#slight depiction of wounds

[astraystayyh]

Volcano

pairing : han x reader. enemies to lovers. slow burn.

summary : you've never gotten along with han, your mutual prejudices ruining any prospect of friendship between you both. but you slowly realize that you are more similar than what you originally thought- your darkness recognizing his, and his light yearning for yours.

"I'll take care of you. It's rotten work. Not to me, not if it's you."

cw : depiction of a panic attack, minor injury, both reader and han say mean shit to each other, cursing, mention of alcohol, reader has she/her pronouns.

word count : 13.2k

a.n: highly recommend listening to "Let the light in" by Lana when Han starts playing it in the fic hehe feedback is highly appreciated as always <3

skz quotes series masterlist.

You remember being seven years old, sitting on the floor of your bedroom, while your mom brushed your hair. It was a late July night, a cold breeze swaying your white curtains, akin to the fluttering of a butterfly’s wing. Your eyes were slightly puffy, delicate red veins protruding the white of them. You had just finished watching a Disney movie- the Lion King; heavy sobs escaping your lips when Mufasa died.

There were still faint hiccups coursing through you, a slight shake in your hands as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt. Your mom brought you to her chest, her chin resting on your small shoulder blade. "You’re sensitive, my sweet girl" she had uttered, rubbing your arms soothingly.

It was the first time someone described you as such. You didn’t know what ‘sensitive’ entailed exactly, but it contained the word ‘sense’, so you assumed it was something good, a quality to be proud of you. You could sense, maybe more than others, maybe too deeply. That’s why you cried when you didn’t get a good grade, or when your friends left you alone in the park.

But you didn't mind back then. What was your heart made for if not to feel?

You should’ve paid more attention to the way your mom spoke, to the bittersweetness lingering in her tone. As if she knew exactly what it entailed to be sensitive- to have your heart overflow with delicate feelings for the rest of your life, with no safe destination to guard them in.

☄༄

You’ve forgotten the last time you cried in.

The tears are lodged inside your throat- you can clearly feel them, an uncomfortable weight sitting on your vocal cords, rendering them impossible to use.

You used to cry, freely, so much that you lost count of how much it happened. But you realized that every tear that escaped your eyes, made you vulnerable, weaker, in the hands of the people around you. Every tear that washed over you, only rendered you more transparent for everyone to peer at how they wounded your soul. 

So, you conditioned yourself to stop feeling as deeply, or at least to stop showing it. The sadness, the hurt, the anger were all stored within you; but your face remained placid, not betraying how you truly felt. You were like a pond, tranquil at the surface, raging from within.

But on days like this one, you miss the person you were. When the implications of being sensitive still haven’t weighed down on you. When you could get rid of your feelings in the essence of your tears. When you didn’t yet feel bad for feeling.

Chan's eyes are on you, as you type furiously on your laptop. Your vision is so blurry that you can no longer see your lit screen. But you’re afraid that if you pause then Chan would ask if you were okay, and you hated that question. Because you never truly knew the answer to it. Yes, you were okay. But you haven’t cried in six months and your friend didn’t greet you back this morning and you suddenly feel very small in a very large library.

"Hey," Chan taps your hand with his pen and you suck in a slight breath, before raising your head to meet his eyes. "Are you-" he starts but you’re quick to cut him off, knowing exactly where this was headed. "Did you answer question five? I’m stuck on what formula to use."

Chan raises a brow at you, and you blink repeatedly. His eyes travel to your feet tapping furiously against the floor, and he understands.

 "I'm still at number four," he finally says and you nod in relief. You’ve been close friends for a year and Chan has come to know you- he’s dropping the subject.

"Oh, and are you coming to the party tonight?" Chan asks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He’s hosting it and there is hope twinkling in his eyes. You feel bad because you’re about to crush it.

"No, need to revise more for the upcoming test."

"Of course, you’ll still be buried in your books," a sarcastic voice quips up, and you stiffen inwardly. Han- one-third of 3racha, Chan’s self-made producing group, and the bane of your existence. You never liked who you were around Han, he brought out the worst in you. Made all your insecurities roar forward, plastered across your body in neon red.

He was friends with Chan, long before you came into the picture, back into their high school days when Han skipped a class and ended up in the same one as Chan’s. A genius, as everyone around you liked to call him. And they were right- excelling came easily to Han, in everything he ever did. Even tapping into each one of your tender nooks and crannies.

He knew how to expertly push your buttons, how to make his tone sound mocking, and taunting, but only to you. Because you were sensitive, and he knew it, finding it almost amusing to toy with you. 

You decide to stay silent because nothing good ever comes out of talking back to him. So, you bite your tongue, turning back to look at your screen. But Han’s elbow grazes your arm, as he leans a bit further into your face. "Come on, live a little, y/n. You’re missing out on the college experience," he makes a big show of opening his arms wide, a single red pen spinning between his fingers. "Quit being stuck up for one night." And it spins, and it spins, and it spins and something ugly inside you crumbles.

"I’m sorry I wasn’t born with a golden spoon shoved down my throat and I actually have to work for my future."

Han’s eyes widen at the raw animosity in your voice, before narrowing down promptly. He’s leaning onto your face again, and his tone is low and cold when he speaks again. "What did you just say to me?"

"Is it so hard to grasp that not everyone is as privileged as you? We can’t all afford to get wasted every fucking night and call it a life."

You’re being mean. This is the rudest you’ve ever been to someone else. You know that your reaction is disproportionate to what he said. But it isn’t just about this instant. It’s an amalgam of every moment Han made you feel small in, because you don’t go out as much as him, because you don’t understand as quickly as him. Taunts thrown your way under the guise of teasing, but you know better.

Still, guilt eats at you as your eyes lock with Chan’s. You should’ve stayed silent, as you’ve been diligently doing for the past year.

"How do you stand being her friend Chan? Is it out of pity?" Han muses, a pout pulling at his lips. You stare ahead as Han tsks lightly, before tapping your cheek with his pen, bringing your face back to him. "I think it is. Because isn’t she so fucking boring?"

Being near Han always makes you hyper-aware of things you never noticed before. Like how a breath has to travel from the depths of your body so you’d be able to release it, and how excruciatingly long it takes for you to draw in a new one. Because Han’s words are never harmless, no, they settle on the confines of your lungs, crushing down any bit of oxygen willing to leave you.

You've had enough.

"When you’re eighty, on your deathbed, and all alone. I hope you know that there is no one around to blame but yourself."

"Don’t cross the line, yn," Chan finally speaks and you scoff, as you get up to grab your things.

"What fucking line, Chan? So, he can insult me all day but as soon as I do it there is a line? Why are you taking his side?"

Chan stays silent and you chuckle dryly. "Of course, you are. You’re only friends with me out of pity after all."

"That’s not true-"

"Well, you didn’t deny it, did you Chan?"

"Yn, I-"

"Save it."

Han’s eyes are glossy as you take one final glance at him. But your heart’s bleeding too much for you to care about his minor cut.

☄༄

For how much time can a conversation haunt someone? Seventeen days, for your case. And you're still counting.

You have nit-picked your fight with Han in the library so much that it's driving you insane. His voice is drilled into your head- the coldness of it as he reeled back from the shock of your words, and then, the pure venom dripping from his tone, as he attacked you where it hurt the most. Chan.

Han chose his words carefully, stitched up the sentence perfectly to hurt you, to stick to your flesh like burnt skin, one that you peeled over and over, each time it threatened to scar.

You haven't talked to Chan in seventeen days. He tried to stop you; on your way out of class, in the line of your campus cafeteria, on the doorsteps of your dorm. But you always fleet away. His eyes were also imprinted into your brain- the disappointment in them when you clapped back at Han.

What about him? You wanted to yell. Why are you only disappointed in me?

But the tears in your pillow have dried. Then fallen again. Then dried once more. And you found the answer to question five. And you miss Chan, terribly so.

That's why you're pacing around his dorm, at 10 pm, when it's also terribly cold outside. Your fingers have gone numb from the ministrations of the wind, but you don't move from your place. You know that the chances of seeing Han- the second person you’ve been avoiding like the plague- would be higher here. But you didn't care anymore.

Your thumb hovers over the call button and you bite your lip harshly. Would Chan pick up? Would he hang up? Was he really your friend out of pity?

"Yn?" a voice calls out, and you startle, turning around to see who it is. Changbin, carrying two bags of groceries in his hand. He's Chan’s friend as well, the final member of 3racha. You like Changbin. He's always being very kind to you. You've grown much closer to him than to Han in the past few months; not that the latter has ever wanted a friendship with you. From the day you met and his eyes narrowed promptly each time you talked. You should’ve known from the start.

"Why are you out here in the cold?" Changbin asks gently, stepping cautiously towards you.

"Chan," you say simply and he nods, understanding what you mean.

"He's not here now, but he'll come home soon. Let's go inside, okay?" he smiles tentatively at you and you hum in reply.

Changbin opens the door and you follow inside. You help him take out the groceries silently, stacking them in their fridge and shelves. Lots of protein powder, and chicken packets. You'd laugh about it if you weren't so sad.

"Chan misses you," Changbin speaks up suddenly, and your heartbeat quickens at his words.

"I miss him too."

"Then you'll be okay."

You try to remember Changbin’s reassuring smile when Chan finally opens the door to the dorm, an hour later. He finds you sitting on the stool in the kitchen. His eyes light up once they settle on you.

And you unravel at the sight.

You're crying, sobs rippling from you as he brings you to his chest. He's patting your head and whispering that it's okay. And you know his shirt is all crumpled from clutching it in your hands. But he doesn't mind. He only hugs you tighter.

"I'm sorry, yn. So, so, sorry. I should've stopped him before, I just... You two are my best friends and I didn't want to add fuel to the fire by talking and-"

"It's okay, it's okay, I'm the one who should apologize for ghosting you."

"I understand why you did it. I fucked up but I missed you so much. Can we please never do this again?”

“Yes please,” you giggle, but the sound withers as the door opens once again.

"What is she doing here?" a cold voice breaks you and Chan apart, as your eyes land on Han. His gaze sucks the breath out of you, and the warmth in your heart fizzles out. Your hold on Chan’s shirt tightens and he takes an unconscious step in front of your body. Han doesn't miss the protective gesture.

"Get out, yn."

"You don't get to kick my friends out of my house," Chan is angry. And you regret ever coming here.

"Last I checked it's my house too." Han doesn't even bother looking at you. He's holding Chan’s gaze as if they're silently communicating. "You know damn well what she said why-" he takes a deep breath, running a hand angrily through his hair. "Fuck this. If she's not leaving then I am."

And with that he storms out, slamming the door behind him. You flinch at the sound.

Chan’s eyebrows are knitted as he stares at where Han stood seconds ago as if trying to conjure him up once again. You never wanted to strain their friendship. You knew how much Han cared for Chan, even if he didn't bear the same sentiment for you.

"Chan, I’ll leave. Call Han and tell him I'm gone."

"You don't have to."

"I know," you reassure, placing your hand on his forearm. "We'll talk more later, okay? It's cold and he has nowhere to go. Just call him, please."

"Fine," Chan concedes. "Call me when you get home, alright?" his eyes finally soften and you squeeze his hand in reply, before heading out as well.

The walk from Chan’s dorm to yours is fairly short, but tonight, it seems like kilometers are separating you from the safety of your bed. There is a heavy weight crushing your bones, most of it being guilt at what just transpired between Chan and Han.

That's what comes with being sensitive- you bear the weight of your feelings and the one of those surrounding you.

Were you out of place with what you said to Han? Yes. Was it eating you inside to see the consequences of your words? Yes. But he was also to blame, you repeated in your head. He was also to blame. Please. You plead, you don't know to whom, maybe to the voice in your head to stop being so mean. 'But none of this would've happened if you weren't so sensitive. So easy to bruise' the voice mocks and you stumble on your feet.

It happens so suddenly it takes you off guard- the way the breath is knocked out of you. You pause, chest heaving as you bend down slightly. Your hand is on your heart as you try to breathe again, but it's shaking so much. Your legs give out under you, and you plop down on the floor, eyes tightly shut. You can't breathe. You can't breathe. You're going to pass out.

"Yn, what-" A hand rests on your shoulder but you shake it off. You don't want to be touched. Not by him.

"Let me help-" Han speaks again, and you scramble away from him, as best as you can anyway. You end up kneeling on the ground once again, your back to him. "Get-get away."

"I know you're mad but you aren't okay and I know how horrib-"

"You aren't helping!" you shout through tears, as your heart threatens to spill out of your throat. "You’ve hurt me e-enough already."

You don't remember how you got home that night, how you managed to open the door or cross the road leading to your dorm. But you remember Han leaving you on the cold ground, just like you wanted. You remember the ache in your bones as you laid on your bed; the burning desire to stop feeling for a night, to cut your chest open and tear off your bleeding heart.

☄༄

One month later

If there's one thing you've always complained to Chan about, it's the fact that his building had an elevator in it, unlike yours.

Today, you’ve come to regret this fact. Tremendously.

You’ve been avoiding going to Chan’s dorm for the past weeks since the last thing you wanted was to see Han. But, he insisted on you coming over, reassuring you that it would only be him and Changbin at home since Han supposedly had other plans.

Well, Chan was wrong. Because Han just walked into the elevator you are in, mere moments before its doors closed.

Your breath catches in your throat as his eyes lock on yours. He looks like he wants to say something but he decides against it, opting for sighing loudly instead, before pressing the button leading to the fourth floor, rather harshly.

Your need to flee has never been this strong.

You watch anxiously as the numbers slowly go up. 1… 2… 3… Then a loud voice startles you and the elevator starts to shake in place. The door is suddenly opened and you are met with a cement wall, blocking your exit.

"What the fuck?" Han groans as you press the emergency button repeatedly, hoping that the elevator will resume its course and this nightmare will be forgotten.

It doesn’t.

"You’re going to break the goddamn button," Han pushes your hand away and you stumble away from him.

"Can you shut up? I’m not in the mood for your bullshit."

"Does it look like I’m happy to be here?" Han scoffs, as a ringtone plays in the elevator, cutting you off before you could respond. 

"Hey guys, this happens from time to time, so no need to worry. Is everyone alright?" Someone speaks and you assume it's the worker charged with the maintenance of the elevator.

"Yes," you both reply at the same time.

"Great. We’ve contacted the mechanics but they said there’s a lot of traffic, so it might take a bit longer for them to get here."

"How long?" Han asks the question that’s on your mind as well.

"Two hours, at most, for you to get out."

"Oh, for fuck’s sake," you groan, as hot tears prickle at the corner of your eyes. This is the last thing you needed today- to be stuck in a cramped-up space with the one person who sucks the oxygen out of any room you’re in.

"Thanks, man," Han sighs and you turn your back to him, facing the wall. You’ve had a horrible day, scratch that, a horrible week. Hanging out with Chan and Changbin was the one thing you were looking forward to, only for the worst possible scenario to happen- being stuck in the same place with Han. You feel an urgent need to sob but you can’t cry in front of him. Not when he’s all claws and your skin is tender.

"Wait, are you claustrophobic?" He suddenly asks, seemingly inches away from your body.

"As if you’d fucking care," you scoff, before heading to a corner of the elevator and settling down.

"I'm not a monster, you know," he mutters in an almost sad tone, one that forces you to look up at him. His hands are deep into his pockets, eyebrows knitted as he gazes down at you. "Do you really think I’m that much of an asshole?"

"Yes," you reply instantly, before staring forward again. The hurt that flashes in his eyes shouldn’t tug at your heartstrings, but it does, ever so faintly, like the last wave that grazes your feet as you get out of the ocean. "I’m not claustrophobic," you add after a while and Han finally sits on the opposite side from you.

It’s hot and stuffy in the elevator, and it’s quiet, too quiet for your liking. You’ve never really liked silence for too long, it made the small voice in your head only grow bolder, louder, impossible to ignore.

Thirty-five excruciatingly long minutes go by and the tension only grows more suffocating. It’s simmering, barely beneath the surface, waiting for the person who will finally make it explode. 

It’s Han.

“Can I ask you something?”

“No.”

“Come on, we have nothing else to do.”

“Have you tried being silent?”

"Yn," he says sternly and you begrudgingly concede. "Fine. Ask me."

You imagine him smirking slightly, the way he does each time he manages to push you over the edge.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

“We’re not doing this right now,” you shake your head, tone adamant.

"When’s a better time for it? We’re literally never in the same place."

“And whose fault that is?” You smile too sarcastically and he frowns. “So, I’m the only one to blame?”

“Can’t you see how full of yourself you are? Fuck, Han, this is exactly what I hate about you.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“You’re so immature, you never sit back to think of how your words might impact someone.”

"What words yn? I was teasing you!" his voice grows louder and so does yours. "You were hurting me!" you yell, chest heaving. There is something utterly terrifying in this confession- to let someone know how easy it was for them to get to you.

"But I didn’t mean to," he drags a hand through his hair, exasperated. "It's not my fault you felt that way."

An ironic chuckle leaves your lips, as you point at him. "See, you're doing it again! You're blaming me for my reaction instead of evaluating how your actions might have caused it."

"Look, yn," he scrambles to you until there are only a few centimeters separating your bodies. "I really wanna fix this, okay? Can we stop screaming?"

"Why are you so hellbent on fixing it?" you question, as you lean further away from him. He notices and takes a step back, giving you space.

"Because although I don't care about you, I care about Chan. And this is hurting him. So, I want to be civil with you."

The mention of Chan feels like a cold bucket of water dousing the fire within you. You know he’s struggling to be in the middle of two people he loves. He doesn’t deserve that.

"Fine," you sigh softly. “You talk. I’ll listen.”

"I didn't... I didn't know that my words would hurt you. In truth, it looked like you weren't affected at all. That's why I kept pushing you because… God Yn you're so perfect it maddens me."

Your eyebrows knit together at his words- the last thing you expected to stumble out of his mouth. "What are you talking about?"

"You never get sad, never get angry. Your emotions are always in check. You're always smiling, always laughing. Have everything figured out from how you want to be now to where you want to be in the future. And you know yourself, you never step out of order. And this is selfish and stupid but it irked me. Because I am the opposite of you. I'm a mess and too human it terrifies me, so I wanted to see if you had a breaking point. But each time I taunted you, you remained placid. So, I kept pushing to see if you'd break one day because, selfishly enough, that would make me feel better about how broken I am."

"Han, you're so stupid. Aren't you a literal genius? You excel in everything you do and you have fun on top of it, every single night. Don't you realize how lucky you are?"

"Do you really believe I find joy in being wasted and not even remembering what happened that night? I do that because I'm in my mind most of the days and it isn't the best place to be in. So, I like to forget."

“Why do you think I always bury myself in my studies? Because it's safe and it makes me forget too. Did you really think I didn’t feel? I feel too much and that’s the problem.”

Han remains silent as you curse under your breath. "Do you even realize how selfish this is? To test a human's breaking point? All because what? I didn't shove my struggles down your nose? Would you go around and do this to everyone who looked fine to you?"

"I know, I know, I was just in a bad place, and this isn't an excuse but I... I felt as if you were just showing me everything that was wrong with me."

"That is how I felt around you," you chuckle bitterly and he hangs his head low. He’s much quieter when he speaks again. “I guess we’re more similar than I thought.”

"Doesn't excuse what you did. You targeted me and made me feel insane because no one was hearing the hostility in your tone like I did."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. I really am. I never thought it'd get this bad and I deserve every name you called me."

"You do." You close your eyes, as Han’s words wash over you. There is so much more you want to say, so much you want to spit out in his face because of his selfish coping mechanism. But you also want peace, for Chan’s sake. So, you try to bury your resentment, just like you do with every other feeling. One day it’ll turn into indifference. You’ll make sure of it.

You bite your lip, before clearing your throat. Your tone is softer when you speak again. "I'm sorry for what I told you in the library. About you dying alone and whatnot. That wasn't nice of me."

"You really hit the nail with that one," Han chuckles quietly, and guilt floods your heart at the expression on his face. "And I'm sorry for calling you boring. You aren't. And for everything I said before that."

"Okay. It's okay." You reassure, a tiny smile drawn on your lips.

He nods before a sly grin grows on his face. "Should we hug it out?" he teases, cocking an eyebrow at you and you stare pointedly at him. "Don't push your luck."

"Yes, ma'am."

An hour later, the mechanics finally manage to get the elevator going, which in turn allows you both to get out. Han opens the door to the dorm, and you find Chan lying on the couch, scrolling down his phone.

"Han? I thought you would..." he starts before trailing off as he looks up. "Yn? Where were you, I’ve been calling you for the past two hours."

"I didn't have signal."

"Why where were-" Chan goes to question before stopping once again. He hurriedly stands up and walks toward you.

"You... Are standing next to one another."

"We are," Han replies, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

"And you aren't... Fighting?" his statement comes out more like a question, which makes both you and Han chuckle.

"We aren't."

"We talked it out, in the elevator which we were both just stuck in," you add and Chan’s eyes grow wide, as a breathtaking smile breaks out on his face.

"Oh my god. Finally. We'll talk about the elevator bit later but it's been so hard trying not to be in the same place as the both of you."

"We know. We're sorry," you both pout in sync and Chan shakes his head, before opening his arms wide. You giggle, before walking to him and sinking into his embrace. Han follows you shortly after, and your eyes meet behind Chan’s back. He shoots you a tiny thumbs up.

Is this how a dandelion feels, you wonder, when someone blows on it in the hopes it'll grant their selfish wishes. Only to be tossed away afterward, lifeless.

You drown out the thought before smiling back at Han. It doesn’t reach your eyes.

☄༄

Befriending two-thirds of 3racha holds within it a lot of privileges. The first one is listening to unreleased music, the second is having exclusive insight into their upcoming performances.

Their gigs don't happen as often as they'd like, because they're still students who unfortunately have lots of assignments. But when a window of free time materializes, they unveil their latest productions at vibrant parties, dimly lit bars, or even the occasional club. Which attracts a lot of people, some even coming from neighboring towns to listen to them play.

Everyone can recognize raw talent, even if rap doesn't happen to be their favorite genre.

This is how you know that they'll be performing Heyday, their latest creation, at Seungmin’s party. You've met him in passing, and Chan insisted that you'd come. Not that you needed much convincing anyway, you fell in love with this song the minute you heard it.

There is an exhilarating energy in Seungmin’s mansion, a palpable anticipation preceding 3racha’s performance, as you all gaze at the makeshift stage. The place is packed, bodies pressed tightly to one another. You feel slightly uncomfortable but you swallow it down. You're here to support Chan first and foremost, you can leave if things become too much for you.

The introductory chords materialize abruptly, and 3racha takes the stage. Chan is clad in a white shirt with huge gaps on his sides, revealing glimpses of his chest each time he bends down. Changbin, on the opposite end of the spectrum, is wearing a tightly fitted black shirt, hugging each muscle of his to perfection. Han, the last one to walk in, sports a loose black shirt, with a low neckline. His nails are painted to match the color of his attire, you notice.

The song kicks off with Changbin's incendiary rap as deafening cheers ring all around you. You make sure to scream on top of your lungs too, as Changbin’s loud voice commands the attention of everyone in the room. You’ve always held a penchant for his rap style- how powerful he sounds, and how addicted you quickly become to hearing him on stage. You remember once telling him that any song that starts with his rapping is a successful hit. He playfully nudged your shoulder but his appreciative smile was hard to miss.

Chan’s part is next and you try to rap along, as best as you can anyway due to your fleeting memory. It sounds mostly like gibberish but you don’t mind, especially when your eyes meet Chan’s and he grins at you, before morphing into the mesmerizing stage persona that's peculiar to him. You clearly remember the first time you witnessed him on stage, and how enthralled you were by the sheer power he exuded. His destiny was intertwined with music, no one could deny that. 

A bed squeaking sound comes next, followed by the knocking on the door and you giggle against your will. That was Han’s ingenious touch, as Chan had shared when you'd raised a quizzical brow at him while listening. “Is this based on a real-life experience?” You asked, a knowing smirk etched upon your features, and he pretended to zip his mouth, earlobes turning a vibrant shade of crimson.

Han finally starts rapping in his inimitable style, exuding an effortless, laid-back aura. Your gazes meet at the "let's go play" line, and he tilts his head quizzically at you as he utters his confused "huh?". You raise one eyebrow at him prompting a sly smirk from him, before redirecting his attention to the opposite side of the stage. Yet, your eyes remain on him throughout his entire part.

The boys step off the stage, and you watch from the corner of the room with a wide grin as a swarm of people surrounds them. Congratulations and praise fill the air, and you can tell that 3racha thrives on this moment- it's what they live for, what makes their souls rise up from the ashes. 

Chan catches your eye, and you applaud enthusiastically, letting out a happy giggle. He blows you a kiss, and you playfully pretend to catch it, eliciting a small shake of his head. Changbin, who's standing near him, catches the exchange and winks at you from a distance, to which you respond with two thumbs up.

Even though you're a bit far from them, you're certain the boys can sense the pride radiating from you in waves. There's something truly magical about humans existing in their element, particularly people you care about.

Your gaze shifts to Han, and your smile falters slightly. He's also glowing, but signs of discomfort are starting to creep onto his face. You recognize them fairly well, as you've felt them too at times when emotions become overwhelming. So, after a brief internal debate, you decide to act and begin making your way toward him, pushing through the crowd despite the rising complaints behind you.

They fall on deaf ears.

You grab Han's forearm, pulling him with you through the sea of bodies toward the bathroom. He doesn't fight, following diligently behind you. You open the door and pull him inside, pausing as you realize you don't have a specific plan for bringing him here. This is also the first time you've been alone together since the elevator conversation.

"Thank you," Han whispers, and you nod, your eyes softening. "I'm okay, I love performing, I just needed a breather," he quickly adds, as if feeling guilty for being overwhelmed. 

"That's completely understandable. You are running on a lot of adrenaline, and the room is so crowded," you say with a smile, turning to the mirror to touch up your makeup.

Han remains silent for a while as you powder your face, before reapplying your cherry lip gloss. You can hear him taking in deep breaths, and you avoid looking at him, worried he might feel embarrassed.

"What did you think of the performance?" he finally asks, and you raise your head slightly. You lock eyes with him through the mirror, as he leans against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. His black t-shirt falls a bit, revealing more of his bare skin, and your eyes trail down for a moment.

"It was really good. I think this song might be my favorite of all yours."

"Really?" Han grins, his words filled with an excitement that warms your heart despite yourself. He's just received heaps of compliments from hundreds of people, yet your words still seem to affect him deeply.

"Yes. I loved your rap, how it started in a laid-back manner, and then you cleared your throat and picked up the pace. It added a unique edge to the song."

"Thank you, really," his smile is genuine, and you giggle softly, shaking your head.

"What's funny?" he asks, walking up to you. You're still facing the mirror, and he's now only inches away from you.

"I didn't imagine you'd appreciate my compliment this much."

"It feels sincere," he shrugs and you nod, finally turning around and leaning against the sink.

"It is sincere."

"Good."

You hold his gaze, eyes only trailing down to go across his face. He looks far different from how he did on stage. Shier, more eager for praise.

"You have..." he steps up until the scent of his cologne tickles your nose. His hand raises ever so slowly to your face, and you hold your breath, as he picks up something from your cheek. His hands are warm.

"An eyelash fell. Make a wish."

A surprised chuckle escapes your lips. "You wish on fallen lashes?"

"You wish on everything when you need hope." his voice is low, a timber so foreign to your ears it sends shivers down your spine. So, you close your eyes, wishing for your heart to quit beating so fast.

"Done," you whisper and he blows the single lash away, his gaze still on you.

"Thank you for coming."

"Of course. I had to support Chan and Changbin." It slips from your mouth before you can stop it, and Han slightly recoils from your words.

"Right, them. Yeah. Of course," he finally backs away, and oxygen fills your lungs once again. "I'm good now. Should we go out?"

"After you," you nod tightly and he walks ahead first, his perfume trailing after him and pulling you into a dizzying dance. 

☄༄

The party Seungmin hosted was your last time having fun for a while. Your preparation for midterm exams began soon after, and you found yourself swarmed with assignments left and right. Thankfully, you and Chan were going through it at the same time, which meant you met at the library each day, revising silently near one another.

Except this time, you were joined by Han.

Goosebumps ran across your skin as he pulled the chair next to you, not the good kind of shivers. You were reminded of the fight you had right here, three months ago. Which still left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You don't hate Han anymore. He's actually funny, and you enjoy listening to his ramblings when you go over to Chan's dorm. He's also really different in his home, much quieter, and softer. Much more like you.

But you're also human, and there is still a part of your brain sending off warning signals at his presence. Maybe because the hurt was never buried properly. You just brushed it off under the carpet after your elevator conversation. Most of it was spent shouting anyway.

"Hey," he greets and you just nod in reply. You can feel his gaze linger on you a bit after that, and a pang of guilt twists in your heart. "Hi," you finally reply, but you tune out his response. Why is it that you're sensitive to everyone's emotions but your own?

Twenty minutes go by, then forty, and you can no longer take the uncomfortable feeling clinging to your skin. So, you excuse yourself, hurriedly stepping out of the library.

Han follows you; you can tell it’s him because someone's chair scraped loudly against the floor as soon as you stood up, and that couldn't be Chan because he is always careful with the silence in the library. So, you put on your headphones and walk faster.

This is childish, surely it is, but you can't control your emotions. You've apologized and so did he, you talk from time to time and you even held his arm and took him to a quiet bathroom. So where is all this bitterness coming from?

"Dammit, yn, how are you so fast?" Han grabs your arm pausing you. He's panting slightly and you just blankly stare as he takes in a deep breath.

"Are you okay?" he finally asks and you nod, turning around to walk away. He stops you again.

"I made you uncomfortable, didn't I?" he asks quietly, and you sigh, rubbing your forehead wearily.

"You didn't do anything, I just... Being in that library reminded me of certain things."

"I know. Me too. Can we please talk?"

"We are talking," you raise your brows and he stares pointedly at you. "Come on you know what I mean."

"Fine," you giggle, "we can talk."

"I didn't apologize properly to you in the elevator. Truth is, I did it because Chan was mad at me and I couldn't stand it anymore."

The bitterness- you understand where it comes from now.

"But I am sorry. Truly sorry. I was selfish and I hurt you and this will sound like a joke, but I hate hurting people. I really do. I was just too wrapped up in my problems that I didn't realize how it would affect you and I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. I also shouldn't have tried to kick you out that day, but dying alone is my biggest fear, and seeing you in my home made me want to lose my mind because I couldn't get what you said out of my head, but it was so cold outside and again I shouldn't have told you to go out and I am so sorry-"

"Han, breathe," you smile, cutting him off and Han sucks in a deep breath, chest slightly heaving from talking uninterrupted for a minute straight.

"I'm sorry I just wanted to apologize, properly this time. I'm doing it because I'm guilty, not because of Chan. Nothing excuses my behavior, I know. And I wish I could turn back in time and actually get to know you because you're really cool and very nice, but I can't. All I can do is apologize. So I'm sorry, Yn. I really am."

"I appreciate it," you smile, and Han exhales a little from relief. "I didn't know that was your biggest fear, but even if it wasn't, that was uncalled for. I shouldn't have said something so mean. So, I'm sorry for it too. But I'm not apologizing for being mad, you deserved that."

"I did, I did, I know." He's quick to agree. "I don't want us to be awkward around one another. I'm not telling you that you have to be my best friend but, we can be friends, right? But you also don't have to. It's enough if you forgive me and... You know what? Never mind forget I said anything, I'm just nervous and-"

"Okay."

"Okay?" he repeats.

"We can be friends. I accept your truthful apology."

"Actually?"

"Yes."

"Like we can start over?" he grins and you chuckle at the excitement in his face. "Yes."

"Can we hug it out?"

"Too soon," you pout and he nods, a faint blush dusting his cheek.

"Right. Should we go back to the library? I saw that you were stuck on a question. I can help you."

"You won't make any comments?"

"No. Pinky promise." he outstretches his pinky towards you and you muse over it for a bit, before wrapping your finger around his. You grin at Han- your first genuine smile since he's known you. His hold on your pinky falters.

"Okay. I'm in."

.☄༄

Five weeks later- 1:13 a.m.

You were still slightly cautious near Han as if you were both threading along an invisible line. You could talk, but not too much, afraid any old animosity would shine through. And you could stay together, but not too long, in case it gets awkward and you wouldn't know what to do. So, you never mixed, just like water and oil, each of you knowing their place, away from the other.

But you still didn't want to miss out on outings with your friends. So, when Chan invites you for a movie night with Han, and Changbin, you don't say no.

The night runs smoothly, the warm beer you had easing your nerves bit by bit. It was also easier to forget that you once hated Han when he brought tears to your eyes from laughing so hard.

2:56 a.m.

An unbearable heat suddenly envelopes you, your very blood boiling from within. You hesitantly look down, to find your entire body bathed in red, as if your skin had melted away, exposing you to the scorching heat embracing your tender flesh.

You are in the heart of a volcano, with lava bubbling dangerously below. Hanging by a frail thread, you dangle over the edge of death.

And then, you plummet. 

You startle awake, your heart pounding in your chest, your hand clutching it tightly. Cold sweat clings to your skin, and it takes you a few moments to realize that you're safe, far from the inside of the volcano that had threatened to consume you.

You glance at your phone- 3:43 a.m. You read. It's only been a mere hour since you went to sleep. You don't think you could drift back into slumber. 

Dragging a hand tiredly across your face, you walk into the pitch-black kitchen. You pour yourself a glass of water, hoping that the icy drink will cool you down. You are safe.

"What are you-" you startle, dropping the glass and spinning around, hand pressed to your heart.

"Han, fuck, you scared me," you sigh, tugging at your hair slightly and he's quick to your side, a string of hushed apologies tumbling from his lips.

"I'm sorry, here let me clean it up," he kneels and you follow suit, grabbing his hands and gently pushing them away. "No, I dropped it, let me clean," you reassure, but your hands are trembling as you pick up the shards of glass, any bit of logic clouded by your racing thoughts.

Your heartbeat's ringing loudly in your ears, you barely register the glass cutting your skin until an uncharacteristic warmth oozes from your hand. Blood.

"Shit," you curse lowly and Han illuminates the place with his phone flashlight. "Did you cut yourself?" he asks and you shake your head, walking over to the sink.

"It's nothing, don't worry."

"Yn, let me see," he's standing behind you, the ghost of his breath grazing your exposed neck.

"Han, really it's-" he cuts you off, grabbing your forearm and walking you over to the couch. He finally turns on the lights before crouching down in front of you.

"Show me?" he asks gently and you're too tired to fight him. You open your palm tentatively, taking a look at your cut for the first time as well. It's not too deep, it won't require stitches. But it's also not shallow, blood oozing from it at a steady rhythm.

Han simply frowns upon gazing at your wound, before walking over to his room. You don't move from your spot, gaze lost into the space before you. What would happen if you never woke up? Would you feel your flesh burning? Bones melting as the searing lava-

"Here," he gently holds your wrist, as his eyes meet yours. "This will hurt a bit. Hold my arm as tight as you want and tell me if it becomes too much, okay?"

"Okay," you simply nod.

He dabs up your cut with a cotton pad soaked in alcohol. You hiss softly, as the liquid burns your open skin. Han abruptly stops at the sound. "Did I hurt you? I'm so sorry I didn't mean to I just-"

"It's okay," you smile reassuringly, "I can handle it."

Han nods, resuming his treatment. He's even softer this time, if that is even possible. He's careful when he rubs a soothing gel on your cut, before wrapping your palm in a gauze. He can't find a pair of scissors so he cuts it with his teeth, his lips brushing against the back of your hand. You account the warmth you're suddenly feeling to the aftermath of your nightmare.

"Why are you even up?" he finally asks as he settles next to you on the couch, eyes looking up to the ceiling.

"Nightmare."

"You’re okay?" he asks gently and he sounds truly concerned for your well-being. You aren't used to this. To Han acting like a friend to you. But it feels nice to be cared for, so you don't mind him blurring the lines tonight.

"I'm still a little bit scared," you admit sheepishly and Han's eyes soften under the dim moonlight.

"It passed. You're okay now."

"Am I?" you drag a hand tiredly across your face and Han frowns, inching closer to you.

"Is it a recurring dream?"

"Mm. It tires me out."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, I just want to forget." 'Help me forget' you want to add, but you decide against it. "Why were you up, anyway?"

"I got inspiration for lyrics so I had to write it down."

"Can you share some with me?" you ask, tone a tad too hopeful. Han catches it and smiles warmly at you.

"Sure. This is probably going to be in the chorus..." he pulls out his phone, heading to his notes app. "This is what I have so far... I let my frustrated screams out hoping that they’d be washed away in the rain. I send it off with a smiling face, down to the last drops left on my fingertips." he pauses, scrolling down a bit more. "I also wrote this; I think it'll be nice in a verse... I’m sure it’ll get better... Just like the earth hardens after the rain and flowers bloom again."

"You're such a talented lyricist Han," you whisper in awe, and Han’s cheeks warm up at your words, reminiscent of a setting sun. "But I also wish it was as easy as this. To let out all the emotions you bottle inside and for them to wash away with the rain." You bite your lip, as Han’s words echo in your head. "I think... I think that's why I get this nightmare. I don't free my emotions anymore, and they show up in my dreams to torment me."

You don't know where these bouts of honesty are coming from. Maybe because you're too weary to keep up a happy facade. Or maybe because you know that the person who wrote these lyrics must understand exactly how you feel.

"Well... It's raining." Han whispers after a while and you look at him, confusion plastered across your features.

"And?"

"Should we test it out?"

"Test what?"

"Screaming under the rain," he says as if it's the most evident thing in the world.

"What? That's insane, Han we will get sick and..." You pause, as the words dissolve in your mouth like the seafoam meeting the shore. "You know what? Let's do it!"

"Really?" he asks incredulously, a huge grin on his face.

"Yes!"

"Okay, let's go!"

You both abruptly stand up, still only clad in your pajamas. You quickly slip your shoes on before running outside. The rain envelops you in a cold hug as soon as you step outside, rain droplets trickling down your clothes. You don't mind, you have lots of bottled-up feelings to free. 

"This needs music," Han smiles as he takes out his phone, putting his playlist on shuffle. 'Let The Light In' starts playing, and you shoot him a thumbs-up.

"It fits the rainy mood," you grin and he nods, squinting his eyes to be able to look at you.

"I think if we scream here, we'll scare the neighbors."

"I know!" you chuckle, wiping away the rain droplets on your forehead. "Where should we go?"

"The empty parking lot!" Han shouts so you'll hear him over the growing rain and you nod. He takes off running and you chase after him. You're both completely drenched once you're a bit far away from the house. But you don't care. Not when there is pure adrenaline rushing through you.

You finally stop, loud giggles escaping your mouth at the thrill of what you're doing. "You should start!" you yell excitedly and Han nods, taking in deep steadying breaths.

"Okay, I'm ready!"

"On the count of three! One... Two... Three!" and Han shouts at the top of his lungs, his screams getting lost in the rain. An incredulous smile breaks out on his face as you giggle loudly, the sound of it ringing out in the downpour.

"You looked insane!"

"I feel insane!" He yells honestly and a fit of laughter takes over you both. You hold his arm to steady yourself. 

"You should try it now!" Han urges and you nod, willing yourself to calm down. 

"Okay, will you count down for me?" 

"Yes," he assures and you clap excitedly. Han can't help but smile at the excitement on your face.

"One... Two... Three!" And you shout, continuous screams spilling from the depths of your soul. Han wasn't wrong- your pain, your fear, your anger are all dripping along the rain droplets, from your bruised heart to the tip of your fingers.

You've never felt this free before.

The two of you don't notice the passage of time, the rain acting as a cathartic release to all your pent-up emotions. It was as if your pain intertwined with each rain droplet, and you were letting go of everything that had held you down. Each scream acted as a break from the burdens of the past, and the worries of the future. 

As you finally stopped, panting and soaked to the bone, you looked at each other with raw exhilaration in your eyes.

"So, how was it?" Han yells over the rain and you break out in a relieved smile. "I don't think I’ve ever been this happy my entire life," you beam at him and the sight makes the rain feel less colder to Han. 

He watches, a small smile on his face as you twirl around, face looking up toward the sky, a deluge of rain grazing your cheeks like a lover's tender touch. The smile doesn't leave your face as you spin around, happy chuckles leaving your mouth from time to time.

You look... free. As if there was an invisible weight on your shoulders that the rain washed away. A heavy burden that you carried within you, like a secret secret. He likes the sound of that. Maybe that's what he'll name his song. 

Han slightly shakes his head as he watches you skip around, clothes completely soaked. You are now standing a bit far away, right beside a street lamp.

Ooh, let the light in

Its light shines on you alone.

Time seems to slow down, as Han’s steps falter. You're smiling, not at him, but at the universe. A happiness so raw filling you that it needs to come out, even if no one's watching.

You're spinning around, delighted giggles spilling from you like the most mesmerizing chorus. Something is building up inside Han, begging for a release. It refuses to come out in a scream- violently. It's tender and soft. He thinks that if you held his hand right now, you'd be able to free it.

Look at us, you and I back at it again

Is it possible to feel something other than an emotion? Because right now, weirdly, all he feels is you.

Cause I love to love to love to love you

I hate to hate to hate to hate you

Your eyes land on Han and there is pure joy dancing in your pupils. He's glad you no longer despise him. He doesn't think he can stomach it anymore.

Cause I want to want to want to want you

You run to him, holding his hand before twirling him around.

I need to need to need to need you

Han can't believe he ever thought you weren't human enough. You are a mosaic of every feeling that makes one human. There are lyrics writing themselves in his head and they're all about you.

Ooh, let the light in

You clasp both his hands, before crossing them over. And then you're both spinning around until the world around you blurs. All he sees is you, and the light surrounding you alone.

Ooh, turn your light on

He thinks he might, if the light is you.

5:22 a.m

"There is a heater in my room, you should come," Han offers as you dry your hair with the blue towel he just handed you.

"It's okay I’ll stay here," you point to the couch but he shakes his head adamantly. "You'll die from hypothermia. Do you know how mad Chan will be if I let you pass away?" he whispers in fear, a hand clutching his heart.

"So dramatic," you giggle, before following him into his room. He goes on his bed first before tapping the spot beside him. You sigh before lying next to him, snuggling further into the hoodie he gave you to change.

"You're still shivering," he remarks, as your teeth clink together.

"It's okay."

"You shouldn't have gone out with just a t-shirt."

"I didn't exactly plan on this, you know," you smile sarcastically and Han chuckles before tapping your shoulder softly.

"Come closer."

You debate for a second before complying, the cold tuning out all the rational thoughts in your head. 

Your arm brushes against his and you can't breathe once again. But it's a different type of deprivation. Han always seems to steal the oxygen from your lungs, but for once, you don't mind. Red embers are burning within you and their flames keep you alive. You press your chest to his back, as your forehead rests on his shoulder. Maybe he'll turn you to ashes. Will you rise from them?

"You're so cold," his hand reaches behind to rub your arms soothingly, an earnest attempt to warm you up.

"I’ll be fine, go to sleep. Don't worry about me."

"I can't control it."

In the dark room, Han can't see you curling your hand into a tight fist at his words. 

"If you stay quiet then I’ll sleep," you say after a while and Han giggles softly.

"That's the goal. You need to rest."

"You should sleep too."

"I will."

"Okay. Good night, Han."

"Good night, Yn."

You think he's fallen asleep when you speak up again. "Hey, Han."

"Yes, Yn?" He replies instantly, voice slightly hoarse. 

"Can you repeat that lyric to me, about the flowers blooming again?" You ask quietly, and you feel him nodding against your chest.

"I’m sure it’ll get better... Just like the earth hardens after the rain and flowers bloom again."

His warm voice vibrates within your body. "That's a nice lyric."

"I hope you'll dream of it instead."

☄༄

Against Han’s strong belief, he's the one who fell sick after your rain-soaked outing. 

You knew of it from Chan, who texted you saying that Han caught a nasty cold, and then got food poisoning, which meant he couldn't be there for their highly anticipated meeting—after their electrifying Heyday performance, a record label expressed strong interest in signing them. 

"Can you come over and stay with Han?" Chan implores as soon as he answers your call.

“That bad?” You ask, a pout pulling at your lips.

"I don't want to leave him alone. He's been really sick for the past week now, and… it's partly your fault"

"I can’t believe you’re guilt-tripping me into coming," you chuckle even though you know he is right. Han wouldn’t have gotten out in the rain if it wasn’t for you.

"I'm sorry it’s just I don't think he's been good, apart from the illness. And I’m worried, and I don’t know I thought maybe you could talk to him. He reminds me of you, in his sadness, so you might understand what's wrong more than me."

You think it over for a second before rising up from your bed.

"I'm coming"

As soon as you step inside their dorm, Chan pulls you for a side hug, placing a quick kiss on your forehead. “Thank you so much,” he whispers, clearly grateful that you agreed to come. It worries you even more for Han.

“No problem. You can go, I’ll be with him.”

“Thank you, Yn” Changbin smiles before hastily pulling Chan outside the door. You wave them both goodbye.

You cautiously crack open the door to Han’s room, to find it completely engulfed in darkness. The stream of light from the door falls upon Han, who squints his eyes, trying to see who disrupted his fragile peace.

"Hi," you speak softly, finding it a bit odd to raise your voice in such a still room. Han attempts to sit up, before doubling over, hand tightly clutched around his stomach.

You rush to his side, kneeling beside his bed. It's the only lit-up part of the room.

"Still hurts?" you ask, your hand moving in soothing circles on his back. He nods, eyes squeezed shut, and you feel your heart crack at the sight.

"Have you taken any medicine?"

"A few hours ago. I need to eat something before I can take more, but I can't get up to the kitchen."

"Why didn't you tell the boys?"

"Didn't want to be a burden."

"You aren't. I'll make you something to eat. Okay? Try to sleep meanwhile."

"You don't have to," Han shakes his head, his eyes finally meeting yours.

"I know," you smile softly, before exiting the room.

Minutes later, you're back in the room, a bowl of sliced fruit in your hands.

"Do you guys live off protein powder and frozen chicken?" you ask, earning a quiet laugh from Han as he lays his back against the headboard.

"We do. Please save me," he jokes and you laugh, shaking your head. "Good thing I grabbed some fruit before leaving."

"Thank you," he grins, eyes slightly squinting closed. 

"Here," you grab a strawberry, bringing it to his lips. His eyebrows raise up in surprise, a sheen layer of sweat coating them. "What? Look at how tightly you're clutching the comforter," you point to his hands and Han sighs, before parting his lips slightly.

His mouth brushes against your fingertips, igniting a cascade of emotions in you. You'll think about what it means later.

You grab a green grape next, feeding it to him gently. A drop of water trickles down the corner of his mouth, and you wipe it away with the back of your finger.

"I can- I can do it," Han mumbles, voice wavering like an unpredictable storm. His trembling hands reach for the bowl, but they struggle to hold it right.

"Han, it's okay, I don't mind," you try to keep your voice gentle, sensing that there is an impending doom awaiting just below the surface.

"No, I- I need to do it. Just let me-" A tear falls into the fruit bowl. "Let me do it, please. I can- I can do it, I’m not useless, I…"

The floodgate opens.

A stream of tears escapes Han's eyes as he looks down at the bowl between his hands. He's crying, eyes tightly shut and the small whimpers escaping his lips feel like a dagger piercing your heart.

"You're sick. Let me take care of you."

"It's horrible horrible work." His voice cracks as his eyes finally lock on yours, and you can tell that his anguish isn't about his illness. These are the words of the shadows threatening to swallow him whole. You have to fight them off with the light.

"I will do it."

As Han lays on his bed, the sound of you washing the dishes resonating from the kitchen, your voice bounces off the dark walls in his head. You didn't try to convince him that it was easy work, you told him you'll do it, even if it's horrible. You'll do it because you want to, not because you can, not because it's accessible. The thought sends a warmth in his chest. It's faint, like a flickering candle trying its best to withstand the wind. But it's there. He holds on to it. He'll shield it with his cupped hands so it wouldn't fizzle out. 

"Hannie, you’re okay?" you peer into the room. Hannie- the candle's flame grows higher.

"Mm," he hums, too weak to turn and look at you.

"You're shivering," you remark, and he tightens the blanket around his body. "It'll pass."

You stay silent, and he thinks you've left the room. But then he feels the left side of the bed dip, with you climbing tentatively on it.

"This worked last time when I was cold," you smile softly at him, before bringing his head to your chest and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He feels frail and fragile in your embrace. You hug him tighter to you.

"Warming up?" you ask and he nods against your chest. He's burning.

"Try to sleep," you urge quietly, your hand moving to pat his back. "It will pass."

"What if it doesn't?" Han asks faintly. Please don't let the candle die, he wants to plead.

"There is always light at the end of the tunnel."

"What if the tunnel is closed?"

"Then you go back to the start and find a new one," you respond.

"Can I find it later? I'm so tired tonight." His voice is drowsy, sleep already clinging to his achy bones. 

"Just rest for now. You did well," you scratch his back lightly, as he nuzzles further into the crook of your neck. 

There was never a candle to begin with- you were the light.

☄༄

Had someone told you five months ago that you'd be lying on Han's bed, watching "Howl's Moving Castle" at 2 a.m., you would've thought they were utterly delusional.

Yet, here you are now.

A lot of things had changed since your rainy outing with Han, as if the universe had shifted into alignment, two stars in the sky finally colliding and making way for something new. You saw him under a different light, understanding that no one picks up a dandelion unless they desperately need the solace it provides.

You've grown to care for him, in the course of the past two months. And funnily enough, you've started to like who you were next to him- just yourself, with no pressure of making conversation, or catering to his expectations of you.

He saw you at your worst anyway, and so did you, there was no use in filtering things anymore.

You've been there through the entire process of writing, composing, and producing Secret Secret- the song whose lyrics had captured your heart. You didn't expect him to ask you to be there with him, he just shot you a text, three days after you came over to his house. 'Wanna be there while I work on the song? I know you liked the lyrics.' It was an offer you couldn't pass up on.

You weren't, in your opinion, much help. Han was gifted in the music realm and song-making flowed naturally from him. But he noticed how interested you were in music, so he called you over each time he worked on the song, even asking for your input at times.

That's why, when the song was finally done and released on 3racha's Spotify account, you decided to celebrate by baking him a cake. You may have dropped an eggshell in the batter (you recovered it later on), and the icing's color turned out less vibrant than what you hoped for. But you managed to adorn it with a garden of little flowers, and with store-bought icing, you wrote the words "after the rain flowers will bloom again."

You showed up to the dorm and Changbin pointed you to Han's room, where he had apparently been holed up all day. You shot him a grateful smile, before pushing the door open with your foot.

"What are you doing here?" Han asked, an incredulous smile drawn on his lips.

"Surprise!" you grinned, pushing the cake his way. "Congrats on making Secret Secret."

"Are you serious?" he chuckled, jumping out of his bed. He peered at the cake, eyes softening as he gazed down at the design.

"You drew a little garden..." he whispered in awe and you nodded, a faint blush creeping up your face.

"I'm glad you recognized what it was. I'm not the best baker," you admit a bit shyly but he shook his head. "It's perfect. I can't believe you did this to celebrate our baby!"

"Your baby," you corrected, although the use of 'our' warmed up your chest, weirdly enough.

"You were here with me every step of the way. She's ours."

"It's a she?" you giggled, and he smiled proudly.

"Mm. Do you accept being her mother?" he mused; hands clasped in front of his heart like he was praying you'd say yes.

"It would be my greatest honor," you nodded solemnly, and he let out a breathy chuckle, grabbing the cake from your hands and setting it on his bed.

"Should we hug it out?" he teased, arms stretched wide but you merely stared at him, unimpressed.

"Come on," he whined, "you can't reject me for the third time. And, in front of our child. On her birthday!" his tone grew louder and you couldn't help but giggle at his mock outrage.

"Try harder."

"Our child won't know what a loving parent relationship is and then she'll seek out unhealthy love from the ones around her and-" you cut him off by finally wrapping your arms around him.

You've always known that being near Han left you breathless, but this time, it felt as though he was breathing life into you. You close your eyes instinctively, as his hold tightens on you. He smells immensely nice, like pinewood and soap. You should've hugged him sooner.

"Thank you," he said quietly, forehead pressed against your shoulder blade.

"You did well," you whisper back.

"We did. She's our child, remember?" he reprimanded and you laughed faintly.

"Yeah, ours."

Hours later, the movie's credits finally roll down, and the finished cake sits idly by Han's desk.

"I should go," you rub your eyes tiredly, and Han stares at you as if you are out of your mind.

"At this hour? Do you want our kid to lose her mom?"

"Han," you drawl, hitting his head with the pillow next to you. "You can't hold me hostage."

"I can, as your husband."

"Since when are we married?"

"Since you agreed to be Secret's mother." Another playful hit to his face.

"Stop attacking my face, how will I get laid then?"

"So, you are cheating on me?" you ask, feigning outrage.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry baby you're the only one I want." You falter at the nickname before hitting him even harder, matching the tempo of your quickening heartbeat.

"You're crazy," he laughs, grabbing your wrists and pinning you onto the bed. He's hovering over you, eyes hooded with a tender intensity as he gazes down at you.

"Will you stay, please?"

"The couch is uncomfortable," you reply, avoiding his eyes. He lets go of one wrist before holding your chin gently, urging you to look at him.

"You can sleep here. We've done it before."

"You were freezing both times. That's why I did it."

"I'm very cold tonight," he pouts, eliciting a surprised chuckle from you.

"Are you now?"

"Very much so."

"Fine. Only because I don't want you to die from hypothermia."

"Thank you!" he grins excitedly, finally letting go of your wrist. You bring a hand to your flushed cheeks, as he tosses a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants in your direction.

"Get changed! There is a spare toothbrush in the cabinet."

You make sure to groan theatrically, before heading into the bathroom, where you splash your face repeatedly with water. You aren't used to this- being a blushy mess, because of Han, nonetheless. It was dizzying you, how things took the complete opposite turn between you and him.

At least, back then you weren't alone in your hate, you couldn't stand being alone in your affection.

So, you'd stop this, whatever feeling that's coursing through you. Tomorrow, you will firmly close the door on the blooming feelings within you. But tonight, you’d both lay on the same bed, arms brushing against one another. It's completely dark and quiet, but there is an entire symphony playing within you.

"Thank you for today," he whispers, turning around and tucking his arm under his head, this way he's facing you.

You mirror his actions, and your fingertips brush against one another. You can't see him but you can feel him. He's everywhere, wrapping around all your senses. 

"Thank you for making this song. It's very comforting to me."

"Why is that?" he questions, inching closer to you, you can feel his minty breath fan all over your face.

"I’ve always felt like I carried too many emotions within me. Like a volcano, bubbling over until the day I explode. I never liked feeling this way, so I tried to hide it," you confess softly.

"Like a secret secret."

"Like a secret secret," you repeat, glad that he understands.

"You don't have to hide with me," he says after a few silent beats, and you swallow nervously.

"I know." you lick your lips as the music inside you grows louder. "Still cold?"

"A little."

"Come closer," you beckon, and he complies instantly, wrapping his arm behind your back and drawing your chest close to his. Your legs entangle with one another, as your face lays on the crook of his neck. It's intimate, far more than any time you've done it before. You don't want to sink in his hold in fear of never resurfacing again.

"Good?" he asks, voice tinged with a newfound raspiness. 

"Mm," you hum, and he releases a relieved sigh.

You've once read that everything in this universe sings. Every atom's vibration creates a sound, contributing to a grand celestial chorus. It's an unscientific, but lovely thought, to wonder who our hearts sing for.

Right now, it's for Han.

☄༄

The music echoes through your being, an ever-present melody that refuses to fade into silence. Even with no audience to enjoy it.

Han always found his way back to your side, no matter how many times you've tried to distance yourself from him. And you couldn't bring yourself to refuse him, because you were friends, first and foremost. And friends don't abandon one another just because a mere glance at them sprouts a blush across your cheeks. 

That's how you find yourself on your way to Han's dorm, for the third time that week. Watching movies together has become your little tradition, for the past few months, and sometimes even Chan joins in. Although he mostly enjoys shooting you a knowing smile, to which you flip him off.

Your phone rings and Han's name illuminates your screen. You smile against your will.

"Can't wait to see me this much?" you singsong and Han's chuckle rings through the phone. It's rich and deep, causing you to tighten your hold on the device.

"Yes. And can you please go to the store? I'm out of snacks."

"What do I get out of it?" you muse, changing directions to the nearest convenience store.

"Snacks."

"Asshole," you giggle on your way to cross the road.

"And my eternal gratitude of course."

"Right, because I can't-" Loud tires screech right beside you and you startle, letting out a loud yelp as you drop your phone.

A hand on top of your heart, you bend down to pick up your fallen device, as the driver gets out of the car that grazed your body, mere inches away from hitting you. 

"Are you okay, miss? I'm sorry I didn't see you." The middle-aged man is quick to your side, and you glance at the small kid in his car, willing yourself to calm down for their sake.

"I'm fine. Just a bit startled. Drive more slowly, there is a kid with you."

"I know, I'm sorry," he drags a hand through his stressed features and you couldn't help but feel sympathy for him. "It's okay, don't worry about it. Just pay more attention to the road, okay?"

"Thank you so much. Thank you," he clasps his hand in gratitude before getting back to his car and you wave him off, your heart still wildly beating in your chest.

You head into the convenience store, picking up the snacks you know Han loves before paying for them. But as soon as you step back outside, you spot a disheveled Han crossing the road, sprinting toward the store. His pace quickens upon spotting you.

"What are you..." your question is cut short as his arms wrap around you, pulling you to his chest instantly. You can feel the frantic rhythm of his heart, and you're confused as he pulls away, hands cradling your cheeks and turning your face left and right.

"You're alright, nothing happened to you, right? You’re okay?" he inquires urgently and you let out a confused giggle, as you grab his arm to steady him.

"What are you talking about?"

"I heard the tires screech and you yelled and then you didn't pick up when I called and I thought-" his voice cracks. "I thought something happened to you."

"No, no. I'm okay. Nothing happened, I promise." you reassure, as he brings you to his chest once again, his hand smoothing the top of your hair.

"I was so scared," he kisses your temple, as his thumping heart resounds within your chest. "So terrified that something would happen to you. I thought I'd lose my mind."

"You don't mean that," you shake your head slowly, peeling yourself away from him.

"Can you really not see how much I care about you? How I crave being near you?" his voice raises a slight octave. The music in you picks up.

"How long do I have to pretend to be cold to have you nearby? For god's sake, I'm never cold around you, yn. When I see you, I ignite." He takes in a deep breath, pressing his forehead onto your shoulder. "And I... I couldn't have lived with myself if something happened to you. I... You drive me crazy, Yn. When we became friends it felt like I was stepping inside a home for the first time, and yet I already knew each turn in it."

He grabs your arms, shaking you slightly as his chest heaves up and down. "My darkness recognizes yours and my light is you and you- you think I wouldn't care if anything happened to you?"

He shakes his head as tears prickle in the corners of his eyes. Has his music always been this loud, were you just not listening properly?

"I'm scared because we didn't start well and I understand if a part of your heart still resents me, I do. But I don't think I can pretend anymore. Not with you," his voice softens as his gaze locks on yours.

"Were you pretending too?" He asks, hope dripping from his tone. "Do you feel it too?"

A split second goes by. A candle flickering somewhere. A dandelion plucked from the ground. The shadow of a cloud passing over the sun- and you pick.

"I feel it too. So much that my heart feels like it’s singing for you, Han."

"I'll sing for it in return," he whispers, before crashing his lips onto yours. His hand slides up the back of your neck, drawing you closer. You drop the bags of groceries as you cradle his cheeks, feeling them warm up beneath your touch. You can't believe you've ever disliked your heart for feeling too much, not when the lovely emotions flowing in your heart threaten to burst it at the seams, submerging you in a warmth you've never known before- Han. 

Two months later

You have 3 new messages from: hannie

"kept this song a secret from you baby but i wrote it for you so you can't be mad"

"i don't know if you remember but you’ve once told me that you are a volcano. as if that’s something that’s supposed to put me off. well, some people dedicate their lives to studying volcanos. and i would dedicate mine to learning you."

"Volcano.mp3."

Light.

[hurthermore]

The primal urge to do backshots with Human Al and you’re looking back at him, he’s all sweaty and groaning as you throw your weight against pelvis. It’s all too much and you’re whining, pulling yourself from him and sprawling out on the damp sheets. Y’all been going at it for an hour now. You needed a break but he’s having none of it as he pulls you back on his cock. Him pounding you down as he grunts out, “You wanted me so badly and now you’re running? Hush up you can take it.” in that low natural elision of his voice. GRAWHHHHHH

»»------► 𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚎 - 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟸 (18+)

Pairing: 𝙷𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗!𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚡 𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Warnings: 𝙿𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚡, 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔, 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔, 𝚔𝚗𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢, 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔? 𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚎/𝚑𝚞𝚜𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔, 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚜𝚎𝚡, 𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚜, 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚐

A/N: 𝙷𝙾𝙻𝚈 𝙼𝙾𝙻𝚈 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙶𝙾𝚃 𝙼𝙴 𝙳𝚁𝙸𝙿𝙿𝙸𝙽𝙶. 𝙸 𝙿𝙰𝚄𝚂𝙴𝙳 𝙼𝙸𝚂𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙳𝚄𝙲𝚃 𝚃𝙾 𝚆𝚁𝙸𝚃𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂

𝙰𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗, 𝙸 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚘 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚘𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚒𝚊𝚊, 𝙸'𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝:

"Can you make a part 2 of “Mine” where reader purposefully talks to the neighbor again just so Alastor can uphold that threat of carving his name on her body? 👀"

𝙴𝙽𝙹𝙾𝚈!

“You asked for this, darling.”

The hair on your head cascaded around the cheeks of your face as your husband held the knife he had taken many lives with against the naked skin of your breast; the sharp, pointed edge of the weapon ever so shallowly pierced your flesh, forcing a tooth-gritting pained whine to echo from your throat. 

Despite the pain, the pain you knew he would cause upon you, you couldn’t escape the threat that had made your cunt clench when your husband had apprised you with it when you had last welcomed the neighbour into your house. The threat of Alastor carving his name into your pretty epidermis was all you could think of; all you could imagine.

All you desired.

So when you invited that same neighbour over, you knew that this was what was in store for you.

“Do you think I pretence my threats, darling?” Your husband asked you as his knife sliced against your skin; only damaging you enough to cause a thin line of slight blood to pour out in drops.

You shook your head as you laid still for him like he had asked you to before he began the process of carving his beautiful name into you; your thighs tensing against your husband's waist as his clothed pelvis pressed against your now ripped lingerie; courtesy of Alastor. “I wanted…” You mumbled in pain, your eyes squeezing shut as his knife glazed over the dip in your ribs, between the valley of your breasts. “I wanted you… to do this.” Your lips parted, mewling in pleasure as Alastor rammed two of his long and roughed fingers into your heat without warning after you admitted the truth to him.

His breath hitched as his knife carved the last letter of his name into the opposite breast he had begun on. “Such a debauched wife I have,” He groaned as his fingers heavily slammed into your wet, fleshy walls. His head lowered to your now bloodied chest; the wounds ever so cursively depicted your lover's name. You could only moan as his tongue snaked along every curved letter of his name. “You’re just so perfect; you were made all for me, weren’t you, darling?” 

Your voice echoed a yes. moaning as your husband's words surrounded your ears; his tongue soaking up the blood from your breasts as his fingers fucked into your core. 

Lifting his body away from yours, you looked at the small smeared blood against the corners of his lips before he picked you up with two arms; as if you weighed nothing to him. Pushing his face into you, he pressed his lips against yours; and before you could reciprocate or wrap your arms around his shoulders, he spun your body around as he threw you back on the bed, forcing your wounded chest to collide into the mattress, your body bouncing up from the recoil of being thrown.

Before your body could naturally cease recoiling off the mattress, Alastor's palm pushed down against the area between your shoulder blades; pressing your chest harshly into the bed before three of his fingers forced their way into your cunt. Crying out from the sudden intrusion of pleasure from his fingers and the pain he enforced by pressing your wounds against the bed, your husband quite literally pulled your rear up to meet his clothed pelvis from his fingers that delved deep inside of you; pushing your lower half up like you were some type of bowling ball.

Looking back at your husband, his eyes flashed from your cunt to your eyes; his gaze filled with that pure desire of love and lust that always consumed him whenever he fucked his love into you. “Al, please. I need you.” Your voice sobbed as his fingers prodded the innards of your core in every direction he could possibly go.

“My perfect, dirty little wife,” He groaned with gravel; his voice lower than usual as it always was when you two became intimate. “Tell me how much you need me. Beg for me; only for me.” He had essentially begged, ironically so. But you knew he needed it; especially after you had invited that man over again knowing it would send him into a jealous rage that would inflict a pain onto you that you wanted and had attained oh so badly. 

Pushing your pelvis back into his as his rough fingers never left your core, you half lidded your eyes as you never tore your gaze from his. “You’re my husband, Al. My one and only for eternity. And I need my big strong husband to fuck his big strong cock into me; please. I need you more than anything, I always will.” You moaned every word eloquently despite his fingers testing your ability to coherently speak, and as you spoke, you could hear your husband’s groans grow louder and louder as his face fully flushed out.

He let a curse fall from his lips as he retracted his hands from you, leaving your core so empty but giving your chest a slight relief. Staying still in your position; because Alastor wouldn’t be happy if you moved, you looked at his form from behind you as he slipped his thick and heavy cock out from his trousers and slapped it against your ass, your cunt clenching around nothing as your drool naturally began to leave the corners of your mouth. “Please Al, please fuck me.” You whined as you pressed your rear against his hard cock, attempting to guide it towards your greedy sex. 

Gripping both of his fingers into the fat of your hips, Alastor granted your wish as he forced his cock to intrude within your folds. Crying out from his length filling out the space within your wet slick, Alastor grunted ever so vocally as he bottomed out. 

Still looking back at him, you tried to push yourself off of him to cause friction as your husband simply stilled himself inside of you; as if he was basking in the simplicity of just having your walls simply hug onto his beautifully curved cock. Etching his nails into your skin, he prevented you from moving as he panted. “Tell me you want me, darling.” He whispered as he kept his grip on you.

Staring at him with adoration you gave into his pathetically beautiful request. “I want my handsome husband, Alastor; I want him to fuck me. Now.” You groaned before your husband pulled away from you, only to ram his cock so deep into you that his entire tip intruded your cervix. Screaming, you kept your head facing sideways so you could look up at your beautiful husband from the corner of your eyes as he battered his cock relentlessly into you with a roughness that was typical of him.

Without needing his fingers, Alastor began to caress your clit with every thrust he plummeted into you as his heavy balls continuously swatted against your pulsing bud, granting it the friction you desired. Crying out screams of pleasure as your husband wrapped his hands around your wrists, only to pull your arms back and forcing your upper body to lift off the mattress, you begged for him to go harder; something you didn’t even know was entirely possible due to how harsh his thrusts already were, but your husband always had his ways of surprising you.

Screaming your moans at the top of your lungs, your whole body jolted forward with every intense thrust your husband inflicted onto your cunt, forcing the arch in your back to curve more and more as he continued to pull your arms toward him. And as the harsh slapping of skin echoed throughout the room, you could feel your husband's sweat drip onto your back before he quickly slapped his strong but slim forearms around your breasts; pulling your back into his chest as his arms caused friction against the drying wound he had carved into you just moments ago. Looking down as your husband fucked you, you could see the imprint of blood that spelt out your husbands name backwards. 

Turning your head, you pressed your lips against Alastor's hollowed cheek, only to swipe your tongue against his face; forcing his thrusts to become stuttered. Meeting his lips against yours, he attempted to kiss you, to engage in a soft intimacy as he fucked you with pure passion, but as his tongue attempted to enter mouth, you grasped your lips around the dark pink muscle, only to suck on it with vigour.

Alastor's thrusts stuttered erratically as his eyes rolled back from the erotic sucking you were enacting on his tongue; forcing him into a premature ejaculation. You wanted to moan, wanted to cry out as you felt your husband's arms tightened even harsher against your upper body as his wet cum spilled into your cervix, yet you opted not to, continuing to suck his tongue throughout his orgasm instead.

Letting go of his tongue as his cum ceased to fill your core, your husband panted hard. His arms slowly lowered your upper half against the mattress as he refused to leave your sex despite his cock going softer; but you weren’t done, not until he had allowed you to cum. 

Causing him to groan, you bounced your ass against his pelvis; stroking his softening overstimulated cock with your cum filled cunt. You could feel his teeth grit together as his nose scrunched up against your shoulder as you thrust yourself against him.

Placing his hand against your spine, your husband erected his back so he was leaning over your form once more; his hand gliding against your skin as his cock grew hard once again as you continued to move your pelvis against him, your ass bouncing with every thrust. Alastor did nothing as he watched you fuck your self against him, only gripping his fingers into your skin as he simply moaned from your ministrations. 

Turning your head once more so you could watch your husband as you speared yourself on his cock, you couldn’t deny how ethereal he looked; his eyes blown out, his glasses near enough falling off his face as his hair stuck against his beautiful features from the sweat he had produced. 

You didn’t know how long you had pushed yourself against him, but you knew it had to be a while as your sweat dripped harshly against the mattress below you, forcing the covers to become damp. But you couldn’t stop, you were so close to cumming on his cock as his balls continued to brush against your clit; and as your moans began to increase as your peak began to grow, your thighs tensed in a shake whilst your eyes never left your husband. “You’re so fucking beautiful, my darling wife.” He groaned before his fingers quickly pressed against your clit as he pulled himself out of you; your orgasm snapping as you came all over your husband's hand and not his cock, which he kneaded between your cheeks. Your orgasm only continued to release further as you began to feel Alastor's cum splatter against the entire length of your back; dressing it with his glistening sperm.

As your orgasm halted, you laid limp against the bed as your husband's sweat continued to drip along your back; now mixing in with the liquid of his reproductive organs. Panting, you began to relax ever so slightly before Alastor shoved his semi hard on back into you, causing you to cry in overstimulation. 

With a begging cry, you pleaded to your husband to give you a minute to rest; just one minute. “You wanted me so badly that you invited that disgusting man into our house just so I’d carve my name into your beautiful, perfect skin,” He groaned into your ear as he slammed himself into you. “And now you think you can just run away from me?” He scoffed as he licked his tongue against your neck.

Groaning, you shut your eyes as you begged once again for barely a moment to relax before he wrapped his hand against your mouth.

“Hush up now, darling, you can take it; because you’re my perfect little wife, aren’t you?”

»»------► 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

≡;-꒰ 𝑿𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑬𝑹 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I  𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍

╰┈➤ ❝ xavier x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni

tags : softdom!xavier, reader has negative thoughts, implications of depression (not explicitly stated/mentioned), implication of self-harm (scars) (not detailed), slight arguing (ish), cuddling, praise and reassurance, kissing and making out, nipple play, slight clit play, fingering, soft and lazy foreplay, use of pet names "angel" "princess", lmk if i missed any tags !! ((slightly unedited))

note : the depiction of depression in this work does not mean to generalize; please keep in mind that different people can experience depression very differently!

wc : 6.1k

youtiful masterlist | works masterlist

You blew your hair out of your face as you walked quietly, your footsteps moving slow as you climbed the staircase of your apartment complex. Your hand was loosely holding the upper arm opposite to it, and you sighed.

You couldn't even practice your own profession without making things harder for everyone.

You bit back a grimace recalling the low-level Wanderer that you had even barely managed to kill—how embarrassing! Sure, maybe it had been particularly difficult for you to get proper sleep, and, sure, maybe it had been just as hard for you to find your appetite enough to eat as much as you should be eating—

But the point still stood.

You were supposed to be an accomplished Hunter, and yet, here you were, walking home with wound marks from a Wanderer that most beginners could easily defeat.

If Jenna and the rest of the team knew...

You shook your head.

They shouldn't know...

You grimly moved your thumb over the sensor of your door lock, when your ears picked up the sound of light footsteps.

It was as if by instinct that you whipped your head around almost immediately, and when your eyes fell upon a set of very familiar blue ones, you almost felt yourself shrink back.

Xavier.

"...Oh," was all he said for a moment, stopping a few feet away from you, tilting his head to the side. You knew that look; he was observing you. He had obviously found the situation odd, obviously found something wrong and out of place with it, and you weren't particularly surprised—Xavier was always observant.

But you let your arms drop to the side, pulling down your sleeves to the tips of your fingers, and unfortunately, you couldn't help yourself from being a little awkward.

"Um... Hi?" You supplied, attempting a crooked smile.

Xavier didn't reply for a moment, and the silence made your heart beat uncomfortably in your chest.

And then,

"You didn't answer," he spoke, finally.

When you gave him a confused look, he gestured towards the pocket of your jeans, where he always knew your phone was.

You winced.

"Oh... Right... Sorry. I, uh? I was kind of busy..."

Your gaze fell to the ground.

"...Okay," Xavier spoke again after a while, but you heard him take a step forward. "I was worried, so I came down to check."

Another pause—

"What were you busy with?"

Your heart thrummed loudly in your chest, and you still refused to look up at him, in fear of making your lie all the more easier for him to dismiss: "Just a little morning outing with Tara!" You tried your best to sound a little energetic.

"So.... You're okay?"

You could feel his eyes boring right into you, and he took another few steps forward until you could see the tips of his shoes from where you stood looking at the ground.

"...Yeah..."

By some magnetic force, your were drawn to look up almost meekly into his eyes, and you knew instantly that it was a giveaway. You faltered when your gazes met; Xavier's eyes were always so impossibly blue that you could never bring yourself to look away once you'd started.

"...Hey... Are you sure?" You watched a small frown grace his features then, and perhaps, it was what triggered what seemed to be a pre-programmed response to any sign of disapproval.

You put up your best smile, and nodded your head. "Yeah! I'm fine! Great, even!"

"But... The way you're standing—"

Xavier reached out as if to grab your arm, but your eyes widened.

You quickly twisted away.

Feeling your heart beat faster, you turned to unlock your door, already taking a step inside. "Nothing's wrong!" You insisted, still smiling cheerfully at him. "I'm feeling absolutely peachy! Just a normal day out! Just, you know. Socializing can get tiring sometimes, right? I'll just, um, get some rest before the banquet later—"

Xavier was observant.

He was always observant.

You knew this, and yet, you had clearly underestimated it.

"...Your blouse..." He murmured, still frowning slightly as his gaze shifted to your collar. It was upturned, and you'd missed a button. Your breath hitched in your throat when you realized that he could easily piece things together from this if you let him study you any longer.

In a rush, you reached over to fix your blous, and then looked back up at him with a nervous laugh. You put your arms in front of you to wave them with denial. "Don't mind it! I, uh... I didn't notice. I must've looked silly all day, haha...!"

And then you noticed your next mistake.

Xavier's eyes slowly traveled lower, and you gasped as you realized that your blouse had ridden up with your sudden movements, exposing a cut on your waist from the Wanderer that you had been fighting. There was no hiding it now, even as you cleared your throat and hurriedly pulled and straightened your shirt.

"You're hurt."

It was a simple statement, and the soft concern in his voice made you exhale slowly.

No, you thought, not now, Xavier...

"I-it's just a little cut. I can deal with it! I know how to treat my own wounds—"

"But you always treat my wounds."

That frown again.

Your mouth went dry.

"...Yes, but... This is... This is different, I'm fine, it's just... Just one cut..."

This time, Xavier's frown deepened, and he didn't say anything else. Instead, he pulled you in through your own door, into your own appartment, and pointed directly towards the couch—

"Sit down."

You chewed on your bottom lip, watching as he walked further into the unit and into your bathroom.

His voice was cold.

It was one you hadn't heard quite often; one he only used when he was... serious. And most notably, one he used more often with other people than yourself.

Your heart sank.

I've really done it this time... you thought, sitting down neevously on your couch and folding your hands neatly onto your lap. You chewed on the inside of your bottom lip.

Your thoughts were going a mile a minute—he was upset, he was angry. He was going to come back out of there and scold you and tell you off, and you could easily have a fight right then and there because you were so needlessly incompetent—

Footsteps.

The door shut.

Xavier knew your apartment like the back of his hand, having been over so often, that it didn't take long for him to find what he was looking for—a few moments, and he emerged from the bathroom holding your familiar first-aid kit.

You felt meek as he walked over, footsteps heavier than usual, getting on his knees in front of you... But he didn't say a single word. He remained silent even as he lifted up your blouse, respectful enough not to lift it unnecessarily high, only just enough to expose your cut. It's kind of him, you thought, the simple action easing your nerves slightly. Despite the fact that you had been intimate several times before, he would still respect your space—even if he was obviously displeased in the moment.

But displeased, he was.

There was tension, and it was undeniable.

Your heart continued to beat rapidly in your chest, feeling small as he treated your wound.

"...It's our day off," he spoke curtly then.

Ah, you thought, now he's addressing the lie I told him...

"...Yeah..." you whispered quietly.

"Jenna knows we have the banquet later on."

"...i know..."

Xavier looked up, frowning, and you bit your lip at the iciness in his stare. "You know, and yet you went out and got yourself hurt."

"Th- there was a wanderer—"

"And you decided you could take it on your own, is that it?"

"B-but I did! It's gone now, and I—"

"It's gone, and you're injured. On. Your. Day. Off."

You swallow down a protest, your lips quivering slightly. You didn't know anymore, if it was the sting from the disinfectant that brought tears to your eyes, or this unusually cold demeanor that you were witnessing from him.

Or, you thought grimly, perhaps it was both.

But it was almost as if Xavier did not notice as he cleaned up your wound, reaching into the kit to bandage it. He kept a solemn, expressionless face, and the silence was loud. Uncomfortable.

"...Xavier..." Your voice came out as barely a whisper, and then he shifted to turn completely to the kit, almost as if rummaging through it.

"I'll need to take off your shirt," he spoke somewhat matter-of-factly, but he still refused to look up at you.

"...H- huh?"

"How many wounds do you have?"

You gulped. "...Just... just this one..."

Another silence.

He paused, and you almost wished that the ground would swallow you whole.

And yet still, again, was the kindness from his usual gentle nature—because he still asked for your permission. He knew well that you never took of your top completely in front of him, always preferring it on even on nights he would make love to you.

...But something told you that he wouldn't be entirely happy to let it go in this moment.

You faltered when he turned his head.

"Don't lie to me."

He narrowed his eyes.

It was a simple statement, and a valid one—you had indeed been lying to him, since the moment he'd caught you in the hallway. And yes, you deserved chastisement for it. Of course you did! When was it ever a good thing to lie so much to your partner? To avoid them and their care? You knew you were being pathetic and he had every right to be upset with you, but—

You swallowed down the lump in your throat, feeling tears prick at your eyes again.

"...Don't..." you pleaded, your voice small. You closed your eyes, bowing your head and moving to draw your knees up to your chest, withdrawing into a closed position. "Don't be like this, Xavier, please... Y- you're scaring me..."

Another apprehensive silence followed after your words, and you felt yourself shiver.

But in the next second, Xavier sighed.

There was a shift in weight on the couch as he sat beside you, and then his hands reached over to rest on top of yours. His touch this time was warm. Gentle. A stark contrast to his earlier treatment.

"...I'm sorry, angel," he murmured. The use of his nickname for you made your heart skip a beat, and he rubbed soft circles over the back of your hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that, I just... Look at me? Please?"

In response, you loosened your hold over your knees, and grip his hand tightly in yours. After a moment, you raised your hed with a pout, your eyes glistening with tears that threatened to spill. But his gaze was soft again—so gentle and loving like you had always known it to be.

"...'M just worried, angel," he whispered, continuing the soft, comforting strokes over your hand. "I... You promised me last time that you wouldn't be reckless, and, angel... You've been so distant lately..."

You watched as his eyes softened into a look of sadness, and your lips quivered.

"I... want you to honor your promise, that's all. These days... In our missions, you've become less cautious, more reckless... More involved with work and more distant with me and with everyone, and I just—I worry about you, angel. I... I don't understand what's going on, and just now, I let my emotions get the better of me, and I... I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."

His apology came out chopped, a little uncertain around the edges, as if he couldn't find the right words to truly say to you. But his voice remained quiet and soothing, no longer as cold and icy as it had been moments ago.

"Talk to me?" he pleaded. "Please, angel?"

And you figured that you should.

This was Xavier, after all—your boyfriend, and the most loving person that you had ever known. You owed him an explanation.

...But your heart remained heavily set in your chest.

You were hesitant.

"I... I don't know how..." You managed to get out, swallowing thickly once more.

Xavier's eyes were so blue, so bright, so kind as he looked at you.

Your gaze dropped back down to your knees.

"...I don't know how to do anything anymore," you whispered. "Even if I tried to explain it to you, I wouldn't know what to say, it's just... It's so much easier to ignore, to pretend like these feelings don't exist."

"What feelings, angel?" You felt his hand squeeze yours in a manner of reassurance, but you shook your head.

"Bad ones," you mumbled, "negative ones. And if I don't keep myself busy, then I can't ignore them. I'll think too much. Then if I think too much, it... it might happen again..."

Your chest felt heavy as you spoke, even as Xavier comfortingly held your hand, even as you knew that he was listening to you with every intention to guide you through... whatever this was.

But you really didn't know how to continue anymore.

How could you say anything when you couldn't understand it yourself?

You felt so... pathetic.

"Angel?" Xavier murmured, lacing your fingers together. "What... might happen?"

For a while, you didn't speak; you didn't move.

And Xaver did not pressure you.

He stayed silent right along with you, rubbing into the palm of your hand, his gaze on you so full of love and concern that it almost made you cry.

So you closed your eyes and pulled your hand away from him. You told yourself that maybe it would be easier if they stayed closed, and you slowly unbuttoned your blouse, shrugging it off of your shoulders. You didn't want to see his reaction... But you knew what he could see, on your skin, now.

There were a few cuts on your shoulder from your fight with the Wanderer, smaller and less concerning than the one on your waist. But as you slid your sleeves down lower to your wrists and shrug it off completely... he'd be seeing more scars. Patterned, and much too neatly placed, to be a result of careless fighting.

"Angel..." you heard him breathe out, a mixture of shock, disbelief, and sorrow.

And only then did you open your eyes, meekly searching for his.

"...I— I haven't done it in weeks!" Damage control. "I'm clean, right now, but... If I don't— If I don't work, I don't— I don't know—"

Before you could break down in tears again, Xavier gently pulled you into his arms, sighing into your hair. "If you don't work, you won't have anything to distract yourself with?" he whispered softly.

You closed your eyes at his warmth, and you nod.

"But... Can I ask you why?"

It was this question that got you to tense up, enough for him to notice.

"I want to help, princess," he looked softly into your eyes as he pulled back slightly, reaching up to brush the hair out of your face. "But... I need to know how. Would you let me? Could you... Tell me? Is that okay?"

The mere fact that he wanted to help made you want to sob.

He was so... nice to you.

So kind, so patient—

You didn't deserve it.

You felt tears well up in your eyes once more, and you screwed your eyes shut, shaking your head. "'M sorry," you choked out, and Xavier immediately held you close.

"No, princess... I'm sorry. I should be the one apologizing. I should have known... I shouldn't have gotten upset at you..."

Tears slid down your face, and you buried your face into his chest. His words churned at your stomach with a heavy feeling you didn't know how to describe. "That's not true," you whimpered. "It's... It's me. I'm always a burden... Always having to make you worry, when you've been trying your best to take care of yourself but I can't even keep a simple promise—"

You began to sob into his sweater. "Why, Xavier? I feel... I feel so worthless. How could I deserve you? How could I deserve anything you give me? And how... How could I be so selfish to want more of it?" You grip him tightly, almost digging into the back of his sweater as everything begins to pour out. "It feels... It feels as if no matter what I do... Nothing ever makes me any worthier of your love. Of anyone's."

And Xavier listened.

He didn't interrupt you, didn't speak—

He listened.

He placed his hand over your back, rubbing softly into your exposed skin, letting you speak until his consistent motions helped you relax slightly in his hold. And after a few moments of your sniffling, he gently peeled you away, before bringing you in for a soft, quick kiss.

Your eyes, blurred with tears, looked up at him confused.

"Nothing can change the way I feel about you, angel," he murmured sweetly. "You do deserve everything, and even more than that. You've done nothing wrong, princess. Don't apologize to me. I worry about you because I want to worry about you... Because I choose to worry about you." He softly placed a hand on your cheek. "Do you remember what I told you? I meant it when I said that. You are special to me. And I want to do everything in my power to protect you, to keep you by my side... to make sure you're okay. I'm sorry that I was so cold to you earlier. I'll be a better source of comfort for you now, I... I'm here, angel. I won't leave."

You remained sniffling as he spoke, and your eyes slowly drifted back down to your lap.

But you found the courage to speak.

"The banquet..." you whispered. "I... I don't want to go."

"Then don't. We don't have to."

"But... But Tara, and Jenna—"

"They won't mind, we won't be the only ones not going, right?"

You looked up, uncertain still. "...And you?"

"Me?"

"You... you said you wanted to go..."

At this, Xavier's eyes softened, and a gentle smile played at his lips. "Well... We could tell them I wouldn't let you leave me... And it wouldn't totally be a lie."

When your gaze had yet to relax, he shook his head with a little laugh. "It's less about the place and the activities... and more about the person you do them with. Remember?" He tucked your hair behind your ear and whispered softly, reassuringly. "Whatever we do, wherever we go, I'll want to be there. Because you would be with me. So if you want to go to the banquet, then I'd want to go to the banquet. But if you want to spend the night here, then I would also want nothing more."

You sniffled again, tears streaming down your cheeks as you felt your chest burst with warmth.

You truly felt so... loved. So seen, so heard, so understood—he was right; you should have gone to him for comfort when all of this had started, instead of trying to distance yourself from everyone you loved.

Xavier reached over to wipe your tears away with the pad of his thumb.

"Shh, don't cry angel..."

And then he leaned down to kiss you, nice and slow, and so soft, and loving. His lips moved delicately; nothing like the passionate kisses you sometimes shared, and for a while the both of you stayed that way. Just soft, fond kisses as he helped your body relax into him, relax into the couch, removing all the tension you had built up in your shoulders.

When you pulled away, you let out a soft sigh. He shifted and pulled you back against his chest, stroking your hair and murmuring sweet words of how much he loved you; how much you meant to him.

And you had never felt so... at peace, before. All these past weeks dealing with the void in your mind that you couldn't chase away—but here, in his arms, it was all minimized. Calm. Your thoughts weren't as scalding as they usually were.

You felt... Safe.

"Better?" he mumbled.

"...Yeah."

You closed your eyes.

There was another quiet silence before you felt him trace the scars on your arm.

"Wish I could help you relax more, make you feel more loved..." he mumbled.

You shook your head. "Despite everything I said, I already feel loved, Xavi, don't feel pressured to—"

"I'm not pressured."

There was determination in his voice when he said this, and you let out a soft, barely-there chuckle.

"Yeah," you smiled, "okay."

And he continued to trace over your scars.

"Angel?"

"Hm?"

"Do you still have thoughts right now?"

"Mmmh... A little bit. Yeah."

You tilted your head up to look at him, searching his eyes. "But... They're not so loud. This is... Comforting."

"Comforting?"

"Yeah. Staying in your arms like this..." Your eyes softened. "You're pretty comforting, Xavier."

"...But, do you... want a distraction?"

His eyes didn't stray away from yours, but you felt his fingers trail from your arm to your stomach, light, feathery strokes upwards towards your clothed breasts.

His intentions clicked, and you felt yourself blush slightly.

"Xavier..." you mumbled.

He didn't do anything more than stroke your exposed skin, never going further than you had given permission for him to.

But he asked you again, more clearly this time.

"...I could touch you," he gave you a small, faint smile. "If you want? At least... You wouldn't be thinking of anything too much that way..."

His voice trailed off as he noted your lack of response, and then he reached over to squeeze your hand.

"We don't have to do anything, angel. It was just a suggestion."

"...No, I— It's okay." Immediately, you shook your head. "You... You could definitely do that." You felt yourself get breathless at the thought of it, and you leaned back against him.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

You weren't looking at him in that moment, but you could feel him smile as he placed a soft kiss into your hair.

"Okay. Then... I'll make you feel good, angel."

It was a promise, and one that you knew he could fulfil easily.

You felt him tilt your chin up next, your eyes meeting once more, and then he kissed you. Still soft, still slow; his lips moved languidly against yours as if to ease you into it. You felt butterflies in your stomach—this was a kiss that you knew very well from him, and one that you both knew you loved. It was a kiss that said more than just "i love you"; it was a kiss that said "i like being here with you", a kiss that said " let's stay like this forever".

It was a testament—that Xavier was yours, and you were his, and he would show you that he loved you more than you would ever realize.

Slowly, you pulled back from the kiss, the both of you panting. But you didn't look away, and neither did he—not even as his hands moved lower to undo the buttons or your jeans, not even as you lifted your hips for him to pull them down.

"Do you want them off?" he mumbled, still keeping his eyes on yours. "Want you to be comfortable."

"...Mhm. S'okay. I needed to change, anyway..."

When he'd helped you out of your jeans, his lips were back on yours once more—hands gently stroking your sides, tracing your wounds, and your scars, taking his time with you. Your eyes fluttered closed. Xavier's touches were so sweet, so comforting. They could lull you into sleep, and he was right; there was no more space for you to think of any other thoughts that weren't just... him.

When he reached over to unclasp your bra, he let it fall off to the side. And then he leaned his chin over the top of your head, almost as if to get a better look.

"Haven't seen these before," he commented, a little cheekily.

You rolled your eyes—if you weren't nestled so comfortably in his embrace, you'd have reached up to hit him in indignance. "...Don't act all innocent," you mumbled.

"Hm? Wasn't acting, angel." He cupped your breasts, humming slightly, still keeping his eyes on them. You felt him gently massage them in his hands, and you let out a sigh. "They're so soft. It's different from touching them through your shirt."

"Xavier..."

He chuckled, leaning back up to give you another kiss. "I know. This... is why you've always wanted to keep your shirt on, right? Your... scars."

You felt your stomach churn with guilt for a split second, before your body shuddered and melted into the way his hands worked at your chest.

"...D- didn't want you to know..." you breathed out. "'S not easy to say..."

"I know. But thank you for telling me, angel. You can tell me anything, alright? We'll work through this together."

Together. We.

He wasn't saying that it was... your problem. He was saying it was on the both of you—that you weren't alone, and that he would be with you every step away... And it was such a sweet thing for him to say. His words touched your heart, and you felt yourself letting out a shaky breath.

"...Okay," you whispered. "Okay."

He leaned back down to suckle over your collarbone, then, nibbling gently over your skin. It was enough to draw out a soft moan from you.

"Ah... That feels nice..."

In response, his fingers brushed over your nipples. The sudden direct stimulation made you gasp—

And you understood what he meant.

It was different, like this. Now, without any fabric as a barrier, the pads of his fingers rubbed oh-so-perfectly over your little nubs, and it felt... good.

Better than you were used to.

Xavier hummed as he rest his head back on your shoulder, watching the way your breasts molded into his palm, your nipples pert and hard as he began to twist and pinch them in his hands.

"They're pretty up close," he stated again, a little matter-of-factly. "We should do this more often..."

Another pull at your nipples, and you moaned.

"Mmh, shit—yes—"

You wanted to retort, but instead, you found yourself arching your back further into his hands. Your eyes clouded over slightly.

"Yeah? Feels nice?" he murmured.

"Mhm... Feels real nice, Xav..."

He nuzzled into your neck, a soft, loving action despite what he was doing to your body.

"D'you think you could cum like this? Or do you need more?"

His motions remained steady as he spoke, his eyes flitting over your figure. And you, on the other hand, felt your breath come out in a long exhale.

You closed your eyes.

"...More."

And he smiled.

You could feel it, the way the corners of his lips turned up against your skin where he placed light kisses on the base of your neck. And then he kept one hand on your breast, his other hand began to trail slowly down your stomach.

Your body jolted slightly at the change, his fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps before they settled over your thigh. His hand stayed stationed there, squeezing it gently... Never quite moving upwards, not just yet. He was still quite far from where you wanted him like this, and you huffed with displeasure.

"Can I tease?" he asked, and you could feel his smile widen.

You groaned.

"No! M'already wet."

"But I want to take my time with you, princess. You're so... beautiful."

The way he moaned in your ear, kneading your thighs, made you shiver with excitement. He'd been asking you if he could tease... Yet here he was, already doing it anyway.

You grit your teeth. "I need you, Xavi."

"But... Please? It'll prolong the pleasure, you know?"

"...Why are you begging me?"

You scoffed this time, and he chuckled, his breath hitting the shell of your ear.

"I just like the way your body responds to me. You know that."

Once again, you felt that you could have smacked him on the head if you had any remaining ounce of control over your body, but you only bucked your hips forward in a failed attempt to chase his fingers. The way he laughed at you made you glare at him indignantly—It was almost like a little apology on his part when he leaned in for a quick, quick kiss, his hand sliding just a little bit further up your thigh.

"I love you, okay, angel?" he sighed. "Just... wanted to let you know that, again."

You huffed slightly.

"I know, Xavier. And I love you. But as much as I want to say thank you, I just really, really need your fingers inside me. ...Please?"

Impatience was not a look you favored on yourself, but Xavier didn't mind it—he never minded if you preferred to be quiet, or vocal, or demanding, or receptive... Xavier, despite the way he would tease, had always been driven by the need to please you.

So he finally complied with your request.

You felt him gently bring your knees up closer to your chest, feet close together before he pushed your knees apart, and then he let out a low groan. With you spread out effectively for him, he reached over to gather your slick onto his finger.

"So beautiful for me, angel," he nibbled on your ear, making you shiver. "And so, so wet."

In response, you moaned, allowing your head to lull slightly to the side as he spread your juices all over your cunt in gentle strokes. "I told you," you spoke in a hushed tone.

"Hmm... and what's on your mind now, angel?" His breath was still so close to your ear as he spoke, his tone low, and raspy—sultry, like it always was when you did things like this.

"You."

You didn't hesitate to answer, your mouth falling open in a silent gasp when his middle finger slid inside with a wet squelch.

"Mhm? And?"

"...Y- your fingers..."

He slowly dragged his finger out before thrusting back in, his breath hot and heavy. You could feel him smile.

"Anything else, angel?"

He could have almost been cooing at this point, and it was driving you insane. You groaned in frustration, lifting your hips slightly as if to get from him the stimulation you needed.

"Nothing," you moaned as you felt his thumb reach up to brush against your clit. Slow, thrusting motions, and occassional rubs—it was driving you insane. "N-nothing else, Xav, just— just how good you're making me feel—"

He let out a satisfied chuckle then, drawing his finger out and having then drip with your arousal:

"Good."

Your eyes flew wide open as he thrust back into you, moving his finger relentlessly inside as if to explore your walls. It was barely seconds before his index finger pushed right inside your tight hole as well, filling you up in a way that you couldn't do to yourself. His fingers were so long, so much better than your own, and no matter how many times he fingered you, you could never, ever tire of it.

He picked up the pace as your hips met his thrusts.

"F- fuck!" you cursed, panting as he did just that with his fingers, his thumb still circling over your clit, his other hand still avidly toying with your breast and your nipple.

The combined stimulation clouded your brain; he felt so damn good. If, when he'd just started, he had already chased away any foreign thoughts—now, your mind had nearly frozen white. Your mouth hung open as a testament to your pleasure, and he panted into your ear all the same, almost as if he were just as affected.

His fingers continued to pump into you, stretching you wide, curling against your sensitive spot, rubbing you in all the right places. Your legs began to shake, and he lightly licked at the shell of your ear.

"Close?" he murmured, having already memorized the telltale signs of the onset of your orgasm.

You could only nod, choking back a moan.

And then his lips were back on yours.

A little more frantic in his kisses this time, as he fucked you harder with his fingers, pinching and pulling and rolling your nipples—

"M-mmf—!"

You let out a muffled moan, swallowed into the kiss as you came. Your back arched, your body shuddering; a wave of pleasure came crashing into you with such force that it had you feeling shocked.

When he pulled back, the both of you were panting, your eyes clouded and hazy, his fingers wet and sticky when he slid them out of your cunt.

"...Better, princess?" he whispered, and there was another cheeky, cheeky grin on his face.

You smiled back at him, and he leaned over to kiss the tip of your nose.

"Much."

With a soft chuckle, he continued to place light, feathery all over your face, easing you out of your high, until your breathing became calmer.

"I could take you to your room," he mumbled, feeling you close your legs and cuddle into him. "Are you cold?"

"Cold? After you've just made me cum?" You scoffed, somewhat, but willingly clung to his arms. "I'm okay. But... The bed would be nice..."

Another kiss into your hair, another soft smile. "Okay."

He had you carried in his arms the next moment, soft footsteps padding the floor to your bedroom and gently laying you over your mattress. He took a few moments to wipe you down, before he drew your blanket up over your body, and slipped in to lay right beside you. He shifted your head to rest on his shoulder.

"Tired?" he hummed.

A pause, and then,

"...Yeah, kind of." You closed your eyes as you relaxed into his warmth. "But, you haven't done anything... You could put it inside me—or I could suck you off, or—"

He immediately cut you off as he gave you a small frown, and then before you could react, he kissed you almost harshly—as if to shut you up.

"Mmf— Xavier!" you gasped when you pulled away, your frown mirroring his own. "What was that for?"

"You said you were tired."

"...Huh?"

"Why would you expect me to do any more if you said you were tired?"

You searched his expression to realize that his frown was rooted instead in confusion, rather than disdain or disapproval.

"...But... Isn't it unfair...? If you just let me sleep like this..."

"...Do you want to, angel?" A small pout formed on his lips. "I'm alright like this. It's unfair if I force you when you don't want to. You should rest, if you're tired. This doesn't have to be... transactional, you know? We can do more when you want to."

The use of the word 'transactional'made you flush slightly with embarrassment, as you realized that was likely how you'd made it seem—you shook your head immediately. But his words, at the same time, gave you the space to lay back against his chest, wrapping your arms around him as the sound of his heartbeat seemed to lull you peacefully.

"...Sorry," you whispered. "I didn't mean it that way. I know our sex isn't like that..."

You sighed. "I'll... I'll sleep for a bit, then? But... thanks, Xavi."

You felt him place another kiss into your hair, a fond, loving gesture, as he shifted to hug your body tightly against his.

"I'll be right here when you wake up."

It was a promise; a genuine one.

Xavier wasn't going to leave you alone, no matter how many times your mind would bug you to think that way.

And you trusted him, and you loved him... and he had shown the same back to you—now, and always.

A tiny little smile made its way to your face as your eyelids fluttered close.

"I love you, Xavier," you whispered. "Thank you."

⁺₊ / an: inspired by xavier's 4★ card pair, "shining light" and "shining traces" !! i think we underestimate how cold and intimidating xavier can really get because if he was angry at me i too would wish the ground would swallow me whole 😭

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[moonstruck-poet]

His Love Language

Pairing - Kaz Brekker x reader!

Summary - This fic depicts Kaz and the subtle ways in which he shows his love.

Warnings - curse words, injury, wounds, blood, fight.

Kaz Brekker noticed everything. Whether it be someone cheating in a game of cards, enemies tailing him during his walk, or even his crows being unlike their usual selves.

Because he always paid more attention to what a person is doing than what they're saying. Talk may thrill, but action reveals.

He had an eye for taking in the details. It was both terrifying and beautiful.

Terrifying for his rivals of course. He knew exactly what to pull off and how to pull it off for them to go insane.

And beautiful for his love, his one and only. Him having such a knack for remembering the littlest of things helped him immensely in his relationship with you.

Not many people noticed it before, not even you yourself. But as time passed, you learned that his love language were actions. Not physical touches, words of affirmations, gifts and presents. No.

But it was all about those small acts showcased by him that made you fall deeper for the bastard of the barrel. Your heart now always took notice whenever he did the most mundane things for you. It immediately took up its pace and reminded you of the exact reason why it still kept on beating.

Your fellow crows took a hell of time to gather just how deep the love of Kaz Brekker was. But once they did, saints were they both shocked and ecstatic.

All of them had their own doubts when they came to know of your relationship. Nobody was a stranger to the fact that both of you were extremely closed off people. Not opening more than what was necessary, and in the case of Kaz, not opening up at all.

But one look at the way you two understood each other without even having to express, made them believe that you two would make each other happy.

===============================

Dirtyhands had struck another deal with a man named Arken Viking. The plan seemed quite simple, understandable even when it was explained.

And naturally everybody was feeling good knowing that they had a hundred percent chance of survival as it wasn't a difficult mission by any means. It just had a lot of steps that needed to be followed and so all seven of them were heavily involved.

Jesper, Wylan, Kaz and Matthias were waiting for the other girls to arrive. It was the final task of the day and they would then carry on again tomorrow.

Jesper was the one to pace around, unable to sit still in one place. He hated waiting more than anything else. Ask him to put up some money for a gamble? It would be done without wasting a second. Task him with shooting something impossibly far away? He'd have it completed before you could say shoot. But staying put in one place, he couldn't do it.

It was only for Wylan engaging with him that he even sat for ten minutes.

"Where did they go?" He grumbled and finally got up, stretching his legs and walking to stand near the two men who stared ahead, their expressions tight.

"They're late," Matthias muttered, trying his best to hide the worry he felt for a specific one but it was useless, all of them knew about his feelings but him.

"It'll be fine, they'll be here soon," Wylan said, standing next to Jesper and blushing very slightly when the tall boy leaned his shoulder against his and let out a sigh.

"You're sure that there's no danger right, Kaz?" Jesper asked and looked at his boss who didn't look away. His eyes firmly set on the road in front of them.

"Yes," he spoke, sure of himself. But there was this slight, very tiny nagging in the back of his mind that something had gone terribly wrong and he clenched his jaw.

But all of their worries dissipated at seeing the silhouette of three women walking towards them.

Matthias let out a sigh of relief once he saw Nina's bright face, him sending a quick prayer to Djel for looking over the three.

Kaz felt himself lighten instantly, his previously tensed posture relaxed as he saw you looking positively unscathed. His eyes found yours instantly and you sent him a smile, while quickly closing the distance between you two.

"You're late," was all he said, his eyes sweeping over everyone before landing on your figure which was leaning against the wall, right next to him.

"Let us live a little, Brekker," Nina rolled her eyes while Inej shook her head, though she too smirked.

"We were worried," Wylan was the one to speak that was on the tip of everybody's tongue.

"All of you?" She said with a raised eyebrow, looking pointedly at Kaz who merely glared at her sharply.

"Obviously!" Jesper exclaimed. "Now that you're all here, we can finally get some well deserved rest. Kaz let's take a room somewhere, yeah?"

"We can't," he said, turning his eyes away from you, rather unwillingly actually.

"What do you mean we can't?"

"Use your eyes, Jes," Inej said with a teasing smile. "Do you see any shops, hotels or anything nearby?"

"Then where the hell are we sleeping?" Nina said with a incredulous look. "I am not going to lie down in the middle of the street!"

Jesper too looked alarmed at the prospect and whipped his head around to stare at their leader.

"You think I'd let everyone sleep on the roads?"

"Can't put anything past you at this point," she grumbled and you laughed making Kaz give you a disbelieving expression.

"There's a warehouse ten minutes from here, we'll stay there for the night".

All of them groaned loudly at the thought of walking once again but soon started their small journey. And once they had reached the place, Jesper quite literally threw open the doors and scanned the area.

"Clean enough," he shrugged and laid the small blankets they had brought onto the floor. "Good night then," he waved lazily and Wylan followed his lead but not before gazing fondly at him for a few seconds.

"You failed to mention this in you plan, Kaz," Nina shot him a look and dragged her belongings to the corner of the room, accompanied by Inej and Matthias.

"Let's sleep, shall we?" You said softly and he nodded, taking off his coat while you arranged the sheets and removed your shoes, sighing at finally being able to rest.

He laid down himself, his body close to yours so your arms brushed a little. "You're okay, aren't you?"

"I'm all good," you turned your head to face him, taking in his features that you so loved. From his dark brown eyes that softened at your reply to his hands placed in front of him, the pale skin shining under the minimum lighting present.

He gave a curt nod and scanned your face once before closing his eyes, depriving himself of your addictive beauty.

"Night," you whispered and turned on your side, one hand under your head for support and the other lying in front. He didn't reply but instead reach ahead to brush his thumb against your forearm and interlocking your little fingers together.

You smiled, him being the last thought in your mind before sleep overtook you.

The rest of the night passed in peace before it was time for the sunrise. Naturally Kaz, Inej and Matthias were the first ones to wake. The rest were all sleeping soundly and soft breaths echoed in the room.

Kaz was looking over the layout of the building once again, making sure that everything would go on without any problems or worries when suddenly your knee brushed against his.

He stiffened at the contact for a second before turning around to see you pulling your legs up to your chest and curling into a ball. He immediately spotted the goosebumps that littered your arms and an unnoticeable shiver pass through you.

His eyes searched for a spare blanket somewhere but found none as all were used as mattresses for everybody to lay on. A small frown marked his lips as his mind raced and landed on a conclusion.

He took his coat that he had used as a pillow and dusted it before gently putting it over your body. Your curled figure made it easier and he adjusted it, making sure the warm jacket covered you completely.

You involuntarily grabbed the collar, your eyes still shut and cuddled into it.

While he felt himself ease up with satisfaction and he shot you one last look, unable to keep the fondness away from his gaze and returned to check the papers.

Matthias who had been watching the unspoken exchange felt his insides warming up at seeing the cold and distant demeanour of Kaz Brekker melting a little for you.

===============================

Predictably, the heist was successful and no one had expected anything less. In fact, it had gone a little more than satisfactory. They had no troubles waiting for them inside the building and no distractions outside too.

So to conclude, everybody was high on the fact that they had managed to pull it off with such stealth.

They were all given their paychecks when they returned back home.

"Saints," Jesper sighed and lovingly twirled the kruge in his fingers while Wylan unknown to anyone else but you shot tiny daggers at those pieces of money.

You hid your smirk, keeping the check in your pocket and walked over to your friend, "I understand, Wy," you patted his shoulder sympathetically while he became red.

"What do you understand?" He asked hurriedly and avoided eye contact.

"Oh come on," you chuckled. "I know about your not so little feelings. You fancy him, don't you?"

"No I don't," he mumbled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe just a little," he added as an afterthought.

You just brought him in a comforting side hug, quite endeared by the boy and ruffled his already wild hair. "I hate to say it, but he's more oblivious than anyone".

"I know," he groaned in exasperation, resting his head on your shoulder as you were considerably taller than him.

"Planning to steal her from Brekker?" Nina's playful words broke their conversation making the others laugh.

"Who's stealing what from me?" The man himself entered, as usual being perfect in his timing of showing up at the most unnecessary of times.

Wylan immediately removed your arm from his shoulder but Kaz being himself obviously glimpsed it. His expression did not betray anything, it was carefully kept stoic and calm. But he couldn't fool you, there was a reason why he'd let you walk fearlessly into his locked up heart.

His eyes seemed sullen for just a fraction of second. He wasn't reacting on the joke, of course not. He was now used to the crows trying to make him jealous. But rather the thing that had made him feel lost, was touch.

His inability to provide you with every bit of himself was killing him inside. For heaven's sake he couldn't even bear to embrace you without feeling as though he were on the edge and one small step would make him fall deeper into the oceans.

He swallowed and averted his gaze making you stare at him even more, trying to figure out what was bothering him.

You got up from your place and went over to sit in a chair beside him, keeping the distance because you weren't sure if he was okay with the proximity or not. But then he himself shifted his chair, and your legs brushed making him pull away quickly.

"Kaz," you said worriedly, moving back a little. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he lied and you frowned. He knew very well that you could tell he was being untruthful.

He willed his mind to focus on you rather than his surroundings and took your hand in his, taking a deep breath despite the barrier of his glove.

But it wasn't enough, he felt the strange need to be even closer to you despite his brain screaming in denial. And for the second time in his life, he decided to go with his heart and looked you in the eyes, noticing your evident concern as you approached him cautiously.

He gave his surroundings a quick scan. It was only the seven of them and they were all minding their own business. He made a split decision and started taking the glove off of his right hand.

You didn't say anything, finally understanding that he needed your touch and you were more than happy to provide.

He stopped in his tracks after pulling it off, staring at his pale, vulnerable hand.

"It's okay," you whispered softly, fighting the urge to lean over yourself. "I'm here. It's just you and me. You can do this".

He looked unsure but slowly extended it towards you. It wasn't like he hadn't done it before, he had, but it had been quite a long time ago.

He gently brushed his fingertips over your palm and relaxed when no waters rose. He nudged his little finger with yours and looked up to see you before locking them.

Your face held a small, adoring smile. It was so simple, yet so complex. You squeezed gently once and he returned it instantly making you laugh softly.

He felt strange in a good way, as if he had accomplished everything he wanted when he had only heard the sound of your laughter.

"Okay you two stop your gossiping, it's dinner time," Jesper broke the moment and was rewarded with a threatening glare. He just grinned in return when his eyes fell on a hand, Kaz's hand to be specific and his mouth hung open slightly.

"Never seen a hand before?" Kaz raised an eyebrow and swiftly pulled on the glove.

He looked away, his mind still trying to figure it out as he grabbed the plates.

You stood up from your seat much to Kaz's displeasure who shot a heartbroken look your way that you missed. But Jesper caught on as he was sitting right opposite.

He'd never thought that he would live to see the day when Dirtyhands would look sad like a lovesick puppy. He was debating with himself whether he even saw it happening because the look was gone in less than a second, replaced by his usual dark gaze.

But he was cut off from his thoughts when you smiled at him, keeping a plate of food on the table. "Enjoy".

"Yeah, 'course love".

All of them were now sitting at the table for the first time in months. They just never seemed to have a time fixed that would match everyone's schedule. And for most part, they were all lazy as well.

You were sitting at the corner of the table with Nina at the opposite side, her having every bit of your attention at the moment as she chatted away happily much to the disappointment of the man sitting to your right.

"The cake is great, Nina," Inej complimented her and she gave her a wink in return.

"It is nice," Matthias agreed making the said chef blush despite her smirk.

"Yeah I love it," Wylan smiled brightly.

"Oh damn," you winced as the spoon fell down with a loud clatter, breaking the conversation for a bit before it resumed again.

Inej watched you with amusement, laughing at your resigned expression when you bent down to retrieve it with a sigh. But then her eyes widened in surprise.

Kaz Brekker, the most ruthless man she'd ever met was maybe not that uncaring. She merely watched as his hand went to cover the sharp corner of the table as if it was an everyday occurence.

And you got up, putting the spoon away to take a new one when you stopped mid-action to see a gloved hand had been placed inches above your head that would have definitely rubbed against the edge.

At the moment all that existed for you was the person sitting right next to you. You stared at him blankly, planting holes on the side of his face.

He, sensing it turned to look at you, raising his eyebrows as though to ask, 'What?'

But you just shook your head and offered him a small smile and you swore you saw his lip twitch slightly.

===============================

"Ready Inej?" You asked, as softly as you could muster though you were shaking inside, knowing that you two only had one shot at this.

"All ready," she whisperer back and crouched down slightly, preparing to jump.

A gunshot was heard and the guard was successfully distracted by the sound giving Inej some time to slip in between the shadows and enter the room.

You had no choice than to shoot a bullet and now they were all alarmed which would make escaping very difficult.

Your eyes squinted in the darkness as you surveyed the room, hoping no one caught a glimpse of you and praying to whichever Saint there was for Inej to finish her job.

"Come on," you muttered to yourself, your legs shaking with anticipation as it had easily been ten minutes since she had disappeared. "Where the hell are you?"

Just then you spotted some movement going on further to your left and loaded your gun while also keeping one hand on the scabbard tied around your waist. Your footsteps were barely heard as they travelled softly on the wooden floor.

Someone had definitely seen you and were on a hunt, all you could do was make sure to stay hidden perfectly. The darkness was surely an ally but an enemy too.

A loud thud was the only warning you had before someone knocked the air out of your lungs making you skid backwards. You gasped, hands pressed to your chest while taking in deep breaths and moving away from the man, buying yourself time. It didn't feel like your ribs had broken but it hurt nonetheless.

You wracked your brain for a sign of another presence but it was only him. "Viking," you growled in anger after he stepped into the light. "I should've known".

He simply chuckled darkly, "You didn't though. Even Brekker failed. So I think I did my work to perfection, yeah?"

"Who else have you got?"

"No one!" He said, sounding strangely happy and you believed him to be a psychopath. "But the same can't be said for you, am I right?"

But you just shrugged, knowing if you spoke he'd be able to distinguish because of your voice. You should think about asking Kaz to teach you how he managed to always control his tone perfectly. But that would only be possible if you got out of here alive.

Not saying another word you charged, knowing using a gun would prove to be dangerous for you if he snatched it from you. Unfortunately, one of your downfalls was thag you didn't have much of a strong grip. And so you took two knifes and attacked him from both sides.

He took on a few cuts, some going deep and you were scarred too. A small one painted your cheekbone, one on the side of your neck and some on your arms.

You fought for quite a time, both being bloody with sweat dripping off your bodies. It was only when you pretended to hit him from your left and he fell for the basic trick, blocking your attack and in turn giving you easy access to wedge your knife straight into his abdomen. You shot him too for safety measures and double checking.

"Motherfucker," you heaved a sigh, wincing after feeling the burn of the cuts littering you and the stickiness of blood. "Fucking finally!" You exclaimed when your friend came into view, panting slightly and you knew she had gotten into a fight as well.

"Atleast we're matching," she said with a smile and pointed at the similar scars on your forearms.

"Yeah sure," you laughed and quickly moved out, not wanting to personally invite trouble.

The journey back the the Slat was a peaceful one, as it always was with Inej. You talked about Arken's betrayal, the documents she'd found and copied and some amounts of kruge that was just lying on the desk.

"Well despite everything, atleast we got it done," you grimaced slightly and opened the door, immediately walking over to the bar to get yourself a shot atleast. You needed the liquor desperately.

"Oh you're h- Saints!" Wylan sputtered, taking in the bloody sight when you turned. "You're drinking whiskey?!"

"Wy," you said, trying to explain before you faced his wrath. "I needed it".

"Like hell you did," he shook his head and called Nina so urgently that anyone would think you were dying.

"Don't- Wylan-" you cut yourself off after seeing his glare.

"Calm your potions, she's not dying" Nina Zenik said after one glance at your figure lounging in the chair.

"But she's injured!"

"Injury and death don't mean the same thing! And she looks alright to me except for a few cuts. Oh you and Inej have matching tattoos now," she said with a laugh.

"Jesper!" You summoned your gunslinger and he appeared right before you. "Take your man away or I'm going to actually die".

The boy got out of his haze of sering you all bruised and bloodied up before smirking a little and throwing a wink. He took hold of Wylan's arm and dragged his away.

"Matthias get me some bandages would you?" Nina asked as she healed the cuts and Matthias who had finished dressing Inej's arm walked over to you.

"Ouch woman!" You groaned and threw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut.

"It's the size of a paper cut! You don't shout this much when you have a literal bullet in your shoulder".

"They hurt more".

She rolled her eyes though a smile was present on her face as she cleaned the blood from your neck and healed the long cut there.

"Where's Kaz?" You asked, not wanting to admit that you had missed him and wanted to be in his presence.

"He's out somewhere, probably finding another deal," Matthias sighed and bandaged your palm.

After some time you were all healed though the scars were as clear as day. You didn't mind them at all because you were convinced they made you look even more terrifying and beautiful.

"You all okay?" You questioned Inej who was sharpening her collection of knives.

"I always am," she smiled and took your knife to sharpen making you give her a grateful look.

It was now almost past eleven at night and you were sitting on the bed in Kaz's room waiting for him. You wanted to see him, had longed for him after being away for almost an entire day.

And the Saints did answer your plea albeit a while later. You heard the familiar tap of his cane and heavy footsteps as he climbed the staircase and opened the door. His eyes sharp but relaxing upon seeing you.

"Mission went well?" He asked and took off his coat and hat while walking towards you and slumping down on the bed.

"Yes, though Arken's betrayal was a great bit of surprise," you said and sat up, unconsciously putting weight on your elbows and arms in doing so and hissing hissing angrily, clutching your sore muscles.

"What's wrong?" He asked immediately but when you didn't answer, he got up to turn on the lights and saw your scrunched up face.

And one by one he took notice of the bruises that were turning black and blue, bandages being wrapped around your palm and bicep and a thin but prominent scar on your neck. He swallowed the unfamiliar restlessness, fighting the urge to wrap you in his arms and kill the man who had injured you so badly.

"You're hurt," he stated as though you weren't aware of it and closed the distance, sitting as close to you as possible. "You're hurt," he repeated, his eyes flicking from every part of you back to your eyes.

"I was, I'm okay now".

"Who?" He all but spat out, his insides burning with hatred.

"Arken. But I killed him, don't worry".

He eased a little and removed his gloves, cautiously reaching forward to hold your bandaged palm in both of his hands. His breath hitched at the coldness and you made a move to pull away but his grip tightened and he shook his head firmly.

Slowly but surely he relaxed again, feeling comfortable as he unknowingly cradled your hand with such gentleness that you closed your eyes. His fingers traced the edge of the white material, rubbing slow circles.

He suddenly looked up and your breath got caught in your throat at the sheer proximity between you two. You were so close that you could feel the air he heavily exhaled and a faint blush was quick to rise on your cheeks. His dark brown irises staring intently into yours with a flame of possessiveness.

His eyes dipped down to your lips before moving to the scar on your cheekbone and his eyebrows furrowed just a tiny bit. He raised his hand once again, he had only done it once before and the feeling was a huge rival to drowning.

His jaw tightened when the tip of his index finger touched your jaw as softly as a feather. Despite wanting to stay still, you couldn't help it and leaned into his hand, conveying the message that you needed more.

He understood and gritted his teeth, carefully sliding his palm upwards to cup your cheek. His chest expanded as he released the pent up frustration.

This feeling, it was a rival to heaven.

Now that he had touched your skin, he craved more. His thumb softly caressed the scar like it may disappear under his brush. The finger moved at a leisurely pace, soaking in the beautiful feeling for as long as he could hold on.

You couldn't bring yourself to talk after witnessing the tenderness that oozed from his touches and caresses. It was like nothing you had experienced before. The moment felt so precious and for good reason.

You smiled at him, your eyes displaying the immense love that your heart held only for him and also silently thanked him.

He noticed. Of course he did.

And he offered you a gorgeous smile of his own. His lips stretching though not too wide but it was perfect for you and you fell for him yet again.

You found home in his smile and he saw love in your eyes.

===============================

[soraviie]

another member is in love with you.txt

━ type: bts x gn! reader   ━ navigation

━ about: angst, a few hurt/comfort elements; this somehow wound up being about the bond between boys as much as the x reader part

━  pictures taken from Pinterest

━  c/w: depiction of throwing up in Jimin’s part

NAMJOON | “Since when did you switch to another movie?”

Though the haze with which he’d come home with had not disappeared entirely, it did lessen. However, with this sentence being the first and only thing he’d spoken to you the entire day…well, you couldn’t help but be just a tad ornery.

“Welcome back to the world of the living,” you jeer. “We do hope you enjoy your stay here.”

But something is undeniably wrong and it’s not the silence or the faraway gleam of his expression that gives it away but rather the absolute lack of reaction. His hand still monotonously brushes up against your leg that sits perched up in his lap but he’s simply not here.

“Joon,” you call out, a stern new tone lilting your voice. It stirs him enough to break whatever trance he self-imposed and lifting his head, Namjoon blearily blinks up like one would after a long nap.

“What’s with you?”

“What do you think of Yoongi?”

Sitting half-turned on the sofa with a distinct wrinkle of an oncoming frown, he awaits your answer. One you don’t know.

“Yoongi?” you parrot, all of a sudden being the confused one. “What…what does Yoongi have to do with anything?”

“Like are you two close?”

A beat of silence drags on as you stare at each other. It is frustrating being asked something you did not understand and yet even more so looking into Namjoon’s eyes and having no idea what is it that’s sitting behind them.

“Uh…not really?” at last you cautiously reply. “He texts me something funny every now and then but that’s it.”

“What kind of ‘something funny’?”

The room tumbles into another bout of silence. Slowly you tuck your legs away and though his fingers clutch repeatedly around the emptied air as if the sudden domestic absence has hurt him, the tone of his voice is just too damn imperial for you to care.

“Memes, cat videos,” unwittingly, a part of you — not so agreeable part — breaks free and arching an equally damning eyebrow, you goad him on: “Why? You want to have a look?”

He thinks of it, he genuinely weighs it over, you could see it in the way his pupils dart to the side, half-calculating, half-ashamed of the possibility. By the time that he wistfully utters: “no, there’s no need” it is too late. The tranquil peace of a quiet evening has thoroughly evaporated — what lingers in the air now is terse and partly hidden.

You may not know Yoongi but Namjoon knows Yoongi and he knows that there is something soft that quirks his lips at the mere mention of your name. That the way his gaze follows you around is just a touch too tender. Safe to say, it all goes unspoken — it is Yoongi after all — and Namjoon doesn’t know whether it’s for the better or worse. There is a certain kind of cathartic appeal to just shouting things aloud, consequences be damned, but as it stands, for now at least, everything is quiet and nothing is resolved.

Still, Yoongi doesn’t bother you — shouldn’t that be enough? He has the freedom to feel how he feels, just not the right to act upon it. And the fact is that it wasn’t Yoongi per se that was ruining his relationship right now; Namjoon was doing it quite well all by himself.

Peeking at you from the corner of the eye, he finds you sitting blue. Blue as in bathed in the blue light of the working TV although you do appear quite sad — all shrunken away into the corner, staring at the screen but not seeing anything.

You’ve had a fight.

He just started a fight.

Drawing a curt sigh, Namjoon inches himself a bit closer, acutely monitoring every last bit of you, down to the microexpressions. The slightly stretched out bottom lip, the tightly wound arms around your stomach, just the slight, almost imperceptible crease in between your eyebrows — yes, most certainly, you’ve just had a fight.

Still despite Namjoon moving ever so closer, slyly crawling back into your good graces both metaphorically and physically, you don’t make a move to deny him or cuss him out. In fact, you don’t make any move and once again he doesn’t know if that’s for the better or worse.

“I’m sorry,” he says and it’s earnest — you both know it is. You may not know that he’s saying sorry for more than just this but that too is earnest. “I don’t want us to fight.”

“Then don’t start no fights,” spitefully, you bite back but if your non-reaction was anything to go by as Namjoon places a palm on your knee, he will be forgiven.

YOONGI | Well, I should count my blessings it wasn’t Jungkook. Chiefly, that’s the first thought that pops into his head when on a random Tuesday in the most random of practice rooms, he sees the contact picture saved as Jimin’s phone lights up. Yoongi knows that picture, he took that picture. Which of course prompts the question how did Jimin get his hands on it because last time anyone checked you were Yoongi’s partner and not anyone else’s.

Sliding to unlock the call, he’s hoping like never before that it won’t about to change.

“Yes?”

“Yoongi?” instantly, you wonder. “Where’s Jimin?”

“Don’t know. Why do you—” fuck, his voice cracked. “Why do you want him? I mean, talk to him?”

“I don’t even know myself, dude,” loudly, you complain. “He called me some time ago, saying there’s something uber important to talk about and now I can’t get a hold of him anymore.”

Just then when Yoongi’s heart is about to free fall right to the bottom of his stomach, the doors to this very random practice room open and because life has a cruel and twisted sense of irony, it’s Jimin who steps through. Lately, he’s been looking haggard and it had been an unspoken agreement between the boys that his problems laid with album production but now, in one hand holding the love of his life and in the other what probably was his brother’s heart yearning for one he couldn’t have, Yoongi wonders whether it’s you whose keeping Jimin up at night with guilt. You and the smiling picture he definitely shouldn't have.

For a moment they simply stare at each other, without speaking a word. Like a clash of two worlds, the collective breath has been knocked out of the room and not even the clock pinned to the wall can cut through the sheer volume of silence.

At last, Yoongi gathers himself and stretching out the phone, he makes sure that his tone is nothing but utterly monotone.

“It’s ______________.”

Jimin grows deathly pale. His widened eyes jump from the phone in Yoongi's hands to Yoongi himself and like a deer in headlights, he keeps standing still. If his dry lips part to mutter something, no sound leaves him. The only thing he can muster is an awkward incline to indicate some kind of bow. Yoongi cards him back the phone, pretending he can’t hear your voice repeatedly questioning “hello?” on the other line and quickly steps out of the room.

It takes him three more hours than usual to get home. By that time you’re soundly asleep, clutching at the shirt Yoongi had so carelessly discarded on the bed this very morning. He quite earnestly wishes to go back to that moment, call in sick and not let either of you move out of the bed.

Despite him most definitely not wanting to, the smile creeping on his face is by now an instinctual. You could make him beam like a spring sunshine by just waking up. He loves you he knows that. He loves Jimin and Jimin as it turns out loves you. The question is of course — do you love Jimin as well?

Maybe he could…share?

“No, no,” Yoongi shakes his head, muttering to himself in the pale yellow light of the nightlamp. “What the fuck am I even thinking?”

How would that work? He gets you from Monday to Thursday only to then card you over to Jimin for the remaining week?

Glimpsing at you slumbering, half-nestled underneath the duvet, he can’t help but shudder. If you would ever learn what he just thought, it wouldn’t matter whether you love Jimin or not, because sure as hell Yoongi wouldn’t be alive to learn that fact.

Safe to say, he doesn’t get a wink of sleep.

As Yoongi tiredly observes you getting ready, there is an aggravating, oozing cut on his heart and every single action of yours pokes a big salted thumb right in its middle. Did you made your hair with the same level of precision when you went on a date with him? Did you dig through numerous outfits as desperately for him, trying, no, feeling the need to look good?

By the time, you’re done, he’s sitting on the bed, bleeding dry. Still, there are some things to consider — you were getting ready in his bedroom, it was his shirt you were pulling over your head and it was his initials hanging on a dainty chain down your neck.

… as it turns out, a drunken second date could lead to many things, be it a custom jewelry or a tattoo of someone’s name on their back or…left butt cheek, to be more precise.

You had a history together and he could only hope that it meant something to you.

“I’m going to meet up with—”

“Jimin after work.”

You swerve to gander at him, frowning as you do so but Yoongi doesn’t explain how he knows you will. Only wishes a succinct “don’t be out too late” and lets you out of his grasp.

It wasn’t like him to chain anyone down and you wouldn’t love him if he did. This is one of those things he just has to trust you with and maybe in time, he’ll learn to trust Jimin again.

True to your promise, when the clock strikes six you’re not at home like you usually would be. At first seven passes, then eight, then nine. Yoongi still gives you the benefit of the doubt. But when the clock starts crawling half past eleven, his knee cannot stop bouncing and his mouth cannot stop gnawing on his own nails. However, just when he no longer can stand the veritable avalanche of anxiety bucking him under, you drag yourself through the door. All complaints and accusations swiftly evaporate from the tip of his tongue as Yoongi takes in just how dead you appear. Your expression is permanently frozen in a state of hurt confusion so much so that when Yoongi slides the jacket over your shoulders, you don’t seem to notice his presence.

It’s only around one in the morning, when staring at a steaming mug of warm tea, you dare to whisper the revelation Yoongi already knows.

“Jimin said he’s in love with me.”

“I know.”

He cringes as the hurt in your eyes now finds him. Sweet heaven, how could Jimin ever do this.

“You knew?” incredulously, you question. “You knew and you didn’t bother to tell me?”

“It was not my secret to tell,” firmly, he replies. “And you know that.”

“But you don’t know how he looked!” you continue, steadily working yourself up to an angered hiss. “He said he loves me and hates himself for it. The last thing he wants to do is to hurt you. You know he thinks of you like a brother.”

Dragging a tired palm over his face, Yoongi whispers that he does know that.

“Anyway, Jimin told me that he has no intention of butting in our relationship,” you conclude numbly and while Yoongi is happy to hear it, the same delight is overshadowed by worry. Was Jimin drinking? Was he somewhere unsafe in Seoul right now?

Seemingly being able to read his mind, you answer before the question is even poised.

“I made sure Jungkook picks him up and looks after him,” you sigh, pushing the mug away. It was completely full. “He wanted to apologize to you for doing this.”

“Via you?”

You sigh once more and somehow it’s even heavier.

“I don’t think that he can bear to look at you right now.”

Yoongi’s gaze darts to sit on the edge of the kitchen table, it lays there dull and lifeless up until you reach to gently wrap a hand around his palm.

“We’ll be okay,” you reassure him with a smile far too meagre to be convincing. “All of us will be okay. In time.”

It takes approximately a week for Yoongi to run into Jimin. They cross each other's paths in a hallway next to the exit doors. What sparse conversation they share is gone as soon as it starts. Yoongi takes in the exhausted, heartbroken look that seems to devour Jimin whole and all he manages to wrangle out is an understanding “I’m sorry” spoken at a distance.

Jimin gives him a tight-lipped smile and a nod, before putting back his headphones and stalking out into the rain soaked street with a downward gaze.

Yoongi hopes that it will be, as you said, all okay in due time.

SEOKJIN | Hoseok’s entry level of amusement had always been on the floor. Thus seeing him nearly double over in a peel of roaring laughter is not by any means an unusual sight. But...

Jin’s gaze slides over to you, standing next to a positively beaming Hoseok. You were funny, Hoseok liked funny.

And he also liked you.

Which wouldn’t be a problem if not for the tiny fact that you and Jin already have matching bands around your fingers and that you are in fact undeniably, irrevocably the love of his life.

So…there’s that.

Though sitting back and simply observing feels somehow wrong, what else is he supposed to do? Going over there and punching Hoseok in the teeth is not only something he would not usually do but also, in Jin’s mind, it wasn’t even close to being productive — so what else is there?

And yes maybe it does irk him.

“Gosh, it looks like a painting,” you sigh contently, gazing over the rolling grass and clumps of disorganised mountains in the background.

“I know, a real masterpiece,” Hoseok agrees but his heart-shaped gaze is not found on said clumps of mountains or the tufts of white clouds rolling above. It's firmly planted on you and so it has been for quite some time.

Yes, it does irk him, knowing that his brother, practically flesh and blood in all the accounts that it mattered, would betray him but even so the last thing Jin wants is to tell you. There was no doubt about it — the knowledge would break your heart.

At first, you’d blame yourself, concocting in your mind that somehow this was solely just your doing and that should any fight occur it’d be you who’d spark it and then you’d cut ties with Hoseok completely. Whatever the case may be of his feelings, Hoseok was the first one who accepted you, who welcomed you into their midst as Jin’s partner with no suspicions or walls of guarded behaviour. He’d become your ride and die and frankly, very, very frankly, Jin was just as worried whether Hoseok would survive such sudden separation.

He can’t not care for his friend and as messy as it is, his friend’s wellbeing now partially hinged on his partner’s smile.

What a shit fest.

Jin is fairly certain Hoseok will not attempt anything. The sense of shame broiling within him is so apparent that more than once someone else had caught Jin by the elbow, wondering whether they have had a fight.

They haven’t, monotonously, he replies each and every time, but he doesn’t insist it’s all good either.

Regardless, the fact is he hasn’t spoken with Hoseok for…quite some time. His contact number has traversed from the usual "recently dialled" to possibly being outdated.

“Hey, you’re not sick, are you?” the sound of your worried voice at last rouses Jin from the literal plague of thoughts buzzing around. For good measure, you put your palm on his forehead, trying to gauge the temperature.

Jin wrangles it away, for a moment considering whether to kiss it. Hoseok is looking.

He chooses to hold your hand instead, his finger lingering on the promise ring.

“I’m okay, don’t worry.”

“You’ve just been really quiet ever since we got here.”

“I’m overwhelmed by the sheer amount of struggles you have to go through.”

Your brow wrinkles and you gaze down on Jin whose been slowly or not so slowly sipping his whiskey by the fire pit.

“Struggles?” you echoe confused and Jin gives a sage nod.

“I’m already so beautiful every single moment but out here — in our forest get together… I can’t even imagine how you cope. I must be absolutely enthralling.”

There’s a solid minute of absolute silence before you enrupt in fond laughter.

“Don’t ever change, Jin.”

He tries to mimic your grin but it falls a touch too flat so instead his eye travels towards the onlooking Hoseok. Both hold each other’s stare before quickly turning away.

“I definitely won’t,” absent-mindedly, Jin mumbles under the nose.

HOSEOK | It just had to be Namjoon.

“Well, at least it’s not Jungkook,” Namjoon breathes a demure laugh.

If Hoseok had any heart to pummel him through the ground, he would.

“Motherfucker, really?!”

“I’m sorry.”

It truly was a curse to see someone as human. Because no matter how mad Hoseok was at Namjoon, he could not rid himself of a kid's image in this man. A kid who always was beside him. A kid with all the big dreams and all the wrong approaches to those dreams. Still, Namjoon had a kind heart and there was no one more dedicated to fixing their wrongs than him. Hoseok presumes it was this same dedication that had brought his best friend to his doorstep with a bottle of whiskey in hand and a great big apology tumbling like vomit out of his mouth.

“They just called me to help arrange your birthday present. I promise it wasn’t any more than that.”

For what seems like the hundredth time, Namjoon rushes to explain, wearing not to subtle glimmer of delirium in his eye.

“We met up for a coffee,” Hoseok’s eyebrow twitches and though he could have sworn it was impossible, Namjoon grows a touch paler from fear. “And we only discussed you and I left the second I could!”

“So my partner called up my best friend whose actually in love with them to discuss the plans for my birthday. Me, their partner who knows that his best friend is in love with said partner.”

All Namjoon can really do is apologetically rub the back of his neck all while trying (and failing) to inconscpicously inch closer towards the doors.

“It’s messed up, I know.”

“It’s more than a little messed up, Joon,” Hoseok laughs dryly, already sensing the tepid touch of an oncoming migraine. “You haven’t told them, have you?”

Immediately, Namjoon shakes his head, the glasses perched on the top of his nose threatening to simply hurtle against the wall.

“We agreed to not tell them. I’m keeping my end of the bargain.”

And Hoseok does hate himself for it but he’s always wondered so why not ask while the opportunity is still fresh —

“Why did you agree?” he prods with what to him appears as a cautious hand. “You could have just told how you feel—”

But Namjoon is quick to interrupt.

“I don’t want to,” he states with no small amount of firmness. It’s the sort of resolution Hoseok has seen him wield in front of the UN, in front of difficulties he could not even comprehend. Something steel-like rests behind his gaze and Hoseok knows that whatever sort of intention Namjoon has set on you, no force of nature can lead him astray.

“I don’t want to see the pity in their eyes.”

“_____________ wouldn’t look at you with—”

“Yes, they would,” Namjoon interrupts him again, his mouth thinning into a grim line. “I wouldn’t be Namjoon the leader, Namjoon the trustworthy member, Namjoon, your,” he stammers; it’s almost imperceptible alas Hoseok just knows him too well. “Your brother but I’d be small Namjoon. I’d be Namjoon the naive fool who would require kid gloves in case any remark about the happiness of your relationship would break his heart. And I don’t want that.”

Ah.

“I want ________________,” they both know it’s a poor choice of wording but none of them is brave enough to remark upon it. “In a natural way, you know. I want to be their friend, I don’t want to make things any more complicated. So, yeah, I don’t want to tell them and perhaps,” he licks at his dry lips, briefly glimpsing outside. Unbeknowst to himself Hoseok mimicks the movement, forcing the barest sliver of a smile upon Namjoon’s face. “Nah, it is selfish but it is what it is.”

“Hmm.”

For a while they stand silent and it’s painfully awkward but also…it’s good. It’s almost unbelievable but things are actually peaceful between them.

“What does ____________ has planned for my birthday?”

Namjoon cracks a wry smile.

“I ain’t telling you that.”

The ring of Hoseok’s phone cuts the lingering tension in two and like an air escaping from a pop balloon, the room grows lax.

If a bit sad.

“Hey babe,” Hoseok greets you and Namjoon simply pretends like he isn’t here to hear that. “You’re waiting outside? Yeah, I’ll get going soon. Bye. Love you too.”

He doesn’t miss the way Namjoon turns away, obstinately staring at anything just to not see what currently he does not want to see. Hoseok simply lets him be.

“I’ve got to go,” he waves around some well-meaning gesture that falls flat on comfort, already halfway there to bolt out of the door. “Will you be okay?”

He watches Namjoon scuff the shoe against the floor. It’s a tad too angry for someone who will undoubtedly insist on being utterly okay.

“Yeah, of course!” Namjoon brushes him off, feigning indifference a bit too well. “I’ll just, you know, go into my studio and write some lyrics to process my bottomless devotion to the love of your life.”

Kidding! — follows soon after.

“Sort of,” is added when Hoseok ultimately leaves the room.

JIMIN | “You should go home.”

“I don’t want to go home.”

“Jimin…”

“Don’t you dare to pity me!”

“I’m not. Actually, quite the opposite.”

Jimin glowers at Yoongi across the rim of his glass but it doesn’t quite have the effect he pictured. Yoongi keeps on wearing the same unimpressed grimace he’d sat down with. He draws a great sigh for the upteenth time and begins again, a bit gentler, a bit more lenient.

Jimin doesn’t know which is worse — either way, he’s a hair away from bursting into tears.

“I didn’t expect you, out of all people, to think with your fists instead of your brain.”

And just like that, the tears evaporate.

“He tried to take them away,” he whispers, voice shaking from the barely concealed rage. Not even at Jungkook’s feelings per se but rather at his sheer audacity. Jimin would understand if he would just fall in love with you, he would understand, he knows how easy it was to love you, to be consumed by you but to go—!

“He went behind my back!” he cries out loudly, instantly drawing the attention to their small table. “He went and asked to be given a chance!”

The frown on Yoongi’s face deepens and seeing such an opening Jimin reaches out and does what he knows best. He pours himself a drink, knocks it down into his throat and hopes he’ll pass out soon.

Yoongi bats at his arm, steadily growing redder and redder from the frustration alone.

“Stop drinking!” he chides with an irritated hiss. “I’m not excusing Jungkook’s actions. But you know how he is.”

“And thus I’m supposed to forgive him for trying to fuck my fucking partner?!”

Once again, all eyes sit on their table as Jimin’s voice rises into an angered scream.

“Yeah, and look at you now. You’ve traded fists with your best friend, gotten yourself a busted lip and _______________ has moved out and honestly good for them. I also wouldn’t want to stand you clowns.”

“You’re supposed to be comforting me,” Jimin scoffs but receives nothing but an ill-meaning glare back.

“I’m all out.”

When at long last Jimin gets home, it’s well past three in the morning. His head is spinning and not so small part of him regrets ever drinking. The alcohol is clawing back up his throat and it doesn’t care that he’s putting a palm in front of his mouth. He’s about to vomit it all back out.

“Jesus,” a blur of a voice calls above him and Jimin finds himself being hastily carded to the toilet. He wonders who it is — it couldn't be you, you wouldn’t be able to lug him around like a roll of wet paper towels but he simply doesn’t have the time to care about it. As the next thing that comes out of his mouth is not a question poised, eloquenty or not, but a steady stream of stomach acid and half-digested fragments of his piss-poor dinner. His faceless saviour brushes the hair back from his forehead, occasionally laying an empathetic pat on his back. Though his mouth of full of bile, Jimin tries to say he appreciates it.

The sun greets him vicious and unforgiving. His head pounds and for the longest part of an hour, Jimin doesn’t even recall on how he made it back into his bed. Spotting a full glass of water and painkillers, he both chugs it all down and prays to heaven that it is you. Someone’s definitely clambering around his kitchen. The noise of a pan on a stove is unmistakanable regardless of the state he’s in.

Cautiously, Jimin pads over to the kitchen, attempting to put together at least two phrases of a genuine apology but the sight he sees only further spikes the nausea gripping him whole.

Unless you suddenly grew a mullet, got an armful of tattoos, a lip piercing and a cosmetic surgery, he’s fairly sure that it isn’t you standing by a stove and cooking a pan of eggs but one Jeon Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook the traitor.

Jeon Jungkook the one Jimin thought was a friend.

Best friend in fact.

In spite of how hard Jimin tries to eviscerate Jungkook with his glare, he cannot help but cringe as the man whips around, showcasing his black eye. Instinctually, Jimin runs a tongue over his lip. It still hurts.

There is a pregnant pause during which they don’t speak, merely stay in their respective corners of the room. Jungkook shifts from one foot to another, white knuckling the handle of the pan.

“I made you some eggs,” he splutters, hopefully presenting the food. Ever so slowly, Jimin lowers his gaze towards them and quirks a brow in order to show just how unfettered he is by it.

“I’ll vomit them back in your face,” he states coldly and Jungkook all but withers into himself.

“Listen, man, I know that I overstepped some boundaries—”

“Some?!” at once, Jimin has to clutch at his head to make sure it simply does not implode.

“All of the boundaries,” he corrects. "And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I betrayed your trust and __________’s trust, and I know that neither of you owe me your forgiveness.”

Jimin pries open one of his eyelids — it’s swollen and laced with sleep but even so he knows Jungkook and he knows Jungkook wasn’t capable of lying.

He truly is sorry.

“Why the change of heart?” Jimin barks mistrustfully. “Since when do you care for anything but yourself?”

It’s a low blow but damn if it does not delight him, to hurt Jungkook just as much as Jimin was hurt.

“________________,” Jungkook sighs, his nose scrunching up at what is certainly a recollection of some exceedingly sour memories. “Chewed me the fuck out. They said—” his breath hitches. In a still moment between one breath and the next, there is a single, utterly pathethic plea ringing in Jimin’s ears—

Please, dont take them away from me

“They said they were disgusted by me.”

He has to physically bite his tongue to not say “I’m sorry”. It’s just as instinctual for him to comfort Jungkook as it is for their younger one to seek that same comfort. For a brief moment, he sees a much younger Jungkook. A much younger Jungkook come to beg for understanding and Jimin himself, feels much younger. Much more ill-equipped to deal with Jungkook’s fragile heart.

But that moment disappears and with it the breadth of his anger.

It’s churning, he knows it is, he doesn’t deny it but he reckons that step by step, day by cautious day they’ll be able to calll each other friends again and greet you back home, inhabiting their rightful roles.

You would say they're a broken pot with its cracks glued by gold.

Yoongi would say they’re fucking morons.

TAEHYUNG | Dearest ____________________,

Let me preface this by saying, I know it’s inappropriate and I know it’s unfair for me to spring this on you. I must seem like a coward to you and that’s beacause I am one. Million times I must have tried to tell you, to be able to say IT to your face but I just can’t. I don’t care what you do with this letter, burn it if you must, destroy it if it brings you peace but a part of me reasons that people deserve to know when one loves them and so I tell you.

I love you.

I love you insanely. I love you devoutly but most of all I want to love you selflessly so I won’t ask of you anything don’t worry. I won’t ask of you to meet me, I won’t ask of you to let me down, gently or otherwise, I won’t ask of you to even look at me. I burn for you, I yearn for you but I also know you love Taehyung. I see your love for him as clear as I see my own so I understand I don’t have a place in your life. I don’t even dare to ask of you such a thing.

You may wonder why even write this at all? Well, for me this is a speech. A speech one would give at a funeral. I scream and I vomit all that I feel and with it, with every stroke of this stupid pen I hammer in a nail into a coffin of all the fondness I hold for you. With any luck, I’ll be able to return to it rarer and rarer until at last it’s swallowed by moss and will lay unrecognizable. With any luck, the scar will heal and will be just that — a painless scar left by idiocy of youth.

I don’t want you to find me, I don’t want you to know me, all I want is for you and Taehyung to be happy. Oh, Taehyung, if only I could also say how sorry I am for ever letting him down.

So please be happy _______________. Be the happiest a person has ever been so I can rest easy and breathe a little easier each day, knowing that none of us has made a grave mistake.

Sincerely,

Your secret admirer.

Quite the letter, Taehyung reckons, closing it shut once he finishes tracing the inked lines. The thick black of the room is cut only by the orange flames licking at the firewood in the old fireplace. Glancing quietly across the shoulder, he finds you sleeping soundly on the hotel bed, hair splattered messily across the pillowcase. Taehyung supresses a deep sigh of relief before turning back with a heavy frown etched upon his face.

He took you away just in time, whoever this secret admirer was, he clearly held something more than a casual crush. When did he have the time to slip this into your bag, Taehyung did not know but it scared the shit out of him. The only people who both knew of his sudden trip to France and had the opportunity to see you were his members. His friends. His brothers. Which meant that one of them betrayed him. For one of them your name on their lips was not something easy to be spoken. For one of them your name was a benediction, meant to be sighed in shameful isolation.

The poetics said Namjoon but don’t find me said Yoongi. Loving insanely was Jungkook wanting to love selflessly was Jimin. But who could possibly know — maybe it was Hoseok, maybe it was Jin — Taehyung certainly didn’t.

He gazed down onto the thin paper, lips curling in distaste. Whoever he was, he should have just kept it to himself. For the first time, Taehyung was happy in his relationship, secure even and here he comes, one of his family, tearing it down.

Perhaps he should do what this admirer said — forget about it. No one wants to hate their family, right?

Yes, he thinks to himself, I’ll forget about. I’ll try really, really hard.

It was a good letter, beautiful even, he has to admit that much.

Shame though, he doesn’t hesitate to toss it into the flames, ______________won’t ever read it.

JUNGKOOK | “Baby, please.”

Jungkook loathes the fact at how weak he grows underneath your touch. Where others would give him a wide berth, all in fear of incuring a foul mood, you merely have to wrap your arms around his back and he feels the tension unlatching its jaw from his shoulders.

“Just talk to Jin.”

“Don’t even mention his name,” he growls, trying to sound pissed but his body has a mind of its own. It reaches to tug you closer around him, almost frightened that should he let you go for just a second, he could lose you.

“He came forward with how he felt,” you reason slowly, cautiously. “He was honest and just let it all out.”

“He should have choked with it,” Jungkook refutes. You don’t buy it.

“You don’t mean that.”

Jungkook knows you know he knows he doesn’t mean it but for the time being he just wants to be angry.

He turns to look over his shoulder, finding you nuzzled into his spine, swaying slighty from left to right. His heart swells with all this…love he held for you. Whatever Jin held was nothing but a cheap copy, a fling, a failure of the brain.

“You’re mine, got it,” he tries to warn you but you all but laugh at the pout in his tone. “I don’t care how handsome you think Jin is, you promised me forever first. Finders keepers and all that.”

“You’re a bit delusional, you know that?” you rub your nose against his jumper, spectacularly failing at trying to supress the smirk fighting its way onto your face.

“So what?” he scoffs, turning to scrub the dishes with far more vigour than neccessary. “It makes me happy.”

But your voice of “just talk to Jin” doesn’t leave the side of his ear. Like an overzealous mosquito it buzzes around his head at all hours of the day, at all hours of the night, round and round until Jungkook swears it makes his nose bleed.

It’s well past midnight when he finally musters up the courage to press the dial button to Jin’s number. His knee refuses to sit still and behind his back he’s crossing his fingers hoping that his friend will be asleep.

He is not.

When Jin replies with a timid “hello” he is surprisingly coherent as though he hadn’t slept at all.

“_______________ told me to give you a call,” Jungkook grouses instead of a greeting and the other line of the phone grows uncomfortably quiet.

“They’re too kind,” Jin whispers and Jungkook certainly agrees on it.

He taps his leg, bites his lip, looks at you for guidance — you’re asleep on his bed, practically knocked out because Jungkook just had to…show his love for you — and none of it helps him to get over this sudden knot growing at the base of his throat.

However, Jin beats it to him.

“I know I said it already,” he mutters miserably, voice crackingi across the connection. “But for what it’s worth, I really am sorry for doing this to you Jungkook. I wish nothing but happiness for you and _______________.”

They cry, they curse, they share their love for you and some three hours later it’s somewhat easier to breathe. The days, the weeks that Jungkook couldn’t sleep, plagued by nightmares of his light being stolen away, are wiped away with a cool hand and he rejoices in the comfort it provides. He doesn’t say I love you to Jin, he’s not yet ready for that but he knows Jin knows and he knows that Jin knows that he knows.

For now he just wants to sleep. Putting the phone away, Jungkook drops himself back into the pillow,  heaving a drawn-out sigh up against the black ceiling. He wraps his arm around your waist, kissing your neck “good night” as he always does. It’ll be alright, he reminds himself, surprisingly, it’ll all be just fine.

tagging: @pinkcherrybombs; @sukunabitch; @btsiguess-kpop; @belladaises; @seok-jinnies; @themochiverse; @cuteipat; @ratherbefangirling; @manchuria; @dreamamubarak; @anti-social-mochi; @back2bluesidex; @silverliningsandstorms; @ahewlett; @royallyjjk

 © soraviie, 2023

[wood-white-writer]

"Didn't mean to make your heart Blue" || [8/...]

— OPLA! Buggy x F!Reader

"My love is mine, all mine. I love, my, my, mine. Nothing in the world belongs to me but my love,"

— Mitski, "My Love Mine All Mine"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live Action) x F!Reader

Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends.  Buggy, desperate for your attention, can't help but think about what led to this situation.

Warnings: fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, morally grey reader, depiction of blood and wounds, DIY suturing, slight alcoholic indulgence, Buggy realizing he's fucked up big time

Buggy recalls the first time he caught your smile.

It had been several months since the Captain introduced you to the crew. Despite the sorry state you were in at the time of your debut, your eyes were so bright even back then, as though illuminated by something internal.

He’s heard about fish glowing in the dark even when in the deep depths of the ocean, thousands of miles out of the light, and they require nothing but themselves to keep the light on.

He wondered if you’re like that. You didn’t look like a fish, nor did you remind him of any fish people he had encountered; too pretty and earthbound but glowing all the same.

Glowing, but dull. A knife that's not been polished for long, but still being used as intended.

Everything about you, how you walked and moved, all the way down to how you blinked, felt placid and stale from his perspective. He himself was an expressive man, never denying himself the capacity to show how he felt, so to witness it from you felt like a foreign sight. 

You didn’t smile, nor show much of anything really. No sadness, anger, or joy. Just a blank canvas without any colors.

He compared you to a doll; a mannequin having come to life from behind a display case, breathing and blinking and moving, yet maintaining its lifeless nature all the same. You were strong, exceedingly so, and you followed orders without question or complaint. Like a machine working on auto.

He wondered whether you had been a slave or some kind of child soldier before Rogers found you. You must have been because no one becomes this … this … cold of their own volition.

He found that your apparent incapacity to live annoyed him, and so he set out to change it. He didn’t know why, but he just had to.

Quite frankly, he didn’t know what he said or did. Maybe he told some silly joke, the kind his crew mates usually smacked him in the back of the head for due to its cheesiness, but you smiled. 

The image of that remains stuck in his head like a stain that won’t wash off. He remembers everything about that moment. The way you wore your hair, with a singular braid on the right side of your face. Asymmetrical and messy, yet you made it look just right.

He remembers the way the gray sky parted just in time for a ray of sunlight to shine across the deck, further illuminating your face. It was like the heavens above decided to put a spotlight on you.

He recalls the way your eyes glistened in the sun.

He remembers it all.

Maybe that’s when it first began? This … thing that’s been gnawing at him for so long? This feeling that won’t leave him in peace, even in his sleep. It tugs at his chest, pinches his stomach, itches his skin, and warms his face. 

This feeling that’s been clawing at him in the twenty years you were parted.

The source of that feeling that’s currently looking at him from across the room.

His eyes light up like fireworks upon seeing you enter the kitchen area. “Hey! Look who it ...—!" The moment he sees the state you're in, whatever words were about to exit subsequently fall dead on his tongue. "— ... is."

You look like shit, mildly put. He's never seen you look as terrible before save for the time you first joined Rogers’ crew, and it feels like he’s back there again.

Back to sitting on the sidelines as the Captain procured you from under his oversized coat; a kid who looked smaller than she really was, now with a fresh bruise in development across your cheek, sunken eyes, and a pale complexion to your skin that wasn't there before. 

You're leaning onto Rubber Boy like he's your only lifeline from falling headfirst into the floor, and upon squinting his eyes, Buggy notices the edge of a bandage peeking out from under your shirt, with a drop of blood staining the material.

In all the time Buggy's known you, he's only seen you bleed maybe once or twice. It was a rare occurrence; no blade could pierce your skin, nor daggers or swords. Your hide was impenetrable, like molten armor in the flesh. Arlong really did a number on you. He couldn't see much during the time he was stuck in that God-awful bag, but by the sounds of it, it was not a fight you were winning. He always held onto the notion that you were unbeatable; unbroken. Nothing could hope to harm you. 

However, this diluted image of you he’s presented with confirms the opposite. You’re not invincible. You’re human. Faster, stronger, indefinitely more dangerous than the rest if your track record is anything to go by, but still bitterly human to the core.

When he led Arlong to Baratie, he thought you'd be able to finish the fucker off without a struggle. He'd watch the spectacle from the front rows, popcorn in his metaphorical hands while cheering you on from the sidelines. 

Now, seeing you like this, like you've just walked through hell and back, he can't help but acknowledge the fact that he did this to you. He led Arlong to you. 

He swallows the lump in his throat and stores the guilt away for another day.

Your eyes finally meet, for the first time since Orange Town, and he can see the confusion in your eyes. The hesitation that gradually morphs into the anger that he's become acquainted with as of late. You promptly yank yourself free from Luffy, stomp over to the table with uneven and unsteady steps that threaten to topple you over, and finally slam both of your hands on each side of Buggy's head.

The table cracks lightly under your grip, sending several splinters flying in every direction. Buggy gulps nervously.

"H-Heya, doll," he tries, but the darkness over your eyes leaves no room for sugarcoated words. They never did.

"Luffy," you say calmly while never taking your eyes away from the clown's, unbridled rage simmering in their depths despite your compromised state. "Why is he here?"

"About that ..." Luffy sheepishly scratches the back of his head. "He's the only one who knows the way to Arlong Park."

"To Arlong P— … " Your nails leave crescent-shaped holes in the soft tablecloth, and you glance at Luffy from over your shoulder, looking far more tired after seeing Buggy for ten seconds than you did beforehand. "And you're sure there'sno other way of getting there?"

"Nope!" Buggy interjects with a prominent pop!, hoping to catch your attention again. "He was real secretive about where his little fish-mancave's located. Lucky for you, I memorized the way back to my body!"

He's disappointed that you won't turn to even acknowledge his contributions to the conversation. You won't look at him again, and he discovers that he can't bear it. 

Please look at me!

But you don't. 

The silence is suffocating until you push yourself from your table, and he notices the way you cradle the side of your stomach while doing so. A silent hiss leaves your lips that he would've been unable to catch onto had he not been so focused on your reactions.

You look at Luffy, your back turned to Buggy, and limp over to the pathetic captain. Buggy predicts you’re about to shout at him, tell him the stupidity of this decision, and maybe even smack him across the face for emphasis. He hopes you will; the kid needs to have his ass kicked a few times to compensate for the humiliation the clown suffered at his hands.

To his bitter disappointment, you don’t commit yourself to any of the aforementioned. Really, not even a smack? Instead, all you do is heave an exhausted sigh before you prepare to exit the kitchens. "It's your decision," you say, and that's all you say before Buggy has to suffer your absence again.

———

It's the bounty hunter's turn to keep watch over him tonight, and Buggy, for one, would rather prefer to get tossed into the ocean than suffer like this.

He finds that this asshole is the worst one among the bunch to be keeping an eye on him. While the waiter and the long-nosed idiot would rather ignore him and leave him be, Moss-hairs over there seems like he has it out for him the most. Maybe it has to do with the fact that he almost killed him, but hey, all is fair in piracy?

"YAH!" Buggy shrieks when the asshole yanks him by the scruff of his hair with an iron grip, pulling out several blue hair strands while doing so. "CAREFUL WITH THE HAIR, SHITHEAD!"

"Shut up."

He can only hang when Zoro takes him inside to the kitchens, where the pretty-boy with the blonde hair is already cooking something up. Even before they entered the threshold to the kitchen, Buggy could hear your voice. You were talking to the blonde, and judging by the lightness in your tone, you were at ease enough not to be spiteful.

Buggy feels himself become annoyed, and not even the smell of food can tame it regardless of how hungry he is.

"Also, you should stitch up that wound soon," says the blonde, his voice growing more audible the closer they get to the kitchen. "Wouldn't want it to get infected."

"I'll handle it," you say in turn. "Wouldn't be the first time I've had to do something like this."

"You know, if you want to, I can lend you my hands. I'm told I have quite dexterous fingers, molded for delicate work."

"I'll pass, thank you."

"As you wish, but my offer is still on the table should you have a change of heart."

Buggy doesn't even know the guy, and he already wants to drown him. Whatever hunger occupied his stomach miles away with the rest of his body gets promptly replaced with something far sharper. Far uglier. It has teeth long enough to bite through flesh, claws that can tear open flesh, and it’s starving.

They finally enter the kitchen area, and whatever conversation previously took place shifts into silence upon their entrance.Buggy grins as he meets your eyes. "What's tonight’s specials?" he asks, hoping you'll actually respond with something this time, regardless of how sardonic it is.

He wouldn’t mind it if it’s something along the lines of “Fuck you” or “Eat shit” or “I hope you die, asshole.” It only has to be something, but it seems that even that is too high of a criterion for you to bother with.

You merely get up to your feet, unsteadiness painting your steps, and try to excuse yourself from the room without as much as a look his way.

For the duration of his uncomfortable stay with these shitty nobodies, Buggy's main priority aside from navigating this useless crew and getting his body back is your attention. 

However, whenever someone — whether it be that shitty cook or the bounty hunter or the slingshot — brings him someplace where you coincidentally happen to be, you excuse yourself from their company and go someplace else. 

He finds it more torturous than the bounty hunter's hold on him. It's been like this for the past two days. You won’t talk to him, won’t look at him, you won’t even acknowledge him even when he’s being the loudest head in the room.

Sure, he can piss off the rest of the bunch without even trying, but no matter how much he tries to catch your ire, you don’t take the bite. 

The string that’s been dangling him above the water is just about ready to snap at this point. 

"Hold up," Zoro says and proceeds to hold up Buggy's head for you, ignoring the string of curses that flow from his lips. "I want to eat my dinner in peace, so you take him."

Your face, while blank, cannot disguise the irritation laced in your words. "Give him to Ussop."

"He's on watch duty tonight,"

"Sanji?"

"My fine lady, as much as I'd desire to ease your woes, I'm currently preoccupied with preparing the meals." The blonde raises his pan for emphasis. "I would have lent you my aid, do not doubt that."

You’re not convinced. "… Right." Your eyes finally settle down to Buggy, and with great reluctance on your part, you slowly raise your hands up to take him. 

Zoro smirks and deposits the clown into your hands. The absence of pressure at the top of his head is a welcomed reprieve. Your hold — while firmer around his cheeks than he'd prefer — is not uncomfortable per se. At least, not in comparison to your other crew mates.

He considers this a win. It's been far too long since he's been granted your touch, the last time being when you bid him a bitter goodbye back in Orange Town. 

"Also," you say to Zoro. "I need a bottle of rum and a rag."

The swordsman tilts his head skeptically to the side. "Haven't you had enough to drink?"

"I need it to sterilize the sewing equipment."

Realization dawns on his face and Zoro relents. He hands you a bottle of rum from the kitchen cabinet, and after thanking him, you make your way to your cabins with the bottle in one hand whereas Buggy rests in the crook of your other elbow.

The walk is excruciatingly quiet, only the sound of your feet making any noise. It's deafening, and he can't stand it. He needs noise, preferably from you, but he doesn’t mind being the instigator.

"... So," he begins. "You know how to stitch yourself?"

You don't answer, and when he peeks up at you, your eyes are solely aimed at the path ahead. 

"You gotta have the right technique," he continues, a little more energized. "Or it'll become an ugly scar. I can help you with it, I'm a pretty good seamster if I do say so myself."

Again, you don't dignify him with a response. He bites his cheek. Fuck, this is getting tiresome.

He looks up at you again, and he notices just how different you've become from when you were younger. Your eyes were bright, but your smile was even brighter. You'd happily chat with him for hours and hours on end without ever growing bored of the conversation. You'd joke, you'd playfully hit him (though your definition of 'playful' usually had him stumbling in his steps), and you'd smile.

Now, your eyes are dark, and sunken, and there are several wrinkles in development; not from age alone, but simple exhaustion. The years have truly changed you, and the itch nagging him at the back of his head reminds him that it's partially his fault.

He decides to shut up until you reach your cabin.

Your place, he discovers, is vaguely minimalistic at best. You have the basics: a hammock in the far corner, a chair with a small table next to it, a barrel serving as both a nightstand as well as what he assumes to be a storage space of sorts, and a lantern on the top that's already been lit.

You close the door behind you and head for the table. He expects you to all but pummel him down on it, like your crew mates, maybe even drop him altogether for the heck of it. He braces himself for impact and shuts his eyes when you raise your hands.

To his surprise, you simply put him down on top of it without any unnecessary pressure or force. He feels the wooden surface under his neck without any discomfort, and he can't help but notice that you've deliberately positioned his face towards the window. 

He tries to plop around, like a fish out of water, but your hands - a little tighter around him this time - retract his movement. "Hey, what gives?!” 

He doesn’t know why he’s even bothering to ask, already knowing that you're probably not going to answer.

To his surprise, you actually do this time.

"Don't look." Despite the sharp enunciation of your voice, the one he's been aching to hear for the past two days, it sounds hushed. 

Not wanting to piss you off in case you decide to completely ignore him again, now that he's regained a smidgen of your notice, Buggy complies and elects to stare out of the window in spite of the desperate need to remain focused on you.

However, Buggy's never been one to completely follow the rules, so he decides to bend them. The window provides him a half-measured view of you in its reflection, with the dark waves serving as an addition to your image. A beautiful addition at that.

How sad is it that this is the only way he can look at you now?

He listens and watches as you put the liquor bottle on the table inches away from him, and then you proceed to retrieve a box of something hidden under the wood. It's not until you put it down next to the bottle and open it that he discovers that it's some kind of sewing kit. 

You take a small mirror and put it on the edge of the window frame at a very specific angle.

Eyes sharp and focused on the task at hand, you withdraw a needle of adequate size from the box, carefully pull a thread through the pinhole, and douse them both with booze. Shortly after taking a generous gulp of the liquor yourself, you put them both to the side to draw up the side of your shirt.

Buggy pales slightly when he sees the bloodied bandages hidden under the fabric. If the semi-transparent reflection of it is enough to make him nauseous, he can't imagine what the real deal is like. 

The three marks that stretch across your ribs look ugly. Scratch that, they look grotesque. Old blood rests dried and cracked along the edges, and the fresh flesh between your severed skin looks even worse. Like an animal maimed you and left you to rot on the ground. He’s seen his fair share of shitty shit in his life as a captain, but this is something he considers almost too much for him. It doesn’t make sense, he’s seen someone amputate on themselves due to a canon blast, but he only considered it a nuisance at best.

Maybe it’s because it’s you this time?

“God,” he whispers more to himself than anyone else. When snap your eyes to him, having heard him speak, he is quick to deflect. “I- Erhm, I never noticed how shitty the weather is tonight.”

He can’t tell if you buy it or not, but if you do, you don’t voice it and continue with your makeshift patchwork. With the rag you procured, you pour some of the alcohol over and press it tightly against your open wound with no delay. Buggy winces at the same time you do. He's had to disinfect wounds similarly before, and it hurts like hell. Fucking hell. He doubts you disagree with the notion. 

You grit your teeth tightly, face contorting and your lips wobbling as a quiet "Fuck" leaves you. One second becomes two, two become four, four become eight until finally, you withdraw the now stained rag. He notices your hand shaking, your breath hitching, and the way you're all but forcing yourself to stay calm. 

Since when did you limit yourself like this? Deny yourself the capacity to feel? Fucking scream, he wants to yell at you. Feel something. Say something! Show him that you still feel anything. Don't pretend like you don’t.

If that pot ain't calling the kettle black, he doesn’t know what is.

He looks at your reflection, watches as you pick up the needle and inching it towards your severed ski— 

“DON’T!”

You abruptly stop and snap your eyes over to him, and he realizes he’s efficiently blown his cover. While still selectively mute, all the anger and irritation you need to convey is done so through your glare alone. Scorching. Sizzling.

He licks his lips. “If you do it like that, it’ll scar real fucking bad and won’t hold the skin together.”

At first, you only stare, and he thinks you’re going to ignore him again. However, like some miracle, you answer. “I know how to patch myself.”

“Sure as shit don’t look like it,” he retorts snidely. “With an angle like that, you’re lucky if—”

“I didn’t ask for your input.”

“Fucking looks like you need it.”

“I don’t need anything from you.”

You all but throw the needle into the nearby wall, which just happens to be the same one he‘s positioned next to. The needle lodges itself right into the wood, sticking out with the thread still dangling from the eye.

Buggy stops breathing, and a drop of sweat trickles down his forehead. He expects you to throw the bottle at him next, just for good measure.

But you don’t. You don’t do anything.

He spends a minute deliberating whether it’s appropriate to continue the flow of conversation. “Look,—” He turns his head around to face you directly. “I’ve been around the block; I know what is best suited for your kind of scratch.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Between the two of us, who do you reckon has the most experience with having their asses kicked? The walking-talking tank who can launch people twice her size in the opposite direction, or the clown?”

“Thought you couldn’t be cut.”

“Correction; I can’t be sliced. There’s a difference,”

The look you give him is a culmination of everything ranging from indifference, irritation, boredom, and subtle agreement towards the statement. In lieu of an answer, Buggy prevails, "If you move the needle in a wavelength through the skin, it keeps it together better and is easier to remove. I know your name would make crossed stitches better fitted, but it sucks by comparison. Trust me."

You don't. Buggy knows that already, but if only for a second, your eyes shift to something other than the four aforementioned. Maybe it's contemplation, perhaps a softer edge around your crow's feet, but it's indecipherable from where he's perched. If he got closer, he might have a better chance at figuring it out.

To his surprise, you actually follow his word on it ... after retrieving the needle that's been embedded into the wooden wall with at least two-thirds of its length.

He corrects you here and there, and provides you pointers while weighing his words. He's just now got your attention, he's not about to risk losing it. "- Not too deep, remember? God, what are you trying to do, give yourself another scarring? Keep it tight!"

... Well, he weighed his words, but maaaan, is he bad at measurements.

After a few more glares from your side and some non-verbal threats of bodily harm, you finally manage to stitch the skin together. Your hands, while precise and experienced in the art that is self-suturing, didn't get to do it perfectly. He knows it hurts like a bitch, he winces every time he sees the needle protrude through your flesh, and while you show no facial reaction, he knows it hurts you as well.

If he'd had his own hands at disposal, he would've made it perfect. So perfect that you'd not even have a scar at all. That, and he’d finally be able to touch you.

But this is as appropriate a substitute as anything, and all in all, it's not too bad. It's you, of course, so nothing you do can be too bad. He keeps that thought to himself as he watches you wrap up your midsection and put away the equipment.

"So, how did I do as an instructor? Pretty damn flashy, am I right?" He says with a low chuckle, only for it to disappear once he's discovered that you're not talking or looking at him anymore. "What? Back to the silent treatment?"

Evidently, yes.

He chews on the inside of his cheek and comes up with another approach to get your eyes on him again. It’s a risky one; might get him your attention, or it might land him into the opposite wall, but it’s a risk he’s willing to take. "I heard what you said, you know? To Rubber-Boy."

He observes no palpable reaction, so he tries again. "Shanks seriously never told you what happened that day it all went down?"

There it is. The fish on the line. Bull’s eye. He sees you stiffen just slightly, and he gets his wish. A shiver runs down his spine when your eyes fall on him again; he can feel it, even from miles and miles away. 

No distance can hope to expel the feelings your gaze bestows him with.

You speak one word. Just one. So low, yet so clear all the same.

"No."

... Buggy the Clown wants to vomit. 

He's not sure if his current disproportionated state can manage it, not to mention it's been days since he last had a scrap of food, but it does not ease the nausea that threatens to overwhelm him. 

Fuck.

When he first heard you tell Luffy this, he thought you were ... lying, somehow. It was stupid; you're not the kind to lie, always telling things as they are without skipping a beat. But he could not see your face, could not see the face you were making, and so he took it with a grain of salt. Or a bucket-load of it.

There was no way you didn’t know, no way Shanks didn’t tell you… Right? Buggy used to come up with excuses for his own righteousness, telling himself that this thing that happened was never his fault.

Now, he knows for certain. He knows you're telling the truth, he sees it, and he feels a bile rise in his throat.

One conclusion is made in the messy pile that is his brain.

He fucked up. 

He fucked up BIG TIME.

It's a fuck-up that'll go down in history as the biggest fucking fuck-up ever to cross the seven seas in all fucking time. He fucked up so bad, in fact, that it cost him more than he'll ever be able to pay for.

The sound his throat makes is pathetic.

"Oh."

BANG!

A good-sized piece of the wooden table snaps under the pressure of your fist and descends to the floor with a plat. Buggy imagines if that was him instead, getting crushed to the floor like a maggot crawling in the dirty as an unsuspecting hiker walks across..

With the shove of your chair, you get to your feet. "I'm getting Zoro."

"NONONONO! WAIT! PLEASE, ANYONE BUT HIM!"

You don't care. You're already halfway across the room when he, in his desperation, shouts two words he's never said before. 

"WAIT! I'M SORRY!"

… You stop.

He takes the moment right out of fate's hands.

"I didn't know, alright! I didn't know that you didn't know, and I thought you knew." He hopps his head a little closer to the edge of the table, right where the cracked piece currently on the floor once was. "I thought you knew, and then went with that fucking red-haired asshole! How was I supposed to know that you didn't know?!"

Wrong words. Very wrong words. He finds out soon enough just how wrong they were.

You're inches away before he can even blink, hands clenched on the table counter with one at each side of his head. Your noses almost touching, and he can feel the fire in your throat threaten to scorch him alive like a pig above the pyre.

"You could've asked." You say, softly at first, but bit by bit, your voice opens up to the deep-rooted anger that's laid dormant for years. "You could've asked me." 

Craaaaack, and another splinter pops off the table and lands in his hair. 

"You could've talked to me."

The entire table shakes now, and Buggy struggles not to slip from it. He thinks you're about to tear the whole damn thing to shreds with the way you're clenched around it. It's on-brand by now for you, comes with the name and everything.

"Cross-Hairs. Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates, the Beast of the East, and Breaker of Tables and Faces and Bones and Jaws and Clown Noses."

He expects the additional titles to apply to him any moment now. He'll have to jump around the ship in search of his misplaced jaw next time, and probably the nose too. The crew of nobodies will have something to laugh about in years to come, and he'll never live the shame down.

But like with Orange Town, instead of the hand that will bring about his demise, all he feels is a breeze across his cheek. So light, and so brief, yet there lingers a warmth he wants nothing more than to grasp it. A thirsty man searching for his oasis.

You remove your hands from the table. "I would've traveled across the seas with you if only you'd asked it of me."

... What?

He feels his head freeze for the umpteenth time as your words circle in his head, garnering a storm of long-forgotten memories and feelings and hurt and betrayal.

You would? 

You really would? 

You would have gone with him all those years ago, if only he'd asked it of you?

He looks at your hands; the cracked knuckles and bruised skin, adjusted fights and blood and the impact of bones. The same ones currently threaten his safety as a dislocated head. He looks right into your eyes despite the risks it warrants.

You refuse to look at him, more now than ever, like there’s a rope wrapped around your neck that’s forcing you to face down. Like you're afraid that he might see something you'd prefer to keep in the dark. And yet he sees something wet and salty gathering in the corners of your eyes, and he sees the ways your body scrunches like a child wanting nothing more than to curl up to the floor and cry.

When was the last time he saw you even come close to crying? You never cried, for as long as he’d known you. If there ever was a time, it was the day he left you behind on that dock so long ago, and he had already turned his back before he had a chance to see the waterworks leak.

He finds it strange how some things seem to change whereas others don't. When Rogers first brought you onto the crew, disheveled and thin as you were, you never made a sound or showed any emotions. Being a man who wore his feelings and thoughts on display, he found it fucking weird. You were weird. You are weird, now more than ever.

Now, seeing you like this, knowing he's the one who brought it out, he doesn't know whether he's the detonator or the executioner. Maybe a bit of both?

His general nature is to deny accountability and put the blame on something or someone else to save face. It's always been like that; a habit by now. Call it cowardice, but he calls it a way of life. A bank getting robbed after the employees got knocked out by Muggy Balls? Not him. The white lion having a stomachache after eating old slabs left for too long in the cooler until it developed an ecosystem of its own? Not his fault.

But you crying?

You being hurt.

You hurting.

His fault. All his.

You, the strongest person he knows of; the same person who laughed at his jokes, worried about him, kicked ass seven days 'til Sunday, and shone so brightly in the moonlight by the docks, crying ... 

His fault.

You're the strongest person he knows. Hell, you're probably one of the strongest people in all of East-Blue, yet still, he's the one who managed to make you cry. A beast rendered to a tearful child, still so small even after all this time, all because of him.

What does that make him? The strongest person in the East Blue? Or the worst? He's never minded being the worst at what he does, but he realizes in that moment, perched on the tabletop, that he can stand anyone's tears but yours.

Never yours.

You’re fighting those tears the same way you fight everything else; putting every ounce of strength your body has to offer, clawing at it, gripping it, doing everything in your power to keep the tears from spilling and potentially revealing something more.

Still, it doesn’t matter how strong you are. You could’ve lifted the world and held it in the palm of your hands, and the tears still would’ve proved the biggest challenge you'd face yet.

If he had his hands, he’d cradle your chin, hold you close, and promise to never let go ever again. You’d fight him all the same, kick his ass, claw at him, break all the bones in his body, and he’d let you.

He’d endure your strength, dance across the blazing charcoal that is your wrath, but nothing you’d do would make him let go, even if you were to separate every atom in his body one by one.

He'd hold on, and when he gets his body back, that’s what he’ll do.

“I’m sorry …” he whispers, the apology tasting like bitter peppercorns on the tip of his tongue. “I … Shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have” Fuck, he sounds pathetic. “… I’m so … so fucking sorry.” 

For all of it.

He’s never once apologized in his life, not to anyone, but for you, he’d apologize a thousand times over. He’d learn “I’m sorry” in every language known to man, recite every prayer, suffer every penalty in the book.

This could all have been avoided if he’d just fucking talked to you that day instead of running. As if divinity decided to deliver punishments, he was haunted by that thing he ran from for twenty years; torturing him, driving him mad with longing.

Twenty years of bullshit in your absence … all of it avoidable had he not been the fuck-up he acknowledges he’s been.

He’d dive head-first into the ocean if it meant he could take back what he said that day. He’d take on the Marines too if he had to. He’d find the One Piece and give it to you, forgo his own dreams. He’d do anything, just to take back what he did.

Just to have you look at him with something other than scorn. Just to have you look at him the same way you used to.

A few drops of salt land on the table right in front of him, and save for the occasional sniffs and heavy inhales, you remain stubbornly quiet. This time, he keeps his mouth shut and awaits your judgment. The likelihood of you refusing to forgive him is the most probable one, and he can’t fault you for that as much as he’d hate it. The chance of you forgiving him just like that … is less. 

A minute of silence becomes two minutes, and two become three, and five, and ten.

You raise your head to peer down at him, your eyes reddened and heavy, but you finally do look at him. He holds his breath in anticipation and wonders what’s working behind them.

What are you thinking?

What are you feeling?

Is it rage? Is it vengeance?

Will you wrap your hands around his neck and squeeze until there’s nothing left but an ashy head? He doesn’t know if asphyxiation will have the intended effect given his condition, but there’s only one way to find out.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and imagines that it will be his last.

The door slams and the room rattles, throwing him off in surprise.

Buggy opens his eyes and sees that you’re not here anymore.

You’re gone, again.

He releases the breath he’s been withholding, not knowing what to make of this. Will you come back, or will you leave him here by himself: put him through the same state as he left you in?

His head burns thinking about it.

Not even a minute later, you return to the room, and the scent of something delicious fills the atmosphere.

You’re holding something in your hand, a plate. It takes him a while to realize what it is, and as he’s about to open his mouth to ask, you wordlessly put the plate down in front of him.

Buggy drools like a dog. It’s food. Actual fucking food. Some kind of dish (fish?) with boiled potatoes and cabbage on the side, with sauce distributed evenly over it. He usually hates cabbage, but as hungry as he is now, he thinks it looks like the most delicious thing of all. Even better, the food is still hot, and it’s been cut so that it’ll be easier for him to take in.

He looks up at you expectantly and watches as you sit down, cross your legs, and put a glass of water with a bendy straw next to the plate. Did you bring him a bendy straw? Holy fuck, you brought him fucking bendy straw! He can’t help but stare at you like you put the sun in the sky because, how could he not? You brought him food, you brought him a drink, YOU BROUGHT HIM A FUCKING BENDY STRAW! 

Bored eyes turn to him as you rest your chin in the palm of your hand. “It’ll get cold,” you state matter-of-factly, which he interprets as Hurry up and eat, asshole.

Buggy doesn’t have to be told twice, and he digs in like an animal. Decorum was never his thing anyway.

Maybe this isn’t forgiveness, and maybe you’re still rightfully pissed, but that’s alright. This gesture implies that, at the very least, there’s a bridge now. It’s made of rusty nails and unsteady planks and runs over a shitty river, but it’s a milestone from his point of view.

He’ll wait for as long as he’ll have to, even if it’s takes another twenty years to make up for it, even if it takes a hundred. He'll wait and he'll work for as fucking long as he have to, just to see your smile again.

He knows your dream.

He knows you care; you protected him, after all. You held him close, put yourself in harm’s way just to keep him safe.

That means, even after all this time, you still consider him yours.

All that remains is for you to finally find our for yourself.

-----

Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat , @angeli-fucking-cat , @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore, @knightsfavoriteprincess, @asterizee, @aamethyst23, @lizzie1107, @cyberwears, @heylookliisten, @f41k47, @beep-beep1, @crimsonflameproxy, @unpopular-sober-thoughts, @rayleeya, @timeladyrikaofgallifrey, (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

[kirawaswrong]

somewhere in the haze

summary: You made a mistake that nearly cost you your life. Now your boyfriend is pissed at you, and you're not completely sure why. Is there hope for reconciliation?

pairing: chuuya nakahara x female! reader

genre: slight angst, smut

word count: 4k+

warnings: MDNI!! starts angsty but then...., fingering, oral (fem receiving), soft dom chuu [kinda], bratty reader [a bit], aka I finally am dipping my toes into smut, also depictions of stabbing

note: I wrote smut, ya’ll!!! But being me, there is a story too. Dealing with big emotions and all that jazz. I hope you enjoy!

Getting ready for work wasn’t usually an arduous affair. You had it down to a routine, and even made an event of it. While cooking breakfast, you were a celebrity chef. When taking a shower, you’d give the concert of a lifetime. But today, nothing was making it easier. It was your first day back in over a month. It should have been a cause for celebration. But you were in a fight with your boyfriend. 

The previous night's events played on repeat in your head while you put your clothes on.  You brushed your teeth, and all you could think of was Chuuya's furrowed brow.  The fight made you see the past month in a new light. You felt stupid for not realizing his feelings sooner.

You were working on a solo assignment. It was pretty standard, and in fact, one you’d done several times before. It was security for a jewelry store. The store turned a blind eye to the Port Mafia's illegal jewelry ring. In return, sometimes they'd request a member come by and watch over the place.  

It was late at night. It seemed like a rare uneventful day was about to pass by. But then a tall, slender man tried to enter the store after hours. You knew you could take him, so you chased him to the roof. Before he could turn, you socked him in the back of the head. He fell immediately, out cold. 

You were sure you’d incapacitated him enough to call for someone to assist you in disposing of him. As soon as your back was to him, an arm wrapped around your throat. Pain shocked your lower abdomen; he'd stabbed you. He called you a dumb bitch before removing the knife and throwing you to the ground. 

With a shaky hand, you reached for your phone. The warm ooze of your blood made it too difficult to maneuver it to call for help. Your wound went from feverish to frigid, and the edges of the world got a lot fuzzier. As you faded, you thought of the hardships you’d faced and how you finally felt like you belonged somewhere. And now you were gonna die on top of a shitty building. 

Your last thoughts were of Chuuya, and how you hoped he wouldn’t have to see your corpse.  Then, everything went black. 

---

But the Port Mafia had your back. You awoke with a sharp ache in your stomach and a heaviness in your head. Before even blinking your eyes open, you knew you were in the organization’s medical wing. 

“You’re awake.”

The voice that spoke was one you knew well but never failed to slice a shiver down your spine.

You forced your eyes open. Mori Ougai stood like a shadow by your bed. His hands clasped behind his back. He held an almost bored expression as if your stabbing was a mild inconvenience to him. 

“Hi boss,” you said. You tried to sit up to formally address him but hissed in pain. 

“Refrain from unnecessary movements for the time being,” He said. “The blade nicked your appendix, so I took the liberty of removing it for you.”

Wow, a surprise appendectomy. How thoughtful. 

“We’d received no communication from you in some time,” Mori said. “So it was clear you were in danger. If you’d lost one more liter of blood, you would be dead. That’s why I started a transfusion.”

You looked down to see an IV in your inner right arm. Blood came from a bag, and you knew better than to question its origins. 

This wasn’t the first time you’d woken up in the medical wing, nor would it be the last. But usually, someone else was at your bedside.

“So,” you said, “Where is-?”

“Chuuya will be here shortly,” Mori interrupted. “He wasn’t notified until it was certain whether you would live or die.”

You weren’t surprised. If Chuuya knew the extent of your injuries, he’d tear the world apart to be there. From Mori’s perspective,  wherever Chuuya was had more importance than being with you. 

“For now, continue to rest,” Mori smiled in a way that was supposed to offer comfort. “If there are no complications, you can go home tomorrow.”

“What about work?” You blurted out.

“We’ll discuss the matter later.”

Mori administered more pain medication and left the room. Before you could think about much else, the drugs knocked you into a hazy sleep. At some point, you swore you heard muffled voices outside the room. Your eyes were too heavy to open, but you felt a warm gloved hand holding your own. You slept deeper after that.

---

The next day, you went home. Naturally, Chuuya took you to his place. Resting was imperative to your recovery, and you had trouble with that sometimes. 

Once at the penthouse, Chuuya set you up in the guestroom. When you weren’t recovering from a knife wound and impromptu surgery, you were used to sleeping with him in his bed. You thought that he was afraid of impeding the healing process. 

Once you were comfortable in the bed, he told you to stay put. 

“If you don’t,” he said, “I’ll use my ability on you.”

His crooked smile and delivery of the threat told you it was a joke. But there wasn’t much joy behind his eyes. You made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough. 

That set the tone for your stay. You weren’t completely oblivious. Something was wrong with Chuuya. He went through the motions of aiding in your recovery. He helped you bathe, changed your dressings, and made sure you took your medicine. But the other times Chuuya rehabilitated you, he’d be smirking and telling jokes. When you worried, he'd give you soft kisses. This time, he was more…sterile. 

You told yourself that it was because of how close to death you were this time. And in a way, you were right. 

A week later, you had a partial return to work. Though your wound had superficially healed, internal damage was still possible. So you were stuck doing nothing but paperwork. You fucking hated it. Everyone at the Port Mafia had to deal with papers, but not hour after hour, day after day. You felt like a glorified secretary. You were eager to go on missions again. 

When you shared those thoughts with Chuuya, you received a slight nod and silence. It was odd, as your perseverance and enthusiasm were what had attracted him to you in the first place. 

A few weeks later, Mori told you that you would be able to return to full-time duties the following day. Though it was exciting, you felt deflated. Chuuya had been so distant, you didn’t want to tell him. He was an executive, so the odds were he already knew. 

That night after dinner, he confirmed your suspicions.  At the table, you nonchalantly said you were nervous and excited to leave paperwork duty. Chuuya’s expression darkened, and he sighed. You decided it was time to rip off the bandaid. 

“That was a pretty heavy sigh.” 

He said nothing.

“What’s up?”

“I don’t think you should go back yet,” he said. 

It was your turn to sigh. “Look, babe. I know it was a pretty serious injury, but I’ll be fine.”

“It’s not about that. I think we should go over training again.”

“Chuuya, I’ve been in the mafia for almost a year now,” you said. “Training ended a long time ago.”

“Well, maybe you need a refresher course,” he said in a venom-soaked tone.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Everyone knew Chuuya was an explosively angry man. His yelling was nothing to scoff at, but it wasn’t out of the ordinary. What most people didn’t know was how terrifying it was when he was quiet. 

“I never thought you would be so reckless. Turning your back on an opponent while on a solo mission. Didn’t even call for backup or anything.”

You felt like a stone sank into your stomach. The other shoe dropped. He was…angry at you. 

“I tried,” you sputtered. “But the blood was coming out, and I-”

“You should have called for someone as soon as you saw the guy.”

“He was a beanpole,” you said. “I thought I could take him!”

“He might not have been alone. What would you have done then?” 

You were at a loss for words. “I just…I-”

“You got cocky,” Chuuya finished. “Which is exactly what I’ve warned you against since day one, haven’t I? Don’t get a big head, and never turn your back on anyone. Especially if you’re alone!”

“So, what, am I the only person who’s ever made a mistake?” You spat back.

“You can’t afford to make mistakes like that,” his voice rose. “You make those mistakes, you die!”

“You think I don’t know that?” You exclaimed. “That’s all I could think about on the roof!”

“Good,” Chuuya said. “Hold onto that feeling. Next time you’re on a mission, you can think of it. Then you'll remember to cover your ass and you won't pull something like that again.”

A tense silence hung over the room. You were both heated and so angry. You knew better than to say anything. Having the last word would be a petty thing to worry about. 

But anger made you a petty person.

“Fine,” you said. “I will remember that feeling. When I go out on the field tomorrow.”

Chuuya scoffed. “I don’t want you to go back out yet!”

“So sorry, Mr. Nakahara,” your voice dripped with sardonic respect. “I know I made you and the rest of the higher-ups look bad, but I have to get back to doing my job.”

You got up from the table and began to storm from the kitchen. Two steps later, Chuuya’s hand wrapped around your forearm. 

“We’re not done talking.”

“I am,” you said.

He turned you around to face him. Anger still filled his eyes, but his jaw wasn’t quite as clenched. 

“You can’t just run away from this,” he said. His voice softened to the slightest degree. “I’m not saying this as your superior. As someone who cares about you, I don’t know if you’re ready to go back out there yet. Is that so hard to understand?”

You wanted to agree with him. Fall into his arms, and put the whole mess of a fight behind you. But pride was something you shared with Chuuya. 

“I’m going in tomorrow,” you said. “And you won’t stop me.”

After a moment, he let your arm go. 

You packed your things and came into the living room with a suitcase. Without a word, Chuuya helped you put everything in his car. Neither of you spoke on the drive. The silence was relentless in the parking lot. When you left the car, he finally spoke.

“Be careful.”

You gave a nod and headed into your building. 

---

Which led to your first day back. A day that should have been celebratory, but was now marred with grey. 

Besides a few passing remarks from colleagues, no one made a big deal about your recovery or return. It was the mafia. People pulled through from worse injuries all the time. 

You had no solo assignments that day, which you were thankful for. Not because of fear, but because it was easier to shut your mind off and focus.  You did keep your word and were very careful. 

During downtime, the argument swirled around in your head. Chuuya trusted you. He knew that you were well-trained. Why would he say you weren’t ready to go out on your own anymore? 

The end of the day came. When you got to your car, he leaned against it with his arms crossed.

You weren’t sure if you felt relieved or annoyed. 

“Can we talk?”

You sighed. “Yeah.”

He slid into the passenger’s seat with you in the driver’s. 

For a moment, he said nothing. Both of you stared forward.  You were starting to wonder why the two of you had so many tense silences in cars.

“So,” you said. “You wanted to talk.”

“You didn’t get hurt today,” he said. 

“No, I didn’t.” 

“Good.”

Another silence. 

“Look, Chuuya-”

“I didn’t mean what I said.”

You turned to him. “Okay?”

“You’re good at your job,” he said, turning to you. “I’d be an idiot not to know that.”

“Then why did you make me feel like I don’t know what I’m doing?” You asked. 

He sighed, leaning his head back on the seat. “Babe…You almost died.”

“Yeah, I know that, but–”

“No, you almost died. It scared the hell out of me.”

You didn’t know what to say. 

“I know anyone could fuck up and wind up dead,” he continued. “But you’re not just anyone.”

His eyes were on you. He reached over the console to hold one of your hands in both of his. 

“I don’t wanna lose you.”

Your resolve melted like a puddle. “Why didn’t you just say this like a month ago?”

He chuckled without humor. “I was afraid I’d blow up at ya.”

“Thank god that didn’t happen,” you deadpanned.

“I am sorry,” he said. “Look, either of us could die any day.”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

“It’s the truth,” he said, squeezing your hand. “But I need you to do everything you can to keep yourself alive.”

His eyes shone with sincerity, and your lingering anger evaporated.

“Only if you promise to do the same,” you said. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

He pulled you across the console and held you against his chest. You embraced each other for what seemed like an eternity before he broke the silence.

“Wanna come to my place tonight?”

---

With the fight resolved and put behind you, it was easy to return to the domesticity you’d both grown accustomed to. Chuuya ordered takeout from one of your favorite restaurants. Throughout the meal, his eyes couldn't stay off of you. 

After dinner, you sat on the couch together, barely watching an old sitcom rerun. Your back was against his torso, and his arms wrapped around your waist. You chattered on about your first day back. 

“...And then Higuchi kept trying to get Akutagawa’s attention even though I’ve told her a thousand times that he–Chuuya!”

He’d leaned forward to kiss the side of your neck. 

“Go ahead,” He murmured against your delicate skin. “I’m listening.”

You made an earnest attempt of continuing your story. Chuuya thwarted it by nibbling and sucking below your ear.

“Y-you’re distracting me,” you fought the urge to moan.

“Am I?” He chuckled. 

You gasped as his hands crept down to your thighs, gently pulling them further apart. His dick began to harden against your back.

“I’ve just been thinking, baby,” he murmured. “Between your injury and our fight, there’s a lot of things we haven’t been able to do in a while. Wanna start doing them again tonight?”

You answered with a breathless whimper and he kneaded his fingers on your thighs. His touches crept closer to the heat pooling between your legs.

But then, he stopped his movements and rested his chin on your shoulder.

“Only if you want to,” he said. “No pressure, okay?”

You turned your head to smooch his cheek.

“I do want to,” you breathed.  “I really want to.”

---

In previous instances of lovemaking, Chuuya could be a bit rough. This benefitted both of you. It helped him work out some of his aggression. And for you? Well, you found it hot.

But tonight, he placed you gently in the middle of the bed. His eyes remained locked with yours as he removed his waistcoat and pants. He joined you on the soft sheets, framing one of your thighs with both of his. He tangled a gloved hand in your hair and then leaned down to kiss you. His lips pressed onto your lips, your heart thunked against your ribs. Warmth bloomed from your chest and spread throughout your entire body. You wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him closer. Chuuya rubbed his knee against the heat between your legs, causing you to moan into his mouth. 

He broke the kiss, a smirk across his lips. 

“You okay?” He asked, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“Yeah,” you gasped. His knee still rested squarely against your crotch. “I’m very much okay.”

He chuckled. “Tell me if that changes, got it?”

You nodded. Before you could verbally respond, he moved his thumb from your cheek to your lips.

“Would you take this off for me, sweetheart?”

You opened your mouth and gingerly bit the tip of the glove. He pulled his hand back, releasing it from the leather. 

He took the glove from you, planting a quick kiss on your lips. 

“Thank you.”

“No problem,” you responded, trying to pretend your face wasn’t burning hot. 

His next target was your collarbone. You’d have hickeys by morning with the way he sucked and scraped his teeth against the soft expanse of skin. He untucked your shirt, slipping his hand underneath and up your torso. Your nipples responded to his touch from beneath the fabric of your bra.  

“We gotta level the playing field, babe,” he playfully admonished against your neck.

“Hmm?”

“I’m practically naked,” he said. “And here you are, still fully clothed. Doesn’t seem fair.”

You snorted. Chuuya wore so many layers of clothing that being in a dress shirt and boxers really was close to nudity for him. 

“I see your point,” you said. 

You pushed him off, sitting up and pulling your shirt over your head. A smug grin played on your lips when you saw the way he looked at you. Even in your everyday bra, he still made it seem like you wore the most mouthwatering lingerie he’d seen in his life.

“Better?” You asked.

He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close and kissing you again.

“Almost,” he murmured against your lips. 

And with one hand, he unclasped your bra. 

“Chuuya!” You laughed out a reprimand. The impressiveness of the act outweighed any embarrassment. Still, you held the garment against your chest. 

“What?”

“I’d hardly call this an even playing field,” you said. 

“Semantics,” he scoffed, waving a hand. “Now, get your fuckin’ arms outta the way, would ya?”

You playfully rolled your eyes but did as he said, and removed the bra completely. 

He laid you back on the bed, hovering over you. Mindfully keeping his weight off of you, he grasped your breasts. His mouth found your right nipple, sucking on it hard while his gloved hand played with the left.

With a moan, your head rolled back onto the pillow. When he switched to the left nipple, you raised up to look at him. He'd closed his eyes, and he seemed to be at peace with everything in the world. 

“Enjoying yourself, Chuu?” You teased. 

His eyes shot open, and his face rivaled his hair in redness. 

“Yeah,” he said after dislodging from your breast. “And I bet I’m not the only one.”

His bare hand traced down your torso and into your pants. He traced a finger against your panties, feeling the soaked-through fabric.

“You’re pretty wet,” he said. “Want me to do something about it?”

“Uh-huh,” you gasped.

“Aw, where’d that smart mouth of yours go, babe?” 

You narrowed your eyes, saying nothing.

He chuckled but relented by pushing your panties aside. He slid his finger down your slit before plunging two fingers inside. The fingers crooked inside you in the most delicious way. 

“Now, tell me,” he said, continuing to work you from the inside. “Is there anything else you want me to do to you?”

“Y-yes,” you stammered. 

“And, uh,” he stroked your shoulder with a gloved finger. “What exactly would that be?”

You fought to form a sentence. “I think you already know.”

He smirked, looking at you from beneath his lashes. “Yeah, I have a pretty good idea. But I wanna hear you say it.”

“Chuuya,” you whined. “Please.”

“C’mon, pretty girl. Use your words. I’ll take good care of ya if you do.”

The way he was using his damn words–and his fingers–was driving you crazy.

You drew in a shaky breath and looked straight into his eyes.

“I want you to make me cum on your tongue.”

His smirk intensified and placed a kiss on your cheek. 

“Good girl. Now, was that so hard?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said. “Quit teasing and put your mouth to better use.”

“Hey now,” his tone playfully darkened. He withdrew his fingers from your core and lewdly sucked them dry. “Don’t forget who’s in charge here.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sorry, Chu.”

He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “brat” and sat back on his heels. He removed his other glove, tossing it aside. He peeled off your pants and discarded your underwear. 

Your eyes lingered on the ceiling while his gaze raked over your nude body. The intensity of his eyes tracing over every inch of you was something you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to. His thumb smoothed over the raised skin of the new scar that brandished the skin above your right hip. 

“Look at me,” he said.

He rewarded you with a lovestruck smile when you did what he said. 

“You’re fuckin’ beautiful, y’know?”

“Yeah, my boyfriend’s mentioned it from time to time,” you giggled. 

“I’ll tell ya every day if I have to.”

He put a pillow beneath your hips to elevate you and then began to settle himself between your legs. He tossed his hair over his shoulder to get it out of his way. His arms wrapped around your legs, and his hands pressed into the soft flesh. He pressed kisses to your inner thigh, inching closer to where you desperately wanted him. 

His face was mere centimeters from your center. His blue eyes locked onto your face. He ran his tongue over his top lip.

And then he kissed the other thigh.

“Chuu, come on!” You whined. “You’ve kept me waiting long enough.”

He tsked under his breath. “Be patient.”

“I have been,” you argued.

“You’re gonna get what you want,” he reasoned. “I promised you that, didn’t I?”

You sighed, leaning your head back against the pillow. 

“Yeah, you did,” You grumbled. “But I thought, you know, it’d be some time tonight and wouldn’t take forever-oh!”

In your exasperation, you failed to notice the devilish look on Chuuya’s face as he dove in to lick your slit firmly. He ended it with a flick to your clit with the tip of his tongue. 

When you returned your gaze to him, the sight was almost too much to bare. His eyes danced with gloating. Your thighs framed his handsome face.

The admiration turned into more ecstasy as he continued. 

He gave you another unyielding lick and then began to suck on your clit. You moaned shamelessly, burying your hands in his hair. When you tugged at his roots, his groan reverberated into you in the most wonderful way. Spurred on, he shoved two fingers back inside of you.

It was clear you wouldn’t last long. His tongue curled around your clit now, with the tips of his fingers crooking against you from the inside. Your eyes slammed shut and your mouth gaped open. Sparks flew in the darkness of your vision. And before long, you came while crying his name.

His mouth continued to work you through it. On the onset of overstimulation, you whined and pulled his hair harder. 

Chuuya pulled away with a lopsided grin. “Tapping out already?”

Too dazed to shoot a quip at him, you nodded with a grin of your own.

He released your legs, paused to gently kiss your scar, and made his way up your body. His lips met yours again, and you could taste yourself on his tongue. 

“I’ve missed you,” he said, resting his forehead against yours. “Missed this too.”

“Same here,” you murmured. 

Though the moment was tender, your heart was still racing. Reuniting with Chuuya made you feel so relieved. And he made you feel safe, loved, and taken care of. 

But you couldn’t help but notice how hard his dick was against your thigh.

Your hand reached down and palmed the outside of his boxers, earning a stuttering gasp from him.

“Now we gotta take care of you.”

[dulcesiabits]

rules of rationality, p.2.

summary: it's unfortunate, but when you're injured, the only person who helps you is Alhaitham.

notes: 1.6k words, fic, part one, depictions/discussions of injuries, slight suggestive content, weird mutually pining situationship

The first thing you’re aware of is the lancing pain in your torso, like someone has run a red hot poker through your guts and stirred it into a mess.

The second thing you’re aware of is something firm under your head, like a stiff pillow. Not uncomfortable, exactly, but different. 

Then, you open your eyes to see Alhaitham’s arms and a dusty book in his hands, floating right above you. Ah. You’re lying down. And you’re lying down on… oh shit. You groan and try to lift yourself up, but that only causes the pain in your torso to spike, so you drop your head miserably back onto Alhaitham’s lap.

“Get out of my house,” you manage to say.

“You’re in my house,” he replies calmly, flipping a page.

“That’s even worse, you know that?”

Now that your consciousness and your sensation are returning, you can make out a little more about the situation. You’re on Alhaitham’s living room couch, and there’s a blanket pulled across your legs. Your lips are dry and cracked, and you lick them with your swollen tongue in vain. Even the smallest movement sends fresh pain throbbing through your body like waves. There are bandages on your arms, and more peeking under the hem of your shirt. 

“You shouldn’t move,” Alhaitham says. “You were badly injured when you were found. I can give you the full report from the doctor later, but it should suffice for now to know that the most major wound was on your torso, on top of several injured organs. The blood loss was substantial.”

“Wow. Thanks for telling me I almost died. But you’re not addressing the most important question.”

“Which is?”

“Why am I on your lap?” you say.

“Because you kept tossing in your sleep and disturbing your wounds. You wouldn’t calm down unless I was holding your hand, but since that was inconvenient for me, I moved you to my lap instead. You slept quite fitfully.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, mouth puckering like you’ve bitten a sour zaytun peach. “Are you serious right now?” 

“Yes.”

You would scream, but that would only jostle your wounds. You were never going to live this down. You wouldn’t calm down unless Alhaitham, of all people, held your hand? Like you were some child, clinging to the hands of their mother, or worse, some romantic sap who couldn’t stand to be without him, even unconsciously? Honestly, you’d have preferred if your assailant had finished the job instead of leaving you to die of a slow humiliation on Alhaitham’s lap. With any luck, your wounds will finish you off instead.

Honestly, it’s not as if Alhaitham hasn’t seen you in more vulnerable and decidedly inappropriate situations, but there was a strange intimacy to laying on his lap that set your teeth on edge. You’re exposed like this. You’d have a hard time defending yourself if Alhaitham, for whatever reason, decided to go rogue and murder you like a crazed maniac. 

But more than that, you’re the one who usually initiates things in your relationship. You’re the one who reaches out first, and Alhaitham either accepts your advances or wards you off with his blunt demeanor. There’s no guesswork with him, which you appreciate. But this is the first time you’ve ever seen Alhaitham willingly let someone touch him like this, and for such a prolonged period of time. Sure, you’re injured, but it feels unsettling, to say the least. 

What made him treat you so differently? 

It’s a strange little reverse of the situation only a month or so prior, when he had been the one to show up injured at your doorstep. Now, you’re the one who needs his aid, and it’s not a position you like being in. People are normally in your debt, not the other way around. 

“What happened?” you mumble.

“That’s what I thought you could tell me.”

You cast your thoughts back, blindly fishing in the murky waters of your memory. What had happened? There was a new shipment of rare books coming in, some ancient poetry excavated in the desert, and you couldn’t resist the opportunity to snag some for yourself. But the dealer had been shifty and you didn’t like the look in his eyes. Years of intuition told you this was a rotten deal. When you tried to back out, things had turned violent. You had tried to flee, but then fought back when no other option was available to you. But even you couldn’t hold your own against a dozen experienced armed fighters. What happened after you passed out, you couldn’t say.

In hindsight, it had probably been a trap of some sort. Set up by who and for what, you couldn’t say. Your list of enemies was a mile long, though there was also the chance you had simply gotten caught up in something by accident. 

Sure, you rubbed people the wrong way because you fell on the other side of the law, and you dug into secrets and invaded privacies most loved to keep under wraps. But you were harmless! Except to the people whose information you sold for a premium, but other than that!

You tell Alhaitham as much, and he drinks in the information slowly.  

“It’s not like you to fall into such an obvious trap. Should I make an appointment with a neurologist for you?” he says. 

“Only if you sign up for one with me,” you say. “Hey, I bet you wouldn’t have been able to resist the deal yourself. Some of those books were priceless antiques.”

“I can think of better things to risk my life for,” he says.

“So, how did I end up here, Scribe? Did you save me?” That part of the story had been bothering you like a loose rock in your shoe: the gap between you fainting in a warehouse and you ending up on Alhaitham’s lap.

“Hardly. The Matra were the ones to crash that little party of yours. They arrested most of the perpetrators, though some escaped.” 

“Ah, how classically incompetent! But wait. They didn’t arrest me on the spot?” you say in disbelief. 

“One of them— one of your contacts, I suppose— recognized you as my acquaintance and fetched me before anyone could ask too many questions. I was able to smooth things over, and arranged for you to recover in my home instead of the general hospital.”

“Damn. How much do I owe you for that?” 

“Hard to say. What sort of price would you put on your life?” Alhaitham asks. 

“I’m priceless. I’m basically one of the treasures of Sumeru.” 

“I doubt it, considering you actively meddle in affairs that aren’t yours and cause endless grief to everyone involved.” 

“Hey, I’m just doing my job,” you protest. “But you know… it’s strange for you to offer to host me here. It makes me wonder… Do you enjoy seeing me like this?” you say coyly. It’s an errant thought, one you’re not quite sure why you voiced.  

“Not at all. In fact, I quite like how you usually are.” Simple, honest, direct. Just as Alhaitham usually is. You might have preferred it if he had lied instead. 

“What the hell,” you mumble. “That’s unfair.”

“You asked. Why did you ask if you weren’t ready for the answer?”

“You know, coming from you, what you just said could qualify as a confession,” you say. 

He flips another page. “And what if it does?”

Ah, this is dangerous territory. It’s time to back away. Your injuries must be more serious than you initially realized, if they were going to make you run your mouth like this and send you hurtling into social situations you can’t navigate with your usual finesse. “Then I’d have to turn you down. You know, the beautiful men and women of Sumeru would weep if I wasn’t available for their lovelorn gazes,” you say as lightly as possible. 

“Considering your relative unpopularity, I doubt anyone would care if we did end up together.”

“Jackass. This is why you can’t get a date other than me.”

“I will take your criticism under consideration,” he says.

You close your eyes. The more you sleep, the faster you’ll heal, and the sooner you’ll be back on your feet and out of here. Then, you’ll find some way to repay your debt to Alhaitham, if only to establish some sort of balance in your relationship for your own sake. Emotions have a habit of muddling any situation they’re tangled with, and they’re a complication you want to avoid. Yes, it’s better to keep things transactional.

A hand drifts down to your face, fingers gently stroking your cheek. It’s a touch you’re intimately familiar with. Normally, you’d bat his hand away, or kiss his palm to see how far you can get with him. But you can’t muster up the energy to do anything other than accept his touch.

You would never admit it to Alhaitham, just in case it makes him more insufferable than usual, but his presence is comforting. There’s no one else you would trust enough to fall asleep like this, without any weapons hidden on your person or backup plans in mind. He’s the only person in the world who you know would never hurt you. 

What the hell. You’re getting sentimental. Maybe it’s the unusualness of the situation. Maybe it’s the fact you’re hurt, or maybe it’s the way Alhaitham sheltered you in his home, despite his usual desire to avoid mess and fuss. 

His touch is traitorously soft. You should tell him to knock it off, just on the off chance it stirs up sentiments you’d rather lie buried. 

But you can’t. Or you don’t want to. Because for now, it’s just the two of you, and you almost feel like you’re someone precious to him as you drift off to sleep in his lap.

[thatsatricky1]

𝐀𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 || Prologue

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Abandoned. After going through hell and back together, she was left there to fend for herself. Y/n felt as though they’d left her in the dust at the facility. A facility that had taken young gifted children raising them in secret. The eight of them had been taken as children and grown up together at the facility and just when it they had the chance of escaping they made one crucial mistake, leaving her behind in the dust. One big mistake they hadn’t forgiven themselves for, and she would make sure they’d never forget it.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Nct Dream ot7 x Reader.

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Angst, Cursing, Fluff, Mystery, Psychological, Supernatural, Thriller, Trauma, Weird Humor.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Slight gore, mentions of blood, mentions of being wounded, angst, abandonment.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,4k+

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: This does not depict an accurate picture of Nct Dream and this is strictly fantasy/fiction for entertainment purposes.

“Run Donghyuck!”

“What do you think I’m doing, strolling through the garden?” Donghyuck replied sharply out of breath as he ran as fast as he could, adrenaline filling his body making him unaware of the stinging feeling in his feet. Jaemin a few paces ahead of him.

Donghyuck skidded to a stop once he finally saw everyone in front of him. Breathing heavily as his eyes scanned over the familiar faces, relief dripping from him but his breath that he finally was catching back was stolen again, eyes widening in realisation.

“Where’s Y/n?!” He barely managed to get the question out from how he was trying to catch his breath back.

“She is coming, don't worry we have one more minute before they start looking for us.” Mark replied, grabbing Donghyuck’s hand, tugging him over to the rest of the group waiting at the mahogany wooden door.

“No this isn’t right, she should have gotten here first.” Donghyuck gasped out in between sucking air greedily back into his body that was desperate for oxygen.

“The security around her hall was timed differently than usual, they changed the rotation early.” Jaemin replied, also heaving in breaths. The whole group needed to gain their breath back.

Renjun winced while checking his pocket watch again, thirty seconds had past, eyes looking down the dark corridor, hearing the blood pulsing behind his ears like a drum.

”Thirty more seconds.” Renjun barely managed to get out.

They’d said from the start that no one would be left behind. The eight of them against the world if they had too. But it had taken months to plan this escape and it looked like one random security route change up would ruin that.

The boys share a glance with each other before Jeno steps to the front deciding something that would change their future.

“We need to leave now.”

“What no. Fuck no. We wait.” Jaemin disturbed as he shook head, eyes widening at Jeno’s words.

“Ten seconds.” Renjun spoke only focusing on his pocket watch hand gripping it tight.

“Our time is limited Jaemin, we can’t wait anymore. She would want us to escape even if she doesn’t get out.” Jeno stressed out grabbing his hair with both hands tugging on it.

Jeno didn’t want to leave her behind but what other option did they have. Stay and continue suffering? They had all been waiting years to get away from the hell hole they were trapped in.

“Jeno is right, there’s no time left.” Mark managed to say even if every fiber of his being didn’t want to admit it.

“Are you out of your mind?” Donghyuck says moving to tug at Mark’s vest slightly red in the face whether from the running or anger no one could tell, most likely both.

“Five seconds.”

“We get it!” Donghyuck spat at Renjun who was still insistently calling out the time left before they really had to go unless they wanted to be stuck there.

“Donghyuck we need to go, she’ll understand.” Mark cut his yelling off lest they get any unwanted attention grabbing his friend's face, cupping his jaw in his hands to face him. Mark noticed the tears welling in his friend's eyes.

”Promise. Promise me that she’ll understand.” Donghyuck all but begged.

“I… I promise.” Mark managed to grit out through clenched teeth.

Mark letting go of Donghyucks face when he finally nodded back.

“Will she be okay?” Jisung finally spoke up, unlike the others who held back tears, his were free flowing.

“Y/n is tough, she’ll be okay Jisung.” Jeno reassured with a tight lipped smile, not sure if he was trying to convince Jisung or himself.

“She will be okay.” Chenle spoke up with a determined look. Out of all of them, Y/n was always the one to keep it together.

“Waiting period is over.” Renjun stated putting away his pocket watch, lip quivering as he watched the hallway in front of them. Silence, with no familiar footsteps coming towards them anytime soon.

Flashes of red neon hued lights flashing on and off. A blaring alarm ringing through the air signally something was wrong in the facility. An attempted escape.

Y/n didn’t know what to focus on. The burning feeling all over her body, muscles aching and screaming for a break, throat dry and swollen from air being swallowed down greedily and being exhaled too fast, blood thumping and rushing. Not to mention the gushing wound on her side.

The stomping of boots fading in the background as she made pace. Always having been the fastest, something the facility took pride in but not at this moment.

For the first time in what felt like days, weeks even she smiled. A smile of relief. Her freedom, her boys freedom so close she could touch it. Somehow the hope in her stomach pushed her faster as she bounded down the second last hallway. Hand still pushing pressure into the side of her torso.

“I’m coming! Boys I’m nearly there!” Y/n let the scream ripple out her dry cracked lips, not needing to be quiet as she was already being chased down. By the ones who’d taken her in the first place.

Taking a sharp right, managing to keep her footing as she raced across the sterile white tiles bare feet staining the floor red in her wake. Seeing the dark mahogany door now.

Her smile dropped into a frown of confusion as she raced down it, not seeing a person in sight. Not the seven figures she’d been expecting to be there. Skidding to a stop a few steps away from the door, that had been left ajar.

Her breathing haggered as she stood wobbling, balance unstable as her eyes trained on the door. Trying to wrap her head around the sight before her. Though it was plain and simple to connect the dots, her mind could and would not accept the sight.

Hand leaving her side slipping away from her gushing wound, slow droplets of blood rolling down her paling hand, falling down onto the once clean white tiles below her.

”No.” Her whisper lost between the loud blaring alarm.

Her figure disappears into the darkness only to reappear every few seconds in the floodlights of red coming from the lights. Swaying slightly now yet her eyes stayed trained on the door, the one that led to her escape.

Her body tried to take a steady deep inhale through her nose but a sudden blinding pain caught her off guard spreading through her head, time seemingly slowing down as her sight seemed to be going sideways.

Y/n not even noticing it wasn’t just her sight going sideways but her body that collapses down onto the ground. A figure behind her being revealed not much older than herself as he stood there eyes wide gazing down at her, his grip on the metal pipe in his hand tighter if possible.

Her body thumped onto the ground in a heap, a mess. Eye glazed over with unshed tears, pain radiating through her. Not just physically but from deep within her.

“Good job Jeongin, very well done my boy.” An older man’s voice cut through the loud alarms.

Y/n not being able to hear it, everything sounding drowned, like she was underwater. She laid there unfocused eyes still staring at that mahogany door from where she was on the floor.

“I told you not to harm my girl, only to detain her!” The older man's voice sounded angry now yelling at people in the distance finally having caught up a bit too late to her.

“Get her to the medical ward, don’t harm her any further or you’ll all be missing a hand as punishment. We’ve already lost seven of my boys, my girl isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

Y/n barely felt the touches against her body, not even the hand that pressed tightly against her wounded side. Her body being dragged up, held against someone as they started walking away from the door.

Her hand just barely managed to lift weakly up in the direction of the wooden door that was slowly getting further away.

‘They left me.’ Was all that ran through her head, hand falling limp, her eyes finally failing her as her eyelids felt too heavy to keep open, the pressure of her eyes closing finally letting a tear slip past rolling down her cheek.

They left me.

Prologue || Chapter 1 || Chapter 2

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

(Comment, message or inbox me to be put on my Nct Dream taglist)

𝐀𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

⤻ Click here.

𝐊𝐩𝐨𝐩 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

⤻ Click here.

[pennyellee]

CHAPTER I - absquatulate

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, kidnapping, mentions of God, graphic violence, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, betrayal, mentions of death

word count: 2,11K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

m.list CHAPTER II

absquatulate (v.) to leave without saying goodbye

October 1938

Her feet ached, the shoes she wore were mercilessly biting into her skin, and the clothes clung uncomfortably to her body. She couldn’t slow down though. Y/N was determined to push herself a little further to cross the borders of Luen’s territory in north side of Korea. She didn't exactly know what would happen next, nor did she care at this point. The vision of freedom kept her sane. Little did she know, fate had a different plan in store for her.

Tears of happiness streamed down her cheeks as she finally found herself beyond the imaginary border. She made it to South part of Korea — the port city Incheon, next, a ferry to Jeju Island. Y/N was moving down the coastline for days, and she feels more than happy to be nearing her final destination.

The moment of joy was short-lived as the sound of barking dogs and distant screams echoed behind her. Wiping her tears quickly, she looked around the area in a rush. A small old building caught her eye, serving as a warehouse of some sort. It was her only option. Casting one last glance behind her, she made a split-second decision and hurried towards the building.

Inside the building, the air was even colder than outside. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to warm up.

Suddenly, a loud thump reverberated through the air, freezing her in place. Instead of moving away from the source of the sound and seeking safety, an inexplicable force drew her closer. Y/N took small steps closer and closer to the voices that grew louder with each passing second. So far, she had guided her steps wisely. This next step, however, would prove to be a grave mistake. With just a slight twist of events, her fate would be forever altered by one hundred and eighty degrees. If only her curiosity and naivety haven’t gotten the best of her, her path could have been entirely different. Or would it?

One movement, one glance, one flutter of butterfly wings and her fate was sealed. Time stood still as she found herself gazing fearfully into his dark eyes. Y/N hadn't even noticed the red-tinged blood staining his white shirt or the loaded gun clutched tightly in his hand. She simply stared, paralysed by fear. It felt like an eternity to her, but it had only been seconds since she hadn't been careful before tripping over the empty wooden boxes revealing to everyone in the room that there was an uninvited guest.

She could hear the man standing nearby reloading his gun. Snapping out of her daze, she turned and fled, as if she had never stopped running. The cool night air lashed against her face as she sprinted with all her might, making her way towards the harbour. There were no more voices heard behind her. Y/N cautiously looked around, finding no trace of anyone following her, allowing herself to have a flicker of hope.

A shadowy figure appeared from behind a corner, blocking her path. It was one of the soldiers, armed and dangerous. Her heart raced as she searched for a way out. ‘This cannot be,’ she thought. The soldier was quick to close the distance between them, the command was loud and clear. “Bring back alive.”

The poor soul, who had only yearned for freedom, remained oblivious to the fact that her life was not in immediate danger. In the heat of the moment, she collected her courage and pushed the soldier forcefully against the wall with all her might. It took him a moment to collect himself as he had hit his head pretty hard. Y/N did not hesitate though. Her eyes spotted a rock earlier which was now in her possession — brought it up and smashed it against his head. Only after she realised what has just happened. She knew he might be dead and for this very sin, she will have to pay. But there was no time for regrets now. She took off running again.

Had she managed to escape? That remained to be seen. Hungry, thirsty, and chilled to the bone, she stepped onto the small ferry, placing one foot on its creaking board. Y/N paid for the journey with the golden hairpin that held her dark locks together. As the wind danced in her hair and frost began to paint her face, a kind-hearted passenger offered her a blanket, which she gratefully wrapped around herself while she watched the disappearing land, full of lights. In the distance, she thought she caught a glimpse of a figure dressed in black on the pier. Paying little attention to it, she unknowingly continued down a treacherous path.

Not far away, a man leaned against a car whose engine had only recently gone cold, asking.

“Shall we follow her sajangnim?”

“There is no need for that,” the man’s words hung in the air. As if he knew exactly that fate would lead her back to him.

She reached the other shore shortly before dawn. Though hazy memories guided her, she vaguely recalled the path she was meant to take. The last time she was on this island, she was barely fourteen years old. Yet, her feet seemed to instinctively remember the way.

She stood before the gate of a grand mansion, comparable in size to the one she had grown up in. Slowly, she opened it and slipped inside. There were no soldiers to be seen guarding the mansion.‘Strange,’ she thought to herself.

Slowly she walked to the door and grasped the large metal knocker in her hands, rapped it three times. The door swung open, revealing a middle-aged woman holding a small boy in her arms.

“Y/N?” the short-haired lady addressed her.

“I know I shouldn't be here, Daiyu, but I have nowhere to go right now,” she said with tears in her eyes and a lump in her throat. Daiyu opened the door more and let her younger cousin in. Placing the little boy in a wooden chair, Daiyu prepared tea, mindful of the chilly temperatures outside.

“What happened Y/N? Does Uncle know you're here?” She asked when she finally sat down next to her. There was a pleasant warmth inside that radiated from the lit fireplace.

“No, no one knows I’m gone” she admitted.

“That's not good at all Y/N, do you want to end up with a bullet in your head?!”

“I’d rather that than take my freedom by marrying that brute”

“You know damn well you won't get it,” she told her younger cousin. She knew what she was going through, but she couldn't help her.

“Auntie told me to come here once—” her voice faded away when she realised the sorrow within her. “—Maybe if Chan-yeol...” She didn't even have time to finish before the sound of a slamming door reverberated through the room, shaking Y/N to her core.

“What in God’s name is she doing here!” The voice echoed, filled with anger and disbelief once he saw her sitting in his kitchen. Y/N turned to face the source of the voice, her cousin's husband towering over her, his eyes blazing with fury. “Chan-yeol...my mother sent her here. She needs help,” Daiyu attempted to explain and pleaded for Y/N’s safety, but Chan-yeol’s response was cold and hostile.

“Our help? Amazing, now they’re going to kill us too!” he bellowed, his face turning a bright shade of red. Treason wasn’t tolerated among the Wang clan. By running away Y/N knew very well that she cannot come back if she doesn’t want to die.

Y/N began to realize the gravity of her situation, but she knew that it was too late. “They won’t kill you, just please get me to the west. I’ll help myself from there, Chan-yeol please,” she pleaded, falling to her knees in front of him. Y/N was not ready to die.

Chan-yeol’s expression softened for a moment, but it quickly turned to one of anger and frustration. “Daiyu, come with me,” he ordered, his voice cold and hard. Daiyu looked at Y/N with a mixture of sympathy and regret before following her husband out of the room. Y/N was left alone, her heart pounding with fear and uncertainty. She knew that her fate was now in the hands of her cousin’s husband, and she could only hope that he would have mercy on her.

Her feet carried her front and back while she was listening to muffled screams and thuds from behind the closed door. Suddenly, everything went silent, and a tearful Daiyu came out of the door. “Don’t worry Y/N, everything will be as it should be,” she said, her words laced with a bittersweet comfort.

Overwhelmed with relief, Y/N believed she would finally be free. Daiyu poured the tea she had set the water on earlier. She smiled at her through her tears and watched her drink it. The poor girl had no idea what was yet to come. Slowly, her eyes closed, and she fell into dreamland as Daiyu sat beside her and cried.

“You knew this will happen sooner or later, Daiyu. We cannot disobey him.” Chan-yeol said as he picked Y/N up in his arms and carried her away from his wife’s sight.

“This was your mother’s wish. Honour it.”

Never in her worst dreams would Daiyu have thought she would sacrifice her blood to protect the clan she despised with the same amount as Y/N.

The crackling of wood in the blazing fireplace brought Y/N back to consciousness. Slowly, she widened her teary eyes and looked around the room, which was unfamiliar to her. Tall windows, obscured by long curtains that prevented her from looking out, darkened the entire room. The only source of light was the blazing fireplace and an oil lamp set on the bedside table. She sat her body down on the bed.

Y/N was no longer clad in her bright red qipao dress, but she was wearing a nightgown that wasn't hers. Nothing in this room belonged to her. She grasped the oil lamp in her hands and, with a small gasp, took her first steps toward the large door on the other side of the room.

Everything was sort of strange, the house looked Korean with some touches of Western furniture. For a moment she thought Chan-yeol had made it, and she was somewhere in a far-off land in a safe house.

She pushed the door open and carefully slipped out. Y/N found herself in a hall that was darker than night. The walls were littered with black and white framed photos and several doors. The petite Chinese woman walked slowly down the hallway, shining her light on the paintings. She didn't recognise most of the people, family portraits from generation to generation, until she came to the last one.

It was him, with his dark eyes and the long scar across, her own filled with fear. The lamp fell from her hands and her feet carried her unknowingly where. She rammed full force into several doors and wandered until she found the exit. Y/N looked around the area in every direction but there was no escape route anywhere. Abruptly, she turned back to face where she came from. She had an uneasy feeling inside her. As if someone was watching her. But she didn’t see anyone anywhere.

It was only the cold drops of rain falling on her shoulders which made her look up, revealing the reason for her inner unease. She saw him standing up there like a king, a God, looking directly into her eyes. His hands rested on the wooden balcony railing, smiling. The smile concealed darkness within. Her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed to the ground.

“No more fleeing away, my little butterfly,” his voice echoed in the air, and a feeling of satisfaction settled across his body.

I N T E R L O G U E

“Everything is going according to the plan, kkangpae. She came here” Said the man, holding the phone to his ear. His wife looking at him with tears.

“I understand,” said Chan-yeol, ending the call, and locking eyes with his wife. “Don’t cry Dayiu, you know this is the best for her.” He sighed.

“That is very easy for you to say, it’s not your life that is about to change.” She collected herself, ready to leave the room. “You managed,” said he.

“But you weren’t the head of syndicate Chan-yeol—” she began. “You know, I made my peace within this marriage, but I’m sure she won’t take it laying down.” Chan-yeol pursed his lips in annoyance.

“I wish I could know my mother’s reasoning for this ordeal, but it’s too late for that.” Said Daiyu, finalising her words and leaving the room at once.

to be continued

author’s note: AAAAAAA! The first chapter is here. This is just a little beginning and I promise that a lot more is going to come and be unveiled ♥ Excuse any ridiculous mistake I made, I just recently got back to writing and it's not beta read. If you want to be added to the taglist, don't be shy and lemme know. Dm's and asks are always open ♥ I'll try to adjust everything and you prolly will get second chapter soonish too.

I'm also not expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction.

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

let's be friends chummers ♥

lots of love, 𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖞𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊

taglist: @chaoticpuff17 @honsoolgloss @jingerbreadoutofstock @moocow778 @janura26 @dinosolecito @yoongislatinagff @xyahrinx @ruhmoojeonjunkook-blog @hi12345567 @nochuel @deltamoon666 @bbkissme99 @darkuni63 @nansasa @sazsazsaz @missmin @strxwbloody @royallyjjk @jaiuneamesolitaiire @shadowyjellyfishfest

©pennyellee. please do not repost

[idyllic-affections]

Are you able to do over protective Dan heng x child reader platonic??? Like what if the child reader accidentally got hurt or severely injured

(The reader can be any gender)

the guard.

summary. dan heng has never been one to let those he loves get hurt.

trigger & content warnings. vaguely implied spoilers for dan heng's backstory (but only if you squint), mild blood, depictions of injury.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. comfort, slight angst. dan heng & child!reader. 0.5k words. they/them pronouns used for reader.

author's thoughts. i am practicing writing shorter reqs!! my inbox is SOOOO full tbh LMAOOO so i'm trying to learn to write shorter works so i can post more often again. this request became very found family like.... really quickly. sorry anon. i could not help it PLEALDJEKDHJG /lh

       "Big brother!"

       Dan Heng's eyes snapped in their direction at the painful cry they let out, and his lips pulled back into a scowl.

       Blood.

       There wasn't a lot of it, but against the snowy backdrop of Belobog, it wasn't exactly difficult to see, either. Their blood coated their little hands as they reached down to their wounded leg instinctively, trying to grasp at or clutch their wound as if that would somehow lessen the throbbing, aching sensating striking up and down their limb with any wrong movements they made. They curled into themselves pitifully.

       With a practiced, skillful flick of his arm, he decimated what remained of the Fragmentum monsters surrounding him and rushed in their direction. He payed no mind to the few monsters that remained; he merely scooped them up into his strong arms and darted away from the battle entirely.

       As much as something hidden away deep inside him snarled and hissed and demanded that he turn back and destroy what dared lay hands on the hiccuping, sobbing child in his arms... it wasn't worth it. It was not worth his time, not when someone so dear to him was in pain.

       No, it was not worth his time nor his energy.

       "You're okay," he murmured (and perhaps it was more to reassure himself than it was to reassure them), one hand gingerly caressing the back of their head. They wept into his neck, hands clawing at his clothes and shoulders. It was as if they sought to ground themselves—to grit their teeth and calm themselves down, despite the agony they were in. "You're okay."

       "It hurts," they cried, face twisting into a grimace whenever Dan Heng moved a little too fast or jolted his body—and subsequenly, theirs—a little too sharply.

       His eyes flickered down to them for a brief moment.

       Dan Heng could swear he felt his heart halt in his chest at the sight of their expression. It made him all the more determined to get them back onto the Express as quickly as he possibly could.

       "...I know," he murmured. "I know, [Name]. Just breathe. We'll be on the Express soon."

       They nodded weakly against his shoulder, sniffling.

       His grip on their fragile body only seemed to tighten.

                         — flower of the universe !! 🌸

       Dan Heng had failed them.

       He, who had never been the type of person to allow harm to befall his loved ones, had failed them.

       Though their wound had been treated, though they no longer appeared to be in pain, he still failed. It was difficult for him not to fixate on those things when he was sitting right next to their bed. They looked tired. He should have done better. He should have—

       "Dan Heng?" their quiet, timid voice squeaked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

       "...What is it?"

       "Can you stay with me tonight?" Their fingers anxiously fidgeted with their blanket as they turned their face towards him. "I'm scared."

       "Of what?"

       "Those monsters. What if they come back to get me..?"

       "They won't get you here," he reassured quietly, calmly, "...but I'll stay, if that makes you feel any better."

       Through the dim lighting, Dan Heng could make out the big smile spreading across their face.

       Somehow, the concerns in his mind dissipated all at once.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

[agustdakasuga]

The Way Of A Criminal: Chapter 8

Genre: Mafia!AU, Criminal!AU, Angst, Romance

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Characters: Normal!Reader, Gangster!Namjoon, Gangster!Seokjin, Gangster!Yoongi, Gangster!Hoseok, Gangster!Jimin, Gangster!Taehyung, Gangster!Jungkook

Summary: Your father was a stranger, you never knew who he was and what he did. But one day, someone knocks on your door, informing you of his passing. Now, you learn more about him, his life and the legacy you are expected to continue with the help of his 7 executives.

Story warning(s): This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed/gore, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking and gambling. This story is fictional and has nothing to do with real life events or the actual members of BTS. Please read at your own discretion.

Jimin yawned as he sat up from the awkward angle that he fell asleep in. It had been another night of working for him. In his drunken stupor, he had gotten rid of his jacket and fell asleep in his shirt and pants.

“Hey, you.” Jimin said, sticking his head out the window to a maid that was cleaning the backyard.

“Young master Jimin.” She immediately stood up straight and bowed.

“Bring my breakfast to my room and an iced black coffee. I’ll be in the shower, leave it on my desk.” Jimin pulled his head back in and went to take a nice, hot shower. The smell of old alcohol and blood dissipated and was replaced with the smell of fresh soap.

“Exactly what I needed.” Jimin came out, a towel over his shoulder to prevent his dripping hair from wetting his shirt. He saw the tray of hot food and sat down to dig in.

“Chim? You’re up?” Taehyung poked his head into the room.

“Oh, Tae. Yeah... I just woke up. I didn’t get in until this morning.” Jimin blinked as he took a sip of the hot soup. That settled his churning stomach.

“I heard. Namjoon hyung said to expect that we will be more busy but we still have to try to lay low.” Taehyung groaned in annoyance, falling onto the back of Jimin’s bed, arms spread as he stared at the ceiling.

“Your informant is dead, by the way.”

“What happened?” Taehyung hoisted himself up onto his elbows to look at the back of his best friend’s head.

“Not sure. I went to the meeting point like you said. His body was already cold, waiting for me to find. He was probably ratted out by someone. The injuries look like a mafia’s execution style. His jaw was broken from someone stomping on the back of his head and a single gunshot wound right through the skull.” Jimin described.

“Damn, it’s getting harder to find good informants nowadays. Ones that actually stay hidden and anonymous. No biggie, I’ll just try to scout another person.” Taehyung clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“That’s what you get for having lackeys as your informants. Do they even get you anything useful?”

“They get me what I need underground, I guess. Plus, lackeys are easier to convert than long time workers.” Taehyung shrugged.

“Oh yeah. Apparently, there was a visitor to one of my clubs. They can’t describe the guy but someone handed my bartender this in the stack of bills during payment.” Jimin went to retrieve something from his jacket pocket.

“Hmmm.” Taehyung held the card.

“What does it mean?” Jimin asked as he sat back down to continue his meal. There was no reply, making him turn to his best friend. Taehyung was deep in thought, a slight frown on his face.

“Tae?”

“This card... It’s the Judgement card. The angel, sent by God, to judge who is eligible to enter heaven. Someone is going to declare a war soon and judgement will be upon us all, to decide who lives and who dies.” Taehyung spoke stoicly as he stood up.

“If Namjoon hyung asks, don’t tell him about the card yet. Until I can find out more.” He said to Jimin, who nodded his head.

“This message was meant for me. I don’t know why but to send a message in the form of a card...” Taehyung trailed off at the end of his sentence. Without another word, he left the room.

“I’m done with my food. You can clear my room now.” Jimin informed the butler when he emerged from his room.

“Yes, young master.” The butler bowed.

“Do you guys know where Namjoon hyung is?” Jimin asked Jungkook and Hoseok, who were engrossed on their video game, too busy trying to kill the other person’s character.

“He’s at the lab. Has some big meeting with the guys in the defense department of the government to work on some prototype or something.” Jungkook said.

“Oh.”

“He hasn’t been to the lab in forever things are all backed up there. They’re asking Namjoon hyung to consuilt and invest in their new chemical weapon testing.” He explained.

“He had a message for you. He said ‘give the note to Yoongi hyung’, whatever that means.” Hoseok added. Jimin hummed as an acknowledgement and went to find the second oldest. Yoongi was squinting at his piano book, trying to read the sheet music to play on his piano. He reached over to grab his crystal whiskey glass to take a sip.

“Yoongi hyung? It’s Jimin, I have something for you.” Jimin knocked on the door. Yoongi’s fingers stopped, resting on the black and white keys. He knew why Jimin was here, Namjoon had informed him prior.

“Come in.” He replied.

“Here. Namjoon hyung said to hand this to you.” Jimin took the folded paper out of his pocket and placed it on the piano.

“Thanks.” Yoongi took the paper and unfolded it, his eyes scanning the contents. Jimin tilted his head, he didn’t know what the names and numbers on the paper meant.

“What’s it for?”

“It’s a hit list. We’re not sure whose hit list it is but since the names are members of the same political faction, it’s obvious that there is some sort of political motive to get rid of them.” Yoongi explained.

“So what are we going to do?” Jimin asked.

“Protect the bigger names, kill the smaller ones before the actual hitman can get to them. Create confusion for the actual person that ordered the hit. You, Jungkook and I will be mobilised when the plan is in action.” Yoongi informed and Jimin nodded his head, understanding.

The three of them were the hitmen of the group. Of course, everyone knew how to wield a weapon but the three of them were usually responsible for the more violent missions.

“I won’t disturb you further. Bye.” Jimin waved and left. Yoongi watched the younger leave and shut the door.

‘I got the list from Jimin. It’s a big one. - Yoongi’

Namjoon looked at the text on his phone. He let out a sigh of relief, grateful for Jimin’s skills in retrieving the list. He put the device away and turned back to the defence minister.

“Of course, I trust that all this will be kept under wraps?” The minister turned to Namjoon.

“You’re the one that sought us out to invest in your little project, Mr Park. I should be the one concerned with the secrecy, not you. Don’t you think?” Namjoon chuckled. At the slight taunt in his voice, the defence minister’s guards stepped up but the old man held his hand up to stop him. He nodded in agreement with Namjoon.

“Definitely. Your investment and expertise will be a big help to the development and testing of our new prototype. The outsourced labs we’ve partnered with just isn’t cutting it.” The minister clicked his tongue.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to put them down. They do have the backing of the government and they know how to keep a good image in front of the public.”

“That’s true. But I know you will get me the results I want, Mr Kim.” The minister gave Namjoon a knowing smile.

“I look forward to working with you then.” He held his hand out.

“Not so fast.” Namjoon raised his eyebrow at the outstretched hand. The minister withdrew his hand, waiting for Namjoon to continue speaking. No way will Namjoon strike a deal that easily.

“I want the profiles of those working the team and prototype. Background checks. Can’t be too careless with potential moles working with other people.” Namjoon explained.

“Understandable. I will get my secretary to send them over to you.”

“You’ll get your contract signature after those profiles are looked over.” Namjoon said. The same guard from before stepped up.

“Someone’s a little on edge, isn’t he” Namjoon smirked with a slight tilt of the head.

“Forgive him, Mr Kim. He’s new to the job and doesn’t know how these things work. There’s no intention to disrespect.” The defence minister said. He turned to the guard, nodding over to Namjoon. That was the signal for him to bow and apologise to Namjoon.

“If that’s all, I look forward to the next time we speak. Maybe then, you’ll be a bit more accustomed to this.” Namjoon patted the guard’s shoulder, who stiffened up.

“Thank you for your time in seeing us. Hopefully, we get a good partnership out of this.” The defence minister shook hands with Namjoon.

“We’ll see.” Namjoon raised his eyebrows.

The car came to a stop and the worker jogged out, opening the car door for Taehyung. He sighed and came out, entering the shop. The receptionist stood up from her post and bowed deeply to him.

“Boss.” Two of Taehyung’s men stood up and bowed as Taehyung walked deeper into the store.

“We lost another informant yesterday. So either they’re not very good secret keepers or there is a mole amongst us, leaking out information on who the informants are.” Taehyung said, sitting down on his throne-like chair. All this was covered by the curtain separating the store front and the usual ‘consultation’ area of the shop.

“I want you all to find the mole. Go!” Taehyung barked. The two men nodded fearfully, bowing and running out of there.

“Tch.” Taehyung kicked his feet up onto the table, resting them on the purple velvet tablecloth. He took out the card that Jimin gave him earlier, spinning it between his fingers.

“Judgement day is coming.” He said quietly to himself.

RINGGGGGGG

“V’s Fortune Telling and Tarot Reading. How can I help you?... Do you have an appointment?... I understand, please hold.” Taehyung heard the receptionist answer the phone at the front of the shop. The receptionist poked her head behind to curtain, making Taehyung sit up.

“Boss. It’s for you.” She handed the phone over to Taehyung. It must have been a notable person for her to not handle the call herself like she usually does. He looked at the number and recognised it immediately.

“Mr President. I wasn’t expecting a call from you. How can I help?” Taehyung smirked as he spoke into the phone.

After passing the phone over, the receptionist immediately bowed out of the curtained area and walked to the front, turning the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’ and drawing the privacy curtains.

‘Hi, (y/n)! I’m apparently the only one with your number so I was asked to send you a message. Would you like to join my brothers and I for dinner tomorrow night? - Taehyung’

You drummed your fingers on your desk as you thought about what to reply, how were you supposed to craft your reply and you didn’t know if you wanted to say that you would go or not. Of course, your schedule was free, your plan was to just do university work. But did you want to go?

“Hey. You okay?” Wonwoo waved his hand in front of your face when he noticed you spacing out.

“Did you just run a marathon? You’re panting so heavily.” You chuckled, acting completely normal as you turned your phone screen to hide the message pop up from Taehyung.

“The dance teacher let us go late. I thought I wouldn’t have time to shower before coming.” He shook his head with a tired sigh.

“Because your performance evaluations are coming up?”

“Yeah. But I’m confident my team and I can do it. They’re all really talented and hardworking.” Wonwoo said.

“I’m sure you’re just as talented as they are, Woo. I haven’t seen you all perform before but I am sure you are all very good.” You smiled. You have seen Wonwoo rap, dance and play instruments before, he was really talented.

“Actually, tomorrow we’re having this small performance in the studio and students are welcomed to come watch. Sort of like rehearsal for us too. It’ll be after school at about 4pm. Are you free to come?” He asked. You thought back to the dinner plans that Taehyung just invited you for. Maybe you could go after watching Wonwoo.

“Sure. Save me a seat.” You nodded your head. Wonwoo smiled excitedly and gave you a thumbs up. The professor came in and began the class.

After class, you made sure to remember to text Taehyung back with your reply for tomorrow’s dinner plans. The plan was for you to be picked up from the university then get ready at their place before going for dinner.

‘Where will we be going for dinner? - (y/n)’

‘It’s a surprise so I can’t tell you. If you need the dress code, hmm… I would say dress smart casual. It isn’t too fancy. - Taehyung’

“That doesn’t help at all.” You sighed. Not because of the vague dress code but you wanted to do some research before the dinner. You wanted to know what to expect, in terms of behaviour and type of food.

‘Don’t worry too much. It’s just a casual dinner :) See you tomorrow! - Taehyung’

It was as if he knew exactly what you were fretting about. You were supposed to go home with Wonwoo but when you arrived at the front of the university, there were girls surrounding him, giggling and chatting about how excited they were to see him perform tomorrow.

“The bus it is.” You didn’t hold it against him. Even in high school, Wonwoo was very popular with the girls. There was no doubt that he was handsome and girls were always jealous of you being friends with him.

“Hey, (y/n). I’m at the front of the university. Where are you?”

“Oh, hey Wonwoo! I saw that you were busy so I decided to just take the bus home. I didn’t want to take you away from your friends.” You said as you tapped your card.

“I’m sorry, (y/n)... I promised to drop you home but those people just surrounded me. Where are you now?”

“No need to apologise, it’s fine. Really. I’m already on the way home.” You assured him.

“Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You and Wonwoo bid each other goodbye before hanging up. While on the bus, you decided to look at the promotional announcements for your nearby supermarket. With everything you’ve been doing, the house was in serious need of some restocking. So instead of going home, you got off at the stop near the supermarket.

“Good evening.” You grabbed a cart and greeted the staff that were out restocking. You followed your list in picking up what you needed, both food and household items.

“Pasta.” You looked at all the shapes available on the shelf. Going to the shelf, you tiptoed to try and get the box down.

“Let me help.” Someone appeared behind you, reaching up to get the box.

“Thank you.” You received the box with a bow of your head. After he saved you the other night, you haven’t really spoken to him. You didn’t really know how he felt about you. Plus, you were a little awkward.

“What brings you here, Hoseok sshi?” You blinked.

“I was in the area for work. Stopped by to get our youngest some snacks.” He explained, gesturing to his basket of snacks.

“And (y/n)? Just call me Hoseok.” He smiled. You nodded your head, clearing your throat while looking away. You continued walking and Hoseok walked beside you.

“Do you mind me tagging along?” He asked. You shook your head.

“Do you usually end university at this time?” He tilted his head.

"No, it differs depending on the class and meetings after.” You replied. Hoseok grabbed what he needed and waited patiently for you, helping you carry the heavy stuff to load into your shopping cart. He didn’t really make an effort to force a conversation, which you were grateful for.

“I’m done.” You informed him. He nodded and you both headed for the cash register to pay for your items. Like the gentleman he was, Hoseok let you go first, even if you had more things.

“Here-”

“No. Please, these are my household stuff. I can pay for them myself.” You stopped him from giving his credit card over.

“Here you go. Thank you.” You handed your own card over to the cashier, who bagged everything up for you. As she bagged, you put the stuff bag into your cart to wheel out. Hoseok helped you while the cashier scanned his items.

“I’ll drop you home. It’ll be too heavy to carry everything and take the bus.” Hoseok offered.

“Thank you.” You shot him a small smile.

“Done. Let’s go.” Hoseok got his bags and you pushed the cart, following him to his car. Fortunately, Hoseok decided to drive a bigger car to work rather than one of the two seater sportscars.

Once everything was loaded, Hoseok began to drive back to your home. Unlike Taehyung, he listened to soft rap music in the car. You looked out the window at the setting sun and noticed people rushing after getting off work. Luckily Hoseok had bumped into you and was able to send you back. Or else you would have to carry everything in a crowded bus.

“Let me help you off load the items.” Hoseok said as he put the car in park outside your house.

“There’s no need! You’ve helped me more than enough. Even saving me from having to ride in a crowded bus with my things. Really, I appreciate it.” You shook your hands.

“It’s alright. Jungkook can afford to wait for his snacks. He won’t starve.” Hoseok laughed, grabbing the bags and walking up to your house. You quickly ran forward to unlock the door for him.

“You can just leave them here.” You pointed to the kitchen table.

“Thank you again, Hoseok sshi.” You bowed repeatedly once everything was brought into the house.

“Don’t keep thanking me, (y/n). It’s really no big deal. Also, I said to just call me Hoseok. Drop the formalities.” He smiled. His smile was rather infectious, making you smile too.

“I’m glad you’re not feeling awkward or uncomfortable with me after what happened last time. Because I want to assure you that I won’t judge or anything. It was a moment of vulnerability for you and I would never tease you over it.” Hoseok said.

“O-Oh... right... I was just feeling embarrassed by my reaction to it.” You rubbed the back of your neck.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s normal to be scared. And I’m glad you could count on us, or at least Taehyung, to help you.” He said.

“It was the only person I could think of at that time. And I don’t even want to think of what would have happened if you guys didn’t come in time.” You shivered, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Don’t scare yourself.” He patted your shoulder and you nodded, relaxing immediately.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at dinner?”

“Yes. I look forward to it.” You giggled. You walked Hoseok to the door, awkwardly waving and watching him drive off before heading back into the house to unpack the groceries.

~~

Series Masterlist

Ko-Fi

Main masterlist

[hotgirlmav]

Cyrano — Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Female!Reader (18+)

Description: PART 2 OF PARTING GIFT! One night stands were never truly your thing. After passing your college midterms and celebrating at a bar, though, a one night stand ended up being just what you wanted. You picked the hottest naval aviator in the whole building and soon learned that he wanted you just as badly as you wanted him. He was set to deploy the next day, and you just wanted a cheap fix. What better way to ruin the convenience of a one night stand than him getting you pregnant?

Warnings: Explicit language, sexual undertones, abundance of angst, depictions of anxiety, vomit, alcohol, pregnancy, mentions of abortion, brief arguing, mentions of death, bits of fluff, Maverick and Iceman mention because I am WEAK.

Word Count: 4,684.

A/N: IGNORE THE FACT THAT I SAID I WOULD POST THIS LAST NIGHT, I TOOK A NAP THAT TURNED INTO ME SLEEPING FOR FIVE HOURS 😭 I also just wanted to take a quick second to thank you all for the response I received on the first part. The amount of comments, reblogs, and messages I got was just absolutely insane. You all genuinely make writing worth it. You have my heart.

Requests are still open!

From the very moment his words went through the phone and to your ear, you were in a state of panic.

Though it had only been a few days since he told you that he was coming, the thought of Rooster’s arrival left a deep wound right in the center of your chest. Fear had been your closest companion ever since you found out about your pregnancy, and over the past number of days, the dreaded nuisance of the emotion refused to part from you. You woke up with it at your bedside, you traveled with it throughout the day, and despite your attempts being to no prevail, you tried to make your peace with it at night.

While currently standing in front of the mirror in your bedroom, every emotion you had felt since you found out about your pregnancy was amplified.

Fear. Guilt. Sympathy for the baby inside of you. Slight excitement. You knew the situation wasn’t exactly ideal, but you refused to not be at least a little excited over what would end up being your child. You refused to let your baby suffer for what you believed to be your recklessness.

Only thirty minutes prior to your silent session in front of your own reflection, Rooster had informed you that he was quite ready to come get you for dinner. You had no idea as to whether he was very far from your house, very close to it, or even if he remembered where it was. In all fairness, he had only been there once.

Almost like he waited for you to doubt him, the sound of a knock outside the door pierced your ears in a way that might as well have been an explosion. You visibly flinched at the faint sound of his knuckles briefly hitting your front door and cleared your throat, trying to suppress the nausea you felt induced both by your baby and by the father. How fitting.

“Just one second!” You found yourself calling out to him, frantically looking around your bedroom. You rushed out to the living room and began to toss everything around in a way that would make it seem just a bit neater, pure panic coursing through your veins.

It took about a minute more until you raced to the door and sharply inhaled through your mouth, practically holding your breath once you opened the door.

Your heart completely stopped at the sight of him. Tanned, sun-kissed skin practically illuminating under the light provided by the sunset, hair so sandy yet golden. His mustache was very neatly trimmed in a way that told you he must have spent quite a few minutes on it, and for that, you fought the urge to grin.

His hazel eyes scanned you as his full lips curled into a cheeky smile, just before he furrowed his eyebrows. His large hand gripped the doorframe as he met your eyes with his own for a moment, then broke the intense eye contact just a second later, leaning his head inside of the doorway. Due to the fact that he was quite a bit taller than you, it was easy for him to do so.

His eyes scanned the now tidy living room, answering his internal question as to just what took you so long to open the door. The man was still essentially towering over you as he turned his head back to your face, gazing right down at you with furrowed eyebrows.

“You didn’t tidy up this well when I railed you.” He remarked in a way that made you let out a small gasp, earning a genuine chuckle from him when you swatted at his chest. Strangely enough, all of your panic evaporated into thin air once he spoke.

“Since you don’t appreciate my efforts, I shouldn’t have cleaned up at all. I should have made even more of a mess.” You teased him in a light tone, your lips already curling into a grin. With how good he looked, you refused to even try to fight it.

Rooster inhaled sharply, turning his head away from you as his face twisted in playful disappointment.

“Damn, and to think that I made a reservation for us.” He jokingly scoffed, shaking his head. He couldn’t even fight the smile on his face.

Your grin was playfully mischievous. You raised one eyebrow before you sharply inhaled as if to mimic the way he did before, pursing your lips slightly.

“Take one of your other girls. This ship,” you began in a light, yet firm tone as you used your index finger to point back and forth between the pair of you. “Has sailed.”

Rooster let out a chuckle that made your knees want to buckle, further proving to you just how easy it must have been for him to get you into bed that night. What he said next, though, that took the cake.

“I don’t want the other girls. I came here for you.” He told you so matter-of-factly, his tone reeking of casualness as he lifted his hand and momentarily stroked your cheek with his thumb.

From the way you couldn’t even fight the immediate beam that appeared on your face, Rooster let out a soft chuckle that came from deep within his chest. Your eyes rolled as your grin and your shyly flattered expression betrayed you, staring up at him through your eyelashes. You opened your mouth to jokingly insult him, but as your eyes landed on his face, you immediately found yourself stuck. At that moment, everything hit you like a ton of bricks.

The man in front of you was the father of your child.

You had only been considering his part in your pregnancy in a vague, common way, but everything was coming together in the most overwhelming way possible. Even if Rooster decided to have no part in your pregnancy and in the child’s life, your baby was permanently going to be partially made up of the man before you.

Noticing the way you fell silent, Rooster took the opportunity to take your smaller hand in his own, standing up straight. His grin remained intact on his beautiful face, blissfully unaware as to why you just fell silent.

“I will go fully fucking insane if they offer our table to someone else.” He casually chuckled under his breath as he motioned for you to come out, earning a small giggle from you as you did just that. Seeing as you had already been holding your purse, all you needed to do was lock the door.

After doing so, he led you to the quite beautiful Bronco, causing your lips to curl into a grin. You knew it was an older model, but it was taken care of as if it was brand new.

The car ride there went by smoothly. A few jokes were exchanged, your hand was being held, and the heightened part of your libido that came with pregnancy was really kicking your ass. You couldn’t look at the man for more than two seconds without shifting in your seat, causing you to look out of the window almost the entire time.

By the time you two had arrived, your table was perfectly ready for the pair of you. You silently thanked your lucky stars, as you just didn’t need him being even slightly cranky when you informed him of the parting gift he left you just two months prior.

You two sat down with ease and ordered soon after, but that wasn’t without any minor complications.

“Oh, no wine for me, please.” You quickly added once you heard Rooster order a bottle, earning a confused expression from the man. Even with the way your heart was skipping a beat, you still couldn’t bring yourself to make eye contact with him. His furrowed eyebrows and his broad shoulders under his open Hawaiian shirt just made you excited, and that was not an issue you wanted to deal with.

“Cramps.” You quickly excused yourself to aid his confusion, earning a look of understanding and a nod. Silently, you thanked yourself for the fact that Rooster was just another brainless man. You had to both love him and hate him for it.

Once you ordered your drink of choice and the server left, you tilted your head and sat back in your seat. You watched him sip the complimentary water that was given to you both, causing you to press your legs together under the table. You knew that if you didn’t break the silence, you’d just pounce on him.

“Are you going to tell me your name, or am I going to keep having to call you Rooster?” You questioned in a light tone, your lips curling into a soft smile as he chuckled at your question.

“It’s Bradley. Bradley Bradshaw, Rooster is my callsign.” He informed you in a low tone, raising his eyebrows slightly as you began to rub his leg with your own under the table.

“Wait.” You immediately stopped, furrowing your eyebrows. “Bradley Bradshaw…? Brad Brad?”

Seeing that you were fighting the urge to laugh, the man couldn’t even resist a chuckle of his own and shot you a warning glare. “Don’t even start.”

You let a soft giggle escape your lips as you gazed over at him mindlessly, tilting your head. It was almost as if you completely forgot what you had to tell him.

“You don’t even know my name.” You told him with a playful huff, immediately reaching for the complimentary bread that was just begging to be eaten.

“Sure I do.” He responded, reaching for a piece of the bread at the exact same time.

“Yeah?” You challenged him with an amused expression. “What is it?”

Like clockwork, there was a cheeky little grin on his face as he popped a piece of the bread into his mouth. His eyebrows furrowed as a way to fake concern for you. “Why, you don’t know your own name?”

You couldn’t help but let out a genuine laugh at his response, shaking your head as his chuckle matched your own. “Asshole.”

After a few moments, your food arrived, and your thoughts began to remind you of just what was going on.

You were pregnant. Waiting any longer to tell the man wouldn’t have made any sense. He was sitting right in front of you, and God only knew when the next time that would happen would be.

Your eyes glossed over the man as he shoveled bites of food into his mouth, your head tilting to the side as your eyes furrowed slightly. Not even noticing the fact that your eyes were glued to his face, he spoke in between bites.

“I haven’t eaten since I landed. Don’t mind me eating this like I'm scared of it walking away.” He casually remarked, his lips curling into a grin as he wiped them with his napkin once he heard the sound of your light giggle.

It was no wonder why you even brought him home to begin with. He was charming, he was witty, he was funny, he was insanely attractive; Rooster truly was a million dollar man with the smile to match. Though it would just pain you to admit it, in the deepest recesses of your heart, you were glad that he was the partner you were given in such a tricky situation.

“No, no, don’t worry.” You attempted to reassure him, silently hoping that his remark wasn’t made out of any discomfort. “I’m just admiring you.”

Had the lighting in there not been so dim, you would have realized just how shyly Rooster grinned at your words. His body was slightly tense from the light form of flattery that you bestowed on him, proving to him that he truly did like you. Something about you just seemed so— different. So special.

Dinner went by smoothly. An incessant amount of flirting took place at that table, fueling your devious little crush on him. Had you not been haunted by the fact that you were carrying his baby and he was still yet to know, you wouldn’t have even considered not taking him home with you.

You two were just absolutely smitten with each other.

The ride home, though, was absolutely painful. Your chest felt very tight from the fact that you still hadn’t told him, and the warmth from his hand on your thigh could only hold you over for so long. Before you knew it, you were home. The opportunity was slipping through your fingertips.

The car came to a halt in front of your house, both relief and guilt washing over your body as it did so. Though you truly did come to love the feeling of being with Rooster, you missed a warmth from your home that even the sun could not provide. Had you not felt guilty about the fact that you still hadn’t told Rooster about the fact that you were about to be the mother of his child, being right outside of it would have drowned you in pure euphoria.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to throw the words over at him like a game of catch, but for the most aggravating reason in the world, you couldn’t. Your hand was finding its way to the door handle, despite the fact that you were silently screaming at yourself to spit it out.

Almost like he could hear you, you felt a large, warm hand gently grip yours before he pulled you over. Luckily, you had just taken your seatbelt off, so there would have been nothing to restrain you when you leaned over per his physical request.

Before you knew it, the warmest and most perfect pair of lips were pressed to yours, causing your heart to just melt inside of your chest. You lifted one of your hands and slowly pushed your fingers into his sandy blonde hair as his lips danced with yours, your eyes threatening to fill with tears. You just couldn’t fathom that being the last time you kissed him. That very well could have been the last good moment you two shared as people who liked one another, and not just as co-parents.

“What’s the matter, pretty girl?” He quietly asked with a playful grin once he detached his lips from yours, the volume of his voice mirroring the way it sounded the morning you last saw him. His long fingers were now gently massaging the very back of your scalp, your eyebrows furrowing at just how good it felt. He let out a small chuckle at your expression and pressed yet another peck to the very corner of your lips, small strands of hair from his mustache slightly tickling your skin. “Thought I’d just let you leave without giving me a kiss?”

Just like that, you felt a bolt of electricity shoot throughout your body. People all around the world walked across hot coals, went skydiving, and rode rollercoasters to replicate the adrenaline that just consumed you. For you, all it took was a small kiss from Rooster.

“Bradley, I’m pregnant.”

Silence. Pure silence.

The second the words hit the air, some might as well have dropped a bomb in the middle of the street. You wasted no time in retracting back to the passenger seat, studying the look of shock and confusion on his face.

“I know it’s confusing, I know you’re shocked. Trust me, I wasn’t exactly relieved and jumping for joy when I found out. I guess we were just too drunk to use protection, but—”

“It’s mine?” He cut you off in complete and utter surprise, his face looking awfully pale. Suddenly, your body was filled to the brim with rage.

“Who the fuck else’s would it be?” You couldn’t help but scoff, your eyebrows furrowing. You couldn’t stand the look of shock on his face. Being shocked about the baby, you understood, but being shocked that it was his? That is how he thought of you?

Rooster clearly did not enjoy your tone. He shot you a small glare as your sudden aggression filled the air, taking his keys out of the ignition. “Don’t do that. Don’t give me attitude; I have every damn right to be surprised.”

As much as you wanted to argue back, you knew that he was right. He truly did have every excuse to be surprised. Seeing as you essentially collapsed upon finding out, he was taking the news much better than you did.

“Why don’t you come inside?” You asked him in a very soft tone, earning another glance from him that made you want to implode. “I can make tea and we can talk about it.”

The silence that filled the air was deafening. At that moment, you just wanted to be completely sucked into the ground. You didn’t know if he was just going to shun you and send you on your merry way, but whatever it was, you wished he would just speak.

Very suddenly, he took his own seatbelt off and opened the door, getting out of the car. Before you could even think to open your own, he did it for you.

Even in his state of shock, he was a gentleman.

You pressed your lips together as if you were scared of what would come out if you didn’t. Your heart was pounding out of your chest as you offered him a small form of gratitude for helping you out of the car, quickly retrieving the key to your house from your purse. The sound of crickets filled the night, and the scent in the air signified that it would rain soon. You usually loved smelling it when the rain was on its way, but at that moment, you felt smothered by it.

After unlocking your door with your key, you stepped inside and immediately rid yourself of your shoes, not being able to suppress the small grunt of relief when your feet were free. You were only two months along in your pregnancy, but the small heels you wore to pair with your black dress made you want to chop your feet clean off.

You tossed your keys into the bowl you had tastefully placed on an end table next to the door, rubbing your own shoulder as you heard the sound of Rooster closing and locking the door. He took his time in removing his boots, figuring you taking your shoes off was just a house rule. Had you had just a moment to recognize what he did, you would have sobbed about how sweet he was and begun to unzip his jeans.

“Which kind of tea would you like?” You asked in a soft tone as you made your way to your kitchen, feeling the presence of the aviator behind you.

“Whatever you have is fine.” He told you in a way that was not exactly cold, but certainly not warm. Regardless of that, you opened one of the cabinets and took a small box outside of it, setting it on the countertop. Once you turned to fill the kettle with water, you furrowed your eyebrows at the fact that it was missing from the stove eye it usually rested on.

Your head turned once the sound of running water hit your ears, and your lips parted at the sight.

While you were getting the box full of teabags, Rooster took it upon himself to prepare the kettle.

You didn’t have to ask, you didn't request that of him. Hell, you didn’t even expect it from him. To be quite technical, you served no greater significance to him than a woman whom he had a one-night-stand with.

Well— aside from the fact that you were about to be the mother of his children, but still.

In your house, doing his part in an action that you offered to perform, he assisted you in making tea. He wanted to. He wasn’t asked to, nor was he forced. He just— wanted to.

You knew the action was minuscule, and you knew that taking it as seriously as you were was foolish. You knew that the way tears began to fill your eyes was a bit extreme, but you were hormonal, goddamn it. In your pregnant mind, this was quite literally the nicest thing anyone had ever done for you in your entire life.

The symbolism of it all was what made you ache like no other. After spending what felt like ages in complete and utter fear of how Rooster would react to your pregnancy, the small action of preparing the kettle washed it all away like a wave crashing onto the shore. You were almost certain that the man would run out on you, or that he would simply refuse to take responsibility for his part in the situation. You knew it was wrong to assume that about a man you hardly knew, but you couldn’t refrain from fearing the worst.

The second you saw him with that kettle, though, everything changed.

He showed up for you. He was there for you, and you didn’t even have to ask him to be. Deep down, you wanted to laugh at yourself for making something as simple as filling a kettle with water and putting it on the stove into such a profound sentiment. Despite wanting to do so, you could not bring yourself to it. Just from the way he was there for you in the moment, you knew he would be there for you in the long haul.

Both of you.

“My dad died when I was still pretty young.” He broke the silence as he placed the kettle back onto the stove eye, turning it onto a high setting after doing so. He didn’t dare to look you in the eye. He refused to let you see the pain in his, and he was petrified of seeing whatever was in yours.

Your face fell at his abrupt confession, your heart now twisting in guilt as you blurted out the first thing you thought. “How old were you?”

“Two.” He responded almost immediately, his hands resting on the edges of the countertop as he leaned his head down slightly. From the way he was standing, his back looked incredibly broad, as did his shoulders. You knew the timing was awful, but the fact that you could see the slight curvature of his back muscles through his not-so-thin sweater made your mouth water. You were glad he wasn’t able to see the way you were devouring him with your eyes.

Immediately feeling guilty for the way you were lusting over a grieving man, you deeply inhaled and decided to carry the discussion a bit further. You knew that him bringing up such a topic was to slightly cover the topic of how little he knew about fatherhood, so you decided to push. “Did you have a father figure?”

“I guess, yeah.” He responded in a low tone, clearing his throat as he stood up straight. Practically feeling Carole scold him for his impoliteness, he finally turned his body to face you and leaned back against the counter very slightly. “My Uncle Tom was around as much as he could be. It was mainly my Uncle P—”

He fell silent rather abruptly, causing you to furrow your eyebrows. Before you could question it, he finished the sentence that formerly hung in the air. “Maverick. My dad’s old friend, he was flying when my dad died.”

Your eyebrows raised at his last statement. His words seemed to hold quite a bit of weight, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t curious as to why that was. You knew that pushing the topic even further would result in something neither of you would like. “And your mother?”

“Died two years ago.” He responded to you in a cool, casual tone. The fact that you brought her up after she had just crossed his mind was too ironic for him to laugh at it.

Immediately, the corners of your lips curved downward into a frown. Despite his collected posterior, you knew that the man in front of you was nothing short of haunted. With two deceased parents and an estranged uncle that formerly served as a father figure, Bradley harbored emotional trauma that would make even the strongest people wince. No one deserved that. Least of all, him.

At least he had an Uncle Tom, though, right? He seemed nice. Everyone loves Uncle Tom.

You took a deep breath as you found yourself shuffling over to the taller pilot, his gaze now tiredly placed on yours. Both of you saw what the other was trying to hide. His pain, your fear; once they were formally acquainted with one another, they disappeared. Your arms snaked around his torso before you simply laid your head on his chest, your eyelids slowly falling shut.

The warmth from his body almost completely consumed you. Rooster wrapped both of his rather strong arms around you without so much as one word. The two of you stood in each other’s arms silently, both silently scared and comforted by the fact that only you two could understand what the other was going through. It was your first embrace not as just soon-to-be parents, but as two people who cared about one another. The baby that was growing in your belly essentially acted as a Cyrano, forcing and tricking you two to realize that you were meant to be more for one another than you formerly realized.

“I don’t know how I’ll do it.” You took it upon yourself to breathe the silence with a whisper, your eyes still closed as you listened to the melancholic sound of his heartbeat mixed with the faint sound of the kettle.

“We’ll just have to figure it out, I guess.” Rooster muttered lowly to you in a way that made your heart melt, crack, drop, and burst all at the same time.

You furrowed your eyebrows in pure awe of his words. You had never felt so held by someone in your life, both physically and metaphorically. You lifted your head from his chest and looked up at the man, your desperately relieved eyes meeting his. “We will?”

“I don’t know if you know this, but I don’t think we have a choice.” Rooster teased you in a way that made you let out such a warm giggle, the grin forming on his face turning such a scary moment into something of pure beauty.

“Thank you so much, Bradley.” You abruptly whispered to him, your eyes still wondrously peering into his as you did so. “Thank you for being this nice about all of this, I— I was so scared of how you’d react. I’ve been doing nothing but panicking since I found out.”

Your voice began to tremble midway through your sentence as the sheer horror and exhaustion that you had undergone since finding out began to flash throughout your mind. You couldn’t fight the tear that fell out of your eye as you spoke, and Rooster immediately took note of it.

Before he could do anything, however, the sound of the kettle whistling to indicate that it was ready startled both of you. The pair of you looked over at the same time before you let out a soft laugh at how it tore the moment to shreds, watching Rooster simply turn the stove off. He returned to his prior position and instantly wrapped his arms around you just as he did before, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head once you laid it on his chest again.

The words he whispered to you would be engrained in your memory for the rest of your life. Any time the trials and tribulations of motherhood threatened your peace and your sanity, his words came back to you like a moth to a flame, calming you down completely.

“You don’t need to panic, pretty girl. I’m here.”

Yes.

Yes, he was.

TAGS:

@rosiahills22 @mak-32 @ghxst-heart @gretagerwigsmuse @aurisnightmare @twsssmlmaa @alldaysdreamers @mushy-mushroom04 @castle-bookworms-world @lunamooncole @maggiedanikka @mattyskies @classyunknownlover @lovelyladymayyy @adhxmoony @astroponyo @londonbeachgirl @belledawnidk @hope-love-equality2 @je-suis-prest-rachel @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ebonyhogan24 @alana4610 @affabletimelady @double-j @mrsjaderogers @littlesoulintheuniverse @bluelicious

[sundrop-writes]

Your First Kiss With Gar Logan

Gar Logan x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary:

While the Titans are living in Gotham, things are spiralling out of control. You take a moment to comfort Gar and help him with an unexpected injury, and the two of you find those inevitable feelings coming to the surface.

Gar Logan x Gender Neutral Reader. Friends to Lovers. Fluff. Set during Season 3, Episode 4.

Word Count: 2,700

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this is general fluff; set during the episode where Kory accidentally burns Gar due to her visions/waking nightmares; descriptions of Gar having a burn wound on his arm; descriptions of first aid and wound care; the reader attends to the wound because they have first aid experience; the reader used to be a ward of Doctor Caulder (not blood related to him); mention of the reader being an orphan (as everyone in the presence of DC comics lore is); the reader is gender neutral (the main pronouns used are you/yours and there are no gendered aspects to the character); mentions of Gar's past trauma; extreme mutual pining; slight angst with a fluffy ending; I believe that's it.

A/N: This is part of something I am calling the 'first kiss' series - a series that depicts that a first kiss would be like with each of the Titans characters. For context, I am not necessarily writing this as a situation where the reader has never been kissed before and this is their first ever kiss - I am writing this as a situation where this is what your first kiss in the relationship would be like. The kiss that sparks that shift from friendship into romance. (In some of the other scenarios, I might spice it up and do enemies into lovers lmao.) I just think this is gonna be fun because most of the fics I write are based around smut, where kissing is not really the focus, so I wanted to change the pace of what I'm writing and make that big dramatic kissing moment - like you get in romcoms. I hope to do one of these fics for each of the characters, and some requested Dick, so that's probably the one that I'll do next. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy!

...

A sound of pain caught your attention. 

You had been walking down one of the many winding hallways of Wayne Manor, and any thoughts about what you had previously been doing left your mind the moment you heard it. You wondered what was wrong and who was hurting. 

The family had been through enough in the past few days. Nobody in the household needed any more pain. Certainly not from your perspective. 

A wince - a gasp. Breath hissing through teeth. Distinctly, it was the sound of someone recoiling in pain. 

You followed the sound closely and traced it to an open door. There was a streak of light coming from one of the many large, expensive bathrooms that the Manor had. Through that gap, you saw a flash of green - a green shirt, green hair. It took you only a moment to figure out who it was. 

“Dammit.” Gar swore. 

He was struggling with something. Your insides immediately flooded with concern knowing this. Whatever it was, you would try your best to help him. He was your best friend, after all, and you would never abandon him during a time of need. If the problem was minuscule or catastrophic, you would be there to help him with it. 

“Are you okay?” You asked, reaching out to push the bathroom door open further. 

You likely already knew the answer, but you couldn’t help the instinctive question as it escaped your mouth. 

As the door drifted open at your touch, Gar’s eyes snapped over to you. 

He was standing at the sink with one of the long sleeves of his shirt rolled up. Your eyes were instantly drawn to the center of his forearm - you winced yourself when you saw a very nasty burn there. He had a first aid kit open beside the sink with bits of it strewn across the counter, and he was dabbling a piece of cotton on the burn. 

So that had been the source of his painful noises. 

“I - I’m fine.” Gar quickly lied. 

He reached out with his uninjured arm in a poor attempt to close the door on you. You sighed, pushing back against him. In a very Gar fashion, he didn’t fight against you as you pushed your way into the bathroom and closed the door completely behind you, sealing both of you into the privacy of the space. 

He knew that you were definitely more stubborn than he was, and it would just be easier to let you help him than to fight against your stubborn will. It was something he had learned a long time ago. The position of being your friend came with forceful caring. It was one of the things that he loved most about you. 

“Come on, Gar.” You sighed, your voice ripe with gentle pity. “You should know that you don’t have to lie to me. What happened?” 

Gar wanted to explain that he hadn’t told you a lie, that he was fine, but that died off in his throat. Again - you were stubborn. That would have turned into an entire argument. 

You gently took his wrist in hand, lifting his arm slightly to inspect the burn closer. 

He knew that you had some medical experience. From what he had seen, you were really skilled, and quite intelligent in the field of medicine, even though you hadn’t done any formal study to become a doctor. 

You had worked with Doctor Caulder for years, had been his assistant since you were a young child. He had taken you on as a ward when you were orphaned, and very early on, he started teaching you ‘his craft’. It’s how you and Gar had met. You had been there, helping to take care of him and overseeing him after Caulder had injected him with the serum. Your face was one of the first kind faces he knew during the fever induced delirium, having the serum pumping through his veins and painfully rearranging his DNA from the inside out. 

You were one of the only people who wasn’t afraid of the Tiger because of it. Even after the horrors that Cadmus had put him through - you were never afraid of him. You always saw him as the scared, shivering boy from the hospital bed. Someone who just needed your help, a hand to hold. And you had always been there, holding your hand out to him since then. Through the good and the bad, through the times when he had been scared and uncertain. 

Of course, it was only natural that he had developed certain… feelings for you. 

And of course, he was always terrified to voice those feelings. He was terrified to lose you. As a friend, as the strong person he could lean on. 

Even now, as you once again took his hand and nursed him back to health - he felt his heart fluttering in his chest, and he was terrified to lose you as a friend because of it. 

Gar tried to distract himself from those dangerous feelings by answering your question. 

“Well, what happened was…” He began, but then quickly trailed off. “I was in the kitchen, and Kory came in. But she - she wasn’t in her right mind, her eyes were all weird again, and..” 

The more words he said, the worse it sounded. He had a large burn on his arm and Kory was well known for her fiery powers. It didn’t take much brain power to put it together. 

You looked up at him with deep concern dancing in your eyes, and he scrambled to find the right words. He knew that any way he explained it, it wouldn’t sound good. He rushed to make an excuse for his friend. Someone you both loved that he had far more sympathy for in this situation. 

“Kory - see - she - Kory’s been having a really hard time lately.” Gar tripped over his own words to explain it. “It - it was an accident.” 

“She accidentally gave you a second degree burn?” You posed, feeding the words back to Gar in the hopes that it would make him realize just how ridiculous it sounded. 

Your tone was clearly scolding, an underlying anger in your voice directed at Kory for hurting your best friend. 

Gar sighed. He knew it was likely a rhetorical question, but he still was struggling for an answer. He didn’t come up with one before you spoke again. 

“Take this off.” You told him, motioning toward his shirt. “I’ll bandage this up for you.” 

Gar did as you said, wincing again when the sleeve of his shirt grazed against the fresh wound. He dropped it to the bathroom floor without much thought. You tried not to let your eyes linger on his bare torso - a gorgeous sight - as you moved to grab a pair of tweezers from the first aid kit. You had noticed that bits of cloth from his shirt had been singed onto the wound. That needed to be taken care of first. 

“I’m not mad.” Gar said suddenly. “I’m not mad at Kory.” 

That didn’t surprise you. He was never the type of person to hold grudges. You had only seen him get angry a handful of times. You had only seen him truly hold rage in his heart when Doctor Caulder had attempted to hold Rachel against her will. 

“Why not?” You asked. 

You moved him where you wanted him, and he was easily pliant to you, trusting your experience. You trapped his hand between the side of your body and your own arm so that he wouldn’t move or squirm, pinning him there. You held the elbow of his injured arm in the palm of your hand to hopefully keep him in place. You grabbed the tweezers with your other hand and then got to work. 

“I’m worr-” 

He let out a sharp gasp when you plucked off the first piece of singed cloth. You felt him flinch against your hold as you tossed the piece of cloth into the sink. But he didn’t protest. He knew whatever you were doing was something that you deemed necessary. You were helping him, and he wouldn’t fight you on that. 

“I’m worried about Kory.” Gar finished his statement firmly. 

“You’re worried about Kory?” You raised your brows at him, your eyes lingering on his face for a moment before you went back to work. 

Gar often worried about everyone else. 

He had been worrying himself to death about Jason, trying to ‘save’ someone that likely couldn’t be saved since he had magically come back from the dead. He was worried about Dick taking on the pressures of Batman now that Bruce was suddenly absent. He had been worried about Dawn and Hank’s arguing, knowing that Hank had come to Gotham just to win her back. You knew that Gar was worried about everyone, hoping that the pieces of the family would just fall into place and everyone would be happy again. (When they had last been happy, you weren’t quite sure.) 

You were likely the only person who worried about Gar in return. 

“Who’s worried about you?” You mumbled quietly. 

You plucked out another piece of the burnt cloth, and Gar bit his lip to keep from crying out with pain. 

“There’s nothing going on with me.” He told you, shooting you one of his glowing smiles. “I’m fine. I don’t need anyone to worry about me.” 

You knew that even if he didn’t take this injury into account, this was a lie. 

The toll of being such an empathetic person was never one that he voiced. The pure pressure of everyone else’s emotions piling onto him, the worry of what was going to happen to his friends. That, on top of his own troubles - nightmares of his time at Cadmus still haunting him, feeling inadequate because he couldn’t use his powers to the fullest extent, missing two of his dear friends with the absences of Jason and Rachel. 

You knew that Gar wasn’t ‘fine’. You knew that he had a lot troubling him. It was just easier for him to smile and pretend everything was okay. Because that made him feel okay. It helped him carry on. 

And a lot of the time, his sunshiney smile was the entire reason you got out of bed at all. 

However, rather than telling him this, you drove home your point in an entirely different way. 

“Ironic.” You huffed out, picking out the last piece of the cloth that had stuck to the edge of the wound. 

Gar hissed in pain. 

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Gar finally folded. 

Right now, he did need someone worrying about him. That much he could admit. 

You reached over and grabbed an anti-bacterial cream from the first aid kit. 

You were glad that you would be there to change the bandage and monitor the healing of the wound, because it was likely a lot worse - a lot more painful than he was letting on. You were worried about what kind of mental state Kory had been in that caused her to attack him, even if it had been an accident. You had seen her ‘sleep walking’, or whatever you would call it. You wondered what caused it. You wondered if it was the general stress that all the Titans were under right now. But Gar’s wellbeing was your primary concern. 

“You know you can come to me for stuff like this, right?” You told him, your voice edging on scolding as you applied the cream with a q-tip and he gritted his teeth through the pain once again. “Don’t let all that child slave labor that Caulder put me through go to waste.” 

Gar let out a chuckle at this - a dry, sarcastic sound. It was a tone that told you that while he did find your commentary amusing, he still resented your former shared ‘mentor’ for all the things he had put both of you through. 

“You know I can handle myself.” Gar told you, still slightly resistant to your caring. “Someone needs to be strong.” 

It was a dangerous double meaning. He thought that he had to be the singular strong pillar of the household. He thought that he had to be the one person in the family who didn’t fold to his emotions and let any cracks show through. 

“Let them handle themselves once in a while.” You told him pointedly as you began to wrap a bandage around his forearm. “You don’t need to be some brick wall for everyone to lean on.” 

“But-” Gar said quietly. 

“But nothing.” You cut him off. 

When you dared to look up at his face, you saw those wide puppy eyes staring back at you. His beautiful brown pupils were shining with guilt. He didn’t need to voice it for you to know that he felt like it was his responsibility to take care of everyone else. They often didn’t take care of themselves properly. If he didn’t at least try, then who else would? 

“I know this might be a newsflash for you, especially because you have that golden, shining hero heart in your chest…” You explained, reaching up and running one of your fingers across the skin of his muscled pec, motioning toward that beautiful heart inside in his chest. 

With him not wearing a shirt, the skin to skin contact was oddly intimate, causing tingles to radiate out from that point that you knew he could feel too. You became temporarily distracted from your words, and forced yourself to clear your throat and remember what you were saying. 

“But you can’t save everyone.” You continued. You distracted yourself from the tension in the air by tying the bandage onto itself to secure it around his arm. “Sometimes they do need to save themselves.” 

Gar let out a quiet huff. Internally, he had finally folded to the fact that you were right. 

“I hate it when you’re right.” He said quietly. 

“You must hate me a lot.” You replied, laughter dancing in your words as you cleverly turned the sentence around on him. 

Gar’s face broke into an easy, natural smile at this. You were too clever. 

He felt that inevitable warmth swell up inside of him again. The affectionate fondness for you that he always felt bubbling just under the surface. 

When he looked up and locked eyes with you once again, sitting in the quiet moment - a rare moment of peace stolen away from the seemingly never-ending chaos that being a part of the Titans family was - he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t hold back his feelings for you anymore. 

You felt the magnetism swell in the air, and when Gar reached out, gently gripping the side of your neck, right underneath your ear - you let yourself be taken by it. It had been coming for years, and you easily let yourself succumb to it. You let your eyes fall closed and you drifted into him like a boat drifting at sea, falling into the current that he always provided for you. 

The kiss was inevitable, and somehow - perfect. 

He was gentle, not forcing his way into your space or presuming anything of you, but falling into the natural rhythm of the attraction as you pressed your mouth against his. His lips were a sweet, soft sanctuary - so much better than you had dreamed of. The touch was so beautifully tender that you felt tingles radiating through you, a high you had never experienced before. You let out a delighted sigh as the kiss pulled at the strings deep in your soul. 

After a moment, you pulled back slightly, your forehead gently pressed against his. 

“Y/N,” Gar murmured your name quietly. 

There were so many things he wanted to say to you. 

To tell you that he loved you - as more than a friend. That he always had. To tell you that he was thankful for you, that you were the stitching that held together the very fabric of his life. 

But then-

“Gar!” Kory’s voice came shouting down the hallway. “Gar, look, I’m sorry! Where are you? Please, can you just let me apologize?” 

Of course. More family chaos. Not a moment alone. Well, no more than one moment. 

“You should find a shirt.” You told Gar, giving him a playful grin and tapping him lightly on his bare shoulder. 

Gar sighed, and nodded. And hesitantly, he broke away from you in order to go and do that. 

Eventually, he would tell you those things. He would find the right time, the right way to put it all into words. But for now, even if it was unspoken, you knew.

...

If you enjoyed this fic, check out my DC Titans Masterlist for more of my other fics!! And please consider reblogging and commenting on this fic to tell me what you liked about it.

[spacemimz]

"Pieces of Myself"

Full version under the cut (TW: blood, slight gore, depiction of wounds)

[live-laugh-neteyam]

And Everything In Between ||| neteyam x human!reader

masterlist

The Moon epilogue

Strongly recommend reading part 1 first

pairings: neteyam × human!fem!reader

summary: the moon is always there, even when we can’t see it

words: 1.9k

warnings/notes: slight angst, a bit of fluff, grief, death, mentions of blood, violence/battle, gunshots, scenes from the way of water depicted, a bit sad but ultimately sweet, okay so originally there wasn’t going to be a part two but I accidentally emotionally devastated a few people so I’m trying to redeem myself lol I can’t afford therapy for all of you so hopefully this will do

The sun shown through the entrance of his tent causing Neteyam to stir in his sleep. Groaning he rolled over trying to delay waking up for as long as possible. Instinctively reaching out he went to pull you into his chest. But there was nothing but empty space beside him.

That’s when he opened his eyes. Neteyam was met with your vacant spot. For a moment panic coursed through his veins, but then he remembered. You were gone.

Sighing he ran a hand over his face trying not to cry. Every now and then he had moments were he forgot. A split second where you were alive and well. His mind dancing around with the ghost of you. Until he remembered that it was all a lie. No matter how hard he tried not to, he always remembered.

Your heart stopped and his won’t shut off. It had been months since your death and Neteyam still wasn’t sure how to live on without you. How does one move on after finding the person that made them complete?

Neteyam took comfort in the fact that you were with Eywa now, but being human you were never able to connect with the spirit tree. He wouldn’t be able to see you again until he joined the great mother himself.

Memories of you were starting to become fuzzy. He was having trouble remembering the sound of your voice. The sound of your laugh. He hated himself for it.

Nothing would heal the wound of your loss. Your death gutted Neteyam. Ripping his heart out and taking it with you. As months past he felt more and more hollow. Time wasn’t soothing him like everyone said it would. Time without you only made him feel worse.

“You can talk to me. You know that right?” Kiri asked her brother. She eyed him worriedly.

“There is nothing to say.” Neteyam answered without emotion.

She sighed. Kiri knew there was nothing she could say to him to ease the hurt. She had been consoling Spider ever since your passing. It was something neither of them would recover from.

“Have you seen Spider lately?”

“No.”

“Well maybe you should. Maybe talking to him would help. He lost his sister-“

“Y/N is dead.” Neteyam snapped. “There is nothing to talk about. Nothing will change that.” He coldly spoke.

Neteyam felt guilty for the harshness of his words. He also felt guilt because he hadn’t even thought about how Spider was doing. Neteyam was so lost in his selfish grief he never once thought about the other people who loved you.

Kiri sighed getting up to leave. She wouldn’t keep wasting her time talking to the brick wall that was her brother. “It doesn’t have to be me. It doesn’t have to be Spider. But you should talk to someone.”

The one person he wanted to talk to wasn’t there. Sighing he looked up at the moon and thought of you.

After months of close calls with the sky people Jake made the decision to leave the clan. The people would be safe if they left since Quaritch was only after Jake.

Neteyam didn't have anything to say about leaving home. He packed up and left doing exactly what his father asked of him.

Jake prayed that the move would not only keep his family safe but also help Neteyam. Maybe the change of scenery would lift his spirits. The Olo'eyktan knew the loss of a mate was unbearable, but it broke his heart to see his son a shell of who he once was.

Neteyam stuck mostly to himself. He didn’t want to cause trouble amongst the Metkayina clan. He also just didn’t have the energy to pretend. To pretend he was happy. Pretend to be enjoying his lessons. None of it mattered to him anymore.

There was a part of him that wanted Eywa to take him now. He wouldn’t mind dying if it meant seeing you again. He didn't think he could ever move on.

Knowing that wasn't what you would've wanted for him filled him with shame. Neteyam knew you were still there somewhere; like the moon during the day is always there, even when we can't see it. The idea of you being disappointed in him broke the remaining shards of his heart.

So he tried his best to live the way you would've wanted. Taking walks along the beach thinking of how you would've loved to see this. Neteyam could picture your beautiful eyes full of wonder discovering every new experience. The idea of it put a small smile on his face.

Neteyam started taking his lessons with the Metkayina seriously. He found comfort in the breathing exercises, using them more to calm his anxious heart than to swim.

Finally settling into his new life, Neteyam felt like he could be happy with the Metkayina. But that feeling didn't last long. It seemed like every time he found happiness it was ripped away from him.

Quaritch had found them. Before Neteyam knew it he was in the middle of a battle on the water. Racing his Ilu towards the ship he swiftly hopped aboard. He made quick work of freeing his siblings from their restraints.

“Let’s go.” He commanded them, ready to get everyone to safety.

“We have to go back for Spider.” Lo’ak insisted.

The last thing Neteyam wanted was to go back. Letting out a growl he nodded heading into the ship along with Lo'ak. Neteyam had to go back not just for Spider but for you. He couldn't just leave your brother with the enemy.

The pair swiftly took out the guards that held Spider captive. Neteyam was leading them out when Lo'ak stopped to pick up a gun.

Neteyam saw an avatar stalking towards them ready to shoot. “Give me that!” He hissed ripping the gun from Lo’ak’s grasp.

“Go!” Neteyam roared pushing his brother towards the ledge of the boat. Lo’ak hesitated watching his brother prepare to shoot. Without wasting any more time Spider grabbed Lo’ak’s arm and pulled him overboard.

Pulling the trigger he shot without any real aim. Neteyam was just hoping to hold them off long enough to escape. Throwing the gun to the ground he leapt over the railing.

A warm shooting feeling filled his chest. Neteyam brushed it off to adrenaline. Struggling to reach the surface in the water he placed a hand over his chest. A stabbing pain erupted through him. Looking down he saw red seeping out of a bullet hole in his chest.

Barely holding his head above the water he could make out the faint noise of Lo’ak and Spider celebrating. “I’ve been shot.” Neteyam croaked out attempting to apply pressure to his wound.

Fading in and out of consciousness he faintly registered Lo’ak pulling him onto his Ilu. Lo’ak and Spider lifted him up onto the first rock they came to.

“Dad help!” Lo’ak yelled on the verge of tears. “It’s Neteyam. He’s hurt.”

Jake’s eyes widen in horror watching his oldest son bleed out. After carefully laying him down he turned him over to inspect the wound. The bullet had went through.

Jake grit his teeth with tears in his eyes. Neteyam was going to die and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Neteyam could make out the screams of his mother as she dismounted her Ikran. His breath became labored as he desperately tried to suck in air.

He watched his family circle around him crying. They were waiting for him to die. Helplessly watching him as he bled out.

“I want to go home.” He breathed staring up at his family.

“I know.” Jake said through tears. “We’re gonna go home.”

Neteyam thought of home. He thought of you. It didn’t matter where he was physically you were his home. Smiling through the pain his mind filled with memories of you.

A sense of calm washed over him. Neteyam was no longer in fear of death. He wanted to let his family know he’d be okay, that soon he’d be with you. But his throat was closing in. His lungs unable to take in the air they needed.

“Dad I-“ he tried to speak quickly fading out.

Looking up to the sky is was eclipse. Night had become his favorite time. He would look up to the moon and think of you. Neteyam hoped to catch one last glance of the moon.

Chest falling for the last time his vision turned dark. He wasn’t afraid of death. Not when he knew the moon would guide him home.

Opening his eyes Neteyam was met with a blinding white light. The last thing he remembered was laying on that rock.

"Neteyam." A familiar voice called to him.

He stood up trying to take in his surroundings. He was somewhere in the forest back home. Running a hand along his chest he noticed the bullet wound was gone.

"Ma'Teyam." The voice again. He knew that voice.

It couldn't be could it?

Turning around he was met with you. The you before you fell ill. Your eyes were practically glowing, your face lit up with a smile.

"Y/N?" He croaked before running towards you on his wobbly legs.

Falling to his knees he pulled you into his embrace. Neteyam squeezed you tight as if you'd vanish into thin air if he didn't.

"Is it you?" He cried. "Is this real?"

"Oh Ma'Teyam." You coo, gingerly holding his head in your arms. "It's real. I'm right here."

"Don't leave me again." His body shaking in sobs.

"Mawey, love. I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here." Gently running your fingers through his braids.

"I've missed you. So much." Neteyam choked out. Tears were streaming down his cheeks.

You placed a kiss on the top of his head. "I missed you too."

Looking up at you he tried to calm his breathing. You were here. You were safe. You were alive. Cupping your face in his heads he pulled you to his lips capturing you in a kiss.

You kissed him back and Neteyam felt his heart soar. This was real. He finally felt at peace; holding his entire world in his arms. You were his moon, his stars, and everything in between.

"I thought I told you to take your time skxáwng." You giggled.

"Can't help it." He mumbled against your lips. "I love you to the moon and back. I'll always come back to you."

Smiling you pulled him closer for another kiss. Neteyam had dreamt of this moment ever since your death. You were finally his again and he was never letting you go.

"Come on. Let me show you around." You giggled before pecking his lips one last time.

Without missing a beat he took your hand in his. Neteyam never wanted to lose physical contact with you again.

Taking a deep breath he smiled as silent tears streamed down his face. In the presence of the great mother, Neteyam felt a calmness like he had never felt before. Finally he was at peace with you by his side.

Neteyam smiled as you lead him through the paradise like forest. You happily babbled about everything you had discovered. He was ready to spend forever with you. Never to be parted again.

You were here, holding his hand. There is no death. Only change.

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