#and we get to imagine the CHAOS THIS LEAVES | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theonewiththefanfics · 2 months ago

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Sisyphus No Longer (one-shot)

Synopsis: Robby knows chaos intimately. He knows how to navigate it, and guide others through. But sometimes life throws a curveball so big, not even he can get out of the range of impact.

Pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x fem!Reader

Genre: mainly fluffy, lil bit of angst (Robby just lives in an anxious state of mind worrying about his girlfriend)

Warnings: swearing, bit of medical talk (hopefully mostly accurate lol, nothing explicit, though if you pick up on anything please do let me know, and I'll add it here 😊), innuendos, but no smut this time around.

Word count: 10,879 (here we go again 🙃)

This is a follow-up to An Itch You Can't Scratch, but I think you can read this on its own as well :) Please don't copy my work or repost it onto other platforms. all of the characters belong to HBO Max.

Robby’s life was chaos. But it was chaos he was used to.

He knew how to navigate it, like a ship under the blanket of fog. Knew how to bend the mist to his will, and twist it to reveal the correct course of action.

For example, chaos causer No. 1 – Myrna.

She was a regular at the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital. She dished out verbal assaults, like it was a Friday at a bar, trying to flash anyone who even threw her a glance, all the while being handcuffed to a wheelchair. The one time she’d managed to Houdini her way out, had sent the whole unit into a tailspin.

But Myrna was a constant in his life. She brought a sense of levity during his incredibly stressful days and allowed him to crack a grin or two. He was her Fruitcake and she was his Fruitfly. They just worked like that.

Then there was chaos causer No. 2 – Good old Gloria.

If there was one thing in the world Robby hated, other than people who took their primary medical advice from Reddit forums, it was suits, and people in them. Especially those that tried to run hospitals, while prioritizing cost-cutting, instead of the safety of their staff and patients.

“Would people recommend this emergency department to their friends or loved ones?” Gloria had asked him a couple of days prior, singing her usual song, albeit in a slightly different key.

The only thing that’d saved her had been the fact a mother had walked in with her five-year-old son, a piece of crayon stuck in his nose.

“Gloria, quite honestly, nobody is walking around recommending emergency departments, because nobody wants to be here. The last thing on the mind of someone with a split open head or a dying parent is leaving a five-star review. But sure. Be my guest. How about you go around the people sitting here, having waited eight hours to be seen, and ask them what they thought of the service today.”

She bristled at his light, but clearly aggravated tone. “I imagine eight hours is a long time to wait.”

“It is. You know how we could cut it down?” He crossed his arms. “More nurses. More staff. More equipment. It’s that easy. But unless you wish to get a rainbow sneezed on you, I suggest you walk away.”

She wasn’t amused by his words, but when Dana sidled up, helping him steady the kid against the unpleasant feel of forceps digging around his nose for a sky-blue piece of crayon, she muttered in a low tone, “This is all alleged, and if anyone asks, nobody has seen or heard anything. But there’s a rumor going around, that someone might’ve put sardines behind the radiator of a certain someone’s car.”

It had taken everything in Robby not to bust out laughing, even as the kid sprayed him with cerulean snot, which brought him to chaos causer(s) No. 3 – the whole of the Pitt.

Ever since his one-night-stand and fleeing escapade had been revealed a month prior, by none other than the woman who was his girlfriend now, nobody was allowing him to live down the words she’d dished out upon her admission to the ED.

Four hours.

Shaking mess.

God fucking help him.

He was Mr. Stamina now.

A ladies’ man (though he considered himself the man of only one specific lady).

His closest friend Jack Abbot had even heard about this. As he’d come in to overtake the Pitt the evening after Y/N’s discharge, he’d clapped Robby on the back and requested his tips and tricks for lasting that long in bed.

“What?” Robby scoffed, pulling off his stethoscope and zipping up his bag. “I can handle a whole ED on top of the hospital board for twelve hours straight, yet you don’t think I can handle one woman for four?”

“I never said that.” Jack lifted his hands in mock surrender. “The real question is – when you two first met – was that during one of your seven days off-shift?”

“Fuck you, man.” Robby pushed past him, ears reddening like ripe raspberries.

“Nah, brother. That job seems to be taken already.”

Robby had just given him the middle finger as he walked away and clocked out.

That had been his life every single day since Y/N had taken a chance on him, and had become the one chaos-causer he was still trying to adjust to.

It had been a little over a month since she’d broken her leg, and it had been a little over a month since they’d officially started dating.

(He’d scoffed at the term at first. “Dating?” he’d asked. “In my big old age?”

“Okay,” Y/N had mocked him. “Would you like to call it ‘wooing’? ‘Courting’? Do we need a chaperone to watch over as we graze our fingers alo-,”

“Alright,” he sighed. “Point taken.”)

He couldn’t be any happier though. The way they’d gotten reintroduced wasn’t one he wished to repeat because seeing Y/N in any kind of mild discomfort made him wince, but he would always be thankful for the universe granting him another opportunity.

He wouldn’t say that by the time she’d come to his place of work with a bone sticking out of her leg, he’d given up on love for himself, but Robby had resigned to the fact that maybe, a relationship, a romantic kind of love, wasn’t in the cards for him anymore.

And yet now, as he dragged his tired legs over to the place she shared with her best friend Sara, his mind couldn’t help but wonder what had he done in this life or maybe a past one, that’d granted him such happiness.

A paper bag of croissants crinkled as he patted down his trousers, searching for the spare key Y/N had given him. Mainly it was because Sara was sometimes out late bartending at her second job, and his girlfriend, her leg still in a cast, was slow to move around the apartment. But still, Robby always knocked first.

It felt intimate, coming into her space like that.

Like returning home, rather than simply staying over at someone else’s place.

He heard shuffling and voices echo before Sara opened the door, welcoming him inside. His brown eyes ventured to the couch on instinct where he’d usually find Y/N, her leg on the coffee table while the two friends watched a movie or a show or a serial killer documentary, only to find it empty.

Robby didn’t have to wonder long where she was, as he turned his neck and found Y/N in a heated conversation, her back towards the living area of the studio-type apartment, phone on speaker as a male voice argued back.

His brain was immediately overtaken by the doctor side of it – he wondered how long had she been standing for. Had she elevated her leg at all during the day? What was her pain level? But the words that came out of her mouth completely overrode the code, as it wasn’t something he expected to hear at all.

“No, you know what you’ve done, Harry? You’ve effectively killed our mother.”

“What’s going on?” Robby asked Sara, as the woman plopped down onto the couch, his gaze frantically scanning Y/N’s form. “Is Mrs. Y/L/N alright?”

Sara waved him off. “She’s fine. In fact, she’s never been better. No thanks to the hurricane over there though. Just listen. Y/N’s been ripping her brother a new one for like twenty minutes already.”

Placing his backpack onto a chair, and sliding to sit on the armrest, he watched as Y/N opened and closed random cabinets, her back taut as a string.

Even angry she was beautiful, Robby thought.

Maybe old and worn men like him did deserve kind and gentle things.

However, the way she spoke to her brother, well... She was as gentle as a cactus spike. “Harry, why the fuck would you do that? Why the fuck would you let her go alone?”

“She’s not gonna be alone, holy shit, Y/N/N! Take a fucking chill pill!” her brother exasperated on the other end of the line. “Dad’s going with!”

“Oh, great!” She threw her hands up and slammed an overhead cupboard closed. “That’s just fucking fantastic! You’ve turned us into Annie! Do you not have enough braincells to realize just how many people go missing while on cruises?”

Robby looked towards Sara who was watching the drama unfold with a wineglass in her hand. “Cruises?”

“One of her mom’s dreams has been to go on a cruise,” she explained. “She’s been joking that when one of her kids makes a million, they’ll get her a cruise pass.”

“And Y/N’s brother made a million?” From what he’d been told, Harry was five years younger than his sister. “Smart kid.”

“Dumb kid.” Sara snorted. “And not a millionaire. He just lives to torture her, I guess. He got their parents cruise passes for Y/M/N's birthday three days ago. Y/N even chipped in thinking it was for a new car or something. Quite frankly, I’m with Harry on this one. Their parents deserve a nice vacation in the Caribbean, but when Y/M/N phoned her to thank them for the present the two got for her…” Sara whistled. “I thought an eye might pop out of her skull. Or at least a vein, so now she’s been having the most epic crash-out. Want some popcorn?”

He could do nothing but shake his head and cross his arms, a smile blooming on his lips as he watched Y/N war with her brother.

“And if they get killed?” Y/N glared down at the phone on the kitchen counter. “It’s international waters! No jurisdiction wants to deal with that shit! They’ll become a fucking unsolved case!”

“Oh my god, they’re not gonna get killed!” Robby could just imagine her brother pulling his hands through his hair as Y/N didn’t relent. “They’re two pensioners who just want to relax on a big boat and see some sights with a Margarita in their hand!”

“And what if they are? Do you know where they keep the dead bodies on cruises? Next to those fucking Margarita mixes!”

Harry’s sigh was royal. “And who exactly has such a vendetta against them?”

“There’s a lot of bad people out there.” Y/N scoffed incredulously. “Do you need me to send you links to all the documentaries there are about people who’ve died under mysterious circumstances while on a cruise?”

“No, what I think is, you need to lay off true-crime for a while. You’re starting to sound like some red-pill conspiracy theorist! Mom and dad just want to have a vacation. Besides, you’re never like this when they fly somewhere.”

Y/N huffed, putting her hands on her hips. “Okay. Fine. How about this – mom is completely time-blind and dad’s a topographical idiot. What if they forget their passports while on some excursion or get lost? I don’t want to see them on a single TikTok about pier runners and whatnot.”

“They drove all through Spain, Italy and France last summer, and fun fact – didn’t manage to get lost,” Harry griped. “I think they will be just fine, especially because they will be with a group and a whole ass guide.”

“That’s not good enough!”

“Why can’t you just be happy for mom and dad? You know she’s wanted to go on a cruise for ages! She was so happy when she saw it was from both of us.”

“Harry…” Y/N rubbed at her forehead, but before she managed to say anything, her brother said something that made Sara choke on her wine.

“Why are you so fucking strung up? Is that new doctor boyfriend of yours not giving you any?”

Quite honestly, if he’d been drinking anything himself, he would have also choked. He hadn’t known Y/N had talked to her family about him, nor had he realized she’d told them it was a serious relationship. It made warmth bloom in his chest. Or maybe that was just the blush turning him tomato red.

“Actually, he’s -,” she twisted around and finally noticed he was sitting in her living room. “Right here,” Y/N finished in a clipped tone. “I’m gonna go. Next time I see you, Harry, you’re dead. Start writing a fucking will.”

With that, she ended the call and gave Robby a sheepish smile. “Hi. Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I gathered as much,” he chuckled, back popping as he stood up and went to Y/N. It was almost instinctive how his hands found their way to her waist, resting on the dips above her hips. “Seemed like you were in a pretty intense argument. Wanna talk about it?”

“That depends.” Her hand trailed up his chest and settled on the nape of his neck, nails scratching against the skin there, a pleasant hum reverberating through his body. “Will you tell me that my brother is correct, and I’m obviously overreacting about this and that my parents will be totally fine? Or do you have common sense and wish to remain in a relationship with me?”

He gave her a crooked smile. “Can’t it be both?”

Y/N threw her head back and groaned, which gave Robby the opportunity to lean down and press a kiss against her pulse point, his own heart jumping in delight as he felt it speed up. He still couldn’t stop reveling in the fact, he had such an effect on this young, amazing woman.

“I know,” she huffed. “I know they will be fine, but I can’t help but worry. I have this irrational fear of cruises. I can’t explain it.” Suddenly she snapped her head up so fast, her forehead almost collided with his teeth. “Oh God. Don’t tell me you’re gonna be like that someday. Because if one of your dreams is to go on a cruise, I think we need to end this right here and now.”

“Sweetheart.” He cupped her face in his palms. “I don’t plan on going on a cruise anytime soon, nor once I’m geriatric. Unless you’re coming with me, I have no intentions of going on such trips.”

Y/N sighed and nodded, seemingly accepting his response. “Okay good. Because I do not have the mental capacity it takes to solve crimes.”

“They will be fine. It’s admirable you care for your parents so much, but they will be alright. And I do agree with your brother – you’ve got to stop watching true-crime for a bit.”

“Well, there’s not much for me to do at home. I still have two weeks until Langdon gets me out of cast number two,” she grumbled and took hold of the crutches she’d placed against the kitchenette. “Work from home is great, until you’re done for the day, and you’re already home. I gotta kill the time somehow until Sara gets home or you come over.” Y/N snorted, raising a brow. “Kill time. Get it?”

Robby just huffed a laugh as they made their way over to the couch, Sara having moved to a loveseat, so they could cuddle while he unwound from the day he’d had.

“Leg’s doing alright?” He checked in, as Y/N put a pillow onto the coffee table and placed her foot there.

“Just fine. Like it was yesterday. And the day before. And the day before, and ever since Langdon and Santos put it on.” She leaned over and pecked his lips. The kiss was short, but it was something he’d been dreaming of ever since he woke up in his own bed, in his silent and lonely apartment. “Give them some credit.”

It had been about three weeks prior, that Y/N had come back to the ED for her scheduled appointment with Frank to remove the post-op plaster cast, get the stitches out, and get her leg into the one she’d be wearing for the rest of the recovery time.

When she’d hobbled through the doors, Robby instantly rushed over to help her, smirks and wolf-whistles thrown their way. If he hadn’t been the attending, he was sure they would’ve gone on for the rest of the day. (The nurses did. He didn’t have the power to stop them).

“Back to work, people!” He called out. “Or I’m putting everyone on sanitary duty!”

That got the residents and med students scrambling to find a patient. Dana though, was not under his control like that.

“He treating you good?” The blonde nudged her chin in Robby’s direction. “Because I can give you the combination of chemicals needed to remove bloodstains so that not even Luminol will find a trace.”

Beside him, Y/N snorted at her words, taking the wristband Dana handed her. Without even thinking, Robby slipped it out of her fingers and wrapped it around her hand. An unmistakable heat rose on his face at the action. So simple, yet so telling of where his head was at, what his heart was thinking.

“He’s fine.” Y/N glanced up at him. “Maybe a bit overbearing with the leg thing, but I just chuck it up to those wires they implant in all of your brains when you finish med school.”

“If you say so.” Dana raised her brows and nodded. “Just know – the offer stands.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind,” Y/N chuckled and nodded at Robby that she was ready to move to the exam room where Langdon had already prepped the bed while Robby helped her get situated. Once she was as comfortable as she could be, he crossed his arms and asked, “You okay with a resident coming in and watching, sweetheart?”

He could feel Frank’s eyes snap towards him, the younger man’s mouth curling up in a grin at the nickname that’d slipped past uninhibited, but he didn’t dare look at him. It was like dealing with a wasp – ignore it and hope it goes away. (It didn’t).

“Sure,” Y/N shrugged. “As long as this isn’t some ploy from Saw where my leg will get spontaneously amputated or something.” She threw Langdon a gaze. “It’s not, is it? Because I’ve been having these really weird dreams where my leg just falls off while I’m doing something, and I don’t know if it’s my brain adjusting to the situation, or giving me a premonition I might be ignoring.”

“I doubt Dr. Robby would let anyone touch you with an IV line without supervising.” Rubber gloves snapped against his wrists, but the smirk on his face grew twice as large, as he, no doubt to fuck with Robby, added a little, “Sweetheart,” at the end of it.

“No, I would not.” He deadpanned, and if Frank was gonna be that way, so could he. “Santos!” Robby called out into the hallway, eyes locking on the intern who was milling around the HUB, who he knew Langdon didn’t particularly get along with. Seeing the smile drop from his cocky face was enough of a win. “Come and assist.”

“But that’s just a -,”

“A great learning experience?” Robby stopped whatever rebuttal was about to come out of Trinity’s mouth. “I concur. Now come and help Dr. Langdon.”

She was smart enough not to roll her eyes at him, but her ire was palpable for being called in on such a minuscule job. She had a lot of potential, there was no denying that, but she was too overconfident for Robby’s liking, too alike the many cowboy-types he’d met and had to deal with, so he hoped by making her do the small jobs, she’d start to realize every single thing they did, was important.

A proper IV line was important, listening to the patient as they explained their problems was important, being a steady and soothing presence was important. Even if you were only there to hold someone’s hand – it was sometimes the most important thing they could do.

Langdon huffed as she entered the room, but remained professional as he introduced Trinity as their intern, the woman offering Y/N a small smile to which she responded in kind.

Together they helped her move up her sweatpants to rest against her thigh while Langdon prepped the cast saw. “You alright with Dr. Santos performing the procedure?” he checked in with her.

Robby noted how Y/N squirmed in the bed at the sight of the blade. She was a squeamish person, he knew that, but she was more squeamish because of her overactive imagination. “Can’t say I’m too thrilled about anyone coming near me with a saw, but you people gotta learn at some point, right?”

“I mean, from my experience, everyone could take a page out of a mime’s book,” Trinity smirked as Y/N cocked her head. “They don’t scream.”

Robby brushed a hand down his face as his (unofficial) girlfriend widened her eyes. “Santos, really? That’s -,”

“Dr. Robby?” Dana interrupted him before he could tell that kind of bedside manner didn’t work on patients who already had dreams about spontaneous amputations. “Can you come here for a sec? We need a second opinion.”

He didn’t want to. Despite the fact that he was the attending, and the attending on the shift no less, the thought of leaving Y/N’s side was abysmal. But he couldn’t neglect his duties and show such favoritism, just because his heart worried the whole time she wasn’t in his line of sight.

“I’ll be back in a minute. Santos, listen to Langdon,” he told them and with that went over to Dana, Mel waiting by her side, a nervous bounce to her feet.

It was an easy consult, more to reassure the mother of a sick teenager, the medication they would put him on, wouldn’t interfere with others he was taking and cause an allergic reaction. As he explained it to her, confirming Mel’s diagnosis and Dana’s recommendations, he could hear the saw turn on even a couple of rooms down.

“Go,” Dana nudged him on the hip. “Or you’ll pop a vessel thinking they might be cutting something off that doesn’t need to be cut.”

He brushed a hand over his face, feeling the blood rushing to his cheeks as he excused himself and went back to the examination room. As he moved closer, voices could be heard in low tones.

Robby shouldn’t be hovering like that. Y/N was in great hands. He knew nobody would deliberately hurt her, and Langdon, despite everything, was a good teacher. As he reentered the room, giving her an encouraging smile, he took in how Frank instructed Santos to move down the line, answering Y/N’s question as to why an oscillating saw was so much different than a rotating one and why they had to be used in a different manner – a lifting motion, rather than gliding one.

Y/N let out a sigh of relief as the plaster cracked in two and was removed from her leg, no doubt the feeling of it euphoric. He knew how though it had been on her, but as Santos came to remove the lining, something shifted in her.

The gaze she threw Langdon was alarmed. Almost panicked.

It made Robby straighten up.

“So.” Frank started, sitting down on a wheely chair and moving closer to the appendage while Santos got to work on unbinding the gauze that separated Y/N’s skin from the cast itself. “Wanna tell me what you’ve been up to?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she responded in an obviously fake-oblivious tone, not daring to make eye contact with either him or Robby.

“Oh, I think you do.”

“Nope,” she popped the p. “Absolutely do not.”

Robby raised his brows at her, but she just kept looking at the ceiling as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Frank let out a deep sigh. “Look, I can see that you have been doing something, and I need to know what. The talk about infection wasn’t just to scare you. You have stitches that are still healing. If something got inside the wounds there, it could end really bad. Spontaneous. Amputation. Bad.” He used the words she’d said before.

After what felt like hours, but was probably no more than ten seconds, Y/N muttered, “Hypotheticals?”

“If you must,” Frank’s words were weary, especially as he threw Robby a confused look over his shoulder.

“And you?” she nudged her chin towards the attending. “Do you promise not to have some sort of a meltdown? Or worse – give me a lecture?”

Robby’s mind was a frantic mess, trying to think what horrible thing could have happened, what emergency had he not seen, when finally, she relented.

“Alright. Fine.” The words were basically bitten out. “I may or may not have, hypothetically of course, used a spatula to scratch. And maybe some… metal bookmarks I have. And uh, a wooden skewer, a clean one though. And umm… there might be some bobby pins and hairclips inside as well.” After a beat she added, “They kinda got stuck, and I couldn’t fish them out.”

And, sure enough, when Santos finished removing the lining, three bobby pins were embedded against her skin – one on the top of her foot, one against her knee, and one behind in what Y/N called it, her knee-pit.

Robby pinched the bridge of his nose, huffing a breath, as Frank did the same. “Is that all you used to scratch?”

“Yes.” Y/N didn’t dare look at either of them.

“Honest?”

“Yes!” she asserted, before quietly adding, “Nothing else would fit.”

Santos snorted from where she was cleaning down Y/N’s leg and applying an anti-scar ointment on the hurt skin, removing the bobby pins as she went along, thrashing them before the woman could ask for them back.

Robby couldn’t really fault her for her actions. The itchiness and discomfort a plaster cast could create was a lot to deal with, especially with how she’d been cooped up inside for a whole week without much to do.

“You could’ve caused a serious infection,” he sighed and put his hands on his hips. “You know better than to do that.”

She threw her head back in a groan. “Please, Michael. I asked you not to lecture me. I tried, okay? I really did. But then I just kept thinking about how itchy it was, and you weren’t there to stop me, and it just all boiled over. By the time I had the bobby pins stuck, it was too late. So, actually, it’s all your fault.”

He could only let out a slow, steady exhale and shake his head as he moved to stand by her side while Langdon and Santos gathered the materials for the new cast.

“So,” he broke the settled silence, hoping to stop the pout that’d bloomed on Y/N’s face. “The spatula. Was that the one you said melted on the stove?”

“Yeah,” she grimaced as his resident and intern had to position her leg properly. “I wasn’t gonna like, wash and put it back with the utensils, you know? That’s disgusting.”

“That’s what’s disgusting?” Robby looked down at her.

“Uh huh, keep talking like that, and see where it gets you.” She pointed up at him. “As of right now, we’re still in the situationship phase.”

“Situation-what?”

“Oh, please don’t break his mind like that,” Langdon butted in, as he lifted her leg slightly and told Santos how to properly attached the 3D-printed cast. Y/N let out a hiss of pain and he watched how her grip tightened on her sweats.

Robby didn’t even think twice before his hand slipped inside her palm, allowing her to squeeze it.

“Alright, good girl.” Langdon nodded at the woman on the bed before looking up at Robby, the way his jaw clenched, and snickered. “Oh, sorry. Is that a thing between you two? I hope I’m not stepping on some toes here.”

“You know what, Frank?” Robby squinted at his fourth-year resident. “I think I might have just found Gloria some spare funding.”

“Point taken,” he said with a laugh before removing his gloves and addressing Y/N. “How’s the pain? This cast is much lighter, as you can probably already feel, and will be easier to navigate in terms of movement and hygiene gene.”

“Manageable,” she nodded running a hand down the new material covering her leg. “Tylenol – two tablets every six hours, but no more than six a day.”

“Perfect,” Frank nodded and took hold of her chart, writing down her words. “And the pain level now?”

“Like a four? Maybe five?” Y/N hissed. “Can’t say this was too comfortable of a procedure.”

Robby smoothed a finger down her cheek. “Do you feel like you need any medication right now?”

“Maybe?” she huffed. “It’s just that with the moving,” she shuddered and swallowed hard. “I like, I could feel like plates and screws grating against the bones. Like I know they actually weren't, but it felt like they did, and just yeah… I think it’s apparent I don’t do well with these kinds of things. I honestly don’t understand what kind of steel stomachs you have. I would have thrown up all over the place if I had to see shit like this every day.”

“Well, if Gloria thinks our patient satisfaction scores are low now, she should be glad you don’t work here.”

Y/N huffed at Robby’s words. “This Gloria woman should come down and try being a doctor or a nurse herself. I know I’m not the easiest of patients as is,” she winced and threw him an apologetic glance. “And I think I might have traumatized that kid – Whitaker – the first time I was here, but from what you’ve told me about how people treat you… Sound like she’s about as close to real medicine, as Katy Perry is to being a real astronaut.”

“I like you.” Santos pointed at her. “Let’s keep you around.”

She just shrugged, giving Robby’s hand a squeeze. “I’ll stick around for however long this guy wants me to.”

His heart thumped in his chest. He wanted to say, “And if I want to keep you around forever? Will you stay?” but all he did was squeeze her hand back.

It wasn’t the time or the place for it. They were still, as Y/N had said, though he barely had any inclination as to what it meant, the situationship phase, but hopefully there would be more phases. And he wondered where it would lead him.

He was no longer a single ship passing through the night. He had a new constellation in the sky he could follow, as he managed the residents and students, evaded Gloria and her bureaucratic bullshit; whenever his mind needed a respite, he turned to the new stars gleaming in the cosmos.

As Dana had discharged Y/N, and Robby walked her to wait outside for the Uber, he allowed himself to skim his knuckles along hers. She responded by intertwining their pinkies.

And now it had been a month of that.

She was a month of evenings and nights spent together. A month of mornings waking up grumpy that turned to laughter and kisses. A month of good coffee, and bad movies, but he never took it for granted. He finally had a truly safe space to come to after days when he thought nothing good could exist in the world.

The worst time of day though was the very early mornings, like right then, when he had to leave the space he’d come to cherish so much.

When he was cocooned by her arms and blanket, his body soaking up the warmth Y/N offered, like leaves do the sunlight. Cracking a bleary eye open, he noted the slit where he’d forgotten to pull it tight.

A heavy sigh left him as she groaned, pulling at his back so their chests could be pressed closer.

“Don’t." He could feel her mouth move along the skin of his pecks. “It’s way too early to wake up and I’m way too comfy to let you.”

“I need to get ready for work,” Robby brushed a hand along Y/N’s hair. “You can still catch some sleep.”

She just huffed, shaking her head, grumbling softly, “I’m not gonna be able to fall back asleep, and you know it.”

His heart stuttered in his chest, but before he could say anything, she’d already sat up, glaring down at him, as if he’d insulted her. “I’ll get the coffee ready for you.”

“You don’t have to –,”

“I’m already up.” Y/N let out a yawn almost unhinging her jaw like a snake. “Might as well save you some time.”

She was just about to slide out of the bed when he rose too, taking hold of her wrist. “I meant what I said last night. Every word.”

Ever so slowly, mind still addled by sleep, Y/N smiled, leaning back over and kissing him, not caring about either of their morning breaths. “So did I.”

Maybe Robby didn’t actually hate mornings. Not when she poured him his coffee to-go, not when she stood before him, mussing his hair a little and pressing her lips against his.

“I’ll be back by nine.” He wrapped his hands around her waist if only to prolong the time they had together. “And I’ll bring back some of those croissants from the patisserie down the block.”

“The Crème Brûlée ones?”

He hummed against her mouth in confirmation, before pulling away.

“You know, every day you make it harder and harder for me to let you go.” Y/N scratched the nape of his neck.

The smile he entered the ED with was idiotically big, so much so when he met up with Jack on the roof, the night shift attending couldn’t help but break his stoic demeanor.

“Jesus, brother.” Abbot dragged a hand down his face, a corner of his mouth pulling up in one of those rare smiles. “The girl’s got you whipped like a prepubescent teen.”

“I feel like a prepubescent teen with her around,” Robby laughed. “Keeps me on my toes, I’ll tell you that.”

Abbot just nodded, looking over the Pittsburg skyline. “Happiness suits you. You deserve happy.”

He could only smile, because the truth was, ever since the conversation they’d had before falling asleep wrapped up in one another, he was almost euphoric.

They’d been curled on her bed, her legs over Robby’s lap as both of them were engrossed in some form of literature – her in a fantasy book, the kind when he’d asked what it was about, she’d twisted the pages away from him, hiding her face that was no doubt heating up, while he was reading the newest of the medical journals.

It was almost on instinct how his hand rested against Y/N’s thigh, squeezing the flesh there, prodding against the skin where the cast met it when she huffed and squirmed away.

“Don’t," she muttered. “Because unless that hand of yours might slip higher up, you are not allowed to touch like that.”

His lips pulled, ego rising at her words. “I’m just checking if everything’s good here.”

“Everything’s good there,” her eyes drifted to her leg. “Besides, that’s just mean, what with you imposing celibacy on me.”

He threw his head back in a laugh, eyes closed tight at the motion, and he could feel her hand move to the back of his neck. He tilted his head to look at Y/N.

“I like seeing you laugh,” she scratched at the short hairs there, her Y/E/C eyes, a color that had quickly become his most favorite in the whole world, so incredibly soft as she looked at him. “I like seeing you relaxed. I sometimes think you forget how to be human. How to be just Michael.”

“Well, being with you reminds me of it.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. “It’s easy with you around… it’s easy to be just Michael.”

“Yeah?” She tilted her head back to get a better look at him. “Is there a magic button I can push to turn off that doctor brain of yours, so you don’t worry about me that much?”

He gave her a small grin. “It’s not the doctor part of the brain that worries about you. It’s the one that’s slowly falling in love.”

Instantly, her whole body stiffened, mouth falling open.

And so did his, because fuck, he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. At least not yet.

Their eyes didn’t leave one another, but for a second there, Robby thought Y/N might not be breathing until air stuttered in her chest.

“Umm,” he cleared his throat and took out the novel from her hands, tucking her bookmark in it before closing the pages. “Look… you don’t have to say it back. I know it might be too soon, but it’s something I’ve been feeling for a while. And… it’s not something I’m gonna take back.”

“So…” Y/N swallowed hard. “So, these aren’t like empty words?”

“No.” Robby gave what he hoped was a warm smile, her eyes lowering to watch how he fidgeted with the corner of a page of his journal. Gently, her fingers slipped between his, easing the rising anxiety. “I mean every single one of it.”

Her little ‘okay’ was nothing more than a trembling exhale as he watched her mull over her thoughts. Just as he was about to say something to let her off the hook, to tell her anything that would interrupt the gathered silence, she spoke up.

“I mean, if you were fucking with me right now, it’d be like the meanest thing in the world.” She sniffled and wiped at the corner of her eye. “I uh… I can’t say I’m there yet, you know, but when I think about us… when I think about maybe a few years down the line it isn’t scary. Does that make sense?” She huffed, her fingers squeezing his tighter, as if afraid he’d disappear, and he squeezed right back, promising he wouldn’t. “Anytime I’ve been in a relationship, I’ve never really been able to see past the next few days. A few weeks maybe, but with you… I can see years. I can even see us with a cat.” Y/N let out a teary laugh, and Robby’s own bubbled up in his chest. “I mean if you don’t get tired of me before that.”

“I’ll never get tired of you.”

“You get what I mean.” She pulled up their interlinked hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “I just… it’s a tangible future. A solid one.”

“And solid’s good?”

“Yeah,” Y/N wrapped her other arm around Robby’s back, holding onto his waist like he always did hers. Like she was the one terrified he might slip away. He’d never dream of leaving, not after knowing how it felt the first time. The two weeks of regret and guilt made him wonder if he had norovirus with the way his stomach constantly roiled. “Solid’s very good.”

Afterwards, they simply basked in the silence, and not before long, they were both side by side, covered by Y/N’s down duvet. He could tell she was just on the cusp of sleep when his words brought her back. “Cat? Singular?”

“Maybe two,” she shrugged in his hold, yawning. “Or more. It depends on how many tears it takes for you to adopt a whole shelter, and trust me – I took theatre in high school. I can cry on command.”

Robby snorted shaking his head.

“But honestly,” Y/N continued, “I’m down for almost like any kind of pet, as long as it’s not a gerbil or a Guinea pig.” He felt her frown against where her face was tucked in the crook of his neck. “Those things die traumatic and dramatic deaths, and, not to toot my own horn here, I think I’m traumatic and dramatic enough for the both of us.”

They fell asleep debating whether or not a landlord would allow them to keep a python as a pet, and Robby debated all the ways he could covertly block any search results on her devices about snake breeders.

It was the question he’d presented to Dana and Heather, by the time it was four in the evening and the ED had slowed down a bit, hoping to get some advice from the two women.

“Wait, don’t tell me you’re afraid of some little snake!” Heather pointed at him over the counter where he sat at the HUB station. “Dr. Robby! I didn’t take you for such a wuss!”

He removed his glasses rubbing at his eyes. “First of all, she said she wanted a cat at first. And now suddenly I have to contend with the fact I might have to live with a twelve-foot Amazonian predator?”

“Actually, royal pythons grow between three to six feet, not twelve,” Dana said. The two threw her a gaze, and she shrugged. “Kid’s going through a weird reptile phase, so I’ve been getting all kinds of interesting facts about them.”

“Do not let them interact.” Robby pointed at her. “They will only encourage one another, and then both of us will -,”

But his words were cut short as the pagers came to life, pulling all of the Pitt into action as a fire was happening in a local area, three ambulances inbound, five minutes out. However, any sort of thoughts about preparation for the incoming got washed away when the words Green Garden Glen came up.

Instantly, Robby’s blood ran cold, his head snapping towards Heather and Dana. “That’s Y/N’s apartment complex. That’s her address.”

“Robby, don’t go there,” Dana said, taking him by the biceps. “We don’t know anything yet, okay? Call her first while we still have some time. We’ll handle the prep.”

“Fuck!” he buried his hands in his air, eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck, yeah. Okay.”

It was a miracle his hands were steady as he fished the phone out of his pocket, years of conditioning taking over, even as his mind was like a ship being tossed around by a hurricane. But as the line kept beeping until an automated voice told him “The number you are trying to reach is unavailable,” he could feel the boat begin to sink.

“Did you get through?” Heather asked, a frown on her face as Robby shook his head. “You know it doesn’t mean anything. The cell towers probably just can’t handle the influx right now.”

But any words he might have, were stuck somewhere between his heart and his throat, as his brain mulled over what might’ve happened. Had it been her and Sara’s apartment? What was the damage? What was the cause? A candle? An oven? A stove? A forgotten hair-straightener?

Robby would have kept spiraling like that, had it not been for Collins who brought back his attention to the present as the first gurney got wheeled in, an elderly man on it.

He’d been around Y/N’s and Sara’s enough to recognize him as their first-floor neighbor, the one with a penchant for yelling at people who he believed were there to steal the roses he grew below his window.

Mohan and Whitaker were examining him as they got instructed to wheel him to room eight by Princess.

“Conscious and somewhat coherent,” Robby heard Whitaker describe while the neighbor kept rambling on and on about how the fire must’ve been set to kill his plants. “Surface level burns to the upper arm area and stridor in the lungs from smoke inhalation. Lidocaine was administered on the scene and continuous oxygen is being given.”

“Recommendations?” Mohan asked.

“Keep him on oxygen,” Mel piped up from where she’d joined the two. “Monitor the levels and if needed, prescribe antibiotics afterwards.”

“And the burns?”

“Given how it’s surface level, we’ll hook him up to an IV to replenish the fluids in his body, and wrap it up with some bacitracin on the affected area. A tetanus shot for precautionary measures,” Whitaker rattled off, eyes shooting between Mohan and Mel. “Is – was that right?”

“You’re doing good, kid,” Mohan nodded and with that, they all disappeared into the assigned room.

Robby’s eyes scanned the ED – Langdon was intubating a woman with the help of Mateo and Javadi, Dana had taken on a mother with a child, a bleeding burn wound to the kid’s leg, and Collins was coordinating with Princess and Perlah, all the while he stood there like a fucking idiot.

“Get it fucking together,” he muttered to himself. It would do nobody any good if he didn’t do his job. He was the attending, for fuck’s sake. People relied on him. And yet he couldn’t move. It was only when a voice he dreamt about sounded in the room.

Robby might’ve gotten whiplash from how fast he snapped his neck towards the entrance and saw Y/N get wheeled in on a gurney.

“I’m fine,” her words were muffled by an oxygen mask as Dana rushed for her. “Seriously. Just got my leg bumped against the doorway, but I’m alright.”

But the words had no meaning when Robby’s eyes zeroed in on her stomach.

Red. Deep, dark red seeped through her (his) shirt, the one she walked around the apartment with, the one he’d remove from his body on her request and lay on a chair for her to wear the next day. It was now covered with too much of her blood.

Why wasn’t Dana putting any pressure on it!?

He was just about to rush to her when Heather stepped in the way. “Robby, no. You shouldn’t do this.”

“The fuck I shouldn’t, I need to!” he exasperated, watching as McKay ran for her and together with Dana, wheeled Y/N out of his sight.

“You, know this better than I do, we’re not supposed to treat people we know and care about.” She once again got in his way. “Don’t give Gloria a reason to get on your ass about preferential treatment.”

“I don’t give a shit about Gloria or the administration!” He snapped. “Not when the woman I love is actively hurting!”

“Yes, you do,” Heather asserted. “And it’s because you do, you will let McKay and Dana take charge. You know she’s in good hands with them. And you’re no good to Y/N without a head on your shoulders.”

“Heather, please.” He dropped his head. “I can’t…”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence for her to understand what he meant, because he’d already said the quiet part out loud.

He loved her. Plain and simple. He wasn’t falling in love, not like he’d told Y/N the previous night. He already was in love. He just didn’t want to scare her away, by telling the true intensity of his feelings. And how could Heather or anyone ask him to step aside when his worst fears were coming true?

After he’d heard about her nightmares about how she thought her leg might spontaneously fall off, certain images had appeared in Robby’s mind during the darker times of the day – Y/N in his ED, hooked up to a million wires and tubes, a ventilator keeping her breathing, while a neuro told him there was no brain activity.

He’d woken up in a cold sweat that night, one of the few times they’d stayed separate. A full moon had blazed through his window as he’d made himself a cup of coffee and plopped down onto the couch.

Robby had debated about calling or texting Y/N, just to make sure it had been only his mind working against him when she’d called him first.

He picked up on the first ring. “Sweetheart?”

He was breathless to hear her voice.

“Sorry,” Y/N muttered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” his reply came quick, soothing her worries. “I was already up.”

“Why?” He could hear her shuffling and huffing as she no doubt pulled herself into a sitting position. “Was it a bad shift? Need to talk?”

“No, no…” he shook his head, even though she couldn’t see. And it hadn’t been a bad shift. It’d been a usual one, though his mind did wander to Jack and how it was going now. The night brought out every type of insane. “ ‘S probably just the moon. I forgot to pull the curtains closed.”

“Ahhh.” Robby could practically see the grin stretching on her face. “So now you agree with me? That the full moon does make people crazy.”

He chuckled recalling the debate they’d had the previous day. “I never disagreed with you. Anyone that works in any type of social sphere, knows full moon equals trouble. I just said people are not like the ocean – we don’t get the water in our bodies pushed and pulled at like that.”

“Whatever you say, gramps. I don’t need you to confirm I’m right and you’re wrong.”

They’d spoken for well over an hour that night, falling asleep on the phone to one another’s breathing as their lullabies.

What if he didn’t get that anymore? What if he no longer had the chance to fall asleep next to her? To watch her put her makeup on? To help her wash her hair or curb her shopping addiction?

What if he no longer could have that solid future with a cat in it?

Fucking hell, he’d take a billion pythons if he had to, just as long as Y/N was there to help him with them.

He wanted to fight. He wanted to rage and shove Heather away, but he knew she was right, and as that settled in his mind, all the energy left him like a tidal wave.

Robby barely felt her pull his face to the crook of her neck, his hands weaving around her shoulders searching for any kind of grounding.

“I can’t lose her,” he muttered, tears he’d tried to suppress falling unabated onto her uniform, while Heather rubbed a hand up and down his back. “I don’t think I can get through that.”

“Look.” She pulled his face out from where he’d hidden it and made him look her in the eyes. “Go and help Santos. I’ll go talk with McKay and Dana, and see what the status is.”

And there was nothing more he could do than just nod.

It took her over three agonizing minutes, three minutes of him attempting to do his job as an attending, three minutes of challenging the decisions of his students, and making them explain their conclusions before Collins returned.

The rock sitting atop Robby’s chest finally rolled away when she said, “Y/N’s fine. McKay and Dana gave her a thorough examination, and apart from mild smoke inhalation, there are no cuts, no burns, no bruises, no nothing.”

“Thank you.” He pulled her in, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Thank you for being a sound voice when I couldn’t think straight.”

“She’s really important to you, huh?” Collins pulled back, teasingly emphasizing the word ‘important’.

“I yeah…” He dragged a hand down his face, the tips of his ears blushing, which meant he was probably as red as a fire truck already. “Yeah… She’s… something.”

Heather patted him on the arm. “I’ll help them finish up here. You go and check on your… something.”

He was never living down his words, but he didn’t care. By the time Heather had taken over, Robby was already halfway across the unit and entering the room where McKay and Y/N were conversing.

They’d switched out the oxygen mask for a nose cannula, which meant she had to be getting better, but the second their eyes locked, Robby was by her side, her cheeks in his hands as his gaze roamed over her face and body.

“Michael, look at me.” Y/N placed her palms over the top of his hands.

“I am.”

“No, you’re assessing me,” she countered him. “I said, I want you to look at me.”

“I’m…”

“Michael…” her tone was soothing. Warm. Comforting. And finally, he glanced at her. “I’m fine. And before you say or ask anything – it’s not blood.”

Her hand went to the back of his neck, scratching at the skin there, trying to calm him. He should be doing it to her. Y/N had been the one who’d just gotten rescued from a burning building. But he couldn’t tell her no, as her fingers wove through his messy hair, calming his racing heart.

“I was making dinner. Found that pasta recipe, the one I told you about when mom and I went to Valencia and got drunk off a pitcher of Aperol.”

“So, this is…” His eyes went to the large red stain on the front of the shirt.

“Tomato sauce. Poured the whole fucking jar onto myself when the fire brigade arrived. Sirens scared the shit out of me. Didn’t have time to change before I smelled the smoke and started on my way down.” Y/N smiled at him. Not a teasing quirk of the lips, but a reassuring one. She probably saw he wouldn’t be able to handle it in that moment. “It’s just tomato sauce.”

And as what she was saying, registered in his brain, Robby could note the tangy and slightly sweet scent of the fruit. There was also some basil and garlic in there as well. And the color? Yeah, as he looked it over again, it wasn’t the dark and rich tone blood had, but a lighter, more orangey one.

He looked up at her, her hand on his cheek. “I’m fine.”

It was enough for him to pull Y/N into an embrace, knowing it wouldn’t hurt her.

She was alright.

She was living and breathing.

Her heart was beating in a steady rhythm against his chest.

She was safe and in his arms.

As he catalogued these things, noting them down into the chart he had of Y/N in his head, Robby finally allowed himself to relax, as her hands moved up and down his back, dragging away the horrible images that’d invaded it.

It was McKay clearing her throat, that suddenly reminded Robby where he was. “I uh, I’ve scheduled an x-ray for that leg of hers.”

“Which I don’t need.” Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Well, as your doctor, I say you do,” McKay countered.

�� Robby intertwined their fingers. “Do it for me, please. All the jostling as you got down the stairs couldn’t have been good for the break.”

“Fine,” she groaned. “But honestly, I wasn’t doing much of the climbing. Halfway down a fireman got hold of me and I got carried the rest of the way.”

“Oh.”

That was all he said, but it was definitely the wrong thing to say, because of the way Y/N’s gaze snapped to his, scanning his face for something. And when she found whatever, it was, she was looking for (a slight twitch to his left eye), her lips pulled back into a ferocious grin. “Jealous?”

Robby sputtered before scoffing. “Of what? They were doing their job. If anything, I’m grateful for them.”

And he was, of course. The thought of the firemen not getting to Y/N in time as she clambered down her fourth-floor apartment with a broken leg, was terrifying. But he couldn’t do anything to stop the blush from rising, nor could he hide the way his eyes shifted to McKay who was grinning just as much as his girlfriend.

God, the Pitt would have a field day discussing him.

“Don’t worry.” Y/N leaned up and pecked his cheek. “I kinda like it when you’re jealous, but as much as men in uniforms are hot, I prefer mine in hoodies.”

A violent heat exploded through his body, especially as she looked him up and down like he was a walking-talking meal, and McKay didn’t do him any favors by letting out a low whistle and even pawing at him.

That made Y/N throw her head back in a laugh, only to elicit a big coughing fit. Immediately, his palm was pressed against her back, helping her ride it out. Her teary eyes lifted up to meet his, mirth still glimmering as he wiped a tear from the corner of it.

“Serves you right,” he mumbled, and chuckled, kissing the top of her head before helping her lay back.

As McKay went on to check with radiology and get her a gown so she could get out of the dirty clothes, Robby handed Y/N a cup of water, before asking, “Where’s Sara? Is she alright?”

“She’s fine,” she sighed, giving him back an empty cup. “She went out of town to visit her girlfriend’s parents at around two-ish? I don’t have my phone with me, though. Could you give me yours so I can give her a call?”

“Of course.”

“The apartment’s fine, by the way,” she said as she punched in Sara’s number. “The fire inspector said we’re okay to live there, as the only damage is the smell, but I’ll just air it out.”

He despised the words coming out of her mouth. The thought of Y/N in an apartment that smelled of fire and smoke, surrounded by danger – Robby’s brain simply couldn’t comprehend it, so his mouth moved before he could tell it not to.

“Move in with me.”

The phone in her hand clattered to the ground, but neither cared. “What?”

“Move in with me,” he said again, only a bit slower, to allow his head to catch up with what was happening. Not that it helped.

“Michael…” Y/N let out a nervous laugh. “We’ve been dating for barely a month.”

“I know, I just… I mean…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Your place is ruined.”

“My apartment’s fine.”

“Okay, let me rephrase that – as if I’d let you move back somewhere fire detectors are more decorative than action figures.”

She raised her brows at that. “How’d you know the fire detectors didn’t work?”

“You said it yourself – the sirens scared you. Means the detectors didn’t do their job. The building’s definitely not up to code.”

“Look…” Y/N took one of his hands in hers, squeezing them whether to comfort herself or him, Robby didn’t know, but he held onto her touch nonetheless. “The only reason you’re asking me right now is because you’re scared. So please don’t get me wrong, when I say ‘no’, it’s not because I don’t want to. It’s because I want you to ask me when the time is right. Not after some emergency, but when you feel like you’re truly ready for it. I told you before – there’s no rush.”

His heart warmed at her consideration. They’d had a similar conversation before where Robby’d laid out his insecurities of him being older, of feeling like he had to play catch-up with the younger generation and the world that was constantly changing.

She’d thrown him the most epic side-eye she could muster while half awake and looking at him over the bowl of her oatmeal. After a long moment of silence, she sighed, chewed what was in her mouth and put her spoon down. “Do you really think I don’t feel the same way? I mean, you’ve done so much already in life. You have so much experience, and you’ve contributed so much good to the world. I constantly feel like I have to play catch-up with you. With proving my worth, with proving how even though I’m twenty-six, I’m worthy of you.”

“You are! Why would you ever think any different?” He was flabbergasted even at the insinuation she wasn’t.

She raised her brow at him. “Then why would you think that way about yourself?”

Y/N had him there. Michael chuckled and shook his head, raising his coffee in a toast. “Touché, sweetheart.”

Now, she was looking at him from the hospital bed, eyes just as kind as they’d been that morning. “When the time comes, I will say yes. But I want this to be something not done under duress. If it makes you feel any better, I can stay at yours for the night, but I’d like to go home and grab a few things before that.”

“I can lend you clothes if you need them,” he eagerly offered. Call him a simp, as the youngsters said, but he lived for seeing Y/N in his clothing. Once the cast was off her leg and she’d gone to at least a couple of rounds of physio, he’d get her to wear just one of his shirts with nothing underneath. And hopefully she’d allow him to peel that piece of clothing off too…

“Oh, no, that’s not… that’s not it.”

Robby’s brows rose at the sudden stuttering and shyness, her heart picking up its rhythm and announcing it to everyone through the monitor she was hooked on. Now it was his turn to grin. “So, what’s going on?”

Y/N buried her face in her hands. “You’re gonna think I’m weird.”

“Sweetheart,” he hung his head like it was a horrific prognosis he was pronouncing. “You already are.”

“Micheal,” she dragged his name through a laugh. “I’m being serious.”

“And so am I.”

“Alright, fine… Just please don’t laugh at me.”

“I promise.” Though it was tough as it was to keep the smile from his face.

She took in a deep breath as if steeling herself before nodding. “I uh, I got a weighted blanket.”

Robby’s brows rose. “Okay… I’m not sure why I would find it weird. I mean if you think I’m such a blanket hog, you could’ve just said so.”

“No,” Y/N shook her head, chuckling. “It’s not because of that. Though I have read that statistically, relationships where partners sleep with separate blankets, are healthier, happier and last longer, but it’s not because of that.”

“Then why?” He brushed a finger along her cheekbone. “You having trouble sleeping?”

He couldn’t remember Y/N tossing or turning much, though quite often if he got to her place after a prolonged shift, she’d already be in bed by then. Quietly, he’d shower and pull on a clean pair of boxers, before sliding into bed next to her. Like a magnet, she’d turn towards his chest, her good leg slipping over his hip and head moving to lie next to him on the pillow.

“You’re one creepy crawly,” Michael had once told her as they were settling in for the night, his arms in a tight hold around her waist. By the morning, it would be numb, but he’d take it if it meant she stayed close. “It’s like you’re trying to get inside my skin.”

So, he thought of that moment, when Y/N asked, “Do you remember that week when Jack asked to switch around for the day shift? It was literally the worst sleep I’ve ever had. And not because of anxiety or anything else… because I just can’t fall asleep normally without you.” She lifted her eyes to his and gave a shy shrug. “I can’t do it without your weight pressed against mine, or without feeling the dip in the bed when you sleep next to me. You… you’ve burrowed inside me like that.”

The night when she’d called out of the blue came back to him.

How quickly she’d sense him slipping into the sheets beside her.

That same morning when she said she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep after he’d woken to start the day.

So many little things fell into place.

“So yeah.” Her eyes were filled with hope as she looked at him. “When you do ask me to move in, properly ask me, I will say yes. Please don’t doubt that.”

Robby was sure his heart was about to burst from his chest.

On the one hand, he hated knowing Y/N couldn’t fall asleep without him being there. She shouldn’t be losing valuable time her body could be using to heal and rest, just because of him and the job he had.

On the other, knowing the impact he had on her life, knowing just how important he was to her…

Because she was that important to him too. Whenever he was too tired after a shift and went back to his place so as to not disturb her, his mind always remained there. He fell asleep to the image of Y/N playing behind his eyelids and woke up with her voice whispering ‘good morning’ in his head.

He craved her presence, craved her smile and looks. He wanted for her mornings and evenings, and happiness and pain she might have. And for once, he felt like someone craved him that way too.

“So…” Robby knew he must be red all over from the way his body felt on fire. “Can I ask you next week then?”

Y/N chuckled, pulling him by the sleeve of his hoodie, so he could lean over her. “You’re impossible. But you’re my impossible.”

Their sighs of relief mixed together, as their lips met.

He wouldn’t tell her he was in love with her. Not yet. There was nowhere to rush.

Robby was no longer Sisyphus, rolling a boulder up a hill, only to watch it crash back down.

He was Odysseus finally returning home to his Penelope.

Tags: @kathrinemelissa A/N: I don't feel like this is my best work. I've rewritten this like three different times, and I had a couple of ideas that at the time I felt I could combine into one, but I don't think this flows as good as I would like it to, but I just really wanted to write from Robby's perspective for this one :( Part 3 is already in the works, and I'm definitely feeling better about that one :)

If you wanna be tagged, let me know :)

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honeywyrdie · 3 months ago

Text

There's Always a Cat at a House Party

Lee Minho x Reader

summary: You've got a goal tonight - find a stranger to make out with to get over this stupid little crush you have on your roommate. You'll fail. Hard. /// word count: 6k /// genre: smut, fluff, roommates to lovers /// warnings: sloppy makeouts, cunnilingus, spanking /// a/n: grad school has been kicking my ass so I've been a lot more MIA than I've wanted to be. enjoy this little (6k) smut I wrote to experience a single drop of dopamine in all the chaos. I don't normally write Minho, so I hope I did him justice! Maybe I'll even make a part 2 to this.

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I have only posted this here and on AO3 - user: spookwyrdie

18+ content beyond the cut MDNI!

You

“Minho, have you seen my black platform heels? The velvet ones with the little ankle strap?” you shout from the bathroom.

“No,” your roommate replies. “Aren’t they in your closet?”

“Could you check for me?”

The hairdryer you’re using is on full blast as you set your curls, so you don’t hear his lazy groan as he gets up from where he’s sitting. You’re getting ready to go out to a house party with Minho, and you’re on a mission this evening.

Step One: Look as alluring as possible, so you want your hair to be perfect.

Minho’s head peeks around the door frame, holding your favorite pair of fuck-me-heels in his hand.

“Are these the ones you’re looking for?” he asks.

He looks like he’s already ready to go - he’s wearing a casual but clean-cut outfit, all black with some silver jewelry. His skin always looks dewy and perfect, and tonight is no exception. Your eyes linger just a second longer than you’d like to admit to yourself.

Quickly turning back to your task at hand, you shake yourself out the small moment of awe he seems to slap you in the face with all the time. You can’t look at your friend like that, it wouldn’t be fair to him. In fact, that’s the exact reason you’re going out tonight.

Step Two: Don’t get distracted by your hot roommate you've had an unrequited crush on for a few months.

Minho and you have been living together for over a year now. It’s been wonderful, you both seem to work so well together. Ever since you’ve met, it’s been so easy to exist around each other. You both have the same social battery, he loves to annoy you and you love to annoy him right back. It’s pretty equal between the two of you since you both enjoy taking care of one another.

That’s why you feel so guilty about this little attraction that gnaws on your heart. You’re supposed to be friends - platonic, cohabitating friends. Nothing more. If you said anything or made the wrong move, it could fuck up your entire living situation, and one of the best friendships you’ve developed in your adult life.

Step Three: Get over this stupid little crush and move on.

You shut off the hairdryer, taking one last look in the mirror to make sure your curls are set before you get the rest of your outfit together.

“Yep, those are the ones!” you say, taking them from his hand. His hand connects with yours for a brief moment, sending a little flash of heat through your body. You’ve really got to get over this crush, especially if a silly little brush of his hand is driving you mad. You mentally smack yourself, and pull yourself together.

“Come hang out with me while I finish up.”

“We’ll never make it in time,” Minho says, rolling his eyes. But there’s a smirk on his face. “What will the boys say?”

“It’s a Han House Party, who cares when we show up!” you say, grabbing his wrist and dragging him towards your bedroom.

Rummaging through your closet, you pick out a few pieces that you think will work. Everything you choose is revealing but not outside of your comfort zone. You hold up a leather mini skirt and a pair of shorts that leave little to the imagination. Turning to Minho, you hold them up.

“Which one?”

His eyebrows shoot up, a look of surprise quickly morphing into one of concentration. He stares at you from where he’s laying on your bed.

“So we’re just really putting it out there this evening, huh?”

“Oh, don’t be so judgy,” you say. “I have a goal tonight and dressing like a nun won’t help.”

“I don’t know, I bet dressing like a nun will definitely get you some attention,” he chuckles.

“Be serious! Which one?”

He looks back and forth between the skirt and the shorts.

“The leather one. I like it better.”

You look down at it and nod, envisioning the outfit you’re putting together. It’ll be the perfect amount of slutty for the evening. Minho interrupts your train of thought as you start grabbing fishnets, a lace top, and a strappy chest harness.

“Why are you pulling out the big guns for tonight?”

“Minho… it’s been AGES since I’ve gotten any action,” you whine, pouting in his direction. “My dating life has been drier than the Sahara for almost a year now.”

“So, what? Your plan is to go to some party with other random strangers and use the ‘do you want to come see my cat’ pick up line?”

“The what?” you giggle.

”It’s a pick up line they’re using these days. Like ‘come back to my place, I’ve got a cat’ to get someone into bed. You know, how a year ago they were saying eating ramen was a way to ask someone to fuck.” He says with a yawn as he stretches out on your bed.

“As if,” you scoff. “I would never use Soonie, Doongie, and Dori like that! Besides, it’s not necessarily a hookup I’m looking for tonight.”

“What are you looking for?” his tone shifts, as if he’s putting an intense spotlight on you. You sigh, turning away from him towards the mirror to hold up the clothes you picked out.

“It’s been so long since I’ve kissed anyone. Like really kissed someone. Slow, passionate, a little messy. The kind where you can lose hours in that moment with another person. I miss it. The last few flings I had seemed like they weren’t as interested in that, always trying to rush into sex before I’m warmed up,” you murmur, your gaze dropping to your feet, feeling your face heat up. “It makes me feel like no one wants to spend time making out anymore.”

The room is silent for a moment and it makes you feel so exposed. You’re about to try to laugh it off when your eyes meet Minho’s in the mirror. The look he gives you is heavy, as if his eyes are holding you in place. You watch as his jaw clenches, the muscle twitching slightly with the strain. And just as quickly as you notice it, his features relax, going back to that lazy expression.

“I’m sure there are many people who would jump at the opportunity to kiss you like that,” he says slowly, eyes glued to his phone now.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Name a single person who wants that.”

The room is filled with that same heavy silence again.

“Exactly. So, that’s what I’m on the hunt for tonight,” you say, pulling out your makeup bag. “Just a random makeout with some stranger who I never have to see again.”

~~~

Minho

He had almost fucked up, blown his cover, let the cat out of the bag - whatever you want to call it, he had almost ruined everything in that moment. You are driving him insane. This was the closest he’s gotten to telling you how he feels. The way you’re talking about kissing someone else, finding some stranger to share a moment like that with, filled him with the sick, possessive feeling he’s had about you since you met.

Minho knows you don’t feel that way about him. The two of you have lived together for over a year, sharing a living space, bedroom walls separated by only the bathroom. He hates the part of himself that feels entitled to you, it’s not right. But he can’t stop. Minho would do anything to make sure he could hear you humming in the mornings while you shower, even if that means keeping his attraction to you a secret that burns him up inside.

He’s got a good poker face, he knows it. You haven’t noticed that for the past year he seems to stare daggers at any person that comes within 20 feet of you with that look on their face, silently making them run off. But he felt it slip for a moment tonight while he thought of you in that leather skirt with someone else's hands on your thigh.

By the time you’re ready to go, he has his mask of indifference fully in place again. He says goodbye to the cats and you both head over to Jisung’s place.

Minho has to keep his eyes on the road. He has to avoid looking at you since you walked out of your room in the outfit you meticulously put together. He’s never seen you dress like this before. In fact, he’d probably drive the car off the road if he gets distracted by your fishnets again. You’re wearing some kind of bralette that puts your breasts on display under a sheer black lace top, your legs in fishnets and the tight skirt that he picked out barely covering your ass, and those heels. Those fucking heels. All he could think about is grabbing onto them as he fucked you into his mattress.

After hearing you talk about the way you wanted to be kissed, the images barraged him like cannonfire. He wants to make you whimper into his mouth. He wants to grab onto your ass while you rut against him until you are panting his name.He wants to taste you. He wants to be the one to make a mess of you. He wants to claim you and never hear you talk about another person ever again.

But he can’t. He knows he’s too intense.

It would be unfair to you. You’ve never given him any indication that you return his feelings, so he keeps them simmering away but hidden from you.

So he couldn’t look at you on the drive. He could barely look at you when he opened the door for you when you arrived. He could tell his nonchalant act was coming off a little strong by the way you detached from his side the minute you entered the house. Winding his way through the crowd of bodies, he made his way to the cooler to grab himself a drink.

He watched as you found Felix, one of your mutual friends. He was safe from Minho’s glare since he knew Felix was not available. But Minho kept his eyes on you from afar, watching the people you would chat with, seeing the ones you’d get a little too flirty with. It made his blood boil.

“Careful now,” a voice came from his left suddenly. “She’ll think you’re mad at her.”

Jisung appeared next to him, distracting him from the raw hunger that was bubbling away in his chest.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Minho sniffed, trying to avoid the topic.

“Please,” Jisung gave him an exasperated look. “Don’t act like I wouldn’t know that face.”

“What face?”

“That face you make when you’re about to rip the throat out of whoever gets within 10 ft of Y/n.”

“I don’t make a face.”

“Liar!” Jisung laughed. “Have you told her?”

“Told her what?” He narrows his eyes at his friend. Jisung knows him better than anyone in the world, so it’s especially annoying to be dissected like this while sitting on a couch nursing a shitty beer.

“Have you told her that you’re desperately in love with her?”

Minho chokes on his drink, coughing hard.

“See?” Jisung says, sticking his chin out as he chides Minho. “If you weren’t into Y/n, why’d you spit out half your drink onto my carpet?”

Minho stands up suddenly.

“Where’s the cat?”

“What?” Jisung asks, a confused frown on his face.

“The cat, there’s always a cat at parties like this,” Minho says. “In some room, hiding under some bed, there’s always a cat.”

“Weird that you know that, but yeah, my roommate has a cat,” Jisung says cautiously. “She’s in the guest bedroom.”

“Great. See you,” Minho says as he turns and walks down the hallway to find the guest bedroom.

“Minho, where are you going?” Jisung calls after him.

“To hang out with the cat in the quiet!”

~~~

You

Has everyone always been this boring?

Your mission this evening was starting to fall apart before your eyes. Every single time you tried to find someone you thought you could spend a few hours with, there was always something that turned you off.

One guy in the kitchen was fun to flirt with at first, telling you about his job at some school, working in one of the biology labs. But he started drinking way too heavily, like he was racing head first into a blackout.

Yuck.

One girl you were chatting with on the couch was going back and forth with you about a tv show you had recently finished. There was genuine banter for a while, until you noticed that every time you made a clever joke, she’d say “wow, that’s actually funny!” in a very condescending tone.

Next!

There was one person you thought you were really starting to connect with, swapping stories about your views on the local music scene. But then they started talking about aliens, as if the aliens were hiding amongst the crowd around you.

Nope.

You sigh, tossing the rest of the drink you had barely touched into the sink. It’s been a couple of hours since you got here and you’re nowhere closer to your goal than you were when you arrived. If you couldn’t have a fun time chatting with someone, you know you’d have an even worse time kissing them. Deep down, you know you were just trying to find a band aid solution while you waited for this stupid crush on Minho to go away. He’s the only one you actually wanted to tangle yourself up with until the sun rose.

While your mind drifts to thoughts of your roommate, you realize you haven’t seen him all night. Where is he? You scan the living room, catching Jisung’s eye.

“He’s with the cat!” he shouts across the room.

“What?”

“He’s hanging with the cat. Guest bedroom! Down the hall all the way and to the left!”

You give him a thumbs up and decide to go find your favorite little introvert. When you get to the door, it’s closed with a sticky note that says “Keep the door closed! Cat inside!” Not wanting to spook either the cat or Minho, you knock softly.

You hear someone quietly curse, followed by, “Come in.”

You gently open the door. Minho is sitting on the floor in front of a couch. The cat is nowhere to be seen.

“Close the door behind you!” He whisper-shouts at you. “I don’t know if she’ll bolt or not.”

You shut the door behind you gently, locking it for good measure. “Where is the little fur baby?”

“When you knocked on the door, she ran behind the TV again. You can see her if you lean down.”

You bend over, seeing a pair of glowing eyes in the back right corner of the shelf that the TV sits on. The breeze you feel on the backs of your thighs makes you aware of how short your leather skirt is and you hastily stand back up. You smooth your skirt down before you sit on the couch next to Minho.

“Why are you hiding in here with the cat?”

Minho looks down at his hands. “I don’t know, it was just a little too much out there for me.”

“Poor baby kitty, so overstimulated you have to find the only other cat at the party,” you say, patting him on the head. He huffs out a laugh, swatting your hand away. He stands and slumps into the couch next to you, his knee lightly brushing your thigh.

“So,” he starts, leaning back against the cushions. “How’s it going out there? Anyone want to go home to see your cat?”

You playfully shove his shoulder with a laugh. But you sit there, letting silence fall again.

“No,” you murmur, looking down at your hands. “I’ve discovered that everyone kinda sucks.”

“I could’ve told you that,” he says, looking over at you, a small smile playing at the side of his mouth. “No one has caught your eye?”

“Well… no. I guess not.”

Minho frowns. The tone of your voice is tinged with sadness and he shifts closer to you.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just…” you start, wringing your hands together slightly. “I never expected to be this picky. Like if I can’t have a conversation with someone, I definitely can’t get physical with them. I need to know I vibe with a person so I can trust them with something more.”

You can’t look directly at him, he’s too observant. Minho can read you in an instant. He seems to know what you need before you do. When you come home from a rough day at work, he can tell by the sound of your footsteps, and often greets you with a snack. You’re afraid that if you looked at him now with his dark eyes, he’d know about the feelings for him you’re trying to bury deep down inside yourself.

“I understand that,” he says. “You want someone who knows how to make you feel safe.”

“Right, and it seems that everyone I talked to tonight had something wrong with them,” you say. You feel Minho shift even closer to you, you can feel the warmth of his body next to you. “It shouldn’t be this hard to find someone to kiss.”

There’s that strange heavy silence again sitting between the two of you. Minho opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but then snaps it shut. He takes a deep breath. He gently grabs your fingers, fiddling with them in his hands.

“I’ll kiss you,” he nearly whispers. “I mean, if you want…”

You look over at him with a frown.

“Don’t make fun of me right now.”

“I’m not! I’ll kiss you.”

“I don’t want a pity kiss!”

“It’s not that! I... I think it would be nice. To… y’know… kiss you.”

You search his eyes for any hint of a joke. All you find is a dark pair of eyes looking back at you deeply, glittering in the low light. There’s a little edge of anxiety on his face. When did this couch get so small? You can feel your heart hammering in your throat.

“Won’t it make things weird?”

“It’ll only be weird if we make it weird,” he says, moving closer to you, eyes flicking down to your lips mere inches away. “So let’s promise it won’t get weird.”

“Okay,” you breathe. “I promise.”

“Me too,” he says, his eyes staring at your mouth as he delicately wets his bottom lip with his tongue.

He leans into you slowly, like he’s giving you every chance to change your mind.

Then his lips meet yours.

It’s so soft you could cry. The kiss is gentle and sweet with a small hint of apprehension, like you’re waiting for him to reveal the grand prank he’s pulling on you. But instead, his lips glide against yours tenderly. He presses small, slow kisses on your mouth, like he’s testing the waters by taking small sips, even if he’s dying of thirst. Your hand reaches up to cup his cheek, running your hand across his sharp cheekbone. His head tilts, leaning into your touch, as he pulls back slightly with a sigh.

“Is this okay?” he whispers against your lips.

Biting your lip, you nod with your eyes still closed. You’re worried that if you say something, the little bubble of magic in this moment will pop, and he’ll come to his senses and reject you, realizing his mistake. The worry starts to churn in your belly. His hand finds your chin, coaxing you slowly to lift your eyes and meet his gaze.

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks, searching your eyes. There is only warmth in the way he looks at you. It almost makes you feel silly being so anxious. Even if he doesn’t return your feelings, you know for certain that you’re safe with him. All of your anxiety melts away, leaving only the ache of desire in your chest.

“Yes,” you breathe against him, and pull him towards you again. “Please.”

This time, when your lips meet, you feel that spark of heat between the two of you. Your fingers find the collar of his shirt, pulling him in closer. This time, there’s more push and pull, flowing back and forth gently between you. One of his hands rests on the side of your neck, his thumb brushing over the spot just below your ear.

Your lips part as you whimper. Minho’s tongue softly runs along your bottom lip, silently asking permission to deepen the kiss. He wants to move at your pace, letting you control the speed. You surge forward, leaning over as his fingers curl in your hair. He tastes sweet on your tongue as you tangle up in one another.

Heat envelops you, the sound of your breath filling the air. You feel electrified, like there’s a live wire in your chest strong enough to power an entire city. The way your tongues move against one another, exploring each other's mouths, discovering the way the other person likes being touched.

“I need-” you start, pulling away to catch your breath. Minho’s dark eyes find yours.

“What do you need?” he murmurs as his thumb caresses your jawline.

“I need to be closer,” you say, kneeling on the couch, kicking a leg over his lap to straddle him.

“Fuck,” he whispers, gritting his teeth. “I want to touch you. Can I touch you?”

His words wash over you, a warm affection swirling together with the heady lust that’s consuming you.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Touch me. Everywhere.”

The last word tumbles from your lips with a moan as his hands splay on your lower back, dragging your body close to his as you descend onto him again.

~~~

Minho

Minho can’t believe how soft and pliant you are. In all his fantasies, he had never imagined the breathy little noises you’d make as he held your face, or how easily you’d respond to the silent suggestion from his hands on your hips. He would push and you’d move, he’d pull and you’d follow, like he was leading you in a ballroom dance.

He certainly didn’t expect how his heart would clench as you moan into his mouth when his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips. The tremor that shakes through you makes all the blood rush from his head straight to his cock. Sure, he has touched you platonically before, you’d fallen asleep on his shoulder once or twice during a movie night. He denied himself anything further, holding all of his feelings for you behind a brick wall in his chest. But tonight, you broke through all of those barriers. Minho is learning a new side of you as he runs his hands over the outline of your body, trying to memorize it.

Time seems to stop as he gets lost in you, pouring all his unspoken feelings and arousal into you slowly. If this is his only chance to have his hands on you, then he will savor every second of it. The room around the two of you fades into nothingness as he pulls you closer, wanting no space between your bodies.

Minho would never rush you, regardless of how turned on he is. You said you just wanted a night of kissing and he could give that to you. He just has to ignore the pulsing of his cock in his jeans.

He does indulge a little though. When you straddled his lap, your leather skirt bunched up around your hips. He runs his hands over your fishnet covered thighs, sliding his fingers under the hem of your skirt to push it a little higher.

His hands snake around to grab onto your ass, trying hard not to dig into the soft skin. Your head drops forward onto his shoulder with a moan as you arch your back, pressing yourself further into his grasp. He’s always loved your ass, admiring it from afar for so long. Sure, he’s never had his hands on you like this, but his eyes? His eyes have been devouring you since he first saw you.

Your hips begin to rock against Minho and he feels his mind go blank. A breath is caught in his throat as he feels the heat of you through a few layers of fabric. Fingers gripping his jaw, you wrench his head to the side, attacking his neck with your tongue. Through the haze of your lips and tongue against the column of his neck, he can feel the way your mouth curves into a sly smile.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispers when you come up for air briefly.

“Do you want to stop?” you say, pulling back slightly.

“Never,” he replies, tugging you back into him.

He can’t help it any more, his fingers grip into your ass, kneading into your plush flesh. He starts to push you down with every rock of your hips, dragging your clothed cunt across the bulge in his pants until you’re whining against his throat. The way your nails scrape against the skin of the back of his neck has his mind spinning. You wrench your head away from his neck, crashing down on him again, your plump lips landing on his.

When you bite down on his lip, he groans into your mouth. Your hands roam his body, pulling up the hem of his shirt, smoothing your palm across his stomach. Minho’s holding onto his sanity by a thread.

He’s delirious over the heat between your thighs as you grind down on him, your hips wiggling from the friction. Fingers roaming over your lace top, his fingers find the edge of the chest harness you’re wearing. It’s made from some kind of elastic material, so it stretches easily as he pulls it away from your body. He snaps it back against your chest and you squeak into his mouth. You pull away again, looking down at him with swollen lips.

“Minho!”

“What? Why else would you wear this?” he smirks at you.

You splutter for a moment, so he does it again. Pulling the elastic back further this time, holding it taut for a moment. He searches your eyes as you look back and forth between his eyes and his hand. After a heartbeat of thinking, you nod your head.

The snap on your skin makes you whine, trying to hold it back by biting your lip. Minho grabs the strap once more, but this time he uses it to maneuver your body, pulling you suddenly back down onto him. You lean down to kiss him again, but his hand firmly holds you an inch away.

“Don’t you dare hold back any noises,” he says, leaning in like he’s going to capture your lips. Just as you start to surge forward, he pulls away once more. “They’re mine.”

You whine in frustration, one hand grasping the hair at the nape of his neck and drag his head back. He moans, loving this side of you, something he had only ever dreamed of before. Your lips messily clash once again, the air in the room feels like it heats up between the two of you. He frantically finds the little clasp of your harness and quickly unhooks it, bunching up the fabric of your shirt in the process.

You lean back, wrenching the lace over your head, pulling away your bralette at the same time. Your breasts spill out and Minho looks at you in awe. Before he realizes it, his mouth wraps around one of your nipples while his hands go to knead into the soft skin of your breasts. His eyes never leave your face as he watches you press your chest further into him, throwing your head back with a gasp. His tongue traces a path back up to your neck, grazing his teeth over the sensitive spot below your ear. He can feel your pulse as he lays his tongue flat on your throat.

“Can I taste you?” he asks, voice muffled by his lips never leaving your neck.

“What?”

“I need to taste you. Here.” he says, slipping it between your thighs. He gently places a hand on your pussy. His heart starts racing with anticipation as he feels how wet you already are between your legs. “Will you let me?”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and nod.

Minho pinches your nipple lightly, just enough to make you hiss.

“Words. I need the words.”

“Fuck, yes, I want your mouth on me,” you whine, rocking your hips slightly on his hand. He grins, tugging you down to kiss him again. This one is less crazed, he feels like he’s trying to communicate all his unsaid feelings with just his actions.

You start to move off of him and motion to lay down on the couch on your back.

“Wait,” his voice has a tinge of command in it.

You pause, body obeying immediately. With a smile, Minho clenches his jaw again and takes a deep breath. “On your knees.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he says, grabbing your waist, “I want you on your knees. Face down, ass up.”

He flips you so you’re facing away, pushing your head down on one of the couch cushions. Your hips wiggle again, rocking back and forth in the air, seeking out any sort of touch. Minho has to collect himself before he does anything. Having you presented to him like this, with your deep red panties and fishnets, he’s about to shred your clothes with his teeth.

Minho grabs onto your ass, kneading the flesh harshly in his hands. Taking his fingers, he hooks them on your fishnets right near your panties. Jerking his hands quickly, he tears them open. The ripping sound makes you quiver.

He gets gentler now, caressing your thighs and cunt, dragging his lips and tongue along your ass cheeks. He can see the wet spot you’ve formed on your panties. Leaning forward he presses his tongue flat against it, chuckling as your whole body jolts.

“That good, huh?”

“Shut uppp,” you whine, burying your face into the cushion.

Minho pulls your panties to the side and spreads your cheeks, admiring the view. He feels his cock twitch in his pants. With you moaning into the pillow, pussy wet and on display, he fights the urge to fuck you right then and there. This is about you and he knows it’ll be a thousand times more gratifying to push himself to the limits of his own desire to get a small taste of yours.

The first touch of his tongue has your thighs shaking already. He takes you by your hips and holds you firm, pressing his face further into your cunt. You cry out when he slowly laps at your clit. Minho grunts, his lips and tongue making the lewd, wet sounds between your legs.

One of his palms finds your ass again, coming down on the flesh a little too firm. You yelp, clenching around his tongue. He’s too drunk off the taste of you, he doesn’t realize he practically spanked you. He pulls back to apologize but you cut him off.

“Harder…” you cry out.

“Harder?”

“Minho, don’t fuck with me!” You’d almost sound angry if you didn’t moan half of your sentence. He loves hearing his name spill out of your mouth like that. He’d do anything to hear it again.

“Like this?” He asks, before pulling back and landing his hand on the exact spot that was already starting to bloom with heat. You moan again, pulling your lip between your teeth to try and stifle the volume.

“Now, what did I say earlier about holding back on those noises?” Minho jeers at you. He leans back, smacking the other cheek, watching the way it rebounds against his hand. Each new hit has you whining and jerking your hips away then immediately pressing back into his hand. He lands a few more swats, feeling the heat from your skin, massaging gently as you catch your breath.

When he dives back into you tongue first, his eyes roll back from how you’re dripping with arousal. The slick sound of his mouth on you that fills the room is only interrupted by the occasional slap of his hand and your whining. As his tongue bombards your clit, he feels the tremors that roll through you as you rut back against his face.

You’re babbling, the words barely being strung together are a litany of please, fuck, and Minho. Your nails claw at the fabric of the couch as he holds you firm, rolling your hips fervently into him.

”Minho! I’m -!” You say, gasping.

Your body tenses, no sound coming from your open mouth. Your eyes squeeze shut and he feels the fluttering muscles of your orgasm as it rocks through you. He doesn’t stop, even once you start shaking, your voice rasps out of you through your moans. He only lets up once you’re writhing in his arms, laughing to get away from the stimulation.

Minho sits back, your body gently collapsing against the couch. He watches as you twitch every few seconds from the aftershocks of your climax, trying to regulate your breathing. He coos at you, massaging your limbs, caressing your skin.

“Come here,” he says, half picking you up, hauling your body towards him. He wraps his arms around you, pressing your face into his chest as he leans back on the couch. “You’re okay, I’m here.”

You start to come down off the frenzy and your breathing regulates. Minho idly presses a few kisses into your hair, pressing his cheek against your head. His cock is straining against the material of his pants, especially now with your body weight on top of him. But that doesn’t matter. Being turned on is nothing compared to the way his heart is soaring just sitting here and holding you like this in his arms.

The possessive feeling he’s had over you feels contented. You’re his. The two of you can talk about it later, but he knows you’re his.

He’s been yours since he first laid eyes on you, so it’s only fair.

“Minho that was…” your voice rasps out of you from where you’re buried in his chest. “That was exactly what I needed.”

He smiles against your hair, pressing another little kiss on your head.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he murmurs against your scalp.

You shift to look up at him. “For how long?”

”Longer than I want to admit right now,” he says. Minho takes in your appearance- lips swollen from kissing, hair mussed up, makeup smeared from pressing into a pillow. His chest fills with pride. He did that to you. You’ve never looked more beautiful than you do right now, all fucked out and looking up at him with sparkling eyes. “We can chat about that later though.”

You nod and lay your head back against his heart. It’s nice just sitting here in the quiet. Who knows how much time passes, Minho just likes feeling you in his arms, drawing lazy little circles on your bare back. The two of you must have been quiet for long enough that the house cat pokes her head out briefly from her hiding spot.

You giggle, startling the little thing back into the safety of being behind the TV.

“Minho.”

“Hmm?”

“So there are these cats I live with…” you say, a sly little lilt to your words. Minho can hear the smile in your voice. “Do you want to come back to my place and see them?”

#skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you

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invincibledc · 3 months ago

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𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐒˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐍 (𝐎𝐂) 𝐗 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐈𝐒!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

⊹ ࣪ ˖͙͘͡★synopsis: a simple discussion with the batfamily ends with memories spurring in your head.

⊹ ࣪ ˖͙͘͡★genre: fluff

⊹ ࣪ ˖͙͘͡★info: this OC is an OC I’m written for my own amusement. He’s the son of Harley Quinn and joker. Full name, Jacklyn Oswald Quinn. I got bored. Reader is the twin sister of Damian, but Damian is the older twin of course. Im only a writer so you can imagine who he looks more like but all I can is he is handsome canonically in my head and anything. Boy’s crazy but handsome.

⊹ ࣪ ˖͙͘͡★ word count: 1,342

“We have to talk about your certain relationship with.. the son of joker.” Bruce says while he faces you. You felt nervous as you had your faces clamped together. But you pulled a poker face, simply nodding.

“What’s your relationship with him.”

“Well, I would say that we’re—”

MEMORY 1.

Jack was balanced precariously in a handstand, his lithe form showcasing a hint of the muscle definition he had been developing. His face, painted with wild colors, radiated mischief and playfulness as he grinned upside down. “So, puddin’, think we could sneak away from your little colony and grab some grub? I’m starving,” he whined dramatically, a playful pout forming on his lips.

You sighed, knowing he was spot on about the hunger gnawing at your own stomach, but the thought of abandoning your duty to patrol Gotham sent a pang of unease through you. The weight of your responsibilities pressed heavy on your shoulders.

“I can’t. I’m on patrol. And shouldn’t you be with your crazed father?” you replied tersely, lowering the binoculars from your eyes to meet his gaze. Jack, ever the bundle of energy, flipped out of his handstand and landed deftly on his feet. He stretched his arms behind his back, feigning innocence.

“Nahhh... My old man’s out cold like a baby. And my ma’s off having a girl’s night with Aunt Ivy. So here I am,” he declared, wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling against your neck with surprising tenderness. “Just me and my darling, my cute little bird.”

His words, though playful, carried a warmth that made it hard to resist his charm. In that moment, the chaotic world of Gotham faded slightly, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of mischief and youthful affection.

MEMORY 2.

Out of everything—heroes, villains, and the chaos that comes with them—Jack lay sprawled in your room. His tousled blonde hair framed his face, and his simple blue eyes sparkled with mischief. Clad only in gray sweatpants, he was the picture of relaxed spontaneity. His slightly tanned skin contrasted with your [color] complexion, creating a juxtaposition of warmth and coolness as you both lounged on the bed. You felt a wave of relief wash over you, grateful that you and Damian no longer had to share a room like you did when you were young.

Jack propped himself up on one elbow, revealing that goofy grin you couldn't help but find charming. “I can’t believe my girl—who isn’t mine—is letting me crash here,” he said with a boyish spark in his eyes. Despite the obsession he harbored for you, the night felt blissfully laid-back, a rare moment of peace in a world filled with so much tension.

As you continued to weave your fingers through his messy locks, you remarked, “You know, you could try being your civilized self and meet my family instead of sneaking into my room with a bag of clothes for what seems like a sleepover. And by the way, I’m getting pretty squished here.” You inhaled deeply, your words tumbling out in one breath. Jack feigned annoyance, his pout playful. “Oh, come on, puddin’, that’s boring! Where’s the thrill in sneaking into my future wife’s house to just chill with her?”

Your heart raced at the unexpected title he casually tossed your way. “Jack, what??!!” you stammered, caught off guard by his bold claim.

“What? Did I say something wrong?” He looked genuinely perplexed, scratching his head in a manner that showed his typical carefree nature. You struggled to respond, your shock momentarily robbing you of your voice.

“Eh, whatever,” he shrugged, a grin spreading across his face as he declared, “I’m gonna grab some water.” He hopped off the bed and, as he exited your room, he caught sight of Jason strolling through the hall, engrossed in the pages of a book. Time slowed as Jack froze, and then, thinking quickly, he launched himself over the stair railing, expertly grabbing onto a chandelier for balance. His heart raced as he spun mid-air, landing seamlessly on the couch below with a triumphant flair before dashing to the kitchen like a ninja on a mission.

Jason’s sharp eyes narrowed, instantly suspicious of the antics unfolding in the house. He knew something was amiss.

In the kitchen, Jack filled a glass with water and chugged it rapidly, desperately hoping to evade any unwanted company. But, in a cruel twist of fate, as he drained the last drop, the overhead lights flicked on, illuminating the space. There, framed in the doorway, stood Jason Todd—also known as the second Robin, and now, the formidable Red Hood.

“You!” Jason bellowed, his finger jabbing menacingly at Jack.

“Me!” Jack replied with an impish grin, pointing to himself as his instincts kicked in. Without a moment of hesitation, he bolted past Jason, laughter spilling from his lips like the joy of a child who had just escaped capture.

The chase began, and Jason pursued Jack with an intensity akin to an enraged bear, all the while Jack couldn’t help but cackle in delight. He darted back into your room, where your eyes widened in surprise. Without missing a beat, Jack gathered his belongings in a flurry, leaning down to plant a quick kiss on your cheek, leaving you breathless.

“Don’t wait up!” he shouted cheerfully, diving out the window with the agility of a circus performer. He executed a graceful barrel roll before calling out, “Bye, babe!”

In the wake of his departure, you could only raise a bemused eyebrow. But before you could fully process what had just transpired, Jason leaped after him, both boys sailing out into the night in a chaotic blend of laughter and shouts, leaving you in stunned silence.

MEMORY 3.

“Honestly, why can’t you just be called Batgirl or something straightforward? I mean, it feels a bit off being just another ‘Robin,’ especially when your twin brother is Robin too. What’s the point of that?” the clown boy remarks, tying up some goons who tried to mess with some women

You weren't even with him; you were at home, focused on your homework and not even thinking about patrolling. You kept humming, grateful for him handling your dirty work.

“So what do I get in return for this?” Jack asks, fiddling with his green and purple phone case while the tied-up goons try to protest through clown noses. “How about we hang out on the weekend when everyone’s busy?” you suggest, tapping your pencil against your notebook filled with history notes. Jack’s enthusiasm is heard on the other end of the line.

“That sounds amazing, sugar. Can we grab some batburgers too?” He says, smiling as you reach for your phone. You chuckled. “Absolutely,” you respond confidently. Jack practically bounces with excitement, despite the bemused expressions from the goons. “Awesome!”

You and Jack stay on the phone, and while he serves as your backup during patrols, he’s more than up for the task. You might not want to feel like you’re using him, but he doesn’t mind in the slightest. The dynamic between you two is unconventional, but at least you’ve got each other’s backs.

“We’re nothing but enemies, honestly why wouldn’t we.”

Your brothers gave a clear expression that they weren’t falling for it.

“Okay then tell us why in the world is that goblin out there with a sign saying in quote, ‘let’s go out later’.” Jason says with knitted brows.

“Wait for real?!” You got up quickly to look outside, and there was no one. Turning back to glare at Jason, Jason held a smug grin on his face.

“Gotcha.”

Bruce couldn’t help but chuckle before remaining stoic. “I would like to say as well that you’re grounded for sneaking out.”

“What?! How did you find out.” Pouting, you sat back at the table.

“Damian told me.”

“DAMIAN!?”

Damian drank his tea elegantly despite his messy self. “I can’t have my little sister dating some sociopath.”

“Oh shut up, I’m not buying you anymore cool and smooth paper to draw on.” Damian almost spits his tea out, scrambling to follow you as you walked upstairs.

“Wait! Sister, maybe we can rearrange some things!”

1K notes · View notes

strawberry-bubblef · 2 months ago

Note

Just found your blog after seeing the Overblot students reacting to causing serious harm to the reader/their partner and oof the angst is strong there! Excellent stuff all around and the way that several of them have symbolic injuries suited to each is fitting-

Like Vil pointed out the irony that his attack blinded them (likely disfiguring too)

Leona missing the arm that never hesitated to reach out for him.

Jamil making his S/O unable to stand without them, needing his support.

For some reason, it all reminded me of the Jekyll and Hyde musical (not at all accurate to the original work but the music is pretty good) particularly the Confrontation song, where Jekyll and Hyde have a musical number ripping into the other.

Imagine if the Overblot guys (whether merely haunted by their memories of the event or tying into your original post about permanent injuries inflicted to the person they loved most) have nightmares confronting those versions of themselves especially in regards to the harm that could have (or did) happen to their S/O. Only to get hit with “can’t you see were the same” but maybe the OB’s are mild yanderes towards the S/O or point out easier it is to keep them by his side, that he’s willing to take the risks to keep them around unlike the “good boy” persona some of them keep up.

OB students having nightmares of themselves after hurting their s/o

Part 1: Ob student unintentionally hurting their s/o

Aww! Thanks for the sweet words 🥲🫶 I'm glade you liked it !

Riddle Rosehearts

The halls of Heartslabyul are silent after curfew. Moonlight cuts silver through the tall windows, casting the checkered floor in sharp, cold contrast. It’s late, but Riddle isn’t sleeping. Not really. Not anymore.

He jolts awake again, breath shallow, red eyes wide. He stares at the ceiling, but all he sees is the moment he can never take back.

Your voice, cracking as you tried to reach him.

The way the vines coiled around you, cruel and tight,his vines.

How you cried out.

And the silence after. The absolute silence.

He’s by your side now, and you’ve forgiven him. You told him as much, your voice gentle, your hand on his. But that forgiveness tastes like ash when he remembers the look on your face back then,not fear, not anger, but disbelief. As if you couldn't quite believe he was the one hurting you.

It clings to him like a second skin.

And every night, the dream returns.

The maze is dead now. No more vibrant red blooms or the sweet scent of petals. Only twisted thorns and rotting leaves, the sky above a bruised, stormy purple. The air is heavy with guilt and magic.

In the center of it all sits his throne.

That version of him is waiting, legs crossed elegantly, sipping black tea that stains the porcelain cup like ink.

“You're late,” the Overblot says. “But I suppose shame slows the feet.”

Riddle takes a breath. “I’m not here for your games.”

“Ah, but we’ve played such lovely ones, haven’t we? Tea parties and rules and hearts cut clean in half.”

He steps closer, circling Riddle like a cat. “Do you remember how quiet they became after we were done? No more backtalk. No more chaos. They obeyed. Isn't that what you wanted?”

Riddle flinches.

The Overblot leans in, voice silken and low. “You wrapped yourself in rules because your mother left you no room to breathe. So you did the same to them because love is terrifying when it’s free, isn’t it?”

“I was wrong,” Riddle says. “That wasn’t love.”

“Then what do you call it?” the other hisses, the smile gone. “You think your bouquet of apologies rewrites what you did? You think gentle words and shared tea make up for the way they screamed?”

Riddle’s hands tremble. He can’t meet his own eyes,those cruel red eyes staring out of a mirror cracked by power and pain.

“I didn't mean to hurt them.”

“But you did.” The Overblot’s voice turns almost tender, almost sad. “And I-we will always live with that.”

Silence falls like snow.

And then: “But at least I was honest. At least I did what had to be done to keep them close. You fear they’ll leave. I made it impossible. Maybe you should be thanking me.”

Riddle recoils. “You turned them into something fragile.”

“I turned them into something ours. They stay because of you, but they flinch because of me.”

A pause.

“Can’t you see?” he whispers. “We’re the same.”

The dream ends with Riddle reaching for his collar, choking on petals that pour from his mouth,crimson, velvet, suffocating.

He wakes with a cry.

It’s still night, the room quiet. He reaches for you instinctively, but the sheets are cool, the space beside him empty. Panic strikes fast and cold.

He finds you on the balcony, bathed in moonlight. Wrapped in a soft robe, you’re gazing at the stars. Your arm is wrapped, supported. Some movements are slower now. But your eyes are bright as ever.

You turn as he approaches.

“Another nightmare?”

Riddle says nothing. He only stands behind you and hesitantly slide his hand into yours. His grip is tight,not crushing, never again but desperate in its quiet plea.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers.

“You don’t get to decide that alone,” you reply softly, placing yourhand over his. “You made a mistake. A terrible one. But you changed. You’re trying. That matters.”

“I see him every time I close my eyes,” Riddle admits. “He says we’re the same.”

You turn, gently cupping his face with the only hand that you have left. “Then prove him wrong.”

He leans into your touch like a drowning man, clinging to the only solid thing in a storm. In your eyes, there’s still pain. Still healing. But also,somehow hope.

He’s terrified he’ll always be at war with that version of himself.

But if you’re willing to walk beside him through the thorns, maybe, just maybe, there’s a path forward.

Leona Kingscholar

The desert wind howls in his ears.

Leona stands on the edge of a dry, cracked savannah where nothing grows, under a sunless sky. The ground is stained with soot and ash, grass burned to cinders. In the distance, a pride stone crumbles into dust.

And there,at the center of the destruction,is himself.

Or at least, what’s left of him.

His Overblot form sits lazily upon a throne of twisted bone and stone, smoke curling from his mane like incense from an open flame. Those glowing eyes burn, full of mirthless amusement.

“Took you long enough,” the Overblot drawls. “What, couldn’t face me sooner? Or were you too busy watching them struggle to tie their shoes with the wrong damn hand?”

Leona's jaw tightens. “Shut up.”

“Hit a nerve?” His other self stretches, claws dragging over the arms of the throne. “I’m not the one who tore it from them. You are. We are.”

“I never meant–”

“Don’t insult both of us. You knew what that spell could do. You were angry. Jealous. Tired of always coming second. So you struck. And you didn’t stop.”

Leona’s fists clench. He can still remember the heat, the way magic surged through him like wildfire, untamed and wild. The look on your face when you collapsed, your dominant arm crushed under a landslide of sand and force.

He remembers how still you were. How you didn’t reach for him. Couldn’t.

And how the silence that followed was louder than any roar.

“They can’t write like they used to,” his Overblot murmurs. “Can’t lift a box. Can’t sketch, or braid your damn hair. All the things they used to do so easily,gone. Because of you.”

“I know !” Leona snaps. “I live with it every day.”

“Do you?” The Overblot tilts his head. “Then why haven’t you left? Why not let them go and find someone better for them? Someone whole?”

Leona’s voice drops to a growl. “Because I love them.”

The other version smiles, sharp and cruel. “No. You need them. And they need you now, don’t they? You made sure of that. No one else understands them like you. No one else will want them like this.”

Leona stares, disgust tightening in his throat.

“Come on,” the Overblot purrs. “Admit it. Part of you is relieved. Because now they’ll stay.”

“No.”

“They’ll never leave you.”

“NO!”

The Overblot lunges, claws out, but Leona doesn’t move.

Because he knows the truth: this isn’t about physical pain. This is about guilt, about possession, about fear.

And about how love can rot if left to fester.

He wakes up leaning against a tree in Savanaclaw. It's still dark, the early morning stars just beginning to fade. His hands are buried in the dirt, sweat soaking the back of his shirt. His heart thunders in his chest like it’s trying to dig out.

The scent of jasmine reaches him first. Then your voice.

“Bad dream?”

Leona looks up.

You’re seated nearby, wrapped in a blanket, watching the horizon. Your sleeve is pinned up neatly, your right side turned toward him. The scarred place where your arm used to be is hidden, but he knows its shape by memory now.

He sits beside you wordlessly. You lean into him, letting his warmth chase away the morning chill.

“It’s always the same dream,” he mutters. “Me. Him. You.”

You rest your head on his shoulder. “Do you still hate yourself?”

He doesn’t answer.

His grip tightens ever so slightly. “I wish it had been me instead.”

You reach for his hand with your remaining one and lace your fingers together.

“I would’ve still stayed,” you say. “Even if it had been you who got hurt. Even if it was your arm.”

Silence stretches, heavy and honest.

Leona leans into you then, pressing his forehead to your temple.

“I’m trying,” he whispers.

“I know.”

And for once, the guilt doesn’t scream quite so loud.

Azul Ashengrotto

The sea is too still.

No current, no light,only the inky abyss stretching endlessly in every direction. Azul floats weightlessly in the dark, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed as if sleep could shield him from what he knows is coming.

No light,only the inky abyss stretching endlessly in every direction. Azul floats weightlessly in the dark, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed as if sleep could shield him from what he knows is coming.

And then it starts.

The water shifts.

A shadow coils in the deep like smoke in water,and from it emerges himself,not in his human form, not even in his merman body. No, it’s the Overblot: bloated and grandiose, tentacles stretching into the black like roots through rot. His grin is razor-sharp, filled with oil-slick malice.

“Still pretending to be human?” it coos. “Still clinging to the mask of the poor little businessman?”

Azul doesn’t look at it.

“Did you think success would make you good?” the Overblot hisses, gliding around him like a serpent. “That if you just worked hard enough, they’d love you? Respect you?”

Azul breathes slowly, deliberately. “Shut up.”

“Oh, touchy.” “You weren’t nearly so quiet when you were begging them not to leave you. Not when they were lying there,bleeding, gasping because you made them part of your deal.”

Azul flinches.

He sees it again: the whirlpool, the crashing debris, the spell cast in desperation and greed. The way you fell,your leg crushed under the magical pressure, twisted unnaturally before he could stop it.

Before he cared to stop it.

“You used them,” the Overblot sings. “Because deep down, you thought: if they depend on me, they won’t leave me.”

“I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did,” it snarls. “You saw them shine and you thought: I want that. You dragged them into your schemes, into your world. And now?”

A cruel smile stretches over its face.

“Now they can’t even dance.”

Azul’s fists curl.

“They limp through the halls, leaning on a cane or your arm, and every step is a reminder. And yet, they still smile at you. Still tell you it’s not your fault.”

The Overblot leans in close, eyes glowing.

“But it is.”

Azul screams,no sound leaves his throat, only bubbles but he surges forward, trying to claw at the thing wearing his face, only for it to melt away into nothing.

Leaving him alone in the silent sea.

He jolts awake in a cold sweat.

The lounge is dark, only the soft glow of enchanted lamps illuminating the drapes. Azul sits on the couch, disheveled,, breath caught halfway in his throat.

A small noise draws his attention.

You're at the window, adjusting your prosthetic leg,carefully, patiently. You don’t notice him watching, or maybe you do, and you choose not to look.

He swallows.

You always do things quietly now. No complaints. No bitter remarks. But you also don’t hum anymore when you walk. You don’t twirl in the water like you used to.

Azul lowers his eyes.

He hears the soft tap of your cane as you make your way over, the familiar pattern of your gait now etched into his memory.

You sit beside him, brushing your hand against his.

“You dreamt about it again.”

He nods, shame burning behind his eyes.

“I see him in the mirror sometimes,” he murmurs. “The one I was. I wonder if I’m still him.”

You shake your head. “He would’ve run from this. You didn’t.”

Azul hesitates before reaching for your hand. “I don’t deserve your kindness.”

“Maybe not,” you whisper, “but you’re trying. And that counts more than you think.”

He leans in slowly, resting his forehead against the side of your head. “If I could give you that leg back…”

“I wouldn’t take it.”

He stiffens, shocked.

You turn to him with quiet intensity. “Because then maybe you’d still be pretending to be someone you’re not. I don’t need perfection. I need you.”

Azul doesn’t reply,he can’t. But he holds you a little tighter, breathing in the proof that somehow, some way… you’re still here.

And maybe that's enough.

Jamil Viper

The chains rattle again.

He doesn’t know where he is,some room, always dark, always humid. The smell of sweat and ash lingers like incense from an old nightmare. Stone walls stretch in every direction, but there’s no exit. No sky. Just that mirror on the wall.

He doesn’t look at it.

Not yet.

He knows who’s waiting on the other side.

But he turns anyway.

And there he i. The Overblot version of himself smiles cruelly, slouching in that confident, arrogant way Jamil hates to admit he once wished he could embody.

“You look exhausted,” the Overblot drawls. “Not sleeping well, Jamil?”

“I’m not here to talk to you,” Jamil hisses.

“Oh, but I’m here to talk to you.” The reflection slinks closer. “How’s our darling doing, by the way? Still limping around because of you?”

Jamil’s stomach churns.

The sound of bones snapping, of the ground cracking during that awful moment,when magic surged out of control, when the pressure pinned you down, the illusion spells fraying as your foot was crushed beneath falling debris he summoned. Not even intentionally. Not really.

But he knew you were nearby.

And he still didn’t care.

He had finally taken the reins of his life and you were collateral.

“I didn’t mean-” Jamil starts, voice strained.

“You didn’t stop,” the Overblot cuts in, venomous. “You didn’t hesitate. You knew they were watching. And still you used your magic. Still you twisted their mind until they collapsed.”

Jamil’s voice is a whisper. “I didn't want to hurt them.”

“You wanted control.”

Silence.

“You wanted them to stop pitying you. To see you,not the servant, not the background character, but the powerful one. And when you had it, even just for a moment…”

The Overblot tilts his head.

“…you liked it.”

Jamil clenches his fists. “I hate you.”

“No,” it says, baring fangs. “You hate that I’m you. You hate that some part of you thought, ‘If I can just keep them dependent… they’ll never leave.’”

The words sting like poison.

“Now look at them,” the Overblot murmurs. “They used to dance barefoot on sunlit floors. Now every step is calculated. Controlled. Like you wanted everything else to be.”

Jamil shuts his eyes tight.

When he opens them again, the mirror is empty.

He’s alone again.

But the silence is louder than before.

He wakes up in a sweat.

The room is dim, lit by the flicker of a candle. The warmth of the dorm blankets does little to soothe him, especially not when he sees the empty spot in the bed beside him.

You're by the window.

Adjusting the supportive brace over your ankle,what's left of it. Your balance is careful, practiced. Your fingers are deft. Jamil sits up quietly, heart aching.

You glance over your shoulder. “Nightmare?”

He nods, slow.

You limp over to him, footsteps padded by the soft cloth of your wrap. You don’t say anything at first,you just press your forehead to his, fingers tangling with his.

“I see him,” Jamil says. “The version of me who… who didn't care. Who thought being loved wasn’t as important as being obeyed.”

You don’t flinch. You already know.

“I hate him,” he whispers.

“But he’s not you,” you murmur back.

Jamil’s eyes glint with unshed tears.

“I almost made you another chain.”

You shake your head, taking his hand and placing it against your heartbeat. “But you let go. You let me go. You helped me stand again.”

His voice is raw. “You should’ve run from me.”

“I didn’t want to,” you reply. “I wanted to walk beside you. Even if I had to relearn how.”

He exhales shakily.

And when he kisses your knuckles, it’s soft. Tentative. Like he’s still trying to prove to himself that you’re real,that this, what he has now, is real.

Even after all he’s done.

Vil Schoenheit

The mirror doesn’t lie. That’s the curse.

He can’t hide from it. Not from the face that stares back at him,twisted, blot-streaked, gleaming with hatred and pride. His Overblot self grins through cracked lipstick and bleeding glamour.

“Ah. Come to scold me again, Schoenheit?”

Vil doesn’t answer. He already knows how this goes.

Every night, it’s the same: the same confrontation, the same voice that sounds too much like his own, the same sickening echo of violet light bursting from his fingertips, burning away the world and everything he held dear.

Especially you.

“Still pretending you didn’t enjoy it?” the Overblot version sneers. “You always thought beauty was everything. Until you became the monster.”

Vil’s voice is cold. “I wanted the world to see me. Not them.”

“And now they can’t see anything at all.” A cruel chuckle. “Isn’t that poetic?”

His throat tightens.

He remembers the scent of magic in the air, the searing heat, the flash of light as your scream tore through him. The way you clutched your face, blood slipping between your fingers. The panic that followed. The silence. The way your eyes never found him again.

“I didn’t mean to hurt them.”

“But you did.” The Overblot tilts his head mockingly. “You wanted to be seen. So you made sure they never would be seen again. You took that from them. You, who worshipped beauty like a god.”

Vil’s hands tremble at his sides.

“You knew what your magic could do. You chose to use it anyway.”

“I thought I could control it.”

“You were wrong.”

Silence.

Then:

“They still call your name,” the Overblot whispers. “Even now. Still reach for you. Still smile in your direction. And doesn’t that make it worse?”

Vil turns away.

“All they know is the echo of your voice and the feel of your touch. And you cling to that, don’t you? Because if they saw you as you were... they would’ve run.”

The mirror cracks.

Not from magic but from the way Vil slams his fist into it, fury rippling through every bone.

And when he opens his eyes again, he's awake.

The bedroom is quiet, curtains drawn open just enough to let in moonlight. You’re seated on the bed, fingers moving expertly as you read a Braille book Vil had custom,made for you. Your head tilts slightly when you hear him stir.

“Another dream?” you ask gently.

Vil’s voice is hoarse. “Yes.”

You set the book down. “Was it him again?”

“…Yes.”

You pat the space beside you, and he comes willingly. Sits beside you. Lets you touch his face. You always do that now,run your fingertips along his cheekbones, brush over the curve of his lips, like you’re memorizing him all over again.

“I hate what I did to you,” he whispers. “I took the stars from your eyes.”

“And still I find light in your voice.” you say softly.

Vil swallows. “You don’t hate me?”

“I miss what I lost,” you admit. “But I don’t miss you. Because you’re still here.”

He presses your hand to his chest. “It should’ve been me.”

“No,” you whisper. “You came back to me. That’s enough.”

Sometimes, he still dreams of mirrors.

But these days, when he wakes,he’s holding your hand.

And somehow, that makes all the difference.

Idia Shroud

That’s how the nightmare always starts.

Blue flame dances along the walls, scorching consoles, melting cables, and setting off a chorus of alarms. Everything is chaos.Except for him. Except for the Overblot.

It rises from the flames like a ghost made of rage and sorrow, hair wilder, cloak billowing like smoke. It grins, bearing rows of flame-slicked teeth.

“Guess what, Idia,” it sing-songs. “You’re the villain in your own tragic visual novel. Bad End unlocked!”

Idia curls inward, arms around himself. “I didn’t want to hurt them.”

“You did more than hurt them,” it hisses. “You burned them. Because you wanted to keep them close. You wanted them safe.”

“I lost control. The magic-”

“You thought locking them in the Underworld was safer than letting them leave you. And when they reached out for you..” The Overblot snaps its fingers.

The scent of scorched flesh.

The sound of your cry.

Idia covers his ears, but it’s no use.

“You destroyed the very hands that held you. Four fingers. Gone. Just like that. Do you know how many times they tried to play your games after that? Tried to cook? Draw? Hold a pen?”

“I didn’t mean to-!”

“But you did.” The voice is ice now. “And you know what the worst part is?”

Silence.

“They still forgive you.”

Idia lifts his head slowly, shame thick in his eyes.

“They still smile when you fumble with words. Still wrap what’s left of their hand around yours. Still kiss your cheek and say it’s okay. It’s not okay.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I know it’s not.”

“Then why do you stay?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Then-q

“…Because they asked me to. Because they didn’t want to lose me too.”

The Overblot’s grin fades.

Idia steps closer to it. For once, he doesn’t flinch.

“I am a coward. I am broken. But I’m trying. Every day. I can’t fix what I did… but I can be here now. And that’s what they asked of me.”

The flames flicker.

“You don’t deserve them,” it spits.

“I know,” Idia says. “But they still choose me. And I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of that.”

He wakes up gasping.

Your hand is in his,smaller now, missing parts of what once was, wrapped in soft bandages and healing cream. But warm. Still warm.

You stir beside him. “Another one?”

He nods.

You squeeze. “You’re still here.”

“…Yeah.”

You rest your forehead against his. “Then I’m okay.”

He doesn’t cry, but he holds your hand tighter.

And for the first time, the nightmare fades into silence.

Malleus Draconia

The castle is quiet. Too quiet.

He wanders its halls alone in the dream. The stone is grey, cracked with age. Thorny vines have grown wild over every door, every window. The sky outside is eternally twilight, like the world itself is holding its breath. Time doesn’t move here. It hasn’t for centuries.

He knows where you are.

He always knows.

Your chamber lies behind an arch of briars, untouched by rot or dust. Enchanted sleep preserved you, peaceful and unmoving, lips barely parted as if frozen mid-sigh.

He crosses the threshold slowly, reverently. His footsteps don’t echo anymore.

You lies there still.

Because of him.

“Malleus.”

The voice that greets him isn’t yours.

It’s his but deeper, weightless, echoing with ancient magic.

The Overblot.

It steps into view like a reflection peeled from his shadow. A smile too gentle to be anything but cruel.

“You saved her,” it says. “She was going to leave. Be taken away. You stopped it.”

“I imprisoned her,” Malleus whispers.

“You protected her. In eternal sleep, she couldn’t be harmed. Couldn’t abandon you. Couldn’t be taken away by time or fate or death.”

Malleus walks toward the bed. Your skin is still warm beneath the spell, magic thrumming softly with every breath. So many years have passed. More than he dares count.

“And yet she wept in her dreams,” he murmurs. “I heard it. Even through the spell.”

“Dreams are nothing,” the Overblot croons. “She’s safe. Isn’t that all you ever wanted?”

His hands tremble.

“I wanted to be with her,” Malleus says, voice breaking. “Not without her. Not like this.”

The Overblot’s smile fades. It regards him like a disappointed parent. “You are a king .You could have have eternity together.”

“No. I forced eternity upon her. I robbed her of choice… of time… of life.”

A silence falls.

Then-

“But she’s awake now.”

That voice. Yours.

He turns.

You're standing in the doorway. Older than you should be, touched by the centuries but beautiful still. Eyes full of sorrow and kindness both.

“I’m awake, Malleus.”

He stares, breathless. “This isn’t real.”

“It could be,” you say, stepping forward. “If you let go of the guilt. If you come back to me.”

“But I hurt you. I stole your future.”

“And yet I chose to wake up.”

You reach out.

He takes your hand in both of his, kneeling as if in penance.

“I will never forgive myself,” he whispers.

“Then let me forgive you instead,” you say. “You’re here now. And I waited because I believed you’d come back.”

He wakes in your arms, forehead against your shoulder, breath shaky.

You cradle his head gently, fingers weaving through his hair.

“You dreamt it again,” you murmur.

He nods, silent.

“I’m still here,” you remind him. “Still choosing you.”

And he holds you tighter, as though centuries could slip between his fingers once more.

But this time, he’ll never let go.

English is not my first language !

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hopecorps · 6 months ago

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lucretia adventurezones is genuinely one of the best conceived characters of all time and the tragedy that taako and by extension so much of the audience cannot forgive her for her selfishness driven by her steadfast belief in what is right and her immediate decade-long lonely punishment where thirty two years of her life were burned away from her, completely alone, makes my skin ache

i get to this point in the stolen century where lucretia is maybe 18 years old and also 100 years old, so dedicated to preserving life but terrified of living it, and i hear second-hand in less than two minutes about how she fought and ran and salvaged and nearly died entirely alone for an entire year when the six remaining people alive who have ever known her have been frozen into statues. we see her again and she is out of breath and sweaty and completely broken and relieved and changed forever and i think: of course she made that decision

of course she would do anything in the world to save her friends. of course she would take it into her own hands and be selfish and burn the world down and she would do it to save them. she would do it to save the world and she would do it to save the universe. it's so selfish and so unselfish.

and it's like. of course taako can't forgive her for making him forget lup. but i can also imagine years and years and years going by while the world descends into chaos and barry and taako nearly kill themselves and never stop looking for her and never find her. especially because if lup had made it back from that mission she would have immediately been there with lucretia trying to undo what they had done

lucretia is so beautiful and amazing and fantastic because she is the big bad the entire time. she pins them all against each other. she is who she warns them about. she got them into this situation in the first place. she cursed the entire world. she gains their trust by lying to them and she leaves them all so defenseless against the hunger until the second it comes for them.

but she was right. she was right the entire time. she loved them. she made sure they had each other even when she was all alone. she did the only thing that she knew how to do in order to save them all and she was right and she did it all out of love and it worked and some of them will never ever forgive her and she knew that and did it anyway. and i love her so much

#taz balance #the adventure zone #lucretia adventurezones #taz balance spoilers #mine #and also. seeing people speaking in bad faith about her makes me want to cry and rip my hair out she is so so so special to me #she suffered more than jesus and i am dead serious about that

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lighting-and-shadow · 29 days ago

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Ikigai, Part 8

Summary: You’re desperately in love with a man who already belongs to another.

Ikigai (n.) (Japanese): "A reason for being," the thing that gets you up in the morning.

Part 7, Part 9

The walk to Sylus’ room is reminiscent of one to the gallows. You’ve seen those walks in people’s souls, how each step makes their throat tighten more and how they seem to mentally wait for each heartbeat to come. Like every step or every breath or ever beat is going to be their last.

That’s the only way you can think of to describe how you feel right now. A place that once meant safety and comfort to you has been tainted. It’s been warped, smeared, and destroyed in a way that a you from a few weeks ago would’ve never imagined.

Because now, you’re walking there with fear. Fear of Sylus of all people. Your partner in crime. Your confidant. Your closest friend. Your Morana.

You don’t want to think of him this way. Far from it. But Miss Hunter’s words, her shaky tone and fidgety hands, make you this way. The chaos of emotions in her threads make you this way. Everything about how she was when describing her time with Sylus make you this way.

Modification of her Evol.

You know very well what those words mean. You know what it looks like, feels like. You know all of this because it’s woven into her soul.

And her own soulmate tried to do that to her. Tried to split her open. Try to warp her and smear her and destroy what makes her her.

Rage and betrayal and whole other slew of emotions boil up inside of you. Each step makes you wonder when you’ll explode, when you’ll break from all of this.

You try to combat this with each breath. Each deep, hard-fought, breath. You try to embrace a wave of calm, to tamper down the craziness and be who you normally are: in control.

Nothing helps. Nothing works. And before you know it, you’re knocking at that accursed bedroom door.

Since when am I so polite with him?

A weak laugh escapes your lips. You stifle it down the moment the door begins to open.

Sylus is disheveled, an odd sight for someone who can look put together even in the middle of a gun fight. He just stares at you. His eyes refuse to leave yours, as if you’ll vanish if he so much as blinks.

It’s awkward, strained. An uncomfortable atmosphere that hasn’t been between you two in years. You can’t stand it.

“May I come in? I believe we have some things to discuss.”

Sylus says nothing. He looks deeply uncomfortable. It’s subtle, something most wouldn’t notice. But you’ve known him far too long. The slight flicker in his eyes down to the way he walks tells you everything. He’s off. He’s lost.

Not that you’re much different. Your tone earlier was cold, professional, and distant. Entirely lacking the usual playfulness or joy you’d have from simply interacting with Sylus.

You quickly step in his room once he moves aside for you. You don’t spare Sylus a glance. Any further looks would just deter you from your task.

This cannot go on.

Sylus’ treatment of Miss Hunter weighs on you. If you thought it was bad before, it’s far, far, worse now. Experiments? Changing her Evol? Scaring her so much she subconsciously rejects her own soulmate?

It’s arguable the worst start to any love story you’ve ever heard or seen. And you have more experience with that than anyone. You see them in every thread. You hear them in every soul.

All except mine.

You stare at Sylus’ empty bed to distract yourself from that rabbit hole of emotions, one you’re familiar with. You walk towards the bed. But you don’t sit on it. Rather, you just trace mindless patterns into the sheets to calm yourself.

Eventually, you turn to face the man whose room you stand in. Sylus stands with his back on the door. The lock is turned shut. And his arms are crossed, as if he’s shielding himself from you.

Since when were you two like this: weary and afraid of one another? After the argument today? After the one a few days ago? When Miss Hunter arrived? Or was it always there, brewing silently beneath your soft touches and charming smiles?

Whatever the case, you’ve never quite felt such distance from Sylus. You stand in the same room you two have shared for god knows how long, looking right at each other. And yet, you couldn’t be farther apart.

You tap your fingers on the bed like you did the night before Miss Hunter arrived. Tap. Tap. Tap. It’s the only sound that fills your ears until Sylus finally speaks.

“Can I explain now?”

To anyone else, his tone would be calm, demanding, and dripping with that usual hint of arrogance that he has. To you, he practically begs. Screams, even.

He only does that rarely. Like earlier today during your argument after your collapse. Which, given that specific context, made sense. Sylus was out of rhythm. His emotions were chaotic. He does care for you, after all. And you had just screamed your lungs out and passed out in front of him.

Who wouldn’t be shaken by that even a little?

You think over your next words for a moment, pushing that memory of your mind. What is there to explain? You’ve heard everything from Miss Hunter. You know what he tried to do.

Old wounds open up the more you think about it. The pinpricks of needles. Your home becoming a revolving door of doctors when you had no sign of a soulmate by age 10. The increasing prevailing sense of something being wrong with you the longer it went on.

They’re phantom pains, echoes of a past that only emerges when you sleep. They’re ghosts you tell no one about. They’re wounds that only you have ever dressed.

What was done to you was done in good faith. Much like what Sylus did. You could see it in his soul, see it in his thread. And it told you he wanted her to remember. He wanted his sorceress back at any cost.

But you wanted here his words. His interpretations and thoughts from his own mouth.

“Go ahead,” you gesture with your hand.

So Sylus does explain. Just not what you thought he would.

He goes into detail about his deal with Miss Hunter. About the brooch. About her search. About the twins and their pranks. About everything.

You look at him with scrutinizing eyes. You don’t search his soul; you have no need to.

In him, you find the truth and only the truth. You find no deception, no hidden meanings, nothing. It’s probably the most honest he’s been with you since Miss Hunter’s arrival.

“I never even had the brooch on me,” he chuckles a bit before he continues. “I don’t know why she ever thought I did.”

“Then where is it?”

“In your favorite book. On page 70. You know the scene.”

You absolutely do know the scene. It makes you smile even in this moment.

“Seriously? How on Earth do you expect her to know anything about my taste in literature?”

“You two spend so much time together I figured you were “besties” by now,” he says the words a great amount of sarcasm that makes you relax a bit.

It’s not much. But, you lean into the familiarity.

“Besides. Even if she didn’t know the significance of the book, I thought I’d do her a favor and introduce her to something good to read. She claims to be bored during her time here, and I wanted to be a more gracious host.”

You snort at his comment. Sylus tilts his head at you.

“What?”

You want to say, ”A gracious host? After kidnapping her and threatening her and almost turning her into a lab rat for the second time in her current life?” But you shake your head and say nothing.

Sylus seems to brush it off. His eyes soften and he takes a step towards you. When you don’t move away, he comes even closer, standing beside the foot of the bed while you stand in the same position next to the head.

“That’s all there is to what you saw. It wasn’t,” he pauses for a moment, searching for the words. “It wasn’t anything like you thought it was. Just a series of… interesting events.”

You just nod once more, turning your head to the bed again. You go back to tracing patterns in it, trying to rally yourself for the real conversation.

“Gamayun?”

You give him a quiet hum, but you don’t look up at him. You trace words into the bed, words from the scene of the book he placed the brooch in. They comfort you.

“Say something?”

You say nothing.

“What’s got you so quiet? Normally you talk my ear off, even when I’m being a fool.”

You make a hasty drag against the sheets, and the irritating sound that follows shocks both of you.

“Because I’m not here about what you just talked about and you know it.”

Or, at least, he should know it. He should know that him taking Miss Hunter to Philip is why you’re here. He should know why you’re so angry about him doing that. He should know.

He should know because he knows you were the one to find the twins. Two boys in agony, one covered in crystals. Children suffering because of selfish adults. Just like Sylus did. Just like Miss Hunter did. Just like you did.

The logical part of you knows that his goals for what he did weren’t anything like the ones that got the twins in that state. But, the other part of you, the one that made you come here, won’t listen.

That part of you remembers all those doctors. It remembers the padded rooms and the repeated cycles of accusations. It remembers the fear. It remembers the pain. And it remembers when you finally decided to run from all that.

That part of you is loud. It’s loud, it’s obnoxious, and it wants to cry. It wants to shed vicious tears and wretched sobs. But it doesn’t. It can’t. Because it wasn’t listened to in the past.

Why would this time be any different?

Because Sylus isn’t them, you remind yourself.

He’d listen to you. He has to listen to you. Sylus is a flawed man, not a monster. He’s a desperate and flawed man who just wants the love of all his lives back. He’s a desperate and flawed man who made a mistake.

And he has to know that, right?

“Than why are you here right now, my sweet Gamayun? Surely not to repeat the earlier interesting series of events? Or maybe go even further?”

“You’re deflecting,” you say immediately.

His usual jokes don’t make you flustered. Instead, they make you angrier as he avoids what you need yet again.

“That’s not an answer, sweetie.”

Something in you snaps. Maybe it’s the use of an old nickname. Maybe it’s due to another deflection. Maybe it’s both.

Either the case, you finally address the dreadful elephant in the room, “Why did you bring her to Philip?”

You ask because you want him to admit it himself. Hearing him say the words, the man you’ve loved for over a year, rather than Miss Hunter, the soulmate of said man, will makes things clearer.

Maybe it’ll undo the knot in your stomach and the dread that courses through your veins. Maybe his explanation will make the phantom needles go away, and drown out the screams of your precious boys.

Part of you knows that neither will happen. The other, more optimistic and the one that clings to your love, begs for something otherwise.

All that hopes drains away when you see the color leave Sylus’ face. His color seeps away at the same pace as your fleeting hope.

Oh God, what did you do, Sylus?

Miss Hunter didn’t give you any details. You can only speculate. But with this severe of reaction, especially coming from Sylus (who’s done a lot of questionable shit that he knows you’d never judge him for), you’re not sure you can handle the answer.

Miss Hunter avoiding your questions and looking apprehensive to tell you anything is one thing. Sylus doing it is a whole other can of worms. You steel your heart for whatever happens next.

“We weren’t resonating. I thought there was a problem with her. There isn’t, so we left.”

It’s about the same thing she told you. Enough to give you the gist. Enough to explain her fear and her discomfort. But not enough to explain Sylus’. Not nearly enough, given everything he’s seen and been through in both of his lives.

So you push, “Did you two rehearse your excuses, or did you both conveniently give me the same nonsense in hopes I wouldn’t press? Whatever the case, you ought to practice lying to me better.”

Sylus appears unaffected by your words. You, of course, know better. The slight knit of his brows, the way he holds himself and leans a tad more to one side. He’s so obvious to you that it’s painful.

“You really going to lie to me again, Sylus? After what happened last time?”

That full on makes him flinch. Your heart wavers as a result. That was a low blow. You both know that. And yet, you can’t back down. Because all you can see in your mind’s eye is the twins.

Luke trying to claw at his face, to etch in the same scars his brother carries. Kieran forcing himself to grow up even more as a result of that instability. The way they would both duck from mirrors, or even flat out shatter them, during those first few days.

Dozens and dozens of memories like that just sit in your mind. A weight unlike any weight you’ve ever carried. It festers there. It seeps into your veins, into your heart, and into your words.

You can’t escape it.

“What exactly are accusing us of, sweetie? Be specific. You how I hate to beat around the bush, and waste time.”

You do. And that’s exactly why you’re the negotiator of this business and not him.

Soon, she will take that place. Soon, I’ll need a new role in a new place.

“Is there anything in particular I should be accusing you of?” You counter.

“Not in my mind,” he glances you over from head to toe. “But that seems to be the case in your mind.”

A smirk crosses his lips. It’s not one of humor.

He words hit you to the core.

“That’s not an answer,” you shakily manage to get out.

“Well, if my answers aren’t satisfactory, maybe you can give me a direct question? As you say, it’s harder to avoid something if there’s no room to do so.”

That stupid smirk is still there. His eyes are still cold, colder than you’ve ever seen them directed at you.

“Did you or did you not hurt her?” You tone gets firmer the more you speak.

Sylus’ expression changes again. Not to one of humor or playfulness or anger like you expected. No, the Sylus before you was none of those right now.

He was betrayed.

“Who exactly do you think I am?”

“I don’t know!” You finally raise your voice despite all efforts not to. “I don’t know… why do you think I’m here? I need answers, Sylus. I need conformation that I’m missing something and that you didn’t do what I think you did.”

You pause for a moment, choking on your own words and emotions, “I need the truth from you. Please. I need the truth about this at the very least.”

Sylus says nothing for a moment. And you worry that this’ll be a rehash of your first fight. The fight that broke you. The fight that drove you away.

“My relationship to her isn’t your problem.”

Suddenly, you feel sick. But then, Sylus finally says something and you chase that nausea away, kicking it down with your professionalism.

“I want her gone,” he says with an odd amount of levity. “She isn’t worth the trouble she’s causing, so I pushed my plans forward ahead of schedule.”

You don’t entirely know what to say to that.

“Pardon?” You laugh a deranged laugh. “You brought her here. Why ever would you want her gone now after no progress on what ever it is that you need from her?”

“Like I said: she isn’t worth the effort. And I refuse to waste my time on useless things.”

“Useless? You have the gall, the absolute audacity, to call her useless?”

You aren’t yelling, despite how much you want to be. And that want gets stronger the amused Sylus appears.

“Why do you care so much about her, sweetie? She’s my guest, not yours.”

”Because she’s your soulmate. Because she’s the key to your happiness,” is what you want to say.

Instead, what comes out is, “Because I’ve become quite attached to her. And I find your attitude towards her appalling.”

“Of course you would, sweetie,” his voice gets quieter and softer. “Of course you would.”

Sylus gets close to you, putting his fingers beneath your chin and tilting your head upwards. You don’t resist; in fact, you embrace the small touch as much as possible.

“Because you have such a bleeding heart.”

You roll your eyes at him. Normally, Sylus says that to tease you. Like on negotiations where you spare the business partner in question. Or when you talk him down from simply killing his opponent and into seeing their usefulness. Or any of the numerous times you’ve brought in a stray animal and nursed it back to health.

He always says it in a teasing tone, almost mocking. But now, he says it with fondness.

Or love, your delusional and desperate brain says.

As soon as that thought cross your mind, you take a step back. Sylus immediately releases his hold on your chin, disappointment flashing across his face. Or, at least, that’s what you think you see.

“My heart aside,” you say to calm yourself and get your heart to stop racing. “That doesn’t change the fact that your behavior towards her has been reprehensible. Deplorable, even.”

“Why are so obsessed with her, Gamayun? Should I be jealous? She’s been tearing us apart just by being here. Don’t tell me she’s gone even further…”

He says it with jest and usual nonchalant attitude. But something in you tells you there’s more to it.

“Because of my bleeding heart, as you say,” you smile a bit before going back to a more serious expression. “And the fact that you two seem to hold so many secrets that I’m not privy too despite your less than stellar relationship.”

Suddenly, something in Sylus changes. You can’t quite put your finger on it, other than the fact that you strangely feel like prey. Like he’s hunting you or something like that. You’re on your guard. You’re waiting for him to strike.

Sylus lets out a bitter laugh. “You’re not being truthful with me either, sweetie.”

That makes you pause.

“This isn’t about me.”

“Isn’t it?” He takes a step closer to you, the smirk on his lips thinning and his expression shifting to a more softer one.

You don’t know exactly what’s in that smirk. Anger? Bitterness? Hurt?

Hatred? Annoyance? Grief? your thoughts whisper before you can shut them down.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Sure, sweetie,” he’s surprisingly genuine and not sarcastic with his tone. “Sure it isn’t.”

“What in the world are you going on about this time?”

Fear drips into your words. You hope it isn’t noticeable. But judging by Sylus’ face, you didn’t succeed.

I’ve lost my touch.

Being so utterly emotional for the past few days has done this to you. Made cracks in your armor that show more and more with every passing second.

Sylus reaches for you again. And you, again, accept the touch. He cradles you head, hands delicately cupping your face, thumbs rubbing your cheeks in a way he knows soothes you.

Foolish man and his foolish tenderness when you’re supposed to be angry at him.

“Your obsession with her. I’ve never seen you act this way.”

You’ve never seen me try to mend the bond between someone I love and their soulmate before. But, hey, there’s a first time for everything?

“I am not obsessed. I do not do obsessed.”

Sylus frowns. You’re the one doing the deflecting now. You’re the one using humor as a distraction now.

“Than what you call all this?” He keeps stroking your cheeks with a featherlight touch.

“Care? Empathy? Because, as you know, I have a bleeding heart.”

It’s getting harder to keep your tone light. You hope that your voice never wavers. You pray that Sylus doesn’t notice how your skin warms from embarrassment or how fast your heart rate is.

You can’t even look him the eyes. And you struggle with all your might not to squirm.

“Your bleeding heart has never gone this far. Nor made you this mad at me,” the chuckle he lets out at the end of his sentence is bitter, but his eyes are still as sweet as ever.

Every statement Sylus makes feels like he’s ripping you open more and more. Like the claws of the fiend he was has made their way around the individual bones of your ribcage and is slowly but surely prying them open. It’s like he wants to expose your heart to the world.

Your brain is beginning to fog. Your mouth is beginning to dry. And the urge to run from here is getting heavier and heavier. Your feet are glued to the ground, and at the same time, they feel like they want to take flight.

When was the last time I felt this way? When I was still back home? At the jewelry store? Or maybe my old bar job?

“Well, most people I deal with are people of the N109 Zone. They’re far more secretive and, how do you and the twins put it, murderous than little Miss Hunter.”

You speak in hopes of cutting off your own horrible train of thought. It doesn’t work very well.

So you keep talking, “Speaking of Miss Hunter, I’m no closer to having an earthly idea of why she’s here. And whatever plans you have with her seem sloppy for your standards. I’d give them negative reviews. Maybe that’s why you didn’t share them with me?”

Another crack in your armor shows with your final teasing question. A crack that Sylus sees judging by how he takes his hands off your face and a step away from you.

“Than I’ll share my ideas with you to get some feedback for a better showing next time.”

You consider your words. Because this is your chance. Your chance to be in the know. The chance to know the truth. The chance to hear from Sylus’ own lips about why he brought this woman here.

But, you’ll also have to hear about their connection. Their past. And their future as soulmates.

You couldn’t hear that. You can barely think about it and see the proof with your own eyes everyday. Hearing it… well, that’s another story.

If he had offered this before their bond, you would’ve taken it. Jumped for joy, even. But you can’t now.

I can’t hear you say that you two are soulmates. I can’t hear you talk about your destined love and what that means for your future. I can’t.

Because hearing that means I can’t lie to myself any longer.

Hearing Sylus’ conformation means you take away that last layer of protection you have, that last bit of lies you tell yourself. Because you’ve know for years what the threads you see mean. You’ve confirmed it several times since you first saw them at age 7.

But, with Sylus, sometimes you cling to thought of being wrong. Of not seeing what you think you’re seeing. His words are all that it would take for that temporary peace to come crashing down.

Who in their right mind would do that to themselves?

“No. After all, I’m just a lowly actress in this show of ours. I’m no director.”

“Oh, you are no actress, Gamayun. If anything, you’re my director and writer. I’m merely here to finance whatever your heart desires to create. So, let us discuss our visions for Miss Hunter, and draw up a new episode this season.”

“I’d rather you consider this my resignation from that role into a new one. Because acting is starting to sound more appealing.”

Sylus pulls back. His face falls, and lets out a deep sigh that shakes you to your core.

“Than what do you want from me, Gamayun?” He pulls you close again, your head resting on his chest. “I’m so tired of fighting with you over something, someone, so trivial.”

Tired.

That one words carries so much weight. It seeps into your lonely soul.

It’s exactly how you feel. How all that’s happened recently has made you feel. How all the secrets and the soulmates and the unrequited love has made you feel.

You’ve been tired for years. For so long you no longer know what “rest” really feels like.

Tired of loving a world that would reject you in a second. Tired of holding it together. Tired of lying.

And maybe that’s why you did what you did. Maybe that’s why you hurt Sylus. Because you’re tired of always being the one to run.

People in your life drifted from you, yes. But it was always you that had to put the final nail in the coffin of your relationships.

So maybe that’s why you’re so tired. And maybe you wanted to make Sylus tired. Tired of you. So tired of you and your shit that he just turns his back on you permanently.

Tired.

“I’m tired too,” is all you can muster at the moment.

You pull back from Sylus. But not for long. As soon as you slip out of his embrace, you sit on his bed and pat the place beside you. He sits down immediately.

The way you two sit, facing each other and knocking knees together, reminds you of the position you and Miss Hunter sat in not too long ago. It warms you heart in an ironic and bitter way.

But you chase those thoughts away to focus. Focus on Sylus and focus on what you need to do right now. You take his hand, giving it light squeeze, before you look him directly in the eyes and begin speaking.

“I’m sorry,” it’s hard to get the words out, not out of pride, but out of pain. “For pulling away. For being so hostile earlier. For saying… no, threatening to leave you. And for not trusting you.”

For hurting you, and doing that so you’d chase me away. For making you believe I could just abandon you. For being jealous of you finding your destined love. For acting like a complete ass. For being hurt by some silly words.

I’m so sorry, my Morana.

“I’m sorry too.”

“For?” You press him, despite the discomfort on his face.

“For the lying. For what I said when you confronted me. For not telling you about my plans to bring Miss Hunter here. For not telling of my plans with—“

“You don’t need to apologize for that.”

The shock on Sylus’ face is evident. Even if he doesn’t completely show it.

“I’m not entitled to every little thing in your life. Just as you aren’t mine. We both need to learn to be okay with that.”

You pause before continuing, “And we both are entitled to space whenever we want and for however we want. Just as long as we communicate things.”

Sylus just nods. He squeezes your hand tighter. His eyes have his signature glimmer back. One so uniquely Sylus you don’t know how to describe it.

My selfishness dulled that glimmer.

As you and Sylus just talk for a bit, you think to yourself about your new plan.

I can’t just leave. And even with Miss Hunter as my replacement, I need a better idea for my departure. Somewhere away from the two of them, but with ties to my current life so that there’s no suspicion._ An idea hits you: Onychinus has many connections, many of which you forged yourself.

Kai did always want to recruit me. Maybe I’ll finally take her up on the offer?

Author's Note: Also, please go to the original blurb to ask to be added to the taglist (it's impossible for me to keep checking every part every time I update).

2nd Author's Note: Do you prefer long chapters or short chapters? This story will be pretty long regardless, i just want to see what people prefer.

3rd Author's Note: Ikigai, Fun Fact = I originally was going to make this a one shot (and then plot ran away after breaking my kneecaps) and one where Reader didn't realize they were dating the entire time (but I wanted Sylus to suffer more, so I just made them very touchy, but with a line in the sand).

Taglist: @eolivy, @rafayelridesfisheatsfish, @animegamerfox, @jasperjokester, @schrodingerskimdokja, @just--crys, @snowdynasty, @shi-thats-kiera, @mansonofmadness, @dwuclvr, @ameilli, @katiedoesstuff101, @everythingistaken00, @napa-the-yappa, @hanaluxx, @lovesick-sylus, @tenaciouszombiewombat, @ladyparamount, @applepi405, @midnight-reverie, @69-gojos-wife-69, @bellagrayson-wayne, @phisen, @idkmanimjusthorny, @munchychuusy, @autumn2534, @poptrim, @sillyfreakfanparty, @zaynesfirefly, @flamedancer13, @thissmartdumbass, @mrsllawliet, @jeondyy, @ssetsuka, @dels-page, @that-lost-one, @johnnysactualgf, @mariquitas-en-verano, @toelady, @sinnamon-bunn, @yesbiaswrecked, @doggyteam2028, @little-rays-of-darkness, @albatrossblue, @vyntheria, @silverianni, @browneyedgirl22, @tiklestar, @beaconsxd, @pepperushia

#lads x reader #ikigai #sylus x non mc reader #love and deepspace #sylus qin x reader #sylus x reader #sylus x non!mc reader #love and deepspace x reader #sylus x mc #sylus angst

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flwrkid14 · 7 months ago

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Bruce shares custody of Tim with Harley Quinn

Yeah, you read that right. Gotham’s broodiest billionaire vigilante and the queen of chaotic energy are co-parenting Tim Drake. And, somehow, that’s not even the weirdest thing that's happened to the bats this year.

Why? Two words: Joker Junior.

The details are locked down tighter than the Batcave, but here’s what everyone knows (or guesses): Joker broke Tim in ways none of them can fathom. He didn’t just try to kill him—he tried to make Tim like him. And while Tim clawed his way back from the brink, he didn’t do it alone. Harley was there.

She was part of the nightmare. And then, unexpectedly, she was part of the healing. She stepped in, helped Tim survive when Joker was doing his worst. When it was all over, when Joker was (temporarily) gone, she didn’t vanish into Gotham’s chaos. She stayed.

And somehow, somewhere along the way, Tim started calling her “Mom.”

And Bruce didn’t stop him.

Cue the Batfamily losing their collective minds.

Dick is pacing the Batcave, gesturing wildly. “Bruce, this is Harley Quinn we’re talking about! You don’t just co-parent with a rogue! There are laws against this! Or, like, there should be!”

Jason is sitting on the Batmobile, arms crossed, voice dripping with disbelief. “She’s literally a former rogue. She tried to kill you! Like, more than once. This is insane, even for you.”

Steph is perched on the edge of a desk, trying (and failing) not to laugh. “Okay, but, like, can you blame Tim? Harley does make amazing pancakes. Better than Alfred’s, honestly—”

A scandalized gasp echoes from the other side of the room.

Cass just watches quietly, her head tilted, but there’s a small, knowing smile on her face. She gets it. She’s seen the way Tim softens around Harley, how he relaxes in a way he doesn’t around anyone else.

Damian glares at Bruce like he’s lost his last shred of common sense. “Father, you have truly surpassed yourself. Allowing that woman into the sanctity of our home—”

Duke raises a hand cautiously. “Okay, but can we at least talk about how Tim basically has diplomatic immunity now? No rogue in Gotham is gonna mess with him. He’s Harley’s kid!”

And it’s true. Between Harley’s reputation and Poison Ivy stepping in as Tim’s unofficial stepmom (because of course she and Harley got back together), the rogues have adopted a weird kind of reverence for him. Tim’s no longer just a bat to them—he’s Harley’s kid.

Picture this: Tim’s out on patrol, and Riddler has the gall to interrupt with a riddle—only to end it with, “You’re sharper than I thought, kid. Guess Harley taught you well, huh?” before disappearing into the night.

Harley’s brand of parenting is chaotic but deeply personal. She knows Tim’s tells, the way his hands shake when he’s overwhelmed or the too-quiet moments when he’s retreating into himself. She’s the one who sits cross-legged on the floor with him, working on puzzles and cracking jokes until the tension lifts.

She carries extra band-aids in her purse because “Ya never know when a fight with some thug is gonna leave ya with a paper cut!” She also leaves sticky notes on his projects with scribbled messages like “You’re a genius, baby boy!” or “Don’t forget snacks!” They’re goofy, sure, but they make Tim smile when he needs it most. She keeps a stash of snacks in the Manor because Tim forgets to eat when he’s working. She shows up with pancakes at 3 a.m., douses everything in syrup, and calls him “baby boy” in that soft tone that makes Tim feel… safe.

Even Harley’s chaos has an odd kind of comfort to it. She’ll burst into the Manor unannounced, dragging Tim into impromptu “self-care parties” with face masks, bad rom-coms, and every flavor of ice cream imaginable. Somehow, it works.

Ivy, on the other hand, balances Harley’s energy with her own structured nurturing. She insists on “proper nutrition” and occasionally sends Tim home with meal prep containers filled with organic, eco-friendly food labeled things like “Stress-Busting Smoothie” or “Brain-Boosting Soup.” If Bruce raises an eyebrow at it, Ivy simply reminds him that “The human body can only fight crime properly with the right fuel, Bats.”

One time, she cornered Bruce in the greenhouse, pointing an accusatory finger. “If you send Tim out on patrol without a proper meal or at least six hours of sleep, I swear, Bruce, your rose garden is compost.”

And while Harley is the queen of hugs and chaos, Ivy is the one who sits with Tim on the porch at night, talking softly about resilience and regrowth, using plant metaphors Tim pretends not to understand but secretly finds comforting. Once, after a particularly bad night, she gifted him a small cactus with a note: “Even when it feels like the world is trying to tear you apart, you’re stronger than you think. Also, low maintenance, like you.”

Bruce knows the family doesn’t fully understand. But as he watches Harley teaching Tim how to make lasagna one night, the two of them laughing as the kitchen turns into a war zone of flour and tomato sauce, he doesn’t regret it.

Sometimes family doesn’t look like you think it will. Sometimes it’s stitched together from the most unexpected pieces.

And sometimes, it’s an ex-rogue, a traumatized teen, and a brooding billionaire all trying to figure out how to keep the lasagna from burning.

Welcome to Gotham.

#tim drake #batfam #harley quinn #pamela isley #poison ivy #joker junior tim #chaotic parenting #harley becomes tim's mom after the incident and bruce can't deny tim of choosing to have her in his life #I need a fic of this so bad #i want to see good parents harley and ivy while the rest of the bats try to pry tim away from them because they dont really get it yet #harley and ivy become tims favorite comfort people #the bats are in shambles #dick: WHAT DO YOU MEAN TIM WOULD RATHER CUDDLE HARLEY INSTEAD OF ME?!#jason: you can't even fault him for that honestly i get it #everyone is scandalized when they try harley's food for the first time because it's actually really good and almost on par with alfred's

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pathologicalreid · 6 months ago

Text

defrost | s.r.

in which the heat goes out in your apartment and Spencer comes up with a creative idea to keep warm

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: fingering, hand job, good old fashioned dry humping, softdom!spencer, masturbation is referenced, unprotected p in v sex, sex on the floor (!!!), kissing, established relationship word count: 2.8k a/n: smut? havent seen that word since october. well past due if you ask me :-) hope you enjoy

It took entirely too much of your focus not to trip on the comforter that you were hauling from your bedroom, adding it to the heap of linens that you’d collected. The heat had gone out in the entire apartment complex earlier that afternoon, and while it was originally supposed to be fixed by five, the time was pushed back until the gas company finally just told you the issue wouldn’t be resolved until the morning.

Luckily, Spencer had managed to light the fireplace while you gathered every linen from the apartment and arranged a makeshift bed in front of the hearth, but even when you sat in front of the crackling flames, you were still cold. Pulling the cuffs of your sweatshirt over your hands, you tucked them beneath your thighs in an attempt to defrost yourself, you looked up at your boyfriend in desperation, “When did they say the gas would be back on?”

“They said eight, but before that, they said six, so there’s really no accurate measurement that they could provide. I hope we’ll know more in the morning,” he told you, taking a seat next to you and draping a blanket over your shoulders, making sure you were cozy before grabbing one for himself.

You sighed, admiring the way the movement of the fire reflected in his eyes. The two of you had ordered out for dinner, discarded takeout containers were in organized chaos on the coffee table, and two mugs were sitting on coasters filled with warm tea. Your range was out of commission, but thankfully, you had electricity. Admittedly, you were milking the situation, opting for candles over your lamps.

Spencer leaned over and nudged you gently with his blanket-covered elbow, “Are you warm enough?” He asked, looking around for another blanket to hand off to you, but coming up empty.

“If the gas isn’t back on by tomorrow afternoon, we should book a hotel,” you suggested, though, with your luck, Spencer would probably be called on a case tomorrow, leaving you to freeze on your own.

He furrowed his brows in response, “You were the one who didn’t want to stay in a hotel tonight, though?”

Shrugging, you looked at the thermostat on the wall, too far away to read, but you imagined it telling you that the apartment was becoming an industrial-sized icebox. “I don’t like staying in hotels if I can help it, I like having my things and my routine,” you responded as if he didn’t already know this about you.

“But?” He pressed.

“But I’m cold,” you told him, wrapping your blanket tighter around yourself and smiling when he opened his blanket cocoon. Gratefully, you obliged, shuffling yourself over to him and settling into his lap, sighing in contentment when he closed the blanket around you, “Oh, you’re warm.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, and Spencer took the opportunity to press a tiny kiss to the tip of your nose. “Is this better?”

Nodding, you closed your eyes and let your body relax into his, his arms wrapped around you, adding a reinforcement—a border of warmth, if you will. “Yeah, much better,” you murmured, trying to think warm thoughts.

“You know, it would be easier to share body heat if we weren’t wearing clothes,” Spencer told you, shifting one of his arms until his hand was on your waist, giving it a slight squeeze.

A shy smile bloomed on your face, turning your face to bury it in his neck, though the warm glow of your cheeks was a welcome sensation, “Are you trying to get in my pants right now?”

Spencer hummed, shifting beneath you slightly—a telltale sign that he was turned on—and gripping both of your hips, “Technically, I’m trying to get you out of them.”

Now grinning, you leaned forward, pressing your torso against Spencer’s until his back was against the blankets you’d stacked for your makeshift mattress. You took a moment to adjust the fabric that surrounded you, removing the layers of separation between you and Spencer when you finally reached his sweater. Carefully, you slipped your fingers beneath his layers of clothes, pausing abruptly when he inhaled sharply, “Are you okay?”

“Your hands are freezing, honey,” he told you; a lightness was present in his tone as if he was trying not to laugh.

Withdrawing your hands, you instead stuck them beneath his back, hoping to warm them up while you craned your head up to his, placing your lips on his and immediately sighing into him. You settled the rest of your body across his, bringing your knees up to his hips and grinding your core against his hardening length. The layers of clothing between you were proving to be a hindrance, but you weren’t ready to rid yourself of any insulation just yet.

You bunched up the wool of Spencer’s sweater in your hands, finding a rhythm between your rocking hips and moving lips, patiently waiting for the opportunity to slip your tongue into his mouth and hoping your hands were sufficiently warm when you moved your dominant hand back to his torso. Slowly, you lifted your hips from his and tucked your fingers beneath the waistband of both his flannel pajama pants and briefs, making sure he didn’t flinch at the temperature of your fingers when you wrapped them around his cock.

His mouth opened against yours at the contact, a low moan vibrating in his throat as you kept your hand in his pants. This was your opening, leaving you to slip your tongue in his mouth, deepening the kiss and speeding up your heart rate.

Moaning against his lips, you needed to sacrifice your kiss for the sake of a hand job, ducking your head so that you could focus on the flick of your wrist, the elastic waistbands working against you.

Spencer craned his head, dropping a kiss on the crown of your head, you could feel his abdomen tensing under your arm as you reached your other hand down to try and push his pants over his hips. “You wanna take my clothes off, don’t you?”

Your ministrations slowed as you peered up at him through your eyelashes and nodded, taking your cheek between your molars.

You hummed as Spencer used his grip on your waist to pull you up until your faces were close enough to meet again, he kissed you again, chastely this time, before whispering, “You first.”

Bracing yourself for the cold apartment air to brush against your skin, you assisted Spencer by pulling your arms through the sleeves of your sweater, gritting your teeth while he tugged it over your head. You were pleasantly surprised when the air surrounding you remained insulated, too distracted by the heat to think about the way Spencer was pushing your pants down.

While you regained your focus, you helped him discard your pants, kicking them off into the abyss of blankets that you were still cocooned in. “Are you still warm enough?” Spencer asked, dragging his knuckles up and down your bare waist as he looked up at you.

“Yeah,” you asked, the way he was so concentrated on keeping you warm and comfortable sent a flurry of butterflies to your stomach, making you all the more needier. “Spence,” you whispered, thinking about all of the layers of fabric that still separated the two of you.

He pulled you close to him, looking to the side before rolling you both over until he was on top of you. You quickly got to work, tugging at the hem of his sweater and relishing in every inch of exposed skin that touched yours. The inherent eroticism of skin-to-skin contact was beginning to drive you crazy, and Spencer noticed. He tossed his sweater off to the side, laughing lightly as you disappeared beneath the covers, finally pulling his flannel pajama pants off until it was up to him to get them off the rest of the way. Once you peeked your head back above the covers, you saw the lovesick grin on his face. “Hi,” he whispered, reaching a hand up to cup your face.

You reflected his smile back at him, “Hi,” you murmured, studying his face while he kept his every attention on you.

“You look so pretty like this,” he said, moving his hand down to grip your thigh, parting your legs around his waist while you kept your eyes on him.

Raising your eyebrows, your face warmed at his claim, “What? Beneath you?” You teased, grinning so broadly that you stuck your tongue beneath your teeth to try and tame the smile.

He didn’t falter. Instead, he tilted his head to the side and nodded, “Well, yes,” he admitted. “It gives me the opportunity to do things like this,” he said, dropping his hand down to your core, his eyes on yours as your mouth parted in anticipation. “It’s much easier to see your face while I touch you when you’re beneath me.”

As he spoke, his index finger slipped between your folds, causing your stomach to twist even as he was just barely grazing your clit with his knuckle. “And here I thought it was a control thing,” you challenged, your voice weaker than you’d originally hoped, practically breaking off into a whimper.

“That certainly doesn’t hurt,” he whispered, using his finger to spread your slick over your pussy, any sounds muffled by the blankets that still surrounded you. “But nothing will ever beat the look on your face when I slip my finger inside of you,” he teased, but his words didn’t reflect his actions, leaving you slightly disappointed.

You hummed, leaning your head back and checking on the fire before looking back up at Spencer, “You have an eidetic memory, don’t you have enough of me in your spank bank at this point?”

Spencer shook his head, watching you with an undying interest as he slipped his index finger into you tantalizingly slowly. Your eyes fluttered shut, your mouth parted, and a small, choked noise escaped your lips. “There it is, honey,” he cooed. “No memory will ever do that justice.”

Nodding, you forced yourself to open your eyes and meet his, studying the ring of gold surrounding his irises while his hand found a rhythm. Lifting your hips as his thumb applied pressure to your clit, you gasped at the sensation, your cunt clenching around his finger while his ministrations refused to cease. “Spence,” you breathed, “feels good.”

“Yeah?” He asked, taking your reassurance as a hint to add a second finger to his ministrations, “I like it when you let me take care of you, you spend too many nights alone in our bed for my liking.”

You lifted your hands up, just barely peeking over the blankets so you could place them on his shoulders, “I’ve never minded,” you reminded him. He always comes back to you, albeit in various states of disarray sometimes, but he always comes home.

He groaned, burying his face in your neck and leaving gentle kisses on the soft skin, never sucking long enough to leave a mark, but he paused once he reached your collarbone, “I mind,” he muttered against your skin, kissing down your chest until his lips were level with your breasts, taking the opportunity to take your nipple in his mouth.

As he sucked gently on the sensitive bud, you became all too aware of the familiar knot building in your lower belly, “Oh,” you gasped, your hips bucking up when he hummed against your chest in response, the vibrations going straight to your core, tightening the knot.

Spencer switched nipples, latching onto your other breast while he continued the pressure on your clit. A strangled moan made its way through your throat as the rubber band in your stomach snapped, and your orgasm rippled through you, sending wave after wave of pleasure through your entire body while Spencer continued to work you through it. He separated himself from your chest, leaving tender kisses on your jawline while you tried to remember how to breathe.

Your orgasm ebbed into a dull ache between your thighs, and you let your head fall back against the blankets, wincing when Spencer withdrew his fingers from your cunt. You caught your breath while Spencer adjusted himself, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking your juices from them—it made your walls clench around nothing. “Please,” you found yourself saying, looking up at him with wide, lust-blown eyes.

“Patience,” he cajoled, pinching your hip lightly as you squirmed beneath him. “Are you feeling okay?”

You nodded, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and trying to practice the virtuous trait, “I feel really good,” you assured him, your breath hitching when you felt his tip aligned with your entrance. “We should have sex on the floor more often,” you told him.

He smiled dropping a small kiss on your nose and deciding to adjust the blankets around you. Although, funny enough, you were beginning to get too warm. “You look gorgeous,” he told you, gently pressing into you, only part of the way.

Releasing a shuddering breath, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and met his shining eyes, which he accepted as an okay for him to slide further into you. You were sure you did not look gorgeous, in fact, you could feel your hair sticking to the back of his neck while he sheathed himself inside of you, giving you time to adjust and smoothing your hair out of your face in the interim—as if he had read your mind.

Your walls clenched around him, and he dropped his head in the crook of your neck, “You feel so good,” he muttered, lifting his hips from yours before pushing back in.

“Honey,” you whispered up at him before he found a rhythm, “Will you kiss me?”

You only saw his look of incredulity for a moment before his lips were on yours, you hummed contentedly into his mouth, your breathing faltering as he continued to thrust in and out of your cunt, finding a rhythm.

One of your hands dropped to the side of his neck, cupping his jaw while you moved your mouth on his, taking control of the kiss while he focused on fucking you. Separating your lips only to take a breath, your other hand was on his back, nails lightly grazing his otherwise unmarred skin as you searched for any semblance of stability.

There had to have been something about the atmosphere, the various flames around you, or the heat of the blankets that covered you, that brought your orgasm on so quickly. You could already feel it building, and you gasped into Spencer as you felt it.

Using one hand to keep himself hovering just above you, he took his other hand and hooked it beneath your thigh, hoisting your leg up and opening your cunt even more to him. The change eased the pressure in your core, giving him more time to build up his own, but you had to separate your lips, “God, Spence,” you said, somewhere between overstimulated and overheated as your cunt clenched around his length.

He sighed, hot breath against your neck as he assured you, “I’ve got you.”

Just like that, you were a goner, head thrown back in complete bliss as your walls pulsed around Spencer’s cock, the sensation bringing on his own orgasm. You were trying to catch your breath while his cum spurted out inside of you. “Oh,” you sighed as he dropped your leg, letting your muscles stretch as Spencer’s hand massaged the inside of your thigh.

“Are you alright?” He murmured, dropping a soft kiss to your forehead.

You nodded, forcing yourself to open your eyes and look up at him, “Yeah,” you answered breathlessly, wincing slightly when he pulled out of you, more at the feeling of the fluid sliding out of you than anything else.

Spencer hummed, “Are you sure?” He brought a hand up, skimming his knuckles over your cheekbone, “It seems like something’s wrong.”

Shaking your head, you brought your hand up to hold his, leaving a soft kiss on his palm, “Promise,” you assured him. “I’m just warm, and I know I have to get up to go pee,” you told him, adjusting yourself on top of the rumpled blankets.

He gave you a lopsided smile in response, “What do you say you get up to pee, and I’ll get us some water while you’re gone?” He offered, bringing a smile to your face. “When we get back, we can watch a movie, your pick.”

Grinning up at him, you run a hand through his hair before ruffling it, “I say you’ve got yourself a deal.”

#spencer reid smut #criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds smut #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds oneshot #written by margot #margot after hours #softdom!spencer

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buckyalpine · 9 months ago

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Give me drunk Bucky who wakes up in your bed, confused over why he's in the softest pj's he's ever felt and for some reason wearing a giant fur coat he can only assume is from a pimp because who else would own such a thing.

What the hell happened

Mere hours earlier; 3:30 am, Guys night

"Noooooo" Bucky howled, letting his body go deadweight while Thor continued to carry him to his room, the only one strong enough to get the soldier off the floor after he'd polished the bottle of Asdargian mead clean. "Wanna see y/n"

"Yeah, can't imagine what y/n would say if she saw you being carried off like a princess" A very tipsy Sam and Steve followed behind while Bucky's bottom lip jutted out into an exaggerated pout, head thrown back with is eyes closed in defiance "She's still off on that mission, she'll be back soon, you can see her then-

Before Steve could finish, Bucky's eyes shot open, scrambling out of Thor's arms and stumbling towards your room. There was no time to stop him from entering, a drunk giggle slipping past his lips as he let himself in and sighed contently. By the time the three men reached, Bucky's shirt had already been discarded beside his socks.

"Oh no- Steve snorted at the sound of Bucky's belt bucky hitting the floor, his lip sticking out in concentration as he tried to work at the button of his jeans.

"Barnes, I swear if you take your pants off-Damn it" Sam huffed, a pair of black jeans landing on his head. "At least keep your boxers-Oh hell nah" He ducked before Bucky's intimates became aquainted with his face. "Don't you dare helicopter that third leg-he's doing it"

No one intervened as Bucky decided to make himself more comfortable, clearly missing you as he sighed, walking over to your closet. He was in there suspiciously long before emerging with-

"Buck, those are-

"Soft" Bucky hummed, coming out of your closet with a set of pj's you wore often, oversized so they'd be extra comfy. Bucky giggled at the smell of your soft scent, slipping the shirt over his head and putting the pants on, flopping on your bed like a cat. "Smells like y/n"

"Do we just leave him here"

"At least he's wearing pants" Steve sighed, frowning when he heard running footsteps approaching along with a chaotic cackling, who else would be still this active at this hour-

"There you guys are!! We're doing body shots off of- wait you're here. C'mon capsicle, take your shirt off-

"For fucks' sake Tony"

"Where the hell did you get that jacket" Sam's face scrunched when he notice Tony's shirt was missing however he was in a large coat which he'd thrown off, the pile of for landing on a half sleepy Bucky. Bucky's eye peeked open at all the fuss, wrapping himself up in the coat and blissfully falling asleep with his face in your pillow, the rest of the chaos mere white noise.

"SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS-"

"TONY NO"

"TONY YES"

Present

"What do we have here" you coo, giggling at a very disoriented Bucky who blinks up at you with puppy eyes, a pink blush spreading on his face. You'd just returned from your mission with Nat, the entire compound still reeking of alcohol, the hallway littered with various still drunk Avenger men. The only thing that cut through the smell was the fresh breakfast a happy Thor had already started, the only one standing as if nothing had happened.

You'd stepped over a sleeping Sam and Steve in the hallway to get to your room, cocking a brow at the large mound of fur and soft snoring sleeping in your bed.

"Good morning, sweet boy" You brushed back Bucky's hair, bending down to press a soft kiss to his forehead, letting him take his time to figure out his surroundings, "have a fun night"

"Missed you" he mumbled, pulling you to lay on the bed so he could cuddle up with you, his head now resting on your chest instead. "Missed you so much"

"I missed you too, bub" You continued to gently play with his hair, happy your boyfriend got to have a night of fun and thankful that you always kept painkillers in your bedside drawer. Poor baby was going to need it. You noticed the pile of clothes that were thrown on the floor, they were definitely Bucky's but Bucky was in clothes so what was he wearing-

"Buck?"

"hm?" "Are those my pjs?"

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linoxpudding · 2 months ago

Text

Intern (Pt 3)- Lee Know

summary: you pull away to protect your heart, but minho is left feeling trapped in a storm of guilt and emotions he can’t name, a stage collab between Stray Kids and SEVENTEEN brings new chaos—especially when one of their members starts showing interest in you

pairing: lee know x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff, humor

word count: 5979 words

a/n: any carats here? alsoo buckle up for some love triangle drama 👀

Intern Series: Part One Part Two Part Four

~°~

The air in the game room was still heavy when Hyunjin barged in.

Four pairs of eyes turned toward him—Chan’s brows furrowed instantly, as if he already knew. Changbin was mid-sip of beer. Seungmin was quiet, almost tense. And Minho… Minho stood there with the pool cue still in his hand, his mouth drawn into a thin line.

“What did you say to her?” Hyunjin asked, voice low and sharp.

Minho blinked. “What?”

“You said something,” Hyunjin pressed. “She looked like someone kicked her heart in. What the hell did you say to her?”

Minho’s jaw clenched.

“I didn’t say anything to her.”

Chan set his drink down with a soft clink, sensing where this was going. “Hyunjin,” he said carefully, “let’s not do this here—”

“No,” Hyunjin cut in, eyes never leaving Minho. “Not until he tells me what he said.”

Seungmin shifted uncomfortably, looking away. Changbin opened his mouth to speak but closed it again. Nobody wanted to be the one to say it out loud.

Minho’s lips parted like he was searching for the right words. “She overheard something that wasn’t meant for her.”

“So you’re saying it’s her fault?” Hyunjin snapped. “Tell me what she heard. Now.”

A beat passed. Then another.

Minho looked away.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt her,” he muttered. “She wasn’t supposed to hear that.”

Hyunjin’s laugh was short and humorless. “So you did say something.”

Chan stepped in fast. “Okay. Enough. Let’s calm down, we will talk about this later.”

But Hyunjin ignored him, stepping closer. “She adores you, you know that? She goes out of her way for you. Always.”

“I didn’t ask for her feelings,” Minho said defensively.

“No, but you let them grow.” Hyunjin’s voice had dropped to a near-whisper now. “You let her believe there was something there. You let her get close just to push her away.”

Chan sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “This isn’t helping anyone right now.”

“She didn’t even cry in front of me,” Hyunjin said suddenly. His voice was softer now, haunted almost. “She just said she wanted to be alone. You know how rare that is for her?”

Minho swallowed hard.

“She always shows up,” Hyunjin continued. “Always. With a smile. Even when she’s exhausted. Even when she’s hurting. She’s the sunshine in every room, and tonight she left looking like it’d been drained out of her.”

Minho didn’t respond.

Chan rested a hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder. “Come on. Let it go for tonight.”

Hyunjin glanced at Chan, then at Changbin and Seungmin—both of whom looked like they wanted to disappear.

And finally, his eyes returned to Minho.

He didn’t say another word.

He just walked out.

*******************

Your apartment was too quiet.

You’d kicked your shoes off at the door and sunk into the couch still fully dressed. The light from the hallway crept in, soft and golden, but nothing about it felt warm.

You stared at the ceiling, trying to let the silence soothe you, but your brain wouldn’t stop.

“She’s always laughing too loud…”

“…hovering around me…”

“…I just want peace…”

You curled your fingers into the blanket draped across your lap.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it before. The possibility that maybe you were imagining it all. That maybe the lingering glances and the rare, softened smiles were just crumbs you’d blown into meaning more than they ever were.

Maybe you’d been reading too much into his quiet presence, mistaking silence for something intimate.

How foolish you’d been to think someone like him—the rockstar who had the world in his palms, effortlessly charming and adored by so many—would ever fall for someone like you. A normal intern, just trying to make a name for herself, trying to set her career in motion while she scrambled for every opportunity. You weren’t special enough to be his.

You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting the tears that threatened to fall. Maybe you had made up a story in your head about the way he looked at you. Maybe the moments you thought were quiet confessionals were just him being kind. Maybe it was your heart that had been too eager, too hopeful. You should’ve known better than to read between the lines. You should’ve known better than to think there was more.

It was stupid, really. To even consider that someone like Minho could see you the way you’d been hoping for. You sighed, a mix of frustration and resignation settling deep in your chest.

It was time to move on. To forget the version of him you had created in your mind. You were grateful that at least you had the next two days off.

You needed space.

From him. From the boys. From everything.

Your phone buzzed softly beside you, its screen lighting up in the dim room. You didn’t reach for it. It buzzed again and again. Without meaning to, your gaze flicked toward the phone.

The lock screen was cluttered now with text notifications from Chan and Hyunjin. You didn’t need to open them to know what they said. But you didn’t feel like replying.

Not tonight.

You turned your phone face-down on the table, the light vanishing like a curtain being drawn shut.

The silence settled in again.

*******************

You returned to work two days later, a little more composed on the outside, a little more cracked on the inside.

The building felt the same—same coffee smell lingering in the halls, same distant hum of voices echoing from practice rooms. But to you, everything felt different. Colder. Sharper.

You greeted staff with soft smiles and polite nods. When you walked into the practice room where the boys were gathered for schedule rundown, you could feel Minho’s eyes flick toward you immediately. But you didn’t meet them. You didn’t even pause.

Just a quiet, “Morning,” to the room, and then straight to your spot beside the manager.

Hyunjin narrowed his eyes from across the room. He didn’t say anything at first, just kept glancing between you and Minho, like he was trying to read something in the silence.

“Y/N!” Chan greeted first, his voice warm, eyes scanning your face a little too carefully.

You smiled politely. “Hey. Sorry I was just relaxing in the break, couldn’t text you.”

“No worries at all,” he said. “Glad you’re back.”

Felix offered you a hug almost immediately. “You okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just needed some time.”

He didn’t push. Neither did Changbin, who shot you a reassuring look from the mirror as your mentor briefed everyone on today’s plan. Han, however, was silent — his eyes never left your face.

You stayed focused on your clipboard, scribbling notes, pretending your heart wasn’t thudding painfully in your chest when Minho laughed at something Chan said. You didn’t look at him. Not once. Not even when he cleared his throat like he wanted to say something—something directed at you.

You caught sight of him again later that day as you stepped into the main practice room.

He was sitting by the far wall, hoodie sleeves pushed up, fingers tapping absently on his thigh like he was waiting for time to pass. You expected him to ignore you completely.

But he looked up.

And for a split second, your eyes met and you saw something passed through his gaze. Guilt? Relief? You didn’t know. You didn’t care to find out.

You turned away before he could speak.

You stayed locked in your bubble. Quiet. Unbothered. Untouchable.

At least on the outside.

But you felt it, the way his eyes followed you across the room. The pause in his step when you were talking to Seungmin.

*******************

The tension built slowly, stretching over the hours like an invisible thread. You could feel Hyunjin watching you more than usual, hovering closer, lingering a beat longer than necessary whenever he passed by.

It all came to a head during a quick break in the hallway. You were jotting notes beside the vending machine when Hyunjin slipped beside you and muttered lowly, “Why are you avoiding him?”

You stiffened.

“Hyunjin…”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he cut in, voice firmer now, eyes flickering with restrained frustration. “I heard what happened. I heard what he said. And now you’re walking around like you’re the one who needs to apologize?”

You glanced around nervously. The hallway was empty, but walls here always had ears.

“Please,” you said quietly, tugging him by the sleeve into the empty prop room beside the hallway. “Just listen for a second.”

He crossed his arms, lips pressed into a line.

You swallowed hard. “I crossed a boundary. I did. I assumed things that weren’t there. I was too loud, too much. I read into glances and made up something in my head. That’s on me.”

Hyunjin started to shake his head, but you raised a hand, stopping him gently.

“I just…” You looked away, ashamed. “I don’t want my mistake—my stupidity—to mess up your friendship with him. Please don’t let it. He doesn’t deserve that.”

“Y/N—”

“No, really. It’s okay,” you whispered, eyes glossy now, but your voice steady. “I’ll be okay.”

He stared at you for a long moment, then exhaled slowly.

“You’re not stupid,” he said finally, softly. “You’re just someone who cared.”

You gave him a sad smile. “Still feels stupid.”

*******************

Meanwhile, Minho was going through a range of emotions.

At first, it felt like relief.

You weren’t laughing around him. You weren’t hovering in the corners of rooms he was in. You weren’t looking at him like he was the sun and the stars and the whole damn sky.

At first, it felt like peace.

But then… it didn’t.

It felt like quiet in all the wrong ways.

He started catching himself glancing up, expecting to find you already looking—only to find your gaze elsewhere. Or worse, nowhere near him at all.

He noticed how your usual energy—the way you brightened the room even when you weren’t trying—had dulled. How you laughed with the other staff, but never like before. How you moved around him like he wasn’t even there.

It didn’t feel like peace. It felt like absence.

He tried to remind himself this was what he wanted. No more hovering. No more warmth. Just peace.

But somewhere around day three of your silence, Minho realized, that the thing he thought he wanted—the distance, the quiet, the “peace”—felt a hell of a lot like regret. It felt like missing someone who was sitting six feet away.

*******************

You were bent over a mannequin, hands steady as you carefully pinned lace detailing along the hem of Jeongin’s blazer. It was for an upcoming shoot—classic, structured, and clean with delicate pearl accents and subtle embroidery near the lapels.

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the iron steamer behind you and the occasional buzz of messages from someone’s forgotten phone.

Han entered the room and sat down quietly on the low bench near you, elbows on his knees, fingers drumming lightly against his thigh.

At first, he didn’t speak.

He just watched.

Watched the way your fingers moved with careful precision as you sewed the last pearl into place. Watched the way you paused to make sure the symmetry was perfect before nodding to yourself, reaching for a steamer cloth like you were trying to keep your mind on anything but the tension that had followed you into every room lately.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You glanced at him. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“You’ve been tired for four days.”

You looked down at the brush in your hand.

Han exhaled, voice lowering. “I heard what happened. At the party.”

You paused.

He continued. “I just… I wanted to say I’m sorry. Even though he’s my best friend—that was no way to talk about you. Or treat you.”

Your fingers trembled slightly as you capped the compact. You nodded once. “Thanks.”

“I’m not gonna defend him. I know he’s being stupid,” Han added. “I just wanted you to hear it from me, too. You didn’t deserve that.”

You smiled a little, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “I appreciate it, Jisung.”

He gave your arm a gentle squeeze before standing up. “I won’t push. Just… if you ever need someone to vent to, I’m around.”

And with that, he was gone.

But your heart was a little less heavy.

*******************

The days passed differently. You didn’t joke with Han while fixing his collar. You didn’t poke Hyunjin’s side when he yawned. You didn’t glance at Minho when you walked past him.

You were strictly professional. Straight-backed. Eyes on task.

And everyone noticed.

Hyunjin pulled you aside once, in the hallway near the breakroom.

“You’re not… yourself,” he said gently.

“I’m just working,” you replied. “Isn’t that what I’m here to do?”

He frowned but let you go.

Inside the practice room, Minho found himself fidgeting.

He kept stealing glances — wondering why the room suddenly felt too still, why his hoodie felt too warm, why he missed the sound of your laughter and the dumb jokes you used to throw his way.

“Dude,” Han muttered, nudging him. “You’ve been staring at her for the last ten minutes. You good?”

Minho blinked, realizing he had been staring — watching as you pinned a tag to a jacket and adjusted the neckline with those same gentle fingers that used to tug on his sleeve just to annoy him.

He looked away.

You stopped showing up to group dinners. Stopped responding to memes in the shared chat. When Hyunjin texted about game night, you replied two hours later with a soft “Sorry, not tonight.”

You were polite. Kind, even. But cold.

There was no more lingering in doorways. No more snacks you left behind for the staff after long nights. You clocked in, did your job perfectly, and disappeared before anyone could ask if you were okay.

Guilt was eating away Minho, it was all his fault. He hated how quiet you were now. How you moved around the room like a stranger wearing the same face. How you didn’t flinch when he brushed past you anymore. How your smile—once warm and open and full of light—was now a carefully measured line that never reached your eyes.

He noticed every single time you declined an invite.

And what he hated most… was that you meant it.

You weren’t pretending to be busy. You weren’t waiting for him to chase after you. You’d really let go. And it was driving him insane. But he didn’t understand why…

This is what he wanted, right?

Silence. Space. Distance.

This was exactly what he’d been hoping for, wasn’t it?

Then why did it feel like he couldn’t breathe?

*******************

The collaborative stage between Stray Kids and Seventeen was announced with massive buzz. Special unit stages. Joint dance breaks. Concept photos. Interviews. Fans were eating it up before rehearsals even began.

You were roped in to help with styling for the final shoot and early rehearsals. It wasn’t your usual team, but your mentor had vouched for you personally—said you had the right eye, the right attention to detail.

And that’s when you met Kim Mingyu.

Tall, charming, all radiant smiles and easy laughter. He’d walked into the fitting room in an oversized hoodie and black sweats, hair pushed back with a clip, and shot you a grin that nearly made you forget your own name.

“Hey,” he said, offering his hand. “You’re Y/N, right? I’ve heard about you.”

You blinked. “From…?”

“Scoups, my team leader,” he said casually. “Says you’re terrifying when you’re in focus mode. He saw you during the initial discussion with the manager and Bang Chan.”

You huffed a laugh despite yourself. “I’m not terrifying.”

“I dunno,” he teased, eyeing the tiny pin cushion on your wrist. “I’ve seen those weapons before.”

You smirked, setting your clipboard down. “You’re not scared of a few needles, are you?”

Mingyu leaned in slightly, grin widening. “I’m scared of a lot of things. You’re just not one of them.”

And Minho walked in right then. Minho paused at the doorway.

Your back was to him. Mingyu was leaning in close—too close. You were laughing, that soft, genuine kind of laugh Minho hadn’t heard from you in weeks.

It made something in his chest crack.

The air around him changed. He walked into the room with a little too much presence, like he was daring someone to look at him. Mingyu glanced over, eyebrows lifting in recognition.

“Oh, hey,” Mingyu greeted. “Lee Know, right?”

“Minho,” he corrected coolly.

You didn’t turn around. Didn’t acknowledge him. Your attention on Mingyu.

Minho clenched his jaw. “Y/N.”

You looked up briefly. Nodded. “Minho.”

No smile. No warmth. You treated him like a client. And it drove him insane.

*******************

It started with little things.

Minho would linger after everyone left the room, clearly waiting for you to say something—anything—but you'd just continue folding jackets or updating the fitting sheet without sparing him a glance.

“Did you steam this?” he asked one day, pointing at a dark gray blazer.

“Yes,” you replied flatly.

He waited and waited. You didn’t elaborate or smile. Didn’t compliment how it matched his earrings. Just kept working.

“…Okay,” he muttered and walked away.

The days started blending—shows, schedules, fittings—but Minho couldn’t stop noticing how different you were.

You gradually started laughing with the others like before. You high-fived Jisung when he nailed a dance move. You giggled when Felix made finger hearts at you. You leaned comfortably into Chan’s side when he asked for your opinion on the new teaser photos.

But with Minho?

Nothing.

No smile. No sass. No eye contact longer than two seconds.

He was upset and everyone saw it.

“Hyung, you good?” Seungmin asked one day while they were stretching before rehearsal.

“Fine.”

“You were staring at Y/N again.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Sure.”

Minho’s jaw clenched. “She’s acting weird.”

“No, she’s acting normal. You’re the one acting weird,” Seungmin said, chuckling. “You’re twitchier than Han after two Red Bulls.”

“I just… don’t like being ignored.”

“Ohhh, right. Because she used to flirt with you and now she doesn’t.”

Minho glared. “Shut up.”

“She liked you a lot, y’know? But she’s not gonna chase someone who called her annoying.”

Minho didn’t answer.

But it echoed in his head the rest of the night.

She liked you. You called her annoying.

God.

He was such a jerk.

The next few days, he tried. He really tried.

You were fixing Hyunjin’s cuff when Minho stepped into the room, in a clean white tee and perfectly ripped jeans.

“Morning,” he said, voice carefully casual.

You nodded once. “Good morning.”

That was it.

He cleared his throat. “Nice shirt,” he offered.

“It’s yours,” you deadpanned.

Hyunjin snorted. Minho flushed and sat down without another word.

Later that day, he tried again.

You were rearranging accessories when he walked over, holding a ring in his palm.

“This one or the black one?” he asked.

You glanced briefly. “Black.”

“That fast? Not even gonna try it on me?”

“No need.”

Minho frowned. “You used to be more fun, you know.”

You paused, finally looking at him. “You used to be nicer.”

Then you walked away. He blinked, stunned. Was that... a comeback? He smiled to himself. There she is.

*******************

The rehearsals were loud with energy when Seventeen arrived at JYP building again.

Mingyu approached you, “Hey Y/N, how are you doing?”

You blinked. "I’m—uh, I’m good. Thank you."

He tilted his head, voice lighter now. "You’ve been quiet. Not that I’ve known you long, but I remember you teasing Dino over his sleeve length last time. I figured you weren’t the shy type."

You gave him a small, polite smile. "Just focused on work today."

"Ahh," he said, not pushing further. But his gaze lingered for a moment longer than necessary. "Still... it’s good to see you again."

You nodded, eyes flicking briefly toward the mirror wall across the room.

Minho was watching with his jaws clenched. His gaze shifted away before you could fully catch his expression.

Later that day during dance practice, Minho caught you laughing from the sidelines. Mingyu had just tripped during a spin and recovered with a dramatic pose like it was part of the choreography.

Your laugh echoed across the room—bright and genuine. Minho’s stomach flipped. You looked happy. Just not with him. He caught Hyunjin’s eye from across the mirrors. The younger boy raised a brow and mouthed: “Regret it yet?”

Minho rolled his eyes.

Yes.

Yes, he did.

More than anything.

By the time they wrapped practice, most of the members had filtered out. You stayed behind to pack some things, double-checking wardrobe pieces for tomorrow’s shoot.

Minho lingered again.

“So… are you avoiding me?” he asked suddenly.

You didn’t look up. “No.”

“You’re just… treating me like I’m invisible.”

“I’m treating you like a colleague,” you corrected. “That’s what I should’ve done from the beginning.”

Ouch.

“I didn’t mean what I said that night,” he muttered.

You finally turned to him, expression unreadable. “You said it. Whether you meant it or not doesn’t change the fact that I heard it.”

“I—”

“Look, Minho. I liked you, okay?” you said quietly, firm. “I thought we had… something. Even if it was silly. I flirted. You let me. So I assumed you didn’t hate it. But hearing you say you found it annoying?” Your voice cracked slightly. “That sucked.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

You didn’t wait for him to find words.

“I’m not mad anymore. It’s fine, let’s keep it professional.”

Then you turned and walked away again. Minho let out a frustrated sigh, what had he done?

*******************

You had only meant to be polite. A little distant, maybe. Careful. But apparently, Mingyu saw a challenge—and he accepted it with full confidence and charm.

From the next day on, it was like he had a radar for when you entered a room.

“Hey, Y/N.”

You barely stepped into the practice hall before his voice greeted you. “Want help carrying that?” He was already reaching for the clothing rack like it weighed more than your emotional baggage (it didn’t).

“Oh, it’s okay, I’ve got it—”

“Nah, I insist,” he said with a grin that made the staff nearby swoon. “Wouldn’t be very gentlemanly if I just stood here looking pretty, right?”

You blinked. “That… would depend on your definition of pretty.”

He laughed, a low, surprised chuckle. “Oof. Are you always this dangerous?”

“Only when I haven’t had coffee,” you said dryly.

And it was that simple.

He was hooked.

He started showing up earlier to rehearsals. Always near your station. Sometimes he brought extra drinks—“Thought you might like iced vanilla lattes?”—other times, just conversation. He’d rest his elbow on the rack while you adjusted stage outfits, asking about your favorite color palettes and whether you preferred oversized fits or structured jackets.

And the worst part?

He was easy to talk to.

Too easy.

The more he spoke to you, the more you forgot about how cold Minho had made you feel. Mingyu didn’t make you feel annoying. He didn’t make you second guess every word or glance or laugh. He listened. He noticed things—like how you always kept hair ties on your wrist and hated velvet textures.

But you didn’t flirt back. You’d smile. Laugh sometimes. Keep the conversation going. But your heart hadn’t caught up. Not yet. It was still tangled in a pair of grumpy eyes and cruel words you couldn’t forget.

Across the room, Minho saw it all.

He watched you laugh—really laugh—with someone else. Someone handsome and charismatic and clearly smitten with you. He hated how familiar that expression was on your face. He hated that it wasn’t directed at him.

He knew he had no right to feel this way.

He was the one who pushed you away. Said those things. Let you walk out of that party with tears in your eyes and didn’t even run after you.

And yet…

He found himself glancing up more often when you passed by. Making comments just to hear your voice. Standing a little closer when you weren’t looking.

You didn’t notice. Or maybe you did—and just didn’t care.

But when Mingyu asked if you wanted to grab a bite after rehearsal one night, and you actually paused—just for a second—Minho felt something snap.

He turned on his heel and left the room before he could hear your answer.

You looked up from your clipboard, caught off-guard for a second from Mingyu’s question.

Mingyu was smiling again—bright, hopeful, that usual confident glint in his eyes. He didn’t even try to be subtle anymore. He liked you. Everyone knew it.

You hesitated. Just for a second. And then shook your head, politely. “I’m heading home after this. Long day.”

A beat passed. Disappointment flickered across his features—quickly replaced by an easy grin. “Next time, then.”

You offered a smile. Soft. But firm. “Maybe.”

Mingyu nodded, but you knew he caught the undertone. You weren’t ready. Not yet. Not when Minho’s voice still echoed in your mind like a bruise that refused to fade: She flirts with everyone… it’s annoying.

Even if Mingyu was kind. Even if he made you laugh. You weren’t ready to hand your heart out again. Especially not when someone else had crushed it with a few carelessly thrown words.

*******************

The rooftop of the JYP building was always a strange kind of refuge. Noisy during the day with deliveries and the occasional staff meeting, but quiet at night—just high enough above the city that it felt like a pause button on reality.

Han had found himself up there more than once. When deadlines loomed. When promotions felt like too much. When the ache of exhaustion pressed too hard on his shoulders.

But tonight… he wasn’t alone.

He spotted Minho by the railing, his back turned to the door, head bowed. The wind tousled his hair gently, and the city lights lit up the side of his face in cold, distant hues.

“Hyung?” Han stepped closer.

Minho didn’t turn, didn’t even flinch. Han slowed as he realised something was off.

He caught the faint shake of Minho’s shoulders. The way his jaw was clenched too tightly. The way he blinked—once, twice, too fast—and then pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes like he could erase the tears before they fully formed.

“Hyung…”

Minho exhaled. Sharp. Fragile.

“I’m fine.”

Han frowned. “You always say that when you’re clearly not.”

Still no response.

Han moved beside him, not too close—just enough to share the quiet. He looked out at the skyline for a moment before saying softly, “She said no.”

Minho’s fingers curled around the railing.

“I heard,” Han added. “Mingyu asked her. You didn’t even wait to listen.”

Minho shut his eyes. The words felt heavy in his throat. “She paused.”

“Yeah. For one second. And you left like it killed you.”

Minho let out a bitter laugh. One that cracked halfway through. “Because it did.”

That startled Han into silence.

Minho finally turned, his eyes red-rimmed, lower lip trembling despite his usual calm exterior. “I don’t even know why I said all that stuff about her. I didn’t mean it. Not a single word.”

“Then why’d you say it?”

“Because…” Minho shook his head, fingers gripping the railing so tightly his knuckles went white. “Because she makes me feel things I’m not supposed to feel. Things I don’t know how to deal with. And the closer she got, the more I panicked. So I pushed her away. I had to. I was also growing jealous, I think? Of her bonding with Hyunjin.”

Han stared at him, then blinked—once, twice—before exhaling. “Hyung… with all due respect, you’re such a pabo. Hyunjin and her are completely platonic.”

Minho let out a soft, broken sigh. “I realize that now.”

Han raised a brow. “You were in love with her, hyung. I knew it from the heart eyes you used to give her every time she walked into the room.”

Minho looked away, almost embarrassed.

Han continued with a small scoff, “I even tried playing cupid, but you were so nonchalant I thought maybe I was wrong.”

Minho gave a humorless chuckle, still blinking back tears. “I was too stubborn to admit it before… but this distance, her ignoring me—God, it’s been killing me. And it made me realize I fell for her from the start. I just didn’t know it then. Or maybe I did, and I was too much of a coward to face it.”

“And now Kim Mingyu’s trying to pull her in,” Han sighed looking up at the sky.

Minho flinched.

Han didn’t smile. He didn’t joke like usual. His voice was calm, steady. “Do you want her to be happy?”

“Yes,” Minho whispered immediately.

“Then you need to fix this, hyung. Because right now, all she remembers is the version of you that called her annoying.”

Silence again.

Minho nodded once—slowly, like the decision cost him something.

Han gave him a small pat on the back before turning to leave. “I’ll cover for you downstairs. Take your time.”

Minho stayed rooted there for a while longer, letting the cold wind sting his face, hoping it would hide the warmth of his tears.

It didn’t.

And for the first time in a long time… he let himself cry.

He was ashamed for hurting you, who’d always been kind. For making you feel like you were too much, when really, you were the best thing he took for granted.

*******************

It was finally the end of the week, and all you could think about was the long, luxurious everything-shower waiting for you at home. You stepped into the elevator, letting out a quiet sigh as the doors began to slide shut.

Just then, a hand slipped between the narrowing gap, stopping them mid-close.

Your heart dipped the second you saw who it was.

Lee Minho stepped in quietly, not even glancing your way at first. The doors slid shut behind him with a soft ding, sealing the two of you in that small, silent space. You could hear the soft hum of the elevator mechanics, the faint buzz of a fluorescent light above.

He stood beside you—straightened, composed, but the silence was nothing like the ones before. This time, it wasn’t cold. It was unsure. Hesitant.

You shifted your weight, pretending to check your phone, anything to avoid the ache that formed in your chest just from being this close again.

One floor passed. Two.

The tension was suffocating.

Three—

CLUNK.

You jolted when the elevator lurched to a sudden stop. Your hand shot out to grab the railing, and you turned to him, wide-eyed. He’d hit the emergency button.

“Minho—” you began.

“Don’t leave yet,” he said quickly, voice tight. “Just—listen. Please.”

You were stunned into silence.

“Y/N,” he started, looking at you with softness. Not cold. Not harsh. Just... tired. And honest.

“I was wrong,” he said. “About everything.”

You blinked.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly. “I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t even—” he stopped, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t realize what I was saying until it was too late. I was… frustrated. With myself. With how I felt. And I projected that onto you.”

You turned to face him now, fully, slowly.

He looked tired. And not just from rehearsals or schedules. Tired from guilt.

Your voice came out low, careful, “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

His brows furrowed. “Y/N—”

“I crossed a line,” you said, swallowing. “I was the one who confused things. I made you uncomfortable and I kept hovering and—”

“No,” he cut in quietly. “You didn’t.”

“You said I did.”

“I was scared.”

That stilled you.

“I was scared because the way you made me feel didn’t make sense,” he continued. “And instead of dealing with it, I blamed you for making me feel it in the first place.”

You looked away. “You said you wanted peace.”

“I thought that’s what I needed. But the silence after you left? It didn’t feel peaceful. It felt empty.”

You let out a shaky breath, one that felt like it had been trapped in your chest for days.

You stepped forward, your fingers brushing the panel as you desperately tried to cancel it so the elevator would start moving again. But before you could press the button, his hand reached out, catching your wrist. Gently. Not to stop you, just to ask you to stay.

“Please don’t do that,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t leave. Please don’t punish me.”

You froze.

“You think I’m punishing you?” you asked, voice cracking slightly, “You wanted the distance!”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said again, eyes searching yours. “I didn’t mean it to come out like I didn’t care. I was overwhelmed. And I said the wrong thing to the wrong person.”

You blinked hard. “You still said it.”

He winced. “I know.”

You pulled your hand from his, slowly.

“I’m just protecting my own peace now,” you said gently. “That’s all.”

Minho looked at you like the words hurt more than silence ever could.

Neither of you moved for a while. Then Minho spoke—quieter this time, like he didn’t want to scare off whatever fragile truce you’d allowed between you.

“Can we start over?” he asked. “Just… as friends.”

You looked at him, eyes tired, wary. He was watching you like the answer might shatter him. Your heart thudded.

You wanted to ask why now. Why after all the space. Why after the silence. Your guard stayed up. You crossed your arms lightly, leaning back against the elevator wall.

“I don’t know if I can go back to how things were,” you said truthfully.

“I’m not asking for that,” he said quickly. “I just… I miss talking to you. I miss your laugh. I miss you. Even if it’s just as a friend.”

You studied him for a long moment—Minho, who once stood cold and distant, now looking hesitant and real in the dim fluorescent glow. There was no arrogance in him now. No bitterness. Just a quiet kind of sincerity you’d never seen before.

You bit the inside of your cheek, then slowly nodded once.

“Friends,” you said. Cautious. Careful.

Relief bloomed across his face so fast, so unguarded, that it nearly broke your heart again.

He reached out, hesitated—then offered a pinky. It was so Minho. A little awkward. A little sincere. A peace offering dressed in childish promise.

You stared at it, then looped your pinky with his, sealing whatever strange, bittersweet restart this was.

And just like that, he pressed the emergency button again. The elevator jolted back to life.

As the numbers ticked downward and the air shifted, so did something between you. Not quite healed. Not quite the same. But something closer to understanding.

Minho offered you a small smile.

But inside?

He was unraveling.

He’d asked to be your friend, even though every fiber in his body ached to pull you in, to push you gently against the elevator wall and kiss you like he should’ve the night you told him how you felt before. But he knew he didn’t deserve that right. Not after everything he said. Not after how he made you feel.

So he swallowed it down—the longing, the regret, the need. Because if friendship was the only way to keep you in his life, then he’d take it. Even if it meant pretending the quiet way his heart raced around you was platonic. Even if it meant watching you smile at someone else someday and telling himself it didn’t hurt. He’d take it. Because losing you completely? That was never an option.

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