#worse for people and I can’t. stand by that. I wish I could look back on this part of my life with nostalgia and warmth and instead it’s

[tsukisrants]

The Help

pairing: choi san x afab! reader

word count: 11k

warnings: smut (i mean,,, it’s me), d/s undertones, reader is kind of a brat, brat tamer choi san (yes), unprotected sex, rough sex, manhandling, hair pulling, oral sex (female receiving), spit kink and play, spanking, praise, name calling, possessive sex, kind of a breeding kink?, creampie, past abusive relationship (so if that’s a trigger skip the first few paragraphs), reader is a badass (i love women), lots of teasing.

summary: you’re tired of your ex trying to control your life, and as you’re once again faced with him, you know you’ll have to rely on yourself to make it. but… things don’t go as planned, and for once, someone steps in, and helps you. instead of going home, you decide to give the stranger a chance at making your night memorable. and fuck, he does.

A part of you is scared. But more than fear, the emotion burning and growing in your chest is anger. Maybe even humiliation? So many feelings flicker incessantly through your body, and even when you try to reach out and grab hold of some, they mock you, swirling away, resuming their constant motion: their circus dance.

“Please, let me go,” you plead again. Because even though you’re angry, you’re trying to be clever. Trying to find a way out, trying to escape quickly and painlessly.

But he doesn’t seem to care. Jaewon grips your wrist with force, with arrogance. You’d like to say it’s something you’re not used to, but you’d be lying. Still, you swallow your tears. Even though too many have already fallen, and even though you wish you could push them back, you know it’s impossible.

“I told you to fucking listen to me!” he shouts. His eyes are bloodshot and god knows what else. His hair is disheveled, dark circles etched under his eyes. So far from the image you once had of him.

Jaewon was your boyfriend. He was, for a while. Nothing too serious, at least not for you. You ended things when he started becoming more aggressive, more inclined to control you. You ended things when you found pictures of other girls on his phone, and the undeniable proof that besides you, others had also warmed his bed.

He didn’t take it well. Constant messages, sometimes calls. He showed up under your apartment more than once, and now—now he waited for you outside the club you were heading to. He probably followed you from home or used whatever other insane method he thought of to keep tabs on you.

The fact is, you can’t do anything now. He’s gripping you tight, and he looks desperate. Nothing about this promises anything good.

People are ignoring it: some too afraid, others utterly indifferent. You’d like to blame them, but you don’t. Maybe you’ve always been used to indifference. It doesn’t surprise you at all. In fact, for you, it’s the norm. You’ve always had to take care of yourself. No one else ever did.

“I don’t want to! No… we’ve already said everything there was to say. We’re done, Jaewon. I’m done. Let me go and leave. Can’t you see you’re only making things worse?”

He doesn’t like you talking back. He doesn’t like you standing above him. And you are, fuck. You are, and pretty much anyone would be, compared to the scum you have in front of you. A small, petty, useless man. A coward.

“Y/n, watch your mouth, you hear me? Don’t piss me off more than you already have,” he growls, yanking you closer to him. With the boots you’re wearing, tripping is almost impossible. You hate being so close to him and try to push him away. But he takes advantage of it, and now he’s gripping both of your wrists, moving your body like it’s made of rags and forcing you to look him in the face.

“Look at how the fuck you’re dressed! Don’t you have a shred of respect for me? Don’t you feel ashamed?”

You’re exhausted. You want to scream, you want to shove him away and kick him until he feels the pain he’s causing you. And you hate it, hate that he’s trying to make you feel this way. You even hate that a tiny part of your brain is pushing you to feel guilty. But you don’t listen to it. You swallow your emotions and try to stay sharp because he deserves nothing. He doesn’t deserve your suffering, your reverence. He’s just a self-centered lunatic who wants something he knows he can’t have.

“I’ll dress however I want, I always have. I owe you nothing, Jaewon. And you’re hurting me, I told you. Go home before you do something you’ll regret.”

Despite everything, you can’t swallow down your own nature. As if some part of you still wants to protect him, too used to taking care of everyone and everything. But you’re at your limit. You just want some peace. You just want to enjoy your night. Better yet, your life.

“What’s this, are you threatening me?” he snaps back, a twisted laugh escaping from his lips bitten raw. He misunderstood because he always misunderstands everything—every word, every thought.

You don’t know how to get out of this. You don’t know what to do. It all keeps getting worse, second by second. You feel like you’re suffocating. You feel small, crushed under the weight of something far too big. But you want to be strong. Really, you desperately want to be. But more than anything, you wish you didn’t have to be. You wish you could be small, fragile. But safe.

You open your mouth to respond, even though resignation is already growing within you.

Something — someone — interrupts you.

“She’s not threatening you. But I am. Get your hands off her, buddy.”

You’re confused. This… this shouldn’t be happening. It never has before. No one has ever tried to help you, and it feels so surreal. But when you raise your eyes, you realize you’re wrong.

Your first thought, absurdly, is that the guy — the man — who spoke is one of the most beautiful people you’ve ever seen. Black hair, feline and intense eyes, broad shoulders. Jaewon’s jaw clenches. He’s not used to being interrupted, either.

But the nameless man has a hand gripping his arm, and he seems to be holding tight. And yet, his face shows little emotion. A stern gaze, but one that seems to soften slightly when it lands on you.

“Who the fuck is this? Someone you’re screwing, Y/n?”

The coward doesn’t have the guts to talk directly to him, so he keeps trying to belittle you, who are gasping, confused and scared, panic slowly growing in your chest. “No. But I am someone who’s about to hurt you really bad if you don’t let her go. You’re a pathetic worm, and I crush worms like you, buddy.”

Jaewon hesitates, his grip on your wrists loosening just a fraction. He looks at the guy up and down, a flash of doubt crossing his eyes. But then, like the pathetic creature he is, he tries to recover by puffing out his chest and snarling, “Mind your own fucking business, buddy. This is between me and her. Isn’t it, Y/n?”

The man’s gaze turns icier, his hand still gripping Jaewon’s arm like a steel vice. His expression remains calm, unsettlingly so, like he’s not even remotely threatened by the man in front of him. If anything, he looks vaguely irritated. Especially due to the fact that Jaewon tried to use you as a support for his own fucking tantrum.

“I don’t think you understand,” the man begins, his voice cutting through the night like a beacon. It’s something tangible where there was only darkness before. Maybe even a shred of hope. Salvation. “I’ve been polite up until now. Leave her alone.”

Jaewon seems stuck. Confused, maybe. You know him well enough to tell he’s seething with rage far beyond what he’s showing. But like the coward he is, he only targets those who seem defenseless, weaker than him. Jaewon doesn’t fight battles he knows he can’t win. “Fine,” he growls. It’s almost animalistic. His hands release your wrists with the same violence he used to grab them. He shoves you away, and you stumble a bit.

He doesn’t let go out of remorse or a guilty conscience. He lets go because he’s a coward.

The man next to you takes a step forward, steadying you. But before he can move any further, you find yourself clutching at the fabric of his shirt, desperate to keep him from leaving you alone.

Jaewon stalks off, radiating fury.

“Don’t leave me alone,” you whisper. You’re shocked by your own words because you never ask for help. It’s just not you. But now? Now you feel drained, overwhelmed, lost in a whirlwind of emotions you can’t fully process. And you don’t want this guy — this stranger who actually dared to intervene — to end up getting hurt because of someone as worthless as Jaewon. It wouldn’t be fair.

“No, hey, it’s okay. Everything’s fine now,” the man reassures you, his voice softer this time, actually addressing you directly. His gaze is completely different now: gentle, comforting. Still feline, yes, but more like a cat’s rather than a fierce predator’s.

“My name’s San,” he murmurs, and there’s a hint of shyness there, like he’s not used to introducing himself under these kinds of circumstances.

“I’m Y/n. Thank you, San. I didn’t think anyone… that anyone would help. You didn’t have to, but thank you. Really.”

San shakes his head, a tiny, dismissive smile curving his lips. But there’s something sad beneath that smile, something that looks almost like frustration. “No one was doing anything. I couldn’t just stand there and watch,” he mutters, his eyes casting sharp, judgmental looks at the bystanders — those who chose to do nothing yet couldn’t resist gawking at the scene.

“I’m used to it, don’t worry,” you reply with a sad smile of your own. Your body feels sluggish now, adrenaline bleeding away and leaving you with a mess of feelings you can’t quite untangle.

“Doesn’t make it right,” he counters, and the firmness of his words feels like a reminder, one you almost needed to hear. He gives you a little space, stepping back just enough to make sure you’re not uncomfortable. And that’s when you realize your hands are still clutching his shirt. You pull away as if you’ve been burned, embarrassment heating your cheeks. You mumble some kind of apology, but he quickly brushes it off.

“Are you okay? Do you want me to get you some water or something?” he asks, concern lacing his tone.

You shake your head. The ghost of Jaewon’s touch still lingers on your skin. “I’m fine, really. I just… I just need a minute.”

San doesn’t seem convinced, but he doesn’t push. You’re grateful for that, and grateful that he stays nearby, radiating a sense of security that feels so strange and new. “Take all the time you need,” he says, his eyes darting around as if making sure Jaewon’s really gone.

As your breathing steadies, you notice your whole body is trembling. You were planning to drink yourself into a carefree night at the club, not get stranded in the cold, fighting off the ghost of someone you never wanted to see again. You rub your arms, trying to warm yourself. The thin blouse and mini skirt you’re wearing do nothing to protect you from the chill.

“I owe you. Really,” you murmur, hating how weak your voice sounds. San shakes his head, almost annoyed by the thought of you owing him anything.

“You don’t owe me a thing. That guy’s a piece of shit, and you shouldn’t have to deal with his crap. No one should. I just did what was right,” he explains, and even as he speaks, he’s already shrugging off his leather jacket. Underneath, he’s wearing a simple black t-shirt that clings to him with an obsessive, almost painful elegance.

“Here, put this on,” he says, draping the jacket over your shoulders before you can even protest. Its weight is immediate and comforting, the warmth sinking into your skin and chasing away the last of your chills. It smells like him. Intense. Overwhelming. Alluring. And you hate that your first instinct is to bury your face in the collar and breathe him in like he’s the oxygen you’ve been starved of.

“Is that better?” he asks, his voice a little gentler now. And you can’t help but be thrown by how genuine he sounds, how every word feels like it’s meant just for you.

You nod, offering him a shy smile as you pull the jacket tighter around yourself. Your body’s finally starting to feel warm again. “Yeah, much better,” you reassure him, shrinking into the comfort of his jacket, trying to make yourself as small as possible within its safety.

"Do you want me to walk you home?" San asks, his gaze lingering on how your body all but vanishes within his jacket. His smile is soft, disarming, and you can’t help but notice how the delicate dimples decorating his face only enhance his allure. They’re a subtle charm, something that both fascinates and entices you in a way you can’t quite place.

You hesitate. Part of you wants to say yes. To go home, hide away, retreat to the safety of your four walls where everything is quiet and predictable. But you don’t want that. Not really. You refuse to hand Jaewon that satisfaction, to let him force you to abandon something you had planned for yourself. He's not worth it. And you've always promised yourself you wouldn’t sacrifice any part of who you are for anyone, especially not a man. And if that man is that sleazy idiot Jaewon, then your resolve is all the more unshakable.

So, you shake your head. And while your decision feels uncertain at first, the moment you take a long, grounding breath, you know you’re making the right choice.

“No,” you murmur, your shoulders tightening slightly before relaxing again. “I still want to drink and have fun. If I go home now, then he wins, right?”

Something flickers in San’s expression, a curious mixture of pride and admiration. His head bobs in an immediate nod, that dimple of his still very much present. “Exactly. Good. You shouldn’t let him think he has any power over you.”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, a trace of hesitation lacing your movements. San is gorgeous. One of the most beautiful men you’ve ever laid eyes on, if not the most beautiful, period. Maybe it’s irrational, maybe it’s reckless, but who could blame you for trying to salvage something good out of an otherwise disastrous night?

“But if you want…” you begin, and his whole face seems to light up, feline eyes glittering with something rich and deliciously intense. “If you want, you could still keep me company? I was thinking of having a drink, clearing my head... But I don’t know if you had plans or needed to meet up with someone.”

San’s response is immediate, as if he’s been waiting to hear those words. His hand moves to brush back a rebellious lock of pitch-black hair that frames his face just so, making him look even more captivating. “Gladly. No, I... just some friends, but nothing important. I’ll send them a message. Mingi’s probably already out cold, anyway,” he explains with a casual shrug, as if you have any clue who the hell Mingi is.

But that’s not the point. The point is that San is here, offering his time and attention like it’s the simplest thing in the world. And maybe, just maybe, tonight doesn’t have to end as badly as it started. You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. His answer comes so easily, so naturally, like being here with you is exactly where he wants to be. And that thought alone makes your heart stutter a little.

“Okay,” you say, a small, genuine smile tugging at your lips. “I hope your friends don’t get too mad at you for ditching them.”

San’s laugh is low, rich, with an edge of something playful that tugs at your nerves. “If anything, they’ll be relieved. Especially if Mingi’s already passed out somewhere. He’s a lot to handle, believe me.”

You chuckle, the tension easing from your shoulders bit by bit. “Sounds like a wild group.”

“You have no idea.” He tilts his head, eyes glinting under the dim lights as he studies you. Not just looks at you, but really studies you, like you’re something worth figuring out. You don’t miss the way his eyes seem to flicker down to your exposed legs, nor the way his ears get red when he notices you caught him staring. “But right now, I’d much rather get to know you,” he adds, a boldness to his tone that you don’t know whether it’s genuine or fake.

You take a breath. The umpteenth one of the night. You smile, because even when courage feels distant, you force yourself to embody it. You force yourself to give everything you have, no matter the cost. Even when it feels like you have nothing left to give.

You take a step. Timid, maybe, but determined. The next one feels almost scorching. You reach out and take San’s hand. Your fingers slip between his, intertwining so naturally it’s like they were always meant to fit. San’s eyes widen, surprise flickering across his face as a gorgeous flush blooms along his cheeks. The sight leaves your own skin blazing, but even through the embarrassment, you push forward, daring to claim what you want.

Heat rushes through you, sweet sparks dancing across your skin—tiny, glowing constellations sparking to life wherever your bodies connect. You lift your gaze to his, and it’s like he’s already wrapping himself around you, his presence both sheltering and electric. That intoxicating sense of protection lingers, and you already feel yourself starting to get addicted to it.

Your lashes flutter, but your eyes remain locked on his, a magnetic pull neither of you seems willing to break. His breathing has quickened, his grip tightening around your hand like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

“So, are you coming with me?” you whisper, your voice low and daring, trembling with all the possibilities hanging between you. His lips part, his gaze searching yours with an intensity that threatens to unravel you. But that’s fine. Because something about this moment feels real. Raw. Undeniably yours.

San licks his lips, and the he pulls you closer, his grip possessive and protective all at once. “Lead the way,” he murmurs, voice roughened by something you can’t quite name.

The club looms ahead, lights spilling out from the entrance, throbbing with bass-heavy music and the echo of laughter. You hesitate, but only for a moment, before tugging San forward, your fingers never breaking from his. As you step inside the club that was on other side of the street, the atmosphere swallows you both whole. You don’t usually go out clubbing, but when you do, you easily lose yourself to the feeling.

Neon lights slash through the darkness, painting everything in shades of electric blue and crimson. Bodies move and sway to the music’s hypnotic pulse, but it’s the warmth of San’s hand entwined with yours that makes your pulse stutter.

He leans in, his lips dangerously close to your ear, his voice low and tempting. “So, was this part of your plan? Dragging me in here just to keep me close?” The playful accusation sends heat spiraling through your chest. You meet his gaze, your smile taunting.

Despite the music, all you can hear it’s him.

“Maybe. But I wouldn’t call it dragging if you’re the one holding on so tightly.”

He chuckles, the sound dark and smooth, his dimple flashing as he looks at you like you’re the most captivating thing in the room. “Touché. Guess I’m not letting go anytime soon, then.”

“Is that promise?” you answer, tongue darting out of your mouth to wet your lips, his face following the way your lipstick stained lips shine under the lights of the club. “Maybe. Or a threat. It depends.”

You shake your head, but your answer gets lost when someone bumps against your shoulder as they pass by. San is quick: he tugs at your wrist, making you fall against his chest.

“Got you,” he says, looking proud of himself from doing so.

“Seems like it,” you answer, and he looks extremely pleased with the way you two seem to be playing the same game.

“You’re good at this,” you murmur, trying to sound nonchalant despite the way your heart is racing. He raises an eyebrow. “At what?”

“At making me forget about everything else,” you admit, softer than you intended.

San’s gaze softens, and his smile turns almost tender, though there’s still that mischievous glint in his eyes. “Maybe that’s not a bad thing,” he replies. “Never said it was,” you say, your body starting to tremble with the way the music dances around you two.

“Drinks?” he asks, titling his head towards the bar and pointing at it with his chin. You nod immediately, and San takes the lead, making you follow him as he makes room for the both of you in the endless sea of bodies that fill the space around you guys.

You reach the counter, and San leans over the bar with confidence, catching the bartender’s attention with a wave and ordering something you vaguely recognize as potent and smooth. Strawberry flavored, for the both of you. You like it, that that’s what he would choose for himself. He does indeed own a sweet vibe that you can’t quite capture.

When the drinks arrive, he slides yours toward you, his fingers brushing yours for just a moment—enough to make your breath hitch. He watches you intently as you take a sip, his own glass untouched.

“Good?” he asks, and instead of answering with words you decide to chug the drink down in one go, the alcohol immediately flooding your body and making your mind foggy enough to make the air thicken around you. “That’s my girl!” he says, laughing as he mirrors your gesture, a droplet of the drink spilling from his lips and leaving a sweet trace on his chin that he quickly dries with a flick of his thumb.

You’re momentarily stunned, your heart caught between beats. San doesn’t break eye contact, and suddenly the air between you feels charged, like a wire pulled too tight. Your instincts scream at you to look away, to break the tension before it swallows you whole—but you don’t. You can’t. You wouldn’t even dream of it.

“Let’s dance,” you say, the words slipping from your lips with more confidence than you feel. San’s smile blooms, wicked and beautiful, and before you can second-guess yourself, he’s leading you into the crowd, his fingers still interlaced with yours.

Once you reach the center of the floor, San doesn’t hesitate. His hands find your waist, fingers curling around you with a firmness that sends a fresh rush of heat through your skin. The music thrums low and sensual, and without needing any more invitation, you start to move.

At first, it’s just you finding your own rhythm, letting the beat guide your hips. But San matches you with ease, his body moving against yours with a grace that leaves you breathless. It’s like he’s made for this, the way his touch seems to melt into you, every subtle shift bringing you closer until there’s barely any space left between you.

His body is a dream. And on top of that, he knows how to use it. Your brain really has a hard time processing all that it’s happening, but you don’t find it in yourself to care. You keep moving, your bodies swaying in perfect sync, the music’s rhythm melting into the charged heat between you. San’s hands roam over your body like he’s memorizing every curve, every line, as if he’s known them all along. And you let him. You let him touch and explore, your defenses slipping away with each lingering brush of his fingers.

Your hands find their place behind his neck, your fingers pressing against the warm, feverish skin there. It feels like fire, a burn that leaves you craving more instead of pulling away.

Your fingertips glide through his hair, slow and testing, and you catch the way his eyes flutter shut the moment you touch him. His breath stumbles, just for a second, and it’s enough to make something wild unfurl in your chest.

Taking it as encouragement, you let your hands dive deeper into his hair, threading through the silky strands with a confidence you didn’t realize you had. The delicate texture brushes against your skin, soft but electric, feeding your courage. Then, with deliberate pressure, you tug at a few strands, savoring the sensation of his hair tightening against your grip.

The reaction is immediate. A deep, guttural sound vibrates from San’s chest, spilling into the air between you with a rawness that makes your own pulse stutter. His eyes snap open, dark and molten, searching yours.

But you don’t back down. You hold his gaze, your hands still tangled in his hair, daring him to show you more of that unguarded desire simmering beneath the surface. You want him to break. You need him to.

“Was that on purpose, Y/n?” he rasps, his voice thick and unsteady, the sound of it rumbling from deep within his chest. His lips are so close to your ear that his breath fans over your skin, hot and tantalizing.

“I don’t know, was it?” you bite back, mischievous and sweet, teasing him. You love the way your name sounds as it leaves his mouth. He smirks, and you can’t help but do the same.

“Looks like I found myself a little brat,” he comments, clearly amused by your antics. “Think you can handle it?” you ask, and just to prove your point, you tug again, just a little harder, and the way his jaw clenches makes your head spin.

His eyes flash, that competitive spark flaring to life. “Oh, I know I can, little one. But now you’ve got me curious. Just how far are you planning to push me tonight? Just how much you think you can take?” As he talks, San’s hands never stray far from you, his touch alternating between gentle and possessive, like he’s trying to figure out exactly how much of you he can claim. Little does he know, he already has it all. But, to be honest, you like the idea of him working for it a little bit.

“Sannie,” you start, smiling at him and enjoying the way the nickname seems to get through his skin, “I can take it all. And more.”

“Fuck,” he groans, eyes closing for a second. You’re making him lose his composure, and you couldn’t be more proud of yourself. “You’re impossible,” he murmurs, but the way his eyes roam over your face, lingering on your lips, makes it clear he wouldn’t have you any other way. “I should’ve known you’d be trouble from the moment I saw you.”

“Yeah, maybe you should have. But it’s too late now,” you tease, your nails digging into the skin of his neck, probably leaving tiny red marks as you keep on touching him.

Before you can think better of it, your fingers trail down his neck, brushing against his collarbone before settling on his chest. His heartbeat thunders beneath your touch, matching the wild rhythm of your own. “San…” His name falls from your lips like a plea, and you don’t even know what you’re asking for.

But he knows. Somehow, despite not even knowing you, San seems to know exactly what you need, like he’s reading you with a precision that leaves you breathless. Maybe it’s because it’s what he needs, too. You like to think so.

His hands tighten around your hips with a bruising force, and you gasp, the blend of pain and pleasure coiling hot and restless in your chest. His grip is possessive, commanding, and the way he handles your body leaves your legs trembling.

“I could make you say it out loud,” he whispers, his voice thick and dripping with wickedness. “Make you ask for it. Maybe even beg for what you want.” His face is so close to yours, his words brushing against your skin like a scorching caress. Your heart slams against your ribcage, your pulse a frantic beat under his ruthless attention.

“But maybe later, yeah? Right now, I think you deserve a little reward.”

And then he kisses you.

There’s nothing gentle about it: just pure, unfiltered hunger and greed crashing into you violently. His mouth claims yours, desperate and demanding, and it feels like everything suddenly clicks into place. His lips are rough and consuming, his tongue sliding against yours with a skill that leaves you reeling. And you try, you really do, to seize control of the kiss, to meet his intensity with your own. But it’s useless. He overpowers you effortlessly, his dominance written in every movement, every searing touch.

He tastes like everything you’ve been craving and everything you’re afraid to lose yourself to. He tastes like danger. Like hope.

You claw at his shoulders, nails digging into the firm muscle beneath his shirt, but it only seems to encourage him. He loves how desperate you are. His grip on you tightens, his fingers pressing into your skin with a force that leaves you aching and dizzy.

“You’re trying so hard to fight it, aren’t you?” he taunts against your lips, his voice a low, sinful rasp. “Pretending you’re not dying to give in. Pretending it doesn’t make you wet that I’m so much stronger than you. That I’m in control.”

His words sting, but you can’t deny the truth tangled within them. The way your body trembles under his touch, the way your pulse races at the sound of his voice, it all betrays you. Your own body.

“I’m not pretending anything,” you bite back, but even you can hear the waver in your voice. It doesn’t matter. Not really.

“No?” His lips trail along your jaw, leaving a trail of sinful kisses over your skin. “Good girls don’t lie.”

Your fingers curl into his hair, tugging hard enough to draw a ragged groan from him. You want to claw back some control, to make him feel even a fraction of the desperation he’s stirring in you.

“Never said I was one” you manage to say, breath heavy and tone not convincing at all.

“Oh, princess.” His laughter is low, charged with an amusing darkness. “Then I’ll just have to turn you into one.” A promise, a threat. The middle point, the perfect balance, the unbreakable intertwining of the two. Your chest rises and falls quickly, each breath you take feels almost solid, tangible.

In the whole room, there’s only one thing: San. San. San.

“I’ll have fun watching you try, then,” you reply, your tongue darting out to wet your lips just a bit. San loves the way you challenge him; it’s more than obvious by now. His excitement is as palpable as yours, and in the surrealism of what’s unfolding between you two, everything feels perfectly right.

“Come home with me, then. So I can prove you wrong.” San’s words cut through everything. He looks at you with something you’re not sure you can read. His eyes are dark, determined, but you catch a hint of hesitation and sweetness. Yours probably look the same.

It’s not like his request surprises you all that much, and yet, you feel completely caught off guard.

San’s hands don’t leave you, their warmth keeping you anchored to reality. His grip is firm, certain.

“I’m never wrong,” you say to him. It’s not a yes, not yet. San waits, patiently. You love that he doesn’t push, not even a little. “But maybe you’ve earned a little sympathy from me, Sannie. So I’ll give you a chance.”

He smiles. The reaction is immediate. His face lights up, and a soft giggle escapes your chest, too.

“You should be grateful we’re in a public place and your skirt is short, or I would’ve already thrown you over my shoulder,” he explains. You rise onto your toes and, with all the naturalness in the world, press your lips to his for just an instant. He’s caught off guard but clearly pleased by your boldness.

“Already feeling jealous, San?”

He rolls his eyes. Bingo.

He leans in, just enough that his breath grazes your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Keep talking like that and we won’t even make it to my place.”

Your laugh is soft, a little breathless. “And here I thought you had more self-control, San.”

“Self-control, y/n?” His smile is sharp, eyes darkening as they trace over you with an unapologetic hunger. “I have just enough to get us out of here without breaking all the rules. After that...” His gaze drifts down your body, then back to your eyes, voice low. “...I make no promises.”

You don’t bother hiding your smirk. “Then what are you waiting for, Sannie?”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. It’s like he was waiting for you to say those exact words. His hand finds yours once again, grip firm and impatient as he leads you through the crowd, the thrum of music and conversation fading to nothing.

Outside, the air is cooler, but it does nothing to dampen the heat sparking off of San. His fingers are still tangled with yours, and when he looks at you, you swear the city lights reflect his grin, sharp and electric. The moon touches his face gently, kissing his beautiful honey skin. Unreal. That’s how you’d describe him.

Then… it’s all hurried. He calls for a taxi, and you guys fight yourselves to keep your hands in place, trying hardly not to make a mess in the backseat of the car as a complete stranger drives you home. It’s- comforting. He tells you a little about himself: he dances. Teaches a class to kids to earn some money between his jobs as a dancer. Tells you you probably have seen him in some music videos in the past. Promises he’ll sing for you one day.

One day. The promise of a tomorrow.

Once you reach his place, though, there’s no time left for pleasantries. He holds your hands as he guides you to his door, and once inside his apartment the small talk dies.

Flames arise, and you’re ready to run through hell with him. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, San’s hands are on you, pressing you back against the wall with a hunger that’s only grown since that first playful exchange.

“I’ve been waiting for this all night,” he murmurs, voice thick and heavy. His eyes search yours, still checking, still giving you room to pull away. “Well,” you whisper, breathless and smiling. “Good things come to those who wait, right?”

The jacket he landed you falls on the ground, and he mutters a curse under his breath as he looks at you.

His lips are on yours before you even finish the sentence, though, all heat and intensity, the kind that leaves you dizzy and clutching at his shoulders like he’s the only thing keeping you upright. And maybe he is. So strong and perfectly built, his body is towering over yours, making you feel small and helpless in the most delicious way.

The kiss you share is ravenous, a desperate clash of tongues and teeth. His mouth claims yours with an urgency that leaves you breathless. His tongue and yours twist and tangle, battling for dominance, as his teeth nip at your swollen lips. The small, unbidden moans slipping from your mouth only spur him on, his own growls of pleasure vibrating against you.

“Fuck, Y/n,” he groans against your lips, his voice thick and ragged. His breath fans over your skin, hot and impatient.

He doesn’t hesitate. His hands grip your thighs, lifting you from the ground like it’s nothing, pressing your body flush against his. Your legs wrap tightly around his waist, your hips grinding against his without thought or restraint. You can feel how hard he is, the strained bulge of his pants rubbing between your legs, igniting heat that leaves you trembling. Your skirt rides up, leaving you scandalously exposed to him, and you catch the wicked glint in his eyes as he notices.

“Impatient,” you murmur, but your voice is breathless, betraying your own eagerness. His mouth finds your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin before sucking hard enough to leave you shivering. His grip tightens, his fingers digging possessively into your thighs as he carries you with firm, determined strides. You cling to his shoulders, the world around you a blur of shadows and heat. The only thing that matters is him.

He pushes the door open with his shoulder, his eyes never leaving you as he kicks it shut behind him. His bedroom is dim, but you barely register the surroundings. All you feel are his hands on your skin, his mouth teasing and tasting wherever he pleases.

“You have no idea,” he growls, his lips tracing along your jaw before his tongue flicks over your lower lip, drawing a shiver from you. “I don’t know how I stopped myself from lifting your skirt and fucking you on the dance floor in front of everyone.”

“You should have,” you moan, hands rubbing at his shoulders. “I would have let you.”

“You can’t just say shit like that, fuck,” he groans, his desperation palpable.

“Look at you,” he murmurs against your lips, voice low and filled with something almost primal. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” You swallow, your breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps as his mouth moves to your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. His teeth scrape over your pulse point, a wicked smirk playing at his lips when he feels the way your body arches into him.

“San…” his name falls from your lips, a needy plea. It only seems to drive him further. You’d say more, but the words die in your throat, leaving space only to desperate little sounds that would make you blush in any other occasion.

“Say it again,” he growls, his hands sliding up your thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin with infuriating gentleness. “Let me hear you. Say my name.”

“San,” you whisper, your voice trembling with desire, your nails digging into his shoulders as you press yourself even closer, arching your back to try and get some friction, your core pulsing and your panties getting wetter by the second.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and then he’s moving again, carrying you effortlessly until you reach the edge of his bed. You fall onto the mattress, and he’s on top of you in an instant, his weight pressing you down, his body fitting perfectly against yours.

“You have no idea how badly I’ve been wanting this,” he murmurs, his voice rough and drenched in heat. “Every time I looked at you tonight, all I could think about was this. You. Spread out beneath me, exactly where you belong.”

“Show me,” you whisper, hands moving to grab his shirt and pull at it, working with the fabric to ask him to take the useless piece of clothing off. “Show me what you wanted to do to me, Sannie. You promised. You said you’d make me good. Fucking do it already.”

It was the right thing to say. “Watch your mouth, brat,” he bites back, looking at you like he wants to devour you whole.

San finally takes his shirt off, and what you see almost takes your breath away.

He’s perfect, so much that looking at him is almost painful. His skin shines like honey, his muscles are defined and imposing, and his body honestly looks like a wet dream come true.

San licks his lips. His smirk makes your head spin. He grabs your legs, moving your body around like one would do with a doll. He takes your boots off, and as he does that he kisses your ankles, looking at you in the eyes and sending shivers through your whole body. Your boots are soon forgotten as they fall on the ground with a loud noise.

You play with the buttons of your blouse, teasing him. One. Then the other. You espose yourself to his hungry gaze, anticipation mounting into you and making your hands tremble.

When it finally falls open, San almost rips it off of you. “No bra?” he asks, hands moving from your sides up to your breasts, grabbing them and squeezing, making you hiss in pain. “Dirty girl,” he comments, thumbs rubbing against your sensitive nipples.

You fight your own body, and force yourself to keep your eyes open as your hips move to meet his, your aching pussy begging for attention as you try and rub it against his clothed cock.

“Want it that bad?” he asks, pinching one of you nipples and making you almost cry out in pain. Tears pool at your eyes, and his hips are finally being pushed against your core, too. The length of his cock rubbing over your soaked panties.

You feel helpless, really. You want— you need him to touch you. You need to touch him. So your hands move frantically, trying to reach his pants and their button, your fingers rubbing against his bulge and making him hiss at the feeling. He lets go of your breasts, reaching for your wrists instead and stopping you from getting his pants off of him. “Good girls ask for permission,” he says.

Your eyes roll at the back of your head in frustration, and you try to escape his grip, but to no avail. He’s way stronger than you.

“Fuck, fuck, San, take them off. Please, wanna see you, wanna feel you,” you beg, way too impatient to get his cock inside of you to keep teasing him about it.

San smiles, “you can do better than that, can’t you? But this will have to do for now.”

You really wanna cuss him out, but you stop yourself when he starts to finally take those useless pants off, showing not only his bulge, but those sinful, strong legs of his. The sight is too much for you to take, so as you spread your legs wider, you decide to tease him some more.

You shift your hips, pulling up your skirt up until it’s resting all crumbled against your belly, exposing your wet panties to him. Your fingers start to rub against your own pussy with hunger, your clit begging to be touched and relieved.

San’s eyes go wide at the sight, and you watch as he grabs his own bulge in return, hips moving forward as he fucks into his own hand as he watches your pitiful attempts at pleasuring yourself.

“I’m so wet for you, Sannie,” you whisper, moans escaping your lips as you arch you back to get more friction against your cunt.

“You’re such a little slut, aren’t you? Fuck, look at that, Y/n… Pull those panties to the side. Show me that pretty little hole, yeah?”

“It’s all yours, Sannie,” you whisper, eyelashes fluttering as you grab the fabric of your panties and pull them to the side. Air hits your core, and the cold makes you shiver all over. Your hole pulses with the need to be filled, and your lips are glistening with the thickness of your arousal.

San’s eyes burn your skin. He seems completely lost in the sight of your pussy exposed to him. Enough that impatient starts to show off on him, too. He pulls his boxers down, and reveals his cock to you. “Fuck,” you moan, cause you just can’t help yourself. It’s long. Thick, with veins running through the length. The tip is such a pretty shade of pink, shiny with droplets of his pleasure. Your mouth waters at the sight, and your mouth starts to feel empty, too.

What you’re feeling is so intense it’s overwhelming. It leaves you stunned, breathless, your body feverish and desperate for relief.

For a fleeting moment, you think of Jaewon and everyone who came before him—how utterly insignificant they seem now, more than ever. How San is beyond their reach, and maybe even beyond the rest of the world’s.

Standing naked before you, San looks like a dream. Even you can barely believe it, as if he’s nothing but a mirage. But he’s not, because his breath matches yours, its warmth colliding with your skin.

A delicious reminder that, tonight, the most beautiful man in the world is yours. And if you have any say in it, you’ll do everything to keep him close.

But what you don’t see is how San’s eyes drink you in, reverent and hungry all at once. To him, you are the very thing dreams are made of—something precious, fragile, yet burning with a fire that matches his own. San’s world narrows to the space between you, his thoughts muddled and clear all at once: he wants to be yours just as fiercely as you want him to be.

It’s your resolve that breaks first, and you find yourself taking your panties off, throwing them at his face. He laughs, and you do the same thing. But his eyes never cease to hide darkness.

His hand grabs the fabric, and you see him mouth at your panties, lips running through the wet cotton. It’s so fucking dirty, that you can’t help but raise on your hips and pull yourself up, your hands reaching for his neck.

You pull him down with you, making him fall on top of your body. You kiss him through your own fucking panties in what has to be the most desperate, nasty kiss of your own life.

Spit mixed with your own juices, the texture of it all fucked up and weird in a way that makes you even more desperate. San growls against your mouth, his hands going back to your breasts first, before one leaves to trace your body up to your neck. You freeze as the loudest moan of the night leaves your throat, and the panties finally fall on the bed, now forgotten.

“You like that?” he asks, testing the waters. “What do you think?” you reply, forcing yourself to be a brat just a little longer.

“I think you like it. I think you want me to be rough, and that’s why you keep being a brat. You want me to make it hurt, baby? You just had to fucking ask.”

And then- then his grip gets tighter. Just as he pushes down his hips, your pussy welcoming his hard cock. The tip slides easily against your abused clit, and as breathing becomes harder, you find yourself spreading your legs even wider than before. “Look at you,” he whispers, laughing softly. “So pathetic, huh? Cock makes you stupid, little one. And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

You want to deny, really. But I’d be useless. You both know it. So you do what you do best: you take. You take and moan and feel.

San seems pretty satisfied, and while he never lets go of the grip he has on your neck, his other hand reaches your face. “Open,” he orders, tapping on your chin. Your mouth falls open almost immediately. “Tongue out,” he adds. You obey.

“Good girl,” he praises, making you moan.

“If it’s too much- anything. If anything is too much, you tell me, okay?” Softness. His tone caressing you. You nod, you voice it out. “Yes,” you say. He nods, then he spits. He spits in your mouth, and you feel the thickness of it as the juice slides on your tongue.

“Make them wet,” he says. Then he pushes two of his fingers inside your mouth. His skin is both soft and rough: hjs body must require hours in the gym, and you don’t have to wonder why his hands have that weight to them.

“You like it, don’t you? Having your little mouth full. I can see it. You’re humping me like a bitch in heat, princess.”

His fingers get more rough: he rubs them inside your mouth, pushes them down your throat and makes you choke a little, the passage tight from the grip he still has on your neck. “W-wish t’was your cock,” you manage to blurt out, words slurred as your mouth gets filled up.

“Yeah, baby? Fuck, you’d feel so good choking on it. A little cock sleeve for me, your head empty as you only have to fucking suck and get messy for me.”

You nod, moaning desperately. He chuckles, and then your mouth is empty. But- but then your pussy isn’t. He takes those wet, shiny fingers down, and pushes them between your legs. He finds your hole easily, and those two fingers are pushed inside your pussy without care. It drags a loud moan from you, and San starts to fuck you with them immediately, curling them up just the way you love, his thumb rubbing at your clit.

“So tight, fuck,” he groans, leaving your neck. He raises a little, cause he wants to fucking look at the ways your pussy swallows his fingers hungrily. They disappear inside of you and your walls clench over them, trying to get them as deep as possible.

“More, more, please,” you moan, your hands replacing his as you touch your breasts before his eyes. “Shit,” he whispers. “You’re gonna kill me, baby,” he groans, the slide of his fingers loud as squelching sounds come from your hungry core. You raise a little and look down, too, desperate enough to want to have the sight of his hand glistening with your wetness engraved into your mind forever.

Pleasure builds up from all the arousal you’ve felt during the night, and you almost feel like crying as San takes pity on you and decides to rub more constantly at your puffed clit, his thumb making circular movements to help you reach your climax.

“G-gonna… you’re gonna make me cum,” you groan, fighting your own body to keep your eyes open. You want to see: him, his body, his face. Everything. “Ask. Be good, Y/n. Ask for fucking permission, or else.”

It’s too much. His tone, his stern voice, the threat lingering behind his words. You can’t take it anymore, and your whole body starts to tense up as your legs being to tremble uncontrollably.

“Let me- let me, please. Sannie, m’gonna cum, let me, please, please, can I? I can’t- I’m going to…”

“Cum. Fucking cum over my fingers, princess. Be a good little slut and make a mess for me.”

That’s all you needed. You fall back onto the mattress, pitiful moans leaving your mouth as you hiccup through your own pleasure. San keeps fucking his fingers into you, your orgasm seeming to never end as you comply to his orders and make a huge mess of the sheets and of his fingers, wetness gushing out of your reddened pussy as you clench hardly over his hand, sucking in his fingers as they own you from the inside.

He guides you as you try and gather some control over yourself. Your hair is a mess, your skin flushed red and nipples so hard it hurts. A thin layer of sweat covers your skin, and you can see that the same thing goes for him.

He pats you, fingers leaving your body: he gives your overwhelmed pussy a few light slaps, a weak scream leaving your mouth as pleasure and pain seem to electrify you all of a sudden, making you take deep hurried breaths to keep yourself grounded. “Made me so proud,” he praises, and as he does that he brings his own hand to his face, tongue moving sinfully as he licks his fingers before your eyes, moaning as you juices invade and dominate his tastebuds. “Such a sweet pussy,” he comments, and something seems to flash before his eyes like a sudden realization.

He bends over, folding you in a half as he moves you around by the back of you thighs, face disappearing in between your legs as he attacks your cunt, licking at the skin to clean your own mess up.

You grab onto his hair, pulling at it in the way he so clearly likes, and the tip of his tongue fucks into you a few times, making your head spin.

“Gonna… Sannie, you’re gonna make me cum again if you keep doing that,” you warn him, legs closing around his head as you can’t help but ride his tongue which is now torturing your clit. You’re all puffy and wet, and San shows you no mercy, moaning loudly against your pussy. You see that he’s basically humping the bed under him, and the sight is so dirty that it brings you painfully close to the edge.

“Do it,” he groans, “give me another one, princess. Squirt your juices on my face, wanna taste you.”

How could you deny him? You scream his name: both because he loves it when you do it and because there’s nothing else your mind knows apart from that right now. Just: San. San. San. And his fucking magical tongue, apparently.

The second orgasm of the night is as powerful as the first, if not more due to the extreme overstimulation. Despite the pain, it’s still insane. Your body trembles all over, and your eyes roll at the back of your head until San slows down, lazily lapping at your lips and at your thighs, cleaning them up. “Fuck, you’re so hot when you cum, wish I could stay trapped between your legs all fucking night.”

He keeps kissing your legs, allowing you some time to regain control over yourself. He bites, too. Sucks on the skin to leave what surely are gonna be pretty marks. He rubs his cheek over the inside of your thighs, and then he helps you out of your skirt, which was still all ruffled over your waist.

San looks almost possessed, chin wet with a mixture of spit and of your pleasure, a satisfied smile on his face that makes him look like the happiest man in the whole world.

“Kiss me, please,” you ask, eyes heavy as you make grabby hands at San, feeling vulnerable yet safe. He doesn’t make you wait, kissing you immediately. Your lips meet once again, and you don’t dwell too much on the reason why it feels so right to be kissing him, rather focusing on the way you can taste yourself on his lips and tongue.

“Please, Sannie,” you whisper against his lips, “Fuck me. Wanna get fucked so bad, please. Wanna make you feel good,” you add, moaning as you let out all the begging you had been keeping down.

“Precious, you’re so precious,” he grunts, licking inside your mouth as he takes your legs and forces them open. You lick your hand, spit covering your skin.

You’re touching his cock now, having it into your hand and tugging at it, hand sliding over his length and rubbing at the tip, making him moan and whimper. It’s a delicious sound.

“So big,” you comment, guiding San’s cock to your pussy. “Such a big cock, Sannie. Biggest cock i’ve ever had, baby. You’re gonna split me in a half. Gonna have to make it fit, Sa-“. He interrupts you, probably going crazy at the thought of any other man ever coming close to you.

He just— pushes inside. In one sinful stroke. No condom, just raw skin against raw skin, all thanks to you mentioning being on the pill on your taxi ride back home.

It’s insane, cause yours weren’t lies. He really has the biggest dick you’ve ever had, and it’s stretching you open beautifully. You feel it all the way inside your belly, and even to the point in which you could feel in your fucking throat.

“Take it,” he says, looking down at where your bodies meet, “take it all. Take my fucking cock, baby. Gonna be the last cock you ever fucking take. Gonna keep you, yeah? Gonna keep you all to myself.”

Should it scare you? You don’t know. But it doesn’t, cause that’s what you’re thinking too. You want no one else. After this, it has to be him. He has to be yours. You have to be his.

“Gonna- my cock. It’s my cock now, Sannie,” you reply, smiling happily as you get stretched over him, the tip of his cock reaching so deep inside of your body you can feel it hit your fucking cervix. It’s so good, you already feel yourself getting dumb from it. “It’s mine, all mine. And m’yours. Fuck me like I’m yours, Sannie. Ruin me, hurt me, anything, please.”

He won, after all. He won and you’re happy he did, cause you wanted to lose to him ever since the start of the night.

“You’re mine. My pretty princess. My beautiful little slut. I found you, huh? Not gonna let you go.”

And now he’s fucking you. His cock slides in and out of your body, balls hitting you as he hurriedly moves inside of your throbbing cunt.

His forehead glistens with sweat, and you move your head to slide your tongue over the skin of his neck, the taste salty yet sweet. You suck on the skin, feeling something primal that shouts at you to mark him up. He must like it, cause he buries himself deeper inside of you as you lap and bite at his neck.

“Harder, please… fuck me harder,” you beg as your nails run through his back, leaving pretty red marks on his skin. “Yeah? Harder, baby?” he asks, smirk appearing in his face alongside his pretty dimple, feline eyes burning into your skin.

While you nod, he leaves. He leaves you empty and begging, and you feel yourself on the verge of tears as soon as he does. But he’s quick to take care of it, and he manhandles you around, moving you around until you’re face down ass up on the bed, all spread open for him as your pussy spasms with the need of being filled up again.

San spanks you a few times, ass moving with the force of his hits. You moan out each time, pushing back against him cause you seem to never have enough of it. Grabbing you by the hips, San finally sinks down back inside your cunt, balls hitting your clit now, adding yet another feeling to the overwhelming mixture of sensations you’re feeling now.

“Let’s see,” he murmurs, and you bend your neck to be able to see the wicked expression he’s showing now. He grabs you by the hair and fucking yanks, making you cry out in pain as he practically bends you in a half, “you like it, doll? huh? pulling my hair at the club and thinking you could fucking get away with it?” he growls into your ear, tongue lapping at your earlobe and sucking it into his mouth.

“Say you’re sorry, whore. Say sorry for being a fucking brat, be a good girl.”

For a moment, everything spirals into madness: a fierce, unrelenting overload of emotions and sensations. Tears stream from your glossy, reddened eyes, your face a wreck of smudged makeup, ruined and raw. Your mouth hangs open, a thin trail of saliva connecting your parted lips to your chin. You are the very image of desperate slut.

And yet, it’s time to confess.So you nod, crying beautifully through the wreckage. “Sorry, sorry, San, I’m sorry,” you babble, a frantic litany of apologies spilling from your trembling lips, earning an amused grunt from him, who hasn’t stopped fucking you.

He’s rough with it, touching your body all over. Holding you up by the hair and making it hurt just like you asked, fucking his cock into you over and over again, the sound of it nasty and loud. He pushes you closer to your limit, stuffing your mouth full of his fingers and commenting on how debauched you look. “Filled up from both ends just like you deserve, baby. Happy? Yeah, look at that pretty smile of yours, princess. You just love getting stuffed, it’s so hot.” His words are filthy, humiliating, and they burn at the pit of your stomach, making your arousal grow bigger than your own self.

You can’t answer, cause your mouth is getting pulled open by his fingers. He’s fucking them inside, holding your mouth open and making you make a mess of yourself as spit falls from your lips and reaches your neck.

Right before it gets too much, he lets go, using the hand that was in your hair to push your face back into the mattress, pushing you down using his strength and making you feel extremely overpowered.

“Stay fucking there. You stay there and take it, you hear me? Take my cock, Y/n, you were made for it,” he orders, and you feel how he’s starting to lose control, too. His cock feels even bigger now, and as crazy as it sounds you can feel it pulse inside of you, rubbing against your abused walls.

He’s just using you at this point, using your body, your cunt— turning you into his personal flashlight as he chases his own release.

You want it so bad, and the thought of him finally dumping his load into you has you getting closer and closer to the third orgasm of the night. You’re drooling over yourself like a dog, moaning so loudly you’re probably gonna have do deal with a sore throat in the morning, but it feels so good that you don’t care at all.

San takes and takes. Gives and gives. Hurts you and destroys you and puts you back together all at once, owning your mind and body completely.

“I’m so close,” he warns, shoving himself inside of you without care, hands coming down to hit your ass, probably leaving red marks resembling his hands all over your skin. You nod, over and over again, begging him to give it to you.

“Cum inside, Sannie, inside of me please,” you start, and you get interrupted by him blurting out a “fuck,” so loud that it makes you smile with pride.

“You want me to fill you up, princess? Want me to blow my load inside your pussy? Breed you full?” he asks, running his fingers and nails over your back, using your hips as leverage to fuck inside your cunt deeper, your walls convulsing over his cock as if begging to have it as deep as possible.

“Yes, please, want you to cum inside, want to be full of it, want your cum… i’ve been so good, Sannie, give me my reward, please,” you beg, crying freely and using your own hands to hold your cheeks open, moaning loudly as it only makes his cock slide deeper.

You don’t even need to touch yourself this time, because the thought of him filling you up would be enough on its own to make you cum.

You feel the orgasm approach and you surrender to it when he grits his teeth and blurts out a series of curses, calling you names and praising you all at once as his movements become more erratic and violent. You feel your stomach bulging with it, the tip of his cock poking at your belly from the inside, and your eyes roll back as he fucking spits on you- droplets of it hitting your ass.

“Here it comes,” he warns you, chest rising fast as his legs tremble. “Take my fucking load. Don’t fucking spill it, baby. All inside this pussy, I’m- I’m coming inside of you, pretty. Fuck!”

His last strokes are languid and dirty, deep and full of ownership. He shoves his dick as deep as possible inside of you, and your spasming pussy welcomes it and milks it. Your own juices gush out as you cum all over his dick, your orgasm strong and powerful, and he pumps his load so deep inside your cunt you can fill every drop of it as it paints your insides white. Thick and hot, his cum gets pumped inside of you, claiming your pussy and marking it up as his once and for all. Staining you, messing you up, breeding you full.

He stills, staying inside of you for a little longer, feeling every second of his orgasm as you clench over him, enhancing his pleasure.

Your breaths are both heavy and ragged, bodies hypersensitive and buzzing with lingering warmth. San’s body collapses against yours, but even then, he’s careful not to crush you under his weight. Despite his own exhaustion, he moves you across the bed with ridiculous ease, still making sure to handle you gently.

He holds you close like he’s afraid you might slip away, and, truthfully, you find yourself doing the same.

Eventually, he gets you both where he wants: him lying on his back, and you curled up against his chest, which is still heaving with every fierce breath. San’s fingers slide through your hair, playing absently with a few strands, while you leave tiny kisses along his chest, your cheek brushing against his skin.

“That was…” you start, biting your lip and blushing a little, “…incredible,” you both finish at the same time, laughing softly as you cling even tighter to each other.

You feel his hand trail down your back, fingertips tracing random patterns on your skin. He tilts your chin up with his other hand, smirking just enough to make your heart skip.

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” he teases, eyes glinting with mischief. “I might just have to keep you all to myself from now on.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but your cheeks burn, and he catches it immediately. His smirk softens into a fond smile as he pulls you even closer, pressing a lazy kiss to your forehead. You nuzzle into his chest, feeling his heartbeat still racing beneath your touch. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” you whisper, half-challenging, half-reassuring. A promise and a threat, both interlaced with hope.

“Oh, I know,” he replies, voice dropping just enough to make a shiver run through you. “You’re mine now. Not letting you go.”

He kisses the top of your head, then leans down to murmur against your ear, tone both teasing and affectionate. “Better get used to it, princess. You’re stuck with me.”

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

notes: thank you for reading this! this is my first san fic… can you believe it? since he’s my bias and all. i hope you liked it, really. let me know in the comments your thoughts (the dirtier, the better). i hope you had fun! see you next time <3

[xo-adeline]

"To change for you..."

⋆°• ☁︎ - Things the Blue Lock boys do after picking it up from you Feat. Michael Kaiser, Isagi Yoichi, Nagi Seishiro, Shidou Ryusei, and Rin Itoshi

AN: I have the freaking cutest idea for a Wakasuki fanfic but nobody knows him and it's so sad...

Michael Kaiser ⋆°• ☁︎ - Listening to certain songs that he knows you like when he’s traveling

He never realized that he would have missed you this much when he was traveling. For the few months that he was still back in Germany with you, the thoughts of traveling had crossed his mind many times, and with a scoff and the thoughts that he used to do it alone all the time pushed the ideas to the back of his brain, well until now; Now when he was sitting on the Bastard München bus on the way to the PXG stadium for their next match, the long, almost 14-hour, bus ride they had, and every second since he had been on that bus, he missed you. Not that he would ever admit that to anybody, including you. So what better way than to either A. attempt to text you, But that sounded desperate, or B. do something that reminded him of you. And with his limited options, he scrolled his phone to find something that could bring him back to the thought of you, even if you weren’t there with him. To which that’s when he found it. A couple of weeks ago you had stolen his phone, saying that you were just looking at the weather, but rather, you knew he had a Spotify account and only listened to the songs he wanted to, so you put together a playlist for him of some songs you think he should listen to, including some of your favorites. He couldn’t help but give a little smile when he saw the playlist cover being a picture of the two of you at one of his previous games, and within no time he pressed the play button and started to listen through the songs, thoughts of you running through his head matching up with every song lyric.

Isagi Yoichi ⋆°• ☁︎ - Using more creative insults on the field after you used them against him

It all started a couple weeks after you had started dating and you got into a little spat about where to go for dinner, him trying to be nice and let you decide and you being indecisive and pushing it back on him. All going relatively nicely until you turned around and said:

“You decide, you wet noodle! I can’t pick.”

And he stood there for a second, a little surprised. A wet noodle? That wasn’t something you heard every day. So he let out a slight chuckled and picked a place he knew you would like and the two of you went there for dinner that night. The same thing with a couple other insults had happened a few times, being called a multitude of other things, and even hearing you’d snide comments sometimes about how you hoped that a person that cut you off in traffic ‘stepped into a puddle with only socks on.’

Now with these thoughts inside his head, and Barou running his mouth he could only turn towards him and give a dirty glare before pulling this out of his pocket:

“I hope you’re sleeves slide down while you’re washing your hands.”

Before turning back around and heading anywhere else in the building where he wasn’t. To which the rest of the people standing there could only look surprised, the same guy who called Barou much worse, just wished a minor inconvenience on him? What was happening?

Nagi Seishiro ⋆°• ☁︎ - Showing a little more effort rather than just in scoring goals

Reo could only look confused at the white-haired man as he was actually trying on some of the new training regiments given to them by Chris Prince. Even when he looked over to the coach, he looked a little shocked. It wasn’t that Nagi didn’t try, it’s that he had never tried this hard before. He did everything just enough for it to be acceptable and then move on with his life, well that was until he saw how hard you worked for things. He never understood why people worked hard until you had come home with a good grade on your test, the same test he had watched you work for hours and hours trying to study the material and cram into your head before you had to take it. The way that you smiled and were so excited that the work you did paid off gave him this spark of inspiration that he needed to see what it was like to train hard and then have that achievement pay off in the end. So when he went back to practice, he tried harder than he ever did before, even earning a couple comments asking if he was okay, or if he was dying and trying a little harder was his dying wish. All of which he responded a simple ‘no’ to before walking off to get water or work on something else. The only person who could actually figure out the truth was Reo, who had asked him if it had something to do with you. He just shrugged and nodded.

“They came home all happy one time because they studied hard and got a good grade and I wanted to know what that felt like… They clung onto me for a whole 15 minutes after… and I liked it so maybe If I do good I can do that to them..”

Reo could only laugh a little as he watched Nagi walk away. He would definitely have to send you a thank you card, Chris Prince’s signature in there as well as he had tried to ask Nagi the same question and it totally backfired.

Shidou Ryusei ⋆°• ☁︎ - Trying to settle arguments with words instead of his foot

The famous fighter, Shidou Ryusei, was actually trying to have a conversation. Nobody ever thought there would be a day. Well, except for one person, you. The same person who had told him off a multitude of times that he can’t just hurt people whenever he was pissed off at them, and there were much better ways to go about it. Even after days of him trying to get you to see his side of it, and you already, after hearing his explanation a few weeks ago, deeming it not the best way to settle things. So here he was now, putting his ego aside to make sure that Loki or Ego didn’t have to call you for the 4th time this week to try to get him to behave and attempt to try to not kick Rin square in the face after he stole a goal from him. Even Loki was surprised when Shidou was about to raise his foot, just to stop himself, mutter something, and then turn to Rin, attempting to try and talk it out. The first thought in everybody's mind, was this even Shidou? After Rin had walked away from him Loki came jogging over to him and trying to make sure he was okay.

“Ya’ I’m fine, jus’ the pretty thing back home ya’ always have to call told me to get my shit together, so I’m tryin’ talk it out with lower lashes.”

Loki looked surprised, I mean he knew from talking to you before that you were close with Shidou, but little did he know that you basically had the man wrapped around you’re finger. They’ve been trying to get him to talk something out for the entire time he was in Blue Lock, but he leaves for a few days and comes back a whole new person? The staff would be sending you thank you cards, as well as a small gift instead of having to pay the hospital bills from anybody else Shidou would’ve sent.

Rin Itoshi ⋆°• ☁︎ - Trying to be a little nicer to others

The world must have stopped turning and we were all gonna die. That was the only thing Isagi could think after he heard Rin actually complimenting somebody. Was it a backhanded compliment? Absolutely, but did he still say something nice to Nanase, yes. Isagi could only stare in shock as he walked over to him next, ready to be degraded or ignored for anything he did, until Rin stopped, cursing under his breath.

“You’re a shitty person, but at least you can score a decent goal..”

The world stopped, he was sure of it. There was no way the Rin Itoshi, had just come up to him and told him he could score a decent goal. So when he stood there a little confused Rin couldn’t help but curse a little more.

“This isn’t because I like you. It’s because I like my partner. Got it?”

And with that he headed off again, going who knows where.

Thought he didn’t learn the fully story until much later on when Shidou had been talking about it Charles and he had overheard. Apparently, Rin’s partner had been pretty upset when they realized that he was pretty mean overall, and wanted him to at least attempt being nicer, so the next time he saw somebody he knew he at least tried to give them a compliment, just attempting to make his partner a little less upset with him.

Isagi knew that it was just a little thing, but lord, he was sure that if Rin would go around complimenting other people, if you asked for the world to burn, he would set it on fire just so you wouldn’t be upset.

[hirayalore]

the one where sirius black escapes from azkaban and finds you.

pairing: sirius black x fem!reader

word count: 2.8k

rating: PG-15

content: angst, established relationship au

warning/s: swearing, kinda canon, and once more a lot of angst!!!!

note. well,,,, it’s abvious that your girl is going through it shdjshdjhs i basically have a lot of sirius imagines in my brain that i would like to write. this is the second fic i wrote that has a similar theme of sirius being reunited with a lover after he escaped azkaban and it’s likely that it won’t be the last hehehe

Sirius knew that it wasn’t wise to be here.

And yet here he was, in his Animagus form, watching you as you took your usual evening stroll at the park near your apartment building.

He was aware that after the war—after the death of Lily and James, after almost all of your friends who were part of the Order met the same demise, after his imprisonment because of what Peter Pettigrew made everyone believe—you moved to a small and quiet Muggle village, far from the wizarding world that tore you apart and changed you for the worse.

From what he has observed for days now, you were working at this old bookshop that was run by a family friend. You were some sort of assistant, arranging the books being delivered every other week and looking after the store throughout the day, acting as the cashier and all. You always wore different light colored blouses during your shift, tucked in faded jeans and matched with beige sandals, as if it was some sort of prescribed uniform that you had to wear during working hours.

Sirius could remember how the world felt like it stopped spinning when he first caught a glimpse of you again, finally finding you after weeks of trying to locate where you might have fled to. Despite how your face has matured over time and your aura has grown to be more sophisticated, he still saw the girl he fell in love with at Hogwarts, and it caused his heart to ache a thousand times more.

Nonetheless, he supposed that this new life was better for you.

You were no longer at risk to be hurt or in danger now that you were here. He could see that you were contented, that you were healed in some way after everything that you experienced—but he couldn’t deny that a small part of him wished that you at least stayed in contact with someone from the Order, knowing that it would assure Sirius that you were being looked after and wasn’t completely on your own.

Slowly following you to the bakery you often visited to grab something to eat, Sirius stopped across the street and sat there on the pavement, gazing at you from the window.

To passersby, he appeared like an intimidating large black dog waiting for his owner to come get him again. It was due to his eye-catching guise that there were people who looked at him anxiously as they walked along his path, or those who purposely avoided marching too close in fear of being mauled or chased after.

He paid them no attention whatsoever. All that mattered to him was you—and how when you turned to your left, gaze flickering outside the bakery and coincidentally landing on Sirius, he saw the instant flash of recognition that spread on your features, causing his furry black ears to shoot straight up.

****

You almost dropped the paper bag being handed to you by the cashier at the sight of the black dog on the other side of the street.

It can’t be… you told yourself, swallowing hard as the dog began to stand up from its sitting position and turn away, now walking towards the bushes where you could easily lose sight of it.

You might have been living peacefully at this Muggle town you’ve grown accustomed with over the years, have done a great job in mingling with Muggles and pretending to be one of them, but it has been two weeks since a copy of the Daily Prophet arrived at your doorstep that told you of Sirius’ escape from Azkaban, and it has easily brought you back to the world that you wished you could easily forget.

Hence, every part of you was screaming that it was him.

That the black dog you just made eye contact with was Sirius Black.

No matter how many years it has been, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of something familiar—something long forgotten that it overwhelmed you for a quick second before you found yourself running out of the bakery, sprinting to where the black dog had gone. 

You ran as fast as you could, heart pounding inside your chest, chasing after him even though you have completely lost track of where he decided to go.

You ran around the area until your knees gave out, until you had yourself convinced that maybe you were only seeing things and it wasn’t a black dog that you saw earlier.

You stopped running at an alleyway, now covered in sweat as you tried regulating your breathing from the marathon you just did. Your chest made it seem like it was close to giving out, and your eyes were stinging from either the cold or the realization of how much you needed to see Sirius.

As you turned your heel around, about to walk back to your apartment and gather your thoughts there, a shadowed figure was standing before you a few steps away, his hair long and matted, his clothes tattered and large.

You stopped breathing.

“Sirius?” you whispered, taking a purposeful step forward.

He didn’t move. He remained frozen in place as you approached him, reaching to where he was and courageously placing your palms against his cheeks, a gesture meant to check if he was really here like your eyes were showing you.

Sirius closed his eyes, inhaling sharply at the contact, and without words spoken, you pulled him close, hauling his head down to lay on your shoulder and embracing him tightly as you let out a surprised gasp at what was happening at this moment.

When you fled from your old life, you swore you never wanted to go back. You were convinced that it was no use staying when everybody was against you—when Sirius, the man you loved and the man you were supposed to marry, was convicted for a crime you knew he could never do.

Regardless of how much you pleaded to everyone to believe in you, they never did. In their eyes, Sirius Black was a treacherous friend to James Potter, that he was the reason why James and Lily were killed that night and poor little Harry had to grow up without his parents. Even Remus, his best friend, had his doubts about Sirius’ loyalty that it caused a temporary wound to yours and his friendship.

Regardless of everything though, regardless of how much you stayed away from your old life and tried moving on, you never stopped thinking about Sirius. You were always haunted by his fate, by what happened to your friends, and by what could have happened if only all you had been wiser with your decision in switching Peter as the new Secret Keeper last minute.

“You’re here.” You pulled back, staring at Sirius who was still speechless, your eyes flickering to every part of his face as if you were memorizing his features. “You’re really here. How did you find me?”

A ghost of a smile appeared in his mouth. “I have my ways.”

“Of course, you do.” You breathed out, disbelief still lacing your tone. “But you—it isn’t safe. You’re supposed to be hiding. The Dementors—”

“I know,” he said, wincing a bit at the reminder of those awful creatures. “It’s unsafe for me to be here, but I had to. I just had to see how you were. I’ll leave as soon as—”

“No.” You shook your head, your palms falling from his face so that you could hold onto his arms. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re coming with me.”

“____, let’s not—”

“I wasn’t asking for permission, Sirius.” You told him sharply. “Come on.”

He was about to protest, to reiterate that it wasn’t safe of him to be here nor was it safe for you to be seen in contact with him, but before he could let a word out, you were already tugging him with you hurriedly to where your apartment was, aiming to go there quicker to avoid detection.

****

You were like in some sort of frantic trance, he could see that.

As soon the both of you arrived inside your apartment, you were locking the door manually and then grabbing your wand that was hidden in some sort of cabinet, soon muttering a bunch of incantations at every corner of your place in what Sirius assumed was your way of ensuring that he wouldn’t get discovered here.

You have always been a smart witch, way too smart for everyone when the both of you were still studying at Hogwarts. Even though he was considered intelligent himself, you were on another level. It reached to the point that professors allowed you to visit the restricted section of the library, keen in helping you foster your potential by giving you access to advanced magical studies—the same advanced magical studies that he assumed were where you learned the spells you were chanting right now.

When you were done, you walked towards him again, only to abruptly pause.

You gazed at him, this expression on your face making it obvious that you weren’t used to seeing him so near and within reach. Sirius reckoned that he looked horrible, with dark circles under his eyes and a thin, gaunt face that was vastly different from the appearance he had when you first fell in love with him. The realization made him a bit self-conscious, like he didn’t deserve to be here nor should have shown himself to you in such a state.

But the second you started striding to him once more, this soft smile on your face as you reached for his hands, it made him remember how he managed to survive being in Azkaban all these years. It was the confidence that even if everybody easily turned their backs on him—he still had you.

“Do you want to take a bath first? Get settled in?” you asked.

He was silent at first, and then he spoke. “You’re handling this way easier than I expected.”

“What do you mean?”

“Aren’t you angry at me?” he replied to your question with another query himself. 

You raised an eyebrow. “For coming here?”

“For everything.” His tongue felt like sandpaper. “For being the reckless git I have always been. For getting myself locked up. For leaving you. For letting James and Lily—”

You cut him off before he could finish speaking, squeezing his arms. “Love, that wasn’t your fault.”

“But it is. I was a coward. I shouldn’t have insisted on making Peter the Secret Keeper. I should have taken the responsibility myself, regardless of whether those bloody Death Eaters hunted me down and tortured me.”

Aside from Dumbledore himself, you were only the other person that was told that Peter would be the Secret Keeper instead of Sirius. It was Sirius who told you so, not being able to keep such important information from the person he trusted the most. And so when the Potters’ location was discovered, you believed Sirius’ suspicion of Peter being the one to blame.

However, Sirius decided to go alone when he went to confront Peter about it, thus being caught up with their friend’s uncharacteristically clever plan of framing him for not only James and Lily’s death, but his murder and the murder of several Muggles as well.

“It’s not your fault,” you repeated firmly. “We had no way of foreseeing the future.”

“He’s alive, you know,” he muttered. “Peter. He’s alive.”

At that, you leaned back a bit, surprised by the declaration. Although you didn’t believe that Sirius could kill him, you didn’t believe that Peter was still alive either.

“I saw him. On the Daily Prophet. He’s the rat perched on Weasley’s shoulder,” he said. “There’s no mistaking it. I could recognize his Animagus form anywhere.”

You pressed your lips together. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m completely positive. It’s why—” he sighed, exhaling through his nose— “it’s why I escaped, ____. I have to avenge James and Lily. I have to talk to Dumbledore. There’s a lot of unfinished business I have to attend to now that the Dark Lord is rising again.”

“Unfinished business?”

“Yes, and Harry, I have to talk to him, make him understand and—”

“And what about me?”

It caught him off guard. “What?”

“Me, Sirius,” you retracted your hands, taking a step back and looking at him with absolute hurt, “what about me? Did you just plan on escaping, hurting everyone, getting your good old revenge without regard to what’s going to happen to us now that we can finally be together?”

He opened his mouth. “Don’t… don’t put it that way.”

“Then how should I put it? I mean, if I hadn’t seen you earlier, you probably wouldn’t have talked to me. You wouldn’t have shown yourself.”

“I didn’t want you to get involved,” he reasoned, attempting to regain the proximity you two had before you moved away. “I’ve been watching you for days. Weeks. And I know better than to ruin the peace you have now.”

“Peace? You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You scoffed. “Do you really think what I have now is peace? Before you escaped, the knowledge of you being Azkaban with those Dementors—knowing that I couldn’t do anything, knowing that I couldn’t talk to you and make sure that you were fine—” Your voice broke and your eyes began to well up rapidly. “I hadn’t slept properly since then, Sirius. Do you know why I still get newspapers from the Daily Prophet? It’s because if for some reason they found you lifeless in your prison cell—perhaps I’d finally gain the courage to stop pretending that I still want to live without you by my side.”

The implication of your words struck him. He didn’t think that his absence impacted you in that sense, that while the thought of you comforted him in the decade he has spent locked away from society, you felt the opposite, instead tormented by his case and the weight of his absence.

Without hesitating, he engulfed you in a hug, strong arms wounding itself tightly around your waist. “I—” He didn’t know what to say. He has never been good at words, anyway. “Darling, you’re the most important person to me.”

You cried on his shoulder, returning his embrace. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

“I just thought…” He closed his eyes in regret for ever thinking in this manner. “I just thought you’d be better without me. That you would have wanted it. You just… you looked okay. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“You’re a twat, Sirius.”

Despite the insult, he found himself chuckling at the reminiscent feeling of being scolded by you, his hold becoming more unyielding. “I am. Perhaps even the bloody worst one out there.”

“You are. I’m glad you know.”

“I know, love.”

“And yet I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you muttered, a bit muffled. “I’d take you back. Every single time. So, please, always come back to me.”

He drew his head back, about to assure you about never wanting to leave you again, when he noticed your necklace and its pendant that twinkled slightly due to the light hitting it in the perfect spot.

The more he stared, the more he realized that it wasn’t an ordinary pendant or charm. It was a ring.

Your engagement ring. The exact ring he gave to you on his knees when he proposed.

Sirius never cried. He wasn’t that type of man who channeled emotions that proper way. He often resorted into inappropriate laughter or anger—but this moment right here, at the sight of your engagement ring dangling against your collarbone, the very object that he never imagined you would still have in your possession after everything that had commenced—it made his hands tremble, his throat to suddenly burn, his breath to hitch, and before he could control his composure, the dam cracked. 

“Sirius?” You exclaimed, worried.

“You still have it.” He declared in between sobs, delicately adjusting your clothes so he could see the ring better on your neck. “The ring. The engagement ring.”

You glanced down, as if forgetting you had it, and smiled slightly in understanding. “Why wouldn’t I? You told me it cost a fortune.” You teased him.

“____,” he said your name again, groaning and pressing his forehead on yours, tears still streaming down his cheeks that you were wiping away with the pads of your thumbs, “tell me anything you need. I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you everything you want.”

He kissed you passionately and you didn’t think twice about kissing him back.

“I only need you, love,” you murmured. “Just you. Just us. That’s all I need.”

He nodded vigorously. “You have me. You always did, and you always will.” He couldn’t stop kissing you, couldn’t stop doing the one thing he felt like could make you grasp how important you were to him. “Once I fix everything, I’ll give you a good life. I won’t let anything get in between us ever again.”

Even if you wanted to reply, you couldn’t, for Sirius never strayed his mouth away from yours, as if he was afraid that the loss of touch would separate the both of you once more.

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

[zorobff]

i bet on losing dogs. (opla!zoro x reader)

synopsis: zoro is defeated by mihawk and therefore unable to claim the title of the world’s greatest swordsman. you just want him to know that he’s still the greatest to you.

warnings: mentions of blood, some direct dialogue from opla, not much romance i literally just wanted someone to tell zoro he’s enough bc he deserves it <3

a/n: idk if this is any good i just wanted an excuse to write and one piece has been my fixation for like 2 months now so :P

you can’t move.

it seems as if every bone in your body is frozen in place despite your brain telling you to do something — anything. you stand there, eyes helplessly locked onto zoro’s weak and defeated body. your heart is racing and you’re unable to stop your mind from doing the same. after all, there was a certain unease that came with seeing someone like roronoa zoro be conquered. his dream of becoming the world’s greatest swordsman had been crushed within minutes. knowing zoro, that thought would be tougher to overcome than any physical wound.

you want to run to him. to be with him.

luffy beats you to it.

“zoro!” he shouts with such pain that you wonder if he’s somehow hurting more than the swordsman is.

the sight of your captain sprinting across the deck of the baratie manages to push you to action. the two of you rush to zoro’s side, trying and failing to look anywhere but the bright red gash across his torso. it’s even worse up close. with every heave of his chest, more blood oozes out.

the cut is impossibly deep and yet, you can’t help but feel grateful. you’d seen the size of mihawk’s sword. the thing could’ve split zoro in half with the flick of a wrist. just the thought of that sends a new wave of shivers down your spine. you thank every higher power that mihawk was feeling generous enough to spare your friend’s life.

“zoro?” you attempt to say his name calmly. “zoro, please talk to us.”

his eyelashes flutter as he attempts to keep conscious. you see the subtle wincing in his face, the clenching of his jaw. for a second you wish he would have passed out, at least then he wouldn’t have to endure all this agony. even though this was surely the worst hit anyone had landed on him during his extensive career, you could tell that wasn’t the hardest part for him.

his eyes stay glued to the skies, refusing to even acknowledge you or luffy. his irises gloss over and tears well up on his waterline. there could only be one thing on his mind, the one thing you knew he was truly passionate about; his promise. was he afraid he had let down that nameless person he always spoke of? that he had failed as a swordsman?

for some reason, you want to cry with him.

“you did good,” you whisper without a second thought. “just stay awake, okay?”

luffy nods in agreement, hand coming to grip zoro’s shoulder so tightly his knuckles turn white.

“monkey d. luffy,” calls mihawk, shifting everyone’s attention back to him. “what is your goal?”

your captain nearly growls. “i’m going to be the king of the pirates.”

luffy’s response could seem rehearsed. mechanical, even. but the truth is he just meant it that much. his conviction was unmatched in every possible way.

���king of the pirates, eh?” repeats mihawk. there’s a hint of amusement in his tone. however, he wasn’t mocking luffy, as many people tend to do when they hear of his dream. “that is a much more treacherous path than defeating even me.”

luffy whips around to fix mihawk with a stern glare. “i don’t care. it’s what i’m going to do.”

“maybe you will at that,” muses the bearded swordsman. “this world could use a few more wild cards.”

their odd exchange ends there, leaving an unnerving silence. the sound of your choked back sobs getting caught in your throat and waves splashing against the deck is all there is for a moment.

“why the tears, girl?” mihawk inquires.

you can’t bear to look at him, much less respond. not after what he’d done to zoro. your hands that once rested reassuringly on your crewmate’s stomach now ball into fists. how could he behave so nonchalantly when he had injured zoro within an inch of his life?

“seems like you aren’t as plucky as the rest of your crew, hm?” mihawk comments when his question is met with silence.

hot tears of frustration roll down your cheeks. “get lost. you’ve done enough damage, haven’t you?”

“that would be incorrect. i was tasked with retrieving your captain for the marines. as you can see, i have yet to do that.”

“i couldn’t care less about what you came here for,” you tell him between gritted teeth. “how do you have the nerve to stand there and talk down to us after what you did to him?”

mihawk’s head tilts to the side as he observes you. pensively, he murmurs, “you care for him.”

“of course we care for him, he’s our crewmate!” luffy shouts in response, clearly missing the true meaning behind the words.

on the other hand, you opt to stay silent, slightly embarrassed about how quickly mihawk was able to catch on to you. were your feelings really that easy to see through? almost as if confirming your concern, mihawk coughs out a dry chuckle before his face falls stoic once more.

“look after him.” his gaze lingers on you when he says that. “it is too soon for him to die. roronoa zoro, grow strong and come find me. i’ll be waiting.”

with that, mihawk makes his exit. once the coast is clear, usopp and nami finally come scurrying over. the marksman kneels down on zoro’s left while the latter stays standing, almost too afraid to get close.

“he’s losing so much blood,” usopp notes, voice unsteady.

luffy is quick to shut down the true implication behind those words. “he’s going to be okay.”

a strangled groan escapes the green-haired swordsman in question. the four of you freeze. the moment feels eerily similar to when you watched him collapse after mihawk had struck him down. for the second time in a day, zoro has all of you holding your breath in anticipation.

“if i—” he swallows hard, eyes still shiny and looking upward. “—fail to become the world’s greatest swordsman... you’ll be disappointed. right?”

luffy’s gaze softens. “you could never fail me.”

however, your captain’s sincere words don’t seem to be enough. zoro finally rips his gaze away from the clouds, head lolling to the side to face you instead. those wide eyes of his always held so much intensity, so much emotion. now is no different as he meets your stare, seemingly in search of your reassurance as well.

it wasn’t that you were unsure of what to say but how to say it. you didn’t trust yourself to speak your mind and say what you truly thought of zoro. the last thing you needed was your feelings for him slipping out at a time like this. you decide to play it safe and just nod. “you know i feel the same way. we all do.”

“i need… to hear you say it,” he replies, voice cracking.

your heartbeat gets caught in your throat at the utter desperation in zoro’s voice. it sounded as if he truly needed your approval if he was going to survive this. it was unlike him to get hung up on something so trivial such as someone’s opinion of him. he never seemed to care what other people thought, why was he starting now? and with you, of all people?

before you can question it any further, zoro hisses. the pain causes his entire body to tense and his wound spurts fresh crimson. without thinking, your hand comes up to rest reassuringly on his cheek. automatically, your thumb begins rubbing soothing circles on the skin. he’s hot to the touch and slick with sweat but you don’t mind it. the way his body relaxes itself is all you care about. well, that and the way he leans into your touch. for someone who rejected physical contact at every given chance, this was new but very, very welcome.

the emotion of it all causes you to lose any concern you’d previously had over voicing your thoughts about zoro. you can’t help but give him the response he was begging for, regardless of how smitten you sounded.

“zoro, you’re the best i’ve seen. and i don’t just mean with your swords. no defeat could ever take away what you have, you know that right? almost everyday i ask myself what the hell i’m doing on the same crew as someone like you. you don’t understand how much it pains me knowing that you feel the need to prove your worth when clearly you’re the greatest there is. in every way. so, how could i ever be disappointed in you?”

there’s a few moments of silence. this time, you truly don’t hear a thing. not the waves, not the birds in the sky, not even the thumping of your own heartbeat. your brain has blocked out everything that isn’t zoro. the same zoro who’s breaking down into tears right in front of you. it’s an unbelievable sight, watching them stream down his face as he takes in everything you’d just said.

using what little strength he has left, zoro lifts a shaky hand to rest atop yours. you pause your ministrations on his cheek and let him intertwine his fingers with yours. he squeezes your hand so tightly that you’re positive it takes everything in him to do so.

“never… again,” he chokes out, tearful eyes meeting yours. “from now, until i beat him.” he uses his left hand to unsheathe his sword. he lifts it to the sky with purpose, as if to solidify this vow. “will i ever give you a reason to be disappointed in me. i, roronoa zoro, will never lose again!”

his grip becomes unsteady, causing his sword to fall from his grasp and clatter on the ground. his arm falls back to his side and he’s able to give you one last look before he’s out cold.

“zoro?” luffy calls, leaning forward. “zoro?!”

you suck in a shaky breath at the feeling of his hand going limp. you’re grateful he’s still breathing at the very least but it’s clear he needs medical attention fast.

“let’s get him inside,” nami commands. it’s the first thing she’s worked up the courage to say.

luffy and usopp waste no time shifting zoro’s arms over their shoulders while you and nami take his legs. despite your joint efforts, the four of you struggle to drag zoro off the baratie; you blame his rigorous training that had made him all muscle. usually you wouldn’t complain but it sure made carrying him aboard the going merry a difficult task. at last, he’s dumped onto the table in your makeshift kitchen.

“get the first aid kit,” nami demands, opening zoro’s shirt to inspect the severity of his wound.

“do we even have one?” usopp replies as he shifts around every cupboard and drawer on the ship.

“zoro… can you hear me?” luffy’s quiet voice gets lost in the commotion your two other crew mates are creating. but you take notice.

“he’s going to be alright,” you tell him. whether you say it for luffy or yourself, you aren’t certain.

“someone needs to go back to baratie,” nami sighs, running a hand through her ginger locks. “maybe one of the customers is a ship’s doctor.”

the devil fruit user blinks a couple times. “right. a doctor. we need a doctor.” he sprints out of the kitchen, presumably in search of one.

once your captain’s gone, nami aids usopp in scouring the kitchen, in search of anything that could potentially help your crew mate until he’s able to receive the proper medical attention.

you decide to stay right by zoro’s side. not once do you leave him.

[luveline]

for the fred x asf!reader, maybe something where one of his family members is like whispering about r or says something rude or backhanded and he sticks up for her? or if you don’t want to do his family, maybe a friend or something?

ty for requesting! fem, 1.7k

Sometimes you get so sick with everything that it makes you gag. It sounds insane, how can an illness that tires you force something like a gag? It might be more appropriate to attribute it to anxiety, but it’s overwhelming, whatever it is. You get this feeling like you’re totally lost in the middle of the day and all Fred can do is watch you as you scramble out of your seat for a bathroom. 

You haven’t actually thrown up yet. You stand bent over the bathroom sink in the burrow and breathe. Your gag had been loud —it wouldn’t surprise you if everybody here tonight had heard it. Fred stands just outside the door, the bathroom too small to force his way in while you still stand at the sink. 

“Lovely,” he says, without shame despite the tens of ears listening in, “can I come in?” 

The basin is made of yellow and orange tile, peculiar as the rest of the burrow. The mirror is framed by the same colours. You meet your own eyes and don’t have it in you to scowl. You aren’t angry at being sick. You aren’t sorry for yourself. You’re just tired. 

Fred says your name. 

You scoot into the very corner of the bathroom and begin opening the door for him. He’s in as soon as you allow him to be, shimmying between the door and the toilet to close it behind him again. He takes a breath of relief when he finds you unhurt, but his concern doesn’t waver. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

Sometimes you wish Fred didn’t have to see you at all. Like this, like that, ever. You wish he never met you, because you know he’s beautiful inside and out, and he has to witness you at your constant lows. “Fine.” 

“My mum’s making some peppermint tea, if you want some. It settles the stomach.” 

“Maybe.” 

“Is there something wrong?” 

Beyond the usual? No. Everything is the same. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you’ll be in love with him forever without ever feeling enough, maybe he’ll keep looking at you like he is now, softly, the slightest air of defeat about him. There are wires crossed in your head you can’t fix, and he loves you, and sometimes it doesn’t make a bit of difference. 

“Hey,” he says, “it’s okay.” Fred holds your arm by the elbow.

“I know. I don’t know what…” 

Do you ever? 

Fred doesn’t catch onto your dark mood. “That’s enough for today. We’ll go home, okay? Let me just say goodbye to mum, you can say bye to George. Or do we…” 

“No. It’s okay, I’ll go and see him.” 

“Okay.” He kisses your cheek. 

Fred leaves first. By the time you’ve slipped between the toilet and the door back out into the hallway, he’s gone. Not even his scent lingers. You make your way back into the living room where you’d been before you started feeling sick, face angled down. 

“You alright?” Charlie asks. 

You raise your head to smile at him quickly. “I’m okay. Just not feeling well, sorry.” 

“Going home?” George asks. 

You bite your tongue and nod. George gathers your jumper where you’d shed it in a hot flush and quickly stands to be by your side. 

“Let me walk you down to the garden.” 

“Okay. Bye, Charlie. See you next week.” 

“Feel better!” Charlie calls as you go. 

You pull your jumper on and follow George out into the garden, where you meander. You’d say goodbye to Molly, only she’s so caring that it can make things worse. She’s more understanding of how you feel than you’d first expected, but she made boys like Fred and George, so it shouldn’t surprise you. 

“What’s that about? The being sick?” George asks eventually. 

“I wasn’t sick.” 

“No?” 

“No, it’s just kecking. I don’t really know what it is, honestly.” 

George looks like Fred, but they’re not as identical as people think. Very occasionally you’ll spot him across the shop and think it’s your boyfriend for a few nanoseconds, but you could never mistake them for one another in good lighting. When George offers a hug, it doesn’t feel like Fred’s touch. You know the difference. 

“Maybe it’s, like, a sign you need to chill out for a bit.” 

“I’m always chilled out. Nobody expects anything from me. I never do anything.” 

George pulls back with an arm still covering your shoulders, “Listen to the way you’re talking,” he says gently, “you need to be nice to yourself, even if it’s just until you feel better. You know? Something is clearly winding you up, and it doesn’t have to. You can tell me about it.” 

It’s something, but it’s something he knows already. You hold your arm to his, struggling to explain, to want to. You wish you could go back to saying nothing; it was easier to be quiet. 

George isn’t disappointed. He rubs your arm. “You can tell me whenever. Or not tell me. Don’t tell me anything, let’s just ditch Fred and go get cake.” 

“I can’t ditch Fred.” 

“Why?” 

“I like him.” 

“Ugh.” George puts his cheek to yours. “Whatever. You’ll pick the right twin eventually.” 

Shouting echoes from the house. You and George look up at the same time, startled, the light mood of your joking quickly tanked. “Is that Fred?” you ask. 

It’s definitely Fred. “I couldn’t care less what you think, Ronald, I’d be surprised if you could form intelligent thought–” 

“Fred!” Molly shouts, “Boys, please, there’s no need for all the shouting!” 

“If I were you I’d look at yourself carefully the next time you're tempted to open your fat gob–”

George laughs beside you. “Jesus, what’s Ron said?” 

“I have no idea.” The twins argue with Ron every time they see him, so it could be anything. “Maybe he’s harping on Fred to cut his hair again.” 

“Well, he should.” 

“No way.” You picture your lovely boyfriend with short, short hair as everyone wants him to have and cringe. “No, thank you.” 

“Just don’t talk about her, Ron! It’s really quite simple, even a half-wit like you could understand it if you tried, don’t even think about her–”

Your chest falls as you realise what it is that’s making all the fuss. At Fred’s shout, there’s an upheaval of sounds, Ron’s yelling, Molly’s, and Arthur’s quieter pleading for everybody to calm down. Fred says something you can’t hear, and then the door out into the garden is opening, and Fred huffs a breath as he makes his way down the path. 

“Hey,” he says, forcing a smile when he sees you and George. “Ready to go?” 

“What happened?” you ask. 

“It’s nothing. Ron being Ron.” 

“Did he say something?” 

Fred looks between you and George with a frown. “He’s hardly capable of stringing four words together. But yes, he said something.” His frown deepens. “He’s just being a dick. It doesn’t matter.” 

“Was it about me?” 

Fred squints at you. “Could you be less perceptive?” 

“No.” 

He visually debates telling you what’s been said. George grabs your shoulder, half a hug as he says, “I can invoke a divine punishment.” 

“It was nothing cruel, ghost.” Fred sighs. “He asked me why you act like that, and I– He doesn’t get it, okay? But that doesn’t mean you act wrong.” 

“I see,” you say. 

Fred watches your face. His own turns to heartbreak. “Listen, I’ll go back in there. I’ll kill him.” 

“No, you won’t.” 

“Of course I will.” Fred ducks his head a little to see you where you’ve shied away. “I will kill him.” 

George snorts. “Me first. He’s such a fucking dolt of a boy.” 

“No, it’s okay, I know I’m weird–”

“I’ll kill him–”

“Fred,” you interrupt. You take a moment to formulate what you’re saying, because it’s important, and because you constantly toe the same line, “I am weird. He doesn’t have to pretend I wasn’t just almost sick in the living room for no real reason–”

“It’s not about pretending, it’s that he thinks you do it on purpose.” Fred speaks with such severity that you immediately close your mouth. “I’ve seen you struggle for so long, it’s painful, ghost, and it’s worse for you, I know it is, and the insinuation that you’re choosing–”

“Fred,” you say, putting your hand to his chest. “It’s okay.” 

“Well, it isn’t,” George says, “but yeah, it’s okay. I’m gonna make slugs come out of his nose.” 

George kisses your cheek, a smacking joking thing that you bat away before he jogs back up the path to the house. Fred looks down at your hand on his chest, still frowning, but with a slowly relaxing brow. 

“You can’t blame people for not getting it,” you say. 

“Yes, I can.” 

“You can’t.” 

“Yes, I can. You are difficult to understand sometimes, lovely, but being difficult to understand does not mean you’re difficult to care about. Ron’s total lack of empathy is ridiculous. He should be better than that.” 

“He just doesn’t get it,” you say, raising a hand to his chin to turn his head, and lifting your chin to kiss his cheek primly. “But I don’t need him to. Just need you.” 

He grabs you in a hug before you can move away, his face pressed against yours. “How do you feel now?” he asks quietly. “Still poorly?” 

“Yeah, a bit. George told me I need to chill out.” 

“You do. That’s what we’re going home to do.”

Fred is so careful with you that it sort of hurts. Like, to have someone stand in front of you and to hold you without a second thought, to have never let you down, to grab you at the first sign of weakness and hold you together. You will never, ever feel like you deserve him. Maybe you don’t. But Fred doesn’t work on deserving, he just loves, lips soft on your temple as his hand scrunched into your side. “Don’t worry,” he says gently, fingers curling in and out against you, almost like a loving scratch, “you’ll feel better soon.” 

[tmrwsuns]

(𐙚⋆.˚) new dispatch couple

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ [hirota riki x reader] ...୨♡୧... wc. 1.5k w. curse words! fluff ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

requested!

maki always thought he would never do anything to risk his career. 

being an idol had always been his dream, and he worked too hard to throw that all away by disobeying his company.

that is, until you appeared in the picture.

they had been told that a rookie group would be joining them for an interview in order to promote the unity of the company. he had always been good at interacting with new people, so he wasn’t worried in the slightest.

again, until you appeared in the picture.

he couldn’t really help the way the entire world seemed to just stop the moment you walked into the waiting room, bowing a little lower than it was needed at the sight of his group. he could hear the greetings coming from his members; far too mesmerised by the sight of your pretty eyes to even realize what was going on until nicholas’ hand was pushing his head down a little forcefully and shooting him a questioning look.

“it's nice to meet you, thank you for having us,” you said, your eyes finding his. maki felt himself physically melt at the sweet sound. 

the boy tried to get his shit together quickly and answer, but he really had no control on the way his cheeks tinted red and his tongue seemed to be too tangled to get a sentence out without stuttering, so his mouth snapped closed as fast as it had opened to speak.

“of course, it's nice to meet you too,” euijoo intervened, saving his ass from embarrassing himself right in front of the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

maki could see the teasing smiles yuma and nicho were looking at him with, the attention uncharacteristically embarrassing. 

“i’m maki,” he blurted out, interrupting fuma in the middle of his sentence. his eyes widened, surprised at his own outburst as yuma’s loud laugh echoed in the room. he really couldn’t count on him to be slick.

“nice to meet you, maki,” you smiled, and god he wanted you to smile at him for the rest of his life. “i’m yn.”

his next attempt of a sentence was interrupted by the announcement of having to start their interview soon, making everyone, including you, scatter around to get last minute touch ups.

the world clearly had it out for him, though, because you now found yourself standing so close to him that your shoulders touched as the interview went on. he could see the way your hands fiddled nervously with the fabric of your skirt every time it was your turn to speak, and it made his heart shrink of fondness in his chest. he remembered the nervousness of being in front of the camera, wishing that someone would tell him how he was doing. 

so, naturally, he did just that.

“you’re doing amazing, don’t worry,” he whispered, leaning in slightly so no one could hear him but you.

your gaze moved quickly, surprised eyes looking into his for a few seconds until they softened and a smile took place on your lips.

“thank you,” you muttered before looking back to the front, your hands dropping the fabric.

he had to bite the side of his cheek to hide his giddy smile.

...୨♡୧...

“please try not to smile like an idiot in love when yn comes in, fans noticed since the first time,” ej warned as they sat around yet another waiting room, expecting your arrival at any minute while the crew finished setting up the cameras.

“i think she did, too,” jo scoffed amusedly.

“can’t help it, she’s too pretty,” maki sighed exaggeratingly, throwing his arm over his eyes dramatically as he ignored the boy’s comment. “i swear she looks better every time i see her.”

“i gotta give it to him, he’s right,” taki chimed in, making maki raise his arm again to give him an unamused questioning look. “my bad, never again.” the boy raised his hands in surrender.

“you would’ve thought you would stop when you became friends with her,” harua commented, looking at them with an amused smile.

“nah, it just made it worse,” maki groaned, noting the way his infatuation had just worsened since the moment you both became friendlier and he actually got to know you outside of your idol persona. “maybe exchanging numbers wasn’t a great idea.”

“i told you,” fuma said in a sing-songy voice.

“whatever, let me be,” maki threw a pillow at him from his place sprawled out on the couch. “i’ll continue to suffer in silence.”

“wait, shut up, they just knocked,” kei warned, a smile evident in his voice.

the youngest basically jumped up to a more presentable position, fixing his hair quickly and earning a few laughs from his members.

“she won’t run from seeing you laying on a couch, you know,” yuma teased, earning a pillow thrown to his face right before the door opened.

he watched as your group came in, bowing politely at the sight of your seniors. he stood up to bow right back, his heart already racing in his chest at the mere sight of you.

“hi,” you smiled animatedly as you walked up to sit on the couch opposite to him, happy to find a friend on the boy that was so close in age to you.

“hi ynnie, how are you?” he asked, mentally high fiving himself for not stuttering like an idiot.

“all good, a little sore but nothing other worldly,” you nodded, relaxing onto the couch. 

“hmm, be careful with that affecting your performance today,” he teased, making reference to the sports variety show you were both supposed to participate in.

“it won’t, i’ll beat you guys anyways,” you shrugged, a mocking cocky smile on your lips. 

you very obviously did not.

it’s not like you ever stood a chance against what seemed to be an unnecessarily sporty group, but you did put up a good fight.

and it was maki’s very own duty to reward you for it.

“here you go,” he smiled, extending a pack of gummies to where you laid on the floor.

“oh, thank you,” you smiled, getting the snack and patting the floor next to you to signal him to lay beside you. “so, tell me. are you guys actually werewolves or just furries?”

the boy couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips as he rolled his eyes. “jesus, not you too.”

...୨♡୧...

nothing could’ve ever prepared maki for what being your friend meant. how was he supposed to take the teasing smiles, the memes sent to his phone at concerning hours? how was he expected to not want to wipe off those smiles with his lips? to not answer every single text with a marriage proposal? to not reveal his undying love for you every time he saw the edits your fans made shipping you?

they were unfair expectations, if you asked him.

but the most unfair one of them all is that he was expected to not stare at you like you were the most beautiful person he had ever seen in his life. because you were. even more when you wore comfy clothes and your hair was a mess, much like that exact moment.

“did you see the edit i sent you? they’re getting creative,” you chuckled from where you sat mere inches away from him on the bed.

“hmm, i thought it was cute,” he shrugged, looking down to his phone to avoid meeting your gaze after his slightly shameful confession. 

“my manager doesn’t think so,” you chuckled, ignoring the way your stomach fluttered at his words.

“mine doesn’t either, but i don’t care.” he mumbled, acting as nonchalant as he could as he mindlessly scrolled on his phone.

“careful there, you sound like you want to make the rumors true,” you mumbled, attempting to keep your tone light and amused as if your heart wasn’t racing.

“and who says i don’t?” he mumbled, voice barely audible.

but you heard him.

loud and fucking clear.

“wait, what did you say?” you asked, unable to keep the astonishment out of your voice.

maki took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a fraction of a second to weigh his options.

fuck it.

“what if i do want them to be true?” he asked, his voice shaking as he raised his gaze to connect it with yours.

“you do?” you asked, dropping the act as your eyes widened in surprise and your chest filled with hope.

“yeah,” he admitted, breathlessly. “do you?”

he stared at you, his eyes so full of hope that it made you want to explode in affection.

“i…” you hesitated, too lost in his eyes to form coherent sentences. 

makis heart dropped.

“i do.”

and that's all it took for him to take your face in his hands, pulling you into a kiss you both had awaited for too long. it was sweet, tentative and careful all the way until you broke away for air.

“so…” you muttered softly, not putting too much distance between your faces. “new dispatch couple?”

maki couldn’t help but let out a loud laugh, tackling you into a tight hug.

“new dispatch couple.”

𐙚 blue's corner ;; hey !! sorry for taking so long for this request, i hope you like it!! also special thank you to my bby @lovelyjuju for beta reading<3 𐙚 taglist ;; @tiramisumin @astrasng @hyukabean @lovelyjuju 𐙚 back to the masterlist. 𐙚 please do not copy, adapt or steal any of the content !!!

© tmrwsuns, 2025

[traveler-at-heart]

Doctor's In - Part 14

Summary: The universe (and some people) conspire to reunite you with Wanda.

“Y/N” Wanda says, and your heart beats faster.

“Hey. Hi. How…”

How are you? is such an idiotic question to ask. You clear your throat, running your fingers through your hair.

“What’s up?”

Ok, that’s worse.

“Sorry for bothering you, I wasn’t… I wasn’t thinking clearly. Tommy ran away…”

“Wait, he what? Hold on, I’ll call you when I’m at the airport”

“No, no” Wanda pleads, regretting her choice of words. “He’s safe. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you”

“Ok. Maybe lead with that next time?” you sigh, collapsing in the sofa.

Wanda laughs and it makes your heart swoon. And ache.

“You’re right, I’m so sorry. Like I said… I wondered if he might have been in touch with you or something and that’s why I called. But he’s safe now”

“I haven’t spoken to them since I left” you say in a small voice, and Wanda falls silent for a moment.

“They ask about you all the time”

“I think about them all the time”

And about you.

“Anyways. Sorry for scaring you and interrutpting”

“Just watching a movie” you say, knowing she’s referring to Natasha. Though you don’t owe her an explanation.

You both stay silent and you have to hold back tears.

“Uh, sorry about leaving my stuff. I could get someone to pick them up. I’m not going back to Westview until Carol’s wedding in April” you say.

“No, that’s fine. Don’t worry about it, leave them here and just come over when you’re in town” Wanda says, disappointed to hear that you don’t have any immediate plans to come back to Westview.

“Ok, thanks. I should…”

“I follow Jenny on instagram” Wanda says, clearly ignoring your attempt to end the conversation.

“Really?” you play dumb. “You know I don’t have social media, so we just text”

“She posted a picture of you. And your brother I assume?”

“Zach, yeah. She’s applying to NYU, so we had a weekend there. The usual, Broadway, baseball. It was fun”

“It looked like fun, yeah” Wanda nods, remembering how much joy it brought her to see you again.

You looked fine. A little tired, but the smile was there, maybe because your sister was hugging you close while your brother made a face.

Of course they’d love you, even if you hadn’t been in contact for years. You are amazing.

And Wanda fucked it up. She stares at the ring, still thinking about whether or not to tell you she found it.

“Y/N…”

There’s the distinct sound of a pager and you sigh.

“Great. I’m sorry, I have to go”

“I understand” Wanda says. “You take care of yourself now, ok?”

“Bye, Wanda”

You hang up, because you can’t stand the idea of saying goodbye to her. Is this really how it ends? A stupid phone conversation and you taking back boxes of clothes in a few months.

You wish you could call her back and tell her this is bullshit, she was an ass and so were you, but you can work through it.

But you don’t, because you’re scared of what she has to say.

So you leave for work, thinking about her voice, her laugh, her lips on your skin.

And how the memories are all that’s left of your life together.

—

Wanda stares at the phone. Just when she had gathered the courage to tell you about the ring, you hung up.

Maybe it was for the best.

What would you even say? That you planned on proposing and then Wanda ruined everything? Hurt you, destroyed your relationship beyond repair.

Knowing about the ring didn’t change things, not on your side.

Wanda sat on the porch, holding on to the ring box. She opens it again, amazed at how beautiful and perfect it is. It was obvious you had put so much thought into picking the right ring.

“Señor Scratchy!” Agatha calls for him, around the corner. “Why didn’t Rio give me a freakin fish instead? Hey, Wanda”

“Hi, Agatha. Your bunny again?”

“Yeah, he likes to escape. Heard you have one of those as well” she smiles, referring to Tommy.

“How did you…?”

“Oh, haven’t you heard” the woman keeps chatting as she looks around, hoping to spot the animal. “Your mom and I are besties. I was just with Mrs. Davies”

Of course.

“I think he’s right here” Wanda thinks she spots the bunny, moving forward. She tries to catch him with both hands, but ends up dropping the box, revealing the ring.

“Damn, that’s nice” Agatha whistles, picking it up and examining it. “Family heirloom?”

“No, not exactly” Wanda shakes her head, picking up the bunny and hugging him close to her chest.

Agatha sits next to her, still looking at the ring.

“So, she was proposing. Come on, it doesn’t take a genius to know” she says when Wanda gives her a look.

“God, I screwed up so bad” Wanda shakes her head. “She left for good and I won’t ever be able to fix this”

“Did she really?”

“What?”

“Leave? For good. Don’t you have all her clothes here? If she was done, she would have taken them out, changed her number, thrown the ring into the river” Agatha argues, placing the box down.

“I hurt her too much. She’ll never forgive me”

“Are we talking about the same Y/N? The one that brought medicine to that old lady down the street even if she was a homophobic demon?”

“Agatha, don’t speak ill of the dead” Wanda says, though Mrs. Miller was the worst person she ever met.

“Well, she’s in a warmer place now. But anyway! That’s not the point. You can stay here and cry all day or you can at least try. You’re assuming the worst and that’s what led you here, isn’t it?”

“Well…”

“Get your sorry ass from the floor and do something about it, Maximoff! Get the girl back” Agatha says, shaking Wanda by the shoulders.

“Ok, ok! I’ll think of something”

“Good girl. Now hand me back my bunny. We’re past our bedtime”

—

Darcy’s walking down the hallway when she gets a text from you.

Y/N: Out on a sidequest, call you later. Love ya

“Who does she think she is, deciding when I get to scold her?” she complains. The brunette is so busy typing out a response that she misses the man that almost crashes into her.

“So sorry. I’m looking for Chief Fury”

“Job interview?” she says, arching her eyebrow.

“Yes, for Head of Trauma”

“Right. Well, I’m sorry that no one told you before, but that position’s been taken. Better luck next time…” she dismisses the man, the way she’s been tricking the few people who have been meeting the chief.

Darcy’s always looking for a way to sabotage the interviews, either by lying and saying the position’s closed or by feeding them false information. Like Fury likes to be greeted with two kisses, one on each cheek.

That was a fun day.

The man walks away, and she’s about to reply to you when someone calls her from the corner.

“Psss”

Darcy looks around, her eyes meeting Rio’s. This is gonna be interesting.

“What’s up, girl?”

“I know someone who is looking to form an alliance… to bring Y/N back” she whispers, and then smiles like a psycho. “She wants to speak to you”

“If it’s Wanda…”

“Nope. Do you agree to a meeting? I’ll set it up”

Darcy thinks about it for a second, considering if it’s worth it. She should at least get to know her potential ally.

“Fine. But I’m not meeting them in a dark alley”

“I’ll arrange it”

Darcy is about to change her mind when Chief Fury calls for her. In the split second it takes her to look back at her boss, Rio has completely vanished.

“You wouldn’t happen to have seen a doctor that was coming for an interview?”

“No, and boy, look at the time, it’s appy hour at Stark Hospital!” she glances at her wrist watch. “See ya around, boss!”

“You can’t keep sending them home, Lewis! We need a new Head of Trauma” Fury says.

“Totally, good luck with that!”

—

“Ready?”

“No” you say, refusing to leave the dressing room. You see Darcy typing but then her text is never sent. She’s probably working.

Which is what you’d rather be doing instead of trying on dresses.

“Come out now” Natasha commands, and her tone leaves little room for argument.

“Fine”

You stumble awkwardly out of the changing room, not used to wearing dresses.

“I look stupid” you complain, and Natasha supresses a laugh. “I’m not going!”

That makes her jump.

“You look fine!”

“It’s not my style. And why are you picking out dresses for me?”

“Because I already have mine, and I know what will match” Natasha explains, handing you another one. “Try this one”

Before you can protest, Yelena jumps out, admiring herself on the mirror.

“My boobs look great in this!”

“Yeah, they do” you nod, which earns you a slap on the arm by Natasha. “Hey, I’m just being supportive. Unlike that bra she’s wearing”

“I’m not wearing a bra. I think it will look better that way” she comments.

“No, you just want to piss off mother” Natasha says, leaning against the wall. She waits until you step out to help pull your zipper up. “See? You clean up nice”

“I still don’t like it” you mutter. “I’m a pants kinda gal through and through”

Yelena has settled on her dress, which makes you feel pressured to pick something. So you just let Natasha decide and walk with her to the register.

“I’m paying for it”

“Nu-uh”

“You’re going as a favor to me”

“It’s an open bar, you will regret inviting me”

You try to reach for her hand and drop her credit card, but she’s faster. And infuriating. The struggle makes you lose your footing, dropping to the floor.

“You’re both idiots” Yelena steps over you to pay for her clothes.

As Natasha helps you up, you look at a shop across the street.

“Wow, those are pretty cool”

“Huh…” Natasha looks you up and down, evaluating the possibilities. “Leave that dress. We’re finding something else”

—

Wanda’s looking at her phone again. Ekaterina and Pietro share a look, knowing something’s up.

Everyone’s home today, even if it’s a school day. Considering everything that happened yesterday, Wanda thought it might be a good idea to let the kids stay, watch movies and have some family time.

Though she still has to go to a meeting with Laura. The book is getting published soon and there are events they have to plan, like readings at bookshops or libraries.

It was Wanda’s favorite part about releasing a new book. And the worst thing is she was looking forward to having you by her side, to share all the things that happen while doing it.

“Gotta go meet Laura. I won’t be long” she announces, and is pleasantly surprised when the twins rush to hug her goodbye. “Let’s all go out for dinner, what do you guys think?”

“Yeah, sounds fun” Tommy says, going back to the couch where he’s playing videogames with Pietro.

Before starting her drive, she breathes deeply and decides to just pull the plug. So, she sents you a message and hopes you’ll answer.

Wanda has to remind herself that you’re probably busy and that’s why there’s no reply when she parks outside of her friend’s office.

“Hey, how are you doing?” Laura goes straight to hug her. “I’m happy Tommy’s ok”

“Yeah, we’re all good. Just hoping things get better soon”

“Of course. Honestly, we don’t have to talk about the promo tour today, you should go home and spend time with them, Wanda”

“No, that’s fine. I could use the distraction” she nods, pulling out her laptop.

For the next hour, they go over the calendar, deciding which events will take priority. It’s a month and a half away, but Wanda knows time flies when you have to meet a deadline.

“There’s one last thing” Laura says, trying to sound normal. “And listen, just give it some thought, ok?”

“What is it?”

“You know Wendy Lawson, right?”

“The legendary author? Of course I do. Who doesn’t?”

“She’s working on a new book, and she asked specifically about you to illustrate it” Laura says, with a very distinct lack of enthusiasm.

“Ok, that’s amazing! That’s every artist’s dream. Why are you making it sound like a bad thing?” Wanda says, confused.

“Well, here’s the thing. She doesn’t want to just do everything over video calls or anything else. Wendy is asking for you to go back and forth to review designs in person. And it’s right before the tour, so… it’s gonna be a hassle”

Wanda realises a second later that Wendy Lawson is currently living in Boston.

“I’ll do it” she says, her mind racing with ideas.

She could go and look for you, try to talk face to face. Fix everything, or at the very least try.

This seems like more than a coincidence.

It’s meant to be.

“Really? What about the kids?”

“Well, it doesn’t look like my mother is planning on leaving anytime soon. And seeing as this is a once in a lifetime opportunity…”

“Yeah, it is. Alright, then let’s set up a meeting with her team. I do think you have to speak with her editor first, but they’ll be happy to fly you to Boston” Laura says, shocked that it took no effort to convince Wanda. This really was a great opportunity, but all things considered, she was expecting a very firm no on her friend’s side.

“Great” Wanda says, putting her things away. “It’s settled then”

She feels very optimistic once she gets in the car.

It’s even better when you finally reply to her text.

The music’s loud as she drives home, but for the first time it isn’t to keep her from thinking about you. It’s just because she’s happy.

—

Darcy’s not sure this is a good idea.

She’s sitting at the diner like Rio told her, with her back to the door.

“Whatever you do, don’t look at the people coming in. They want to remain in the shadows” Rio had said with a somber expression.

Maybe it was all a prank.

But still, she hears the door open and close, and then someone is sitting on the booth behind her, and she’s back to back with her mysterious ally.

“Doctor Darcy Lewis?” a woman says.

“Yes” Darcy frowns. “Who am I speaking to?”

“That is not important, Doctor Lewis. What’s important is that we share a common goal”

“Bring Y/N back”

“With Wanda” the mystery woman adds.

“Now wait a minute!” Darcy snaps, ignoring the warning of not looking at the woman. “Nu-uh. I don’t give a damn if she gets back with Wanda. In fact, I don’t think she deserves her, not after all the shitty things she said to my friend”

“Love is complicated, Doctor”

“Is it now, Mrs. Maximoff?” Darcy glares.

The woman sighs, moving to Darcy’s booth and sitting in front of her.

“How did you know?”

“Gut feeling. Plus you have the same eyes” the brunette crosses her arms, ready to continue arguing. “Like I said, I want my friend back because this is where she belongs. Whatever the deal is between her and Wanda is none of my concern. Especially because she’s the reason Y/N left in the first place”

“And you don’t think they can fix it?” the woman asks. It sounds like she really wants to know, considering Darcy is your best friend and knows you better than anyone.

And truth is, you were really happy with Wanda. It felt like you had found a place in the world, with a family that loved you.

“Maybe. I know Y/N still loves Wanda. That’s why she ran away. She was probably scared to ask Wanda to work it out and have her slam the door in her face”

“Yes, well, my daughter isn’t particularly good at dealing with rejection either” Ekaterina sighs.

“Fine. If it means I get my best friend back I can work with you. But I won’t put in a good word for Wanda unless I’m convinced she’ll do better”

“That’s fair”

“So, let’s get some food. Seems like we have a lot of planning to do” Darcy says, smiling at the other woman.

—

It’s all moving surprisingly fast. As in, Wanda already has a flight booked for Friday, returning early Saturday.

Her mother takes the news surprisingly well.

“Mama, if it’s too much work I’m sure I can get a babysitter…”

“A stranger to look after my boys!” Ekaterina sighs, exasperated. “I’m not that old, malyshka. I can handle it for two days”

“Alright, if you’re sure…”

“Yes. Now I have to take my daily walk. Come, little dog” she calls for Sparky, who is eager to get out of the house.

There’s a reason behind it, though. She needs to call her secret ally and update her on the news.

“Darcy here” the brunette greets. “I know you’re calling to scold me, but I haven’t been able to convince her to come back for Carol’s fake bridal shower”

“That won’t be necessary. Wanda’s going to Boston”

“Damn, you’re good. How did you get her to do it?” Darcy says.

“Oh, the universe works in mysterious ways. It’s actually something about work but it might be a good chance for them to meet. Can you find out what Y/N is doing this week? I’ll try to convince Wanda to meet her”

“Wait, when did you say she was going to Boston?”

“Oh… you heard already” Kate Bishop comes out of nowhere. “I-I’m sorry, I meant to tell you sooner, and it’s only going to be a week, I promise I’ll come back”

“Bishop, what are you babbling about?” Darcy interrupts, frowning. She’s definitely not as patient as you were with the resident.

“I thought you knew about me going to Boston for a few days. Just to observe the kidney transplant. Yelena invited me”

“Ok, hold on. Ekaterina, we have someone on the inside”

“Inside of what? You Americans and your vulgar…”

“Gotta call you back” Darcy hangs up, pulling Kate along. “Ok, tell me everything you’re supposed to do. If you want Y/N back to teaching you, you have to agree to be our doble agent”

“Our?”

“That’s not important” Darcy dismisses her question. “Now speak”

—

Wanda: Do you have a moment to chat?

Y/N: Hey, I’m going to join a surgery. Can call in a few hours.

Y/N: Everything ok?

Wanda has been texting you here and there to ask about small stuff. It’s always something related to things you were in charge of, like Sparky’s vet appointments or her car’s maintenance.

If it makes her life easier, you’re more than happy to help. It’s the least you could do.

Except today. She texted early and you honestly didn’t check your phone. Now calls aren’t coming through either.

“Hey, Kate” you greet at the front desk, still looking at your phone. “Checked my post ops yet? There’s this guy in room 1045 that I need to…”

Wait a damn minute.

You finally look up.

“Hi” your former resident greets with a smile and you finally snap out of it.

This is Boston. Kate doesn’t work here.

“What are you… is Darcy here?” you look around, knowing your friend is capable of kidnapping you if that’s what it takes.

“No, I’m here because Yelena invited me to see the kidney transplant” she rushes to explain. “Also, hi Doctor Y/L/N. It’s good to see you”

“Call me Y/L, I’m not your superior anymore. And yeah, right back at you” you smile at her. You’re about to say goodbye as you have some patients to check still but she speaks again.

“We all miss you. Barnes and Doctor Lewis fight all the time”

“That sounds about right. I miss everyone too” you admit with a sad smile. “Anyway, gotta check on post ops. See you there”

It’s a little freaky, to see Kate in the midde of a hospital that is not Stark. Like you’re having deja vu or something. It almost feels like you’ll run into Darcy next, or get a surprise visit from Wanda to drop off some cookies.

Stop it.

You need to focus. All eyes are on the hospital for the next few days as they’ll perform the second xenotransplant. It’s amazing, really. A genetically-edited pig kidney into a living recipient.

And although you’re not in the surgical team, you are allowed in the OR to observe and help.

“You’ll never believe who I ran into” you say when you spot Natasha. “Kate. She said Yelena invited her”

“Huh. Do you think that she’s also her date to the gala?” Natasha frowns. In that precise moment, Yelena walks by, making you both turn to look at her. Without saying anything, you run after her, Natasha close behind.

You manage to catch up, blocking her path and making sure Natasha doesn’t let her escape either.

“I don’t have time to play games”

“Is it because you’re little girlfriend is already here?” you mock.

“What?”

“Kate Bishop” Natasha clarifies.

“That is not… you don’t even know what… сука! Both of you” Yelena blushes. Natasha and you laugh at her expression, and she uses the distraction to walk around you. She makes sure you get to see her flipping you off before disappearing around the corner.

“Are you ready?” Natasha asks, turning her attention towards you.

“Yeah. I’m just observing, never been to one”

“I meant the gala”

“Oh, that. I’ve never been to one of those either”

“Just eat, drink, laugh” Natasha eases your nerves. “Mother is the only one giving a speech. She wants to let everyone know we’re doing another transplant”

“Wait, but why would she schedule the surgery after the gala? Is it because post op is a lot of work?”

“You know the rejection risk is higher with genetically altered organs” Natasha explains. “If the gala happens before the surgery, she can just mention we are doing it. Now, if it goes wrong, it won’t be part of the speech”

“Oh, ok”

“It’s all politics” she says, understanding you’re career has never been about that.

“Well, I’ll see you in the penthouse? Don’t know if the lovebirds are riding with us”

“Seven thirty” Natasha nods, leaving to check on some patients.

The sound of your phone makes you turn back, but it’s not Wanda.

“Hey, Darcy. Guess who’s in Boston?”

“Hey, pal. Oh, do tell” the brunette asks, curious if Ekaterina convinced Wanda to let you know about her travel plans.

“Kate. Yelena invited her to this gala the Romanoffs are planning. It was so crazy running into her in the front desk. For a moment I thought I went back in time”

“Oh. Yeah, Kate” Darcy sounds disappointed, which is weird. “She took some days off but I had no idea that was her plan” she lies.

“Well, I’m sure she didn’t want anyone to think I was convincing her to leave Stark Hospital”

“So, a gala!” Darcy changes the subject. “Sounds fun. Are you going?”

“Yeah. There’s an open bar”

“And are you bringing a date?”

“Well, I am the date. I’m Natasha’s plus one” you explain, and there’s an awkward pause on the other side of the line. “Uh, Darcy?”

Damn it, damn it.

Darcy already knew about the gala. It was so easy to make Kate crack under the slightest pressure.

But her plan was to make Wanda reach out today and you’d ask her to be your date. You being Natasha’s date is not gonna work out.

“Yeah, I just… so what are you doing the day after the gala?”

“Kidney transplant. I mean, not doing it. But just watching and assisting for a bit”

For fuck’s sake, would you even have a spare moment to meet Wanda?

This might be the only chance she’d get, considering it wouldn’t be certain she’d be getting the job.

“Ok, well. Have fun doing everything. Sounds like you’re booked and busy”

“Yeah. I’ll tell you how it goes. Bye, Darcy”

As soon as you hang up, Darcy calls Wanda’s mother.

“We need to delay the operation contact zero for one day”

“I’ll call my insider” the woman answers criptically.

“You scare me, Ekaterina” Darcy says, questioning if the woman is some sort of retired spy. When she hears the older woman laugh and hang up, she’s 99% convinced that’s the case.

—

“What do you mean, if I can keep her occupied for the entire day? Laura, I’m pregnant!”

“Lily, I know…”

“So pregnant, that if I so much as sneeze, I’m positive this baby will just pop out!”

“That’s not how it works, thankfully. Trust me, I know”

“Laura…” the woman pinches the bridge of her nose.

Should have taken maternity leave sooner.

“Look, I get it. It’s complicated, but I promise you, if you listen to me, Wanda will sign the deal and go back and forth between Boston and Westview”

Thing is, Lily really needs this. If her boss finally finds an illustrator that can live up to her expectations, then she can take her leave and not be bothered by work in the upcoming 12 weeks.

“Ok, fine. I’ll figure something out”

“Thank you, I owe you big time”

“Uh-hu. Yeah, you do, Mrs. Barton”

“Oh, and try to keep her away from her phone”

“Anything else? Oh, gotta go”

Wanda Maximoff comes out of the arrival’s section in the airport, looking around. Lily waves her hand, and the redhead walks towards her with a smile.

“Hello, you must be Lily…” she goes to shake her hand, but the other woman pulls her in for a hug.

“Sorry about the baby bump, he wants to say hi as well”

“No, no worries at all. How far along?”

“Well, 39 weeks which means I’m ready to pop any day now! That also means we get a driver to take us anywhere you want. So get in the car and prepare for a very busy day, Wanda”

“Oh, my phone is in my bag…” Wanda says as Lily throws it in the trunk.

“No worries, Laura has my number. If anyone needs to reach you she can text or call” the woman insists, hoping Wanda doesn’t push it.

Of course, she doesn’t as she wants to make a good impression on her potential employers.

“Let’s start with the Paul Revere house, shall we?”

—

You look at yourself in the mirror for the tenth time. When was the last time you dressed fancy?

Even if it’s tailored to perfection, you’re still making sure the red suit is looking fine, adjusting the white shirt underneath the jacket.

Though you don’t know what Natasha’s wearing, she promised you’d match.

And she’s right, because when she knocks on your door and you open it, she’s wearing a black and red sequenced dress. It’s a mermaid cut that favors her figure.

“Shall we get going?” she says when you keep staring.

“Yes, of course. Don’t laugh at me” you add when you spot a faint smile on her face.

“I already told you, it’s fun to see you flustered”

“Mhm. Are the lovebirds joining us?”

“I think they’ll be arriving separately. It’s not like prom where we all ride a limo”

“Well, I didn’t go to prom, and if I had, it certainly wouldn’t have been on a limo” you say, making Natasha laugh.

She drives you to the gala, as you have no idea where it’s all happening. A man approaches to open your door and help you out.

“Fancy” you comment when a valet takes Natasha’s car. “And I’m surprised you let anyone else drive that thing”

“They already know how much it costs” she comments.

If you think a man opening the car door is fancy, then what the hell is the thing waiting inside? There’s a chandelier, a string quartet, servers dressed to the nines and the best part, an open bar with all the things you could dream of drinking.

“Hey, where are you dragging me?”

“We have to say hello first” Natasha says through her teeth. “You’ll get drunk later, trust me”

The woman drags you to a table where Melina is chatting with two men, and they introduce themselves. The names don’t ring any bells, but apparently they are congressmen.

“A pleasure” you say, hoping the small talk can end soon.

“Is this your first gala? I don’t recall seeing you before”

“Yes, I’m working as Head of Trauma at Romanoff Medical Center until they can find someone to stay for good” you explain.

“Why not stay here? Is there somewhere else you might want to go?”

“I’m not sure. Coming to Boston was never in my plans but here I am. I guess I’m just living one day at a time” you say with a fake smile. Natasha picks up on your discomfort, ending the conversation and excusing the both of you.

She goes around the room to introduce you to other people, but when Yelena finally arrives you walk up to meet her.

“Took your sweet time” Natasha scolds her.

“We got caught up… in something” Yelena explains as Kate joins her. You notice she’s wearing an all black suit, which is a stark contrast to Yelena’s golden, low cut dress.

“Oh, looks like you have a hickey there” you point at a spot in Yelena’s neck, her hand flying to cover it.

“I told you not to…” she glares at Kate, and you laugh.

“She didn’t. But now we know you both were getting nasty”

Natasha laughs as well. Yelena is about to curse at you, when her mother interrupts her.

“Behave” she warns. “Hello, I am Yelena’s mother”

“Kate Bishop” the girl introduces herself, and Melina arches an eyebrow.

“Bishop, as in Bishop Security?”

“Yes, that would be correct” Kate says, visibly awkward.

“Well, I’d love to catch up with your mother. Had I known you’d be here, I would have invited her as well. Next time” Melina nods, leaving as someone calls for her a moment later.

“So, am I the only one who isn’t some sort of nepo baby?” you throw the question in the air, making the Romanoffs roll their eyes.

“I’ll find our seats”

Yelena leaves too, but Kate stays behind, sitting next to you at the bar.

“So…”

“Whisky neat” you ask the bartender as he walks by.

“When are you returning to Westview?” Kate says.

“Make it a doble” you add, sighing. The brunette doesn’t take the hint, though.

“You are returning to Westview, right? Doctor Lewis mentioned your contract is only for three months…”

“Yeah, but I quit. And I doubt Fury will want to hire me again. I was a jerk that left without any notice, all because I couldn’t handle my break up” you mutter against the glass, sipping.

But Kate’s always been curious, questioning everything. It’s what makes her a great student, but right now? She’s a pain in your ass.

“So, what are you doing when the contract…?”

“Jesus, Kate. I don’t know. I try not to plan ahead ever since I bought a ring and fucked up my entire relationship. I had expectations about the future and now I can barely leave my bed. So, when my contract’s done I’ll decide what to do next”

“Right, I’m sorry”

“Kate, come sit” Yelena calls for her, her tone gentle. You look up, meeting hazel eyes that are glaring at you. But you decide to ignore Yelena and keep drinking.

The bartender sneaks out to smoke every ten minutes. Though this last break has been longer and you are in desperate need for more alcohol.

Another woman walks up to the bar, looking around.

“Ugh, I’ll do it myself. What can I get you?” you give up, walking behind the bar. You nod as you listen to the woman ask for a gin tonic. Between sips of your own drink, you pour gin over the ice, add tonic water and lime juice.

“Delicious!” the woman says. “Are you a bartender as well?”

“No, I’m a surgeon, which is why that lemon wedge is so perfectly cut” you joke, raising your glass to clink it against hers. “I’m Y/N”

“Valkyrie” the woman introduces herself. “Which hospital?”

“Stark Hospital” you answer out of habit. Then you shake your head, and clear your throat. “Sorry, meant to say I was at Stark, now I’m at RMC”

“So you must know Maria”

“Rambeau? Yeah, she’s great. I’m actually going to be her fiancee’s bridesmaid” you say, smiling.

“Glad to hear they were able to fix things. I was sad to see her go from the program, though, it was great to have such an experienced Peeds surgeon” she sighs.

“Wait. You’re on Doctor’s Without Borders?”

“Yes, I coordinate international programs. Why? You interested?” the woman smiles.

“Well… my contract is temporary. And I’ve always wanted to do that, but never really had the time or means”

After med school, it took a while for you to settle and pay off your student debt, so even participating in something like that felt like a bit of a luxurious career detour that you couldn’t afford.

But now, with all the money you’re earning -and saving on rent- it could very well be the next step in your career.

“You don’t have to answer right away. Here’s my card” Val says. “Remind me your specialty”

“Trauma”

“Never mind, you’re coming on the next flight with me” she jokes and you laugh.

Someone else calls for her and Val raises her glass, grateful for the drink. As you wave goodbye, you notice yours is painfully empty.

“Can I get some tequila, please?” you ask the bartender, who is finally back. However, Natasha comes out of nowhere, speaking over you.

“She’ll have water or coffee”

“Hey! Are you this controlling with all your dates?”

“Only when I find out my mother wants to put you on the spot in the middle of her speech” she whispers, which makes your eyes widen. “You’re too drunk to be coherent, so better sober up, now”

“What does she even want me to say?” you whisper yell as Natasha takes you to the table.

“That we’re a Level 1 Trauma Center and will continue to be one with your work”

“I’m not staying…”

“She’s hoping that putting you on the spot will awaken some sense of duty. Don’t expect it to make sense” Natasha mutters, sitting next to you.

Kate is to your left, chatting with Yelena, tensing when you sit down next to her.

Melina walks up to the small stage, and people clap as she prepares for her speech.

“Hey, about before…” you lean towards Kate, trying to apologize. Yelena shushes you and you glare. “I’m still your boss, Belova”

“Not tonight” she says, pulling Kate by the hand so she turns to the stage, her back to you.

“Evening’s going great” you grumble next to Natasha.

“I see why you only leave the penthouse to go clubbing”

But you can’t say anyhting as Melina begins her speech, thanking every big donor of the Romanoff foundation, NGOs working to bring awareness about certain diseases and the hospital staff, of course.

“It’s an exciting time for us. We are gearing up to do the second xenotransplant of a genetically altered kidney” Melina pauses when people clap again. “We’re also advancing and innovating in the ER, and as some of you may already know, we have a new…”

“I’m gonna throw up” you complain, hating whenever there’s attention drawn to you.

“Just clap and smile along”

“I’m seriously gonna throw up” you say, regretting the amount of alcohol you drank.

And just as Melina is about to say your name and point towards you, a man walks in the room, shouting.

“Is there a doctor here? We have an emergency!”

—

Wanda’s had quite the day. She’s now barely making it to the hotel, Lily waddling next to her.

“Oh, looks like there’s a fancy gala happening” she points out as they walk across the lobby.

Wanda doesn’t pay attention to that, finally able to check her messages.

The last one was of you saying you’d be out for the evening but that Wanda could call anytime if she needed something.

Honestly, she can’t wait to go up to her room and call you.

Unless…

Did you mean you were out on a date?

Wanda’s still trying to figure out the meaning behind the message when Lily, who was speaking to the receptionist to confirm Wanda’s reservation, laughs nervously.

“Well, looks like my water just broke”

“What did you just say?” Wanda snaps out of it, looking at Lily’s feet. “Well, ok, calm down. It’s gonna be fine. Can we get some help here?”

“What’s wrong?” the concierge asks, but catches on a second later when Lily sits on the floor, breathing heavily. “Oh, crap. Let’s just…”

For some weird reason, he runs to the other room where the fancy event is happening, shouting that they need a doctor.

Half the room turns to look at him and at least an entire table stands up.

“What kind of emergency?”

“A woman’s in labor”

“Ok, show me. Excuse me, ER doctor coming through”

Wanda’s so focused on helping Lily breath, that she doesn’t fully notice what’s happening or rather, who kneels beside her until she hears your voice.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Y/L/N. What’s your name?”

You’re completely immersed in your work, removing your jacket and pulling up the sleeves of your shirt to move around freely.

“Lily. I’m 39 weeks pregnant, should I push?”

“No, no! Absolutely not!” you rush to say, “Let’s call an ambulance, please?”

As you look around the room, seeing who will do as you ask, you finally notice someone who is kneeling next to you. Must be a friend of the woman.

You turn to ask if there’s anyone you should call when you meet those beautiful, green eyes. Ones you’d recognise anywhere.

“Wanda?”

“Hey”

Hey? Seriously?

A whole month thinking about you every second of every god damn day and the best Wanda can do is say hey

Are you fucking kidding me, Maximoff.

“Do you need help?”

“I’m here, I’m her resident”

Even if Yelena and Kate are… whatever they are, they’re still going to compete over getting some cases.

“Check her pulse and time contractions, if there are any” you tell them both, standing up and dragging Wanda with you. “I’m very confused right now. Are the kids ok? Why are you here?”

“It’s kind of a long story… and I, that’s why I texted earlier, but then the day got crazy and you told me you were on a date”

“Not a date” Natasha clarifies, appearing behind you. “Ambulance is here, the hospital’s been alerted. You should ride with them, get out of the speech while you can”

“Thanks” you nod, seeing the EMTs pull over. You turn to Wanda. “Are you coming with her?”

“No, Wanda, stay and get some rest, I made you walk around the city all day” Lily pleads.

“Are you crazy? No one should be doing this alone. I’m coming with you until your boyfriend gets to the hospital” Wanda decides, jumping on the back of the ambulance with Lily and you.

Yelena and Kate scramble to their feet, trying to get on the vehicle as well.

“Ok, it’s a little crowded in here, plus this is your family’s gala and Bishop, you are Yelena’s date. No one else goes”

“Fine” they mutter, disappointed.

The ride to the hospital is silent except for the machines monitoring Lily’s blood pressure. You’re keeping an eye on that, while checking on her heartbeat, using a stethoscope that you found in the ambulance.

“I forgot how good you are at that” Wanda says when your eyes meet again.

“At what? Checking a heartbeat?”

“Handling toddlers”

She’s talking about Yelena and Kate, which makes you laugh.

“Well, Billy and Tommy behave a hell of a lot better than those two back there”

“Not lately” Wanda sighs.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mess everything up so badly, Wanda” you regret, leaning back.

“Am I missing something? You two know each other?” Lily says, pointing at Wanda and then at you. “Is that why Laura asked me to keep you busy this entire day?”

“She what?”

“We dated” you offer as an explanation, smiling at the woman in the stretcher.

“How long ago? Because you are still giving each other some major heart eyes”

It’s clear that the mild sedative is making the woman spill her every thought.

“Until a month ago”

“Well, whichever one of you screwed up, better get their act together because you’re clearly not over each other” Lily says.

“It was my fault” Wanda says at the same time as you. You both look at each other and you give her a small smile.

“I beg to differ, Miss Maximoff. It was me who got it all wrong”

“Not just you. I messed up real bad” Wanda says, leaning forward.

You’re about to say something else when the ambulance stops, and the doors open. You excuse yourself, giving the nurses and doctors a summary of the patient, walking next to Lily’s stretcher.

“I’ll come find you once she’s settled in a room” you promise Wanda.

She nods, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. What are the odds?

Which also brings her back to what Lily said. Why did Laura want her busy for the entire day?

There’s only one way to find out.

“Hey, how did it go today?” her friend picks up the phone, though it sounds like there’s an echo.

“Am I on speaker?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m cooking dinner” Laura lies.

“Are there children around?”

“No, why…”

“Ok, then what the fuck is going on, Laura?”

Somebody else whistles, and Wanda hears Pietro’s voice.

“Looks like you ladies got caught”

“Why are you there? Who else is around? Somebody better tell me what the hell is going on right now…”

“Give that to me” Darcy says, pushing Laura out of the way. “Hi, nice speaking to you, Maximoff. It’s just me, Laura, your mother and Pietro. Listen, we’ve been busting our asses for you to meet at the right time and find a way to make up with Y/N so I get my best friend back. So don’t fuck it up now, ok?”

“You’re not helping!” Laura protests. “Wanda, what do you mean? What happened today?”

“The minute I landed, Lily drove me around the entire city without a break. Did you manipulate a very pregnant woman to keep me busy and away from Y/N for the day?”

“Well, yeah. She was going with Natasha to the gala and I didn’t want you pulling one of your stunts again, not after getting so far along the plan” Darcy bites back.

“Great, so I crashed her date with Natasha with a woman giving birth. What a loser” Wanda massages her temples.

“Did you just say Lily was givig birth?” Laura says. “Oh, my God! Do you think it was my fault?”

“That’s a possibility, I’m not gonna lie to you” Darcy admits, taking the phone back. “Listen. Work it out with Y/N. Talk, fight, have angry sex, whatever it takes. I need my friend back, and you better grovel on the floor to beg for her forgiveness”

“I want to speak to my mother. Privately” Wanda ignores Darcy, knowing who’s really behind all of this.

“Hello, malyshka” Ekaterina greets, removing the speaker and walking away from Wanda’s kitchen, into the living room. Darcy and Laura put their ears against the door, trying to listen.

Pietro just laughs, shaking his head.

“Mama, you had no right…”

“Wanda? Lily’s in a room now” you call for her.

“This conversation isn’t over” she warns her mother, hanging up. “You wouldn’t believe what I just learned…”

Wanda’s looking down at her phone as she walks towards you, that adorable frown that she makes whenever something upsets her.

She keeps talking, but you’re looking at her lips, remembering how much you love kissing her.

Wanda notices, and she stops talking, but leans forward.

Her lips are so close, and then you hear the worst sound in the world.

“Doctor Y/L/N, your patient is… oooh”

To your missfortune, Ed interrupts you in that precise moment.

Of all people, it had to be the circus clown.

“Get lost, will ya?”

Wanda slaps your arm, but she has no idea how annoying the kid can be.

“She was asking for a Wanda, which I believe might be you…” he points to her.

“Come on” you guide her to Lily’s room. As you walk next to Wanda, you place your hands in your pockets, trying to hold back on reaching out to touch her.

You have no idea why she’s here, but at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter, does it? It was all said and done between you two. If you kiss her, you’ll go back to square one.

“Hey!” Lily greets as soon as you open the door for Wanda. There’s another woman standing next to the bed. She has short, grey hair and a kind smile.

“Wanda! Thank you so much for being there for Lily. I told her she should have been on maternity leave sooner”

“I wanted to find you the perfect artist” Lily sighs, adjusting herself on the bed.

“Doctor, thank you so much for helping Lily” the woman says. You have no idea what’s going on, or why she’s so happy to talk to Wanda.

What you do know is that it’s none of your business.

“Just doing my job. OBGYN will take it from here, as it looks like you’ll have to wait a bit before you’re ready to give birth”

“Your boyfriend’s on the way, right?” the woman asks Lily, and she nods. “We’ll keep you company for a bit, and once he’s here, we could go get something to eat. What do you think, Wanda?”

“Oh, I was…”

But when Wanda looks back, you’re already closing the door.

“Everything ok?” Wendy insists.

“Yeah, everything’s fine”

—

Wanda got the job.

It was hers.

Wendy Lawson was way cooler in person, and didn’t have a problem when Wanda was only half present during their conversation over dinner.

She thought the younger woman was just tired.

And now, back in her room, Wanda finally gets to rest and shower. You’re all she can think about.

It’s one thing to see you in an Instagram post, and another one to be right in front of you.

You seem healthy and happy. Even fitter, your hair longer and a bit of a stronger built. You must spend a lot of time at the gym.

But it’s you, the same smile, those kind eyes and the quiet confidence while you treat patients.

Honestly, Wanda’s very disappointed with herself. She was hoping to have a big speech ready, explain why she was in Boston. Grovel and beg for forgiveness, just like Darcy said.

All she got was an ambulance ride and a quick conversation in a hospital hallway.

As she wears one of your hoodies, and changes into a pair of yoga pants, her phone rings.

“I believe we have a pending conversation” her mother says. She’s not afraid of confrontation, never has been.

“Mama, this is my life. You have no right to…”

“Did I tell you I almost didn’t marry your father?” Ekaterina interrupts her daughter. Wanda stays silent, and the woman takes that as a sign to continue. “Your uncle Arvydas told me about a chance to move to England, work as a nanny for an embassador. I’d rather stay in Sokovia and be with your father, but everyone was telling me what to do or what was better for me. And you know what your father said?”

“No”

“He said I want to marry you. I’ll be at the church on the day we planned and I’ll be waiting. The life with you is the one I want. Now you make a choice, but be sure it’s the one you want for yourself, not what others are telling you to do. And whatever that choice is, I will respect it”

“Yeah, that sounds like something Papa would say”

“My darling, you need to follow your heart. At least get some closure if this is really over. But if she’s really the one you want… fight for her”

“I don’t even know where to begin” Wanda sighs.

“Just find her, the rest will come along”

“Give the boys a kiss for me?”

“One for each” her mother promises, hanging up.

It’s not too late, as Wanda saw some people still at the salon.

She walks out of her room, straight to where the gala is happening.

“Excuse me, could I see your invitation?” a man stops her.

“Oh, I… I don’t have any. I just need to talk to someone inside. It will only take a minute”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you…”

“It’s alright” Natasha says, appearing behind Wanda. “She can come inside, I know her”

The man at the door nods, allowing Wanda to pass.

“She’s over there” Natasha points at you, leaning against the bar and drinking from a glass full of whisky. “Will regret those last few drinks tomorrow morning”

“Thank you” Wanda says, nodding towards Natasha. She’s still not sure how she feels about you and the Russian working together.

But it’s none of her business what you do with other people.

“Hey, Y/N”

You do a doble take, wondering if you’re way too drunk and imagining Wanda’s in front of you.

“Hey, hi. How’s Lily?”

“Good. Her boyfriend was there, they were calling family. Preparing for everything”

“Sounds nice”

“Could we talk?” Wanda asks, before she loses her nerve. “Unless you’re busy”

“No, that’s fine” you down the last of your drink and stand up from the stool. “Let’s go”

Wanda decides it would be nice to get a capuccino from a coffee place nearby. You walk with her, noticing she is definitely not wearing the appropriate coat for this weather.

“Here” you offer yours.

“No, I don’t want you getting sick”

“It’s to protect my hoodie, obviously” you joke and she finally accepts it.

“Remember Wendy Lawson?” Wanda asks.

“The author? Yes, the one who went to give a talk to your school and make you consider writing for the first time”

Of course you remember.

“Well, it’s the woman that was standing right there in the middle of Lily’s room. And she offered me a job to illustrate her new book”

“Hey, that’s huge, congratulations” you say as you open the door to the coffee shop, noticing how warmer and nicer it is inside. You order a hot cocoa, while Wanda gets her own coffee.

“I’ll just have to travel back and forth for a bit”

“But the kids…”

“My mother is in town” Wanda clarifies. There’s so much to tell you, but you’re here, walking next to her, offering your coat and smiling at Wanda. Everything’s a mess in her head.

“So that’s why you are not in town” you joke. “I do hope things are better between you two”

“Well, it’s been a whole thing. But listen, that job is not the only reason I came to Boston” Wanda admits once you’re walking back to the hotel. “I wanted to speak to you”

“Oh, right” you say, scared that she’s here to hand over your stuff and make sure you never have to see each other again.

“Y/N, this last month has been… so bad for me. I can’t stop thinking about you, about those horrible things I said. About how I punished you beyond reason for something that wasn’t your fault. I was angry and instead of processing it, I let it out in childish ways to hurt you. Because I thought it was a way to get even”

“Wanda, you weren’t the only one that screwed up. I didn’t set boundaries with Nat. And then made you feel insane when you pointed it out” you sigh, looking at your feet. “I don’t know. Maybe we should have given this a bit of a break after that, instead of rushing back to the same routine, pretending nothing hapened”

“Well, now we had a break. An entire month to think about it, and I thought about it, even when I tried not to. Y/N, I love you. And I want… I want our future together”

You sigh, thinking about it.

Isn’t this exactly what you wanted? Getting Wanda back.

But you made the same mistake last time. You simply said you were sorry and jumped back in.

“Do you ever think we rushed things?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we kinda started dating, and I spent every moment in your house because I lived across the street. And then coparenting. I love the kids but I hate myself for hurting them when we broke up”

“So…” Wanda stops outside the hotel, looking at you. She can’t read you right now; all the things you said so far make sense, but they could be arguments to either work on your relationship or call it quits.

“So… let’s date. For a bit” you decide. “Because if we go back to how everything was, and the twins get their hopes up…”

If I get my hopes up.

“That makes sense” Wanda nods.

“But there’s one thing you should know. I work with Natasha and live in the same building as her. I’m not saying we’re best friends or spend every moment together, but we’re in the same room a lot of times”

“I get it. And I appreciate the heads up”

“Alright then. Let's take it slow, then” you nod, walking towards her. “You should head back inside and get some rest”

“What about you?”

“I’ll take a cab home”

“My room’s big enough…”

You interrupt Wanda with a small laugh, walking so close that your lips are inches apart.

“I said slow, Miss Maximoff”

“Since when are you immune to my puppy eyes?” Wanda huffs, crossing her arms.

“I’m not” you shake your head. "Which is why you should really go inside. Now”

Wanda’s eyes travel to your lips and you lean forward, until… you kiss the corner of her mouth.

“Trust me, it will be worth the wait” you smile against her temple.

“Goodnight, Y/N”

“Night, Wands”

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 8

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7

“I can’t believe you let me fall asleep!” Chrissy complains, crowding into Steve’s space to desperately try to fix her hair in the mirror.

Steve snorts, unbelievably fond at the way her bangs are going every direction but down. “What am I, your mother?” he asks, fixing his own hair by standing on his tippy toes and looking over her head.

“No, but she will be killing me for this!” Chrissy cries, finally giving up on finger-combing her bangs to dunk the strands into the sink and get them wet. “Thanks for reminding me!”

“You’re bitchy in the morning,” he mutters, grimacing when she pulls her head out of the sink abruptly enough that water droplets fling from her head and onto his shirt. “Now, hurry up, we’re already late.”

She flips him off, ignoring him entirely to continue fixing her hair.

They’re both late; Chrissy doesn’t let him forget it for the rest of the day, as if it’s his fault.

“I remember when I thought you were nice,” Steve mutters, laughing helplessly when she elbows him in the side.

“You love it,” she says, smiling as they sit across from each other in their usual spot in the library, feet settling together beneath the table.

The thing is, he does. He’s always liked Chrissy, even back when she was all sunshine and rainbows, but even more so now that there’s some grit to her.

“Shut up.”

Chrissy beams, all sunshine again as she plunks her stack of books onto the table and shuffles her letter-drafting notebook to the top. Only once she’s opened to a blank page does she bite her lip, looking up at Steve through her lashes.

“Are you sure you want to keep doing this?” she asks, voice hesitant.

“What do you mean?”

She breaks eye contact, fiddling with her pen anxiously. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Steve doesn’t tell her that he already is, that a part of him, the small, squirming part he keeps hidden in his heart, wishes he’d never done this. That watching Eddie kiss Chrissy’s hand and knowing without being told that she’s the kind of girl Eddie might want had broken something inside him. That Steve knows he could never be Eddie’s choice, and knowing that burns.

But, since the flirting started, Steve hasn’t written a word, and that’s worse, somehow. He only has the one tether to Eddie, and he wants to keep it, even if it’s through Chrissy’s handwriting, and Chrissy’s words, and Chrissy’s face.

He just wants.

Instead of saying all that, he reaches out, putting his hand gently on Chrissy’s hand and replies, “I’m sure,” even as the fluttering of his heart makes a liar of him.

Chrissy’s still biting her lip, not looking reassured at all. Steve’s gut churns with worry. ”Are you, though? You didn’t sign up for this, and if you don’t want to do it anymore, that’s okay.”

She smiles, her bottom lip blanched white from her teeth, as she replies, “We’re in this together, right?”

Even with the smile, she still looks worried, but Chissy puts her pen to paper and dutifully writes out the words Steve speaks, editing and revising each thought until it’s something someone might want to hear.

They keep their voices quiet because there are more people sitting in the library than usual today: a big group working on a project, a couple of freshman scowling down at what looks like a Geometry textbook, and closest of all, a girl he recognizes as a band nerd, flipping through a magazine too fast to really be reading it.

It doesn’t take them long—they’ve done this enough times that it’s become almost an art form. Chrissy pushes the completed letter across the table for his final review before it’s signed and sealed.

“It’s good,” Steve says, pushing the letter back across to her to be dropped off in Eddie’s locker.

His heart aches; Steve wants to slap himself.

Instead, he parts ways with Chrissy at their cars, Jeff already waiting beside hers to be driven home, and goes back to his house, bereft of the noise Chrissy had brought only that morning.

*** 

Eddie had worried when there wasn’t another letter after he’d started talking to Chrissy. Did she not like him anymore? Was she done writing them entirely now that she can talk to him face to face?

He worries incessantly for days about it, even as Chrissy keeps saying hi to him in the halls, keeps smiling back when they catch eyes across the cafeteria, keeps being her usual, friendly self.

It’s just, the letters are different. They’re more raw, somehow, more real. And, no matter how this thing goes with Chrissy, if they stop coming, he’ll miss them.

So, it’s a relief when he opens his locker the Monday after Chrissy’s eventful Hellfire induction to find a letter. He can’t wait to read it, the anticipation has built up over too many days of not receiving any. So, he rushes to the same, familiar bathroom and opens it in the stall he’s starting to think of as his.

       Eddie —

       How did your show go? I bet you’ve got a couple groupies already, you’ve already got the look for it. Did you figure out the riff for the song you were working on?

       I tried playing the piano again, and I’m a little rusty, but it’s like riding a bike, you know? (Do you know how to ride a bike?) It’s nice, playing music, even if it’s all songs someone else has written, and they’re still not coming out right.

       I’m sorry it’s been so long since my last letter. I just didn’t know what to say. You’re so patient, and nice, and I got caught up in my head you know? But I missed you.

       I slept with your letter beneath my pillow last night, hoping for dreams of you.

       Yours, Always

       Your Secret Admirer

       P.S. I haven’t read it, but maybe I will. Just to keep with the theme, put this letter in The Lord of the Rings.

He devours the words, slumping onto the toilet seat the longer he reads. It’s perfect—just what he was missing. He reads it once, twice, thrice, the same way he had when he’d received the first two, disbelieving that such lovely words were meant for him.

Eddie skips his second period, first already long gone by the time he’d trundled into the school’s parking lot, and pens a response, then and there.

He goes to the library immediately, nervous that if he doesn’t drop it off right away, she’ll assume Eddie isn’t going to write back at all. 

He waffles over which book to put it in before finally tucking it into The Fellowship of the ring–it’s the first in the trilogy, and Chrissy’s probably too cool to even know it’s a trilogy. 

There’s no response in his locker before Hellfire on Thursday, but that’s okay because true to her word, Chrissy shows up again. She’s smiling as she bounces through the doorway, all springy curls and happy cheer.

“Hi!” Chrissy says, waving as she beams her blinding smile around the room,  all that cheerleader enthusiasm on display.

Doug looks struck dumb, staring at her with his mouth open. Gareth’s gaze is darting back and forth from the door to Eddie, eyes growing wider and wider with each pass. Only Jeff smiles and waves back.

“I hope we’re not intruding,” Chrissy says, elbowing Harrington in the side until he finally looks up and gives his own half-hearted wave.

Because Harrington is slumped in the doorway behind her, looking like he’s trying to hide the entire bulk of his body behind Chrissy’s petite frame.

“Uh, hey,” he says, ears strangely pink as his eyes dart around the room.

He never looks Eddie’s way at all.

“Hey, man,” Jeff replies, the only person aside from Chrissy that is currently functioning.

“Steve, can come, right?” Chrissy asks, like he’s not already in the doorway behind her.

Eddie’s gut sinks then swoops. Harrington’s a jock—what will he do locked in a room with a bunch of nerds? But, the chipped nail polish.

Eddie’s mind is full of screaming, thoughts flip flopping over each other as he tries to articulate all the things wrong with Harrington coming to Hellfire, but all that comes out of his mouth is a chipper, “sure!”

Chrissy’s smile grows teeth—is she going to bite him?

Eddie resists the urge to take a step back.

Jeff pulls out the vacant seat beside him, still looking cool as a cucumber while the rest of them scramble. “Come sit down.”

And that’s how he finds himself with a jock in Hellfire. Should they call an exterminator?

It’s Chrissy who takes the seat beside Jeff which leaves the only other empty chair next to Eddie’s throne. Eddie glares at Gareth, gesturing wildly for his friend to move up a seat, but Gareth’s too busy staring at Harrington like he’s a cobra about to strike.

Harrington is looking at the only empty seat with the exact same expression.

“Steve,” Chrissy hisses, and Harrington jumps. “Go sit down.

The pink on his ears travels down to his cheeks—it’s unfair, really, how pretty and even his blush is. When Eddie blushes, he blotches bright red from forehead to chest.

Steve’s embarrassment suits him.

Eddie waits until he’s seated before clapping loud enough that everyone startles as they turn to him. “Now!” he starts in the grand voice he uses when he’s performing his Dungeon Master duties. “Are you two playing?”

“No,” Harrington rushes out, the pink of his blush deepening to a red as he finally meets Eddie’s eyes. “I mean, Chrissy said she just watched last time?”

“We didn’t want to slow you down,” Chrissy cuts in.

Eddie nods, looking between the couple as awkwardness stews in the stilted silence.

“Alright,” he replies. “Gird your loins, lords and lady.”

Knowing a cue when they hear one, the Hellfire boys scramble to pull out character sheets and dice.

And they’re off!

It takes a minute to fall into the familiar minutiae of telling a story with not one but two interlopers, but Eddie manages it. This is where he thrives: a captive audience and all the power to fuck with them in the palm of his hand.

He only stumbles once, words jumbling together when he looks up and catches Harrington staring at him, eyes wide, cheeks still flushed from his earlier embarrassment as he bites his lip, ass literally on the edge of his seat as Eddie cobbles together the climactic finish to their latest encounter.

Harrington looks away quickly, but Eddie knows what he saw: Harrington is into this nerd shit. He’d tease him if he wasn’t worried that it would end in a swirlie.

Still, Eddie can feel his head puffing up like an overfilled balloon. He’s on the top of his game, painting grand adventures with grander words, all gestures and enthusiasm. He feels electric, the way he always does when there’s a new sheep in his flock to impress. His skin’s almost buzzing with it.

After all, even if his audience member is a jock, Eddie’s always been great at putting on a show. 

Neither of the interlopers say anything until they’re busy packing up. Eddie lounges back in his throne, watching Chrissy help Jeff with his dice. She’s smiling up at him, clearly just as interested in their nerd shit as Harrington.

Eddie turns his eyes back to Harrington to see how he’s taking his girl talking to a guy that isn’t him only to find Harrington staring at him again.  When Eddie meets his eyes, he ducks his head, cheeks tinting that familiar pink.

Is Steve Harrington fucking awkward?

“You’re good at that,” Harrington says quietly.

Eddie hums, confused. He’s shuffling his papers back together, not looking down at what he’s doing. What’s happening in front of him is far more interesting.

“At what, big boy?”

“Uh,” Harrington starts, darting his eyes back up to Eddie’s for a second before looking back down at his fiddling hands. “Telling a story.”

Eddie smiles, something warm and amorphous filling his stomach. “Thanks,” he says, lightly kicking Harrington’s ankle.

Harrington twitches, lets out a quick, “mmhmm,” and then turns away from Eddie to go find his girlfriend, dismissing Eddie without another word.

“Ready to go, babe?” Steve asks, settling his arm around her waist and damn-near frog marching her out of the room.

“Bye, Jeff! Bye, Eddie!” Chrissy calls, still cheerful even as her boyfriend controls her every move. Maybe she’s used to it—first Carver and now Harrington. “See you next week?”

Neither of them wait for a reply.

The silence is stifling in their wake. Only Jeff seems unbothered as he stuffs all of his supplies into his backpack. Doug hasn’t even touched his dice.

“What the hell was that?” Gareth asks, whipping around to Eddie.

“How the hell should I know?”

Jeff snorts. “You invited them,” he says.

“I invited Chrissy,” Eddie whines. “She invited Harrington.”

That catches Jeff’s attention. He glares at Eddie like he’s the one that had invaded their sacred space. “You’re not this stupid,” he says, swinging his backpack onto his back and striding toward the door. “I’ve got a ride home, don’t wait for me.”

“What does that mean?” Eddie demands.

The only answer is the door swinging shut.

*** 

Once he’s walked Chrissy to her car and watched her pull out of the parking lot safe from Carver’s creepy hands, Steve collapses into his own car. He presses his face into the steering wheel and groans, long and loud, assured in his safe isolation. 

When the passenger door opens, he jumps, neck cracking with the speed at which he turns his head, ready to fight off the trespasser.

“Oh, it’s you,” Steve says, dropping his head back to the steering wheel.

“He knows,” Jeff says, voice serious enough that Steve raises his head back up immediately, heartbeat ratcheting up.

It takes a second for the words to connect, and when they do, his heartbeat quickens further, sweat pooling on the back of his neck, hands clenched hard enough on the steering wheel to hurt as fight or flight hits him.

“What?” he asks, the word cracking around his suddenly parched throat.

“Shit,” Jeff mutters, reaching out to pat Steve’s shoulder. “Not about you!”

Steve’s shoulders slump, breath shuddering out of him as Jeff continues to pat his shoulder, too awkward to be all that comforting. “Then, what—”

“He knows Chrissy is putting the notes in his locker.”

Steve sighs, slumping into his seat, uncaring of the way it crushes Jeff’s hand against the backrest. “Yeah, we figured,” he says, suddenly exhausted. “Do you know how?”

Jeff’s biting his lip when Steve looks his way. “He didn’t tell me,” he mutters. “But I know my best friend.”

It’s Steve’s turn to reach across the car and clasp Jeff’s shoulder. “I’m sure he has a reason for not telling you,” Steve replies, trying to smile past all that exhaustion.

Jeff snorts. “A stupid one, maybe.”

Steve hums, squeezing once more before dropping his hold on Jeff, suddenly realizing how stupid they must look, leaning toward each other, hands on each other’s shoulders like they’re having some sort of bro moment.

Steve turns back to the front of his car, cranks the engine, and smiles across at Jeff as the other boy takes the hint and drops his own hold. “Want a ride home?”

Instead of answering, Jeff puts on his seatbelt.

Jeff’s house is surprisingly close to Steve’s own. It’s a bit smaller than his, but there’s already a car in the driveway, and the shadows of silhouettes moving behind the pulled curtains, warm yellow light filtering through the fabric and onto the street.

Steve wishes he could go in with a fierce sort of longing that surprises him.

Jeff’s already got his seatbelt off and the passenger door open when he sighs, turning back around and settling back in his seat.

“You should come next week,” he says, all earnest in that way that seems to come so naturally to him and must have gotten him eaten alive in middle school.

“You can’t be serious,” Steve replies. There’s a tension headache growing, exasperated by the incredulous scrunching of his eyebrows. “That was a disaster.”

“Aw, it wasn’t that bad,” Jeff says, but he’s grinning like he’s remembering something funny. Steve’s got a few guesses what.

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious, man.” Jeff clasps his shoulder again—maybe that’s just something he does?

Steve scoffs, the roll of his eyes making his head pound. He opens his mouth to retort, something about Eddie’s reaction to Steve sitting beside him, but Jeff beats him to the punch.

“I know Eddie. And that in there?” He points back the way they’d come, like if Steve just strains his eyes, he’ll be able to catch sight of Eddie’s stupid fancy chair, and the stupid musty drama room, and the stupid look on Eddie’s face. “—is him interested.”

Steve closes his mouth, swallowing all the spit in his mouth, hoping it’s not audible to Jeff no matter how quiet the car is. “In me?” he asks, voice cracking embarrassingly.

Jeff doesn’t break eye contact, but his mouth twists uncomfortably. “Like you’re interested in him?” Jeff asks, continuing before Steve can reply. “I don’t know, man.”

Steve droops, the hope blooming in his chest curdling and sinking down into his stomach like old milk. He wants, desperately, to go home, turn out all the lights, and curl up alone in his bed to sleep away the rest of the day. But, Jeff’s still in his car, so he clenches the wheel between his fingers and says, “okay.”

“But, he doesn’t get you,” Jeff continues, voice gentling further. “And that intrigues him.”

Jeff’s still smiling like that should be some sort of boon to Steve’s ego, but it’s not. It lands like a brick. No one ever gets him, and whether he intrigues them or not, it always ends the same: him, alone in his big, empty house, waiting for a phone call that will never come, a doorbell that will never ring, a window that will never be snuck through.

He’d been through it before, with Donna in sixth grade, Nancy in tenth, hell, even Carol and Tommy for more years than he can count.

Intrigue has never gotten him anywhere. But, Jeff’s smiling, small and real, so Steve replies, “thanks, man,” smiling back until the other boy gets out of the car and he can safely drive away.

He’s got a dark house and a chilled bed waiting for him.

For the first time since this whole thing started, Steve writes the first draft of one of his secret admirer letters alone.

PART 9

[bluemotifofsleep]

i’m not the one you want, babe.

roommate!toji fushiguro x reader

content: swearing, not beta read!

PS: please do not be fooled, gojo is one of my favourite characters of all time, i just have to be mean to him for a bit… for the plot…

chapter one: running away is easy, it’s the living that’s hard.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

gojo satoru is a self-righteous, condescending prick with a head so damn big you’re surprised it doesn’t just fucking blow up. you wish it would, sometimes.

and look, you’re not… petty, you just have a strong moral compass. there are certain things you’re willing to put up with, and things that you absolutely will not fucking stand for.

number one on that list of things is the so called “honoured one” pointing his stupid self-righteous finger in your face and telling you that you’re useless.

…well, he didn’t exactly say it like that. he had a much more roundabout, holier-than-thou way of saying things, but you’re good at reading between the lines.

because he’s your older brother, and you’ve been dealing with his bullshit for your whole damn life.

he just has this… way, of shitting on people without them realizing it. to the untrained eye it may look like praise, but when he stretches his face into that stupid smile and squints his blue eyes condescendingly, no amount of sugared words will stop you from seeing it as the big “fuck you” it really is.

truly, it pisses you off to no end. he gets to drag everyone else’s name through the dirt, while keeping his the same pristine white as his hair. he gets the fucking sixteen-tier, overdecorated, extravagant cake that is his cushy life, and he gets to eat it, too.

if the guy wasn’t your family and you hadn’t known him forever, you’d probably pray on his downfall more often. unfortunately you share blood and memories with him, so you only wish for his demise the normal, sibling amount

you’ve had lots of petty fights with him. hell, it was hard not to. as his younger sister you were always viewed as the softer, smaller, less significant gojo. living in his stupidly tall shadow, it was hard not to want to knock him down as many pegs as you could.

this fight, however, definitely took the cake. a full screaming match that ended in tears, with you packing your shit, and running the hell away.

yeah, maybe it was a bit dramatic, but being looked down upon your whole life because you were the little sister of the satoru gojo was fucking exhausting. you just needed space, that’s all. you needed time and room away from the gojo estate so you could breath, to stop feeling so damn trapped in your own lineage.

so, here you are, in a less-than-shabby apartment with a roommate you barely even know the name of.

toji fu…something? fujimoto? fukushima? whatever.

you probably should know more about the person you’re sharing a living space with, but in reality you barely see the back end of the guy heading out the front door. that’s all he does; come and go. in and out, all the time. you still don’t even know what he does for work. just that it’s something that has him leaving for days at a time, coming back looking slightly worse for wear, and then leaving again.

the main thing that drew you to this cheap ass place was… well, exactly that. it was cheap. that, and you could move in right away. the other apartments required a “background check” that left you hanging without somewhere to go, but toji obviously needed someone to pay the other half of the rent quick.

the description of the ad was “low rent, looking for a quiet roommate that pays bills on time” and while it may not have been the most attractive ad to most people, beggars can’t be choosers, right?

now toji fushi-whateverthefuck was honestly a pretty good roommate when compared to horror stories you’ve heard. he was fairly tidy save the occasional towel left on the ground and the messy ashtray on the balcony ledge. he never left any dirty dishes… and actually now that you think about it, you don’t think you’ve ever seen the guy cook before. you don’t really understand how he got enough sustenance to be that, well, beefy, for lack of a better word. somehow he fucking managed.

his size and prowess had scared you at first, because you’re not naive enough to think that you could ever take him in a fight. you’ve certainly seen enough true crime to see that it would fit his MO; young girl moves in, big scary man with the intimidating scar on his face likes stabbin’, and he buries her under the floorboards.

the only neighbours you have are the old, deaf woman to your right and the junkyard of a man (who you once saw smoking out of a crack pipe in the stairway) to the left who’s away for months at a time, so no one would hear you scream. then you’d be just another missing persons poster on a telephone pole people pass by without a glance, your image slowly being worn into the wood by the elements and eventually covered by other posters.

a fitting end for a runaway, probably.

while the possibility that he’s a murderer and he just really likes to take his time planning before he strikes is still there, he’s a lot nicer than you expected from his looks. which isn’t saying much, because really the gap between serial killer and the nice, deaf lady next door who bakes you bread sometimes is so large, he could fall anywhere in between.

yeah, nice isn’t really the right word for him. polite, maybe?

honestly, it’s more like a mutual agreement between a gazelle and a leopard by a watering hole; you stay on your side, and i’ll stay on mine.

from the almost predatory look of him, the wide set of his shoulders and the roguishly handsome way his face was put together, you expected something sinister to lurk beneath the surface. heck, men half as good-looking as him usually use their gift for evil, using their pretty privilege as a get-of-jail-free card. they think that because of their looks, they can behave however the fuck they want.

(a certain name comes to mind, something rhyming with dojo...)

so when you first eyed up six-foot-something of beefy muscle and the devilish face-card toji sported, you reasoned that something had to be horrifically wrong with him. as far as you could tell, he was single. and a man his age, with his wide set shoulders and wolfish smirk that could drop a woman’s panties from a mile away, wasn’t just single without something being clinically diagnosable about him.

at first, you were worried he’d be super macho and demand everything was done his way. maybe that your shower products were taking up too much space or your pink throw blanket you kept on the couch was too girly or that your music taste sucked.

and if he wasn’t mean… you were worried he’d fly too far past friendly and be some sort of creep, eyeing you up like a piece of meat and expecting something out of you just from proximity.

but he just…didn’t. he doesn’t do anything.

he gives you polite words if your paths happen to cross each other, wether that be in the kitchen, the balcony (where he smoked, and you enjoyed a cup of tea) or the couch to watch tv where he always offered the remote to you because he claimed he “didn’t give a shit”.

and yeah, most people would probably call that the bare minimum of what’s considered polite, but you found it intriguing.

sure he was gruff, rough around the edges, and when you’d first came to view the apartment he sat on the couch and watched them announce lotto numbers telling you to “knock yourself out” instead of giving you a proper tour, but the whole thing was attractive to you in some way.

your whole life, you were treated as a gojo. the daughter to two of the wealthiest people in the country and the sister of “the honoured one” or “the strongest”, or “the world’s most blue-eyed fuckhead” or whatever the hell the idiot went by these days. but with toji, you were just some girl (that he probably thought was an idiot for living in a banged up apartment with a possible serial killer) but really, that’s fine by you.

as interesting as toji was to you, you couldn’t really get a proper read on him. maybe that’s why you were so interested. he was like a dark pond that you couldn’t see the bottom of; you had no idea what lurked beneath, but his surface was incredibly alluring.

you wanted to dive right in.

~

you… are not a good cook.

growing up at the gojo estate, you never had to be. as embarrassing as it is to admit, you’ve always had people better trained than you to do it for you. which was all fine and dandy, when you still lived there.

but now…

“fuck!” the exclamation is yelled into the empty house as you burn yourself on the hot pan you were trying to use. key word: trying.

there’s smoke billowing out because the oil was…burning? how does that even happen? isn’t oil there so it doesn’t burn?

you were heating up the pan to try to cook an egg, because all you’ve been eating for the past couple of weeks is instant ramen and various raw vegetables easy for snacking on. you should probably give up on your culinary dreams though, because the pan looks as charred and depressing as you feel.

all you wanted was real food.

it was fine, at first, living off of “garbage food” as your family would call it. it was kind of refreshing to eat things you hadn’t been allowed to growing up, taking back some stolen part of your childhood when you craved junk food.

but now you were sick of it.

all you could think of was the good, home cooked meals you were fed regularly at the estate. sautéed vegetables, raw cuts of fatty tuna, seasoned riced, expensive and perfectly cooked wagyu beef… the thought of it all made your stomach growl as you tossed the soiled pan into the sink to soak, and grabbed some baby carrots from the fridge instead.

you absolutely would not admit you had made the wrong decision in leaving. and truly, you didn’t even think it either.

as depressing as your life had been for the past couple of weeks; spent with all your contacts on silent (because you just know satoru would blow the fuck out of your phone) and eating meals fit for a collage frat boy living off his last dime, your pride was more important.

you were proving a point. a point that put your livelihood on the line, your whole way of being. if you crumbled now you would just be giving up in battle of wills between you and your brother, something you were not willing to do for any cost.

you may have lost the genetic lottery by being born second, but you would not lose this.

you’ll stay eating baby carrots for breakfast and sitting on a shitty couch, watching shitty cable television (that your mother once told you would rot your brain out of your nose) to prove your point.

in the midst of a very shittily done action scene playing out on the grainy tv, a door opens from the hallway behind you.

toji must have snuck in last night again while you were sleeping. (you find yourself once again questioning what he does for work to have such a weird ass schedule, but then you think that you probably don’t want to know.)

to your surprise, instead of heading out onto the balcony to smoke like he usually does first thing, he plops down on the couch next to you, the springs squeaking under his weight.

despite sitting on the couch with him being a regular occurrence in your shared apartment, you still tense when he settles into the seat beside you. he takes up the space so easily, manspreading his giant thighs instantly and draping one of his beefy arms across the back of the couch. you try hard not to notice how your side of the couch is tilted towards him, his weight pulling you sideways, dragging you into his orbit.

when he rolls his head to the side to stare you down, you freeze like a deer trying to camouflage into a forest background, hoping to not get caught by the apex predator stalking it. his eyes are like two headlights, digging into your primal instinct to freeze.

“mornin’.” it’s just one word, barely a greeting, but the sleep-induced gravel in his voice drags across your skin anyways, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“good morning.” you’ll play this feeling inside of you off for as long as you have to, until you stop feeling it. you pop another carrot into your mouth to stop from saying anything else.

he leans over you, staring into the bowl that harbours your poor excuse for a breakfast and twists his face up in disgust.

“you’re going to turn orange if you keep eating carrots for every meal. what are you, a damn bunny?”

you snort. “that’s just a myth, you know.”

he smirks, and just like every other time he does, it twists something in your stomach up into a knot.

“nah,” his expression turns serious for a second, as he scrutinizes your rapidly heating face. “in fact, i think it’s happening already.”

“what?!” you scramble out of the sunken-in couch, running to check yourself in the bathroom mirror. when you do, you scowl and yell out a “jerk!” as toji cackles nefariously from the living room.

you’re not orange, in the slightest. in fact, your face is bright red.

toji fushiguro was polite in most ways, but he loved to tease.

deciding you’ve had enough teasing for one day, you head back to your room instead of returning to the couch.

~

that night, the power in the apartment goes out.

a transformer had exploded up the street, causing a large outage across the neighbourhood. the second the loud boom! had hit and the lights flickered and then vanished all together, fear had gripped you tightly.

you’re not… scared of the dark, per say. it’s just being alone, alone with your thoughts, sitting in a dark room that scares you.

your phone was pretty much useless without wifi, so you scrambled for something, anything to do to keep your mind busy, to keep from feeling so terribly alone.

~

you feel… stupid. silly, even, like a child that had a nightmare seeking comfort from a grown up.

you’re standing outside of toji’s door, with your hand raised, but no courage to knock.

it was stupid. you were being stupid. it’s just the dark, you’ll be fine. the power should be on in a couple of hours. you’ll survive, right?

just as you’re about to turn and retreat back to your room, toji’s door opens and you’re suddenly face to face (face to chest?) with him.

“what is it? you’ve been standing outside my door for the past five minutes like a little creep.” the words would sound angry to anyone else, but you’ve spent enough time around him to know that’s just how he speaks.

it’s one of the things that draws you to him, how he never feels the need to sweeten his words. he doesn’t limit himself with things like politeness and niceties, he just says what he needs to say.

right now though, you would appreciate some decorum.

“i um… wanted to know… sorry, it’s stupid. i’ll leave you alone.” but as you turn to leave, he heaves a giant sigh like he’s pained.

“stop whining like a baby and say what you want.”

jesus… so no decorum, then.

“…do you want to play uno with me?”

~

the cards look comically small in his large hands…

you were both in the living room, using the coffee table and some candles to play the riveting, timeless game that is uno. it was one of the few things that you had brought with you from home, distant memories of playing with satoru as a kid and getting in physical fights over it flickering across your mind.

the thoughts made your chest ache, but that’s why you’re here with toji, right? to stop thinking about it so damn much.

“pick up four, and i change the colour to… blue.” toji growls at your words, a scowl painting his features periodically lit up by candle light. he picks up four cards from the deck painfully slow, making a deal out of each one and pouting like a baby.

you hadn’t expected him to be so… competitive.

honestly, you hadn’t expected him to say yes in the first place. maybe a laugh in your face proceeded by his door slamming or even just a simple look of disgust, not the grumbled “okay” that he gave you as he followed you to the living room.

it was… weird, doing something so mundane with him.

toji looked like a creature built to kill. there was something brutal and dangerous about the way he carried himself, the words he spoke and the voice he spoke them in.

it felt like using a loaded handgun as a spoon for your cereal.

you giggle at the thought, but then you’re staring down the barrel of the actual handgun that is toji fushiguro’s glare.

“you ain’t gonna be laughing for long, brat.” and then in a jaw dropping display of utter brutality, he puts down three of his gathered pickup-four cards and two pickup-twos, leaving him with nothing in his hand. how was that even possible?

“you jerk! i only had two cards left.” you whine and toss your cards into the pile on the table.

“yeah, that’s what happens when you mess with me, kid.” he puts his recently emptied hands behind his head, smirking down at you like someone who had just one at poker and took home the largest pot ever, not a meek game of uno.

truthfully, you’re uninterested in wining or losing. his company was so alluring to you, that it was entertainment in itself. like watching a leopard at the zoo, relaxed in his own element. his broad shoulders melting into a bulging bicep stretched over his head, his toned chest peeking through his shirt-

“so,” fuck. you jump like you’ve been caught ogling him, poking the glass of his enclosure when there were clearly signs not to. “i’ve been meaning to ask, what are you running away from, kid?”

what?

you gape at him like a fish trying to breath air, completely dumbfounded by his question. he couldn’t mean-

“you think i’m stupid or somethin’?” he’s leaning over the table now, the leopard tapping back at the glass that separated you. you feel hunted.

“cute little rich girl gets her panties in a twist, stomps her feet, and runs away from home, ive seen it all before. m’just surprised you’ve lasted this long, honestly.”

you feel like a bug that’s been pinned to a cork board for examination, spread out and exposed. your inner turmoil and darkest guilts have been torn out of you to lay bleeding and squirming on the coffee table.

“how the hell did you figure that out?” your words are borderline suspicious, borderline accusing.

if he was some kind of freak, you were going to make a break for the front door. though you’ll have to slip right by his large arm span to do that, so you’ll have to be quick about it-

he laughs like he’s amused by the clear discomfort on your face.

“relax. i just pay attention, is all.” he’s got an easy smirk on his face, and he doesn’t look nefarious in any way, so you relax your shoulders a bit.

“you don’t have a job, and yet all of your shit is fancy. you’re always bringing home groceries that you don’t know how to cook properly, expensive crap with the word organic pasted all over it, so you clearly have expensive taste, and yet you picked one of the shittiest apartments on the market. most definitely so you could move in right away, right?”

wow. you feel sort of bad for underestimating his observation skills. this whole time you felt like you were spectating him, but clearly it was the other way around.

he leans in again, his easy smirk and sea green eyes lit up by the candlelight, making him look almost supernaturally pretty.

“so you’re running, but from what?”

suddenly, all the tension you’ve been carrying spills out of you like water from a squeezed sponge. you let out a sigh that collapses your chest, your whole body sinking with it.

~

[alluramiura]

“𝒾𝓃 ℴ𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝓌ℴ𝓇𝒹𝓈, 𝒶 𝓀𝒾𝓁𝓁ℯ𝓇 𝓉ℴ 𝓅𝓇ℴ𝓉ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓎ℴ𝓊” ｜se-mi x reader

summary: you save se-mi during lights out.

word count: 1.6k words

warnings: lowercase intended, death description, 124 dies, se-mi lives, mentions of youngmi’s death (💔), reader is an implied foreigner

authors note: i was going to post something abt hyunju but i remembered how se-mi died and i got mad all over again. minsu you’re a fucking coward. enjoy.

you met se-mi after the first game, before six-legged pentathlon. you talked a few times, the first time being when you two agreed to team up. after the agreement, she proposed the idea to split up and search for more teammates.

a few minutes later, you found two players willing to join you; hyunju and youngmi. when you found her again, she had found four other players.

before you could say anything, one of the men behind her spoke up.

“who’s this, se-mi? the limit is five. we have all of our members.” he says, so quietly you almost can’t hear him. he was standing the closest to se-mi, and you notice his number is 125.

your eyes flicker to his for a second before flickering back to se-mi, who looks like she was about to give you an apology before another one of the men speaks, quite loudly.

“who’s this chick?” a man with purple hair—“thanos“— steps forward to address you directly.

“oooh, i see what’s happening. you want to join the amazing thanos’ team, huh? we are sadly out of room, señorita. but come to me next round, yeah?”

you stare at him blankly before turning back to se-mi. “it’s okay. i found a few people. you can stay with your group.”

she nods hesitantly, and you give her a faint smile before turning to return to the two players you found, who have now found two more players.

after the second game, you spoke again, a little before voting.

you opened up about your situation, how you were still relatively new to life in seoul, and how it’s been rougher than you imagined it would be, especially with the whole death game thing.

she sat and listened, nodding softly as you explained the last few months of your life to her.

she spoke about her situation a little as well. she didn’t say much, just that going back to her life was as good as staying here would be.

hearing that, you shouldn’t have felt as shocked, almost betrayed as you did when you saw her with the small “O” patched onto her jacket.

you knew you really had no right to be upset—everyone was here for a reason, some reasons being worse than the others, and her singular vote would have changed nothing regardless—but you couldn’t help but think of how the majority of players would choose money over fellow human life, her being one of them.

you try not to let her see how much the thought bothers you, but she seems to catch on almost immediately.

“are you upset that i chose to continue?” she asked, a bit suddenly, after noticing you’ve barely said anything and had been avoiding her gaze.

“…i’m not upset at you directly. i just…wanted to go home really bad.” you mutter softly, fidgeting with your necklace.

she hums in acknowledgement, and what seems like understanding.

“i wish i felt the same way.”

the next time you talk to her after that was during the third game.

mingle was probably the most stressful for you. you stayed with youngmi and the rest of your designated group for the most part.

that is, until youngmi died.

seeing her lifeless body covered in blood changed something within you.

when the farris wheel stopped spinning once more, you almost didn’t move. however, you suddenly felt the strong urge to make it out of here alive, if not for yourself, then for the friends, family you found here that might not make it along the way.

when you saw se-mi again, she was alone, looking around frantically for another person after the number two was called out.

you first noticed that she wasn’t with her team, but you pushed that thought away as you rushed towards her, grabbing her arm and sprinting to an empty room.

once you were in the room with the door shut, you pressed your back against the wall, catching your breath.

after a few seconds of silence and heavy breathing, se-mi speaks up, her voice hoarse and breathy.

“thank you.”

hearing that, you look up at her before nodding, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the wall.

“you’re welcome.”

when you left the room, you noticed she stayed near you and your group instead of with the people she was with before.

you didn’t mind.

the final time you talked to her before lights out was after the second vote.

when you saw she voted “X”, you were almost as shocked as you were seeing her vote the first time.

you didn’t ask what changed her mind, however. instead, you asked her what happened with her team.

“they…they’re assholes. i should’ve known from the start.” she mumbles, sighing softly.

you two spoke a little more, and you told her about your newfound motivation to make it out no matter what, after witnessing the death of your friend.

you shed a few tears thinking of youngmi. you didn’t know her for long, but like many other people you met here, you formed a bond you knew you’d never have with anyone else you’d ever meet.

se-mi gently put a hand on your shoulder as you cried silently, her expression grim.

you stayed with her for the remainder of the time before lights out.

now, as everyone’s killing one another and the scent of copper fills the air, you run around frantically looking for a place to hide.

you were climbing to the top of one of the bunk beds when you heard a familiar voice.

a shriek.

you look behind you, and a few feet away stood player 124, standing over se-mi with a bloodied fork in hand, looking like he was ready to attack.

that same feeling you got seeing youngmi die suddenly came back full force, and before you even realized it, you had hopped off the latter and began running towards the two.

as you approached, you locked eyes with se-mi as she struggled to fight him off.

suddenly, a glass bottle shatters, causing you to step back, and namgyu to pause his murderous actions, looking up to find the person who threw it.

while he’s distracted, you grab a shard of the glass and jab it into his his shoulder from behind.

namgyu lets out a pained cry as the glass pierces his shoulder. in an instant, he swivels around, backhanding you in the face.

you hit the ground pretty hard, feeling blood trickle down your nose. your vision was slightly blurred and you were disarrayed, your hand pressing against your temple where you initially hit the ground.

se-mi’s eyes widen, a strangled gasp leaving her lips as she watches you fall to the ground. adrenaline fuels her as she takes the opportunity to scramble to her feet, kicking namgyu in his side.

he doubles over slightly, but quickly recovers as he takes another step towards se-mi.

to her surprise, you get back on your feet, gripping the shard of glass so hard that blood runs down your wrist as you charge at namgyu again.

her heart racing, she joins fray in a flurry of limbs and desperation, punching and kicking wherever she could. namgyu was strong, however, and he managed to dodge all of your messily aimed attempts at stabbing him, his own adrenaline surging.

he suddenly grabs se-mi’s wrist forcefully, slamming her against the wall and raising his fork over his head, preparing to stab se-mi in the neck.

“no!” you shriek, balancing yourself and locking your blurry vision onto namgyu before charging at him a final time, stabbing him in the back harshly.

you don’t stop after the first stab, continuing to drill the glass into his back repeatedly, his blood splattering all over your shirt and skin.

he screams out in pain, staggering as his strength slowly leaves his body.

it’s only when he hits the ground, choking on his own blood as it pools around him when you realize what you’ve done, your hands shaking as you look down at the blood covering your hands.

you almost feel sick knowing it’s not just your own.

if someone told you a week ago that you’d become a murderer trying to protect yourself and your loved ones in a death game you’d blindly signed up for, you’d call a psychiatrist.

you drop the glass, trembling as you slowly look up at se-mi, tears beginning to stream down your face.

se-mi quickly runs over to you, her heart pounding in her chest. she grabs your face, holding it in her hands as she checks for any fatal injuries.

when she sees that you don’t have any major wounds, she pulls you into a tight hug.

you wrap your arms around se-mi as you bury your face into her neck, sobbing as the reality sinks in of what you’ve just done.

she kept her arms caged around you protectively, as she looks around to make sure no one else tries to attack you two.

“it’s okay. you’re okay. i got you.” she whispers, her own voice wavering as she rubs your back, attempting to comfort you for the second time that day, only under completely different circumstances.

“i-it all happened so fast…” you cry out, clinging onto se-mi like a lifeline. “h-he was trying to kill you, se-mi…i had to…i had to.”

“shhh…it’s alright. you saved me.” she murmurs, slowly guiding you to a nearby corner, hidden in the shadows from the chaos. she doesn’t once let you go, her eyes scanning the room for any immediate danger as the lights flicker.

after a while, she pulls back, gently tilting your head up so you could look at her. her thumb brushes away the tears streaming down your face, her touch tender.

"you're safe now. it's over."

[gnohomotho]

HEAR ME OUT

This request that i have is so cheesy but sounds so good in my mind, forgive me 😭😫

Junho and reader doing like a private first impression thing like u know where the bride and groom are standing back to back and then they turn around. And like Junho is mesmerised has tears is his eyes

Like i literally only have the most cheesy and romantic ideas in my mind i CANNOT help it

Btw love your works 😜😚😚😚❤️❤️

I did my best, Anon, your message truly made my day. ♥ :D I hope I didn't overdo it, then again, cheese is my livelihood. Sorry for any oddities or spelling mistakes, I'm a bit in the trenches today. :c

It's a bit longer with some wedding dress backstory and getting ready, but I think the good part is there. :3 I hope you enjoy! ♥♥♥

.

.

.

The Moment I Saw You

Pairing: Jun-ho x almostwife!fem!reader Summary: And you thought the dress shopping would be hard. The first impression you wished to give your husband-to-be went differently than expected, and you are swimming in a sea of love and bliss. Warnings: Remember that one modded Skyrim playthrough where the player accidentally glitched the cheese-wheel summoning spell and drowned the whole town in cheese? Well, that's what's happening here, but worse. Fluff! Fluff! More fluff! Word count: 2.7k

Everything should have been perfect.

You were picking the dress, and it was taking long. You were standing in the bridal shop, unable to choose, tired, wanting to go home. The person looking back at you in the mirror didn’t look like a bride to you. Even though everything was in place, it felt…wrong. Fake, somehow. Ill-fitting. The shop assistant was very kind, you thought her patient – but even she could see you were not exactly the glowing bride-to-be she was used to. Nor anything like the shiny photographs littered across the front desk.  

Your close friend was there with you, trying her best, you could hear her rummaging through the dresses again, muttering – “puffy sleeves, prom dress, no, no, no, form fitting…” She had the fervour of a very hungry owl searching for that one mouse that got away. “Dumb…long…short…dear god do people actually wear this…oooh, shiny…no…hmmm…” She was already buckling under the weight of all the new ones she picked out for you.

“Hey, Y/N, are you sure you don’t like this one?” She held up a gorgeous gown, white as snow, silk, smooth, reflecting light with a soft plunge of a neckline, and a revealed back. The skirt fell in a mermaid style, you could look like a gorgeous datura flower at the bottom.

“No, no, I’m not sure…not…” You think of yourself in the dress and frown. Your husband to be…Your Jun-ho…should he see you like this? He should see the most beautiful version of you on such a day – and yet you felt more like he was going to run away the moment he laid eyes you.

“Please? How about this one?” Your friend holds up her second choice. The dress is half lace, intricately woven with flowers and soft curling patterns, with off-the-shoulder milky sleeves, a lovely bodice and a small ribbon on the back. The veil would hide more of you, you think. But still. You eye the skirt, its velvety material falling almost straight down. You know you’d be leaving nothing to the imagination and wonder, what if this is all a mistake? What if he made a gigantic mistake, from the very first moment he met you? The first date? The first touch? What if you’ve been unknowingly deceiving him, and now he’ll see you for what you are, what you look like, inside and out? You can’t hide in white.

Your friend walks up to you and gently takes your hand to help you off the platform. She guides you away from the mirrors. As she walks you to the changing room, she is slowly stroking your hand, noticing you are beginning to resemble a vibrating ball of nerves.

“Y/N, if you keep frowning like that, I’m pretty sure you’ll have to pay for extra retouching of all the new wrinkles.” She tried to joke but immediately noticed that it was neither the time nor place and changed her demeanour. You sit, feeling the small bench weigh down with you as she does too, and gently hold your stomach as you speak. You’re unsure which one of you will get the hint first, but you’re pushing it out into the back of your mind as far as you can.

“I just…” You try to speak but the words come out all wrong. “I don’t think he’ll…he’ll be so disappointed.” You sigh and trace both hands down your face to calm down and wipe the stress away, but it clings to every molecule of your skin. “Jun-ho isn’t the type to…” No, all wrong. “It’s not the dresses, it’s me.” Gosh darn it, the tears begin to form. “It’s just me.”

“Hey, hey…darling…” your friend begins stroking the back of your hand as she holds your palm. She is warm and reassuring, but you struggle to believe her.

“It’s ok. It’s ok to be nervous. But you’re beautiful, no matter the dress. To be honest,” she looks around with added drama, as if feigning trying not to be heard, “I don’t think any of the dresses could do you justice and you should just walk out there stark naked if you want them to see how gorgeous you are,” she laughs and squeezes your hand, you look up and let yourself rest with her reassuring, peaceful smile that reaches her lowered eyes now directly resting on you. Although you’re not hugging, you feel held.

Her eyes move to your hand resting on your stomach and you could swear you saw a glint sparkle in their corner and her lashes seem to fall far slower as she blinks, but says nothing. She is so very thoughtful, you think.

“Look, if I know anything about Jun-ho, which isn’t much” she continues, “that man is head over heels for you and the moment you said “yes” I don’t think he’s heard any other words of any language since.”

You let out a small chuckle through another tear. She continues, knowing she’s on a the right path, knuckle punching every guard on the proverbial way.

“I know you’ve walked past this shop year after year, before any of this, and I know you loved the dresses for their beauty, their, elegance, their promise. Y/N, you told me yourself, what was it…winter…”

“Winter dresses,” you chime in quietly. Barely a whisper. Breathing in, you try to remember those cold walks.

“I walked past, and I tried to look at the winter dresses when I knew the shop was closed. The ones with those gorgeous, long skirts, heavy velvety fabric where they met the skin, forming an A shape towards the waist.” You didn’t tell her that you liked both their protectiveness and the fact that if you decided to dramatically fall into a dark body of water, their puffiness and beauty would truly make the moment worth it. You continued after another less shaky but still reserved breath: “Hugged it and up there, the white enveloping the chest – perhaps with lace across the collarbones, but skin hidden, just a touch away…” you let yourself sink into the memory, far before you met Jun-ho, your husband to be. “With that veil that resembled a winter cape from a Russian fairytale.”

“There’s my little Vasilisa,” your friend laughed and stood up. “I’ll be right back, no eloping!”

You sat there, hand still resting on your belly, worried, excited, feeling as if you’re living someone else’s life. Thinking of what Jun-ho must be doing and feeling. Feeling worse and worse, as if you don’t deserve this life.

You quickly pull out your phone to check the time and melt. You have no idea how Jun-ho's timing is always so perfect, but only a minute or two ago, the words:

"Hey, sweet [diminutive version of Y/N], are you ok? Sorry, just wanted to check on you. I hope the dresses are treating you well! Tell [friend] to look after my wife!” light up your screen.

Another message lit up immediately after: “*wife-to-be, I just can’t stop saying it, sorry! I love you, Y/N.”

The smile that spreads from the corner of your mouth and butterflies that saunter from your stomach almost pushed all the anxiety off a cliff. But it still clung to the edge.

Your friend waltzed in and to your utter disbelief, she held up the perfect dress.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The click of your pearl-white heels was the only thing to be heard across the grass. You focused on their soft step and keeping your balance. Your heart was fluttering out of its chest, your stomach was doing its best to leave the building in excitement, in fear, in anticipation – the train of your dress followed you with a soft sliding murmur and the skirt gently touched each flower on the way. You were so glad he chose to do it this way, away from others. Flowers, a shield of wise oak trees. Bird chatter, a gentle breeze on your flushed cheeks, that’s all you truly needed. That, and him.

“I want to be the only one to see you, Y/N. The only one to witness the first sight of my wife.”

The sweetheart neckline clung to your collarbones, the off-the-shoulder fabric neatly stacked in on itself was cuddling your back and shoulders, light and nearly translucent. It rested on your skin as a light lover’s touch. The beautiful, laced veil, floating with you as well as behind you was hiding, yet still accentuating your shining hair with small white flowers nestled between locks. It fell periodically across your back and your shoulders, resting on your collarbones with each step. The heavy fabric of the dress which clung to your waist and fell once more felt cool and warm at the same time, giving you an air of ethereal slow motion. You looked like you belonged in a winter forest. A vision of indescribable, untouchable beauty. The wind gently played with your hair, as if longing to caress you as much as the man in front of you.

As you walked, the form of your husband-to-be materialised in front of you, facing the other way. Although there were many other features around, each quite beautiful, you had no eyes for them. Slowly, meticulously, as if not to scare him, you walked up the small hill towards him and lingered behind him. He hasn’t seen you, but he knows you’re there – his back is giving away the quickness of his breathing and his attempts to steady it down. Please breathe, my love…” Your thoughts leave their nerves at bay and soften into nothing but care and love for him. Finally, as lightly as a feather, you rest your back against his, feeling his breath quicken once more and his entire form tense and release, as if wishing to melt into you.

Jun-ho almost hesitates, but slowly, in what is trying to be a level manner, speaks.

“On the count of three, Y/N?”

You breathe out a tiny chuckle. Ever the pragmatic yet meticulous man.

“One…” you say almost in unison.

Your breath quickens, your heart is racing ten miles a minute, the dress seems to be tighter and tighter and the birds louder and louder yet so far away.

“Two…” he says alone and you whisper with him, mind turning to mushy cotton but enveloped in such a warm feeling of bliss.

Jun-ho takes in a last, heavy breath and as he lets it out…

“Three.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

You turn around in unison and both stand frozen in the moment.

Your eyes meet.

Jun-ho stands utterly transfixed, trying to take you in, all of you, in your entirety at once. But his eyes cannot contain you, so he keeps glitching, his hands that he wished to extend to you the moment you turned, are shivering and tense.

His soft gaze tries to dart and look at you from a different side, angle, but he cannot. You’re…you’re a vision that he cannot and will not disentangle from.

As his eyes are trying to take in every inch of you and warming his heart with every molecule he manages to snatch from the photons reflecting your form, his heart is firmly on its way out of his chest.

You hear nothing but your breath now, you’re looking up into his eyes, inches away from his face, which is frozen and beginning to tear at itself. As if a mask was cracking in nothing but a barrage of indescribable beauty and feeling.

Jun-ho slowly lifts a shivering hand to his mouth and rests it across his face, fingers almost up to his eyes, as if shielding both you and him from the raw, sheer affection that has swept him off his feet – and you, you are both the waves he’s drowning in and the only lifeboat on the sea.

“Y/N…” he barely chokes out in a whisper.

“Y/N…you…you look...” his hand is joined by his other, slowly laying each palm and finger against themselves under his lips. Jun-ho doesn’t know why he cannot control his expression, a wide smile is fighting to be seen, his eyes and heart are tearing at him in springs of bliss and absolute adoration as he wishes to scoop you up to him and melt into you, squeeze you so tight you won’t know where you stop and he begins.

But you are…untouchable as this vision before him. As he steadies himself, he tries to breathe, getting a breath caught in his throat. He finally looks away and you worry, worry your worst fears came true. Worry that the girl sitting in the bridal shop holding her stomach was correct.

But on second look, he is…oh gosh…” The mixture of worry and unexpected relief, bundled up in nothing but affection and deep care threaten to drive you to both laugh and tear up.

“Jun-ho…!” A hushed whisper from your tender lips brings him back to you, turning his head slowly back. He meets your gaze with reserved fear, one eye – look away – second eye – look away – both – remain with you. You see now, with warmth growing in your chest and flutters dancing across your skin, why he was shielding his mouth, then face, then needing to look away entirely. You take both his hands into yours, caressing each finger lovingly as you lower them down to your waist. You envelop his hands, still caressing each knuckle with the ball of your thumb.

“Jun-ho, my love…” you say slowly, levelly, in a low whisper. “My sweet love…it’s alright.”

Jun-ho cannot help it, the sides of his eyes are fully sparkling now. Your eyes are fully transfixed on his own and guide his gaze into you, and he smiles that wide smile you have grown to love so dearly. Jun-ho’s eyes are now fully glistening like still lakes under a full moon.

“I cannot believe you’re here. I---I---cannot believe…it’s…you…with me…My…My…”

Jun-ho cannot speak further but you feel the hands in your tender embrace reciprocate a grip far more secure and loving than you could ever wish for. As protective as it was reassuring. Jun-ho always held you as if you could slip away at any moment, but so tenderly that should you do so, you’d be protected and enveloped in loving warmth to the very end.

“Your wife. My darling. My husband.” Your face softened as you let the words slide across your lips and into the chasm between you, creating the gentlest of bridges.

“My---wife…” Jun-ho lets out an untangled breath of relief, the full smile finally taking over his face. Sparkles turning to tears fall at the same moment, as if a weight both descended from and knocked the air out of him in a single moment.

“You’re…you’re so beautiful. My love. My everything. You are…you are everything.” He’s still smiling as the small specks run down his cheeks. “I love you, Y/N. I love you. I’m so glad. So glad. So happy. I don’t know how to---can I…can I touch you?”

As the lightly shivering voice in contrast to his imposing, beautiful form reached your ears, you lightly caressed his cheek, and he leaned into your palm immediately.

“Of course, Jun-ho.”

Without a second to spare, he lovingly, gently, as lightly as he could in his given disposition, cupped your face and gave you the longest, most tender of kisses. Slowly his hands trailed to your waist, brushing, as if making sure you weren’t going to disappear or turn into a beautiful dream.

Finally, Jun-ho everso carefully took you in fully. Without warning but still tenderly, Jun-ho lifted you up to him, as if you and your dress were as light as the breeze playing with your hair. In one movement he twirled around with you, letting your dress get caught in the moment and carried by motion, his gorgeous wife, his Y/N, nought but his – giggling in his arms, a vision of angelic beauty in his embrace – and he caught himself laughing with you, in nothing but pure bliss. As he let you down just as gently, his touch lingered – he didn’t want to let you go for one second.

Squeezing his hand, you nudged your face closer to his, beckoning without words; he covered the remaining distance.

You felt his lips brush against your own – top, then bottom, then both – before resting on yours fully. Tenderly. Reservedly. Lovingly. You placed a soft kiss where they lingered and Jun-ho finally let himself melt into you fully, kissing you as if you harboured the last bastion of oxygen in the depths of the ocean, as if you were the only thing on this Earth that he wanted, needed, yearned and lived for.    

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Safe With You, Always

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: Discussions of reproductive rights, abortion laws, political distress, anxiety, feelings of helplessness, comfort, soft Simon, protective Simon, affirmations of love. If these topics are triggering or distressing for you, please take care of yourself and skip this story.

Author’s Note: This piece is deeply personal, reflecting the fear and frustration many women are feeling right now. If you’re struggling with the weight of everything happening, please know you’re not alone. Take care of yourself, and lean on the people who love you. Simon would want you to.

Summary: The world feels like it’s crumbling around you, and the weight of it all is unbearable. When fear and anger threaten to consume you, Simon reminds you that you’re not alone—that with him, you are safe.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The news droned on in the background, the screen glowing in the dimly lit living room, but you weren’t really watching anymore. The words blurred together, each headline another blow to your already fraying nerves. You gripped the blanket wrapped around your shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric as if it could somehow ground you.

It wasn’t just today. It wasn’t just one decision or one law—it was everything. It was the feeling of being powerless, of screaming into a void that only answered back with silence or worse, laughter. Every time you thought things couldn’t get worse, they did. Every time you thought, this has to be the last straw, another was added to the pile.

Your chest was tight, breath coming in uneven bursts as you pressed a hand against your sternum, trying to will away the anxiety curling in your ribs. You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream. You wanted—

The couch dipped beside you, and before you could even look up, a warm, calloused hand covered yours, easing the tension in your fingers.

Simon.

He didn’t speak right away, just reached for the remote and turned off the TV, casting the room into a soft, heavy silence. He let you breathe, let you process, before finally breaking the quiet.

“You’re shakin’, love.” His voice was low, gentle, but laced with quiet concern.

You swallowed hard, blinking against the sting in your eyes. “I—” Your voice cracked, and you sucked in a sharp breath, trying again. “I just feel so… so helpless.”

Simon exhaled slowly, shifting closer. He didn’t press, didn’t demand you explain—he just waited, patient and unwavering, the steady presence you needed.

You clenched your hands into fists, staring down at them in your lap. “It feels like the whole world is against us. Our rights, our choices… it’s like we’re not even people to them. Just something they can control.” Your breath hitched as frustration and fear tangled together in your chest. “I don’t—I don’t feel safe, Simon. I don’t feel safe anywhere.”

His grip on your hand tightened—not painfully, but firm enough to anchor you.

“I know.” His voice was rough with something deep, something barely contained. Anger? No. Fury. Not at you, never at you. But at the world that made you feel this way.

“I wish I could tell you it’s gonna get better tomorrow,” he murmured, his fingers tracing slow, steady circles against your skin. “That one day you’ll wake up and all this shite will be fixed. But I can’t.”

Your throat tightened. “Then what’s the point?”

Simon shifted, turning so he could cup your cheek in his palm. His touch was warm, solid—real. “The point is you don’t fight this alone.” His thumb brushed against your cheek, catching the tears you hadn’t even realized had fallen. “The point is you’ve got people who love you, who will stand with you, fight for you. Me included.”

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. “It just feels so… endless.”

“It does.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “But you’re not carrying this alone, yeah?” He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath fanning over your skin. “I’ll carry it with you. For as long as you need. Forever, if I have to.”

A broken sound left your throat, something between a sob and a laugh, and Simon pulled you against his chest without hesitation. His arms locked around you, strong and unyielding, holding you together when you felt like falling apart.

“You’re safe with me,” he murmured against your hair. “No matter what, you’re safe.”

You curled into him, gripping the fabric of his hoodie like a lifeline, allowing yourself to believe him—if only for tonight.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[moonstruckme]

hi mae, if its not too much trouble could you do something with james and r where r has to deal with likr a creep on a train or smth. ive just had a real weird experience rn and its just.hm

Ugh I'm so sorry babe, I wish we each had a James with us all the time

cw: man being creepy (no sa or harassment, just gross behavior)

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 934 words

You clock the danger long before your boyfriend does, but you suppose it’s a lot more drilled into one of you than the other. 

The man gets on a few stops after you do, and his gaze seems aimless until it lands on you. It’s not a busy time; the bus is nearly empty, but of course he goes and stands next to you as if there are no open seats. You should have known better than to sit by the aisle. 

James’ chatter fades into the background as your mind starts to whirl with possibilities. What if this man grabs you? What if he tries to keep you from getting off at your stop? What if he waits until you get off, and then follows you home? 

“Hey.” James is looking at you quizzically. He reaches for your opposite arm, scrubbing up and down lightly. “You okay?” 

You use the touch as an excuse to lean into his side, murmuring so the man can’t hear you. “If that guy’s still here when it’s my stop, will you get off with me? Or I could ride to yours, if that’s better.” 

James looks past you, noticing the man for the first time, and you see clarity dawn on his expression as he does the same math you had. You can feel the man’s stare burning into the side of your head; he’s not even being subtle about it. James pulls you closer to his side. 

“Hey, mate,” he says, tension underlying his jovial tone. “Do you wanna take a seat? There are plenty open.” 

You chance a look over, and the man’s eyes lock with yours like it’s the opportunity he’s been waiting for. You feel James’ arm tense. 

“You have pretty hair,” the man says. 

You smile tersely. Polite, carefully unfriendly. “Thanks.” 

That seems to satisfy him; the man does take a seat. The one directly behind you. Anxiety prickles over your skin at not being able to see him. 

You at least feel better now that James is aware, too. He keeps his face turned to you, one eye on the seat behind you, as he picks up your conversation about the film you’ve just seen. Remus and Sirius were the ones who wanted to see it in the cinema; they thought it was artistic and meaningful, whereas you and James are in agreement it was dull and pretentious. Odd, aimless dialogue, experimental camera angles, hardly any plot. James thinks if you can get Sirius away from Remus he’ll agree. Competitive thing that he is, he’s hatching a plan to do so when the man leans forward and pushes his nose into your hair. 

The sound of his inhale sends goosebumps racing down every inch of your skin. You go rigid, attempting subtly to lean forward while all the nerves in your body scream at you to run. 

“Hey, what the fuck?” James doesn’t take care to lower his voice. 

As though you’d been waiting for permission, you jump away, getting as far out of reach as possible before turning around. James’ arm has barred across the back of your seat, his hand gripping the pole on the opposite side and the muscles in his forearm strained with tension. 

“What makes you think you can do that to someone?” he asks, equal parts incredulous and irate. 

People in the bus have turned to look. The bus slows as you approach the next stop. 

“Let’s get off,” you tell James. 

“What?” He turns to you for a second before seeming to remember he should be keeping an eye on the man. Who has been silent, but for what he said to you. He looks entertained by James’ outburst, which almost scares you worse than anything that’s happened thus far. You know James is very fit, but you don’t want to get him in a fight. “Why should we get off? We haven’t done anything wrong!” 

The doors open, and people start to file off. “James,” you say, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and giving a slight tug. “Please.” 

He hesitates a second longer, looking somewhere between bewildered and outraged, before he says, “Fine, okay,” and grabs your bag. You tug him into the aisle, careful to keep both of you out of reach of the man. Once you’re off the bus, you start walking quickly, pulling James along and casting glances over your shoulder to be sure the man from the bus doesn’t follow. It’s only when the bus pulls away and he hasn’t gotten off that you stop. 

“Ugh.” You heave a tremendous sigh, hugging James around the middle and dropping your forehead to his chest. “Sorry.” 

“That was fucking insane,” he says, cupping the back of your head protectively. “Does that happen to you often?” 

You let out a little laugh. “That specifically? No. But I know better than to talk to guys like that.” 

“Sorry.” James kisses your hairline. Lets his lips rest there. “I thought it was going to help.” 

“It’s not your fault, he was going to be weird either way. I’m really glad you were there.” 

He squeezes you tighter. It helps you release the tension from your shoulders, giving in to him. “That was fucking disgusting,” he says. “I’m sorry I’m ever not there.” 

You shudder. “Is it weird that I feel like I need to shower?” 

“Nope. But do it at mine. I’m not going to be able to stop thinking about that guy finding your place for the next several days.” 

“How would he do that, James?” 

“Dunno. But just to be safe.”

[sunsburns]

this came to me in a dream last night but imagine bsf!vi spying on you and your date (fem!reader, hints of caitvi x reader)

clearly, violet isn’t the jealous type, there wasn’t much that she was usually up against anyway. she was just… looking out for you—it was hard to trust some random date you met on an app or through some mutual friend.

“you don’t trust anyone, vi,” you said, smoothing the last stray pieces of hair in the mirror. vi stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame like she had nothing better to do, her arms crossed over her chest.

“i trust people,” she shot back. her tone was defensive like you’d accused her of something worse. “i do!”

“right,” you replied, your smile a little too knowing for her liking.

your phone buzzed on the counter, and vi’s gaze flickered to the screen. here, it read. she watched as your expression shifted—nerves and excitement mixed together in a way she didn’t see often.

“they’re outside,” you said, glancing at her. vi didn’t budge, just gave a small nod like she wasn’t planning to leave her spot anytime soon.

“have fun,” she said after a beat,

you grabbed your jacket and stepped past her, pausing just long enough to catch her eye. “don’t wait up.”

vi smirked, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “sure. i’ve got better things to do than babysit your bad decisions.”

and by better things, she meant standing there, riling herself up for no reason. vi lingered in the doorway long after you left, her arms now loosely hanging at her sides. she could picture it too clearly: you sitting at some café, that soft, nervous smile you got when you weren’t sure what to say, your fingers brushing over the edge of your cup, looking as good as you always did. only this time, that smile wasn’t for her. it was for some fucking stranger.

her jaw tightened as the thought settled in. what kind of person even asks you out like this? who were they to deserve your attention, your time? vi didn’t even know their name, let alone what they looked like, but the image of some faceless jerk talking too much, maybe trying to impress you with something lame, was enough to make her roll her eyes.

she wasn’t jealous. she wasn’t.

jealousy was messy, and vi didn’t do messy. she wasn’t the type to get all worked up over something that wasn’t her business. this wasn’t her business. except—what if this person turned out to be trouble? what if they hurt you?

shit, what if you liked them?

“sounds like jealousy to me,” caitlyn’s voice chimed through her phone’s speaker a few minutes later.

vi’s jaw tightened as she paced the room, staring at the faint reflection of herself in the window. hooded sweatshirt, messy hair, no real plan—she looked like someone gearing up for trouble. “shut up, it’s not.”

“uh-huh,” caitlyn said, entirely unconvinced.

vi exhaled heavily, tugging her hood up like it might smother the heat creeping up her neck. “i just… wish i knew what was going on. that’s all.” her voice was quieter this time, almost an admission.

she hated not knowing. not knowing who this person was, what they wanted with you, what you were saying to them right now. were you laughing? leaning in close?

“you just gotta chill,” caitlyn said, her tone softening slightly. “you’ll hear all about it when the date’s over, i’m sure. you’re overthinking this.”

“i have an idea,” vi said suddenly, the words spilling out before she’d fully thought them through.

“oh no.”

a slow, mischievous grin pulled at vi’s lips, and her pacing stopped. her fingers flexed at her side as a plan began to form. it wasn’t smart. it wasn’t subtle. it was terrible. “how quickly can you come over?”

“vi, whatever you’re thinking—”

“just get here.”

——

“i can’t believe you’ve dragged me into this,” caitlyn muttered, her voice low and filled with annoyance as she tugged the brim of her cap down further over her face. the fabric shadowed her sharp eyes, which were darting toward the café window like she was already second-guessing her decision to come.

“you love this,” vi said casually, fiddling with the drawstrings of her hoodie.

“no, vi, i really don’t,” caitlyn shot back, her words pointed but softened by a resigned sigh.

as they approached the café entrance, vi glanced inside, her eyes instantly locking onto you. there you were, seated across from somone who smiled at you. vi hated them already.

caitlyn slipped into a barstool near the window, unfolding a newspaper she’d grabbed from the stand out front. her face was completely hidden behind the thin pages. vi, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly as subtle.

her hood was yanked low over her face, and the sunglasses perched on her nose were oversized and crooked, like she’d grabbed them in a hurry. vi hovered awkwardly by the counter, pretending to study the menu even though her eyes kept flicking over to you.

“you’re staring,” caitlyn hissed from behind the paper.

“am not,” vi muttered back, but she didn’t look away.

you were laughing now, that light, effortless kind of laugh that vi rarely saw unless she was the one making you smile. her chest tightened as she watched you tilt your head toward your date, your expression so open, so trusting.

“they’re not even funny,” vi grumbled, narrowing her eyes at your date.

“oh, please,” caitlyn whispered harshly, her exasperation cutting through vi’s muttering. “you’re acting ridiculous. do you even have a plan?”

“i’m working on it,” vi mumbled, finally tearing her eyes away to stare at the drink options on the board. she wasn’t working on anything. she just knew she had to be here—close enough to hear the cadence of your voice.

your date said something else, and you laughed again, this time louder, brighter. vi’s fists curled at her sides as her gut twisted uncomfortably.

“this is a terrible idea,” caitlyn said, sighing heavily as she lowered the paper just enough to glance at vi. “you’re a disaster.”

“shut up,” vi shot back under her breath. but deep down, she knew caitlyn was right.

disaster or not, she wasn’t leaving until your date was over.

[htchnr]

ミ★ thanks sugar ꜜ COOPER HOWARD.

𖦹 masterlist. 𖦹 buy me a coffee!

「 ꜜsummary,, request, Can i request a bounty hunter reader who is always one step ahead of Cooper and he’s fed up with her? Then the reader is in a deadly situation and he decides to rescue her, because even if he’s fed up that she’s always one step ahead of him, he respects her for that. 」

「 ꜜcontent,, southern bounty hunter!reader ⋆ mention of drugs ⋆ alcohol consumption ⋆ fallout typical violence ⋆ reader sustains a bad injury ⋆ but it's not too explicitly described ⋆ mention of stitching up said injury. ꜜwc,, 2,8k. 」

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐇𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐑. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!

he didn't know quite what to feel the first time he encountered you..

his hairless brows furrow the moment he lays eyes on you — his bounty, dead, beneath your boot. you look up from the body beneath you, and smile. a disgustingly sweet smile on your shockingly soft looking lips. “heya sugar,” you grin, “it appears you jus’ missed this fella here,” your tone confident and ever so slightly out of breath from the fight he had missed.

he huffs frustratedly, and when his harsh eyes drag down your form the pieces fit together in his head. so you’re the cowgirl bounty hunter that’s been cashing in his bounties.

he can see it now, why’d people mistake him for you sometimes if they can’t see his face — your body clad in tough jeans and a layer of belts draped across your hips. a worn down cowboy hat atop your head with a bullet hole going through the rim on the right side. he could spot a peak of some leather vest and a worn shirt sticking out from it and atop it all a tattered worn duster draped over your shoulders.

huh, he thought to himself. just that, a contemplative ‘huh’. the conversation that followed was less harsh then he thought it’d be now that he can put a face to your name. he still made his points very clear though.

by the third time the pair of you cross paths he’s gotten used to your honey sweet drawl and even sweeter smiles. he wondered since the day he met you why you always smiled so bright, given the world you live in and the job you do.

the bar smells like spilled liquor and blood, the air is sticky and stuffy in the summer’s heat. the people in it probably smell worse, but he’s thankful he’s can’t smell most of it.

the oh so familiar “heya sugar,” sounds from across the bar in Filly. he looked over and saw you sitting a few stools down from him, sipping on something dark. he huffs and nods in your direction before returning his attention to the bourbon in his dirty glass.

he listens to your stool creak and groan before the thuds of your boots follow you to the stool beside him. “any good contracts on the horizon?” you tease with a grin.

he looks up from his glass, watching you down the remainder of yours. his dark eyes follow a stray drop that drips past your lips and down your chin before you catch it with a finger, dipping the finger between your lips to suck up the liquid. he sighs and downs his own glass, wishing he could feel the burn as the alcohol trickled down.

“well, wouldn't you like to know, hm?” he drawls, his eyes slightly squinting at you. he knows damn well that you know what’s on his horizon. seeing as you’ve probably got the same bounties on yours.

you sigh, swirling a stray drop of liquor in your glass around. “you ain’t bein’ fun,” you huff as you tip back your glass to catch that last drop on your tongue. you stretch your shoulders, groaning in the process before shrugging your duster back over your shoulders.

you nod at the bartender and hand him a few caps, thanking him with that same sickly sweet smile before standing up. you turn back to him, tightening your holster belt. “well, i’ll be seein’ you stud.” you tip your hat to him before walking out the bar and into the fresh air.

he hasn't seen you in a while, he thinks to himself, while he walks along the tracks of his latest bounty — some guy who had plundered a large settlement. who in turn wanted the man alive, so they could convict him or some shit. they were paying a hefty heap of caps for the man, and that was all that mattered.

the trail started to head in the direction of the Super Duper Mart he frequents for RadAway, to his surprise. maybe the bounty needs a patch up or some chems, who knows. if the tracks lead there, he might as well pick up some more vials of RadAway, more could never hurt.

the tracks indeed lead to the front doors of the Super Duper Mart, though are soon joined by a second pair, one he’s grown to recognise anywhere. he groans, head dropping back in frustration. he was starting to get a little low on caps and would really fucking like a job to turn out in his favor before he has to turn to the ones he’ll hate doing.

he rummages through his saddlebags, looking for things he could offer in return, when he hears a loud slam against the window on the right side of the building. he knew what went down there, and this kind of commotion was not uncommon, but definitely relatively unusual. he ignores the sounds as his hand touches some Jet, that’ll have to do for now, he thinks to himself.

he grabs the handful of Jet, hitting the button on the speaker. “transaction.” he drawls, dark eyes trying to look through the dirty glass as if he might see his bounty there.

it’s quiet for a second, before the familiar voice of the Handy comes through, “yes?”

“ten vials for fifteen Jet.”

more silence before the speaker crackles again, “the deal can be further discussed inside, the doors will open.”

Cooper sighs, not looking forward to the hassle of making a deal with the idiots inside. the doors squeak open in a few seconds and he makes his way inside. the relatively cool building was a slight relief compared to the harsh sun.

the moment he steps inside the commotion from the room across from him rings crystal clear through the building. he supposed the guys running it are used to it and barely blink at it. he walks past the room, and reaches the guys in charge sat lazily on the couch in front of the tv.

Cooper clears his throat, the two guys looking up immediately. “ten vials for ten Jet, right?” the left guy says, slightly slurring his words.

“uh huh,” Cooper confirms.

and to his surprise the guys are probably so high they didn't hear what the Handy said and the deal seems fine to them as the left guy rummages through the box of chems to pull out ten vials of RadAway. he wonders for a brief second, if he could rip off the guys and give them less Jet and still get the vials — they don’t seem to be in the condition to properly count anything.

the left guy holds out his shaky hand expectantly and Cooper drops eight Jet into his palm, curious about the outcome. and to his surprise the guy takes the Jet, stares at them blankly, then hands Cooper exactly ten vials. huh, he thinks, well done.

he thanks them after stuffing the vials into his box with the last of his other ones and heads back to the entrance. he nears the room where all the commotion is still coming from and almost passes before he hears a familiar voice yell out.

“dagnabbit! you better get ‘ur grimey saws ‘way from me you asshole!”

your southern twang was even more prominent with your anger and panic, but he could recognise your voice anywhere. he stood before the closed door with a war inside him;

with how little contracts you left him it’d be great career wise for him to leave you here, no more stealing his high paying bounties, he’d finally be able to afford a little more supplies — but a side of him also grew to deeply respect your skill. the way you managed to handle bounties that had even him slightly questioning if he could do it. you clearly had great skill to make it this long in the business and in the world.

he groans, head dropping back as he beat himself for what he was about to do. the panic in your voice sounded genuine, it sounded like you were genuinely fighting for your life. he set his saddlebag down by the door and kicked it open, the door slamming into the wall.

he walked into the room, blood splattered across the floor, the usual tools and coolers around. and then his eyes landed on you, strapped down to a gurney with the Handy trying to hack away at you.

guessing by the blood on the floor he had gotten at least one good slice in. at the sound of the door slamming open both you and the Handy turned to him. “no people allowed in this room!” the Handy crackles, though his blades still hovering above you.

“heya sugar,” you pant heavily. “fancy seein’ you ‘ere,” you somehow manage a genuine smile, which catches him a little off guard, given the situation you’re in.

“quite the predicament you’ve found ‘urself in, huh?” he nods, eyes still watching the Handy as the robot hovers still.

you flinch at something and swallow thickly, “nothin’ i ain’t done before,” he can see the pain through your smile now, and it makes him want to kick himself for what it makes him feel inside.

he unholsters his gun, aiming at the Handy, “hey tincan, how’bout you leave the lady alone?” he drawls, eyes squinting at the robot.

“i afraid i cannot do so, she has been prepared for harvesting.” the Handy states.

Cooper sighs, knowing that whatever happens here means the end of his dealings with this place. it takes a mere inch that the Handy moves towards him and Cooper puts a bullet through it. smoke shoots out the side that was shot. “t-t-that was n-no-o-ot friendly-” the Handy malfunctions, fully turning to him now.

he rolls his shoulder before unloading the other three heavy rounds into the Handy round body. the Handy spurts out smoke and steam from everywhere, dropping to the floor with a loud crash. he really hopes the guys out back are too high to notice all this.

Cooper holsters his gun, side stepping around the dying Handy as he makes his way to you. the closer he gets, he can see what caused you to flinch and where all the blood all over the floor came from — a huge gash in your side. not concerningly deep, but still worrisome nonetheless. you had a few cuts across your bare shoulders as well, he guesses from you thrashing around while the Handy tried to cut you open.

your head drops down onto the gurney and you groan in relief. “oh crud muffin’,” you huff, the muscles in your side flexing in pain. Cooper watches carefully as he begins to unbuckle the restraints, making sure to be extra careful with the one around your hips that’s awfully close to your wound.

“what ‘m i glad to see your handsome face ‘ere,” you pant, massaging your wrists the moment they're free.

Cooper steps back from the gurney a little once he’s unbuckled the restraints around your ankles so you can sit up. he squints at your choice of words. handsome. you sit up, a little shaky. “phew,” you huff, reaching a hand to your side. “my knight in shinin’ spurs-” your voice trailing off just before your body goes limp and drops forward.

Cooper hands immediately find your shoulders, pushing you up before you’re able to drop off the gurney. “damnit girl,” he swears as he lays you down, eyes sweeping over the gash in your side. it was significantly worse than he thought, and given the amount of blood on the floor you had been fighting quite a bit.

he huffs, searching around for med supplies. it surprises him that you kept going as long as you did. he dumps whatever supplies he could find in your lap, before turning his full attention to your wound. you were gonna owe him after this..

bright lights and a warm feeling wakes you, eyes painfully peeling open. expecting the ceiling of the Super Duper Mart, your eyes instead are met with the bright sky, the hot sun beating down on you. you shoot up in a panic, though nearly cry out in pain as the stitches in your side constrict. “sugar honey iced tea!” you shout out with your eyes clenched shut, your hand immediately holding the injury.

footsteps come dashing from behind you, the sun suddenly blocked by someone. your eyes shoot open, wild eyes meeting a familiar pair of dark, hollow ones. it takes you a second, before you sigh in relief and drop back down. you’re quiet for a moment as you catch your breath, before speaking. “where are we?” your throat is sore.

Cooper huffs, the sound of your cry still pounding in his heart. “not too far out from the Super Duper,” he drawls, catching his own breath a little.

when you open your eyes again to look at him, you notice something strange — he’s not wearing his duster. and that’s when it clicks, the heavy coat is draped over top of you. your eyes flit across his form, a raggedy denim shirt sticking out from a thick leather vest that has certainly seen better days with a few missing buttons and what are almost certainly knife shaped holes.

your eyes drag down to his scarred forearms that are exposed below his sleeves that're rolled up, your distracted eyes lingering a little longer than they should.

you reluctantly sit up, groaning as you do so. the duster drops into your lap as you lift your shirt up to assess the damage. “ahw shucks, that ain’t lookin’ good..” you huff, brows furrowed in pain and eyes staring at the roughly stitched gash.

Cooper clears his throat, “did the best i could on a whim, hope that’s okay,” and this is the first time you’ve heard him speak without the confidence and strength he usually has.

you shake your head, “don’t worry ‘ur handsome head, this more than i could’ve asked you for and’m thankful for it,” you tip your head at him, a pained but genuine smile on your lips. god, he thought, was there ever a time you didn’t look so sugary sweet?

he nods in return, “you’re welcome,” he walks over to offers you a bottle of what appears to be bourbon, which you gratefully accept with a pained grin. “should ‘elp take the edge off,”

you take a generous swig, a low moan of relief being pulled from your lips as the liquid trickles down. you relish the sweet burn before handing him back the bottle. “i can’t thank you enough,” you smile.

Cooper shakes his head, “don’t worry your pretty head about it,” he copies your words. he takes a swig before shoving the bottle back in his saddlebag. he pauses as he thinks, “well, there is one thing you could do,” he trails off.

you let out a laugh, and he thinks it might be the sweetest thing he’s heard in decades. “out with it, what d’you need?” you chuckle.

he shrugs, tilting his head with a playful smirk on his lipless skin. “you could always leave me some bounties for once?” he drawls, eyes squinted to aid the smirk.

you let out another laugh, this one equally if not even more sweeter sounding then the last. “well i’ll tell you what sugar, why don’t we stop dancin' around, partner up and split the caps instead?” there's a smidge of hopefulness in your tone, yet he also feels as though you’ve left no room for a no from him.

he sucks his teeth, looking up as if contemplating his answer. though, the both of you already know what he’ll say. finally, he tips his hat to you, “alright then, 's long as you rest up till that’s healed enough. got it? don’t want you messin’ up my masterpiece,” he chuckles.

that earns him another strained laugh from you. “can’t promise i’ll stay out of a good fight, but you got it sugar.” you grin and wink.

oh lord, he thinks, he’s in for a looong ride.

TAGLIST @live-logs-and-proper @looonytooons @seeingstarks @thewastelandwriter @lacey-mercylercy

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Yandere AIB Boys - They sacrifice players at a game

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Summary: It's the first time you watch them purposely lead other players to their deaths and that leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. [Arisu, Chishiya, Niragi]

WARNINGS: Toxic/Unhealthy Relationship; Manipulation; minor Violence. 

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback 😊 first reaction template for the aib boys and i really hope you guys enjoy this, pls give me some feedback! 💖

--

Arisu

“Don’t look at me like that. Please.” Arisu begs, voice flooding with emotion. He reaches for your hand, but you dodge him. You can’t stand the thought of him touching you. 

The silence is heavy, both of you hesitating to speak first. Unsure of what the outcome can be. Scared of how bad your relationship is damaged. 

Arisu is the first to break the silence. 

“I did it for you. For us…” he whispers, voice breaking down mid-sentence. “I want us both to live. Together.”

You look at him. 

“I want that too, Arisu.” you argue. “But it doesn’t mean I’m willing to plot against people’s lives just for that. The point is you lied to me.”

“It’s not like th-”

“You lied to me. On purpose.” your voice raises, matching the anger you’re feeling. “Kept me in the dark the entire game. Made me believe your plan was actually good when in reality…. fuck, you just wanted to kill all of the players. And now they’re dead.” 

Tears overflow from your eyes and you bury your face in your hands, feeling broken with the turn of events of the last game. Even with closed eyes, you can still visualize the pool of blood and bodies in the game arena.

All because of you and your blind trust in Arisu. 

Arisu takes a step closer to you, slowly and with ease. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” he apologizes, wrapping his arms around you. He sighs when you don’t fight him back, his hold tightening around you. 

“I just… I had to.” his breathing falls over your hair, deep and heavy, voice laced with something akin to regret. “It was them or us. And I choose us to live.”

When he speaks again, it’s so low that you almost don’t catch the words. 

“And I’d do it again every time.”

Chishiya

“Are you upset?”

Chishiya leans against the wall of the small bathroom, hands in his pockets. Eyes staring at you through the mirror. 

Your hand falters for a moment but you keep it still, swirling the cotton disk around your face. Removing all traces of makeup. The concealer and eyeliner come out easily under the make-up remover liquid.

You wish it could also remove your memories, especially the ones from tonight’s game, as easily. So many people died without a reason. Too many. 

Part of the blame goes to you. You shouldn’t have convinced them to join Chishiya’s plan. Even though you didn’t know his real plan, it’s still your fault that they are dead.

You didn’t think straight. You tried to help them but only ended up making things worse. You feel useless. Brainless. So pathetic. 

“It was a complicated game. Not everyone would have won it.” his words dig deeper into your wounds. “We should consider ourselves lucky for having survived.”

You finally meet his stare, eyes glaring at him through the mirror in front of you. 

There’s no hint of remorse or regret over his actions. Part of you doesn’t believe Chishiya to be capable of feeling them. He’s too stoic and practical to experience such conflicting emotions. 

“You could’ve helped them.” you murmur, voice so soft and low as a lightweight feather. 

The only reaction on Chishiya’s face is an almost imperceptible curl of his lips. 

“I suppose I could’ve, yes.” he agrees, the faintest amusement glinting in his eyes. “But I didn’t. Because that’s not my job. It’s their lives, so they can figure out how to survive.”

He pushes himself off the wall, taking a few steps until he’s behind you. You almost shudder when he pulls one hand from the white jacket, softly caressing the back of your head. 

“If there’s one lesson these games teach is that we aren’t immortal. We aren’t heroes either. We can’t save everyone.” 

The certainty in his voice is suffocating, overwhelming just like the darkness in his eyes. 

“Sometimes, you have to make sacrifices to win. And I don’t mind sacrificing them for us to live.” 

Niragi

“Shut up, you're annoying me. What a crybaby.” Niragi grunts.

You ignore him, knees pulled up to your chest, face hidden in the safety of your arms. Tears run wildly from your eyes, sobs wrecking your whole body. You feel miserable.

Guilt eats you alive, corrupting you from inside out. 

Niragi huffs, annoyed. He clicks on the television with the DVD player, increasing the volume until it finally drowns your pitiful crying. 

It was all Niragi’s fault - a voice screams loudly in your mind. He’s a monster. You don’t disagree with the voice and the scorching anger slowly builds inside yo, until it spills over. 

“I hate you.” 

It takes less than a fleeting second for Niragi to react. You get aggressively shoved back, breath knocked out from the lungs as your shoulders roughly meet the mattress. 

Your head bumps against the headboard, leaving you somewhat dizzy. 

Niragi growls, hovering on top of you, deadly eyes glaring at you. “Watch your mouth. Just because your friend died doesn’t mean you get to be a bitch.”

The words escape from your mouth against your better judgement. 

“Died?” you repeat, numbness hitting your tongue. “You killed her, Niragi! You- You shot her!” 

“I did that, yeah. So?” His lips curl into a malicious smirk, his hot breath hitting your face.

His fingers curl around your jaw, fingertips painfully digging into the soft skin - a warning. 

“I won us the game, didn’t I? So what if your little friend died? She was gonna die anyways, I just sped things up. What matters is that we’re both alive.”

He doesn’t relent, even when you try to push him away. 

“You’re alive because of me. You owe me your life, you brat. So, don’t be an ungrateful bitch and better start thanking me.���