#when i tell you the PANIC i felt seeing that

[rafesangelita]

♡ what happens when the man you’ve been having anonymous phone sex with asks you to come over to his place so you two could have a date of your own?

warnings: mean!rafe, enemies to ???, brief descriptions of phone sex, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, mutual pining, praise, orgasm control, orgasm denial, degradation, flirty banter

a/n: this is part three of this mini series! thank you so much for all the love on this series so far, i wasn’t expecting such an outpoor of support <3 if you ask to be added to the taglist and i don’t reply, don’t worry!! i promise i’ve seen it and have added you!

links: previous | next | mini series masterlist

wc: 2.8k

“..you sound pretty.”

you froze, the slightly familiar voice sending a shiver down your spine. “who’s this?” you swallowed thickly, already having a gut feeling. “you know who i am.” with a demeaning tone like that, you only had one guess. “so out of all of the usernames you could’ve came up with; ‘country club’ was the one that stuck?” rafe smiled to himself before taking a drink from the liquor in his glass. he was alone on the druthers now with nothing but you on his mind, along with his mystery girl that he never stopped thinking about.

“it’s just a nickname a friend of mine gave me,” he explained, “no one else knows me by it so that’s why i chose it.” you hummed, a hint of curiosity piquing your interest. “really? who?” you asked him in a poor attempt to get something out of him. “ah, you wouldn’t know him. he’s from the cut.” now you were really interested. “the cut? how did you end up being friends with someone from over there?”

rafe was quiet for a few moments.

“it’s a long story. i think you’d find out who i am if i told you about it.” you tried to think about any drama or gossip that chanel may have filled you in about at some point but ultimately came up empty handed. “i see..” deciding to change the subject, you asked him about something that actually had relevance. “so what had you so wrapped up earlier?” rafe sighed, your pictures from earlier flashing in his mind.

“i was on a date— if you could even call it that,” he laughed, “the amount of bitchy attitude this girl throws at me every time i see her is crazy.” you ignored the spark of jealousy that lit up in your core, your eyes narrowing as you thought of all the things he could’ve been doing with someone else that wasn’t you.

rafe had a very specific reason for bringing someone else up and just like he had hoped, you fell right into his trap. “yeah? you should probably call her and talk to her instead.” you were quick with your remark, rolling your eyes before settling underneath your plush comforter.

“i think i already am.”

you bit the inside of your cheek, a sense of panic washing over you as you thought about your earlier encounter with rafe. could you really be the girl that quote unquote ‘throws bitchy attitude at him every time you see him’? it would be hard to tell considering you threw bitchy attitude towards everyone, but still, his words caused your train of thought to come to a screeching halt. “no, that’s impossible.” to be in denial when you two were this far along in your arrangement was simply delusional, but you couldn’t help but deny his theory.

“you think so?” he sat back in his seat overlooking the water. “i know so. cause i went on a date tonight as well.. and i personally find the guy insufferable— hot, definitely, but insufferable nonetheless, and i’d like to think that if me and you have ever talked or interacted in person we’d at least get along in some way.” now it was rafe’s turn to feel jealousy burn through his chest at the mention of you going on a date with someone else other than him.

“you went on a date?” the calm tone in his voice was now replaced by assertiveness, his jaw clenching as he imagined you getting all dolled up for some loser. “yes.” you don’t know why, but you felt like you had did something wrong. “and you said he was hot?” rafe downed the rest of his drink, pouring himself another shortly after. “yes..” you answered again, a hint of a smile playing on your lips, “i’d fuck him even though i told him it would never happen.” if rafe couldn’t understand what was so similar between you and his personal internet slut then, he definitely knew what it was now. you had to be her.

rafe thought about your words from earlier.

“why i don’t like you, or why i won’t let you fuck me?”

you had such a smart mouth on you, the only thing rafe could think about was how he’d shut you up by filling your throat up with his cock. “it’s funny you say that. i could’ve sworn my brat of a ‘date’ said the same thing to me.” suddenly you felt like you were in enemy territory, every single one of your sensible instincts urging you to hang up the phone. “uhm—” you cleared your throat awkwardly, “i wonder if she has any idea that i’d fuck her senseless if only she’d let me.” your mind drifted off to rafe again, and the way he was looking at you before you left; as if he knew you something you didn’t.

“tell her that next time you talk to her.” you shot back, rolling your eyes as he muttered a ‘i will.’

deciding to move into the cabin inside the druthers, rafe slid the door shut behind him before be turned the lights off, a groan leaving his lips as he took a seat on the couch. “so why’d you call me? you know, since you’re obviously interested in someone else.” rafe scoffed, rolling the tension out of his shoulders before blinking up at the ceiling. he was amused by everything that came out of your mouth. “i’m not interested in anyone else. i think i have you figured out, and if i’m right then this couldn’t be anymore perfect.”

rafe imagined you being the one on the phone with him right now, your hand in between your thighs as you got off to the sound of his voice. he imagined you wearing nothing, those pretty tits of yours on full display. “and if you’re wrong?” you teased. “i’m not. i can’t be.” while you had no idea who he could be envisioning, you had no problem waiting for the day to prove him right or otherwise. “i guess we’ll just have to play the waiting game until we can’t anymore..” rafe hummed in agreement. “well that won’t be very long then.”

you hoped not.

there was a beat of silence before rafe’s voice sounded through your receiver. “sooo.. what are you wearing right now?” you groaned, the cliché and overused line making you shake your head. “you have seriously got to come up with something better to initiate this,” you fiddled with the string of your robe, “but i’ll work with you just this once.” if only you could see the look on rafe’s face right now. “sorry i’m not an experienced phone sex expert, i prefer my sexual encounters in person.” he laughed when you cursed under your breath. “ugh, goodnight.”

while rafe thought you were joking, you had really hung up on him, leaving him both turned on and frustrated.

[10:57 PM] brattydiaries: 1 attachment

[10:57 PM] brattydiaries: and to think.. i really wanted to touch myself. oh well, i’ll see you around ‘country club’

rafe was pissed when he opened your message and saw a picture of you completely naked in your silk robe, his cock stirring at the sight. he could’ve had you rubbing your clit by now if only he would’ve went easy with the remarks.

[11:00 PM] countryclub: you’re gonna make me work hard for it aren’t you.

[11:01 PM] brattydiaries: oh, you have no idea.

and that’s exactly what rafe did. he was persistent, making sure to call you every single night after that until you finally approved of his efforts. he knew from the moment he heard you moan on the phone that it was all worth it.

“f-fuckk, i can’t!” you cried out in frustration as rafe denied you another orgasm. you’ve been at this for an hour now, your panties drenched with your arousal as he taunted you on the other line. “yes you fucking can, you don’t cum until i let you, you understand?” you huffed, your clit aching with sensitivity as you shuddered at his words. “you made me wait all this time to get you like this, you can hold out just a little bit more for me.” rafe grunted, his own hand palming himself through his boxers.

you shuddered, your eyes fluttering shut as he told you all about the things he’d do if he had you there with him. “i’d fucking wreck you, baby,” he moaned, thinking about fucking you to tears until you couldn’t handle it, “fuck’ that attitude right out of you and get you all pathetic and desperate. just like you are right now.” you were at the point where you couldn’t even touch yourself anymore, your orgasm being just in arm’s reach. “please!” you whimpered, your thighs trembling with the need to let go, “i’ve come close so many times already.”

as odd as it may sound, rafe hasn’t let himself cum ever since you two started having phone sex. messaging each other and sending pictures was different— but now that he had your voice in his ears, it made everything feel real. he swore to himself that he wouldn’t let himself finish until he had you in the palms of his hands. maybe it was a way for him to torture himself, but he was determined to make it happen. you were going to be his no matter how long it’d take.

“you’ve gotten so good at begging me for it, you don’t even put up a fight with me anymore.” rafe laughed, thinking about all the times that you were the one turning him down, now you found yourself being completely at his mercy. “..fuck you.” you whined, writhing under your sheets. “soon enough.” rafe whispered, still listening to your pleads. “i could make myself cum right now,” you said breathlessly, “..and you wouldn’t even be able to stop me.” rafe’s jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“do that and you won’t hear from me for three weeks straight. thank god for a block button, right?” you scoffed, your chest rising and falling as you rubbed your thighs together. “matter of fact.. just for that poor excuse of a threat, you’re not cumming at all.” you didn’t get to rebuttal before he hung up, your eyes widening before you groaned. asshole.

“okay, i love our little bottomless mimosa dates but i’m still recovering from last night.” chanel laughed, adjusting the sunnies on her nose. you and your group of girlfriends were out on the patio at the country club, your table filled with fruity drinks and half empty glasses. “oh my god, you should’ve been there, y/n! it got so crazy that someone called the cops and the whole thing had to get shut down.”

you were only paying half attention to what was being said, majority of your focus being.. elsewhere. specifically— rafe out on the golf field, his skin glistening with sweat as the blazing outer banks sun beat down on him. “it sounds crazy.” you hummed, nodding even though you only heard the first half of chanel’s sentence. she eyed you, following your line of vision before a smug grin pulled at her lips.

“so.. how come you’ve been m.i.a?” just as rafe looked up to meet your gaze, you snapped out of your reverie, blinking away. “forreal, it’s like you’ve disappeared these past few weeks.” you looked around at your friends, a nervous laugh escaping from you. how do you even explain to anyone— let alone your best friends, that you haven’t been to any parties or hangouts because you’re too busy getting talked through your third, sometimes fourth, orgasm of the night?

it’s simple; you don’t.

“i’ve been doing a lot of stuff for my parents. it just gets so tiring sometimes, you know?” chanel knew you were lying, but that was a conversation for another time. thankfully, no one questioned you any further and you were free to look back at the man who, for some reason unbeknownst to you, has been plaguing your mind. ever since your little awkward debacle on his boat, you two hadn’t really interacted with one another except the weird lingering stares you’d catch each other doing. you’d be lying if you said things didn’t feel a little bland without having him around as much.

“i’ll be right back.” you excused yourself, swinging your purse over your shoulder as you made your way inside. taking a seat at the empty bar, you looked around cautiously before opening your tumblr messages.

[3:08 PM] brattydiaries: i have on a super short skirt today.. maybe you could catch me somewhere

you stared at the screen for a minute, hoping he’d answer right away before you sighed to yourself and rested your chin in your hand. apart of you couldn’t help but feel bad. you should be outside with your friends right now, engaging in the latest island drama and raving about celebrity gossip but instead you’re here at a bar all by yourself feeling pathetic as ever because you couldn’t help but grow semi-attached to this ‘countryclub’ guy.

“can i buy you something to drink?” you looked up at rafe as he took a seat next to you, his large frame still towering over you even while he was sitting down. your heart started beating in your ears at the close proximity, your eyebrows pinching together at the overwhelming feeling currently swimming in your tummy. you never got nervous in front of guys, but all of a sudden rafe’s thigh is brushing against yours and now you’re shy? gross.

“i was just leaving actually.” you cleared your throat, avoiding the burn of his stare on the side of your face as you quickly scooted out from your chair. you didn’t even get to get up before rafe pushed your seat back in. “i wanna talk to you.” he sounded like he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, the firmness in his tone making you swallow thickly. staring at him for a few moments, you obliged, but not before ordering the most expensive thing on the drink menu.

“so what do you want?” you faced him, watching as he downed his scotch. “i, uhm— are you busy this weekend?” arching a brow, you thanked the bartender once he slid your overly dressed up cocktail in front of you. “yes, very.” no, you weren’t, but he didn’t need to know that. “well.. i would really appreciate it if you could make the time to come over to my place, ‘say around seven?” you blinked, not understanding clearly. “what’s the occasion?” you asked confusingly. “no, not a party. just us two.”

that grabbed your attention immediately. you sat there, replaying his words in your head until it finally registered. “just us? at your house this weekend at seven o’clock?” he nodded. “i already told you i’m never having sex with you, rafe.” the man in front of you rolled his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose. “god, y/n,” he groaned, “as much as you’re breaking my heart right now, that’s not the reason why i’m inviting you over.” you giggled at the annoyed expression on his face, flipping your hair over your shoulder as he glared at you intently.

“so what’s the reason then? why would i ever go over to your place, rafe? enlighten me. please.” while rafe was secretly hoping you’d just agree and go on with your day, he should’ve known you weren’t going to be easy to obtain. sighing, he leaned in closer, his chest brushing the side of your shoulder. “look; last time we were by ourselves you told me that you didn’t like me because i was talking about you first, which by the way— i want to apologize for,” he started, “i feel like we got off on the wrong foot and i wanna start over.” you turned your head, his face just inches away from your own.

“i should’ve never said anything about you without knowing you first.” you two stayed silent for what felt like an eternity before you softly nudged him away. “okay, i get it, you don’t have to get all softie on me, rafe.” the corner of his lips tugged into a smile when he saw how flustered you got. “is that a yes?” you almost lost it when his fingers brushed yours, your stomach bursting with buttetflies at the small action. “fine,” you sighed, “but i still don’t like you.” rafe blinked slowly, restraining himself from jumping out of his chair. “that’s fine, i’m not asking you to.”

just as you were going to smart mouth him, your phone dinged! with a message from chanel. “well thanks for the drink, i’m going back out.” rafe watched you get up, his eyes trailing down your figure until they settled on your bare legs, your heels clicking against the floor as you walked off. “hey, y/n?” you spun around at the sound of his voice, muttering a ‘what?!’ before he winked.

“cute skirt.”

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[rafes-slut]

You send your best friend nudes on aciddent

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader (Best Friends)

Summary: you wanted ro send nudes to guy you were talking to and without even realizing you sended them to rafe. He shows up at your house and he fucks you pretty

Warnings:(Explicit sexual content (18+), Rough, raw, and unprotected sex, Best friends-to-lovers tension, Possessiveness/jealousy, Strong language, Slight dominance themes, Mentions of nudes/sexting, Brief edging/denial)

-------------------------------------------------------

Your house was too quiet. Too empty. The kind of silence that made you restless, forcing you to find something—anything—to keep yourself occupied.

You had already scrolled through every possible social media feed, tried binge-watching a show, and even considered taking a nap, but nothing seemed to cure the boredom eating at you. The guy you’d been talking to—the one you had a… thing with—hadn't texted you all day, and for some reason, that only annoyed you more.

With a sigh, you plopped onto your bed, staring at the ceiling before an idea popped into your head. A reckless, stupid idea. But an exciting one.

Grabbing your phone, you opened the camera app, biting your lip as you hesitated. Then, without thinking too hard about it, you started posing, taking pictures of yourself—fully naked.

The longer you did it, the more confident you became, experimenting with angles, capturing the way the dim lighting cast shadows over your skin. By the time you finished, you were beyond pleased with how good you looked.

Your finger hovered over the screen as you scrolled through the pictures, feeling the rush of power that came with it. Maybe if you sent them to him—the guy you’d been talking to—he’d finally give you the attention you deserved.

Without another thought, you selected a few of your best shots and hit send.

The moment was thrilling. You smirked to yourself, placing your phone aside as you basked in the satisfaction of it all. You left your phone unattended for a while, assuming he’d take his time responding, so you didn’t bother checking right away.

It wasn’t until an hour later, when you absentmindedly picked up your phone to see if he had replied, that your stomach dropped.

36 new messages.

But they weren’t from him.

They were from Rafe.

Your heart stopped. Your entire body froze as dread crept up your spine. Confusion clouded your mind until you clicked on his name, your blood running cold as you read the first message.

Rafe: Tell me you didn’t just send that to me.

Your breath hitched. Your pulse pounded in your ears as you scrolled.

Rafe: Are you serious right now?

Rafe: Fucking answer me.

Rafe: Jesus Christ, what the fuck?

Rafe: Are you out of your mind?

Panic overtook your senses as you finally understood what had happened. Your fingers shook as you scrolled up, only to confirm your worst nightmare.

You hadn’t sent those pictures to the guy you’d been talking to.

You had sent them to Rafe.

Your best friend.

The same Rafe who had seen you at your worst, who had been there through everything, who—until now—had never seen you like that.

You felt sick.

Rafe: I swear to fucking God, tell me that was a mistake.

Rafe: Are you ignoring me on purpose?

Rafe: Do you even realize what you just did?

You stared at the messages, paralyzed with horror, your mind racing with what to do. There was no taking it back. No pretending it never happened.

Your phone buzzed again, and another text popped up.

Rafe: I’m coming over.

Your stomach flipped.

Oh. Fuck.

You barely had time to process the messages before loud, impatient knocking shook your front door. Your heart jumped into your throat.

Shit.

Rafe was already here.

Panic surged through you as you scrambled off your bed. You weren’t even dressed—still completely bare from your little photoshoot. With no time to properly throw on clothes, you grabbed the first thing within reach—an oversized shirt that smelled faintly of cologne. Rafe’s cologne. It was probably his shirt, one he had left behind on one of the countless nights he crashed at your place.

You barely managed to pull it over your head, the hem brushing mid-thigh, before the knocking got louder.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

"Open the damn door."

His voice was sharp, edged with something you couldn’t quite place—urgency, frustration… something more.

Taking a deep breath, you smoothed out the shirt, schooling your expression into something nonchalant. Like you didn’t just send your best friend a full spread of naked pictures. Like you weren’t freaking the fuck out inside.

You swung the door open, greeting him with a bright, innocent smile. "Hey, Rafe."

His eyes flickered over you immediately, scanning your barely covered frame. His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. "You’re fucking joking."

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. "About what?"

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, exhaling a sharp breath before stepping inside, shutting the door behind him with more force than necessary. "Don't do that. Don't act like you didn't just—" He stopped himself, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as his eyes dragged down your body again, lingering on your bare legs.

You crossed your arms, biting back a smirk. "Didn't just what?"

His jaw ticked. "Send me those pictures."

You shrugged. "It was an accident."

His blue eyes snapped to yours, dark and dangerous. "An accident?" He took a step closer, forcing you back slightly. "Tell me, how exactly do you 'accidentally' send someone half a dozen nude pictures?"

You swallowed hard, nerves creeping up your spine, but you refused to back down. You weren’t about to let him see how flustered you were. "I meant to send them to someone else."

His expression darkened, something flickering behind his eyes at your words. His voice dropped, lower, rougher. "Yeah? Who?"

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You weren’t sure why, but suddenly, saying his name—the guy you’d been talking to—felt wrong. The way Rafe was looking at you, staring through you like he was barely holding himself together, made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t prepared for.

His fingers twitched at his side. "Who were they meant for?"

You hesitated. "It doesn’t matter."

"Like hell it doesn’t," Rafe snapped, stepping in again, this time leaving no space between you. Your breath hitched. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his chest barely brushing yours. His gaze flicked to your lips for a fraction of a second before locking onto your eyes again. "You were really about to send those to some other guy?"

Your mouth felt dry. You blinked up at him, struggling to find your voice. "It’s not a big deal—"

His laugh was humorless. "Not a big deal?" His fingers curled at his sides like he was physically restraining himself. "You seriously don’t get it, do you?"

"Get what?" You whispered.

Rafe exhaled sharply, his jaw clenched so tightly you swore he might break his teeth. Then, in one swift motion, he grabbed your chin between his fingers, tilting your head up to look at him. Your breath caught in your throat.

"Don’t ever send shit like that to another guy." His voice was low, dangerously soft. "Not when you have me."

Your heart stuttered. "Rafe—"

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head slightly like he was at war with himself. His grip on your chin tightened just enough to make you dizzy. "Do you have any idea what you just did to me?"

You swallowed, your skin buzzing under his touch. "I—"

"You think I didn’t like it?" He scoffed, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. "You think I’m mad because I didn’t want to see you like that?"

Your stomach flipped.

He leaned in, his lips just barely grazing the shell of your ear as he whispered, "I’m mad because now I can't stop fucking thinking about it."

A sharp breath left your lungs.

His other hand trailed down, gripping the hem of your—his—shirt. His fingers brushed against your bare thigh, sending shivers up your spine.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

The second you didn’t tell him to stop, Rafe took that as a green light.

Before you could process it, his hands gripped your waist, and in one swift motion, he lifted you off the floor. A startled gasp left your lips as he placed you on the nearest surface—the hallway counter—knocking over a few things in the process.

Your legs instinctively spread, your oversized shirt riding up your thighs, exposing just how bare you were beneath it.

Rafe wasn’t blind. He saw everything.

And fuck, he wasn’t about to pretend he didn’t notice how worked up you already were.

A dark smirk tugged at his lips as his hands slid up your thighs, fingers tracing your soft skin. "You didn’t even think about putting something on, huh?" His voice was low, teasing. "Almost like you wanted me to see you like this."

Heat crawled up your neck, but before you could snap back, his fingers were already moving.

Without hesitation, he slipped between your thighs, brushing against your slick heat. A breathy moan slipped past your lips as he ran two fingers through your folds, feeling just how wet you were for him.

"Shit," Rafe groaned under his breath. "Look at you."

Your head tilted back slightly, hands gripping the edge of the counter as he teased you, his fingers barely dipping into you before pulling away again. Your hips bucked slightly, chasing the friction, and he chuckled.

"Needy, huh?"

"Rafe—" Your voice was a quiet plea, but he wasn’t feeling merciful tonight.

He pushed two fingers inside you with ease, the stretch making you gasp. He wasted no time, his fingers curling just right, pressing against that spot that made your entire body shudder.

"That’s it, baby," he murmured, his free hand gripping your thigh, keeping you spread for him. "Fuck, you’re already squeezing me."

Your legs twitched, the pleasure overwhelming as he pumped his fingers inside you, slow but deliberate. His thumb found your clit, rubbing small, calculated circles that made you whimper.

"Bet you weren’t even thinking about that guy when you took those pictures," he taunted, his pace never faltering. "Bet you were thinking about me."

You didn’t answer, but your body betrayed you—the way you clenched around his fingers, the way your thighs trembled.

He leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours, but never closing the distance. "Say it," he murmured. "Tell me who you really wanted to send them to."

Your pride held on, but your body was already giving him the answer.

You didn’t answer his question. You couldn’t. Saying it out loud would mean admitting it—to him, to yourself. That you never meant for those pictures to go to anyone but him. That the only person you wanted to see you like this, touch you like this, was Rafe.

But your silence didn’t matter. Your body told him everything he needed to know.

You gasped, yanking his wrist, pulling his fingers out of you before you could tumble over the edge. Rafe’s brows furrowed, his fingers glistening in the dim light, but before he could question it, your hands found his waistband, tugging at his jeans.

He let out a low chuckle, but it was rough, almost breathless. "That desperate, huh?"

You ignored him, too focused on shoving his jeans down. The second they pooled around his ankles, you took a moment—your breath hitching as you took him in.

Fuck.

You already knew he was big, but seeing it—thick, hard, already leaking at the tip—had you swallowing hard.

Rafe didn’t give you time to think. He grabbed your hips, dragging you to the edge of the counter, spreading you wider. He didn’t bother with teasing or stretching you any further—he knew you could take it.

And you did.

The moment he pushed inside, a strangled moan left your lips, your hands flying to grip his shoulders.

"Shit," Rafe gritted, his fingers digging into your skin as he bottomed out in one sharp thrust.

It was rough. Raw. Deep.

He didn’t give you time to adjust—he pulled back just enough before slamming into you again, knocking the breath from your lungs. The counter rattled beneath you with every thrust, his grip bruising, his pace relentless.

"Look at you," he groaned, watching the way your body took him, how you clenched around him with every movement. "This is what you wanted, huh? Not him—me."

Your nails scraped down his back, a broken moan escaping as he angled his hips just right, hitting that spot that had you seeing stars.

"You feel that?" Rafe panted, his forehead pressing against yours. "This is mine. You're mine."

You couldn’t even argue.

Not when you were falling apart around him, your body trembling as you came, his name spilling from your lips like it was the only thing you knew.

And Rafe? He followed right after, burying himself deep, groaning your name as he spilled inside you, claiming you in every way possible.

[scoupsakakitty]

Hii, I see that your req is open :). Can I request for seventeen 14th member that got into car accident and the other member's reaction?

Signed with Worry | Seventeen x 14thMember | angst, fluff

tw: car accident, hospital

Seungcheol’s phone buzzed on the table, an unknown number flashing on the screen. Frowning, he picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Is this Choi Seungcheol?”

The serious tone of the woman’s voice immediately put him on edge. “Yes, who’s this?”

“This is Nurse Kim from Seoul General Hospital.”

His grip on the phone tightened. “Seoul General? Why—what happened? Is someone hurt?”

There was a brief pause before she responded, voice calm but firm. “I’m calling regarding Y/N. We need you to come in as soon as possible to sign her discharge papers.”

His heart dropped. “Discharge papers? What—why is she there? What happened to her?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but for safety and privacy reasons, I can’t disclose medical details over the phone. The doctor will explain everything once you arrive.”

Seungcheol felt a lump form in his throat. His mind was racing with worst-case scenarios. “But—she’s okay, right? Please, just tell me if it’s serious.”

A small pause. “She’s stable.”

That wasn’t enough. But it was all he was going to get.

“I’ll be there right away.”

By the time he hung up, his face was pale. The room had gone silent, all twelve members staring at him in alarm.

“What’s wrong?” Joshua asked carefully.

“Hospital,” Seungcheol said, his voice tight. “Y/N’s there.”

The reaction was instant.

“What?!” Hoshi’s eyes widened.

“Why?” Mingyu demanded.

“I don’t know.” Seungcheol ran a hand through his hair. “The nurse wouldn’t tell me over the phone.”

That was all it took for them to grab their things and run out the door.

As soon as they arrived at the hospital, the thirteen of them stormed through the entrance, heading straight for the reception desk.

“Y/N L/N,” Seungcheol said breathlessly. “She’s supposed to be discharged. Where is she?”

The nurse behind the desk barely blinked at the group of frantic men in front of her. “She’s in room 304, waiting for her discharge paperwork.”

Before she could say anything else, they were already rushing down the hall.

Pushing open the door to room 304, Seungcheol felt his chest tighten at the sight of Y/N sitting on the hospital bed, fully dressed, a small bandage on her forehead.

She blinked in surprise when she saw all thirteen of them pile into the room.

“Oh,” she said slowly. “I was expecting just Seungcheol.”

“Too bad,” Jeonghan muttered, arms crossed.

“Are you okay?” DK asked immediately, scanning her up and down.

Y/N sighed. “Guys, I’m fine. It was just a small accident.”

“Small accident?!” Seungkwan’s voice cracked. “You’re in a hospital!”

“They’re literally discharging me right now,” she said.

Before the panic could escalate, the doctor walked in, surprised to see so many people squeezed into the small room.

“Ah, you must be Y/N’s family?” he said, glancing at Seungcheol.

“She has thirteen very worried brothers,” Joshua answered.

The doctor chuckled. “Well, to ease your concerns—Y/N was in a minor car accident. She sustained a mild concussion and a small cut on her forehead that required two stitches. Other than that, she’s in good condition and cleared to go home.”

The members let out a collective breath, relief washing over them.

Mingyu, still not convinced, clapped his hands together. “Okay! I’m carrying her to the car.”

“For the last time, no,” Y/N groaned. “I can walk.”

“But—”

“She said no,” Seungcheol cut in, still in protective leader mode. “Let’s just take her home before one of you actually gives the hospital a reason to keep us here.”

As they left the hospital together, the tension finally eased, replaced by their usual playful bickering. Despite everything, Y/N couldn’t help but smile—she might have gotten hurt, but she’d never felt safer.

[yours-truly-q]

Even when he's running late, Caleb will never forget your kiss <3

☆

1k words, sfw, no warnings, for those who want to know this was based on the 24 hour schedule that was released for Caleb [:

<3 ☆ <3 ☆ <3 ☆ <3 ☆ <3 ☆ <3 ☆ <3 ☆ <3 ☆ <3 ☆

Caleb's late because you asked him ONCE that morning for him to stay a bit longer in bed with you and took that as an invitation to just spend another hour-ish in bed with you.

Now he's late because he just couldn't bare to leave you that morning

"Fuck!" You hear Caleb swear along with a thud. You huff, amused at his obscenity, while debating whether you're going to get up now to see what happened or just wait to ask him later. Grumbling, you shift in the bed and curl up, thinking about your options. As you curl up in the comfortable warm of the bed another crash resounds through the house and you sigh.

Groaning you tiredly sit up, clumsily pulling your blanket around your shoulders. With what felt like momentous effort, you haul yourself to your feet, waiting a moment to stabilize yourself before shuffling out of yours and Caleb's bedroom and towards the sound of profanities and the clattering objects.

Standing in the doorway of the bedroom, you look down the hallway before you see Caleb rush haphazardly from one room to the other, a repeating rant of "shit, shit, shit" following behind him. Curious, you glance from the room Caleb just entered to the clock on his nightstand and 'oh, it's 7:40 am' so not only did he miss his morning physical training, but he's going to be late getting to the fleet. You snort and slowly let your tired eye gaze back to the room Caleb is in.

"Pipsqueak?" Caleb's smooth voice calls out in a questioning tone, then a moment later, his head pops out from the side of the door. The moment his eyes lock onto your form, a bright grin slips onto his face.

"Are you...laughing at me being late?" Caleb asks, slowly strolling towards your form in the doorway like he has all the time in the world and isn't incredibly late. You roll your eyes and nod, fighting back a yawn.

"Of course I was, the feet space Coronel of all people is late. Plus as well seeing you skid around the house in a panic is kinda funny. " You explain, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

"Well, if I remember correctly, the only reason I'm late is because someone wouldn't let me go when I tried to get out of bed." Raising an eyebrow, Caleb lets a knowing smirk pull at his features.

"In my defence, I don't need to get up today aaaaand you should've just... got up." You mumble your weak argument as you glance away from Caleb, your eyes naturally falling on the ticking clock.

"Anyway, don't you have to leave, like, right now?" You change the subject, eyes still fixated on those ticking hands. Caleb frowns at the reminder while he lets his hands reach out to hold your hips, thumbs rubbing at the fabric of your sleep clothes.

Then suddenly Caleb clears his throat, causing you to gaze at him inquisitively, before he states in a slightly mirth-filled voice, "I do, but before I rush out the door like a mad man-"

"You are a mad man-" You add on quietly under your breath, but Caleb's pointed expression tells you that he heard that. You grin cheekily.

"...I have one last thing I need to do." He mumbles in a low tone as you feel his fingers flex over your clothing.

Then he leans in, a soft kiss pressed gently against your forehead, warmth immediately spreading from the area, leaving a sense of comfort in its wake. A smile tugs at your face, your eyes slowly shutting as you try to savour this feeling. The feeling of being so loved and cared for on this average, early morning.

Caleb's affectionate arms slide around your back, resting on your waist, and subsequently pulling you closer into his kiss and his warm embrace. Then all too soon, Caleb's lips have pulled away and you can feel the small pout that starts to pull at your face.

However, before you can open your eyes, another kiss is pressed to your cheek, the same amount of love pouring off of the action, then another to your cheek, then your nose, and before you know it, Caleb starts to drown you in his affections. His lips (that are now curled into an adoring smile) press clumsily into any patch of skin it can find, filled with so much burning passion that it almost puts you into a daze. The ticklish feeling of his mouth dragging across your skin (dragging because you both know he hates the idea of parting with you more that anything) causes you to squirm and push against and away from him. His arms only tighten around you.

You laugh, throwing your head back as a result, and try to pull yourself away again. That only leads him to kiss from your shoulder all the way up past your neck and to your jaw, leaving the skin tingling and warm.

"Caleb!" You manage to squeal out while another giggle ripples through your body. This doesn't deter his violent assault in the slightest, though.

"You're gonna be even more late!" You huff out between laughs, then you finally find that his kisses slow to a reluctant stop.

He sighs as he looks at you, his head resting on your shoulder. As you look towards this man's face, you find a smile that holds so much love paired with eyes that glimmer with joy, stare back at you in adoration.

"Fine, I'll go, but just one more before I leave." He mumbles, eyes glancing down to your lips before he leans in again. His mouth pushes gently against your own while his fingers rub tenderly into your back. Then, after a moment passes, he pulls back unwillingly because he knows if he doesn't leave now, he won't leave at all.

Even much later, when he's writing some reports at his desk, his mind will think back to that morning you two spent together and he won't be able to hide that longing smile that tugs at his face.

He was SO late that morning but he didn't care one bit because he got to spend those few moments that he'll cherish forever with you. You think I'm joking but I'm not, he won't ever forget that day because of how domestic and silly that morning was. It was everything he wanted and more

He just loves you

<3

This was supposed to be a short drabble, but then I started writing and now it's a 1k fic. I don't think I've written so much before in my life 😭 Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and if you see any mistake, no you don't (Pls tell me in all seriousness though!!) [:

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

~{ Heyyyy, So not much to say just felt like making this lol }~

•Soul Watcher•

Jason was getting real sick of dealing with cults.

Ok wait let’s back up a bit, So Jason and the bats don’t have to deal with cults in Gotham all to much like only a one or two a year and when they did happened someone else could find them before the cult could really do anything.

But unluckily right now he and the bats were fighting off cultists in a warehouse while trying to get to where some other cultist are in a circle chanting, the reason for them being this late and not stopping the cult earlier is because they somehow got the bat-computer to overlook any suspicious activity from them as well as bribed some cops to get what they want.

And after 14 or so minutes with all the cultists down Jason goes over to the main guy and start to tie him up (As he can’t kill him with Bruce literally 20 steps from him) but before he can finish the guy bangs his head into the concrete floor and as result starts to bleed from his nose and yells something out but what has Jason’s attention and the rest of the bats is the Lazarus green smoke coming out of the summing circle.

Jason of course try’s to jump back, key word try’s. The smoke makes a clawed hand and grabs his ankle and pulls him into the green smoke and than everything goes black..

Jason woke up to the sound of running water and…humming?

So Jason gets up and walks towards the sounds, as he walks he looks at the black marble for the pillars and floor and how there is no sky or land just space with stars and that when he notices that the humming and running water coming from behind a thin-semi transparent fabric going from the ceiling to the floor and somewhat overlapping on itself.

Jason walks up to the fabric as quietly as possible and pushes it back a bit just enough to see what was behind it and that’s when he sees it two streams

One had pure and clean water with white pearls with a blue tint, The other one had gray water with black pearls with a green tint. the two Streams circled around each other but never touching and in the middle was what the closest thing to a nest made out of blankets and pillows.

And that’s when Jason saw the person who was in the nest thing and they saw him…Why was this reminding Jason of a book he read.

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Background•

The G.I.W were so dumb.

They thought that just because ghost were “Non-sentient” and “Dangerous” they decided to fucking NUKE THE GHOST ZONE.

You know which held all of the afterlife’s and made sure everything that was alive….you know exist so if the G.I.W planed actually worked everything would kinda just fall apart and cease to exist.

And it wouldn’t be possible to make a nuke that would actually work but with Government money and the Fentons work, they somehow actually made it and sent it through a portal the Fentons remade in a different location.

But of course you can’t nuke the Ghost Zone so it threw it back to the G.I.W and there world and with how much power they put into that fucker it did what it was supposed to…but with WAY worse consequences for the G.I.W and Fentons, So that world is a lost cause.

Now let’s go over to what Danny was doing.

He was with Clockwork discussing how he’s holding with Dan. After rehabilitating Dan Vlad gave him a clone body so he can walk around without a mass panic over him but after a VERY close call with the G.I.W where they got a lucky shot the clone body started to melt so Danny followed his (Ghost) Instincts and grabbed Dan core and shoved it in his gut.

And like a normal (well as normal you can be as a half-ghost) person Danny starts losing his shit like “Why the Fuck did I just do that?!?” And “Did I just technically eat Dan???” So after a panic attack or two Danny books it to Clockworks tower and tells him what happened and to just…help????

Well Danny is currently starting on panic attack number three Clockwork just grabs his shoulders and make him sit down on some very soft chair and after a minute or two Danny chills out a bit Clockwork explains what this means and that Danny’s essentially pregnant with Dan [“No Danny you did not eat Dan”].

And they now meet every other day just to talk and for Clockwork to explain more about being a ghost so something like this doesn’t happen again while they are talking about things they suddenly feel like the whole Ghost Zone just did something so Clockwork goes to check it out with Danny not far behind him.

And as they try to see what could have gone down and that when Danny sees one of the time string that look like it exploded and points it out to clockwork, And Clockwork looks at the string with surprise and turns to Danny after a moment with knowledge of what’s going to happen and tells Danny that this string was Danny’s home-world. [Now for The Panic Attack: Part four the musical]

After a couple weeks Danny’s mostly okay (He is pregnant he’s emotional and ghost are already extremely emotional beings and he has to deal with everything he’s ever known and lived is dead so leave him alone) and Clockwork gives him the job of Watcher Of Souls with his usual cryptic bullshit.

And now we’re here!

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Little Facts•

•The Pearls in the stream are souls of all living things.

•I headcanon that The Ghost Zone is somewhat sentient but it doesn’t have thoughts, Just Vibes

•The old Watcher just stoped caring about it and that’s how so many people got brought back from the dead and how Danny become a halfa

���Vlad is NOT a halfa, he’s just possessing his own corpse that his core is keeping looking alive but he looks very uncanny valley to humans and is very gruesome and uncomfortable for Ghost, Its half the reason Danny hated him on sight the rest is his “Rich Asshole meter” going off

•Clockwork hates the Flash family so much, He would want the Fuckers dead but he doesn’t want them to cause MORE problems for him and Danny

•Danny hangs out with Lady Gotham a lot so he knows who the bats are

•The Bat-fam are freaking the fuck out

•Danny spends a lot of time by the streams and with Dusk he wants to be comfortable so he made a nest :)

•Danny lets Jason stay in his lair until someone comes to get him

•Jason feels like he’s in one of his romance novels and he LOVES IT

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Appearances•

Danny’s Appearance•

~{ And that’s it! Sorry if this is a bit scatter brained I had to do stuff while making this lol so sorry about that anyway hope you gremlins like it until next time byeeeee }~

[marie-swriting]

New Beginnings - Emily Prentiss

Masterlist

Summary : Emily discovers Andrew Mendoza, her boyfriend, wants to propose and as she thinks back to what you told her when you broke up years ago, she realises why she's so reluctant at the idea of marrying a man.

Warnings : set between s15 and s16, comphet, struggling with sexuality, lesbian Emily Prentiss, reader is queer but no label is used, mention of Emily's abortion and catholic guilt about it and her sexuality, angst, happy ending, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English is not my first language, tell me if you see some or if I missed any warnings.

Word count : 2.7k

French version

Song inspiration : Good Luck, Babe! by Chappell Roan

Emily blankly stares at the ceiling, her brain working fast and slow at the same time. She thinks back on her life, more specifically her relationships and the more she thinks about it, the more she notices a similarity in all of them.

Andrew Mendoza’s arm wraps itself around her waist, interrupting her train of thoughts. Emily’s body stiffens while she turns her head and looks at his sleeping face. She can’t believe she didn’t do anything to stop herself from getting into this situation. Feeling like she’s suffocating, Emily gets out of Andrew’s grip and goes to the bathroom without making any sound. The door closed, Emily drinks some water and then wets her face before putting her hands on both sides of the sink and looking at her reflection in the mirror. While she’s gazing at herself, Emily reminisces about the discovery she did earlier in the day.

As she was searching for one of her sweaters, she went through the entire closet where she found a ring in a red box hidden among her boyfriend’s socks. Emily panicked the second she saw the jewel, all at once she put it back in its place. Since then, she can’t stop thinking about what this ring means; Andrew plans on proposing to her nonetheless. When? She doesn’t know, she can’t stay in this relationship. Her head in her hands, she’s looking for a way to announce the awful news to Andrew. While she thinks about what she could say, a sentence and a voice she hadn’t thought about for a few decades make their way to her mind: “if you stay in denial, you’ll find yourself in a relationship you won’t want and one night, you’ll wake up in panic, wondering why you were so adamant on being someone you’re not.” You had said this to her when you were both fifteen.

You and Emily had become friends as soon as she first arrived in your school in Rome. You were inseparable and you shared your deepest secrets; one of them being you were questioning your sexuality which brought you closer. For the first time in your life, you felt understood. At first, it was platonic. From time to time, you were talking about how you were feeling, your interrogations and depending on the day, you’d reassure one another.

However, one night when Emily had invited you over, your relationship shifted. You kissed, your first kiss with someone from the same gender. At first, it was just to try, to be sure you liked girls, then, after a few more tries, you confessed to Emily your kisses meant a lot to you. Consequently, you had accepted to discover this new side of your relationship. There wasn’t a label on it, though you would kiss whenever you could, get jealous and do everything together. You were just experimenting. Yet, you were more in it than Emily. You wanted more, but she was always reluctant. Understanding perfectly your best friend, you hadn’t insisted on being official even if you would have wanted to. You were just two best friends who kissed. For you, it was reason enough to not meet other people, for Emily, it was really not the same.

One day, while you were going to school, you found her kissing John Cooley, a friend you had in common. Your heart had shattered into a billion pieces for the first time in your life. Sure, you were still discovering who you were, nevertheless you weren’t expecting her to kiss someone else, let alone a guy. Looking at her from afar, you had seen her smile, though you knew she was faking it. You were so hurt you ignored Emily for a whole week. Noticing your change, Emily took you aside during break, away from all the ears.

“What’s wrong? Why are you avoiding me?” Emily asked you.

“When were you gonna tell me about you and John?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she denied, looking away.

“Sure, you don’t,” you laughed humorless. “I saw you kissing him last week. I can’t believe you did this to me.”

“We never agreed on being together.”

“Because you never wanted to label it! And I’m not mad at you for that, I just didn’t think you’d kiss other people. I knew I should have put an end to this a long time ago,” you sighed, your heart beating loudly in your chest. “So, is he your boyfriend?”

“If you absolutely want to know, yes, he is. Besides, me and you, it was more to experience things. It was never love.”

“Wow, I can’t believe it. Let’s see how it lasts between you two.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re wasting your time with him,” you replied, taking a step forward. “We both know you don’t like guys.”

“I can like boys and girls!”

“Sure you can, but you said it yourself several times, you’re not sure you love guys and you feel like you’re searching for their validation. I think that says a lot.”

“You don’t know how I feel. You’re not in my head,” Emily retorted, defensive.

“True, though I know you well enough. You can try to convince yourself all you want, it’s not gonna change who you are. But you know what? It’s not my problem. You took me for a fool for too long, I’m done, so go ahead, be with him,” you stated, tearing up. “Keep kissing him, go kiss other guys even, if it can make you feel better but if you stay in denial, you’ll find yourself in a relationship you won’t want and one night, you’ll wake up in panic, wondering why you were so adamant on being someone you’re not. And even if I don’t wish you an unfulfilling relationship, I will tell you ‘I told you so’. You’ll see. You can deny all you want, but we know the truth, so good luck, Emily.”

On those words, you walked away, leaving Emily alone with her denial, yet also her heartache. She might have been too proud to admit it, but losing you hurt her a lot purely and simply because she hadn’t just lost a best friend.

The following morning, Emily is exhausted. She only slept two hours as her dark circles under her eyes prove it. At the crack of dawn, Emily leaves the apartment she shares with Mendoza, leaving him alone, and goes to a café near the BAU headquarters. She orders a black coffee, hoping it’ll keep her awake. Her order ready, Emily is about to walk out from the place when a familiar face catches her attention. She does a double take, staring at the person sitting at a table away from her and once she’s sure she’s not mistaken, she walks towards them. At the table, Emily says your name out loud, making you look up. A surprise expression takes place on your face, realising who is in front of you.

“Emily Prentiss! What a surprise!” you exclaim with a big smile. “How long has it been? You know what, don’t tell me, I don’t want to feel old. I already struggle hiding my gray hair.”

“We're the same on this,” she laughs. “I didn’t know you were in D.C..”

“I moved here three months ago. What about you? You’ve been here for a long time? What do you do?”

“I moved about twenty years ago. I’m working for the FBI, at the Behavioral Analysis Unit, more specifically.”

“Wow, that’s something! It doesn’t surprise me, you’ve always been so intelligent,” you genuinely say and Emily’s cheeks start to heat up.

“What about you? Are you an English teacher, like you wanted?”

“Yes, I am. I work in a high school not too far from here. There’s a good team and the students are majorly nice.”

“That’s great. Sorry, one second,” Emily replies when her phone rings. She takes it and checks her notification. “I gotta go, duty calls, but I’m so happy I saw you. If you’re up for it, we could meet again? To make up for the lost time.”

“I’d love that,” you state before writing your number on a piece of paper. “Call me when you’re free.”

“I will. See you, then.”

“See you,” you say, waving at her.

Emily leaves the café, beaming in a way she didn’t expect to today. On the way to the BAU, Emily reminisces about your relationship and the cute moments, whether they’re from after or before your first kiss. However, the happy feeling stops once she remembers your last fight. She’s always regretted the way things ended between you two. She wishes she could have fixed things when you were still going to the same high school, however she wasn’t brave enough to do so. Now that she’s found you again, maybe it’s time to make amends? She doesn’t know if you’ll accept her apology but she has hope. After all, you didn’t push her away when she came to talk. And if you still hold a grudge, Emily will do everything to change that. She wants to make things better between you two, like she should have.

The following weeks, Emily spends them as much as she can at work - which isn’t complicated - so she can avoid Andrew. She knows she has to break up with him, nevertheless she doesn’t know how to do it. Though she can’t wait too long, Andrew might propose shortly; she has to end the relationship before it’s too late. Consequently, Emily decides it’s time to stop running away from the problem. She comes home earlier than expected as she thinks about what to say. The second she walks through the door, she finds Andrew sitting on the couch. She was hoping she’d have more time. Emily puts her bag down, next to the front door and walks towards him; she sits down beside him, though she keeps a small distance. Right away, Andrew notices something is wrong, Emily didn’t greet him with a kiss to say hello. Uncomfortable, Emily wets her lips before speaking.

“I found the ring,” she confesses, point blank. “It was an accident, I was looking for my sweater and I found it.”

“Oh, and judging by your face, you’re not excited about it,” Andrew says, embarrassed. 

“I spent most of my life hiding who I am and it’s time to stop. It’s better to stop now before our relationship passes this milestone,” Emily announces softly. “You’re a good man and you deserve better, a woman who will genuinely love you.”

“At least, you did it before I got down on one knee,” he nervously laughs. “I get it, Emily.”

“I’m sorry, I never wanted to hurt you.”

Emily and Andrew stay silent for a few seconds, the tension being heavy. Emily doesn’t know what to do to make the situation less difficult. Andrew ends up clearing his throat and standing up.

“I’m going to spend the night at a friend’s, I need to be alone if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.”

Andrew quickly packs a bag before getting out of the apartment. Hearing the door closing, Emily sighs in relief. Not being with Andrew anymore is like a weight being lifted off her shoulders, a weight she didn’t know was crushing her. Of course, she feels bad about breaking Andrew’s heart but it was the right thing to do and this feeling of being relieved is the proof of it. Emily can finally be free to be who she is. From now on, she won’t hide herself, she makes that promise to herself.

You end up meeting Emily two months later. Cases kept her occupied while final exams did the same to you. She told you to meet at a bar halfway between your two apartments. You arrived first so you settle down at a table and check your phone, waiting for her. Emily comes ten minutes later. As soon as she’s in front of you, you notice her hair is now gray. You find her even more beautiful.

“You changed your hair. I love it,” you remark with joy.

“Yeah, I was tired of dying it so I decided to accept my gray hair,” she says, nervously running a hand through it.

“You did the right thing. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

Before you begin to talk, a waiter comes to take your order then leaves. Once you’re alone, Emily tells you about when she moved to D.C. and you tell her about how you ended in the same city when the waiter comes back with your two glasses of red wine. The conversation flows naturally, as if you had never stopped talking, as if Emily hadn’t broken your heart years ago.

At one point, the infamous question about relationships comes. You simply answer by saying you’re single. You quickly talk about your last lover before asking her the same question.

“I noticed you don’t have a ring on your finger so either you’re like me and you haven’t found the perfect match or you divorced recently,” you suggest and Emily takes a large sip of her wine, trying to hide her uneasiness. 

“Well, I could have been engaged but I broke up two months ago,” she starts before clearing her throat. “I wasn’t in love with… him. You were right from the beginning. Come on, you can say ‘I told you so,’ I know you’ve been waiting for this since we were fifteen,” Emily adds and your heart tightens a little in your chest. 

“I’m not gonna lie, my fifteen-year-old self would have said it with a big smile on her face, but I won’t. It pains me to know you struggled so much with your sexuality,” you say, putting your hand on her wrist for a second.

“I wasn’t as brave as you when it comes to this.”

“I was only brave because you were with me. After our…,” you begin, looking for the right word, “fight, I took a step back. I could only talk about this with you so once we stopped talking, I struggled again. I had to wait until my third year of university to fully accept myself.”

“You were still quicker than me.”

“I was, yeah. I guess your faith didn’t help either,” you say, drinking.

“You have no idea. Especially when you get pregnant as a teenager and the priest tells you you can’t go back to church if you get an abortion. If he had this opinion about abortion, I don’t want to imagine what he thought about homosexuality,” Emily informs, casually, making you frown.

“I didn’t know you had an abortion.”

“It was after our fight. Only John and Matthew knew. The fact is, in the end, it was hard. Fortunately, I’ve accepted that I'm a lesbian. Better late than never like we say.”

“True.”

“You know, I’m really sorry for the way it ended between us. You were there for me and I only pushed you away and hurt you,” Emily says before taking a deep breath. “You were my first love and I ruined everything when you were nothing but patient with me, at least until I pushed it too far. Losing you is my biggest regret.”

Hearing Emily’s apology warms your heart. You moved on years ago though you’d be lying if you said hearing those words didn’t heal something in you.

“You were my first love, too, and because of this, I was mad for years,” you admit. “It’s true what they say about your first queer breakup, it hurts like hell. But growing up, I understood why you acted the way you did so I stopped being mad.”

“It doesn’t mean I should have done what I did. I knew I’d hurt you by dating John and maybe that's what I wanted,” she says, her eyebrows knitting together. “Hurting you so you’d leave me and I could reject who I was a bit longer.”

“You’re not in denial anymore and I’m not mad so let’s move on.”

“Does that mean you’d accept me being in your life again?” Emily asks, nervous.

“I came tonight, didn’t I?” you rhetorically answer. “Of course, I want you in my life again. I missed you, Emily,” you confess, raising your glass.

Emily does the same and you clink your glasses before drinking to new beginnings. You smile to each other, glad to finally have left the past behind you. You don’t know what the future holds for both of you, whether it’s platonic or romantic again, it doesn’t matter, as long as you don’t lose each other once more, that’s all that matters.

Masterlist

[jazzy96scorpio]

Forty-Seven Minutes in Heaven

Stuck With My Professor

Description: A student and her professor get stuck in an elevator. Awkward, right? Not for long. Turns out, they've both got a bit of a crush on each other. Throw in some dark elevator anxiety, a little hand-holding, and a whole lot of flirting, and suddenly that elevator's feeling pretty cozy.....you know how it goes. 😉

Pairing: You / Reed Richards

Warnings ⚠️: Adult content, Minors do not interact, Romantic/suggestive content, student/professor relationship, anxiety attack (small space), kissing/touching.

Word count: 1,3 k

I wrote this for 47 minutes in Heaven challenge. By @toomanystoriessolittletime

His name was Reed Richards. Brown eyes, a tumble of brown curls, and a kindness that seemed to radiate from him – he was undeniably handsome. You'd noticed it from the back row of his quantum physics class, the way his gaze lingered, the soft curve of his smile when you offered an insightful answer. It was flattering, yes, but it also sent a flutter of nervous energy through you.

One day after class, he asked you to stay. "Just a moment," he said, his voice a low, resonant hum. "About your essay."

Your heart did a little dance. He praised your work, his eyes sparkling. "Excellent," he said, "truly remarkable insights."

"Thank you, Professor Richards," you replied.

"Reed," he corrected, his smile widening. "Please, call me Reed."

As your conversation ended, you found yourselves walking toward the elevator together.

"Going down?" he asked, and opened the door for you.

"Yes, thank you," you said, stepping inside.

The doors slid shut, and a comfortable silence settled between you. Then, a sudden lurch, and the elevator stopped. The lights flickered, dimmed, and died, plunging you into near darkness.

"Oh," you gasped, your hand instinctively reaching for the wall.

"Don't worry," Reed said, his voice calm and reassuring. "Probably just a temporary power outage."

He pressed the emergency button, but nothing happened. A faint hum of the emergency lights flickered on, casting long, distorted shadows.

"Looks like we're stuck for a bit," he said and looked at you.

Your heart pounded. "This is…unexpected," you managed, your voice a little shaky.

"Indeed," Reed said, his voice low. "But it gives us a chance to continue our conversation."

"About my essay?" you asked, trying to keep your voice even.

"It's not just your essay," he said, his voice softer. "I've been really impressed with you all semester. You understand things so well, and you're very mature for your age."

You smiled at him, "Thank you, Reed," you managed, the compliment making you both thrilled and even more nervous. "That's very kind of you to say."

"It's simply the truth," he said, his voice sincere. "You have a unique perspective, and a passion for learning that's truly inspiring."

He paused, and in the dim light you could see his eyes fixed on your face. "I find it…refreshing."

You swallowed, your heart pounding against your ribs. The air in the elevator felt thick with unspoken tension. "I…I enjoy your class," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "You make even the most difficult concepts understandable."

"I'm glad to hear that," he said, his voice softer now. "Because I enjoy having you in my class. You're a bright light."

He took a step closer, and you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "Actually, I'm glad we got stuck. I've been wanting to tell you this."

Just as you were about to respond, the emergency lights flickered violently, then died completely, leaving you in absolute darkness.

A wave of panic washed over you, cold and sharp. You gasped, your breath catching in your throat.

"Hey, it's alright," Reed's voice, a low, reassuring rumble, cut through the darkness. "I'm right here."

You felt his hand find yours, his touch warm and grounding. "I... I hate the dark," you stammered, your voice trembling. "And small spaces."

"I know," he said, his voice gentle. "Just breathe with me, okay? In...and out..."

He guided your breathing, his voice a soothing rhythm against the frantic pounding of your heart. You tried to focus on his words, on the warmth of his hand in yours, but the darkness was disorienting, amplifying your fear.

"I can't..." you whispered, your voice thick with panic.

"Yes, you can," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "Just trust me. I won't let anything happen to you."

Suddenly, his other arm wrapped around you, pulling you close. His embrace was firm, comforting. His warmth seeped into you, chasing away some of the chill that had gripped your body. You could feel his heart beating against your own.

"It's okay," he murmured, his voice close to your ear. "Just breathe. I'm here."

He held you tightly, his hand gently stroking your back. His scent, a blend of sandalwood and something uniquely about him, filled your senses. His touch was gentle, his hands so warm you could feel you will melt if he keeps holding you like that.

"Try to think of something else," he whispered. "Something happy. A memory, a place... anything."

You closed your eyes, trying to imagine peaceful image. The warmth of his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, began to calm the frantic beating of your own heart.

He continued to whisper soft words of comfort.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice low and reassuring. "You're doing great. Just breathe. I'm right here. And I'm not going anywhere."

The emergency lights flickered back to life, casting a soft, yellow glow across the elevator. Reed was still holding you, his arms tightly around you. You looked up at him, and he smiled, a warm, genuine smile that reached his eyes.

"See?" he said softly. "You're alright. You did great."

He held you for a moment longer, then slowly pulled back, his hands lingering on your arms. "You were very brave," he said, "It's perfectly normal to be afraid, especially in a situation like this."

A few minutes passed, the silence was between you, then as if to break the tension, he said, "Well, since it seems we might be here for a while, perhaps we should make ourselves comfortable."

He gestured to the floor, and you both sat down, leaning against the cool metal walls.

He started a casual conversation, asking about your studies, your interests, your dreams. He listened intently, his eyes fixed on you. He seemed genuinely interested in everything you had to say.

His kindness was palpable, his presence calming. You felt your nervousness fading, replaced by a sense of ease.

"So," he said, "are you…single?"

Your heart skipped a beat. "Yes," you replied, your voice barely a whisper.

A slow, warm smile spread across his face. "Good," he said softly. "Because I was thinking…maybe we should get some coffee after this. If we ever get out of here, that is."

"I'd like that," you said, your own smile mirroring his.

You could notice he blushed a little, "Really?" he asked, his voice a little breathless.

"Yes," you said, your courage growing. "I like you, Reed."

His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise and something undeniably like joy, in their depths. "You do?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Yes," you confirmed, your gaze locking with his.

"I do," you repeated, your voice a little stronger this time, meeting his gaze. "I've…I've admired you for a while now."

A soft laugh escaped his lips, a sound that was both surprised and delighted. "Admired me?" he asked, his eyes sparkling. "I thought I was the only one doing the admiring."

"You were admiring me?" you asked.

"From the moment you walked into my class," he confessed, his voice low. "Your intelligence, your passion... it's captivating." He paused, his gaze softening. "And, well, you're quite beautiful, too."

Your smiled and you met his gaze, a sense of daring emboldening you. "I've noticed you looking at me," you said, your voice a whisper. "And the way you smile…it always made me feel…seen."

He reached out, his fingers gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "I wanted you to feel seen," he said, his voice husky. "I wanted you to know that I saw you, really saw you."

The air crackled with unspoken emotions. The close confines of the elevator, the shared vulnerability of the past few minutes, had created an intimacy that felt both fragile and powerful.

"So, we are going on a little date?" he asked, his voice a little breathless. "After this…adventure?"

"Definitely," you replied, your smile widening. "As long as we promise to take the stairs next time."

He chuckled, a warm, genuine sound. "Deal," he said. "Though, I must admit, I'm rather enjoying this unexpected detour."

"Me too," you admitted, your heart fluttering. "Though, I'm also ready to get out of here."

"Of course," he said, "But I'm glad we had this time. To talk, to…connect."

"Me too," you whispered, your eyes locking with his.

A comfortable silence settled between you, but weariness crept in. Half hour already passed and you were really tired. You leaned your head against the wall, closing your eyes for a moment. The hum of the emergency lights was a low, soothing drone.

"You seem tired," he said, his voice soft, breaking the quiet.

"I am," you admitted, your voice a little raspy. "I haven't slept properly in nights."

"That's no good," he said, "What's been keeping you up?"

You hesitated for a moment, then decided to be honest. "Just…a lot of studying," you said, "and…things."

He nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. "Well," he said, "maybe this unexpected break will give you a chance to rest a little."

He shifted slightly, and you felt his gaze on you, warm and comforting. "You know," he said, his voice low, "you don't have to push yourself so hard. You're already doing incredibly well."

You meet his gaze. "Thank you," you said, a soft smile playing on your lips. "That means a lot."

"You look uncomfortable like that," he said, his voice soft with concern. "Come here."

He shifted closer, and with a gentle motion, he patted his shoulder. "Put your head here," he said. "Rest if you're tired."

You smiled and you leaned against him, your head resting on his shoulder. His enveloped you again, making your senses swim. The warmth of his body was a comforting.

Suddenly, you felt his hand reach for yours, his touch light and gentle. He turned your hand over, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of your palm. "I like your nails," he murmured, his voice low.

You looked down at your hands, then back up at him, a soft smile playing on your lips. "Thank you," you whispered.

He leaned closer, his eyes fixed on yours. "Can I kiss you?" he asked, his voice a low murmur.

Instead of answering, you leaned in and kissed him first. It was a soft, tentative kiss, a question asked and answered in the space between your lips.

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your skin.

The kiss deepened, becoming more insistent, yet still gentle. You could feel his breath warm against your skin, his own breathing quickening. A low groan escaped his lips.

"I want you," he whispered against your mouth, his voice husky. "So bad."

"I want you too," you breathed, your own desire mirroring his.

His hands gripped you tighter, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. The kiss intensified, becoming a hungry exploration, a silent expression of the longing that had been building between you.

He slowly guided you to your feet, his hands moving to your waist, pulling you against the cool metal of the elevator wall. The hard press of his body against yours sent a shiver down your spine, the unmistakable bulge in his pants a tangible reminder of his desire.

He trailed kisses down your jawline, his lips lingering on the sensitive skin of your neck.

"Your skin is so soft…I can't resist." he whispered to your ear.

A soft moan escaped your lips as his teeth grazed your skin. "And your touch…it's driving me wild, Professor."

His hands explored your body, his touch sending waves of heat through you. "I want to feel every inch of you." he murmured.

"Show me, Professor...show me how much bad you want me." you say pulling him closer.

His hands slid beneath your skirt, his touch sending shivers down your spine. "I crave your skin against mine...darling."

You let a low moan your heart pounding like crazy, "Don't stop. I need this...I need you."

He gently caressed your skin, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of your waist. "I've imagined this for so long." he murmured.

"Me too." you say kissing him one more time.

Then, his touch moved lower, his hand lightly brushing against your tights, lingering on the damp fabric of your panties. He teased, gently rubbing, sending waves of heat through you.

Just as the tension reached its peak, a sudden noise echoed through the elevator shaft. The doors slid open, revealing a startled maintenance worker.

"Oh, my apologies," he stammered, his eyes widening slightly. "There was a brief electricity shutdown. Everything should be back to normal now."

You quickly straightened your clothes, your heart still pounding.

You gathered your belongings, trying to regain your composure.

"Looks like we're free," Reed said, a hint of amusement in his voice, though his eyes held a smoldering intensity.

As you stepped out of the elevator, he took your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. "So," he said, his voice low, "are we still on for that coffee?"

You smiled, a mix of nervousness and excitement swirling within you. "Of course," you replied. "Maybe…at your place?"

A slow, warm smile spread across his face. "I'd like that," he said, his voice husky. He squeezed your hand gently. "I'd like that very much."

Thanks for the reading 💜

I hope so you liked it, please like, reblog and comment. 💙

Send me your requests and reviews.

[faeryseiko]

Ahead of me || Katsuki Bakugo

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A/N: Hi ! I haven't wrote since 2022 so I'm sorry if this one sucks but please take the time and tell me your thoughts on this one !! It is a song lyrics based fic, I LOVE the quirk I just cooked and might do an AO3 story with it...

WARNINGS : season 7 BIG SPOILERS. death, blood.

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Muffled screams, tears running down soft cheeks.

"If I could, I'd be your little spoon"...

I looked as Shigaraki threw Bakugo's body like an useless doll that he didn't want to play with anymore. My heart was beating strongly fast in my chest. I got up on my feet and ran to his side, sliding on my knees as I did so. I started to scratch my arms, the red powder falling on the hole of his chest.

Quirk name : Philosopher's stone

I kept scratching, normally it wouldn't even take a second before healing. But it didn't this time. I felt my own blood rolling on my arm and saw it going to mix with his on his chest. I heard Best Jeanist next to me as he just saw the student he taught yet learned so much from.

"No. No no nonononono" I started to panic as my eyes watered down. I was shaking a corpse, trying to wake it up. I put my forehead on his and was breathing uncontrollably.

"Y/n-san, with you around, we will not be scared of our injuries anymore. I know we can count on you !"

I remembered Izuku's words, now stabbing me as I felt useless again in my life. My best friend was lifeless before me and I couldn't even bring him back or save him.

My quirk wasn't a flashy one, nor did it help for defense. I had to work harder to prove myself worthy of being a hero. The number of times I felt useless watching my class fight as I could only stand watching on the sidelines. I hate it, I'm thankful for Aizawa that have let me show my worth.

"Your quirk is special, Y/n. Great sacrifices and hard work will have to be done to reach it's full potential."

I was shaking, taking his numb upperbody on my knees as I carressed his cheek with my thumb. His beautiful crimson eyes were now turned a pale pink color and his mouth gaped open to show the last breath he took. I let my forehead fall on his chest.

. . .

"One day, I'll become number one and will beat all bad guys like All Might !"

It was one of these times where Bakugo and I's parents would hang out and we would play in the park together. We were on top of the slides as we practiced our hero poses while laughing.

"I'm excited to see my quirk so I can now start ny hero journey, aren't you Bakugo?" I asked with a smile and to this he nodded with a proud smile.

"I already know mine will be awesome ! You'll just have to wait and see. It'll be so strong that it will surpass even All Might and AH-"

I jolted in surprise and panicked as I saw Bakugo fall from the slide's top. I carefully went down and sat down next to him. He winced in pain as he was holding his arm. After a few seconds, a blue color was appearing and that's when I knew it was broken.

"Bakugo, y-your arm-"

"Shut up I know !"

He tried to not let his tears fall and when I saw this, that's when I suddenly took his arm. I don't know how this happened... Even today, I am not able to reproduce what I did that day, but when I touched his arm, his arm healed itself, but in the process broking mine completely.

Bakugo smiled as he saw his new and healed arm.

"Y/n! Your quirk it finally came-"

His eyes widened, seeing me holding my arm in pain. His smile disappeared and I don't know what he thought at that time. That I had an useless quirk ? That I was pathetic ?

. . .

That day was my quirk's first appearance and I couldn't understand how I did it. I had the properties of a stone made with alchemy. Yet, I couldn't understand them exactly.

"And kiss your fingers forevermore..."

But then, it clicked.

I gently lift up Bakugo and hugged his figure, closing my eyes in the process. I focused on him, I had to.

"but big spoon, you have so much to do..."

Water filled my eyes as I sobbed, hugging him tightly, knowing this was my first and last.

....

I remember when I saw Bakugo and Deku fight against eachother, their first fight when they were teammed up with Uraraka and Iida. I looked in awe at both strenght.

Even though Izuku used to be quirkless, he showed himself worthy for All Might to give his quirk. Bakugo was mad and confused at the time, mad that Izuku had showed up randomly one day with a quirk that was strong. And confused on how it happened.

I was selfish to think that... but with Izuku I felt less alone next to Bakugo with his amazingly strong quirk. I had to work extra harder and might never catch up to them.

I also remember at the festival, against Kirishima I was nothing but an easy target. I have cried that day so hard, I even wondered what I was doing at U.A and why I stayed. Also on why our teacher kept me.

Aizawa taught Shinsou and I to still be strong even with a quirk that didn't give us boosted strenght, rapidity or stamina.

I have made so many good friends at U.A, but I knew that if for whatever reason someone had to leave, they had too much potential, too many hopes and dreams for it to be them.

"And I have nothing ahead of me..."

I have made so many great memories, so many. I felt my chest getting lighter and breathing turned so easy to do. Weights on my shoulder turned into empty ones, you know that feeling before falling asleep ?

And as my chest softly stopped to move, I felt against my ear a heartbeat. By now, I was too weak to great him happily like I usually do.

I wish we had more time, more time for me ask for his help for math homework, more time for him to look behind him to look at me, as if having me helped feeling more confident.

Or more time for me to go shopping one last time with Mina, one more time for Shinsou and I to proudly look at our better fighting forms, one more time to play video games with the squad.

More time so I can admire the developpment Bakugo has made on himself.

Maybe, I can finally be useful to you, Katsuki ?

....

Bakugo's eyes opened softly as he heard Best Jeanist yelling out someone's name. Surprisingly, it wasn't his.

The pain he had felt on his chest left and the blood disappeared, he still felt some weight on his chest. He had a hard time moving, but when he looked down, he saw your h/c hair, your normally e/c vibrant eyes that were now closed forever.

He would call you a dumbass, but he knew you wouldn't hear him this time. He would call you a selfless idiot, because since the day you had your quirk, the coolest quirk he've seen in terms of healing, that's just who you've become.

His eyes watered down. He focused so much onto catching up with Deku that he hasn't looked behind him at the person who destroyed themselves just to catch up to him.

And now, it was too late for him to simply catch your hand to help you run with him.

---------------

song : Your Best American Girl - Mitski.

[kistnlads]

𝑬𝒏𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕

Zayne x FemReader | Short Fic, 2.7k Words | Anonymous Fic Request

Hintofthescene/Moans/Groans | Likes and reblogs are appreciated

⋆⋅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆ ❆ ⋆∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋆⋆⋅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆ ❆ ⋆∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋆⋆⋅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆ ❆ ⋆∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋆

You are his greatest distraction, the one thing he can never tune out. He’s memorized the rhythm of your heartbeat, sketched its shape in the margins of his reports, felt its pulse beneath his fingertips more times than he should. And when you remind him that he is tending to his patient, he loses another piece of his restraint.

He wants you.

Zayne exhales slowly, pressing his fingers into his temple. His mind should be focused on the neatly written reports before him, but instead…

Your heart.

Not metaphorically, not in some poetic, lovesick way. No, it’s your actual, anatomical heart. The one he’s listened to countless times, the one that flutters when you’re nervous, steadies when you’re at ease. The one that once faltered after an injury, forcing him to fight to keep it beating. He remembers the sound, the rhythm, the pulse beneath his fingertips.

And so he draws it.

Over and over. In the margins of reports, between scrawled medical notes, on the edges of prescription pads. It’s not just muscle and vessels to him. It’s yours. He knows it, could sketch it from memory, engraved into his mind like something sacred.

His pen scratches against the paper, outlining the delicate chambers, the intricate arteries, the pulse points where life surges through your body. But as his hand moves, the lines shift, detailing not just a perfect textbook heart, but something softer. 

A heart entwined with his own.

The thought sends a heat curling in his chest, but before he can tear the page out, a voice shatters the quiet.

“Still working this late, Dr. Zayne?”

His fingers tighten around the pen. He doesn’t need to look up to know it’s you.

But he couldn't help but wonder how you slipped in so silently—no creak of the door, no knock to announce your presence. Not that it mattered now. 

You stood by the closed door, arms crossed, a teasing smile playing on your lips. You’re tired, he can see it in the way you shift your weight, the faint haze of sleepiness clinging to your eyes, yet you’re here. And suddenly, his focus on the medical reports feels utterly pointless.

“Should you not be resting?” he counters, voice steady despite the warmth creeping into his collar.

You huff, stepping inside. “Funny. I was about to say the same to you.”

You step closer, gaze flicking down to his open journal. Before he can close it, your fingers dart out, flipping the pages back to reveal his sketches.

And then—silence.

You start to take in the countless drawings. Some clinical, detailed, precise. But others… others are different. It was a secret he never meant to reveal.

“What’s this?” Your fingers brush the edge of the page, tracing the inked lines. “You seem to have drawn this a lot.”

Zayne swallows. Deny it. Say it’s just a medical habit.

Your gaze lifts, locking onto his, searching. And he sees it, the slight hitch in your breath, the same racing pulse he’s memorized.

“Zayne…” Your voice is different now as his pulse thrums in his ears.

He exhales.

“I find myself thinking about it more often than I should.” His voice is low, edged. “Your heart. The way it beats. The way it—” 

His jaw tightens. He should take the journal back. Should laugh it off, tell you it’s nothing. But he doesn’t move. 

“How long?” Your question sends a bolt of panic through him. “How long have you been drawing my heart?” 

He can’t answer. He thought he shouldn’t. Because if he does, if he gives even the slightest inch then you’ll know everything.

“When you check my pulse, when you listen to my heartbeat, do you picture this?”

Zayne clenches his teeth, every muscle in his body coiled tight. His instinct is to pull away, to put distance between you and him before he does something reckless.

But then—

You take his hand. Press it flat against your chest, fingers splayed over the smooth fabric of your white dress, right over where your heart beats for him.

Your fingers tighten around his wrist, keeping his hand right where it is. “Tell me… what do you feel?”

His breath is slow, measured, but he can feel it. Your pulse beneath his palm, the delicate but insistent rhythm of you. It would be so easy to pretend this is just another examination. Just another routine check.

But it isn’t.

He spoke your name, his voice was strained, barely holding together, and you tilt your head, lips curving in the faintest ghost of a smile. 

“That doesn’t sound like an answer.”

Damn you.

Zayne could lie. He could tell you he hears nothing unusual, that your vitals are fine, that this is meaningless.

But the way you’re looking at him—curious, knowing, waiting—he knows you won’t let him get away with it.

And then… he pulls away.

The loss of contact is abrupt, but he doesn’t let himself hesitate as he tries his best in ignoring the way his fingers still burn from touching you.

“This is inappropriate.” His voice is clipped, controlled. 

You didn’t move.

Instead, you study him, slow and careful, as if trying to piece him together.

“Why do you always do that?”

His brow furrows. “Do what?”

“Run.”

The word hangs between the two of you, heavy and unrelenting. Zayne’s lips press into a thin line. His shoulders square, arms crossing over his chest in a practiced display of distance.

“I do not.”

You huff, shaking your head. “You’re doing it right now.”

You take a step forward, and Zayne forces himself to hold his ground. He won’t retreat again. 

“You think I don’t notice? The way you look at me when you think I won’t see? The way you touch me just a little longer than necessary? And now this—” You gesture to the journal still open on the desk, the evidence of his obsession laid bare.

His heart slams against his ribs.

“I want you to say it.”

He knows what you mean. And you want him to admit it. To say the words he’s kept locked behind clenched teeth and medical reports and foolish sketches in the margins of his notes.

Zayne swallows hard, forcing himself to meet your gaze. It would be easy—so damn easy—to close this distance. To grab your wrist, to pull you against him, to press his lips to yours just to see if you’d melt against him the way he’s imagined too many times.

So instead, he exhales through his nose, and responds, “You are asking for something dangerous.”

“I can handle danger.”

Of course you can. That’s what terrifies him the most. You’re not someone fragile, someone he can keep at arm’s length forever. You’re relentless, unyielding, just as stubborn as he is. And if you made up your mind about something—about him—then there’s no stopping you.

Your lips curl, amusement flickering in your eyes. “How about you, Dr. Zayne?”

“This is a mistake. You do not know what you are asking for—”

“Then tell me to leave.”

Zayne’s teeth grind together. You’re giving him another out, a way to escape before he ruins everything. But you don't realize—he’s already ruined.

His control is slipping, unraveling piece by piece, and the more you look at him like that, like you’re his, the more he feels himself cracking.

He spoke your name again, but you cut him off.

“Tell me to leave, Zayne.” Your voice is steady. “And I will leave—”

Just like that—he snaps.

His fingers curl around your wrist, flipping your positions in a single, fluid motion. In a breath, you’re against the desk, and he’s in your space now—caging you in, pressing your back until there’s nowhere left to run.

His other hand comes up, gripping the edge of the desk beside you, effectively trapping you between his body and the cold surface.

Your breath catches, eyes wide, but you didn’t pull away. You don’t want to. And that—that—is what breaks him most of all.

“Do you truly believe that I do not want you?” His voice is low, rough, and dangerous. His grip tightens slightly, his pulse a wild, erratic thing in his throat. “Do you think I do not—” 

He exhales sharply, shaking his head. Your lips part, breath uneven.

You’re everything—too close, too warm—and Zayne has spent too long pretending he could live without this. Without you.

Your gaze searches for him. “What are you so afraid of?”

His throat works, his entire body burning from the inside out. Then, slowly and painfully, he brings his forehead to yours, your breaths mingling in the sliver of space that remains between the two of you.

“You.”

Zayne’s lips crash against yours, fierce and unrelenting, as he presses you against the desk. His hands grip your waist, fingers digging in like he’s afraid you’ll slip away, but you’re not going anywhere. Not when his body is flush against yours, not when heat coils between you like a live wire.

You push off his lab coat, letting it slide to the floor, and your fingers work at his tie, loosening it with impatient tugs. He groans against your mouth as you make quick work of his buttons, exposing the warmth of his skin beneath your touch.

His breath is uneven, his restraint fraying at the edges. Then, without hesitation, his hands slide down, parting your legs as he steps between them. But you barely notice, not when he’s kissing you like this, like he’s starving, like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

Zayne’s grip tightens on your thighs as he presses in closer, his breath hot against your lips. His half-unbuttoned shirt hangs open, the tie loosely draped around his neck, forgotten. 

He’s never been like this before—never let himself want like this. Yet, your body is so damn willing beneath his hands, and he knows there’s no turning back.

“You drive me insane,” he rasps against your skin, his lips trailing down the curve of your jaw, nipping, tasting.

You shudder, your fingers threading into his hair, pulling him down to you again. “Zayne—”

A low growl rumbles in his chest, and then his hands slide up your thighs, gripping firmly as he tilts your hips toward him, his body slotting between yours in a way that sends heat pulsing through every inch of you. His lips find yours again, demanding, greedy, and swallowing every gasp.

The desk creaks beneath you as he presses you down against it, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your top, brushing against heated skin. You arch against him, pulling at his shirt with desperate fingers.

Zayne, for the first time, curses against your skin. His mind is clouding with need. He should take you. Right here. Right now. And he almost does.

But then—

Reality slams back into him.

This isn’t some dark alley, some hidden corner of the world where he can abandon every rule that’s been drilled into him. This is a place of work. A place meant for professionalism. 

This is an office. His damn office.

And here he is, about to take you on his desk like some reckless fool.

Zayne was a man of control. He had to be. 

A doctor who let his emotions interfere with his work was a liability. A mistake waiting to happen. 

And yet, he almost lost about any of that now. Not when you’re right in front of him, lips parted, skin burning against his touch.

Zayne stills. 

His muscles tense, his hands freezing where they rest against your body while your brows furrowed in frustration, lips kiss-swollen and tempting, so tempting.

“Why are you stopping?” You murmur, voice thick with want, fingers still buried in his hair.

His grip on your waist tightened for just a second before he forced himself to step back, though every fiber of his being protested. His shirt was open, his coat discarded somewhere on the floor, and you—you were still sitting on his desk, legs parted just enough to make him ache.

“Because this—” He exhaled sharply. “We cannot proceed with this here. It is unethical. This—this is not the appropriate place for such matters.”

He shut his eyes, inhaling deeply. 

“I must have some self-control.”

“Self-control?” You push off the desk slowly, purposefully, closing the space between the two of you in a way that makes his heart stutter. “You’ve been doing so well, haven’t you?”

You are testing him. And God help him, it was working.

Your fingers brushed over his collarbone, trailing lower, slipping beneath the fabric of his half-unbuttoned shirt.

Shit.

“We—” He exhales sharply, trying to ignore the way you’re still clinging to him.

“It’s late.” Your voice is light, breath fanning against his lips. “No one’s going to walk in.”

“I… I have patients,” he grits out, hands twitching where they rest on your waist.

You lift a hand, cupping his face with a gentleness that nearly undoes him.

“You’re always looking after everyone else. Always tending to someone. Always taking care of others.” Your fingers then trail down, brushing over the rapid pulse at his throat. “But aren’t you already tending to your patient?”

Zayne stiffens.

“P–Patient?”

You lean in, lips grazing his lower lip, and fuck, you know exactly what you’re doing to him.

“Dr. Zayne,” you murmur, voice sultry, and taunting. “Are you really going to leave your patient unattended?”

A sharp, amused breath escapes him, somewhere between a chuckle and a curse, then his grip tightens, dragging you back against him.

“You—” His voice is strained, his self-control crumbling all over again. “Are going to be the death of me.”

I smile against his lips. And just like that, the doctor abandons all reason.

OUTSIDE DR. ZAYNE’S OFFICE

Yvonne hummed quietly to herself as she approached Zayne’s office, her steps light. She didn’t knock, she already knew she wouldn’t be getting an answer. Instead, she reached for the sliding status sign on the door, smoothly shifting it from DOCTOR IN to DOCTOR OUT.

Just as she was about to turn away, a voice behind her made her freeze.

“What are you doing?”

Yvonne sucked in a breath, schooling her face into something innocent before turning to face Greyson, Zayne’s ever-diligent assistant. He stood there, arms crossed, an eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“Oh, you know,” she said breezily, clasping her hands behind her back. “Just… helping out. Thought I’d take something off Dr. Zayne’s plate. He’s been so busy, after all.”

Greyson narrowed his eyes. “Uh-huh. And that required switching his status to ‘Out’ when he’s clearly still inside?”

Yvonne laughed, waving a dismissive hand. “Maybe he just wants to be out for a bit, you know? Doctors need breaks too.”

Greyson didn’t budge. “Nurse Yvonne…”

She sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “You really ask too many questions, Dr. Greyson.”

“It’s my job,” he deadpanned.

Yvonne opened her mouth, ready to spin another excuse when suddenly, a very distinct sound cut through the quiet hallway.

A muffled thump.

Then another.

Greyson’s brow furrowed. “What was that?”

Yvonne laughed a little too quickly. “Oh, uh… probably just Dr. Zayne knocking over some books. You know how he is. Always juggling too many things at once.”

And then—

“Zayne—ahh—!” A voice rang out, breathless, followed immediately by a low, husky groan.

Yvonne winced.

Greyson blinked.

There was a beat of absolute silence before the sound of the desk creaking again, followed by another deep groan.

Yvonne pressed her lips together, trying very hard to pretend she wasn’t hearing this.

Greyson, on the other hand, was frozen. His face was carefully blank, but there was no mistaking the realization dawning in his eyes.

“They’re—” he started.

“Yep.” Yvonne didn’t even let him finish.

“In his office—”

“Uh-huh.”

“Right now—?”

“Sounds like it.”

Another moan. Louder. Longer. Breathless. Followed by a muffled whimper.

“Zayne… don’t stop—”

Greyson opened his mouth, then closed it, then scrubbed a hand over his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I wish I was.”

He turned to the door, his hand twitching like he was about to knock. 

“Nope! No, no, no, we do not need to check on that!” Yvonne lunged, grabbing his wrist before he could ruin whatever was happening inside. 

He exhaled sharply through his nose, pulling her hand away. “This is highly unprofessional.”

“So is eavesdropping,” Yvonne shot back.

“But, I’m his assistant, and I need to—”

“Yeah? You wanna assist him right now?” Yvonne arched her brow. “Wanna walk in and ask if he needs a goddamn clipboard?”

Greyson opened his mouth, then shut it, looking vaguely horrified. Yvonne smirked. 

“That’s what I thought.” She patted his shoulder. “Now come on, doctor. Let’s go before they finish, and we have to make eye contact later.”

And as they walked away, another muffled moan echoed behind them—loud enough that even Greyson, despite his best efforts, winced.

He groaned. “I’m taking the rest of the night off.”

“Good call,” Yvonne agreed. “You’ll need therapy after this.”

[bangchangbinnie]

The Name I Can’t Say c.yj (2)

summary: your soulmate’s name appears on your wrist when you turn twenty. you’ve spent your whole life dreaming of the moment you’ll finally see yours—until the ink spells out choi yeonjun, your best friend who doesn’t believe in soulmates.

pairing: childhood best friend!yeonjun x fem!reader

genre: angst, slow burn, soulmate au

This is a continuation to TNICS (here)

————

Y/N hadn’t been expecting him.

Not tonight. Not like this.

She had spent the past two weeks carefully avoiding any situation where he might see her, question her, get too close. She had convinced herself that if she just kept her distance long enough, things would go back to normal. That she could bury the truth so deep inside herself that it would never see the light of day. That she could pretend fate hadn’t decided this for her.

But all that effort had just gone up in flames.

Because now, he was here.

Yeonjun stood in her doorway, shoulders rising and falling with unsteady breaths, his eyes dark with something she couldn’t quite place—anger, hurt, betrayal. His entire body was tense, like he was barely holding himself together, like he had been carrying something too heavy for too long.

And she knew.

He knew.

A wave of panic crashed over her, sharp and overwhelming, making her fingers dig into the wood of the doorframe.

Yeonjun stood before her, his presence suffocating in a way it had never been before. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, his knuckles white at his sides. He looked different—like the weight of something unbearable had just settled onto his shoulders, like he was barely keeping himself from unraveling.

The apartment, once familiar and safe, now felt too small, too tight, too full of him.

His eyes—usually warm, usually laced with teasing amusement—were dark with something else entirely. Something raw. Something breaking.

And then, he spoke.

His voice wasn’t loud. It wasn’t angry, but it hit harder than if he had shouted.

“You knew.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted painfully, a deep, sinking feeling clawing at her ribs. She opened her mouth, scrambling for something to say—anything—but her throat closed up, trapping the words inside.

Yeonjun exhaled sharply, the sound almost like a laugh—except it wasn’t amused. It was disbelieving, unsteady.

And then, he stepped forward.

Not in the lazy, effortless way he usually moved, but more deliberate.

“How long?” he asked, his voice tight. His hands flexed at his sides, like he was holding himself back—from what, she didn’t know. She swallowed hard, her pulse roaring in her ears, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

“About 3 weeks”

His face changed.

His expression didn’t shift in the way it usually did—no sarcastic quip, no teasing smirk, no easy dismissal. It was slower than that, like the words were sinking in one by one, like they were physically pushing the air from his lungs.

The muscle in his jaw tensed. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

And for the first time in her life, she watched Yeonjun become completely, utterly speechless.

The moment those words left her lips, she watched something flicker behind his eyes—something sharp and raw, like a wound being ripped open, like she had just confirmed the very thing he had been afraid of.

For a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Then, the tension in his body snapped.

“Three weeks?” he repeated, his voice eerily calm, but it didn’t last. A sharp, humorless laugh tore from his throat, but there was no amusement in it—only disbelief, only something that barely masked the hurt beneath.

He shook his head, dragging a hand through his hair, the way he always did when he was trying to make sense of something that didn’t make sense at all.

“You’ve known for three weeks,” he said again, slower this time, as if saying it out loud would somehow change it, as if it might rewrite reality into something he could understand. His voice turned tight, clipped, strained. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Yeonjun—” But he wasn’t listening.

His frustration spilled over, his voice rising, his words cutting through the space between them like a blade.

“You’ve been acting weird. Avoiding me. Lying to me.” He let out a breath, sharp and uneven, his hands curling into fists. His eyes burned into hers, searching for something—an answer, an excuse, anything that might make this hurt less. “And the whole time, it was this?”

Y/N flinched, her fingers gripping the hem of her sweater so tightly that she thought the fabric might tear, but she forced herself to stand her ground.

Because what else could she do? What could she even say?

That she had tried? That every single day since the mark had appeared, she had thought about telling him but had swallowed the words instead?

That she had spent years falling for him only to have fate confirm what her heart had already known—but instead of joy, it had only brought her fear?

That she had known—from the very beginning—that if Yeonjun ever found out, this moment would play out exactly like this?

That no matter how much she had wanted to be his soulmate, she had never once believed he would want to be hers?

The words swelled in her throat, burning, suffocating—

But in the face of his anger, his betrayal, his pain—

She couldn’t bring herself to say any of them.

“Why?” Yeonjun exhaled sharply, his voice quieter now. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

Because you don’t want me.

Because you already said you’d ignore it.

Because I knew this was exactly how you would react.

The words pressed against the inside of her throat, but she couldn’t say them. Instead, she gave him the only truth she could. “Because I was scared.”

Yeonjun stilled. The anger on his face wavered, his lips parting slightly like he hadn’t been expecting that answer.

Y/N’s hands trembled at her sides. “I didn’t want things to change,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

Yeonjun let out a sharp breath, pressing his palm against his forehead as if he could physically push away the pounding in his skull. His fingers dragged through his hair, tugging slightly at the strands, his entire body tense like he was holding something back—anger, disbelief, maybe even something dangerously close to hurt.

“Damn it, Y/N,” he muttered, his voice low but edged with frustration, with something he wasn’t sure he even had the words for. It wasn’t just anger—it was exasperation, confusion, something raw sitting in his chest like a weight he didn’t know how to carry.

He dropped his hand to his side, his eyes burning into hers, jaw clenched so tightly it looked like he might shatter if he let himself feel too much.

Like if he didn’t keep himself together, he might break completely.

Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “You said it yourself, Yeonjun,” she whispered. “You don’t want a soulmate.”

His jaw clenched. “That’s not—”

You don’t believe in fate.” Y/N’s voice was quiet, but it cut through the space between them like a blade. Sharp. Final.

Yeonjun stilled, his jaw tightening, but she didn’t stop.

“You never have,” she continued, her voice trembling, but she forced herself to keep going. Forced herself to say the words that had haunted her since the moment she saw his name on her wrist. “You told me—you told me you’d ignore it.”

The second those words left her lips, she saw it.

The flicker in his eyes, the slight parting of his lips, the way his shoulders tensed like she had just landed a blow he wasn’t ready for. Like she had taken the very thing he had said so easily before and thrown it back at him, forcing him to taste the bitterness of it.

And she wished she didn’t see it.

Because if she could see it, if she could see the way it hurt him—then maybe, just maybe, part of him knew she was right.

Silence.

It stretched between them, thick and suffocating, until Y/N thought she might collapse under the weight of it.

Yeonjun looked away first. His fingers flexed at his sides, his entire body so tense, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

And then, after a long moment, he muttered, “Do you really think so little of me?”

Y/N’s breath hitched, the sound barely audible over the tense silence between them. Her heart slammed against her ribs, a frantic, uneven rhythm that made her feel unsteady, like the ground beneath her had just cracked open.

“What?” she whispered, but it came out more like a breath than an actual word—like she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.

She searched his face, desperate for something—a hesitation, a regret, anything that might soften the weight of what he had just said.

But Yeonjun’s expression remained unreadable, his lips pressed into a tight line, his eyes dark, guarded. Like he was bracing himself for something, like he had already decided what this meant for both of them.

And that terrified her more than anything

“That I wouldn’t even get a choice?” His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through her all the same. “That you just decided for me?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, her heart twisting violently inside her chest. “It wasn’t like that,” she murmured.

“Then what was it like?” Yeonjun asked, stepping closer. His eyes burned into hers, searching—begging for something to make this make sense. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you just—” He let out a shaky exhale, his voice breaking slightly. “Like you didn’t trust me enough to let me figure it out for myself.”

Her breath caught. It wasn’t about trust. It was about fear.

It was about knowing that no matter what choice he was given, he wouldn’t have chosen her.

But how was she supposed to say that?

How was she supposed to look at him and admit that she had spent years watching him run from love, watching him walk away from every girl who ever got too close, and she had been terrified of becoming one of them?

Yeonjun exhaled through his nose, his jaw clenching. “I don’t—” He stopped himself, pressing his lips into a tight line before finally muttering, “I need a second.”

And just like that—before she could stop him, before she could say anything—he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind him, and Y/N stood there, heart pounding, her whole world unraveling around her.

For weeks, she had been afraid of losing him.

And now, it felt like she just had.

-

Y/N didn’t know how long she stood there.

The air in the apartment felt thick, suffocating, pressing in on her from all sides. The last of Yeonjun’s words still echoed in her head, over and over, like a wound that refused to close.

She could still see the look in his eyes before he left—the rawness of it, the disbelief, the hurt buried beneath the frustration.

She had done this. She had broken something between them.

Her legs felt weak as she backed up, pressing her hands against the kitchen counter for support, trying to ground herself—but nothing worked. Because no matter how much she tried to steady herself, the truth was still there, undeniable and irreversible.

He knew.

And now, she had no idea if he would ever look at her the same way again.

-

Yeonjun didn’t go home.

He walked. The streets were nearly empty this late at night, the cold air biting at his skin, but he barely felt it. His thoughts were too loud, too consuming, spinning in circles he couldn’t break out of.

Y/N had known. For three weeks.

Three whole weeks of silence, of awkward tension, of her dodging his eyes like she was hiding a secret too big to be spoken.

Because she was, and all this time, he had been going crazy trying to figure out what had changed between them, only to find out she had known something that could’ve changed his entire life—and she hadn’t told him.

His fingers curled into fists, his pulse hammering beneath his skin. He wasn’t even sure what pissed him off more—the fact that she had kept it from him, or the fact that she had decided for him.

That she had made up her mind about how he would react before he even got the chance to process it for himself.

His soulmate.

She was his soulmate.

And she had been too afraid to tell him. That part—that part hurt the most. Because it meant she truly believed he wouldn’t have wanted her.

That she thought he would take one look at the mark on his wrist and turn his back on her. Was that really how little she thought of him?

Yeonjun exhaled harshly, raking his fingers through his hair.

No.

No, that wasn’t fair.

She hadn’t done this to hurt him. She had done this because she was scared. Scared of what this meant. Scared of losing their friendship. Scared of how he would react.

And the worst part? She wasn’t wrong.

Yeonjun had spent years saying he didn’t believe in fate. He had spent his entire life treating soulmates like they were just another expectation he never asked for. So maybe she hadn’t been wrong to think he wouldn’t want this.

Maybe she had just been protecting herself from something she thought was inevitable.

His chest ached, frustration bleeding into something heavier, something he didn’t know how to name.

Because no matter how angry he was, no matter how much he hated that she had lied to him—

None of it changed the fact that it was her. It had always been her, and now, he had no idea what to do about it.

-

“You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

Y/N blinked, her mind sluggish, barely registering Beomgyu’s voice before he dropped down onto the park bench beside her with his usual effortless ease. The wood creaked slightly beneath his weight, and before she could react, he tossed a crinkling bag of snacks into her lap—a silent offering, one that carried more understanding than she was willing to admit.

She sighed, her fingers tracing the ridges of the packaging, rolling the unopened bag between her hands as if the repetitive motion could settle the storm inside her. “That obvious?”

Beomgyu snorted, his laugh short and knowing. “Painfully.”

He stretched out, his arms draping over the backrest like he had all the time in the world, his posture relaxed despite the underlying tension in the air. But Y/N knew Beomgyu—he wasn’t just here to keep her company. He was here to pull apart whatever mess she was tangled in.

“So.” His voice was casual, but his sharp eyes didn’t miss a thing. “You finally told him?”

Her entire body went still.

The cool breeze drifting through the park suddenly felt colder. Her grip on the snack bag tightened, the plastic crinkling under her fingers.

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

Beomgyu exhaled through his nose, the sound soft but weighted, like he had already expected this outcome. He shook his head, tilting his gaze up toward the sky, the late afternoon light casting long shadows across the pavement.

“And it went exactly how you thought it would.”

His voice wasn’t mocking, wasn’t judgmental. It was simply factual. Like this was the inevitable result, like she had been walking toward this moment all along, step by step, with no way to turn back.

Y/N swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as she stared at the ground. Yeah. It did.

Her hands curled around the edges of her sleeves, knuckles turning white as she tugged them down, an old habit resurfacing under the weight of everything pressing against her chest. The fabric felt heavy against her skin, shielding the mark that had done nothing but remind her of the storm she had caused.

It had been burning ever since Yeonjun found out—not in the way that left scars, not in the way that could be soothed with a touch, but in the way that mattered.

Like a wound left open. Like it knew the damage had already been done. She let out a slow, shaky breath, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what to do.”

It was the truth, stripped bare, a confession she hadn’t even wanted to admit to herself. Her world had cracked, splintered at the seams, and she wasn’t sure if it was something that could ever be pieced back together.

She bit her lip, her throat tightening. “He was—he was angry, but he was hurt, too.” She paused, swallowing hard, blinking against the weight behind her eyes. “I think I really broke something between us.”

Beomgyu didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied her, his gaze steady and unreadable, as if weighing her words, as if trying to decide whether she was saying them because she truly believed them or because she was too afraid of the alternative.

Then, he let out a small sigh—one that carried more understanding than pity, more knowing than judgment.

“I think you’re both just scared,” he said finally, his voice even. Y/N’s breath hitched slightly, her fingers tightening around the sleeve of her sweater.

“Him,” Beomgyu continued, “because he doesn’t know how to deal with something this big. And you…” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “Because you never expected him to want this.”

A sharp, twisting ache curled in her stomach.

She forced out a small, brittle laugh, but it tasted bitter on her tongue. “Because he doesn’t.”

Beomgyu didn’t react the way she expected—he didn’t agree, didn’t say something comforting just to make her feel better. Instead, he raised an eyebrow.

“Are you sure about that?”

Y/N stilled.

Her grip on her sleeves faltered slightly, her breath catching in her throat as his words settled in her chest.

Was she? Because the way Yeonjun had looked at her last night—the sharp confusion in his eyes, the way frustration bled into something that looked almost like hesitation, the way he seemed like he had lost control of something he hadn’t even known he was holding—

It didn’t feel like rejection. It felt like something else entirely.

Y/N rubbed a tired hand over her face, exhaustion clinging to her bones like a second skin. “I don’t know,” she muttered, shaking her head slightly. Her voice sounded too fragile, too uncertain, and she hated it. “I just… I don’t know if things will ever go back to the way they were.”

Beomgyu let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as if she had just said something naive. “They won’t,” he said simply.

Y/N turned to him, something heavy pressing against her chest. “I figured.” But Beomgyu didn’t look at her with sympathy.

Instead, he gave her a small, almost amused smile, one that held something close to certainty. “That’s not always a bad thing, you know.”

Y/N didn’t answer.

Because the truth was, she wasn’t sure what scared her more—losing Yeonjun completely, or finding out that maybe, just maybe, this could be something more.

-

“I don’t know what to do.”

Yeonjun let out a long, uneven breath, his gaze locked on the ink staining his wrist like it held the answers he so desperately needed. The name—her name—stood out against his skin, as if it had always been there, waiting for him to notice.

But he hadn’t noticed. Not until it was too late.

The realization sat heavy in his chest, an unbearable weight pressing against his ribs, making it impossible to think straight.

Across from him, Soobin raised a single brow before lazily bringing his iced coffee to his lips, taking a slow sip like he had all the time in the world.

“You?” Soobin finally said, setting his cup down with a small thunk against the wooden table. “Choi Yeonjun? The guy who always acts like he has everything figured out?” He crossed his arms, leaning back. “Man, this must be bad.”

Yeonjun scowled, the comment barely registering beneath the storm in his head. “Not helping.” Soobin shrugged, unfazed. “Alright, fine. You’re talking, so I’m listening. What exactly are you confused about?”

Yeonjun let out a breath, his fingers twitching at his sides as his mind replayed the same scene over and over—the moment Y/N had looked at him with guilt in her eyes, the way her voice had trembled when she finally admitted it.

“Three weeks.”

Three weeks of silence. Three weeks of avoiding him.

Three weeks of knowing they were meant to be—and never saying a word.

His jaw clenched. “I don’t get why she didn’t tell me.”

Soobin hummed, tilting his head slightly as he studied him. “You sure about that?” Yeonjun opened his mouth to argue, to throw back some frustrated response about how of course, he wasn’t sure—none of this made any sense—

But then Soobin just raised an eyebrow, waiting.

And the words died before they could even form. Deep down, he knew. He knew exactly why Y/N hadn’t told him. She had been afraid.

Afraid of losing him. Afraid of how he would react. Afraid that he would take one look at the mark and walk away. That was what hurt the most.

Not that she had kept it from him. Not even that it had taken this long for him to find out, but that she had believed—truly believed—that he wouldn’t want her.

Maybe… maybe she hadn’t been wrong to think that. Yeonjun swallowed hard, rubbing a hand over his face, frustration bubbling beneath the surface of his skin. He had spent so long saying he didn’t believe in fate, saying that soulmates weren’t something he needed—

And she had believed him.

Believed him enough to hide something that had changed everything.

He leaned back against the bench, exhaling sharply, his head tilting back as he stared up at the sky, searching for something he knew he wouldn’t find.

“I don’t want to lose her.” The words slipped out before he could stop them—so quiet that if it had been anyone else sitting across from him, they might not have heard.

But this was Soobin, and Soobin had always been able to read between the lines. He nodded, his expression thoughtful, his gaze steady. “Then don’t.”

Yeonjun let out a humorless scoff, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” Soobin leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees, his voice calm but firm. “You’re making this harder than it has to be. You already know she’s important to you. The mark doesn’t change that.”

Yeonjun didn’t say anything for a while. A small pause laid between them for a moment before soobin tilted his head slightly and finally spoke again. “It just means she was always meant to be.”

Silence settled between them, heavy and unmoving.

Yeonjun stared at the ground, something tightening in his chest, his pulse thrumming against his wrist like it was trying to remind him of something he wasn’t ready to accept. She was always meant to be.

He had spent years running from the idea of soulmates, from the weight of expectations, from the fear of not getting to choose his own fate.

But now, standing at the edge of something undeniable, something that had been in front of him all along— Maybe he had never really been running from soulmates.

Maybe he had just been running from her. Yeonjun’s throat felt tight, his mind a mess of contradictions. “Yeah,” he muttered, voice rough, barely audible.

“I guess I just never thought about it like that before.” Soobin gave him a small, knowing smile, shaking his head.

“Then maybe it’s time you do.”

-

She hadn’t meant to see him today.

She had spent the last two weeks avoiding places he might be—dodging plans, keeping herself busy, always making sure there was enough distance between them so she wouldn’t have to face the look in his eyes again, but fate had other plans.

The bookstore was quiet, the scent of old paper and fresh coffee lingering in the air. Y/N had been staring at the same page of a book for the past five minutes, her mind somewhere else entirely, when a familiar presence washed over her.

She didn’t even have to turn around. She knew.

Yeonjun was here.

Her grip tightened around the book, her heart hammering in her chest as she forced herself to breathe. She debated running—grabbing her things and pretending she had never been here in the first place—but it was too late.

The moment she glanced up, their eyes met. For the first time in weeks.

And everything froze.

He was standing a few aisles away, a book in his hand, his fingers curled loosely around the spine like he had just picked it up without thinking. He wasn’t even looking at it.

He was looking at her. Y/N’s breath hitched. She could see the hesitation in his posture, the way his shoulders tensed, like he was debating whether to say something or pretend this wasn’t happening. Like he was just as lost as she was.

A beat of silence passed. Then another, and then, he did something she hadn’t expected. He gave her a nod. Just a small, subtle tilt of his head—acknowledgment, nothing more. Like they were strangers. Like they hadn’t been everything to each other just weeks ago.

Y/N felt something ache deep inside her, something raw and unfamiliar.

She hesitated, gripping the book in her hands like it was an anchor, and then—before she could think too hard about it—she nodded back.

And just like that, the moment passed.

Yeonjun blinked, his lips pressing together for half a second—like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words.

Then he looked away. Turned. Walked past her without another word, disappearing into another aisle.

Y/N exhaled, her fingers trembling slightly as she set the book back on the shelf, realizing she hadn’t even been reading it.

-

He hadn’t meant to see her today.

He had only come to the bookstore to clear his head, to do anything other than sit in his apartment, drowning in thoughts that led nowhere, thoughts that started and ended with her, but the second he walked inside and saw her, everything else faded.

Y/N.

Standing just a few aisles away, fingers curled loosely around a book she wasn’t really reading, her lips pressed together like she was holding something in.

Existing in the same space as him for the first time in weeks. Yeonjun stopped breathing. She looked the same—but at the same time, she didn’t.

Her hair fell the way it always did, her posture relaxed but too still, too careful. She wasn’t hiding from him the way she had before, but she wasn’t reaching for him either.

There was a distance between them now, a thin but impenetrable line, and she was standing on the other side of it, and maybe that was what made it worse.

She wasn’t running. She had already left.

She looked like someone who had been carrying something too heavy for too long—someone who had long since accepted the weight of it. Someone who had already braced themselves for what came next.

That realization settled in his chest like an ache he didn’t know how to soothe. When their eyes met, something sharp pulled inside him.

The way her fingers flexed around the book, like she needed something to hold onto. The way her breath caught—the way she still reacted to him, even now, but she didn’t move. She didn’t look away.

She just stood there, frozen in the middle of an ordinary afternoon, staring at him like he was something out of a past life.

For the first time, Yeonjun didn’t know what to do. He thought about saying something—anything.

Something casual, something light enough to make this moment pass without breaking anything more than it already had. Maybe a simple “Hey,” or “How have you been?”—but the words felt too shallow, too meaningless for what they had become.

Because nothing about this was casual. Nothing about this was light. There were no words big enough to undo the silence that had stretched between them for weeks.

So he said nothing at all. He just nodded. A brief, wordless acknowledgment—as if that was all they were now.

Like two people passing each other in a dream. Two people who used to know each other but no longer did.

And when she nodded back—hesitant, distant—he knew this was their new reality.

She wasn’t avoiding him anymore. She wasn’t waiting. She had already let go.

Yeonjun felt something crack inside him, but he forced his feet to move, forcing himself to do the same. He looked away first. Walked past her without another word, disappearing into another aisle.

He had spent days wondering what he would say to her when they finally saw each other again. Turns out, it didn’t matter, because neither of them said anything at all.

-

Y/N hadn’t been expecting company.

She definitely hadn’t been expecting Beomgyu to show up at her apartment unannounced, carrying bags of takeout in one hand and a stack of DVDs in the other, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

She blinked at him from the doorway, still wrapped in the oversized sweater she’d been lounging in all day. “What… are you doing?”

Beomgyu didn’t bother answering—he just walked past her like he owned the place, dropping the food onto her coffee table before dramatically collapsing onto her couch.

“Saving you from yourself,” he declared, kicking his feet up like he had all the time in the world. Y/N shut the door, narrowing her eyes at him. “I don’t need saving.”

Beomgyu scoffed. “Right. And I’m in a happy, healthy relationship.” He patted the space next to him. “Come sit. I brought your favorite.”

She eyed the takeout bags suspiciously. “…Did you actually get my favorite or did you just buy whatever sounded good to you?”

Beomgyu gasped, hand to his chest. “How dare you? I am a man of integrity.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the corner of her lips twitched against her will. Beomgyu noticed, because of course he did, and shot her a smug grin.

“See? You’re already in a better mood.” She sighed, but it was more of an exhale of relief than anything else. It had been weeks since she had felt this—this lightness, this sense of normalcy. Like the weight of everything with Yeonjun had been momentarily set aside.

Beomgyu stretched out, holding up the stack of DVDs. “Alright. Tonight’s theme is cinematic masterpieces.”

Y/N arched a brow. “And by that you mean…?” He smirked, revealing the first movie—Sharknado.

Y/N groaned. “Beomgyu. No.”

“Beomgyu. Yes.” He replies, holding a shit-eating grin.

She shook her head, grabbing one of the takeout boxes and plopping down beside him. “You have the worst taste.”

“Bold of you to say when you’re about to enjoy this award-worthy film.” He unwrapped his chopsticks, bumping his knee against hers. “You can thank me later.” Y/N sighed, letting herself sink into the couch.

For the first time in weeks, she felt something familiar. Something almost like before.

-

The movie had been playing for at least twenty minutes, but Y/N hadn’t absorbed a single second of it.

The chaotic action sequences, the exaggerated dialogue, the absolutely ridiculous premise—normally, it would have been enough to pull her in, to at least serve as a temporary distraction, but her mind was somewhere else.

Her half-eaten food sat forgotten on the coffee table, condensation from her drink pooling into a ring on the surface. She was curled into the couch, her knees tucked loosely against her chest, her fingers absently picking at a loose thread on her sweater sleeve, and she was a thousand miles away.

Beomgyu noticed. Of course he did.

His gaze flickered to her for the third time in five minutes, his usual amusement dimming into something closer to curiosity. He didn’t say anything at first, just studied her for a moment, waiting to see if she would snap out of it on her own. She didn’t.

With an exaggerated sigh, he grabbed the remote and paused the movie, the screen freezing on a particularly absurd shot of a CGI shark mid-air.

The sudden silence jolted her back into reality. Y/N blinked, momentarily disoriented. “What—?”

Beomgyu tossed the remote onto the couch and turned to face her fully, arms crossed. “Alright, spill.”

Her brows furrowed. “Spill what?”

Beomgyu gave her a deadpan look. “You’ve been zoning out this whole time, and not even Sharknado can hold your attention?” He raised a brow, leaning forward slightly. “That means something is very wrong.”

Y/N parted her lips to argue, but nothing came out.

Because… he wasn’t wrong. And the worst part? She already knew exactly what was keeping her distracted.

She hesitated, pulling her knees closer to her chest, the fabric of her sweater bunched beneath her fingers as she gripped the sleeves. The warmth of the room, the soft glow of the lamp, the distant hum of the paused movie—it all felt distant, like white noise against the storm inside her head.

Beomgyu arched a brow, shifting slightly so he could face her fully. His expression was expectant, but not pushy—a careful balance of patience and amusement.

“Let me guess.” He hummed in thought, tapping his fingers against his knee before answering his own question.

“Yeonjun.”

Y/N let out a slow, tired sigh, slumping further into the cushions. The weight of his name alone was enough to press against her chest, making it harder to breathe.“It’s stupid,” she muttered.

“That’s never stopped you before,” Beomgyu quipped, grinning as he dodged the weak punch she aimed at his shoulder. Still, she hesitated.

Because saying it out loud made it real. And if it was real, then she would have to actually deal with it, but this was Beomgyu.

He had been there through everything—the good, the bad, the moments in between. He had seen her at her best, her worst, and all the messy parts in between. If there was anyone she could tell, it was him.

And besides—he wasn’t going to let this go.

She exhaled through her nose, her gaze dropping to the coffee table, tracing the condensation rings left behind by their drinks. “I saw him today.”

Beomgyu, who had been lounging comfortably just seconds ago, immediately straightened, his expression shifting from playful to genuinely intrigued.

“And?” Y/N’s fingers curled into the fabric of her sleeves. “And… it was weird,” she admitted, the words coming out slower than she intended. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, trying to find the right way to say it, but there wasn’t one.

Because what was she supposed to say?

That for weeks she had been dreading the moment she would see him again? That she had imagined it a thousand different ways—some good, some bad, but none of them like this?

She swallowed, forcing herself to meet Beomgyu’s gaze. “It was like we were strangers.”

Beomgyu didn’t say anything right away. He just watched her, taking in the way her voice had softened at the end, the way her shoulders seemed to sink under the weight of something too heavy to carry alone.

Then, finally, he leaned back, stretching his arms over the couch.

“Damn,” he said, dragging out the word. “That’s rough, buddy.” Y/N let out a groan, shoving a throw pillow into his face.

Because, of course, this was Beomgyu’s response.

She shot him an unimpressed look, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Really?”

Beomgyu only grinned, entirely unfazed. “What do you want me to say? Wow, Y/N, that sucks, but I bet if you just talked to him like a normal person, this whole problem would disappear?”

Y/N groaned, dragging a hand over her face. Because, as much as she hated to admit it—he wasn’t wrong, but just the thought of facing Yeonjun again, of breaking past the awkward distance that had settled between them, made something twist uncomfortably in her chest.

“You make it sound so easy,” she muttered.

“That’s because it is.” Beomgyu shrugged like it was the simplest thing in the world. “I mean, what’s stopping you from calling him right now?”

She scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “Yeah, right.” Beomgyu’s grin turned mischievous in an instant, and before Y/N could process the warning signs, he was suddenly reaching for his phone.

“You want me to do it?” Her entire body went rigid.

Her eyes widened in horror as she lunged forward, already reaching for the device in his hand before he could even think about unlocking it.

“Beomgyu. No.” But it was too late.

His thumb casually, effortlessly, recklessly pressed the call button, and before she could even begin to yell at him, the line started ringing.

Y/N’s stomach plummeted. Her heart stopped. Beomgyu’s own eyes widened as if he had just realized exactly what he’d done.

“Oh,” he said, a little too slowly. Then, grinning sheepishly—

“Oops.”

“Beomgyu, you idiot—”

Panic surged through her, and she lunged, scrambling over the couch, fingers grasping desperately for his phone.

Beomgyu, being the absolute menace that he was, only leaned back further, holding the phone just out of her reach, grinning like this was the most entertainment he’d had in weeks.

“Oops?” she hissed through gritted teeth, practically climbing over him now, her weight pressing against his shoulder as she stretched her arm out further. “End it!”

Beomgyu laughed, effortlessly dodging her flailing hands. “I mean, technically, this is your fault for not calling him sooner,” he teased, twisting just enough to make her struggle even harder. “I’m simply moving the plot along—”

Before she could pry the phone from his grasp, before she could hang up, delete the call history, and potentially throw Beomgyu out the window for good measure—

The ringing stopped.

A pause. A breath. And then—

“…Hello?”

Y/N froze. Beomgyu cackled.

And just like that, she was trapped.

Her heartbeat roared in her ears, her throat suddenly dry, too tight, too frozen to form words. Her hand, which had been gripping Beomgyu’s wrist, slowly dropped away as her brain struggled to catch up to the reality of the situation.

This was happening. Yeonjun was on the other end of the line. She had no way out.

She swallowed, her fingers curling against the couch cushions, forcing herself to speak, forcing her voice to work.

“…Yeonjun?”

The silence on the other end stretched just long enough to make her wonder if he was about to hang up.

Then, soft but cautious—like he hadn’t expected to hear her voice tonight, like he wasn’t sure if this was a mistake or a second chance

“Y/N?”

And just like that, there was no turning back.

—————

AN: mwahahaha. Cliffhanger 😈. Part three will be out soon (hopefully) once again, hope you all enjoyed this ❤️

Taglist: @c9b7luv @hyueika (thank you both for leaving feedback! It’s very appreciated! ❤️❤️)

[camillomea]

Red robin and rouges gallery 3

Tim didn't expect to open his eyes again. He was pretty sure he was going to die. But when he did, someone was screaming his name in panic. His vision was blurry, his ears were ringing, he was in terrible pain. His head wasn't on the ground anymore. It was on something softer. He couldn't quite make out his surroundings. He could feel a hand on his neck. Probably the person who was calling him, checking his pulse. The ringing in his ears was really bad, but he could still hear the half-intelligible voice of the person holding him, he could still hear the panic in the voice. He finally came to his senses enough to realize that the person holding him was a hater. He stuttered, "Uncle eddie." Riddler looked relieved to see him awake. "Hey Red. I'm here like I promised you, I'm here to get you," he said. Tim said, "It s-s-hurts. Uncle Eddie hurts so much. I-I-I was so scared," he said and started to cry. Eddie said, "shhhh. It's okay, you're safe now. You're going to be okay. You're going to be safe. Red, I need you to stay awake for me. okay? I'm going to take you to the doctor. He'll take care of the pain, but you have to stay awake." Tim could see the panic in his voice and on his face, despite the ringing in his ears and his blurry vision. Tim said, "I'm really tired." Eddie said, his voice low. Eddie said, "I know. I know. Just a little. Hang in there for a while, okay? Afterwards, you can sleep as much as you want, I promise." Tim whimpered quietly. It was obvious that he was in a lot of pain. Eddie said, "Red, honey, can you tell me who did this to you?" Tim said, "j-j-joker o-o-o. He wanted to do that Robin thing again, but in a more entertaining way. I-i-i-I stopped the bomb, just like you taught me." Eddie stiffened, taking a deep breath to calm himself, then he said, "It's okay, Red. Good job. You did a great job. I'm proud of you." Tim felt relieved to hear this despite the pain in his body. He started coughing up blood. Eddie picked him up. Mother Tim started screaming in pain. Eddie said "shhhh you'll be fine you'll be fine. I'll take you to doctor B. I promise you you'll be fine" and quickly took him to the car. Tim's eyes were blackened from the pain. His brain was pounding. Eddie laid him down on the back seat of the car. Tim could barely keep his eyes open. After making sure he wouldn't fall, Eddie got into the front seat and started the car. He stepped on the gas. His hands were covered in blood but he didn't care a bit, his only priority right now was to get the kid to the doctor. He picked up his phone and called someone. When the call was answered, he immediately said "I'm bringing Bradford Red to you. His condition is very urgent" his voice was full of panic and anger. His voice was dripping with murderous intent. A voice came from the other end of the line and was shouting "WHAT! WHAT HAPPENED". Eddie growled "he's the joker".

***

The Riddler had come to my doctor's house at full speed. Bradford was standing at the door. When he opened the back door and saw Red, he froze and was very angry, he growled "son of a bitch". They immediately carried Tim inside with the help of the Riddler. They put him inside. Bradford immediately started to take care of Tim. Eddie went to the bathroom. He tried to clean the blood off himself. His hands were shaking with anger. He cleaned himself up and changed his clothes. He took his phone. He called Oswald.

O- Hey Eddie hello.

E- Oswald hello

O- What's wrong? Your voice sounds bad

E- Red o o

O- Hey hey. Calm down calm down. What's wrong? Where are you? Is Red back? Is he hurt

E- Joker. That son of a bitch hurt little Red. He's in bad shape. I took him to the doctor. He had pressed the emergency button. I found him right away

O- Where's the joker

E- I don't know. When I got there, he was already gone

O- I'm coming there. It's okay. It's okay he'll be fine soon

E-....

O- are you okay

E- I'm physically fine. There was a lot of blood

O- it's okay it's okay he'll be fine. I promise you.

He said. Then he hung up after talking for a while. Then he sent a group message to Ivy and Harley.

E- I need water from the emergency pond Ivy you can set the fee. I'll accept anything

I-????? WHO HAPPENED WHAT

H- Was Oswald injured or?

E- Red

I- WHAT????

H- WHO HARASSED MY BABY

E- Your ex

[weefers-x2]

Omg a KWW vid-!!

WHAT THE F-

[rain-on-wax-feathers]

nonhuman burr, washington, and eliza!!!

[pilonciillo]

lol didn’t think someone giving money would give me anxiety

[nbclover]

teehee

[wcnderlnds]

battlefield | choi su-bong (thanos)

・❥・ summary: running into your ex boyfriend during the squid games was the last thing you expected ・❥・word count: 719 ・❥・warnings: uh... usual squid game stuff. ・❥・ authors note: this is a short one just to test the waters but im obsessed with this man after watching squid game 2 <333

There he was. The last person you’d ever expected to see in this place. Player 230. Choi Su-Bong or, as the world knew him as, Thanos. The bright purple hair had been easy to spot. The last few months had been spent avoiding him so why did fate want to throw you together in this place? Wherever the hell this place was. You still weren’t even sure but as you walked up the stairs to the first game, you didn’t really care. All you wanted to do was lay low and make sure that Thanos didn’t see you. A conversation with your ex boyfriend was the last thing you wanted.

Things had ended badly between the two of you when he’d lost all his money thanks to the crypto scam. It had changed him, turned him into someone you didn’t recognise anymore so when the arguments started and his behaviour became erratic, you knew you had to get out of there. So, you did. You left and had never looked back. All you wanted was enough money to get out of the city and far, far away. There was nothing here for you anymore. If you could win the games then you could finally start fresh somewhere.

Walking through the doors onto a floor of sand and brightly coloured walls, you heard the voice of Thanos talking to his friend. Instantly, you looked down at the ground, hoping he didn’t see you. Unfortunately for you, he had stood next to you. His eyes scanned your face before recognition lit his eyes up.

“Senorita!” He said in a sing-song voice, wide grin on his face as he outstretched his arms. “What are you doing here? Come on, give me a hug.”

“None of your business and no thanks,” you rolled your eyes.

“I’m hurt,” he splayed his hand on his chest over his heart. As much as he was using his confident swagger to irritate you, deep inside he couldn’t be more glad to see you. “Not even going to give me a chance to talk, huh? That’s stone cold.”

As the rules of the game echoed through the speakers, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. His hand had raised to his friend to stop him from talking to him so he could get a proper look at you. When you had left, that had been the breaking point for him. Everything had gone downhill from there. For so long he’d been trying to seek you out, to apologise but he knew you’d been avoiding him. Your friends wouldn’t tell him where you were, your family had chewed him out the second he had showed up on their doorstep so, eventually, he’d given up. But, here you were.

As Player 456 shouted out about the game being a lie and that you were going to die, your head shot up. Surely he couldn’t be telling the truth, right? Red Light, Green Light was a children’s game. At most you were probably going to be out of the running for the cash if you were caught moving.

“He’s crazy,” Thanos said. It was his way of trying to comfort you. He had instantly noticed the slight panic in your eyes, the way you were rubbing your hands against your thighs. “Don’t listen to him.”

All you could do was nod but there was a gut feeling inside you telling you that maybe it wasn’t entirely all crazy talk. Something about this whole thing felt off. Your eyes caught some girl talking, her hands waving around then suddenly she was on the ground. Instantly, fear gripped you, your stomach dropping. The room around you started to spin – you were really going to die here.

“Hey, hey,” Thanos had reached out, his hand gripping yours as he stood in front of you, back to you. “Stay behind me. I won’t let anything happen to you. You hear me? Stay behind me.”

“But… what if…” The sheer panic in your voice made his heart clench.

“No. We’re both getting out of here alive, okay? Now, stay behind me.” His protective instinct had kicked in. Right now, he didn’t care if you hated him. All he cared about was making sure you survived this so maybe, just maybe, he could finally make things right.