#when you are lost in the darkness look for the light

[rmview]

you disappear after a fight, mafia!SKZ.

featuring — stray kids members x gn!reader  ( masterlist )

summary — an imagine of how the mafia stray kids boys react when they tell you to leave during an argument and you disappear!

contents — angst, hurtful words, disappearing, possible kidnapping, regret.

bang ♙ chan

the argument wasn’t supposed to spiral like this. it started over something small — a careless comment from one of his men, a territorial glance, your frustration over always being kept in the dark. you’d snapped, and for once, you didn’t back down when chan raised his voice. 

“i’m not your possession, chan! i’m a person, not one of your men you can order around!” 

he was tense, jaw clenched, pacing the floor of his private office while his fingers ran anxiously through his hair. the stress of rival families breathing down his neck, shady deals, and betrayals had worn him thin. but none of that was an excuse. he knew it the second the words left his mouth. 

“then get lost. go. if you can’t handle this life, if you can’t handle me, then get the fuck out.” 

the silence that followed was suffocating. 

you stared at him, stunned — not because you’d never fought before, but because you never thought he would throw you away like that. not when you’d stayed, despite the danger. despite everything. 

“fine,” you whispered. no tears. no pleading. just cold resignation. 

you turned and walked out before he could stop you. but hours passed. then a day. then two. and you didn’t come back. 

at first, chan was stubborn, convincing himself you needed space. he kept the others from looking for you, burying himself in work, pretending it was what he wanted. 

but then your phone went dead. your apartment was untouched. no signs of you at your usual spots. none of the safe houses you both used. his men couldn’t find a single trace. and suddenly, the crushing weight of those words came back to him like a tidal wave. 

“i didn’t mean it,” he whispered to no one in particular, sitting alone in his office with his head in his hands. 

felix was the first to call him out. 

“hyung, something’s wrong. she wouldn’t just disappear.” 

the guilt festered in chan’s chest, sharp and suffocating. what if someone got to you? his enemies weren’t the type to show mercy. and if they found out how much you meant to him — how much you still meant, even if he was too much of a coward to say it — 

“find her,” chan snapped, standing so quickly his chair toppled back. “turn over every street, every contact. i don’t care what it takes. bring her home.” 

but deep down, what terrified him more wasn’t the idea of you being kidnapped. it was the possibility you left because you finally realized you deserved better. 

he stared at the bracelet you’d left behind on his nightstand — a cheap little trinket you once said brought you luck. he hated how empty the apartment felt. how cold his bed was without you in it. 

if you were out there, alive and avoiding him, chan swore to himself he’d tear the world apart to find you and make things right. and if someone else had taken you? well — the city would burn. 

“i’m sorry, baby,” he whispered into the dark, clutching your bracelet. “i’ll fix this… i swear i will.” 

but the silence was unforgiving. and you were nowhere to be found. 

felix ♙

the warehouse was thick with tension, lit only by the flickering overhead lights. felix’s voice, usually calm and grounding, came sharp this time — edged with something unfamiliar, something bitter. 

“i told you to stay the hell out of it, y/n!” 

you flinched at the volume, heart hammering in your chest. you hadn’t meant to get involved. one of the lower-ranked men had made a mistake, and you stepped in to help, thinking it would ease the situation. but instead, it spiraled into this. another fight. another harsh accusation thrown your way. 

“i was just trying to help, lix,” you muttered, your throat tight. 

“help?” he scoffed, running a hand through his hair, his usually soft gaze hardened. “do you have any idea what could’ve happened if they found out how close you are to me? you think this is a game?” 

your stomach twisted. you’d heard this speech before. about how dangerous it was. how being involved with him painted a target on your back. and yet, you stayed. you always stayed. 

but today, something inside him cracked. maybe it was the stress. the way rival syndicates had started closing in. the threats. the backstabbing. and for a moment — he let the wrong words slip. 

“maybe it was a mistake letting you stay this long.” 

the world stopped. 

you stared at him, your breath caught, disbelief spreading like ice in your veins. felix froze too, the weight of his own words immediately crashing down. the expression on your face — one of betrayal, of heartbreak — made his stomach turn. 

“wait —” 

“no,” you whispered, holding up a hand. “i get it.” 

and before he could take it back, you walked away. 

felix stood frozen, heart pounding. his mouth opened to call you back, but his throat was dry. his pride, his fear, kept him silent. 

you didn’t show up that night. or the next. your apartment was empty. your phone went straight to voicemail. even his contacts couldn’t trace you. 

at first, felix tried to tell himself you needed time. that you’d cool off. come home. you always did. but days turned into a week. and with each passing hour, the knot in his chest tightened. 

his nights became restless. he’d sit in his room, clutching the small silver chain you’d once given him, the one with a tiny charm he never took off. he’d stare at it, running his thumb over the smooth surface, remembering how you laughed when you clasped it around his neck. 

“i’m your good luck charm now,” you had said. it felt like a lifetime ago. 

felix barely spoke to the others. his usual warmth dulled into something cold and distant. even bang chan noticed. 

“you’re spiraling, lix,” chan said quietly one evening. 

“i let her go,” felix admitted, his voice breaking for the first time. “i said something i didn’t mean and now — now she’s just… gone.” 

chan’s jaw tightened. “have you considered maybe someone took her?” 

that thought had haunted him every day since. if anyone knew what you meant to him — and in this world, secrets didn’t stay hidden for long — they’d use you against him. and he wouldn’t survive it. 

he clenched the chain tighter. “i’ll find her,” he swore under his breath. “even if it’s the last thing i do.” 

but in the quiet of his room, with nothing but shadows for company, felix was left with a single, unbearable question. what if she left because of me? 

and no amount of bloodshed would fix that. 

lee ♙ know 

the room was thick with cigarette smoke, the sharp scent of gun oil hanging in the air. minho paced the length of his office, jaw clenched, eyes dark and stormy. you stood your ground, though your heart pounded beneath your ribs. this wasn’t the first time tempers flared between you. but this was different. there was something in the air tonight. a pressure neither of you could escape. 

“i told you to stay out of this,” minho growled, slamming a hand down on the desk. papers fluttered, a glass tipped over. 

“and i told you i wasn’t going to stand by while you get yourself killed!” you shot back, voice trembling more with emotion than fear. “i love you, you stubborn bastard. do you even get that?” 

he froze for a fraction of a second, something soft flickering in his gaze before it hardened again. the world had taught lee know to keep his heart buried, to use sharp words as armor. and right now, his instincts screamed to push you away before you got hurt. 

“love me?” he scoffed bitterly. “if you really loved me, you’d know your place.” 

the words hung in the air like a slap. you felt them like a punch to the gut. minho saw it too — the way your expression crumbled, your eyes dimming, shoulders dropping. 

“i didn’t…” he swallowed hard, but pride — damn his pride — kept him from saying what he should have. 

“no, it’s fine,” you whispered, the fight draining out of you like water from a cracked glass. “i get it.” 

you turned, walking toward the door, your figure framed in the dim light. every step you took was another crack in his armor, but minho didn’t move. couldn’t. when the door closed behind you, the room felt suffocating. 

for the first hour, he told himself good riddance. that this was for the best. you’d be safer, far from this bloody world. you didn’t belong in the shadows anyway. 

by nightfall, regret began to gnaw at him. by morning, when you didn’t come home, it had twisted into raw panic. he called your phone. no answer. sent one of his men to your apartment. empty. no note. no sign. no explanation. 

minho wasn’t one to show weakness, but by the third day, even his men noticed the cracks. the way his temper flared, his orders sharp and reckless, how he didn’t sleep, barely ate, eyes flicking to the door every time someone entered as if half-expecting you to appear. 

when felix cautiously approached him with your bracelet — the one you never took off — found near the docks, something inside minho shattered. 

“you think…?” felix started carefully. 

minho snatched the bracelet, fingers curling tight around the delicate chain. 

“i’ll find her,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “whoever has her… or if she left on her own… i’ll find her.” 

but alone, with only the silence for company, minho replayed those final words over and over. if you really loved me, you’d know your place. 

he didn’t mean them. god, he didn’t mean them. it was meant to protect you, to scare you away from this life before it ate you alive. but now — he wasn’t sure if he’d destroyed the one thing worth protecting. and in the suffocating quiet of his office, lee know swore on his life: he’d find you. 

even if it killed him. 

hyun ♙ jin 

the city skyline glittered beyond the penthouse windows, a thousand pinpricks of light against the dark. but hyunjin wasn’t looking at any of it. he was staring you down, eyes wild, hair a tousled mess from running his hand through it a thousand times since this fight began. the tension between you crackled like an open wire, sharp enough to sting. 

“why can’t you just stay out of it?” he barked, voice frayed at the edges. 

you stood your ground, though your heart felt bruised. “because you keep bleeding for people who wouldn’t blink if it was your body lying cold in the street, jinnie. i won’t sit by while you get yourself killed.” 

hyunjin’s face twisted, a storm of fear and fury and frustration swirling behind those beautiful, dangerous eyes. god, you had no idea how much you meant to him. how terrified he was every second you were tangled up in his world. but like a fool, the only way he knew how to protect what he loved was to push it away. 

“you think you matter to me more than this family?” he spat, the words ugly, the venom in them making him flinch even as they left his mouth. “you’re a goddamn liability. if i knew you’d be like this… i wouldn’t have bothered.” 

you recoiled as though struck. 

hyunjin’s chest heaved. silence filled the space between you, broken only by the pounding of his heart against his ribs. your lips parted, as if to say something, but you just nodded. 

“okay,” you said softly. “okay, hyunjin.” 

and then you turned and walked out. he didn’t follow. he couldn’t. 

the door clicked shut with a finality that left the air thick, suffocating. hyunjin dropped into the leather chair behind his desk, head in his hands. what the fuck had he just done? 

for hours, he stared at the dark, empty doorway. told himself it was for your own good. that if you hated him, you’d leave and be safe. but the echo of your last words haunted him. 

okay, hyunjin. 

it was the absence of your scent in the apartment, the stillness of your side of the bed that night that broke him. and by morning, when seungmin showed up with a grim face and a message: 

“she’s gone.” 

“what do you mean, gone?” 

“no one’s seen her since last night. she’s not at her place, not at work. phone’s off.” 

a creeping dread crawled down hyunjin’s spine. at first, he convinced himself you were cooling off. needed space. a day, maybe two. but then a call came in from a contact at the docks — an earring, one of yours, found near an abandoned warehouse. hyunjin’s blood ran cold. 

a million scenarios tore through his mind — kidnappers, a rival gang making a move, or worse. he felt his heart rip open at the thought that you’d left because of what he said. and now you were gone, and he might never get the chance to say he didn’t mean it. that he was a coward. that he loved you so fucking much it terrified him. 

by the third day, hyunjin stopped going to meetings. stopped answering calls. he was a ghost in his own world, drinking too much, eyes bloodshot, replaying your last conversation on a loop. 

and every time he passed by the bedroom, he’d catch himself reaching for you. 

okay, hyunjin. 

the sound of it would echo in his skull. and now, with no leads, no trace, and a hollow ache eating him alive, hyunjin vowed to burn the city down to find you. because losing you wasn’t an option. 

not when he’d barely started to admit he needed you to breathe. 

jeong ♙ in 

the rain hammered down against the warehouse roof, slicking the world in silver. jeongin’s hand gripped the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles blanched white, jaw clenched like a trap about to snap shut. you stood across from him, chest heaving, drenched from chasing him down, refusing to let this fight end the way it always did — with you being the one to back down. 

but this time, you were too late. something in jeongin’s expression had shifted — a volatile mix of fear, anger, and helplessness all masquerading as cruelty. 

“you don’t get it, do you?” his voice came out sharp, biting, desperate. “this isn’t your world, y/n. it never was. you’re a weakness i can’t afford to carry.” 

the words stung, but you stood your ground. “i didn’t ask to be protected, jeongin. i asked you to stop shutting me out like i don’t matter. like i haven’t been standing by you through everything.” 

he scoffed, but the way his throat bobbed betrayed him. “and you think that makes you safe?” he snapped. “it makes you a target. and if i knew you’d be so stubborn, so reckless — i wouldn’t have fucking let you in.” 

you flinched like he’d slapped you. the moment the words left his lips, regret hit him like a freight train. but it was too late. he saw your face crumble in real time, your eyes gloss over, the ache in your chest so visible it nearly shattered him on the spot. 

“i get it,” you whispered, voice cracking. “you win, jeongin.” 

and then you turned and walked out into the rain. 

jeongin didn’t move. couldn’t. he told himself not to — that it was better this way. that if you hated him, you’d stay away, and you’d live. but when the hours ticked by and your phone went to voicemail, when the safehouse you sometimes hid at was cold and empty, and no one in his crew had seen you, unease settled in his gut like a storm cloud ready to burst. 

the first night, he stared at his ceiling until dawn, fighting the urge to call, to apologize, to beg. the second day, felix showed up at the door, his expression tight. “she’s gone, hyung.” 

“what the fuck do you mean gone?” 

“no one’s seen her. she’s not answering anyone. and —” felix hesitated, swallowing. “there’s talk. a car was found by the docks. her phone was inside.” 

jeongin felt his knees nearly buckle. a cold sweat broke out across his skin. “who took her?” his voice dropped to something lethal, barely human. 

“we don’t know yet.” 

and just like that, the storm inside him broke. 

jeongin tore through the city like a man possessed. every contact, every rival crew, every informant — he interrogated them all. threatened, bribed, broke bones. no one got away untouched. every second without you felt like his chest was being hollowed out. because as cruel as he’d been, as sharp as his tongue could cut, he loved you in a way that terrified him. and now, you were gone. 

each night he went back to his apartment, it felt emptier, the silence so loud it drowned out his thoughts. the blood on his hands didn’t matter. the empire he’d built felt worthless. because you weren’t there to scold him for getting hurt, to steal his hoodies, to tease him about his dimples. 

and every time it rained, the sound would bring him back to that night — the look on your face, the pain in your voice. 

you win, jeongin. 

but he hadn’t won a damn thing. and now he swore, if it took tearing the city apart brick by brick, he’d find you. and when he did, god help anyone who’d laid a hand on you. because there was no fury like mafia jeongin scorned — and no force on earth would keep you from him again. 

han ♙

the argument had started like so many others between you and han — sharp words, too much emotion, both of you too stubborn to back down. the stakes in his world were high, and it made him reckless with his temper and cruel with his words when he felt cornered. and that night… he went too far. 

“you should’ve stayed the hell out of my life,” han spat, his voice louder than he intended, raw and frayed at the edges. “i warned you what being with me meant — you think this is some fairytale? that i’m some good guy under all this?” 

you’d tried to stay calm, biting back tears, knowing how he got when he was afraid. because that’s what this was — fear dressed up as fury. but it didn’t make the words cut any less. 

“i stayed because i love you, jisung. but you — you’re so busy pushing everyone away, you don’t realize you’re breaking the people who give a damn about you.” 

he laughed, bitter and humorless, shoving a hand through his hair. “good. then maybe you’ll finally get the hint and leave before someone uses you to hurt me.” 

you stared at him. “that what you want? for me to leave?” 

his eyes met yours for a heartbeat. too long. too much. and then the mask went back up. 

“yeah,” he forced out, voice cracking just enough for you to catch it before he turned away. “get lost. i don’t need you.” 

you left. you slammed the door so hard it rattled the frame, and he just stood there in the echo of the empty room, his chest heaving, hands trembling. the silence was deafening. 

he told himself it was better this way. that this was the only way to keep you safe in a world where people like him had blood on their hands and targets on their backs. he drank himself numb that night, hoping to forget the look in your eyes when you’d left. 

but forgetting you was impossible. and when he woke the next morning and found your phone still on the table, and your location not showing up, an eerie, gnawing dread settled in his gut. 

it got worse when you didn’t show up at your friend’s place. when no one had seen you at work. when your emergency contact hadn’t heard a thing. felix showed up mid-afternoon, pale and grim. 

“jisung… there’s a problem.” 

the words sent a chill down han’s spine. “what kind of problem?” he rasped, voice thick with hangover and panic. 

“there was a tip… someone matching y/n’s description was seen near the docks last night. with a couple of guys — from mingi’s old rival crew.” 

everything in him snapped. his heart felt like it stopped, then kickstarted into overdrive. the world blurred around him as rage and terror clawed through his chest. all his instincts, all his guilt, surged at once. “no,” he breathed. “no, no, no —” 

he was on his feet, barking orders before felix could even finish explaining. “i want every goddamn rat in this city hunted down. if someone took her — if they touched her—” his voice cracked, but his expression was pure murder. “they’re dead.” 

the thought of you out there, scared, alone, maybe hurt because of him… it wrecked him. because the truth was, han jisung loved you so much it terrified him. and in trying to protect you by pushing you away, he’d only made it worse. now you were gone, and he didn’t know if he’d ever get the chance to say what he should’ve said that night. 

that he didn’t want you to leave. that he needed you. that he was scared. and he swore to himself — if he found you, if you were still alive — he’d make it right, even if it took the rest of his life. 

because losing you was the one thing he wasn’t built to survive. 

seung ♙ min 

the fight that night wasn’t like the others. it didn’t start with sharp sarcasm or low jabs meant to irritate. it started quiet — a look, a question you didn’t mean to land like a blow. 

“do you even care anymore, seungmin?” 

he stiffened where he stood, jaw clenching, dark eyes flicking to you across the room. the tension between you two had been unbearable for weeks. the danger he tried to keep at bay was closing in. rival families making moves, his men getting hurt, deals falling through. you were the only softness in his life… and he hated himself for needing it so badly. 

but seungmin wasn’t good at letting people close. he loved hard, quietly, and when the world turned volatile, his instinct was to cut ties before anyone else could rip them away. 

you knew that. you just didn’t expect to be the one he’d cut. 

“i asked you a question,” you said, voice tight, arms crossed though your hands trembled. 

he swallowed, tried to look away — couldn’t. and because fear felt like anger in his chest, because losing you felt too much like weakness, the words slipped out cold and lethal. “if you were smarter, you would’ve left a long time ago.” 

the silence after felt suffocating. your lips parted, like you’d say something, but no sound came. his own chest hurt, like the words he’d just thrown at you ricocheted back, sharper than he intended. 

you nodded slowly, eyes shining. “okay.” 

you didn’t scream, didn’t beg. you just turned, grabbed your bag, and walked out. not bothering to slam the door, not glancing back. seungmin stood there, a ghost of a man, staring at the door like he couldn’t comprehend what he’d done. 

the hours after blurred. he kept expecting his phone to buzz, a message to appear, a familiar knock at his office door. but the silence stretched on. his men came and went, reporting about shipments, skirmishes, meetings — none of it registered. 

when changbin finally showed up, looking grim, a bad feeling coiled in his gut. 

“what?” seungmin asked, voice hoarse. 

“she’s… gone.” 

his stomach dropped. “gone where?” 

“that’s the problem. no one knows. she’s not at her place. didn’t show at her job. her phone’s off.” 

a cold sweat broke out across his skin. his head pounded. “did someone take her?” 

changbin hesitated, and that pause said more than words ever could. “there’s a chance,” changbin admitted. “we’re trying to track down any leads.” 

seungmin’s heart, normally so guarded and steady even in the face of death threats and shootouts, lurched painfully in his chest. 

and all he could think about was your face the night before. how he’d thrown you away with words designed to keep you safe but only ended up leaving you vulnerable. he felt sick. 

“i want every contact on the streets. i don’t care if it’s some street rat or one of minho’s spies — find her,” seungmin ordered, voice steel and acid beneath the panic. “anyone touches her… they’re dead.” 

his men scattered. seungmin stayed behind, sinking into his chair, head in his hands. because the truth was, you were the only person who saw him as more than the cold strategist, the mafia boss with ice in his veins. you saw the boy who loved indie songs and late-night drives. the man who worried more than he’d admit. 

he’d told you to leave. told you he didn’t care. he didn’t deserve forgiveness. but that didn’t stop him from praying you’d survive long enough for him to try. and if someone else had taken you? god help them. because seungmin would burn the whole city to ash to bring you back. 

chang ♙ bin 

the fight started in a flash. it always did with changbin. he wasn’t the kind to simmer — he burned hot, sharp words and loud voices, his way of coping with the fear that one day you might leave him before he lost you to his world. 

but tonight… tonight hit different. 

“i’m sick of you keeping me in the dark!” you shouted, eyes wet, standing in the middle of his office while his phone buzzed with missed calls, his men waiting outside the door. 

you knew what he did — the deals, the bloodshed, the debts paid in bullets and silence. but you loved him anyway. and you were done pretending it didn’t eat you alive when he came home bruised and distant, when bodies dropped and he shut you out like you were some fragile thing he had to protect by destroying. 

“i don’t need your permission to handle my business,” changbin snapped, pacing the room, fists clenched. 

“i’m not asking for permission, bin. i’m asking for honesty. or am i just some convenient distraction you fuck when you need to feel like a person?” 

the words landed harder than you meant. changbin froze, a muscle twitching in his jaw. his face twisted — part hurt, part fury. 

“maybe you are.” 

the silence was instant. a shattering, deafening kind. the kind where you realize you crossed a line you can’t uncross — and so did he. you blinked at him, breath catching. “say that again.” 

his voice cracked, just barely. “if you’re gonna be this goddamn difficult, then get out. go. i don’t care.” 

it was a lie. but you heard it like gospel. and this time… you left. 

bag over your shoulder, keys in hand, you stormed out past his men who turned away, pretending not to notice the storm that had just rolled through. changbin didn’t chase you. didn’t call after you. his pride was too loud in his ears, drowning out the sound of his own heart breaking. the door slammed. 

he threw a glass against the wall. shattered it. then another. swearing under his breath, chest heaving, tears he’d never admit to stinging the back of his throat. 

“fuck.” 

time passed in a blur. an hour. then two. then three. 

at first, he thought you were cooling off. letting him stew in his guilt, like you always did when his temper got ahead of his heart. but when jisung showed up, pale and serious, changbin’s stomach dropped. 

“she’s gone,” jisung said softly. 

“what do you mean gone?” 

“no one’s seen her. her apartment’s empty. phone’s off. her car’s still there. no sign of where she went.” 

changbin’s blood went ice cold. he felt his chest cave in, a sharp ache he’d never felt even after getting shot or losing men in alleyway deals. nothing compared to this. his voice came low, deadly. “who did this?” 

“we don’t know,” jisung admitted. “could be one of bangchan’s enemies. or maybe… maybe she left for good.” 

that was worse. that was so much worse. 

changbin clenched his jaw, hands shaking as he grabbed his gun and jacket. “put the word out. i want eyes everywhere. if anyone so much as breathed near her, i want their head.” 

and in the quiet that followed, as his men scrambled, changbin sat back in his chair and let the weight of what he’d said crush him. he could handle betrayals. blood debts. rival families. he could even stomach the thought of dying in a back alley one night. but losing you? losing you because of his own reckless words? 

he’d burn down the world if it meant bringing you home. even if you never wanted to see him again. 

notes: that was a rollercoaster xD i got carried away writing after so long and ended up giving the anon’s request a mafia twist since i’ve been wanting to start my mafia series for months now but never got a chance :’) there’s not going to be a part 2 for this since anon wanted an angsty ending sooo i hope you guys enjoy this as it is xp thank you for reading ~

[hannieween]

pick your poison | wicked games series

“You know—when you're still hurting from one person and find someone else to patch you up?” Changkyun said. “One poison drives out another.”

☾ pairings: jeon wonwoo x female reader ☾ genre: angst, fluff, smut (18+) ☾ aus: bartender wonwoo, bartender mingyu, rebound fucking, "enemies" to fucking, messy love triangle ☾ word count: 17.3k

› PREVIOUS CHAPTERS – READ MORE

🎧: enemy – jiselle, gemini | not sorry – i.m | kiss&tell – ethan low | excuses – twlv | fuxxin' love (2019) – OoOo | ghosts – highvyn | guilty – taemin | his car isn't yours – wendy | love is banned – gemini | divine – hyejin | 28 reasons – seulgi

☾ warnings: smut with plot, alcohol consumption but no dubcon, hurt/comfort[?], spiraling, unprotected p in v sex, body worshipping, pussy eating, fingering, creampies, hickeys. reader is chubby. pet names: ma'am, baby (hers)

☾ author's note: i'm sorry.

☾ disclaimer: minors DO NOT INTERACT. this post is intended for 18+ readers ONLY. please have your age stated in your blog description and do not to look like a bot 🙂

pick your poison

The basketball court was empty. The night was still, as though hurt by the echo of the conversation you kept replaying in your head.

Puddles of water glistened on the pavement, reflecting fragments of the moonlight as it shone on the dark sky.

You sat there alone, motionless. Waiting.

You didn’t know what you were waiting for. Or maybe you did.

You looked down at your hands. They were wet. Wet in tears of a dream that was lost.

The sky shifted, and light poured into the basketball court. The sun rose too quickly, too bright. It brought with it the cruel reality to your broken heart. Like a thread pulled from your chest.

But then you woke up.

Your breath caught before you could open your eyes. You were lying on your bed, too exhausted to move. Your throat was dry, and every beat of your heart ached like it had a thorn right in the centre of it.

You were at home. But in your heart, you were still sitting on the bleachers. At the basketball court. 

Waiting for him.

Time passed in a blur after that night.

Days and nights went on, time slipping through your fingers like water. But despite that, you felt like your life had been perpetually put on pause. Your mind, body and soul were on standby, waiting for his call, even though you knew that he was set on his choice.

Being on standby also meant that you didn’t feel a thing.

You made a promise to yourself—the moment you left the court, you would never cry for Kim Mingyu again. And you would never cry for another man ever again.

What used to be your routine melted into a continuous, numbing train of activities. Work, home, eat, sleep. One after another. Suddenly, you found yourself moving without thinking. Acting without really being there.

You kept yourself busy, believing that work might save you from the aching hole in your chest threatening to pull you in.

There is an undeniable negativity around setbacks, around change. 

But in this situation, you didn’t know whether you had stumbled upon a setback or a change. Mingyu had never been your actual partner, in the sense that you never solidified a real relationship with him. The thing that was making you feel incomplete was that he walked away without ever knowing how you truly felt about him.

So there was one thing you could do. Bury it. 

You would bury your feelings and bury yourself if need be. It felt like rewriting bits and pieces of yourself that you were once willing to put into a relationship with him. Only to find out that you were idealizing a relationship that was never going to happen.

A part of you felt resentful. You felt used. Like he just came into your life, wrapped you in and then left you hanging. Alone.

But the other part felt grateful that he reappeared in your life and graced you with the ability to love again. Even though he left you with a heart full and brimming with love that you will never be able to give him.

The truth was, you didn’t feel any wiser. Forever stuck repeating the same mistakes over and over again.

Autumn had you yearning for snow. Anything that would make the puddles of water along the sidewalks freeze over.  

Everywhere you turned, you saw him. Even the faintest smell of coconut made your chest ache. Even the sound of rain reminded you of him.

You opened the door to a coffee shop, walking inside with an umbrella in one hand and grabbing the straps of your tote bag in the other.

You didn’t have to go to the other side of the city to get coffee. But lately, sitting in the small office you rented was suffocating. And being in your apartment made you think too much about the same thing.

And when you weren’t working, you avoided sitting in your own apartment. You couldn’t stand the silence of your space. Not then, and not now.

So you wandered. Searching for places you hadn’t ruined yet with memories.

The coffee shop was small, cozy, and humming with soft R&B music. The scent of fresh ground coffee and pastries hit you immediately. Warm, bitter, and sweet all at once. You stepped inside, suddenly feeling like you had crossed into a different reality. While outside was bleak and it looked like it threatened to rain again, inside was a wave of color. Splashes of pastels, warm colors, and warm yellow lights overhead.

For a moment, it almost felt like you could breathe again. Like the gaping hole inside you was replaced by a different thing.

But this feeling was fleeting.

There were only a handful of people inside the coffee shop. But one of them turned slightly toward you, the movement drawing your gaze to him.

Jeon Wonwoo might’ve sensed you, because he turned over his shoulder, spotting you instantly. He stood near the menu, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, glasses sliding slightly down the bridge of his nose.

He moved awkwardly, bowing his head politely when he caught your gaze.  

His lips moved, but you couldn’t make out his words.

This was the closest you’d come to anything connected to Kim Mingyu since the night he broke up with you.

Wonwoo flicked his gaze over your face—a hint of confusion, of something almost unreadable.

“Excuse me,” you cleared your throat, stepping closer to the counter.

“I said, do you want to order first?” he asked using a polite tone, but there was a usual dryness to it. “I am still deciding for myself.”

“I uh,” you fumbled, feeling the nerves prickling down your spine. “I-I’ll have an iced americano, please. And a cookie. Please.”

You sent a glance at Wonwoo, trying to come off as unbothered as you could. But there was no way you could mask the trembling of your fingers when you extended your hand to pay.

Wonwoo stood behind you, his hands shoved inside the pockets of his dark hoodie. “I’ll have a strawberry yogurt smoothie, please,” he said, pulling out his wallet and taking out a card with his nimble fingers.

You held your reaction. It was obfuscating to you that he would order such a fun and non-plain beverage like that.

But you both stood at the end of the bar, waiting for your beverages. None of you made eye contact again. But you could feel his furtive glances every ten seconds, when he thought you were too distracted looking at your phone.

But you were just staring at your phone, pretending to move your thumb down the screen.

Deep inside, you wanted to run. You wanted to crawl into the nearest, safest place you could find. You wanted to conjure up a way to disappear into thin air. But at the same time, you wanted to stay. To admire the closest thing that reminded you of him. Of Mingyu.

Your heart thumped in your ears. You wanted to hold onto the space where Wonwoo stood. Even as your order came down the bar and you picked it up.

But without meeting his gaze again, you grabbed your cup and turned around, heading to the door.

Wonwoo was there, pushing the door open before you could do it yourself. In one hand, he held his pink smoothie cup, and in the other, he held the door open for you. “Thank you,” you mumbled politely, exiting the coffee shop and joining the slow influx of people walking down the street.

“Don’t mention it,” Wonwoo replied. He looked like he didn’t expect to see you today. And in such a random part of the city.

After a beat, you realized that Wonwoo had fallen into step with you, forced to walk close to you due to the heavily transited sidewalk. 

“Are you heading down to the station?” Wonwoo asked curiously, motioning down at the stairs that led to the underground subway.

“Yeah. You too?” you replied. Your tone sounded suffocated. Like you were struggling to breathe properly.

“Yeah,” he said casually. He raised his gaze, surveying his surroundings like he was looking for a quick exit to leave you on your own.

But you tried to ignore it. A part of you was glad to have someone so familiar, but at the same time, so different from Mingyu. You never felt like Wonwoo liked you, so it was weirdly comforting that you had stumbled upon him. It was having someone so close to Mingyu, but different enough not to expect any questions coming from him.

The stairs were slick, wet with rain as you made your way into the station.

At the platform, the silence stretched. Wonwoo shifted his weight awkwardly, adjusting the strap of the bag slung across his body.

“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo said after a minute, smiling shyly. “I promise I’m not following you or whatever.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and looked down at his feet.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind the company,” you admitted with a little bit of struggle.

Wonwoo raised his eyes to you, studying you for a moment. “Okay,” he said, appearing to ground himself next to you. And for a moment, you thought that if you hadn’t said that, he would’ve stepped away.

The train arrived, and you both watched it as it slowly came to a stop. The doors hissed open, and you both went in after waiting patiently for it to clear out.

But it was still very packed with people, forcing you to remain on your feet and close to him. You hooked an arm around the pole, still holding on for dear life to the straps of your tote bag and sipping carefully from your iced coffee.

“Do you—okay,” Wonwoo blurted, opting to stay at your side. He raised an arm over his head to grab onto one of the handles.

The wagon hissed and beeped as the time to get in or exit ran out. The doors closed, and you were gently swayed in motion with the car. Your body was gently moved forward, awkwardly bumping into Wonwoo.

“Sorry,” you whispered nervously, trying not to disrupt the peace and quiet from inside the wagon.

“Don’t be,” he whispered back, avoiding your eyes.

You tried to keep at least half an arm’s distance. Every time the train came to a stop, you tried to ground yourself as best as you could, clenching all of your muscles to the point it exhausted you.

And for a moment, the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was in fact more normal than you had expected it to be.

“Where do you get off?” you asked after he didn’t exit for three stops. It was then that you started to feel that your plans were about to change. And collide with his. 

“In the next one.”

You nodded slowly, trying to hide your doomed smile.

“You?” he asked, pausing and then, “You too?”

“Yep,” you replied.

Wonwoo let out an amused breath through his nose. “Museum?”

You blinked. “Yes,” you chuckled awkwardly. But then, you looked at Wonwoo, like really looked at him. He was sporting a camera bag across his shoulder.  “Don’t tell me—”

“Sculpture showing?” he raised his eyebrows, huffing a tiny laugh when you nodded.

“Yeah,” you sighed, looking down at your shoes.

The museum was half empty. A quiet, bustling series of sounds followed you inside as you moved towards the wide lobby. It was still beginning to rain again as you went inside, making you hope that it’d stop by the time you came out. 

You and Wonwoo moved without talking. As you went into the showing, you realized that it was organized so that you looked at each sculpture in a particular order, starting from the right side of the long room.

The showing was called A Human Connection. 

Wonwoo lingered a few steps away from you, his hands gripping his very expensive-looking camera, his head tilted like he was studying every bit of the sculptures, and looking for the perfect angle for a photo.

You wandered through the first few sculptures, pausing every so often to glance at him out of the corner of your eye. You realized he never strayed too far from you. But he didn’t speak, he didn’t voice the curiosity that showed behind his eyes every time his gaze flitted towards you.

The sculptures were beautiful, in a broken way. Bodies twisted in longing, hands that stretched to ghostly partners. Some figures leaned toward each other, sharing frozen and untouched kisses. A male figure knelt in front of a female figure, his arms clinging to her thighs, and he appeared to be hunched over her. Begging. 

You continued walking, trying not to think too much, otherwise it would begin to show on the features of your face. You were beginning to feel deeply affected. 

And then—you were forced to stop in front of one that caught your breath.

It was two human figures carved into smooth white stone, sitting back-to-back. The male figure had a hand stretching back, looking for the female figure who was leaving. In the stone where they both sat was a fracture, separating them definitively.

The woman was leaving. The man was trying to stop her. But beneath them, there was something broken.

You stared at it, feeling like life was playing a sick joke on you. Laughing at your pain.

Wonwoo joined you, standing beside you in utter silence.

You felt his eyes on you, but you pretended to be too enthralled by the sculpture to notice. For a while, neither of you spoke. And you tried your best to push all of your thoughts away.

“Do you think we’re all like that?” Wonwoo asked, his voice so quiet that you barely caught it.

You turned your head slowly. “Like what?”

He shrugged. “People who want to reach out. But only do it when it’s too late.”

You blinked at him, thrown off by the rare glimpse of vulnerability. “M-maybe.”

Wonwoo shifted, fixing his glasses awkwardly. He looked almost embarrassed, as though he, too, had been enthralled by the sculpture, and he didn’t realize who he was talking to. He appeared to be ready to move on to the next sculpture, but you opened your mouth, bringing him to a halt.

“I think that there are some people who still try,” you said. “People who reach out before it’s too late.”

Wonwoo looked at you. And you felt little under his scrutiny. You thought for a moment that he was going to take this as an opportunity to talk about what happened with Mingyu. To say something.

But he just stayed beside you. He had lowered his camera, deciding to absorb the beauty displayed in front of you. The warm light pouring from the skylight overhead created a shadow over the male figure, while the female figure glistened beautifully.

You slowly peeled off from the sculpture and moved onto the next. Wonwoo followed you silently, and you realized that his company was not at all what you had half-expected it to be. It was welcoming, something different and new. Like a silent truce that none of you were ready to acknowledge.

Wonwoo tipped his head toward the exit. “Are you heading back?” he asked when you had toured all the showing from start to finish.

You nodded quietly.

Outside, the sky had darkened. It had stopped raining, but it was considerably colder than before. The sidewalk was wet, and it glimmered under the streetlights, the pavement hissing loudly under the movement of the cars passing through.

You wrapped your arms around you, hugging your sweater tighter. You sucked in a breath, just as your teeth clattered quite dramatically, and loudly.

“Are you cold?” he asked, laughing lightly.

A small but meek smile tugged at your lips. “No, I’m not,” you lied through your teeth, laughing when the answer was obvious.

Wonwoo shrugged his leather jacket off, offering it to you without saying a word.

“I can’t” you said, blinking at him, alarmed.

“Take it,” he said simply. Like it was nothing to him and not something pregnant with meaning. He rolled his eyes, clearly getting why you were hesitant. “You’re shivering, come on.”

You hesitated, but took it anyway.

The fabric was warm, carrying the faintest trace of the laundry detergent that threatened to remind you of someone else. But as you let the jacket sit on your shoulders, another scent brushed against your senses. It was sweet, peachy, and warm. Oddly comforting.

You pulled it over your wrists, hiding your hands inside the sleeves.

Wonwoo didn’t say anything about it, but he looked at your sweater paws, now accompanied by his leather jacket. And the ghost of a smile appeared on his lips.

For a few blocks, you walked side by side, trading furtive glances when you thought that he might go away, or when you thought he wasn’t looking. He walked slowly, carefully taking each step to keep up with your slow pace. It was a quiet walk. Easy.

When you reached the station, he gave you one inquisitive look.

You knew he was dying to ask—because deep inside, you wanted to ask too. You wanted to know how Mingyu was faring, you wanted to know if he had been working on healing in all these weeks of no contact. A part of you wanted to know if he had tried to look for you.

But you couldn’t do it.

When you reached the station, you hesitated at first, but then you asked, “Are you heading home too?”

He nodded quietly.

“Same line?” you asked, though it was obvious. You knew where he lived and that he would have to use the same line to get there.

“Yeah.”

You both stepped inside the car, the floor wet with the dampness of all of the wet coats and umbrellas.

You quickly found a corner spot, standing close enough to Wonwoo that you could get that peachy scent coming from him too.

You both fell silent again. And it was okay.

As you both made your way out of the station, you realized that it had started raining again. You reached for your umbrella, preparing it as you climbed the stairs to the street.

Wonwoo paused, huffing a light laugh when he realized that it was raining harder than it was before.

You nudged him lightly with your elbow. “We can share,” you said, raising the umbrella above your head.

Wonwoo raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

You found yourself rolling your eyes at him. “You gave me your jacket,” you shrugged. “Fair is fair?”

Wonwoo didn’t understand why the smile was wiped off your face. But your heart had stuttered after you uttered those last words, which echoed to some distant memory. To somewhere you didn’t want to go yet.

For half a second, he remained motionless. But then he stepped closer to you, standing under the umbrella. As you started walking, your shoulders brushed—and you were thankful to have accepted his jacket and couldn’t feel his skin properly.

You both moved down the street slowly. Rain pattered around you, creating a bubble of sound that felt almost too private, enclosing you both.

Wonwoo cleared his throat beside you, adjusting the strap of his camera bag so it wouldn’t bump against you. “Allow me,” he whispered, taking the umbrella from your hand and adjusting it to his height.

“Oh, sorry,” you laughed lightly, realizing that you were making him hunch to fit your size.

“It’s okay,” he replied, glancing your way. He was smiling too, and it was then that you realized that his glasses were starting to fog.

When you reached the next corner, Wonwoo hesitated. “Which way do you take?” he asked.

You realized that while you knew where he lived, he didn’t know where you lived.

“That way,” you pointed. Your shoes were getting soaked. The corners of the umbrella were dripping water all around you. Your shoulder was wet somehow.

“Maybe I could order a ride for you,” he offered, fumbling for his phone.

“No, my place is right down the street,” you said, bringing a hand to stop him, your fingers gently grazing his wrist.

You dropped your hand, as though his skin had burned you.

Wonwoo raised his gaze at you.

“Take it,” you motioned to the umbrella with one hand. “You’ll need it more than I.”

Wonwoo looked at your hand, then at you. Something flickered across his face, but you were too slow to read it.

“Then take my jacket,” he said.

You gaped at him. “Oh, no—”

“Fair is fair,” he cut in.

You couldn’t hide the way his words impacted you. It was as though your chest had turned into ice, making it impossible for you to breathe. You couldn’t stop it now. You thought of him. Of Mingyu, of the rains that had brought him to your life. The first kiss you shared. And your heart broke again.

You blinked repeatedly, expertly hiding your tears. “At least let me know how I could give it back to you,” you stuttered, raising your gaze to him.

Jeon Wonwoo was smart. He must’ve known what you meant. But his eyes read your expression, taking in your words. Returning his jacket was simple—you knew where he worked, where he lived.

“W-without having t-to see him.” You explained, and even though you didn’t utter his name, your heart churned.

Wonwoo took out his phone, handing it to you without a word. “Give me your phone number,” he said at once.

You sent him another alarmed expression. But he was not discussing it.

“Come on. Before we’re both soaked over,” he urged, almost as though it bothered him to know where your uncertainty was coming from.

Your heart twisted. But you took his phone, typing your number and swiftly calling your phone so you could register his number.

You handed his phone back, exchanging one lingering look that meant something. His eyes read your face, probably finding the vulnerable girl in your glinting eyes.

“Take care of yourself,” he muttered dryly, turning away once you nodded at him, too stunned to say something back.

You ran across the street, stopping under the awning before the entrance to your building. Looking over your shoulder, Wonwoo was walking down the street, your umbrella firmly in his grasp as he disappeared into the next corner of the street.

As soon as you came to your apartment, you peeled his jacket off. You saw Wonwoo’s face as the strong smell of peach and pachouli brushed against your senses.

The emptiness inside you started to ache at its edges.

Your apartment was dark, and dead silent. You closed the window to stop the rain from splashing inside and moved to the kitchen.

You had some leftovers from the night before. Curled up on one corner of the couch, watching something you have watched a thousand times already. There was a pause in the movie, and everything stilled in your apartment.

Maybe I should get a cat, you thought impulsively.

Your phone buzzed beside you, making your heart stop for a split-second.

It was past midnight. Nobody really texted you at this hour anymore.

You reached for it, expecting a dumb notification from some random app.

But it was Wonwoo.

“thanks for the umbrella.

you saved my camera. and me.”

You stared at the two text messages for a long second. A part of you wanted to acknowledge the strange, warm feeling you got from getting a text from someone. Even if it was Jeon Wonwoo.

You pulled your knees to your chest, gnawing on your lower lip as you pressed your thumbs on the screen. “You’re welcome. I’m glad.”

Almost immediately, the three little dots appeared. “did you get home alright?”

You didn’t take his text message as an invasion. But almost as a way for him to still be polite. A gentleman.

But you were still caught a little off-guard. It had been a while since you interacted with someone, so for him to be so… thoughtful made you take a pause.

You rested your chin on your knees. “Yeah, I did. Thank you.”

Wonwoo didn’t reply right away.

You stared at the screen for a while, half-expecting the conversation to die there.

But then another reply came, “have a good night.”

Something squeezed painfully in your chest. It was nothing. It’s nothing, you thought over and over. He’s being polite, nothing more.

A part of you felt ridiculed. Someone was being nice to you and your heart was already suffering, hurting as though you were running a marathon. Running away from something, more like.

“Thanks. You too,” you replied, acknowledging the way your heart faltered in stress with a big sigh.

It was nothing, yet you put your phone away as though it had suddenly burned your hands. The emptiness inside you warmed over such simple words. But just like that, the cocoon that you had wrapped to protect yourself was fractured.

Resurfacing meant that you had to give explanations to the people closest to you.

You pushed the door open to Casa Pump House, relieved to find it emptier than usual. Wednesday evenings were quieter. You’d been strictly coming to the gym around seven—avoiding Sundays at all costs. And so far, you’d successfully avoided Mingyu.

What you couldn’t avoid though, was Jungkook’s expert capacity for gossip. He’d known something was wrong after Mingyu broke up with you—your two-week disappearance and radio silence were louder than any verbal confirmation.

You only started coming to the gym sporadically, and you rarely caught Jungkook on shift. But the times you did, you avoided talking about it, about him. And Jungkook took the hint.

However, he could only keep it to himself for so long.

“Aaay,” Jungkook jogged over with a wide smile, softening the features of his face. “If it isn’t my favorite girl.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Is that what you tell every girl in here?”

He shrugged. “Just the ones that are evil to me,” he said with a light chuckle. But the grin slowly vanished, as his doe eyes studied you from head to toe. “Are you okay?”

Your heart faltered at the sound of his voice softening. He must’ve noticed the dark circles under your eyes. “I think you already know,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

Jungkook pursed his lips slightly, giving you a short nod. “Yeah. He uh… he told me last night when I stopped by the bar,” he sighed, placing his hands on his hips. He chewed on the side of his lip that wasn’t adorned with piercings. “How are you handling it?”

You licked your lips and balled a hand into a fist, trying to hold yourself true to your promise. “I’m doing okay,” you said. But your voice came out thinner than you had wanted. You sounded brittle, and unsure. “As best as I can be.”

The features of his face shifted, and he took a tiny step towards you, having to tilt his head forward to look into your eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly, even though you were the only ones in the gym at that moment, and no one would listen to you.

You shook your head, tightening your lips into a straight line.

“That’s okay,” he said, his tone still gentle and quiet. “If you ever need to talk about it—about anything at all—you know you can call me, right?”

You raised your gaze to his big eyes. You never expected someone so lively and fun to bring you such calm to your heart. You nodded. “Thank you, JK,” you whispered, unable to bring your voice any higher. “I appreciate it.”

He nodded. “Don’t mention it,” he said. And then, stepping back, he brought his hands together in a thunderous clap. “Alright, let’s put you to work. Let’s go!” he roared vigorously.

You smiled despite yourself, wishing you could just flip a switch like that.

But for the first time in weeks, you felt better.

The Spot was quiet, as expected from a rainy Tuesday afternoon. But being it being a slow day didn’t mean that the regular tasks stopped there.

Seungcheol had taken the day off with his girlfriend. So that meant that it was just Mingyu and Wonwoo handling the bar. But that was fine, since the only customers there were the three Tuesday usuals.

Mingyu had been trying not to fixate on his phone, but he had been struggling to keep himself present and found that looking at mindless things on his phone allowed him to escape his reality.

Lately, life had been suffocating. Work was alright, nothing Mingyu couldn’t deal with. No, the suffocating feeling came from not being able to stop wishing he had something that occupied his time, his energy and his mind completely.

Because every time that silence stretched and he found himself alone, he would see you in the eye of his mind. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself that he did the right thing, he still felt that he had made a terrible mistake.

His fingers itched—he wanted to call you, to open your chat and tell you to meet up. He wanted to tell you that he missed you every single day and night. When it got dark and quiet, he ached to call you. Even if it was the middle of the night, just to hear your voice. To hear your tiny, and sweet giggles.

He blinked slowly, breathing in deeply to try and get rid of the pain in his chest. It was as though the feelings that were beginning to bloom for you had withered and had grown thorns around them, twisting around his heart.  

He was at that point in his heartbreak where memories were beginning to hurt, but he couldn’t keep himself away from them. Sometimes he wished he had taken photos of you so he could have your pretty face to look at when he missed you too much. But he resorted to just looking at your profile photo.

It was a photo that your best friend, Mona, had taken one night out. You were smiling at the camera, lifting your chin in a prim manner. Behind you was a colorful mural, painting two great wings behind you, spreading and merging with an array of wildflowers.

You were squeezing your eyes shut in the photo. And he could almost picture the moment—your friend convincing you to take the photo, and you standing there until something got a smile out of you.

His heart twisted painfully when the word Online appeared below your name. He exited the chat quickly, feeling ridiculous for a moment. He pocketed his phone, lifting his gaze to make sure that no one had seen him act so impulsively.

But as he resumed with his task behind the bar, he was consumed now with memories of you. A call wouldn’t hurt, a sneaky thought flashed across his mind. She would understand, she always does.

No, Mingyu told himself sternly. He has done enough damage to you. He came into your life just to make a mess of it. You were better off without him.

He was a mess. And he had to make himself better before he could seek you out again.

Because that was his plan, at least. Get better, heal his heart, and look for you when he were ready.   

Maybe that’s why he felt so out of place. Because, in his heart, he wanted you. He wanted more with you, but just didn’t feel like he was ready to fully love you yet. He knew what he was capable of when his heart was in it. When he wasn’t backing away at the first sign of commitment.

He knew that you deserved better. And he could give you better.

But it wasn’t the right time.

Still, that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t think of you. Even though memories hurt, he was addicted to them. Like blissfully drowning in a violent river.

He thought of you, of your voice, of the smell of your hair. He liked to live in the memories where you looked at him lovingly. Those memories when he was inside your body, kissing you like you were his lifeline, because maybe you were.

In his mind, he hugged your body again, losing himself in you. Kissing you, telling you things he never got to in real life.

Something was beginning to rouse inside him when a hand came to his shoulder, patting him in a familiar, gentle way.

Mingyu turned around. Wonwoo was just coming back from his break, nodding to the kitchen door. “You have one hour,” he said promptly.

“What’s on the menu today?” Mingyu asked, not caring that he wasn’t even pretending enough to make his voice sound livelier.

“Sandwiches and fries,” Wonwoo replied, looking curiously at Mingyu, but didn’t ask any questions.

Wonwoo was a very patient friend. He would never intrude when he felt things were still stormy—so he hadn’t dared to pry since the night Mingyu broke up with you.

But Wonwoo was there to see the mess. Mingyu had come home that night and didn’t say a word. He locked himself in his room, and for two whole days, Wonwoo didn’t see or speak to him.

Ever since that night, Mingyu had seemed… hollow. Soulless. Like something in him was missing, and with each passing day, it only got worse—not better.

And ever since Wonwoo saw you at the museum, he’d wanted to ask Mingyu what really happened. But it still felt too soon.

“I’ll be back, then,” Mingyu said, patting Wonwoo’s back as he walked past.

Wonwoo nodded, his eyes following Mingyu until he disappeared through the kitchen door. He exhaled heavily, shaking his head before returning to the task he’d left off. He was in the middle of organizing the inventory, a routine so familiar, he could practically do it with his eyes closed.

The front door creaked open. Wonwoo would’ve normally glanced up to greet whoever entered, but he was too focused on counting boxes of beer.

“What are you serving tonight, sir?” a familiar voice called out.

Wonwoo smiled. Through the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar figure settling on the stool at the bar.

“Same as ever,” he said, raising his gaze to meet one of his oldest friends. Changkyun.

Wonwoo set his notebook aside and turned to the fridge, grabbing a beer. He placed the bottle on the counter just as Changkyun reached for the opener.

“It’s been a while,” Changkyun said with a tired groan.

“Well, since you started living your healthy life, I see you less,” Wonwoo quipped with a small smile.

“Healthy life?” Changkyun raised an eyebrow. “Getting up at five in the morning to host a radio show is not my definition of healthy.”

“Still, you get more sleep than I do,” Wonwoo shrugged.

“Shut up. You probably make more money in a week with those stupid girls’ nights you’re always advertising,” Changkyun said, narrowing his eyes and pointing at Wonwoo with the neck of the beer.

“That wasn’t my idea—it was Mingyu’s,” Wonwoo replied, raising both palms in mock innocence.

Right then, Mingyu came out of the kitchen. He didn’t acknowledge either of them. He walked straight past the bar and exited through the back door, a storm cloud in human form.

“What’s up with him?” Changkyun motioned toward the door Mingyu had just walked through.

Wonwoo kept his eyes on the door for a moment, ensuring it was shut, then turned back to Changkyun. “Same thing as last time.”

Changkyun raised his eyebrows. “Damn. That breakup hit him harder than I thought.”

Wonwoo furrowed his brow. “He and Gigi broke up months ago,” he said. “This is someone else.”

“Really?” Changkyun tilted his head. “Huh. One messy breakup can lead to an even messier one.”

Wonwoo remained quiet. His own experience with heartbreak was... limited, at best. If he could call it that. He had only ever had healthy, uneventful relationships. Nothing explosive. Nothing shattering. He even stayed friends with all of his exes.

“Please elaborate,” he muttered, resting his hands on the lacquered countertop.

Changkyun shrugged. “You know—when you're still hurting from one person and find someone else to patch you up?” he said. “One poison drives out another.”

Wonwoo didn’t respond right away.

But part of his mind replayed the memory of you—standing beneath the skylight at the museum. The distant look in your eyes. Like something wild and wounded, cautiously stepping into the world again.

He also remembered the night at the bar. When he’d warned you to be careful with Mingyu. Because at the time, he truly believed it was you who might hurt him. Now he realized you’d defended Mingyu so vehemently—only to be the one left behind. It wasn’t you who had been reckless. You weren’t the loose cannon. It was Mingyu.

“I don’t really like what you’re insinuating,” Wonwoo said, rolling his eyes. But deep down, he couldn’t deny that Changkyun might be right.

“Relax, I’m not saying he used her intentionally,” Changkyun replied, glancing at the back door. “But he could still care about her... and use her at the same time.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t make it easier. I’d hate myself too, if I were in his shoes.”

Wonwoo weighed this new idea in silence. He knew Mingyu—knew how deeply he could love. But ever since that breakup with Gigi, something in him had changed. He was more guarded, more distant. A little broken.

Still, to seek you out as comfort… only to discard you when things got too real? That was something Wonwoo never imagined his best friend capable of.

And now, he wondered. Had Mingyu ever really seen you for who you were? Or was he only ever looking for someone to fill the void?

Did he look for his ex in your eyes?

Wonwoo grabbed his phone, quickly finding your name in the list of chats he had ongoing. “there’s a bookstore right across the street from the museum” he wrote to you, his fingers quickly sending out the next words: “we could meet there if you’re free next monday”

You stared at the screen, your heart thudding nervously.

“Hello?” you typed back. “Not even a hi, good evening?”

The three little dots appeared on his end quickly. “hi” he replied.

“How very eloquent,” you mumbled to yourself, your thumbs hovering over the keypad, but you stopped yourself before you could think of what else to say.

“or maybe we could meet somewhere closer to yours, however you prefer” read his texts after some seconds went by.

Your breathing was uneasy. This wasn’t a date. Or something where you had to make yourself look pretty and presentable, you told yourself.

It was simple.

“I love bookstores” you wrote, and then: “And I’m free this Monday”

His reply came shortly after that. “good. see you then”

And that was it.

So Monday rolled around quicker than you probably would have wished for. The morning was wrapped in a chilly layer of mist from the rains overnight. The clouds hung low, dark, and almost threatening to rain again.

You wore a raincoat and packed an extra umbrella, just in case. Since the day was already cold, you made sure to dress appropriately, but as you made your way to the station, beads of sweat had started to gather on your forehead.

Inside the car, you could feel the warmth coming from the heaters below, making you wish you had worn lighter clothes. But with this treacherous weather, it was better to be safe than sorry.

You adjusted the strap of your bag nervously as you walked down the street. You were familiar with the bookstore where Wonwoo wanted to meet with you, but you had never gone inside. You were curious to know why he wanted to meet there—was it because it was so close to the museum?

You hesitated for a second before pushing the door open. You were immediately hit with a sense of wonder, and the questions in your head also piled up and doubled the size once you went inside.

The store wasn’t a typical one. It was just one floor, with rows of sandy brown bookshelves lined up and organized in a way that almost made it look like a maze. In the middle, there was a circular coffee bar. Low indie music played in the background, occasionally interrupted by the loud hiss of the coffee machines.

Wonwoo sat on one of the stools, his fingers wrapped around a small white coffee cup. He took a sip, then lowered the cup slowly. His glasses hung low on the bridge of his nose, and he pushed them up, raising his gaze.

He spotted you immediately, but his expression gave no indication of whether he was pleased to see you.

This was slightly perplexing as you approached the bar. Something stirred inside you at the scent of coffee—and the strong smell of peaches and pachouli.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Wonwoo said quietly, turning to glance at the light book he’d been reading. He closed it, resting his palm on top.

You flashed him an alarmed look, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Why, am I late?” you asked, checking your watch.

“No, just—” Wonwoo shook his head lightly. He motioned to the blackboard menu in front of you. “Coffee?”

You gaped at him a little. “Yeah,” you sighed, discontent creeping into your voice. “You’re really confusing to me.”

Wonwoo arched an eyebrow, watching as you ordered. Once the barista took your request, he cleared his throat. “Why confusing?” he asked, lifting his cup again. You noticed he was drinking a double espresso.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, lowering the straps of your bag and placing it on your lap.

You looked up at the ceiling. The soft, orange glow from the lights above made the space feel warmer—almost like an eternal sunset. The room was also adorned with hanging plants that reached into every corner.

You could feel Wonwoo’s gaze on you, and when you turned to him, your suspicions were confirmed. He didn’t look away or pretend not to be observing you.

But you were the one who turned away first. “I thought you hated me,” you confessed, lowering your voice as shyness crept up your neck, making your face hot.

His lips curved in a tiny, downturned smile. “Why?” he asked gently.

The barista placed your drink beside you. You thanked them, wrapping your hands around the cup, even though your fingers weren’t cold.

“I just got the feeling you didn’t like me. When I was dating Mingyu,” you said, your heart stammering at your own boldness.

Wonwoo blinked, taking the last sip of his coffee. “I never disliked you,” he said bluntly, offering a solemn look that made you realize how quickly you had judged him. “Nor did I have anything against you. I thought I was looking out for him.”

“Yeah. I got that,” you whispered, nervously rotating your cup on its saucer.

He leaned in slightly, his face still serious—but now tinged with a quiet kindness. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” you smiled, unable to hide the hurt lingering behind your eyes.

He tapped his thumb against the cup and drew in a long breath through his teeth. “Are you doing okay?” he asked, his brows knitting slightly as he looked at you.

You met his gaze, surprised by both the question and the softness in his tone. You opened your mouth to lie—to say you were fine, better than ever.

But there was no escaping his expert scrutiny.

“I’m trying,” you finally admitted, your voice barely holding itself up.

Wonwoo nodded, gaze softening. But he didn’t push further. It was almost like he was waiting to confirm something he already suspected.

“Is he—” you swallowed hard, nearly choking on your spit as you turned your face. You sighed the nerves out of your chest.

“He’s doing okay,” Wonwoo said, understanding exactly what you meant to ask.

There was honesty in his eyes. But then he looked back down at his empty coffee cup.

“He’s kind of a mess, but he’ll be fine,” he added. Now his voice carried a raw edge to it. “Mingyu has a tendency to fall too fast. Gets hurt in the process. Always.”

The words rang with a heavy familiarity. You blinked, trying to recall where you’d heard them before.  It was in your kitchen. One morning, after Mingyu had stayed over. The ache in your heart returned. “I know,” you choked out. “He told me.”

“I’m sorry it ended like that,” Wonwoo said. “For both of you.”

“Why are you telling me this?” you blinked, confused.

The light glimmered off his glasses. You saw his dark eyes searching your face, his lips parting ever so slightly.

“I guess this is me offering you an olive branch,” he said with a polite smile. “I never meant to intimidate you—or make you feel like I didn’t like you.” He straightened up in his seat, bowing his head slightly. “I regret being an asshole to you.”

You let out a laugh. “You’re forgiven,” you said, warmth creeping into your chest. “But don’t think we’re friends now,” you teased.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied with a grin.

You smiled—and your eyes drifted to the camera bag on the stool beside him.

The shop was nearly deserted. Two girls browsed the graphic novel aisle, while a few others lingered near the coffee bar. It reminded you of The Spot—except with bookshelves and hanging plants, instead of bright neon signs and loud rock music.

“Do you come here often?” you asked.

“Mm-hmm,” he nodded. “It’s quiet. Coffee’s good. Cookies are even better,” he added, pointing to the pastry case behind the glass.

“Have you tried them all?” you asked, eyeing the double chocolate cookie.

“I haven’t tried the pumpkin one,” he shook his head lightly.

You ordered a chocolate cookie, thinking that you were probably in need of a sugar rush. But deep down, you were wary, trying to protect yourself from more questions that you were sure were about to start.

“Do you carry your camera everywhere?” you asked instead, motioning to the camera bag on the other seat next to him.

“Just when I have days off,” he shrugged. “Mingyu pushed me to do this photography course online, and they’re very strict about the homework so,” he clicked his tongue, patting the camera bag with one hand.

You wanted to huff, getting the familiarity of his words yet again. “You don’t say.”

You took a bite from your chocolate cookie, humming in delight as the chocolate chips melted on your tongue. Wonwoo glanced your way, smiling softly as he outlined the corner of the book cover with one fingertip.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, and it was the gentleness in his tone that really grounded you in reality.

You shook your head, swallowing hard as you tried to keep yourself composed. “I’m not good at talking about things,” you pointed out.

But you didn’t know what it was. Maybe it was the chocolate dimming your good senses. Maybe it was the coziness inside the book shop that made you feel wrapped up in warmth and the smell of fresh coffee.

Or maybe it was the sound of Wonwoo’s voice. Inviting, soft and comfortable like velvet.

“I knew what I was getting myself into,” you said, your voice breaking in the middle of your sentence. “I knew Mingyu was still healing from his previous relationship. But I still decided to stay, to be there for him. And he was really reassuring, you know? Sometimes he made me forget about his situation.”

You risked sending a quick glance at Wonwoo, and he nodded to you. “Yeah, I know,” he said gently.

“But one day he would tell me he wanted to be with me, and then he would disappear for days,” you added, and your throat closed up, your voice sounding bitter at the end of your sentence.

The atmosphere stilled, like stopping to witness your heartache. Even though time had passed, and you hadn’t seen Mingyu or talked to him again—the wound was still fresh. Flashes from when you sat at those bleachers haunted you, threatening to swallow you whole.

“It’s crazy because we were never anything serious,” you shrugged as a defense mechanism, like trying to get rid of the burden around your shoulders. “It was casual. No strings, no expectations—” you huffed a bitter laugh, tears brimming in your eyes. “But it hurts even more than when I broke up with my ex.”

Wonwoo shifted beside you, turning slightly on his seat to look at you better. “Your ex?” he muttered, so quietly that you barely heard him.

You nodded slowly, chewing on your lower lip. “Before Mingyu, I was with someone for years,” you said, and somehow, it felt easier to tell Wonwoo. As though nothing could hurt you anymore. “We lived together. I had plans and dreams of building a life with him, but…” You looked away, sighing tiredly. “He told me he wasn’t looking for marriage, nor something more serious.”

There was a pause.  And you were sure that Wonwoo was waiting for you to say something else, but you just took another bite from your cookie.

“I’m sorry to hear that. That must’ve been really difficult for you,” he said, shifting again on his seat as he sighed deeply.

But your words started to sink into his mind. What happened with Mingyu was even more hurtful than what your ex-boyfriend did to you. Breaking up with someone after an unreconcilable difference was something—and by the time you broke up with him, you were already emotionally resigned.

But the feeling of almost being something cut even deeper.

You laughed awkwardly. “I’m sorry I’m dumping all of this on you,” you told him, holding in your tears. “And after telling you that I wasn’t good at talking about serious stuff.”

Wonwoo shrugged, giving you a light, easy smile. “It’s the curse of a bartender,” he told you. “But I’m glad that you opened up. It’s already hard to deal with things, but to keep them all to yourself makes it suffocating.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you mumbled.

You placed your elbow on the counter, resting your chin on your fist. “So you took the photos that are hanging on your living room?” you asked promptly, making it obvious that you needed to change the subject.

And he caught it straight away. “A couple of them, yes,” he mumbled, looking down at his camera bag. “I’m actually thinking of taking a stroll near the river. I have this task I need to get done, and maybe I can snap some good photos there.”

Your tummy twisted. It was hard to read if it was an invitation or not, so you just nodded.

“If you wanna come and hang out, it’s fine by me,” he whispered, noticing the hesitation in your expression.

You saw the glint in his eyes, there was an easiness on the tiny smile he showed you.

You were almost about to decline. To tell him that you were busy and had a ton of things to do at home.

But you felt lonely. And there was nothing serious about his invitation. It was just hanging out. 

“I’d like that,” you replied. But then you paused, “But before we go, I want to get some books.”

You stepped outside the shop and waited.

The pavement was slick with water from the light rain that had ceased moments before. The sky was still gray, blanketing the street with a quiet, gloomy heaviness.

Wonwoo followed soon after, now wearing the jacket he’d lent you. He glanced up at the sky and made a face. “This is not very ideal,” he muttered.

You nodded, adjusting the strap of your tote bag, which now hung heavy with books. “We could wait it out,” you offered with a shrug.

He looked around, scanning for shelter.

“Or,” you added, “we could just make our way to the river—take the opportunity while it’s not raining.”

Before he could respond, you were already heading down the street. Wonwoo fell into step beside you, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face.

“What did you get?” he asked, nodding toward your tote bag.

“A couple of graphic novels,” you said, peeking into the bag. “I’m also doing a course—learning tips and tricks about graphic design.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You also got convinced to take a course?”

You nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

Wonwoo patted his camera bag. “I see,” he murmured, voice low.

A silence fell between you. But it wasn’t awkward—not this time. It reminded you of that quiet day at the museum. Stillness, but not distance.

“This is nice,” you said.

He turned his head toward you. “What is?”

“Not trying to run off,” you answered. “Not pretending I’m okay.”

He blinked, visibly unsure how to respond. But he didn’t look away. Something about speaking plainly with him felt good. For the first time in months, you weren’t hiding. You didn’t have to pretend you weren’t hurting.

After a moment, Wonwoo pushed his glasses up. “It is nice,” he said softly.

Both of you walked in silence, the city slightly slowed and hushed by the cold rain. The river glinted ahead, catching what little light managed to break through the clouds.

Wonwoo paused, slipping his bag off his shoulder and unzipping it. “Wait,” he said.

You tilted your head. “You don’t want to get closer to the river?”

“This is okay,” he murmured, already adjusting his camera.

A twist tightened in your tummy when you realized the lens was pointing toward you. “Should I step away?”

He didn’t answer right away. He looked through the viewfinder with quiet concentration. “Don’t move,” he murmured.

You obeyed, though your nerves got the better of you—you shifted slightly, turning your head to the side to avoid meeting the camera’s eye.

Through the lens, Wonwoo saw you standing alone on the path that led down to the river. The pavement was scattered with the last of autumn’s leaves, but it was your face that caught him—the distant, thoughtful look in your eyes. The way you refused to look at him, even though he was really seeing you. All of you.

When he lowered the camera, you exhaled. “You could’ve told me you needed a model.”

The faintest smile tugged at his lips. “Maybe. But you would’ve said no.”

“True,” you admitted. “I’m not a model. I don’t know how to pose.”

“So you say,” he replied, brushing past you with a grin. “Stand over there.”

He pointed to a spot closer to the river, and you laughed under your breath.

“Fine. But you’re holding this.”

You shoved your tote bag full of books into his hands. He caught it with ease, the grin on his face widening.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You rolled your eyes, but your chest ached a little less. There was something in his boyish smile, in the gentle playfulness behind his glasses. And without thinking, you moved to where he asked, standing without questioning his order.

But the moment you stopped, you became overly aware of your body—your arms, your shoulders, your mouth.

“Look at me,” Wonwoo said softly.

You did. And in that moment, you forgot what it meant to pose. You weren’t smiling. You weren’t guarded. You just looked at him. And he looked at you, the shadow of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

The camera clicked. And you waited for him to take another shot, or to move.

“That’s it?” you asked, blinking away from him.

“I got it,” he nodded, his voice slightly hoarse.

He lowered the camera, and his eyes lingered on you for a second longer than they should’ve. His gaze softened. He looked thoughtful for a moment, until he gave you a sheepish smile.

“You’re surprisingly good at this.”

You snorted. “Surprisingly?” you said with a laugh, stepping toward him. “I probably look like those Renaissance paintings where they were still figuring out how to paint cats.”

He laughed out loud. “You’d make a very cute ugly cat,” he teased.

Your cheeks flushed, and you almost hated that you were smiling at him. But then his eyes met yours again, and you felt that same shift in your chest. That stupid pull, that traitorous flutter of your heart.

Wonwoo tilted his head slightly, motioning at his camera. “Would you like to see the picture?”

You hesitated for a second—unsure why it suddenly felt like it was a big deal to step in closer to him—but nodded. He stepped closer, holding out his camera. And you leaned in, your shoulder brushing his.

You tried to focus on the photo, but the proximity was almost dizzying, and the strong smell of peaches filled your head. Your breath hitched.

The photo wasn’t perfect. You instantly saw all of the little imperfections surrounding you. Your hair was windblown, your expression flat. But your eyes… there was a softness in your eyes. A realness in them.

“You see?” he said. “Surprisingly photogenic.”

“I look caught off guard,” you murmured sheepishly.

“That doesn’t mean you don’t look good,” he corrected gently.

Your heart thumped so hard that you were sure it was almost audible. But he didn’t look away.

You breathed in, trying to push the fluttering feeling out of you as you exhaled. “I should get going,” you said.

Wonwoo nodded, noticing the look in your eyes. “Your bag,” he said and unhooked the umbrella that you had lent him the other night. “Thank you for the umbrella and now the photos. I owe you one.”

You gave him a small smile. “You owe me nothing,” you told him. “It’s what friends do, right?”

Wonwoo paused, and for the first time, you wanted to get an in on what he was thinking. “Right,” he nodded.

Friends.

The apartment was dark when Wonwoo walked in, and only the faint light coming from the TV illuminated the way. Slipping off his shoes, he took his jacket off and hung it on the coat rack by the entrance.

Mingyu was on the couch, looking at his phone, not really watching anything. He was just sitting there, elbows planted on his knees, head bowed like he had been stuck in that position for a while before Wonwoo came home.

Wonwoo opened the fridge, took out a banana milk and punched the hole with the little straw. He sipped quietly, afraid to break the silence.

But it was Mingyu who spoke first. “You were out late.”

Wonwoo leaned against the counter, pressing his elbows against it. “Yeah. I went to the bookstore. Took some photos near the river.”

Mingyu nodded slowly, still not looking at him.

“Are you okay?” Wonwoo asked slowly, starting to feel worried.

Mingyu shook his head. “I ruined everything.”

Wonwoo didn’t say anything right away. The rawness in Mingyu’s voice made Wonwoo’s heart falter.

“I keep thinking about her. About what I did,” Mingyu said, putting his phone away.

Wonwoo caught a glimpse of your profile photo on the display. His heart dropped to his stomach. “So call her.”

Mingyu gave a small, empty smile. “It’s not that simple,” he said, rolling his eyes with an annoyance that Wonwoo was sure was directed towards something else, not him.

“No, I know it’s not simple,” he said. “But it’s a start.”

Mingyu finally looked up, his tired eyes finding Wonwoo’s. “Would you?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “If you had broken her heart, would you do it?”

Wonwoo shrugged, like the answer was clear as day. “If I cared about her, yeah. I would.”

Wonwoo remembered your sad smile. He remembered the brittle sound of your voice when you talked about your past heartbreak.

Mingyu looked away, shaking his head. “She deserved better than the way I left things.”

Wonwoo’s throat tightened, it was hard to swallow. He thought about the photos in his camera. About you. Your eyes. The way you were finally starting to laugh again.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo said softly. “Yeah, she does.”

But Mingyu didn’t catch the shift in his tone. He locked his phone, deciding to not call you, nor text you. Not yet.

“I’m not ready,” Mingyu said, rising from the couch.

Wonwoo watched him walk to his bedroom, locking the door behind him.

After a moment, Wonwoo decided to head to his bedroom, closing the door with a soft click.

He leaned against the door for a long second, letting his head rest back, closing his eyes. The silence inside the apartment felt heavier—a hundred times worse than before.

He pressed the Enter button on his keyboard, bringing his computer to life. The hum coming from the fans of his computer started to fill the room. Wonwoo used the faint light coming from his double monitors to look for a change of clothes, something comfortable, before he sat down to work.

After he found a pair of black shorts and an oversized white t-shirt, he sat down on his chair, getting his camera out of its bag.

He scrolled through the different photos he got from the day at the museum. And then the photos he got from today. Photos of the wet pavement, the river, and the leaves scattered on the floor.

And you.

Wonwoo’s breath caught when he saw a photo he didn’t realize he had caught. In this photo, you weren’t looking at the camera. There was a softness in your features, a sad look in your eyes. The way you stood in the light, the shadows pooling at your feet.

Wonwoo stared at the photo, his finger hovering on the right click for a second before he moved the photo to another folder. One that wasn’t destined for the task.

He leaned back in his chair, running his fingers through his long, dark hair. He didn’t want to feel guilty. He hadn’t done anything wrong, he knew this. But the weight in his heart begged to differ.

Wonwoo reached for his phone as he chewed on his bottom lip.

Then, with a laboured sigh, he opened your chat.

The last message between you and him was a simple thank you after he asked if you had arrived home alright. It was simple, friendly. 

Wonwoo hesitated, flexing his fingers over the keyboard before typing: “it was good seeing you today”

And that was it. He put the phone away, face down on his desk and dropped his head back against the chair. His heart was doing that stutter that it hadn’t done in a while. 

In years, even.

Things happen randomly sometimes. You weren’t looking for your life to be derailed one Sunday night. Not on purpose, at least.

You were curled up on your bed, scrolling numbly through your phone, a thing that would eventually lead to falling asleep, but you weren’t having any luck yet.

Your phone started vibrating in your hands, and the picture of your best friend from college, Mona appeared on the screen.

You had been dodging her calls lately, feeling like your recent actions might bring her judgment. But something about her calling late at night spiked your intrigue.

You swiped your thumb across the screen.

“Hello?”

“Hey there,” Mona replied, and something about her tone was off.

“Is everything okay?” you asked curiously.

“I need you to sit down,” Mona instructed bluntly.

You sat up on your bed, reclining on the headboard. “What’s happening?”

“Listen, I’m only doing this because I don’t want you to find out by other means.”

“Please, Mona, just tell me,” you sighed tiredly, already feeling the weight of anxiousness seeping in.

“Jay is getting married.”

You stopped cold. It was as though you were abruptly submerged into a pool of ice-cold water. Your body was too slow and too heavy to muster a reaction.

“W-what?” you blurted. A part of you felt like your friend was playing a really bad prank on you.

“Jay just announced his engagement,” she repeated, and you could hear the raw rage in her tone.

“H-how do you know?” you stammered, trying to compose yourself with slow and deep breaths.

Mona didn’t get along with your ex-boyfriend. Or with anyone who was still related to him. You knew this.

“Someone sent me screenshots. Look—I don’t mean to put you in a bad spot, but,” she paused, and you could tell from the deep sigh coming out of her that she was debating to tell you more. “But you deserve to know. Before someone else tells you and makes it worse.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, your breath catching painfully against your ribs. “Thank you, Mona,” you told her.

“I got you,” she said right before hanging up.

It was about two seconds later that she sent you two pictures. There he was. Your ex. Smiling in a way you hadn’t seen in years, his arm slung around someone else’s shoulders. It was a girl you didn’t recognize. But she was cute. Glowing with a radiant smile on her face, showing off her brand new engagement ring.

The caption under the photo made your stomach lurch.

To a future together- Mr. and Ms. Bang 💞

You stared at the photo. Read the caption. Then stared at the photo again.

The screen blurred, and you realized that your hands were shaking.

No, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.

You left the phone aside, burying your face in your hands as though you could fix the stabbing pain in your chest.

You weren’t supposed to care anymore. You stopped caring about your ex long ago. But the pain was raw, eating at your heart quickly. It hurt so deep you couldn’t breathe.

It was like you were sitting at that basketball court again. With nothing but your aching heart in your hands.

The room was spinning, and everything felt wrong. You got out of bed, grabbed your hoodie, keys, and shoved your phone in your pocket. And without thinking, you scrambled to the door.

You needed to get out of there. You needed to move, to do something.

It rained again on the walk to the nearest convenience store. But you didn’t bother with an umbrella this time. You let the drizzle soak into your hair, your hoodie, your sneakers.

Maybe the rain could help wash this pain out of you. Maybe the rain could fix whatever was broken inside you.

You grabbed a couple of bottles of alcohol, not caring what you took with you and paid.

You were walking out of the convenience store when you bumped into him. A tall, hard frame that almost had you stumbling back onto the floor, weren’t for those hands holding you steady.

You looked up, your heart stopping at once when you saw the man who had helped you catch your step.

“Careful there,” Jeon Wonwoo said, helping you catch your step.

His gaze swept over you—taking in your soaked hoodie, your damped hair, your hurt, glassy eyes.

“Sorry,�� you said awkwardly, looking down at your feet.

Rain continued to fall, slowly, trickling down the back of your head and soaking through your clothes. You were sure that Wonwoo had already spotted the state you were in, and the bag with bottles of alcohol inside.

He didn’t say anything at first. He just watched you, studied you.

And saying nothing was somehow worse. Because it meant that he saw all of you. He saw the way you could barely hold yourself together. Your lip quivered. You hated yourself. You hated the power that you had given to other people to make you feel this way.

You blinked rapidly, trying to fight the sting in your eyes. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

“I was heading back home but—” Wonwoo took a cautious step towards you, like approaching something wounded and dangerous.

“Hey,” he spoke quietly, his voice barely audible. “You’re okay?”

The stupid kindness in his voice snapped something inside you.

The first sob ripped from your throat without any warning. It was sharp, humiliating. It told of the many days and nights you contained yourself. You clamped a hand over your mouth, but it was far too late.

Wonwoo swayed towards you, closing the distance. He didn’t touch you, not right away. He just stood there, as though figuring out what to do. Figuring out what he wanted to do.

Something broke loose in you. Without thinking, you stumbled forward, crashing into his chest. Your hand clutched the front of his jacket, twisting the fabric.

Wonwoo caught you with not even a second of hesitation, wrapping you in a big hug. Like he was holding you to keep you from falling onto the ground. 

You didn’t question it, and neither did he. It was a simple gesture. A human connection. 

You cried against his chest, broken, shuddering gasps tearing out from your chest as the flood you had been containing finally broke loose. A part of you wanted to explain to him why you were crying. But you couldn’t make out the words—the pain was so great, greater than you.

You had broken your promise. 

“I’m sorry,” you said disjointedly, backing away from him while wiping your tears.

“It’s okay,” he said, sending a look around. “Where are you going with that?” he asked, motioning to the paper bag you were holding in one arm.

“To my home,” you sniffled, pointing down the street.

“Do you need company?” he said politely, but you realized he wasn’t taking a no for an answer. “Let me walk you there.”

You wondered how messed up you really looked like that, he felt compelled to walk you home. “Okay,” you agreed, and started walking towards your apartment building.

The walk was quiet. Your head was so filled with different thoughts that you couldn’t bring yourself to say something.

You didn’t remember the walk to your building. But you remember standing beneath the awning, turning around, and sending a flitting glance up to his face.

“Do you need to talk?” he asked slowly. It was a simple question.

Your throat tightened, and burned. Gnawing on your lower lip, you nodded.

A worried expression flashed across the features of his face. It was for a second, fleeting.

“Come upstairs?” you asked, and the sorrow and desperation rose in your tone, showing in your eyes. “Please.”

His mouth parted ever so slightly. He surely must’ve realized the implications of him coming to your apartment. But what exactly was to be expected?

“Of course.”

Stepping inside your apartment with Wonwoo following you closely felt surreal. But everything else going on in your life made it shrink in comparison.

“Come in,” you whispered, leaving your sneakers at the front door, closing it once Wonwoo followed you inside, watching you closely.

You hadn’t even turned the lights off when you walked out of your apartment. You left the bag on the counter before grabbing a bottle, cracking it open and gulping down three large mouthfuls of straight alcohol.

Wonwoo blinked in shock. “Oh, God,” he stammered, watching you as though he needed to do something soon. “Calm down.”

You exhaled heavily, using the back of your hand to wipe your mouth. You motioned the bottle to him, raising your eyebrows.

But he shook his head. “I don’t drink,” he said politely.

“Okay, then,” you shrugged, drinking down another three large gulps.

Wonwoo watched you intently, crossing his arms as the muscles of his jaw tightened. “You’re scaring me,” he said finally.

You laughed—a raw and broken sound. It tore from your chest. “Good,” you said, putting the bottle down.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice low. He tilted his head forward, his eyes zeroing in on you.

You shook your head, commanding your gaze to look anywhere else but his face. But sadness started to seep in, like icy venom running through your veins. Anger and humiliation took over so fast that you couldn’t stop the muscles of your face from contracting.

“My ex,” you choked out. “Remember him? The one I spent years with, the one who swore he would never be ready for commitment?”  

Wonwoo’s posture shifted slightly, his mouth parted with realization before you could even speak out the following words:

“He’s just got engaged,” you said, your tone breaking in the middle of your sentence. “He’s getting married to someone else. Someone good enough.”

The words were heavy, bitter on your tongue. And even if they weren’t true to some extent, they hurt to say.

Wonwoo’s gaze darkened, but he didn’t say anything. He blinked slowly once, breathing in through his nose. And when he opened his eyes again, you saw anger flashing in his eyes. But you also saw pity in them.

You laughed again, the sound dry and almost miserable. “It’s not like I care about him,” you spat. “It’s not about him.” You looked down at your hands, trembling around the bottle of alcohol. “It’s about me.”

You finally raised your gaze, making eye contact with him. You hated the broken worry you saw in his eyes. The way his eyebrows twitched, and his dark eyes searched your face. You wondered what he was seeing in your face that made him react that way.

“It’s gotta be me, right? I have to be the common denominator,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “It’s always me. I’m not good enough to stay for.”

You let out a sigh that sounded more like a sob. A broken moan of loneliness, heaviness. A storm that was brewing deep inside you, and it wasn’t just because of this recent turn of events.

“But that’s not it,” you said, hot tears brimming in your eyes as your voice rose: “It’s everyone. No matter what I do. I’m always someone’s almost.”

Your voice cracked in the last word, and you had to bit down on your lip to stop it from trembling.

Through the corner of your eye, you saw Wonwoo approaching, closing the space in your tiny kitchen. It was a cautious move, but steady. Determined.

“You’re not the problem,” he said firmly. “You’re better off without him. He’s an idiot.”

You laughed bitterly this time. “Right. Because Mingyu wasn’t another idiot who decided that I wasn’t enough either.”

Wonwoo flinched.

But you didn’t care if your words were harsh. You tipped the bottle between your lips again, downing the last bit of alcohol in it. You would feel its effects soon, and you were beginning to wonder if getting drunk was the right thing to do.

It would take the pain away. And you needed that.

“You really think I don’t know he fucked up?” Wonwoo said, his voice hard.

You blinked, your eyes snapping to his face.

But he continued, taking another step towards you. “You think I don’t see it? You didn’t deserve any of it,” he said, his voice raw, and there was an edge to it that you couldn’t understand. “Not from him. Not from anyone.”

You swallowed your tears, your heart thumping so hard that it was starting to hurt in your chest. “You don’t know me,” you whispered.

Wonwoo didn’t skip a beat. “I know enough.”

Perplexion hit you, and part of you wanted to pause and listen to what he was saying. The look of pity painting the features of his face made you think that you were probably looking more broken apart than you had initially imagined.

But before you could stop yourself, you huffed a laugh, letting your tears go. “And what happens when you get to know me more?” you snapped. “You’ll leave like the rest of them.”

The features of his face contracted slightly, your words hitting somewhere he wasn’t letting show. “You don’t know that—”

“Save it,” you cut in, but the sharpness in your voice had lost its edge. “You don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like—” your voice broke, and you blinked away from his gaze. “—to never be enough. To love someone and then watch them walk away to someone new.”

His expression hardened. “Don’t put that on me,” he said, his voice sounding rough. “Don’t tell me I don’t get it.”

“Then why do you have that look on your face?!” you shot back, wiping the tears with the back of your hand.

He ran a hand over his mouth, as though trying to smooth out the quiet rage that you had sparked. “You really think I don’t care,” he spat, the snappiness of his words making you flinch. He took another step, so close to you now that you could sense the storm shaking inside him. “You still think that I'm an asshole.”

Your breath hitched, making your brain swim inside your head. You were sure that it was the alcohol starting to take effect.

But you were also not equipped to hear this. You didn’t want to hear this. You didn’t want to feel this. Not now.

But it was too late. You had fractured the only thing that held Wonwoo’s composure. It was then that you saw him. His hair was ruffled, wet with the few droplets of rain he had caught on the way here. His glasses had slipped down the perfect bridge of his nose. He looked messy, angry, and out of control.

He pointed at his chest. “You think I like sitting on the sidelines?” he said darkly. He never raised his voice at you, but he was breathing hard. “You think I like to watch you like this over the people who hurt you?”

You froze, your heart stammering painfully against your chest. His words had hit you like a slap. “W-what?” you breathed, so shocked that you had stopped crying.

His breathing turned ragged, he looked torn. Like he was trying with everything in him to stop himself. Every inch of him trembled with the force of what he wasn’t supposed to say to you.

“You’re not a second choice.” He rasped, letting out a short sigh through his nose. It was done now. Too late to take it back.

His words stunned you. You should’ve reacted quicker, were it not for the feeling making your heart flutter. “Wonwoo—” you pleaded, but you didn’t realize that your body was moving. Moving towards him.

His hands grabbed your face, his fingers burying themselves in your wet hair, just as your hands found the front of his jacket.

And then he kissed you.

The kiss was messy. Desperate. The kind of kiss that neither you nor he wanted, you could feel it in him. His lips captured yours with a vehemence that overpowered you completely. But your hands moved to the back of his neck, pulling him down into you like you needed him to breathe.

And Wonwoo kissed you back. He kissed you like he waited for so long to do that, his tongue brushed against your lip as he rolled it inside your mouth, tasting the alcohol in your tongue. He breathed out softly when he heard the broken moan he got out of you, and stopped.

You broke apart, panting. Wonwoo pressed his forehead against yours, and you realized as he dropped his hands from your face that he was shaking.

“I.. I’m sorry,” he said, his voice raspy, low. He sounded lost. “I didn’t mean to, but...”

“I know,” you whispered back, your voice breaking.

But neither of you pulled away.

You didn’t dare to open your eyes. You wanted to cry. The very feeling that had made your heart flutter went wild, beating against your chest. You wanted to get rid of it—you wanted to rip your own heart out.

Slowly, Wonwoo peeled off your body, lifting his forehead from yours. You stepped back, your hands falling at your sides.

And with one deep breath, you raised your gaze to his face.

You had to put a hand on the counter for support. Your head started to swim with a remorseful pain. You knew this was wrong, but didn’t exactly know why. “Wonwoo—” you said, unable to raise your voice any higher.

“I should go,” he cut in, as though the weight of what he had done just caught up with him. “This was wrong. I shouldn’t have come here.”

But Wonwoo looked torn. His face was painted in sick worry, his eyebrows were drawn, his mouth slightly twisted. Somehow, his words cut you deeper. You nodded, agreeing with him, but it cost you to breathe normally.

However, he did not attempt to move. His eyes read your face, and his gaze softened when he saw your eyes brim with tears again.

“I understand,” you whispered, bringing your fingers to cover your mouth to hold in your sobs.

Except that you couldn’t understand. Not really. You couldn’t understand why kissing you was such a bad thing. Mingyu left you.

And you were always the one who made it easier for everyone to go.

You could feel Wonwoo’s scrutiny on you. The way he silently absorbed every emotion showing on your face. Your face tickled with shame, the sensation spreading and lingering all over you. You shrank under his gaze.

The rain pattered lightly on the windows, the quiet, distant lightning illuminated the room for a second. But the space between you was heavy with everything neither of you wanted to say, despite it being obvious.

You had crossed a line you wouldn’t be able to come back from.  

“I-I’ll walk you to the door,” you said, your voice breaking in the middle of your sentence.

Then, you motioned to the door, walking past him in your tiny kitchen. Your shoulder brushed against his arm, feeling the way he moved towards you, his hand catching yours in one second.

You snapped your gaze to him, having no time to move or to stop him.

There was something in his eyes when you exchanged a short glance with him. He paused, but only to make sure that you wouldn’t back away.

Wonwoo kissed you again—this time more certain. There was no fumbling, no scrambling to get the kiss done in a rush. You closed your eyes, your hand searching for his wrist as he held your face, kissing you deeper.

His other hand found your waist, grabbing you to pull you into him. You could feel the warmth coming from his body, the way it seemed that he was still shaking, but it felt different this time. Like the quick beating of his heart wasn’t out of anxiousness of kissing you, but from finally doing it because he wanted to.

When you broke apart, both of you were panting, but Wonwoo didn’t stop kissing you. His lips brushed against your lower lip, giving you tiny, but feathery kisses that trailed to the corner of your mouth and to your cheek.

You could feel his quick breathing brushing against your skin, making it prickle. His hand moved from your cheek to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your wet hair.

“This is wrong,” he repeated with a whisper, but now there was an air of finality in his tone. “But I want it.”

Your eyes fluttered closed again. The sound of his voice so close to your ear sent shivers down your spine. “W-what—I don’t understand, you said—”

“I wish I had answers right now,” he said, pulling back softly from you. He gave you a solemn look, his glinting eyes searching yours, searching for reasons to pull away from you, from this. “But I don’t think I can pretend any longer.”

“What?” you breathed warily, your heart skipping a beat.

He shook his head softly. “You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered, taking a tiny step towards you. “I know that this is a lot for you right now. And I don’t have issues with stepping back, if that’s what you want.”

Everything inside you raged. It was a split-second of realizing that everything was upside down, everything was wrong. No matter what you felt, no matter how hard you tried, there was always something in the way.

And this time, your broken heart was the thing in the way.

“You deserve better,” you whispered. It slipped out before you could even stop yourself. You sounded raw and vulnerable.

His face shifted, his eyebrows knitted softly, his eyes reading your expression. “But I want you,” he said.

His words were like a thousand bricks falling on you. Everything that he told you came crashing down—about him being tired of being sidelined, of watching you torn apart for other people.

“I’m broken,” you whispered, and you wished to sound less angry about it, but there was an undeniable venom coating your words.

His fingers clenched your waist, resting his forehead against yours. “And I still want you all the same.”

You went still while your mind reeled with all the possible consequences that this might bring to your life. You were a mess.

“This is not a good idea,” you finally whispered. You were giving him all the reasons to walk away, to choose for himself before he let himself get involved with you.

His breath hitched slightly. “I know.”

You stepped back, but not far. You just wanted to look into his eyes, to get a read on what he so jealously protected with his mask. “Please…” you started, trying to select your words carefully, but your mind was swimming. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

One poison draws out another. Wonwoo remembered his friend’s words carefully.

His brows narrowed. “Don’t worry about me,” he whispered. And you realized that his hands had stopped shaking, but you knew he was still nervous about holding you this close.

You wanted to say something. You wanted to list out all of the reasons why you were not good for him.

But, God, you were lonely. And angry.

Wonwoo saw the quiet determination settling on the features of your face, making him step closer to hold you tightly to his body. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, one last confirmation before crossing that line, permanently.

Your head was swimming, but the determination weighed heavily in your heart. “I am,” you nodded. Then you slipped a hand on his nape, pulling him into a kiss just as he leaned towards you.

He circled your neck with one hand, holding you to kiss you fully, deeply. His lips fit with yours perfectly, moving seamlessly in a passionate way. This kiss was different, it was burdened with a heat that made you suspect he wanted to kiss you for a long time, but couldn’t.

This was wrong, but it felt so good.

And now, neither of you could stop. 

It soon dawned on you that Wonwoo wasn’t stopping either. A wave of need and arousal rose within you, wrapped with a bitterness that you should’ve stopped to pay attention to.

Your hands skirted over the pads of his jacket, starting to peel it off. He helped you, shrugging off his jacket and letting it drop to the floor. Wonwoo didn’t stop kissing you, and he did this with such force that you thought you could break.

Because that’s what you wanted. You wanted to be bad, to give in to the sticky feeling spreading inside your chest.

Neither of you stopped to talk, it was clear where the moment was leading down to.

Your movements were rushed, as though if you paused for longer than a second, you might start to regret this. You took his t-shirt off, messing up his glasses in the process.

Wonwoo smiled sheepishly, fixing his glasses back up. As he looked at you, there was an undeniable feeling that made your heart stutter.

You took his hand, staggering towards your bed, but Wonwoo pulled your body in before you could make it, quickly grabbing your hoodie to strip it off your body.

The hesitation, prudence, and any morsel of sanity that was holding you back evaporated. You fully gave in to the craving inside you once your clothes started to drop on the floor.

Wonwoo grabbed you by your bare waist, pulling you closer to his body to kiss you again. His hands roved all over your back, finding the clasp of your bra to undo it.

It happened fast, one by one, both of your clothes were discarded in between rushed kisses. None of you spoke a word, and you were thankful for that.

“Sit on the bed,” Wonwoo said with a rasp, his hands leaving your waist.

You obeyed without a second thought, sitting on the foot of your bed. Wonwoo pressed a knee on the edge of the bed, leaning over you and pushing you to lie back. His arms towered next to your shoulders, serving for support as he pressed his bare chest against yours.

He watched you for one long second, his gaze dark and lascivious. His hand returned to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing your lower lip softly. “Stop me if you don’t want any of it,” he said.

“Wonwoo.” You called, feeling like you might just pass out from the wanton need brimming inside you.

“Mmn?” he raised his brows, his eyes studying your face.

You grabbed his face, holding his gaze. “Fuck me,” you whispered.

His eyes widened slightly. “How?” he replied.

“Just do it,” you said. But then, swallowing hard, you reconsidered. “Fuck me hard.”

 He showed you a grin. It looked wicked, almost feline. But before he could explain where the smile was coming from, he was leaning again, brushing his lips against yours slowly, lightly. “Dirty girl,” he whispered into your mouth, kissing it softly.

A low, breathy moan escaped you at the sound of those words. “Please,” you begged, your lips still brushing against his.

You didn’t have to ask twice. Wonwoo kissed you deeply, removing his hand from your chin to find your waist. He sank down your body, leaving a trail of kisses from your mouth to your neck, then down to your chest.

His wet lips on your skin awoke something within you. It had been so long since you felt something at all that your skin was already prickling at the slightest touch. He kissed your chest, his hands cupping your tits, pushing them to make them bulge. He planted soft, slow kisses around your nipples, pulling out his tongue to glide it on your areolas.

“Fuck,” you whispered, your hands cupping the back of his head.

His lips wrapped around one of your perked nipples, tugging at it lightly as his thumb teased your other nipple, brushing his pad against it. He hummed lightly, giving your breasts a couple of open-mouthed kisses before he continued exploring your body further down.

Your head was spinning, and you had to force yourself to close your eyes. The sight of him getting down on his knees before the bed was so arousing to you that you shuddered from it.

He gently nudged your thighs apart, propping them on his shoulders as he leaned against your body to press his lips on your inner thighs. He taunted you with kisses, bringing out sweet moans from you as he came closer and closer to your dripping wet pussy.

“Please,” you whispered, feeling his breath fanning against your skin, the tip of his tongue brushing before he pressed another kiss on your inner thigh.

That was all he needed. His mouth was on you, licking you, tasting you. You arched your back off the mattress, your hands balling into fists around the covers. The first brush of his tongue against your folds made your whole body come to life.

You moaned loudly, closing your eyes so hard you saw stars. “Fuck, Wonwoo!” you cried out, already panting for air, making yourself dizzier.

He forced your thighs open, burying his mouth on your pussy like he had something to prove. He didn’t do the bare minimum, no. He licked every single inch of your cunt, exploring it with his tongue, and repeating the things that brought the loudest moans from you.

So he quickly realized that teasing your clit was the way to go. He wrapped his lips around your clit, pressing his tongue on it before starting to flick it from side to side.

You didn’t know what to do, between grabbing his hair or holding onto the covers, you felt like you were about to pass out from pleasure. Your head was spinning, your whole body tingling with your orgasm.

His fingers slid between your folds, finding your pooling entrance. The first slide of his fingers into you tipped you over the edge, tearing a loud, raspy moan from your chest. You went rigid, letting the fiery waves of your orgasm consume you wholly, making you whine and moan pathetically.

His fingers massaged into you, bringing out lewd, wet sounds from out of your cunt. He was now giving slow, thorough kisses, drinking in your arousal, moaning with you.

“Wonwoo…” you called weakly, brushing his hair back with tired fingers.

You were more than ready for him now.

So you sat up, trying to push him back so you could finish undressing him.

Wonwoo understood what you wanted without having to speak up. He rose to his feet, and your tummy twisted when you caught sight of his dishevelled form. His hair was ruffled, and his glasses hung low on the bridge of his nose. There was a glistening wetness on his chin.

Your thumbs fumbled to take his boxers off, tugging at the waistband clumsily. You raised your gaze, finding his eyes before you pushed the last piece of clothing he wore down.

A sudden rush invaded you. There was no going back now. And you wanted this, you needed this.

You swallowed hard, revelling at the sight of his naked body. Wonwoo was lean, the muscles of his abdomen were well-defined, dipping between his bulging pectorals. His shoulders were wide, and his biceps were toned.

There was a soft, dark trail of hair from his belly button, which you followed down with your gaze. Your breath hitched. He was huge—not that girthy—but the length of it almost made you doubt whether it would fit inside you.

“You’re very sexy,” you stammered, looking away in shyness.

But he used a hand to cup your chin, tipping your head back so he could meet your gaze. “You’re very sexy too,” he said.

You gave him a small smile, grabbing his hand as you lay back on the bed. Wonwoo followed you, his body towering over yours.

He pushed one of your thighs with his knee, crawling on top of you and framing your head with his arms. His lips trapped yours in a feathery kiss, smearing your arousal on your chin.

He tensed, his breath hitching when you wrapped your fingers around his hard cock. “Do you have condoms?” he whispered.

“Mm-mmn,” you shook your head, rolling your hand all over him.

You lifted your knees to your chest, gliding the tip of his cock between your folds.

“Raw?” he breathed, still giving you sweet kisses.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you just nodded.

“Words, baby,” he said with a rasp, pulling away to look at your face. “Use them.”

You blinked at him slowly, not hiding the lust that was threatening to consume you whole. “Fuck me raw,” you pleaded.

Your words had an effect on him; his gaze darkened. He grabbed your wrists with one hand, driving them above your head and pinning them there. He notched his cock on your entrance, and that was the only warning he gave you before sinking inside you.

Your mouth dropped open, a silent gasp coming out of him as Wonwoo pushed his cock inside you, looking into your eyes, grabbing every detail, every reaction showing on your face.

Wonwoo blinked slowly, letting out a breath through his nose once he sheathed himself completely in your walls. “Fuck,” he whispered. And that might’ve been the first time you heard him cuss like that.

You closed your eyes, struggling to breathe. He released your hands, and you found his shoulders, your fingers shaking slightly against his skin.

Wonwoo trapped your lips with his, kissing you deeply, his tongue brushing against the roof of your mouth. Slowly, you felt your body relaxing, your walls fluttering and easing around him. You moaned into the kiss, just as he pulled his hips back slowly, making you feel every raw inch of his long dick.

You whimpered slightly as he pushed into you, still slow but deeper this time, his hips meeting yours with every thrust.

He slipped a hand beneath your head, his fingers curling around your hair. “You okay?” Wonwoo whispered, his lips lingering on yours slightly.

“Yeah,” you replied, breathing fitfully. 

It was the only confirmation he needed before he drove into you, picking up a pace. Panting, he gave you a quick kiss on your lips before he started plowing on you.

He started fucking you hard, fast. As though the anger from the argument he had with you returned and he wanted to fuck the steam out of his system. His thrusts became rougher, calculated, knocking the air out of your lungs.

“Fuck, Wonwoo,” you whimpered, your mind going blank. “Please, please, don’t stop,” you were begging again, losing control. Pleasure started to build inside you again, and you were afraid that the alcohol you had consumed before was also pushing you closer to your second orgasm.

Wonwoo was panting, his breath brushing against your cheek before he kissed it. “Cum for me, baby,” he muttered darkly.

It was maddening to think that the shy, quiet and reserved guy could talk to you like that. Let alone, fuck you like that. And he was not slowing down, his thrusts were brutal, pushing his cock deeper each time.

You didn’t have the space to breathe, nor to give him any warning. You could only give him a couple of sharp gasps right before you orgasmed again. You cried out, the sound whiny, raspy, while your orgasm rippled through you.

Wonwoo groaned, feeling your pussy clamp tightly around his cock. Burying his face on the crook of your neck, you felt his laboured breaths, right before his lips latched onto your skin, sucking a lovebite into it.

“Fuck—Wonwoo,” you gasped. Unable to do anything else but give in to the sweet rapture.

Wonwoo heard you, peeling off your neck to kiss your lips swiftly. “Where do you want me?” he asked with a strangled tone.

You could feel your walls flutter around him at the sound of his words. You considered it for half a second, but then— “Inside,” you whispered. “Cum inside me, Wonwoo. Please.”

He grunted, leaning to press his forehead against yours. His fist tightened around your hair, just as his strokes became harder, and deeper, fucking his cum into you.

Wonwoo was panting tiredly as he dropped his face on the crook of your neck again.

You stared into the void, wrapping your arms around him, realizing that you body was shaking.

Slowly, as though coming to his senses, Wonwoo peeled off your body, but just barely. “Are you okay?” he asked gently. His glasses were slightly fogged, which he fixed with one hand. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head on your pillow.

Wonwoo’s brows knitted softly.

“I’m okay,” you replied, realizing your voice was hoarse, you swallowed. “I promise.”

He was still breathing hard, so he just smiled tiredly at you. He sat back on his haunches, gently pulling out of you. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

You blinked at him dumbly.

He pointed with his finger to one side of his neck. “I did that,” he put in meekly.

You instantly brought a hand to your neck, right on the spot that was tingling and hot. “It’s okay,” you sighed.

Wonwoo paused, making sure that you were indeed alright. “Want me to bring you something to clean up?”

“No, I’ll just take care of it in the bathroom,” you said, rolling over on your bed. Once you stood on your feet, the whole room spun around you, making you giggle.

“Careful,” he said, springing into action. He rose from the bed, stretching an arm toward you to keep you from stumbling to the ground.

“I’m okay,” you said. Staggering to the bathroom, you got to see the red spot right on the curve of your neck.

But you couldn’t care less.

After weeks, you could finally feel something again. Something other than the fucking misery that seemed to follow you everywhere you went.

Part of you wondered when the moment would be to start feeling bad about this. But you realized that you were too tired to feel remorseful about fucking Mingyu’s best friend.

You’d feel dirty tomorrow.

Wonwoo’s phone buzzed somewhere on the floor. It was buried in the scattered clothes, beneath his jeans. He picked it up, his heart jolting nervously when he read Mingyu’s name on the screen.

“crashing late?” read Mingyu’s text.

Wonwoo chewed on his lower lip. “yeah, sorry, something came up” he replied.

You were back in the room, rummaging in your drawers, looking for a t-shirt to cover your bare body.

You didn’t notice the worry flashing across Wonwoo’s face. “Hey,” you called softly.

Wonwoo was already looking at you, thinking of what to do. “Hey,” he mumbled, giving you a tiny but sweet smile.

“Do you want to stay the night?” you asked meekly, realizing that your request might be too much, you added. “I don’t want to be alone,” you added with a note of sincerity.

The tight feeling trapping his heart eased. “Of course,” Wonwoo replied, locking his phone before climbing onto the spot next to you on the bed.

As you lay back, you sent him a fleeting glance, biting your bottom lip.

Wonwoo smiled when he saw the hesitation in your demeanor. “Come here,” he whispered, motioning you closer to him.

You gave him a light smile. “Okay,” you whispered, deciding to scoot closer to his body.

“We can cuddle, if that’s what you want,” he said with a knowing smile, despite the shyness he was exuding.

You let out a guilty giggle, realizing that you were subconsciously expecting aftercare with him. And Wonwoo was more than willing to give you just that.

“Don’t make it weird,” you mumbled shyly.

“We just had sex, and you think I’ll consider cuddling weird?” he laughed.

“Just… shut up,” you sighed.

He didn’t reply, just watched you as you moved towards him beneath the covers. You rested your head on his chest, just as he wrapped an arm around you, hugging you comfortably to his frame.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, his voice like velvet against your senses.

You tilted your head back, glancing at his face. “Yes,” you replied. “This is nice,” you told him, turning your head again to nuzzle against his warmth.

Wonwoo wrapped a hand around your shoulder, pulling you closer. “Rest up,” he whispered gently, kissing your brow.

But you were already dozing off, only being able to reply with a sweet hum before you were completely gone.

Wonwoo waited until the rhythm of your breathing deepened to raise his phone, unlocking it to read Mingyu’s last messages.

“I regret everything,” the first message read.

And then the last two read,

“I want to fix it.

But I don’t know how.”

☾ author's note: alexa, play bittersweet

this author's note is to once again, thank you for your support! the feedback i got from the previous chapter. i was amazed by the amount of comments and asks that i got! 🥺 i still can't believe the amount of people who commented, reblogged and came to my inbox to say something! i love you all!

this post has been in my drafts since january 2024 🫥 and since i posted the previous part of this series, a lot, and i do mean a lot of you guys came to me with questions about whether or not i had something planned for our wonwoo. i didn't want to give too much away because it would've ruined what i had planned.

well, this is how wonwoo is going to debut in his own series; in the wicked games series.

fun, right? 🙂

same as always, y'all know the drill. if you have something to say, comment it down below, share your opinions anonymously, reblog, like this post, share it with your grandma 🙂

yell at me, if that's what you want but keep it civil :D

i love you, thank you for reading!

toodles

☆ STAY TUNED FOR PART VI! ☆ | PREVIOUS CHAPTERS | BUY ME COFFEE? ♡

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[thetxtdevil]

Pediatric Surgeon *TXT's Anatomy*

Doctor!Soobin x Doctor!Reader

summary: Dr. Soobin requests your assistance on a case, prompting you to prepare for the surgery in a different type of way.

content: smut, hospital setting (if you don't like anything correlating to blood and anything medical don't read), descriptions of surgery, female reader, perv.reader, perv.dom.soobin, wet dream, degrading, mutual masturbation, panty fucking, fingering, panty stealing implied

word count: 2.7k

The early morning sun glowed with an orange hue through the hospital’s corridor windows as you stepped into the bustling building. The scent of antiseptic is thick in the air, yet with a deep breath, you take in a rich, comforting scent from the coffee shop built within the nook of the entrance. Like a moth to a flame, the roasted beans lead you to the cashier, ordering your mocha latte. As you pull your wallet out, a hand is roughly placed on top of yours, “Can I get an iced americano, and I’ll pay for hers too.” The warm, husky tone of the voice makes your head tilt your head up to see a man whom you unfortunately don’t see often, Choi Soobin, a Pediatric Surgeon. He shyly glances at you while taking back his credit card. A slight turn of his lips causes a cascade of his cute features to show, dimples indenting his blushed cheeks, pushing up his dark eyebags, which were almost covered by his thick-framed glasses. Irises that couldn’t help but glance down at your lips, which also turned into a smile. “Thank you.” The man opens his mouth to say something, but only a huff of air comes out. He avoids eye contact with you, hands reaching out for both freshly made coffees, handing one to you. “What? What is it?” You say walking with him up to the surgical floor.

Soobin sips his cold drink, his eyes jumping everywhere except you, deep in thought. “I-I bought your coffee to ask you something. Well, because I am a nice guy, but—” You quirk an eyebrow, watching him fidget with the fluffy texture of his coat, “I have this patient, and I want your opinion.”

You nod. “I’ll take a look after my rounds, is that okay?”

“That’s perfect. Thank you so much, Dr. y/l/n.” His eyes light up. Soobin was so respectful to you, even though he’s been in the field longer than you. You wondered if he was like this to every co-worker or just to you. 

You situate the stethoscope around your neck and scan the patient list on your tablet. The digital clock above the nurses' station read 7:47 AM, it was getting to the time to check on your patients, as the nurses line up to give report, and other occupations stand and wait to speak if needed. You take note of new information about each patient, keeping tabs with every word the nurse says to you. Focused on the pile of charting and prognoses, you lost track of how many patients you had. “Alright, who else?”

“Doctor, those are all your patients.” A social worker says.

“Oh… really?” You look back at your notes, and you see that your schedule has enough free time to fit in Soobin’s patient, if needed. “Well then, let’s get back to work.”

You’re also surprised when you tilt your coffee cup up to only receive a few lukewarm droplets from the lid. That's when you see the tall man turn around the corner, his brown fluffy jacket switched into a white lab coat. Soobin’s clean dress shoes squeak as he stops in his place, noticing you staring. Blush creeping on his face, the color of a rose gets darker the closer he gets to you. “Hello again,” you say in a sultry tone.

“H-hi, here is the patient’s chart. She’s darling, she can’t talk as much, but she already is so kind and calm.”

You couldn’t help but feel butterflies fluttering in your stomach while listening to Soobin talk about his patient. He shows how good of a doctor he is with his patient care. 

Memories flood your mind, thinking about your days as an intern. Soobin was a few years ahead in the program, already working on his specialty. You remember fellow surgeons giving him shit for being shy and wanting to be in pediatrics. Small-minded fools underestimated the specialty, thinking it’s just child’s play. That is, until everyone had a rotation on the floor getting yelled at by multiple parents, then to work on miniature anatomy. The thing that really changed your classmate’s perspective on Soobin was his argumentative skills; everyone hates family confrontation, but Soobin knew how to put parents in their place when questioning their child’s diagnosis. You’re happy that he’s well-respected these days, yet still has that shy demeanor.

However, you’re currently finding yourself having a hard time reading the various numbers from the blood test as you feel his eyes lingering on you. Usually, doctors will continue to talk or take the time to close their eyes for a power nap while their colleague looks over their work, but this wasn’t the case. In your peripheral vision, you could feel his eyes taking in your form. The strawberry flavor from your gloss doesn’t help your habit of biting your lip, concluding the child's prognosis.

Soobin’s intense stare falters, and he lets out a sigh. “I don’t like the way this is going,” he mumbles. You hum in confusion, urging him to explain, “Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say.”

You stare into the man’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Soobin. She needs a heart transplant.” You click out of the patient’s files.

The tall doctor lets out a heavy sigh, eyes for the first time off of you, now closed as a sign of thought. His shoulders were tense, body leaned against the desk. The weight of his stress filled the air; you so badly wanted to hug him. “I’m going to have to call the organ transplant company,” his head tilts, eyes meeting yours again, “you’ll join me for the surgery.” Stunned at his assertiveness, he’s not asking, he’s not wanting help, he just wants you.

“I’ve never worked on small hearts, only… big hearts.”

Soobin chuckles at your comment, “Don’t worry, I’ll do most of the work, but I can teach you.”

Your eyes light up, you were never one to let down a learning opportunity, especially if the teacher is as hot as Dr. Soobin. You stop to admire the doctor before you blurt out, “Am I out of line to say that I can not believe you’re not married with a bunch of kids?” A blush burns across your face, realizing what you had just said.

Soobin’s eyebrow furrowed, head tilting, trying to digest what you had said, “If you were still my intern, yes. However, you are my fellow attending, so all I have to say is, that’s a weird thing to say.”

“I mean, come on, look at you, you’re—“ you pause.

“Pretty?” He grins.

 “Yeah, it seems like you know that already-” this is going way out of line, “You'd think taking care of all those sick children, you wouldn't want to do anything with making one..." Pressing your lips shut, imagining them to magically lock into place before you get yourself into trouble. 

Soobin stands there a bit, his usual soft, round eyes now glaring at you. Shaking his head slightly, he walks closer to you, whispering in your ear, “Sweetheart, you couldn't be more wrong."

Watching the doctor walk off, you shake your head out of disbelief, “I need to take a nap after all that.”

%%%

Your heart beats loudly in your ear, nerves fill your senses as you scrub your arms until they hurt from the sterilizing. Warmth hits your face behind your surgical mask with your one last sigh of confidence. Staring at the operating table through the window, you open the door to the room.

“Alright, everybody, we have a patient here for a heart transpl-” stopped mid-speech, you’re struck with an empty bed before you, “where’s my patient?”

Rushing into the dimly lit operating room, you don’t question the quiet surroundings. Worry bubbles up in your stomach now, noticing you’re in a completely deserted room. “What the hell?” Have I gone crazy? Is there a room full of workers waiting for me in another room? Or is there even a surgery scheduled?”

You stood there like a fool, breaking the sterile field as your hands grazed the lonely table. Suddenly, a heavy weight encapsulates you, arms on your sides, pushing you against the surface in front of you. “Glad you could make it, Doctor,” said a familiar, warm, husky voice near your ear.

You gasp feeling the man’s hips grind against your ass. “Soobin w-what are you doing? I need to get to surgery.” His lips trail hungry kisses along the exposed part of your neck. Your warm sighs made it harder to breathe in your mask, ripping it away and turning towards the man, capturing his lips against yours.

“You have no surgery,” Soobin tugs harshly at your scrub gown, tearing away your pants with it, “however, I’m going to keep you busy.”

You were fully exposed while the other doctor kept his protective gear on. He holds you up, putting you on top of the operating table, then he pulls your legs apart. You could feel your juices dripping down your slit, causing a predatory stare eluminate in Soobin’s eyes. The once cozy, shy guy you knew him as was gone. His teeth bite his bottom lip as his gloved hand runs down your shaking thigh, dipping his fingers into your folds. Whipping your head back, you whine from the weird sensation of the smooth texture of the glove touching you. Playing with your folds, teasing your hole, you jerk your hips out of agony.

Soobin’s work of breathing is fast, warm against your lips, “What a little slut,” a finger slides into you, “but you know that already,” another finger, “you don’t think I notice how you stare at me?” Three fingers slip inside your cunt painfully stretching you out, each drag was smooth yet loud from your arousal. Tears are prickling in your eyes out of pleasure.

“Please, Soobin, please, please…”

Tightly shut eyes relax to flutter open, expecting to see the scrubbed pediatric surgeon and his fingers inside you; instead, your vision clears up to a dusty, dimly lit on-call room. You groan, fist hitting against the firm bed, losing that addictive sexual pleasure. Cursing yourself for coming up with such a lewd dream. Turning in your bed to reach for your work phone, you catch a silhouette of someone across from you. He sat there, still, yet his breathing looked a little erratic. Your eyes trail down, the sparse lighting from the window highlights the prominent veins on his arms, down to his grip on his bulge.

“Soobin, how long have you been there?”

The man shifts in his seat, the grip on his cock tightens. Spit builds up in your mouth, noticing the outline of the head underneath his trousers.

“I came in to get some rest before our surgery, but-“ his plush lips parted, eyes taking in your form lying pretty on the cushion. “I got preoccupied.”

You look at him funny, not knowing how much of the dream was revealed in reality. “What now?”

Soobin once again sighs, head tilting back as he lets his hand go under his pants. You swear you were drooling like a hungry dog watching the scene take place. The bobbing of his Adam’s apple, eyebrows scrunched up, perfect heart-shaped lips releasing whimpers. If he’s going to play dirty, you will too. You slide your hand under your light blue pants, snaking your fingers past the lacey hem of your panties. The tips of your digits push into you, collecting your wetness to come up and circle your clit. Soobin’s sharp eyes watch the way you roll back in pleasure, his dick twitches at the sight. “Shit-” he curses to himself, he was warned about you and he was falling for it. Your eyes wince over to him, your fingers tented your pants, movements evident. “Let me help,” Soobin says in a huff.

“Mmm, I don’t know… You watched me sleeping like a perv.” You say with a smile, all while you lift your hip into your hand. 

Soobin launches himself from his chair towards your bed. Head hovering over yours, you couldn’t help but get turned on by his warm breath fanning over your face. “You don’t realize that I know you were having a wet dream,” your movement comes to a halt, “about me.”

You side-eyed the man. There’s no way he’d know unless you—“Soobin, please, Soobin.” He mocks you. The room was dark, but you both knew how red you’ve become. The doctor’s hand cups your face, thumb soothing your blushed cheek. Leaning down to your ear, and whispers, “Now can I help you?”

Your slow nod signals Soobin to go forward with his intentions. Sounds of rustling movements and creaking of the cheap cot had your hair standing on your arms. Light breaths paired with hums from the man get closer to your lips. The plush flesh molds into you; it was warm and addictive, just like in the dream. Deepening the kiss until the point where all the air rushes out of each other's lungs. Although he was battling with himself, Soobin breaks apart from you, “Let's do something more.” his fingers curl around your waistband, tugging down your pants to reveal your cute panties. A sigh slips from his pink lips, big brown eyes studying the detail of lace outlining the light pink material. You gasp feeling his thumb rubbing your sensitive cunt causing your wetness to soak through the material. Watching the man’s eyes glued to your pussy and play with it, you lean up to leave trails of kisses down his neck. Unbuttoning his shirt, your fingers trace his abs, this only caused you to become impatient, “Soobin, please,” you pause, realizing he was teasing you just like in the dream, “please do something.”

The man pulls down his trousers along with his underwear, fully exposing his fat cock to you. Every vein stuck out, pulsating in desperate need to be touched. Fat tip, red and covered in precum, showing that he teased himself too. His fingers never stopped playing with you, for some reason, your everyday underwear put the doctor into a trance. “C-can I fuck your panties?” The giggle you let out made Soobin blush for a second, but it told him to continue.

He guided his tip inbetween your cunt and the material, you arousal coating his dick made his whole body shiver. Slowly, he thrusts his tip against the fabric, hitting your clit every time. Soobin’s eyebrows knit together, looking at you falling apart, your mouth gaping, a sheen of sweat collecting at your neck. A jolt of electricity, resulting in your thighs twitching every time your sensitive nub gets hit with friction. Both of you turned on not only by the sensations but how his dick poked out from your ruined panties, the bulge was wet and delicious. Both moaning loudly, you know you were going to get caught again doing your “special naps” in the on-call room.

Soobin pants, pecking your neck before stuttering out, “D-does this f-feel nice? Do you want more?” Before you could say anything, you feel the man’s long fingers venture under your panties, tracing your hole. The drag of his digits paired nicely with the attention he gave your clit. He curled his fingers searching for gummy spots, making you squirm underneath him. Once he had you drooling, going dumb to the point of your climax, his movements sped up. Built up pleasure released, harshly clenching around the man’s cock. He twitched, thrust becoming more erratic, Soobin’s whole body clenches, emptying his load, making your panties useless. 

You whine, “Soobin- look what you did.” The man lying on you shakes his head, basically telling you that he didn’t care. You roll your eyes, your hands grooming his soft, dark locks. He kept his obsession with playing with you until you got whiny again. Head lifting from your chest creeps down to your pussy, ridding the fabic. Soobin’s big eyes look up, “Call one of your roommates to get you new ones because you’re not getting these back.” He smirks before shoving his face into you, tongue lapping up your juices and cleaning up the mess he left on you.

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil 🩺

taglist: @blue-moon-514, @naoristerling, @inkigayocamman, @izzyy-stuff, @biteyoubiteme, @saejinniestar

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Wouldn't it be nice

Part two

Summary: Three life changing years later you run into Harry Castillo on your first day of work.

Pairing: Harry Castillo x fem. reader

Rating: G

Wordcount: 3.2k

Warnings: vacation romance, unplanned pregnancy, death of parents, Harry is a family man, sister and brother dynamics, moving across country, reunions (sort of)

A/N: I still have no real clue where I'm going with this and how long this will be so... enjoy the ride?

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Main Masterlist // Harry Castillo Masterlist // Wouldn’t it be nice Masterlist

Three years later

Moving across the country was not how you envisioned spending your Christmas break, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. 

Everything had… kind of been a mess ever since you learned you were pregnant. 

You lost your job and your apartment, had to move in back with your parents. Your father got really sick, dying just days before you gave birth to your daughter Emily. 

And just when you thought things were getting better, just before Emily’s first birthday, you were woken up in the middle of the night by a police officer, telling you that your mother had an accident at work which she didn’t survive. 

That night was one of the very few nights you googled him. 

Harry Castillo. 

To say you were surprised at what you found out about him the first time you typed the letters of his name into google, days after finding out you were pregnant, was an understatement. 

The man who stole chocolate bars out of your minibar was a billionaire?

You fell in kind of a hole, reading a lot about him and his work. About him becoming the youngest self made millionaire back in the day. About the charities he supported. About the nasty divorce he went through years ago. Apparently ever since then Harry was New York’s most eligible bachelor Number one and every single female who was seen with him had been marked down as his new romance. 

You called his office. 

Once. 

The number having made its way into your phone for some reason. 

You didn’t reach him, of course. 

A very nice but strict secretary told you that you had to make an appointment and when you couldn’t tell her why you needed one, you were brushed off pretty quickly. 

You couldn’t tell a stranger that the man you had spend six days fucking in every way possible on your dream vacation turned out to be her boss and the father of your unborn child. 

So, you moved on from that. 

You parents had told you more than once to seek out an attorney to get child support. You could have needed the money, keeping yourself afloat with random jobs while applying to local schools in hopes to finally put your degree to some good use. 

So yeah, the last years had been hard, but you would never change a thing because it gave you Emily. 

She was the light of your life, always making you smile even when she spread mashed potatoes over her whole face and into her dark brown curls, big brown eyes looking up at you with mischief. 

She looked so much like her father it wasn’t even funny. 

You wanted to give her everything and more so when you actually got invited for an interview at one of the fanciest private elementary schools in New York City (you might have had a glass of wine too much after having a little pity party for yourself on you birthday that made you apply) you took that as a sign. 

Now you had actually moved to New York City, the school providing you with a little apartment that was more than enough for you and Emily. 

You would take over the first grade at the school, one teacher leaving for an extended maternity leave the school was providing. 

„Mommy is gonna pick you up right here,“ you knelt in front of Emily who looked a little unsure. She never had been at a daycare before and you had spent the last week easing her into it. 

„Promise?“ She asked and your heart broke a little before you nodded, wrapping her into your arms. 

Moments like these made you wish you could be a stay at home mom. 

You wanted nothing more than to spend your time with your daughter, but life had other plans. 

„I love you bug,“ you whispered, kissing her cheek. 

„Love you, mommy!“ She said before she turned around, taking the hand of Miss Clarins, who was working at the daycare and kind of became Emily’s favourite person in the last couple of days. 

„Good luck on your first day!“ The woman said and you sighed, torn but excited to start this new chapter. The good thing was that the daycare was in the same building than the school. You’d never be too far away from her.

„Thank you!“ You smiled, watching your daughter walk into the big room before you took a deep breath and walked towards the teachers lounge. 

„Uncle Harry?“

Harry blinked up, having been sorting through his emails on the phone as the car slowly moved through the city. 

„Yes, Daniel?“ Harry put his phone away, giving his whole attention to his nephew. 

„Can we go have ice cream?“ He asked and Harry chuckled. 

„No baby, you can’t have ice cream. It’s not even 9 am and it’s freezing outside!“ Harry’s sister Sarah scolded. The boy frowned, sitting between the two adults as the car slowly approached the school. 

„Can we have ice cream later?“ Daniel asked hopefully. Sarah have Harry a look to which he only grinned. 

„Tell you what, you be on your best behaviour for your new teacher today and I’ll pick you up after school to get ice cream from that place we found the last time we went to the park,“ Harry promised and Daniel’s eye got huge. 

„Please, Please, Pleasseeee?“ He nodded hopefully, first at Harry, then at his mother. 

„I thought you had a meeting this afternoon,“ she frowned and Harry smirked. 

„Not if you take it,“ he winked and Sarah rolled her eyes, looking between Daniel and Harry who both began to pout, the longer she didn’t say anything. 

„Fine!“ She finally said and Harry put his arm around Daniel’s shoulder just as the car stopped in front of the school. 

„Have a great day, buddy,“ he said and Daniel squeezed him while Sarah already opened the door to step out. 

„You too, Uncle Harry!“ The boy said before he climbed out of the car, waving at him as Sarah walked him into the school. 

He watched after them for a moment, wondering what in the world his (now ex) brother in law was thinking when he just threw his family away. Shaking his head to himself he got his phone out, scrolling through the emails that were already piling up for him. 

Once the contract with the French was finally signed, things would hopefully calm down. 

Maybe he could even take a vacation, his mind immediately wandering to the last time he had something similar to a vacation. 

He hadn’t planned to stay on the island. He had gotten the deal and he wanted to have a drink before making the call to prepare the jet so he could fly back home. 

But then he had seen you. 

It might sound dumb, but it felt like the world just stopped for a moment when he first saw you, your smile wide as you talked to the man working behind the bar. 

You were beautiful. 

And you changed his plans the moment his lips found yours for the first time that very same evening. 

He had cancelled his whole planned week back home, his sister asking him if he was okay before he told her that he had met someone and wanted to spend more time with you. 

It was unlike Harry to one, go on a vacation and two, be interested enough in someone to neglect his work. Even before his ugly divorce almost ten years ago he was a workaholic, something that was a blessing and a curse. 

It was what made him a billionaire at the age of forty two. But it also made him lonely. 

He should have known that you were too good to be true, having waited for you to contact him for an entire month before he decided to move on. 

Sure, if he had wanted he could have probably found you, he had his ways. 

But maybe it was better this way. 

A lovely memory of a week full of passion and, at least for him, love. 

He jumped when the car door flew open and his sister got into the car with a long sigh. 

„So you ditch work for my son now?“ She asked, the car already moving towards the skyscraper that held his company. 

„Do you want to spend all afternoon handling Daniel on the sugar rush I just promised to him?“ He asked, cocking his eyebrow. 

„You make a valid point,“ she mused, before letting her head fall down against his shoulder. 

„I’m glad he has you,“ she said quietly and Harry kissed the side of her head. Her divorce had been equally as dirty as his, maybe even more because a child had been involved. Her ex made her life a living hell until Harry stepped in and…. Not exactly threatened but…. Very pointedly reminded him that he could ruin his life in every possible way if he didn’t stop ruining his sisters life. 

Family was above everything for him, and his ex brother in law had been fucking with his family too much. He hadn’t seen the man in two years, not since he signed the divorce papers and fucked off to somewhere in Europe. 

Both him and his sister enjoyed the quiet in the car before it stopped in front of a tall building. Them carpooling to work had become a regular occurrence since Daniel started school. 

„See you at dinner?“ Sarah asked and Harry nodded, helping her out of the car. They might work in the same company, but they did not see each other much. 

His sister was all he had left of his family. Younger by almost ten years he was fiercely protective over her and everyone knew it. 

The board member who challenged her seat at the table three years after she had started working at his company had been so pissed for Harry voting him out, he still once in a while gave a shitty interview when he needed some more money. 

Sarah and him parted ways once the elevator door opened and Harry was immediately welcomed by his personal assistant Lou who was walking him through his day. 

„Sarah is gonna take the meeting with the French. I promised ice cream to a little boy,“ Harry said as the walked through the door of his sleek office. It overlooked central park and if he looked closely enough he could see the building his penthouse was in on the other side of it. 

„I’ll let them know. I think that’s all. Luxor replied to your proposition, but I haven’t had the chance to read through it yet,“ Lou said and Harry nodded before he sat down at his desk. 

„I’ll take a look. If you don’t hear any glass shattering they agreed,“ Harry joked and Lou rolled his eyes. He liked the young man, loved that he did not take any bullshit from anyone and especially him.

„Oh before I forget, the delivery of the marble for your kitchen renovation has been pushed back again. I will call there and ask what the hold up is, once it’s not the middle of the night in Italy,“ Lou said and Harry sighed. 

„Should just have taken the damn stone that was available,“ he mumbled, a little annoyed. 

He had let his interior designer talk him into some (probably) overpriced marble for his kitchen countertops and island that had been delayed four times already. Everything was finished except for the marble. And while yes, he knew whining about his 16 million dollar penthouse being a construction site was whining on a level most people would bully him for, but he was still annoyed. 

„Do me a favour and just tell the interior designer to pick some available fucking stone if they postpone again? I really wanna be able to use my own kitchen after nine months!“ He said and Lou nodded. 

„I’ll let you know,“ he said before he closed the door behind him and let Harry alone in his office. 

He reached for the cup of coffee that had already been placed on his desk, taking a sip as his laptop powered up. 

Five hours before he gets to leave. 

All in all, your first full day teaching at the new school had gone very well. 

Miss Cooper, who was heavily pregnant and would leave at the end of this week, had taken you into the classroom and you had spend and hour answering every single question the kids had. 

Of course you having your own horse that was now living its best life on a ranch outside of your hometown (your father’s best friend had taken it in for you) was the one topic that was most interesting. 

During lunch break you went into the daycare to pick up Emily, wanting to have lunch with her. 

She told you about all the friends she had already made, clumsily stumbling over her own words when she forgot to take a breath. You were glad she was settling in so well. 

As promised you were waiting for her outside of the daycare once your class was finished for the day, Miss Cooper telling you she would take over seeing the kids out. You decided to join her instead, Emily settled against your hip. She was very tired.  

The school ground was filled with parents and children alike, all waiting to go home after a long day of learning. Emily’s head was leaning against your shoulder as you watched over the chaos. 

„There is a list with who is authorised to pick up the kids. I think you’ll have down the faces of the people who usually come to pick up down quickly. If someone else is picking a child up, the person in the morning usually lets us know. Like today, Daniel is not getting picked up by his mother, but by his uncle,“ she ran a finger down her list. 

„Here he is. Harry Castillo,“ Miss Cooper said and you swore you could feel your heart stop for a small moment, before it picked up again. 

„Oh I remember him. Super nice and super attractive,“ she whispered for only you to hear and you smiled a little. 

„Don’t let your husband hear that,“ you tried to joke, making her chuckle. She rubbed her hand over her belly and sighed. 

„Is a baby in there?“ Emily chose to ask in that moment, pointing towards her and you both laughed. 

„Indeed there is. A little baby boy that will hopefully come out sooner than later,“ she joked, with a fond smile. 

„Cool,“ was all Emily said and you rolled your eyes a little, kissing her head. 

„Daniel! Your uncle is here!“ Miss Cooper called over her shoulder and little footsteps were quickly approaching from behind. You pulled Emily closer, turned your back towards the front where he must be approaching. 

It couldn’t be him, right?

There probably were a million Harry Castillo’s out there. 

„Miss Cooper!“ You heard a voice behind you and you closed your eyes for a moment, your shoulders tensing because you knew that voice. 

„Mister Castillo. I heard there will be ice cream today?“ Miss Cooper made small talk while you still had your back towards them, seemingly keeping an eye on the children. 

„We are also gonna search for a birthday gift for his mom,“ he explained. 

„That sounds like a perfect plan,“ Miss Cooper said before she met your eyes. 

„This is the lovely woman who is gonna replace me when I go on maternity leave at the end of the week,“ she added your name and you took a deep breath before you finally turned around, lips pressed into a tight smile. 

His lips parted the moment his eyes found yours and he whispered your name. 

He was still as handsome as you remembered, a little more grey in his hair than before maybe. 

He blinked at you, then his focus slipped to Emily who was about to fall asleep in your arms. The girl who looked so much like him. 

„Uncle Harry!“ Daniel’s voice interrupted this reunion, crashing into Harry’s side who shook his head for a moment before he picked Daniel up with a groan and a wide smile. 

„Hey there buddy! You ready for ice cream?“

„For lunch?“ Daniel gasped and Harry winked at him with a nod. 

„Where is your coat?“ Miss Cooper asked and Daniel’s eye became big. 

„Inside,“ he whispered and Harry put him down. 

„Come on, I’m going in with you. Need to go to the restroom for the fiftieth time today,“ she joked, before walking away and into the building with Daniel. 

Which left you alone with him. 

When you finally looked at him again, he was already looking at you. He looked confused. Happy? Shocked? 

„You never called,“ he said quietly and you released a long breath. 

You shook your head. 

„How….“ He looked at Emily again who was now fast asleep in your arms. 

„How old is she?“ He croaked. 

„She’s turning three in four months,“ you whispered and you saw the moment he did the math, his lips parting, before he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

„And you never called?“ He whispered, eyes watering. 

„What we had? I didn’t want to… I didn’t think it would be the same. We didn’t know each other. Not really. I wanted it… to stay a beautiful memory. It’s why I threw your number away before I even reached the airport,“ you tried to explain. 

You looked away from him and over the by now almost empty schoolyard.

„And when I found out that I was pregnant? It was too late,“ you added quietly. 

„You are right. It was a beautiful memory,“ he said and you looked up at him. You heard the door behind you open. 

„But maybe now you’ll give me chance to make more of those memories?“ He asked and you gulped. 

„We can go!“ Daniel, wearing his coat now, impatiently took Harry’s hand who laughed. 

„I’ll see you tomorrow,“ Harry said, taking one last look at you and at Emily before he turned away, letting Daniel pull him towards the street. 

When they were gone, you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding in, your mind running wild. 

He was here.

Harry was here

In a city of over 8 million people you ran into him on your first day at work. 

And he knew about you and Emily now. 

Kissing her head you slowly turned around to walk into the building to get your bags. 

A part of you was scared what a man with as much money and power could do now that he knew he had a child. 

But the bigger part of you, the one that never admitted even to yourself that you fell in love with Harry on that island, was holding on to the hope that maybe all of this was faith. 

And the start of something beautiful. 

[meganwritesfanfics]

As It Was (Dr. Jack Abbott x Reader)

This is a companion story to The Highway Don't Care

Word Count: 2224 

TRIGGER WARNING: Discussion of injury, negative self-talk.

This one gets a bit spicy. I tried to make it even spicer, but I learned I am not good at it, lol.

Jack hated physical therapy. He hated the sound of the machines, the clicking and stretching. He hated the smell. He hated the obnoxiously bright lights. All of it reminded him of the countless visits he had. It brought him back to a very dark time after he lost his leg. It brought him back to the feelings of hopelessness and desperation. 

But this time, he wasn’t there for himself, this time he was there for Y/N. After multiple surgeries to repair her femur, Y/N was on a recovery track. But it was a slow and grueling one. 

He sat in a corner trying to read but he just kept reading the same sentence over and over because his focus was on Y/N as she tried her best to walk with her physical therapist. 

“Fuck,” She screamed as she crumbled her therapist catching her. “I think we are done.” 

“You still have 10 minutes…” The therapist started. 

“No I’m done!” Y/N screamed and Jack was instantly on his feet heading towards her. 

“I’ve got her.” He said and the therapist just walked off. “Baby, are you ok?” 

“I’m fine, I just want to go home.” She snapped at him. 

Jack sighed. Ever since Y/N had started physical therapy, she was constantly short with him. It felt as though she was pushing him away. He knew the pain and frustration she was feeling, and he knew that eventually she would confide in him. But Jack also didn’t want to push her too far, knowing it could break her. So he had patience, and tried to be there in whatever way he could. 

“Come on,” He said as he got her crutches and handed them to her. “Let’s get you home.” 

The whole car ride rome, Y/N remained silent, her attention focused out the window.

“Why don’t we order pizza for dinner.” Jack chimed in. 

“Sure,” She sighed but she wasn’t fully paying attention. 

“Y/N, baby, are you ok?” He said and he reached out for her hand but she pulled her hand away. 

“Jack I’m fine. I’m just tired.” She said as she ran her hand over her face. 

“Ok,” He said as he nodded. He just accepted her answer. He knew her, he knew her better than most anyone, and he knew at some point she would let him in. He knew she would breakdown and he would be there to catch her when she did. 

When they got home, Jack came over to her side of the car to help her out, but she didn’t grab his hand. “I’ve got it.” She snapped and again Jack just nodded. He stayed by her side ready to catch her if he needed. 

Ever since she had gotten out of the hospital, Jack had been by her side. He had taken off work, using all of the PTO he had built up and never used. He had also spent so much time making sure that everything in the house was set up in a way that would make it easier for Y/N to recuperate. He had set up their guest bedroom into their makeshift masters so that Y/N wouldn’t have to struggle up the stairs. Event though he offered to carry her up the stairs every night but she quickly shut that down.He had also moved her entire wardrobe down into that room. 

“I’ll order the pizza, you want your usual?” Jack called. 

“Sure,” Y/N called back as she made her way to the kitchen. 

“What are you doing?” He asked. 

“I’m going to get us plates.” She said. 

“I can get them.” Jack said as he made his way towards her. 

“Jesus Christ Jack, I’m not helpless I can get the fucking plates!” Y/N screamed as she threw her crutches to the ground. 

Jack froze looking at Y/N his eyes wide. “Baby…” 

“No, I can’t fucking do it.” Her voice cracked hard as she started to take a step she let out a cry of pain and she collapsed to the ground. 

“Y/N,” Jack rushed to her side. 

“I’m sorry I’m so sorry.” Y/N cried as Jack sat down next to her. 

“What are you sorry about?” He asked.

“I’ve been such a bitch to you, for so long. And you have just been absolutely wonderful with everything. And I have been so horrible.” 

“You have not been horrible.” Jack tried to sooth. 

“No I have, I have been horrible to you and I have been horrible to everyone.” 

“I know it’s hard baby, trust me, I know.” 

Y/N let out another sob as she placed her head in her hands. 

“Baby, talk to me. What’s going on in the beautiful head of yours?” He asked as he rubbed her back. 

“I feel so guilty.” 

“Why do you feel guilty?” 

“I shouldn’t be feeling so bad about how badly my recovery is going. I’m alive, and I will be able to walk again. I should be grateful. And I hate that you have to witness all of this. After everything you have gone through, me being upset must feel so ridiculous to you.” She sobbed. 

Jack was shocked. He had never thought about the fact that Y/N may have thought he was judging her for her journey, based on what he went through. 

“Baby, I do not think you are ridiculous. What you are going through is really hard. Really hard. Just because my recovery journey looked different doesn’t mean I’m judging you for yours. How long have you been feeling like this?” 

“Since the first appointment, I could see how uncomfortable you were being back at physical therapy.And it just got me thinking about how stupid you must think I am. I didn’t lose my leg, I shouldn’t be complaining” 

He pulled her into his arms. “I would never think that, and you know it. You’re right, being at physical therapy does bring back bad memories of a very rough time in my life. But I can be a little bit uncomfortable to make sure that you are supported. You are worth it.” 

Y/N just groaned as she buried herself further into Jack’s embrace. 

“Look at me.” He said as he held her head in his hands. “I don’t want you to not talk to me because you think you don’t deserve to complain. Physical therapy is the absolute fucking worst. And I am going to fully understand what you are feeling and going through. Hell I am a wealth of knowledge when it comes to surviving the recovery journey. I just want to help you. You know I hate seeing you like this. It tears me up inside. I just wish I could fix it for you instantly so you wouldn’t have to go through this.” Jack’s voice cracked slightly. 

“I hate feeling so helpless. I hate that I can’t work. I hate that I don’t feel like I’m making any progress. And I hate how I feel like I am such a burden to you, and I…” She hesitated her eyes looking into Jack’s. “I hate that I feel like you would have been better off if I died in the crash.” 

Jack’s heart stopped. He hadn’t realized how bad things had gotten with Y/N. He felt horrible that he hadn’t recognized the signs, and hadn’t done more to help her. 

“Y/N.” He said firmly. “Don’t you dare say that. I was an absolute mess when I thought I was going to lose you. You are my life. If I lost you I wouldn’t know what to do. I’m so sorry I didn’t realize things were this bad.” 

“I didn’t want you to know. I wanted to pretend I was ok, and pretend I wasn’t a hot fucking mess.” Y/N sighed. 

“Baby,” Jack pulled her in for a kiss. “You are not a hot fucking mess. You are just hot.” He teased and she cracked a smile. “There is that beautiful smile I have been missing.” 

“Have I told you how wonderful you are lately?” Y/N sighed burying her face in Jack’s chest again. 

“I know I’m a fucking catch.” Jack replied and Y/N laughed. 

They sat for a while before Jack scooped her up and carried her back to the couch. He sat down holding her tightly in his lap. 

“I love you.” Y/N said as she ran her fingers through his hair. “I love you so much. You are the best part of my life.” 

“I love you too. Will you promise to let me know when you are getting overwhelmed or feeling guilty. I want to be there to tell you how much I love you and how proud of you I am.” Jack said.

“You are proud of me?” Y/N said her eyes watering again.

“I am always proud of you, my girl.” Jack replied as he pulled her in for another long kiss. “You are a badass doctor who is absolutely brilliant  and so unbelievably kind.

The sweet kisses suddenly turned passionate as Y/N began kissing Jack’s neck. 

“Y/N,” He moaned. 

“Take me to bed Jack.” She purred in his ear. 

He quickly scooped her up and started towards the guest bedroom. 

“No, I want you to make love to me in our bed.” She insisted as she sucked on the spot right below his ear she knew drove him wild. 

“We aren’t going to make it there if you keep doing that.” Jack growled as he started to carry her up the stairs. 

Y/N giggled. “I thought you pride yourself on your patience. Dr Abbott.” 

“You make being patient a struggle darling.” 

He walked them into the bedroom and he dropped Y/N on the bed gently and then he was on her in an instant. 

His lips kissed down her throat as his hands roamed her body causing her to moan. 

“Jack,” She moaned as his hands wandered under her shirt. 

“You are far too dressed.” He said as he instantly pulled her shirt off over her head. 

Y/N blushed a little bit remembering what outfit she was wearing. Her sweatset, sports bra, and least flattering pair of underwear. 

Instantly Jack could feel the mood change and he pulled back. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked. 

“I just look super sexy in my outfit right now.” She said trying to make a joke out of it, but he could hear the sadness in her voice.

“Y/N, I would find you sexy in whatever you wore. Hell I think you are sexy in scrubs.” 

Y/N smiled. “That must be really hard for you at work.” She teased. 

“Oh it’s impossible. I constantly want to pull you into a room and fuck you senseless.” He growled. 

“Jack!” Y/N gasped but Jack’s mouth was instantly back on hers. 

*********

Y/N woke to the sound of whimpering. She groaned sleepily trying to find the source of the sound. She instantly sat up when she saw Jack thrashing in his sleep. 

“No, please, no.” He mumbled in his sleep. 

Y/N was no stranger to Jack’s nightmares. While they had gotten better since he started going to therapy, ever since the wreck, they had become more frequent. 

“Y/N no,” He broke and she could tears falling down his cheek 

“Jack, honey.” She said as she gently placed her hands on his chest. “Honey, you need to wake up.” 

“Please I can’t lose you, please.” He sobbed. 

“Jack, wake up, it’s just a nightmare.” She shook him a little. 

“No, no, no.” He just kept repeating as his body started to tremble. 

“Jack!” She said a bit more forcefully as she grabbed his face with her hands. 

His eyes snapped open and his brown eyes frantically searched hers. 

“Are you ok?” He asked terrified. 

“Jack I’m fine, everything is fine, you were having a nightmare.” Y/N said running her fingers through his curls trying to calm him down. 

“I thought… you were…” He started his breathing becoming erratic. 

“Baby, Jack, I need you to breathe ok. Look at me, look at me.” Y/N quickly grabbed his hand and placed it on her throat so he could feel her pulse. “You feel that, I’m fine, it was just a nightmare. I’m here. You saved me.” 

Jack took deep breaths, as he hand shifted from her throat to her cheek as he ran his thumb gently over her cheek. 

“You are ok,” He said mostly to himself as he pulled Y/N into his embrace. 

“I am ok.” She comforted as she felt him kiss the top of her head. Her head was resting on his chest and she could feel how rapidly his heart was beating. 

They just lay together in silence as Jack tried to calm down. 

“Clearly you aren’t the only one in this relationship who is a hot fucking mess.” Jack sighed. 

Y/N playfully gasped. “You said I wasn’t a hot fucking mess.” She teased. 

Jack laughed. “We can be hot fucking messes together.” 

“I love you Jack.” Y/N said as she snuggled into his embrace. 

“I love you too Y/N.” He sighed happily, and it wasn’t long before sleep found them once again.  

Tag List: @pear-1206 @frazie99 @brnesblogposts

[kxsagi]

hiiiiiii can i ask if you can write bllk x reader where reader loves food and eat everything and really is happy when food but when she don't eat at all means she's really upset and guys worrying about why she's not eating at all, can you do it w sae, rin, kaiser, hiori or anyone u want hihih

I genuinely love your works! Got me giggling and feet kicking in ungodly hour. :3 thank you

“𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞? 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩”

a/n: HIII THANK YOU SO MUCH OMGGG LOVE YOUUU 🫶🏻

i am such a foodie so this was so cute and fun to write but i could NOT find a title to save my life

ft. itoshi sae, itoshi rin, kaiser michael, hiori yo

itoshi sae

sae’s used to you gasping dramatically at the sight of food like it’s a long-lost lover. 

“they have churros here?? SAE THEY HAVE CHURROS.” 

“okay. get like ten.” he doesn’t blink. 

he actually finds it really endearing. you eating happily is one of his favorite sights. he’ll sit there, bored and half-asleep, while you destroy three types of desserts and ask if you can eat the fries that came with his meal (he gives you a disgusted face the entire time, but he’s secretly dying from cuteness inside). 

so the first time you push your plate away during a dinner date in madrid, his fork halts mid-air. 

“... you full?” 

you shrug. “just not hungry.” 

red flags. sirens. DEFCON 1. 

he won’t show it outwardly, but he’s staring at you the entire meal. and when you say you want to go home early? 

he doesn’t let you go to bed without asking, “what’s wrong?” 

you try to dodge it. 

“you love food too much to leave that untouched. tell me.” 

if you cry? he’ll gently pull you in and kiss the top of your head while holding you against his chest. he won’t say much, but you’ll wake up the next morning with your favorite snacks on the kitchen counter and your favorite comfort show queued up. 

itoshi rin

rin doesn’t get it at first. why do you get so giddy over something as basic as food? 

but then he sees you twirl when you smell fresh pancakes, or do a little dance when your ramen hits the table, and he thinks: oh. 

it becomes something he secretly anticipates – how your eyes light up, how you always go “one more bite” and it’s twenty more bites. 

so when you go silent during lunch, poke at your plate, and don’t finish your drink, he immediately notices. 

“you okay?” 

you nod too quickly. “just tired.” 

lies. LIES. rin can detect those like a hawk. 

he doesn’t pressure you in public. but later, when it’s just the two of you, he’ll sit on the couch beside you and ask again. 

“did someone say something to you?” 

you: “no, i just…” 

he’s already pulling you into a side hug. “don’t shut down. talk to me.” 

and when you finally open up, he’ll listen quietly, rubbing your back, then mutter something like: “we’re getting takeout tomorrow. your pick. and you’re eating the entire menu.” 

that’s how he comforts, gentle, low-key, but dead serious about getting you back to food-happy. 

kaiser michael

he lives to spoil you when it comes to food. five-star reservations, late-night gelato runs, midnight pancake competitions in his penthouse kitchen. 

“liebe, you are divine when you eat.” 

he flirts even more when you’re biting into a croissant or sighing over truffle fries. sometimes he feeds you just for fun. 

so when he notices you ignoring your plate at a fancy restaurant he booked weeks in advance? 

full drama. drops his fork. 

“okay. who upset my queen.” 

you try to laugh it off, but he’s already leaning in, his voice low. “you didn’t even touch your steak. baby. talk to me.” 

he genuinely can’t stand seeing you look so dull and unbothered about food, it’s so un-you. 

will cancel everything to take you home. 

and when he gets you there? puts on your favorite music, wraps you in a blanket, and just holds you until you finally admit what’s wrong. 

“you don’t have to act okay. but don’t keep me in the dark, ja?” 

the next day he’s bringing you breakfast in bed with pancakes shaped like hearts. 

“you’re not leaving this bed until you’re full and happy again. doctor kaiser’s orders.” 

hiori yo

hiori is the most softly concerned of them all. he finds so much joy in watching you eat – it’s comforting, like a sign that things are good and safe. 

he even started learning how to cook just to surprise you with homemade meals. 

so when he makes something for you and you just… barely touch it? 

his heart kind of sinks. 

“is it not good…?” 

you quickly shake your head. “no! it’s amazing, hiori. i just… i’m not hungry.” 

and you see his expression falter for a second. 

he doesn’t say anything right away, but later that night, he gently brings you a cup of tea and sits beside you. 

“you don’t have to eat if you’re upset… but if you ever want to talk, i’m here.” 

he’ll rub your back slowly, his voice soft and careful. he never pushes, just lets you open up at your own pace. 

once you do, he’ll give you the warmest hug and thank you for trusting him. 

the next morning? fresh breakfast waiting. little notes that say “for my favorite foodie 💙” and “today will be better.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[humaling]

You're Still The One I Run To.

pt 2 of Hope Is A Dangerous Thing To Have

pairings: hijacked!finnick x reader

summary: in district 13, survival is routine—but when finnick’s quiet apology breaks through the silence, you begin to wonder if something lost can still be found.

contents: mentions of capitol's torture on finnick, slow burn

word count: 7.4k

author's notes: i'm sorry it took a while! i had a writer's block on this one hehe. next chapter will be the last and might take a while again.

Finnick shifts uncomfortably in bed, the thin mattress doing little to cushion the hard metal frame beneath him. Every time he moves, it creaks and groans, pressing into his back like a cruel reminder of how far he is from comfort. Honestly, the floor might be better than this.

The dim glow from the lampshade beside him casts long, soft shadows across the room, the only source of light in the bunker’s stale gloom. It’s quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that feels dull, empty, lifeless—much like how his body feels during these godforsaken hours of the night. He lies there, restless, like his bones are aching for something he can’t name. Something missing. Something lost. He tells himself it’s just District 13—cold, gray, and not at all like District 4. Not home.

Beside him, Gale Hawthorne sleeps soundly. A low snore rattles from his chest, breaking the silence in an oddly grounding way. Finnick figures it’s better than nothing. Better than lying awake in silence and letting the darkness creeping in the back of his mind swallow him whole.

It’s been a few weeks since he was cleared. He’d been assigned to share this room with Gale, who hadn’t exactly seemed thrilled about it. Not that Finnick was either, but at least he didn’t throw a fit. Katniss told him not to take it personally—that Gale’s just been sensitive lately, with everything that’s happened. Finnick tried to take her word for it. But after Gale locked him out of the room one night, Finnick stopped caring altogether.

Stopped caring. Grew indifferent.

His mind weaves back to you when he first got here; the heartbroken look plastered on your face when he pushed you away, the way your eyes glossed as you plead with him. And then:

A soft laugh flits through his memory like a breeze—gentle, teasing, familiar. He sees you again: running down the shoreline, your laughter carried by the wind. Just for a moment.

He squeezes his eyes shut. A dull ache presses into his skull, pulsing behind his temple. The memory slips back into the darkness, but not before leaving behind its echo. That’s been happening more and more. The flashbacks, the headaches, the wave of nausea that always follows. Ever since the emergency drill in the safety vault, it’s like his mind’s been splitting open, one blurred memory at a time. A voice. A touch. An object that looks a little too familiar—they all bring something back.

The doctor said it’s the Capitol’s hijacking wearing off. Told him it was expected. Gave him pills to ease the side effects. Finnick tried taking them at first, but he’s always been terrible with medication. He gave up after a couple days. He remembers how his mother used to chase him around the house just to get him to take flu drops. Now, the pills are tucked away in the drawer beneath his bed, buried under bits and pieces he’s collected since he got here—things that don’t mean anything to anyone but him.

The doctors, and the few friends he has here, keep telling him the same thing—that the memories resurfacing now are real, and the ones the Capitol etched into his mind are nothing but lies. And he wants to believe them, he truly does. But it’s hard. Damn near impossible. Because how can something real feel so distant and fragmented, while the false ones remain vivid, sharp, and devastating?

He tries to reason with himself. Maybe this is exactly how the Capitol intended to break him. Twist his thoughts. Turn him against someone he once loved. Because what better way to destroy a man than to erase the love he once knew? To make him forget how it felt to be held by someone who saw his darkest parts and didn’t flinch—who cradled his brokenness like it was fragile glass and still chose to stay.

But on most nights, he isn’t reasonable. Most nights, he wonders if this is how Snow wanted him to unravel. Not with violence. Not with blood. But with quiet betrayal. With the slow realization that the person he held closest—who he thought cherished him most—might have been nothing more than a well-crafted lie. A backstabber wrapped in warmth. A performance masked as affection. And for what? What was he even used for?

There are cracks in those memories, though. Little gaps. Inconsistencies. And sometimes, that alone is enough to soothe the sharp ache behind his ribs. Annie tells him those might be planted memories, stitched together by the Capitol to manipulate him. He holds onto that thought like a lifeline.

That it wasn’t real. That it was all fake. That it was designed to hurt him. Designed to turn him inside out.

God, get out of his head.

Finnick sits up in bed, the frame groaning under the shift of his weight. He leans back until his spine hits the cold wall, and a shiver races down his back. His thoughts drift again. To you.

He hasn’t seen you much lately. He never asked why, didn’t think he should. But a part of him aches to know. And he hates himself for that. He’s supposed to hate you, isn’t he?

But instead, he finds himself lying awake night after night, staring at the ceiling and thinking of you.

~

Finnick threads through the sterile halls of District 13, his pace steady, his mind fixated on one thing: berries. One of the soldiers had let it slip that there’d be berries served with the oatmeal today, and honestly, that was enough to light a spark in his otherwise dreary morning. He never thought he’d get this excited over something so small. Mango had always been his favorite. But after spending weeks underground without a single glimpse of sunlight, even the faint promise of berries felt like a damn miracle.

Because those godawful oatmeals? They tasted like regret. Like wet sand. Like someone thought flavor was a war crime.

He weaves through the crowd with ease, tossing a few practiced smiles here and there—charming, effortless, Capitol-polished. Just enough to slip past the line of tired faces and into the cafeteria before the berry stash is gone.

Even though he’s so caught up in his berry-fueled daydream, he catches a glimpse of a familiar face sitting at the corner of the cafeteria. You.

There you are, sitting in the far corner, a few unfamiliar soldiers scattered around you. Finnick figures they’re from your unit—he’s heard you joined the front lines. Johanna said it’s how you cope. Annie thinks it’s something darker, something rooted in self-destruction. She’d nudged him the other night, whispering that you’re not doing well, like she expected him to fix it. But Finnick isn’t sure what to believe anymore. About you. About himself. About anything.

You look… different. And not in a way that sits right with him.

You’re thinner—sharper around the edges. Your shoulders slumped, expression blank, eyes staring somewhere far away. Hollow. Faded. Like something vital in you had been drained and never quite filled back in. Those weren’t the eyes he remembered. The last time he really saw you—back in the bunker—they were bright, even through the pain. You’d looked at him like you still believed there was something worth salvaging.

Now? You look like someone who stopped waiting.

It’s hard, seeing you like this. Because he’s supposed to hate you. That’s what he told himself. That’s what the Capitol etched into his mind—memories painted in betrayal, twisted in ways that still make his stomach turn. And yet, his heart doesn’t play by the same rules. Because despite everything, despite the mess, it still beats a little faster when you’re near. Still aches when you’re not. And that hate he clings to so tightly? It doesn't live in his chest. It’s in his head. Planted. Manufactured.

His heart never forgot you.

That might be the cruelest part.

The tray in his hands trembles slightly. He doesn’t notice until someone bumps into him, muttering an apology as they pass. He realizes, too late, that he’s stopped walking. Just standing there in the middle of the cafeteria, staring at you like some haunted fool. A few people glance his way. He doesn’t care.

All he can see is you.

And right now, you look like you’re about to fall apart.

He tears his eyes away with effort, forcing his feet to move, to carry him toward the other end of the cafeteria where Katniss, Johanna, Annie, Gale, and Prim are already gathered at one of the long metal tables. Their conversation is quiet, tired. The kind of talk that hums under the surface of war—just enough to feel normal, even if no one really believes in normal anymore.

Finnick slides into the seat beside Annie, dropping his tray onto the table with less grace than usual. No one comments. Katniss glances at him briefly, then turns back to whatever Gale is muttering under his breath. Johanna’s poking at her food like it insulted her, while Prim gently nudges a bowl toward him with a small smile. Strawberries. A few, nestled beside the oatmeal like some precious, rare gem.

He nods in silent thanks, though he’s lost his appetite. That dull twist in his stomach has nothing to do with hunger.

Annie leans close. “You saw her, didn’t you?”

Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper. He doesn’t answer, just stares at the berries, mind still wrapped around the ghost of your expression. That faraway look. That hollow shell. He presses his tongue to the back of his teeth and forces a swallow.

“She looks worse,” Johanna mutters, eyes still on her food. “Should’ve known she’d run herself straight into the ground.”

Katniss gives her a sharp look, but Johanna shrugs. “What? I’m not wrong.”

Prim stays quiet, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her napkin.

Finnick doesn’t say anything. He can’t. The words are there, burning behind his teeth, but none of them make it out. Because part of him wants to cross that room and reach out. Ask if you’ve eaten. If you’re sleeping. If the shadows under your eyes are from nightmares or from living wide awake in one.

But he doesn’t.

He picks up a strawberry instead, stares at it like it might give him answers. It doesn’t.

He stays quiet, even as the conversation picks back up around him. Laughter in the background. War in the foreground. And in between it all, the echo of something he once held close slipping further out of reach.

~

The corridors of District 13 hum with the low thrum of machinery and distant footfalls, sterile and cold as always. Finnick walks beside Katniss, steps matching hers as Boggs leads them down a narrow hallway lined with reinforced glass. It’s part of the upper training sector—recently refurbished, apparently. Or so Boggs says, though everything still looks the same shade of lifeless gray.

“From here on out,” Boggs says, tapping something on a clipboard as he walks, “you’ll be expected to report to training units daily—combat drills, endurance conditioning, field strategy. Nothing too advanced yet, just enough to prep your bodies for real fieldwork.”

Katniss gives a quiet nod, her expression unreadable. Finnick doesn’t respond. He’s listening, mostly, but his mind drifts in and out, clinging to details and letting others slide. The talk of drills, the bark of instructors echoing from far-off rooms, the repetitive slap of boots against the ground—it all blends together.

They round a corner and come upon a wide observation dome. The floor here curves into a glass overlook, where rows of seats face down into a sunken arena—a simulation room for live training. Finnick almost keeps walking—the place reminds him a little too much of the hunger games. But something pulls at the corner of his vision. A flicker of movement. A flash of a face he knows too well.

You.

You're down below, dressed in training blacks, moving through a timed obstacle drill with calculated speed. Dodging, pivoting, sweeping your arm in clean arcs as you strike the dummy in front of you, reset, strike again. Your body moves with trained precision—quick, sharp, disciplined.

But he sees it. In the way your left leg slightly drags after each leap. The moment your fingers twitch around the training staff like they’ve gone numb. How your jaw clenches after every third hit. Movements smooth, but not flawless. Not anymore.

Finnick slows, falling a step behind Boggs and Katniss, gaze fixed on the glass.

“She’s been here every morning,” Boggs says without looking, as if he’s already guessed what—or who—Finnick’s watching. “Won’t take breaks. Won’t talk to the medics. She’s burning herself out.”

Katniss glances back at him, a flicker of concern in her eyes. “They said she passed out during drills last week.”

Finnick doesn’t say anything. He watches as you stumble for the briefest moment, catching yourself before anyone can notice—anyone but him. You reset again. Keep going. Determined. Desperate.

Something inside him pulls tight.

“She doesn’t want help,” Katniss says gently. “Not even from Haymitch.”

That doesn’t surprise him. You always preferred to fight your demons head-on, even if it meant losing the battle with yourself.

Boggs keeps walking, motioning for them to follow toward another corridor lined with equipment and holo-maps. Katniss gives him a small nudge, and Finnick finally turns away, the image of you lingering behind his eyes like an afterimage burned into his vision.

But as they leave the dome, all he can think about is the way your hands trembled when you thought no one was watching.

It becomes a routine before he even realizes it.

After drills with Katniss and Gale, after the tactical briefings with Boggs, after the debriefs and silent lunches where conversation feels like another mission in itself—Finnick finds himself back in the upper levels of the training dome, tucked into the shadowed corners above the observation glass.

You’re always there.

Sometimes early, sometimes late, but always training like your life depends on it. Maybe it does. Maybe you think it does.

He sits with his elbows propped on his knees, shoulders hunched forward, eyes fixed on the figure moving below. You run the same combat sequences he’s seen a dozen times—standard disarm techniques, pressure point strikes, simulated close-quarters combat. He could close his eyes and still know how your feet land, how you pivot, how your hand flexes just a second too long after each blow.

At first, he told himself he was only watching out of concern. That’s what Annie would say. That he’s just worried. That he’s just looking after someone who’s clearly slipping.

But deep down, he knows that’s not the whole truth.

It’s the ache. The invisible thread that still pulls when he sees your shoulders sag a little lower than they used to. The way your breathing hitches when you think no one can hear. The way you fight like you’re punishing yourself for something no one else seems to understand.

He wants to say something. Every time, he tells himself he will. He’ll wait for the end of the session, trail down the stairs, walk across the floor and say—

What?

I’m sorry?

I miss you?

I don’t know what’s real but I think it’s you?

But the moment never comes. Not really. He watches as you finish the last round of drills, your body trembling slightly as you lean against the mat wall, sweat clinging to your skin, chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. You rest there for a beat. Then straighten. Then leave.

Just like always.

You never look up.

And maybe he tells himself it’s because you don’t know he’s watching. Maybe he tells himself that’s what makes it easier.

But it’s not. Not really.

Because the truth is, part of him hopes you do know.

Finnick sits there, his thoughts swirling, his mind still caught in the mess of lies and truths. His fingers twitch slightly, the familiar itch of wanting to move closer to you, to speak to you, but he doesn’t. Not yet. Not while he’s still unsure of what he feels. Not while the Capitol’s poison still lingers in his mind, clouding everything.

The sound of footsteps makes him glance up, and before he can look away, you’re sitting beside him. He blinks, caught off guard by how easily you slipped into the space beside him, how you don’t even seem to mind that he’s been watching you for weeks now.

At first, you don’t say anything. You just sit there, cross-legged, twisting the cap off a bottle of water in your hands. He can feel the tension between you, thick like a fog. He wonders if it’s because of the distance he’s put between you two or because he’s been too damn silent, too afraid to approach.

Finally, you break the silence, your voice low, steady. "You’ve been watching me."

Finnick’s chest tightens at the way your voice holds no judgment, just a quiet knowing. He shifts uncomfortably, fingers flexing against his knees.

“I—yeah," he admits, his voice hoarse. "I couldn’t help it."

You nod, like you’ve been waiting for that. You take a deep breath, eyes fixed on the bottle in your hands, not looking at him.

"I thought maybe, just maybe, the Finnick I loved was still there," you say softly. "At first, I thought if I just gave you space, you'd come back to me. But you didn’t. You never did."

Finnick's heart tightens, the words cutting deeper than he expected. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

"But you know," you continue, "I can only put up with so much distance. I can only wait for you to find your way back for so long. It’s not that I stopped caring... I just—" You break off, your gaze dropping to the ground. "I miss you."

He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to fix what’s been broken for so long. All he knows is that hearing those words from you feels like a weight lifting off his chest. He’s afraid to look at you, afraid to see the hope in your eyes that he might be able to fix this, but he does anyway.

And when he does, when his eyes meet yours, the rawness in your expression takes him by surprise. There’s hurt there, but also something more—a spark of the love you once shared. It’s not gone. It’s still there, flickering in the dark.

"I didn’t mean to hurt you," he says, his voice barely a whisper.

You glance at him, your lips curling slightly into a small, sad smile. "I know you didn’t. But you did anyway."

He bites back a sigh. "I don’t know how to fix this."

You shake your head, eyes softening. "You don’t have to. Just stop pushing me away."

The words hang between you for a long moment. Neither of you moves, neither of you speaks. But the silence feels different now, heavier. It’s not an absence of words—it’s the space where the two of you are finally, maybe, finding your way back to each other.

Finally, you stand up, dusting off your pants. Finnick watches you, heart aching with every step you take away from him. But before you leave, you stop and glance over your shoulder, a quiet challenge in your eyes.

"I’ll be here. When you’re ready."

And with that, you walk away, leaving Finnick alone with his thoughts, with the lingering weight of your words.

~

The day starts on schedule, like it always does here. In District 13, time is a currency you’re expected to spend wisely. There’s no room for distraction. No softness. Just wake, work, train, repeat.

You lace up your boots with steady fingers, standing in your shared quarters under the flickering light. The air feels sterile, too clean. Too sharp. As if even the walls are trying to scrub the humanity out of you. You can still feel the rough edge of the bench beneath you from this morning—can still hear Finnick’s voice, broken and raw, circling like smoke in the back of your mind.

You don’t speak during training. You can’t. Your body moves on command, lunging and dodging through combat drills, sparring with people who don’t know you well enough to ask questions. That helps. You can lose yourself in the burn of your muscles, in the precision of every strike. But even then, there’s a hollowness that follows you. You duck a punch and see the look in his eyes again—tired, aching, like he was already halfway gone and trying to crawl his way back to you.

You scrub in for your assigned unit shift in the war room—tasked with logistics today—and sit at your assigned desk, eyes fixed on the columns of data cycling across the screen. Numbers. Supplies. Deployment routes. It’s important. It should matter. But none of it can drown out the echo of what he said.

I didn’t mean to hurt you.

He meant it. That’s what shakes you most. It wasn’t performative. Not like the Capitol, where every word is curated, every gesture designed to be consumed. No, Finnick looked at you like he couldn’t stand what he’d done. Like he’d been watching the fracture grow and hadn’t known how to stop it.

The silence between assignments in 13 is usually a relief. A breath. But today, it just gives your thoughts too much space. You spend your ten-minute break sitting on the lower level of the dormitory hall, hunched over with your elbows on your knees, staring at the scuffed floor. You know someone’s watching—they always are—but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when all you can think about is the way he looked like he was trying not to shatter.

After curfew, you shower under low-pressure water that smells faintly of metal. You let it run down your back until your skin pricks with cold. You don’t cry. You won’t. You already gave him your honesty—you won’t let him have your grief.

But later, lying in the dark of your bunk with the lights dimmed and the rigid mattress pressed against your spine, you can’t stop the memory from playing again. The way his voice cracked when he said he didn’t know how to fix this. The way he looked at you like maybe he didn’t deserve to.

You don’t know if you want him to try or if it would only hurt more if he did.

But gods, you miss him. You miss you—the version of yourself that felt whole with him.

You turn your face into the pillow, as if the act of hiding could quiet everything inside you.

It doesn’t.

The night went out just as fast as it came. There’s no softness to mornings here—just the buzz of the overhead lights flickering on like a switch has been flipped inside your head. You sit up before the alarm sounds, already awake. Already tired. The sheets are stiff against your skin, the air dry in your throat. Everything feels muted, like the color’s been drained from the world.

You move through the motions. Dress. Report to duty. There’s a rhythm to it, cold and clean, and you follow it because it’s easier than stopping to think. You sit through morning briefing with your spine straight, eyes forward, nodding at schedules and supply counts. You’re praised for efficiency. You always are.

But even as the room echoes with clipped orders and footsteps on polished floors, your mind isn’t really here. It’s still in that quiet space between you and Finnick. Still circling around the way he looked at you, like he wasn’t sure if he deserved to.

You try not to let it show. You focus on the data in front of you, let your pen move across the page with practiced precision. You memorize updates that don’t mean anything to your heart, only to your role. Your identity here has no room for vulnerability.

By the time lunch rolls around, your stomach isn’t exactly hungry, but your legs still carry you out of habit, moving you through the labyrinth of white-walled corridors toward the cafeteria. The halls are half-filled with people walking in clusters, speaking in low voices or nodding silently to each other. You keep your head down. You don’t expect anything. Not here.

But then—his voice.

“Hey.”

You stop.

The word cuts clean through the haze, too familiar, too fragile. You don’t even have to turn around to know it’s him. That voice has lived in your chest long enough.

You turn anyway. Finnick stands there a few steps behind you, hands at his sides, his expression unreadable but open in a way that makes it harder to breathe. He looks steadier than he did yesterday. But not by much. Just enough to show up. Just enough to speak.

You’re not sure what to say. You’re not even sure if you want to. But something in his eyes keeps you there, rooted in place, heart suspended in your chest like it’s waiting to see what he’ll do next.

He doesn't speak right away, just shifts on his feet like he's working up the nerve. His hands are twitchy, fingers curling and uncurling at his sides, like they’re searching for something to hold onto.

You tilt your head, watching him with quiet curiosity. Finnick Odair has always been fluid and confident, a creature of effortless charm. But now? He looks like he’s standing at the edge of something vast and terrifying.

His lips part, close, then part again.

“I—uh…” He glances over his shoulder, like maybe he's reconsidering. Like maybe he thinks this was a mistake. But then he looks back at you, eyes soft and uncertain. “We're... we’re all sitting together for lunch. Katniss, Johanna, Gale, the others. Annie too.” He swallows, trying to play it casual, but you see right through it.

The pause stretches. He runs a hand through his hair. “You can sit with us. If you want.”

You blink, caught off guard by how tentative he sounds. He’s not asking you like a man who's used to being told yes. He’s asking you like he doesn’t believe he deserves it. Like the offer is fragile, like he’s fragile.

And suddenly, you remember—twelve years old, in the glow of summer light back home in 4. Salt on your skin, sand in your shoes, and Finnick looking at you like you held every star in the sky. He was nervous then, too. Fingers fidgeting with a fraying bracelet, voice cracking as he asked if maybe you wanted to go to the harbor with him sometime. He’d smiled too fast, too big, trying to mask the tremble in his voice.

He looks like that now. That same unsure, wide-eyed boy, just with more scars. Just with a world that’s tried to break him in every way.

And even if you’re still hurting, even if the ache in your chest hasn’t faded, some small part of you—that soft, quiet part that never stopped loving him—leans forward.

You nod.

“Okay.”

It’s all you say. But his shoulders loosen, just slightly. A breath he didn’t realize he was holding escapes his chest.

He doesn’t smile. Not really. But there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. Relief. Maybe even hope.

The cafeteria hums with the same low buzz it always does, voices blending into the clatter of trays and cutlery. Fluorescent lights cast everything in a pale, sterile glow, but the table Finnick leads you to feels strangely warm despite it. Familiar.

Annie’s the first to smile. It's soft and genuine, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she makes space beside her, nudging a tray out of the way with a quiet sort of grace.

“You haven’t changed,” she says, tilting her head toward you as you sit. “Still like to lurk in corridors until someone drags you to lunch.”

You let out a breath, the sound almost a laugh. “And you still think you’re so charming for pointing it out.”

She grins wider, and for a moment, it’s like the war hasn’t touched either of you. Like the years haven’t passed. You talk, low and easy, about nothing and everything—how awful the rations are, how the uniforms never quite fit right, how District 13 seems allergic to any form of joy. You feel something shift in your chest. Something loosen.

Across the table, Katniss meets your gaze, her expression unreadable as always. But there’s a flicker there. A silent nod. An understanding passed like a note between soldiers—you’ve been through it too. You return the nod, and that’s enough.

Prim beams at you like you’ve made her whole week. “Thank you,” she says, too earnestly. “Now I don’t have to sit with them for one day, then you and your friends the next—it was starting to feel like I had divorced parents.”

That earns a quiet laugh around the table. Even Finnick huffs out something like amusement, eyes trained on his tray.

You glance down the table at Gale. He hasn’t said a word. He just gives you a look—cool, curious, unreadable. Like he’s trying to decide what kind of Capitol creature you are.

You meet it evenly. You don’t know him either. Don’t trust him. He carries himself like he’s always one breath away from starting a revolution, and maybe that’s true. But there’s something about his conviction that rubs you wrong. You grew up around people who wore masks; Gale doesn’t. Maybe that’s why you don’t know what to make of him.

Still, for Katniss’s sake, you nod politely. He doesn’t return it. Just goes back to eating.

Johanna flops down across from you halfway through a story about Annie smuggling sugar packets. Her eyes narrow like she’s trying to solve a puzzle.

“Look who finally crawled out of her Capitol shell,” she mutters, reaching for a roll she probably didn’t wait in line for. “Did Finnick threaten to cry or something?”

You raise a brow. “I just missed the privilege of being insulted mid-meal. Thought I’d treat myself.”

She smirks. “There she is.”

And maybe most people wouldn’t catch it, but you do—beneath the sarcasm, there's a glint of approval. Maybe even affection. It’s all Johanna knows how to offer.

The conversation ebbs and flows, warm and awkward and strangely easy. It’s not perfect. But it’s something. And as you sit there, tray untouched, laughter slowly folding itself around you, you realize how long it’s been since you felt like you belonged anywhere at all.

Lunch ends slowly, the table thinning one by one. Johanna slinks off first, muttering something about needing to spar before she “goes soft from all the sap.” Gale disappears not long after, barely sparing you a glance. Prim and Katniss leave together, Prim bubbling with chatter, Katniss trailing beside her in her usual brooding silence. Annie lingers, brushing a hand over Finnick’s arm as she stands—something gentle, something old and familiar—and then she’s gone too.

It leaves just you and Finnick.

Neither of you speaks right away. He’s fidgeting again, thumb brushing the rim of his tray, shoulders too tense for someone who used to command every room he walked into without even trying. It’s strange to see him like this—uncertain, too careful with you. The last time you saw him look this nervous, you were thirteen, and he had a daisy in one hand and sweaty palms in the other, stammering through his first try at asking you to the District 4’s spring banquet.

You were both still whole then.

He glances at you now, that same look flickering behind his eyes—like he’s on the edge of a sentence he can’t quite say.

“You didn’t have to sit with me,” he murmurs, almost a question.

“I know,” you say softly. “I wanted to.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, green and wide and uncertain. There’s a pause, then he exhales, like that admission untied something in him. He stands first, grabbing both trays without asking. You follow quietly.

The walk to the drop-off station is short, but he doesn’t leave you after. He hesitates, lingers just beside you in the corridor outside the cafeteria, shoulders brushing once—by accident or on purpose, you’re not sure. The hallway is quiet, colder now without the warmth of others.

“I…” He stops, starts again. “I didn’t think you would. Sit with me, I mean.”

You shrug, though it feels heavy. “You asked.”

He lets out a breath, a quiet huff of almost-laughter. “Yeah. I did.”

There’s a pause that stretches too long. You know he’s searching for words. You know because you are too.

“I meant it,” he says finally, quieter than before. “What I said. About not wanting to hurt you.”

You nod, because you know. But knowing doesn’t erase the ache. Still, something about hearing it again, here in the hush of this empty hallway, feels like balm to a wound you stopped looking at weeks ago.

“Hey,” he says suddenly. “Do you remember that night—back in Four—when we snuck out during the storm?”

You blink, surprised by the shift in tone. He’s looking at you now, not nervous anymore, just gentle. “The hurricane?” you ask.

He nods. “Yeah. We were what… fourteen? Maybe fifteen. We got caught in it trying to race to the docks. I’ve been thinking about it lately. I remember the rain hitting so hard it stung. And we ended up hiding under that overturned canoe.”

You let out a quiet breath, not quite a laugh. “You told me you’d protect me from the wind if I gave you half my chocolate bar.”

His mouth twitches. “You still gave it to me even after I told you I forgot mine on purpose.”

“I remember,” you say softly, looking down. “You looked so proud of that plan.”

He chuckles, a low sound, soft and fond. Then his voice quiets again. “I don’t know why that memory’s been stuck in my head lately. I just… I needed to know if it was real. If I didn’t just make it up.”

You meet his gaze, and in it, you see something achingly vulnerable. Not a man trying to make amends with grand gestures. Just someone trying to hold on to something true in a world that keeps taking.

“It was real,” you say. “That was real.”

Finnick nods slowly, and it looks like relief. Like something inside him finally exhales.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Good.”

And it’s not a confession. It’s not a plea. It’s something simpler, more fragile—a thread being carefully, hopefully tied back between you.

He doesn’t ask anything else. And you don’t press.

You walk in different directions at the end of the hall, but the air feels lighter now. Less like absence. More like beginning.

~

It’s been three days since that hallway conversation. Three days since Finnick brought up the storm in District 4, since he looked at you like he was remembering how to breathe.

You haven’t talked since. Not properly. There were nods, the occasional flicker of eye contact, and once—just once—he passed by you in the training center and murmured your name like a quiet promise before disappearing into the next room.

You’ve been patient. Careful. Letting him come to you in his own time, if he ever does.

And then, that evening, just after the last strategy meeting lets out, you step out into the corridor—and he’s already there.

He’s leaning against the wall like he’s been waiting. Not with the sharp confidence the Capitol taught him, but with something softer. Familiar. Like he’s trying to be brave again.

“Hey,” he says, straightening a little. “You free?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Right now?”

Finnick hesitates, then nods. “There’s something I want to show you.”

The corridors of District 13 are quiet this late in the evening, lit only by the sterile, humming lights overhead. You follow Finnick through a series of winding turns, deeper into the underground. He doesn’t say much, only glances back now and then to make sure you’re still there. His pace is steady, but there’s a nervousness in the way his hands twitch at his sides—like he’s unsure if this is too much, too soon.

Eventually, he leads you to a small maintenance room at the end of a lesser-used hallway. He punches in a code and the door hisses open. Inside, it’s dim and cold, just metal walls and a few crates pushed into corners. But when he gestures you forward, you realize what he’s really brought you to see.

There’s a narrow crawlspace tucked into the wall—a vent path maybe, or a space cleared for storage. Finnick slips inside first and helps you follow. At the other end is a grate that opens into a hidden view of one of the District’s water filtration reservoirs. It’s quiet. Still. And the pale reflection of the underground lights in the water gives it a silvery, moonlit sheen.

Finnick sits with his back against the wall, knees drawn up. It’s cramped, but not uncomfortable. You take your place beside him, careful not to let your shoulder brush his, even though part of you aches to.

“It’s not much,” he says, voice low, “but sometimes I come here when I can’t take all the walls.”

You nod slowly, letting your eyes trace the ripple of light on the water. “It kind of reminds me of home.”

He glances at you then. “Yeah. I was hoping you’d think that too.”

The silence between you isn’t heavy this time. It stretches out gently, like waves lapping at the shore. And then Finnick’s voice breaks through, hesitant.

“Do you remember that cove just past the harbor in Four? The one we had to swim out to?”

You turn to look at him, and there’s something soft in his expression—uncertain, almost boyish.

“I remember,” you say.

“You got stung by a jellyfish and told me I’d better marry you one day or you’d haunt me for eternity.” He lets out a quiet laugh. “Did that really happen, or did I just make it up to survive Snow’s parties?”

You smile, warmth blooming behind your ribs. “No, it happened. You cried more than I did.”

His face shifts, the tension in his jaw loosening just enough. “I was scared,” he says. “I thought I was gonna lose you.”

You look at him. Really look. The tired set of his shoulders, the faint tremble in his fingers, the way his eyes hold on to you like he’s still trying to memorize this moment before it slips away.

“I never left,” you say quietly. “Even when you tried to make me.”

He doesn’t answer at first. Just nods. And when he does speak, it’s barely a whisper.

“I know.”

The silence settles again, comfortable in its stillness but laced with things too fragile to name. Finnick shifts slightly beside you, drawing his knees closer to his chest like he’s trying to hold himself together. His thumb rubs over the edge of a seam in his pants—slow, rhythmic, grounding. You can almost see the thoughts moving behind his eyes, but he’s too careful, too practiced now, to let them slip freely.

“You know,” he murmurs after a beat, “sometimes I remember things that didn’t happen. Or maybe they did. It’s like… pieces of a puzzle that don’t belong to the same picture.”

You nod, quietly. “That’s okay. You don’t have to be sure right now.”

He looks at you, grateful but pained. “But I want to be. Especially with you.”

There’s something in his voice that cracks. Not loudly, not dramatically—but in the quiet way that feels like the soft crumble of stone, worn down by years of pressure. He leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes.

“I think I remember your laugh,” he says after a long moment. “Not the one they made you wear in front of cameras. The real one. From when you’d chase me down the beach because I stole your towel. You always caught me. Always.”

A laugh does escape you now—quiet, surprised. “You were terrible at hiding. You’d always leave a trail of seashells behind you.”

His eyes open. They meet yours with something like wonder, as though he wasn’t sure if that memory was his or just another echo the Capitol forced into his head. But hearing it from you makes it real.

“I needed that,” he says. “I needed to know I didn’t make it all up.”

You don’t reach for him—he still flinches sometimes, and you won’t take that from him—but your voice is steady when you speak again.

“You didn’t. We were real. You and me. Before all of this.”

He nods. Slowly. Like it takes effort to believe it, but he’s trying.

“I’m still trying to find my way back to that,” he admits. “Back to the boy who thought a handful of seashells was enough to win you over.”

“You didn’t need seashells,” you whisper. “You already had me.”

The words hang between you, fragile but steady. And for the first time in a long while, he doesn’t look away.

You can hear the faint hum of pipes in the walls, the steady trickle of the reservoir below. Finnick hasn’t moved, still sitting close, still watching you like your presence is the only thing keeping him tethered to the present moment.

Then, he shifts. Just barely. His voice is tentative, searching.

“Can I ask you something else?”

You glance over at him, nodding once.

“That game,” he says. “Real or not?”

At first, you don’t answer. Your breath catches, your mind reeling back—not to this cold, hollow bunker, but to another time entirely. The way you’d sat with your back pressed to a door in the Capitol, shivering and broken, unable to sleep, to eat, to speak. And Finnick, kneeling in front of you with a look in his eyes that said he understood too much. More than he should have.

He was the one who made you look at him. Who asked the first question. “Your favorite food is salt-crusted crab, real or not?” And you blinked at him, confused and exhausted, before whispering, real.

“It’s real,” you say softly, voice thick. “You made it up on the second night. When I couldn’t stop crying.”

Finnick exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years. His shoulders relax, just slightly.

“I thought maybe I imagined that,” he murmurs. “I wanted it to be real so badly I started thinking it was.”

You reach out, just enough to let your hand rest lightly on the edge of the wall between you. Not touching him—but close. “It was real. That game saved me, Finnick. You saved me.”

He goes quiet again, but there’s something different about it now. A flicker of hope trying to find shape.

Then, barely above a whisper, he says, “Do you think… you’d want to play it again? With me. Now.”

Your heart tightens, not with fear, but with that bittersweet kind of warmth that comes with remembering who someone used to be—and seeing traces of them still alive in front of you. Still trying.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I’d like that.”

He doesn’t smile, not quite. But his lips twitch, and his eyes flicker with something close to light. He nods slowly, almost like he’s afraid to break the moment.

And then he asks—quiet, careful, like the boy from District 4 who once handed you a seashell and promised the ocean would always bring him back to you:

“Real or not: you used to hum sea shanties under your breath when you thought no one was listening.”

Your eyes meet his, and for a second it’s like nothing ever changed.

“Real,” you say. “Only when I missed home.”

Finnick’s gaze softens. He leans his head back against the wall again, letting that answer settle inside him like a wave returning to shore.

“Your turn,” he murmurs.

The game continues on in the silence between you, questions lingering like whispers in the space you’ve carved out together. You take turns, each answer grounding you a little more in the reality of the present. The past is never far, but for once, it feels like something you can touch without fear.

As the minutes stretch into an hour, the world outside fades away. There are no more games, no more masks, no more Capitol pressures—just two people, sitting in the quiet glow of shared memories, leaning on the simple comfort of each other's company.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself believe in something real again.

[bellatrixscurls]

group activities iii

part one | part two

pairing : reader x slytherin gang x the golden trio.

warnings : smut - oral (f receiving), teasing, dirty talk, lots of pet names, female reader, draco is an arrogant prick sometimes, talk of virginity, truth or dare games, kissing, voldemort. lmk if i missed any!

a/n : this surprised me as well, i was gonna write some tom x reader smut in this chapter but oh well. hope you enjoy!

────── ☾ ──────

“and what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

ron’s voice was filled with pure hatred, but you couldn’t really react. you stood on the bed, limp, sore. to be fair, you could barely keep your eyes open - and it wasn’t much before they closed and you drifted off.

🤍

when you woke up, which seemed to be quite a while later judging by the darkness piercing through the windows, you spotted tom sitting on your armchair, his eyes carefully scanning the room before he noticed that you had awakened.

“passed out a bit there, have you?” the corner of his lips tilted up, and you couldn’t help but return his smile.

you didn’t know where the others were, but you were grateful that it was him there with you. “is it dinner time yet? i’m really hungry” yawning, you sat up, looking around the room as if still trying to adjust to the artificial light.

and then it happened again. that flicker in his eyes and the way his smirk turned into a soft smile. he didn’t get to say anything, because you decided just then that you’d point it out.

“why do you do that?” your voice came out soft, too soft for your liking. “sometimes you look at me like this and- it sends a shiver up my spine.”

tom was genuinely speechless in that moment, which he never was. he always had some snarky remark or dry chastisement. not now.

he just kept looking at you and not saying a word, which made you go crazy with nerves. shrugging, he looked away for a moment before turning back to you. “i look at you just the way i look at everybody else. it’s nothing special.”

ouch. because yes, you agreed not to speak of these things when you’d entered the ‘group’, but it felt too obvious. you were almost always lost in his eyes, but found a way to see through him. you knew when he would lose composure, and pretend it never happened.

“fine” you cleared your throat, looking at your body and thanking whoever cleaned you up and dressed you, because you really didn’t wanna have to put up with tom’s ‘indifference’. you stood up, brushing a hand over your skirt, before heading towards the door. “i don’t care anyway.”

🤍

after dinner, that was quiet and tense, you all decided to go back to the slytherin common room. nobody was holding hands, draco wasn’t all over ron, enzo avoided hermione’s eyes and vice versa. and to add to it, tom was ignoring you. he never ignored you.

entering the common room, you all sat down, some on the floor, some on the couch, some just leaning against the walls.

you felt guilty.

“i’m sorry we did it without you guys” you looked at the golden trio, and their faces seemed to soften.

ron kneeled in front of you, his fingers grasping your jaw ever so gently. “you didn’t know, peach. it’s tradition at this point, we all want to be there when someone new comes” he turned to glare at the others. “but they knew.”

“i challenged them” you spoke softly, and he continued stroking your cheek, cocking his head to the side as he listened quietly. “can we please forget about it? i feel bad, i don’t want to be the reason you guys don’t speak to one another.”

your ears perked up when you heard someone sigh. theo. “principessa” his eyes moved from your eyes to your lips, then back to your eyes. “you’re right. we didn’t want you guys to feel left out. it just happened so suddenly, and she looked so soft, her skirt had ridden up- you have to understand” whined theo as he looked desperately at harry, leaning his head against his shoulder.

“we understand” hermione was the one to speak this time, and your face lit up when you heard her voice. you had noticed the distance between her and enzo, and you hoped you were not the reason to it. “but we want to be there when she loses her virginity, maybe we’ll even make you watch without touching… you know, as payback.”

wincing at the mention of your virginity, you hid your face into ron’s neck, and his muscular arms wrapped around you instinctively. you felt him laugh, his chest vibrating against your body, making you flush even more. “ronnie” you whimpered helplessly, face beet red.

“oh, look at you, peach” he tsked, brushing a few stray hairs off your face. “let’s not torture the poor girl anymore, we don’t wanna pressure her; how about we play a game?”

the atmosphere seemed to shift for the better once ron mentioned playing a game, and everyone came up with an idea, but at the end, they stuck with the basic one - truth or dare.

“oh i fucking love this” you shook your head at draco as he threw an arm around your neck, keeping you close as he spun the bottle. it kept spinning until it landed on, surprisingly, mattheo.

draco’s grin widened and mattheo pressed his tongue into the inside of his cheek, his lips threatening to tilt up. “truth or dare, riddle?”

“you know me, malfoy. give me the best dare you’ve got.”

“kiss me.”

it all happened so fast, the yearning, the kissing, the biting. their aggressiveness made you weak in the knees - maybe it was the way mattheo pressed his body into draco’s, forcing the older boy to hold himself up with one hand on the floor, or the way draco devoured his mouth, the need to be so impossibly close to one another.

finally, pulling away, they gasped for breath, draco fixing his hair before returning to his spot next to you. you could tell that he was still shaken up, both of them were.

“hot” blaise mouthed to you and your eyes widened, earning a satisfied smirk from the boy.

“my turn” it was mattheo who spun the bottle this time, his eyes glaring at it as if he was trying to control it with his mind.

tom shook his head slightly, giving him a disapproving look. “only i can control it.”

“and i’m an occlumens” he defended, ignoring the bottle that had already landed on you. (occlumens = one who is able to close their mind against legilimency)

“thank merlin for that” his brother scoffed and he rolled his eyes, looking at you for the first time after your ‘argument’, albeit accidentally.

mattheo grinned like a cheshire cat as his eyes finally landed on you, and you bit the inside of your cheek. “y/n/n, i dare you to… make enzo blush.”

the room fell silent. your brows furrowed.

“i didn’t pick dare.”

“i don’t like the tone” he looked at you with mock offense, a hand clutching his chest. “besides, you should thank me. i could’ve made you do it to tommy here” he shrugged and you noticed tom looking at you from the corner of your eye. “merlin knows that one doesn’t have a heart.”

you shrank in your seat, completely ignoring tom’s intense gaze, instead focusing on enzo who was siting right beside you, a sweet, comforting smile adorning his face. “it’s okay, y/n/n. it doesn’t take much to make me blush anyway.”

“ready, then?” you looked at mattheo and he nodded fervently, eyes scanning you whole.

smiling, you leaned in, whispering in enzo’s ear, one hand caressing his shoulders and going up his neck. “and what does it take to make you blush then, sweet boy?” you felt bold, the adrenaline becoming too much. “hm? a kiss? or maybe i could just tease you a bit. tell you what i wanna do to you later.”

enzo gulped and it was almost audible, his hand moving up your thigh, but you still not touching him, nothing more than a hand on his shoulders. “tell me. please, tell me.”

you almost giggled. almost. you felt comfortable around enzo and you really enjoyed seeing him flush. “i want to have you between my legs, to feel your mouth devour me again. i want you to make me so wet for you that when you put it in, i’m all nice and ready for you, baby” you whisper just enough for him to hear, your lips pressing against the shell of his ear before tugging at it, causing the boy to whimper, and everyone reacted to it - gasps and shocked expressions all around, but you didn’t mind. neither did he.

“i bet it would slip right in” you leaned against him, nose against his cheek - his now burning cheek. you smirked.

leaning back against the sofa, you exhaled proudly, and the room erupted into laughter and loud chatter; everyone was either teasing enzo, congratulating you, or both. mostly both.

tom was sitting across from you, and his expression was different than you would’ve believed. he had a proud smirk on his face, his lips twitching as he kept eye contact with you, and your boldness went out the window again. “tease” his lips didn’t move, but you heard his voice in your head. you chose to ignore it until he spoke again. “making him believe he stands a chance at that. you’re so cruel.”

you jolted up, thankful that everyone was still teasing enzo and mocking him. “get out of my head” you whispered dangerously, your heart pounding in your chest.

“you know i could start ignoring you” he whispered too, and this time, his lips moved. “but i’ll still be there. i cannot make you stop thinking about me.”

and there it was again, that damn smirk.

choosing to ignore him, you turned back to the group, your chin resting on top of enzo’s shoulder, the simple gesture making him melt into you, his back resting against you. “that was hot.”

his voice was so small that it made you chuckle before placing a soft kiss on the side of his neck. you didn’t say anything, there was no need to.

everyone went back to the game and after some time it was mattheo’s turn again. oh, merlin.

each of you knew of his intentions, his urge to see all of you pressed up against each other, kissing, biting, blushing. the boy was a menace.

and what was even better? this time, the other end of the bottle pointed at tom, his dear brother.

you could practically see the disapproval on his face after hearing mattheo’s dare. because, of course, when it came to mattheo, the only option was dare.

“i’ll give you a simple one, brother” he smirked, “owl father… and tell him you love him.”

the air shifted and you froze in place. you studied tom closely; his jaw was clenched, and he seemed upset. at least upset. he looked down for a few moments and you could practically see the gears turning in his head. then his eyes lit up.

“surely, brother” he pulled a parchment out of his bag that was thrown under the table, a sign that he had stayed behind studying before dinner. your shoulders released all tension when you saw the way his mood changed. you really thought he would be offended, as tom was not one to speak much of his father.

after a few minutes of writing and paying the owl to send the parchment to his father, the game continued for a few more minutes, before everyone decided that it was too late already and you all headed to bed.

🤍

the next morning was quiet, way too quiet. usually mornings were loud and obnoxious, making you want to make a hole and hide in it until the weekend arrived. only now, you realised that the weekend had arrived indeed.

the clock on your nightstand read 07:34 am, and you groaned into your pillow, cussing you out for not being able to sleep any longer. but after your little drama scene, you decided that it was best to use the time you could’ve been sleeping - studying.

you showered and got ready for the day, then gathered your ‘defense against the dark arts’ books and made your way down to the common room. since mostly everyone was sleeping, you figured you would just study there instead of the library, which was fairly far from the slytherin dorms.

just as you put your books down on the table, you heard shuffling and you didn’t dare raise your eyes towards the sound, you just couldn’t.

the voice that came next made you shiver, your chest warming with relief. theo. “what are you doing so early on a saturday morning, amorina?” his voice was still thick with sleep, leaving you in complete awe when you finally took a proper look at him. he was clad in his quidditch uniform, hair messier than usual and fists rubbing at his eyes in a failed attempt to wake up properly.

you smiled and patted the seat beside you on the large green sofa. theo sat down silently, letting out a helpless whine that made you laugh. "i couldn't sleep, so i thought I'd do a bit more studying," he hummed, fiddling with the hem of your sleeves between his thumb and middle finger. "is draco making you practice early again this weekend?"

theo whined again, clutching his chest, his eyes still only half open. “he is. i’ll give you an even better one. he wanted to start at six, but blaise pretended to feel sick and draco didn’t want his nauseous ass anywhere near his new nimbus.”

the words were emphasised with a dramatic roll of his eyes and you tried your best to keep yourself from giggling, but he was just too cute. “i’m glad my misery is amusing to you” he pouted and you couldn’t help but kiss his pout once. twice. causing theo’s eyes to widen before he grinned dopily, leaning in to kiss you again, this time softly biting on your lower lip.

“blaise was right when he said you tasted good” he licked his lips as he pulled away, his hand still holding you close to his body by your waist. “you know, enzo said that too and-”

“perv” you swatted at his chest and he chuckled, standing up as the other boys appeared as well, a furious draco leading them.

he looked completely exasperated, and judging by the looks on the other boys’ faces, you could tell that he was chastising them again.

“we could’ve been here two hours ago had you not faked being sick” he glared at blaise, who was completely unbothered, and threw his arms in the air. “and you don’t even care!”

“draco, i don’t think waking us before the sun is up is a great idea” mattheo groaned as he fell onto the armchair across from you, his eyes lighting up when he noticed you. “y/n/n! what’s with you here on this fine morning?” he spoke brightly before he turned to draco who was still angry as ever, whispering. “i think my morning just got better.”

you rolled your eyes playfully, softening when draco passed by to kiss your forehead, his arm tightening around your shoulders for a second. “i’m trying to study, but obviously not really succeeding. how many more of you are there?”

“just enzo” blaise shrugged, looking up at their dorm room door as if expecting him to come down any second, which he never did. “but he is a bit under the weather these days.”

“you say under the weather, i say he received a letter from his mommy this morning” mattheo spoke carelessly, shrugging when you gave him a confused look. then his eyes widened the slightest bit. “oh i got one too, i almost forgot” he pulled a letter from his quidditch bag, unfolding it and laying it flat on the table.

then, you got goosebumps. it started speaking in a very distinct voice, one that you knew all too well. voldemort.

“Dear son,

I appreciate the sentiment at the bottom of the letter, which nearly compelled me to fly to Hogwarts myself forthwith and cast a hex upon you.

Pray tell, do you have a fancy for men? As if I didn’t not have enough in my hands already. I beg of you to steady yourself, lest I find you a suitable match in the first gullible pure-blooded young lady I encounter. I trust, however, that you know that she would not bear the name Y/n/n.

Yours affectionately,

Father.”

you gasped and your eyes widened, everyone looking at mattheo as if he had grown two heads. his father’s tone was stern, dry and unamused. whilst the atmosphere was tense, the word affectionately at the end made enzo, who was coming down of his room finally, inevitably snicker. “wow, you win. i thought i had a story to tell, but wow.”

but that did not phase mattheo, who was always about not making his father upset, not really encouraging his unique pastimes either. “how did he find out though? i thought hogwarts was the safest place there is.”

you rubbed his back, as the others tried to encourage him and calm him down. but it was no use, mattheo was determined to find out who was his father’s spy. and you didn’t think he’d actually find out who it was out of a castle full of people with questionable families, including yours. but he did. “tom” he spoke lowly, and you turned, thinking that tom was coming down as well, but he wasn’t.

his eyes were full of rage, fists clenched as he strolled towards his room, draco following closely, ensuring that nothing more than a few words would be thrown around.

one minute passed, then two, then five. you could hear their bickering and mattheo’s furious screaming from the common room, and it went on until it didn’t. until a death silence settled upon the castle, until the door opened and mattheo was carrying draco.

he was hurt. and the worst part of it all? he expressed nothing beyond the occasional heart-wrenching whimpers of pure pain. tom trailed behind them, an unmistakable expression of genuine guilt etched on his face.

you were all aware of what had happened. in that tense moment, silence enveloped the room; the chaos within each of you made it nearly impossible to string two words together. aware of the fact that madam pomfrey would never let no less than seven students into the hospital wing, you finally mustered the courage to call to tom. his steps faltered and he turned to face you, the weight of the situation hanging in the air. “what did you do?”

as he took a few tentative steps towards you, it was evident that his words were caught in his throat. tom riddle was speechless for the first time in his life. the usual confidence he would display was gone, guilt replacing it. “it was a mistake, i made a mistake. i only wanted to cast expelliarmus on matt, but i lost my temper and when he avoided it, it- i- draco was behind him and i hexed him” he spoke so softly that it was almost impossible to catch it.

you could sense the anguish in his voice and, despite his expectations, you pulled him closer to you in a gentle, reassuring embrace. as you held him against you, you felt a few more pairs of arms encircle you both. blaise, theo and enzo had approached you both, offering their support for tom as well, even though he had hurt their friend.

things like “it’s okay, tom. he’s not mad at you” and “you couldn’t control yourself. he knows you care about him” were said, but did close to nothing to soothe tom. he fucked up big time.

🤍

in the hospital wing, things were as tense, primarily due to the uncertainty of draco’s condition. mattheo stood by his bedside, gazing at the unfortunate boy who was suffering, all because of a stupid letter. but then again he wondered : how could a simple spell leave evident marks such as blood in its wake?

draco, on the other hand, fought to keep his eyes as madam pomfrey tended to his wound, a concerned frown adorning her face. “if someone stabbed him, you have to tell me. this is serious, mister riddle” she eyed mattheo warily, feeling for the poor boy who was wincing.

“no, madam. he got hexed by… he got hexed. accidentally” his voice came out hoarse, his cheeks flushing under madam pomfrey’s stern gaze. he felt like she knew who it was that had hexed draco.

“this is not a simple hex” she muttered under her breath, wiping her hands on her skirt as she finished bandaging draco. “i insist that you do not walk unaccompanied and refrain from too much physical effort. and yes, this includes quidditch” she asserted, before directing her gaze at mattheo again. “mister riddle, please send your brother to my office” she instructed, exiting with a decisive thud of the door.

“if you don't tell her, i won't either” draco smiled softly, wincing as he accidentally touched his chest.

“have you gone all soft, malfoy?” he inquired, amused, the corner of his lips curving upwards. “besides, the old hag’s figured it out.”

“i am not soft” mumbled draco, avoiding his gaze.

“you’ll be once i’m done with you.”

🤍

some time later, you were still sitting in the common room, worry etched on your face as you continued studying, but you could barely focus, given how clueless you were about draco’s condition.

werewolves, vampires, unicorns…

you read, but nothing seemed to click, nothing but the door as someone stepped inside, the portrait closing behind them.

“still studying, beautiful?” mattheo. he seemed so calm, slightly amused as you basically ran up to him, wide eyes searching for any trace of hesitation.

“how is draco?” he chuckled softly as you absentmindedly tugged at his jacket, seemingly unaware of your actions.

“he’s alright. madam pomfrey forbid him from playing quidditch and even walking on his own, so you can imagine how frustrated he was. but he’s healing.”

you exhaled, melting into him as his arms wrapped around your smaller frame. “oh, thank merlin” you hummed appreciatively when he squeezed you slightly, his hands caressing your hair. “who is with him now?”

“no one” he replied simply, as if it wasn’t that big of a deal.

his words startled you, prompting your warm body to leave his own. “alone? on his own? and not being capable of moving on his own?”

“yes” he replied, not really understanding your point. “he told me he wanted to sleep. what could happen in his sleep?”

“even so!” you exhaled in frustration, forgetting all about your studying as you stormed off to find draco.

on your way to the hospital wing, you remembered that it was still dinner time and you figured you’d stop by the kitchens to gather some food for the both of you, considering he had been sitting on a hospital bed for hours.

with a bag of food in hand, you wandered the hallways in search of the quickest way to the hospital wing. the corridor was silent, the absence of the students allowing you to hear your thoughts for once. you were feeling relieved, content that draco was healing and madam pomfrey was confident that he’d be alright in no time.

finally reaching the door, you took a steadying breath and opened it.

to your surprise, draco was the only student there, and he seemed quite alert when he caught sight of you. but when you closed the door behind you and he noticed that you were alone, his shoulders relaxed.

“you should be at dinner” he remarked, but the amusement in his tone was palpable as you flicked on the lights.

“and you shouldn’t be here” you bit back, his face softening when he noticed how worried you were. it was simple for him to tell; your brows were furrowed, lips slightly pursed and you kept fiddling with your ring. “i’m glad you’re feeling better though” you continued softly, carefully placing the food on his small bedside table as you sat down on the chair by his bed.

he took your hand in his, humming. “me too… kinda. you could’ve told everyone that i died of a broken heart, but pomfrey had to spoil my story” his nose wrinkled as he quipped, a playful smirk on his face.

and of course you were very much aware that he was joking, yet the worry coursing through you made you react on impulse. leaning in, you pressed your lips to his in order to silence his playful banter.

draco responded to the kiss, hand tightening around your jaw as he drew you closer. and closer, and then some more. in the intensity of the moment, he almost forgot about his wound, but not you. supporting your weight on one elbow, you pulled away, gasping for air.

“you do taste good” he licked his lips just like theo had done earlier, and you groaned, causing the boy to smirk.

“i would throw a pillow at you, but…”

draco gestured to his chest, smiling. “i’m a wounded man. have some mercy, y/n/n” he whined, flinging an arm over his head dramatically. how thankful you were that the whining was back.

“alright, alright” you waved him off, “i brought apple tart and some kind of expensive beef, i saw you eat it before” you said casually, as if it meant nothing, but for draco it meant so much - bringing him his favourite food and actually remembering his preferences.

“you’re an angel” he beamed at you, admiring you for a second too long, before he started eating.

you looked at him as well, taking in every detail of his face. and even if he was not feeling good, he looked just as gorgeous. “and you’re really beautiful” you whispered.

“do you think i’m beautiful, doll?” he teased, but you could sense a deeper yearning beneath his lighthearted tone.

feeling your cheeks burn, you shook your head. “you know you’re beautiful.”

“i do” he nodded proudly, biting the inside of his chin to suppress his wide grin. “but it sounds so much sweeter coming from that pretty mouth.”

you smiled, shy but sweet, and soon the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, your mind wandering. why was draco being nicer than usual? had he always been this way and had you been too distracted to notice? was you kissing him too much?

as always, your overthinking bubbled up at the most inconvenient time.

“before ripping me apart, tom actually taught me the art of legilimency” he stated nonchalantly, still engrossed in his food.

you dropped your fork on your plate, your eyes widening in disbelief - was he reading your mind? “Draco M-”

amused, he shook his head, finding great amusement in the effect his words had on you. “i’m joooking” he drawled out, setting his food aside to focus on you.

studying you closely, he raised a hand, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. “pretty” you pouted, a smile threatening to appear, and draco mirrored your expression, tilting his head slightly. “now that i think about it… do you think what would make me heal faster?”

“what is it?” your curiosity piqued, eager to help him be out of this bed as soon as possible.

with a sly smirk, he pulled you closer, whispering. “tasting your sweet cunt” his icy blue eyes glinted as they bored into yours, and your breath caught in your throat. “it would be like my personal potion.”

sighing nervously, you moved to straddle him, cunt hovering over his face, “tell me if it’s too much” you whisper softly, hoping that nobody could was close enough to hear you.

he grasped your hips firmly, a smirk dancing around his lips as he met your gaze, “i should be the one saying that” he teased, curling one finger just enough to shift your underwear to the side, revealing the wetness.

draco let out a low groan, the sight causing his cock to harden, his pants tightening. “i can’t wait to get out of this stupid bed so i can finally have you suffocate me between your legs. i could die a happy man here” with a deft motion, he used two fingers to spread your arousal, causing you to jolt as he brushed against your hole.

“p-please stop teasing” you stammered, the effect of his teasing evident in your voice. draco reveled in your reaction, your vulnerability only fueling his desire. he was done teasing; all he wanted was to get a taste, especially to get back at enzo for telling him all about how sweet you tasted and how responsive you were.

“i’m gonna give you what you need, pretty” you felt his fingers ghost over your clit, finally beginning to draw slow, tight circles on your clit that had you crying out, more so when you felt his tongue prod at your entrance. “d-draco” you whispered his name like a prayer. “need it, please. fuck me with your tongue.”

he growled upon hearing you talk so dirty, amazed by the words leaving your sweet mouth, and without notice, his tongue plunged deep inside of you, sliding in and out as his fingers only slightly picked up their pace.

you felt empty when, out of blue, he withdrew his tongue, his fingers still working on you. “how about a deal, dolly?”

“anything” you whimpered, desperate to feel him again.

he smirked. “i make you cum and you tell me who did it better. me or enzo.”

as you peered down at him through blurry eyes, you shook your head in disapproval. “everything is a competition to you, isn’t it?”

“a deal’s a deal.”

you let out a scoff. “i don’t understand how that-” but your words got caught in your throat as his fingers moved from your cunt as well, and he raised at eyebrow at you, tilting his head. “okay, okay! i’ll do it, fuck. i’ll even tell him that, just- please- oh, oh my god!” you cried out when he resumed his work on you, fucking you with his tongue and causing you to let out the most obscene sounds, sounds you were not aware you were capable of making before.

it was nothing like you’d felt before. the way he was gripping your thighs, how precise the movement of his fingers was. he was magical.

you started trembling with the intensity of it all, and draco must’ve sensed it, because he moved his tongue, leaving you to clench around nothing before he replaced it with his fingers.

he was moving faster and you felt like you were tipping over the edge, your head thrown back as he made out with your cunt, sucking at your sensitive bud and nosing at it, adding just the perfect amount of pressure that had you seeing stars. “you look gorgeous like this” he mumbled against you and it caused you to cry, actually cry from the overstimulation, your orgasm drawing nearer and nearer.

and all of a sudden, your vision turned white. you couldn’t see him, you couldn’t see anything, but all you could do was pant, cry and whimper the only thing that was on your mind in that moment - his name.

“draco, draco, draco…” spilled from your lips as you grinded your hips against his face, draco happily lapping at your cunt as you started convulsing on top of him, his nails digging into the plush of your thighs to keep you from pulling away.

you were breathing heavily, so heavy that you could hear it and it was the thing pulling you back to reality, your head dropping forward and your gaze catching draco’s.

he grinned like a mad man, cheeks hurting as he didn’t even try to hide it. “i wanna be there to look at his face when you tell him that i am better.”

shaking your head, you felt a pang of guilt now, your adrenaline rush washing off. “you’re cruel, you know that?” catching your breath, you bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smiling, but he saw right through you.

“you didn’t seem to mind one bit when i was fucking you with my tongue just a few minutes ago.”

fair enough.

────── ☾ ──────

[jambalaya-enthusiast]

𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒/𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐖 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐒 ;

warnings: woooooh long time no see huh? I was just craving some jimmy fluff but then i was like, eh might as well make these for all the characters. very self indulgent, maybe a little suggestive? some toxic behaviour from jimmy ofc.

sidenote: divider by @saradika-graphics

JIMMY

while people might think this guy is an unhygienic fuck, he's actually far from it. a complete and utter neat freak. he's obsessively cleaning the kitchen at every opportunity that he gets, washes his hands rhe millisecond he touches anything wet.

he wears your hoodie allll the time, but for some reason, doesn't let you wear his. his excuse? "they won't fit you". he doesn't ever disclose why he doesn't want you wearing his clothes, but his justification of wearing your hoodies is always "it just feels right".

he leaves the bathroom light on in his room before he sleeps at night, his reasoning is that he might wake up groggy and hit something, but you already know that he is in fact, very much afraid of the dark.

flinches every time you raise your voice, even when you're laughing. doesn't ever say why.

cooks for you every change he gets, he never boasts his cooking skills, but he's always making sure you smile right while eating it.

sleeps with the TV on static whenever you aren't at home, he reasons by saying the white noise helps him sleep, but it's really to block out the thoughts in his mind.

hums old radio songs while cooking. doesn't like anyone to be in the kitchen when he's cooking.

talks in his sleep a lot, your name more often than not, apologies, and other people's names sometimes.

CURLY

Has a subconscious habit of mirroring your movements, if you're stressed out he's pacing, if you're quiet, he's quiet, if you're sitting with your arms crossed, best believe he's doing it as well.

whenever he is at work and you're at home, he texts you random pictures throughout the day like, "look i saw a bird". "having a sandwich rn". "I'm heading home" with an image of the road.

does not like opening up about his emotions, there is a very big distance between you and his internal turmoil. you can be begging, wailing, and screaming for him to be honest and he'll just be like "don't worry about me".

apologises a lot, even mid sentences, "sorry- do you wanna go to this restaurant? they have sorry- seafood I think?".

from before the two of you started dating to even your 10 year anniversary, he has never ever thrown out/lost a single thing which you've gifted him.

has a bad habit of tapping his feet at a rhythmic motion, sitting, standing, sleeping.

similar to jimmy, has a habit of humming songs.

when he's overwhelmed, he just goes out for a walk, doesn't matter if it's below freezing temperatures, "it just takes his mind off of things".

whenever you guys are walking outside, he gently pushes you away from railings, stairs, lamp-posts. as if you're a glass doll, who can break at any little pressure.

ANYA

sometimes you hear her cry in the bathroom due to work related stress, but absolutely doesn't want you to know, she doesn't want you to think she's 'weak'.

whenever she has nightmares, she doesn't wake up gasping, or yell, or cry, just wraps herself around you as if it's the last day on earth.

leaves sticky notes on the fridge with reminders like, "take ur meds". "the milk is spoiled". "Love you so much".

strictly makes you go to routine doctor appointments, be it the dentist, ophthalmologist, the freaking bone doctors. ( el oh el )

keeps every single prescription bottle as if they're her personal trophies.

she chews the end of pens and pencils, you've tried to knock her out of it, but she tends to resume the habit rather fast.

she takes unusually long, and extremely hot showers whenever she's overwhelmed.

tunes her voice to match your comfort level, if you're stressed, she'll talk very softly, if you're excited, her voice tone will rise.

despite knowing about the human psyche, she gets extremely scared whenever she feels there's something off about the way you looked at her, or said 'I love you'.

SWANSEA

extremely afraid of being vulnerable with you, fixes your electrical appliances without you ever asking, but doesn't ever say 'i love you' first.

kisses you as if it's the first and last time ever, as if he won't get another chance.

builds you stuff, shelves for your books, maybe counter tops, bookshelves, a whole ass wooden closet.

when you're putting on makeup or getting ready, he likes staring at you. there's this deep sense of love and adoration in his eyes that he will never ever admit.

always forgets one of his mechanical tools in the kitchen, you'll always find a screwdriver or hammer laying around while trying to make breakfast.

sleeps on the couch during arguments, but checks up on you in the middle of the night to make sure you're sleeping alright.

sometimes, he lets out a grunt instead of answering, you've learned to translate it over time.

he always, ALWAYS. let's you have the last serving of food, doesn't matter if he's still hungry, he says that he's full. this is due to his years of unemployment due to alcoholism, he's seen the lack of food on his plate, doesn't EVER want to let you feel that way even when you guys are financially stable.

opens tight jars and cans and closes them a bit loosened, you think you've gotten stronger, you haven't.

he cuts conversations short if he notices that you're overstimulated, takes the hint and leaves the room.

will never EVER let you see him break.

DAISUKE

He's the kind of partner that gives you all of him, yet thinks he's not doing a good enough job, says 'I love you' like it's his full time job, because he's afraid the silence might steal you.

unknowingly bottles up his resentment because he doesn't know how to confront you about something, this usually results in outbursts with him yelling "am I not doing enough for you?!'.

texts you every time he finds something cute and says, "this reminded me of you :)".

had picked up a nasty smoking habit, he swears to you that he has quit, but chews bubblegum to mask the smell, you find out every time tho.

leaves cabinets and drawers open, you scold him every time but he somehow always forgets.

picks at his lips whenever he's nervous.

he checks the room for your reaction first before he speaks, you approval matters the most to him.

starts wearing the colours of clothes you compliment him in. oh you think pink looks good on him? guess who has a closet full of pink hoodies and t-shirts now.

[yuuhwa]

Dark Game - Cap 1: The First Glitch

Pairing: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader Genre: dark romance Context: Y/n frequented a local internet cafe — one of the few places where she can truly be herself. Known for her bold attitude and zero tolerance for nonsense, she's never been one to back down from a fight. Her reputation as "fearless and dangerously blunt" is well established among the regulars. But everything shifts the day she crosses paths with Geum Seongje — a name spoken in whispers, feared by many, and known for his cold demeanor and unpredictable nature. From the moment they meet, their clash is electric… and dangerous.

a/n: English is not my language, sorry for grammatical errors

It was a little past nine when you pushed open the glass door of the dimly lit lan house. The air inside was thick with the scent of instant noodles, cheap cologne, and the low buzz of monitors casting pale glows over the faces of focused gamers. Neon lights flickered above the front desk, and the floor was sticky in places, but none of that bothered you. It was exactly the kind of place you'd grown used to — loud, chaotic, a bit shady. Just like the city around you.

You’d only come in to blow off steam after a particularly frustrating day. You weren’t exactly a regular here, but the guys who loitered around the back knew better than to test you after the last time someone made the mistake of grabbing your wrist. That guy left with a busted lip and a bruised ego. You weren’t the kind of girl who needed saving.

Sliding into an empty seat, you slipped your backpack off and booted up the nearest system. Music blasted in your ears as you logged into a familiar shooter. The digital world lit up in front of you, and for a moment, nothing else existed.

Except… someone was watching.

He’d seen you before. Always from the corner of the room, silent as a shadow in a place meant for noise. Seongje — the guy with sharp glasses, cold eyes, and a mouth that rarely opened unless it was to threaten or destroy. One of those people you never knew much about, just enough to know you didn’t want to piss him off.

But something about you — the way you didn’t cower, the way you took up space like you owned it — it scratched at something inside him. He couldn’t look away. And tonight, when you walked in with that same fire in your eyes, hair slightly messy, jaw set like you were ready for war, something inside him shifted.

He leaned against the wall across from your setup, pretending to scroll through his phone. But his eyes never left you.

And you noticed.

Turning your head slightly, you locked eyes with him. No fear. No flinch. Just a raised eyebrow and a faint smirk. "You lost or something?" you asked, tone laced with challenge.

That was the moment.

The moment obsession sparked like static between tangled wires.

Seongje didn’t answer right away. He simply lifted his gaze from his phone, pushing up his glasses with his index finger. The corner of his mouth curled into a crooked smirk—more cynical than friendly.

“Do you talk like that to everyone, or just to the ones who stare too long?”

Your response was a quick, dry laugh, followed by a slow once-over. “Only to the ones who don’t know how to hide it.”

He let out a short breath of amusement through his nose, but his eyes didn’t waver. The bluish lights of the screens behind you reflected off his glasses, making his eyes nearly invisible. Still, you could feel the weight of his stare. Judging. Calculating. And maybe... liking what he saw.

“What’s your name?” he asked, finally taking a few steps toward your desk.

“Y/n.” You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed. “And yours? Or do you prefer keeping the whole psycho-mystery vibe going?”

“Geum Seongje.” He said his name smoothly, like it was a passcode. Like he knew you’d recognize it—and you did.

You’d heard the name before. Whispered rumors among the regulars at the lan house, stories that sounded like urban legends. No one ever spoke about him without lowering their voice. He was the kind of guy who didn’t need to shout to be respected—or feared.

“Oh. So that’s you,” you said, raising a brow. “Thought you’d be taller.”

Seongje blinked, caught slightly off guard. Most people would’ve backed off by now—or at least changed the subject. But you stayed steady, your smile sharpening. You were openly challenging him. And for some reason he couldn’t yet explain, that... thrilled him.

“You’re bold.”

“No. I just don’t see the point in being scared of a guy who hides out in a lan house like it’s some budget movie villain lair.” You turned back to your screen, fingers returning to the keyboard, gaming with the same confidence you used in your words. “If you wanna talk, pull up a chair. If you’re just here to stare, there’s a mirror in the bathroom.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he calmly pulled the chair beside you and sat down.

And that’s when he knew. This wasn’t just curiosity. This was a habit in the making.

And you? You just kept playing like you hadn’t just caught the attention of someone who didn’t usually care about anything—or anyone.

But the air had shifted. You could feel it. And you knew he’d be back.

[sparkly-sediment]

Tf2 bedtime Headcanons

Pjs and more 😛

Scout:

Boxers

T shirt ot tank top optional

Sprawls like a child after field day

Slight nest going on in his bedroom

Think messy bed with a bunch of shit on it that he moves off at night so he can burrow

Experiences sleep paralysis once and was horrified to see his demon looks like Medic

(Scout is overthinking why he dreams about men)

Soldier:

Cock out and ready to rock

Rips off his clothes and and puts them right back on in the morning

Prefers top sheet to blanket

Snores like a chain saw if he’s on his back

He has prophetic dreams but seldom heeds their warnings

Pyro:

Keeps the mask on

Either a onsie on over the suit OR a very hasty suit to onsie change

Self care routine before bed >^.^<

Sleeps at the foot of a self-made shrine of the other mercs. She made little dollies of them with spit and gum as adhesive

Engineer

Boxers and a t shirt

Pretty chill guy rubbing his sleepy eyes 🥰

He wears the glove up until he gets in bed

Sets it on the nightstand like a pair of glasses

You will NEVER see him walking around in his comfy clothes. Engi is very self conscious outside of his uniform and he gets nervy when exposed

Curls up in a little ball

Honk shmhshsmshs honk shsmsmshsmsms

Demo

A variety!

Naked, boxers, basket ball shorts and shirt combo, the man is full of surprises

Can pass out anywhere

There have been a few mornings where he wakes up with a horrible hangover and is lost in the New Mexican desert

If he isn’t trudging back to base at 7 am he’s having fitful sleep until his alarm goes off

Unless he is drunk Demo is a very light sleeper!! He uses alcohol as a sleeping aid

Wakes up to thunder piss around 1 am

Heavy

He sleeps ready to run. An adolescence consumed by war shapes a man, and Heavy will never sleep without knowing his shoes are next to the bed

Sleep shorts or jammie pants and a shirt

He dislikes the sensation of a sheet against his back and so almost exclusively sleeps with a shirt on

Only exception is after sex because he likes skin to skin afterwards 😃😄 emotional connections!

A light and deep sleeper. Bro will be in the most restful slumber but if you walk past his room his eyes flash open and his body tenses hard af

Restless leg syndrome

Can sleep sitting up (it lowkey scares literally everyone because why does he do that???)

Genuinely wakes up refreshed

Medic

Fleece pajamas and he does button them

Or boxers and a t shirt/tank top but he PREFERS his fancy fashions

Keeps fuzzy slippers next to the bed but will never wear them out of the medbay

He made tiny accessories for his doves, including a cute little night cap!!

He has a bedtime routine for his doves and does it nightly. He feeds them, coos them, holds every single one and gives a little smooch, and then bedtime

Will fucking kill you if you wake him up without good reason

Scout comes into the medbay with a serious wound? He’s like a dad when their kids is in the door way “i frew up”

Soldier and Demo drunkenly stumble in and are fucking around? Medic chews their ass nasty style

Straight up disrespectful if his sleep is messed

Spy

Satin pajamas

At least a shirt. He prefers to he covered

Spy dressed modestly and it needs more discussion. I also think he is secretly shy AND I WILL ELABORATE LATER

It’s giving sorrowful sleeper

He goes over every life mistake each night before bed. Really tears himself up before he falls alseep

The night is when he thinks about Scout’s ma the most. And the fact he abandoned a child but he represses that a bit more

He was very afraid of the dark as a kid and still always sleeps with a layer on for protection

can’t sleep without a fan going for noise

He can stay awake for a long time. Like, a really long time. But unlike Medic or Engineer or even Sniper, Spy is NOT productive when staying up

Stares at a wall with a befallen look when he changes into his pjs

Holds a pillow

Sniper

Sleeps with a white beater and boxers

Or completely naked

Or in his work clothes if he’s tired enough

Sniper sleeps like a new mom. Anytime he can, he will, and he is deeply paranoid

Look man, weird shit happens in the outback. There’s a reason aboriginal peoples are warded as fuck against evil in the bush. Sniper is constantly on the look out, even at night

Brother fears the sandwalkers fr

He sleeps much better with someone else nearby. They don’t have to be in bed with him but the presence feels safer. Less vulnerable to predators

A notoriously light sleeper. Wakes up constantly and is always a bit exhausted

Has dreams that are warning him of days to come and unlike Soldier he takes that shit SERIOUSLY

[kyoshithewriter]

Tenth Floor.

warnings: smut (18+)

wc: 2970

A/n: And as per request. This is just unhinged atp loool. I notice that I always basically write smut when people send in requests so next time you do please be specific with what you want😅. I hope you enjoy though.

The humid heat outside feels borderline offensive after being blasted by the cool air conditioner in her vehicle. Sweat immediately begins pooling at her neck and underarms beneath the long sleeved dress that hugs her body all the way down to her calves. Gathering her bags from the front seat, Christine presses a button on the fob and hurries toward the apartment complex as soon as she hears the locks click in place. The black heels on her feet accidentally splashes in a small puddle, the water already feeling warm despite the sun coming out no more than five minutes ago.

“Fucking France and its bipolar ass weather I swear…” she mutters in an annoyed huff under her breath. She was eager for the transfer while living in the States. France has always sounded like a dream to her since she was a teenager. When her office presented the opportunity for her to work in the newest franchise in the country, she dived headfirst in. No questions, no second guessing. Christine is not sure if she regrets the decision yet, but she will admit there are a lot of things she was not prepared for. The culture was something that took her months to navigate; from the language, to the cuisine, down to the very mannerisms and the people. The people. Maybe she has just been unlucky, but the ones she has met are either the nicest ever, or downright rude. Unfortunately, the latter has been the majority. And that includes her neighbour.

The lobby door beeps, light on the pad flashing green after she punches in the four digit code that all tenants need to enter the building. Christine checks her work emails as she waits for the elevator. She steps in as soon as the doors open, eyes glued to her phone as she types away. The metal doors are just about to slide shut when a hand blocks them. Looking up, Christine doesn’t have enough time to swallow the groan that bubbles up in her throat as she makes eye contact with him. The neighbour.

There’s a subtle smirk on his face as he presses the button for the tenth floor where they both stay. Side by side. The doors slide closed and there’s a subtle rocking motion before it starts ascending.

“You can’t say bonjour? How rude.” His deep voice fills the space, accent thick.

“You came in and saw me. I know you’re somewhat of a superstar but we don’t all have to kiss your ass.”

He laughs softly, running a hand down the length of his dark blue sweatsuit. She doesn’t see him often because the club he plays for is in Spain; but on the occasions she does, their meetings always go a little like this. Kylian Mbappé; football star and her neighbour from hell.

“Did you like the present I left you?”

Christine grinds her teeth in annoyance. She knows that she technically started this. He had said something sly that really got under her skin, she doesn’t even remember what exactly. But at the time, she was so annoyed to not have gotten the last word in, so in true petty nature, she printed out the results of the last game his team lost badly and stuck it on his door. If she had any idea that it would’ve started this little silent war she wouldn’t have. But alas.

“Yes. I couldn't get the stain out after you accidentally.” She puts air quotes around the last word; “left the bottle of red wine open.”

“Oh… Je suis désolé. I can be so… careless sometimes.” He says with faux sincerity.

“You owe me a new doormat. I really liked that one.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll have something else at your front door real soon.”

“I have already sent a complaint to the landlord by the way.” She says while glaring at his side profile.

“Have you? Do you even know who the landlord is?”

“Yes I do.” She lies smoothly. Truth is, her company arranged every single thing; even her living arrangements.

“Well I look forward to reading your complaint letter, Christine.” He crosses his arms over his chest, his stance widening. Christine hates that he looks good like this.

“Oh for fuck’s sa- you own the place? It’s no wonder you know my damn name.” She hisses.

Kylian opens his mouth to reply but the loud rattle of the elevator makes him pause. The metal box screeches and halts. Darkness descends on them as the lights are suddenly cut.

“What the… no… no no no no!”

Christine moves forward, index finger hitting the buttons over and over and over- ‘please please please just fuckin-’

“Pressing the buttons a lot won’t bring the power back on. There’s a blackout.” He mutters calmly.

Christine holds her breath as he reaches by her waist to hit the emergency button.

Sighing, the woman kicks the heels off her feet that were beginning to feel a bit sore. She tries to quell the anxiety that’s starting to hum in her chest with her heartbeat picking up ever so slightly. Christine isn’t the biggest fan of small spaces.

“Don’t look so disappointed. I’m great company.”

Christine chuckles incredulously. She spins on her heels to pin him under her glare but he remains the picture of suave and collected.

“What gives you the right to be this cocky?”

Kylian drops his head back against the wall of the elevator behind him. Looking down at her with heavy lidded eyes, he responds;

“Je peux te montrer.”

His voice lowers in pitch. Christine is nowhere near fluent in the language, but she understands his words perfectly. ‘I can show you.’

Christine flushes from head to foot. Her cheeks feel so hot that she’s worried he can see her blushing even through all the melanin in her skin.

“I thought you hated me?” She asks instead.

“Nonsense. That’s how I flirt, chére.” The words flow from his mouth smoothly.

“You flirt by ruining doormats?”

Christine gathers the jet black bundles flowing down her back in one hand to lift them off her neck as sweat begins to gather there, causing it to stick to her skin.

“I flirt by riling you up. I love the way your pretty, cat-like eyes narrow, I like the way your plump mouth pouts, I like the way your little nose twitches. I like getting your attention.”

Christine’s breaths become heavier. White lights suddenly fill the space; the elevator sways and moves again. The pair don’t react; they just keep staring at each other. His eyes hang heavy with something dark. There’s a loud ding before the doors come sliding open behind her back. Kylian stoops to retrieve her shoes from the floor and moves in her direction. Christine steps back until she’s standing in the hallway and then pivots on her feet and walks toward her apartment door. He stays just behind, hovering quietly as she makes quick work of unlocking her door.

“Thank you.” She sounds breathless as she accepts the shoes he holds in her direction.

“See you around, Christine.”

**************

Two hours later, after dinner and a shower, Christine is restless. She tries watching a movie, but her attention drifts five minutes in. She tries listening to music, but every song provides the perfect opportunity for her thoughts to drift… to imagine. He’s just next door. Adding wine to her evening definitely didn’t help. She feels warm, needy.

“Je peux te montrer.”

The words ring over and over in her head. The inky black nightgown made of silk drags along her heated, moisturized skin as she twitches on her couch.

“Fuck this.”

Christine downs the glass of red wine in one swallow and marches to her front door.

He opens on her fourth knock. Only a pair of grey sweatpants riding low on his hips. His shoulders and chest are broad, toasted caramel skin smooth and even. Her mouth runs dry at his visible six pack that leads to his deep v- line.

“Show me.”

He inhales sharply at her breathy whisper.

“Quoi?”

“Earlier… you said you could show me. So here I am. Show me.” She challenges him with wide eyes.

**********

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

Christine doesn’t attempt to hide her annoyance. Still, she surveys the brightly lit room all the same. Her eyes look at every single award, some in various shades of gold and others silver.

“I said I’d show you what makes me so cocky. Here it is.” He gestures around the room he has dedicated to keeping his achievements; every single award or trophy.

“I got a different idea.” She says through gritted teeth. No matter how impressive the room is, Christine is not here for that.

“What else could you have possibly thought I meant?” He cocks his head innocently. But Christine sees the glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Fine. Since you want to be funny, I’m leaving.”

She attempts to round his body in the doorway but he puts both hands out, blocking her path.

“You don’t like to play, no?” The timber of his voice is lower.

Christine blinks up at him. Without her heels, he stands a lot taller than her 5’5 frame.

“I have to be in the mood for it.”

“And what are you in the mood for, Christine?”

“You know what.” Her eyes drop to his chest, suddenly feeling shy under his heated gaze.

“Do I?”

“Don’t make me say it.” She almost whines with a petulant pout.

With a chuckle, he reaches to grasp her waist and lifts her off the ground. Christine instinctively wraps her legs around his hips, hands looping behind his neck.

“Have you ever seen the night sky from the tenth floor, Christine?”

He practically breathes the words into her panting mouth. She isn’t sure if this is another one of his tricks but she shakes her head signally no as that’s the only thing her flustered brain allows.

“I have a balcony; owner's privilege.” He says with a sly smile. And now that he says it, she realizes that the layout of his apartment is very different from hers despite being on the same floor. He has four rooms compared to her two and the space is bigger.

“I think we should go look at the stars. I think you’ll like the view from this far up.”

*******

Christine’s belly clenches in nervous excitement as her body is pumped full of flight or fight hormones. A chill breeze tickles her skin, cooling the saliva on her nipples and causing them to tighten even more. Goosebumps rise along every inch of her skin. The wind picks up again, flicking her hair over her face and making her shiver almost violently. She clutches onto his shoulders tightly. Her eyes stay locked between his legs. She sees now; Christine understands perfectly well why he’s so cocky. The sheer size of him should make her panic, but she’s so aroused that it makes her brave. He keeps his heavy lidded eyes on her as he rips the little packet with his teeth. The bold, black ‘XL’ written on it makes her want to tear her hair out.

“Hold onto me.” He commands gruffly.

Christine, with stuttered breath, locks both her hands around his neck.

Kylian expertly rolls the lubricated latex on, then he pulls back to capture her kiss swollen lips again. He pulls away from her desperate mouth with a soft click. He grasps her left leg in his hand and hoists it higher. Christine flails a bit, gripping him tighter.

“Kylian… I’m scared.” She chokes. But even as she says the words, the place between her thighs pulses harder. The fear fueling her arousal for reasons beyond her comprehension. The man has her propped precariously on the rail of his balcony that faces the giant pool outback. They’re stories high, if she falls…

“I’d throw myself over too if I let you fall, Christine. It’s going to feel so good, hm? See the way you came till you cried when I had you bent over the railing as I licked you up? That’s the added rush from the adrenaline.”

Christine shivers, it’s almost as if she can still feel his tongue on her clit. Her head was hung so far over, that she felt lightheaded at times with the blood rushing down. He had pulled her up to catch her breath then bent her over again. Christine had to bite the palm of her hand to muffle her scream as she came. She had never experienced anything like it.

“Do you trust me?”

She shouldn’t. Today is the first day they’ve had a proper conversation. But for some strange reason, she nods.

“Good girl.”

Reaching between their bodies, he grips his dick in hand and teases it along where she’s warm and slick. Christine jolts, gripping him tighter when she slips further backwards.

Her mouth pops open as he begins to ease his way inside. He responds to her gasp with a deep groan. Christine squeezes her eyes shut as he keeps going. He stretches her just beyond what’s comfortable even as wet as she is. It feels never ending.

“Ky- fuck.” She whimpers.

“It’s okay. Almost there. Shh.” He tutts to soothe her.

She keens long and low in her throat as he touches something so deep in her hurts.

“There you go. Putain, baby.” He moans softly.

He brings her leg further up, hoisting it over his shoulder. It allows him to shift his hips closer, slipping a little deeper.

“See why I’m cocky, baby?”

Christine can’t even berate him for his ego. She can only nod. He has every right to behave the way he does. He allows her body time to adjust with small little kicks of his hips while he kisses her lips, bites at her ear and licks her neck.

“Feels so full.” Her moan is closer to a sob.

“You’re so tight, Christine. Gripping me like you want me to stay there.” He groans as she clenches around him.

The first proper slow, deep stroke steals the breath from her body. He digs the hand gripping onto the swell of her ass deeper in her skin and gains a proper rhythm.

Christine can’t even think to conceal her moans. If someone decided to come out for a night swim they’d be given a show.

“There you go. Feels good, hm?”

She can only nod her head rapidly. He plants his feet and pistons his hips faster. The glide becomes easier as she grows wetter. The wind whips her hair about as it whispers into the night. Her lips, swollen and slick, her eyes teary and almost confused as if she can’t believe it feels this good, it’s all too much. Kylian can’t help the way he moans almost desperately.

“So fucking pretty. Fucking-”

Christine whines loudly in reply. Her palms are growing slick but she doesn’t care. She can’t care with the familiar pressure she feels building in the pit of her stomach.

“Kyky, ‘m gonna- you’re gonna make me-”

Christine grunts as he angles his hips upward. It kisses something deep inside her over and over again that forces her to clench her teeth.

“Come on baby. Let me see it, want to feel it. Come for me, Christine. Need you to.”

Christine’s mouth pops open on a silent scream as she’s sent hurtling over the edge. Her hands slip from his skin and she’s momentarily winded as she slips backwards. She tries to gasp but comes out as an awkward sound between a scream and a wheeze. Kylian hauls her into his body. Christine clings to him like a koala as she shakes, the orgasm still wreaking havoc on her body. She’s almost thrown into panic as the sensation seems to heighten when he starts thrusting up into her in midair.

“Kyk- fuck!”

“Shit shit shit shi-”

Kylian grunts as she keeps tightening around him. His hips grow sloppy, his entire body shakes. The pleasure almost feels like it could kill him. He’d die fucking happy.

“So good, Christine. Milk my-” he cuts himself off with a sharp, deep moan. The exhaustion from the long day, the tension in his body, it all bleeds out as he empties himself inside her. She keeps clenching and moaning, drawing it out.

“Oh fuck.” He hurries to support both their weight against the wall just before his legs buckle under him from the pleasure. He slides down the wall helplessly and sits on the ground, uncaring of his nakedness.

Christine shivers and hiccups in his lap, still hugging him tightly around his neck.

“Christine? Baby?”

“Hm?” She whispers brokenly, voice wrecked.

“Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh. We should stargaze more often.”

His chest vibrates beneath her with his laugh.

“Told you you’d like the view.”

[pedriosofia]

CAR, HECTOR FORT. ﹙001﹚

➤ Summary: You have a fight because of his jealousy, so he gets stressed out with you in the car.

➤ Warning: SMUT +18, Unprotected sex, start angust, Cute ending, violent sex. Toxic.

➤ Author's note: Translated into English, meaning there may be spelling errors.

Hector didn’t like the feeling. A warm knot in his stomach, like something was out of place. The party was still going on in the background, with colorful lights flashing in the garden of one of his teammates’ houses, but to him it all seemed like a blur. His eyes were fixed on her—and the guy she was laughing with.

He was one of her friends from college. Handsome, confident, cool. His hand would brush her arm a little too much whenever he laughed at a joke. Hector knew the look of an interested guy—because he’d looked the same way. But what really irritated him was that she didn’t seem to make an effort to pull away.

She was wearing that tight black dress he loved. She knew the effect she had on him. And now, in this moment, she seemed to be throwing it in his face. Like she was teasing him.

When she pulled away from her friend and turned, she found Hector leaning against the wall, arms crossed, jaw clenched. His gaze was dark, hard.

“What is it?” she asked, frowning.

“You’re having fun, aren’t you?”

"Like this?"

“With him. Laughing at his jokes, pretending not to notice the way he looks at you.”

She snorted.

“Hector, he’s my friend. That’s all.”

“Fucking friend,” he snapped, pushing himself off the wall and walking toward her, his body tense. “He wants to fuck you, and you know it. He’s loving the attention.”

She crossed her arms.

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Then stop acting like you’re single.”

The silence between them grew heavy. She stared at him defiantly. He stepped closer, the tension between them almost palpable.

“We’re going to talk,” he said firmly. “Now.”

He grabbed the car keys and pulled her by the hand, not giving her any room for argument. She went, out of pride and anger, but also because she wanted to understand how far he would go with this.

The silence was thick inside the car, broken only by the sound of the engine. Hector drove fast, his jaw still tense, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. She stared out the window, but she could feel his gaze burning into the side of her face from time to time.

When he stopped on a more deserted street, far from the house, he turned off the car with a sharp click. He turned to her.

“You like to tease me, don’t you?”

She turned her face slowly, her eyes burning.

“I don’t have to walk on eggshells because you’re insecure, Hector.”

He laughed humorlessly.

“Insecure? Do you think that’s it?”

“I think so. Because I didn’t do anything wrong. I just talked to a friend. If you see that as a threat, that’s not my problem.”

He licked his lips, staring at her with that intensity that always came before he lost control.

“Do you want to see how far I’ll go?”

She didn't answer. She just challenged him with her gaze. And that was enough.

Hector leaned over the console and kissed her hard, his hand going straight to her thigh, pulling up her dress. The kiss was hot, angry, full of everything he couldn't say. She responded with the same intensity, digging her nails into his arm, pulling at the hair on the back of his neck.

“Is this what you want?” he whispered between kisses, his lips trailing down her jaw, biting the skin down to her neck. “To drive me crazy? To remind me that you’re mine?”

She gasped when she felt his hand between her legs, firm, determined. His touch was urgent, possessive. He knew exactly how to tease. And now, he made sure to make it clear who was in charge here.

She squirmed in the passenger seat, trying to maintain control, but his fingers were already sliding firmly up the inside of her thigh, pushing their way in with authority. The car was dark, stuffy, the windows beginning to fog up with the difference in temperature between the inside and the world outside.

Hector pulled the back of her seat hard, reclining it all the way back, making her body slide a little. He straddled her with one knee on the seat, his eyes fixed, wild.

“Spread your legs,” he ordered, his voice low and filled with more than just lust. It was control. A warning.

She hesitated, just for the teasing, and saw his eyes grow even darker. He dug his hand into the base of her neck, squeezing lightly.

“I said... open.”

She obeyed. Slowly, defiantly, but she obeyed. And he smiled sideways, satisfied.

“That’s the way I like it.”

While the hand on her neck kept her there, submissive, the other slid between her legs with a precision that set the rest of her body on fire. She moaned softly, trying not to scream, but he leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear.

“Shout to me. The car is ours. The night too.”

She moaned louder, the sound muffled by the heat of the moment, and he bit her jaw lightly as his fingers delved deeper. She trembled, arching against him, and he held on tight, as if he owned her every reaction, her every breath.

“Only I can make you tremble like that. Speak.”

“Only you,” she gasped, her eyes nearly closing with pleasure.

He removed his fingers and licked them slowly, his eyes fixed on hers.

“You will prove it to me.”

In one swift movement, Hector unzipped his pants, pulling the fabric just enough. Gripping her thighs tightly, he positioned himself between them and thrust into her, deep, angry, needy. The bench creaked beneath them, the leather slipping with sweat from their skin, and her moans mixed with the wet, rhythmic sound of his movements.

His hand returned to her neck, squeezing a little tighter now, but not hurting—just enough to show her that she was his. That he could take her to the edge and bring her back.

“No one else is going to touch you. Ever,” he growled, his hips thrusting hard. “You’re mine. Understand?”

She tried to respond, but all she could do was moan, her eyes watering with the intensity. He leaned in closer, pressing his forehead against hers, keeping his grip firm on her neck while his other hand gripped her waist roughly.

“I fucking love you,” he said through gritted teeth. “That’s why I’m like this. Crazy. Possessive. Addicted to you.”

The climax came like a rough wave. She writhed beneath him, gasping, her muscles contracting around him. He lost himself with her, slamming into her hard one last time, hissing a husky groan against her sweaty skin.

They stayed like that for a few seconds. Panting. Silent. The only sound was their hearts beating fast in their chests, still processing what had just happened.

He gently removed his hand from her neck now, and kissed her there, like a silent apology. The anger was gone. All that remained was that intensity that always connected them, even in the worst moments.

“No one will ever love you the way I do,” he murmured, resting his forehead against hers.

She ran her fingers over his face, feeling the stubble, the sweat, the weight of the moment. She knew it was true. And even if she wanted to, she couldn't escape it.

“I’m yours,” she replied, her voice hoarse.

He smiled. A small, satisfied smile, and kissed her slowly this time.

Do not copy or translate. Copyright @pedriosofia on Tumblr!

[meganwritesfanfics]

How to Save a Life (Dr. Jack Abbott x Reader) Part 5

Word Count: 1931

TRIGGER WARNING: DISCUSSION OF PTSD.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Jack prayed. He wasn’t religious by any means, but he needed a task; he needed something to do as he sat and waited for news. He had been sitting and waiting for hours; he could feel that all of the blood that covered his arms and was soaked into his clothes was starting to dry. But he didn’t dare move.He held Y/N’s necklace in his hands and slid her wedding ring onto his dog tags, they had been brought to him by Garcia, an hour into waiting. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about the future he had already dreamed about, and one that at any moment he could find out that he had lost. 

Once Y/N had told him she was pregnant, he could picture the future. He imagined building a crib, the late nights rocking his child back to sleep after they had woken up crying. He had already planned on the play set he would build in the backyard when they were old enough. In his mind his baby was a girl, and he could picture taking her out on daddy-daughter days out. And lord help her when she decided dating. His baby wasn’t even born yet and he could never imagine anyone ever being good enough for her. 

But all of these thoughts were hanging in the balance, he knew the odds of the baby surviving were very slim. The trauma your body had gone through was enough to cause a miscarriage. 

He crumbled, placing his head in his hands. He had always feared that his life with Y/N was too good to be true. Jack couldn’t imagine he would ever find someone as wonderful as Y/N. She was the light to his dark, she was the sweet to his sour, she was the day to his night. People were often surprised they were together, not just because of the age difference, but also because of how different of people they were. But somehow she fit with him perfectly. 

She brought out happiness in him, he thought he had lost long ago. And she knew how to calm him down when he had bad days. He loved the quiet moments with her the most. On the rare times when they both had days off, he loved just being in her presence. He loved when she cuddled up next to him while he watched sports. She would sit with her book in her hands but her head rested on his shoulder. She didn’t even have to say anything to be a comfort to him. 

“Jack,” A voice brought him out of his thoughts and he snapped his head up to see Robby standing in front of him tears in his eyes. 

“Is she…” Jack asked terrified as he got to his feet. 

“She’s fine, they said everything went really well. She going to be just fine.” Robby said his voice cracking. 

Jack let out a cry. “She’s ok.” He sobbed. 

“She’s ok.” Robby said and he pulled his friend into a hug. 

“Wait,” Jack pushed back. “The baby, what about the baby?” 

“That baby is stubborn as hell Jack, it is definitely your kid. Everyone is calling them a miracle baby. I told them of course they survived, that baby is an Abbott.” 

“Oh thank God.” He cried pulling Robby back into his arms 

“They said she should be waking up shortly if you wanted to go and see her.” 

“Yes! Thank you Micheal. Thank you so much for everything. I owe you big time.” 

“You know Micheal is a great name for a baby. Could do Michelle if it’s a girl.” He teased as he gave Jack a pat on the back. 

Jack laughed as the two of them walked towards Y/N’s room. 

They had just walked in, when they could see Y/N stirring. 

“Baby,” Jack said as he rushed to her side. 

“Jack,” She murmured as she started to try to sit up. 

“Y/N, you need to take it easy. Just stay laying down.” 

“The baby, Jack the baby. Please tell me…” She started to panic reaching out for Jack’s hand.

“The baby is just fine. Robby called her a miracle.” 

“I did not use the word miracle.” Robby insisted. “I just called her an Abbott. 

“Her?” Y/N smiled. 

“Jack’s convinced it’s a girl.” 

“You are?” Y/n said as she looked up at him. 

“Call it intuition I just feel like that’s a little Michelle in there.” He said as he placed his hand on her stomach. 

Y/N laughed. “Did Robby convince you to name our baby after him?” 

“I just added some suggestions to the conversation.” Robby smiled as he walked over to Y/N’s bedside. “I have to head back, but I’m so glad you are ok. I can’t be down one of my best residents.” He kissed her forehead. 

“I’m going to tell Langdon you said I was one of your best residents.” She smiled . 

Robby laughed. “Call me if you need anything.” 

“Are you ok?” Y/N asked. 

“You scared the shit out of me Y/N.” Jack said his voice cracking. 

“I didn’t think he would actual hurt me.” She said her voice cracking as she gripped his hand tighter. 

“I’m so sorry, I should have gotten you out of there, I was trying to figure out a way to get you away from him but I…” 

“Jack,” She quickly placed her hand on his cheek. “Don’t do that, I know you want to blame yourself but don’t you dare.” 

“I could have lost you Y/N. We did lose you for a while. And it was the closet to hell I ever want to come.” He sobbed as he leaned forward and placed his head on her hand. 

“Oh Jack,” Y/N said as she reached over and ran her fingers through his hair. “It’s ok baby, I’m here.” 

It took a while for Y/N to recover but the minute she was given the go ahead, Y/N was begging to go home. She missed their house, she missed Cooper and she missed being able to fall asleep in Jack’s arms. Jack had taken off 2 full weeks to help make sure Y/N could get all settled at home, although he fully planned on taking off more, terrified that if he left her alone, she may completely vanish. 

Jack had brought her some comfy clothes for her to leave the hospital in, it included her favorite t-shirt of his to wear, and her favorite pair of sweatpants. Both smelled so much like Jack and their home that Y/N felt like she could cry. She couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that her life has almost ended, and she had almost lost everything. 

She tried to pretend she wasn’t affect deeply by the shooting, but Jack could see that she was jumping at every small sound and her eyes were quickly checking her surroundings whenever they went into a different room. She looked just like him. 

By the time they made it out to the car, Y/N’s hands were shaking, she kept expecting to see Driscol turn the corner waiting for her again. 

“Y/N,” Jack said as he helped her into his truck. “Talk to me, what’s going on?” 

Y/N sighed as she reached her shaking hands out to grab his. “I’m so scared Jack.” She said her voice breaking. “I keep thinking something is going to happen, I’m terrified of someone hurting me again or god forbid someone hurts you.” 

“Oh baby.” Jack said as he grabbed her face in his hands. “I am never going to let anything happen to you again I promise. And you don’t have to worry about me, nothing is going to happen to me.” 

“You can’t know that for sure. It was such a normal shift before Driscol showed up. And hell you know that people are just getting more violent. I don’t know how I am supposed to go to work and pretend like I’m not watching my back everytime I work with a patient. And I’m going to lose my mind everytime you go to work, I’m terrified you won’t come back.” 

He recognized and empathized with everything Y/N was saying. It was fears that were already filling his head. He knew that he would be panicked the whole time Y/N was at work, afraid of losing her again. But seeing Y/N having the same fears, really showed Jack how unhealthy and devastating those thoughts were. 

“Y/N, will you consider going to therapy with me. I am feeling the same fears, hell you know I already don’t want you to work while you are pregnant, but I know that you would go absolutely insane without anything to do. I think it would be good for us to talk to someone. I can talk to Dr. Cody and see if he has a couples therapist he can recommend, or if you would rather have someone to talk to by yourself I can see if he can recommend someone for you as well.” 

Y/N leaned into Jacks hands as she brought her hands up to grab his wrists smiling. 

“When did you become so wise?” 

“Someone told me once that you can’t just keep all of your thoughts to yourself, sometimes you have to share them with others, so that way they don’t eat you alive. She was far wiser than me.” He smiled as he pulled her in for a long kiss. 

“Let’s go home.” Y/N said and Jack about ran to the driver’s side of his truck so ready to have her back home. 

As they pulled into the driveway, Y/N as she saw the banner that was hung on the door. It read Welcome Home Y/N. 

“Who…” She started as she looked at Jack tears in her eyes. 

“Dana got Harrison Mckay and Tanner Langdon to make it for you.”  Jack smiled as he leaned over and kissed her cheek. 

“I just…” She said. “It’s beautiful.” 

He quickly hopped out and rushed to her side. 

‘I’m so happy your home baby,” He said as he helped her walk from the car to their front door. 

She could hear Cooper parking through the door, and she couldn’t help but beam. 

“Aww Coop, I missed you too.” She smiled as Jack opened the door and Cooper came barreling at her. 

“Cooper, be careful.” Jack laughed as he bent down to give Coopers some good petss

“He’s ok, he just missed his mom.” Y/N said and she leaned onto Jack so she could pet Cooper. 

“Y/N,” Jack said hesitantly wanting to make sure Y/N didn’t hurt herself. 

“I’m ok Jack. I’m better than ok, I’m back home with my boys.” She smiled. 

“Let’s get you sitting down, Doctor’s orders.” He said as he ushered them towards the couch. “Why don’t I put on one of those trashy tv shows you like.” 

“Hey don’t call them trashy, you know you love them too.” She smiled as he carefully helped her onto the couch, pulling her into his arms. 

The minute they were sat on the couch Cooper came bounding up, snuggling right into Y/N side his head laying on her stomach. 

“He is so ready to meet his sister.” Y/N smiled as she gave Cooper some good scratches.  

Jack couldn’t help but smile, so happy to have Y/N back home and safe in his arms. 

Taglist: @rosewritesitout, @brnesblogposts @emma8895eb @qardasngan @keileighr

[writing-mlm]

Nothing stays buried

Summary: People and secrets are never really gone when it comes to this family, isn’t it? Pairing: Jason Todd x Martian!Male!Reader Word Count: 6.5k Tags/Warning: Bruce is bad at parenting, talks and mentions of parents dying, talks and mentions of Jason’s death, sexual themes A/n: i probably missed a couple of tags but it’s 5am as I’m writing this

He remembers that night vividly. Jason felt on top of the world, he’d passed his math test and he’d just helped B take down the Penguin before his bedtime. Not that he had a bedtime, of course. It’s just Alfred gets worried if he’s not back at a certain time. 

Back on track. 

He was on a rooftop, well, he was making his way to the ledge to practice his Batman impression. For future references, y’know, as a Robin does. When he saw a strange little creature sitting on the edge, trying to talk to the gargoyle. His green tail swished back and forth, the red hairs on the end puffing up when a bird landed on the gargoyle. 

“Excuse me!” Jason called and the creature turned around, standing to his full height. 

“Hello,” The alien chirped. Jason almost laughed, but Alfred would’ve told him that was a rude thing to do. But in his defense, the alien reminded him of a cat. The chirp was strange, a hello broken into a he-llo, with a chirp akin to a very friendly cat but mixed with a very high-pitched voice. “Lost.” The alien chirped again, standing up. He almost laughs as the young alien is only half his height and he’s not very tall himself— Bruce says he’ll get taller when he’s older, though.

“I can help,” Jason extended his gloved hand and smiled. The alien looked at the hand and tilted their head before grabbing it. Jason counted five fingers and short fingernails before he properly grasped their hand. “I’m going to take you to my friend, okay?” The alien nodded, their pitch black eyes reflecting the little light around them in an oddly comforting manner. 

“Fr-end,” He chirped. 

“Mmhmm, I’m Robin. What’s your name?”

“(Y/n)!” 

—

“Jason?” You call into the empty cave. A whole week later after the rooftop and Bruce only let you go so far— with or without supervision. It’s only been the cave and something called a lab. “Jay-son!” Your voice chirps as you’re walking around, your tail flicking side to side. You don’t know how to leave the cave, the door is confusing and Bruce won’t tell you how to use it. Jason is sworn to keep it from you, too. He says it’s best that you don’t make Bruce upset, so you don’t. But he always seems angry at you, so you tend to avoid him altogether. 

“Jason?” You’re now dragging yourself along, bored in the cold, damp, and dark cave without any type of entertainment. Flying up, you scan over the cave and find no one but the bats hanging upside down on the dripstone. Huffing, you land on your feet and cross your arms, the end of your tail puffed up as you grow more annoyed. 

“He’s at school,” Alfred explains as he walks up from behind you. You spin around and grin up at the older man. He’s without Bruce and holding a silver platter. He’s always fun to be around when he’s not with Bruce. 

“Al-fred!” He smiles at the chirp and guides you to your little living area. It has a bed, a table and three chairs. “I go… school?” You ask, sitting across from him as he sets the sandwich down in front of you. Whatever this school is, you think you should be able to attend as well. 

“I’m afraid not,” He frowns and you mimic the action while he tries to find the best way to break it to a child that he’s considered a threat. “Master Bruce is still running tests and making sure you’re… not in danger.” He settles on saying. 

“No in danger!” You tell him through a mouthful of the sandwich. “Only in cave,”

“Yes, you are in the cave. But he wants to make sure you’re safe,” Alfred continues and you hum. You’d been taught that word. 

“Safe.” Pointing to yourself, he smiles and nods. “Safe.” You point to him and he nods again, his smile growing a bit wider. “B not safe?” That almost makes him laugh; the nickname Jason had given Bruce clearly rubbed off on you. 

“Master Bruce is safe,” Alfred corrects. “He’s making sure you are extra safe.” He hands you a napkin and you stare at it, a little unsure of what to do with the paper. 

“Oh,” You hum and your face twists as you try and find the right words. “So… we safe?” Alfred hums and motions to wipe your face with the napkin. 

“We are safe, yes.” He corrects as you harshly rub your face free of any crumbs. He cringes and takes the napkin, dabbing it on his tongue before wiping them away. 

“We are safe,” You correct yourself. “But I still here,” Pointing to the cave. “If safe, why cave?” He sighs, still not knowing how to explain to a child that he’s considered a danger— an unknown danger that Bruce doesn’t trust to be in the public; he barely trusts you alone in the cave as it is. This was easier with Dick and Jason, they weren’t aliens who needed to be under lock and key all day. They also didn’t have powers that made things all the more difficult. 

“Soon.” He nods. “You’re meeting Master Bruce’s friends tomorrow, remember?” Alfred asks and you nod, beaming at the idea of meeting more people. 

“I know,” 

—

Jason was happy to take you out of the cave, he’d even packed you a lunchbox just like Alfred packs his for school. He doesn’t eat them anymore because he’s twelve and doesn’t use lunch boxes anymore. Totally. Just don’t check his bag. Maybe he does, but Alfred has killer cooking and he can’t resist it. No one can. 

Moving along now, please. 

You’re in the Watch Tower, staring at the large TV screen that has a bunch of stuff on it, along with a picture of you. You don’t understand much, the words Bruce uses aren’t ones you’ve learned yet and you don’t know how to break them down or use the proper context clues to understand them. It makes your head hurt. But everyone is very nice so you don’t mind. The man in the red suit has given you some weird block to play with. 

It clicks!

“Genetically, he’s half Green Martian,” Bruce explains to the members sitting at the table as Dick tries to bring your attention back to the meeting and Jason is sneaking you slices of various fruits. Your favorite is the lemon slices, they burn and make your tongue feel funny. And purple. “And half unknown. For now.” He shows some diagrams of the genetic makeup he was able to piece together from his mini experiments, taking your DNA and cross-referencing it with everything he had on file. There’s something that links you to Martian Manhunter’s picture and you find his face at the table. He looks… familiar. He looks like home. 

“I am him?” You whisper to Jason and he looks over at J’onn, then you. 

“No,” He shakes his head and glances at Dick to try and help him but he suddenly becomes engrossed in what Bruce is talking about. Looks like it’s up to him to explain genetics. He’s glad he paid attention during science last week. “You know how I am human and Barry is human?” Nodding, you glance at Barry while he continues. “Well, you are half Martian and he is Martian.” Looking at him, you soak in what he’s saying and look down at your pencil. 

“Why only half?” You frown. “Am I less than him?” Looking at him, Jason panics a little. 

“No-no,” He waved his hands. “Half means one of your parents was a Green Martian.” He holds up two fingers and then takes one away. “J’onn has both Green Martian parents,” He adds a finger back. 

“We all— we were all green,” You explain, fumbling over the proper sentence structure. “My mom— my eyes.” Pointing to your eyes, Jason hums. “My dad— his eyes,” Pointing to J’onn, you see the Justice League is watching you. When did they start listening to the conversation? Maybe you had said the wrong thing. You hug your tail, playing with the red hairs on it. 

“Do you remember your father's name?” J’onn tentatively asks. “Maybe I remember him.” You smile and enthusiastically nod. J’onn smiles back, his eyebrow line deepening. 

“His name is Ma'alefa'ak,” For some reason, the room goes silent. Oh no, you definitely said the wrong thing. Sinking into your seat, you look down at your shoes while Bruce types that in and the others share glances. 

“Like the supervillain?” Oliver whispers, covering his mouth so you don’t see. Supervillain, Bruce had taught you that one. That was a bad person, the type of person who hurts people for fun. You look at Jason and then at Bruce. 

“My dad is bad?” You ask him and he only gives you a small nod, a frown deepening on his face. He doesn’t want to lie to you, even though everything in his body is telling him to. 

“But your uncle is J’onn! Yay!” Jason turns your attention back to him. 

“Yay,” You try and be as happy as he seems but you can’t lie nearly as good as he does and he rubs your back, offering to take you exploring around the Watchtower while the others continue their conversation. 

—

Turns out, Green Martian puberty happens a bit later when you’re mixed with a different species. You’d turned fourteen recently and a week later you sprouted like a beanstalk. The height also came with more powers. Better powers. 

“Yes, you hear me speaking? I know all of the words, ever created,” You grin at Jason, holding your hand to your green ear while he rolls his eyes. He’s had to deal with this for two weeks now. Although, he only pretends to be annoyed. He’s mostly upset he doesn’t need his flashcards anymore or that he can’t help you by reading his ‘old people’ books. 

Today he’s in your apartment, the one you’ve shared with J’onn since the whole Jerry Springer episode back at the Watch Tower. He’s not happy about that, but you can fly fast and the distance isn’t too far. Plus, you both know how to use a phone— now more than ever since your brain doubled in size. 

Your bedroom is nice, it’s plain all things considered. A bed, a dresser and some decorations here and there. It’s things J’onn thought most teenagers would enjoy. But Jason knows you. He knows you’d like your room with a canopy bed, a clear case filled with random trinkets you’d found across the globe. 

“That big ole head of yours remembered to get lunch?” He asks, grabbing your tail and playing with it. It flicks, moving on its own accord. You purse your lips and reach behind you, your arm phasing through your bedroom wall and into the fridge. 

“J’onn bought ten Lunchables earlier this week in preparation. Do you want the sandwich or the nachos?” Grabbing both, you present them to him and he takes the sandwich box. You don’t mind the nachos, they’re your favorite. The sandwiches get all crumbly and there’s never enough to fill you. 

“Oh, and so have got to teach you how to be a kid. You sound like your uncle,” He laughs, stabbing the juice pouch. 

“Please, bestow your wisdom upon me, Jason.” 

— 

“Look, Jay!” You rush into his room, phasing through several walls until you reach the right one. “Finally figured out telepathy!” Motioning to your mouth to emphasize that it’s not moving, Jason raises an eyebrow as if to say okay? “Aw, c'mon dude! At least act like it’s the first time someone’s been in your head.” You frown, giving him a thumbs down. Ever the theater kid, he jumps up from the bed and rushes over to you, grasping your shoulders and shaking you. 

“Wow! Oh my god, (Y/n), however are you doing that?” He fake gasps, holding his head. You blink at him and flick his forehead, dead between his eyebrows. 

“Ruined it,” Flopping on the bed, you grab the book he had been reading and hold it up in the air. “Yknow, J’onn doesn’t have any books in his apartment?” Looking over at the cover you wonder how many times he’s read through Jane Austen’s book collection. 

 “Sounds horrible,” Taking his book back, Jason lies on his stomach and slides his bookmark into place before setting it down. “Do you think he knows how to read?” He snickers, looking over at you. 

“He has to, right?” You laugh. “He’s like a genius and whatnot, I’m pretty sure he can read.” 

“Why aren’t you a genius?” He knocks your shoulder and you grab his cup of water from his nightstand. 

“I can’t be totally awesome, you still need to have something I'm not good at.” Sitting up, you take a sip before handing him the glass. 

 “Ha-ha, real funny,” He rolls his eyes, holding the cup in his hands. 

“But B thinks it’s something about being only half, I don’t get everything a full Martian would. J’onn thinks it’ll kick in later, like a second puberty. Or something, I dunno.” Lying back down, you watch as he takes a sip of water before returning to his book, holding the cup to you. 

“Makes sense,” He shrugs. “But did your mom have any powers?” He never really asks about your family, you can probably count on one hand how many times he’s asked you over the course of four years. Which you appreciate. 

“Yeah,” The glass cup hits the nightstand and you scoot up on his bed, lying on his pillow. “She could breathe underwater and touch lava,”

“Cool,” 

“Very,” Closing your eyes, you listen to the sounds of him breathing and flipping pages until he eventually gets up to put the book down and lies next to you. “I didn’t get much time with her, so I don’t remember all of her powers.” You quietly admit. 

“I miss your accent,” He admits and you crack an eye open, looking at him as he stares at the ceiling. 

“I still have it,” You laugh, closing your eyes again. Jason smiles as he hears the chirpy voice he’s almost forgotten about. “J’onn and B want me to develop a standard American accent, help me fit in.” 

“Fuck that,” He scoffs. “They’re hating on your sick ass voice.” He flips his body so he’s looking at you, and you follow suit. 

“You’re the only one who thinks that, y’know?” You quietly admit, looking down at the small space between the two of you. “Everyone else, like… I dunno, they get weird about it.”

“'Cause they’re fuckin’ jealous,” He insists. “It’s cute.”

“I’m a grown man, my voice isn’t cute,” You grumble and he laughs. 

“You haven’t even grown a mustache yet!” He gently shoves you. 

“Neither have you!” You shove him back but he grabs your hand and pulls you closer. Neither of you says anything, rather his eyes flicker down and yours follow. It’s natural, how your noses brush against each other. 

“Jason, (Y/n), lunch!” Dick shouts as he bangs on the door. The two of you jump apart and Jason shouts something back while you stare at the side of his face. 

—

“Jay-son!” You chirp, trying to find him in the large manor. He hasn’t called you back in two whole days and you figured he wanted to see you in person. “Jay!” You call again, climbing up the stairs. “Dude, are you sick or something?” At the top of the stairs, you see a red-eyed Bruce, desperately wiping his face. He looks… different. Wearing an old shirt that’s probably been sitting in the back of his closet for at least a decade and stained sweatpants that don’t seem to really fit him. His nose is red and his face is stained with similar red lines going from his eyes down to his

jawline. Which hasn’t been shaved, the stubble is growing in awkwardly and he’s gotten that five o’clock beard you’ve been trying to grow in but martians don’t grow hair so it sort of cancels out a lot of your mother's hair gene. 

“Hey, B…” You pause, unsure of yourself. “Are you okay?” He sniffs and nods, bringing a hand to your shoulder then pulls you in for a tight hug. You look at it, confused by his sudden touch— this is the man who has never even given you a high five! 

“I’m sorry,” His voice is hoarse and he can’t fully meet your eyes when you pull away while you’re desperately trying to see his eyes. You don’t know why, it’s really just this gut feeling but you really need to see Jason. 

Right now. 

“Where’s— Where’s Jason?” You stutter, about to move past him. “Yknow… um… it’s just he hasn’t answered my calls and— yknow… uh,” You shake your head and swallow and give a half-hearted chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’ll go find him!” Giving him a grin, you try and squeeze past him but he sighs and follows you for two paces. 

“(Y/n).” He stops you but you shake your head brushing him off, tears are starting to pool in your eyes and you don’t seem to know why. 

“Don’t worry, B! You rest, we won’t make too much noise!” You reassure, wiping your face. God, why are you crying?

“He’s dead.” He finally croaks out. 

“What?” You let out a humorless laugh, turning back to face him. “That’s a really weird thing to joke about, B.” Wiping your face again, Bruce takes a deep breath and shakes his head. Once again pulling you close but you phase through him. 

“He got into a car crash on Sunday,” He whispers. “He didn’t make it.” You stare up at him, the tears building in your eyes before they start to free fall. Your chin quivers and you can’t breathe. This feeling isn't new and yet it feels so foreign that it's crushing you. 

“No,” Shaking your head, you turn away from him and start down the hallway. “You’re lying!” Bruce watches as you run down the hallway, throwing his bedroom door open and then every single door in the manor opens. He stands there, listening to your shouts for his dead son, the aches returning to his body and guilt building in his stomach. 

He watches from the window as you fly down to his family's cemeteries before collapsing on Jason’s freshly laid grave. Clawing at the dirt and begging him to come back. You shout and you cry, your body shaking with the pain and he walks away, hardly able to contain himself for more than one reason. 

He just prays that you don’t find out the truth. Ever. 

—

When Jason comes back, no one tells you a single thing. No one seeks you out, no one even thinks about it in your presence, no one wants to tell you. You’ve spent most of your time since his death in space, avoiding anything that reminded you of him and that included Earth. You’d go on month-long missions, spend most of your free time in the tower, and only ever visit Earth for Jason’s birthday. 

It’s strange, since you left space following the death of your parents. Finding solace on Earth but mainly in Jason. Now you just felt lost, mostly angry if you were being honest. First it was your dad, then your mother, and you thought, finally, with Jason he wouldn’t have their same fate. You worried about what would happen to J’onn if you stayed, so, you left. 

Just enough not to get close but close enough you were reachable in case they ever truly needed you. Any yearn for camaraderie or things alike had died with Jason. 

This year he was turning twenty-five, ten whole years had passed since his death and you weren’t doing good. Far from it, honestly. You’d woken up with a tight face, stained from crying and just knew what type of birthday it was going to be. 

You must’ve sat at the edge of your bed for two hours, staring at the floor as your alarm beeped and beeped. The only sign that time was still moving and this was really happening. It’s really been a decade. 

“You’re awake, good.” Diana opens the door to the room you’d converted into a bedroom in the tower. “Come, there’s a meeting.” She watches as you slam your fist to the alarm, silencing it before standing up and staring at her. That’s another thing about you that’s changed since his death, you don’t talk as much as you used to. At least not out loud. 

“Can I shower first?” You ask, already grabbing some new clothes. She watches as you enter the bathroom before leaving the room and heading to the meeting room. Bruce and all of his kids are there, Clark and his family— basically all of the JLA and their family; although Jason looks a bit… uninterested in the situation. But Bruce knows his son is nervous, he had been since he caught wind of the plan for the day. Doesn’t mean he likes the stupid party hats that Barry had forced him to wear or the birthday boy's sash Lois had gifted him. (He took the nearest marker and added undead to the sash before wearing it.) 

“I don’t know why I’m needed for this meeting,” Your voice cuts into everyone’s head and Jason’s stomach drops. He didn’t realize just how much he missed you, how much he actually needed you around. He blinks and sits up impossibly straight, his fingers tapping on the metal table. “I’m going to visit some planets in an hour, so Bruce better not go on another five hour long meeting rant about whatever the fuck he does.” Your voice is only getting louder— closer and his heart is hammering. He thinks he’s about to pass out. 

“It won’t.” Bruce calls from behind him and the doors open. His breath hitches as he sees you— and shit, you’ve gotten tall. You’re in your human form and he wants so desperately to see you, not the you that Bruce and J’onn had concocted over the years. 

You walk across the room, not even bothering to look around the room. Everyone waits as you pour yourself a cup of coffee, waiting for you to see him. 

“Hey, (Y/n)!” Bart calls, suddenly next to Jason. “Can you look at this real quick?” You hum and turn to look at him. Your eyes quickly flicker over everyone before they settle on Jason. The mug clatters back down to the table when you recognize him. It doesn’t take long, you know it’s him. Despite his height, his build, and that white streak in his hair you know Jason. 

“Jason,” You softly call and he watches as you subconsciously change into your actual form. Everyone notices how you actually spoke, your mouth moving and there’s actually a sound coming from you. Your tail flicks from side to side as you rush over to him, pulling him into a tight hug. “Jay-son!” You chirp into his neck, hardly aware that your tail wraps around his leg. 

“Hey, Greenie,” He laughs, holding you just as tight. Feeling his breath against your neck, your lip quivers and you try to bury your face deeper into his skin. He feels it and runs his hand over the top of your head, the other clutching the length of your back to keep you as close as possible. 

Everyone else filters out as the two of you continue to hug. They hadn’t really understood the gravity of the situation, how this should be a moment shared between the two of you and no one else until they saw the way you lit up. They hadn’t seen that spark since Jason had died. Bruce had feared it was gone for good. 

“Happy birthday,” You sniff into his neck before pulling away, he watches as your eyes scan over his face; just taking in his new appearance. Last time you didn’t get to do this, parts of him faded from your memory and he was slowly becoming just words and feelings. No person behind them. But now the puzzle was together again and you can recall each feature he’s grown into, new scars that he’s trying to hide with his clothes, and the new air to him. 

You’re silent for a while, just softly smiling and looking at him and he waits. He doesn’t move until your eyes meet his again and even then he waits a couple of seconds. He gulps, his jaw tightening as several emotions rush through him and he can’t pick one to settle on. 

“Yknow,” You grin, your head cocked to the side. “I did learn mind reading while you were gone and unless I’m hearing you wrong—“ Fuck it, he decides. If you can hear his thoughts then to hell with waiting, to hell with letting another day slip by. Before you can even hear those thoughts, his lips crash onto yours. It’s as if years of yearning and cliffhanger chapters finally having a proper closure finally came to a halt. 

Everything in that moment was perfect, it was just… it’s what you needed, honestly. Both of you. It wasn’t about the kiss, it was about the feeling of having Jason there again. The fact that Jason felt safe in your arms again, the fact that despite how he’s changed, you’re still there. Without judgments or disgust at his new body. His new— him. 

There’s little parting in the kiss, between the hands rapidly moving along each other's body and the constant switch on who’s leading, you settle on holding him close and letting him lead. It is his birthday, after all. 

His hands settle on the waistband of your pants, keeping you as close as possible while also making it easy to move away if you wanted to. He’s comfortable like that, the kiss transforming from one born of desire and need into one that was clearly one of many, one that meant there was no rush. A promise that a repeat of the last ten years was never going to happen again. 

“Still human,” He pants as he pulls away, his face red from the lack of air and his lips wet. He gulps down as much air as possible while you watch him, slowly running along his back to coax more air into his lungs. “Fuck, one sec.” He holds a hand up and tosses his head back, his Adam's apple bobbing and his chest heaving one final, stretched-out inhale before his breathing levels out again. His other hand, the one still attached to you, squeezes the flesh of your hip and you’re sure your knees buckled just an inch more you would’ve fallen on your ass. 

“Again?” You ask and he laughs. Your head dips as you smile, your tongue dancing across your bottom lip just to get a reminder of his close he was. 

“I missed you, too,” He says instead. Gently, he places a hand on your face and watches as you instinctively nuzzle towards it. His hands are so rough now, so worn. The hardened pads trace across your new features, sharper features that whisper ghosts of the ones he’d last seen. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your call.” He whispers and you shake your head. 

“It’s okay,” Your voice shakes while he blinks, one stray tear slipping past his attempts to hide them. “You’re here now.” 

—

He has your shirt pulled a little more than halfway up your chest, resting just above your nipples as he holds you. His fingers dig into your ribcage and the flesh of your hips as he kisses the exposed flesh. It’s nothing if not tender, the feeling of his lips brushing against you, him not wanting to pull away so bad that his nose drags down your chest. 

About a year into Jason coming back, the two of you are hanging around in the manor in his room. Normally you’d be at one of his safe houses but Alfred had requested everyone’s presence for the night. He was laying on the bed, rereading Jane Austen's Emma while you had found your time being filled by using a crochet machine. You say you’re making a scarf but really you just like watching the yarn loop and spin around. But that’s on the back burner for now.

“Jay,” You whisper, staring down at him. He hums, lips vibrating on your stomach. “Nevermind. Keep going,” He laughs and continues until he reaches the hand of your boxers. Jason stops there, resting his head on the same spot and watches you. Staring down at him, you run your fingers through his hair, settling on the crown of his head while your thumb rubs against his hairline. Slowly, his eyes close and you return back to making your scarf with one hand. 

Not that he would ever admit it, but Jason snores. It’s nothing major, but if you’re quiet enough and pay enough attention you can hear the small snores leaving him. He also moves a lot in his sleep, only if he’s sleeping alone, though. Whenever you’re cuddling he’s holding tightly onto you. He wakes up when you have to use the bathroom and is pointedly upset that you’d taken longer than two minutes. 

“Big baby,” You tease as you climb back into his bed. He grumbles, wrapping an arm around your waist before pulling you onto him. You don’t protest, wrapping your tail around his leg and simply scrolling through your phone. He grabs a new book from the pile, Ring Shout by P. Djèlí Clark. 

“You notice how weird B gets when we’re in a room?” Jason asks after about an hour of the two of you laying like that. It's true, if you and Jason are in the same room as Bruce, he gets this odd look on his face that isn’t there if it’s just one of you. Only when it’s the two of you. 

“He’s alienphobic and you’re his undead son dating an alien,” You shrug and he flicks your tail. “I’m just being honest. It’s either that or he can’t handle his son moaning my name.” You grin over at him and he huffs, peering at you from behind his book. 

“You should read his mind,” He sits up and sets his book down, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “They’re having their movie night or whatever the fuck it is.” He adds, stopping you from continuing to sorting objects into piles.

“I don’t read people’s minds without permission, hun,” Going back to the game, Jason huffs loudly and flips the two of you over. He lies his body along yours, trying to make you uncomfortable enough to stand up. It doesn’t work, despite his large frame. 

“I’m your totally awesome boyfriend asking you to do this one, tiny thing for me.” He reminds you, peppering kisses down your neck when trying to push you doesn’t work. 

“Not working,” You hum but he sees how you stretch your neck out for him. He grins and kisses in spots longer and a little harder, seeing the green skin turning a soft shade of brown. 

“Don’t you wanna know what he’s thinking, baby?” He whispers, his eyes shifting from your neck to your face as you cradle the back of his head. Your fingers playing with the ends of his hair. 

“Still not working, come up with a better reason,” You strain, moving him into your lap. “Or y'know… say please.” You grin, rubbing your hands along his thighs, squeezing the plump flesh every so often. His eyes narrow, looking between your eyes before he grunts and begrudgingly agrees. 

“Please read Bruce’s mind this one time.” He drags out. 

“If I must,” You grin and tap his thigh, asking him to get up. 

The two of you head down to the family room, although Jason has half the mind to have the whole idea thrown out the window when he sees you shift into your human form. It’s not that it’s ugly, your human self is quite handsome but he’s fond of the green skin and the tail— namely the tail. 

The two of you enter the room, expecting to see some shitty movie playing while everyone tries to enjoy it but find everyone sitting around on the floor, having a very intense game of Clue. Spotting Bruce holding some cards, you flip a metaphorical switch in your head and perverse in his mind for only a second before exiting. 

Not the library. He thinks as his eyes scan over the board. The kitchen, then. He shuffles through his cards and settles on a card but doesn’t look at it. 

“Good!” Tim says when he sees the two of you. “Jason, lay on the ground and die!” Bruce looks at the two of you and his mind flashes a panic shade of red. And looks back down at his cards. 

Crowbar. He thinks over and over, you see flashes of a snowy building exploding before Bruce refocuses and sees you, staring at him. You see yourself crying and trying to dig into Jason’s grave with your bare hands. Don’t. He tells himself and you see yourself as Bruce, holding a beaten and bloody Robin. Jason’s Robin. Everything around the two of them is destroyed, like a bomb had gone off. 

You blink and push further into his mind, going back eleven years for that day he died. You watch hours in a single second, seeing no, Jason didn’t die in a fucking car crash. How The Joker had killed him, how Bruce had to pretend as if he had died in a car crash to the press. How Bruce swore to the JLA to never tell you the truth. The boys never told you because it was an unspoken agreement that you knew and just never brought it up. That his death was too painful, too raw. Not even to joke about it around you.

“It wasn’t a car crash.” You say, exiting his mind. The talking around you stops and you see Jason about to lay on the ground, happily pretending to be dead. Everyone looks at you, a confused expression on their face. But your eyes are locked on Bruce. 

“Car crash isn’t even one of the methods, alien.” Damian squints, looking at the paper used to take notes. You ignore Damian, blinking as your mind replays his memories. 

“You told me it was a fucking car crash, Bruce.” You glare at him. In all honesty, you don’t know how to feel. You’re feeling so many emotions at once, there’s so much hurt, so much anger, and all those feelings from his death are resurfacing again. 

“What was?” Dick asks, looking between the two of you. It takes a moment but his face drops; his eyes settle on Bruce and he has this disappointed stare clear on his face. “B… you didn’t.” He shakes his head, setting his cards face down. 

“I had to.” Bruce shakes his head, never looking away from you. “You weren’t in the right place to handle the truth.” He continued and it clicked for Tim. It hasn’t clicked for Jason, he assumes you already know. Sure, the topic of his death has come up but he doesn’t like getting into the actual details with you, everyone’s warned him not to for one reason or another. Not to mention, between the death of your parents and then Jason, the topic of death is a touchy subject with you. 

“When would I?” You utter, anger bubbling in your stomach. “When was the right time to tell me, Bruce? On your deathbed? When someone slipped up? When?” Now, you’re not shouting. You’ve never really been one to shout, and you know it’s easier to argue with Bruce when your tone isn’t raising. But you can’t. You can’t not shout, you can’t help how the anger is consuming you. 

“Father, what is the alien talking about?” Damian asks with a glare. 

“He has a name.” Jason flicks a crowbar at Damian who catches it without looking. 

“So I’ve been told,” The little shit has only been the manor for two months so you don’t expect much from him. The name-calling is whatever, honestly. As long as he didn’t try to set you on fire again. 

“I had to,” Bruce says again and you shake your head. “The truth was too much for you to bear!”

“Was it easier to lie, then?” You ask. “To watch me leave? I trusted you! I- I thought I was some fucking bad omen!” 

“(Y/n), baby,” Jason stands up and holds your shoulder. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Your eyes snap to his and you falter, holding his hand that’s touching you. Inhaling, you shift your stance and mess with the lines on his hand. 

“Bruce told me that you died in a car crash,” You gently tell him. “That’s why he’s so weird around us.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” He breathes, his head turning to give Bruce a sharp glare. “Can’t do shit right, can you?” There’s no argument, there’s nothing to be said. They’ve spent ages repairing their relationship and in two minutes it’s gone to shit. Jason doesn’t have the energy to fight, he doesn’t want to fight with Bruce. At least in front of you. 

He leaves the room and you follow after him, struggling to keep your mind on one focused topic. 

Ten fucking years, a decade where literally everyone you knew kept this giant secret from you. All under the guise of protecting you, telling themselves it was better than you didn’t learn the truth. It felt like you just found out, piecing together the scars and the touchy subjects you never quite grasped since Jason came back to you. 

And Jason, fuck, Jason was a mess waiting to snap. He’d been healing, he understood Bruce to an extent on why Joker wasn’t dead because, in truth, Bruce had tried. He nearly killed the Joker for Jason but Clark had stopped him, reminded him that for Bruce, murder was a slippery slope he wouldn’t come back from. He’d grown to accept what happened to him, grown to move past it but it was like he was right back to begging Bruce, demanding reasons for the Joker still breathing. 

He doesn’t know if his pit rage is real, if it ever was, but he knows that feeling is coming back. He knows he can’t do this with Bruce anymore. He packs his things, his favorite items he always left behind when he and Bruce fought because he knew deep down they’d make up but this was a line Jason wasn’t sure Bruce could come back from. He’s tired of Bruce’s paranoid behavior, tired of having to sweep it under the rug, and tired of being the bad guy for pointing out the bullshit Bruce puts everyone through. 

The two of you leave the manor without a word, you’re flying beside him as he rides his motorcycle. 

“Where are we going?” You finally ask while he refuels his ride at a gas station well outside of Gotham. 

“The Outlaws.”

[majesty-z]

You know what makes me sad? When in ASL fics, Ace and Sabo seem to only care about Luffy. As if they weren't each other's first friend, their light in the darkness.

Ace had no one before Sabo. That's why he kept going in bars asking asking asking. Sabo was the first to accept him, the first to love him. Dadan was forced into it and she never sugar coated it either. Garp gave him away at the first opportunity. Sabo though? Sabo doesn't care about any of that. Sabo cares about him, not his blood, not his father, not the burden on his shoulders — hell, he's right there next to him, taking on the load with a grin.

Sabo ran away from home because everyone, and I mean everyone there was rotten to the core. He'd lost all hope and he couldn't take it anymore. He had to leave. He'd have gone insane if he stayed a single more second there. Ace was like the first breath of fresh air. Ace was different. Not like the nobles in High Town. Ace was good.

They gave each other Hope again. That it didn't always have to be like this. That things could change. That they could leave this place behind someday.

So it really breaks my heart when people make them fight over Luffy like he's some kind of trophy to be earned, like an achievement. “Look at me, I'm his favourite.”

They love each other. They care for each other. They're brothers.