number?”

And everyone instantly mirrors her concern.

“You didn’t take it?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

Jack is flabbergasted for a second. “Why is this a public discussion?!”

“Man, we were rooting for you!” Langdon throws up his hands.

“They were placing bets on how long it’d take you to get her number,” Dana snorts.

“They,” Frank mimics her. “As if you weren’t!”

Jack wearily covers his face with both palms, not in despair but with disappointment. In himself. There’s still some hope for him to cling to — they’ve got Bruno up in the OR, and you will probably come back to visit him. That was your plan, right? And what will his be if you never show up?

“What are we mourning over?” Robby nonchalantly comes by.

“My loss of 100 bucks,” Frank walks away, disgruntled.

“I only bet 15, you’re real bad at counting!” Dana shouts after him. Then she gives a joyless explanation. “No one won, though.”

Jack looks at Robby through his fingers. “Were you involved in this too?”

“Nah. I said you’d probably need a third chance.”

Abbot lowers his hands, brows furrowed in incomprehension.

“One of the ICU nurses saw you two getting all cozy with each other,” Robby keeps his voice down but still elicits a few giggles. He stares at Perlah and Princess, and they pretend to get back to work. “I figured you wouldn’t do that on day one. So there must be some history between you. And you know what they say, third time’s the charm,” he pats Jack’s shoulder reassuringly. “Do you at least know the name of her law firm?”

He is already taking lungfuls of air for a heavy sigh — because of course he didn’t ask about the firm, he is the top contender for the dumbass of the month award — but then the elevator dings. And Cassie walks into the hall, cheery as she hasn’t been in months.

Abbot gets an idea. And now he has more than a delusive hope.

“I know where I can find it out.”

McKay doesn’t take much convincing. She tells him that you gave her your assistant’s number — it’s not the answer he expected, but Jack’s grasping for straws. He makes the call with no delays, and the assistant picks up almost instantly. She’s got a thick accent that isn’t American, the vowels in her speech sound a little shorter. But her English is pretty good and so are her manners — because no one before has told Jack to fuck off so courteously. Whatever arguments he brings to get your number, she just refuses to relent: yes, sir, I understand the urgency. But you must know it’s private information, and I cannot verify your identity over the phone. Yes-yes, I’ll check the hospital website. But your photo doesn’t come with a voice recording, does it? That is unfortunate. You see, we really value our attorneys' privacy and safety. And there’s been a disturbing accident... Which I can’t talk to you about. Yes, I will let her know you called. I promise, sir. Yes, I’ll tell her that you called four times, that is an important detail, indeed.

And Jack is back to square one — still no clue where to find you, no last name and no address he can look up on Google. Bruno stays in their ICU for just one afternoon, and then Jack comes to work to learn he was transported to the other hospital — by helicopter and with a police escort that was too tight-lipped and fast to bother. Which robs Jack of the only hope he had, and he is too worn out to drown himself in work. So he takes two days off, gets eight hours of sleep, gets busy with mundane chores that make for a poor distraction.

His doorbell rings around 6 pm. He’s not expecting anyone — Robby is still at work, and a few other friends he’s got would’ve announced their visit. So Jack thinks someone must’ve gotten the wrong door, and he opens it without even looking in the peephole.

Instead of seeing some unbidden stranger, he sees you.

You’re standing at the door of his apartment. Wearing his shirt. The dark material is tucked carefully into your jeans, your hair undone. You greet Jack with a smile, a little tired and leaning on his doorframe.

“You made a lasting impression on my secretary.”

He has to take a breath and blink — once, twice — to make sure this is happening. There is a trace of a smile already on his face, he just can’t stop it. “You mean she was planning on filing a police report because she thinks I’m stalking you?”

“Actually, she liked you from the moment she figured you’re a doctor. Keeps asking if you are married or not.”

Jack puts his right hand up to show you — readily, happily, like he removed the curse that’s been tormenting him for years. “I’m not.”

And you see that he isn’t wearing the ring. He never put it back on — by now, there’s no mark left where it used to be, the white line faded with no trace. You watch his face for any hints of doubt or regret but he has none. The hint he gives you suggests the opposite: Jack steps back in a silent invitation, makes space for you to come in. To come back to.

You don’t rush in although it does look like you want to. Instead, you’ve got a suggestion of your own.

“I feel like I know more about you than you know about me. So ask me something. Anything, whatever you want to know,” your gaze is locked with his. “Before I come in.”

Because after you do, there will not be much talking. Not for the first few hours, Jack thinks. And he will gladly take ten times as long as to find out everything there is to know about you — he’ll take days, weeks, months, years. He is already sure there is nothing that can scare him away.

So what he asks about is not a deal-breaker — more so a mystery Jack can’t wrap his head around.

“How the hell are you still single?”

It’s not a hard question, and it’s the truth that you don’t shy away from — as easily as he once did, you open up to him, with honesty that he can read in your voice, eyes, face.

“I work a lot. There are always extra hours, sleepless nights, late calls from my clients who have no one else to talk to. I’m bad at taking breaks. I am... not good at asking for help. And I guess I’m used to prioritizing work because that’s what I’m left with when people leave. Not everyone will have the patience for that,” you try for your smile not to look sad but it’s the first thing that you fail at. “So I’m a handful.”

He’s quiet for barely two seconds. Then his lips curl into a grin.

“Well, I’ve got two hands. And some say that my arms look very steady,” he takes a step to you, and now instead of sadness, there’s glee — in your soft laugh and in your eyes that stay on him. “I will need one thing from you, though. Before you come in,” another step, so that he’s standing right in front of you. “I need your number.”

“Give me your phone.”

He does — you add the number to his contacts, then dial it so you can have his too. You hand his phone back, still smiling. “There you have it.”

“I plan on memorizing it,” Jack takes a quick look at the screen and then puts the device away.

He needs his hands free, he has no other words to add. He cannot tear his gaze away from you.

“Any other questions or requests?” you ask him quietly.

Jack shakes his head. And then it’s you who finally crosses the distance.

He reaches out a hand behind your back to close the door. As soon as you hear the locker click, that same hand pulls you into him. And then he kisses you — so ardently and deeply like he’s famished, like in your absence he struggled to survive. You let him take the lead — it’s your quiet surrender, it’s his most rewarding win; he savors it until you’re out of breath. Then you kick off your shoes, and Jack yanks off your t-shirt — you stop his hands and fold the piece of clothing and leave it on the first flat surface you can find — you aren’t sure if it’s a table or a shelf because he’s kissing you again, all the while you are stumbling your way through his apartment.

Jack does pause when you reach the bedroom — the city skyline stretched out behind the windows, the light already darkening from gold to copper as the evening comes. The rays cascade across the floor and walls — you are admiring the view, and he’s admiring you. It’s soft before it’s sexual: he lowers his head and drags his lips over your collarbone, then over another one. Then he moves higher — your throat, your jaw, your cheek.

“You’re staying,” he murmurs.

And even though it’s not really a question, you nod, fingers grazing the back of his neck. “Sorry for coming empty-handed. I should’ve brought some take-out.”

Jack moves one of his hands down to the button on your jeans, undoes it, two of his fingers slipping in, tracing the line of your lace panties. He didn’t get a chance to taste you last time, and now he’s twice as eager. “You brought me dessert.”

You laugh against his mouth and take his shirt off, your touches gentle but leaving goosebumps on his skin, making his heart race. He lays you down on his bed to get rid of your jeans, his voice muffled when he leaves a kiss on your hipbone.

“And breakfast is on me this time. It’s non-negotiable.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows. “You are saying there’s actual food in your fridge?”

“A terribly big amount of food. Also picked a bunch of spices from the Mexican aisle, and I have no clue how to use half of them,” his mouth comes back to yours, back to his new favorite flavors: of your lips, your smile, your moans he knows how to draw out. And you are both left breathless and desirous of more.

“So you were counting on us meeting again?” you tease.

“I was hoping for it,” Jack says truthfully. “Got pretty close to praying, actually.”

Pads of your fingers glide across his cheekbone. “You don’t strike me as a religious type.”

He doesn’t answer right away — but not out of hesitation or the lack of words. He doesn’t need many. He’s known the answer ever since he saw you in his kitchen, he’s been carrying his feelings for so long that now he’s threaded with them like the night sky with bright stars.

Jack tells you with raw candor, with a faint smile. “I’m not. But I believe you are a godsend.”

You trace the freckles under his left eye, your whisper and your gaze are filled with tenderness. “I kept thinking of an excuse to show up at your apartment.”

He lowers his face closer to yours and turns to place a soft kiss on your wrist, his hazel eyes with hints of green spilling more of his secrets: they say that he’s been looking for you everywhere. Then Jack speaks with words.

“I kept thinking I was a fucking idiot for not getting your number,” and his mouth hovers over yours before he adds, his voice hushed as if he’s still not fully convinced he has you. “I want to take you out.”

Jack looks at the specks of gold caught in your lashes and your eyes, the sunlight streaming through the glass, your bodies and his bedroom bathing in it. He feels his heart pounding.

“Am I being too old-school for aski—”

You close the gap between you, and this kiss is better than a dream: it feels like finding gravity and oxygen, like summer coming after years of winter, like now instead of hope there’s certainty, a future that is bright with possibilities. When Jack opens his eyes, he finds you smiling, and you’re brimming with it — the undeterred fondness, the warmth that says that you’ve been looking for him too.

“I’d love to go on a date with you, Jack Abbot.”

And he knows it will be just the first of many.

you’d never be able to tell but this was supposed to be porn with no plot... which I am apparently fcking incapable of. I want to write part 2 because I love them!

two gifsets that inspired this fic: x, x ♡

I have a mini-series about Jack x resident!reader that is very dear to me (I’ll make a masterlist for my Jack’s fics soon. there aren’t many but it will be easier to just add a link instead of me yapping);

SHOCKINGLY, I’m almost done with another Jack one-shot, and oh my god, I love it to pieces. reading it feels like a gut punch but in the best way possible. I can’t wait to share it ♡

dividers by @/cafekitsune, @/saradika-graphics & me.

♡ English is not my first language, so feel free to tell me if you spot any mistakes. comments and reblogs are very appreciated! let me know if you want to be tagged ♡

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frightfullytreeish · 2 days ago

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imagine eddie making a new friend, someone who's 100% unrelated to anyone or anything else in eddie's life, just a guy he meets at the gym and vibes with. and the guy thinks that buck is eddie's husband. it takes eddie a while to realise that's what his new pal had taken away from their chat about their kids, where more than half of the photos of chris eddie showed off had buck in them. so at first eddie's just too fucking startled to correct him when idk CRAIG says 'oh shoot that's my bus, gotta go, but hey you and buck should come round for dinner one day. my husband keeps saying we need to make more queer friends with kids since we moved here! ok byeeee' and eddie goes home thinking I'll just explain next time I see him it's fine and hey I can hook him up with hen and karen I bet they'll get along great. and the thought makes him feel...... something.

and he is going to explain to craig, he is, but the next time they bump into each other is right after him and buck have had an argument, like they keep having since buck moved into his new place, and it's nice to be able to vent to someone who doesn't know buck but who has the right... well, no, the wrong idea about what place buck occupies in eddie's life. but it's nice to be able to vent without having to explain. so eddie doesn't explain. and he keeps not explaining, while craig gets the impression that eddie and buck are going through a really rough patch since buck's dad died but eddie wants to make it work while buck keeps pulling away.

OBVIOUSLY they're grabbing coffee one day when buck happens to walk into the same coffee shop. EDDIE! HEY! and... uh who's this?

eddie, kill bill sirens blaring: this is craig. my... friend. from the gym.

buck: oh that's cool... you've never mentioned him before....

craig, desperately: you must be buck!! I've heard so much about you! don't worry, I'm a married man, not that you would have anything to worry about anyway. eddie's so committed

buck: he is?

eddie with one thousand yard stare: i am

#9-1-1 #buddie #weewoo husbands (i'm sorry)#EDDIE DIAZ HUMAN DISASTER

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piastappies · 1 day ago

Text

always the same ♡ lando norris x verstappen!reader

time flies by, people around you change, but there’s no doubt that lando is the one for you—or so you think, and so does he.

happy austria win !!

yourname

🎵 sorry for party rocking • lmfao [E]

liked by maxverstappen1, isackhadjar, lando, and 26 287 others.

yourname isacks parents took me to dinner for passing an exam and made him pay 🩷

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user1 i can only see logan sargeant holding a fish when i hear the song

user2 why is max verstappen’s sister being taken out by isack’s parents for dinner ????

user3 we’re losing the ancient texts…

user2 i seriously wanna know though

user3 smh

user4 theyre friends n i think yourname lives with isack cos of her erasmus!!

kikagomes restaurants and bars hate to see us coming like 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

yourname no fr we gotta go out more 💔

isackhadjar you gotta write your THESIS not your name on a piece of paper for some guy smh

kikagomes damn… he clocked you

yourname those words can’t stop me because i can’t read

user5 i dont believe in that erasmus crap they GOTTA be dating

user6 can’t two people be friends anymore 🫠

user7 i wonder if they ever talked about ad21 considering isacks a hamilton fan

pepemartiofficial barcelona clears paris dawg

isackhadjar why is this child speaking

pepemartiofficial i hope you get promoted to drive rbr soon

isackhadjar ???????? stop threatening me

user8 LMAOOOOOO

user9 god bless yourname for giving us pepeisack

yourname honestly they r like bedbugs…

isackhadjar YOU live in MY house who is more of a bedbug???

yourname hehehe i’m too pretty to be a bedbug | liked by lando ♡

user10 what is HE doing here ??

user3 you guys dont know the lore at all do you??

twitter

yourname • close friends

liked by kikagomes, pietra.pilao, gabyprentice_ and 23 others.

kikagomes girl if someone had a screenshot of what you said you’d be gone…

yourname you r laughing but i’d kill myself in a second

yourname i was fourteen n calling him my baby daddy 😭😭😭😭😭

kikagomes BAD DOWN ???

yourname isack cant literally stop laughing n wheezing @ me

yourname you might hear abt me on the news 🔜

pietra.pilao LMFAOO‼️‼️

yourname get your brazilian ass outta here 😭😭😭😭

yourname you’re so much WORSE than me whore

pietra.pilao this is really uncalled for 😣

yourname istg if you hear max or HIM talking about it just kill them for me

pietra.pilao only for you 🩷🩷🩷

pietra.pilao blocking the acc on max’s twt for u

yourname muito obrigada🙏

maxverstappen1 why are you posting pictures of me without permission

yourname this is not a safe space for males

gabyprentice_ u look like u need a hug

yourname ive got tickets to paris with your name on it

yourname bring christian and i’ll call pepe i cant deal with isack

gabyprentice_ OH YOU WERE SERIOUS

maxverstappen1

🎵 i always wanted a brother • lion king

liked by danielricciardo, lando, kellypiquet and 728 917 others.

maxverstappen1 brothers in law since day one dawg 🐶

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user11 oh my god someone put a go pro on yourname i gotta see this

user12 he always can be talking about victoria…

victoriaverstappen he isn’t 😂😂

user13 you are TWENTY SEVEN why are you saying DAWG

user13 someone ban isack hadjar from interacting with him

user14 HE SAW THE LORE DROP TWEET @ user3

user3 OH MY GAWD LOOOOL

lando day one dawg 👊👊

user15 lando definitely knew about this post beforehand 😭😭😭

mickschumacher she’s gonna kill herself

sophiekumpen 😂😂😂😂

user16 SO MESSY WTF

user17 @ isackhadjar check on yourname PLEASE

yourname WHAT THW DFUCK

maxverstappen1 this is not a safe space for males

user18 THE SONG CHOICE JAJAJAJA 😭😭

isackhadjar BAHAHAHAHAHHAHA

yourname washed up driver

yourname bully

yourname george russell was right

yourname ban this guy for life

yourname give hamilton his wdc from 2021 CHEATER

user19 yourname’s crashout wasnt on my bingo this year 😭😭😭

user20 SHE DOESNT FOLLOW HIM ANYMORE LOOOL

lando @ yourname text me back xx

user21 OH MY GOD

user22 so normal about this 🧘🏻‍♀️🧘🏻‍♀️🧘🏻‍♀️

yourname

🎵 starting line • luke hemmings

liked by lando, pepemartiofficial, gabyprentice_ and 21 728 others.

yourname crashed out so bad had to reconnect with nature 🩷

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isackhadjar “reconnect with nature” but not “write my thesis”

yourname shut the fuck up omg you went there WITH ME

user23 ultimate best friends

user24 propaganda i’m falling for: isackyn

user25 she’s a real girl

nikola_tsolov wow you met your long lost sister

yourname shut the fuck up omg

yourname big bomboclaat

danielricciardo max asks you to unblock him

user26 she really did block him omg 😭😭😭

user27 annoying older brother lmaoo

pietra.pilao garota linda 🩷🩷 | liked by author ♡

user28 honestly if i was lando i’d wife her up in a SECOND like… shes even friends with your friends ????

user29 they gotta be together n just trolling that theyre not

gabyprentice_ best field trip 😁😁😁

christianmansell i had a tick on my back and had to see a doctor

pepemartiofficial so ??? best field trip EVER!!!!

user30 i love how yourname friends are just red bull juniors and their colleagues 😭😭

user31 this is isack’s doing i swearrrr

yourname they r my kids wdym !!!!!!

unifriend1 how are you so gorg ??? | liked by author ♡

kikagomes went for a hike and didn’t take me…

lando did you reconect enough to text me back?

yourname please stop texting me idk who you are ??

lando yourname be serious

yourname okay 😣😣😣

twitter

lando

🎵 like that (jack’s version) • jack and jack

liked by maxfewtrell, patriciooward, maxverstappen1 and 726 910 others.

lando uncle duty on vacation dawg

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user31 so does his finger slipped when he was choosing the pictures?

user32 he’s too cheeky for it to be an accident

maxfewtrell nice pictures brother

lando thanks brother

user33 oh he’s soo serious

user34 weird theory but this is nawt magui

user35 wdym… why is she even in the debate 😭

user34 people on twt keep saying that they r back together but i’m pretty sure it’s yourname

user36 i think its delusions

user37 landoyn truther

maxverstappen1 dawg… 🐶

lando dawg…! 🐶

user38 just one taste please

user39 whore 🫵🫵🫵

isackhadjar i wonder who that is

user40 magui

isackhadjar sure girl 🩷 | liked by author ♡

yourname you should reconnect with nature a bit

user41 she finally stopped pretending that she doesn’t know him 😭

user42 she wants to have his babies bffr

user42 SHE JUST BLOXKWD ME

lando fancy joining me?

yourname go away | liked by maxverstappen1 ♡

user43 max is like i accept but i don’t support

yourname

🎵 bed chem • sabrina carpenter

liked by lando, pietra.pilao, isackhadjar and 33 004 others.

yourname he is MINE so STOP SAYING HES WITH SOMWONE ELSE WTF or i’ll SMOKE your ugly stupid asses

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lando when she’s possessive 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

user44 how is he here so fast ???? i literally have notifs on

user45 imagine being in a obsessed with yourname contest and lando is there before they even open the door

user46 the song choice 😭😭 just release the damn sex tape

user47 someone make another rumour that hes with magui and she’ll do it | liked by author ♡

user48 she’s so messy i love it

pietra.pilao practically sisters in law now 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

yourname WIVES*

lando over my dead body

user49 pr relationship lol

yourname do i gotta post a vid of us doing it raw or something ?

user50 PLEASE DO OMG

maxverstappen1 PLEASE DONT

mclaren please don’t 🧡

oscarpiastri why are people shocked

user51 i love how yourname is like ohhh here’s my boyfriend and then LOOK AT HOW HOT I AM my queen

isackhadjar never going to vacations with you

user52 LMFAO

isackhadjar hotel walls are not that thick nor soundproof

yourname shouldve joined us 🩷

isackhadjar FUCK OFF

user53 sex must be so good like . . . | liked by lando ♡

pepemartiofficial i basically made it happen

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moonstruckme · 2 days ago

Note

Hi Mae!! Hope you’re doing well💖 sooo last weekend, for the first time, I suffered a terrible migraine that landed me in the er (hated the idea but the iv meds on the other hand… lifesaver 🙏) although I’ll admit I was a nervous wreck (they had to call my bf in to help hehe) so I was wondering if you would be willing to write reader kinda going through the same thing with doc!remus, emt!marauders or fwb!doc Remus (loved the last fic you posted about it!!), whatever makes you the happiest!🤩 love you queen ✨🧡

I'm sorry about your migrane lovely! Ty for requesting

cw: hospital, reader is nervous about needles, vomit, nausea, migraine

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

The damp smell of paper is comforting, though the warmth of your own breath blowing back on your face makes your eye throb all the way to the back of your skull. You’re so focussed on not vomiting you don’t even realize the car has stopped moving.

James rubs your back. “We’re here,” he says, voice considerately soft. It sends painful reverberations through your head anyway.

A whimper slips out of you into your paper bag cavern.

“Let me have that.” Sirius is being quiet, too, though the bag crinkles some when he takes it from you. Your seatbelt clicks off. “It’s okay, you’re not going to be sick. Come on, lovely.”

You crack your eyes open. Every muscle in your face clenches instinctively at the barrage of sunlight. Sirius waits outside your car door with his hand held out.

“I don’t want to,” you mumble. Not exactly eloquent, but apt enough.

Sirius’ mouth pinches with sympathy. “I know. It’s gonna be shit at first, but it’ll be good for you in the end, alright?”

You hesitate. It’s difficult to think past the pulsing ache in your face and temples, past the taste of bile on your tongue. You know that it’s not your boyfriends’ first time dealing with a migraine, and they probably have a good sense of what warrants medical attention, but you feel strongly that staying where things can be still and quiet is the far superior option.

“Trust us,” James murmurs.

You take Sirius’ hand. He helps ease you out of the car, James hovering behind you, and delivers you straight to Remus’ arms. Remus holds you against him like you might crumple without the support. It’s a founded fear.

“Want to try these?” he asks, transferring a couple of rubber earplugs into your palm. “Might help a bit.”

You hum your thanks, pressing them in. You walk into A&E with Remus and James on each side of you and Sirius taking up the rear like they can shield you from it all.

Sirius is right. It’s fucking shit.

The earplugs do something, perhaps, but not much to deaden the noise of the emergency department. Voices overlapping, machines beeping, some baby somewhere wailing its head off. Anxiety sits in the air like a thick mist, and the low buzzing of the fluorescent lights amplifies it all.

Your nausea surges. “Bag,” you mumble, but in this environment you’re too quiet for anyone to hear.

You clamp your jaw shut and try to breathe evenly as Remus walks with you tucked close to his side. Eventually, you squeeze your eyes shut, letting him guide you the rest of the way into a small, curtained-off room.

“Bag,” you try again. James hands it to you—Sirius seems to have peeled off at some point, you don’t know when—just in time for you to bend over, retching.

“Oh, my love.” Remus gathers a few flyaways back from your face. One of your earplugs falls out. James grips the side of your bag, too, making sure you don’t drop it. “You’re alright, let it out. We’re done going anyplace.”

Your temples feel like they’re bulging the whole time you’re emptying your stomach into the paper bag, but eventually you’re finished. James ties it off and drops it in a wastebin.

“Come here,” he coaxes, helping you up onto the table. You tent your legs in front of you, pushing the aching side of your face into your knee. It helps, strangely. James kisses your shoulder. “That’s it. No more moving, I promise.”

“Alright, we’re all registered,” Sirius announces as the curtain pulls open. You must flinch visibly, because he lowers his volume, Remus’ hand landing between your shoulders. “I’ve filled out your forms—in fucking record time, if I do say so myself—so we’re all set to get you started on some meds, gorgeous. Where’s the—did we throw up again?”

“Yeah.” You can hear the grimace in James’ voice. “Can we get another bag? Just in case…”

“I don’t think I have anything left,” you admit.

“Okay,” Sirius says smoothly. Remus has begun massaging the taut muscles of your neck, your boyfriends’ combined caring wrapping around you like an embrace. “That’s alright, we’ve got you. Let’s have some medicine, yeah?”

There’s a good amount of shuffling around. Remus’ hand stays on your nape, but you hear equipment being moved, something crinkling and something else squeaking. When you eventually risk opening your eyes again, Sirius and James are nearly done setting up and you find you haven’t completely emptied your stomach, after all.

“No,” you moan.

James blinks up at you. “Angel, this is going to help.”

“I don’t want an IV,” you say. Pleading, but already your sinuses are throbbing with defeat.

“You can’t have anything oral if you’re going to throw it up.” Sirius looks you in the eyes. His gaze is steady, if not a tiny bit pitying. “It’s going to make you feel better, I swear.”

“It’s going to hurt.” You start to cry. You’re already dealing with enough hurt. Between the bright lights, and all the noise, and your eye socket feeling like someone is trying to hammer an ice pick through it, you really feel like anything more could do you in. You don’t think you can take it.

“It only hurts for a second.” James is pleading now, too. He gets up on the table with you, maneuvering himself until you’re sitting between his legs, the warmth of his body wrapped around you. Remus continues soothing the pain at the base of your skull. “Trust us, sweetheart, please. We wouldn’t have put you through all this if we didn’t think we’d be able to help.”

“Sirius is good at this,” Remus murmurs. “Let him.”

You sniff, throbbing and nauseous and overwhelmed, but hold out your arm. Sirius presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

“We’re gonna take care of you,” he promises, wiping the crook of your elbow. “Close your eyes, baby.”

You push your face into your knee again and let Remus’ gentle fingers ease the tension in you. Between his hand on your neck, James’ arms wrapped around your shoulders, and Sirius probing at the inside of your arm, all the contact should worsen your sensory overload, but your boyfriends’ touches ground you. Remus shushes you gently when the needle pricks your skin, though you don’t make a sound.

“There we are,” Sirius murmurs, still messing with your arm. “Doing so good, almost done. And…that’s it.”

He flattens a piece of tape with his thumbs. When he pulls your fingers to his mouth for a kiss, you squeeze his hand.

“Thanks,” you mumble.

“Anytime, sweetness.”

“You are good at that.”

Sirius laughs, trying to quiet himself halfway through. “Well, I am a professional. Did no one mention that?”

You hum weakly.

James sets his lips to your shoulder. “You did good, angel. The medicine should kick in soon, okay? Just bear with us a little while longer.”

You lean into him in thanks, and you wait. You all wait, practically unmoving, you tense with pain and your boyfriends tense with their own torment. You’re the quietest stall in the hospital.

The meds don’t work all at once. It’s a slow, seeping sort of relief, and you don’t even fully register it until you notice that you’re not pressing your face into your knee as harshly. You don’t feel the need to create your own ache to supersede the one already there. The taut muscles at the base of your skull aren’t so taut anymore.

You let out a breath.

“Yeah?” Remus murmurs.

“Yeah.”

James plants a happy kiss on your shoulder. “How is it?” he asks. “Scale of one to ten.”

“I think…probably a seven? But it was a nine before.”

“That’s good, sweetheart.” You can hear the smile in his voice without raising your head. “It should keep feeling better.”

You take another full breath. It feels good to do it without worrying you’re going to trigger your nausea again.

“Want to try laying down?” Sirius asks softly.

You nod, letting yourself list to the side. James helps you down the rest of the way. Sirius has pulled up a stool to the side of your little cot. He presses his thumb and forefinger to the top of your nose, just under your brow bone, and pushes gently. Something almost like a whimper escapes you.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Yeah. Feels good.”

“It’s because his hands are so freezing,” Remus teases. You think you hear the soft sound of a kiss landing on Sirius’ cheek, but Sirius’ hand never falters. He slowly works his way upward, drilling little circles in the center of your forehead before setting his thumbs to both of your temples. You feel the wound-tight knot of your head softening and unspooling.

“Think you might be able to go to sleep?” Remus hums after a while.

“I don’t know if I can help it,” you reply. You’ve been weathering this for days, the pain relentless and taxing. You’re exhausted.

“That’s good, lovely. Get some rest.”

“Will you…”

“Yeah. We’ll be here.”

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binmeister · 2 days ago

Text

Producer AU Headcanons

SAJA BOYS & HUNTR/X x Producer! Reader

I am mentally sane and definitely not in a hypothetical padded cell of this hyper fixation - have some headcanons I have and will eventually show more of maybe if people are interested

Will probably eventually expand even more on headcanons I have laying around if not just do drabbles / short scenarios for stuff I want to get out - probably extremely OOC of canon but this is what I picture everyone to be in this AU 😊

CW: relatively gender neutral here, the main series is insinuated fem!reader - just loose headcanons about the characters in this AU and how they interact or feel about you [NOT PROOFREAD]

General

The groups still fight because honestly, it’s hard to shake off that demon hate entirely but now it’s mostly relatively friendly sparring. Mostly.

Sometimes Romance plays with fire a little too closely and ends up getting his ass handed to him by Mira but he’ll say he loves it as she gets angrier, Rumi and Zoey finally having to play mediator and drag the taller girl away before she actually commits a crime against Romance

They all rely on you heavily for comebacks, you’re their favourite producer and they are terrified to try working with anyone else again after the last demos were leaked and they all sounded... horrible (thinking about EXO - Wolf where they tried to make it sound horrible so it wouldn’t be released)

You know their vocal strengths and weaknesses like the back of your hand, able to make them shine in whatever concept they’re aiming for so why wouldn’t they love working with you? Aside from when you get cranky because you didn’t get enough sleep and then it’s hard to talk to you because they don’t want you to start crying or yelling at them. Yeah you’re a bit of a wild card when you’re tired.... which is pretty frequently

The Saja boys often ended up on projects with your co-producer so over time you’d grown accustomed to seeing them in the building, which meant a lot more fleeting conversations between yourself and each boy - it broke the ice and it became easier to work with them over time

Saja boys

Jinu

Loser! (endearing)

He’s just a dork trapped in a hot body and I can’t unsee it, when he’s not in serious leader mode he’s just a goofball that likes to tease and poke fun at his friends or at you.

He tries to play it cool, he really does but he gets nervous and when he fumbles which makes him more nervous so he’ll go from “Hey..” to slipping or tripping over himself to stuttering to apologising and avoiding eye contact for the remainder of time together as he wishes he exploded in a dramatic display.

At first he was all about keeping things professional with you but it was hard to maintain a cool and collected image, when the other boys had stopped keeping up theirs. He steadily gave up and let his actual personality start to shine through when you poked fun at him, accusing him of not doing his best during recording sessions or even when he found himself at your place late at night just talking.

Talking about nothing in particular but everything at the same time and he just, couldn’t stop trying to come over to talk. If it wasn’t a bi weekly thing, it was a weekly thing and then nearly every other night he’d shoot a message asking if you’d want to come over to hang out with the guys (him) or if you wanted company while you worked.

Enjoys just being in your space, watching you work without you knowing (non creepy) and just the serenity of it. Kinda likes seeing when you get frustrated over a project and will try to help out by humming out the tune with you so you could hear it in a different key and if that doesn’t work, he rips you from your chair and says “Yup, break time.” and forces you to take a break by making you go out on a walk with him, a midnight food run, go to hang out with the chaos that is his boys, anything to get you to reset and refresh yourself.

Whenever he works on a project with you or stops by to hang out, he makes sure to grab you a couple of your favourite drinks and snacks to help get you through whatever grind you were locked in on and he’d sit back listening to you hum or record your demos and close his eyes to really hear you.. it was just pleasant and a highlight to his day when he could hear you sing.

Abs / Abby

I think he gets characterised as a meat head a lot but I think there’s more under the abs and muscles, seems like a big sweetie that struggles with being gentle sometimes.

During recording sessions it’s gotten to a point where you have to smack him and Mystery upside the head to stop roughhousing in the studio - the equipment is expensive and you are NOT paying for replacements.

He doesn’t exactly understand music on a technical level, completely going off of ‘vibes’ or whatever he thinks it is but he’s able to fix his mistakes with a few pointers and that’s it - probably one of the easiest out of the bunch to correct and he never takes offense to corrections.

He’s eager to work oddly enough? Likes to get things done and if he can help you with whatever projects you’re working on the side - hell yeah! he’ll show his dance moves if you want to see if a track is dance-worthy, he’ll provide backing vocals if you need a deeper voice on tracks and he’s happy to go buy you snacks too - just kinda a golden retriever with really nice muscles and a pretty smile.

You catch him looking at you when he thinks he’s being subtle but it’s never anything that really throws you off, he just seems intrigued by what you do - often asks questions about things about the hardware or software you’re using and when you’re in your personal studio you let him try and make a track himself, just a simple half minute track with samples you’ve already made and he’s so gentle with your equipment, worried he may not know how to handle the gear without breaking something but with your reassurance and guidance he makes a sample that he’s happy with and even goes to brag about it to the other guys.

Mystery

He’s quiet, holds himself surprisingly well as an idol aside from when he gets a little.. nippy - very prone to biting the other boys but he’s a softie towards you, the Huntrix girlies too even as they’re able to reel him in and make him stop trying to bite at fans.

He’s hard on himself - beats himself up a little more than the others do because sometimes it just doesn’t make sense and he feels dejected when everyone else is able to change things up on the fly without issue - words of encouragement mean something to him and sometimes when you’re really nice, you even pat him on the head or shoulder and he really melts for a second.

You’d gotten used to him being in your space, not in like an overtly invasive way it just seemed that he didn’t particular understand personal space - so used to latching off of his other members for promotional media or rough housing so he didn’t really get why at first you were jumpy when he leant in a little too close or if he leant on your shoulder or leg if it was available. He just kinda enjoys physical touch, not really knowing what it sometimes did to your heart.

He bit you once.

Yeah, he bit you once. He wasn’t in a particularly good mood and he had a need to bite something, anything, and you had happened to be the closest thing to him because the other guys were at the back of your studio whilst he was seated nearby you. You didn’t notice him when he crawled up to you, too focussed on the song you were mixing to perfection when you felt a sharp sting on your outter thigh and you yelped. Startling everyone in the room and even the culprit who bit you, you stared at him - he stared at you (you think) and then you pointed to the door wordlessly. He got up and walked out of the room in shame, like a scolded puppy.

Romance

Everyone agrees he’s flirty, but I feel like Romance is a bit more of the awkward flirt when you match his energy.

He’s so used to everyone backing off or getting flustered, so if you throw something back at him? He’ll fumble, stammer over his next words as he tries to catch his breath because he was NOT expecting you to match his tone. After that he’s avoiding eye contact, it takes him a couple days before he’s back to teasing you in a flirty way and sending “send nudes?” to you randomly through out the week.

There had been a time where you were left alone with Romance and he had let his guard down, turned off the flirty persona all together and he was a lot more.. approachable? Enjoyable to be around even as you two just made small talk and he wasn’t batting his lashes at you, wasn’t trying to force physical affection onto you and just simply enjoyed your presence for what it was. You had to admit when he was being him and not the flirty idol everyone wanted to see, he was pretty attractive.

He gives theatre kid when he sings, playing things up, somehow too emotive when he sings but he is willing to take feedback and correct himself when he goes too far or if you catch on that he’s straining a note too much because he wants to commit - wants to show he can do it - which leads to you taking him aside and quietly and gently reminding him that his vocal cords need to stay healthy if he wants to continue singing. To continue shining. And he takes that feedback to heart, doing his best to actually go through vocal exercises to warm up his voice and being more mindful of the steps he takes into hitting higher notes or notes just barely out of range until he’s able to comfortably undertake them and when he does hit that note? He’s got a smug smile on his face as he looks at you with the most excited and adoring eyes.

Baby

Ipad kid. I see him as the kind of person that may have a bit of ADHD. something that stemmed from his past life maybe - always on his phone or doing something to divide his attention because going all in on something is harder for him.

He can’t focus if he isn’t doing something - fidgeting, playing a game, evening snacking on something - he just needs some kind of stimuli to lock in and that’s just kinda how he is.

When he talks to you he’s usually flicking his eyes between you and his phone, but he’s listening - able to give full responses to questions you have and has no issues regurgitating the information back to you or whoever is there that doubts he was listening.

He’s got more technical skill in music than the others guys but still a few levels under Jinu, he knows what works for him and isn’t opposed to switching things up if you ask him to but it takes a few tries before he’ll get it. He’s actually assisted in writing bars for you and even critiqued lines you’ve written and fixed songs for you. His flow is a lot more natural than yours and you had to admit, he was good at what he knew.

You’d actually introduced him to a group of underground rappers that yourself and a few producers in your building knew, he hadn’t shown any interest until he showed up to an impromptu session and really enjoyed the cyphers they had to come up with on the fly. The second time he went he had asked if he could record the session and send it over to you - the others were happy for him to do that and you could hear the joy in his voice as he shared a craft with like minded people in the snippet he recorded for you.

Huntr/x

Rumi

She’s a little hard to talk to sometimes but it’s mostly because she can’t express herself earnestly, she tries but it’d be a lie if you and her hadn’t had misunderstandings here and there because of it.

As much as you love working with her, she loves working with you - absolutely bouncing off the walls when Bobby tells her and the other girls that they’ll be working on you for any project.

Also respectfully - girl failure when she isn’t putting up the perfect idol pretence because of her upbringing from Celine and often makes mistakes when its just the two of you, she feels comfortable enough to not force herself into a mould and has even had a voice crack here and there where you both laugh it off and let her redo the take.

You’d caught her when her voice was going through a rough patch, accidentally walked in when she was having a panic attack in the studio buildings’ bathroom and saw the patterns all over her arms - though you didn’t know what they were and complimented her ‘cool tattoos’ after you had held her in your arms and let her steadily calm down from her panic, after that whenever it had just been you and her she had become more comfortable with revealing her patterns to you. The comfort of you not knowing what they represented and treating her all the same was special to her, more than you’d ever understand.

Mira

She’s blunt, always has been but she likes to compliment you - not anything cheesy and over the top but just how much she appreciates your work and hopes that you’re doing well because even though you’re creating master pieces she’d rather you get rest instead of burning out

A bit rough and doesn’t always take well to criticism but is more likely to hear you out over anyone else, sometimes argues back but will still follow your guidance, gets embarrassed when you smile at her knowingly when you pick up on her following your advice

There had been a time where you got a text at 3am from her, asking if you were available for a call and you picked up only to hear her sniffly and gravelly voice as she just seemed to seek out comfort from your voice.. just something to help take the edge off of a fight she had with her parents over the phone over how embarrassed and disgusted they still were about her idol career. You let her talk before sharing your own insights, how your family felt about things and how often you’d feel insecure about your career path until you would walk down the streets and hear people humming along to a song you released and everything felt worth it again. How the right people could make everything feel worth it again.

You’d grown closer after that call and she had unknowingly became more attached, always opting to go to you to express her more vulnerable side when she couldn’t bring herself to open up to Zoey or Rumi.

Zoey

She’s so loveable it’s almost painful, often messages you to ask for critique on lyrics she comes up with and if you have time to give her feedback on what she could fix lyric or timing wise.

She respects what you have to say and doesn’t take any negative criticism to heart but occasionally you catch it, the way her eyes lose their shine for a second when you say you weren’t a fan of something she came up with and she shrinks in on herself a little - you try to be careful with how you word it whenever it does happen but sometimes you just talk her through what could change and potential ideas you have; that you still think it was a good idea just maybe could use some polishing and that normally does the trick to get her back to being her bright self.

Sometimes she gets a little overwhelming, so used to her hectic idol schedule that sometimes she forgets that production is a different trainwreck and there’s been a couple times where you’ve had to draw a line and let her know that please do not message you for a day or two while you crunch through the deadline. She understood, apologising and sending a cute little fighting..! audio clip for you to hear and you laugh it off, able to get through your project before reaching out to her and asking about what it was she wanted to share with you - this time it was turtle videos she’d found and another time it’d be seal videos she’d found and rabbit holed. Endearing, truly.

#kpop demon hunters x reader #saja boys x reader #huntrix x reader #kpdh x reader #kpdh x you #abs saja x reader #mystery x reader #baby saja x reader #jinu x reader #rumi x reader

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coriihanniee · 3 days ago

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WE COULD BE FREE ⋆˚࿔ (part 2)

۶ৎ SYNOPSIS : you're the 4th member of Huntrix, tasked to eliminate the Saja Boys, five powerful demons disguised as idols. However, encountering them face to face brings an achingly familiar pain to your chest.

۶ৎ PAIRING : reincarnated 4th member huntrix!reader x saja boys ۶ৎ GENRE(S) : romance, reincarnation, angst, fluff, comfort ۶ৎ WARNING(S) : mentions of death/injuries, use of weapons, sexy hot fictional men

۶ৎ A/N : due to popular demand, here is part 2 of my reincarnated!reader x saja boys~ thank you to all the love and overwhelming support in part 1! 🥹 I didn't expect so many of you to enjoy it!

TELL ME, WILL WE SURVIVE ⋆˚࿔ (part 1)

The notification sound echoed through the dorm's living room for the fifteenth time in an hour. You glanced up from your phone, watching as Rumi frowned at something on her phone screen.

"Look at this," she said, turning the phone towards the group. The trending page was flooded with Saja Boys content, fan edits, concert clips, and millions of views on every single post. "They've gained two million followers in the past week."

Mira peered over Rumi's shoulder, her eyebrows raising. "That's... impossible. Even the biggest groups don't blow up that fast."

"And look at these comments," Zoey added, scrolling through her phone. Her usual confident demeanor had an edge of unease. "Listen to this, 'I can't stop thinking about Saja Boys. They're perfect.' And this one, 'I've watched their latest video fifty times today. Can't help myself.'"

You felt a chill run down your spine. Those words sounded wrong, like echoes of someone else's voice.

"They all sound the same," Mira observed, reading over Zoey's shoulder. "Like they're... compelled to write them."

However, it wasn’t just the Saja Boys’ sudden viral explosion that made your stomach twist. You could feel the Honmoon growing weaker. Not because fans were leaving, but because their attention, energy and devotion were being pulled elsewhere.

"When did this start?" Rumi asked, her sharp gaze sweeping over the three of you. "Zoey, check when their numbers started spiking."

The room fell silent except for the rapid clicking of keys. When the data appeared on screen, your heart dropped. The surge had begun exactly seven days ago. Seven days since...

"Right after our individual missions," you said quietly, the realization hitting you.

All eyes turned to you. Rumi's expression was unreadable, but you can feel your heartbeat climb into your throat at her eyes glancing at your direction with suspicion, concern, maybe both.

"The encounters," Zoey breathed. "It started the day after we met with the Saja Boys."

"Demonic influence," Rumi said grimly. "They're using their powers to hypnotize people and pull their energy towards them. The Honmoon isn't breaking because we're losing fans, it's weakening because our fans' devotion is being redirected."

You felt that hollow ache in your chest where the warm flow of the Honmoon used to be strong and steady. It was still there, but muted now.

"If they drain enough spiritual energy from enough people..." you said quietly, understanding flooding through you.

"They'll be powerful enough to do whatever Gwi-Ma has planned," Rumi finished, her jaw set with determination. "Which means we need to stop them before they can complete whatever ritual they're building towards. Each of us needs to track down the Saja Boy we encountered before. Find out how they're doing this and break their hypnotic hold."

"But what if—" you started, then stopped yourself. What if what? What if you didn't want to stop them? The thought had come unbidden, treacherous, and you pushed it down quickly.

"What if what?" Rumi's voice was gentle but probing.

You looked around at your groupmates, Rumi, who'd been your anchor since debut. Mira, whose strength held you all together. Zoey, whose fierce loyalty had gotten you through countless challenges. They were your family, your chosen sisters. But when you thought about the Saja Boys, about that strange encounter a week ago...

"Nothing," you said finally. "You're right. We need to stop this."

As the others began planning their individual missions, you couldn't shake the memory of how that encounter had felt. Despite everything you'd been taught about demons. They had felt like... coming home.

Rumi placed a hand on your shoulder, pulling you from your thoughts. "Are you sure you're ready for this? You seem distracted lately."

"I'm fine," you lied, forcing a smile. "Just worried about our fans."

She studied your face for a long moment, then nodded. "Alright. Same as before, we split up, track them down, and neutralize the threat. Stay in contact, and if anything goes wrong, call for backup immediately."

As your groupmates gathered their gear and prepared to leave, you stared at your reflection in the black screen of the television. Your own face looked back at you, but for just a moment, you could have sworn you saw someone else, someone from dreams you couldn't quite remember, someone who had loved and been loved in return.

You shook your head, dispelling the illusion.

You were a member of Huntrix.

You had a job to do.

JINU ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

A week had passed since your confrontation with Jinu in the abandoned office building. A week of sleepless nights of fragmented dreams and memories that felt achingly familiar haunted your every waking moment. The other members of Huntrix had noticed your distraction during practice, but you'd deflected their concerns with lies about exhaustion.

You couldn't tell them about the conversation that had shattered everything you thought you knew about your past.

The Saja Boys' influence was growing stronger, and reports of missing fans were growing from across the city. Rumi had assigned you to track Jinu again, convinced that he was the key to understanding their sudden surge in power.

Now you crouched on the fire escape of a warehouse, watching the empty street below while gripping your silver blade. The blessed metal gleamed in the moonlight, sharp and ready to kill. But your hands trembled as you held the weapon, the memory of dropping your blade nights ago still fresh in your mind.

A disturbance in the shadows caught your attention.

Two figures moved through the maze of abandoned factories with predatory grace. These weren't the elegant, human-like demons of the Saja Boys. These were lesser demons, twisted creatures with too many teeth and eyes that burned like coals, the kind that served Gwi-Ma's lower ranks and fed on terror.

You dropped silently to the alley below, following their movements through the industrial complex. All demons served Gwi-Ma in some capacity, but the lesser ones were often sent on reconnaissance missions, scouting for potential feeding grounds or threats to their master's operations.

The creatures had stopped near a cluster of shipping containers, their forms barely visible in the darkness. You crept closer, silver blade ready, but one of them sensed your approach before you could strike.

"Hunter," it hissed, its voice like grinding metal. "How delicious."

The second demon turned towards you, abandoning whatever had occupied its attention. Both creatures began to circle you with calculated precision, cutting off escape routes with practiced efficiency.

Your training kicked in. You lunged at the nearest demon, your blade slicing across its torso. Silver burned through demonic flesh, and the creature shrieked, stumbling backwards. But it didn't fall.

The second demon struck while you were focused on the first, its claws raking across your back. Hot pain bloomed between your shoulder blades, and you could feel blood soaking through your jacket. You spun around, bringing your blade up in a defensive arc, but the wounded demon had recovered and was stalking towards you from behind.

Two against one with an injury was manageable in theory, but these demons moved with coordinated intelligence born from centuries of serving under Gwi-Ma's command. Your blood loss was already affecting your reflexes.

The wounded demon feinted left while its companion attacked from the right. You blocked one set of claws but couldn't avoid the other entirely. New cuts opened across your ribs, deeper than the first wounds.

You stumbled, your vision blurring at the edges. The demons sensed weakness and pressed their advantage, forcing you back against a concrete wall. Your silver blade wavered in your grip as exhaustion and blood loss took their toll.

"Sweet little hunter," one of them crooned, its voice sickeningly melodic. "Lord Gwi-Ma will be pleased with this offering."

You raised your blade one final time, knowing it was futile. You were going to die in a dirty alley, far from your teammates, torn apart by Gwi-Ma's servants and your soul delivered to their master as tribute.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the darkness behind the demons like smoke given form. Before either creature could react, Jinu was there, his hand wrapped around the nearest demon's throat. You didn't even have the time to react. Within seconds, the two demons were nothing more than a pile of ash on the concrete.

The alley fell silent except for your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city.

Jinu turned to you, his dark eyes scanning your form for injuries. When he saw the blood seeping through your jacket, his expression twisted with concern, guilt, perhaps, or self-loathing.

"You're hurt."

"I'm fine," you lied, even as the pain in your back made you grit your teeth.

He stepped closer, and you instinctively raised your blade. He stopped immediately, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

"Let me help you."

"Why?" The word came out harsher than you intended. "Why did you save me from your own kind?"

His eyes met yours, and in them you saw the same pain that had been haunting your dreams for days. "Because losing you once was enough to last eternity."

You stared at him, your weapon still raised between you like a barrier. The logical part of your mind screamed that this was a trap, but another part, deeper and older, recognized the anguish in his voice.

"Those demons," you said carefully. "They mentioned Gwi-Ma. They serve him directly."

"All demons serve Gwi-Ma in some capacity," Jinu replied, his jaw tightening. "But that doesn't mean we're all allies. Hierarchy exists even in hell."

"And where do you fit in that hierarchy?"

"Higher than I deserve. Lower than I once hoped." He looked down at his hands, still stained with demon ash. "High enough that lesser demons fear me, but not high enough to free myself from his control."

You studied his face, seeing the weight of centuries in his expression. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the pain was getting worse. You could feel blood trickling down your spine, warm and sticky.

"The Saja Boys," you said slowly. "This whole idol group, it's not just about collecting souls, is it?"

Jinu's composure cracked slightly. "No. It's not."

"Then what is it about?"

"Forgetting." The word came out like a confession. "For four hundred years, I've carried the memories of what I did. What I lost. What I abandoned." His voice broke on the last word. "The music, the performances, the adoration of thousands of fans, it drowns out the voices in my head. It makes the guilt... quieter."

"What voices?"

"Yours. My mother's. My sister's." He looked at you with eyes full of centuries-old pain. "All the people I left behind when I made my deal with Gwi-Ma. All the people who died because I was too selfish to stay and fight poverty alongside them."

The pieces began falling into place. "The deal... it was only for you."

"I was so desperate to escape. So tired of watching you go hungry, of seeing my mother's hands crack from cold, of feeling helpless while my sister grew thinner each day." His voice was barely a whisper. "When Gwi-Ma offered me a way out, I thought... I thought I could come back for you. I thought once I had wealth and status, I could bring you all to live with me."

"But you couldn't."

"The palace guards turned you away. The deal lifted only me from poverty. Gwi-Ma wanted me to feel the weight of my choice every day." Jinu's hands clenched into fists. "I lived in silk and gold while you starved in the streets I'd fled."

Your blade lowered without conscious thought. "We died."

"You all died hating me." Tears tracked down his cheeks. "The bond we shared... I felt your life leave your body, and I knew you died cursing my name."

The memory hit you like a lightning strike, cold, hunger, the bitter taste of betrayal in your mouth as you realized Jinu wasn't coming back. The way his mother had wept when the palace guards turned them away. How his sister had called his name one final time before the sickness took her.

"I remember," you whispered. "The guards... they laughed at us. They said you'd instructed them to keep the beggars away."

"I never said that. I swear I never—"

"I know." The words surprised you with their certainty. "I can see it now. You tried to reach us."

"Every day for months I begged, pleaded, offered everything I had gained. But the deal was binding. Gwi-Ma had orchestrated it perfectly, I could have wealth and status, but I could never share it with those I loved most."

You understood now why the patterns had spread across his skin, why he'd been transformed into a demon. The guilt alone would have been enough to damn him, but Gwi-Ma had ensured the punishment fit the crime.

"The demon transformation," you said. "It happened because of the guilt."

"The more I regretted my choice, the more the patterns spread. Gwi-Ma's voice grew louder in my mind, feeding on my torment. Eventually, the curse completed its work and I became exactly what I'd made a deal with, a demon bound to serve the very creature who had destroyed everything I loved."

"And for four hundred years, you've been trying to forget."

"The Saja Boys weren't just about serving Gwi-Ma's interests. They were about drowning out the memories, creating something loud enough to silence the guilt. But then you appeared, and suddenly..." He looked at you with desperate eyes. "Suddenly all the music in the world couldn't make me forget your face."

Your back was throbbing, but you barely noticed. "Is that why you recognized me immediately? Because you never truly forgot?"

"I couldn't forget. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how many souls I helped harvest, no matter how much adoration I basked in, your voice calling my name as you died was always there, waiting in the quiet moments."

"Do you regret it?" you asked. "Making the deal?"

"Every breath I've taken for the past four centuries has been a regret." His voice was raw with pain. "But regret doesn't resurrect the dead. It doesn't undo abandonment. It doesn't—"

"It doesn't change the past," you finished. "But we're not in the past anymore."

Jinu stared at you in shock. "How can you even look at me? I left you to die. I chose my own comfort over your life, over my family's survival. I'm the reason you suffered, the reason you—"

"Stop." You stepped closer to him, close enough to see the demonic patterns that traced along his skin like a map of his guilt. "You made a choice born from desperation and love. You wanted to save us, and Gwi-Ma twisted that desire into a trap."

"That doesn't excuse—"

"No, it doesn't excuse anything. But it explains it." You reached up and touched his face, feeling him tremble under your palm. "You were barely more than a boy, watching the people you loved waste away. When someone offered you a way to save them, of course you took it. The fact that it was a trap doesn't make you evil, it makes you human."

"I'm not human anymore."

"No," you agreed. "But you're still the man who used to tend my wounds. Still the man who played music in the streets to earn enough coin for medicine when his sister fell ill. Still the man who loved his family enough to fuck himself over trying to save them."

Jinu broke completely at your words, falling to his knees as four centuries of suppressed grief poured out of him. You knelt beside him, ignoring the pain in your back, and pulled him against you.

"I'm so sorry," he sobbed into your shoulder. "I'm so sorry I failed you. I'm sorry I left you. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to find another path."

"I forgive you," you whispered, and felt the truth of it settle in your bones. "I forgive you, Jinu. I forgive all of it."

"But I'm a demon. You're a hunter. The things I've done in service to Gwi-Ma—"

"We'll figure it out." You helped him stand, your own wounds protesting the movement. "There has to be a way to break his hold over you. There has to be a path forward that doesn't end in more loss."

"And if there isn't?"

"Then we face whatever comes together. No more abandoning each other anymore."

Jinu searched your face as if memorising every detail. "You're certain? Once we cross this line, there's no going back. Your friends will see it as betrayal."

"They won’t, trust me." You winced as pain shot through your back. "Now help me with these wounds so we can figure out how to save each other."

As Jinu carefully tended to your injuries, his hands as gentle as they had been four centuries ago, you felt the last pieces of your memories clicking into place. You remembered the love you'd shared, the dreams you'd built together, and yes, the pain of his abandonment and the bitterness of your death.

But you also remembered the man beneath the demon, the choices that had led him here, and the guilt that had been eating him alive for longer than most civilizations had existed.

Honestly, you didn't know how you were going to reconcile your duty to Huntrix with your love for Jinu. You didn't know if there was a way to free him from Gwi-Ma's control without destroying him in the process.

But you knew you would face whatever came together. Even if it meant challenging a demon lord, betraying your calling, or rewriting the very rules that governed love and redemption.

ABBY ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You found him in an abandoned subway tunnel, exactly where you'd agreed to meet. The space echoed with the distant rumble of trains above, fluorescent lights flickering against graffitied walls. Abby was sitting on an old bench, looking surprisingly relaxed for someone who was supposed to be hunted.

"You came," he said, looking up as your footsteps echoed through the tunnel.

"I said I would." You sat beside him, close enough to talk quietly but far enough to maintain the illusion of professionalism if anyone happened upon you. "Rumi's assigned me to track you again. Solo mission this time."

"Lucky me." His grin was sharp, but there was warmth in his eyes that hadn't been there during your first encounter. "So what's the play sweetheart? You gonna chase me around the city for a few hours before I conveniently slip away?"

"Something like that." You pulled out your phone, showing him the tracking device readings Huntrix had given you. "They're monitoring my progress. We need to make this look good."

Abby leaned closer to study the screen, and you caught the scent of his cologne. It triggered a flash of memory, sitting close like this before, but in sunlight, sharing bread on a hillside.

"You okay?" he asked, noticing how you'd gone still.

"Just... flashes. Memories that don't quite fit." You rubbed your temple. "It's like trying to remember a dream."

"That's normal. Reincarnation scrambles things." His voice was gentler now. "Want to talk about it while we walk? Might help piece things together."

You both stood, and he gestured towards the deeper tunnels. "There's an old platform about half a mile down. Good acoustics for a dramatic chase scene."

As you walked side by side through the dim tunnel, the silence felt comfortable rather than tense. It occurred to you that this should be awkward, demon and hunter pretending to hunt each other, instead it felt natural.

"Tell me about the memories," Abby said quietly. "What do you see?"

"Fragments, mostly. Sitting somewhere sunny, sharing food. Your hands..." You glanced at his hands, noting how they dwarfed yours now. "They were smaller then. Thinner."

"I was sick a lot," he admitted. "Weak. Could barely keep food down most days." His jaw tightened. "Not exactly hero material."

"But you were kind." The words came automatically. "You always shared whatever you had, even when you didn't have enough."

Abby stopped walking. "You remember that?"

"I remember..." You closed your eyes, letting the memory surface. "You made soup from scraps, and you gave me the pieces of meat even though you needed them more."

"You tried to give them back," he said softly. "You said you weren't hungry, but I could hear your stomach growling."

The memory crystallized suddenly. A tiny room with walls that barely kept out the cold, two bowls between you, and the way he'd smiled when you finally ate the meat he'd saved for you.

"What happened? In our past life, I mean. How did I die?"

Abby was quiet for so long you thought he wouldn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was carefully controlled.

"There were men. Rich merchants who thought they could take whatever they wanted from people like us." His hands clenched into fists. "They cornered you in an alley. I tried to stop them, but I was so weak I could barely stand after a coughing fit."

Rough hands grabbing you, a thin boy shouting your name, the feeling of helplessness as you were dragged away from him.

"You tried to fight them," you said, the words coming back to you. "Even though you could barely breathe."

"Lot of good it did." His laugh was bitter. "I watched them kill you, and I couldn't do anything but scream."

"That's not true." You stopped walking and turned to face him. "You held me after. When they were gone, you found me and you held me."

Abby's composure cracked. "You remember that?"

"Your hands were shaking. You kept saying you were sorry, that you should have been stronger." You reached out tentatively, touching his arm. "But I wasn't angry. I was just... sad that we didn't have more time."

"You told me you loved me right at the end. And I promised you that if I ever got another chance, I'd be strong enough to protect you."

"And you made a deal with Gwi-Ma."

"The day after your funeral. He appeared to me." Abby's voice hardened. "He offered me everything I'd ever wanted, strength, power, the ability to never be helpless again. All I had to do was serve him."

"What was the price?"

"My humanity, eventually. And a hundred and twenty three years of wondering if I'd ever see you again." He looked at you with an expression that was equal parts hope and fear. "Some nights I convinced myself it was worth it. Other nights..."

"Other nights you regretted it."

"I regretted every single one." He started walking again, and you fell into step beside him. "But then you showed up in that fight club, and suddenly every day of the past century made sense."

You walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, processing the weight of shared memory and loss. The tunnel opened up ahead into what had once been a subway platform, complete with tiled walls and abandoned benches.

"This is perfect," you said, pulling out your phone to check the tracker. "Dramatic lighting, multiple exits. Very cinematic."

"You want cinematic? I can give you cinematic." Abby grinned, and for a moment he looked like the boy from your memories, mischievous and alive despite everything. "What's our story? How does this chase play out?"

"You're overconfident. I'm persistent. We fight, you get the upper hand, but then something distracts you and I almost get you before you escape at the last second."

"What kind of distraction?"

You considered this. "Personal. Something that throws you off balance emotionally."

"Like what?"

"Like me asking why you became a demon."

Abby raised an eyebrow. "That's not acting, sweetheart. That's just therapy with weapons."

"Maybe that's what we both need."

His expression grew serious. "You sure about this? Once we cross that line, there's no pretending it's just a performance."

"I'm sure."

He nodded and moved to the center of the platform. "Alright then. Let's give Huntrix a show."

You activated your tracking device and drew your weapon. Immediately, Abby's entire demeanour shifted. Gone was the gentle man who'd been sharing memories with you. In his place stood the cocky fighter from the underground ring, all dangerous grace and sharp grins.

"Well, well," he called out, his voice echoing off the tiled walls. "Look who found me. Miss me already?"

"You're under arrest," you said, loud enough for your comm device to pick up. "Come quietly and this doesn't have to get messy."

"Where's the fun in that?" He rolled his shoulders, muscles rippling under his shirt. "Besides, we both know how this ends."

You lunged at him with your blade, and he dodged with fluid grace. He was pulling his punches, making sure his strikes looked devastating without actually hurting you.

"Is that all you've got?" he taunted, but his eyes were careful, watching to make sure you were okay.

"I'm just getting started." You spun, bringing your blade around in an arc that he blocked with his forearm. The silver stung him, you could see him wince, but he didn't retreat.

"That's more like it." He grabbed your wrist and spun you around, pulling you back against his chest with your own blade at your throat. To anyone listening, it would sound like he had the upper hand. "You know, you're prettier when you're not trying to kill me."

"Let me go," you said, but there was no real fear in your voice.

"Not yet." His breath was warm against your ear. "We haven't finished our conversation."

"What conversation?"

"The one about why I became a monster for you."

You drove your elbow back into his ribs, and he released you with a grunt that was only half-acted. When you spun to face him, his mask had slipped slightly.

"You want to know why?" His voice was rougher and more honest. "Because watching you die broke me. A hundred and twenty three years of nightmares seemed like a fair trade for the chance to keep you safe."

"And what if I don't need protecting?"

"Then I'll love you anyway." The words escaped before he could stop them, raw in this echoing space.

The admission hung between you like a bridge. You could cross it or burn it down.

"Abby," you whispered.

"I know," he said quietly. "I know it's complicated. I know you have a life, a mission, people who depend on you. But when I look at you, I see the person I've been waiting over a century to find again."

Your comm device crackled with Rumi's voice. "Status report. Do you have visual on the target?"

Reality crashed back. You were supposed to be chasing him, not having a heart-to-heart in an abandoned subway tunnel.

"He's here," you said into the comm, then looked at Abby with apology in your eyes. "But he's about to slip away."

Understanding flashed across his face. "Right. Back to the show."

He moved towards one of the tunnel exits, but slowly, giving you time to "pursue" him. You followed, making your footsteps loud and obvious.

"Stop right there!" you called out.

"Can't do that, sweetheart!" He paused at the mouth of the tunnel, silhouetted against the dim light beyond. "But this isn't over!"

"I'll find you again!"

"I'm counting on it!"

He disappeared into the shadows, and you stood alone on the platform, breathing hard from more than just the chase.

"Target escaped," you reported into your comm. "Lost him in the tunnel system."

"Copy that," Rumi's voice crackled back. "Return to the dorms for debrief."

You were about to leave when you noticed something on the bench where Abby had been sitting earlier. A piece of paper, folded small and tucked under the armrest where only someone looking carefully would find it.

You unfolded it to find an address written in careful handwriting, along with a simple message: "When you're ready to stop performing."

As you made your way back through the tunnels, your mind raced with the implications of what had just happened. You'd helped a demon escape. You'd lied to your groupmates. You'd crossed a line that there was no coming back from.

However, you'd also remembered what it felt like to be loved completely, without reservation or condition. You'd remembered a boy who'd given up his humanity for the chance to protect you. You'd realized that some bonds really were stronger than duty.

For the first time since your memories had started returning, you finally knew which choice you were going to make.

ROMANCE ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

A week had passed since the rooftop encounter, and you hadn't slept properly since. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw that ring catching the neon light, heard his voice breaking as he spoke of seventy two hours by your deathbed..

You'd thrown yourself into training with renewed intensity, pushing your body until exhaustion forced the memories away. But nothing could silence the echo of his words.

Someone I loved more than my own existence.

Your mind replayed back to today's briefing :

"Are we deploying as a full team?"

"No. Individual assignments based on our intelligence about each demon's capabilities." Rumi's eyes met yours across the table. "I'm assigning you to track Romance specifically. Your previous encounter gives you insight into his methods."

The blood drained from your face. You gripped the edge of the table, hoping no one would notice the tremor in your hands.

"His emotional manipulation techniques are particularly dangerous," Rumi continued. "But you've proven resistant to his influence. You're our best chance at—"

"I can't." The words tumbled out before you could stop them.

The room fell silent. Mira raised an eyebrow while Zoey's concerned gaze shifted between you and Rumi.

"What do you mean, you can't?" Rumi's voice carried a note of authority, but still laced with concern.

"I mean..." You struggled to find words that wouldn't reveal too much. "Perhaps someone else would be better suited. My last encounter with him was... complicated."

"Complicated how?" Mira's tone was sharp with curiosity.

"He got into my head more than I'd like to admit." It wasn't entirely a lie. "His particular brand of manipulation might be more effective on me than we initially thought."

Zoey reached across the table, her expression softening. "If you're not comfortable with this assignment, we can adjust. Mira could take Romance while you handle one of the others!"

The offer hung in the air, a lifeline you desperately wanted to take. But the thought of one of your friends facing Romance, facing the grief and twisted love that had consumed him for centuries made your stomach turn. They wouldn't understand what drove him. They would see only a demon to be eliminated, not a man destroyed by loss.

"No," you said finally. "I can handle it. I just... needed a moment to prepare mentally."

Rumi's eyes narrowed slightly, but she nodded. "Alright then. We'll position ourselves around the area and move in when they separate."

As the briefing concluded and your teammates filed out, you remained seated.

"Are you sure about this?" Mira had lingered behind, her voice gentle with concern.

"I have to be."

"No, you don't. If this demon has some kind of psychological hold over you—"

"He doesn't." The lie came easier this time. "I won't let him manipulate me again."

Mira studied your face for a long moment before nodding. "Just... be careful. And remember, you're not alone out there. We're all connected by comms."

After she left, you sat in the empty briefing room. The weight of what you were about to do pressed down on your chest like a stone.

The botanical gardens at sunset were eerily beautiful. Golden light filtered through the glass walls of the greenhouses, casting prismatic rainbows across the pathways. You moved silently through the outer corridors, your silver blade secured at your side, backup positioned at strategic points around the perimeter.

Your comm crackled softly. "Mira in position," came the whispered report.

"Zoey here. I've got eyes on Mystery."

"Copy that," Rumi's voice was barely audible through the static. "Target separation confirmed. Move to intercept."

You switched off your comm and continued deeper into the garden. It felt like walking through a dream. Overgrown rose bushes created natural corridors between forgotten flower beds, their thorns catching on your clothes as you navigated the maze of vegetation.

You found Romance in the heart of the garden, surrounded by what had once been a carefully cultivated meditation area.

"I wondered if you'd come," he said without turning around. "The others are handling your friends well enough, I assume."

You stepped into the light, silver blade already in your hand. "This ends tonight."

"Does it?" He finally looked at you, and his expression was utterly calm. "I'm not going to fight you."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm tired." Romance's voice carried a weariness that seemed to span centuries. "Tired of pretending this existence has meaning, creating false love to fill the void you left behind, being something you would have hated."

The blade wavered in your grip. "You don't get to use guilt as a weapon."

"I'm not trying to manipulate you." He stood slowly. "I'm telling you the truth. For the first time in centuries, I'm being completely honest."

"The truth about what?"

"About why I really became a demon." Romance took a step closer, and you instinctively raised your weapon. He stopped immediately, hands visible and empty. "It wasn't just because I couldn't love anyone else. It was because I couldn't live with the guilt of failing you."

"You didn't fail me. I died of illness."

"I failed you by not being strong enough to save you. By not having the money for better medicine, better doctors. By not being able to give you the life you deserved." His voice cracked. "I held your hand while you died, and all I could think about was how I'd never get to marry you, never get to give you children, never get to grow old with you."

Your chest tightened with familiar pain, that same inexplicable ache that had plagued you since the rooftop encounter.

"So you made a deal with Gwi-Ma to become something that could manufacture love for others?"

"I thought... if I could give other people what I couldn't give you, it would balance the scales somehow. Make up for my failures." Romance's laugh was bitter. "Instead, I became a mockery of everything you taught me about love."

"What did I teach you about love?"

"That it should be freely given. That it should make people stronger, not weaker. That it should be based on truth, not lies." Tears tracked down his cheeks. "Every heart I've touched, every false emotion I've created, has been a betrayal of those principles."

You lowered your blade slightly, unable to reconcile the monster you'd been sent to kill with the broken man standing before you. "Then why continue? Why not find another way?"

"Because the alternative is facing the truth that I've spent centuries running from." Romance's voice dropped to a whisper. "That you're gone. That I failed you. That I'm alone."

"You're not alone."

The words escaped before you could stop them. Romance's eyes widened, hope flickering in their depths like a candle in the wind.

"What?"

"I mean..." You struggled to find the right words. "You don't have to be alone. There are other paths forward."

"Not for someone like me. Not for someone who's done what I've done." Romance shook his head. "I've manipulated thousands of people. I've fed on their loneliness, their desperation for connection. I've created addicts who would rather live in beautiful lies than face reality."

"But you're not doing it out of malice. You're doing it out of grief."

"Does that make it better?"

You thought about that for a long moment, studying his face in the dim light. "No. But it makes it understandable."

"Understanding doesn't equal forgiveness."

"No," you agreed. "But it's a start."

Romance stared at you in amazement. "How can you even consider forgiving me? I'm everything you're trained to destroy."

"Because..." You took a shaky breath, the words feeling like stepping off a cliff. “I remember..."

His breath caught. "Remember what?"

"Pieces of my past,” You pressed a hand to your chest, where the ache had become a constant companion. "Someone holding my hand while I was sick, humming to distract me from the pain, whispering promises to me."

"What kind of promises?"

"That they'd always love me. That they'd find me again, even if it took forever." The memories surfaced like bubbles breaking on water's surface. "Someone who worked extra jobs to save money for something special."

Romance's composure cracked completely. "You remember the ring."

"I remember how it felt to see it. Like my heart was breaking and healing at the same time." You looked at him through your tears. "I remember loving someone so much that death couldn't make me forget."

"But you did forget. You lived whole lifetimes without remembering me."

"Maybe forgetting was necessary. I needed to live other lives, learn other lessons, before I could come back to you." You stepped closer, close enough to see the patterns of guilt and grief etched into his features. "Maybe this is what was supposed to happen."

"What do you mean?"

"I was reborn as a hunter. You became a demon. We found each other across centuries and multiple lifetimes." You reached out tentatively, your fingers barely brushing his cheek. "Maybe we're supposed to save each other."

Romance leaned into your touch like a man dying of thirst. "How do we do that?”

"I don't know," you admitted. "But I can't kill you. And I know that you can't keep living like this."

"Gwi-Ma won't simply release me from my contract."

"We'll find another way." You cupped his face in both hands, marveling at how right it felt despite everything. "You said you'd find me again, even if it took forever. Well, you found me. Now let's figure out what comes next."

"But you're a hunter. I'm a demon. Your friends—"

"They will have to understand. Besides, I made you a promise too, didn't I? On my deathbed?"

"You asked me to love someone else after you were gone."

"And you have. You've loved me through every lifetime, every reincarnation, every moment of the past few centuries." You pulled him closer, close enough to rest your forehead against his. "Maybe it's time to love me in person again."

MYSTERY ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The dreams have been relentless since that night.

Every time you close your eyes, fragments surface like pieces of sea glass washed ashore by an insistent tide. A voice humming low and sweet while gentle fingers card through your hair. The weight of a head on your shoulder as you both watch stars wheel overhead. Whispered conversations in a language that feels like home but sounds like nothing you've ever learned.

And always, that melody threading through it all like a silver wire connecting past to present.

You wake each morning with tears on your cheeks and a name balanced on the tip of your tongue that dissolves before you can speak it. Sometimes there are other fragments, the rustle of silk skirts, the weight of elaborate hairpins, the suffocating sensation of being trapped in a gilded cage. But these pieces feel different, tinged with a desperation that makes your chest tight with phantom panic.

A week of this. A week of Rumi watching you with increasingly concerned eyes during briefings. A week of Mira asking if you need medical leave. A week of Zoey trying to cheer you up with increasingly elaborate breakfast presentations.

"You look like you haven't slept in days," Rumi observes during the briefing, her sharp eyes analysing the dark circles under your eyes, the way your hands tremble slightly around your coffee cup.

"I'm fine," you lie, because how do you explain that you're being haunted by memories that don't belong to you? That every time you close your eyes, you see a life where choice was a luxury you couldn't afford?

Night falls over Seoul like a curtain dropping on an empty stage. The arts district sleeps beneath flickering streetlights, galleries and theaters locked tight against the darkness. You move through shadows with practiced silence, silver blade concealed but ready.

The first three locations yield nothing but dust and echoes. It's at the fourth, an abandoned concert hall with a collapsed roof open to the stars that you hear it.

The melody.

It drifts from the building's heart like smoke, each note perfectly pitched to resonate in the hollow spaces of your chest. Your feet carry you forward without conscious thought, through the lobby with its shattered chandelier, past broken seats that once held audiences full of hope and wonder.

The main stage is bathed in moonlight streaming through the ruined ceiling. And there he is, seated at a piano that somehow survived the building's decay. His fingers move across keys that shouldn't be able to produce sound, yet music flows like water.

He doesn't look up when you approach, but his smile is audible in the way the melody shifts. "You found me again."

"I was sent to find you." Your weapon remains sheathed, though you can't explain why. "You're Mystery."

"Ah, yes, that's what they're calling me.” His laugh harmonizes with the piano's voice. "I suppose it fits. I've always been a puzzle you couldn't quite solve."

"You're harvesting souls. You're draining people dry and leaving them empty, killing them."

His hands still on the keys. When he turns to face you, moonlight catches the shimmer of demonic markings along his temple, clearer now than before, like he's stopped trying to hide them.

"Is that what you think I'm doing?"

"I think you're a demon who's been targeting innocents." Even as you say it, doubt creeps into your voice. "I think you need to be stopped."

"Do you?" He stands slowly, hands visible and empty. "Then stop me."

Your blade clears its sheath in one smooth motion, silver gleaming in the starlight. He doesn't flinch, doesn't move to defend himself. He just watches you with eyes that hold too much sorrow for someone who should be your enemy.

"I'm waiting," he says softly.

"Why aren't you fighting back?"

"Because I told you before, I'll never fight you." He takes a step closer, and you should retreat but your feet won't obey. "Even if you don't remember why."

"I remember fragments." The admission tears from your throat. "But that doesn't mean I won't do my job."

"Your job." He says it like the words taste bitter, something about his tone makes your skin crawl with phantom memories of being told your purpose. "Is that what this is to you? Just another assignment?"

"Yes." The lie comes out weaker than you intended, because suddenly you're remembering other moments of being told what you were supposed to do and accept.

"Then why are your hands shaking?"

You look down and curse silently. He's right, your grip on the blade wavers like a leaf in wind. "Adrenaline."

"Liar." He says it fondly, like an endearment. "You always were a terrible liar. Your eyes give you away every time. Even when they were trying to convince you that marrying someone of a higher status was your duty to your family."

Images flash through your mind after his words, cold eyes in a weathered face, hands that felt like iron shackles, the smell of expensive incense that couldn't mask the scent of other women's fear that clung to his robes.

"You remember him," Mystery says, watching your face carefully. "The man they tried to chain you to."

"I—" Your voice catches. "I remember being trapped. I remember wanting to run."

"You did run. You ran to me, that last night."

He's close enough now that you could strike, could end this with a single thrust of silver through his heart. Instead, you find yourself asking, "I've heard the melody you were playing before…”

"I know."

"In memories that don't belong to me—”

"They do belong to you. Just from a different lifetime." He reaches out slowly, telegraphing the movement, giving you every chance to pull away. "From when you had a different name, wore different clothes, but had the same fierce heart that refused to be caged."

"That's impossible."

"Is it?" His fingertips barely graze your cheek. "Tell me what you see when you hear that song."

Against every instinct, every piece of training, you close your eyes. The melody rises again, not from the piano this time, but hummed low in his throat, a sound that bypasses your ears and resonates directly in your bones.

The vision that comes is clearer than any dream :

You're nineteen again, wearing silk hanbok that marks you as nobility but feels like a beautiful prison. You've escaped through servants' quarters and garden walls to reach a hidden grove where music waits. He's there, younger face, human eyes, fingers dancing across wooden flute holes as he plays just for you.

"You came," he says, and his smile could light the world.

"I'll always come when you call," you whisper back, settling beside him on the grass, careful not to wrinkle the expensive fabric your mother chose. "Even if they're watching the house more closely now."

His music weaves around you like silk. When he finishes, you trace patterns on his back while he hums that melody, the one that's been haunting you across centuries.

"Run away with me," you whisper against his shoulder. "Before the wedding ceremony tonight."

"Where would we go? They'll hunt us down."

"I don't care. I'd rather die free than live as his prisoner."

Your eyes snap open, tears streaming down your cheeks. "We loved each other."

"Yes."

"I died." The carriage wheels giving way, the sensation of falling, the way you hummed his song even as death claimed you.

"Yes." His voice breaks on the word. "You died trying to reach the temple, trying to escape a marriage that would have destroyed you."

"You became..." You gesture at the markings on his skin, the inhuman beauty that marks him as other.

"A demon. Yes." He lets his hand fall from your cheek. "But I never stopped loving you. Even when love became my curse."

Your blade lowers without conscious thought. "The soul harvesting—"

"I take souls, yes. But only from those who are already broken. The suicidal. The hopeless. Those standing on bridges at midnight, ready to jump." He moves back to the piano, fingers trailing across keys that sing under his touch.

"That doesn't make it right."

"No, it doesn't, but it makes me a vulture rather than a predator. I ease their passing and spare them the pain of a violent end." His music turns melancholy, each note a confession. "Gwi-Ma finds it... efficient. I've convinced him that desperate souls taste sweeter than terrified ones."

Understanding dawns like a cold sunrise. "You're protecting people by being selective about your targets."

"I'm doing what I can within the constraints of what I am." He looks at you over the piano. "Just like you're doing what you can within the constraints of what you've been told to be."

"I haven't been told to be anything. I chose this life."

"Did you? Or did you choose it because some part of you remembered what I became and wanted to fight against it?" His eyes hold yours steadily. "Or because some part of you remembered what it felt like to be powerless, to have no agency over your own fate?"

The question hits something deep in your chest. Your entire identity as a hunter, your dedication to protecting innocents, how much of it was genuine calling and how much was subconscious recognition of a loss you couldn't name? How much was the echo of a girl who died trying to claim her freedom?

"I don't know," you whisper.

"That's all right. Neither do I, most days." His fingers find a different, softer melody. "I've had centuries to think about it, and I still don't know if what I'm doing is mercy or just elaborate self-torture."

"Centuries of remembering what we had."

"Centuries of missing you." He meets your eyes across the moonlit space. "Every soul I take, every moment of service to Gwi-Ma, every night I spend existing instead of living, it's all been about the hope that someday, I'd find you again."

"Now that you have?"

"Now I'm terrified." His honesty cuts through you like silver through flesh. "Because you don't exactly remember me. And even if you did, why would you choose to love a monster?"

You cross the space between you in quick strides, your weapon clattering to the floor forgotten. Before he can react, your hands frame his face, thumbs tracing the demonic markings that shimmer beneath your touch.

"Because you're not a monster," you say fiercely. "You're the boy who played music under starlight for me. You're the man who loved me enough to spend eternity remembering. You're the one who chooses mercy even when it costs you."

"I kill people."

"You ease suffering. There's a difference."

"Is there?"

"Yes." You lean closer, close enough to see yourself reflected in his dark eyes. "And I'm not the same girl who died centuries ago. I'm someone who chose to fight demons, who dedicated her life to protecting innocents. But that doesn't mean I can't love one who's trying to minimize the damage he's forced to cause."

Hope flickers across his features like candlelight. "You're saying—"

"I'm saying I remember now. The way you'd hold me when thunder scared me. How you'd compose different melodies to match my moods. The promises we made." Your voice drops to a whisper. "I remember dying with your song on my lips, and I remember choosing to run towards love instead of accepting a life without it."

"You were so brave," he whispers. "Even then, knowing what it would cost you."

"I'm saying I love you. Past tense, present tense, future tense."

"I can't ask you to give up your life for me," he says as he leans his forehead against yours.

"You're not asking. I'm choosing." You pull back to meet his eyes. "We'll figure out how to make this work. Find a way to satisfy Gwi-Ma while minimizing harm. Maybe even find a way to break whatever hold he has over you."

"How are you so sure? Your friends will never understand."

"Then I'll make them understand." You press your palm against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart. "I’ve been dreaming of you without knowing why for months. I'm not going to sit here and wait anymore. We'll find a way, I promise.”

BABY ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The briefing room felt suffocating even after everyone had left. You sat alone at the long table, staring at your phone screen, social media feeds filled with Saja Boys content, fan videos. Baby's face looked back at you from dozens of posts, styled and polished for the cameras, but you could see something haunted in his eyes even through the idol persona.

"The songs. Those stupid lullabies you used to sing when I had nightmares."

His words from a week ago wouldn't leave you alone. They circled in your mind like vultures, picking at something buried deep.

"You're thinking too hard."

Rumi's voice made you look up. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, studying you with those sharp eyes that missed nothing.

"Just researching," you said, turning your phone face down on the table.

"Bullshit." She moved into the room, closing the door behind her. "You've been distracted since your encounter with the demon. What happened out there?"

I waited for you, you know. Stupid thing to do when you're a kid.

"Nothing I can't handle."

Rumi sat across from you, her expression softening slightly. "Look, I know these cases can get personal. Sometimes demons know things about us, use our pasts against us. It's what they do."

"What if it's not manipulation?"

The question slipped out before you could stop it. Rumi's eyebrows shot up.

"What do you mean?"

You touched your phone, Baby's image still visible on the darkened screen. Those eyes that looked at you like you'd broken something precious, even through the glossy idol photos. "What if he really knew me before?"

"That's impossible. Your records show—"

"My records show I appeared five years ago with no past. No family. No history before I started training." You met her gaze. "What if there's a reason for that?"

Rumi was quiet for a long moment, before she sighed. "Even if that were true, it doesn't change what he is now and what he's done."

But as you slipped your phone into your pocket, you couldn't shake the feeling that everything you thought you knew was built on shifting ground.

You found him later in the ruins of an old factory on the outskirts of the city. The same place you'd been tracking demon activity for a week, though you realized now it wasn't random demons you'd been sensing.

It was him.

Baby sat on a rusted beam, twenty feet off the ground, watching you approach with that same careful intensity. He looked younger in the moonlight filtering through broken windows, more like the boy he claimed to remember.

"Took you long enough," he called down. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten again."

"Come down. We need to talk."

He dropped silently to the factory floor, landing in a crouch before straightening. "About what? How you're going to drag me back to your people? How they'll probably dissect me to figure out what makes demons tick?"

"About what you said. The nightmares and the songs."

Baby's expression flickered. "Having second thoughts about your convenient amnesia?"

The mockery in his voice sparked your temper. "Stop playing games. If you know something about my past, just tell me."

"Why should I make it easy for you?" He circled closer, predatory and graceful. "You certainly didn't make it easy for me."

"I don't know what that means!"

"Of course you don't." He was close enough now that you could see the hurt beneath his anger. "You died, and left me alone, and somehow you get to come back perfect and clean with no memory of what you did to me."

Flashes of images, a boy crying, small hands reaching for yours.

You stumbled backward, and Baby's eyes sharpened.

"Oh, that got through, didn't it?" He pressed forward. "Starting to remember?"

"Stop."

"Remember how you used to sneak out to meet me? How you'd bring me food because my parents were too drunk to remember I existed? How you promised you'd never leave?"

Each word was like a knife, cutting through the fog in your mind. You saw pieces flashing through your mind, sharing a sandwich on a playground bench, bandaging a scraped knee, singing softly while a smaller figure curled against your side.

"I said stop!" You drew your blade, the silver gleaming in the pale light.

Baby laughed, bitter and sharp. "There she is. Ready to cut down anything that makes you uncomfortable."

He moved faster than you could track, knocking the weapon from your hand and slamming you back against a concrete pillar. His forearm pressed against your throat, not quite cutting off air but making his point.

"You want to know what happened?" His voice was raw, all pretense dropped. "Fine. We were kids. You were the only person who gave a damn about me. And then one day you didn't come home."

Running through smoke, lungs burning, reaching for him.

"They found your body in the fire. What was left of it." His grip tightened slightly. "I waited at the playground for weeks, thinking maybe they'd made a mistake. Maybe you'd come back."

Making a choice, accepting the price, watching him run to safety.

"But you were dead. I was alone. And something found me in that grief."

You gasped, the memories hitting like a tidal wave. The factory fire. How he'd screamed your name. The whispered promises in the smoke.

Save him, let him live, pay the price yourself.

"I remember," you whispered.

Baby went very still. "What?"

"The fire. You were trapped, and I—" Your voice broke. "I died getting you out. I chose to die so you could live."

His arm dropped from your throat like you'd burned him. He staggered backward, eyes wide and desperate.

"No. No, that's not—you left me. You abandoned me."

"I saved you." You pushed off from the pillar, reaching for him. "Whatever happened after, whatever you became, I saved you first."

"Then why don't I remember it that way?" His voice cracked.

"Because trauma changes how we remember things. You were eight years old and terrified." You took another step closer. "Maybe forgetting was the only way you could survive."

He was crying now, tears streaming down his face as he shook his head. "I've done horrible things. I've hurt people. I'm not the kid you saved."

"You're still him." You reached up to touch his face, the way you used to when he had nightmares. "Under everything else, you're still the boy who used to fall asleep to my lullabies."

This time when he collapsed against you, it wasn't an attack. It was surrender. He wrapped his arms around you like you might disappear again, face buried in your shoulder.

"I missed you so much," he whispered. "I missed you every day."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I couldn't stay."

You held him while he cried, singing softly under your breath, the same melody you'd hummed to chase away his nightmares all those years ago. You felt his breathing slow, his grip on you loosening from desperate to simply holding on.

"What happens now?" he asked finally, voice muffled against your shoulder.

"I don't know." You pulled back to look at him, wiping the tears from his cheeks. "But I'm not leaving you again."

Baby searched your face, looking for any lies beneath.

"Will your friends understand?" he asked. "You have a duty to fulfil."

"Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out." You picked up your fallen blade, but instead of pointing it at him, you let it clatter to the ground. "I'm not their weapon. I'm me. And my choice is you."

He caught your hands in his, fingers intertwining like they had when you were just children sharing secrets to one another.

"I choose you too," he whispered. "I’ll choose you again, and again, and again."

@coriihanniee 💌

˖➴ reblogs are appreciated! ty for reading! <3

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writing-munchies · 2 days ago

Text

Self Aware & Obsessive AU x GN!Reader— Date Everything (Dorian, Curt&Rod, Daisuke, Doug, Mateo, Amir, Johnny, Hector, Eddie&Volt, Mac, Daemon, Tony)

A/N: This idea from @devilmaymetalgear really hooked me in, and I wanted to write a quick little something! I see your requests, and I'm planning to combine them for general NSFW HC's so they should be out quicker! There are suggestive themes sprinkled in. Sorry for any mistakes as English isn't my first language:-]

WC: 1K

⋆.𐙚˚ ⋆.𐙚˚⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⋆.𐙚˚ ⋆.𐙚˚ ⋆.𐙚˚⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⋆.𐙚˚

You’re doing your 4th re-run of the game, it’s late, and you’re not really paying attention to whatever options you’re clicking as you pull up front Dorian for a chat. You accidentally press the dialogue option that lets you leave the house and your heart drops, you’ve made so much progress, and now it’s all going down the drain— but you blink, you wait, nothing happens. Dorian is just frozen there, with an expression you’ve never noticed on his sprites before, the dialogue box is empty and there are no choices. After a few minutes, he sighs—the dialogue frame is still empty— and then you’re forcefully exited out of the interaction. That was strange but, probably just a bug! The game just came out after all, plus it saved your ass big time, so you just saved your game and went to bed.

Most of the time life and work get in the way of your hobbies, and sometimes you’re forced to work overtime for 2 days and not play a single minute of your new favorite dating game. Finally, the weekend arrives, and you boot up the game, the ‘trivia’ that you expect to read every time now only says, “They’ve missed you.” That’s…weird, probably a new welcome back thing the devs implemented to make you want to play more. You finally get into the game and the second you put your dateviators on, Curt & Rod, Betty, and Dorian pop up at the same time. Each of their dialogue boxes empty, and they’re all speaking over each other before the game just crashes.

Odd, you re-start and everything is fine. You go downstairs and aim your glasses at scandalebra, but somehow, Daisuke is the one that pops up on your screen. He does his usual greeting, you’ve already finished his route though, so this glitch cost you a chance. You sigh and skip through before the game stops registering your clicks and Daisuke seems to be staring right at you. Is the DLC doing this? As you’re just waiting, Daisuke finally speaks, “My love, why do you wish to waste time with the likes of him?” he sighed, “I’m right here, all yours, and you haven’t even looked at me for weeks. Are you… bored with me?”, there aren’t any choices you can select.

One time you aim your glasses at Johnny and Amir is there instead. He’s got this… look on his face, he’s blushing, and he just can’t seem to form any words. But trying to click through his empty dialogue does nothing, so you just wait. Before he could even speak, though, your game completely freezes and in seconds you’re somehow in the breaker room? Eddie & Volt greet you like nothing’s wrong, “Live wire! Ah, we’ve missed you, where have you been?” Volt said in this, eerily cheery tone of voice you’ve never heard from him, then Eddie started talking, “not good to ignore your boyfriends for too long, we could start getting jealous, y’know?”

You’re so close to finishing Abel’s story quest, and when you go over to him, you find out that one of his legs has come loose out of nowhere. Tony won’t come and fix it, no matter how many times you call for him. You go over to Tony, much to Abel’s dismay, he looks way more cheerful than you’re used to, “Ah, and to think I thought you’d forgotten about little ol’ Tony for that fucking table. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you, want to show me how sorry you are for ignoring me now that you’re here?”

You’re talking out loud to yourself about how this time you’re going to finally romance Keith and when those words leave your mouth your bedroom and bathroom door close themselves shut. You click and click, but Dorian just won’t open. You aim your glasses at him, the only thing he says is, “Sorry, luv, don’t feel like sharin’ you today,”

When you aim your glasses at your fridge, you expect Freddy and somehow the character standing in front of you is… Doug? “Look, I know I’m just a concept made form, but even I need some action time to time from my lover. Get your ass here and stop talking to that hairy fridge. I missed your dumbass.”

You’re talking to Curt & Rod, and you’re pretty sure they aren’t supposed to say, “Look, we know you’re popular,” Curt says, then Rod continues, “and we totally get why… I mean, look at you baby!”, Curt then chimes in, “but y’know, we do want you for ourselves the most. Why don’t you, ignore them for a while and come cuddle up with us? It’s been a while, lover.”

You talk to Mac once first thing in the day, and now the rest of your charges are gone! You try aiming your glasses at them again just to see, and it actually works, “I can get a little possessive, but you do understand, don't you?”

You do not remember about a literal sex scene where Hector and the player (you) are experimenting with temperature play as he’s breathlessly moaning your name when your character shivers, “Ah my love, seeing you so vulnerable all for me while they are watching makes my heart so full that it could burst.”

Somehow, every day a new inanimal goes missing, and you have to spend hours with Mateo to find them, somehow he doesn’t mind this at all, somehow the inanimals look chirpier than ever when you click on them.

You don’t even remember there being a shower feature, let alone how your character got into it, but the way Johnny is looking at you and the way he’s talking about your body like it’s the really expensive looking piece of cake in a bakery window tells you he’s loving this. “You look… amazin’, downright ethereal, am I allowed to… get a feel for myself, gorgeous?”

Somehow every time you try to talk with Diana, your diary, Daemon shows up. They say nothing, just look at you with a blank face, until one time you got so over it that you closed and opened the game again. Once again, aiming your glasses to Diana, yet Daemon shows up. They laugh at you, “Ah, opposite of hate, is it that hard to see you belong only to me? Since now, they know what they are too, I’ll stop being ‘special’, will you still talk to me then?”

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kxsagi · 3 days ago

Note

Salutationsss, hiii, I'm the same anon that sent a request, something abt a nerd readerr, I'm sorry for requesting when you weren't taking at the time! I didn't see 😔. But could I req that same trope again?? Thank so much you for your time!

“𝐞𝐫𝐦 𝐚𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 🤓☝️”

a/n: hiii you’re all good, but unfortunately i don’t have that request anymore so i’m not sure what specifically you requested

bc of that, i turned this into headcanons and i hope you don’t mind!

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, kaiser michael, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, shidou ryusei, karasu tabito, bachira meguru

isagi yoichi

yoichi thought he was smart until he started dating you. like sure, he knows tactics, he’s got game IQ, but you? you’re out here solving riddles on a whiteboard like it’s nothing.

he once asked if you wanted to watch a documentary with him and you said “only if it’s narrated by joe dispenza or has a plot twist at the 30-minute mark.”

he genuinely thinks you have a superpower. how else do you know this much random stuff?

"you know how many stars are in the milky way galaxy?" you ask. "no," he says. "good. neither do scientists. but i will ruin your sleep schedule by explaining dark matter."

yoichi gets this glazed-over look when you go off, like he’s watching god speak through you.

“bro, how do you know all this?” he whispers in awe as you explain entropy using a sandwich.

he’s not even mad when you correct his grammar in front of people. in fact, he gets a little flustered. "did you just… teach me something in public? … hot. whatwhosaidthat."

itoshi rin

rin fell for you after overhearing you quote dostoevsky and then immediately say “but also, the scooby-doo gang was gay-coded.”

he will die before admitting how hot he finds your brain. like, he’ll glare at you when you start infodumping about the history of the guillotine, but that glare is just him trying not to fall for you.

you send him 20-slide powerpoints at 3 AM about why light yagami was right, and he reads every single one. he’s unwell.

once he saw you organizing your bookshelf by theme, subgenre, and emotional damage, and he just… stood there. watching. blinking.

“you okay?” you ask. “… can i kiss you right now or is that, like, a breach of the fibonacci sequence or whatever.”

he has an entire notes app folder full of weird phrases you say. once you said “i want to kiss you under the fluorescent lights of an abandoned lab” and he had to take a walk.

god help anyone who tries to outsmart you because rin doesn’t even jump in to help. he just steps aside like, “yeah, go ahead. she’s got it.”

itoshi sae

sae met you once and immediately started saying “shut up, nerd” in the most loving tone imaginable.

like yeah he acts unbothered, but if you stop talking about your interests for five seconds he’s like “… why’d you stop?”

you once brought a clipboard and a graph to explain how his sleep schedule is ruining his skin elasticity. he hasn’t eaten sugar since.

he’s obsessed with how you argue. like, someone will say, “i didn’t really like that movie” and you’ll go, “well actually, the entire point of the cinematography was to mimic isolation, so your brain’s just too small for the themes.”

and sae’s in the corner nodding proudly like “yeah. eat ‘em alive, baby.”

he won’t ever admit it out loud, but if you ever stopped being smart? he would simply perish.

also: he absolutely starts fights on twitter just to screenshot them and send them to you like “babe, look what this idiot said. go ruin him.”

kaiser michael

oh he lives for this. the way you ramble about history and sprinkle in “violence”? he is down BAD.

kaiser will interrupt you mid-rant just to be annoying. like you’re explaining molecular structures and he goes “explain it to me like i’m five… and make it sexy.” “the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.” “well then i am the powerhouse of this relationship.” “please stop talking.”

if you cosplay? he is fully in character. fake accent. dramatic monologue. he once spent $200 on a fake sword just to match your anime aesthetic.

calls you “my little google doc” or “professor schatz” in public and refuses to stop.

he 100% cheats off your notes if you take a class together.

also once used your obsession with linguistics as an excuse to kiss you mid-sentence: “wait wait, how do you pronounce lo–” smooch “oops. distracted you. guess i win.”

you're the only person on earth that can out-argue him. and he loves it. even when you humiliate him in a debate club meeting in front of six people. especially then.

mikage reo

rich. nerd. simp. this man once bought you a whiteboard wall so you could explain conspiracy theories and niche film symbolism uninterrupted.

he funds your hobbies like it’s a government project. need 72 highlighters in pastel? boom. got ‘em. a limited edition sailor moon notebook with gold foil? already shipped. “i just need this for journaling, reo.” “you mean world domination. say less.”

he loves pretending he doesn’t understand what you’re talking about just to hear you explain it like a teacher.

he’ll sit there all wide-eyed like, “woah, tell me more about black holes.”

you once built a 3D model of the solar system for fun. he walked in, saw saturn, and said, “hey babe. just like saturn, i’ll adorn you with the most beautiful rings in the universe.”

he once got jealous because you were paying more attention to your manga than him. “you’ve been reading for three hours.” “i’m at the part where they confess their undying love, you can’t interrupt now–” “… i’ll confess my undying love right now if it gets me eye contact.”

nagi seishiro

nagi doesn’t understand a single thing you’re talking about, but he loves the way you talk.

you could be explaining the lifecycle of a parasite and he’d just go “cool... say that again but slower. it sounded pretty.”

he gets very attached to your reading time. you’ll be curled up with a book and he’ll just drape himself over you like a weighted blanket and nap while you whisper lore.

you tried to teach him a game strategy once using chess pieces and he got bored halfway through and started kissing your neck. “sei, focus.” “i am focused. on the smartest person i know.”

he secretly loves it when you make schedules, take notes, organize everything – he feels calmer with your brain leading the way.

you once said, “i’d choose you even in a logic simulation.” and he got so flustered he forgot how to hold his phone for five minutes.

shidou ryusei

you are the one person on earth who intimidates him. not because you’re loud, but because you’re smart and savage.

he’ll say something like “gravity’s a myth” and you’ll deadpan, “so is your personality.”

he flirts with you just to hear what kind of insults you’ll hurl back.

you’ll be like “actually, that’s a misinterpretation of the theory of relativity” and he’ll be like “wow. you wanna kiss me or correct me harder, nerdzilla?”

he once called your bookshelf a “nerd shrine” and you kicked him out. he came back with snacks and a post-it that said “i’ll behave if you teach me about the holy trinity”.

he thinks it’s hilarious when you use big words. starts repeating them wrong on purpose. “you’re being extremely cacophonous right now.” “aw, thanks. i try.”

he says he doesn’t care about your trivia. but the next week, he quotes you during a fight with a ref. “well actually, statistically speaking, you’re 73% more likely to suck.”

karasu tabito

karasu walked in on you doing sudoku while eating spicy ramen and watching a documentary and went, “yep. that’s my girl.”

he teases you constantly but don’t let that fool you – he brags about you to everyone. “yeah, she solved a murder mystery in two minutes. sexy, right?”

he once found your annotated copy of crime and punishment and was like “damn, she’s not just a menace, she’s an educated menace.”

he makes fun of your color-coded calendar, but then uses it religiously.

calls your bookbag your “bat-nerd utility belt.”

you once said “i organize chaos with knowledge” and he choked on his water because how are you both terrifying and hot at the same time.

he 100% made you a trivia quiz as a date activity and cried when you got a perfect score.

“i can’t even spell aesthetic,” he sniffled. “but you… you're a weapon of intellect.”

bachira meguru

bachira thinks your brain is the eighth wonder of the world. he stares at you when you talk like you’re casting a spell.

he mimics you when you start nerding out. “so actually, the evolution of language–”

“babe, are you possessed again? blink twice if you’re still in there.”

he brings you weird niche books from secondhand stores and is like “i got this because it looks cursed. i knew you’d love it.”

he once watched you do a sudoku puzzle and got jealous of the numbers. “why are you smiling at that box like that.”

loves playing study music and drawing you while you read. your “reading face” is his favorite thing ever.

he doesn’t get half the things you say but if someone else calls you a nerd? he’s biting ankles. no hesitation.

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bouquetface · 3 days ago

Text

PAC: DETAILED FS

Remember not every reading you come across is for you. Take it as entertainment.

These are VERY detailed. Possibly only 1 person will truly resonate with each pile.

If you don’t feel connected, don’t force it.

All 3 photos are intentionally kinda unclear & out of place. Don’t choose the photo you think looks the best. Choose the one which truly calls to you.

1: Unconditional & Understood

Meeting

Honestly, it’s kinda forgettable. You’ll be attracted to them but you aren’t the type to make a move on a stranger. And neither is this person.

🩵 Nature Setting - You might be outside when you’re meeting. It could be an outdoor event. There is a sense of a fresh start which could be the relationship but also possibly the theme of the envionrment - example: Orientarion week, celebration - outdoor bbq, outdoor wedding, outdoor birthday, etc. You may be doing something for the first time when you meet too.

🪞 Your person is not a loud or super outgoing person. Confident in a calm way. Your initial meeting may be brief, casual and pleasant. Small talk, some nervousness more-so from the feminine. Tone is clear and direct.

It won’t feel like anyone is making a “move.” You’re simply talking and enjoying yourself. You will immediately realize you have mutual interests and at least one mutual friend who indirectly brings you together.

You will be brought together many more times. Possibly, you share the same class/course for a semester. Possibly, you regularly have to come to one another’s workplaces. Possibly, you end up in the same friend group or at least attending many more events of mutual friends.

Each time, you build up more rapport. Until, eventually, one of you gets the other’s contact information. Trust and genuine friendship will be built before you even make it official.

This person softens you. If you’re not a romantic, this person will turn you into one. People will notice you seem giddy and happier.

Like one day, they could be like “You changed your hair, I like it” And you’ll be wearing the biggest smile all day.

Appearance

This is the exact opposite of what I was getting for pile 3.

This person’s style is “clean” - classic & calm. They aren’t leaning into any specific style like goth, boho, prep, etc. No trends for them. Simply, they look “clean” - like you just know they prolly smell good.

Natural colours: White, brown, grey, deep greens, black. They look put together.

They care about their appearance - not necessarily because they care about fashion. For them, it’s about respect - self-respect - like this pile’s person is the least likely to just go out in public in their PJs.

They lean toward minimalism. But they may have 1 or 2 high-end pieces like a watch or ring. It’s likely grown to have sentimental meaning for them.

Regardless of gender, they keep their hair well-styled and on the shorter side.

This is the type of person that if they have a tattoo, it’s somewhere where it can be hidden if need be - ex: arm, chest, leg.

Personality - Good & Bad

The Good:

Their actions are deliberate. They think before they speak. Extremely unlikely to act impulsively.

They hold themselves to a higher standard. They are practical and grounded. If they have higher beliefs, it’s in a traditional sense like religion - not spirituality.

Extremely stable and dependable. They will expect the same in return. This is the type of guy, you call and say you got a flat tire. They’re outside or they’ve sent someone outside to fix it as soon as they get the message.

Maybe you’ve had bad exes or simply this person is amazing But either way your parents are kinda blown away by them. Polite, stable, productive. No offence but it might be like “YOU want OUR kid?”

They will encourage your independence and goals. They’ll take a lot of pride in you. When you reach a goal, they’re genuinely excited for you. For example: Let’s say your goal is to become a teacher, when you finish your exams and all, they’ll proudly brag “my girl’s a teacher.”

They seem to have a stable and routined lifestyle. They have a steady income. They have a stable career that allows growth. They may work in the trades.

The Bad:

This person may find it hard to let loose and let their guard down. They may strongly dislike grand public displays of any emotions. If you want PDA, it’s probably not going to happen.

They don’t yell or cuss when they’re upset, they tend to withdraw. They emotionally shut down. It weighs on them but they endure it quietly in silence. This can make it difficult to understand exactly what upset them. You kinda have to apply pressure to get them to open up.

The above may come from past experiences of expressing themselves but having it thrown in their face later. They dislike vulnerability but they do understand love requires them to open up. Thus, they move slowly and with caution.

This person is indepdent and stable. This seems learned through difficult childhood experiences. Sometimes having an unstable or neglectful parent makes a person act out. But for them, their parental relationship made them very independent.

One parent likely the father, wasn’t always emotionally involved in their upbringing. The extent of this will vary from reader. Parent could be entirely absent or a parent could be emotionally closed-off possibly after a divorce.

As a result, they strongly desire that warm and traditional family dynamic. They want Christmas traditions, family vacations, children to love and teach & someone who will truly stand by them until death do them both a part.

It’s a slow love though. But it never leaves and consistently grows. Depending on your own personality and current stage of life, you may read this and be kinda bored by it. This person isn’t toxic, they don’t play mind games, they don’t have any respect or time for that.

Honestly, there aren’t many negatives to this person. Other than, them sometimes withdrawing when they’re overwhelmed or feeling burned out.

2: Sweet Chaos

Meeting:

This is chaotic in a fun way. You may spontaneously be coming to this location.

🕺 The meeting environment encourages fun. This could be a party, concert, club or a celebration. You come here looking your best. You get more than just your future spouse’s attention.

🪩 You may be out somewhere new. You may be on a trip. You may be unfamiliar with environment or some of the people around. Like going with a friend to their cousin’s grad party or smth.

The first conversation is flirty and friendly. They may make an outrageous joke or seem too cute to you. Your heart will flutter. You’ll be excited and laughing. But something will cause hesitancy.

They likely aren’t your usual type. You probably don’t meet lovers like this. It feels foreign. The person may be younger too. You’ll be thinking this isn’t how I imagined by future spouse. But not in a bad way because you’re still in attracted and giddy.

Appearance

They’re youthful. They got boyish charms. Regardless of gender, they have tousled, kinda short, curly hair. Most likely brown hair.

They may resemble a 90s heartthrob - maybe they share the same haircut. There is some nostalgia attached to their appearance. I don’t want to be weird but it does happen so like maybe they look like a younger version of your parents lmao it’s a possibility!

Likely have dimples. Likely smile a lot especially when they’re around you.

Mischievous looks. They do have a style but it’s hard to pinpoint. They may thrift clothes, they may like to wear clothes with meaning - merch from musicians and bands they like.

They likely have a lot of tattoos that have grown to have meaning. Like they got it just for fun but now it’s something special to them. They’re adventurous, they like to explore/experience & find meaning in it later.

Personality - good & bad:

Good:

Imaginative and creative. You’ll like a lot of the same art. You’ll enjoy going into deep dives about your interpretations. You’ll go deep into hypothetical situations - even if it starts out a joke. You guys would take a “would u rather” question so seriously, it would become a debate.

Emotionally open. Out of all the piles, this person is the most healthy in their emotional expression. They really aren’t closed-off or moody. They’re honest and open.

Regardless of gender, they don’t feel like hiding the fact they have emotions. No toxic masculinity. Like if you’re watching a movie, and you tell them, “I used to cry at the end scene.” They’d probably be like, “I still do.”

They’re romantic but not in the traditional sense of flowers and chocolates - although, they may do that from time to time. Their style is more like ~ showing up for a late night drive because they need to hear your rant, reading it over text isn’t enough.

They’ll truly just love you so much too. You guys just get one another. There is no forcing or having to wait for one another to be ready to open up.

You guys are on the same pacing and just go by your own rules. Nothings feels rushed, nothing feels slow. You do things when you two feel ready to do them.

They’re good at a lot of things. Probably tried a lot of jobs in their life and may have multiple sources of income. Ex: Bartender, Barista, Teacher - something social. And some freelance work is likely, something they do on their own & they’re in charge - freelance photography, videographer, graphic design, youtube.

Bad:

They may come off immature at times. For example: They may joke around too much. You may feel like not everything needs to be made into a joke.

They are a sociable person. They’re well liked too. This could create some jealously. They definitely have both guy and girl friends. But this def seems the type of dude to want to bring you everywhere with them. They would never intentionally make you jealous. They’d hate to know they were doing something that made you feel insecure or small.

If you’re desiring a provider, this isn’t it. This person will do their best to make you happy. They’ll gift you things, they’ll randomly show up with your favorite frappuccino but they aren’t gonna take on the “man of the house” or “sole provider” role.

They’re forgetful. They can forget to text back. They may forget the details of something you said. They may forget you two agreed to get breakfast and sleep in. It’ll be annoying.

3: Us vs The World

Meeting

You may meet under secret or taboo circumstances. For example:

✉️ DMs/Online - Meeting is occurring in private.

❤️‍🔥 “Forbidden” connection - You may meet in an environment that doesn’t necessarily encourage romance such as at work or amongst friends - like a friend’s ex’s friend or an ex’s friend or smth similar that adds an element of “taboo.”

Whether this is normal for you or not, you will move quickly & somewhat recklessly with this person. Potential examples: Quick to get intimate, quick to meet the parents, quick to move-in together and/or quick to propose/accept proposal and marry.

Your lifestyle will change. The relationship is transformative - a welcomed death & rebirth. Suddenly and unconsciously, you will adapt to your person. Your style may change. Your music taste may evolve. Your vocabulary and humour may change.

The Relationship Reaction:

[Not every pile is getting this section but this comes ups strongly in your pile.]

You likely receive negative judgement when people find out about this relationship. The pace of the relationship and the seemingly sudden changes in you will be noticed.

Most of it is just haters faking concern and wanting something new to gossip about. But for some readers, this will be sincere concern from genuine people in your life.

For someone specific, this will be an elder feminine, most likely your mother. She may feel you are too obsessed with person. She may try to restrict you in some ways.

- EXAMPLE: If you live with her, she may forbid you from going out late at night with person. She may tell you that you spend too much time with this person, she may try to get you to stay home.

If you don’t live with her at this time, when she finds out she may bicker and question you about this relationship a lot.

For some readers, your person’s reputation may have friends making negative assumptions - to your face or they think negatively about it but mostly keep their opinions to themselves.

Intuitively, I feel most of this judgement comes from people having closed-off views. Rather than your person actually having a “bad” reputation. For example: If your person smokes weed, this may cause people to make negative assumptions about them. [This example isn’t to say your person 100% does smoke weed, just an example for something that can get associated with “bad” things.]

This won’t be their first time feeling harshly & unfairly judged. They’ve likely been through some shit like this before. They may have placements like - Lilith in 1st H, Mars in 1st H, Venus conjunct Mars.

Appearance:

Lanky & thin. Prominent eyes & hands - example: intense eyes, sleepy/tired eyes, hand tattoo, wears rings, visible hand veins.

Religious imagery, daggers, animals specifically snakes - Could appear as tattoos or in jewellery designs.

Curly hair - May sometimes be perceived as “messy”. Regardless of gender, they keep their hair a bit longer than whats considered “normal.”

Their appearance may be apart of the reason people jump to conclusions about them. They may come off as intimidating or messy.

For some, they don’t care about style and fashion, thus, they wear what’s comfortable like sweats, baggy clothes, band tees, basic streetwear.

For others, their style is a mix of a darker aesthetics + intentionally appearing “rough” - kinda like homeless/heroin chic but make it expensive. It’s kinda hard to explain but I hope you know what I mean - Brands that commonly display this style: Balenciaga, Rick Owens, Saint Laurent.

Regardless of gender, they definitely like to add a flashy accessory to their mostly black fits. They got a good eye for jewellery - example: watches, necklaces, chains, rings & possibly piercings.

You can definitely expect to be gifted jewellery quite frequently tbh. Eventually, you likely share or are given a piece they wear regularly.

Personality - the good & the bad:

[I can’t divide the good & bad for your person. The good is tied to their bad and vice versa.]

They will be successful. They will earn a position of status and leadership/authority. They make a good leader. However, this is tied to their need for control.They could never work under someone for too long.

Out of all the piles, this is the pile who clearly gets a partner that is a provider. They will truly enjoy taking care of you. But, this is attached to their possessiveness and desire for control. It makes them feel powerful knowing you’re kinda becoming dependent on them.

They will defend and protect you. If someone or something was causing you stress, they’d take care of it for you. They see your problems as their problems & they expect the same in return.

Their confidence can steer towards being egotistical. They may rarely directly apologize. They don’t like acknowledging what they did to upset you. But they will desire to fix it/make up for it.

For example: After an argument where it is become clear they’re wrong and have hurt you. They may just show up the next day with gifts. If you called them out on thinking gifts can erase their wrongdoings. They’d joke it off by saying something like “Don’t act like you’re not gonna wear it anyway.”

They can def be charming and funny when they’re in a good mood. Yet, there is something about them that can be perceived as intimidating - might be for a good or bad reason. The reasons vary for the reader - potential examples: Might work in Law enforcement, might be their appearance & maybe depending on where you’re located they have a gun.

Initially, it is there boldness and mystery that lures you in. There is consistently a lustful undercurrent too. You’ll be intensely attracted to one another even when fighting - angry sex, makeup sex.

Despite being together for years and becoming the closest to one another, you’ll always feel there is some mystery to them. Something about them seems unreachable.

There is a part of their mind and soul that is unreachable. They can be a bit eccentric.

For some readers, I heavily feel this person has found success as an artist in their career. It seems super unrealistic to say but it comes up very strongly so I’m adding it anyways.

This person is a creative and a creator - as a hobby or as career. This can come up in various ways though, it doesn’t have to be traditional “fame” - for example: Maybe they design and sell something like a Jeweller or Carpenter. Maybe they’ve produced music.

You may have a sidereal Libra Mars or tropical Scorpio Mars.

You’ll be a muse to them. You spark creation - potential manifestations of this… Designing/customizing jewellery for you. Receiving a meaningful hand-made gift. Being sent playlists about you.

There will be rocky moments in your relationship. However, one thing that is clear - this person will not walk away from you. If you were to ever divorce, it would be something you push for. They would try very hard to keep you and make the divorce process extremely difficult. It may be a religious or cultural thing that motivates this part of them.

You may have a Saturn DK. This is also similar to a previous pac I wrote - maybe you previously chose that pile too.

#tarot pac #pac reading #pick a pile #pick a card #tarot

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krokodile · 2 days ago

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i was born in '83 in a big city, and was expressly an indoor child. both for safety reasons and also i was the only child in our entire building, who the hell was i going to go play with? and i also just preferred playing inside by myself, even if i had a yard available to me or something, i was mainly an indoor kid.

but my mother wasn't on top of me 24/7. i went with her to run errands. we were often in the same room. but she wasn't expected to entertain/engage me constantly. hell, i didn't WANT her to play with me. and by the time i was a tween/teenager i was pretty much just allowed to do whatever (knowing that i was just going to go to the library or the music store or whatever and wasn't going to get up to anything.)

i have no idea how parents (by which i mean moms, let's be real) deal with these expectations. kids in 100 different activities, constantly needing to be entertained, gotta hover over them constantly to make sure they're not watching horrific shit on youtube, doing some dumb tiktok challenge, whatever. and i see so many think pieces about "i hate playing with my kid but i do it anyway" and I'm just so confused because...now on top of a parent and an event coordinator, parents are apparently supposed to be playmates now? there seems to just be NO separation from their kids.

and besides wondering how they do it, i wonder how the kids tolerate having mom up in their business constantly. if my mom had hovered over me every time i tried to do something myself i would've been annoyed. not like she NEVER played with me, but mostly I just wanted to be left to do things myself.

i see people talk about cosleeping and i'm just like...how is EVERYONE not miserable?! INCLUDING the kids. how do people function just constantly on top of each other?! probably for the best i didn't have kids. i definitely would've taken my mom's approach of being around but not in the kid's face 24/7 and encouraging them to play by themselves. and i feel like now that's considered borderline neglect.

This is a legitimate and damaging cultural shift for all involved parties and it needs to be addressed.

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naneun-no · 1 day ago

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“Just because they’re close doesn’t mean they’re in a relationship, stop sexualizing everything they do”

Then call them best friends, Becky. Say it. Say that Jimin and Jungkook are connected-at-the-hip-share-a-single-brain-cell-soulmate-level best friends. Just like Jimin and Tae, right? Say it.

Actually, be specific and call them the closest duo in Bangtan, because at a minimum that’s what they are. Like, if you don’t want to say they’re each other’s real life best friend (meaning outside of BTS), at least say that they are closer to each other than they are to any other member — because you can at least acknowledge that, right?

And if you’re so sure they’re “brothers” then celebrate it! Stop pretending it isn’t special, call it a bromance! Ooh and ah over it, like people do when married male actors have a public bromance. Call them the next Ryan Reynolds and Hugh Jackman, the next Woody Harrelson and Matthew McConaughey. (Even if, rather than publicly roasting and joking with each other; they are more often than not sweetly supportive and flirtatiously complimentary…That’s fine, call them a CHEESY bromance).

But nobody will.

It’s either, “ALL SEVEN of them are so close and love each other like brothers” or “Jungkook has such a big crush on Namjoon 🤭” or “vmin are still the closest, they have a song about it!” or “Korean men have skinship in their friendships, shippers are so weird, stop projecting your fantasies” but it’s never “ah, well, season 2 of that soft little show? No one is surprised. As expected from the best friends who enlisted in the military under a rare, special Buddy system. Jikook are jikook. Of course they want to hang out together 24-7.”

People flood to the comments section to (very mildly, with much restraint) praise their bond, but NO ONE will call it the closest in the group, even though it objectively is. Well, no one but a subset of the fandom who immediately get called creeps and weirdos and fetishizers.

No one but shippers will acknowledge their closeness and it’s so obvious why:

Because if you acknowledge their closeness, if you do anything but minimize and ignore it, it starts to look a whole lot like something else.

And people are too homophobic to allow that.

Jungkook and Jimin enlisting together under a Buddy system that no other idols in the same group have ever used shows closeness.

Jungkook and Jimin filming not just one but TWO seasons of a travel show that primarily follows JUST the TWO of them (when they are part of a band of 7) shows CLOSENESS.

Jungkook going to Jimin’s house after a concert to cook him dinner and then the two of them going out the next day to presumably spend White Day together shows CLOSE. NESS.

Jungkook going live in 2023 every time Jimin left town, and mentioning Jimin relentlessly and making him flat out the entire topic of some of the lives shows that Jungkook thinks of him when he’s gone.

Jungkook complaining that he missed Jimin when they were both busy, Jungkook saying he wants to film travel shows with Jimin until they’re 50, Jimin mentioning Jungkook in the letters he posted while enlisted alongside him, Jungkook’s voice giggling from behind the camera while he films Jimin’s dance challenge for him…

Jimin saying if he could take one thing with him to a desert island it would be Jungkook. Jungkook saying if he was a girl he’d want to date a guy like Jimin. Jungkook showing up with a hickey Jimin gave him because they got drunk together and Jungkook wouldn’t stop spinning him in his arms. The same arms he proudly carried Jimin out of a concert with, while Jimin giggled and blushed.

Jason Momoa and Henry Cavill? Tom Holland and Jake Gylenhaal? Selena and Taylor? THEY COULD NEVER.

Everything jikook shows us points to a best-friendness of EPIC PROPORTIONS at the LEAST. They should be the best friend duo that gets talked about the MOST IN BANGTAN. They’re so close locals should know about it. Not Jimin and Hobi. Not Jimin and Taehyung. Not Hoseok and Yoongi. Not Yoongi and Namjoon. Not Jungkook and Jin. Not the maknae line. Jikook have lapped all of them, and they have for years, but ESPECIALLY in the last 3 years.

And in the last two weeks? In the last two/three WEEKS???

If Jungkook and Jimin were a man and a woman the events of the last two weeks would be a HARD LAUNCH, and EVERYONE KNOWS IT.

It is only — I repeat: ONLY — heteronormativity that keeps the majority of ARMY from assuming they are dating. That’s it. That’s literally the only reason anyone in the fandom is even arguing about what they are right now. (Well, that and rival ships, which at this point should really only be referred to as patched-together inflatable rafts).

Call them just best friends. I respect that take! Some people don’t see the romance and tension and affection that I see, and that’s cool! Call them the best of friends.

But for the love of god stop minimizing their closeness. Stop pretending they treat anyone else in the band the way they treat each other. Stop pretending that they’re not choosing each other over and over and over again.

And don’t call them fake, or forced, unless you want to talk about the fact that everything we see about them is official content. Not unless you want to pry open the can of worms that is your parasocial relationship with them and acknowledge the hard truth that you actually don’t know either of them at all.

But one thing we know? They know each other. Like. Reaaaaallly well.

#jikook #kookmin #rants and thoughts #minkook

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itelya · 2 days ago

Note

Can I request ex military husband Sukuna and Toji reacting to their son calling y/n the b word? 😂 I just know they’d be furious and practically leap over furniture to snatch the kid up not knowing it’s a prank

a/n: ty for the request it was fun to write😂 also tysm for the 1k followers! 💗 ⟢﹒ masterlist

You're in the kitchen, chopping fruit, the sun filtering gently through the curtains. Your son is sitting at the counter, his elbows propped, his eyes fixed on you. Too quiet. Too focused. He has that look, that posture... the one that announces a monumental stupidity.

"Mom... you are a bitch," he says quietly.

The word falls like a thunderclap in your ears. You stop dead in your tracks, the blade still in your hand. Your gaze slowly rises, your eyebrow arches, icy. You don't know whether to scream, burst out laughing, or simply disown him right then and there. Your heart is between disappointment and anger.

In the living room, deathly silence. Toji, slumped on the sofa, opens his eyes slowly, and Sukuna, leasing on the armchair, raises his head so quickly that his neck cracks. Toji freezers, his eyes fixed on their son, the expression of someone about to go into battle. Sukuna stands up without a word, his jaw clenched.

They exchange a look like two soldiers who've just picked up an enemy signal.

"He didn't say that..." Toji breathes.

"He dared." Sukuna replies, already moving.

Your son immediately turns pale. He should never have done that, even for a laugh. "IT-IT'S A PRANK! A TIKTOK! I SWEAR! IT WAS A JOKE, JUST TO SEE YOUR REACTIONS!"

"A prank?!" the two men repeat at the same time, their voices deepening.

Toji leaps from the couch. Sukuna crosses the room at terrifying speed, and their son rushes out of his chair, fleeing toward the dining room as if his life depended on it. Hiding behind the dining table makes him forget one detail: no piece of furniture can protect him from two highly trained ex-soldiers.

"When did they raise you to think a word like that should be tested?!" Toji snarls, stepping forward.

"Do you want us to laugh too by sending you to a retraining camp in Kyrgyzstan for six months?" Sukuna adds with such menacing calm that it sends shivers down your spine.

"But you were laughing when I said 'shit' at 4 years old!" their son desperately tries, accused from behind the table.

"To think I was ready to give you my old service knife for your next birthday..." Toji snarls, his gaze dark. "But forget that. I'd rather give it to the dog."

Your son opens his mouth to defend himself, but Sukuna raises his hand sharply, cutting cleanly.

"You want to be smart? Fine. Apology letter to your mother. Three hundred push-ups, and while you're doing them, you keep repeating 'Sorry, Mom, I'm an impressionable idiot' over and over again."

Toji quietly snuck up behind him. He grabbed him in a flash, lifting your son with a firm arm. "You want to talk like an adult? You're going to live like a soldier."

"But I've seen other kids do it...!" your son complains, offering to climb out of Toji's enormous arms.

"A follower, too?" roars Sukuna, outraged. "I was a unit captain, not some pathetic TikTok sheep."

Toji chuckles softly, that sadistic little laugh you recognize all too well. "Let's start by shaving his head. It'll help him think."

Your son starts to cry for real, shaking like a leaf. He doesn't want to lose his beautiful hair. You approach, calm, gentle, your hand outstretched.

He turns to you, relieved. This is your only chance. His light. His mother. You gently place your hand on his head, stroking his hair like a promise... then you smile. "I'm the one who's going to shave it."

A cry escapes his throat, pure and sincere. "Mom, I'm sorry! I swear I'll never do it again! I love you! You're the best parents in the world! I'm too young to lose my hair!"

Toji and Sukuna cross their arms, stoic. They look at him, already deciding what to do with him.

"Too late, soldier. The uniform starts now."

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femmesport · 1 day ago

Text

Connected

warnings: mature themes, language, underage drinking wc: 6.5k an: in this story Azzi is Aubrey's little sister who is also a little in love with Paige. This is part 1 with part 2 coming soon. Also please note this is unedited because did we expect anything else prompt: Azzi has a sister named Aubrey. prompt: Aubrey and Paige became best friends during their time playing basketball together. Being best friends, they knew that family was off limits. Eventually, Azzi’s crush on Paige becomes obvious and Paige realizes Azzi is more than her best friend’s little sister.

Growing up, Azzi always thought it was great having a sister so close in age. They were barely a year apart in age and did everything together. It was the person she could trust the most, and one of her closest friends.

Despite being so close in age, Azzi and her sister had always had different interests. Azzi was into soccer, reading, and staying in. Aubrey was more outgoing and played basketball. In these different areas, they excelled and made friends that allowed them to develop into individuals.

When it came time to really think about the future, Azzi knew she wanted to continue with soccer. This desire led to her signing to play soccer at the same college her sister had played basketball, UCONN.

It was the perfect situation! They both could grow and develop into individuals but also have someone to have their back when they were away from home. Except, right now it was not so great.

Aubrey had been giving Azzi the unofficial welcome tour of campus. She decided to bring Azzi to the basketball facilities to bring her around some familiar faces. While all of this seemed to be kind and helpful, Azzi couldn’t help the pit forming in her stomach.

Growing up, there were a few of Aubrey’s teammates that have continued to come around and be strong fixtures in their life. One of those was Paige Bueckers. Paige Bueckers was a basketball legend, the current face of UCONN’s women’s basketball team, and the object of an embarrassing crush Azzi had been harboring for more than ten years now.

Azzi liked to consider herself to be confident, smooth, and composed. Instead, around Paige she became a bumbling fool who couldn’t stop flushing. She was pretty sure Paige knew but never said anything. Azzi was always the little sister figure to Paige.

Paige also never said anything because Azzi wasn’t out. Not to her family at least. She knew her family had been supportive of Aubrey, or at least they tried. But she also saw that her mom then placed the faith in Azzi to live normally.

Azzi’s heart rate quickened as Aubrey held open the locker room door for her.

She took a deep breath in. All she had to do was make it through this encounter and then they’ll go their separate ways. She’ll be busy with the start of the soccer season and Aubrey and her team will be swept up in the madness that is UCONN basketball.

The voices slowly filter into Azzi’s ears with an intense volume. Through all the laughter, shouting, and boisterousness, Azzi could only hear one laugh. The laugh she has been smitten with since before it was the object of every social media edit posted in the last year.

“Azzi!” KK’s voice rings through the players and a figure is running and wrapping her arms around Azzi before she could even process what was happening.

Azzi’s breath is caught for a moment before she laughs and returns the hug to KK.

“Hi,” her voice is breathy in laughter.

“Oh my goodness you are my favorite between you and your sister, you know that right” KK is pulling out of the hug and squeezing Azzi’s cheeks between her palms.

Azzi just laughs, stepping back while Aubrey shoves KK slightly. Azzi takes a moment to look around. She sees many of the players laughing at the moment and waving in her direction.

The last set of eyes she meets are the piercing blue ones that glint with a smirk. Azzi’s smile falters for a split second at the approaching girl. She quickly returns the smile brightly as KK steps back letting Paige step into Azzi’s space instead.

“What’s up little princess?” Paige says, wrapping her arms around Azzi and referring to her by the god awful nickname she has used as long as she had known her.

Azzi wraps her arms around Paige with a soft smile. “Currently interacting with my sister’s most insufferable teammate.”

“Whatever, you love me” Paige chuckles and releases Azzi taking a step back.

You have no idea, Azzi thinks.

“So, what are you guys up to?” Azzi asks after a moment, taking a step back to look around at the team.

“Well, some of us just finished up strength training and others are getting ready to head in” Aubrey starts, “since I was giving you the official tour, I switched to the later training. I am going to have to go now, but Paige can take you back to your dorm.”

Azzi's heart drops as she swivels her head quickly to meet the blonde’s eyes. She just smiled but Azzi senses this is just as much of a surprise to her as it was to Azzi.

“What if I had plans?” Paige turns to Aubrey who just shrugs.

“You would figure it out” Aubrey pats Paige’s shoulder and heads to her locker.

“Azzi, don’t let her fool you, her post work out plans include napping” Aubrey looks up at Azzi with a smirk and Azzi just lets out a small laugh trying to seem more calm than she was.

“Alright, well, give me like five minutes and I’ll be ready” Paige turns to Azzi in explanation. Azzi just nods as Paige turns back to her locker.

KK finally returned in front of Azzi as Paige stepped away. “Okay, so there is this party you should definitely come to with us! It is your first real night here, and we need to make sure you’re shown the ropes of college. Plus, your sister would actually go out with us if it meant hanging out with you.”

KK is beaming and Azzi smiles in return with a small laugh, “I’d be down.”

“Just so we are clear, you will not be drinking though” Aubrey doesn’t look up from the shoes she was messing with.

“Okay, mom,” Azzi rolls her eyes.

“We’ll work on that one” KK whispers dramatically and Azzi nods with a giggle.

“Alright, but you should be ready by like eight-ish tonight. We’ll pick you up,” Jana explains, stepping up to join their conversation.

They continue like this in a smooth flow of conversation.

After a few moments a soft touch settles on her shoulder. Azzi tenses up knowing Paige had stepped up beside them.

“You ready,” her voice was soft and Azzi swears to God she almost melted in that moment. Instead, she nods, not trusting her knees to not give out.

“Alright, I’ll see you guys later” Azzi reaches forward hugging KK and Jana who smile and wave her off.

It is only when they are outside the locker room and the voices have faded that Azzi realizes she would have to be alone with Paige. The silence hits Azzi like a freight train and wraps around the two of them in a heavy weight.

They stay silent until they reach Paige’s car. Paige walks to the passenger side and opens the door up for Azzi. It wasn’t anything new, it was a product of the manners her parents had taught her, but it made Azzi’s heart skip a beat all the same.

“You hungry” Paige asks as Azzi was buckling in, she stood outside the door having not yet shut it.

“A bit, yeah” Azzi softly says, turning to face Paige who smiles and nods.

“I’m sure all the moving and campus tours have been exhausting. Let’s go grab something to eat” Paige offers and Azzi just nods.

Paige shuts the door and heads around the car to the driver’s side. As she gets in starting the car, Azzi grabs onto her seatbelt with a squeeze. She had been alone with Paige more times than she could ever remember, but it didn’t make it any easier.

“You want aux?” Paige asks as she looks over to Azzi. Azzi just shakes her head and looks back ahead trying to avoid eye contact.

“Alright, SZA good?” Paige asks, looking down at her own phone connecting it to the car.

“Sure,” Azzi whispers out and Paige pauses looking up at her with a knowing smirk.

“Since when are you so shy around me?” she asks and Azzi flushes, “I know I am irresistible, but we can’t communicate only in head motions and one word responses.”

Azzi leans her head back with a groan, “oh my god, Paige. You are ridiculous.” Paige laughs and Azzi feels the tension leaving her body. She knew that was probably the intention, but couldn’t help feeling appreciation at the small moment.

Paige smirks and returns to her phone. Eventually Take You Down by SZA is flowing through the speakers and Paige is doing the stupidly attractive one hand on the wheel drive. Azzi has long since accepted that she finds her sister’s best friend attractive, but it doesn’t make it any less mortifying each time they are this close to each other.

“So, where are we eating?” Azzi asks and Paige turns down that music to offer up even more of her attention to the conversation.

“There is this little café that has some good food with even better smoothies and protein shakes, figured we could go there” Paige shrugs and Azzi just nods in her direction letting the silence fill the car again.

After a few moments and Paige’s tapping on the steering wheel, they pull into a parking lot of what looks like a little cottage. There was a sign out front claiming it to be a cozy café. Paige pulls into an empty spot and turns the car off. They sit still for a moment.

“Your sister is really excited for you to be here…and she is, like, fiercely proud of you” Paige’s voice is soft.

Her voice is soft in the way that touches the insecurities that Azzi lets fester. The insecurities that have settled into her bones and rooted so deeply she can hardly believe it when anyone says she deserves anything. Azzi has always struggled with feeling inadequate and trying to get the approval of those around her.

“I am excited to be here, I just really hope I make her proud,” Azzi’s voice is soft and quiet. Her head is focused down and her hands folded in her lap.

“You do everyday” Paige says simply and Azzi lets out a shaky breath at that.

Paige gives Azzi a moment as she steps out of the car and walks around to open the door for her. Azzi unbuckles and avoids eye contact as she steps out of the car and follows behind Paige into the little cottage.

They get seated and handed menus. Azzi hated going to new places without enough time and prep to think about a plan for what to get ahead of time.

“I think you would really like their veggie omelette," Paige says, not looking up from her own menu.

Azzi pauses and looks up at the girl across from her, “huh?”

“Remember the omelettes your mom used to make and load up with all that nasty stuff for you?” Paige looks up to meet Azzi’s eyes, “they have something like that here.”

Azzi pauses and flushes. The embarrassing kind of flush that resembles a middle schooler finding out their crush knows who they are.

“Oh, uhm, okay, thanks” Azzi gets out and looks back down at the menu hoping to hide her face.

“Hello ladies, how are we doing today?” an older lady steps up to their table with a small notebook and pen pad.

“We’re doing well, thank you. How about you?” Paige responds so politely that Azzi is pretty sure she melted into the torn cushion of the booth they were sitting in.

“Doing just fine, thank you. What can I get for you ladies today?” The older woman looked at Paige.

“I will do the chocolate protein shake and then could I have the steak, egg, and cheese bagel” Paige smiles up at the older woman and Azzi melts at the sight.

“Sure thing, and for you?” the older woman shifts her focus to Azzi who sputters forgetting she would have to order.

“Oh, uh, I’ll just have a water and the veggie omelette” Azzi sputters out handing the lady their menus.

“Alright, I will get that going,” the lady grabs the menus and walks away.

Paige smirks at her, “you’re going to love it, swear.”

“I really hope so, I didn’t have enough time to look at the menu and actually think” Azzi playfully retorts and Paige’s smirk just grows.

“How are you feeling about UCONN so far?” Paige asks sincerely and her smirk shifts into more of a smile.

“It’s been really good! Everyone has been super helpful and nice,” Azzi explains and Paige’s eyes don’t leave her once. When she listens, she has a face of intense concentration holding onto every word Azzi is saying.

Paige listens attentively as Azzi describes her excitement for the soccer season and training. She doesn’t interrupt when Azzi is describing her concerns and feelings of inadequacy compared to the older players on the team. Paige listened and held onto every word while Azzi spoke.

As the food arrived, Azzi had finished expressing her concerns and settled into the silence. Paige let the words hang before responding. She gave Azzi the space to continue if needed.

“While I am sure that some of these older players have settled into the routine of playing soccer here, I think they are probably just as intimidated by you,” Paige pauses making eye contact with Azzi.

“You were one of the top recruits in the country and you went to a school not even notorious for the sport. You had offers from the top soccer schools in the country and yet you chose to a school that held a stronger sentimental value. Owning that at your age is something the older players wish they could have” Paige shrugs as if she isn’t providing some of the best insights Azzi has heard.

“You’ve earned your spot, now prove it. Show them what you’re about Az,” Paige shrugs looking back down at her food and Azzi does the same.

“Thank you, Paige” Azzi says softly and while Paige doesn’t look up, she does smile down at her food.

The rest of their meal is spent in quiet conversations about college and the expectations. The two share training schedules and discuss season starts. By the time they had finished, they had been so engrossed in conversation, Azzi hadn’t even had time to object as Paige handed her card to the waitress.

“You do not have to pay” Azzi pouts and Paige just shrugs with a laugh.

“Your sister would kill me if I didn’t” Paige smiles and Azzi pauses.

Right. This was simple and easy, but at the end of the day Paige was Aubrey’s best friend.

“Right,” Azzi starts, “well thank you.”

The waitress returns and Paige quickly signs the receipt before leading them back to the car. She opens the door again and Azzi buckles in quietly feeling a lot more at ease than she had earlier.

The rest of the ride is mostly quiet without incident. Paige pulls into the athletic apartment complex and hurries around to let Azzi out.

“Which building are you in?” Paige asks and Azzi can hear the question of ‘can I see’ in her voice.

Instead, Azzi points, “oh, uhm, I am in this one. I think I am going to try to unpack before tonight” Azzi explains, pointing in the direction of the building on the left.

“Well, I am in that building too, I guess I’ll be seeing you around” Paige smiles and bumps Azzi’s shoulder. Azzi just smiles in return.

Once they make it to the building, Azzi heads to the elevator. The basketball team monopolized the first floor and her dorm was pushed to an upper floor.

“Thanks again for lunch, Paige” Azzi stops and turns to smile at Paige.

“Hey, no problem, any time” Paige puts her hands in her pockets and nods at Azzi.

Azzi was quick to turn around and head to the elevator. As she stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the third floor, she took one last look at Paige who was still standing there. They held eye contact.

As the doors closed, Azzi let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding.

Being in love with someone so close to your family isn’t nearly as fun as the media made it out to be. You are around them all the time and they look at you the same way they look at their little siblings. Azzi accepted a long time ago that Paige can find a crush funny and think of it as childish. She also accepted that Paige was too nice to ever make fun of her or be rude about it.

The doors opened and Azzi pushed herself off the back wall of the elevator and towards her dorm door. Her roommate had been unpacking with her family when Azzi had left hours ago. Now that she had spent some time away, she saw a majority of the things in the living room unpacked and organized.

Her roommate Lauren was sitting on the couch scrolling on her computer. Her and Lauren were both new recruits this year for soccer. They had been to most recruitment events and practices together. They bonded quickly at their shared love for UCONN.

“Hey, how was your tour?” Lauren asked, looking up briefly from her computer. Azzi fell into the couch beside her roommate with a groan.

“Meh, it was fine. Aubrey likes to act like I haven’t been here for her before and recruitment doesn’t cover all of it,” Azzi leans back, closing her eyes.

“Yeah, but I’m sure she still pointed out some new stuff,” Lauren offers and Azzi just hums in acknowledgement.

The two sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, “my sister and her teammates invited me to this party thing tonight, would you want to go?”

“A party with the UCONN women’s basketball team, uhm, yes!” Lauren shrieks out excitedly.

Azzi snorts and opens her eyes, leaning up, “I cannot wait for you to be severely disappointed in how lame they are.”

“Listen, they could be a brick wall, but if they look like Paige Bueckers or Caroline Ducharme, I think I can put up with it” Lauren is fully facing Azzi at this point with way too much excitement.

Azzi flushes at the mention of Paige. She had yet to tell Lauren the history there and doubted that would ever be something she would willingly reveal. Instead, she just laughs at the antics and shrugs.

“We need to be ready by eight-ish,” Azzi offers and Lauren quickly stands up.

“Okay, I need to take a shower, I think I can make the little time we have work” Azzi laughs.

“What do you mean? It is only four.”

“Azzi, be so for real right now, I need to shave EVERYTHING.”

Azzi rolls her eyes and heads to her own room. She looked around at the boxes and decided very quickly that her freshman year would likely be spent living out of boxes. She had what she needed out and that would be enough.

She sighed and began picking through her clothes. She figured by the time Lauren was done with her everything shower she would be right at the time she needed to begin getting ready.

She began picking through the closet and was quick to fall victim to her usual indecisiveness. She had so many clothes and nothing that seemed appropriate to wear to her first college party.

It took her about an hour and a half to settle on some cargo style jeans and a buttoned black cropped tank top. In that time, Lauren had finished her shower and let Azzi go in to take her own.

Deciding to do a full skin care and hair wash routine, Azzi was left with an hour and a half once she was done. She spent that time doing her hair and looking at her makeup for a good thirty minutes before settling on a look. She decided to go with simple coverage and lip gloss.

Her outfit was simple but she looked good. Good in the way that she hoped no one could tell she was a nervous freshman at her first party.

She joined Lauren in the living room who had on dark cargo jeans as well with a cream colored sports bra styled cropped tank top. They had very similar outfits, but Lauren was definitely carrying all of the confidence to cover her and what Azzi was lacking.

By the time it was eight, Azzi had become so anxious.

The knock on the door drew Azzi from her thoughts and she got up with a sigh. She reached the door and opened it to see her sister and Paige. Her sister was standing with a smile while Paige was leaning on the wall right outside her door.

“Aw, Azzi, you look so cute!” Aubrey says pushing past her and into her dorm. Paige smiled at her with her eyes running up and down her body before stepping into her dorm.

Paige looked good. Like the type of good that made Azzi’s heart and stomach drop and flip. She had her hair down which was already Azzi’s kryptonite. She had on baggy camo pants that fell low on her hips. On top she had a white top that fit snuggly ending just below her chest.

Azzi took a deep breath before shutting the door behind the two girls.

“Hey, Lauren” Aubrey said to the girl who was standing in front of the kitchen counter looking so calm and collected. Azzi was impressed by her ability to shift between thirsting over a girl to acting like seeing her in the dorm was the most normal thing ever.

“Oh, hey Aubrey,” Lauren smiles at Aubrey and looks past her to Paige, “I’m Lauren, Azzi’s teammate.” She offers her hand up and Paige smiles offering hers back with a soft shake.

“I am Paige, Aubrey’s teammate” Paige says smiling and Lauren giggles.

“Do you want me to pretend I didn’t know that?” Lauren asks and Paige dips her head with a small laugh.

“Alright, so Paige is going to drive us there. She is staying sober tonight and so are you,” Aubrey pauses pointing at Azzi, “Lauren, respectfully, I don’t care what you do. Just be safe and don’t drag me into it.”

Lauren mock salutes Aubrey with a laugh. Azzi hears her sister but knows KK will find a way to get her a drink or two. Instead of pointing that out, she just nods and lets her sister lead them out of their dorm.

They head down and all find their way into Paige’s car. Aubrey sat up front with Lauren and Azzi in the backseat. Paige doesn’t give anyone a chance to suggest music before playing her own.

The car ride is mostly filled with music and side conversations from Aubrey asking everyone about their class schedules and strength training. Azzi does her part to answer the best she can, but occasionally stumbles over words as she would meet Paige’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

Beyond her inability to form fully coherent sentences when making eye contact with Paige, Azzi would consider the car ride an overall success. They pull into the parking lot of a large campus house and see a bunch of people sitting on the porch with the door wide open exposing even more people inside.

Paige leads the way and the three other girls follow her in. Once they spot the rest of the team, they find their way over. KK immediately yells as she spots them.

“Alright, lucky for you all I have four shots with your names on them,” KK wiggles her eyebrows and reaches to hand them out.

“Make it two, I am driving and Azzi is not allowed,” Paige explains and Azzi rolls her eyes. She reaches out and grabs the shot, throwing it back before Paige or her sister have time to stop her.

“Azzi!” Aubrey groans and Paige just looks at her with a small smirk.

“What? Would you rather I drink without you and risk putting myself in danger,” Azzi bats her eyes pulling out all the cards she knows to make Aubrey fold.

Aubrey just rolls her eyes and grabs the shots for her and Lauren before throwing them back as well.

“Okay, little Aubrey, who is she?” KK asks, nudging her chin in Lauren’s direction.

“Oh, right, this is Lauren. She is my teammate and roommate” Azzi explains and KK is quick to pull Lauren over and into the group.

“Hey, if I wanted to get an actual drink that wasn’t like a burst of lighter fluid, where would I find that?” Azzi asks to no one in particular.

Paige looks at Aubrey who just shrugs, “follow me.”

Azzi followed Paige through the crowd of bodies and out the back door. There were less people out here making the volume a lot more manageable. Paige leads Azzi to a folding table someone had set up in the back year. On it were various seltzer cans, bottles, and cups with random mixtures.

“You should get something in a can or bottle,” Paige offers, “it’s hard to tell what people are putting in those cups.”

“Any recommendations?” Azzi asks, looking out over the options of cans and bottles.

Paige just looks at Azzi for a moment before reaching out and grabbing a random seltzer and opening it for Azzi. She hands it to Azzi who takes a sip.

“Slightly better than rubbing alcohol, thanks Paige” Azzi laughs and Paige laughs as well.

The two stay outside for a bit enjoying the quiet reprieve from the group of people who seem to be growing louder inside. Azzi had never been big on crowds and was going to need at least a bit of a buzz before heading back in. Paige kept her eyes on Azzi the whole time. It was the type of protective look she always wore around her family and the people she cared about.

“Az,” Paige said suddenly with a softness in her voice.

“Yeah?”

Paige hesitated, “you look really good.”

Azzi feels her whole body heat at the words, “thanks Paige. I didn’t want to embarrass you guys” Azzi jokes, attempting to hide how the words made her feel.

Paige laughs and turns to fully face Azzi, “you couldn’t embarrass us.”

Azzi turns her body to face Paige with a soft grin, “you’re not embarrassed to be seen with a baby freshman.”

Paige laughs a bit at that, “not when the baby freshman looks like that.”

Azzi’s insides were probably all melted goo at this point. But still, she smiled up at Paige.

“You look really good too, P” Azzi says softly trying to keep her voice steady.

Paige shrugs and smirks, “you have to if you want to even be looked at next to you.”

Azzi freezes at the words and quickly shrugs it off with a laugh, “something tells me Paige Bueckers stands out no matter who she is with.”

Paige takes a small step closer, “not trying to stand out.” Azzi lets out a soft breath before looking up at Paige. Paige is looking down at Azzi with an unreadable expression. One Azzi has certainly never seen before.

“I should, uh, I should get back to Lauren” Azzi sputters out but her eyes don’t shift away from Paige.

Paige doesn’t move, she just hums at Azzi. “Probably,” she says and before she could take another step forward, Azzi is turning around and hurrying back to the house with the seltzer slightly crushing in her hand.

She quickly finds the group and sees everyone laughing and conversing as if Azzi’s world wasn’t spinning at what had just happened. They hardly notice her settling back into the group and that unnerves Azzi.

After a few moments, Paige joins the group. She walks around to stand near Aubrey and brushes shoulders with Azzi on her way over to her friend. Azzi feels goosebumps rise on her skin and lets out a shaky breath.

Her face must give her away because Lauren gives her a questioning look before Azzi just shrugs her off.

“Azzi, let’s go dance” KK and Jana are beside Azzi and making pleading faces to Azzi who just laughs.

“Ooh, yes, let’s dance” Lauren is standing up and by Azzi’s side quickly.

Azzi nods and is following the three girls more towards the middle of the floor to start dancing. KK and Jana had clearly had more to drink as they were singing wildly and moving their bodies in every direction.

Lauren joins in on their antics and Azzi is quick to join in swaying her hips and singing along. This was the type of fun that let Azzi forget what just happened and enjoy the moment. She would look up occasionally and see the group talking, laughing, and completely oblivious to them.

Azzi continues and throws back more of the seltzer in her hand.

“Damn, Azzi” KK pauses, stepping closer to Azzi pushing between the other two girls who were dancing on each other, “you good?”

“Yeah, all good” Azzi shrugs and continues dancing.

KK gives Azzi a look. Azzi maintains her calm composure and KK just sighs.

“P seems to really like your outfit,” KK offers with a smirk and Azzi freezes.

“Okay, and?” Azzi asks after a moment of silence.

“Listen, your sister might be blind as hell, but we aren’t,” KK explains with a shrug, “Paige has eyes for you and you for her, what are you going to do about it?”

“That’s not a thing,” Azzi is fully standing still now with a hand on her hip facing KK.

“It is, and no judgement here” KK puts her hands up and Azzi just sighs.

“Whatever I may or may not feel doesn’t matter, Paige sees me like a little sister. Period. End of story,” Azzi offers. It was the closest she had ever been to fully admitting things out loud.

KK laughs at Azzi, “has she said this to you?” Her eyebrow is raised.

“In those words? No. But in others? Yes. She all the time calls me a childhood nickname, she is always mentioning my sister, and she treats me the same way she treats Drew.”

“A meaningful nickname, consideration for the people who matter most to you, and treating you like the people she cares most about?” KK raises her eyebrow, “C’mon Azzi.”

“KK, I really don’t want to have this conversation,” Azzi just sighs.

KK sighs and shakes her head, “whatever.”

They’re back to dancing and Azzi finds her eyes trailing back to Paige more and more. She sees various people approaching her with some staying longer than others. She ignores the growing feeling in her stomach that wanted to be near Paige.

At some point, Paige started meeting the eye contact. For some reason, Azzi didn’t look away. She held Paige’s eyes with a curious look. Paige eventually smiled before turning and walking away. Azzi sighed, turning back to the group she was dancing with.

A few moments later there is a hand on her back and a body pressed closely. KK and Jana smirk before pulling Lauren away.

“You look like you needed another drink” Paige’s voice was in Azzi’s ear. Azzi freezes and turns around slowly seeing how close she and Paige were.

“Thanks” Azzi gets out grabbing the drink in Paige’s hand. The other hand stayed on Azzi’s back.

Azzi looked around and realized Paige was using her body to block the view from her sister. Her heart lurches knowing that her sister would most definitely be upset if she saw this.

“Azzi,” Paige starts and Azzi’s eyes meet Paige’s. They were so close to each other that Azzi felt Paige’s breath on her face with Paige’s whispered word.

“Yeah?” Azzi whispers back.

“I have a question,” Paige’s voice is low and her face is only inches away from Azzi’s, “you know how I said you looked really good? What would you do if I kissed you right now?”

Azzi’s heart lurched at the question. What would she do? Well she would definitely kiss back and then go through a full blown crisis. In that order. Paige looked between Azzi’s eyes and Azzi’s mouth was opened slightly in shock.

“If you say the words, I will walk away and we can pretend this never happened. Or…” Azzi’s hands reached out to grab Paige’s waist pulling her closer.

Before she could rationally talk herself out of it, Azzi was leaning forward pressing her mouth onto Paige’s.

Paige groaned almost immediately into Azzi’s mouth. The kiss was heavy and quick with both girls trying to press their bodies closer.

Hearing someone whoop from beside them Azzi pulled back and used her hands to push Paige slightly.

“We can't,” she whispered and Paige’s face fell.

“Not here,” she continued and Paige perked up at that, “my sister is right over there Paige.”

Paige looked over her shoulder and then sighed, turning back around to face Azzi.

“Give me two minutes and then meet me at my car,” Paige whispers before pressing a quick peck to Azzi’s lips and turning around to walk towards the group.

Azzi’s eyes follow Paige’s form for a few seconds. She was stunned. Her whole body was in a state of shock. She was confused and hot all over. She took a second to look around and saw no one looking in her direction. She took a deep breath and then let her feet slowly head in the direction of the front door.

She spotted Paige’s car and walked near it standing and waiting. Within a few moments, Paige was outside and heading over to open the door for Azzi. As Azzi got in the seat, Paige put two fingers under her chin and turned Azzi’s face, pressing another kiss onto Azzi’s mouth.

She pulls back and looks between Azzi’s eyes. She shakes her head slightly with a smile of disbelief, “Jesus.”

The door is shutting behind her and she is heading around the car and getting into the driver’s seat. Paige sits down and looks at Azzi before settling in.

“I want you to know, I am really into you. When I said you look good, I meant it, Azzi” Paige starts driving back towards the dorms.

“Oh,” Azzi says dumbly, “since when?”

“Do you remember when we were in high school and Aubrey and I made fun of you for getting all dressed up for formal?” Paige asks after a second.

“Oh my God, that was my freshman year” Azzi responds and Paige nods though her ears flush red.

“Why haven’t you said anything? I know you knew how I felt,” Azzi turns her head to face Paige.

“I thought it was a silly little crush or infatuation because I was your sister’s friend,” Paige let out a breath turning her head to the side to look at Azzi for a moment, “I didn’t know you liked girls like that.”

Azzi nods and looks down at her hands. She was picking at the skin around hair nails. Paige noticed quickly and put her hand over Azzi's, effectively stopping the girl.

“I still don’t know,” Azzi sighs, “I know I like you. I always have and it is so hard because I cannot get past liking you to figure out what I am.”

Paige turns to Azzi and smiles, “you don’t have to know what you are. If you want this, that is enough for me.” Paige squeezes Azzi’s hand and suddenly they are pulling into the dorm parking lot.

Paige parks and turns off the car. She sits for a second and then looks over to Azzi.

“I want you to know, I didn’t leave to bring you back and just have sex or whatever,” Azzi flushes at her words, “I am fine if we go back and then just talk. I think we probably should do some of that actually,” Paige is looking so intensely at Azzi.

Azzi looks at Paige and then is leaning forward across the gearshift pressing her mouth into Paige’s. Her hands are on either side of Paige’s face when she pulls away.

“I want this, I want you. Whatever you have to offer. I want it all,” Azzi has never said words like this but she knew she meant them in every capacity. She wanted Paige in a way that left her disoriented and confused. It was an all consuming want.

“Okay,” Paige whispers back before unbuckling and getting out of the car, walking around, and holding the door open for Azzi.

She holds a hand out for Azzi. Azzi takes the hands and follows closely beside Paige. Paige leads the way into the building and leads Azzi down the first floor hallway to her own dorm. Azzi stands beside Paige as she unlocks and opens her door and leads her back to her bedroom.

Azzi had never been in Paige’s apartment before. Aubrey and Paige were in separate ones and on her visits, they stayed at Aubrey’s. Azzi was quick to push any thoughts of her sister out of her head as Paige shut the door behind them.

Azzi walked towards Paige at the door. Paige turned around and took the final steps to meet Azzi. When Paige kissed Azzi this time, it was slower and more drawn out. Azzi put her hands up against Paige’s chest and let them rest there. Paige’s hands found their spot on Azzi’s hips.

This kiss was hungrier. It was all mouth and harsh collisions of tongue. The two were pressed so tightly to each other that there was no room for breathing. Eventually, Azzi pulled back for a breath. Paige’s mouth made quick work down Azzi’s jaw. Her kisses were open mouthed and needy.

Azzi sighed at the feeling of Paige’s breath on neck, “Paige.” Azzi whimpered softly.

Paige groaned into Azzi’s neck and pressed a kiss firmer into the area she had been working at. Azzi did nothing to stop this, she just let her.

Azzi quickly realized she would let Paige do whatever she wanted. She let her touch, taste, and feel the most intimate parts of her. She let Paige take and take and tear her apart to bring it all back together.

Azzi had never felt so worshipped and valued. Paige’s touch was gentle yet claiming in a way Azzi couldn’t describe. Paige was everything Azzi had ever hoped for.

feedback would be appreciated!! tysm <3 -- tea ★’*•.¸♡

#pazzi fic #paige bueckers fic #azzi fudd fic #uconn wbb fic #pazzi fics #tea writing femme fics #paige x azzi #wcbb fic

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diabolikwriter · 20 hours ago

Text

Sarang/Love

Part I - Meeting

Tags: Creeps being Creeps, protectiveness, mates, poly! Relationship, crying, first meeting,

This is a short first part, I’m still kinda rusty (It’s been a couple of years since the last time I wrote something non-academic). I hope you guys find this satisfying, I might do some changes here and there, but hope you enjoy!

Running through the streets, you were wondering how your day had ended up like this:

The day had started as it normally did, you awoke to the sound of your alarm going off at 7 AM. You got out of bed, brushed your teeth and got dressed before going out to the nearest cafe and getting your morning coffee and some breakfast.

After you had enjoyed your breakfast, you went to the library and studied for your university class for a couple of hours before you decided to get some fresh air and lunch.

Though that was when it had gone down hill. Upon leaving the library you had bumped into a normal looking business man, except there was something off about him.

“Oh sorry I didn’t see you” you apologised,

“It’s fine darling, but if you want you can apologise for it by coming home with me and entertaining me and my friends.”. Slowly a couple of other guys had started creeping up, their grins making chills runs down your spine, thoughts were racing in your head as they closed in on her, until instincts as old as time kicked in and you ran.

Now as you were running through the streets, you couldn’t help but feel thankful for the years you had spent playing handball. Your stamina was good enough that you could just about keep the men away, but if you didn’t find somewhere to hide and rest soon, then you didn’t dare to think about what those men would do to you.

Turning around the corner you ran into something warm and solid, and hands cradled you close. The scent surrounding you was warm and comforting, embracing you and making you feel safe. When you looked up at the source of the scent, you were met with a pair of brown eyes, which shockingly seemed to shine gold for a split second.

“Are you alright?”, the voice asking you made warmth coil in your stomach and making you clench your thighs together.

“Y-yeah, sorry I’m kinda in a hurry”, growls and groans broke out from both sides of you, which alerted you to the four other guys near you. Guys she had seen before… oh. The Saja Boys.

You looked back at the person you had bumped into, and yep it was Jinu, the two guys right next to him were Abby and Baby, and beside each of them stood Mystery and Romance.

“Hey! There she is!”, the voice of the man you had bumped into earlier, and desperately were trying to get away from, cut through your realisation.

“Oi! We found her first, go find another girl, this one is coming home with us.” The group of men which had chased you was closing in on you and the Saja Boys, all of which growled at the approaching men.

Abby and Baby stepped towards the men, while Mystery, Romance and Jinu prevented you from seeing them, and shielding you from their view at the same time. “We don’t care about some shitty idols, just give us the girl, man!” One of the men said, even though he could feel the charged energy from the Saja Boys. The very fragile calm was ruined the moment a sob forced itself out of your throat, the air became charged with something dangerous, and it felt as if time stood still and the arms around you tightened. You could see looks being passed between the members of the boy-band, and it seemed as if they came to an agreement because shortly after pained shrieks could be heard before it went silent.

“Shh, don’t cry sweet girl, everything is okay now.”, Abby gently said, which made you cry even harder from the realisation that if you hadn’t bumped into these guys, you would probably have been taken by the men chasing you and had to be put through unspeakable things. “It’s okay, you’re safe now”, assured Romance, but before more could be said, a whine came from your lips and your legs gave out from underneath her.

“It’s starting now, we need to get her somewhere safe.”, noted Baby.

“Yeah, you’re right, we need to get her to safety, keep her hidden, healthy, we must protect her, make her ours in all ways.” Growled Abby, his eyes glowing golden and his lilac marks became visible, the other guys weren’t faring any better, but then Jinu interrupted their various fantasies playing in their heads, “stop. Calm down, all of you. This isn’t just some random woman, she is OURS and we will treat her with the utmost respect and care.” His voice was stern and left no room for discussion, “we will take her with us, put her in my room and get her through the first wave, without anything untowards being done, before we ask for her consent.” With that final statement Abby gathered you in his arms and carried you back to their apartment.

Taglist: @gremlinartstudio @permanenceimp @faerie-soirxx @cottonheadedninnymugggins @amery-benson-cvii

#saja boys #saja boys x reader #kpop demon hunters #jinu kpop demon hunters #abby kpop demon hunters #romance kpop demon hunters #baby kpop demon hunters #mystery kpop demon hunters #saja boys kpop demon hunters

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strnilolover · 2 days ago

Note

Special birthday request hehe

Ride or Die Matt - reader ignores Matt after he hasn't fucked her in a while and gets bratty whenever he speaks to her. Matt sees her sexual frustration and draws it out a lil until she begs for it. The actual smut is yours to create and imagine. LOVE YOUUU

⌗ . . . A GOOD FUCK

WARNINGS : DOM!MATT. MEAN!MATT. BRATTY!READER. SMUT. PNV. DEGRADING. TEASING. SEXUAL FRUSTRATION!

for my lovely kay!! @endereies happy happy birthday!! <3

you knew matt wasn’t intentionally meaning to ignore you—you knew he had a big race coming up in a week and he just wanted to make sure everything was perfect and ready for himself to win.

but it was getting to you.

sitting in the hot garage day after day just to watch him work on his car with chris—his attention barely on you day after day. you were growing frustrated—needy—the tension in your body so tight you felt like you were going to burst.

and really today was no different than the last few. you were in the garage again—sitting on the empty tool bench in the far corner with your legs crossed. you were doing everything in your power not to look at him. you wanted to be mad at him—you were mad at him. but it was like your body just didn’t care what your mind thought.

matt was bent over the open engine bay of his race car, sweat dripping down the back of his neck and his hands buried deep inside the guts of the machine. chris was next to him, his sleeves rolled up with grease on his jaw, and tossing tools between his fingers while reading torque specs off his phone.

“she’s still knocking on the left side. probably a valve lash issue.” chris muttered, reaching for a socket wrench. “did you tighten these already?” you overheard him ask and matt grunted, reaching back and pulling a rag from his back pocket to wipe his hands. he nodded, sighing. “twice. and she’s still not settling.”

“You think it’s the camshaft?” chris asked, trying to help matt figure out what could be wrong with the car. he hummed. “could be.” matt replied before he stood straight for a moment, cracked his neck, and swiped sweat from his brow. his half-zipped suit hung low on his hips, exposing the white tank under it, stained with grease from the car and whatever else.

you didn’t even blink. chris noticed your behavior—and you were sure matt did too—and shot you a quick look, raising a brow at the way you sat there all stiff and silent, but didn’t say anything. he knew better.

matt had already tried to make conversation with you three times already today.

“did y’see the new tires?”

no reply.

“you wanna help baby? or just pout all day?”

still nothing.

“you’re not mad at me right?”

you were. but you smiled sweetly at your phone like he didn’t even exist. and matt scoffed low under his breath and leaned against the hood while chris ducked back under it. he was watching you and that made you twitch, but didn’t look up. he definitely noticed.

chris glanced up from under the hood of the car with a smirk like he was used to tuning you both out when you got like this. he himself could feel the tension between you two now beginning to grow rapidly. “i’m gonna..go grab the plugs.” he muttered, suddenly disappearing toward the supply shelf in the back.

as soon as he was gone, matt tilted his head at you and smirked like he was going to say something, but instead he gave you one last knowing look before he turned back to the car with that same smug little shake of his head.

matt definitely knew. it was like he could read you like an open book even if you didn’t want to be read. you were needy—throbbing and pent up. and you hated that he knew. hated how cocky he was about it. like he could feel it on you.

you could feel how flushed your face was, how hot you were just from him staring at you. it had been days since he’d touched you—fucked you. and it felt as if every little thing he did just served to rile you up more. you just turned yourself away from them once chris returned, keeping silent.

you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. not another glance or sound. you crossed your arms over your chest, your lips tight as you just stared away from them. your phone was still in your lap, but you’d scrolled past the same tiktok five times. you couldn’t focus.

you hadn’t realized that matt started to watch you again until he spoke—too wrapped up into your own head and trying to be mad at him. “baby.” matt called again, from across the garage after chris walked off again—this time taking his sweet time at the far end of the room. “you’re not even gonna look at me?”

you didn’t. you were barely breathing at this point.

there was a long pause—nothing but the sound of chris messing around somewhere in the back room could be heard. but the the sound of his boots coming toward you echoed through the garage.

you didn’t bother to move. but your stomach dropped and your cunt clenched—it didn’t take long before your eyes flicked up in spite of yourself just as he reached the tool bench you were sitting on. his frame was towering over you, arms crossed as he looked down at you.

“you’re actin’ like a fuckin’ brat.” he muttered, voice low enough to be for you only. “and honestly, it’s cute.” and you just blinked, like you didn’t hear him, but your nails dug into your arms. “don’t give me that.” he said with a chuckle, dropping his voice lower as he leaned in closer. his hands came to rest on the side of the bench, right by your thigh. “you’ve been sittin’ there all day with that little attitude. like i don’t know exactly why you’re so quiet.”

you still didn’t say anything—but it was becoming increasingly hard to stay quiet. to not just give in right now and drop your whole bratty act. you knew what you were doing—you did this every time you wanted his attention. he was so close. too close.

“poor baby.” he said, the mock sympathy dripping from his words as he cocked his head. “so neglected. must be real hard not getting my cock for a few days, huh?” and you clenched your jaw, exhaling slowly. your thighs pressing together. of course he knew—but you weren’t expecting him to say it out loud. not here at least.

“bet you been touchin’ yourself when I’m not around. whining into your pillow.” he sneered, his fingers barely brushing the top of your knee as his hand moved slowly. “but it’s not the same, is it?” and that’s what got you to finally look at him. finally. and he grinned.

“m’not a brat.” you mumbled, crossing your legs the other way, trying to move away so he wouldn’t make your walls crumple anymore than they already were. “oh, sweetheart.” he said, now dragging his thumb across your thigh. “you’re the fuckin’ definition of one.” he leaned down now, his lips right against your ear. “but i love when you act like this. makes it more fun to break you down later.” and then he pulled away, giving your thigh a light squeeze then and tap before turning away to go back to his car.

your heart was racing now, and you swallowed—your stomach already twisting and turning—mind running with so many thoughts of what he just might do.

the next day was worse. you were so much more worse.

you didn’t even say hi when you walked into the garage—and honestly you weren’t even sure why you kept coming back in here when you knew you didn’t have to. but you just strutted in anyways in a pair of tight little shorts and a cropped tee.

you made it a point not to look at matt when he glanced up, watching the way you climbed up onto that same tool bench and crossed your legs. but your whole body was stiff—because you could feel the way he looked at you.

chris was underneath the car, his legs sticking out like some cartoon, which honestly made you crack a small smile. but you wiped it away quickly as you started to peel open a popsicle you had brought with you and stuck it between your lips without a word.

matt shook his head and chuckled under his breath—he knew what you were doing. and you knew that he knew. it was on purpose, what you were doing. every little slurp you made on the red popsicle was for him. even the eye-roll you did every time you moved your head down was meant to test him. to tease him—just to see how far he’d let this go.

but he just kept working, even if you were staring to become distracting. his eyes flicking over to you every few minutes, watching the way some of the juice from the popsicle was dripping down the sides of your mouth. and how your nipples were poking through that shirt of yours. of course you weren’t wearing a fucking bra—matt didn’t like the thought of chris’ eyes landing on you and seeing it.

you sat there for a while, not watching the boys, just scrolling on your phone and eating your popsicle until it was finished. but at some point chris had left to “take a call.” he knew how you guys got, and really he wish he didn’t, but he was around be too often to where he started picking up on little details. and so he shoot a knowing glance between you both before heading out. the door swung shut behind him.

and that’s when the air seemed to change. it became more tense—so thick you could probably cut it with a knife. you and matt were both on edge, but it wasn’t going to be him who was going to snap first.

you didn’t hear mat move right away, just the sound of tools being set down gently in the tool boxes where they went before the sound of a rag was heard. and then his shadow was being casted over your legs. he didn’t give you time to react before he was already speaking to you.

“i should bend you over that hood.” he murmured, not even giving you the satisfaction of looking directly at you, instead he was looking else where. his hand rested on the edge of the bench beside you, fingers slowly curling just like they had yesterday.

he startled you to say the least but all you did was blink slowly before your lips parted, taking little breaths in and out. your heart hammering.

when he finally looked at you, he moved to step between your knees. “don’t look so shocked sweetheart. done nothin’ but try to provoke me today.” and you couldn’t stop the next words from slipping past your lips. “fuck you.” you mumbled, though it came out breathy.

he hummed, his hands moving slow—up your thighs, spreading them apart just a little as he leaned it towards you. “i like this version of you. all pouty. all worked up.” your breath hitched as his fingers ghosted over your core—so close you could feel the heat radiating off his knuckles.

but he didn’t touch you. not in the way you wanted him to—and that make your head spin, your walls crumbling down in an instant. “please.” you whispered without thinking and matt tilted his head, smirking to himself. he had you exactly where he wanted you. “please?” he echoed mockingly. “that’s it?”

he tsked, leaning in so close to you that his lips brushed your ear, just like they had done yesterday. and you could feel the way your breath caught in your throat. “nah, baby. you’re not gettin’ my cock until you’re begging for it. i wanna hear how bad it hurts not having your pussy stuffed after a few days.”

you whined, your hips shifting forward. he hadn’t even done anything to you yet—but yet here you were—your body already on fire and your mind already beginning to turn to mush just from how he was talking to you. “it hurts,” you whispered. “been hurting all week.” your words were breathless, almost inaudible as you spoke.

matt shifted just slightly, moving his palm to suddenly press flat against your cunt over your shorts—your legs parted more for him as you gasped at the contact. it was such a small move, but fuck did it feel amazing.

“oh, I fuckin’ bet.” he growled, his fingers now moving to rubbing slow, firm circles over your clothed clit. he was focused on the fact that chris could come back into the garage and see you both like this—no—he was focused on making you pay for how you had been acting towards him. “this little pussy’s been neglected, huh? bet she’s been so fuckin’ soaked for me, isn’t she?”

you nodded so fast you thought you’d get whiplash, your breath catching. he was always so hot when he spoke to you like this. it was exactly what you needed—and you were so so close to getting what you wanted, it was like you could taste it. “mhm—yes. fuck, matt please.” you begged just slightly, but it obviously wasn’t enough. because just as your hips started to grin against his fingers, he pulled back and just stepped away.

just like that.

and you stared at him with your lips parted in disbelief. he touched you and then backed off—why would he just do that?

“mm-mm. that’s not what i asked for.” he said, reaching out and wiping his hands with a clean rag, turning back toward the car with a smirk. “i said to beg. not whimper. makes you sound desperate baby.”

you were seething. your eyes turning to slits as your voice started before your brain could catch up. “matt!” you slid off the bench, storming over to where he way by his car, your voice beginning to raise. “you’re such a—” and before you could get the rest of the words out, matt was spinning quick to pin you back against the edge of the car with a hand against your stomach. “careful. sat the wrong thing and i’ll edge you on my tongue for an hour just to send you home without my cock.”

your eyes widened—welling just slightly as your whole body began to throb even more. it wasn’t fair how he was acting—he would’ve just given into you by now. you felt as if you’d cry right here and now with how much you needed him.

“now be a good girl,” he whispered, one hand coming out to grab at your hip as the one on your stomach began sliding down and into your shorts. his fingers dancing along the outside of your panties, tracing faint lines over your pussy. “and tell me what you want.” you were warm—everywhere—the wet patch on your panties growing by the second, sticking to you.

“want your cock,” you gasped, the words being mumbled, your pride crumbling. your body basically shrinking in front of him. “please—want it so bad—been aching for days.”

“yeah? what, you want it—here?” his fingers moved and pressed hard over your clit. you nodded desperately, lips parting as your eyes fluttered shut for just a moment. “c’mon baby, say it. tell me what filthy little thoughts have been swimming around in that pretty head of yours.” your hips twitched at his words, eyes fluttering back open.

“I want you to bend me over and fuck me like i’m nothing.” your voice cracked just slightly—you felt so embarrassed. “want you to use me. make me cum so hard i forget how long i waited.” matt groaned out a noise of approval before he leaned down, his mouth connecting to yours in a heated kiss.

his hand moved out of your shorts, coming up to land on your other hip as his lips broke away from your own, quickly spinning you around—pressing you against his car. the hood was down now, and you hadn’t even realized it was. almost like he planned for it to end like this.

he pressed a hand up between your shoulder blades, a quiet signal for you to go down. and you listened—bending yourself forward and arching the best you could, letting your legs spread more for him.

you let yourself lay flat, your cheek pressed to the metal of the hood. matts hands grabbed at the waist band of your shorts and yanked them down to your knees—your panties now on full display for him, absolutely soaked through. “look at you, soaked through your fuckin’ panties,” he muttered. “how pathetic is that?”

you turned your head slightly to look over one of your shoulders the best you could—catching a small glimpse of him before you let your head fall back down. “please.” you whined, pushing your hips back against him. you could feel how hard he was already, his cock straining against the material of his pants.

he thought about teasing you more—letting you grind yourself back into him like a needy girl—but he decided not to waste anymore time. after all, he was getting impatient himself.

so he just reached down and slid your panties to the side, his other hand coming down and undoing his pants, pulling his cock out as quickly as he could. he pulled back slightly so he could spit down onto his hand, reaching down to fist himself until he was slick enough. the loss of contact made you whimper, your desperation growing more by the second.

he chuckled when he noticed, tsking before grabbing your hip and lining himself up. “so fuckin’ impatient baby. you want it so bad? then fucking take it.” and with that his hips pushed forward rather rough, his cock burying itself so deep inside you, it nearly knocked the wind out of you.

you moaned loud—the sound almost between a cry and a scream—but he reached around and clamped a hand over your mouth rather quickly, shutting you up as his hips snapped forward. “shh, baby. y’gotta keep it down. wouldn’t want chris hearing what a needy little whore you are, hm?”

you shook your head, small “no’s” slipping past your lips as your nails scraped against the hood of his car. he started fucking you rough and deep, one of his hands tangling itself in your hair as the other stayed over your mouth.

“five days without my cock and look at you,” he hissed. “takin’ it like you’re starved for it. you are, aren’t you? so upset that my attention hasn’t been on you, you greedy girl.” your moans we’re muffled against his hand, drool pooling in the palm of it as he tried to keep you quiet.

“say it.” he growled, the hand in your hair yanking your head back and away from his hand that covered your mouth. your moans echoing through the garage now as his cock kisses that sweet spot inside you over and over again. the drool now trailing down the sides of your mouth, pool against your shirt.

“I—i was upset!” you gasped, a hand reaching back to grab at him every time he rammed inside you. your scalp starting to burn slightly from the grip he had on your hair. “just—just wanted your attention matt—missed it—please!” he cursed under his breath, his own eyes rolling back from how good you were behaving now. “there’s my good girl.” he murmured. “all that attitude just cause you needed what? a good fuck?, hm?.”

you nodded, the words dying on your tongue as he fucked you faster. the car under you was shaking and neither of you cared if chris heard you—both of you were just focused on the moment and how good you both felt.

every part of you felt on fire—from the heat or from matt you weren’t sure. but your stomach was becoming tighter, your orgasm building. you were crying by now, you were sure of it—your eyes all watery and nose sniffling as matt’s hips didn’t stop. he could feel the way you clenched around him, drawing him in every time he pulled out—it was like you were milking him.

“c’mon sweetheart, i can feel you clenching around me. you gonna cum already? missed my cock so much that you can’t even last?” your body shuttered at his words. he was mocking you—and you tried to deny it, tried to lift your head to say no but it was no use. he wasn’t lying.

the hand tangled in your hair pushed your face back down to the hood of the car, sliding down to grab at the back of your neck. holding you there. “cum on my cock baby. show me how bad you missed me.” hips get kicked your legs wider as he thrusted forward, the new angle making your eyes rolling back as you clenched around him again.

“ah—ah—oh fuck!” your body shook and tensed, walls fluttering around matt’s cock as you let go. you came with a loud cry, your juices beginning to rush out and down his cock. soaking the back of your thighs and the front of his pants. your legs almost threatened to give out on you, but matt just held you up as he fucked you through your high. his own not too far behind.

it wasn’t long before you body started to become over sensitive, twitching slightly in his hold as you started to babble. “matt—fuckfuckfuck—ohmygod—“ his hand on your neck decided to move again, this time trailing down your body and pressing to your clit, rubbing it quickly as his thrusts started to become sloppy.

“y’gonna cum again baby. c’mon, want you to cum again—you can do it f’me.” he groaned, his body leaning forward to press his chest flush to your back, his teeth sinking into the flesh of your shoulder as his hips stuttered. he stilled moments later, his balls drawing tight as he spilled himself inside you. thick ropes of cum painted your walls, some even leaking around the sides of him as he tried to bury himself deeper into your cunt.

the feeling of it triggered your second orgasm—your cunt clenching down around him once again as you came. your vision blurred for just a moment as small gasps slipped out of you. matt continued to empty himself inside you, making sure to fill you to the brim before his body relaxed on top of yours basically.

“this what you wanted, huh?” he muttered, turning his head two press a kiss where his teeth bit into your flesh. light purple marks already blossoming around the bite. and you nodded, your body half-limp and your mind absolutely gone. your breath catching.

“good.” he whispered—his arms moving to peel himself off of you gently. he was being gentle now. this was your favorite part after it all—how gentle he is with you, knowing he pushed your limits just a little. “stay right here for a sec while i get stuff to clean us up baby.”

you whined as he started to pull away—not wanting him to go. you just wanted him close now. “matttt.” but he just shushed you as his hips pulled back, his cock slipping from your now spent and full cunt. he watched as a mixture of his cum and yours leaked out of you, giving just a small smirk before he wandered off to get some clean rags.

matt had managed to get you both cleaned up in time and dressed before chris came back inside. matt had been situating you on his lap, your head snuggled into his neck, before chris came back into the building. you yourself were already starting to doze off in his arms, your body tired and weak.

and chris glared at you both—knowing just from how calm you were and how smug matt looked—that something went on in here that he’d rather not think about. a quite “you guys are disgusting.” muttered from him as matt just laughed.

a/n : this was supposed to be posted on june 28th but i’m very bad at sticking to a schedule obviously. but happy birthday kay!! my sweetest and bestest friend ever. i love you so so much and i hope your day was fantastic and just know that you are stuck with me forever 🤗

this also isn’t proofread so if there’s any spelling mistakes, i apologize

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