#you’d had to be a part of it to understand

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Part 2: It Is A Big Deal

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Dean Winchester xf!reader,

POV: Reader POV

Summary: Dean's in for a rude awakening when he finds out exactly what you did when you got stranded in another universe.

Tropes: Frenemies (Dean and the Reader), Awkward Situation, Multiverse Problems, ANGST

Word Count: 7.4K

Warnings: I'm gonna label this 18+ just to be sure. Cursing, Making Out, DEATH, Violence (only a little), Jealousy, Pining, Kinda Sad Vibes In Some Places, Sexual Innuendo, References to Sex, Feelings, Angst, Self Deprecating Thoughts? References to Past Sex (it happens quite a bit). References to Future Sex. Soldier Boy Being Soldier Boy (Everyone knows he’s a warning). Dean Winchester Being Dean Winchester (aka. being moody and super hot).

Listen While You Read: Jealous Again By The Black Crowes

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person

A/N: It was so fun to come back to this universe again! Thank you so much to everyone for all the love and support that you've gave me in writing the first part and thank you for all the encouragement to write a part 2! And also please don't forget to check out Stranded by @justagirlinafandomworld that inspired me to write this fic!💗

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

"Can the two of you stop playing find my tonsils and tell me where the hell it is I'm supposed to be driving to?" Dean grouses from the driver's seat while Sam leans over a road map squinting to look at the small print.

"Ready For Love" is playing over the speakers, barely audible over the thud of fat raindrops pummeling the windshield, blocking out the world around you, and sending the shadows racing across your skin where Ben and you are sitting in the backseat.

“Well, if you’d given me a few hours to fuck her at the motel instead of throwing a bitch fit-" Ben begins to say, turning his gaze your face to stare at the back of Dean's head with a lazy smile.

“Dean why do you care?" You interrupt Ben with red cheeks. "I know for a fact worse things have happened in the backseat of your car than Ben and me making out."

"Really? Because I can’t think of anything worse that you and him sucking on each other's tongues and helping the spread of mono." Dean's hands tighten on the steering wheel and his shoulders tense.

He’s more wound up than a tinker toy.

It has been exactly thirty three minutes since Dean's mental breakdown back at the motel when Ben showed up. Furthermore, despite how much Dean had screamed at you at the motel, it appeared that he was still going to act like a two year old who wanted a cookie before dinner.

Sam's suggestion for the four of you to figure out why Ben was here had been a welcome distraction from Dean's spiral. It had prompted all of you to pile into Baby to try and find where it was that Ben landed in your universe and find a clue as to why.

But so far the trip had been less like riding in the Mystery Machine and more like riding with the Griswold's on their road trip to Wally World…

Dean had been supportive of trying to find a solution to what he deemed the "Ben problem," but it appeared that Dean was going to spend every waking minute getting on your nerves.

Honestly, what's new?

You didn’t understand why Dean was so damn argumentative whenever you showed up, it was like he lived to make your life as difficult as possible.

It had always been that way. Since the first day you met Sam and him at Ellen's bar forever ago, Dean had never once said something nice about you or to you.

He always found some little thing to nit pick, whether it be your aim, your research skills, or your technique when hunting and you were sick of it. Each time the two of you worked together, it was Sam's job to make sure it didn't end in bloodshed. Even Cas noticed Dean's underlying hostility towards you and when he asked Dean what was wrong, Dean had brushed him off with a "not now Cas."

Worse was the time that you got hurt (only a minor injury) on a hunt a few weeks ago when you got thrown into a glass cabinet while facing down a poltergeist. Dean had chewed you out for a good twenty minutes and even with Sam's ability to intervene, you'd broken Dean's nose for speaking to you like that, and then rushed off to your room in the bunker before he had a chance to see you cry.

It was the one thing that you never allowed yourself to do in front of Dean Winchester, cry. He didn't deserve your tears, especially not when he was being a total grade A asshole.

When Sam came in later to help you get patched up, you asked him why Dean hated you and Sam tried to convince you otherwise, but you knew the truth.

Dean Winchester hated you, and you had no idea why. So you decided to stop trying to make him like you, because if he was going to act like a total dick he didn't deserve you being nice to him.

You knew that was why you liked Ben more. Ben appreciated you (sort of), he wasn't mean, he listened to you (sometimes), and he did give you compliments… well, they all revolved around the way you looked and that was nice, but just you wanted someone to give you a compliment that had to do with something else. Or maybe just a simple "I see you."

Is that so hard to ask?

Your few flings in the past hadn't been anything special. You didn't have the kind of stable lifestyle that prompted or supported long serious relationships, especially with non-hunters. Not to mention you'd always had this fantasy about meeting another hunter who understood exactly what you went through and what you had gone through over the years. It was often difficult to find a non-hunter who could understand that.

The bunker was the first permanent address that you'd ever had. Your mother had been one of the best hunters in the US, known by all, and you never met your dad, which meant that growing up on the road was the only life you knew. She'd died a year before you started working with the Winchesters which meant that you didn't exactly have anyone that you cared about or anyone who cared about you.

The thought often brought the feeling of loneliness stirring in your chest, but you pushed it down, throwing everything you had into hunting.

Healthy right?

Ben's muscular arm is wrapped around your waist, his hand splayed over your lower back to keep you tight against his chest so there is no space between the two of you, while your hands locked at the back of his neck. You didn't usually like PDA that much, occasionally yes, but you'll admit that you were only allowing yourself to give in to Ben a little more, because you liked how much it annoyed Dean.

Yes, you thought that it was absolutely ridiculous how Dean was acting, but you wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. Because in all the years you'd known him, you’d never found one thing to hold over his head or one thing that really irritated him, and Ben was working like a charm.

It also felt really good to kiss him, but that was beside the point.

You understood that Dean was having a psychotic break with his constant proclamations that Ben "was him," but you wanted to at least understand why Dean was still hung up on it.

Ben isn't Dean. Sure they have the same face, but Ben is different… isn't he?

When you'd encountered Ben for the first time you had done a double take, but the more you were around him, the more you appreciated the way he treated you differently from Dean. Yes he was a little sexist, but Ben made you feel wanted and Dean had a way of making you feel stupid and often like a burden, as if you'd been plopped on his doorstep like a box of kittens and he was stuck with you.

There was only so much that you could take.

You didn't know what you'd done to earn such hostility. Dean was far from sexist, and you'd seen him interact with other people, it was just you he treated differently and it made you want to strangle him.

"Calm down kid-" Ben sighs.

"Stop calling me that!" Dean turns around to glare at the man next to you.

"Keep your eyes on the road." Sam says, not looking up from the map. He didn't need to.

"What a wonderful suggestion Sammy, but see I can't because I have no idea where the hell it is I'm going!" Dean snipes at his brother.

I swear at this point if Gabriel pops out of nowhere and tells me that this is all just a fucked up dream, I'd believe it.

"Stop being damn hormonal kid, and keep driving." Ben rolls his eyes and moves his lips to your throat, nipping and biting along the flesh visible over the top of your jacket, making you gasp softly and lean into Ben's warm embrace.

Your eyes meet Dean's in the rear view mirror and just for a second you see something flash through them that isn't anger, but it's gone just as soon as you clock it.

What was that?

Dean slams on the brakes and Ben tightens his grip on your body so you don't go flying forward into the bucket seat.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" You snap, curiosity gone, as you glare at Dean.

The tension in the car is high, popping and crackling around the four of you like popcorn. You still couldn't understand why Dean had such a problem with Ben. If anything you'd think that they'd get along a little bit.

"I am not being hormonal or whatever other chauvinistic shit that is about to come out of your mouth." Dean snarls, ignoring you, as he turns and narrows his eyes at Ben. "And I am not your chauffeur. So tell me where the hell it is I'm going so you can get the fuck out of my car and out of my life!"

Ben opens his mouth to retort something, no doubt that'll trigger Dean, but you speak before he can.

"Ben, do you remember anything about where you came through?" You ask him. You were trying to be more diplomatic even though Dean was making your blood boil.

Just because Dean is mad at me does not mean that he gets to take it out on Ben. Ben hasn't done anything wrong. He got sucked into this reality and immediately got pulled into Dean's soap opera.

Ben huffs out a sigh as he turns back to look at you. His gaze softens a little as his eyes meet yours, turning from a dark green to a jade. "There was a building-"

"Oh wow, how helpful!" Dean snarks. "Did you hear that Sammy? There was a building! Mystery solved!"

Ben whips his head in Dean's direction, the air in the car growing hot as Ben's skin begins to heat, but you gently lay your hand on his cheek to bring his gaze back on you. "Dean is an asshole. We all know." You say to Ben, reassuring him and ignoring the look Dean gives you when you say it. "Do you remember anything about the building?"

Getting Ben angry wasn't the way to get information out of him, he was, after all, more like Dean than you were willing to admit. And just as you'd seen Dean get worked over by numerous women, including Bella, sweet talking worked the best.

Well, it never worked when you tried to do it, because Dean refused to treat you any way other than an annoyance.

But two could play that game, especially with the way that Dean was acting right now.

Ben's jaw tightens and you know that he's biting back some remark to throw Dean's way, but you pull him closer, trailing your hand over his bearded cheek to keep his attention and gently bring your lips to his. You feel the tension shift from Ben's shoulders beneath the palms of your hands as he relaxes into the kiss, and this time Ben smiles when you pull away, giving your hips an encouraging squeeze. "It was a school or some shit. And there was a billboard for "World's Biggest Beer Can.""

"Okay. We can work with that." Sam says giving you a sympathetic look before pulling out his phone to type something in.

At least Sam is being normal about this whole thing.

Sam and you always got along, from the start he was the older brother that you never had, and it was refreshing. Not to mention Sam was your best and probably only friend. The hunter life was lonely and you found it difficult to make friends anyway, but something about Sam always stuck. He got your abnormal sense of humor, he gave the best hugs, and he stood up for you when things got heated between Dean and you. It was his idea for you to move into the bunker with him and Dean, and also him that convinced Dean to let you move in.

It had taken days for Dean to finally say yes. And when he did, he made you move into the bedroom next to his as if he wanted to keep an eye on you because he didn't trust you.

And as much as you hated living with Dean, living with Sam made up for it. You liked helping him research while Dean bitched and moaned about reading through dusty volumes, liked helping him clean up while Dean followed behind you as if you couldn't be trusted, liked helping Sam try to make dinner that ended up more burned than anything else until Dean stepped in and shooed the both of you from the kitchen so he could make something, and liked kicking back on the couch watching movies with Sam while eating copious amounts of popcorn.

Unfortunately, Dean didn't get the hint that you wanted him to leave you alone so he'd follow Sam and you, crack open a beer, and proceed to give a personal commentary on the movie the two of you were watching, occasionally throwing a look in your direction as if he was checking that you were listening to him. Weirder still was the fact that Dean would do that when Sam wasn't with you.

You noticed that sometimes, that no matter where you were in the bunker, Dean just happened to find himself in the same room. But that didn't mean he would speak, sometimes he would just be cleaning one of his guns or quietly reading through a dusty volume or writing something down in a notebook, but you swore sometimes you thought that Dean was looking at you. Each time you looked up though, he was looking down at whatever else it was he was doing.

It was those moments that made you think that things could be civil between the two of you, and then he'd get on your case for doing something he deemed "wrong" when you knew you did it right the first time as if you hadn't been a hunter as long as he had.

He probably does that because he doesn't trust me.

Dean grumbles something under his breath and turns his gaze back out the windshield, watching the wiper blades go back and forth over the glass, crossing his arms over his chest. Ben frowns and you know that he must have been able to hear whatever it was Dean said.

Why can't we all just get along for five minutes? Is that too much to ask?

"Alright I've got something." Sam says ending the uncomfortable silence in the car. "The World's Biggest Beer Can is in Northwood about ten miles ahead of us."

"Finally. At least someone is pulling their weight." Dean states before he hits the gas, the force throws you backwards into the seat.

Your gaze flicks up to the rearview mirror and notice that Dean is watching you again, but you turn away to Ben who smiles wide and pulls you back towards him for a kiss.

But deep down you can't help but wonder if Dean had been watching the two of you in his rearview mirror the whole time and why he cared so much.

The building that Ben remembers is in fact, an abandoned school.

The roof sags inward allowing rainwater to pool in the front lobby over black and white checkered tiles, the lockers are rusted and thrown to the floor at odd angles making you worry about the possibility of tetanus, and there is an ungodly stench that you can only describe as old gym socks, axe body spray, and unwashed feet.

Ben's nose wrinkles where he stands beside you, and you're sure that no matter what your sense of smell is experiencing it's a million times worse for him.

You press your lips into a tight line, toeing around a puddle of something gray and sticky that you can't identify, but know for a fact you don't want it in your shoes. Your eyes squint into the looming darkness that grows the more you stare down the forgotten hallways.

It’s always gotta be an old creepy building. Just once I want to get to investigate a donut shop or a burger joint or a Starbucks.

"Any of this looking familiar Captain Sexual Harassment?" Dean asks turning with his flashlight to point in Ben's face.

Ben shrugs and squints at the offending light. "I don’t fucking know."

"Enlightening." Dean huffs out a breath. "Well, guess we can split up and-"

Thank God I won't have to listen to Dean mutter things under his breath and freak out.

"Fine." You interrupt. "Come on Ben." You start to walk down one of the dark hallways, but Dean slides in front of you to block your path.

"No way. You're not going with him." Dean waves his flashlight in Ben's face again and you can see the twitch on the corner of Dean's mouth to see how much he enjoys blinding him.

Why does he always have to act like such a child?

"Why?" You demand.

"Because as soon as Sam and I get out the picture, Grandpa over there is going to pull you aside and fuck you in one of the classrooms." Dean says it without blinking, but it makes you flush red in embarrassment and anger.

"No, he's not!"

"Yes, he is!"

Dean is so close that you can feel his warm breath on your face. His eyes are narrowed in anger, but you can see another emotion flick through them so quickly you think you imagined it. It was the same emotion that you thought you saw in the car, but you can't identify it, not yet.

Ben's hand comes down on Dean's shoulder, a wide smirk on his face. "Look kid, I get it. She's fucking hot and I know you think I'm trying to horn in on your action-"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean exclaims shaking off Ben's hand.

"You're jealous because she decided to be with a real man instead of you." Ben shrugs. His gaze travels up and down Dean as if appraising him before he shakes his head with a chuckle. "I can't blame her. Someone like you couldn't handle her.

"I could handle her just fine!" Dean snaps back his face flushing as he forces his chest against Ben's, who only smirks back.

What did he just say?

Your entire body goes stick straight in surprise and you turn your head to stare at Dean. In all the years that you'd known Dean he's never once said something like that to you.

Sure there was the night you met…

You hadn't thought about it in years. You'd been back in town because Bobby had called asking you to help out some friends of his on a case and you'd stopped in to Ellen's bar to see Jo. Dean had come on to you and you'd splashed a beer in his face and also maybe pinned him down against the bar. It had been awkward the next day when you found out that Dean and Sam were the friends that Bobby wanted you to help out, but you pushed past all the weird feelings to help.

Dean had flirted with you that night and you will admit to yourself that you thought Dean was attractive before he opened his mouth, but since that night the two of you hadn't spoken about it. In fact, you were both perfectly happy pretending that it didn't happen.

Or so you thought.

Dean's dark green eyes flick to yours in realization. "That's not what I meant."

"Sure kid." Ben's smirk grows to Cheshire Cat proportions.

"Stop calling me that!"

The weird thing was, you'd seen Dean lose his temper, it always flared fast and hot broken up with sarcastic comments, but for some reason this felt different and you didn't understand why. It didn't feel like Dean just getting angry because Ben was getting under his skin, it felt like something else.

"Whoa!" You get between the two of them for the second time in an hour. "If you guys keep fighting like this I'm going to put you both in time out!"

"He started it!" Dean glares at Ben, who doesn't look the least bit upset.

"I don’t care who started it! You're grown men and you're still acting like toddlers. I shouldn't have to separate you." You snap waving around your flashlight at Dean.

"How about this?" Sam sighs from where he stands a few feet away. "I'll go with Ben and the two of you can try not to shoot each other."

"Why can't I go with you?" You sigh to your friend.

"You want to leave them together? Alone?" Sam raises his eyebrow.

Not really.

Sam takes your silence rightfully as confirmation, because the both of you knew if you left Dean and Ben together it would probably be a Thunderdome situation or a reenactment of the WWE.

"Maybe we shouldn't split up." Dean says looking at his brother.

"You scared kid?" Ben smirks. " No wonder she decided to fuck me instead of you. You’re acting like a little bitch."

"You son of a bitch-" Dean finally snaps and launches himself towards Ben, but your hand fists in the back of Dean's leather jacket to stop him from starting a fight that you know he won't win.

It wasn't that you thought Ben was a better fighter than Dean, it was that Ben had super strength and would have no qualms ripping Dean in half. And despite how much Dean annoyed you, you didn't want him to die. Sure he was a jerk, but he didn't deserve that after everything he'd been through, and Sam didn't need to bear witness to that.

"Fine." You say. "Ben please go with Sam."

Ben rolls his eyes and follows after Sam, leaving Dean and you standing in the lobby alone, the only sound the soft plop of water echoing down the empty hallway.

Great. Now I'm stuck with Dean in a creepy old building. It's a dream come true. The stuff of Disney movies.

"Why did you do that?" Dean snaps at you when Ben and Sam turn a corner out of sight.

"You should be thanking me! Ben would rip you in half without batting an eye!" You turn back towards the empty hallway and try to put as much distance as you can between Dean and you.

Distance is good, nice. It means that I can only partly hear his disapproval.

"You don't know that." Dean catches up with you, sweeping the path in front of you with his flashlight looking for holes in the floor.

"Yes, I do. I've seen him do it before."

By now you were aware that there was a chill in the air, it was unnatural, creeping down the hallway in a thin mist that made a shiver crawl down your spine. Dean must sense it too, because he pulls his gun at the same time you do.

That or he's doing it because he's about to go Rambo on Ben's ass.

Because that'll end well…

"If he rips people in half why do you like him so much?"

“He’s not a bad person if that’s what you’re getting at. Ben did it to save me.” You point your flashlight into one of the classrooms along the hallway noting the rotted desks tipped over onto the checkered floor. “He wouldn’t hurt me.”

Ben's world was filled with more than a few crazed individuals, and when you'd been in his universe Ben had stepped in when a supe threw themselves at you. Truthfully, even though Ben did what he did to protect you, watching him pull someone apart with his bare hands made you sick to your stomach. Given what you'd seen, that was saying something. But you knew that Ben wouldn't hurt you, he wasn't that kind of man, and you weren't afraid of him.

“You’ve known him for five days! How can you tell after five days?!” Dean nudges a cardboard box with his boot sending a family of cockroaches scuttling into the shadows.

"Because I can!" Your lip curves up in distaste at the appearance of the roaches and try not to imagine all the walls infested with the little bugs.

You didn't like roaches. Especially ones that all of a sudden developed the ability to fly in your presence as if it were a miracle.

The two of you continue to walk down the hallway, the sound of your footsteps masking the constant dripping noise that comes from the floor above.

Your temper was flaring all over again. You didn't think that you needed to explain any of this to him. Dean never felt the need to discuss his extensive history with women with you and you didn't feel the need to discuss the ins and outs of your and Ben's situation.

"Come on-" He begins to say, but you don't want to hear it.

"Dammit Dean just fucking drop it." You throw your shoulder against a door at the end of the hallway, putting everything you have into it and a little more. You were getting frustrated at Dean's continuous commentary on your life. "I don’t want to talk about this anymore or listen to any of the ridiculous reasons why you think that it's any of your business who I sleep with."

“I think it is my business because you were about to reenact the scene from Titanic in the back of my car!”

“Oh please. I’m sure that you’ve reenacted it billions of times back there. Mr. Saturday Night!” You roll your eyes hitting the door again with your shoulder.

“It’s my car!" Dean shouts, moving you out of the way in a surprisingly gentle way, before he savagely kicks down the door. "I can do whatever I damn well please!”

I wonder if Sam and Ben are having a better time than us. It wouldn't be difficult to.

The door opens with a snap under the force of Dean's kick depositing Dean and you into a large auditorium. The seats are a faded gray and the curtains that hang from the sides of the stage, once blood red, were more of a muddled pink stained with splotches of dark spots and filled with holes the size of the Impala.

Crawling vines and ferns have begun to tangle over the empty seats and over the floors, absorbing anything in their path. The wooden stage is dilapidated and caving in on itself, the boards jutting upwards instead of laying flat as they should in some places from years of water damage. The carpet beneath your feet is squishy and moth eaten, and each step sends another cloud of dust into the air making the room hazy and you cough into your elbow.

"Not to mention he's me!" Dean continues, tramping into the room behind you.

"How many times are you going to say that?" You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying your best to keep it together.

"As many times as I have to, to get the point into your thick skull!"

You whirl around and poke your finger into his chest. "You know what Winchester? You can take all your opinions and shove them right up your uptight ass!"

"The two of you don't get along at all. Odd given how you seem to get along with my fiancé." A bored voice says from somewhere behind you. "But it is a lot more entertaining than I thought it was going to be."

Dean and you both lock eyes and turn to look in the direction of the voice, but there's no one there.

"Um, did you hear-" Dean begins to ask.

"Yes I did." You reply clicking the safety off your pistol.

"Just checking."

"Though I will say, with the way today is going for you and if this is you having a psychotic break, I wouldn't be surprised that you're having auditory hallucinations."

"Shut up." Dean sighs.

"Hello?" You shout, looking around the empty auditorium for some answer, but it remains empty.

Dean snorts. "Now who's craz-"

"Hello?" The voice mocks in a nasally voice. "Wow you're pathetic. I don't understand what he sees in you."

"You call me pathetic, but you're the one hiding. So why don't you come out?" A chair from the front row plucks itself off the ground and hurls itself at your head. You duck and it sails into the aisle behind Dean and you.

"You're not even that pretty." The voice continues and you can imagine a pout on the end of its words like a petulant child who wishes to get their way.

This is so fucking weird.

"Thanks." You reply dryly. "I like to think I've got a great personality."

"You don't." Dean mutters, making you throw an elbow into his side.

A high pitched giggle echoes through the space making it impossible to identify where it came from, until finally a woman materializes on the stage. You blink your eyes to make sure that she's really there.

Her blonde hair falls over her shoulders in perfect ringlets, and she's wearing a bright pink fur trimmed dressing gown. The kind you'd see on an eccentric billionaire's trophy wife who spent most of her day drinking gin martinis poolside while being fanned by cabana boys or the kind that she'd be wearing when she heard of her husband's "untimely demise." There's a silver diamond crown perched on top of her head and she's smoking a cigarette from a long white cigarette holder, while she lounges back on a golden throne.

What. The. Fuck.

"Do you see her too?" You whisper to Dean out of the corner of your mouth.

"You mean Glinda the Good Witch the later years? Yeah I can." Dean replies looking just as confused as you do. "You thinking Gabriel?"

"I thought he was dead."

"He's pretended to be dead before." He shrugs.

"Fair enough. Any reason why he's making us see her?"

"Maybe your new boyfriend has a fetish."

"Hasn't anyone told you that it's rude to whisper?" The woman says, taking a drag from her cigarette.

"Sorry. Um. Who are you?" You ask.

"I don't speak to homewreckers." Her face contorts into a sneer. You watch her eyes shift from Dean to you. "But I'll answer for your friend. I'm Iris, Benjamin's Fiancé."

If pigs could fly right now an entire fleet of them would be taking flight around you. You tried to wrack your brain remembering a single time that Ben said that he had a fiancé or was in a relationship at all, and you can't find a single moment.

Well… today officially sucks.

"Wow. Nice." Dean looks at you with a scoff. "Real nice."

"Hey woah, I didn't know he had a fiancé." You hold up your free hand in surrender. "He never said anything about a-"

"Hey gorgeous. Did you find anything?" Ben says materializing behind Dean.

"You're engaged?" You shout.

"No?" Ben looks confused. "Who told you that?"

You point a thumb over your shoulder to Iris, who is still lounging on the stage completely in her element. She giggles and wiggles her fingers in a cute wave.

"Hey Benny Wenny, did you miss me?" Her lips curl up in a wide smile when she rises from the throne, her bright blue eyes crinkling around the edges. The air around her seems to sparkle, sending scattered light out into the broken seats.

Ben is still staring up at the woman, looking utterly confused.

"You know that freak?" Dean whispers to Ben who is now standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

"Fuck no."

"Well, congratulations Benny Wenny." Dean snorts. "Guess you're getting married."

"I am not-"

"And don't worry, of course I'll be your best man." Dean continues, holding back laughter.

"Shut the fuck up kid!" Ben snaps at Dean, before turning back to the woman on the stage. "Look baby, I don't know who you are but-" Ben begins to say to the woman, who only laughs.

She throws back her head, golden curls bouncing with the force of her body moving, laughing for an unnatural amount of time before she locks her blue eyes on Ben again.

“Stop being silly. We met a few months ago at Legend’s party. We had a few drinks and then you came back to my apartment where we made love for hours-“ Her cheeks blush. “It was sooooo romantic. What I always dreamed about!”

“Um-“

“My parents are so excited to meet you and my little sister said that she’s so happy to have a big brother!” She giggles. “I even made us matching t-shirts to wear on our honeymoon and a scrap book of our children!" She holds up a magenta colored bedazzled photo album that’s the size of a medium sized dog.

Wow she put a lot of work into that.

“Children?” Ben stutters, his voice cracking on the end a little bit. It's the first time that you've ever seen him look afraid.

“What they’ll look like, where we’ll vacation each year, where we'll live, where you'll work-” Her expression turns sour, eyes flashing a dark pink as she glares in your direction. “But then you met that little whore who took you away from me and poisoned your mind.” She points a perfectly manicured pink nail at you. “So I decided to bring you here so you could help me kill her.”

“I’m sorry rewind-“ You say holding up a hand. “You brought Ben here? How?"

"I found a website while I was looking at destination weddings." She shrugs.

"There are websites about traveling through different universes that show up in the search engine-" Dean begins to say.

"DON'T QUESTION ME!" The girl shrieks and the entire room begins to shake.

"And you wanted Ben to be here because?" You haven’t lowered your gun. Frankly you had no idea what her powers were. She looked more like she would start tap dancing down the yellow brick road rather than start hurling chunks of the stage at you, but you needed a plan.

“Because we’ll get to share this moment together.” Iris sighs looking over at Ben again, who is just as shell-shocked as he was a moment ago.

“Killing me?”

Iris nods enthusiastically. “We'll make love on top of your dead body and no one will come between us ever again!” 

Dean snorts under his breath and you elbow him again, trying not to think of the image.

Please let this be Gabriel messing around with me. Because if it's not my life is officially a joke.

The three of you stand there for a minute looking up at where she prances on the stage in mixed stages of disbelief.

And just as Iris takes a step forward, a sandbag falls on her head. She crumples to the floor like a sack of potatoes as Sam appears in the wings of the stage looking from her to where the three of you are watching.

"You guys okay?" He calls.

"Yeah." Ben shrugs. "Too bad about her though. She was hot."

He's kidding right?

"The crazies always are." Dean adds with a sigh, patting him on the back.

"I'm so happy the two of you are having this bonding moment, truly I am, but-" You begin to say, turning your back to the stage, but as soon as you do Sam goes flying across the room and into one of the fern plants.

"That was so uncool!" Iris squeals, hovering over the stage, her hands glowing an unnatural magenta color. "Ben and I are meant to be together, we're soulmates, perfect, fated, destined, and no one is going to stand in my way."

The entire room begins to tremble with the force of her anger, dust floats down from the ceiling as it begins to crack and crumble under her powers. You can feel the warmth of Ben's skin as he begins to power up the beam in his chest, burning through the air like a supernova.

There's a crackling sound that comes from above and you look up to see a giant piece of the ceiling falling in slow motion towards your body. Dean shouts your name, but he sounds far away, the sound ringing through the few seconds that you still have left before it crushes you.

But the hit doesn't come from above, it comes from the side.

Dean tackles you, just as the piano sized piece hits the ground where you had been standing a second ago, to the ground, cradling your head in his hands. Your bodies tumble into the moth eaten carpets as Ben explodes, the heat and power of the beam causing more of the room to fall around the two of you.

There's a terrible high pitched wail that's cut off abruptly mid scream and you don't need to be a genius to know what or rather who it was.

Dean covers your body with his and your hands come up under his arms to hold him tighter to you. You bury your face into the warmth of his coat where his throat and his shoulder meet with a whimper as everything around the two of you shudders and shakes. He doesn't pull away, his muscles tensing as he tightens his grip around you, his own face buried in your hair.

The room continues to shake and fall apart in the aftermath of the blast, dust and ash rising in clouds. But you can’t see any of it, Dean's body is shielding you from the room as it crumbles around the two of you, tucking you further beneath him the longer it goes on, making it impossible for anyone or anything to hurt you.

You could feel something curling in the pit of your stomach the longer you laid there under him, an odd feeling that you'd tried to push down whenever you were around Dean, a warmth that begins to spread like wildfire through your body everywhere the two of you are touching. His body is warm and heavy, but it's not oppressive, it lays over you protective and unyielding in the wake of the destruction.

The smell of him invades your senses, a mix of gunmetal, leather, and a spicy scent that tickled your nose. You'd smelled Dean's shampoo before, when it wafted out of the bathroom as you walked down the hallway, imprinting itself in your mind. It was how the impala smelled, always like Dean, and with it brought a feeling of comfort that you'd never known before.

It was odd.

"Are you okay?" Dean whispers, and you can feel the rumble of his words through his chest where it's touching you, his hips laying in the cradle of your thighs. He pulls back to look at your face, the rough grate of his stubble catching your chin as he does so. His eyes are wide with worry and it's the first time that you'd ever seen him look at you that way.

Dust and ash caught in his hair in graying clumps, sticking to the shortened brownish gold strands, the ones that were just a little shorter than Ben's. You longed to run your fingers through, to feel if it was as soft as it looked.

"I think so." You murmur, not used to the weight of his body on top of yours, but you're also trying not to notice how a part of you liked it. "Are you okay?" Your fingertips trail against the smooth leather of his jacket, working up to the back of his head, feeling just the subtle brush of the hair at the nape of his neck.

You don't miss the soft sigh that rushes out of Dean's chest when you do that, fueling the fire that was spreading in the pit of your stomach.

What is happening?

"Yeah." Dean's fingers brush your hair from your face, so quickly that you think you missed it, but the burn of his skin over your cheeks is the only reminder. You gasp softly with the movement, confused as to why Dean was acting this way, why he was worried about you, and why you liked it. Your arms are still wrapped around his body, fingers curled into the back of his leather jacket, but Dean makes no move to get up, he continues to look at you.

You'd never seen Dean look at you like that, look at you as if he wished to understand you, as if he saw you. No one had ever looked at you that way in your entire life.

"Dean!" You hear Sam yell from somewhere, followed by your own name.

It jolts Dean out of wherever his mind is and he gets off of you, but he helps you to your feet, one of his warm calloused hands taking yours to pull you up before dropping it as if he didn't do it in the first place.

The room is destroyed. The roof has completely caved in allowing the rain to soak through the remaining seats of the auditorium and into the musty carpets. The stage no longer exists, all that remains is a black blob of what you're sure used to be Iris, and although a part of you feels bad about the turn of events, you can't help but feel a little relieved.

She was going to kill me. You think to avoid the wave of guilt that washes over you.

"Ding dong the witch is dead." Dean mutters under his breath, but it doesn't make you feel better.

Fires burn over the edges of the stage, small and controlled, but sending rivulets of smoke into the air. You knew it meant that the fire department would be here any minute and that's the last thing you wanted to explain. That and the body on the stage.

Ben stumbles to his feet a few steps away from Dean and you, pushing off a piece of roofing that must have landed on top of him. His suit is covered in dust and drywall, but he looks okay. He's got that far-away look in his eye he always does after he uses his power.

You step towards him to make sure he's okay, but Dean stands in your way.

"Are you out of your mind?" Dean snarls at Ben.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Ben snaps.

"You almost killed us! Almost killed her!" Dean gestures towards you.

"I fixed the problem." Ben rolls his eyes and glances to you, as if trying to reassure himself that you're okay. You knew that Ben might have wanted to only have a physical relationship with you, but you knew that he did care about you in his own way. "You okay sweetheart?" He pushes past Dean, gently touching your face, tilting it up to his. "Did you hit your head?"

"No. I'm okay." You smile tightly at him, but a part of you can still feel the ghost of Dean's fingertips trailing against your cheeks to push away your hair and feel the weight of his body over yours. "Are you okay?" You ask, noting the way his eyes still are a little unfocused.

"Course I am." Ben scoffs. "Takes a little more than a building to bring me down doll."

You nod, while Ben's hand still continues to rest on your chin, and just as he leans down for a kiss, you see Dean's face in the corner of your eye and finally you're able to identify the emotion reflected in his gaze. It's the same emotion that you saw in the car when he stared at you in the rearview mirror. It's the first time that you've ever seen Dean look at you that way in all the years you'd known him.

It's hurt that flashes behind the green eyes you knew so well, shifting to jealousy on around the darkened edges the longer he looks at Ben and you.

And when Ben's lips touch yours, you feel guilt begin to creep along your skin and extinguish the sparks you'd felt moments ago in the pit of your stomach.

A/N: I'm not going to lie, I did not mean for this part to be a little sad... but oh my word 😭 BUT I also promise that the next chapter will have a happy ending ❤️

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated. I love hearing what y'all think! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for Part 3 please let me know!

Taglist:

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[atlabeth]

in over my head

masterlist

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: between all the arguments, you and spencer begin to understand each other a little bit more.

a/n: wauw.... out of nowhere i wrote 4k words and finished this chapter in one night... god bless spencer reid. i hope you all enjoy. r's cold heart is finally starting to defrost. title from the fray song

wc: 5k

warning(s): arguing, case discussions (stalking, murder, etc), talk of parental neglect, hurt w/o comfort then hurt/comfort. r lowkey freaking out this whole fic. the usual good time

You lean against the wall, trying to keep your breathing as quiet as possible. 

You don’t really want Spencer to know you were eavesdropping on him the whole time. You don’t really want him to see the look on your face because he defended you to your dad. 

He— he should expect it, shouldn’t he? He’s sitting out in the living room on the phone, and you’re you. It’s only natural you’d listen in on him. 

Spencer defended you to your dad— mouthed off to him in very un-Spencer-like fashion. 

Why? 

From what you’d gathered, he practically worshipped the guy. Even if he didn’t, your dad was still his superior. It didn’t really seem like any kind of good idea to talk back to him. 

But he did. 

For you. 

You thought Spencer merely tolerated you because he had to. You wouldn’t blame him, the way you treated him. So why would he do something like that for you?

You’re jarred out of your thoughts when you hear Spencer say your name. You blink back into yourself to see him standing in front of you, and you feel your face burn. 

So much for not being obvious. 

“I’m assuming you heard everything?” he asks.

You nod. You have the decency to not insult his intelligence, at least. 

“That means we can go over everything,” Spencer says, already starting to walk away. “Come on.”

You frown. You expected him to be mad at you for eavesdropping, or use what he did for you as leverage for something, or— or do anything but act normal. 

You shake yourself out of your thoughts once again as you follow him back to the living room. Spencer sits back down on the couch and you tentatively sit across from him. 

“I don’t want what I said to scare you,” he says. “Hernandez may be our lead right now, but I doubt it’ll stay that way. Elle and Morgan are going to check him out, and I’ll get another call once they do.”

You blink. Of course he’d expect you to be focused on that part—your stalker, the threat against your life, the whole reason you’re in here. Not Spencer sticking up for you. 

“Right,” you say. “Do you think it’s him?”

“Honestly? No.” Spencer sighs and shakes his head. “You heard what I said. He doesn’t fit the profile—he’s a man who made the worst choices of his life when he lost everything. If he’s been released, he might have actually changed. We’re only on him because he’s all we’ve got.”

“…Good,” you say. “Strangling wouldn’t be my top way to go.”

“You need to stop talking like that,” he says. 

“I need to stop doing a lot of things,” you respond. “Any idea how much longer we’ll be in here?”

Spencer shakes his head. “We’re here until this case is solved or our cover is blown.”

You huff. “Like if this guy finds us again?”

He nods. “But that shouldn’t happen. Elle, Gideon, Hotch, and Strauss are the only ones who know about this place, and they’re obviously sworn to silence.”

“Strauss?”

“Erin Strauss,” he says. “The BAU’s section chief.” 

“Ah.” You realize you’re still holding your mug, now empty, and you lean forward to set it on the table. “What happens if we’re made?” 

“You’ve got to stop thinking about the worst case scenarios,” Spencer says. “Pessimism doesn’t just make anxiety, depression, and paranoia worse—it can raise your blood pressure, increase your chance of cardiovascular problems, and mess with your immune system. It’s literally bad for your health.” 

“Well, what else am I supposed to do?” you ask. “I’ve got a stalker and we didn’t realize until he’d been watching me for a month. Your team has only got one lead and you don’t even think it’s the right one. That sounds pretty negative to me.” 

“We’re still at the beginning of this case,” Spencer says. “It usually takes a few bodies for us to figure out what’s really going on and find the unsub in our regular cases.” 

You stare at him, and he seems to realize what he’s actually said. 

“Of course, there won’t be any bodies in this case!” he rushes. “You— you’re going to be perfectly fine!” 

“You’re really not great at reassurance,” you say wryly as you pick up your cup and stand up, “are you?” 

“Homicides only occur in two percent of stalking cases!” Spencer continues, his voice rising as you go into the kitchen. “A- and you might not even be the primary target! If anything, he might be going after your dad!” 

By now you’ve finished filling your mug again. You stop at the edge of the hallway when he finishes, leveling a tired look at him. 

“Thanks, Spence. That really helps.” 

You walk back to your room, and once again, you only close the door halfway to humor his concerns. 

If you’d lingered a little longer, you would have been able to see his frown. 

“Spence?” he murmurs in confusion.

-

The rest of the day goes by smoother than you thought it would, largely because Spencer keeps his distance and you don’t fight it. 

You busy yourself with more cleaning—you never finished it after your last outburst—and when you finish that, you read. You find Pride and Prejudice in the box of books the BAU provided, and it’s a good distraction. You’d much rather worry about the problems of the Bennets rather than your own. 

You end up cooking first, and you offer Spencer some of your pasta when you finish. He initially looks shocked at the olive branch, but you figure you owe him something for all he’s put up with. 

You don’t tell him that, of course. You just tell him he has five seconds to make a decision before you finish the rest, and he snaps out of it pretty quickly. 

(“I promise I’m capable of cooking,” he says as he spoons a helping into his bowl. “I— I just don’t have much time for it. We’re always out on cases so we go to a lot of restaurants, and I get take-out at home because I get home at ungodly hours.” 

“Just shut up and eat your food,” you say. “I don’t need to hear your opening statement.” 

“Actually, I wouldn’t call this an opening statement. It’s more of—” 

“Oh my god.” You pick up your bowl and walk off. “Goodbye.”

“I think it’s more of a witness testimony!” he calls out.)

A similar thing happens with dinner, where you pull out the old reliable of chicken and rice. Dressed up a bit with some of the vegetables that are somehow already on the verge of going bad, but still the same thing you’ve eaten a million times throughout your life. You don’t really feel like cooking, but you also don’t feel like having to hear Spencer set the smoke alarm again, so you settle for this. 

(“You know,” Spencer says as he cuts into a chicken thigh, “I should really be trying everything first. Just in case there’s poison or something.” 

You stifle your incredulous laugh. “How would there be poison in anything? You all bought and brought this stuff in.” 

He shrugs. “I don’t know. But you can never be too careful.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” you say. “I— I think that is the most ridiculous thing you’ve said since I’ve met you.”

“I hope you’re not challenging me,” Spencer says. “Because I can beat it very easily.”) 

Between that, he calls out on occasion to make sure you’re still alive. You think it’s stupid, but it seems to ease his mind, so you play along.

He gets a call from your dad late at night, which he then goes on to relay to you—Agents Greenaway and Morgan paid a visit to Adam Hernandez, and they weren’t able to find anything suspicious. Penelope Garcia is going to comb through everything she can find on what he’s done since his release before they officially abandon the lead, but Hernandez is on parole and hasn’t violated it once—he seems to be clean. 

You don’t know whether you’re thankful for that or not. On one hand, you want this to be over. Getting lucky on the first suspect would be great. On the other hand, having a face to all of this scares you more than not knowing. You still have the chance to deny that all of this is real, really real—when they find their guy, you can’t do that anymore. There’s actually someone out there that wants to hurt you. 

The thought crossed your mind more often than not. 

Other than that, he doesn’t really bother you. Another thing where you don’t really know if you’re thankful or not. 

It’s close to midnight, and though you haven’t been able to sleep, you’re ready to accept this as another, thankfully non eventful day. 

But then there’s a huge flash of lightning, visible even through your closed blinds, followed closely by a deafening crack of thunder, and your whole body freezes up. Your hands stop on the page you were on, and a chill runs all the way through you despite the layers of covers you’re under. 

Rain has been pittering against the house for half the night, and you can deal with rain. You can’t deal with thunderstorms. 

You let out a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. The absolute last thing you need to do is work yourself into a panic attack and get Spencer involved. You don’t think you could take the embarrassment. 

You attempt to go back to your book. You’d just arrived at Mr. Collins’ unsuccessful marriage proposal, but you can hardly focus. It doesn’t help when lightning illuminates your room once again, a clap of thunder sounding even quicker after, and your lamp flickers for a moment. This is actually the last thing you need—for the power to go out. 

A knock on your door suddenly sounds, and you nearly jump out of your skin. You’re already on edge and the storm’s just barely started. You hear Spencer call your name and ask if you’re awake, and you clear your throat before you respond. 

“What do you want?” You try to keep your voice as level as possible, but it wavers ever so slightly. 

“Can I come in?” 

You don’t want him to see you like this. “Is there something wrong?” 

“It’s the storm,” he says, and he doesn’t wait for you to respond. “I’m coming in.”

You have all of two seconds to make sure you don’t look as pathetic as you feel before Spencer walks in.

He looks like he just got out of bed. He’s wearing a Caltech crewneck and sweatpants, and his glasses are about to fall off his face. His disheveled appearance is in stark contrast to his usual image, with dress pants and button-ups and sweater vests galore. One of his hands clenches around the doorframe, and he uses the other to haphazardly push his glasses up as he sets his eyes on you.

“You need to come back into the living room,” Spencer says. 

“And good evening to you too.” You try not to look at him. You’ve learned that’s the best policy when it comes to him and those stupid glasses. “Why?”

“Because there’s a storm going on, and the power’s already flickered,” he says. “I don’t want to lose track of you if it does go out.”

“If the power goes out, we’re in the open out there,” you say. “If you’re so worried about it, you should stay in here.”

You expect a fight, but he just sighs and sits down in the chair across from your bed. “Fine.”

You frown. “That was easy.”

“I don’t feel like fighting with you over every little thing,” he says simply. “You might enjoy it, but I don’t. So I’m trying to take the path of least resistance.”

“That’s no fun,” you say.

“Well, you’re not very fun to be around,” Spencer says. He glances at you for a split second before his gaze goes back to the wall. “So.”

“Well, neither are you!” You don’t mean for your retort to come out so defensively, and you cringe as he looks back at you. It’s impossible to be around profilers without them knowing your every intent. You’d hate to know all the thoughts he’s had about you. “I might turn everything into a fight, but you turn everything into a drag.” 

“You’re doing it again,” he says. You expect him to go on, but he leaves it that. You find your brows furrowing deeper. 

“And?” 

“Maybe if you recognize your patterns, you’ll stop,” he says. “Sometimes people don’t realize they're doing something until it’s pointed out to them.” 

You huff. “How many times do I have to tell you not to psychoanalyze me?” 

“I don’t choose to do it,” Spencer says. You don’t miss the slight bite behind his words, and it almost makes you smile. As much as he doesn’t want to give you a fight, he can’t really help himself. You tend to bring out the worst in people. “It just happens in my brain automatically.” 

“Try to hold back,” you say. “It—”

Your words die in your throat with another crash of thunder, almost simultaneous with the lightning. It shakes the whole house, and you can’t help the full body flinch that wracks you, almost freezing completely. The power flickers again, and then it goes out altogether. You don’t even hold back your groan of annoyance. 

“Of course,” you grit out. “Of fucking course.” 

“Are you okay?” You look at him despite yourself, and even in the dark you can see the concern in his eyes. It makes your hands clench into fists beneath the sheets.

“Fine,” you mutter. “It doesn’t matter.”

Spencer frowns. “Of course it does.”

You scoff. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Why would it not matter?” he asks incredulously. “You— you’re clearly distressed, and holding it back isn’t helping anyone.” 

“Maybe I just like silence.” 

“Well, you clearly don’t like storms.” 

“How’d you figure that one, genius?” you mutter. You wrap your arms around yourself and pull your knees up to your chest, trying to lessen the sudden chill you feel. 

“...Normally, I would give you a real answer,” Spencer says. “But based on the lecture you just gave me—” 

“You figured right,” you snap. It only takes a second—and those stupid, soft eyes of his to dart away again—for you to feel… bad. 

He sighs and shakes his head as he stands up. “I’m going to get a candle. Stay put.” 

You tense as he walks out. Your whole body does, actually. You don’t know what it is about him or those stupid eyes that always manage to skirt out sympathy from you. 

You should feel gratified. At the start of this, you wanted to push Spencer to his limits—he’s too nice for his own good, and you wanted him to not only give you a more concrete reason to hate him, but get a reason to hate you back. Then you wouldn’t have to deal with this one-sided rivalry with the apparent saint of the BAU. 

But you don’t. You feel bad, and you hate it. You hate it more than any reasonable person should, but then again—you’ve never been reasonable. 

Spencer comes back in sooner rather than later, two lit candles in his hands. You can see the on-sale sticker plastered on the side of both, and you suppress a laugh. It’s something so small but so typical. 

“One’s vanilla, and one is,” he squints as he shifts it in his hand to read, “beach escape. What does a beach escape even smell like?” He shakes his head, then looks at you. “Which one do you—” 

“I’m sorry,” you interrupt. You blurt it out before you can even stop yourself. 

This time, it’s Spencer’s turn to frown. His face is illuminated from beneath by the candlelight and it gives him an almost haunting beauty, highlighted with yellow and white along his jawline and cheekbones. The flames are mirrored in the lenses of his glasses. “For what?” 

“For snapping.” You almost snap at him again out of instinct, and you let out a long, loose sigh in an effort to try and chill out for once. “Sorry. Again.” 

“Oh.” He stands there for a moment holding the two candles, and it could be a laughable sight were you not near consumed with guilt. “Uh— it’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

“Fine,” he says, “it’s not. Which candle do you want?” 

“Which one do you want?” 

“This isn’t where you have to start the ‘being nice to me’ thing,” Spencer says. “They’re kind of starting to burn my hands.” 

“Beach escape,” you say. He nods and sets it on your bedside table, then sits back down in his chair after placing the vanilla one in the window sill. 

“You… seem a little pent up,” Spencer says after letting the silence dwell for a beat. His shoulders have relaxed some, not hunched up almost to his ears. Small victories, at least.

“I don’t talk about my emotions much,” you respond in equal fashion. “It’s not really my thing.” 

He shrugs. “Why not start now?” 

You laugh. “Why would I ever start now?” 

“You said it yourself,” he says. “I have a psychology degree. I’m a good listener.”

“You interrupt me all the time to say stuff.”

“You interrupt me all the time too, so I guess we’re even.” Spencer shifts in his chair. “Besides, I can listen when it’s important. And this is.”

You stare at him. He stares back. 

He has beautiful eyes even in the dark, and you hate that you can’t deny it. Deep brown like the oaks surrounding this place, that shine like pools of honey in the firelight, that always seem to soften just so when he looks at you.

You break first. You have to look away. You always have to look away. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you manage. “I was a latchkey kid. Storms happened a lot when I was home alone and they scared me. I guess they still do. Happy?” 

“Believe it or not, your pain doesn’t make me happy,” Spencer says. 

“I didn’t think it did,” you say, trying your best to snap. 

He nods. “So we’re in agreement?” 

“I—” you pause, a slight frown creasing your brows. “I guess.” 

Spencer nods again, and he leans forward a bit. “Wasn’t that a lot better than fighting with me, getting upset, and isolating yourself?” 

You scowl. “Don’t you dare therapize me.” 

“It’s hard not to,” Spencer says. “Especially when you seem determined to make our conversations one-sided.” 

You scoff. “I do not.” 

“You act like talking to me is a physical pain.” He crosses his arms. “You locked yourself in the bathroom last night to avoid talking to me.” 

“I locked myself in the bathroom so I wouldn’t lose my mind in front of you,” you say. “Just because I know everything about you doesn’t mean I want you to know everything about me.” 

Spencer scoffs. “You don’t know everything about me.”

“My dad talks about you more than you think,” you say. “About your whole team—but especially you.”

“Where am I from?” he asks. 

“Vegas,” you say. “He mentions it every time you beat him at cards.”

“That— that doesn’t really matter,” he says. “I know you’re from Fairfax.” 

“The worst place in the world,” you say emphatically. You can’t believe you’ve been stuck in NoVa your whole life. “Doesn’t count, though. You’re an FBI agent—you’re supposed to know things like this.” 

“So it counts when you know it, but it doesn’t count when I do?” Spencer asks. 

You nod. “I’ve heard about Penelope Garcia. I’m more surprised you don’t know everything about me by now.” 

“Me too,” he says. “Garcia can find anything. Gideon really did a good j—” 

He stops in the middle of his sentence, his eyes widening slightly as he clamps his mouth shut. 

“What?” You lean forward, looking him in the eye. “He did a good job doing what?” 

“I don’t want to start another argument,” he says. 

“Oh, poor you.” You don’t think you could sound more sarcastic if you tried. “You don’t want to hear me talk about my absent father that didn’t have time for me because he was too busy with you.” You glance away. “You don’t know what it feels like.” 

“There’s something you don’t know about me then,” Spencer says. “Because I do.” 

“Unless your dad’s ignored you all his life in favor of his job and the stray genius he found there, you really don’t.” 

“My dad left when I was a kid because he couldn’t deal with my mom’s schizophrenia,” Spencer retorts. His words get you to look right back at him—they’re not overly sharp or exceedingly soft, just matter-of-fact. “I haven’t seen him since. So you’re right—I don’t know exactly what it’s like, but I know a hell of a lot more than you think.” 

Regret hits you immediately, sour and spiny as it settles in your chest. You’ve been an asshole to him this whole time, and all along he’s held this inside of him? All along, you’ve been accusing him of stealing your life from you when he’s lost more than you have. 

For a moment, you can only stare at him, at a loss for words. He meets your eyes in equal measure. You might know a lot about Spencer Reid, but you’re quickly realizing you don’t know Spencer Reid. 

“Guess we’re a lot more similar than you thought,” he says in your silence. 

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you murmur, finally managing to muster up words. “That’s awful. You didn’t deserve that.” 

“No one does,” he shrugs. This time, he’s the one to look away. “But it is what it is.” 

“How can you just say that?” you ask. You lean forward, a frown creasing your brows. “How are you not just— just angry all the time? That your dad doesn’t give a fuck about you or your mom?” 

“For a while, I was.” He chuckles, but there’s no heart in it. “I was angry at everyone. My dad, my mom, the adults around me— I hated myself most of all. It’s part of the reason I was so good in school. I didn’t want to think about it, I didn’t want to deal with it, so I studied as hard as I could, read as much as humanly possible.” He smiles thinly at nothing in particular. “Turns out I’m very good at avoiding things when I want to.” 

You shake your head with a scoff. “You’re a better person than I am. I would have hunted him down by now and given him a piece of my mind.” 

“It’s not worth it.” Spencer looks back at you. “He decided he didn’t want to be a part of my life. I’m not going to reward him by letting him ruin it when he’s not even here.” 

Is that what you’re doing? Letting your dad ruin your life by letting him occupy every part of it even when he’s not there? He’s influenced every part of your life, every part of you, and he hasn’t been here for half of it. Sometimes you’re surprised he didn’t miss your birth.

Another flash of lightning, another crack of thunder. You tense every muscle in your body to stop yourself from flinching as hard in front of Spencer. You think he notices anyway.  

“I’ve been angry at my dad since I was a kid,” you say once you’ve recovered. “He missed my dance recitals and my gymnastics meets and my soccer games, but he signed the checks for all of the payments. He told me to take honors and AP classes and missed the ceremonies for the awards. He was never there for anything that mattered, but—” you laugh again, and you blink back the tears— “but he waited until I was eighteen to get a divorce so I wouldn’t have to deal with a custody battle.” 

You bite down hard on your lip to force them back even harder as you look at Spencer. “Isn’t that fucked up? Neither of them have been there for us, but they’ve still shaped every part of us with their absence. We can’t escape it even when they’re not here, because them not being here is what caused it.” 

“I refuse to give him that much power,” Spencer says. “My dad left. He chose to leave. He doesn’t want anything to do with me, so I don’t want anything to do with him. I mean, I’m an FBI agent. I work with some of the best profilers in the world. I could find him if I wanted to, but I’m not going to waste my time chasing some pipe dream of a father that doesn’t exist.” 

“Your situation is different, though.” Both his eyes and tone soften, and something inside you stirs. “The only break I know Gideon’s taken was that six month medical leave that was practically forced on him. I think it would take an actual, life-threatening injury to get him to take another one. It’s a lot different having someone around and just… being neglected.”

“I’ve just always felt like such an asshole for it,” you mutter. “You all save lives every day. You’ve taken down a thousand sick criminals.” You shake your head with another mirthless laugh. “My dad saves women like me every day, gives them the chance to see their fathers again, and I’m mad at him because— because he won’t meet me for brunch? Because he missed my school band concerts?” 

“It’s not that simple,” Spencer says. “It’s never that simple. You don’t need to feel bad for hating him, but you also don’t need to feel bad for loving him, too.” 

You scoff. “There you go again with the psychology degree.” 

“It’s the truth,” he says. “Just because you feel rightfully angry doesn’t mean you don’t still love him. It’s part of the reason why you’re so conflicted about him.” He gave you a wry smile. “It makes everything a lot more complicated, doesn’t it?”

You shift in your bed. “Far cry from everything you told me before all this started.” 

“We see completely different sides of Gideon,” Spencer says. “I’m just… ashamed that it took me so long to believe you about all of it.” 

You huff a laugh. “I’m the one that should be ashamed. I thought you had this— this perfect life, with my dad loving you on top of it. That’s why I hated you so much.” 

He perks up. “Hated? As in, past tense? As in, you don’t hate me anymore?” 

You try to bite back your smile. You barely succeed. “Call it a truce.” 

Spencer grins and nudges his glasses back into place once again. “This might be my favorite truce since 1914.” 

“Christmas Truce,” you nod. “Good one.” 

“You know it?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “I’m a teacher.” 

Spencer blinks. “You— you are?” 

“Why is that such a surprise?” you ask. 

“You’re so…”

“Mean to you?” You chuckle. “Trust me, I’m not like this with my kids. My job is one of the parts of my life that I’m actually happy with.” 

“...Huh.” Spencer smiles at you, and you find yourself smiling back, subconsciously. “You should tell me about it sometime.”

“Sure,” you nod. “Maybe you can tell me about everything you do sometime.” 

“You’re sure you won’t get bored?” he asks. “You might not realize, but I have a tendency to rant.” 

You laugh. “Part of our truce.” 

This time, he nods. “Cool. That— that’s cool.” 

You roll your eyes as you look away, but your smile betrays you once again. Your gaze snaps over to the lamp as it flickers back on, and you realize you haven’t heard any thunder in a while. 

“Looks like the storm’s passed.” Spencer separates two of the window blinds with his fingers and peers through. You’ve never really focused on his hands like you do now—with the way you feel your face burn, it’s probably a good thing. You look away as soon as possible. “Just rain, now.” 

“Good,” you say, and you let out a yawn. “All our talking tired me out.” 

“Good,” he echoes as he picks his candle up from the window pane. “You should get eight hours of sleep a night, and I know for a fact you don’t.” 

You roll your eyes. “Whatever, professor.” 

“You’re the teacher here,” he says. “I should be saying that to you.” 

“And yet you’re so much more annoying than I could ever be,” you muse. 

“Does our truce include this?” 

“Naturally.”

Spencer chuckles and shakes his head. He starts walking to the doorway, but you speak up before he can leave. 

“Night, Spencer.” You pause as you bite the inside of your lip, then continue before you can stop yourself. “I really enjoyed talking with you.” 

He hesitates for a moment, his hand lingering on the doorframe. Then he bids you goodnight in the same fashion, actually saying your name. “I did too.”

It makes your heart skip a beat. 

Spencer closes the door behind him, and you find yourself staring at the wood long after he’s gone. You jolt when you finally come back into yourself, and you shake your head to get out of the haze. 

You glance at the clock on your bedside table, and blink when you realize it’s almost 1:30. You really do need to get to bed. 

The smoke makes you cough as you blow your candle out, and you wave a hand around to dispel it before you turn the lamp off. You lay down and pull the sheets up around you. You end up having to switch positions at least five times before you start to get comfortable. 

But the strangest thing is plaguing you despite your restlessness. You were freezing before the storm started, even when the electricity was working, but now there’s a strange warmth attempting to permeate within you. It almost helps you relax. 

The room feels a lot smaller without him in it. 

You exhale, long, slow, and deep as you close your eyes. The scent of vanilla lingers in the air.

You hope you don’t dream tonight. 

[chobunz]

── “ shame. ” ( pjs ) ּ 𓂅 ⋆ 🗯️

๑ When jay finds out that his brother tried to make a pass at you, he’s more than furious— and he’s going to make sure that shit never happens again..

pair: possessive bf!jay ㅊ gf!reader | warnings: smut, pwp, angst, mentions of cheating, humiliation, degrading, revenge, jay is pretty toxic and kinda mean in this, spanking, spitting, facial masks (iykyk), daddy kink, video recording, jay acting like nothing happened after, doing it in his jake’s bed (…yikes), sweet aftermath | words: 2.3k

a/n. this is a repost of an older fic that i deleted but fixed some parts so i like this one a lot better <3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“it’s not what it looked like, jay !” “i promise it was nothing..” you attempt to try and explain yourself but the damage has already been done, knowing the ‘calm’ look he upheld on his features was anything but calm. your boyfriend has always been the crazy jealous type, especially when it’s over you. you were terrified of the outcome, of what he might end up doing. you had no idea what he was going to do to his younger brother, but you just prayed to the heaven’s above that nothing bad will happen to him.

jay sat manspread on the off-white leather sofa, staring blankly at your begging shape beneath him. so many thoughts were racing in his head all at once, he wasn’t sure whether to be more angry at you or his brother. what the hell were you even trying to protect him for? why were you so locked in on making sure jake doesn’t get hurt? all this pleading and crying over someone who made sexual advances towards you ? did you like it ? were you enjoying all the attention ??

he feels as though he’s been betrayed, not only by you but his own fucking brother at that. yet he still wants answers from you, he wants to know why you’d let him even say those things to you in the first place. granted they were just text messages but that still didn’t make it right, it was more than obvious that jake was trying to flirt with you. jay saw the messages himself, going through your phone while you were in the shower to see if you were hiding something; he noticed you’ve been acting different lately and wondered if there was anyone else in the picture. he had no idea it’d be jake of all fucking people.

after seeing those messages, he’s now fully convinced himself that you fucked jake but you’ve already expressed to him multiple times that you didn’t. he refuses to believe you though, he just thinks you’re covering up for him— which only pissed him off even more; and since jake isn’t here yet, why not just take out all his anger on you instead ?

“you’re not understanding, everyone says that cliché shit, y/n.”

“why are you so worried about him ? worry about your damn self.” jay aggressively spat. “you’re just gonna let him talk to you like that and not even tell him to stop once ? did you forget that you have a whole boyfriend ? guess i never really mattered to you after all.” he put you in your place, making you feel even worse for your actions.

you’ve lost count how many times you’ve profusely apologized to him, on your knees in front of him as you plea for forgiveness. you’d rather take all the fall and have nothing happen to jake, you know it’d get really ugly if they got into a fight and jay couldn’t afford to get caught up with the police again.

“just punish me jay, please. i don’t want you to hurt jake, it’s not worth it—”

“what do i get out of not doing anything to him ?” “you want me to continue on knowing that he just casually tried to make sexual advances at my girl ? are you fucking stupid ?” he cut you off with even more harsh words. jay wasn’t having any of it, he’s already made up his mind and now he can’t get the horrifying image of you cheating on him with jake out of his mind. it just made his blood boil even more.

“no.. i just don’t wanna be the cause of ruining your relationship with him..” you paused for a second, watching as he grabbed his phone, completely dismissing your presence. “are you even listening ?” you get nothing in return but a camera being flashed in your face unexpectedly.

“pretty.. look a little more guilty though.” he chuckled to himself as he looked at the picture he took, still refusing to answer you.

“jay ! i’m trying to reason with you right now but you won’t even bother to hear me out.” your chest felt like it weighed a ton, heaving out a heavy sigh as you anxiously ran your fingers through your hair.

“go on, i’m listening.” jay finally acknowledges you again, his expressionless demeanor made you unable to read exactly what’s on his mind.

“i’ll do anything.. just, please forgive me.. baby, forgive us.” you try your best to appeal to him, clasping your hands together.

“how many times do i have to get through your head that there is no fucking ‘us’, it’s only you and fucking me. stop bringing him up. he’s not even here right now !” jay bitterly spoke at you, it was like he bit into every word before he let it bubble out of his mouth.

you could only stay quiet. what other choice did you have at this point ? it’s not like anything you’ll say will change his mind, you’ve exhausted all options.

“you want me to forgive you ? huh ?” it was barely even a second before you reacted, nodding your head eagerly. causing jay to chuckle at the helpless look on your face.

“desperate ‘n sorry, huh baby.. ? you’re the one who’s blatantly in the wrong and now you’re sitting here begging.”

he bent down, holding your chin in his grasp tightly, inching his face closer and closer to yours. “why didn’t you tell him to fuck off ? was it because you were enjoying it ? attention seeking slut.”

again you don’t utter a word back, you don’t know what to say, especially with the painful hold he has on your face. even if you told him no he’d just laugh in your face anyway, you couldn’t win no matter what you said or did. you wince to try and dismiss the pain, body shaking as tears kept falling from your puffy, reddened eyes.

“you got no god damn shame do you? do you, doll ?” before you knew it jay’s lips parted against yours, taking in your steady breaths, replacing them with heavier ones. jay put every bit of frustration he had in him into this kiss. the sounds of your lips parting only to meet again echoed around the living room.

he was sloppily devouring you, taking every bit of you that jake so desperately wants but could never have. he’s going to make sure he marks every inch of you, and make sure that you won’t be able to walk for a good week after he’s finished with you..

“fuck, get upstairs.” jay broke your savoring kiss, leaving a string of saliva dripping down the rim of your jaw. he watches a few stray tears run down your face for a moment, his pants starting to get tighter and tighter. if you didn’t look this pretty when you cried, maybe he wouldn’t be so turned on by all of this— but he thinks he’s might’ve found his newest addiction.

“but i—”

“shut up. jake’s room. now,” he rudely cuts you off, following behind you as you paced up the stairs, smacking your ass on the way up. all that’s on his mind now is fucking you so dumb until you’re completely ruined.

this felt wrong to you, doing intimate activities in someone else’s bed— his own brother’s bed to be exact. yet you were so caught into him you didn’t protest nor do a damn thing about it. you knew you’d have to face the consequences, so you’ll just have to suck it up.

๑ ๑ ๑

when jay starts unbuckling his belt, the clanking sounds send chills down your spine. looking up at him with glossy eyes, your vision blurry, but you still can clearly see his thick cock stand tall over his stomach as he lowers down his boxers. he grabs you by the arm and brings you up on your knees, only to turn you around, pushing you face down into the mattress.

jay started filming you, watching you through his phone as you jerked yourself back onto his shaft. the sound of your dewy skin slapping together arousing him even more.

“fuck.. so big..” your hand crept up to your boobs, playing with them.

“you can take it, whores like you always can,” he panned his phone around the room before focusing it onto your ass.

“mine. all fucking mine.” jay groaned as he pulled away, spanking your ass before taking his phone to set it up on a pillow. he then proceeds to show the ‘viewers’ a thumbs up with a raise of his eyebrows as if he was just casually doing a livestream.

“hurry, please baby..” you pinched and circled around your needy bud. waiting on jay’s say-so.

“don’t be fucking rude, say hi.” he points to the camera before returning his gaze to you.

you’ve never felt more embarrassed in your life, as you should be, you’re being filmed, even if you gave him consent, your head still remained low. “hi..” you mumbled, even adding a little wave.

your bare skin clung onto jay’s, arms needily hanging onto his body, begging for his touch.

“what do you want ?” jay devilishly smirked, eyeing down at you but you don’t say anything back, instead giving him a pleading look that you hoped to be understood.

“gotta use your words, closed mouths don’t get fed sweetie.”

“i want your big cock in me.. please.” you manage to cry out, hoping that he’d find some sympathy within to give you what you want.

“who’s?”

“daddy’s.. i want daddy’s big cock in me..soo bad..!” you whined, unable to bear the mess between your legs, the feel of your warm arousal dripping down your legs made your clit throb for more.

“mmh, that’s my good little slut..” he smacked his lips, tapping your thigh indicating that he wanted you to turn over and lye down.

jay dragged you by the waist, positioning you in front of the camera. checking the angles from time to time. when he finally laid eyes on the prize he felt his length tighten. how fucking pretty you looked, your puffy needy pussy. how wet you are for him. he ran his fingers through your folds, taking some of your slick to bless the camera with.

“you think she’d ever get this wet for you ?” he chuckled, licking the sweetness off his fingers before stationing himself between your thighs, the tip of his fat cock pushing at your entrance.

“oh— fuck, squeezin’ me already,” jay gasped at the tight fit. it was like taking your virginity all over again. your messy cunt swallowed him whole. but that didn’t stop him from destroying it did it. no?

he didn’t bother showing an ounce of mercy on his end, only vulgar words said beside your ear and rough hip thrusts that leave your poor hole sore and sensitive. you were delirious, unable to form a single thought as you continued to get pounded into relentlessly. you could have sworn missionary was supposed to be a ‘romantic’ position. your soft weeping and moaning was accompanied by the squelching of his length repeatedly entering your tight. one of his arms hooked around your leg whilst the other laced on your stomach, applying pressure onto your abdomen.

“fuckfuckfuck, baby.. ! i’m so full !” your fingers grabbed and groped at the navy blue sheets. throwing your head back at the symphonies jay made with just your body.

“you full ?” he chuckled at your stimulated appearance, looking so fucked out already.

“don’t stop, daddy.. ohmygod..” your eyes roll to the back of your head.

oh he most definitely wasn’t gonna stop, no fucking way was he going to stop. you’re not done until HE says you are.

“stupid tight fucking cunt ...” jay hovered over your body, kissing from your chest up to your jaw. “open your mouth.”

you comply, opening your mouth widely with your tongue out, to receive his own saliva, like the thirsty little slut you are. wrapping your legs around his waist so you could feel him reaching deeper inside.

“good fucking girl..” “you’re daddy’s dirty little toy” “say it.”

“i’m daddy’s..— mm..” your voice was shaky, the sensation of jay’s lower rubbing against your clit was elating. “dirty little toy..!”

“oh god.. ’m gonna come..” you soon reached your climax, bubbling right at it’s tier, before jay could even speak you coated his thickness in a white dripping mess. “fuck..”

jay quickened his pace, edging himself before quickly retreating himself. climbing over your body, pumping and rubbing his length. his voice getting more pungent with each stroke before he releases his cum all over your face.

he reached back rubbing your thighs before leaving your frame to grab his phone, filming your current state. pearly strings of white decorating your hair and your beautiful face. the leftover residue on your lips and the finger you were currently sucking on, cleaning it of his spill.

“did so good for me, princess..” he praised, rubbing your sides gently, earning a tired hum from you.

“jake, you ought to tell me where you got this bed !” he displayed a mischievous smile to the phone that was still recording.

“mama, wanna go pee for me ? put your clothes back on too..” he pampered you, looking at you with loving eyes as if he wasn’t just shouting at you to his lung’s capacity an hour ago.

“okay..” you stretched, giving jay a quick kiss on the cheek before heading into the bathroom.

“oh, jake, i used one of your condoms by the way, tight fit.” jay whispered before kissing the camera and waving goodbye, ending it once and for all.

๑ ๑ ๑

‘lil bro’

pending...

[ attachment sent ! ]

“he’d probably jerk off to this. fucking perv.” the boy scoffed, slipping his legs through the holes of his sweat pants.

seen

“oh ? haha.” jay giggled to himself as jake opened the message right away, “babe, you almost done ?”

you come out of the bathroom fully clothed, washed your face, and fixed your hair. “mhm, all set now.” you link arms with your boyfriend who now had an innocent look on his face, resembling nothing like what you saw from earlier.

“alright, let’s go, sweetheart.”

ヽ(＾Д＾)ﾉ

© chobunz 2025.

[vettelsvee]

Hello! I hope this is the correct way to request..., can you write a lewis story for prompt 28? It can be something like, reader is a new wag and there is some online hate, and lewis comforts them. It's completely fine if you don't wanna do this story, Thank you!! 💞

DON'T LET THEM SAY THAT. YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL | Lewis Hamilton

Lewis Hamilton x Actress!Reader

SUMMARY: Lewis and you decided to make your relationship public in Maranello before 2025 Formula 1 season starts. However, love from fans isn't there as you expected ↳ REQUESTED: Part of VEE'S F1 PROMPTS LIST (VOL. I)! Feel free to request anything you want <3 Hope you liked it anon! 💖

WORD COUNT: 2043

WARNINGS: Age gap (reader is on her early 20s and Lewis is 40), fans acting like crazy, hate towards Y/N

VEE'S NOTES: I received this prompt on the inbox today and I don't know how I wrote, corrected, translated and corrected once again it today. Also, first ever Ferrari!Lewis fic I'm so emotional right now. Not really happy with the result since like Y/N in this fic, I have many intrusive thoughts about my writing and I didn't have the best of the weekends, but hope you enjoy it anyways! Remember that I appreciate your comments, feedback, as well as reblogs, thank you so much! :)

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

The whirlwind of emotions you’ve experienced since your relationship with Lewis Hamilton became public has been unimaginable... and that’s putting it lightly.  

Although you were somewhat used to the spotlight thanks to your rising career as an actress, flashes from cameras, crowds shouting for you to turn around so they could get a picture, and the occasional fan asking for a photo or autograph, the world of Formula 1 was completely new to you.  

You couldn’t deny that you were unhappy with how drastically your life had changed. The man who had just joined Scuderia Ferrari had become everything you had ever imagined in a partner. kind, undeniably caring, and, most importantly, empathetic enough to understand how overwhelming this sudden rise in fame was for you.  

Lewis had noticed how down you’d been ever since he decided to post those photos of you both in Maranello. You had both agreed to go together so he could test one of those legendary red cars for the first time, fully aware that people would inevitably start talking. That day, you decided to make your relationship public after keeping it a secret for about six months, agreeing that it was best to do so before the 2025 season began.  

Despite it all, despite how much you had started closing yourself off in the following weeks, Lewis remained by your side, making you feel like the most important person in the world. But it was becoming increasingly difficult for him, especially when all you did was act like everything was fine on the outside while you were slowly destroying yourself inside.  

The nightmare began with small comments on the photo Lewis had uploaded to Instagram, just you, posing timidly in front of the Ferrari while he held you around the waist, smiling like never before. At first, the comments didn’t seem like a big deal, with people just wanting to know more about your relationship or if it was serious. But soon, the messages started pouring in, insults and threats far worse than you had ever imagined, many of them coming from underage girls. Eventually, you had to disable comments on every single one of your photos, no matter how old they were.

However, what truly became a living nightmare for you were the Twitter threads and, especially, the accounts dedicated exclusively to Formula 1 wags. They were relentless, tearing you apart, analyzing your every move as if dating one of the 20 drivers on the grid was equivalent to committing first-degree murder.

“She’s just looking for fame now that her acting career is taking off.”

“She doesn’t deserve someone like Lewis.”

“She’s too young for him.”

“And let’s not even talk about how ugly she is… have you seen her?”

You sighed, throwing your phone onto the couch with such force that it ended up crashing onto the floor. But you didn’t even bother to check if it was broken. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t read any more comments, wouldn’t even open your Instagram account, yet you couldn’t resist. After all, you were human, and the weight of it all was becoming too much to bear, even more than you were willing to admit to Lewis, to whom you hadn’t fully opened up yet.

The hotel room in Tokyo, where you and Lewis had decided to stay for one of your last vacations before the season began, fell into complete silence. The only sound that filled the space was your muffled sobs.

“And who even is she? Nobody knows her.”

“Lewis deserves someone better, that’s for sure.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks faster than you could wipe them away.

You couldn’t understand it. It felt so unfair... Why were you being treated this way just for loving someone? Why did people throw venomous words at you without even knowing you, without even trying to? Did being a fan of Lewis automatically mean they had to hate you?

You tried to relax, to break free from the spiral of thoughts that only led you to overthink, but it was impossible. Once your mind started down that path, the only thing it knew how to do was tear you apart from the inside.

As you tried to steady your breathing and quickly wiped away your tears, a knock echoed at the door.

You pulled yourself together as fast as you could, forcing a smile while glancing at your reflection in the mirror. You swore to yourself that you’d do everything possible to pretend that everything was fine, that you were fine.

But the moment you opened the door and saw Lewis, drenched in sweat from his gym session and pulling out his earbuds, you immediately turned around and rushed into the nearest room, the bathroom, locking yourself inside to keep him from seeing you like this.

“Come on, Y/N...”

Lewis knew you too well by now. No matter how hard you tried to convince him otherwise, he could see right through you, he knew you were struggling, and struggling pretty badly.

He didn’t do anything at first. He didn’t know what to do. He was afraid that whatever he said or did might only make things worse, might make you shut down even more. Instead, he rested his forehead against the closed door, feeling defeated, thinking of ways to make you feel worthy enough to stop torturing yourself over what strangers were saying online, people who knew nothing about your relationship and even less about you.

Eventually, you decided to come out. Lewis saw you, completely defeated, and he cursed himself for letting things get to this point. What had he done wrong to make you feel this way? God, you were just a girl in your early twenties who had recently made the leap to Hollywood stardom after moving to Los Angeles at sixteen, waiting tables in a run-down bar, and facing countless failed auditions until you finally landed the role that changed everything.

“Hey, love,” Lewis spoke as gently as possible, his eyes scanning your red-rimmed ones and your tangled hair. “What’s wrong?”

He knew exactly what was wrong, but he wanted you to be the one to speak, to let it all out.

You took a deep breath and pointed at your phone, still lying on the floor. A nervous knot tightened in your stomach, and your hands began to fidget anxiously. As if on cue, tears started streaming down your face once more.

“I just… I don’t understand why they have to be like this. What did I do to deserve this? Am I not good enough? Not pretty enough for you?”

Lewis sighed. He had known from the beginning that not everyone would accept your relationship, but the amount of hate you were facing was beyond excessive. He was exhausted by the senseless comments and social media accounts created solely to spew hate at you. And even more, he was tired of becoming tabloid fodder, followed everywhere by paparazzi eager to capture any moment they could.

Seeing you like this hurt him in ways he couldn’t even describe, and it made him feel miserable.

“Hey, Y/N… look at me.”

Despite speaking to you firmly and holding your hand, gently rubbing your skin with his thumb to calm you down, you didn’t respond. Lewis then cupped your chin delicately, forcing you to look at him.

“I know I’ve told you this a thousand times, and I also know that with how stubborn you are, you probably won’t listen to me, but don’t let what they say about you bother you,” he wanted to say, but all he really cared about was you. “What matters is that I love you, okay?”

“But... why does it have to affect me? Why did I used to not care about anything, and now I care so much about the opinion of strangers?” you asked, hesitantly, biting your lip in an attempt to relax.

Lewis moved even closer to you, wrapping his arms around you. He hated seeing you like this, especially when before all of this started, you were a light in his life, and it was him who used to lean on you when race weekends got overwhelming.

“Because you’re human, babe,” he replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead and holding you tighter. “Even though we sometimes say the opposite, we all care about what others think of us, especially when all they want to do is bring us down.”

“But... what if they’re right? What if I’m not what you deserve?”

“Do I need to remind you again that they’re wrong?” Lewis said, pulling you slightly away so your gazes met. “You need to remember how much you mean to me, but more than that, you need to remember who you are and all that you’re worth. That’s all that matters.”

You didn’t say anything else. Instead, you buried your face in his chest, once again crying quietly to avoid him seeing you like this.

“I’m ugly, Lew. Really ugly,” you confessed without lifting your head. “I don’t even know how you love me, or how you agreed to be with me after all those months we spent talking and hanging out as friends, or…”

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t let them say that. You’re beautiful. You’re beautiful, and you’ve always been, alright? Anyone who says otherwise needs to get their eyes checked.”

You laughed, and Lewis felt that as a small victory.

You closed your eyes, trying to calm yourself down. For the first time in a long while, you pushed aside the intrusive thoughts, the destructive comments you saw daily on social media, and allowed yourself the luxury of, for just a moment, trying to stop torturing yourself and accepting that there were things you couldn’t change.

Lewis’s words, while brief and somewhat familiar to you, brought a peace you hadn’t felt in days. You did your best to let the tension in your shoulders melt away, slowly separating from him and moving your arms bit by bit.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Lew,” you whispered, once again wrapping your arms around his waist, wishing you could never let go of him.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Lewis chuckled, planting kisses on your forehead. “I’m never going to leave you, and I hope you’ll never leave me either.”

Neither of you said anything more. Your bodies remained close, exchanging shy kisses, making promises that everything would get better as you both talked about the changes you’d face in 2025. That was enough for you both to know things were going to be okay.

You both understood that the big, risky changes you were taking, especially your relationship, were going to be difficult, just like what was happening with you and the wave of hate you were receiving. But once you stopped giving it too much importance, or rather, no importance at all, no one would stop you as the newest couple in Formula 1.

“Hey, listen to me, please... I’ve been thinking about something.”

Lewis’s words caught your attention as you were starting to drift off to sleep in bed. You straightened up, your hand still intertwined with his.

“How about we take a walk, and you can get to know the city a bit?” he suggested. “You know… we could go eat out, hit up an arcade, or maybe…”

“Can you get me a stuffed animal from one of those weird claw machines?!” you interrupted him, excited, which made Lewis burst out laughing.

“Of course, I can get you a stuffed animal, or buy you all the ones you want.”

You smiled, and as Lewis went to the bathroom for a shower, you began to prepare for the day. That moment was exactly when you realized you needed to trust yourself more and, specially, just as Lewis valued you. Because if there was one thing you’d learned from him in the short time you’d been together, it was that, no matter what you did, you’d always be the envy of others, so you just needed to remind yourself that you didn’t need to feel worse for living the life you’d always dreamed of and, moreover, you worked hard to have.

[pedriache]

The Wall 𖦹 Jack Hughes !

summary. though you and jack had been together for a little over a year now, you still had your perfectly constructed walls up. your last relationship had been horrible and caused a rift within your self confidence. but jack, jack had been the light in the dark. even when you had your walls up, his presence had light seeping through the tiniest of cracks.

wc. 525+

disclaimers. light angst, mostly fluff, jack being a good listener!!

notes. i’ve never actually written for hockey players b4 since, well, i built this platform on football & f1 mostly but.. hey.. lmk if you’d like more and feel free to req for anyone !!!!!

The sound of water and the faint clicking of dishes filled the kitchen as you stood by the sink, sleeves rolled up, and hands busy. Jack sat on a stool on the other side of the island, chin resting on the butt oh his palms, watching you with the kid of attentiveness that should’ve made you self conscious. But, thankfully, you were too busy to notice.

You were in the midst of talking about a new interest of yours, The Library of Alexandria.

“And then I found this video that went into the details, like every little thing I didn’t even think to realize mattered! And, well, it just completely changed my perspective. I mean who knew that—“ You pause mid-sentence, the realization hitting you like a splash of cold water.

You were rambling, again.

Your ex would’ve rolled his eyes by now. Probably muttering a sarcastic, “are you done yet?” just to make you feel small.

A familiar sense of shame and self-doubt crept in, brushing against the walls you’d been so careful to construct over the past three years. Your hands stilled as you fumbled to regain your grip on the yellow sponge, heat rushing to your face.

Your gaze darted up to your boyfriend cautiously, expecting even the smallest hint of annoyance. All you were met with was a confused Jack. His eyes—the blue so beautiful sometimes you couldn’t stop looking at them—narrowed and face scrunched slightly like he couldn’t understand why you’d suddenly stopped. Then, before you could utter an apology, he slipped off the stool without uttering a word, moving around the island with quiet purpose.

You felt his warmth before you saw him. His arms slid around your waist, pulling you gently into his chest. The kiss he placed on your shoulder was soft but deliberate, the kind of gesture that made any worry you felt dissipate instantly.

And cause a slight fluttering of your heart.

Jack’s chin rested lightly on your shoulder his hair brushing your cheek faintly. “You stopped,” he said simply, voice low and warm on your skin.

You opened your mouth to explain, but Jack reached past you, grabbing his water bottle on the counter and popping the lid open. “You were getting to the best part,” he adds, with a small, reassuring smile as he took a sip. “Keep going.”

Mouth still parted, you watch as Jack just moved to lean against the counter like it was the most normal thing in the world. His blue eyes were still on you, silently encouraging you to continue.

It was so different—he was so different. Where you’d been expecting frustration, Jack offered patience. A whole year of you trying to keep your walls so neatly placed, and he’d been so easy going about the whole thing.

He understood even without in depth details. The cracks in your walls spread a little further, a little deeper—just enough for his light to seep through.

With a small, grateful smile, you picked up where you left off. And Jack’s head tipped to the side, listening to you like your voice was his favorite sound in the world.

likes, comments, and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in any jack or hockey related posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @lechrts @sakashq @joaoflms @be11ingham @spidybaby @piastri-fvx

[ayumigotabittoolonely]

is there someone else?

(Satoru gojo xreader angst part 2)

Last part

Part 1

(I used chat gpt to fix my grammer!)

Part 2 : is there someone else?

The morning light crept into the apartment, stark and unforgiving, illuminating the cold, empty space you had left behind. Satoru sat at the table, his head in his hands, the smell of untouched dinner still faint in the air. He was the strongest, they said, but in this moment, he had never felt weaker.

His phone buzzed on the table. Utahime’s name flashed across the screen for the third time that morning, but he ignored it again. He couldn’t bear to hear her voice, not when it would only remind him of the destruction he had caused.

Satoru Gojo was a man who could bend reality to his will, who stood at the pinnacle of strength and invincibility. But none of that mattered now. None of it could bring you back.

He had faced curses that could tear apart the world, adversaries that brought armies to their knees but he couldn’t face you. He couldn’t fix the cracks he had allowed to spread in the one thing that had made him feel human.

You sat on a bench by the harbor, your knees pulled to your chest as the salt-tinged breeze stung your face. You hadn’t slept. The night had passed in a haze of wandering, of replaying every fight, every word, every bitter silence.

Gojo Satoru, the man who could shatter mountains and tear through dimensions, had made you feel like nothing.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket again, and you didn’t have to look to know it was him. He was trying, but it was too late or at least, it felt that way.

You swallowed hard as the memory of his hesitation surfaced again, the way he had frozen when you’d asked, “Do you love her?” That pause was louder than anything he could have said.

What was worse was how easily you had believed it how deeply you had let his silence confirm your worst fears.

When Satoru found you later that morning, you were still sitting by the lake, lost in thought. He approached hesitantly, his usually confident steps faltering. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to say.

You glanced at him as he sat down beside you, leaving a careful distance between you.

Neither of you spoke for a long time. The sound of the waves filled the silence, a cruel reminder of how far apart you’d drifted.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Sorry doesn’t fix this, Satoru. Sorry doesn’t make me forget how you made me feel.”

He flinched but didn’t argue. “I know,” he admitted. “I just… I don’t know how to make this right.”

“Then why are you here?” you asked, your voice trembling. “To say what? That it wasn’t what it looked like? That you didn’t mean to make me feel like I was nothing?”

“Utahime and I…” He trailed off, his words catching in his throat. “She’s someone who understands parts of my life I don’t know how to explain. She’s familiar. She’s… safe.”

“Safe?” you repeated, your voice breaking. “And what am I, Satoru? A risk?”

“No,” he said sharply, his voice cracking. “You’re everything. That’s the problem. You make me feel things I don’t know how to handle. You make me feel vulnerable. And I didn’t know how to deal with that, so I…” He buried his face in his hands. “So I screwed it all up.”

You stared at him, your heart aching at the sight of the man who always seemed untouchable now crumbling before you.

“You could face the worst curses in the world without flinching,” you said softly. “But this us was too much for you?”

He looked up at you, his eyes raw and unguarded. “I know it sounds pathetic, but yes. You terrify me, because I don’t know how to protect this. How to protect you. I thought I could keep everything under control, but I couldn’t. I failed you, and I hate myself for it.”

You felt tears stinging your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “You’re right. You did fail me. And I don’t know if I can forgive that.”

Satoru’s shoulders sagged, his head hanging low. “I don’t blame you if you can’t. But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you if you let me.”

You stood, your legs unsteady beneath you. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, but the pain in your chest was still too fresh.

“I need time,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need to figure out if this is something I can survive.”

He watched as you turned to leave, his heart shattering with every step you took.

Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer in the world, could save countless lives, could win every battle thrown his way. But as he sat there, alone on that bench, he realized that this was one fight he couldn’t win. Not with his strength, not with his power.

And for the first time in his life, he wondered if being the strongest meant nothing at all.

@anonnieghost @a-s-illustrations @kawaiithingtraveler

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[celestialmatcha7]

broken promises | nam-gyu (player 124)

word count: 1k

pairing: baby daddy! nam-gyu x fem! reader

genre: angst </3

summary: y/n is a young mother struggling with the heartbreak of her partner nam-gyu's drug addiction, which keeps pulling him away from their family. one night, after he comes home late and high again, y/n confronts him, demanding he choose between his destructive habits or his family.

The apartment was eerily quiet, save for the soft hum of the fridge and the occasional coo of your baby, Mei, in the bassinet. You sat on the couch, staring blankly at the clock on the wall. Midnight. He was late—again.

You’d told yourself not to get your hopes up this time, but a small part of you still clung to the memory of who Nam-gyu used to be. The man who held your hand during every doctor’s visit, who kissed your belly and promised Mei would never want for anything. That man seemed like a ghost now, fading further away with every missed promise.

Mei stirred, a soft cry breaking the silence. You immediately got up, scooping her into your arms. “Shh, it’s okay, sweet girl,” you murmured, rocking her gently. “I’ve got you.”

The rhythmic sway of your arms calmed her, but it couldn’t calm the storm brewing inside you. You glanced toward the door again, your jaw tightening as the minutes ticked by. This wasn’t the first time Nam-gyu had promised he’d come home early, and it certainly wasn’t the first time he’d broken that promise.

The front door creaked open suddenly, startling both you and Mei. Nam-gyu stumbled in, his disheveled hair and the faint chemical scent on his clothes telling you everything you needed to know. His eyes, bloodshot and glassy, avoided yours as he kicked off his shoes, letting them clatter against the wall.

“You said you’d be home earlier,” you said, your voice low but trembling with suppressed anger. “We needed you.”

He waved a hand dismissively, slumping onto the couch. “I had… things to handle. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I wouldn’t understand?” You scoffed, clutching Mei closer. “All I understand is that we’re drowning in debt because you and Thanos thought MG Coin was going to make you millionaires. And now I’m the one paying the bills while you’re out getting high!”

His head snapped up at the mention of Thanos. “Don’t bring him into this. He’s got nothing to do with tonight.”

“Really? Because every time you’re out until God knows when, you’re with him, coming up with another genius plan that’s going to fix everything. But nothing gets fixed, Nam-gyu. It just gets worse.”

He groaned, leaning back and rubbing his temples. “I’m trying, okay? Do you think this is easy for me?”

“Trying? No, you’re not trying. You’re running. From me, from her, from everything.” Tears stung your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “I can’t keep doing this, Nam-gyu. I can’t keep pretending you’ll change when every night ends the same.”

He looked at you, his expression softening for a moment. “I love you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to cling to the scraps of the man you’d fallen in love with, but his words felt hollow, drowned out by months of broken promises and half-hearted apologies.

“Love isn’t enough,” you said, clutching Mei closer as she settled against your chest. “Not when you’re choosing this over us.”

He stood abruptly, pacing the room in agitation. “You think I want to be like this? I didn’t ask for this life either, Y/N. I’m trying to survive—”

“Survive?” You cut him off, your voice rising despite your efforts to stay calm. “You’re killing yourself, Nam-gyu. And you’re dragging us down with you. Do you know how humiliating it is to get calls from debt collectors? To beg the landlord for an extension on rent because all our money went into your bad choices?”

Mei stirred again, her tiny whimper breaking your heart even further. You took a deep breath, willing yourself to stay steady. “I need you to choose,” you said quietly. “Us or the drugs. Because I can’t keep raising her like this—watching you destroy yourself and letting her see it, too.”

His steps faltered, and for a moment, you thought he might say something, do something to prove you wrong. But instead, he turned toward the coat rack, grabbing his jacket.

“Where are you going?” you asked, panic rising in your chest.

“I need some air,” he replied, avoiding your gaze. “I’ll be back.”

“You always say that,” you whispered, barely audible, but he didn’t hear—or chose not to.

The door closed behind him with a finality that made your heart ache.

You sank onto the couch, Mei cradled in your arms. Her tiny fingers wrapped around yours, anchoring you to the moment. Your mind raced with questions. Would he be back tomorrow? Next week? Ever? How many more nights would you spend like this, waiting and wondering if he’d choose you?

Hours passed, and the baby fell asleep in your arms. You carried her to the nursery, tucking her into the crib and lingering there for a while, watching her peaceful expression. She didn’t know the chaos swirling around her, and you vowed to protect her from it as much as you could.

Back in the living room, the emptiness felt overwhelming. His coat was gone, his shoes weren’t by the door, and the faint smell of smoke still lingered in the air. It was like he had taken every part of him and left you with nothing but the void.

You sat down on the couch, pulling a blanket over your shoulders as tears finally spilled over. You didn’t cry for him—not anymore. These tears were for yourself, for Mei, for the life you’d imagined and the reality you were left with.

Holding your phone in trembling hands, you debated calling him. But deep down, you knew the cycle would only repeat itself.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered to yourself.

Mei stirred in the other room, and you stood, wiping your face. “It’s just you and me now, sweetheart,” you murmured as you peeked into the nursery. “No matter what, I’ll make sure we’re okay.”

Outside, the night swallowed him whole, and with it, the part of you that had always hoped he’d change.

But as the first rays of dawn crept through the blinds, you realized you had something he didn’t—a reason to keep going, a reason to fight.

And you would fight. For her. For yourself. Even if you didn’t know when—or if—he’d ever come back.

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ cherry ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ berlin x hostage!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! there is a part one to this imagine, scarface!

˚ ༘♡ four trillion won.

˚ ༘♡ that was the amount they intended to steal, an unimaginable fortune. the audacity of their plan stunned you, even as you sat there in silence. you couldn’t understand why they hadn’t already taken the money and disappeared into the night. why target the korean mint, one of the most heavily secured institutions in the country, knowing full well that the highest figures in government and law enforcement would throw the full extent of their resources against them? it was only after you pressed your ear against the locked door of the conference room you were being held in that you learned the truth. two of the masked criminals spoke in hushed tones outside, unaware of your eavesdropping. they weren’t stealing money, they were printing it. trillions of won, created right there in the heart of the mint. they had turned the hostages into laborers for their grand design.

˚ ༘♡ the sheer boldness of their plan was breathtaking. how could they possibly believe they would escape unscathed with such a colossal operation? the more you thought about it, the more impossible it seemed, yet there you were, locked away in this quiet chamber while chaos reigned elsewhere in the building. the government had to be handling this delicately, you thought. surely, they were devising a plan to save you and the others. but doubt crept in. could even the most experienced strategists outmaneuver criminals who had taken control of the mint and were orchestrating a crime of this magnitude?

˚ ༘♡ time felt meaningless in the isolation of the room. the only sign that a day had passed was the clock mounted on the wall, its rhythmic ticking drilling into your ears. you hadn’t seen anyone since being brought here, hadn’t exchanged a word with a single soul. the only sounds were muffled voices from the floors below and the occasional shuffle of footsteps beyond the door.

˚ ༘♡ you sat on a velvet couch, its soft fabric a sinister comfort in this nightmare, staring blankly at the far wall. thoughts of your coworkers plagued your mind. you pictured their faces, their fear, their desperation. you knew they were suffering far worse than you, trapped in the thick of it while you were left here in this eerie silence. guilt gnawed at you, but so did dread. you wanted to believe the government would send in a rescue team, that the nightmare would end in a blaze of heroics. but you knew better. any such attempt could end in bloodshed, a massacre for everyone trapped inside the mint.

˚ ༘♡ the sharp metallic click of the door unlocking shattered the suffocating silence of the room, sending a jolt through your body. instinctively, you scrambled to your feet, adrenaline surging through your veins, but the moment your eyes landed on the figure stepping through the doorway, your legs nearly gave out beneath you. it was berlin.

˚ ༘♡ in spite of the hahoe mask obscuring most of his face, there was no mistaking him. you’d heard his voice, his threatening commands, his venomous tone bleeding through the walls. he wasn’t just another cog in this terrifying machine, he was at the heart of it, the one pulling strings inside the mint while another, someone they called the professor, directed the chaos from elsewhere. berlin wasn’t the kind of man you could reason with, his presence was a cold, oppressive force that turned your stomach to stone.

˚ ༘♡ he removed the mask slowly, revealing a face carved from ice. his expression was devoid of warmth, his eyes glinting with something darker than malice, a kind of calculated cruelty that made you feel like prey cornered by a predator. your breath caught in your throat as he slammed the door shut behind him, the sound reverberating like a death knell in the confined space.

˚ ༘♡ “did you miss me?” his voice was low, mocking, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t find your voice. your knees buckled, and you collapsed back onto the velvet sofa as he strode toward you with slow, measured steps, each one harsher, each one amplifying the dread pooling in your chest. his hand rested on the rifle slung over his shoulder.

˚ ༘♡ he stopped mere inches from you, so close that his legs brushed against your knees. the air between you felt suffocating, stagnant with peril. his shadow loomed over you and you couldn’t even bring yourself to look up at him.

˚ ༘♡ “get up,” he ordered, his tone cutting like a blade. “we’ve got work to do.”

˚ ༘♡ your body refused to move. whether it was fear or disbelief, you weren’t sure, but the hesitation sealed your fate. his hand shot out, clamping around your wrist with a grip that felt like iron. before you could even register the pain, he yanked you to your feet with such force that you stumbled into him, your heart pounding wildly as his dark eyes bore into yours. there was no mercy in that gaze, no humanity, only control.

˚ ༘♡ “what do you need me to do?” you asked, the words tumbling out in a whisper, trembling as if your voice alone might provoke him further.

˚ ༘♡ his response wasn’t immediate. instead, his lips curled into a cruel grin, one that made your blood run cold. he tilted his head slightly, studying you like a wolf savoring its next move. then, without warning, his hand shot up, his fingers wrapping around your neck.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t choke you, not fully, but his grip was aggresive, sending a clear message that any resistance would be futile. his thumb pressed against your pulse, a mocking acknowledgment of the fear coursing through you.

˚ ༘♡ “what i need,” he said, his voice a dangerous growl, “is for you to listen.”

˚ ༘♡ before you could respond, he pulled his pistol from its holster, the cold steel brushing against your forehead. your breath became erratic, and tears blurred your vision as terror consumed you. the gun pressed harder against your head, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. he didn’t speak, didn’t move, he simply held you there.

˚ ༘♡ the silence stretched into eternity, every second an excruciating reminder of how close you were to the edge of oblivion. then, as abruptly as he’d grabbed you, he released his hold.

˚ ༘♡ you stumbled back, crashing into the edge of the desk, the sharp corner digging into your spine. tears streaked down your cheeks, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you stared at him, your voice shaking with anger and desperation. “what kind of psycho are you?” you spat through the tears. “i’ve done everything you’ve asked. I haven’t disobeyed a single order!”

˚ ༘��� his laugh was cold, abrupt, and vacant of humor. he holstered the pistol with a conscious indifference, his eyes never leaving yours. “i know,” he said, his voice ridden with disdain.

˚ ༘♡ he picked up the assault rifle with a practically casual motion, his cold gaze never departing you. the barrel of the gun rose slowly, aiming directly at your head. the air in the room thickened, suffocating, and the only sound was the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. your legs quivered beneath you as though the terror of his presence alone had crushed you. sliding to the floor, you tried to speak, to plead for mercy, but your lips trembled, and no sound came. the words dissolved into the air, swallowed by the apprehension that left you paralyzed.

˚ ༘♡ he placed his finger on the trigger, his expression unreadable, detached, like this was just another mundane task in a long list of crimes. you stared down the cold, unyielding barrel of the rifle, waiting for the inevitable. and then, gunfire. a deafening roar. your eyes slammed shut, and you flinched, the sound of bullets tearing into the wall behind you ricocheting in your skull. debris rained down, and your breath came in shallow, gasping bursts. when you opened your eyes, he was lowering the gun, his actions unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to terrify you.

˚ ༘♡ “rio, get in here,” he barked, his voice sharp and commanding, shattering the tense silence.

˚ ༘♡ you barely registered the door opening as your chest heaved, struggling to catch your breath. a younger man entered, casually carrying a camera setup as if he were walking into a studio rather than a hostage situation. rio, you guessed, from the name berlin had called. his demeanor was unnervingly lighthearted, a jarring contrast to the man who had just fired bullets inches from your head.

˚ ༘♡ berlin turned his attention back to you, his cold eyes piercing through you as he slowly stalked toward where you were curled up on the floor. his boots echoed against the hard surface, each step jarring. then, unexpectedly, he crouched down in front of you. he reached out, his gloved hand brushing against your trembling fingers before wiping away the tears streaking your face. the gesture was gentle, but it felt like he was taunting you.

˚ ༘♡ he tucked a stray lock of your disheveled hair behind your ear, tilting your chin up so you were forced to look at him. “i’m sorry,” he said softly, his tone laced with condescension and faint amusement. “but you looked far too proper. too polished. not the image of a convincing hostage.” his words sank into you like poison, cold and sharp, leaving you speechless.

˚ ༘♡ before you could respond, rio’s voice cut through the tension, cheerful and jarring. “don’t listen to him. berlin just likes torturing people.” his grin was wide, almost playful, but it didn’t reach his eyes. the casual cadence in his tone made you shudder.

˚ ༘♡ berlin shot rio a hard, withering glare that silenced him instantly. the mood in the room darkened, the tension coiling tighter as both men pulled on their hahoe masks. rio stepped forward, adjusting the camera, and handed you a crumpled piece of paper. your hands shook as you took it, the paper feeling heavier than it should have, as though the weight of whatever was written on it could crush you.

˚ ༘♡ “what is this?” you managed to whisper, your voice hoarse and shaking. your hair hung in messy strands around your face, your clothes rumpled and stained from where you’d slid to the floor, every inch of you a reflection of the chaos unraveling around you.

˚ ༘♡ rio positioned the camera with precision, angling it to focus solely on you. “when i say go,” he said with an unsettling lightness, “read it. and look at the camera. don’t mess it up.”

˚ ༘♡ you unfolded the paper with trembling hands, your tears smudging the ink as you tried to make sense of the scrawled words. your pulse thundered in your ears as you glanced between the two masked figures, their faces unreadable, their stillness oppressive.

˚ ༘♡ the camera’s red light blinked on. rio stepped back, folding his arms as berlin stood in the background, his rifle now resting at his side. “go,” rio said, his tone commanding despite the casualness of his earlier demeanor.

˚ ༘♡ the cold steel of berlin’s pistol pressed against your temple, leading you to freeze you in place. every nerve in your body screamed to move, to fight, but you couldn’t. his presence mounted over you, magnified by the hahoe mask concealing his expression. you could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, threatening to drown out the words you were about to speak.

˚ ༘♡ your lips parted and you forced yourself to read from the crumpled paper in your hand. “this is a message to the korean defense ministry,” you began, your voice thin and uneven. your hands shook, the paper rustling audibly in the tense silence. “the criminals have taken me, the daughter of the defense minister, hostage.” you paused, struggling to steady your breathing. the weight of berlin’s pistol and the red, unblinking eye of the camera intensified the unbearable dread coursing through you.

˚ ༘♡ “they order that no action should be taken in aiding local enforcement in the matter of the crisis in the mint.” your voice wavered, breaking slightly as you swallowed the lump in your throat. the next line felt like poison, each word lodging itself in your chest. “as if any mandate is given… the defense minister will never see his precious daughter again.”

˚ ༘♡ an agonizing silence followed, the tension in the air so thick it felt like it might crush you. rio, standing behind the camera, finally broke it with an unsettling grin. “i think that’s good,” he said, pulling off his mask, his tone disturbingly mirthful, as though you’d just finished rehearsing a scene for a school play.

˚ ༘♡ berlin followed suit, removing his mask with slow consideration. his face was as composed as ever, his expression unreadable, yet his eyes betrayed a faint trace of satisfaction. he slid the pistol back into its holster, the click of metal echoing in the small, intolerable space.

˚ ༘♡ “you did well,” berlin said, his voice calm but dripping with mockery. “almost brought a tear to my eye.” he paused. “when your father sees this video, I have no doubt he’ll abandon any foolish notions of sending reinforcements. wouldn’t want him making a mistake he’d regret for the rest of his life.”

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t speak. the words wouldn’t come even if you tried. your body felt limp, burdened by the fear coursing through you. your eyes fixed on the floor, unable to meet his gaze, the humiliation and terror blending into a numbing haze.

˚ ༘♡ berlin exhaled sharply, clearly unimpressed by your lack of answer. “fine, don’t say anything,” he muttered. rio had already begun disassembling the camera, his relaxed efficiency grating against the gravity of what had just transpired. berlin turned to leave, but not before throwing one last barb your way.

˚ ༘♡ “i’ll send someone to bring you food later,” he said, his tone tranquil, as though he were discussing a room service order. “and stop acting so disturbed. i’ve already told you, you won’t get hurt unless your father does something idiotic.”

˚ ༘♡ his words hung in the air as he followed rio out of the room. the heavy door slammed shut behind them, and the sound of the lock sliding into place echoed ominously in the silence.

˚ ༘♡ you remained where you were, collapsed on the cold floor, your body trembling uncontrollably. your breath came in shallow gasps, each inhale feeling like it might rip your chest apart. the slip of paper dropped from your fingers, landing on the floor akin to a ghost of the words you’d spoken.

˚ ༘♡ your gaze drifted to the wall, where the faint outline of bullet holes from berlin’s earlier demonstration still lingered. it was a cruel reminder of how precarious your situation was, how fragile your life had become. you tried to gather your thoughts, to steady yourself, but the crushing reality of what you’d just done, what they’d made you do, settled over you akin to an inescapable gloom.

˚ ༘♡ the room was quiet now, but the cruelty of their threats, their presence, still lingered, suffocating and relentless. you were alone again, yet you could feel their eyes on you, even from beyond the locked door. the words you’d spoken would soon reach your father. whether they would save you or sentence you to death, you had no way of knowing. all you could do was wait and wonder how much further they’d push you before you shattered completely.

˚ ༘♡ another day dragged by, wretched with misery and isolation. the meal left for you was delivered not by berlin but by a masked woman, who you identified as nairobi. you only knew her name because the guard outside your door addressed her so casually, as if this nightmare was their mundane routine. the food sat untouched. the idea of eating felt almost laughable. hunger clawed at your stomach, but your appetite had long since been smothered by fear and despair.

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t sleep. even when you closed your eyes, the silence of the room became deafening, amplifying every creak, every muffled voice, every thought. it left you no escape, only an endless loop of dread. the hours blurred together, and though you tried to find some shred of humanity in fixing your tangled hair and wiping away the remnants of smeared makeup, it was futile. the mirror reflected not a person but a ghost of one.

˚ ༘♡ you thought, bitterly, that the solitude would break you long before anyone had the chance to pull a trigger. this room had become a prison in every sense, its walls closing in, your own mind a tormentor. it felt like time itself was disparaging you, dragging endlessly on.

˚ ༘♡ on what must have been the third day, something shattered the monotonous rhythm. the muffled voices on the floor below you grew louder, more agitated, their tones sharper and more frantic. you pressed your ear to the door, your pulse quickening as you tried to make out the words. and then, suddenly, a gunshot.

˚ ༘♡ the sound was deafening and raucous. you flinched violently, stumbling back from the door, your heart hammering so hard it felt as though it might burst. the echo of the shot reverberated through the building, and then, silence. ominous, oppressive silence.

˚ ༘♡ your mind raced. had someone been killed? one of the hostages? one of the criminals? your breath quickened, each inhale feeling more shallow than the last. you strained to hear anything beyond the stillness, but nothing came.

˚ ༘♡ minutes ticked by like hours before the sound of approaching footsteps outside your door made you freeze. the lock clicked, and the door creaked open. berlin stepped in, and the sight of him sent a surge of fear crashing over you.

˚ ༘♡ he looked different. the composed, almost smug demeanor he had worn like armor before was gone. sweat clung to his sun-tanned skin, and his dark hair was damp, strands clinging to his forehead. his movements were sharp, erratic, like a man barely keeping control of something volatile within himself.

˚ ༘♡ “don’t move,” he rasped, his voice rough, the edge of it sharper than you’d ever heard before.

˚ ༘♡ you stood motionless, your body locked in place as he strode toward you with purpose. without warning, his hand slid along your midriff and waist, his touch invasive and deliberate.

˚ ༘♡ “what are you doing?” you managed to ask, your voice trembling as his fingers moved down to your hips. the sensation made your skin crawl, a mixture of fear and indignation boiling inside you.

˚ ༘♡ “making sure you’re not carrying something you shouldn’t be,” he replied coldly, his eyes narrowing as they bored into yours. his gaze was darker than before, something dangerous simmering just beneath the surface. “one of your co-workers decided to do something moronic,” he continued, his tone flat yet menacing. “and that will be the first and last time anything of that sort happens under my watch.”

˚ ༘♡ you swallowed hard, your throat dry as his words sank in. he stepped back slightly, but the tension in the air remained suffocating.

˚ ༘♡ “rules exist for a reason,” he said, his voice strained with warning. “and when they’re broken, there are consequences. severe ones.”

˚ ༘♡ his words dripped with malice, each syllable a remnant of the power he held. you didn’t need to ask what had happened downstairs, the gunshot told you everything. berlin’s words weren’t merely a warning, they were a promise.

˚ ༘♡ you stood there, trembling, your thoughts plagued with what might have led to the shot, who might have paid the price. you didn’t dare ask, he would not tell you. berlin’s gaze lingered on you for a second longer before he turned, his steps swift and purposeful.

˚ ༘♡ “wait,” you called out, your voice hushed but adequate enough to be heard through the quiet.

˚ ༘♡ berlin stopped in his tracks, his body tense, the sharp turn of his head exuding equal parts vexation and interest. his piercing eyes locked onto yours, and for a minute, he said nothing, letting the weight of his stare bear down on you. “what?” he demanded, his tone jeering, eyebrows raised in irritation.

˚ ༘♡ your gaze flicked down to the pistol strapped to his holster, then back up to his face. the thought that had formed in your mind was reckless, desperate, but it burned too fiercely to ignore. perhaps it was the days of isolation gnawing at your sanity, the endless hours of silence breaking you down. perhaps it was the suffocating fear that someone you knew might have just been killed, their life burnt out like a candle while you sat helplessly. or perhaps it was simply madness. whatever the reason, you made your choice.

˚ ༘♡ your legs moved before your mind could catch up. closing the distance between you, your breath unstable as you stood mere inches from him. berlin’s expression flashed with surprise, his body stiffening at your sudden proximity. you leaned in, your trembling lips brushing against his, and kissed him.

˚ ༘♡ for a heartbeat, everything stopped. the air seemed to crackle with tension, your pulse roaring in your ears. you had half-expected him to shove you away, to respond with mockery or fury, but he didn’t. instead, berlin leaned into you, his lips pressing firmly against yours. his hands, strong and willful, slid into your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he deepened the kiss. his touch was practiced, commanding, and for a vanishing instant, you felt yourself lose control, immersed in the sudden intimacy.

˚ ༘♡ but the pistol. your mind screamed at you, yanking you back to reality. your hand moved instinctively, reaching for the cold grip of his weapon, but your fingers hesitated, trembling just inches away. the weight of what you were attempting began to sink in. even if you managed to grab it, even if you were fast enough, berlin still had his rifle slung over his shoulder. he was trained, dangerous, and ruthless. you would be dead before you even had a chance to fire. the consequences of your impulsive plan became glaringly clear, and your resolve vanished.

˚ ༘♡ finally, you broke the kiss, your breath uneven as you stepped back, your lips tingling from the lingering heat of his. berlin didn’t move for a short while, his hand still resting in your hair, his expression indistinct. slowly, he straightened, wiping the corner of his mouth with a measured motion. your crimson lipstick had left a faint stain on his lips, a warm mark against his otherwise cold exterior.

˚ ༘♡ he glanced down at his fingers, then back at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “you’re a lovely girl,” he said, his tone soft but laced with condescension, “but don’t you think you’re a little young for me?”

˚ ༘♡ his words stung, slashing through the haze of your reckless attempt. he reached for his pistol, not in alarm, but almost as if reminding you of its presence, and adjusted it in the holster, his gaze glistening with quiet amusement.

˚ ༘♡ “nice try,” he added, his voice low, his smirk widening slightly. “but let me give you some advice, don’t start something you can’t finish.”

˚ ༘♡ the door creaked open again, breaking the heated tension, and this time, it was nairobi and tokyo who stepped inside, their presence an abrupt shift in the air. their eyes immediately fell on you and berlin, and their expressions morphed into those of stunned bewilderment. nairobi’s brows shot up, her gaze drifting between berlin’s crimson-stained lips and your disheveled appearance. your hair was still messy, your lipstick smeared, and your clothes rumpled from the chaos of the last few moments. tokyo’s expression, however, was sharper, her eyes narrowing as she took in the scene with a mix of suspicion and barely concealed fury.

˚ ༘♡ “i think our hostage has developed stockholm syndrome,” nairobi said with a laugh, her voice breaking through the awkward atmosphere. her tone was playful, almost teasing, as if she were enjoying the absurdity of the situation.

˚ ༘♡ you flushed with embarrassment, heat rising to your cheeks. being seen like this, vulnerable, exposed, was humiliating, and nairobi’s comment only deepened the shame aching in your chest. you glanced away, trying to avoid their gazes, but it was futile. they had already seen enough.

˚ ༘♡ “berlin!” tokyo snapped, her voice sharp and accusatory. “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

˚ ༘♡ the shift in berlin’s demeanor was immediate and unmistakable. his jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened, his irritation rising to the surface. it was clear from the way he glared at tokyo that he despised her, there was no mistaking the loathing in his face.

˚ ༘♡ “what do you want?” berlin demanded, his tone malicious and impatient. “this better be important.”

˚ ༘♡ tokyo crossed her arms, rolling her eyes at his deflection. “the professor wants to speak to the defense minister’s daughter.”

˚ ༘♡ the mention of the professor sent a chill down your spine. berlin’s presence was terrifying enough, but the professor, this unseen mastermind pulling the strings, was a obscure figure who appeared even more dangerous in his absence.

a/n: let me know your thoughts and if you have anymore requests for money heist!!! 🤍

[kaira-diaries]

Backstabber: part two

warning: (mentions of trauma/violence)(fluff)(mentions of smut)(yearning angst)(mentions of anxiety/panic attack)

pairing: (fem!reader x In-ho)

word count: 9.7k

a/n: ok ok i know the gif is Mr. Sunshine but rn for the story we're just going to pretend it's not. Was severely hungover while writing this but alas! we got it done. This has been a long time coming & happy reading! (also, is college kicking anyone else's ass already?)

summary: after the events of the games y/n finds herself trying to get back to normalcy and move past the pain of it all, but finds herself back at square one because of a certain someone (wink wink)

read part one here <-

masterlist<-

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The city glowed in a kaleidoscope of colors, each hue of the rainbow shimmering like liquid fire against the slick pavement. Neon signs pulsed with life, their reflections stretching and warping in the puddles that pooled on the streets. The rainfall tapped rhythmically against the windshield as the rivulets of water distorted the view outside. Through the blurred glass, the vibrant lights fractured into streaks, painting the dark skyline in smudged prisms of gold, crimson, and indigo.

Your heart swelled with a deep, comforting joy as you drove through the city.

The evening had been perfect—your father was more vibrant and full of life than you’d ever seen, his laughter echoing in your mind like a melody. Your mother’s eyes sparkled with a youthful radiance, her smile brighter than it had been in years, carrying you back to the carefree days of your childhood. For the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right.

When you returned home from the games a year ago, you and Mina made a quiet, resolute decision to sever ties with the relentless chaos of city life. Together, you retreated to the countryside, finding solace in a small, sunlit apartment nestled among rolling hills and whispering trees. The reason was undeniable: the city was haunted. Every corner, every shadow seemed to echo with memories of him—his laughter, his absence, the pain he left behind. It was suffocating, an endless maze of reminders too overwhelming to bear.

So, you both sought a fresh start in a place neither of you had ever called home. The countryside offered a fragile peace, with its golden fields swaying in the breeze and its nights bathed in quiet starlight. Yet, no matter how far you ran, the games had marked you. Their weight lingered in the quiet moments, carving scars so deep you often wondered if they’d ever fade. They had changed you in ways you couldn’t fully articulate, reshaping your very soul, leaving you to navigate a new life that felt as unfamiliar as the land beneath your feet.

Yes, the city haunted you more than you cared to admit, its streets brimming with ghosts of a life you couldn’t outrun. Yet, no matter how heavy the weight of its memories, you couldn’t—wouldn’t—keep away from your parents. They had been your anchor, their concern cutting through your walls with relentless questions about In-ho. What had happened to him? Where had he gone? Were you okay? You could only muster a half-truth, your voice steady but hollow: “He’s okay. We just broke it off. It’s what’s best—so he could focus on his business.” It wasn’t much, but it was enough. The way their eyes lingered on you, filled with implicit understanding, told you they knew better. Yet, the quiet pain etched into your face kept them from prying further.

Now, behind the wheel, your grip tightened on the steering wheel as you approached a red light, the tension in your shoulders mounting as you flinched. A black sedan pulled up too close to your rear bumper, its sleek frame barely visible in your rain-speckled mirror. Your stomach tightened, a chill crawling up your spine, familiar yet unwelcome. You sighed, a long, unsteady exhale, the weight of recognition settling over you. You knew this feeling. You knew him.

As the light flickered green, you pressed on, refusing to look back, your foot steady on the gas. The city’s glow blurred in the corners of your vision, but you didn’t spare an ounce of energy on the creeping dread that clung to you like a shadow. Not tonight. Not now. You moved forward, letting the rhythm of the rain and the hum of the engine carry you through the labyrinth of streets, your focus on the road ahead and nothing else.

You were nearing the edge of the city when your eyes caught sight of the gallery, its elegant facade proudly displaying your name in bold, polished letters. It should have felt like triumph, like validation, but all it brought was a fragile kind of grounding, tethering you to the moment before your thoughts spiraled. It was Mina who had believed in you when you couldn’t believe in yourself, who pushed you to pick up the brush again, to pour your fractured soul into something tangible. Without her, you doubted you would’ve had the strength to confront the canvas.

Growing up, you’d been told over and over that art was a pipe dream, a risky gamble that only fools and dreamers dared chase. But after coming so close to death, what was left to fear? You found the courage—or perhaps the desperation—to create again. Yet, no amount of bravery could erase the color red from your world.

Red.

The very thought of it was a visceral wound, one that tore through you without warning. It wasn’t just a color—it was a specter of guilt, a reminder of lives lost in the cruelest ways. You had seen it splattered across your skin, warm and unrelenting, as innocent eyes stared back at you, lifeless and unblinking. Red was not paint; it was blood. It was screams. It was nightmares.

Now, it was banished. Banished from your paintings, your wardrobe, your home—your entire existence. The sight of it made your stomach twist and your chest ache, the weight of memory crashing over you like a tidal wave. The gallery was proof of your survival, but the absence of red was proof of your scars, the kind that no brushstroke could ever cover.

The breeze wove through your long hair like a gentle whisper as you cracked a window. It was cool and invigorating as you left the city’s glow behind. The hum of your car faded into the rhythm of nature, and the road ahead curved through rolling hills cloaked in darkness. The earth seemed to rise and fall around you, cradling you in its quiet embrace as you drew closer to home.

Above, the night sky stretched endlessly, a masterpiece painted in shades of inky black and deep indigo. The moon hung low and luminous, its surface dappled with grey and white, casting a soft silver light over the landscape. Wisps of clouds drifted lazily across its face, their edges glowing faintly as if kissed by moonlight. Far in the distance, the horizon blurred into a dreamy collage of shadowy mountains and faintly silhouetted buildings, their shapes barely discernible against the star-strewn canvas above.

The scene was mesmerizing, a quiet symphony of beauty that filled the silence in your car and kept your thoughts company. For twenty blissful minutes, you soaked in the view, letting it anchor you in the present and wash away the weight of the day. When you finally turned into your driveway, the familiar sight of your home greeted you, nestled in the hills like a haven waiting to welcome you back.

Stepping through the front door, you let out a tired sigh, kicking off your shoes with a dull thud against the wall. The click of the lock behind you echoed in the quiet house as you shrugged off your pink jacket, the fabric still damp from the night rain. You hung it on the hook beside Mina’s oversized sweater, the two garments swaying gently together like old friends. The promise of relaxation beckoned as you made your way into the living room—until the scene before you sent a jolt through your system.

Your pulse leaped as you froze in place, a startled yelp escaping your lips. “Oh my god!” you exclaimed, spinning on your heel to shield your vision, hand slapping over your eyes. It was Mina—and her boyfriend, James—entwined on the couch, caught mid-act in a moment that no amount of bleach could ever scrub from your memory.

Mina let out a mortified shriek of her own, scrambling off James with the grace of a cat caught stealing food. She grabbed for a blanket nearby, throwing it over herself with a flushed face and wide eyes. “Jesus, Mina, my eyes!” you groaned, your voice dripping with disbelief and exasperation.

Snorting despite her embarrassment, Mina shot back, “Could’ve made yourself known, babe!”

You scoffed, still shielding your face. “Could’ve taken your boyfriend to the privacy of your damn room!” Your voice wavered between frustration and sheer mortification as you heard a muffled laugh from James.

Finally, Mina muttered something about being "decent," and you cautiously dropped your hand, still squinting in case of lingering trauma. Your gaze landed on James, who leaned back on the couch with an infuriating smirk plastered across his face.

“James,” you said flatly, your expression twisted in barely concealed disgust.

“Y/N,” he replied coolly, nodding his head like this was the most casual encounter in the world.

Five minutes later, James slipped out the door, murmuring something vague about an early workday. You didn’t bother to reply; the sound of the latch clicking shut was far more satisfying than anything you could have said. In the kitchen, you leaned against the counter, staring at the stove as the kettle slowly heated. The soft hiss of water simmering filled the quiet space, and the faint aroma of ginger tea grounds you. It was exactly what you needed after… that.

Mina emerged from her room in a plush robe, her damp hair hanging loosely around her shoulders. She hummed a cheerful tune, completely unbothered by the awkwardness of earlier. Spotting you at the stove, she grinned and opened the cabinet, pulling down a mug. “Ooh, make me some too,” she chimed, her voice light and casual. Without waiting for a response, she settled onto the couch, her notebook and a mess of papers spread across the cushions as she began flipping through her homework.

Despite her antics, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of pride as you watched her. Mina, for all her reckless decisions and impulsive streaks, had come a long way. The debts that once weighed her down like a ball and chain were gone, erased thanks to the money In-ho had given her—a bittersweet reminder of him. She’d left her destructive gambling habits in the past, choosing instead to enroll in college and focus on building something real for herself. You admired her for it, even if she still did dumb things like… well, five minutes ago.

The sharp whistle of the kettle snapped you back to the present. You turned off the burner and poured the steaming water over the ginger tea bags, the fragrant steam curling in the air as you filled both mugs. Carefully, you carried them to the coffee table, setting one in front of Mina before claiming your own.

Instead of sitting on the couch beside her, you chose the floor, folding your legs under you and leaning your back against the side of the coffee table. The image of James smirking on that couch was still too fresh, and you weren’t about to risk reactivating that trauma.

Mina glanced up from her notes, a mischievous glint in her eye as she took a sip of her tea. “Still mad?” she teased.

You shot her a glare over the rim of your mug, muttering, “I’ll get over it. Eventually.”

Mina giggled softly, the sound light and teasing as she took another sip of her tea before setting the mug back down on the coffee table. “How are the old folks?” she asked, leaning back into the couch cushions, her robe bunching around her elbows.

You shrugged, your fingers tightening around the warm ceramic of your mug. “Same old. Happy, healthy.”

Her smile deepened, filling with an undeniable warmth that softened her usual playful demeanor. “We got really lucky,” she said quietly, her voice carrying an earnestness that made you pause.

You let out a noncommittal hum. “I guess,” you murmured, your eyes fixed on the tea swirling in your cup.

Mina sighed, the sound heavy with meaning, and when you glanced up, her expression was serious. “I know what happened was... awful, y/n. I have scars too.” Her voice softened, the raw honesty in her tone cutting through the air like a whisper against your soul. “And I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m proud of you. Of me. Of us.”

Her gaze locked with yours, filled with genuine love and unspoken understanding. The weight of it settled over you like a blanket, and without thinking, you leaned forward, pressing your hand gently over hers where it rested on the couch. “I am too,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Your eyes dropped to your tea, the surface still steaming, faint ripples distorting your reflection. The image wavered, much like your thoughts, and the memories clawed their way back to the surface. What happened was terrible, you thought. The image of In-ho’s face flashed in your mind—the moment his hand slipped from your waist, the cold finality of his silence after you had laid it all bare. Your ultimatum had hung in the air like a blade, and his lack of response had been a response all its own. He had made his choice, and you had been the one left behind.

A sharp ache rose in your chest, unbearable and relentless, like a bruise being pressed too hard. Your throat tightened, and before you realized it, a tear threatened to slip down your cheek. You wiped it away quickly, as if denying its presence could erase the pain too.

“Y/n,” Mina’s voice broke through, soft yet cautious, filled with empathy. Her eyes were on you, studying you like she could see the cracks forming. She didn’t push, didn’t prod—just called to you in a way only she could, grounding you before the sorrow could drown you entirely.

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to clear the sting in your eyes, and lifted your mug again, letting its warmth anchor you. “I’m okay,” you murmured, more to yourself than her.

You cleared your throat, shifting in your seat as you tried to steady your voice. “My gallery looked great on the way home,” you said, steering the conversation into safer waters.

Mina’s face lit up instantly, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “The gallery show is going to be amazing!” she gushed, clapping her hands together like a kid on Christmas morning. Then, her expression turned sly. “We gotta talk outfits.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Mina, seriously?”

“What?” she said, feigning offense as she leaned forward dramatically, her robe slipping off one shoulder like she was auditioning for a soap opera. “This is your art, babe! Out in the world! Your name is growing—you’re practically famous now.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying not to grin. “Let’s not get carried away.”

“I’m serious,” she continued, pointing a finger at you like she was delivering an intervention. “I’ll be damned if I let you show up to your own gallery show looking like—like poop.”

You burst out laughing, nearly spilling your tea. “Poop? Really, Mina? That’s your big motivational speech?”

She shrugged, taking a sip of her tea with the most nonchalant expression you’d ever seen. “Hey, I’m just saying. Your art deserves a look. Something bold. Something sexy. Something that says, ‘I paint masterpieces, and I could also steal your man.’”

You doubled over, clutching your stomach as the laughter rolled out of you. “You are unbelievable.”

“Thank you,” she said with a smug smile, raising her mug in a toast. “Now, I’m thinking black dress, black heels. You’ll look hot, mysterious, and rich. Total triple threat.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, letting Mina’s playful excitement wash over you. But even as you smiled, that nagging thought returned, creeping into your mind like a shadow. Your name is growing—you’re practically famous now. The words bounced around in your head, but the more you thought about them, the less certain they felt.

There was the real weight of it—the fear that gnawed at your insides, the fear of being found. In-ho. His face, his voice, the way he had slipped out of your life with no real answer, no real closure. The thought of him lurking in the background, somewhere out there, made your chest tighten with dread.

________

Your black gown gleamed under the soft, ambient lighting of the gallery, the fabric flowing gracefully as you moved through the space. The ceilings soared above you, high and vaulted, their pale elegance juxtaposed with the golden glow of the chandeliers that hung like jewels, casting shimmering reflections across the room. The air was filled with the delicate scent of fresh paint—a subtle reminder of the work that had gone into creating the very walls you now stood beside.

The entire gallery radiated warmth, both in its inviting atmosphere and the rich tones of the wood flooring beneath your feet. The walls, a gentle cream, embraced each of your breathtaking paintings, their vibrant colors popping against the soft backdrop. Each piece was lit by strategically placed lights, their glow accentuating every brushstroke, every detail, allowing your art to breathe within the spacious, airy room.

The space felt alive—alive with the pulse of your skill, the soft hum of voices and footsteps mingling with the soft music of the room. Between the intricate molding along the walls and the polished surfaces, there was an undeniable elegance in the air, as if the gallery itself was a work of art.

Every single one of your paintings was up for sale, except for one. It hung on the wall, almost like a secret tucked away among the rest, its presence more intimate than the others. You watched as your family gathered around it—Mina, James, your parents—all admiring the colors, the brushstrokes. It was your mother's favorite, so you had saved it just for her. No amount of her objections could convince you to let her pay for it. It was a gift, one she didn’t need to argue for.

A cordial smile spread across your face as you observed the happiness that radiated from your loved ones. Their laughter and excitement filled the space, and you couldn’t help but feel proud. You continued your slow walk through the gallery, taking in the joy that seemed to pulse through the room.

You couldn’t help but chuckle when you spotted your agent—an energetic whirlwind, buzzing from one person to the next, mingl..chatting up a storm, shaking hands, and making deals. She was a riot, always moving at a mile a minute, but you loved her for it. Without her, this night wouldn’t be the success it was.

But then, your pace slowed. You came upon the first painting you had made after years of silence. The piece felt almost sacred in its own way as if it held a part of you that nothing else could.

It was a portrait—of eyes. His eyes. In-ho’s eyes. The ones that had once looked at you with a depth you couldn’t forget, even if you tried. The brushstrokes were wide and purposeful, capturing the passion of those eyes in a way that felt almost too raw to bear. You had painted the eyes of a man who no longer existed, a man whose memory you had tried to preserve through this one simple piece.

You felt Mina step up beside you, her presence familiar and comforting as always. Her voice was soft, inquisitive. "I always wondered why you painted him," she said, her gaze fixed on the canvas before you.

You sighed, your chest tightening as you looked into those painted eyes. The memories rushed back, but they were no longer as painful as they once were. "I guess I wanted one last look," you began, your voice thick with emotion, "in the eyes of the man I remembered him to be."

You paused, your fingers brushing the edge of the frame as you spoke. "His warmth. His love. I preferred that fiction over the fact of who he turned out to be. A murderer."

You could feel Mina’s quiet understanding beside you. There was no judgment, no need for more words. She just stood with you, letting the weight of the moment settle between you both.

Mina had excused herself a moment later, disappearing into the restroom with a brief, apologetic smile, leaving you standing alone in front of the painting of In-ho. The eyes in the portrait seemed to follow you, a silent reminder of everything you had tried to forget. You couldn’t tear your gaze away, the quiet hum of the gallery around you blending into the background. Time seemed to stretch, the only thing real in the moment being the image before you—the man you had once known, captured forever in paint.

Just as you were lost in thought, a burst of energy tore through the air, and your agent appeared in front of you, practically bouncing with excitement. She squealed so loudly it almost startled you. "Ahh, y/n!" she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with elation. "I've got wonderful news!"

You had to reach out and grab her shoulders to steady her as she nearly hopped out of her skin, her enthusiasm almost too much to contain. You couldn’t help but giggle, the infectious energy pulling you from your reverie. "Okay, okay, what is it?"

She took your hands in hers, her grip tight with barely contained joy. "Your entire collection has been sold," she declared, her voice cracking with excitement.

You froze, your heart leaping into your throat. For a moment, everything seemed to stop, the words hanging in the air like a dream you weren’t sure you could believe. You had to cover your mouth with your hands as if to prevent the shock from spilling out in the form of a gasp. "What... who?"

Before she could respond, a voice—his voice—slashed through the atmosphere, smooth and unmistakable. It hit you like a cold wave, the shock of it rushing through your veins. "I never knew you had a knack for the arts."

The words settled in your chest, each syllable like a stone thrown into still water. Your breath caught in your throat, and your body tensed, as if time had frozen. There, standing at the entrance of the gallery, was In-ho—his presence as commanding as ever, his gaze nailed on you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. Your agent looked between the two of you, a slight frown knitting her brows. You heard her mumble just before excusing herself, surely picking up on the change in the air, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him.

Your sanity seemed to unravel in an instant, a quiet thread snapping, leaving you exposed and trembling. The ability to breathe, something you had taken for granted, felt stolen from you in a cruel, suffocating moment. He stood there, looking just the same as he did a year ago—too the same. In his all-black attire, the sharp cut of his suit made him seem impossibly distant, yet his red-bottomed shoes gleamed like a cruel reminder of the life you once shared. The man you had loved—maybe even still loved—was here, standing in front of you like a ghost you had desperately tried to bury.

Your body betrayed you, as it always did in moments like this. As he took a few slow, deliberate steps toward you, calling your name, every inch of you screamed to flee, to run, but your legs refused to obey. You found yourself moving backward in sync with him, each step matching his, like a puppet on invisible strings. The ground beneath your feet felt unstable, as though you were walking on glass, and you could hear the sound of your own heart pounding so loudly that it threatened to drown out everything else.

Your vision blurred. Your breath became shallow, ragged, as your mind raced to make sense of what was happening, but there was no escape from the crushing reality of it. This man—this man—was the reason your chest had once felt full of warmth, and now, he was the reason it felt as though every breath was being stolen from you.

You stood frozen, paralyzed by fear, as the memories of what you once shared crashed into you like waves in a storm. Three years. Three years of your life—maybe even more—lost but still echoing in the pit of your stomach. The implicit words between you and him were suffocating, the weight of his presence like a pressure pressing in from all sides.

It was as if time itself had stopped, your body locked in place, unable to move, unable to think. But then, like a break in the tension, a sound shattered the air—a crash. You snapped back to reality as you saw Mina, her champagne glass slipping from her fingers, sending shards of glass skittering across the floor in a violent spray. The noise was deafening, but it was nothing compared to the silence between you and In-ho, the suffocating silence that lingered like a storm cloud over your head.

Mina’s face twisted with pure disgust as her eyes locked on him, her body stiffening as she processed the sight of him. The contempt in her gaze was palpable, but her focus quickly shifted to you—to you, the one who was standing there, paralyzed in the wake of his presence. Without a word, she moved toward you, her hand grabbing your arm with urgency, pulling you away from him.

James was right behind, his grip gentle yet firm on your shoulders, a soft, steadying force in the chaos. But no touch could calm the frantic pulse racing through your veins. Your body felt as though it were vibrating with panic, your chest too tight, your breath too shallow. The room seemed to close in around you, the walls pressing in like a suffocating vise. You couldn’t breathe—you couldn’t think. The overwhelming, bone-deep fear that had settled into your bones was blurring your vision, making every step feel like an eternity.

You couldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be here, not with him, not in this moment, not in this suffocating air thick with memories you had buried deep.

With a sharp, desperate pull, you wrenched yourself from Mina’s grip, the sound of her shocked gasp barely registering as you moved. Your feet were moving before your brain could catch up, the instinct to escape roaring louder than everything else. You darted for the doors, the sound of your heart in your ears drowning out the world around you.

You ran—no, you fled. Past the warm golden light of the gallery, past the hum of conversations, and straight toward the exit. You could hear your name being called—his voice—but you refused to acknowledge it. It felt like a rope pulling at you, trying to drag you back into the darkness of everything you had tried to escape.

The doors slammed open in front of you, the cool night air hitting your face like a slap, but you didn’t care. Every step was a fight against the panic that gripped you, a fight against the crushing need to keep moving, to keep running. You could feel the weight of the past pressing against your back, but you pushed forward, ignoring the thumping in your chest, ignoring the tears threatening to fall.

You had to get away.

_______

You found yourself on the nearest rooftop balcony, the city sprawled beneath you in a sea of lights and shadows. The buildings below were faint silhouettes against the dark sky, their windows flickering with life in a world you felt distantly removed from. The cool night air kissed your skin, a small comfort in the stillness that surrounded you. It had taken you nearly an hour to find some semblance of calm, your pulse finally beginning to slow after the frantic rush of fear.

Now, you sat on the edge of the rooftop, your legs dangling carelessly over the side, feet swaying slightly as they hovered inches above the air. The vastness of the city before you seemed to stretch endlessly, the lights below like stars scattered across a canvas too large to take in all at once. Your palms rested in your lap, fingers tense but unmoving, as if your body no longer belonged to you.

You knew you should be heading back to Mina, that you couldn’t stay here, isolated, like some lost fragment of yourself. But you couldn’t bring yourself to move. It was as though your body had forgotten how to function, paralyzed in the space between where you had been and where you needed to go. You couldn’t feel a thing—no warmth, no cold, just an emptiness that echoed in the hollow of your chest.

The world around you seemed muted, distant. Even the sound of the wind brushing through the city, the hum of life below, felt too far away. Then, faintly, you heard the rooftop door creak open behind you. A soft click as it shut, followed by the steady rhythm of footsteps that grew closer with each passing second.

You didn’t need to turn, didn’t need to acknowledge it. You knew it was him—the presence that had once filled your life with warmth, now a shadow that haunted your every step.

Still, you remained frozen. Your gaze stayed fixed on the city ahead of you, watching the endless rows of lights flicker in the distance. You couldn’t look back. You couldn’t face him again.

You let out a long, heavy sigh, the sound barely audible over the hum of the city below. Your gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon, the neon lights of a billboard flickering against the night sky, as if they too were too distracted to focus. You didn’t want to look at him. You didn’t want to acknowledge the weight of his presence that seemed to press in from behind, suffocating the already thick air.

“Why are you here?” Your voice was cold, detached, as if you were asking a question you already knew the answer to, but still needed to hear.

He didn’t respond immediately, and you could feel him take a slow step forward. You refused to glance in his direction, but the quiet shift in the air told you everything you needed to know. He was close now, too close. The scrape of his shoes against the concrete was barely audible, but it was enough to send a shiver down your spine. He leaned against the rooftop’s edge beside you, his body close enough that you could feel his warmth, yet you remained perfectly still, frozen in your resolve.

“I want… I want to try again,” he said, his voice low and tentative, like a fragile promise hovering in the air between you. There was an edge of vulnerability to it, something that clawed at the pieces of you still willing to believe.

You snorted without thinking, the sound bitter and dismissive. Your eyes flicked to the billboard in the distance, the bright lights blinking at you like an illusion—a distraction from the truth. “Leave,” you said, your tone sharp and unwavering. You turned your head slightly, but kept your gaze fixed on the far-off ad, your jaw tight. “You’re wasting your time.”

The words felt like a weight lifted from your chest, but the moment they left your mouth, they felt hollow, the empty space they created echoing back at you. You didn’t want to hear the words, didn’t want to see the man who had once been everything to you standing there, asking for something you could never give him again.

“You never told me about your painting.” His voice was soft, almost too gentle, as if testing the waters, waiting for a crack in your armor.

You swallowed hard, the words like gravel in your throat. "There's a lot of things you don’t know about me anymore," you shot back, your voice colder than you intended, but you couldn’t help it. The words hung between you, each syllable another stone thrown into the chasm that had opened between you. A sudden breeze tugged at your hair, lifting it from your face like a tender reminder of everything you had. But now? Now, it felt like the wind was pushing you away from him.

He stood up, his movements slow, deliberate, and yet, there was a sense of urgency in the way he stepped closer to you. “I doubt that very much, y/n.” His voice was thick with something you couldn’t place—hope? Regret? Whatever it was, it grated against your already raw nerves.

Without thinking, you jumped down from the ledge you’d been sitting on. The movement was sharp and instinctive as if putting distance between you both could somehow silence the noise in your head. Your feet hit the ground with a soft thud, but it felt like the sound reverberated through your chest, shaking your bones. You lifted your hand, instinctively warding him off, your fingers trembling with a mix of anger and something far more painful. “No.” The word came out sharper than you meant, but it was all you could muster as you finally met his gaze. His eyes were weary, so weary, but there was warmth there, too—an impossible warmth that threatened to break you.

“Just… no.” You repeated, the words tasting bitter on your tongue, your chest tight. You took another step back, the distance between you growing but feeling like an ocean. “You made your decision. And in a way, I’m glad you did.”

His confusion was palpable, his head angling as if trying to decipher the pieces of you that were slipping through his fingers. You could see it in his eyes—the search for the woman he once knew, the woman who had loved him unconditionally. But she was gone.

"You have no idea what I had to go through to get to where I am.” The words fell out of you, raw and unfiltered, like a confession that had been buried beneath layers of pain, regret, and shattered trust. You didn’t want to say it, but you had to—he needed to hear it.

“I have yearned for you.” Your voice wavered for just a moment before you steadied yourself as if bracing for the impact. “Your touch, your smell, the way you used to make me feel alive… But I’ve realized again and again that my In-ho—the one I loved—is gone. And what’s left? What’s left is a killer.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, and you saw the flicker of pain pass through his features—an undeniable flash of regret, or maybe guilt, but it was fleeting. It wasn’t enough. Nothing could ever be enough to undo what had been done, to heal the wounds that had been carved into your soul.

You stood there, breath shallow, heart aching, staring at him as the distance between you felt vast, impossible to close. You weren’t the same person anymore, and neither was he.

A tear shimmered in his eye, threatening to fall, but it never did. His lip trembled, just slightly, betraying the carefully constructed composure he tried so hard to maintain. He nodded, his expression breaking with something raw, something vulnerable that you hadn’t seen in so long. It was the first crack in the wall he had built between you—the wall that had torn you both apart.

He took a step back as if distancing himself from the emotion that was rising between you like a tidal wave. Slowly, painfully, he turned away from you and started walking toward the rooftop door, each step heavy, weighted with finality. The space between you and him grew wider, and your chest tightened in protest, but you couldn’t move. You could barely breathe.

His hand hovered over the doorknob, and for a brief moment, time seemed to freeze. Then, with one last, reluctant motion, he grabbed it, his fingers curling around the cool metal. He hesitated, turning his head back toward you just before he stepped into the hallway.

The words he spoke were like a slow, fragile exhale—barely audible but cutting through you with the sharpness of a thousand knives. "For what it's worth, y/n," he said, his voice thick with emotion, the sound of it scraping against your heart. "I shut the games down."

Your chin jerked in his direction, your eyes widening in disbelief, a rush of shock and confusion sweeping over you. His eyes were glassy, distant, but there was something else in them, too—shame, maybe sorrow. And, beneath it all, a tenderness that still managed to break through.

"For you," he added, his voice faltering as if the words had cost him more than he could bear to admit.

You felt a tremor run through you as if the very ground beneath you had shifted. He had done it. Shut the industry down—for you, carrying out the ultimatum you had given. The realization hit you like a wave, crashing over every part of you that had ever loved him, ever believed in him.

In a flash, he was gone.

_______

You weren’t sure how you’d managed to end up in your bed, but fragments of the journey flickered in your memory—the way your legs had trembled beneath you, your hand gripping your stomach as nausea clawed its way through you. You could vaguely recall stumbling back to the gallery, the worried looks on Mina’s face blurring into the hum of voices, the soft touch of her hand guiding you. Now, you lay on your back in the quiet darkness of your room, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains and casting pale streaks across the ceiling.

Mina was beside you, her breaths slow and steady, her form curled beneath the blanket like a protective cocoon. The soft rhythm of her breathing should have been comforting, but your mind refused to settle. You couldn’t stop replaying his parting words, couldn’t stop turning them over and over in your head. “I shut the games down. For you.”

The weight of those words pressed against your chest, a maddening mixture of disbelief, confusion, and something else you couldn’t quite name. Why had he waited until now to tell you? Why had he carried that secret in silence all this time, letting you believe he was still the man who had abandoned you for something darker, something cruel?

A bitter scoff escaped your lips as you rolled onto your side, the mattress shifting slightly beneath you. Your hand curled into the pillow, your knuckles brushing against the cool fabric as you begged for sleep to come, to pull you into its merciful void. But your mind betrayed you, spinning endlessly, racing through memories and questions you didn’t want to face.

You cursed yourself for it—for allowing him to take up space in your thoughts, for spending even one more second on this when you should have let it go. But the harder you tried to push the thoughts away, the tighter they clung to you, like vines wrapping around your chest.

Your heart ached with the weight of all you had endured, the heartbreak layered upon heartbreak, carved into you by the games. The memories were jagged and raw, cutting into your mind no matter how much time passed. Yet, as painful as it all was, there was a flicker of something else—something that almost felt like peace.

The games were over. They were done. Nobody else would have to endure that nightmare, to face the horrors you had barely survived. And that knowledge, however faint, eased something deep within you, even if just for a moment. But still… he had betrayed you.

Your chest tightened again as you stared at the darkened wall, his face flashing in your mind, his eyes weary and regretful. And then the thought came, unbidden and unwanted—what if you allowed him to explain? What if you let him tell you everything, from the beginning?

The thought lingered, curling around you like a question you weren’t ready to answer. It was a dangerous thing, entertaining the idea of understanding, of finding closure. Yet, in its own way, it brought a strange kind of calm.

And it was that thought—fragile, confusing, and bittersweet—that finally lulled you into sleep, your breaths softening, your body relaxing as the tension melted away into the night.

_________________

It had been a long day—the longest. You sat stiffly in your office at the gallery, the faint hum of distant voices and footsteps barely reaching your ears. The weight of the day pressed down on you, heavier than the leather chair you were perched in. Your desk, usually a comforting space filled with the chaos of sketches and notes, felt foreign now, as though the air itself had shifted.

Your agent had called earlier, her voice brimming with urgency as she reminded you to sign over the paperwork for your collection to the buyer. You had chuckled at the simplicity of it, the practicality. Of course, it needed to be done. But beneath the surface of that mundane task, a strange sensation crept in—a quiet calmness, one you hadn’t felt in so long. This might be it. This might be your chance to finally get the closure you had been chasing in the recesses of your mind. Maybe, just maybe, you could finally get your explanation.

Your hands trembled slightly as you ran a cold, shaky hand through your curled hair, trying to smooth the strands that seemed to rebel against the order you so desperately sought. The thought of seeing him again, here, in this space, set your nerves alight.

And then, as if conjured by your thoughts, there he was.

In-ho knocked gently on the open door, his presence filling the room like a shadow stretching across the floor. He was composed, his suit perfectly pressed, but there was something different about him now—something weary in the way he carried himself, something almost fragile. You didn’t trust it, but you also couldn’t ignore it.

You gestured silently for him to sit, your throat too tight to speak just yet. He stepped inside, his movements measured, the soft sound of his shoes against the floor somehow louder than your own heartbeat. As he sank into the chair across from you, you stood, the paperwork clutched tightly in your hand. You circled around the desk, placing yourself directly in front of him, leaning back against the edge as if the furniture might anchor you.

The distance between you felt suffocating yet electric, and suddenly, you were aware of every small movement you made. You shifted, crossing your arms over your chest, a defensive barrier against the storm that was brewing inside you.

You couldn’t meet his eyes at first, not when the memory of everything you had said to him hung heavy between you. The words you’d hurled at him, sharp and unyielding, still lingered in the air, echoes of the heartbreak you hadn’t fully processed. And yet, even now, there was a part of you—a cursed, stubborn part of you—that begged you to apologize, to soften the sharp edges you’d used to shield yourself.

But you wouldn’t.

You wouldn’t apologize, not even as the tension between you thickened, not even as your heart screamed at you to do so. He didn’t deserve your apology, not after everything he had done.

The silence stretched on, heavy and taut, as you held the paperwork in your hands, your fingers clutching the edges tightly.

Your eyes flicked to him as he sat, legs crossed with an air of practiced ease, his confident demeanor filling the room like he owned every inch of it. Even now, after everything, In-ho carried himself with the kind of composure that could command a crowd—or, in this case, silence. His posture was effortless, but his presence was anything but. Every movement, every breath he took seemed calculated, deliberate, as if even his stillness was designed to draw attention.

You cleared your throat, breaking the thick, unspoken tension that lingered between you like a cloud. “From the beginning,” you said firmly, your voice cutting through the quiet. It wasn’t a request—it was a demand.

His gaze flicked to yours, sharp yet unreadable, and for a moment, you thought he might push back, deflect, or stall. But instead, he gave a slight, measured nod as if he’d been expecting this all along. He gestured toward the door with a slow, deliberate motion, his eyes locking on yours.

“Shut the door,” he said simply, his voice low and calm yet carrying the weight of something far deeper.

You hesitated for just a beat, long enough for your heart to stutter in your chest. Then, wordlessly, you turned and walked to the door, the sound of your footsteps echoing faintly in the quiet room. The faint click of the latch as you shut it behind you felt like the closing of a chapter—or perhaps the opening of one you weren’t sure you wanted to read.

With the door closed, the room seemed smaller, the air thicker. You made your way back to your spot against the desk, leaning into it with an unspoken attempt to steady yourself. The papers in your hand brushed against the wood, but your focus was on him now—on the way he sat, still composed, as if he had all the time in the world.

And yet, you noticed the slight shift in his shoulders, the faint tension in the way his hands rested on his knee. He wasn’t as calm as he wanted you to believe.

You crossed your arms again, this time more for yourself than anything else, and tilted your head slightly, waiting. A strange mixture of anticipation and dread coiled in your stomach as your gaze bore into him, silently urging him to begin.

He looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before leaning forward just slightly, resting his forearms on his thighs. The movement was subtle, but it felt like a shift in the balance of the room, as though he was finally ready to open a door he had kept locked for far too long.

"I had played the games. Once before when I was younger." You straightened at that, fidgeting, as he watched you before continuing.

“My wife... she was sick,” he began, his voice trembling just enough to betray the emotions he was trying to hold back. “She was expecting our child, and I was desperate—so desperate. I didn’t see any other way, so I entered.” He paused, his gaze dropping to the floor as though the weight of the memory was too much to bear.

“My thought process was simple,” he continued, his tone quieter now, like he was speaking more to himself than to you. “I’d either save the life of the woman I loved and our baby… or die trying. There wasn’t an in-between for me. But when I made it out, when I finally had the money in my hands…” His voice cracked, and he looked away, swallowing hard. “It was too late.”

Your gaze softened, despite yourself, the sharp edges of your anger dulling for just a moment as your arms slowly uncrossed.

Your throat dried, and your hands shook.

"And then I found you," he looked up, locking eyes with you.

“You were everything—fierce, unshakable, and so utterly beautiful that it hurt to look at you sometimes. The day you left, it was like the air was stolen from my lungs. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move—like the world had come to a standstill, and I was left frozen in the neverending emptiness you left behind.”

He leaned back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with a weight that made your breath hitch. The intensity in his gaze wasn’t sharp—it was soft, regretful, and filled with something you hadn’t seen from him in a while: vulnerability.

“I ended the games the day you left,” he said quietly, his voice steady but thick with emotion, as though each word carried the burden of his actions.

You froze, the weight of his confession hitting you like a punch to the chest. Your teeth pressed into your cheek as you bit down, trying to steady yourself, trying not to let the shock show. But the tightness in your chest betrayed you, your hands fidgeting at your sides.

“I didn’t tell you,” he continued, his tone lower now, quieter, “because you needed to move on. You needed to heal from… from what I let happen. From what I allowed to become your nightmare.”

His voice cracked, just slightly, and he looked away for a fleeting moment, as if even he couldn’t bear the shame. When his eyes returned to yours, they glistened under the soft light, raw and open in a way that felt almost unbearable.

“I’m sorry, y/n,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, trembling under the weight of the words. “For all of it. For the despair I caused you. For the part I played in your agony. For… for breaking the one thing I swore I’d protect.”

You felt your chest tighten, the lump in your throat rising as his words settled over you, heavy and unrelenting. There was no deflecting the rawness of his confession, no mistaking the sincerity that poured from him like a dam finally breaking.

He didn’t try to justify himself further, didn’t try to fill the silence that followed. He just sat there, his gaze searching yours, silently asking for something you weren’t sure you could give—forgiveness, understanding, maybe even absolution.

You took a deep breath, your chest rising and falling as you tried to steady the storm of emotions swirling within you. For a moment, you stayed there, leaning against the desk, your fingers gripping the edge as if letting go might send you tumbling. But then, slowly, you pushed yourself away, your movements deliberate, each step toward him feeling like a quiet surrender to the moment.

He watched you approach, his gaze flickering with surprise and a cautious hope, as if he couldn’t quite believe you were closing the distance between you.

When you stopped in front of him, your heart pounded in your chest, but your hand was steady as you extended it toward him. The air between you felt charged, heavy with everything that had been said—and everything that hadn’t.

“Come on,” you said softly, your voice gentler now, the tension beginning to unravel at the edges. A small, almost tentative smile tugged at your lips, though you weren’t entirely sure if it was for him or for yourself. “Let’s get dinner.”

For a beat, he didn’t move, his eyes searching yours as though trying to understand this small gesture of truce. Then, finally, his lips quirked into the faintest semblance of a smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes but was enough to make something in your chest loosen.

He reached for your hand, his touch warm and grounding, his fingers wrapping around yours with a quiet reverence. As you helped him to his feet, the weight of everything between you seemed to shift—not gone, but lighter somehow.

________

Dinner had passed quicker than you anticipated, the hours slipping away like grains of sand through your fingers. Now, the two of you walked side by side down the dimly lit sidewalk, the city alive with a quiet hum. Neon lights shimmered above, their reflections dancing faintly on the wet pavement from a drizzle earlier in the evening. In the distance, the soft melody of a street performer’s guitar drifted through the air, mingling with the occasional chatter of passersby.

You bundled yourself tighter in your jacket, the chill nipping at your cheeks and nose, while In-ho walked beside you, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. His pace was slow, measured, matching yours as if he were careful not to overstep. The sound of your heels clicking against the concrete filled the silence between you, rhythmic and grounding, giving you something to focus on as your thoughts churned.

A question had been simmering in your mind all night, clawing for attention, refusing to let you push it aside any longer. You stole a glance at him, his profile illuminated briefly as you passed under a glowing streetlamp. His expression was neutral, unreadable as always, yet his presence felt heavier than the cold air.

Taking a steadying breath, you licked your lips, your voice breaking through the quiet. “Have you been following me?”

Your words dangled in the ambiance, remaining in the space between you like a sudden gust of wind.

He turned his head toward you, his steps faltering slightly as his eyes met yours. For a brief moment, his expression flickered—was it surprise? Guilt? Something else? You couldn’t tell. But the tension crackled like static, the city around you fading into the background as you waited for his answer.

He came to a complete stop, his body stiffening as if the weight of your question had rooted him to the ground. His eyes widened, the shock evident as they dropped to his polished shoes, unable—or perhaps unwilling—to meet yours as he rocked between his feet. The faint glow of the city lights above cast soft shadows over his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw and the subtle quiver in his lips.

You tilted your head, studying him with a mixture of resignation and frustration, a heavy sigh escaping your lips. “I knew it,” you muttered, the confirmation settling like a stone in your chest.

Your mind raced back to all those moments—the uneasy prickle at the back of your neck, the lingering sensation of being watched, the inexplicable certainty that he had been near. You remembered the black sedan at the light stop, the way your instincts had screamed his name even before your eyes had confirmed it.

In-ho lifted his gaze, and for a moment, there was something raw in his expression—an apology, perhaps, or a plea for understanding. But before you could decipher it, he moved. He stepped toward you, each footfall deliberate and unyielding, closing the distance between you with a quiet intensity that made your breath hitch.

When he finally stopped, he was closer than he had been all day, his presence towering yet strangely fragile, like he was holding himself together with sheer will as you looked up at him. His eyes softened as they locked onto yours, filled with something that looked like regret tangled with a need he couldn’t suppress.

“I ordered my men to keep their distance,” he admitted, his voice low and unsteady, each word weighed down with guilt. He paused, exhaling shakily as he raked a hand through his hair. “But I wanted to…” He faltered, his gaze breaking away for a moment before returning to you. “needed to make sure you were safe.”

His words hung in the air, raw and vulnerable, each syllable carrying the weight of his choices and the silent fear he hadn’t dared voice until now. You could see it—feel it—in the way his shoulders slumped slightly, as if the confession had cost him more than he was willing to show.

You turned away from him, your breath catching in your throat as you tried to steady yourself. The city lights blurred in your vision, the weight of his words pressing against your chest. You could feel the tears threatening to rise, but you fought them back, not wanting him to see how deeply his presence still affected you.

“I don’t know what to do with this, In-ho,” you whispered, your voice thick with uncertainty. You wiped at your eyes quickly, but it wasn’t enough to stop the tremor in your hands. “I don’t know what to do with you. With… all of this.” His eyes softened as he took a small step closer, but you didn’t look at him. You couldn’t—not right now.

“I don’t expect you to have the answers,” he said quietly, his tone more fragile than you had ever heard it. “I just…I want to make things right, even if I can’t fix everything.”

He took a tentative step closer, his movements slow, as if afraid that any sudden motion might cause you to pull away. You turned back to him. Your breath hitched in your throat, but you didn’t move. The space between you both felt electric, charged with unstated emotion, yet it was still so fragile.

Without saying a word, he reached up, his hand trembling slightly as it cupped your cheek. The warmth of his touch sent a wave of emotion crashing over you—everything you had locked away, all the longing and pain, threatening to break free.

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you closed your eyes for a moment, leaning into the softness of his touch, letting the comfort of it surround you like a fleeting memory. The space between you was still there, but this touch—this small, gentle act—felt like a lifeline.

Your heart was being pulled in two directions. The part of you that had loved him so fiercely, that had believed in him so completely, still burned with the longing for something—anything—to change. But the other part of you, the part that had been broken by his silence, by his choices, couldn’t see a clear way forward.

“I don’t know if I can let you back in,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, the words leaving your lips like an apology you weren’t ready to make. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that. ”You finally met his gaze, and there was a quiet desperation in his eyes that made your heartache. He didn’t say anything at first—he didn’t need to. His eyes said it all, full of hope and regret and an apology too big to fit into words.

Then without thinking, you whispered, “But I want to try.”

His gaze softened, something in his eyes shifting—relief, hope, or maybe both. Before either of you could speak again, you reached up, your fingers brushing his cheek as you leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. The moment felt fragile, full of all the things you had yet to say, and yet, it was everything that had remained unsaid.

When you pulled back, you found yourself searching his eyes, trying to piece together the weight of what was happening between you. You weren’t sure what the future held, but in that moment, you knew you wanted to try.

“I’ll be here,” In-ho whispered, his voice thick with something more than words. “However long it takes.”

[unabletonotlovesatoru]

.°⋆🖇₊˚ෆ synopsis: you’ve been visiting doctor nanami regularly under the pretense of needing treatment, but your lingering presence in his office starts to shift into something more. as flirtation deepens into real connection, nanami struggles to keep his distance, even though he can’t deny the pull he feels toward you.

₊˚ෆ teddy’s notes: GUYSSS ITS FINALLY HEREE!!! ive been working on this for a while now, thus is a love letter to nanami from me because ugh he is a dream. its just that ive been practicing in hospitals a lot and there was not enough beautiful male doctors so ive been daydreaming about doctor nanami and started writing it about 2 months ago. it took a long time because i was having a hard time writing, honestly. anyways! enjoyyy <33

₊˚ෆ contains: 4697 words, doctor! nanami, gender neutral reader, minor descriptions of injuries, a lot of nanami’s thoughts and internal conflicts, and maybe slow burn-ish? dunno, its just a silly one shot. artist credited in the banner!!

the hospital was quieter than usual. the hum of fluorescent lights above, the distant chatter of the staff—everything seemed muted as nanami kento walked down the sterile corridor. he had long learned to appreciate the calm of late-night shifts. in his world, filled with chaos and unpredictability, the silence was a reprieve.

when he walked into the examination room, clipboard in hand, he didn’t expect anything unusual. it was supposed to be just another routine visit, another night spent stitching up cuts or treating minor injuries. he hadn’t expected to be confronted with you.

you were sitting on the examination table, your hand bandaged up, looking like you had a thousand other places you’d rather be. nanami’s eyes immediately flicked to the injury. a small, superficial cut. barely worth a second glance. but there was something about you—something that felt out of place in the typical ebb and flow of hospital life.

when your eyes met his, nanami didn’t know why he lingered on your face. there was a softness in your gaze, an energy that seemed to pull him in. it wasn’t just the usual patient—uninjured, pretending to be hurt. no, you were different. he could see it in the way you carried yourself, in the subtle way your lips curved upward when he spoke.

“i understand you’ve injured yourself?” he asked, his voice steady and professional, but there was an edge to it. he was trying to suppress whatever curiosity had sparked in him the moment he laid eyes on you.

you didn’t seem fazed by the sterile setting, or his no-nonsense demeanor. instead, you smiled faintly, a little sheepish as you held out your hand, showing him the tiny cut that barely needed attention.

“it’s nothing, really. just a scrape,” you said, and he raised an eyebrow, assessing the injury once more. it was minor—nothing to worry about—but your insistence made it seem like something else was going on.

“hmm.” he bent closer, his fingers brushing against your hand as he cleaned the wound with a swift and practiced motion. his eyes flickered over the bandage, then met yours again. “it’s not serious. but we’ll clean it up anyway.”

he didn’t expect it to happen, but he felt a small ripple of something within him as he worked. it wasn’t just the touch, though that was part of it. it was something in the way you were watching him, your gaze unwavering, full of quiet intensity. he almost forgot for a moment why he was here. he could hear your breath, slow and steady, almost like the air around you had shifted.

when he finished, he didn’t say much—just the usual instructions, the reminder to keep it clean, change the bandage. but there was something in the air between the two of you that lingered after he stepped back.

you were still looking at him, a faint smile on your lips, like there was something unspoken. something that made his heart skip just a little.

“thanks.” you said, your voice soft. too soft.

nanami couldn’t explain it, but as you spoke those words, he couldn’t help the thought that had started to form in his mind: why did you feel familiar? it was a strange thought, one he quickly dismissed.

before he could say anything, you were gone, slipping out of the room without another word, leaving nanami to stare after you. there was a lingering feeling, something unidentifiable, that stayed with him long after you had left the room.

—

he’d spent the last few years working here, and by now, he was used to the quiet rhythm of night shifts. routine was something he had long ago embraced, finding comfort in the predictable flow of patients and paperwork. but then came you—the one anomaly in his perfectly balanced life.

the first time you returned, nanami had thought little of it. patients came and went, most of them with complaints so trivial that it barely warranted attention. but when you stepped through the door again, with that same half-apologetic smile, that same determined gleam in your eyes, something in him shifted. he wasn’t sure what it was yet, but there was a curiosity brewing inside him that he couldn’t shake.

“back again, i see,” he said, his voice low, controlled. he glanced at the bandage on your hand from the previous week. the sight of it reminded him of how gentle he had been with you—how soft his touch had felt compared to the usual brusque motions he used with patients.

this time, you were a little more direct. “well, you know me,” you said, holding your arm out like it was offering up some tragic tale. “i can’t seem to keep my balance lately. bumped into the corner of a table.” you made a show of wincing as though it was a severe injury, but the way your eyes gleamed suggested otherwise.

nanami raised an eyebrow. another injury? he couldn’t help but feel a small, skeptical tug in his chest. but, as always, he hid it behind the professionalism he was known for. his gaze dropped to your arm, and as his fingers gently pressed against the bruise, he felt the subtle tension that always seemed to be there when you were around. it wasn’t just the touch—though that was certainly part of it. it was the way you looked at him. your eyes always lingered just a little longer than necessary, and nanami couldn’t ignore how it made his heart flutter.

he adjusted his glasses, his fingers still lightly brushing over the bruise. “it’s minor,” he said, his voice a little less dismissive than usual. “you’re fine. just take it easy for a couple of days.”

you were clearly enjoying the attention, despite the trivial nature of the injury. “i suppose i’ll just have to rest,” you said, a playful lilt in your voice. “though, i don’t know how i’m going to manage without your expert care.”

the compliment wasn’t lost on him. it wasn’t that nanami couldn’t handle the flirtation—it was that it made him feel something he wasn’t used to. something soft. he let out a quiet sigh and gave you a side glance. “you’re impossible.”

but the words didn’t have their usual bite. instead, there was a trace of amusement in his tone, an unexpected crack in his professional armor. and you noticed it. of course, you did.

—

the next week, you were back again. this time, with a slightly more elaborate tale about twisting your ankle while jogging. he didn’t even bother asking if it was true—he already knew. it was another excuse. another reason for you to seek him out.

but, as usual, nanami couldn’t bring himself to push you away. he couldn’t explain it. there was something magnetic about you—something that kept drawing him in no matter how many times you made up some new injury. maybe it was the way you looked at him when you walked into the room, like you were waiting for him to see through the act. maybe it was how you teased him so effortlessly, as though you knew exactly what buttons to push to get under his skin.

this time, you’d pulled a muscle in your leg. the bruise on your ankle wasn’t as bad as you claimed, but you made sure to exaggerate the tenderness as you sat down on the exam table.

“do you need help getting up?” nanami asked, though he had already seen you walk in with ease, so he knew it wasn’t as bad as you made it sound.

you tilted your head, your smile a little more mischievous. “only if you’ll carry me.”

nanami blinked, the words catching him off guard. but he couldn’t hide the slight shift in his expression—just a subtle tightening around his jaw, an almost imperceptible flush in his cheeks.

you were relentless, weren’t you?

he cleared his throat. “i’m not in the habit of carrying patients,” he said, though even to his own ears, his voice lacked the usual firmness.

“i bet you’d make an exception for me,” you replied, your smile only deepening as you leaned back, clearly enjoying the effect your words had on him. there was a glint of something playful—and yet, something deeper—in your gaze.

for a moment, nanami didn’t know how to respond. he wasn’t accustomed to this. you weren’t just another flirtatious patient; you were different. you’d burrowed your way into his thoughts, disrupted his routine in a way he couldn’t explain.

with a soft sigh, nanami knelt in front of you, his hands firm but gentle as he took your ankle in his grip. you met his gaze directly, not backing down. and why should you?

he started to work, massaging the muscle in your leg, his movements slow and methodical. but even as his hands worked, a part of him was aware of the connection that had formed between the two of you. it wasn’t just the act of caring for you—it was something deeper. something unspoken, but there, just under the surface.

“i’m not going to keep letting you get away with this,” he muttered under his breath. but you heard it, of course, and it made you smile.

“you’re not supposed to keep me out of here,” you said teasingly, leaning back slightly, still watching him with that knowing look. “i think you secretly enjoy our time together.”

nanami stopped for a moment, his eyes locking with yours, something flickering between you. he let out a quiet breath, resisting the pull you had on him. “you’re a handful,” he said, but there was warmth in his voice now, something he hadn’t intended to let slip.

—

over the weeks, it became harder to ignore the tension that had grown between you two. nanami’s professional mask remained intact most of the time, but he couldn’t help but let it slip more often when you were around. your teasing had evolved into something deeper—flirtation wrapped in softness, words said with intention. you began to linger a little longer after your so-called “injuries” had been treated, finding ways to stay near him, just to be in the same space.

one evening, as he was finishing up his shift, nanami found himself unexpectedly drawn to your presence in a way that he hadn’t anticipated. you were sitting in his office, your legs crossed, looking completely at ease as though you belonged there.

“you’re here again,” he said, though there was no surprise in his voice anymore. he had come to expect it.

you glanced up from your phone, meeting his gaze with that easy smile that never failed to catch him off guard. “can’t stay away from you.”

he couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped him, a sound that surprised even him. you really are impossible, he thought. but damn if you don’t make things interesting.

you didn’t say anything else, but your presence was enough. the room felt charged, like something was hanging in the air between you both. nanami shifted slightly, adjusting his glasses. he wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion from his shift or the way you made him feel, but tonight, he felt something he hadn’t before—a pull toward you that he couldn’t deny.

when you stood to leave, you reached out, placing your hand on his arm just for a moment. the touch was light, but it sent a ripple through him. his breath caught in his throat as he glanced at you. your face was serious, no longer playful.

“i’ll be back next week,” you said, your voice steady, almost as if it was a promise.

before he could respond, you were gone.

—

the days between your visits had always felt like routine to nanami—filled with the usual responsibilities, patients, paperwork, and the monotony of hospital life. but ever since you’d entered his world, there was a subtle shift in his thoughts. your presence had become a part of his daily rhythm, even when you weren’t physically there.

he found himself wondering, during his quiet moments between patients, about your smile, the way you always seemed to know how to tease him just right, how you made him feel something he hadn’t experienced in a long time: disarmed. even now, in the midst of yet another late-night shift, he couldn’t stop thinking about the touch of your hand on his arm—the warmth of it lingering long after you’d left.

and that was when he realized something. he didn’t want you to stop coming. there, he’d said it to himself, even if he wasn’t willing to say it out loud just yet.

—

nanami was still processing his thoughts from the last time you’d left, still unsure of how much of it was just you—and how much was his own reaction to you. but when he saw you walk through the door the next week, with a familiar glint in your eye and that same teasing smile, he knew exactly what was happening.

you didn’t waste time this time—there was no exaggerated tale of injury. instead, you came straight to the point, your eyes mischievous as you stood before him. “i didn’t want to be too dramatic today, but…”

nanami glanced up from his paperwork, his brows furrowing slightly. “but?”

you didn’t say anything for a moment. instead, you stepped closer, placing your hand on his desk—just close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from your skin. “i was hoping you might have time for me,” you said softly, voice quiet and seductive, a slight catch to it as if you weren’t entirely sure of his response. it was almost vulnerable in a way that took him by surprise.

for a heartbeat, nanami couldn’t say anything. his heart pounded in his chest as you stood there, so close to him that he could smell the soft fragrance of your perfume, feel the heat coming off your skin. he knew you weren’t here for an injury this time—not really. you had found your way back to him in a way that felt almost too intimate.

he cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses nervously. “i’m not sure what you expect from me, but if you’re here for another injury…”

you shook your head, a teasing smile spreading across your face. “no injuries today, dr. nanami. just… a little company.”

the quiet weight of your words hung between you two. you were persistent, and while nanami had originally assumed it was some harmless flirtation, something had shifted. he couldn’t deny that the idea of seeing you, spending time with you, had become something he secretly looked forward to.

he sighed, leaning back in his chair, and studied you for a long moment. he couldn’t quite put into words the feeling he had when you were around. maybe it was the way you made him feel seen, or the way you slowly peeled away his layers with every encounter. whatever it was, nanami knew he was walking a dangerous line, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

“alright,” he said, voice low and resigned, but there was a soft undercurrent to it. “i’ll make time for you, then.”

you smiled, that playful glint in your eyes flickering with satisfaction. “thank you, kento,” you whispered, the softness in your voice almost like a secret only the two of you shared.

—

over the following weeks, the line between patient and something more blurred further. the flirtation, once lighthearted and innocent, had evolved into something more serious, something more significant. you found reasons to spend time with nanami not just for medical attention but for the connection between the two of you that had been quietly simmering under the surface.

sometimes, you’d linger in his office after your injuries had been treated, talking about your day, your life, or just sharing a quiet moment together. the conversations started to stretch longer, more intimate, and nanami noticed that he began to enjoy the sound of your voice. he began to learn little things about you—things that made his heart stir. your laugh, the way you crinkled your nose when something amused you, the soft hum you made when you were thinking.

he learned that you were always too hard on yourself, that you’d been through a lot in your life, but never let it show. he noticed the vulnerability in the way you’d look at him sometimes, as though you were waiting for him to notice. and for once, nanami didn’t feel the need to maintain his distance. he didn’t want to push you away.

but every time you flirted with him, he remained cautiously reserved, not quite allowing himself to fully lean into it. there was always a part of him that held back—the part that reminded him this wasn’t a good idea. he wasn’t supposed to fall for patients. but damn it, you made it impossible not to.

one evening, you came in as usual, this time with a strained smile on your face. “no injuries today,” you said, as though that was a small victory. “i just wanted to talk. if you have the time, of course.”

nanami glanced up from the paperwork he was working on. for the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel frustrated by the interruption. he felt… relieved, even. you weren’t here for an injury. you were just here to be with him.

“of course,” he said quietly, setting his papers aside. his gaze softened as he met your eyes. this is what i’ve been waiting for, he realized—this unspoken connection, these moments where it wasn’t about injuries or excuses. it was about the two of you.

you took a seat in the chair across from him, your gaze unwavering as you leaned forward slightly, the intensity in your eyes making his pulse quicken. “you know, i’ve been thinking about something.”

nanami raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “what about?”

your lips curved into a small, secretive smile, and you didn’t immediately answer. instead, you simply reached out, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead in an unexpectedly intimate gesture.

“you’re always so serious, nanami,” you said softly, the tenderness in your voice disarming him. “i think you should smile more.”

the simplicity of your words struck him in a way he hadn’t expected. he didn’t know why, but hearing you say that made something inside him shift. the tension he’d been carrying for weeks—the anxiety about getting too close to you—began to loosen.

nanami didn’t know how to respond at first. he was always so reserved, so careful about everything, but when he met your eyes again, there was an openness there that hadn’t been there before. he allowed himself a small smile, just for you.

“i’ll try,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

you leaned forward a little, your eyes bright. “good. because i’d like to see it more often.”

and with that, nanami realized the truth. he wanted to see more of you, too. more than just a patient. more than just the soft teasing and gentle flirtation. he wanted something real, something that neither of you had admitted yet, but that was undeniably there.

—

the surgery had been long and exhausting—hours spent under harsh, fluorescent lights, his focus sharp as he assisted the lead surgeon with meticulous care. it was the kind of work nanami was used to—demanding, grueling, but also strangely satisfying in its precision. his hands ached, his body was stiff, and his mind begged for rest as he made his way back to his office in the quiet hours of the night.

he wasn’t expecting much. just the usual—silence, paperwork he didn’t want to deal with, and perhaps, if he were lucky, a cup of tea from the breakroom. what he wasn’t expecting was you.

at first, he didn’t notice you. his office was dimly lit, the desk lamp casting soft shadows across the room. he shrugged off his coat, draping it over the back of his chair, and ran a hand through his hair, loosening his tie. his mind was already moving ahead—thinking of the report he needed to finish and the notes he had to add to the patient’s chart.

then he heard it: the soft, steady sound of breathing. his movements stilled. slowly, he turned toward the examination table, his eyes narrowing slightly in confusion. and there you were, lying curled up on the table, your chest rising and falling in quiet rhythm, your head resting on your folded arms.

for a moment, nanami simply stood there, frozen in the doorway. his heart gave a strange, unfamiliar lurch in his chest, an ache spreading through him that he couldn’t quite name.

you waited for me.

the thought startled him. he wasn’t sure if it was disbelief or something deeper, something warmer, that coursed through him at the realization. he knew you were bold—your shameless flirting over the past few weeks had proven that—but this? waiting for him after hours, in his office, without even an excuse of an injury to justify your presence? it was reckless, but also… endearing.

his steps were quiet as he approached you, his gaze softening despite himself. you looked so peaceful in sleep, the sharpness of your wit replaced by a vulnerability he wasn’t used to seeing. his fingers twitched at his side, tempted to brush away the strand of hair that had fallen across your face. he resisted, though the thought lingered.

he stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. his rational mind told him to wake you gently, to send you on your way, to maintain the boundaries he’d worked so hard to uphold. but something inside him—the part he’d been suppressing for weeks—kept him rooted in place.

it wasn’t just your presence that struck him. it was what it represented. you stayed. for me.

nanami finally allowed himself to exhale, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. he leaned forward, resting a hand lightly on the edge of the table, and called your name softly.

your eyes fluttered open, bleary and unfocused at first. when they landed on him, a slow, sleepy smile spread across your lips.

“nanami…” you murmured, your voice thick with drowsiness.

his chest tightened at the sound of his name on your lips. he cleared his throat, forcing himself to adopt his usual professional tone. “what are you doing here? you shouldn’t be—”

“i waited for you,” you interrupted, sitting up slowly. you stretched your arms, blinking as if trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. “i just… wanted to see you.”

your words hit him harder than they should have. he didn’t respond right away, his mind caught between the rational urge to lecture you and the growing warmth spreading through his chest.

“you shouldn’t have waited,” he said finally, his tone softer than he intended. “it’s late, and you should be resting.”

you smiled again, this time wider, the teasing glint he’d grown used to returning to your eyes. “i couldn’t rest. not until i saw you.”

nanami felt his resolve cracking, the careful walls he’d built around himself beginning to crumble under your gaze. he tried to focus on the clinical details—the faint redness in your cheeks from sleeping on your arm, the way your fingers fidgeted slightly against the edge of the table. but all of it only made you more real, more tangible, and it was becoming harder to maintain the distance he’d fought so hard to keep.

“you…” he hesitated, his hand curling into a fist at his side. “you shouldn’t say things like that.”

“why not?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. “it’s the truth. i like being around you, nanami. is that so bad?”

his breath hitched. he wanted to say yes—that it was bad, that it was unprofessional, that it was crossing a line he wasn’t supposed to cross. but the words wouldn’t come.

instead, he found himself stepping closer, the space between you shrinking until he could see every detail of your face—the way your eyes searched his, the way your lips parted slightly as if waiting for him to speak.

“it’s not bad,” he said finally, his voice low, almost like he was admitting something to himself. “but… it’s complicated.”

you smiled softly, undeterred. “complicated doesn’t scare me.”

nanami exhaled, his gaze dropping for a moment as though weighing his next words carefully. “it should,” he murmured, the faintest crack of vulnerability slipping into his tone. “i don’t know if i can give you what you’re looking for.”

you didn’t hesitate. “what if i’m not looking for anything specific? what if i just… want you?”

the words struck him like a blow, harder than he anticipated. his breath hitched as he raised his eyes to meet yours, searching for the usual teasing glint in your gaze. but there was none this time—no hint of mischief or lighthearted charm. only sincerity.

he swallowed hard. you made it sound so simple, so easy, as if he weren’t a man weighed down by his own doubts, his own careful walls. he’d spent weeks trying to convince himself that this was a passing infatuation, something fleeting on your part. but now, faced with the raw honesty in your voice, he couldn’t pretend anymore.

“i…” he started, his voice faltering. he looked away, his jaw tightening as he tried to collect himself. “you don’t understand how difficult i can be. i’m set in my ways. i work late hours. i’m not the type of man to make grand gestures or say the right things.”

“i don’t need grand gestures,” you said, your tone quiet but firm. “and i like the way you are—your quiet, your seriousness, your care.” you hesitated for a moment, your expression softening as you added, “nanami, i know what i’m saying. i’m not scared of who you are.”

something inside him gave way, the weight of your words pressing against the walls he’d built around his heart. for the first time in years, he felt seen—not just for what he could do, not just for the roles he fulfilled, but for the man beneath it all.

his hand moved almost unconsciously, reaching out to yours. when his fingers brushed against yours, he felt the faintest tremor in his chest, the warmth of your touch grounding him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

“i don’t deserve this,” he said softly, almost as if to himself.

your fingers curled around his, steady and sure. “you do.”

and that was it. the last thread of resistance snapped. he stepped closer, his free hand rising to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. his gaze flickered between your eyes and your lips, his heart pounding in his chest.

“i’m not good at this,” he warned, his voice low, rough with emotion.

“then let me show you how,” you whispered, your voice a promise and a plea all at once.

before he could second-guess himself, nanami closed the distance, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was deliberate and slow, but no less fervent. his fingers threaded through your hair, pulling you closer as if he were afraid you might slip away.

you kissed him back with equal intensity, your hands clutching at his shirt as if to anchor yourself. the quiet of the room was broken only by the sound of your breathing, the world narrowing down to the press of his lips against yours and the warmth of his touch.

when he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath uneven. “this… this scares me,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

you smiled, your fingers brushing lightly against his jaw. “then let’s be scared together.”

a quiet laugh escaped him, a rare, unguarded sound that softened the lines of his face. and for the first time in what felt like forever, nanami allowed himself to let go of the doubt, the fear, and the weight of his own expectations.

because in this moment, with you in his arms, it didn’t feel so complicated after all.

thank you for reading this! likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated <3

[miruscenic]

𝟎𝟎𝟏. 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐍.

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬. kento never thought he would be one for domesticity, until you came.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. nanami kento x gn!reader, soft soft fluff, a bit of angst on kento's part, first writing post on this blog :)) enjoy !!

Kento Nanami has a hard time believing that domesticity was a possibility for him. 

It was his pipe dream ever since he’d chosen to become a sorcerer, despite his aversion to both this job and the soul-breaking desk job. He hates the monotony, and he hates the danger he puts himself in, and he despises the concept of overtime. Because, really, who enjoys working more hours with no increase to the pay? It irks him terribly, but work is work. If he can find stability in the form of money or a career, then it was enough to keep him alive.

It was enough, but it didn’t satisfy him.

He’s come to enjoy some of the mundanely comforting moments during his salaryman days and his gradual return to the Jujutsu world— from the sweet girl manning the counter in his favorite bakery, who knows him well enough that his sandwich is finished being prepared within minutes to the silence he basks in until he inevitably has to stare blearily at his laptop screen during ungodly hours. They were welcome distractions from the emptiness he so often felt, and yet, it still felt like he was going through the motions.

Kento had money, but no means of defining his purpose. His desires of settling down pushed to the backburner, dreams of a golden-eyed child crushed by surrounding deaths and lecherous bosses who saw him as nothing more than a cog of a bigger machine. The only sign of the life he could’ve given himself were the books slowly gathering dust, pictures of the calming beaches of Kuantan a stark contrast to the rigidness of his home.

He didn’t understand how easy it was to let someone in. Someone like you, of all people. More importantly, he didn’t realize just how fearful it made him, now that he’d returned to his life of jujutsu sorcery. 

Looking forward to you was jarring, at first—it took Kento a while to get used to not doing everything alone. Though there wasn’t anything he could complain about being by himself—it was his preferred way of life, in the first place—it did start to feel like this was all he would ever do until the light blonde of his hair turned gray. 

But now, he’s making stops at places he never thought he would visit so casually. He’d made a note to get your lunch from the resto you came to during your first date, snagging your favorite drink from the cafe and almost risking his daily commute on the train. Kento was a man with limitations, but he found himself so pleasantly amused when he ran errands for you. It felt like something he would willingly do rather than come home battered and with a gash in his newly dry-cleaned shirt. 

But even that was a part of his life that you gradually took over. Frequent dates turned into visits to each other’s home, then those sporadic visits turned into sleepovers, often falling into a deep slumber after indulging yourselves in meaningful heart-to-hearts. That would soon culminate into calm knocks on your door one night only to reveal Kento practically limping and his side mangled. 

He felt a lump in his throat then, at the look of horror on your usually pleasant face, but he knew he felt like tearing up when you’d been so gentle with his wounds, inquiring him about what went wrong. It didn’t feel correct to answer your question; what happened to him was out of your awareness, the dangers of his job was a secret until it wasn’t. How was he supposed to explain that a humanoid manifestation of humanity’s hatred for each other—a rather ugly one, to be certain—was very close to ending his life, and how incredibly lucky he was to even manage to limp back to you?

Never mind the hatred simmering in Kento’s chest, not when he was too caught off guard by your generosity to even air out his grievances. All that mattered was that he still had you, time to get to know and love you better. He knew he wouldn’t be able to rest easy knowing he’s left you confused and grieving. 

“Just so you know, I wouldn’t have a problem with crawling back to you if I was more injured than this.” He’d murmured once you were close enough to feel his breath fan against your chin. To this day, Kento isn’t sure what prompted him to be so sentimental, all he knew was that he had all the right reasons to lean in and leave a light peck on your lips right after.

Nothing could’ve really prepared him for the following morning, after a night of endless persistence that he could take the latest train back home. 

Kento was more used to bringing his own things when you ask him to stay over, but waking up in the foreign but cozy texture of one of your shirts and a pair of faded sweatpants wasn’t something to complain about. He’d felt his heartbeat spike at the thought of running late to work, but the slight dimness of the room suggested that he’d woken up a bit after dawn broke. 

The firmness of the bandages around his torso paired with the mild soreness of his wounds weren’t exactly the most comfortable, but Kento had managed to pull himself out of his sleeping situation groggily, pushing the door open. He was starting to wonder where you’d gone, despite his prior knowledge of your own early bird tendencies. It instantly warmed his heart to see you bathed in brighter morning light, quietly watching the coffee maker. In his peripherals, he could see his formerly bloodied suit neatly folded on the couch.

At this point, it wasn’t uncommon for the both of you to start your mornings steadily, though there was something different about this particular one. Stillness fell upon your home, with neither of you showing signs of hurrying just yet.The only audible sounds were the whirs of the coffee maker, followed by Kento beelining towards your direction. You looked lovely, with your head perched on your arms, bent down to be at eye level with the machine.

Kento could only huff out an amused sigh, letting one of his hands rest upon your shoulder as an indicator that he was finally awake. Instead of the usual shock that graced your features, it felt as though you were indulging in the light touch. Slowly but surely, you’re leaning back up to rest your back against his chest, your smaller hand wrapping around his that was still perched on your shoulder. 

The weight was so, so comforting, especially when you’d leaned your head against his shoulder, a toothy smile on your lips. Kento thinks you look rather adorable upside-down, he couldn’t help but leave another affectionate kiss on your forehead when you’d whispered, “Good morning, Ken.”

Now the man was completely left unguarded, with a lovely little thing resting against him and the sunlight softly filtering in through the windows. He doesn’t dare pull away, only brings you to face him instead so you’re more comfortable. Perhaps this was growth—he wasn’t irked by the prospect of slowing down with a companion anymore, despite the deep-seated fear of having so much to lose. 

But he could get used to this. A time when he could just bask in his more human side without worrying about work or death, a time when he could just let himself be without the need to explain himself. Because you understood him, you were willing to understand him from the very beginning. All this was possible, because he believed that something good would come out of letting someone like you in.

Kento decides that he likes this sensation and, for once, he would like for it to stay.  

I’m quite good at being domestic and romantic, don’t you think, darling? 

brought to you by MIRUSCENIC © 2025. all rights reserved.

[bloatedandalone04]

Just Us Three

Summary: Yours and Jake’s son gets in trouble at school, and then Jake gets in trouble at home when he tries to hide it from you. (part 2 of this fic).

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: fluff, swearing, dilf jake, smut, angst if you squint, mentions of bullying, unprotected sex, dirty talk, protective jake.

Jake was still in his khaki uniform as he expertly manoeuvred his way through the halls of the school his son attends, similar to the way he skillfully moves in the sky. As his boots hit the granite tiles, he gave a nod to the school janitor, and the man half nodded, half waved back as he mopped the floor outside the bathrooms. 

He didn’t blame the guy for the lack-luster greeting one bit. Jake couldn’t imagine the horrors the poor lad had seen just today, let alone this week. And it was only Wednesday. 

Jake looked down at his watch and saw that it was quarter after three, and he was supposed to be at work for another few hours, but here he was. He was lucky he had such an understanding, albeit fed up, boss. 

When he rounded the corner and entered the school’s office, he was met with the kind smile that belonged to Miss Sands, the usually nice lady who sits behind the front desk. But that smile faded pretty quickly once she realized who had just walked in. “He’s in there,” she told him, pointing at the door that was just behind the desk, and that was all she said. 

“Thank you,” Jake said like it was part of his routine at this point. He walked past the desk and stood in the doorway, and he was greeted by an almost comically unimpressed look from the school’s principal, Mr. Harris. Jake held back a laugh, because this really wasn’t a funny moment, and raised his hand in a wave. “Hey…Mr. Harris.”

The principal raised his brow and looked over at the chair that was in front of his desk. “Mr. Seresin,” he stated, his tone flat and just…completely unfriendly. “Care to explain to me as to why your son is once again sitting in front of me?” 

Jake looked over as well, his green eyes meeting his son’s matching ones. “Hey, bud,” he mumbled, his brows furrowing a bit at the embarrassed look JJ had on his face. Jake cleared his throat and crossed his arms, looking back at the principal. “I don’t know, Mr. Harris. You’re the one who called me while I was at work.”

Mr. Harris pressed his lips into a thin line. “This is the second time I’ve had to call you this week,”

Jake clenched his jaw as he leaned against the door frame. “I’m aware,” he muttered. “This is also the second time I’ve had to leave work early this week.”

“Well, you are on the top of JJ’s contact list,” Harris said, crossing his arms as well. “Would you prefer I call your wife instead next time?” 

Jake tensed up at that, and he shook his head. “No,” 

The last thing he wanted was for you to get called out of work, and he knew you’d make it a much bigger deal than he does. Honestly, Jake didn’t want you to know about the multitude of calls he’s gotten from JJ’s school this month, because he knew it was mainly his fault. 

JJ had been having problems with a couple other kids in his grade, and Jake, being the protective father he discovered he is, told his five year old to stand up for himself and to not be afraid to speak his mind. 

Well…it turns out that JJ’s mind can be pretty…colorful, for lack of better words, and it’s gotten him in trouble more than once. This was probably the fifth or sixth time this month, and although Jake knew he needed to set some better boundaries here, he was also kind of annoyed. What about the other kids’ parents? Why can’t they teach their kids to not pick on his? JJ was taking Jake’s advice every time he had a problem with the other boys, and it seemed to be more often than not, yet clearly nothing was being done about the other kids. 

“Just keep calling me,” Jake muttered, rubbing at his forehead before stepping further into the office so he could stand next to JJ’s chair. “Or better yet, save me a trip and call the other kids’ parents. I know JJ’s got a…big mouth sometimes, but I also know it’s not just him. It’s the other boys in his class as well.”

Mr. Harris sighed and placed his hands on the surface of his desk. “Mr. Seresin, I’m aware of the comments the other boys have been making, but your son used language we don’t tolerate here,” he said, looking up at Jake expectantly. “Something needs to be done.”

Jake scoffed and moved to stand behind his son now, bracing his hands on the back of his chair as he leaned over. “Really?” he drawled, “What did he say?” 

Harris sighed and looked at JJ, and Jake quickly covered the five year olds ears - as if he wasn’t about to have what he said repeated back to his father. “He said ‘leave me alone you stupid…pussy’ to another kid on the playground,” he informed Jake, an embarrassed grimace on his face. “That kind of language is unacceptable here at school, Mr. Seresin.”

Jake stayed completely still, his hands still covering JJ’s ears as he processed what was just said. His kid said that? Where did he even learn that word? Jake doesn’t even use that word unless he’s…oh. 

Unless he’s pounding you into the bed he’s shared with you for the last eight years.

Well, fuck. 

Jake nodded after that and dropped his hands to JJ’s shoulders, giving his son a gentle squeeze. “Okay. Understandable. I will have a talk with him tonight,” he said, gesturing for JJ to stand up. He took his school bag from him and guided him towards the door of the office, but paused before he left. “But you need to do something about the kids that are picking on him, otherwise we’re gonna keep having problems.” 

Harris had the audacity to look offended at that, but Jake didn’t care as he took JJ’s hand and led him out to the parking lot. After he helped him into the backseat, Jake braced one hand above the door frame as he tried to think of what to say to his usually sweet son. “Listen, bud,” he started, glancing around the parking lot as a sigh left his lips. “What you said today, you can’t say that…word, okay? You’re too little to use those kinds of words, alright?”

JJ shifted in his seat, similar to the way Jake writhes around whenever you and he get into arguments - the ones he had no chance at winning. “But you say it. Uncle Bradley says it too sometimes when he drives me to soccer practice,” he mumbled, his big green eyes so innocent looking as he gazed up at Jake. “And I hear you say it to mommy sometimes at night time.”

Jake’s face heated up as he rubbed at his eyes, and he knew he would yell at Bradley the next time he saw him at work. “Is this when you’re supposed to be in bed?” JJ didn’t answer, and Jake shook his head as he ruffled his son’s blond hair. “I say it because I’m an adult, bud. And you need to stop trying to spy on your mom and I, alright?” 

JJ nodded, his sweet mind still innocent and unsure. Jake nodded too, then looked down at the paper in his hand that explained why JJ had been called to the office today, and he winced when he imagined you reading it. 

“Speaking of mom,” he mumbled, looking back up from the paper. “She doesn’t find out about this. Okay?”

JJ smiled up at Jake and nodded excitedly, seemingly more than happy to have a secret that only he and his dad know, and that was good enough for Jake. 

Well, it would’ve been, but JJ seemed to have forgotten all about the deal as later that evening, at the dinner table no less, he said something that had Jake’s heart skipping a beat. “Mommy! Daddy was so cool when he picked me up from the office today,” he beamed, and you furrowed your brows as you set your fork down. 

“What are you talking about, babe?” you asked, and Jake reached for his glass of water as you glanced over at him. 

“At the principal’s office,” JJ explained, and Jake quickly shook his head. 

“J, let’s not talk about this now, okay? Mommy just made dinner and we’re-”

“But you were so cool!” JJ cut him off before turning back to you. “Daddy used his angry voice on Mr. Harris today, mommy.”

You raised a brow, your eyes flickering between Jake and Jake Junior as you leaned back in your chair. “Why were you in the principal’s office today?”

JJ deflated a bit at that as he reached for his fork. “I…said a bad word,”

Your eyes widened and you looked over at Jake quickly. “Honey-”

“Jake,” you cut him off just like JJ did as you sat up straight again. “Why didn’t you tell me that he got sent to the principal’s office today? And why didn’t they call me?”

“Because I’m first on his contact list,” Jake mumbled, “And he and I had decided that it wasn’t important enough for you to know.” he added, narrowing his eyes at JJ, who just gave him a cute smile. 

“Jake Seresin, you have our child hiding things from me?” you gasped, then quickly composed yourself. “What was the word?”

Jake shifted in his seat as he set the glass down and picked up his fork again, a damn near carbon copy of the way JJ became uneasy when he was in the hot seat in the truck earlier today. He really was his father’s son. “It’s not appropriate dinner talk. I’ll tell you after,”

-

“He said what?” you nearly yelled as Jake crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. “Our son said that? How does he even know that word? We don’t say that unless we’re…”

Jake grinned at you as he slowly nodded, then he was dodging the dish towel you were using to clean the counter when you threw it at him. 

“He definitely picked it up from you,” you muttered as you walked past him to start clearing the table. Jake followed you of course, and wrapped his arms around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. “You and your dirty mouth. You’ve had it since before we even got together.”

Jake was instantly brought back to all the times he flirted shamelessly with you in an attempt to get you to go out with him, only for it to all be thrown back at him because you were not one of those girls who caved easily to guys like him. That’s what made him clean up his act and ask you out in more nicer ways, which then eventually led to him taking you out on the most perfect date both of you had ever been on, and now he’s married to you. 

“Well, Bradley’s been saying it too. You know how bad his road rage is, he has no filter, even when he takes J to his soccer games. And I can’t help the filthy things that come out of my mouth whenever I get you alone,” he defended himself, pressing his cheek against yours as he held you snugly against his body. “You’re just too damn sexy, baby.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t stop him from cuddling you from behind, which Jake was happy about. Ever since you and he got together, he’s become obsessed with touching you in any way he could and holding you whenever he can. He just loved how perfectly you fit against his body, and he knew you loved it too, even if you complained about it sometimes. “Bradley is his uncle, he’s not with him all the time, so he has an excuse. You, my love, do not,” 

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, then trailed his nose along the shell of your ear. “You can’t be mad at me for this, honey. It’s not my fault the kid’s got big ears,” 

You laughed, picking up the plates before turning your head to look up at him. “I think it is your fault, dumbo,” you mumbled, and Jake gaped at you. 

“Be nice to me,” he whined, following after you like a lost puppy as you returned to the kitchen and began loading the dishwasher. “I’m so nice to you.”

Another laugh left your mouth. “You’re teaching our son to keep secrets from me,”

“Okay, that’s not fair,” he groaned, walking back out to the table so he could gather the glasses, JJ’s Spider-Man cup, and the cutlery. “I only told him that you didn’t need to know about it, not that I’d never tell you about it. I would’ve, just…a couple years from now.”

“Jake,” you scoffed, moving aside when he loaded the items into the dishwasher. “I’m his mother, I’m supposed to know these things too.” 

He turned to look at you, propping his hands on his hips once he closed the dishwasher. “And you would’ve known about this,”

You crossed your arms and raised one of your brows. “In a couple years from now?”

Jake grinned, “See, I knew you’d understand,” 

“Uh huh,” you mumbled, dodging his hand when he reached out and tried to pull you into his arms. “I’m going to go get him in the bath. Then you and I are going to talk more once he’s in bed.”

You sounded serious, and you looked serious, but Jake’s smile only grew, because he knew he’d be able to change the topic real quick once you and he retired to your room for the night. Easily. 

-

“Oh yeah,” he murmured as he kissed all along your shoulders, his fingers quickly unbuttoning your jeans and sliding the zipper down. “You and I are really talking a lot.”

You groaned, trailing your fingers through his hair gently before giving it a firm tug, making him moan against your skin. “You are so annoying,” you muttered, but your words weren’t hostile at all. 

Jake grinned against your skin as he pulled the denim off your legs. His heart was beating fast in his chest, because even after eight years with you, you still made him feel so fucking giddy and he was so in love with you. And he always will be. 

Nothing had changed, with the exception and addition of JJ. You were still the sarcastic yet sweet girl he fell head over heels for, and you were all his. “You love me,” Jake mumbled against your neck as he slid his hand inside your panties, his fingers instantly finding your clit. “You married me…you’re stuck with me.”

“Oh, the horror,” you said back, then moaned next to his ear when he slid his index and middle fingers inside you, and the sound went directly to his cock. “Fuck. Jake.”

He hummed as he lifted his head, his green eyes staring into yours as he leaned in and pressed his forehead against your own. “Mm, I love you,” he mumbled, sliding his fingers in and out of you. “I love you so much.”

You whimpered, tangling your hands in his hair as you guided his lips to yours in a deep kiss. “I love you too,” you mumbled against his mouth as he pulled his fingers out of you. He sat back on his knees and brought his hand up to his lips to taste you as he watched you kick off your panties, his eyes raking up and down your body as he moaned around his fingers.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he grunted, unzipping his uniform pants and shoving them down his legs, along with his boxers. He was out of his shirt before you were, and he took it upon himself to rid you of both your tank top and bra, leaving you bare beneath him and only further proving his words. 

You grinned up at him, shifting on the bed as you beckoned him closer with a curl of your finger. “You’re sexy,” you say back, wrapping your legs around his waist when he crawls back on top of you. “Even when I’m still mad at you for trying to get our son to hide something from me.”

Jake groaned, burying his face in your neck as he guided the tip of his cock through your folds. “Don’t hold that against me, honey, I was just trying to protect you, that’s all. I don’t want you to stress out over nothing,” he mumbled, then groaned again when he slid inside of you. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good. Such a tight-”

You reached up and placed your hand over his mouth, your eyes boring into his as he stilled. “Until you can figure out how to soundproof our room, you need to keep your dirty words to yourself, baby,” you said, and Jake grunted against your palm. 

You wanted him to be quiet while he is fucking you? Did you not know how good you felt and how damn near impossible it was for him to not tell you that? Yours and his sex life was full of dirty talk, and it always had been, how was he supposed to just…stop?

He was going to have to figure it out, because the alternative was sex in the truck or no sex at all, and the latter was something he was not about to agree to. 

“I’ll be quiet,” he muttered when you pulled your hand away, and his own gripped your hips as he started to slowly pull out of you. “But that means you need to be quiet too, which will probably be a lot harder for you to do.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Harder for me? Please, Jake, I can be quiet too-” but a loud gasp left your mouth as soon as he buried himself back inside of you, and Jake just smirked down at the dirty look you gave him. “Fair enough.”

“Uh huh,” he mumbled then leaned down to kiss you as he started to thrust in and out of your additive body. He swallowed your sweet moans he loved hearing, each one sounding more and more desperate as Jake fucked you slow and deep, just like how he knew you liked it. 

When he felt you tighten around him, he pulled away from your lips and buried his face against the side of your neck, his left hand coming up to cover your mouth as he rutted into you. “I love you,” he groaned against your neck when he felt you cum around him, and a few seconds later, he was there too. 

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders when he stilled his body and eased himself gently on top of you, cradling you in his arms as he pressed soft kisses against your neck. “I love you too,” you said back, running your fingers through his messy hair. “I love both my boys so much. And I want to know when he’s being picked on or having trouble in class, okay? We’re a team, you know that, right? You, me and J.”

“I know, baby,” he murmured, lifting his head and pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “I know we are. We’re the perfect team. I promise, I’ll tell you about it the next time he gets in trouble at school, okay?”

You raise your brow as you pull back to look up at him. “You make it sound like he gets into trouble all the time,” 

Jake grinned down at you, “Come on, babe. He is my kid after all. Trouble is in his blood,” he said back and then cut off your laugh when he leaned in and kissed you again.

[ourseasone]

CHAPTER 002 ∘ ∘ ∘ cattle in slaughterhouse

previous masterlist next

“please look into the camera and smile!”

you straighten your back, a flicker of annoyance washing over you as you brush a stray lock of hair from your forehead. you force a smile onto your lips, the kind that barely reaches your eyes ━ one you’ve perfected over the years for occasions just like this. a moment later, you hear the soft ‘click’ of the camera.

the masked people (who you now assume are some kind of guards) had told you to follow once you finished signing the contract. they hadn’t offered much else in the way of direction or explanation, only that you were about to play the first game.

the more you take in the surroundings, the more unsettled you become. the place is a maze of staircases and doors, twisting and turning in every direction like a funhouse designed by someone with a sick sense of humor. the colors here are muted, softer than the cold, sterile room where you had awoken, yet there’s something unnerving about it all, almost like a playground with a hidden, malicious edge.

the dissonance is enough to make you feel like you’re losing your grip on reality.

“please follow the other players,” a round-masked guard intones, his voice monotonous and empty.

you shake yourself out of your spiraling thoughts, realizing you’ve been standing still for too long. you step forward, scanning your surroundings, trying to keep your focus, but your eyes inevitably drift to the right. and then you freeze.

there, standing just a few feet away, is myeong-gi, your ex-boyfriend. the shock on his face is unmistakable, eyes wide with disbelief, as if he never expected to see you here, in this hellish place. you, on the other hand, aren’t surprised at all. you’d known myeong-gi was here. you had seen the familiar face in the lineup earlier, but part of you had hoped you wouldn’t have to confront him. not here, not now.

but of course, life doesn’t care about your preferences.

you quickly look ahead again, avoiding myeong-gi’s gaze. your feet carry you forward, following the others as they move down the labyrinthine corridors, but myeong-gi’s presence lingers like an uncomfortable weight in the air.

then, myeong-gi calls out, his voice cutting through the tension.

“y/nie!” the nickname hits you like a punch to the gut. you stop dead in your tracks, your pulse quickening against your will.

there it is, the reminder of a time you’ve tried to bury. you feel your chest tighten, a knot forming in your stomach. you hate how your body betrays you like this ━ how hearing that voice, those two simple syllables, can send a surge of emotion you don’t want to feel.

myeong-gi doesn’t hesitate, stepping right beside you, forcing the other players to slow down and awkwardly shuffle to a halt. the noise around you fades as if the world is pausing just for this moment. the irritating robotic voice, the shuffle of footsteps, the hum of the fluorescent lights ━ all of it fades into the background, leaving only the feeling of myeong-gi’s presence beside you.

“y/nie? fuck, it’s really you. what are you doing here?”

myeong-gi’s words come out breathless, as if he can’t quite believe it. you can see the confusion, and maybe even a little guilt, flashing in his eyes. myeong-gi places a hand on your arm, gently turning you toward him, searching your face like he’s trying to read something in it that he doesn’t understand. the touch is soft, hesitant, but you recoil inwardly.

you don’t want to be here, caught in this moment with him, but you can’t seem to find a way to escape it.

myeong-gi looks at you the way a person would examine a painting after years of not seeing it, as if trying to memorize every curve, every line of your features, as if it matters. you feel your skin flush under the intense gaze, and the old wounds, the old feelings, start to resurface ━ things you thought you had buried long ago.

but before you can process any of it, someone behind you impatiently calls out, their voice a harsh reminder of the time ticking away.

“move it! you’re blocking the way!”

your head snaps back to reality, and you grit your teeth.

“for the same reason as everyone else here,” you mutter, your voice a touch too sharp, before starting to walk again, determined to put some distance between yourself and myeong-gi.

myeong-gi follows, his steps quick and light as he stays close behind. you can feel his presence lingering like a shadow, the gap between you too narrow for your liking.

“ah… yeah…” myeong-gi’s voice trails off, hesitant, unsure.

you want to tell him to leave you alone, to stop trying to drag you back into something you’ve worked so hard to escape. but then you remember where you are. in this twisted game, nothing is what it seems. you’re both just players in a much bigger scheme, and whatever happened between you outside of these walls seems almost irrelevant now.

still, the bitterness that lingers from your past weighs on you like a chain. should you still be angry with him? should you lash out and demand answers for the way myeong-gi had treated you? or should you let it go, just for now, just to get through this?

part of you wants to ignore him, to pretend that myeong-gi doesn’t exist in this place, but then that part of you ━ the part that had walked away from myeong-gi in the first place ━ tells you to do just that. to leave myeong-gi behind, just as you did before.

“how have you been since, uh—” myeong-gi glances away awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable. “since the last time…?”

you look at him out of the corner of your eye, the words hanging in the air, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“absolutely great, actually. never been better,” you lie, the words slipping out effortlessly, like they always have.

before myeong-gi can respond, the sound of a door creaking open cuts through the air, followed by the sudden rush of noise as the players begin to move forward. you’ve arrived at the first game.

you take a deep breath as the scent of fresh air greets you. you look up at the open sky above, the roofless expanse stretching out like a canvas. it’s surreal. you haven’t been outside in what feels like an eternity. the breeze brushes against your face, cool and refreshing.

“welcome to the first game,” the robotic voice announces. “all players, please wait a moment on the field.”

you feel like you’re standing inside a box.

the walls surrounding you are painted with intricate murals of nature ━ lush green fields and wide open meadows stretching under a clear, blue sky. from where you stand, the scene looks almost serene, peaceful even. but the longer you stand there, the more suffocating the place feels.

it’s as if the painted sky above is a lie, a perfect illusion masking the truth of your confinement. no matter how wide the sky appears, you can’t shake the gnawing feeling that you’re trapped in this strange, artificial world, with no way out.

your eyes scan the space ahead of you.

at the far end of the field stands a massive doll, standing still, towering over the others. you raise an eyebrow at it, your gaze lingering for a moment.

the doll is eerily lifelike, with porcelain skin and vacant eyes, its dress flowing like the wind is caught in it despite the stillness. you’ve seen dolls like that in horror movies, and it immediately sends a chill crawling down your spine. you don’t know what to make of it, but something about it feels wrong.

the whole setup is unsettling, leaving you no clearer about what kind of game you’re about to play.

“what the hell is that?” myeong-gi mutters from beside you, his voice laced with the same tension you feel but don’t vocalize.

“no idea,” you reply with a shrug.

the loud slam of doors echoes behind you, snapping your attention back to the space around you. you turn instinctively, like everyone else, your gaze darting toward the source of the noise. the doors you’d entered through are now shut tightly, sealing you in.

“the first game is red light, green light,” the robotic voice announces.

red light, green light?

so you’re really just going to play some children’s game to win an enormous amount of money? it’s so absurd it almost seems like a joke.

you look over at myeong-gi, whose face mirrors your own, a spark of something in his eyes, an almost excited glint. you give him a small, involuntary nod in return, a silent acknowledgment that you’re both thinking the same thing.

this is going to be so fucking easy.

“cross the finish line in five minutes without getting caught. if you do, you pass.”

“everyone!” a man’s voice rings out from the center of the field. “everyone, listen up! pay attention!”

you wince slightly at the urgency in the man’s tone. the shout is sharp, almost panicked, and it’s the same guy who had spoken up earlier, the one who had asked about the vote and prize money.

“listen carefully!” the man’s voice rises, his face tight with fear. “this is not just a game! if you lose the game… you die!”

your brow furrows, your stomach twisting with a combination of disbelief and growing unease. what is this guy talking about? myeong-gi scoffs, rolling his eyes. you shift your attention toward him, noting the way his lips curl in disdain.

“what is he talking about?” myeong-gi mutters, barely a whisper, but it’s enough for you to hear.

you don’t answer, but inside, your thoughts are spinning. is this guy insane? the whole thing feels like a bad joke. people don’t die playing red light, green light. it’s a game for kids. there’s no way anyone would actually die, right? it’s ridiculous.

unless… maybe it’s not. your stomach tightens, unease creeping in like cold fingers wrapping around your spine. this whole situation is fucked up, and something tells you this isn’t just a normal game. it feels… wrong. but you need the money. you have no choice. you’ll play, even if it doesn’t make sense.

“hey! what are you talking about?” a woman snaps at him. “we’re going to die playing red light, green light?”

“yes, that’s right! if they catch you moving, they will kill you! they will shoot you from somewhere! that doll’s eyes are motion detectors!–”

your heart skips a beat at the mention of the doll’s eyes. you hadn’t even thought of that ━ how they might be more than just creepy. your gaze snaps to the doll once more, its gaze unsettling, its large, unblinking eyes somehow even more menacing now.

“y/nie,” myeong-gi says quietly, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. “you know, about what happened—”

you turn to look at myeong-gi, who seems almost hesitant, his words hanging in the air, unfinished. he’s looking at you like there’s something important he wants to say. you tilt your head, raising an eyebrow.

you know that expression too well. myeong-gi is holding back, unsure of how to put his feelings into words.

“what is it?” you ask, your voice low.

you’re not sure if you want to hear what myeong-gi has to say. your relationship had ended on shaky ground, and this doesn’t feel like the right moment to go digging up old feelings.

myeong-gi stutters, trying to find his words. “i wanted to tell you that i’m really—”

“let the game begin.”

the words hang in the air, and you immediately shift your gaze away from myeong-gi, your mind now focused entirely on the game. your heart pounds in your chest as the massive doll at the far end of the field suddenly turns its back to you.

“green light, red light.”

without hesitation, you take a step forward, your muscles tense, like a coiled spring ready to snap. myeong-gi follows, just a breath behind you, your steps synchronized in the eerie silence. but the moment the doll’s voice finishes its phrase, you freeze in place, muscles locking.

you remain still, your mind whirling as the weight of the situation presses down on you. your feet feel glued to the floor, like moving would invite disaster. out of the corner of your eye, you see the rest of the players doing the same, frozen, holding their breath. no one dares to make a sound.

“well done! you just need to stay calm like this!” player 456, with his voice almost frantic now, shouts from somewhere in the crowd.

his words ring in the air, bouncing off the walls in a way that should sound reassuring, but instead, they stir something deep in you. the man is shouting instructions as though he’s been through this before, but you can’t shake the gnawing sense of distrust. there’s something off about him, something that doesn’t quite sit right.

the doll’s head snaps back, its empty eyes now sweeping over the crowd.

“green light, red light.”

the cycle starts again.

you take a few steps forward, moving cautiously. myeong-gi is still with you, trailing behind, his breathing shaky. you can feel it ━ a heavy weight in the air. this game, this whole thing, it’s too easy. ridiculously simple. move when they say ‘green light’, stop when they say ‘red light’. they’re really going to win 45.6 billion won just by playing children’s games? it’s absurd. ridiculous.

“don’t move and stay still! just relax!” player 456 continues to shout, his voice growing more grating with every repetition.

the sound begins to claw at your nerves.

the same process repeats over and over, again and again. no one’s been caught, and no one has lost yet. deep down, something’s eating at you. the more players who succeed, the less of that money you’ll walk away with. you’re not a fool. you know how this works. the fewer winners there are, the bigger your slice of the pie.

you don’t want to admit it, but you secretly hope someone messes up.

come on. just one slip. one mistake.

the moment the thought crosses your mind, a high-pitched scream cuts through the air, followed by a sharp, sudden silence.

your body stiffens, but your eyes are already scanning the crowd, seeking the source of the chaos. you see her ━ player 196, her arms flailing wildly, her body twisting in desperate panic. your heart skips a beat.

one less, you think.

and then, the gunshot.

it rings out with a deafening crack, and your whole body jerks as though struck. your breath catches in your throat, and your stomach lurches violently. the girl’s body collapses, crumpling lifelessly to the floor as blood blooms from the hole in her head. your eyes widen in disbelief.

what the hell just happened?

she’s… dead. no, that can’t be real.

“player 196, eliminated.”

the next scream follows quickly, then another gunshot. another life snuffed out in an instant.

“damn, he wasn’t lying,” you mutter under your breath, the words leaving your lips barely audible, as though saying them any louder would make it worse.

panic explodes around you.

players scatter in every direction, screaming, pushing, and shoving, as if running will save them.

do they not understand? do they not see what’s happening? they’re running straight into death. your heart races, your thoughts clear despite the chaos. they’re idiots. they’re all idiots. moving means death. haven’t they seen it? haven’t they heard the shots? why would anyone risk it?

you glance at myeong-gi, still standing beside you. the smaller man looks like he’s about to crumble under the weight of what’s unfolding. his face is pale, eyes wide with terror, lips trembling, and you can feel his panic mounting as he stares at the bodies that continue to drop around you. his breaths are quick, shallow, the sound of them almost frantic.

“don’t look,” you whisper urgently, trying to keep your voice steady. “look away. you don’t need to see this.”

myeong-gi listens, his face twisted with horror as he squeezes his eyes shut, desperate to shut out the nightmare around him. your chest tightens as you watch him, a painful ache forming in your heart.

you want to protect myeong-gi from this, but there’s nothing you can do.

the gunfire is relentless, the shots punctuating the air like a heartbeat. one by one, players drop like flies, scattered like cattle in a slaughterhouse, their lives snuffed out without a second thought. you can barely keep track. you’re losing count.

“let me repeat,” the robotic voice echoes as the gunfire finally ceases. “you can move forward while the tagger shouts, green light, red light. if your movement is detected afterward, you will be eliminated.”

eliminated. the word echoes in your mind like a cruel taunt. so that’s what it really meant. not disqualified, not removed from the games, but dead.

your stomach churns as you recall the word printed so plainly on the contract you signed.

you should’ve trusted your gut when you first saw it ━ should’ve walked away before it was too late. but you didn’t. and now here you are. you swallow hard, the metallic taste of fear on your tongue.

if you move ━ no, if that doll sees you move ━ you’ll die. if it sees myeong-gi move, he’ll die. the reality of the situation is stark, and it’s clawing at the edges of your composure.

“green light, red light.”

no one moves. no one even dares to breathe.

“green light, red light.”

again, not a single soul stirs.

“you’ll also die if you don’t make it there in time!” player 456 yells, his voice is strained, frantic. “that doll is a motion detector! but it can’t detect movement that’s hidden!”

your instincts kick in immediately, overriding the fear that has been paralyzing you. your eyes dart to myeong-gi, who stands beside you like a trembling leaf in the wind. the smaller man looks utterly petrified, his wide eyes locked on the doll as though sheer terror alone would keep him safe. your chest tightens.

if myeong-gi stayed behind you, the doll wouldn’t see him. he could be shielded. he’d be safe… wouldn’t he?

“get behind someone bigger than you! like you’re playing ‘follow the leader’! we’re running out of time! we’ve got to move!”

“green light, red light,” the doll turns its head again, and everyone starts moving cautiously.

you don’t hesitate this time. the second the doll’s head swivels away, you grab myeong-gi’s arm and yank him behind you.

“stay behind me,” you hiss, your voice firm, almost a growl. “i’m taller. that fucking doll won’t see you.”

myeong-gi opens his mouth to argue, his lips trembling as he tries to form words. he wants to tell you not to do this, not to risk yourself for his sake. if you die, myeong-gi couldn’t live with the guilt. he doesn’t want to be spared if it means you’d take the hit.

but the words never come.

the moment of protest vanishes as quickly as it had appeared, swallowed by fear and the unrelenting pressure of time ticking away. myeong-gi doesn’t have the strength to object, nor the time to argue. your grip on his arm tightens, and before he can say anything, you’re moving.

you lead the way, each step measured and deliberate. you overtake several other players, your eyes never leaving the doll, your entire body coiled like a spring ready to snap. the second the doll’s phrase ends, you freeze, your body rigid.

the silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the sound of shallow breathing and the occasional stifled whimper.

then, the voice comes.

“player 188, eliminated.”

“player 244, eliminated.”

each announcement is punctuated by a gunshot. the sound slices through the air like a blade, cold and unrelenting. you fight the instinct to flinch, your body stiff as a statue. you don’t move a muscle, don’t let yourself react. if you let the fear in now, even for a second, it’ll consume you whole.

your grip tightens on myeong-gi’s hand ━ no, wait. when had myeong-gi’s hand slipped into yours? you barely register the smaller man’s fingers interlaced with your own, holding on like a lifeline. somehow, it’s enough to keep your trembling at bay.

“green light, red light.”

the cycle begins again.

move. stop. watch people die. move again.

step by agonizing step, the participants inch forward, their breaths shallow, their movements calculated. with each red light, another set of gunshots rings out, and the ground becomes littered with the fallen. it’s horrific, but no one dares to look down for too long. they can’t. looking means acknowledging the truth of it, and the truth is unbearable.

eventually, the group adapts. a pattern forms ━ one that feels more like a desperate gamble than a plan. they’ve started advancing in single file, a method designed to minimize the doll’s line of sight. those at the front of the line are the most vulnerable, the first to be scanned by those unblinking eyes.

you’re near the front. of course you are.

you don’t know whether to curse your bad luck or accept it as some cruel inevitability. either way, it’s a dangerous position, and the knowledge of it hangs over you like a guillotine. you keep your head down, your focus sharp. it’s all you can do to survive.

as the finish line draws closer, the air feels heavier. the death toll has risen drastically; you wouldn’t be surprised if over two hundred people had already been eliminated. the thought barely registers anymore. the sheer scale of it is numbing.

“green light, red light.”

the doll’s phrase snaps you back into action. your muscles burn with exhaustion, but you push forward. beside you ━ or rather, slightly behind you ━ myeong-gi keeps pace. his grip on your hand hasn’t faltered once, as if letting go would spell disaster.

you don’t blame him.

the finish line is so close now. just a few more steps.

“green light, red light.”

this time, you don’t hesitate. you and myeong-gi break into a desperate sprint, your legs pumping with every ounce of strength you have left. the finish line blurs in your vision, but you keep going, driven by sheer survival instinct.

when you cross it, relief floods through you like a crashing wave. the moment your feet hit the other side, your legs give out, and you collapse onto the ground, your back slamming against the cold wall behind you. you don’t care how undignified it looks.

you’ve made it. you’re fucking alive.

your breathing comes out in harsh, ragged gasps, your chest heaving as you try to steady yourself. everything around you feels distorted, like you’re underwater. your vision wavers, the edges of your sight swimming with black spots.

a sharp sound drags you back. gunfire.

you lift your head, your movements sluggish. three more players collapse just meters from the finish line. you watch, unblinking, as their bodies crumple to the ground, motionless. the scene unfolds before you like a twisted film, surreal and horrifying.

but your mind refuses to process it.

no, they’re not dead. they can’t be. this isn’t real. this is all some elaborate trick, right? no one would actually kill people over a stupid game.

deep down, you know the truth. they are dead. those gunshots were real. this entire thing is real. but clinging to denial feels safer, like a shield against the horror threatening to overwhelm you. if you accept the truth now, you might never recover.

so you lie to yourself. it’s just a game. it’s fine. you’re fine.

and myeong-gi is alive.

“y/nie.”

the sound of your nickname pulls you out of your spiraling thoughts. the voice is soft but urgent, laced with concern.

“y/nie, are you okay? are you hurt?”

you tilt your head up, your gaze meeting myeong-gi’s wide, teary eyes. he’s crouched in front of you, gripping your arm with trembling hands. the grip is almost too tight, but you don’t flinch.

you watch as myeong-gi’s expression shifts, the worry etched into every line of his face. his lips press into a thin line, his brows drawn together in distress. you can feel the fear radiating off him, see it in the way myeong-gi’s shoulders shake ever so slightly.

for a moment, you consider pulling away. you could push those hands off, brush myeong-gi aside, tell him to stop fussing. but you don’t have the strength to resist. instead, you exhale shakily and give a faint nod.

“i’m fine,” you mumble, though your voice lacks conviction.

myeong-gi doesn’t look convinced either, but he doesn’t press further. he just stays where he is, hands still gripping your arm, his presence grounding.

the reality of your situation weighs heavily on your mind. you don’t know what kind of hell you’ve stepped into, but one thing is certain: there’s sure no way out.

for now, all you can do is survive.

previous masterlist next

note ∘ ∘ ∘ the dynamic between you and myeonggi is still unclear and complicated haha… we’ll learn more about your past relationship in the upcoming chapters!

taglist ∘ ∘ ∘ @suunani @academiq @startaegi @okaycharr @mayaswrld1212 @belladonna6-6-6 @desafortuno @noxitsnox @trizxyp @inarizqkis @gunatth @jamiliana @w4ldorfs @juuyeeos @wshyouwerehere @aspekt-touch @twomocns (please let me know if you wanna be added!)

[misstycloud]

Hey! I’m new to your blog so sorry if requests are closed 😅 I missed it if there was something that said so. But do you mind writing a second part to the yandere male harpy x reader? 😄

this is are just one of my thoughts that came to mind but imagine the reader trying to start a small fire at the entrance of the cave (away from the nest obviously) to cook the food. Just the absolute horror on the harpy’s face coming back to see fire in his cave. 😂

Anyway sorry for the ramble and thank you either way if you decide to write for it or not😄

Not super focused on the fire in this but hope it’s enjoyable anyway.

———————

The giant cave opening often brought you trouble. Through it cold winds would blow in and sometimes a bunch of leaves and twigs as well. You’d then be forced to sweep the mess with the broom you had made on your own. The handle was a long, relatively thick branch and the bristles were feathers collected from the giant bird-man hovering over you all the time. His feathers were big and strong, they also fell off. It was just like hair, you supposed.

You’d never forget the expression he made when he noticed you picking up his fallen feathers. He seemed so happy. The male harpy’s face was lit up like a child’s on Christmas Eve and he was constantly cooing happily. You wouldn’t be surprised if this meant you liked him, in his culture.

After witnessing you bringing all the feathers into you arms and searching for more scattered around the cave, the harpy felt true joy. You still hadn’t fully warmed up to him which he did not understand. Did he do something wrong? Was the nest perhaps not satisfactory? Maybe he should rebuild it in the future- with your input of course- so you’ll like it. You hardly ate anything he hunted you and reluctantly slept in his arms at night. It always took a bit of convincing for you to joint him in the nest and cuddle. Sadly, he could understand why you gave in eventually and it was not because you were simply shy, it was because of the cold winds. You waited until you couldn’t take the chill anymore and joined him. The thought stung his heart. He loved you but you hardly considered him your mate. He thought all hope was lost until you began collecting his fathers. Had he finally impressed you? If you liked his wings then he’d gladly give you more feathers. He wasn’t quite sure what you wanted them for but he didn’t care. If you wanted the feathers then doesn’t that mean by extension that you desire him too?

The harpy male made sure you didn’t have to scavenge for lost feather, instead he gave you more directly from the source. On top of that, he made sure to give you the finest and biggest ones since those were the ones you seemed most fond of. It took a lot of effort to stop him from ripping out his own feathers. If he’d continued you fear he would have ended up looking something like a mix between a plucked turkey and a human.

Now, the cave hole always gave you more pain than happiness. It did not help at all; until it did.

Your hunger strike was nearing an end. The nuts and other comfort food you had brought with you before was gone. You had finally eaten it all, there was nothing left but the empty wrappers serving as a cruel reminder of your old life. You would do anything for a spongy convenience store sandwich. This meant you no longer had the privilege of declining the meals Crow presented to you.

Crow, that was the name you’d given the overgrown bird who’d decided to kidnap you and force you to be his mate. It fit him well since he sort of did look like a crow. His hair and wings were a dark colour and he never failed to caw at you whenever you refused to give him attention. He was a bird but honestly reminded you more of a puppy.

You don’t get to say no to the dead animals anymore. No matter how much you try there’s no way you could possibly get down the mountain without dying- or complete paralysis, if you were an experienced climber. It made sense why Crow chose this cave as his home, it was inaccessible without the ability of flight.

When he returned home with a fresh kill you wasted no time. Instantly you were in front of it with your knife ready. It was gross having to cut through the raw meat(especially with all the blood pouring out)but desperate times called for desperate measures. You tried comparing it to cutting up organs in biology class.

Crow was startled when you rushed forward to seize the deer he’d caught. You had never done that before. You always stayed away from him when he ate and chose to accept food from the sack of fabric you had. He had considered taking it away in order to force you to rely on him but never went though with it since he knew how much it would hurt you.

He watched with curiosity as you dug through your belongings. You made a satisfied noise when you found what you were looking for. It was something Crow had never seen before. It was small and had a pointy corners. He doubted it was food despite having zero knowledge about it. You then went over to the nest and crudely pulled out a bunch of branches.

“Caaaaaaww!” He schreeched in alarm. Why would his mate destroy their nest? Crow rushed forward and almost didn’t dare look at the damage. A part of the large nest had now begun to disassemble and more branches were falling out. Not the beautiful nest he’d so lovingly build for his mate! He’d been proud of it too.

“Don’t look at me like that, I need these.” You rolled your eyes in irritation. It’s not like the whole nest has been destroyed or anything, only about 10%. The smallest sticks wouldn’t last your fire so you had to get the larger, sturdier branches. “You can find new twigs later, but I have to eat right now.” Your stomach decided to humour you and gave off a strong growl. “See?”

Ignoring the depressed-looking, overgrown bird who gloomily stared at his ruined work, you piled the wood together and flicked your lighter. After a few failed tries, a fire finally started. You sighed in relief. Bow was time for the grilling, you could already smell the sizzling meat. Having been forced to survive on a diet consisting of almost solely oats, you were ready to have something else.

You thought you would be able to make your food in peace with no troubles at all, but what you didn’t expect was that Crow would freak out and throw himself in the fire. You screamed as he thrashed around on the ground in obvious pain until the fire had gone out. He threw the branches in all directions and made sure to stomp out the last of it for good measure. When he was done he stared at you like you were the insane one who’d nearly burned themselves alive.

“What the fuck?” You exclaimed. What had possessed him? Despite Crow clearly being on alarm, you tried collecting new twigs since you still-because of a certain someone- hadn’t eaten and you didn’t know what else to do. This caused a similar reaction to where he ripped them from you and refused to let you get more. It ended with the two of you running around the cave and him staring intensely into your eyes when you finally gave up. He did not want you to start a fire.

Alright, it was understandable. He ate his food raw and probably didn’t have much experience with flames. But you couldn’t eat raw meat!

Would this mean you’d starve? On the long list of ways to die, it definitely was one of the worse ways. It was slow and painful. Before being kidnapped by a bird-man you were always able to eat when you wanted and even after, you had your oat-mix. But now you were really dead; the only food you had you couldn’t eat.

Crow’s intentions towards you and always been obvious so you never really feared him in that way. However, you were beginning to wonder if he’d actually grown tired of you and wanted to find a way to make you suffer to death. Maybe you should’ve accepted his courting after all? Then you wouldn’t feel so hopeless.

A gentle nudge brought you out of your despair. It was the source of your current misery. He nuzzled your hand carefully before staring up at you with concern. He didn’t know what he did wrong. Form his perspective he saw a threat and got rid of it. He was in the right. Unfortunately, it seemed this made you incredibly sad. Crow saw how you sunk down in the cave floor and refused to look up.

He had no idea what you were doing or why you’d thought it be a good idea to start a fire in your home. He had seen the destruction they cause and couldn’t fathom why you’d want to be near it, but he just wanted you to be happy. A sad mate equals a bad life. Reluctantly, he picked up some former nest-branches and pushed them in your direction.

You had a surprised expression in your face. You had not expected him to do that. Watching him with a caution, you took the wood.

Instead of throwing them away and cawing loudly, he simply continued nuzzling your hand and shivered in delight when you ran your fingers through his hair. You noticed how his feathers ruffled up in pleasure. He sure enjoyed when you petted him in any kind of way. Even when you were done preparing he still didn’t do anything to stop you. You smiled at his sudden compliance.

Perhaps you would be getting a warm meal after all.

[mariasont]

Hi I don't know if you're open to requests or not and this is also my first time asking for one but could I get slow dancing with Reid and it's like readers and Spencer's first time slow dancing together and they're all giggly and nervous and just adorable. If not that's totally fine I completely understand that you've got so much on your plate already love your writing!

The Corner Table - S.R

a/n: thank you so so much!!! i kinda took this the shy!medialiason!reader x post!prison!reid hope you don't mind :)

masterlist

pairings: shy!medialiason!reader x post!prison!reid

warnings: reader being a lil awk, spencer being flirty-ish

wc: 1.6k

You weren't sure what was worse honestly: how the high heels dug into your feet or the fact that every step felt like a very badly placed gamble.

The shoes were a mistake, obviously, stiff as concrete, and it only took about thirty minutes of awkward mingling to confirm you'd made a bad call. Thirty minutes of wobbly steps, trying to act comfortable, and—oh, the best part—tripping over your own feet in front of Rossi.

He'd laughed, patted your shoulder, and thrown out a you're doing fine, kid, but that did little to comfort you.

And now you were here, sitting at a round table tucked into the far corner of the ballroom, nursing the last watery remnants of what you’d hoped was champagne but turned out to be sparkling cider. All around you, people were laughing, chatting and spinning elegantly across the polished dance floor. 

You’d been warned that this event was a big deal, but somehow, big deal hadn’t captured the sheer enormity of it. It felt like the kind of thing where people belonged because they just knew how to belong, and all it did was push your shoulders up to your ears.

You tugged at the hem of your dress, smoothing out wrinkles that weren’t there, willing yourself—begging yourself—not to look at him.

That was an impossible task. You weren’t fooling anyone.

Spencer Reid, standing a few tables away, deep in conversation with JJ. He'd ditched his tie somewhere between dinner and now, because apparently, he needed to make looking ridiculous levels of handsome seem effortless too. He looked relaxed, confident, absolutely everything you weren't.

Again ridiculous.

He didn’t even seem like the same man you’d met a few months ago. That Spencer had been intimidating in a textbook, straight-out-of-an-academic-journal way. Impossibly smart, sharp-edged in all the ways that made you stumble over your words like you didn’t even know the alphabet. 

But this Spencer? There was something softer about him now that you knew him better, something quieter you’d found yourself to enjoy, but it was no less overwhelming.

If anything, it was worse. You couldn’t stop looking at him... but you couldn’t hold his gaze, either. Tough shit.

You’d spoken to him only a handful of times tonight, and that had been more than enough to convince you that keeping your distance was the safest option. Embarrassing yourself in front of him once was bad enough (you’d spilled your drink on the lapel of his suit). To risk doing it again? You weren’t sure your pride could take the hit.

A slow song started to drift from the speakers, and you watched as couples started to move. You watched as they swept onto the dance floor, moving as if they’d rehearsed it like one of those flash dances at the mall. It was sweet, you supposed.

Sweet and incredibly uncomfortable, because the longer you sat there, the more out of place you felt.

Your eyes drifted—without permission, really—back to Spencer. JJ had stepped away, leaving him standing there alone, his hands in his pockets.

You looked down quickly, hoping he hadn't noticed you staring. 

"Do you always sit this far away from everyone?"

The voice startled you, mostly because it was coming from so much closer than you’d expected.

You jumped, your head snapping up so fast you almost knocked over your drink. Spencer was standing there. Right there. His hands still rested in his pockets, his posture relaxed, but his head was tilted slightly, and the way he was looking at you—curious, maybe a little amused—made your heart do a somersault straight into oncoming traffic.

At least that’s what you imagined.

"I—what?" you stammered.

He smiled—a soft, easy, lopsided thing that hit you like a sucker punch to the stomach, which immediately decided it hated you. And maybe him.

Your heart surely didn’t feel the same.

Anatomy, man.

“I was just wondering if this table was some sort of hiding spot,” he said, his hand sweeping toward the empty seats. “Because if it is, it’s a pretty good one.”

You laughed nervously, a sound that felt more awkward coming out of your mouth than it had in your head. “No. Not hiding. Just… taking everything in.”

He raised a brow, his expression making it clear he wasn’t buying it.

“Right,” he said, his voice dipping just slightly as the smile at the corner of his mouth grew. “And are you planning to take everything in from this exact spot for the rest of the night?”

You blinked at him. You weren’t sure if you were more embarrassed by how he’d seen straight through you or impressed by how easily he’d done it. 

“I… hadn’t really thought that far ahead.”

“Well,” he said, taking a step closer, closing the already small space between you, “if you’re open to suggestions, I have an idea.”

Your heart, already racing, shot straight from traffic into the stratosphere. “An idea?”

He nodded, extending a hand toward you. “Dance with me.”

The words hung in the air between you, and for a second, all you could do was stare at him.

“Me?” you managed, because what else could you say?

“No,” he said, deadpan. “The chair behind you.”

The laugh escaped you before you could stop it, louder than you’d meant, and for a second, you regretted it. But then his smile grew—still soft but more genuine, his eyes crinkling just slightly—and it made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t entirely out of your depth.

“Yes, you,” he said, his voice softer now. “Unless you’d rather keep sitting here, of course. No pressure.”

But it was pressure, somehow, because he meant it, and that made it infinitely more difficult to think straight. 

And because he was Spencer Reid, standing there with his hand out like it was the most normal thing in the world, waiting for you to decide.

You glanced at his hand, then at the dance floor, then back at him. “I’m... not really good at this kind of thing.”

“That’s okay,” he said simply. “I am.”

There was nothing arrogant about his words.

You hesitated, glancing around the room, but no one was paying attention to you. The only person who seemed to care at all was Spencer.

And, against all logic—or maybe because logic had completely abandoned you, probably likely—you reached for his hand.

It was warm and solid in a way that made you painfully aware of how clammy your own hand must have felt in comparison. For a split second, you half-expected him to pull away. But he didn't, instead, his fingers curled around yours like he'd done this a hundred times before.

Was this really happening? Your mind couldn't seem to catch up with the reality of him, of his hand in yours as he guided you to the dance floor.

Every step felt louder than it shoulder, the space between you and everyone growing smaller, and with it, the sinking feeling that you were completely exposed. Spencer didn't seem to notice. Or maybe he did, and just didn't mind.

“See?” he said softly, his voice barely rising above the music, yet somehow, you couldn’t miss it. His hand shifted slightly, his fingers pressing lightly against the small of your back. “Not so bad.”

Easy for him to say when he wasn't the one trying to remember how breathing worked—or how standing upright worked, for that matter.

Because all you could think about was how close he was. Close enough that the heat of him seeped through the thin fabric of your dress, close enough that every shift brough the clean scent of him, close enough that if you were feeling particularly risky, you had every ability to press your lips to his. Not that you would ever feel so risky.

“I feel like everyone’s watching,” you muttered, keeping your eyes firmly on the space between your shoes and his.

“They’re not,” he said, so surely that you almost believed him.

Almost.

You weren’t sure where to put your other hand, so you settled for his shoulder. That was a safe bet, right?

To your surprise, Spencer was... good at this. Like, really good. His movements were natural, steps easy and fluid, like he'd done this a hundred times before. Meanwhile, you felt clumsy, awkward, your limbs uncooperative in a way that made you hyper-aware close he was. It was a wonder you hadn't tripped over your own feet—or worse, his.

You felt a flicker of envy. Not for the way he moved, exactly, although that too. But just the way it felt like he wasn't even trying. Like it was just a part of him to make you feel like you were the most important person in the room.

"You're good at this," you blurted the thoughts in your head before you could think about stopping them. 

He chuckled softly. "I've had some practice."

You arched a brow. "You've had practice slow dancing?"

“Well, technically, yes,” he said, his lips twitching like he was barely holding back a grin. “It’s just physics—weight distribution, momentum, coordination. Very simple stuff.”

"Of course it's physics," you muttered, unable to stop the small laugh that escaped you. 

His smile widened, and for a fleeting moment, the nervous energy between you seemed to dissolve, melting away like it had never existed. But then he looked at you—not just at you, but into you—and it was right back.

You couldn't say how long the song had been playing or when the rest of the room seemed to blur into nothingness. All you could feel was his thumb brushing over your knuckles, so light it almost tickled and you felt like it might disappear if you acknowledged it aloud.

It wasn't the kind of touch that shouldn’t have meant anything. It was just a natural shift in movement, probably, something he might not even realized he was doing. But it crashed through you all the same, leaving your thoughts muddled and fuzzy.

The song ended far too soon.

Spencer's hand slipped from your waist, but he didn't let go of your other hand right away. His thumb brushed over the back of it—just once—before he released you. Just enough to make you feel semi-crazy.

"Thanks for the dance."

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. The words caught somewhere between your chest and your throat, leaving you nodding instead, helpless to do anything else.

His smile lingered like an afterthought before he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, your hand still tingling where his touch had been.

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[heliosunny]

Yandere!Rafayel x Reader

Twisted The little mermaid.

Rafayel’s lilac waves floated like a shimmering halo around his face, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that bordered on devotion and madness. He watched from the shadows of the coral as you sang softly to yourself, your voice carrying your dreams of the human prince to the currents.

He hated that song. Hated the way it wasn’t meant for him.

Yet, he couldn’t help but admire the way your delicate form moved in the water, your innocent gaze always turned toward the surface. You were his, even if you didn’t know it yet. And he would make sure you did.

When you came to him one fateful night, your desperation radiating through every word, he knew this was his chance.

"I need legs, Rafayel" you whispered, your voice trembling with both fear and hope. "Please... I have to see him. I’ll do anything."

The sea prince’s lips curved into a smile—soft, reassuring, almost kind. But his eyes betrayed the storm within. "Anything?" he repeated, his voice smooth like silk yet sharp as a blade.

You hesitated but nodded.

He floated closer, his ornate white-and-gold robes flowing around him like the mist of a breaking wave. His fingers, adorned with delicate gold rings, traced a glowing rune in the water.

"You’ll have what you want" Rafayel promised, his voice a lullaby of false comfort. "But the land is harsh, little one. You’ll need protection—someone who truly understands you. Someone like me."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, though you brushed it off as nerves. "I’ll be fine" you insisted, your thoughts consumed by the human prince. "He’ll protect me."

Rafayel’s smile twitched, but he quickly masked his irritation. Foolish girl. You didn’t see the lengths he would go to for you, the ways he had already moved the currents of fate in his favor.

With a flash of magic, the transformation was done. Pain seared through your tail as it split into two, forming delicate legs. The price of the spell—the voice that had so often carried your longing—was stolen away, sealed within the amulet Rafayel wore around his neck.

You didn’t notice the way his fingers lingered on the amulet, or the possessiveness in his gaze as he carried you to the shore.

When you opened your eyes on the beach, the sun was rising. A figure stood nearby, his silhouette golden against the light. Your heart swelled—your prince! He turned, his smile disarming and warm, and reached a hand toward you.

"Are you alright?" he asked gently, helping you to your feet. His voice was familiar, and yet... something about it felt different.

You didn’t notice the subtle shift in his features, the faint shimmer of magic that clung to him. Rafayel, now wearing the face of the human prince, hid his triumph behind a façade of kindness.

"I’ve been waiting for someone like you" he said, his rose-hued eyes meeting yours with a warmth that made your chest tighten. "Stay with me. I’ll keep you safe."

You nodded, unable to speak, and followed him, unaware that the man you loved had been replaced by the very being you’d tried to escape.

As the days passed, Rafayel’s true nature began to seep through. He was attentive to the point of suffocation, always close, always watching. The human world that had once seemed so bright began to feel like a cage, and you couldn’t help but feel a strange unease.

The real prince was gone, hidden beneath the waves in a slumbering spell, and Rafayel’s obsession tightened around you like a noose. He whispered sweet lies in your ear, his disguised hands caressing your hair as he wove a new world around you—one where you belonged to him and him alone.

And the worst part? You were beginning to believe it.

Days bled into weeks, and your once vibrant dream of a life on land began to dull under the weight of Rafayel’s presence. He was everything you had wanted: kind, attentive, and protective—but there was a strange edge to him, a quiet intensity in the way his rose-colored eyes followed your every move.

At first, you dismissed the unease. You chalked it up to your struggles adapting to the human world. The land felt foreign, the air too dry, and the world too vast. Rafayel, still in the guise of the prince, was your anchor, your constant.

But soon, his affection began to suffocate.

“I don’t think you should wander the marketplace alone” he said one morning as you stood by the window, gazing out at the bustling streets. His tone was soft, but there was no mistaking the firmness in his words. “It’s dangerous for someone like you. You wouldn’t want to get hurt.”

You frowned, gesturing toward the lively scene below as if to say, But I want to see it.

Rafayel’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll take you when I’m free. But for now, stay here where I can keep you safe.”

Safe. The word felt like chains tightening around your ankles.

You began to notice other things. How he seemed to know your every move, how his touch lingered a little too long, how his eyes darkened whenever you tried to pull away. The warmth that had once drawn you to him now felt like a fire, consuming everything in its path.

And then there were the dreams.

At night, you dreamed of the sea, of violet eyes glowing in the dark depths, of a voice calling your name. It was haunting, familiar, and terrifying. When you woke, the amulet Rafayel wore around his neck seemed to shimmer in the faint moonlight, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was watching you.

One evening, as Rafayel escorted you back from the gardens, you caught sight of a small fountain glimmering in the moonlight. The water called to you, its surface rippling like the waves you had once known.

You approached it cautiously, kneeling by its edge. The reflection staring back at you was familiar yet wrong. The human prince’s face smiled, but there was something… off. You tilted your head, trying to make sense of the strange flicker in his image.

Behind you, Rafayel’s voice broke the silence. “Do you miss it?”

You turned to find him watching you, his eyes unreadable.

“The sea” he clarified, stepping closer. “Do you miss what you left behind?”

You hesitated, nodding slowly.

He crouched beside you, his hand brushing yours. “I told you the land could be cruel” he murmured. “But I’ve given you everything, haven’t I? A chance to be here, with me.”

Something in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. You pulled your hand away, your gaze falling to the amulet around his neck.

“Do you like it?” he asked, following your gaze. He lifted the pendant, letting it catch the light. “It’s special, you know. It holds something very dear to me.”

Your breath hitched. The dreams, the unease, the haunting melody that played in the back of your mind—it all made sense now.

It wasn’t the human prince standing before you. It never had been.

“Rafayel” you whispered, the name clawing its way to the surface of your memory.

His smile widened, but there was no kindness in it now. “Ah, you remember.”

You stumbled back, your legs trembling beneath you. He caught you easily, his grip firm but gentle. “Why do you look so frightened, my love? Everything I’ve done was for you.”

Panic surged through you as Rafayel’s mask of gentleness slipped away, revealing the obsession and madness beneath. You had to get away, but the land—your dream, was no longer safe.

Summoning every ounce of courage, you broke free from his grasp and ran. The cobblestone streets blurred around you as you raced toward the shore, the call of the sea growing louder with each step.

Behind you, Rafayel’s voice echoed, calm but menacing. “You can’t escape me, little one. The sea is mine, just as you are.”

When you reached the water, you hesitated. Your legs, foreign and unfamiliar, wavered beneath you. But the waves seemed to reach for you, pulling you forward.

“Come back” Rafayel said softly, appearing behind you as if summoned by the tide. His lilac hair shimmered in the moonlight, his pink-colored eyes burning with an intensity that made your chest ache. “I can’t lose you.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. You dove into the waves, the water enveloping you in its cold embrace.

But even the ocean couldn’t protect you from Rafayel. The tides shifted unnaturally, dragging you back toward him. His magic surged around you, and his voice filled your mind.

“You can’t run from me, my love” he whispered. “We’re bound together—by magic, by fate, by love.”

As you fought against the tide, something began to change. The legs Rafayel had given you faltered, a sharp, searing pain running up your body. You gasped, clutching at your sides as your limbs began to dissolve into shimmering scales. The magic was unraveling, the spell breaking apart.

“You can’t return to the sea—not without me.”

-----

Check out for twisted version of

Caleb [snow white]

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