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leo-in-the-pitt · 2 months ago

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Look Out For Her

This is Chapter 1 of the Beginning to End series !

Summary: 4 years later and your almost done with residency. But it feels like your relationship with Jack may be coming to an end too. That is until you’re hurt and he has to come to your rescue, that he reveals his true feelings for you.

Warnings: Established relationship, implied age gap, strong language, sexual assault, mentions of alcohol, possessiveness, mostly fluff

This is a Chapter 1! 2 more already posted !! 3rd in the works !

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You were 9 months into your 4th and final year of ER residency. 3 more months to go. Somehow still learning the ropes of being cheif resident. It wasn’t easy to have the respect of your fellow co-residents and interns when you were in a relationship with Dr. Jack Abbott, an ER attending but, he made it worth it. Most of the time at least.

Getting to this point in your relationship wasn’t always easy in anyway. What started as hook ups, turned into arguements during every shift you worked together until you cut it off. But when 3rd year came around, you guys got close again, he let you in and you let him in.

One year and eight months. In your mind, this was the start of forever. At least that’s what you thought.

For the past month though, Abbotts been distant and you didn’t understand why. Picking up shifts on the days you were both off, date nights were becoming a rarity, bailing on nights out with your friends.

You moved in with him 6 months into the relationship. Everyone told you it was quick but, it felt like the right decision at the time.

You woke up early while he was still at work to go pick up breakfast from his favorite spot downtown. Got home made your famous homemade peanut butter cookies that he loved. Had his favorite movies lined up, ready to play. Even put on lingerie under your clothes, ready for whatever he wanted.

You heard keys in the door and were excited for him to see what was waiting for him.

There he was. Silver curls. Black scrubs. Go-bag over one shoulder. You could look at him forever.

“There’s my favorite guy.” You ran up to him to give him a hg and kiss.

He hugged you back but, swerved his head ever so slightly when you went in to kiss him.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Just had a long night. Not really in the mood for anything.”

“I planned out quite the morning for us.” You smiled at him.

“Think I’m just gonna go hop in the shower then head to bed for a little bit.” He started to walk away.

You quickly turned around to him. “Okay, no, what is your problem? Did I do something? Cause for the past month you’ve been acting cold. Blowing me off ever chance you get.”

He stopped in his tracks and slowly turned to face you. He looked pissed. You’d only ever seen him angry like that once during a stupid fight you guys had at the beginning of the relationship.

“You left your laptop open.”

“Okay and? I’m I supposed to know what that means?”

“Were you going to tell me that you have a bunch of interviews for attending jobs at other hospitals? Or were you just going to tell me you were leaving one day?”

“Jack everyone goes to multiple interviews. You literally did the same when you were in my position.”

“One of those is across the country.”, he paused, “Were you gonna pack up and fly over there without telling me?”

“Thought maybe you could come with me and we could make a trip out of it actually.”

He put his head in his hands. “Do you want to leave?” His voice cracked.

“What? Why would I want to leave you Jack? I literally have an interview with Robby in 2 weeks for a spot here. I’m just trying to see what else is out there too.”

“But you have everything you could need right here! Why do you wanna give it all up!He raised his voice at you.”

You took a step back.

“Don’t yell at me.” You felt your breathing become faster, chest heavy.

“Why would you not tell me? This is something we should be talking about together. This isn’t just about you.”

“And it’s not just about you. It’s my future Jack. My career we’re talking about.” You said sternly.

“So where do I fit into that future then?”

You didn’t know how to answer. “You know I love you.”

“I sense a but coming here.”

You took a deep breath. “But there’s an emergency medicine research fellowship in California. They’re really interested in me Jack. Like really interested.”

“Sounds like you made up your mind already.” He walked away and went into the bedroom.

“Jack please. I didn’t say yes to anything yet. I still have to go over there and meet with them. I might end up hating it.”

He was throwing clothes into his go-bag. You grabbed his arm and he swiftly pulled away.

“So that’s it? You’re just going to leave? Where are you even going?”

He held both hands up in the air. “I just need some air.”

“When are you coming back?”

“I don’t know. I- I just can’t do this with you right now.”

“So if not now, then when. Jack. Come on we talked about this. Never leave mad at each other.”

“I’m not mad.”, he looked down at you, “Just disappointed.”

He grabbed his bag and walked out of the room. You felt the tears start to run down your face.

“Jack please.” You begged.

You heard him pick his keys up off the table and door slam closed behind him.

You broke. Tears streaming down your face. You sat on the edge of the bed, head in hands. Your reached into your pocket for your phone and tried to call him.

Once. Twice. Three times with no answer. Straight to voicemail.

You laid in bed, crying. Eyes already swelling. After went felt like an eternity, you fell asleep.

You woke to the sound of a text message.

Please be Jack.

It wasn’t. Just Langdon.

He knew you were planning Jacks favorites for the morning and wanted to know how it went. You typed out as much of what just happened as you could. He called immediately.

He could hear you crying again.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

“Frank, I- I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where he went. He turned his location off. He won’t answer my calls or texts. I just wanna know that he’s okay.” You voice broke as you tried to get the words out.

“Hey look I’m just gonna come over okay?” Gimme like 20 minutes, I’ll be right there. Please just hold on.”

“Okay.” He hung up.

You got out of bed and threw on one of Jacks sweaters. Beers of the Burgh. Him and Robby went together every year. You hated beer so you never went, just let them have their special guy time.

You went into the bathroom and saw how bloodshot your eyes had become. Splashed some water on your face and went into the living room.

Almost exactly 20 minutes later. A knock on your front door. Langdon.

You opened the door.

“Hey kid.” He always called you could since the first day you met even though he was only 4 years older.

Tears again. You almost fell to the floor. He caught you and lifted you up.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I got you.”

He walked you into the kitchen, had you sit at one of the bar stools and went to get you a glass of water. He knew his way around. Afterall he did help you move in and came over often for movie nights when Jack was at work.

You spent the next hour trying to explain what happened. Talking. Crying. He listened to it all.

“Have you tried to call him again?”

You sniffled. “No, if he doesn’t want to talk to me, I can’t make him.”

“He has to come back eventually you know?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” You wiped your eyes onto your sleeve.

“Hey, me and some of the others from work were gonna go out later for some drinks downtown. Probably do some bar hopping. Maybe you should come? Get your mind off of things for a little bit?”

“What if he comes back and I’m not here?”

“Maybe that’d be for the best. Think you both need some time to cool off.”

You agreed. “Yeah sure why the hell not. He never wants to come out with me anyway.”

“Alright, go get ready then.”

“It’s early.”

“Its 5:30 and you definitely take forever to get ready. Plus you gotta unpuff your eyes.”

You quickly turned to the clock on the kitchen wall. Shit, how long were you asleep for? How long was he gone for?

“Okay alright then. Are you gonna stay here?”

“Yeah I’ll just watch some tv or something while you get ready. I’ll drive us.”

You went into the bedroom, scavenging the closet for something to wear. Red dress. Jack picked it out one day when you two were at the mall a couple months ago. You hadn’t worn it yet. You were waiting until he finally decided to go out-out with you. Which obviously never came.

You grabbed the dress, his favorite matching bra and pantie set and went to shower. There was a part of you that wanted him to come home to see you. But at the same time you just wanted to forget about all that happened just a few hours earlier.

Out the shower. Quickly dried your hair. Threw some light curls in it. Jacks favorite hairstyle on you. You didn’t like makeup but, put some mascara and lipgloss on anyway.

You walked into the bedroom to grab your little black heels. And walked back out into the kitchen.

Langdon was laying on your couch on his phone.

“Ugh, told you you were gonna take forever. It’s time to go, everyone’s of there way to the first place.” He sat up and turned around. “Damn kid, you clean up nice.”

“Well thanks Frank.” You gave him a side eye.

“You hoping to run into him tonight or something?”

“I- don’t know, it’s just that he picked this outfit out so, I don’t know maybe I guess.”

It’s almost as if Jack knew you were talking about him. Keys jingled in the door. It’s him.

He opened the door to see you standing there in the dress he picked out.

You both stared at each other while Langdon looked back and forth, unsure if he should leave you two alone.

“You look good. Really good.” He scanned you top to bottom.

Your heart was about to jump out of your chest. “Thanks.”

You turned towards Langdon, “We gotta go.”

“Yeah sure.” He jumped up and walked towards the door. He stopped in front of Jack.

“Gimme a second with her.”

Langdon shook his head and walked passed Jack and out into the hallway.

“Can we talk?”

“Now’s clearly not the time.” You walked into the bedroom, grabbed his sweater off the bed and walked out. “I have places to be.”

“Where exactly are you going anyway?”

“Why does it matter to you? I didn’t know where you were all damn day.”

“I was at the park. The park I asked you to be my girlfriend in.”

“You just sat there in your scrubs all day?”

He looked down at his clothes. “I’m actually going back in tonight for a shift.”

You scoffed. “Typical. Anything to avoid me huh?”

“I’m here now, aren’t I? I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m clearly not Jack. Please just let me through.”

“Just be safe. Okay?” He stepped out of the doorway and out of your way.

“Always.” And you left.

Langdon was waiting in the hall for you. You walked right passed him.

“Hey.” He stopped Langdon. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“I shouldn’t have to.” And with that you were both on your way.

At the first bar you met up with other coworkers. Nurses, coresidents, EMTs. And apparently more people were on the way.

“Didn’t realize how many people were coming tonight?” You yelled over the music.

“Yeah me either.” Shrugged Langdon.

After the first 2 drinks and tequila shot, you realized you had ate all day. And you can’t handle your liquor.

You sat alone at the bar sipping water, looking down at your phone lock screen. A picture of you and Jack at a concert together, happy. He wasn’t into live music but, if it were for you, he’d listen to anything.

“Boyfriend couldn’t make it?”said the bartender nodding down at your phone.

“Yeah something like that.”

“That’s his problem. You look good.”

You smiled. Langdon came up behind you.

“Hey we’re heading across the street. Heard it’s 90s music night over there.”

You got up and went with the group. Thought you’d feel better by now. That you’d be able to distract yourself by talking to everyone, drinking, and listening to the music while dancing. It wasn’t working well.

Here you had 2 more drinks. 2 more shots.

Onto the next bar.

By this time, well over a a dozen people were apart of the group.

Fourth bar. More drinks. More shots. And you could feel it. But the more you drank the more you thought about him.

You went to sit at the bar alone. You checked you phone to see that he turned his location back on. The hospital, of course.

One the nurses came up to you. “Come on girl! Let’s go dance!”

“Yeah I’ll be right there.”

No texts or calls from him.

You took a deep breath and another sip of water. As you got up, you saw a guy watching you from the corner of the room. He winked and nodded his head at you. You politely smiled and went to your friends.

No matter what, Jack wouldn’t leave your mind.

There he was. The guy watching you across the room.

“Hey baby, looking good tonight.”

“Haha, thanks.” You were uncomfortable with how close he was to your face but didn’t want any problems.

“You got a man?”

“Yeah I do a actually.”

He scanned the room. “Guess he’s not here tonight huh?”

“He couldn’t make it. Working.”

“Well that’s his loss.”

Langdon spotted you across the dance floor.

“Hey, you gotta go see Donnie playing darts. It’s crazy!”

“Yeah sure.” You turned to the stranger and half waved goodbye.

“See you later.” He winked at you.

“Who the hell was that?”

“No idea.”

“Come on, stay close.”

“What about the darts?”

“They don’t even have darts here.”

It was now 1AM. You head pounding. Each room spinning. One last bar. One more drink. You lost count.

“Come on, one more tequila shot girl!”

“Yeah sure whatever.” You took it hoping the alcohol would down the feelings out of you.

Everyone was dancing, having a good time. You just wanted to be in Jacks arms, in your bed, in the apartment you had shared for over a year.

You looked over at a couple of your friends. “I’ll be right back.” Those who heard you nodded their heads.

You went outside. Alone. Still carrying Jack’s sweater, you decided to put it on. Not zipping it up but, just wrapping it around your body. You stood up against the wall on the side of the bar. Out of view.

Took out your phone. Stared. And finally dialed Jack’s number. No answer. Try one more time. Nothing.

But the thrid time you left a voicemail.

“Jack, it’s me. Um you probably knew that already, you know caller ID and everything. B-but,” your words one slipping into another, “I think I just want to say I’m sorry. I should’ve talked to you about leaving. I’m stupid I know. But I love you. I always have. I- always will. I don’t want to leave you. Ever. You’re it for me Jack Abbott. I don’t want anyone else, or anything else. You’re the person I’ve been looking for my whole life. You make me a better person. I want you forever. Please just pick up the god damn phone. I need to hear your voice,”

You heard the bar door open behind you. The music rushed out into the street before becoming quiet again.

The stranger. Back again.

“Hey you get lost out here?”

“Jack I gotta go, I’ll see you soon.” You hung up.

“Not lost, just needed some air.”

“Yeah, yeah. It can get so hot in there.” He stepped closer to your body. “You know when I said you looked good tonight, baby I meant it.” He licked his lips.

“Thanks again.” You tried to step around him to go back inside.

He blocked you.

“Where you rushing off to? Not like your man is here to take care of you.”

“I gotta get back to my friends.”

“It’s okay I can take care of you out here.” He wrapped his arm around your waist pulling you closer to him.

Your body now pressed against his. Heart pounding in your ears. He grabbed your waist with his other had before reaching down to cup your ass.

You tried to pull away. But his grip was tight. He pushed you against the cold brick wall, pinning you body with his. One hand on your waist. The other holding your arm against the wall. Scraping the skin on the back of your arm right off.

He leaned down into your ear. “Come on sweetheart. I can treat you better then he can.” His hand sliding to meet the bottom of that red dress. “I’ll show you want a real man looks like.” You felt his cold hand on your thigh.

This can’t be happening. Not like this. Not right in front of the bar. Where is everybody? Langdon? Oh god, where’s Jack?

All the thoughts ran through your head.

He leaned in and his lips touched yours. Youpulled your head all the way to the side.

“Damn sweetheart, wanna play hard to get I see. I can play along with that.”

He let go of your arm. He started to reach for your neck.

You pushed him. Hard. He stumbled back.

“You dumb bitch. You’re gonna have to pay for that.” He took a step towards you.

Pain. Throbbing pain was the next thing you remembered. Then blood. Yours? Or his?

Both.

You punched him. Right in the face.

You used to kickbox not long ago. Guess you still remember how to swing.

“Fucking bitch.”

You screamed. Loud. Loud enough for the security guards to hear you inside the bar. They came running around the corner.

Blood was pouring out of his crooked nose. Blood dripping down your arm from your knuckles.

One security guard grabbed him. “Guess you met you match huh? Come on, got some cops that are gonna love your ass.” He took him away.

“You alright? Come on let’s get you inside and get that cleaned up.” He walked you inside.

———————————————————————

Jack got your voicemail. Almost right after you hung up. He tried to call you back. No answer.

So he called Langdon, who was still inside the bar.

“Hey man, what’s up?” Langdon was drunk.

“Dude I can smell the alcohol on your breath from here.”

“Yeah well you should be here! It’s a great time!”

“Where is she?”

“You gotta be more specific broo”

“My girlfriend. You know the one you’re supposed to be looking out for. She called me. Left a voicemail actually. Sounded like she was talking to someone. Then hung up. Where is she?”

Langdon scanned the room. “Uh I don’t know man.”

“Can you go find her please? She sounded drunk , almost as drunk as you. I’m worried. She doesn’t handle her liquor well.”

“Yeah man, I gotchu, I’ll go find her.”

“Alright call me when you find her. I wanna talk to her.”

“Aye aye captain.”

And Langdon hung up.

He walked around the room. Asking anyone and everyone if they had seen you. No one knew where you went.

That was until you walked back in with security.

———————————————————————

Everyone immediately saw you.

Red dress with blood down the side. Blood running down your forearm. Knuckles bruised and swollen already.

You heard a murmur of “what the fucks” and “oh shits”

Langdon came running over almost immediately sobering him up seeing you like that.

“What the fuck happened?!” He reached to grab your blooded fist.

You winced in pain. Mascara running down you face. “The guy from the other bar.” Yo could barely get the words out.

He looked over your shoulder and saw the guy standing outside with security and blood running down his face.

“Oh I’m gonna go kick his ass!” He tried to get passed you.

“No, no, Langdon, stop, the police are already coming.”

“I don’t give a fuck, I’m gonna break his nose some more.”

“Please, just go get me some ice.”

“What’d he do to you?”

“Ice, Frank, please.”

He went up to the bar for your ice. You could see the police lights shining through the window.

3 police cars. 6 police officers.

You told everyone to stay inside while you went to talk to them. Langdon begged to go with you so you gave in and let him.

At this point, the guy was already sitting in the back of one of their cars. Hands cuffed behind his back.

You told them exactly what happened as you held the ice pack against your knuckles.

Langdons eyes teared up hearing what happened. He was supposed to protect you.

“You wanna press charges?” said one of the officers.

“Of fucking course she does.” Said Langdon.

“I need to hear it from her.”

You shook your head yes.

“You can either come to the station now. Or you can come in the morning.”

“What she needs is to go to the hospital. The hand is broken. Definitely in multiple places.”

“No, it’s not, I’m fine.”

“I’m literally a doctor, how are you gonna tell me it’s not broken? Have you not looked at your own hand?”

You took the ice off. Your hand was basically twice its original size. Fuck. He was right.

“Well that guy wants to go to the hospital too. Can’t take y’all to the same place so where you wanna go so we can send him somewhere else?”

“Can you take me to Pittsburgh Trauma?”

“Yeah let’s go.” You gestured to the police cruiser and opened up the door for you.

“Can I come with?” Langdon asked him.

“Absolutely not. Get a ride or call an Uber. You’re drunk. Drive yourself and I’ll have you arrested.”

“I’ll be right there, okay? I promise you.”

He went back inside the bar.

———————————————————————

All you could think about on the ride there was Jack. How he had to see you like this.

You finally checked your cellphone.

5 unread texts messages. 7 missed phone calls. And one voicemail. All from him.

You presssed play.

“Hey, it’s me. I know you probably don’t wanna hear from me right now and even if you do it’s just the alcohol talking. But look, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted the way that I did. I guess I’m just scared. I don’t want you to go. I can’t afford to lose you. Of course I want you to pursue whatever career opportunities you want, but I don’t think I can live without you. You make me want to be a better man. You make everyone around here better. I love you. I want to spend my life with you. I want to marry you. Have a family with you. All here, all in Pittsburgh. I want whatever you’ll give me. I- I just need you to stay. Please. Look I gotta get back to work but call me back when you get this okay? Love you babygirl. See you soon.”

You didn’t know if your tears where from the throbbing pain shooting down your arm or from his words.

You got to the ambulance bay. You swung your legs out of the car. Feet killing you from the heels. The officer helped you out of the car and walked you inside barefoot.

One of your coresidents spotted you.

“What the fuck? Do I even want to know what happened here?”

“Get Jack, please.” You said practically begging.

You waited for what felt like an eternity from him to find Jack in a patients room.

“This better be important. I was in the middle of something.” Jack snapped his off gloves into the trash.

He looked up and his eyes caught yours.

“What the fu-“ he ran over to you.

He grabbed your arm as you winced and pulled back in pain.

“Babygirl what happened to you?” He leaned down to look into your eyes.

You broke. Immediately tears poured down your face.

“Come here, come here. I got you, you’re alright. No ones gonna hurt you. You’re safe with me here.”

He held you in his arms while caressing your hair. The smell of alcohol of your breath obvious. “Come on, let’s go.” He wrapped his arm around you and walked you into a room and sat you down on the bed.

Your coresident ran to get all the supplies needed to clean and bandage you up.

“Get the hell out. I got this. Close the door of your way out.”

It was now just the two of you. Alone.

“Babygirl I’m so sorry. I should’ve been there with you. I shouldn’t have let you go.”

He started to clean the now dry blood off of you.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Do you wanna tell me how this happened?”

So you told him all of it. Every single detail.

“I’m gonna find that motherfucker, I swear to god. I’m gonna break his fucking kneecaps.”

“Jack, calm down.”

“No, he hurt you. I’m gonna hurt him.”

“His nose is already broken Jack.”

“I don’t give a fuck. He’s gonna get way worse than that from me.”

“Jack.” He kept cleaning your hand.

“Jack look at me.”

He slowly lifted his head until his eyes met yours.

“I’m gonna press charges. Whichever ones I can. I want them all.”

There was a knock of the door. One of the favorite night shift nurses.

“Hey sweetie brought you a fresh pair of scrubs and our finest grippy socks. X-rays ready for you. Just come out to the hall when your ready darling.”

“Thank you.”

“You need me to help you?”

“I can get dressed myself. You have other patients anyway.”

“Those patients don’t matter to me. You’re the only one I care about here.”

“Can I just have a minute alone Jack?”

He left you to change.you looked at your fist for the first time since you got to the hospital. Looked slightly better without all the blood.

You went into the hall and the nurse walked you down to xray as Jack waited by your room. Thank god the pain meds kicked in with the alcohol because you could barely open your hand.

As you walked back, you heard yelling.

“You were supposed to be fucking watching her! Not getting filthy fucking drunk and letting her wonder off alone!” Jack was throwing his hands in the air.

Langdon stepped up to his face. “I shouldn’t have to watch her for you. You’re here fucking boyfriend. You should’ve been there yourself. Or better yet, she should’ve wanted to stay at home with you!”

“You think you can judge my relationship? Last time I checked I’m not the one in the middle of a divorce and custody battle.”

“Jack!” You yelled down the hall. “Don’t.”

You walked over and pushed him into your room.

“Frank, I don’t blame you for any of this. I need you to know that.”

“No, he’s right, I should’ve been keeping my eyes on you. This shouldn’t have happened.”

“But it did happen. I’m okay. Or at least I will be. I’m not a kid, you don’t need to keep me on a leash. I shouldn’t have gone out there alone. No ones here to blame except the man who did this okay?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” You hugged him and walked back into your room.

Jack was pacing back and forth.

“I’m okay Jack. You can calm down.”

Another knock on the door. “X-rays are up.”

He walked over to the computer to open them up.

“What do you see?”

“Boxers fracture.” You pointed to the obvious gap between your bones.

“Gotta go get ortho to come set it in place.”

“Can you just do it?”

“I’ve hurt you enough tonight.”

He left and came back with an ortho resident who reset your hand and put it in a brace. “Gonna need another xray in 3 weeks to see how it’s healing. In the meantime just rest, ice and elevate. You got a lot of swelling so take it easy please.”

Just you and Jack alone again.

“Jack can we talk about what you said?”

“Which part?”

“On the phone. Your voicemail.”

He knew exactly which part you were referring to but, wanted you to say it.

“The part where I said I want you to stay?”

You shook your head no.

“Then which part?”

“The part where you said you that you want to marry me. Have kids with me. Build a life with me here.”

“I meant it all. Every last part.”

“I’m not leaving. I’m going to cancel all the other interviews. I wanna stay here. With you.”

“You don’t need to do that for me. This is your career we’re talking about here. You can’t give up these opportunities. They won’t come around again.”

“I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for us. Jack you’re more important than some job. This all means a lot to me but, it won’t mean anything if I can’t come home to you every night for the rest of my life.”

He leaned in a kissed you passionately. He pulled away and looked softly into your eyes.

“So Jack Abbott wants to marry me huh?” You said jokingly.

“Don’t worry I’m not gonna pull out a ring right now or anything. You gotta finish your residency first babygirl.”

“Well now I’ll be expecting a ring the day after I’m done.”

“Guess I better start working on that. But for now let’s get you and that broken hand home.”

“Your shift isn’t over for another 3 hours?”

“They’re gonna cover for me. Gotta get my lady home.”

The drive home was pretty silent. He just put your favorite Radiohead album on for you. He helped you out of his truck and lead you upstairs.

He helped you pick out your favorite pajamas and you went to take another shower. Forgot you had been wearing his favorite matching set under the dress when you left. Thought the night would be ending differently for you two.

Of course you were glad that you were on good terms now. But when he put his hand on your back as you were leaving the hospital, you flinched. And he definitely noticed.

Once the booze started to wear off, you started to realize the extent of what happening to you tonight.

You cried again in the shower. Used the hot water to wash away your tears for you. Put some drops in your eyes to hide the redness.

You took a deep breath before walking out to him in the kitchen. He was holding up the breakfast bagel you bought him that morning.

“Didn’t even see that you bought these.”

“You could always just eat it now if you want. Think I’m just gonna head to bed if that’s alright.”

He open the fridge and put the bagel back inside. “Yeah let’s go. I’m just gonna jump in the shower real quick.”

You climbed into bed. Curled yourself into a ball, facing away from where he would be laying. You were holding back tears. You wanted to be strong for him. There’s was already so much going on in your lives. The last thing he needed was to be worried about you more than he already was.

You head the bathroom door open and his footsteps coming closer. You closed you eyes and preteded to be asleep.

He peeked over to see you. Eyes closed. You felt as he crawled quietly into the bed to face you.

“Hey I know you’re not sleeping. We’ve been in the same bed for over a year now. You never fall asleep that fast.”

You let out a cry.

“Hey, come here. What’s wrong?” He put his hand on your back and you squirmed away as fast as you possibly could.

“I-I’m sorry”, you whimpered out.

“Can you look at me?”

You wiped the tears flowing down your cheek and rolled over to face him.

“You wanna talk about it yet?” He knew there was more going through your mind.

You shook your head. “I need you to hold me. Bu-but I’m scared for you to touch me. It’s not you, I- I don’t know what wrong with me right now. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. None of this is your fault, okay?”

You sat up, “Can you just put your arm out?”

“Like this?” He put right arm straight out.

You laid down so that his arm was between your head and shoulder.

“Wrap your arms around me, please Jack.”

He brought you as close as you could get to him. You cried into his chest.

“I got you, I got you. Nobody’s gonna hurt you ever again alright?”

You nodded and lifted you head up. He wiped away your tears.

“I love you so much babygirl. So much.”

“I love you too.” You laid back down into his chest.

Jack was wrong you could fall asleep fast. But only when you were in his arms.

Things were gonna be different from now on. Cause you ever trust anyone to put their hands on you again?

———————————————————————

Probably gonna end up making this a short series! Maybe just one more part! Let know what you guys think!

#the pitt #the pitt hbo #jack abbot fanfic #jack abbot x you #jack abbot x reader #dr jack abbot #jack abbott #dr robby #doctor robby #frank langdon #dr langdon #dr abbot x reader #dr robinavitch #micheal robinavitch #ao3 #hbo max #jack abbot smut #robby robinavitch #robby x abbot

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cheesycatz · 15 days ago

Text

Me: (puts the DealMaker on Kris just in case there's a single reference to Spamton in Chapter 3)

The pathetic divorced TV that's still whipped 20+ years later:

So YEAH writing my thoughts on the Spamton and Tenna content we got. Mainly:

Tenna is WAY more obsessed with Spamton than Spamton is obsessed with Tenna

Tenna's fond memories of Spamton have been tainted by his current hatred of Spamton

Tenna blames his problems on Spamton because that's easier than accepting his fate as a darkner of becoming obsolete

Tenna probably believes Spamton is more successful than ever, and would probably sympathize if he knew how poorly Spamton was actually doing

The 10 ft tall TV man is the submissive one?????

wait no delete undo control z delete delete delte dlelatefbbsjabcjowm

(Here's a YouTube video with all the nonsense I'll be referencing if you're normal and don't know what the hell I'm talking about)

It's interesting just how obsessed Tenna is? Despite the fact that Spamton thinks Tenna is the one entirely responsible for his downfall, he only mentions him a few times, and usually so vaguely we didn't even know he was referring to Tenna until chapter 3 came out. Spamton clearly found a new plan to become a big shot (becoming NEO), and while he's still very spiteful, he's somewhat moved on. He doesn't need Tenna anymore, just like he doesn't need Swatch, the addisons, or anyone else that was ever by his side. His plan doesn't involve anyone from his past.

Meanwhile, Tenna brings Spamton up repeatedly, entirely unprompted. Constantly mentioning emails, talking about how he's better than him, the Z rank room and the S rank room look like they haven't been touched since Spamton last visited, the fact that he's using the pipis Spamton gave him to mass produce TV slop, that giant Spamton head in the Susiezilla mini game—you can tell Tenna is still living in the past, and his Spamton obsession is a part of that.

Tenna also has a hatred for Spamton that seems strange considering how close they must've been. From Tenna's perspective, Spamton promised to help him become a “big shot” (I assume this is referring to helping Tenna become successful, relevant, and up-to-date with technology rather than Spamton's more metaphorical meaning when he uses the term), then rushed out after receiving a phone call, never to be seen again. This event was presumably Spamton's benefactor deciding they would no longer help him, and the reason he never came back was possibly because the laptop got taken back to the Library, or because he was getting evicted? Regardless, the last Tenna ever sees of Spamton is his face going pale, then literally running out of the room, phone still hanging off the receiver. If that was the last you saw of your business partner and friend (or lover wink wink), wouldn't you be concerned?

…And his first thought was that Spamton had purposefully scammed and ditched him? I think, given how “bright” Tenna and Spamton's smiles were in that Z rank room poster, Tenna's perspective of this event must've shifted. After all, Tenna is retelling this story 20-ish years later when he's been abandoned by the lightners for years. Aside from the Knight, Spamton is literally the only hope Tenna ever had. And, considering how Tenna's employees talk about him and his contracts in Chapter 3 (Lanino and Elnina, his 2nd in command, ditch him like five minutes after his crash out they ain't loyal 😭😭😭), he's probably been extremely isolated since Spamton (and Mike) left. He pretends that the random guys pretending to be Mike are actually Mike, because that's easier to accept than coming to terms with the fact that the real Mike is long gone.

I think, in the same way Spamton blames his problems on everyone else, Tenna blames all his problems on Spamton. He probably believes that Spamton is still the richest salesman in Cyber City, that he's more successful than ever while Tenna rots in a broken home. He doesn't know that Spamton's been puppetified (either horrifically transformed or agonizingly burned alive in acid depending on what theory you like more), evicted from his home, and has been living on the streets for literal decades. Not to mention Spamton's verbal and visual glitches, which very well could hurt given how much he mentions being in pain in his dialogue.

Chapter 3 definitely showed that Tenna is an antagonist, not a villain, unlike what Spamton would have you believe. The only reason he fights is because he's desperate for attention, and also because of the Knight's instructions (which he also only followed because he's desperate for attention). I don't think he would hate Spamton if he knew what Spamton went through, which made that shitpost scene of him getting blasted with foam that much more heartbreaking. Spamton has been through so damn much that his voice and appearance is entirely unrecognizable from the man he once was. I know it was a joke, but Tenna literally assumed he was some weird, feral animal. Spamton could pull out his birth certificate, passport, driver’s license, social security number, whatever, and Tenna probably still wouldn't believe him, because his image of Spamton is completely different from the real man.

From Spamton's perspective, it's interesting how quick his tune changed when he saw that Tenna kept the pipis. It makes me wonder if he really does believe Tenna was responsible for his downfall, or if he tries to trick himself into believing it because it's easier than accepting his fate. Otherwise, like Tenna, I wouldn't be surprised if Spamton grew to resent Tenna the longer he went without seeing him. Even if Tenna was already losing popularity by the time Spamton left, he still had so much more than Spamton had. Spamton started from the bottom, but Tenna always had his giant TV studio, always had employees, never had to worry about when his next paycheck was. Spamton was born to fail. Tenna was born at the height of his own popularity. It's not surprising that Spamton would envy Tenna, and it's not surprising that he wishes their roles were reversed. Though, perhaps seeing Tenna all these years later, desperate, pathetically lonely, still obsessed with Spamton, and begging for freedom made Spamton a little sympathetic.

Overall, the similarities between Spamton and Tenna makes their dynamic very enjoyable to me. Both have been abandoned, and still perceive and hate the other as the other's old successful self. Their similarities also make their differences more fascinating. Part of why I like Spamton is his perseverance. His situation is easily 100 times worse than Tenna's (literal homeless man that's been horribly disfigured vs. millionaire irrelevant tv host smh), yet Spamton's the one that wakes up and still works his ass off trying to reach his goals, while Tenna desperately clings to his dying dark world, bitterly living in the past rather than trying to do anything to help his situation.

I don't care if he's a murderous criminal, Spamton's a fucking inspiration. No matter how much everyone hates Spamton, no matter how much they try to erase his image, they still constantly replicate what he had. The Color Café sells his bowties, the Chapter 4 addisons try to mimic him the second they don't have jobs, and, of course, Tenna loathing yet revering him. None of these people know if Spamton's even still alive—yet the mere idea of him has influence everywhere. No matter how hard they try to scrub him from existence, they can't escape it. I like Tenna as a character, but he will never compare to Spamton's sheer influence.

Also sorry Tenna but I think you deserved getting kinkshamed by an entire audience for keeping your ex's freak ass unfertilized puppet eggs and nonconsensually feeding them to your employees

Conclusion: uuuuuh can I have a 200k words slow burn fic about these two reuniting in Castle Town with a side of overcoming their hatred and realizing how similar they are? And a drink of hijinks with Tenna refusing to recognize Spamton at first? oh yeah can I also get a Spamton NEO? Your NEO cream machine is broken? Okay……..

#deltarune analysis #spamton #tenna #tenna deltarune #ant tenna #mr tenna #deltarune spoilers #deltarune #spamtenna #dawg what tag are we using for this guy #I CANT BELIEVE I MISSED THE PIPIS CUTSCENE IN MY PLAYTHROUGH I WOULDVE LOST MY SHIT

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pbaz7 · 3 months ago

Text

FINDING PEACE IN YOU: PART 3

paige x azzi

word count: 10.6k

A/N: I don’t even know…I’m sleepy lol. This is kind of a filler chapter but it moves the story forward slightly in just small interactions and what not. Wasn’t meant to be 10k words at all. Proof reading was iffy so let me know if you see any mistakes! Please leave live reacts and comments letting me know what you think if you can 🫶🏼

—————————————————————————

Paige and Azzi had fallen into an easy rhythm over the next few weeks. Late-night dates after their hectic days, stolen moments in between their busy schedules, and quick texts just to check in. Some nights ended with Paige walking Azzi to her door before heading home, while others found her inside, curled up on the couch with Azzi, their lips tangled in a slow, familiar dance.

But that’s all it ever was—kissing.

Not that Paige was complaining. She loved the way Azzi kissed her, how she took her time, how she always left Paige wanting more. But that was the slight problem. Paige did want more but Azzi wasn’t quite ready yet.

Paige was currently sitting in the recovery room, stretching with some of her Dallas Wings’ teammates, including Dijonai, Arike, and Rickea. Lukas was off to the side, playing with a yoga ball and laughing periodically with one of the rookies on the team. Paige grimaced here and there, stretching out the soreness from how hard she’d gone in the weight room earlier.

Dijonai, looked up from her phone when Paige groaned a little loudly and spoke up. “Yo, why you been going so hard lately?”

Paige glanced at her. “Whatchu mean?” she asked, still stretching.

Dijonai gave her a look, raising an eyebrow. “Girl, you been doing extra reps for like the last two weeks.”

Rickea chimed in saying, “On God, your PR’s damn near about to be higher than mine?”

Paige laughed at that, shrugging it off. “Just been having some extra energy I gotta let out,” she said, trying to sound casual as she continued stretching.

Arike, who had been quietly listening to the exchange, added her two cents. “You gotta get laid instead of trying to kill yourself before the season starts.”

Paige laughed as she continued her stretch. “Not that easy.”

Dijonai raised an eyebrow. “Girl, it literally is that easy for you.”

Rickea added, “You could walk in a club, make eye contact, and walk out with somebody in less than five minutes.”

Paige shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Nah I’m not saying that it’s just—I been seeing this girl that’s all.”

Rickea raised an eyebrow. “So what’s the problem?”

Paige looked at her silently asking what she meant.

“Y’all should be hunching all the time then.”

Paige chuckled, shaking her head. “Nah, we not there yet.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and everyone in the room froze, processing what Rickea had just said and Paige’s response. A mix of confused expressions filled the space—some with raised eyebrows, others with wide eyes, and a couple of “What?”s and “Excuse me?”s scattered around.

Arike squinted at her like she just missed the punchline of a joke. “What the hell you mean, ‘not there yet’?”

Paige shrugged, her smile softening at the thought of Azzi as she shifted her position slightly. “She’s just intentional with everything,” Paige continued, her voice softer now. “And Ion know, she just got a different vibe, so I’m respecting her wanting to wait.”

Dijonai chuckled at this, a confused look forming on her face. “Are you crazy? You’re telling me you decided to take the one person who won’t put out for you seriously? She a prude or sum?”

Paige’s smile faltered slightly, her tone getting a little more serious. “Yo, watch your mouth…That’s not how it is.”

Dijonai immediately put her hands up in surrender. “My bad, my bad.”

Rickea, not wanting to let the awkward moment settle too long, chimed in with a smirk. “Damn, you sprung already?”

Paige shot Rickea a quick glance, her cheeks slightly flushed. “Shut up,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “I just— I like her, aight? So I’m tryna be respectful and let her decide how fast we go.”

“So, you’re telling me, you’re out here…not getting any…on purpose?” Arike asked, trying to make sense of it.

The conversation came to a sudden halt when Lukas came barreling over, launching himself onto Paige with a grunt. She let out a little noise as he landed on her stomach. “Ma, I’m hungry,” he said.

Paige sighed dramatically, her hands resting on his shoulders to stop him from flailing around. “When are you not hungry?”

Lukas gave her a look, widening his eyes. “Always. But I’m extra hungry now,” he insisted, leaning into her, clearly unwilling to budge until she gave in.

Paige sighed, shaking her head. “Aight, man, come on,” she said, half-amused, half-exasperated.

Lukas beamed, a grin spreading across his face as he jumped off her lap. He ran over to Arike, dapping her up before bouncing over to Dijonaí and Rickea, hugging them both tightly. “Later!” he shouted, barely waiting for a response before he darted out of the recovery room, following Paige out into the hallway.

…

Paige sat on the bench outside the restaurant, watching Lukas happily eat his chicken tenders and fries. He was in the middle of talking her ear off about the exercises he’d done during her practice, hands moving excitedly as he rambled on about who knows what. Paige smiled, listening with half an ear as she checked emails, but her attention was pulled to her phone when it lit up with a FaceTime call.

She glanced down at the screen, and saw Azzi’s name. A small smile tugged at her lips as she swiped to answer, popping in an AirPod and glancing at Lukas to make sure he was content. Lukas had quickly moved on, coloring on the paper the restaurant had given him, clearly lost in his own little world.

Paige answered the phone, her smile growing when Azzi’s face appeared on the screen.

“Wassup?” Paige greeted.

Azzi’s lips curved into a smile as she leaned back in her chair slightly. “What are you up to?”

Paige swiped the screen, flipping the camera around to show Lukas happily munching on his chicken tenders. He was making a mess, dipping one in ketchup and then taking an oversized bite, his cheeks puffed out.

Azzi laughed at the sight. “He’s really going to town on those, huh?”

Paige nodded, a fond smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, he’s like this every time we go out. Makes people think I’m not feeding him.”

Azzi laughs at this.

Paige then leaned back from the camera slightly, her eyes softening as she refocused on Azzi. “How’s work going?”

Azzi sighed, rubbing her temples. “I actually have a huge headache,” she admitted, her voice a little worn. “Between the NBA playoffs and the WNBA season about to start, my schedule’s filling up faster than I can keep up with it.”

Paige’s expression softened with concern. “What’s wrong? You need a break?”

Azzi shrugged, looking exhausted but trying to smile through it. “I need more than a break. I’m just juggling too many things right now but it’ll wind down soon.”

Paige bit her lip, thinking for a moment. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Azzi smirked a little, raising an eyebrow. “Well, if you get a doctor’s degree, then maybe.”

Paige laughed. “Oh, sure, I’ll just go to med school between games and practices. No big deal.”

Azzi’s smile towards Paige was warm, but the exhaustion in her eyes was still evident as she rubbed her temples again. Paige’s smile softened in sympathy. “For real, though, what can I do?” she asked gently, wanting to help somehow, even if it was just in small ways.

Azzi let out a quiet sigh. “I miss you,” she admitted.

Paige’s heart skipped a beat, her smile widening as she looked at the screen. “I miss you too.”

At that moment, Lukas tugged at Paige’s sleeve, his little voice breaking through the conversation. “Ma, look!” he exclaimed, his eyes bright with excitement. Paige glanced down at her son, who was holding up his paper, clearly proud of something he had figured out.

She leaned closer, squinting at the crossword puzzle on the paper in his hands. "What’s that, buddy?" she asked, her smile stretching across her face as she saw the word he’d found. “Good job!” she praised him, giving him a thumbs-up.

Lukas beamed, pleased with himself, and immediately went back to scanning the next section of the puzzle.

Paige chuckled softly, shifting her focus back to the screen where Azzi’s familiar face filled the frame. There was something comforting about seeing her, even through the barrier of a phone screen.

“What’re you doing tomorrow?” Paige asked.

Azzi leaned back against her office chair, tilting her head slightly. “I’m off,” she answered simply.

A small smile tugged at Paige’s lips. “I wanna see you.”

Azzi’s brows furrowed slightly. “I thought you had Lukas’ birthday party tomorrow?”

“I do,” Paige admitted, the words carrying an unspoken weight.

Azzi’s expression shifted slightly as she processed the response, her silent question evident in the way she studied Paige through the screen.

Paige hesitated for a beat before exhaling, then continued, “It might be a nice time for you to meet him. You know officially.”

Azzi’s lips parted slightly in surprise, but then a slow, genuine smile spread across her face. She knew how Paige was when it came to Lukas—how cautious she was about who she let into his world. The fact that she was even suggesting this meant a lot.

“Really?” Azzi asked softly.

Paige nodded, but almost immediately, nerves took over, and she started to ramble. “Yeah, but I mean only if you want to. I know you’ve had a long week, and I’d totally get it if being around a bunch of kids isn’t your ideal way to spend your day off. I mean, they can be loud, and chaotic, and there’s gonna be cake, which is cool, but also probably a mess, and—”

Azzi’s smile grew as she watched Paige ramble, clearly nervous about extending the invitation. It was endearing—seeing Paige, who was usually so smooth and confident, stumble over her words.

“Paige,” Azzi cut in softly.

Paige blinked, her mouth still slightly open mid-sentence. “Huh?”

“I’d love to come,” Azzi said simply.

Paige exhaled a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. “Yeah?”

Azzi nodded. “Yeah. I mean, if you’re really sure. I know Lukas is important to you, and I don’t wanna overstep just because we’ve been seeing each other for a few months.”

Paige shook her head. “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t sure. I just—” she hesitated for a second, glancing down at Lukas, who was still focused on his crossword puzzle. “I know you’ve had a long week, and I’d get it if being around a bunch of wild kids isn’t your ideal off-day you can always just come after.”

“I’ll survive. Besides, like I said, I miss you.”

Paige smiled again, the warmth filling in her chest undeniable. “I miss you too.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other, a quiet understanding passing between them.

Before Paige could say anything else, Lukas’ voice cut through the moment.

“Ma, I found another one!” he announced proudly, waving his crossword puzzle in the air.

Paige turned to him, laughing. “Good job, smartie pants,” she praised, ruffling his blonde hair before glancing back at her phone.

Azzi smiled at the exchange before sighing softly. “I have another client soon, but I’ll call you later, okay?”

Paige nodded, shifting the phone slightly in her hand. “I’ll talk to you later.”

They lingered for a few more moments, neither wanting to end the call just yet, smiles playing on their lips as they held each other’s gaze. Eventually, Azzi shook her head with a small smirk, mumbling out a soft, “Bye Paige,” before hanging up.

Paige stared at the blank screen for a second before exhaling, shaking her head to herself. Yeah, she was in deep.

…

Azzi stepped out of the car, thanking her driver before shutting the door behind her. As she turned toward the house, her eyes landed on the large sign near the side with an oversized arrow directing guests around the back. She laughed to herself, shaking her head—of course, Paige made them set up. She knew how much Paige valued her space, and the last thing she’d want was a bunch of people traipsing through her house.

Following the path lined with smooth marble stones, Azzi made her way to the backyard. But when she stepped around the corner, she froze, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

This was, without a doubt, the biggest birthday party she had ever seen for a four-year-old.

The backyard was transformed into what looked like a mini carnival—there were balloons tied to every possible surface, two bouncy houses set up in one corner, tables covered with themed decorations and all kinds of stations filled with professionals. There were kids everywhere, running around, jumping in the pool, screaming, and laughing, their energy buzzing through the air. Parents stood off to the side, chatting amongst themselves, while a few other athletes Azzi recognized were mingling near the food table.

She shook her head in disbelief. She knew Paige loved Lukas more than anything, but this?

Azzi stepped forward, scanning the crowd for the only person she really wanted to see today. She weaved her way through the chaos of kids sprinting past her and dodged a rogue balloon that almost hit her in the face. She finally saw Paige standing near a table, her hair pulled back into a bun, a drink in her hand as she casually observed the party.

Paige must’ve noticed her presence because when she looked up and saw Azzi, a smile immediately stretched across her face.

Azzi felt warmth spread through her chest at the sight of the blonde.

As she reached her, Paige instantly pulled Azzi into a hug, her voice low as she mumbled, “Wassup beautiful.”

Azzi let herself settle in the brief embrace before pulling back, her eyes flickering to the table filled with wrapped presents. Paige followed her gaze, then let out a small laugh when she noticed the gift in Azzi’s hand.

“You know you didn’t need to get anything, right?” Paige teased, reaching for it.

“Of course I did.”

Paige smirked, placing it on the table with the rest. “You tryna outdo me at my own kid’s party?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Please. There’s two bouncy houses over there—I think you have me beat.”

Paige finally let her eyes drag over Azzi, taking her in with an appreciative smirk. “You look good,” she murmured, her voice just low enough so no one else could hear.

Azzi rolled her eyes, shaking her head like she was annoyed by the attention, but the small smile forming on her lips gave her away. “You’re predictable,” she muttered.

Paige chuckled, not even trying to hide the fact that she was enjoying getting under Azzi’s skin. “You drive here?” she asked, shifting the conversation.

“You know I didn’t.”

Paige laughed, shaking her head. “Yeah. Had to ask, though.” She barely had a second to react before Lukas came barreling over, his excitement bubbling over as he tapped her repeatedly. “Ma! Ma! Ma!”

She looked down at him. “Wassup?”

Lukas immediately launched into a ramble about his party—how fun it was, how many presents he got, how he beat one of his best friends in a race. His words tumbled out so fast that he didn’t even notice Azzi standing there at first.

But the moment he did, it was like someone hit a pause button. His eyes went wide, and all that excitement suddenly shrank as he blinked up at her. Without a word, he tucked himself into Paige’s hip, his face turning pink as he clung to the fabric of her shirt.

Paige looked down at him, then back up at Azzi, who was clearly holding back a laugh. “You good, man?” she asked, nudging him lightly.

Lukas just nodded, but he didn’t let go of her shirt. He peeked up at Azzi, still holding Paige’s shirt like it was some kind of safety net.

Paige reached down and gently smoothed out his hair, taming the messy curls from all the running around he’d been doing. “You gonna be a gentleman and speak or you just gonna keep hiding in there?”

Lukas hesitated for a second before finally pulling away from Paige’s side. He looked up at Azzi, his voice a little quieter than usual. “Hi.”

Azzi smiled at him, crouching down to meet his gaze. “Hi, Lukas. Happy birthday.”

His blush deepened, and he quickly looked down at his shoes, mumbling a soft, “Thank you,” before fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. Paige just shook her head, biting back a grin at her son’s sudden bashfulness.

Paige also crouched to Lukas’ level. “You remember her, right?”

Lukas nodded, still staring at his shoes as he held the fabric of Paige’s shirt.

Paige tilted her head. “What’s her name?”

Lukas gave a small shrug, his fingers fidgeting.

Azzi smiled, not offended by his shyness at all. She extended her hand toward him, keeping her voice soft. “I’m Azzi. It’s nice to officially meet you.”

Lukas hesitated for a second before finally reaching out, his small hand grasping hers for a quick, shake before pulling away.

Paige grinned, ruffling his hair. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Lukas just nodded again, his blush deepening as he peeked up at Azzi before looking away just as fast when he noticed she was still looking at him.

Lukas tugged at Paige’s shirt subtly, getting her attention. She looked at him and he cupped his hands around her ear and whispered something. Whatever he said made Paige laugh.

Paige looked over at Azzi, her grin growing. “He wants to know if he can show you a trick in the bouncy house.”

Azzi bit back a laugh, nodding. “Of course.”

At that, Lukas finally untucked himself from Paige’s side. Without another word, he turned on his heel and took off toward the bouncy house, clearly expecting her to follow.

Paige stood up, watching him go with an affectionate shake of her head.

Azzi just made her way toward the bouncy house, where Lukas was already waiting eagerly. His earlier shyness was completely gone, replaced by excitement as he waited for her to come over.

The second Azzi was out of earshot, Paige barely had a moment to breathe before her teammates appeared in front of her.

“And who the hell is that?” Dijonai spoke first, arms crossed.

Rickea smirked, glancing between Paige and Azzi’s retreating figure. “Yeah, why you ain’t mention all that?”

Paige rolled her eyes, playing it cool as she took a sip from her drink. “I don’t know what y’all talking about.”

Arike scoffed. “Don’t play dumb, P.”

KK raised an eyebrow. “So, we just supposed to ignore how you been smiling like a idiot since she pulled up?”

Paige shook her head, but the small smirk she tried to hide gave her away. “Man, y’all need to chill.”

Azzi strolled back up, shaking her head with a half-amused, half-exasperated expression. “Your son is going to kill himself in there,” she announced.

Paige glanced over, catching a glimpse of Lukas attempting some kind of flip. She shrugged, completely unfazed. “Eh, he’ll be aight.”

Rickea cleared her throat pointedly, causing Paige to subtly roll her eyes. She turned back to Azzi and gestured toward the group. “Azzi, this is Rickea, Dijonai, Arike, and KK.” Then, motioning back to Azzi, she added, “Everybody, this is Azzi.”

Azzi offered a polite smile, giving a wave. “Nice to meet you all.”

Arike smiled widely saying, “We’ve heard all about you.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, glancing at Paige, who let out a slow exhale through her nose, already regretting this introduction.

Paige met Azzi’s gaze and muttered, “Not for real.”

Azzi tilted her head, clearly messing with Paige. “So you don’t talk about me P?”

There was something in her tone—curiosity, maybe even the slightest hint of disappointment—that made Paige fumble for a response. “Well, like, yeah I’ve talked about you, but not in the way they’re making it seem,” she rushed out. “I’m not constantly talking about you all day or anything—just, you know, once or twice—casually that’s all.”

Azzi’s lips curved into a smile, amusement dancing in her brown eyes as she watched Paige stumble over her explanation. The reaction only made things worse, Paige’s teammates now staring at her in shock. They had never seen her like this—flustered, rambling in front of a woman, completely out of her usual element.

Before anyone could comment on it, Paige groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I need another drink,” she muttered before turning on her heel and walking away, leaving her teammates and Azzi standing there.

Azzi watched Paige retreat with a smile, clearly enjoying the effect she had on her. Paige’s teammates, however, were staring at Azzi like she had just performed the world's best magic trick.

Rickea spoke first. “Ain’t no way. That wasn’t Paige right?” She turned to Azzi. “What the hell did you do to her?”

Azzi chuckled, shrugging. “Nothing, I swear.”

Dijonai let out a low whistle. “Nah, that was crazy.”

Azzi’s smile grew, but she didn’t say anything, just glancing in the direction Paige had walked off.

KK nudged Arike. “We gotta mess with her about this later.”

Arike laughed, nodding along. “Oh, absolutely.”

Azzi just laughed, deciding she might have to tease Paige about this later herself.

…

Azzi settled in easily with Paige’s teammates after that. Talking and laughing with them as if she had always been part of the group. Every now and then, she’d recognize and she’d excuse herself to go say hello. At one point, Drew took it upon himself to introduce her to Paige’s other siblings, Lauren and Ryan, who both greeted her nicely.

Despite how busy Paige was with the party and giving Lukas her attention, Azzi noticed the way Paige kept glancing in her direction. It was subtle—quick flickers of her eyes across the yard, a lingering look of a smirk when she thought no one was paying attention. And every so often, Paige would find an excuse to wander over, asking if Azzi needed anything, replacing her drink, or just brushing by her with a quiet, “You good?” before getting pulled away again.

Azzi didn’t say anything about it, but she couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips every time Paige checked in or the way her stomach fluttered anytime Paige was near.

The backyard was filled with the chorus of "Happy Birthday," and Lukas was soaking up every second of it. His face was practically glowing, his charming smile—so much like his mother’s—on full display as he sat in front of his cake. The flickering candles reflected in his bright blue eyes, and he clapped excitedly with everyone else when the song finished.

Paige’s mother stepped in to handle the cake-cutting, wanting to give Paige a break. “Go sit down for a second,” she told her, waving her off.

Paige didn’t need to be told twice. With a small smile, she subtly motioned toward Azzi before heading toward an empty area off to the side. Azzi caught the gesture and pushed off the table she was leaning against and followed.

As soon as they sat down, Paige exhaled, leaning back slightly. “I swear, I love that kid more than anything, but these little humans are exhausting.”

Azzi chuckled, watching as a group of kids ran past, laughed loudly. “Yeah, I don’t know how you do it.”

Paige looked over at Azzi, her expression softening slightly. "How are you?"

Azzi gave her a warm smile, leaning back a little in her chair too. "I'm good.”

"Thanks for coming," Paige said as a quiet warmth lingered between them.

"Thanks for inviting me," Azzi replied softly.

Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the backyard. Neither of them broke the gaze, letting the quiet between them linger for a beat longer than necessary.

Paige flicked her eyes down to Azzi’s lips before speaking, "I tell you how good you look?"

Azzi hummed, a slight smirk forming on her lips. "You did," she replied.

Paige broke out into a grin. "Hm," she murmured, her gaze lingering on Azzi.

Azzi leaned in just a little closer, resting her chin on her palm. "I don’t think I told you how good you look though," she said, her voice dropping. She subtly traced her finger along the back of Paige's hand, the movement almost imperceptible to anyone else. It was just a light graze but enough to send a spark between them. The cup in Paige’s hands shielded the action from anyone else in the backyard, but Paige’s eyes flickered toward the touch before flicking back up to Azzi’s gaze.

Her eyes held a quiet confidence, watching Paige as if she could feel the tension building between them. Paige’s lips parted for a second, as if considering if she wanted to say what was racing through her head, but instead, she just let out a soft exhale, trying to keep the moment light.

Which was ultimately a great decision because two seconds later Lukas was walking over with a huge piece of cake on his plate. Azzi leaned back slightly noticing her approach but her attention was still on Paige. He set his plate down on the table and climbed into Paige’s lap, making himself at home without even saying anything.

Paige looked at him, shaking her head at the audacity. Still she used her hand to pull him comfortably onto her lap as he settled in.

Lukas, blissfully unaware of the moment happening before he walked over, took a few bites of his cake before looking up at Paige, his mouth full. "Ma," he said between bites.

"Hm?" Paige responded, glancing down at him.

Lukas paused for a moment, swallowing before saying, "I’m four now."

Paige chuckled, nodding with a smile. "I know.”

Azzi watched the scene with a soft smile, taking in the natural ease between Paige and her son. There was something so genuine about the way they interacted, a love so obvious in the little moments like this one.

Lukas continued eating his cake after this, oblivious to anything else around him. Paige couldn’t help but laugh at the way he was stuffing his mouth, as she ran a hand through his hair.

"He's really something," Azzi said with a smile as she watched the boy now attempt to get frosting off of his cheek.

Paige grinned at her, as she observed the way she was smiling at Lukas.

Lukas, noticed Azzi looking at him and stopped mid-bite and shot her a shy smile, his blue eyes wide. "You like cake?" he asked, holding out his fork as an offering.

Azzi laughed softly, shaking her head. "It’s alright. I’m all good," she said, trying to decline gracefully, but Lukas wouldn’t have it.

He nudged the plate toward her with a grin. "No! You have to eat some. I’m four now!" he insisted, as if being four automatically made him the expert on how all things should be done.

Azzi’s eyes sparkled with amusement. "Well, if you say so," she said, a playful smile curling her lips until she looked down at the already half eaten cake on the fork he was offering.

Paige, noticing the interaction and wanting to spare Azzi from sharing a fork with Lukas, took the fork from her son’s hands. She used the other end of Lukas’s fork to cut a small piece off of the plate and grabbed it with her fingers to feed it to Azzi.

Azzi hesitated for just a second, surprised by the gesture, but opened her mouth and took the piece from Paige’s fingers with a smile. As soon as she did, Paige sucked her thumb and index finger to get the icing off.

Azzi’s eyes flicked to Paige’s fingers, the soft motion catching her off guard, but she quickly masked her reaction with a smile. "Well, that was one way to do it."

Paige smirked. "I’m just looking out for you.” Her tone was light but there was a flicker of something more in her eyes.

Lukas, blissfully unaware of any unspoken tension, took another huge bite of cake and said, "See? I told you, it’s really good! You should eat all of it!"

Azzi chuckled softly, turning her attention back to Lukas. "I think I’m all good now buddy," she replied, though her gaze flicked back up to Paige’s and lingered.

…

Later that day the party had come to a close, and the sounds of loud chatter and laughter had faded with everyone's departure. The backyard was spotless, thanks to the hired planners who’d cleared out, leaving the space untouched by the chaos that had ensued only hours before.

Azzi was still there, her presence a calming contrast to the energy that had filled the house all day. She was leaning against the counter in Paige’s kitchen as she looked at something on her phone.

Paige stood opposite her, leaning against the island, her gaze fixed on Azzi. There was a lingering tension in her core from earlier that day. From the past few weeks actually.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, catching on to Paige’s stare. "What?"

Paige’s eyes softened, and she let out a small sigh, almost a breathless mumble, "It’s just crazy I haven’t kissed you yet."

Azzi grinned at this. "We’ve had an audience for most of the day.”

Paige hummed in agreement, leaning just a bit closer, but stopping herself before the distance between them could shorten too much. "I know," she murmured, her voice low, almost a whisper. Paige’s family was still around, still packing up things because Lukas would be leaving for Disney World soon. The thought of her son heading off with her family made her smile, but it also made the reality of the season setting in even more evident. She couldn’t afford to miss any time with the games starting next week.

Azzi took a small step forward, just enough to reach Paige, before gently tugging her closer by her shirt. She leaned back against the counter, guiding Paige in front of her as their space shrunk to something almost nonexistent. Paige let her hands settle on the edges of the counter beside Azzi

Without saying anything, Azzi reached up, undoing the bun at the back of Paige’s head, letting strands of blonde fall freely. Her fingers combed through Paige’s hair, the action making Paige’s shoulders drop just a little, the tension she hadn’t even realized she was holding beginning to ease.

"You seem tired," Azzi whispered, her fingers still threading through Paige’s hair.

Paige let out a quiet breath, blinking at Azzi like she was debating whether to be honest. Instead, she shook her head, her lips tugging into a small smile. "I’m alright."

Azzi hummed, not quite believing her, her touch slowing but never stopping. "Liar," she teased, her voice carrying a quiet affection. "Long day?"

Paige exhaled through her nose, finally letting herself lean in just a bit more. "Yeah," she admitted, her voice lower now, almost as if saying it out loud made the exhaustion more real.

Azzi’s hands slid down, resting gently on the sides of Paige’s neck, her thumbs grazing the skin there. "You could sit down, you know. Take a second before the season really takes over."

Paige let out a soft chuckle. "You gonna make me?"

Azzi smirked. "I don’t think I have to make you do anything," she said, tilting her head. Her fingers curled slightly in Paige’s hair, a clear point being made.

Paige rolled her eyes, but the way she stayed exactly where she was and didn’t say anything said more than anything she could’ve.

Azzi let out a small hum as she leaned into Paige’s shoulder, her weight settling comfortably against her. Without thinking, Paige rested her head on top of Azzi’s, the quiet moment wrapping around them.

Paige's hand moved in, absentminded circles along Azzi’s lower back back. “You sleepy?”

Azzi nodded slightly against her. “Mhm,” she murmured, her exhaustion from the week creeping into her voice.

Paige smiled, shifting just enough to glance down at her. “You can go lay in my room if you want.”

Azzi made a small noise of protest, mumbling, “Don’t know where it is.”

Paige let out a quiet laugh. “Because you refuse to ever go in it,” she teased.

Azzi just sighed, looping her arms loosely around Paige’s waist. “Maybe one day.”

Paige smirked. “Or…you could just go now and take a nap gorgeous.”

Azzi hummed again, but she didn’t move. Paige just chuckled, tightening her arm around her as they fell back into silence.

They stood there for a while, wrapped in the quietness of Paige’s house. Paige was still rubbing slow circles on Azzi’s back. The weight of Azzi against her was warm, and Paige was pretty sure she had drifted off about five minutes ago.

But then Lukas came barreling into her legs. “Ma! I’m going to Disney World!” he shouted.

Paige let out a breathy laugh, tightening her hold on Azzi to keep her upright. Azzi barely stirred, only shifting slightly. Paige glanced down at her before giving her waist a small squeeze.

“Third door on the left,” she whispered in her ear.

Azzi nodded, her eyes still heavy, before peeling herself away and heading up the stairs without another word. Paige watched her go for a second before turning back to Lukas, who was bouncing on his heels waiting for her attention.

Paige picked Lukas up with ease, settling him on her hip as he beamed at her. “You excited?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes of course silly!” Lukas vibrated with excitement before looking at her with big, pleading eyes. “But ma you have to come next time.”

Paige softened, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “I promise.”

Just then, her mom and siblings walked into the kitchen, their presence signaling that it was time to go.

“You guys about to head out?” Paige asked, adjusting Lukas in her arms.

They all nodded. Paige grabbed what she could to help carry things to the car, still holding Lukas as they made their way outside.

Paige buckled Lukas into his seat, making sure he was secure before brushing a hand through his hair. “You’re gonna be good for grandma right?”

Lukas nodded eagerly, his bright eyes full of excitement.

She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I love you,” she mumbled.

“I love you the mostest ma,” he responded without hesitation, making her heart swell.

Paige smiled, giving him one more kiss before shutting the door. She turned to her siblings, giving each of them a quick hug before finally reaching her mom.

Her mom gave her a pointed look as she said, “Don’t think I didn’t notice your guest today.”

Paige just chuckled, shaking her head as she avoided the topic. “Drive safe,” she said instead, before bidding them all goodbye and watching as they pulled away.

Paige walked back inside, locking the door behind her before making her way upstairs. The house was silent now, a stark contrast to the chaos of the party earlier. As she reached her room, she paused in the doorway, her gaze softening at the sight in front of her.

Azzi was lying on her bed, eyes closed, her breathing slow and steady. Her features were completely relaxed, curly strands of her hair falling gently across her face. Paige couldn’t help but smile as she stepped closer, sinking onto the edge of the bed. She brushed a few strands away from Azzi’s face, her fingers barely grazing her skin.

The small touch caused Azzi to stir, her brows furrowing slightly before her eyes fluttered open. A sleepy smile spread across her lips as she whispered, “Hi.”

Paige smiled at her, keeping her voice soft. “Hey,” she murmured. “Go back to sleep. I’ll go downstairs.”

Azzi shook her head just slightly, her voice drowsy. “I want you to stay.”

Paige hesitated for a moment, searching her face. “You sure?”

Azzi gave a small, slow nod, her eyes barely open.

Paige hesitated for a second longer before kicking off her shoes and carefully slipping into the bed beside her. Gently, she put a blanket over Azzi, tucking it around her before leaning back against the pillows.

She settled onto her back, one arm resting behind her head, the other draped loosely over her chest. Letting out a slow breath, she closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the day finally catching up to her.

Beside her, Azzi shifted slightly, just enough that Paige could feel the warmth of her presence. Paige wasn’t sure how much time passed, but the steady rhythm of Azzi’s breathing was enough to lull her into her own state of rest, her body finally allowing itself to relax.

…

The two of them stirred awake about an hour later, though neither was quite sure who had woken up first. They had shifted slightly closer in their sleep, but even unconsciously, Paige had kept a respectable distance.

Paige blinked a few times, adjusting to the dim lighting shining through the room before turning her head toward Azzi. “How you feeling?” she asked, her voice still a little raspy from sleep.

Azzi stretched slightly. “Better.”

Paige let out a soft hum. “I’m glad you got some rest.”

Azzi shifted slightly, her eyes flickering to the space between them. “You’re not a cuddler?”

Paige let out a soft chuckle. “Was just tryna be respectful. Didn’t wanna overstep.”

Azzi mumbled something into the pillow, her words too muffled for Paige to catch.

Paige turned her head. “What was that?”

Azzi sighed, lifting her face just enough to look at her. “Do you say shit like that on purpose?”

Paige blinked at her. “Nah, whatchu mean?”

Azzi shook her head, exhaling like she had just accepted some inevitable truth. “You say the perfect thing at the perfect time… every single time.”

Paige laughed softly, shifting so she was propped up on one elbow, her head resting on her hand as she admired Azzi. There was something about the way Azzi looked in this moment—still sleepy, her hair slightly messy, eyes warm—that made Paige want to keep her here just a little longer. “You wanna stay tonight?”

Paige immediately saw the gears start turning in Azzi’s head, so she quickly added, “Not like that. We both just been busy and I missed you like crazy this week… and my first two games are away, so I’ll be gone for like—”

Before she could keep rambling, Azzi cut in smoothly, “I’d love to stay.”

Paige’s eyes softened as she took in Azzi’s words. “For real?”

“Yes, Paige.”

That was all Paige needed to hear before a grin stretched across her face. She was still grinning when she murmured, “You know… I still haven’t gotten that kiss.”

Azzi arched an eyebrow. “Oh, you just remembered that now?”

Paige smirked. “Just thought it was worth mentioning.”

Azzi didn’t say anything else—she simply reached out, gripping Paige’s shirt and pulling her closer. Paige hovered over her for a second, their breaths mingling, before Azzi pulled her into a kiss. The moment their lips met, a quiet sigh escaped Azzi, her fingers tightening in Paige’s shirt as she felt the slow, deliberate slide of Paige’s tongue against hers.

The kiss wasn’t rushed or frantic. It was slower—like they were making up for every day they’d gone without this. Paige’s hand found Azzi’s waist, fingers pressing gently against her skin. They stayed tangled like that, lips moving in sync, lost in the quiet intimacy of it all for a while, losing track of time in one another.

Paige, getting a little too invested but not wanting to push too far, eventually pulled away.

Azzi let out a breathy laugh, her lips still tingling from how long they were connected to Paige’s . “You always pull away first,” she whispered, eyes half-lidded as she looked up at Paige.

Paige didn’t say anything, just licked her lips as she took in the appearance of Azzi under her before pushing herself off the bed and heading toward the bathroom.

Azzi called after her, “I didn’t know I had it like that.”

A moment later, Paige reappeared, wiping her wet face with a towel before tossing it onto a chair.

“Yes, you did.”

Azzi grinned, stretching her arms above her head as she watched Paige get comfortable again. “So you’re admitting it now?”

Paige just huffed out a laugh, shaking her head as she glanced at her phone on the nightstand. Deciding not to address the question she looked over at Azzi. “You hungry?”

Azzi just grinned at Paige deciding to ignore her question. “I should probably eat.”

Paige grinned. “I can cook for us.”

But Azzi immediately shook her head. “Nope, I’ll cook.”

Paige scoffed. “I can cook, you know.”

“I’m sure you can, but you know I’m picky. And I’d hate to not like you anymore if you burn my food the first time one of us cooks.”

Paige let out a laugh. “Ok, that’s crazy—” But then, mid-laugh, she paused. Azzi’s words settling in a second later.

I’d hate to not like you anymore.

Her expression shifted, brows raising slightly. “Wait.”

Azzi, realizing exactly what Paige had just processed, stood up and made her way toward the door without saying anything else.

Paige blinked, watching her go. “Nah, hold on—Azzi commere,” she called, already climbing off the bed to follow after her.

But Azzi was already halfway down the stairs, acting like she hadn’t just slipped up. “Nope. Gotta make sure we don’t starve.”

Paige shook her head not accepting that as she trailed after her.

…

As she was cooking Azzi moved through Paige’s kitchen with ease, pulling out ingredients and utensils like she’d been in this space a hundred times before. Paige leaned against the island, watching her the entire time.

“Okay, I gotta say,” Azzi said as she reached for a pan. “I respect that you actually have things where they should be.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “What does that even mean?”

Azzi turned, giving her a look like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Some people just put things in the wrong spots. Like, why would I have to walk across the entire kitchen to grab a pot when it should be right here next to the stove?”

Paige laughed. “So you’re telling me there’s a right and wrong way to organize a kitchen?”

“Yes,” Azzi said without hesitation, setting the pan down on the stove. “Efficient kitchen organization is an art, and I—” She paused, feeling Paige step up behind her.

Paige leaned in close, her chest lightly pressing against Azzi’s back as she snaked her arms around her waist. “Mmhm,” she hummed lazily, lips hovering just near Azzi’s ear. “Tell me more about your organization skills.”

Azzi exhaled through her nose but didn’t let herself get distracted. “I’m serious,” she said, pouring olive oil into the pan. “People just put things anywhere, like knives on the opposite side of the kitchen from the cutting board. Doesn’t make any sense.”

Paige grinned against her temple as she whispered, “You kinda sexy when you talk like that.”

Azzi almost faltered but she stayed focused, reaching for a spoon instead. “I’m not that easy.”

Paige chuckled, unfazed by the resistance. She let her hands trail down Azzi’s arms before stepping back, leaning on the counter beside her instead.

For a few minutes, Azzi cooked while Paige lingered nearby, occasionally brushing against her or whispering little comments in her ear that made Azzi shake her head with a small smile. None of it truly distracted her though.

When Azzi leaned back slightly against the counter taking a break while something simmered, Paige took the opportunity. Without warning, she gripped Azzi’s waist and effortlessly lifted her onto the counter.

Azzi made a noise in surprise, her hands instinctively landing on Paige’s shoulders to steady herself. “Paige!”

Paige just grinned, stepping between Azzi’s legs, resting her hands on Azzi’s thighs as she dipped her head. “Yeah?”

Azzi opened her mouth to say something, but Paige was already leaning in, her lips brushing against the column of Azzi’s neck.

Azzi exhaled, fingers curling slightly at the back of Paige’s neck. “You—” Her words cut off as Paige kissed a little lower.

Paige smiled against her skin. “Me…?”

Azzi swallowed, her heartbeat picking up. “You know what you’re doing.”

Paige hummed in response, letting her hands slide further up Azzi’s thighs as she pressed another kiss just below her jaw. “And?”

Azzi was officially unraveling, her fingers gripping Paige a little tighter. “And you’re—”

A loud sizzle from the stove suddenly yanked her back to reality. She jolted, eyes widening as she shoved at Paige’s shoulders. “Oh my God!” she yelled, quickly hopping off the counter and rushing back to the stove.

Paige bit her lip to stop herself from laughing and leaned back against the counter with her arms crossed. “Damn,” she said, watching Azzi stir the pan. “That was fun while it lasted.”

Azzi shot her a glare. “You can’t do that while I’m cooking. New rule.”

Paige grinned at her. “Aw, come on, I was just tryna help.”

“Help who?” Azzi scoffed. “Because you definitely weren’t helping me cook.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll stay six feet away until you’re done.”

Azzi turned back to cooking, muttering under her breath, “You better.”

Paige, watching her with a huge grin, whispering just loud enough for Azzi to hear, “You liked it though.”

Azzi didn’t turn around, but Paige didn’t miss the way she let out a deep exhale.

Paige kept her word, leaving Azzi alone the rest of the time she cooked but it didn’t last longer than that. Paige immediately complained about the amount of food on her plate.

“You’re an athlete,” Azzi pointed out, sliding the plate in front of her. “You don’t eat enough.”

Paige scoffed, picking up her fork. “I eat plenty.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow clearly unimpressed. “Uh-huh. Just be quiet and eat, Paige.”

Paige rolled her eyes but took a bite, making a show of chewing dramatically before giving a nod of approval. Azzi smiled, sitting across from her and starting on her own plate.

The conversation flowed naturally between them, like it always did as they ate. Azzi asked about Paige’s games next week, and Paige leaned forward, resting her forearm on the table as she explained.

“We’re playing in Minnesota first,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Then we go to Atlanta.”

Azzi watched her for a moment, noticing the way Paige’s expression shifted slightly at the mention of Minnesota. “You excited to be home for a bit?”

Paige nodded. “Yeah. Even if it’s just for the game. It always feels different playing there. More personal.” She paused, then added, “Lukas starts school in the fall, by the way. Drew sent me a text while you were cooking saying Lukas said ‘Azzi has to know.’”

Azzi’s face lit up with genuine excitement. “Wait, for real?”

Paige nodded again. “Yeah. He’s already talking about what kind of bag he wants and how he’s gonna make ‘so many friends.’”

Their conversation shifted from Lukas to Azzi’s clinic. While they were talking about it Paige picked up on the way Azzi’s tone changed—still steady, but a little more contemplative so she asked her what was going on.

“Everyone’s kind of been pressuring me to expand,” Azzi admitted, her fork idly pushing at her food. “But I don’t want to.”

Paige rested her chin on her hand. “Why not?”

Azzi exhaled through her nose. “I don’t want any clients listed in my clinic that I can’t see personally. And I don’t want to have to hire other DOs—it’s a whole process, and I’d rather just keep things small, only seeing who I actually have time for.”

Paige nodded slowly, considering her words. “That makes sense. It seems

like you’ve always been hands-on so I feel like it makes sense that you wanna personally take care of your clients.”

Azzi gave a small smile at that. “Exactly. I don’t want to lose that connection. I like knowing the people I work with, understanding their needs, seeing their progress firsthand. Expanding would mean giving up some of that control, and I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

Paige studied her for a second before shrugging. “You don’t have to expand just because people are saying you should, you know? You built something great—if you’re happy with how it is, then that’s enough.”

Azzi sighed, leaning back in her chair. “That’s what I keep telling myself, but you know how people are. They think bigger automatically means better.”

Paige scoffed. “Not always. I mean, you could if you ever wanted to, but it doesn’t have to be now, or even in the next few years. Do it on your time.”

Azzi tilted her head, watching Paige with something softer in her gaze. “You always say the right thing.”

Paige smirked, reaching for her glass of water. “So I’ve been told.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but didn’t fight the small smile on her lips. “Yeah, yeah.” She took another bite before glancing up again. “Enough about me—tell me more about Minnesota. You looking forward to it?”

Paige’s eyes brightened as she started talking about how special it was to play at home, even if it was just for a game here and there.

At some point, Paige noticed Azzi slowing down with her food, her expression softer, a quiet comfort settling between them. “You good?”

Azzi nodded, her voice a little quieter. “Yeah. I just like this.”

“Like what?”

Azzi shrugged slightly. “This. You.”

Paige watched her for a second before smiling softly. “Me too.”

A comfortable silence settled between them as they finished eating, the quiet clinking of silverware against plates filling the space. Once Azzi put her fork down and moved to pick up her and Paige’s plate, Paige was quicker, gently taking it from her hands.

“I got it,” Paige said softly.

Azzi bit her lip, watching her for a second before nodding. “Okay,” she murmured, pushing back from the table and settling back into her chair.

As Paige turned toward the sink, Azzi pulled out her phone, scrolling through her emails. The occasional sound of the running water and dishes clinking together filled the kitchen.

Paige glanced over her shoulder at one point, catching Azzi deep in thought as she scrolled, her eyebrows slightly furrowed in concentration. She smiled to herself before turning back to the dishes, the simple domesticity of the moment not lost on her.

Once Paige was done, she dried her hands on a towel and walked back over to the table, her eyes settling on Azzi. She didn’t say anything at first—just leaned against the counter, watching as Azzi scrolled through her phone. Paige noticed the way she kept rolling her neck and shoulders, as if she was trying to work out some tension.

“You okay?” Paige finally asked.

Azzi exhaled through her nose, still scrolling. “My shoulders are just a little tight,” she admitted, tilting her head slightly to the side in an attempt to ease the discomfort.

“You should take a warm shower,” Paige suggested. “It’ll help loosen you up. And I can help after, if you want.”

Azzi looked up at her, considering the offer for a second before nodding. “That sounds good.”

Paige smiled at that, motioning for Azzi’s hand as they headed upstairs together.

Before Azzi walked into Paige's bathroom Paige handed her some towels. The moment Azzi shuts the bathroom door Paige drops onto the bed checking her phone and scrolling through social media a little bit. When Azzi finally steps out of the bathroom, her wet curls are clinging to her shoulders, and a towel is wrapped snugly around her body. Paige, who had been casually scrolling through her phone, glanced up—and immediately felt her brain short-circuit.

Her breath hitched, her eyes shamelessly trailing over Azzi before a slow, goofy smile spread across her face.

Azzi noticed and let out a laugh. “Can I have some clothes, please?”

Paige didn’t respond right away, still looking at Azzi like she had completely forgotten how to function. Instead of answering, she just lifted her hand and pointed toward her closet.

Azzi walked into the large walk-in closet. As she took in the sheer amount of clothes Paige had, she couldn’t help but tease her about it, “There’s no way you should have this many clothes.”

Silence.

Azzi, expecting some kind of sarcastic comment, glanced over her shoulder—only to find Paige sitting there with her eyes squeezed shut, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose like she was physically trying to reset her brain.

“You good over there?”

Paige let out a sharp breath, finally looking at her again. “You—” She stopped herself, shaking her head and laughing under her breath. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Azzi smirked, clearly not believing her, but didn’t press it. She grabbed a T-shirt and a pair of boxers before disappearing back into the bathroom to change.

The sound of the door clicking shut was followed by a quiet pause.

As she pulled the clothes over her head, Paige's voice cut through the stillness, calling out from the bed, “You’re definitely a tease.”

Azzi chuckled softly to herself but didn’t reply, finishing up in the bathroom and walking back out a few minutes later, Paige’s fresh clothes comfortably draped on her. She leaned against the doorframe as she said, “I’m not a tease.”

“Sure you’re not. And I don’t dribble a basketball for a living.”

Azzi crossed her arms with a small pout on her lips. “That’s not fair.”

Paige, completely unfazed, opened her legs slightly, “Come here.”

Azzi moved closer, allowing herself to be drawn in by Paige’s silent command. She settled her back against Paige’s chest, letting her head rest against her shoulder. Paige's hands were warm as they moved to her shoulders, starting to knead the tension out of them, and Azzi closed her eyes in quiet appreciation.

Paige worked perfectly, her fingers tracing the knots in Azzi’s muscles, focusing on the places where she’d been stiff from the werk. Everything else seemed to fade as Azzi slowly began to relax, sinking further into Paige’s touch, allowing herself a moment to let go of everything outside of the warmth that surrounded her.

Paige’s hands paused for just a moment as she felt Azzi unwind under her touch. For about 20 minutes the room was quiet, with only the soft sound of their breathing filling the space. Eventually Paige leans down, her lips brushing gently against Azzi's neck. She kissed the sensitive skin there a few times before whispering, “How was that?”

Azzi's response was a soft, almost inaudible murmur, her voice thick with the pleasure from Paige’s touch. "Amazing."

Paige smiled against Azzi’s neck before pressing another open-mouthed kiss to the same spot. She moved to pull away, her mind returning to the present, but Azzi wasn’t ready for it to end. She reached up, her fingers threading through Paige’s hair, gently pulling her back toward her. She tilted her head to the side, her lips parting as she whispered, “Keep going.”

Paige’s breath caught in her throat at the demand, her body responding instantly. She nodded and used her free hand to cup Azzi’s jaw gently guiding her head further to the side. As she did, her lips pressed back against Azzi’s neck, this time a little firmer, a little deeper, as she let her tongue trace Azzi’s skin.

The tension in the room shifted, becoming heavier as Paige’s mouth moved with more intention across every inch of Azzi’s neck. Azzi’s soft gasps of approval filled Paige’s ears, spurring her on as she kissed her way down.

As Azzi turned her neck to meet Paige’s lips with her own, the moment stretched out. They stayed like that, lips moving together softly at first, savoring the closeness. When she heard Paige groan at her attempt at tugging her closer, Azzi decided to turn around fully, straddling Paige’s lap. The closeness of their bodies seemed to heighten everything, and Azzi’s hands tangled in Paige’s hair as she pushed herself closer.

For a few minutes, they stayed like that, locked in the heated embrace. Azzi’s hands roamed, and Paige's breath quickened in response to the subtle touches. Slowly, Azzi began to push her hip closer, her lips trailing down Paige’s jawline before dipping to her neck. Paige clenched her jaw, trying to hold herself together. She squeezed her eyes shut, allowing Azzi to explore her skin.

It didn't take long before Paige's hands found Azzi's hips, squeezing them gently, breaking the spell for a moment.

"Azzi," Paige breathed, her voice thick. "Member how we said we were waiting?"

Azzi hummed, her lips still trailing over Paige’s skin, the sound similar to a purr as she didn’t stop what she was doing. "Mhm."

Paige’s breath caught, her tone breathier now as Azzi bit her neck gently before soothing it. "You gave me a timeline... and I’m just tryna make sure you stick to that, baby."

Azzi paused, her lips just millimeters away from Paige’s skin. "We can," she whispered, and then she sucked gently on the spot below Paige's jaw—one she had learned was a sweet spot for her.

"Jesus Christ," Paige whispered, her hands tightening around Azzi’s hips. She swallowed hard, trying to steady herself. "I’m not gonna be able to if you keep doing all this."

Azzi pulled back slightly, her breath mingling with Paige's as she smiled at her. "Kissing?"

Paige laughed breathlessly, she felt Azzi’s lips return to her neck. "Nah, we can... it’s just..." Paige trailed off, her thoughts momentarily lost as Azzi’s sucked on her skin again.

Azzi pulled back looking at Paige with a heat in her eyes that made Paige’s chest tighten. "I want you."

The noise that left Paige’s throat was a mixture of a content sigh and something that sounded almost painful. Her voice was strained as she spoke. "You can't say shit like that to me right now."

"Why not? It’s true." As Azzi said this she connected her lips with Paige’s, her tongue swiping across her lips for access.

Paige felt the fog in her mind clear for just a moment as she pulled back, her hands steadying Azzi when she tried to chase her lips. "You said waiting was important to you.”

Azzi met her eyes, a calm sincerity in her gaze. "I trust you," she whispered.

Paige took a breath, her heart pounding in her chest. "I know," she said softly. "I just don’t want you to regret not sticking to your plan."

Azzi gave her a playful smile. "Three months, two and a half... same thing. What’s two weeks?"

Paige couldn’t help but laugh, the tension between them momentarily breaking as she laced their fingers together. "Exactly," she said, her voice light. "What’s two weeks?"

"You’re really talking yourself out of sex right now?”

Paige leaned back slightly, shaking her head as she let out a quiet laugh. "Trust me, I know," she replied, the irony of the situation not lost on her. "I’m fully aware."

Azzi watched Paige who had leaned her head back against the headboard and closed her eyes. As she sat there looking at her for a moment Azzi was thankful Paige had stopped them. Because truthfully, Azzi still did want to wait.

Paige hadn’t started her season yet. All the traveling, games, expectations—it hadn’t hit. Azzi didn’t know if the version of Paige she had right now, the one she’d had for the past two and a half months, would feel different a few weeks from now. She didn’t doubt Paige’s feelings, but she knew how much weight was about to fall onto her shoulders. She knew Paige was about to be in different states, with different women and she wanted to be sure.

So, instead of pushing for more, Azzi leaned against Paige, settling into her warmth. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Paige barely opened her eyes, just enough to glance at Azzi before mumbling, “’Course.”

And they sat there just like that, wrapped in each other, the heat between them simmering down into something quieter, something deeper.

Paige started running her fingers through Azzi’s curls, her touch comforting as she said, “Can I ask you something?”

Azzi nodded, eyes still half-lidded from the warmth of Paige’s touch.

Paige hesitated for a second before speaking. “What happened with your ex?” she asked carefully. “M’ just askin’ ’cause I remember you saying she’s one of the big reasons why you wait.”

Azzi exhaled slowly, her fingers idly tracing patterns on Paige’s side. “We were together for four years,” she said. “And I found out she was cheating on me for half of them.”

Paige’s hand stilled in Azzi’s hair. “What?” The word came full of disbelief. She leaned back slightly, eyes searching Azzi’s face like she was waiting for her to say she was joking. But Azzi just nodded.

“I just felt really disgusting after I found out,” Azzi admitted quietly. “So—yeah.”

Paige’s expression softened, her hand moving from Azzi’s hair to cup the side of her face. “I’m sorry that happened to you, beautiful.”

Azzi shook her head. “Don’t apologize for something someone else did.”

Paige shook her head, eyes locking onto Azzi’s. “I’m not,” she said simply. “I’m apologizing that it happened to you. That you had to go through that. There’s a difference.”

Azzi blinked at her for a second before a small smile tugged at her lips. She leaned up, pressing a soft peck against Paige’s lips, her way of silently saying thank you.

Azzi let out a small yawn, and Paige caught it. “You wanna go to bed?”

Azzi shook her head, her curls brushing against Paige’s neck as she settled deeper against her.

Paige chuckled. “Why not?”

Azzi exhaled, playing with the hem of Paige’s shirt. “Because the real world starts again tomorrow, and I won’t see you for like a week.”

Paige grinned. “You could just fly to Minnesota for the game,” she teased.

“Ha-ha, very funny. Tell that to my overdramatic clients who act like they’re dying if they can’t see me.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Should I be concerned?”

Azzi rolled her eyes, nudging Paige’s side. “Shut up,” she mumbled.

After a little more teasing Paige decided to turn on a movie, and the two of them settled in. But it didn’t take long for her to feel Azzi start to drift off. Barely fifteen minutes in, she felt Azzi’s weight relax against her, her breaths warming Paige’s shoulder. Paige grinned.

“Lemme take a shower before I get trapped underneath sleeping beauty,” she murmured, shifting slightly.

Azzi mumbled something unintelligible about Paige being rude sometimes, making Paige laugh. “Yeah, yeah,” she said, grabbing some clothes from the closet before heading to the bathroom.

By the time she stepped out of the shower, the room was dark, the only light coming from the large TV screen. Azzi was curled up on her side, mouth slightly open as she slept. Paige couldn’t help but laugh softly at the sight.

Paige tossed her dirty clothes into the hamper before turning off the TV and climbing into bed. As soon as she slid under the covers, she felt Azzi curl into her side and drape a leg across her as she rested her head against Paige’s chest.

Paige blinked in surprise before Azzi whispered out, “Goodnight, Paige.”

A warmth spread through Paige’s chest as she tightened her arm around Azzi, pulling her closer. “Goodnight,” she whispered back, closing her own eyes as sleep slowly took over.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics

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haveyouseenthisskeleton · 11 months ago

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Exhausted, Papyrus fell on his knees in the dust. It was covering everything in the room, from the floor to the ceiling. The main door was gone, like most of the windows. Thankfully, no monster tried to enter the balcony, too high. Papyrus crawled to pick up the door, still in one piece by some miracle, and put it in its place. The hinges were gone with a part of the wall, but he forced it to hold by nailing it with some planks that held the windows closed and was now on the floor.

He picked up his phone, hidden deep in his armor. His hands were still shaking with the adrenaline. Sans left about twenty messages, asking if he was fine, then warning him Frisk was gone, then asking him again if he was alright, more and more distressed as the hours went by.

Papyrus simply sent: "Alive. Frisk here." before walking to the kitchen to make sure the child was fine. Several bullets ricocheted against the closet door, but it faced the brunt efficiently. He cleared the chairs out of the way and opened the door, maybe too brutally.

Frisk screamed out of terror and threw themselves in the back of the cabinet. They curled up on themselves, hands on the head, sobbing uncontrollably. They were shaking as well.

Papyrus flinched. He saw himself at five years old, in the same position, as Sans was screaming and fighting for their lives in the living room. This was not a world to grow up. No child should ever be born in this hellish place. Bitter, he felt his soul squeezed painfully. It was his fault. He should have brought the child back to the Ruins. Frisk shouldn't have assisted to any of this.

The skeleton kneeled at their level. He never had been really talented to comfort people.

"Frisk? It's over, they're gone. You can come out."

He leaned a hand towards the human. Frisk kicked it away and tried to get as far as they could from him in the closet. Papyrus tried to stay neutral, but his face betrayed for a few seconds how much it hurt him. He didn't want Frisk to be scared of him. Not after everything they went through to protect them.

The skeleton looked around for a second and noticed a hole in the closet door. Small, but enough for a child to witness everything that happened outside. Frisk saw him slaughter attackers and end monsters on the floor without mercy. Papyrus felt guilty. He gave the child some space and sat in front of the closet, unsure what to do.

No Weakness, Chapter 3.

_______________________________________

Hello, hello!

I commissioned this masterpiece to @seirindono, a French (yeah, team French!) illustrator who works on a multi AU universe called The Missing Scarf, which is a banger. Really cool comic with lots of great characters that you really want to read. Go read it!

I wasn't sure on which fic I wanted a drawing at first, but since we already got one for Horrortale: Rotten Apple (thanks again Zeragii, love you), why not No Weakness?

It's a post-pacific Underfell fic where instead of breaking the Barrier, Sans refused Frisk to fight Asgore and brought them back in safety to Toriel. Now Papyrus, Undyne, Alphys, Mettaton, Toriel and Sans are hiding the child away, trying not to get killed.

The story however is about Undyne and Papyrus' friendship. After Papyrus surprises Undyne kissing Asgore, he is promoted to general of the Royal Guard. Except Papyrus knows something is really wrong here, since that role was obviously supposed to Undyne's. But the more he tries to understand, the more people try to dissuade him from learning more. All the hints lead to Asgore, but how to reach the monarch without getting himself killed, and by extension, those he cares the most about? Between his duty and his friendship, Papyrus will have to make a choice.

I asked for one of my favorite parts ever, which is the moment Frisk realizes how things really work in Underfell, after witnessing Papyrus committing carnage right after he got promoted to General. It's tradition :D

Anyway, if you want to read the story, it's right here. I'm on summer break right now, but new chapters are coming soon!

Thanks again to Seirindono for their amazing work, I love it so much <3 Really great artist, don't hesitate to commission them! They're really nice and pays great attention to details. It was really cool collaborating with you <3

Go send them some love!

#undertale au #underfell #underfell papyrus #undertale #uf papyrus #no weakness #uf frisk #underfell frisk #underfell fic #underfell fanfic #undertale ask blog #undertale headcanons #papyrus #underfell art #seirindono

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scriptseekstories · 4 months ago

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Queen Bee’s Hive

Chapter 2- Bee in a Wasp Nest

A/N: Okay, so things will pick up next chapter, just have to set up relationships and personality for Bee!Reader and other characters. And more fort as to what your mother’s research actually does and what she did.

Kinda made yall like Mirabel from Encanto and Laios from Delicious in Dungeon ngl

~Years Later~

Bees were your friend. They work with each other and protect their home. When you had another rough day of school and a torment from Damien, you could always count on the hive planted on your window to keep you company. They had always been your friend.

Sure you had human friends at school who are weird as you, but they just don’t know you like bees. They comforted you at low times, watched over you when you slept, and gave you so. Much. Honey.

The days were somewhat better after years since you were first taken in by the Waynes, but you wouldn’t never say your life got better. You were still pushed aside but your so called siblings, ignored by your father unless you were in trouble, and tormented by your demon brother Damien.

The harsh words, the aggressive shoves, the brutal chases away from his dog Titus, you didn’t know if being mugged was better than living with him. You even considered the other’s snarky comments about you whenever you bumped into them were more bearable.

“Don’t they have anything else better to do than bother us?” You once heard Tim scoffed when you wanted a seat from the kitchen while they had dinner, Stephanie humming in agreement as Dick laughed it off while others didn’t even answer him. Yeah… they all had dinner together while you were in your room eating alone.

Buzzzzz

My mistake, you never ate alone.

“Hey, my beauties,” You slid your window up carefully to avoid crushing any bees that were too slow. You clutched the flower pot in your hands as you stared at at their strong hive, seeing that honey is almost ready.

“I got you some flowers,” You spoke as if the bees understood you, but maybe they do understand you. They never stung you, they always perched on your nose or hand, and they always seem to make your day a little brighter.

“Today we have Lotus flowers on the menu,” You sighed while resting your cheek on your hand, watching the bees snuggle into the petals and collect the pollen. You adored your grown hive, tending to your little creatures for years as you seen generations after generations of bees live past.

Each Queen bee you’ve seen are as beautiful as the last, and you adored how hard she keeps her drones and workers happy. ‘Wish I was your worker bee,’ You hummed deeply before checking your phone to see that it was only 3.

You had time, so you quickly shut the window, apologizing to the bees who were startled before grabbing your travel bag and wallet, stumbling out of your room and racing down the long stairs, where your favorite butler was cleaning the couches.

“I’ll be back Alfred!” You called out to the butler as you attempted to fight your coat into staying on you. Alfred smiled before wincing when you accidentally slid on the carpet and crashed into the umbrella stand.

You had always been a klutz, crashing into objects, tripping over air, even one time accidentally taking out half Gotham’s power. (GCPD and Batman assumed it was an attack by a villain, and Alfred had the love for you to not narc)

“I’m okay!” You called out while stumbling to stand up and attempting to fix the umbrella stand, finally having your coat on before shutting the door behind you. Alfred merely shook his head and smiled softly while truly fixing up the stand as you left all the hats and umbrellas on the floor.

“May Master (Name) always have that bright smile,” He mumbled, before going back to cleaning the couches, just as he quietly check on the carefully written list full of your birthday wishes he had in his pocket, smiling.

You inhaled a deep breath of the Gotham air, which may sound disgusting but since you lived in the rich part of the city, the air was cleaner than most. That thought made you sad for reasons involving people and insects, not much are capable of fixing the air in order to thrive in.

Which is why you must do what you need to do.

Looking around, you concluded none of the family were outside, so you took that chance and crouch around the bushes in the front, and pulled out your skates. Why would you hide them outside instead of your room? Simple, there’s just not enough space in your room.

You replaced your bed frame with a hammock so you could fit your desk for school, you had a small closet boxed with childhood accomplishments and awards, and walls completely covered in posters and research papers.

Yet it didn’t bother you one bit, for it was your safe space, your haven in a house that wasn’t your home. You shoved your foot into your skates, wobbly standing up and securing your ground before rolling down the driveway.

You pushed yourself down into the big city of Gotham, avoiding walking pedestrians and taking turns left and right. Each person you passed by, you always greeted with a bright smile and waved at them, to which they couldn’t help but smile back.

In a place like Gotham, it’s rare to have genuine smiles and kindness that you apparently had. You decided it was best to still show a smile to all even though your life wasn’t that great either.

Why let the darkness and grim life consume you when you could still bring a light to others? That’s what your mother taught you. Sure, it was hard to keep on showing that sweet smile of yours day after day being neglected and tormented by the Waynes, yet you had to.

For your mother.

Each street you rolled into, the less citizens were present. That was due to the fact you were skating right into the heavy crime side of Gotham City. Yet you didn’t stop, in fact, your smile grew as you now saw the figures of the neighbors who all were familiar on the news.

“Good evening, child,” “Though you bit the dust already, kid!” “Avoid that pothole, (Name),” The various voices you heard as you skated pass them, where you stumbled upon the banged on concrete and avoided the destroyed roads that even the toughest tires would get deflated.

“Hi, Dr. Crane!” “Still kicking, Mr. Dent!” “Sharp as always, Miss Kyle!” Each calls towards a villain may have civilians run for the hills, however you on the other hand was either not afraid of these top baddies, or stupid to know your life could be in danger.

It might’ve been the latter, as your anxious personality prevented you from reacting like a normal person. So instead when you first stumbled upon the villain side of Gotham, you didn’t run away. Instead, you used all the fake confidence you had and strutted inside, greeting each criminal, thug, villain, or henchman with a smile.

Needless to say, some were baffled, others were amused, they wanted to see if you would still smile after witnessing them take your teeth out. But alas, there was one particular criminal that had them all to back off, dare they try to harm you they would have to answer to-

Ding

You pushed the door to a shady rundown flower shop, the tiny bell ringing to indicate your presence. Digging into your bag, you pulled out a wad of cash Alfred provided you ever since middle school since you needed permission from jobs to work, and you didn’t dare ask Bruce, so Alfred provided.

“My sweet little Bumblebee~” You looked up with a smile at the sight of the woman who provided you with flowers. Her rose red hair always stood out amongst the plants and flowers, her pale skin kissed with hues of green, and her dark green outfit flowed and tangled with the vines lowering her down from the shadows of the flower shop.

“Hi Miss Ivy!” You held out the bills for her as she lowered herself down and gracefully grabbed them. She placed her feet on the floorboards and leaned against the counter, counting the money with a grin.

“Glad to hear that my flowers are being praised by your little creatures,” She sighed, sensing all the plants you bought being tended to by the bees and other insects who craved the sweet aroma of her plants.

“Miss Ivy, you think you could pre-stock some marigolds for me around a week in advance? I think I actually might have gotten a breakthrough! Just on time for my birthday!” You excited rambled off, jumping in one place like a child as Ivy handed you a bag of seeds just as you paid for.

“Really now?” She grinned, “Well, here I give you a special treat for an early birthday gift~” Using her vines, it reached deep into the hall behind the counter that was suspiciously covered in shadows before it emerged with a box.

“Thank you, Miss Ivy,” It was a nice steal box, knowing Ivy would never use wood for anything. It had carved bees on it and honeycomb patterns. You were about to open it when Ivy placed her green hands over yours, giving you a wink. Right, open it on your birthday.

“Like I said, anything for my little Bumblebee,” She cooed while booping your nose, “It’s only fair to assist the bee’s savior, which also extends you being the flower’s savior too~” Her vines curled at her words, sliding up to you in an attempt to pet you, to which you backed away quickly.

“Ha ha ha…” You let out a nervous laugh, voice cracking midway which made you wanna internally die when you heard Ivy cackle as you walked out of the door, skating down and almost hitting Bane.

Being so deep into the crime filled side of Gotham, Ivy believed you to be stupid and had a death wish when you first came into her cover store. She decided to spare your life when all she saw in you was a clumsy and pathetic ridden teenager who just wanted to actually buy flowers from her.

You amuse her so much. The moment you ate shit in front of her little shop had her hooked immediately, and she fell in love with you the moment you rambled on about the relationship between bees and flowers.

You skated along the roughed up sidewalk, waving goodbye to the residents of this crime filled area. Never actually saw crime here, as you guess Batman had them on a leash.

‘Batman… why couldn’t you have saved her,’ You held to resentment towards the Dark Knight, yet you weren’t a fan of him either. He was just… someone who couldn’t save your mother.

You finally made it to your location, just as the sun shined perfectly down into the building you worked so hard inside.

An abandoned warehouse just right at the edge of Crime Alley. The warehouse that your mother worked in with her team before it was attacked by a crime boss. You moved all her papers and results inside to avoid questions from Alfred or the others.

You grunted while pushing the collapsed door to crawl under, before grasping a power generator and jerked it around. With a simple puff of smoke, the whole place lit up with dim lighting and additional fairy lights you added for personal touch.

“Right, time to get started,” The closer you walked through the warehouse, the louder a buzzing can be heard. Sunlight peering through a skylight, in the middle of the building lay a garden, with flowers planted by Poison Ivy herself and a garden gate built in by Scarecrow.

Inside the garden? Your mother’s bees. The ones that she nurtured for her researched, the genetically modified creatures that made it through everything. You smiled with pride at the fact you kept them alive for this long, generations of bees lived in your care.

Digging through your bag, you pulled out your laptop and an empty jar, where you set them down on a lab table. On the table sat an old tv with a VHS player. Grabbing a tape from the top, you inserted it in and opened your laptop as the video began to play.

“Project: Honey. This research study may very will be the next step in animal kingdom history. We are here to investigate the potential for genetic modification to enhance the physical capabilities of the honeybees, rendering them more resilient to climate challenges and better suited for urban environments to grow our managed earth,” the static voice of your mother rung out in the warehouse, causing the bees to buzz in an almost harmonious way.

“For years, we have concluded that our genetically modified bees are able to gain more muscle mass that not only increase their flight, but their defenses, speed, and strength. Our results have tested our bees to collect 35% more nectar than the average bee, and provide more pollen over a whole continent!” The excitement in her voice made you smile. You really do miss her.

You turned on bunsen burners, tubes filled with essences of the hive and honey made from the bees, listening to each VHS tapes that your mother recorded. Just like what you’ve been doing since you turned 10, you realized you had to do more than tend to the genetic bees.

You had to continue her work.

“However, the side effects to potentially playing god among the bees are a serious risk to take for the better of world. We just need to-,” Yet a harsh SSSSHHHHH sound popped up as the final tape wasn’t fully finished, and it cut off while only playing static.

You turned it off after hours of work, stretching your limps with a satisfied feeling. You rested your arms on the table and turned a picture frame that held a photo of you on your fifth birthday, with your mother in her lab coat holding you in her arms, both of you happy.

“Just one more week, and I’ll finally complete your dream Mama,” You smiled softly at the photo, gently kissing your fingertips and placed them over her face. Everything you’re doing, all the hard work, it was all for her.

She may be gone, but you’re still here. You’ll complete Project: Honey and help humanity your own way. You’ll be a hero, just like what your mother would’ve wanted, be more of a hero to the world like Batman is to Gotham.

It was currently 10, and you had to hurry home before Alfred came up stairs to check on you. You decided to take a cab home and after a solid 20 minutes, you made it home than you usually do when on skates.

You slid your skates under the bush, made sure your jar of honey made by the genetic bees were sealed in your bag, and opened the door. You saw Alfred serving your plate, yet you knew it wasn’t going to be set on the table with the others.

You walked closer to the dining area, seeing that all of the family were together, eating and talking amongst themselves while smiles on their faces.

“Hey… don’t mind me…” You awkwardly shuffled to the side, slowly reaching for a honeydew, then your plate Alfred gave with a sad smile, before mumbling a “sorry” and running back your room, cringing at the interaction. It was as if they forgot you lived here and are uncomfortable with the thought of seeing you.

Just as well, you were just as uncomfortable making small talk to them as they are even looking at you. You didn’t care, right? Yet you still felt your heart ache with hurt. They never seem happy to have you talking to them.

You opened your door, setting the box Ivy gave you on your desk and the jar of honey down as well. You sliced the honeydew into slices and took one to the window, sliding it open to see the bees perching on the sill, almost like they were waiting for you.

“Hello my loyal royal subjects!” You joked with a proud look on your face, though the way the bees didn’t buzz at you, they weren’t impress with your humor. You gave an awkward laugh before placing a slice of honeydew on the windowsill, where the bees practically burrowed into the fresh sweet fruit.

You smiled with joy. Today wasn’t that bad, yet it still wasn’t enough to have you reassured yourself that you belonged here.

The next day you needed another ripe honeydew that Alfred bought you. You peaked from the stairs and nodded when no one was present in the kitchen. Taking long strides from the stairs to the kitchen so you could get back upstairs faster, you grasped onto the fruit when a tsk was heard.

“You don’t belong here, you know that, right?” Dropping the honeydew due to the familiar voice, you dreaded turning around to see Damien, arms crossed and leaning back against the kitchen island. It seemed he was eager to mock me and waited for me to come down like a weird predator.

“Yeah… don’t need to mention it every single day…” You nervously nodded, crouching down to grab the dropped fruit, hoping it would still be fresh enough for your beloved bees.

“I should, because it doesn’t seem that you got it through your inferior mind,” He scoffed, grabbing the honeydew before you could retreat, “You’re not special. You’re nothing but mundane and simple, not worthy to be on the same stone as us,” That damn smug look on his face made you wanna shove that honeydew up his-

“Right, and you supposedly are with your cool sword skills and emo energy,” You muttered, snickering to yourself as if you said something cool. Which you did, of course! However Damien didn’t find it funny as he scowled you suddenly felt pain on your stomach. You hissed in pain when he threw the honeydew at you.

“Watch your mouth, inferior! I am the perfect offspring of the Al Ghul and a Wayne! You don’t belong in the Wayne title!” He snapped, hands twitching as if he was ready to call Titus on you. Fear shot up your spine, making him smirk at the look in your eyes. But what he said, about being a Wayne, anger took over your fear of his damn dog.

“Well, good news, brat! I don’t want a title that makes me as egotistical and stuck up as you guys!” Your voice might’ve been shaky, but this was the most confrontational you’ve ever been towards anyone, it caught Damien off guard with how offended and angry you actually sounded.

“I’m not a Wayne! I’m a Raine, and I don’t need a brat like you destroying what I have left!” Grabbing the now bruised honeydew, you pushed Damien hard. It may not have actually made him fall down, but he didn’t fully expect you to physically touch him, so he stumbled back a little.

He looked at you like you had the audacity to put your hands as valuable as him. His eyes darkened as he didn’t bother to call for Titus, he let out a shout before lunging at you.

You both fell, you pushing his face away with one hand as you held onto the honeydew so Damien wouldn’t use it to slam it against your stomach again. Alfred heard the stumbling of chairs being pushed and shouts in the kitchen, causing him to race in just in time to see Damien scratched your eyes.

“Master Damien!!” He was appalled at the sight, quickly pulling you out of his reach. In a flash, Dick, who was right behind Alfred, held onto Damien and pulled him away as he cursed at you and struggled like an angry cat. A mangy, ugly looking cat.

Dick managed to calm Damien down, but then gave a disappointed sigh before looking at you, giving you a look as if you were the one causing problems and he was tired with you. As if he even had the time to know you and get tired with you.

“You shouldn’t have talk to Damien like that, he doesn’t know better, (M/N)!” He scolded you with a tsk, where you didn’t even bother to mention that he completely butchered your name, “You have be apologize,” You stared at Dick in utter disbelief.

You? Apologize to Damien?! You let out a scoff as you stumbled to stand up, seeing the now ruined honeydew crushed by Jason who gave you an unimpressed look, crossing his arms which added more humiliation.

“L-Like hell would ever apologize to a stuck up baby! He started it!” You stammered, voice cracking in a way that didn’t help your situation as you saw a grin on Steph’s face, about to mock you. Cass merely gave you a look like silently saying that you were to blame.

“Stuck up baby? Look in the mirror,” Tim remarked, nudging Duke, who looked uncomfortable and was about to speak up, but deep footsteps made everyone freeze. Bruce stared at Damien, who was being held back by Dick, and then you, who quickly avoided eye contact and clutched onto Alfred’s hand tighter.

It might have been foolish, stupid even, to think that Bruce would come to your aid, to comfort you and scold Damien for attacking you. But you knew the truth. You never mattered to him.

“Go to your room,” He demanded with his sharp eyes staring at you. “Now,” You felt awful, sick. Every time you get in a tussle with one of them, Bruce will always come in defense to them. Every time you get blamed, you would be sent to your room alone. And every time you see his eyes, they’re always filled with nothing but annoyance and disappointment.

As if you were the one causing a nuisance in their perfect family, as if you were the intruder insect that invaded their hive, as if you were nothing but an obligation. Slipping your fingers out of Alfred’s hands, you tried not to cry.

“Fine,” You whispered, legs pulling my body up the stairs, not daring to look back to see Damien’s stupid smug smirk and the disappointing head shakes from Dick or the snickering from the others.

Your room felt smaller, more closed off than the other rooms. Why did you choose it again? Right, it was because you weren’t wanted by the family, hence you didn’t deserve being in the family hall.

You heart your heart twist with hurt and anger, as if you could open your mouth and vomit all the hate and rage building up inside you. Sliding up your window, you watched the sunset from over the garden, where the bees began to settle down and perch over your hand.

Alfred will be coming up to give you your dinner and stay with you. But even with the company of Alfred, he wasn’t strong enough to get through the family, he wasn’t enough to bring the love you craved for years. Despite it all, he was still a bee that works for Bruce.

You concluded a long time ago that this wasn’t a beehive, and you weren’t an invasive insect. No…

This was a wasp’s nest, and you were the bee they taken for consumption.

Buzzzzz

At least your hive will free you one day.

A/N: Yep, you in fact do have villain friends. Yet they don’t know your current situation since you referred to yourself as Raine, never Wayne.

Hopefully they would help you when things get low. They may be evil, but they’re not monsters (just ignore the comic accurate villains lol. And joker)

Taglist: @jellystar-star @moom0goddess @pix-stuff @lettucel0ver @lithiumval @bad4amficideas @degenerates-posts @deathbynarcisstick

#yandere batfamily #batfam x reader #batfam x batsis #yandere dc #yandere bruce wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne #yandere barbara gordon #yandere cassandra cain #yandere stephanie brown #yandere batfam

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onmyyan · 1 year ago

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Ain't no sunshine chapter 3

A/n: canon typical violence someone gets stabbed (not you) feedback is always welcome

The clock ticks in an uncomfortable rhythm, almost pounding in your ears, you swallow around nothing and try to take a deep breath, only a few more minutes now.

Sitting cross cross felt childish but you needed the comfort of being low to the ground, before you stood a proud grandfather clock, the thing always intimidated you for some reason, maybe it's because you could smell how expensive it was, how priceless, but it was the only room in the house you could guarantee would be free of any nuisances, aka your estranged family.

A lone little Debbie cupcake in hand, a candle in another, you stick the candle inside the soft flesh of the treat, lighting it with the silver zippo, the seconds begin to count down as the wax melts, today was your eighteenth birthday, and the day you'd find true freedom. A day you'd been waiting for since you'd decided to wash your hands of the Wayne's and all who associated with them.

Bruce had begun to add to his collection of broken people one by one a new face was added to the house, and one by one you were met with the same cold indifference.

Barbara Gordon came into your life warmly, on the arm of Dick, she was kind to you in the beginning, making a point to ask you questions and listening intently when you answered, immediately you admired the older woman, her charming grin and bright demeanor was like a light inside the house, until she became who you eventually discovered was Oracle, tied up in the world of heroes and monsters, she too joined the club of exclusion, unintentionally forgetting plans the two of you had made more often than not, sharing inside jokes with Dick about last night's patrol or even taking on a mentor role for Damian, each action like a stab to the heart.

The last straw felt like the smallest one. And it came in the form of Cassandra Cain.

The girl came to the family under reasons you couldn't know, but she was troubled, you could see the same look in her eyes you had when you looked in the mirror as a child, she didn't outright reject your friendship like Damian, but she was seemingly as disinterested in you as the rest of your family, the real kick to your heart came when you walked past a moment shared between her and Bruce, he was comforting her, you couldn't hear the words spoken but you could feel the love pouring from Bruce, how he had a gentle hand on her shoulder, showing her a kind of love he'd never once shown you.

It wasn't her fault and you held no grudge against her, but it still felt like a slap to the face, and every time you saw her, every time she followed them down to their little hiding spot, the acid-like sting deep in your chest got worse. It was then you made a promise to yourself, you'd stop trying, no more reaching out to Dick or praying Jason would message you back, no more begging for Tim's attention or Damian's respect, and you were sure as shit done asking Bruce to love you.

You're brought back to the present moment by the loud ring of the clock before you, the echoing sound brought a ear splitting grin to your face, finally, you were done.

Blowing out the candle, you toss it on the floor, standing with a pep in your step. You'd had your bags moved out days ago so the only thing left was to leave. A chatter could be heard the closer you got to the front door, male and female voices happily spoke with one another, but you were so unfazed, too excited about your current plans to care they'd gathered without you on your birthday.

"Oh hey (Y/n)" Dick says after spotting your form in the doorway, see the only reason you were here is because the dining room lead to the front door, and your new found freedom.

You nod at him, taking in the sight of popcorn and half empty pizza boxes, a movie projected on the wall, ah so they decided to have a little get together?

None of your concern.

"Sorry we didn't call you down, didn't realize you were home" Dick says a look of pity in his eyes, "do you want some?" It's almost said with a wince.

"Nah." Was your simple response, and with that you walked out of their door and lives.

You'd bought an apartment with your own money, you'd been working since you were fourteen, saving every penny for this moment exactly. It was in a shit part of town with an even shitter interior but it was yours and you loved it. Water dripped into a mostly full bucket in the corner, the lights took a full forty seconds to turn on and it reeked of old cigarettes.

Yet you couldn't wipe the smile off your face.

Feeling that euphoric rush had you buzzing all night, besides the bed in your room was, questionable to say the least, so you decided to stay up. Cleaning what you could with what you had made you feel even better, this terrible little space was all yours, no condescending people or assholes in sight.

Feeling hungry, you throw on a black puffer coat and a matching beanie and start to brave the Gotham cold. Each step is taken with a new gratitude, the farther you get from that family the better you feel.

Your happiness is pulled to a grinding halt by the sound of rapid footsteps behind you, without thinking you turn, fist balled tightly in perfect form, Patty would be proud if she saw the way you decked the bastard running up on you.

You nailed him right in the throat sending him to his knees, his knife cluttering to the ground before your feet, grabbing the weapon you point it down at his choking body, your hands still despite your rapid heartbeat. The wheezing man made a swipe at your ankles causing you to bring the knife down right into his shoulder, a scream rips though his throat, the adrenaline in your body has you running on autopilot.

Kicking him in the side of the head to quickly sprint to the corner store where you'd planned on going in the first place, your hands shake as you grab your food, but again, that smile stays on your face.

Not only had you moved out today, you'd proved to yourself you didn't need them for anything, not protection, not validation, nothing, it was like you could breathe again.

The next few weeks are business as usual at the manor, until Barbara looks at the calendar and realizes she'd, along with everyone, had forgotten your birthday. The guilt ate at her until she made her way to your room knocking softly, a cupcake in hand she called out, "(Y/n)? Listen I'm so sorry about your birthday, I got my dates mixed up." The lie came easy, but no response was heard, "I get if you're completely pissed at me, at us but-"

"Miss (L/n) has moved out."

"what? How is that possible we would have noticed her moving out." As if to prove Alfred wrong Barbara opens your door, only to find a barren room, empty of any signs of life. She turns to the older man, a thousand questions burning on her tongue, but he seemed to read her, "you'd be surprised what goes unnoticed in this house miss Gordon, have a good afternoon." He leaves her with this and it only makes the guilt and confusion worse.

She pulls out her phone scrolling to a number she hadn't used in a while, biting her thumb as it rings she's hoping you clear all her confusion when you answered, but you don't, instead an automated message tells her your phone has been disconnected. Now she begins to worry, you were so young, just barely an adult, the idea of you out on your own in Gotham had her heart sinking, clicking the family group chat she sends a message that will change everything.

"We need to talk about (Y/n)."

#yananswers #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere dc #yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #yandere batfamily x reader #yandere batfam x reader #neglected reader #aint no sunshine

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mercvry-glow · 1 month ago

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My Name, My Undoing | In Another Light (3)

In Another Light masterlist - Jack x Ex!reader

warnings. warnings. age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is 27), exes to lovers, slowburnish, jack and reader are bad at feelings, mentions of sex, reader is hinted to have some form of depression and anxiety, death of a child, reader has a panic attack, possible suicidal ideation, jack talks reader off the ledge, more to come as series continues

summary. You couldn't take it anymore, and then jack finds you.

notes. guys they actually talk! are we so excited? I actually love this chapter, and it really shows how jack and reader feel about each other right now so enjoy until next time!

wc. 3500+

You don’t remember how you got to the roof.

It wasn’t on purpose, not really. You couldn’t even say it was by choice. Just motion. Just instinct. You’d moved through the hallways like a ghost, past the flickering lights of the other floors, past the rest of the hospital still stained with echoes of its wrongdoings and failures. Up the back stairwell—where it took you three flights of stairs to realize you were running.

And now, here you were.

Always here.

The rooftop of PTMC was still, except for the soft hum of the HVAC units and the buzz of a broken security light above the door. The city sprawled beneath you like it was asleep, distant and disinterested. It was nearly midnight—too late for visitors, too early for any sort of real relief. That strange hour when the hospital turned into something else. When everything you’d been holding back started to claw its way out.

You gripped the black metal of the guardrail with both hands, knuckles white.

Your heart was pounding—too fast. Way too fast.

At first, you thought it was just residual adrenaline. A bad trauma, the worst one you’ve had in a while. Then you caught sight of Jack again after the code, leaning against the supply closet door outside the room like he owned the ER. Like you didn’t just lose a little girl. Like what just happened was normal or inevitable.

But it wasn’t just that…

Your chest felt tight. Not like in the poetic, sad way. In the real way. Like your lungs couldn’t quite inflate. Like every breath was getting caught halfway down.

You sucked in air through your nose, out through your mouth. In. Out. You’d coached patients through this before. You’d knelt beside stretchers and whispered them through panic, through pain, through the kind of fear that turned people into strangers.

But now you couldn’t even talk yourself down.

What could you do right?

Your fingers were tingling. Your vision was dark and swam at the edges. You tried to focus on the skyline, the blinking red tip of the UPMC tower. You tried grounding yourself—five things you could see, four you could touch—but your body was already moving without you. Too far ahead. Too loud.

You tried so hard.

The air was so loud.

Everything was spinning and you couldn’t get a grip. Couldn’t stop the thoughts from tearing you up inside.

You’d done this before. You’d worked this shift before. You’d lived through worse than losing just one patient.

So why did it feel like you were dying?

Your knees buckled a little, and you dropped into a crouch beside the ledge after passing the railing, arms wrapping tight around yourself like you could hold your tired bones together if you just squeezed hard enough. Your face pressed against the sleeve of your undershirt as the tears came—not gently, not soft.

Violent.

Gut-wrenching.

Shaking sobs that left your throat raw.

And still—your chest wouldn’t expand.

You felt stupid.

You felt weak.

You hated every bit of this.

You hated that you had come back. Hated how easy it had been to step into your old shoes, like no time had passed. Hated how Jack still looked at you like he knew you’d fall apart eventually.

And here you were.

Falling apart.

A sound—distant, metallic—rattled behind you. Maybe a door, maybe a car below, maybe just the wind playing tricks. But you didn’t turn.

You stayed curled up on the rooftop ledge, hidden from the light, hidden from the world, letting the worst of it bleed out of you into the dark August night.

You didn’t need help. You Couldn’t help.

You just needed space.

Just five minutes to breathe again.

Just five minutes to stop pretending you were fine...

40 minutes earlier

They’d rushed Sophie into Trauma 1 just after 11:00 p.m.—John had been the one to call you in.

"She’s crashing," he’d said. "We need the whole team!"

Sophie. Three years old. Belly pain. Fever. You’d seen her plenty of times tonight, tucked her into her bed with a warm blanket and a quiet promise that she’d be okay. Telling her mother it was probably just appendicitis, and that the scans you were about to present her would tell you more.

She wasn’t supposed to code.

You weren’t supposed to be losing her.

But by the time you got back to her bedside, she was blue around the lips, more so than she was when she arrived, and barely breathing. Her tiny body limp on the stretcher as two nurses started compressions. The rapid response team was already in motion. You jumped in without thinking—hands moving, voice steady even as the inside of your chest cracked open.

Epinephrine. Airway. Fluids. Chest compressions.

The clock ticked louder than the monitors.

You watched her flatline twice.

You noticed when Jack stepped into the room, silent at the edge of the chaos, watching as you, John, and the rest of the team worked in tandem. He didn’t say anything—just nodded once when the other attending looked to him.

Backup, or oversight. A cold sort of comfort.

Everyone tried for sixteen minutes.

And when Johen called time—23:28—you were the one holding the bag mask still pressed to her mouth, your normally steady hands trembling.

The room emptied quickly. Too quickly. You were left standing near her side, eyes locked on the stuffed bunny clutched in her arm, matted with sweat and betadine.

You didn’t realize how hard you were breathing until the ringing in your ears started. You stood frozen in the middle of Trauma One, the silence around you so sharp it felt like glass. The monitors were off now, the code cart was already wheeled out, and the team had cleared with a kind of practiced sorrow that only came from too many nights like this.

You were still staring at Sophie’s bunny, your fingers curled slightly like you didn’t know what to do with them now.

“Hey.” John’s voice came from your right, gentle, low—carefully measured like he knew how you felt. He wasn’t wearing gloves anymore, and his white sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, forearms still dusted with powdered latex and sweat. His dark eyes didn’t move past your face.

“I’ll talk to her mom,” he said, nodding slightly toward the hallway, toward the quiet room—where you knew Sophie’s mother had been waiting. “You don’t have to.”

You blinked. Swallowed. “No. No, I should—”

“No,” he said again, firmer this time. “I’ll do it. I’ll… I’ll figure out what the hell happened here. Go upstairs or sit down or—I don’t care, just take a second. You don’t need to be a hero right now.”

You opened your mouth like you were going to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. You were barely holding yourself upright.

“She liked you,” John added, softer this time. “That kid lit up every time you walked in the room, you didn’t deserve this either.”

That broke something. You let out a shaky breath, looking anywhere but the stretcher.

John squeezed your arm briefly, then moved past you toward the door. “If you’re not gone in five minutes, I’m kicking your ass out of here myself.”

It wasn’t a threat. It was a lifeline.

John was good at giving you those.

You stood there a moment longer—just long enough to see the dark haired male disappear down the hall—and then you turned, heart pounding as you walked straight past Jack.

He was outside the trauma bay. Leaning against the far wall where one of the supply closets was, arms crossed. Not smug. Not distant either. Just watching you like he knew what was coming. Like he could see the unraveling starting at your seams.

And maybe he could.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t say anything.

You didn’t look at him.

Didn’t say a word.

You just walked—through the ER, through the hospital, into the stairwell, and kept going until the weight of it all finally knocked you down.

Present

You curled further in on yourself, forehead pressing to your knees. Your scrubs were damp with sweat and tears, your fingers cramping from the way you’d been gripping your sleeves.

You couldn’t stop seeing her face.

Three years old, with curls stuck to her fevered forehead and those wide, scared eyes that had looked up at you for reassurance in place of her mother. You had given it to her. You had promised her she would be okay.

You lied.

And now a mom was down there somewhere without her baby. Sitting in a quiet room with the weight of the world collapsing on her chest. While you were up here—useless. Shaking. Sobbing. Falling apart because the truth was you didn’t know how to carry this anymore.

The night held a weight the day could never carry.

The door behind you creaked faintly again, metal on metal.

You flinched but didn’t turn around.

Heavy steps crossed the gravel-dusted rooftop. Slow. Sturdy. Hesitant.

And then silence. Whoever it was stopped a few feet back, giving you space. Maybe unsure of whether to come closer, or maybe just unwilling to intrude on a grief this loud.

You didn’t look up. You didn’t need to.

You knew who it was.

Of course it was Jack.

The silence stretched out between you, hanging there like the fog of your breath in the thick air. He didn’t speak. Didn’t offer comfort. Didn’t reach for you like someone who had the right to touch you. He just stood there, a steady presence on the periphery—anchoring you in a way that made you feel both seen and raw.

“I told her she’d be okay,” you croaked out eventually, voice wrecked and hoarse from the sobs. “She was scared, and I told them it was probably just appendicitis. I told her she’d be okay.”

Jack didn’t answer.

You finally looked over your shoulder. Just a glance. He was standing with his hands on his hips, his jaw clenched but not too tight, hazel eyes locked on you—not pitying. Not judging. Just… there, always there. Like gravity. Like he wasn’t going anywhere.

Your breath hitched again, chest spasming.

“She died thinking I lied to her,” you whispered.

This time, he stepped a little closer, but still didn’t cross that invisible line. Just enough that you could feel the weight of him beside you, the way you used to feel it late at night, when the world was too quiet and his presence was the only thing loud enough to hold you together.

“She didn’t die because of you,” Jack said, his voice low and firm. “You did everything right.”

You shook your head, curling back in. “It wasn’t enough.”

“It’s never enough,” he said, after a beat. “But that doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”

The wind picked up slightly, brushing your damp baby hairs back from your face. You were still shaking. Still crying. But there was something about hearing his voice that made the panic in your chest loosen just a fraction.

Not gone. Not better.

But less alone.

And sometimes that was the best you could hope for.

You didn’t ask him to stay, you never have.

He just did.

Quietly. Unmoving.

Like he knew what it meant to come undone in the middle of the night, on the roof of a trauma center, where the only thing keeping you from breaking was the sound of another person breathing just a few feet away.

Like he remembered what your silence sounded like.

And knew exactly what it meant.

You don’t know how long you two sat there—sweat cooling, panic fading into exhaustion. The sobs came less frequently now, worn out by the force of them, replaced by tremors that wouldn’t stop no matter how tightly you hugged your knees.

Jack still hadn’t moved.

Eventually, you spoke again, voice cutting the silence.

“I shouldn’t have come back.”

Jack didn’t answer right away. The silence lingered for a beat longer than you could handle. And then:

“But you did.”

You flinched at the sound of his voice again—more than a whisper now. Real. Solid. Like you couldn’t pretend this wasn’t happening.

He stepped closer again. Still not too close. Still giving you the space you needed. But near enough now that when you finally looked up again, you could see the shadows under his eyes. He looked tired. Not just shift tired, but something deeper.

You wondered if he saw the same thing in you.

“You shouldn’t be up here alone,” he said. “Not like this.”

That got to you. You laughed, or something close to it—hollow and mean. “Not like this,” you repeated back, wiping under your eyes with the back of your hand, definitely smearing your mascara. “And what would be the right way, Jack? Crying in front of the woman who just lost her daughter? Losing it in front of everyone downstairs?”

His mouth twitched, not quite a frown. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” you cut in. “I know what you meant.”

There was a thick pause between you. Then, quietly:

“This is the first time you’ve said anything to me in over a year.”

Jack’s shoulders tensed. You saw it. Just barely. But he didn’t deny it.

You didn’t mean to look at him like that—raw, vulnerable. It slipped out anyway.

And it was too much.

Too much to be near him like this. Too much to feel everything that had been packed away and ignored and buried beneath a year of silence and pretending you didn’t care. You couldn’t do this. Not now. Not tonight.

Maybe not ever.

“Don’t,” you said, voice cracking. “Please, Jack. Don’t do this now.”

“Do what?”

“Talk to me,” you snapped, harsher than you meant to, the words burning in your throat. “Pretending like nothing happened. Like we can just—pick up right where we left off, like before we got together and pretend that we’re just friends.”

Jack didn’t flinch. But he didn’t look away, either.

“I’m not pretending nothing happened,” he said. His voice was lower now. Careful. “You know me better than that.”

“Do I? Because I distinctly remember you saying that I didn’t know you at all,” you whispered.

Silence again. And this time it was the kind that cut.

You stood up slowly, every muscle trembling from effort and exhaustion, your heart pounding again—not from panic now, but from the weight of his presence. The sound of his voice. His stupid face. That look in his eyes that still undid you.

Your arms wrapped around your middle like they might hold in the scream rising in your chest.

“I’m not ready for this.”

Jack nodded once. “Okay.”

“I mean it,” you said, voice higher, sharp with panic again. “I can’t do this. I can’t talk about us—not tonight. I can’t breathe, Jack. I can barely fucking think.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I’m not asking you to.”

You let out a broken sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh, and turned away again, facing the skyline like it might ground you.

Your voice was smaller when you spoke again. “Why did you follow me up here?”

Jack didn’t hesitate. “Because I knew you’d come up here to suffer alone… and I didn’t want that for you.”

That almost ruined you.

Your throat clenched tight. Your jaw shook.

“I thought you didn’t care anymore,” you said, barely audible.

“I never stopped.”

The words hit you square in the chest. No warning. No soft lead-in. And suddenly it was all too loud again—the wind, your breathing, your thoughts, your past slamming into you like a freight train.

You dropped your face into your hands and shook your head violently. “Shut up! I can’t do this—”

Jack didn’t move closer.

But he didn’t leave either.

So you stood there, falling apart all over again—heart racing, chest squeezing, eyes burning—while the man who broke your heart watched it all happen in silence. Not asking for forgiveness. Not offering a fix.

Just staying.

Just standing there with you.

Because maybe that’s all either of you could give tonight.

“Hey,” Jack said, voice low. “Can we… maybe take a step back from the edge?”

You didn’t answer.

Your knees still felt like they might give out again, and your lungs were tight, your hands trembling from where you’d braced them on your thighs.

“I know you don’t want anyone to see you like this,” he added, softer now. “Least of all me.”

You blinked hard, staring at the roof gravel, the skyline blurring past the haze in your eyes. Jack exhaled, steadying himself, maybe steadying you. “You don’t have to say anything. But just—c’mon. Let’s step back a little, yeah?”

You were quiet for a few seconds too long, until he took a half-step closer and offered his hand—not reaching, not pushing. Just there.

“Can’t have you doing your best Batman impression up here,” he murmured. “You’re way too tired for vigilante hours.”

It was a weak joke, but it landed gently. Your breath hitched in something that could’ve been a laugh if it hadn’t hurt so much.

“You’re not funny,” you mumbled, barely above a whisper.

“Never claimed to be,” Jack said, just as quiet.

You finally took his hand.

His grip was warm. Solid. Familiar in the way that made your chest hurt even more.

He helped you to your feet slowly, like he remembered how your body locked up when you were overwhelmed. Like he still knew you, even after all this time.

Once upright, you swayed slightly, and he didn’t let go. Just stayed steady beside you, his hand still loosely curled around yours, like if he let go too quickly, you might fall apart again.

“You didn’t have to stay,” you said, trying not to look at him.

“I know.”

You swallowed hard. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Probably not,” Jack said gently. “But I am.”

Silence fell again, thick and full of everything neither of you were ready to say.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you finally admitted, the words leaving you brittle.

“I know,” he repeated.

You stared out at the city, your chest aching, your eyes hot. Jack stood close—close enough that you could feel his presence, but far enough not to crowd you.

“Do you wanna sit down again, now that we know you’re not going to hurl yourself off the roof?” he asked. “Or do you wanna go back down?”

In truth, you didn’t know what you wanted. Everything was too much right now. But the one thing you knew was that you didn’t want to be alone, even if that meant your company was Jack.

Not right now.

So you nodded, to what you don’t exactly know.

And Jack didn’t say anything else.

He just stayed. Right there with you, in the quiet. Not fixing it. Not filling the silence.

Just staying.

Something you didn’t know he could do.

Eventually your breathing slowed, falling in pace with Jack's own. The sniffles still continued, accompanied by a few quick, short breaths. The stutter in your chest did nothing to dull the overall ache, but for the time being, it was enough to just sit in silence.

You glanced over at him. He was sitting forward slightly, forearms resting on his knees, eyes fixed on some far-off point on the floor like it held all the answers he didn’t have. The overhead light cast soft shadows over his face, catching the curve of his cheekbone, the dip in his brow. His salt-and-pepper curls were disheveled, pushed back like he’d run his hands through them too many times tonight. The freckles lined across his nose and cheeks were more noticeable under stars tonight, like faint constellations on skin gone pale with stress.

His hazel eyes were tired now, or maybe they always were and you never took the time to notice. Dull around the edges, just like your own. There was a tremble in his jaw, not quite a twitch, more like tension he hadn’t figured out how to let go of. A few days’ worth of stubble darkened his face, and beneath it all, his muscles tensed beneath his scrubs like he was bracing for impact from you that never came.

The two of you hadn’t said much. Just sat there, breathing beside one another like the old days, holding silence like it was the only thing keeping you two upright. But you didn’t need words. Not when the grief was so visible on him—etched in the tight set of his shoulders, the way his thumb moved absently against the seam of his pants, like he needed to do something with his hands or else fall apart.

You swallowed hard, eyes stinging again. Not because you were alone in this—but because you weren’t.

Because he looked just as wrecked as you felt right now.

And you didn’t know what to say to him.

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zerocoded · 8 days ago

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summary: your estranged grandmother left you exactly one thing in her will: a sprawling luxury apartment in the heart of seoul — the kind of place that could singlehandedly cover your entire college tuition if you ever decided to sell it. now you had a penthouse all to yourself, a pink-tiled kitchen you weirdly adored, and a hopeless, slow-burning crush on the absurdly attractive neighbor who barely looked your way.

authors note: chapter two is here and i couldn’t be more grateful for all the support i’m getting for this story, i hope we can all enjoy our time here <3 for this one i’d like to clarify that i’m still trying to improve my writing and pacing so pls bear with my anxious ass until i can properly proofread it. anyways, let’s cut the bs and thirst over our confused funny reader and her hot vampire neighbour. PLS, READ THE WARNINGS FOR A SAFE AND COMFORTABLE READING.

warnings and tags: mommy issues • explanation of a cancer treatment (not detailed) • reader was forced to become an adult at thirteen (matilda's vibes) • her dad has cancer • mentions of lab reports, chemotherapy, prescriptions, hospitals • detailed descriptions of fever and sickness symptoms • reader is sick and passes out • THIS IS ANGST, I'M WARNING YOU • but we also got sarcasm and hot neighbors if that makes you feel better • this is so introspective i'm sick • jungwon is fully tatted in this story, i think i should add this • soulmates!au • vampire!au.

word count: 16k.

previous chapters: series masterlist.

the jeonghyeon building was known for its picturesque internal design, even the elevators had decorations.

today, it was pastel ribbons — thin, barely tied things, looped lazily along the edges of the brass railing like an afterthought.

you didn’t notice them when you were ascending to the rooftop last night. not when your embarrassment was so loud you could hardly breathe. not when you practically fled to the greenhouse after niki barged into your apartment. not when you came back down much later, heart racing, pupils blown, mouth dry.

not when your concern for your hot neighbor — because that’s all he was supposed to be — soured into something heavier. something quieter. something that curled low in your stomach and refused to leave.

sunghoon was a complex character. that much you'd noticed the very first time you saw him — standing in front of your door, black coat, mail in hand, giving you the kind of silent nod that felt like it had punctuation. he didn’t bother with small talk. didn’t seem interested in charming anyone. he was cute. quiet. mysterious in that brooding, emotionally unavailable way you hated admitting you were into.

but after last night... he became something else entirely.

not just a guy with good cheekbones and strange eyes. not just your weird, hot neighbor with an allergy to speaking.

something had shifted. and not in a fun “i think we had a moment” kind of way. more like a “maybe i was one minute away from being a missing person” kind of way.

and you weren’t saying he was dangerous. you were just saying… if this were a movie, and you disappeared mysteriously next week, he would be the first suspect. and the internet would agree.

at first, you thought maybe sunghoon was just allergic to something — you didn’t know, maybe air. maybe there was a weird flower up there in the greenhouse and he was reacting to it. you genuinely wondered, for one disoriented second, if he needed an epipen.

then you realized he wasn’t having an allergic reaction to the environment. he was having one to you.

and that’s when the alarms started going off.

because it wasn’t just weird. it was canonically weird. the kind of weird that didn’t fit into real-world logic. not just him — the whole thing. this building. his roommates. the greenhouse that felt like it shouldn’t exist on a rooftop, but somehow did.

the moment you saw his eyes — blown wide, pupils dilated like he’d just been drugged or bitten or both — you knew something was happening. and it was serious.

he couldn’t breathe right. he kept making these awful, strangled movements — like he was trying to swallow something back and failing. and then came the gulping. the salivating.

so much saliva.

you weren’t a doctor — hell, you hadn’t even passed your college entrance exams yet — but you knew what a medical emergency looked like. and that? that wasn’t that.

that wasn’t a panic attack. that wasn’t low blood sugar. that was something that didn’t belong to a normal person. and he had looked right at you while it happened.

so your thoughts, as you waited for the elevator door to open — so you could escape and hide in your apartment for the rest of the night because he begged you to leave him alone — were something like:

did i fuck up by moving here?

are they criminals?

omg, what if they’re human traffickers?

what if this is actually a cult and they’re looking for their next victim?

you weren’t being dramatic. you were being logical. or at least that’s what you told yourself as you stared at your blurry reflection in the elevator panel, trying not to have a full-blown breakdown while descending back to your floor.

you chalked it up to adrenaline. or hormones. or the silent, creeping onset of a stress-induced stroke. because how else were you supposed to explain the fact that your limbs were shaky, your stomach twisted in knots, and your mouth — for some reason — kept watering like you were watching someone eat cake on tv?

as you were inside that elevator, your head was spinning, your legs felt like someone had unplugged them mid-walk, and your skin was so oversensitive that even the elevator air felt too loud. it wasn’t fear. not exactly. it was something stranger. heavier. like your entire body was reacting to something your brain hadn’t caught up to yet.

the worst part was that, when the elevator finally opened and you stepped onto your floor, niki was there. again.

of course, again.

just standing in the hallway like a casually summoned demon. hands in his pockets, party attire perfectly unbothered, like he’d walked straight out of a hongdae fashion editorial titled ‘trouble but make it cute.’

you blinked at him. or — at least, you thought you did. hard to tell. it felt less like a voluntary movement and more like your body was running on lag, processing commands with a half-second delay. even your eyelids weren’t cooperating anymore.

he blinked back, completely unfazed. like finding you half-frozen in front of the elevator, breathing like a hunted animal, was just another tuesday night.

but this wasn’t a tuesday night — this was a friday night where you were supposed to have finished your college entrance essay four hours ago and kept things lowkey inside your pastel-colored apartment, eating dry cereal and pretending to be emotionally stable.

instead, you looked like you’d just seen a ghost. or worse — a really hot hallucination in a greenhouse that almost gave you a cardiac event. your hoodie was slightly damp from stress-sweat, your slippers were mismatched, and your mouth was still parted in that half-shocked, half-“please don’t let me die in a designer building” kind of way.

niki tilted his head, one brow barely lifting, like he was trying to place a scent or decode your entire existence using only his nostrils. the hallway lighting buzzed faintly above you, casting him in soft gold and you in fluorescent anxiety.

“you good?” he asked, nose twitching — subtle, but just enough to make you feel like he’d caught something in the air. something off. something you.

his small reaction made your stomach tighten, though you couldn’t explain why. embarrassment bloomed in your chest — sharp, involuntary — and you weren’t even sure what you were embarrassed about. the greenhouse? sunghoon? your face? the fact that your body still felt hijacked by a panic you didn’t understand?

you smoothed your face into what you hoped was neutral indifference. why? because you did not want to become a part of whatever cult these boys were running. you didn’t want to incriminate sunghoon in front of his possible accomplice before even knowing if they were a team or not. “yeah. totally. why?”

“just asking,” he said, tone too light — like a cat batting at a dying bug. “you look weird. smell off”

“oh, wow, thanks.” you did feel weird. but you weren’t about to unpack your almost-panic attack with your stupidly dressed neighbor while standing in a haunted hallway.

at midnight, mind you.

“you’re welcome.”

you sighed, already unlocking your door, ready to bolt inside in case sunghoon showed up with a knife. or a sword. at this point, you weren’t ruling anything out.

“what do you want, niki? it’s late as fuck.”

he shrugged. “i was asking if you wanted to come to this party with me.”

you turned to him. stared.

“niki, i’m not going to a party with you at midnight.”

he raised an eyebrow. “why not?”

“because we’re not that close, okay? and it’s fucking midnight, i need to finish this stupid essay and i need to sleep and walk my frog, whatever suits you.”

niki blinked. “you have a frog?”

“no, niki. i do not have a frog.”

he nodded slowly, like you’d just confirmed a suspicion.

“so you’re not coming to the party,” he said flatly — like your face wasn’t still flushed with nerves, like you hadn’t just come down from a near the vampire diaries death episode.

“no, niki. i’m not.”

“shame.” he didn’t pout. didn’t try to convince you. just accepted your answer like it was weather. like you were a passing cloud.

then he turned. walked off.

you watched him disappear down the corridor, steps light, hands still buried in his pockets. you kept staring until his figure was swallowed by the metal of the elevator. the doors closed with a soft ding.

and then you frowned. cursed under your breath.

what a fucking weird set of neighbors you’d managed to pull.

because what kind of approach was that? what kind of person — someone who had the audacity to call himself your friend — invited you to a party and then just... gave up. no convincing. no teasing. like the second he saw your clothes, your freezing cheeks, your wide eyes, he decided it wasn’t worth the effort. like he already knew your answer.

or worse — like you weren’t the one deciding at all.

you let your thoughts about niki slip away the second you glanced into your apartment.

inside your apartment, the first thing you did was lock everything. the front door, the balcony latch, the windows — even the sliding one in the bathroom that barely opened. then you cleaned, because what else could you do? it was either that or scream into a pillow, and your neighbors already thought you were weird.

so you tossed the half-bitten cookies niki had tasted earlier, like his saliva could infect your air or something. you washed the coffee machine you still hadn’t figured out how to use without flooding the counter. you folded your laundry into uneven stacks and told yourself you’d wash them properly in the morning. everything was done with a kind of desperate, mechanical precision — as if moving fast enough might stop your thoughts from catching up.

you were trying to return to normal. to do human things. to signal to your own body that there was no threat. but even after hours had passed — after the rooftop, after the greenhouse, after sunghoon’s eyes and niki’s nose twitch and whatever the hell had happened up there — your chest still felt tight. your blood pressure was high enough to make your ears ring. your fingers twitched when you paused too long. your heart, traitorous as ever, kept hammering like it knew something you didn’t.

eventually, your body gave out before your brain could. you laid down without brushing your teeth, without washing your face, without checking your phone. just collapsed into bed fully clothed, limbs aching like you’d run a marathon, mind buzzing like a dying lightbulb.

——

living in seoul city for five weeks now had been less like a teenage dream and more like a young adult nightmare. it’d only been a little more than a month, and you were already regretting changing your emergency contact to someone who once got lost inside a daiso for four hours and blamed capitalism (niki).

the whole move was supposed to be a fresh start — a quiet little apartment, a somewhat normal routine, a chance to reinvent yourself as someone who didn’t spiral every time a stranger looked at you too long. but after the greenhouse incident, you hadn’t reinvented anything except your ability to dissociate on command.

you hadn’t seen sunghoon since that night. not even once. not in the elevator, not in the hallway, not in the weirdly lavish mailroom with gold-trimmed cubbies. even niki had stopped popping up uninvited like a cursed genie in high-top sneakers. radio silence. total blackout.

at first, you assumed it was guilt. or maybe they'd gone out of town for one of those mysterious rich-people getaways where everyone pretends to hike and secretly joins a cult. then, after a few days, you started wondering if you'd hallucinated the whole thing. the greenhouse, the pupils, the gulping. maybe it was just a panic attack — one of those real dramatic ones your body pulls when your serotonin hits zero and your caffeine intake is at god-tier levels.

you almost convinced yourself. almost.

until the acceptance email came.

at first, you thought it was spam. the subject line was too cheerful. too optimistic. too full of polite korean university jargon. but then you opened it, and there it was — bold and clean and terrifying:

congratulations on your admission to the department of psychology at hanil women’s university.

you stared at it for a solid minute, unsure whether to cry, scream, or throw up. maybe all three. you read it again. and then again. and then once more just to make sure it wasn’t a prank from your father, who once photoshopped your middle school report card and printed it on the fridge “for motivation.”

and then you called him.

“you got in?” he said, picking up after one ring, as if he’d been waiting next to the phone like a k-drama dad.

“i got in.”

“to psych?”

“yes.”

“so you’ll finally be able to explain what’s wrong with you.”

“that’s the plan.”

he laughed like it was the best news he’d heard since kim yuna’s olympic gold. you could hear the pride tucked behind his teasing, even if he still refused to say anything too sappy. this was how you and your father celebrated: sarcastic banter, cheap delivery chicken, and maybe — if you really pressed — a heart emoji in a text message two days later.

you saved the acceptance email in three separate folders, took screenshots, emailed it to yourself again just in case the system crashed and erased all evidence that you were now, officially, a psychology student. march semester. hanil women’s university. you made it.

it didn’t fix everything. your head still hurt more days than not, and your stomach kept doing this fluttery thing like it was waiting for the other shoe to drop. but it helped. it grounded you. your dad even sent a voice message where he tried to pronounce “clinical psychology” and accidentally said “clitoris” instead. you cried laughing. saved that too.

and then, just as you were finally starting to convince yourself that life was back on track — that the sunghoon incident was just a weird blip, that niki wasn’t ever coming back to sniff your hallway anxiety again, that your body would stop rebelling against you any day now — your phone buzzed.

just one notification. just one line.

save my number. how’s city life? 🌼

you read it like it might explode. because of course it was her. of course it was now. right when you were managing to piece together something resembling peace — there she was, barging in with lowercase friendliness and a fucking flower emoji. no warning. no apology. no context. just a digital ghost pressing its face to the glass of your almost-healed life.

you stared at the message for a full minute, thumb hovering over the screen like it might bite. she hadn’t contacted you in months — not since she sent you those cold, bullet-pointed instructions on how to legally transfer the lease of your grandmother’s penthouse to your name. not a call. not a birthday emoji. just radio silence. and now… this. polite. breezy. like she was reintroducing herself.

you and your mom never had a real relationship. not after she left your father — not even two months after he started chemo — because her own mother couldn’t stand the idea of her daughter being married to a countryside fisherman.

there was no explosive fight. no door slamming or screaming match. just a quiet kind of abandonment, like someone slowly stepping backward out of the frame. you didn’t beg her to stay. you didn’t cry at her feet. you were thirteen, already too familiar with watching people leave and too tired to stage a dramatic protest.

you never had that teenage rebellion backbone — not the kind that slammed doors and yelled “you don’t understand me” through tears and acne. mostly because you didn’t have the time. you were too busy trying to hold the house together.

your mornings started before sunrise, heating up leftover rice and folding the blankets your father left on the couch when he was too nauseous to sleep in his bed. you’d take the bus to school, headphones in but nothing playing, brain looping through test dates and pharmacy receipts. in the evenings, you’d come home, drop your bag, and start cleaning again. washing dishes, checking the water filter, cooking something he could actually stomach.

your grades hovered somewhere between “survival” and “bare minimum,” not because you weren’t smart, but because you were exhausted. every hour of algebra felt like a theft — time stolen from the real emergencies. and when your classmates complained about their parents being annoying, you stayed quiet. you didn’t know how to explain that your mom had vanished into a new apartment across seoul, and your dad was losing his hair in clumps in the bathtub.

you learned how to read lab reports before you could even understand half of them. you taught yourself how to refill prescriptions without crying at the pharmacy counter. and at some point, you stopped wondering whether your mom was going to call. because she didn’t.

for years, han seo-jeon vanished. and you were too busy to care about that.

and now, here she was — texting like she was trying out for mother of the year. asking how city life was like she hadn’t helped drop you into the middle of a building that felt cursed. you didn’t know what pissed you off more: that she reached out, or that some small, bitter part of you was still hoping she meant it.

you did save the number. not out of sentiment, but logistics. she was, unfortunately, still your mother. and if she was going to start texting again, you at least needed to know when to emotionally flinch.

life in the city had not been the neon-lit montage the commercials promised. no rooftop parties. no cute cafés where you accidentally met your soulmate while reaching for the same scone. instead, you got: weird neighbors. a haunted greenhouse. and an apartment that echoed too much when you were overthinking — which was, statistically speaking, most of the time.

for the past two weeks — since your hot neighbor had an allergic reaction to you — your days were a blur of mild headaches and to-do lists you never fully finished. you woke up late, ate bland convenience store meals, and tried not to notice how heavy your limbs felt lately. it was like your body was trying to warn you about something but refused to be specific. even your skin felt wrong — itchy but not irritated, like your cells were in a group chat and everyone had started subtweeting you.

it’s been two weeks since the greenhouse incident and you haven’t seen this building as empty as it’s been. not a single glimpse of sunghoon — not in the elevator, not in the halls, not even in the mailroom where you used to hear his shoes before you saw him.

and niki, who once acted like the hallway was his personal runway, had vanished too. no impromptu visits. no weird comments through the door. not even a single “you good?” text with the passive-aggressive concern of a guy pretending not to care.

you stopped hearing late-night music thumping through the walls. the gym — which was always suspiciously clean for a place that niki once described as “his meditation zone” — stayed dark every time you passed it. the whole building felt like it was holding its breath. like it knew something you didn’t.

and maybe the scariest part wasn’t that they were gone. it was that no one else seemed to notice. no neighbors asking questions. no complaints about noise or missing faces. just… silence. echoing down perfect, pastel-colored halls. like the jeonghyeon building was designed to swallow noise. and people.

you told yourself the silence was a good thing. that it meant peace. that it meant maybe things were finally settling into something normal — something liveable.

but when nighttime came, when your apartment dimmed into shades of grey and soft buzzing fridge hums, when you hadn’t more essays to finish because you finally had been approved, the quiet got loud.

it crawled up the walls and pressed against your windows. it sat with you on the couch, next to your half-eaten dinner, and watched you scroll through your phone like it was waiting for you to break first.

you weren’t sleeping much. the insomnia wasn’t new, but it was different now. not the usual overthinking or anxiety kind — not the kind you could talk your way out of with youtube playlists and peppermint tea. this was… physical. your body didn’t want to sleep. it felt like it was bracing for something. like your heart refused to settle into a rhythm unless it knew you were alone, and safe, and not being watched.

at first, you chalked it up to the winter weather. maybe you’d caught a cold walking home with wet hair. maybe the convenience store ramen diet was finally taking its revenge, one sodium-packed headache at a time. your body ached like it had been through a minor car crash — but you were a student again now, technically. a little exhaustion came with the territory.

but when the symptoms hit the two-week marker, you started to get restless. it wasn’t just fatigue anymore. it was this bone-deep tired that sleep didn’t touch. your limbs felt heavy. your skin pulsed under certain lights. your migraines weren’t even announcing themselves like normal — they just showed up, sharp and unapologetic, like a knife pressed between your eyes.

some days you couldn’t even look at your own reflection without feeling like your face was one second away from morphing into someone else’s.

you tried to brush it off, blame it on stress, or hormone shifts, or anything that wasn’t weird supernatural fallout from a rooftop garden horror show. but your dreams said otherwise. and the worst part? you were starting to believe them.

sleep had never been your strong suit — not since you moved into the seonghyeon building, not since that night. some nights you fell asleep without realizing it, slipping into unconsciousness between one thought and the next. other nights you’d lie awake for hours, heart pacing like it was running laps without your permission.

but lately, it wasn’t the lack of sleep that bothered you. it was what came after.

you were never one to actually remember dreams in the morning. you’d wake up blank, maybe with a flicker of color or the echo of a word on your tongue, but nothing concrete. now, though — now they clung to you. heavy and wet.

they didn’t always make sense. sometimes you couldn’t recognize the places or the faces. sometimes there wasn’t even language, just this overwhelming pull — like your subconscious was trying to lead you somewhere you weren’t ready to go.

and the worst one came midweek, on a tuesday or maybe a wednesday — you’d stopped keeping track. you’d been up until 4 a.m. trying to finish your entrance essay, blinking at the screen like it might write itself if you stared hard enough.

eventually, your body gave up before your brain did. you passed out right there on the couch, lights on, laptop humming warm against your leg.

in the dream, you were back in the greenhouse. only it wasn’t beautiful anymore. the air was wet and sour, like rotting soil and mold. the plants were shriveled, leaves curling in on themselves like dying hands.

the glass walls were fogged over, and the lights buzzed low, flickering. you couldn’t tell how long you’d been standing there — just that your feet were bare and your skin was cold.

and then you saw him. sunghoon. standing still in the center of it all, surrounded by the decay. same black clothes. same unbothered posture. but his eyes… they glowed this awful, pale gold, like old moonlight trapped behind water. he didn’t speak. didn’t move. just watched you. watched you like he knew something. like he was waiting for you to admit it out loud. whatever it was.

you woke up gasping. drenched. fingers clenched in the fabric of the couch cushion so hard your nails left dents. your skin was damp with sweat, and the back of your neck felt like it had been kissed by frost. your heartbeat didn’t calm down for ten full minutes.

you didn’t go back to sleep after that, or the night after that. and now, without even noticing when it started, you hadn’t properly slept in four days. not real sleep. not healing sleep.

you were running on half-hour naps and caffeine shakes, staring at your ceiling like it might blink first. your body was forgetting how to rest — how to switch off — and your brain? well, your brain had entered that fun little stage of exhaustion where everything started feeling like a hallucination.

you kept misplacing things. your keys. your charger. your sentences. your skin felt too tight, your ears kept ringing, and your eyes burned every time you blinked.

you tried to blame it on the season, the new routine, the stress of college. because you had gotten in — that was real. the email had arrived last tuesday, and you’d cried over it in the bathroom like a girl in a coming-of-age movie. but even that joy felt distant now, like it belonged to someone else.

and now it was monday night again. fourteen days since the last time you saw any of your neighbors — not sunghoon, not niki, not even the middle-aged man with the dog that barked at its own reflection in the lobby mirror.

the building had gone eerily silent. the kind of silence that didn’t feel like peace, but like someone was holding their breath.

you were lying on your back, staring at the ceiling like it owed you answers. your phone rested on your chest, heavy and useless, buzzing every now and then with reminders you’d already missed and ads you’d never clicked. one missed call. one weather notification. zero messages from the people you told yourself you didn’t care about hearing from.

your brain was cotton. your limbs were bricks. your spine felt like it had been politely removed and mailed to another country. nothing helped — not water, not caffeine, not your fifteen-minute attempt at yoga that ended with you lying flat on the mat wondering if this was how people in cult documentaries started.

and the dreams weren’t letting up. they came every fifiteen minute nap now, and each one ended in that same suffocating greenhouse, with those same rotting plants and those same pale gold eyes watching you like a question you didn’t want to answer. you were starting to feel haunted by someone who hadn’t even spoken to you in two weeks.

so you called your dad. not for answers, not even for comfort — just because monday nights were the kind of nights where calling him felt like survival.

“kid,” he answered on the second ring, voice thick with sleep and instant worry, “you sick?”

you scoffed, immediately offended. “wow. no hello, no i missed you, just straight to the diagnosis.”

“your breathing’s weird. you’ve got the voice of a medieval orphan. you eating real food or just surviving off noodles again?”

the thing about your father is that he became your friend sometime between your fourteenth and fifteenth birthdays — sometime between hospital visits and pharmacy receipts, between learning how to drain an IV and helping him shower when the chemo made him too weak to lift his arms.

that kind of routine broke people, sometimes. made them distant. awkward. in your case, it did the opposite. it turned him into your favorite person. the only person who really knew you.

and by “knew you,” you didn’t mean in that fake, sentimental way people threw around when they wanted to be close. no. he knew you.

he could read your breath like punctuation. he heard your sighs like subtext. he could tell when you were lying just by how you said the word “fine.” he always knew when your laugh meant happy and when it meant not right now, please.

so when he picked up the phone and didn’t even say hello — just launched into a casual, “okay, how long have you been pretending you’re fine?” — you weren’t surprised. you just let your head fall to the side and sighed into the speaker.

“jesus, dad. give a girl some mystery.”

“mystery’s for strangers. and you don’t call me this late unless something’s up. so. what’s wrong? food poisoning? heartbreak? crime?”

“crime?” you snorted. “what kind of crime?”

“you tell me.” he yawned. “you’re the one whispering like someone’s watching.”

“i’m not whispering.”

“yet.”

you pulled your blanket higher up your chest. the warmth didn’t help much, but the sarcasm did.

“it’s not a big deal. just haven’t been sleeping.”

“for how long?”

“…i plead the fifth.”

“that’s an american law, kid.”

“then i plead being very korean and very tired.”

he chuckled on the other end — that low, warm sound that always made you feel like a person again. “okay. insomnia. check. what else?”

“you want the list alphabetically or emotionally?”

“surprise me.”

you paused. the line stayed quiet. and then:

“you ever feel like your body knows something you don’t?”

that made him go silent for real.

then, in the most casual tone imaginable:

“are you finally becoming a vampire?”

you groaned. “dad.”

“what? you always had the teeth for it.”

another thing about your dad was that he was, in fact, obsessed with vampires since his teenage years. how did you discover that?

oh, he never kept it hidden.

the man had tastes, and they were proudly undead. your childhood home had shelves dedicated to vampire literature, half of them worn out from rereads, the other half banned from your school’s book list.

it wasn’t just books either. halloween — a day that barely made a ripple in your korean school life — was his super bowl. even if there was no party to go to, no one to impress, he’d still show up on october 31st dressed like an eighteenth-century romanian warlord, sipping blood-red juice from a goblet he bought off some sketchy forum in 2009.

once, he wore a victorian frock coat and a prosthetic bite wound to your school’s parent–teacher meeting because he forgot to change. you’d never lived that down.

he was harmless about it, though. just enthusiastic. you used to think it was a dad thing — like model trains or grilling. but as you got older, you realized he didn’t just find vampires cool. he respected them. like they were a dying species whose stories deserved to be preserved.

he claimed it started as a joke. some middle school phase, back when vampires were still making headlines. but it stuck. and now, years later, he still made the same awful jokes and kept the same bookshelf and watched the same bootleg documentaries that used actual vampire interviews from the early days, back when coexistence was something society still tried to publicly understand.

he used to say, “one day they’ll come back around. real ones. they never disappeared, they just got quieter. like wolves when the forest burns.”

“you’ve been waiting your whole life to say that, haven’t you?” you mutter through clenched teeth, voice scratchy with exhaustion as another migraine slices across your skull like a dull knife.

“literally. your mother hated when i made those jokes. said it would scare you.”

“it didn’t scare me. it made me judgmental.”

“same thing at your age.” he paused, then added more gently, “what’s your symptoms?”

“i think i’m dying. pretty sure. either i’m dying or i’m the chosen one. probably both.” you grimace alone in your bedroom, pressing the phone tighter to your ear like proximity might somehow dull the ache — like your dad’s ridiculous voice might drown out the static building behind your eyes.

he chuckled. “you always wanted to be special. now look at you. main character syndrome.”

“dad, i’m serious. something’s off. i’ve been having migraines and dreams and…” you trailed off. rubbed your temple. “weird stuff. i can’t explain it. it’s probably stress, right?”

“or,” he said, entirely too cheerful, “you’ve been marked by a vampire.”

you groaned. “not this again.”

“hey, you brought up chosen one energy. don’t act surprised when the lore gets involved.”

you stared at the ceiling, lips twitching despite yourself. “lore? have you been sneaking onto aeri’s tiktok again? you’re obsessed.”

“obsessed is a strong word. passionately informed, maybe. listen—back in the eighties, they were everywhere. on the news. in magazines. talk shows. you’re too young to remember, but vamps were the real deal. civil rights protests, televised feedings, designer blood banks—hell, they had perfume lines.”

“dad.”

“and the soulmate stuff? wild. freaked people out. imagine waking up one day and realizing some pale bastard with three centuries of unresolved trauma has you bookmarked in his little undead brain. bam. linked for life.”

you snorted. “you say that like it actually happened.”

“it did happen. i had a friend in middle school—joon-seok—swore up and down his aunt bonded with a vamp in the seventies. met him at a blood drive or something. said she had dreams about him for weeks before they even locked eyes.”

“uh-huh.”

“i’m serious! back then it was like—vampires weren’t some secret club. people knew about them. they had ID cards, worked night shifts, bought supplements, did press tours. hell, there was this old drama your grandma used to watch where a vampire opened a pharmacy. they were around, okay?”

you raised an eyebrow. “then where are they now?”

“vanished,” he said, a little too dramatically. “right after the second blood regulation act in '93. that’s when everything got strict. no more voluntary donors, only licensed feeding centers, stuff like that. vamps started leaving the cities. some went underground. some just… stopped showing up.”

“so now they’re like urban legends with tax records.”

“basically. but back in the fifties, when the law passed that made them part of school curriculum, people freaked. there were protests. some parents didn’t want their kids learning about blood bonds or mortality rights. said it was corrupting the youth. but most people didn’t care. not really. they figured the vamps were gone anyway, so what was the harm in reading a textbook about them?”

you were quiet for a second. your fingers traced the hem of your blanket. “but they’re still around.”

he sighed, softer now. “probably. just hiding better. or maybe they figured out humans aren’t worth the hassle.”

you didn’t know what to say to that. you didn’t even know if you believed half of what he’d said — and yet… you wanted to.

maybe because lately, your dreams were starting to feel less like stress and more like memories that didn’t belong to you.

“you’re quiet,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

“just thinking,” you replied, which was technically true, but your voice came out thinner than expected. you shifted on the bed, pushing the blanket down to your waist, your skin suddenly too hot. you’d been feeling like that all day — warm in your joints, flushed in your chest, like your blood was dragging itself uphill. it wasn’t a fever, exactly, but it wasn’t nothing.

on the other end, your dad went silent for a beat. “how long has this been going on?”

“what?”

“the weird dreams. the migraines. the fact that you just said three words without a single joke in them.”

you rubbed your forehead. “don’t start.”

“i’m serious, kid.”

“so am i. i think it’s just... the city. or the stress. or hormones. or caffeine withdrawal. or,” you inhaled, voice flattening, “i’m dying and it’s a really slow, poetic demise.”

“you’ve always been dramatic,” he said, but he didn’t sound amused anymore. “have you seen a doctor?”

“no insurance yet.”

“baby—”

“dad,” you cut in, then sighed. “i’m okay. just a little off.”

he didn’t answer immediately. and when he did, it was softer. older. “you sound like how your mom used to get.”

you blinked. “what do you mean?”

“back before... everything. she’d go quiet like that. said her skin itched from the inside out. said her dreams smelled like soil and smoke.”

that made your stomach twist. “you never told me that.”

“you never asked.”

and there it was again. that quiet, pulsing unease. like something was being handed to you in pieces — but the full picture still refused to come together.

“you know,” your dad added, offhand, like it wasn’t about to lodge itself under your skin for the next several years, “your mom used to get these weird spells too. back in the day.”

you blinked. “what kind of spells?”

“feverish, bone-deep fatigue. said it felt like her whole body was… not hers. she’d get these migraines that knocked her out for days. always happened around seasonal shifts or when she got really stressed. i took her to the hospital once and they ran every test imaginable. nothing ever came back.”

you stared at the ceiling, the shape of your own breath shifting slightly. “you’ve literally never told me that.”

“you’ve literally never asked.”

your heart gave a slow, reluctant thud — like it was unsure whether to beat faster or stop altogether.

“i thought it was just anxiety,” you said.

“it might be,” he replied quickly, too quickly. “probably is. you’re under pressure, adjusting to a new city, new apartment, starting college — it’s a lot.”

but he didn’t say it like he believed it.

and you didn’t hear it like you believed it either.

he seemed to sense the silence hardening between you, because he cleared his throat. “okay, let’s just make a list, yeah? go full nurse mode.”

you exhaled, quietly grateful for the deflection. “sure.”

“fever?”

“not exactly.”

“headache?”

“migraine.”

“appetite?”

“dead.”

“joint pain?”

“like old creaky stairs.”

“chills?”

“yes. but only sometimes. like… internal shivering.”

he hummed. “hm. sounds like what your mom said, too.”

you didn’t answer. not really because you didn’t want to. more because you couldn’t — because the words sat heavy on your chest, like something that had been waiting to be remembered.

he kept talking, light again, half-joking like always. “could be an autoimmune flare. could be your iron. could be a ghost. could be—”

“a vampire?” you deadpanned, waiting to see his reaction.

“finally! thank you for saying it first. you brought up ‘chosen one’ energy. don’t act surprised when the lore gets involved,” he repeated with far too much glee.

you scoffed, shifting the phone to your other ear as you curled deeper into your blanket cocoon. “you need a new hobby.”

“i do. how’s city life treating you aside dying from fever dreams and vampire encounters? made any friends yet?”

you hesitated. just enough for him to catch it.

“...no,” you said eventually. “not really. just weird neighbors.”

“hmm.” a beat. “any of them look suspicious to you?”

you scoffed again — but it came out closer to a laugh this time. not because it was funny, but because it was accurate. “dad. this building is suspicious. the floor tiles look suspicious. i’m pretty sure the elevator music changes based on your blood type.”

he snorted. “so that’s a yes.”

“i didn’t say that.”

“you didn’t have to.”

you rolled your eyes, but a small part of you was glad he asked. even if you weren’t about to admit that the weirdest one of all had glowing eyes in your dreams and possibly an allergic reaction to your existence.

“look, kid,” he said, suddenly serious in that half-joking, half-dad way of his. “if any of them turns out to be a vampire, you call me first, okay? i want to meet one before i die.”

you snorted. “right. i’ll schedule a coffee date between your blood pressure pills and my hallucinations.”

“i’m serious. call me. and then you run, alright? don’t be cute. don’t do that heroine nonsense where you try to understand him or fix him or whatever. just—bolt. fangs equals exit.”

you rolled your eyes, even as your chest squeezed a little. “yeah, yeah. wooden stake, garlic, sprint in the opposite direction. got it.”

he paused. “...you still carrying that pepper spray i gave you?”

you didn’t answer immediately.

“do not tell me you lost it.”

“technically,” you said, drawing the word out, “it’s not lost if i know it’s somewhere in my kitchen junk drawer.”

“god help you.”

“god’s not the one with bloodlust in my building, dad.”

“exactly why i’m saying this.” his voice softened. “you’re a smart girl. just… trust your gut, okay?”

you didn’t have the heart to tell him that your gut hadn’t been reliable since sunghoon looked at you like you were something to be devoured and saved all at once.

“okay,” you whispered instead.

“good. now go drink water or something. you sound like you’re dying.”

“thanks for the emotional support.”

“anytime. love you.”

“love you too.”

you hung up. and for the first time all week, your apartment didn’t feel entirely empty. just a little haunted.

monday night came in like a ghost—silent, heavy, and cold. for the first time in a while, you weren’t sure if you were awake or dreaming. after you hang up the call with your father, your body floated through your night routine of existing while your mind kept slipping out of your grip. everything tasted like metal. your skin was clammy, your head hot, but your fingers ice-cold.

you fell asleep that night without meaning to, face buried into your pillow, phone buzzing somewhere under the blanket. and for the first time, the dream didn’t take place in the greenhouse.

this time, you were at a bar.

warm lights buzzed overhead, golden and slow, like honey. niki sat across from you in a booth too plush to be real, his hands wrapped around a glass filled with something electric blue. you were laughing—no clue why—but the kind of laughing that made your ribs ache, cheeks flushed. he was grinning, head tilted, like this was a game he knew how to play.

and then it changed.

like someone had ripped the film reel and taped another piece of movie over it.

the lights dimmed. the music stopped. everything blurred. your breath came out visible, like fog. and niki looked at you without smiling this time. not cruelly. not kindly. just looking.

"he didn’t mean to scare you, you know." his voice was so thick it made your insides tremble.

you blinked. "what?"

"you’re not supposed to feel it this strong."

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. the booth dissolved around you. the lights disappeared. and then you were falling, stomach-lurching, skin searing.

you woke up with your hand clenched in your sheets and the inside of your mouth tasting like copper. your body was soaked in sweat. the window was fogged over. your throat felt raw. every muscle in your body ached like you had been sprinting in your sleep.

by the time you sat up, your phone said it was 6:02 a.m.

you didn’t think. didn’t even wash your face. you just threw on your thickest hoodie, dragged yourself into your boots, and called a cab. you needed a hospital. something was wrong. your body had been telling you for weeks. you were just finally ready to listen.

you grabbed your keys off the kitchen counter with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking. not dramatically — just this quiet, persistent tremor, like your body was trying to ring some kind of alarm your brain still hadn’t heard.

your hoodie felt too hot and not warm enough at the same time, clinging to the sweat still clinging to your skin. your breath fogged the front door glass. you ignored the mirror by the entrance completely. you already knew you looked like shit.

stepping out into the hallway was like stepping underwater. the building was so quiet it felt wrong — not peaceful, but hollow, like it had been emptied out moments before you arrived.

your boots were too loud against the marble, each step echoing in a way that made your stomach twist. and then you pressed the button for the elevator.

you pressed the button. the elevator arrived.

and that’s when you saw him. a someone you have never seen properly.

red hair. tall. face like someone who didn’t try to look good, just was. hands in his pockets. bored expression. headphones around his neck, not on. you blinked, confused for half a second — and then your brain clicked into place. heeseung. that’s what niki had said. the quiet one. the scary one. the one that belonged to your hot set of neighbors that had disappeared for two whole weeks.

you’d never actually spoken to him. hell, you’d never even seen him this close before. just glimpses inside their apartment once, whispers in passing. but now, at 6:13 a.m., in your half-dead state, he was standing in the elevator like some glitch in your morning programming.

heeseung didn’t look at you at first. just shifted slightly, like he wasn’t expecting company. and then — his nose twitched.

subtle. sharp.

just like niki had done that night after the incident.

and then he turned. slowly. deliberately. his eyes scanned your face, dropped to your hands, then back up again — like he was taking inventory. like you were… something.

he didn’t say anything. didn’t smile. but he definitely noticed you.

you stepped inside anyway. because you had to. because your chest felt too tight and your throat burned and if you didn’t sit down in a sterile waiting room within the hour you were pretty sure your organs would give out.

heeseung moved slightly to the side, still watching you out of the corner of his eye. the doors closed. the elevator began to descend.

you focused on the panel, the numbers lighting up one by one. he didn’t speak. didn’t clear his throat. didn’t reach for his headphones. he just… stood there. completely still.

you were too exhausted to care. too sick to feel awkward. too scared to ask why, when his nose twitched again, his throat visibly tightened — like he was resisting the same instinct you’d seen flood sunghoon’s eyes on that rooftop.

the elevator dinged softly as it reached the lobby, the sound barely registering through the static in your skull. your limbs moved before your mind could catch up — muscle memory, maybe. or sheer desperation. you stepped out, blinking under the fluorescent lights, the air colder here, sharper, like it hadn’t been used all night.

heeseung didn’t follow immediately. you paused, slow, turning your head slightly, just enough to see him still inside the elevator, standing exactly where he’d been the entire ride down. his gaze flicked toward you. brief. unreadable.

and then he turned — not toward the glass exit like you had, but deeper into the building. no words. no goodbye. just a quiet pivot on his heel and footsteps swallowed by the corridor tiles. gone. like he hadn’t just stared at you like you were something he almost recognized.

you stood there for a moment, dazed. the outside world waited on the other side of the sliding doors, all grey sky and early winter air, your breath already fogging against the glass. you were still half-drenched in cold sweat, your hoodie clinging to your spine, fingers twitching with leftover dream static.

then, as if on cue, headlights flashed against the curb. your cab.

you pushed through the doors. the cold hit you instantly — fresh and cutting, but grounding. you stumbled more than stepped toward the car, collapsing into the backseat with all the grace of a wet noodle.

you didn’t look back. not at the building. not at the glass doors. not at the place where heeseung had disappeared.

you just pulled the door closed, gave the driver the hospital name, and leaned your head against the window.

whatever was happening to your body — whatever strange, slow collapse you were crawling through — you were done ignoring it.

——

the ride to the hospital was slow. slower than it should’ve been for a six a.m. trip with no traffic, but maybe that was just your body dragging time behind it.

every turn of the cab made your stomach lurch, your pulse throb at the base of your skull like a broken metronome. you curled tighter into your hoodie, eyes half-shut, watching the city yawn awake through the fogged window.

streetlights flickered out. bakeries opened metal shutters. someone walked their tiny dog in a matching jacket. the world was still spinning, business as usual — but your body hadn’t gotten the memo.

hospitals were never your favorite place. you’d spent too many late afternoons in one, slumped beside your dad while he slept through chemo, trying to balance a school textbook on your knees and pretend you weren’t thirteen and terrified.

back then, hospitals smelled like antiseptic and fear. now, they smelled like routine and something sour rising in your throat.

the emergency wing was mostly empty when you stumbled in, barely able to speak past the burn in your chest.

they made you sit. take a number. the nurse who called you in was young, her ponytail too tight and her smile too professional to be comforting. she took your temperature, your blood pressure, asked how long you’d been feeling this way — and your answers were all a blur of shrugs and mumbles.

she furrowed her brow. called in someone else. another nurse. a maybe-doctor. you were poked, prodded, and ultimately left with a note scrawled on hospital paper and a prescription for the most generic painkillers known to man.

nothing definitive. no test results. no dramatic diagnoses. just vague nods and “it’s probably viral” and “get some rest.”

you’d nearly laughed in their faces. but your lungs hurt too much.

you’d barely made it down the hallway before your phone slipped out of your fingers twice while trying to open the ride app. the nurse at reception gave you a pamphlet about hydration and a smile like she thought you were dramatic, and maybe you were — you were twenty-three, chronically underslept and iron-deficient.

of course you were dramatic. but you were also right. something was wrong. they just didn’t have the equipment to name it.

the cab smelled like mint gum and cigarettes, and the driver didn’t ask questions, which was kind of perfect. you stared out the window the whole ride back, watching the city flicker past in washed-out gray. your throat burned, and your stomach rolled, and there was only one place your body wanted to collapse.

and then, finally, the seonghyeon jaega building came into view — dark, looming, stupidly expensive. familiar. you tipped the driver more than you should’ve and slid out without a word.

you stumbled into the lobby like a cartoon ghost, hoodie strings dangling, hospital paper crumpled in one hand. this time, the doorman was there — the one with the dead fish eyes and the ridiculous thermos with a cartoon shark on it, hyunwoo, you think.

he looked up from his crossword and smiled politely.

“good morning, miss.”

you nodded, tried for a smile, something automatic. it barely stretched across your face. “morning.”

he didn’t press. just nodded back, went back to his puzzle like you weren’t the walking dead in fuzzy socks.

your chest was still tight by the time the elevator closed behind you. your fingers fumbled the painkillers into your mouth like muscle memory. water, swallow, sigh.

the elevator doors closed with that same slow, deliberate finality they always had, like the building itself was chewing you up and giving you a moment to realize it. you leaned your back against the mirrored wall, the cold glass seeping through the cheap fabric of your oversized hoodie. underneath, you were still wearing the thermal pajamas you’d left the house in — flannel with little blue bears on them. cute, in theory. tragic, in the fluorescence of an elevator that smelled like metal and lemon cleaner.

the temperature was impossible to pin down. too warm around your neck, but your fingers felt icy. your breathing grew shallow — not panicked, exactly, just... off. like your lungs were trying to inflate through a coffee straw. your legs ached, your spine was stiff, and your vision flickered at the edges like a dying film reel.

and then there was the music.

soft, aimless, infuriatingly cheerful — some instrumental jazz cover of a pop song you couldn’t name. it filled the silence like a joke you weren’t in on.

your head tilted back. your eyes slipped closed just for a second.

your knees wobbled.

you didn’t even notice the bell ding — didn’t realize the elevator had reached your floor until the doors sighed open, cool air brushing against your clammy face. you blinked once. twice. the hallway felt darker than usual. not unlit — just dim in that way that made shadows stretch longer.

and that’s when you heard it.

music. faint, pulsing through the air — not elevator music, but actual music. bass, low and smooth, like a party was happening behind closed doors.

your neighbors. their apartment. the one that had been silent for two full weeks. you hadn’t seen any of them. not even a sliver of a shadow beneath their door. but now, someone was definitely inside.

you stood frozen, one hand halfway inside your hoodie pocket, searching for your keys. the motion felt foreign now, like your limbs belonged to someone else. you looked down — or tried to — but the world tilted slightly, just enough to make your breath catch.

your fingers felt too thick, your palms too sweaty. and your vision… it was wrong. blurry in the center, like someone had smeared vaseline over your pupils.

it hit you, then — the vertigo, sudden and sharp. like your body had lost the plot entirely, like it was trying to reject gravity itself.

your knees buckled, and you had to lock them to stay upright. the hallway stretched before you, distorted and too quiet. like it was holding its breath.

you tried to laugh. just a small, sarcastic breath. but it came out wrong.

if this was how it ended, death in fuzzy socks and blue bear pajamas, you hoped the morgue at least had the decency to change your clothes.

your hand was still braced against the wall when your vision gave out for real.

it started at the edges — a gray blur creeping inward, slow and soft like fog rolling off the ocean. and then came the ringing. a high, steady whine that drowned out everything else.

you blinked hard, tried to shake it off, maybe whisper a curse to yourself just to prove you were still awake, still standing, still you. but your tongue felt too heavy in your mouth. your body didn’t move. it just paused — like a system crash in real time.

you took one step.

the floor shifted beneath you, or maybe it was the hallway that leaned — you couldn’t tell. all you knew was that the walls started breathing. that was the only way you could explain it.

the plaster pulsed like lungs. the light above you buzzed louder. the key in your hand slipped again, bounced once on the tile with a sound that echoed way too loud for something so small.

you tried to grab it.

you didn’t make it.

your knees folded first — no drama, no warning. just gone. the weight of your body hit the floor with a dull thud. your cheek pressed against the cold tile.

it felt good, almost. like sinking into something solid after floating too long. your ribs ached from the fall, or maybe they’d been aching for days and this was just the last straw.

you saw the elevator doors closing in your peripheral. heard the soft whirr of them sealing shut. somewhere behind your eyes, the pressure built. like something ancient and wrong was trying to crawl out.

and then darkness. not unconsciousness, not yet — just a deepening shade. like the hallway was dimming just for you.

then came the black. final and quiet.

you didn’t hear the door open across the hall. you didn’t see the figure step into the light. you didn’t know someone had been watching.

——

you came to like a body surfacing from black water — slowly, painfully, limbs cold and heavy, breath dragging itself in ragged pieces through your nose. your eyelids were leaden. every blink took effort.

the world behind them was gray, not quite dark, not quite light, just there, suspended and quiet like someone had pressed pause on the air itself.

your head ached. not the sharp pain of migraines, but the dull, submerged throb of something deeper, more systemic. like your blood was moving wrong inside you. like your insides had been shuffled, then stitched back together under anesthesia.

but you weren’t numb. no — there was sensation. your skin felt… balsamic. cooled over. like someone had run ice across your arms hours ago and it still hadn’t melted.

the air in your lungs was stale, metallic. your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.

you didn’t open your eyes at first. couldn’t. the weight of your body was too much. even the pulse behind your knees hurt. even your fingertips tingled with the kind of exhaustion that belonged to the sick — not the tired. the sick.

you didn’t remember falling asleep.

you didn’t remember making it back to your apartment.

hell, you didn’t remember getting off the elevator.

eventually, after a few minutes — maybe longer — you managed to open your eyes halfway. the ceiling was the first thing you noticed: tall, shadowed, vaguely ornate in the dark, like you were looking at it underwater. not your ceiling. not your room.

your pulse spiked. something primal stirred in your ribs. you shifted, just slightly, and the sheets under your skin told you everything — they were too soft. too expensive. too not-yours. you registered the faint smell of something woodsy and warm — bergamot, maybe. something layered, complicated. familiar.

but the rest of the room came in pieces. the walls, dark and blurred. curtains, still drawn. a dresser with gold accents, a lamp too dim to see the switch. shadows shifted in the corner.

and that’s when it hit you.

you weren’t at home. not yours, at least.

you swallowed, throat raw. you tried to shift your head, to look, but even turning your neck felt like moving through water.

the room swam as you turned, your eyes dragging across the edges of expensive shadow — velvet curtains pulled halfway closed, light bleeding through in soft golds and sickly grays.

the bed beneath you was too soft, the sheets too smooth, like they belonged in a hotel room or a catalog, not your life. you weren’t used to this kind of comfort. and now, it felt wrong.

you blinked hard, vision blurring again, and finally the rest of the room began to settle into focus. a dresser — vintage. gold-framed mirror with a crack near the corner. a collection of books lined up too neatly. and coats. coats you didn’t recognize, thrown carelessly on a chair too clean to be real.

and then — the unmistakable curve of a shoulder. the long shadow of someone standing still.

you froze. someone was there. no.

not someone. multiple someones.

you couldn’t move your neck fast enough to catch all of them at once, but you didn’t need to. the room felt occupied. the atmosphere itself buzzed with quiet attention, like your awakening had flipped a switch you couldn’t see.

your vision tilted sideways and that’s when you caught it: a tall figure near the corner. motionless. arms crossed. sharp silhouette, too familiar.

niki.

your chest pulled tight. not with relief — not exactly. something in your body recoiled before your brain could make sense of it, like it hadn’t decided yet if his presence meant safety or danger.

you blinked once. twice. tried to clear your sight, tried to will away the syrupy haze still coating your lashes. but the outline remained. long limbs. black clothes. the way his weight shifted from one foot to the other, lazy, like standing upright was an inconvenience.

you should’ve felt comforted. he was the only face you recognized here. but instead, your muscles locked into something colder.

slowly, pieces started dropping into place, memories unrolling in the back of your skull like loose film: the elevator buttons glowing too slow. the air going stale. your ears ringing. fumbling for your keys. the elevator music mocking you with that stupid, upbeat jazz. your knees giving out. music from a nearby apartment — one you hadn’t heard life from in two full weeks — and then nothing.

darkness.

and now — this.

you shifted your eyes again, dragging your vision past the edge of the dresser, and there it was. someone else. younger, maybe. shorter than niki but not smaller — no, the space around him shrunk. like he was pulling it into himself.

he stood with his hands loosely clasped in front of him, hair parted too neatly, posture too perfect. he wasn’t looking at you. but your chest still caved a little the moment your gaze landed on him.

you didn’t know his name. hadn’t seen him around. but you had seen him once — blurred through the peephole on your first day here, flanked by the same crowd of sharp-dressed men. mafia, your brain had offered. or something worse.

he looked like he could kill someone with a sentence. and that if he did, he’d do it with impeccable grammar.

and then — the final one.

your eyes caught movement near the door. not coming in, not leaving — just standing there. someone with their back to you, broad shoulders squared, head tilted like they were listening to something you couldn’t hear.

his coat was expensive. dark. layered like he’d been pulled from a noir film and dropped straight into your fever dream. even from behind, you recognized him.

you didn’t know how. maybe the shape of him was burned into your brain now, maybe your blood had started mapping itself around the sound of his voice. but it was sunghoon. you knew it as sure as you knew your own name.

and despite every reason your brain tried to throw at you — the rooftop, the eyes, the way he looked at you like he was starving — your body… relaxed.

just a little.

and that scared you the most.

the realization landed with a thud — no drama, no crescendo. just a slow, icy spread of fuck.

your body recoiled, bones stiffening like it was trying to protect something inside of you that had already been exposed. because this was real. he was real. sunghoon. standing right there.

and that fact alone made everything else around you sharpen into clarity.

you had passed out. not inside your apartment, not in bed, not even in the privacy of your own little rented anonymity. no. you had passed out in the hallway. on a tuesday morning. in winter. wearing your dumbest socks and your oldest hoodie and whatever pride you had left.

and now you were here — not in a hospital, not even with a nurse — but in their apartment. his apartment. the place you’d only ever imagined from the other side of your thin wall. and you were being watched. by too many people. too many eyes.

but the worst part?

you still felt sick.

not flu sick. not tired or hungover or “i skipped breakfast” sick.

this was something else.

this was nausea curled around your spine like a snake. this was your blood running too fast, then too slow, like it couldn’t decide who it belonged to. your skin didn’t fit right. your limbs felt like borrowed furniture. and deep inside — somewhere between your lungs and your stomach — something was pulsing. thrumming.

you didn’t know what was happening to you.

but you knew it wasn’t natural. and it sure as hell wasn’t over.

your fingers twitched first.

just barely. just enough to make the blanket shift near your hip — a slow, traitorous movement that betrayed your consciousness before your eyes could.

you tried to stay still. to keep your breath shallow, chest frozen mid-rise. but your body had other plans. and the moment you shifted your hand again — not on purpose, just from the static ache of your joints — the air in the room changed.

you didn’t see them react at first. you felt it.

like the drop in pressure before a thunderstorm.

then a rustle. fabric brushing against leather. the creak of wood beneath shifting weight. soft, purposeful movements, like they were trying not to scare you. or maybe trying not to startle each other.

“she’s awake,” someone said, voice low. careful. male.

you didn’t know who it was — not yet — but it pulled your eyes open like a string had been yanked from behind them.

the blur cleared slowly, and then you saw it: niki had moved closer. crouched near the bed now, his usual smirk absent, replaced by something you didn’t recognize — not quite concern. not quite guilt. just… watching.

behind him stood the other man — shorter, more compact, but no less imposing. he looked at you like you were a puzzle he didn’t mind breaking apart to solve.

niki’s eyes didn’t leave your face, and for a moment, you could almost pretend this was a dream again. that none of this was real.

but the ache in your limbs, the heat still trapped under your skin, the taste of metal on your tongue — it all said otherwise.

niki looked at you with something that hovered between pity and worry — unfamiliar emotions when filtered through his usually unreadable face.

for some reason, that scared you more than anything else.

“you’re stabilizing faster than i thought.” it’s the first thing he says, slicing clean through the quiet and making your ears ring. the words hit you wrong — not just because of what they meant, but how they sounded. too casual. too clinical. like this was normal. like you were normal.

your face twisted on instinct, some pained reaction caught between confusion and disgust. your lips curled back, eyebrows pinched. it wasn’t even what he said — it was how he said it.

“jesus,” you muttered, pressing your palm to your temple, “did you always sound this annoying or is that a new post-trauma tone?”

niki didn’t laugh. just tilted his head slightly, like your bite had confirmed something for him. like he’d expected the fight. like he preferred it.

your voice sounded terrible — like gravel soaked in fire, your vocal cords rasping out their protest with the elegance of a dying cat.

the boy behind niki — the terrifying one with that calm, unreadable face — took a step back as soon as you spoke. not dramatically. not even with alarm. just a slow, calculated shift in weight, like the sound of your voice had confirmed something for him. like he hadn’t been expecting you to sound that wrecked.

your eyes cut to him instinctively, and for a second, all you could register was that air around him felt different — sharp, quiet, waiting.

what really made you feel awful — worse than the nausea, the fever dreams, the throat that burned like you’d swallowed sandpaper — was that sunghoon still hadn’t turned around.

he was right there. you knew that it was him, your brain was certain of it.

tall, straight-backed, motionless. staring at the door like it was going to solve all his problems if he just glared hard enough. you didn’t know what exactly you expected from him — maybe an apology, a grimace, a nod of acknowledgment — but definitely not this. not silence. not cold shoulders when your blood was still boiling in your veins like it was trying to cook you from the inside out.

how dare he not stare at you like his other two friends were doing right now. how dare he not even glance at you now that you were awake.

you hated that you were hyper-aware of his silhouette. that you recognized the slope of his shoulders already. that, even without looking at his face, you could tell he was tense. worse than that, you hated that the tension didn’t feel rooted in indifference. it felt rooted in guilt.

or shame.

was he fucking embarrassed?

good. he should be. he should be mortified, actually. you blamed all of this on him. every fever spike. every migraine. every dream that left your sheets soaked (not in a good way) and your body aching in ways no human sickness had ever managed.

you blamed it on the way he had looked at you that night. like he was starving. like you weren’t real. like you were his.

you shifted slightly under the covers, the motion sending another wave of heat curling behind your eyes. your voice was wrecked, your body was failing, and your patience was hanging by a thread made of spite and caffeine withdrawal.

and then, through cracked lips and clenched teeth, you rasped:

“do you plan on facing me anytime soon, or should i just keel over again while you brood in a corner?”

niki and jungwon glanced at you, then back to sunghoon — the silence dragging, thick and charged. they weren’t saying anything, but the exchange between the three of them was unmistakable.

it felt like waiting for a bomb to go off. or a verdict to drop. you didn’t like it. didn’t like being the center of some unspoken tension you didn’t understand, didn’t cause, didn’t even want to be a part of.

you felt the tension, too. but not the romantic kind, not the kind that sizzled in books or made girls blush in school hallways. no, this was the kind that crawled under your skin and nested there. this was physical. literal.

your body had latched onto sunghoon like a tuning fork the second your eyes opened in this weird room, and his silence was making it worse — like your cells were offended.

like something primal inside you was throwing a tantrum, demanding acknowledgment. and the longer he stood with his back to you, the more your nerves twisted.

you were sick. god, you were sick. not just flu-sick or stress-sick — something else. something worse. it was spreading now, minute by minute, like acknowledging sunghoon in the same room was gasoline thrown on a fire you’d been trying to smother.

your head pounded, your stomach twisted, your limbs buzzed like your blood had turned carbonated. this wasn’t anxiety. it wasn’t psychosomatic. it felt like your entire body was trying to make you get his attention — or punish you until you did.

and honestly? this was embarrassing. not just uncomfortable or inconvenient — embarrassing. your brain was offended by the sheer audacity of your own body, reacting like this on a tuesday morning, no less.

like what, did your bloodstream forget the concept of normalcy? you were sweating through your clothes, your eyes were stinging, your limbs were shaking, and sunghoon — the root of all this insanity — hadn’t even looked at you.

what the fuck was your problem?

you didn’t know. you couldn’t name it. you just felt it — wrong, off, tilted. like the world had taken a sharp left and forgot to tell you.

you shifted again, groaning under your breath. you hated that you were still wearing your ridiculous blue pajamas under your outer clothes, soaked through with sweat despite the sub-zero weather. your skin felt clammy, your hands trembling against the silky throw blanket that wasn’t yours.

you hated that your mind was starting to spiral — that part of you was honestly considering the possibility that you were going insane.

or maybe… maybe not insane.

maybe they were exactly what they looked like.

sunghoon. niki. the terrifying man with the unreadable stare. even the one with the red hair and sharp profile you saw earlier in the elevator. they didn’t move like regular people. didn’t talk like regular people. and you’d read enough books — watched enough late-night documentaries with your dad — to know that this wasn’t just exhaustion anymore.

it felt like you were part of something unnatural.

and god, the thought of even entertaining this? it was ridiculous. not in the cute, ironic way where you half-believe your horoscope and laugh about mercury being in retrograde — no. this was full-blown absurdity. the kind of absurdity that scraped the edges of delusion.

believing in vampires wasn’t the problem. of course they existed. humanity had shared space with another species for centuries. that wasn’t up for debate. they were in the history books, the legal records, the school curriculum.

you had taken a literal midterm in middle school about post-war vampire rights. designer blood banks. the civil coexistence acts of the 1950s. it wasn’t a mystery. it just wasn’t relevant anymore — at least not to you. not in your life.

but this? the idea that they were here — your neighbors? that one of them — maybe more than one — had looked at you and decided something behind those sharp eyes? that one of them could’ve… claimed your attention? affected your body in a way you didn’t even understand?

no. absolutely not. you weren’t that girl. you refused to be that girl.

you didn’t realize you were breathing hard until the unnamed one — the quiet one with the suffocating presence — finally spoke.

“she’s peaking again.”

his voice wasn’t loud. but it was clear. measured. like he was stating a fact about the weather, or about war.

you blinked. tried to sit up again — a stupid, impulsive act, born not of logic but of panic. the kind that crawled up your spine when the world felt too heavy, too strange, too wrong. you wanted to ask what he meant by that, what was his name, but you felt panic instead.

the blanket covering you was soft, maybe even expensive, but it felt like lead pressing your bones into the mattress. too thick, too warm, too intentional.

you clawed at it, fingers shaking, limbs weak and disobedient. your shoulder burned with the effort of moving half an inch, and the moment you tried to raise your head, the blood in your skull surged like a wave crashing against a too-small shore.

and then, finally, he moved.

not much — not dramatically — but enough for every cell in your body to register the shift. a shoulder rolled back, barely. a hand unclenched at his side. his head tilted, slowly, as if listening to something only he could hear.

and then, almost reluctantly, like it cost him something, sunghoon turned.

his body twisted first, then his face, the shadows catching on the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his neck.

his hair looked darker in here, like ink had soaked through the strands, and it framed his face in a way that made your stomach twist. but it wasn’t the usual twist. not awe. not that stupid crush-thrill that had haunted your bloodstream weeks ago.

this was something else.

his eyes found yours — and stayed there.

and god, he looked tired.

not in the human way. not sleep-deprived or hungover. but hollowed-out. like someone had reached into his chest and scooped something vital out and left him barely functioning.

his cheekbones were sharper, his skin too pale under the warm light. he wasn’t perfect anymore. not in the haunting, statuesque way you remembered from the rooftop. now he looked… worn. real. something tugged at the corner of his mouth, not quite a frown. not quite anything.

and then it happened. the second his eyes fully met yours — that aching, gnawing illness that had been feasting on your nerves for two weeks cracked. like glass under heat.

your breath hitched. your ears popped. you blinked, and suddenly you could breathe.

the pain that had curled up beneath your ribs for days loosened, just like that. the weight behind your eyes lifted. your limbs still ached, yes, but something shifted — unmistakably — in your bloodstream. like your cells remembered how to work again. like they’d been waiting for him.

you stared, open-mouthed. because what the fuck.

you tried moving your toes — and felt all of them. you blinked once. twice. your vision wasn’t swimming anymore. the walls stopped melting at the edges. when you sat up, the room didn’t tilt sideways. your head didn’t lurch. your chest didn’t pull tight. nothing throbbed. nothing screamed.

you stared at your hands like you’d never seen them before, like they belonged to someone else. you flexed your fingers. no tremble. no twitch.

what the actual hell.

you ran a quick mental diagnostic, the kind your body had trained you into these past two weeks.

legs? check.

feet? check.

shoulders? solid.

ears? blessedly unclogged.

your stomach growled, sharp and dramatic, like it was protesting the way you’d ignored it for days. you touched your forehead, your neck. no fever. no chills. just warm. human. whole.

you were sitting up. fully. like a normal person. and it was terrifying.

because, what in the vampire diaries was this? you weren’t stupid. people didn’t just collapse in a hallway at 7 a.m. and wake up completely cured in a stranger’s guest bed with three unsettlingly hot men watching from the corners of the room like this was twilight fanfiction on crack.

you were hungry. you were confused. and you were so fucking exhausted. because even if your body had stopped screaming, your brain hadn’t caught up. and the worst part? sunghoon was still staring.

and your heart was still doing that thing — that pulling thing — like it wanted to beat in time with his.

he didn’t say anything at first — none of them did. they just stood there, still and watching, like they were marveling at something sacred. like your ability to sit up without grimacing was some impossible phenomenon they hadn’t planned for.

and yes, you felt like a miracle too. a tiny one. a quiet one, sitting in borrowed sweatpants and last night’s hoodie, in a room that didn’t belong to you. but now wasn’t the time to feel flattered.

not when three strangers — supernatural or not — were staring like you’d just pulled a sword out of stone.

you cleared your throat. it was the only sound in the room. your stomach growled again, louder this time, and you winced. no one laughed.

finally — finally — sunghoon moved.

his shoulders rose with a quiet inhale, and then dropped again like it physically cost him something. he didn’t step forward. didn’t close the gap between you. he just turned his head slightly, enough to look at you fully now, no barriers.

his eyes were darker than you remembered — not just in color, but in weight. like he hadn’t slept since the last time you saw him. like whatever edge had once made him look untouchable had dulled into something heavier. human, almost. except not. never.

his voice, when it came, was low. steady. practiced. but you could hear it — that thread of something cracked beneath the surface. not regret. not guilt. something older.

“you weren’t supposed to feel it this strongly.” and just like that, your pulse dropped into your stomach.

because what the fuck was that supposed to mean?

you blinked. once. twice. your body had just gone from full-system meltdown to sudden clarity in the span of — what? ten seconds? the math didn’t add up. the science didn’t add up.

and now you had a boy — no, a man, a something — standing in front of you, speaking like this was all part of a manual. a protocol.

“excuse me?” you rasped, voice still barely more than sandpaper dragged across metal. your chest felt tight again, but this time from sheer indignation. “what do you mean feel it? feel what?”

sunghoon didn’t answer right away. behind him, niki let out a breath — not a sigh, more like a slow exhale that made you want to throw a pillow at someone.

the other one — terrifying, well-dressed, probably-did-taxes-at-5-a.m. mafia looking guy — finally stepped forward like he was about to explain something official, something devastating.

but all you could focus on was the way sunghoon’s jaw clenched. how he didn’t look away. how he looked like he hated that you were asking.

and suddenly, you were fuming. not the dramatic, cinematic kind of anger that makes you throw vases and scream into the rain. no. this was worse. it was the kind of white-hot rage that made your hands go cold and your thoughts get sharp. the kind that brewed in the back of your skull like static.

because what the actual kind of fucking sorcery was this?

you had just woken up in a stranger’s — correction, a vampire’s — bedroom, after two weeks of progressively dying in slow motion, only to be cured by a pair of stupidly symmetrical cheekbones and a statement that sounded like a deleted scene from twilight: the bureaucratic cut.

you flung the covers off with all the rage of a disney villain in her final act. “okay,” you started, voice still wrecked but gaining steam, “somebody’s going to tell me what the hell is going on. and i swear, if the word stabilizing gets thrown around again, i’m going to stab someone with your vintage coat hanger.”

niki winced. the mafia guy blinked like he wasn’t used to being threatened before breakfast. and sunghoon — oh, sunghoon — had the audacity to look guilty.

“no one thought to leave a note?” you spat, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “a sticky note? a voice memo? a ‘hey, just for your information, you’re about to experience soul-level cardiac arrest, but don’t worry, it’s a normal thing?’”

“we didn’t think you’d feel it this strong,” niki tried again, cautiously.

you narrowed your eyes. “you already said that. say something new or i swear i’ll start singing gospel.”

sunghoon finally looked like he might actually say something, but you were already on a roll.

“do you people just hang out in designer clothes waiting for humans to drop dead in your hallways? is that your little fun pastime? is that why the gym’s always empty now, niki? were you all just sitting up here like, ‘oh, don’t worry, she’s just experiencing a little metaphysical collapse, she’ll be fine?’”

they all looked at you, quiet. not surprised — no, you weren’t lucky enough to have shocked them — but almost… contemplative.

you stood up, or tried to. your knees buckled slightly, but you powered through, fueled by indignation and a decade’s worth of unresolved parental issues. “i want answers,” you snapped. “and water. probably water first. but then answers.”

sunghoon finally, finally, moved toward you. slow. cautious. like you were a scared animal. or a bomb. (which, okay, fair.)

his voice was robotic, weird when he spoke. “you weren’t supposed to react like this.”

you tilted your head, deadpan. “oh, wow, thank you so much for that astounding medical diagnosis. i’ll be sure to write that down in my death journal.”

sunghoon’s jaw ticked, he seemed in pain. “it means we need to explain. all of it.”

sunghoon sat down.

that, in itself, felt like a betrayal. for a full minute, none of them had moved — like you were something volatile, like one wrong breath might set you off again. but then he finally took a breath and lowered himself into the chair across from you.

it was the way he moved that made your throat clench — careful, controlled, like sitting too fast might shake the ground beneath you.

his expression was unreadable, jaw tight, shoulders squared like this was an interrogation and not a conversation. and then he spoke.

“you’re not dying,” he said first. like he needed that part on record.

you raised an eyebrow. “thanks, doctor. next diagnosis?”

niki let out a quiet snort from where he leaned against the wall, arms folded, one boot tapping lightly against the floor. sunghoon ignored you both.

again, he seemed... weird. robotic.

“what’s happening to you,” he continued, voice low, measured, almost too calm, “is rare. it’s not supposed to happen anymore.”

you blinked. slowly. your brain took the words in like they were pieces from different puzzles. “you mean… like a sickness?”

“not a sickness,” sunghoon said. “more like… a reaction.”

he paused then. visibly debated what to say next. that’s when the third one — the one you now associated with do-not-fuck-around energy — stepped forward. the shorter guy. black coat, buzzed undercut, broad shoulders.

there was a tattoo creeping out from his collarbone, just a sliver of black ink crawling up his neck. when he finally spoke, it was without inflection.

“she doesn’t need the full story yet.”

sunghoon didn’t even look at him. “she deserves to know what’s happening to her.”

niki raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t speak. instead, you locked eyes with sunghoon again and asked, “what kind of reaction?”

he exhaled. “soulmate.”

you laughed. out loud. an ugly, sputtering noise. “are you fucking serious?”

niki grinned. “oh no, she’s reacting like a normal person. i like her.”

sunghoon’s mouth twitched. not a smile. maybe pain. maybe something else.

“it’s not common,” he said, softer now. “not anymore. vampires used to… imprint. or whatever you want to call it. we’d form bonds. it was mutual. chemical. metaphysical. the human would feel it. the vampire would feel it. but it hasn’t happened in decades. not since the accords. not since—”

“humans stopped mingling with your kind?” you asked.

“not since both sides decided it was too dangerous.”

that made you pause. your throat was still dry. your hands clenched the blanket around your waist like it might anchor you back into reality. “dangerous how?”

“for you,” the shorter dude said this time. his voice was razor clean. “not for us.”

niki sighed. “it’s like a hormone overdose. a body-wide meltdown. like your system’s trying to recalibrate to match something it doesn’t understand.”

you scoffed. “and the something is you?”

sunghoon didn’t answer. but his silence did.

and that’s when something inside you shifted. clicked. because even if this sounded like delusional bullshit, your body was nodding along. it made too much sense. the fever. the dreams. the sudden gravitational pull toward a man you’d barely spoken to. the way your pain had vanished the second he’d looked at you.

“so let me guess,” you said slowly, “i’m your little imprint? your cosmic girlfriend? lucky me.”

sunghoon flinched. just slightly. “it doesn’t work like that.”

“doesn’t it?” you asked, voice rising.

and then — the twist.

“you’re not the only one who got sick,” the scary dude said. calm. final.

the room stilled. niki looked up. sunghoon closed his eyes. your breath caught.

“…what?”

“sunghoon’s been sick too,” niki offered, quieter than usual. “not the same way. but bad enough we had to cancel everything. bad enough he couldn’t feed. bad enough he barely stood up until yesterday.”

your mouth went dry. “what does that mean?” you asked, but your voice sounded distant even to yourself — like it had been dragged through water, then filtered through static.

was it too much to know? absolutely not. not for your overactive brain that consumed conspiracy podcasts like candy. but feeling it — sitting here, blanket bunched around your waist like armor, stomach churning, heartbeat crawling under your skin like something foreign — that was the hard part.

this didn’t feel like a reveal. it felt like a slow, rotting realization you hadn’t asked for.

you swallowed, throat raw. maybe it would be better if you passed out again. at least then, you wouldn’t have to process the idea that one of your neighbors — a hot, emotionally unavailable, glacial-faced vampire, apparently — had also been in a near-comatose state because of you.

great. incredible. what a legacy.

soulmate? imprint? some long-lost paranormal bond that now had you sharing symptoms like some twisted long-distance couple flu? no, thank you. return to sender.

you opened your mouth to say something clever — something biting and cruel and devastating — but nothing came. your lips parted and then closed again, your body betraying you in the worst of ways.

your eyes flicked back to sunghoon.

his hands were clenched in his lap. his cheekbones were sharper than usual, like he’d lost weight. there was a vein visible beneath his jaw. and when he finally raised his head to meet your eyes again, the exhaustion behind them wasn’t just physical. it was soul-deep.

“you were the first human i’ve spoken to in years,” he said, voice barely above a breath.

that made your stomach turn.

niki shifted, almost like he wanted to say something, but didn’t.

the mafia looking guy just crossed his arms tighter and stared, waiting — like this wasn’t new to him.

you blinked once. then again. your body still wasn’t reacting the way it should — no more pain, no more fever, no more frost behind your eyes. but your mind? your mind was racing.

“this is insane,” you muttered, because someone had to say it.

“agreed,” niki chirped. “but hey, at least you didn’t throw up. the last one did.”

“niki.”

“what? i’m comforting her.”

you didn’t laugh. couldn’t. your body was still deciding whether to fight or flee.

niki broke the silence first again after minutes of no one breathing. of course he did.

“well, the good news is you’re probably not gonna die,” he said, rocking back slightly on his heels where he’d crouched again beside your bed. “probably.”

you blinked at him slowly. deadpan. your expression alone could’ve been used to file a restraining order.

he raised both hands. “hey. optimism. it’s a dying art.”

from behind him, the man in the coat shifted for the first time. he didn’t look at you. didn’t even acknowledge niki’s running mouth. just turned his head toward sunghoon with an unreadable expression and said, voice like a closing door:

“she needs rest.”

sunghoon didn’t argue. maybe he couldn’t. there was something off about him now that you were fully awake, fully conscious — something glassy in the way he held himself, like his body wasn’t all the way his.

the man placed a hand on his shoulder, and sunghoon moved. slow. obedient. not like himself.

you watched them go. watched their silhouettes shift through the doorway. neither of them looked back.

the moment the door shut, niki let out a long breath through his nose and flopped — not gracefully — into the armchair near the window. it creaked under his weight. he didn’t seem to care.

“so. fun fact,” he started, adjusting the sleeves of his hoodie. “your new boyfriend? yeah, he’s been high for the past three days.”

you stared. “what?”

niki gestured vaguely, like that explained everything. “inhibitors. cocktail of them. pretty top-shelf stuff. he’s, like, five thousand newtons of vampire strength wrapped in a sculpted jawline, so—” he clicked his tongue, “—we kinda had to knock him out the hard way.”

you blinked. again. “we?”

niki looked pleased with himself. leaned in like he was about to share a bedtime secret.

“took all six of us. and i mean all of us. it was like trying to sedate a tank. even then, he almost won. but we found the right combo. he’s on it now. dulled his receptors, numbed his instincts.”

your stomach curled slightly. “why?”

niki’s smile dimmed. not gone — just quieter.

“because,” he said, “he would’ve come for you.”

you didn’t respond.

he leaned back again, eyes flicking toward the ceiling. his voice, when he spoke again, had that same dry humor, but underneath it — something else. something brittle.

“we had to leave,” he said, almost like a confession. “jungwon-hyung’s family has a camp house. middle of nowhere, no cell service, no risk of you running into him if he… broke through. that’s why the building was dead. we took him far. like, drive-five-hours-and-still-hear-his-teeth-clench far.”

you stared, unmoving. your hands were still clammy against the covers. your chest still felt like someone had scraped it hollow and filled it with something cold.

niki scratched his jaw. “it was either that or lock him in the basement. which, by the way, sunghoon would never let happen. pride and all. so, road trip it was.”

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

“don’t look at me like that,” he added, side-eyeing you. “it’s not like we knew this would happen. we don’t do this soulmate thing. not anymore. not since—” he paused, teeth clicking together. “never mind. point is: it’s rare. it’s old. and you? you weren’t supposed to feel it this strong.”

your breath hitched. that phrase again.

“but i did,” you muttered. “feel it.”

niki looked at you. quiet. unreadable for once.

then, almost gently: “yeah. you did and he did too.”

“i honestly thought this was bullshit,” niki went on, scratching behind his ear like he wasn’t casually upending your entire understanding of reality. “jake-hyung was the only one we knew who got tangled up with a human like that. we all thought it was a one-time glitch. but sunghoon? he was even worse. and i think it’s the age, you know? the older they are, the stronger the… pull.”

you didn’t move.

niki shrugged. “sunghoon-hyung is the most powerful among us. has been for a while. not that he brags about it or anything,” he added, eye-roll implied. “but this?” he gestured vaguely toward your body, the bed, the air. “this nearly broke him. we didn’t think—i mean. imprinting is beautiful, yeah, sure. sacred, whatever. but it’s a lot of fucking work. especially when it hits this hard.”

you still didn’t respond. your gaze had unfocused, lips parted slightly, shoulders slumped. and eventually, niki caught on.

“you okay?” he asked, voice gentler now, less performative.

you didn’t answer him. not right away.

because your thoughts had gone quiet. not blank — not numb — just… quiet. like the cold hush of a library, a cemetery, a paused dream.

you were confused. obviously. angry, too — because what the fuck was imprinting and why the hell did it choose you, of all people? you were a mess. you were a scholarship kid with ramen-induced ulcers and mommy issues. not a mystical blood-linked soul beacon.

but still. somewhere beneath all that static, you felt it: a pinprick of something else. something smaller. softer.

sunghoon had been sick. sick because of you.

and not just sick, but fighting it. drugged. dragged across the country just to keep him from getting to you. you’d blamed him, cursed him in your head, built this whole miserable theory of him being cold and detached and cruel — but he’d been hurting, too. maybe even more than you.

niki watched you for a moment longer, like he was trying to figure out what version of you he was leaving behind. but he didn’t press. didn’t tease. didn’t smile.

“yeah,” he said, brushing invisible lint off his pants as he stood. “you should rest. the worst’s over. probably.”

you weren’t sure if that was meant to comfort you or just be vague on purpose, but you didn’t have the energy to dissect it.

he crossed the room with that same unhurried gait — loose-limbed, strangely quiet — and paused at the doorway. “someone’ll be around if you need anything,” he added, voice already softer, like he was already halfway out. “and if you wake up starving… don’t freak out. we left you snacks. normal ones.”

your lips twitched, almost a smile. “thanks.”

“don’t mention it,” he said, then looked at you over his shoulder, eyes gleaming under the low lighting. “really. don’t.”

the door clicked shut behind him with a softness you didn’t expect.

you lay there, for a long minute, staring at the ceiling. the silence in the room was different now — not heavy, not buzzing. just there. a presence instead of a pressure. you shifted under the covers, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, your limbs didn’t ache. your lungs didn’t pull tight. your stomach didn’t twist.

you closed your eyes, and your body let you.

this time, you didn’t dream of anything.

author's note: clap if you find respectful but feral sunghoon hot. yes, i will die on this hill. yes, our couple mught hate each other now but i swear they'll be all cute soon. thank you for reading! send me a request • my masterpost

taglist: @ikeugirly @vixialuvs @hoonprksung @kyunlov @verialuv @sagegreenhairclip @gal821 @nekkodiaries @httpenhoon @questionsdearreader @mynameis-rosie1 @ninistranaut @staygenesblog @stercul1a

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rikas-musings · 10 days ago

Text

PROJECT SHATTERCORE ☣︎

DIRECTORY

bruce wayne x reader, jason todd x reader, dick grayson x reader, damian wayne x reader, tim drake x reader

SYNOPSIS: you were taken young, too young to ever have known anything other than needles and pain. stuck inside a lab that was bright and loud, they enhanced every neural frequency within you, transforming you into more than you could have ever been. after years of experiments, someone finally comes to save you. he’s tall, dark, and terrifying. but he offers you safety in a new home. you feel like an outsider in the gloomy mansion, but you understand why they behave as though you’re not there. it’s probably your fault, but over time, things begin to change, and the people in your home are starting to act as if they want you here. is this desire something normal?

WARNINGS: 18+ only, DEAD DOVE; DO NOT EAT, mild violence and blood, angst, child endangerment, alcoholism, cops being horrible

PLAYLIST FOR THE CHAPTER: ♫ slipping through my fingers - abba listen to this for ultimate immersion

A/N : welcome to my first batfamily x reader series!! please read ALL warnings because there are a lot in the series directory. here comes the prologue!! let me know if you enjoy :3

PROLOGUE

You lived on the streets from the little life you can remember, barely conscious at the ripe age of six years old. Your mother was always in a drunkard state, but you clung onto her for dear life. You depended on it, you did. Tiny grimey hands clutching onto her dress, eyes bearing into her face, wishing for any sort of love to emit from her.

You always watched. You were quiet, but occasionally, you tried to garner attention from her. When things were right—if they ever were right—you’d vaguely remember her humming a lullaby that never quite left your memory. Her smooth hands caressing your velveteen hair, back when it wasn’t grimey and unkept. Back when you weren’t on the streets.

This was your life, this was all Mama and you had known. Days spent searching for scraps in garbage bins, watching your mama disappear for nights at a time. She’d come back with scraps of food and more bottles.

The lights flickered whenever she came back, as if an angel had come down to bless the two of you, but changed its mind halfway. In the abandoned warehouse you and your Mama stayed in for the past while, you were tired. Your small body was littered with bruises and cuts from staying in the grimiest parts of Gotham City. But you persevered. Mama always tried her best for the two of you.

It happened on a Saturday night, the night’s mama always tried to get you special treats from the bakery that had leftovers in the trash.

There were loud crashes, and the police were everywhere; you felt terrified. Unbeknownst to you, a robbery was happening at the bank beside the bakery. You shook like a leaf, scared for your life as you huddled in the alleyway between the bakery and the bank. A man as large as what you imagined a giant might look like, with blood splattered on his face, entered the alleyway. But that’s not what frightened you. He stood to the side, observing everything. Your mama was still far back, rummaging through the trash, most likely very drunk and oblivious to the situation unfolding before you.

The police had entered the alleyway, and you were terrified.

You felt the buzz of the radio before you heard it ‘The bats have the villain under control, but we got a call about a potential robber at this bakery.’ The man in uniform sighed and rubbed his face with his free hand before replying.

“Tell me why I got stuck dealing with the fucking homeless scum in the area.” He groaned, and your body stiffened. He made eye contact with you before you could attempt to run, even if you could, you could never leave Mama behind.

Not long after, he caught sight of your mom and the other shadow lurking in the dark. His eyes widened, and he sneered before trying to call for backup.

The lights flickered violently as you desperately put your hands up in defence, staring at the police officer, he was gonna arrest Mama. Hurt Mama.

I don't want him to hurt Mama.

You screamed and wailed, rendering your voice raw. When suddenly the radio crackled and sparked, the line cut and the police officer fell back off balance. You sighed in relief at the faulty hardware and his loss of balance.

Daniel was a weapon, made to be at least. Today’s mission was to stage a bank robbery. The place wasn’t big in itself, but the doctor had been hired to create new weapons and test them out by the harbour; therefore, he needed a distraction in the city to throw off the scent of any unwanted heroes.

When he’d arrived, he’d blown up quite a few people before listening to the police’s radios on his comms. They were coming, and so were the bats. He gruffed, and his partner decided to be the bait.

“I’m gonna hide out until things calm down, don’t let them find out what the doctor is doing.” He grunts to his weasly looking partner beside him and hands him a bag stuffed with cash. His partner grins and nods their head before scurrying off to deal with the situation. Daniel sneaks out of the back entrance of the bank before entering an alleyway beside it. He let a smug grin fall onto his face. The plan was going spectacularly.

In the alleyway was a woman rifling through a huge trash bin, and a little kid quivering as they clung to the brick wall. He hid among the shadows of the alleyway when a police officer showed up. He watched as the kid began to cry, but he froze when he noticed something.

The kid's eyes began to vibrate as the light flickered. While you screamed and wailed at the officer to stop, he watched as faint electricity crackled through your vibrating eyes, seemingly sending the officer stumbling back. His radio crackled with that same electricity. It was almost unnoticeable, especially to the untrained eye; it resembled any malfunction of faulty technology.

But not to Daniel. He noticed.

He watched as the officer pulled out a gun, and before he could get his finger on the trigger, he smashed him into the wall with a loud-

CRACK.

Blood dripped down the wall of the alleyway as the officer's limp body crumpled to the pavement. Your breath quickened as you covered your ears at the sudden loud noise. You felt dizzy and tired—running away with Mama was the only thing replaying in your head.

She’d finally stumbled out of the bin when you made eye contact with her, her eyes sparkled with a sense of familiarity, as she clung onto a brown paper bag with oil spots.

“Mama!” you wailed and went to dash into her arms, snot running down your face as you mustered all the strength in your body to reach her.

But you didn’t reach her, not before the man did.

He grabbed her neck, the skin taught against his grip, then looked down at you.

“Hello, little one.” You looked up at him as your mama dropped the bag of baked goods, her hands going limp. You hesitantly reach out a hand.

“W-what’re you doing with Mama?” you spoke with furrowed brows, you were too dizzy and too tired as you watched the giant man, his orange eyes looked down at you with curiosity.

“I’m thinking you two can come home with us tonight. The doctor would love to meet you.” He offers a faux grin. You feel sick to your stomach, but all you could do was hesitantly nod at him.

He threw your now passed out Mama on his shoulder before picking you up and holding you with one arm. He smelled like smoke and gunpowder. You inhaled the weird smell before relaxing in his arms.

Maybe he wanted to help you and Mama.

TAGLIST: @alishii @lalana1703 @purple-obsidian @ghosty-the-grim-fairy @shadowsingers-redhood @staarflowerr @nininehaaa @hai-there-how-are-you @cynniee @lovebug-apple @nervousalpacalady @nisarelle @lilyalone @cxcilla @cupid73 @swag13r

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izzih22 · 13 days ago

Text

Chapter 5

The Day Everything Changed

Note: last chapter… hope yall like it!!

The apartment was quite a different kind of quiet.

Not lazy or tired. Not even peaceful. Just… still.

Azzi sat on the edge of the bed in one of Paige’s oversized UConn hoodies, hands resting on her belly like she was holding something sacred. Which she was.

Paige was brushing her hair from behind, slow and careful, like if she moved too fast, she’d miss something important.

“I don’t think I’m gonna sleep,” Azzi murmured.

Paige smiled gently, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. “That’s okay. I’ll stay up with you.”

“You’ve been staying up with me.”

“I’ll stay up forever if I have to,” Paige whispered. “You’ve carried our baby for nine months. I can carry some lost sleep.”

Azzi turned to look at her. “You don’t say it often, but I know you’re scared.”

Paige didn’t pretend otherwise. “I am.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve never wanted something so much in my life,” Paige said softly. “I’ve never loved someone the way I love you. And now we’re about to meet the person we made — the person you grew. I just… I don’t want to mess it up.”

“You won’t.”

“I might cry more than the baby.”

Azzi smiled. “You will.”

They lay down together, face-to-face. Paige’s hand never left her belly. Azzi’s legs tangled with hers. They talked about names again. Paige changed her favorite five times. Azzi told her to stop picking things like “Rebound” and “And-One.” But Paige just loved hearing Azzi laugh knowing she was only kidding.

And sometime around 3 a.m., Paige whispered, “We’re ready.”

Azzi nodded. “We’re ready.”

⸻

It Broke with a Splash

7:41 a.m.

Azzi’s gasp jolted Paige out of the deepest sleep she’d had in weeks.

Then came the sound.

A soft splash, followed by “Oh my God.”

Paige bolted upright. “Was that—”

Azzi was standing near the bed, frozen, hand resting protectively over her bump.

“My water just broke,” she whispered.

Paige stared. Blinked once. Then—

“OH MY GOD. IT’S HAPPENING. IT’S HAPPENING. THIS IS REAL.”

She jumped out of bed, nearly slipped, caught herself, sprinted for the hospital bags, then spun back around.

“SHOES. DO YOU HAVE SHOES? DO YOU NEED A TOWEL? DO WE CALL THE HOSPITAL OR DO WE JUST GO? DO I DELIVER THE BABY MYSELF IF THEY’RE LATE—”

“Paige!” Azzi called, steady but amused.

Paige skidded to a stop, eyes wide. “Yes?”

“I need your help.”

That was all it took.

Paige was at her side in an instant, her hands on Azzi’s hips, her voice quiet now. “You okay? Is it starting?”

Azzi breathed through a tightening cramp. “I think so.”

“Okay. Okay.” Paige grabbed her phone with one hand, held Azzi close with the other, and opened their Family Group Chat:

PAIGE: HER WATER BROKE

PAIGE: THE BABY IS COMING

PAIGE: I REPEAT—THE BABY. IS. COMING.

AZZI’S MOM: We’re getting in the car.

PAIGE’S MOM: I’m already crying.

GRANDMA: Bringing banana bread.

AZZI’S DAD: I’m driving and praying.

Then she flipped to the UConn Girls Chat:

PAIGE: IT’S TIME

PAIGE: THE BABY IS COMING. AZZI IS A WARRIOR.

PAIGE: I’M LOSING MY MIND

CAROLINE: Y’all better name the baby after me

ICE: I CAN’T BREATHE

NIKA: DO YOU NEED US TO COME NOW

KK: OMG OMG OMG

PAIGE: JUST SEND PRAYERS AND ENERGY. I’LL UPDATE. GAHHH

⸻

It Climbed in Waves

They got to the hospital with time to spare but the adrenaline didn’t slow down.

Paige was pacing the delivery room like she was about to coach a national title game.

Azzi was in bed, calm but focused, working through each contraction.

And Paige? Paige was chaos in a hoodie.

“She needs more water. She likes it cold but not too cold. Can you lower the lights a bit? She hates the buzz from those kinds of bulbs. Also, don’t forget her birth playlist. We made a playlist. It has SZA and Luther Vandross on it—”

Azzi grabbed her hand.

Paige stopped talking immediately.

Azzi’s eyes fluttered open. “You’re doing amazing.”

Paige blinked. “Me? You’re literally in labor.”

“And you’re right here.”

Paige kissed her forehead. “Always.”

⸻

The first contraction caught Azzi off guard.

It wasn’t gradual. It slammed into her like a truck.

She doubled over, clutching her belly, face twisted in pain.

Paige was right there, holding her arm. “Breathe. Breathe through it. Just like we practiced, Az.”

Azzi tried, but her voice came out a sob. “It hurts, Paige.”

“I know, baby. I know.” Paige wiped her forehead gently. “You’re doing amazing. Just hold onto me.”

As the hours dragged on, the pain worsened. Azzi stopped speaking between contractions. Her body shook. Her grip on Paige’s hand turned desperate. Raw.

She couldn’t even form words at one point just broken sounds, moans, cries.

Paige held her.

Through every breath.

Through every scream.

She didn’t leave her side for a second.

“Paigey— I can’t—” Azzi sobbed through another one, her back arching. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can,” Paige said fiercely, her voice breaking. “You are doing it. You’re so strong, baby. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever seen. You’re everything.”

Azzi shook her head. “It’s too much—”

“I’ve got you. Just look at me,” Paige begged, brushing sweaty curls from her face. “You don’t have to do this alone. Not for a second. I’m right here.”

She gripped Paige’s hoodie and cried into her chest. Paige held her, whispering over and over, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

⸻

Her heart broke watching Azzi scream. Watching her body shake. Watching the woman she loved fight to bring life into the world.

And then—

After what felt like forever, the doctor’s voice came through the fog: “Okay, Azzi. One more push.”

Azzi cried out.

Paige squeezed her hand harder than she thought she could. “That’s it. That’s it, Az. You’ve got them. Bring them home.”

And then—

A wail.

A tiny, raw, perfect sound that cut through the room like lightning.

The room blurred.

Paige blinked.

Azzi gasped.

The doctor held up a tiny, wriggling, red-faced baby crying her lungs out, already fighting.

“She’s here,” someone said. “You have a daughter.”

Paige crumpled.

Just folded into herself and sobbed.

Not soft tears. Not a sniffle.

Real, full, body-wrecking sobs.

She leaned down and kissed Azzi’s forehead again and again, whispering through her tears, “You did it. You did it babygirl.”

Azzi was crying too. Quietly. Just watching Paige hold their baby for the first time, watching her hands tremble as the nurse gently placed the swaddled little girl into her arms.

Paige looked down at the baby, her eyes still flooded.

“She looks like you,” she whispered.

“She has your mouth,” Azzi whispered back.

Paige sat on the bed beside her, holding the baby in one arm, Azzi in the other.

“I love you,” she said, voice shaking. “Both of you so much.”

Azzi leaned into her. “I know.”

⸻

Later that night, the room had quieted. Visitors had come and gone. Their moms had cried. KK and Ice had FaceTimed, screaming. Caroline had made an unofficial godmother speech.

Now it was just them.

Paige. Azzi. Their daughter.

Paige cradled her against her chest while Azzi slept, exhausted but peaceful beside her.

She looked down at the baby girl in her arms tiny, warm, perfect.

“You don’t know me yet,” Paige whispered. “But I’m yours. Completely. You and your mama… you’re my whole world.”

The baby squirmed.

Paige smiled.

“I’m gonna mess up. I know that. But I’ll love you more than anything, and I’ll never stop showing up. You’re safe here. You’re so, so loved.”

She glanced at Azzi.

Still beautiful. Still the love of her life. Still the girl who changed everything.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For her. For this. For being mine.”

The baby sighed in her sleep.

Paige pressed a kiss to her tiny forehead.

And just like that… their story began again.

Not as two.

Not even as three.

But as everything.

Together.

Forever.

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

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mcrdvcks · 8 months ago

Text

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1880 - labyrinth of my heart

chapter summary: When walking the streets of Chicago he spots you across the street, so real, so alive. Logan takes this as a second chance; but fear slowly slithers up, making him wonder if he'll lose you all over again.

word count: 9.3k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: first, i want to say thank you so much for the support and love for this series! this is way shorter than the first chapter, only because i wanted the ending to feel abrupt to hopefully make it feel more realistic. anyways, i'm super excited for next chapter since it's a concept i haven't ever really done before. but for now, enjoy this while it lasts :)

warnings/tags: fluff, angst, outdated mindsets on women, character death

series masterlist - chapter 1 → chapter 3

Logan left New York City after you died, going back to Victor who told him exactly what he expected to hear, ‘you shouldn’t have fallen in love,’ and ‘the only people we can trust is each other’.

The Civil War had begun seven years after your death as he and Victor fought for the North for four whole years. There was one thing he always kept with him, the ring he bought for you, that he never got to use. It stayed in his pocket at all times, never leaving, always there.

He had been doing the same thing he was doing before he met you, moving around the country, never staying in a spot for too long, doing odd jobs to stay afloat.

Logan found himself in Chicago, walking along the sidewalk, the faint sound of a train in the distance. The air was heavy with the scent of coal smoke, the city bustling with life in the late afternoon. Men in long coats and women in modest dresses hurried past him, some tipping their hats in his direction as he walked by. It was just another city to him, another place he would pass through on his way to nowhere in particular.

It had been 26 years since you died. Twenty-six long years, but to Logan, it still felt like yesterday. The weight of your loss hadn’t lessened. If anything, it had only grown heavier. Every town, every face he saw, reminded him of you in some way. That soft smile you always wore, the way you’d brush your hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought. He kept your memory alive in the smallest of ways. The ring he’d never had the chance to give you stayed in his pocket, its presence a constant, painful reminder.

He walked without a destination, his mind lost in the past as his feet carried him down the streets of Chicago. The city had a pulse of its own, far different from the quiet life in New York where you’d once lived, where you had died in his arms. He hadn't felt truly alive since then—just going through the motions of life, the decades slipping by as if time itself didn’t matter.

As Logan neared a small schoolhouse, something caught his eye. A group of children were gathered outside, their laughter echoing through the street as they played. But it wasn’t the children that caused Logan to stop. It was the woman standing among them, her smile bright as she helped one of the younger boys tie his shoe. The world around him seemed to blur, fading away as his gaze locked onto her.

It was you.

Logan’s heart stilled in his chest. He blinked, sure that his eyes were playing tricks on him, but there you were, the same face, the same gentle presence. You looked exactly as you had all those years ago—maybe a little younger, maybe a little different, but unmistakably you.

For a moment, he couldn’t move. He just stood there, watching you laugh with the children, completely unaware of his presence. His mind struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. You were dead. He had been there. He had held you as you took your last breath, felt the life leave your body. And yet, here you were, as if the last 26 years had never happened.

Logan’s feet moved on their own, pulling him closer to the schoolyard. His heart pounded in his chest, his throat dry. His mind raced with a thousand questions. How could this be? Was it some kind of dream? A cruel trick?

But the closer he got, the more real you became. You were wearing a simple dress, your hair tied up in a way he hadn’t seen before, and yet everything about you felt so familiar. The way you carried yourself, the warmth in your eyes as you spoke to the children—it was all you.

“Excuse me, miss,” he called out, his voice rougher than he intended.

You turned at the sound of his voice, your eyes meeting his for the first time, and Logan felt his heart lurch. It was like being thrown back in time—like the years between this moment and the day you died had vanished. You looked at him with a polite curiosity, but there was no recognition in your eyes. No flicker of memory. To you, he was just a stranger.

“Yes, can I help you?” you asked, your voice soft, kind.

Logan’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know what to say. How could he possibly explain what was running through his mind? How could he tell you that he had loved you, that he had lost you, and that now—somehow—you were standing in front of him again?

“I... I thought I knew you,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. He didn’t trust himself to say more. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the ring in his pocket suddenly feeling heavier than ever.

You smiled, but it was the smile of someone trying to be polite, not of someone who knew him. “I don’t think we’ve met before,” you said. “I’m Y/N. I’m the schoolteacher here.”

Logan swallowed hard. Of course, you wouldn’t remember. You had no idea who he was, no memory of the life you’d lived before. To you, this was just another day, another moment. But to Logan, it was everything. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. You were here, alive again, but you weren’t his Y/N. Not yet, anyway.

“I’m Logan,” he finally managed, his voice thick with emotion he couldn’t hide. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, his heart aching in a way that felt both familiar and new.

You nodded, offering another warm smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Logan. Was there something you needed?”

Logan shook his head slowly, still reeling from the shock of seeing you again. “No,” he said quietly. “No, I... I just thought you looked like someone I used to know.”

You tilted your head slightly, a curious look in your eyes. “I get that sometimes. Chicago’s a big city, but it can feel small.”

Logan nodded, though his mind was far from this moment. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from you, couldn’t shake the feeling that this was some kind of miracle—a second chance. But what could he do with it? Could he approach you, tell you everything? Or would that only drive you away?

Before he could say anything more, the school bell rang, and the children started to gather their things. You glanced back at the sound, then looked at him with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I have to get back to my class. But maybe I’ll see you around?”

Logan nodded, his throat too tight to respond with words. He watched as you turned and walked back toward the schoolhouse, his heart aching with the weight of all the things he couldn’t say.

For the first time in 26 years, Logan felt hope stir in his chest. You were here. You were alive. And even if you didn’t remember him, even if you didn’t know who he was... he couldn’t walk away. Not this time.

---

Logan stayed near the schoolyard most afternoons, hidden just enough not to draw attention, watching you from a distance. It felt strange, almost painful, standing there, knowing you had no idea who he was. Every time you emerged from the schoolhouse with Ida, another schoolteacher, chatting and laughing, the urge to approach you tugged at him. But fear held him back—fear that you’d think he was insane, or worse, that you’d reject him outright.

He clenched his fists inside his coat pockets, feeling the cool metal of the ring press against his palm. It had been with him through wars, across states, through lifetimes. And now, here you were, alive again, and he still didn’t know what to do with it.

It was absurd, the way his heart raced just from seeing you walk down the street. How after all these years—after so much pain—hope could sneak its way back in. This wasn’t just a coincidence. It couldn’t be. Logan wasn’t the type to believe in magic or miracles, but what else could explain this?

As he lingered, the school bell rang, signaling the end of another day. Children poured out of the building, laughing and running. A few hung on your arms as you walked them down the steps, their chatter filling the air.

Logan shifted from foot to foot, nerves prickling along his spine. Just talk to her, idiot. You’ve been through worse.

But when you stepped into the street, Ida at your side as usual, the words died in his throat.

“Y/N, you coming for dinner at my place tonight?” Ida asked, tucking a stray curl beneath her bonnet.

You smiled, brushing your hands on your skirts. “Can’t tonight, but I’ll stop by tomorrow. The kids wore me out today.”

Ida chuckled. “You’ll turn into an old maid before you’re thirty at this rate.”

You rolled your eyes, but your laugh was warm. Logan felt the sound of it settle deep in his chest—like an old memory coming back to life. It was a laugh he hadn’t heard in 26 years, and it took everything in him not to run to you right then and there.

As you and Ida turned the corner toward the tenement, Logan followed at a distance. His heart hammered against his ribs. He just needed a moment, a chance to say something—anything.

Finally, the two of you paused outside the building. Ida gave you a quick hug before heading upstairs, leaving you alone on the stoop. You stood there for a moment, adjusting your shawl against the evening chill.

This is it. Now or never.

Logan forced his feet to move, crossing the street toward you.

You looked up as he approached, a little surprised but not alarmed. “Logan, wasn’t it?”

His throat felt tight, but he gave a short nod. “Yeah. Logan.”

You smiled softly, the same kind smile that had haunted his dreams. “What brings you by?”

He cleared his throat, trying to find the right words. “I... I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, but there was no fear, only curiosity. “About what?”

Logan shifted his weight, his hands tightening around the edges of his coat. The ring in his pocket seemed to burn against his skin, a reminder of everything unsaid.

“I... You remind me of someone,” he admitted, voice low. “Someone I lost a long time ago.”

You studied him for a moment, your gaze steady but gentle. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “That must’ve been hard.”

Logan’s jaw clenched. “Yeah,” he muttered. “It was.”

There was a beat of silence between you—heavy, charged with the weight of all the things Logan couldn’t say. You didn’t know him, didn’t know what you’d meant to him in another life, but standing here, so close to you again, it felt like the world had tilted back into place.

“You... wanna walk for a bit?” Logan asked suddenly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

You hesitated, but only for a moment. Something in his expression must’ve stirred your kindness, because you nodded. “Alright.”

The two of you started down the sidewalk together, the city humming around you. Logan kept his hands stuffed in his pockets, fingers brushing the ring again and again like a talisman.

“So, how long have you been in Chicago?” you asked, glancing over at him.

Logan shrugged. “Not long. Just passing through.”

You gave a small smile. “It’s a good place to get lost in for a while.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Guess so.”

The conversation fell into a comfortable rhythm after that—small talk, nothing too deep. Logan told you bits and pieces about his travels, careful not to reveal too much. He learned that you’d moved to Chicago a couple of years ago, taking the teaching job because it felt right.

“I’ve always liked working with kids,” you said with a soft smile. “There’s something... hopeful about it, you know?”

Logan nodded, though hope had been a foreign concept to him for a long time. But walking beside you now, listening to your voice, he felt something stir in him—a flicker of warmth he thought he’d lost forever.

As the evening deepened and the sky turned a dusky purple, you reached your building again. You stopped on the stoop, turning to face him.

“Thank you for the walk,” you said, your smile gentle. “It was nice.”

Logan nodded, his heart heavy with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t. “Yeah. It was.”

For a moment, it felt like time stood still—like the universe had bent just enough to give him this moment with you. And even though you didn’t remember him, didn’t know the history you shared, Logan knew he couldn’t let you slip away again.

“Y/N...” he began, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You tilted your head, waiting.

He swallowed hard, the words catching in his throat. “Can I see you again?”

Your smile widened, something warm flickering in your eyes. “I’d like that.”

Logan gave a short nod, his heart pounding against his ribs.

“Good,” he murmured.

And for the first time in 26 years, Logan allowed himself to believe—just for a moment—that maybe, just maybe, he’d found his way back to you.

---

You had taken up Ida’s offer after all, you lived in the same building so it wasn’t like it was out of the way for you.

“Oh, hey! Thought you weren’t gonna come by.”

You shrugged, taking off your shawl, “changed my mind.” You sat down on the couch and told Ida about your walk with Logan, and she listened intently.

“I’m surprised you hadn’t noticed him. He’s been watching the schoolyard for the past few weeks.”

"Wait, what do you mean, ‘he’s been watching the schoolyard for weeks?’” you asked, your brows knitting together as you leaned forward.

Ida waved her hand dismissively but gave you a sly smile. “Oh, don’t get the wrong idea. He hasn’t been creepy about it or anything. Just... noticed him hanging around, that’s all. Kind of hard to miss a guy like that, don’t you think?”

You blinked, a sudden flush creeping up your neck. “A guy like what?”

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” she teased, sitting down across from you. “Tall, rugged... that serious, brooding look. You’re telling me you didn’t notice? He’s practically been glued to the corner across from the schoolhouse for days.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, thinking back to the walk you’d just had with Logan. You hadn’t seen him watching the school, but now that Ida mentioned it... there had been something in his eyes. A familiarity you couldn’t quite place, like he was looking at you but seeing something—or someone—else.

“I didn’t know he was hanging around,” you admitted, glancing down at your hands. “But... he seems kind. Sad, but kind.”

Ida leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest with a thoughtful hum. “Sad, huh? You picked up on that, too?”

You nodded, feeling a strange tightness in your chest. There had been a weight to Logan’s presence, something unspoken in his voice, like he was carrying the world on his shoulders. And then there was the way he looked at you—like he wanted to say something but couldn’t bring himself to.

“You think he’s okay?” you asked quietly.

Ida shrugged, her teasing expression softening. “Who knows? The world’s a tough place. We all got our own burdens to carry. But... maybe he’s looking for something.”

“Looking for what?”

“Maybe someone to share the load,” she replied with a small smile, her eyes twinkling. “Maybe that someone’s you.”

You shook your head, the idea seeming too far-fetched. “I don’t even know him, Ida. I mean, we just talked for the first time today.”

“Hey, stranger things have happened,” Ida said, getting up to grab a pot of tea from the stove. “You felt something, right? That’s not nothing.”

You sighed, leaning back against the couch. “I guess. He did say I reminded him of someone he lost.”

Ida paused, setting the teapot down carefully. “Lost, huh? That would explain the sad part. But... why hang around you then? What’s he hoping to find?”

“I don’t know,” you murmured, more to yourself than to her. The idea that Logan had been watching you, even unknowingly, made something stir in your chest—a mix of curiosity and something you couldn’t quite name.

Ida handed you a cup of tea, sitting back down beside you. “Well, maybe next time you see him, you can ask.”

You looked up at her, one eyebrow raised. “Ask him why he’s hanging around the schoolyard?”

Ida laughed softly. “Maybe not that bluntly, but yeah. There’s something about him, Y/N. Might be worth finding out what.”

You sipped the tea, the warmth spreading through you. Maybe Ida was right. Maybe Logan was carrying something heavy, and maybe—just maybe—you could help.

---

The next day, you found yourself more aware of your surroundings as you walked to the schoolhouse. Every sound, every movement seemed sharper. You scanned the street, looking for a familiar figure, but Logan wasn’t there—at least, not that you could see.

The day went on as usual, though you felt a bit distracted, your mind drifting to the walk you’d shared with him. There was something about Logan that pulled at you, a quiet intensity that you couldn’t shake. He was a mystery, and part of you wanted to solve it.

When the school day ended, you lingered outside a little longer than usual, hoping—half-expecting—that he might show up again. The children ran off, their laughter echoing down the street as they disappeared into their homes. You smiled at the sight, but your thoughts were elsewhere.

“Looking for someone?”

You jumped slightly, turning to find Logan standing just a few feet away. He had approached so quietly you hadn’t even heard him.

“Logan,” you said, surprised but not unwelcome. “I didn’t see you.”

He gave a small shrug, his hands shoved into his coat pockets. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

You smiled softly, your heartbeat slowing as the initial surprise wore off. “It’s alright. Just didn’t expect to see you today.”

Logan shifted his weight, his gaze flicking to the ground for a moment before meeting yours again. “I wanted to see if you’d like to take another walk. If you’re not too tired, that is.”

You hesitated, but only for a second. There was something in his voice—something vulnerable, almost hesitant. And despite not knowing him well, you found yourself wanting to say yes.

“I’d like that,” you said, stepping down from the schoolhouse stoop.

The two of you started walking again, this time in a different direction, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the street. For a while, neither of you spoke. It was a comfortable silence, though, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. Logan walked beside you, his steps steady but deliberate, like he was trying to figure something out.

“Why’ve you been hanging around the school?” you finally asked, your curiosity getting the better of you. “Ida said she noticed you there for a while.”

Logan’s jaw tightened slightly, and he didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was quiet. “I wasn’t trying to... I don’t know. I guess I was just... drawn there.”

“Drawn there?” you echoed, glancing up at him.

He nodded, his gaze fixed ahead. “Yeah. Like I said before, you remind me of someone.”

You didn’t press, sensing that whatever it was, it was personal. Instead, you walked in silence for a few more steps before Logan stopped abruptly.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said, turning to face you fully. His eyes were intense, but there was something almost apologetic in them. “If I am, just tell me, and I’ll leave you alone.”

You shook your head quickly. “No, you’re not making me uncomfortable.”

Logan studied your face, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he gave a small nod, almost as if he was relieved.

“Alright,” he said quietly.

The conversation shifted after that, lightening as you talked about small things—the city, your students, even the weather. Logan listened more than he spoke, but you could feel him relax bit by bit, the tension in his posture easing as the afternoon wore on.

When you reached your building again, Logan stopped with you on the stoop. There was a moment of hesitation, like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you asked, offering him a small smile.

Logan looked at you for a long beat before nodding. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

As you turned to head inside, you couldn’t help but glance back over your shoulder. Logan was still standing there, watching you with that same look in his eyes—the one that made you feel like you were more than just a stranger to him.

And in that moment, you realized... you didn’t want to be just a stranger to him either.

---

After about a week of Logan walking you home, it became a familiar routine. Each time, you’d stand on the stoop, exchanging a few words before you’d head inside, always with that lingering feeling of something left unsaid. But tonight was different—the air was colder, and the wind was biting, so when you reached your building, you didn’t hesitate.

“You’re not going out in that cold again,” you said firmly, reaching for his arm. He tensed slightly under your touch, but you ignored it, tugging him toward the door. “Ten minutes outside in the cold, you need to warm up before you go.”

Logan didn’t protest, but you could sense his hesitation. He glanced around the dimly lit hallway as you led him up the stairs to your small apartment.

“Don’t worry,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. “I won’t keep you long. Just until you can feel your fingers again.”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, following you inside. Once you were both in, you motioned for him to sit down on the worn couch, tossing your shawl onto a chair as you made your way to the stove to boil some water for tea.

Logan stood there for a moment, his eyes scanning the modest space, before finally sitting down. His presence seemed to fill the room, making it feel smaller, more intimate.

“You don’t gotta fuss,” he muttered, his gruff voice breaking the silence. “I’m alright.”

“Humor me,” you replied with a soft smile, setting a kettle on the stove. “Besides, I’ve been dragging you along on these walks. Least I can do is make sure you’re not freezing to death.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, leaning back into the couch. His eyes followed your movements, though his expression stayed guarded. He looked... cautious, like he wasn’t sure how to be here with you, in this space. It was strange, this carefulness, coming from a man who seemed so unbreakable.

“Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?” you asked, turning to face him while the water heated up. “We’ve been walking for a week, and I feel like I barely know you.”

Logan’s gaze shifted, and you could tell he was weighing his words. “Not much to tell,” he said after a beat. “Just a guy who’s been around a while.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “That’s it? No family, no friends? You just... wander?”

He looked down at his hands, his fingers idly tracing the worn fabric of the couch. “Had family once. Friends, too. Lost most of ‘em.”

There was a heaviness in his voice, and you could feel the weight of his words. You didn’t push him, though. Instead, you poured the hot water into two cups, walking over and handing him one.

“Sorry,” you said softly. “That must’ve been hard.”

Logan took the cup but didn’t drink right away. He stared down into the tea, his expression unreadable. “Life’s hard for everyone,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You sat down beside him, the warmth from the cup seeping into your hands. For a while, the two of you sat in silence, sipping tea and letting the quiet fill the space. There was something about being near him that made you feel calm, like the world slowed down for a little while when he was around.

“Why’d you let me walk with you?” Logan asked suddenly, his voice rougher than before.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t know me,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “Most people wouldn’t... They’d be scared, or they’d push me away. But you... you let me stay.”

You frowned, trying to find the right words. “I don’t know... I guess I just felt like... I should.” You shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious under his intense gaze. “Besides, you’re not exactly a scary guy. Brooding, sure, but not scary.”

A small, barely-there smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re not afraid of much, are you?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Not really. I mean, what’s the point of being afraid? Life’s hard enough without worrying about things that might not even happen.”

Logan’s smile faded, replaced by that familiar look of sadness. He stared into his cup for a moment, then set it down on the table in front of him. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Guess you’re right.”

The silence stretched between you again, but this time it felt heavier, like there was something unsaid hanging in the air. You could feel it, pressing down on both of you, but neither of you seemed ready to break it.

Finally, Logan stood up, his movements slow and deliberate. “I should go,” he said, though he didn’t make a move toward the door.

You stood up too, your heart pounding a little harder than usual. “Logan...”

He turned to face you, his eyes dark and full of something you couldn’t quite place. “Yeah?”

You took a step closer, your hand reaching out to touch his arm again. “You don’t have to carry it all alone,” you said softly.

For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then, without saying a word, he nodded once, a silent acknowledgment that you didn’t need to explain.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said quietly before turning to leave.

You watched him go, your heart heavy but hopeful. There was something between you—something unspoken, something old—and you weren’t ready to let it go.

Not yet.

---

It had taken a few more days to convince Logan to come back into your apartment. You weren’t sure how you convinced him this time, but you were happy that you did.

Your apartment smelled nice and homey. Before you had left for work, you had put bread in the oven to bake, and now, as you came back home with Logan in tow, it was finished. The warm, inviting scent of freshly baked bread filled the room as you stepped inside. Logan hesitated in the doorway, lingering for a moment before following you in, his expression unreadable but curious.

You busied yourself with the bread, slicing into the crust and offering Logan a piece. He took it, though his attention seemed more focused on you than the food.

"Thanks," he muttered, taking a bite.

You smiled, trying to ignore the way your heart sped up just from him being here. "I was thinking..." you started, turning to grab a couple of plates from the cupboard. "Maybe we could go into the city tomorrow? It’s market day. There's a lot to see, and it’d be nice to get out of the schoolhouse routine for a bit."

Logan raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter. "Market, huh?"

"Yeah, you know, just... walk around. Maybe pick up a few things." You looked over at him, half expecting him to decline, but to your surprise, he didn’t.

"Alright," he said, his voice low but without hesitation. "I’ll come with you."

You smiled, feeling a small flutter of excitement in your chest. "Great. It’ll be fun. I promise."

---

The next day, you found yourself walking through the bustling streets of Chicago with Logan by your side. The market was crowded, full of people haggling and chatting, the air thick with the smell of fresh produce, spices, and the occasional whiff of roasting meat. It was a world away from the quiet walks you'd shared, and you could feel Logan's unease in the busy atmosphere. But he stayed close, his hand brushing yours more than once as you wove through the crowd.

"Do you come here often?" Logan asked, his eyes scanning the vendors with mild interest.

"Once or twice a month," you replied. "I like the energy here. Makes the city feel alive, you know?"

Logan grunted in response, though he didn’t seem entirely convinced. You could tell he wasn’t used to this—being around so many people—but he stuck close to you, his presence protective without being overbearing.

After a while, you stopped at a stall selling flowers. The colors were vibrant, a burst of life in the middle of the dusty street. You picked up a small bouquet of wildflowers, smiling as you held them up.

"These are my favorite," you said, glancing up at Logan. "They're simple but... I don't know, they make me happy."

Logan’s gaze softened as he looked at the flowers in your hand, then back at you. There was something in his eyes, a flicker of something unspoken, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a few coins, handing them to the vendor before you could protest.

"Logan, you don’t have to—"

"Consider it a thank you," he said quietly, cutting you off. "For the bread."

You blinked, surprised but touched by the gesture. "Well, thank you."

He nodded, and the two of you continued walking, the flowers resting in the crook of your arm as the city bustled around you. For a while, you walked in comfortable silence, the sounds of the market fading into the background as the two of you wandered further from the busy streets. Eventually, you found a quiet park at the edge of the city, a small, peaceful space away from the noise.

You sat down on a bench, feeling the cool breeze brush against your skin. Logan sat beside you, his posture relaxed but his eyes always scanning the area, as if he couldn’t fully let his guard down.

"Do you ever stop looking over your shoulder?" you asked, half teasing but curious.

Logan’s mouth twitched into a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Old habit."

You studied him for a moment, sensing there was more behind those words. He had a way of holding himself, like he was always ready for something, always waiting. It made you wonder just how much he’d seen, how much he’d lived through.

"I��m glad you came with me today," you said softly, looking out at the park. "I feel like I’ve been stuck in a routine for a while now. It’s nice to just... do something different."

Logan glanced at you, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual. "I’m glad I came too," he admitted, his voice low.

There was something in the way he said it, something that made your heart skip a beat. The air between you felt different, charged with a quiet tension that neither of you seemed willing to break. You wondered if he felt it too—the strange pull between you, like something just beneath the surface was waiting to be uncovered.

After a long pause, Logan spoke again. "I ain’t good at... this." He gestured vaguely, his brow furrowing as he searched for the right words. "Being close to people."

You turned to him, surprised by the admission. "You’re doing fine," you said gently.

Logan’s jaw clenched slightly, and he shook his head. "It’s not that simple."

You felt a pang of something—sympathy, maybe, or understanding. Whatever it was, it made you reach out, your hand lightly brushing his. "You don’t have to explain," you said softly. "I get it."

Logan’s eyes flickered down to where your hand rested near his. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, he turned his hand over, his rough fingers brushing against yours in the faintest of touches. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a step—like maybe, just maybe, he was letting you in.

---

As you walked to the tenement building after work one day, you glanced over at Logan. “You ever been to the exhibition hall in the city?”

Logan looked over to you, slightly puzzled by the question. “The exhibition?”

You nodded, turning toward him. “There’s a display of inventions and art from all over. I heard they’ve got this new thing—electric lights. I was thinking about going this weekend, and… maybe you’d like to come with me?”

For a moment, Logan just stared at you, as if unsure what to say. The idea of stepping out into the city, surrounded by people, probably wasn’t something he did often. But he shifted slightly, his eyes softening in that way they did when you caught him off guard.

“You want me to go with you?” he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Well, yeah,” you said, smiling. “We’ve been walking the same few streets for days. Thought it might be nice to do something different. Besides, I’m curious about those lights. They say it’s going to change the way people live.”

Logan gave a low, thoughtful hum, and for a moment, you worried he might decline. But then he nodded slowly, his expression softening further. “Alright. I’ll go.”

Your smile widened. “Great! We can meet at my place on Saturday afternoon, then head out.”

The conversation drifted back into easier topics—your students, a new bakery that had opened nearby, and the way the city seemed to grow busier every day. But beneath it all, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this small invitation marked a shift, a way to see more of who Logan was beyond the quiet man who walked beside you in silence. Maybe out in the world, you’d understand him better.

---

Saturday came quickly, and the two of you walked side by side through the busy streets, the sounds of horses and carriages filling the air. You led Logan through the bustling avenues toward the exhibition hall, your excitement barely contained.

“Ever seen anything like this?” you asked, glancing up at him as the towering hall came into view.

Logan’s eyes flicked over the building, a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not in a while.”

Inside, the hall was a wonder of modern marvels. Booths lined with mechanical inventions, sculptures, and paintings from around the world. The hum of excitement filled the air, and the bright new electric lights cast a strange, almost magical glow over everything.

You wandered the displays together, your curiosity leading the way. Logan stayed close, his attention less on the inventions and more on you. Every now and then, he'd glance at a piece of machinery or a strange-looking contraption, but his eyes kept drifting back to your face, watching the way your expression changed with each new discovery.

"This is incredible," you murmured, leaning in to get a closer look at a large machine labeled as an ‘automatic loom.’ You smiled at Logan, your excitement clear. "Can you imagine how much time this would save?"

Logan nodded, though you could tell his thoughts were elsewhere. "Yeah, I can see how it'd be useful."

You moved to the next display, but Logan lingered for a moment. When he finally caught up, you were already studying a painting—a soft, pastoral scene that contrasted with the industrial energy around you.

"It's beautiful, isn’t it?" you said, glancing at him.

Logan’s gaze flicked to the painting, but quickly returned to you. "Yeah," he said, though it was clear he wasn’t talking about the art.

You felt his eyes on you again and looked up, meeting his gaze. There was something there—something that made your heart skip. Logan had always been protective, always hovering just close enough to shield you if need be. But this felt different, like there was more to it now.

"You sure this ain’t boring for you?" you asked, trying to lighten the moment. "I know you’re not one for crowds."

Logan gave a quiet grunt, his version of a chuckle. "It’s fine. Long as you’re enjoying yourself."

You smiled, touched by the sentiment. "I am. Thanks for coming with me."

For a while, you wandered together in silence, taking in the sights and sounds of the exhibition hall. The crowds around you buzzed with excitement, but the space between you and Logan felt almost separate—like the world had shrunk to just the two of you.

At one point, you stopped in front of a display showcasing early electric light bulbs. "Look at that," you said, pointing to the glass bulbs flickering with soft light. "They’re saying these will replace gas lamps soon."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Doesn’t seem right, replacing something that’s worked for so long."

"Change is good sometimes," you said, glancing at him. "It keeps things moving forward."

Logan met your eyes, his expression soft but thoughtful. "Guess I’ve never been good with change."

You tilted your head slightly, sensing the weight behind his words. "Maybe you just haven’t found the right reason to embrace it yet."

For a moment, Logan didn’t respond. His gaze lingered on you, like he was trying to make sense of something. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Maybe."

As the afternoon wore on, the two of you eventually stepped outside the exhibition hall, the sun low in the sky and the city’s evening glow starting to take over. The air felt cooler now, a welcome relief after the warmth of the crowded hall.

You walked beside Logan in comfortable silence, but the charged undercurrent between you hadn’t faded. It felt like something had shifted—like you’d both acknowledged a deeper connection, even if neither of you had fully put it into words yet.

"You want to get something to eat?" Logan asked, breaking the silence.

"Sure," you said, smiling up at him. "There’s a place not far from here. They make the best stew."

Logan nodded, falling into step beside you again as you made your way toward the small restaurant you had in mind. The quiet between you was easy, but there was an unspoken understanding that something had changed between the two of you today. Neither of you said it out loud, but you didn’t need to.

As you entered the restaurant, the warm scent of food filled the air, and you found a table near the back, away from the main crowd. Logan took the seat across from you, his eyes scanning the room out of habit, but eventually settling back on you.

"This place isn’t so bad," he said, giving a small nod of approval.

You laughed softly. "Glad it meets your standards."

Logan smirked, but there was a softness behind it. As the two of you talked over dinner, you realized just how much you enjoyed moments like this—quiet, simple, yet meaningful. It wasn’t about grand gestures or fancy places; it was about being together, about the way Logan made you feel safe and seen.

---

One day, after inviting Logan into your apartment once again, you set out to make tea like you always do.

You felt a cough building up in your throat, so you grabbed a small handkerchief from the counter and coughed into it. You had seen the school doctor while you were at work, and he said you just had a mild cold.

Logan, who was sitting on the couch, immediately turned his head to you, his heart almost beating out of his chest. He’d heard that cough before—26 years ago.

"Y/N?" he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You turned around, still holding the handkerchief to your mouth. "Yeah?" you answered casually, noticing the tension in his voice but thinking nothing of it. “Just a little cough, nothing serious. I saw the doctor earlier, and he said it’s just a cold.”

Logan stood up slowly, his eyes fixed on you, his expression unreadable. He took a step closer, his mind racing back to 1854, to your last days—bedridden and coughing, just like this. He had lost you then, watching helplessly as the illness took you. He couldn't shake the feeling, the memory, and the fear that history might repeat itself.

"Cold, huh?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady, but there was an edge to it.

"Yeah, no big deal." You smiled, folding the handkerchief and putting it back in your pocket. "Really, Logan, I’m fine."

Logan’s jaw tightened. He had seen too much, lived too long to believe in coincidence. This was too familiar, too painful. And yet, here you were—alive, vibrant. This time, he couldn’t lose you again. He wouldn't.

"You should take it easy," he said, stepping closer, his tone gentler now. "You been workin' too hard at that school."

You raised an eyebrow, sensing his concern but not quite understanding the depth of it. "I’m fine, really. It’s just a little cold. Nothing that rest and tea won’t fix."

Logan didn’t argue, but the worry in his eyes didn’t fade. He reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before he gently brushed his fingers against your arm, grounding himself in the fact that you were here, with him. This wasn’t 1854. But the memory haunted him.

You noticed the way he was looking at you, his eyes searching yours like he was afraid to lose you. "Hey," you said softly, resting a hand on his. "What’s really going on?"

Logan’s breath hitched for a moment, and he fought the urge to pull you closer, to tell you everything. But how could he? How could he explain that you’d been here before—that he’d watched you die, that he’d loved you once in another life, in another time? Instead, he just shook his head, the weight of those memories too heavy to share.

"Just... don’t push yourself too hard," he said, his voice quieter now. "I’ve seen people get worse when they don’t take care of themselves."

You nodded, though his intensity still lingered in your mind. "I promise, I’ll rest." You gave him a reassuring smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Besides, you’ll make sure I do, right?"

Logan’s lips quirked into the smallest smile, but there was still something distant in his eyes. "Yeah," he said softly. "I will."

The moment hung in the air, the unspoken weight of Logan’s past pressing down on him, though you couldn’t see it. You were the same, and yet not. The woman he had once loved and lost was standing right in front of him, alive, but without any memory of that life you’d shared.

---

You didn’t see Logan for a few days, which was unusual, ever since he started walking with you he had never missed a day.

You couldn’t help but worry a tad bit, it wasn’t like him to just not be there. Even Ida had made a few comments, including now as you sat in her apartment, just a few doors down from your own, sipping tea.

“He hasn’t been by at all?” Ida asked, her brow furrowed with concern. “That man never misses a day. He’s usually lurking outside, waitin’ to walk you home.”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah, I noticed. It’s been three days now.”

Ida leaned forward, her hands folded on the table. “You don’t think somethin’s happened to him, do ya? That man is tough, sure, but even the toughest get into trouble sometimes.”

You shook your head quickly, not wanting to entertain the thought. “No, I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe he just needed some time alone. He’s... not the type to explain himself much.”

Ida hummed, though she didn’t look convinced. “Maybe. But if he doesn’t show up soon, you ought to go find him. He’s a good man, Y/N, and you’ve only known him a month, but it’s clear he cares about you.”

The truth of her words settled over you, heavy and unspoken. You cared about Logan too. Even if you didn’t quite understand the pull between you, it was there—undeniable. And the fact that he hadn’t shown up, without so much as a word, made your chest tighten with worry.

Later that evening, after you’d left Ida’s apartment and returned to your own, you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling. Logan had become part of your routine, part of your day-to-day life. And now that he was gone, it felt like something was missing.

Just as you were about to turn in for the night, a knock sounded at the door.

Your heart jumped, and you rushed to open it, half expecting—half hoping—it would be Logan.

And there he was.

He stood in the doorway, his coat damp from the light rain outside, his hair slightly tousled. His eyes, though, were what caught you—the familiar intensity, but with something else lurking beneath. Something darker.

“Logan,” you breathed, stepping aside to let him in. “Where have you been? I was starting to get worried.”

Logan stepped into your small apartment, his broad frame somehow filling the space, making it feel even smaller. He didn’t say anything right away, just ran a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply, as if he were trying to gather his thoughts.

“I needed time,” he finally said, his voice low and gravelly.

“Time for what?” you asked gently, sensing that whatever he was about to say wasn’t easy for him.

Logan glanced at you, then looked away, as if he couldn’t meet your eyes. His jaw tightened, and you could see the struggle on his face—like he was wrestling with something deep inside. After a long pause, he spoke again, quieter this time.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, the words sounding foreign in his mouth, like he wasn’t used to saying them.

You blinked, taken aback. Logan was the last person you ever expected to hear those words from. “Scared of what?”

His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and you saw the vulnerability there, raw and unguarded. “Of losing you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Logan… we’ve only known each other for a month,” you said softly, though the words felt strange even as they left your mouth. Because deep down, it felt like you’d known him much longer—like this connection between you was more than just a month in the making.

“I know,” Logan said, his voice rough. “But it doesn’t change how I feel.”

There was something in the way he was looking at you, something desperate and pained, like he was holding onto you with everything he had. You wanted to ask him why, to understand what had happened in his past to make him feel this way. But instead, you just reached out, your hand finding his.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said quietly, squeezing his hand gently. “I’m right here.”

Logan’s breath hitched, and before you could say anything more, he stepped closer, his hand cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushed your cheek, his touch rough but gentle, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fall away. It was just the two of you, standing in the quiet of your apartment, the air between you thick with unspoken words.

And then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was urgent, almost desperate, like he was trying to tell you everything he couldn’t put into words. His lips moved against yours with a fierceness that took your breath away, and for a moment, all you could do was hold onto him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his coat as you kissed him back.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His hand still cupped your cheek, his thumb gently brushing along your jawline.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Your heart ached at the raw honesty in his words, and you wanted to promise him that he wouldn’t—that you were here, that you weren’t going anywhere. But something about the way he said it made you hesitate, made you wonder what he wasn’t telling you.

“Logan…” you started, your voice soft. “What aren’t you telling me?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. His hand dropped from your face, and he took a step back, his expression guarded once again. The walls he’d let down just moments ago seemed to be rising back up.

“I’ve lived a long time,” he said finally, his voice low. “I’ve lost people before. People I cared about. I can’t… I can’t go through that again.”

You felt a pang in your chest at his words, but there was something else there too—something unspoken. “Logan… who did you lose?”

His eyes flickered with pain, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he just shook his head, as if he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

You wanted to press him, to understand, but you also knew that Logan wasn’t someone who opened up easily. So instead, you just stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him in a gentle hug. He stiffened at first, but then his arms slowly came around you, pulling you close as if he was afraid to let go.

“I’m here,” you whispered against his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For now, that was all you could offer him. And for now, it seemed to be enough.

---

You and Ida sat in the back of the rattling carriage, bundled against the cold, the wheels creaking beneath the weight of your bags from the market. The late afternoon sky was heavy with clouds, promising rain before nightfall and a storm by morning.

“Supposed to come down hard tomorrow,” Ida said, clutching her shawl tighter. “Glad we got everything done now. Don’t wanna be caught in that mess.”

You smiled, shifting a bag of potatoes off your lap. “It’ll be nice to have an excuse to stay in and rest. Logan’s been after me about taking it easy anyway.”

Ida gave you a knowing look, her brow lifting. “That man likes you, Y/N. More than you think.”

You shrugged, though your cheeks warmed slightly. “I know he cares. He’s just… different. Keeps to himself.”

“He’s different, alright,” Ida muttered, peering out the carriage window. “But he’s not the type to care about someone without good reason. Don’t let that one get away.”

You didn’t respond, but your thoughts drifted to Logan—how he had kissed you that night, holding you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. There was something ancient in his touch, like he had carried the weight of loss for far too long. You didn’t fully understand it, but you felt it—something deeper than words or time.

The carriage jolted suddenly, jerking you forward in your seat. The horse up front whinnied, wild and panicked.

“Whoa!” the driver shouted, yanking hard on the reins.

You clutched Ida’s arm, your heart racing. “What’s going on?”

The driver cursed, standing in his seat to get a better look. “The damn harness snapped! The horse—”

Before he could finish, the horse bolted, the broken leather straps slapping wildly behind it. The carriage lurched, and you and Ida were thrown sideways. The wheels screamed as they spun out of control, the driver shouting as he fought to keep it steady.

“Hold on!” he yelled.

The world tilted violently as the carriage careened off the road, slamming into a ditch. Bags spilled across the floor, and you hit your shoulder hard against the side wall. Ida’s scream filled your ears, but the noise was drowned out by the thunder of the collapsing carriage, wood splintering and wheels buckling beneath the weight.

And then—nothing.

The carriage stopped, shuddering to a halt in a twisted heap at the bottom of the ditch. The rain started, light at first, pattering against the wreckage.

---

Logan was walking back toward your tenement building, the collar of his coat turned up against the cold drizzle, when he saw it—just beyond the next block, down by the road.

The sight hit him like a punch to the chest.

A carriage, overturned, one of the wheels still spinning lazily. The horse was gone, its reins dangling uselessly from the harness. People were gathering, but no one dared approach the wreckage yet.

Logan’s heart stopped. He knew—he just knew.

His feet moved before he could think. He sprinted toward the wreck, rain falling harder now, soaking through his clothes. His boots hit the muddy road with heavy thuds, splashing water as he ran faster than any ordinary man should.

By the time he reached the scene, a bystander had climbed down, trying to pry the splintered door open. Logan shoved him aside without a word, claws itching under his skin, ready to tear the door off if need be.

“Someone’s inside!” the man stammered. “Two women—”

Logan didn’t wait. His hands found the edge of the door, and with a growl of effort, he yanked it off the hinges. Inside the crumpled interior, he saw you, half-buried beneath scattered bags.

“Y/N!” His voice cracked, raw and frantic. He dropped to his knees and pulled you free, cradling you in his arms.

You stirred, barely conscious, your head lolling against his chest. Blood streaked your temple, and your breath came in shallow gasps.

“Logan…?” you whispered, confused, your hand weakly grasping his coat.

“I got you,” Logan said, his voice breaking. “I’m here. You’re gonna be fine.” But even as he said it, dread gnawed at him—this wasn’t fine. It was happening again.

Ida groaned nearby, struggling to sit up, but Logan’s focus was locked on you. He pressed a hand against your side, where your ribs felt wrong under his touch. He could feel the heat of your blood seeping into his fingers.

“No, no, no…” Logan whispered, shaking his head. The storm raged around him, but all he could hear was the shallow rasp of your breathing.

You looked up at him, your gaze unfocused, but your lips curled into the faintest smile. “I told you… I’d rest…”

“Don’t,” Logan begged, his forehead pressing against yours. “Don’t do this. Stay with me. You hear me? Stay.”

You blinked slowly, your hand slipping from his coat. “I… tried…”

Logan clenched his jaw, biting down hard against the scream building in his chest. His healing mutation would keep him alive through anything—but it couldn’t save you. Not now. Not again.

He kissed your forehead, his breath shuddering. “I can’t lose you again, darlin’. Not like this…”

Your breath hitched once, then stopped.

“No,” Logan whispered, rocking you in his arms. “No, no, no…”

His hands trembled as he pulled you closer, your lifeless body limp against him. The rain poured down harder, drumming on the wreckage, but Logan didn’t care. He sat there, holding you, feeling the familiar, soul-crushing emptiness settle in his chest like an old wound tearing open again.

And still, he held you. Because this time, just like 26 years ago, he couldn’t let go.

in this chapter logan is 48 years old and reader is around 22-24 years old. just a reminder that going forward there is going to be an age gap between the two since logan obviously keeps getting older.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fic #i love you in every time #logan ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ #abby's works ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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