#coding anger management

[bdking71]

Programmer’s Rage: Why Code Breaks Men and How to Break Back

1,449 words, 8 minutes read time. When Syntax Errors Feel Personal If you’re a programmer, you’ve been there: staring at the screen, utterly convinced the bug is mocking you. It’s not just frustration; it’s a deep, simmering rage that can feel like your favorite wrench suddenly refuses to fit the bolt. This phenomenon, known as Programmer’s Rage, isn’t just about faulty code or missed…

[tuttle-did-it]

Let's talk about ~Difficult Women~

I randomly came across this video in the middle of a YouTube rabbit hole. I grew up watching Three's Company, and I remember always hearing things like-

'Suzanne Somers was fired because she was so ~difficult~' 'Suzanne Somers was a nightmare to work with, that's why she has no career.' 'Suzanne Somers intentionally tanked her lines to make the show fail because she wanted to get off.' 'Suzanne Somers made John Ritter and Joyce DeWitt's lives absolutely miserable.' 'Suzanne Somers was greedy, and had a stand off with the producers because her ego was too big to get through the door.' 'Suzanne Somers has to be careful on her Step by Step set- she doesn't want to get fired for being ~difficult~ again.' 'None of the actors on Three's Company can stand Suzanne Somers, they won't speak to her.'

In actuality, Suzanne Somers' character became the breakout star of the show, and Suzanne's biggest crime was asking for a more equal pay to John Ritter.

The whole cast turned on her because she was asking for equality (her character had the most laughs). She was one of the biggest women TV stars in the '70s: when someone as famous as her was fired for having the fucking nerve to ask for equality, it was a sign to every women out there: don't ask for equality or you will be punished and lose everything.

When you hear that a woman is ~difficult~ maybe clarify what that means-- does it just mean that she's asking to be treated with respect like an equal human? Because it's probably that she's asking to be treated with respect like an equal human.

'She got fried for leaving,' says Step by Step co-star Patrick Duffy about Somers' departure from Three's Company. 'They poisoned the well, there, in terms of trying to renegotiate. She didn't wanna leave. She... demanded a renegotiation [...] And so, they didn't fire her, they ostracised her. They basically shunned her. She was no longer in those ensemble wonderful scenes in the living room of everybody falling over the couches... she had a two-walled set, a chair, and a phone. And they would call Chrissy [Somers' character].'

[bluemoonbun]

Reader is implied to like feminine things, though gender identity is kept ambiguous.

Damian was a good brother. That’s what he always told himself. He was a good brother, a good son. He was cold, rude, and erudite, but he was able and willing to help anyone who needed it.

When he arrived at Wayne manor, Bruce told him the general run down of why you were to be avoided when it came to anything vigilante related. You were still pure, a year younger than Damian but without any of the pain. The only one in the Wayne manor that could have a shot at becoming a normal person. Damian envied that, but kept it to himself. His anger often boiled to the top, drops of green venom dripping from his mouth when you tried to annoy him into spending time with you.

Your complaints of him ignoring you was scalding water on his already raw nerves. Why would you complain about not being the center of attention for five damn seconds? He would trade anything for the life you had. A life where you could lay around after school and never worry about a rogue bullet lodging itself in your arm, or a poisonous plant releasing psychedelic spores into an open wound.

You could and would never join the Robins. You were weak; it was in your blood. Always sickly, always the pacifist. You wouldn't survive a day in his life. And you weren't living his life; you were living his dream.

But apparently the effort the family was putting in wasn’t enough.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed that the manor felt… off about two weeks before the fight with Joker. He couldn’t trace it for the life of him at first. When he realized by the second week that he hadn’t spoken to you in days, or really seen you around the manor at all, he wrote off the worms writhing in his stomach. You must’ve been busy with a class assignment and had little time to annoy him with your demands of time together.

After the fight, however, he was a war of a thousand emotions. How dare you leave them? Why would you turn away an easy life fat on nepotism for a group of murderers, con men, the dredges of Gotham’s society?

Were you truly that desperate to be acknowledged that you’d turn your back on the family who did everything for you? He hopes you’re happy there, since you were clearly so upset at not being given attention.

Over time, however, things start to change. A few days after Jason made a full recovery, Damian looked at one of the drones Tim managed to get a chunk of code from. It took a lot of trial and error, and the development of an entirely new program to grab some of the code before it bricked itself, and enough all nighters and energy drinks that any doctor would faint, but it was managed. The code was dense, optimized to work with the least bloat possible, well tagged variables, and even a handful of comments in the code.

//Buy Bane those Boston Donuts from the donut shop on 5th //Why does this code need to be here so it doesn’t auto brick itself. What is in the code protecting it from the wrath of God //Louie likes Texas barbecue ribs. Possible treat? //DO NOT FEED THEM WHOLE RIBS. COOKED BONES BAD. //SINCE WHEN WAS THIS VARIABLE A STRING??? IT WAS AN INT 5 LINES AGO //Help the hopeless lesbians get together. //Would Harley and Ivy dating make Harley my mom or Ivy my big sister? Both???

His eyes skimmed the retrieved comments, laughing at a few. It seems that Bane, Poison Ivy, and Harley Quinn were the most common subjects of the notes, though a few mentioning the Iceberg lounge asking what non-alchoholic drink you’d like added, or Riddler offering you another puzzle to keep your mind active. Even Joker was mentioned, though it seemed mostly transactional.

It was strange seeing you in this light. You seemed to have a lot of spice in you, but a heart made of gold. You were definitely surprised whenever one othe villains offered to take you on some trip to amusement parks, regular parks, even just willingly watching anime with you. It was odd to see. Surely someone at the house did those things with you? He didn’t but he was extremely busy with school and vigilantism. Jason was legally dead, so surely he had all the time in the world.

“How was I supposed to relate to them? They’re what, 12 and into shit like that one with the cat looking dog thing and the robot girl. I have shit to do. Y’know, managing Crime Alley?”

Well, Dick had come over to hang out plenty of times. Surely he’d spent at least a few hours with you every now and then? “I have an entire team and criminals to manage of in another city, Damian. I don’t have as much time as you think to do whatever it was with them they’d wanted to do”

Maybe Tim? “I have college and stuff, Damian. And I don’t have the energy to put into hanging around them. I’d probably just be sleeping most of the time.

Bruce? “I have to manage you, Gotham, and the Justice League, Damian. I barely have time for myself.”

… Alfred? “I tried, Master Damian. However I’m constantly pulled thin between so many tasks. Besides, all you have is school most days, and you’ve had summer vacations and weekends. Shouldn’t you’ve had plenty of time to spend with your younger sibling?”

… He did have the most time outside of vigilantism. And it took him a week to realize you were missing.

You had to realize that they were under extreme stress though, right?He couldn’t spend all his free time with you. He had his own friends to hang out with. How were you two even supposed to relate?

One day at dinner, the thoughts were thrashing in his head, slamming against soft tissue and tearing through brain matter. He aimlessly poked at the food on his plate.

“You alright, replacement?” Jason asked, pausing in his extremely rare dinners with everyone else. Alfred had promised him a tray of fudge to take home this time around, and nobody made fudge quite as good as he did.

“… They were gone for two weeks.”

Everyone stopped eating as he continued.

“Two weeks. Two full weeks before they showed up at that fight. Did anyone here even know? I only noticed after a week and assumed they were just holed up in their room with a class assignment or something.” He was rambling. Everyone was quiet and looking at each other. How did it manage to slip past everyone? They were detectives, for Christ’s sake.

They were your family.

—

Dinner ended with guilt wrapping around their throats and pulling.

Eventually, all of them found themselves in your room. It had been emptied, but showed no signs of struggle. All the small items, the comforter, and your clothes were gone. But what was taken left something behind. Copies of photos of you winning state level competitions, letters requesting your attendance at seminars, photos of gold medals and blue ribbons spread across the floor. Most damning of all was the most recent photo. A certificate by some big time tech company being handed to you. Edward Nashton stood behind you, a firm, reassuring hand on your shoulder.

When had this happened? They never remembered hearing of something like this. A news clipping on the back told them it was maybe a week before you left.

“The Wayne prodigy stated that their family had more important things to see to than such an occasion. I can’t imagine something more important that either of my kids being recognized by a multi-million dollar tech company! I remember postponing an anniversary with my husband to celebrate our child placing second in the science fair. But I guess that’s just the Waynes for you!”

That’s just the Waynes to you.

But it’s ok. He can make it better. He can be a good big brother. He can spend time watching anime with you and decorating your room with lace and fairy lights and go makeup shopping with you. You just need to come home. Now.

---------------- Taglist! Ask to be added! Edit: It is now closed!

@jjsmeowthie , @jsprien213 , @ladyrosemone

[nightingale-prompts]

Health Code Violation- DC x DP prompt

"Hold on there. You're not permitted beyond this point." The floating teenage boy said as he tucked his clipboard under his arm.

After a battle with another world-ending villain Superman was killed in action and after a short debate the decision to revive him using the Lazarus Pit was made. However, the league members who were carrying his body to the pit didn't expect it to be blocked off with caution tape. A teenage boy with stark white hair and wearing a hard hat and orange construction vest.

"What are you doing out here kid? And what is with the tape?" Barry asked shifting Clark's heavy ass body from crushing him.

"I'm here to take a look at the leak." He said pointing a thumb in the direction of the green pit.

"The leak?" Diana echoed in confusion.

"Yeah, your planet has a leak. A few actually. Our realm hasn't been managed well and now that the old king is gone we need to fix some things. Right now the leaks need to be sealed." He said. "Also what's with the dead guy?"

"We were bringing him to the Lazarus Pit to revive him." Barry said blankly.

The teen shook his head in astonishment almost dropping his clipboard.

"You are what?! With the what?!"

"The Lazarus pit...?" Hal laughed nervously his face in a half-quirked smile.

"You call it a Lazarus Pit? Guys this is a pool of contaminated ectoplasm. Basically sewage. This thing is full of dead people juice. All those leftover emotions and obsessions are stewing in there. You toss that body in these pool and you'll make a revenant full of anger. It doesn't even have an ecosystem to cleanse it. It's like stagnant water." The teen said waving his pen around before pausing "Wait a minute....you people have been using it? No wonder it's so polluted! What is wrong with you?! Are you trying to contaminate your planet? Do you want zombies?"

It was kind of weird to be scolded by a kid, for everyone but Bruce. He thought of a more pragmatic approach. He didn't like the pit but he acknowledged it's usefulness.

"I understand. But we do want to save our friend and the only way is to use the pit."

"That's a big ask. The pit is one thing but bringing back the dead willy nilly? ...But I guess that's my domain now.. "

The teen mumbled to himself before sighing.

"Look, I want to help. I really do. But the pit is unstable and there are many more on this planet with the same issue. We can't risk an apocalypse and the chance they get into the wrong hands. This is for the safety of your planet." The teen said as mannerly as possible as he dismissed the heros.

"Come on, please. Our friend is dead. You don't want our friend to die." Barry said pleadingly.

"Very mature of you. A bit of shame might help you...alright fine but don't badger me again." The silver-haired being said taking out a small syringe and taking a sample of his own blood.

"It's diluted compared to the pure stuff but 10x stronger than the stuff in the pool. It's safer and once he's kicking again it'll drain out of his system." He tossed the needle to Barry and returned to taking samples of the pit. "This biohazard requires an ecologist. I'll have to import some blob feeders to clean up the toxins. Then either seal this up or link it to the network. But these dumb mortals are just going to keep dumping bodies into it."

The teen mumbled to himself as he tried to find a solution.

A week later all the Lazarus pits had disappeared. The Al Ghuls were scrambling as the source of their powers dried up.

Clark was alive and feeling better than ever. No pit rage at all.

Eventually the boy returned.

"I had a talk with the ancients and they agreed to let you have one ecto pool. Only one thought and it has to be managed by me. As long as you don't try abusing it by going into it while alive or not asking permission I'll allow you to use it. Also, be mindful of my cleaning wisps, they work very hard to keep the natural flow of the ecto cycle going." The teen said holding up a green little ghost blob and petting it.

[curejune]

took me a year to finally stop being salty about it but code vein finally joins my list of finished games and after all these years i can clear off some disk space

rip viridi, died to the only thing that can completely kill a revenant: save file corruption through power outage

[crunchystarz]

Twisted wonderland Self-aware au

Housewardens x GN!Reader

Cw- obsessive and possessive behavior, isolation all that good yandere stuff (remember none of this behavior is healthy nor do I condone it this is purely for entertainment )

A/n: I wrote this while dying of the flu I am not built for the cold weather release me from my chains

You downloaded the game for fun. As any normal person usually does. What you weren't prepared for was when your game started acting weird.

It started small, your characters dialogue wouldn't line up with the videos you've seen. No big deal perhaps they just got changed during an update.

It got a bit weirder whenever you'd start seeing new sprites you haven't seen anywhere else. You tried to shrug it off as you just managed to get a newer version of the game(somehow).

You swore the characters started to address you more directly but you again tried to ignore it. You just thought your brain was playing tricks on you.

It was only until you realized you left your phone at your apartment. You quickly rushed home to retrieve it just to find a very real house warden in your home.

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

REALIZATION:

When Riddle first suddenly became aware of the fact his existence was nothing but code he was unbelievably out of it. All the conversations he had, his harsh upbringing, everything was just part of his character. Were the feelings of anger, confusion and acceptance even real? He went on a bit of a rampage being harsher than usual but he didn't wish to shatter the reality for everyone else (he'd also sound more like a mad hatter If he tried to explain the fact they were just in a game) So no one knew why for the next month Riddle was more on edge than usual.

He came to accept the fact his life was nothing but a path set for him. He instead started to focus on you(or should I say yuu)

He soon realized that the ramshackle perfect was nothing but a hollow shell. No notable personality or backstory. But he soon managed to be aware of your experience. Glitches allowed him to hear snippets of your voice and how you truly felt. He was your favorite and he wanted it to stay that way.

He'd make sure he was always on your home screen. He'd even get risky and start talking to you directly. He'd listen to you ramble as you played the game. His face would flush red not out of anger but embarrassment when you'd change his outfits or get excited when you realized he'd gotten a new card.

He wished there wasn't a screen keeping you away from each other...

BREAKING CODE:

(I like to think this would be similar to an overblot In a way and enough emotion could cause them to lose themselves and eventually overwrite their code)

Riddle was over the moon. He was really in your room. Sevens he never thought a day would come where he'd be standing in your space. It was so you...

It felt weird, in a space that wasn't just there for scenes. It was actually lived in.

When he sees you he feels as if he succeeded in his life's purpose. You're confused and he can see that. He tries to explain to you how he didn't even know how he had gotten where he was.

You let him stay in your apartment because you couldn't really let him out in a world he knows nothing about. You're too kind he says.

DAY TO DAY LIFE:

Riddle takes care of most of the household chores. While you're gone, he keeps himself busy by tidying up, reading, or researching ways to improve the home environment. As well as constantly making rules for you to follow. He's so used to rules being set in place, it's what he was programmed to do so In the beginning you let it slide.

However he becomes controlling, trying to regulate every aspect of your life to “protect” you. He insists on setting the rules for "safety" and gets visibly distressed if you don't follow them.

Constantly checks if the you're eating properly or following a “schedule” he created for you both. If you don't he'll sometimes scold you harshly like he would in game. He'll apologize later in fear of upsetting you, he just wants you to be safe.

Becomes passive-aggressive if you end up spending too much time with others, interpreting it as rebellion. All he's trying to do is set you on the right path , can't you see that?

-"It’s for your own good [Name],Without guidance, this world will overwhelm you. Let me take care of you."

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

REALIZATION:

When Leona realizes he's in a video game he's surprisingly the calmest. He's upset and disorientated but he doesn't cause a big scene or let it be known he's losing his mind. He's used to concealing how he feels from others; it's in his codeHe's more laid back after this fact. No matter what he did he'd never be able to change his fate, because it was already set for him he had no control over it. So why did it matter what he did?

When you caught his attention the beast man was obsessed with proving himself to you. To him you were the only person who saw him for him. Who understood him. He was your favorite.

He'd never been anyone's number one anything before and the fact you choose him he wasn't going to let anything take that away from him.

The screen was just another obstacle he'll overcome to get what he wants.

BREAKING CODE:

Leona was really in your room...your room. He felt overcome with joy. Genuine joy, something he'd...never felt. Everything he felt up until then was just what the developers wanted him to feel.

Needs to say you were more than confused when you saw a lion hybrid snuggled up in your bed when you came home.

After getting an explanation you offered to let him stay in your apartment; if you didn't you were more than sure he'd be taken for government testing or something. Too bad you now needed a new phone.

DAY TO DAY LIFE :

Leona is still a lion at heart, he frequently loiters around you, draping himself over your furniture or bed like a lion staking a claim.He’s territorial and quick to anger if someone else tries to get too close to you. Despite his gruffness, he seeks constant reassurance that the you won’t leave him.

He's possessive and hates whenever you leave and doesn’t hide his irritation. He often tries to convince you to skip work/school, suggesting you should spend the day relaxing with him instead. (Sometimes he'll go out with you and will send looks to anyone who looks at you too long)

you're just happy everyone thinks that his animal features are crazy prosthetic since he refuses to hide them

When you come home, Leona monopolizes your time, insisting on napping together and getting all your attention.

He'd dislike the smell of other people on you when you come home and will drag you to bed for cuddles. None of these humans deserve your attention, he worked so hard for it not them .The thought angers him.

- "You're mine, I can protect you—provide for you —love you, you don't need anyone else but me those humans can't do what I can"

AZUL ASHHENGROTTO

REALIZATION:

Azul understandably does not take the life altering realization that he's not actually real well. His usually kept together appearance started to slip. He was all over the place. How could he not? This left Floyd and Jade completely confused why their boss was so out of it. It wasn't like him. He couldn't tell anyone else about this, not that they'd believe him anyway.

His interest in you starts as a mix of fascination and suspicion. He’s drawn to your influence but wary of your intentions. It became an obsession .

He saw you as the only real thing in his "life", Azul was your favorite out of all the characters, you picked him. He'd always make sure he looked right on your home screen (it wouldn't matter anyway since his sprite would always look the same)

You became the only thing he could think about, he'd have you no matter how much it took

BREAKING CODE:

Azul at first didn't think him being in your room was real. He thought it was a dream. When it finally set in that it wasn't just him losing his mind he was more than just happy.

He was in his darlings room. Everything felt so perfect. But not as perfect when he saw you for the first time. You were more than confused to see him(now in your living room) looking around.

After explaining the situation you let him stay with you in your apartment. You had no other choice where else would he go? It wouldn't be so bad to have extra help around anyway.

DAY TO DAY LIFE:

Much like Riddle , Azul takes care of most of the daily tasks. He offers to assist you with your tasks, whether it’s by organizing your work schedule or helping with assignments. However, he might feel a little hurt if you seem too busy for him. Pay attention to him please!

Don't forget that this is a sly sly man. Azul becomes emotionally manipulative, weaving situations that ensure you stays reliant on him. He uses your gratitude and trust to justify his control, often veiling his obsession with charm and just him being a "gentleman".

He'll shower you in gifts and constantly praise you on everything. He'll try and offer you deals just to make sure you have ties with him.

He'll text you at work with encouraging needy messages. He's always in your corner so just rely on him okay? You don't need anyone else.

- "You’d be lost without me. Everything I do is for you. Just let me take care of all your work."

Kalim Al-Asim

REALIZATION:

Kalim was in denial for the longest time about the realization that he was in a program. He couldn't wrap his head around it. He didn't want to bother Jamil more than he already did especially not with something this big. It was hard to not say anything while his mind was going crazy with thoughts as he tried to pretend nothing was wrong.

When he realized yuu wasn't just another side character and in fact the player he became obsessed with knowing more. He'd get so excited whenever the game would glitch and he could hear your voice and you talking as you played around on the home screen.

It made him so happy; Kalim was your favorite character. Others would wonder why he'd be more bubbly than usual whenever he'd hear you compliment him on his newest card. He wanted all your attention onto him.

He'd make your every wish come true. This screen wouldn't stop that.

BREAKING CODE :

Oh wow he was really in your room. It was way smaller than he expected but that didn't matter. It was your room so it made it much better. He doesn't know what he did to deserve this. He was basically bouncing off the walls; touching everything.

When you walked into your room you didn't have time to react before Kalim was pulling you a crushing hug causing you to yelp. He apologized a bit flustered.

After explaining (he could barely keep himself together) you allowed him to stay. He was so sweet how could you let him out into the world?

DAY TO DAY LIFE:

Kalim insists on accompanying you everywhere. Wherever you go Kalim is clinging to you. Your neighbors have all taken a liking to him so him being with you isn't so bad.

He isn't good with chores but he tries his best to clean and tidy when you're gone. He tries to cook but has burnt it multiple times so you tell him not to. He buys you gifts you don't even need all the time. He just wants to spoil you.

Kalim’s obsession is rooted in his desire to make you happy at all costs. However, his constant need to please you and keep you close becomes overwhelming, and suffocating. If you tell him this he'll make you feel bad, that he just loves you so much and wants to take care of you; you often cave.

When you return from work or school, Kalim greets you with hugs and insists on spending the rest of the evening together, often talking about what he did while you were gone.

-" [Name]! I missed you sooo much, you should let me go with you to work, you don't even need work I could make all of your wishes come true"

VIL SCHONHEIT

REALIZATION:

Vil did not take it well... He was absolutely losing his mind. His beauty was nothing but pixels. Was everything he worked for was fake? Everything he knew was just controlled by someone else. It was so frustrating. He ended up locking himself away until he could accept the truth.

When he realized yuu was the player he was...angry. However that anger subsided after he started to know you for you. Vil was...your favorite. It boosted his ego more than anything.

He wanted to be in the spotlight at all times. He craved your attention. It was like he became addicted to your praise. He'd smile whenever you'd call him pretty whenever you looked at a card of his.

He wanted to be perfect for you. He'd show you how perfect he could be, you'd see. He just needed to get rid of the screen.

BREAKING CODE:

Vil stood in the middle of your room. Everything was too perfect to touch. He took it all in. everything felt just...right.

He didn't even calculate how he got in your room but he didn't care. He was in your world and sevens he'd never felt better.

When you walked into him looking at himself in your mirror (taking in how he was an actual real person) . You were so confused why this gorgeous man was in your room.

After explaining the situation you agreed to let him stay with you; if you didn't you swear he'd get kidnapped or something to become a big model. It wouldn't be bad to have a pretty face to look at when you got home.

DAY TO DAY LIFE:

Vil insists on controlling your wardrobe and grooming, often brushing aside whatever protests you have. He discourages you from associating with “lesser” individuals, claiming they tarnish the your image.

He knows what's best for you come on, those other people will only be dragging you down from your true potential. But of course you wouldn't know that he couldn't blame you.

Vil’s obsession honestly manifests in his relentless efforts to “perfect” for you. He'll critique your choices and actions, believing he alone knows what’s best for you. His fixation often leaves you feeling scrutinized and trapped.

He believes you just need him. He'll do everything just as long as he gets praise from you. Tell him he's being a great help won't you?

"You deserve only the best, and I won’t let anyone drag you down—!"

IDIA SHROUD:

REALIZATION:

This is not as exciting as they make it in manga. Idia was having a crisis. Realizing that he was in a video game made him want to hide away even more than he normally would. It didn't matter how hard Ortho tried he just wouldn't budge. He stayed cooped up in his room trying so hard to distract himself from the fact that he was nothing but code just like the ones he's learned to manipulate. Idia is not going to recover from this.

Idia was already wary around yuu but when he realized you were yuu he wanted to know more. He was still too scared to leave his dorm so you didn't see him much other than the homescreen.

He was so taken back when he realized that, he — Idia shroud was your favorite. He'd never been anyone's favorite before. He was just a loser that stayed cooped up in his room all day and you still liked him?

He grew obsessed with that feeling of being seen, he wanted to just use whatever knowledge he had to break past the screen.

BREAKING CODE:

When Idia realized he was actually in your room he damn near fainted. No scratch that he did. He was so overwhelmed. He didn't deserve to be in your room. Oh man how did he even get here? Nevermind that.

He was so incredibly.. happy. He was in the room of the one person who he felt knew him more than anyone. It made him feel bubbly and his hair flashed pink a bit.

He looked for something to do fearing he'd have a panic attack if he thought about this too long. So you ended up finding him tinkering with your computer when you came home. He basically died when he saw you.

After explaining to you what happened, you, now trying to get him to calm down agreed to let him stay. Not that he'd leave anyway he practically already made your bed his sanctuary.

DAY TO DAY LIFE:

Your room basically became his. He keeps it clean but doesn't really do a lot of the house work other than that.

Idia spends the day gaming, tinkering with gadgets, or monitoring your online activity (just to make sure you're okay, of course!). He reacts the worst to you being away and just does not like it one bit.

Idia struggles with separation anxiety (like a once stray cat)and might try to convince you to work or study from home. If you insist on going out he bombards you with messages . He'll subtly manipulate situations to keep you away from others, convincing you the world is too dangerous.

When you come home, Idia is overly clingy, insisting you spend the rest of the night together and refusing to let you focus on work. He just wants his cuddles and your attention you were out with those normies all day!

-" Can’t you just stay here and binge-watch something with me? It’s way safer—and more fun."

MALLEUS DRACONIA:

When the fae realizes he's nothing but binary code strug together he's more than perplexed. Malleus has dealt with a lot of things in his time but nothing could prepare him for the crushing reality. He's completely disoriented and Sebek nor Silver can figure out why because he won't tell them. He started lacking on work and just overall seemed more spaced out.

He was very quick to put two and two together. Yuu was the player. It was obvious; human without powers manages to get into NRC and some how is involved with almost everything. It wasn't quite hard to figure out.

Malleus idealizes you seeing you as a perfect being. In his eyes, you are kind, compassionate, and the only one who truly understands him. He was your favorite, this confirms you too think you too are meant for each other.

He'd do anything just for you to join him when he takes up the crown, it's just the screen that's not making it possible.

BREAKING CODE:

Once in your room Malleus doesn't look like he cares at all actually but inside he was losing his mind in the most positive way ever.

Nothing was how he imagined. This is how you like your space? Noted. He tidied up your place a bit and sat in the middle of the room as to not mess anything.

When you walked into him just sitting there you were so confused but he just gave you a smile showing off his fangs.

After explaining the situation you let him stay in your apartment; too scared what he'd manage to get into if you didn't.

DAY TO DAY LIFE:

Malleus makes sure everything is perfect for you at all times. Everything is organized and you never have to worry about anything being out of place.

Like Leona Malleus has animalistic tendencies, him being a fae dragon causes him to be well.. possessive, not wanting anyone else to monopolize your attention. He might grow jealous of your coworkers, friends, or even family, viewing them as a threat to your bond.

He. Is.clingy. worse than Kalim and Idia. He insists on escorting you everywhere, even if it’s unnecessary. People recognized him as "[Name's] horned bodyguard!" Gods you hated it. He tries to insert himself into every aspect of your life, wanting to be by your side constantly.

It took him so long to just be okay with letting you leave on your own. Once you're home he's bombarding you with questions about your day.(Secretly snuggling up to you so you can have his scent again)

-" I could just use magic you know, there's no need—I'm simply a better option for this stuff you can rely on me"

MASTERLIST

[traveler-at-heart]

Anger Issues

Natasha Romanoff x Super Soldier!R

Summary: Nobody messes with Natasha, not on your watch. (And she loves every second of it)

----

You were the worst spy in the world. It didnt’t have anything to do with physical abilities. Being a super soldier gave you resistance and strenght that was above average. It was not related to your analysis skills either, as you could crack any code faster than Natasha.

The problem is, you’re for all intents and purposes, an open book.

If you’re happy, everyone within the Compound will hear your laughter; if you’re sad they’ll see you moping around looking at the ceiling while sprawled across the living room.

When you’re angry, most of them hide.

You call it being honest. Steve thinks they’re anger issues.

So now, you’re being reprimanded after your third failed atempt at the anger management course.

“Why did you call the instructor stupid?” Steve says, both hands on the table that separates you.

“I didn’t call him stupid, I asked if he’s stupid”

Natasha has to cough to hide her laughter and Steve glares at her.

“You told me to be here. I don’t have a bone to pick with Y/N” she reminds him.

“It’s reckless to lose control of your emotions. You’re an agent and an Avenger…”

“No, I’m a government experiment that failed. Mind you, my own country sold me out to see if anyone could survive the new serum” you remind him, casually mentioning all the ways in which they failed you. “So, losen up and back the fuck off, Grandpa”

This time, your demeanor changes, and as you stand up to leave the room, Natasha catches the annoyance in your eyes. Still, you wink at her as you close the door.

“Can’t you just let her be?” Natasha scolds Steve, leaving the room right after you. You’re nowhere to be found.

Still, Steve announces that you’re on probation and that the whole team should keep an eye on you.

Yet, when the evening comes, you’re at Stark’s party, happy and friendly as always. The moment Natasha walks in, you go and meet her, offering your arm. She accepts it with a smile, her hand around your bicep.

“You look beautiful” you say. “Can I get you a drink?”

“That would be lovely, thank you. Dirty martini”

Natasha waits while you walk to the bar to get her order, bringing back a beer for yourself.

“I wasn’t expecting you here” she says, nodding her thanks when you hand her the martini.

“Why? Because Steve says I’m grounded?”

“Well, yes. I thought it would annoy you” Natasha smiles, taking a sip.

“What’s he gonna do? Fire me? That will mean the government has to pay me for doing nothing, which sounds pretty damn good to me”

“You don’t like to be here” Natasha says. It’s not a guess, or a question.

Again, you’re not working very hard to hide it.

“Yes and no”

“Why yes and why no?” Natasha arches an eyebrow, intrigued.

“You’re gonna have to get me drunk to fess up, Agent” you wink at her, and you smile once again as she tilts her head. “God, you really are beautiful”

“Do you always say what you’re thinking?”

“Yes. I don’t have time or patience to be coy and I hate mind games. Either way, I’m here to knock down doors, not interrogate people. That’s why we have the very talented Black Widow” you raise your bottle of beer.

“I may be losing my touch. Couldn’t get you to answer one simple question”

“Maybe you have to dance with me first” you stand up, offering your hand. “I think that outfit looks too good on you to just sit around the room all night”

“Fine” she nods. As you lead her to the dance floor, and place your hands on her waist, Natasha pushes the subject to the back of her mind.

Maybe you don’t like being an Avenger, but you look happy holding Natasha in your arms, and that’s enough for her.

—

Being on your best behavior is quite the challenge. People make it especially hard.

Like now, that you’re driving back from the store with Natasha. She’s trying to get out of the parking spot, but a car is blocking her way. When she honks, the man waves dismissively, and though he mutters under his breath, you can still hear it.

“Stupid bitch”

Seeing red, you step out and stand next to his door. He doesn’t open, so you decide to do it for him, almost ripping the whole thing apart.

Now, he does look at you. And he’s terrified.

Well, good.

Dragging him by the collar of his shirt, you slam him against Natasha’s side and she rolls her window down, almost looking bored.

“Apologize” you say to the man.

“S-sorry”

“Nope. Say I’m an asshole and I’m sorry"

“I’m an asshole and I’m sorry” he repeats back to Natasha.

“One last chance. Mean it” you warn him. He tries one last time, looking like he’s gonna pee his pants. You turn to Natasha. “Good enough for you?”

“Eh, I’ve heard better” she says, and the man goes pale. “Come on, let’s go, movie’s about to start”

You nod, throwing the man to the floor. Walking to his car, you lift and drag it so it gets out of Natasha’s way.

“Ugh, I can’t believe I’ll have to do anger management a fourth time” you say, still pissed at the way he insulted Natasha. She didn’t hear it and she doesn’t need to know what he said. But the fact he even said it was enough to make your blood boil.

“I don’t think Steve needs to know” Natasha shrugs her shoulders. “Dude had it coming”

“Alright” you smile at her, feeling better. “Thanks, Tasha”

The redhead wonders what Steve’s problem really was. After the incident, you go back to being your usual self, joking around, offering to buy her popcorn and opening the door for her. It’s not like you’re turning green and unable to control your own strength.

Still, as the evening progresses, Natasha understands that what sets you off is unkindness, particularly aimed at her.

Like when you’re at the movies and a man keeps taking calls behind you. Natasha turns to glare a couple of times, and then tells him to keep quiet.

“I paid for my ticket, just as you did. Mind your business”

Ten seconds later, you’re standing up and taking his phone away, crushing it between your hands.

“Here. No one’s calling you anymore” you say with a fake smile.

Natasha eyes you, amused at how much of an ass you can be for her.

It’s hot, she can’t deny it.

Or when you’re walking out, and she asks for someone to hold the elevator door for you two. Her request is clearly ignored, until you catch the door at the last second, bending the metal slightly as you force it open.

“She asked you to hold the door” you reprimand the man.

“I’m…”

“You can take the stairs or wait for the next one” you kick him out, making sure Natasha gets inside and as the door closes, you wink at the guy, still terrified by your strength.

“I’m not sure if I should go out with you anymore. It seems like every jerk we come across pisses you off” Natasha jokes.

“I just don’t like people being rude to you” you comment, and the next thing you do is pout, looking like a sad puppy. “You don’t wanna hang out with me anymore?”

“I was just kidding, Y/N” she says, resting her head on your shoulder.

Truthfully, she’d never felt safer than when she’s with you.

—

Next time you lose it, Steve finds out but you don’t give a damn.

See, training new recruits is bad enough, because most of them are slow and stupid. But then you add the fact that a group of them are very obviously staring at Natasha’s ass and commenting on her body and you’ve got yourself a perfect storm.

“For next exercise…” Natasha instructs, and you walk from behind the gym, pushing past everyone.

“You’ll be fighting me” you interrupt her. “Hawthorne. Front of the class”

One by one, you call all the creepy assholes in that little group until there’s only one left. It’s funny how he thinks he can beat you, or maybe he’s clueless as to why he’s called at all. Either way, you dodge his punches and place him on a headlock.

“If you’re gonna talk shit, better be ready to pay the consequences, nasty little turd” you say against his ear and he stops struggling. Now he knows why you’re doing this and he’s lost all hope of winning.

You free him and when he tries to punch you, you knock him down. He falls face first on the sparring mat and you tilt your head, bored.

“Didn’t even last three minutes” Natasha says, looking down at him.

“Bet his ex said the same thing” you whisper, and the redhead laughs.

“Everyone’s dismissed” Steve says, glaring at you. He waits until the room is empty to scold you. “We have an urgent mission, but we’ll talk about this later”

“No, let’s talk about it now. Your recruits are mysoginistic pigs and I’m gonna treat them as such unil they learn how to respect her” you say, loud enough for everyone to hear.

FRIDAY interrupts you, calling for everyone into the conference room. Steve saves his comments and goes out of the gym, and you begin to walk out as soon as he’s out of sight.

Natasha stops you in the middle of the door.

“I don’t want you to get into trouble because of me”

“I’m not in trouble”

“Yet. I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself” she insists.

“It’s not about that… I know you can take care of yourself” you say, looking at your feet. “I just can’t stand it when anyone’s rude or mean to you. You don’t deserve it”

“You’re sweet” Natasha says with a smile, nodding towards the hall. “Let’s meet the team, before Cap gets too crazy”

“Yeah”

You sit in the back of the room, while Nat takes her usual place next to Clint. Rogers goes on and on about a mission, some information extraction and an interrogation. Your job is to keep the path clear and remove obstacles.

“I hope you can have some self control” Steve tells you, after noting Fury paired you with Natasha.

“You know what, Steve?” you sigh, playing with your knife. “It was Ross who gave the order to have me injected with the serum to see if I could survive. Against my wishes. You don’t see me walking up to his office and crushing his head against the desk, do you?” everyone stays quiet, and you ignore Natasha’s stare. “I think my self control is pretty fucking good”

“We’ll meet at the hangar in 10 minutes” is all he can answer, leaving the room. You’re the next one to leave, slamming the door on your way out.

—

“Are you ok?” Natasha says as you try your comms.

“Fine”

Natasha nods, knowing you always say what you feel. If this is all she’s getting, you don’t have anything else to add.

As she walks to the computer room, you stay right behind her. When you reach the warehouse, she changes and let’s you take the lead, knowing the next part of the area is heavily guarded.

“All good?” she checks when you fight with three guards that are attacking you simultaneously. She knows you can handle yourself, and they’re like stress relievers for you.

It’s kinda cute, like watching a tiger playing with their food.

“Clear” you say, throwing them over the railing.

As Natasha retrieves their files, you sit back, looking around the room.

“Is what you said true?” Natasha asks, even though she knows you never lie.

“What part?”

“About Ross”

Natasha turns to look at you, and you immediately regret telling her this bit of information.

“Yeah, he did it”

“I’ll kill him”

“Can we go out on a date before we get arrested?” you try to joke, but she doesn’t smile at all. You lean your forehead against hers. “It’s fine. I made my peace with it” you promise, taking her hand. She sighs, about to say something else. But you get distracted and then a man walks in, weilding a knife. He almost gets Natasha but she manages to escape. Barely.

You groan, kicking him down and getting ready to throw him out the window.

“Wait! I still need to ask him some questions”

“Oh, sorry, Tasha” you say, pulling him up by the collar of his shirt. “Answer her and I’ll consider sparing your life”

They begin a conversation in Russian, and you can’t understand anything. What you do understand is Natasha’s angry stare at some point, so you smack the back of the man’s head.

“You don’t even know what I say” he complains.

“I don’t need to, you pissed her off”

He reluctantly gives more information and then Natasha nods to you.

“Listen to your master, pet” he grumbles and you glare, but are about to cuff him when Natasha tsks.

“I don’t need him at all”

“Alright, then” you nod with a smile, pushing him out the window. You don’t even bother to watch him fall to his death, or listen to the many curse words he utters on his way to the last floor. You take Natasha’s hand, knowing you’ve spent too much time in this building and it will be increasingly dangerous to stay here.

“Where’s everyone?” Natasha says through comms.

“On my way to give you backup” Steve answers.

“That’s hardly necessary, we have all the information we need” Natasha says. You take her hand, leading her through the halls and listening for any guards that are coming your way.

“What is it?” she asks when you stop abruptly.

“It’s too… quiet”

Sure enough, you walk into an ambush. At least thirty agents are pointing their guns at you. Not even your strenght can help you out of this one.

“Get behind me” you nudge Natasha, walking until your backs are pressed against a railing.

Natasha is looking around, heart beating out of her chest. She’s been through some very tough situations, but this is different. She can’t imagine how you’ll both get out of this one.

Something catches her attention. A shadow, moving out of the corner of her eye. But you’re pushing her, and she falls over the railing, Steve’s arms around her a second later.

“Wait! We have to come back” she writhes in his arms. Truth be told, he feels awful when he uses all his strenght to keep Natasha from escaping.

There’s gunshots and explosions in the distance, and he doesn’t let go of her until they’re in the Quinjet, Clint flying them out of there.

“Turn back, now!” Natasha barks at him.

“We need to regroup” Steve says, but stays quiet when she glares.

“Natasha, listen…” Clint approaches her, but she walks around him to the console. “Tasha!”

“We have to turn around” she says, pushing him until his back hits the wall.

“Cap is right. I’m sorry. Let’s go back and find out what we can. She’s alive. We’ll get her back”

Natasha’s hand rests on the gun still attached to her hip. She could do it. Throw Rogers out of the Quinjet -she wants nothing more right now- and force Clint to turn around.

And then what?

She’s being irrational.

But it’s you.

She has to get you back.

“Fine”

With that, she’s gone to the back of the Quinjet.

—

Three locations circled.

“What now?” Natasha says, arms crossed and fists clenched.

10 hours and 33 minutes since they lost you.

“Let’s get intelligence to give us all the information. Maybe we can split up, attack them simultaneously. If we go one by one they could change locations” Steve says, looking at the map.

“I’m not waiting on intel. It’s been long enough” Natasha says, making everyone in the room share a look.

“So you’ll go to each one and risk her life” Steve points out.

“No, let’s move now. Whatever intelligence tells us, we already know. They have guards, weapons, explosives, we go there and kill them all. She’s out there and we have to get her back” Natasha insists, looking ready to murder Steve.

“Maybe you should sit this one out” Steve says. He instantly regrets it.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You seem… too upset. I’m worried you’ll put yourself at risk, Natasha” he says, trying to keep his tone neutral.

“Of course I’m upset. I care about her”

That’s not all she feels for you, but it’s the only thing she can admit to right now. She wants you to be the one to hear it first, not them.

“You’re staying, and it’s final” Steve sighs, avoiding her eyes. But he knows she’s evaluating him with that infamous glare, probably considering how to kill him.

Now she understands why you get so protective of her. Because now it's her, fighting against everyone to bring you back. And she'll do anything to make sure you're safe.

Natasha takes a couple of steps towards him until he can no longer ignore her.

“I’m not so sure I’d trust you with my life now, Rogers”

It’s a simple line, that takes them back to a time where they were running away. When they trusted each other. This refusal to back her up, to get you back whatever it takes, is enough to build Natasha’s walls up.

Without another word, she turns on her heels and walks out of the room.

“That went well” Sam comments, raising his eyebrows as Bucky walks out as well. “You too?”

It’s no secret that Bucky’s been a close friend of yours for a long time. He’s the only that can understand a lot of the challenges of being a super soldier that doesn’t fit the expectations set by Captain Role Model.

“Romanoff, wait” he calls after her, but she doesn’t stop. “It’s the Vitebsk location. That’s where they’d have the facilities to contain… her. While they figure out what to do”

Natasha does stop, turning to look at him.

“What else do you know?”

“Very old security systems. Not a lot of cameras, but a lot of guards. So, carry a ton of ammo"

“Oh, I’m not planning on shooting them. I’m going to slit their throats"

A shiver runs down his spine at her icy tone. That’s not Natasha Romanoff. That’s the Black Widow talking.

And she’s not holding back now.

—

The only light in the room is red, and it comes from a giant lamp above your head. It’s disorienting, along with the fact there are no windows, no sounds from the outside. You’re probably underground, but that’s not even a certainty.

You woke up here, wrists and feet trapped in special cuffs. The chair you’re sitting in also has a special band for your head and neck. There’s no escape from this.

You already tried it, and they already electrocuted you. Even if you had been compliant, you have a feeling they’d still torture you. It’s been an endless cycle of physical and psychological torture, followed by periods of quiet that are interrupted by a man reciting words in Russian.

They’re hoping you become their little murder robot.

As the man in a military uniform prepares himself for another round -words, electrical shock, neddles in your arms- an alarm begins to alert everyone of something.

Is it a security breach?

Maybe so, as the man picks up his radio and no one answers.

“They’re a little busy” a voice says through the radio, and your head snaps up.

Natasha.

You begin to struggle against the restraints, desperate to break free and help her. Is there anyone else with her? Is she fighting alone?

If anything happened to her because of you, you’d never forgive yourself.

And you’d make sure that whoever was behind it would pay accordingly.

To the guard’s shock, one of the cuffs around your left wrist gives in, breaking. With the free hand you try to break the other one. He walks over to a console and pushes a button that sends an electrical current straight to you.

He keeps increasing the power, making you writhe and scream in agony, but you still try to break free.

“I’d stop if I were you”

Natasha wants to kill him with a bullet to the head and get you out of there, but a part of her is craving more blood. She’s already taken the lives of every single mercenary that got in her way, and she hopes the gory scene serves as a warning that no one messes with you.

At this point, you’re so dazzed that you can barely identify the voice. Your brain’s full of fog and you’ve lost all the strenght in your body to break free.

“Step away from her” Natasha says, but the man begins to recite the words he has been using to break you. He still has his hand on the console, which makes Natasha hesitate. She doesn't know if any of the buttons there can harm you beyond repair.

Between each word, the man keeps electrocuting you. And finally, you destroy the metal that’s holding you against the chair, body soaked in sweat and walking towards the man.

By the way he’s smirking, he probably thinks he broke you and are now under his control. Except when he orders you to kill Natasha, and you look up at him.

“Go fuck yourself” you say, grabbing him by the collar and smashing his head against the floor, breaking his neck.

“I got you” Natasha says when you lose your balance. “Come on, we’re going home”

“I’d never hurt you” you say, aware that she’s trying to drag you to the Quinjet. “I’d never let them make me hurt you, Tasha”

“I know” she says, squeezing your hand as she guides you out of there.

—

“Don’t look so upset, Cap” Tony says, with a stupid smirk that is a clear sign he doesn’t understand the severity of this.

“She left alone and has been gone for six hours. Now we’re all compromised and down two team members”

“Nah, here they come” Tony shows the tablet he’s using to track the Quinjet Natasha took.

Everyone rushes to the hangar, Bucky already waiting.

“In and out of consciousness, low heartbeat” Natasha says as soon as the door opens. Bucky rushes to her side to carry you to the Medbay.

Everyone follows, and Natasha doesn’t take her eyes off of you as the team works in stabilizing you. She winces when she sees the marks on your skin. Looks like they were testing how fast you can heal.

Suddenly, she wishes she could have killed more of them.

More painfully, too.

Once the doctors are done, Natasha walks inside, approaching the hospital bed where you’re fast asleep.

“Maybe we should… cuff her to the bed” Steve says. “We don’t know if they got into her head, Natasha”

“They didn’t. She could never hurt me” Natasha says, her hand pushing a strand of hair away from your face.

“We’d still need to do a debriefing…” he starts to say and she looks up.

“Not now”

“Ok” he finally agrees, hoping she’s right and you haven’t been programmed to kill your colleagues.

Everyone but Natasha leaves the room, and she pulls a chair to sit close to you. After a few hours, you frown and move around, clearly upset about a dream you’re having.

On impulse, Natasha climbs on bed with you. The weight and warmth of her body next to yours are what stops the nightmares.

—

The first thing you notice is the IV. That brings back bad memories.

But then, just as you’re about to rip it off, you feel the weight of someone on top of you.

Natasha is fast asleep, her face resting against your shoulder.

You try not to wake her up, but she can probably feel you staring.

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired” you admit with a smile.

“I’ll go get the doctor” she says, trying to stand up. Instead, your arms go around her waist and you let her sink further in your arms.

“In a minute” you say, letting her touch ground you to the world around you. “You came for me”

“Of course I did”

“I’d never hurt you. They tried to break me, turn me into their own weapon. But thinking about you kept me sane. Thank you” you place a shy kiss at the top of her head.

“I’m always here, detka” she says, smiling against your neck. "But Rogers is totally making me do the anger management course now"

You laugh at that, and the sound makes Natasha's heart flutter.

"We'll do it together, love"

[miwiheroes]

I feel like I've cracked a code.

The reason Mike's fighting with everyone in Season 3 is simple - he's fighting with himself.

We see him frustrated with pretty much everyone. Max, Lucas, Hopper, El, Will. He pulls faces, he feels entitled, he doesn't want to admit he's wrong with the El situation, he lies and picks fights, and this is where pretty much everyone in the ga agrees the Duffers 'ruined' his protective character. To me, as someone who studies psychology at a degree level, this is pretty clearly displacement of anger and anger as a defence mechanism.

We see it as a defence mechanism during the garage fight when Will confronts him and questions the integrity of his and El's relationship ruining the party. It could be said that Mike's angry at Will for doing this, but to me, he feels threatened. Externalised anger can come out as a response to feeling threatened, in this case displacing some of Mike's anger at himself onto Will. In the first part of the season, before the garage fight, we see a build-up of this displacement - mostly focused on Hopper who also makes Mike feel threatened, because he's questioning his relationship with El. Mike knows it's wrong, he knows he's pretending a little bit. So when he's questioned by Will, who is the subject of his shame and pain, his anger comes out at full force, truly showing exactly WHAT he is mad about. At himself.

Being queer <3

Examples of displacement I usually use to describe it are: Someone might lash out at a coworker after a stressful day because they are actually angry at themselves for not managing their time or workload effectively. A rich mean girl targets and bullies those at school who have it worse than her, because she has a bad home life, which she feels shame about.

Mike is using displacement to direct anger at people who make him have to confront how he feels about himself, since he's not ready to focus his anger or mind onto the real target, which is too shameful and painful to think about for him. That real target is not liking girls.

So when Will exhibits what he views as the same behaviour he wants to show, then he displaces the anger at himself onto Will.

If he's not allowed to feel good about not liking girls, then nobody is.

He does it again:

If Mike feels like someone else is ruining the integrity of his relationship with El (Will), then he wants El to know that she shouldn't be letting anyone ruin them.

He does it in season 2:

If Mike blames himself for El's disappearance, and feels like he's been lying, then he wants Hopper to feel like he hasn't protected El, like he's a liar. (He's literally crying because he's guilt-ridden you fools).

If he doesn't feel content, then nobody should be.

[amatariki]

ME OR THE PS5 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ tell me which of us is more your type

(CATALOGUE) — heeseung has been spending the whole day cooped up on his ps5 and you've reached your limit. god forbid a girl wants some attention from her boyfriend.

the muse: idol bf!lee heeseung x fem!reader wc: 735 warnings: cuddling, kissing, pet names, fluff, lmk if anything else ig

whispers: small smth bcs my hand is itching to write. was listening to ps5 by salem ilese and txt. i thought it was super riki coded at first but then i decided to write this for heeseung bcs ive seen a bunch of similar fics for riki.

reblog and i'll kiss you <3

You eye Heeseung disdainfully, face scrunched up.

Of course, your boyfriend's way too invested in his umpteenth round of whatever game he's playing to notice you scrutinizing him.

"Heeseung," you call out exasperatedly. "Can we go watch that movie now, please?"

"Yeah, princess," he mumbles out the reply, only half-focusing on what you're saying. "Just one more round."

That's what he'd been saying for the past few hours and you were sick and tired of it. It wasn't everyday you get your boyfriend all to yourself with his busy schedule due to being an idol and here he was, stuck up on his PS5 playing whatever game he was so invested in.

Not that you had a problem with him gaming. But you wished he would spend some time with you. Half the day had passed and he still hasn't spent any time with you.

Scoffing, you storm out of the room with your arms folded even though Heeseung is too absorbed in his game to notice that you're gone.

A few minutes later, Heeseung frowns in confusion at his screen, not understanding why his game suddenly cut off. However, the confusion quickly clears up when he figures out that the Wi-Fi has magically stopped working.

He gets up to go investigate the router so he can get back to his game, only to be stopped by you.

"Hey, princess," he says, his hands finding their way to your waist. "Do you know what happened to the Wi-Fi? It suddenly cut off."

"Yeah, I do," you reply smoothly. "I turned it off."

"Why?" he asks, pouting. "What happened?"

Now it's your turn to pout.

"Because you've been stuck up on your PS5 the whole day since morning. It's evening, Hee. I haven't seen your face since breakfast. You haven't had lunch today because you're stuck with one more round and you won't spend any—"

You don't get to finish your sentence as Heeseung silences you with his lips against yours. His pillowy lips feel good against yours and you feel all your anger melt away against your will.

You, however, still manage to glower up at Heeseung as he pulls away in an attempt to get him to abandon his games and come cuddle with you and watch a movie.

Heeseung's willpower is no match for your adorable scowl. You always looked cute despite how serious your expressions were.

He chuckles, rubbing the small of your back as he kisses your forehead like you were a fragile doll in his hands.

"Y'know what, princess," he starts. "Why don't you go turn the Wi-Fi back on and I'll shut down my PS5 and order some takeout so we can cuddle with some food and blankets and watch that movie together, hm?"

Heeseung can't help but melt when he sees your face brighten up at his words.

"Okay," you chirp, nodding. You pull out of his hold, his hands lingering on your waist as if he was afraid to let you go. "I'll go do that. But you better not be playing when I get back or I'll throw your PS5 in the trash."

He chuckles at that. "Now, now. There's no need for such cruel measures. But hurry up, princess."

A movie and a few boxes of takeout later, Heeseung finds himself on the couch, a sleeping you wrapped in his arms.

He smiles, unable to tamp down his wild and powerful feelings for you fluttering inside his heart as he looks down at your peaceful face with a pout on your lips as if you were mad because you couldn't pet a cat you met in your dream.

He leans down and places a soft kiss on the top of your head, inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo lingering on your hair.

He then adjusts himself so that the two of you were now lying down on the couch, your head resting comfortably in the crook of his neck as he wrapped his arms around your body to keep you secure in his embrace.

After pulling the blanket over both of your bodies, he turns off the television using the remote before setting it down on the sofa table and nuzzling into you in the darkness.

"Good night, princess," he whispers as the apartment drowns in silence interrupted by both of your breathing and the faint whirr of appliances. "Dream of me, won't you?"

taglist: @chrrific @lezleeferguson-120 @koiiqqqq @ikeu05 @maewphoria

------ᝰ‧₊ written by ©amatariki 2025

[yahtrickyah]

─"Nah she got you blushin' twin"─

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Reader

Synopsis: Damian swore on his grandfather's life that he hated you. No matter what he does, he couldn't stop being irritated. not when you're so loud, reckless, immature, and–

"annoying."

With a loud huff, you turned your back to him, cheeks puffed and lips pouted. Playfully Imitating a sulking child after being called annoying by your beloved best friend, Damian Wayne.

A kid who had a ego bigger than his head.

You met him when he was being bullied by students he managed to anger because of his bluntness. but to be fair, he is right about his "opinion" about them, they're just mad cuz the truth hurts, lol. Anyway. You defended him from the bullies for a week despite Damian's displeasure, claiming; "it's not worth the hassle" as he couldn't care less and he could take care of it himself, which is true, but you don't care. you won't tolerate any kind of bullying even if the person being tormented doesn't care, they're still a victim. Plus, the bullying won't stop unless he snapped anyway so it's great if you just end it early, no?

You still can't believe it but you two started hanging out more after that and became more than friends.

From being two completely different separated universe, colliding and creating a bond that goes against the law of nature, turning into a wonderfully weird whole new world.

"How could you! After all I've done for you and this is how you repay me!?" Turning to face him with fake tears, acting like a wife who has been betrayed by her husband in a movie. dramatic and cringey. It's so hard being near you for Damian, even you're already feeling the heat creeping to your face.

"What. Are you doing. "

"Using my cute privilege against you. Is it working? " fluttering your lashes at him with a dopey smile, eyes twinkling so bright Damian swore there's stars inside. You look so silly and beautiful (its something Damian can't deny and could proudly say out loud) right now.

And He feels heat creeping on his face, his heart beating his chest, palm sweaty.

Damian Wayne feels silly. He doesn't know what to do when his feelings get like this around you so he just stares and tries to keep the nonchalant facade when you both know he's jumping up and down inside his mind.

"Aha! Look at that face! " you beamed with a knowing grin like you've succeed in cracking a code.

"you don't find me annoying do youuu"

"Shut up." He turns his head away, trying to hide his reddened face like all those other times he gets flustered around you.

The rest of the day was spend as usual–being ruthlessly teased by you until he was red from head to toe. Despite what you may think. Damian Wayne actually deeply cares for you, he just hates that you can make him feel this way, hates the way you could push many emotions from him as you want, hates how you made him love hard like no other can.

Yeah. You could be a little annoying but that doesn't stop Damian Wayne from loving you. You could push his buttons many times as you want but he still wouldn't trade it for the world.

A/n: that's all for today, folks! I still can't believe that this took me a week and it's just a miniature blabber. I thought I'll make it to a oneshot fit length 😔😭 Anyways, I hope you enjoyed even though the grammar is shitty. (I think? Idk. english is not my 1st language. ) follow n like for more longer content? Tehee

[eriscary]

This is a fully updated version of Tear's info sheet. It's advised to be read only after reading the 'Passing Ghost' comic, as it contains heavy spoilers.

__________________

Biography:

Tear!Sans is a puppet body possessed by a Napstablook whose greatest wish was to become Sans and see the multiverse. He created his body from mix and matching puppets made by Error!Sans. This angered Error so much that in his outrage he happens to glitch Tear into a corrupted Underfell AU variant with a missing Sans file.

Tear’s forced, glitched entry allows the Underfell AU to act in self-preservation and use glitches to save itself from corruption. It adopts Tear!Sans as its original Sans, renaming itself to Undertear. If Tear!Sans dies and there is a RESET, he comes back like other monsters. However, it also causes Tear’s original AU to be corrupted instead due to Tear’s absence. The memories the residents have of Underfell!Sans get replaced by Tear!Sans, although not perfectly.

Appearance:

Because Tear’s body is a puppet, his bones are plush and have visible stitches. He wears white gloves to hide stitches, but his forehead has the most obvious line of them. He also wears Napstablook shaped headphones and a white coat with a purple hood. Its backside has a pattern of two tear drops forming an upside-down heart. Underneath it is a beige scarf, white shirt and black shorts.

Story:

Tear’s AU got a lot of Sans variant visitors that he observed from afar. Through observation he learns of the multiverse and wishes to experience it. Even wishing to be like Sans, to feel as loved, important and blend in with the multiverse travelers.

An opportunity presents itself to Tear when Error appears in their AU. They go through the portal Error created, to see the ‘AU’ on the other side. Instead, they find themselves in the antivoid with Error’s puppets. They proceed to mix and match the puppets in order to create a new body for themselves.

Upon his return, Error is infuriated at his work being destroyed. In their rage they attack Tear, only to end up crashing and glitching Tear to a corrupted Underfell AU variant instead. Said AU slowly patches itself up, using the same glitches Tear came there with. Changing bits of its resident’s codes, as well as its own. On their arrival to Underfell, Tear encounters a glitchy Papyrus that seems to have confused them for his brother who went missing. Not able to get a word in, they get dragged back ‘home’ with him.

In the meantime, Error manages to find where Tear went, planning to eliminate them out of anger, as well as before more timelines and AUs have a chance to exist. Unfortunately, the AU adopts Tear as its original Sans and changes its name to Undertear. With this action and thanks to creators, more AUs with Tear variants come to be. Error stops himself.

He settles on observing the AU's code for a while, before destroying the newly formed Undertear. However, after calming down from his initial infuriated reaction, he felt hesitation. Tear is made of his materials, HIS puppets. He is worried destroying Tear will destroy his stuff that he wants back. It ends up making him feel frustrated instead. After getting rid of Tear's original AU, as it's now corrupted due to their absence, Error goes on a streak of destroying different AU's with Tear’s variants. Error hates Tear for what they did. He steals the chocolates from Undertear too, out of spite (it's created from Underfell after all). This is why Tear never has chocolate at home. Tear assumes it's Papyrus eating them, so they stock up for Papyrus. Error tells himself he will eventually get rid of the anomaly that ruined his puppets, but it never happens.

The memories the AU residents have of Underfell Sans get replaced by Tear, although not perfectly. Monsters exhibit the recollection of some smaller traits (like the clothing aesthetic). Papyrus recollects the most, yet lives in stubborn belief that Tear is their brother. They got occasionally questioned by others if they are truly related since Tear is a plush. He was quick to shut everyone up. Papyrus believes his life memories cannot be wrong. It doesn’t matter what their brother is made of, he was there with them for as long as he remembers.

Tear ends up living his life as a play-pretend, replacement for Underfell Sans. Unaware his original AU is gone and unable to leave Undertear.

Personality:

Tear used to naively believe that everyone is good hearted and tried to be polite even in situations he shouldn’t.

He soon learns of the multiverse and wishes to experience it. Even wishing to become Sans himself, so he would feel important, loved and blend in more with the multiverse travelers.

But with the environment of the new AU he got stuck in, as well as the chain of events that got him there, he learns not everyone is sunshine and rainbows. Tear is quick to learn the infamous “kill or be killed” motto of his new home and becomes more jumpy, careful of any signs of hostility. This made him more nervous of new faces than he already is.

Tear spends much of his time training to behave like Sans, failing at making good puns and stressing over not being lazy enough for Sans standards. He works too hard to be one, believing it would give him everything he wanted and make him survive the new world. After all, Sans surely blends into crowds with ease. They saw it with their own eyes. Tear also goes as far as using a great deal of effort into shaping his tears to be gaster blasters and bones. It hinders his speed, although even with this he is as fast as classic Sans, but fails at matching him in damage output. Most of the time he feels like he isn’t good enough, both as his old self and Sans. The new life makes him believe it’s his responsibility to do everything Sans took care of and he decides to stay till real Sans returns. Tear tends to blame himself for everything and does not acknowledge himself as a full Sans. It comes from the fact their bones are plush and have sewing stitches, his lack of confidence making him believe he ‘didn’t study enough’ to become one, failing to match some of the memories Papyrus seems to have of a Sans that Tear never met or saw, as well as the fact he is a play pretend replacement for someone. It has caused him to not fuse with his body yet.

Even though Tear felt abandoned by family and friends in their original AU, now they truly had no one. They were alone. Everyone here seemed so cold, cruel and even harder to approach.

Underfell/Undertear Papyrus becomes Tear’s only shelter from the outside world and Tear starts to grow attached over the course of time. Papyrus ends up being the only monster that truly cares for them, wants them safe and Tear is very hungry for any form of comfort. Even hugs make him REALLY happy. As a ghost, he felt very touch starved. Papyrus even adapts himself to look out for Tear better, seeing as he was unable to get ‘his brother back in shape’. Tear finally feels like he has someone that won’t leave him. He is finally important enough like Sans.

More than anything, Tear fears being abandoned again and this fear resurfaces in a way bigger wave. Tear believes if the real Sans returned, he would be abandoned and become someone forgotten and tossed aside. Likely dusting at the hands of another monster, if not Papyrus himself. More than anything, Tear fears Papyrus learning he is just a pretender, a replacement. This constant fear pulses through him, not letting him accept himself. Tear starts hoping Underfell!Sans doesn’t return and it makes them feel more guilt.

Tear would never leave his body, even if he sank at the bottom of the ocean. He also does not slip up by not shaping his attacks either. In Tear’s eyes, he cannot afford Papyrus or anyone that could tell Papyrus knowing he is a ghost. If Papy is gone… Tear has nothing and no one. He starts pretending to be ‘a perfect Sans’ at this point just to not lose him.

Knowing he does not truly belong, makes Tear feel detached from everyone.

Sometimes he will stand outside invisible, watching everything move without him, no one noticing them and everything passing him by.

Tear in general phases/goes invisible a lot, as means of escaping certain encounters or situations.

Abilities:

- Tears: When Tear!Sans cries, his tears hurt anyone on contact. Tear’s vision also gets watery.

- Shaping tears: Tear!Sans often controls his tears to take a certain shape like his top hat, but usually gaster blasters and bones in hopes of mimicking Sans. Such objects cannot be held by anyone else, as they would take damage.

- Phasing: Tear!Sans can will his body to phase through things, just like when he was a ghost. His body gets more transparent or straight up invisible. Their magic/tears remain visible. Unlike his ghost self, phasing requires magic this time. When too emotionally overwhelmed, he will unintentionally phase. Phasing gives him invulnerability, but he cannot attack during it.

- Ghostly sight: If Tear!Sans had a strong connection with a monster that died, he can see them as a spirit. This only happens if the spirit decides to stay before passing on. In a genocide route, Papyrus is temporarily one of them. He is just a presence that can communicate with Tear, be seen only by Tear and do nothing more.

In battle:

Tear's strength is on par with Classic Sans. He doesn't hit as hard, yet keeps up by attacking faster. He, however, loses the extra speed by shaping his attacks. Because he always holds back by doing so, he is overall weaker. His boss fight is also shorter because of him spending a lot of magic uncontrollably, before and during the fight. A lot of Tear’s magic is spent on day to day occurrences where he cries and phases. Tear’s magic reserves are never full unless they just slept/ate.

-Tear shares the same stats as Napstablook (HP 88, ATK 10, DEF 10).

-Due to mimicking Sans by resting frequently, Tear overcaps his base stat HP by 10. (like player does by sleeping in the inn)

-Tear is worse at dodging than classic Sans.

-Tear does not act as a ‘judge’ for the player.

-Unlike a Classic Sans or Underfell/Undertear Papyrus, Tear has no recollection of RELOADs and RESETs

-Tear cannot use blue attacks, do damage via karma points like Sans (damage overtime), shortcut and travel AUs on their own.

-Tear’s magic dissipates inside a body of water. Paired with the fact he doesn’t know how to swim and can’t shortcut, it’s his biggest weakness.

Genocide route:

The first time Player attempts Genocide route, they are forced to RESET in the judgement hall. Tear did not fuse with his body and as such cannot be harmed by physical attacks. Not killing Tear, as they are this world’s ‘Sans’, drops the genocide route.

On a RESET the Player instead focuses on dealing with Tear’s insecurities. Although it takes excruciatingly long, Tear eventually ends up fusing with his body. They inform the Player of finally accepting themselves fully for the way they are. Thanking them via cell phone. This makes the Player finally continue dusting monsters on sight.

Having not witnessed the fight itself, Tear arrives at the sight of Papyrus dusting in front of the human. He runs away in fear, to hide. Tear can be found again, crying in the judgment hall while hiding behind a pillar and flooding the place in tears.

Player has to mind their step. Tear’s ability lets him see Papyrus’s spirit in front of him and he is the only reason they don’t have an emotional breakdown just from seeing the Player walk in. Papyrus is there solely to keep his emotions at bay, so Tear would waste less magic in the fight on crying and phasing in unintended moments. It only stalls the inevitable and his emotions still flare up. Tear is never the one that initiates the battle. Player does. First knife slash is free, Tear doesn’t dodge. He has never perceived knives as a weapon due to prior physical immunity. Having just fused, he held no fear of any item that could be considered a weapon. He screams out in pain.

Battle starts with Tear shaping his attacks into bones and gaster blasters. The more desperate and terrified he grows, the more he phases and cries on top of the already launched attacks, making it harder to dodge. Tear weeps out loud to Papyrus of how scared he is through the whole fight. His attack speed boosts, as he eventually stops shaping attacks. The battle is over when his magic is completely spent, leaving them defenseless.

Neutral route:

Neutral route is more brutal on Tear then genocide, if Papyrus is killed and they fuse with their body. Tear still runs away at the sight of Papyrus dusting and can be found crying in the judgment hall. This time Papyrus's spirit isn't there, as he has deemed his brother won't need to fight the Player. Because Tear isn't aggressive to the human and never starts fights. Papyrus saw his own death as just another 'kill or be killed' moment.

Without Papyrus there to calm Tear, Tear spends a lot of his magic having an emotional breakdown, crying and phasing, from just seeing the Player walk in. If battle with Tear is initiated, he only survives two turns before his magic is completely spent. In those two turns, Tear doesn't shape his attacks. There is more excess magic going wild.

Without killing Papyrus, the Player can fight Tear at full strength. Tear won’t be hiding or having an emotional breakdown. However, they never stop shaping their attacks. The fight ends up just as long as Classic’s.

Pacifist route:

Player focuses on defying the ‘kill or be killed’ mentality of underground monsters. Helping them see the world in a different light. Papyrus is easier to ‘convert’ because of Tear.

The Player doesn’t end up focusing on Tear, as they aren’t aggressive to them like others. Due to it, Tear doesn’t fuse with his body.

Relationships:

- Underfell!Papyrus / Undertear!Papyrus: Tear’s non-biological brother. Papyrus is convinced Tear and him are truly related. Plush body doesn’t deter him, as he ‘knows’ what his memories are. When he finds Tear, he sees his brother has lost his prior edge. Tear’s ‘new softness’ is a dangerous thing to have in this world. Papyrus tries to help but it does not seem to fix the problem. He then adapts for his brother, keeping an eye on them more to keep them safe.

Trivia:

-Tear’s name has a double meaning. ‘To shed a tear’ and ‘tear something apart’. Different characters will say their name differently, depending on the personal opinion of them.

- He is very soft to hug.

- He is very light and his steps leave no sound.

- His favorite food are Blueberries, or as he calls them, Boo Berries.

- He occasionally calls the Player by a pet name “treasure”.

- Tear slightly hides behind Papyrus when seeing new faces.

- He gets excited at seeing any Sans or Papyrus, no matter how they look.

- Used pronouns are He/They.

- When terrified, Tear can unintentionally water blast the person through his eye sockets.

- If UF!Papyrus was to realize Tear isn’t his real brother and was to confront them angrily, much to his horror, Tear’s soul would break on its own from lack of hope.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Mafia AU

Recently, my mind has been held hostage by the idea of Tim going undercover as Caroline Hill and falling for Danny like there's no tomorrow. Misunderstandings, identity shenanigans, shady deals and sketchy business, guns, illegal labs and experiments, action and romance, the whole package.

Which is why — can I get a drumroll, please — I'm making a thing!

Crime Scene Do Not Cross by corkinavoid on ao3

Also, the tag #cork writes mafia on this blog

Because one platform is somehow not enough since the thing includes moodboard, aesthetics, playlists/soundtracks, long pieces of written text and little snippets, text message screenshots, memes and whatever else I come up with.

Speaking of,

there's a moodboard for the whole work.

The main ship is Dead Tired (look at the moodboard, it has Danny's vibes on the left and Tim's on the right, I'm kind of proud of that), but Anger Management is going to be happening there as well. Also, I have redeemed Vlad the mafia boss, Sam the badass witch, Dani the unrestrained chaotic little princess, some family drama, some vigilante drama, a lot of identity porn and more.

Welcome aboard to my new hyperfixation ride, people, I hope you like it!

–○–

The whole thing was inspired by:

@chubby-p1nk and their Caroline Hill art

'The Cleaning Lady' show

various other shows and movies, including 'Found', 'FBI', 'Mr. & Mrs. Smith' (both the movie and the show), 'Code Black', 'Lift'

I am also uncertain of how long my motivation will last, so expect sporadic updates on everything.

[sunsburns]

peace in the madness (i) — john walker

⟢ synopsis. despite it all, you can john walker make a pretty good team.

⟢ contains. plot from fatws, wakanda forever & thunderbolts*, violence, gore, death, murder, politics, morally ambiguous characters, john is a bad person, the reader is a bad person, fem!reader, slow burn, mutual pinning, reader is an assassin, action scenes, lots and lots of plot and words sorry.

⟢ wc: 14.4k+

⟢ author’s note. this started off as a thirst post for john walker but then i got ahead of myself and now we have a slow burn fic in the making with over 10k words per chapter, sue me. i just beleive john is such a complex character and i needed him under a microscope.

Present Day – 19:04 hrs

“Remember, this is a non-lethal op. Valentina says we can’t have any more bodies traced back to her.”

You shift your weight, the rooftop gravel crunching softly beneath your knee. A slow exhale fogs the air before you for half a second before clearing. The city stretches out in front of you, muted, restless. The sun had just dipped behind a jagged skyline of glass and steel, leaving behind a smeared amber haze. It painted long shadows across the streets below, where headlights flickered to life like fireflies.

Dusk was always the worst. Not dark enough to disappear, not light enough to see clean. But it was your best window. The fifteen-minute gap between the day shift clocking out and the night guards trickling in—eyes off monitors, radios switching hands, attention divided. Just long enough for Ghost and U.S. Agent to breach the perimeter, move fast, and get out clean.

That was the idea, anyway.

Beside you, a slim matte-black laptop sat open in the gravel, its screen casting a greenish hue on your gloves. A thermal overlay of the building two blocks down flickered on display, tracking body heat in faint red pulses. Two of those pulses—John Walker and Ava Starr—moved steadily toward the north service entrance, right on schedule. The building’s schematics hovered in the corner of the screen: lines of data flowing like code through a digital wireframe, green-on-black, flickering every so often.

Technically, Valentina had “acquired” the schematics through official channels. In reality, you knew she had someone twist the arm of someone important who owed her. Either way, it landed in your inbox. You wished she had managed to get access to the live security footage.

You adjusted your elbows against the ledge, the butt of your rifle snug against your shoulder. Custom grip. High-calibre suppressor. Nothing lethal tonight—just tranquillizers and a scope calibrated to tag a guard’s thigh at four hundred metres without alerting the guy next to him.

You had your knives, though, just in case.

And maybe you had real bullets too. You know, just in case.

Through the scope, the world narrowed to a single slice of reality: the street below, filtered in sharp contrast. A white utility van idled at the curb, hazard lights blinking in a slow, steady rhythm.

“You copy that, Walker?” Ava’s voice broke into comms, laced with sarcasm. You could hear her grin. “Means keep the temper in check.”

A burst of static, then a dry scoff. “Please. I’m the most emotionally stable one on this team.”

You smirked, never lifting your eye from the scope. “Anger still counts as an emotion. If anyone’s got a handle on their shit, it’s ‘Lena.”

“I’m more stable than you.” comes his immediate reply.

“Highly doubt that.”

“Wanna bet?”

There was the smallest pause, not long, just a breath, and you were already lining up your next jab when Ava broke in, her voice flat. “Can we not do this right now?”

You bit back your reply. She was right. You’d have all the time in the world for petty back-and-forths and real shoves later, once the job was over, once you were wheels up and back on the jet for a debrief with Barnes. For now, you just have to keep things tight.

You didn’t answer, but the faint grumble of agreement from Walker’s comm told you he was backing off, too. Probably reluctantly.

You glanced at the time: 19:05. “Fifteen seconds to breach,” you said, eyes flicking to the laptop beside you. The red tracker blips show you they were holding position just outside the perimeter, waiting for your go.

“North fence is clear,” you added. “No visible movement on cams. You’ve got a thirty-second blind spot, so move clean.”

You exhaled slowly, steadily. Finger off the trigger, but ready. The soft click of your rifle’s safety going hot was the only sound above your breathing.

The perimeter fence came into view on the feed. “Eyes on,” you muttered, tracking them both as they closed in. “Execute on my mark.”

Ava reached the side door first, already at the panel. Walker kept the rear cover, his silhouette tense and alert.

You adjusted your scope again, with an angle wide enough to catch both targets and the door in the frame.

You cracked your neck. “Three… two… one. Breach.”

A faint static came through the comms—Ava phasing through the doors and overriding the locks, letting John in.

“Entry confirmed,” she reported. “We’re in.”

“Alright,” you mutter and settle in. “Let’s steal a thing.”

The thing is a recipe.

A file. A set of encrypted protocols. A theoretical antidote.

Your objective is to extract archived material once belonging to OXE—an old failsafe from the Sentry program. Apparently, Val kept one copy tucked away in a black site R&D facility, just in case. And now that Bob’s officially on the New Avengers roster, she wants it out of any hands but her own.

She never said why, but the team figured it out anyway:

The recipe is a formula designed to suppress or stabilize Bob’s abilities—not a killswitch, exactly, but something close. A failsafe to reduce his emotional volatility during one of his manic spikes or episodes. Something to keep the Void at bay so that Bob could use his powers without turning into another anomaly.

You didn’t love the implications.

But you liked Bob.

He was sweet, awkward and out of place in every room, but in a way that made you root for him. Like watching someone try to stand up in a world that kept shifting beneath his feet. He reminded you of a neighbour you used to have when you lived in a shitty apartment.

You’d been there during the early days of his recovery. Helped Yelena guide him through the tangled mess of who he’d been and who he was now. Neither of you really had a plan. Honestly, you both just winged it. Gave him space. Gave him structure. Sometimes, you gave him snacks when he looked like he might cry.

Most of it, he had to figure out on his own. But none of you left him to do it alone.

Combat training fell to you because Bucky was too stiff and formal, and Alexei treated every session like a test of manhood and heroism. John tried once—just once—but walked away muttering, “How the hell do you teach someone who can melt concrete by accident?” So you stepped in. You didn’t think you could be any better than the rest of them, but Bob seemed to be learning.

Ava worked on basic life skills and academics with him—laundry, math, and how to boil water. Yelena handled the social stuff: conversations, sarcasm, and the difference between being funny and being rude.

It wasn’t always successful.

You liked to think the self-help books Bucky kept slipping him helped more than anything else.

You caught Bob reading one on emotional regulation over breakfast once, underlining passages with a pink highlighter. You didn’t say anything. Just sat beside him, poured a second cup of coffee, and read your own book.

“Ghost, keep moving east. You’re coming up on the lab corridor,” you say, your voice low in the comms. “The third door on the right should be the terminal. Look for a glass panel near the keypad—it’ll bypass the sound barrier if you fry the lock.”

“I see it,” Ava replies. “I’m clear.”

“Walker, shift south. You’ve got two patrols on a staggered sweep—one’s off-pattern. If they get eyes on you and hit the alarm, we’ll have a five-minute window before response units converge.”

“Five minutes is plenty of time,” John mutters, almost bored.

Ava snorts. “Is that what the girls you bring to bed tell you to make you feel better?”

Despite yourself, you huff a quiet laugh. The corners of your mouth twitch as John grumbles, deadpan and dry, “Funny. Truly hilarious, Ava.”

“Thanks. I try my best.”

You glance down at your laptop, watching the two red blips moving across the grainy schematic. Ava’s nearing the lab. Walker’s rerouting to intercept the patrols. The building layout’s a mess—half the blueprint’s been Frankensteined together from mismatched archives, with whole sections scribbled over in corrupted data strings. Which makes sense, because Val’s intel is always somewhere between half-baked and legally actionable.

“Still no eyes on that eastern stairwell?” Ava asks, voice tense but steady.

“Still dark. Feed cuts out halfway up the stairwell. Could be lead shielding or just bad wiring. Either way, be ready for when you hit the lab.”

You adjust your grip, gloved fingers ghosting over the safety as you settle deeper into a more comfortable position. The rifle’s cold beneath your cheek, scope zeroed in on the east-facing window of the building complex. Below, the white van is still idling. Its blinkers flash every few seconds.

A flicker cuts across your scope—too fast, too low. Movement. Wrong angle.

Through the long stretch of second-story window glass, you spot Walker moving just as planned, cutting across a side hallway, back hunched slightly to minimize his silhouette, hand resting near his holster.

But there’s another shape less than ten metres back, hugging the wall. No tag on your screen display. No heat signature. No digital marker to tell you what unit they belong to.

The figure moves with practiced precision, tight stance, smooth gait, rifle already drawn, angled for a clean line-of-sight. They’re trailing just far enough behind Walker that he hasn’t noticed. Must be soundless, too. He’d have heard the steps otherwise.

“Where the hell did you come from?” you mutter, adjusting your grip.

You shift your rifle, sighting them down the scope. No insignia, no armour signature. Their suit is matte, black, the kind that absorbs light and bends edges, stealth-grade gear. High-end. This wasn’t in the briefing.

You flick through the thermal overlay and find nothing. Either they’re cloaked, or someone scrubbed them from your network feed entirely.

Your finger brushes the trigger guard. You line up the shot.

And then you freeze.

If you shoot, the alarm system triggers instantly. Shattered glass, body on the floor, muzzle flare from a sniper rifle in a supposedly dead zone, the AI security in this place will wake up screaming. Every unit on-site will descend to its position in less than two minutes. Mission’s a wash. Bob’s antidote, lost.

Too many variables.

You exhale through your nose, trying to slow the rising pulse in your neck. Your finger curls near the trigger, just shy of committing. “Walker—tail on your six. Armed.”

Without hesitation, John pivots. Clean. A soldier’s turn: weight shifted just right, elbow up, forearm slamming hard into the barrel of the oncoming pistol just as the hostile pulls the trigger.

The shot slams into the wall, sparks and marble shattering.

The two collide mid-hallway in a rugged scramble. No words, just kicks, elbows, and desperate force.

You track them both through the scope, struggling to find a clean angle as they slam into the corridor’s far wall, fists flying. John’s back hits hard enough to dent and break the marble tile.

There’s training in the attacker’s movements, but nothing polished. Just raw aggression. A blade flashes once. John knocks it aside. He locks the hostile’s arm and tries for a disarm. Gets a fist to the face for his trouble. The pistol clatters to the floor.

“Walker,” you say again, more urgently. “This is non-lethal. Do not kill him.”

“Yeah, I got it,” he snaps through clenched teeth.

Another thud as the two of them crash into a concrete column. John gets a hand on the guy’s neck and forces him to the ground, but the attacker rolls, swinging a knee straight into Walker’s ribs.

Your hands tighten on the rifle.

Seconds later, the lights inside the building shift, bleeding into crimson. A pulsing red wash blinks through the hallway in timed intervals. Then the alarms scream to life, shrill, high-pitched wails that rattle your teeth through your comms and cut through the silence like a blade.

“Shit.” The word rips from your mouth.

You spin toward the monitor beside you, flicking over to the digital feed. “Ava, babe, I’m gonna need you to move with those files. Now.”

“I can’t exactly control how fast these want to download,” Ava mutters through clenched teeth. “This terminal is running on—what is this, Windows 2000?”

You barely register the sarcasm. Your gaze jumps between tabs and windows, digital heat maps flickering wildly, red outlines of guards beginning to move in a ripple, breaking formation. Swarming. The entire eastern wing is lighting up. You track one group breaching a stairwell, and another cutting toward the lower hall. All of them converge on John’s position.

You drop your eye back to the scope.

John’s still locked in hand-to-hand with the hostile, barely holding ground. The fight is close-quarters, raw and ugly. The man he’s grappling with is vicious—fast, using tight elbows and low strikes. He’s fighting like someone who’s been told not to leave survivors.

You shift your position, adjusting the tripod, trying to align a clean shot. But they’re too close. Moving too fast. Every time you get the hostile in your sights, John shifts into your line—an elbow, a shoulder, a blur of movement that risks friendly fire.

“Give me a clear shot, Walker.”

“I can take ‘em,” he grunts, voice rough.

You watch through the glass as he slams a punch into the guy’s side, but it’s sloppy—his feet are too close together, too flat. A stupid habit of his, one he’s never really corrected, no matter how many times you’ve needled him for it during sparring sessions. You don’t even realize you’re muttering under your breath until the words slip out.

“Watch your feet…”

And sure enough, the hostile sweeps low, catching John’s ankle. He goes down hard, landing on one shoulder, barely catching himself in time to keep from getting pinned.

Your eye twitches behind the scope. “You’ve got twenty seconds until a half dozen soldiers are on top of you,” you snap. “You’re about to be outnumbered, John. Give me a shot.”

“You doubting me?”

“Not doubting,” you say, steady despite the thundering in your chest, “just asking you to hurry up or give me a fucking angle.”

There’s a pause—a grunt, then a huffed breath through the comms as John forces himself back onto his feet. You can see him through the scope, rising with the kind of tenacity only men like him carry—soldier-stubborn, blood in his mouth, grit in his bones.

“I got this,” he growls.

“Sixteen seconds,” you say anyway, flatly. No patience to deal with him. You don’t have time for his ego, not when he is about to be compromised and Ava still has a job to finish. You flick your gaze to the screen, watching her tag blinking steadily in the lab.

“Ava?” you call out.

“Almost got it.”

“Twelve seconds, Walker. Eleven.”

Your fingers hover over the trigger, steady but tense. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you remind yourself that even if you did accidentally graze John, the odds of a standard round doing real damage to a super soldier are slim. Still, the thought turns your stomach. It’s not the damage you’re worried about—it’s the principle.

He’s your teammate now, whether you want him or not. And sure, you won’t miss, but John’s too unpredictable in a fight. Sometimes he moves like he’s still in formation, clean and efficient, tactical. Other times, he throws that out the window, fighting dirty, using weight and brute force, slamming elbows, and breaking form. He leans on his strength like a crutch.

“Six seconds.”

The two tangle together again, this time in a headlock. John’s arm is locked around the hostile’s throat, but his footing slips, just enough to lose leverage. They pivot, stagger, and crash into the wall like bulls. You can see the tremble of strain in his shoulders.

You adjust the scope. Grit your teeth.

“Five seconds.”

“I got it. I got it—fuck!”

You don’t wait.

The shot cuts clean through the dusk—suppressed, but still sharp. A brief shudder through your body, a flash of recoil. The bullet punches through the reinforced glass, spiderwebbing the pane in a single fracture.

The hostile drops instantly. Like a puppet with its strings sliced. A dead weight slamming against tile. Head-first. Spine buckles.

John freezes, standing over the body as it crumples at his feet. Blood spatters in a fan across his neck and cheek, warm red across the sweat already beading at his collar. His chest heaves once. Then again.

You don't breathe until you’re sure he’s fine.

“Contact,” you call into comms, “Hostile neutralized. You’re welcome, Walker.”

Through the scope, you watch John pause, briefly, with blood on his face. He glances toward the window, eyes scanning the rooftops like he might catch a glimpse of you. But he doesn’t linger. He turns on his heel and bolts down the corridor, slipping into the flickering red wash of emergency lights, boots pounding against the polished floors.

The guards spill in seconds later, converging on the body you dropped. You shift your view, watching them swarm like hornets kicked awake.

Static hisses. Then John’s voice crackles through.

“So much for non-lethal,” he mutters. The sarcasm is brittle, but there’s no heat in it, more of a reflex than a complaint. Then, after a beat, “Good shot.”

You allow yourself the smallest smile, even as your pulse stubbornly refuses to slow, and you try biting down the way your heart stutters in your chest.

“It was an excellent shot,” you correct, smug as ever, already returning to the heatmap where John’s signal is pushing further away from the kill zone. You track him weaving through side corridors, putting distance between himself and the growing cluster of guards.

“Thanks for watching my flank,” he adds, voice faint but clear.

“Yeah,” you say, rolling your eyes with a half-smile he can’t see. “Can’t say I never did anything for you.”

Thirty-four months ago – 18:07 hrs

It was unusual for Valentina to pair you up with someone else during a shadow op. Sure, you knew she had other agents, mercenaries, and off-the-books assets scattered across the country—most of them names you weren’t supposed to know, and faces you’d never seen twice. But she never gave you a job that required backup. She never needed to. You were efficient, lethal, and clean. Whatever assignment she sent your way, you handled it alone.

And usually, Valentina would’ve given you a briefing over the phone—quick, coded, impersonal. Ever since she got Everett Ross arrested, she’d been keeping her head low, her name even lower. No texts. No encrypted drops. Just a voice in your ear telling you where to be and what to do. That was the new pattern.

So yeah, it threw you when you came home and found her already inside your apartment, legs crossed, mug in hand as if she’d always belonged there. You hadn’t even reached for the light switch before she looked up at you with that familiar smile—cool, polished like this was just another Tuesday.

You figured from that moment that whatever job she was about to give you would be different.

The scent of your coffee still lingered in the air. Strong. Burnt. She must’ve made it fresh. Bold of her, considering your kitchen was barely more than a rusted kettle, chipped tiles, and a dollar-store knife set you never used but let your neighbour across the hall, Peter, borrow when he needed it. The couch she lounged on was old, military surplus maybe, something you picked up off a thrift store for cheap a few years ago.

“You know,” Valentina said, swirling the mug with a faint look of distaste, “for someone I pay quite handsomely, this place is a crime against interior design.” She gestured vaguely at the peeling paint, the half-dead plant on the windowsill, and a rug that had definitely seen better decades. “At least get curtains. Or a new couch. God, do you sleep on this?”

“Good to see you too, Val,” you muttered, kicking the door shut behind you. You dropped your stuff with a dull thud by the wall and made a slow beeline for the kitchen, grabbing a half-drunk bottle of wine from the counter. “Always a pleasure.”

She watched you over the rim of her mug, something fond tugging at her smirk. “You know I’m just looking out for you, hun.”

When she stood from the couch, it gave a wheeze of protest. She wrinkled her nose at it with genuine offence. “I can’t believe you live like this. After this job, we’re going apartment hunting. Non-negotiable.”

You gave her a look, wine glass halfway to your mouth, then rolled your eyes and sipped anyway.

Val met you at the kitchen island and casually tossed a file down with the same effort someone might use to hand over a receipt. It slid a few inches across the counter. “Your next mission.”

The confidential folder was thicker than usual. Neat. Pressed. Clipped with that high-grade OXE stationery that always reeked of classified importance. Inside: brief logistics, heat maps, aerial photos of some sandblasted facility in the middle of nowhere. She’d labelled it Operation Ashglass.

The objective: extract a captured OXE-affiliated scientist from a rogue paramilitary cell squatting in a fortified complex along the edge of mountains—ambiguous terrain, west of Durango, Mexico, somewhere that made jurisdiction murky and involvement deniable. It was textbook Valentina: silent infiltration, no witnesses, no mess. Get in, get the target, and ghost out.

She never gave you full dossiers. Just fragments. A hint of motive here. A half-truth there. You’d stopped asking questions a long time ago—unless it was something mission-critical.

And then you turned the page.

There it was. A picture that stood out. It wasn’t the target—it was a personnel profile. Cleaner. Official. Military-standard. OXE clearance and an enhanced physiology tag in bold black text. That face you’d seen before—on the news.

“U.S. Agent?” you asked, brows furrowing.

“Oh, yes,” Val said with a little flourish, finally setting down the mug. She stepped beside you and tapped the photo like she was showing off a school project. “He’ll be joining you. Don’t mind all the printed fluff.” Her hand slid down, fingernail tapping a yellow sticky note beneath the paper. You recognized her handwriting instantly.

His desperate need for validation would be sad if it weren’t useful. Just keep stroking that fragile ego.

You stared at it. Then glanced at her.

“It’s how you’ll get along,” she said brightly as if it were obvious. Then she wandered off, opening your fridge like it was her own. You didn’t stop her.

You stayed rooted in place, one hand still resting on the edge of the file, the other loosely cradling your wine glass. You’d heard of John F. Walker—who hadn’t? His name and face had been splattered across the news for months. The rise and fall of America’s new golden boy. A war hero turned public tragedy, Captain America, stripped of his title, caught on video with blood on his shield.

How embarrassing.

You never knew he worked for Val.

But of course you didn’t. You were a ghost in her network, just like he was. No one was supposed to know who worked for her. That was the point. Still, it was hard to imagine him—the man who’d tried and failed to be a symbol—now skulking around in black ops missions under her banner.

You flipped through the file again. Standard OXE dossier layout, but chunkier than most. Half of it was redacted in black bars thick enough to cover small paragraphs. Still, a few key points caught your eye:

Name: John F. Walker Status: Active Rank: Former Captain, United States Army – 75th Ranger Regiment Service Notes: [REDACTED] Post-Service: Briefly served as Captain America until dishonourable discharge. Current Alias: U.S. Agent Abilities: Peak human physical condition from military training. Enhanced strength via hazardous self-administered Super Soldier Serum. Proficient in shield-based combat. Notable Operations: Led multiple military campaigns with a high success rate. Awarded medals for bravery and service. Prevented terrorist threat on U.S. soil. Demonstrated strong tactical leadership in high-stakes hostage recovery missions.

You read it all twice, then looked up. “He’ll be working with me?”

Val, now elbow-deep in your fridge, pulled out a questionable container, opened it, sniffed, then wrinkled her nose and tossed it in the garbage. “Somewhat. He has his own mission, but your paths will intersect.”

“Will his mission interfere with mine?”

“It shouldn’t,” she said, turning to lean against the counter beside you, “The two of you will drop in together. I can arrange an extraction zone a few miles from the compound. As long as you bring me Dr. Murphy, alive and unharmed, I’d consider it a rousing success.”

“And if someone gets in my way?”

Valentina smiled, slow and indulgent. “Take care of them. Any way you like. The plane leaves tomorrow morning. Seven on the dot.”

You were there by six.

And somehow, John Walker was already on board before you.

When you stepped into the cargo aircraft, the cold air hit first—sharp, metallic, familiar. Walker sat alone on the left side of the plane, smack in the middle of the row, already strapped in with his shoulders squared and his eyes locked on his phone.

He wore his suit.

The one the world had seen when he paraded around as Captain America.

Only now, the colours looked muted—bled out. The blue was deeper, like bruised skin. The red had faded into a muddy maroon, and the white was a grimy, bone-grey shade in certain places, streaked from too many missions and stains that no amount of scrubbing could fully erase. Blood, probably. You could see it in the creases of the fabric, in the weathering across the chest.

There was something unshakeably worn about him.

You took the seat directly across from him, surprised he hadn’t acknowledged you. Not even a glance. Just kept scrolling through his phone like he had all the time in the world. You watched as he scratched at his jaw, brushing over the faint scruff lining his chin. He exhaled through his nose, barely more than a tired huff, and dragged a thumb lazily across the screen.

His hair was longer than you'd expected, a light, muted blond that caught the edge of the sunrise through the open ramp. It slipped across his brow, unruly and unbothered. His helmet sat beside him, dull and dented, the star on the forehead barely visible anymore.

You turned away and counted your bullets.

Not because you needed to—you’d already counted twice before boarding—but because it gave your hands something to do. Something quiet.

About twenty minutes passed before he finally looked up from his phone. You didn’t move, but you felt it—that subtle shift in the air. The kind of tension that crackled in silence. His posture changed: back straightening, boots planted harder into the floor like instinct had kicked in. You glanced up just in time to catch his eye and the way his jaw clenched. He nodded once, tight-lipped, and you blinked at him in return.

That was it. That was the extent of your introduction before the plane took off.

Neither of you said a word.

You shifted your gaze past him instead, watching a pair of OXE field operators secure crates and compressed tanks into bolted brackets across the far wall. A reinforced cooler unit was strapped down beside them—probably med supplies or something volatile. You weren’t cleared to ask, and you didn’t care enough to guess. The faint smell of jet fuel and steel mingled with cold air circulating through the cargo bay. Somewhere near the cockpit, static cracked in and out over the intercom; it was radio chatter from OXE’s command channel, coded and low.

Your seat was hard metal with a worn cushion, bolted to the frame. No frills. No comfort. You adjusted your knife sheath against your thigh and leaned back.

Walker kept to himself. You did too.

Even if you’d wanted to speak, there wasn’t anything worth saying. You were here for your mission, and he was here for his. Separate, parallel objectives. No need for small talk, or whatever he might’ve been like when he wore the stars and stripes.

You moved on autopilot. Occasionally, you got up to stretch your legs, shake off the stiffness, and check the window. Once, you made your way to the tiny steel restroom toward the tail end of the aircraft—just a glorified metal closet with a drain. He waited until you were seated again before he stood and did the same.

It was a long flight.

Eventually, one of the pilots unstrapped and ducked below the low cabin ceiling, making his way back to you. He didn’t say much—just a nod and a flat “Drop zone in five. Gear up.” Then he was gone again.

You stood, boots heavy against the vibrating floor as you grabbed a parachute from the wall rig. It was a standard stealth issue: black webbing and a well-worn pack with a clean deployment record. You shouldered it with practiced ease, adjusting the straps as you moved toward the rear gate.

You felt Walker behind you a beat later, mirroring your steps.

The back gate began to creak open with a mechanical whine, the hydraulics groaning before the full force of the wind slammed inside. Papers whipped through the air—briefing pages, loose Velcro tags, anything unsecured. Your hair, pinned down before you left, was now fighting its restraints, strands catching in your face. You didn’t bother fixing it.

You stepped closer to the edge, peering out over the yawning drop below. The land stretched wide beneath you, jagged mountain ridges bleeding into open wilderness and fractured stone. Near the horizon, a river carved through the earth like a vein—narrow, silver, and winding. There was a cluster of small buildings there, the hazy blur of an old city built. Just visible in the dawn glow was a tall, narrow building, sharper and darker than the others.

That had to be it.

You heard movement behind you, of boots shifting against metal, a slight creak of worn floor panels, and you turned just in time to catch Walker stepping up close, too close. Instinct had you shifting a step to the side, pivoting until he was back in your peripheral vision. He didn’t flinch at the silent correction—just leaned forward slightly to look down at the terrain below, hands braced loosely on his thighs.

Then he straightened again and shook his head, exhaling sharply before pulling his helmet on. He strapped it tight with practiced ease. “Jesus,” he muttered.

You quirked a brow. “Never jumped out of a plane before?”

You doubted it. With his record—what you knew of it, at least—he’d probably done a dozen HALO drops. Maybe more.

Walker turned his head to you. “I have,” he shouted over the noise. “It’s just been a while.”

You caught the shift in his voice—slightly raw, not from nerves, but memory. The kind that stuck like shrapnel. You nodded slowly, eyes trailing him in your side view. Taller than you expected. Broader, too.

“I’m Walker,” he said finally, pivoting fully to face you. One gloved hand reached out, stiff but polite. Formal. The soldier’s way of making nice. A true gentleman when he tried. If you didn’t know any better, you wouldn’t have thought this was the same man who tainted the symbol of Captain America in the span of four weeks.

You turned to meet him halfway, fingers tightening around his hand with a steady, even grip. You told him your name. “Nice to meet you, Walker.”

His brows knit under the helmet’s brim. He nodded once, then let go, hand curling into a fist at his side like he didn’t know what to do with it anymore.

“I read your file,” he said after a second. “Gotta say, ‘t’s pretty impressive for someone not military trained. Did you come up through S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

You turned your face back toward the open hatch, letting the sunlight catch your cheek. “No.”

“Red Room?”

“No.”

“…HYDRA?”

You gave him a lazy side-eye, letting your head roll just slightly on your shoulders. “I’m not a Nazi, Walker, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

His lips twitched upwards and he cracked a light laugh—barely audible over the wind, but you heard it. He shook his head once, a faint breath escaping as he settled his weight back into his heels.

“Just tryin’ get to know you,” he shouted. “That’s all.”

You didn’t answer. Not because you didn’t have a reply, but because there was nothing else worth saying.

One of the pilots returned, bracing himself against the wall as the aircraft hit light turbulence. He made his way to the side panel near the rear, glancing down at a set of toggles before giving a sharp wave. “Reaching drop zone! T-minus three seconds!”

The signal was enough. You turned, grabbed hold of your chute’s harness one last time for good measure, and then stepped closer to the gate’s edge. The wind screamed past you, drying your lips and stinging your eyes. You didn’t flinch.

You threw one last glance over your shoulder, fixing your goggles into place. Walker was watching, head tilted just slightly. You could feel his eyes tracking you even from across the roar of the aircraft.

You raised your hand in a lazy wave. “Good luck!”

Then you stepped off the ramp and vanished into the wind.

The force of the fall sucked the breath out of your lungs, wind shrieking past your ears as it clawed at every seam of your suit, gravity tearing you downward. The world below hurtled toward you, a blur of ridgelines, lush foliage, and jagged rock—earth scorched by the sun but fractured with patches of greenery. Mesquite trees and ocotillo branched out of cracked soil, the brush scattering along the slopes of a low mountain range.

You shifted your weight, angling toward the drop zone marked in your HUD: a small clearing tucked just below a rocky bluff, just about a klick out from the compound’s edge. It wasn’t much; barely flat; littered with brittle stone, but it was good enough.

You counted the seconds. Then pulled.

The chute snapped open with a whipcrack, jolting your harness and pulling hard at your spine. You gritted your teeth and rode the drag until your boots hit the earth.

You touched down harder than you liked, rock bit into your knees as you rolled, shoulder catching the edge of a stunted bush, but you were up in seconds, chute already being detached and folded tight.

You dropped low behind a rocky ledge, body pressed tight to the ground.

You scanned the horizon and saw no movement yet.

The compound loomed ahead, wedged between the base of a canyon wall and a ridge of limestone hills. Not what Valentina’s file had suggested. Bigger. Smarter. Partially built into the hillside—worn roofs, sand-coloured siding, power lines strung low between towers disguised as agricultural silos. Fields of tall grass surrounded the place, and the gravel path leading in was bordered by fencing and barricades that didn’t look standard.

You didn’t have time to admire it.

A shout cracked through the silence, sharp and panicked.

Two guards crested the ridge behind you, rifles drawn, boots snapping over brittle underbrush.

They hadn’t seen your landing—but they’d heard it.

Fuck.

They weren’t supposed to be there. Valentina’s file had said nothing about scouts this close to the drop zone.

You froze, breath caught low in your chest.

If you moved now, if your boots scraped against rock or brush—they’d hear it. You knew that. So instead, you went still.

Your hand slipped silently toward your weapon, screwing the suppressor into place with one fluid twist. Then you rolled to your back, adjusted your position, and raised the sight to your eye.

They were moving between the mesquite and cedar, their camo blurring against the background. But the sunlight caught them, just enough. You tracked the first one through the scope and squeezed the trigger.

The shot hit his shoulder.

He didn’t drop.

Instead, he turned, shouting—gun half-raised—

Second shot.

Dirty. Right below his helmet. In his face, bursting through the side of his skull. He folded into the dirt like a dead weight.

The second one screamed, already firing as she charged. Her bullets tore the brush inches from your leg. You ducked low, teeth gritted, then surged forward as she closed the distance—no time to aim.

You met her halfway.

Blade out. You caught her just under the ribs, the blade biting deep as her weight crashed into you.

She rolled and hit the slope hard. Gravel tore into her palms as she scrambled to get up.

You tackled her, straddled her chest, and drove the knife in again, deeper this time.

Her scream barely made it out before your gloved hand clamped over her mouth. She jerked once, twice—then went still.

You exhaled and crouched low. Dust curling around your knees.

The quiet came back.

You stood and rushed to the body at the top of the hill. His uniform was cleaner. You could work with that.

You knelt beside the body, breathing steadily now, fingers already working. The man’s uniform was a local military issue—dust-faded fatigues, patched at the seams, boots scuffed but solid. You stripped him quickly, trading your own gear for his piece by piece: shirt, vest, gloves, boots. Loose fit, a little too broad in the shoulders, but it would pass under pressure.

His helmet, which had come last, the interior still damp with sweat and blood, had started to soak the back of it. You didn’t flinch as you strapped it on.

A radio unit was clipped to the front of his vest, already hissing with static. You clicked it once to check the channel.

A radio clung to the chest strap, crackling with static, and you pressed it once to check the channel. Foreign chatter. Spanish—regional accent. You knew it well. But that didn’t matter. You listened, not for words, but tone. Urgency. Panic. Nothing yet. No raised alarms.

You took his dog tags and shoved them into your thigh pouch. Just in case. Insurance.

Your own gear went into the ravine behind a cluster of brush, shoved deep and covered in loose dirt. You kept your weapons, though. The bodies were dragged into the shadow of a low rock wall, out of sight if no one looked too hard.

You scanned the ridgelines in the distance. No sign of movement. No shadow slipping between trees. No falling parachute.

You couldn’t tell if Walker had already landed or if he was just that good.

You doubted it; he didn’t strike you as the stealthy type.

You adjusted the rifle on your back, fingers tightening just once on the sling. Then you turned toward the slope.

From a distance, the compound had looked like a relic—half-sunken and silent, swallowed by the green swell of the mountainside. Vines clung to rusted scaffolding. Concrete blistered under heat and rain. Satellite dishes, three of them, were bolted at odd angles into a sloping rooftop like broken bones jutting from skin.

Abandoned. Or pretending to be.

And that was the first lie.

You moved uphill through the riverbed’s dry seam, low and careful, boots sinking in silt. Thorns tore faint lines into your sleeves. The sun had baked the path to cracked clay, and each breath burned hotter than the last. Your stolen uniform stuck to your spine like wet gauze. The guard’s blood had dried to a tacky smear across your gloves. You rubbed your hand along your thigh to clear it and kept going.

You told yourself you’d done harder jobs.

Val hadn’t said much. She rarely did. Only that Dr. Murphy had been taken—“kidnapped,” she called it as if someone had beaten her to the punch. And she wanted him back. Nothing more.

But the photo she gave you said enough.

A pale man with wire-rim glasses and sunken cheeks, skin thinned from stress and exile. His posture was a question mark. Eyes hollow. An Irish national, wrapped in a name you didn’t recognize and a face that felt too soft and mundane for the kind of work Valentina expects.

You crested the slope and paused.

Closer now, the compound wasn’t empty. Not even close.

The barbed wire was new. So were the floodlights, off for now, but pointed outward like they knew someone might come. Reinforced fences lined the outer edges, looped with security mesh you hadn’t seen from above. No cameras. No tech giveaways.

You spotted a garden first. Neat rows. Bright vegetables. Rich, real soil—someone had been tending it carefully. Too careful for a prison. Too careful for a lab.

A little farther, stables came into view. Cows. Horses. A few goats. Fresh straw.

You slowed.

A woman crossed the yard in a long blue dress, her gait gentle and slow. Pregnant. Eight, maybe nine months. One hand braced her lower back. The other shielded her eyes from the sun as she called something to someone you couldn’t see. Her voice was soft. The sound of it didn’t match anything in your training.

You stopped walking for the first time.

Just a second.

Just enough to feel the shape of something wrong twist in your chest—like a metal hook curling behind your ribs. Were you in the wrong place?

But then you moved again. Knife already in hand.

The dirt trail beneath your boots was narrow and winding, just wide enough for two people. You followed it like you belonged, shoulders loose, pace measured. A shape emerged ahead—a man in fatigues, walking toward you, rifle slung, hand on his belt. No urgency. Just patrol.

He didn’t know what you were.

You dipped your chin slightly in as he approached, a nod. He didn’t return it.

Instead, he squinted. Slowed. His mouth started to open, already forming a question you wouldn’t let him finish. Probably about the uniform. Or your face. Or your route. The sun caught in his eyes.

And in that breath of hesitation, you moved.

The blade slipped through the space between you like breath. You pressed forward, arm steady, cutting across the exposed skin of his throat—clean and deep. His eyes widened, and his hands caught yours too late, reflexes firing only after the damage had been done.

He made a sound; a wet, helpless choke. You caught him before his knees hit the ground.

For a moment, his weight hung in your arms. Then you shoved him forward, over the railing and down the scrubbed hill, where he vanished into the brush. The woman in the blue dress didn’t look up.

Inside the barrier, it was cooler—shadows stretching long beneath shaded walkways and low-slung rooftops. Vines clung to the brick walls in tangled loops. Wind whispered between them, thick with the scent of soil, animals, and sweat.

You kept your head down and slid wordlessly into a small group of guards heading toward a steel-frame building near the centre of the compound. No one spoke. No one noticed you didn’t belong.

It should’ve felt like progress.

Instead, your nerves started to itch.

There were more civilians than you expected—dozens, maybe more. Not ragged hostages or frightened prisoners. Just… people. Unarmed. Unbothered. Some walked slowly, pushing wheelbarrows or balancing crates of food. Others leaned in shaded corners, talking low in multiple different languages; French, Polish, Portuguese, Mandarin, even English, no tension in their shoulders.

Your eyes swept over them. No cuffs. No guards herding them.

Some even smiled as they passed.

It didn’t make sense.

The more you looked, the more it felt like you’d dropped into a place that didn’t match the mission. A compound built into a mountain like a military secret, yet soft with domesticity. Not a prison. Not a lab. Not exactly a village either.

You recognized the insignia on a few patches of the guards—an old empire symbol rebranded into a paramilitary logo. Val’s notes had been vague on who these people actually were.

Then, a gunshot rang out.

Sharp. Clean. Too far off to see, but close enough to feel in your chest. Somewhere on the far end of the compound. An echo down the mountain’s spine.

Everyone stopped moving.

The group around you stiffened. Radios crackled to life. Static turned to shouting. Orders flying in Spanish. There was a breach.

Walker.

That son of a bitch.

Your jaw tightened as the guards broke off and scattered—some charging toward the perimeter, rifles drawn, boots pounding through dust, others ducking into buildings, already shouting instructions to unseen teams.

Two peeled off toward the civilians—or the not-quite civilians, whatever they were—and barked orders you couldn’t hear through the panic.

People started running, the calm unravelling around you.

You didn’t move right away. You stood there, your hand hovering near the rifle strap at your chest, eyes scanning for anyone watching you. The disguise still held. No one here questioned your face, your gear, or your presence. But that wouldn’t last.

The weight in your chest hadn’t lifted since you entered this place. And now it pressed harder. Urging you forward. Urging you to finish what you were sent to do. Get in. Find the doctor. Extract him. No wasted bullets.

You broke from the disbanded group without a word, slipping behind a low stone wall where the vines grew thick and unkempt. Your boots moved silently through dirt and shadow. You pressed yourself to the main building’s outer wall, tracing its curve until you found a utility door slightly ajar. Unlocked.

Inside, the air was cooler.

A damp kind of cool, like the breath of an old basement. The hallway you entered was lined in unfinished concrete, walls painted in faded beige, the lights overhead buzzing softly in their sockets. A bunker of some sort. But it wasn’t the layout that caught your attention.

It was the smell.

Food.

Vegetables. Meat. Something frying. Something human and warm.

You kept moving. Slow, steady. A rifle slung on your shoulder, boots muffled against the floor. You scanned faces as you passed them—some armed, others not. Some men. Some women. Some too young to be either. Some looked like families, ushered into rooms you could barely get a glimpse into by other guards.

You kept moving, and the further in you went, the more it looked like a living space rather than a bunker. You followed the map layout etched into memory—three more turns and you’d be near the wing where Murphy was meant to be stationed. Meant. That word was becoming less and less comforting the deeper you went.

You turned a corner and stopped.

It was a cafeteria.

Open floor, long metal tables, cafeteria trays still left out on some of them, one rocking slightly from a recent disturbance. A refrigerator hummed in the corner. The overhead lights flickered, catching on linoleum floors half-mopped and still wet.

There were coffee mugs scattered across a serving counter, half-finished drinks gone cold. One still steamed faintly.

You stepped in. Slowly. Rifle angled downward.

You glanced at the side wall. More drawings. Children again. You wondered if it was a school, a compound or a prison or all three. A cartoon sun, smiling with sunglasses. Scrawled beside it in crayon: “Dr. M gave us watermelon today!”

Your stomach twisted again. This time, you didn’t ignore it.

Then, behind you—

A voice. Close. Sharp.

“¿Qué haces aquí?”

You turned.

A man in uniform stood in the doorway. Maybe early thirties, pale skin, square jaw, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His rifle wasn’t raised, but his suspicion was instant. You knew that tone. That shift in posture. He was doing the math in real time, and he didn’t like the numbers.

You tried the same trick—rusty Spanish, something casual, something quiet.

“I got turned around,” you said. “Comm’s out.”

His frown deepened. Eyes narrowing. Let me see your badge.” He gestured toward your chest strap.

You hesitated.

Only for a second.

That was enough.

His hand twitched—toward the rifle, maybe the radio—it didn’t matter.

You moved first.

You crashed into his space and knocked his wrist sideways with a sharp upward hook. Your blade flashed up and sank deep, between ribs, under the vest, angled through soft muscle. His breath hitched. A raspy gasp tore from his throat.

You shoved him back, hard, slamming him into the metal counter. Your hand clamped over his mouth to stifle the noise as he choked on his own blood. You felt the shudder run through his body, sharp, then weaker.

Blood spilled fast, hot and sticky over your gloves. It pooled at your feet in uneven circles, trickling along the seams of the tile. The gurgle in his throat was louder than you'd expected. Messier.

You jolted upright, and the crackling shriek of an alarm finally kicked in overhead, shrill and sharp enough to rattle your jaw. The stolen radio on your belt hissed to life: static, then screaming.

“Shit.” You cursed.

You heard the crackle of rushed instructions, shouted orders. They plead for backup and medics. A sharp gasp. Someone sobbing into the mic. Gunshots cracked loudly through the speaker.

Behind you, there was another noise. Closer. A chair scraping across the floor behind you. You turned just in time to see a shadow slip through the far door—someone bolting, slamming it behind them.

Didn’t wait to see if the man behind you was truly dead, or if someone else had entered the room, or if the blood still dripping from your blade would give you away.

You ran after that figure.

The door flew open under your shoulder. The stairwell greeted you like a wound torn open in the building’s side—grey, industrial, the air tasting like metal and dust. Your boots pounded upward, two steps at a time, too fast, too loud, but stealth was already dead.

Footsteps above echoed in a frantic rhythm, more than one. You could hear stumbling. A voice muttered something. Then: “Doctor Murphy—come back!”

There.

The building rumbled, dust falling from the ceiling; an explosion. Standard military grenade, you assumed. Screams followed soon after. What the fuck was Walker doing?

You blew past two guards barreling down from the next level—one shouted something clipped and aggressive, but you didn’t hear the words, only the fear behind them. Civilians clung to their sleeves, dazed and panicking, one woman barefoot and bleeding, one man with soot—no, blood—streaking down his temple.

You pushed higher.

And then you saw them. Just a glimpse of a pair of shoes, clean and narrow, more academic than military. Soft-soled. Moving fast. They disappeared behind the door on the twelfth floor.

You slammed the door open, and there was movement at the end of the hall. A figure sprinting, lab coat flaring behind him. He turned his head just long enough for you to catch a flash of his face—pale, wide-eyed. Recognition sparked, and he nearly tripped. A deep, soul-deep kind—the kind that said he knew what you were. Knew why you were here.

You didn’t need confirmation. That was your target.

You charged after him.

His shoulders bucked, and he yanked himself around the hallway bend, disappearing behind a pair of tall frosted-glass doors that swayed in his wake like they were still unsure whether they should have let him through.

You reached them seconds later.

The lab wing.

You tried the handle—locked. A clearance pad flashed red. Denied.

You didn’t miss a beat.

One bullet to the pad. A second into the hinge.

The reinforced glass spiderwebbed—fractured light slicing across your face like veins of lightning. You didn’t flinch. The following shot cracked it wide. The whole pane gave way with a sound like shattering ice, shrill and sudden, followed by distant screaming from somewhere inside.

You stepped through, boots crunching across shards, gun raised.

The space beyond the doors was vast and cold, the air tinged with a faint antiseptic scent. A hybrid between a medical bay and a research lab, containing pristine surfaces, chrome equipment, and overhead lights casting a sterile glow across white tile. It might’ve once been a conference room, or an entire floor converted in haste. Drawn-back curtains hung from ceiling tracks, revealing narrow beds tucked into corners. Machines blinked softly beside them, most unplugged. Others still hummed.

You moved deeper.

There were signs of haste—boxes stacked along the walls, half-open, papers spilling from the edges. One lay kicked over, its contents scattered across the floor. Medical files. A child’s crayon drawing pinned to the corner of a corkboard beside a schematic of a human nervous system. Someone had been packing up. Rushing. Or running.

You swept your pistol across the room, careful, quiet. Something clanged in the distance, a dropped tray, maybe. Another gunshot echoed from outside. Closer this time. A window somewhere behind you cracked violently, a bullet spiderwebbing the glass.

You ducked instinctively and turned toward the sound. A scream from inside followed. Short. Muffled.

You pressed forward, voice low but firm.

“Doctor?”

Your own voice sounded strange in here. Thin. Almost drowned by the alarms blaring on the lower floors.

“I’m not here to hurt you.”

The further you stepped into the lab, the more it felt like something was watching you. You checked the corners. The dividers. Empty. Machines lined the walls, humming, blinking—monitors showing idle vitals. Your breath grew tight in your chest. Not from nerves, but from frustration. If he ran again—

You caught movement. A flutter of shadow beneath the wide metal desk stationed near the entryway. Not the kind of shift a draft would make. Something human. Something scared.

You approached, gun still raised.

Another gunshot thundered from outside, closer than before. A thin scream trailed off into silence. You crouched beside the desk and shoved it aside.

And there he was.

The man—older, beard streaked with grey—threw up his hands, trembling so hard his entire frame seemed to flicker. His eyes were wide, wet with panic, mouth moving soundlessly like he was trying to form a plea he’d already choked on. Behind him, a woman sobbed softly into her sleeve, her face pale with terror. And tucked into the woman’s side, a girl—barely a teenager—curled in on herself, her small hands fisted into her shirt, knuckles white. She wouldn’t look at you.

Your finger hovered near the trigger out of habit, then eased off.

“Doctor Murphy,” you said quietly.

The name landed in the space like a verdict. And for a moment, everything inside you stilled.

It was him. Really him. You blinked as if the image might shift or disappear, but the details held. That same sharp jaw softened by age, the faint scar near his left temple.

A breath left you—part relief, part disbelief. You found him.

Mission halfway done.

You dropped your gun a fraction, and let your eyes sweep over him again. He looked… fine. Better than expected. No bruising. No dried blood. No signs of restraints. His clothes weren’t torn, and his posture wasn’t hunched with pain. If anything, he looked… fine. Scared, but he was fine.

Not the version of this man you’d imagined while memorizing building schematics and infiltration routes. You’d been prepared to cut him loose from chains, drag him out of a locked basement, and maybe carry him if his legs were broken. Not chase him through a medical wing like he was running from you as if you were the threat.

Your brows pinched.

“Why the hell did you run?” you asked, not really expecting an answer.

He opened his mouth and then closed it again. His eyes darted between you, the girl and the woman behind him. His body shifted, ever so slightly, like a shield trying to form between them and you.

“Please,” he rasped, voice hoarse and breaking. “You don’t understand.”

You stepped forward, boots crunching softly over broken glass, hands lifted in a gesture of peace that didn’t quite suit you. He didn’t relax. Not really. Just stopped trembling long enough to stare like he was trying to find a crack in your expression. Like maybe you’d give him mercy if he begged hard enough.

“I’m here to take you home,” you said, slow and even, stripping the threat from your tone as best you could. You reached up, popped off your helmet, and let him see your face. You met his eyes, trying to ground him as you knelt to meet his level.

You’ve dealt with your fair share of difficult extractions, and you knew that showing humanity allowed them to ease into the thought of your help.

But his gaze slid right past you. Focused somewhere far away, somewhere terrified. His lips quivered.

“No…” he whispered, voice ragged.

“Valentina sent me,” you added as if a name he might recognize would help.

But that was the moment everything split.

“No!”

It was raw, panicked. His voice cracked in half, and his body surged forward instinctively—not to attack, but to block. Like the name alone had ignited something in him. A sob tore free as he clutched the woman and the girl tighter behind him.

“Don’t hurt them,” he begged. “Please. Please.”

You stared, jaw tightening as the pieces tilted in ways you didn’t like. He hadn’t just flinched at you—he’d flinched at her. At Valentina. Like her name alone had teeth.

Your gaze fell to the girl, small, trembling, her knees drawn to her chest like she’d folded herself in half to disappear. Her eyes darted to yours for only a second before she buried her face again. The woman had gone completely still, one hand protectively over the child’s back. Her shoulders were braced for impact. Neither of them looked like they’d been taken hostage.

No shackles. No cages. No signs of forced detainment. Just… fear. The real kind.

You finally put your gun on the ground. You think you have seen this before—his fear and reluctance, refusal to return.

“You ran away,” you said, more to yourself than him.

The doctor didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

You looked at the way his arms curved protectively around them. The desperate panic in his voice. And—shit—you saw it now. The resemblance. The girl’s nose. The woman’s eyes. The ring.

Wife. Daughter.

They weren’t in your file. They should’ve been.

You cursed under your breath.

You prepped for a quick extraction. For fast exits, bleeding targets, safehouses and helicopters. Not… this. Not families. Not a coward trying to shield his kid from you like you were the monster.

You breathed in deep, chest tight.

This wasn’t what you were told.

“I'm bringing you back,” you said, your voice clipped, hardened. “De Fontaine’s orders.”

“Please—wait. Wait. You don’t know the half of it.” He rasped. “She told you I was taken, right? Right? You think this is a prison? You don’t know what she’s using you for.”

Your jaw clenched. He was making this harder than it needed to be. You didn’t care what this place was—a hideout, a home, a bunker carved out of loyalty or desperation. It didn’t change the assignment. Valentina had wanted this man back, and you were going to bring him back.

And if she’d wanted you to take his family too, she could’ve said that. You would’ve planned accordingly. You would’ve brought more cuffs.

He backed a step when you rose from your crouch and snatched your weapon off the floor with a frustrated motion.

“She’ll kill me,” he said, shaking. “She wants me dead.”

You sighed. “If she wanted you dead, she’d have sent me to do that.” You flicked the safety off for emphasis. “She wants you back in her lab. That’s all.”

In all honesty, you don’t know if that’s true. You don’t know if you’re bringing him back to Valentina’s doorstep just for her to shoot him herself or hire another person to do it. You doubt she wants him dead, though; she wouldn’t have put you through all the trouble to bring him just for that.

“No. No, I’m not going,” he said, his voice rising, cracking under its own weight. “Don’t make me go back. You don’t understand—she’s not just experimenting. She’s accelerating trials. Human trials. She wants to start now. Hundreds of people will die—under her name. Under mine. That’s why I ran. I couldn’t do it.”

You didn’t answer. Not right away.

Because something in his voice stopped you.

Not defiance. Not arrogance. But fear. Raw, blood-deep terror. Not just for himself, but for what would happen if he gave in. If he lets you take him. You opened your mouth, maybe to argue, maybe to lie—but the moment never came.

A shot tore through the air.

The woman jolted violently like someone had yanked her backwards on a string. Blood exploded from her shoulder in a wet, arterial spray, streaking across the white tile behind her in a brutal arc. She crumpled with a boneless thud, her limbs folding under her, and a gasp caught mid-scream in her throat.

“Mom!”

“Ciara—Ciara, stay with me, baby, stay with me—”

“I’m okay,” she choked, her face twisted in pain. “It’s just my arm, Kieran, I’m okay—”

You weren’t sure if she believed it, or if she was just trying to quiet the panic that was overtaking her daughter. The girl was sobbing, rocking slightly, her hands fluttering around her mother’s face, too afraid to touch her, too afraid not to.

The doctor’s hands were slick and trembling, slipping as he tried to apply pressure. You could see it in his eyes—he was calculating the damage. Tendons. Arteries. She was going into shock already.

You turned quickly, gun raised, your heart clawing its way up into your throat.

And then you saw him.

Walker stepped through the shattered entrance like a shadow breaking into sunlight. Forty-five long-barrel pistol raised. Seemingly a bit annoyed. Restrained. You knew that stance. You’d used it yourself.

Another shot cracked the air, just barely skimming over your shoulder.

You flinched, and the back of Ciara’s skull erupted like a dropped melon. A hot mist sprayed across her daughter’s face. The woman’s body jerked, her limbs flailing once in some primal response, and then slumped, twitching. Her head lolled sideways, half her face caved in. Blood spilled from the fresh ruin in thick, gloppy ropes, pooling with the rest. Brain matter clung to the tile like wet paper.

The girl let out a sound, high-pitched and animal. Her fingers scrabbled at what was left of her mother’s hair like she could pull her back from it.

The doctor wailed. “No—no, no, no!”

He threw himself over her body, sobbing into the wreckage of her shoulder and chest, pulling her close like he could hide her from the horror of her own death. You saw the way he rocked her, back and forth.

The girl hadn’t moved. She sat stiffly beside them, soaked in her mother’s blood, jaw trembling but silent. Her hands shook in the air, fingers curled and useless. Like she didn’t know what to do with them.

You stepped forward, placing yourself between them and the one who pulled the trigger.

“Agent.”

Walker turned his head, a soldier’s stiff stance in response to being called. Dust and ash clinging to the sweat on his face. Blood streaked down from his temple. It had started to dry there, dark and crusted. His uniform was torn in places, parts of it scorched, the deep blue now a mottled patchwork of soot and crimson. His shield, tight in his arm, was smeared with something thick and brown-red.

You raised your gun, the barrel pointed squarely at his chest.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you asked.

His gaze barely twitched. He looked through you. Past you. His expression was unreadable.

“Completing my mission. What does it look like I’m doing?”

You shifted your stance, feet braced. Your arms didn’t lower.

“Valentina said no harm was to come to Murphy,” you said slowly, words carefully chosen. If he tried to get in your way, you had no problem shooting him down. “That was my directive.”

“I’m not here for him,” Walker said. Then he nodded toward the space behind you. “I’m here for them.”

You heard the words, but your body didn’t move—couldn’t. Not until the soft, broken murmuring behind you twisted into something sharper.

The doctor whispered into his wife’s hair, lips barely forming words, breath catching in his throat. The girl’s breathing was growing ragged now, her gasps shallow and quick, panicked like a cornered animal. You turned, slowly, lowering your gun just as the air cracked.

The next shot hit before you could even react.

It punched into the girl’s chest, a single snap of violence that echoed like the room itself winced. Her back hit the wall with a dull thud, body folding like paper, knees giving way before she slid limply to the ground. Her head lolled to one side. Blood pooled beneath her.

Dr. Murphy didn’t move at first.

It was like the world had gone quiet in his ears. He still held his wife in his arms, rocking gently, whispering her name, some prayer or plea that was already too late. But then his head turned. Slowly. Mechanically. His eyes fell on the still figure of his daughter crumpled against the wall, and something inside him broke.

His mouth opened in a soundless gasp.

“Valentina sends her regards,” Walker muttered.

The words felt like gravel in your throat, even though you hadn’t said them. Your gaze dropped to the floor, to the blood painting the edges of your boots. Your arms were leaden at your sides as if the weight of the silence and the gore had pressed into your joints.

You’d done things before. Seen things. You’d killed. Followed orders. But never—never—had you lingered long enough to see what happened after.

The doctor began to shake.

His hands twitched, then clawed at his daughter’s body, dragging her closer, like he could hold her soul in place if he pressed hard enough. His voice came out strangled and raw, a broken incantation of disbelief.

“No... no—my girls—my life—”

His scream wasn’t a cry for help. It was the sound of something tearing in two. A howl dredged from the deepest pit of grief, so guttural and primal it didn’t sound human.

You didn’t look away. Maybe you should have. But you couldn’t.

He pulled both bodies into his arms, one cradled against his chest, the other draped across his lap. His sobs were jagged and helpless, filling the sterile, blood-streaked air with a kind of mourning that left no room for anything else. It drowned the fluorescent hum of the lights, the shuffling of Walker’s boots, even your own thoughts.

And you just stood there. Letting it soak into your bones like smoke.

You were supposed to bring him back alive. But what did that mean now?

What the fuck was left of him?

His life was smeared across the ground—blood and bone and heat barely fading from the bodies he once lived for. There was no man left to extract. Just grief hollowed out and dressed in skin.

“Fuck,” you muttered, jaw tight as you took a step forward. “Doctor… we need to leave. I need to get you out.”

His shoulders convulsed, a sound escaping his throat—not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. Something feral. A humourless bark of disbelief.

“Leave?” he echoed, turning on you, eyes rimmed red, face a ruin of despair. “You want me to leave?” His voice climbed, then cracked into a full-throated scream. “You want me to leave?!”

And then he lunged at you.

It was messy, erratic—he wasn’t trained for this, but grief had given him teeth. He grabbed at your gun, and though your instincts screamed to stop him, to put him down cleanly, your mission brief roared louder: Do not harm the asset.

You hesitated and let the man land a weak punch on your cheek, which had Walker take a step closer as if to stop him.

The doctor ripped the gun from your hands before the soldier could get any closer, stumbling back on shaking legs. You stayed your stance, hands up in a signal of mercy, your heart hammering, and the side of your face stinging. Walker, of course, didn’t hesitate—he raised his weapon, eyes already calculating the best spot to drop the doctor in one shot.

“Don’t,” you snapped at Walker, stepping just enough to obscure the shot. “Put it down.”

“He’s armed.”

“He’s not a target.”

“He hit you.”

“And you killed his family. He’s just retaliating. Drop the gun.”

Walker scoffed, but he listened anyway, lowering his gun begrudgingly.

The doctor moved between you both now, wild-eyed and trembling, blood all over his coat, his hands, his mouth. He swung the barrel at Walker. “You… you took everything. You killed my—” His voice cracked, eyes darting from Walker to you. “Why would you—how could you—”

“Doctor, please.” You took a breath, steady. Your hands still raised, your body tense.

“Shut the fuck up!” he bellowed, the sound tearing straight from his ribs. He aimed again at you this time.

You held your breath, every muscle in your body coiled and ready. If Walker took one step closer—

But he didn’t need to.

Because the doctor’s grip on the gun shifted, he turned it, not toward you or Walker, but toward himself.

He lowered his head, mouth trembling, teeth clenched as his fingers searched for the trigger. Pressed the muzzle under his chin. Closed his eyes.

“No—no, no!” you shouted, launching forward before you could even think.

Your body collided with his just as the shot fired.

The sound rang through the lab like a hammer to steel.

You crashed hard against the ground, tangled with him, skidding across the slick tile. Something warm sprayed across your shoulder. For a moment, you couldn’t even breathe.

The echo of the shot was still bouncing off the walls.

And then silence.

You didn’t move.

You didn’t even know if you could move.

Eyes wide, lungs stuttering, you slowly pried yourself off the doctor’s chest. Your hands trembled as you cupped his face, fingers brushing away blood and sweat, searching for wounds.

He flinched under your touch but didn’t resist—just sobbed, quietly and broken. You turned his face, checked his hairline and his neck, and pressed your gloved hand to his chest. Alive. Breathing. Unharmed.

You exhaled sharply, the relief hitting you like a wave. The gun slipped from his fingers, landing with a clatter on the floor as he curled in on himself, burying his face in his hands like he could smother the sound of his grief.

You stayed straddling him a second longer, sitting upright as your own breath steadied. Your heart still thundered, but at least it was still beating.

Walker rushed into view, fast and heavy, combat boots crunching over shattered glass and blood.

“He’s fine,” you managed, voice thin and breathless.

“You hurt?” he asked, stepping around to study you from above. “Did it hit you?”

You looked up at him, blinking against the sting in your eyes. “I’m fine.”

He squinted, head tilting as he motioned with his shield. “No. You’re hit.”

You followed the direction of his gaze—down to your arm. The black fabric of your suit was torn clean open, the edges soaked through with dark red. You hadn’t even felt it. But now the burn was starting to settle in. Dull. Hot. Sharp around the edges.

A graze. Not deep enough to be dangerous, but enough to sting like a bitch. You pressed your palm to it, feeling warmth leak through your gloves. “It’s fine,” you said again, firmer this time.

Still kneeling, you leaned over to retrieve your gun, stuffing it back into the holster with one smooth movement. Then you turned to the doctor.

“Up,” you muttered, reaching for him. He didn’t respond, didn’t even look at you. His body had gone slack, boneless in grief, still rocking slightly where he sat in the blood of his family.

You grunted, grabbing his arm and trying to haul him to his feet, but he didn’t help—not even a little. Just a sob, a choked sound that made your skin crawl as he caught another glimpse of his wife’s body from the corner of his eye. He whimpered and covered his face again.

You huffed, digging into one of your pouches. “Fine,” you muttered.

The cuffs clicked cold and metallic around his wrist before he even noticed. He flinched when you pulled his arm toward you, but he didn’t resist. Just stared at the floor, wide-eyed and hollowed out. The second cuff snapped around your own wrist, the steel biting against your skin.

“You’re coming with me,” you told him. “Whether you like it or not.”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He sat there, tethered to you, shaking like a leaf in the wind, breathing shallowly through the stench of gunpowder and blood. You watched him a second longer, long enough to see the tears still clinging to his lashes, long enough to wonder how the hell any of this could ever be justified.

“Pull that shit again,” you muttered, dragging him upright, “and I’ll break your fucking nose.”

His legs buckled halfway up, dead weight dragging you sideways until another arm helped steady him.

Walker.

You shot him a glance as he stepped in, sliding his arm under the doctor to haul him upright. His grip was firm, but not needlessly cruel. But it was the look he gave you as he steadied the man that made you pause.

Not a command. Not approval or disdain. Just a nod of his chin.

Then he unlatched his helmet.

You watched as he pulled it off, and his hair spilled free, dark and damp with sweat, falling across his brow in uneven strands. Dust clung to his temples. A bruise had already started to bloom high on his cheekbone, dark and ugly beneath the dirt.

The blood on his jaw had dried into the stubble there, and he clipped the helmet loosely to his belt.

“Place went up faster than intel said it would,” he muttered, voice low and even, like none of it surprised him. His eyes flicked to the ruined hallway beyond the lab. “We’ll need to move before reinforcements circle back.”

You nodded, adjusting your grip on the doctor’s wrist. He was barely walking, feet dragging more than stepping, eyes still fixated somewhere behind him—on what he’d lost, maybe, or just the thought of going back to whatever Hell Valentina had waiting for him.

You didn’t pity him.

But you understood the kind of pain that makes a man want to disappear.

“Got a route?” Walker asked, keeping pace with you as you started moving.

His voice was nonchalant. Too casual for a man who had just torn through an entire building and left two corpses cooling in a corner. But maybe that was how he did it—cut quick, cauterize faster. No time to feel it.

“Extraction point’s two klicks west. There's a dry riverbed just outside the ridge—Val set up a drop zone there.”

He gave a grunt, the sound more acknowledgment than response. “I saw a few M-ATVs on my way in. Might still be operational. We could hijack one.”

“You don’t need to stay with me,” you muttered, eyes scanning ahead, boots crunching over broken tile and scattered brass. Your hand burned from where you were pressing into the bullet graze on your arm, warmth still bleeding through your suit in slow pulses. You let go to get a better grip on the doctor.

“I know.” He gave a half-shrug. “Just don’t feel like walking alone.”

You didn’t respond to that. You didn’t know how to. You just adjusted the dead weight of Dr. Murphy, who hadn’t said a word since you cuffed him, and kept moving.

The hallways had gone still now.

All that remained were the wraiths—blood smeared on cracked tile, flames hissing from ruptured walls, shattered glass crunching beneath your steps. A few papers fluttered in the breeze.

You weren’t used to working with other people like this. Not side-by-side, not shoulder-to-shoulder with someone like him. Someone who didn’t ask. Who didn’t need you to explain yourself.

Walker, you assumed, had spent years learning how to work in teams. Probably knew how to cover a partner’s blind spot without even thinking. Maybe that instinct never left him. Maybe that’s why he was still here with you.

You could tell he was trying—trying to be useful, or civil, or something close to decent. You noticed it when he helped you get Dr. Murphy down the stairwell after the man tried to throw himself down it like a live grenade, uncaring that you were still cuffed to him. You’d warned him you’d break his nose if he pulled that again, and when he did, you made good on your word. Walker hadn’t said anything about it. Just grabbed the doc by the other side again.

You wondered if this was his first time getting paired up on one of Valentina’s assignments. If you could even call this a partnership. You’d both been sent in for different reasons. The only thing you shared now was your trip home.

The doctor had gone quiet, dazed and small as he stumbled beside you, cuffed to your wrist. His breath came shallow, nose crooked and bloodied, but at least he was upright.

The silence didn’t ease when you stepped outside.

Smoke choked the air, thick and cloying, fires spitting from crumbled rooftops. Bodies littered the sand, some still twitching, others broken in ways that made you squint. Civilians peeked from corners and alleys, eyes wide, clutching children to their chests as they shrank away from you like you were another weapon aimed at their door.

But no one stopped you. No one dared. Not anymore.

Walker didn’t look at any of it. Not the blood. Not the children. Not the lives smeared across the concrete like warnings. He just kept walking, his shield slung across his back, helmet clipped to his belt, jaw locked tight.

You glanced sideways, just once.

He didn’t flinch at what he’d done. And maybe that was the part that unsettled you most. You’d killed before. Too many times. But you did it with precision. Purpose. A clean exit. You didn’t revel in it, and you didn’t leave a mess unless someone else had already started it.

But him?

You wondered if his orders had been to burn the whole place down. Or if that was just his style.

You didn’t ask. You didn’t want to hear the answer.

You just kept walking, your cuffed arm aching from the weight of a broken man, the throb in your wound matching the pace of your heartbeat.

The vehicle bumped along the uneven path, its engine grumbling beneath the weight of three people and too much blood. The windows were cracked halfway down, letting in the dry air, thick with dust and leftover smoke. You sat in the passenger seat, your arm aching under the hastily wrapped dressing you’d pulled from your kit.

The doctor slumped in the backseat, quiet, now cuffed to the truck’s grab handles. He seemed to have fallen numb to everything now. Good. That meant it’d be an easy rest of the trip.

Walker kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the gearshift. His sleeves were rolled up now, sweat and blood drying against sunburned skin. He didn’t say anything for a while. You didn’t either.

Then, without looking at you, he said, “If we get there before o’ two hundred, I might make it back in time for my son’s birthday.”

You blinked. The words felt like a glitch in the moment. So strange. You tried to make out what they meant. But it seemed that he just wanted to talk to you. How funny.

You tried to meet him halfway at his attempt in conversation; you really did try.

You turned your head slightly, eyes dropping to his hand. His gloves were torn and frayed, the knuckles stained with blood; it was hard for you to tell if that was an outline of a ring or not. Was he married? Did he have people waiting for him back home? White picket fence and everything? Or was he lying to talk? He must be lying. It was practically impossible to have a family and do this kind of work.

“Your son?” you asked, cautiously.

He looked at you for just a breath—just long enough for you to catch the flicker in his expression—then turned his eyes back to the road.

“Yeah. My son.”

You waited a beat, watching the side of his face. There was something unreadable there, something tight in the way his jaw set.

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Just... surprising, that’s all.”

“How?”

“I dunno. Didn’t expect it.”

“You didn’t expect me to have a family?”

“Didn’t expect you to be a father.” You said, letting your eyes linger on his suit, “How old is he?”

He hesitated. You caught it instantly, the pause was too long, too stiff. You frowned. Did he not even know his own son’s age?

Then he said, “It’s his first birthday.”

You sat back slightly, digesting it.

“...And you’re here?”

His eyes narrowed just barely. “So are you.”

“So what?”

“So, you’re no better than me.”

You let out a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. “Jesus.”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “Why’re you laughing?”

You met his gaze, something sharp in your smile now. “I never said I was better than you, man. Besides, me being here is completetly different than you.”

“How so?”

“Well, I’m not missing my son’s first birthday. That’s for sure. I mean, what father agrees to work on his kid’s first birthday?”

“One who makes sacrifices.”

“Right. Of course.”

“I’m not doing this for free, you know. I do this for them.”

“Right, yeah. You’re the man of the year.”

The silence that followed was thick enough to chew on. Even the engine seemed quieter, the tension swallowing up the rattling hum between you. Dr. Murphy continued to stay silent.

Walker didn’t say anything else right away. His fingers flexed once against the steering wheel, mouth stitched into a deep frown.

Then he said, dryly, “You got a family back home?”

You froze and shut your mouth. Then, just stared out the window, watching the desert smear past the glass in shades of dust and ash. You didn’t think the kid living across the hallway counted as such.

“Not anymore.”

“Then maybe you don’t get to judge.”

That made you scoff, “You’re the one who brought up your son. No need to get so defensive about it.”

He turned to look at you again—a sharp snap of his neck, hair falling over his forehead. “I was just…!” He started loudly, practically shouting, then caught himself, jaw clenching. “I was just starting a conversation. Y’know? Like normal people do? I don’t need you making up ideas on my life choices, you don’t even fucking know me.”

You shrugged, eyes still on the horizon. “Could’ve just asked about the weather.”

“And say what? ‘Wow, look how dry and empty it is here’? Would that have worked better for you?”

“It’s a start.”

He glared at you again, jaw twitching. That almost made you laugh. He looked genuinely irritated as if your audacity personally wounded him. Was it that easy to piss him off? Maybe the father comment struck deeper than you’d expected. Maybe he was just weak under all that bark and bravado.

He threw up a hand in frustration, like the words were choking him. “You’re so—” His voice cut off mid-sentence, strangled. He shook his head, scoffed through his teeth, and turned back to the road. “Never mind.”

“What? Please, do tell.”

“Forget it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Alright.”

“Alright?”

You shrugged, watching him. “Alright.”

“What do you mean ‘alright’?”

“It means alright. End of conversation. Since you want to forget about it.”

He leaned against the window, propping his head on his hand. “Alright.”

“Alright.”

“Alright.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you seriously doing this right now?”

Walker looked straight ahead, deadpan. “Doing what?”

“You’re literally copying everything I say.”

“Uh, no. I’m literally not.”

“Yes, you—” You cut yourself off, biting down on the argument before it spiralled further. Your arm throbbed again, sending a sharp spike of pain through your side. You sucked in a breath and muttered, “Whatever, man.”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

“Asshole.”

He arched a brow. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I said asshole.”

“Asshole?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m an asshole?”

“Yeah.”

“How am I an asshole?”

“Because you are.”

“Oh wow. Solid argument. Very compelling. Really makes your case.”

You gave him a sideways look, exasperated. But you didn’t say anything.

He scoffed. “You know what? I should’ve just left you in that compound.”

You barked a laugh. “Yeah, and you’d be what—driving in circles trying to find the extraction point without me? You didn’t even know where it was.”

“I was in the army,” he snapped. “I would’ve found it just fine.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

“Jesus Christ. Remind me never to work with you again.”

“It’s not exactly a choice.”

“Oh, I’m making a choice. Next time Val tries to team me up with anyone, I’m putting in a request.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

“FINE!”

You turned your head back toward the window, jaw tight and eyes burning from more than just dust. Outside, the desert stretched endlessly and uncaring, the kind of heat that made even anger feel like wasted energy.

And yet... it was hard for you to bite it back.

“…dick.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you.”

part two coming soon!

[ikeuverse]

anything for you | sjy

pairing: mafiaboss!jake x fem!reader  genres: lots of angst, smut, fluff wc: 12.5k+

꒰ 𝅄 warnings ꒱ : lots of swearing, blood, drugs, guns and knives, kidnapping, injuries, death, torture. jake is ruthless, but he does it to protect his beloved, you know. unprotected sex, sex in the shower, very vanilla. jake is soft because he wants reconciliation. lmk if i forgot anything!

꒰ 𝅄 synopsis ꒱ : when jake said he would do anything to find you, he wasn't kidding. he would go from heaven to hell. but what he feared most was that now, more than ever, he needed to tell you the whole truth.

꒰ 𝅄 notes ꒱ : did i hear an amen? part 2 of dual life is right here. idk if i liked it as much as the first one, but i tried to put together some of the things that people asked me to make happen, so… i hope you like it!

꒰ 𝅄 part 1 | masterlist ꒱

The only noise in the room was the footsteps of the men coming in and out, bringing back information and receiving orders to continue their work.

“So?” Jongseong asked as soon as Sunghoon entered, almost bumping into one of the henchmen who had just left. He heard a brief apology from the man before seeing him continue walking out of the room, leaving him to approach the huge table where the rest of his friends were.

“I managed to convince him to take that stupid sleeping pill” Sunghoon pulled up a chair but didn't sit down. He looked at Jongseong cautiously, then ran his eyes over every man there. Heeseung kept his worried eyes on his new friend, giving a little murmur of understanding. Then he noticed Sunoo's presence, the infamous computer right in front of him as he typed a few things. His gaze left the screen for a few seconds to greet him before returning to what he was doing.

“We can't let him leave that room before we've gathered the amount of information we need to go after whoever it is,” Heeseung said, and Sunghoon continued to stare at his other friends. Riki was on the edge of the table with a look of pure anger and he didn't know if it was because of the recently failed mission or because he was worried about Jaeyun. Few times had the friends seen the chief like this, one of them being at the death of Mr. Sim, when all the men had mourned for countless weeks. Now seeing him like that felt like it.

“I think we're almost there, guys.” Sunoo kept his voice upbeat to stay positive. He knew how difficult it was to be cheerful in that job, but he tried to keep it as brief as possible.

Hearing footsteps behind him and a movement around him, he knew that all his friends in the room were now perched behind him and his trusty computer, looking at the screen and seeing what had been discovered.

“What have you discovered?” asked Riki.

Curious eyes stared at a series of codes that Sunoo had decoded, tracking down security cameras until he found what he needed. The camera from the parking lot of the building where Jaeyun and you worked. It fit like a glove, the clear image and the exact time when the small van entered the parking lot, giving easy access to the license plate and the moment when a man dressed in dark clothes cornered you and covered your mouth with a cloth. Their stomachs churned strangely, watching the scene unfold before them and, minutes later, Jaeyun kneeling and shouting in the parking lot.

“Did you track the van?” Heeseung looked at Sunoo, not wanting to see the countless seconds his friend was being watched on camera, pacing back and forth with his cell phone in his hand. Everyone remembered the moment Jaeyun called, screaming that you had been kidnapped.

“Voilà” he always liked to boast when he achieved something so difficult in such a short period. But something caught Sunoo's eye as he pulled up the images on the small virtual map of where the van had been found “Shit” he cursed.

“What? What is it, man?” Jongseong snapped, lightly pushing Sunghoon who was closest to the one sitting in front of the computer. He looked at where Sunoo was staring, a little paralyzed, and his stomach churned once again “It can't be.”

“Can you two talk about what's going on? Shit” Riki wanted to shout.

There was silence for a while before Sunoo looked away from the computer and sighed.

“The address is Joseph Sim Fields' shed,” he said, “Joe Fields.”

That name sent a chill down the spine of anyone in that room. In that particular mob. Joseph had been responsible for the shot that had taken the life of Jonathan Sim, his brother and Jaeyun's father. Jake's uncle who he had admired for so long and who was to blame for all the trouble of making him take on something so young.

After the upset and Joseph seeing the fortress his brother had created for Jaeyun to take over, his plan had fallen apart. He wouldn't be his brother's successor, he wouldn't inherit the whole Sim mafia and all the luxury that came with it. So it made him feel disgusted with the family he came from, changing his surname and never wanting to be linked to the Sims again. Fields was even better and gave off a more frightening air, he thought.

“What do we do now?” Heeseung threw himself into the chair next to Sunoo, one of his hands almost pulling out the strands of hair and messing them up in the process. He looked at them one by one, seeing his friends as lost as he was.

“First we need to hold Jake back when we break the news,” Sunghoon said, “or he'll kill his uncle before we even find Y/n.”

Another chill ran down my spine. Now the problem had been doubled. Not only did they have to find where they had gone with you, but they also had to control Jaeyun when he broke the news that his uncle was behind it all.

Facing his friends who were just as apprehensive as he was, Sunghoon felt a lump form in his throat as he tried to swallow the amount of saliva in his mouth. Nervousness took over every fiber of his body as he saw more information being retrieved by Sunoo's tracking codes.

“Then we have to come up with a plan to go to the shed, confront Joseph, and bring Y/n back.”

The slamming of the door broke the silence that would settle between the boys once their thoughts had been aligned. All eyes went straight to the source of the noise, seeing Jaeyun enter with a red face and burning eyes. Anger was personified in him at that moment and his friends were thankful that nothing sharp or a weapon was near him.

“Jake” Sunghoon began.

“So you wanted to dope me up to find out that my uncle is behind this?” he laughed humorlessly, taking a few steps to lean over the table, on the opposite side from where everyone else was standing.

A little further back, Jungwon rushed in, panting. One hand clutching his chest as he struggled to breathe, he almost lost his balance when he got a little closer and put pills on the table.

“I wanted you to rest—” Sunghoon's eyes were on the medication placed on the table by Jungwon. He quickly swerved to Jaeyun's hands knocking the only two glass vases to the floor, the deafening thud of the shards rushing across the room.

“My fucking uncle is trying to kill my girlfriend and you want to give me sleeping pills?” he shouted. Fear was creeping up on him and the others, not because of Jaeyun's angry tone, but because of what he might be capable of. The skin on his forehead was wet and his chest rose and fell with fervor, his breathing completely accelerated as he leaned away from the table for a moment.

“Jake, we—”

“Lucky for all of you, I don't kill my best friends” he interrupted Heeseung with his words, raising one of his hands in the air to stop him from continuing. At this point, adrenaline combined with anger prevented him from shedding any more tears. But the absurd urge to cry persisted in Jaeyun's body. Even more so knowing that you were in the hands of a scumbag like his uncle. The hatred ate away at him even more after what he had done to his father, now his girlfriend was in the hands of the same man who had made his life a living hell.

Jungwon took a few steps closer to the others, glancing at Sunoo's computer and then at Jaeyun still standing in front of them. His breathing rate never slowed, worrying his friends that he might have a seizure or, worse, another fit of rage that could kill them all. No one knew what he might be capable of.

“Jake” Jungwon called out in a slightly calmer voice, earning him a glance. A mixture of anger, pain, and fear. Jaeyun was afraid and everyone in the room could see it in him because they simply knew him. And he hated it all. He hated being vulnerable in the hands of the same man who had taken away the most important person in his life, now being with someone else just as important “We need to line up a plan. I think the boys were already starting to think about it.”

“Were you?” he asked, looking at each of them until he stopped at Sunghoon.

“Did you hear what I said before I came in and nearly broke down that door?”

“Don't make me shoot you, Park. I swear to God…”

“Let's think about the plan, shall we?” it was Jongseong's turn to interrupt, clapping his hands twice to try and make it dissipate any negative energy, although everything there was so heavy that a simple act was proving impossible.

“Think of a fucking plan and get all my men together” Jaeyun bit the inside of his cheek, ready to scream a swear word that was stuck in his throat. But he just chose to swallow dry, Adam's apple dancing in his throat as he felt the rage consume him even more. As if he was completely blinded by his actions and needed Joseph Fields' neck between his fingers to ease it all “We're leaving for that fucking shed tonight.”

Just as quickly as he had entered that room, Jaeyun left, leaving the door ajar and all his friends frightened. And with the mission of agility to come up with a plan in a few hours to get out of there looking for him.

You could feel every part of your body ache at the slightest touch of air against your skin. This could only mean that you were injured, or that the position you were in had been the same for a long time. You really wanted it to be the second option.

Fear and dread still flooded your insides at the vivid memory of hands covering your mouth and then Jaeyun's agonized face through the dark glass of that vehicle they put you in. The person who did this to you could only have wanted something in return, perhaps money. You were so panicked that nothing could be heard apart from your screams calling out your boyfriend's name and his cries of horror as the car got further away. After that moment, everything seemed like a blur to you and you were so nervous that you were sure you had fainted. Now, the sound of footsteps around you made you panic again. It could mean that you weren't alone, wherever you were.

Would it be bad to open your eyes now? Or you could keep pretending to be unconscious to see if you could get anything else, but also… What could you do? Painful, helpless, not knowing where you were. Nothing could help you at that moment.

So the uncertainty made you open your eyes slowly, the light from the room burning your orbs as you blinked slowly to try to get used to the brightness.

“Come on, boss… Our girl's awake” the voice was unfamiliar, you'd never heard it before. So you had no way of identifying who it was, just hoping that he might say something else to you. But that didn't happen. Instead of the boy saying anything else, another man took the lead and started walking towards you, coming out of the darkness of the corner of the room with a serious, frowning countenance. A chill ran down his spine.

“You've been asleep for so long, darling” his voice was deeper than the first, and this sent another chill through her body. Perhaps the wind in the room was now giving you chills in addition to the physical pain. When he approached you, bending down to bring his face close to yours, you tried to move. Maybe run out of there… But it was obvious that your body was tied up. Who would kidnap someone and leave them loose? “Tsk, in a hurry, princess? We haven't even introduced ourselves.”

Every affectionate nickname made you want to vomit all over that man. You wanted to feel angry at the calmness and serenity in his eyes, but at the same time, fear was eating away at you because you'd never seen him before.

“You're Y/n, right?” he knew you, hell. Of course, he did!

No answer, no nod to confirm that it was… He didn't need one either. Although wanted that conversation to be between the two of you, it sounded like a monologue since you weren't saying anything at all.

“Great,” he said “I'm Joseph Sim Fields, but you can call me Joe.”

Joseph Sim… Was he related to Jaeyun?

Your eyes widened and that was the reaction he had wanted ever since he started talking to you. A devilish smile crept across the lips of the man in front of your.

“It's familiar to you, isn't it?” he asked softly “But I don't like joining the Sim, so you don't have to worry” he nodded to the boy who had been quiet until now. You felt nauseous just looking at the amusement of the two men in front of you, it seemed like the most normal thing in the world to have someone tied to a chair while they acted grotesquely.

“Boss!” someone banged on the steel door, making a small bang as you cringed a little more. Any lousy sound startled you.

“What is it? I hope it's important!” Joseph turned to the other man who was entering the room, you didn't even bother to face him, you didn't have the strength to keep recording faces all the time.

“I think they've found us” he said quietly, but loud enough for you to hear. Your ears perked up and, even though you weren't looking at the men who were talking, all your attention was on them.

“What do you mean?”

“Jake's call” he replied “Someone must have blown a hole in the operation and they found out.”

The young man had a cell phone in his hand, probably on mute as he passed the information on to Joseph. You looked up at the older man, who took the device in his free hand and brought it to his lips to silence you.

“Dear nephew! To what do I owe the honor of your call?” falsely the welcome he had never given his nephew. Clicking on the speakerphone and approaching you in cautious steps, surely he wanted you to listen too.

“What have you done to my girlfriend, you piece of shit?” he shouted across the line. That voice was familiar, you knew it. It was Jaeyun's, for sure.

“Oh, is that any way to talk to your uncle, Jake?” pouting, Joseph approached you and leaned towards you “Why do you think I'm with your girlfriend?”

Something crossed your mind, you didn't want to risk disobeying whoever had kidnapped you. But at the same time, adrenaline and determination coursed through your veins as you heard the voice on the other end of the phone.

“Jaeyun!” you shouted on impulse, and as quickly as it came, Joseph's free hand struck your cheek with a single blow.

“Bitch! I told you to be quiet!”

“Don't touch her!” Jaeyun said at the same time as his uncle shouted at you.

“Good, you've ruined everything” he said, your face beginning to take on a reddish tinge. Your lip had a small bleeding cut and your hair covered most of your face. He smiled with satisfaction at what he had done, knowing that on the other end of the phone, Jaeyun was squirming and thinking that you were even more hurt than you looked.

“I swear to God if she's hurt—”

“What are you going to do, Jake?” he laughed “First tell your sweet girlfriend the truth, maybe she'll decide if she wants to remain my prisoner or if she'd rather stay away from her lying boyfriend.”

“Joseph, shut up.”

That man's laughter sent your nerves into a negative trance and made you want to vomit. You noticed that he came closer again and, with the same hand that had slapped your cheek, he smoothed it.

“You know, darling… Jaeyun's just a fake” he began, his callused fingers trailing across your cheek until they reached your chin “God, Jake. Her skin is so soft…”

More shouts came from the other end of the phone. This seemed to excite the older man who insisted on touching her face even more. Then he pulled away.

“I want to know. How did you find out about me?”

“You don't have the smartest men, you asshole” Jaeyun took a deep breath, something moving in the background of the call and he assumed it was his nephew's hurried footsteps in the form of nervousness. He knew very well how to push the younger man's buttons. For a long time, Joseph was silent, trying to grasp the information he had received, feeling his blood boil when he heard the rest of the information “Kidnapping someone with a visible license plate isn't the best thing, is it?”

Shit. He should have checked when he asked some of his men to go after you. That was like the number one rule of kidnapping, even more so if they went to a parking lot full of cameras. Joseph glanced at Yunhee, who looked as shocked as he was, trying to find some excuse to get out of it and not show fear.

“What if I did it on purpose so you'd track the wrong place?” he asked, giving a wide smile even though the other couldn't see it. It was Jaeyun's turn to laugh heartily.

“Then you'd have to be smarter than me, dear uncle” he said.

What do he mean? What did Jaeyun mean by that? You watched the conversation quietly, your cheeks burning and a thousand questions running through your mind.

“Smarter than you? I made you think we were after drugs, I put that fucking van with a sign on it for you to track down in the wrong place—” Jaeyun's laughter echoed again, causing the older man to stop his ramblings midway through. He looked at you, his eyes wide as his nephew uttered the next words.

“Our call is lasting more than two minutes” Jaeyun said “Long enough for me to track down where you are, you piece of shit.”

“Jake.”

“Get away from my girlfriend!” he knew that his uncle wasn't bluffing, he also knew that he wasn't smart enough and that that shed was just the beginning. Jaeyun also knew that staying on that call while Sunoo tracked down which part of the shed you were in was just the icing on the cake for him to break into that shit.

And that's what happened next. You heard a bang outside, shouting, gunshots and swearing. It all happened so fast that you didn't realize when the door to the room you were in had been knocked down.

The first thing you saw amid the men rushing into the room and fighting, were Jaeyun's eyes. They were bright red, his pupils dilated and his face completely wrinkled. This only intensified after he ran his gaze over your face, stopping exactly at your bruised lip. Without saying a word, he saw his men getting into a fight with the men who worked for his uncle, dodging their bodily struggles to get to you. Kneeling in front of you and running his eyes all over your body.

“Did he hurt you anywhere else? Did Joseph do anything else to you?” as Jaeyun asked, his hands ran loosely through the ropes that were tied to your arms. It took no effort at all for him to untie the knots and loosen the cuffs so that they could stop hurting your skin.

“No” you replied quietly, your voice lacking intonation as everything hit you at once.

Jaeyun was wearing a completely different outfit from the one you used to see him in. Dark pants, a tank top, a leather jacket. It wasn't the expensive suits and gelled hair. The disheveled curls of his hair were tossed in any way so as not to obscure the view, while his lips were chapped and nibbled. Surely nervousness had taken over and made him do it.

After untying you, he looked up, looked into your eyes. You held his gaze for a while before you felt your vision blur. Your chest was aching, your heart was beating so hard that you didn't even know how you felt.

“Let's get out of here” he grabbed your hand, pulling you along with him. But to his surprise, you refused. You couldn't move from the chair or stand up, but you also didn't know whether to believe him. And when Jaeyun looked curiously at your rejection, he could see the fear and uncertainty in your eyes. “Love, I—”

“Don't call me that, please, Jaeyun” you whimpered, cringing when he approached again, crouching in front of you ”Or Jake? What should I call you now?”

A gunshot would hurt less than seeing the pain in your eyes and the way you were talking to him. Jaeyun knew it was your right to feel this way, and he knew you'd find out somehow. He just hadn't counted on the way it all happened.

“I'll explain everything to you later, we're just going to get out of here. All right?”

“Why so fast?” Joseph's voice alerted Jaeyun's senses and yours. You quickly got up from the chair and he instinctively tucked you behind his back. Protecting you like a shield as you watched your uncle approach. The gun pointed at Jaeyun as he looked at you over his shoulder with that nauseating smile “We haven't even talked as a family yet.”

“We're not a family, Joseph” Jaeyun spat. His hands went behind his back in search of you in case you strayed too far. You didn't know how, but your hands entwined in his and you could feel some of the tension in his shoulders dissipate with the contact, finally.

“Of course we are, I'm your uncle.”

“You ceased to be the day you killed my father” you swallowed back a sob, squeezing Jaeyun's hands with the new confession. Feeling his hands squeeze yours back, as a way of sensing that you were there, despite the confusion.

“But he didn't want to give me the job, that little shit boss” pouting again, the gun Joseph was pointing at Jaeyun was unsheathed. He put it back in his waistband holster, taking a few steps in the direction you and Jaeyun were facing “So he gave it to you.”

“You're crazy!” the younger man almost shouted when he saw that his uncle was close enough, receiving a laugh in response.

“Do you know what your boyfriend does behind your back, princess?”

“I told you not to talk to her like that” letting go of your hands, Jaeyun slipped away like sand between your fingers. He ran up to Joseph and grabbed him by the collar of the shirt the man was wearing. He walked with him to the nearby wall and threw the older man's back against the worn steel. The noise echoed throughout the room and made you cringe and put your hands to your ears in fear.

Joseph groaned at the sudden pain but kept smiling and looking into Jaeyun's eyes.

“Did he tell you that Sim Jaeyun is just a front to keep up appearances?” he looked away from you, noticing that your hands were gradually moving away from your ears “That your boyfriend is Jake Sim, the Sim family's drug kingpin and mafia boss?”

All the noise outside that room seemed to be inside your body now. Gunshots, running, and screams resembled the beating of your heart, the veins pulsing in your temples and your breathing starting to fail.

Jaeyun shouted so loudly that it didn't even bother you, and it was a blur for you to see the two of them grappling right in front of you. The first punch was thrown by Jaeyun, hitting his uncle in the jaw as he loosened his shirt collar and watched him stagger to the side. He took a few steps backward, feeling the older man return the punch and soon the metallic taste between his lips appeared with the force that was thrown back at him.

Joseph was angry, he needed to get it out, as did his nephew. So each time he felt the attack, he tried to go with the same intensity, knowing that the younger man was trying to take away his attention and skill by reaching for the gun in his holster.

“Y/n, get out of here!” Jaeyun shouted, getting his attention after Joseph managed to throw him to the ground in one blow. The older man threw a few kicks, hitting him once in the stomach and he groaned in pain even more. Your eyes were wide, your body was static and you didn't know what to do. You couldn't move as you saw Jaeyun bleeding and beaten right in front of you.

Get out of here now. He repeated each time he punched the man who was trying at all costs to hurt him even more.

“Heeseung!” Jaeyun saw the light at the end of the tunnel when one of his best friends appeared. He was hurt too, with a cut on his eyebrow and his mouth bleeding, but nothing compared to Jaeyun. He rushed over, managing to grab Joseph by the collar and push him away from his friend's body.

“Son of a bitch!” Joseph shouted as his back hit the ground. He groped his hips for the gun, smiling as he saw Jaeyun rise from the ground with Heeseung's help. His nephew's eyes never left his direction, watching as he picked up the gun and even as he cocked it and pointed it in his direction. Jaeyun whispered something to Heeseung, only for the boy to understand as he approached you.

Joseph might have thought it was beautiful, the typical scene where he knew his nephew would die from being shot. But he would protect his beloved from seeing the scene. When Jaeyun walked towards him, his steps slow and dragging, the younger man had his hands behind his back, almost showing his surrender. Would it be his redemption to die to save you? Pathetic, Joe thought. That was typical of the Sim family, not him.

“What are your last words, Jake Sim?” the gun was right in his chest, and Jaeyun felt his blood run cold. He didn't know what he was doing, but he was going to risk it.

He cut himself off from everything else. From your voice screaming and struggling in Heeseung's arms, from the men on the other side cursing and running, from the persistent gunfire outside. He only focused on Joseph's gaze and how that man had taken everything from him. But it wouldn't be like that anymore. Jaeyun wouldn't let history repeat itself, let alone let everything his father had built fall into the hands of someone like Joseph Fields.

He stopped in front of the man he once believed to be his uncle. His eyes were burning with the tears that were about to fall, his heart pounding against his chest and every fiber of his body ached with the uncertainty of what would happen next.

“Go to hell, you fucking scum” Jaeyun said slowly, with the intention of each word piercing Joseph even deeper. He laughed loudly, firing the gun at the same second that Jaeyun ran a few steps towards him.

A shot. A single shot hits Jaeyun and makes him bump into Joseph’s body.

You screamed, feeling Heeseung’s grip even tighter against your body, preventing you from getting closer. Bloodstained your boyfriend’s shirt, but what caught your attention was that Joseph fell first. His body collapsed in front of Jaeyun while a knife pierced his chest and ribs. Joseph quickly dropped the gun that had just been fired to run his hands over the wound in his body. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. His hands were shaking, trying to pull out the knife that Jaeyun had stuck in his hand, but with each passing second, he had less strength to do so. He staggered a few times until he leaned against the wall and slowly slid his body to the floor.

As you tried to process what was happening, you saw that your boyfriend's body staggered too. And before you could see him fall to the floor, all the shock and trauma made you faint in Heeseung's arms.

If someone told you that you had been sleeping in that hospital chair for a week, you would probably laugh in response. There was no way that much time had passed, and besides, the sound of the gunshot was still vivid in your mind. The amount of blood you saw, the times you passed out and woke up next to Heeseung and Jungwon. Everything was so confusing, but at the same time, so terrifying.

You wanted to wake up from that nightmare, forget that you had been through everything, and wake up in your bed or Jaeyun's bed. Hearing his sleepy voice and his grumbling about not wanting to go to work so early that day. Why couldn't all that just go back? Why did things have to happen that way?

Looking around, you noticed that you were in the presence of a tall man again. Burly and with a serious face, they greeted every other person who passed by in the hospital hallway.

Security guards. That's what Sunghoon had told you on the first day. Jaeyun wouldn't let you go unsupervised while his friends went in and out of the hospital, trying to catch Joseph's men who had still managed to escape. It was a load of crap to have someone watch you, but considering everything you'd been through, maybe it wasn't that much of an exaggeration.

“Miss Y/n?” the nurse's calm voice snapped you out of your thoughts, adjusting your body in the chair you were sitting in and standing up when she came in. Greeting the security guard, she brought a small tray with some things for you to eat. “I was asked to deliver them to you.”

“I'm not hungry, thank you” you politely declined, trying to smile at her while the woman just shook her head.

“But you need to eat, or Jake will kill us if he finds out about this” another voice interrupted your conversation with the nurse, and you both looked at the door to see Jongseong standing there. In this chaotic little week, you had met his friends, but you didn't want it to be under these circumstances.

You wanted to know how they had met, even if it was through illegal work, but at least it would be a story to tell. Or to know how long they had been friends. Anything normal that didn’t involve finding them all hurt, needing medical attention, and taking turns checking on you while they changed bloody bandages or bandages on your body.

“He—” hasn’t even woken up yet, you wanted to add. And Jongseong knew that would come out of your mouth. But with the same intensity that you thought, he decided to keep quiet. Not wanting to verbalize the fear he was feeling for not having any news about Jaeyun and that he had opened his eyes or made any progress.

Jongseong waved to the nurse who said goodbye to the two of you, leaving you with him and the security guard who was still at the door to make sure everything was okay. He waited for you to sit back down in the chair, silently approaching you, sitting in the chair across from yours.

“I… I don’t know what to say now” he confessed. Your elbows were resting on your bent knees and your posture was as intense as possible – or so he thought – while your eyes rolled over the amount of food that had been brought to you.

“Okay” you whispered, “I think you need to rest, Jongseong.”

“Call me Jay” he said next, his eyes going to you after inspecting all the food that was there, “And at least eat the toast. Jungwon said that all women like that kind, you too, don’t you?”

Your eyes quickly went to the food, letting a laugh escape between your lips. It was simple. A slice of cheese, tomato, and a few other spices. Nothing too grand and anyone would like to eat it. But their intentions were good and that made, for the first time that week, your heart warm a little.

You leaned over and took the toast, biting into a piece and receiving a slow smile from Jongseong in front of you.

“Eat with me then” since he was going to be there, you would feel bad knowing that he wouldn’t have eaten anything. So the boy picked up one of the chocolate muffins on the end of the tray and took a bite. The sound of biting and chewing between you wasn’t uncomfortable or bad, but it filled the room. You realize that your stomach hurts just from having coffee and some cookies in your stomach during the day, and Jongseong almost cries for eating something other than a pretzel that Sunoo had gotten for him the day before.

“Jay” you called his attention after a while. The two of you had just finished eating in silence and were now enjoying a glass of juice each, loathing the coffee that was the only drink they had had since arriving at the hospital. He looked in your direction, his eyebrows raised curiously at you “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure” he answered quickly.

You pondered. There were a lot of things to ask, not only to him but to all of Jaeyun's friends. But at that moment, just one was enough.

“Why did Jaeyun hide this from me?” it was a simple question, perhaps, if it hadn't caught him by surprise. You noticed that Jongseong became a little more tense, taking a long sip of the juice as he placed the glass on the table between the two of you.

“It was to protect you” he said simply, wiping his lips and holding your gaze before speaking again. “You were the first person he got involved with, Y/n. I don't think I've ever seen Jake so scared in his life.”

It was silly for you to ask, but it still came out. Scared of what? Almost a whisper that, if it weren't for the two of you being the only ones there, Jongseong wouldn't have heard.

“Scared of what happened that day happening” he looked for a piece of already cut fruit, playing with the shreds of the peeled tangerine as he looked away “Scared of you being in constant danger and, I don’t know, hating him for having this life.”

“I hate it” you laughed softly, knowing how much of a lie that could be. “I don’t know, I’m confused.”

“I understand” Jongseong looked back at you. “I think this is something that’s up to you and him, but know that everything Jake has done so far has been to protect you.”

The door to the room opened slowly, you and Jongseong looking at the newly arrived sound and greeting the nurse again. She seemed a little more energetic than before when she entered the room a while ago. You and he got up from your seats, waiting for her to walk the entire room until she approached.

“Miss Y/n, Mr. Jay,” she bowed slowly, greeting you as if she hadn’t seen the two of you in a while. You and Jongseong greeted her back, exchanging a few glances before looking back at the woman. “The doctor asked to let you know that Jake just woke up.”

Your eyes widened as much as the boy in front of you. You and he took a step forward, but he stepped back and turned to you.

“Go first. I’m sure Jake is asking for you.”

The nurse nodded as if confirming what he was saying. You felt like the toast and juice were almost coming back with the urge to vomit from being so nervous, but you were also anxious to be able to see Jaeyun again.

“Just follow me, miss” she said, giving you a small smile before calling you to follow her. You looked at Jongseong, silently asking if he could come with you. Even though you were safe now, it was hard to trust someone that much. The hallway to the rooms where Jaeyun was, along with the waiting room where you were, was filled with security guards and men who worked for the Sim mafia. Every time you remembered that, a chill ran down your spine. Everyone there knew you and knew who you were, Jaeyun had definitely talked about you. But what shocked you was that you didn't know all of them. At least you knew the names of his best friends and those closest to him over the last week, how could he remember the names of so many people like that?

"Anything, I'm outside, okay?" Jongseong called your attention, pulling you out of your thoughts when you realized that you were already in front of Jaeyun's room door.

Taking one last look at one of his best friends, you nodded slowly, unsure of what you would find behind that door. Of course, it was your Jaeyun. Their Jake. But it would be the first - and hopefully the only - time you would find him in a hospital bed. Taking a deep breath and controlling the sudden urge to cry, your hand grabbed the door handle and turned, your heart in your throat before entering the room.

Your eyes darted to Jaeyun's. It was the first thing you looked at when you entered the room. It was as if you were being hypnotized by him as you walked further into the room, walking slowly – because your legs were already shaking enough – and seeing that he didn't take his eyes off you either.

The first day you met him instantly came to mind. He arrived at the company very well dressed, his navy blue suit stood out so much that you knew you had never seen anything as elegant as that. Jaeyun had a perfect smile, was friendly to everyone and especially to you. He was polite, treated you like someone who held the position, and was respectful from the beginning. It was one of the reasons why you started to feel affection for him. It was a mutual respect between coworkers and it was certainly one of the criteria for accepting to have dinner with him the first few times.

Everything was always so natural between you and him. From the small, furtive glances during meetings, to the funny snorts and grimaces when some annoying would-be supplier started talking. The dinner conversations would go on for hours on end, even the subtle touches of his hand on yours when he offered to walk you home. After the two of you started dating in the last two months, it was as if everything was intensifying even more.

Jaeyun was loving towards you, overprotective and, above all, he gave you the security you needed about anything you were in doubt about. Whether it was between the two of you – because you didn't think you were good enough for him – or at work when someone still tried to put you down. He was always amazing, adding the daily dose of I love you now that he could shout to anyone that you were together.

“Hey” the weak voice took you out of your nostalgic thoughts, making you realize that you were already standing next to his bed. Jaeyun’s lips were chapped, his appearance a little pale and unkempt. But he was still so beautiful. He was still the most beautiful man you had ever met.

“Hey” you said back, your voice choked and the lump in your throat about to burst.

He had known your mannerisms even before you were together, but after he asked you to be his girlfriend, it seemed like Jaeyun knew you even more. It was then that he realized before you could even say anything, that your eyes were shedding cascades of tears.

“Sit here, please?” he asked, stretching his hand out as far as he could until he felt you holding it. Your fingers were trembling against his palm, taking a single step until you sat on the hospital bed, in the space that seemed to be reserved for you. Jaeyun didn’t have the strength, but he knew that your body was vulnerable enough that he made a slow movement and managed to pull you to lean against him.

“I’m going to hurt you…”

“No” he whispered, feeling your hands lean against his chest. Quickly wrapping the arm that had better mobility around your waist, the other one that still hurt from the injuries, Jaeyun decided to place his hand over one of yours that was against him. “It’s hurting me to be away from you.”

“Oh, shut up” the saltiness of your tears could already be felt against your lips, biting the lower one to keep from trembling in front of him. Jaeyun laughed, then grunted when a sharp pain hit his abdomen. “Jaeyun…”

“I’m fine” he was quick to try to reassure you, keeping your body close to his. “I just need you here with me.”

“I'm right here” you whispered. He slid the hand that was on yours, up to your chin and lifted your face to his. Leaning his forehead against yours, Jaeyun felt your panting breath hit his chapped lips. Your scent entered his nostrils and made his entire body relax. It was better than the medicine he had been taking since he entered that hospital.

“Great” he whispered back, slowly pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was so slow, even though you both were dying of longing for each other.

He wanted to take the time to feel your mouth press against his, the touch of your tongue massaging his and the fit of your mouths very slowly. Jaeyun had the memory of the last kiss you two shared, in his office room on the day you were kidnapped. It was the last time he could feel your mouth, your scent, have you close to him. That was why now, in the urgency of contact, he pressed his hand against your skin as he slid his fingers to the back of your neck.

You broke the kiss, not yet having the courage to separate your mouth from his or distance your faces. Feeling his warm breath against your mouth was calming you, in a way.

“I love you” he let out, that stuck in his throat making him even more anxious. Your eyes slowly opened to look at Jaeyun, the redness of his lips and the rosy color of his cheeks captivating you even more. “I love you so much” he said again, pulling your face closer to his and starting a new kiss.

Jaeyun wouldn’t say he was trying harder than he should by kissing you with a little more intensity. He remembered the doctor and nurse’s recommendations that he should make as little effort as possible, but the longing was so great that he couldn’t hold back. He needed to feel more and more of you. But he came back to reality when he felt the salty taste between his lips as he deepened a little more.

He didn’t need to be an expert or open his eyes to know that you were crying. He realized this not only from the salty kiss but when he ran his fingertips over your cheek again, drying the spot on the way to your skin.

“Babe…”

“I’m sorry, I—” you sobbed softly, pulling away and hiding your face in the crook of his neck. Jaeyun would always think that seeing you like that would hurt more than the shot he took.

“Don’t apologize, love” he answered you “I’m the one who should apologize now. I’m the one who should explain everything…”

As his voice was soft, trying to calm your nerves, Jaeyun’s fingers still slid slowly over your skin to wipe away every tear trail that had formed there. You nodded in agreement, pulling away enough so that you could look into those eyes that you missed so much. To be able to record even more of the man’s features in front of you because, the last time you two saw each other, it hadn’t been the best memory.

“You need to rest now” your hand ran through Jaeyun’s dark hair, intertwining some between your fingers as you slowly moved it down to his face. “The boys will be here soon to see you.”

He nodded, a small smile forming on his lips as he closed his eyes to feel your touch. The touch he knew he was addicted to since the first time he felt it.

“Okay” he knew he needed to rest, being anxious without hearing from you when he woke up had left him exhausted. Slowly shifting in bed, you leaned over to help him get more comfortable and stood up, standing next to him.

“Jaeyun?” calling his name, you heard him mumble something. A silent understanding that he was listening to you and that you could continue. So, without saying much, you leaned over to him, already standing next to the hospital bed to slowly place your lips on his once more. A kiss so quick and soft against his full lips. “I love you. So much.”

It was something he would never tire of hearing from you.

Sunghoon wanted to push that feeling of betrayal away from his chest. Never in his entire life had he felt that way. In the middle of his work, he knew what betrayal, deceit, and everything bad meant. But why was it eating away at him? Maybe because he had promised you, a month and a half ago, that he would take care of Jaeyun and keep him out of danger.

An argument – ​​and a week without talking to you – was the result of the conversation he had with Jaeyun about his entire life outside the office. You wanted to feel angry, end the relationship, and never look at him again. But at the same time, you wanted to see the effort he had put into finding you, putting himself in front of a bullet for you and almost dying because of it. Seeing the concern of his friends throughout the week as they all took care of you and made sure you were eating and feeling well. It wasn't a good thing to keep, but they were all adults enough. There was not much you could do but respect it.

Jaeyun's pleas for you to at least forgive him were endless, and after a long week of him sending you messages and showing up at your office looking like a puppy that fell out of the moving truck, you gave in. That man would do anything for you and that left no room for doubt. Mafioso or business partner, Jaeyun was willing to do anything to have you by his side and protect you from anything.

But you also needed to act on that, so you asked each of the boys to keep him out of harm's way. He could do trivial things, take care of business sitting quietly, without making much effort because, after all, the mafia was still his. You asked Sunghoon to be in charge of taking care of Jaeyun and preventing him from leaving the office or making any slightest effort.

He granted it. Sunghoon did that for the little time he had. A month and a half of banning Jaeyun from going out on small missions, from driving to warehouses with new cargo arriving, or collecting debts on rotten bar stools that they only needed to scare with a gun and a few punches.

But he didn't know that, a month and a half later, they would have Yunhee in the torture room in the basement of the mansion with Jaeyun with fists right on his jaw at every reminder of that day.

“Dude, that's enough" Sunghoon tried to pull him away, but Jaeyun pulled away. His face burning with rage and a few splashes of blood against his cheek. His fist was already covered in Yunhee's blood and he didn't even care about his clothes. Someone would wash them for him later.

“You thought you could hide, didn't you?" he laughed devilishly. With his hand clean of blood, he grabbed Yunhee's hair and pulled his head back, letting the man's frightened gaze penetrate his eyes flooded with rage “What were you thinking?"

“Jake…” Yunhee coughed, moaning and screaming as he pulled the man’s hair harder. The veins on his neck were visible.

Sunghoon, in the corner of the room, watched with some apprehension about his best friend’s actions. It was understandable that Jaeyun would act recklessly after he learned that Yunhee was alive and in hiding. After learning of Joseph’s death in the hospital, a week after he was discharged and went home, everyone began to wonder where Joe Fields’ right-hand man, his confidant, was. Yunhee had never shown up at the hospital, afraid that someone might catch him and kill him just like Jaeyun had ordered them to finish what he had started when he learned where his uncle was hospitalized.

He didn’t want to be next, but one careless mistake and Heeseung found him wandering around the city late at night. He wouldn’t need Jaeyun’s approval to put Yunhee in the car and take him to the mansion that early morning. Heeseung knew he would be applauded by his boss and best friend for this meeting.

“I—” Yunhee grunted as another punch from Jaeyun hit him, finally releasing the boy’s hair and letting his head fall to the side. With the amount of blood mixing with the saliva, he spat next to his body. A small pool of blood was already forming from the number of times he had done this “I didn’t mean to—”

Sim’s laughter interrupted him, echoing throughout the torturous room that was used for this kind of thing. Usually, Sunghoon or Jongseong did that job, but Jaeyun wanted to personally welcome Yunhee’s long-awaited arrival.

“Didn’t you want to touch my girlfriend? Didn’t you want to keep her tied up at my uncle’s request?”

There were countless questions he had to ask, even though he didn’t want to remember that day or know that those hands that were tied were the same ones that touched you. The same ones that held your body to tie you to the chair he found you in. Jaeyun felt a wave of fury rises throughout his body.

“You know… You know I obeyed your uncle, I—”

“You chose to do the wrong thing, man” Jaeyun said, waving to Sunghoon across the room to get something to clean his hand. His decision had already been made, so the job was also coming to an end. “But it’s a shame, you know? I liked you, Yunhee.”

“What— What do you mean, Jake?” he grumbled, his wide eyes bringing a bit of satisfaction to Jaeyun as he grabbed the piece of damp cloth to try – uselessly – to clean his hands.

“My men finished the job for me with Joseph still in the hospital.” Jaeyun walked over to Yunhee again, bowing to him and managing to connect the angry and dark look with the scared and empty look of the boy sitting and tied up. He gave a short smile, just a lift at the corner of his lips as he had the satisfaction of being in control of everything. “Now it’s your turn.”

“My… My turn?” he stuttered, the chill running down his spine as Jaeyun walked away. Taking steps back, but still keeps his eyes on him.

“Sunghoon” he called out. “Since he was so devoted to my uncle, his end will be the same.”

With a few words, Jaeyun walked past his best friend to leave the room. In time to hear Sunghoon cock the gun and Yunhee’s screams echo throughout the place. A shot rang out the same second he closed the door, and then the man’s screams stopped.

The job was done, Jaeyun could feel all the anger slowly dissipating because everything seemed to be getting back on track again.

“Jake” the voice in the hallway caught his attention, his gaze rising to see Jungwon walking towards him. He didn’t show any reaction of surprise because he already knew his friend, everyone knew this would happen. But at the same time, he couldn’t help but be horrified by the amount of blood Jaeyun had stained his body “You couldn’t be here, you have to take care of yourself.”

“I just needed—” he groaned, the pang in his stomach making him bend over slightly. Jungwon held him between his arms, the tip of his tongue itching to say I told you so.

“You could just ask, Sunghoon and Jay would take care of it” as he listened to the little lecture, he leaned on Jungwon to walk to the stairs at the end of the hallway.

He knew his friend was right. He could let his best friends take care of this at all costs, doing whatever he wanted with Yunhee before killing him. With each step he climbed with Jungwon by his side, a little realization hit him knowing that everything had come to an end. He worries about Joseph and Yunhee, no one would be able to hurt him and anyone he considered family anymore.

“Now stop trying, okay? Otherwise, I'll have to tell Y/n about this.” Jaeyun knew Jungwon would do it without thinking twice. So he laughed without much force, still leaning on his friend, when the two entered his office.

Jaeyun froze. The pain in his abdomen seemed to have disappeared the moment he connected eyes with you. There was your smiling figure, but it soon disappeared when your eyes passed over your boyfriend's body. Being supported by Jungwon, with blood everywhere and a slightly pained expression, not want to admit that the shadows of the wounds still haunted him.

I don't think you'll need to tell her, Jaeyun's gaze screamed about it at that moment.

“What…”

“I can explain” Jaeyun began as you stood up, completely forgetting what you were talking about with Sunoo and Jongseong at that moment. They were both probably trying to distract you to give Jaeyun time to do what he had to do, hurt someone for sure, by the way, he had appeared in the room at that moment.

“No” you stood up, your eyes fixed on Jaeyun the whole time, even though you felt everyone looking between you and your boyfriend.

“Honey, listen—”

“Jay, Sunoo” you turned to them, completely ignoring Jaeyun and what he had to say at that moment. “Thanks for the conversation.”

“Thanks for the candies, Y/n” Sunoo tried to smile, holding the large container you had brought.

Only then did Jaeyun realize. Today must have been the weekend because you were wearing casual clothes. Nothing like the usual office clothes he always saw you wearing. You were certainly waiting for him to sort something out with the boys so you could go to your apartment, eat the candies you tried to make the night before, and relax the whole weekend by his side. This would be the perfect day for you, but it certainly wasn't for him.

Avoiding Jaeyun and anything he was saying, you left the room and walked quickly through the hallways. Still a little lost inside that mansion, with the amount of doors and people walking around. But you knew where you had come in and how you should get out.

"Y/n, wait!" Jaeyun shouted, trying to run after you and ignoring the pain in his abdomen. That was nothing compared to the despair he was feeling when he saw you leave.

You wanted to wait, you wanted to listen to him like you did the last time. But the feeling of a lie lingered in your body and feeling betrayed, you knew your eyes were burning for that reason.

You swore that Jaeyun could just be lining up something, talking to his friends without trying. But no. While you thought you could surprise him and his friends by bringing him the candy that took your time and effort the previous Friday night, he was doing who knows what behind your back. The one thing you had asked him not to do.

“Baby, hey. Stop, I want to talk to you” he managed to reach you as soon as you reached the front door. The hand that held the doorknob was quickly removed by Jaeyun’s hands, who pulled you back to him and made your body turn towards him.

Your teary eyes were worse than death. He would rather die than see you like that, even though he knew he deserved it for lying to you.

“Please, I just need to leave.”

“Not like this” Jaeyun said “I won’t let you leave like this, mad at me.”

“You lied—” he leaned in and kissed your lips quickly, shrugging his shoulders and waiting for any reaction from you. A slap, a curse, anything. But he heard a soft sniff as he pulled away, watching you quickly look away from him.

“Look at me.”

“No. You’re covered in blood” your shaky voice made Jaeyun step back a little, slowly letting go of your arm.

“Then I’ll take a shower and you’ll come with me.”

He didn’t give you time to answer, much less for you to deny anything. Slowly pulling you back into the mansion, Jaeyun held your arm with the less dirty hand, heading towards his room in complete silence the whole way.

When you thought about accompanying him to his room, you were certainly supposed to be sitting on his bed waiting to be taken away. To wash all the dirt off your body and any trace of blood, no matter who it was. But Jaeyun's pleas for you to get in the shower with him, at least to wash his back and listen to him ramble on about everything that happened.

Maybe the conversation part was real, he did tell the details of everything. Hearing Yunhee's name while the steam from the hot water embraced you and Jaeyun in the middle of the shower was a mix of feelings. You remembered the man's face devilishly staring at you, laughing and saying things that weren't true. But at the same time, knowing that Jaeyun had avenged everything that happened left something inside you.

"You killed him…" your voice came out in a small whisper, your fingers stopped stroking your boyfriend's wet hair as you let some strands fall over his forehead.

He sighed, one of his hands falling to your waist and resting his fingertips against your skin. Now he could touch you without having your fearful gaze on him.

“I will kill anyone who even thinks of laying a finger on you, Y/n” his voice was serious, but he whispered each word as he leaned toward you. Jaeyun rested his forehead against yours, his breath hitting your skin hotter than the water falling from the shower at that moment “This is my way of protecting you by working with this kind of thing.”

There was no room for argument and you knew it. You also knew that you had every right to leave, not get involved with him anymore, and pretend that none of this had happened. But you knew that you couldn’t, that you didn’t want that. You wanted to be close to him, even though all of these things were new to your understanding.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt, please” your pleas made him fall apart. Your tone of voice along with the look you were giving him could make Jaeyun give up on everything for a second, coming back to reality as soon as one of your hands touched his face.

It was addictive and calming at the same time to have your skin against his. Your fingers gliding along his cheek and going to his jaw, tracing the line to his lower lip. At that moment he closed his eyes, thinking about how lucky he was to have found you. How it was worth waiting, protecting you, and fighting for what you two had until that moment.

“I love you” Jaeyun would never get tired of saying it. He would shout it to the world if he could.

“I love you” you answered back, in a whisper, before leaning on your tiptoes to kiss his lips as your thumb fell back to his chin. Feeling the movement his jaw was making as he deepened the kiss, intertwining his tongue with yours and pulling you even closer to his body.

Jaeyun wished he had the superpower to hold you there, between his arms, and make you feel safe without having to distance yourself. Just the thought that you and he couldn't live together twenty-four hours a day made him anxious. You being in a corporate building while he stayed in the mansion for a while drove him crazy. Maybe you should move in with him, or he should move the company's office into the mansion, so the two of you could work together when he couldn't go to the building where he was still a partner.

“I promise I won't let anything bad happen to you” he whispered against your lips, placing small kisses on your lower lip before sliding his teeth over the fleshy part. You smiled slowly, agreeing with a small nod before resting your hands against his chest.

He was a work of art right in front of you, and you couldn't get used to how perfect he was. Every time your hand slowly moved down his skin, Jaeyun left small kisses on your lips, each one longer than the last. Until his fingers, trembling, passed over the small scar.

You didn't want to look away at that moment, your focus should have been on the kisses Jaeyun was still distributing across your mouth and chin, but that came back to your mind with fervor. Your eyes quickly darted down, your fingers stopped over the small mark where they had pulled out the bullet that had hit him. Involuntarily a breathless sigh escaped between your lips.

“Hey” Jaeyun called you, his hand resting on your waist, quickly rising to your chin to lift your face and make you look at him again. “Focus up here, okay?”

There was no way to be okay with the thought that he might not be there anymore. That it hurt him in a way you never thought you would see. And you didn't even want to see it anymore.

He kissed you again, a little more intensely this time. The goal was to make you forget what you had seen or at least get it out of your head at that moment, because he just wanted to enjoy it with you. The purpose of that bath was to make you not get mad at him, so Jaeyun would do his best.

While the battle of his tongue against yours took place, the dominance of the kiss taking hold as your lips danced against each other, he walked the few steps until he rested one of his hands against the wall and placed your back against the cold tile. You moaned against his mouth, making him smile at the reaction he had gained from you.

“Jae…”

“I want to make sure you forget anything bad for now” he whispered, sliding his mouth down to your neck, creating a path with the tip of his tongue until he reached your collarbone. He sucked your skin a little hard, and as soon as you responded with a moan, Jaeyun soothed the spot again with the tip of his tongue before running the tip of his nose over your goosebumps. Inhaling your characteristic scent mixed with the liquid soap you had applied a few minutes ago.

There was no way you could think of anything other than his lips on your skin and the way he positioned himself between your legs. Your hands quickly ran to Jaeyun's shoulders, seeking support in whatever was going to happen at that moment, you had no idea if he was going to tease you or what he was going to do. You just wanted to enjoy the moment.

“Y/n” he called your name, making your eyes quickly search for his. It wasn't hard to find the intensity of Jaeyun's gaze that was already staring at you in the same way. His forehead rested against yours, his hand slowly going to his hard cock and sliding between your folds.

“Shit” you cursed softly, knowing that the ease of Jaeyun's cock head sliding through your pussy was due to the amount of moisture you were, how wet you were, along with the water from the bath that made it easier. He knew exactly where to stimulate or tease you, giving good attention and the right amount of pressure to your clit when the head of his cock passed there.

Your hands ran up to Jaeyun's face, resting one on each side of his cheeks. The teasing of your clit didn't last long, he didn't want to waste time, so he took advantage of your wet pussy to slide down to your entrance. Without warning, he pushed his hips forward and shoved his cock into your pussy.

“Jaeyun” you moaned against his mouth as he pulled his face close to yours. Jaeyun pressed his nose close to yours when both of your faces were aligned with each other, sharing rapid breathing.

“I'll protect you from anything, love” he held his intonation so as not to moan in the middle of the sentence, starting to move his hips back and forth. Taking his cock out of your pussy to leave only the tip around your hole, penetrating deeply again until his cock reached its limit “To make sure you don't need anything else.”

“I just need you” your voice was a whisper, if he wasn’t so close to your face and focusing on your every movement and reaction, Jaeyun wouldn’t have heard what you had to say.

He smiled slowly against your lips, kissing you with the same slowness that his hips moved back and forth against your pussy.

With each slow and careful movement of Jaeyun, you felt your body heat up and press yourself even more against him. Feeling full with each deep but careful thrust of his cock inside you. A contrast to the persona you were getting to know from your boyfriend beyond what he had already shown you in the last few months. It was exciting to know that he would do anything for you, killing people who tried to hurt you, but at the same time being there. The most loving and slow sex you two had since you met.

As if he was afraid to go faster, to sink his cock into you and go all the way to your cervix and make you scream his name. Instead, Jaeyun had very fluid movements of his hips, hearing the sound of slapping the skin as his pelvis came into contact with yours. His cock was thrusting deep into you with slow movements, almost as if he wanted to tease you. But you wanted to feel him slowly entering, the prominent veins of his cock standing out against the velvety, warm walls of your pussy.

“I promise to always be here for you” Jaeyun pulled your body closer, your hand falling from his face to rest on his shoulder. As his hand cupped your neck and rested his thumb against the line of your jaw, “I promise—” he groaned as your pussy clenched around him. The sweet words along with the movements of his cock moving in and out of you were too much to handle. You were vulnerable and he seemed to be feeding it all. “Don’t squeeze me like that, baby.”

“I can’t…” you moaned as he thrust hard the only time since he put his cock inside you, as a small punishment as your pussy clenched around him again. You threw your head back, pressing it against the tile. Jaeyun wrapped his hand around your throat, pulling your face towards him and tilting it towards him.

“Eyes on me when you cum” he asked gently, but in a way that you couldn’t possibly answer while he was still thrusting his cock into you so slowly and precisely.

Your eyes were having trouble staying open as you stared at him, seeing your boyfriend’s dark orbs and the occasional moans he let out every time his cock bottomed out, nudging your cervix. You knew it was hard, especially with the firm way he was holding your throat and when his movements started to get more erratic.

“More… Faster, please” you begged, begging with teary eyes as Jaeyun tried not to give in to it. He wanted to go as slowly as possible, make love to you, and claim you even more than you already were his. But with your more than pornographic moan, he couldn't take it anymore. There was no way to stay still with that, encouraging him to go faster.

He lightly pressed his fingers against your throat, bringing his other hand to your waist to steady your body and start thrusting into you a little faster. The water between you two splashed and the sound of slapping skin became even louder than the moans you and he shared.

Jaeyun knew your body, he knew you were close to orgasm by the way your mouth was half open, letting the moans come out freely. The way your pussy sucked him when he stopped his movements for a few seconds just to hear you grunt, sliding your nails across his shoulders leaving half-moon marks against the skin.

Leaning forward and pulling your face towards his with his hand still on your neck, he joined your lips in a sloppy kiss. Drool dripping down the sides and lips messily slamming against each other, just trying to muffle any screams from your as he intensified his thrusts, going a little harder.

It didn't take long for you to feel your body falling apart. Jaeyun didn't have to do much to make it happen, just his existence alone would be enough to drive you crazy. You slid your teeth against his lower lip, keeping your eyes on your boyfriend's penetrating gaze the whole time as the knot in your stomach burst. The walls of your pussy squeezed him as you came, moaning Jaeyun's name like a mantra memorized by the heavens in your biggest and best orgasm.

He didn't last less than that, feeling his cock twitch and tremble against your pulsating walls as he released jets of hot cum, painting the inside of your pussy as he continued to thrust his cock into you. Staying strong in his last thrusts so that no fluid would be wasted while he still had your pussy wrapped around him. Pulsing and convulsing, your body trembling in his arms until you both came down from your climax together.

The long minutes that followed until you both recovered were slow and captivating. Jaeyun was careful as he pulled his cock out of you, whimpering along with you at the slight overstimulation of both of you.

Staying with his forehead against yours, he let his breathing calm down along with his heartbeat.

“I meant what I said” he whispered to you, his fingertips starting to get wrinkled as the time in the shower stretched on. But neither of you cared about that now “Nothing bad will happen to you.”

“I know that” you replied, forcing your voice to sound firm after using all your strength to moan his name minutes ago. Your hands tried to soothe the skin on Jaeyun’s shoulders that had been abused by your long nails “I trust you with this, but…”

“But?” he encouraged you, pulling away a little so he could look at you better.

“But I want to protect you too, it’s not fair that you do this for me when—” your eyes quickly went to the small scar. Even if he had told you not to look, there was no way you could just forget “You sacrifice yourself to that extent.”

“I know, love” Jaeyun sighed, his lips slowly leaving a kiss on your forehead. “I promise to be more careful with this, okay?”

“Okay” you tried to calm yourself down, seeing the sincerity in the tone of his voice that he offered you.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a hug while Jaeyun rested his chin on the top of your head.

“I love you, Jake Sim” you said after a while, smiling against his skin as you left a kiss near his collarbone, making his body shiver.

Not even in Jaeyun’s best dreams would he hear you say that. Never calling him Jake, that name never being uttered by you so casually.

“I love you so much more, my love” he replied, pulling your face up to capture his lips in a quick kiss.

You knew that Jaeyun would keep taking risks if it meant keeping you safe. You knew he would only say that so you wouldn't worry and wouldn't be so mad at him if you saw him on another mission or going after such dangerous people again. But you also wanted him to know that with a mobster boyfriend, you could also learn a few things to protect him just as much.

© ikeuverse, 2024. do not copy, translate or steal my stories.

[colouredbyd]

the misfortune of poetry (and the danger of wanting too much)

wolfstar x reader

summary: “It was the misfortune of poetry to be seldom safely enjoyed by those who enjoyed it completely.” - Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen

or - in which love is mutual, but the space between Remus and Sirius feels impenetrable; and no matter how often their arms open to include you, you still find yourself standing just outside, completely left out.

warnings: emotional neglect, intense arguments, miscommunication, anger issues, overthinking, bipolar-coded reader (is that a thing?), feelings of exclusion, toxic dynamics, low self-worth, crying, unresolved tension, lowk toxic wolfstar that is semi- canon in my opinion, lots of poetic references for some reason, codependency, eventually healthy (?) communication, hurt/comfort, hopeful happy ending.

word count: 5.5k

authors note: yes, i wrote this after finishing a jane austen book bec she is my mother. and yes, this is inspired by tolerate it by taylor swift - my other mother 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 masterlist

Remus has quite the nice hands. 

They are a little tanned and large, the bones pronounced just enough to give them a sculptural grace, and the veins beneath the skin travel in subtle rivulets, like tributaries feeding into a great, unseen current. 

You do not often look too closely at Remus’s hands — not out of disinterest, but because to study something is to isolate it, to detach it from the whole. 

And Remus, in his entirety, has always been too much to disassemble.

But now, you cannot help it. Not with the way his fingers are threaded so deliberately through Sirius’s. 

There is something magnetic about it, something almost profane in its intimacy, and it arrests you.

Remus is beautiful. You have always known this, in the way one knows the moon is beautiful: steady, unreachable, and often too luminous to look at directly. 

He is beautiful in the mornings when sleep still lingers in his lashes. He is beautiful in argument, when his eyes spark and his mouth holds its line with quiet severity. 

But he is most beautiful, you think — painfully and inescapably — when he is in love.

Sirius is laughing. The sound is a rich, unguarded thing, like a fireplace cracking open in winter, throwing sparks into a cold room. 

He is bent slightly toward Remus, his face alight with whatever nonsense Remus has just muttered, some ridiculous inside joke that wouldn’t survive under the weight of repetition. 

His laughter is a kind of music, unfiltered and utterly golden — and Remus is looking at him as though he has never seen anything so worthy of adoration in his life.

There is a softness around Remus’s eyes that you’ve never been able to summon in him. A quiet kind of hunger, not desperate but devotional, like he’s studying scripture and finding God written in Sirius’s grin. 

His hand shifts to press more firmly into Sirius’s side. Their bodies are angled into one another, as if pulled by some gravitational thread, two celestial bodies caught in a dance whose steps were never taught to you.

You remain still, watching in silence. It ought to feel sacred — a private moment unfolding between two people who love one another without question — and perhaps, in some way, it is. 

Yet what unsettles you is not the sanctity of their affection, but the ease with which it flows. The seamlessness of it. The instinct that requires no invitation, no effort, and no explanation.

It does feel, in a way that makes your throat ache with its quiet cruelty, somewhat ironic — even amusing, if you could afford to laugh — that this, the tableau of your two lovers, is what renders you hollow. 

And still, you cannot look away.

Because Remus is beautiful like this. And Sirius, with his head thrown back and his smile reckless and sincere, is nothing short of radiant. 

They are beautiful together. Devastatingly so. Beautiful in ways you’ve never quite managed to be with either of them, and certainly never between them.

There are moments, more than you care to admit, where your presence in this relationship feels like an interruption. Like you are trespassing on something ancient and irreplaceable. 

You do not always feel unwanted — they kiss you, they call you lovely things, they reach for your hand — but there is a weight to their history, to the way their names fit together, like syllables in the same breath. 

Sirius and Remus. A pairing that rolls off the tongue too easily, like it was always meant to exist.

You, by contrast, arrive in fragments. Sirius and Remus and you. A phrase that stumbles on its own construction, heavy with conjunctions, awkward on the tongue. 

It never flows the way it should. It catches in your throat like a phrase unfit for repetition. You whisper it once, as if testing its balance — but it topples mid-sentence, too crowded to stand.

Remus and Sirius and you — wasn’t it even grammatically and poetically wrong? Too many ‘ands’

It sounded like a list that had gone on too long, as if even the English language disagreed with your relationship. As though the structure itself rejected your inclusion.

You wonder, cruelly, if that’s the problem. That even in the syntax of the heart, there is only room for one ‘and.’ One bridge, not two, not  three, just Sirius and Remus.

Not Sirius and Remus and you.

You watch them again. You watch as Sirius curls further into Remus, as Remus presses a kiss into his hair, as laughter settles into quiet. 

You imagine stepping into that silence, imagine saying something — anything — and feel the phantom guilt of breaking something delicate. Something not meant for your hands.

You wonder if that makes you selfish. Or merely human.

You are still looking when you hear your name, gentled by familiarity.

“Hey, love,” Remus calls, voice soft but sure. “Come here.”

Your name in his mouth breaks your reverie like a sudden gust against still water. Rising slowly, you smooth the front of your skirt as if the act might steady you. Your steps toward them are quiet but deliberate.

You are just approaching the sofa when Sirius rises from it, all unbothered ease and restless movement. He stretches once, dragging a hand through his dark hair, already turning toward the stairs.

“I think I’m going to head to bed,” he says. “Still need to finish that Charms reading.”

He offers Remus a smile, then glances at you, expression light, unknowing. You nod faintly, offering a murmured goodnight that hardly makes it past your lips. 

He is gone a moment later, boots thudding gently against stone as he disappears.

You are left standing there, the space Sirius vacated still warm.

Remus looks up at you, a tired smile flickering at the corners of his mouth, and reaches for your wrist with one hand, guiding you down beside him. 

He leans against your shoulder with a sigh, heavy and unguarded, as if it has never occurred to him that you might hesitate to hold this weight.

And in that moment — familiar, quiet, routine — you are reminded of every evening Remus has come to sit beside you only when Sirius has been elsewhere. 

When Sirius is laughing with James, or gone off to some reckless adventure, or curled in sleep two floors above. That is when Remus finds you in the library. That is when he folds himself into the space beside you, places his parchment beside yours, murmurs something about needing the quiet. 

He always arrives in Sirius’s absence. Never in his presence.

And so it is hard not to wonder, here in the afterglow of another departure, whether you have become something of a placeholder — the person he turns to when the world has shifted too loudly around him, when the golden light of Sirius becomes too bright to look at for too long. 

He rests his head against your shoulder and says nothing.

Then, after a long moment, his voice breaks the quiet again.

“You always make everything feel still,” he murmurs. “Like I can finally think when I’m with you.”

You nod slowly, eyes fixed on the fire.

“Lucky me,” you say, voice dry as cooled ash.

Remus breathes slowly against your shoulder, his weight growing heavier by the second.

After a while, he shifts just enough to glance up at you. His fingers graze your arm, tender, thoughtless.

“How was your day?” he asks, voice low and genuine in that way of his. “Did you get through Potions all right? You were a bit worried about that assignment.”

You blink once, slowly, as if recalling your own day requires effort. You had sat through lectures, answered questions, smiled where necessary. 

You had moved through the hours like someone trying to remember how to exist. Nothing had been wrong, not exactly, but nothing had felt right either.

“It was fine,” you reply, and your voice sounds distant even to your own ears.

Remus hums softly in response, nodding a little against your arm. 

Then, as if that were a natural segue, he begins to speak again — this time with more animation and presence.

“I swear, I don’t know what Sirius was thinking today,” he says, his words gathering momentum like a snowball down a slope. “He started arguing with McGonagall over some ridiculous Transfiguration theory he read in a journal — completely misinterpreted, obviously, but he wouldn’t back down. And then he spilled ink all over my notes, again, and blamed James as if that ever works.”

You listen in silence, eyes fixed on the low flame flickering in the hearth.

“Honestly,” Remus continues, shaking his head with a huff of exasperated fondness, “he’s lucky I don’t strangle him some days. But you know him. Always has to be the loudest voice in the room, even when he knows he’s wrong. Merlin, sometimes I think his brain is just a mix of impulse and charm and chaos. But I suppose—”

Of course, you think. Of course it comes back to Sirius.

Even when Remus is beside you, he is never quite with you. 

He speaks your name when the room is empty, seeks your presence when silence is all that’s left. But when the noise begins again — when the world rushes back in — it is Sirius who fills his thoughts, Sirius who quickens his voice, Sirius who moves him from stillness into speech.

You do not want to hear it anymore, not tonight.

“I’m tired,” you say, cutting through his words as gently as you can manage, though the sharpness slips through anyway. “I think I’ll head to bed.”

Remus blinks, caught mid-sentence. “Oh—are you sure? I was just—”

“I know,” you murmur, already rising to your feet, smoothing your skirt, the same ritual motions that have always given you the illusion of control. “But I’m really tired.”

He says nothing as you step away from him. 

Just as you begin to turn away, Remus lifts his head.

“Don’t forget,” he calls gently, as if it’s an afterthought. “Tomorrow - the library. We’ve barely got classes. We said we’d spend the day together.”

You force a smile that you hope passes for casual. “I won’t forget.”

And then you turn before your mouth can betray you. 

You leave the dormitory with your head high and your throat aching. The corridor is empty, lit in patches of gold and shadow. Your footsteps echo too loudly.

By the time you reach your own bed, you are shaking — not violently, not visibly, but in the quiet way that starts from somewhere deep in the ribs and works outward, like grief blooming in reverse.

You sit on the edge of the mattress for a long while, staring at the pale fabric of your blanket, at the delicate stitching in the corner, unraveling from years of use. 

You simply lie back and let the darkness close around you.

And then, slowly and quietly, you begin to cry.

Your tears soak the pillow beneath you until the fabric sticks cold against your cheek. You bury your face further into the cotton, as if you might disappear there.

You are so tired of this ache. Of this place you occupy that never quite feels like home. You are always there — you linger in their laughter, in the pauses between sentences, in the space they leave at the table — but you never stay. You never settle. You are never invited fully inside.

It is, you think bitterly, the worst kind of curse. To be almost chosen.

To be almost seen.

You do not wish to be invisible. That would at least offer clarity, a kind of freedom. No, the agony lies in being so utterly visible, and yet never visible enough.

You are always the extra voice in the room, the third name in a sentence that should have ended after the second. 

You are never left behind, not entirely — but you are never fully brought along either. You are always remembered just late enough for it to sting.

And beneath the sorrow, beneath the hollow ache in your chest, there is something sharper beginning to rise.

You are angry.

You are angry that they never seem to notice the silence you carry back to your bed. That your absence never disrupts the shape of their joy. That your love is always absorbed, always welcomed, but never truly returned in the way you need. 

You are angry that you have made yourself small enough to fit between them, and they have never once tried to widen the space to make room for all three.

You press your damp cheek into the pillow and close your eyes.

And still, even through the tears and the fury, you know you will meet them at the library tomorrow.

***

The morning light is pale and watery as it slips through the curtains of your dormitory, casting long streaks across the floor. 

It is not a beautiful day, not in any poetic or dramatic sense, but it is a quiet one, the kind that carries with it the illusion of possibility — the subtle promise that perhaps something small might shift if given just enough space to move.

You sit before the mirror longer than usual.

Your hair has always been left untied, allowed to fall loose over your shoulders in soft waves, untamed and thoughtless. 

It is the way you have worn it for years, the way they have always known it. But today, you gather it carefully, pinning half of it back with a delicate clip — nothing extravagant, just a simple tortoiseshell clasp that glints faintly in the light. 

The gesture is small, but purposeful. It is not about vanity.

It is about being seen.

You wonder, briefly, what that says about you — that you are trying this hard to be noticed by your own boyfriends. That the act of changing your hair feels like a plea. 

You do not like the feeling. It makes you feel foolish, desperate, and pathetic. You feel like a child rehearsing bravery in the mirror, and the thought alone is enough to sour your stomach.

Still, you do not undo it.

You walk to the library with your hands tucked into your sleeves and your thoughts heavy. You arrive on time, just as planned. 

You choose a table by the window, where the light can fall gently across the spines of your books and catch the gold in your eyes if anyone cared to look. You wait.

Five minutes pass.

Then ten.

Fifteen.

And then, at last,  twenty minutes later, they arrive.

Hand in hand.

You look up from your book, trying not to startle. Sirius grins at you with the effortless brightness he reserves for entrances, and Remus is already leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head, followed by Sirius, who does the same without missing a beat.

“Morning, love,” Sirius says, sliding into the seat across from you.

“Sorry we’re late,” Remus adds, setting down his bag. “We ran into each other back at the dorm and got caught up talking.”

“Mostly laughing,” Sirius says with a smirk.

Your smile is thin. It requires effort.

“I was here twenty minutes ago.”

Remus looks at you, puzzled. “Really? Is it already that late?”

You do not answer. Your gaze returns to your book, though you are no longer reading. 

They converse as though you are no more than a quiet presence beside them, their words weaving around you but never quite including you. 

The fragility of your composure fractures imperceptibly with each passing moment until the question escapes your lips, soft but insistent.

“Have you noticed anything different about me today?”

Their expressions flicker with mild surprise, brows arching as if parsing an elusive riddle. Sirius ventures a tentative observation. “A new set of earrings?”

Remus squints slightly, clearly studying you now. “Did you get new robes?”

You stare at them both, your mouth set in a line too thin to speak through.

It is Sirius who offers the final blow, with a grin too careless to be cruel but too careless nonetheless.

“Merlin, don’t tell me you finally grew taller.”

Your silence is immediate and deafening.

Remus’s expression shifts first, the corner of his smile faltering as he senses something in the air he hadn’t prepared for.

“That’s funny,” you say flatly. “Really hilarious.”

Sirius blinks, thrown by your tone. “What?”

“Nothing,” you answer, too quickly, too sharply. “It’s just… perfect, isn’t it? You walk in late, hand in hand, and the first thing out of your mouth is a joke about my height.”

His smile falters completely now. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“No. Of course you didn’t.” Your voice rises, brittle now. “You never do. You never mean anything. You just talk and laugh like the rest of us are lucky to be standing in your light.”

Sirius leans back slightly, eyebrows knitting. “Alright, what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Before you can answer, Remus’s voice cuts in — low and reprimanding. “Why are you talking to him like that?”

You turn to him sharply, and something inside you snaps. “Why?” Your voice breaks on the word, raw and shaking. “You’re asking me why?”

There’s a heat behind your eyes now, one you try to blink away, but it rises too quickly. “Because I sat here waiting for twenty minutes while you two strolled in smiling like everything was perfect. Because I tried. I tried to do something different, to look different, to be seen. And you didn’t even look. You didn’t even notice.”

Your hands are shaking now. You curl them tightly in your lap.

“But sure,” you mutter, voice lower, bitter, “let’s make jokes about how short I am. That’s easier, isn’t it?”

Remus opens his mouth, but you are already standing. The scrape of your chair is sharp against the floor.

“Forget it,” you say. “Just—forget it.”

Remus’s brows pull together. His jaw clenches. “We didn’t forget you. Don’t do that. You’re upset, but that doesn’t mean—”

“Don’t tell me what I mean!” you snap, voice rising now, hot and unsteady. 

“You didn’t forget me, fine. You just didn’t see me. You never fucking see me. You two look at each other like the world begins and ends in your goddamn eye contact, and I’m just—what? a third wheel?”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Sirius mutters, exasperated, crossing his arms. “You’re making something out of nothing!”

“Nothing?” you repeat, louder now, incredulous. “Is that what I am to you? Nothing? Just someone who tags along, who doesn’t belong in the middle of your golden fucking fairytale? Do you even hear yourselves when you talk? Do you ever stop to wonder what it feels like to be the third person in a story that only had two from the beginning?”

“You need to calm down,” Remus says, voice taut, warning.

“No,” you spit. “No, I don’t. I’ve spent months calming down.”

“You’re blowing this out of proportion,” Remus snaps, sharper this time.

The words hit you harder than you expect. It’s the disbelief, the refusal to even try to understand, that breaks you open.

You shove your chair back, the legs scraping hard against stone. “Of course I am,” you say, breath short, eyes burning. 

“Because that’s what I always do, right? Make things dramatic, ruin your peace, and remind you that there’s a third person here when you’re both happier pretending there’s not.”

Neither of them speaks. The silence between them is deafening.

You glance from one to the other, and for a moment, you hate how beautiful they look even in their guilt — like they still belong to each other in some unshakable, unreachable way.

“I’m going,” you say, voice low now, but no less steady. “Don’t worry. I’ll get out of your way.”

You do not expect them to follow you. 

Yet, as your footsteps echo softly down the cold corridor, you feel the sudden warmth of Sirius’s hand closing around your wrist, firm and insistent. 

He pulls you gently back toward the light, the weight of his grip both grounding and suffocating. His eyes search yours, a mixture of confusion and something harsher beneath.

“What is wrong with you today?” he demands, his voice low but sharp. “Why are you acting like this? So full of attitude, snapping at me, storming off just because I made a joke about your height?”

You want to scream at him that this is not about the joke. That it was never just about one thing.

That it’s all of it — the forgetting, the leaving, the looking through you like you’re only sometimes real. The not noticing your hair.

The tears come faster than you expect. Your throat burns, and your voice breaks mid-sentence, jagged with exhaustion and restraint.

“No, no, this isn’t about a joke,” you cry, shaking your head. “This isn’t about my height or something small like that. This is about you both — about how absolutely horrible you can be sometimes.”

Remus steps forward, concern etched deeply on his face, but with an unmistakable sharpness. “Why are you talking to him like that?”

You turn to face Remus, your breath ragged, the anger pouring from you like wildfire. “See? See what I mean? It is always me. Always me. Why are you talking to Sirius like that? Never, ever do I hear ‘why are you treating Y/N like this?’” Your voice trembles, bitter and raw, the walls you have built around your heart crumbling with each word. 

“You both keep doing this thing, this constant thing where I am invisible!”

Sirius’s brow knits, his voice defensive and bewildered. “What thing? What is wrong with you? What’s up with you?”

Your voice rises, fracturing now into a scream. “Stop making me feel like I’m crazy! Like I’m the problem! You two are everything, always together, and I’m just… there! You don’t see me, you don’t hear me, and when I try, you shut me down! You make me doubt myself, make me question if I’m imagining it. But I’m not. Everyone notices.”

Remus swallows hard, his hands trembling at his sides. Sirius’s eyes flash with frustration and pain, but your words crack through the room like thunder.

“You both make me feel like I don’t exist, like I’m nothing more than the space between you — not a person, not a part of your world. And that hurts. It hurts so much, you don’t even see it.”

They open their mouths, but you are already trembling, chest heaving, tears streaming unchecked down your cheeks. The rawness of your grief and rage mingles, an unbearable knot of truth laid bare.

“You can’t do that,” he says. “You can’t scream at us like that and walk away without giving anyone the chance to speak.”

You say nothing. You stare straight ahead, eyes fixed on a patch of ivy crawling up the stone wall across the courtyard. You think if you meet his gaze, something in you will fracture again.

Remus continues, slowly. “I know we’ve hurt you. I know there have been days where it felt like we forgot how to show up properly, but—”

Sirius cuts in, louder, voice flint-struck with heat. “This is bloody mental. You’re making us out to be monsters just because we didn’t come to the libary early or whatever!”

You turn, your spine straightening with a sharp intake of breath. “You still think this is about the library or the height joke?”

He shrugs, defensive, biting. “It’s just always something lately, isn’t it?”

Your voice rises without warning. “Always something? It’s always something because you keep giving me nothing to hold on to!”

And Sirius stands now, his jaw tight. “That’s not fair.”

“Neither is being invisible in your relationship, Sirius fucking Black!” you shout, your voice cracking wide open again. 

“Enough!”

Remus’s voice breaks through everything. Louder than you’ve ever heard it. Loud enough to make both you and Sirius freeze where you stand, breath caught between ribs.

You stare at him. He is standing now too, fists clenched at his sides, chest rising and falling in quick bursts. His voice, when he speaks again, is low but trembling with force.

“Just—stop it,” he says. “Both of you. This is not helping anything.”

You take a step back, away from the stone bench, away from both of them. The fury in your chest is cold now, the kind that makes you feel quiet and dangerous.

“I’m leaving,” you say, your voice strangely calm. “I’m done with both of you.”

Sirius’s head snaps toward you, eyes widening as if you’ve struck him. His mouth opens slightly, but no sound escapes. Remus reaches forward before you can take another step, both hands catching you by the waist.

“You are not leaving,” he breathes.

You twist, voice rising again. “Yes, I am. I am done. You don’t get to hold me here after everything.”

Remus grabs you now by the shoulders, not rough, but unyielding. His voice is hoarse with something close to desperation. “Don’t you see I’m fighting for you? Just listen, woman, for one goddamned second.”

You shove his hands off you, your voice a blaze. “Fighting for me? You’ve both been horrible to me. You think loving me means giving me crumbs and calling it devotion. I have been here, over and over again, trying so hard to keep up, to belong, and all you do is look right through me. You think I’m here to orbit you. That I should be grateful just to sit at your table. But I’m not grateful. I’m exhausted.”

“I love you!” Remus shouts, and the force of it knocks the breath out of the air.

You stop. Even Sirius flinches.

Remus steps forward again, eyes fierce, hands trembling. “I love you. I have love for both of you. Do you hear me? Both. You ask who I go to when I’m hurting? You. Who do I turn to when I’m too tired to speak and I just want silence and presence? You. Who sits with me through every bloody full moon, even when I’ve snapped and shut down and disappeared into myself? You!”

You shake your head, tears returning now, thick and relentless. “You only do that because Sirius isn’t there. Because he doesn’t show up for you like that. Because I’m just—just the one who fills the silence.”

“No,” Remus growls, and for once, he does not hesitate. “No. You do it because you’re the only one who can. Because I need you in a way that isn’t a substitute. You think I come to you because Sirius is busy? I come to you because you are the person I trust. You are the one who sees me when I’m broken and stays anyway. And you think that’s nothing?”

He steps closer, and suddenly his voice breaks too. “You think I haven’t noticed you pulling away? You think I don’t lie awake wondering what I’m doing wrong? You think I don’t ache when I see you smile at me like it costs you something now?”

You are crying again, helpless and burning. Your knees want to give, and you don’t know if it’s from the weight of his words or the truth they expose.

Remus does not reach for you again. He only stands there, close enough that you feel the warmth radiating from him, but not close enough to touch. His voice is quieter now, rough around the edges with the strain of having shouted, but no less full.

“Talk to me,” he says. “Please. Just say it. Whatever it is, say it.”

You try to look at him, but your vision is still blurred. Your body is exhausted from holding the ache in for so long, and it begins to unravel again before you can help it. 

The sobs come back without preamble, sharp and sudden, rising from the pit of something ancient in your chest.

“I feel worthless,” you gasp, the words stumbling over your breath, your tears, your shame. “I feel like I could disappear for a week and neither of you would notice. Or maybe you’d notice but you wouldn’t feel it, not the way I do.”

Remus doesn’t speak. He only listens. And somehow, that makes it easier to continue.

“I watch you two all the time. I know I shouldn’t but I do. You fit together like you were carved out of the same goddamn stone. I see the way Sirius laughs when you say something that wouldn’t be funny to anyone else, and the way you look at him like he invented the moon. And I sit there, pretending it doesn’t hurt. I sit there pretending that being near it is enough, but it’s not. It’s not.”

You swallow hard. The taste of salt clings to your tongue. “And I start wondering if maybe I was never meant to be here. Like maybe you let me in out of kindness or guilt or because I happened to be there. But I was never really part of it. I’ve spent months convincing myself I belong in something that doesn’t seem to make space for me. And I feel so pathetic and so stupid for loving you both this much and always feeling like the extra piece.”

There is a sound behind you then — not a footstep, not a breath, just the faint rustle of fabric and weight shifting. You turn your head slightly, expecting more silence, more cold.

But instead, you feel it.

Sirius wraps his arms around you from behind without hesitation, pressing his face into your shoulder like he’s burying something deeper than shame. His voice is choked, muffled in your shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”

You do not move at first. You do not know what to do with this. But he holds you tighter, as though afraid that if he lets go, you’ll vanish. And slowly, your body stops resisting the contact.

“I didn’t know,” Sirius continues, his voice trembling with something far too raw to be pride. “I didn’t see it. I didn’t notice how far away you were standing, how far we’d pushed you. I thought—I thought you just liked your space. You’ve always been quieter. I never realized that maybe you weren’t being quiet. Maybe you were being quieted.”

His words break something open again. You let yourself lean back into him, not because it fixes anything, but because the weight of being held feels like relief. 

Remus sinks down in front of you then, lowering himself to his knees, his hands resting on your thighs like an anchor. 

“You were never an afterthought,” Remus says, his voice steady but thick with regret. “Not to me. Not to either of us. But I can see it now — how easily, how thoughtlessly, we made you feel like one. I grew too used to your presence, to your quiet patience, to the way you never asked for more. I mistook your silence for serenity. I thought it meant you were fine.”

“I wasn’t,” you answer, the words barely above a whisper, but unmistakably firm. “I haven’t been fine in a very long time.”

He nods, slowly, like each motion costs something. His gaze doesn’t leave yours, but you can see the glassiness swimming in it. “I see that now. And I hate—God, I hate that you had to fall apart before we finally listened. That we made it so easy to overlook you, even as you stood right in front of us.”

Sirius shifts beside you then, moving slowly as though anything too sudden might cause you to vanish. 

He keeps your hand cupped in both of his, and when he speaks, his voice is low — steadied by conviction, though you can hear the shake still hiding in it.

“I see it all, and I am so—” his voice cracks, just slightly, “—so sorry.”

Remus’s hand tightens around yours. “So am I, more than you know.”

Your voice comes slowly, shaped more by guilt than by peace. “I’m sorry,” you say. “For how I said things. I shouldn’t have yelled. I should have just told you.”

Remus shakes his head, immediately, firmly. “You should not have had to,” he says. “You were quiet because we made it easier to be quiet. You don’t have to apologize for reaching your limit. Not to me.”

Sirius runs a thumb across your knuckles, careful, steady. “And even if you had said something earlier, I’m not sure we would’ve heard you. Not properly. We were too wrapped up in each other to realize what we were doing to you.”

You look down at your hands where they are still entwined, and there is a part of you that wishes you could press your palm to your chest and feel only relief.

But healing is never that simple, and love, real love, is not made of apologies alone.

“I still feel… uncertain,” you admit, quietly. “Like it’s going to take time before I believe everything is different.”

“It should take time,” Remus says gently. “You do not need to rush your forgiveness.”

Sirius nods, and though his grip on you does not falter, his voice is soft with understanding. “We’re not expecting this to be fixed because of one conversation. We know we have things to unlearn. And we know it’s going to take work to make sure you never feel like that again.”

And still, there is so much left to say — so much that will need to be untangled slowly, deliberately, over time.

Love is not sustained by a single moment of recognition, nor by comfort given after pain. It must be rebuilt, patiently and entirely, word by word, touch by touch, until it learns the rhythm of three hearts instead of two.

You had once believed love ought to be seamless — that it should move like poetry, fluid and sure, without hesitation or fault. You had believed the fault was structural, that the line simply could not hold you.

But now, you understand.

Poetry bends. Love bends. And poets, when they must, rewrite the line.

A sentence can hold as many ‘ands’ as the heart requires.

Perhaps that was the misfortune of poetry all along; that it feels too deeply and assumes it will be understood without having to ask. And perhaps that is the danger of wanting too much; not the wanting itself, but being made to feel that the wanting is the problem.

But the hands holding yours now are steady. The silence is no longer hollow. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you are not the only one reaching across the distance.

“Hey, love?” Sirius’s voice pulls you gently from your thoughts.

You blink, meeting his eyes. His tone is soft, almost unsure, but his gaze is steady on yours.

“Yeah?”

He smiles then, a little sheepish, a little late, but real. “I really like your hair like this.”

You feel the warmth rise to your cheeks before you can stop it.

He did notice your hair.

-

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a/n: sobbing this is so messy and just overall not well but it’s 3 am and i cannot proofread it or edit it. apologies for feeding u guys crumbs ;(

[aventurineswife]

can you do maybe aventurine, lighter from zzz and ratio with a reader that has hyperthyroidism and has generally poor health? like reader can usually manage by themselves (like heartbeat, blood pressure or maybe even eye problems), but one day it gets complicated as it develops into a thyroid storm (this basically leads to organ failure or cardiac arrest) and they get hospitalized like immediately. the character basically receives news of this through some other connection because reader is far too anxious to tell them and they go for a small hospital visit.

“Don’t Let This Be Our Last Goodbye”

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Lighter x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chronic Illness (Hyperthyroidism), Medical Emergency (Thyroid Storm), Hospital Visit, Emotional Vulnerability, Established Relationship, Soft Intimacy, Angst, Protective Partner, Comfort After Illness, Subtle Romantic Undertones, Found Family (Lighter's part), Rational vs Emotional Conflict (Ratio's part).

Warnings: Depiction of a medical emergency (thyroid storm), Symptoms including rapid heartbeat, Fever, Confusion, Fainting, Hospitalization; anxiety and emotional panic, Mentions of organ failure and cardiac distress; mild medical descriptions (IVs, monitors, etc), References to past trauma, Survivor’s guilt, Death (non-graphic), Emotional intensity, Characters confronting fear of loss.

The message came through a coded channel. A polite, impersonal update. Clinical. Sterile.

You’d collapsed. Thyroid storm. ICU admission. Time-sensitive complications.

You hadn’t told him.

Which, he supposed, was only natural. You always played things close to your chest—guarded, stubborn, and independent to a fault. Just his type. Just his curse.

By the time Aventurine arrived at the hospital, his trademark grin was noticeably absent, replaced by a sharp set to his jaw and eyes that flickered between worry and anger. Not at you—never at you.

At himself. At fate. At the idea of loss.

“Room 416,” the receptionist said. “Visitor limit—”

He didn't wait. He slipped past with a crisp wave of his credentials and an almost bored tone, the same voice he’d use to bluff a billion-credit deal. But this wasn't a game. Not this time.

You were unconscious. Machines buzzed and clicked. The beeping of the cardiac monitor was too fast, too erratic.

He sat down, wordless. Slipped off his gloves.

His left hand clenched unconsciously behind his back.

A tell. A crack. The gamble was too steep this time.

“You didn’t tell me,” he whispered after a long silence, brushing a stray hair from your sweat-dampened forehead. “Were you scared I’d run? Or… were you scared I’d stay?”

He sighed and leaned in, pressing his lips gently to your temple.

“You really think I’d fold that easily, sweetheart? No. You don’t get to leave the table yet.”

His voice was still honeyed, still sly. But it shook.

“I didn’t bluff my way to the top of the IPC just to lose you to a damn heartbeat.”

He stayed until morning, adjusting your blankets every hour and muttering odds about your recovery like he could outwit biology itself.

He never left the room. Not once.

And when you finally stirred, groggy and weak, your eyes flicked open just enough to see his silhouette by your side.

“You really shouldn’t gamble like this,” he murmured with a tired smile.

“But... lucky for you, I never lose where it counts.”

Lighter was in the middle of a rooftop spar when Piper found him.

“Hey, Champ.” Her voice was too tight. “It’s [Name]. They’re in the hospital. Thyroid storm. It’s… bad.”

He froze mid-motion. The wind caught his scarf. His hands—calloused, battle-worn—suddenly felt useless.

The next thing he knew, he was running.

The hospital lights were too bright. The antiseptic smell reminded him of field clinics and dead friends.

His fingers twitched as he paced outside your room, heart racing like he was about to step into an arena—but this wasn’t a fight he could punch his way through.

He didn’t go in at first. He couldn’t. Not with the machines breathing for you. Not with the sterile whispers and your skin so pale it scared him more than any battlefield ever had.

When he finally stepped in, it was quiet. Only the sound of monitors and his own trembling breath.

“You idiot,” he muttered, pulling a chair close. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. Not with me.”

His sunglasses remained on, but his voice cracked.

“You should’ve told me. I could’ve—hell, I don’t know—done something. Got Caesar to check your meds, or had Lucy make you tea every damn day. Or just—been there.”

He held your hand—carefully, reverently, like it might shatter. His own was scraped and scarred, still stained from earlier fights. But he wasn’t the one who looked broken right now.

“You promised me a rematch,” he said softly. “You can’t tap out yet.”

The next morning, when your eyes fluttered open, you caught the sight of his head resting beside your arm on the mattress.

Your lips moved, barely above a whisper. “You didn’t leave.”

He smiled—just a little. “Told you. The Champion might perish... but he doesn’t lose.”

Ratio was delivering a lecture at a symposium when the message came.

He read it once. Then again.

The calculations in his mind ceased. Numbers scattered. Equilibrium shattered.

Thyroid storm. Hospitalization. Unstable vitals.

His next words to the stunned auditorium were uncharacteristically brief. “I apologize. There is someone more important than this talk.”

He arrived at the hospital faster than anyone could’ve predicted, his presence slicing through the air like a razor. Staff tried to stop him. No one succeeded.

The door to your room opened with a soft hiss. He stepped inside, slow and deliberate.

You looked fragile in the bed, all wires and weakness. His first thought—illogical and emotional—was how could someone so bright look so dimmed?

He approached, not with panic, but with terrifying clarity.

“Your basal metabolic rate was destabilized. Tachycardia. Agitation. Systemic collapse.” His voice was clinical—then broke. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He sat beside you, his alabaster mask discarded.

“I monitor a thousand variables a day. I solve equations that baffle star-systems. But I missed this. I missed you.”

His fingers brushed yours, barely touching. “You feared becoming a burden. You are not. Do you understand?”

He leaned in, forehead resting gently against your arm.

“I would rather wrestle with the laws of entropy than live in a universe where you are absent.”

When your hand twitched in response—subtle, weak—his breath caught.

“I will not let this equation end in loss,” he whispered. “You are not a theorem to be solved. You are the constant that gives my work meaning.”

He stayed, reading every chart, recalibrating your vitals with surgical precision. But when you woke, it wasn’t the data you saw.

It was his eyes. Focused only on you.

And for once, Ratio had no facts.

Only feelings.