#yeah. no... he just looks at you for a second then continues to do it. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lanadelspray02 · 2 days ago

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A BEAUTIFUL MISTAKE: CHAPTER 1

paige x azzi

warning: sexual content !!

hey guys! an anon on tumblr requested a friends with benefits series, so here it is. I will still be mainly focusing on hold me anyway, but i will every now and then release a chapter for this series. let me know what you think or if you even want me to continue it :) I honestly dont know how i feel about this.

crossposted ao3 here

masterlist here

wc: 7370

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The AC in Azzi’s dorm apartment had been broken for two weeks, but neither of them seemed to mind tonight. The windows were cracked just wide enough to let in a breeze that barely touched the edges of the room, fluttering the corner of a Kobe Bryant poster on the wall.

Azzi was sprawled across the couch in biker shorts and a too-big UConn shirt, one bare leg tucked beneath her and the other brushing against Paige’s thigh. Paige pretended not to notice — or maybe she just didn’t want to admit how badly she did.

The music playing was a mellow, late-night playlist Azzi had made on Spotify — mostly H.E.R. and SZA, with a little bit of Brent Faiyaz thrown in. It pulsed soft and low from a speaker on the windowsill, fading into the quiet hum of the room.

Paige leaned back against the armrest, one socked foot propped on the coffee table, an almost-empty can of spiked seltzer dangling from her fingertips. She looked relaxed, but Azzi could feel the shift in the air. The slow burn of eye contact that held too long, the laugh that stuck in her throat half a second after Paige’s smile.

This had been happening for weeks. Maybe longer. Paige wasn’t subtle when she flirted — and Azzi wasn’t stupid.

“You're actually insane if you think Bryson Tiller clears Summer Walker,” Azzi said, grinning around the lip of her glass as she took another sip.

Paige raised an eyebrow. “He’s literally heartbreak personified. She’s great, but you can’t tell me Exchange didn’t wreck you in 2017.”

“I was fourteen in 2017.”

“Exactly. Prime wreckable age.”

Azzi snorted, shaking her head as she leaned over to refill her drink. Her hair was pulled into a loose bun, a few curls sticking to the back of her neck. Paige’s gaze followed the movement of her arm, the dip of her shirt collar as she reached for the bottle. She didn't say anything. Just sipped her seltzer and tried to pretend she hadn’t noticed the way Azzi’s thigh pressed a little closer to hers when she sat back down.

“You’re quiet,” Azzi said after a beat, tilting her head toward her.

Paige shrugged, lips twitching at the corner. “Just taking it all in.”

“Oh yeah?” Azzi asked, amused. “What exactly is there to take in?”

“You,” Paige said, and her voice wasn’t teasing this time. It was low and easy, like it had just slipped out — honest without asking for anything in return.

Azzi blinked, her expression flickering for a moment into something unreadable. Then she gave a lazy smile, one brow arching as she leaned in just a little closer. “You trying to be smooth right now?”

“Do I have to try?”

That earned a laugh — soft, close to genuine — and then Azzi reached out and flicked Paige’s shoulder. “Cocky.”

Paige didn’t move away. “Confident.”

“Same thing.”

“Nope.” Paige leaned forward, bracing one arm on the back of the couch behind Azzi’s shoulders. “Confidence means I know what I want.”

Azzi’s smile faltered just enough to make the air between them shift again. Paige’s fingers brushed lightly against the back of Azzi’s neck — not quite a touch, more like a suggestion. The music dipped into a new song, something with a slow bass line and lyrics they weren’t really listening to anymore.

Azzi swallowed. “And what is it you want, exactly?”

Paige didn’t answer with words. She just reached down, slowly, and curled her fingers around Azzi’s waist — firm but careful — and pulled her into her lap.

Azzi made a quiet sound, surprised more than anything, her knees folding on either side of Paige’s hips as she adjusted her balance. She was warm. Solid. Close in a way that erased the space between flirting and something heavier.

“That’s bold,” Azzi murmured, but her voice had dropped half an octave.

Paige looked up at her, hands still resting low on her waist. “You gonna stop me?”

Azzi’s hands landed on Paige’s shoulders, fingers curling slightly in the fabric of her t-shirt. Her smile turned sharp. “I didn’t say that.”

The kiss happened like an exhale — slow at first, then deeper, more deliberate. Azzi shifted her weight forward, pressing Paige back into the couch as her hips settled into the space between Paige’s legs. Paige let out a soft sound that might’ve been a groan, her hands sliding up Azzi’s back and pulling her closer until there was nothing between them but heat and history and the kind of want that had been building for months.

Azzi’s hair brushed Paige’s cheek. Paige kissed her harder. Azzi answered without hesitation.

They didn’t say anything for a long time.

Only moved — lips and hands and the slight, rhythmic push of Azzi’s body against Paige’s lap as tension coiled tighter between them like something inevitable.

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

Azzi’s mouth was on hers again, open and wanting, all soft lips and sharp edges. Paige couldn’t remember the last time she’d been kissed like this — like someone had been waiting for permission. Azzi shifted her hips in Paige’s lap, slow at first, testing, and Paige exhaled hard, fingers digging into Azzi’s waist. Her t-shirt had ridden up just enough to bare skin, and Paige’s hands found it greedily — warm, smooth, real.

Azzi pulled back just enough to breathe, just enough to look down at her with something dangerous flickering in her eyes. “Still think you’re in control?” she asked, her voice low and uneven, her hands slipping up under Paige’s shirt, palms dragging over her ribs, thumbs brushing just under the swell of her chest.

Paige licked her lips, leaned forward until her mouth was at Azzi’s ear. “Not yet,” she murmured, and then stood.

Azzi yelped softly in surprise as Paige rose to her feet, her arms instinctively winding around Paige’s neck, legs still locked around her waist. Paige held her easily, one hand under her thighs, the other braced across her back, guiding them through the small dorm apartment like it was muscle memory. The hallway was short, but the tension between them stretched it long — every second taut with heat, with the way Azzi’s breath caught against Paige’s neck, with the way Paige pressed her a little tighter against the wall as they passed, just to feel the gasp that slipped out.

Paige’s mouth found Azzi’s jaw, her throat, the place just beneath her ear that made Azzi twitch in her arms. Her grip tightened, and Azzi let her head fall back, lips parted, fingers threading through Paige’s hair as her body arched toward the contact.

By the time they reached the bedroom, they were both flushed, breathing uneven, teeth flashing between kisses that turned rough in the way that only happened when restraint finally snapped.

Paige set Azzi down gently on the edge of the bed, but Azzi didn’t let go. She pulled Paige down with her, dragged her into the sheets with urgency, and their mouths found each other again like they were starving.

Paige kissed her again, then shifted downward, dragging her mouth along Azzi’s chest — slow and open-mouthed — until she caught one nipple between her lips. Azzi gasped, her back arching, fingers tightening in Paige’s hair. Paige swirled her tongue around it, then sucked hard, just to see how Azzi would react. She wasn’t disappointed.

“Fuck—Paige,” Azzi breathed, hips twitching upward as she tried to anchor herself to something. Paige moved to the other breast, repeating the same hungry attention, and Azzi whimpered beneath her, pulling at her shoulders, trying to get her closer, deeper, more.

Paige smiled against her skin. “You’re already so sensitive,” she murmured. “Bet you’ve been thinking about this, huh?”

Azzi opened her mouth to respond but couldn’t find anything but another moan as Paige’s hand slipped lower, past the curve of her waist, fingers teasing the waistband of her underwear.

“Say it,” Paige said, her lips ghosting against Azzi’s stomach now, moving lower. “Say you’ve been thinking about me.”

“I—” Azzi’s voice cracked, half a breath, half a confession. “I have.”

“Good,” Paige whispered.

She hooked her fingers in Azzi’s underwear and dragged them down, slow and deliberate, exposing her inch by inch. Azzi tried to close her thighs, overwhelmed, but Paige pressed a firm hand to the inside of one, pushing her open again. She kissed along the inside of her knee, then up, slow and hot and teasing, until she could feel the tremble in Azzi’s legs. Paige looked up — and Azzi was already watching her, eyes glazed over, lips parted.

“Don’t look away,” Paige said, and then lowered her mouth to her.

Azzi’s reaction was instant — a choked gasp, her hips jerking up into Paige’s face, one hand flying to the headboard, the other fisting in Paige’s hair. Paige groaned against her, tongue parting her folds and licking through them like she already knew every part. She was warm and wet and tasted like every fantasy Paige had tried not to let herself have.

Paige flattened her tongue, dragged it slow from bottom to top, then circled her clit — gentle at first, then faster, firmer, until Azzi was panting above her, thighs squeezing tight around her head. Paige moaned at the pressure, loving it, letting Azzi ride her face as she worked her tongue in tight, rhythmic circles.

Azzi’s voice broke on a curse. “Oh my God, don’t stop—”

She didn’t.

Paige reached up, slipping one hand beneath Azzi’s ass and lifting her just enough to keep her in place, the other hand slipping between Azzi’s thighs to tease her entrance. She pressed a single finger inside, slow and deep, and Azzi’s whole body arched like she’d been hit with electricity.

“Paige—” It came out broken. Begging.

Paige added a second finger and started moving — curling with every thrust, tongue never stopping on her clit. Azzi was losing it, gasping, cursing, her heels digging into the mattress as her body fought to keep up with how good it felt.

Her voice was ragged. “Gonna—fuck, Paige, I—”

“Let go,” Paige murmured, barely pulling back enough to speak. “I got you.”

That did it.

Azzi came hard, thighs trembling around Paige’s head, her whole body tensing, breath catching in her throat before breaking into a long, desperate moan. Paige didn’t stop — kept licking her through it, fingers working her slow and deep until Azzi was shaking, overstimulated, pleading softly through clenched teeth.

When Paige finally pulled back, her mouth and chin slick, she crawled back up Azzi’s body and kissed her. Azzi tasted herself on Paige’s lips, and groaned into her mouth, grabbing her face like she couldn’t stand to be any farther away.

“You’re fucking unreal,” Azzi whispered when they finally broke apart, voice hoarse.

Paige smirked, brushing sweat-damp curls away from her forehead. “Told you I knew what I wanted.”

Azzi pulled her in again, rolling them so Paige was beneath her this time, and kissed her until her legs started shaking again — until wanting turned into needing all over again.

Azzi kissed her like she was making up for all the time they'd spent pretending they didn’t want this — deep and dizzying, tongue sliding against Paige’s as her hand skimmed down her chest. Paige was still panting, the aftershocks of what she’d just done vibrating through her muscles, but she didn’t resist as Azzi shifted on top of her, dragging her leg over and straddling her waist.

Paige’s hands found Azzi’s hips, still trembling slightly, and Azzi grinned against her mouth. “You good?” she asked, but the glint in her eyes said she already knew the answer.

“I will be,” Paige rasped, “once you stop teasing.”

Azzi leaned down, her mouth trailing a path along Paige’s jaw, her throat, across the collarbone already marked by a few of Paige’s earlier bites. “Then shut up and let me focus.”

Her hands were everywhere — confident but reverent, like she was still wrapping her head around the fact that she was allowed to touch Paige like this. She cupped her breasts, brushed her thumbs across her nipples, then bent down to take one into her mouth, sucking just hard enough to make Paige gasp. Paige arched into her with a sharp inhale, her fingers digging into Azzi’s back.

Azzi moved slow at first — kissing down the center of her chest, then her stomach, tongue sliding along the ridges of muscle as Paige tensed beneath her. When she reached the waistband of Paige’s shorts, she hooked her fingers there and looked up.

“Can I?”

“Azzi,” Paige groaned, “if you don’t—”

That was all the permission she needed. She pulled them down quickly, underwear with them, then tossed them off the side of the bed. She paused for half a second to just look — at Paige laid out beneath her, lips kiss-swollen, chest rising fast, legs spread open and slick with arousal.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Azzi whispered, more to herself than anything.

Paige opened her mouth to fire back something cocky — probably a joke, probably a tease — but then Azzi’s mouth was on her, and nothing clever came out.

She licked her slowly first, just to watch Paige react — the twitch in her thighs, the way her hand flew up to grip the sheets. Then she flattened her tongue and dragged it through her folds, savoring the taste, before closing her lips around her clit and sucking hard.

Paige cursed loud and bucked her hips, one hand reaching down to grab Azzi’s hair. “Holy fuck—”

Azzi smiled against her and kept going — her tongue worked in tight, steady circles, her hand sliding up to press down gently on Paige’s stomach, grounding her. Every now and then she’d back off just to tease, to flick her tongue lightly or drag it maddeningly slow, only to suck again harder when Paige started to whine.

When she felt Paige getting close — her hips rolling, her thighs starting to shake — she slipped a finger inside her. Paige choked on a moan, eyes flying open, head falling back against the pillow.

Azzi curled her finger, then added a second, pumping them in deep, slow thrusts while her mouth never let up. Paige was falling apart under her — cursing, gasping, hand tight in her curls as if she couldn’t stand the thought of Azzi stopping for even a second.

Azzi loved it — loved the sound of Paige breaking for her, the way she’d gone from cocky to wrecked in minutes. “That’s it,” she murmured against her, voice low and thick with arousal. “Come for me, Paige.”

And Paige did — hard. Her whole body tensed, her breath caught in her throat, her hips stuttered. She let out a broken sound, deep and raw, as she fell over the edge. Azzi kept her mouth on her until Paige physically tugged her up, dragging her in for a kiss with the little strength she had left.

They kissed for a long time, still half-naked, chests slick with sweat, legs tangled. Neither of them said anything for a while — not because there was nothing to say, but because whatever they’d just done wasn’t the kind of thing you could explain out loud.

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The room was quiet, save for the low hum of the fan spinning unevenly in the corner. Outside, campus had gone still — no more late-night stragglers, no more music bleeding through the walls. Just the soft sound of breathing and the occasional creak of the mattress when one of them shifted.

Paige lay on her back, arm curled under her head, eyes fixed on a faint crack in the ceiling she’d never noticed before. Azzi was on her side, the sheet tangled around her legs, her bare shoulder brushing Paige’s lightly. They hadn’t spoken in almost five minutes. The kind of silence that wasn’t just tired — it was loaded. Something was shifting between them. They both felt it.

Azzi cleared her throat, voice still hoarse from earlier. “So… are we gonna talk about it?”

Paige didn’t look at her. “Talk about what?”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “You know what.”

A pause. Then Paige exhaled and turned her head just enough to glance at her. “You mean the part where you came on my face and then pretended nothing happened?”

Azzi blinked, caught between a laugh and a glare. “Jesus.”

Paige smirked, just a little, but it faded quickly. “Fine. Yeah. We should talk.”

Azzi sat up, hugging her knees to her chest, hair a mess around her shoulders. Paige pushed herself upright more slowly, the sheet pooling at her hips. They didn’t look at each other at first.

“So what is this?” Azzi asked, voice quieter now.

Paige rubbed a hand over her face. “It was… good sex.”

Azzi shot her a look.

“What?” Paige asked. “It was. Really good. Possibly illegal in some states.”

Azzi snorted, but the laugh didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re deflecting.”

Paige looked at her for a long moment. “Okay. Yeah. I am.”

More silence. Not heavy. Not yet. Just cautious.

Azzi hesitated before saying, “I’m not looking for a relationship.”

Paige’s stomach twisted — not because she didn’t expect it, but because hearing it out loud still stung. She nodded slowly. “Me neither.”

Azzi raised a brow. “You sure?”

“I wouldn’t have pulled you onto my lap if I wasn’t.”

Azzi squinted at her. “That logic makes zero sense.”

Paige shrugged, voice dry. “Welcome to my brain.”

They stared at each other for a beat longer, then Azzi finally leaned back against the headboard. “So… rules?”

“Sure,” Paige said, though her chest already felt tight. “Rules are good. Rules are smart.”

Azzi started counting off on her fingers. “No catching feelings.”

Paige gave her a look. “Obvious, but okay.”

“No sleepovers.”

Paige gestured vaguely at the bed. “Failing spectacularly already.”

Azzi shrugged. “Exceptions can be made for post-orgasm comas.”

“Noted.”

They were both quiet for a moment, then Paige said, “No texting at weird hours.”

Azzi frowned. “Why?”

Paige glanced away. “Because 2 a.m. texts start to feel like something else.”

Azzi chewed on her bottom lip, nodding slowly. “Okay. No late-night texts unless it’s strictly logistical.”

Paige snorted. “What, like ‘meet me in ten, bring ice packs’?”

“Exactly.”

She was trying to make it funny. They both were. But the edges were too sharp, too close to something real. Paige shifted uncomfortably and added, “No telling the team.”

Azzi nodded. “God, no. You know they’d never shut up.”

“KK would start a countdown for how fast we’d catch feelings.”

“And Nika would have a betting pool by breakfast.”

They both smiled at that, a flicker of ease sliding into the space between them. But it didn’t last.

Azzi leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling. “What about… seeing other people?”

Paige froze.

Azzi looked at her. “Like… we can. Right?”

Paige forced her jaw to unclench. “Of course. Yeah. This isn’t exclusive.”

Azzi nodded quickly, like she was reassuring herself. “Right. Just sex. That’s it.”

“Exactly.” Paige laid back down again, staring at the ceiling. “Just stress relief. A mutual favor.”

Azzi laughed once. “You’re so bad at pretending you don’t care.”

Paige’s smile was tight. “So are you.”

Another silence. This one stretched.

Azzi laid back down beside her, not quite touching. “It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

“It already is,” Paige said quietly.

Neither of them said anything for a long time after that.

Eventually, Azzi rolled to her side and said, voice soft, “You’re still staying, though, right?”

Paige looked over. “Thought we weren’t doing sleepovers.”

Azzi shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “There’s an exception for post-orgasm comas, remember?”

Paige chuckled, but it didn’t quite reach her chest. “Right.”

She reached out under the sheets and found Azzi’s hand. Their fingers laced automatically.

No more words. Just that fragile, unspoken thing growing between them.

They fell asleep like that — not touching, but tethered.

And neither of them dreamed about anyone else.

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Azzi woke slowly, the way you do when your body wants more sleep but your mind has already decided it’s over. The light coming in through the blinds was soft and diluted, just enough to tint the room in a pale gray that made everything look quieter than it was. She blinked up at the ceiling, adjusting to the stillness, and only when she reached out on instinct did she realize Paige wasn’t there.

Her arm stretched across the mattress, fingers brushing the sheet, but the spot where Paige had been hours ago was already cold.

Azzi didn’t move for a moment. Her hand stayed there, resting against the empty space, and she stared up at the ceiling like maybe if she stayed still long enough, the world would shift backward. Just a little. Just to last night.

The room smelled like her shampoo and Paige’s deodorant. There was a sweatshirt on the floor that didn’t belong to her, one sleeve turned inside out like it had been taken off in a rush. Her nightstand drawer was half-open — she didn’t remember opening it. Her phone was face down. And on the chair by the closet, her clothes were folded neatly, but the edge of Paige’s t-shirt was gone.

No text. No note. Not even a missed call.

Azzi exhaled slowly, more habit than feeling, and rolled onto her back, dragging the sheet up to her chest like it might hold something together. It didn’t. Her body was still sore in places she hadn’t been touched in months — tender reminders of a night she wasn’t supposed to hold onto. But it was hard to forget. Her skin still buzzed with the shape of Paige’s hands, the echo of her mouth, the weight of how it felt to be wanted like that.

She closed her eyes for a second longer, pressing the heel of her hand gently against her sternum. It wasn’t heartbreak. It wasn’t even disappointment. It was just… that slow, empty pull. The reminder that she’d made the rules. That Paige was just following them.

Azzi finally sat up, legs swinging over the edge of the bed. Her bare feet hit the floor with a dull thud. The air was cooler than it had been last night. Her window was cracked open an inch, letting in the distant sound of someone on a skateboard and a few birds that wouldn’t shut up. She pulled her robe off the back of her desk chair, slipped it on, and padded into the kitchen without turning on the lights.

The apartment was still. Caroline and Ice were probably still asleep, their doors shut. Azzi moved on autopilot — kettle, mug, instant coffee, a splash of oat milk. Her hands moved like they were used to distraction, like they’d memorized the steps of pretending everything was normal.

She sat at the small dining table, one leg pulled up under her robe, cradling her mug with both hands. The first sip burned her tongue slightly. She didn’t care.

Her phone lit up on the counter — not a message from Paige. Just Caroline: “Brunch? I’m starving and bored.”

Azzi stared at the screen for a second, then typed back: “Sure. Let me shower.”

No mention of last night. No questions. No confessions.

She locked her phone, sipped her coffee, and kept her face blank as the mug warmed her fingers.

Just sex, she reminded herself.

She didn’t believe it either.

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The brunch spot was barely a five-minute walk off campus, one of those places that always smelled like cinnamon and espresso no matter what time of day it was. The windows were fogged slightly from the heat of the kitchen, and the patio seating was already half full of students in sweats and sunglasses nursing iced lattes like hangover remedies. Azzi spotted Caroline immediately — tucked in the far corner under an umbrella, one foot propped on the empty chair across from her, sunglasses perched in her hair and a nearly empty mimosa in her hand.

Azzi approached quietly, adjusting the strap of her crossbody bag across her chest. She’d tied her curls up into a high bun after her shower, loose strands escaping around her face. Oversized hoodie. Leggings. Big black sunglasses she hadn’t bothered to take off even though the sun wasn’t that bright.

Caroline looked up as she approached and dropped her foot from the chair with a grin. “There she is. I was about to order for you and pretend we were dating.”

Azzi huffed a soft laugh, sliding into the seat. “As if they’d believe you could land me.”

“Ouch,” Caroline said, clutching her chest. “See if I order you the good pancakes now.”

Azzi let herself smile — small, easy — and picked up the menu, even though she already knew what she wanted. Something about pretending to think helped slow the morning down.

“You look like shit,” Caroline added after a beat, not unkindly. “Rough night?”

Azzi’s eyes stayed on the menu. “Didn’t sleep much.”

Caroline hummed, stirring the last inch of her mimosa with the straw. “Doing what?”

Azzi looked up briefly, then back down. “Just… thinking. Trying to reset.”

“Sure,” Caroline said, tone casual but eyes sharp. “You know you ghosted me last night, right? Whole team was in the group chat. You just vanished.”

“I wasn’t feeling it.” Azzi folded the menu closed and placed it on the edge of the table. “Needed a quiet night.”

“You always need a quiet night,” Caroline said, but it wasn’t an accusation — just an observation. She leaned forward, rested her chin on her hand. “You weren’t alone, though.”

Azzi didn’t flinch, but she didn’t meet her eyes either.

Caroline watched her for another second, then leaned back as the server arrived to take their order. Azzi asked for a green smoothie and banana pancakes. Caroline ordered eggs and hashbrowns, another mimosa. The server smiled and left. The silence returned.

“I’m not trying to pry,” Caroline said finally. “Just… checking in.”

Azzi nodded once. “I appreciate that.”

“But also,” Caroline added, tapping her fingers lightly against her glass, “if you’re going to sneak around and act mysterious, at least let me pretend to be supportive.”

Azzi laughed under her breath, and this time, it sounded real. “There’s nothing to support. It’s not a thing.”

Caroline tilted her head. “Uh-huh.”

“I mean it.” Azzi picked up her water, took a sip. “It was just… whatever. Not a big deal.”

“You’re talking like I asked for a ring size.”

Azzi gave her a look.

Caroline held up her hands. “Okay. Not a big deal. Totally normal to disappear for a night and show up looking like you wrestled a fever dream.”

Azzi smirked. “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re deflecting.”

Their food arrived, giving Azzi a moment of reprieve. She busied herself with syrup, focusing a little too hard on pouring it evenly. Caroline didn’t push further, but the silence between them stretched in that familiar way — not uncomfortable, just heavy with what neither of them was saying.

Azzi stabbed a piece of pancake, chewed slowly, then asked, “What’s the group chat say this morning?”

Caroline shrugged. “Mostly nonsense. Nika wants to go out tonight. KK’s being KK. Someone made a joke about Mia again, which I still don’t understand.”

Azzi’s fork froze halfway to her mouth.

Caroline clocked it.

But Azzi just said, “Mia’s a freshman. Paige tutors her sometimes.”

“Interesting.”

“Not really,” Azzi muttered, setting her fork down. “She’s just loud.”

Caroline didn’t say anything else. She just picked at her eggs, let Azzi sit in her own quiet.

They finished the meal without circling back. But when the check came, Caroline paid for both of them without comment, and Azzi didn’t argue. As they stood to leave, Caroline bumped her shoulder lightly and said, “Just don’t shut me out, okay?”

Azzi adjusted her sunglasses and gave her a small nod. “I won’t.”

She already had.

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The gym was half-lit and echoing when Paige pushed through the back doors, a worn-out hoodie tugged over her tank top, earbuds already in. The playlist was old — one of her summer grind mixes — all bass-heavy and wordless enough to drown things out. She liked the gym this way, still waking up, not yet buzzing with team chatter or Coach’s whistle. It gave her space to move without thinking. Just repetition and sweat.

She dropped her bag, tied her shoes tight, and picked up a ball without stretching. The first few jumpers were lazy, loose-wristed, just enough arc to feel it again. The fourth clanged off the rim and bounced hard. She chased it down, jaw already tight. Fifth went in. Sixth rattled, but fell. Seventh — smooth.

It was muscle memory. The one thing she could trust to not get complicated.

She didn’t hear the door open, didn’t notice Nika until she was standing at half court, spinning a ball on one finger like she’d been there all morning.

“You work out in silence now?” Nika called out.

Paige popped her earbuds out. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“You’re not that hard to find. Also, you missed breakfast.”

Paige caught the ball off a bounce and wiped her wrist across her forehead. “Didn’t feel like a crowd.”

Nika cocked her head. “You always feel like a crowd.”

Paige smirked. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Doesn’t have to. You get my point.”

They moved into a rhythm without really talking about it — Nika rebounding, Paige shooting, the kind of flow that came from years of knowing each other’s timing. But even with the ease of it, Nika was watching her. Paige could feel it. The too-long silences. The way Nika let her miss four shots in a row without a comment. That wasn’t normal.

After the next make, Paige said, “You’re being weird.”

“I’m being observant.”

“Same thing.”

Nika tossed her the ball, then crossed her arms. “You’ve been quiet lately. Like, Paige quiet. Which is worse than regular quiet because it means you’re either overthinking or actively self-destructing.”

Paige let the ball bounce once before catching it again. “I’m fine.”

Nika gave her a flat look. “You disappeared last night. Didn’t answer the group chat. And now you’re here at nine in the morning like it’s therapy hour.”

“I just needed to shoot.”

“Uh-huh.”

Paige took another jumper. Swish.

Nika walked closer, dropped the ball she was holding. “Look. I’m not asking for a diary entry, but you know you can tell me shit, right?”

Paige exhaled slowly. “I know.”

“Then tell me why you’re acting like you got hit by an emotional semi-truck.”

“I’m not.”

“You only dodge like this when there’s a girl involved.”

Paige hesitated — just for a second — and that was all Nika needed.

“Oh my god,” she said, eyes lighting up. “Who is she?”

“There’s no girl.”

“Lie better.”

“There’s no relationship.” Paige corrected, catching her own slip too late.

Nika’s eyebrows went up. “So there is a girl. And something happened.”

Paige shook her head, turned back toward the hoop. “It’s not a big deal.”

Nika folded her arms. “You know, I was gonna invite you to Ted’s tonight. Whole crew’s going.”

Paige hesitated again, then said, “I don’t know if I’m up for—”

“That’s exactly why you’re coming.”

Paige shot again. Missed.

Nika grinned like she’d just won a bet.

They didn’t say anything for a while. Just the rhythm of ball on hardwood, sneakers squeaking, the low hum of music still leaking from Paige’s phone speaker in her pocket. But then Nika pulled her own phone out and tapped into the group chat with a mischievous gleam in her eye.

“Just to let the people know,” she said.

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

Group Chat – “UConn Fam”

9:04 AM

Nika:

Ted’s tonight. 9PM. I expect chaos. No excuses.

—

1:57 PM

Aaliyah:

I'm in. who’s trying to black out responsibly

Aubrey:

Im 100% in

Ines:

Only if someone keeps KK away from the DJ booth this time

Ice:

Can’t promise anything

KK:

Is Paige even alive??? girl’s been dodging us like we’re taxes

Aaliyah:

Fr she’s been in stealth mode all week

KK:

She was probably with Mia again 👀👀

Caroline:

Who the hell is Mia???

Nika:

Freshman Paige tutors. loud. confident. definitely crushing.

KK:

Tutoring. suuure 😏

Ice:

Here we go again 💀

Paige is typing…

Nothing sent.

POV: Paige

She’d been lying on her bed, hair still damp from her post-gym shower, phone face up on her chest. She hadn’t opened the group chat when the first message came through that morning — just saw Nika’s Ted’s invite flash across her lock screen and ignored it. But this? She read through the thread three times.

Mia. Of course they brought her up.

Her thumbs hovered above the keyboard. She could’ve joked it off. Said something dumb. Given them the reaction they wanted.

But the idea of Azzi seeing her name tied to someone else made her stomach twist — not because of guilt. Because she didn’t want Azzi thinking it meant anything. Because it didn’t. Not even close.

She typed, “you’re all sick” — then deleted it. Locked the screen.

Let them think what they wanted.

POV: Azzi

Azzi had just gotten back from brunch and dumped her bag on the floor, hair still in a half-undone bun, hoodie sleeves pushed to her elbows. She wasn’t even hungry, but she’d eaten anyway. Smiled at the right times. Lied when it counted.

She hadn’t opened the group chat until the notifications stacked. Her eyes skimmed the thread. Then froze.

Paige was probably with Mia again 👀👀

The name hit harder than it should have. Azzi stared at it, thumb trembling just slightly over the screen. The kind of joke that wasn't really a joke. The kind of thing that clung.

Her jaw tensed. She exited the app. Turned her phone face-down on the windowsill.

She wouldn’t ask. She wouldn’t care. She wouldn’t let herself care.

But her chest still felt hollow.

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

POV: Azzi

Azzi adjusted her crop top in the mirror for the third time, smoothing her palms over her ribs as if the fabric would magically shift into something more comfortable. It was tight — on purpose. The kind of top she usually reserved for nights she needed to feel in control of something. Paired with high-waisted jean shorts and the same black sneakers she always wore when she wanted to look casual but still hot, it was… a choice.

“You sure you don’t want to bring a hoodie?” Caroline called from the kitchen.

Azzi looked down at herself. “No.”

Caroline popped her head into the room and let out a low whistle. “Okay, damn. You’re showing up tonight.”

Azzi turned slightly, checking her profile in the mirror. “Too much?”

“For a regular night? Maybe. For seeing your almost-hookup-you’re-trying-not-to-have-feelings-for? Perfect.”

Azzi gave her a look. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Caroline said sweetly, already walking away.

Azzi sprayed perfume lightly over her neck and wrists, then pulled her curls over one shoulder. Her lip gloss was subtle. Her earrings matched the thin chain around her throat. She looked effortless.

She didn’t feel it.

Ice was already by the door in camo pants and a tiny halter top. “We going or what?”

Azzi grabbed her phone, glanced at the lock screen. Nothing.

She wasn’t expecting anything. That’s what they’d agreed.

Still, she lingered for a beat before answering. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

POV: Paige

The mirror above her desk was streaked at the edges, but Paige leaned in close anyway, swiping on a quick coat of mascara with practiced ease. It was the only thing she ever wore — just enough to make her eyes stand out without looking like she cared. Her hair was freshly straightened, parted down the middle and tucked behind her ears, still warm from the flat iron.

She pulled her oversized white tee over her head, the cotton soft and slouchy against her skin. The neckline hung a little loose, just wide enough to show the strap of her sports bra and a peek of her collarbone. She adjusted it without thinking, then grabbed her black cargo pants from the back of her desk chair and stepped into them, cinching the waist tight. They sat low on her hips and hung just right — baggy, but not shapeless. She checked herself in the mirror. Oversized shirt, cargos, fresh sneakers, silver cross chain glinting at her collarbone.

Casual. Comfortable. Still hot.

“You look like the kind of girl that ruins lives,” Nika said from the doorway, one brow raised.

Paige smirked. “That’s the goal.”

KK piped up from where she was sprawled on the futon, holding her phone over her head. “Mia’s gonna combust if she sees you in that.”

Paige rolled her eyes, grabbing her phone from the windowsill. “She’s not going.”

“You sure?” KK grinned. “Girl looked ready to fake an ID just to find you.”

“I’m not going for Mia,” Paige said, shoving her phone into her pocket.

“Didn’t say you were,” KK sing-songed. “But she’s definitely going for you.”

Nika gave Paige a look, but kept her mouth shut. Just handed her the hoodie Paige had left crumpled on the chair. “Take this. In case you want to hide your shame.”

“I don’t have any shame,” Paige said, pulling it on but leaving it unzipped.

KK cackled. “Lies. But she looks fine as hell.”

Paige didn’t respond. Just grabbed her keys and nodded toward the door. “Let’s go.”

But as they left the dorm, she tugged the hem of her shirt down once more, fingertips brushing her hips — like she was already thinking about who might be looking.

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

POV Azzi

Ted’s was packed — low ceilings, sweaty walls, and music that hit harder than it had any right to on a Thursday. The bass rattled through her ribs, all synth and bassline and bodies packed too close together. Azzi stuck near the front with Caroline and Ice at first, drink in hand, eyes scanning through the blur of familiar heads and half-lit faces.

Then she saw her.

Paige.

Standing across the room near the back wall, just a little outside the crowd, lit by the dull red glow of the overhead lights. Oversized white tee, black cargos, silver chain catching the flicker from the DJ booth. Straight hair tucked behind her ears, her posture loose like she didn’t care — but Azzi knew that look. It was curated. Paige looked relaxed, cool, unfazed.

She looked hot.

Azzi took a slow sip of her drink, already half warm in her hand. She wasn’t going to stare. She wasn’t.

Paige turned at the same moment, eyes locking with hers like it was choreographed. Azzi didn’t look away. Neither did Paige. The corner of Paige’s mouth lifted — not a full smirk. Just enough to say yeah, I see you too.

Azzi’s stomach dipped.

Then someone stepped into Paige’s space. A girl. Shorter, brunette, loud in the way freshmen always were. She leaned in close, too close, her hand brushing Paige’s arm in a way that made Azzi blink.

Mia.

Of course it was Mia.

She said something that made Paige laugh, head ducking slightly. Azzi’s jaw clenched. She didn’t wait for more. Just turned, walking straight toward the bar without a word.

POV Paige

She felt Azzi’s eyes before she saw her.

Across the room, tight black crop top, denim shorts, thighs out, curls framing her face like it was personal. Her skin glowed under the lights — bronze and smooth and soft in a way Paige remembered way too well. She couldn’t stop looking. Wouldn’t. Azzi looked unreal. And Paige knew she was doing it on purpose.

Paige’s fingers curled into her pocket, trying to keep cool.

Then Mia appeared out of nowhere — all perfume and confidence, brushing against Paige’s arm like it was nothing.

“Didn’t expect to see you out tonight,” she said, already half shouting over the music.

Paige kept her tone casual. “Didn’t expect to be here.”

“You look good,” Mia said, eyes flicking down. “Dangerous. In a fun way.”

Paige forced a laugh, but it didn’t land. Her eyes drifted back across the room — only Azzi was gone. A flash of dark curls weaving through the crowd, headed toward the bar.

Something tugged in her chest. Harder than she wanted it to.

“Hey, you want a drink?” Mia asked, still touching her.

Paige stepped back a half-step. “I’m good. I gotta—yeah. One sec.”

She didn’t wait. Just moved — slow but direct — slipping through the crowd until she found Azzi leaning against the bar, waiting for the bartender, arms crossed under her chest like she was trying not to look annoyed.

“You ran off,” Paige said, sliding in beside her.

Azzi didn’t look at her right away. “Didn’t realize I owed you a debrief.”

Paige smirked. “You looked good tonight.”

Azzi finally turned to face her. “You looked busy.”

“That wasn’t—” Paige sighed. “I didn’t ask her to come up to me.”

“Didn’t stop her from touching you.”

Paige leaned in a little closer. Her voice dropped low, just for her. “I didn’t want her.”

Azzi’s brow arched. “And who do you want?”

Paige’s mouth hovered near her ear, breath warm. “When can I fuck you again?”

Azzi didn’t flinch. Just tilted her head slightly, lips brushing a smile against the rim of her glass. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“How tonight goes.”

Paige chuckled, low and quiet. “So I need to be on my best behavior?”

Azzi turned to face her fully now, her voice sweet but loaded. “No, Paige. You need to be interesting.”

The bartender arrived. Azzi ordered another vodka soda. Didn’t ask if Paige wanted one.

Then she turned and walked back into the crowd — leaving Paige standing there, smirking to herself, aroused and entirely off-balance.

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

POV Paige

She watched Azzi disappear into the crowd, glass in hand, hips moving like she didn’t know she was being watched — or worse, like she did.

Paige stayed at the bar for another minute, pretending to care about nothing. Then she turned, rejoined Nika and KK near the edge of the dance floor, trying to act like her pulse wasn’t jackhammering in her throat.

The lights were low and hazy now, flickering between violet and red as the DJ dropped into something grimy and bass-heavy. Around her, everyone was moving. Laughing. Drunk.

Paige wasn’t.

She let KK shove a cup into her hand, took a sip without tasting it, eyes scanning through the blur of bodies. She found her fast.

Azzi was near the center of the floor now, surrounded by people but not with any of them — just dancing, head tipped back, curls sticking slightly to her neck. Her crop top rode high as her hands moved up, hair bouncing with the beat, the curve of her waist catching every flash of light like a fucking magnet.

Paige didn’t realize she’d stopped breathing until Nika nudged her. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Paige said, eyes still locked.

Nika grinned like she already knew. “You’re about to do something stupid, huh?”

“Very.”

And then she moved.

It wasn’t a rush. Just a slow weave through the crowd — casual, discreet, like the music pulled her in. She let herself get swallowed by the pulse of it, drifting close, close, until Azzi’s back was just inches away.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t give a warning.

She just slid a hand low on Azzi’s hip and pulled her gently back into her front.

Azzi didn’t flinch. Didn’t turn.

She leaned into it.

Pressed her ass into Paige’s pelvis with a slow grind that matched the beat — one hand lifting to rest lightly behind Paige’s neck, the other snaking back to guide Paige’s grip lower.

Paige’s mouth parted slightly, breath catching. She moved with her, bodies aligned, letting herself get lost in it. Her hand flattened against Azzi’s stomach, anchoring them together as they moved.

It was heat. Friction. Payback.

No one around them noticed — or if they did, no one would remember. Not in this crowd. Not in this chaos.

Azzi tilted her head back, mouth grazing the curve of Paige’s jaw.

Then, her lips at Paige’s ear, low and breathless:

“Let’s get out of here.”

Paige didn’t answer.

She just grabbed Azzi’s hand and led her through the crowd — fast, deliberate, like she already knew how the night was going to end.

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi fics #uconn wbb #pazzi #paige x azzi #wlw

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butyoudidthis4what · 2 days ago

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Teaser for No Man's Land Part 3

HELLO!

My ADHD really ADHDed and today while I was looking back for continuity purposes I read the part of No Man's Land Part 3 that I was going to use for the little teaser/spoiler and realized I totally fucking spaced actually posting it. I'm so sorry!!!

Here she is now though! I have not proofread/edited at all. If you see the West Wing reference, thank you.

I know the wait for Part 3 has been long and I'm so sorry, I am really trying to have it out sometime Tuesday night, maybe Wednesday, and then I will start Quiet Part 2. Thank you guys so much for your patience and support, it truly means the world to me and gives me so much inspiration and motivation! I promise I am working hard to get it all out!

If you haven't read Parts 1 and 2 but would like to you can find Part 1 here and Part 2 here. I will post the entire bit under the cut! I'm not going to tag since this is just a small teaser/spoiler.

I like how he looks from behind:

It comes up fairly early on, while you and Jack are both still at home and chatting about wedding stuff one night. You’re on the couch with your head in Jack’s lap, attention split between the show you put on TV, listening to Jack think out loud while he does the crossword and scrolling Pinterest.

“Four words lead to this declaration.” Jack has the crossword on the armrest of the couch, his left hand intermittently resting gently on the side of your neck, thumb brushing over your cheekbone, or on your arm. He clicks his pen in thought. Because of course he does the crossword in pen. “Three letters. Nothing filled in.” You hum in acknowledgment at him, your way of saying you’ll think.

“Pennsylvania recognizes self-uniting marriages. We could just marry ourselves,” you suggest.

“We could, yeah.” You turn your head and look up at Jack after he says it. There’s something on his mind. “Five letter word for blowhard.”

“Storm,” you both say at the same time, share a little laugh about it. You sit up and Jack makes a little noise of discontent.

“I’m staying right here, don’t worry,” you tell him as you curl up next to him and wrap your arms around his left upper arm. “You don’t want that.” It’s half question half sentence. You’re trying to give him the space and opportunity to say what he’s thinking about who he’d like to marry you.

“I, no. It’s not that I don’t want that or that I wouldn’t love that.” He shakes his head.

You give him a second. “But you’d prefer something else? Someone else?” An imperceptible nod.

“It’s going to sound stupid.”

“I sincerely doubt that.” You give him an encouraging smile.

Jack clicks his pen a couple of times before turning to really look at you. “I was thinking, what if we asked Robby? I know he’d have to do the whole getting ordained online thing, but…” Jack trails off for a second. “He just, before you, before I had you, Michael saved my life more than once. Metaphorically speaking. And he’s saved your life. Literally. And he’s my best friend and I don’t know. It just felt like maybe it was right.”

A slow smile pulls up on your face, all gooey and in love. “I think that feels perfect.”

“Really?” Jack raises his eyebrows at you. He’s not really shocked per se, it’s just one of those moments where it falls out of his mouth.

“Really.” You nod. “I know how much he means to you. He means a lot to me too. You know the whole saving my life thing.” You lean in and give Jack a kiss on the cheek.

“Okay,” Jack nods with you. “We’ll have to find a time to ask him, decide how I guess.”

“I have confidence that we will figure it out. We have time.” You squeeze Jack’s arm and then pull away, start to go back to the position you were in.

“I do,” you say as you settle your head back on Jack’s lap.

“A little premature, but I love to hear it.” Jack smirks at you as you look up at him.

“The crossword clue.” You playfully roll your eyes at him. “Four words lead to this declaration. The answer is I do. The four words are ‘will you marry me.’”

You end up deciding to do it at the Pitt one day.

You considered planning it and asking to do dinner and make it a thing but that all felt a little too formal and almost pretentious. It didn’t fit. Doing it on the fly while he was working felt right.

“Can we talk to you?” Jack asks Robby, you standing next to him holding his hand. Jack just finished his day shift at eleven thirty in the evening, had you come to the hospital around seven just in case he got off on time. You chilled in the break room the last four and half or so hours, chatting with people as they came and went.

Robby looks between the two of you. “This feels ominous.”

“Yes or no question Michael.” Jack deadpans.

“Jack!” You chide him a little, but your smirk belies you.

“I’m sorry,” Jack mutters, “can we please talk to you?”

Robby rolls his eyes at Jack calling him by his real name. “Yes. I suppose you can.”

“Thanks Robby!” You smile at him.

Robby thinks it’s odd. You seem almost nervous and so does Jack, but Jack is harder to read at the moment. The shift he just finished was the last on his run and he didn’t get off within four hours of when he was supposed to a single one of those three shifts. Plus this shift was particularly trying. Between all of that and him still adjusting to being back he’s exhausted. It makes him even harder than usual to read.

“In here,” Jack nods, opens the door to the family room.

“Okay, you guys are kind of freaking me out because this is ominous and now you’re taking me into a room where we tell family members their loved ones have died.”

“It’s not bad, I promise.” You try to smile at him reassuringly. Robby nods at you like he doesn’t quite believe you as he sits down in one of the chairs, you and Jack taking the two across from him.

“So.” You clear your throat. “Obviously you know we’re getting married.” You hold up your left hand and flash the ring at him, which pulls a little smile from Robby.

“Robby,” Jack starts. But he stops. He looks emotional, like this is a hard conversation to have but not because it’s bad but because it means something. Jack takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Michael,” he starts again, earning a slight eyebrow raise from Robby because of the tone, “we were wondering if you would consider getting ordained and officiating our wedding. If you, if you’d marry us?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope you enjoyed, and hope you will enjoy reading the full Part 3 once it is up!!

The blowhard and storm crossword clue and answer are from the West Wing.

Interact with this post to get on my Jack tag list!

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cap-winter-barnes · 1 day ago

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One Day (Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader)

Okay, so I saw Thunderbolts* last week and Bob has reawakened the fangirl within me and I just HAVE to write for him. So please, get sending in those requests!!

Warnings: slight mentions of depression & anxiety, mention of children

The long days of press are tedious, especially when there so many interviews and television appearances for the "New Avengers". But the family press days were always the ones that took the most toll on the whole team. Despite them being a day of making children and their families happy, they were exhausting. Especially when cameras are shoved in your face for the entire duration.

It's one of those days and you are counting down every second until the cameras and families go home. As you say goodbye to a young family that have just welcomed a new addition, you catch Bob watching you in the corner of your eye, sitting patiently cross-legged on the floor. Family press days mean that Bob is to watch from afar, by order of Valentina. Your heart breaks as you see the lost expression on his face as he watches his found family interact with so many adoring and grateful fans. You hand back the sleeping infant to his mother and politely make your leave, heading straight for Bob who is anxiously wringing his hands together.

"Hey, baby." You keep your voice down as you sit next to him on the ground, gently leaning your head against his shoulder before taking one of his hands in your own. With your thumb you softly begin to draw patterns, a habit that you know calms Bob down, grounding him when he needs your comfort. "You ready for home?" With an agreeing nod, you chuckle. "Yeah, me too." It's in these moments that you find yourself admiring the man you so dearly love. A man who has fought so hard to take care of himself since the New York incident all that time ago.

"Hey, Y/N?" Bob's grip on your hand tightens and relaxes repeatedly as he works out what to say next. You daren't interrupt his train of thought or his determination, so you wait patiently for him to continue. You notice his gaze shift back over to where Bucky is having photographs taken with a family with two small children, before his eyes flicker back to you and your hands. "Do y-" there's a tremor in his voice as he calms himself. "Sorry."

He breathes out a laugh as he focuses his attention solely on you. "Do you ever think about that?"

"Hmm? Think about what my love?"

"Do you ever think about having kids?"

The question shocks you but you soften the expression on your face as you take a glance again at the family saying their farewells to the rest of the team.

"One day, hopefully." A delicate smile passes across your face as an unreadable look moves across Bob's. "What ab-"

"Would you want kids with me?" The interruption has you breathless for a moment. Of course you'd thought about having children with Bob - but you've never mentioned the idea to him, too scared that the expectation and pressure would be too much at the time.

An unexpected hesitation settles on your tongue as you try to find the right words without scaring him. Yet those minute seconds have a wave of fear passing over Bob's face as he moves back from your hold. Immediately anticipating his need to retreat, your hold on him tightens, fingers wrapped carefully yet firmly around his own hand.

"Of course I have, but only when you're ready." An invisible weight seems to lift from his shoulders as he crashes into an embrace in your arms. "There's no rush, baby. Okay?" You place a kiss on his forehead as you both hold each other, taking a moment to show him how much you have come to adore him. "We have all the time in the world."

#bob x reader #robert reynolds x reader #robert bob reynolds #lewis pullman #bob reynolds x reader #sentry x reader #the void x reader #thunderbolts imagine #thunderbolts #new avengers #spoilers

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littlebluebird2000 · 22 hours ago

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Twirling Hearts- part 4

pairing: yeon si-eun x reader (female reader)

rating: 18+

genre: romance, smut

warnings: overprotective sieun, school bullying, discussion about food and weight, violence, harassment, smut, mature language, sexual harassment/assault, slow-burn, jealousy, baku always being at the scene of the crime...

summary: Who would've thought that a ballerina and the school's most feared nerd would complete each other so well? Being the new student was never easy-especially not when you were the only girl transferring into an all-boys school. To make matters worse, Eunjang High has a reputation for having its fair share of troublemakers. Some of the rumors were enough to make anyone second-guess stepping through those front gates...

author's note: this chapter contains sexual content. if you are not comfortable with that, it's okay, i'll see you in the next story. the smut is contained to the very last part of this chapter, just to warn y’all.

word count: 10k+ ( i knnnoowwww)

follow #bluebirdyeonsieun for updates on the story. for some reason, my tags aren't working :

part: 1., 2., 3., 4., 5.

Eunjang’s first morning bell echoes dully through the hallway, warning students to start heading to class.

Sieun sits at his desk, slouched but focused, one hand twirling a pen between his fingers. He looks half-asleep, but his notebook is already open, his handwriting precise. He’s not smiling, but there’s a quiet stillness to him—like something heavy inside him has finally shifted, even just a little. The classroom door bangs open.

“Morning, lover boy.” Baku announces as he walks in.

Gotak trails behind him, dragging his feet with a yawn, and Juntae walks in last, eyes scanning the room before flickering over to Sieun—then away quickly, as if pretending he didn’t look at all.

Sieun doesn’t glance up.

Baku slides into the seat beside him and leans in with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. “Slept well this weekend, huh?”

Sieun tenses. His pen stops spinning.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He mutters, eyes on his notebook.

Baku whistles low, teasing. “Right, right. I must’ve imagined you not answering your phone for two whole days!”

Gotak flops into his seat. “You spent the whole weekend at her place?”

Sieun doesn’t answer right away. He can feel their eyes on him, expectant. He exhales through his nose—quiet, controlled, but clearly annoyed—then gives a small nod, just enough to make them stop asking.

Juntae shifts in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck. “We didn’t expect it, but… good for you. You deserve to be happy.” His voice is quieter, awkward but sincere. He offers a small smile, eyes flicking to Sieun and back to his desk like he doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

Baku smacks Gotak lightly on the arm. “See? What did I say? You two are clueless.”

Gotak frowns. “I didn’t think it was that serious.”

“You didn’t think, period,” Baku shoots back, grinning. “I’m the only one here with a brain. I knew something was going on.”

Juntae scratches at his temple, half-smiling. “Yeah, okay. You were right.”

“You should’ve seen the way he looked at her after the recital. Man was done for.”

Sieun kept his eyes on his notebook, continuing writing. “Are you finished?”

Baku grins wider. “What? I’m just happy for you.”

Sieun exhales through his nose, leaning back in his chair. The usual apathy lingers in his expression, but something softer slips through—just for a second. He knows Baku’s an idiot…But he also knows Baku means well.

The silence barely lasts a beat before Baku leaned in, voice low but playful.

“So… what’d you two do all weekend?” he asks, grinning. “Just stayed in? Don’t tell me you didn’t even leave the apartment.”

Sieun finally looks up. His eyes meet Baku’s. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s a flicker of irritation in his gaze. Not enough to bite. Just a warning.

Baku’s eyebrows lift. “Wait—seriously? You stayed in the whole time?”

Gotak turns around again, curious. “Not even to grab food or something?”

Sieun exhales through his nose. “It was raining.”

Baku leans back in his chair dramatically, hands on his mouth. “It was raining, he says! So you just stayed holed up in there, all cozy and domestic? Unbelievable.”

Juntae smiled quietly. “Kinda sounds nice, actually.”

Baku ignored him. All his attention was on Sieun. “And here I thought you’d be all stiff and awkward, sitting on the floor five feet away from her like some kind of monk.” Sieun didn’t take the bait, but his eyes narrowed just slightly.

Baku’s grin sharpens. “You weren’t, huh?”

Sieun let out a quiet breath, clearly done with the conversation. “Stop talking. You’re too loud.”

Baku snorts. “And you’re suspiciously quiet. Which tells me everything.”

Sieun says nothing, but the slight pink at the tips of his ears doesn’t go unnoticed. Before Baku can comment, Mr. Yoon steps in the classroom, dropping a stack of papers onto the front desk. “Settle down.” He says, not looking up as he adjusts his glasses. “Take out your homework. If you didn’t do it, don’t waste my time with excuses.”

Chairs scrape and groans ripple through the room. Baku took his usual place in the back of the class, just across Sieun, a smile of amusement still on his face. The classroom buzzed with faint background noise—rustling pages, low whispers, the dull scrape of a chair leg dragged half an inch too far.

The class moved around him. Gotak was stretching until his chair creaked, Baku was half-asleep with his chin in his hand and Juntae was flipping his eraser between his fingers. Sieun’s pen moved steadily across his notebook. No pause, no wasted motion. His handwriting was tidy, spaced just right. He didn’t need to think about it. Before he knew it, first period was over. The bell rang, sharp and familiar. Mr. Yoon capped his marker mid-sentence, muttered something about finishing the equation next time, and walked out to get his second cup of coffee.

Students stretched and shifted, the atmosphere loosening like a breath held too long. Notebooks shut with soft thuds. A few laughed. Someone played music too loud for three seconds before being told to turn it off.

There was a ten-minute break between classes. It was enough time to stretch, go to the bathroom, talk or sleep. You usually arrived during this break. You would always slipped in before the bell rang, quiet and breathless, but on time.

He glanced at the door out of habit. Empty. Not strange. Not yet. Five minutes passed.

Sieun opened his phone. Not to text. Just to check.

Nothing.

Around him, the room stirred lazily. Baku was talking too loudly in the corner, throwing jokes at anyone who’d listen. Gotak was chewing something crunchy, and Juntae was scrolling through his feed.

Sieun looked at the door again. Seven minutes. Still no sign of her.

He leaned back slightly in his chair. Not tense. Not relaxed. Just waiting. Maybe she was running late. Maybe she forgot something. He checked his phone again.

No messages.

His fingers hovered over the screen before he locked it again, jaw tightening for a brief moment. Nine minutes.

His gaze hadn’t left the doorway in a while now. The voices around him faded into background noise. He wasn’t listening.

Then the second bell rang.

He found himself looking at her empty seat, then his gaze flickered toward the door, just one last time. Sieun exhaled, slow and quiet, a barely perceptible shift in the tension of his posture. Something was off. She hadn’t come.

Behind him, Baku’s voice broke through the quiet murmur of the class. “Where’s Y/N?” His tone was light, but there was a hint of concern in it.

“Yeah, she’s usually here by now.” Gotak frowned. “You think she’s sick or something?”

The silence stretched out, heavy and thick. Juntae glanced at Sieun again before looking away, his voice quieter than the others, almost as if he were thinking aloud. “Maybe… maybe she’s uncomfortable showing up today? With… well, you know…Maybe it’s just a lot?” There was no accusation in his voice. Just a gentle suggestion, like he didn’t want to believe it either.

Sieun’s jaw tightened, though he didn’t show any other outward reaction. He could feel the weight of Juntae’s words, the subtle reminder of the tension between him and you after everything that had happened. Could it be that you were avoiding him? The thought slipped into his mind, unwelcome but persistent. He immediately pushed it away, not allowing himself to dwell on it.

“Don’t jump to conclusions.” Sieun muttered, his tone flat, his eyes still fixed on the door. He couldn’t let the thought linger, not now. He knew you weren’t the type to just avoid things, avoid him. If you had a problem, you’d say it—or at least show it. And this morning, you had been completely normal. You had even kissed him goodbye…

“Y/N wouldn’t just ghost.” Baku said, backing him up. “Sieun’s right. She’s a bit late for one class and we’re acting all weird? Maybe her ballet teacher held her back? They probably had to go over the recital or something…She could’ve missed the bus.”

Before anyone could respond, Mr. Yoon walk back in, five minutes late himself, a new coffee in hand . “All right, quiet down. Let’s get started with math.” He said, out of breath. The class stirred reluctantly back to life. Chairs shifted, textbooks opened, and the murmur of voices fell into silence.

Sieun moved mechanically, flipping open his notebook, but his mind wasn’t on the lesson. He stared at the margin of the page as Mr. Yoon began writing on the board.

Ten minutes late. Then fifteen.

Around him, Baku, Gotak, and Juntae exchanged glances. They didn’t say anything, but he could feel it—the tension, the worry. It pressed against him from all sides. He could hear the lesson, the scribbling of pens, the clicking of keyboards, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.

No text. No message. Something was wrong.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

By lunch, the mood had shifted completely. Phones were out. Fingers scrolled. Tapped. Redialed. Again and again. Still nothing. No texts. No answers. No signs of life from you.

“She didn’t even open my messages.” Baku muttered, frowning at his screen.

Sieun sat silently at the edge of his chair, phone in hand, screen blank. He hadn’t said much, but it was clear he wasn’t just waiting anymore. He was calculating.

“She never skips school.” Juntae said softly. “She would have told one of us at least…” A long silence followed.

Then, quietly, Sieun stood. “I’m not staying here. The others looked up at him. “I’m going to her apartment.”

“I’m coming.” Baku said immediately, grabbing his bag.

“Me too.” Gotak added. Juntae stood up to follow.

The four of them walked out before the next bell, slipping through the gate like shadows. A bus ride later, they were climbing the familiar steps to your building. At the door to your unit, Baku gave a dry laugh, but it didn’t carry much humor. “Of course you have the passcode.” He said, nudging Sieun.

Sieun didn’t respond. He keyed in the numbers. The lock clicked and he opened the door. Inside, everything was still. The air felt untouched. A glass sat by the sink where you’d left it earlier. It looked exactly the same as when he’d left this morning. Sieun stepped in farther, scanning the room like something might leap out at him. His chest felt tight. “She didn’t come back to the apartment.” He said quietly. He pulled out his phone again, brows drawing close as he searched something quickly.

“Who are you calling?” Baku asked.

“The ballet academy.”

It rang twice before someone answered. A woman, polite, professional. “Hello? I’m calling to check… did Y/N attend class today?”

“Yes.” Came the reply, clear and certain. “She was here for morning practice. She left a while ago to go to school.” Sieun’s grip tightened around the phone.

“Thank you.” He said, then hung up.

He turned to the others, expression blank. They waited for an explanation. His voice colder than before. “She left ballet. She was on her way to school.” Sieun stood still, jaw clenched and eyebrows furrowed.

Gotak rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe… maybe she stopped somewhere? Like a café? Or her phone died—”

“Then she’d be here by now.” Sieun cut in, his voice flat. “She’s not just late. She never made it.”

Juntae hovered near the doorway, his face pale. “Do you think something happened… on the way to school?”

“She wouldn’t just wander off.” Baku added. “Not without texting someone. Not after this weekend.”Everyone looked at Sieun. His hands had curled into fists at his sides.

“She was fine this morning,” He finally said to reassured their suspicion. “She kissed me goodbye. She was happy.” The room went quiet again.

Baku’s voice dropped. “So something must of happened…” Then—Baku’s phone buzzed in his pocket. A sharp, sudden vibration that broke the stillness. Everyone froze.

“Y/N?” Juntae asked quickly, almost too fast.

Baku stared down at his screen, heart stammering in his chest, but his expression dropped. “It’s… not her.” He said quietly. Sieun was already at his side. Two messages. From an unknown number.

[Unknown Number]: She’s with us. Don’t do anything stupid.

[Unknown Number]: If you come talk with us, we can make some arrangements.

Sieun was dead silent, his face unreadable. The rest of the boys stood frozen, waiting for someone to speak.

Then Baku exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “…Shit. It’s the Union.”

Gotak looked stress. “The Union? I thought it might’ve been Hyoman or one of his guys.”

Baku shook his head. “Hyoman was in class all day. This is bigger. Way bigger.”

Sieun’s gaze sharpened. “What’s the Union and why would they want Y/N?”

“They don’t.” Baku said. “They want us. Eunjang.” He continued. “The Union is a network. It’s an organization made from three high schools around here: Yeoil, Hwayang, and Dalseong. Each school has its own leader, but the real boss is Na Baek-jin. He runs the whole thing.”

Sieun listened without interrupting. Not a single change in his face.

Baku stepped back, pacing once across the small living room, voice tight. “The Union’s been trying to pull us in for months—stealing from our guys, cornering us after school, starting fights.“

“They tried jumping Junseok last week.” Juntae muttered. “Took his phone and wallet.”

Baku nodded. “They’re organized. Real business-like. They do cons, sell stolen bikes, flip phones—whatever keeps the cash coming in. Baek-jin runs it like a company.”

Baku’s voice dropped, bitter now. “They tried to pull Eunjang in too. Again and again. But I said no. Every time. I’ve been the one keeping them out of our school.” He paused, his eyes darkening with guilt. “And that’s why they took Y/N.”

Sieun stiffened.

“She’s close to me. Friends with me. That makes her a target. They’re sending a message.”

Sieun’s gaze dropped to the phone again.

“Do you know where they’re holding her?”

“No,” Baku said. “They’ve got a few spots they use—abandoned buildings, storage places—but the headquarters? No one outside the Union knows.”

Sieun stood perfectly still. “Then, ask.”

Baku nodded, fingers flying over the screen. One short message:

[12:23]: Where?

Three seconds passed. Then four. The typing bubble appeared.

Sieun didn’t take his eyes off the screen.

[Unknown Number] : Bowling alley. Back entrance. 5pm. Come alone.”

Baku read it out loud, his voice heavy with frustration. “They’re at the bowling alley. They must be using it as a front to go under the radar. That’s probably where they saw us two weeks ago… We were in their territory without knowing…”

Sieun’s gaze remained cold, sharp. His mind was already moving, calculating the angles, thinking through every possibility. It was a public place. A cover for the Union’s operations. Risky, but smart. There’d be layers—lookouts, runners, maybe even fake employees. He wasn’t the best fighter—not by a long shot—but he was good at understanding people. Their weaknesses. Their routines. The patterns.

“They want me to go alone,” Baku muttered, jaw tight. “It’s obviously a setup.”

Sieun finally spoke, voice calm and steady. “Then don’t go alone.”

“They’ll be watching,” Baku said. “They’ll know.”

“They won’t know” Sieun replied simply.There was something unsettling about the way he said it. No fear. No hesitation. Just quiet conviction.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The room was small, suffocating. Dimly lit by the flickering overhead light and the pale glow from the desk lamp, it looked more like a converted storage closet than an actual office. The air tasted like smoke and dust. A stained couch sagged against the wall, further there was a scratched-up metal desk.

You sat on the floor, tucked into the corner. Your knees were drawn to your chest, arms wrapped tight around them. Your weren’t tied up—but the presence in the room made it clear that running wasn’t an option.

The man in the orange jacket sat sprawled on the couch, one arm slung lazily over the backrest, a cigarette burning slowly between his fingers. Smoke curled through the air, mixing with the stale scent of old furniture and engine oil. He glanced at you from time to time, amusement flickering in his eyes like he thought this was funny. You had come to know that his name was Seongje. He was one of the guys that brought you here. He had the dragged you with that fake, mocking kindness.

At the desk sat another man. This one looked cleaner. His black hair was slicked back, not a strand out of place. He hadn’t said a word to you since they brought you in.

“You’re not much of a talker, huh?” The man on the sofa said, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. “I figured ballerinas were supposed to be shy, but this is something else.”

You stare at the floor. You want to speak, maybe even scream, but your throat feels tight, like something’s wrapped around it.

“Aww,” Seongje smiled, leaning forward, flicking ash to the floor. “You’re cute.”

You flinched and you hated yourself for it.

His eyes return to you, and they’re darker now. “You know, it’s kind of sweet. The way you’re sitting there, quiet and shaking. Makes you look even smaller. Makes me want to see just how much noise you can make.”

“Enough.” Said the man behind the desk. His voice is quiet, but it cuts through the room like a knife. He’s colder than the others. More dangerous in a way you couldn’t explain. “She’s not here for your amusement. She’s here to make sure Baku listens.”

Seongje laughed, taking another drag from his cigarette. “Come on, Baekjin. I’m just trying to make her feel welcome.” He relaxed completely against the couch, leaning back with his held tilted back. His next words were low, as if he was speaking to himself: “I’ve always liked fragile girls. They break the prettiest.”

Baekjin finally moved. He opened a drawer, took something out—a phone—and placed it on the desk in front of him. “Five o’clock.” He says. “Let’s see what Baku decides.”

You press your forehead against your knees, trying to steady your breath. If he comes in without thinking…

Seongje’s voice slices through the air again, taunting. “Hope he hurries.” He said. “Wouldn’t want us getting bored while we wait.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from reacting. You’re scared—terrified—but you won’t let them see you break. Not yet.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The neon sign flickers overhead, casting the entrance in a sickly red glow. Laughter echoes from inside, hollow and distant. A few teens loiter near the front doors, tossing glances at Baku like they recognize him—and know better than to say anything.

Behind him, Sieun is quiet. Still. But there’s something brewing under the surface. He’s been like this since they got the text. No questions, no hesitation. Just that calm, unreadable expression. The kind of calm that warns of a storm behind the eyes.

“There’s a side entrance. Loading zone. I saw it last time we were here.” He started, voice calm. “I’ll wait for you to get inside first. I’ll sneak in through that door after.”

Baku looks at Sieun now, more serious than he’s ever been. “You don’t have to do this, Sieun.”

Sieun keep his gaze forward. “I’m not walking away.” He adjusted his black cap.“You keep them looking at you. I’ll find her.”

“And if you can’t get her out?” Baku asked.

Sieun looked at him. His voice was quiet, steady. “I will.”

A few seconds passed in heavy silence before Baku spoke, his voice edged with bitterness.

“Baekjin and I used to be friends. Before he joined the Union. Before he started playing mob boss with high school kids.” He let out a quiet sigh. “I’ll try to talk to him first—see if there’s anything left of the guy I used to know. But if that doesn’t work…” His gaze hardened. “We fight.”

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The music swells as Baku pushes through the doors. A few heads turn his way. Recognition flickers across the faces of nearby Union kids—some he remembers from past fights. Their eyes lock, but he doesn’t look away. He stands firm, unfazed. He heads straight for the hallway that leads to the back office, just like Sieun had described, over and over again during the past hour. He walk towards the door and turned the knob slowly and slipped inside. The door clicked shut behind him—and then, a familiar voice cut through the silence.

“Well, look who finally showed his face.” Seongje was slouched against the wall, spinning a butterfly knife between his fingers, the blade flashing in the dim light. Baku looked at him for a second, then his gaze went to the man who once was his best friend.

Baekjin sat behind a desk, legs crossed and sleeves rolled. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t smile. His gaze met Baku’s like they’d spoken yesterday.

“Didn’t expect you to come alone.” Baekjin says.

“You told me to.” Baku replies flatly. “Figured we could talk.”

Baekjin gives him a thin smile. “We always could.”

Baku scanned the office, his chest tightening with unease. “Where is she?” he demanded, voice low but urgent.

Seongje clicked the knife shut and shoved off the wall, walking a slow circle toward Baku. “Moved her somewhere else. She’s sweet, that girl.” He said with a smirk. “Bit too quiet, though.”

“She’s not part of this.” Baku said, jaw tightening. Gaze hard on Baekjin.

“She is now,” Baekjin said, settling back in his chair. “Because you made her part of it. You let her get close. That’s on you.”

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

Sieun moved through the dim corridor like a shadow, his steps light, his breath tight in his chest. The deeper he went, the more the sound of bowling pins and cheap arcade machines faded behind thick walls. Over the last two hours, he’d searched every public record he could find. Construction permits, outdated blueprints, utility schematics—until he found the layout of the bowling alley tucked away in the files of the old company that had built it over a decade ago. It showed everything.

The public lanes. The hidden stairwell near the loading dock. The walled-off section in the back that didn’t show up on Google Maps. Perfect for a gang like the Union to operate from. He passed a locked supply room. Then another door slightly ajar.

And that’s when he heard it.

A voice, cocky and cruel, echoing from around the corner. “ ‘Don’t touch me.’ ” A boy mocked in a falsetto, laughter following behind him. “She looked like she was gonna cry. Soft little girl.”

Sieun stopped dead in his tracks.

The Union kid—maybe sixteen, seventeen—walked past the hallway Sieun was hidden in, still laughing with his friend. “Boss said not to mess with her, but damn, the attitude on that girl…” Their footsteps faded.

He didn’t twitch. Didn’t breathe loud. But behind his cold, blank stare, his mind was racing fast and sharp. He continued on foward, slipping past a broken bench, down a hallway with metal doors…Until there was a noise.

He froze. It was faint. Fragile. A sound that didn’t belong here. A breath catching. A choked sob. The kind someone tries to swallow down before it escapes. It came from the third door on the right. Sieun stared at it, unmoving. That was you, and you were crying.

He knelt down and pulled the multitool from his pocket, breath shallow, hands steady. The lock was rusted—old, but stiff. It took longer than he liked.

Click.

He slipped inside, closing the door behind him. The light inside flickered, casting long shadows across the stained floor. You sat in the corner, knees to your chest, fingers gripping your sleeves, eyes squeezed shut as if you were trying to disappear.

“Y/N.” He said quietly.

Your head snapped up. “…Sieun?”

He nodded once, stepping toward you. For a second, you didn’t move. Then your body sagged just slightly with relief. He crouched in front of you, gaze intense. “Are you hurt?”

“No. I don’t think so.” You trembled.

He nodded in relief. He offered a hand, and you took it. “We have to move. Now.”

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The air in the office was thick with tension. Baekjin lounged behind his desk, calm as ever, like he was hosting an old friend for drinks, not a confrontation over a kidnapped girl.

Baku stood across from him, unblinking. “I’m not doing anything until I see proof she’s safe.” Baku said flatly.

Baekjin gave a slow, practiced nod. “Fair. We’re civilized, after all.” He glanced to his right. “Seongje. Escort him,” Baekjin said smoothly. “Show him she’s unharmed.”

Seongje flicked his cigarette to the floor and crushed it beneath his boot. “With pleasure.”

The halls they walked through were dim, narrow. Seongje kept his hands in his pockets, sauntering ahead like he was guiding a tour. “So tense.” He drawled. “Still trying to play hero, huh?”

Baku didn’t answer.

Seongje chuckled. “You should’ve joined when Baekjin offered. You’d have a throne by now instead of babysitting punks at Eunjang.”

As they rounded a corner, a couple of Union members spotted them—then immediately veered away, pretending to be busy. Baku noticed. So did Seongje. The fear wasn’t just from Baku’s presence. It was him, too. Even the Union kept their distance from Seongje. The man was unhinged.

They reached a hallway lined with unmarked doors. Seongje pulled out a keyring, whistling under his breath as he stopped at one near the end.

“She’s in here.” He said lazily, unlocking it. The second he swung the door open, the grin vanished from his face.

The room was empty.

No sign of Y/N.

“What the—”

Seongje took one step into the room—and that’s when Baku struck. A clean elbow to the jaw. Seongje stumbled, stunned. Before he could react, Baku slammed the door shut and snatched the key from the lock, twisting it hard and locking Seongje inside.

“BAKU!”

The door shook as Seongje threw his full weight against it, but it held—at least for now.

Baku turned. Three Union members were rushing down the hall. They paused when they saw who it was. He didn’t hesitate. The first went down with a solid punch to the gut. The second tried to grab him from behind—he flipped him over his shoulder and slammed him into the wall. The third backed up, reconsidering his life choices. Baku didn’t stop. He stormed down the hall, fists ready, eyes sharp, pushing toward the exit before the entire Union realized what had happened.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

You followed close behind Sieun, your heart hammering in your chest. The hallway was dim, stretching endlessly in both directions. You’d barely said a word since he found you. There hadn’t been time.

Sieun moved with surprising precision—checking corners, listening for footsteps. His hand hovered near his pocket, gripping the multitool like a blade.

You watched him from behind. He looked calm. But that calm was the scariest thing you’d ever seen. Like something inside him had clicked into place.

“Did you come with Baku?” You whispered after what felt like an eternity.

“Yes.” Sieun replied without turning. “He’s distracting them. He’ll be okay.”

You two reached a junction where two hallways split. He paused and checked the wall. There was faded arrows scratched into metal:

MAIN FLOOR →

LOADING DOCK ←

Sieun pointed left. “That way. It’s a service exit. Less cameras.” You nodded and kept close, moving quickly, silently.

The hallway curved again, and finally—at the far end—they saw it. An old steel door, dented and rusted. A red EXIT sign buzzed faintly above it. Your knees nearly buckled with relief.

You picked up speed.

Then—

A voice behind you.

“HEY! STOP!”

Sieun didn’t turn around. He shoved the door open and yanking you out with him before slamming it shut. You were outside, but it wasn’t over. Not yet. The lot behind the alley lay empty. Sieun’s eyes darted left. “There. The fence.”

You both took off, feet pounding against the pavement. Sieun reached it first, hoisting himself up and over in one swift motion. He turned, arm outstretched. “Come on!” You grabbed his hand just as the heavy door behind you screeched open. Multiple voices shouted from the alley, but you were already over, landing hard on the other side.

Sieun didn’t let go of your hand as you both disappeared into the night.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The cold air bit at your cheeks, but you didn’t feel it—not over the throb of your heart or the rush of blood in your ears. Your hand were still wrapped in Sieun’s, your legs still shaking from the sprint. Your breath came in short, panicked gasps.

Then— A low whistle.

Sieun froze. He shifted in front of you instinctively, his hand tightening around the multi-tool in his pocket.

“Over here.” Baku stood at the mouth of a narrow alley, chest rising hard with every breath, blood on his shirt, a dark bruise spreading along his jaw. He looked like he’d gone through hell. When his eyes landed on you, something in his face cracked open.

“Y/N.”

You rushed to him. He caught you without a word, arms closing around you in a tight, grounding hug. You just clung to him, pressing your face against his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

You nod, even though you’re not sure. Your voice comes out hoarse. “I’m okay now.”

He doesn’t look convinced.

“I’m so sorry.” Baku whispered. His voice cracked. “This is my fault. You got dragged into this because of me.”

You shake your head. “No. Don’t do that.”

“Y/N—”

“It’s not your fault,” You said. “It’s not your responsibility how other people act.”

He looks at you for a long moment. Then he pulls you into another quick hug. “I’m just glad everyone’s okay.” You whispered firmly. When you step away, you return to Sieun’s side. He doesn’t say anything, but his presence steadies you. Just standing beside him makes it easier to breathe.

“We have to go.” Baku said already checking the corners. “Juntae and Gotak are waiting by the corner store. That’s our meetup point.”

“Gotak’s only calling the cops if we don’t show by the forty-five-minute mark.” He said. “It’s already been half an hour.” All three of you started jogging towards your usual meet up spot. Your lungs were on fire, but your mind wouldn’t stop spinning. The adrenaline’s thinning, leaving behind too many questions.

You glance at Baku as you slow just slightly beside him. “Why didn’t you guys call the cops from the beginning?” Baku doesn’t answer right away. He looks ahead, jaw tight, eyes tracking every shadow.

“What they did was illegal.” You said, your voice more brittle than you intended. “They kidnapped me.”

He exhales through his nose, sharp and bitter. “There’s someone over Baekjin.” He mutters, not looking at you. “Someone powerful. With money. Influence. The Union’s not just a gang—it’s a business. And the guy backing Baekjin knows how to keep it protected.”

The pieces click together slowly in your head. “So… even if you called…”

“There’s no guarantee the cops would’ve even shown up,” He says. “Not for us. Not for this.”

You don’t want to believe that. But the way he says it—it’s not anger. It’s experience.

“That’s why Gotak’s call was going to be about something else. Not the Union. A fake story. Something loud enough to get a patrol out without raising red flags.”

“But you didn’t know if it would work,” You whisper.

“No,” He says. “It might’ve backfired. They could’ve shown up late. Or worse—tipped someone off.”

You shiver. Not from the cold. Sieun glances back at you, just briefly.

Baku’s voice lowers again. “We couldn’t risk it. Not with you in there.” You nod, not because it makes you feel better—but because you understand now. This whole thing runs deeper than you thought.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The small corner store glows under a flickering streetlight, its windows dark, shutters pulled halfway down. You spot them before they see you—two figures huddled near the alley wall behind it. Juntae is pacing. Gotak leans against the bricks, checking his phone.

Your group’s footsteps hit the alley gravel, soft at first, then louder as you draw closer. Gotak straightens immediately, snapping his head toward the sound. Juntae freezes mid-step. You see their shoulders tense, eyes wide. Then they see you. For a moment, there’s nothing. Just stunned silence.

“Oh my God,” Gotak mutters, stumbling forward with wide eyes. “You’re—holy shit, you’re here.”He runs both hands over his face and starts pacing again, this time out of pure adrenaline. “I thought you were dead. I thought—” He laughed breathlessly through the panic that hasn’t fully left his system. “I was this close to calling. This close.”

Juntae walks toward you slowly, almost cautiously. His eyes shimmer in the dim light, mouth opening like he wants to say something, but no words come out. Then he breaks. His shoulders shake, tears sliding down his cheeks before he can even pretend to stop them. “I thought we were too late.” He says, voice barely more than a whisper. “I thought they hurt you.”

Your chest twists. You step into his arms, pulling him close. “I’m okay.” You murmur. “We made it.”

Behind you, Sieun stands still—quiet and unreadable. His gaze is sharp, watching the ends of the alley like he’s expecting something to crawl out of the dark. He hasn’t relaxed, not even now.

“Ok. Let’s go.” Said Baku, glancing around as well. Your footsteps echoed softly, crunching over scattered gravel as the five of you moved in a tight formation—tense, alert, every shadow a possible threat. Gotak glanced over his shoulder every few seconds, nerves on edge. Juntae kept his gaze on you, as if afraid you might disappear if he blinked.

The bus stop is up ahead, dimly lit, empty. When the bus finally arrives, it hisses to a stop, the lights buzzing too bright against your tired eyes. You climb on in silence. There’s a long bench seat running across the rear, and without even needing to speak, you all settle there together, shoulder to shoulder. Baku squeezes in next to you, still quietly shaken. Gotak slumps on the other side of him, head tipped back against the window like it’s the only thing holding him up. Sieun takes the seat next to you while Juntae slides next him.

As the bus rolls deeper into the city, Baku finally breaks the silence. “We’re not splitting up tonight.”Everyone looks up. He turns slightly in his seat to face you. “You okay if we crash at your place?”

You nod before you’ve even fully thought about it. “Yeah. Please.” It’s not just about safety. You don’t want to be alone either. You glance at Sieun. His jaw is clenched, eyes fixed straight ahead, but there’s a distant look in them, like he’s not fully present. His posture is rigid, every muscle wound tight, yet his hand rests loosely on his thigh.

You slip your hand into his and slowly rest your head on his shoulder. Even if his body stays stiff, there’s something in the way he leans just slightly toward you that makes your chest ache. A long minute passes like that—maybe two.

Then, from the far end of the bench, you hear a whisper:

“…Is it bad timing if I point out—once again—that I totally knew they had a thing?”

All you managed was a slow blink, thrown slightly off guard.

Baku’s eyebrow were raised, eyes fixed forward with faux innocence, but there’s a smug smirk tugging at his mouth. Gotak snorts beside him, and even Juntae manages a tired laugh.

The tension cracks, just slightly.

Sieun doesn’t say a word—but you catch the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Seriously?” You mutter, not even lifting your head. “You’re the worst.”

“I told you it was obvious,” Baku says, nudging Gotak with his knee. “You owe me fried chicken. For real this time.”

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

By the time everyone made it back to your apartment, it was nearly 7:30 p.m. The sky outside had dimmed to a soft blue-gray, streetlights flickering on one by one. The boys had rushed home to grab a few essentials—chargers, a change of clothes, something to sleep in. You were surprised how quickly they came back.

Now, the smell of instant ramen fills the small living room, and the low murmur of conversation hums like background music. You’re all gathered on the floor around your tiny table—cross-legged, tired, but finally breathing a little easier.

Gotak is halfway through his second cup of noodles. Baku is lying flat on his back, slurping dramatically while Juntae pretends not to be grossed out. Sieun sits beside you, chopsticks in hand, though he hasn’t eaten much. He hasn’t spoken in a while. Not even to you. Still, when you reach for his hand, he lets you take it. He doesn’t squeeze back, but he holds on.

You pulled out blankets and pillows for the boys, grateful your couch unfolded into a bed. You laid the futon mattress beside it, making quick work of the setup. Baku and Gotak flopped onto the couch bed with exaggerated groans. Juntae immediately claimed the futon for himself.

You sit back beside Sieun, your shoulder brushing his. His face is still unreadable. Not cold just… somewhere else. His hair still messy, his clothes still the same ones from earlier, his eyes dull around the edges.

“Hey.” You gave his arm a light nudge. “Go wash up first. You’ll feel better.” You told him gently.

He blinked slowly, then gave you a slight nod and pushed himself up. His movements were heavy, like it took effort just to make his limbs work. You watched as he shuffled toward the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

While he was gone, the boys stayed sprawled across the living room. The television played quietly in the background as they talked among themselves—about what had happened earlier, about Seongje and Beakjin, about what they could’ve done differently. Their voices were low, occasionally interrupted by tired laughter or quiet sighs. Relief was in every breath, even in their exhaustion.

Ten minutes later, Sieun emerged again, steam following him into the hallway. His hair was damp and clinging to his skin, his eyes heavy with something you couldn’t name. He didn’t say anything—just sat back down, cleaner but still quiet.

You grabbed your clothes and headed into the bathroom. In the bathroom, under the warm stream of water, the adrenaline finally began to fade. Your hands trembled slightly as you washed. Everything that had happened replayed in flickers—the cornering at the studio, the locked room, Seongje’s eyes, Beakjin’s quiet threat. You let the fear run its course.

You stepped out of the shower, dried off, changed into your pyjamas, and returned to the living room. They were all wrapped up in blankets now, only half-awake—except for Juntae, who was already fast asleep. The TV was still playing.

“Finally.” Baku muttered from his spot near the edge of the couch bed. “We were about to send a search party.”

“Shut up.” You shook your damp hair at him. Baku and Gotak grinned, tossing you a pillow.

“Goodnight guys.” You said, smiling at them all—until you reached for Sieun’s hand.

“Come on.” You whispered.

He followed when you tugged softly, his body slow to respond, but his feet moved.

Immediately, Baku perked up. “Whoa, whoa. Look who gets special treatment?”

Gotak snorted. “They’re officially disgusting.” You only rolled your eyes at him as you walked away.

You just glanced back at Sieun. He was still quiet. Still somewhere far away. You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze as you led him down the hall toward your room. He didn’t say anything. But he didn’t let go. The door closed behind you with a soft click, muffling the sounds from the living room. The quiet in your room was deeper—denser somehow.

You stepped out of your slippers and climbed into bed, the sheets cool against your skin. You didn’t try to fill the silence. You simply waited, understanding that Sieun would speak when he was ready. Instead, you looked at him, meeting his distant eyes as he stood there unmoving. “Come here.” You said softly, barely above a whisper.

Eventually, he moved. His steps were slow and mechanical, like his body was running on leftover instinct rather than intention. He climbed into bed beside you without protest, his limbs stiff, breath shallow. When you gently pulled him closer, guiding him to lie across your chest, you felt him tense. His entire body locked up, a sharp inhale catching in his throat. He stayed like that for a moment…

Then, his breath shuddered. Just once.

His shoulders started to tremble.

The first sob was silent, but you felt it—deep and ragged, pulling through him like a wave. His fingers clutched the fabric of your shirt, and he buried his face against your chest as the shaking took over. His breathing grew uneven, shattered, tears soaking slowly through the cotton between you.

You held him without speaking, one hand moving slowly through his hair, the other resting on his back. You didn’t try to stop him. You just held on, steady and quiet, as he cried.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

You didn’t know how long the crying lasted. His body trembled with every breath, and you held him through it all. Quiet, steady, grounding. At last, the shaking began to slow. His breathing grew quieter, broken now and then by uneven exhales. He stayed pressed against you, his cheek against your chest, his fingers tangled in your shirt like he was still afraid to let go.

Then, in a voice so raw it barely sounded like him, he murmured: “It should be me comforting you.” You felt his shame in the way he tensed again, in how he couldn’t quite lift his head. “Not the other way around…”

You pressed your hand lightly to the back of his head, threading your fingers deeper into his hair and hushed him softly. “Don’t say that.” You spoke softly, but firmly. “I feel blessed that you trust me enough to give yourself to me like that.” You placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. “You’re always holding yourself together for everyone else… I like that I get to be here for you.”

He went still in your arms, like those words struck something deep.

“I like comforting you.” You added affectionately.

Sieun didn’t respond right away. But the guilt in his silence slowly gave way to something softer as you continued to hold him. He finally exhaled, all the air he’d been holding in slipping out of his chest.

“I thought I was going to lose you too…” He whispered, voice small and broken. Tears were still slowly falling down his eyes.

And you understood.

His best friend was still in a coma, and that wound hadn’t healed. It would never heal. Watching you get pulled into danger today, hearing you cry through the walls, thinking for even one second that something could happen to you too—it broke something in him.

You pulled him closer, if that was even possible. “I’m here.” You whispered. “I’m safe. I’m not going anywhere.”

You stayed like that for a while, one hand gently tracing circles along his back. Even now, red-rimmed and glassy, his eyes were achingly beautiful. They always had been. There was something haunted about them, a kind of sadness that ran deep, but they held the truth too. Depth. Silence. Fire. You loved how expressive they were, even when he said nothing. And now, staring into them in the dark, you saw something fragile and raw staring back.

“I was scared earlier.” You whispered softly.

He didn’t move, but you felt the faint shift of his attention.

You took a slow breath, fingers trailing gently over his back again. “I knew you’d come for me. With Baku. I never doubted that. And that was the only thing keeping me from completely breaking down. But even while I waited… I wasn’t just afraid for myself. I was afraid for you.” Sieun stirred at that, his hand twitching slightly where it gripped you.

“I was so scared they’d hurt you. Baku as well, but if something would happen to you because of me. And…” You hesitated. “I felt awful too.”

Now he shifted, just enough to lift his head and look at you—eyes still red-rimmed and tired, but focused.

“I didn’t go to school this morning,” Your voice barely above a whisper. “I know it wasn’t my doing, but I know what that might’ve looked like to you. I know you overthink. I know how hard it is for you to trust that people won’t disappear. I kept thinking about how you might of felt in that moment….”

Sieun’s jaw tensed, and he dropped his gaze for a second.

“The last thing I ever want to do is hurt you.” You said. “Not after everything. You matter to me. A lot.”

Sieun looked up at you. His eyes were glassy again, but not from pain. Something softer, deeper, rested there now. “You matter to me too.”

A small beat passed. You felt your heart stammer in your chest, but this time, not from fear.

You reached up, your hand resting gently against his cheek, brushing the damp skin beneath his eyes with your thumb. “I love you, Sieun. And I don’t say that because I think tonight was terrifying… I say it because I mean it. I’ve meant it for a while.”

You gave a small, shaky smile. “I know you’re going through a lot. And you don’t have to say it back. I just wanted you to know.”

He flinched, so subtly it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else. But you saw it. Felt it. And then something in his expression cracked. For a split second, you saw it…Something younger in his face. The echo of a little boy who had gone too long without hearing those words. A boy who learned to survive on silence. A boy who was never held gently, never reassured enough that he was worthy of being loved.

And then, just like that, he started crying again.

Not like before. These weren’t sharp or panicked sobs—this time it came like a release. Quiet. Slow. A grief melting into something softer. His chest hitched against yours, the sound of his breath shaky as tears spilled freely down his face again. You stayed like that in the dark, his breath uneven against your skin, his tears still falling, slow and silent.

But little by little, his body began to settle.

The shaking stopped. His breathing, though still heavy, found a rhythm. His grip on your shirt loosened, though he didn’t let go completely. You ran your fingers gently through his hair, slow and soothing. You kissed his forehead gently. Not because it would fix everything. But because it told him: I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

Eventually, you felt the weight of him begin to shift slightly. The way his breath deepened, the way his body melted a little more into yours.

He had fallen asleep on your chest.

You watched the shadows shift in the room. Listened to the soft hum of the television through the wall. Your hand moved slowly through his hair one last time before resting gently at his nape. You exhaled, eyes fluttering closed, the rhythm of his breathing lulling you. And before long, you followed him into sleep.

Held together by the quiet, and everything that hadn’t needed words.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

You woke to the feeling of warmth. Sieun’s weight was still against you. His head was tucked beneath your chin, one arm slung loosely around your waist, fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt like he was afraid it might disappear in his sleep. His breathing was slow and soft.

You didn’t move right away. You didn’t want to wake him. His face looked younger in the morning light. No more tear stains. Just peace. You brushed your fingers lightly through his hair, breathing in quietly, trying not to disturb the calm.

From the muffled rustling outside the door, you could tell the others were already awake. There was the soft clang of dishes, the groan of someone stretching, and a quiet whisper that sounded like Gotak grumbling about the cold floor.

You stayed where you were a little longer, letting yourself have this—this stillness. This comfort. This proof that you’d made it through the night.

When you stirred a little bit, Sieun blinked slowly awake, his brows twitching like he was still unsure of where he was. His gaze met yours, sleepy and confused. Then he blinked slowly as if memories from last night came back to him.

“Morning.” You whispered.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that.” He murmured, voice hoarse with sleep and something deeper.

“I’m glad you did.” You replied. “You needed it.”

He closed his eyes again for a moment, breathing you in like he still wasn’t convinced any of this was real.

“I’m staying here today. I’m gonna call the ballet academy and the school. Let them know I won’t be coming.”

Sieun lifted his head slightly. “You are?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I need the break. I’m ahead in most of my classes anyway. Math is the only one giving me a headache.”

Sieun was quiet for a second, then murmured, “I’ll stay too.”

You blinked.

“I can help with math… if anything.” He added sleepily, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

That pulled a soft laugh from your throat. You tightened your arms around him a little. “Of course you would.”

His lips barely curved, but it was there—a small, real smile.

You gave his forehead a kiss and suffled to get out of bed. “I’ll be back” You said gently.

You slipped out of the room and walked to the living room. You found the others slowly getting ready—pulling on jackets, slinging bags over shoulders.

“I’m not coming in today,” You said slowly, voice rough with sleep. “I’m gonna rest. Yesterday…” You trailed off, rubbing your arm. “Fear drains you like nothing else.”

Gotak gave a slow nod. “Of course.” His lips pressed together in understanding. Juntae’s expression softened, and Baku smiled as he adjusted the strap on his bag.

They lingered in the doorway.

You turned back to them, frowning faintly. “What are you guys waiting for?”

Juntae adjusted his glasses. “We’re waiting for Sieun.”

You hesitated, then answered, a little awkwardly, “Oh. He’s not coming either. He’s staying with me. He’s… exhausted too. From the stress.”

There was a beat of silence.

Baku opened his mouth—already leaning into one of his usual teasing remarks—but Gotak smacked the back of his head lightly. “Don’t.” He muttered.

Baku groaned, rubbing the spot. “I wasn’t gonna say anything bad.”

You rolled your eyes, lips tugging into a faint smile despite everything.

“Be careful.” Juntae said softly as they stepped out. “Text us later, okay?”

“I will.” You promised, and closed the door behind them, the apartment quiet once more.

You quickly made your calls and padded softly back to your room, the apartment now hushed and still.

Sieun was lying exactly where you’d left him, eyes fixed on the ceiling, blinking slowly. The blankets were pulled halfway up his chest, one arm bent behind his head, the other still resting where your body had been.

You crossed the room and crawled back onto the bed. He turned his head to look at you, eyes heavy but clear now.

You slid under the covers beside him, resting your head on the pillow. “They left.” You murmured. “I told them we’re staying home.”

He nodded faintly. “Good.”

You laced your fingers through his under the covers, your bodies still facing one another, only inches apart. The morning light filtered faintly through the curtains, soft and pale, wrapping the room in stillness.

“Do you wanna sleep a little more?” You whispered, your voice quiet, hesitant. “We don’t have to do anything yet.”

Sieun blinked slowly, his gaze resting on yours. His eyes were still shadowed from everything, but there was something gentler now.

He gave a small nod. “Yeah… if you stay here, then yeah.”

He inched closer until your foreheads nearly touched and your legs brushed beneath the blanket. His breath mingled with yours, warm and steady, grounding. With your fingers still laced in his, you closed your eyes and let sleep take you, quiet and undisturbed.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

You woke to the softness of morning light spilling faintly through the curtains, warm sheets tangled between you and Sieun. He was facing you, still close, his breathing slow and even. For a moment, you just watched him. His face was softer than you’d seen it in weeks, the shadows under his eyes were lighter, his jaw no longer tight with tension.

He looked… rested. Like sleep had actually touched something deep in him.

You leaned in just a little and brushed your nose gently against his. His eyes blinked open slowly, hazy with sleep at first. His gaze locked on you, and something in it melted. You reached up, your hand cupping his cheek with gentle fingers. His skin was warm, familiar. Comforting. A sight left him.

He mirrored the motion, his own hand rising to touch your cheek, his thumb grazing softly along the edge of your jaw. His eyes were still on you, and this time, they sparkled with something bright and warm. Like he was looking at you and seeing something precious.

A lazy smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“You know…” He started, voice low and rough. “I’ve never said this to anyone before.”

You waited, your heart beating a little faster.

He didn’t rush. He never did. But the silence between you was alive with something unspoken.

“I thought I knew how to live with being alone. I got used to it.” He said quietly. “Used to not being wanted… not being seen. Even before everything with my friend, I was already disappearing.”

His eyes flicked down for a second, then found yours again. “I didn’t think someone like you could care about someone like me.” He said, a small, breathless laugh escaping him, almost in disbelief. “But I kept falling. Every time you talked to me, every time you looked at me like I was worth something… I kept falling.”

His voice broke just slightly—just enough.

“I’m in love with you too” he whispered. “I didn’t say anything last night. But I wanted to. I just… didn’t know how.”

Your eyes stung suddenly, but all you could do was smile—because Sieun was looking at you with eyes that always carried a storm, and now, somehow, there was sunlight in them too.

His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you gently closer, his forehead resting against yours.

The kiss was soft—barely there at first, a brushing of warmth, then firmer as Sieun leaned in with more certainty. He kissed you like something fragile and precious. His hand stayed at the nape of your neck, anchoring him to you.

There was a small smile on your lips, the kind that came from somewhere deep, somewhere safe.

“So…” You whispered, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Am I officially your girlfriend now?”

Sieun blinked, and then a slow, almost shy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah.” He said softly. “You are.”

He looked a little surprised at himself for saying it out loud, but he didn’t take it back. If anything, he looked proud—like the words tasted good.

You smiled wider, your chest feeling light for the first time in days. “Good.” You said, quietly teasing. “Because I was starting to wonder how long I had to wait.”

Sieun let out a soft laugh under his breath, then leaned in and kissed you again—still slow, still tender. As you pulled back just slightly to look at him, your heart fluttered at the sight. His eyes were half-lidded, lips parted, cheeks flushed. He looked so soft in that moment.

You leaned in again. This time, you let your lips move with more intention. You tilted your head, deepening the kiss just enough to draw a small breath from him. His mouth opened under yours, responding now, but letting you lead. His breath was warm, his body pliant, and you felt him tremble slightly

“Can I… try something?” You whispered, barely above a breath.

He didn’t answer at first. He just blinked at you. For a second, you saw the shyness flicker through him, like he was still learning how to accept being wanted this way.

But then, slowly, he nodded.

“I’ve honestly lost count of how many times you’ve saved me.” You said, your voice quiet, a teasing lilt curling at the edges. “I really have to find a way to repay you… for being such a gentleman.”

Sieun’s ears flushed instantly, a deep red crawling up to his cheeks. But he didn’t look away. His eyes stayed on yours, soft and full of wonder, and something else—something that made your chest warm. He blinked slowly, clearly overwhelmed, but his voice came out, low and sincere: “You don’t owe me anything…”

You leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, lingering just long enough to feel him sigh into it.

“I know.” You whispered. “But I want to.”

His eyes widened just slightly—his whole body still, waiting—but behind the shyness, there was trust. And maybe, even anticipation.

You smirked, just a little. “Turn over. On your back.”

Sieun blinked, slightly breathless. He nodded, quiet and obedient, and shifted slowly onto his back, the blankets rustling softly around him. You sat up beside him, brushing some hair from your face as you looked down at him.

“Just relax.” You said gently, your voice light but with a teasing edge. “Let me take care of you.”

He swallowed hard, but didn’t resist—just watched you, his fingers twitching slightly on the comforter.

You leaned over him, letting your fingertips trace softly along the line of his jaw. “If anything feels uncomfortable… tell me. Okay?” Your voice was sincere, grounding. “I mean it. We stop the second you want to.”

Sieun nodded immediately, almost too fast. “I know.” He murmured. “I trust you.”

That look in his eyes made your breath catch. You leaned down, brushing a slow kiss over his cheek, then his jaw. His breath caught as your hand flattened over his chest, feeling the fast rhythm of his heart.

You pressed your lips to the side of his neck now. The skin there was soft, warm, and you couldn’t help but linger, letting your kiss trail along the curve of his neck. He shuddered slightly at the sensation, his body stiffening for just a moment before he relaxed again under your touch. His hand found its way to your back, his fingers grazing your skin in a way that made your pulse quicken. His breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling faster.

Sieun’s eyes fluttered shut as he tilted his head just slightly, silently offering you more. A quiet breath escaped him. You let your mouth linger, lips pressing just firmly enough to draw a soft gasp from his throat. When you finally pulled away, his skin was faintly flushed, and a delicate bloom of red marked the spot where your mouth had been.

Your fingers moved gently along the hem of his shirt, your touch featherlight—asking, not taking. When your eyes lifted to meet his, you found him already watching you. His cheeks were flushed, lips slightly parted, but he only nodded his head at your silent question.

You slowly slid the fabric up, revealing the pale skin beneath. You moved with care. This wasn’t about rushing, it was about seeing him and taking care of him. Sieun’s breathing hitched as your fingers traced his collarbone, his chest rising and falling beneath your palm. You kissed down his chest and took on of his nipple into your mouth and bite it gently. Sieun responded with a sound in the back of his throat that sent shivers down your spine.

You continued your way down, pressing soft kisses along the waistband of his pajama bottoms. His hands clenched the comforter tightly, knuckles paling with tension. “Still okay?” You asked, pausing, your fingers already hooked around the band of both his joggers and underwear.

“Y-Yeah.” He responds shakily. “Please…”

You slowly remove his bottom, feeling nervous yourself. Your lips parted in surprise when his dick sprang free, mouth already salivating. You took your time and ran your hands up his legs, mesmerized by how soft his skin felt as your thumbs rubbed circles on his inner thighs.

Sieun squeezed his eyes shut when you delicately took a hold of him. He was heavy and hard in between your hand. Pre-cum was slowly dribbling down his length. A quiet exhale slipped from Sieun’s lips. It almost sounded like a curse.

You rubbed up and down him tentatively, testing how much pressure seemed to be getting the right reaction. The muscles of his thighs tightened as you focused on the head of his cock and more fluid leaked down to his base. A soft, involuntary moan slipped from his lips.

“You’re so pretty.” You couldn’t help but whisper in awe. His dick twitched in your grasp in answer.

Gathering your courage, your tongue timidly darted out to lick him. Sieun mouth opened, but no words came out. He raised himself on his elbow to look down at you, surprised. You could see the blush spreading across his cheeks, a shade you’d never seen on him before, making him look so vulnerable, so beautiful.

Under his gaze, you simply continue to lick his tip, your tongue flattening over his slit, slurping on his pre-cum. A whimper left Sieun’s mouth and you look up to see his face contorted in pleasure, features softening into an expression of pure bliss.

He let himself fall back on his back when you decided to take him fully. Your hand wrapped around the parts of him you couldn’t reach. You moaned around him, the vibration causing to him gasp. Your eyes closed a moment in concentration as you greedily took more, gagging around him a little bit. Sieun’s head tipped back against the pillow, exposing his throat fully. His hands were still by his side, clenching and unclenching uncontrollably in the sheets.

“Y/N I’m—“ He interrupted himself, bringing his forearm over his face, trying to hide—whether from the intensity or from how exposed he felt, even he didn’t know. His lips parted, and a quiet, helpless sound slipped out. His body became tensed.

Suddenly, a growl left him as hot cum shoot down your throat. You continued sucking as spurt after spurt came, taking everything he gave you. Sieun’s chest was rising and falling erratically. His whole body was shaking in satisfaction. Soft whimper escaped his lips now as you sucked him dry and finally released him.

When you rose, breathless, you gently reached for Sieun’s forearm, which had still been shielding his eyes. With a soft touch, you moved it away, revealing the rawness in his expression. His eyes fluttered open, still clouded with a mixture of vulnerability and bliss. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. His gaze softened, meeting yours, but there was something almost frantic in the way his hands reached for yours, seeking reassurance.

For a moment, he didn’t speak, just leaned into your touch, as if grounding himself with the connection between the two of you. His lips parted, but no words came out—only a quiet, shaky breath as his body trembled slightly beneath you.

You gently cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing over his skin in a slow, soothing motion. Your heart ached a bit at the rawness in his eyes, the vulnerability he was letting slip through. A small, teasing smile tugged at your lips as you leaned in a little closer, your voice lighter than before.

“So, are you okay?” You asked, your tone playful, but the concern still lingering in your eyes. “Or do I need to keep checking on you to make sure I didn’t break you?”

For a moment, Sieun just stared at you, his expression unreadable. But then, a flicker of something crossed his face, and his lips twitched, almost as if he wanted to smile but was too caught up in the whirlwind of emotions.

“I’m fine.” He said, his voice hoarse but earnest, though it still held a quiet vulnerability. “Just… didn’t expect that.”

You raised an eyebrow, still teasing. “I’ll take that as a compliment, then.“

Sieun blushed, his eyes flickering to the side, and for the first time since everything started, he looked like he was finding his footing again. You could feel the tension in his body start to loosen, a soft chuckle escaping him in response.

“I’ll… I’ll be okay,” he said again, this time with more conviction. “Just… give me a minute.”

You giggled then nodded, leaning down to brush a gentle kiss against his forehead before resting your head back on his shoulder. “Take all the time you need,” You whispered softly, “I’m not going anywhere.”

148 notes · View notes

moon-fics · 19 hours ago

Text

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

A/n: I haven't done any creative writing in months. I'm finally doing it again so PLEASE! PLEASE don't be made if I fuck this up.

Request: reader comforting bob (any bob, could be Reynolds or Floyd) after a nightmare abt a mission gone wrong 🙏🙏 may it be filled with all the comfort our dear robert could ever ask for 😌😌😌

Warnings: Swears, mentions of violence

Your first warning was the lights flickering. It was sudden and lasted way longer than a faulty wire would. Your second warning was the vibrations coming from your mirror. The third warning won't be as kind if you ignore it.

You know these warning signs, and you often look out for them. So, you rush out of your room. The dark hallways of the tower are barely lit, but you know your way to his room. You've run to them so often it's almost ingrained in your mind.

You don't even knock before opening his door and closing it behind you. You're met with a familiar sight of Bob curled up on his bed, trembling and gasping. He isn't awake and won't wake up unless someone helps him.

You stumble over to his bed and nearly trip on a Rubik's cube. You grab his shoulders once you reach him, shaking him lightly. This is a strategic mission because Bob is not a gracious person when he wakes up. With his powers, it's a 50/50 chance you get thrown across the room. Thankfully, the only time he's attacked in his sleep, you were able to dodge. Can't say the same for Alexei.

"Bob, wake up," you say while still shaking him. His oversized sweater is covered in sweat that sticks to your hands. "Come on, Bob. Come back to me." You say softly. You've found that yelling has never had a good outcome. So, using a softer tone is the only solution.

After a few seconds, you can see him stirring. His eyes move behind his lids, and his lips press together. You've memorized most of his face and reactions at this point. You've spent so much time with him it was only natural.

With one last shake, he's startled awake. A yell escapes his throat before dying out quickly. He frantically looks around his room before his eyes find you. Oh, do they find you.

It's like a puppy finding its owner after thinking it was lost. His eyes soften, and his breathing becomes controlled. It's rapid, but he's trying to slow it down.

"Did I-?" He can barely ask before you nod. "Was it bad? Did someone get hurt?" His usual questions.

"No, no one was hurt. You didn't do anything bad," You assure him while climbing onto the edge of his bed. You don't give yourself the entitlement of holding him or getting under the covers without her permission. "Was it a bad nightmare?" You ask.

He swallows whatever saliva is in his mouth and nods. "Yeah, it wasn't the best," He chuckles weakly. He pats the space next to him, allowing you into his space. You gladly take it and scoot closer to him.

"I, uh, I couldn't save anyone," He clears his throat awkwardly. You've both gotten into a groove of skipping the 'wanna talk about it' and the 'no, I'm ok'. It always leads to him talking about it and her comforting him back to sleep. "We were on a mission, and you wouldn't leave my side. I don't know what happened, but you were all hanging off a building, and suddenly I wasn't strong enough," He continues.

Having nightmares about bad missions or impossible situations isn't new to anyone in the tower. However, it is to Bob. He wasn't trained as an assassin or for combat. He was just some guy who got dealt bad cards and one wild card.

"Yeah, well, if we go down, at least we do it together," You nudge him. It's clear that doesn't help as his frown grows. "Hey, nothing is going to happen. I'm right here, and Bucky is right across the hall snoring." You say.

You gently rest a hand on his and squeeze for proof. He isn't alone anymore. He has a whole team of people who care and want the best for him. You're both silent as time passes. He can feel your pulse in your hand and how warm you are. Definitely not dead.

"Can you stay tonight?" He asks softly. His softness used to break your heart at how sad he seemed. Now, it's comforting. He doesn't sound as sad but more meek-like.

"Only if you don't kick me in your sleep again," You agree. A half smile spreads on his lips as an answer. You know he's going to kick you, and it's going to be annoying. However, you at least get to have a pretty view the entire night.

He turns over on his side and shifts under the covers. You carefully get under them as well and adjust yourself. Your chest presses against his back, and you wrap an arm around him.

You find it comical that a man this muscular likes being the little spoon, but you have no complaints. If it gets him a good night's sleep, you'll hold him all night.

"I'm right here," You repeat while shutting your eyes.

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds #bob reynolds x y/n #sentry x reader #sentry x you #sentry x y/n #void x reader #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts #the thunderbolts #the thunderbolts*#lewis pullman

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germesthegenie · 3 days ago

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Ward Era Tattletale has a coat in my head

Finished Ward Arc 11 (plus the rest of Arc 10), thoughts below:

The Rest of Arc 10

Damsel, Swansong, and Victoria sharing an apartment together feels like a good setup for a sitcom

Wonder if the Anelace subplot’s gonna go anywhere. Kinda interesting to have a love interest not even in the main group (as opposed to Rachel Brian), but also that’s a recipe for a fairly irrelevant one most of the time.

(10.12) “Some of my allies were shot” IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO THE MAJOR MALFUNCTIONS I WILL-

(10.12) If these are the anti-parahuman people, I’m starting to wonder if it’s a psyop play to just make the opposition to parahuman rule look ridiculous and violent.

(10.13) Ah, so Theo reminded us some people deserve being beaten up so we could have Antares go pretty brutal on these guys

Close enough, welcome back Hatchet Face. Admittedly cooler because its actually fair

(10.13) Sveta :( it really was self defense bc damn these assassins were no joke

Finale’s wail formed the bulk of the background noise. I spared a glance, even though I didn’t want to see.�� Her teammates were hurt, not dead

(10.13) DO NOT TOY WITH ME LIKE THAT WILDBOW

(10.13) So probably not the anti parahumans, but doesn’t quite seem like Teacher either, at least not his power.

(10.y) Chris living the baby turtle experience and having a million things trying to kill him from the moment of birth lmao

(10.y) Lab Rat? The ball?? How far ahead was Wildbow setting up Ward damn

(10.y) Is that the most direct Taylor cameo so far? Original Lab Rat was kinda funny for pausing in the middle of passing out these devices at the end of the world to go “hehe bug box for the bug girl”

(10.y) Also yeah he definitely won the bet

(10.y) Amy. Amy you better not be considering that latter offer. AMY-

Interesting backstory for Chris overall. Looks like he’ll be building something up in the background for now

(10.z) Chicken Little really is the Telemachus to Taylor’s Odysseus (in the Epic the Musical sense). Inexperienced, but with a similar spirit in some ways, and kinder heart.

The Heartbroken kids also seem neat. Liking the variety in the powers, the similarities to Regent, Cherie, and Heartbreaker are there but they still stand out.

(10.z) The kids are friends yay! Now I’m reminded of the post I saw before about the Undersiders and the Brockton Wards if Imp and Vista became friends and the groups had to be begrudgingly friendly to each other as a result. Is that whats in store for Breakthrough?

(10.z) CHICKEN LARGE?? Please let nothing bad happen to this boy 😭

(10.z) Tattletale really in her mom era. Again, third time’s the charm hopefully

(10.z) Bogeyman captured?? Contessa what are you cooking?

(10.z) Also Dinah compromised??

Arc 11

I like how Victoria’s aura makes her more intimidating, Goddess’ aura makes her worshipped, and Rain’s aura makes him look like even more of a pathetic wet cat (ik thats not the only thing it does but its funny)

Some rather dark tactics on Victoria’s part to get Bitter Pill’s team to abide by her terms. Still a long way to go to reach Taylor’s war crime count, though

Kenzie’s reaction to the news about Chris :(

Also damn didn’t think about the implications of “the transformations don’t undo all the way” thing of Chris’ when it comes to Lab Rat’s victims. Wonder if he ever got framed for the C53s like Manton was

(11.3) The Ashley-Damsel-Victoria roommate situation continues to sound like a sitcom, too bad it sounds like its coming to an end

Oh no what awful person would do this to Victoria’s stuff- oh hi Imp!! nvm she deserves to do a little arson /s

I was wondering there for a second like “hey Wildbow why are you going so overboard on the scene breaks” but now it makes sense

(11.3) Not Chicken Little sharing sensitive documents over earth gimel’s facebook messenger 😭

Ah I missed how funny Imp is

(11.3) I’m guessing this is where all the Imp/Vista stuff comes from? Does seem like the most likely of the Brockton Bay Wards (aside from maybe like Kid Win). Though considering it’s Imp saying it, there’s like a 50% chance she’s bullshitting to throw off Victoria. Funny if true though

Sidepiece’s interlude has exactly the blend of wholesome, sad, and freaky I expected from the character

(11.a) “Romantic but in a platonic way” exactly what I’d expect atp Mr Mccrae

(11.4) Time bubbled people getting similar blindspots to Eidolon, GU, and the Endbringers? That can’t be good

(11.4) Weld. Weld. My boy. My temporary fav post-Amy pre-Cuff. The fuck are you doing???

Like I get it. He has his own wants, he simply isn’t built freaky enough. It isn’t a Parahumans couple without something being messed up (unless you’re Golem/Cuff). There have to better ways of handling things than just dumping the poor girl, though. Also hopefully imagining things but is there some kind of setup being done between Weld and Victoria? The whole “forcefield made him feel something” bit? Please no. If there’s anyone in this couple she’s getting with post breakup, it aint you my guy

(11.5) Oh boy the Heartbroken are like having 3-4 freakier Alecs (the older ones anyway, the kids skew more Aisha-like). Poor Rain. But also like nice he has people who can somewhat relate to him

(11.5) Victoria witnessing average hormonal teen behavior: “This must be the work of an enemy stand cape”

(11.5) Well, about time we get the “midgame rematch with the starting boss you lost to” moment

(11.6) …What the fuck

(11.6) Victoria getting tricked by a decently observant child: “This must be the work of a Thinker”

(11.6) Victoria thats bank fraud

(11.6) WHY DOES HE TYPE LIKE THAT 😭

(11.6) Never trusting a fridge in a parahumans story what the hell is this

(11.6) Suddenly glad Golem and Cuff aren’t more prevalent if this is how they’re treating rebel-sqrrl’s faves damn (oh nvm this is one of her favorite arcs apparently)

(11.7) “I think there are lines” he says as he becomes a bunch of lines Lord of Loss is so funny actually

(11.8) Wildbow this is the third mpreg power you’ve made, is there something you want to share with the class 🤨

(11.8) I feel like between the Goddess stuff and Rain’s aura that Victoria associating all doubts with powers is gonna either be really handy or really bad for her self control

(11.8) Terrible day to have eyes and ears to read this chapter good lord

(11.8) What do you mean Lord of Loss is 30??? Typing like that as a grown ass man????

Also people joke about Taylor killing a baby (who was actually a toddler by that time) meanwhile Victoria is out here actually killing a fetus and we have no funny “Slaughterhouse Nine and Under” jokes for her smh 😔 as far as I’ve seen anyway

(11.b) Nailbiter really just trauma dumping to this kid and then went “anyway, drugs?”

(11.b) Oh, guess it was good timing to research Breaker triggers. Assuming that’s what Colt has now. Interesting thing with the “greater power over a pit”. Would taking that have been the difference between whatever she got and a Broken Trigger?

(11.c) Darlene vs Operator Red was neat. Bro got killed by a kid with no weapons whatever Thinker rating he was knock it down by 1 😭

(11.c) I should be horrified at what happened to Capricorn and Tattletale but all I can think of is how cool that basically lightsaber whip is and how it’d be way cooler if wielded by anyone but Cradle

(11.9) Ok now that is a scary power. PTSD beam that puts voices in your head for 3 months. The fact the voices still behave like the person as you remember them and not just being angry is interesting

(11.9) Rachel!! I love the sharp contrast of her siccing her dog on the mercenary immediately followed by being Good Auntie Rachel to the Heartbroken. She’s come so far from how she was in Early Worm, but is still recognizably Rachel. Taylor would be proud

(11.9) Welp, should’ve figured Coil’s mercs (if they haven’t all been replaced by this point) wouldn’t stay loyal once the money stopped coming in. Same reason they betrayed their old boss, after all

Return to Brockton Bay! Should’ve seen it coming with all the reunions leading up to this. Hoping for more Golem there in that case

(11.10) Colt got added to the mall group chat??

(11.11) Foil using guns by shooting the bullets through a hole in her hand?? Taken up Grue’s/Skitter’s role as the Undersiders’ Crazy Ass

Speaking of Taylor, she would be like almost fully unfazed by getting Cradled. Just reforms herself and speaks using the bugs. Would suck for Brian though having his senses spread out in several pieces would be horrifically familiar.

(11.11) Yknow what back in Arc 1 I thought Carol would remain at least like top 3 hated characters until the end but she’s getting pushed out of top 10 jfc Cradle?? Love Lost?? Not even to Rain, literally kids, kids who were already incapacitated or surrendered????

(11.12) Vista with an empty Earth practically has worldedit damn.

Looks like a hell of an upcoming arc. Lets look at the table of contents… Starting off with an interlude? 12.All?? 12.None??? This is about to go crazy isn’t it

#wardblr #parahumans #wildbow #ward spoilers #fanart #worlds slowest ward liveblog #tattletale worm #lisa wilbourn #cradle ward #like a bit of him ig

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h3rmess · 2 days ago

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WHO'S YOUR FRIEND?

Written by @h3rmess ✰

26) - Helpless

The day had progressed wonderfully: Karasu walked you down beach, adorning your neck with a beautiful necklace of your birth stone that he had searched high and low for. Though you did wonder how he found out when your birthday was, you paid it no mind. You told him you were getting slightly tired, and he took you home without a minute of hesitation.

Déjà vu. Suddenly you’re walking down your street again, hand in hand with Karasu. This time however, there is much less awkward tension. You feel at home; completely comfortable with the situation. You feel giddy - your head is light and your heart is beating joyously. You walk deliriously, attempting to not trip over your own feet.

“You know, I never would’ve thought this would happen.” You speak, voicing what’s on your mind without a second thought.

“Yeah? Why’s that?” He probes, his grip tightening.

“Well, you know… you just seemed so cool to me. I never would’ve thought that we’d interact beyond tik tok.”

“Maybe yer just cool too.” Smirking, he places his arm around your shoulder. “I’ve got a question for ya, though”

You nod, signalling to him to go ahead.

“Are ya sure you didn’t like Otoya before me? I mean, you seemed like a fan.”

You laugh quietly at his concern. “He just seems like a goofy person. I didn’t like him like that.”

Karasu looks relieved, his body relaxing. The two of you continue to stroll, basking in the warmth of the night as the sun is almost fully set.

The moment you had been looking forward to and dreading manifests once you reach your door. You both stop in your tracks, facing each other.

Karasu strokes your hair adoringly, a soft smile on his lips. It seems to be the only thing you can focus on, your thoughts taking you back to when he had kissed you earlier that day. Your breathing gradually slows, and Karasu tilts your chin up to make eye contact with you.

“Somethin’ on my face?” He plays with you.

“Well, obviously. It would be boring if there wasn’t.” Your quick comeback makes his eyes widen slightly.

“Well, aren’t I blessed?” He snickers. His hand is now cupping your cheek. “Do you plan on returning home any time soon? Or are you just gonna stand here and stare?”

“I’m waiting for something.” You bat your eyelashes with a playful grin.

“And what might that be?” His thumb grazes over your lip, his breath hitching.

“You know what I want, Tabito.” Nearly whispering, you move closer to him, your bodies touching. Butterflies invade your stomach as his gaze softens and moves to your lips.

“Don’t say my name like that…” He sounds breathless.

Like clockwork, his lips make contact with yours once again (this time you are prepared). He grasps the back of your head softly, pulling you closer, further into his embrace.

It’s as if he’s guiding you through it - he sets a pace for you to follow, every ounce of devotion in him being poured into the act.

You’re unsure where to put your hands, but decide to rest them on his shoulders, tightening your grip and hoisting yourself up with your own strength, hoping you don’t stumble. His hand is pressed firmly against the small of your back, offering stability. Your paces begin to slow, the kiss coming to a mutual close.

You’re short-winded and enamoured, your eyes glazed over, giving Karasu an impression of how ecstatic you are. A beatific smile threatening to present itself, you catch your breath silently. You couldn’t have asked for a more magical moment with him.

His gaze is endearing as he kisses your forehead before looking over at your home. “Ya said you were tired. You’d better go get some rest.”

“Yeah…” Your voice is hoarse - it’s embarrassing.

“I’ll text ya when I get home, okay? Goodnight, beautiful.” What a man. He pecks your lips quickly before regretfully letting go of you, walking into the distance.

You’re stunned, speechless, and utterly helpless.

prev | masterlist | next

-> someone is alive…

-> I’ve been neglecting you IM SORRY

-> I was sick and it ended up being something other that what I initially thought so I’m going to get treated BUT IN DOING FINE NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT

-> KISS SCENE LET’S GOOOO

TAGLIST

@yzzxo @karasusrealwife @appl3-0rchard @cyberheartrebel @sugacor3 @misosoupii @shittyclarineted @lilsebnem @90s-belladonna @blueballslock @pookalicious-hq @inneed4micha @lizbix @sindulgent666 @yeshiioo @literallyushiwaka @kaidostwin @x3nafix @mivqko @judithregulus @mo072806 @kaikaidenkai @midnight-drives-with-sunarin @definitelynotanalien @local-s1mp @karasu4life @ohagiyo @arwawawa2 @chuurinnie @morgyyyyyyy @elliehenry24 @megumismyhusband @5-laska @reooreo @kiokos @scarlett-memories @tired-child00 @kyutiipie @tecchouss @i3beingcuntyyyy @beoms-sugar @solaqes @itz-phantomz @sleepingpillscosmos @lonigiri @shaeshaeboo @inojinieeee @frootloopscos

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melwnst · 2 hours ago

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────── ⋆⋅☆ BAD NIGHTS, BOB ‘ROBERT’ REYNOLDS

summary. Nightmares might be too much, but bob’s always by your side to try to make you feel better.

⭑.ᐟfirst time writing for Bob I’m SO EXCITED! Not really any spoilers from Thunderbolts*! he’s such a cutie I might die. I’ve been on the Lewis love train since the strangers prey at night…2018… I’m an OG! Please interact and send requests if you have any( for Bob or anyone on my masterlist!) <3 let me know if you’d like a part 2!

word count. 754

my masterlist

──────────୨ৎ──────────

Bob’s awakened by the sound of scratching. Not normal scratching on the floor, or on the wall. No- it sounds like satin sheets being ripped apart. He hears your body move frantically, and next thing he knows, he’s right by your side running from the bean bag, to your bed.

He’s always there.

You just don’t know it.

Not in a creepy way- he just needs to know that you’re safe.

He hears you mumbling, your body’s hot, sweaty. The crease on your forehead grows bigger by the second, and like always, he can’t wake you up.

He can’t wake you up until you scream.

He’s not sure how long he waits before you sit up, roughly, and let out a blood curling scream.

The others are used to it. Not only does it not wake them up anymore- but they have their own nightmares to worry about. Their own haunting screams- except they don’t have anyone by their side looking out for them during the night.

But you do.

The scream lasts awhile. You hear him- you know he’s there, but it takes you a minute to open your eyes.

Deep down you know he’s here every night, you feel it-him. Maybe you just don’t want to admit it. Admit that it helps- although the nightmares don’t subside- you feel more at peace. Because you know you won’t be alone when you wake up.

It’s unspoken. It’s fear, it’s ignorance but also uncertainty, and maybe that’s what scares you. Everybody knows- including the two of you.

‘It’s okay, just breathe.’ His hands move up and down your back, like they’ve always belonged there.

Your body’s still hot under his fingers, he feels the temperature over your shirt.

He sees your legs tremble from under the covers, he knows that your voice will break the moment you try to speak.

‘I’m sorry.’ You don’t cry. You don’t- but you want to. You want to cry for all the nights you’ve spent being alone, with nobody to guide you until he came along. You want to cry for all the nights you spent waking up screaming, while he ran to your side, to be there for you.

You know why he’s there. Why he does it- and maybe you’re just too stubborn to admit it. Or be the first one to talk to him about it.

‘Stop apologizing.’ He moves to sit next to you, his hand still motioning circles on your back. His other hand going to lay on your thigh.

Maybe it’s because it’s dark, so he’s bolder, less awkward. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep that makes him forget how awkward he is- how scared he is to touch people- to touch you.

And yet he still does. He touches you and your skin stays hot.

He touches you and although your mind is somewhere else, you don’t want him to stop.

‘What was it this time? Same thing?’ He asks, your back going to lay on the bedpost.

‘Yeah. It never seems to change.’ You let out a humorless laugh.

He doesn’t join in. He doesn’t laugh. But his heart breaks.

‘It’s not your fault, you know?’ He speaks up again, his voice barely audible- as if it’s only for your ears and your ears only.

You give him a confused look, and you’re too tired to ask- so he continues.

‘The nightmares. I’ll be here every night if I have to. It’s not fair, but you helped me through them, let me help you back.’ He doesn’t want to say that he thinks you’re stubborn. He knows that you know- but he needs you to let him. He needs you to stop pretending to not need him- or anyone. He needs you to let him help for all the times you’ve helped him while you weren’t doing fine.

‘I’m so-‘ your eyes go to stare at your hands in your lap.

‘Please don’t say that you’re sorry again.’ He gives you a small smile. His hands go to hold yours, like you’re so fragile he’s scared you’ll break if he lets go.

‘Can you stay with me tonight?’

He doesn’t have to answer. Soon enough, his body’s right next to yours, his arms around you holding you like the end of the world’s close, and he’d rather die than stop holding you.

‘Thank you.’ Your head rests on his chest, his heartbeat easing yours.

Your eyes close, and the last thing you hear before falling back to sleep, might just make the nightmares go away for tonight.

‘I’m not going anywhere. Just try to get some sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.’

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

taglist: @bohoooitsme @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @l0v33-rey @that-stanford-girlie @mostlymarvelgirl @sunnyteume @beelzebzb please comment if you want to be added to the everything taglist OR be removed from it to just stay in the supernatural taglist:)

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caleignii · 1 day ago

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PossessiveMechanic!Caleb/Reader

mentions of: smut, dubcon, kidnapping, somnophilia, stalking, p in v, possessive behavior, mouth spitting, cumming, breeding, abuse (?), masturbation, rough sex, orgasm, praising kink, sexual overstimulation, use of drugs, minor violence, probably panty sniffer, stockholm syndrome (?), yandere tendencies, forced pregnancy, caleb is totally a pervert.

summary: reader moves into a new town, unexpectedly ran to a hot guy who seems unharmful, that later on developed an obsessive behavior towards her.

a/n: english is not my first language so bear w/ me. :3

MDNI 18+

“Ughhh what now!”, you mumbled as you repeatedly start your car engine, only to it not responding.

Moving out is so stressful, having to go back to your old home to collect the things you've left behind, it's such a hassle and definitely getting on your very last nerves!

On the other hand, you couldn't help but feel a sigh of relief, moving onto a new town with scenery so breathtaking you could almost feel like your soul has been taken into the depths of cloud nine. The town was small but lively, and you loved that it felt safe or so you thought.

You're on your way back to drop off your last belongings and couldn't wait to rest, because of the entire week of you going back and forth. On your way home, your car decided to not be cooperative making you stuck in the middle of the town's street. You were still on the shoulder, trying to Google what the hell might have happened to your car, when a soft knock was heard in your window.

“Heyyy, I couldn't help but notice that you've been here in 'yer car for quite a while now, is something wrong?”

You stopped on your tracks noticing the tall, astonishing looking man that wore denim pants along with his white tank top that surely flexes his well built biceps, with a concerned look squinting down into your window.

You couldn't help but to stare at his sunset looking eyes that really lured your attention to, something about it somehow made your tummy tickles. “Miss?”

Lost in your thoughts the man seems to be worried since you're not responding who's clearly captivated by his looks. “Oh yeah uhmm, it's just my stupid car... I think there's something wrong with it”, “Do you think I could help ya'? 'm pretty good at fixing things if you may ask.” with a boyish smile, you couldn't help but to accept his offer.

I mean why not? Having a handsome and muscular guy helping you fix your car while looking so hot and delicio—, what the hell am I saying!? You screamed internally as you carefully observed how his hands glides thru the car engines for who knows whatever he's doing.

“Sooo what's a pretty girl doin' in here? Never seen you around before.” He asked, looking at you while continuing his duty. “I just moved in here for quite some time now, just finishing up my new home.” he hummed at your response.

Later that day, you've learned that the man who helped you was Caleb, you felt lucky after he said that he was the town’s only mechanic—a tall, easy-smiling man with grease on his hands and dimples deep enough to drown in.

Looking at the paper he handed earlier with his number written on it, he said in case your car acts up again. Remembering how he fixed your car earlier that day and refused to charge for labor.

“You’re new here,” he said with a shrug, “Consider it a welcome gift.” you stupidly smiled as the memories of earlier flooded back in.

You two became surprisingly close after that incident on how both of you met. Him occasionally showing up in your home, sometimes showing up unannounced with his usual sweet, boyish grin.

And the worst part? You let him every. single. time., ignoring the strange prickle so close to your neck, waiting to be weave in any seconds like a ticking bomb.

The first time he came to your house, it was just a social call—at least, that’s what it looked like. Besides, nothing could go wrong. right?

There was a knocked mid-morning with a white box from the local diner in Caleb's hand. Inside were apple turnovers and a note in careful cursive: Best in town. Ask Caleb if you don’t believe me.

You blinked, surprised. “You didn’t have to—”

“I didn’t. I wanted to.” He grinned. After receiving it, you invited him inside.

He stood awkwardly in the entryway, looking around like he was trying to memorize every inch. The visit was short. Friendly. He made a few jokes, complimented the paint colors, told her he’d grown up a few blocks away.

You told yourself it was nothing. Just small-town kindness.

“I figured you hadn’t gotten the lay of the land yet,” he said. “This place’s got good folks, if you know where to look.”

Both of you chatted not noticing the darkness that is settling in. Sometimes he would ask some questions like: “Do you like your new home?”, “Did you met any of our neighbors?” or even becoming bolder such as, “Sooo are you single?” which totally left you flustered.

After he left, you can't help but feel a strange feeling that seeps in your stomach, is this what they call butterflies in your stomach?

The next week, he showed up again.

This time, he had tools.

“Your mailbox is leaning,” he explained, already halfway into the project before you answered the door. “One strong wind and it’ll be flat. I had a spare post. Figured I’d help.”

You didn’t know how to say no. Not when he looked so sincere! Not when he smiled like he meant it.

And then the pattern started.

Every few days, he was there. Fixing things. Pointing out things even you didn’t know needed fixing.

Your porch light flickered once? The next day, it was replaced.

Your garden hose had a kink?—sure he left a new one just for you.

You found him once crouched in the side garden, dirt on his knees, pulling up the withered flowers.

“This place deserves to be kept nice,” he said.

Hesitation and anxiety starts creeping in every inch of your skin, as you began to feel trapped by his kindness. He never asked to come in—he just offered help. And always with that same half-smile, that practiced ease. It made you feel crazy for feeling watched. Paranoid.

Convincing yourself he was just lonely. Just sweet. Just a friendly guy who always has your back

But then came the incident with the door.

Certain you'd locked it that morning. But when you returned from work, it was slightly ajar. Nothing stolen. No signs of forced entry.

Only a coffee mug washed and placed back in the wrong cabinet.

Heart thudded as you stood in the kitchen, mug in hand. Told yourself you must’ve misremembered. That it was nothing.

You started cataloging every detail of your home like a detective in your own life.

Even taking photos of each room before you left for work. Marked the position of your silverware, shampoo bottles, the books on the shelf. You made a spreadsheet of timestamps and room temperatures and light bulb wattages.

“Am I losing it?” you stammered, feeling uneasy and stressed on current happenings.

“You said the mug moved?” Tara asked during lunch. “Maybe you did it and forgot.”

You smiled tightly, didn’t bother explaining. How could I make someone understand that it wasn’t just one thing? It was a thousand small things, like threads being plucked, one by one, until the whole fabric started to fray.

The toaster would be unplugged when I came home, though I never unplugged it.

My laundry would be a little too folded, neater than you ever managed.

The smell of someone else’s cologne would linger for a second too long in the hallway.

Until a week later, when Caleb stopped by unannounced again, tool bag slung over one shoulder.

“Thought I’d fix the outlet near your sink,” he said, already halfway through the door.

“I don’t remember asking about that,” you said.

“No, but I noticed it,” he replied, tapping the wall. “Could be a hazard. Water 'n electricity, y’know?”

You felt a hint of hesitation—but still let him in.

He moved through the kitchen casually, too casually, like he knew it better than he should. He knelt, tinkered with the wall. As you watched him the entire time, arms crossed.

He worked in silence for a while.

“Hey Pips, can I use your bathroom for a sec'?” the man says as he was leaning on your door frame.

He was gone ten minutes.

Too long.

You stood at the edge of the hall, listening. No flushing. No water. Wondering what else he could be doing taking so much time.

“Hey Caleb, are you good? You've been there for 10 minutes is something wrong?” you slightly raised the volume in your throat, abruptly knocking on the door.

When he finally stepped out, he smiled. “Yeah 'm sorry about that, just had a lil' tummy ache that's all.” Both of you went back in the kitchen shortly after that.

And you not noticing the slightly gap between the drawer where you put all your used undies and other clothes. You have so much underwear, two pairs missing shouldn't be a problem right? right.

Later that night, something inside of you just snapped. An ominous feeling on the back of your head that you kept ignoring but failed to do so. You can't help but to feel like you're being watched by some unknown.

So the very next day, you made your way into the mall, bustling every store you can that promotes security cameras.

A new camera system you had bought—high-end, cloud connected, motion sensors. You set up four cameras outside and six inside.

For a week, nothing happened.

Then, one night, all the cameras went black.

Simultaneously.

When you checked the footage, it had been wiped. Completely clean. Not a second of stored data. As if someone had never wanted them there to begin with.

You didn’t sleep that night. As you sat in the hallway with back to the wall, a knife clutched in your hands, waiting for a sound. Any sound.

None came.

But you knew he had been there.

Not just because of the cameras.

Because her toothbrush was wet.

After a long hours of work you've lost track of the time, and now you're here walking home in the dark as you keep yourself cautious and wary of your surroundings. As you were walking you couldn't help but hear footsteps joining with you, but as you turned back you saw nothing. no one. maybe you're just too naive and too dumb to notice the figure creeping behind the walls.

It happened fast. Too fast.

Before you know it, large arms embraced you from behind keeping you from moving away. “Let go of me! HELP!” You yelped, adrenaline rushing in to you as you tried to squirm.

“Shh shh, it's okay princess you have me now.” as the man behind coos thinking that maybe, just maybe it'll sooth your panicked nerves.

“NO! STOP! PLEASE SOMEONE HELP ME!” thinking you could escape, you kicked him on his knees, but falls into nothing.

“Aggressive aren't we? You left me no choice then, Pips” with that he took out a cloth from his pocket, shoving it onto your nose.

“No pwease, dwont do dwis” your muffled voices slowly vanishing into thin air, as darkness engulfs your sight.

“Sweetdreams my baby, you know that I love you a little bit too much right.” as Caleb nuzzles in your unconscious body, feeling the warmth and softness of your tender skin.

When you woke up, you find yourself laid on bed that you sure that isn't yours.

There's an invincible force keeping you pinned. You couldn't move.

You're in a state of confusion.

Panicked and scared.

As the blurred vision in your eyes began to fade, you tried to ease yourself by looking down only to realize that you're wide open, naked, legs stretched out. Noticing the white liquid slowly dripping in your cunt down to your thighs, it was extremely a lot that it's nearly pooling between your ass and the bed.

Too focused on examining yourself, you didn't notice the door creaking in followed by a calculated steps.

“Finally up hmm?” Caleb walked towards the bed, “I was worried I put a lot of dosage that made you unconscious for a day” the bed shifted as he sat beside you.

“'m sorry baby.” he gently caresses your cheeks. “Caleb release me right now.” you demanded firmly and cold, but ineffective to hide the scared tone in your voice.

“Or what? What'cha 'gon do 'bout it, Pipsqueak? Call the cops?” he threatened, faint chuckle was heard after.

“I want to go home please, I'll give you whatever you want. Money, you want money right? Just please let me go” trying to hold back the tears that can fall down any second. “Silly but you're in home, our home”.

“I don't care about your money, do you not get it? It's you. I want you.” he blurted with an airy voice.

“No! I don't want this y—”

“Stop playing with me, we both know you're lying when you have your pussy here so soaked in here because of my cock.” as he traces your wet cunt with his cum still on the inside leaking out, from him fucking you multiple times while you were still knocked out.

“D'ya like my present?” he kept humping your lower half, until you felt something on his pants slowly arising.

“Why don't'ya be a good girl f'me hmm? I'll give you anything. everything.” as he was buckling his belt off, removing his pants along with his boxers that clearly has a stain of his pre-cum, turned on from the sight of you wide open for him still immobilized by his Evol's doing.

“Caleb, please don't do this to me.” you pleaded to him, glazed eyes looking at him praying to every gods to convince him to spare you.

But to Caleb, how can he stop himself when you're looking at him with those cute doe-eyes? It's your fault for being so adorable, that he lost all his control from keeping you captive, caged, away from anyone and everyone else. Just for him to see, to feel, to hear, to taste. They don't even deserve to breathe the same oxygen as you? He thought.

“My name isn't a safe word, y'know?” without a warning, he plunged himself deep inside you.

You swore your vision faltered as soon as he drilled his hard cock in your walls so wet, you can even hear the squelching so loud.

Plap Plap Plap

“So tight f'me. 'y so wet and you...nghhh said you didn't want this?” as he continued to fuck your brains out.

You feel your body easing up as his Evol starts to soften around you, allowing you to arch your back from the extreme pleasure you're receiving.

“Nggghhh...Caleb ahh s-slow please” gasping as of the lack of air you're getting in. “Can't aha...p-leasee” poor mind can't even produce coherent words from being too cock-drunk.

“Shhh...y'can take it yeah? I know you can baby.” huff huff huff was heard across the room along with the sounds of skin slapping.

His hard cock goes deep inside your pussy kissing your cervix multiple times, he watches how his member disappears—going in and out. in. out. in. out. in. out. Which evidently turned him on even more. “Fuuuckkk mmmhh”.

He descended towards your head, body-weight definitely crushing you down, his hands serving as a necklace in your neck. He doesn't squeeze, just holding it indicating that he's the one in-charged here.

“Look at you, moaning so loud f'me. Do I feel that good hmm?” as he licks your neck, even biting it that'll definitely leave a mark.

He didn't like that he was being ignored, so he pinned your neck down nearly choking you—using his other hand to slap you in the face.

“Answer me pretty or you'll be punished even more, wouldn't want that right?”

Unable to comprehend Caleb's words from being fucked out, you just nonsensically responded to him whatever it is on your mind. Your mind however, feels like you're above the clouds, drawn at the ecstasy that made you so high you don't even give a single care at the world; forgetting the defiance you showed from him awhile ago. You just wanted to cum.

“Caleebbb...pleasepleaseplease aaghhnnh. I do anything pweasee.” you whined at him, eyes rolled back, you surely are close. Feeling a hard knot building up below your belly button.

As your mouth agape, drool escaping your lips, Caleb spat on your mouth. His saliva mixing with yours watching as you obediently swallowed it without any protest.

“What a good girl you are. You're mine. You're my good girl” he slammed his lips into yours, resulting a messy and sloppy kiss. His tongue freely exploring you as his thrust became even faster, the speed so inhumane you doubt if he even is a human.

“Gon' cummm, gon' cum, ahaahh...nghh Calebb.” the lewd sounds you're making was enough to make his control vanish.

“Yeahh? You want my load so bad? Such a good girl.” unable to control himself, he shoots his cum deep inside your womb, still moving slowly as both of your juices mixed.

You had a chance to breathe properly as he pulled out his cock, watching his semen oozing out in your pretty little pussy. For a moment heavy pants filled the room, body twitching from the previous orgasm, closing your eyes as you sensed the exhaustion consuming your body.

You're finally drifting off to sleep, buuut Caleb has other plans.

“Not yet baby, uh-uh the night is still young, yeah?” as he followed the trail of his cum using his dick, shoving it right back to where it should belong.

“Have to make sure 'yer pregnant, so that you'll never leave me alone hmm.”

You sure have to brace yourself, 'cuuzz it'll be a long night for you~

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apollabarnes · 2 days ago

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part twenty

evan doesn't talk about it until they get back to the house. bobby's tests are inconclusive. it hasn't happened again. it could just be a pinched nerve; the recommendation is for bobby to keep a pain journal and they'll keep redoing the tests at regular intervals.

"jesus, tommy," evan falls onto his couch, staring at the ceiling. "jesus, what's he going to do?"

"don't go borrowing trouble before it shows up at the door asking for a cup of sugar — my grandmother used to say that," tommy says, catching the look that evan gives him. tommy sits down on the coffee table across from him. "if you stay laying down like that, you won't be able to turn your head for the next two days."

"how do you—"

"evan, that couch is the least comfortable one i've slept on in twenty years."

"i'd be sorry about that except—" evan trails off.

yeah, makes sense. the end of that sentence is tommy blowing everything up. he wouldn't want to relive it either.

"do you want me to go pick up the jeep for you?" tommy asks instead.

evan hesitates. "my next shift is in two days. when do you…"

"two days, i guess."

"you guess?"

"cap told me to take the week."

"are you in trouble?" evan asks, sitting up abruptly.

"i don't think so. they would have told me already," tommy sighs, "it's just vacation time, not unpaid leave."

"but it's because you helped us. that's not fair," evan protests.

"i took off in the middle of a shift with my partner, our helicopter, and no warning. and then i briefly got us arrested by the fbi. it's basically a miracle that nothing went wrong because we weren't available." tommy shrugs, rubbing his thumb over the inside of his wrist.

"and you did that all because athena called you." evan stares at him, eyes wide and awed.

tommy feels itchy. he swallows. "well, she called. but howie's saved my life. and," it's tempting to trail off, to let evan fill in the blanks on his own. he's good at that, except when he's not. except for when tommy does the same and then they're having two different conversations. "and you were there. if there was something that i could do to help, then i had to do it."

"why?" evan pushes.

"you know…" tommy laughs, the sound scraping across his throat. stop deflecting, stop assuming, say something true. "you told me flying into the hurricane was the most fun you'd had since you got struck by lightning. it might have been the best night i had since i left the 118. there was this other night where i kissed a cute guy in his kitchen. that was pretty good too."

"i like this guy so much," tommy continues, before he can chicken out. "it scares me all the time. i can't know that he needs help and not show up. and because i'm so shit scared of losing what i had, i left him before he could leave me."

"tommy."

"yeah, i know. i know you wouldn't have. isn't that scarier?"

evan stares at him and tommy blinks, the corners of his eyes damp.

"were you ever going to tell me that?"

"while your dad and howie and hen are in the hospital? that wasn't exactly the plan."

"but you did have a plan."

"not really? i assumed one day athena would tell me — assuming she didn't get tired of me first — that you'd gotten engaged to some nice woman," tommy musters up a smile for evan. "first and last man but not… the last."

"wow."

when did evan get so close? tommy blinks, evan's breath gusting across his cheek.

"first of all, athena doesn't spend multiple nights with someone she doesn't like. she doesn't even have a partner," evan teases gently. "second of all. i'm really into this guy i know. i haven't met a woman in ages, and certainly not a nice one."

"evan."

"i asked you to stay last night. i want you around all the time, tommy. because it's you. i like you so much." evan squeezes tommy's hand, leans in to brush a kiss over the corner of his mouth. "thank you for staying. thank you for coming back."

part one // part two // part three // part four // part five // part six // part seven // part eight // part nine // part ten // part eleven // part twelve // part thirteen // part fourteen // part fifteen // part sixteen // part seventeen // part eighteen // part nineteen

#911 fic #bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #athena grant #(okay she's just mentioned in this one but!)#(quick do we like the links at the bottom; i'm crowdsourcing my formatting)#(quick do you think i should go back and edit the other parts)#(or should i put it down and leave it alone and just do this for the rest of them)#bobby lives au #this tag feels relevant??

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ilyprs · 1 day ago

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P I S T A N T H R O P H O B I A | s.geum

───𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛───

pistanthrophobia : the fear of trusting people, forming close romantic relationships, and being vulnerable in interpersonal connections

' in which she can't escape her first love

•seong-je x reader

•part 7. (other parts are out on my profile !!💐)

ׂׂૢ་༘______________________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။•✩♬ now playing: crazy over you | blackpink

„There are all kinds of teams out there,” Baku’s loud voice tore the girl from her thoughts. She blinked a few times in surprise before refocusing on the conversation with her friends, slowly remembering where she was. The three of them were sitting in their classroom, chatting loudly as always. Baku had finally returned to school — something that made the girl genuinely happy — but truth be told, she wasn’t really present.

Her thoughts spun endlessly around Seong-je and what had happened between them. It had been a terrible mistake, one she couldn’t get past. Serim had been so foolish — why had she done it? Another sleepless night had passed, her mind racing, leaving her utterly exhausted. Still, she knew she couldn’t afford to skip school — it would’ve drawn too much attention. So, she fought her body every five minutes just to stay awake, forcing herself to concentrate on the conversation unfolding around her.

„A true master doesn’t care who he plays,” Baku finished with flair. Gotak, who was sitting in front of him, turned to Serim with an incredulous look. Even she couldn’t help but smile — he was talking nonsense again, but it was entertaining. The school day, though painful, provided a welcome distraction — something to pull her attention away from the man who had haunted her thoughts for a week straight.

The boys continued their lively debate, but at some point, Serim simply tuned out. They were fun, sure — but sometimes, their energy was just overwhelming, especially for an introvert like her. Lost in her thoughts, she idly drew little hearts in the notebook she hadn’t touched in hours. Serim was smart, but even she could benefit from paying a bit more attention in class, especially now that everything felt like it was getting harder. She sighed, frustrated, just as someone else snapped her out of her daydreams.

She turned around, confused, and saw Jun-tae standing with the new student in front of their group. Jun-tae lingered a little behind, gaze lowered, clearly nervous. The sight made Serim smile. She found him incredibly endearing.

„Hi, Jun-tae!” she greeted him warmly with a wave. He looked up, startled, but visibly relaxed when their eyes met. He gave her a quiet reply. God, he was just too sweet.

„We’re wanted in the teacher’s office,” the new student said, not paying attention to the girl, his voice rough and cold — which surprised Serim. Given his looks, she’d expected something softer. But she liked his voice; it had a calm sharpness that made her perk up. As his words sank in, she blinked. „Wait, me too?” she asked, confused, pointing to herself. Her friends just shrugged, just as clueless. Her gaze flicked back to Jun-tae, who nodded quickly, eyes full of pity.

A quiet „Yeah,” left his lips seconds later. Serim groaned internally. Of course. She didn’t regret helping her friends at all, but she’d arrived too late to actually do anything — which meant now she got in trouble for nothing. Just what she needed: a lecture from the principal when her life was already falling apart. She sighed audibly and followed the others as they trudged off toward the teacher’s office.

⸻

„This is such bullshit!” the girl shouted angrily across the schoolyard, kicking a rock hard as they walked toward the basketball court. The group had been assigned to volunteer at some random museum, and Serim was already groaning at the thought of wasting her day on pointless chores. What pissed her off the most was that she had absolutely nothing to do with the incident.

„I-I think it won’t be so bad,” Jun-tae offered in his usual soft tone, surprising Serim. He rarely spoke to her — she assumed he was scared of her, which made her laugh inside. Lee Serim wasn’t exactly terrifying. Maybe she’d left a bad impression after hitting Gotak in the tunnel, but he had totally deserved that. She made a silent decision to treat Jun-tae more kindly. She wasn’t against new friends, and he was genuinely sweet — something she couldn’t quite say about the new guy.

Yeon Sieun — she’d finally learned his name — was also quiet, but unlike Jun-tae, he didn’t really care to be polite. He was brutally honest, never sugarcoating anything. Surprisingly, Serim admired that about him. Sometimes, you just had to speak the truth, even when it wasn’t convenient. But still- he was kind off weird an off putting so Serim didn’t try that much to make a conversation with him.

„I think a little community service won’t kill us,” Hyun-tak added cheerfully, draping an arm around Jun-tae. Jun-tae flinched slightly but offered a nervous smile. Gotak mirrored the gesture. Serim tried to be as positive as them but failed miserably. There was nothing positive about wasting a free day on a school assignment.

Cute.

��

The next day, the teenagers were seated by a window, eating eagerly, exhausted from the mind-numbing work they’d done at the museum. Serim munched on a sandwich she’d packed the day before, listening quietly to the others’ conversation. Gotak and Baku still wore their silly costumes, which looked hilariously out of place. Suddenly, Baku held out his chopsticks, offering her a bite of his ramen. Serim accepted gratefully, her eyes rolling back in pleasure at the taste. Mouth full, she nodded enthusiastically and gave him a thumbs up.

„Good bite!” Baku laughed, wiping the sauce from the corner of her lips with a napkin.

„Are you two a thing or anything?” Sieun asked suddenly, and Gotak, two seats away, burst out laughing. Serim choked on her bite, coughing uncontrollably while Baku patted her back to help. Even he grinned at the ridiculous question.

Gotak was nearly in tears from laughing, clutching his stomach as he looked at Sieun in disbelief. Sieun just continued to stare at them confused, he was being dead serious, which only made Gotak laugh harder. Serim took the glass of water Jun-tae handed her and quickly drank, trying to clear her throat. That couldn’t have been a serious question… right?

„No, but I can see how someone might think that. The three of us are close — like siblings. So it could never be more than that,” Baku answered between chuckles. Serim shot him a grateful look, eyes still watery from the coughing fit. Gotak had finally calmed down but still wiped away tears from laughing so hard. The very idea was just absurd to them.

Sieun just nodded and kept eating as Baku shifted the conversation back to himself, proudly telling them how a girl had given him her number — only for it to turn out to be a joke, which made the group erupt in laughter all over again.

After a while, Serim excused herself and headed to the restroom to freshen up. She was sure her lip liner had smudged, thanks to Baku. In the mirror, she noticed she looked a little more put together than the last few days — she’d managed to wake up earlier and was now thankful for it. The museum visitors probably would’ve been horrified otherwise. Humming, she reapplied her makeup and washed her hands before leaving — not without adjusting her hair one last time.

Still humming and in slightly better spirits, she walked back out — until she saw a familiar figure emerge from the bathroom as well.

Fuck. No. This couldn’t be happening.

What the hell is he doing here? She barely had time to think before he noticed her, strolling up with that signature grin.

„I didn’t know you liked museums. If I had, I would’ve taken you to one sooner,” he said, eyes scanning her with amused interest. Serim forced herself not to let her thoughts drift to last time. Instead, she focused on something mundane — like his glasses. She didn’t want a conversation. She knew exactly where it would lead — just like it had before. Her stomach twisted. She couldn’t give him that kind of power over her again, no matter how much he intimidated her, no matter how much she still wanted him.

„There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she shrugged. A lie, of course. If anyone knew her inside and out, it was Park Hu-min, Go Hyun-tak, and Geum Seong-je. She crossed her arms and tried to meet his gaze with confidence. Keyword Tried.

Seong-je saw right through her act. He held back a laugh and quickly brushed his fingers over his lips.

„Sure. Whatever you say,” he said playfully, challenging her. Serim rolled her eyes, heart pounding. She stared at him, saying nothing. What was she supposed to say? She couldn’t tell right from wrong anymore — every glance he gave her twisted her thoughts inside out.

„How about a date then? Just us. Tomorrow afternoon, you know to start things over and maybe pick up where we left off last time?” he asked, stepping closer. Serim stayed rooted,as her thoughts ran back to last time, her arms still folded across her chest. A faint blush appeared on her cheeks. He adjusted his glasses with a swift motion, watching her closely. She didn’t know what to say — but she wouldn’t let him see her nerves.

„How about a no?” she retorted, a wicked grin spreading across her face. Internally, she applauded herself. Petty? Maybe. But kind of hilarious. Even Seong-je laughed, deep and rough — a sound that gave her goosebumps.

God, how she’d missed that laugh.

She had to fight the urge to smile. All she wanted was to go back to the way things had been. But she hadn’t made peace with the fact that they never could.

„You’re cute when you pretend like I don’t have this effect on you,” he murmured, lifting her chin with one finger. Serim froze, staring into his eyes, terrified by how weak she felt. Damn him. Damn Geum Seong-je and the hold he had on her.

„You think I don’t notice how you look at me? How your eyes search for mine, how your body stiffens the second I’m near?” He leaned in. There was barely any space left between them.

His gaze dropped to her lips, and hers flicked to his — still curled in that damn grin. How badly she wanted to feel them again. What was wrong with her?

„This is what I do to you. And I think it’s time you gave in, just like your body already has.” His voice was a whisper now — low, close, dangerous.

Serim wanted to respond, but no sound came out. She was like a mouse caught in a trap. She should’ve known he’d pull her into this again. She cursed herself. Cursed him.

„Serim?” Baku’s voice came from behind — and Serim froze all over again.

No. No. No, no, no. Anything but this.

Seong-je looked surprised, too. He glanced over Serim’s shoulder and rolled his eyes when he saw Baku. He didn’t move away, but slowly withdrew his hand from her chin, muttering a quiet “Motherfucker,” just loud enough for her to hear.

She didn’t want to turn around. But she had to. Slowly, she turned, face burning with shame. Baku looked between them, confused, then stepped forward. Serim’s heart pounded — terrified of what he might say. She’d messed up, and her friends were going to call her out for it — exactly what she didn’t need right now.

Before Baku could speak, she spun around, jabbing a finger into Seong-je’s chest. “If you don’t leave me alone soon, you’re going to have a real fucking problem,” she said in a low, threatening voice, just loud enough for all three of them to hear.

Then she turned sharply and walked away, leaving them both standing there. She didn’t need more problems — especially not the kind that looked like Seong-je. And she definitely didn’t need the lecture Baku was probably about to give.

taglist: @gacktsa @dripoftheseus @rockerica @b3eutyist3rror @jaymiwrld @urfavsagsblog @shonerd @mordessaa @inhoswifee @wagawana @feralmaneater

#enemies to lovers #fanfic #geum seong je x reader #kdrama #toxic #weak hero class two #geum seong je #weak hero class x reader #weak hero class 1 #weak hero class one #wolf keum #seongje x reader #keum seongje

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shakarianminibang · 14 hours ago

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Fic summaries for the Shakarian Mini-Bang 2025 are now open for viewing!

For the next few days, everyone will be able to look at the summaries and snippets the authors provided, before artist claims open on May 15th — that way, artists will be able to get familiar with all the fics without feeling too much rush.

The fic list can be found under the cut:

1. Between Breaths | rated T

Garrus Vakarian isn’t attracted to humans, but step by step, bit by bit, he comes to care for one human in particular, until in the moment from one breath to the next he realizes he’s in deeper than he’d ever thought possible.

Which makes the betrayal all the more painful.

A look into the development of Garrus’s feelings for Shepard, interspersed with the loyalty mission as an experiment in non-linear storytelling.

Hunting a rogue salarian geneticist with the backing and blessing of a Council Spectre was, as it turned out, liberating. “Garrus, back down.” Up to a point. Garrus’s hands tightened on the grip of his sidearm. The plates of his hardsuit gauntlets groaned in protest at the strain. His breaths came short and fast. “We have him right here,” Garrus growled, frustration slipping into his sub-vocals. “If we hand him over to the Citadel he’ll just get away again.” Not two meters away, the salarian in question shook in his shoes, vitals spiking in the display on Garrus’s visor, eyes darting around the room as if seeking an alternate exit not blocked by a krogan. He wasn’t likely to find one, but Garrus couldn’t take that risk. Couldn’t.

2. A Quick One (No Children) | rated E

Hours before the galaxy’s final stand against the Reapers, Garrus spaces out while watching a live feed of Palaven, causing him to recall both his distant and recent past. He is interrupted when Shepard returns to his post, asking him to sneak off with her for some alone time. The two run off to a private corner of the Alliance base to have sex, but more importantly, pretend they have a chance at a normal life afterward. Inspired by De Selby Part 1 by Hozier.

This is a melancholy / bittersweet love story told from Garrus’s POV. It is a single chapter and contains an explicit sex scene in the second half. Garrus and Shepard are the only main characters, but a few canon and original characters appear on the sidelines.

A tremor ran through Shepard’s body. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Can we just pretend we have a normal life like a normal couple?” Garrus could’ve sworn her already glowing facial scars flashed brighter for a second. “Just this once. Please.” Dread settled into Garrus’s stomach. Shepard was about to lead the most important attack in the history of every sentient lifeform in the galaxy. Sure it wasn’t just her doing the fighting, but she was the one going into the belly of the beast. She needed to be at the top of her game. This was the worst possible time for an existential crisis. If she goes out there like this, there’s a good chance she…might…not… No. Not going to even think it.

3. R&R | rated E

After the end of the war, Garrus and Shepard need to learn how to deal with a lot of things: her mom, living on Earth and recovering.

Thankfully for both of them, being with each other once again for the first time in months isn’t one of them.

“Okay, yeah. I needed that,” Shepard says, not being able to keep herself from laughing as she does so, and, at that, Garrus can’t help the laughter that escapes from the back of his throat. Then, he presses one, two, three more pecks on her cheek, temple and lips before pulling away. “Told you so,” Garrus says, and if he had been feeling insecure about his skills as a lover seconds ago, it sure isn’t the case anymore. Smiling at her, he starts stroking her arm. “You should listen to me more often.” “I do listen to you,” Shepard says, and Garrus can’t help the scoff that escapes the back of his throat. “But I do! Sometimes.” When Garrus doesn’t say anything else, she continues speaking, “Hey, I said I listen to you. That doesn’t mean I’m going to do whatever you want me to.”

4. composed of nows | rated M, 45k words! | CW: suicide attempts, blood and gore, body horror, minor character death, alcoholism, M-rated smut

After Shepard destroyed the Crucible, the energy expelled from the blast changed her. She's immortal, any trace of aging is stuck in some sort of perpetual stasis, her body is incapable of being injured-- and what's more, she seemed to consume the blast, which threatens to hurt everyone around her in uncontrollable attacks. She left Garrus in the middle of the night in an attempt to save him from (whatever the hell) she's turned into, and never looked back.

Nineteen year later, and Garrus is a shell of what he once was. He drinks too much, he has too many ex-wives, and not a single turian in their right mind would pay him any respect, including his own crew. What was supposed to be a routine mission to a fringe colony turned into something unexpected when he picks up an SOS signal from a shuttle. What he wasn't anticipating was for it to be Shepard-- which the shock lasted for only a few moments, before a blast came out of her body that killed half his crew.

As the explosion knocked them off course, Shepard and Garrus must find a way to cohabitate after nineteen years of scorn. If Shepard is just going to leave again, then Garrus wants no part of it. And if Garrus had moved on a long time ago, Shepard sees no reason for forced civility.

But what both of them did not anticipate was that maybe, in nineteen years, neither of them changed all that much to begin with.

Her hand made a move to cup his cheek. He took a step back, his carapace rattling the wall of cabinets behind him. More than anything, he was annoyed that the one part of his body that housed any sort of self-preservation instinct was his legs. “Don’t bother,” he said, his cheek now so cold it was as if someone had slapped him with a shard of ice. “Especially if you’re just going to leave again.” “And if I don’t?” she whispered. “What then?” She was close. She was so close that he could count all of the freckles on her skin, like stars in the sky. Except he got bored of outer space-- Claire, he’d never tire of. He never really got art before he met her. Afterwards, he still didn’t, because nothing in those galleries ever compared to her.

5. Falling Slowly | rated M | CW: very mild descriptions of injury

Everyone knows the story: man meets woman, woman recruits man, man and woman fight existential threat, woman and man begin awkward interspecies romance, woman saves the galaxy (possibly ending in tragedy).

But what does it take to have a happily ever after?

This triptych of vignettes takes place during three different time periods (ME2, ME3, and 25 years after the war respectively). Inspired by Richard Linklater's "Before" series of films, "Falling Slowly" is told primarily through intimate conversations and wanderings, depicting the small, but meaningful moments that build intimacy. It is a portrait of a relationship at different stages: from its beginning, to its deepening, to its eventual challenges and reckonings.

As an emotionally honest slice-of-life, “Falling Slowly” brings readers closer to the heart of one of Mass Effect's most beloved pairings.

“Last real long term girlfriend I had, I was 23. Thought that was it for me. I was crazy about her. Turned out she felt the same way too…just about some other guy. It ended when I walked into a bar and caught them canoodling in the corner booth.” Shepard sucks her teeth. “That’s rough.” “Got a dose of cold, hard reality that day. Never really worked up the nerve to try much after that.” “I’m sorry that happened to you. Must have hurt a lot.” “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger. Isn’t that what you humans say? Though, I prefer the old turian version: ‘weapons are forged in fire’.” He looks up, his eyes alert and steely. “As far as qualities go…a lot of things come to mind. Brains? Savvy? Principles?” He lolls his head toward her. “A nice waist doesn’t hurt.” She smirks. “Uh huh.”

6. in burning red | rated T | CW: discussions of grief and loss, alcohol use

The fic is told in three parts: First, following the destruction of the SR-1, Joker crashes at Garrus’s apartment and introduces him to old noir detective films. Garrus is fascinated by the femme fatale characters, noticing that they all wear red dresses. Joker tries to call Garrus out on his attraction to human women but Garrus doesn’t really have a response because he’s too busy trying (and failing) not to think about Shepard being gone.

Two years later, Garrus walks in on Shepard and Kasumi trying to find a dress for Shepard to wear to Donovan Hock’s party. Shepard, still not coping well with her death and resurrection, looks miserable, and Garrus gives her advice on how to blend in to the party while also struggling with some complicated feelings. Before he leaves, he suggests that she wear a red dress.

Later, Garrus comes up to Shepard’s cabin expecting to hang out and watch movies, only to find her wearing a red ball gown. Seeing her in the dress makes him realize that he has feelings for her, and helps him to fully come to terms with the fact that both of them have survived the last two years. He helps her put on an accessory she can’t put on by herself, and then leaves before he does something dumb like kiss her.

She reached out for the bottle still gripped in his hand and he passed it to her silently, holding his breath at the jolt that ran through him when her fingers grazed his. All of this was new – the way he suddenly couldn’t keep his eyes from her when she charged across the battlefield, the fact that he was always making up excuses to seek out her company. It was so distracting. He should be focusing on something important, like tracking down Sidonis or figuring out how to break the news about his ruined face to his sister. Instead, he watched the way that Shepard‘s smile cracked just on the edge on shattering, and fantasized about a galaxy in which he had never been forced to learn to live without her. “They know who I was,” she said softly. “Legally, I’m still dead. Not one person in that room is going to look at me and think, ‘Oh wow, the magically resurrected Commander Shepard has invited herself to this party.’” “I did.”

7. Katabasis | rated T | CW: corpse eating, thinking about parental death, canon-typical violence, space insect swarms

Earth is in a strange state in the weeks after the war. Rachni roam the rubble of fallen cities, serving in a search and rescue role. Medical supplies are strained, and local tensions mount between local humans and the alien armies parked on the planet.

Desperate to find answers for Commander Shepard's comatose condition, Garrus decides to do one thing he never thought thought he'd do: go to the Rachni for help.

He was getting lightheaded. Not much time before he would pass out. He found her curled over a carefully arranged pile of ruby-red eggs, chirping something pink and orange to them. Two brood warriors stood at either side of her, waving their antennae warily, resplendent in a biotic glow. “Please,” he rasped. His voice didn’t sound like anything. “I need to speak to your mother.” The Queen drew herself to her full height and turned her attention to him. A brood warrior flicked an antenna, and Garrus was pulled from his feet, into the air, suspended between the two brood warriors and before the Queen. Mouth height.

8. Consumed Memories | rated T | CW: Themes of starvation explored, mentions of suicide, mentions of cannibalism in several chapters, and invasive medical interventions in one chapter.

A steaming mug of darorn fruit, the hum of a bustling market, the crispness of an unworn uniform—mundane details, yet they all pull Garrus back to Shepard. All he has are fragments of their time together, haunting him in the silence of space, not knowing whether she’s dead or alive.

This story is told through Garrus' nonlinear memories, as he commands Normandy in the aftermath of the Reaper War. Six months of a perilous journey, the crew faces the harsh realities of survival in a post-war-torn galaxy. With the Mass Relays destroyed, the Normandy's FTL drive is their only lifeline, and every day is a struggle against dwindling resources and the unknown.

Interwoven with memories of love and comfort, past adventures, missed opportunities, and the weight of unspoken words, Garrus brings Shepard back to life in his mind. But with each passing day, the possibility of a future without her becomes more real and ever more painful.

“I guess meaningless statements have their uses, easier to hide behind than well-” “The truth.” Shepard finished, inhaling deeply. “Your turn to talk.” “Fuck you,” Shepard laughed without the smile reaching her eyes. “I had the shot lined up right between Alenko’s eyes,” she paused, pushing loose red strands from her face. “I’m riding on a thin edge, Garrus, I can’t keep holding guns up to old friends. I just-” she sighed and collapsed into him, her warmth pressed into his side. “What matters is his name didn’t have to join Ash’s.” “I know, but I don’t know if I can handle it when we're out of room.” “We’ll handle it together.” __ Countless names surrounded Garrus at the memorial wall. The sheer volume of text overloaded his translator, blurring and washing away their meanings. He focused on one name, waiting on a long, sleek metal in his grip—Commander Shepard.

9. Strategic Displacement, or, Lead You Home | rated T | CW: being buried alive and referenced flashbacks to prior trauma

On the way to the Spire on Tuchanka, accompanying Mordin to disperse the genophage cure, Garrus and Shepard find… an alternate route. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say an alternate route finds them?

Strategic Displacement is a short, self-contained fic exploring Garrus' and Shepard's relationship with the concepts of lost and found: getting lost, being lost, finding themselves, finding each other, and finding meaning and answers after losing hope. It is set during the Priority: Tuchanka mission of Mass Effect 3, and features no other characters heavily, although several are mentioned or appear in passing. It varies between banter and serious conversation as they work to escape a dangerous situation that has no clear way out.

There was no way to go but up. That much was simple. The only problem was that they’d already heard three Reaper ground troop patrols over their heads, and there’d been two more smaller rockslides since they started up the way they’d come. After the second, which had required Shepard’s cybernetically enhanced strength to shove them both out of the way and into an alcove, Shepard had declared they would no longer try to climb the pile of scree they’d brought down with them. They would make their way through the ancient tunnels of the buried city, instead. Naturally, that had resulted in their becoming hopelessly lost. He exhaled a breath that puffed out his mandibles, squared his shoulders, and followed his CO (and girlfriend) further into the darkness. [No need to worry. We get into—and out of—hopeless situations all the time. This is just another Tuesday.]

10. Carte Blanche | rated M | CW: violence and some dark themes (not sexual content)

When Shepard finds a half-dead turian in Omega’s slums, she doesn’t expect to recognize him from a ship she served on years ago: a ship that disappeared without a trace, of which she believed herself to be the only survivor. And as she dragged the body out of the skip, she hoped no one would ever ask her why she saved Garrus Vakarian’s life. She couldn’t say "Because the implant in my head wanted me to"—nobody could know about EDI, the biggest AI experiment she was unwillingly partnered with in the mission that was taking her across the galaxy. But mostly, she hoped no one would ever ask why she saved Vakarian because even as she lumbered off to find a doctor with him draped over her shoulders, she still didn’t know why herself. (Mass Effect/Imperial Radch fusion fic)

Vakarian planted himself on the edge of the bed, still eyeing her warily. He slapped her hand away when she silently raised an arm to help him back into his sling, awkwardly adjusting to do it alone. He resettled his mandible and winced. Shepard sighed. She should have caught the shuttle out of here half an hour ago, so why was she still here? He had been part of the crew, and EDI wanted to save him. But had this urge really come from the AI or just herself, an old captain’s sentimentality not quite out of her system? “You’re supposed to keep your jaw still till the bones heal,” she recalled. “Though I’m guessing that’s a lost cause. And you have to eat non-chewables for a while.” Vakarian groaned. “Says who?” “Says the doctor I paid four grand to treat you.”

11. A Planet of Lights and Forms | rated T

In the wake of the Collectors’ defeat, Shepard has traveled to Illium for a brief respite. It’s only a matter of time before the Reapers arrive, and only a matter of time before she must return to Earth to face the consequences of her actions. In the meantime, she’s eager to live in the present, and even more eager to spend as much time as possible nurturing her relationship with Garrus.

But even the most mundane plans can go awry when you lead a crew of miscellaneous alien species, and on their first day docked on Illium—on Shepard and Garrus’s first date on Illium—bureaucracy strikes. Grunt can’t be paid for helping them defeat the Collectors if he doesn’t have a bank account, and he can’t get a bank account without ID. Who’d have thought that a tank-bred krogan “birthed” on a starship would have difficulty in Illium’s hellish administrative landscape? Apparently, not Shepard.

Helping Grunt will come at a cost. Not only will Shepard need to cut her date with Garrus short but she’ll also need to confront the consequences of her past and the part Garrus might play in her future.

Odiosa’s lips pressed together. “You said he was only a couple weeks old?” “Give or take.” She nodded. “We’ll mark the date as today. Name?” “Grunt,” Shepard said. Grunt grunted. Odiosa paused, eyes narrowing. “Uh, name?” “Grunt. My name is Urdnot Grunt.” The asari’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Ah. Apologies. Parents?” “Don’t have any.” Grunt rolled his eyes, then folded his arms across his chest. “I came from a tank, remember?” “Is Urdnot not a family name?” Grunt huffed. “It’s Urdnot. Not Urdnotnot.” Her brow furrowed in confusion “Yes, I— Is Urdnot a family name?” “No, it’s my clan name.” Odiosa sighed, though it sounded more like a groan. “All right. Never mind that. Is there anyone else that could be listed as a parent?” Her eyes flicked expectantly between Shepard and Garrus. “My line descends from Shiagur, Kredak, Moro, Terg, Wrend, and Veeoll. Can you list them?”

12. The Plan | rated M | CW: cursing; very vague mentions of sexual stuff; mentions of death, injuries and war; slight PTSD mentions

After resolving galaxy-threatening crisis, Shepard has to face a brand new challenge - meeting turian in-laws. Despite Garrus' perfectly calibrated plan for a nice day out with his family, every stage of it goes wrong, wrong, and then wrong once again. Will these three wrongs make at least one right? God, they hope so.

“I feel honored to have such a thorough background check done. When it comes to you, Commander, I’m unhappy to report I had to rely just on the news.” “Well, I’m unhappy to report they constantly give me too much credit.” “Credit? Hell, I apparently can’t keep up with all the pieces coming out about you. But I was practically glued to the screen during your six months on Earth.” He cracked a first smile after that. Shepard realised she was at war with this individual. She was at war with alternate dimension senior Garrus with different markings and rougher voice. She was at war with C-Sec legend. She was at war with an asshole committed to… to do what, exactly? Make her lose it? Make Garrus break up with her? What possible goal could be in his power to achieve and what did Shepard have to do to win?

13. Fractured Continuum | rated M | CW: Major Character Death, Graphic depictions of violence, Suicide, Mental deterioration

Garrus dies on Earth.

Killed by a banshee that was aiming for Shepard. It should have ended there.

But instead, he wakes back up on Omega. No wounds, no scars, and very much alive. The reapers haven’t arrived yet, the galaxy isn’t at war and Shepard is still alive. No one seems to remember anything.

Except for him.

Each time he dies, he resets to the same point, with nothing but his memories and a splitting headache. He tries to figure out how to break the cycle, even escape it entirely. But there is no remorse, only the same outcome every time.

At first, he fights to save the galaxy and escape the cycle. But slowly, between laughter over coffee in the mess and the hum of late night confessions, his relationship with Shepard changes.

Realising his actions can alter the events, he begins to influence them. But each loop seems to come at a cost. He is mentally deteriorating and he can’t quite remember the details anymore. Along with dissonance of falling for someone who doesn’t know you’ve already fallen hundreds of times before.

Eventually he uncovers the way to end the loops and is forced to address his shifting priorities. Until Shepard confronts him and forces him to face the question he’s been too afraid to ask: Is he trying to end the war, or just hold onto her a little longer?

Told in fractured slices of life and action juxtaposed with melancholic moments of softness.

Shepard was standing, pistol in hand. Aiming straight at his head. Garrus blinked. The fish tank gurgled. Shepard didn’t move. That look in her eyes, the ‘don’t fuck with me’ stare he knew well. He’d never seen it directed at him though. And he didn’t like how steady her hand was. He gave a half laugh, at the absurdity of the situation. “What are you-” “I didn’t want to believe it.” She cut across him, her voice steady. But Garrus could detect the note of anger concealed under it, cold and unwavering. “Javik has been telling me for months that you were indoctrinated. I didn’t want to believe it. I thought he was just crazy, paranoid. But now…” “Shepard?” Another laugh, a little more nervous than before. “You can’t be serious. Come on, this is me we're talking about.”

14. Beneath Palaveni Stars | rated M | CW: Violence and sexual content

Shakarian AU! Turians as ancient Romans set in the wilds of Palaven. Lots of world building and trekking through a fantastical landscape. Relationship is adversaries to friends to lovers. Featuring POVs from Shepard, Garrus, Ashley, and Nihlus Kryik. Rated M for violence and sexual content:

Humanity’s discovery of the prothean cache on Mars has propelled them forward centuries, opening the vast relay network and uncharted worlds. Both government and private enterprises are keen to explore and expand, with an emphasis on gathering more prothean relics and unlocking their mysteries. But when the Cerberus Science Expedition lands on an alien world, Commander Shepard and her security force get more than they bargained for when an artifact activates…

Imperial Investigator Garrus Vakarian feels smothered by his overbearing father, and the constraints of his position. Looking into reports of falling stars at the Temple of the Titans sounds like a reprieve from dull assignments, but when Garrus encounters a goddess and then becomes stranded with her far from home, he learns there is so much more out there than life in Cipritine.

He’d called himself an investigator if the word had translated right, but he clearly knew how to handle himself in hand-to-hand combat. He was dangerous. Judging by the way he kept her in his periphery, he seemed to think the same of her. “I think we’re in the Vas Sea,” he said after a moment. He shook his head. “I don’t know how that’s possible, though. The Vas Sea is nearly twelve leagues from the Temple of the Titans.” Shepard decided not to comment on the vast grove of trees being called a sea, and instead focused on the distance. “Twelve leagues?” she repeated, voice pitching higher on the last word. “How the hell did we get transported a dozen leagues from the temple?”

15. To Press Down on a Bleeding Wound | rated M | CW: canon-typical violence, non-explicit sex and sexual references, mentions and descriptions of blood and injury.

Many times through the years, Garrus has found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time, injured for whatever reason. Mostly minor, sometimes major. One constant is Shepard, always there to tell him to take care of it. Or, 4 times Shepard tells Garrus to get patched up and one time Garrus patches Shepard up. Relationship progression shown through injuries.

“You don’t feel that?” she asks, craning her neck to get a better look at his with the widened cowl of his armor now removed. “You really sure it’s my blood?” Shepard hums, amused. “Confident, huh?” Her hand lands on his shoulder and presses down. It isn’t her full strength, not nearly enough to move him, but it passes the message even before she says, “Just lean over so I can check.” Garrus complies, bending just slightly at the knee towards her. From this angle, he gets a whiff of her hair—smoke and blood from Menae, but just a hint of something else. Almost woodsy, a trace of sweat. Distinctly and familiarly, all-encompassingly Shepard. He swallows, trying almost too hard not to think about that night before she turned herself in again. Her hand touches his neck once more, the tips of her bare fingers cool enough to chill.

16. Wait for It | rated E

This fic takes place during ME3, set after the attack on the Citadel. Garrus has been waiting to make his move on Shepard, but hesitates. He then hears a rumor that Shepard and Kaidan are dating, and he is heartbroken but does his best to accept her decision while giving them space and kicking himself for waiting so long.

Then Shepard invites him out to Armax Arena for an opportunity to catch up. Turns out, sometimes rumors are just that- rumors.

As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t be mad. Not really. Despite their differences, Garrus liked Kaidan. He was a good soldier, unwavering in his beliefs, even when they were unpopular or contrary to Garrus’s own. From what he had heard, though not in his personal experience, Kaidan was an attractive guy. Could he really blame Shepard for choosing him? Being with Kaidan was easy. Two Alliance soldiers, the first and second human Spectres- it worked. It made sense. And what was Garrus? Turian ex C-Sec officer turned vigilante who had somehow stumbled into becoming the leading reaper advisor. And if Shepard deserved anything after all she had been through, it was something easy. Nothing about Garrus and a life with him would be was easy. They couldn’t even eat the same foods, let along the other cultural and biological complications there could be. No, this was better. As much as it made his heart ache and his stomach clench, Garrus knew that this was the right decision for Shepard. He would always have her six, always be her staunchest supporter.

17. Stolen Glances | rated T

Garrus struggles to navigate their friendship after two long years apart. Shepard grapples with the new world she was thrust into, and how the people she once knew have changed.

Garrus is gravely injured during his recruitment, and Shepard is forced to confront how he and her friends have changed since she died. Shepard prepares for Kasumi’s loyalty mission, and in the process sends Garrus into a spiral of his own making. With the help of their friends and crewmates, the two are able to finally confront their feelings for one another, and find a little peace in the galaxy to call their own.

“Are you going up or down?” Kasumi asked. “Sorry?” Shepard answered, “The elevator. Are you going up or down?” Garrus quickly shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind. “R-right.” He looked back to Shepard, and it was only then that he noticed her new attire. His eyes travelled down from her head to her feet. Her fiery fringe was pinned back, showing off her sharp cheekbones and jawline. Her dress drew his eyes down from her neck to her chest, the necklace creating a window to her heart. The dress curved in, accentuating her waist and hips. Garrus felt blood rush up the back of his neck and quickly averted his gaze. The skirt stopped at her thighs, and her heels made the muscles in her legs more prominent than usual. 'Spirits, what’s wrong with me?'

#shakarian mini bang #mass effect #shakarian #shepard x garrus #mass effect fan events

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honeyslibrary · 3 hours ago

Text

I Love You, I'm Sorry | Luke Hughes

Pairing; Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Long distance relationship, angst, not sure what else, edited once

Summary; Reader and Luke get a taste of how difficult being in a long distance relationship is.

Word Count; 4.5k

Authors Note: This is a part one. I’d love your thoughts on what you think the ending should be. I personally love angst, but I know a lot of you love happy endings, so let me know (: As per usual, reblogs are appreciated 🩵 -Honey

It's late, nearly midnight in Ann Arbor, and your room is dim except for the soft glow of your laptop screen. Outside, snow is falling in slow, half-hearted flakes that dissolve before touching the ground, visible only when they drift through the cone of yellow light from the streetlamp below. Your desk is cluttered with notebooks, highlighters with their caps missing, and a half-eaten granola bar that's been sitting there since noon, its wrapper curled at the edges.

When Luke picks up, he's backdropped by the familiar off-white walls of his place in Jersey, hair damp and curling from a post-practice shower. He's wearing that oversized black Kith hoodie — the one he practically lives in, frayed at the cuffs from constant wear — and his voice comes through, slightly distorted by distance and poor connection.

"Hey."

You smile, automatic, muscle memory that hasn't faded despite everything. "Hey."

There's a beat of silence where neither of you rushes to fill the space. It's not awkward. Just... distant. Like the signal is fine, but the connection is still lagging, caught somewhere between Ann Arbor and Jersey, lost in the miles between what you were and what you've become.

"You look tired," he says, eyes scanning your face through the screen.

"Thanks," you deadpan, but self-consciously run a hand through your unwashed hair.

He smiles, a little, the corner of his mouth lifting in that familiar way that still manages to make your heart stutter. "Rough day?"

You nod, feeling the weight of hours spent hunched over textbooks and lab equipment. "Had a three-hour chem lab and then my professor went rogue and assigned us a ten-page paper due Monday, even though it's supposed to be a five-week course project. So, yeah. Classic Thursday."

"Damn." He leans back against his headboard, the wood making a soft thunk. You can see the edge of a team photo taped to his wall, the corner peeling. "I don't miss that."

"You're telling me," you say, rubbing your eyes until pinpricks of light dance behind your closed lids. "I've had coffee for dinner two nights in a row. My blood is basically caffeine at this point."

He watches you for a second, eyes softening with something like concern or maybe nostalgia. Then asks, quieter, "Is it still like... non-stop all the time?"

You hesitate, fingers playing with the frayed edge of your sleeve. "Yeah. I mean, I guess I'm getting used to it again." The lie tastes stale on your tongue.

Luke nods slowly, a micro-expression of hurt flashing across his face so quickly you almost miss it. Then he glances away for a second, like he's thinking about whether or not to say something. When he looks back, there's something different in his eyes. Not annoyed, just... worn down, like fabric that's been washed too many times.

"I was trying not to bug you," he says, carefully measuring each word. "With the whole settling-back-in thing. Figured the first couple weeks of school would be hectic, so I didn't want to be, like... all over your phone."

You shift in your seat, the old wooden chair creaking beneath you, uneasy. "You're not bugging me."

"I don't know," he says, fingers absently tracing the team logo on his hoodie. "It kind of feels like I am."

You go still. He's not raising his voice. He's not accusing. But it hits anyway, like a door closing quietly but firmly in your face.

"I mean, you barely text me," he continues, voice level but threaded with something raw. "We haven't FaceTimed in... what? Over a week? And when we do talk, it's usually because I called first."

You swallow, suddenly too aware of how quiet your room is, just the faint hum of your laptop fan and the distant bass from someone's music three doors down. "I've just had a lot going on."

"I know," he says quickly, too quickly. "Me too. But... it's been a month now."

You glance at him. His jaw is tight, a muscle working at the corner, and he won't quite meet your eyes, instead focusing on something just past your shoulder.

"I was giving you space because I thought you needed it," he says, voice dropping lower. "But now I'm starting to feel like maybe I'm just... not part of your life anymore. Not really."

Your chest aches, a physical pain that spreads outward like ice cracking. "Luke—"

He cuts in, not unkindly, but with a firmness that makes you flinch. "I'm not mad. I just... I didn't think this would be so one-sided."

You open your mouth, but all that comes out is a pathetic defense: "You know I suck at texting."

He gives a short laugh. Not mean, just tired, the kind that carries no actual humor. "Yeah. I do. But I thought you'd try. Because this is different now. We're not two blocks apart anymore. We're two states apart. I can't just swing by after practice or meet you at Espresso Royale with those stupid chocolate croissants you like." His voice catches slightly. "You're all I've got, and half the time, it feels like I'm not even crossing your mind."

"That's not fair," you whisper, the words hanging in the air between you like frost.

He meets your gaze, and it's the quiet in his voice that stings the most. "It doesn't have to be fair, it's how I feel."

You press your fingers to your forehead, like that'll stop the swirl in your brain, the mounting pressure behind your eyes. "I wasn't trying to ignore you. I've just... I don't know. Everything's overwhelming again. And I guess I thought if I didn't reach out, it would hurt less. Like... not reminding myself how far away you are."

He looks at you for a long second, the blue light of his screen making shadows under his cheekbones. "It hurts anyway."

And there it is.

The truth neither of you wanted to face, finally spoken aloud. Your fingers go cold.

You look at him, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his fingers fidget with the drawstring of his hoodie, twisting it into a knot and then releasing it. You feel like you're staring at something that's slipping through your hands, slow and inevitable, like sand or water or time.

He sighs, quiet, the sound barely reaching your speakers. "I'm gonna head to bed. Early skate tomorrow."

You nod, barely, feeling numb. "Okay."

He doesn't hang up right away, and for a second, it seems like he might say something else, something to soften or backtrack. Offer a lifeline. But instead, he just gives you a small, sad smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"Goodnight."

Then the screen goes dark.

And you're left staring at your own reflection, sitting in the silence you built, with only the soft tapping of snowflakes against your window for company.

You wait for a text that doesn't come.

The next morning, you send him a message, something casual about hoping he had a good practice, a peace offering disguised as small talk. Usually, he responds within minutes. This time, your phone stays silent for hours, until finally, mid-afternoon: It was fine. Pretty tired though.

No questions about your day. No follow-up. Just five words that feel like a door closing.

You tell yourself it's nothing. He's busy. He's tired. But the pattern continues. Your texts receive shorter and shorter replies, sometimes hours later, sometimes not until the next day. He doesn't call. When you try calling him on Sunday night, he doesn't pick up, just texts back twenty minutes later: Sorry, was out with the guys. Talk later maybe?

Later doesn't come.

By Wednesday, the realization hits you with startling clarity: this is what it feels like to be on the other side. This is what you've been doing to him for weeks.

Thursday night, you're sitting in the library, pretending to study organic chemistry but really just staring at your phone, willing it to light up with his name. It doesn't. A week ago, you would have been annoyed by the interruption. Now you'd give anything for it.

Your roommate slides into the chair across from you, giving you a strange look. "You okay? You've been staring at that same page for like, twenty minutes."

"I'm fine," you mumble, but your voice sounds hollow even to your own ears.

"Luke?" she asks, eyebrows raised.

You look up, surprised. "How did you—"

"Well, for starters, you've checked your phone approximately eight hundred times in the past hour. And you've got that look."

"What look?"

"Like someone stole your favorite hoodie." She pauses. "Which, by the way, isn't that his Devils hoodie you're wearing right now?"

You glance down. It is. Luke left it with you when he left for pre-season, and you've been sleeping in it for weeks. It still smells faintly of his laundry detergent and that cologne he pretends not to use.

"He's not talking to me," you admit finally, the words feeling strange in your mouth. "Or, well, barely. It's like... he's just gone cold."

Your roommate doesn't look surprised. "Girl, are you stupid? You've been doing the same thing to him for weeks."

The bluntness of her assessment stings. "I've been busy," you protest weakly.

She gives you a look that makes it clear she's not buying it. "We're all busy. That's college. But you don't see me ghosting my boyfriend back home."

"I wasn't ghosting him," you insist. But even as you say it, you know it's not entirely true. You were keeping him at arm's length, minimizing contact, treating him like an obligation rather than a priority.

"So what are you going to do about it?" she asks, closing her notebook and giving you her full attention.

You stare at your phone again. No new messages. "I don't know."

Friday morning, you check your phone the moment you wake up. Nothing. Friday afternoon, between classes, you find yourself opening your photos, scrolling back through pictures of the two of you. Friday night, you cave and call him. It goes straight to voicemail.

Hey, Luke. It's me. I just... I miss you. Call me back?

He doesn't.

Saturday passes in a blur of anxiety and regret. By Sunday, you're sitting on your bed surrounded by unfinished assignments, your laptop open to a half-written paper, but all you can think about is him.

The silence stretches into a second week. His social media offers glimpses of a life continuing without you: team photos, a night out bowling, a video of him laughing at something one of his teammates said. He looks fine. He looks happy. He looks like he's moving on.

It's only when you're scrolling through your calendar to check a due date that you realize what tomorrow is: one month since he helped you move in. One month of being apart. You'd talked about celebrating somehow, doing something special over FaceTime. Now you wonder if he even remembers.

Monday morning, your phone pings with a text as you're walking to class.

Can we talk tonight? 9pm?

Your heart jumps into your throat. You text back immediately: Yes. Definitely.

The day crawls by with excruciating slowness. By 8:45, you're sitting at your desk, hair combed, room hastily tidied, wearing a sweater he once said brought out your eyes.

At exactly 9:00, your laptop chimes with an incoming call. You take a deep breath and click "accept."

Luke appears on screen, looking tired but more serious than you've ever seen him. There's none of the warmth from before, none of the easy familiarity. Just his eyes, steady and questioning.

"Hey," you say, voice small.

"Hey," he replies. Then, after a pause that stretches too long: "So, I think we should talk about what happens now."

You swallow hard, suddenly afraid of what "now" might mean. "Luke, I'm sorry. I know I messed up. I know I made you feel like you weren't important, and that's not true at all. I was—"

"Stop," he says, not unkindly but firmly. "I don't need apologies. What I need is to know if this is even worth fighting for anymore."

The question hangs in the air between you, heavy with implication.

"Because," he continues, voice steady but with an undercurrent of hurt that makes your chest ache, "I can't be the only one trying here. These past two weeks... this is what it felt like for me, for a month. Waiting for calls that never came. Checking my phone fifty times a day. Wondering if I still mattered to you at all."

You feel tears threatening, but you blink them back. "You do matter. You matter so much."

"Then why didn't you act like it?" The question isn't angry. It's genuinely confused, which somehow makes it worse.

"I don't know," you whisper, and then, forcing yourself to be honest: "I think I was scared. Of how much I missed you. Of how hard this was going to be. It felt easier to just... pull back. To pretend I was fine on my own."

He's quiet for a long moment, considering this. "And are you? Fine on your own?"

You look at him, really look at him, and shake your head slowly. "No. These past two weeks have been awful. I hated every minute of it."

"Welcome to my world," he says, but there's less edge to his voice now. "So what do we do? Because I can't go back to how things were before. I won't."

The silence stretches between you, full of all the things you've left unsaid. You know you're at a crossroads. You can make more promises, beg for another chance. Or you can face the truth: that long distance is harder than you thought, that you're both changing, that maybe what you had belongs to a different time, a different version of yourselves.

Luke waits, his expression unreadable. The choice is yours.

"I don't know how to fix this," you admit finally, voice barely above a whisper. "But I want to. I really want to."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, a gesture so familiar it makes your heart ache. "I want to believe that."

"You can," you say, leaning forward. "Luke, these past two weeks... I've been miserable. And it made me realize that I've been taking you for granted. I've been acting like you'll always be there, waiting, no matter how I treat you."

He's quiet for a moment, eyes searching yours through the screen. "Why should this time be any different?"

It's a fair question. One you've been asking yourself all week.

"Because now I know what it feels like to lose you," you say simply. "And I never want to feel that way again."

He looks down, and you can see him weighing your words, deciding whether or not to believe them. When he looks back up, his eyes are guarded.

"I need more than words," he says. "I need to see it. In your actions."

You nod, relief and anxiety tangling in your chest. "I know. I understand that."

"Do you?" he asks, and there's a challenge in his voice. "Because what I need is for you to make time for us. Real time. Not just when it's convenient for you or when you don't have anything better to do."

You flinch at the truth of it. "I will. I promise."

He shakes his head slightly. "Don't promise. Just do it. Or don't. But I can't keep...hoping things will get better. That's the part that kills me, you know? The hoping."

You feel tears threatening again, but this time, you let them come. "I'm sorry," you whisper. "I'm so sorry, Luke."

His expression softens just slightly. "I know you are. But I'm not looking for an apology. I'm looking for change."

You wipe at your eyes, nodding. "So...what now?"

He seems to consider this, then says, "Now we take it day by day. See if we can build something that works for both of us. But I need you to be honest, with yourself most of all. If you can't do this, if you don't want to do this, then let's not drag it out."

The words hit you like a physical blow. "Is that...is that what you want? To end it?"

Luke's gaze is steady. "What I want is a relationship where I don't feel like I'm chasing someone who's always running away."

The silence stretches between you, heavy with everything that's been said and everything that hasn't.

"I'm not running," you say finally. "Not anymore."

He nods, but there's still hesitation in his eyes. "Okay."

"Okay," you echo, not sure what else to say.

"I should go," he says after a moment. "Early morning tomorrow."

Panic flares in your chest. "Wait, can we talk again?"

The question hangs in the air. Before, he would have been the one asking that. The one worried about when the next call would be. Now it's you, and the role reversal isn't lost on either of you.

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "I don't know. When do you want to talk again?"

You recognize the test in his words. "Tomorrow? I don't have class until eleven. We could have coffee together. Virtually, I mean."

He considers this. "I'll be up at six for training."

"Six is fine," you say quickly, even though you haven't voluntarily seen six a.m. since high school.

His eyebrows rise slightly. "Really?"

"Really." You've never been more certain of anything.

He studies you for a moment longer, then nods. "Okay. Six it is."

"I'll be here," you promise.

"We'll see," he says, and it stings, but you know you deserve it. Before he ends the call, he pauses. "You're wearing that sweater I love."

"What?" You glance down, feeling heat rise to your face. "Oh yeah."

The corner of his mouth lifts in a half-smile, the first real smile you've seen from him in weeks.

Then the call ends, and you're left staring at your reflection again. But this time, it's different. This time, you're not paralyzed by indecision or regret. This time, you know exactly what you need to do.

You set your alarm for 5:45 a.m. Then you open your calendar and begin to carve out time, real time, for the person who matters most. Not leftover minutes between classes or half-attentive late-night calls when you're too exhausted to really talk. Actual, intentional time.

It won't be easy. Nothing worth having ever is. The distance is still there. Your schedule is still overwhelming. His hockey season is just getting started.

But as you close your laptop and get ready for bed, you realize something: you're not just fighting for Luke. You're fighting for yourself, too. For the person you want to be. Someone who knows what matters and acts like it. Someone who doesn't take love for granted.

You curl up under your blankets after changing back into his Devils hoodie. Outside, the snow continues to fall, covering everything in a clean, white blanket. Like a fresh start.

Morning will come early. But for the first time in weeks, you're looking forward to it.

The blaring of your alarm cuts through your dreams like a knife. You groan, blindly pawing at your phone until the noise stops. Your room is dark, the sky outside still black. For a moment, you lie there, disoriented, wondering why on earth your alarm is going off at this ungodly hour.

Then you remember. Luke. The call. Six a.m.

You force your eyes open, squinting at your phone screen.

7:28 a.m.

Your stomach drops. No. No no no.

You bolt upright, suddenly wide awake, heart hammering against your ribs. How did this happen? You set your alarm. You remember setting it for 5:45.

But the evidence is right there on your screen, mocking you: three missed alarms, all snoozed in your half-conscious state. And worse, two missed calls from Luke.

"No," you whisper, panic rising in your throat as you fumble to call him back. It rings once, twice, three times. Then his voicemail.

You try again. Straight to voicemail.

Your hands shake as you type out a text: Luke I'm so sorry. I slept through my alarm. Please call me back.

Nothing.

You try calling once more. Voicemail again.

Please Luke. I swear I didn't mean to. I set three alarms.

The message shows as delivered, but there's no response. You sit in the cold light of morning, the reality of what's happened sinking in like lead. One chance. You had one chance to show him you were serious, that things would be different.

And you blew it.

By 8:15, you've tried calling five more times. Each time, straight to voicemail. Your roommate finds you sitting cross-legged on your bed, still in his hoodie, staring at your phone like you can will it to ring through sheer force of desperation.

"Whoa," she says, taking in your expression. "What happened?"

"I messed up," you manage, voice hollow. "I was supposed to call Luke at six this morning. I slept through my alarm."

She winces. "Ouch."

"He won't answer," you continue, feeling tears build. "He probably thinks I just... didn't care enough to wake up."

Your roommate sits on the edge of your bed. "Did you explain?"

"I tried. He's not responding."

"Give him some time," she suggests. "He's probably at practice anyway, right?"

You nod weakly. She's right. He's probably on the ice right now, skating through drills, trying not to think about you. Or worse, thinking about you too much.

"What do I do?" you ask, hating how small your voice sounds.

She considers for a moment. "You wait. And then you try again. And you don't give up after one mistake."

The words echo in your mind as you drag yourself through your morning routine, as you force yourself to attend your classes even though you can barely focus on what your professors are saying. By late afternoon, you've checked your phone approximately a thousand times. Nothing from Luke.

At 4:17, just as you're leaving your last class, your phone finally buzzes. You nearly drop it in your haste to check.

Can talk now. Call me.

Your heart races as you find an empty bench outside your building and call him with trembling fingers. He picks up on the second ring.

"Luke—" you start, the relief of hearing his voice almost overwhelming.

"Are you kidding me?" His voice is tight, controlled, but you can hear the hurt beneath it. "Seriously? After everything we talked about last night?"

"I know," you say quickly. "I know how it looks. I set the alarms, I swear I did. I even set three of them. But I must have turned them off in my sleep. I never even heard them."

"Right." His tone is flat with disbelief.

"It's true," you insist. "Luke, please. You have to believe me. I wouldn't do that to you. Not after last night."

There's a long pause, and you can almost see him pacing in his dorm room, running a hand through his still-damp hair, trying to decide if he believes you.

"You know what the worst part was?" he says finally. "I actually got excited. I set up my laptop on the kitchen counter while I made breakfast. I thought... I actually thought this time would be different."

The quiet disappointment in his voice is worse than if he'd yelled.

"It will be," you say, desperate. "It is. Luke, I messed up. I know that. But it was a mistake, not a choice. I wanted to talk to you this morning. I was looking forward to it."

Another silence stretches between you. Then, quietly: "I think we need to take a break."

The words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the air from your lungs. "What? No. Luke, please—"

"I can't do this anymore," he says, his voice oddly calm. "I thought I could. I thought if we just talked it out, if you just understood how I was feeling... but this morning made it clear."

"It was one mistake," you plead, tears filling your eyes. "One morning."

"No," he says, and the gentleness in his voice somehow makes it worse. "It's not just this morning. It's every morning. It's the fact that I keep hoping things will change, and they never do. It's the fact that I'm constantly disappointed, and I'm starting to think that's just... how it's going to be with us now."

"It won't," you whisper.

"Maybe not," he concedes. "But it's how I feel. And I can't keep feeling this way. It's killing me."

You press a hand to your mouth, trying to stifle a sob. "So what, we're just... done? Just like that?"

He sighs, and you hear so much exhaustion in that sound. "I don't know what we are. I just know I need some space to figure out if this is even worth fighting for anymore."

"Of course it is," you say, voice breaking. "Luke, I love you."

"I love you too," he says quietly. "But right now, that's not enough."

The finality in his voice sends a chill through you. "How long?" you manage to ask. "How long of a break?"

"I don't know," he admits. "I need to focus on hockey. On myself. And honestly, maybe you do too."

You want to argue, to fight, to promise him that you'll do better, that you'll be better. But the words stick in your throat because deep down, you know he's right. You haven't been the person he needs. You haven't even been the person you want to be.

"Okay," you say finally, the word barely audible.

"I should go," he says after a moment of heavy silence.

"Luke—" you start, not ready for the call to end, not ready for whatever comes after.

"Take care of yourself, okay?" he cuts in, voice soft. Then, almost as an afterthought: "Keep the hoodie. It looks better on you anyway."

Before you can respond, the call ends.

You sit there on the cold bench, phone clutched in your hand, tears streaming down your face. Around you, students rush to classes, laughing, talking, completely unaware that your world has just imploded.

Eventually, you make your way back to your apartment. Your roommate takes one look at your face and opens her arms without a word. You collapse into them, the sobs you've been holding back finally breaking free.

"He's gone," you choke out. "He's gone and it's my fault."

She holds you as you cry, stroking your hair, telling you it will be okay. But you know it won't be. Not for a long time.

That night, you curl up in your bed, still wearing his hoodie. You know you should take it off, that it will only make things harder, but you can't bring yourself to do it. Not yet. Outside, snow is falling again, heavier now, erasing footprints, covering everything in blank whiteness.

Your phone sits dark and silent on your nightstand. No goodnight text. No plans to call tomorrow. Just emptiness where there used to be him.

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