#step 2: punch tree

[supernatant]

I see your ‘Castiel gets to level 800 on Candy Crush’ and I raise you ‘Castiel discovers Minecraft and builds a massive town on his phone’.

It has districts accurate to various cities he’s seen around the world. It is ridiculously well-defended: there are about 100 iron golems and they are all named. There is a functioning rail system that the villagers use to get to and from the town centre. In the forest outside town are of course many beehives, with block recreations of various bee species built nearby.

After discovering redstone he figured out how to make functioning cars drive around, but doesn’t include them in the overworld city because they’re not historically accurate. He made a small modern city on the top layer of the Nether with piglins living in it and that’s where he put the cars.

In the Nether there is a monster zoo/jail. When he discovered command blocks, he made ‘glyphs’ that teleport any monster that stands on them to their respective jail cells.

This was all on Creative, and it took him trying Survival to even be aware of crafting.

[prael]

Drive You Crazy

Aespa Winter x Male Reader // Quickfire Challenge 2

words: 4,988 Masterlist

"That's it. You're so not getting any tonight. I already told you, it's the lighting." There's an inflexion at the end of the sentence. A little indicator, a warning light, Winter's about to raise her voice - lose her cool - and it'll be the second time in as many minutes.

"Did you shave them off?" you ask, leaning in far too close to her brow.

"What?!" she snaps. "I did not shave off my fucking eyebrows."

"Is it some sort of trend? Are people into that? If it is then I don’t think I like it."

"Not only are you not getting any, you're sleeping on the floor." She's trying not to get angry, trying to make this all into a joke, but the way her lips are pursed - and those are still perfect, as ever - means you've pushed her a little too far.

"I don't want to sleep with someone with no eyebrows anyway."

No words this time, only a punch in your left arm. You yelp in mock pain, rubbing your shoulder as though she's actually done any real damage. You start stumbling ahead of her, acting out a limp, and you know she's staring at you with that 'fuck-off-now-or-I'm-actually-gonna-hit-you' expression on her face. "That did not hurt, stop it."

"I'm pretty sure I've got a bruise, look." You turn around, rolling up the sleeve of your t-shirt to expose the skin below. It's not there, obviously, but you wait until Winter's standing beside you before you start laughing. She doesn't find it quite so funny.

"You're so fragile. So easily damaged," she says, walking past you, bumping your shoulder again. Her dress ripples in the gentle breeze that whips up behind the trees to your right, before flowing through, carrying the scent of pine, earth, and fresh grass. A fitting compliment to the lake on your left, and the setting sun above. The sky is painted a vivid red, with a gradient of pink, orange and purple, and the clouds are thin, like wisps of cotton candy.

You follow a few steps behind, plotting your next move, your next opportunity to annoy her. It's a game you love to play because you know that no matter how much she might pretend otherwise, Winter does enjoy it. And it's easy to wind her up, so easy. "Hey, can we go for a swim? It looks like it's really warm."

"No," she says, not even bothering to look back at you.

"God, you're so boring." You catch up to her, walk side by side, and wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, kissing her on the temple, just below her hairline. "But you are the prettiest girl here, I'll give you that."

"Shut up, I'm the only girl here," she says, though the hint of a smile appears. "I'm boring for not wanting to throw myself in a lake filled with who knows what."

"Fish," you say.

"Exactly."

"And plants, and water..."

"Thank you for clearing that up."

"Don't mention it."

"You're an ass, do you know that?"

"So you keep telling me."

"Yeah, well, maybe one day you'll start believing me."

"Maybe."

The two of you continue walking along the dirt path, through the trees, and out towards the clearing. Winter's arm has made its way around your waist, and now the two of you are walking in time, matching strides, the sound of your steps on the gravel echoing in a pattern that becomes almost rhythmic. You're close to your cabin now, just a few more minutes and you'll be able to throw off your shoes and fall onto the bed, pull her down with you, and-

"I'm gonna take a bath," Winter says.

"Funny, I was just thinking something similar."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah, I was thinking you could take a bath right now." You bend and scoop Winter up into your arms, lifting her from her feet and holding her tight against your chest. She lets out a loud, high-pitched scream, but it's followed by a laugh.

"What are you doing? Put me down."

"Nope." You're already moving, already half-running, and as her hands come to rest on the side of your neck, you feel her fingers pressing hard into your skin, trying to keep her balance.

"Are you serious?"

"Always," you reply.

"You're such a dumbass. If you drop me-"

"Gonna drop you alright." You veer left before you reach the cabin, stepping onto the pier and out towards the middle of the lake, ignoring the screams of protest from Winter.

"You are not dropping me in there, I swear to God, if you do, I'm leaving you. I will never-"

You cut her off, letting her drop into the water with a splash, and you stand there, watching as her head pops out from beneath the surface, hair flat against her forehead, sticking to her cheeks. "It's freezing cold, you shit!" She yells.

"What? You were looking a little hot, figured a dip in the lake would cool you down."

"I hate you." She splashes water in your direction.

"Oh, you don't mean that," you reply, bending at the knees, peering over the edge of the dock. She's wiping her hair from her face, and there's a glare, a dark shadow cast across her features that makes you think you've gone a step too far.

"Get in," she says, grabbing your ankles and pulling.

"Winter! Don't-" You're falling before you have time to finish the sentence, and the world seems to move in slow motion, the water approaching as if it's coming to a stop for you, rather than the other way around. You break the surface, spluttering, coughing. "It's fucking freezing."

"That's what I just said."

"Yeah, well," you try to catch your breath, "I guess I was too busy admiring how hot you were to pay any attention."

"Don't start saying nice things after you've already dunked me in here. I'll never believe you again."

"Come here."

"Why?"

"Just, come here." You reach out, grabbing her hand, and pulling her towards you.

"We're gonna get hypothermia," she snaps.

"I'll warm you up."

Your hands meet her hips, and she wraps her legs around your waist, her arms around your neck. It's an embrace that's been repeated a thousand times, but one you know will never become repetitive. The way her lips move against yours is always exciting, always fresh, as if it's the first time all over again. And when you feel her tongue slip inside your mouth, and her fingers tangle themselves in your hair, there's nothing in the world you want more.

"You're an asshole, you know that?" Winter says.

"I know."

"But you're my asshole."

"I know."

You kiss her again, and as her teeth gently bite your bottom lip, your grip on her tightens.

"Let's get back to the cabin," she whispers.

"Why?"

"Because," she says, "I want to fuck you."

"I thought I wasn't getting any tonight."

"Shut up already, will you?"

-

You leave a trail of water in your wake. Through the doorway, over the hardwood floor, making a trail to the bathroom. There are puddles on the carpet, droplets of water clinging to your skin, and goosebumps covering both your bodies. You feel them on her as you peel the dress from her body. Light fabric, sodden and made heavy, clinging to her every curve, and every crease, until it's a puddle on the floor.

"You're a mess," she says, and there's a playful grin on her face.

"Me?" You look down, running your eyes over her naked form. "Yeah, right. Look at you. Think we washed off whatever was left of your eyebrows, though."

She hits you with the palm of her hand, and then her arms are wrapped around your neck, her lips pressed against yours. You step forward, pushing her into the shower and then you reach out, palming against the wall and searching for the knob. Water cascades from the ceiling, and your eyes are open, staring straight into Winter's as her hand grips your wrist, pulling it downwards, pressing your fingers against her. You're smiling, and she is too.

"Is this the part where I'm not getting any?" You ask, and her response is a roll of her eyes and a shake of her head.

"It's the part where you stop talking." She kisses you again, and you're more than happy to comply. Her tongue slips into your mouth, your finger into her cunt, and it's hot, wet, and desperate - the kiss and the cunt. It's the latter that has you weak at the knees.

You press her against the tiled wall, her back arching away from the cold surface. The shower's a tight squeeze, and the steam and spray are starting to fill the small space, but the water's warm, and Winter's warmer. And as you slip another finger inside her, her eyes flutter closed and her nails dig into the back of your neck, dragging along the skin.

You're at her neck now, an assault on her senses. Tongue and teeth and lips and hands, all working together to coax out moans, gasps, and whispers. "Don't stop." You hear her say, and it's not as if you could, or would.

It's the little things that make you want to worship her. The way her breath catches when you suck on her pulse point, the way her nails dig harder, her hands grab tighter, the way she starts rolling her hips and grinding against the heel of your palm. You curl your fingers, push in deeper, and feel her clench, tightening around them.

You've got her fucking planted against the wall. Water runs down her naked form. Rolling down those shoulders; a cascade over her breasts; flowing over her toned stomach that tightens ever more by the second; dripping off her thighs, which are spread wide, and shaking with each thrust of your fingers. And, finally, the rivulets of water that stream down her back, her ass, her legs.

You pull her into another kiss, and the noises she's making are driving you crazy. Her moans, her pants, her curses. And the way her lips tremble and her jaw quivers. "Fuck, keep going, just like that," she whispers, and your heart skips a beat, and the throbbing between your legs becomes almost painful.

You know she's getting close. She always gets the same look on her face. That expression of pleasure mixed with pain like the feeling's almost too much, but it's just enough. And when she cums, she throws her head back, and her hands ball into fists. And the only sound she makes is a gasp, and her body goes rigid, her walls tighten, and you feel her cumming against your fingers, and then her knees buckle and you have to catch her, hold her steady.

"You're always so easy," you tease, and her eyes open. She's looking at you like she wants to punch you, or fuck you, or both. Maybe.

"No, I'm not." There's that signature furrow of her brow, that telltale crease.

"So easy," you repeat.

"I'll show you easy," she says, and the next thing you know, your back's against the tiles and her mouth is on yours.

And, oh, does she show you.

-

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

You're lying beside each other, the sheets pulled up, barely covering the two of you. Your bodies are entwined, your limbs tangled, and Winter's head rests on your chest, her ear against your chest, listening to the rhythmic thump of your heartbeat.

"Talk about what?" Winter asks.

"Well, we've never done that before."

"We have sex all the time," she says quizzically.

"That wasn't just sex," you reply.

"My ass?" She looks up at you.

"Your ass." You nod, smiling. "That was.... new. How was it? Did it hurt?"

"You know, the fact that you're asking questions and not making jokes is kinda weirding me out. Don't think it's going to be a regular thing, okay?" Winter rolls off your chest and onto her back, her head resting on her own pillow, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "How was it for you?"

"Unexpected. Hot."

"You can stop trying to play it cool. I saw you back there, losing your mind while you fucked my ass."

"You're the one who came so hard that she nearly passed out."

"Shut up," she laughs. "Go to sleep. And don't even think about touching me in the morning. My ass hurts."

"I could kiss it better."

"Fuck off," she says, slapping your arm, but there's a smile on her lips, and then she shuffles closer to you, draping an arm over your stomach.

-

"Last day," Winter sighs as she looks out onto the lake from the balcony, her arms folded across the railing as she leans forward against it. The metal is cool on her exposed stomach. She's wearing one of your shirts and nothing else, and the way the morning breeze ripples against it sends a chill running up her spine. The sun is already warming her skin though, and the coolness is more than welcome.

"Not ready to leave?" you ask from inside the cabin, still packing the clothes you brought with you.

"I'm not sure," she replies, turning her head, and watching you fold a t-shirt and place it into the suitcase that sits open on the bed. "I do miss my own bed, but I'm not sure I want to go back to reality yet."

"Reality can wait another few hours, don't you think?" you ask as you approach her on the balcony, wrapping your arms around her from behind, your hands resting on her stomach, pulling her closer.

"I guess," she says. "We'll leave and then be replaced by some other young couple that will fuck all day, every day."

"Is that a hint of jealousy I detect?"

"No, not at all," she says, rolling her eyes. "I'm not the jealous type."

"I think you might be," you say, pressing a kiss against the back of her neck, just below her hairline. "Remember when we were in that bar, and the bartender kept winking at me?"

"How could I forget? I wanted to smash my bottle over her head."

"Point proven." Another kiss and your fingers begin to play with the edge of the shirt. "So, we have a few hours left. Want to go for a walk somewhere? Maybe we can see where the trails go today?"

"Maybe you can get down on your knees?"

"You want to waste the last day of vacation in bed?"

"Sex with a view? Yes please." Winter pulls your hand onto her ass, and you can feel her smile when you press your lips against the back of her neck again. "You can't say you don't like the idea."

"That doesn't mean it's not a waste." You reply, trailing kisses on her neck, and along her shoulders.

"So you don't want to fuck me against that balcony?"

"Don't get it twisted. I'm going to fuck you against that balcony." You run a hand up from her hip, over her toned stomach, underneath the shirt, until it meets her breast. It fits perfectly like it was made just for you, and you feel her hardening nipple press against your palm.

"Then stop talking and put that mouth of yours to work."

"I'm gonna eat you until your legs give out," you whisper into her ear. She lets out a soft gasp just before you slide down to your knees, your hands on her ass. "Hands on the railing."

"Why?"

"Just, trust me," you reply. You hear a faint giggle and then feel her shift slightly, the skin of her palms pressing against the metal bars of the railing.

You push up the shirt, bunching it at the small of her back, baring her cute ass to the world. You plant kisses on her right cheek, biting gently, dragging your teeth across her smooth flesh. Your hands run down the backs of her thighs, fingers trailing up the inside until they reach their destination, her wet cunt. You feel the heat first, the warmth emanating from her, the dampness between her thighs. Your thumb runs along her slit and her legs buckle ever so slightly, her grip tightening on the railing.

You start slow, your thumb parting her, the tip running along her folds, stopping just short of her clit before repeating the pattern. She lets out a breathy moan, her body already responding to your touch. You continue to adorn her ass in kisses, your tongue leaving wet patches on her soft skin.

Winter rolls her hips, pushing herself against you. "Not quite the knee-buckling orgasm I was promised."

"You're so needy." You smile and take firm hold of her ass with both hands. "And annoying." You spread her open and run the flat of your tongue from the front to the back. She moans again, her back arching, pushing her ass further out, and you do the same thing once more, and again, and again. Until she's whining, and the muscles in her stomach tighten.

You eat Winter's ass as if you were starved of her like you hadn't already spent days doing exactly that, as if her taste were a drug you'd gone too long without. You lose yourself in her. You forget the world around the two of you. You're barely aware of your surroundings anymore; all that matters is having your face buried between her cheeks, your tongue in her hole, and the sounds coming out of her mouth. You're drunk on her.

"Fuck!" she moans. Her knuckles are turning white, and you know that she's trying to stop herself from reaching behind her, pulling you into her, grabbing fistfuls of your hair, and forcing you deeper.

You take a moment of respite, planting kisses over her soft cheeks. "You're gonna wake up the entire forest if you keep making noise," you say.

"Don't stop," she replies.

"Wasn't planning on it."

You dip back down, running your tongue over her hole, pressing harder this time. Her body shakes and shudders as she fights to stay upright. Her thighs are shaking and she's clenching, and you feel the pressure of her ring tightening as if she were trying to pull your tongue in.

The sun is beating down on both of you now, and the sweat rolls down your back. You can taste it on her too. A sheen on her skin, kissed by the morning sunlight, and there are droplets of sweat collecting in the dimples above her ass, which you make sure to kiss, too.

"Oh fuck, keep going." Winter's head drops and her hair cascades around her face. You reach around her, finding her pussy soaking, dripping. You dip your fingers in, pushing them past her folds. She's tight and wet, and so hot that it almost feels like your fingers might melt. Almost. Her hips buck and her breathing quickens. "Don't you fucking stop."

"Not planning to," you reply, muffled, your face pressed against her.

So here you are, middle of a forest, on the balcony of a rented cabin that feels as if it's a million miles away from society. Your girlfriend is standing with both hands gripping the metal bars of the balcony railing, naked, her head down, hair everywhere, back arched and pushing her ass back against your face. You're on your knees, hands on her hips, fingers inside her. Your mouth, lips, and tongue are worshipping her in a way that feels almost religious. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

She's going to cum. It's some sort of cosmic truth that you can feel, in the same way you know the sun is going to set tonight, and the moon will appear. She's going to cum on your fingers and on your tongue. She's going to shake and scream, and she'll have to sit down when you're done with her.

"Oh, I'm so close," she moans.

You don't respond. You simply redouble your efforts. You curl your fingers and you drag the tip of your tongue over her sensitive hole. Her breathing is ragged, and she's losing her mind. The muscles in her ass and thighs are tightening and her back is arched so hard that it looks painful. You feel her clench, and then her entire body is spasming as if electricity is coursing through her veins.

Winter lets out a string of curses as she cums on your fingers, your hand, your arm, the floor - she's making a mess of everything. And when it finally passes, and she's standing, shaking, you stand too, wrap her in your arms and pull her into an embrace. "I think my legs actually went weak." She's breathing hard and there are tears in her eyes, and she's looking at you with that same expression she always has after she's cum.

"Told you," you say.

"Yeah, well," she breathes hard, looking out over nature's beauty. "I'm still standing." You kiss the back of her neck again and you can't help but smile. It's the smile that only Winter can put on your face, and as the sun climbs higher in the sky, you're happy to be spending your days in this little piece of heaven.

"Good. It would have been a real shame if you gave up already. We have a whole morning, after all." You pull her shirt (Your shirt? The details are meaningless.) up roughly and expose her lithe body to the world. You pull it at her neck, using the bunched-up fabric to hold her in place. You press into the small of her back, bend her over the railing, and your hand wanders down to her hip.

"I'm surprised you have anything left to give after this week." Winter chuckles and pushes her ass against you. "Drained you dry and then some."

-

"Just keep your eyes on the road, will you?" Winter snaps.

"Kinda difficult with you doing that," you say.

"I mean it. Don't you dare crash. I don't want to be in the news as the idol who crashed with her boyfriend's cock in her mouth."

"It's not even in your mouth."

"Not yet." She flashes a mischievous smile as she strokes you.

"We've been on the road for less than twenty minutes and you're already on me," you laugh. "You can barely go an hour without me inside you."

"You weren't complaining earlier when I was riding you."

"I wasn't driving a high-speed hunk of metal down the highway then. , take it easy."

"I don't think I can. I've got my hands on your big cock, how am I meant to control myself?" Winter's hand runs down the entire length, from base to tip. "I just want it in me all the time."

"I'll pull over, okay?"

"Don't pull over." Winter's hand is replaced by her head in your lap. "Eyes on the road."

"Fuck," you say, as her tongue swirls around the tip. You can feel her hand gripping your cock tight. Her lips slide down to meet it. She's wet, warm, and so inviting that you find your eyes drifting down to watch, only to have to look back to the road.

Winter doesn't take your entire length in one go, no, she takes her time, teasing the tip of your cock before licking the entire length, base to top. It's a game for her, a game you love, but a game nonetheless. She wants you to cum, but she wants to drag it out for as long as she can.

Your hands are gripped tightly around the wheel, knuckles white. The urge to grab her head and push her down on your cock, to gag her with it, to have her choke on it, to use her pretty little face for nothing more than her own pleasure, it's overwhelming. "Just let me pull over," you say.

"No time. Eyes on the road."

The next ten minutes seem to last an hour. Winter's mouth is doing its magic, taking you deeper with every movement, taking more and more until the entire thing is down her throat. You hear her gag on it, feel the vibrations against the head, and your cock throbs in her mouth.

She pulls up with a pop and a gasp for air, and then she's at it again, bobbing up and down on it, her spit running down the sides of the shaft.

"Shit, keep doing that," you whisper. Winter's tongue runs over the head of your cock, and you're struggling to concentrate, but then it stops - the contact gone. "Fuck, Winter. Come on, I'm so close."

"I know." She says. "That's why I stopped." There's a glint in her eye, something you recognise.

"Oh come on, are you seriously-"

"Yep," she cuts you off, sitting back in the passenger seat. "My turn." She unbuttons her jeans and shimmies them down off her hips. Just enough so she can slip a hand under them.

"That's it. I'm pulling over."

"No! We'll be late. You have to keep driving," Winter moans as she begins to touch herself. Her legs spread wider and you watch her out of the corner of your eye.

"Winter..."

"I said eyes on the fucking road," she growls, her fingers picking up pace.

It's the most awkward fifteen minutes of your life, and it feels like you spend more of the time staring at her than at the road. Winter is panting, gasping, moaning. She's grinding her hips into the seat and she's thrown her head back, eyes shut, mouth agape. And her fingers are working her pussy like she's possessed.

She puts her leg up on the dash and sinks deeper into the seat. You can see how wet her cunt is from here. It glistens with the juices dripping out of her. Her nipples are poking through her shirt, and you want to pull over and fuck her brains out, but she keeps telling you no, so instead, you watch her finger herself in the passenger seat.

Winter's close, you can tell. Her breathing is shallow and ragged, and she's mumbling something under her breath, too quiet for you to hear. Her body starts to tremble and shake, and you're half-watching, half-driving when she finally cums. Hard. And she screams, and you swerve, and someone behind you blares their horn, and you can barely breathe. She looks like a mad woman. She's still writhing, grinding, and panting, her fingers rubbing circles on her clit, her back arching.

"This is torture," you whisper, eyes glued back to the road, heart thumping, palms sweating.

"I think I'm going to pass out," Winter breathes, slumping down in her seat. "Fuck that felt good."

"Great, now how about a fucking hand here?" you laugh, gesturing at your dick. It's throbbing, and aching, and it needs to be touched.

"Oh, right." She's out of breath, but she manages to pull her pants back on, button them up, and crawl back into your lap, her fingers wrapping around your shaft. "Guess I forgot."

"How convenient."

Winter wraps her lips around your cock again, and this time, she's more eager. Her tongue swirls around the tip while she moves her head up and down. You feel the pressure building in your abdomen, and the world is starting to blur. It's just her and her pretty pink lips wrapped around you. Her tongue is hot and wet and so fucking soft. And she's sucking you. She's moaning with your cock in her mouth, and it's sending waves of pleasure throughout your body.

"You're hungry," you grunt.

"Mm-hmm," Winter responds. She shifts onto her knees on the passenger seat, her cute ass in the air and her mouth wrapped around your dick. Everyone you overtake could just glance over and see her. Tight jeans and a tighter ass; they'd be hard-pressed to look away. But you're not going to be pressing anything except her face into your cock. Your hand finds its way to the back of her head and you push down gently until the entire length is in her mouth.

"Winter..." you grunt with one hand on the wheel and one in her hair. She bobs her head, and you feel her gag and choke. Spit dribbles down the corners of her mouth and onto your lap, and her eyes water, but she doesn't stop, she just keeps going, and you feel yourself building up, getting closer.

Winter moans around you and the vibration sends shockwaves through you. It's so hard not to thrust up into her. She gags, and you feel the head of your cock hitting the back of her throat.

"Fuck, just like that. Keep doing that." Your knuckles are white, and Winter's eyes are watering. Your fingers grip her hair tighter, pushing down on her, and her eyes roll back, her body trembling.

You cum in her mouth. Your entire body tenses up, and the road disappears. Your eyes are shut, and your back arches off the chair, and your hand grips her head. You fill that pretty mouth with your hot cum. She sucks it down, greedily swallowing it all.

Your eyes snap open. You're lucky. You didn't crash. You're still on the road, and you're alive, and you've just cum harder than ever.

"Better?" Winter asks, popping off of you.

"Much better." You say, trying to regain your composure.

"Good." She smiles at you, wiping at her chin. "How'd you like to get home late?"

"Oh, so now we're pulling over?" You laugh. You find a turn and take it, then another, until you're parked, overlooking a field. Winter's hands are already exploring under your shirt, and she's kissing your neck.

"Gonna ride you so hard that you can't think straight for the rest of the day."

[v-4-mpmistress]

My favorite annoyance. Shikamaru x fem!reader

'Teasing a genius sometimes isn't the best idea even if he seems lazy'

@2-c4ndy

Warnings: mostly fluff, established relationship, some suggestive stuff but now nsfw.

Short trip to the Nara forest.

You were not supposed to be here.

It had started as a random comment from your side about how pretty deer were when you encountered one during a mission. And of course, your boyfriend heard, and your boyfriend was a Nara. So now he had smuggled you into the Nara forest against all clan rules.

“Stop making so much noise,” he grumbled as you two walked toward his favorite spot.

“Sure, I’ll just make my feet not step onto the dry leaves all across the floor. Maybe I should fly to prevent that,” you replied sarcastically, making him roll his eyes.

“Don’t be stupid,” he grumbled again.

“And stop being so paranoid. It’s not like you haven’t gotten grounded before, and it’s not gonna happen anyway,” you said, poking his side. He flinched for a moment and swatted your hand away.

“I’m not. You’re just being troublesome,” he said, giving you a small glare—without any actual annoyance behind it. Then he looked away again, like he was waiting for his dad to materialize out of thin air and scold him.

You rolled your eyes but decided to shut up for the moment. The forest was beautiful—more than any normal one. There was something… ancient about it, almost magical. You could almost feel the trees breathe with the wind, the clan’s ancient runes carved into the stones adding to the pull of the place.

“They like you,” he whispered softly, so quietly it was almost imperceptible but calm.

Your brow furrowed a bit. “What do—”

Your words were cut off by a startled yelp as you felt something press against your back, followed by a very distinctive snort behind you. And despite all your ninja training or experience, your body reacted before your mind did. A very loud yelp left your mouth before you could even think, and your hands flew to grip Shikamaru’s arms, nearly jumping into them.

Then you looked back. Of course, it was a deer. A very massive deer, staring straight into your soul.

“...Why is he so massive?” Your voice came out in a whisper, torn between the urge to run and the impulse to pet it. It was cute—just extremely terrifying.

“You asked me the same thing last night, and you didn’t seem so scared,” he snorted teasingly, earning a smack to the chest.

“They’re just big. They’re not gonna attack you. They know you’re with me,” he said with a sigh, taking your hand in his and guiding it slowly but firmly to the animal’s fur, helping you get used to it.

Your body gradually relaxed, a small smile forming on your lips—both from Shikamaru’s closeness and from the way the deer seemed to enjoy your touch. After a few moments, the deer bowed slightly to Shikamaru before running off into the trees.

“See? That wasn’t so bad,” he said calmly, moving his hand to your waist and rubbing small, slow circles into your skin with his thumb, making you smile a bit more.

“Still… I wouldn’t have expected a chunin like you to get scared by some deer. A bit pathetic, don’t you think?” he whispered against your ear, making your smile fade into a smirk as you rolled your eyes.

“I will punch you,” you muttered.

“Troublesome woman… you’re the one who decided to come here, you know?” he snorted, his hand still on your waist, the other tucked in his pocket.

“I’m not the one causing such a scandal and breaking clan rules just to hang out with my girl,” you teased with a dramatic gasp.

“And I told you to keep quiet. Which we both know you don’t know how to do,” he replied, raising a brow.

“Yeah? And what are you gonna do tie me to a tree? Because Im not being loud. You're just too quiet,” you shot back.

“Don’t tempt me,” he smirked slightly, though you could swear you saw his eye twitch a little.

Then he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice low and slow and entirely too effective.

“Yet I wonder what other sounds I could get out of you… out here, where no one’s around to hear.”

Your breath caught, and he chuckled, brushing a strand of hair away from your face like it meant nothing.

“But for now,” he murmured, stepping back with that lazy smirk, “you’re on deer watch.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Now behave,” he said, pulling away just far enough to smack your ass—not too hard, just enough to make you gasp while somehow making the gesture seem casual. Of course, he resumed walking like absolutely nothing had happened.

“I hate you,” you grumbled, walking beside him again, but any other complaints died on your tongue the moment you arrived at a small body of water.

There was a tiny cascade, with baby deer learning to walk near a big tree, others grazing nearby. It felt… safe.

“…It’s beautiful,” you whispered in awe.

“I know,” he said softly, barely audible, as he moved to lay on the grass, tugging you down with him to sit.

“The forest likes you,” he murmured again, pulling you to lay across his chest.

“Is that because I like you?” you chuckled softly.

“Don’t get sappy… but yeah, most likely,” he whispered, hugging you a bit closer, eyes closing for a moment.

You didn’t know how much time had passed, but the sun was already beginning to set when you opened your eyes again. He stirred a little, still holding you close.

At first, you thought the distant voice was your imagination.

“Shikamaru, are you there?”

That was Enshui’s voice—just a few feet away.

…Yeah, it was time to escape.

[megapteraurelia]

TWO-WAY STREET. — part 2.

🫧 SUMMARY; — how is suna rintarou ever going to get over you? or: having a hard time not thinking of begging you on his knees to give him a second chance.

🫧 WARNINGS; — graphic smut; angst; fem!reader; pathetic!suna/sweet talker!suna and fem!receiving oral; mentions of weed and alcohol; second chances (except they're still stupid)

🫧 WORD COUNT; — 3122.

🫧 AUTHOR'S NOTE; — how to angst...? ( part 3 in the works!)

please let me know what you think! -` ♡ ´-

pt. 1 | pt. 2

“if this keeps up, yer gon’ be labeled a stalker.”

atsumu held the bills between his fingers, and suna snatched it, stuffing the money into his back pocket and the rest of the mary jane in the side pocket of his jacket, “how about minding your own business once in a while?”

“nah,” atsumu grinned, “where’s the fun in that?”

his fingers were quick in rolling the joint, crumbling the buds into a neat line before closing the paper with a swipe of his tongue. when he searched his jeans pockets for a lighter, suna’s eyes found your presence amidst the many people at the party, fitted between dancing, sweating bodies. 

the party he hadn’t wanted to stay at once he finished up his deals, but that he couldn’t help but prolong his visit more once his sweeping gaze over the masses found the light you were radiating.

so there he stood, in the shadowed corner of the room with his shady business, several couches and tables between you both, basking in your light even though he knew you didn’t like him to. he knew, he knew, and yet he stood there while the fake blonde next to him clicked his thumb against the lighter, watching you dance.

his hoodie and the jacket thrown on top of it felt heavy and too hot on his shoulders, but he didn’t bother shrugging any of it off.

because he hadn't planned to stay.

“so — “ atsumu dragged a deep breath, and that shit stank up this pathetic little corner suna rintarou was standing in, “ — what do ya say, i try my luck with’er?”

suna froze, but said nothing. maybe if he pretended that the music thrumming through the air was too loud, then he could ignore atsumu and his cocky exclamation of stupidity. 

but as blonde as atsumu was, he wasn’t as gullible.

an arm draped over suna’s shoulder, he leaned in, and smoke curled up into the air, the scent as penetrating as ever, “oi, come on, rinnie, what’s with yer stoic attitude, huh? you can hav’er right after, hn? jus’ wanna see what the fuss is all about. so, how abou—”

suna rintarou did not fight. he really didn’t. he wasn’t the type to, and punches hurt his knuckles.

if anything, he was more the underhanded type to deal with things, maybe a bit of blackmail if they wouldn’t let up, but fighting? smashing any of his body parts into somebody else for violent reasons? not really his style.

but atsumu asked for it. 

so leaving behind a doubled over blonde whose joint had fallen down from his open mouth onto the wooden floor, suna had to get out. it was hot, it was stuffy, it was so fucking unbearably close to where you were, with annoyance pumping through him at every turn because fuck— not even sending him a glance or leave any crumbs of recognition that you had seen him, that you had felt his presence in the same way that he did when he stepped into the goddamn house.

the air outside was fresh, cooling the sting on his knuckles, and he grit his teeth when he bent at the knee, sinking, leaned against a tree in the backyard of the house. the knuckle of his uninjured hand rapped against the space between his eyebrows, trying to pound back some sense back into his head. 

he should leave, ignore that atsumu would get up from the ground and would pursue you out of spite, and just go home. he may had been joking but the venomous way those words left his mouth, painting you like an usable toy, when suna couldn’t even fucking help but let you slip through his fingers, when all he wanted was to lose himself in you, keep a grasp on your essence, selfishly own all that you had to offer.

“rin?”

his head snapped up so fast, he felt his neck protest, but that didn’t matter, because—

fuck. 

the way you were rubbing your arms at the cool air, the hesitant look on your face when he had gotten so used to the look of disdain you used to send his way the past weeks, the absolute wreck that was your hair from running your hands through them while dancing. 

you were breathtaking. 

“what happened with miya?”

“nothing.”

you didn’t believe him, but that was because you knew him. you knew the way his face settled in the slightly bored expression when nothing was going on, the way his shoulders would relax because there was nothing to be tense about, the way he would roll his eyes, the sharp lines of his features laid-back.

suna rintarou looked up at you from where he was seated on the ground, and his face painted a clear picture for you. the tension in his jaw, the deep set of displeasure as his lips pressed into a thin line, the twitch of his ears whenever he lied, the red on his knuckles — he was pissed.

“it’s not nothing.”

what did you want to hear? that he couldn’t bear to hear somebody talk that way about you? as if you were dismissable? at the insult hurled your way and his? 

that he had no right to feel any way about you anymore, not when he fucked up and lost you?

you leaned forward, and a couple of strands of your hair slipped from your naked shoulder, littered in goosebumps. god, he wanted to exist within your confines.

“why do you care?” he settled on that question, a note of bitterness entering his voice, “last i checked, you were too busy dancing with some lame idiot.”

your silence was icy, and suna thought that he might be stupid. at last, your hands resumed rubbing your skin, and your voice sounded almost tired, “because you’re injured, rin. because you look like you’re gonna make some bad decisions.”

then, you huffed, just as bitter and full of resentment as he felt when he breathed next to you and could not call you his, “but i guess i’m the lame idiot here, whatever.”

you turned to leave, but movement rustling behind you and a warm hand on your legs stopped you. half-crawled, half-supported on a knee and a foot, suna rintarou’s fingers squeezed your flesh, and he looked up at you with eyes that spelt out too many hidden emotions, too many hidden desires, too many words unsaid.

“fuck, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean that,” he leaned his forehead against your thigh and your leg twitched at the contact, “i’m annoyed. this shit’s annoying. i fucking miss you, and you’re dancing and you don’t care and god, i’m so fucking pissed—”

a hot kiss placed on your thigh, his hand warm; tendrils of guilty and embarrassed pleasure shooting from where he had touched you to your lower stomach. 

“rin, i don’t—”

his other hand coming up to grip the back of the leg he was leaning against shut you up, and his fingers felt so familiar, the press of the tips against your flesh, marking you in the way they used to. the trace of his lips against you spelt out a dirty secret that he kept hidden in the sleeves of his jacket, in the confines of his pants, in the innermost window of his soul.

those eyes looked at you, half his face covered by the skirt from where you were watching him, pleading, another swipe of his tongue on your skin, tasting you, asking for you to give in.

“i can’t without you,” he murmured against your leg, hot and wet, a bite, “fuck, please. tell me you miss me just as much.”

your ribcage heaved up; rin at your feet, his hands spelling out his desire, the press of his face so comfortable and everything you wanted. your chest hurt, the arousal pooling low, “i hate you.”

he couldn't help but notice that you still didn't deny him.

“i know,” another kiss, and god, he was going to make you go—, “i know, babe, i know. but i’m— crazy, i’m going crazy.”

his nose was searching, a trail he could follow with his eyes closed, leading him under your skirt with ease, tracing the edges of your panties. his groan rumbled in his chest against your leg when he found the proof that you wanted him just as much, the vibration sending shocks through you and you couldn’t help the little pant escaping your mouth.

“fuck, you don’t even know,” suna mouthed against your clothed pussy, the desperate raw edge in his voice kissing you you through the material. your legs trembled, tiny little flutters at the way suna rintarou disappeared under your skirt so naturally, the way the hood of his sweater draped over his back peeped out from underneath, his hands steading you as he licked the wetness of your panties until his saliva drenched all of it.

“r—rin,” your hands found his shoulders to support yourself on, legs spread a little further, hair tickling your innermost skin, “i hate you, a—ha-nd i hate all those s—stupid girls you had with you, an— rin.”

his finger had wrapped around your panties, pulling it to the side, mouth latched to your pussy freely now, tongue tracing your folds like he had forgotten the look of you, the feel of you under his pink muscle, all the little things that had your breath hitching, that had you moan, that had your hands grip his thick neck to press him up further.

“i hated seeing those assholes at your arm,” he snapped against you, mouth growing forceful, and two of his fingers coating themselves in your wetness, teasing you, pushing in slowly, deliberately, “what do they fucking know about what type of sounds you make, huh? how to treat you? how to love you?”

suna knew you; he knew the spot to curl his fingers against, knew the rhythm of his tongue against your clit, knew the erogenous zones to stimulate with his other hand to have you panting, knew the tell-tale sign of you coming undone underneath his touch. and with each stroke, with each kiss, with each gasp of air he forces down his throat before diving back into you, he missed you.

“i want you,” the squelch in the air was obscene, so fucking vulgar, “i need you. please.”

your nerves coiled and crashed on top of him, dissolving into an onslaught of lust, of love, of hate, of cum, of his tongue ever-lasting, of his voice begging, and had he not been holding you up, you would have lost your footing and fallen down, too.

“rin, rin, rin, rin,” name chanting, hands sweaty on his jacket, the pull of your panties, the wet sounds of his fingers fucking you through the orgasm.

“tell me,” his hips were moving against the air, desperate for reprieve, “tell me there’s no other, babe. there’s me, hn? i’ve got you.”

another orgasm was on the edge of your perception at the continuous stimulation, at the continuous plea to give suna what he had to miss out on for the past weeks. brain drunk on you, yours drunk on him, fingers slipping, “rin, there— ah, never wa—ha-as. fuck, you make m’feel soo goo—oood.”

his cock pulsated in tandem with his heart, aching, your words beelining straight down, fuelling the haze surrounding his mind. his mind couldn’t help but conjure all the times other men’s hips snapped into your heat, imagining you opening your mouth wide to fit them. it was like a disease; his thoughts revolved around you, jealousy rushing hot through his veins. 

the way his fingers turned harsh, curling deep had your nerves tingling with an excitement that you hadn’t felt in so long, and your tongue flicked out to moisten your lips. he had leaned back, face exposed to the cool air, lower half of his face glistening in the night and the soft backyard lights. he kept you in his gaze, eyes following the movement of your tongue. his other finger joined to take over the featherlight touches to your clit, so in contrast to the filthy way a third finger joined to wedge itself into your cunt. 

he huffed, “look into my eyes.”

suna's eyes were like a maze that drew you in, the way they had from the first night you had found yourself in his bed. it kept luring you in, even when he paused to stand up in one swift move, balance found quickly, chest pressed against yours, his fingers slowing down from the pace you couldn’t keep up with. so close to you, in the familiar embrace, your head came forward instinctually to rest on his shoulder. 

“eyes up. look at me,” he repeated, nudging your head with his shoulder and you lifted it slightly to recapture the storming grey. his eyebrows were slightly furrowed, eyes half-lidded as he drank you in.

their usually sharp lines having softened, yet his voice remained rough, “nobody compares. you fuckin’ get that?”

his touch became more like a caress; the strokes plunging in deep but not with any less of the needy passion. it drew from you trembles, little moans meant for him, his name tumbling from your lips as you asked for another release; the brewing of feelings in your chest accompanying the heat pooling low.

suna’s head dipped low, found your sensitive skin littered with goosebumps and had his tongue brushing over your flesh to taste your scent. his teeth bit down lightly, a sharp canine digging into your skin; a certain intent behind the marking, possessive and pissed off. the pressure of his clothed cock rubbing your stomach had you clinging to him, and when you opened your mouth, amongst tiny mewls leaving your mouth, another inquiry did as well.

“w—what did a—ah-tsumu say to you?”

he inhaled sharply, surprised, his teeth sinking in deeper and harder for a second, and a painful gasp escaped you. immediately, suna ripped his head back at the sound, half an apology in the depth of his eyes, half fogged confusion, a lot of annoyance.

he stilled, because why the fuck were you taking another man’s name into your mouth when he was knuckles deep inside you?

“who the fuck cares about that guy?”

you visibly recoiled from the sharp tone and the way his fingers felt anything but nice anymore, yet when you stepped back, the inner walls of your pussy quivered at the loss, “why are you reacting like that?”

suna knew from the way your hands came up to hug yourself that you felt a little lost, and the way his pruney fingers grew cold, exposed to the air, squeezed his heart. he didn’t want to be apart from you, but when he stepped forward, you stepped back and suddenly, he thought that the jacket wasn’t enough to keep him warm anymore.

something licked at his heart; something ugly and anxious, clawing through his ribcage like something trying to escape a prison, “you don't get that it kind of wasn’t the time?” 

just stop asking. stop caring about that fucking miya guy. why are you so interested in what miya said? just sto—

“it never is the time with you,” another step back, your voice bitter and regretful, and suna had half a mind to try and step forward again, “you know, i didnt come out here to fuck around with you. i was genuinely concerned and there you go again, completely stuffing whatever fucking emotional connection i want to start.”

suna swallowed poison; tongue bitter and words even more so, “i didn't ask for your damn sympathy, alright?”

he was lying. 

sunarin was lying through his goddamn teeth. he wanted your sympathy and more. he wanted you to have the same interest, the same suffocating need for his presence the way he craved yours; so badly that he could vomit. yet you stared at him like he had never made you happy once, and drawing up the same old walls felt safe, a routine he had perfected, felt like something he couldn’t fuck up no matter how much he tried.

he didn’t want to mention atsumu, didn’t want to think that saying his name might prompt you to go look for that guy. because why wouldn’t you? 

you knew atsumu from before, doing god knows what. goddamn it, you weren’t even his.

suna wanted you for himself, wanted you to not even entertain the idea of hearing atsumu express any kind of interest, jest or not, couldn’t bear the idea that you might take the fake blonde up on his offer. 

he couldn’t. he couldn’t. 

he wanted you to never hear that name again, but he supposed that he had a funny way of expressing that. because what escaped his numb lips was not the love confession he yearned to say, but accusation after accusation. because he didn’t know and he needed to know and he couldn’t rest until he knew.

his palm hurt where his nails dug in harshly.

“if you just came out here because you’re scared for your miya fucking shitsumu, don’t bother. you already have his number, no? no need to go through me then.”

suna regretted his words the moment they left his mouth. because he did mention the guy. he did mention the number that would help you bridge the distance. did what he didn’t want to do because jealousy and sorrow and anger swirled in his chest and the gravitational pull of his heart for all negative things was too great. suna hated that he was the reason you looked like you were going to cry. 

he thought he was stupid. he was so goddamn stupid, and he wanted to get back down on his knees and ask you for forgiveness, but when he stepped forward, you took not one but two steps back. 

the silence stretched between you seemed to be more of a measurement of distance, and you were so far away.

“you’re messed up,” is what you replied, quiet, hands rubbing your arms. you wanted to turn around, wanted to leave and curl up because you felt so used, but he stood there with his stupid hoodie, with the stupid slanted eyes that always observed you so sharply, with the stupid glistening of his lips from where his mouth had met your body feverishly; and it was difficult to breathe because he was still the most beautiful guy you had ever met.

you turned around to leave and this time, sunarin didn’t stop you because maybe he did deserve to be alone.

TAGLIST | @takes1

[callsigns-haze]

Beat me for the crown 3

Part 3 of 3

Part 1, Part 2

Pairing: Xaden Riorson x reader

Years after the war, Xaden and YN are raising their two children, Liam and Kaia, in Tyrrendor’s royal residence. While YN is away on a girls' trip that for some reason includes Ridoc, Liam—small for his age despite being heir—is relentlessly bullied and hides his injuries until a brutal second attack drives him, bloody and broken, into Xaden’s arms late at night

⚠️ Content Warning: This story contains themes of bullying, physical violence, drinking, anger, emotional distress, and injury involving a child.

Liam’s breath came in sharp, ragged gasps as his back scraped the rough stone of the perimeter wall. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, knuckles white. His body screamed at him to stay down, to protect his ribs, his face, his already-bruised pride.

But he didn’t.

He refused.

With a sudden surge of movement, Liam ducked under the next swing and threw himself forward, slamming his shoulder into the nearest boy’s chest. It wasn’t graceful—it wasn’t strong—but it was unexpected. The older boy stumbled back a step, caught off guard.

For a second, Liam felt it.

The flicker of power. Of fight.

“Get off me!” he shouted, voice cracking from the effort, raw with anger and something deeper—something tired and furious and done with being afraid.

He swung at the second boy, his fist connecting just under the taller kid’s jaw. It wasn’t a hard punch—it didn’t knock him down—but it made the boy stumble, blinking like he hadn’t expected the heir of Tyrrendor to strike back.

But that second passed too quickly.

Pain exploded through Liam’s cheek as a fist landed square against his face. He staggered, knees buckling. Another blow to his stomach. One to his ribs—the same ribs.

He cried out as something inside gave way, something that hadn’t fully healed.

Another kick to his side. Then his shoulder. Then someone grabbed the collar of his tunic and slammed him against the wall hard enough to rattle his teeth.

“You really thought you could fight us?” one of them sneered, nose to nose with him now. “You’re nothing, Liam Riorson. Just a weak little heir with a famous daddy. That’s it.”

Liam spit blood onto the ground. Tried to breathe. Tried to speak. But nothing came.

He tried to push forward again, but his body was too slow, too battered. The boys swarmed him—an elbow to his back, a knee to his thigh, a fist across the jaw that sent stars bursting across his vision.

He hit the ground with a thud, cheek pressed to the dirt. Somewhere nearby, his book lay half-open, pages crumpled beneath a muddy boot.

And still, they didn’t stop.

Boots struck his ribs again, over and over, until he couldn't tell whether the tears in his eyes were from pain or fury. He bit down on a sob, refusing to give them the satisfaction.

His ears rang. His head throbbed.

But he stayed down.

Because this time—he didn’t have a choice.

The last kick landed with a sickening thud against Liam’s already-bruised ribs, drawing a hoarse gasp from his throat. His arms instinctively curled inward, as if shielding what little he had left unbroken. The world around him blurred—trees swaying overhead like shadows, the sky a hazy gray as tears and dirt smeared his lashes.

One of the boys spat beside his head. “Pathetic.”

Another leaned down, close enough that Liam could smell the acrid tang of sweat and blood. “Next time, don’t swing first, prince.”

Their footsteps finally began to retreat—heavy, uncaring, boots crunching on gravel, their cruel laughter echoing as they vanished around the far side of the wall. The sound of them faded slowly, like a bad dream that still pulsed in his chest.

And then they were gone.

All that was left was the wind.

Liam didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

He lay sprawled on his side, one arm tucked uselessly beneath him, the other pressed over his ribs in a feeble attempt to dull the sharp, stabbing pain that bloomed with every shallow breath. His lip was split, jaw aching, and blood trickled from his nose onto the dirt, pooling beneath his cheek.

The pages of his book fluttered a few feet away, torn and crumpled, edges stained with grime. His dad gave him that book. A gust of wind flipped a page and carried it farther, like even that had decided to leave him behind.

His throat ached with the effort of holding back tears.

He’d fought back. And it hadn’t mattered.

They still won.

He closed his eyes and swallowed the broken sound that clawed up from his chest. Every inch of him screamed. But he didn’t call out. Didn’t ask for help. That would’ve felt worse than the bruises—admitting he needed saving.

Instead, he lay there, curled in on himself like he was trying to disappear into the dirt.

Because for the moment, disappearing felt like the only option he had left.

The dining room felt too quiet without Liam.

The long table—typically chaotic with clattering cutlery, overlapping conversations, and Kaia’s rapid-fire storytelling—stood in a kind of hush that was noticeable even to Bodhi.

Kaia sat perched on the edge of her usual chair, small shoulders a little too tense, her curls pulled into a high bun that had started slipping loose. A soft plate of roasted vegetables and seasoned rice sat mostly untouched in front of her, though she poked at a piece of carrot half-heartedly with her fork.

Bodhi, seated across from her, had tried to fill the space with gentle chatter, the kind of nonsense that usually made her roll her eyes but secretly smile. Tonight, she didn’t even fake a grin.

“Did you know Garrick once mistook a goat for a dragon when he was half-asleep?” Bodhi offered, trying to earn a reaction. “He chased it three fields before realizing it was just someone’s livestock.”

Kaia blinked. “You’ve told that story three times.”

“Still funny,” he muttered, chewing on a piece of bread. “That goat was offended for weeks.”

Kaia didn’t answer. Her gaze flicked toward the door as footsteps echoed down the hall.

A moment later, Garrick entered first, pulling off his flight leathers and rubbing the back of his neck. He looked exhausted, his short braid unravelling at the ends. Behind him, Xaden stepped in, equally weary but sharper around the edges—like he’d carried the weight of the entire meeting and then some.

“You’re late,” Kaia said quietly, not accusing—just stating fact.

“We know,” Garrick sighed, dropping into the seat beside Bodhi and running a hand through his hair. “The war council meeting ran longer than expected. They’re restructuring supply runs.”

Xaden took the seat at the head of the table, opposite Kaia, but his eyes scanned the room before he even reached for his fork. “Where’s Liam?”

Kaia pushed a pea across her plate. “Didn’t come.”

“He’s not upstairs,” Bodhi added gently. “I checked. Guess he’s not hungry.”

Xaden’s jaw ticked.

“Do we…?” Garrick started, but Xaden shook his head once, firmly.

“No,” he said. “He’ll come when he’s ready.”

For a moment, none of them spoke. The only sounds were the low clinks of silverware and the faint crackle of the fireplace against the far wall.

Kaia’s voice broke the silence. “He had a bad day.”

Xaden looked at her, sharp gaze softening just slightly. “I know.”

She nodded, not meeting his eyes. “I just thought he might want pie.”

“We saved him some,” Bodhi said, nudging the plate of sweet tarts toward the center.

“Doesn’t matter,” Kaia murmured, sliding down in her chair. “He doesn’t want us right now.”

Xaden leaned back, folding his arms, expression unreadable. Garrick exchanged a quiet look with him, but neither said what they were all thinking.

That it wasn’t just about dinner. That Liam hadn’t missed a family meal in months. That something deeper was cracked, and they weren’t sure how to fix it yet.

Not without you.

The flicker of motion in the hallway was quick—barely there. But it was enough to snap all three sets of eyes toward the doorway at once.

The whisper of footfalls on polished stone. The slight gust of displaced air. And then the blur of Liam’s dark curls and smaller frame darting past the open arch of the dining room.

Fast.

Too fast.

It wasn’t his usual walk, the steady sort of shuffle he did when he was trying to go unnoticed or when Kaia had said something particularly annoying. No—this was different.

This was running.

Xaden’s back straightened immediately in his chair. Garrick dropped his fork with a clink, brows knitting in concern. Bodhi, already halfway up, paused with his palms on the edge of the table.

But it was Kaia who spoke first.

“That was Li.”

“I saw,” Xaden said, low and tight, as he pushed slowly to his feet—but made no move to follow yet.

The boy hadn’t even glanced in. No sharp little comment, no muttered greeting. Just a flash of limbs and the soft thud of feet hitting stairs two at a time, like he couldn’t get away fast enough.

Like he didn’t want to be seen.

Garrick tilted his head, listening. Upstairs, a door closed—not quite slammed, but firm enough to echo faintly down the corridor. “You think he’s okay?” Bodhi asked, but the question hung between them, unanswered.

Because no one really thought he was.

But they also knew better than to corner him right now. Xaden exhaled, long and slow, his hands flexing once at his sides. “Let him be.”

“You sure?” Garrick asked, one brow lifting.

Xaden nodded tightly, his jaw clenched so hard the muscle twitched. “If we go up there now, he’ll bolt again.”

Kaia looked between them, something stormy stirring behind her deep-set eyes, but she stayed seated. Even she knew Liam sometimes needed space. Time to come back to them on his own terms.

“Maybe he’s just tired,” Bodhi said, though he didn’t sound convinced.

“Maybe,” Xaden murmured.

But as he sat back down, a deep, unsettled silence fell over the room—one that had nothing to do with unfinished dinner or forgotten pie.

Because they’d all seen it.

The way Liam’s arm had been curled tightly across his middle.

The way he’d favored one leg.

The way he ran like the shadows were chasing him.

They just didn’t know what he was running from.

Not yet.

Kaia slipped silently from her chair. Her plate was still mostly full, but she didn’t glance back at it. Her eyes—those piercing golden onyx that mirrors of her father’s—remained locked on the hallway where her brother had vanished just moments ago.

She moved with a quiet purpose, like a shadow slipping between torches. Soft-footed. Intent. Xaden caught the shift immediately, without even turning. “Kaia.”

She paused mid-step, lips tightening, her hands clenching into tiny fists at her sides. “I’m just going to see if he’s okay,” she said without looking back.

“No, you’re not,” Xaden replied, his voice low and edged with that rare blend of patience and iron that only he could deliver. The command was calm, but absolute.

Kaia took another step.

Xaden rose.

“I’m not stupid,” she snapped without turning around. “I’m not gonna bother him, I just—”

And before she could take another defiant stride, Xaden crossed the room in three long, swift steps. In a fluid, practiced motion, he swooped down and hauled her clean off the ground, spinning her up onto his shoulder like she weighed nothing more than a bundle of laundry.

“Hey!” she squealed, kicking once in the air as her loose curls bounced against her back. “This is not fair! You said no powers in the house—”

“No shadows involved,” Xaden said, utterly unbothered, adjusting her like a sack of flour as he began walking toward the corridor that led to her bedroom. “This is all upper-body strength and twenty years of carrying your mother away from trouble.”

“I am trouble,” Kaia declared proudly, pounding a tiny fist against his back.

“Exactly,” he said dryly.

Bodhi laughed under his breath, Garrick grinning around a mouthful of roasted potato as they watched Kaia flail half-heartedly.

“This is unlawful restraint,” she huffed, dangling upside-down as her voice bounced against his shoulder blades. “You’re infringing on my right to check on my comrade.”

“You’re infringing on my right to peace and quiet before bedtime,” Xaden replied.

She groaned like he was the worst father in all of Navarre. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“I’m your father,” he said mildly. “You love me.”

“I tolerate you,” she shot back, muffled by the way her face was squished against his shoulder. But he felt her laugh—tiny and reluctant—and the tension in her muscles faded bit by bit as he carried her past the dining room and down the quiet hallway.

Her legs swung lazily with his steps now, no more kicks or twists. Just tired wiggles and muttered rebellion as they reached her door.

“You’re still a tyrant,” she said as he shifted her off his shoulder and into his arms like she was a much smaller child, even though she was eight and had started insisting on being called grown.

Xaden smirked, brushing her hair back from her forehead before leaning down to press a kiss there. “And you’re still mine.”

She leaned her head against his chest for a beat longer than she had to, then allowed him to set her on her bed without protest. He tucked the blanket around her like he always did, even when she pretended she was too old for it.

“Goodnight, little shadow.”

“Goodnight, old bat,” she murmured back, already blinking slower.

And though her eyes fluttered closed, her last whispered thought carried into the air between them: “Tell him I don’t care if he’s mad. I’m still coming back tomorrow.” Xaden stood there in the doorway for a long moment, the soft sound of Kaia’s breathing settling into sleep behind him.

Then he turned and walked back toward the still-burning hearthlight of the dining room, the weight of two children on his heart.

One safely tucked away.

The other… still bleeding where no one could see.

Liam gripped the edge of the porcelain sink so hard his knuckles bleached white. The cool marble pressed against his palms, grounding him—barely.

The mirror above the basin was fogged at the edges, not from a hot shower, but from his own ragged breathing and the heat of shame still clinging to his skin. His shirt was ripped at the collar, stained and sticking to the bruise blooming across his ribs like an oil spill under parchment skin.

He leaned forward, swallowing thickly, but the copper tang was back, burning his throat.

With a muffled curse, he turned his head and spat into the sink.

Blood.

Again.

It painted the porcelain in a vivid, accusing splash—thick and too red, catching the light from the flickering sconce like spilled ink.

His lip was split, swollen and aching. His right eye had already started to blacken, puffing at the edge with the kind of bruising he knew would have Kaia fuming if she saw it. His stomach clenched at the thought of her finding out. Of anyone finding out.

He turned on the tap, watching the water swirl the blood away in tight, disappearing spirals. He didn’t flinch when it stung the cuts on his knuckles—he welcomed it. It meant he was still in control of something, even if it was just the burn of cold water and open wounds.

His breath hitched. He braced both hands on either side of the sink, shoulders bowed, head hanging.

It wasn’t just the pain. He could take pain—he had taken pain. He’d taken fists and words and the sneering jeers of boys who towered over him, all muscle and easy confidence. He could take being shoved, take the blows. That didn’t break him.

But the helplessness?

The silence he was forced to keep?

That was the part that clawed into his chest the hardest. That made his throat ache more than any punch.

A tear slipped down his cheek before he could catch it, and he wiped it away angrily, blood smearing faintly with it.

He wasn’t supposed to cry.

He was the heir.

He was a Riorson.

He was the son of a warrior king and the fiercest woman in the wards.

And yet here he was—twelve years old, half his size, and spitting blood into a sink because he’d been cornered like an animal and left in a heap of bruises and silence.

Another drop of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. He swiped it again, slower this time.

He turned off the water. The silence that followed was deafening.

Liam rested his forehead gently against the mirror, his breath fogging the glass once more.

No one could know.

Not Dad. Not Bodhi. Not Garrick. Not even Kaia again. He wouldn’t let them see how much it was getting to him.

Because if he let that crack show… it would break him wide open.

Liam stayed like that for another minute. Maybe two. Just breathing. Letting the chill of the mirror seep into his skin. Letting the ache settle deeper into his bones where he could bury it.

Then he straightened with a slow breath, catching his reflection.

His eye was a mess—purple bruising already deepening around the lid, and his lip was cracked in two places. There were faint bruises along his jaw, and his cheekbone throbbed. His ribs ached with every inhale, a dull, persistent pressure that made him wonder if something had cracked again.

He didn’t want to think about that.

He peeled off his shirt, hissing through his teeth as it caught against dried blood on his side, and tossed it into the laundry chute. Then he turned back to the sink, opened the drawer beside it, and quietly pulled out the small tin Kaia had brought him weeks ago. Arnica salve. She’d smuggled it from one of the healers when he'd stubbed his toe so bad he couldn't walk straight for two days. She said it was for "princes too proud to admit they’re hurt."

He opened it now, dipped two fingers into the smooth balm, and smeared it across his split lip.

It stung like hell.

He worked through the pain methodically, not making a sound.

By the time he emerged from the bathroom—hair still slightly damp from where he’d splashed his face, sleeves tugged low over his wrists—his expression was carefully neutral again. His usual scowl was in place. His limp barely noticeable.

He climbed into bed slowly, careful not to jostle his ribs.

Fern was already curled up on the floor at the foot of the bed, her big eyes tracking his every movement with quiet understanding.

“Don’t look at me like that, you're the one who ran,” he muttered, pulling the blankets up to his chin.

She huffed softly and rested her head on her paws, keeping vigil.

Liam turned to face the wall, tucking his bruised hands beneath the pillow.

Tomorrow, he’d act normal again. Joke with Leia. Shrug off Kaia’s knowing looks. Pretend the other boys didn’t exist.

But tonight? He let the tears fall silently.

Only Fern saw.

The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting soft amber light across the stone floors and the edges of the wide-set lounge chairs. Shadows flickered across the walls of the study—this one tucked far enough from the main residence that it usually served as an unofficial escape for the men of the house when the weight of titles, patrols, and parenting got a little too heavy.

Xaden leaned back in one of the worn leather chairs, a glass of amber liquor cradled in his hand, the firelight catching on the rings at his fingers. His tunic was open at the collar, sleeves pushed to his forearms, and his hair was still slightly damp from the storm that had broken just as they returned from the council meeting.

His body ached. Not in the way it used to—after battle, after training—but in the quieter, more insidious way of long hours spent managing a kingdom and raising children who sometimes felt like puzzles he couldn’t solve.

He swirled the drink in his glass once before tipping it back. The liquor burned, sweet and sharp, sliding down like a sigh.

“Tell me why the Void it’s always calmer when she’s home,” Xaden muttered, not looking at anyone in particular.

Across from him, Bodhi chuckled from where he sat on the fur-lined rug, leaning back on one elbow with his own drink. “Because when she’s here, we all pretend to have our shit together.”

“I do have my shit together,” Garrick replied, sprawled out in the chair beside Xaden’s, one boot kicked off and forgotten under the table. “But yeah. It’s easier when she’s around.”

Xaden glanced sideways at the fire, jaw tightening ever so slightly.

“She just… makes everything make sense,” he said finally. “Kaia listens better. Liam…” He stopped himself.

Garrick raised a brow. “Liam what?”

Xaden exhaled slowly through his nose. “He tries harder. Or maybe he just feels safer with her around.” He stared into the flames, voice quieter now. “She sees him. In a way I can’t always seem to reach.”

Bodhi set down his drink with a clink of glass on stone. “He’s twelve, Xaden. He’s going through the same shit we did—except with a crown looming over his head.”

“I know that,” Xaden said, the words biting even though they weren’t meant to. “But it doesn’t mean I like how distant he’s been. How guarded.”

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “He locked himself in his room last night. Wouldn’t let me in. Screamed at me to leave him alone.”

That silenced them all.

The fire popped in the hearth, and Garrick finally leaned forward to pour another round. “You think he’s slipping again?”

Xaden shook his head, though uncertainty lingered at the corners of his eyes. “I don’t know. I just know I didn’t see him at dinner, and the last time I did, he was walking like his whole body ached.”

“You think something happened?” Bodhi asked.

“I know something’s going on,” Xaden said darkly. “I just haven’t figured out what.”

He took the next sip slower. More deliberate. The warmth wasn’t reaching the hollow in his chest the way it used to.

“She’d know,” he murmured, almost to himself.

There was a beat of silence before Garrick leaned back again, tipping his glass toward the flames. “I get it, man. We all do. We’re doing the best we can.”

“Yeah.” Xaden exhaled. “But sometimes… the best doesn’t feel like enough.”

The door creaked open, and Brennan stepped inside, no knock, no announcement, just a slow swing of old hinges and a gust of cooler air brushing past him from the hallway.

“You’re brooding,” Brennan said, walking in like he owned the place, even though it had technically never been his.

Xaden didn’t glance up from his glass. “That’s rich, coming from the king of sulking himself.”

Bodhi snorted, tipping his drink in Brennan’s direction. “He’s been brooding for hours. And drinking.”

“I figured,” Brennan said, eyeing the half-empty bottle on the table before crossing the room to lean against the mantel beside the fire. His eyes flicked between the three men. “She’s only been gone a day, you know.”

Xaden grunted.

Brennan’s voice softened. “You’re miserable without her.”

“I’m fine,” Xaden said, way too fast.

“You’re not. And the only reason I’m not dragging your stubborn ass back upstairs to get some sleep is because I know what you’re really doing is waiting. Watching the clock. Hoping you’ll hear from her first.”

Xaden's jaw flexed. Silence thickened the air between them.

Brennan folded his arms. “You need her like a baby needs its mother.”

That earned him a groan from Garrick and a laugh from Bodhi.

Xaden finally looked up, his eyes glinting, amused and annoyed in equal measure. “Did you come down here just to insult me?”

“No,” Brennan said. “I came down here because I saw Kaia asleep on the stairs, halfway between your study and Liam’s room. And because you need to sleep. You’re no good to your son like this.”

“I’m no good to him, period,” Xaden muttered.

“Bullshit,” Brennan replied. “You’re just not her. And none of us are. But she’ll be back. And until then, maybe try being the father she knows you are instead of the one you think you're failing at being.”

Xaden stared into the fire, knuckles pale against the glass in his hand. Then, finally, he exhaled.

“You really think I’m that bad without her?”

Brennan smirked. “I think you’d let the entire kingdom burn if it meant five more minutes in her arms.”

Garrick raised his glass. “To being whipped.”

Bodhi lifted his own. “To being human.”

Xaden? He just closed his eyes for a second. And nodded.

“Wait,” he said slowly, brows pulling together. “Which stairway did you say Kaia was asleep on?”

Brennan tilted his head toward the hallway. “The narrow one off the east wing. Leads to your study and the family corridor. She was curled up halfway down, hugging that worn little stuffed dragon of hers. Looked like she was trying to decide whether to go check on Liam or come back downstairs.”

Garrick was already on his feet.

“That girl shouldn’t be sleeping on stone steps,” he muttered, the words halfway between a grumble and a fond sigh. “She’ll wake up with a stiff neck and tell everyone I’m the reason she’s sore for the next three days.”

Xaden looked up at that, a tired smile threatening the corner of his mouth. “She’s already convinced you’re the reason she can't have ice cream for dinner.”

“She asked for it for dinner,” Garrick shot back as he crossed the room toward the door. “Not dessert. Dinner. There are lines, Xaden. Even for her.”

Bodhi raised a brow. “And yet you’ll still carry her to bed like she’s made of glass.”

Garrick shrugged as he tugged open the heavy door. “Only because I like my kneecaps where they are. If Y/N found out we left her sleeping on the stairs...”

“No one would ever find your body,” Brennan finished helpfully.

Xaden didn’t respond, but as Garrick disappeared into the hall, he finally let the tired smirk stretch into a soft smile.

“She really does run this house,” Bodhi murmured into his drink.

“She is this house,” Xaden said quietly, gaze once more drifting toward the stairs, toward Kaia, and always, in some way, toward you.

The warmth of the fire crackled softly, flickering shadows against the stone walls as the bottle on the table inched closer to empty. Bodhi leaned back in his chair, boots crossed at the ankles, while Brennan kept his spot by the hearth, arms folded and expression calm.

Xaden exhaled slowly, long fingers drumming against the empty glass in his hand before he set it down with a muted thunk. His eyes lingered for a moment on the flicker of orange light in the hearth, but whatever peace the fire offered, it wasn’t enough to quiet the thoughts piling behind his eyes.

“I’m tapping out,” he muttered, rising with the slow, deliberate movements of someone who carried exhaustion like armour.

Bodhi glanced up. “Thought you said you were off duty tonight.”

“I was,” Xaden replied, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, muscles stiff from a day spent hunched over council papers and a night spent not saying the things gnawing at his chest. “But if I don’t finish that stack of reports, the next meeting’ll be nothing but me dodging accusations of favouritism and silence. Again.”

“Sounds thrilling,” Brennan offered dryly.

“Like drowning in ink and complaints,” Xaden muttered. “Tell Garrick thanks for Kaia.”

“She’ll probably thank him herself when she wakes up and finds out he tucked her in,” Bodhi said with a grin.

Xaden gave a faint nod and turned toward the door. His steps were slow, deliberate, the weight of the day—and the unspoken tension of what he didn’t know about Liam—pulling at his shoulders. His hand paused on the handle, and without turning around, he said quietly, “If she calls, come get me.”

Brennan’s voice was steady. “Always.”

With that, Xaden slipped into the dimly lit hallway, footsteps fading into silence as he made his way toward the study—toward duty, distraction, and the quiet ache that came when the house felt too empty without your voice echoing through it.

The candle flames had long since burned low in the study, flickering shadows across the high ceilings and casting golden light over the pages still scattered across Xaden’s desk. Outside the arched window, the night was velvet black, pinpricked with stars that shimmered like distant watchful eyes. The moon was a sharp crescent, half-draped in passing clouds.

The old clock on the far wall ticked with steady patience, its hands approaching the line between today and tomorrow. Half an hour until midnight.

And still, Xaden hadn’t moved from his chair.

He sat hunched slightly over the desk, one elbow resting beside a parchment layered in red-ink annotations. His other hand hovered over a half-filled glass of amber liquid, the weight of it long forgotten. His jaw was tight, eyes scanning the words before him, but his focus had drifted miles away.

He’d reread the same paragraph three times.

Your absence settled around the room like fog—felt more in the way the silence stretched too long, in how he caught himself glancing at the door every time the fire cracked. He missed your voice. Your laugh. Even your eye rolls when you caught him muttering at reports like they could argue back.

His fingers twitched at the thought.

And under it all, even as he kept telling himself to keep working, that the reports weren’t going to sign themselves—Liam hovered at the edge of every thought.

The boy hadn’t come down for dinner. Hadn’t said a word after the morning’s stilted truce. And Xaden hadn’t pushed. Not yet.

But the not knowing chewed at him. He felt it in his shoulders. In the way he hadn’t taken a full breath in hours.

A faint pop of the fire echoed from the corner hearth, drawing his gaze. The stack of parchment in front of him blurred for a second before he blinked hard and sat back, dragging both hands over his face with a low exhale.

Half an hour until midnight, he thought again.

And still—nothing.

He pushed the glass away, untouched.

The rustle of parchment filled the quiet of the study as Xaden flipped another page, the ink smudged slightly from where his fingers had pressed too firmly against the edge. He didn’t notice. His mind was locked in that quiet, determined zone where focus pushed emotion to the side—a skill honed through years of war, command, and fatherhood.

He scrawled a note in the margin with quick precision, eyes narrowed, jaw set. The candle’s flame quivered but held steady. The crackle of the fire behind him had become background noise, comforting in its familiarity.

He didn’t even glance at the clock anymore.

He was completely unfazed by the passing time, his expression unreadable, composed. Distant.

Until—

Knock knock.

It was soft. Barely a tap. Not urgent—but uncertain. Almost like someone had thought about turning back at the last second.

His head lifted.

The pen stilled.

Another heartbeat passed.

Then he heard it—a breath. A sniff. The unmistakable sound of someone standing just outside the door, trying to stay silent and failing.

He stood slowly, almost cautiously, and crossed the room in three long strides.

The moment the door creaked open, his heart plummeted.

Liam stood there—barefoot, his dark shirt torn at the sleeve, smeared with dirt and dried blood. His curls were tangled and damp from sweat, and his face was blotchy from crying. A fresh cut bloomed red above his brow, and his lower lip was split. One arm was clutched protectively around his ribs, the other hung limply at his side. But it was the limp—the way he tried so hard to hide the way his left leg dragged—that tore something inside Xaden clean apart.

“Liam—”

Before he could finish, Liam crumbled.

With a hiccupping sob, he limped forward, the tears he’d clearly tried to hold back spilling freely now, fast and hot. His shoulders shook as he collapsed against Xaden’s chest, face pressed into the dark fabric of his father’s shirt.

“I-I didn’t mean to—I didn’t want to go—I thought they were gone—” Liam choked, voice barely coherent between gasps and hiccups. “I—I thought if I just stayed quiet they’d—stop—but they didn’t stop—”

“Shhh,” Xaden murmured, arms closing tightly around his son, lowering them both slowly to the floor as Liam’s legs gave out. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

Liam clung to him like he was the only solid thing left in the world. He was shaking so hard Xaden could feel the tremors through his arms. His chest rose and fell in shallow, panicked breaths, and he couldn’t stop crying.

“I didn’t cry the first time,” Liam sobbed against him, voice muffled. “I didn’t. But I can’t—I can’t—”

“You don’t have to,” Xaden whispered, pressing a hand to the back of his head, cradling him tighter. “You don’t have to be strong right now. I’m here.”

The boy sobbed harder, fists clenching against his father’s tunic as though anchoring himself there.

Xaden held him, heart breaking in silence, rage simmering low and hot beneath his skin—but right now, there was only one priority.

Liam.

Liam shuddered in Xaden’s arms, breath hitching and uneven, and then a sudden jolt ran through his small frame. He coughed—once, twice—sharp and chest-deep. The sound echoed through the study like a crack across stone.

Xaden’s entire body tensed.

Another cough ripped from Liam’s throat, wet and ragged. Then another. His shoulders curled inward as he choked, his hand clutching at his ribs with a wince.

“Li.” Xaden shifted, adjusting the boy carefully in his arms. “Breathe. Just breathe for me, alright?”

But Liam shook his head, mouth open like he couldn’t get enough air in. A smear of red stained the edge of his lips.

That broke something in Xaden.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tightening with urgency. He angled Liam slightly forward, one arm braced around his middle while his hand gently supported the back of his head.

Liam coughed again, gagging on the taste of blood he tried to swallow. “It—it hurts—” he whispered hoarsely, as tears slid silently down his cheeks.

“I know,” Xaden said, voice low and steady, though a storm churned just beneath it. “I know, squirt. You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

He pressed his palm lightly against Liam’s side. The boy flinched with a sharp breath, and Xaden closed his eyes.

Broken ribs. Again.

Those bastards had done it again.

His jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ached, but still, his hands were gentle. He wiped the corner of Liam’s mouth with his sleeve, catching the blood before it could drip onto the boy’s shirt.

“We need Brennan,” he said softly. “I need to get you patched up.”

Liam’s small fingers clung to the front of Xaden’s shirt with desperate strength. “Please don’t tell them. Please don’t tell Kaia. Or—anyone.”

“Hey.” Xaden leaned back enough to look into his son’s face, brushing sweaty curls back from his temple. “We’ll talk about it. But right now, you need help. You’re bleeding and you’re in pain. I’m not going to let you sit in it alone.”

Liam’s lip trembled, and he dropped his head against Xaden’s shoulder again, utterly exhausted. His body shook with the aftershocks of fear and pain, and another weak cough escaped him—less harsh this time, but still full of misery.

And all Xaden could do was hold him, murmuring soft words into his son’s hair, while fury coiled tighter in his chest.

Because no matter what it took, this ended tonight.

Xaden didn’t waste a second.

One glance at the blood streaked down Liam’s chin, the way his small frame trembled with pain and exhaustion, was all it took. He rose to his feet with his son still cradled in his arms, moving quickly to the study door and yanking it open with a force that made the hinges groan.

The hallway beyond was dim and quiet, the sconces casting flickering golden light across the stone floors.

“Guard!” he barked, his voice sharper than steel.

A soldier who had been stationed halfway down the corridor snapped to attention instantly, heels clicking together, eyes wide at the sight of the king with his bleeding child in his arms.

“Sire?”

“I need you to run—now. Find Brennan. Garrick too if you can. Tell them Liam is hurt, worse this time.” His voice didn’t waver, but there was something beneath it—something primal, protective, and close to snapping.

The guard’s eyes dipped briefly to the boy in Xaden’s arms, taking in the limpness of Liam’s limbs and the smear of blood near his temple.

“Yes, sir,” the guard said, already moving.

“And don’t tell anyone else,” Xaden added as the man turned. “No one. Just Brennan and Garrick. You find them and you bring them here.”

The soldier didn’t pause to nod. He just ran, boots thudding against the floor, the sound fading into the depths of the castle.

Xaden stepped back into the study, nudging the door shut with his heel. He sank back onto the velvet armchair by the fireplace and adjusted Liam in his arms again, gently, carefully, as if his son might break further at the slightest wrong move.

The boy let out a soft, involuntary whimper, curling instinctively toward the warmth of his father’s chest.

“I’ve got you, squirt,” Xaden murmured, his voice low and fierce. “They’re coming. We’ll fix this.”

He just didn’t know yet if he meant the ribs—or everything else.

It didn’t take long. Less than ten minutes later, the sound of hurried boots echoed through the hallway beyond the study, growing louder with every second. Xaden didn’t move. He sat still with Liam curled into him like a child half his age, one of his large hands gently resting on the back of his son’s head, holding him close.

The knock on the study door came sharp and quick, and then it was swinging open before Xaden could even respond.

Brennan entered first, his brow furrowed, the front of his shirt rumpled as if he’d thrown it on mid-sleep. Garrick was right behind him, still in his uniform from earlier, his expression drawn and immediately alert.

“Where is he?” Brennan asked, scanning the room.

Xaden didn’t answer with words. He simply shifted to the side slightly, letting the firelight fall more fully on Liam’s face—his bruised, bloodied, tearstreaked face.

Garrick swore under his breath.

Brennan strode forward, already lifting his hands, his powers humming quietly to life in the air between them. “What happened?” he demanded, kneeling beside the chair and reaching out to hover his hand over Liam’s ribs.

“He came in about fifteen minutes ago,” Xaden said quietly, voice hoarse. “New wounds. Coughing blood. Limping. Barely made it to the desk before he broke down.” His jaw clenched hard. “He came to me this time.”

Brennan’s hands glowed faint blue now as he pressed them gently to Liam’s side, drawing a quiet gasp from the boy.

“You’ve got a cracked rib again,” Brennan muttered. “It might’ve been worse, but it looks like it didn’t puncture anything this time.” He looked up, face tight with concern. “He’s going to be okay, but this keeps happening—”

“I know,” Xaden snapped, then immediately softened, shaking his head. “I know.”

Liam let out a weak cough and shifted slightly in Xaden’s lap, voice muffled by his father's shirt.

“Don’t make it worse,” he mumbled.

“You already scared the shit out of me,” Xaden whispered down to him. “Let us help.”

Garrick stepped forward, his gaze full of fury not directed at Liam, but at whatever group of little bastards kept laying hands on the heir to the throne.

“We find out who did it,” he said. “And then we make sure they can’t lift a sword for the next year.”

“No,” Liam said quickly, sitting up a little, his small hand clutching the front of Xaden’s shirt. “You can’t. If you make it worse… if you come down on them, they’ll just—”

“They’ll what?” Xaden asked quietly, dangerously. “Break more ribs next time?”

Liam blinked up at him, tear-filled eyes rimmed red. “Yes.”

There was silence in the room for a long moment. The fire cracked, a log shifting and sparking as if the world itself couldn’t bear the tension.

Then Brennan leaned in again and placed his glowing hand over Liam’s chest. “Let me fix what I can.”

Xaden held his son tighter, brushing a strand of dark hair from his face. “You don’t have to be strong alone, Liam,” he murmured. “Not with me. Not anymore.”

Liam flinched slightly at Brennan’s touch, but he didn’t pull away. Not this time. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe the soft, unrelenting pressure of Xaden’s arms around him—the warmth and security of being held instead of questioned—that finally made him stop fighting the comfort.

The glow from Brennan’s healing magic flickered gently, painting the study walls in faint hues of blue and silver. Liam’s breaths hitched every so often, little tremors running through his body as the pain ebbed from sharp and searing to dull and tired.

He leaned more of his weight into his father’s chest, cheek pressed to Xaden’s collarbone, whispering just barely loud enough for them to hear, “Sorry I didn’t come sooner…”

Xaden’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. His voice was deep, a near-growl threaded with too many emotions. “You came when you could, squirt. That’s all that matters.”

“I was scared,” Liam admitted. “I didn’t want you to be disappointed.”

That broke something inside Xaden.

“I will never be disappointed in you for getting hurt. I’ll only be disappointed if you think I wouldn’t protect you.”

Garrick had turned away by then, pacing silently in front of the bookshelves with his fists clenched at his sides. He muttered something under his breath, too quiet to catch, but the way his jaw ticked said enough.

Brennan pulled back slowly, the glow fading from his hands. “There. You’ll still be sore, but you’ll be able to breathe again.” He stood and met Xaden’s eyes. “You’ll need to talk to him soon about the next steps. This isn’t going to stop on its own.”

Xaden nodded, eyes never leaving Liam’s small, sleep-heavy face.

“You can stay,” he said softly to Liam. “Right here, just like this. As long as you need.”

Liam mumbled something unintelligible and curled in closer, and within minutes, he was fast asleep—breath evening out, hands no longer clenched in fear or pain. Just a boy in his father’s arms, trusting, finally, that someone had him.

Xaden let his head fall back against the chair and closed his eyes, one hand still rubbing small, slow circles over his son’s back.

For a long time, none of them moved.

The crackle of the fire was the only sound in the study for a long stretch, aside from the occasional sigh Liam let out in his sleep—each one like a whispered apology that broke Xaden all over again.

Garrick remained by the window, arms crossed, watching the darkness outside the keep. His jaw was still tight, his body wound like a bowstring ready to snap.

Xaden shifted slightly in the chair, careful not to jostle the boy asleep in his arms. He ran a hand through Liam’s hair, smoothing down curls matted from sweat and tears, his voice quiet but certain when he finally spoke.

“I wouldn’t ask if I had any other choice,” Xaden began, eyes fixed on the firelight. “You know I wouldn’t.”

Garrick didn’t turn around. “I know.”

“But I need her.” The words left him rough, like gravel and truth, scraping their way out of a chest too full. “Not because I can’t handle this. Not because I can’t fix it. But because he needs her too. Because she—”

His voice caught, just for a breath.

“She’s the only one who can cut through the fear in his head. The only one who makes him believe he's enough—even like this. And I’m trying, fuck, I am. But I think I’m just… not enough this time.”

Garrick turned then, slowly, his eyes softening as they landed on Liam tucked against Xaden’s chest like he’d grown roots there.

“I can do it,” Garrick said simply. “You’ve never asked me to use distance wielding like this before… which means it is necessary.”

Xaden finally looked up at him, guilt and gratitude tangled behind his eyes.

“I’ll bring her back,” Garrick promised, already stepping toward the door, already reaching for the threads of his second signet—one he rarely used unless it mattered. “And if she has to fly through a fucking storm to get here, I’ll make damn sure she knows why.”

Xaden nodded, his hand tightening protectively around Liam as the boy stirred faintly.

“Thank you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Tell her… tell her it’s time to come home.”

Garrick disappeared down the hallway in a flicker of shadows and wind.

And Xaden stayed rooted there in the firelight, holding his son as the flames danced low and steady—his only constant until you returned.

The wind tore through the coastal cliffs where the villa sat, far away from the weight of war rooms and pressure of courts. You were sitting beside Violet on the terrace, a mug of tea cooling between your hands, laughter still echoing faintly from where Mira and Rhiannon were bickering over cards inside.

And then the world shifted.

It didn’t crack or explode—it simply… bent. A sudden current of magic rippled across the patio like a disturbance in still water, invisible but unmistakable to anyone who’d ever felt the tremor of power.

You turned sharply just as a shadow formed at the edge of the terrace. Garrick stepped through the air, emerging from the ripple like he’d sliced a hole in the world and walked through it.

Every instinct in your body locked into place.

“Garrick?” you breathed, standing up so fast your chair screeched back. The mug shattered at your feet.

Everyone else froze.

He didn’t even waste time greeting you.

“It’s Liam,” Garrick said, his voice low and urgent. “Xaden didn’t want to ask—but he needs you. Liam needs you.”

Your heart punched against your ribs. “What happened?”

“He was beaten again. Badly this time. He limped into Xaden’s study just before midnight—covered in fresh wounds and blood. He didn’t even tell anyone until it was too much to hide.”

You swore you couldn’t breathe.

Violet was already on her feet beside you, eyes wide, lips pressed tight.

You didn’t wait. You crossed the space to Garrick like fire—like fury—grabbing your cloak from the arm of the chair.

“Get me there,” you ordered, and Garrick nodded once.

You looked back at Violet, at Mira, at Ridoc whose teasing smile was long gone.

“Tell them I’ll explain everything later,” you said tightly. “Right now—I have to get to my son.”

And with a gust of wind and the shimmer of second signet power, Garrick pulled you through the world.

You were gone before the wind even settled.

The second you landed inside the residence, the world righted itself with a snap of chilled air and Garrick’s cloak trailing in the wake of the jump. You didn’t wait. You tore down the corridor, your boots echoing hard against the stone floors, the sound chasing you like your own heartbeat.

The castle was quiet. Unnaturally so.

The halls were lit with golden sconces, warm and soft against the cool dark, but all you could feel was the roaring panic in your chest. You turned the last corner, already knowing where to go, and nearly crashed into him.

Xaden was standing outside his study—arms folded tight, back against the wall. His head snapped up the second he saw you, eyes locking onto yours. His face was unreadable, jaw clenched so hard the muscles feathered in his cheeks, but the moment he saw you—truly saw you—something inside him cracked.

He looked exhausted. Haunted. His dark shirt was stained with something—blood, you realized. Liam’s blood. His hands hung at his sides, shaking slightly.

“Where is he?” you demanded, breathless.

“In there,” he said, voice hoarse. “Brennan’s healing him now. He won’t let me go back in yet.”

You pushed forward, but Xaden reached out, grabbing your wrist gently—not to stop you, just to feel you.

“I didn’t know,” he rasped. “He didn’t tell me—he came in bleeding and sobbing and—”

You didn’t let him finish. You dropped your forehead to his, a silent, grounding touch. “I know. I know, Xa. Let me see him.”

He stepped back, letting go, and turned toward the door.

“He’s… he’s shaking,” he murmured, voice breaking. “He kept apologizing like he did something wrong.”

Your chest fractured. “He didn’t.”

“I know,” Xaden whispered, as though he didn’t fully believe it. “But I think he does.”

You gave his hand a squeeze and pushed the door open quietly, heart in your throat.

The sight inside nearly brought you to your knees.

Brennan knelt beside Liam on the couch, magic glowing softly at his fingertips, and your baby—your sweet, quiet boy—lay curled on his side, shirt discarded, bruises flowering across his ribs, fresh ones layered over scars that hadn’t even finished fading. His arm was scraped. His lip bloodied. His eye swelling already.

And his little hand—was clutched around the sleeve of Brennan’s tunic like a lifeline.

“Liam,” you whispered, stepping in.

His head lifted slightly, eyes glassy, and the second he saw you, a sob tore free from his throat.

“Mama—”

You dropped to your knees beside him, brushing his hair back, holding your hand to his cheek.

“I’m here,” you whispered. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m here.”

He didn’t let go of Brennan’s sleeve—but his other hand reached for yours. Desperately. As if he thought you might disappear if he blinked.

You looked at Brennan over Liam’s head.

His voice was low. “It’s worse than last time we talked.”

And this time—you didn’t swallow the rage building behind your tears.

Xaden stepped into the room like a shadow breaking through the low firelight.

The door clicked shut behind him, and for a long second, he didn’t move. Just stood there, eyes locked on his son. You could feel him—could feel the storm he kept barely leashed behind his chest. And now… it was starting to fray.

Liam was tucked into your side, still trembling. He kept his face hidden in your shoulder, but you felt the shudder run through him as he heard his father approach. Not from fear—but from something far heavier. Shame.

“I didn’t mean to,” Liam mumbled brokenly. “I didn’t mean to let them—”

“Stop,” Xaden said quietly, but the force of the word made even Brennan still.

Liam flinched anyway, and you tightened your grip around his shoulder.

“Don’t do that,” Xaden murmured as he dropped to a crouch. His hand hovered in the air for a second—hesitant, unsure—before it settled gently on Liam’s shin, careful of the bruises. “Don’t ever take the blame for what someone else chose to do to you.”

Liam’s lip trembled.

“But I didn’t fight back until the end,” he whispered.

Xaden exhaled through his nose, a soft, sharp sound of pain.

“You’re twelve, Liam,” he said gently. “Twelve. And they broke your ribs.”

Liam’s voice cracked. “Twice.”

You looked at Brennan, who just nodded grimly. Confirming it. Your heart clenched so tightly it hurt.

“They’re older,” Liam continued. “Bigger. Everyone knows I’m the smallest. Even Leia said so, and she’s the same age.”

Xaden’s hand flexed on Liam’s shin.

“I don’t care if you’re smaller,” he said softly but fiercely. “I care that you’re alive. I care that you’re safe. And if I have to tear down every building in this kingdom to make sure no one ever lays a hand on you again, I will.”

Liam’s lip wobbled again.

“And I know I’m not supposed to cry,” he choked out, “but it really hurts, and I can’t stop—”

Xaden moved before the words even finished.

He reached out, pulled Liam from your arms slowly but firmly, and Liam melted into his father’s chest like he’d been waiting for permission to fall apart.

And Xaden—Xaden just wrapped both arms around him, pressing a hand protectively to the back of his head, and said quietly, “You’re allowed to cry. You’re allowed to break. But don’t ever hide from me again.”

Liam sobbed against his chest, and Xaden held him tighter, breathing through his own storm as your son trembled in his arms.

You reached up and laid your hand on both of them, anchoring the broken pieces together.

And in the silence that followed, Xaden whispered, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

And for the first time in a long time, Liam whispered, “I know.”

Liam stayed curled into Xaden’s chest for a long time, the tremors in his small frame slowly easing with every pass of his father’s hand down his back.

Eventually, Brennan moved away with a nod, wiping his hands clean and murmuring that the worst of the internal damage had been mended. You caught his eye as he glanced your way—he didn’t need to speak. You saw the guilt in his expression, the silent promise that he’d make damn sure this never happened again.

You gave him a small, grateful nod as he slipped quietly from the room, leaving the three of you behind.

Xaden shifted back against the wall, still holding Liam tightly, one knee bent beneath him. You remained seated on the floor beside them, a hand still on Liam’s back, grounding him. The fire in the corner cast a low, soft glow across the study, flickering shadows playing on Xaden’s face—shadows that did nothing to hide the quiet storm in his eyes as he looked down at your son.

Liam sniffed and whispered, “Are you mad at me?”

Xaden leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of Liam’s curls. “Not at you. Never at you.”

“Even though I didn’t tell you?”

Xaden exhaled. “Even then. But I wish you had. So I could’ve helped.”

“I didn’t want to be weak.”

“That’s not weakness,” Xaden said firmly. “Telling the truth? Asking for help? That’s strength, Liam. The kind most people never learn.”

Liam was quiet for a long beat, then said softly, “It’s easier now. With you here.”

You felt it like a physical blow, the weight of what he’d been carrying alone.

“I’m here,” Xaden said, voice low and certain. “We’re both here. And you don’t ever have to handle it alone again.”

Liam nodded against his chest.

Then, after a while, his breathing evened out—he wasn’t asleep, but he wasn’t crying anymore either. Just quiet. Settled. The closest to peace he’d probably felt in days.

Xaden looked over at you, his eyes meeting yours in the flickering light. Raw. Wrecked. But steady.

You gave a small nod, whispering, “He’s going to be okay.”

And Xaden, voice rough, said, “Not if I don’t figure out how to fix this. I won’t let this happen again.”

The fire crackled softly between you. You reached over and rested your hand on his knee.

“We’ll fix it together.”

He looked at you for a long time before finally nodding. Then adjusted his grip on Liam and murmured, “Let’s get him to bed.”

A/N: Everything works out in the end. Let me know if to keep tagging you in my works. I take requests but they probably wont be posted until the summer!

Comments, thoughts and reblogs would be really appreciated

Credit to @empyreanevents for the divider

[loveharlow]

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚[2.4k] 2 weeks stuck on a deserted island and while the hope for rescue dwindles by the day, you continue to make the most of your situation while a new problem boils right under your nose...

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, heavy touching/mild smut, allusions to sex, arguing, mentions of sexuality

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

NOW PLAYING‧₊

“NO, KEEP YOUR LEFT FOOT STRAIGHT, GIRL.” Cleo reprimanded once more, you sighing and dropping your hands in response. “Don’t be lazy now. Push through it.” The sun had reached its peak, casting a steaming hot glow across the island, prompting a thin layer of sweat to reveal itself on your skin.

You stood with Cleo close to the shore, the girl sparring with you as promised a week ago. Kiara and JJ were surfing while John B and Sarah cuddled in the sand under the shade of the palm trees as Pope sat closeby, mindlessly watching you and Cleo. But mostly Cleo.

“Well, it was easier when only one of my legs hurt.” You exhausted, one hand on your hip as you breathed heavily. “But we’ve been at this for, what feels like, an hour straight and now they both hurt.”

“Do you think boxers give up when they get punched in the face?” Cleo sassed, squinting her eyes from the sunlight, Pope laughing from the sidelines.

“...What?”

“I’m not repeatin’ myself.” The girl shook her head, walking towards you and taking hold of your wrists. “Put your hands back up, spread your feet apart, and quit whinin’.” She ordered before walking back to her spot a few feet across from you. “You should be grateful to even have a leg, missy. So, wipe ya tears and c’mon.”

You rolled your eyes before beginning your “session” with the island girl — ducking hits, soft slaps, and ignoring the soreness in your leg with every twist and step. This went on for about ten minutes before, for the first time in a full week of sparring, you swept Cleo off her feet. Literally.

You watched with your jaw on the floor as the girl fell on her ass in the sand, closing her eyes briefly as a harsh puff of air left her lips while Pope ‘oooh’d from his place in the sand.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” You apologized. Rushing to lend the girl a hand, she took it, you using as much strength as you could to help her up.

“What’re you apologizin’ for?” She asked, dusting herself off before clapping you on the back while catching her breath. “I’ve been tryna get you to do that for seven days and six nights.” Cleo shot, a sly smile on her face.

You scoffed, lightly pushing the girl's shoulder back. “Screw you.”

“You should be thankin’ me.” Cleo joked, pointing a finger as she walked away and towards Pope. “You Americans are so ungrateful.”

“JJ!” Kiara’s voice sounded out before any of you could respond — causing the five of you to turn your attention to the girl as she chased after a seemingly furious JJ, makeshift surfboards tucked under their arms. “Are you serious, bro? I'm talking to you!” She asked, face twisting in annoyance. Water was dripping from both of their frames, leaving rushed wet footprints in the sand.

Your friends all watched with confused faces as you made a move to go towards the pair, putting a hand on JJ’s shoulder. “Hey, what’s the matter-”

“Move.” Was all the blonde boy offered in response, jerking his shoulder away from your touch and walking past you without so much as a glance. 

“JJ.” You tried to call after him, but he didn’t even turn around before disappearing into the trees as you turned back around, coming face to face with Kiara. “What the hell happened?” You asked in disbelief.

Kiara seemed to lack a proper response, stuttering for words and trying to move wet strands of hair out of her face before finally making eye contact with you. “I don’t know, he just got mad-”

“He didn’t just get mad.” You stopped her from lying. “What happened?”

Kiara sighed, running a hand through her hair. “...I told him.”

You squinted your eyes in response. “Told him what?”

“...I told him the truth. About why I kissed him in Charleston… about how I feel about you.” She sighed, briefly glancing down at her feet as anger boiled in the pit of your stomach. “I was just trying to clear things up, get rid of the tension. Guess he didn’t take it too well-”

“You had no right.” You seethed, staring the girl down as your remaining four friends crowded around the two of you.

“What’s goin’ on?” Cleo asked.

“What’s wrong with JJ?” Pope followed, both of their questions going ignored.

“No right?” Kiara spat, an expression of offense on her features. “I had every right. They’re my feelings-”

“And it’s my relationship.” You bit back. “If someone was going to tell JJ, my boyfriend, about anything regarding me and you, it should’ve been me. Not you.”

“Okay, seriously,” Sarah started, putting her hands out in front of her. “What is happening?”

“Look, I get it’s yours and JJ’s relationship but didn’t you think to tell him earlier? You don’t think the guilt of lying to my friend was getting to me at all?”

“I was going to tell him!” You blurted. “You don’t think the guilt of lying to my boyfriend was getting to me? I was going to tell him when I thought the time was right. But of course, Kiara only ever thinks about Kiara-”

“Okay!” John B stopped the bickering, voice overpowering all others. “Someone needs to explain what the hell is happening right now. Why did JJ storm off? And what are you two arguing about?”

Kiara shrugged, sassily crossing her arms and eyeing you up and down. “Should I tell them? Or do I have 'no right'?” She bickered.

You couldn’t do anything but scoff, turning away from the girl. “By all means, take the floor. Tell them.” You dismissed, waving a hand in her direction. “It’s your secret to tell. Guess I’m just collateral." You shrugged. "But just so you know, this is one of the many reasons it will never be you.” You sneered before walking off, attempting to go in the direction you’d last seen JJ.

AFTER WHAT FELT LIKE AN HOUR OF WEAVING THROUGH COUNTLESS TREES AND BUSHES, you spotted a very familiar head of golden blonde hair, wading in a shallow pool of water under a nearby waterfall. His back was turned as he mindlessly waved his hands through the water. You spotted his clothes on a nearby rock, taking the opportunity to strip yourself down and put your clothes on top of his — climbing silently into the water.

You moved slowly so as to not make much noise, creeping up behind the boy until you were close enough to wrap your arms around his torso — making him jump and look side to side before realizing it was you. Your heart dropped a bit when he sighed at your presence, putting his hand on top of both of yours that were clasped in front of his stomach.

“What are you doing here?” He said, voice despondent. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t know I would come looking for you.” You tried to lighten the mood, only to be met with another sigh. “...Why did you walk off?”

“What do you mean why did I walk off?” He said, indignation clear in his tone.

“I mean, I know but…you didn’t even talk to me. You didn’t let me explain.” You answered, voice dropping.

“Explain?” JJ said, scoffing. “Explain what? How you didn’t tell me how Kie told you she was in love with you? Weeks ago? C’mon…”

“I’m sorry,” You apologized. “Okay? I am.” You reassured. “I was trying to find the right time or…something. But every time I got close to telling you, the thought of your face dropping made me…not.”

“...When exactly would’ve been the right time to tell me?” He questioned, moving your hands off of his torso and turning to face you. He didn’t look happy. “We’ve been stranded here for two weeks. When were you gonna tell me? How did Kie make it to me before you did?”

“I didn’t think she was gonna tell you.” You tried to defend. 

“She shouldn’t have had the opportunity to.” JJ reprimanded, lowering his head to be more eye-level with you. “I should be the first person you tell things to. Especially when those things have to do with both me and you. And when I say first person, that doesn’t mean wait almost three fucking weeks to tell me-”

“Okay-”

“No. No, not okay.” He continued his ranting, cheeks turning red. “None of this is okay.” He emphasized with his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I was confused.” You snapped, brows furrowing for a brief second. JJ was raining down on you. Hard. You felt overwhelmed.

“...Confused?” JJ got out. “About what exactly? About who you wanna be with?” He asked incredulously.

“No!” You immediately shut down his questioning. “No. I want to be with you. I am in love with you, whatever Kiara feels for me… it doesn’t matter to me.”

“Then answer my question.” Your boyfriend damn near demanded. “What are you confused about?”

You just sighed, throwing your hands out to the side. “Everything?” You offered an answer. “I know how I feel about you, okay? Nothing has ever been more clear to me than that. But Kie has been my best friend longer than I can remember and I wanted to give her space and time before telling you. You know you have a tendency to be explosive, J. I wanted to give her time before you possibly went off on her for something she can’t control. I may not be in love with her, but I will always have love for her in the sister-ly way I always have.” You tried to clarify. “I’m trying to navigate our relationship and Kiara’s feelings in a way that doesn’t tear apart two of the most important connections in my life. Tell me you at least understand that.”

“I understand that.” He nodded, biting his bottom lip. “...But did Kiara think about you before she kissed me? Did she think about me before telling you how she felt?” He asked, but it was clear he wasn’t really seeking an answer. “No. So why did you consider her feelings before mine?”

“That’s not even fair.” You countered. “You never even told me about the kiss. I saw it for myself and confronted you. So, don’t even use that against me because it’s just gonna come full-circle right back around to you.”

“And why didn’t I tell you about the kiss?” He asked, straightening his posture and towering over you. “Tell me.” You remained silent, staring the boy in his eyes. “Fine. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to hurt us. Me not telling you had nothing to do with Kiara and her feelings-”

“That doesn’t make it better-”

“I didn’t say it did.” He cut you off. “But you wanted me to understand, right? So, now I want you to understand.” He said simply. “I didn’t tell you to spare your feelings but I should have. I was wrong. You didn’t tell me to spare Kiara’s feelings. You were wrong.” He said. “Maybe I would’ve taken it better if I had heard it from you when it happened. But hearing it from Kiara weeks later? It feels like you had something to hide. Like you were trying to give yourself time.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Then tell me I’m wrong.” JJ shrugged, shoulders tense. “Tell me you didn’t tell me because you were trying to consider Kiara and not because you have feelings for her too.” He requested, edging closer to you. “Tell me you’re in love with me. Just me.” You never expected this from JJ — someone so independent and closed off with any and almost all emotions. This was raw. This was real. This was him.

“...Kie was one of my best friends.” You started, staring into his eyes and never wavering. “So, yes I was trying to protect her. And yes, I made a mistake in considering her over you.” You admitted, sliding your hands over JJ’s shoulders and clasping them behind his neck. “But I don’t have any other feelings for her. I am in love with you. Just you. And only you. So, I’m sorry.”

JJ looked between your eyes for a few moments, not returning your touch — hands stuck at his sides under the water, the only sound being the rush of the waterfall behind you both. 

“...You swear?” He asked, blue eyes slowly returning to their soft state.

You nodded, pulling yourself in closer and using buoyancy of the water to wrap your legs around his waist as his hands found the back of your thighs. “I promise.”

The blonde fought back a smile, hiking you up higher onto his frame before locking his lips with yours — one of your hands going up to thread into his soaking strands, tugging on them lightly. Your lips moved back and forth in a soft harmony until it gained tension, turning into a feverish exchange. His hands traveled upwards, squeezing the flesh of your ass between his fingers, pressing you even further against him.

It was only then did you realize the both of you were naked — fully naked. His length pressing harshly at your entrance. It was at this moment that you realized you were completely comfortable.

Ever since Rafe, every sexual movement beyond kissing sent you into a spiral. You remember the very first time you tried to do anything after that — it was mortifying.

But in this moment, with JJ. You felt completely safe. You felt ready.

JJ moved his kisses down to the length of your neck, walking you backwards in the crystal blue water until your back hit a stone wall, the coolness of the rock and the warmth of his fingers causing you to let out a small moan.

Without much thought, you found one of your hands reaching down in between the two of you to grab his dick, lightly stroking it in the water. The male above you let out a soft moan, the warmth of his breath fanning out across your neck.

You were two seconds away from putting it in yourself when one of his hands gripped the wrist of yours that was tugging on his cock. 

“...I don’t wanna do this here.” He breathed out, pulling from your neck with swollen lips and lust-blow eyes. “I wanna make all of our best memories back home. Wherever that may be.”

You didn’t protest or push any further, simply accepting his wishes and releasing your grip, leaving a peck on his lips as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, looking into your eyes. “I’m sorry for not letting you talk earlier.” He whispered.

You offered a small, light smile. “It’s okay. I know you.” You reassured, knowing his small dramatic exit was nothing compared to his usual emotional outburst. Even if he didn’t realize it, JJ was improving in small but amazing ways. Being on this island seemed good for him. 

And now you weren’t sure you wanted to leave.

next chapter >

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

©loveharlow.

[sh4nksslvt]

Sugar & Spite

Shared silences, reluctant teamwork, and one very accidental merienda — things are slowly shifting between you and Katakuri, whether you like it or not.

(CH 1/3) (CH 2/3) (CH 3/3)

katakuri x fem!reader a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ff cringe and oc tags: sfw, arrange marriage, enemies to lovers typeshi(?), fluff warnings: poorly written, ooc maybe idk words count: 767

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

Married life, for all its dramatics, was remarkably uneventful.

You trained. He trained.

You ate. He ate — alone.

You slept on opposite sides of the suite, a whole couch separating your twin futons like it were a chasm made of disdain and mutual discomfort.

Still, the quiet had begun to change.

Not soften. Just… fill with different things.

You noticed it when you trained together.

At first, Katakuri wouldn’t spar with you — only watched from the sidelines with crossed arms and a face carved from stone.

But one morning, without a word, he stepped into the ring and beckoned.

You raised a brow. “You sure? Wouldn’t want to chip your perfect reputation.”

“Try not to die,” was all he said.

You lunged.

The fight lasted minutes. Sharp. Calculated. Brutal. Neither of you held back — not out of aggression, but something more primal. Something like curiosity. Respect hidden under heavy layers of sarcasm.

He pinned you once.

You flipped him once.

And by the time you both were catching your breath, you realized… this was the first time you’d looked him in the eye without wanting to throw a plate at his face.

It happened again the next day. And the next.

Soon, the guards were placing bets.

Another shift came during a mission.

You were sent together to oversee a transport of rare ingredients for Big Mom’s banquet — the sort of job usually given to siblings who worked well together.

You were not those siblings.

But despite the chilly atmosphere, the operation was smooth. Efficient. Maybe even too efficient, because when the job ended early, you found yourself in a quiet café at the edge of Totto Land.

Sharing tea.

“You always this quiet when not throwing punches?” you asked.

Katakuri sipped. “You always this nosy when not polishing your weapon?”

You snorted. “Fair.”

Silence. Then:

“…You’re not bad in the field.”

You blinked.

“…You too,” you replied cautiously, like the words were delicate glass.

Then, dryly: “Though you’re kind of a pain.”

His mouth twitched.

Was that a smile?

You blinked and looked away.

Nah. Must’ve been the wind.

It happened the next afternoon.

You came back to the estate early, your footsteps light, mind still buzzing from the strange calm that had started forming between you two. You hadn’t seen Katakuri since morning. Probably training. Or brooding.

You turned the corner of the west hall and—

Crunch.

You froze.

There he was.

Not in battle stance. Not dressed for war.

Just… sitting under the shade of a sugar apple tree in the inner garden, cross-legged on a blanket, a tall pile of donuts beside him.

Mouth uncovered.

Eyes closed.

Chewing slowly, almost in bliss, like he was savoring the flavor with his whole soul.

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then, without thinking, your boot tapped a rock.

His head snapped toward you.

Time stopped.

You met his eyes. His real ones. Clear, sharp — and full of horror.

He reached for his scarf too late.

“You—” he started, standing up so quickly the plate of donuts nearly flipped. “You weren’t supposed to—”

“What, see you enjoying your afternoon snacks?” you said slowly.

His face hardened. “Don’t mock me.”

You crossed your arms. “Why would I mock you?”

“You’re going to tell the others. Or laugh. Or—”

You tilted your head. “You’re kinda handsome.”

He froze.

“What?”

“I said,” you repeated, unfazed, “you’re kinda handsome.”

“You—”

“Don’t get cocky. I said kinda.”

He gaped at you like you’d grown a second head. You, in turn, gave him a blank stare as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Then added, just to twist the knife: “Your mouth is a little big, though.”

“You—!!”

You smirked, turning to walk away.

“Wait.”

His voice was quieter now. Not angry. Confused. Almost… vulnerable.

You turned back.

He looked at you like you were a puzzle with missing pieces. Like he didn’t understand why you weren’t disgusted. Why you weren’t laughing.

“You’re not gonna say anything?”

You shrugged. “Not my business. But hey—”

You tossed a donut from his plate into the air, caught it, and took a bite.

“—thanks for the snack.”

He stared.

You winked.

And then left him there, standing under the tree, mouth still slightly agape, eyes tracking the place where you’d stood.

That night, for the first time, you found a small box of freshly made donuts placed carefully on your side of the suite.

No note.

Just a silent offering.

You smiled faintly and popped one into your mouth.

Maybe this marriage wouldn’t be so cold after all.

[styluswritesdc]

Rogues Headcanons for Vigilante Reader

no gender specified, TW: None, No smut, (general comic versions)

Part 2, (part 1, part 3)

Characters: Two-face, Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy

Two-Face/Harvey Dent

OH MAN. they would probably immediately have a small thing for you. like hello? you just popped up out of nowhere, bested all of their top men and you look... really good in that suit.. and they didn't mind getting punched in the face by you?? what is happening????

they initially just find you impressive. you can hold your own and they respect that! you also have your own moral code which is another approval from them.

they starts to not mind you interrupting their schemes and robberies (they start hoping for it..) and begin to be playful with you.

you will still answer to the coin though.

I mean, they will put up a fight. they'll flip on whether they should shoot, flee, or maybe even spare you.

they becomes a little obsessed with you.

you better not be taking down other rogues! your their rival!!

they will want to know your identity real bad, so expect them to pay some people to follow you and even track you down... the coin decided you were their fate.

Harley Quinn/Harley Quinzel

OH you're sooooo CUTE! I mean that outfit! it suits you so well!

she's a free woman now, ordering around her own goons or doing her part in a joint scheme with another rogue.

she wont hit you with her bat like she would with others.. she wouldn't wanna hurt that pretty face!!

genuinely finds you delightful! and for reference she's terribly annoyed by batman and his little companions.

please respect the fact she isn't a brainless bimbo!! she was a psychiatrist for god sake! she was, and somewhat still is; Dr. Quinzel.

treat her with the same respect and reverence you would scarecrow and the Riddler! she's so used to the GCPD and batman putting her down or thinking she was little to no threat.

if you do she will fall for you even harder. her relationship with joker was terribly damaging in that regard.

please be gentle when apprehending her.... another result of jokers treatment of her.

ultimately she finds you just darling. you treat her with respect and that's all she could want.

Poison Ivy/Pamela Isley

her initial thoughts: "ugh another meat bag. gross."

maybe if you're a metahuman she might be a little bit nicer but over all UGH you still stomp on mother earth all the same!

unless you've never stepped on grass before she'll detest you.

she, quite literally, feels it. so in her defence it makes sense.

if you prove to her you care, which will be highly difficult as the only thing you can hurt in a battle with her will be the meat sacks she uses her pheromones on.

even if she throws a vine the width of a tree trunk your way, you'd better not hurt a LEAF on it.

she will admire if you took time to tend to mother earth. be it taking care with where you step, taking care of your own plants or even protecting plants from others. she really will appreciate it.

maybe she doubted humans too much... or just this one in particular.

ivy's crimes tend to be on two ends of the spectrum, either relatively peaceful like freeing plants from garden centres or mourning and saving some from florists to the extremes of trying to wipe out humans from Gotham or the world.

so enjoy your game of back and forth.. it can get intense.

[jxerv]

obito x fem!reader, canon universe, fluff-angst, part 2

masterlist

IT WAS late at night, and the silence seemed to wrap everything in a thick blanket.

[Y/n]'s house was immersed in a fragile quiet—the kind of silence that sometimes feels heavier than noise. The wind brushed against the walls, gently moving the balcony curtains. A pale, cold light—reflected from the moon—entered the room through the half-open window.

[Y/n] was sitting on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, a light blanket over her knees. In her hands, she held an old photo, the edges slightly yellowed and worn with time. Her fingers slowly traced the border, outlining faces all too familiar.

Four faces. Four kids.

Obito, Kakashi, Rin, and herself.

[Y/n] smiled faintly, but the smile faded the moment her gaze landed on Obito's grinning face.

Her heart gave a small jolt.

He looked so happy in that picture. Carefree, with that wide, innocent smile, and the usual blush that colored his cheeks every time she got too close.

"What a fool you were..." she whispered, almost speaking to the thin glass of the photo.

A bitter tightness gripped her chest. The pain wasn't as sharp as it once was, but had transformed into something more insidious. A constant nostalgia, a longing that clung to her days. Even after all this time.

She gently pressed her fingertips to his image in the photo, as if she could touch him one more time.

"You were supposed to be here..." she murmured. Her gaze drifted to the moonlit window.

Then.

A sound.

Soft, almost imperceptible. A light thud, like something barely touching the floor.

[Y/n]'s senses snapped to attention.

She quickly set the photo down on the couch and stood. Her heart beat faster, but her breathing remained steady, controlled. She tiptoed toward the balcony, her eyes alert. She opened the glass door with a fluid, silent motion, ready for anything.

The balcony was empty.

Only the full moon hanging in the dark sky, the branches of the trees swaying slowly, and the distant sound of the wind. [Y/n] clenched her jaw, eyes scanning for the slightest movement.

Nothing.

She slowly lowered her guard. Her breath escaped in a thin sigh. "Must've imagined it..." she muttered to herself.

Then she turned.

And saw him.

A shadow stood in the middle of the living room. Tall, unmoving, silent. A black cloak trimmed with red clouds. An orange spiral-patterned mask.

Her heart skipped a beat.

She jumped back instinctively, falling into a fighting stance. Hands clenched, feet grounded, eyes locked on the intruder.

"You...!" she hissed. Her tone wasn't fearful, but sharp with tension. A challenge.

The man didn't move.

He laughed. A low, rough laugh.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Hard to believe." she shot back, her voice sharp as a kunai.

She studied him carefully, searching for a weapon, an object—anything she could use to fight. But everything was too far, too risky.

She had no choice but to face him with what she had.

She lunged.

Her fist sliced through the air, aiming for the masked man's face.

He caught it with a single hand.

Steady, firm. As if her blow had the weight of a child's.

[Y/n] gritted her teeth and threw another punch. Then another. Kicks, blows, pushes. But nothing. He stood still, blocking every strike like it was a game.

"Let me hit you!" she growled, trying again.

Instead, he grabbed her wrists—not too tightly. Just enough to stop her.

"I don't remember you being this stubborn." he said softly, almost amused. But there was something in his voice—a note of melancholy, like he was talking to a ghost.

[Y/n] stopped fighting. Her breath was heavy, hands still clenched. "What?" she asked, confused.

His words struck deeper than any blow.

She stepped back, free, and stared at him with a hardened expression. "Who are you?" she said, voice tense, eyes fixed on his covered face.

The silence that followed was almost unbearable.

The man didn't answer right away. Instead, he slowly raised a hand to his mask. A controlled, slow, almost solemn gesture.

His laughter faded.

Silence turned into a buzzing in [Y/n]'s chest as she watched him place his fingers on the edge of the orange mask.

Slowly, he lifted it.

[Y/n] held her breath.

The moment the orange mask was raised and set aside, an unreal silence fell over the room. Time itself seemed to stop, as if even the universe needed a moment to comprehend what was happening.

The face that appeared before her was not just anyone's. Not an enemy, not a stranger.

It was a face she had never forgotten.

Obito.

Her Obito.

Brown eyes, slightly darker now, but still able to reflect an entire galaxy of emotions. Black hair, a little longer than she remembered, tousled just like before. His lips were pressed into an expression that hovered between disbelief and stifled emotion.

A large scar ran across his face, right over the eye of his Sharingan.

A shiver ran down her spine.

Her blood froze in her veins—then rushed back in a flood, like a river overflowing. A crushing weight slammed into her chest, as if all the certainties she had built over time had crumbled right in front of her eyes.

Her heart stuttered. Once, twice—then seemed to stop.

Her legs trembled. An unexpected emptiness opened beneath her feet. The floor seemed to fall away, becoming liquid, distant, unreal.

The world blurred, distorted, faded.

She fell.

Or rather, she was about to fall.

But before her body could hit the cold floor of the house, two arms caught her with firm resolve. Strong, familiar arms.

Obito had moved in a flash, as if instinct had taken over. As if his body knew he couldn't let her fall. Not yet. Not again.

She found herself wrapped in his embrace, her face inches from the one she had seen only in dreams for years.

[Y/n]'s eyes widened, overflowing with emotion. She stared at him, frozen, unable to speak. To think. To breathe.

She tried to rationalize.

This can't be real. It's impossible.

And yet, he was there. Real. Tangible. His skin held the warmth of the living. His eyes... oh, those eyes.

Her breathing was erratic, her chest rising and falling in desperate search of air. Her lips trembled as she tried to form something. A word. A name.

Then she said it. A whisper. Barely a breath: "Obito..."

The sound of his name, spoken in that voice, shook him to his core.

He hadn't expected it. He hadn't expected that just his name, said with such tenderness, could tear through the walls he had built over years of hatred, rage, and solitude.

Obito's heart clenched, pounding violently. One beat after another. It felt like a fire had been lit in his chest. For a moment, he forgot everything. The plans, the revenge, the Akatsuki, Madara, the world.

There were only the two of them, in that room, under the cold light of the moon.

She slowly raised a hand.

It trembled, but didn't stop. Her fingers touched his face, as light as a feather. They glided gently along his cheek, tracing invisible lines, as if seeking confirmation that he was really there.

Obito closed his eyes. He didn't pull away. He didn't stop her.

That touch... it was the first kind thing he had felt in years. His skin burned under her fingers, as if he were becoming aware of his own humanity again in that moment. As if, until then, he had been only a shadow—and now... now he was flesh and blood once more.

[Y/n] lowered her hand, still in disbelief. Tears streamed down her face without her even realizing it. Warm, silent, pure.

"You're... you're alive?" she asked, her voice breaking, as if her heart was afraid to believe it. Afraid that this was just a dream—and that he'd vanish again when she woke.

Obito didn't answer right away. He looked at her. There, in his arms, with wet cheeks and eyes overflowing with emotion.

The pain of years reflected in her gaze. The pain of a loss she had never truly accepted. And seeing her like that, he felt a deep, gut-wrenching guilt. Like a blade twisting in his chest.

"I came back." he finally whispered, his voice hoarse, broken. "Even if... not in the right way."

[Y/n]'s face twisted into a painful grimace. "Why?" she asked, her voice a mixture of anger and desperation. "Why didn't you come back sooner? Why did you let everyone believe you were dead? Let me believe you were dead?"

Obito lowered his gaze.

He didn't know how to answer. Or rather—he did.

But how do you explain the darkness?

How do you describe the kind of pain that changes you until you don't recognize yourself anymore?

"I thought you were dead." His words were a broken whisper. "That day... I saw you. You were lying over Rin. I thought... I thought you died protecting Kakashi. And when I lost you all..." He paused, jaw tightening. "I lost myself."

[Y/n] said nothing. She looked at him, searching for the boy she once knew beneath the war-hardened face shaped by time and pain.

And she found him.

In his eyes—he was still there.

The boy who blushed every time he looked at her. The one who trained with stubborn dedication, who laughed loud, who dreamed of becoming Hokage.

[Y/n]'s hand returned to his cheek. She caressed him again, this time more firmly. "Obito..." she whispered. "Is it really you?"

He closed his eyes, leaning his head slightly into her palm. Like a tired child, starved for affection.

In that moment, he wasn't a member of the Akatsuki. He wasn't a traitor, nor a ghost of the past.

He was just Obito. Her Obito.

And she... was there. Real.

The silence between them hung heavy, almost tangible, like a fog wrapping around every corner of the room. And yet, in their eyes, a silent storm raged—an ocean of emotions hidden behind steady gazes.

Obito studied [Y/n]'s face as if he wanted to memorize every detail, to imprint her features into every fiber of his being. There was something different about her now—a quiet strength, a melancholy etched into her expression, an invisible shadow lingering in her smile. But her eyes... her eyes were the same: deep, alive, full of the light he remembered.

With a slowness that felt almost reverent, Obito lifted his hand and gently brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered longer than they needed to, as if afraid that even the softest touch might make her disappear.

For a moment, his face softened.

The pain, the anger, the despair—all of it seemed to quiet, even if just for that brief instant.

Obito's arm tightened around [Y/n]'s waist, pulling her closer to him. He needed to feel her. The warmth of her body, the undeniable reality of her presence—It was the only thing anchoring him to what was left of his humanity.

[Y/n] didn't pull away. Her eyes were locked on his, filled with unspoken questions, with answers lost in time and pain. But there was something else, too—something deeper... a bond that neither time, nor death, nor war had been able to break.

And in that moment, without thinking, without hesitation or words, Obito leaned in and kissed her.

Their lips—lips that had searched for each other for years—finally met.

It was a full kiss. Raw. Fractured.

A kiss that spoke of lost years, of tear-filled nights and broken dreams. A kiss that carried the weight of everything that had been lost, and all that had been sacrificed.

[Y/n] froze, shocked—but she didn't pull away. Her heart pounded wildly, too loudly. Her hands trembled, but didn't move. It was as if time had truly stopped.

Obito kissed her like his life depended on it.

As if his entire existence was contained in that one, fragile connection.

And maybe, for him, it was.

When they finally parted, it was only for air.

But Obito didn't move far—he followed her movement, lips still reaching for hers as though drawn by a force he couldn't resist.

[Y/n]'s heart was in chaos. Her breath was shaky, and her face flushed—not just from the intensity of the moment, but because something deeper had begun to resurface in her thoughts.

Memories.

Truths.

Her expression changed.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. Rationality broke through, cutting through the storm of emotions. She stepped back—an inch, then another. She looked at him, searching for an answer. Searching... for the truth.

"You... you're part of the Akatsuki." she whispered, as if the very words burned her tongue. "You attacked Kakashi's team. You... hurt my comrades. Obito, why?"

His face slowly dimmed.

The warmth faded, replaced by a quiet, controlled coldness—but not hostility. It was as if an invisible mask had returned to his features once more.

"Because this world is rotten, [Y/n]." His voice was calm, deep. "Because every system we've ever known is built on suffering. Because everyone we love ends up dying for something meaningless."

[Y/n] stared at him, eyes glistening. "And what do you do? Kill innocents to create a 'better' world? Is that your idea of justice?"

"Not justice." he replied, his eyes burning. "Peace."

His words fell like stones.

Obito stood, pulling [Y/n] up with him. "You don't have to worry about anything. You don't have to carry the weight of all this. I... I just want you to be safe. With me."

[Y/n] shook her head, in disbelief.

"With you? In this delusion?"

Obito reached out, gently caressing her face again, ignoring the fury burning in her eyes. "You don't have to fight. You don't have to choose. I'll do it for you. Just come with me. I'll protect you. I promise you'll never suffer again."

"I can't." she cut in, voice cracking. "I can't close my eyes while you destroy everything others fought for. I can't... follow you."

For the first time since he entered, Obito's eyes darkened. Pained.

A shadow passed across his face, as if a piece of him had just shattered.

"I'm sorry, [Y/n]," he murmured.

Then, his Sharingan flared to life—red as blood. Alive, terrible, brilliant.

In an instant, [Y/n] staggered. Her muscles gave out. Her eyes dulled. She tried to say something, but the words wouldn't come. Her body went limp, weightless—And before she could hit the floor, she was once again in his arms.

Obito held her tightly.

His face twisted with pain—A deep crack in the wall he'd tried to keep standing for too long.

He looked at her as she slept peacefully against his chest, her face relaxed, unaware. He brushed her cheek lightly with his fingertips.

"I'm doing this for you." he whispered, voice tight with emotion. "Because this world doesn't deserve you. But I do."

And with one last glance at the moon shining through the window,

Obito vanished into the night, carrying her away with him.

wc: 2592

[oldermenaremyreligion]

Hunting Horrors Pt.2

PAIRING Uncle!Daryl x Child!Reader

WARNING cursing, mentions of abuse, mentions of death, mentions of blood, MERLE! (Like I said a warning on its own)

SUMMARY Daryl confrontation with Merle after the events of the previous part

NOTES I felt really motivated so I decided to write another part. I’ve been on a grind here guys!!! Hopefully it brings you joy to read these as much as it does to me writing them

WORD COUNT 1031

PARTS Part 1 — Part 2

After Daryl got you calmed down with those berries, he walked you back to the tent and told you to stay put. The sun was already slipping behind the trees, painting the sky in dull orange streaks, the shadows starting to stretch long across the ground. You didn’t argue. After what happened, you didn’t want to be anywhere but curled up under that thin blanket, hands still trembling from memory.

Daryl stepped out, the flap closing behind him with a soft snap. He didn’t say where he was going. He didn’t have to.

The woods around the camp buzzed faintly with crickets, cicadas, and something else deeper—like the slow groan of a walker far off in the trees. It didn’t rattle him. Not tonight.

He found Merle at the edge of camp, leaning against a tree like he hadn’t just traumatized a ten-year-old. Like he hadn’t done a damn thing wrong. He was whittling a stick, lazily, a toothpick hanging from the corner of his mouth. Smirking. Relaxed. Like always.

Daryl approached with slow, measured steps. Not rushing. But there was purpose in his stride—the kind that made people instinctively move out of the way when they saw it in his eyes.

Merle didn’t even look at him.

Daryl stopped in front of him, jaw tight.

“So what the hell was that earlier?”

Merle didn’t look up. Just kept whittling.

“Gonna have to be more specific than that, little brother.”

“You made her kill that damn rabbit.”

Merle finally glanced at him, smirking.

“Man, it was just a bunny. Girl froze up. I finished it off. What’s the big deal?”

Daryl’s hand shot out and snatched the stick from Merle’s hand, tossing it aside.

“She’s ten, Merle.”

“And? Like them walkers give a damn how old she is.”

Daryl clenched his jaw. A low groan echoed from somewhere out in the trees. Neither of them flinched.

“That’s the same shit our old man used to do. You remember? Him makin’ you gut squirrels, beatin’ you ‘cause he thought it’d toughen you up?”

He could still see it—Merle, fifteen, bloody-knuckled and crying behind the barn, knuckles busted open from a belt. Their dad had made him kill a stray dog that wandered too close to the yard. Said it’d “build character.”

Merle’s jaw ticked, but he shrugged.

“Yeah, and I’m still breathin’, ain’t I?”

“This ain’t about breathin’. You takin’ your crap out on her. She ain’t your damn punching bag.”

Merle pushed off the tree and finally gave Daryl his full attention.

“You wanna raise her like we still got playgrounds and cartoons? Go right ahead. But when she ends up dead ‘cause you kept her soft, that’s on you. I’m tryin’ to help her.”

“You ain’t helpin’ no one. You’re draggin’ her into your bullshit.”

“Better my bullshit than her gettin’ eaten ‘cause you too scared to make her tough.”

Daryl hated it—how part of him understood. How part of him almost agreed. But not like this. Never like this.

“She don’t need to be coddled,” he said, stepping closer, voice low. “But she damn sure don’t need to be you.”

Merle let out a short laugh, like Daryl was being dramatic.

“So what, you Rick Grimes now? Gonna give me some sheriff speech?”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed.

“You pull somethin’ like that again, I swear to God—”

Merle raised a brow, the smirk already forming.

“Yeah? You gonna take me out over a bunny?”

“Ain’t about the bunny. It’s about the line you crossed. Don’t do it again.”

Daryl turned and walked off.

Merle called after him.

“Yeah, you just keep pretendin’ like this world still got rules!”

Daryl didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

As he crossed back toward the tents, the air felt heavier. He moved quiet, slipping through the dark like a shadow. When he reached the tent, he crouched and lifted the flap just enough to peek inside.

You were curled on your side, back to the entrance. Your small shoulders rose and fell slowly with each breath. Your hands, still streaked faintly with blood, clutched the edge of the blanket.

Daryl let the flap fall closed again and sat just outside, his back against the canvas, eyes fixed on the dying light through the trees.

He wasn’t gonna let her turn out like them. Not if he could help it.

[gimmethatagustd]

only here to sin (2); kth

When your genius of a boyfriend returns to Harvard for his sophomore year of college, you never would have expected to have his worst enemy keeping you entertained in his absence.

Pairing: Taehyung x (f)reader (ft. Namjoon)

Rating: Explicit

Genre/Trope: Enemies to lovers, college

Content Warning: Infidelity, alcohol, drunk driving, toxic romantic and familial relationships, mental health issues, virginity kink, emotional manipulation, smut (blow job, road head, vaginal sex) 

Word Count: 5076

‣ Main Masterlist

‣ Series Masterlist

“Come over and let me show you what you’re missing.”

Taehyung pulled away from you just enough to where your lips were barely touching. The two of you were breathing hard, inhaling each other’s air until you began to feel dizzy. 

“Did you drive?” His already deep voice came out raspy from need and a lack of oxygen from the kiss. 

You shook your head and immediately regretted how it made your brain spin. Hopping around nightclubs hadn’t even initially been the plan for you that night, but your coworkers were exceptionally persuasive. The group of you were a bunch of college kids earning just enough money through your internships to spend it all on alcohol and ridiculously-priced Uber rides. 

“Good. Let’s go.” 

It was all very unlike you, and Taehyung knew it. He distinctly remembered Namjoon’s iron grip on your social life in the many years you’d been dating. Anything that was beneath Namjoon he made sure everyone knew was also beneath you, too - regardless of how you actually felt. Taehyung was positive Namjoon would be pissed to know his precious girlfriend was at a nightclub in a miniskirt while he hunched over college textbooks. 

“Y/N, are you leaving?” Your coworker eyed Taehyung’s tall figure as he led you through the sea of bodies grinding to the trashy club music. Jackie was being a good friend; no girl in their right mind would let their friend go home with a stranger. 

“Don’t worry about her,” Taehyung butted in. He leaned in and flashed Jackie a smile that was capable of making the coldest of souls flush with heat. “She’s in good hands, promise.” He winked at Jackie and you’d never seen the phrase “ruffled feathers” more accurately represented in real life. Jackie looked like she wanted to punch Taehyung in the face and climb him like a tree. 

You hated that you could relate.

“I’m sorry I’m leaving early.” You tried to reassure Jackie with a small smile and a clear statement to prove that you weren’t completely wasted. “I just don’t feel that great.” 

You nearly choked on the guilt that squeezed your throat when Jackie slowly waved you off, the rest of your coworkers shouting their goodbyes while Taehyung led you out of the nightclub, his long arm curved around your waist. 

Walking was proving to be difficult, not because of the vodka you’d consumed, but because of the absolutely devastating orgasm Taehyung had fingerfucked out of you in the bathroom. 

“Struggling, baby girl?” 

You could hear the smirk in Taehyung’s voice before you even looked up to see it. The two of you stepped out into the cool night air and you struggled to keep up with Taehyung’s long gait as he led you down the sidewalk. 

“I’m fine,” you muttered, but your grip on his shirt tightened. 

He’d already guessed the truth, but you were dreading him finding out that he’d been right… Namjoon had made you promise that the two of you would save yourselves for each other. That was the whole point of the purity ring that weighed down your finger. No sex before marriage. It would make it more special, Namjoon had said. Sex while the two of you were trying to earn a college education was a distraction, he’d convinced you. 

And now you’d let Taehyung shove his fingers up your pussy in a nightclub bathroom stall. What was wrong with you? 

“This is me.” Taehyung opened the passenger door of the sports car parked along the curb. All black, with tinted windows. You didn’t know anything about cars, but this one seemed very Taehyung. 

He closed the door behind you once you slid into the passenger seat. Finding his place behind the steering wheel, Taehyung made it clear that his intention was to get to his apartment as quickly as possible. You watched downtown disappear in colorful streaks of light through the windows. There was still time to change your mind. You could tell Taehyung no; you knew he would back off if you did. He was an asshole but he wasn’t a creep. 

But every time the logical part of you screamed to shut it all down, Taehyung would do something to coax out the part of your soul that longed to just do whatever you wanted. How many people hovered over you, dictating your life to you? Your parents? Your boyfriend? Even your friends and coworkers who thought you couldn’t make decisions for yourself. 

Taehyung was an open door among a million that were bolted shut. 

You slowly pried your eyes from the cityscape to watch Taehyung’s right hand palm your bare thigh. Your breath hitched and shuddered as his fingers curved around the inside of your thigh, pulling your leg open a bit to give him easier access to your pussy. 

“Does Namjoon not let you speak on your own?” Taehyung snickered. “You’re gonna have to talk to me, jagiya, or this night isn’t going to go the way we want it to.” 

His threat was too vague for you to know how to react, so you stayed quiet - only confirming what Taehyung said. It wasn’t like you couldn’t speak on your own… You were just used to other people jumping in before you had the chance. Eventually, you had given up.  

Reaching the inside of your legs, Taehyung rubbed quick, tight circles against your core. You were still sensitive from your little activities in the bathroom, so you squirmed from his touch. 

“Have you ever given road head before?” 

You scrunched your eyebrows together and stared at Taehyung’s profile, trying to decipher his question. Thankfully, he pulled his hand away from you and that allowed your clouded brain to clear out a bit. That is, until he carded his fingers through his hair, and you remembered how soft those brown waves were under your grip.

“What did I say about talking?” His eyes briefly met yours before they returned to the road. He was driving entirely too fast. 

“I don’t know what that means.” 

“You don’t know what road head is? Namjoon really has sheltered you.” Taehyung let out a breathy laugh; he just couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Suck me off.” 

You could tell by the way he said it that he was both clarifying your confusion and giving you a command. His response stunned you, sending a spike of adrenaline into your heart. Or was it fear? 

Maybe you should have anticipated something like this out of Taehyung, but you’d really thought you’d have the car ride to think about all the ways you were going to hell and (perhaps) rectify that. Not giving Taehyung a blowjob while he went 100 mph down a street with a 50 mph speed limit. 

“You’re driving,” you finally responded. Not to mention he’d been drinking all night. But wait, why were you considering this to begin with?

“I’m a fantastic driver,” he said simply, giving your thigh a squeeze. Taehyung’s patience was going to be tested tonight if you kept taking forever to answer him. “So get your ass over here.” 

You bit your lip, your eyes traveling from Taehyung’s sharp jaw as he spoke to the visible bulge in the crotch of his jeans. 

“I’ve never done that before…” 

Taehyung’s eyes lit up and he turned to look at you for much longer than you were comfortable with, considering he was still driving. His eyes swept the length of your body before they were back on the road again. 

“I’m gonna have fun with you.” 

Your face burned with the shame of knowing how your stomach fluttered at Taehyung’s remark, and it was in that moment that you knew you weren’t coming back from this. Yet again, you could have protested, but instead you simply sat back and watched. 

Taehyung reached down to unbutton his jeans, pulling them down just enough to free his cock from the tight restraints of his briefs. You’d never see a cock in real life before, not even your boyfriend’s. Namjoon had been serious about staying pure. 

Shamefully so, you couldn’t tear your gaze away from it as Taehyung gave himself a few lazy pumps, rolling his palm around the head. It looked so much larger than you’d expected, both in length and girth, though you had literally nothing to compare it to. 

“Unbuckle yourself and come here.”

Was it wrong that the thing you were worried about was how unsafe this was, rather than the fact that you were being unfaithful to your boyfriend? 

Leaning over the center console, you paused before reaching Taehyung’s crotch. Anxiety was ripping through your body; you felt like you could hardly breathe. Taehyung’s eyes flitted down to look at you in his lap, noticing that you were freezing up. With his eyes returning to the road, he reached out to slowly push your head closer to his cock. 

“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.” 

You did as you were told and let out a small whimper when Taehyung tapped the head of his cock against your tongue. He gave you a few more taps, rubbing the tip over the surface of your outstretched tongue. It tasted salty, but not gross like the horror stories made you believe. 

“Do not fucking bite me,” he warned. 

“I won’t.” You wouldn’t have dared to do so nor would you have wanted to, but the sternness of his tone made you nervous that you might somehow do it on accident. 

Pushing down on your head, he guided your mouth onto his cock. You weren’t completely naive; you’d watched porn before. But once you had the head of Taehyung’s velvety cock pressed against your lips, you realized watching porn and actually sucking dick were very different. 

“Fuck, suck in your cheeks when you go down,” he instructed, bucking up slightly once he felt you take his head in your mouth. You struggled to find the proper breathing pattern as you inched further, and you couldn’t figure out where to put your tongue. Gradually, your shame was morphing into embarrassment for having no idea what you were doing. 

In reality, it didn’t matter if you were shit at this; Taehyung didn’t care. He was getting off on the knowledge that you were dating that bastard Kim Namjoon, yet Taehyung’s dick was the first one you’d ever had in your mouth. 

“Go faster.” He grabbed a fistful of your hair and showed you the pace that he wanted, guiding your head up and down his cock.

The sudden way he handled you made you cough around his cock, and Taehyung moaned from the vibration it created. You widened your eyes at the sound and you felt that familiar heat begin to pool in your center. Despite how sore your mouth and throat were becoming, the knowledge that you’d elicited such a response out of Taehyung had your pussy throbbing. 

Your body was betraying you.

Taehyung squeezed tightly on the steering wheel, fighting his desire to fuck your mouth the way he wanted to. As you got closer to his apartment, Taehyung quickly pulled your hair to lift you away from his cock. 

“Fuck, stop,” he hissed, returning both hands to the wheel. You stared at him, unsure of what you’d done. Had you accidentally used your teeth? You didn’t think so. 

“Did I do something?” You hated how much you wanted his validation. 

“I’m not finishing in your mouth.” Taehyung didn’t look at you as he spoke, instead focused on parking. “I’m gonna fucking fill you up, baby girl.” 

You trembled at his words, a shaky hand reaching up to wipe your mouth before Taehyung was gesturing you to get out the car. 

His apartment wasn’t anything spectacular. You recalled that his roommate was another guy you’d gone to high school with, one of the other boys who spent his days smoking in the bathroom with Taehyung instead of going to Calculus. They weren’t necessarily the school’s bad boys, but more so the school’s lost causes. Everyone was genuinely shocked when they graduated on time. Taehyung and Namjoon’s parents were friends, and you remembered Namjoon’s parents regularly commenting on Taehyung’s parents’ failure to properly parent their child. 

“Taehyung is wasted potential,” Namjoon had told you after his fight with Taehyung the summer before freshman year of college. “He likes to ruin other people’s successes to make himself feel better about not amounting to anything.” 

After Taehyung locked the apartment door behind him, he bent down to wrap an arm around your thighs and throw you over his shoulder. You squealed in shock, head reeling. 

“You’re gonna wake up my roommate,” he warned. Being carried upside down didn’t give you a great opportunity to take a good look around Taehyung’s apartment, but he wasn’t bringing you over to have you inspect his interior design skills. 

Kicking his bedroom door open, Taehyung threw you onto his bed. You watched as he began unbuttoning his shirt, tossing it to the floor once he’d gotten it off. 

“Strip,” he commanded offhandedly, his fingers trailing down to his jeans. The only sound in the room was your nervous breathing and Taehyung slowly pulling his zipper down. Pushing off his jeans, he kicked them off to the side along with his briefs. 

You still hadn’t moved and Taehyung quirked his eyebrow at you. “What did I say?” 

Hands still shaking, you began to undress yourself as you took in Taehyung’s naked body. You’d never seen a naked man in the flesh before nor had you ever been naked in front of one. 

“Like what you see?” Taehyung smirked, and you quickly looked away. He was practically devouring you with his eyes as he pumped himself once more. “You’re not on the pill, are you?” 

“No. I don’t have a reason to be.” You felt your face grow hot at how straightforward Taehyung was being about something so intimate. Yet you were sitting there, naked in his bed, so why were you so shocked? 

You watched him retrieve a condom and slip it on, mentally taking note of the process for the future. Then he climbed onto the bed and parted your knees with his. Taehyung grabbed your chin and pressed his lips against yours, his fingers finding your center to prod into it, making quick scissoring motions that had you gasping. 

“You’re going… too fast,” you rasped, knees squeezing against the outside of his thighs. 

“I thought you were going to be a good girl and take it?” Despite his challenging remark, Taehyung slowed down his fingers to a more comfortable pace. You whimpered beneath him, feeling the hot spring coiling in the pit of your stomach tighten like it had at the nightclub. But before you could reach your climax again, Taehyung removed his fingers from inside you. You let out a frustrated cry and then immediately felt horrified by the way you’d been clinging to Taehyung with need. Now that you were face to face, Taehyung had a perfect view of your face fluctuating between desire and guilt. 

“Y/N, don’t look so disappointed in yourself,” he cooed. He leaned down to nuzzle your neck, dipping his hot tongue into your collarbone. “Just think of it this way. Namjoon’s going to benefit from everything I can teach you.” 

That certainly didn’t make you feel better at all, but you had little time to mull over what Taehyung had said. Your thoughts were interrupted by the head of his cock circling your swollen clit. Taehyung swiped his cock back and forth, making your legs shake. 

“I want to hear you beg, baby girl. Tell me how much you need my cock.” 

You bit your tongue and stared up into Taehyung’s blown out pupils. Your brain still wanted to fight him, even in the position you were in. But your body was already gone. 

“Please,” you rasped, the desire to know everything Namjoon had kept from you taking over. “I need your cock, Taehyung.” 

“But how much?” He slipped the head of his cock inside of you and you moaned at the sudden pressure. 

“More than I should,” you panted. 

Taehyung smirked, satisfied with that answer. Slowly, he sunk his cock into your pussy, mindful of the way you tensed when the stretch of his cock seared into your tight muscles. 

“Fuck, Y/N.” A deep, guttural moan fell from his lips once he bottomed out and he could barely contain himself with your heat so tightly sucking him in. “You feel even better than I expected.” 

It took everything in Taehyung’s power to go slow, pulling out until only his head remained inside of you, before easing his way back in again. He maintained that pace with his hands pressed into the mattress on either side of your head and your legs wrapped around his waist. You cried out at the overwhelming feeling inside of you, every nerve in your body stimulated by the sensual pace. 

He let out a shaky breath in the crook of your neck as you squeezed around his cock. “Good girl. Do that again,” he groaned. 

You swelled at the praise, especially since you hadn’t meant to do anything at all; it’d been natural. You did as you were told and earned another shaky breath from Taehyung. He began to pick up the pace of his thrusting, hips snapping into yours with enough force to make your tits jiggle against his chest. 

Another moan erupted from you, though you tried to hold it in. 

“Don’t act like that. I wanna hear you.” Taehyung flicked his tongue against your earlobe as he growled into your ear. “Tell me how you feel.” 

“I’m gonna come again.” Again, you obeyed, though barely choking out a response. You thought you were on the verge of tears from how good you felt and the overwhelming tension building inside of you. 

“Good girl.” At your confession, Taehyung began thrusting into you even harder, the weight of his body as he pounded into you making the inside of your thighs sore. The consistent thrusts, combined with the drag of Taehyung’s pelvis on your clit, finally pushed you over the edge. You cried into his shoulder, nails digging into his back, as your muscles fluttered around him. 

You weren’t expecting the level of sensitivity you felt as Taehyung continued to thrust into you after you came, but it made you squirm. Maybe this was the part of sex girls didn’t like. It was almost too much for your senses to handle. 

Taehyung couldn’t believe Namjoon was willingly allowing himself to miss out on this. 

“God fucking damn,” Taehyung shuddered, slowly losing the tempo he’d set. He bit your shoulder and sucked your skin into his mouth so hard you yelped. Eventually, his body tensed, and you felt him twitch inside you. 

You closed your eyes, legs still shaking from the new sensations you’d experienced. You could understand why people were so sex-crazed. There wasn’t anything you’d felt like this before, not to mention the way your brain felt a dazed euphoria afterwards. 

That is, until the reality set in about what you’d just done. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” Taehyung kissed the hickey he’d sucked into your neck before lifting himself off of you to discard the condom. You’d known Taehyung since your freshman year of high school; his comment made you wonder if he’d longed for you for the entire six years you’d known each other. 

You sat up tenderly, grimacing as you moved your legs. You didn’t want to think about how you were going to feel in the morning. Physically, emotionally. 

Taehyung returned to his bedroom to find you with your bra and underwear on again. 

“You don’t waste any time, do you?” he mused, sitting down on the bed beside you. “A hit and run type of girl, huh?” 

“No! I mean, I don’t know.” How were you to know? You’d always heard that type of person was cruel with other people’s feelings. “I just don’t like being naked.” This was something new you’d learned about yourself. 

Clearly, Taehyung had no issue being naked. He leaned back in all his naked glory and watched you with amused eyes that were so different from the lust-filled smirks he’d given you all night. Maybe an orgasm made him less of a shithead. 

“Why do you hate Namjoon so much?” You’d blurted out the question and immediately regretted it. All amusement from Taehyung’s face melted into a dark look of irritation and you worried he might yell at you. 

“Namjoon is a liar and a manipulator,” Taehyung sneered. He stood up to put his briefs on and caught a quick glance of himself in the mirror to ruffle his hair back into a more put-together look. 

“No he’s not. Namjoon is the nicest-”

“You don’t know what I know,” Taehyung interrupted you. He tossed your shirt and skirt back to you and you appreciated that he made the effort to retrieve them for you, despite his rude accusations against your boyfriend. 

“And what do you know?” You pulled your shirt over your head. 

“He cheated. On everything.” Taehyung narrowed his eyes when you opened your mouth to protest, so you shut your lips very quickly. “Cheated on his homework, all his exams, even the fucking ACT to get into Harvard. Yet he acts like Mr. Perfect all the time.” 

“Why would I even believe you?” The more clothes you had on, the bolder you were getting, apparently. 

“Because me and Jungkook were the ones giving him all the answers.” 

Jungkook? You tilted your head to the side, but Taehyung beat you to your question. 

“My roommate. You know him. You had AP English with us.” Taehyung jabbed his thumb towards the wall which you assumed had Jungkook’s bedroom on the other side. “Namjoon would pay us for it. He was clever, I’ll give him that much. He knew no one would believe a pair of worthless pieces of shit like us if we tried to snitch.” 

You could hear the bitter hurt in Taehyung’s voice; against your better judgment, it tugged at your heartstrings. Why were you believing him? 

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Your fingers shook as you pulled on your skirt, eyes pleading with Taehyung to be lying. He had to be lying. 

“Did you know I got a full ride to Dartmouth?” 

You shook your head slowly. That definitely had to be a lie. Taehyung had been one of the worst students at your high school. At least, that’s what Namjoon had said. You never really interacted with Taehyung on a personal level.

“They rescinded my offer when our school notified them that I’d gotten suspended for getting into that fucking fight with your innocent Joonie when Jungkook said he was going to tell everyone about all the cheating,” Taehyung hissed. “I bet Namjoon didn’t tell you that.” 

Your head was spinning from the sudden narrative that fit nothing you’d heard from Namjoon. There was no way any of it was true. 

“How is it that Namjoon walked away from that without so much as a slap on the wrist even though he’d thrown the first punch? His fucking parents paid off the principal. Then they admitted it to my parents later, as an “apology” when they found out Dartmouth let me go.” 

You had gone to a rather expensive private school, so the idea that the administration was corrupt wasn’t that shocking. Still, it didn’t make any sense. Namjoon was so smart; he didn’t need other people to help him achieve anything. 

But there were parts of it that did make sense. It was mean the way Namjoon had a superiority complex, especially when directed at Taehyung who was supposed to be a family friend. And you were reminded of the fact that his first year of Harvard hadn’t been the greatest, but everyone blamed it on the new environment of college. Namjoon just needed time to adjust, right? And now that you thought about it, you remembered having multiple classes with Taehyung - and you were exclusively in APs and Honors. 

When you never responded, Taehyung got up with a sigh. He turned to his favorite way to relieve stress, aside from sex - weed. 

“Do you care?” he asked, lifting up the blunt he was rolling from atop his dresser. 

“No,” you finally spoke. 

Taehyung returned to sit on the bed next to you. He lifted the lighter to the blunt in his mouth, taking a few puffs to get the fire going. 

“You don’t have to believe me,” he said after a few hits. With the blunt pinched between his index finger and thumb, he handed it out to you. You stared at it for a moment, eventually taking it because why the fuck not? You were already screwed. 

“I just find it interesting how he’s always been so concerned about controlling your decisions when you don’t know anything about what he does when you’re not around. But that’s men, right? Can’t trust us.” Taehyung took the blunt from you after you hit it. 

His words made your stomach twist because he’d hit on something you’d never verbalized but had struggled with for a long time: why did Namjoon treat you like you were stupid? The way he treated Taehyung and how he treated you were beginning to feel a bit too similar.  

“You’re not very trustworthy either, are you?” The amused look was back in Taehyung’s face and he swiped his tongue along the inside of his cheek as he smirked. 

“Shut up,” you snapped. 

“Y’know, I thought about telling Namjoon about this.” 

You widened your eyes at Taehyung, the churning in your stomach flipping so badly you felt like you were going to throw up. 

“Taehyung… please…” 

“Don’t worry, baby girl. Your secret is safe with me.” Taehyung crossed his index finger against his chest in an “X”. “I decided I’d have more fun knowing what Namjoon doesn’t.” 

By some evil irony, your phone began vibrating on Taehyung’s nightstand. He took a look at the caller ID and the biggest grin spread across his face as he handed it to you. 

Incoming Call from Joonie💖

“Oh my god,” you whispered, staring up at Taehyung. He was sucking away on the blunt with a twinkle in his eyes, clearly enjoying your panic. 

You had no option but to answer. Apparently, Namjoon had texted you thirty times and had already called you four times. You’d just been too busy getting fucked to notice. 

“Hi Joonie,” you said with as perky of a voice as you could muster. 

“Babe! I was looking at your location, where the fuck are you? Why didn’t you answer me?” 

You slouched, chest caving in as Namjoon’s frustration seeped through the phone. You hated when he raised his voice at you. And of course you’d forgotten that he could see your location on his phone; he’d insisted that you turned on that feature when he went off to college. 

“I’m at my coworker’s. A group of us went out, but she wanted to go back home…” You avoided Taehyung’s gaze, though you knew he had his eyes on nothing but you. 

“Which coworker?” 

“You don’t know her…” You chewed on your lip and prayed Namjoon would let it go. 

But of course he wouldn’t. “Who?” 

“Jackie! She threw up and I’m helping her! I really need to go back to her, but I can call you in the morning, okay?” 

Namjoon was silent for a moment, and you knew you’d crossed a line. You were being pushy with him. Being too independent for your own good. 

“Fine. We will discuss this in the morning.” 

He hung up before you could say anything else. 

“This is all your fault.” You jabbed your finger into Taehyung’s chest, but all he did was grin. Ignoring him again, you frantically texted Jackie, trying to find a way to have her cover for you without bringing up the fact that you’d cheated on your boyfriend. 

“I don’t know why you put up with his shit,” Taehyung mumbled around the blunt and shrugged when you refused to answer him. He probably thought you were being difficult, but in reality you didn’t have an answer for him. Nothing that felt convincing anymore. 

“I need to go.” Your first attempt at standing up was a failure; your legs felt like jelly beneath you. That only added to Taehyung’s amusement, and his already inflated ego. Your second attempt was more successful, and you made your way to Taehyung’s front door without needing help. 

“Do you want me to drop you off?” 

“No,” you snapped. “I’m taking an Uber.” 

“Suit yourself.” Taehyung leaned his shoulder against the wall while you ordered the Uber on your phone. 

You went to open the door, but Taehyung reached out to gently grip your chin. He lifted it up and pressed his lips into yours. Sliding his hand from your chin to the back of your head, Taehyung deepened the kiss. His lips seared into yours, lighting a pulsing heat that spread throughout your body. 

“If you ever need a break from your perfect life with Kim Namjoon, you know where to find me.” And with that, he opened his front door for you to step out. 

You slid into the backseat of the Uber and watched the cityscape through the window, passing by much slower than it had when Taehyung was driving. Looking down, you unlocked your phone to clear out all the messages from Namjoon, too tired to look through whatever he’d had to say. But one message from an unknown number that was sent while you were still at Taehyung’s apartment caught your eye. 

Unknown [1:18] namjoon has no idea how good he’s got it

You stared at the message the entire ride home, and still didn’t know what to say by the time you’d collapsed in your bed. Finally deciding on something, you let out a nervous exhale and hit send. 

[1:34] Go to bed Taehyung

You hadn’t expected an immediate response, but you’d been granted one. 

Unknown [1:34] it would be a lot easier if you were with me 

If you were going to hell, you might as well go all out, right? 

[1:35] Come over then

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[vadersangel]

Skittles and Ghosts - Roman Godfrey x Reader - Chapter 2

Synopsis: A colorful happy go lucky girl comes to disrupt the life of the brooding school heart-throb Roman Godfrey. With her kindness and bluntness, she crept into his heart. But in the small town of Hemlock Grove, something eerie is about to happen; when Brooke Bluebell dies on school grounds, Roman, Peter and the new girl form an unlikely bond to unveil what really happened. A love story flourishes amidst the chaos raised by a vengeful ghost.

Genre: humor, fluff, smut (later chapters), horror, angst, enemies to lovers, slow burn.

Trigger Warnings: blood, drugs, alcohol, death, sex, foul language.

Previously on Skittles and Ghosts: Roman stepped up to defend his new acquaintance, in spite of how annoying her kind manners and colorful personality--and clothes--were to him.

CH 1, CH 2

Now: A trip to the mall and a party at Brooke Bluebell's house promise to add a bit more drama to the mix. What was supposed to be a fun night ends with a display of jealousy that leaves our protagonist very confused. Mixed signals much?

Word count: 3637

⊹ ₊  ⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡˚₊‧⁺ ₊ ⊹

READER’S POV

After so many years living in New York, I was extremely excited about the prospect of living in a small town. I had never really enjoyed large metropolitan areas: all that noise, the insane amount of people that roamed the streets, desperate, like a bunch of workaholic ants. To say it overwhelmed me would barely scratch the surface. So when my parents came up to me to give me the news��that we would be moving to Hemlock Grove because my father had been hired by a certain Godfrey Institute–I was ecstatic. No one would have packed their belongings faster than I did. My whole life went in a few boxes, and I was ready to go. The many friends I had gathered through the years would remain my friends no matter what. We could always visit, text, call…

A strong feeling of recognition came over me as soon as we entered the city limits of Hemlock Grove. Every turn of every street, every house and every tree seemed oddly known to me. I felt a strange tingling in my chest, as if my heart was being tickled, and I had the biggest smile on my face when our car parked in front of our new home.

After a week, and many boxes unpacked, my classes started.

The sun and the heat caressed my skin when I got out of my dad’s car, bidding him goodbye. Summer was my favorite season, and even though it was about to end, I could still relish in the heat for a few more days before the Pennsylvanian skies turned grey.

Nothing about that day could have hinted at the punch in the gut I would feel when I saw the lanky, tall boy I would later find out was Roman Godfrey, the heir to the Godfrey Institute. His ridiculously green eyes were glued to me with what I could only describe as utter despair, as if I were about to sprout wings and fly all the while singing opera or something. His expression was so real, so raw, that I couldn’t help but to smile, which seemed to throw him off a little. At that moment I made up my mind, I had to get to know him.

Lucky for me, I was placed in the same class as him. And to double my luck, the teacher pointed me to a seat by his side. When I sat down and looked at him, it looked like his brain was glitching; I could swear I saw his eye twitch. Once again, I smiled.

It wasn’t really necessary to be a rocket scientist to realize my sole existence was a nuisance for him. Something about me seemed too outrageous for him. Maybe it was the fact that I was too cheerful, too colorful for his taste. Still, I found his annoyance extremely entertaining. I couldn’t get enough of it.

I wasn’t expecting him to step up in my defense when Ryan started to bully me. I was so irritated, crying in anger as usual, that I didn’t notice Roman’s presence until he literally barked at the bully in front of me and crossed the distance between us inhumanly fast. The series of events that unfolded in front of me got me confused to say the least. I questioned myself about the reasons why that boy was complying to Roman’s demands, considering it probably had something to do with the fact that the Godfreys practically owned the town. Soon enough, Ryan and his friends were gone and Roman turned to face me. That was when I noticed the dark streak of thick blood trickling from his nose. Before my thoughts could even fully form–before I could even process the fact that he would probably be extremely pissed off at me for invading his personal space–I had already reached for my handkerchief in my purse and was pressing it against his nose. My voice came out as a strangled, desperate squeal because I hated blood, and I idiotically pointed out the obvious: “You’re bleeding!” 

I thought I was going to faint, but thankfully I didn’t.

Roman rolled his eyes, but for some reason, he allowed me to try and help him. He tilted his head back, trying to keep the blood from flowing even more profusely. Eventually, he took my pocket square, eliminating the need for me to keep my hand up, pressing against his nose. 

The whole thing lasted less than a minute, but the seconds seemed to drag on unbearably. Finally, he managed to stop the bleeding.

Tucking my handkerchief into his pocket, he frowned at me. It seemed like he was about to say something, but the words died before leaving his lips. He shook his head, scowled, and swept past me like a gust of wind.

For the next three days, he was nowhere to be seen.

-*-

Peter sat across from me at the cafeteria, tearing at his napkin, his lunch left untouched. He was an outcast and being his friend granted me the same status–or lack thereof.

“Is he always like that… I mean, quiet? Intense?” My brows furrowed, and the words came out low, hesitant.

Peter shrugged and grinned at me before finally speaking in his slurred voice, his eyes scanning me as if trying to gauge the extent of my interest in Roman. “Nah… He relaxes a bit once he feels comfortable.”

A pause, no longer than five seconds took place, before he continued: “When we first met, he asked me if I worshipped the devil.”

“Do you?” My eyes widened in surprise. I wasn’t one to judge people’s religion or spiritual beliefs, but the idea of Peter being a satanist took me off guard.

“What do you think?” He chuckled, playfully throwing a napkin ball at me, and I kicked his shins under the table.

Suddenly, the cafeteria exploded with whispers and giggles. If it wasn’t already pretty obvious who had just graced us with his presence, the recognition in Peter’s eyes would have given it away. I glanced back and Roman was walking towards our table in long determined strides. He sat by my side, taking me by surprise with the sudden proximity. His eyes locked in mine, knocking the air out of my lungs.

He handed me my handkerchief. It was clean. Not a trace of his blood. I couldn’t help the smile that formed in my lips. I thought he would have thrown it away in the trash somewhere, but he was kind enough to wash it and return it to me. My heart was warm. I felt for a second that maybe we were moving towards becoming friends. But he rolled his eyes and groaned, averting his gaze and looking at Peter, who scoffed in return. One step forward, two steps back, I guess…

⊹ ₊  ⁺‧₊˚ ♡

ROMAN’S POV:

At that point, I was absolutely certain that Peter had set his mind on screwing me over! Hades’ headache had invited us to go shopping with her. I was about to give her a piece of my mind when the motherfucking traitor said yes. My jaw clenched, but then I looked at her, and she had those huge eyes filled with hope–or whatever that was–and I just obliged. Even though I tried to tell them that the Jag was only able to comfortably accommodate two people, neither of them seemed to care about the laws—which, quite frankly, made sense since Olivia would definitely be able to bribe me out of anything anyway.

So now I was driving the three of us to the mall. I have apparently been reduced to their personal chauffeur. The two wouldn’t shut their fucking mouths, for crying out loud, and she was talking about dinosaurs again.

“Roman, did you know that the Tyrannosaurus rex had a bite force of about 8,000 pounds per square inch?” She said, almost draping herself over Peter who sat between us. The space was too small for us and, since the roof was up, her flowery scent filled the car like a sucker punch. My eyes darted at her briefly before I focused back on the road.

“Crucial information, huh?” I mocked, but it went over her head completely.

“Right? It’s stronger than any living land animal today!” She continued with a smile on her face.

-*-

“You don’t have to be so mean, you know?” Peter said absentmindedly when his new friend went into the fitting room. I couldn’t help but groan in annoyance at his audacity.

“Mean? Are you fucking kidding me? You made me drive you and the pack of Skittles all the way here! For fucks sake!”

Peter proceeded to pick up a pink blouse with cherry print, holding it up directly in front of my face, as he asked, “You think she’ll like this one?”

I frowned deeply, debating whether I should punch his face or just leave.

That was when I heard her birdlike voice coming from behind my back, “What do you think?” 

She was not talking to me or Peter; she was asking the saleswoman for her opinion.

Peter turned to face her, and if it hadn't been for him nudging me to look, I wouldn't have turned around. It was more of an instinct than interest, but the sight caught me completely off guard. She was in a summery white dress, nearly see-through. My eyes widened and my mouth fell agape at the unexpectedness of her attire choice. The rate of my heartbeats increased more than I would ever care to admit to anyone–not even myself. I felt the urge to cover her with my jacket and send her back into the fitting room, but I just couldn’t move, or breathe for that matter.

“I knew it!” Peter’s smug face broke me out of my trance and I scowled at him.

“Fuck off!” I retorted, not bothering to ask him what he meant; I knew what he meant.

“I was thinking of something more colorful, you know?” She said to the saleswoman, who pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, apparently considering whether she had other colors in stock. My eyes scanned the store quickly and I spotted a red summer dress with a tiny floral pattern. In long strides, before the saleswoman could even begin to move to check the stock, I went to grab it and I handed it to Skittles. I desperately needed her out of that see-through suggestive dress–in more ways than one!

“Is this colorful enough?” I asked in a monotone, trying to convey my annoyance and to focus on not letting my eyes wander over her body.

She smiled brightly, “Now that will do! Thanks, Rome!”

I flinched at the nickname.

-*-

“So, I’m the pack of Skittles, huh?” She called me out while licking her strawberry ice cream cone–of course, it had to be strawberry! “I like it… Skittles… Sounds cute.”

My eyes rolled as I took a spoonful of my pistachio ice cream, ignoring her. However, against my will, my gaze kept drifting to her lips, to the way her tongue flicked over the ice cream cone–how she slowly gathered every drop of melting cream, making sure none of it went to waste. I wondered whether she was doing that on purpose; first the see-through dress, now the obscene way in which she was eating the dessert. I felt my throat dry up.

Peter, on the other hand, seemed unaffected, all jokes and smiles…

“Rome, I’m not mad that you called me Skittles. You don’t have to look so serious!” That playfulness plastered all over her face couldn’t be innocent. She knew damn well what she was doing. Her lips wrapped around the cone.

That nickname was going to stick.

⊹ ₊  ⁺‧₊˚ ♡

READER’S POV:

His eyes darkened visibly, his pupils dilating so much that only a thin green rim of his irises could be seen. It was hard to pinpoint whether his reaction was motivated by anger or something else entirely. I knew I was blushing because I felt my cheeks heat up. Chewing nervously on my bottom lip, I tried to look away, averting my gaze to Peter who seemed relaxed–far away from my inner turmoil. 

“I’m not serious… I’m just not a psycho who smiles all the time.” Roman finally spoke, breaking the silence and forcing me to look back at him. His eyes were narrowed in contempt as he seemed to be trying to dissect my face.

“Anyway…” I began, clearing my throat and biting into the waffle cone of my ice cream before continuing, “Are you guys planning on going to Brooke’s party tonight?”

Roman frowned in confusion for a brief moment before realization seemed to hit him. He sounded utterly annoyed when he finally spoke, “Are you?”

“I’m not sure… This girl, Angela, has been really friendly to me and wants me to come. And Brooke personally invited me, so… yeah, I guess so? I mean, I can’t have just the two of you as my only friends. As helpful as you are in finding cute dresses, Ro, you’re not a girl.” I winked playfully.

It was hilarious how every time I spoke, he looked at me with that annoyed expression--like he was on the verge of having a stroke or something. I bit back a laugh.

Roman huffed. “Damn right I ain’t.”

“Yeah, we’re definitely coming to Brooke’s!” Peter touched Roman’s shoulder, squeezing it slightly as he spoke in a teasing tone, a sly smile on his face.

“Great” I said, smiling at them. It was cool to know that the two people I was closer with would be at the party. Even if Roman was not exactly my biggest fan, it meant a lot to me that he had come in my defense when I needed it. In a way, he made me feel safe.

-*-

At the last minute, Peter texted me saying he wouldn’t be able to make it to the party. Naturally, I thought Roman wouldn’t be there either, so it was a pleasant surprise when I arrived at Brooke’s house and spotted him leaning against the kitchen island. I was well aware of how handsome he looked, but at that moment it hit differently. His clothes were nothing special, just black jeans, black boots and a black t-shirt–still he looked like he had just stepped out of a magazine cover. I tried to suppress the butterfly that started flapping its wings in my throat, threatening to fly down to my stomach. I wanted to greet Broke and Angela, but they were nowhere to be seen. When my gaze turned back to Roman, he was looking at me. Again, it seemed as if his brain was glitching, and I had to smile. He chugged his beer and looked away, seemingly hoping I would just leave him alone. I nearly kicked my feet at how cute he looked with that frustrated expression as I made my way toward him. He could have stood up and walked away, but the fact that he stayed put and waited for me had to mean something.

“Hello, stranger!” I said with the brightest smile.

“No…” He rolled his eyes at me.

“Moody?” My nose wrinkled playfully and I took his beer from his hand, our fingers brushing in the process. I took a sip of the beer and my face immediately contorted–it was too bitter for me.

“I was fine before you showed up…” He said in his sing-song, sarcastic tone, as he took his beer back, finishing it.

A girl named Hannah from my biology class draped her arm over Roman's neck, and his attention turned to her completely. Now, I may be clueless most of the time, but I know when I’m third wheeling. So, I just rolled my eyes and walked away discreetly. The acid in my stomach began to churn as I tried to convince myself it was merely the result of the beer I had just drunk.

I went to sit on the couch.

I tried to focus on anything else: the music, the lights, other people’s conversations. However, my eyes kept darting to Roman and Hannah. He was sitting at the kitchen island stool, and the girl was standing between his legs. He had one of his huge hands tangled in her hair and the other sprawled at the small of her back, pulling her flush against him. Their mouths connected in a heated kiss. I was unsure whether I was envious, jealous, or both. Hannah began to kiss Roman’s neck and at that moment, his eyes fluttered open and he stared directly at me–it knocked the air out of my lungs. 

I was in a trance, shamelessly staring, when a guy entered my field of vision, blocking the way between me and the scene I had been watching so intently.

“Hi!” He greeted. He had big brown eyes and fluffy brown hair. “I’m Ethan… I don’t think we have been properly introduced yet. We have chemistry together.”

His tone made it clear that he was aiming for a double entendre. Ethan was one of the cutest guys at school, and I could have been interested in him if Roman Godfrey hadn’t managed to sweep my heart away already. I smiled politely at him and we exchanged a few words for about five minutes. Then I managed to look over Ethan’s shoulder and I couldn’t spot Roman anywhere. My heart sank. 

I looked at the boy whom I had been talking to, excused myself, and went straight to the bathroom to freshen up. I needed to get a grip. I made my way through the small crowd, finally finding the bathroom that was empty by some miracle. Upon entering it, I stared at myself in the mirror and my face was a deep shade of red. I turned on the faucet, letting the cold water run over my hands before using them to splash the back of my neck. That was when I heard some particularly strange noises coming through the bathroom window that overlooked the back of the house. It didn’t take long for me to realize that those were the noises of two people going at it. It also didn’t take long for me to know that it was Roman and Hannah. It would be a lie to say that anger didn’t begin to rise within me, especially when I heard the girl saying his name in that sultry, suggestive voice. 

But I knew I didn’t have the right to call dibs on a guy I had just met. It was unreasonable. Roman had made it pretty clear that I was a bother to him at every turn; I couldn’t expect him to be all over me the second I showed up in a dress just because he had chosen it for me. I wouldn’t let this minor inconvenience throw me off either. I would enjoy the party and I would come back stronger with a better plan to snatch him. Besides, Ethan was a cute distraction. I could use a small distraction and take the time to bond with other people. Just a small detour.

I went back to the living room and I continued to chat with Ethan. After a while, Brooke and Angela joined us and we decided to play beer pong at the yard. Now, Ethan was my beer pong partner and we were playing against Brooke and Angela.

Some guys came over to ask if they could throw themselves in the pool. To which Broke made a clear statement that no one was allowed in it–The pool had just been cleaned, and it was necessary to first check the chlorine levels to ensure safe swimming parameters before anyone could enter.

“Thank God you’re letting us know it beforehand. I was just about to jump in, but I am sensitive to chlorine!” Ethan said playfully and thankful that he hadn’t thrown himself in the pool.

I looked around in search of Roman, and to my surprise, he was sitting just a few steps from the ping-pong table, with Hannah and two other guys, smoking a joint. He was paying attention to our conversation, his eyes darting from me to Ethan.

We all continued playing beer pong. I was having fun with my new friends and trying to ignore the pull that Roman had over me, the all consuming desire to glance at him every once in a while. Ethan and I won and we hugged and he said that he was going to the kitchen to fetch us some fancy drinks. I waited there with Brooke and Angela who wanted a do-over, unhappy with the defeat.

Roman disappeared again. Not with Hannah this time, because she was still there smoking and drinking with the other guys. I scanned everywhere searching for him. From the yard, it was possible to see the kitchen through the enormous windows. That was where I spotted Roman leaned in to speak into Ethan’s ear, whose brown eyes seemed strangely empty, as if he were caught in the midst of a sleepwalking episode. The guy then walked out of the kitchen with our drinks, handed them to me without even acknowledging my presence, and headed straight for the pool—even though he had just mentioned his chlorine allergy. My jaw dropped, my face twisting in disbelief.

As the chaos erupted, with Brooke rushing over to scold Ethan for jumping in the pool after she explicitly told everyone not to, I turned to glance at Roman.

He was standing there in the kitchen, blood dripping from his nose, a devilish grin spread across his face.

I rushed to help Ethan out of the pool.

When I looked back toward the kitchen, Roman was gone.

[saebyeokbliss]

THE TREE

pairing: kang sae-byeok x fem!lawyer!reader

synopsis: when you come back to seoul from the states, you ask your younger sister ji-yeong if you could crash for a few days. however, her roommate is seemingly reluctant and only agrees to letting you stay for a week. you agree to do so and stay for the meantime while you help a north korean couple fight to stay in the south.

warnings: angst, slow burn, emotional themes, legal drama, mentions of north korean defection, doomed yuri, discussions of deportation, stress and exhaustion, mild language, mutual pining, reader is 2 years older than ji-yeong and sae-byeok

The morning air was crisp, the kind that nipped at exposed skin but wasn’t quite enough to be unbearable. Kang Sae-byeok pulled Cheol’s scarf up higher around his chin, adjusting it as they walked toward the small private school he attended. Ji-yeong strolled beside them, hands stuffed into the pockets of her oversized hoodie, her usual smirk barely present.

"You're wrapping him up like he's going to war, not school," Ji-yeong teased, nudging Sae-byeok with her elbow.

Sae-byeok rolled her eyes but didn’t respond, instead tightening her grip on Cheol’s tiny hand. He looked between the two girls, oblivious to the conversation but content in their presence.

As they turned the corner, the school came into view—a modest building with a neat little yard where other kids were being dropped off. Sae-byeok stopped at the entrance, crouching down to meet Cheol’s eyes.

"Be good today, alright? If anyone gives you trouble—"

"I tell the teacher first," Cheol recited dutifully. "And if that doesn’t work, I tell you."

Sae-byeok ruffled his hair, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Good boy."

Cheol beamed before running toward the schoolyard, his small backpack bouncing with each step. Sae-byeok watched until he disappeared inside, only then allowing herself to exhale.

Ji-yeong rocked back on her heels. "So, uh, speaking of kids," she started, voice casual in a way that immediately made Sae-byeok suspicious.

"Don’t," Sae-byeok warned.

Ji-yeong grinned. "You don’t even know what I’m gonna say."

"I can hear it in your voice. It’s something annoying."

Ji-yeong sucked in a dramatic breath. "Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all—"

"Ji-yeong."

"—my sister needs a place to crash for a week."

Sae-byeok’s face immediately hardened. "No."

Ji-yeong pouted. "You don’t even know her."

"Exactly."

Ji-yeong groaned, throwing her head back. "She’s only two years older than me, she’s a lawyer, and she’s working on some big case in Seoul. She just needs a place to stay while she’s here."

Sae-byeok shook her head, already walking away. "I said no."

Ji-yeong jogged to catch up. "Sae-byeok, come on. She’s not some creep. She’s my sister."

"That doesn’t mean anything."

"You let me stay at your place."

"That’s different."

"How?"

Sae-byeok stopped, turning to face Ji-yeong with an exasperated look. "Because I know you. I don’t know her. And Cheol—" She hesitated. "I can’t have strangers around him."

Ji-yeong’s expression softened. "She’s not a stranger to me. And I wouldn’t bring her up if I thought she was dangerous."

Sae-byeok crossed her arms, jaw tight. She hated new people. She hated disruptions. But most of all, she hated putting Cheol in any situation where he might not be safe.

"It’s just a week," Ji-yeong pressed. "Seven days. She’s barely gonna be there anyway, she’ll be working all the time."

Sae-byeok exhaled sharply through her nose. "If she oversteps, she’s out."

Ji-yeong grinned. "Deal."

Sae-byeok clicked her tongue, already regretting it.

She had a bad feeling about this.

And she was rarely wrong.

The flight from the States to Korea was long and exhausting, but stepping into Seoul’s crisp evening air felt oddly refreshing. It had been years since you’d been back—too long, really—but work had finally brought you home, even if only for a week.

Dragging your suitcase behind you, you punched in the address Ji-yeong had given you into your phone. The apartment wasn’t too far, just a short cab ride away.

As you stood outside the modest building, you took a deep breath before knocking.

The door swung open almost immediately.

"About time," Ji-yeong greeted, her grin wide as she pulled you into a tight hug.

You laughed, squeezing her back. "Missed you too, Ji."

"Yeah, yeah," she said, pulling away and ushering you inside. "Come in before Sae-byeok starts regretting this."

You stepped in cautiously, eyes scanning the small but cozy apartment. It was clean, minimal, clearly lived in but not cluttered. And then, standing stiffly by the kitchen counter, was the infamous Kang Sae-byeok.

You knew of her, of course. Ji-yeong talked about her all the time—their friendship, their shared struggles, and most importantly, the little brother Sae-byeok was raising. Cheol. You’d heard so much about him that it almost felt like you already knew him.

Sae-byeok, however, looked far less thrilled to meet you.

"Hi," you greeted, offering a polite smile.

She gave a curt nod. "Rules are simple. Don’t touch anything, don’t bother Cheol, and don’t stay longer than a week."

Ji-yeong groaned. "Jesus, Sae-byeok. Can you at least pretend to be a decent host?"

"It’s fine," you reassured, not at all offended. You understood her protectiveness. "I’ll stay out of the way."

Sae-byeok didn’t respond, just gave you one last assessing glance before disappearing into the hallway.

Ji-yeong sighed. "She’ll warm up. Eventually."

You weren’t so sure about that.

A few hours later, after settling in and getting some work done at the small dining table, the front door opened again.

You glanced up just as a small boy stepped inside, his tiny frame bundled up in a thick scarf.

Cheol.

His eyes widened slightly at the sight of you, and he immediately pressed himself against Sae-byeok’s side, gripping the hem of her jacket.

You smiled gently. "You must be Cheol."

He didn’t respond, just peeked up at Sae-byeok, who shot you a warning glance before ruffling his hair.

"This is Ji-yeong’s sister," she told him. "She’s staying for a little bit."

Cheol stayed quiet, still clutching onto his sister like she was his lifeline.

You didn’t push. Instead, you returned your attention to your paperwork, flipping through the legal documents sprawled across the table.

A few minutes passed before you noticed a small presence beside you.

Glancing down, you found Cheol standing near your chair, eyes locked onto the colorful pens you had scattered across the table.

"You like these?" you asked, picking up a bright blue one and twirling it between your fingers.

Cheol hesitated before nodding.

You uncapped the pen and handed it to him. "You can try it if you want."

His small fingers closed around it, and he quickly grabbed a scrap piece of paper from the pile, drawing a few wobbly lines.

Ji-yeong whistled. "Damn, that was fast. He likes you already."

Sae-byeok, who had been putting away Cheol’s backpack, turned at Ji-yeong’s comment.

Her eyes landed on the sight before her—Cheol, sitting beside you, completely at ease, scribbling on paper with one of your colorful pens while you watched with amusement.

Her jaw tightened.

Without a word, she grabbed her coat and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Ji-yeong asked.

"Dinner," Sae-byeok muttered, yanking the door open and stepping out before anyone could say anything else.

You barely noticed, too focused on Cheol’s enthusiastic scribbling.

But Ji-yeong did.

And she smirked.

Dinner had been quiet. At least, for the most part. Ji-yeong had done most of the talking, cracking jokes and trying to lighten the mood, while Cheol had happily eaten beside her, occasionally showing you his doodles from earlier.

Sae-byeok, however, had remained mostly silent, her usual sharp gaze flickering between you and Cheol with something unreadable.

Now, with the dishes cleaned and the apartment settling into a comfortable quiet, you stood by the main window, stretching after a long day.

That’s when you noticed it.

The tree.

It was massive, its thick branches stretching close enough to the window that it almost felt like an invitation. The night sky beyond it was clear, stars scattered across the darkness like tiny glowing freckles.

Before you could think twice, you were already climbing out.

The cool breeze greeted you as you carefully maneuvered onto one of the sturdier branches, settling down with your back against the trunk. The view was beautiful—Seoul’s city lights twinkling in the distance, the moon casting a soft glow over everything.

You exhaled, letting the moment sink in.

And then—

"What the hell do you think you’re doing?"

You turned your head just as Sae-byeok leaned out of the window, her expression a mix of disbelief and irritation.

"Uh… enjoying the night?" you offered, lips twitching.

Sae-byeok let out a sharp breath before climbing out after you, moving with the practiced ease of someone who had probably done this a hundred times before.

"You can’t just climb out onto random trees like this," she scolded, settling onto the branch beside you but keeping a firm grip on the trunk. "What if you fall?"

You chuckled, shaking your head. "It’s funny."

Sae-byeok narrowed her eyes. "What is?"

"That you’re scolding me like I’m a reckless kid," you mused, tilting your head toward her. "You do know I’m two years older than you, right?"

Sae-byeok scoffed. "You sure don’t act like it."

You laughed at that, and for the first time, Sae-byeok didn’t immediately look like she wanted to strangle you.

Deciding to shift the conversation, you leaned back a little. "Ji-yeong talks about you a lot, you know."

Sae-byeok tensed slightly. "Does she?"

"Mhm," you hummed. "She really admires you."

Sae-byeok looked away, gaze fixed on the distant skyline. "She talks too much."

You smiled. "I think it’s sweet. You two seem close."

Sae-byeok didn’t respond right away, but her expression softened just a fraction.

You took the chance to ask, "What about you? What do you do when you’re not... glaring at new people in your apartment?"

Sae-byeok shot you a look, but there was no real heat behind it. "I work. I take care of Cheol. That’s all."

"That’s a lot," you pointed out. "He’s a good kid."

Sae-byeok’s lips pressed together, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. "Yeah. He is."

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the city buzzing softly in the distance, the wind rustling through the tree.

Eventually, Sae-byeok sighed. "Just… don’t do dumb shit like this again."

You grinned. "No promises."

She groaned, rubbing her temple. "You’re worse than Ji-yeong."

"I’ll take that as a compliment," you teased.

Sae-byeok clicked her tongue in annoyance, but she didn’t move from her spot beside you.

And that, you figured, was a small victory.

The older adults' home was modest, tucked into a quieter part of Seoul, far from the relentless buzz of the city. The air smelled faintly of brewed barley tea, and the walls were lined with faded pictures—fragments of lives lived before they had ever set foot in South Korea.

You walked in with your briefcase in one hand and a notepad in the other, your heels clicking softly against the floor. The director of the home, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and a kind smile, had called earlier, asking if you could come as soon as possible.

Two of their residents—an elderly couple—were in trouble.

You were led into a small sitting room where the pair was waiting.

The man, Mr. Choi, was thin, his frame slightly hunched with age, but his eyes were sharp. His wife, Mrs. Choi, sat beside him, her hands wringing together in her lap, her face lined with decades of worry.

As soon as you introduced yourself, they bowed deeply, desperation evident in the way they clung to formality.

"Please," Mrs. Choi said, her voice trembling. "We don’t know who else to turn to."

You offered a reassuring smile and took a seat across from them, flipping open your notepad. "Tell me everything. Start from the beginning."

Mr. Choi cleared his throat, his fingers tightening around his wife’s. "We defected from the North twenty-two years ago. It was… difficult, but we made it. We were granted automatic citizenship like all defectors."

You nodded. "Right. Under South Korean law, all North Korean defectors are recognized as South Korean citizens the moment they arrive."

"Yes," he confirmed. "But we—" He hesitated, his jaw clenching before he forced himself to continue. "We made a mistake. A bureaucratic one, but a mistake nonetheless."

Mrs. Choi took over, her voice hushed as if saying it out loud would make it worse. "When we first arrived, we were afraid. We didn’t trust anyone, not even the government. So when we were told to register for our new identification cards, we… we paid someone to do it for us."

That made you pause, your pen hovering over the notepad.

"You paid someone?" you echoed carefully.

Mr. Choi exhaled sharply. "A broker. He told us he would handle everything quickly, make sure our records were clean. We were naive. We thought we were protecting ourselves."

You resisted the urge to sigh. "And now?"

"Now," Mrs. Choi whispered, "we’ve been told that our citizenship is under review. The government flagged our paperwork as fraudulent, and they are considering revoking it."

Your grip tightened around your pen. If their citizenship was revoked, that meant—

"They’re trying to deport you," you realized.

Mr. Choi gave a stiff nod. "Back to China. Not even the North. If that happens—"

"They’ll send us back," Mrs. Choi finished, her voice cracking. "And if they do, we’ll be executed."

The weight of their words settled over the room like a thick fog.

You had handled difficult cases before, but this? This was life or death.

You took a slow breath and closed your notepad, looking them both in the eye.

"I won’t let that happen," you said firmly. "I’ll do everything I can to fix this."

Mrs. Choi let out a soft sob, covering her mouth as tears welled up in her eyes. Mr. Choi bowed his head, his shoulders shaking.

"Thank you," he murmured. "Thank you."

You weren’t sure if you deserved their gratitude just yet.

But you knew one thing for certain: you weren’t going to fail them.

The weight of the case pressed down on you like an unbearable force, settling deep into your bones.

Days had passed, filled with phone calls, legal research, and endless meetings. The Choi couple’s fate balanced on a knife’s edge, and despite your best efforts, the government's review process was painfully slow. Every possible solution led to another obstacle, and it was exhausting.

You hadn’t realized how much it was taking out of you until tonight.

The apartment was quiet—Ji-yeong was asleep, and Cheol had long since gone to bed. You hadn’t seen much of Sae-byeok today, but you figured she was around, watching as always.

Slipping out through the window, you climbed onto the tree, settling into what had become your spot. The cool night breeze brushed against your skin as you leaned against the sturdy trunk, staring at the sky.

Your mind raced with possibilities. What if you couldn’t fix this? What if you lost the case? What if—

The sound of someone climbing out onto the branch startled you from your thoughts.

You turned your head just as Sae-byeok eased herself onto the tree, sitting beside you with practiced ease.

"You’ve been doing this a lot," she noted, her voice quieter than usual.

You huffed out a tired laugh. "Guess I have."

She studied you for a moment, arms resting on her knees. "You seem less… cheery than usual."

You exhaled slowly, running a hand through your hair. "It’s the case," you admitted. "It’s a tough one."

Sae-byeok didn’t say anything right away, waiting for you to continue.

You hesitated before explaining, keeping it brief. "An elderly couple—North Korean defectors. They made a mistake years ago when filing their paperwork, and now the government wants to revoke their citizenship. If that happens, they’ll be deported to China, and then sent back to the North."

Sae-byeok’s expression darkened. "And if they go back to the North…"

"They won’t survive."

Silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken understanding.

Finally, Sae-byeok sighed, leaning back against the trunk. "I don’t know you very well," she admitted. "But I can tell you’re a hard worker."

You blinked, turning your head to look at her.

She continued, voice steady. "You wouldn’t have taken the case if you didn’t think you could win. And even if it’s difficult, I can tell you’re the kind of person who doesn’t give up easily."

Something warm settled in your chest.

Most people reassured you with empty words—"It’ll work out," or "Things happen for a reason." But Sae-byeok? She wasn’t sugarcoating anything. She was recognizing your effort, your ability to fight through the exhaustion.

And somehow, that meant more than anything else.

You smiled, looking back up at the stars. "You know, in the States, you don’t see the stars like this."

Sae-byeok glanced up, following your gaze. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you murmured. "Too much light pollution. But here, you can still see them, even in the city."

Sae-byeok hummed in acknowledgment, her gaze lingering on the sky.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The night air was cool, the stars distant but unwavering.

Even though you only had four days left with them, Sae-byeok didn’t seem as indifferent to you anymore.

And that? That was enough for now.

The courtroom was tense, the air thick with anticipation. You sat at the plaintiff’s table, your hands clasped together as you listened to the government’s final argument. They spoke in formal, detached tones, stating that the Choi couple’s initial documentation contained fraudulent elements, and therefore, their citizenship was not legally binding.

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to remain composed.

It had been a brutal legal battle. You had spent the past few days gathering every piece of evidence, every precedent, every argument you could possibly use. You had pored over immigration law, defectors’ rights, and testimonies from other North Korean refugees who had gone through similar bureaucratic nightmares.

And now, this was it.

The judge turned to you. "Counselor, your closing argument?"

You stood, smoothing down your blazer as you stepped forward.

"Your Honor, my clients, Mr. and Mrs. Choi, have spent the last twenty-two years as lawful, contributing citizens of South Korea. They have built a life here—a life of hard work and quiet resilience."

You turned to the courtroom, making sure to meet the judge's gaze.

"Yes, they made a mistake in trusting the wrong person to handle their paperwork when they first arrived. But does that mistake erase the decades they have spent as South Korean citizens? Does it justify sending them back to a country where they will face certain persecution, imprisonment, or worse?

South Korea recognizes all North Korean defectors as its own. It has done so for decades. To revoke their citizenship now over a clerical error—one made in fear and desperation—is not just a legal misstep. It is a moral failure.

I urge the court to remember that the law is not just about technicalities—it is about justice. And justice demands that Mr. and Mrs. Choi be allowed to stay in the only home they have known for the past two decades."

Silence.

The judge studied you carefully before nodding. "I will return shortly with my decision."

The minutes that followed felt like hours.

Mr. and Mrs. Choi sat beside you, their hands trembling slightly. You could feel their fear, their exhaustion. You wanted to tell them it would be okay, but until the ruling was official, you couldn’t make promises.

Then, the judge returned.

After a moment of shuffling papers, they spoke.

"The court finds in favor of the plaintiffs. The motion to revoke Mr. and Mrs. Choi’s citizenship is hereby dismissed. They will remain South Korean citizens, with full rights and protections under the law."

A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding finally escaped.

Beside you, Mrs. Choi let out a broken sob, covering her mouth with her hands. Mr. Choi bowed his head deeply, his shoulders shaking.

"Thank you," he whispered, voice hoarse with emotion. "Thank you, Miss [Last Name]."

You smiled, relief washing over you like a wave. "You don’t have to thank me," you said softly. "This is your home. No one should be able to take that away from you."

As you shook their hands and gathered your things, the weight that had been crushing you for days finally lifted.

You had done it.

They were safe.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you could finally breathe again.

The apartment was quiet when you returned, the adrenaline of the courtroom victory still thrumming in your veins. You had done it. Mr. and Mrs. Choi were safe, their citizenship secured. It felt good—like all the stress, the exhaustion, the sleepless nights had been worth it.

But now that the fight was over, you found yourself seeking the one place that had become your quiet retreat.

The tree.

Slipping out through the window, you climbed onto the branch with practiced ease, settling into your usual spot. The sky stretched vast above you, stars glinting like scattered fragments of glass. You exhaled, letting the moment sink in, letting yourself be.

The sound of rustling behind you made you glance back.

But instead of Sae-byeok, it was Ji-yeong who climbed out, her movements casual as she plopped down beside you.

"Didn’t peg you for the sentimental type," she teased, nudging your arm.

You chuckled. "Guess I just like the view."

Ji-yeong hummed, swinging her legs slightly. "You’re in a good mood."

"I won," you admitted, unable to hide the satisfaction in your voice. "The Chois get to stay."

Ji-yeong grinned. "Knew you would."

For a moment, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, watching the city lights flicker in the distance. Then, Ji-yeong spoke again, her tone more thoughtful.

"You know," she mused, "Sae-byeok learned how you take your coffee."

You blinked, turning to her. "What?"

She smirked. "Yeah. Black with just a little sugar. She made a face when she saw it, said it was weird, but she still made sure it was right every time."

You stared at her, surprised. "I… didn’t even notice."

Ji-yeong shrugged. "She also remembers that you always leave your shoes by the door but never actually put them on right away. That you hum when you’re reading something important. That you always check on Cheol before bed, even though you think no one sees you."

Your heart skipped, warmth creeping into your chest.

"She doesn’t say much," Ji-yeong continued, resting her chin on her knee, "but she notices things. And I think she’s noticed you more than she wants to admit."

You swallowed, glancing back up at the stars. "Well… it doesn’t really matter, does it?"

Ji-yeong frowned. "What do you mean?"

You sighed, a sad smile tugging at your lips. "The case is over. That means I only have three days left before I go back to the States. My next case is waiting for me."

Ji-yeong was quiet for a long moment. Then, she let out a small sigh, running a hand through her hair. "I missed having you around, you know."

Your chest ached at that.

"I missed you too, Ji," you admitted softly.

She hesitated, then grinned. "Maybe you should try convincing Sae-byeok to let you stay longer."

You laughed, shaking your head. "She barely tolerated me when I got here. I doubt she’d want me sticking around."

Ji-yeong gave you a knowing look. "You sure about that?"

You didn’t answer.

Because, truthfully?

You weren’t sure at all.

What neither of you noticed was the figure lingering just inside the apartment.

Sae-byeok stood by the doorway, hidden in the shadows, listening to every word.

She had heard Ji-yeong’s teasing, your soft laughter, the way your voice carried gently through the night air. But most of all, she heard the quiet finality in your tone when you said you were leaving.

She didn’t know why that made something settle uncomfortably in her chest.

Without another word, she turned and retreated to her room, closing the door behind her.

But even in the silence, her thoughts lingered on you.

And the fact that in three days, you’d be gone.

Ji-yeong had called it a "girls' night out", but you should’ve known better than to trust her vague descriptions.

You had imagined a casual bar, maybe some light drinking and conversation. Instead, you found yourself in the middle of a packed club, music thrumming in your chest, neon lights flickering across the walls, and Ji-yeong already ordering shots before you could protest.

"Come on," she had shouted over the music, pushing a glass into your hand. "You just won a huge case! You deserve to celebrate!"

You hesitated for all of two seconds before downing the shot.

And that was where the night started to blur.

You weren’t wasted, but you were definitely drunk.

Somewhere along the way, Ji-yeong had disappeared into the crowd, her arm slung around a pretty girl’s waist, flashing you a thumbs-up before vanishing entirely. You had laughed, stumbling your way to the bar, only to realize that now you had no ride home.

The bartender gave you water, which you barely sipped, and your phone buzzed in your hand.

Ji-yeong: yo i found someone im gonna go home w her Ji-yeong: u good???? You: idk You: i think i may be a lil drunk You: how do i get home again Ji-yeong: oh my god Ji-yeong: hold on

A few minutes later, your phone buzzed again.

Ji-yeong: Sae-byeok’s coming to get you. Don’t move. You: bro SHE is gonna kill me Ji-yeong: lmao probably. good luck

You groaned, dropping your head onto the bar.

Sae-byeok. Of all people.

She found you exactly where Ji-yeong told her you’d be—sitting at the bar, sipping lazily on a glass of water, looking far too pleased with yourself for someone who was about to get their ass dragged home.

"You’re an idiot," was the first thing she said, stepping beside you.

You grinned up at her. "Hey, you came."

"Unfortunately," she muttered before grabbing your wrist and pulling you to your feet. You wobbled slightly, but she steadied you with an exasperated sigh.

"How much did you drink?"

"Uhhh…" You thought for a moment. "A lot?"

She rolled her eyes. "Let’s go."

The walk home was a blur, but you remembered the feeling of Sae-byeok’s hand gripping your wrist, keeping you from stumbling too much. You weren’t sure if she was annoyed or just resigned to her fate, but either way, she got you back to the apartment in one piece.

Cheol was already asleep, his door closed, the apartment dark except for the faint glow of the kitchen light.

You flopped onto the couch, groaning loudly. "Ughhhh. I feel gross."

Sae-byeok sighed, rubbing her temples. "You’re impossible."

You peeked up at her. "You’re still here."

She scoffed. "I had to make sure you didn’t choke on your own stupidity."

You laughed at that, and for some reason, that seemed to make her smile—just a little.

Then, as if making a sudden decision, she turned toward the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of soju from the counter.

You raised an eyebrow. "You’re drinking now?"

She shrugged, sitting on the couch beside you. "Might as well. I already had to deal with your drunk ass."

You gasped, clutching your chest dramatically. "So mean."

She rolled her eyes but poured you both a drink anyway.

And so, you drank.

You weren’t sure who leaned in first.

Maybe it was you, tipsy and warm, feeling bolder than you should have.

Or maybe it was her, gaze flickering to your lips too many times, her usual walls crumbling just a little in the haze of alcohol.

Either way, one moment you were laughing at something ridiculous, and the next, you were kissing her.

It was messy, uncoordinated, fueled by soju and exhaustion, but neither of you pulled away. Her lips were soft, her hands gripping your waist, pulling you closer as if she had stopped caring about pushing you away.

Somehow, you ended up in her room, tangled together in the dim light, the world outside forgotten.

And when morning came, with your head pounding and your limbs still wrapped around hers, the only thing you could think was—

Oh.

Shit.

Your head was pounding.

Your mouth was dry.

And there was warm, steady breathing against your neck.

For a moment, you just lay there, blinking up at the ceiling, trying to piece together what the hell had happened last night.

But when you shifted slightly, you felt it—the solid weight of an arm draped over your waist. The warmth of someone pressed against your back.

And then it hit you.

Oh. Shit.

Sae-byeok was asleep in your arms.

Your breath caught in your throat as you carefully, carefully turned your head to look at her.

Her face was peaceful, her usual sharp, guarded expression softened by sleep. Her lips were slightly parted, dark hair fanning across the pillow.

And worst of all?

She looked comfortable. Too comfortable.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You needed to get out of here.

This—whatever this was—was a terrible idea. You were leaving in three days. This was just a drunken mistake, a lapse in judgment. If you stayed, if you let yourself get used to this—

You shook your head, carefully shifting to slide out from under her arm.

But the moment you moved, her grip tightened.

You froze.

Sae-byeok let out a quiet, sleepy sigh before pressing closer, her arm locking around your waist with surprising strength.

You swallowed hard. "Sae—"

"Don’t," she murmured, voice thick with sleep.

Your heart pounded. "Don’t what?"

"Don’t leave."

Your breath hitched.

For a moment, you thought maybe she was still dreaming. Maybe she wasn’t even really awake.

But then she spoke again, her voice quieter this time.

"Maybe it was just because we were drunk," she admitted, her grip never loosening. "But you’re leaving anyway. So it doesn’t really matter, does it?"

Your chest ached, something twisting deep inside you.

You could hear what she wasn’t saying.

If you’re leaving, then what’s the point in pretending this meant something?

You wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in your throat.

Because she was right.

You were leaving.

And maybe, just maybe, that was why this hurt so much.

Your suitcase lay open on Ji-yeong’s bed, half-filled with neatly folded clothes. Three days had passed too quickly, and now you were down to your final few hours in this apartment.

You tried to focus on packing, on making sure everything fit just right, but your hands felt clumsy, restless. Your mind was too busy replaying everything that had happened—especially that night.

The way Sae-byeok had held you.

The way she had told you not to leave.

And then, the way she had avoided you ever since.

You had barely exchanged more than a few words since that morning. No lingering glances, no quiet conversations under the stars. It was as if she had drawn a line between you, pretending nothing had happened.

And if that was how she wanted to play it, fine.

You weren’t going to beg her to care.

You were folding your last shirt when you felt it—that presence at the door.

You didn’t look up, but you knew she was there.

Sae-byeok stood in the doorway, arms crossed, silent. Watching.

The air between you was tense, heavy with all the things left unsaid.

Finally, she broke the silence.

"You’ve been acting weird."

You scoffed, shoving a pair of jeans into your suitcase with more force than necessary. "Oh, I’m the one acting weird?"

Sae-byeok’s eyes narrowed. "Yeah. You are."

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "That’s rich, coming from you."

She exhaled sharply, stepping further into the room. "What’s your problem?"

That did it.

You turned to face her fully, anger bubbling to the surface before you could stop it. "My problem? Really?" You took a step closer, your voice rising. "You want to know what my problem is, Sae-byeok? It’s that you’ve been treating me like a stranger ever since that night. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like I don’t mean anything."

Her expression hardened, but she didn’t look away. "I never said it didn’t mean anything."

"Then what the hell was it?" you demanded. "A one-time thing? A drunken mistake? Just something to pass the time before I left?"

Sae-byeok’s jaw clenched. "I don’t play games."

"Then stop acting like you didn’t pull me closer that night," you snapped. "Stop acting like you didn’t want it just as much as I did!"

She inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. "And what do you want me to say, huh? That I regret it? That I don’t?" Her voice dropped, but the frustration was still there. "You’re leaving. What do you expect me to do?"

Your chest tightened. "I expect you to be honest with me."

She shook her head, running a hand through her hair. "You think this is easy for me?"

"You’re the one pretending nothing happened!"

"You’re the one walking away!"

Silence.

You both stood there, breathing heavily, the weight of your words settling between you like a storm that had finally broken.

Sae-byeok’s hands curled into fists at her sides. Then, as if deciding something, she exhaled sharply and took a step back.

"Forget it," she muttered, shaking her head. "It doesn’t matter."

The words stung more than they should have.

Before you could say anything else, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, leaving you standing there, fists clenched, heart pounding.

And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you wanted to leave at all.

The night air was cool against your skin as you climbed onto the tree one last time.

You settled into your usual spot, leaning against the trunk, gazing up at the stars scattered across the Seoul skyline.

It felt different tonight.

Maybe because you knew it would be the last time.

You exhaled slowly, letting the silence wrap around you, trying to soak in the moment. The past few days had been a whirlwind—winning the case, the drunken night with Sae-byeok, the fight that had followed. And now, it was time to go.

There was no fixing things between you and her.

Maybe there never had been.

You heard the quiet creak of the apartment window opening, the soft rustle of movement.

For a brief second, you thought—hoped—Sae-byeok would come sit beside you. That she would say something, anythingbefore you left.

But she didn’t.

She just stood there, watching.

Neither of you spoke. Neither of you moved.

And eventually, after what felt like forever, she closed the window.

Leaving you alone.

By morning, your suitcase was packed, your ride was waiting, and the apartment was still.

You didn’t wake Ji-yeong. You didn’t wake Cheol. And you certainly didn’t wake Sae-byeok.

Instead, you left your goodbyes in ink.

A letter on Ji-yeong’s bed. One on Cheol’s. And finally, one on hers.

Then, without another word, you were gone.

Sae-byeok woke up to the sound of the apartment door closing.

At first, she didn’t move.

She just lay there, staring at the ceiling, already knowing what had happened.

Still, when she finally sat up and saw the letter on her bed, her chest tightened.

She hesitated before picking it up, fingers tracing the edges.

Then, without thinking, she walked to the window.

The tree stood there, empty.

For a moment, she just stared at it, jaw clenched.

Then, with a quiet sigh, she climbed out, settling into the same spot you had sat in the night before.

She unfolded the letter with careful hands.

And she read.

Sae-byeok,

I don’t know how to say goodbye to you, so I won’t.

By the time you read this, I’ll already be on my way back to the States. I figured this was easier—leaving without any more words left to fight over.

I don’t know what we were. Maybe nothing. Maybe something. Maybe just a mistake made under the influence of alcohol and bad timing.

But I do know this: I meant it.

Every touch, every glance, every moment we shared—I meant it. And I think, deep down, you did too.

But you were right. I was always going to leave. And maybe that’s why you never let yourself get too close. Maybe it was easier that way.

Still, I wish things had been different.

I wish we had more time.

I wish you had asked me to stay.

But I also know that even if you had, I don’t think I could’ve. Because this is my life—always moving, always chasing the next case, the next fight.

And you?

You’ve spent too long fighting already.

So this is me letting go.

Take care of Ji-yeong. Take care of Cheol. And, for once in your life, take care of yourself too.

I hope when you look at this tree, you don’t think of me leaving. I hope you think of the nights we sat here, staring at the stars, saying everything and nothing at all.

I hope you remember me the way I’ll remember you.

Goodbye, Sae-byeok.

Sae-byeok’s fingers tightened around the letter, her chest aching in a way she couldn’t describe.

She read it again.

And again.

And again.

Until the words blurred, until the weight of what she had lost finally settled in.

She closed her eyes, exhaling shakily.

And for the first time in a long time, she let herself feel it.

The morning was like any other.

Sae-byeok walked with Cheol to school, Ji-yeong by her side, the two of them making quiet conversation as Cheol ran ahead, waving goodbye before disappearing through the school gates.

It was routine now—dropping him off, grabbing coffee, walking back to the apartment. A routine that kept Sae-byeok grounded, distracted.

But today, something was different.

As they neared the apartment complex, the usual quiet of the morning was broken by the sound of machinery, voices shouting commands, the telltale buzz of a chainsaw revving up.

Sae-byeok’s steps slowed. Then stopped completely.

Her blood ran cold.

A construction crew stood beneath the tree. The tree. The one where she had spent countless nights sitting beside you, listening to you ramble about the stars, about your cases, about things that didn’t matter and things that did.

The same tree where she had read your letter, hands trembling, heart breaking.

Now, it was marked for removal.

A thick red "X" was painted onto the bark, and one of the workers was already preparing to cut into it.

Something inside Sae-byeok snapped.

"Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!"

Her voice was sharp, cutting through the noise. The workers turned, startled, as she stormed forward, shoving past the orange cones like they weren’t even there.

"You can’t cut this tree down!" she shouted, her accent thickening with anger. "Who gave you permission?!"

One of the workers, a middle-aged man in a hard hat, approached cautiously. "Miss, this tree is scheduled for removal. The roots are damaging the sidewalk, and the landlord approved it."

"I don’t give a shit what the landlord approved!" she snapped. "This tree isn’t going anywhere!"

Ji-yeong, who had been watching in stunned silence, finally stepped beside her, blinking in disbelief. "Uh… Sae?"

But Sae-byeok wasn’t listening.

She turned back to the workers, eyes blazing. "You touch that tree, and I’ll make damn sure you regret it."

The man sighed, rubbing his temples. "Miss, I understand you might be attached to it, but—"

"Attached?" she repeated, her voice shaking with barely restrained fury. "You don’t know anything."

"Look, we’re just doing our job," the man said, clearly trying to keep his patience. "If you have a complaint, take it up with the landlord."

Sae-byeok clenched her fists, her whole body tense, as if she were about to throw a punch.

Ji-yeong must have sensed it because she quickly grabbed Sae-byeok’s arm, pulling her back. "Okay, okay, let’s not get arrested today."

Sae-byeok yanked her arm away but didn’t push the fight further. Instead, she shot the workers one last murderous glare before turning on her heel and storming into the apartment.

Ji-yeong followed, still looking baffled.

The moment they were inside, Sae-byeok kicked off her shoes and made a beeline for her room.

"Sae," Ji-yeong called after her. "What the hell was that?"

No answer.

Sae-byeok slammed her door shut, locking it behind her.

Ji-yeong groaned, running a hand through her hair. "Unbelievable."

She knocked on the door. "Sae, seriously. Talk to me."

Nothing.

Sae-byeok sat on the floor of her room, back against the door, staring at nothing.

Her hands were shaking.

The tree was going to be gone.

And with it, the last piece of you that she had left.

a/n: low-key inspired by flipped but hehehe also im sorry for the angst AH

[octo-artist]

Pokerehab Chapter 2:

An unwelcome face

N x Reader x ?

Tw: lots and lots of swearing, volo being a delusional asshole, minor ptsd and anxiety mention

—————————————————

-Back in Ancient Hisui-

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE’S BEEN GONE FOR MONTHS!”

Pokémon scatter as a voice roars through the clearing. The source being a rather upset young man in odd clothes his golden hair messily tied up with quite a bit of it falling into his face. Sitting in front of him is a middle aged woman in dark formal attire, her expression is calm despite the male in front of her.

“As I had stated Volo, she and Sneasler’s warden had decided to go back to their own time and return to their old lives months ago. The clans even came together to give them a going away party the night before they left.”, she stated once more, taking a sip of tea once she’d finished speaking. Volo however did not like this answer slamming his hands down on the table causing it to shake.

“I heard you the first time Cogita! I just can’t believe she’d just up and leave without telling me first!”

“To be fair to the hero, you did betray her up on Mount Coronet. I wouldn’t blame her for not wanting to see you after that. Let alone speak to you”

Still fuming, Volo sharply turned away from Cogita, calling on Giratina to leave for their hideout. Upon seeing the stone walls of the cavern he immediately threw a punch at the wall, breaking the skin on his knuckles in the process, blood slowly dripping from the wounds. Giratina watched its trainer’s tantrum from a distance, knowing how obsessed he’d grown towards the hero in the time after their last encounter.

“To think she’d have the gall to not only leave without telling me but to also go with THE FUCKING WARDEN AS WELL! AFTER EVERYTHING I DID FOR HER! She’d better have a good fucking excuse for just up an-” Volo was cut off as his surroundings changed and he felt himself briefly fall, landing rather uncomfortably in a bush. Wiggling himself free, Volo took a moment to get his bearings, noting Giratina to be nowhere in sight.

“Thank you for nothing you useless noodle”, he mutters under his breath as he stands and brushes off his clothes and fixes his hair, “Now where the fuck did that overgrown noodle drop me” Walking off he eventually comes across a pathway, as he was about to step out onto the path a young woman barrels past him, nearly knocking him over once more as well as nearly tripping herself up in the process. Catching herself she quickly turns while still running yelling out to him “I’M SO SORRY BUT I CAN’T STOP RIGHT NOW I NEED TO GET THESE THREE TO THE RESCUE CENTER!”, nodding her head towards three gray lumps in her arms before turning back the way she was running.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!” He yells out in frustration as he finally steps out onto the path once more, looking the way the woman had left. Growling under his breath he starts walking in that direction, following the one potential lead he had to finding the Hero. Knowing them it wouldn’t be much of a surprise if they built a so-called rescue center for the creatures they loved oh so much.

It takes him a good ten minutes to reach the crest of the hill he spots a lone building in the trees, behind it is a large fenced in field and orchard with several pokémon he did not recognize running around or napping in it, well except for one Alpha Luxray sleeping near the door surrounded by several Shinx.

“... Well this just got harder than I thought it’d be…”, he thought to himself as he shifted to hide behind a tree watching the building below.

Some time had passed, though unsure of how much, Volo eventually spots someone exit the building, though it wasn’t the Hero. The one who had exited was a young rather lanky man with wild green hair tied back, he was balancing some bowls of food in his arms as he approached the now awake Luxray and shinxes. He watched as the boy carefully dodged the shinx before reaching Luxray and started setting the bowls down, the pokemon quickly beginning to eat. The boy once done tending to the group eventually turns back to go inside, though is stopped as the Hero finally exits the building, their lucario following close behind. Volo feels his anger begin to flare again as he watches her hand the young man a bag and walk back to the luxray to sit down in the grass and start pulling food out to eat themselves.

Did… Did they seriously just replace him with this bean pole of a man?! Him the one who offered her companionship and aid when the world turned against them, the one who gave them advice on how to more effectively catch pokemon, the one who was willing to tear apart and rebuild reality for them?! Not on his watch… Volo begrudgingly pulled away from the scene into the woods to further plan how he’d win the hero back.

-With Y/n and N-

“Yea you wouldn’t believe how many times I had to go find this guy’s sister, and she’d always be in the strangest of places! One time in the highlands she’d ended up on a ledge next to one of the base camps! How nobody heard her or found her is astounding to me!” Y/N rambled as she and N ate lunch, it was a slow day at the center, they’d had a few scheduled to be released back into the wild.

“The more you speak of this place it sounds quite strange indeed. But oddly peaceful too.”, N replied while taking a bite of his food, “getting to be surrounded by pokemon out in their natural habitat sounds like a dream to me.”

“You’d think so until you have a parasect chasing you down for merely looking at it wrong. Arceus help you if you got spotted by an alpha.” Y/N says looking at her luxray sweat dropping as she remembers when she caught her as a baby alpha shinx… she will never forget all the shocks and scratches she got that day. “ But hey, you still get to live out your dream of helping pokemon and releasing them back into their natural habitat or find good homes when they’ve fully recovered!”

“It’s not quite the same but it does bring a sense of joy and fulfillment being able to help innocent pokemon find themselves again after recovery. It still boggles my mind that you’ve managed to hire so many of the ex-grunts and give them a sense of purpose here.” , N stated looking out over the field of recovering pokemon joyfully living their best lives while retaining their freedom.

“Well that's because some of them genuinely wanted to help poor unfortunate mons that were actually being neglected or abused. They just needed proper guidance to find the right way to go about it, a large portion of our rescue team that investigates abuse cases are Ex-grunts and they’ve told me that they love their jobs because they actually get to help the pokemon that need it.” Y/N pauses to eat a bit before continuing, “it just feels good giving people who deserve it a second chance. Many of them have been able to properly re-enter society thanks to the center. I’ve actually been considering expanding our efforts into other parts of the region and once we’ve established a good base, maybe expand efforts into other regions!”

“You certainly have big plans for this place, it's nice knowing there’s a good soul like yours leading this organization. It eases my worries of it turning into another team plasma. Or worse.”, N stated.

“I completely understand that, there’s way too many folks out there who’d take advantage of innocent people who are just down on their luck. This place has become both a sanctuary for the pokemon and the people who work here. It makes me smile getting to see them all enjoying their work and knowing they’re happy to be making a difference.” Y/N stated in response with a careful smile on their face. Their smile soon dropped for a moment as their body stiffened looking around at the surrounding treelines.

“Is everything alright Y/N? You seem tense all of a sudden…”, N asked, trying to spot whatever had set them into alert mode. “I thought I felt eyes on us… It's probably just a curious pokemon but I can't shake the feeling…”, Y/N replied, settling back down again. The Luxray continued to remain alert after her trainer returned to their lunch, scanning the treeline for any sign of trouble. A young trainer eventually comes barreling down the path with a trio of pidove in their arms, calling out to the duo, “HEY IS THIS THE REHAB CENTER? I’VE GOT A FEW PIDOVE THAT WERE HURT BY POACHERS!”

Standing up Y/N quickly approached the trainer, “Yes here follow me and I’ll help you get them checked in with Mike. I’m gonna need you once they’ve been handed over to the medical staff to write a report on where you found them and any details you can provide so we can alert the local officers about the poaching activity.” Y/N led the trainer inside leaving N with Luxray and the Shinx litter.

N looks to the large luxray sensing her unease, “what had you so on edge old girl… you obviously know something is out there…”, he asks not expecting a response from the normally silent and stoic beast, but is surprised when he is graced with one.

“I smell him, he is here… as is the dark one…”, her voice rings out clear in his ears. He thanks arceus for this blessing that has allowed him the chance to know what it is the Pokémon need directly from them, especially now that there seems to be a perceived threat in the area.

“Who is here? Who is the ‘dark one’?”, N replies his unease growing as he too looks at the tree line with luxray trying to spot what she’s searching for.

“Volo and Giratina. How dare he return after all he’s done to my trainer. I aught to bite him for his crimes”, Luxray growls lowly, her fur standing up.

N in an attempt to calm her down gently strokes her fur, as if to assure both her and himself of the situation. “You know they wouldn’t want that… they’re too kind to hold such grudges, even when it’s well deserved. They’ve shown as much with the chances they’ve shown to the grunts that defected after plasma was disbanded…”

Luxray slowly calmed herself, returning her attention to her litter upon hearing one yelp in response to their sibling playing too roughly. N deciding it was time to head back inside, gathers up his leftovers and walks back into the center, seeing the trainer from earlier talking on the pc to an officer and putting in their statement on the poaching activity with Y/N talking to Mike at the desk about the pidove trio.

“Once they’re done speaking to officer Jenny make sure to let them know they can visit the pidoves once they’re out of surgery, I can’t believe that poachers would do that to some poor innocent pidoves.”, Y/N says as N approaches them, giving Mike’s minchino ear rubs as they speak. “Will do boss, also we got some more updates on the development of the new Galar location, Nancy put the papers on your desk so you can look them over when you have the time.” Mike responds while typing away on his computer.

Y/N stops petting the Pokémon and turns to head back outside spotting N walking up, “oh hey! I was about to head back out, I’m sorry if I kept you waiting.”, they apologized. “No, no it’s alright, I honestly figured it was a good point to end our break and get back to preparing recovered pokemon for release back into their natural habitats.” N chuckled, assuring them he wasn’t upset while trying to hide his unease at what luxray had told him minutes prior. Y/N gives him a smile while motioning for him to follow, to which N proceeds to do, walking out to the yard where a handful of Pokémon are being loaded up into carriers marked to be released back into the wild. “Well, you have quite a few patients who are ready to be released, once they’re loaded up you and Molly can start driving the group back to their habitats and setting them loose, I know that’s your favorite part of the process so I wanted to let you know you got a big group today.”, Y/N says while watching a particularly rowdy herdier give the staff the run around refusing to be placed in the carrier, making the duo chuckle knowing the little guy is gonna be just fine once he’s back out in the world, if the staff can get him into the carrier that is. N slowly stopped when the nagging thought of what luxray had told him just minutes prior…hesitantly he looked to Y/N and says, “Luxray told me something concerning after you’d gone inside…”

Y/N turning to give N their full attention looks at him waiting for him to continue.

“She’d said she’d smelled someone in the area… and I worry about his intentions because I know you’ve told me what happened back in Hisui…”

Y/N cocks an eyebrow, “Is it Kamado? I can handle his self-righteous ass any time.”

N takes a deep breath preparing for Y/N’s reaction, “N-no… she’d said she’d smelled Volo… and Giratina…” As he’d expected, Y/N’s body stiffened at the mention of the duo. “I…see, well, if he tries anything I know we can handle him, I’ve fought him before, and beat Giratina twice. What’s one more ass whooping?” They try to say with confidence, but their voice waivers a bit. Their lucario who’d been silently following the duo senses her trainer’s stress and gently nudges her head against their hand as if to try and distract them, to which Y/N gently pets the soft fur on her head, slowly calming down at the welcome distraction.

“Do you think we should at least let the staff know? In case he tries anything when you’re gone?” N asks, the idea of Volo attacking the center making him nervous as he’d come to love the place and its staff. They truly understood him and his desire to save pokemon, Y/N going as far as to even show him a different way of doing so that teaches others about proper pokemon care and how to spot a sick or injured pokemon in the wild and what to do in such a situation. It had become his home to a degree, even Reshiram liked the place, getting to lounge in the sun all day with the other mons.

“I’ll call a team meeting, in the meantime how about you go see if any patients are ready to be let out into the yard. I can tell you’re nervous and I know seeing pokemon get to stretch their legs after a long recovery makes you happy.” Y/N responded, almost sensing their dear friend’s distress, steading themselves to head to their office and call for the crew to come to the lobby and talk. N nodding before parting to go to the stables, the route having become a familiar one over the months, passing the nursery as he’s done many times before, the achanine that normally is in there is absent, and in their place are the nursery workers checking up on the hatchlings and noting down their health. “Must have gotten up to stretch her legs, looks like we have some new eggs from the conservation program.” Turning away from the window he continues to walk.

Back with Y/N, they’re speed walking towards their office, Mike the receptionist and his minchino close behind along with their lucario. “Boss, who exactly is Volo? I mean I know you’ve mentioned him in passing briefly but I don’t think I’ve ever heard you go into detail about him…” Mike asks worried about his boss’s sudden change in attitude. It almost reminded him of some of the higher ups back when he was in team plasma… it was uncanny how they could go from cheery and friendly to serious and hyper focused in an instant.

“He’s a very dangerous man from a long time ago, I’d thought he’d disappeared and he’d keep his cruel mug far away from this place. But I guess he got bored of hiding and I want everyone ready in case he tries something. He’s a cunning jerk who will do whatever he can to trick you into thinking he’s harmless before stabbing you in the back. Do not under any circumstance trust a word he says”

“I see, I’ll head back to the doctors and let them know to lock down the back in case he tries to get in.”

“Good, thank you Mike, you’re a good man and you’ve done so much for this place since it opened. I’d say you’re due for a promotion soon if you want it.”

“Thank you ma’am maybe once this is over we can talk more about it, and honestly I’m glad you were open minded enough to give me a chance to turn my life around. Not many folks would do that for an ex-grunt.”

“I could see you genuinely loved pokemon and just wanted to do right by them. It's easy to get lost in the flowery language of a maniac. I know this all too well. But that’s a talk for later, we need to make sure everyone is prepared.”

“On it. I’ll keep watch at the desk and I won’t let him through if he tries to worm his way in” Mike turns away and sprints back down the hall to warn the doctors, his companion bouncing after him. Once he vanishes around the corner Y/N opens their office door, inside is filled with photos and other memorabilia from their time in Hisui, their uniform carefully displayed in a case alongside some empty pokeballs they’d saved, on the wall is a picture of the clan leaders, wardens, Rei, Akari, Cyllene, Laventon, and them all together. It had been a bittersweet goodbye with promises of visits now that they’d established a way to go back and forth between the times, Ingo having returned with them to reunite with his family and hopefully help his amnesia. Striding over to their desk they bend over pressing the button to the mic to announce over the speakers, “Attention staff members, we are having an emergency mandatory meeting in the lobby. Please finish up the task you are on and make your way as soon as humanly possible. Thank you.”

They hated having to pull out the serious voice, they preferred to have a friendly demeanor to make staff comfortable at work, but this was a serious matter. They could not take any chances of someone not showing up.

After a handful of minutes the entire staff is stationed in the lobby, confused murmurs can be heard among the crowd as they wait to hear what their boss has to say.

With a hefty breath Y/N begins, “Thank you all for showing up, as it stands we are on lockdown till the situation has been handled. I’ve been given word of a dangerous individual being found in the area and for everyone’s safety I am requesting that you all remain on high alert, we need to get the Pokémon inside their respective lodgings till we know the threat has passed and I request that everyone please remain at their stations until further notice.” Gasps and murmurs can be heard among the staff as they process what they’ve just been told. N looking around spots Mike and Jess both looking at one another concerned and back to Y/N.

“You are all dismissed now back to your stations. Make sure all Pokémon have been accounted for and are safely where they need to be. I will let you all know when the lockdown is done and the threat has passed.thank you for your hard work and cooperation”, Y/N finishes their announcement, watching the staff of the center disperse to tend to their new orders with haste. Jess and Mike sticking around with N and Y/N.

“You alright there boss? You look like you’re gonna be sick. Maybe you should sit down for a bit…” Mike suggests concern etched on his features as his michino bounces up his uniform to his shoulder.

“Mike is right suga’ you look like you done seen Darkrai ‘imself.” Jess pipes up her concern for Y/N mirroring Mike’s.

“I’ll be fine, this is partially my fault, this is someone who I have a rather tumultuous history with… I will deal with the threat myself. My focus right now is ensuring everyone here is safe both humans and Pokemon alike.” Y/N states, a slight quiver in their tone. They’ve fought Volo and barely scraped by when Giratina joined the fight. But now they’re unsure how they’d fare a second time… they were younger, their early 20’s, and had gotten lucky the first time, but would they be so lucky now?

“You’re spiraling Y/N”, Mike’s voice broke them out of their thoughts, his tone laced with worry and seriousness, “How about you take a break. I’m sure we can take this guy working together”

“Mike I appreciate the thought but-”, Y/N

“If I may interject?”, N joins the conversation, “I think Mike has a point. If he is causing this much distress then you should let us help. Your luxray already has told me who it was they smelled, and I remember what you’ve told me about him before… Please don’t push yourself. Let us help you.”

Y/N looks between the three who look back at them with assurance and determination. They can feel their heart swelling a bit with pride and relief to know that they’re not alone in facing Volo this time. Possessing Giratina or not, they know he’s smart enough to back down when faced with too high of odds of losing. Volo is a coward, he ran when he was defeated not wanting to face reprocussions for his actions. After a moment of thinking they give a small smile when they feel their Archanine nudge under their arm, sharing that same look of determination.

“Okay, but we need to properly prepare, I’ve fought him before but that was at least three years ago.” Y/N states, “He’s no doubt gotten stronger since then. I’ll give you all the run down of his team as I remember it. But be wary, he has Giratina on his side and while it’s not fully under its command they share a common goal so it cooperates with him, to its own albeit attitude laden degree.”

Jess pipes in with a loud whoop her Houndoom howling with her before she gives an eager grin, “Let’s get this varmin off our turf! He messed with the boss an now he’s gonna be hurtin!”

Mike nods in agreement with Jess as N walks up to Y/N and puts a comforting hand on their shoulder, “Let’s gather our teams before we start planning. The facility is on lockdown so no doubt the cops are already on their way.”

Y/N smiling at N the spark returning to their eyes as the other two start to go over their respective PC data to prepare their Pokemon for the upcoming fight, “Yea, all we need to do is stall for time. Maybe I can get a message through the gateway to Cyllene and the wardens for extra assistance. They know Volo’s crimes and have been itching to get their hands on him so he can finally face judgment for the chaos and harm he caused.”

Taking a moment to talk to Jess and Mike to discuss the plan and explain Volo’s team and his history with their boss, N and Y/N go to gather their teams and strategize for the inevitable fight.

Of course upon hearing that the man who hurt their beloved trainer has returned Zoruark and Lucario have been on high alert, Y/N’s alpha luxray ushering her litter to a safe part of the facility to hide.

“Okay so let’s go over it one last time before we confront him. I’m going to go out as bait since I’m no doubt the one he’s after. You, Mike, and Jess will be hiding nearby in case things go awry and I need assistance. Mike and Jess’s main job is to keep him away from the facility and deal with his main team while we keep him and Giratina at bay. Thank Arceus you have Reshiram on your side as that’ll help us immensely in keeping the giant shadow wyrm at bay till the cops or the wardens arrive. I’ve already sent a letter to Cyllene and the clan leaders alerting them of the issue at hand. If everything goes as planned we might finally be able to apprehend him and send him back to Hisui and rebanish the legendary back to its realm.” Y/N pours over the details checking for anything they’d missed. N nodding taking in all the information. It amazed him how quick his new friend could form such a plan under duress, but he and his Pokemon, who’d come to love their trainer’s friend, were happy to see them back to normal.

N stands up with Y/N who attached their old uniform belt to their waist, having taken a moment to pull their old galaxy team uniform from its case and going into the side room to change, attaching their Pokeballs to it. He looks stunned at the complete change in energy that came with th uniform, as if it gave Y/N a much needed confidence boost. “Let’s go see Jess and Mike and tell them the rest of the plan. That way they’re in the know and can prepare their teams accordingly.” He says reaching the door going to open it.

“Right. Hopefully starraptor reaches the settlement’s fast enough for them all to reach us in time. But be prepared to restrain him if needed, he may look scrawny but he’s surprisingly fast and sneaky. He’s caught me off guard plenty of times in the past.” Y/N warned N as they entered the hall. The walk back to the lobby was quiet, the air tense, a stark contrast to the usual warm welcoming atmosphere the center usually has. The soon reach their destination, seeing the two trainers in the lobby waiting, both possessing full teams of Pokémon ready to fight. Jess’s houndoom now having a zebstrika in its place, the dark dog not being fit to fight, while mike’s minchinno now has his old friend Liepard in its place, the large feline standing at attention next to its trainer ready for whatever orders he gives.

“Alright, we’ve got the plan finished, for the most part I’m going to try to diffuse the situation but should Volo start to get aggressive you three will be nearby to provide support should I need it. He’s delusional but I hope that after three years he’s become somewhat reasonable. But I’m not putting all my chips on that chance.” Y/N states their lucario standing close by protectively.

“Got it boss, if he makes a move on ya we’ll get him where it hurts! Nobody messes with our amazing boss!” Jess says, smacking a gloved fist into her other palm, the nineteen year old eager to fight.

“You have a lot of us second chances including myself. We owe it to you that we can live a normal life now when nobody else gave us a chance. We have your back whether that man likes it or not. You’re not alone this time!” Mike adds, his gratitude towards the trainer who’d seen the good in him and many others clear as day, his companion pipes in with a trilled cry sensing its trainer’s commitment.

“Thank you, all of you, this means more than you’ll ever know. Now, let’s get moving. He’s no doubt still nearby.” Turning to their Pokémon Y/N continues, “I already know lucario isn’t going to return but the rest of you back to your balls, the less of you out at once means the less chances of him feeling threatened and attacking.”

One by one they return to their balls, their zoruark taking a moment to nuzzle their arm for assurance before returning with the others leaving only the ever loyal lucario present. Taking a breath, Y/N steady’s themselves before nodding and waiting for N, Mike, and Jess to disappear down various halls to go out other exits. When they can no longer hear footsteps they turn to the main entrance, keeping the door locked on the inside they carefully open the doors slipping through and slide them shut behind them. The air feeling far heavier now that they’re alone once more. Beginning the trek up the path towards the direction luxray had caught the scent they begin to think to themselves. Last time they felt this way was back when they were forced to confront volo on mt coronet. They’d trusted him only for him to betray them for his own delusions of creating a new world that he believed to be perfect. They knew better, it wasn’t that simple… the fight took hours, a storm had raged around them soaking the duo to the bone. They’d barely managed to squeak in their victory, their ever loyal Lucario having been the last one standing in the fight. They couldn’t ask for a better companion, she’d been by her side through everything. Every hope and heartbreak, every day and night out in the wilderness, watching over their beloved trainer as they rested each night. They remembered an old story Laventon told them one day how it was believed in some regions that humans and Pokemon possessed two halves of one soul, and that when the halves that matched collided the trainer and Pokémon would move as one unit together. He’d joked how her and her lucario reminded him of the story wondering if it could be true… Y/N certainly believed it, it would explain the unspoken trust between the two and how in tune they were…

“Well well well and here I thought I was going to have to drag you out of that little building of yours myself”, their thoughts were halted as a voice they’d dreaded to hear rang in their ears, lucario growling lowly at the new presence.

“Volo. What are you doing here? You’re not welcome”, keeping their tone neutral and firm they try to not think on what he’d said.

“Now is that any way to greet an old friend? No hellos or how have you been’s? I’m hurt my dear chosen. But no matter, my motives are simple really”, he finally reveals himself from behind the trees, he’d returned his hair to it’s original bun but still wore those blasted robes he wore back on the mountain. Has he even washed them recently??

“Whatever your reason is, leave, you know damn well I don’t want to see you. Not after what you did in Hisui.” Y/N snapped, their patience growing thin.

“Oh but I certainly wanted to see you. After all Arceus did send you after all to stop me, meaning you’re by all means mine and I was quite miffed to hear you’d left me behind like I meant nothing to you!”, he feigns offense, dramatically placing a hand on his chest. His acting was good but Y/N knew better, they heard the venom beneath the sugary words, he hadn’t changed a bit. Only shifted his delusions from Arceus to her unfortunate soul.

“Volo again, leave, you’re not welcome here. Especially not after your betrayal on mount Coronet. I’m not as naive as I was back then.”, Y/N remains firm in her stance. Keeping her voice as steady as possible while her lucario keeps a stiff stance, ready to jump into action at the slightest hint of conflict.

“I’m not going anywhere my dear. Not without what I came here for.” He replies, his voice taking a dangerous tone at which lucario sensing his intentions jumps between her trainer and the delusional man.

In turn the other three reveal themselves with their Pokemon in tow, and Reshiram crying out from above the treetops grabbing Giratina’s attention.

“I’ll give you one last chance Volo. Leave. You won’t find this fight going the way you wish if you continue. Unlike last time, I’m not alone.”, Y/N stands straighter at the presence of her friends, confidence rising as she watches Volo look around stunned at the idea of being surrounded, clicking his tongue and gritting his teeth he growls out, “Giratina, retreat, this isn’t over yet Y/N. Not till you’re back in hisui with me where you belong.”

As he finishes his statement a gloved hand latches onto his shoulder from behind, a stern face adorned with a new cap appearing behind him and a deep voice ringing out, “Apologies but you won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. Emmet think you can help get the big one under control while I get this crazy asshole restrained.”

“I’m Emmet and I’m already on it! Come on let’s get this big worm back where they belong!” A more chipper but equally stern voice rings out, an identical face covered with a shit eating grin off to the side wearing white, who with the help of N, Jess, and Mike starts to round up the distortion god while his twin wrestles the angry blonde to the ground cuffing him behind his back.

Tension leaving their body, Y/N’s luxray releases itself to catch its trainer as they nearly collapse from the stress, “Just in time you two. I was actually worried he was going to get away but I didn’t want to start an altercation without full backup and we all know how long it takes for the cops to respond out here. Hopefully Cyllene and the others will be here to take him back soon.”

“Indeed, it’s quite lucky for you that Emmet and I happen to be headed over anyways as he wished to meet you in person and see the center once he heard of it. Wasn’t expecting to see this one again after all that occurred.”, Ingo replied hoisting a cursing Volo back to his feet as the large legendary flees the scene.

“As much as I hate to admit it, I’m not that shocked. He’s as delusional as they come. I’m just glad nobody got hurt in the end. Let’s take him to the holding room at the facility till the others get here. Then we can talk more. At least once we’re inside we can keep him under lock and key.”

“I’m Emmet and it is nice to meet you! Ingo has told me much about you and your adventures! Now may we be off to the center Miss Y/N?”, Emmet in all his excitement jogs up holding a hand out to Y/N who shakes it with a relieved smile.

“Pleasure to meet you Emmet and welcome to the Pokémon rehabilitation center. As you know, I’m Y/N, I’m the director of the facility. Let’s head inside so I can let the staff know the lockdown can be lifted and everyone can return to their stations and work.”

Nodding Ingo and Emmet follow Y/N, Emmet eagerly chatting with the lady while Jess and Mike pat N on the back for his quick thinking earlier in the day, Ingo escorting a cuffed and upset Volo in front of him.

And once more things were back to normal, the halls quickly filling once more with talking and the sounds of Pokemon being treated.

[ssa-dado]

7 - Cogito, ergo Sum

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader

Genre: slow burn, sad just sad stuff, angst

Summary: On a train to Riverhead, you confront buried memories of your father’s death and the complex emotions stirred by Peter’s welcome back party, where Hotch’s past with Haley left you feeling like an outsider. Hotch, haunted by memories of his abusive father and first love with Haley, grapples with his choices and regrets. Meanwhile, Hotch and Peter clash over your safety and personal boundaries on the job, discovering the next target of a series of poisonings. Warnings: Grief, domestic violence, emotional abuse, anxiety, CM case. This is quite sad

Word Count: 4.5k

Dado's Corner: Not me sobbing like a kid while writing this haha. Poor Aaron you deserve a hug. That said, I experimented a bit with the style of this chapter - it's quite cinematic. I drew inspiration from Suits' 2×08 where Harvey goes to visit his father's grave and the narrative interlaces flashbacks, present and the characters' point of view so beautifully. Also - this has a sister chapter coming up next so don't worry.

previous chapter ; masterlist

The train rattled gently as it made its way toward your hometown, Riverhead, each passing mile pulling you deeper into a past you had long avoided. The rhythmic clatter of the wheels against the tracks was a steady, relentless metronome, marking each second that brought you closer to face your father’s grave.

You glanced up to see a little girl holding her father’s hand, her tiny fingers wrapped tightly around his as they made their way to a seat just past yours. The sight was simple, ordinary - something that happened every day - but today, it felt like a punch to the chest.

Watching them, you felt the train become a catalyst for everything you’d been trying to bury; the pain surged, raw and unfiltered, hitting you all at once. The easy affection between them, was a reminder of what you could never have again. Your throat tightened, and tears pricked at your eyes, threatening to spill as you stared at the floor, trying to swallow the ache of everything you’d lost. In that fleeting moment, the emptiness of your own hands felt unbearable, as if the absence of your father’s presence echoed a thousand times harder in the quiet hum of the train.

You stared out of the window, but the passing trees and fading buildings blurred into the background, their muted colors mingling with the fog of your thoughts. You’d taken the rare step of taking a day off to make this journey, a day that was supposed to be about finding some semblance of closure, or at least confronting the loss you’d tucked away behind your work.

But you hadn’t been able to think only of your father. Your mind kept drifting back to Peter’s welcome back party the previous week. Where you sat at the table, Gideon’s words lingering in the air, the concept of thesis, antithesis, and synthesis feeling painfully apt in that moment.

“Everyone, this is Haley,” Hotch said, his voice carefully controlled. “We… we go way back.”

Only now you could clearly see at how Haley smiled, but her eyes were constantly on Hotch, her presence radiating a sense of ease that only came from years of knowing someone deeply. “It’s been a long time, Aaron,” she said, her tone gentle but layered with unspoken memories. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You watched the interaction with a heavy heart, feeling like an outsider in your own team. The connection between them was undeniable, and for a moment, you felt a pang of jealousy, a sharp twist in your chest that you hadn’t prepared for.

You had just started to let your guard down with Hotch, to allow yourself to see him not just as your stoic coworker who would crack a joke every once in a while - but as someone you could trust, someone who understood you. And now, here was a piece of his past that you hadn’t been privy to, thrown in your face without warning.

As the evening wore on, you tried to engage, to laugh at Rossi’s jokes and nod along with Gideon’s stories, but your mind kept drifting back to Hotch and Haley. You couldn’t help but feel the sting of not knowing this part of him, of realizing that no matter how close you’d gotten, there were still walls between you.

At one point, Hotch caught your eye from across the table. His expression softened, a silent question in his gaze, as if he could sense your discomfort. But before he could say anything, Haley leaned in, pulling his attention back to her, and the moment passed.

Gideon, ever observant, leaned closer to you, breaking the awkward silence that had settled over you.

“You know, Y/N,” he said thoughtfully, tapping the cover of the book you’d bought for Hotch, “Hegel’s all about finding balance. Sometimes, the only way forward is to let go of what you thought you knew and embrace the contradictions.”

You nodded, but the words felt too close to home. You weren’t sure how to find balance in this moment, how to reconcile the sudden wave of emotions crashing over you. All you could do was hold on and hope that, somehow, things would make sense again.

Now your mind was buzzing with a mix of emotions: shock, confusion, and a sinking feeling of being completely blindsided. It was in the way Hotch and Haley exchanged glances, the comfortable proximity, the shared history etched in every small gesture. It hurt more than you’d ever thought it would, making everything sounded distant, muffled, like you were underwater.

The gathering had been a lively affair, full of laughter and shared stories, but a specific moment kept replaying in your mind: Haley’s warm smile as she said goodbye to Hotch, “It was really good to see you, Aaron, I’m glad you’re doing well. Maybe we’ll run into each other again sometime.”

Hotch nodded, his expression warm yet tinged with a hint of sadness. “Yeah, Haley. Take care of yourself. See you around.”

With that, she gave a small wave to the table and headed back to her group of friends, leaving Hotch standing there, momentarily lost in the past. As he returned to his seat, you could see the way he was grappling with the emotions stirred up by the unexpected reunion. He caught your gaze briefly, offering a small, almost apologetic smile that only deepened your sense of uncertainty.

As she walked away, Rossi had thrown a smirk Hotch’s way, raising an eyebrow as he quipped, “So, old flames burning bright again?”

Hotch rolled his eyes, though there was a faint, embarrassed flush to his cheeks. “Rossi, don’t start,” he warned, though his tone was more amused than annoyed.

“Oh, come on, Aaron,” Rossi continued, clearly enjoying himself. “Haley’s quite a catch. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a little lovestruck.”

Hotch sighed, but there was a softness to his demeanor that hadn’t been there before. “It’s not like that, Dave. We… had our time. It just didn’t work out. She wanted a family, a stable life. I was too caught up in my career, trying to make it into the Bureau. We were just… heading in different directions.”

There was a pause as the table absorbed his words, the rare glimpse into Hotch’s personal life catching everyone a little off guard. You could see the flicker of understanding in his eyes, the acknowledgment of choices made and paths taken, and it resonated deeply with you. It wasn’t just about Haley; it was about the sacrifices, the regrets, and the constant pull between duty and desire.

You had stood on the sidelines, listening, and telling yourself it wasn’t jealousy you felt, but something else entirely. Hotch and Haley’s history was full of things you couldn’t touch, memories you couldn’t rewrite.

The ease between them that felt unreachable, at least for you. It highlighted your own struggles, the way you and Hotch danced around each other’s guarded edges, each too closed off and too stubborn for way too much to admit the walls you’d built were anything but necessary. You had worked hard to break through those barriers, inching closer to something that resembled real friendship with Hotch, but seeing him with Haley made it clear how far you still had to go.

One of your coworkers, ever the instigator, smirked and raised their glass, turning the conversation light again. “Ah, first loves. We’ve all been there, right? High school sweethearts, college crushes, and then… life happens.”

They nudged Peter playfully, their grin widening. “I bet you’ve got some stories, too. You and Y/N? Seems like you two have your own history.”

The comment, though playful, struck a chord. You could feel all eyes momentarily on you and Peter, the unspoken insinuations hanging in the air. Peter chuckled, leaning back in his chair with a casual ease that belied the tension simmering beneath the surface. “Oh, come on, let’s not dig up the past. Y/N and I? We were just kids. We studied, we got into trouble, and then we grew up.”

Rossi, always enjoying a chance to stir the pot, raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? ‘Just kids,’ huh? I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. Seems like more than just studying to me.”

Peter shot you a sideways glance, his smile both teasing and sincere. “Well, you know me, Dave. Always mixing business with pleasure.”

You forced a laugh, though it sounded hollow even to your ears. “Please, don’t encourage him. Peter was more like the annoying older brother I never asked for.”

The table erupted in laughter, and for a moment, the awkwardness eased. But underneath it all, there was a thread of unspoken tension, a reminder that you and Peter’s relationship, much like Hotch and Haley’s, was layered with complexities that no amount of jokes could untangle.

Hotch watched the exchange quietly, his gaze lingering on you longer than necessary. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—was it understanding? Regret? You couldn’t quite tell, but it was clear he was processing his own thoughts amidst the lighthearted teasing. The parallels between his past and what was unfolding now weren’t lost on him.

Then memories shifted, drawing you deeper into the party’s ambiance: the clinking of glasses, the chatter of old friends reuniting, and Peter’s infectious laugh as he moved through the crowd.

You remembered the moment he found you in the corner of the room, handing you a glass of wine with a casual, “So, are you ever going to let me take you out on that date?”

You had laughed it off, deflecting with a joke. “You’d have to catch me when I’m not buried in case files.”

Peter’s smile had softened, and he leaned against the wall beside you, his eyes searching yours in that disarming way he had. “I’m patient. You know that.”

There it was, an offer that seemed perfect on paper. Peter was kind, funny, and someone you could talk to for hours without feeling the need to perform or pretend. He had always been a constant, someone who understood your messy family dynamics and never judged you for them. Yet, for reasons you couldn’t quite name, you had hesitated.

It wasn’t just fear that a relationship might ruin your friendship, though that was part of it. No, this hesitation was something deeper, something that had started to shift within you over the months you’d been at the BAU.

The job had changed you, had made you see the world differently, and maybe that change had rippled into the way you saw Peter, too. He was familiar, a comfort you could rely on, but when he looked at you with that earnestness, you felt a strange dissonance, like you were two notes that no longer harmonized as they once did.

You shook off the thought and turned back to the scenery, trying to refocus. The landscape outside shifted, becoming a blur of rolling hills and scattered houses, but all you could see were memories of the afternoons you’d spent with Peter.

He was a piece of your past that felt safe, steady, and uncomplicated. You remembered the day he’d chosen your mother as his thesis supervisor, the excitement in his eyes as he explained why.

“She’s brilliant,” he had told you, sitting at your kitchen table, his hands animated as he spoke. “I mean, I’ve read everything she’s published. Working with her is like… I don’t know, getting to play with a master.”

Your mother had smirked from the kitchen, where she was brewing tea. “I’m not sure if ‘play’ is the word I’d use,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “But I’m glad you’re eager. I could use someone with your enthusiasm.”

Those afternoons felt like moments frozen in time, filled with academic debates that stretched into the evening. You would sit with Peter, surrounded by books and papers, discussing everything from human behavior to obscure psychological theories. Your mother would occasionally join in, her sharp insights cutting through Peter’s eager optimism, and you would feel an odd sense of belonging, of being seen and understood in a way that was rare. You and Peter fit so easily then, like two pieces of a puzzle that made sense together.

So why now, when Peter had finally asked, did you feel that familiar comfort turn into something that almost felt suffocating? It wasn’t fear, not exactly. It was something more complex, more tangled.

You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but whatever it was, it had kept you from saying yes. Part of you wondered if it had to do with the person you’d become at the BAU, the person who had learned to live in the shadows, to thrive on the unspoken and the unsolved. There was a distance between the you that Peter knew and the you that existed now, and you weren’t sure how to bridge that gap.

As the train chugged closer to Riverhead, you let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of your own thoughts settle in your chest. This trip was supposed to be about your father, about facing the memories you’d buried along with him. But as the scenery continued to blur outside your window, you realized it wasn’t just him you were here to confront. It was yourself, and all the tangled, unresolved things you’d left behind.

.

Back in his apartment, Hotch stood motionless in front of his closet, the faint hum of the city outside barely reaching his ears. It was supposed to be a simple, mindless task: changing out of his work clothes, slipping into something comfortable to signal the end of another long case. But that morning, the weight of the past lingered in the air, heavy and suffocating, refusing to be ignored. Seeing Haley again had shaken something loose inside him, memories that he had tried to bury beneath layers of duty, responsibility, and the unyielding armor of his carefully crafted stoicism.

He stared at the closet door as if it were a portal to another time, a past version of himself that he had spent years trying to forget. His hand hovered over a hanger, hesitating before he finally pulled the door open. He reached for a pair of sweatpants, the movement automatic, but his fingers brushed against something unexpected, something soft and familiar. He pulled it out, holding it up to the dim light of the room. It was an old pirate hat, worn and faded, buried at the back of the closet like a forgotten relic.

The sight of it was enough to send a rush of emotion coursing through him, his heart tightening with the weight of memories long left untouched. It was a small, silly thing - a costume piece from a high school play - but it held the echoes of a time when life had felt simpler, when love had been a lifeline rather than a distant, unattainable dream.

Hotch turned the hat over in his hands, his thumb tracing the worn edges. It felt lighter than he remembered, the fabric frayed but still holding the shape that had once made him feel like someone else - someone braver, someone who didn’t wake up every day terrified of what the morning might bring.

Holding it now, he was transported back to those days in high school, when he had first met Haley during their school’s production of The Pirates of Penzance. He could still remember the nerves that twisted his stomach into knots as he stepped onto the stage, feeling every bit the awkward, shy boy who never quite knew how to fit in.

His father’s presence loomed over every aspect of his life, a dark, volatile force that made every day feel like a minefield. Mornings were the worst; he’d wake up before dawn, his heart pounding with the dread that his father would already be up, the stale stench of whiskey on his breath and anger simmering just below the surface.

Every morning, Hotch would lie still in his bed, his ears straining to hear the slightest sound - a creaking floorboard, the clink of a bottle, the unmistakable thud of something heavy being thrown against the wall. He’d close his eyes tightly, his breath catching in his throat as he braced himself for the inevitable: the harsh sound of his father’s voice, slurred and laced with venom, cutting through the stillness of the house like a knife.

“You worthless piece of shit,” his father would sneer, eyes bloodshot, fists clenched. The insults were always the same, a relentless barrage of contempt that felt like punches to the gut. And sometimes, they were. The bruises left behind were easy to hide, but the fear lingered, seeping into every corner of his mind.

But then there was Haley.

Haley, with her bright smile and infectious laugh, had entered his life like a beam of light piercing through the darkness. She was everything his world was not: warm, kind, and unafraid to be herself. He could still see her as she had been that first day, standing backstage with an easy confidence that seemed to light up the entire room. He had been fumbling through his lines, tripping over words as he tried to keep his hands from shaking, feeling the familiar grip of anxiety clawing at his throat. But then she had turned to him, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Not bad, Hotchner,” she teased, her voice light and teasing, breaking through the wall of his self-doubt.

She nudged him playfully with her shoulder, her touch gentle but grounding. “But if you’re going to be a pirate, you’ve got to look the part.” She reached up and tilted the hat on his head, adjusting it with a flourish. “There. Much better.”

He had laughed then, a rare, unguarded sound that felt almost foreign to his own ears. It was a laugh born of something deeper than humor - it was relief, joy, and a sense of being seen in a way he never had been before. That moment had been the start of everything: the stolen glances, the whispered secrets shared between classes, the way she’d lean in close, her eyes bright with something that made the whole world seem less terrifying.

Haley became his first thought in the morning, replacing the dread that had once greeted him when he opened his eyes. Instead of the anxiety that his father would be there, ready to strike, his mind was filled with thoughts of her: the way she smiled, the sound of her voice, the softness of her lips whenever they kissed, the easy way she’d tease him about his nervousness on stage. She was his anchor, the one person who made him feel like he wasn’t drowning in his own fears.

Every morning, instead of waking up with his heart racing at the thought of his father’s rage, he’d wake up thinking of Haley. He’d think of their rehearsals, of the way she’d roll her eyes when he messed up a line but would always follow it with a grin that told him she was proud of him anyway. She had made him feel safe, like maybe, there was more to life than the fear that had defined his every waking moment.

Hotch hadn’t just fallen in love with Haley; he had clung to her like a lifeline. She was the first person who had shown him what it felt like to be cared for, to be valued for who he was, not for what he could endure. She was his sanctuary from the storm that raged inside his home, and for a while, she had made him believe that he could have something good, something real.

But as he stood there now, holding the hat, those memories were tinged with the bittersweet realization of what he had lost. The love that had once saved him had crumbled under the relentless weight of his ambition and the demands of his career.

He had chosen the Bureau, chosen to bury himself in the pursuit of justice, thinking that if he worked hard enough, if he dedicated himself to the job, he could finally be free of the shadows that haunted him.

But in the process, he had lost Haley. He had lost the last piece of innocence that had made him believe he could balance it all: love, career, and a future untangled from the pain of his past. Now, the hat felt like a symbol of everything he had tried to bury, a reminder of the boy he used to be and the love that had once made him feel whole.

Hotch closed his eyes, a wave of grief and regret washing over him as he placed the hat gently back in the closet. The memories of Haley, of the warmth she had brought into his life, were still there, but they were shrouded in the painful truth that he had let her slip away. He had spent so long running from the fear of his father, trying to replace it with something brighter, but in the end, he had pushed away the very thing that had saved him

The shrill ring of his phone cut through his thoughts, jolting him back to the present. “Hotchner,” he said, masking the turmoil beneath his usual calm.

Gideon’s voice came through the line, urgent and clipped. “We’ve got a situation. A series of poisonings in Long Island, targeting public spaces. Libraries, parks, shopping centers. It’s escalating, and the unsub’s leaving messages. We need you here, now.”

Hotch glanced back at the pirate hat before slamming the closet shut. “I’ll be there in twenty,” he replied, shoving the memories aside as he grabbed his coat and headed out the door. There was no time to dwell on the past; the present demanded his full attention.

At the BAU, the team gathered around the conference table as Gideon outlined the details of the case. The poisonings were strategic, each attack aimed at places where people gathered, spreading panic through the community. The unsub’s taunts came in the form of cryptic messages, each one hinting at the next target.

Hotch’s jaw tightened as he scanned the crime scene photos, feeling the familiar pull of duty override everything else.

“We’re splitting up,” Gideon said, his gaze sweeping across the room. “Hotch, you and Peter will head to the latest crime scene. Rossi and I will cover the first.”

Hotch nodded, his face impassive as he gathered his things. He was already mentally mapping out the approach, compartmentalizing the emotional weight of the morning. But as they drove, Peter, clearly uncomfortable with the silence, tried to break the tension.

“You know, about that bet I won,” Peter began, glancing over at Hotch with a hint of a smile. “The date… with her. I’ve been trying to figure out how to make it special.”

Hotch’s eyes stayed fixed on the road, his expression tightening at Peter’s words. The mention of you - the team member who had started to break through the cracks in his own carefully guarded exterior - sent a surge of conflicting emotions through him. His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“Have you really thought this through?” Hotch asked, his voice low, almost a growl. “You and her, both in the field, both seeing the worst of what people are capable of… it’s not as easy as you think.”

Peter shrugged, trying to maintain his casual demeanor, but there was a defensive edge creeping in. “We’ve always been good at separating things. She gets it - she’s smart, one of the smartest people I know. We can handle it.”

Hotch’s frustration boiled over, his tone sharpening. “It’s not about being smart, Peter. This job… it changes you. It gets into your head, your heart. And you’re fooling yourself if you think it won’t affect you both. What happens when you’re forced to make a choice - her safety or the job? How do you keep that from clouding your judgment?”

Peter’s smile faltered, and his eyes flicked toward Hotch, the beginnings of anger flashing across his face. “You don’t think I know that? You think I haven’t thought about it every damn day since I realized I wanted more with her? At least I’m honest about where I stand. I’m not hiding behind this job like it’s the only thing that matters.”

The tension between them was palpable, the car’s interior charged with unspoken words and unresolved conflicts. Hotch’s gaze remained fixed on the road, but his mind was racing. Peter’s words hit closer to home than he cared to admit, scraping against wounds that had never fully healed. Peter’s willingness to embrace his feelings, to take the leap Hotch had always hesitated to make, stung in a way that was hard to articulate.

“You don’t get it, Peter,” Hotch said finally, his voice quieter, more resigned. “You have no idea what it’s like to live with the consequences of those choices. I’ve seen what it does to people, how it tears them apart. This job… it doesn’t let you have a normal life, no matter how hard you try.”

Peter stared at him, searching for something in Hotch’s expression that he couldn’t quite find. “Maybe not. But I’d rather take the risk than spend my life wondering what could have been.”

They lapsed into silence, the argument left hanging between them, unresolved. Hotch felt the weight of Peter’s words settle heavily on his shoulders, mingling with the guilt and regret that had been simmering beneath the surface since seeing Haley again.

He didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know if he even had the right to. Peter’s defiance, his willingness to fight for what he wanted, was a painful reminder of the choices Hotch had made and the things he had lost in the process.

When they arrived at the crime scene, Hotch pushed all of it down, shoving the emotions into that familiar place he rarely let himself go. The crime scene was chaotic, with officers milling about, evidence markers scattered across the library floor.

Hotch’s keen eyes scanned the room, piecing together the unsub’s method, the subtle clues left behind. But something caught his attention: a bulletin board crowded with flyers and notes, too chaotic at first glance, but hiding something.

He moved closer, pulling back layers of paper until he found it: a cryptic message, written in neat, deliberate script. As he read the words, his blood ran cold, the implications settling like lead in his stomach.

The riddle painted a clear picture of the next target. Hotch’s hands trembled slightly as he stepped back, the reality sinking in.

Riverhead.

The place you were right now.

Without a word, Hotch turned and sprinted out of the building, his heart pounding with a fear that went far beyond the professional. This wasn’t just another case. It was personal, and every second mattered.

[vee-making]

#14 - What if Minecraft had Giraffes? (We back, new art blog new me, please give me a follow!!!)

This is an animal I've ALWAYS wanted in Minecraft, for one simple reason - they huge! Giraffes would be found living in Savanna biomes exclusively, going from tree to tree munching on their beautiful leaves. In addition, a single Giraffe will spawn in every Savanna village, similarly to Camels in Desert Villages or Yaks in Snowy Villages.

Giraffes are Neutral Mobs, and are not to be messed with! A single kick from these babies not only packs a punch, but can send you flying with very strong knockback! Luckily, they're more than happy to hang out with any players, craning their necks down to any players holding some fresh Acacia Leaves for them to chomp on. If you're lucky, you'll see a Baby Giraffe toddle behind them, cute as can be (but still taller than the player!)

Giraffes can sometimes fight each other, clacking their necks together in a majestic display. This does not actually weaken their hit points, but a winner will emerge victorious and the loser will walk away, not to step foot near that giraffe for at least another 2 hours. The winning Giraffe, meanwhile, will be weakened from the battle, and will have a hard time winning more neck fights until it recoups its strength. I'm sure the enterprising player could make some kind of fun out of giraffe fighting tournaments! Just.. don't try that in real life :3

Ultimately, the main goal of Giraffes is not to be 'useful', it's to be cute! I mean come on, who WOULDN'T want to go into the savanna biome and see a herd of Giraffes walking by, knowing you walk in the presence of giants?