#said subject is like... emotions and what they means and are for

[crownedwille]

I've come to the conclusion that loving young royals doesn't mean I can't be critical about it, maybe especially bc I love the show so much I have such strong feelings about it, good and bad and I can love parts of canon and agree with it and appreciate it but I don't have to love it all. I have accepted that it's okay if I don't accept the ending and I don't have to force myself to support it. It's okay to not agree with all of canon and it's okay to not side with all of the creators' intentions/views. Loving a show doesn't mean you have to take everything the writers say on face value and that's the only version that is allowed to exist. Canon isn't everything and fandom is about curating your own experience that makes you happy and not miserable. You don't have to dismiss canon in every aspect and ignore it entirely, that's certainly not what I want but there is a fine line between being canon respectful, allowing some parts to exist and sometimes, yes, you just have to say "fuck canon" and move on for your own sanity and wellbeing

[bakibakideemon]

Well if it was simple that XL saw MQ and FX less then him or even didn’t see them as friends then 1) why would he even change his mind about it later? The fact is XL is not that kind of a person. 2) it doest make sense that he would MQ they have always been friends or even the whole emotional turmoil being resolved in the last arc wouldn’t make sense. 3) XL was a prince, and he saw the life from the point of a prince. But he tried his best to be understanding, so see from MQs perspective. You can’t take that away from him. 4) why would he be ok with MQ going ?! Or accept it when MQ first brought it up. He was more taken aback by MQ siding with the gods. Something MQ himself regretted but said he had no choice. (Like things are more than just one particular situation) I still maintain MQ did what he had to he was right in doing so. And XL was right in feeling betrayed. But again it was a horrible situation they were in. And in the long run it didn’t matter. They both let go. No one held it over the other. You know like friends.

5)as for putting in his shoes (as I have said before) the whole separation arc and subsequent 800 is what made him see beyond his privilege. If I had to explain it in a different way I’d say when I was a child/ teenager, my opinions towards my mothers actions were (particularly in referenceing her misogynistic rules that were taught to her as a way of life that she tried to teach me + her actions of venting her frustration about my father onto me as a child in the form of what i think was lowkey verbal abuse etc).

As a child/teenager I could see it being unfair but not verbalize it. As I grew up I could actually explain myself and understand it was unfair and it was abusive. Hell I hated her at one point. It was more confusing because I also loved her.

But at the same time going out to the real world I also began seeing the way in which women (in my country especially during my mothers time) were oppressed, had no one to turn to (not family not husband, having zero financial independence), stuck in multiple lose-lose situation (it was arranged marriage) etc. I actually began understanding the reasons behind her actions.

Obv. I still had so much frustration because now I had reasons behind the actions that made her a victim as well. It greyed out my whole black and white world view. It would have been better if my mom really hated me instead of having some bad days. And then i remembered there were times as a daughter + as a child I had no else to turn to other than my mom. Basically, I had come to the conclusion that I as a woman I can see where my mom was coming from (it explained her actions) but it didn’t justify what I went through as a child (not just a daughter). Both were true (her being a victim and abusive). And through out the whole time. My mother remained my mother/l still loved my mother and continue to love my mother. But I also acknowledge her flaws as one.

The point being, just because they were his attendants, doesn’t mean XL didn’t see him as his friends. He did.

I know the book goes to great lengths to show how grey everyone is. How circumstances drive people to make so so many questionable choices. Including XL. Hell I still say XL and FX took MQ for granted. Or FX needed to tone down this commentary towards MQ. Same way I think MQ didn’t have to be an ass after XL ascended the 3rd time.

I don’t see human relationships in such black and white perspectives or to be put more accurately through a modern moral lens. Especially a tale set in a fantasy world with kings and queens (XL was also a prince) + gods who are no better than demons.

I will also say that I don’t think you’re wrong/ discount your opinion in anyway because honestly you’re also right. In the sense that XL, MQ, FX all made choices they thought were best after considering everything.

But like to each their own. We aren’t changing each other’s mind. And honestly it’s a subjective interpretation… hope you have a good day 😁😁

Ok so someone sent me this post. And like what?!

Like how do I explain that this is not what friendships are or how they work. While yes they had every right to leave (actually FX didn’t leave, XL literally told him to leave).

I’d agree to this if they said MQ and FX had every right to leave but XL has every right to feel betrayed.

Like the story is more than one situation… that’s what the book is about. The actions which are a culmination of thousands of others and its consequences. And how characters respond to these consequences.

The three were “friends” especially in XLs eyes. That’s the very reason he doesn’t blame either of them. This is so… Had every“right.” 🙄 If that’s what you think about friendships then I’ve got some news for you…

MQ was worried about his mother and saw the reality for what it was (their homelessness, their hunger etc). Ascending helped him help both his families (his mother and XL/FX). Also, at the end of the day what happened at the hill was betrayal (you can justify it all you like) MQ knew it too (I wonder if he actually discussed his thoughts with FQ or XL about ascending himself) and hence his immediate reaction. But XL was too far gone at that point (that’s one thing you wouldn’t expect your friend to do at that point).

But it was such a horrible time for all of them so afterwards (years later) even XL understood it was just awful circumstances so he never held it against MQ. AND THAT IS THE POINT.

Also, if I leave my friend during their worst time l (no matter what I’m going through) yes I’m not being a good friend. Like wise if I can’t understand my friends actions in that circumstance then I’m not being a good friend either. THAT IS THE POINT.

I wonder id MQ ever discussed with FX about his plan (may be he did because Id like to think so especially considering FX was accepting the food from MQ. On that note don’t forget after a while XL ended up eating the food MQ gave despite initially not wanting it. THIS IS THE BIGGEST HINT THAT THINGS ARE NOT SIMPLE BLACK AND WHITE). Hence yes, XL did feel betrayed after the hill. Whether MQs actions right/ wrong is irrelevant. Whether XLs reaction (right or wrong) to the betrayal (I think Jun Wu also made an appearance then and this was the beginning of XLs mental health crisis as well) is again Irrelevant. Especially 800 years later. SO GETTING HUNG UP ON THIS IS SOOO D*MB.

Which is why I get annoyed at MQs behavior in the first book (The weird smiles/ wanting to feel vindicated/ superior). Keyword “get annoyed” doesn’t mean I can’t understand why he’s reacting as such or rather it’s coming off as such (the latter part is what I like to believe). He’s still stuck in their early dynamics that he’s of a lower status than XL and FX. Honestly, he needed to realize that XL always considered him a friend. (Something he didn’t realize until the very end 800 years later). This comes from him still grappling with his own status while a human. He can’t even understand how XL would consider him a friend… Like he was shocked. All his actions in the first book point towards MQ believing XL thinks he (XL) is better than MQ bro is too stuck in his head (yes that come off as mean/ rude af. There is no denying at at all).

THESE THINGS DONT HAPPEN IN A VACCUM.

FX was more about blind loyalty. That he couldn’t see (for that part neither could XL) the reality of the situation that MQ did. Honestly FX needed to tone down his judgements towards MQ (guess who was cleaning and cooking and managing their finances even after their kingdom fell? MQ). No matter how right he was, he chose the worst way to say it. It was getting on my nerves as well. (MQ way better than me I’d have smacked FX. Having said that MQ was rude as well). This is something both XL and FX realize after MQ is gone.

I don’t think FX would have left unless XL forced him to. But he needed that to see a different perspective outside XL. Likewise (the in case of XL he too realized he’d been very selfish as well)

XL, for that matter, let MQ go. He understood where the other was coming from. Period. He was betrayed at the hill (+ he was scared being abandoned). Not to mention the whole trying to steal arc… they were all desperate. And poor guy. Someone was playing a chess game-cum-roulette against him life without his knowledge. These people (you cannot seriously believe Jun Wu did not set up FX/ MQ ascending) were specifically put in the worst circumstances possible, repeatedly. One after the other…

But guess what? Despite everything MQ and FX still helped XL once they found him 800 years ago (no matter in disguise). XL recognized them after all this time no matter that they were clones. The trio made up in the end because they were friends. THATS THE POINT. THINGS WERE UNFORTUNATE AND THEY HAD TO SEPARATE BUT THEY DIDNT STOP BEING FRIENDS DESPITE EVERYTHING…

So if someone says XL was right or FX was right or MQ was right… neither of them was. There is no wrong or right. There is no saying one was more justified than other…

[luna-azzurra]

Write Tension that isn't just Yelling or Guns

Listen, not all tension is someone holding a knife or screaming “I’ve had enough, Derek!” at a dinner party. Real, edge-of-your-seat tension can be quiet, slow, awkward, and still make your reader grip the page like it owes them money. So here are my favorite ways to sneak tension in like a gremlin under the bed...

╰  Unanswered Questions (That the Character is Actively Avoiding)

Tension isn’t always about what’s said—it’s about what’s not said. Let your character dodge questions, interrupt, change subjects. Let readers feel the silence humming between the lines. + Great for: secrets, internal conflict, emotional gut-punches.

╰ Time Pressure Without Action Pressure

A clock ticking doesn’t always mean bombs. Sometimes it means waiting for a test result. A letter. A phone call. A knock on the door. Tension = knowing something’s coming but not knowing when. + Great for: psychological suspense, horror, relationship drama.

╰  Small Talk That’s Not Really Small Talk

When two characters are talking about the weather, but both are secretly screaming inside? That’s tension. Give one character a goal (say the thing, don’t say the thing) and the other a defense mechanism. Now sit back and watch the discomfort bloom. + Great for: slow burns, rivalries, “we’re not talking about that night, are we?”

╰ Two Characters Who Want Opposite Things But Are Pretending They Don’t

Someone wants to leave. Someone wants them to stay. Someone wants to confess. Someone is acting like nothing’s wrong. Make your characters polite when they want to scream. + Great for: emotionally repressed chaos, family drama, enemies-to-lovers.

╰ One Character Realizes Something The Other Doesn’t

A power shift = instant tension. One person knows the truth. The other’s still talking like everything’s fine. Let that dread slow-cook. Readers love being in on the secret. + Great for: betrayal, secrets, foreshadowing plot twists.

╰ Body Language That Contradicts the Dialogue

They say “I’m fine,” but they’re picking their thumbnail raw. They laugh too hard. Their smile doesn’t reach their eyes. Show the cracks forming. Let the reader sense the dissonance. + Great for: all genres. Especially emotionally loaded scenes.

╰  Echoed Phrases or Reused Words That Hit Differently the Second Time

When a character repeats something someone else said—but now it’s laced with bitterness or grief? Chills. Callback dialogue is your best friend for building subtle dread or emotional weight. + Great for: heartbreak scenes, arcs coming full circle, psychological unraveling.

╰ Characters Performing a Role to Keep the Peace

Pretending to be “the good sibling.” Faking confidence in a boardroom. Playing therapist when they’re not okay themselves. Tension thrives when someone’s holding it together with duct tape and fake smiles. + Great for: internal conflict, layered characterization, slow unravelings.

[cbeargyu]

virgin's debut

A friendship can’t be ruined by having sex… can it?

⊹₊⋆ pairing: best friend!haechan x fem!reader x love interest!jaehyun (slight)

⊹₊⋆ warnings: angst, fluff, smut, best friends to lovers trope, protected sex, unprotected sex (use protection pls), fingering, making out, nudes, slowburn, suggestive redaction, mild cursing, reader is a virgin lol, haechan isn't, English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance.

⊹₊⋆wc: 18,3K

READ THE PREVIEW [HERE]

Two weeks later

haechan sighed again, his chest heavy as he collapsed onto the couch. With both hands, he covered his face, fingers digging into his skin, trying to block out the past two weeks.

hyuck didn’t understand why there was this twisted mess of emotions swirling in his stomach, why his thoughts were so scattered, a jumble of "what ifs" and "should I's".

it had been two weeks since you made that insane proposition to him. haechan hadn’t talked much since then, just the occasional texts letting each other know when they’d left or entered the building they both lived in. the topic hadn’t come up, and you hadn’t pressured him either. but, god, it haunted him.

it was unthinkable. his values just wouldn’t allow it. sleeping with his best friend? never crossed his mind. but you—you weren’t just anyone. you’d been inseparable since high school. your sense of humor matched perfectly, and everyone knew the two of you were a damn force together. their friends noticed the bond, the way they both seemed to fit like puzzle pieces, always there for each other, even when they fought. like siblings, but with none of the blood ties.

that word, "siblings"—it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It was strange that others saw them two like that. but they were okay with it. there were boundaries in their relationship, and crossing them was unforgivable.

of course, you were angelic. your bubbly personality and constant jokes made you irresistible. physically, you were gorgeous, though you were a bit shorter than him—way too short, maybe. you had black hair and an odd but cute bangs just above your eyebrows, something he liked to tease you about.

and yeah, you’d catch anyone’s eye. he wasn’t gonna lie—he’d had a crush on you when he first met you in high school. but over time, that romantic attraction faded as your friendship grew stronger.

maybe it was also the way you were so open with your thoughts—no filter, no shame—that when you asked him about sleeping together, it sounded completely natural to you. to him, though? It was a punch to the gut, a cold shower, a slap to the face. he was spinning, disoriented, trapped in what felt like a twisted fantasy—or maybe a nightmare.

for him, sex wasn’t a taboo subject. he’d lost his virginity at 17 to one of his many girlfriends, and talking about it was casual. hell, haechan didn’t even hold back when discussing the details of his past experiences with you. he’d even described how he’d "done it" in vivid detail—like it was nothing.

but you? you were different. you had dated three guys since high school, but none of those relationships lasted more than two months. so, you didn’t exactly know what it was like to be in a serious, long-term relationship. snd sex? It didn’t seem like a necessity in your life—at least not until now.

“I mean, when you’re dating someone romantically and nothing happens, i’d call that a win,” you said, casually munching on a slice of lemon tart.

haechan furrowed his brows, taking a sip of his coffee. “explain that.”

“it’s simple,” you shrugged. “because if they haven’t seen you naked, you can run into them on the street and not have to worry about that bastard seeing your ass.”

heck couldn’t help but laugh at your reasoning. “right, totally.”

you both chuckled, agreeing on that one. but he also knew, deep down, it wasn’t that simple for him. not anymore. he couldn’t ignore what was bubbling beneath the surface.

haechan felt a buzz in his pocket. his phone. the first class of the day was about to start, and he had to rush if he didn’t want to be late. he lived close to campus, just a five-minute walk, but the class was on the other side of the building.

but this situation? it was messing with his head so much that he couldn’t fall asleep until 3 AM these past two weeks. he grabbed his backpack and keys, about to head out when his phone buzzed again.

it was you. a message: “i’m heading to class, just leaving my apartment.”

haechan froze. he hadn’t expected you to text him now. his hand gripped the doorknob, but he didn’t open it. the thought of seeing you right now made his heart race. he wasn’t ready. not yet. he couldn’t just pretend like everything was fine.

"shit... y/n, what were you thinking?"

he sighed deeply. what was this? haechan could hear his own voice in his head, his thoughts like an endless storm. he couldn’t stop thinking about you—about what you had said, and about everything that had changed in such a short time. his stomach twisted. what would happen if he saw you now? could he face you? could he even be the same around you after what you had suggested?

he shook his head, hoping to clear his thoughts. He didn’t have the answers, but he knew one thing: this wasn’t going to be easy.

haechan let out a deep sigh, adjusting his scarf around his neck before stepping out of his apartment. he tried to calm himself, convincing himself that he could handle whatever came next. as if nothing had happened. as if he could just brush it off and pretend it hadn’t been weighing on him for the past two weeks.

but every time he thought about it, it made his chest tighten. that proposal of yours. the way you had looked at him, so casually, as if it were no big deal. he couldn’t get it out of his mind. he had always been the life of the party, the one to make jokes and laugh things off. but this—this was different. it gnawed at him like an insistent itch he couldn’t scratch, a question with no answer.

he made his way to campus, each step seeming faster than the last, but his thoughts were tangled in a mess of confusion and frustration. you hadn’t seemed bothered. if anything, you had acted like it was just another conversation. you hadn’t even tried to talk to him about it again, hadn’t pressured him. but that only made it worse. the silence between you both was deafening. you had sent that message, but it wasn’t the same. it was as if you had moved on without even thinking about it, while he was still stuck in the same place, drowning in his thoughts.

it was absurd. he was known for being the carefree one, the one who didn’t let anything get to him. but now? now he was a mess. the more he tried to convince himself that it was no big deal, the harder it was to believe it. you had said it so easily, like it was a joke, and yet it had shattered something inside him. the truth was, he didn’t know how to look at you anymore. he didn’t know how to face you after that. how could he? after everything?

haechan shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. his footsteps carried him toward the building, and the closer he got, the more his anxiety grew. he couldn’t avoid it forever. he’d have to see you eventually. the communication department wasn’t that big, and it seemed like the entire campus would lead him straight to you.

as he reached the entrance of the building, his alert system kicked in. you were probably inside already. and damn it, the thought of running into you—now, after everything—felt like a punch in the gut. you hadn’t even mentioned it again, hadn’t tried to force a conversation. yet he could feel it. the tension. the distance. how had it gotten to this? why did he feel so… disconnected?

he stopped for a second, hand resting against the doorframe, trying to breathe. but it was like everything had changed. nothing was simple anymore. he had been your best friend for so long, but now? now it felt like he was walking on eggshells, unsure of what would break first.

“hey.”

a light punch to his back snapped him out of his daze, and the blood immediately drained from his face. that voice—he couldn’t mistake it, not even if a million voices tried to mimic it. His breath hitched, and he turned around so fast it almost hurt.

there you were. small, as always. a knitted beanie sitting snug over your head, that— ridiculous—fringe barely brushing the tops of your brows, framing your delicate face in a way that made his throat dry. a long grey coat hung from your shoulders, swallowing you slightly, and your black boots clicked softly against the floor. everything about you looked… normal. the way you looked at him, the way you smiled, even the casual punch to his back.

physical contact.

that word echoed in his head like a siren. he quickly shook the thought away, locking his focus on the paper Starbucks bag dangling from your left hand. maybe you’d stopped by the café on the way. maybe you ordered delivery. maybe someone gave it to you. maybe—god, he needed to stop. the hamster in his brain was doing flips, and he wanted to knock some sense into himself.

you held the bag out toward him.

haechan just stared at it for a second, until you raised your eyebrows, shook it again, and snapped, “are you gonna take it or what?! geez, i brought it for you and you’re just standing there looking at it like an idiot.”

your expression twisted in mock annoyance, brows curved upward—but oddly, he felt the tightness in his chest ease a little.

reluctantly, haechan reached out and took the bag, brushing his fingers against yours for a second too long. he tried not to react, but his mind was a chaotic storm. He couldn’t help but look at you—really look.

had you always looked like this? that coat hugged your waist just enough. the shape of your figure was something he never let himself notice before. and your chest… jesus. it wasn’t like you’d suddenly changed, but it felt like someone had wiped the fog off his glasses. He was seeing you differently. entirely.

and that terrified him.

he lowered his eyes quickly, too aware of how warm his ears were getting.

“thanks,” he mumbled, voice a little hoarse.

“no problem,” you replied, glancing around casually. “i figured you might skip breakfast again, so…”

you trailed off with a small shrug, stuffing your hands into your coat pockets. haechan tried to smile, but his stomach was tangled in impossible knots.

haechan took another deep breath as he tried to collect himself, shifting the weight of the Starbucks bag from one hand to the other. he looked at you, trying to ignore the pull in his chest—the sudden awareness of every little detail about you. there was a tension he couldn’t shake off, something that sat heavy in his stomach.

you seemed to notice his distracted state and leaned against the wall, your usual easygoing posture, the same as always, except now, he couldn’t stop noticing how you looked in that oversized coat and those boots. he was spiraling again, caught in the thought of you.

“so…” you broke the silence, “i’ve been kind of swamped lately. working on this branding project for a client. it’s been a pain, though. my computer decided to die on me right when I needed it most.”

haechan raised an eyebrow, his mind snapping back to reality. “really? you didn’t tell me about it. why didn’t you ask for help? I mean, i know a thing or two about fixing computers. I could’ve helped you.”

you shrugged, a small, nonchalant smile playing at the corners of your lips. “nah, i called taeyong instead. he’s better with that stuff.”

there was a sharp tug in haechan’s chest. he hadn’t expected that. the knot in his stomach tightened, a wave of discomfort washing over him. taeyong? really?

he tried to laugh it off, but there was something bitter in his tone as he asked, “taeyong? why him? i thought you knew I was good with that kind of stuff.”

“yeah, well,” you quipped with a raised eyebrow, “taeyong just happened to be the first one I thought of. besides, he’s pretty quick with tech stuff.”

haechan’s smile was tight, and his stomach churned. he told himself it was nothing. he was being stupid. but why didn’t you ask him? he had always been there when your tech failed. it felt… weird. almost like you didn’t need him anymore. but, of course, he didn’t voice any of that. instead, he played it off, trying to act casual.

“sure, sure,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. he was so not handling this well. the thought of you asking someone else for help left him unsettled, and he hated how much it bothered him. It was irrational, but he couldn't shake it.

you noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way he pulled back just a little. your smile softened as you leaned forward slightly, breaking the silence again.

“hey,” you said gently, “i’m sorry if it upset you. it wasn’t meant to make you feel left out, really.”

haechan quickly looked up, trying to look unfazed. “nah, it’s fine. I mean, it's not like i’m the only one you can ask for help, right?” he joked, but there was an edge to his voice that didn’t quite match the tone of his words.

you raised your eyebrows, a knowing look in your eyes. “you’re acting like a total prude right now,” you said, a smirk forming. “didn’t you used to tell me all the crazy stuff you did with jang chanmi back in high school? and now the topic of helping a friend with a computer is freaking you out?”

haechan blinked, taken aback. the mention of chanmi, especially in the context of your teasing, was enough to snap him out of his spiraling thoughts. he groaned, running a hand through his hair, trying to laugh it off. “well, that was different, okay? that was high school stuff.”

you chuckled, leaning back against the wall, clearly amused by his discomfort. “oh, come on. don’t tell me you’re too shy to talk about tech problems now. you used to explain every position you tried with her—like it was a lesson in geometry or something.”

haechan let out an exasperated sigh, not sure whether to be embarrassed or grateful for the way you were managing to cut through the tension. he couldn’t stop the blush creeping up his neck, and he cursed under his breath. of all the people, you had to be the one to make him feel like a damn fool.

“well, that was different, okay? It’s... it’s not like i’m comfortable talking about that stuff with you anymore, alright?” he almost winced at his words. the last thing he wanted was to make it sound like he couldn’t be himself with you.

you tilted your head slightly, your tone playful but with a hint of mischief. “don’t worry, though. I just asked taeyong to help with the computer. i didn’t make the same proposal to him that i made to you.”

haechan’s eyes went wide. he froze, his face instantly flushing. did you really just say that? the sudden wave of heat rushing to his face felt like he was on fire. his brain scrambled for words, but all he could manage was a surprised, “wait, what?”

you laughed softly, clearly enjoying the effect you had on him.

“you’re scared i’m gonna bring it up, aren’t you?”

“what? i—no, i’m fine,” he said too quickly, almost defensively. “just tired. you know, early class. cold outside. normal stuff.”

you didn’t say anything right away. just looked at him with that calm gaze of yours, the one that could read people like open books.

that hit him harder than expected. he flinched. swallowed. you tilted your head slightly.

“it’s okay,” you said, voice even. “if it made you uncomfortable… we don’t have to talk about it. ever. i’m not gonna ambush you or corner you or expect anything.”

haechan blinked. your tone was so mature, so measured—like you’d thought about this. like you knew what it had done to him.

“it was dumb of me,” you continued with a small smile. “or maybe not dumb, just… bold. and i get it, you didn’t sign up for that. so, if you want to forget it ever happened, consider it forgotten. clean slate.”

he didn’t know what to say. a hundred emotions jostled in his chest, fighting for space. gratitude. relief. guilt. and something else entirely—something heavier and harder to name.

because despite everything, despite the panic and confusion and awkward silences, you were still here. talking to him. offering him coffee. smiling at him like you always did.

but something had changed. he saw it in the way he noticed your lips when they moved. in the way his eyes lingered a beat too long on the curve of your body. in the way his mind kept circling back to that question you’d asked two weeks ago.

and the worst part?

haechan didn’t know if he wanted to go back to before.

before everything had shifted. before he started noticing all these things about you—things he had never allowed himself to see. he wasn’t sure if it was fear of the unknown or something else entirely, but the thought of things returning to how they were felt… difficult.

“anyway,” you said, standing up from the railing and brushing your hands off as if to clear the air between you. "i’ll see you later. don’t overthink it, alright?"

the casual way you said it made his chest tighten. he could feel that something was still unspoken, that there was more you weren’t saying, but he didn’t press. you were good at hiding what you truly felt, always had been.

haechan tried to push the conversation out of his mind as he entered his class on media studies. he sat down, pulling his notes in front of him and attempting to focus, but his thoughts were all over the place. his brain kept circling back to your words—had you meant everything you said? Was it really that simple for you?

the ice-cold americano you’d brought him sat on the edge of his desk. Its perfect arrangement, just the way he always liked it, made his chest tighten for reasons he couldn’t explain. he watched as droplets of water gathered on the glass, slowly tracing their way down to pool at the bottom.

he was distracted. but even more than that, he was feeling something he couldn’t quite name. his gaze wandered over the cold surface, the way the water clung to the glass—his mind drifting to you. to your smile. to the way your voice had lingered in his thoughts.

he imagined, for a moment, what it would be like if those droplets were slipping along your skin instead. He didn’t want to think about it, but his mind had other plans. every thought that surfaced seemed to lead back to you—the curve of your lips, the way you had looked at him just before leaving.

his pulse quickened, a wave of heat rising to his face. he snapped back to reality, but the blush was already creeping up his neck. "what the hell am i doing?" he muttered under his breath, quickly looking down at his notes again, trying to focus. his mind refused to cooperate. why was he thinking about this now? why was his body reacting like this?

he could feel the tension rising, like a knot tightening in his stomach. he had never been this aware of you before—not like this. and the worst part was, he didn’t know how to stop it.

you buried your face in your hands, heart racing, panic rising in your chest. what had you done?

the proposal you made to haechan wasn’t random—not by a long shot. It came from somewhere raw, impulsive, and aching. you’d convinced yourself he would say yes. no hesitation. no second thoughts. that’s what your friends told you, right?

"guys are easy. especially when it comes to sex. they’re always down," yeri had said with a laugh, trying to encourage you. “come on, it’s haechan. he jokes about that stuff all the time.”

and maybe that was the worst part. because you believed her. you judged your best friend through a lens of assumption, reducing him to some stereotype, thinking he’d just say yes because he was a guy. because he was him.

but he didn’t.

and now you knew—you had judged him so, so wrong. haechan wasn’t like the guys in those stories your friends always told. he wasn’t thoughtless. he wasn’t careless. he was kind. and considerate. and the look on his face after your question… you could still see it. confused. hurt. maybe even disappointed. not because you asked, but because he didn’t know how to respond without breaking something between you.

the guilt clawed its way up your throat.

you hadn’t asked him just for the sake of it, either. it wasn’t some random experiment. it was desperation. because ever since last fall, ever since he came into the picture, something in you had changed.

jung jaehyun.

a senior in the visual arts department. tall, graceful, and unfairly good-looking—like he’d walked straight out of a perfume ad in a fashion magazine. chiseled jawline, smooth voice, perfect smile. the kind of man who turned heads in every hallway he walked through. girls whispered about him constantly—rumors, fantasies, stories that may or may not have been true. he was confident, magnetic, dangerous in that way only people who know they’re desired can be.

and of course, you weren’t immune.

you saw him at a few parties, caught glimpses of him sketching in the studio, his sleeves rolled up and headphones in, and felt a pull you didn’t fully understand. it wasn’t love. It wasn’t even a crush. it was curiosity. lust. a hunger you didn’t recognize as your own until it became too loud to ignore.

your friends told you to go for it. "just hook up with him," they said. "get it over with." but you couldn’t. you didn’t have the experience, the confidence, the… proof that you could be the kind of girl someone like jaehyun might want.

so you turned to the only person you trusted. the only one who made you feel safe, unjudged, seen.

haechan.

and now you’d hurt him.

you hadn’t just crossed a line—you’d shattered the trust he’d always given you so freely. all because you were afraid. because you wanted to prove something. because you thought he’d just say yes.

but he didn’t.

now you sat in the middle of your typography and composition class, surrounded by the soft clatter of keyboards and the low hum of your professor’s lecture, your laptop open in front of you and your adobe illustrator file untouched. letters floated on your screen in random positions, but your brain couldn’t form a single coherent thought. you weren’t even sure what the assignment was supposed to be.

your body was there—but your mind was somewhere else entirely. caught in the swirl of embarrassment, regret, and confusion. a storm of emotion you didn’t know how to calm. all you could think was: what have I done?

it had been a week since that conversation. on the surface, everything seemed fine—like a reset button had been pressed. you and haechan still exchanged jokes, shared snacks, and sat next to each other in class. but underneath the laughter and casual glances, there was a strange hollowness, like the two of you had become actors reciting old lines in a play that didn’t fit anymore. robotically pretending the elephant in the room didn’t exist, even though its shadow loomed over every interaction. after all, everything had already been said, hadn’t it?

still, something was off.

haechan hadn’t hooked up with anyone since then. it wasn’t for lack of trying—he’d gone out, flirted, danced—but each time, his mind wandered back to you. and it wasn’t just idle thoughts. no, it was worse.

every night that week, he'd woken up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, heart racing, and a painful hardness straining against his boxers. dreams of you—wearing almost nothing, bent in suggestive positions, whispering filthy things in his ear, inviting him to taste you, to touch you—played on a loop in his subconscious. but right when he was about to finally reach you, melt into you, he’d wake up frustrated and breathless. left with no choice but to slip his hand under the waistband and relieve the aching pressure. for serotonin. for oxytocin. for sanity.

now, it was saturday night and he was stuck at work.

the burger place was dead quiet. maybe it was the cold snap that had settled over the city, keeping everyone snuggled up in their homes instead of venturing out for greasy fast food. Haechan didn’t mind, really. he was sick of putting on his fake retail voice—“welcome! Fries with that?”—and dealing with people who didn’t say thank you. right now, he was working the closing shift, wearing the stiff black uniform cap and flipping patties that hissed on the flat top grill. the whole place smelled of grilled beef, fryer oil, and cheap pickles. his coworkers were goofing off while mopping the floor and stacking chairs, and haechan, while half-listening to their jokes, was just counting the minutes till he could clock out and go back to bed.

that was when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

unknown number.

haechan hesitated. he barely ever answered unknown numbers, but something in his gut told him to pick up.

“hello?”

“HAECHAN!”

a girl’s voice. loud, panicked. He blinked.

“…who is this?”

“it’s seojung—y/n’s friend. you probably don’t remember me. we met, like, once.”

oh. right. you had sent him the numbers of your friends months ago, just in case. he’d never saved them.

“yeah, uh—what’s up?”

“it’s y/n,” she said quickly.

the emergency button in his brain went off.

“what happened? is she okay?! did something happen to her?”

“well—kind of?”

apparently, you’d gone out for a girls’ night. a little bar in the city downtown. everything was fine, until you’d gotten verydrunk. so drunk, in fact, you couldn’t even hold your head up, slurring nonsense, sobbing into seojung’s shoulder.

haechan grabbed his jacket before she even finished explaining.

“she kept saying… uh, really weird stuff,” seojung added nervously. “like—please don’t be mad, okay?—but she was screaming in the middle of the street that she was gonna die a virgin because her own best friend refused to help her.”

haechan stopped dead in his tracks, blinking in disbelief. “she said what?”

“i know! i was like, girl, stop embarrassing yourself! but she kept going. she even tried to climb on a statue to do a dramatic monologue or something, it was chaos.”

the line went quiet for a second.

“anyway,” seojung continued, “we can’t take her to the dorms—they don’t let us bring people in after curfew, and she’s way too far gone to be alone. you’re the only person she might listen to. can you come get her?”

“i’m on my way,” haechan said without hesitation, already sprinting out the back door. he didn’t even clock out. his coworkers just watched in stunned silence as he bolted into the freezing night air, hoodie half-zipped, hair disheveled, heart pounding.

he didn’t know exactly what he’d find when he got there.

but part of him was already bracing for it.

despite the cold weather, you had decided to wear a short velvet dress, sheer black tights, and an oversized puffer jacket that looked hilariously disproportionate on you—but also kind of cute. haechan blinked twice when he realized the jacket was his. the one he’d been looking for since last week. seeing you in it made his chest do something strange, tight and warm, like a coil winding in his ribs.

you looked disoriented, your makeup slightly smudged, your eyes glassy but still sparkly. your long legs peeked out from under the hem of the dress, knees wobbling as you leaned heavily on seojung for support. Behind her were yeri and jimin—both trying to look casual but clearly avoiding haechan’s gaze.

“sorry for calling so suddenly,” seojung said with an awkward smile, shifting nervously on her feet. “we didn’t know who else to call…”

“she just kept saying your name,” yeri added, crossing her arms.

“she’s been… emotional,” jimin muttered, eyes darting to the side. “also—sorry for… earlier stuff.”

the three girls looked anywhere but at haechan. there was something stiff in the air, a subtle frost behind their polite words. they knew what had happened. they knew he’d rejected you.

“thanks for looking after her,” haechan said simply, ignoring the tension as he gently took your arm. you mumbled something about “fuck friendship” and “i’ll die a virgin anyway,” making all three girls wince in embarrassment.

after quick goodbyes, they left hurriedly. haechan helped you into a cab, the inside warm and dimly lit, smelling faintly of peppermint and old leather.

“address?” the driver asked.

haechan rattled it off. the driver glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled.

“cute couple,” he said.

“oh—we’re not—” haechan began, but the man cut him off.

“young love. must be nice,” he chuckled. “leaving work in the middle of your shift to take care of your drunk girlfriend. that’s real devotion, son.”

haechan opened his mouth to correct him again, but then—

“HE REJECTED ME!” you suddenly shouted, head lolling dramatically to the side. “I asked him to have sex with me and he SAID NO.”

yhe cab fell into a stunned silence.

“…ah,” the driver finally said. “one-sided love, then.”

haechan wanted to crawl out of the moving car and disappear into the road. yhe driver shook his head sympathetically.

“you’re making a mistake, boy,” he said gravely. “a pretty lady like this? she won’t wait forever. you two already look like a couple. all that’s missing is the kiss.”

haechan glanced down at you, now slumped against his side, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. your makeup was a mess, your breath reeked of gin and lime, and you were clutching the hem of his jacket like it was your last lifeline.

and somehow, even like this, you looked heartbreakingly beautiful.

haechan stepped out of the taxi and paid the driver, the man's words echoing in his head like a song stuck on repeat. “you’re letting a good girl slip away…” he shouldn’t care what some stranger thought, but there was something about the way the guy said it — confident, certain — that made the sentence stick like honey to the roof of his mouth.

he turned around just in time to see you stepping out of the cab in your short dress, sheer tights hugging your legs, and a massive oversized jacket drowning your frame. his oversized jacket.

his breath caught a little. you looked both sexy and soft — long, graceful legs out in the cold, but your face flushed from alcohol and framed by the collar of his jacket. somehow, even in that state, you looked... perfect.

“you know where we are, right?” he asked gently, offering you his hand.

you nodded lazily, squinting at the familiar entrance of your apartment complex. but instead of walking toward it, you turned to him, a sly, sleepy smile playing on your lips.

“i don’t wanna go to my apartment,” you said, voice low and vaguely suggestive.

haechan blinked. “you need to sleep. you’re drunk.”

“i don’t wanna go to my apartment,” you repeated, this time slower, like you were daring him to challenge you. “i lost my keys.”

“you what?” his voice cracked as he stared at you in disbelief. “where the hell are you gonna sleep then?”

you tilted your head, your eyes glinting under the streetlight. “with you.”

silence.

haechan’s mouth opened slightly, the color rushing to his face like fire. he stammered, trying to find the words — to remind you of your promise, of how you said you'd drop this whole thing and start over.

but before he could say a word, you leaned forward with a groan and threw up directly into a nearby bush.

“oh, shit—” he muttered, rushing to hold you. he gathered your hair, gently rubbed your back, whispering reassurances under his breath. “okay, okay, it’s fine… just let it out…”

eventually, you straightened up, eyes glassy, cheeks damp from the cold wind. he sighed and wrapped an arm around you, leading you toward his place — your weight half-slumped against him.

inside, the warmth of his small apartment wrapped around you both. he carefully sat you on the couch and disappeared into the kitchen, filling a glass of water and setting a tea kettle on the stove.

you watched him in silence for a moment before breaking it. “i know what i said,” you murmured. “About letting it go. About forgetting. but i can’t. i literally can’t.”

he froze, slowly turning toward you.

“i feel like a hormonal teenager,” you laughed bitterly, wiping your mouth. “I keep thinking about you. about what i asked you. about what it would be like.”

“y/n…” he warned gently, setting the water beside you.

“i have this thing,” you blurted. “with my sunbae. jung jaehyun. he’s… god, he’s stupidly hot. tall, broad shoulders, perfect hair, every girl wants him. he only sleeps with older women — the kind who know what they’re doing. and I just… i don’t want to disappoint him.”

haechan’s expression darkened, not with anger, but something deeper. “so you wanted to use me as practice?” he asked, voice low.

“i’m not trying to use you,” you said, firm but vulnerable. “you’re my best friend. i trust you more than anyone. and you’re… you’re good at it.”

haechan blinked. “what?”

“you’re good in bed.”

he narrowed his eyes, stepping closer. “and how the hell do you know that?”

you gave a half-smirk. “you talk about it all the time, remember? bragging about your conquests like a walking NSFW podcast. you made it sound like you practically invented foreplay.”

haechan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “god, I was joking half the time—”

“but that’s exactly why i asked you in the first place,” you cut in, locking eyes with him. “because there’s no one else i’d trust for something like this. and let’s be honest—” you tilted your head with a teasing smile. “it’s not like you’ve gotten laid recently either.”

his jaw tensed. “i’m not desperate for sex, y/n.”

“oh, really?” you raised an eyebrow. “so those midnight jerk-off sessions because of your dreams about me are just… what? a new coping mechanism?”

his face burned red. “how do you—?!”

“i may have heard a little something.” you sipped your water dramatically. “you’re not as quiet as you think.”

“i hate you,” he muttered under his breath, turning away to hide the growing smirk on his lips.

“no, you don’t.”

you stood up slowly, unsteady but serious, your eyes fixed on his. “if we did this… it would be safe. familiar. no weirdness. just… two people helping each other out.”

“that’s not what this is about for you though, is it?” he said, voice low.

you looked away for a moment before answering. “no. It’s not just that. i want to feel… wanted. i want to be good at this. and yeah… I want to impress jaehyun. but i also… want it to be with someone who won’t hurt me.”

and for a moment, everything was quiet. the only sound was the water boiling and both your hearts pounding.

he exhaled sharply, frustrated — but not just at you. At himself. At this whole ridiculous night.

then, haechan stepped closer.

he leaned over, hands gripping the back of the couch, caging you in — his face mere inches from yours. you froze. Your breath hitched. your fingers clenched around the glass.

then, without thinking, you kissed him.

it was messy. desperate. tasting of beer and heat and something reckless.

he kissed you back — just for a second — his hand cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek. but then he pulled away suddenly, breath heavy, pupils blown wide.

“you’re drunk,” he said, voice hoarse. “i'm not kissing you like this.”

you blinked up at him, breathless.

“but if i weren’t?” you whispered.

he didn’t say anything.

but the fire in his eyes gave you all the answer you needed.

and that silence? it was louder than anything either of you had said all night.

that night, haechan slept on the couch, buried under a mess of blankets. you, on the other hand, took his bed — warm with freshly changed sheets and a white oversized t-shirt that smelled like him. he’d also lent you a hoodie for the cold, soft and worn from use.

when he asked if you'd prefer to sleep with the door shut for privacy, you shook your head and left it cracked open. Just slightly. maybe it was a silent invitation. maybe a part of you hoped he'd come in.

but he didn’t.

haechan's self-control was ironclad. he wouldn't touch you — not like that, not when you were drunk, no matter how much you asked. and you had asked. desperately.

by morning, your head throbbed with a brutal hangover. the light leaking through the blinds was cruel and unforgiving. still half-asleep, you blinked at the side table — a glass of water and a neatly placed pill waited for you. of course he remembered.

you padded out into the living room, barefoot, limbs aching. the smell of warm broth hit you first. then the quiet hum of a streamer's voice coming from his computer.

haechan sat hunched at the small dining table, glasses perched on his nose, hair slightly tousled from sleep. he was watching some gaming livestream, lazily slurping noodles from a bowl of ramen. a small pot sat between you, steam still curling up, and beside it — another bowl.

you noticed the sausage in the pot had been sliced perfectly small, just the way you liked. he always remembered little things like that.

your stomach twisted, not with hunger, but something softer. deeper.

without saying anything, haechan patted the seat beside him. you moved toward him slowly, like you were walking through a dream. he didn’t look at you — just kept his eyes on the screen as he grabbed the second bowl, carefully ladling ramen into it while glancing back and forth between the pot and your bowl to avoid making a mess.

you let out a quiet, involuntary giggle.

he glanced up at you then — his lips curved ever so slightly. and that's when you noticed it: his thick-rimmed glasses. the ones he only wore when he was deep into gaming or editing something late at night. they made him look effortlessly cool. casual. comfortable.

and stupidly handsome.

“thanks,” you murmured, your voice still hoarse from sleep and dehydration. “for… last night. picking me up.”

he didn’t respond at first — just nodded once, still watching the screen. no mention of the kiss. no mention of your drunken confession. nothing. just silence.

the elephant between you had never been bigger.

you glanced sideways again and noticed the dark circles under his eyes — deep and tired. he’d barely slept.

“you okay?” you asked gently.

“i’m fine,” he said, pushing up his glasses with a knuckle. “you had it worse.”

you looked down at the bowl in front of you, steam rising like it was trying to fill the silence. you slurped a noodle quietly, chewing.

that’s when you noticed something else.

the shape of his jaw as he ate — sharp, cut like stone under soft skin. you’d seen him eat ramen a hundred times, but this was the first time you really looked. the way his throat moved when he swallowed. the subtle flex of his neck. his collarbone peeking from under his hoodie. even the slope of his nose and the way his glasses rested perfectly above his cheekbones.

he wasn’t just your best friend. he was… really attractive.

painfully so.

and that realization made your stomach clench — not from the hangover, but from something dangerously close to want.

you sat there, fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic of the ramen bowl, the heat grounding you as your mind spun.

“hey…” your voice came out soft, hesitant. “about last night—”

the sound of his chopsticks hitting the table made you jump. it wasn’t loud, but it was enough. enough to cut through the quiet and slice the conversation before it could begin.

haechan didn’t look at you. his jaw tensed as he stared at the table, hands clenched loosely on either side of his bowl.

you froze. unsure.

he inhaled through his nose, controlled, calculated. then, finally, he spoke. “if you’re done eating… maybe you should call a locksmith. for your apartment.”

your stomach dropped.

just like that, the warmth left the room. or maybe it was still there, but it couldn’t reach you anymore.

“o-oh.” you blinked. “yeah… right. my keys.”

he stood up slowly, not rushed, just… distant. like something inside him had gone cold.

you watched him close the laptop screen with one hand, then gather his bowl and yours, moving with quiet efficiency. not meeting your gaze once.

you couldn’t move. couldn’t speak. the shift was too sharp, too sudden. it left you sitting there like a statue, hands still wrapped around the now lukewarm bowl.

“i’ll wash these,” he muttered, almost to himself.

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. your throat was tight, words caught somewhere between confusion and guilt. you hadn’t meant to ruin the morning. hadn’t meant to push.

but there it was again — the elephant. bigger than ever.

and this time, haechan had chosen to turn his back on it.

you stood up slowly, the chair scraping against the floor. he was already at the sink, rinsing the dishes like it was any other sunday. like nothing happened. like you hadn’t kissed him. like you hadn’t confessed the things that had been burning you from the inside out.

but your eyes were stuck on his back. the slope of his shoulders. the way his hoodie clung slightly at the waist. and still — that feeling. that gnawing ache deep in your chest.

he was right there. and still, he felt so far away.

“haechan…” your voice barely carried.

he didn’t turn around.

you bit your lip. hard. maybe you had crossed a line. maybe he was just being kind last night, and you mistook it for something else. maybe—

“i need to shower,” he said abruptly, setting the last plate down. “you can use my phone to call someone.”

and then he was gone, the bathroom door closing with a click that echoed too loudly in the silence he left behind.

you were alone again.

but this time, it hurt more than it should’ve.

your phone was still dead.

you hadn’t charged it since last night, and at this point, it didn’t matter. you weren’t exactly in the mood to speak to anyone else anyway.

you curled up on the couch, pulling your knees to your chest, arms wrapping tightly around them like they could somehow protect you from the weight pressing on your chest. you stared blankly ahead, trying to piece together what went wrong.

you hadn’t meant to make things weird. you hadn’t meant to cross a line. and yet… you did. and now, all of it felt like a mistake unraveling at your feet.

you chewed on your lip, eyes unfocused.

was it when you asked to stay with him? or when you told him the truth — that you couldn’t stop thinking about him, that you wanted to learn with him because you trusted him? maybe it was the kiss. that moment, hazy and laced with beer, when you leaned in and felt his lips move against yours. he kissed you back. you were sure of it.

but now… maybe it wasn’t enough. or maybe it was too much.

the sound of the bathroom door opening pulled you from your spiral. you looked up, heart stuttering in your chest.

haechan stepped out, steam drifting behind him in lazy clouds. his black t-shirt clung to his skin slightly, still damp from the shower. his sweatpants sat low on his hips, and around his neck hung a white towel, which he used intermittently to ruffle through his damp, dark hair.

he looked surprised to see you still there.

his expression flattened quickly, going unreadable. “you still haven’t called the locksmith?”

you didn’t answer.

he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, towel dragging with it. “y/n…”

but you were already crying.

your face was turned away, but he saw the tremble in your shoulders, the way your hands gripped tighter around your legs. the soft sound of you trying not to make a sound.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking under the weight of your own words. “i ruined everything.”

he went quiet.

“i should’ve never suggested that,” you continued, barely audible. “i didn’t mean to treat you like you’re some— some kind of object. i was just thinking about myself. about what i wanted. and that was selfish. i wasn’t thinking about you.”

he still didn’t move.

“i just—” you swallowed thickly, lifting your head to look at him through blurry eyes. “i wasn’t trying to use you. i swear. i… i just trust you. you’re my best friend. and maybe i took that too far. i just… i feel like i’ve messed everything up.”

you laughed bitterly. “you didn’t even have to say anything. your face this morning said it all.”

for a second, haechan just looked at you. his gaze scanned your face — your tear-stained cheeks, your trembling mouth. the regret swimming in your eyes.

then he sighed and walked closer. dropped the towel onto the coffee table. crouched down in front of you.

“you’re not the only one who’s confused,” he said, voice softer now. “and yeah, maybe last night was messy. maybe we said shit we weren’t supposed to. but… you didn’t ruin anything.”

your breath hitched.

he leaned in, resting a hand gently on your knee.

“you’re not selfish for wanting something. and you’re not using me. i know you.” his voice dropped a bit, more intimate now. “maybe that’s why it’s so hard to pretend it didn’t affect me.”

you blinked. “…what?”

he looked up at you from where he knelt. “you said… kissing could help calm you down. remember?”

your eyes widened.

he tilted his head, a small, careful smirk pulling at the edge of his mouth.

“so… if it helps…” he leaned closer, letting his hand trail up your thigh. “i could kiss you again.”

you stopped breathing.

your lips parted, unsure of what to say. but your body moved before your brain could catch up. you leaned in.

he met you halfway.

this kiss was different. slower. more controlled. still tasting faintly of mint and something warm, like cinnamon from the tea he’d made earlier. his hand cradled your cheek this time, thumb brushing softly beneath your eye.

it wasn’t rushed. it wasn’t hungry.

but it burned.

and then he pulled back, just barely.

“but only when you’re sober,” he whispered against your lips, breath warm. “only when you really mean it.”

you nodded slowly, heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.

“okay,” you breathed. “okay.”

and for now — that was enough.

a few weeks passed.

you had finally gotten a replacement set of keys and returned to your apartment. that weekend was a blur of mundane things—scrubbing your bathroom floor until your arms ached, catching up on overdue sketches, finishing the last pages of an assignment you’d been dodging for weeks. you needed the quiet. the stillness. a chance to feel like yourself again.

but even in your own bed, the cold side of the sheets reminded you of that one night you hadn’t slept alone.

the kiss with haechan had, strangely, softened everything between you. the awkwardness melted away like snow on sunlit pavement. now, you were gentler with each other. your laughter came easier. your glances lingered longer. but the elephant—the weight of what that kiss meant—never left. it simply learned to sit quietly in the corner.

on tuesday afternoon, you were leaving the print room when you nearly ran into jaehyun.

"whoa, careful, pretty girl," he said, catching your elbow with a hand that felt way too steady, too confident.

“sorry,” you chuckled, tucking your hair behind your ear. jaehyun always looked like he belonged in some magazine spread—jaw carved from stone, lashes too long for someone that smug, silver rings glinting against his fingers like he knew where the light would hit.

“what brings you over here?” he asked, eyeing your sketch tube slung across your shoulder.

“professor cho. needed some stuff for his class. he’s on his power trip again.”

“classic,” he smirked. “listen… we’re having something this friday. low-key. not one of those packed, flyer-in-the-bathroom kind of things. just a curated crowd. people who get it.”

your brow arched. “curated?”

he laughed. “yeah. you know. people with taste.”

you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

“you should come,” he added, stepping a little closer. “might help with that tension you’ve been carrying around.”

“what tension?” you teased.

he leaned in, eyes flicking down your face. “the kind that makes you think too much. sometimes you gotta stop overanalyzing and just feel it.”

“feel what?”

his smile was maddening. “depends who you end up with.”

you laughed it off, but your cheeks were already warm. maybe he was flirting. maybe he wasn’t. either way, the idea sat in your chest like a dare.

you thought about it all the way back to your place. and later that night, lying on your bed staring at the ceiling, you let yourself wonder what it’d be like to… try. to stop guessing what sex felt like and actually find out. you didn’t want to rush it. but you didn’t want to keep floating in uncertainty either.

and somewhere else on campus, haechan couldn’t stop thinking about you either.

he was standing in the backroom of the burger place, mirror fogged with steam, face damp and flushed from another rush. and there you were. again. in his head. like you’d carved a space he couldn’t seal shut.

he felt pathetic.

like some teenage boy discovering self-pleasure for the first time. except it wasn’t discovery—it was addiction. every night, without fail, his body woke him up with a pulse he couldn’t ignore. his hand would slide beneath the waistband of his sweats, his breath shallow, mind full of you. always you.

and god, those lips.

maybe he should’ve never kissed you.

but the second your mouth touched his, something inside him had snapped. like it had been waiting for that moment all along. you’d kissed him with a kind of messy urgency—too fast, too eager, bumping teeth before finding a rhythm. but then came the softness. the unspoken need. the trust. you had tasted like beer and breath mints and something far too intimate for a one-time thing.

now, he couldn’t un-feel it.

behind the counter, he’d zone out mid-shift, hands wet from dishes, and suddenly he’d remember the way you had moaned into his mouth. the way you had gripped his hoodie like you were holding on for dear life. the way your body had melted into his.

he couldn’t stop picturing you in that black dress, jacket slipping off your shoulder, legs crossed like a sin. or the way your lips had parted when you looked at him like you needed more. like you wanted him.

and at night—his room dark, quiet, too warm—he would close his eyes and imagine your thighs on either side of his hips. your voice whispering his name. your nails on his skin.

he used to admire you from a safe place. used to think of you as a friend, maybe even a muse. now? now he couldn’t look at you without imagining what it would be like to bury his face between your legs. to ruin you a little. just enough.

he hated how much he needed it.

he hated how much he missed the feel of your mouth on his.

he hated that he wanted more.

you were stepping out of your digital illustration class, bag slung over your shoulder, neck stiff from hunching over your campaign poster project. when you exited the building, you spotted him right away—haechan, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hands tucked into his backpack straps like he’d been waiting a while.

you always found him there these days.

“hey,” you said, breathless from the stairs. “thanks for waiting. again.”

he gave a casual shrug. “you make it sound like i have a life.”

“do you?”

“…not really.”

you both smiled.

as you walked side by side, the sun cast long shadows behind you, painting the concrete in soft amber. you weren’t touching. but it felt like you were. something invisible had always linked you two. lately, though—it tugged harder.

“so,” you said, voice light, “i think i’m gonna go to that party. tomorrow”

he blinked. “jaehyun’s?”

you nodded. “he made it sound... exclusive.”

“and you’re going?”

you smirked at his tone. “might be an opportunity.”

he stiffened beside you. “opportunity for what?”

you gave him a look. “you know what.”

he stopped. “you’re really gonna sleep with him?”

your cheeks flared, heart skipping. “no. it’s not like that. i just… maybe it’s time to try. get some answers.”

you watched his face carefully. saw the way his jaw locked. the way his brows twitched.

“but,” you added softly, “if it happens… it happens.”

and then, bold as ever, you turned to him. “unless you still wanna help me.”

his breath caught.

“we already kissed,” you said, eyes steady on his. “feels like we’ve done half the homework. next part’s sex, right? that’s what comes after. and you—you’re the one who used to brag about how good you were at it.”

he looked like you’d cornered him. because you had.

“remember those nights you’d ramble about girls? ‘her tits are insane’, ‘i’d fold her in a second’—that was you, haechan. your words.”

he swallowed, hard. “i didn’t think you were listening.”

“i always listen to you,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “especially when you talk about what you like.”

and then, with a wicked grin: “and let’s be honest. guys lose their minds over tits and ass. that’s not complicated.”

his silence told you everything.

you took one step closer, slow and steady.

“so?” you asked again, quieter now. “are you still willing to help me?”

and he didn’t answer.

not with words.

but you saw it in his eyes—the panic, the desire, the war between instinct and restraint.

you had no idea how long he could keep resisting.

but you were getting closer to finding out.

the night felt quieter than usual when they arrived at your apartment. your didn’t speak. the walk there had been filled with those kinds of silences that don’t necessarily feel awkward, but make you too aware of your own thoughts. you walked a few steps ahead of haechan, and he found himself watching you — the way your fingers twisted nervously, the slight tension in your shoulders, the soft sway of your hair brushing your back. he could tell she was unsure. and if he was being honest, so was he.

he’d never seen you like this before. not really. not in this light. there’d always been this boundary between both of you, this invisible thread that kept everything just on the edge of becoming something else. but lately… it had changed. the way she looked at him lingered a little longer. the way he touched you — in small, passing moments — felt less like habit and more like gravity. and right now, standing in the dim glow of your apartment, he realized just how close you were to crossing that invisible line.

he stands close, but not touching, his gaze fixed on you with a kind of careful intensity that makes your skin warm.

you unlock the door without saying a word, your fingers fumbling slightly. you can feel his eyes on you, not judging, just watching. when you step inside, he follows, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

inside, it’s quiet. you cross the room and sit on the edge of your bed, heart racing.

he doesn’t follow you immediately. Instead, he leans against the wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest, his expression unreadable. you feel his eyes on your back as you drop your keys onto the counter, your breath shaky, heart pacing with something you don’t quite understand but desperately want to. when you finally turn around to face him, he’s already watching you — not with that usual teasing smile, but with something heavier, deeper. something that feels like want.

you turned to face him, eyes uncertain, but there was something else behind them. something softer. something raw. “i want to do it,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“still thinking about your plan?” he asks softly, voice calm, like he’s trying not to spook you.

you nod slowly. “i just… i want to be good for jaehyun.”

his jaw tightens just a little, barely noticeable. but his voice doesn’t change. “you’re trying to learn how to please someone else,” he says, stepping closer, “when you haven’t even taken the time to learn yourself.”

you blink, suddenly unsure. “i thought… that’s what you were going to help me with.”

he exhales gently, closing the space between you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his chest. “i will. but only if you let me take the lead. if you trust me completely. no pretending. no rushing. just… you. raw. honest.”

your breath catches in your throat. something about the way he says it, the quiet authority in his tone, the way he looks at you like he already knows your body better than you do — it makes you ache in places you’ve barely dared to explore on your own.

“okay,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “i’ll do whatever you say.”

his eyes soften. there’s something unspoken there — a tension that’s been building between you for longer than you realized. and now it’s finally unraveling.

“then take off your clothes,” he says, his voice low, steady. “lie back.”

your fingers feel clumsy, nerves fluttering in your chest as you undress. he doesn’t look away. his gaze follows every inch of skin you reveal like he’s memorizing you. but it never feels invasive. it feels… reverent. when you’re finally bare, you lie down, body exposed, unsure, vulnerable. he doesn’t move right away. he just watches, like he’s waiting for you to fully settle into the moment.

“you’re beautiful,” he says quietly. “but i’m not going to touch you until i see that you believe it, too.”

you want to believe it. you want to feel beautiful in your own skin, not just because someone else says it, but because something inside you says you deserve to be. but right now, all you feel is nervous. exposed. seen.

he kneels at the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. “you’re safe,” he murmurs. “you’re in control. i’m just guiding you.”

his hand touches your thigh, light as air, and your breath stutters. the warmth of his palm spreads through you like liquid, grounding and electric all at once. he doesn’t rush. his fingers explore slowly, tracing the curve of your hip, the softness of your stomach, the inside of your thigh. each touch is a question, and your breath is the answer.

when his fingers finally find you, you gasp — not because it’s too much, but because it’s perfect. just enough. just right. he doesn’t push, doesn’t demand. he simply explores, watching every reaction, every shift of your hips, every shaky breath you take like it’s the only thing that matters.

his fingers finally reach where you need them, but he doesn’t go straight for it — no, he teases, tracing along the outer edge of your heat, making you gasp at the sudden jolt of electricity. your hips shift instinctively, seeking friction, but his free hand presses gently against your stomach, grounding you.

“easy,” he murmurs. “we’re not rushing. i want to feel every part of you fall apart.”

your head tips back against the pillow, lips parted, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers finally slip between your folds — gentle at first, just enough pressure to make your toes curl. he exhales softly, as if the heat of you surprises even him.

“relax,” he whispers. “feel. don’t think about what’s next. just stay with me. here.”

his fingers stroke you with a patience you didn’t know could exist, learning your body like it’s a language only he can understand. you’re wet, embarrassingly so, and he seems to revel in it, the way your body responds to his touch. he circles your clit with slow, practiced motions, his thumb brushing over you with maddening precision. you’re moaning now, soft and quiet, not even realizing the sounds are yours.

“fuck,” he whispers. “you’re soaked.”

your cheeks flush, but any embarrassment is quickly replaced by want as he finds your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that make your legs tremble.

you whimper his name, voice barely there, and his response is a low groan against your skin. “that’s it, baby. let me hear you.”

his mouth is everywhere now — at your neck, your chest, sucking marks into your skin like he wants to claim you, mark you, make you his. and god, part of you wants it too — wants to be wanted like this, worshipped like this.

his fingers move lower, one pressing gently at your entrance, testing. “you okay?” he asks, voice soft but thick with desire.

“yes,” you gasp, clutching at his wrist. “please.”

your hips begin to move on their own, chasing the rhythm of his fingers. the pressure is building, coiling deep inside your core, unfamiliar and terrifying and addictive. he slips a finger inside you, slow and gentle, curling just right, and you cry out, your body clenching around him without meaning to.

“h-hyuck...” you cried.

“you like that?” he asks, voice rough now, closer to a groan than a whisper. you nod frantically, unable to form words, your hands gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing.

he slides in slow, giving you time to adjust, watching your face the whole time. his thumb returns to your clit, rubbing in time with the slow push of his finger. your breath stutters, and he leans in to kiss you, stealing the sound from your lips.

you moan into his mouth, overwhelmed, undone, as he adds a second finger, the stretch just enough to make your back arch. he curls them just right, finding that spot inside you that makes your thighs shake.

“there it is,” he groans, his lips brushing yours. “fuck, you feel so good.”

you can’t answer. you can barely think. all you can do is feel — the heat building inside you, the pull of release so close you can taste it.

“don’t hold back,” he whispers against your neck. “i want to feel you fall apart for me.”

and when he starts moving faster — fingers pumping deep and sure, thumb pressing harder against your clit — it’s too much. the pressure breaks, crashing over you like a tidal wave. your body tenses, then shatters, crying out his name as you come harder than you ever have before.

he holds you through it, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips. his fingers slow but don’t leave you, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until you’re trembling beneath him, boneless and gasping.

“let go,” he murmurs again, lips brushing against your ear. “don’t hold back. i’ve got you.”

his thumb presses harder against your clit, his fingers moving faster, more deliberate, and the pressure explodes inside you, all at once — a wave crashing over your body with violent tenderness. you cry out, shaking, the world narrowing to nothing but heat and light and the sound of his voice grounding you as your orgasm rips through you.

he finally pulls away, resting his forehead against yours. his breath is ragged, his eyes full of something you don’t quite understand — but you feel it in your chest. raw. intense. real.

“you don’t know what you just did to me,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

your body arches, muscles tightening, breath gone, and everything — everything — goes quiet except for the echo of your release.

and when you open your eyes to meet his, you realize something terrifying and beautiful — you don’t think you’ll ever look at him the same again.

your back pressed against the sheets, your skin bare under the dim, golden light of your room, your breath already shaky as haechan settles beside you, fully clothed, fully in control. you should feel nervous, and maybe you do, but it’s buried under something stronger — something warmer. the way he’s looking at you now is enough to make you forget how to breathe.

haechan sits on the edge of your bed, staring at his hand—now clean—like he can’t believe what just happened. his breath is heavier than he wants to admit. his thoughts are scrambled, the feeling of touching you, of showing you something he never thought he’d share, overwhelms him. something inside him burns, something he doesn’t know if it’s frustration or desire, but he feels it with an intensity he can’t control.

when you step out of the shower, your skin still warm from the hot water, he stays there, still. you go through your skincare routine, but every movement seems to echo in him more than it should. the way your fingers brush against your face, the way you move... everything feels different now. he watches in silence, the space between you now thick with something unspoken.

“i didn’t think it would feel like that,” you say softly, breaking the silence. your voice has a tremor you can’t hide. “thank you... for helping me.”

the gesture feels sincere, but there’s something in your eyes that makes him feel exposed. he doesn’t quite understand it. he tells himself it’s fine, that he’s just helping you, that he’s just being there for you. but his body betrays him, his jaw tightens, and his fingers twitch at his side.

“you don’t need to thank me,” he says, his voice quiet, almost too quiet. “you just needed to know yourself. that’s all.”

you pause, pressing moisturizer into your skin, still feeling that soft hum in your body, a low buzz you can’t seem to shake off. it’s from what happened, but you try to tell yourself it’s just the adrenaline, just nerves. nothing more.

“i think i can handle things now,” you reply, keeping your eyes on your reflection in the mirror. “maybe tomorrow at the party... i’ll kiss jaehyun, just see how it goes. no pressure. i don’t want to rush.”

the moment the words leave your mouth, you feel it—the way the air shifts between you two. you don’t mean to look at haechan when you say jaehyun’s name, but you do. and his eyes flicker for just a second, something hard behind them that he quickly hides. he doesn’t react out loud, but his shoulders stiffen, his mouth pressing into a tight line.

“yeah,” he says, his voice controlled, but you can hear the tightness underneath. “sounds like a good idea. you deserve to figure out what you want.”

you smile, trying to lighten the mood, but something in you catches as you look at him. you feel like you’ve said the wrong thing, but you’re not sure why. haechan doesn’t look at you anymore. he stares at the floor, his jaw working like he’s holding something back.

he doesn’t let himself show it. he can’t. you’re his best friend, and he promised to help you, to guide you, not to get caught up in his own feelings. but with every word you speak, with every step you take toward jaehyun, something deep inside him twists.

he’s tasted something he shouldn’t want. and now, the thought of you with someone else—even someone you love—is unbearable.

still, he says nothing. he can’t. because he promised to help you discover yourself, not to confuse you more.

even if every part of him wants to be the only one who gets to touch you like that again.

friday came faster than expected, slipping through the cracks of your week like it had been waiting for you. unlike the other days, this one was bitterly cold—the kind of cold that crept into your sleeves and curled around your spine. haechan had texted you earlier, his usual playful tone dulled by exhaustion. "today i actually have to close, so i’ll be stuck at work late," he wrote, followed by a yawning emoji and a tired little heart. you stared at the message longer than you should’ve, feeling something heavy settle in your chest.

the cold winter air bites at your legs as you step out of the cab, your breath fogging in front of you in soft clouds. the house isn’t just any house—it’s one of the old fraternity houses on the edge of campus, the kind that looks more like a mansion than a place college boys live in. warm light glows from the tall windows, and the low hum of music leaks out from behind the heavy wooden door before it swings open.

jaehyun is already waiting, leaning casually against the doorframe. he looks unfairly good—his hair slightly tousled, a dark turtleneck hugging his figure under a sleek wool coat. he gives you that smile, the one that always makes your stomach twist in ways you’ve never really understood.

“you made it,” he says, stepping aside to let you in.

you settled on a black leather jacket, cropped just above the waist, its silver zippers catching the light every time you moved. underneath, you wore a satin navy blouse, soft and loose, with a deep neckline that hinted without revealing too much. your high-waisted dark jeans hugged your figure just right, paired with heeled ankle boots that clicked confidently against the pavement. a silk scarf, deep burgundy, wrapped around your neck—not just for warmth, but as a finishing touch. your hair was pulled back loosely, tendrils framing your face, and your makeup was soft but sharp—dark liner, flushed cheeks, and a deep berry gloss that caught the chill in the air.

you notice jaehyun’s gaze drop, lingering for a beat too long before he leads you inside.

the party isn’t crowded—maybe twenty people, maybe less. it’s quiet in that expensive kind of way: muted music, low lighting, golden liquor sloshing in crystal glasses. there’s laughter and whispers, but nothing too wild. you’re not sure what you expected, but somehow it feels more intimate than you’d prepared for.

after your second drink, the room gets a little warmer. the vodka-orange is stronger than you thought, but it burns in a good way. you’re not drunk, not like that night, but the edges of your thoughts are softer, looser.

the music is barely audible now, just a low pulse behind your ribs as jaehyun leans in. it happens the way you always imagined it would—with the warmth of alcohol in your veins, the subtle tension in the air, his breath fanning softly against your cheek as his lips finally meet yours.

at first, it’s cinematic.

his hand is at your waist, careful but firm. his lips, smooth and slow, move against yours like he’s done this a thousand times. his cologne is rich—something expensive and clean, like bergamot and wood.

“you look incredible tonight,” he murmurs, voice low. It’s not the first time he’s flirted with you, but tonight it feels more focused.

you laugh lightly, sipping again. “you say that to every girl you invite to one of these,” you tease.

he smirks. “i don’t. just the ones i hope will stay after everyone else leaves.”

that catches you off guard. there’s a pause, the kind that’s heavy with implication. you don’t answer right away. instead, you tilt your head, watching him through the haze of dim lights and liquor.

more intentional. you close your eyes, willing your heart to speed up, your stomach to twist, your knees to weaken.

but none of it happens.

instead, there’s a slow, creeping emptiness that settles over your skin. you taste the sharp tang of beer on his tongue—bitter and stale—and it dulls the moment like a film of dust on something once shiny. it’s not that he’s doing anything wrong. in fact, he’s doing everything right. and maybe that’s the problem. it’s all too perfect. too rehearsed. too... lifeless.

you keep your lips against his a second longer, maybe two, hoping that if you just try, the magic will follow.

but it doesn’t.

what started as something dreamlike begins to dissolve, unraveling into something flat. weightless. forgettable. like kissing a statue—beautiful, yes, but cold. you feel your body slowly disconnect, like your mind is pulling away, shrinking back into itself. you’re kissing jaehyun. jaehyun. tall, broad-shouldered, silver-tongued. the guy every girl fantasizes about.

and yet... nothing.

when you pull away, you do it gently, trying not to show the disappointment pressing against your chest like a bruise. he looks at you with those deep, unreadable eyes, but you can’t meet them for long. something in you already knows: this isn’t what you wanted. maybe it never was.

and then, like clockwork, your thoughts betray you.

because in the silence that follows, in that stretch of breathless stillness, a name rises uninvited in your mind.

haechan.

you blink, shaken by the immediacy of it. why him, of all people? but it doesn’t stop. your mind floods with him, with everything he is and isn’t. jaehyun is all sharp lines and polished edges. he’s winter: sleek and cold, dressed in cashmere and shadows. and haechan...

haechan is sun-warmed skin and mischievous smiles. he’s a burst of color in a black-and-white room. his skin is golden, kissed by sun even in december. you remember the first time he wore glasses in class—how suddenly he looked different. not in a new way, but like you were finally seeing something that had been there all along. it had startled you. he looked good. really good. and you’d stared a little longer than you meant to.

you think about how he always cradles that old gaming console on his lap during breaks, fingers dancing over buttons like it's second nature. how he talks about characters and plots with the same intensity people reserve for politics or love. how he orders black coffee like it's a religion, never anything sweet. how he complains about the cold like it's a personal offense—bundling up in layers and still shivering, nose pink, eyes watery, grumbling but cute.

and you remember something else.

the way his eyes light up when he talks about music. not just any music—he’s always been drawn to layered melodies, harmonies that build slowly, that sneak up on you. you’d caught him once, eyes closed, headphones in, mouthing the words to a song you didn’t recognize. something soft and slow. when you asked what it was, he smiled, kind of shy, and said, “it’s this track i found—it builds so gently, but when it hits, it hits. it makes you feel everything, you know?”

you didn’t then. but now, maybe you do.

because that’s what haechan is like. he builds slowly. gently. he makes you feel everything without trying. without asking. just by being.

you think back to his kiss—that moment in the quiet of his room, when the world felt too small and too loud all at once. his lips weren’t smooth or calculated. they were warm. real. tasting faintly of coffee and breath mints, of nervousness and care. his hands weren’t firm—they trembled just a little. like he wasn’t sure, but he wanted to be. and that kiss? it burned. it lingered. it left something behind in your chest, something heavy and aching.

jaehyun’s kiss, in comparison, feels like water evaporating before it ever touches your skin.

“i need some air,” you say, barely loud enough to hear over the music.

you step away from the kitchen, your hands shaking slightly—not from cold, but from clarity. it’s unsettling, how fast something can shift. how a fantasy can collapse in on itself the moment reality arrives.

you walk toward the front door, ignoring jaehyun’s curious glance. and as the winter air hits your cheeks again, sharp and sobering, you realize the only thing you want right now is warmth.

and the only person who’s ever made you feel it... is haechan.

you step outside, the cold air biting at your cheeks like reality trying to sober you up. it’s quiet out here, except for the faint music pulsing through the windows behind you and the distant sound of traffic. your lips still taste faintly of beer and disappointment, and you try not to let it show on your face—even if there’s no one around to see.

you wrap your arms around yourself, shivering slightly. not just from the cold, but from the feeling growing in your chest. a hollow ache that started the moment jaehyun pulled away and left you with nothing but the bitter aftertaste of something that should’ve felt magical. it was supposed to mean something. you’d wanted it to. for weeks—months even—you thought that maybe this was what you needed. something new. something exciting.

but standing there in the dark, with the wind tugging gently at your coat, all you can think about is how wrong it felt.

how empty.

you sigh and glance down at your phone. 11:45 p.m. haechan probably just got home not long ago—he said he’d be working late tonight, and you remember the slight frown he gave you when you mentioned the party. not because he disapproved. but because he wouldn’t be there.

you hesitate, thumb hovering over his contact. calling him now would make you look ridiculous, wouldn’t it? but god… you need someone. someone who knows you, who doesn’t expect you to be dazzling or mysterious or anything other than exactly who you are.

before you can overthink it again, your thumb presses “call.”

the line barely rings twice before his voice comes through, groggy but alert, like he hadn’t really been asleep yet.

"y/n?" his voice is a little breathless, alarmed. "are you okay?"

you don’t answer right away. the sound of his voice cracks something open inside you. your throat tightens, and your eyes sting, a rush of heat behind your lashes. the words won’t come, caught somewhere between your tongue and your heart.

"hey, talk to me. what happened?"

his concern hits you like a wave. not because of what he’s saying, but how he’s saying it. gently. urgently. like nothing else in the world matters except you right now. like your silence is enough to make his chest hurt.

you swallow thickly, finally managing to breathe, “i… i didn’t know who else to call.”

he exhales slowly, like he’s relieved to hear your voice, even if it’s shaky. “i’m glad you called me.”

and it’s so stupid—so fucking stupid—but that’s when the tears come. silently at first, then all at once. and still, haechan says nothing. just waits, gives you space to fall apart without asking for an explanation.

he always does that. always shows up, always makes you feel like you’re not too much, even when you’re too much for yourself.

and suddenly you realize something—not like a lightning bolt, but like a quiet click, something that was always there, waiting to be noticed. it was never about jaehyun. not really. it was the idea of him. and now, with that illusion shattered, you’re left with the one person who’s been real all along.

the one who always answers the phone. the one who remembers how you take your coffee. the one who listens when you talk about your art for hours and never pretends to be bored.

“can you…” your voice is small, choked, “can you come get me?”

“already on my way,” he says without hesitation.

and just like that, you feel less alone. maybe not okay, not yet—but safe.

safe in the way only he ever made you feel.

you step back into the warmth of the house, wiping your cheeks and pretending the cold air is the only reason your eyes are red. inside, the party hasn’t changed at all—music still pulsing, people still dancing, someone already passed out on a couch. it feels like you left the chaos and walked right back into it, except now it doesn't swallow you whole. now, you’re just… drifting.

you spot jaehyun near the kitchen, leaning against the counter, lazily scrolling through his phone. he doesn’t look up at first, but when he does, his eyes land on you immediately. he straightens, sliding the phone into his back pocket before making his way toward you.

your stomach knots—not because you're afraid, but because you’re not sure what you're supposed to say to the guy you just kissed and then immediately ran away from.

before he even opens his mouth, you raise a hand slightly, your words tumbling out faster than you can stop them.

“i—i’m sorry. i just… i think i was really into the idea of you. like, really into it. but tonight i realized maybe… i don’t know…”

you trail off, eyes dropping to the floor, suddenly very interested in the scuff marks on your boots.

jaehyun quirks a brow, and for a second, it’s awkwardly silent—but then he lets out a soft laugh. it’s not cruel, not mocking. just… amused.

“you know,” he says, arms crossing over his chest, “when we first started talking, i thought you and that guy donghyuck?—were together. like, definitely together.”

you blink, lifting your head. “what?”

“yeah,” he shrugs. “you’d always come to class with him. always laughing, always close. and the way he looked at you? i figured i didn’t stand a chance. but then i saw you alone for a few days, and thought maybe you broke up or something, so…” he gestures vaguely. “i shot my shot.”

you feel your cheeks heat up instantly. “we’re not… he’s not my boyfriend. we never dated.”

jaehyun smirks like he doesn’t believe you, but also like he knows better than to argue. “sure. maybe not technically. but come on.” he leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “you really think there’s nothing going on there?”

you start to protest, but then stop. because he’s not wrong, and you’re too tired to lie—to him or to yourself.

“it’s complicated,” you mutter.

he smiles again, this time softer, more genuine. “well, if it helps… i’m not offended. not at all. i mean, you’re sweet, and you kiss okay—”

“okay?” you gasp, half-laughing, half-horrified.

“hey,” he chuckles, holding up his hands, “it was a mutual ‘meh,’ right?”

you both burst out laughing, the tension finally breaking like a balloon popped with a pin. for the first time that night, you feel lighter.

“i really thought i liked you,” you admit.

“you probably did,” he shrugs. “or… the idea of me.”

“yeah.”

jaehyun gives you a wink. “for what it’s worth, i think you and haechan are cute as hell. even if you don’t know it yet.”

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. a real, unforced smile.

“thanks,” you say quietly.

“anytime,” he replies, already turning toward the kitchen again. “just… don’t let that one go, alright?”

and as you watch him disappear into the crowd, your phone buzzes in your pocket.

on my way. almost there.

you press your lips together, the ghost of a smile still there.

maybe you didn’t come to this party to kiss jaehyun after all. maybe you came to realize who you should’ve been calling all along.

the cold bites harder now. you’re standing outside again, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeves, your phone clutched tight in your hand. every passing second feels like it’s stretching eternity, but then—you spot him. haechan walks up the sidewalk.

haechan was wearing sweatpants, mismatched socks stuffed into crocs, and a hoodie that’s too big even for him. his hair is a mess, fluffed and wild like he just rolled out of bed—and he probably did. you freeze, heart caught in your throat, as he blinks at you sleepily, rubbing at one eye with the heel of his palm.

you stare at him—at the boy who still showed up, in the dead of night, after a long shift, just because you needed him. and something inside you swells so big, so full, it spills over before you can contain it.

you don’t think—you run.

you crash into him with a force that makes him stumble half a step back, arms instantly wrapping around you, warm and steady. he doesn’t say anything. he just holds you, one hand coming up to stroke your hair gently, his breath warm against your temple.

you press your face into his neck, breathing him in—coffee, fabric softener, something so haechan. your chest heaves, and your eyes sting again.

when he pulls you into his embrace, it feels like the weight of the world finally lifts from your chest. his touch is soft, his fingers brushing against your skin in the most familiar way, like he’s always been there, always meant to be there.

he sighs softly, tugging you closer like he’s scared you’ll slip away. “seriously… what’s wrong with you lately?” he murmurs, voice groggy, laced with concern. “why are you acting like such a crybaby, huh?”

you lift your head, blinking up at him through the tears that won’t stop pooling. your eyes meet his—those deep, sleepy eyes that always seem to see too much—and your lips part as if to answer, but no words come.

so instead, you kiss him.

you pull him down by the collar of his hoodie and press your mouth to his with all the confusion, all the ache, all the longing you’ve buried for far too long. his lips are warm, soft, and as soon as he realizes what’s happening, he kisses you back.

and then, when you press your lips to his, it’s like every other kiss you’ve had fades away into nothingness. the world around you dissolves, and all that remains is the sensation of him. it’s pure, it’s grounding—everything that jaehyun’s kiss wasn’t.

he doesn’t ask questions. he doesn’t stop you. he just holds you tighter, like he’s afraid this moment might shatter.

his hand cradles your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing under your eye, and the kiss deepens—not rushed, not clumsy, just real. like he’s trying to tell you all the things neither of you ever dared to say.

your fingers curl into his hoodie as you pour everything into the kiss—your gratitude, your fear, your guilt, your truth.

it feels like you're being purified, as if every trace of doubt, of confusion, of disappointment, is being washed away by the intensity of haechan’s presence. there’s no bitterness, no strange aftertaste—only him, only the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as you lose yourself in him. with each second, you realize just how much you’ve longed for this, how much you’ve needed him, even when you didn’t know it. this, this is what real intimacy feels like, and it’s everything you never knew you were missing.

the walk to haechan’s apartment felt different. the night air was biting, and the cold seemed to press against your skin, but it wasn’t enough to cool the heat that was bubbling in your chest. you didn’t want to be here, not tonight, not after everything that had just happened. but here you were, once again, losing yourself in the warmth of his presence.

“lost your keys again?” haechan asked, his voice playful but with a hint of concern in his eyes as he stepped aside to let you into his apartment. you gave him a sheepish smile, pretending to fumble with your bag and looking down, avoiding his gaze.

“yeah, I’m such a mess,” you murmured, but your words felt hollow, like they were slipping through your fingers as quickly as the night’s events.

he didn’t say anything more, but the slight furrow of his brow told you he was paying attention. it was a game, a little lie that you used to keep yourself near him just a little longer, but tonight, it felt like more. it felt like you were hiding something from him.

inside his apartment, the quiet enveloped you like a blanket, and for a moment, it felt like everything was still. you sat on the couch next to him, the tension between you thickening by the second. it was always easy to talk to him, but tonight, the words felt like they were stuck in your throat. and you knew why—because the taste of jaehyun’s kiss was still fresh on your lips, and it made you sick to your stomach.

“what happened?” haechan’s voice cut through the silence, and you could see it in his eyes: that flicker of concern. he knew something was wrong, and you could feel his gaze on you, waiting for the truth.

you let out a breath, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “jaehyun... I kissed him.”

he stiffened beside you, his body tensing. you didn’t have to look at him to know the change in his expression. it was there in the way his muscles locked up, in the way he barely moved, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the words.

"what? you kissed him?" he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. "good for you, I guess..."

the final sentence hit you like a punch to the gut, but you couldn’t stop now. it was too late to take it back, and the confession felt like it was clawing its way out.

"it wasn’t what I expected," you whispered, avoiding his gaze as your stomach twisted. "it was... bad. it didn’t feel right. at all."

haechan’s hand clenched into a fist, his face hardening, but there was something more in his eyes now—something you hadn’t expected. jealousy. confusion. it was almost as if he wanted to say something but was holding it back. you felt the heat rise in your chest, your own guilt gnawing at you.

"wait—what?" haechan leaned forward, his voice suddenly sharp, though his face was tight with barely-contained emotion. "it was... bad? after all that?"

you nodded slowly, your throat tight as you continued, “yeah. it wasn’t what I thought it would be. there was no passion, no spark. the taste of beer... it was all I could focus on, and I hated it. I... I just couldn’t feel anything.”

the silence that followed felt thick, suffocating. you could see the storm brewing in his eyes. he wasn’t angry—at least, not completely—but he was something else. hurt, maybe? or disappointment? you couldn’t tell.

"so, that’s it then?" his voice was quieter now, the sharpness fading into something softer, more contemplative. “your feelings for him are... gone?”

"yeah," you admitted, finally meeting his gaze, feeling the truth weigh on your shoulders. "they’re gone. I don’t want him anymore. I don’t even want to kiss him again."

the words hung in the air, and you waited for him to respond, your heart racing, unsure of what he would say. when he finally spoke, it wasn’t what you expected.

“you know,” he started, his voice light, almost teasing, “i never liked the idea of you with him. not even for a second.”

you blinked, surprised at his admission. “you didn’t?”

“no,” he said, the edge of his smile almost teasing, though there was something else behind it. “I always thought you deserved someone who wasn’t... like him.”

you frowned, still processing what he was saying, but before you could respond, he continued.

“but now i get it. i see why you would be disappointed. he’s not... him,” haechan said, his voice lowering, the underlying sadness creeping in. "i guess i’m just glad you’re realizing it now. even if it took you kissing him to see it."

a chill ran down your spine as you looked at him, unsure of what he meant. your heart tightened with a strange mix of relief and something else—something more complicated that you couldn’t name yet.

“you’re not... mad?” you asked quietly.

“mad?” he repeated, laughing softly, though there was no real humor in it. “no. why would I be mad? I’m just... relieved. you deserve better.”

“so... what now?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

haechan didn’t answer immediately. his eyes lingered on you—soaked in the way your makeup had smudged slightly, how your lips were still a little swollen from that kiss with jaehyun, how your dress had ridden up your thighs from the car ride. he swallowed hard, jaw clenched like he was fighting the urge to say something reckless.

then he said it anyway.

“now i take care of you.”

your breath hitched.

he stepped closer. slowly. deliberately. the kind of approach that made your knees weak. the kind of approach that said he knew exactly what you needed before you did. his hand reached for your waist, pulling you gently toward him, until your bodies were flush against each other.

“unless you don’t want that,” he murmured against your ear, his lips grazing your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps. “you tell me to stop, and i will. no questions, no pressure.”

you didn’t say anything. you couldn’t. Instead, you tilted your head and captured his lips in a kiss—needy, messy, full of everything you hadn’t said for weeks.

he groaned into your mouth, hands gripping your hips, grounding you. but he didn’t rush. he kissed you like he had time. like he was savoring the moment he’d waited for far too long.

“haechan…” you breathed when you finally pulled back.

he looked at you, eyes burning.

“yeah, baby?”

your cheeks flushed. “i… want to go further. i trust you.”

he blinked, just once, and something softened in his expression.

“are you sure?” he asked, voice lower now, rougher, but laced with concern. “i need to hear you say it.”

you nodded, fingers brushing his jaw. “i’m sure.”

he kissed you again, slower this time, like a promise. then he scooped you up effortlessly in his arms, carrying you to his bed, the same way he always carried you emotionally—careful, steady, never letting you fall.

he laid you down like you were precious, and then crawled over you, caging you in with his body, forehead pressed to yours.

“tell me if anything feels too much,” he whispered.

you nodded. he reached over to the nightstand, rummaging for a condom, giving you a look that made your stomach flip.

“Prepared?” you teased softly.

he smirked. “baby, i’ve been in love with you since you spilled coffee on my camera. i’ve always been prepared.”

your laugh faded into a gasp as his hands slipped beneath your dress, touching you with reverence, praise pouring from his mouth like it was second nature.

“so fucking perfect,” he murmured, kissing down your neck. “every part of you. mine to take care of. mine to love.”

his fingers teased you through your panties until you were arching, needy and aching, the room filled with the soft, wet sounds of your arousal.

“you’re already this wet for me? fuck—baby, you're killing me.”

you squirmed, overwhelmed by the sensation, but craving more. then you heard the foil tear, and your heart pounded louder.

the moment he entered you was slow, intense, a stretch that bordered on pain and pleasure, but he was right there—kissing your forehead, telling you how beautiful you were, how good you felt, how proud he was of you.

“you’re doing so good,” he groaned. “so fucking tight. you were made for me, weren’t you?”

you nodded desperately, clinging to him.

he moved slow, deep, rolling his hips so you felt every inch of him. his name fell from your lips like a prayer.

one condom turned into two. then three. you couldn’t stop. neither could he.

sweat clung to your skin, tangled sheets beneath you. he had you on top of him at one point, his hands on your hips as you moved, his eyes never leaving your face.

“that’s it, baby. take what you need. fuck—ride me just like that.”

another position had him behind you, one hand gripping your waist, the other slipping between your legs to make you scream his name as your body fell apart.

by the time the fourth wrapper crumpled beside the bed, you were both panting, dazed and desperate.

you rolled onto your back, breathless. “we’re out.”

you reached for your phone, already sitting up. “I can run down to the 7-eleven—”

he stopped you instantly, pressing a hand to your stomach.

“no, baby,” he said, voice firm. “i’ll go. you stay here. let me take care of it.”

the way he said it—so naturally, so possessively—sent a wave of heat straight through you. you bit your lip, something wicked curling inside you.

“or…” you said, voice dripping with mischief. “we could just… try without one.”

he froze. eyes dark. jaw tight.

“don’t tempt me,” he growled.

you crawled into his lap, pressing your lips to his neck.

“what if i want to?” you whispered. “what if i want all of you?”

he exhaled sharply, head falling back. “fuck… you’re dangerous.”

still, he hesitated—until you ground down on him and whispered, “i trust you, haechan.”

that was all it took.

he didn’t say a word for a moment. just stared at you like you’d set him on fire.

then he kissed you—hard. not rushed, but full of hunger, like you’d just pulled the leash off something he’d been holding back for far too long.

you could feel him against you, throbbing and hot, even without anything between you now. your body tingled in anticipation, in fear, in want. you were bare in every way—and he saw you, accepted you, craved you.

he guided you down onto the bed again, positioning himself between your thighs, his hands cupping your face gently.

“if i do this…” he said, voice low and trembling with restraint, “you need to tell me if anything feels wrong. anything at all, baby.”

“it won’t,” you whispered. “i want you. just like this.”

he lined himself up, one hand steadying your hip, the other brushing hair from your face. when he pushed in—slow, careful, deep—your whole body tensed, wrapped around him like he was the first breath after drowning.

it hurt. just a little. enough to make your lips part with a gasp. but he stopped instantly, not moving, just whispering against your cheek.

“breathe for me, sweetheart. you’re doing so fucking good.”

you nodded, clinging to his shoulders, letting yourself relax little by little until your body opened for him.

he began to move—not fast, but deep and fluid, his voice rasping against your ear with every thrust.

“you feel unreal,” he groaned. “so tight. so fucking warm. shit—you're making me lose my mind.”

your nails dug into his back. you couldn’t think. could barely breathe. all you knew was him—his scent, his voice, his body fitting against yours like you were made for this moment.

“does it feel good, baby?” he asked, barely holding it together.

“yes,” you moaned. “it feels so good, haechan.”

he reached between you, his fingers finding that perfect spot again, circling gently as his hips rolled deeper.

“i want you to cum for me,” he whispered, eyes flicking up to the mirror across the room.

and that’s when you saw it too—the reflection.

the sight of yourself, spread out beneath him, his body covering yours, the way his hips rolled into you, slow but relentless, the way your mouth fell open in pleasure.

you locked eyes with him through the mirror.

“look at you,” he said. “so fucking pretty. you should see what i see. you should see what you do to me.”

you whimpered, already close. the feeling of him inside you, the way he praised you, the reflection showing you everything you felt but couldn’t describe—it pushed you right to the edge.

“you’re mine,” he growled, thrusting deeper. “say it.”

“i’m yours,” you gasped, back arching.

“again.”

“i’m yours, haechan—fuck—i’m—”

the orgasm tore through you like a tidal wave. your whole body trembled as you clung to him, moaning his name like a confession.

he followed with a deep, broken moan, hips grinding into you as he came, his entire body tensing above yours, the sound of your names and curses filling the air as he spilled inside you, raw and unfiltered.

afterward, he collapsed next to you, pulling you into his chest, kissing your forehead with trembling lips.

“i’ve never felt anything like that,” he whispered.

you couldn’t answer. your body was still shaking, your mind a mess of stars and heat.

he held you close, running his fingers up and down your spine.

and for a long time, neither of you spoke.

because nothing needed to be said.

haechan stood by the door, shirtless, hair messy, pulling on his sweatpants with a crooked grin on his face.

“be right back,” he said, grabbing his keys. “we are out of condoms.”

your heart jumped at how casually he said it. like he already knew you weren’t done. like he couldn’t wait to get his hands back on you.

“don’t be long,” you said, your voice a little hoarse, a little needy.

“i’ll run,” he smirked, and you believed him.

the moment the door closed behind him, your body buzzed with anticipation. you felt sore, satisfied… and yet completely empty without him there.

a little while later, you were curled up on his couch wearing nothing but his oversized hoodie, legs tucked under you, sipping water with your thighs still trembling from everything he just made you feel.

your mind ran wild imagining all the things he’d do when he got back.

and oh—he did.

he came back ten minutes later, breathless and grinning, holding a bag with the corner of a box peeking out.

“miss me?” he teased.

“shut up,” you mumbled, biting your lip as he approached you on the couch.

but he didn’t give you time to banter. his mouth was on yours again, hungry and hot, hands already sliding under the hoodie like he’d been starving the whole way back.

“i couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he growled into your ear, lips dragging down your neck. “every fucking step i ran, i was thinking about how wet you were. how tight. how you said my name when you came.”

you whimpered, legs parting automatically as he knelt between them on the couch.

but this time—he was different. rougher. more commanding. his eyes darker.

“get up,” he whispered, pulling you to your feet.

“where are we—?”

“shower,” he said. “now.”

you didn’t argue.

the water hit your skin like a shock, but his body was hotter. he pressed you up against the cool tile wall, mouth devouring yours as his hands slid down to your ass, lifting you up, making you wrap your legs around him.

“you’re mine tonight,” he growled against your lips. “no stopping now. you started this—now i’m gonna finish it. again and again.”

your back hit the wall as he slid into you, wet and desperate. the sounds of skin against skin, water splashing, your moans echoing in the steam—filthy and perfect.

you lost count of how many times he made you come.

after the shower, he didn’t even let you dry off.

he carried you—carried—naked and dripping, to the living room, laying you over the back of the couch. your knees barely held as he bent you forward, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding between your legs.

“still so wet?” he teased, running his fingers through your folds. “what did i do to you, baby?”

“you ruined me,” you gasped, pushing back against his hand.

“good,” he hissed. “you’re gonna take me again. right here.”

and you did.

he fucked you from behind on the couch, your moans muffled in the cushion, your fingers clawing at the leather. he didn’t let up—he used you, praised you, told you how fucking hot you looked taking him like that.

then the kitchen.

you barely made it there.

he bent you over the counter, spreading your legs with a low groan.

“you trust me?” he asked, voice low and rough.

“yes,” you breathed.

“good,” he said, sliding in again, slow and deep. “because i'm not holding back anymore.”

he fucked you while gripping your hips, your body slamming gently into the counter with each thrust, your breath fogging the cold surface.

“so fucking perfect,” he groaned. “you were made for me.”

then came the dining table.

you ended up on it—legs open, arms thrown over your head, his name spilling from your lips like a mantra. he kissed every inch of your body, left love bites on your thighs, praised every moan and whimper you gave him.

you didn’t even remember how many condoms you went through until—

“fuck,” he muttered, breathless, sweaty. “last one’s gone.”

the apartment was thick with heat and the smell of sex. your bodies glistened with sweat, tangled over the polished wood of the dining table. haechan’s chest was pressed to your back, his arms wrapped tightly around you as both of you struggled to catch your breath.

it wasn’t until the digital clock on the microwave blinked 4:02 AM that either of you realized how much time had passed.

“shit,” you whispered with a soft laugh, still breathless.

“yeah…” haechan’s voice was husky, worn out, but content. he pressed a lazy kiss to your shoulder. “we’ve been at this for hours. you okay?”

you nodded, eyes half-lidded, still processing everything. your body felt sore, used in the best possible way, and your heart was floating somewhere between exhaustion and complete peace.

he helped you off the table, careful and gentle now, holding you by the waist as you stumbled a little, your legs wobbly. you both laughed quietly at that, and he gave you a soft kiss on the forehead.

“come on,” he murmured. “let’s clean up and go to bed before the sun comes up.”

the warmth of his bed was a balm against your tender skin. after a quick rinse in the bathroom and slipping into one of his worn shirts, you curled up against him under the covers. his fingers traced light circles on your back as you lay there, your leg thrown over his, his other arm wrapped around you like you were something fragile and precious.

“you okay?” he asked again, softer this time. there was a hint of vulnerability in his voice—like he was afraid this had been too much.

you nodded into his chest.

“i’m more than okay,” you whispered. “i feel… safe. and really, really good.”

he exhaled a little laugh of relief and kissed the top of your head. the silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was peaceful. comforting. like your bodies had said everything your mouths didn’t need to.

soon enough, your breaths synced. his hand stayed on your waist as you both drifted off to sleep.

the next morning came slowly.

soft rays of sunlight filtered in through the curtains, painting lazy golden streaks across the sheets. you blinked awake first, still pressed against his warm body. his hand was splayed over your stomach, holding you close, and his legs were tangled with yours beneath the covers.

you didn’t want to move.

there was a quiet hum in your chest, that afterglow still lingering like a dream. you turned slightly to look at him—his hair was messy, lips parted, eyelashes resting gently on his cheeks. peaceful. beautiful.

you shifted a little, and he stirred, eyes barely opening.

“mmm,” he murmured. “you’re still here.”

“where else would i be?” you whispered.

he smiled, still half-asleep, and pulled you closer.

“good,” he said, voice low and raspy. “i want you right here. just like this.”

you melted into him, your heart full, your body still tingling in places, and thought maybe—just maybe—waking up like this with haechan could become your favorite part of any day.

haechan made breakfast in nothing but his boxers, hair still messy from sleep, humming some old song as you sat on the counter, wearing only his oversized t-shirt and the glow he’d left on your skin.

there was laughter. soft jokes. syrup on your lips that he licked off with a grin.

and when you finally curled back into the couch, your head on his shoulder, legs tangled under a shared blanket, it didn’t feel strange.

it didn’t feel like you’d crossed a line.

it felt like you’d stepped into something deeper.

he looked at you then, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek, and whispered:

“you know… i think we’re still us.”

you smiled, heart fluttering.

because he was right.

maybe in the end, sex doesn’t ruin the friendship— it transforms it.

[just-a-little-unionoid]

prev I hope you don't mind me if I use your tags

great exemple of morality as an understanding between instinct and reflexion, and between what you wish and what you want

as far as I'm concerned the craving for violence is normal, we're animals and we feel anger. anger is the emotion of injustice and want. when we feel it it means that we feel like something is unfair, wrong, that we need for it to change, and anger usually makes us violent because that's like, the easiest way to "fix" a problem quickly. except that as humans with an ability for abstract thinking, we can and need to understand that an "easy fix" is rarely the better option on the long term. and so we need, when we feel anger (especially towards someone) to recognise what exactly is the problem and how to really fix it, ideally without creating useless suffering and other issues

so I guess prev congrats for using you human ability to think (unironically, like that's something a lot of people seems reluctant to do which was op's point) and thanks for providing me an opportunity to expose my thoughts on a subject I'm passionate about

Tumblr really is full to bursting of the fascinating category of people who will shout ACAB at the top of their lungs and despise the American prison system with dramatic displays of vitriol but when confronted with someone who did something they actually think is a serious moral transgression cannot conceive of 'justice' meaning anything except the offender suffering, preferably in dramatic and humiliating ways.

You see how the median opinion on prison rape remains shrugging and considering it part of the sentence, really.

[kjhbsies]

Multo

navigation | main masterlist | rules

James Potter x reader

synopsis: After weeks of silence and emotional distance, Y/N is forced to confront the feelings she’s tried so hard to bury— feelings for her best friend, James Potter. But when James shows up drunk at her doorstep, broken and desperate for answers, the truth finally comes to light.

wordcount: 2, 876

note: Part II of Cool About It. Angst to fluff.

Y/n had been avoiding James for three weeks now. At first, it wasn't obvious. The kind of thing that barely scratches the surface and could be brushed off as coincidence. Too subtle to raise alarms.

Like how she'd swiftly turn the opposite way the moment she caught a glimpse of his messy dark curls in the distance, or how she suddenly always had something to do— like an essay to finish, a meeting to attend— whenever James was near her. Her once-predictable presence at group hangouts had become a rarity, and somehow, every time James showed up, she just happened to be unavailable.

And maybe James didn't notice it at first. Maybe he was too caught up with Lily— her sudden shift of attitude towards him was too hard to ignore. He was in bliss— floating in a dream he had been chasing for years, too up high to see the way Y/n had started falling from his orbit.

But everyone in his friend group did. Remus, Sirius, and even Peter, who never picked up on these things, had made an offhand comment. "Have you lot seen Y/n lately?"

Still, James didn't piece it together. Or maybe he didn't want to. Maybe he was scared of what it could mean if he did.

Because once you notice someone pulling away from you, it's impossible not to wonder why.

The library was quiet during the late hours. It was almost empty, dim, and, somehow, Y/n found this place comfortable. This area has given her a small amount of peace, offering her some sort of sanity as she can busy herself with the books stacked in there, not really reading it— but just... hiding.

It had become a routine lately. Ducking into corners, finding solitude, telling herself she wasn't avoiding James. She was just... protecting herself. But, of course, the universe won't let her have her peace.

"Y/n!" James called her from behind, panting slightly as if he had run— because he had. His tie was slightly askew, his hair more of a mess than usual, and his eyes were blown wide with something she couldn't really place. Worry? Relief?

She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out.

"I've been trying to catch you for weeks." James tried to laugh it off, stepping forward like he didn't know how to stop. "You— you've been ghosting me."

"I've just been busy," She answered, too quickly. Too quietly.

James gave a short, breathy laugh. "Right. Of course. Busiest girl in the whole world. Too busy for after-school meetups, for Hogsmeade strolls, for movie nights, for me."

Y/n's heart stung, but she didn't let it show.

"I was just about to head out," She insisted, gripping the strap of her bag tightly. "Long night."

"I'll drive you home," James said quickly. Already walking towards the exit like the decision has been made. "It's late."

"James, it's fine—"

"I insist." James smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You seriously think I'd let you go home alone, especially at this hour?"

And she knew, even though her heart was screaming for her to just keep the distance she had so carefully built, arguing would make things worse. So she just nodded and followed him to his car.

The car ride was quiet— at least on her end. James, true to his form, filled the space between them with his usual charm.

"So, what are you even working in there?" He asked, glancing at her. "Don't tell me you've been burying your face in Calculus. That's just sick."

Y/n just chuckled. "No, no. It's a different subject."

James smiled. "Of course. Classic."

And then he went on to tell the latest happenings that had happened when she wasn't around. Sirius had managed to get in trouble again for the third time this month. Remus has been tutoring a freshman who mistook him for a professor. And Lily— Lily made a cheesecake, and James had declared her a goddess.

Y/n nodded and hummed, casually commenting a few sentences from time to time. Her face was polite, yet it felt robotic. And James noticed it.

From time to time, he subtly glanced at her through the rearview mirror. He wasn't the most emotionally intuitive guy, but he could tell something was wrong. Her laughter didn't come as easily. Her eyes didn't linger on him like before.

She wasn't really there— not in a way she used to be.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles turning pale. His words kept coming, but his mind was somewhere else. Because no matter how hard he tried to act normal, no matter how casual he played it— this wasn't normal.

Y/n was slipping away. And he doesn't know why.

When they pulled up in front of Y/n's house, the car slowed to a soft halt. The engine hummed between them, the only real sound in the heavy silence. James tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, his nerves betraying him.

"Thanks for the ride," She murmured.

James bit the insides of his cheek, then turned to look at her with a forced smile. "Hey— are you free tomorrow? Thought we could grab a coffee or something. Just us."

Y/n hesitated. "I got a study date with Remus."

His smile faltered for a second. "Remus?"

She nodded, pulling her bag over her shoulder. "Yeah. He was supposed to help me with my essay."

James scoffed lightly, shaking his head. "Since when do you study with Remus and not me?"

Y/n blinked at him, slightly thrown. "I— I don't know. It just... happened."

A pause stretched between them. James looked away, his jaw clenching slightly. "Right. Cool. I guess he's your go-to now."

There was something laced in his voice, something uncharacteristically sharp. Possessiveness wasn't a shade James often wore— he didn't need to. He had it all. The money, the talent, the looks. People gravitated towards him. That's just how it always been.

He didn't do jealousy. Especially with Remus.

"James..." Y/n said softly, not wanting to stir this into a fight.

"Well, tell Moony not to melt your brain too much. He goes on full professor when he's serious."

Y/n's gaze lingered on him for a bit, weighing him. But she didn't say anything else. She just smiled politely and slipped from the car.

And James watched her walk up to the front door, a small ache in his chest growing heavier with each step he took away from him.

The next day, the diner was buzzing with warmth and chatter; the golden afternoon sun was streaming through the windows and casting a perfect light across the table Lily and James shared.

She looked beautiful— like she always did— effortless in the way she talked, sit, and laughed. Everything he had ever wanted.

But he wasn't really looking at her. He was looking past her— toward the back booth, where Y/n and Remus were seated. And she was laughing. Like, really laughing.

The kind of laugh he hadn't seen from her in the past month. The kind that lit up her face, tipped her head back, made her eyes crinkle at the corners. She slapped her thigh as Remus finished his story like he was the most hilarious person in the world.

James scowled. He didn't even register what Lily was saying. Didn't even pay attention to the food in front of him. His eyes were just trained on them.

The way she leaned in when Remus talked, the way she rested her chin on her hand and looked at him like he was the most interesting person. Like she used to look at him.

And now— now he was noticing everything. The way her eyes sparkled when she smiled. The softness in her voice. He saw it. All of it.

"You okay?" Lily asked, suddenly pulling him out of his thoughts.

James blinked at her. "What?"

"You've been zoning out."

He gave a weak laugh. "Yeah. Sorry, just tired."

Lily raised a brow but let it go.

James looked back at the booth, his heart thudding uncomfortably. Y/n was laughing again, and Remus was now awfully sitting close beside her.

James wasn't used to doing this. The second guessing. The silence. The way his jokes no longer earned a laugh, how his texts were left on read, or worse— replied to nothing, but a cold, distant, courtesy.

It was his fifth attempt this week.

"Hey, there's a new art exhibit in town," He said casually, acting as if his heart wasn't pounding against his chest. "Thought you'd like the surrealist stuff. You know, the one with melting clocks and faceless people? I figured we could check it out together."

"I wish I could, but I got this paper due... and my cat's appointment with the vet later. I'm sorry, James." She smiled apologetically.

She always said sorry. Always with that small, polite smile. The kind of smile you give to a stranger.

And James felt he was slowly becoming one.

The truth was, it was never the art exhibit, or the cafe he invited her over to the day before that, or the time he showed up at her house with her favorite bubble tea and that novel she mentioned in passing months ago. He just missed her.

He missed the way she used to greet him with a smile that warmed his heart. The way she'd bump shoulders with him as he walked her to her class, the little inside jokes they used to whisper under their breaths, the sound of her laugh— God, her laugh.

He missed being her person.

And with each failed attempt, with every gentle excuse, his confidence chipped away. The great James Potter— charmer, golden boy, team captain— was suddenly unsure. Awkward. Tongue tied.

Because he realized that he was losing something he didn't even realize he had been holding on so tightly. Maybe it had always been her.

So right now, he was slouched in one of the couches in a loud club. The lights were too bright, everyone was chaotic, and the air was thick with sweat, perfume, and alcohol. But he didn't care.

His third drink sat in front of him, and he was already slowly getting drunk. Sirius lounged beside him, watching him with a silent concern as he did not see his best friend spiral like this— not even from Lily.

"You alright, mate?" Peter asked.

James didn't answer at first. He kept staring ahead, eyes unfocused, mouth pressed into a thin line. Then, finally, answered a bitter, "Peachy."

Peter frowned, but Sirius placed a hand on his shoulder and subtly shook his head— don't push it.

Remus, however, didn't bite his tongue.

"Is this about Y/n?"

The second her name left his mouth, James immediately glared at him, eyes bloodshot and glassy.

"What, d'you know something I don't?" James snapped, voice rising above the music. "Since you're always with her now?"

"She's my friend, James."

"Oh, friend, right. You two study together, hang out alone, laugh like idiots— hell, you even know everything about her, don't you?" James slammed his glass down, the drink sloshing to his sleeve. "She doesn't look at me the way she used to. Doesn't see me. She makes excuses to avoid me. Says she's busy. Tired. Got plans. But then I see her with you."

"Prongs—" Sirius interjected, but James wasn't finished.

He laughed, but it was hollow. Broken. "What did I even do, huh? Why the hell won't she just talk to me?"

"Alright, Prongs. Let's take a breath, yeah?" Sirius place a firm hand on James's shoulder.

But James shrugged it off. Instead, he ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't get it. She was my best friend. Mine." His shoulders slumped as the tears came rolling in. "I just— I just want her back. I miss her."

He sank into the couch, wiping his face the back off his hand like a child. "Call her." He whispered. Then louder, more desperate. "Please. Just call her. Ask her to come. I don't care if she's mad at me or if she hates me. I need to talk to her. Please. Please, please, please." He begged.

Sirius exchanged a look with Remus.

"Alright, I'll call her."

"Hello?" Y/n answered from the other line. The background was filled with a mix of loud music, clinking glasses, and chaos— but none of it made her go still. James. He wasn't speaking coherently. Just broken words, cries, and soft pitiful pleas. "Is that—"

Remus sighed softly. "Yeah. He's... not doing well."

She could hear James's voice in the background— his voice was wrecked and cracking as he said her name over and over.

"What's going on?"

"He's begging for you, actually."

Y/n's heart clenched. "Tell him... I'm glad he's surrounded by people who care about him tonight. But I— I can't come."

Remus didn't respond immediately. "Y/n, he's not himself." He said softly, not to pressure her— never that— but to simply let her know the truth.

"I know," She whispered. "But I can't do it, Remus. For the sake of my sanity, I can't. It's not that I don't care about him. God, I do. But if I go there, I'm scared it'll hurt us even more."

Remus exhaled softly on the other end of the line. "Okay, I understand."

"Please just... make sure he gets home safe?"

"We will. You did the right thing."

Y/n ended the call, and she couldn't help but sit as her legs buckled. The night was dead silent, save for the faint hum of the air conditioner at the corner of Y/n's room.

She had been staring at nowhere. Thinking. Pondering. She wondered if she even made the right decision of ignoring James. Of falling in love with him.

She hadn't noticed the clock had already struck midnight. Hadn't noticed that it had been an hour since she declined James's request. The guilt was eating her alive, and she couldn't do anything about it.

But then, the doorbell rang.

She didn't move for a moment. Praying it was just the neighbor or maybe a delivery to the wrong address. But somehow, deep down, she knew. Her stomach twisted painfully as she stood up, making her way through the door.

And when she swung the door open, her breath caught in her throat. James stood there. His hair was a damp mess, with sweat clinging on his forehead, and his chest rising and falling as if he had run all the way to here. His cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, and his eyes— oh, his eyes— were bloodshot and glassy, rimmed with tears that hadn't yet fallen.

"James," She whispered softly.

"You didn't care about me at all, did you?" He asked, voice hoarse and quiet. "You just let me spiral."

"What? No! James, I—"

"You ignored me." He stepped inside the house without waiting for her permission. His eyes never left hers. "You stopped talking to me. Pretend I didn't exist. You— you just cut me off like I'm nothing."

"That's not true." She stepped forward, reaching at his hand, but he stepped back, shaking his head.

"I waited. Every day, I waited for you to call back. And you didn't. You just... let me go."

Y/n's throat burned, her hands trembling by her sides.

"I had to." She choked. "James, I had to—"

"Why?" He asked, stepping closer now. His anger melted into confusion and pain. "What did I do so wrong, Y/n?"

"Because I like you." She said, barely a whisper. "I liked you so much it hurts, James. And I couldn't take it anymore. Watching you love someone else while I stand in the corner, pretending it doesn't rip me apart."

James stared at her. Stunned and silent.

She laughed bitterly through the tears. "I was doing it for me. I had to distance myself."

James opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"I didn't mean to fall for you. It just happened. And by the time I realized it, it was too late." She wiped at her face and stepped back, motioning at the door. "You should go. Please. Just go."

She turned around, ready to walk away, when James grabbed her wrist gently. And before she could react, his lips were on hers in a deep, desperate, and passionate kiss that stole the breath from her lungs.

When they finally pulled away, breathless, James cupped her face with trembling hands.

"I was stubborn," He whispered, forehead pressing against hers. "I kept telling myself I didn't feel anything for you. That Lily was all I wanted. And God, I was so wrong."

"James..."

"I love you. And I'm sorry it took me so long to see it. For being blind. But please— let me start over. Let me fix things between us." He kissed her again, almost reverent. "Don't give up on me yet."

"Just don't break me again, James."

And in the silence that followed, he held her like a promise he never planned to let go of.

©kjhbsies

taglist: @lotsostrawberrybear @sweetstrawberrianne

[whenstarsundress]

hello! i wanted to ask if you could write a scenario where the boys find the reader's self harm scars that the reader has been hiding for years? i know it's a difficult subject and feel free to ignore this ask or change up the request however you wish if it's something you're not comfortable with. no pressure at all! my favorites are zayne and sylus but i'm not picky, you can write the prompt for someone else if you'd rather! your writing is amazing and i really appreciate you sharing your work! :)

an: thank you for trusting me with this request, wherever you are, I’m sending you love.

sylus – protective, soft but quietly wrecked

he didn’t mean to see. he was tracing your skin with those featherlight touches. his usual calm reverence written into every movement.

but then his fingers stilled. “…angel,” he murmured.

you froze. he didn’t ask what it was. he already knew. his jaw clenched and for a second his fingers tightened around you. but when you tried to move, tried to hide, he caught your hand and kissed the scar instead. then another, and each that he could find.

“this… this doesn’t scare me,” he said thickly. “but it hurts that you went through something like that alone.”

he held you all night and whispered that he was proud of you. that you were still here. that he’d protect you from every shadow, including the ones in your own heart.

zayne – devastated, gentle, desperately wants to understand

he spotted it when you were changing. your shirt had barely lifted before he saw the marks. his entire expression dropped, his entire body went rigid.

“…baby?” his voice cracked. “can i… ask you something?”

you turned away, but he rushed to you. not to demand answers or to see, but to wrap you in his hoodie, pressing his forehead to yours.

“i’m not mad,” he whispered. “i just… i wish i’d known. i could’ve held you when it was bad. i still can. please don’t hide from me.”

that night, he made you hot cocoa and wrapped you in his clothes, in his blanket, in his arms. and let you talk or cry or say nothing at all. he sat beside you on the floor, lacing your fingers together, as if to silently say, “you’re not alone anymore.”

caleb – quietly fierce, immediate emotional anchor

he noticed the scars when you reached to grab something. you didn’t even realize until you saw his eyes on your wrist. he didn’t speak right away, because what do you say when the love of your life was hurting and you didn’t know?

“tell me who hurt you,” he said. “and if it was you… tell me what made it feel like the only choice.”

his voice didn’t carry judgment. just fury that something in this world—something in your past, or even right now—could carve that pain into someone he loved. he kissed the skin gently and said, “scars don’t scare me. but not knowing what you’re carrying does. so talk to me. or let me hold it with you.”

and he did. whatever you need, caleb would give it to you. forever.

xavier – emotional, deeply shaken, poetic and present

you didn’t think he’d notice. not through the long sleeves, but xavier always noticed everything about you. one night, curled in bed, you shifted, and your sleeve rode up. he saw. his heart dropped before beating so fast, like it tried to claw out of his chest, and to yours. to surround you with love, warmth and protection.

his fingers ghosted over the mark. “was this pain?” he asked, his voice hollow. “or… silence?”

you didn’t answer right away. but your eyes brimmed with tears and that was enough. he took your wrist in both hands, kissed every inch with reverence, like he could rewrite what had happened with softness.

“these scars,” he whispered, “don’t define you. but they’re part of your story. and i’m not afraid of your shadows. i love all of you. even the aching parts.”

rafayel – surprisingly serious, stays with you through every emotion

he usually makes everything lighthearted until he saw the faint scars on your thighs. his voice dropped to a serious low. “you did this to yourself?”

you nodded, too scared to look at him. he didn’t joke or tease. he stepped forward and knelt in front of you, resting his cheek gently against your leg, as a quiet act of devotion.

“i’ve made mistakes, too,” he said softly. “you don’t have to hide the hurting from me. i want the real you, even the parts you think are unlovable.”

he pressed a soft kiss to the scar before he got up again, and wrapped you tightly into his arms. “i got you. no matter how heavy the pain is, we’ll carry it together. okay?”

final words - you are not your scars. you are not broken. you are worthy of gentle love, understanding hands and unwavering presence.

and my dear? you’re so strong for being here.

these boys—sylus, zayne, caleb, xavier & rafayel—they wouldn’t run from your past. they’d stay, heart first.

[gachagon]

Something I really liked about playing this game was that as I was playing I actually began to understand the abstract way that Ena speaks.

At first, what she says sounds like total word salad and like she's just combining random phrases together. But the more I played, the more coherent they became in a weird way? I think an example of what I mean is when she runs into Taski Maiden and Taski literally has that creepy ass jumpscare.

Ena says "Miss could you keep it down please? The pizza delivery guy is right here." At first that absolutely makes no sense at all, but after I thought about it Ena is clearly saying "Please stop scaring/startling me like that...I'm just a worker."

I think the way Enaspeak works (which is the weird way Ena's talk that I personally have just named bc idk what Joel G would call it T_T) is that it doesn't actually matter if what you say has nothing to do with the main subject at hand, as long as it belies the same emotions or feelings you hold then it's correct.

The first sentence "Miss, could you keep it down please?" is in the same bracket as asking someone to simply stop doing something, even though it might be obvious that Ena wants Taskii to either stop scaring her like that or to stop joking like that or to stop being so rude to her etc, the first sentence isn't a direct response to what Taskii said to her at all or relates to the situation.

The second sentence relates to Ena herself. "The Pizza Delivery Guy is right here." A delivery person is "just a worker" in the same vein that Ena is just a worker. The sentence carries the same kind of casualness as "I am just a worker" which is probably what Ena wants to convey. That there's no need for...jumpscares or rudeness towards her because she's just a worker, and isn't dangerous at all.

Another aspect of Enaspeak is how "random" it is. Basically, the more offtopic the Enaspeak is, the more emotion Ena is trying to convey with what she's saying. When Ena wants to be direct in Dream BBQ she does speak pretty plainly. However, when she's confused or scared her speech is "coherent" but the meaning and relation to whats happening is completely lost.

Or Joel G could just be writing whatever he thinks is funniest for Ena to say and I am a madwoman reading far too deep into it lol T_T Anyways these are my random thoughts about the funky way Ena talks.

[mariasont]

can you please write Spencer and shy!reader for valentine's day? 💕💝💖💖💞💝💖 I love them so much and I love you more

Lover Girl - S.R

summary: spencer has a hypothesis about love on vday & it’s not something you agree on pairing: post!prison!reid x shy!medialiaison!reader warnings: r going crazy over something spencer said hours ago (get a grip girl), r kinda goes out of character, spencer being the sassiest human alive wc: 1.9k a/n: thank u sm for requesting i love this and i love you even more ✨💖

The draft on your laptop was starting to look less like a press release and more and more like a psychological cry for help. Words sprawled like abandoned thoughts, entire sentences had been brutally sacrificed to the backspace key, and you'd rewritten the same transition phrase so many times it no longer felt like a real word. The whole thing read like the work of someone who had just sustained a minor head injury.

Objectively? It was bad.

Subjectively? It was an unmitigated disaster.

You blamed Spencer. Or maybe you blamed yourself for still thinking about it, for letting his words linger in your head like an incorrectly formatted footnote that you couldn't stop rereading.

You had never been a hopeless romantic, exactly, but you liked the idea of it, the structure of it. Believed it was more than a sum of its parts. More than just wires crossing in the brain and pattern recognition.

And yet, he had discarded the notion so easily, reducing love to a series of neurochemical reactions misinterpreted as emotional depth, something logical and completely stripped of any sort of real feeling.

He hadn't meant it cruelly, but his voice carried a kind of detachment that made you want to launch your coffee at his ridiculously well-structured face. It shouldn't bother you.

It really, genuinely, in no universe, should not bother you. It wasn't like you had a chance with him, so why did it matter what Spencer Reid, certified romance cynic, destroyer of sentimental ideals, and casual heartbreaker, thought about love?

If anything, his lack of belief should make it easier to kill this absurd crush before it spiraled into something unmanageable.

You squared your shoulders and looked back to the screen, back to the carefully worded Bureau-approved phrases meant to sound polished and agreeable.

Strengthening community trust. Bridging the gap between law enforcement and the public.

Meaningless, hollow, designed to be palatable without saying anything real. Blah. Blah.

I mean, did he really think that love was like an outdated scientific theory? It was Valentine's Day, for crying out loud — if nothing else, wasn't that proof of its existence?

You had considered the possibility that he had stopped believing because he had to. That prison had stripped the softness of him, turned love into just another abstract concept that didn't hold up under scrutiny, like time, like trust, like freedom.

Or maybe (and this was the more infuriating possibility) he had always been like this, too pragmatic to believe in something he couldn't technically hold in his hands.

You groaned under your breath, rubbing at your temple like you could physically press the words out of your skull, like they were just another headache waiting to pass. Why were you still thinking about this? It was stupid. He was stupid. You were stupid of caring.

Except he wasn't stupid. He was obnoxiously brilliant, the kind of smart that made other geniuses insecure, and that was the problem. Because if someone that intelligent didn't believe in love the way you did.... did that mean you were in the wrong? Had you been naive this whole time, blindly buying into a romanticized fantasy while Spencer had long dissected it and found it lacking?

The knock on your office doorframe startled you so badly that your entire skeletal structure attempted to evacuate your body, knee jerking up, colliding with the underside of the desk with an unforgiving whack.

You barely had time to wonder if you'd just concussed your kneecap before you looked up and — Spencer. Standing in the doorway like some cosmic punishment for thinking about him too hard.

Heat flooded your face like an admission of guilt, because why, why, did it suddenly feel like you'd been caught red-handed?

"Hey," he said, tilting his head. "You okay?"

No, you wanted to say. Not at all. Because what were you supposed to do when they very subject of your over analysis materialized in your doorway, looking at you like he could see every freaking unspoken thought folded between your ribs?

You swallowed, forced yourself to look anywhere but directly at him, because everything about this, about him, felt like some kind of cruel irony.

"Uh, yeah," you croaked, voice pitching embarrassingly high. Great. Perfect. Totally normal human behavior.

Spencer's brow furrowed, his head doing that thing he did when something wasn't quite right. But miraculously, he didn't say anything about it.

"I was just...," You gestured to your laptop.

Spencer nodded slowly, either accepting your excuse at face value or deciding it wasn't worth the effort to call you out.

"Right. I was just going to ask if you had finalized the press release for me to proof."

Your stomach lurched, a sharp drop like missing a step in the dark. Finalized. Bold of him to assume you'd done anything besides stare blankly at your screen for the past fifteen minutes.

"Oh! Yeah, of course," you said, throwing out the words with a half-hearted smile as if that would seal the lie. "Almost done. Just... you know, making sure it's perfect."

Spencer stepped inside, moving just past the threshold. His expression changed. Less neutral. More aware.

"You're acting strange."

Which was unacceptable, because if anyone in this scenario should be acting strange, it was him, standing there like a walking contradiction.

"I — what?" The laugh escaped before you could trap it behind your teeth, jagged and surely unnatural.

"You're tense. And you don't usually second-guess yourself this much. If it was almost done, you'd just say so." His eyes flicked to the laptop. "Did something happen?"

Your face went nuclear, looking away, hyper focused on the edge of the desk like it was the most fascinating thing you'd ever seen. "I don't know what you mean. I'm acting normal."

Spencer made a thoughtful noise. "Denial first. Then contradiction."

"I —"

"Oh, and there's the hesitation. That usually happens when you're trying to figure out how to backpedal without making it obvious."

"Do you always do this?"

"Only when people are lying about something." He squinted at you. "And you're a very bad liar."

He tapped a finger a finger against his arm in a way that made your nerves itch, before stepping forward and sinking into the chair across from your desk.

"Huh."

You frowned. "What?"

"You're doing the same thing you did earlier," he said matter-of-factly. "Avoiding direct responses, looking everywhere but me, shifting in your seat."

His gaze lingered, and then — Gods, help you — his lips curved, just slightly.

"Almost like the conversation was bothering you then, too."

Oh. Oh, this was bad. He was trying to talk about the one topic you'd spent the last twenty minutes trying to erase from your brain.

"I just, well, it's not that I had thoughts or feelings on it or anything, I just didn't, well, I mean, I just didn't want to be in that conversation, you know? Not that it was bad. Just — not my thing."

Spencer's eyebrows lifted. "So you disagreed with me?"

"I — I did not say that."

"No, but you just said everything but that." He leaned forward. "So tell me. What was it?"

You finally look at him, actually looked at him, and immediately regretted it.

You tried to gauge if there was any chance you could turn this conversation in your favor.

Nope.

"I mean, I wouldn't say disagreed, per se, I just... thought maybe your take was a little—," you sighed, "dismissive."

"Oh? And what exactly am I dismissing?"

You hesitated. Not because you didn't have an answer, but because you had too many. Love wasn't just science, romance wasn't just a byproduct of biology, that it meant something. It's real. It matters. It's— "You're dismissing everything beyond your own reasoning."

You waited. For the rebuttal, the deconstruction, the inevitable moment Spencer laid your words bare and left you scrambling to rebuild them. But this time there was nothing. He just sat there. Looking at you. Like he was waiting for something else.

You fidgeted. Crossed your arms. Uncrossed them. "What?"

"Nothing. Just... thinking." A pause. "You clearly have an opinion on this, just trying to figure out what it is."

Your lips pressed together, your brain begging you to let it go, to shut up before you started. But the words were already forming, bubbling up too fast to stop.

"Okay, look. I get it. I get the science. I get that love can be explained in chemical terms."

Spencer nodded, like you were finally seeing his point.

"But that doesn't mean that's all it is," you said, sitting up straighter. "Love isn't just an instinct. If it was then why do people stay in love when it doesn't make sense? Why do people wait years for someone who might never come back? Why do people hold on to feelings they know won't be returned?"

You inhaled sharply, only to realize what you had said felt a little too personal. Heat flared to your toes. "I just, uh, you're looking at it like it's an equation when it's more like, like art. You can break down why a painting is visually appealing, but that doesn't explain why it moves people."

"So love is art then?" A small smirk tugged at his lips. "That would mean it's subjective. That one person's version of it isn't the same as another's."

"Well, yeah, that's my point." You nodded. "Everyone experiences it differently. That's why it can't be reduced to formulas. You can recreate the exact conditions of a moment, use the same words, set the same scene but it won't feel the same to someone else. Because love isn't about external factors, it's about who you're with, how they make you feel."

"That sounds dangerously close to saying it's entirely irrational."

You exhaled. "If it is, then I guess that means you'll never understand it."

Spencer pushed himself to his feet, adjusting his cuff like this was just another conversation and not something that had you actively fighting for oxygen.

Then, with an infuriating self-satisfied smile, he murmured, "Well, maybe I just need the right person to teach me."

You nearly choked on air.

And with one last glance, he grinned and said, "Happy Valentine's Day, lover girl."

taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[latteodyssey]

celebrity gossip | Tim Drake x Vigilante!Reader ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

summary: while lounging on the watchtower, you decide to comment with red robin about gotham's newest celebrity gossip. (part two of this story here!) masterlist

You’re lounging on the sofa in the Watchtower, the usual tension of crime-fighting missing in the quiet of the night. Red Robin is at the computer, eyes glued to the screen, but the city below remains disturbingly calm, the only sound filling the room was of quiet typing. It’s just the two of you for now.

“What are you doing?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“Catching up on Wayne drama,” you reply, still scrolling through your phone without looking up. The glow from the screen lights up your face, casting an eerie, almost ghostly light. “Can you believe Bruce Wayne is already on his third girlfriend this year? It's like this guy is trying to break his own personal record or something.”

“Is that, like, interesting to you?” Red Robin's tone is flat, but you can hear the curiosity in it.

“I mean, you’re from Gotham, right?” You finally glance up, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t really escape it. They make sure it’s shoved down our throats every day.”

“I’m not really into it” He tries to keep his voice monotone, as if he doesn’t care about the situation.

He’s used to the media circus, it helps him and his family, in a way. The more obnoxious the Wayne’s are, the less likely it is for the public to think they’re Gotham City’s caped crusaders. I benefited him.

Yet behind his mask, hearing you talk about it made him a little tense.

Ever since you entered the team, he’s been interested in you, hell, he was into you before that. You’ve met before, but he never expected his high school friend to become a vigilante as well, although seeing you in your superhero uniform made his heart skip a beat. Ever since then, he’s been secretly happy every time you’re paired up in missions, he treasures the moments where you two talk alone.

“I mean, they’re obviously obnoxious with the whole out-of-touch rich guy stuff.” You pause for a second “Tim is nice, though. I went to high school with him, he was pretty down-to earth. I had a massive crush on him, too.”

Red Robin freezes for a second, his fingers stilling over the keyboard. You don’t notice the slight stiffening of his posture as he processes what you said. He returns to typing on the computer, trying to regain some semblance of control.

You shrug, leaning back into the sofa as you casually reply. “He was a charming nerd with all the gadgets and the brains. He was also really kind to me, so yeah”

"He sounds nice." He forces himself to sound casual, to play it off. He cringes a bit internally, it feels strange to talk about himself like this, besides that, is it weird that he wants you to keep talking?

“Yeah, we don’t talk anymore, though,” you reply, a trace of nostalgia in your voice. "I really miss him."

Tim’s mind stirs, his fingers pausing over the keyboard again, caught in the sudden surge of emotion—maybe it’s the way your voice seemed filled with affection when you mentioned him. He takes a slow breath, trying to push the knot in his chest aside, turning around in his chair to face you, abruptly changing the subject.

"What other gossip do you have there?"

"Oh, you have no idea!" Your face lights up as you prepare to tell him every useless information you've learned in the past few hours.

And as the night stretches on, with the calm of the streets below, Tim lets himself believe that maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something more.

[txkby]

My experience with the Void State.

Before I discovered the Void State, I practiced meditation regularly in 2022 (literally the year of the Void State on Tumblr), the sensations I had when meditating were truly exquisite, that tranquility and peace are simply incomparable with people, material things, etc.

I swear that nothing has filled my soul like those sensations.

(This is very important, remember it)

I stopped meditating afterwards because I didn't have time and when I wanted to do it I fell asleep, like when you want to get to the Void, don't you think? LOL

I discovered the Void around the beginning of 2023, but I never gave it any importance, i've almost never liked the methods, because it get obsessed, and that's what I did, I got obsessed.

I became so obsessed with the Void that I was constantly looking for information everywhere, on Google, here on Tumblr, Twitter, YouTube, and in endless places.

And every day I spent time doing methods to get there, meditations, affirmations, etc. But I just couldn't get there, I couldn't.

I felt so bad guys, I felt tired, have you ever felt that tiredness that feels more like giving up? That's what I felt.

I felt dissatisfied with my life, and it's hard because you feel ungrateful to the universe, to people, to everything.

But I kept on trying every day to get to the Void, but again, I never got there, not that way.

So I went back to the beginning, I went back to the basics, what is the Void? How do you get there? And I realized that I forgot what the Void really was, I forgot everything because of my desperation and obsession to get there.

What I did to get to the Void was the following:

- I gave up, but not giving up by throwing in the towel, but by letting myself go.

- let it go, detach myself from it

- remember that the Void is a state, it is something attached to us that simply cannot be prevented

- I stopped trying to reach the Void with extreme methods, I stopped trying to get there with steps, with rules.

- I stopped forcing myself to reach the Void, because the Void is not effort, it is relaxation, it is letting go, it is surrendering

- I changed my focus, instead of wanting to reach the Void by manifesting my desires, I changed it to simply having a good time, to relax

- I started doing simple meditations, nothing like "meditation to reach the Void, meditation for this, meditation for that", no, just simple meditations.

- don't look for symptoms because that takes you away from relaxation, it takes you away from the key to reach the Void

- relax, that's the Void, never forget it

And I remembered that the sensations I had when meditating for 2022 were the same as the Void, which means that I had possibly reached the Void State at that time, but since I didn't know about the subject, I didn't make an effort to reach the Void, I just wanted to meditate for fun, and this is very important because when we concentrate and force ourselves to reach the Void, we don't get there, when we are desperate to reach the void we won't get there, when we are anxious to reach the Void we won't get there.

So, after doing all that, remembering all that, I reached the Void.

And it didn't take me more than 1 week after to understand everything I just said.

In the Void I felt what I felt when meditating, that exquisite tranquility, that peace, that happiness, and of course you have no emotions, thoughts and you don't feel your body at all.

I didn't manifest much, I only changed my name, time of birth, my personality, my mentality and voice, because that was why I wanted to get there, I felt bad about myself because during 2020 to 2022 I suffered from depression, my father passed away, the changes that occurred in those times affected me mentally, I had social anxiety, I suffered, it was horrible.

But by manifesting my change of mentality and personality my perspective on life changed, therefore now I am happy.

The thing about my time of birth was simply for fun LOL, and my name, my old name, mmm 🫤 , I never felt identified with it, I was not her.

Like all of you, I suffered for wanting to get to the Void, for looking for symptoms

And not letting myself in getting there, because of my focus, because of my low self-confidence, because of my obsession, because of my desperation.

Give up to enter the Void.

And well guys, that's my experience with the Void, this post is so long but necessary, byee.

(I hope the translation is correct LOL) 🫂😝

[lunasfics]

Found Family

summary: In which Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent engage in a custody battle over a clone created from both their DNA, or, in which you get saved from a lab and gain two new families who would move mountains for you.

pairing: Bat Family x f! Reader, Supers x f! Reader

word count: 8.2k

preview

a/n: hello! IT'S FINALLY OUT WOOHOO, it's a bit long but i had a lot of fun writing it. certain characters may be a bit ooc so i do apologize as i'm still getting my footing on how to characterize certain people. let me know what you think! constructive criticism is always welcome and appreciated (just pls don't be mean lol)! i left a somewhat open-ish ending because i wanna make this into a series/universe, and will start taking requests for drabbles in this universe, depending on how this is received! - luna :)

reblogs are appreciated!

“I’m in. Robin, what’s your status?” Bruce spoke into the earpiece, swiftly moving through the shadows of the lab. It was a simple mission: get into the lab Lex Luthor had created under Gotham City, collect intel needed to take down said lab, and leave. Unfortunately, it’s never really that simple, is it? 

“I’m in, making my way through the west wing, cover is still intact,” Damian muttered back. 

“Good. Nightwing?” 

“Just entered the center lab, heading down to the bottom level now, haven't been spotted,” Dick said, making his way down the steps, careful to remain silent. 

“Good. Remember the objective. In and Out.” Bruce muttered as he continued, searching for the locked file cabinet he was looking for. 

“Files located. Ready for extraction” Damian said quietly through the intercom. 

“I’ve made it to the bottom level. Requesting immediate backup, there's something here you guys need to see” Dick’s voice echoed through the earpiece, “They’ve made another clone.” 

Bruce stopped what he was doing, silently making his way down the hall towards the staircase Dick took around a half hour before, “I'm on my way. Damian?”

“Heading there now. Files are downloaded.” 

Upon arriving at the lower level, Dick bypasses security to let them in, making sure to reactivate the lock behind them, “Look.”

He gestured to the incubation tube not far from them, inside of it stood a young woman, who looked no older than 20, wearing a black skin-tight suit, a familiar “S” symbol adorning her chest, only it was the center of another symbol, the bat symbol, with bat ears at the top and bat wings on either side of it, a dark burgundy color with gold lining along the edges. The plaque below the tube read: 

Attempt 1: G6B24 

Specimen 1: Superman (Identity: Unknown)

Specimen 2: Batman (Identity: Unknown) 

Status: Failed - Shows excessive signs of emotional intelligence (unfit for purpose), Subject is not invulnerable, Lacks thermal vision

‘Emotional Intelligence’ you must have shown hesitation, a moral compass. 

“Father… what are we going to do?” Damian asked, he was at a loss, part of him felt slightly threatened, if you were taken in, he would no longer be the only child related to Bruce by DNA, and you were older, stronger— perhaps you would take his place, the place he’d finally felt he truly belonged; however he remained silent, his past self likely would have attempted to argue against your rescue, but he’d grown, he knew deep down you deserved a chance at this life just as much as he did. 

Bruce looked up at your unconscious figure, at a loss for words, you were his daughter, intentional or not, there was a part of him in you, he only hoped that part wouldn't screw you over for life. As surprised as he was, he had an obligation to you the same way he did with Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, Steph, Barbara, Duke, Damian, and every other vigilante he had taken under his wing.

His Batman instincts kicked in very quickly though, immediately refocusing himself, reading through the files, in an attempt to prepare himself for any possible scenario, he turned to Dick. 

“Find all the DNA samples they have belonging to both me and Superman, we’re taking them,” he said, making sure to not hyper-focus on the thoughts flooding his mind. 

“We’re not just leaving her here, are we? The plaque says ‘failed’. Who knows what could happen to her?” Dick said, he was frustrated.

Conner had gotten a chance to build a life for himself. You deserved one too, the mere thought of Bruce wanting to leave you there angered him. 

“She’s coming with us. Damian, watch the door, Dick, find the samples," Bruce said gruffly, moving to the tube, bypassing the database to open it, without setting off any system safeguards. He reached into his utility belt and pulled out his shard of kryptonite, just in case it was needed to neutralize you. 

The tube opened slowly, a swoosh sound filling the air as the cold fog escaped the tube, spilling into the air, your eyes fluttering open as you looked around, your eyes focusing on him.

You flew at him, full speed, pushing him against the wall with a thud, knocking the wind out of him, your eyes boring into his, glowing red, just as you were about to terminate him with your heat vision, he uttered the safe word he had seen in your file. 

“Blue Pineapple” he grunted out, the red in your eyes fading away instantly, as you stared at him with wide eyes. You backed away slowly, lowering yourself to the floor. Your eyes fixed on him once again.

You recognized him from your programming, the man whose combat skills were engraved into your mind.

“Batman?” 

Dick and Damian rushed over, making sure Bruce was okay. He was fine.

Dick turned to you, holding out his hand, “Come with me. We need to get you out of here, you aren’t safe here.” 

You stared at him, your eyes narrowing, “Why should I trust you?” 

Dick sighed, Those damn Wayne genetics, he kept his hand extended to you, “Because we’re helping you escape, if you come with us, you can meet Superman, be a hero just like him and Batman, you could actually see the world” he promised. 

"I know what the world looks like." you stated bluntly.

He sighed, his hand not wavering, "But have you ever experienced it? Let us show you what that's like. You can have a life."

You thought for a moment, before letting out a small grunt, nodding at him and taking his hand, allowing them to lead you out of the lab grounds seemingly undetected.��

When you stepped out, you stopped, eyes completely transfixed on the brilliant night sky. Blends of blues and purples and grays danced together to make the beautiful endless abyss above you. You knew every color there was. You knew everything, but at the same time you really didn't. You stared up at the stars, you knew how they came to be, you knew every scientific explanation there was yet seeing them… it made you feel a way you couldn’t explain.

They led you to the batmobile, situating you in the back seat with Damian, starting the drive to the Batcave. Bruce dialed Clark’s number into the keypad, it rang twice before he picked up. 

“Hello?” 

“Meet me in the Batcave. It’s urgent. Bring Conner.”

“What’s going o-”

He hung up. 

Dick covered his mouth to hide his snicker, “So, Bruce, you and Clark have an official love child now, right? What will Lois think?” he feigned concern, placing the back of his hand over his forehead, committing to the drama, “Oh, how scandalous, I mean really, the shame! I can already see the headlines ‘Billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne turned common whore after breaking up happy metropolis family’” 

Damian covered his laugh with a cough.

You looked at the three of them, utterly confused, still processing what was going on. 

Bruce huffed, shooting them both a glare, “Dick, be mature.” 

Dick smiled, “I can't help myself, just wait til Jason finds out.” He smiled in excitement, as they pulled into the side entrance of the Batcave. 

Bruce let out a deep, tired sigh.

Clark sat in silence in the Batcave, Conner standing to his left, his eyes wide as he stared at you, possessing some features belonging to both he and Bruce, and other features that seemed to be entirely your own.

You stared back, that same stoic nature radiating off of you that radiates off the Batman, however, he noted the defensive look in your eyes, one so similar to the one he saw in Conner when he first met him. He eyed your suit, noting the familiar “S” symbol, only it was a burgundy color, a rather interesting combination of the Batman and Superman emblems, and he was utterly confused.

He looked over at Bruce, still in his bat suit, his cowl pulled off, “Bruce, what the hell is going on?” 

“I had to call you here because Luthor decided to create another clone. I did the DNA test, Clark, she’s a combination of both our DNA” Bruce looked at him, Dick and Damian standing to his right. It was silent for a moment, you felt like a guinea pig, the way they all stared at you. It made you angry. 

Conner was the first to speak, stepping forward before opening his mouth, choosing his words carefully, “What’s your name?” 

You responded immediately, it felt automatic. “Experiment attempt number one. Code G6B24. I was made to be the future killer of the Batman and the Kriptonian.” 

He nodded slowly, “I’m a clone too, and Clark took me in— well, he took me in eventually— that’s besides the point. He showed me how to become my own person, we can help you do that too.”

You looked at him, eyes softening ever so slightly, but you kept your guard up like your Batman programming taught you to. “I was made to be a killer, if I don’t do what I was made to do, what am I worth?” you said quietly, voice unwavering.

Damian watched you, your words striking him in a way he hadn't expected them to, he understood what you were saying all too well. 

Bruce decided to speak up next, “You were created, it’s not your fault what their intentions were when they did so. What you become from here on out is your choice.” 

You stayed silent, eyes darting around the room—What is this feeling? Vulnerability? You knew it by definition, like you did most other feelings, but feeling them… it was different. 

Dick noted the way you seemed overwhelmed, he approached you slowly, pulling up two chairs, motioning for you to sit, you chose to remain standing until he sat down first. 

“You know, we trust you, we want to figure out a way for you to become the best you can be. On your terms” he said, offering you a small smile. 

You looked around, the others nodded in agreement, “I was made to be only the best parts of you” you said, your gaze focusing on Clark and Bruce, they both put their best qualities forward to help others, how could you use those same qualities to destroy that?

“I… don’t want to be a killer. They said I was too… human. I thought I’d failed them.” 

Damian decided to step forward, “You didn’t fail anyone, you are meant for greater things. You haven't killed anyone, you can choose your path. If the path you choose is the Robin mantle... I am willing to work with that.” 

At this, the other men in the room turned to look at him, Clark and Conner were slack-jawed, this was the same kid who fought Tim tooth and nail over this mantle. The same mantle he was just… willing to give you? 

Meanwhile Dick had a proud smile on his face, you thought you saw a small tear in his eye.

Bruce’s face seemed unreadable, however, you took notice of the way the corners of his lips turned up for a split second. before reverting back to their natural state. 

You weren’t sure what to say, again, you knew what this mantle was, by definition. The reality was you had no sense of what it meant, the weight it carried. And you knew that.

“Thank you, but I feel like that title isn’t mine to take. I think I need to… become something that's true to who I am, whatever that may be.”  

Bruce looked at you, the corner of his lip barely twitching up into a smile, a smile so subtle that only someone of your… background would notice, an attempt of his towards getting you more comfortable, “We should start with a name.” 

You looked at Conner, he gave you an encouraging smile. 

“Like I chose Conner, so now I’m Conner Kent,” he said with a small shrug, “You can choose whatever you want.” 

“I see,” you thought for a moment, “I like Y/n.” 

Clark smiled, standing up and clapping his hands together, “Great! Y/n Kent, has a nice ring to it.” 

“Wayne.” 

He turned towards Bruce, eyes narrowing slightly, “Kent.”

“Wayne.”

This time Conner spoke, “Kent.”

The three men stared at each other, arms crossed mirroring each-other’s glares. 

Dick cut in, “How about Grayson?”

“No.” came their simultaneous response. 

Dick frowned, slumping in the seat next to yours, “Jeez.” 

Damian spoke next, “I suppose Al Ghul is off the table…” 

Dick snorted, breaking out into a fit of laughter, you grinned softly at the sounds of his laughter, it reminded you of a windshield wiper. 

Conner sighed, “Fine, what about Wayne-Kent?”

Bruce huffed, “I suppose.”

Clark nodded, the smile returning to his face as he turned to you, “Y/n Wayne-Kent”

You nodded, “I like it.” 

Dick could help but laugh from beside you, “It's like I'm watching reality tv. Love me some baby mama drama.”

Clark opened his mouth to speak and closed it, before sighing and looking at Bruce, who just pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Conner chuckled at the sight, turning to Damian, who’s lip quirked up in amusement. 

Bruce looked up, his attention directed towards you, “Y/n, you can stay here for the night, I’ve asked Alfred to set up a room for you. Clark, Conner, come by tomorrow with Lois and Jon, I’ve called the others to come by as well, we’ll get everything situated tomorrow. For now, get some rest.” 

Everyone nodded, Clark and Conner heading to the exit of the cave, Damian, Dick and Bruce leading you to the room that was prepared for you. 

Dick brought you a sweater and some sweatpants to change into, closing the door with a soft, “Goodnight, kiddo.” 

You changed in silence, slowly getting under the covers and drifting off to sleep, marking the start of your new life. Tomorrow would be an interesting day. 

You woke up the next morning, to a soft knock on the door, your super hearing picking it up better than you would have liked. You opened the door, revealing an older man you hadn’t seen before. He smiled softly, giving you an instantaneous sense of comfort you couldn’t explain. 

“Hello Miss Y/n. My name is Alfred, I am the butler,” he greeted you, handing you a folded set of clothes, “Master Kent chose these for you, however if they are not to your liking, do let me know.” 

“They’re fine…Thank you.”

He smiled warmly, the kind old man giving you a nod, “Once you've changed, do come down, I’ve prepared breakfast. The other members of the family will arrive soon to meet you.” 

You gave him a short nod, he smiled again, your demeanor reminding him of the young Bruce he’d looked after all those years ago. He shut your door softly before retreating down the staircase, leaving you in your room to change. 

You picked up the small note that rested at the top of the pile, reading it over. 

Comfortable, Practical, and cool. Hope you like it. - Conner

You looked down at the neatly folded clothes, unfolding a black long sleeve turtleneck shirt, the material was thick but breathable, you slipped it on with ease, the foreign material soft against your skin, you appreciated that it didn’t suffocate you. 

You reached for the pants next, dark gray cargo pants, these were thicker, and the had an overwhelming amount of pockets. You slipped them on before slipping on the boots that were at the bottom of the stack and exiting the room, going down the staircase. 

Upon entering the dining room, you were met with Bruce sitting at the head of the table, reading the paper calmly eating his pancakes, to his right sat Dick chatting excitedly to the boy next to him, who smiled at him as he listened, he was a slender boy with black hair who looked a bit younger than Dick. Then there was Alred, calmly enjoying his breakfast. Finally there was Damian on the other side of Bruce, leaving an empty seat between Damian and Alred. You sat down, the pale boy noticing you first. 

Bruce looked up, “Tim, this is Y/n.” 

“Hello.” You sat up awkwardly. One thing you never learned was how to navigate social interactions.

He studied you for a moment, offering you a small smile, “I’m Tim.” 

You gave a nod, returning his smile with a smaller one of your own. 

“She knows, by the way.” Dick chimed in.

His eyes widened, was that why you were there? 

“How?” 

All eyes are on you. You opened your mouth to speak but Damian spoke first. 

“She’s a clone. Father will explain everything when everyone else arrives so as to not waste time, until then, hold on to your childish curiosity. I’d like to enjoy my breakfast.” 

Dick nodded, “She was literally made for this shit.”

“Watch your language Master Dick, it is deplorable to speak in such a way at the table, much less in the presence of a lady.” 

Dick blushed, “Sorry Alfred.” 

Bruce simply gave a nod. 

Tim slumped back in his seat, wanting to ask you questions about your abilities, your earliest memories, who were you a clone of, how your programming worked, the boy was itching to know it all. 

Breakfast passed by relatively quickly after that, you weren’t bombarded with questions, much to your relief. Alfred kindly asked you how you slept to which you replied that you slept well. The sound of casual conversation and glassware scraping together filling the room. You enjoyed observing the atmosphere.

Clark and Conner were the first to arrive at the manor, greeting you happily, with them was a woman and a younger boy, who immediately went to sit by Damian. 

Clark brought them over to you, the woman smiled warmly at you. It made you feel safe. 

She held your hand in hers, “My name is Lois,” her voice was kind, genuine. You noted how she carried herself. Strong, secure, honest. 

Clark was quick to bring Jon over, excited to introduce him, “This is my son, Jon.”

“Hi!”  he beamed at you, you smiled, he was cute. Cheerful as he smiled brightly at you. 

“Hello, my name is Y/n.” you greeted the two, who smiled at you.

Conner was the next to approach, “Did you like the clothes? I picked them out cause it was all I used to wear, but who knows, you may want something more… fashionable.”

You smiled softly, “They're nice, thank you.”

“On that note actually,” Clark said, “I was thinking we can take you shopping later, Bruce and I can pay.” 

Bruce deadpanned, “That’s a joke, right?” 

He smiled, “Of course, you’re paying for everything.”

“Sounds about right.” 

Chatter filled the room not long after, Jon and Damian catching up on the couch while Conner and Tim started a conversation of their own. 

The next people to arrive were three young women, blonde, brunette, and red hair. They had arrived together.

The blonde spoke first, “Why'd you call us here Bruce? We had planned for brunch.” She bitterly narrowed her eyes at him, the brunette behind her giving a short nod of agreement.

Bruce sighed, “We’re waiting on Jason. He’s late.” 

“As always.” The redhead said with a sigh, though you could see she wasn't actually upset.  

The blonde girl turned to you first smiling, “I’m Stephanie, but call me Steph. I’m assuming you’ll be joining our vigilante posse.” She seemed funny, and kind, like she truly cared for those around her. 

“Somewhat, I don’t really know. I’m Y/n.” You said bluntly.

“Pretty name.” She smiled, gesturing to the red haired woman behind her, “This is Barbara, but she's really just Babs.” She then gestured to the brunette, “That’s Cass. She’s lovely.” 

You looked at them and nodded, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Barbara smiled warmly at you, “You too, I’m so glad there’ll be another girl around, we can always use more company.” She smiled at you so kindly, despite having only just met you. Her voice was sweet, like honey. 

Cass smiled softly at you, “Come to brunch with us later. Or, lunch, now since Jason is holding us up.” 

You nodded your lip quirking up into a small smile, “I’d enjoy that.” 

Truthfully, you didn't know what the fuck brunch was. But she said lunch and that you knew. You'd find out about brunch later.

Then, as if on cue, the man in question arrived, walking through the door, slipping off his brown jacket and tossing it on the couch. He was tall, with a stocky frame, jet black hair with a white streak on the front. 

“This better be good.” 

Tim mumbled, “Finally” 

“Miss me Timmy?” 

“Quite the contrary.”

The one called Jason laughed before giving him a small nudge, to which Tim swatted his hand away. 

His eyes fixed on you, then on Bruce. 

“Dude, seriously? Another one? You have a problem man. You’d think you would’ve stopped after me.” 

Bruce stood up, “Jason, sit down. Now that you’re all here I wanted to introduce you to Y/n. She’s a clone, made from both mine, and Clark’s DNA.” 

“Holy shit, man.” 

“Jason, will you shut up?” 

“Never.” 

“As I was saying, she’ll be here in the manor for the time being, I’ll be training her and assessing her combat technique.” 

“Hold on,” Clark interjected, “She should come with us, she needs to get the hang of her powers.” 

“Clark, I have a state of the art training area in the cave.” 

“So? We’re supers, all we need is an open field.” 

“We need to assess her combat skills, and also assess the extent of her powers. She isn’t invulnerable. We need to prioritize getting to the bottom of that.” 

Clark huffed but nodded, understanding the full extent of your abilities was vital in actually training you. 

“It’s like I’m watching a custody battle.” muttered Steph, Barbara laughing quietly beside her. 

“Wait- So Y/n is basically if you and Clark had a baby?” Tim gawked at them, his eyes shifting from Bruce to Clark, to you. When his eyes landed on you, he fired questions like he was on a time limit. 

“How do Bruce’s genetics affect your abilities? Are you immune to kryptonite and invulnerable? How does your thermal vision work? Enhanced strength? Can you fly? Can you fly as fast as Superman? Do you have combat training? How do y-” 

Conner smacked a hand over his mouth, leading him back to his seat, “Lets try not to overwhelm her with the questions.” He chuckled. 

Tim nodded, looking up at you, “Sorry, Y/n.” 

“That’s okay. To answer your questions, his genetics don’t necessarily have a huge impact on any of my abilities, I was created with every available video of Batman fighting embedded into my mind, and the combat skills were engraved in my memory, I should be able to replicate his fighting style to a tee. I’m not invulnerable, but in theory, the stealth I was programmed with allows me to stay agile enough that I shouldn’t often get hurt. I don't have thermal vision, but I do have laser vision, enhanced strength, and flight, although I haven’t tested how fast I actually can fly. And like I said, my combat training is essentially the combat footage uploaded into my mind.” 

Tim had nodded, eyes trained on yours in complete interest as you answered each question, occasionally jotting something down on the notes app of his phone. 

Lois narrowed her eyes slightly at both Bruce and Clark, “I do hope you’re factoring in giving her the opportunity to build an actual social life. Maybe get her enrolled in school.” 

“She has doctorate-level information on several different topics stored into her mind, as well as fluency in 8 languages. I think she’ll be fine, Lois,” Bruce replied. 

She rolled her eyes, “Okay, so school’s not necessary, what about building a social life for herself? That’s important.” 

“There’s Young Justice,” Conner said, “I figured she’d join.” 

Tim nodded in agreement, “I can help her get situated.” 

“Where will I stay?” you asked, you didn’t particularly enjoy how they were all discussing you as if you weren't there, but there honestly wasn’t much you could do. 

“You can stay at the manor, or you can stay with the team, but it'd be best if you lived here in the Manor.” Bruce replied.

“Why isn’t Metropolis an option?” Clark muttered. 

“Because it’s more practical to have her here in Gotham, living with Tim will make it easier to adjust to the team.” 

“I want time with her, Bruce.” 

“You’ll get it. We’ll have her assessed, then three times a week she’ll train and get a hold of her powers with you.” 

Clark nodded, satisfied with that answer. 

Lois spoke again, turning to you, “Y/n, how does that sound to you?” 

You blinked. “It sounds fine. My super hearing allows me to hear every conversation proficiently.”

She chuckled softly, “It’s a figure of speech sweetheart, I meant if you’re okay with everything that was said, you’ve been a bit quiet.”

You felt your face grow hot, “Oh. Yeah, I’m okay with it.”

Clark gave you a fond smile. 

Bruce looked at you and smiled softly, a barely noticeable one, but a smile nonetheless. 

The bulk of the conversation was over. The people in the room falling into easy conversation with one another, you look around, not sure what to do. That is until Jason approaches you, a kind smile on his face. 

“Hey Y/n, I’m Jason, I’ll be honest, you probably won't see me too often cause I can barely stand being around Bruce, but… if he’s ever a dick, call me and I’ll either punch him for you and take you somewhere he’s not.” he grinned, “Or both.” 

You laughed softly, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

He nodded, “I’ll be raiding the kitchen, but if anyone asks, I left.” He shoots you a grin before slipping away. 

It’s not long after that when Jon approaches you, Damian by his side, he shoots you a toothy grin, “So, you’re like, my sister now, right?” 

You’re not sure how to respond, but you feel a puddle of warmth pooling in your heart, it’s nice. You smile at him softly, “I suppose so.” 

He grins, “And that would also make you Damian’s sister. right?”

“I suppose so.” 

“See Damian, we’re blood brothers by extension.” 

“Jon, that is the most imbecilic logic I’ve ever encountered. Just because Y/n is both my blood and yours doesn’t mean–” 

“Blood brothers!” He had shouted cheerfully, before walking away and over to Lois to inform her of the good news. 

Damian sighed, though you took notice of the soft smile that flashed across his face, you concluded that he cared for him. 

A lot of people in this family– Bruce’s family specifically, tend to hide affection, despite the fact that it is apparent to you that they feel it. You decide not to focus on it, people are complicated. 

You chat a bit with various people in the room, Lois telling you that you’re always welcome to visit whenever you’d like, Barbara talking to you about how her work as Oracle, Steph telling you all about the other vigilantes you’ll probably end up crossing paths with. Tim and Conner sat by you, telling you all about the team and the people you’ll meet once all your training is done. 

Slowly, people start to leave, you saw Jason slip out the front door first, sending you a wink. Dick left not long after, needing to return to his responsibilities in Bludhaven, making sure to tell you you’re always welcome to visit him over there. Then Clark left with Lois, Jon, and Conner, leaving the residents of the manor plus, Cass, Steph and Barbara.

Damian and Tim had retreated to their rooms, while Alfred busied himself with household chores, Bruce stood up, approaching you before saying, “Did you still want to go shopping? You’ll need training clothes.” 

You nodded, “Yes, please.” 

Steph perked up, rushing towards the two of you, “Oh, we have to come.” 

“Steph, you go shopping every week. With my card.”

Barbara chimed in, “It’s not about that Bruce, you have a terrible fashion sense. We can’t let you impose that onto Y/n.”

Cass nodded in agreement. 

“We’re just buying training clothes.” 

“She can’t wear training clothes in her daily life,” Steph rolled her eyes, “She needs a wardrobe.” 

You smiled, “I would like a wardrobe.” 

“See?”

Bruce sighed but nodded, “Let's go then.”

Steph cheered while Barbara and Cass high-fived behind her, it was an amusing site. 

When you arrived at the mall, Steph immediately linked arms with you, dragging you around to her favorite stores, paying no mind to your super strength potentially being able to accidentally break her arm. It caught you off guard, not only the physical display of affection, but the trust.

Again, you felt that soft puddle of warmth pool in your chest. You could get used to that. 

You had gotten to know Barbara and Cass fairly well during the trip as well, Barbara was sweet, she and Steph made you laugh more than you thought you could. Cass and you got along well too, she picked out the clothes you liked the most, always nodding in approval when you would try anything on, a soft smile on her face. The three of them opened their group up to you so quickly, it had surprised you, you felt that with their company you were better able to navigate finding yourself. 

The four of you hadn’t paid much mind to Bruce trailing behind you as you went from store to store, not that he minded. He held a fond smile as he observed the four of you giggling, talking, and having a good time.

He knew his focus on training was important, but he also knew Lois was right (not that he’d admit that to anyone), you needed a social life too. And he knew your heightened emotional intelligence would surely allow you to obtain that, you just needed to blossom, and allow yourself to break free of the restraints you put on yourself. 

He’d lost count of how many times he had swiped his card that day, at some point he had decided to just start waiting by the front, once you guys were ready, he’d walk over, swipe his card, and you guys would move on to the next shop. He wouldn't say this to anyone, but he enjoyed doing things like this, taking care of the people he cares about. 

The last store you had gone to was WayneTech, it was Bruce’s idea. You needed a phone in order to keep everyone’s contacts. So they brought you there where you got the latest model of their cell phone line, it was sleek and thin. You picked out a case and you got a screen protector. Bruce had told you that once you got to the Batcave he’d input league contacts, safety features, as well as league-level security settings. 

By the end of the trip it was early in the evening, Bruce had his arms absolutely filled with shopping bags, and what he couldn’t carry was carried by you and Steph. The five of you stepped out into the parking lot, the sun setting, casting a deep orange hue on the parking lot. You took in the image in front of you, you didn’t know suns could set so beautifully.

The ride home was nice, the car was filled with the soft chatter of the four of you, Bruce didn’t feel the need to listen in. The soft music playing on the stereo as a background was a nice addition to the atmosphere. 

When you’d arrived at the manor, the girls had bid you goodbye, but not before making sure they had your number to add you to their group chat. You were warned by Steph that Cass’s meme game could not be beat. You were slightly confused but nodded, a happy smile on your face. They each gave you a hug before getting in their cars and heading off. 

The walk into the manor was silent, but not awkward, mainly the two of you taking armfuls of bags up to your room.

As he shut the door, Bruce turned to you, “It’s not too late, if you want, we could start out on some training.” 

You nodded, going into your room to change, “I’ll be down there in a bit.” 

He nodded, walking away to change as well. 

You entered the Batcave shortly after, comfortable in your black sweatpants, and a black long sleeve athletic shirt. Now, having a better opportunity to take it all in, it was massive. You looked to your left to see Damian sparring with Tim in one of the further training areas. You walked over to Bruce, he gave you a small smile, leading you to the second training area by Tim and Damian, who by now had stopped sparring, in favor of observing your skill. 

“You can replicate my fighting style to a tee, right?”

You nodded.

“Let’s see it.” 

You charged first, making sure to suppress your strength, your movements swift and calculated, landing a fast right kick to his abdomen. He sidestepped, landing a swift punch to your side. You kept attempting attacks on eachother, each one dodging the other flawlessly.

Tim and Damian watched in awe as the two of you gracefully moved, as if you were dancing. This went on for several minutes, until you attempted a fast left kick to his side, which he caught, using as leverage to flip you over on your back.

Your limbs ached, you looked up at him, “How did you do that?”

He held a hand out to help you up, “I’m not as fast with my left kicks as I am with my right ones. My weaknesses are your weaknesses.”

You nodded. Made sense. 

“You have good technique, and you replicate my fighting perfectly, but that’s all it is. A replication. You need to make it your own. Adapt it in accordance with your abilities, you can’t do that now because Clark hasn’t trained you, but in time you will.” 

You nodded, your chest swelling with pride at his compliment, you knew after your training with Clark you would be able to better adjust your fighting style.

Damian walked over to you, “Y/n. I’d like to spar, you’ve proven to be a worthy opponent.” 

You nodded, it would be good to spar with someone with a different fighting style. Tim sat down to the side, perfectly content with just observing for now, like earlier, he occasionally jotted down some notes on his phone. You decided you didn’t mind it. It was endearing. 

This time, Damian charged first, landing a swift right kick to your ribs, you turned and landed a hard kick to his chest, sending him back, before he flipped and caught himself, running towards you again. His smaller frame provided him with an advantage as he jumped onto your shoulders, before he could land his blow, you flipped your body, sending him to the floor, landing on his back with a thud. You crouched over him, extending your hand.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” he took your hand, getting up to his feet, you gave him a soft smile, which he returned, giving you a nod of approval. He, like Bruce, didn’t often use his words, but you were able to discern their intentions just fine. 

Bruce then led you to a machine he had in the cave, where it analyzed your genetics in comparison to Clark’s, he had determined you were missing the genetic composition that happened to be the main source of invulnerability, therefore the reason you were the way you were. You are unfortunately still weak when exposed to kryptonite. 

You were tired by the end of the night. You felt you had bonded with Damian, he had asked you to spar with him another time, to which you agreed.

The next day, Bruce had sent you over to Smallville, where Clark had decided on training you, ‘A good old fashioned open field’ were his exact words.

He made sure to send you wearing your original suit, not knowing how fast you would be flying, just in case, only you didn’t like it, so you opted to wear some sweats over the suit. 

And there you were, floating about 300 feet in the air with him, as he explained the basics of flying. 

“You want to create your own leverage, using your flight, you should be able to do this.” He bent one leg, tilting to the right as he effortlessly glided in that direction, he repeated the action only now going in the opposite direction. 

You nodded, imitating his movements, gliding from side to side before stopping and looking at him. He smiled brightly at you, “You’re doing great, kid. There was never a point where you didn’t have powers, so this should be easy. Now, we’ll test your speed.” 

You nodded, “How are we doing that?”

He pulled out a stopwatch, “I’m going to wait here while you fly to Gotham and back. You know the route?” 

You nodded. 

“Okay… and…. Go!”

You immediately shot forward, a slightly bumpy start but your body adapted immediately, you felt the wind whip through your hair, and a smile spread across your face as you made a U-turn around Gotham, making it back to Clark in seconds. 

“2.6 seconds. That’s good.” He smiled at you. 

You went on like that for the next few hours, him giving you encouraging words of advice, and you gained better control over your abilities, him providing you with tips he learned over the years. For that last hour, Jon and Conner joined the two of you, the four of you eventually just playing air tag until Martha and Lois called you in for dinner. 

They insisted you stay for dinner, and you had no mind to refuse, spending time with them was nice. Jon insisted he sat next to you at dinner, excitedly talking your ear off about whatever he’d gotten to that day, and sharing his favorite stories about Damian with you. He acts like he doesn't like people, but he’s got a soft spot for a lot of us, were his exact words. You honestly completely agreed, you smiled at him as he continued talking. 

That day you’d gotten to know Martha and Jonanthan Kent, who insisted you called them Ma and Pa. They instantly coddled you as if they’d known you since birth, though, in a way, that is technically the case. 

They didn't let you leave empty handed, sending you off with tupper-ware filled with leftovers, cookies and pie. You thanked them for their hospitality and headed back to the manor. 

The next few months were mainly doing morning and evening training with Bruce, occasionally Dick would stop by to train with you, always telling you he was proud of your improvement, which never failed to make you glow just a little brighter with pride. He’d begun a tradition where he would treat you to a burger after training, or whatever it was you were craving. He said that it was his goal to get you to try every fast food joint in Gotham, deciding that it was just an essential part of living there. You quickly decided you hated fast food, but never said anything because that wasn’t at all what mattered to you, what mattered to you was the bond you were creating with your older brother. 

Your relationship with Bruce wasn’t perfect. There were times you saw how focused he was on his mission, neglecting the feelings of those around him, he could be an asshole. And with you still navigating your emotions, you’d get angry and yell, and so would he. If you saw him brushing off Damian, or Tim, one look at the crestfallen expressions on their faces was enough to get you angry. You shouldn’t have been surprised, truthfully, you weren’t. You were too similar. You were just fortunate enough to be surrounded by people early on who could convince you to let them in. 

Regardless of the imperfections between you and Bruce, you knew he cared. He always showed it with the small smile he’d give you as he held up two tickets to the movie you had wanted to see. Or in the way he’d lure everyone into the living room with snacks for a movie night. Or how he’d try his best to always express to you that you were doing well. That you were enough, and that you deserved to be there. 

You’d grown closer with Tim, too, always willing to help him with his assignments (not that he often needed it, but on the rare occasions his sleep deprived self couldn’t wrap his head around a problem). You’d often go to him when you needed help figuring something out on your phone, to which he would offer a simple solution you hadn’t seen before.

Tim was kind, he showed he cared for you by fixing things, when you cracked your screen protector by accidentally tapping it too hard, he made you a new one that could withstand the force of a bullet. He learned to confide in you over time, telling you about Bernard, expressing his worries to you about whether or not he’s good enough. You’d always tell him he was more than good enough. 

Damian had taken to calling you ‘sister’, often challenging and teasing you when he could, you’d developed a relationship where he’d go to you for company. You’d sit in the garden and take in the life around you, while he sat a few feet away and drew it.

Once, he drew you while you weren’t looking, when he finished, he handed it to you without a word and walked away. In the bottom right corner you read ‘Y/n Wayne-Kent’ in neat handwriting, just below that, ‘sister’. That was the first time he’d used that word for you. Your heart swelled. 

You continued seeing Steph, Barbara, and Cass, regularly having lunch with them and talking with them on the phone. Barbara, or as you now called her, Babs, was always there to guide you when you needed it, she’d often send you small gifts from time to time, like jewelry that reminded her of you.

Cass and you would often find the most peaceful company in each other. She would listen to you talk about all the things you'd been learning, telling you about her own experience adjusting to a new life.

Steph and you bonded over poorly written hallmark movies, she always giggled madly when you would point out plot inconsistencies, wearing the most confused expression she had ever seen on a person, you didn’t understand why at first, you would just state facts, but you always enjoyed the time with her. She always says you guys should start a podcast, and you always agree. You hope she never asks you what a podcast is... because you genuinely didn't know.

True to his word, you didn’t see Jason often, but there were a few instances  where you felt particularly suffocated by Bruce’s training that you took him up on his offer to take you somewhere he wasn’t. Those moments were... nice. Every time, he would bring food, and take you to his apartment, where you talked about books and he introduced you to some of his favorite movies. You didn’t know why he and Bruce didn’t get along, but you chose not to pry.

Alfred had taken a liking to you instantly, he enjoyed giving you etiquette lessons, and would bake all kinds of scones and cookies for you to try. His humor was at times very dry and sarcastic, which never failed to make you laugh. He taught you how to bake once, finding you were exceptionally good at it, ‘Miss Y/n, I think we’ve found your natural talent’. You hadn’t expected to be good at it, but Alfred said you were phenomenal. 

You’d also train with Clark 3 times a week, getting even closer with the Kents, integrating yourself in both families. It was interesting being part of two very different families. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Clark had shown you a lot about your powers, but it was never just training. It had become a necessity for the two of you to fly to some famous landmark and have lunch together, before flying back to Smallville for more training.

Clark was constantly trying his best for you, he still had his regrets from his initial relationship with Conner, and although he was forgiven and their relationship was rebuilt, he knew he lost time. And he absolutely refused to repeat that and hurt someone else who didn’t deserve it. 

You always stayed for dinner, you found that you could never say no to Jon, the one time you tried was awful, you felt so bad that you went back the next day and took him shopping. With Bruce's card, duh.

Jon was stuck to you like glue whenever you were over. He always insisted on sitting by you and talking to you about whatever he’d been up to. He flew around with you a lot, you guys would play games that he taught you how to play. Your favorite moments were when he and Damian would allow you in to watch them play video games because ‘How do you not know how to play video games? That’s just wrong. We’ll teach you.’

Conner had spent more and more time with you as well, telling you about a lot of social cues, the importance of boundaries, etc. He was determined to help you adjust in every way he could, he shared his experiences with you when he first started working in teams. You learned a lot from him, he was very affectionate with you, but in that awkward-older-brother way. He’d give you a soft pat on the back and a smile, he knew you’d do just fine. 

Lois became your role model, you truly admired her. She was strong, outspoken, confident. She helped you not be afraid of forming your own opinions and voicing them. One time she saw you yell at Bruce over something he’d done, and all she could do was smile proudly.

These people whose lives you just appeared in one day, very quickly became your family. Every day you were reminded of how lucky you were to have come to care for them as much as you do. Bonding with them was nice, and you very quickly understood the appeal of having family.

These are people who care for you unconditionally, simply because they want to. Because every moment that they spend with you, they choose to.

And just like that, you were ready to meet the team. You had learned to combine your combat skills with your powers, if you need to, you can fight in mid air. You’d learned to incorporate your abilities into your technique to enhance your own personal style. And it felt amazing.

You knew every possible way to deliver an effective, non-lethal blow.  Of course, you needed a suit. Bruce offered to enhance the one you had worn the day they rescued you, but you wanted a new one. To you, that suit represented what you were created to be, and that is not who you are. You wanted something true to yourself, and he understood and wholeheartedly supported you. Damian helped you make a sketch, and together you’d designed the perfect representation of you. And you became Eclipse. The alignment of two heroes, though unintentional, created a whole new hero. You.

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[inseobts]

Smoke and Fire

sabo x fem!reader (+ sanji x fem!reader)

sabo keeps avoiding his feelings, but what happens when he sees you with another man?

words count: 3.2k

tags: jealous sabo, during time-skip, angst with fluff, sanji flirting, hidden feelings, emotional tension

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The mission is simple.

Drop off a message to an allied contact. Rest. Leave.

You've never been there so you don’t expect the island to be... this.

“What the hell…” you mumble, blinking at the huge heart-shaped flowers and men in dresses sprinting around with makeup kits and high heels.

Sabo’s eyes narrow behind his goggles “This is Momoiro Island. Ivankov’s old base.”

“Oh,” you say “Explains the fashion.”

A pink-haired man runs up to you “Revolutionaries?” he asks cheerfully.

You and Sabo nod.

“You just missed the princess!”

“...Princess?” you repeat.

“Our guest! Handsome, blond, always cooking, always crying!”

Sabo raises an eyebrow “We weren’t told anyone else was here.”

The man laughs “Oh, he’s not with the army! He crash-landed here months ago. Poor thing’s heartbroken, but my, does he know how to use a frying pan~!”

You glance at Sabo “Should we meet him?”

“We’ll rest first” he says, almost too quickly.

The rooms they give you are small but cozy. Yours smells like lavender. You toss your bag onto the bed, then lean on the windowsill. Outside, Sabo talks with one of the locals.

You watch him.

Strong. Calm. Always a little distant.

You’ve been traveling with him for months, but he never lets you get too close. You wish he would.

He glances up and catches you looking.

You wave.

He waves back, but turns away fast.

The next morning, someone knocks on your door.

You open it, and there’s a man with blond hair, a thin cigarette, and the longest eyelashes you’ve ever seen.

“Pardon me, mademoiselle,” he says, voice like silk “I heard there was a beautiful stranger staying in this wing. I had to see for myself.”

You blink “Uh… Your nose is...”

“My name is Sanji,” he adds with a little bow “Can I interest you in breakfast?”

You smile, unsure “Do I know you?”

“Not yet,” he says, grinning “But I’m hoping that will change.”

Before you can answer, a firm voice cuts in “She already ate.”

You turn.

Sabo is standing in the hallway, arms crossed, gaze cold.

Sanji raises an eyebrow “Oh? And who might you be?”

Sabo walks up slowly “Her partner.”

Sanji grins wider “Lucky man.”

Sabo doesn’t smile.

You cough “Um. Sanji, right? You’re the guest here?”

“At your service, angel.”

Sabo steps slightly between you and Sanji “She’s busy.”

“I was just—”

“I said she’s busy.”

Sanji looks from you to Sabo, then smiles politely “Understood. Another time, perhaps.”

He bows again and walks away, hands in his pockets.

You stare at Sabo “That was… intense.”

He shrugs.

“You okay?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Sabo.”

“I don’t like the way he looked at you.”

Your heart skips “Why?”

His voice is quiet “Because he saw you before I was ready.”

You blink “…What do you mean, before you were ready?”

Sabo looks away.

The silence is awkward. Heavy. You're not used to this from him. Usually he’s composed. Sharp. In control. But right now, he looks... cornered.

“Sabo?”

He exhales slowly, then changes the subject, fast.

“The ship’s got a leak.”

You frown “What?”

“Engine room. Nothing major, but we’ll have to stay here a few more days while I fix it.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I already talked to the dock crew. They’ll give me parts.”

“Sabo.”

He ignores you “Until then, try not to wander too far, alright?”

You cross your arms “Why are you avoiding the question?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“No, I’m—” he cuts himself off, jaw clenched “It’s nothing.”

You step closer “Sabo.”

He looks down at you, face unreadable “Let it go.”

Your chest tightens “Why can’t you just talk to me? You're always like this.”

He hesitates.

Then, quietly, he says, “Because I don’t want to say something I can’t take back.”

And then he turns and walks away.

You spend the next hour pacing in your room.

What was that supposed to mean?

Since when does Sabo... who always knows the right words, the right move... get flustered like that? Why would he not be “ready” for someone to see you? What was he going to say?

And why does your heart keep racing when you replay the way he stood in front of you?

Like he was protecting something that already belonged to him.

You finally step out, needing fresh air, only to nearly bump right into someone.

“Oh! My goddess!” Sanji clasps his hands like he’s praying “Fate has brought us together again!”

You stare “Are you always like this?”

“Only when inspiration strikes” he says, and offers you a rose that definitely wasn’t in his hands two seconds ago “Would you allow me the honor of showing you the garden?”

You hesitate.

Then you glance down the hall... no Sabo.

“…Sure.”

Maybe some flowers will clear your head.

Meanwhile, from the top of the hill behind the garden, Sabo stands with arms crossed, staring down.

He watches Sanji lead you through the path of tulips, hand occasionally brushing yours, smile wide.

You’re laughing.

Not like you do with Sabo. No teasing. No guarded glances.

You’re actually relaxed. Glowing.

He should feel happy you're enjoying yourself. Instead, he feels like someone lit a fire in his chest... and it burns like hell.

The garden is beautiful, even more with the sunset light turning the sky soft orange. You’re laughing at something Sanji says... he’s dramatic, but kind, and you admit: he’s easy to talk to. He treats you like you’re the center of the world.

You’re not used to that.

He suddenly turns serious “Would you let me cook for you tonight?”

You blink “What?”

“Dinner. Just us. I’ll prepare something special. A private meal, from my heart to your plate.”

You hesitate “Sanji, I—I don’t want to lead you on…”

He smiles gently “You’re not. I know your heart isn’t mine. But I’d still like to make you feel… seen. You're not staying here much more, so let me help you.”

Your lips part slightly.

It’s not that you’re not thinking about Sabo. You are, constantly. But Sabo never says how he feels. He pulls away. He hides behind orders, missions, excuses. Maybe dinner will distract you. Maybe it’ll help clear your head.

“…Okay,” you say softly “Dinner sounds nice.”

Later, the main dining hall is loud with laughter and clinking glasses. Revolutionaries from every part of the island are eating together, the smell of food heavy in the air.

Sabo walks in, scanning the room.

You’re not here.

He sits next to Ivankov “Hey. Have you seen—”

Ivankov grins “Oh, sweet cheeks? She’s having a private dinner with that Sanji fellow.”

Sabo’s expression freezes “What?”

“You didn’t know?” Iva leans closer, voice teasing “He invited her earlier. Said it was just the two of them. Very romantic~”

Sabo’s grip tightens on his glass.

Someone across the table adds, “I passed her on the way, she looked amazing. Like, wow. Dressed up and everything.”

Another person laughs “Didn’t know she had clothes like that. She cleaned up good.”

Sabo doesn’t hear the rest.

His mind is stuck on just the two of them.

And she dressed up.

You never dress up for him.

Then again... he never gives you a reason to.

He stands up suddenly.

Ivankov blinks “Not staying?”

“I lost my appetite.”

He walks out, fast.

No plan. No words. Just a quiet storm building in his chest.

The table is set under the stars.

Lanterns float in the trees, casting warm yellow light. There’s a small bottle of wine, fresh flowers, and two plates that smell so good your stomach actually growls.

Sanji pulls out a chair for you like a perfect gentleman “For you, mademoiselle.”

You sit, smoothing your dress, a simple thing you found buried in your travel bag. You didn’t even remember packing it. But after looking in the mirror... you needed to feel like someone else tonight. Someone not tired. Not confused. Not constantly waiting for a certain blonde revolutionary to stop avoiding her.

Sanji pours you a glass “To good company.”

You raise your glass “To good food.”

You both sip, and for a while, you eat in silence. The pasta is soft and rich with cream. The vegetables are grilled perfectly. You try to focus on the flavors. On the warmth. On Sanji’s voice when he tells you stories about the wild people on this island.

But Sabo keeps creeping into your thoughts.

His silence.

His half-finished sentences.

His sharp looks at Sanji.

You chew slower.

You’re not sure when it happens, but your fork stops halfway to your mouth.

Sanji notices “Something wrong?”

You put the fork down “No. I mean... yes. I don’t know.”

He tilts his head, serious now.

You sigh “This was supposed to be a distraction.”

He doesn’t answer, just waits.

“I thought dressing up and eating with someone charming would help me stop thinking about him.”

Sanji’s voice is soft “Sabo?”

You nod slowly.

“I don’t get him,” you admit “One minute he looks at me like I’m the most important thing in the world. The next, he acts like I’m just another soldier.”

“Sounds like a man afraid of his own feelings” Sanji says gently.

“I’ve tried to be patient. I get that he’s busy. That we’re at war. But I’m always the one reaching out. Always waiting. Always guessing.”

Your voice gets quieter “And I’m tired of feeling like I care more than he does.”

Sanji leans forward “You want him to fight for you.”

You swallow “I just want to matter. Out loud. Not in silence. Not in hints. Not in things he doesn’t say.”

For a moment, there’s only the sound of wind in the trees.

Then Sanji says, “You do matter. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

Your throat tightens “Thanks.”

He smiles gently “You’re incredible. And if he doesn’t tell you that soon…”

He pauses “…he’s going to lose something he won’t be able to replace.”

You look at your wine glass, eyes stinging.

You don’t know what to say.

So Sanji just refills your glass, and starts talking about spices and the sea, until your heart feels a little lighter.

Later on - Sanji’s stories only get more ridiculous as the night goes on.

“—so then I’m running through the kitchen, completely on fire, and Zeff is just watching me like, ‘This idiot deserves it’.”

You burst out laughing, nearly choking on your wine “You’re kidding!”

“Swear on my spices. I smelled like smoked fish for days.”

You lean on the table, grinning hard “You were such a mess.”

He places a hand dramatically over his heart “A charming, well-dressed mess, thank you very much.”

You’re still laughing when a soft sound catches your ear, footsteps.

You glance over your shoulder.

Sabo stands a few feet away, just… staring.

His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are locked on you. Not Sanji. You.

You straighten in your chair “Sabo...”

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move.

Sanji follows your gaze and stands up smoothly “Hey,” he says casually “Join us?”

“No” Sabo says flatly.

You blink “Sabo?”

He steps forward now, voice low, tight “You’re really having fun, huh?”

The tone makes your chest tighten “I—yeah. Sanji was—he made dinner. I just—”

“You dressed up.”

That hits harder than it should.

“Why does that matter?” you ask quietly.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares at you like he’s trying to find the words he’s been choking on for weeks.

Sanji clears his throat “Maybe I should—”

“Stay,” Sabo cuts in “You’ve already seen enough.”

Sanji raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. He leans back against the wall, arms crossed, watching.

Sabo looks at you again “I thought I had time.”

Your heart beats faster “Time for what?”

“To tell you how I feel.”

Silence falls between you.

You stand slowly “Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I’m not like him,” he says, jerking his chin at Sanji “I don’t know how to be soft. Or charming. Or say the right things. But watching you out here, laughing with someone else like that—”

His voice breaks a little.

“I hated it.”

You don’t speak.

“I hated that I wasn’t the one making you smile like that.”

Now you do.

“Then why did you keep pushing me away?”

Sabo steps closer “Because if I let myself fall, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop.”

He’s right in front of you now.

And you can feel the heat coming off him, more than fire.

���I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t feel anything,” he says, voice low, rough, vulnerable “Because I do. I always have.”

Your breath catches.

He reaches for your hand, finally “I’m sorry it took someone else for me to admit it.”

Behind you, Sanji sighs quiet, like a gentleman who knows when the spotlight isn’t his.

He turns to leave “She deserved to hear it. Finally.”

And he disappears into the night.

Tears hit your eyes before you can stop them.

“You’re an idiot” you whisper.

Sabo flinches, but doesn’t move.

You step forward and punch his arm. Not hard, but enough to make a sound.

“You idiot!”

Another punch. He doesn’t stop you.

“You absolute, emotionally-stunted dumbass! I thought I was crazy!”

Punch. Punch.

“I thought I was making it all up in my head! Every time you looked at me like I mattered, every time you said something sweet and then pulled away, I thought I was imagining it!”

Sabo looks like he’s been stabbed, but he lets you keep going.

You hit his chest with both hands now, frustrated tears running down your cheeks.

“I waited so long! I kept hoping, and hoping, and you never said anything! You just acted like nothing was happening while I... while I was falling in love with you, you idiot!”

Your voice cracks on that last word.

And then you just drop dramatically, right onto your knees, wiping your eyes with both hands, sniffling like a mess. “Ughhh I think I drank too much” you wail into your palms.

Sabo blinks, stunned.

Then he rushes over “Hey—hey, come here—”

You swat at him half-heartedly “Don’t touch me! No—wait—okay yes, touch me, help me up, I’m dizzy.”

He gently pulls you to your feet. You stumble into his chest and grab the front of his shirt like a lifeline.

“You made me crazy,” you sniff “I literally dressed up for another man just to forget you.”

“I noticed.”

“You’re so STUPID.”

“I know.”

“And handsome.”

He makes a choked laugh “That too.”

He steadies you with one arm around your waist, the other carefully holding your wrist “Can you walk?”

“No. I’m too emotional.” You throw your head back dramatically.

He actually laughs this time, soft and helpless “Okay, drama queen. Let’s get you back.”

He walks you slowly through the halls, his pace patient, arm never leaving you.

Your head leans against his shoulder. You speak again, softer now.

“I really do love you, you know.”

His steps falter, just a second.

“I tried not to. I tried to be cool. Like, maybe I could just move on or pretend I didn’t feel it. But... it was always you.”

Sabo swallows “I don’t deserve that.”

You stop walking and look up at him, red eyes shining “You don’t get to decide that.”

He looks at you like he’s seeing the sun for the first time.

Then he says quietly, “Okay.”

And keeps holding you, like he’s never letting go.

The walk to your room is slow and quiet.

Your steps are wobbly. Your thoughts are loud.

Sabo keeps holding you like you’re something fragile. Like you might shatter again.

He opens the door to your room and helps you sit on the bed, gently pulling off your shoes like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like he’s done it a hundred times in his head.

You stare at him.

“I’m not drunk” you say suddenly, even though that’s a lie and both of you know it.

“You said you drank too much like ten minutes ago” he says with a small laugh.

You smile lazily “Liar.”

He leans down to pull the blanket over you.

And that’s when you move, reaching up with both arms, eyes heavy, lips parting...

“Wait!” he says quickly, hand flying up to block your face “Hold it.”

You freeze, lips a breath away from his fingers.

You blink at him.

“Are you serious right now?” you whisper.

Sabo grins, but there’s a flush in his cheeks.

He gently presses his hand to your forehead like he’s checking your temperature “Let’s keep that for when you’re not tipsy.”

You pout. Full lips, big eyes, dramatic sigh “That’s mean.”

“You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

“I doubt it.”

“You’re pouting like a child.”

You blink slowly. Then nod.

“…Okay,” you mumble, smiling anyway, eyes still wet but shining “But you better not forget.”

He stands there for a second, just watching you melt into the blanket.

“I won’t” he says quietly.

You hum, eyes fluttering closed “Promise?”

“I promise.”

He turns to leave.

“Wait.”

He pauses at the door.

“…Will you stay? Just for a minute?”

He nods without a word and sits in the chair beside your bed.

You fall asleep with his hand resting gently over yours, and for the first time in what feels like forever, everything feels okay.

You wake up slowly.

Your mouth’s dry. Your head’s a little heavy. But you remember everything.

The dinner.

The tears.

Sabo’s voice telling you the things you waited so long to hear.

You sit up. There’s a folded note on your nightstand in careful handwriting:

Went to get you water. Don’t move. –S

You snort and stay right where you are.

A few minutes later, the door opens and he steps in quietly, holding a glass in one hand and a small plate of toast in the other.

His eyes meet yours.

“…You remember everyting?” he asks softly.

You nod “All of it.”

He sets the things down on the nightstand “You look less like you’re going to punch me today.”

You smirk “I still might.”

A pause.

Then, you look at him seriously “Thank you. For last night. For not… taking advantage."

He looks almost offended “I would never.”

“I know,” you say gently “That’s why it meant so much.”

Another pause.

You take the water, sip it. Then look up at him.

“Still keeping that kiss for when I’m 100% sober?” you ask, tilting your head.

He stares for a second.

Then moves slowly toward the bed.

You shift, knees bent under the blanket as he stops right in front of you.

“I’m still kind of scared” he admits.

“Of what?”

“That if I do this… I won’t be able to stop. I won’t want to.”

You smile “Maybe I don’t want you to stop.”

He exhales, heart in his throat.

Then he leans in, slowly, like giving you a hundred chances to pull away.

You don’t.

When his lips finally touch yours, it’s soft. Careful. Not rushed.

It’s not perfect, he’s nervous, and so are you, but it’s real. It’s warm. His hand comes up to cup your cheek and you lean into it like it’s the only thing holding you together.

You kiss him again, this time slower, longer.

When you pull back, your foreheads rest together.

“Still scared?” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he says, breathless “But it’s better than pretending I don’t feel anything.”

You grin and pull him back in.

[manariee]

DIDNT MEAN TO

热爱 ★ said i would never fall, unless it you i fall into

니시무라 리키 & fem!reader wc: 2451 ◜ᯅ◝ high school AU slow burn-ish emotional tension miscommunication stubborn idiot riki (kind o a jerk) mention of academic stress some light angst

REBLOG4AKISS

MANA: pls unflop me guys i beg oh and thank you @ykitslu for requesting this ^^ AND THANK YOU YIN FOR PROOF READING MWAH

Riki was never the type to fall fast.

And that was no lie.

The whole school knew that, girls would try - putting small notes in his locker, confessions at the school gym. He'd just brush them off with a polite nod or a quiet ''sorry''. So they eventually started giving up with grand gestures and just admired from afar.

But it wasn’t because he was cold-hearted.

No - it was because Riki found no point in love.

''It's stupid,'' he once told Jungwon with a scoff during lunch. ''How do you even know someone’s being real? Like, you look at someone and just know they’re the one? That doesn’t even make sense.''

''You're just scared,'' Jungwon had joked, nudging him with an elbow.

But Riki had gone quiet. Not defensive. Just, firm. He wasn’t scared. He was just done believing in something so fragile - so easily faked.

After that, he never thought about the idea again. No crushes. No lingering stares. No butterflies. Nothing.

Well… That was until high school.

Because high school brought you.

And you didn’t even try.

At first it was nothing, you were just a new face, one of Sunoo's old friends.

But then you started showing up everywhere.

You were in most of his classes, his neighborhood, and his mind, at all times.

Weird, not like he liked you or anything.

Then it happened at lunch, when you smiled a bit too hard at one of the jokes someone made at your guys' table.

He stopped midway a bit of his sandwich, his stomach twisted in a way that had nothing to do with cafeteria food.

But who was he to listen to his heart?

He decided to stick to his moms food instead.

Just as if the universe knew, Riki got paired up with you on a stupid school project. Of all people. You. On a subject he hated, too.

History.

He'd rather stand on one leg the whole day than to write some ten page essay about a person that doesn't even exist anymore.

You tapped your pencil against your notebook. ''We could do it on the French Revolution. That one's at pretty dramatic.''

He stared at you a second longer than necessary. ''Sure the Eiffel towers pretty cool.''

You blinked, then shook your head. ''That happened after the revolution, in 1887.''

And he grinned. Actually grinned. Like a real one - not his usual smirk or polite curve of the lips. ''Okay nerd.''

But he quickly snapped out of it, what the heck?

As time passed on, he didn't know what was more disturbing: the fact you made him laugh, twice.. Or that he wanted to make you laugh again like you did at Sunoo's jokek the other day. Desperately. Like some dog trying to earn a treat from it's owner.

Every time you smiled at him, it felt like something heavy shifted in his chest. Every time you leaned over to show him your notes, he had to remind himself to breathe like a normal human being.

Why was he sitting up straighter? Why was he nodding like he was actually interested in The Reign of Terror? Why was he googling “how to write a bibliography” at 1AM when he literally never did homework on time?

Oh no. Oh no no no.

Riki Nishimura was trying. For a group project. For you. This was bad.

But the worst part? He didn’t even mind.

Riki knew he was in real trouble when your face would show up on his ceiling.

He was being so embarrasing it even made him cringe.

Like for instance when he tried to offer his umbrella on a rainy day to you, but when you said that he would get soaked, he quickly cut you off with a 'I don't care.''

But what was worse than public humiliation to Nishimura Riki?

His ego betraying him.

Because he was starting to look for you everytime you weren't with the group.

In the hallways. At your locker. On lunch breaks. Sometimes near your house or the convenience store.

And it pissed him off. Because since when did he care about someone liking him back?

He wasn’t supposed to. He’d sworn off that whole mess. Feelings? Affection? Vulnerability?

Absolutely not.

But now?

He reread you texts, pacing in his room, wondering if your ''lmao'' meant if you really were laughing based on what he said and your humor level. He was bringing extra pens in case you forgot yours again, which you always did. Riki never brought pens, ever. He was staying up late to work on the project so ''you wouldn't worry about your grade.''

He was.. Caring?

And you didn't even know.

You didn’t know that when you bumped shoulders with him and laughed like it was nothing, he had to physically stop himself from reacting like a middle schooler with a crush. You didn’t know that you were slowly, steadily, completely destroying him.

Bit by bit. Smile by smile.

It was stupid, so stupid.

You were laughing with some guy from the basketball team outside the cafeteria, and Riki told himself it didn’t matter.

He told himself you were just talking. That you were allowed to smile like that. That you smiled like that at everyone.

But then the guy touched your arm. Lightly. Casually. Familiar.

And that was it.

Something inside Riki just snapped.

It wasn't jealousy. No - jealousy was messy, childish. This was worse. This was panic. This was every wall he’d built crumbling under one tiny, innocent moment. This was every feeling he’d buried just to drag himself to this.

He didn't think, he just walked.

You turned when you spotted him from the corner of your eye. But you were completely caught off guard when he gently grabbed your arms. ''Riki?''

''Can we talk?'' he said, eyes narrowed and tone so sharp it almost made you fear of what he would say next.

The guy looked between you two awkwardly and just left as Riki pulled you to the side of the building, where it was a bit more quiet.

''Okay.. What's going on?..''

He didn't answer right away, his fingers were twitching at his sides, curled into fists as if it would ground him.

''I don't get it.'' he said after a beat.

You raised your brows, arms crossed. ''Get what?''

''You'' he blurted out, tone frustrated but not to you, more to himself. ''This. Whatever you've been doing to me.''

You blinked, confused of which turn this conversation was taking, you could feel your heartbeat increasing a bit too fast.

''I was fine before. Like, really fine. I didn't care about people, or love, or any of that corny stuff. But then you came along with your dumb flower doodles and your weird French Revolution facts and your - your laugh.''

You froze, almost choking on your own breath. ''M-my laugh? Riki what are you saying?!''

''Yes your laugh, it's fucking pissing me off so bad.''

Silence.

''I've been losing my sleep just because your face haunts my ceiling,'' he said, quite literally pouring everything out now. ''And it's not in a love-story kind of way it's more of a haunting-creepy way. I hate group projects and don't care of what others think of me, but suddenly i'm writing 5 extra pages just so you would be impressed. I keep showing up to class early just in case i bump into you. I carry extra pens so you won't have to ask anyone else and I gave you my umbrella when I hate the rain!''

You stood frozen, lips parted, and that was when he fully broke - his voice cracked just a little when he added:

''I don’t know what to do when you look at me.''

Your breath caught.

''I tried pretending it wasn't happening,'' he said. ''I tried staying cool, acting like I didn't feel anything. But I do. And I can’t not anymore.''

Silence again.

Then…

''I like you.''

He finally met your eyes.

''And it’s driving me crazy Y/N.''

You stood there, even a step feeling to heavy.

His chest was pounding so hard you swore even you could hear it.

You wanted to say something, heck - anything. But the words just wouldn't come.

Come on Y/N it can't be that hard can it?

Riki's hopeful eyes searched yours for any sign - any little spark - that you felt the same.

But the silence seemed to eat him up. It was heavier than any heartbeat between the two of you.

He sighed, turning.

''Forget it. Forget I said anything.''

But before he could walk away he turned his head over his shoulder, a small, forced smile on his face.

''Have a good evening Y/N.''

The next day, Riki wasn't at the quiet corner of the study café, the spot where you two could do anything without being interrupted.

But no, Riki was in the center of it. The place where it was way too crowded. A airpod in his ear, the missing one still in your purse, the one you were supposed to give back but he decided confess instead.

You quietly walked towards that spot, and even though he spotted you from the corner of his eye, he didn't look up, just continued typing away.

''Hey.'' you said softly, purse strap clutched in your hand.

He looked up, noticed how you semeed a bit dolled up considering the ocassion. ''You got a date or something after this?''

You blinked, looked around then shook your head. ''No?..''

He nodded, bringing his gaze back to the screen, tone cold and something else that made you feel regret? ''Due date's soon.''

You sighed, nodding as you pulled out the chair beside his. ''Right we should-''

You were cut off by the sight of his bag on the chair and sat on the one across instead.

The space between you felt enormous.

You remembered all the times he’d leaned over your shoulder, whispering jokes, nudging you playfully.

Now, his silence screamed louder than any words ever could.

You both got an A.

Top marks, praise from the teacher, Jealous stares from classmates who'd started with theirs last minute.

You thought it would feel good - something to celebrate.

But sitting there beside Riki, it just felt.. Empty.

He barely reacted. No smug grin. No playful ''We killed it'' shoulder nudge. Or that dinner he promised to take you out on if you two aced it.

''Guess we did alright,'' he said casually.

You nodded. ''Yeah.''

There was that awful silence again, it was so unbearable and full with tension. You just wished things were just like before, air filled with laughter and his dumb jokes.

He stood up, sliding his bag over his shoulder. ''Well.. Good job, Y/N.''

You panicked a little and quickly got up, before scrambling into your bag. ''Wait.''

He paused, hands casually in his pocket.

You held out his missing Airpod - the one he was supposed to smile at upon seeing.

He looked at it for a second, then gave a soft laugh.

That same laugh which made you stupidly smile.

''Guess this ends here?''

You froze, fingers still stretched toward him.

He took the AirPod gently, careful not to brush your hand. His voice was light, but his eyes didn’t match - too careful, too guarded. Like he'd already accepted your silence and was trying to make peace with it.

You wanted to yell.

You wanted to turn back time.

But right now? You could just watch him walk away.

The moment he stepped out of the classroom, something inside of you snapped, why was he acting like he was the only one hurt? You were hurt too. So that's why you were currently running across the street, rain pouring down in sheets, soaking your uniform, but you didn't care. You had to take out your anger on Nishimura Riki, once and for all.

When you turned a corner there you saw him. Umbrella in his hand, back towards you.

''Nishimura Riki.'' you called out, trying to catch your breath while trying not to look like a idiot at the same time.

He didn’t turn around.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, stepping closer. ''You didn’t even give me a chance. You just... walked away. Like I was some stranger huh?''

His silence was a punishment, heavier than any words he could say.

''I waited,'' you said, biting your lip to keep the tears from falling. ''You didn’t even give me a chance- You! You treated me like I ruined everything, like I was the one who messed it up. But maybe it’s you who’s scared!''

You took a shaky breath, fists clenched at your sides.

''And that’s not fair. You treated me like a jerk before even hearing me out. Like I wasn’t worth the time.''

The words spilled out, raw and desperate. ''You treated me like I ruined everything!''

The silence stretched between you, the rain soaking through your clothes, mixing with the tears you didn’t bother wiping away.

And then—

Without a word, Riki spun around, ran and pulled you into his arms, hand cradling your head.

You cried against his chest, your hands weakly punching his shirt. ''You're such a jerk,'' you said between those weak punches. ''A mean, jerk.''

His arms tightened around you, a quiet promise in the way he held you close.

''I'm sorry,'' he whispered against your hair, the heat of your bodies keeping each other warm despite the rain.

The rain has slowed down and you and Riki were drying up on the bench outside the convenience store. It had been a while someone had said something but the silence wasn't as bad as the ones before.

He glanced towards you, gulping before muttering. ''I'm sorry.''

You turned your head towards him, nodding since you didn't know what to say.

''I got scared. Thought I had ruined everything we had, but yes, it wasn't fair of me I know.''

You chuckled, nudging him. ''Nishimura Riki apologizing first?''

He smiled a bit, leaning closer. ''Forgive this jerk?''

You wanted to stay mad. Really. You should’ve. But the way he looked at you. God you couldn't.

You nodded, biting your lip.

''Don't make me regret it,'' you whispered.

His lips quirked in the smallest smile, and then - finally - he closed the distance.

The kiss was slow, his hand coming up to cradle your face, and lips moving against yours like he was earning the apology.

When you finally broke apart, foreheads resting together, he laughed quietly, breathless.

''You hit me pretty hard earlier,'' he teased.

You chuckled, cheeks flushed. ''You deserved it.''

''I probably still do.''

''I'd rather kiss you instead.''

lovliezᡣ𐭩: @chrrific @saemisic @heeaara @ltfirecracker @woniefication @lezleeferguson-120 @rikifever @chaeneu @jjennuine @callikari @yuuuraaa @wondoras @ykitslu @orimuraa

NETS: @k-films

[milgram-en]

Trial 3 - Melting Temperature Voice Drama (Side-by-Side English Translation)

Google Docs version of this translation. If using/reuploading/reposting this translation, do not remove the translator's notes and do not change the translations. Credit and link if using. Any additional Translator's Notes will be found in the replies and/or Google Docs. (Transcript may not be accurate and action descriptions were added with discretion. It will all be updated when the Trial 3 script books are released.) This is technically an interpretation (translation of an auditory source) translated into text. Check the original post before reblogging as TLs are occasionally revisited and edited.

エス　「ユノ」 ES: YUNO. ユノ　「看守さん？」 YUNO: Warden-san? エス　「第3審はお前が最初だな」 ES: You’re the first in the Third Trial. ユノ　「うん。そうだね。不思議な気分だな。ハルカがいない……ハルカ……。きっとあたしがハルカのこと面倒見てあげるって選択肢もあったと思うんだよな。でもなんか……あたしが触っていいものじゃないと思った綺麗だから…汚いからさ、あたし」 YUNO: Yep, that’s right. It feels kinda weird. HARUKA’s not here… HARUKA… I’m sure that there was probably a choice for me to take to take care of HARUKA. But, for some reason… it felt like he was someone I wasn’t allowed to touch, because he was beautiful… and I’m… dirty. エス　「僕のせいだわかってたのに……ムウの言う通り……こうなることはわかっていたのに」 ES: I knew it was my fault… Just like MUU said… I knew it was going to turn out like this. ユノ　「そうかもそうかもしれないね。そう言ってあげれば、少しは看守さんが楽になるへっ…」 YUNO: Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. If you say stuff like that, maybe it’ll ease your mind a bit, heh… エス　「そうだな…」 ES: Yeah… ユノ　「あっ、いじめるのやめなきゃね！これが最後なんだし……」 YUNO: Ah- I gotta stop bullying you! This is the last time we’re gonna have something like this after all… エス　「お前には……いつも痛いところを疲れっぱなしだよ」 ES: You… always manage to strike where it hurts the most, you know. ユノ　「えっ…自分で死を選ぶことがいいことなんてもちろん思わないけどさ……あの子が死んだって知った時……あたしは少し揺らえましかったんだ。自分の命を投げ撃つほど大事なものに出会ったことがないから……やっぱりハルカは綺麗だなって思った」 YUNO: Eh… I don’t think choosing to die is a good thing, of course, but… when I found out that kid died… I was kinda shaken. I’ve never found something so important that it’s worth throwing my life away for so… that’s why I thought HARUKA really was beautiful. エス　「綺麗？ハルカかか？」 ES: Beautiful? HARUKA?? ユノ　「ん、うん。シドウさんもマヒルさんもだけどね。人殺しなのかもしれないけどさ……あの人たちはとても綺麗だった」 YUNO: Mhm, yeah. That includes SHIDOU-san and MAHIRU-san too. They might be murderers but… they really were beautiful people. [T/N: 綺麗 (kirei) was deliberately interpreted-translated as "beautiful" instead of its alternative meanings of "pure/neat/clean". "Pure" and "clean" evokes imagery of total innocence which directly goes against what Yuno was asking Es/Wardens/You as its reductive, simplifying a person's complexities, ignoring their sins, emotions, and all. Whereas what is considered "beautiful" is subjective, unbound by external judgements within the truth of one's heart. YUNO saying "I'm... dirty" also seemed to be a better fit for as it can apply to staining whatever "beauty"/"beautiful" means- whether the qualifications for "beautiful" contain pureness or cleanness or being a person with a heart, being a person with emotions, convictions, etc. "Beautiful" in the context of sinners (囚人) retains the complexity of people that YUNO asks people to not reduce.] エス　「わからないな僕には……まだそう思えない」 ES: I… don’t get it. I can’t see it- not yet, at least. ユノ　「悲しいの？看守さん」 YUNO: Are you sad? Warden-san? エス　「あぁ、そうだよ。僕はあいつらが死んで、悲しいんだ。どうすればよかったのか」 ES: Yeah, I am. They died and I’m sad. I don’t know what I should’ve done. ユノ　「わかんないよね、それは。一度しか無いんだから、人生のんって楽しめばいいんじゃないかな、たくさん。ずっとあたしたちと一緒にいてくれた、看守さんには、悲しむ権にくらいあるでしょ」 YUNO: No one really does. You only get one shot at life after all, so I think you should enjoy it as much as you can. Besides, you’ve been with us all this time, Warden-san. You have the right to be sad at least.

ES breathes out shakily. エス　「ずいぶん優しいじゃないか」 ES: You’re being awfully kind. ユノ　「普通だよ」 YUNO: I’m just being normal. エス　「少し意外だな。お前はどんな状況になっても、標標としているものだと思っていた」 ES: It’s a bit surprising. I’d thought you were the type to stay cool and unaffected no matter what happened. ユノ　「フ。本当に、あたしもそう思ってたなぁ」 YUNO: Heh- Honestly, I thought so too. エス　「何がお前をそうした……僕に、赦され続けたことか」 ES: What made you that way…? Was it because I kept on forgiving you? ユノ　「え？いいよ。別にそれはどうでもいいの」 YUNO: Huh? Nah. That stuff never really mattered. エス　「へぇ……まったく。看守しがいのない奴だ」 ES: Heh… Of course you’d say that. You’re not even the kind of person worth being a Warden to. ユノ　「看守しがいのある女になんかなりたくないからね」 YUNO: It’s exactly because I have no intention of being the kind of girl you’d want to protect. エス　「違いない」 ES: No doubt about that. ユノ　「でしょ？」 YUNO: Right? エス　「マヒルが……お前を変えたのは、ずっとカンビをしてくれてたんだろう」 ES: MAHIRU was… She’s the one who changed you. She was always looking out for you, wasn’t she? ユノ　「そうかもしれないね。変わったのかを知らなぁ、はしゃぐきになれないだけかも……あたしさマヒルさんが死ぬ時そばにいたんだよね」 YUNO: Maybe. I don’t know if I’ve really changed. Maybe I just can’t bring myself to be cheery anymore… I was there with MAHIRU-san when she died, y’know? エス　「そうか。ありがとう」 ES: I see. Thank you for being there. ユノ　「いや、全然だよ。シドウさんが死んじゃったら何もできなくてさ、弱ってくのを見てるしかなかった……。でも、たくさん喋ったんだよね。マヒルさん最後までおしゃべり大好きでさ……マヒルさんってすっごいおとめでさ……恋愛に夢見ててさ、大好きな人のお嫁さんになって、一緒に赤ちゃん育てるのが夢なんだって」 YUNO: No, not at all. I couldn’t do anything when SHIDOU-san died, I could only watch him get weaker… But, I yapped a lot with MAHIRU-san. MAHIRU-san loved to talk until the very end… MAHIRU-san was such a hopeless romantic… dreaming of love, wanting to be the bride of someone she loves, dreaming of raising a baby together. エス　「そうか。マヒルらしいな」 ES: I see. That sounds like MAHIRU. ユノ　「今時いないよね、あんな人。……本当…笑っちゃうよね。あんないい人の夢だった赤ちゃん……あたしみたいな女のところに来たんだよ」 YUNO: You don’t really see people like that these days. …Seriously…it’s almost laughable- That baby a good person like her dreamed of… ended up inside someone like me instead. エス　「ユノ……」 ES: YUNO… ユノ　「面白いよね？あたしが殺したもの……マヒルさんが心から欲しがってたものなんだ……赦されたから何って感じでしょ。バカみたい」 YUNO: Isn’t it kinda funny? The thing I killed… was the very thing MAHIRU-san wanted most in the world. So what if I was forgiven? It’s just so stupid. エス　「……僕が言われたセリフをそのまま返すぞ」 ES: …Then I’ll just go ahead and return the words you once told me. ユノ　「えー？」 YUNO: Huh? エス　「悲しめばいいんじゃないか。笑わなくてもいいんじゃないか」 ES: It’s okay to be sad. You don’t have to smile or laugh around either. ユノ　「何言ってんの?」 YUNO: What are you saying? エス　「笑わなくてもいい。冷えた振りをしなくていい。お前にだって……悲しむ権利はあるだろ」 ES: You don’t have to laugh or smile. You don’t have to pretend to be cold. Even you… have the right to grieve. ユノ　「ない」 YUNO: I don’t. エス　「何故だ」 ES: Why not? ユノ　「いいんだよ」 YUNO: It’s nothing.

エス　「ずっと一緒にいたんだろ……ずっと話していたんだろう……人殺しどうしだろうと……友人だろ」 ES: You were always with them… always talking together… Even if you’re both murderers… you were friends. ユノ　「友人?」 YUNO: Friends? エス　「もう一度言うよ……悲しむ権利くらいあるだろう」 ES: I’ll say it again… You have the right to be sad. ユノ　「友人？なのかな？お互いどこの誰かも知らないのに」 YUNO: Friends? Really? We didn’t even know who each other really was. エス　「ああ……僕はそう思う」 ES: Ah… But it seemed that way to me. ユノ　「無理だよ……無理だ……」 YUNO: No way… There’s no way… エス　「抑える必要なんてない。悲しいもの、悲しいと言えばいい」 ES: There’s no need to hold it in. If something is sad, it’s okay to say it’s sad. ユノ　「悲しんでいい訳ないじゃん……悲しんでいい訳ないじゃん⁈　なんで？だって、あたしは赤ちゃんを殺したのに、殺したとき何も思わなかったのに、ハルカが死んだとか、シドウさんが死んだとか、マヒルさんが死んだとかで……悲しんでいい訳ないじゃん。」 YUNO: It’s not okay for me to be sad… I have no right to be sad!?!!! Why? I killed a baby. And I felt nothing when I did it. So how can I be sad now with HARUKA dying, SHIDOU-san dying, MAHIRU-san dying…? There’s no way I’m allowed to grieve. エス　「……ユノ」 ES: …YUNO. ユノ　「そんな資格なんてあれ訳ないじゃん……。あたしさ、全部わかんの。小さい時から相手が何したら喜ぶか大抵わかる……つまんないの、全部つまんないの！」 YUNO: There’s no way I have any right… I just- I get it, everything. Ever since I was little, I could usually tell what would make someone happy… It’s all so boring- Everything is boring! エス　「聞かせてくれ、お前のこと」 ES: Tell me… about yourself. ユノ　「適当なことやってさ、自分の中にもう一つ命があるって知って……ただただ気持ち悪いだけだったこの先、どういう人生をくるか分かっちゃった……めんどくさくなっちゃった」 YUNO: I was just messing around, then I found out there was a life inside of me… it just felt so gross. I could already see how my whole life would “have” to go from then on… I just got so tired of it all. エス　「だから…殺した」 ES: So that’s… why you killed it. ユノ　「そう…そうだよ。いや、わかんない。そうなのかな。考えてたらクラクラして、階段から落ちた」 YUNO: Yeah… I guess. Or maybe not. I don’t know. Thinking about it made my head all dizzy and I fell down the stairs. エス　「落ちた？」 ES: Fell? ユノ　「そう、落ちた。だからしばらくさんあたしここが死後の世界だと思ってたよ。赤ちゃんと一緒に死んだんだって」 YUNO: Yeah, fell. That’s why I really thought that this place was the afterlife for a while. And that I died with the baby. エス　「違うんだな」 ES: But that wasn’t it. ユノ　「ん。思い出した。ここに連れて来られるまでの記憶。階段から落ちて自分のお腹の中から命が失われて、入院してた。でもちょっと入院したら、学校に戻れたんだよね。最後の記憶は退院して初めての登校中……なんとも思わなかったんだよね……あたし。赤ちゃんが自分の中のからいなくなっても」 YUNO: Yep. I remembered my memories before I was brought here. I fell down the stairs, the life inside me was lost, and I was hospitalized. But after a short stay at the hospital, I was able to go back to school. My last memory is from my first day back at school after being discharged from the hospital… I felt nothing... Even though the baby inside me was gone. エス　「そういうものなのか」 ES: Is that how it is? ユノ　「ただ傷が治るように、何事もなかったように、日常に戻るんだなって……なんなんだろうね命って……そう思ったの覚えてる、何も感じない自分は変なんだって……」 YUNO: Just like a wound healing, life simply goes on like nothing happened… What even is life… I remember thinking that- and that something was wrong with me for not feeling anything… エス　「お前の気持ちを僕は簡単に理解できるとは言えない。でも、だからといってお前が人の死を悲しんじゃいけないわけじゃー」 ES: I won’t pretend that it’s easy to understand how you feel. But that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to grieve over someone’s death—

ユノ　「なんで他の人が死んで悲しむのさ。今更人の命の大事さに気づく。そんな勝手が赦される⁈　あたしがあの子にできることなんて…ずっとさめたままでいることだけだよ」 YUNO: Why do I get to be sad about someone else dying? Because I suddenly realized life is precious now? Because I’m permitted to be that selfish?! The only thing I can do for that kid… is to stay [aware/numb] forever. [T/N: Because さめた (sameta) can mean either “to wake up to reality/to be disillusioned” or “to be cold/numb”, the sentence あたしがあの子にできることなんて…ずっとさめたままでいることだけだよ (atashi ga ano ko ni dekiru koto nante… zutto sameta mama de iru koto dake dayo) can mean: 1. The only thing I can do for that kid… is to stay awake forever- to never dream and just stay in reality; 2. The only thing I can do for that kid… is to stay numb forever.] エス　「お前はきちんと傷ついていたよ…。ただ、見てこなかっただけだ……自分の傷を……痛みを麻痺させていただけだと思う」 ES: You were definitely hurting… You just didn’t see it… You…numbed yourself to your pain. ユノ　「あんたに何がわからないよ。ただの子供でしょ」 YUNO: What would you know? You’re just a kid. エス　「わからないよ。お前と一緒で……まだ子供だ。でもお前の心の中を見てきたよ。お前の歌を……ずっと聞いてきたんだ……。自分で言うほど、お前は冷たい人間じゃないよ」 ES: I don’t know. You and me… we’re just kids. But I’ve seen your heart. I’ve listened to its entirety… your songs... You’re not as cold as you pretend to be. ユノ　「……そうか」 YUNO: …is that so. エス　「ぁ、そうだ」 ES: Yeah. ユノ　「看守さんはどうすんの?」 YUNO: So, what’re you gonna do now, Warden-san? エス　「どうとは？」 ES: What do you mean? ユノ　「まだ続けるの、ミルグラム……もう破綻してるでしょ、ココ。看守さんが続けなきゃいけない理由はある?」 YUNO: You still gonna keep MILGRAM going…? This place is already falling apart. Does Warden-san even have a reason to keep going? エス　「そう…だな。まだわからない。他の囚人と会っていく中で考えようと思う。」 ES: Yeah…maybe. I don’t know yet. I’ll think about it as I meet with the other Prisoners. ユノ　「そっか…それもいいかもね」 YUNO: I. see… Maybe that’s fine too. エス　「なぁ、 最後だから聞いていいか」 ES: Hey- Since this is the end, can I ask you something? ユノ　「ん?」 YUNO: Hm? エス　「お前はどうすれば満足だったんだ」 ES: What would’ve satisfied you? ユノ　「どういうこと?」 YUNO: What do you mean? エス　「赦されても、赦されなくても、不満だっただろ、お前」 ES: Whether you were forgiven, whether you weren’t forgiven- You wouldn’t have felt satisfied either way. ユノ　「うん。あたしもそう思う。ミルグラム自体気に食わないもん、言ったでしょ?人が人を裁くなんて無理だって」 YUNO: Yeah. I think so too. I’ve told you before that I never liked MILGRAM itself, right? And that people judging people, people deciding people is impossible- it doesn’t work out. エス　「よく覚えているよ」 ES: I remember it well. ユノ　「看守さんがなんとなく他のみんな音を判断したかはわかってるけどさ。あたしからしたら、結局全部好気嫌いだよ。立場は違えば…思うことなんて違うんだもん」 YUNO: I, more-or-less, know how Warden-san has judged everyone else. But to me, it was all just picking favorites- what you like and dislike. Different perspectives… different beliefs. エス　「そうだな……どんな囚人だって100対0なんてことはなかった……よくわかるよ」 ES: Yeah… I understand. No sinner was ever just Black-or-White… I get that now. [T/N: 囚人 (shuujin) can mean either "prisoner" or "sinner". The themes in Melting Temperature that seemingly aim to melt away rigid labels that simplify characters and persons makes the word "sinner" fit its context and story better. "Prisoner" creates a binding and limiting label that reduces a person to a polarity of non-innocence whereas "sinner" allows examination of that sinner-person beyond just the sin.] ユノ　「あたしが何を求めていたか……こわ……大体看守さんの言いたいことはわかるよ。あたしは叱られたかったのかもしれない？あとなんだろ、寂しかったのかもしれない？あたしから言わせれば、全部そうで、全部違う」 YUNO: What I was really looking for…? It’s a scary thought… I guess I kinda get what Warden-san is trying to say. Maybe I just wanted someone to scold me- to tell me I was wrong? Or maybe, I was lonely? If there’s anything I can say, all of it’s true and none of it’s true. エス　「どういうことだ」 ES: What do you mean?

ユノ　「こうに違いないとか、こう思わないのはおかしいとかさ……あたしが何を感じたかなんて決めつけないで…理由なんて一つじゃないし理由なんてないかもしれない。お願いだからさ、あたしのこと、分かりやすくしないでよ」 YUNO: Stuff like “It’s like this for her” or “It’s weird not to think this for her”... Don’t assume how I felt. There isn’t just one reason- there might not even be a reason at all. Please… don’t try to make me into something so simple. エス　「……お前らしいよ」 ES: …That’s such a you thing to say. ユノ　「うんうん。人間ってそういうもんなんだと思うよ」 YUNO: Yep, yep. I think that’s just how people are. エス　「そうか。勉強になったよ」 ES: I see. I’ve learned something today. A bell tolls from within the clock in the room. The structure of the interrogation room begins to change. ユノ　「もう？」 YUNO: Already? エス　「時間か……」 ES: Time’s up… ユノ　「そっか。お別れだね」 YUNO: Huh. This is goodbye, then. エス　「あぁ……」 ES: Yeah… ユノ　「ちょっと……看守さん？」 YUNO: Wait a sec… Warden-san? エス　「なんだ？」 ES: What is it? ユノ　「ちょっとおいでよ」 YUNO: C’mere for a sec.

ES walks over slowly, as if the clock ticking down to the beginning of the end was of no issue. YUNO hugs ES. ユノ　「はい」 YUNO: There we go. エス　「……ユノ」 ES: …YUNO. ユノ　「ハグ。えへぇ……普段なら2.5撮ってるところだけど、無料にしておくよ」 YUNO: Hug! Ehe… Normally I’d charge 2500 for this, but I’ll let you have it for free. エス　「不欠だ」 ES: Scandalous. ユノ　「えへ。ウソウソ。マヒルさんならきっとこうしてお送り出したと思うからさ。看守さんのこと」 YUNO: Hehe. Just kidding. MAHIRU-san probably would’ve seen you off like this too. If it were you, Warden-san. ユノ　「ふぅ、いろいろ込めた。はい！」 YUNO: Whew- I put a lot into that- There! YUNO lets go of ES. ユノ　「終わり！なんて言うかさ、そうん……頑張ってよ！」 YUNO: The end! What else to say I guess… Do your best! エス　「はぁ……」 ES: Yeah… ユノ　「看守さんにはいろいろ言ったし、今もミルグラムなんてくだらないって新速思うけどさ」 YUNO: I’ve said a lot to Warden-san, and I still think MILGRAM is a load of shit. エス　「まだ言うか」 ES: Still going on about that? ユノ　「あたしはここに来なかったら、自分のしたことを改めて考えることなんてなかったかもしれない。きっとあたしのしたことを日常の中に消えていた……あたしの中にもう一人いたこと、忘れてしまっていた」 YUNO: But if I hadn’t come here, maybe I never would’ve thought twice about what I did. It would’ve just disappeared into the background of my life… that another person had been inside me. I would’ve completely forgotten about it.

エス　「ユノ……」 ES: YUNO… ユノ　「あたしのことを考えてくれたことは、ありがとう。あたしを、もう一人か死んじゃってたけど。私たちを知ってくれてありがとう」 YUNO: Thank you for thinking about me. One person inside of me is already dead, but… thank you for getting to know us. エス　「僕も…お前を知れてよかった……忘れないよ…お前と、もう一人」 ES: I’m… also glad I got to know you. I won’t forget… you and the other one. ユノ　「それだけは……よかったかな。ありがとう、看守さん。バイバイ！また会えたらいいね！」 YUNO: If nothing else… I’m glad for that. Thanks, Warden-san. Bye-bye! Hope we meet again! エス　「あ、こちらこそ……ありがとう」 ES: Yeah… Thank you as well. エス　「囚人番号2番……。いやー」 ES: Prisoner Number 2… No- ユノ　「？」 YUNO: Huh? エス　「これは、要らないな」 ES: That’s not needed anymore. ES takes their hat off and throws it to the ground. ユノ　「もし……捨てちゃうの?」 YUNO: You’re really… You’re throwing it away? エス　「あぁ、ここからは看守じゃない。最後くらいは、ただの僕であろうと思う」 ES: Yeah, from here on out I’m not a Warden. At least for now, I want to just be me. YUNO smiles, impressed. It was time to say goodbye. ユノ　「フヘ……いいじゃん、エス」 YUNO: Heh… Not bad, Es. Es looks back at Yuno, the corners of their mouth matching that of the gentle expression on Yuno’s. Their eyes soften. エス　「樫木優乃、お前の罪を歌え」 ES: Yuno Kashiki, sing your sins!

[goorgeousz]

luther | aaron hotchner

after hours au

luther | aaron hotchner 

after hous au

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!female!reader

summary: during a case you realize hotch knows you more than you imagined.

content/tw: sexism (from a captain), mentions of killing and torture, reader not liking to be vulnerable,  reader flirting with hotch, hotch being protective (<3), deep subjects, fluff!!

word count: 2.8k

a/n: my requests are open! Not only for this au, and not only for hotch! i really liked how this one turned out, hope you enjoy it too <3

this is a part of a little series! you can read it as standalones but if you want some background, this is part 1 and part 2.

after hours masterlist

main masterlist

“JJ and Morgan, go to Ashley’s parent’s house. Reid and Rossi, check with the coroner. The rest come with me to the PD” Hotch announced, still on the plane after debriefing the case. The team agreed and went back to individually analyzing the case files.

A few months passed since you joined the BAU, and you already felt like you had always been there. The team was great and you bonded almost immediately.

At first, Hotch didn’t trust you fully. Not that he thought you were unqualified — he would never accept anyone but the best on his team —, but after what happened between you, he felt like he had to be even more careful. Not just because of you, but because of him too. All of his decisions — always made after a lot of pondering — had to be rethought at least twice. He feared somehow mistreating you, or even the opposite. He was scared of letting himself treat you differently because of what happened. To end up ruining your career, and obviously his too.

It only took him one case. Less than that, actually. At the very first time you worked together, on a kidnapping case in a small town in Nevada, he realized just how professional you truly were. He obviously read your resume — very obsessively so — but seeing you in action in person was a whole other story. Despite your playful and flirtatious demeanor, you didn’t let your emotions and personal beliefs influence your job — at least for the most part. On the contrary, you used them as a mechanism to improve yourself and your skills

You were tougher than you appeared to be — never being underdressed, always with at least one red item on display. You fought tooth and nail for the team, believing truly that everything worked out in the end. You were kind, respectful, thoughtful and appreciative with everyone who crossed paths with you, what made you the perfect partner to help him deal with the public.

“Agent Hotchner?” one of the officers approached him as soon as the team arrived at the station.

“Exactly.” he shook the man’s hand, introducing you and Emily right after.

“Let me take you to the conference room, your team can stay there” he said kindly, guiding you through the bullpen.

…

Later that morning, while Emily was discussing strategies with the rest of the team, you and Hotch went to the captain’s office, who had just returned from a press conference with the public to discuss the case.

“Sir” Hotch said as soon as he stepped into the office, introducing himself and you shortly after. The captain glanced at you up and down, and winked knowingly at Hotch.

“Atta boy.” he smiled, nodding approvingly and smiling like they knew something you didn’t.

Aaron's reaction to this was the same reaction he had for everything: stoically ignoring the teasing.

“She’s extremely qualified, indeed.” he said, trying to end the subject. But before he could managed to explain his thoughts on the case, the captain interrupted him.

“And quite a view, if you know what I mean.” he winked. You were about to snap at him, but Hotch was faster.

“Graduated in forensic psychology, major in communication and experienced in sex crimes. Given the case we’re currently working on, I really don’t see anyone more qualified.” he took the lead, slightly puffing his chest and holding his chin high, proudly standing up for his team members — especially for you.

The captain just laughed, raising both hands in mock surrender “You guys can’t take a little compliment. I wonder why most agents in the sex crimes division are women.” at that you finally break.

“Take a wild guess, smarty as—” you snapped, not even bothering to mask the poison in your voice.

“Agent.” Hotch interrupted. If you didn’t know him, you would’ve missed the way the corner of his lips twitching just slightly. “Anyways, the case.” He said, finally beginning the explanation about what the team had figured out until then, questioning him about the conduct of the investigation of previous murders.

…

Moments later, the meeting with the captain going smoothly from that — without any other uncomfortable situations, for the most part —, you stopped by at the break room to grab a coffee before meeting the rest of the team. 

“What a gentleman” you murmured, ironically.

“I’m sorry about him” Hotch stated, his voice gentle and apologetic, staring deeply at your eyes, so intensely it made your legs wobbly.

“Don’t be” you waved him off “But if you really want me to feel better, you should get on your knees and beg nicely. I like my man a little submissive.” You teased, winking.

He sighed, his posture not even flinching besides the very tip of his ears, that blushed adorably.

“You can’t flirt with me every time I say something that makes you uncomfortable just to make me drop it” he said, giving you a pointed look.

“I’m looking forward to see how you plan on stopping me, sir” you blinked innocently, walking past him to the conference room to gather with the rest of the team.

…

The entire team sits at the conference room, scattered across the table are notepads, case files, pictures of the victims and delivery. Hotch, JJ and Rossi were discussing suspects and family interviews. Emily and Morgan are trying to replay the unsub’s steps. You and Spencer are silently sitting across each other, rereading some files between bites.

The profile you gave to the officers repeater inside your head: ‘our unsub is a male in his middle to late twenties. He’s acting guided by his hatred towards women. He chooses his victims based on their similarities to the person object of his hate. Which means they are all a representation of who this person is to him. He’s escalating and getting more confident, which probably means it’s a matter of time until he decides to go for the main victim, the one he truly hates…’

But something didn’t sit right with you.

“There’s something wrong.” you stated, deep in thought, interrupting the team’s conversation.

“Yeah, definitely” Spencer agreed with you, raising his eyes off of the file and looking at you quizzically.

“What do you have in mind?” Emily asked, her elbows resting on the table to pay full attention to the two of you.

“Alright, look.” you started, finishing the last bite of your sandwich and throwing out the empty wrapping. Hotch silently offered you some napkins, which you accepted and used without even acknowledging it, way too focused on your train of thought “The bodies were disposed without much of a thought, not one signature or M.O, which could mean the killing wasn’t part of the plan. The bruises in their bodies show overkill, which indicates that he knew the victims and had a personal problem with them. But we haven’t found any connection between the victims.”

“The only thing in common between the four women was their personality.” Spencer continued “All of them, Ashley, Laura, Riley, and Kendall were considered angelic. Their friends and families, to describe them, used terms amongst “saint-like” “too good to be true” “kind soul”. They all engaged in charity events, were outstanding academically and considered role models inside to family and neighborhood settings.

“But just under the curtain they weren’t so perfect. Ashley was into shoplifting for fun, Laura was on drugs, Riley cheated on her boyfriend and Kendall paid other students to do her school projects. That’s probably how he chose his victims.” Morgan realized.

“Exactly. We profiled the unsub acted guided for his hatred towards women in general. But what if we got it wrong?” you suggested.

“So you don’t think they hated the victims?” Hotch asked, crossing his arms and furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. “Yes and no.” you started “I don’t think that he hated them at first. The opposite actually, I think he loved them. He saw them not as the personification of his hatred, but as his loved one. He saw them and thought they were perfect, kind, educated, reserved, probably the same way he felt towards someone in particular, the true object of his fantasies. He thought he found substitutes on the victims, but it turned out they weren’t as perfect as he thought. That’s when it turned to hate.” you explained.

“Wait a second.” Spencer dialed a number on his phone, turning the call on speaker and placing it on the center of the desk.

“Yes, my beautiful genius and friend, how can I help you?”

“Garcia, I need you to find men in their mid twenties that live somewhere in the comfort zone I sent you earlier.” he asked.

“I need more than that, handsome. I got 107.” 

“Eliminate the ones who work full time jobs.” Rossi suggested.

“Now we’re getting somewhere. But still, 80.”

“Eliminate the ones in relationships, or that have been in relationships in the last two years.” Hotch said, leaning closer to the phone.

“Yes, sir! Down to 43.”

“Garcia, how many of them lost a female figure in the last 3 years? Maybe a mother, a grandmother, a sister…” JJ asked.

“Only 6!”

“Send their information, please.”

“Coming, give me a moment.” she said, turning off the call without waiting for an answer.

…

“Ok, we can rule out the first one. He lost his grandmother last year, but lost contact with her 10 years ago” Rossi commented, analysing the files Garcia sent you.

“And the second one too. He lost his mother but she had drinking problems, so it doesn’t fit our profile.” Hotch said, his eyes entirely focused on the papers before him.

“Hey, guys” Emily started “Look at this one. Daniel Scott, 26, had a twin sister, Linda Scott. At school she was the prom queen, graduated with honor in Havard, straight A’s student, was very active member of the city church and engaged frequently on charity events. Died in a car crash in november, 2 years ago.

“Right when the killing started” Spencer agreed, his eyes wide open.

“We got him.” you said, the whole team standing up and getting ready to follow the address Garcia sent to your phones.

…

Hours had passed since the arrest. With the case wrapped up, the night grew late and the team gathered in silence in the jet on their way home, all of them deep in sleep.

All of them, except for you and Hotch.

You wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. After cases like that, you hardly could, with the adrenaline still high on your blood from the pressure you were under just a few hours ago. The quiet humming of the jet blended with Rossi’s snores and the music coming from Derek’s headphones – you swear to god that man’s going to end up deaf –, you stood up from your seat in front of Spencer, who laid splayed out on the empty seats, and went to the little kitchenette at the very front of the jet.

Trying to make as little noise as possible, you made some brewed coffee, the strong scent and the heat warming up your hands immediately. You insisted that the coffee you stored – at the jet, at least – was a little bit better than the one you kept at the bureau – which was straight garbage, in your opinion – and you and Rossi compromised to always keep the cabinets filled with good branded coffee. And a few candy bars and crackers. The good one, obviously.

Hotch thought it was unnecessary, but you changed his mind – by that you mean ‘made him lose his patience and give up fighting, letting you do whatever you wanted as long as he didn’t get bothered by it’ – explaining how changing to a better coffee, something you consumed multiple times a day, would improve your health and performance on the field. Also how having candy bars and good chocolate stored on the jet would help your bodies relax to not associating the jet rides only with the disturbing cases you worked on, but also with good and delicious snacks to warm your heart and soul – with those exact words. Spencer even hopped in, adding some scientific facts and research about how to improve work morale and how improving productivity was directly connected with the quality of the work environment, which honestly sealed the deal for you. 

You got two cups filled to the brim with freshly brewed coffee and a few mini chocolate bars and walked quietly between your teammates, settling on the seat across from Hotch, who stared daggers to the paperwork in front of him.

“What did the poor paper do to you? Glaring at it like it’s our unsub.” you teased, placing one of the cups and three flavoured chocolates in front of him. Just then he raised his head up at you, blinking his eyes as if to adjust his eyes, which were already hurting because of the tiny little letters he head to read and reread.

“Thank you” he said, quietly. He leaned back on the seat, watching fondly you sitting in front of him, curling up against the window and covering yourself with a cheetah printed furry blanket, that you also insisted on leaving on the jet to make the place more comfortable and cozy. “This coffee is actually really good.” “You’re welcome” you winked, smirking smugly from above your own cup. He rolled his eyes, his barely-there smile making an appearance.

“Good job today.” he recognized, and before you could make a joke about how much he was praising you in the spare of 2 minutes, he asked “How did you notice?” genuinely interested, like he always did. And it made your heartbeat quicken, every. single. time.

“I can’t explain it. I just felt something was off. It didn’t add up, you know? We didn’t have any connections between the victims, so it could only be him. From that point it wasn’t hard to come to the conclusion about how he really felt. This kind of behaviour is really common in men.” you shrugged and he frowned, silently asking for you to elaborate. So you did. “It’s the same old patriarchy. The woman is raised to be the perfect housewife, her whole life just waiting for her husband to come. If she’s not chast, virgin, submissive, she’s not marriage material. Therefore, useless. And when the woman doesn’t attend to that… requirements, if you will, she turns from the object of his desires to the victim of hatred, disgust. I just applied that thesis to the profile we already had and changed what it didn’t fit. 

“Very impressive.” he praised. “There’s a really good article about that. Spencer and I were discussing it a few weeks ago. If you want to, I can send it to you.” you offered, starting to actually feel shy under his attentive gaze and admiration. And to the annoyingly but persistent desire you felt under your skin every time you had any deeper interaction with him, like a little personal reminder about what you couldn’t have.

“I would love to.” “Sure.” you agreed, giving him a small smile. You sip on your coffee, grabbing the mug tightly with both hands to keep them warm.

For a few minutes you stayed like this, in a comfortable silence. You gazed at the stars shining on the dark night and him writing on the reports, stopping just to sip at his own coffee and eat the chocolates.

You felt his gaze shifter to you again, almost like your body had a motion sensor that alarmed you every time he looked at you. You stared at each other, and before you could blush or make a little joke to ease up the tension, he started to speak.

“I’m sorry for that capitan.” you grimaced with the topic. It happened three days ago, you were over it. Just as you were going to flirt with him – by saying something incredibly unhinged and inappropriate until he got so uncomfortable he had to change subject, exactly like he accused you of doing – he raised a hand, stopping you. “You don’t have to say anything. Just… I’m sorry.”

You relaxed back on your seat, shifting slightly and turning your gaze back to the widow. Hotch knew you too well. Well enough to understand that situations like this made you feel uncomfortable. You were one of the most emotionally intelligent people he’d ever met. You were strong, kind, giving, and never afraid to show your true emotions. You just didn’t like to feel weak. You dealt with victims every day, all different kinds. And although you know deep in your heart that there was nothing wrong with it, you hated feeling like one.

But as much as Hotch knew you, you knew him too. Well enough to know that he didn’t feel like that was a weakness whatsoever. He felt sorry for you, yes, but he didn’t pity you. He knows you. He sees you. And you were so beyond grateful for it.

“Yeah. Me too.”