#this is just a first draft so be nice please

[mcrdvcks]

my boy only breaks his favorite toys

summary: After Midland Circle, Matt is determined never to let anyone close again—especially you. Despite his constant attempts to push you away, you can’t help being drawn into his dangerous world. But when your involvement nearly costs you your life, Matt is forced to confront the feelings he’s desperately tried to bury. word count: 14.8k+ pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader notes: i swear, writing season 3 matt is so hard for me - it's like dude, please get your life together (lol, jk...). but seriously, it's my first time writing for matt during s3 so be nice, pls :) *also, i wrote this quite a while ago (like... months ago), so i'm not even sure if i like it anymore. but it's just been sitting in my drafts... waiting... so here ya go! warnings/tags: takes place after the defenders, not fully canon to season 3, injuries and blood, violence, brooding matt, bamf reader, slow burn, angst, slight toxic!matt (but canon compliant?), kidnapping

A thud sounded out from the alley right next to your apartment building. You stood on the sidewalk, close by the bodega’s light, looking down the alley. You reached into your purse, fumbling until your hand closed around your pepper spray and a small flashlight.

Taking a slow breath, you crept forward cautiously.

"Hello?" Your voice came out quieter than you wanted. Clearing your throat, you tried again. "Is someone there?"

Another muffled noise echoed, a groan of pain, sharp and strained. Your stomach twisted; instinct pulled you forward even as caution tugged back.

"Are you okay?" you called, stepping into the shadows, flashlight beam wavering across brick walls and trash cans.

Movement caught your eye, a slumped figure hunched against the alley wall. Dark fabric, black mask covering half his face, ropes coiled tightly around bruised and bloodied knuckles. Familiarity sparked deep in your chest, dread rising fast behind it.

"No," you whispered, throat tight, heart hammering violently against your ribs. "No, that's—"

He lifted his head slowly. The mask covered his eyes, but you'd know the stubborn set of his jaw anywhere.

Your flashlight shook, bouncing slightly. "Matt?"

He stiffened, frozen mid-movement. After a long, tense silence, his voice was rough, almost broken. "Y/N?"

Shock surged through your chest, stealing your breath. You moved closer, feet carrying you forward automatically. "You—you're alive?"

Matt turned his face away sharply, shoulders tense beneath torn fabric. "Go home."

You scoffed weakly, disbelief turning sharp and raw. "Excuse me? I thought you were dead."

"Yeah," he muttered dryly, pressing a hand to his side, wincing visibly. "That's kind of the point."

"You look terrible."

His lips twitched briefly. "Thanks."

You shook your head sharply, shoving the pepper spray back in your purse. Your movements were decisive now, gentle but firm as you reached out, hand pausing just inches from him. "Come on."

He flinched slightly, pulling back. "I'm fine."

"You're bleeding."

"I said I'm fine."

Frustration flared, sharp and instant. "Look, I get it. You wanna do your tough-guy thing, pretend you're okay—but you literally died. And now you're bleeding in my alley, so forgive me if I don't really care about your pride right now."

He didn't answer immediately, chest rising and falling heavily. Finally, his voice softened, grudging surrender coloring his tone. "Fine."

You exhaled, nodding. "Good. Can you walk?"

Matt pushed off the wall carefully, body swaying before steadying himself. You moved close, gently placing your hand beneath his elbow. He hesitated briefly, then allowed you to guide him forward.

"I didn't want anyone to know," he murmured quietly as you reached your apartment door. "I'm sorry."

"Later," you said firmly, unlocking your door. "We'll talk about it later. Right now, let me patch you up."

He nodded stiffly, still tense. "Okay."

You closed the door behind you both, heart still racing, disbelief lingering stubbornly beneath your relief. Matt was alive��hurt, tired, haunted—but alive.

You led Matt carefully through your small apartment, guiding him toward the worn sofa. He sank onto it slowly, suppressing another hiss as he settled.

"Stay there," you instructed quietly, grabbing your first aid kit from the hall closet. Returning, you flipped on a lamp, soft yellow light filling the small living room. Matt turned his head away slightly. "Take off the mask," you said gently, kneeling beside him.

He hesitated, jaw clenching. After a moment, he reached up slowly, tugging it off and dropping it to the cushion next to him.

You swallowed hard at the sight of him, battered and exhausted. "Jesus, Matt."

"It's not as bad as it looks," he mumbled dryly.

You exhaled in disbelief. "Actually, it looks pretty awful."

You gently pressed a cotton pad soaked with antiseptic to the deep gash above his eyebrow. Matt's jaw tightened, but he didn't pull away.

"You're lucky Claire taught me how to patch you up," you murmured softly, breaking the quiet tension. "It's become pretty useful."

Matt's mouth twisted into something almost like a smile, though it faded quickly. "I'm sorry. You didn't sign up for this."

"No, I didn't." You dabbed lightly, your voice softening. "But that doesn't mean I'd leave you bleeding."

Matt stayed quiet, the air thickening with everything left unsaid. You moved slowly, gently tending the cuts along his cheekbone and jaw, smoothing butterfly bandages into place.

"I know you probably don't want to talk right now," you finally said quietly, your thumb brushing gently over his bruised cheek, "but Matt—you're gonna have to explain eventually."

"There's nothing to explain," he said roughly. "It's better this way. Better if everyone thinks I'm dead."

You felt your chest tighten. "Even me?"

He turned his face toward you, brows knitted tightly together, voice raw. "Especially you."

"Why?"

He swallowed hard, expression unreadable beneath the exhaustion. "Because it's safer."

"For who?"

Matt didn't respond, pulling back slightly, shoulders stiff.

You sat back on your heels, watching him quietly for a long moment. "Fine. Keep your secrets for tonight. But I'm not leaving you alone like this. You're staying here."

He shook his head slightly. "That's not necessary."

"That wasn't a suggestion."

His lips twitched again, brief but genuine. "Yes, ma'am."

"Don't 'ma'am' me," you sighed, standing up. "I'll get you some clothes to change into."

He shifted uncomfortably. "You don't have to—"

"Matt, stop," you interrupted softly. "Just let me help you. Please."

He paused for a long, tense moment before finally nodding slowly. "Okay."

You turned toward your bedroom, taking a shaky breath. Matt was alive, sitting bruised and battered on your couch, quiet pain clear beneath his stubborn composure.

It wasn't nearly enough, but it was a start.

Once in your room, you grabbed some sweats and an oversized shirt you hoped would fit him, before glancing at your purse thrown on your bed.

You took a glance at Matt, still sitting on the couch with his head thrown back, before reaching in and grabbing your phone.

Your thumb hovered over Foggy’s name, hesitating only a brief second before tapping it. Your pulse raced, eyes darting nervously toward the door. Foggy’s voice came through clearly after the first ring.

“Hey, Y/N—everything okay?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could make a sound, Matt was suddenly there. One hand covered your mouth firmly, muffling your startled gasp, the other snatching the phone swiftly from your grasp. Your back pressed against his chest, his breathing heavy against your ear.

“Y/N?” Foggy’s voice echoed faintly from the speaker. “You still there?”

Matt’s grip on you tightened slightly, mouth brushing against your ear. “Hang up,” he whispered sharply. “Please.”

You hesitated, heart hammering, before slowly nodding against his palm. Matt released your mouth cautiously, holding the phone out toward you.

“Yeah—sorry, Fog,” you said quickly, voice strained, trying to steady your breathing. “I dialed by accident.”

Foggy sounded unconvinced. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” you lied smoothly, your gaze fixed firmly on Matt’s tense expression. “Just tired. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Alright,” Foggy finally said, concern lingering in his voice. “Night, Y/N.”

“Night,” you replied softly.

You ended the call, turning swiftly to face Matt, anger bubbling quickly beneath your fear. “What the hell?” you hissed, grabbing your phone back from him. “Matt, you scared me half to death!”

“I told you,” he murmured urgently, “no one can know.”

“You said that about Karen and Foggy,” you countered sharply. “But you seriously expect me to lie about this to everyone?”

“Yes,” he replied firmly. “I do.”

You shook your head sharply, exhaling through gritted teeth. “Matt—Foggy and Karen are your family. You can’t do this alone.”

He stepped closer, voice lowering. “I need you to trust me. They’re safer if they don’t know.”

“And what about me?” you asked quietly, hurt slipping past your anger. “Why tell me?”

“I didn’t exactly plan on it.” Matt exhaled heavily, his jaw tightening. “But you found me.”

“Lucky me,” you muttered bitterly.

Matt’s face softened just barely, the tension leaving his shoulders for a brief second. “You shouldn’t get dragged into this.”

“You dragged me into it the second you showed up bleeding in the alley,” you shot back. “This is on you.”

He exhaled again, frustration evident. “I know.”

Silence stretched thickly between you both, neither of you moving. Finally, Matt rubbed a hand roughly over his face, wincing slightly when his fingers brushed bruised skin.

“You’re exhausted,” you murmured quietly, irritation ebbing away. “Take a shower. I’ll grab you fresh towels.”

Matt hesitated, expression torn, before nodding slowly. “Thank you.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Don’t thank me yet. We’re nowhere close to done talking about this.”

Matt’s mouth quirked slightly, the barest hint of a smile. “Yeah, I didn’t think we were.”

You stepped around him quietly, grabbing towels from the hall closet and placing them in his hands. Your voice was soft but firm. “Matt, please just… don’t disappear on me again.”

He stood silently, gripping the towels, head tilted slightly as he considered his words. Finally, he nodded, voice barely above a whisper.

“I won’t.”

You hoped desperately that was true, but you said nothing else, stepping back as he moved past you slowly toward the bathroom.

As the shower started, you sank down on your bed, phone still clutched in your shaking hand. Matt was alive—tired, stubborn, impossible—but alive.

For tonight, that would have to be enough.

---

You tried to wait. Tried so damn hard.

But the night had drained every last bit of strength from your body, and at some point between your anxious pacing and the muffled sound of running water from your bathroom, exhaustion overtook you.

Your eyes drifted shut before you could fight it, and you slept deeply, dreamlessly, your body curled into your sheets like a small, wounded animal seeking comfort.

When your eyes opened again, dawn was quietly slipping through your curtains, pale and gentle. You blinked slowly, taking a moment before memory crashed sharply through your mind.

Matt.

Your heart immediately kicked into high gear, anxiety twisting your stomach into knots. Scrambling out of bed, you hurried to the living room.

The couch was empty.

The folded towels you’d given him were now crumpled loosely against one armrest, along with the clothes you'd loaned him the night before. The black fabric suit and ropes he’d worn—gone.

You stood motionless, your heart sinking into your stomach as a bitter ache settled in your chest.

Slowly, your eyes caught on the small traces he’d left behind: a discarded bandage wrapper forgotten on your floor, a glass of water half-empty on the coffee table, a faint smear of dried blood near the edge of your couch cushion.

Signs he’d really been there. Signs he'd needed you.

You pressed your lips together tightly, swallowing back the hurt that rose sharply in your throat.

Moving quietly to your kitchen, you poured yourself a glass of water, sipping mechanically as you tried to soothe your bruised emotions. You glanced back toward the empty couch, your stomach twisting uncomfortably again.

Returning slowly to your room, something caught your attention—a slip of paper on your bedside table, half-tucked beneath your discarded phone. You reached out quickly, fingers trembling slightly as you picked it up.

His handwriting was rough, hurried, and barely legible:

I’m sorry.

You stared at those simple words, tracing the faint ink with your fingertip, feeling the hollow sting of loss and disappointment that came with them.

Quietly, you folded the paper again, gently placing it back onto your table.

You knew he wasn't coming back today. Maybe not tomorrow, either.

But he was alive. Stubborn, wounded, endlessly frustrating—but alive.

For now, you'd hold onto that.

Sinking onto your mattress, you sat quietly in the growing sunlight, eyes still fixed on the scrap of paper—hope and hurt tangled silently together in your chest.

---

Days passed. Quiet, tense, frustrating days.

You went through the motions, arriving at Metro-General and performing your job automatically—checking patients in, making calls, scheduling appointments. All while your thoughts stayed fixed firmly on Matt. You hadn’t seen or heard anything since he'd slipped out, leaving only a hurried apology scrawled on a torn scrap of paper.

Sleep came unevenly, in fits and starts. Every noise outside your window had your heart racing and your eyes snapping open. Each time, you’d sit up, listening breathlessly for something—anything—to tell you he’d come back. But each time, silence mocked your restless hope.

The fourth night after Matt disappeared, you finished your shift late and walked home in a tired haze. You climbed the stairs mechanically, keys rattling softly as you unlocked your door.

You paused abruptly, breath catching sharply in your chest. Your living room window was ajar, curtains shifting softly with the cool evening breeze.

Pulse thumping hard, you crept slowly into the apartment, fumbling for the small lamp nearby. The soft glow filled the room, and your heartbeat stuttered in relief.

Matt sat on the edge of your couch, black mask in hand, ropes around his knuckles stained faintly red. His head turned slightly in your direction, acknowledging your presence without speaking.

"You could use the front door," you finally said, voice carefully steady despite your racing pulse. "You know, like a normal person."

A faint twitch lifted the corner of his mouth. "Less conspicuous this way."

You dropped your keys onto the table, exhaling heavily as relief and lingering frustration twisted together. Crossing the room, you silently retrieved your first aid kit from the hall closet before sitting beside him.

"How bad?" you asked softly.

"Not terrible." Matt hesitated. "Just a few cuts. Maybe some bruised ribs."

Your mouth tightened slightly, but you didn’t comment. Instead, you opened the kit quietly, starting to carefully unwrap the ropes from his fists.

Matt stayed silent, face turned slightly away, jaw clenched tightly.

"Where have you been?" you finally asked, keeping your tone gentle, non-accusatory.

"Tracking down leads," he answered quietly, almost reluctantly.

"About Fisk?"

He gave a short nod, but said nothing else.

You sighed softly, gently wiping antiseptic across his knuckles. Matt barely reacted to the sting, just sat still, shoulders tense, expression guarded.

"You can't keep disappearing like this," you murmured finally, placing careful bandages over the torn skin.

Matt hesitated, jaw tightening. "I'm sorry."

You glanced up sharply, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. His voice had softened, almost raw.

"I mean it," he added quietly. "I never meant to drag you into this."

You set aside the bandages, exhaling softly. "Too late for that."

He turned his head slightly, as if looking toward you, though his eyes remained unfocused. "I know."

You swallowed tightly, not pressing further, unwilling to fracture the fragile quiet that had settled between you.

Matt stood slowly, rolling his shoulders with a suppressed wince. "Thanks," he murmured softly.

"Stay," you said before you could second-guess yourself. "Just for tonight. You can take the couch again."

He hesitated visibly, torn, before finally nodding slowly. "Okay."

You moved quietly, gathering blankets from your closet and placing them on the couch. Matt stood silently near the window, head tilted slightly, listening carefully to the sounds outside.

"Goodnight, Matt," you said softly, finally stepping back toward your bedroom.

He didn't look at you, but his voice was quiet, careful. "Goodnight."

You closed your bedroom door quietly, sinking onto your bed with a deep breath, heart still racing gently in your chest. Matt was back, at least for tonight.

You refused to think about tomorrow.

---

Matt’s visits slowly fell into a strange rhythm—quiet, infrequent, and always unannounced. He'd slip silently into your apartment late at night, each time a little more battered, each time a little more exhausted. You stopped expecting explanations, stopped asking questions. Instead, you'd quietly clean his wounds, set broken bones, and carefully patch him up without complaint.

In return, Matt never stayed long, never lingered past the moment when his injuries were stable enough for him to move again. He'd softly thank you, head bowed, voice quiet and strained. Then he'd slip back out into the night, leaving you alone with your tangled feelings and unanswered questions.

It wasn’t much of a partnership, but it was something.

During your shifts at Metro-General, it became harder to ignore the whispers about Fisk’s name resurfacing. Small pieces of information found their way to you naturally—overheard conversations at reception, quiet discussions in break rooms, murmurs from the nurses’ station.

You never mentioned what you heard to Matt. You knew he'd shut you down immediately. You convinced yourself it wasn’t intentional—it just never felt like the right moment. He was always exhausted, always hurt, always on edge. And you—well, you weren't ready for him to disappear again, to cut off your tenuous connection.

So you kept quiet. You kept careful mental notes of names, places, and details, silently piecing together fragments, hoping it might eventually help.

Maybe someday you'd tell him. Maybe someday he'd ask.

Until then, you stored it away, quietly hoping you'd never have to use it.

---

It was past midnight when Matt stumbled in through your window, barely catching himself against the wall as his knees buckled beneath him. You were on your feet instantly, heart racing, guiding him to the couch as gently as possible.

"Matt," you breathed, fear sharp in your chest. "What happened?"

He sank down heavily, breath shuddering unevenly through cracked lips. Blood trickled slowly down the side of his face from a cut along his temple. His fingers shook visibly, still clenched tightly into fists.

"Fisk's men," he muttered, voice hoarse. "It… it didn't go well."

You pressed your lips tightly together, hands moving quickly and carefully to open your first aid kit. Matt stayed quiet as you began cleaning the deep cut on his forehead, gaze unfocused beneath closed eyelids, chest rising and falling unevenly.

For several minutes neither of you spoke. The silence felt fragile and heavy, both of you afraid to break it.

Finally, he let out a shaky breath, voice almost too soft to hear.

"I haven't talked to them."

You paused, looking up carefully. "Foggy and Karen?"

He nodded slightly, wincing. "I don't know what I'd even say."

You softened, gently placing a clean bandage over his wound, fingertips brushing lightly across his forehead. "You don't have to figure that out right now."

Matt remained quiet, jaw clenched tightly.

You hesitated only briefly before carefully resting your hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing. "They're still your friends. They're not going anywhere."

He didn't reply immediately, swallowing hard as if forcing himself to hold back emotion. After a long moment, he spoke quietly, voice raw and uneven. "They shouldn't forgive me."

"Matt—"

"I left them," he interrupted softly, anguished. "I left everyone. Including you."

You exhaled slowly, your hand still gently pressed against his shoulder. "You're here now. That's something."

He turned his head slightly toward you, as if listening intently. You let your thumb gently trace comforting circles against the tense muscle beneath your palm, your breath catching slightly as you realized just how close you'd gotten.

Matt stilled beneath your touch, a subtle tension spreading through him. Neither of you moved for several heartbeats, caught in fragile silence.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, you withdrew your hand.

"Sorry," you whispered quietly, cheeks warming in embarrassment.

Matt shook his head slightly. "Don't be." He shifted carefully, leaning back into the couch cushions with a tired sigh. "I don't deserve your kindness."

"That's not for you to decide," you murmured softly, gathering your supplies quietly.

Matt stayed silent, eyes closed, chest rising and falling more evenly now. His hand reached out slowly, hesitantly, fingertips brushing your wrist.

"Thank you," he whispered roughly. "For everything."

You swallowed past the tightness in your throat, softly squeezing his hand once before pulling back.

"Get some rest," you said gently, rising from the couch. "You need it."

He didn't answer, already drifting into an exhausted sleep. You quietly spread a blanket over him, pausing briefly to look down at his peaceful face, expression unguarded for once.

Turning quietly toward your bedroom, you knew something between you had shifted tonight. Something careful, something tentative, had slipped past your defenses.

---

“Man, let me go!”

“Get back in the bed.”

“I gotta get—”

“You have to stay here,” the doctor repeated firmly, exasperated. “You’re injured. Leaving now would be dangerous.”

“You don’t get it,” Jeremiah snapped, desperation straining his voice. “I gotta get out. Now.”

“I’ll check on you later,” the doctor sighed, shaking his head. He gestured briefly to the nurses and left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Jeremiah dropped heavily onto the bed, fists clenching tight against his knees. You hesitated a second, glancing around before slipping into the room, quietly shutting the door.

“Hey,” you murmured softly. “Everything okay?”

Jeremiah looked up sharply, wary eyes narrowing. “Who’re you?”

“I’m Y/N,” you said quietly. “I work at the front desk. Couldn’t help overhearing.”

He shook his head impatiently. “Look, no offense, but I don’t got time for small talk.”

“You said you needed to leave,” you pressed gently. “What’s going on?”

He stared at you for a moment, mistrust etched clearly across his face. Finally, desperation softened him. “My little sister—they took her. Said if I talk to anyone, she's done.”

“Who took her?”

He hesitated, voice dropping lower. “Some guys I used to run with. I messed up, got caught up in their business, and now they're holding her until I pay off my debts.”

You nodded slowly. “If you leave now, you won’t make it very far.”

He exhaled sharply. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

“You don’t have to,” you said softly, decisively. “I know someone who can help.”

He eyed you skeptically. “What, like the cops? They’ll kill her.”

“No cops,” you said firmly. “Just… trust me.”

He shook his head, clearly doubtful. “You don’t look like you hang around the kind of people who can fix this.”

You sighed, stepping closer, voice steady. “I told you—I know a guy.”

Jeremiah’s shoulders slumped slightly, exhaustion clear in his eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, he spoke quietly, defeated. “An old warehouse. Corner of 10th and Gibson. That's where they’ve got her.”

You nodded, already memorizing the location. “What’s her name?”

“Tasha,” he whispered roughly. “She’s only fifteen. Just a kid.”

You reached out gently, briefly squeezing his shoulder. “Stay here, okay? I’ll make sure she’s safe.”

“Please,” Jeremiah whispered, desperation sharp in his voice. “Don’t let her get hurt 'cause of me.”

You gave him a reassuring look. “I won’t.”

Stepping out quietly, you closed the door behind you, heart thumping heavily in your chest.

You glanced toward your phone briefly, thumb hovering over Matt’s number. The memory of his injuries flashed through your mind, and you hesitated, teeth worrying at your lower lip.

This wasn’t Fisk—it was something smaller, something you could handle yourself.

You’d leave Matt out of this one.

Slipping your phone back into your pocket, you hurried toward the exit, silently promising yourself that everything would be okay.

You’d get her back yourself.

---

Your heart hammered hard in your chest as you stepped out into the chilly night air, glancing quickly around the dark street. Jeremiah’s directions were clear—warehouse by the docks. Your stomach twisted anxiously.

Matt would hate this.

But Matt wasn't here.

You exhaled sharply, steeling yourself, and started moving quickly toward the docks, careful to keep your head down.

As far as you knew, Fisk wasn't involved. It was just some small-time gang issue. Nothing you couldn’t handle. Jessica had taught you a few things; maybe this was the time it'd come in handy.

You paused at the corner, looking cautiously around the edge of the old brick building. The warehouse stood dark and quiet, shadows stretching across the cracked pavement.

You took a deep breath, calming your racing heart. "Okay," you whispered to yourself. "You've got this."

Moving carefully, you slipped quietly around the side, toward a back door that hung slightly ajar. Peeking inside, you saw dim lights, heard muffled voices.

"Where is she?" someone snapped roughly, his voice echoing in the cavernous space.

"Locked up out back," another voice answered lazily. "Little brat won't shut up."

Your stomach twisted, nerves bubbling up. Carefully, silently, you moved inside, slipping behind stacked crates, barely breathing.

A sudden hand closed roughly around your arm.

"Gotcha," a voice growled against your ear.

You jerked violently, twisting around and jabbing your elbow sharply into his ribs. He grunted, grip loosening, just enough for you to break free. You stumbled forward, heart hammering wildly.

"Who the hell is this?" someone shouted angrily. Footsteps echoed around you, heavy and quick.

You froze, heart in your throat as three more men emerged from the shadows, closing quickly.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you not to snoop around places you don't belong?" the first man snapped, stepping closer. "Who sent you?"

You held your chin up defiantly, forcing your voice steady. "No one sent me. I came for the girl."

His eyes narrowed sharply. "Is that so?"

A sharp pain exploded at the back of your head, vision blurring immediately. You dropped hard to your knees, ears ringing.

"Search her," someone muttered above you.

Rough hands grabbed your phone from your pocket, pulling your ID out next.

"Metro-General," a low voice drawled. "Interesting."

Your stomach churned, dizziness making it hard to focus. "Let the girl go," you managed weakly.

"Not gonna happen," he chuckled darkly. "You're both staying here until we figure out what to do with you."

Someone yanked you up roughly, dragging you toward the back of the warehouse. They pushed you into a dark room, locking the heavy door behind you.

You slumped to the ground, pain radiating through your skull. Someone moved quietly in the corner.

"Who are you?" a small, frightened voice whispered.

You lifted your head weakly, forcing a reassuring smile. "Tasha?"

She moved slightly closer. "How'd you know?"

"Your brother sent me," you said softly. "I'm gonna get you out, okay?"

She didn't reply, but shuffled closer, huddling silently next to you. You took a slow breath, ignoring the pounding ache behind your eyes, thinking desperately of a plan.

The muffled sound of voices carried from outside the room, words fading in and out, faint but chillingly clear.

"Call him," one voice ordered sharply. "Tell him we caught some girl snooping around. He’ll wanna know."

Your heart sank heavily as the next words drifted through the door, ice-cold dread washing over you.

"Fisk's gonna be real interested in this."

You closed your eyes tightly, exhaling slowly. This was exactly what you'd hoped to avoid.

---

Tasha trembled beside you, clinging to your arm as the footsteps outside the door grew louder—then passed.

You pressed your ear against the cold metal, listening hard. Nothing.

“Stay close,” you whispered. “If we get the chance to run, we take it.”

Before she could answer, the door creaked open. You whipped around, ready to throw yourself in front of her if you had to—but it wasn’t one of them.

Matt stood in the doorway, half-shadowed by the dim light behind him. The black cloth suit clung to him, ropes around his knuckles, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

Tasha’s grip on your arm tightened.

Matt’s head tilted slightly. “You’re okay,” he said, voice low and relieved. “Tasha?”

She looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Yeah.”

He nodded once, brief. “Go. Now.”

Tasha hesitated. “What about her?”

“I’ll get her out,” Matt said, already moving inside. “Go.”

She looked at you for a second. You nodded quickly. “It’s okay. Go.”

Tasha took off without another word, slipping down the hallway and disappearing into the dark.

You turned to Matt. “How did you—”

“Later,” he muttered. “Let’s move.”

You followed close behind, ducking through shadows, your pulse thudding in your ears. The warehouse seemed eerily quiet—too quiet. You were almost to the back exit when you stopped, grabbing Matt’s arm.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” you whispered. “Not even what the hell are you doing here?”

He didn’t look at you. “Don’t talk. We need to go.”

“No,” you hissed, planting your feet. “I deserve to know how you even knew I was here.”

Matt turned, jaw clenched tight. “You shouldn’t have been here in the first place.”

“You’re the one who told me not to go to the cops!”

“You were supposed to stay out of this,” he snapped, voice low but sharp.

“I couldn’t!” you shot back. “She’s just a kid, Matt. Her brother was desperate, and I didn’t have any way to reach you—what was I supposed to do?”

“You weren’t supposed to do this alone,” he growled. “You have no idea who these people are—”

“And you’re off the damn grid! I don’t even know where you go when you disappear! I couldn’t ask for help because you made it impossible to—”

He moved fast.

One hand covered your mouth. The other shoved you back, pinning you against the wall. His body pressed against yours, tight and tense, completely still.

You froze.

Heavy boots echoed down the hall, loud and close. Voices followed.

“Check over here—maybe they doubled back.”

You barely breathed.

Matt’s chest pressed firmly against yours, his breath hot and steady against your cheek. His hand stayed over your mouth, fingers trembling slightly where they held your jaw.

The footsteps slowed. Passed. Faded.

Only when the silence stretched long and sure did Matt finally pull back, hand dropping from your mouth slowly, but he didn’t move away. His head tilted, still listening.

You exhaled quietly. “You heard them coming.”

His voice was rough, barely a whisper. “And you were about to walk right into them.”

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

He finally stepped back, just an inch, enough for air. You swallowed hard, your voice quiet but firm.

“I didn’t ask you to come save me.”

Matt’s jaw flexed. “I didn’t come for them.”

You blinked, breath catching.

He didn’t explain.

“Let’s go,” he said instead, already turning down the corridor.

You followed close behind him, your footsteps light, every muscle tight with nerves. Matt moved like a shadow through the darkened hallways, barely making a sound. You did your best to mimic him, sticking close enough that if you stumbled, you could grab onto him.

The way he moved — so sure, so fast, even bleeding and bruised — made your chest ache.

You didn’t speak again. Not yet.

You slipped through an open side door, into the night air. The warehouse loomed behind you, heavy and dark. Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed faintly, growing closer.

Matt paused just inside the alley, listening. His head tilted slightly, and for a second, you thought he might leave you there without another word.

Then he turned toward you.

“Stay low,” he said. “We’re not clear yet.”

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

The two of you moved quickly through the backstreets, winding through alleys and slipping between dumpsters. You didn’t ask where he was leading you. You just followed.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably minutes, Matt pushed open the rusted door to an abandoned building — half-collapsed, forgotten. He ushered you inside, pulling it shut behind you.

You leaned against the wall, heart pounding. Matt stood across from you, breathing hard, his hands flexing and curling at his sides.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment.

Finally, you broke the silence, voice low and rough. “You didn’t answer my question.”

He didn’t move.

“Why were you there?” you pressed, stepping closer. “How did you even know?”

Matt exhaled slowly, jaw tight. "I heard."

You blinked. "You heard? What, at the hospital?"

He shook his head slightly. "You. At the docks. I was... tracking someone else. I caught your voice. Recognized it."

You stared at him, throat dry. "You followed me."

"I wasn’t looking for you," he said, almost a growl. "You shouldn’t have been there."

Anger flared up again before you could stop it. "You’re unbelievable, you know that?"

Matt didn’t respond.

"You can vanish for days, come crashing through my window half-dead, and expect me to just patch you up and pretend nothing’s wrong—but I take one risk and suddenly I’m reckless?"

"You don’t get it," he muttered.

"Then make me understand," you snapped.

Matt moved before you could blink, crossing the distance between you in two strides. His hands caught your arms, firm but not hurting, pinning you gently but unmistakably against the wall again.

His face was so close you could feel the heat of him, the tremble in the air between you.

"I can survive it," Matt said, voice low and rough. "You can’t."

You sucked in a shaky breath, chest tight. "You don’t know that."

His head shook once, slow, sure. "I do."

You opened your mouth to argue again, but the words died on your tongue when you realized—he was terrified.

Not of the men hunting you. Not even of Fisk. Of you getting hurt.

The realization softened something sharp inside you.

Matt’s grip eased slightly, his thumbs brushing gently over your arms like he hadn’t even realized he was still holding you. His voice dropped even lower, barely a whisper.

"I can’t lose anyone else."

You stayed quiet, letting the words settle in the heavy, quiet space between you.

Slowly, you lifted a hand, resting it lightly against his chest. You felt the steady hammer of his heart beneath your palm.

"I'm not leaving," you said quietly. "Not unless you make me."

Matt’s breath caught faintly. He didn’t answer.

But he didn’t move away, either.

---

A week passed, quiet and uneasy. Matt’s visits became more frequent, but something had changed since the warehouse. He stayed longer, lingered silently even after you finished patching him up. You didn't talk about that night, how close you'd stood, how fragile the silence had felt.

Tonight, you sat beside Matt on your couch, finishing up a careful bandage around his wrist. He barely flinched, though the bruises along his ribs looked painful.

“Anything new at the hospital?” he finally asked, voice quiet and strained.

“Nothing useful,” you lied gently, cutting the excess tape. “Just whispers.”

His jaw tightened. “Whispers about what?”

You hesitated, setting aside your supplies. “That Fisk might be getting moved soon. House arrest.”

Matt shook his head sharply, bitterness seeping into his voice. “He’s manipulating them. Playing their game.”

“I don’t doubt it,” you said carefully. “But you can’t obsess over it, Matt. That’s exactly what he wants.”

“You don’t know him,” Matt replied sharply, tension radiating from every word.

“I don’t need to,” you said gently. “I know you. You’re barely sleeping. You’re distracted. You're reckless.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

He turned his head slightly, away from you. The room felt suddenly cold.

“Matt,” you tried again softly. “Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“You know that’s not true,” you pressed quietly. “Whatever Fisk’s planning, you don’t have to face it alone.”

“I’ve always faced him alone,” he muttered roughly. “This isn’t any different.”

You swallowed hard, hurt flashing briefly. “It could be.”

His jaw clenched again, voice flat and hard. “It won’t.”

Silence stretched thinly. Neither of you moved.

“You can’t keep going like this,” you finally whispered.

Matt rose abruptly, grabbing the mask from beside him. “I need to go.”

“Matt—”

He paused at your window, head slightly bowed. “I’ll be fine.”

You sighed softly, voice gentle but firm. “No, you won’t.”

He hesitated a second longer, head tilted as if listening to something far away, then disappeared silently into the night.

You stayed there, staring at the empty window, knowing you'd lost him again—for now.

---

Another tense week crawled by, stretching thin between Matt’s silence and your growing unease. He’d become even quieter—distant in a way that left your chest heavy every time he slipped through your window, battered and silent.

Tonight, when Matt appeared, the bruises on his jaw and the dried blood around his knuckles weren’t the most troubling things about him—it was the haunted expression etched across his face.

He barely spoke as you cleaned him up, sitting stiffly, head turned slightly away.

“What happened?” you finally asked gently, placing the bandage across his split knuckles.

Matt didn’t answer, jaw tight, eyes focused on something beyond you.

“Matt.” You reached for him, lightly touching his wrist. He flinched, pulling back instinctively. You paused, startled.

“I was right,” he murmured finally, voice rough and hollow. “Fisk has the FBI in his pocket. He's controlling them from his goddamn penthouse.”

“Are you sure?”

“I saw it myself,” he said bitterly, tension vibrating in his voice. “I saw one of them—Agent Dex. He’s working for Fisk.”

Your heart sank. “What are you going to do?”

He shook his head slowly, fists clenching tightly. “Whatever I have to.”

“Matt—”

“Don't,” he snapped sharply, shutting down any further questions before you could ask them.

You bit back your frustration, voice careful but firm. “You can’t keep shutting me out.”

Matt didn’t respond, jaw tightening as he stood abruptly. “I need air.”

You wanted to stop him, wanted to demand answers, but instead, you nodded quietly. “Fine.”

He hesitated just briefly at the window, head bowed slightly, before vanishing into the night without another word.

---

You woke suddenly in the middle of the night, a faint movement in your room tugging you from sleep. Heart thudding sharply, you sat up quickly, breath catching as your eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Matt stood silently near your bedroom door, half-hidden in shadows, head tilted slightly as if listening carefully to the sound of your breathing.

“Matt?” Your voice came out a sleepy whisper, unsure.

He stiffened slightly but didn’t move, his expression unreadable.

“What’s wrong?” you asked gently, sliding out from beneath the covers, stepping cautiously toward him. “Are you hurt?”

Matt shook his head slowly, voice barely audible. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” you murmured quietly, stopping just inches away from him, pulse racing. “What’s going on?”

He hesitated, voice breaking softly. “Nothing. Just needed… I just needed to make sure you were okay.”

You swallowed hard, chest aching at the raw vulnerability in his words. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Matt exhaled slowly, jaw tight. “Because I’m getting close. Too close. Fisk—he knows about you. And if something happens, I need to know—”

“Matt,” you interrupted gently, reaching out cautiously, fingertips brushing against his arm. “I’m right here. You don’t need to protect me from everything.”

“I do,” he whispered fiercely. “Especially from this.”

His breathing grew uneven, tension thrumming in every muscle as you stepped closer, heart hammering quietly in the dark. Your fingers trailed slowly up his arm, carefully tracing the sharp angle of his shoulder.

“Matt,” you murmured softly again, a plea for him to hear you, really hear you. “Let me in. Please.”

He stayed frozen, silent, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Carefully, hesitantly, your hand drifted up to touch his jaw, gentle against bruised skin.

He tilted his head slightly toward your touch, lips parting as if he might say something, then stopped himself, conflicted.

Your heart raced faster, your voice barely audible. “I know you think you have to do this alone—but you don’t.”

Matt stayed quiet, breath warm and uneven against your cheek. You leaned in slightly, pulse fluttering in your throat as you closed the last bit of space.

He moved suddenly, gently gripping your shoulders, stopping you just short of touching him. Your eyes fluttered open, confused, hurt flickering quickly across your expression.

“I can’t,” he whispered brokenly, his voice rough with pain. “I’m sorry.”

You stared at him silently, chest aching. He stood there a moment longer, fingertips trembling faintly against your skin, before stepping back, releasing you slowly.

“Go back to sleep,” he said quietly, almost pleading.

He slipped out of your room, leaving you standing alone in the dark, chest tight, heart bruised.

You knew this was far from over—but tonight, it felt like you’d lost something you hadn’t even fully had yet.

---

Four days.

Four endless, brutal days with nothing—no sign, no whispered apologies, no flicker of a shadow at your window.

You’d started preparing for the worst, again, your heart stuck in a twisted loop of hope and dread.

When Matt finally stumbled back through your window, it felt like a ghost stepping back into your life. You shot up instantly from your spot on the couch, heart pounding.

He looked awful—his body battered, face bruised and bloody, posture hunched and unsteady.

“What the hell happened?” you demanded, voice shaking with barely suppressed fear. “Where have you been?”

Matt didn’t answer immediately, swaying slightly as he leaned against the wall, breathing raggedly.

“Matt, answer me.”

“Dex,” he muttered finally, bitterness dripping from the single syllable. “He’s… Fisk’s using him. He has my suit. He’s killing people, pretending to be me.”

“Jesus,” you breathed, stepping closer, reaching instinctively for your first-aid kit. “Come here, let me—”

“No,” he snapped harshly, flinching back. “Don’t.”

You froze, hurt flaring up instantly. “Excuse me?”

“Just—stop. I shouldn’t even be here.”

“But you are,” you shot back sharply. “Because you always come back here when things go wrong, and I’m always here waiting like an idiot.”

His jaw tightened, shoulders tense. “I never asked you to wait.”

“You didn’t have to,” you countered fiercely. “You keep coming back, expecting me to clean you up and never ask questions. Well, I’m done. Tell me what’s going on, Matt.”

He shook his head angrily, voice rising sharply. “You really don’t get it, do you? I keep coming here because I have nowhere else to go—but it’s dangerous. You’re dangerous.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “I’m dangerous? Seriously?”

“Yes,” he hissed, stepping toward you, frustration boiling over. “You make me weak. You make me distracted. Every second I’m here, every second I waste worrying about you, Fisk gets stronger. People are dying because of me, because I can’t stop—”

“No,” you snapped sharply, cutting him off. “Don’t put that on me. People are dying because you refuse to let anyone help you.”

“I don’t need your help!”

“Oh, clearly,” you spat bitterly, anger surging. “Because stumbling into my apartment half-dead is exactly how someone who doesn’t need help behaves.”

“You don’t understand,” Matt growled, voice raw with frustration. “Dex nearly killed me because I hesitated—because for one second, I thought of you. I can’t afford that.”

You shook your head furiously. “So it’s my fault now? You’re blaming me because you refuse to let yourself care about anything?”

“I’m blaming myself!” he yelled, voice cracking sharply, emotion finally breaking through his carefully maintained facade. “I should’ve never dragged you into this. I should’ve walked away the second I saw you in that alley.”

“You’re such an ass,” you shot back, your voice shaking. “I’m not the one being reckless. I’m not the one throwing myself into fights alone. I’m not the one choosing to shut everyone out—”

“I’m trying to keep you alive!”

“I never asked you to!” Your voice echoed sharply through the room, both of you breathing heavily in the charged silence.

Matt turned his face away, chest rising and falling rapidly, fists clenched tight at his sides. “I shouldn’t have come.”

You stared at him, disbelief and hurt etched clearly across your face. “Then maybe you shouldn’t come back.”

He stiffened visibly, jaw tightening, head tilting slightly as if your words physically hurt him. But he said nothing else, just grabbed the mask from your coffee table, gripping it tightly.

Without another word, he moved to your window, hesitating just briefly on the ledge.

Then he disappeared again, leaving you alone, anger and heartache twisting painfully in your chest.

---

It had been days since Matt left—days since your explosive fight had fractured whatever fragile peace you’d built. You’d thrown yourself into work at Metro-General, desperate to keep your mind occupied.

The hospital buzzed with its usual chaos, your attention split between paperwork, phone calls, and calming anxious visitors. It was easy to fall into the rhythm, easier still to pretend that you weren’t constantly looking over your shoulder, hoping—and dreading—to see Matt again.

“Excuse me?”

The voice startled you from your thoughts. You glanced up to find a man standing at your desk, dressed in civilian clothes but clearly tense, guarded. Dark blond hair, sharp eyes—something off about the way he smiled, polite but distant.

“Sorry,” you said, regaining your professional composure quickly. “How can I help you?”

“Benjamin,” he said smoothly, holding your gaze a bit too steadily. “I was told someone would help patch me up, but I’ve been waiting a while.”

You glanced briefly at his scraped knuckles and the faint, dried blood along his hairline. Definitely not severe, but you understood the frustration.

“I’m sorry about that,” you apologized gently, checking the screen briefly. “The ER’s a bit backed up right now. Someone should be with you soon.”

He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Listen, it's nothing serious. Just a couple scratches. You think you could handle it real quick?”

You hesitated, raising an eyebrow slightly. “I’m just a receptionist, Benjamin. I’m not really supposed to—”

“Come on,” he interrupted lightly, his smile broadening, though the humor never fully reached his eyes. “You seem capable enough. I won’t sue you or anything.”

You laughed softly, relaxing just a bit. “Promise?”

“Scout’s honor,” he said, raising his hand mock-seriously.

You sighed gently, grabbing a small first aid kit from behind the counter. “Fine. But just this once, okay?”

Benjamin followed you over to an empty chair nearby, sinking down casually, his gaze following you with unsettling intensity. You knelt in front of him, carefully opening antiseptic wipes.

“So, what happened?” you asked lightly, making conversation to fill the quiet. “Rough day on the job?”

“You could say that.” He paused, watching you work. “Work’s been a bit… complicated lately.”

“Yeah, I get that,” you murmured, gently dabbing at the cuts. “Things have been complicated for me, too.”

He studied you closely. “Problems at home?”

You hesitated briefly, uncomfortable with how direct he was. “Something like that.”

Benjamin leaned in a bit, voice softer. “It’s tough when people you trust disappoint you, isn’t it?”

You glanced up, startled. He smiled slightly, coldly reassuring.

“I’m a good guesser,” he offered by way of explanation.

“I suppose,” you said quietly, finishing quickly. You reached for a small bandage, avoiding his probing stare.

“You did good,” he said, tone oddly approving as you sat back. “Maybe you’re in the wrong line of work.”

“I think I’ll stick to my desk job,” you replied lightly, forcing a polite smile. “Less blood.”

Benjamin stood slowly, flexing his hand experimentally. “Thanks again, Y/N.”

You frowned slightly, confused. “Did I tell you my name?”

He paused briefly, an almost imperceptible flicker crossing his face. “Nametag.”

You glanced down at the badge clipped to your shirt, suddenly feeling foolish. “Right. Of course.”

He turned to leave, then glanced back once, smile still polite, controlled. “Take care of yourself.”

Something about his tone made a chill crawl up your spine, but you brushed it off quickly as he disappeared down the hall.

You shook your head gently, returning to your desk, trying not to dwell on the encounter. It was probably nothing.

Probably.

---

The attack happened so fast, you barely registered it.

You were walking home from the hospital, your mind tired, distracted, replaying a dozen conversations from the day. The sun was still out, bright and indifferent, which made what came next feel even more surreal.

One second you were stepping off the curb, fumbling for your keys, and the next a rough hand grabbed your arm, yanking you sharply into the narrow alley between buildings.

You gasped, trying to wrench yourself free. "Hey! Let me—"

A gloved hand closed tightly over your mouth, pushing you hard against the brick wall. The rough edges scraped your shoulder painfully through your shirt. You tried to scream, panic swelling fast, but the grip tightened sharply.

"Shut up," a voice hissed coldly into your ear. "Or I'll make this hurt worse."

You went rigid, pulse hammering loudly in your ears. The attacker pressed closer, crowding your space, his voice low and dangerously calm.

"Wilson Fisk sends his regards," he whispered roughly. "Tell your friend in the mask he's been noticed. You have too."

Your stomach lurched. You struggled again, twisting sharply, elbow catching your attacker in the ribs. He cursed harshly, shoving you back against the wall, your head cracking sharply against the bricks.

Darkness flared briefly at the edges of your vision. When you blinked, he was already gone, footsteps fading rapidly down the alley. You slid slowly down the wall, legs trembling violently, breaths shallow and panicked.

"Fuck," you whispered, pressing shaky fingertips to your forehead, pulling them away red.

Dazed, you staggered to your feet, swaying as you made your way to your apartment. Your keys shook as you unlocked your door, stumbling inside and bolting it behind you.

You stood there for a second, heart pounding, adrenaline fading enough to make the pain rush forward. Your head throbbed sharply. Blood trickled slowly down your temple, smearing your fingertips.

You swallowed hard, pulling your phone from your pocket with shaking hands. Your thumb hovered uncertainly before quickly dialing Karen’s number.

"Hey, Y/N," she answered cheerfully. "What’s up?"

"Karen," you managed weakly, voice shaking. "I—I need you to come over. Please."

Instantly, her tone changed, sharp and worried. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"I was attacked," you whispered shakily, sinking onto your couch. "I—it's bad."

"Shit," Karen breathed sharply. "Stay right there. I'm coming right now."

---

Karen arrived within fifteen minutes, the knock at your door urgent and insistent.

"Y/N?" she called, worry clear in her voice.

You opened the door cautiously, eyes wide and frightened. Karen's gaze darkened when she saw you.

"Jesus," she muttered softly, stepping quickly inside. "Who did this?"

You shook your head, unable to form a coherent sentence at first. Karen gently guided you to the couch, kneeling carefully in front of you as she took in the blood on your forehead, the bruise already forming along your cheek.

"I'll get your kit," she murmured gently. "Stay here."

You nodded numbly, closing your eyes as she moved through your apartment. When Karen returned, she began carefully cleaning the gash above your brow, her touch gentle and familiar.

"Who did this?" she asked softly, voice steady but tense.

You exhaled slowly, wincing as the antiseptic stung sharply. "Fisk. Someone he sent."

Karen’s hand froze briefly, eyes widening. "What?"

You swallowed thickly, voice trembling. "He knows I'm… connected to Daredevil."

Karen's expression darkened further. "Shit."

Your eyes flickered up to her face, conflicted. "Karen, I—Matt—"

She nodded gently, voice steady. "We know he's alive."

You blinked, startled. "What?"

Karen exhaled quietly, continuing her work gently. "He came to us a while ago. Told us everything. Including that you'd been helping patch him up."

Your jaw clenched slightly, hurt flickering briefly across your face. "Not anymore."

She paused, frowning softly. "Did something happen?"

"Yeah," you said quietly, unable to meet her gaze. "I… told him not to come back."

Karen set down the bandage, watching you closely. "Why?"

You exhaled shakily, frustration and heartache mixing uncomfortably. "Because he kept showing up half-dead and wouldn’t talk to me. Because he refuses to let anyone help him. Because—" your voice broke slightly, bitter. "Because apparently I'm the reason he's distracted."

Karen was quiet for a moment, voice gentle. "Matt’s always been like that. Always thinks he has to handle everything alone."

"I know," you whispered, frustrated. "But it’s different when—"

"When you care about him?" Karen finished gently.

You nodded silently, looking away.

Karen sighed quietly, setting the first aid kit aside. "Look, I won't pretend I understand what's going through Matt's head. But I do know one thing: pushing people away is what he's good at."

You laughed weakly. "Yeah, I noticed."

Karen smiled faintly. "I also know that he only pushes harder when he's scared. He's lost a lot. Too much. He's terrified of losing anyone else."

"He told me that," you admitted softly. "Right before he walked away again."

Karen squeezed your hand gently, reassuring. "Give him time. Matt can be a stubborn idiot sometimes, but… he comes back."

You swallowed hard, conflicted, then whispered quietly, "I don't know if he will this time."

She shook her head slightly, gentle but firm. "Matt never stays away for long. Especially from the people he cares about."

You didn't reply, chest aching sharply at the quiet confidence in her voice.

Karen carefully smoothed the last bandage into place, leaning back to inspect her work. "Better?"

"Better," you murmured quietly. "Thank you."

She nodded, voice soft. "Anytime."

You sat together quietly for several minutes, Karen's presence calming the worst of your nerves. Finally, she squeezed your hand again softly, standing slowly.

"I should get going," she murmured gently. "Foggy will be wondering where I am."

You smiled faintly, tired. "Tell him I said hi."

She nodded, pausing at your door. "Stay safe, okay? And call if you need anything—seriously."

You nodded again, voice barely audible. "I will."

Karen hesitated briefly, looking at you softly. "He cares about you, Y/N. Even if he's terrible at showing it."

Your throat tightened, but you managed a shaky nod. "I know."

Karen slipped quietly out the door, leaving you alone again. You sank back against your couch, pain throbbing quietly beneath the bandages, exhaustion pulling heavily at you.

You thought about calling Matt, fingers hovering briefly over his name—but then you remembered the way he'd left, the bitter words, the hurtful silence.

Instead, you placed your phone down quietly, curling carefully against the cushions. Your eyes drifted shut slowly, heart aching as your breathing slowly evened out.

Whatever happened next, you'd deal with it in the morning.

Right now, sleep felt like the only safe place left to hide.

---

It had been days since the attack. Days that blurred into nights as you navigated a strange new normal—always looking over your shoulder, flinching at shadows. You forced yourself through your shifts at Metro-General, smiling politely, taking calls, quietly checking people in, all while silently replaying the words of your attacker:

Wilson Fisk sends his regards.

The hospital felt colder somehow, less welcoming, each shift becoming a careful game of vigilance. Your coworkers noticed your distraction, but you brushed their questions off quickly, claiming exhaustion or stress. No one pressed further, and you were grateful.

Still, you couldn't help the tension twisting tighter in your chest with each passing day, every shift spent counting the hours until you could lock yourself behind your apartment door.

Today was no different. The sun had already dipped below the skyline, leaving shadows stretching long across the sidewalks as you exited Metro-General. A chill hung heavily in the air; you pulled your coat tighter around your shoulders, quickening your pace down the street.

You paused briefly at a crosswalk, glancing warily at a black sedan idling a bit too long at the curb. Your pulse quickened as it slowly pulled away, but no one emerged, and no one looked your way.

“Relax,” you whispered quietly to yourself, rubbing your face tiredly. “You're being paranoid.”

But you weren't. Fisk's message still lingered in your mind, an ominous weight pressing heavily against your chest.

You continued walking, passing by a small café, its warm lights spilling softly onto the sidewalk. You glanced inside, the mundane scene briefly reassuring—people sipping coffee, reading books, chatting easily. A pang of longing hit you; normal felt so painfully out of reach.

“Y/N!”

You jumped slightly, whipping around sharply at your name. Your coworker, Lisa, jogged over quickly, giving you a sheepish smile as she approached.

“Sorry,” she laughed softly, breathless. “Didn't mean to scare you.”

You shook your head quickly, forcing a weak smile. “No, it's fine. What's up?”

Lisa gestured vaguely toward the hospital, cheeks flushed from the cold. “You left your ID at the desk. Thought you'd want it.”

Relief rushed through you as you accepted the badge, slipping it quickly back into your pocket. “God, thank you. My brain's all over the place lately.”

She frowned gently, concern flickering briefly across her face. “Everything okay? You seem pretty rattled lately.”

You hesitated, considering your answer carefully. “It's… personal stuff. I'll be fine.”

Lisa didn't look convinced but didn't press further. “Alright. Just take care of yourself, okay?”

You smiled faintly, grateful. “I will.”

She gave a quick nod, turning back toward the hospital. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you,” you echoed quietly, watching her retreating form disappear down the sidewalk.

You took a slow breath, steadying yourself before continuing your walk home, your nerves settling slightly after the brief interaction.

Until you saw it again—a black sedan, idling at the corner ahead, lights off. Your heart stuttered sharply, steps faltering. Panic surged fast and sudden, your instincts screaming sharply in warning.

“Shit,” you whispered shakily, eyes darting rapidly around the empty street. It was late enough now that the streets had thinned, passersby few and far between. Your fingers tightened around your phone, pulse hammering roughly in your throat.

You moved quickly, ducking sharply down a narrow side street, breath ragged and uneven as you hurried through the shadows. You glanced back repeatedly, but the sedan didn't appear again.

Eventually, your apartment building loomed up ahead, a beacon of safety. You hurried inside quickly, locking the heavy door behind you, exhaling heavily in relief.

“Safe,” you whispered shakily, rubbing trembling hands over your face.

Your phone buzzed suddenly, making you flinch. You glanced quickly at the screen—just an unknown number. Your stomach twisted anxiously as you read the short, clipped message:

You're making this harder than it needs to be.

Your blood ran cold, dread twisting sharply in your chest. Fingers trembling, you quickly blocked the number, heart hammering violently as you sank onto your couch.

“This can't keep happening,” you whispered, voice strained with fear and frustration.

Sleep was impossible that night—every noise outside your window jolted you awake, breath caught sharply in your chest, pulse racing. Eventually, exhaustion dragged you into a restless, uneasy sleep, filled with broken, uneasy dreams.

The next morning, you forced yourself through your routine, showering quickly, coffee bitter on your tongue, anxiety buzzing quietly beneath your skin. You hesitated briefly at your apartment door, fingers shaking slightly as you gripped the handle.

“Get it together,” you whispered fiercely to yourself. “You can't hide forever.”

Gathering your courage, you stepped out onto the street, eyes immediately scanning for threats. Nothing stood out—no black sedan, no suspicious figures lurking nearby.

The walk to Metro-General felt agonizingly long, every step tense and cautious. But when you finally reached the bright lobby, tension eased from your shoulders slightly, replaced by a fragile sense of relief.

“Morning, Y/N,” another coworker called warmly from the front desk, smiling cheerfully.

You forced yourself to smile back, taking a calming breath. “Morning.”

Work became a welcome distraction, the busy routine soothing your frayed nerves. Calls, paperwork, quiet conversations with patients—all familiar, all comforting. By the time your shift ended, you almost felt normal again, anxiety dulled slightly beneath exhaustion.

You stepped outside cautiously, evening already darkening the sky, cold wind biting sharply. You started walking home carefully, heart thudding gently.

You were almost halfway home, passing a small storefront, when a sharp, sudden noise startled you—a metal trash can clattering loudly nearby. You jumped sharply, whirling around.

“Jesus,” you muttered shakily, heart racing violently. Just a stray cat, darting quickly across the alleyway, eyes reflecting briefly in the dim streetlights.

You sighed heavily, relief mingling with embarrassment at your own paranoia.

“Okay, calm down,” you whispered quietly, voice uneven. “Almost home.”

You turned slowly back toward the sidewalk—then froze abruptly.

Standing just a few feet away, half-shadowed beneath a streetlamp, was a familiar face.

“Benjamin?” Your voice shook slightly, heart thudding unevenly as you recognized the man from the hospital.

He smiled slowly, coldly, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on yours. “Hey, Y/N. Fancy meeting you here.”

Every instinct screamed danger, your pulse spiking sharply. You took a cautious step back. “What are you doing here?”

He tilted his head slightly, expression casual despite the tension radiating from him. “Just passing through. Saw you—thought I'd say hi.”

Your eyes flickered quickly toward the street, hoping desperately for another pedestrian, a passing car—anything. Empty.

“You've been following me,” you whispered, voice shaking.

Benjamin shrugged slightly, taking a casual step forward. “Just doing my job.”

Your stomach twisted violently. “Your job? Fisk sent you?”

He laughed softly, humorless, the sound chilling. “No. This isn't about Fisk.”

Your confusion must've shown clearly, because his smile widened slowly, eyes glittering darkly in the dim light.

“It's about someone else entirely,” he murmured softly, stepping closer. “Someone who wears red.”

Your breath caught sharply, realization dawning sickeningly fast. You stepped back quickly, pulse hammering.

“Leave me alone,” you said sharply, voice cracking slightly.

He shook his head gently, almost sympathetic. “I wish I could. But unfortunately, you're part of this now. And you’re going to help me get what I want.”

Panic surged violently through your chest, limbs shaking. You turned sharply, ready to run—but Benjamin moved quicker, grabbing your arm roughly, pulling you back sharply against him, cold metal pressing into your side.

“Don’t scream,” he murmured dangerously, lips brushing your ear. “I’m not supposed to kill you yet.”

Your breath froze painfully in your throat, panic paralyzing you momentarily. He tightened his grip painfully, voice calm, almost conversational.

“Let’s go,” Benjamin whispered, cold and sure, steering you toward a nearby car, the door opening smoothly as he pushed you inside.

You had no choice but to obey, heart thudding violently, dread settling bitterly as the car door shut firmly behind you.

---

You lost track of time quickly in the bare, windowless room. Hours blurred into days, punctuated only by the occasional sound of footsteps approaching, doors opening, and quiet, tense exchanges. Dex rarely spoke, barely looking your way, leaving you alone with only your tangled thoughts for company.

Until one day, when the door opened quietly and Dex stepped into the room, leaning against the doorframe, watching you silently.

"Good news?" you asked dryly, voice hoarse from disuse. "Or are you finally just here to end the suspense?"

Dex's mouth twitched briefly—almost a smile, but cold, calculated. "He's stubborn, I'll give him that."

You raised an eyebrow sharply. "Who?"

His gaze sharpened slightly, coldly amused. "Who do you think?"

Realization clicked sharply, stomach twisting painfully. "Matt?"

Dex tilted his head slightly, something dark flickering behind his controlled expression. "So you do know his name. Good to know we're on the same page."

You scoffed bitterly, disbelief creeping into your voice. "You're wasting your time. Matt doesn't care about me."

He pushed away from the doorframe slowly, stepping into the room. "Now, why do I find that hard to believe?"

You laughed weakly, humorless. "Maybe because you kidnapped me thinking he'd come running, and so far, nothing."

Dex paused briefly, jaw flexing almost imperceptibly. He studied you carefully, expression unreadable. "Doesn't matter. Fisk thinks otherwise."

"Well, Fisk is wrong," you shot back bitterly, exhaustion sharpening your voice. "Matt made it pretty clear. He's not coming."

Dex didn't respond immediately, eyes narrowing slightly. Something cold passed briefly across his expression before he shook his head, returning to his careful indifference. "We'll see."

You sighed quietly, tipping your head back against the wall tiredly. "Don't hold your breath."

He stood there silently for another long moment, as if considering something, then turned and left without another word, the door shutting quietly behind him.

---

Dex returned more often after that—not always to talk, usually just to sit quietly, watching you carefully, eyes sharp and calculating. But after a while, even his silence felt strangely preferable to the isolation you'd been enduring.

One evening, he sat silently in the corner, meticulously cleaning the pistol he'd placed neatly on the table beside him. You watched carefully, gathering your nerve.

"So," you said finally, voice cautiously even, "do you have an actual name, or am I supposed to just call you 'you' forever?"

He glanced up sharply, expression guarded. "Why does it matter?"

You shrugged, feigning indifference. "Because 'hey, kidnapper' just feels a bit formal."

Dex hesitated, fingers pausing briefly on the gun. Eventually, he exhaled quietly, eyes flicking up to yours. "Dex."

"Dex," you echoed softly, testing the name carefully. You paused, recognition flickering sharply. "Wait—Dex as in Agent Dex?"

He went rigid, eyes narrowing sharply. "How do you know that?"

Your stomach twisted painfully, realization sinking deeper. "Matt told me about you. Said Fisk was using you."

Dex's jaw tightened visibly, voice cold. "He said that?"

You nodded slowly, pulse quickening. "Yeah."

He stared at you silently, expression unreadable. Finally, he spoke quietly, voice flat and controlled. "Fisk is helping me."

You raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Helping you how?"

Dex hesitated slightly, glancing down briefly at the gun in his hands. "He understands me. Gives me purpose."

Your voice softened carefully. "Sounds like he's just using you."

His eyes flicked up sharply, defensive. "You don't know what you're talking about."

You exhaled slowly, shaking your head gently. "Maybe not. But I know Matt's not your enemy."

Dex scoffed bitterly, resuming his careful cleaning. "He got in my way."

You watched him quietly, curiosity overriding caution. "Your way of what?"

Dex tensed visibly, but didn't answer, eyes fixed firmly on his work. The silence stretched long and fragile before you spoke again, voice quiet.

"Matt doesn't trust easily," you murmured carefully, "but if he thought you could get out from under Fisk, he'd help you."

Dex laughed humorlessly, glancing sharply at you. "You don't really believe that."

"I do," you replied gently. "Matt helps people—even when they don't deserve it."

He stared at you silently, expression carefully blank. Eventually, he set the pistol down firmly, pushing up from his chair abruptly. "You're wrong."

You didn't respond, holding his gaze silently as he walked quickly out of the room, door slamming shut behind him.

---

Slowly, a tentative routine began forming. Dex returned regularly, always silent, tense. He never stayed long, rarely spoke. But you found yourself anticipating those short visits—anything to break the monotony of endless waiting.

Today, Dex leaned silently against the opposite wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest, gaze distant and cold.

"You know," you finally said, voice quiet but firm, "I don't think you're as heartless as you pretend."

He glanced sharply at you, eyes narrowing. "Don't pretend you know anything about me."

"I don't," you agreed softly, carefully holding his gaze. "But I know you're tired. And I know what it's like to be used."

Dex's jaw tightened visibly, but he didn't reply, eyes flicking away briefly.

You pressed gently, voice calm. "Matt told me Fisk has a way of getting into your head. Manipulating your trust. He did it to Matt, too."

Dex scoffed bitterly, eyes hardening again. "I'm nothing like him."

You tilted your head slightly, watching him carefully. "You're more alike than you think. He pushed everyone away, too. Thought he could do everything alone—until he couldn't."

Dex stayed quiet, jaw tense, gaze fixed on a distant spot on the floor.

You hesitated briefly before speaking softly. "You know, you don't have to do this. Fisk isn't your friend."

He exhaled sharply, eyes flicking sharply up to yours. "And you are?"

You shrugged gently, voice calm and steady. "Maybe not. But at least I'm honest."

Dex laughed softly, humorless. "Honest. You really think anyone in this city is honest?"

"Matt was," you replied carefully, softly. "Even if he was terrible at everything else."

He stared at you silently, expression unreadable. Finally, he shook his head slightly, pushing away from the wall. "Don't try to figure me out, Y/N. It won't work."

You smiled faintly, exhaustion making your voice softer. "Maybe not. But I'm stuck here anyway—I figure I might as well try."

Dex didn't respond, lingering silently near the door, hesitating briefly before finally slipping quietly out.

---

Days stretched slowly on. Matt didn't come. No rescue, no whisper of his name, no hint that he even knew—or cared—that you'd disappeared. Fisk's assumption had proven wrong.

Dex noticed, though he didn't say anything. Still, you caught him watching you more carefully, as if trying to understand you, understand why Matt hadn't appeared.

Tonight, Dex sat silently nearby, staring thoughtfully at the wall. You watched him quietly, exhaustion weighing heavily on your voice when you finally spoke.

"Guess I was right," you murmured softly. "Matt really isn't coming."

Dex didn't respond immediately, but eventually his voice broke the tense quiet, quieter than usual. "Maybe he's just playing it safe."

You laughed weakly, humorless. "No. Matt isn't like that. If he thought someone he cared about was in danger, nothing could stop him." You paused, throat tight. "I guess that proves where I stand."

Dex's eyes flicked briefly toward you, unreadable. "Maybe he's just scared."

You smiled faintly, bitterly. "Matt's never been scared to risk his life for someone else."

Dex tilted his head slightly, watching you closely. "Not even you?"

You hesitated, swallowing tightly before finally shaking your head softly. "No. Not even me."

Dex didn't respond, but something briefly softened in his guarded expression, almost like sympathy, before vanishing as quickly as it'd appeared.

He stood slowly, moving quietly toward the door. He paused there briefly, speaking without turning back.

"For what it's worth," Dex murmured quietly, carefully, "I think you're wrong."

He didn't wait for your reply, slipping quickly out, the door clicking softly shut behind him, leaving you alone once more in silence.

---

Karen paced the small length of her living room, anxiety crawling up her spine like a slow-moving chill. Her thumb hovered once more over your name on her screen, stomach knotting painfully when it went straight to voicemail again.

“Dammit, Y/N,” she murmured, sinking down heavily onto her worn couch. She closed her eyes briefly, tapping her phone nervously against her thigh.

It had been days since she'd last seen or heard from you—long enough to set off every alarm bell in her head. Karen knew you well enough to understand you weren't the type to vanish without at least a quick text. You'd always been careful like that, mindful of how much they worried.

She'd gone by your apartment twice already—lights off, mail stacked up, a quiet emptiness settled ominously inside. Everything looked untouched, frozen in time. Your shift at Metro-General confirmed her fears; you hadn’t shown up to work in days either. Something was terribly wrong.

"Come on," Karen whispered softly, heart heavy in her chest. "Pick up your phone, Y/N."

Nothing. Just that same automated voicemail greeting she'd now memorized.

She exhaled sharply, heart twisting painfully, and glanced toward her desk, where her laptop sat open. Fisk's release and new media storm had been consuming all her attention lately, but now it all felt terribly connected. She remembered your worried look, your quiet admission that Fisk’s men had threatened you—that they'd left a clear warning.

Fear spiked through Karen's veins. She stood abruptly, grabbing her keys and jacket from the table.

If Matt wouldn’t answer her, maybe Foggy would. He needed to know. Maybe together they could figure out what the hell had happened.

She just prayed they weren't already too late.

---

Foggy watched Karen pace anxiously across his office, the worry etched into her face clear and unsettling.

“How long has it been?” he asked quietly, voice heavy with concern.

“Almost a week,” Karen replied, eyes tight with tension. “No calls, no texts, nothing. She hasn't shown up at work, Foggy. Nobody's seen her.”

Foggy frowned deeply, feeling dread pooling uneasily in his stomach. “You don’t think Fisk would—”

“I don’t know,” Karen said sharply, clearly frustrated. “But you know she was already on his radar. We warned her. We warned Matt, too.”

Foggy rubbed his temples tiredly, sighing heavily. “Have you called him?”

Karen scoffed bitterly. “I’ve tried. He’s gone radio silent again. Like always.”

Foggy’s expression darkened. “Dammit, Matt.”

Karen’s voice softened, shaking her head gently. “I don’t think he knows, Foggy. You saw how he was last time we talked—completely shut down. If he had any idea Y/N was missing…”

“He’d tear the city apart,” Foggy finished quietly, understanding clear in his tone.

Karen nodded tightly, eyes bright with worry. “Exactly. We need to find him. If Fisk took Y/N to get Matt’s attention—”

Foggy swallowed hard, chest tight. “Then he’s playing a dangerous game.”

“Matt needs to know,” Karen said fiercely, voice steady with determination. “He’d never forgive us if we kept this from him.”

Foggy hesitated just briefly before nodding sharply, already grabbing his coat from the back of his chair. “Let’s go.”

---

Dex leaned quietly against the wall of the safehouse, eyes locked unblinkingly on the small surveillance screen in front of him. Fisk’s voice hummed through the phone, calm, even soothing—but Dex knew better.

“It’s been nearly a week, Benjamin,” Fisk said gently, a patient reminder. “And still nothing from our friend in red?”

Dex’s jaw tightened slightly. “No, sir.”

Fisk hummed thoughtfully. “Then perhaps he needs a more… persuasive demonstration.”

Dex paused, discomfort flickering briefly across his controlled expression. “What do you mean?”

Fisk’s tone shifted slightly, darker beneath the calm. “Ms. Y/N has clearly not been enough incentive. Perhaps she’s not as important as I thought. Make sure Murdock knows we mean business. However necessary.”

Dex's grip tightened on the phone, voice carefully neutral. “Understood.”

Fisk ended the call without another word, leaving Dex alone with a lingering unease twisting in his chest. He hesitated briefly, glancing toward the closed door where you were still being held.

Slowly, he pushed away from the wall, footsteps silent as he moved toward your room. He hesitated just outside, exhaling slowly, face unreadable as he unlocked the door and stepped quietly inside.

You glanced up quickly, eyes wary but exhausted. You looked tired—face drawn, circles darkening beneath your eyes.

“What now?” you asked quietly, resignation clear in your tone.

Dex watched you silently for a moment, jaw tight. “Still no sign of your friend.”

You scoffed bitterly, shaking your head. “I told you he wouldn't show.”

He hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. “Fisk wants me to… escalate things.”

You stiffened slightly, anxiety flickering quickly across your face. “Meaning?”

Dex stared at you silently, expression guarded. Finally, he spoke quietly, words careful, controlled. “Meaning it’ll get worse. Fisk thinks you’re not important enough to Murdock.”

You exhaled sharply, shoulders slumping slightly, voice tight. “Well, he’s right about that.”

Dex tilted his head slightly, studying your defeated expression carefully. “You really think that?”

You looked up tiredly, voice softening bitterly. “If Matt knew and cared, he’d already be here.”

Dex stayed quiet for several seconds, something unreadable briefly passing across his expression. Eventually, he exhaled gently, eyes flicking briefly toward the floor before meeting yours again.

“You shouldn't have gotten involved with him,” he said finally, voice quiet.

You laughed weakly, humorless. “That, Dex, we can definitely agree on.”

He watched you carefully, as if considering something, before finally stepping back quietly, voice low and even. “I’m sorry.”

You glanced up, surprised by the quiet sincerity behind his words, but before you could respond, he'd already slipped silently from the room, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

You leaned back slowly, heart heavy, knowing things had just taken a darker turn.

---

Karen knocked again at the familiar door, heart heavy with frustration. The steady, stubborn silence echoed her worry.

"Come on, Matt," she muttered impatiently, voice sharp. "I know you're in there."

She pressed her ear briefly against the worn wood, hearing only silence from inside.

"Matt," she called again firmly, raising her voice. "It's Karen. We need to talk. It's about Y/N."

A sudden, soft shuffle inside—almost imperceptible, but she'd caught it. Karen waited, holding her breath. Seconds ticked by. Finally, the door unlocked quietly, and Matt stood there, face gaunt, eyes hidden behind dark glasses, a grim, tense line to his mouth.

"Karen," he greeted softly, voice strained. "What's going on?"

She stepped past him quickly, into the small, shadowed apartment. "You really don't know, do you?"

Matt's brow furrowed sharply. "Know what?"

Karen exhaled in disbelief, frustration mingling painfully with her worry. "Y/N. She's missing, Matt. She's been gone for a week."

Matt went rigid, his expression blanking as though she'd struck him. He tilted his head slightly, listening carefully to her heartbeat, sensing her nervous urgency.

"When?" he asked roughly, voice dangerously calm.

Karen shook her head impatiently. "She vanished days ago—didn't show up for work, hasn't been home, her phone's dead. Nothing."

Matt's fists clenched tightly at his sides. Guilt and dread twisted violently beneath his ribs. He’d known something was wrong—he'd ignored that nagging fear, rationalizing his silence as protection.

"And you think Fisk took her?" he murmured, voice thick.

Karen hesitated, gaze softening slightly at the pain she saw clearly in Matt’s tightly drawn face. "Fisk, Dex—someone connected to you, Matt. She told me Fisk's men had threatened her. She said they'd warned her that they knew she was connected to you."

Matt turned away sharply, pacing several quick steps toward the window, shoulders tense beneath his worn sweater. "This is my fault."

"Matt—" Karen began softly, stepping toward him.

"I pushed her away," he interrupted sharply, regret thickening his voice. "I thought—I thought distance would keep her safe."

Karen's eyes softened, gentle but firm. "It doesn't work that way. You should know that by now."

He stood silently, head bowed, breathing uneven. "Do we know where they're keeping her?"

Karen shook her head, voice tight. "Foggy and I have tried everything. Every lead hits a dead end."

Matt's jaw tightened sharply, fists clenching painfully. "I'll find her."

"Matt," Karen murmured softly, gently touching his arm. "Please be careful. Fisk wants this. He wants you reckless, distracted. Don't play into it."

Matt didn't respond, gaze fixed hard on the shadows. His voice was low, dangerous, determined.

"He took her because of me," he murmured bitterly. "If he hurts her, I'll—"

Karen exhaled sharply, interrupting gently. "Matt, just find her. That's all that matters right now."

He nodded slowly, swallowing past the tightness in his throat. "I will."

---

Dex sat silently outside the door of the holding room, fingers drumming absently on the edge of his chair, thoughts tangled. Fisk’s orders still hung heavy on his shoulders, a weight that felt increasingly wrong, increasingly suffocating.

Something about you had unsettled him. You weren’t scared—at least, not openly. You weren't begging for mercy. Instead, you’d treated him like a person—an actual human being, rather than Fisk's cold, efficient tool. Dex couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at him with anything close to empathy.

He rubbed his jaw tiredly, thinking of your quiet voice, your exhausted resignation.

If Matt knew and cared, he'd already be here.

He frowned slightly, irritation rising sharply. Fisk had been so certain you were important enough to draw Murdock out. So certain that using you would tip the scales in their favor. But the longer Dex sat here—the longer he watched you silently endure, waited for Matt to burst through the door—the more uncertain he became.

A sudden noise broke his thoughts—quiet, but distinct. Dex straightened quickly, alert. Footsteps approaching—careful, deliberate, quiet. Almost silent. Almost.

Dex stood slowly, muscles tensed, alert. He recognized those careful movements instantly—after all, he'd spent countless hours studying surveillance footage, mimicking each subtle motion.

Matt Murdock was finally here.

Dex’s pulse quickened, anticipation sharp in his veins. He drew his weapon smoothly, stepping silently into the shadows, waiting.

---

You sat quietly in your darkened room, head leaned heavily against the wall, eyes drifting closed in exhausted resignation. Silence had become your companion—a bitter comfort in your enforced isolation.

Suddenly, a sharp noise startled you awake—the faint sounds of footsteps, muffled voices outside the door. Your heart jolted violently, anxiety flooding your chest.

"Dex?" you called cautiously, throat tight.

No answer. But the voices outside grew louder, sharper, angrier. You rose shakily to your feet, pulse quickening, senses sharpening with adrenaline.

The door rattled violently, shuddering sharply under the force of impact. You flinched back quickly, breath catching painfully.

Suddenly, the door burst open, slamming loudly against the wall. You stared wide-eyed, heart hammering in your throat.

Dex stumbled backward into the room, quickly regaining his footing. He wore Matt’s Daredevil suit, dark red and starkly familiar, but the way he moved was off—too sharp, too rigid.

Matt followed swiftly, his breathing heavy, dressed in the simple black clothes you’d come to know all too well, ropes wrapped tightly around bruised fists.

Dex swung first, fierce and precise. Matt dodged, ducking low before driving a brutal punch to Dex’s ribs. Dex grunted but recovered quickly, blocking Matt’s next strike with sharp precision.

“Matt!” you yelled instinctively, stepping forward, desperate to help but unsure how.

“Stay back!” Matt growled sharply, his voice rough with tension.

Dex glanced briefly at you, distracted just enough for Matt to slam his elbow sharply into Dex’s jaw. Dex stumbled, cursing, the Daredevil mask slipping slightly to reveal his eyes—cold and furious.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Dex snapped angrily, recovering quickly, throwing another series of punches at Matt. “She’s not worth it.”

Matt blocked efficiently, his jaw clenched tight. He didn’t respond, just moved quickly, quietly, relentless as he pressed Dex backward again.

Your heart thudded violently in your chest as you watched, hands trembling uselessly at your sides. They moved quickly, brutally, exchanging hits hard enough to bruise bone. The room filled with the harsh sounds of fists connecting, heavy breathing, feet shuffling.

Dex finally managed a harsh strike to Matt’s side, sending him staggering back. Matt winced sharply, barely recovering before Dex was on him again, fists flying.

“Matt!” you yelled sharply again, panic rising quickly in your throat.

Dex turned sharply toward your voice, irritation flaring in his eyes.

Matt took advantage instantly, catching Dex off-guard. He threw himself forward, driving Dex brutally against the wall. Dex’s head cracked sharply against the plaster, his body sagging slightly.

Dex groaned softly, dazed. Matt quickly gripped the front of the Daredevil suit, pulling Dex roughly forward before slamming him back again—harder.

Dex collapsed heavily, slumping motionless to the floor, breathing shallow and ragged. Matt stood silently over him, chest heaving, fists clenched tight, face bruised and tense.

You didn’t realize you’d stopped breathing until Matt turned slowly toward you, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he tilted his head slightly, carefully listening to your uneven heartbeat.

“Matt—” you breathed shakily, relief overwhelming you.

He moved quickly, stepping forward and wrapping his arms firmly around you. You froze briefly, startled, before your own arms slipped instinctively around his waist, gripping him tightly.

“You’re okay,” he whispered roughly, voice breaking slightly against your shoulder.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your face against his chest, body shaking gently in his embrace. “You came.”

Matt pulled back slightly, hands still gripping your shoulders tightly. His voice was hoarse, fiercely sincere. “Always.”

You stared at him, pulse hammering, heart aching. “Matt—”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted softly, voice tense and exhausted. “I’m sorry I left. I shouldn’t have—”

You shook your head quickly, cutting him off gently. “Later. We’ll talk about it later.”

Matt nodded once, breathing deeply, fingers still trembling slightly where they held you. “Right. Let’s get you out of here.”

You glanced down quickly at Dex’s unconscious form, anxiety briefly flickering. “What about him?”

Matt exhaled slowly, turning toward Dex, jaw tight. “He’ll survive. He’s tough.”

You hesitated, reaching out to gently grip Matt’s wrist. “He’s… Fisk’s using him, Matt. I think he’s lost.”

Matt paused, considering your quiet words before finally nodding slowly, voice heavy with understanding. “I know.”

You stood silently for a moment, Matt’s steadying presence calming the worst of your nerves.

He finally squeezed your hand gently, pulling you toward the open doorway. “Come on.”

You followed closely, stepping quickly past Dex’s motionless form, heart pounding roughly in your chest. Matt’s hand stayed tight around yours, strong and reassuring.

Together, you slipped quietly out into the darkness.

---

Matt stayed quiet as you moved carefully through the city, taking back streets and alleyways, avoiding the glare of streetlights. Your pulse stayed rapid, adrenaline lingering even though you knew you were safe now—at least for the moment.

Finally, you reached your apartment. Matt paused at your front door, head tilted, carefully listening for any sign of trouble inside.

“It’s clear,” he murmured, shoulders slightly relaxing.

You unlocked the door quickly, stepping inside and flipping on the lights. Matt followed, closing the door carefully behind him, locking it firmly.

He lingered there silently, tension radiating from every muscle. After a long pause, you finally spoke softly, your voice tight with exhaustion.

“You’re hurt. Sit down.”

He hesitated briefly before moving slowly to your couch, sinking down with a soft grunt. You retrieved your first aid kit automatically, fingers trembling slightly from lingering adrenaline.

You knelt quietly beside him, gently cleaning the deep cut above his brow. Matt winced faintly but stayed quiet, head bowed slightly, listening carefully to your breathing.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” you murmured quietly, voice tight. You carefully smoothed a bandage into place, fingertips brushing gently over his bruised skin.

Matt exhaled slowly, regret thickening his voice. “I didn’t know you were missing. If I'd known—”

You pulled back slightly, frustration rising despite your relief. “If you hadn’t shut me out, Matt—”

“I was trying to protect you,” he interrupted roughly, voice hoarse with emotion. “Clearly, that didn’t work.”

You sighed softly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Matt. You can’t keep doing this alone.”

He stayed quiet, jaw clenched tightly, gaze distant. You leaned closer, voice gentle but firm. “I mean it. Dex was ready to kill you tonight. If something happened, if you got hurt, who would even know?”

Matt tilted his head slightly toward your voice, quiet pain clear on his face. “You would.”

Your chest tightened sharply, emotion flooding your throat. “Matt—”

He reached out slowly, gently touching your wrist, voice rough and quiet. “I’m sorry I pushed you away.”

You swallowed thickly, eyes flickering over his bruised, exhausted expression. “Then stop doing it.”

Matt stayed silent for several long seconds, conflict clear in every line of his body. Eventually, he exhaled shakily, voice breaking slightly. “I don’t know how else to protect you.”

“Maybe you don’t have to,” you whispered softly, fingers carefully brushing against his jaw. “Maybe we protect each other.”

Matt tensed briefly, head tilted as if carefully weighing your words. Finally, he exhaled slowly, voice barely audible. “Okay.”

You stared at him silently, heart thudding rapidly. He hesitated slightly, then gently took your hand, squeezing it carefully. “I can’t lose you again.”

Your chest ached fiercely. You squeezed his fingers back tightly. “Then don’t.”

He nodded slowly, shoulders easing slightly beneath your touch. Quietly, you resumed gently cleaning his wounds, comfortable silence settling softly between you.

When you finished, Matt stayed quiet, reluctant to let go of your hand. You sank slowly onto the couch beside him, exhaustion pulling at your bones.

“You should rest,” he murmured gently, voice low. “You’ve barely slept.”

You glanced over tiredly, smiling faintly. “You’re one to talk.”

Matt’s mouth twitched slightly, almost a smile. “Fair.”

You hesitated briefly, nervousness fluttering suddenly in your chest. Finally, voice careful and soft, you asked, “Will you stay?”

Matt hesitated visibly, conflict clear in his tense expression. But slowly, quietly, he nodded once. “Yeah. I'll stay.”

Your heart eased gently at his words. Matt shifted slightly, carefully wrapping his arm around your shoulders, pulling you gently toward him. You relaxed slowly against his side, head resting lightly on his chest, comforted by the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your ear.

Eventually, Matt’s breathing slowed, evened out. He’d finally drifted to sleep, exhaustion overtaking his usual vigilance. You tilted your head slightly, glancing briefly up at his peaceful face.

Sleep tugged gently at your eyes too. You let yourself settle more comfortably against Matt’s warmth, exhaustion pulling you gently under, feeling safer than you had in weeks.

Tonight, at least, you weren’t alone.

honestly, i know it's the best ending, but i felt like if i continued, it would just be the same thing all over again - matt pulling away, reader trying to get him to stay, etc. let's just imagine that fisk is sent to prison and they all live happily ever after. basically i didn't know where to go from here, lol

unless someone wants me to continue this (and if i have the inspo to do so)

and, it almost ended with a benjamin poindexter x reader ending because, woah, they kinda had chemistry.

[everwhovian]

WIP update post

Now that my inbox is closed and I won't get any new asks and requests, I can update you again 😂

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ○△□ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

In my inbox:

What if Jun-ho had infiltrated the games in 2015

In-ho hallucinates Jun-ho and self-harms to calm the hallucination down

Junho finds and kills inho while hugging him

teenage Jun-ho brings his boyfriend (the Recruiter) to meet his brother—who is totally against their relationship! ("You're not worthy of my brother's heart!")

Continuation of frontman!Jun-ho

Anastasia awareness

Jun-ho was the guard who was taken hostage during the dalgona game in s1

In-ho is being forced to be the Front Man (they're threatening Jun-ho)

In-ho needs a kidney instead of Jun-ho and Yuna

Second part to In-ho dying on the boat with Jun-ho beside him

AU: Jun-ho's mum died and In-ho now has custody of little Jun-ho

In-ho suspects that Jun-ho is taking drugs due to him being moody and not eating well (actually his kidney is failing)

FNAF Jun-ho

In-ho dies during his games, Yuna and the baby live. Jun-ho is the best uncle but feels guilty when the kid starts referring to Jun-ho as his father figure and Jun-ho doesn't want to take In-ho's place (also Young-il [player 062] cameo)

Jun-ho sacrificing himself for In-ho

In-ho lectures Jun-ho about taking his meds

Yuna refers to Jun-ho as the cutest Hwang as she picks him up and In-ho blushes

Gi-hun took the bullet for Jung-bae

Single father Jun-ho (I GOT THIS ASK BEFORE WATCHING S3 SO I WAS IMAGINING A CUTE LITTLE SCENARIO AND THEN IN-HO JUST DROPS OFF BABY 222 LIKE WHAT)

S3 Hwang brother confrontation: Jun-ho jumps after In-ho turns away from him

The Officer betrayed In-ho in s3

In-ho looks after baby 222 and remembers how he took care of Jun-ho

My own take on the Hwang Brother confrontation

Jun-ho saying a bad word for the first time

Someone threatens to hurt Jun-ho (protective!In-ho)

Inhun: In-ho is raising Jun-ho after they lost their mum. It's not going well, Jun-ho is shutting In-ho out. Then Gi-hun enters their lives and there is some miscommunication after In-ho says that he has a man in his life who he loves very much but he can't seem to please him. Gi-hun thinks In-ho is already taken

Gi-hun and Jun-ho are working together and Jun-ho sees Gi-hun as an older brother figure (In-ho is not happy about it)

In-ho tickling kid!Jun-ho

Jun-ho gets on the island just as In-ho and Gi-hun have their "confrontation" and just punches In-ho in the face

In-ho and Jun-ho reunite after the games are over and they hug. In-ho remembers how Jun-ho barely reached his hips years ago

In-ho tickles Jun-ho to shreds

Jun-ho explodes (?!)

During In-ho's games they used some psychological torture during lights out to make the players think that they're hurting their loved ones (Hunger Games jabberjay style)

S3 Hwang brother confrontation: Jun-ho tries everything to get In-ho's attention, so he points to gun at himself

In my drafts (ready to be posted):

Jun-ho dying in In-ho's arms

Captain Park has to answer to In-ho after Jun-ho gets hurt in the explosion

In-ho finds Jun-ho in the archive room in s1

In-ho and Jun-ho make the cutest Mother's Day card

In-ho and Jun-ho's relationship when they both work at the precinct. Some co-workers accuse them of nepotism even though Jun-ho builds a name on his own

teen Junho introducing Inho to his first gf/bf and Inho’s overprotective nature just shows as he tries to scare the poor kid away from his brother

Jun-ho had a bad dream and runs to In-ho’s room

In-ho being nice to his guards

when did In-ho start seeing Gi-hun as Gi-hun and not player 456 (rambling)

Trans!Jun-ho

Almost done:

Jun-ho infiltrating s3 half of games, players find out and hurt him; In-ho saves him and In-ho cradles him

In-ho gets 'eliminated' after mingle and is taken for organ harvesting; Jun-ho infiltrates the island and hold the Officer to gunpoint before he saves In-ho with the help of Gi-hun. They patch In-ho up and rescue the remaining players as the island explodes

Other WIPs:

next part of what remains.

Juncruiter continuation: Seok-woo stays with Jun-ho and helps him destroy the games, In-ho finds out about them

5+1: five times In-ho gets mistaken for Jun-ho's father, and one time he actually is

What if Jun-ho calls In-ho "dad" while begging for him to come home

Neko!Hwang Brothers: In-ho and Jun-ho are shapeshifters and Gi-hun finds them in an alley and takes them home

Jun-ho died cause In-ho wasnt a match and In-ho got so lost in grief that he spend the organ trafficking ring to give children a change and he anonymously donates kidneys to hospitals

cliff scene: In-ho shoots the guards, runs away with Jun-ho and gets a fake identity etc

Inhun: Gi-hun survives the fall but is paralyzed. In-ho takes care of him and baby 222

In-ho infiltrates the s1 games as player 001 and Jun-ho comes face to face with him as the square manager

Kimjun (not sure yet what exactly but I have a few Kimjun ideas I wanna share!)

Yuna/In-ho/Gi-hun: Yuna and the baby survived but In-ho thinks they're dead. Now Yuna is on a mission to find her husband and meets Gi-hun

Goblin!AU: In-ho as the Goblin and Gi-hun as the Goblin’s bride

kpop demon hunters!AU: definitely Inhun with In-ho being the demon king

[sysig]

DAX is just so expressive ♥ (Patreon)

[gu6chan]

Not to name any names but i think the day i truly understood the importance of having a connected "theme" in your work is when i read this person's story and it was all this angst and drama but felt so,,, disconnected and MEANINGLESS i came out feeling the most neutral-faced and "well wtf was that all about" i ever did and when i asked if they had written it with any "theme" in mind they were like "oh i let my work speak for itself, the readers can interpret it" that's a cool idea!!!!! IF you were a reader!!!! do you have an idea on what you're WRITING about though??????

[eufezco]

MEETING REMUS LUPIN𓂃 𓈒 ❀

synopsis – after years in hogwarts being rejected by your everyone there for being too much, you meet remus lupin.

a/n – this is really long but please give it a try 😭

c/w – bullying

requested by @boromoony <3

angst. fluff

the morning of september 1st, the sun was barely rising, but you were already dressed and ready to go with your hogwarts letter tightly in your hands. the excitement made it impossible to sleep at all last night. the moment albus dumbledore himself walked through your door months ago, your world changed forever. the words you’re a witch echoed in your mind constantly.

—all those strange things you’ve noticed about her, —dumbledore said, addressing your parents, —the lightbulbs bursting when she’s upset, how she always seems to know when someone’s at the door before they knock... those aren’t accidents. they’re signs of magic.

before dumbledore left that evening, he reached into his robes and pulled out a small stack of books and put them down on the table in front of you. —these, —he said with a twinkle in his eye, —are just a taste of what you’ll be learning at hogwarts.

you reached out hesitantly, your fingers brushing over the covers. magical drafts and potions, one thousand magical herbs and fungi, but it was the third book that completely caught your attention: fantastic beasts and where to find them by newt scamander.

—ah, that one’s a favorite of many, —he said. —the magical creatures of our world are both fascinating and, sometimes, a bit mischievous. that book should keep you entertained until term begins.

the moment you opened the book, you were hooked. the pages were filled with sketches, notes, and stories about creatures you never imagined could exist—bowtruckles, hippogriffs, nifflers... that night, you stayed up late, devouring every word about the beasts and their habitats. could hogwarts have any of these creatures? you flipped through the book again, your heart racing at the possibilities.

so when you stood on the platform 9 ¾, your heart was pounding so hard you thought it might burst and you balanced yourself on your feet out of excitement. newt scamander's book was under your arm, as a kind of lucky charm, during the summer you had memorized as much as you could about the creatures within and you couldn’t help but look at your future classmates, wondering what kind of magical creatures they might be fascinated by.

FIRST YEAR

when the sorting hat called your name and announced you as a slytherin, you didn’t know exactly what that meant, but you loved green, it reminded you of nature, of the forests and trees, and even the slithering snakes you had read so much about. you were so full of excitement, so eager to make friends, hogwarts felt like a fresh start.

you had always struggled with friendships before, feeling like you never quite fit in.

you laughed loud, shared everything on your mind, and tried your best to connect with the girls in your dormitory. you spent your days with them, following the girls around, chatting and laughing. well, they chatted and laughed, because every time you did, they’d look at each other, exchanging glances you couldn’t quite understand. the air would shift, like you had said something wrong, but you had no idea what it was.

you’d share something you thought was funny or interesting and they’d just stare at you, and then their voices would drop into low murmurs. maybe they were into other things like potions, herbology, or the history of magic, maybe they weren't interested in what you had to say about magical creatures.

during lessons, the girls were always so nice to you, especially when it was time for group projects, and you were so naive to even realize that they were just using you. they’d smile at you, pat your shoulder, and invite you to sit with them. it felt like a relief, like maybe you had misunderstood those looks and laughs but when the class ended, they'd leave without a second glance, their arms linked as if you had never been part of the conversation at all.

your first year at hogwarts ended in a bittersweet way. you loved the subjects, truly. you devoured every lesson, every spell, your grades were unmatched, if only broom flying had gone as smoothly, but even that felt like something you could improve with time. on the other hand, you felt the loneliness through the corridors and back to the slytherin dormitory. on the last day of term, the girls in talked about writing to one another over the summer.

but day after day, you checked and no letter came.

SECOND YEAR

the train ride to school felt heavier than the year before. as you walked through the corridors, searching for a compartment, the familiar laughter of your roommates caught your attention. and you sat with them and suddenly all the laughter stopped. not once did anyone ask what you did over the summer.

the more you tried to fit in, the more it felt like you were out of place. you tried to brush it off at first, thinking maybe when you appeared, you just interrupted them or spoken at the wrong moment. but after a while, it became clear that it wasn’t a coincidence. you realized you didn’t have to limit yourself to them. you could meet other people, even outside of slytherin so, you decided to try.

but things didn't go quite well. you overshared about your special interests, waiting for the other people to do the same, but it seemed that your excitement only pushed people further away. you'd dive into conversations eagerly, sharing everything you knew about magical creatures, but they’d blink at you, nod politely, or look for an excuse to leave.

you tried to blame yourself, maybe you were saying too much or maybe you weren’t asking the right questions. you started holding back, answering their questions in shorter sentences, nodding along but it didn’t change anything.

you discovered why no one wanted to be near you, the rumors that had spread far beyond your dormitory. twisted stories, each more absurd than the last—that you talked to yourself late at night, that you were a secret animagus, that you collected dangerous creatures and were plotting to release them in the castle. they made you sound lunatic, something to be avoided. for a moment, you considered fighting back, telling people the truth, but what was the point? you had learned long ago that the more you tried, the worse it became.

maybe there was something wrong with you. maybe you were too much, too strange, too difficult to be around. maybe you didn’t belong anywhere, no matter how hard you tried.

THIRD YEAR

by the third year you stopped trying. you didn’t hang out with them anymore, didn’t laugh too loudly or share too much about the things you loved.

you made a habit of leaving class last and the library became your refuge. you stayed there as long as you could, around books that didn’t judge you, didn’t whisper about you when your back was turned. you poured yourself into your studies and it gave you an excuse to stay out of your room instead of sitting silently on your bed, listening to your roommates complain about how much they hated sharing a room with you.

some of the teachers noticed something was off, but even the ones who suspected something was wrong assumed it was just teenage drama. girls will be girls, you heard professor mcgonagall say.

other teachers just assumed you liked studying. you volunteered for extra work, you stayed late to help clean up after lessons, your essays were always meticulously detailed. so they began giving you extra tasks—not as a punishment, but because they thought you enjoyed it. they called it encouraging your ambition, and you welcomed the work because it kept your mind occupied.

one day, you were sitting near the edge of the lake, your back pressed against a tree, a book about animagi on your legs. you spotted the book on the floor of your favorite section of the library. it wasn’t normal for books to be left lying about yet there it was, dropped by someone in a hurry or someone really careless. you wondered who might have been reading about animagi, a subject that complex.

you’d spent hours flipping through the pages when something small landed in your book. you blinked and looked down. a small twig had fallen from above, landing right between the pages. you reached out to brush it away, but a soft whine reached your ears and it moved.

the twig shuddered and let out another whine, this time a little louder. you stared at it, it wasn’t a twig, it was a tiny creature with thin body and tiny limbs trembling as it struggled to move. a bowtruckle. you gasped fascinated, recognizing the creature instantly from your books. you had read about them, studied their sketches in newt scamander’s book, but you had never seen one in real life. until now.

the little bowtruckle looked up at you with wide, beady eyes. you could see a faint crack along one of its delicate limbs, it was hurt.

—it’s okay, i’m not going to hurt you, —you whispered. carefully, you set the book aside and cupped your hands around it, creating a little shelter for it. it didn’t flinch or run away. —poor thing, —you murmured. you glanced around, you couldn’t see any other bowtruckles and you wondered how this one had ended up here. you pulled out your wand, thinking back to a section of fantastic beasts that described how to soothe and heal bowtruckles. you improvised, muttering a soft episkey and focusing on the tiny crack along its limb. the crack was gone. the bowtruckle blinked up at you, its expression almost... grateful. it climbed onto your finger, its tiny claws gripping your skin. for a moment, you just stared at it and it let you admired it. it felt like magic in its purest form. you stood carefully, and you gently lifted your hand, guiding the little creature back to its home. —here you go, —you whispered softly, holding your finger close to the tree. but instead of jumping, it clung to your finger and its tiny claws gripped your skin. it let out another faint whine, its small body trembling. you froze, unsure of what to do. its wide, dark eyes looked at you, and you could feel its fear. —you’re safe now. this is your tree, isn’t it? —it let out another tiny whimper, it wasn’t just hurt, you realized. it was scared. —do you not want to go back? —you asked softly, as if it could answer you. the bowtruckle gave a tiny shake of its head or at least, that’s what it looked like. —alright, —you said gently, your voice barely above a whisper. —you can stay with me for now.

and it stayed with you, not just for the rest of the day, but in a way that you never expected—forever.

you worried that it wouldn’t adjust to school life but, to your amazement, it adapted quickly. during classes, it would hide in your robe pocket or tucked against your sleeve. sometimes it would peek out to watch whatever you were doing. in herbology, its excitement was hard to contain. but potions was another story. the cauldrons’ fumes made it irritable, and once or twice, it sneezed and made your classmates glance around.

for the first time, you didn’t feel so alone.

FOURTH YEAR

through the glass door, you saw them—your roommates. the girls stood in the corridor, their heads tilted toward one another as they whispered and glanced inside. there weren’t many seats left on the train, and you knew they’d see your compartment as the last resort. the bowtruckle ran into your jacket pocket, and you instinctively placed a hand over the fabric to reassure it.

you heard them talk outside, do we really have to sit there? one of them whispered, i don't want to sit with her. a short, awkward silence followed, then, one of them said, the boys’ compartment isn’t full yet. let’s go there instead. and you let out all the air in your lungs, relieved. the bowtruckle jumped out of your jacket and stared through the window again. but all of a sudden, the door opened and two gryffindor boys stood there.

—hi, —one of them said. the bowtruckle ran scared inside your jacket again. —hi, —you answered back, caught off guard. the boy who spoke looked familiar, not someone you’d ever talked to, but someone you’d heard about. people whispered about him in the corridors, pointing him out as he passed. black, was his last name though you couldn’t recall his first name. beside him stood another boy, quieter, his expression neutral. you didn’t recognize him at all. —was that a bowtruckle? —he asked, his tone with curious. —no, —you replied immediately, your voice sharper than intended. you clutched the front of your jacket where it was hidden, your fingers tightening defensively. the boy raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, as he leaned casually against the compartment door, his posture relaxed as if he had all the time in the world to coax the truth out of you. —i saw it, —he said again, his tone teasing but firm. —i don't know what you're talking about. the quieter boy next to him, with brown messy hair, face decorated with some silvery scars, and a book tucked under his arm, looked at his friend and gave a subtle shake of his head. —sirius, don’t, —he said softly, his voice calm carrying a note of exasperation. sirius shrugged, completely unbothered. —what, remus? i'm just being friendly, or maybe i have a thing for mysterious bowtruckle-less compartments, —he said, then he turned his attention back to you, tilting his head slightly. —don’t worry, i’m not going to tell anyone. i think it’s kind of cool, actually. —there’s nothing to tell, —you muttered. sirius nodded slowly. —okay, but if you happen to see a bowtruckle, let us know. we’re in the compartment over there. and just like that, sirius left. the quieter boy stood there, his gaze flickered to the stack of books next to you. he seemed hesitant, his hand halfway to pointing at them before he stopped and cleared his throat. —good books, —before you could say anything else, remus left, a faint flush coloring his cheeks. you couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed yourself, like you'd missed an opportunity to actually have a real conversation.

from that moment on, it seemed like something shifted. you’d catch glimpses of remus during breakfast, his shy gaze drifting over to the slytherin table where you always sat alone. at first, you thought it was just coincidence, but it kept happening. subtle moments where you’d look up, only to find his eyes already on you, before he’d quickly look away and distract himself with his toast or whatever book he was reading that day. it wasn’t mocking, like the looks from the girls in your dormitory. it was... different, quiet and curious.

during classes, you began to notice his presence more and more. sitting a few rows ahead in defense against the dark arts, in potions you’d glance across the room and see him stealing quick looks your way and once, during herbology, you caught him staring and when your eyes met, he quickly looked down at his gloves, pretending to busy himself with adjusting the cuffs.

the bowtruckle noticed too and it'd tug on a strand of your hair or nuzzle against your neck, as if sensing the strange mix of confusion and warmth. you were used to catching people’s attention, not for good reasons, it was usually the kind of attention that came with whispered jokes behind your back and judgmental stares but when he looked at you, it was soft and steady, as if he was trying to figure out a puzzle but didn’t want to rush it.

and that made you uncomfortable. not knowing what he was thinking left you second-guessing everything, was he like everyone else, taking his time before making a joke?

one day, as you walked out of your class, clutching your books to your chest, you heard his footsteps behind you. you stopped and turned to him, catching him off guard. the bowtruckle peeked out of your jacket pocket, but you pressed it lightly to keep him hidden.

—quit it, —you said, your words sharper than you intended. remus blinked, taken aback. —quit what? —the looks, —you said quickly, shifting your books in your arms. —you keep staring at me in class, at breakfast. it’s... —you trailed off, searching for the right word, —weird. —i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, —he said, his voice lowering slightly. you pressed your lips together, not knowing how to respond. he wasn’t defensive, he wasn’t laughing or rolling his eyes like the girls in your dormitory. instead, he seemed... sincere. and for some reason, that sincerity annoyed you more than if he’d just been another person to laugh at you. so you huffed and turned on your heel without another word. the bowtruckle peeked out from your pocket, its tiny head tilting, confused by your reaction. it tugged at your hair with a stubborn little click, his leafy fingers curling like he was scolding you.

even after your sharp words, remus couldn’t just look away. he noticed too much—too many little things that others ignored or pretended not to see. he noticed how those girls whispered behind their hands as you walked by, how they sweet-talked you into doing all the work, only to share smirks once they’d left you behind.

no one knows how, but somehow, remus convinced lily to sneak into your room and pour some of that infamous itchy powder into the girls’ beds. the next morning, the slytherin dorm was filled with chaos and the girls spent a couple of days in the hospital wing. for the first time, your room felt like a peaceful sanctuary. the bowtruckle, took full advantage of the empty space and at night, it curled up next to you on the pillow, chirping softly as if sharing secrets only you could understand. the chirps felt deliberate, like it was scolding you in its own quiet language. its tiny fingers tugged at strands of your hair, like it was trying to pull your thoughts into the right direction.

—i know, —you murmured. —i've been awful to him.

the bowtruckle gave a sharper chirp, almost triumphant, as if it had been waiting for you to admit it. the bowtruckle chattered again, softer this time, before curling up against your neck. it had been with you long enough to sense things—your unease, your fear, the way you flinched away from kindness like it was something dangerous. you weren’t used to people noticing you in a way that wasn’t cruel. but remus did. he saw you and you had been pushing him away

you exhaled slowly, —i'll try to be nicer next time.

and you did, you tried to be nicer. when you caught him looking at you in class, instead of just looking away, you pressed your lips together in a small smile, when he held the door open for you, instead of brushing past, you murmured a quiet thanks, even if your voice was barely above a whisper.

one night, you were alone in the library as the bowtruckle scurried up the bookshelf, its tiny claws clicking softly against the wood as it reached for the book you had pointed out earlier. it reached the spine of the book, tugging it out inch by inch until the book hit the floor, and it chirped triumphantly before coming back down and climbing into your pocket.

you picked up the book as you heard the faint creak of footsteps on the wooden floor. your heart jumped, and you froze. from around the corner of the shelf, remus appeared, his eyes slightly widened as they met yours.

—oh, —he said, clearly startled to see you. —sorry, i didn’t mean to interrupt. —you didn’t, —you said quickly, trying to sound casual even though your pulse was racing. remus chuckled softly, his laughter. he tilted his head toward the book in your hands, the title unmistakable: “the care and keeping of bowtruckles.” —you know, —he said, —if you’re trying to convince me you don’t have a bowtruckle, maybe carrying around that book isn’t your best defense. you noticed the book he was carrying: "the art of becoming an animagus." —that's dangerous, you know? remus glanced at the book in his hand and then back at you, the faintest trace of a smirk curling his lips. —and having a bowtruckle in your pocket isn’t? you raised an eyebrow. —bowtruckles aren’t illegal. animagi without proper registration, though? pretty sure the ministry has a field day with that. remus chuckled, holding the book up as if in surrender. —it’s just research. i'm not planning on becoming an animagi. you nodded and smirked, looking him up and down. —yeah, i know that. remus frowned. —what's that supposed to mean? —without answering, you simply passed by his side and left him standing there, puzzled.

and from that day on, remus didn’t just glance at you from afar anymore, he started to approach you.

whenever you crossed paths in the corridors, he’d give you a small wave or a warm hi. at first, it caught you off guard because you weren’t used to people greeting you so casually, especially someone like remus, always with his big group of friend who were kind of intimidating. sirius and james would raise an eyebrow at remus or smirk at him when they caught him slowing down in the corridor to greet you. it wasn’t the kind of attention you were used to. one day, you muttered to the little creature, why does he keep doing that?, and it just tilted its tiny head, its bright eyes blinking up at you as if to say, why not?

those waves gradually became more—small, quiet moments where remus would sit across from you at the library, or casually move to your spot during potions to ask you a question about the assignment.

in another occasion, you'd do everything you could to avoid it because you told yourself whatever he was doing, it couldn’t possibly be genuine. but now, you were trying to be different, kinder. so, you’d find yourself replying to his questions during class more often, even offering him advice on the potions he was brewing and when he appeared at the library, you let him sit across from you, even though there were plenty of other empty chairs around.

but doubts remained, people didn’t just decide to spend time with you. it was probably some kind of joke or a challenge his friends had come up with. you could almost hear it now: “bet you can’t get the quiet slytherin to talk to you.” maybe they were all waiting for him to come back with stories about how weird you were, ready to laugh behind your back like everyone else. that thought burned in your chest, making it harder to concentrate.

while everyone else was watching the quidditch match, you sat in the library, flipping through a book on herbology. these were the best moments, when the rest of the school was caught up in something else, and the library was left almost entirely to yourself. just as you turned the next page, you heard footsteps approaching, and remus appeared, carrying a cup of tea. —figured you’d been here, i don’t think you particularly enjoy quidditch, —he said, placing it gently on the table next to you. —thought you could use this. you stared at the cup, your stomach twisting. —why are you doing this? —you blurted out before you could stop yourself. remus looked genuinely confused. —doing what? —this, —you said, gesturing between the two of you. —the tea, the sitting with me, the… the talking. what do you want? his expression softened. —i don’t… want anything, —he said, his voice quiet but firm. —i just thought… well, you seemed like someone worth knowing. your heart clenched at the words, because they didn’t make sense. they couldn’t. you looked down and remus did too. —i think i should leave now. —wait, —the words left your mouth before you could stop them. —do you... want to stay? remus blinked, clearly not expecting that. there was a pause, and for a second, you thought you’d made a mistake, that he’d laugh or make an excuse to leave anyway. —oh, i mean, yeah. if you don’t mind. you swallowed, feeling that unfamiliar warmth in your chest again. —maybe you’d rather watch the match, —you added quickly, as if giving him an out. —that’s fine, really. remus shook his head, a soft smile pulling at the corner of his lips. —i’d rather stay.

after that day, you and remus started hanging out more, you’d catch him waiting for you after class, pretending he just happened to be heading the same way. during lunch, he'd move from the gryffindor table, claiming it was too loud, and sit beside you at the slytherin table, drawing a lot of curious glances.

your conversations grew longer. you’d talk about magical creatures, books you loved, spells you found fascinating and he’d listen, really listen. sometimes, in the middle of an excited rant about a rare magical creature, you’d catch yourself embarrassed by your own enthusiasm but he never seemed annoyed. instead, his expression would soften, confusion flickering in his face as if he couldn’t understand why you’d feel the need to apologize.

the bowtruckle would peek out from your pocket, growing bolder around him. you’d gently nudge it back down with your fingers whenever it got too brave, muttering under your breath, “not now,” or “stay hidden.” it would chirp softly in protest, tugging at the fabric with its tiny claws as if scolding you for keeping it a secret. remus never pushed. he’d occasionally glance at the faint movement in your pocket with a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but he never asked.

you sat beside remus under the shade of a tree near the black lake, the exact same tree where you found your bowtruckle. —since we’re friends now, —you started, your voice barely above a whisper, the word friend felt strange in your mouth, —there’s… there’s someone i wanted to introduce you to. —someone? you nodded and looked inside your pocket. —it’s okay, —you whispered softly, your voice more tender than you realized. —you can come out. he’s not gonna hurt you. i… i trust him. it slowly poked his little head out of your pocket, eyeing remus cautiously from the safety of your robes. his dark eyes studied remus for a long moment, trying to figure out if the gryffindor boy could be trusted. —hey there, little guy, —remus murmured, his voice low and calm, offering him a finger so it could climb. it hesitated for a moment but after a beat, the little creature stepped onto his finger, its tiny claws gripping softly as it crawled up his hand. remus smiled. he didn’t pull away, his attention completely on the small creature. —it’s so nice meeting you finally, —he said softly, still looking at the small creature with genuine curiosity. his voice held that familiar kindness. you watched the exchange, feeling a strange sense of relief. it was a small thing, really, showing him the creature you’d kept hidden for so long, but it felt significant, like peeling back a layer of yourself. remus’s gentle reaction, the warmth in his smile as he greeted the bowtruckle like it was something precious, made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

each time you met remus and without fail, after greeting you with a casual, hey, he’d lower his voice just a fraction and add, hey there, little one. how’s it going? at first, it caught you off guard, not used to someone remembering small details, let alone treating them with care. the bowtruckle seemed to enjoy the attention. it'd poke its head out slightly, blinking up at remus with those curious eyes, sometimes chirping softly in response as if answering his question.

so after that, it seemed only fair that he’d return the gesture. he wanted you to meet his friends, not just in passing, not just as faces in the crowded hallways of hogwarts, but really meet them.

your bowtruckle was climbing up remus’s arm with ease, using the folds of his sweater like a ladder. it paused at his shoulder and darted into his hair, playing with his messy curls. you were both having a good time, playing with the little creature. remus cleared his throat and said, almost too casually, —i was thinking… maybe you’d like to meet my friends? —why? —you asked, your voice quieter than you intended. remus blinked, caught off guard, but then his face softened with a small smile, as if he’d expected you to respond that way. —i don’t know… i thought you might like to. they’ve been curious about you, and i think you’d get along. they’re… a lot, but they’re good people. you looked at him, meeting his gaze. —curious about me? remus chuckled, shaking his head. —not in a bad way. they just… they’ve noticed i spend time with you, and, well, they’re nosy. the bowtruckle ran from his hair to your shoulder and gave excited little hops on, its enthusiasm was undeniable, chirping softly as if voicing its own opinion on the matter, which, clearly, was a firm yes to meeting remus' friends. traitor, you muttered to it. —look, we’re hanging out tomorrow in the gryffindor common room, —he said, casually leaning back against the tree, like he hadn’t just invited you to meet his friends, which, in its own right, was an enormous step. —we’re gonna play some board games, talk… you’re welcome to come. no pressure. you picked at a loose thread on your sleeve, your thoughts tangled. you nodded slowly, —i'll think about it.

the next day arrived before you knew it and remus greeted you with a big smile, happy that you finally decided to join them. as you stepped into the common room, the atmosphere was warm, cozy, filled with an easy laughter that echoed off the walls. the bowtruckle nestled comfortably in your pocket, feeling more and more like a little cheerleader with each step you took into the room.

all eyes turned to you—three boys sitting around a table and the only girl, standing up eagerly with a wide grin. she had that spark of excitement in her eyes, and before you could fully process what was happening, she was already moving toward you.

her enthusiasm was infectious, and despite your nervousness, you couldn't help but feel a little lighter in her presence. she reached out to give you a hug, and you hugged her back. lily’s reminded you of the person you were when you first entered hogwarts. the way you were before the walls you’d built around yourself became solid. before the loneliness, the whispers and the isolation. seeing lily now, the way she embraced you so openly, without hesitation and any judgment, made you realize how much you'd changed.

sirius smirked as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes moved to you before narrowing with a mischief. the memory of that day on the train, when he'd caught a glimpse of you and your bowtruckle, seemed to still linger in his mind. he couldn't resist a bit of teasing, just to let you know that you were more than welcome in the group.

james shook your hand with that familiar, confident grin, and peter followed him, giving you a more nervous but warm handshake.

remus watched you from across the table and felt a wave of relief wash over him as he saw how easily you fit in with the group. the teasing from james and sirius had been lighthearted, playful—nothing malicious—and you handled it effortlessly, laughing along with them instead of retreating into your shell. it was a small victory in his mind.

you found yourself drawn into their orbit more often than you ever expected. it started with small things, lily casually saving you a seat in the library, peter waving you over in the great hall, james sharing his quidditch knowledge with you and sirius tossing playful remarks your way in the corridors. they had their own way of making space for you without demanding anything in return. they didn’t expect you to be louder, funnier, or different. they just… accepted you.

the bowtruckle adjusted too and it grew bold around the group, perching on sirius’s (who was completely fascinated by the creature) head when he wasn’t looking, sneaking sips from james’s pumpkin juice, and even nestling in lily’s hair once.

with remus, everything flowed easily. your hands would brush as you walked side by side through the corridors, he stopped sitting across from you and instead slid into the seat beside you and the space between you grew smaller, yet it never felt suffocating. it felt right, like the closeness had always been meant to happen, you were just catching up to it. when you laughed, he felt like the sun breaking through a cloudy sky, and your conversations deepened, no longer just about magical creatures or classwork but hopes, fears... and that's how he ended up telling you.

you were both curled up on the couch in the gryffindor common room, the warmth of the fire casting a soft glow around you. at this point, you spent more time there than in your own common room, and the gryffindors had grown used to the sight of your green robes among them. it was late, the marauders went to bed, leaving just you and remus, sitting in comfortable silence, the crackling of the fire filling the silence between you. but there was something unspoken. you could feel it—an unease in the way remus fidgeted slightly, in the way his lips parted as if to speak only to press together again and though he hadn’t said it yet, you already knew what he was struggling to tell you. —i have something to tell you. now that you're part of the group, i think you should… you should know something about me, why i sometimes disappear... —remus, —you said softly, not looking at him. —i know. he turned to you sharply, his expression freezing mid-thought. —you… you know? how? —his voice was almost a whisper, low and cautious, as if he feared the answer. his heart felt heavy inside his chest. he imagined this moment countless times, played it out in restless dreams and waking nightmares. in those versions, your face twisted in fear, your steps quick as you turned to leave, your voice sharp with rejection. he’d wake up with a cold sweat, heart pounding, the taste of dread bitter on his tongue. —your scars, —you murmured, —i’ve been studying magical creatures for years. i know how werewolf scars look. there was a pause before he spoke again. —aren't you scared of me? you shook your head. —i’ve been afraid of people for most of my life. but not you. not ever you. —i’ve had nightmares about this, you know? —he admitted suddenly, the confession slipping out before he could stop it. —about telling you. i thought… i thought it’d be the end of everything. you shook your head again, a small smile in your lips. slowly, you moved your hand across the couch until your fingers brushed against his, then gently curled around them. his hand was tense, but he didn’t pull away. —it’s not the end of anything, —you whispered. —not even close.

EXTRA - FIRST KISS

christmas came, and the idea of going back home crossed your mind but then remus mentioned that he was staying at hogwarts over the holidays. the other marauders were all going home, and though he had brushed it off with a casual smile, you could see the truth behind it, he would be alone.

before leaving, james and sirius had cornered remus in the gryffindor common room, arms crossed and identical smirks plastered on their faces. —so, —james said, —you and her are staying for christmas? alone? —how scandalous, —sirius added. remus sighed, rubbing his temples. —it’s not like that. —sure it isn’t, —sirius teased. —mate, you can’t tell me this doesn’t mean anything. you’ve been pining for months, and now you get hogwarts all to yourselves? it’s practically a fairy tale. james grinned. —just don’t forget to thank us in your wedding speech.

remus didn’t remember a better christmas. every day, you woke up a little later than usual and you'd go to the gryffindor common room, where you waited for him, your heart light with anticipation. you shared breakfast and then you'd both rush out into the snow, the cold air crisp on your skin. you'd play throwing snowballs, laughing as the flakes danced around you.

you’d walk hand in hand to hogsmeade, enjoying the quiet of the village while the snow continued to fall gently, almost like magic itself. even one day during the holidays, remus followed you into the slytherin common room for the first time and you couldn't help but laugh at his face when he saw that it was nothing like gryffindor's.

one evening, you were searching in the gryffindor common room for your mischievous bowtruckle. it loved the common room and to hide in it, and its love for mischief often drove you crazy. after scanning the room, you finally spotted it, hanging above you and remus’ heads. a tiny red bow was tied to one of its arms. —for merlin's bear! —you called out, exasperated. —what are you doing up there? come down! you're gonna hurt yourself! remus hummed, the bowtruckle with the red bow reminded him of something. it chirped loudly, as if to say, no way, and made no move to obey you. you sighed while remus finally recalled what the bowtruckle looked like. —i think, hmm... it's playing to be a mistletoe. the bowtruckle chirped again, giving remus the right. your eyes opened wide. remus cleared his throat, his voice low and slightly hesitant as he spoke. —well, i suppose... we don’t have much of a choice, do we? your heart skipped a beat as you shook your head to his question and before you could overthink it, you stepped a little closer to him. you stood face to face for a few seconds as remus's hand brushed gently against your cheek and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. he seemed to hesitate for a second, searching your face as though waiting for permission, for you to say something or do something. but you didn’t need to say anything. in that moment, he closed the distance between you both, his lips brushing yours gently. it was soft, hesitant at first, but it was everything you’d been feeling since the first time you met him, all the small, quiet moments, the shared glances, the laughter, it all came to this shy kiss, and as he pulled away, your heart was already racing. you both awkwardly laughed as the bowtruckle let itself fall from its perch, landing softly on your shoulder. it gave a satisfied chirp, as if pleased with its dramatic entrance. the little creature let the strand of hair that remus had tucked behind your ear to fall right back in front of your face again and it chirped, as if telling remus to do it again and kiss you one more time. you laughed, taking the bowtruckle off your shoulder and keeping him in your pocket while remus pushed your hair out of your face again.

[clockwayswrites]

Birds birbs birbritch - Part 29

masterpost this is a first draft, please no editing or concrit <3

“Well, there’s the my horde of children,” Bruce said, glanced to Steph, and added, “and otherwise.”

“Hi B,” Steph said with a large smile that was just a little too much tooth, “and hi Danny!”

“Hello Stephanie,” Danny said. His wings were pulled tight against his back, as if he could hide them from view.

He couldn’t.

“Sorry B,” Dick chirped with his most innocent smile, “we were in the middle of a Mario Kart battle and you know how those can get!”

“At least tell me nothing is broken,” Bruce said, sounding entirely resigned about it all.

“Nothing is broken. Yet.”

“Well… good enough, I suppose.” Bruce said. “Though everyone had better sit though before Alfred comes in and fusses.”

“Too late, Master Bruce,” Alfred drawled as he came into the room with serving tray in hand.

They all appropriately scrambled for seats.

What with Danny being there, the normal seating (not that it always stayed exactly the same) was thrown into complete disarray. Mostly this was because Damian insisted on sitting next to Danny while Cass took the seat across from him and Tim next to her. Dick tried to stuff back him smile, but Jason caught it and rolled his eyes at his brother.

Still, it was sort of nice, in a weird way like when big cats have a service dog, to see Damian having someone out of the family that he felt the need to look over and protect. The suddenness of it all was what bothered Jason. Cass meets the guy and he’s invited to the ballet. Tim sleeps in his office. Damian wants to protect him. Even Bruce was at ease earlier with Danny sleeping on his lap. It was just like Danny belong there in with the rest of their family.

Jason didn’t trust it.

He especially didn’t trust it because it seemed to be having an effect on him too. He hadn’t snooped nearly as much as he could have in Danny’s apartment. Hell, the revelations down in the Cave that they had just had didn’t bother him as much as they should have.

Jason looked across the table to Duke, who was squinting a little at Danny. Jason kicked Duke lightly under the table and tilted his head in question.

Duke rolled his eyes, but pulled out his phone and sent: He’s got, like, an aura about him.

Jason frowned, typing back quickly: Did he at the ballet?

Duke gave a little shrug, but shook his head.

Well, that was very interesting. Jason wished that Duke had seen Danny when he was in full bird form so that they could have had a full comparison, but this was something at least. Danny had admitted that he was a Meta, but was he a meta like Wally was or more like Duke or even Kori? The odd language certainly pointed more towards Duke or Kori.

Dick nudged Jason with his pointy elbow. When Jason glared at him, Dick just looked pointedly down at Jason’s plate and back up.

‘Eat,’ he mouthed.

Jason rolled his eyes, but dug into the meal. It was a vegetarian pasta of some sort. Salad and garlic bread were also on the table. Basically a nice, carb heavy meal to have after a long, hard day. Jason had to wonder if Alfred would even let any of them out tonight. None of the ‘kids’ for sure. Tim, Damian, and Steph were all certain to be grounded. Dick, Jason, and Cass could probably make a good argument to go out and get started on this Mad Hater thing, but Cass might prefer to stay close. Jason couldn’t really blame her for that if she did. She deserved to get to be close to her family.

Jason caught Dick’s gaze again, raising a curious brow with a little head motion down towards the Cave. Approximately.

Dick nodded, a seriousness in his eyes.

Okay, guess they had a plan.

-

Bruce found them as they were suiting up. He leaned against the Batcomputer and watched as Dick and Jason bickered and hindered each other actually being able to get dressed for patrol. It was good to see them able to be brothers like that again. Therapy with Harley had really been helping Jason and Bruce knew that Dick was seeing someone, even if he hadn’t pried into who. Bruce didn’t think it was fair too when it had taken him as long to start seeing help.

It was something he wish he had done far earlier.

Had pushed for all of them to do earlier.

“What are you brooding about over there, old man?” Jason called out. He’d finally wrestled his gloves back from Dick and was pulling them on.

“I can just be somewhere without brooding,” Bruce said.

Bruce sighed. “I was thinking how proud I am of both of you for making good of the therapy that you’ve been doing.”

There was a long silence before Jason mumbled ‘sap’ and ducked his head. Dick just grinned back, a faint blush on his cheeks. As old as they two were, they were still his kids.

“If I stay in tonight, will you two be fine out there?”

“Doubting us?” Jason asked. His voice changed part way through as he put on his mask and the modulation kicked in.

“Never,” Bruce said, which seemed to make Jason freeze again. “Just asking you want me out there as back up.”

“Stay in with the others,” Dick said with a little shake of his head. “I know they’ve brushed it off, but Dami and Tim have still been through a rough day. And Danny too. You should be around if anyone has issues in the night.”

“Let us go out and start investigating,” Hood added. Even with the mask, here was a softness to his voice. “We’ve got this.”

Bruce nodded. He knew they did. “I’ll keep a comm if you need me.”

“Sure. Just make sure to get some rest, old man,” Jason said and headed towards the bikes. Nightwing followed with a little wave.

Bruce stayed in the Cave until they were gone and then grabbed a communicator to slide into his ear, just in case.

[silkythewriter]

Vox and alastor with an undeserving to be in hell reader!

Warnings!:non!

Fandom!: Hazbin hotel!

Author note!;I THINK TUMBLER ACTUALLY HATES ME (ﾒ﹏ﾒ)(｡•́︿•̀｡)it keeps not letting me edit my drafts, it’s happened like 3 times already this week alone!,…BUT ANYWAY I LOVE THIS IDEA I REALLY HOPE YOY ENJOY!!!!♡´･ᴗ･`♡

Summary!: alastor and Vox x reader WHOs I. Hell for a minor sin/crime

❤️Written by silkythewriter do not steal or repost any other platform please! <3❤️

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

“Each time I find myself

Flat on my face

I pick myself up and get back in the race!”

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

!📺✨Vox✨📺!

When you first admitted what you did that counted as a “sin” he was flabbergasted! He thought they must’ve made a mistake. All be it one that was in favor since he got to be damned with you. But still!

Out of every monster known to man kind one who’ve committed acts that are despicable. You, one who can barely hurt a damn fly get sent with them?

At first he thought you were genuinely just joking. And he actually laughed! Like audible chuckled before waiting for the actual reason, which never came, and he soon realized you were being serious!

He always questioned why you use to refuse to kill, or at least scare people into respect. But then you explained how you refused to be like the rest of the sinners.

He utterly dumb founded you made it this far without spilling a bit of blood, at least for survival!

He becomes more overprotective as if he wasn’t before, good luck with that!

Cause now he knows your rules, he knows you won’t budge. Nothing would get you to change your mind. So he made sure to keep eyes on you 24/7, you may be nice, but the other sinners in this damned place definitely aren’t. And he knows that from experience

Would neither confirm or deny he put a small tracker in an item you carry every where.

This man has enemy’s as you’ve seen, demons, overlords, rival company’s, it’s a headache an a half for him. Not that he hates protecting you and your values! No never!, but the nerve of the people who think they even have a chance to lay a hand on you.

Gives you the lastest phone from his series, and yes he will text you and blow up ur phone up if he can see you through cameras around the city.

Even if you put it on silent he wouldn’t put behind himself to over load it and just show up on your phone screen.

Sometimes he’s just so confused how you can be so nice, or at worst passive to those who are poking at you. He thinks your a saint, even if you aren’t, an maybe you have a short temper still the way you hold yourself form blowing up is astonishing!

Sometimes he jokes about how if you were to go to Charlie you would be redeemed in a day. And at night sometimes he thinks about it and it scares him to know there’s a possibility for you to go where he will probably never be able to follow you too

He loves you to the depths and the crooks of hell, and he’ll be damned again if he lets anyone hurt you. He sees you as a small soft light in the red cover world, and he will do anything before anyone can put out that light.

He makes sure to keep a good distance between you and Val, a BIG distance.

He’s always on the edge about people around you, how can’t he? He can’t trust all these “disgusting and repulsive” sinners in hell around you. The thought alone cringes him out and stresses him.

He knows to some degree he isn’t exactly better then them sin wise, but he makes sure to do his best for you while infornt of you, he cares about his image, and wouldn’t be afraid to scare someone into discipline. BUT he will tone it down, just for you ♥(⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)♥

He has you under wraps, from the public eye in this case. As much as he’s one to show off his earnings, he loves you a little to much and knows well people will use you as a advantage. He loves to show off but you something just for him behind close doors for now before he can work something out

NOW if the public were to already know, he show off by showing how untouchable you were, demons knew better to approach you seeing as how fast he is to get rid of those stupid enough to try something.

Overall he respects your morals of not wanting to stoop as low as other sinners. But it dose make him more protective of you, your like a rare gem. There’s only a handful of people like you, and even then the numbers decrees daily, so he dose his most to make sure you safe and happy <3

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

!🎙️✨Alastor✨🎙️!

Like Vix he humors it at first! Playing around with it before Laughing with his usual staticky voice as he stared at you with his unnerving smile. You guys quite literally stared at each other for a hot minute waiting for the other to say something.

It took you clearing your throat for him to realize you weren’t just trying to get a chuckle outta him.

And for the first time since you met him you caught a hint of confusion, making you explain that it was genuinely what you did.

He quite literally burst out laughing, you, someone who probably did something everyone did once is in this horrid place stuck with the horrid monsters ever! Just for that single act alone.

He will admit he found it a bit amusing how you refused to kill or lay a hand on anyone. Refusing to stoop to other people’s levels. Now that for him is pure gold of entreatment! He’s seen people like you, say the same exact thing then crumble when backed I to a Corner.

But for the first time, for all the decades he’s been damned here, he’s seen you stick to what you’ve stated. You were very much quite a spectacle!

Now finding new amusement, he decided to protect you, cause someone like you were sure to be a one time experience. Aside from loving you of course

Now with your name being accosted with him alone is a shield in if its self. Barely any one approached you, aside from those playing with their afterlives of course.

If you ever feel a looming shadow or presence it’s most likely one of his shadows. Like Vox he is gonna have his eyes on you almost always

Although he loves you he will play around to get a reaction out of you. All for the fun of it!, he knows you cringe when he talks about his cannibalism tendencies he just loves seeing your cute little face scrunch up!

Even though with all of that he is a gentleman and will make sure no one is to bother you.

He’s quite impressed you made it this far without getting killed, I mean of course you have him but if you arrived to hell and didn’t met him immediately he’d be quite impressed and surprised one you both do meet

He indulges himself in the horrible aspects of hell, with no remorse or shame what so ever either. So although he dose respect your wishes he won’t stop or calm down his tendencies.. （；へ：）but on the bright side he’ll make sure your far away or he goes off to other part of the city and do whatever he wishes. But your likely to see on the news either way… (￣▽￣💧

He dose enjoy the more civil and nice talks he has with you though! He finds it nice to take a break from all the crude talk on the street from other sinners and have a nice conversation!

Great listener let me tell you, he’ll happily sit there as you explain your day away! He honestly enjoys hearing you genuinely happy!, although his a chatter box himself but he enjoys listening to you more then anyone or anything else!

Watches you be nice to the most repulsive, and rude demon like it’s nothing. Even when disrespected you find a way to calm down the situation and nicely at that. Of course the demon doesn’t live long once their out of your sight, but still! He’s pleasantly surprised.

He finds it rather weird that your nice just for the sake of being nice but still it’s definitely a nice refresher from all the horrible people down in hell!

You catch his eye rather quickly with how you stick out from others (in a good way! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ) and his eyes end up on you, you mainly have all his attention almost always if he isn’t off doing something!, your his light just live Vox he’ll make sure you’ll shine bright as ever and won’t go out.

Not everyone can catch it but in some rare moments he’ll be seen just staring at you as you happily talk away to Charlie. And for the smallest second you can see his unnerving smile turn into a soft smirk, eyes only on you and his mind filled with only you. This happens on the regular, it’s just he’s quick to cover up so no one sees!

Overall he loves you, even with some differences between your views he’ll still do his best to make you comfortable. Aside from teasing you here and there! But other then that he’ll protect you, your one of kind. And he loves having things no one else can.

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

AHHHH HELLOOOOO OH GORSH I MADE IT JUST IN TIME THIS TOOK SO LOBG TO DO CAUSE I KEPT HAVING TO DELETE AND REWRITE ON A NEW DRAFT AUGHHH I HOPE TUMBLR FIXES THIS BUG, BUT ANYWAY TYSM FOR REQUESTING PLEASE COME AGAIN!!!\(^ヮ^)/’

[dwaekkicidal]

CAN WE HAVE CHAN FOR THE TOYS SERIES NEXT PLEASE 🙏

(idk if you're taking ideas or not (ignore this if you're not) but chan and size training w a dildo?? like it's been in you all day by now, and at the end of the day he's just sat in between your legs pushing it in and out 😵‍💫)

i wasnt gonna take ideas but this is so hot. you win my heart

Toys with Bang Chan

wc» 1.2k

cw» fem!reader, sex toy usage, mentions of various sized dildos, size training, quite a lot of dirty talk, p in v, dp in one hole (with a dildo lol), he's a bit mean in the 2nd part hehe (im not sorry, argue with the wall), i think thats it

an» blame my imposter syndrome for this taking so long (along with the other like 4 drafts i have finished lol)

'Toys' Masterlist

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

Channie size training you to take his big cock with alternating sized dildos…….. He’s just too big and he’s deathly afraid of actually hurting you and breaking you apart- no matter how pretty you look begging for him to just “give it to you.”

And then once you can finally take his cock all the way, he likes to push you a step forward and size train your cunt to dp with him AND a dildo… I’ll write a tiny blurb for both because OH my god

“Yeahhh, just like that, baby. See- you’re almost there.” His husky voice makes you keen and your legs shake in his hold. “Just a few more inches~”

He has you face down, ass up with one of his pretty hands digging into your thigh and holding you in place. There was enough lube on the dildo that you could feel it dripping down your thighs. It almost felt like too much, but each thick inch of the dildo that he shoved past your folds made the excess lube feel like barely enough.

“Chris…” Your cheek sinks further into the mattress and you can feel drool seeping pasting your lips onto the sheets. He coos and rubs his thumb on the underside of your asscheek. A mix of your last orgasms and the lube bunch up along your hole and he dips your finger in beside the toy, just to tease you a little further. And when you moan dazedly and push back against him, he knows you can take even more.

Chan pulls his finger out and simultaneously pushes his other wrist harder. “Chris- oh my god…” The dildo bottoms out and Chan lets out a laugh of disbelief when he sees the strings the sticky concoction leaves between the dildo and your cunt as he pulls it away. You hear his signature giggle as he runs his free hand over your ass, his other holding the dildo deep in place inside of you.

“How’s that feel? Nice and full?” Uh-huh… He giggles again and rises off his knees, moving to stand behind you so that his bulge pushes against the base of the dildo and holds it in place for him. The action makes you moan, then again when both his hands rub up your back soothingly. “You did so well, baby girl. I’m so proud of you- and this well behaved pussy.”

He grinds his hips again and the first few inches of the dildo shove right against your g-spot. The feeling makes you cum suddenly, legs shaking and fingers nearly tearing the sheets off the bed. Chan laughs into your shoulder and sneaks his hand around your front, softly rubbing circles into your clit to help ride it out. “That’s it, honey- Oooh it’s a big one, yeah? haha...”

~Now that you’re consistently stretched out and able to take the biggest of the dildos, Chan is adamant on you taking his cock everytime you two fuck. He’s spent so long patiently stretching your cunt and holding himself back for your sake. He doesn’t regret it in the slightest! However, he does think you owe him just a little bit… So he loves self indulging and really stretching you out.

“God. This fuckin’ pussy is gonna be the death of me.” His dull nails dig into your hips as he grabs onto you harder, pulling you into his thrusts so harshly that the only part of you touching the bed is your hands and your face- your back arched aggressively from how high he lifts your hips. He hasn’t even looked at your face since your last orgasm, he’s way too in it now to look away from your swollen cunt. “Need’a cum in this slutty hole.”

“It’s too much- fuck!” He frowns at your cries and pushes his hips impossibly harder, making each moan of yours cut of from how harshly he’s fucking into you at this point.

“Too much?” He scoffs and tangles a hand in your hair, pulling you up to meet his face. He’s just as surprised as you are that he’s angry about your comment, but he decides that a little bit of indulging won’t kill you- it might kill your pussy though… “Yeah- OK, honey. You want ‘too much,’ I’ll give you ‘too much’.”

The venom in his voice is enough to scare you straight, but it’s not until he shoves your upper back into the sheets and digs into your nightstand that the chills break out. You trust him with your life, and you can’t deny the ache in your stomach at the inkling of what he might want.

The best part is he doesn’t even have to put any lube; your cunt is leaking enough to flood the entire bedroom. You feel the all too familiar silicone of the dildo rubbing against your clit, teasing around it like he tended to before he started fucking you with it back when he was still size training you. But… I guess this still is technically size training.

Your jaw drops and your head pushes back against his hand when he slides the tip of the dildo inside of you alongside his cock. Of course he would choose the thickest of the set. The stretch is insane and nearly feels like it’s tearing you in half. Your head pushes against his hand again and he basically growls at you, voice dropping and other hand pushing you harder into the bed. “Stop. You know your safeword if you need it.”

Despite the attitude, he stops completely and sits still long enough for you to decide if you really can take it or not. And- ohh when you push your hips into him and whine out into the bed, he’s grinning from ear to ear. “That’s what I thought.” He pushes the dildo deeper, only choosing to give you less than half the length of it considering how thick he was on his own, let alone him AND the dildo together.

He knows you like the back of his hand, so the second you grow quiet and you clench around him constantly against your will, he knows you’re almost there. “Cum for me, baby. Give me it and I’ll fill you even more, yea?” He slowly starts fucking himself into you again, using every ounce of self control to hold himself back so he can simultaneously fuck the dildo in and out of you- at an even slower pace than his hips. Normally you would whine and cry about it, but he’s fucked you nice and stupid to the point where you can barely think outside of anything other than how stuffed to the brim you are.

Somehow, he’s the one who cums first. It’s a mixture of seeing you broken into a million pieces, all for him to happily put back together later, and feeling your death grip around him that really sends him over the edge. And he’s never one to leave you hanging. So the second he pulls out, he’s fucking the dildo into you so quickly that your orgasm blindsides you.

“Atta girl~ Good job, baby.” He tosses the dildo to the side and helps you flip onto your back. You feel him smile against your stomach as he kisses up and down your body. “...I wanna go again. Haha….”

Taglist: (red=can't be tagged)

@valkyriexo @lunearta @jabmastersupriseee @rylea08

@yaorzu-blog @amararosesblog @jiminssluttyminx @clemissleepy

@miss-daisy04 @kittyxnoa @dwaekkiiracha @honeyybbuubblleess

@mariteez @fun-fanfics @honeyybbuubblleess @kittycatkrissa

@nicora04 @chuuyaobsessed @moonlightndaydreams @velvetmoonlght

@aeri-skzver

[cbeargyu]

hi! can i request a story with nct Mark like the movie Flipped, I just love the "she fell first, he fell harder" trope. Y/n is so persistent about showing Mark how much she likes him. Since everyone knows her crush on Mark, the others tease him, which annoys him at some point & told y/n off. Hurt, Y/n kind of distanced herself for a while. During those times she got closer to another member (maybe jeno or haechan), which then makes Mark even more annoyed, not realizing he's actually jealous. Angst slow burn w/ a happy ending. I'm sorry if it's too detailed 😅 -☕️ anon

the years that I loved you

summary: you've been secretly in love with mark for years, but he's always kept his distance, even though you've grown closer over time. after a failed attempt to move on with jeno, you realize you can’t forget mark. slowly, mark starts to notice his own feelings for you.

pairing: mark x fem!reader

genre: childhood friends to lovers, slow burn romance, angst, one-sided love, fluff, college au, drama, confessions of love, she fell first but he fell harder trope.

warnings: mentions of unrequited love, emotional tension and angst, heartbreak, love triangle, public embarrassment/confessions, self-discovery and emotional growth.

wc: 12,9k

notes: anon, did you read my drafts or what? because i had this exact idea written down, even with jeno as the romantic interest omg hahaha but i never finished it because i got lazy lol, i'm not really into watching movies, so when i searched for the one you mentioned, i thought i’d have to research it to be able to write about it, but then i remembered i watched it about two years ago haha, looking for inspiration exactly, what a nice coincidence anon, i hope you like what i write <3

you were thirteen when you realized mark lee wasn’t just your brother’s best friend.

he was the boy with soft eyes who always greeted your mom with a polite smile, the one who helped your dad carry groceries without being asked, the one who laughed with jaemin until their stomachs hurt and then turned to you—quiet, awkward you—and asked if you wanted to join them at the convenience store.

he noticed you. always.

and god, that was dangerous.

you kept your secret like it was sacred. folded it between pages of your diary, whispered it into the pillow late at night when your chest hurt with the weight of wanting someone who would never be yours. he was two years older. already shining, already so good.

you thought maybe—just maybe—he was too good to break your heart.

you waited until his last day of middle school. you had written the letter three times, burned one, hid another. the final version trembled in your hands as you gave it to him behind the school gate.

“please don’t read it here,” you said, not meeting his eyes.

“i won’t,” he promised, gentle as ever. “don’t worry, okay?”

and you believed him. you always believed him.

but the next afternoon, he asked to meet you behind the gym.

it was quiet. too quiet.

you remember the way he scratched the back of his neck, the way he couldn’t quite look at you when he said, “you’re really important to me. like a little sister, you know?”

you smiled, because you didn’t know what else to do. you smiled as your eyes blurred.

and then you cried—ugly, shaking, childlike sobs you couldn’t hold back.

he tried to hug you, but it made it worse.

he said, “i’m sorry.”

he said, “i didn’t mean to hurt you.”

he said everything right.

but it didn’t matter.

because you were thirteen, and he was mark lee, and you had just learned that love doesn’t always mean something back.

high school didn’t make it easier. if anything, it made everything worse.

you tried. god, you really tried to move on—swallowed the ache, buried it deep under textbooks, sketchbooks, extracurriculars. you learned to walk past him in the hallways without letting your gaze linger too long, learned to smile politely when he said “hi” like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t held your broken heart in his hands behind the gym that day and handed it back to you gently, still cracked.

but the problem was: mark never changed.

he was still that boy—soft-spoken, warm, radiant. the kind of person who made you want to be better just by existing near him. and worse, he was always there.

your house, once a quiet place of safety, had become a second home for jaemin’s band of loud, chaotic friends. most days, the living room was full of snacks, game controllers, and laughter. renjun’s sarcasm echoing through the hall, haechan draped across the couch like he owned the place, chenle’s laugh piercing through every door, jisung awkwardly trailing behind them with his phone glued to his hand. and of course, mark. always mark.

sometimes he’d be in the backyard with your brother, their laughter drifting through the window while you did homework at the kitchen table, pencil trembling slightly every time he called your name to offer you a slice of pizza or a bottle of soda. sometimes he’d walk past you in the hallway and lightly ruffle your hair like he used to when you were twelve, before he knew how deeply you felt for him. before you knew what it meant to love someone who couldn’t love you back.

he still smiled at you like you were made of sunlight. still hugged you during holidays, still handed you wrapped presents on your birthday with that same soft voice: “happy birthday. i hope you like it.”

you hated how much you always did.

you hated how his scent lingered on the gifts long after you’d hidden them at the back of your closet. you hated how you still looked forward to seeing him, how your chest still fluttered when he said your name, how you felt thirteen and stupid every single time he was near.

but the worst was that he didn’t seem affected at all.

to him, nothing had changed. to you, everything had.

one rainy afternoon, you came home early to find the living room empty for once—blissfully silent. you kicked off your shoes, soaked to the ankle, hair damp and cheeks flushed from running back from school before the storm broke harder. you turned the corner to grab a towel from the laundry room when you saw him.

mark was there.

he stood by the window, alone, watching the rain. his hands were in the pockets of his black hoodie, hair slightly messy, lips parted in thought. he looked older. softer. like the kind of boy who belonged in a novel, not real life.

he turned when he heard your footsteps and smiled without hesitation. “hey,” he said, like it didn’t hurt, like your heart didn’t still beat for him in every goddamn way.

“hi,” you managed, holding the towel tighter against your chest.

“you’re drenched,” he said, walking toward you. “you’ll catch a cold.”

he was too close. you could smell the citrus of his shampoo, the faint vanilla of his cologne. when he reached out to brush a wet strand of hair from your cheek, you flinched—not visibly, just enough for him to stop, hand frozen mid-air.

“sorry,” he said, withdrawing. “force of habit.”

you shook your head, stepping back. “it’s fine.”

but it wasn’t. nothing ever was.

you escaped upstairs before your voice could betray you.

two weeks later, you found yourself sitting in the second row of the school auditorium, knees bouncing under the dim lights, your palms cold against the fabric of your skirt.

mark was playing romeo.

you’d heard about it from jaemin, of course—how their teacher insisted he was perfect for the role, how he’d been rehearsing every afternoon, how the girl playing juliet had been a little too eager during practice.

and now, here you were. watching him on stage under golden light, speaking lines you knew he barely even had to memorize—his voice calm, lyrical, achingly beautiful. his every movement was precise, full of emotion. he touched juliet’s face like it was made of glass, like she was something sacred.

you hated her.

she smiled when he held her hand. she leaned into him during the balcony scene. you saw her lips part just before the final act, the tension thick in the air as mark cupped her face. and then—slowly, tragically—he leaned in.

his lips brushed hers. soft. slow. real.

your throat closed.

your chest twisted so violently you thought you might get up and run. but your body stayed rooted in place, forced to watch as they collapsed together on the floor in a mock death, fingers intertwined, her head resting on his shoulder.

the applause was thunderous. everyone stood.

you did not.

you waited until after the show to find him. your feet carried you to the back hallway of the auditorium like they had minds of their own. your heart was a drum, wild and panicked.

he smiled when he saw you—still dressed in costume, hair tousled, sweat glistening on his brow.

“did you like it?” he asked, laughing softly. “i was so nervous.”

you looked at him. really looked.

“i still like you,” you said.

just like that.

no warning. no buildup. no sugarcoated version.

you were tired of pretending.

he froze. his smile dropped.

“i thought… i thought you were over it,” he said quietly.

“i wanted to be,” you whispered. “but i’m not. and watching you up there—watching her kiss you—i couldn’t pretend anymore.”

he looked down. exhaled slowly. ran a hand through his hair.

“you know i care about you,” he said gently, “but not like that. i’m sorry...”

same words.

same ache.

different year.

his hands lowered slowly, as if he suddenly didn’t know what to do with them. his breath grew deeper, slower. he was about to say something. you were going to let him speak. but before he could, you stepped forward, close enough that he had no choice but to truly see you, to hear you, to feel the heat of your words.

“i don’t accept it.”

mark blinked. “what?”

you were trembling on the inside, but you didn’t back down. “i won’t accept a no. not yet. i’ve been in love with you for as long as i can remember, mark. and yeah, maybe you’ll never see me the way i see you. maybe you’ll never feel the same. but i’m not giving up. because i can’t. even if you ignore me, even if you keep looking at me like i’m just jaemin’s little sister… my feelings for you aren’t going anywhere.”

the silence was a wall between you. thick. breathless. mark didn’t know where to look. his jaw clenched slightly. but you saw it—how hard he swallowed, the way his throat bobbed like your words had tied a knot in it. and then… that little flush, that faint blush coloring his cheeks.

he didn’t respond. he just dropped his eyes and muttered something you couldn’t quite catch before saying he had to get back to the guys.

you stayed behind, again. but this time, something was different.

you weren’t broken.

you were alive.

the days after that were… strange.

you didn’t hide anymore. you didn’t avoid looking at him, didn’t steer away when he came into your house, didn’t pretend it didn’t still ache. if you saw him, you greeted him with a soft smile. if he made a comment, you replied with one slightly sweeter. if you were near, you allowed yourself to lean in ever so slightly, as if pulled by something invisible.

mark said nothing.

but he noticed.

and everyone else did too.

renjun was the first to ask—just a casual afternoon in the backyard, you laying on a blanket with a book, the boys talking nonsense as usual. it happened right after mark came back from the kitchen and handed you a water bottle without you asking, like he already knew you’d need it.

“are you guys, like… a thing?” renjun asked, half-joking, half-serious.

mark laughed awkwardly. “what? no. of course not.”

but you looked up from your book, calm, almost proud.

“i like mark,” you said. not shy, not hesitant.

the silence was immediate.

haechan stopped chewing his gum. jisung stared at you like you’d grown horns. chenle let out a choked “wait—seriously?” and jaemin… jaemin looked at you like he’d just uncovered a secret that had always been in plain sight.

mark tensed. his hand around the empty bottle clenched slightly. he didn’t look at you. but you looked at him.

“i like him,” you repeated, voice steady. “i don’t know if that’ll ever change. for now, it hasn’t.”

the air shifted, thick with something unspoken. jaemin cleared his throat.

“wow… okay, didn’t see that coming.”

mark let out a nervous chuckle. “seriously, there’s nothing going on.”

you smiled softly. “not yet.”

and that was that.

they tried to go back to talking about something else, but the topic hung in the air like perfume—sweet, heavy, impossible to ignore.

after that day, the looks between you and mark carried weight. not just because of what you felt, but because now everyone knew. his behavior became more cautious, measured, like every move might be misread, like every glance might be taken the wrong way.

but he still looked at you.

he still smiled.

sometimes, he still sought you out without realizing it.

and you…

you kept loving him, even when it wasn’t a secret anymore.

valentine’s day hit the school like a storm.

the halls were dripping in pink and red, balloons bumping against lockers, the air thick with the scent of cheap chocolate and desperation. you weren’t immune to it—if anything, you were worse.

you had spent the night before in your kitchen, standing over a counter covered in baking disasters, painstakingly melting chocolate, shaping little hearts by hand, writing stupid tiny notes on colorful slips of paper. you stayed up until almost three in the morning, ignoring your mother’s concerned looks, all for one boy.

mark lee.

you didn’t half-ass it either. no. you went full force.

you woke up at five a.m. on valentine’s day, backpack bursting with gifts, heart pounding with something between excitement and fear. the moment you got to school, you made a beeline for his locker. you stuffed it full—letter after letter, pink and red envelopes practically exploding out of the sides. every letter started the same way, "dear mark, i really really like you," and got progressively more unhinged as you got sleepier. one of them ended with a doodle of you two riding off into the sunset on a giant gummy bear. you didn’t even regret it.

and then, the chocolates. you had them in a heart-shaped box you decorated yourself, glitter peeling off the sides. you snuck into his classroom early, your hands shaking, and dumped them right on top of his desk—pile after pile of messy, misshapen chocolate hearts, each one lovingly wrapped in plastic and tied with curly red ribbon.

it wasn’t subtle. it wasn’t graceful.

but it was you.

when mark walked into class later, you watched from behind the doorframe like some kind of deranged cupid. he stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the mountain of candy and cards like it might explode. his friends started laughing—haechan howling loud enough to draw attention from other classrooms, renjun pretending to cry from how beautiful it was, jisung muttering “bro’s got a stalker” under his breath while chenle recorded everything on his phone.

mark didn’t get mad.

he didn’t yell.

he just... looked so painfully polite about the whole thing, his bright smile twitching at the corners, his ears turning an adorable shade of pink. he stood there, awkward, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes scanning for an escape route.

you chose that exact moment to spring.

you practically bounced up to him, heart hammering, face on fire, and blurted out in front of everyone, “mark! i like you! a lot! like, a lot a lot! like, marry-me-under-a-rainbow kind of a lot!”

you didn’t know where that last part came from. you regretted it immediately.

mark laughed. this soft, helpless little sound that made your chest ache. he looked at you—really looked at you—and for a second, you could almost believe he was touched. or maybe just very, very overwhelmed.

"thank you," he said gently, voice a little strained. "you’re really sweet. but—uh—i think... we should just stay friends, yeah?"

you nodded furiously, tears pricking at the back of your eyes, but you smiled through it because you were determined not to make it worse.

"friends! sure! but, like, if you change your mind... i'm available. permanently."

haechan choked. chenle dropped his phone from laughing too hard. renjun whispered “oh my god, she’s serious,” like he was witnessing a car crash in slow motion.

mark gave you a look, half grateful, half pleading, like he was begging the universe to save him from this situation without hurting you. he patted your head—your actual head, like you were a golden retriever—and hurried to clean up the mess you’d left.

the rest of the day, every time you crossed paths, you beamed at him and chirped "i like you!" like it was a greeting. he’d flinch slightly every time, force that damn brilliant smile, and respond with a tiny nod or a mumbled "thank you..." before speed-walking away like his life depended on it.

it became a running joke. teachers started asking him about his “secret admirer.” students left fake valentines in his locker just to mess with him. he took it all in stride, patient and painfully kind, but you knew deep down it was wearing him out.

still, you couldn’t help it. you were in too deep.

when the final bell rang, and you caught him stuffing all your letters into his bag like he was trying to hide contraband, you grinned so wide your cheeks hurt.

maybe, you thought, love didn’t have to be perfect to be real.

even if it was one-sided. even if it was a little ridiculous.

your heart still beat for him. and for now, that was enough.

you followed him to university without a second thought.

not because you were obsessed. not because you were desperate.

maybe it sounded crazier when you said it out loud, like some reckless teenage daydream you should have outgrown by now, but in your heart, it had always been simple. wherever mark went, you wanted to go too. so when he decided to major in literature at a university two cities away, you didn’t hesitate—you applied to the same program, you studied harder than you ever had in your life, and when that acceptance letter came, you clutched it to your chest and cried, thinking it was fate smiling at you.

you convinced yourself that it was a new beginning, that maybe, somehow, away from the crowded hallways of high school and the well-worn patterns of rejection and affection, things could be different. you could be different. you could be the kind of girl he might actually look at twice.

but reality wasn’t a fairytale, and no amount of shared classes or accidental brushings of hands across desks could change the fact that mark had drawn a line in the sand years ago—and he wasn’t about to cross it.

still, you stayed close, orbiting him like a stubborn, quiet moon, your love for him woven into every choice you made, every dream you dared to have.

he was still kind. still soft-spoken and careful with your heart. he’d pull out chairs for you in lecture halls, lend you his notes when you were sick, laugh at your dry jokes when no one else did. he still bought you birthday gifts—carefully wrapped, always with a little handwritten note in his neat handwriting. still hugged you every christmas. still remembered your favorite snacks and left them on your desk when you were cramming.

but he never crossed the line.

mark lee was a boy of boundaries. polite, good, respectful. especially with you.

especially because of jaemin.

the others —haechan, chenle, renjun, even jisung—had started making comments. light teasing when mark waited for you outside your dorm. when your fingers brushed as you passed him a pen. when he remembered things you said in passing and brought them up weeks later.

“just date already.”

“you’d make such a cute couple.”

“jaemin would murder you, but worth it.”

but jaemin never laughed. he’d stare straight ahead, jaw clenched, eyes hard.

“it’s not happening,” he’d say flatly. “drop it.”

and mark—mark would just smile and shake his head.

“we’re just friends.”

always the same line. always gentle. always final.

and still, you stayed. because a piece of you still hoped. still wondered if maybe, maybe, something would shift.

until summer.

that was when everything changed.

it started small.

mark smiling at his phone when he thought no one was looking. mark turning down movie nights, saying he was “tired” or “busy.” mark humming under his breath as he walked across campus, like he couldn’t help it.

he looked… lighter.

brighter.

and he wasn’t looking at you.

you found out by accident.

a lazy sunday. mark had left his phone on the coffee table in the shared dorm lounge while he went to grab snacks. a message popped up, screen lighting briefly.

“can’t wait to see you again 💛” from: yerim 🍒

kim yerim.

a girl from another department. bright, confident, everything you weren’t.

you blinked at the message like it was written in another language. your throat tightened. your hands went cold. you couldn’t look away.

when mark came back into the room, smiling like he always did, you could barely breathe. he didn’t notice the way your gaze dropped. or maybe he did, but he didn’t say anything. just offered you a packet of chips like nothing had changed.

but everything had.

by the time the others found out, mark and yerim had been quietly seeing each other for nearly two months.

the teasing stopped.

no more jokes. no more comments. just a strange, heavy silence.

even haechan kept quiet. only once, after a long night out, he said it in a low voice—when mark had gone off to call her, when everyone else was half-asleep on the floor.

“you’d be better for him.”

you looked up. your eyes were wet. you hadn’t even noticed.

haechan’s gaze softened. “but he’s not ready to see that, huh?”

you didn’t answer.

because what was there to say?

you’d loved mark for so long it had become a part of your identity. it was in the way you walked, the way you chose your classes, the way your heart lit up every time you saw him laugh.

but he was never yours.

and now, there was someone else who made him laugh. someone he looked at like that. and the worst part?

he looked happy.

genuinely, radiantly happy. the kind of happy that couldn’t be faked.

so you smiled too. you congratulated him. you listened to him talk about yerim with soft eyes and careful words.

and when you were alone, you cried into your pillow, biting down hard to keep the sound in.

because this wasn’t betrayal. this wasn’t a lie. this was just love—one-sided, unchanging, and devastating.

you didn’t blame him.

you just didn’t know how to stop loving him.

you weren’t sure when yerim began to notice.

maybe it was the way you went quiet whenever mark entered the room. maybe it was how your eyes never quite met his anymore. or maybe it was something deeper—something only another woman could sense. a kind of residual ache, the ghost of something that used to be almost something.

she never confronted you. never threw it in your face.

but her gaze lingered.

a little longer than necessary. a little too perceptive. especially when mark spoke your name.

and mark—he started choosing his words more carefully. his laughter dimmed around you, like he didn’t know how to act anymore. like being near you was stepping into a room still filled with the scent of a fire long gone out.

you weren’t mad. you were exhausted.

your chest carried the weight of every second you’d spent wishing for something that never existed outside your imagination. you’d painted a fantasy in your mind and clung to it like a lifeline, and for what? he never promised you anything. never kissed you. never called you “mine.”

he was just… kind. and you were just stupid.

so when you met lee jeno, it was like inhaling after drowning.

he was part of the sports science department—tall, tan, always wearing that damned sleeveless hoodie like he knew the effect it had on people. he had this cocky little smile and a voice that made you pause. and god, he was smooth. but not in a sleazy way.

jeno was bright in a way mark never was. he didn’t hesitate. he didn’t overthink.

he noticed you from the first time you sat across from him in a shared elective. you were sketching half-distractedly, and he leaned over with that grin that stretched from ear to ear.

"you always draw like the world’s ending tomorrow?"

you blinked up at him, startled. "excuse me?"

he just laughed. “you’re good. i like intense girls.”

you rolled your eyes. but he didn’t stop talking to you after that. he’d walk you to class, show up with energy drinks during finals, and compliment the color of your nails like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

and one day, without drama or overthinking, he just asked:

“go out with me.”

no hidden meanings. no caution. just jeno, smiling, offering you something real.

you hesitated.

you thought of mark. of his careful hands, his lingering warmth, the smile he used to give you before it all got awkward. but that was the thing—it had gotten awkward. broken. distant. he belonged to someone else now. he never belonged to you.

so you said yes.

after weeks of holding onto a secret that was slowly tearing you apart, you finally decided to give jeno a chance. you couldn’t keep pretending like mark didn’t already have your heart in his hands, even if he didn’t want it. you couldn’t keep letting your feelings for him dictate everything, so when jeno, the charming and confident guy from your physical education class, asked you out one day, you hesitated.

you hesitated for a long time, thinking of how many times mark had walked right past you, never once acknowledging your heart, never once looking at you in a way that made you feel more than just his friend’s younger sister.

but this time, it was different. jeno was persistent, and there was a spark in his smile that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you could move on. so, after a long conversation with yourself and an even longer discussion with your heart, you said yes. but you weren’t going to drag jeno into something he wasn’t prepared for, so before you agreed to anything, you told him the truth.

“i’ve been in love with someone else for so long,” you admitted, your voice soft, vulnerable. “and i don’t know if i can just let go of that... but i want to try. i want to try with you.”

jeno smiled at you, and his eyes softened, like he understood. “i know,” he said, his voice steady. “i’ve seen it. but i’ll do my best to make you forget about him. i’ll do everything i can so that you only look at me the way you looked at him.”

it wasn’t a promise of forever, but it was a promise to try. and for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you could start anew. so you accepted, feeling a little lighter, but still carrying the weight of what had once been.

the first few days were like walking on air. jeno was easy to be around—funny, charming, the kind of guy who made you feel like you mattered. when you walked around campus together, everyone noticed. people were happy for you, the long-lost couple that everyone was rooting for. but mark? mark looked like he had swallowed something bitter.

mark had never been good at hiding his feelings, and even if he tried, yerim saw right through him. it had been a few weeks since you and jeno started dating, and mark’s behavior was becoming more noticeable by the day. his lingering stares, the way he would look at you and jeno when you walked into a room together—yerim had seen enough. she had been patient with him, but there was only so much a person could tolerate.

you caught him looking at you and jeno one too many times, his eyes narrowed and his lips set in a firm line. it made you uncomfortable, the way he would glance at you, then at jeno, like he was calculating something, weighing something in his mind. but you didn’t think much of it until the day he pulled you aside after a class, his face clouded with something unreadable.

“hey,” he started, his voice softer than usual, though there was still a bite to it. “i don’t think jeno is good for you.”

you blinked, startled. “what do you mean?” you asked, confused, but also feeling a knot tighten in your chest. why was he saying this now? after all this time?

mark rubbed the back of his neck, looking uneasy. “i mean... you’re my friend, and i care about you. i just don’t think he’s the right person for you. you deserve better than him.”

you could feel your heart racing. “what do you know about what’s good for me or not?” you replied, your tone sharp. “you’re not my... you’re not my anything, mark. i don’t need you to tell me what’s best for me.”

he frowned, a flicker of guilt crossing his face, but he didn’t apologize. instead, he sighed. “i’m just looking out for you, okay? you’re... important to me.”

the words stung more than they should have. important to him. you let out a bitter laugh. “important to you? you’ve barely noticed me for years, mark. don’t try to pull that with me now.”

his face shifted, caught somewhere between frustration and something else that you couldn’t quite place. “i’m serious, okay? just... be careful with jeno.”

before you could respond, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, feeling more confused than ever.

but things didn’t stop there.

it wasn’t just that mark had said what he said—it was the way he started acting afterward. jeno was around, and whenever jeno was around, mark seemed to get this look in his eyes, like he was watching you two, trying to figure out something that wasn’t adding up. he started showing up more, always offering you little things, always asking if you needed anything. he would bring you your favorite coffee between classes, or linger a little longer than usual when he saw you and jeno walking together.

you noticed it. everyone noticed it. especially yerim.

it was one afternoon in the student lounge when yerim couldn’t hold it in any longer. “mark,” she said, voice tight, “you’re doing it again. you’ve been acting like this... like you’re in love with her.”

mark froze, caught in the act of watching you laugh with jeno. he opened his mouth to deny it, but yerim didn’t let him. “don’t even try to deny it,” she continued. “you’re constantly around her, always looking at her like you want something more. you’re jealous every time jeno is near her.”

mark looked at her, eyes wide with shock. “i’m not—i mean, no, that’s not it.”

“really?” yerim’s voice was sharp now. “because it looks like it. you’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

the words hung in the air like a weight neither of them could lift. mark’s face went pale. he opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out at first. then, slowly, he shook his head, almost as if to convince himself.

“no,” he muttered. “i’m not.”

yerim stared at him for a long moment, her expression a mix of disbelief and something more profound. “mark... you can’t just keep pretending you don’t care about her. you’ve been doing it for years, and now you’re pushing jeno away like this. stop lying to yourself.”

he didn’t say anything. he just stood there, looking at you as you laughed with jeno, the smile on your face not quite reaching his eyes anymore.

it was the last straw when mark once again casually mentioned your name while they were eating lunch together, and yerim couldn’t hold her tongue any longer.

“mark,” yerim began, her voice quiet but firm. “i can’t keep doing this.”

mark looked up from his phone, confused. “what do you mean?” he asked, trying to mask the tension in his voice.

“this,” she motioned between the two of them, the table between them feeling like a chasm. “your obsession with her. it’s becoming impossible to ignore, and frankly, i’m tired of it.”

he blinked, shocked by her bluntness. “what are you talking about? i’m not obsessed with anyone.”

“oh, really?” yerim’s eyes narrowed, her tone ice-cold now. “because every time i bring something up, you somehow find a way to tie it back to her. last week, we were talking about your plans for the summer, and you—” she paused, shaking her head as if in disbelief, “you brought her up. again. you’re not fooling me, mark. it’s always about her. i’m starting to think you’re not really here with me.”

mark opened his mouth to argue, but yerim held up her hand, stopping him mid-sentence. “no. don’t try to lie to me. you’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

the words hit him like a punch to the gut. he looked away, unable to meet her gaze. a flash of memories flashed in his mind—those moments when your name slipped out of his mouth without even thinking, how he’d catch himself whenever he accidentally mentioned you during their time together.

he remembered the time they were having a casual dinner at a restaurant and he had jokingly said, “y/n would love this dish.” yerim had paused, her fork mid-air, her eyes narrowing. but mark quickly covered it up, offering a distracted smile, as if it didn’t mean anything. another time, they were walking through the campus, and he had said, “this place reminds me of something y/n and i used to do.” yerim had looked at him, confusion and hurt crossing her face, but mark had just shrugged it off. it wasn’t anything, he assured her. just memories of a friendship.

but yerim wasn’t stupid. and she was done pretending she didn’t see it.

“you’ve been so distracted, mark. and i’m over it,” yerim’s voice grew stronger now, the anger finally coming through. “you don’t have the right to string me along while you’re still hung up on someone else.”

mark’s heart raced in his chest, the weight of her words sinking in. he couldn’t deny it anymore. yerim wasn’t wrong, and he hated himself for it. “i didn’t mean for it to be like this,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “it’s just... y/n... i never meant to hurt you.”

but yerim wasn’t having it. she was proud, and she recognized her worth. her eyes flashed with frustration as she stood up from the table, throwing her napkin down with a sharp motion. “it doesn’t matter what you meant, mark. what matters is that you’ve been leading me on, and i’m done. i’m not going to sit here and pretend everything’s fine when you clearly can’t even give me your full attention.”

mark stood up too, his voice soft, almost pleading. “yerim, please don’t—”

“no, mark. i’ve had enough. i need someone who’s here for me, not for someone else.” she turned to leave, but stopped at the door, her back still to him. “think about it, mark. because if you’re not careful, you’re going to lose both of us.”

the door slammed shut behind her, and mark stood there in silence, feeling the weight of her words settle in. but before he could process what had just happened, his phone buzzed in his pocket. he pulled it out, and there it was again—your name, flashing on the screen.

a flood of memories hit him all at once—the late-night talks with you, the way he had always put you on a pedestal, and how, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. he couldn’t stop caring about you. yerim had been right. it had been you, always you.

but that wasn’t all. as he sat there, the memories of his time with yerim also came flooding back. the times she’d gotten upset with him for talking about you too much. he had brushed it off, saying it was nothing, just casual references. but deep down, he knew he was never really there for her. not the way she deserved.

a sharp pain twisted in his chest, and he realized something—yerim had always been more than just a girlfriend to him. she was a distraction, a way to cover up the hole in his heart that he refused to acknowledge. but now, everything felt different.

it was supposed to be a day of fun, something to make you forget. jeno had planned a trip to the amusement park, hoping that the laughter, the rides, and the sweet cotton candy would distract you from everything that had been weighing heavily on your heart. he was always there for you, attentive and sweet, trying his best to make you feel special. his hand never left yours, and he had a way of making you feel like everything was going to be okay, even though you weren't sure it ever would be.

but as the day went on, the fun rides, the silly carnival games, and even jeno’s bright smile couldn’t keep your thoughts from drifting back to mark. you tried so hard to push them away, to focus on the moment, on the person beside you who was giving you his all. jeno was perfect. he was patient, kind, charming in ways that made you laugh without even trying. but no matter how much he tried to pull you out of the hole you’d fallen into, mark was still there, lingering in your heart like a shadow you couldn’t escape.

it wasn’t until you were sitting on a bench near the Ferris wheel, looking out at the glowing lights of the park, that the dam finally broke. tears blurred your vision, and for the first time in a long while, you let them fall. jeno’s hand gently cupped your face, his thumb wiping away the first tear, and then another, as his soft voice reached your ears.

“hey,” he murmured, his eyes filled with concern and something deeper, like he already knew what was happening. “what’s going on?”

you shook your head, struggling to find the right words. “i... i’m so sorry, jeno. i thought i could... but i can’t. i can’t stop thinking about him.” your voice cracked, and the sobs you had been holding back spilled out. “it’s not fair to you. i feel like i’m using you, but i can’t... i can’t let go of mark.”

jeno stayed quiet for a moment, his hand still resting on your cheek, tender and warm. he didn’t look hurt, not the way you expected him to. instead, his eyes were filled with understanding, the kind of understanding that made your chest ache even more.

“you don’t have to apologize,” he said softly, his voice steady and calm. “you can’t force yourself to move on, y/n. you can’t just push those feelings aside because you want them to go away. i know that. i won’t ask you to stop thinking about him, or to stop loving him. but you need to realize that you’re only hurting yourself by holding onto something that might never be.” he paused, giving you a moment to absorb his words, his thumb tracing your cheek slowly. “if you’re not ready for this, if you’re not ready for me, then it’s okay. we can stop here.”

his words cut deeper than you expected. you looked at him, and in his eyes, you saw nothing but kindness, the kind of person who would never push you, who would never force you to be someone you weren’t. but that only made it harder to bear. jeno was giving you his everything, and yet, your heart was somewhere else.

“jeno...” you whispered, your voice shaking, “i’m so sorry. i wish i could just... let go. but i’m not ready for this. for us. i thought maybe... maybe i could love you. but i can’t stop thinking about him. and it’s not fair to you. you deserve someone who can love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

jeno smiled at you, but it wasn’t the smile of someone who was happy. it was a smile tinged with sadness, a resignation that seemed to come from a place of understanding rather than disappointment. he took your hand in his and held it firmly, as if to reassure you that it was okay.

“i knew,” he said quietly, his voice soft but sure. “i knew this wasn’t going to be easy. and i’m not mad at you, y/n. i’m just... i’m just glad you’re being honest with me.” he gave your hand a squeeze. “you don’t have to force anything. if you want to keep holding onto mark, then do it. if that’s what you need to do to move on, then i won’t stop you. i want you to be happy, even if it’s not with me.”

you blinked back more tears, unable to find the right words. jeno’s face was full of hurt, but also full of understanding, and you hated yourself for not being able to give him what he deserved. you loved jeno, you really did, but your heart was still anchored to mark, and nothing was going to change that just because you wanted it to.

“i don’t deserve you,” you said through a broken sob, the guilt overwhelming. “i’m sorry, jeno. i’m so sorry.”

“don’t apologize,” he said again, his voice steady and soothing, despite the sadness that lingered there. “just think about it, okay? take your time. but don’t stay in this place forever. don’t let yourself be stuck on someone who can’t give you the love you deserve.”

you nodded, unable to speak, and jeno, ever patient and kind, pulled you into a gentle embrace. his warmth was comforting, but it also reminded you of the hole in your heart that mark had left behind.

you could feel the weight of his words, the truth in them sinking deeper than anything you had ever felt. he wasn’t going to hold you to something that wasn’t real, and you hated the fact that it took you this long to realize it. jeno wasn’t just someone you could use to fill the gap mark had left. he was someone who deserved to be loved completely, and you weren’t capable of giving him that.

as you pulled away, you could see the understanding in jeno’s eyes, and it was that very understanding that made the pain in your chest grow even stronger. jeno wasn’t going to hold onto something that wasn’t meant to be. and maybe, just maybe, that was the hardest thing for you to accept.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered again, your voice small, broken. “but i think i need to try with mark. maybe... maybe he’s the one i’m meant to be with.”

jeno smiled again, but this time, it was bittersweet. “then go for it, y/n. do what you need to do. i’m not going anywhere.”

and just like that, you knew. you had your answer. but the question now was whether mark would ever feel the same way.

the days at university dragged on, each one more suffocating than the last. you had your friends around you, and yet, you felt like you were drowning in the same sea of unresolved feelings. it was a strange comfort to be surrounded by people, but their presence didn’t erase the emptiness you felt inside. mark’s presence lingered everywhere, like a ghost. even in the cafeteria, you couldn’t escape the feeling that something was missing. his silence, his avoidance, it was all becoming too much to bear.

one morning, as you sat at a table with your friends, a subtle shift in the atmosphere caught your attention. mark had arrived late, as usual, and took a seat at the opposite end of the table, his gaze distant, his face blank. the usual chatter buzzed around you, but there was an unmistakable tension in the air. the others seemed to sense it too, noticing how quiet everything had become since the both of you had entered the room.

haechan, always the one to try and lighten the mood, leaned back in his chair, his grin wide and teasing. “so guys, what’s going on here? someone want to spill the tea?” his tone was playful, but there was an edge to it that made it clear he wasn’t fully joking.

you felt your stomach twist, but before you could respond, mark shifted in his seat, his fork tapping against his plate. the room grew unnaturally quiet, the teasing atmosphere fading into something more uncomfortable. mark’s voice broke through the silence, his tone so flat it was almost impossible to read.

“yerim… she broke up with me,” mark said, the words coming out without any emotion, almost like he was just stating a fact. it wasn’t a confession or a cry for sympathy, just an acknowledgment of something that had happened.

the table fell completely silent. everyone, even haechan, froze, unsure of what to say. it was as if the air had thickened, and no one dared to move or speak for a moment. you kept your eyes fixed on your tray, unable to meet anyone’s gaze, though you couldn’t help but sneak a glance at mark from the corner of your eye.

he was eating his breakfast now, like it was just another normal morning, his face emotionless. but you could see the small, almost imperceptible signs of tension in his posture. his shoulders were a little more rigid, and his hand gripped his fork a little tighter than usual. but he said nothing more, and the others didn’t press him for details.

renjun, ever the curious one, broke the silence by shifting in his seat and looking directly at you. “what about jeno?” he asked, his voice soft but probing.

the question hit you harder than expected. it was like everyone had just been waiting for you to talk about it, to explain what had happened between you and jeno. you hesitated, biting your lip as you considered how to respond.

“i… i ended things with jeno,” you said finally, your voice quieter than you intended.

chenle raised an eyebrow, clearly confused. what? you were just starting to get into it. why would you stop now?”

you shrugged, feeling a lump form in your throat. “i wasn’t prepared for what he needed.”

another silence filled the room, heavier this time. you could feel their eyes on you, but you didn’t dare look up. the tension in the air was suffocating, and you could feel it building up around you like a thick fog. it wasn’t just the conversation that was uncomfortable—it was everything that had been left unsaid. the way mark kept his distance, the way you couldn’t stop thinking about him, the way you couldn’t shake the feeling that things were never going to be as simple as they once were.

you stole another glance at mark, your heart tightening at the sight of him. he was still eating, his movements slow and deliberate, but you could tell he was aware of the conversation. the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his eyes flicked toward you for a fraction of a second—it all spoke volumes. but he said nothing more. he wasn’t going to make this easy for you. he wasn’t going to chase you or beg for your attention. it was always like this with him, wasn’t it? he had this way of making you feel like you were the only one who cared, while he remained distant, unreachable.

as you sat there, feeling the weight of the silence press down on you, you realized that maybe you weren’t the only one who had been avoiding the truth. maybe mark was doing the same thing. maybe he, too, had been holding back, pretending that everything was fine when it wasn’t.

and then, as if on cue, mark glanced up at you. his eyes met yours for just a moment, and for the briefest of seconds, you saw something in them—something raw, something vulnerable. but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the same mask of indifference he wore so often.

you couldn’t stop yourself from feeling the ache in your chest, the pain of wanting something that wasn’t yours to have. you didn’t know what this meant, what the silence between the two of you meant. but it hurt. it hurt in ways you couldn’t explain.

suddenly, mark stood up, his chair scraping against the floor, and without a word, he grabbed his tray and walked away, leaving the table in stunned silence once again. you didn’t know if it was his way of shutting everyone out or if he was simply tired of pretending that everything was fine.

haechan glanced at you, his expression a mixture of concern and confusion. “well, that was... something,” he muttered.

but you didn’t respond. you couldn’t. all you could do was sit there, surrounded by your friends, but feeling more alone than ever before. you didn’t know what would happen next.

but you did know one thing: nothing was going to be the same again.

mark never liked to admit it, but the words yerim had said earlier echoed in his mind like a loud, unwanted reminder. "you're in love with her, aren't you?" he couldn't shake it. the way she confronted him, the certainty in her voice, it felt like she was peeling back layers of something he didn’t even know he was hiding. he tried to brush it off, told himself he wasn’t like that—he couldn’t be. you were his friend, his best friend’s sister, and he had always kept a distance for a reason.

but the more he thought about it, the more it hit him. the way his heart reacted when you gave him those letters, when you filled his locker with chocolates you’d made yourself, and when you said "i like you" so casually, so boldly, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. mark could still feel the warmth in his chest when he read your letters. he could still picture the way you’d smile at him, your eyes shining with a hope that made him feel both uneasy and... strangely content. it made him feel things he couldn’t quite name.

he had always kept his distance, tried to maintain the line between friendship and something else, because he knew it was wrong. but what if it wasn’t? what if everything he’d told himself about not crossing that line was just an excuse to avoid the truth? there were moments, fleeting but intense, when he felt your gaze on him, when he felt you watching him more than anyone else, and it made him ache in ways he didn’t understand. it was subtle, but it was there—your attention, your small gestures that spoke louder than words.

and mark... mark had never been one to ignore someone he cared about. he would remember the smallest things about you—your favorite color, how you liked your coffee, the way you hated the cold but still insisted on walking with him outside when it was freezing, just because you liked the fresh air. he noticed these things, even when he told himself it was just concern, just the instincts of a friend. but now, in the silence of his own thoughts, it became clear: he was lying to himself.

it had never been just friendship. he was always there when you needed him, always paying attention to the little things that mattered to you. he didn’t know when it started, but somewhere along the way, those small acts of kindness had shifted into something deeper, something more complicated. and now that yerim had pointed it out, it was impossible to ignore.

the worst part? he didn’t want to. he didn’t want to admit that he was falling for you, that the thought of seeing you with someone else—a guy like jeno, someone who actually understood you in ways he never could—made him feel this... discomfort, this jealousy that gnawed at him, something he hadn’t ever expected to feel. it wasn’t like he hated jeno—no, he didn’t. he was a good guy. but the idea of him being close to you, of him holding your hand, of him kissing you... it made mark want to break something, even if he didn’t understand why.

he remembered the first time you told him you liked him. it had been so simple, so direct, and yet, it had left him shaken. "i like you, mark," you had said, and his chest had tightened. it wasn’t the confession itself—it was the way you said it, the sincerity in your eyes, the lack of hesitation. you made it sound so effortless, like it was no big deal. but to him, it felt like the world was shifting beneath his feet. he had tried to laugh it off, tried to brush it aside, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

and now, as he sat there, the realization hit him full force. yerim had been right. he was in love with you. and it scared the hell out of him.

he had always tried to convince himself that it wasn’t anything more than friendship, but the truth was staring him in the face now. this—his attention to you, the way he always found a reason to be near you, the way he knew things about you that no one else did—it wasn’t friendship. it was something else. and as much as he hated to admit it, it was something he couldn’t control anymore.

mark let out a slow breath, closing his eyes for a moment. he didn’t know what to do with this feeling. he didn’t know how to face you, knowing this now. he had tried so hard to keep things uncomplicated, to keep the walls up, but somewhere along the way, they had crumbled without him even realizing it.

and then he thought about the way you’d looked at him this morning, about the way you’d still found time to check in on him, even though you were moving on with jeno. he hated it. he hated how much it hurt to see you with him, how it felt like he was losing you to someone else. but what could he do? he couldn’t just throw away the bond he’d spent years building with you. and yet, now that he had started to realize the truth—that he, maybe, maybe... loved you—it felt like everything he did was too little, too late.

mark ran a hand through his hair, frustration rising in his chest. he was an idiot. he always had been. and now... now you were slipping away from him. and maybe it was for the best. maybe he didn’t deserve you.

but god, did he wish he could change everything.

the professor of your writing class, a serious man with a gaze that seemed to read the minds of his students, made an unexpected announcement at the start of the class. there was a new activity, a group project where you had to work with a "superior," as he called it, to learn more about the challenges and demands that came with quality writing. as if it wasn’t enough, the professor began mentioning names, and when he got to yours, it wasn’t just any name.

"y/n," he said, his eyes locking with yours for a moment. "i know you all know mark lee. so, he'll be your partner for this task. i’m sure you'll learn a lot from him."

the entire class turned to look at you, and the blush immediately crept up your neck. they all knew you liked mark. it was obvious to everyone. a murmur spread across the tables, and a small ripple of laughter echoed in the air. your heart raced, and you could feel the tension building. you froze for a moment before quickly trying to compose yourself.

"after this class, i’ll be heading to mark’s group. so, i’ll let him know," the professor added, barely noticing your discomfort. it was as if he had done this before, pairing you two without a second thought.

the rest of the day felt like it was dragging, and even though you tried to distract yourself with the usual distractions of university life, everything felt off. your thoughts were heavy with mark. you had been in the same place so many times before, but now, it felt different. this wasn’t just any task; this was going to force you and mark into the same space, the same moments, and you didn’t know how to handle it.

later, as you met him in the university library, the tension was palpable. everything felt too familiar yet too strange. you hadn't been so close in so long, and now you were working on something that required your attention.

at first, there were small, careful interactions. you would look at him briefly, and he’d turn away, pretending to focus on the task. but soon, those little moments started to build.

one evening, you were sitting together at a table in the library. you were writing, trying to focus on the task in front of you, but mark was watching you, the air around you both charged. the quiet hum of the library didn’t help the feeling building between the two of you.

without realizing it, your hand brushed his as you reached for the same book. your heart jumped in your chest, and you both froze. he looked at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort. when none came, he slowly took your hand into his, his fingers curling gently around yours. you didn’t pull away.

you continued to write, trying to act like nothing had changed, but every single brush of his fingers against yours made your heart race. mark, in his usual composed way, didn’t say a word. he just adjusted in his seat, took a deep breath, and continued flipping through a book with his free hand.

but you couldn’t ignore the feeling. your heart was pounding, and every moment felt too intense.

mark’s touch, his attention, was starting to feel different. the physical closeness, the subtle interactions, they were all making you feel things you didn’t know how to process.

one night, as you worked late on an essay, you were sitting in the university’s shared house, with mark next to you. the house was quiet, but the air between you two was anything but.

as you wrote the final paragraphs of your essay, mark casually placed his hand over yours, like it was the most natural thing in the world. you froze for a second, then continued writing with your other hand. he didn’t let go of your hand, though. he just sat there, quietly turning the pages of his book, but his attention was completely on you.

you could feel the warmth of his hand, his fingers lightly tracing the back of yours. you were trying to focus, but everything inside you was screaming. 

what was happening between you two?

the moment felt like it would last forever. your heart raced, and your stomach twisted with nerves. the way his hand felt against yours, the way you couldn’t stop thinking about him—it was all becoming too real. slowly, as if testing the waters, mark squeezed your hand gently, a silent acknowledgment that you were still there, together.

you tried to act normal, but the intensity of the moment was almost too much. you didn’t know what this was, but it felt like it was something more than you’d ever expected.

and as the days went by, you found that you were no longer just working with mark. you were starting to feel something again, something that wasn’t just based on your past feelings, but something that was growing stronger every time he smiled at you, every time he reached for your hand, every time his voice got just a little bit softer when he spoke to you.

you were starting to realize that you were falling for him all over again.

mark sat alone in his room that night, the moonlight spilling through the window as he stared at the pages of his book without really seeing them. his mind kept drifting back to the moments he had shared with you—those small touches, those fleeting glances that made his heart skip a beat. it was impossible to ignore the feelings that were starting to bubble up inside him.

why does it feel like this? he thought. this wasn’t supposed to happen.

he remembered when you first started writing him those letters, how you didn’t care that others saw, how you openly told him you liked him. at first, it made him uncomfortable, and he didn’t know how to react. but now, looking back, he realized it had always been more than just a casual thing for him. you had always been more.

mark sighed as he recalled those moments when he would catch himself thinking about you in class, or how his eyes would follow you around the room. it’s not just concern, is it? he thought. i care about you more than i ever wanted to admit.

he thought about how he would remember the little things—like how you always smelled like lavender, how you would always bite your lip when you were concentrating, how you’d laugh at the smallest jokes. he knew you so well. but why hadn’t he realized it before?

mark leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. it’s not just worry... it’s something more. his heart ached as he realized the truth, and it was almost too much to bear.

he was falling for you.

the days passed in a soft, almost imperceptible way, but mark could feel the change. it wasn’t loud or obvious, but it was there, lingering between you two like a quiet hum. at first, the moments were small — a brush of your fingers as you passed him the pen, a shared smile when the professor made an awkward joke, the way he always seemed to look for you in the crowded hallways. you had grown so accustomed to each other's presence that it felt almost natural to be together, even in silence. but there was a difference now.

he was aware.

mark noticed the way you would glance at him when you thought he wasn’t looking, the soft curl of your smile when he said something funny, or the way you always tried to be near him. he noticed the little things, things that before he might have brushed aside. it was easy to pretend that it was nothing, but deep down, he couldn’t ignore it anymore. you were changing something inside him, something he wasn’t sure how to handle.

they started to get closer, working together more than the project required, as if there was something magnetic pulling them together. late nights in the library, sharing the quiet, with nothing but the sound of papers shuffling and soft footsteps on the floor. the way mark would sneak glances at you when you weren’t paying attention, the way his hand would linger near yours when you passed the pencil over to him. it was simple, tender. there was no rush, no hurry — just a slow, steady burn.

one evening, as you both sat at the same table in the house, the quiet between you two felt charged with something unspoken. mark had just handed you a book you’d asked for, his fingers brushing yours for a moment too long. you felt it, and so did he.

"you’ve been quiet," mark said, his voice low, almost thoughtful. "thinking about the project, or… something else?"

you glanced at him, feeling your heartbeat quicken. "maybe both," you replied, your voice soft.

mark raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "you know, it’s funny. we’ve spent all this time together, but i still don’t think i know everything about you."

you smiled, trying to play it cool, but inside, you were nervous. "what do you want to know?"

he didn’t answer immediately. instead, he leaned back in his chair, a small smile playing on his lips. "i guess… i just want to know how you see the world. the little things that make you… well, you."

you blinked, taken aback by the question. it felt oddly intimate, like he was asking to know you on a deeper level, not just as a classmate or a friend, but as something more.

"that’s… a lot to ask," you murmured, your cheeks flushing.

mark smiled, his gaze softening. "maybe," he said quietly. "but i think… i think you’re worth the effort."

the way his voice sounded made something tighten in your chest. 

you didn’t know what it was, but you felt it — that spark, that connection.

and so it continued, these quiet, intimate moments between the two of you. each one made the feelings grow stronger, but neither of you acknowledged it outright. there was no rush. this wasn’t about forcing something, it was just about being together, in whatever way it worked. a slow, steady love building like a quiet storm.

finally, the day came for you to present your project. everyone had gathered in the lecture hall, seniors and juniors alike. the professor was setting up the papers, his usual stern expression softened by the anticipation in the room. the seniors were all whispering among themselves, and you couldn’t help but notice how mark sat just a little too still in his chair, his eyes occasionally glancing over at you.

the professor cleared his throat, signaling that it was time. "alright, y/n, mark — it’s your turn. please come up and present."

you stood up, your heart beating a little faster as you walked up to the front, your palms sweaty. mark was beside you, his presence oddly comforting, though you could feel the tension between you two. you weren’t sure what to expect, but you knew that something was about to change.

mark didn’t speak right away. instead, he took your project, carefully setting it down on the desk in front of the class. you watched as he stood behind it, adjusting his posture and looking around at the gathered group. for a moment, he seemed lost in thought, then he cleared his throat.

"before i present this," he began, his voice steady but with a certain softness that made you pause, "i think i should talk about something else."

your stomach dropped. what was he doing?

the professor, who had been prepared to listen to a formal presentation, now looked intrigued. "mark?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

mark’s gaze shifted to you for a moment, then back to the class. he was taking his time, choosing his words carefully."this is a story about someone i came to know. at first, i didn’t think much of it. she was just someone i worked with, just another student. but as time went on, i began to notice little things. the way she always smiled, even when she was exhausted. the way she laughed at things that most people would have ignored. the way she always tried to be better, even when she didn’t have to."

mark paused, and you felt your heart race as your eyes locked with his. his voice had a strange warmth to it, and the room seemed to hold its breath as he continued.

"i don’t know when it happened, exactly. it wasn’t a moment — it wasn’t like i suddenly realized. but i know that one day, i found myself thinking about her when she wasn’t around. and when i looked at her, it felt like i was seeing something… something that was more than just a person. it felt like i was seeing a world, a life. and i wanted to know more, to be close to her, to understand who she was."

mark looked at you then, his gaze soft and steady. "this person… she’s not just anyone. she’s someone who changed the way i see things, who made me realize what it means to care about someone. and i think, somewhere along the way, i realized… i was falling for her."

you felt your breath catch in your throat. 

he was talking about you.

there was a stunned silence in the room. even the professor looked taken aback for a moment, his mouth slightly agape. mark continued, the words flowing from him almost effortlessly.

"this might not be the most professional presentation," he said, his voice now more playful, "but it’s the truth. and i think… that’s the most important part of any story."

the professor, still recovering from the surprise, gave a small chuckle, but quickly regained his composure. "well, mark," he said, "that was… certainly unexpected. but if after all that, you don’t present the real work," he said, raising an eyebrow, "i’ll have no choice but to fail you. and your partner."

mark smiled, but you could see the playfulness in his eyes fade. "don’t worry," he said softly, "the real work is here." he turned, pulling the actual project from under the desk and placing it in front of you. "y/n, it’s all yours."

you couldn’t help but blush, your heart still racing from his words. the class was silent, the weight of what had just happened hanging in the air. mark’s confession had left an unexpected warmth in the room, and for a moment, it felt like everything had shifted. everything felt different.

the rest of the room buzzed with whispers, the air thick with the lingering tension. you felt the weight of the moment heavy in your chest, but you were frozen, unable to move. mark’s words had completely caught you off guard, and now, as he stood there, his usual confident demeanor had softened — there was a vulnerability in his posture, a quiet but undeniable sincerity in the way his eyes met yours.

for a second, everything felt out of place, like time had slowed down just for you two. your heart was pounding in your ears, and yet, there was a part of you that was oddly calm. 

this was real.

this moment, this confession — it wasn’t just a dream.

you glanced around the room, meeting the eyes of your classmates. some of them looked just as stunned as you, others had the tiniest smirk tugging at the corners of their lips, and the professor, still slightly in shock, was scribbling something on his notepad, probably to process what had just transpired.

mark cleared his throat, his eyes still on you, waiting for a response. but you were too overwhelmed to speak. you just looked at him, taking in the moment, trying to find the words that seemed to be stuck in your throat.

the warmth from his words, the honesty in his voice, left a tingling sensation in the air. but as much as you wanted to hold it together, the words he said, the way he looked at you — it was too much. the feelings you had buried so deep, the longing you had hidden, began to spill out uncontrollably.

your hands shook as the tears began to well up. you couldn’t stop them. they fell freely, a mix of relief, sadness, and love all at once. the room fell silent, everyone staring at you. and you knew. they all knew. but now it was your turn to finally say it out loud, to let go of the fear of rejection.

"i’ve always loved you, mark," you whispered, your voice shaky, barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "i’ve been in love with you for so long, thinking i was just some fool. but... i can’t hide it anymore."

you looked up, your vision blurry with tears, and there he was. mark, standing before you, a mixture of surprise and something softer in his eyes. he didn’t seem shocked, but there was something in his gaze that said he knew. it wasn’t a revelation to him — he had always known.

“i— i don’t know what to say, but... thank you,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “thank you for loving me all this time. for waiting. for staying. i... i had no idea. i didn’t want to admit it to myself.” he paused for a moment, stepping closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours. "but now... i get it. i’m starting to understand what i feel, and it’s... you. it’s always been you."

your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you thought you might fall apart. but mark’s steady presence kept you grounded. he was here, and he was saying things you had longed to hear for so long.

“i’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out,” he continued, his voice quiet but filled with so much emotion. "i’ve been... holding back. afraid. but now, i can’t hide it anymore. i like you. i like you so much. i’ve been trying to pretend it was something else, but it’s you. it’s always been you."

your heart raced, your chest tight, as his words sank in. this wasn’t just a confession from you anymore. it wasn’t just about what you had been feeling. mark felt the same way.

“thank you for loving me,” he whispered, his hand reaching out slowly to take yours. his fingers brushed over your skin, sending a wave of warmth through your body. “it’s my turn now, to love you back. for real.”

you blinked, a soft gasp escaping you, and the tears came again, this time in a different way. not from sadness, but from the overwhelming emotion of knowing that after all this time, mark was finally letting himself feel the same. finally.

“you don’t have to thank me,” you whispered, still trying to catch your breath, but your chest felt full, the emotions swirling inside you, making it impossible to think clearly. "i just needed you to know how i felt. i... i never thought you’d feel the same."

mark smiled softly, stepping closer until his chest was almost pressed against yours. “i do. i really do. and i’m not going anywhere. i want to be with you, if you’ll let me. no more hiding. no more pretending."

your heart soared as you looked at him, standing so close, his eyes full of honesty. you had waited so long for this, and now it was happening.

“i want that too,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "i want to be with you, mark. always."

mark nodded slowly, his hand resting gently on the side of your face, his thumb brushing away the last of your tears. "then let's not waste any more time," he said, his voice warm and soft, a promise in the words.

the world outside seemed to disappear as you stood there, together, finally on the same page. no more hiding, no more pretending. just the two of you, taking the first step toward what you both knew could be something real.

days passed, and the universe seemed to shift around you. mark and you were no longer just two people who shared silent glances and unsaid words. now, you were together, the air around you both full of something new, something beautiful. but not everyone understood it right away.

you and mark sat together in the cafeteria, just the two of you, laughing quietly. the others were around you, but it was as if the world had faded, and it was just the two of you in that small bubble. you could feel it—the connection, stronger than ever.

haechan, sitting across the table with jisung and jaemin, eyed you both with an exaggerated glance. his expression was a mix of disbelief and amusement. he leaned toward jaemin and sighed.

"i never thought i'd see mark being all... cheesy and love-struck like that," ahechan chuckled, nudging jaemin with his elbow. "i swear, he's practically glowing."

jaemin, who had been quietly observing, just shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "yeah, well, mark's always been that way when it comes to her," he muttered, already knowing what was coming. "took him long enough, though."

meanwhile, jisung, still looking grumpy about something, crossed his arms over his chest and shot a look at chenle. "you know what this means, right? i’m gonna have to give you 100,000 won now."

chenle grinned like he had won the lottery. "told you they'd get together eventually," he said with a teasing wink, clearly proud of his bet-winning skills.

jisung grumbled, staring at his half-eaten sandwich. "i hate you. i can’t believe i lost this bet."

"it’s not like you had much of a chance, anyway," chenle teased, laughing.

jaemin just sighed, shaking his head as if he already knew what was coming. "this was inevitable," he muttered under his breath. "mark was always going to fall for her. he just took his time."

you glanced at mark, your hand casually resting in his as you both shared a quiet smile. it was the kind of smile that said everything without saying a word.

renjun’s voice broke the moment. "so, when's the wedding?" he joked, but there was warmth in his eyes. "mark's acting like he's already head over heels. never thought i'd see the day."

mark’s cheeks flushed, but he squeezed your hand gently, his eyes soft. "i’m just taking my time with her," he said, his voice full of affection.

you laughed, your heart soaring. it felt right. this was real.

and though everyone around you may have teased and joked, you knew deep down that this was only the beginning. you and mark had found something special. something that, despite the slow burn, had bloomed into something beautiful and undeniable.

“so,” ahechan continued, looking at the two of you with a teasing grin, “when do we get to hear about your first official date?”

you turned to mark, your heart racing in your chest. "maybe you should wait for that one," you said with a wink, “but... it’s gonna be worth it.”

the group burst into laughter, and mark’s hand tightened around yours, his smile the brightest thing in the room. because no matter what anyone else said, you and mark had finally found each other, and nothing else mattered.

[prettymfwrites]

Paige x teammate reader please! I beg of you 😭😔

Yessss babes 🙏🏾 this was sitting in my drafts sorry ❤

---------------------------------------------------

💙 Paige Bueckers x Female Teammate!Reader Headcanons

(ft. UConn Team Shenanigans)

(Not proofread)

🥺 Protective Paige Mode™

Paige is usually calm and goofy, but the second someone fouls you too hard or gets in your face during practice or a game?

> "Back off, that’s my girl."

She’ll walk up slowly, real chill, and stare until the message is received.

You once got shoved hard going for a layup and Paige didn't even let the ref finish their call before she was checking if you were okay.

> "You good? Need me to handle her?"

Teammates joke that when you fall, Paige gets to you before the trainers.

---

📱 TikTok Addict x TikTok Hater

You are obsessed with TikTok. Paige? Not so much.

But she somehow ends up in all your videos... reluctantly.

You’ll catch her coming out the locker room and be like,

> “Okay babe do this dance with me, just the first part.”

Paige: “Baby I got on slides and no rhythm, don’t do this to me.”

One time you did a TikTok where she had to lip sync Megan Thee Stallion and she gave up halfway through and said:

> “Nah I can’t be sexy on camera like that, mama, my mom gon’ see this.”

Aaliyah, Nika, and Ice Brady are your hype squad. They love watching Paige get roped in.

> Aaliyah: "PAIGE did you just do the body roll?? Who ARE you??"

Paige: "I was held at gun point."

---

💘 Nickname Central

Paige lives off the nicknames. You never hear her say your government name unless it’s something serious.

> "Pass me the water, pretty."

"Yo babe, you left your slides in my locker again."

"You seen my charger, mama? You always take mine."

She’ll casually call you “baby” in front of the team and then act confused when they’re teasing.

> Nika: “Oop, baby??”

Paige: “What? I got a baby. Y’all just mad.”

---

🏀 Practice & Locker Room Moments

During scrimmages, Paige will purposely switch teams if you’re dominating too much just to guard you.

> "Nah nah, I got her. No one else touch her. This is personal now."

You once smacked her butt after hitting a shot on her and she dramatically flopped like she was fouled, yelling:

> “Ref! Domestic!”

Paige leaves little notes in your locker on game days like:

> “Go off, pretty. I got rebound duty today if you start missing.”

---

🛋 Lazy Days and Social Media Chaos

Y’all do “get ready with me” TikToks before team events. Paige is in the background struggling to pick an outfit while yelling:

> “Babe, do I wear the hoodie or the other hoodie?”

You: “Neither. You’re wearing the sweater I picked.”

If you post a photo where she thinks you look too good, she’s in the comments:

> “Delete this rn before they start in the comments.”

And then texts: “You tryna make me fight air?? 😤”

---

💤 Post-Game Snuggles

After games, Paige likes to lie on your chest while you scroll on your phone. She pretends she hates the TikToks but lowkey enjoys watching you laugh.

> “You’re cute when you laugh, baby. Don’t change the vid yet.”

---

🏀 Jealous Paige at Practice

The gym echoed with sneakers squeaking and laughter as practice scrimmage started heating up. You’d been matched up against Jaylin, one of the newer players on the team, and let’s just say… she was being a little too friendly.

You hit a nice step-back three right in her face, and Jaylin smiled, holding her hands up.

“Okayyy, I see you,” she said, tapping your waist lightly. “We got a shooter on our hands.”

You laughed, brushing it off, not noticing the way Paige paused mid-dribble on the other side of the court.

She blinked. Once. Twice.

“Yo Nika,” she said slowly, still watching Jaylin, “Switch with me real quick.”

“Why?”

“I’ma guard Y/N.”

“But I’m—”

“Nika.”

“…Got it.”

You raised an eyebrow as Paige jogged over, sliding in front of you with that calm-but-lowkey-murderous expression she gets when she’s annoyed.

“Hi babe,” you grinned, dribbling toward her.

“Hey pretty,” she said, stealing the ball clean. “You flirtin’ today or just hoopin’?”

You snorted. “What?”

“Just wondering,” Paige replied, way too casually, passing the ball behind her back to Aaliyah. “You and Jaylin got some chemistry I ain’t know about?”

You stepped closer, grinning. “Ohhh, is someone jealous?”

“Jealous?” she tilted her head with a smirk. “Nah, I just think people need to keep their hands to themselves unless they paying rent.”

Aaliyah hollered from the sideline.

“NOT THE RENT LINE.”

Jaylin raised her hands. “My bad, Bueckers! I was just playin’.”

Paige nodded, smiling tight. “Play somewhere else.”

You covered your mouth to stop from laughing and leaned into her. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but I’m your ridiculous.” She winked. “Now come on, mama. I’m not lettin’ you score again unless you say I’m your favorite teammate.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Say it.”

“…Fine. You’re my favorite.”

“Louder for Jaylin in the back.”

“PAIGE!”

[sylvieisoffline]

Steamy Interrogation

word count: 3k words

tags: 🔞 Explicit sexual content / NSFW (18+) MDNI! | Slight Gunplay (used as a prop)| Dubcon | Improper Use of Evol | Power Imbalance | Mild Objectification | Overstimulation

Please only consume what you can handle.

note: Aaaand I'm back with another Sylus fic! I swear I have the other LIs in my drafts, it's just that I'm so inspired doing Sylus' ones first haha. Have y'all seen Magnum Opus? It's soooo good and I'm so satisfied with how they gave us a peek into sylusmc's dynamic in a free 5-Star Card. Hope you enjoy this one and please let me know in the comments what you'd like to read from me next. divider by: @cafekitsune

You text Kieran after a particularly arduous mission, asking if you could use the hot tub on their penthouse again. You were already in front of the unit but insisted on waiting for his reply before you go in.

It had been a sort of an after-mission ritual. When after one mission had you very sore and your gym buddy / best friend Kieran started offering access to one of his brother's places. You were reluctant at first, initially overcome with embarrassment with the idea of taking baths on another person's place. Someone you haven't met moreso.

"My brother doesn't stay there anyway. He just bought the place 'cause it looked nice and wanted to have someplace to stay whenever he's here in Linkon—which he rarely does now by the way. Even Luke is sulking with how busy he's become that he doesn't even visit now."

You agreed then, asking him, like, ten more times after that even if he kept reassuring you that it was fine.

You were pulled back to reality when your phone pinged with a new notification.

“Sure, left the doors open. Make yourself at home ;)”

You thanked him, entering the unit and depositing your stuff on one of the couches. The place is quiet—sunlight slicing through the tall glass windows, steam already curling from the water’s surface. You strip without much thought and slip into the heat, letting it swallow the tension in your shoulders. After a while, you climb out and sit at the edge, towel draped lazily across your lap as you dry your hair.

That’s when you hear the bathroom door open.

Heavy, deliberate steps echo into the space, followed by the unmistakable sound of a safety catch clicking off.

“Don’t move.”

You freeze.

Your breath catches as you look up—and see him.

Not Kieran.

Someone else. Taller. Sharper.

Ruby eyes locked on you, gun aimed steady and unshaking.

“Who the hell are you?” “I—I thought this place was empty,” you stammer, arms instinctively tightening around your towel. “Hands where I can see them,” he says coldly.

You raise your arms slowly. The towel lifts with you, but slips slightly—your bare body catching in the low light.

His right eye glows as he's scrutinizing but his expression doesn’t change. You can't help but marvel at the sight.

You momentarily hope that he doesn't sense the ugly feeling other than fear simmering in your system after being entranced in his eyes like that.

“Drop it.” “What?” “The towel.”

You hesitate. But he doesn’t lower the gun.

Your fingers loosen, the towel falls in a soft heap by your feet. You stand there, completely bare under his gaze.

“Turn around,” he commands.

You swallow hard and obey.

Behind you, the silence stretches—then breaks.

You hear the rustling of clothes. Heard the sound of his belt being unbuckled. Something heavy hits the floor as goosebumps crawl through your skin.

You hear footsteps again—bare this time. He comes closer.

The cold press of the barrel nudges the small of your back.

“Move.”

You step forward, slowly, heart racing, body burning with both dread and something else.

He deliberately walks behind you, still holding the gun to the small of your back while nearing the tub. You hesitantly dip yourself back in the bubbling water and hear him follow suit.

The soft click of metal resounds in the bathroom as he sets the gun down on the ledge. Then, you hear something unfamiliar—an electric hum, faint and low. A red current crawls up your limbs before you can react.

You gasp.

Your wrists are yanked back behind you—locked in place. Your ankles drawn together, suspended in a precise tension as your body floats slightly above the water’s surface.

“What—what is this—?” “It's my evol, miss.” he murmurs, voice low and unreadable.

You struggle, but his Evol holds firm.

Then suddenly—he’s behind you.

You feel him.

The weight of his chest just barely grazing your back, his breath curling against your ear, and lower still—the unmistakable, thick heat resting against the dip of your ass, barely sheathed by the water. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t truly touched you, but your body reacts anyway—muscles twitching, skin hypersensitive, breath stuttering.

“You didn’t answer me,” he says, and this time, his hand grips your jaw, tilting your head just enough to expose your throat. “Let me ask again—why are you here?”

“I—I didn’t know—Kieran said—”

The second his name leaves your lips, the man scoffs.

“Kieran.” His voice dips, a bitter curl at the edge. “Of course.”

The tension in the air shifts—something sharper than suspicion settling between you.

He clicks his tongue, almost amused. His hand leaves your jaw, his breath brushing your neck as he trails his lips along your skin—just barely grazing, barely touching. Then, he parts his lips and nips.

A sharp little bite just beneath your ear.

You gasp, your hips twitching again despite how sensitive you already are.

“Still doesn’t explain why you’re here.” He breaths,“Why you’re shaking.”

Another nip—this time lower, right at the curve of your throat, then down along your collarbone. Each bite is purposeful, not deep enough to bruise but firm enough to sting just slightly, a wicked contrast to the warm water sloshing around your body.

His hands slide up, cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing lightly over your nipples before he skirts around to let his mouth follow. His teeth scrape one, then he sucks it into his mouth with slow, deliberate pressure.

You arch into him with a choked whimper, the mix of pain and heat making your thighs tense under the surface.

“Why you’re so fucking wet.”

Heat sears through you, your body betraying you with another twitch. Your lips part to deny it, but he’s already moved.

His tongue circles your nipple again, slow and wet, before he switches to the other. His Evol tugs your arms tighter behind your back, just enough to make your chest arch out toward him—putting everything on display, just how he wants it.

“Look at you,” he purrs, mouth trailing back up to your throat. “Bound, dripping, squirming…All from a little teasing.”

Another sharp bite at the side of your neck makes you moan, your head falling against his shoulder. He moves back to the spot behind you as he repositions your body to not sink further into the tub. He chuckles low in his chest, the water rippling as his hand disappears beneath the surface, his fingers ghosting over your folds—barely a touch, but enough to make you squirm.

One slow stroke.

Another.

You gasp, your knees buckling in the water, but the Evol keeps you suspended, helpless.

“Sensitive,” he notes, fingers teasing your bud. “How convenient.”

You barely register the meaning before his fingers press more firmly against you, slipping between your folds. You jolt. Your Evol-bound wrists twitch, but the restraints hold firm. His thumb brushes your clit, expertly timed with another push—your body jerking as sparks shoot up your spine. You cry out, unable to contain the sound this time, trembling violently in his grip.

“Interesting,” he muses, stroking once. Twice. A slow, torturous pace. “You’re not denying it.”

A humiliated moan leaves your throat, and he chuckles—a deep, quiet sound that makes your stomach twist.

“Too easy,” he murmurs. “Is that all it takes?”

A slow drag of his fingers up and down. Dipping inside, teasing at your entrance but not pushing in anymore. His thumb brushes your clit in the lightest touch, barely a graze, but it still sends a violent tremor through you.

You bite your lip, trying to stifle a moan.

“Don’t be shy now.” His free hand grips your chin, tilting your head back against his shoulder. “I want to hear you.”

He presses his thumb down fully this time, circling once—slow, precise, devastating. You scream, hips jerking into his touch, body desperate for friction.

“That’s better,” he murmurs, dragging his lips against the shell of your ear. “So desperate. Maybe I should just leave you like this. Struggling. Needy.”

The thought makes you whine. Your fingers flex uselessly, your ankles twitching against the unrelenting grip of his Evol.

“Or maybe,” he breathes, “I should push you a little further.”

You barely have time to process the words before he thrusts two fingers inside you.

A cry rips from your throat, your body clenching down instinctively around the sudden stretch.

He hums. “Tight.” Another stroke, deeper this time, his fingers curling just right. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”

You shake your head desperately. “N-no—”

“Liar.”

A sharp thrust. Another. His pace is still measured, still controlled, but every movement is meant to unravel you, to keep you right at the edge.

And it’s working.

Your thighs tremble, the pressure in your core winding tight, pleasure building so fast it’s nearly unbearable. Your breathing turns ragged, broken moans slipping past your lips.

“You gonna cum already?” he taunts, his fingers pressing deep, thumb rolling slow, teasing circles against your clit. “So quick. Is that all it takes?”

You shake your head again, but your body betrays you—the telltale tension coiling impossibly tight.

“Come for me.” His voice drops to a whisper, dark and commanding.

“Now.”

And you do.

Your body jerks violently against the restraints, waves of pleasure crashing over you as you convulse around his fingers.

But he doesn’t stop.

His fingers keep moving, prolonging every aftershock, pushing you straight into overstimulation. Your legs shake, another cry spilling from your lips.

"S-sir, 's too much. Pleas—"

“Too much?” he purrs, amused. “You sure?”

He finally withdraws his fingers—only to drag them up, pressing them against your lips.

“Open.”

You hesitate, but the look in his eyes leaves no room for refusal. You part your lips, your own taste spreading over your tongue as he pushes his fingers in.

“Good girl.”

Then—he shifts.

The water moves as he steps even closer, his Evol releasing your legs just enough for you to feel him lining up against you. You choke back a sob, realization dawning through the pleasure-drunk haze.

“You already took my fingers so well,” he breathes, his cock pressing against your entrance now, thick and hard. “Let’s see how much more you can handle."

When he finally presses himself against you again—thick, hard, ready—you’re already dripping around nothing.

“You’re going to take every inch,” he says lowly. “And you’re going to thank me for it.”

He pushes in slowly, deliberately. You dig your nails into your palms as you struggle to accomodate his girth, each inch more unbearable than the last. You moan, helpless under the flood of sensation.

Your entire body arches—mouth falling open in a silent scream as your walls stretch around him, the sudden intrusion overwhelming. He’s thick, hard, relentless from the first stroke, and your Evol-bound body can do nothing but take it.

Then he begins to move.

“Fuck—” His voice finally drops from its usual cool tone, his grip tightening on your waist. “So fucking tight.” he growls into your shoulder. “You’re taking me so well for someone who wasn’t expecting company.”

Slow at first—just enough for you to feel every ridge, every pulse. Then faster, deeper, brutal. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air again, water splashing around your bodies. Your voice is a blur of moans and gasps, lost in the sound of him fucking you like he owns you. Every thrust is deep, purposeful—like he’s trying to brand his shape inside you.

“That’s it,” he growls, hips snapping against yours. “Take it.”

Your mind is blank, fogged with the blinding edge of overstimulation. Pleasure coils violently in your belly—shame and ecstasy twined too tightly to separate. Your climax crashes over you before you can stop it, hips jerking in the water as you sob through it, Evol still locking you in place.

But he doesn’t stop.

If anything, he thrusts harder, riding out your orgasm only to build another. His hands grip your hips now, fingers digging bruises into your skin as he pistons into you, his pace brutal and fast.

“That’s it,” he growls. “Let go. Come for me again."

Your body locks around him, shaking with every thrust as he fucks you hard, water splashing around both of you as the pace builds again. Each slap of skin sends sparks through your body, and your climax slams into you harder than the first—violent, uncontrollable, teeth letting go of your lip as you scream.

But the man doesn’t let go. Not yet.

His grip is bruising on your waist as he thrusts through your orgasm, chasing his own release, panting now—low, guttural noises ripping from his throat until finally he drives into you one last time and groans, spilling into you, body tight with tension.

Your Evol restraints dissolve, and you slump forward, boneless and shaking. He catches you, pulls you against him, your bodies still half-submerged in the water.

But he’s not done.

You barely register movement until he lifts you—just enough to sit you on the edge of the tub, legs spread, dripping, glistening in the soft steam-lit glow.

“Don’t move.”

His tone is lower now, huskier. Almost reverent.

He kneels in the water between your thighs, hands parting you again, spreading you wide for him. You flinch from the contact, still sensitive—but that only makes him smirk.

“So soft,” he murmurs, fingers stroking your swollen folds before his tongue finally presses flat against you.

Your head drops back with a cry, the sudden rush of wet heat too much, too sharp. He licks slow, dragging the flat of his tongue up and over your clit in lazy, deliberate strokes.

You buck against him, fingers digging into the tiled edge of the tub, helpless to the fire blooming again in your core.

“Still sweet,” he mutters between licks. “Still twitching for me.”

His tongue circles your clit again, over and over, switching between soft teases and sudden hard flicks that make your thighs jerk and close around his head—until his Evol restrains you again, keeping your legs spread wide open for him.

He moans into you at the same time he presses two fingers back inside, tongue working in perfect rhythm, dragging you toward the edge again.

“Come on,” he growls against you. “Give it to me. Again.”

You don’t stand a chance.

You cum again, thighs shaking violently, your cries echoing in the steamy air, body collapsing into shudders as he licks you through every aftershock—until you’re a wrecked, panting mess above him, still twitching from the overstimulation.

Your body gives out the moment it’s over.

Every last drop of strength drains from your limbs—your mission fatigue, the emotional whiplash of being interrogated at gunpoint, the overwhelming pleasure wrung out of you in waves—it all crashes down at once.

You collapse into his arms.

His hands shift under your legs and behind your back, lifting you gently from the tub. You hear water dripping off you both as he carries you across the marble floor, steps unhurried, expression unreadable—but his hold is firm. Protective. Possessive.

He sets you down on a soft surface, kneeling beside you. He begins to wipe you down with a patience that doesn’t quite match his earlier ruthlessness. You flinch once, still sensitive, and his touch instantly softens.

He doesn’t say anything. But his eyes linger on every part of you he touches, watching the way your body reacts—memorizing you all over again, even now.

When he’s done, he scoops you up again, walks you into the bedroom, and lowers you onto his bed.

His sheets smell like him—amber, leather, gunmetal.

You barely register the soft rustle of fabric as he dresses you in one of his button-downs, sleeves swallowing your arms. He tucks the hem under your thighs and smooths it out over your belly. It’s oversized, but warm. Familiar.

He pulls the covers over you and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, lingering a moment.

He then leaves the room, shutting the door with a soft click.

In the living room, Sylus towels off, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a loose black shirt. His fingers run through his wet hair before he picks up his phone and dials.

The line rings once.

“What?” Kieran’s voice comes through groggy and irritable. “It’s late, man.”

“You didn’t think to tell me you've already met my Beloved?” Sylus says flatly.

There’s a pause. Then an incredulous laugh.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Sylus’ jaw clenches.

“The woman you’ve been letting use the penthouse. The one you’ve been hiding from me.”

“What? I wasn’t hiding—wait.” There’s a beat of silence. “You met her?”

“I did more than just meet her.”

“Sylus,” Kieran says, voice rising with panic. “What did you do?”

Sylus groans and rubs the bridge of his nose.

“What didn’t we do?”

There’s a choked sound on the other end of the line.

“Are you fucking serious?! You better not have hurt her or els—”

“Calm down,” Sylus cuts in, voice cool again. “If anyone’s ass needs to get handed back to them, it's yours—for letting strangers use my property without telling me.”

“She’s not a stranger,” Kieran snaps. “She’s the only one I’ve let use it. You’re lucky it was her and not, I don’t know, someone actually dangerous.”

“Hmph.” A rare hint of amusement glints in Sylus’ tone. “Then you’ve made your one good decision today.”

“Sylus—seriously, just…Be gentle with her, okay?”

“I always am,” he replies smoothly, ending the call before Kieran can protest further.

He returns to the bedroom quietly.

The lights are dim now, your breathing soft and even beneath the covers. He slips in behind you, sliding an arm around your waist and pulling you into his chest.

His nose brushes your slightly damp hair. He inhales deeply—like he’s grounding himself in the scent of you, the warmth of you in his bed.

You shift in your sleep, instinctively curling toward him. He smiles against your temple and presses a soft kiss there.

“We’re finally reunited,” he whispers. “My Beloved Sorceress.”

And he holds you tighter—like he never intends to let you go again.

© sylvieisoffline's original work | all rights reserved | translation, plagiarization, and copying is strictly prohibited

[ofbatsandballads]

Yay! I’m so glad you take requests. Feel free to decide if you want to write this or not, it’s fine either way :)

So, I was thinking about Jason dating civilian!reader, and her coming home all disheveled and horrified. Since she knows about him being Red Hood, she can confide in him. She had just killed someone for the first time, whether it was an accident, self defense or whatever, you decide.

I was just wondering how Jason would handle this situation since usually he’s the one doing the killing.

Thank you <3

oh, this is amazing food for thought. I actually think he’d be the very best person to come to in such a situation because he has experience with killing. who’s gonna understand you better than him? literally nobody. had something similar to this in my drafts but now my mind is whirling in a whole host of directions. excellent prompt, nonnie!

jason todd x f!reader. warnings include graphic depictions of violence and killing (in self defense), attempted and failed sexual assault, the aftermath of both events (reader’s in shock), hurt/comfort. this one’s got heavier subject matter so please do mind the warnings, folks. i did way too much research of the Gotham Knights map for this, but it’s my favorite depiction of the city so so be it. also reader and Jason live in the Belfry bc i said so (personal hc that i may or may not elaborate on some time). and one last thing! the romanized Arabic at the end is “حياتي ” which translates to “my life”. I love the idea that Jason picked up Arabic terms of endearment from Talia calling Bruce just about every one she could.

Jason wakes up to soft afternoon sunlight shining on his face. He grumbles out a gravelly hum and scrunches up his face in protest against being awakened when he was sleeping so nicely. He reaches out to find the comforting warmth of his beloved beside him, to pull you in and bury his face into your hair so he can hide from the morning for a bit longer.

All he finds are cold sheets and an empty pillow.

He bolts upright. Something’s wrong. You never, never wake up before him. He doesn’t even register the way that the sudden abundance of light stings his eyes. He takes stock of his surroundings, his training executing on autopilot. The open layout of the Belfry lets him get his bearings in seconds. He doesn’t see you anywhere from the bird’s eye view of your loft bedroom. There’s no smell of food in the kitchen nor any mess that would indicate you’d been working in there. The living room space, fully visible below, is empty too. The only enclosed space in your home, the bathroom that’s just around the corner from your bedroom, is dead quiet. No running water, no sweet singing, no familiar coughing from swallowed toothpaste. And without so much as leaving your bed, Jason’s already come to a conclusion that sends his heart pounding and dries his throat. You’re not here.

He’s up and grabbing the 9mm taped under your bedside table in the span of a few breaths. He moves through your home methodically, like he’s clearing one of Gotham’s criminal hideouts. There’s no sign of a struggle. Nothing’s been disturbed. He’s not surprised by this—barring Wayne Manor, the Belfry is the most secure building in Gotham. That’s precisely why Jason had moved you both here once you decided to live together. He checks the coffee table and sees that your phone and wallet are gone. A different type of fear takes over now. One that makes his heart ache. What if you’ve finally had enough, finally seen that he’s not good enough for you, not worth sticking around for? It makes him sick. He swallows hard and tries to clear the blistering thought from his head. No, that’s not you. You’re not cruel. You’re kind and gentle and loving. You wouldn’t hurt a fly. And you wouldn’t hurt him.

The sight of gears turning in his periphery catches his attention. He sees the cables pulling and the security panel go green, and he’s running to the elevator doors damn near ready to pry them open. He hastily tucks the 9mm into the waistband of his pajama pants, easily within reach if he needs it. Relief floods him when the huge metal doors grind open and he sees your pretty face on the other side. Then his heart drops when he realizes that that pretty face is scraped and splattered with blood.

Your hair is tangled and wet, dripping dirty water down your neck and staining the bright red of his your favorite hoodie. Your hands, which shake as they reach blindly towards him, are stained crimson and battered too. But it’s your eyes that haunt him. You look broken.

“Jay,” you croak out, unable to summon anything but a plea for the one person who can keep you safe.

The tears fall from your eyes at the same time that you collapse into Jason’s arms. He drags you inside and locks down the Belfry. Jason wants to panic but feels a strange sense of calm about himself. As loathe as he’d be to admit it, he finds himself falling into Bruce’s habit of assessment and action.

“Baby, what happened?” he asks, voice steady and assured.

You don’t even hear him. You’re digging your hands into his shirt, clinging on to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to Earth. He may very well be. He feels you going rigid and cold and he knows he has to get you stable before you descend further into shock.

“Listen to me,” he says firmly, adding on and enunciating your name for emphasis.

That sparks some semblance of lucidity. Jason hasn’t called you by your name in months, much preferring you be his baby or his sweetheart or his doll, or simply his. If it jars you back to reality, so be it.

“I need you to tell me what happened,” he demands gently.

It all pours out of you like a flood.

You’d woken up early by chance this afternoon. Normally you’d just close your eyes and snuggle closer to Jason to catch a couple more hours of sleep, but you wanted to do something nice for him. So you’d gotten up and gone to Lemay’s Flower Emporium in Gotham Heights. You’d bought him the prettiest bouquet of red and pink roses, so big that you had to hold on to it with both arms. The taxi ride from the Heights back to Coventry Station went fine. You were almost home. So close that you could see the clock tower where your heart was sleeping peacefully.

Then you stopped at Commerce Avenue Station. You just wanted to get him some pastries from the little bakery tucked away on 3rd Street that you both love. It was a decent walk; you knew that. You also knew that Jason wouldn’t want you to go out of your way by yourself. But it was morning and you were a grown woman and you could handle yourself, right? Well, that’s what you thought until a pair of hands clamped down on your shoulders and yanked you violently into a side alley.

Jason had prepared you for something like this. You’d spent countless evenings with him teaching you self defense techniques in the training area of your home. None of it mattered because the man that had you by the shoulders slammed you so hard into the brick wall that all your thoughts went hazy. Before you could regain your footing, you were shoved to the ground. The bitter sting of your palms scraping open pierced through the fog, as did the crushing weight of the vile man on top of you. Fear shot through you as the man started tugging at his belt and you realized that this wasn’t intended to be a mugging. You tried to scream but a grimy hand clamped over your mouth, hitting your head against the ground and soaking your hair in dirty rain water and blood.

Your eyes darted around in search of someone—anyone. But no one was coming. You felt fingernails scratch against your stomach as clammy hands curled into the waistband of your sweatpants and suddenly you saw your savior. A brick from the damaged alleyway laid within reach. You didn’t even think when you grabbed it, when you swung it as hard as you could into the side of the man’s head. The corner hit his temple and he crumbled to the side. You rose to your knees and hit the man again. And again. All you could remember were Jason’s firm instructions: if someone makes it a choice of you or them, you make sure that it’s you no matter what it takes.

“I don’t r-remember anything else,” you sob into his chest. “There was so much blood, Jason. And his head—oh, God.”

Jason shushes you gently. He holds you tight in his arms like he’s terrified that if he loosens his grip even slightly, you’ll fade away on him.

“Don’t think about it, baby. You did what you needed to do. You protected yourself. I’m so proud of you.”

“I killed someone, Jason. I killed someone.”

You look at him wide eyed—afraid, horrified, guilty. No. Jason won’t have that. You will not feel guilty over some lowlife scumbag who wanted to hurt you, who probably would have killed you. Jason can’t even stomach the thought. He wants to put a bullet into whatever’s left of that predator’s head. No, the only shame in you killing that man is that you got to him before Jason could.

“I need you to listen to me,” he says, repeats your name again for emphasis. “You. Did. Nothing. Wrong.”

“Someone’s dead because of me, Jay,” you argue, gripping him tighter as your panic rises.

“Baby, do you know how many people are dead because of me?” he asks. “Far, far more than I’d ever want you to know. Do you think I’m a monster, honey? That I did something wrong?”

He knows it’s an apples to oranges comparison. But you’ve used this same tactic on him so many times that he also knows it’s effective. Every time he demeans himself for something, you ask if he’d treat you the way he treats himself for the same thing. The answer is always no.

“No!” you reply emphatically. “You protect people. You do it to keep people safe.”

“You did it to keep yourself safe.”

“But—”

“No buts. Or ifs. No ands, either, just in case you get any ideas,” he says lightly, brushing a speck of blood off your cheekbone.

You smile at his stupid little comment and he feels the tension in his body release just slightly. As long as there’s light back in your eyes for even a moment, he knows that you’ll be okay. He picks you up, lets you cling your arms around his neck and bury your face in his chest as he carries you to the bathroom upstairs. He runs you a bath and, after asking repeatedly if you were okay with it, undresses you and washes the blood and grime from your body. He wraps you in a big fluffy towel, dries and brushes your hair, and tends to your injuries before he bundles you up in his comfiest hoodie and pajama pants. He soothes you when your tears make their return and never leaves your line of sight because he knows he makes you feel safe.

The thought gnaws at him throughout the day. It outright scalds him as he lies in bed with you after deciding to skip patrol. He’s failed you. Failed to protect you, failed to ensure nothing harms a hair on your head. He’s failed at taking care of you, the one thing that matters more to him than anything else. He’s seconds away from spiraling into self hatred when your sweet voice comes calling, soft and pleading.

“Jay…please stay with me,” you say softly.

Your eyes are clear and focused again. You squeeze his waist tight where your arms are wrapped around him, like you’re physically trying to anchor him in place in your bed. The look on your face says that you know exactly where his mind was headed. You see right through him. It makes him feel more vulnerable than anything else, and it surprises him how much he loves the feeling. And Jason, as always and for eternity, can’t bring himself to deny you. So he pulls himself together and shoves all his self loathing down. He can deal with it later—you need him more right now.

“I’m right here, hayati. Not goin’ anywhere, I promise.”

He kisses you gently and feels some of that self hatred wash away when you chase after him for more goodnight kisses. He feels it dissipate even more when you fall asleep in his arms with a soft smile on your face. It’s all but forgotten as he drifts off too, safe in the knowledge that you’re here with him, that he can feel your heart beating pressed tight against his own.

[princessbrunette]

thinking about Rafe bouncing his leg and bunny sitting on it bc it feels nice 🤭 love ur work, princess !

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

“hey, said you’d be still so be still, alright?”

rafe is stressed, and climbing all over him probably wasn’t helping — yet you were doing so anyway. the two of you reside in his office, the room that once belonged to his father, taken over by your buzz-haired boyfriend. he mulls over a load of documents with an email pulled up in front of him, one you couldn’t be bothered to read despite it being infront of you too.

you perch on his thigh, facing the same way as him as you swing your legs either side. you were bored, horny — and overall missing his attention, but for now this was the best you could get.

“i am being still.” you giggle, continuing to swing your legs. it was not in your nature to be bratty— and in your eyes you weren’t being bratty, simply playful. of course, rafe didnt see it that way.

“i wouldn’t play with me today okay — i— i wouldn’t. behave.” he warns, poking you in the back and with a pout, you actually obey him, sitting as still as humanely possible thinking it would earn you good girl points. you sit like this for what feels like maybe ten minutes, your boyfriend concentrated on the email in front of him as he drafts it — before soon he take a moment to read it back, leaning back in his seat, elbow rested on the arm of it rubbing his fingers over his lips in thought. from habit, the eldest cameron begins to jog his leg beneath you, pressing his thigh repeatedly between your legs.

leaning forward, your mouth gapes, letting the coarse fabric of his slacks beat lightly on your clit through your thin panties. you try and stay quiet, but you let a whine slip. he actually ignores it at first, too focused on reading the email, that is until you start humping on him just a little to match his bounces.

“jesus, can’t help yourself huh?” he mutters, still barely concentrated on you as his hands snake either side of you once more to continue typing on the keyboard, fixing a mistake.

“feels nice.” you moan and he huffs out a distracted scoff.

“you don’t say.” he continues to type until he’s satisfied before he turns his attention to you, leaning to the side so he can look at you properly. “alright. what’d you want?”

“daddy’s dick.” you groan, instinctually reaching back and pawing at his crotch without looking as you continue to roll your hips on his leg.

“cant have that. not— not right now anyway alright so… what, you happy to stay like this? humping on my thigh?” he raises his eyebrows, requiring a quick answer so he can get back to work. you wished he was giving you all of his attention, but you’d be lying if you said the way he was dismissing you wasn’t getting you off a little too.

“mhm. keep bouncing your leg, please.” you request politely, and without thought he continues before getting back to his work.

“alright. keep it down though, yeah? don’t make me take this belt off baby you won’t fuckin’ like it.”

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

[nerdsnuff]

KEI TSUKISHIMA BOYFRIEND HCS. gender neutral reader, fluff, no warnings.

icl i had fun with this also fun fact i wrote this before my drabble (which i linked in here LOL that one pointer was so good i had to write a whole moment for it) THIS IS AN OLD DRAFT

☽ SLOWBURN KING. it WILL take awhile for you to date him. but that’s okay, just don’t give up on him trust. will definitely deny his feelings for you… but he doesn’t mean it one bit! he just has a difficult time showing affection and being vulnerable at first. treat him nice even if he’s mean to you! seems unfair, sure, but honestly if you snap back he’ll learn where his place is. sooo don’t be too much of a pushover! he just likes getting under your skin cause he thinks it’s fun.

☽ a good way to woo him is to flatter him. yup! absolutely he’ll tell you to shut up when you compliment him, but his face gets all blushy, heheh. (you should make fun of him)

tsukishima blinks as he hears a compliment fall from your lips, telling him how cool and impressive he is, and how you can really see he’s getting super good! he clicks his tongue and looks away. “shut up” is all he can muster in a weak tone. even if you can’t see his face the tips of his ears are bright pink, making his embarrassment clear as day.

☽ yamaguchi is the best wingman and your guys’ biggest supporter! he knows tsukishima has feelings for you and would keep nagging him about it (much to his dismay)

☽ you’d most likely have to be the one to confess. going to yamaguchi for help is just a natural process honestly (GIGGLES)

he laughs a little as you clasp your hands together, begging him to PLEASE tell you how to actually attract this annoyingly hot blonde. “hey,” he starts, voice soft. “he already likes you, y’know? sorry to spoil that but—i just wanted to assure you! so whatever you do… and however you say it, it’d be good in his book, i’m sure!” he says this nervously, yet simultaneously remaining confident in his own words of advice.

☽ once you date it may take a bit to fully melt the ice. as i said, slowburn king. yes even until the beginning of the relationship. but don’t worry, he likes you so much. his pale skin is always pink around you! if you ever doubt it, the best thing to do is have a serious talk with him about it, it’ll help him lower his walls.

��� loves you a lot but shows it discreetly… holding fingertips, showing you random songs (cause they remind him of you), teasingly ruffling your hair, sharing stuff with you, etc.

☽ always smiles when talking to you. he only smiles around a very specific group of people and it’s also rare sight, but you always make him smile very often and very bright.

☽ of course he’ll share his headphones with you. and you know how it is, HEADPHONES OFF AROUND YOU! he’ll listen to everything you say.

☽ he gets his romantic advice from love songs. so he may be stupid sometimes in the romantic department.

☽ would love music recs from you. he might be picky with the genre, but has the will to try anything, no matter how heavy or slow. (…or bad)

“what the fuck is this?” he asks, a disgusted look on his face as you hold your stomach, dying from laughter. “‘my name is david’? these are the shittiest lyrics i’ve ever heard in my life turn this off” he says, scrabbling for your phone on the edge of the bed.

☽ MATCHING THINGS!!!! oh he looves that. the day he suddenly buys you matching charms you shat yourself a little. cause though he wont admit it, he likes enjoying and understanding the same things as the people he cares about.

☽ lowkey has trust issues sometimes, it’s not too big but it’s best to show him just how much you really can be counted on! DON’T EVER BREAK HIS TRUST. lying is a BIG NO. seriously…

☽ don’t judge him for his past when he tells it to you… dont downplay it, hed be upset. he knows it’s not too much of a big deal, but still, feeling betrayed by your idol feels tough, y’know?

☽ acts like he doesn’t wanna do shit but he does. he just has this stupid cool guy act. but once you get under that he’s a cutiepie

[23victoria]

snowboarding

ꨄ༊*·˚ pairings: f1 drivers x reader

₊✩°｡⋆ authors note: i think this is considered gender neutral but idk it’s a draft and it’s a drabble but lmk if i’m wrong! i hope you guys enjoy!!

ꨄ༊*·˚ synopsis: snowboarding with the f1 drivers and you have a little accident

₊✩°｡⋆ wanna be tagged in my works?! CLICK HERE!

ꨄ༊*·˚ F1 MASTERLIST

Lewis Hamilton

Lewis glides effortlessly down the slope while you, in contrast, move like a malfunctioning robot.

“Just relax,” he calls back. “You’re doing great!”

He shouldn’t have said that— because seconds later, you hit an uneven patch and face-plant.

Lewis stops so fast he sprays snow everywhere. “Babe? Babe?! Oh no— are you hurt?”

You roll onto your back, snow-covered but grinning. “I have become one with the mountain.”

Lewis lets out a relieved chuckle, covering his face. “Don’t do that to me, Y/N!” He flops into the snow next to you, laughing. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I know.”

He shakes his head with a grin. “Next time, let’s stick to sledding.”

Charles Leclerc

Charles is all confidence as he helps you strap in. “Just follow my lead, bebé. Nice and easy.”

Nice and easy, my ass.

The moment you push off, you gain too much speed and, before you can stop, go flying straight into a snowbank.

Charles nearly trips over himself rushing to you. “Babe! Are you hurt? Talk to me!”

But instead of replying, you burst into laughter, struggling to pull yourself out of the snow.

Charles blinks. “You— you’re laughing?”

You nod, still giggling uncontrollably. He sighs, relief washing over his face before he starts laughing too, shaking his head. “You scared me, you idiot.”

“But did I look cool before I crashed?” you ask.

He snorts. “No. You looked like Bambi on ice.”

Carlos Sainz

Carlos is patient, guiding you through the basics. “It’s all about balance, cariño.”

Balance, you repeat in your head. Balance.

Then the snowboard betrays you. One sharp turn and suddenly you’re tumbling, rolling down the slope like a snow-covered burrito.

Carlos skids to a stop beside you, wide-eyed. “Y/N?! Are you okay? Speak to me!”

You peek up at him, grinning through your snow-covered face. “I think I invented a new trick.”

Carlos sighs in relief, then throws his head back laughing. “Dios mío, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” He shakes his head. “But I will admit— that was quite a spectacular crash.”

“Thank you, I do my own stunts.”

Lando Norris

Lando is already filming, grinning. “Alright, first time on a snowboard. What could go wrong?”

Everything. Everything could go wrong.

You barely make it five feet before catching an edge and wiping out spectacularly, your legs flinging over your head before you land in a heap.

Lando stops recording. “Oh my god.” He rushes over, panic setting in. “Y/N? Are you alive?”

Your laughter bubbles up from the snow, and Lando groans in relief. “You scared the crap out of me!”

You wiggle your arms dramatically. “Still alive, unfortunately.”

Lando bursts into laughter, dropping beside you. “That was the funniest fall I’ve ever seen.”

“Did you get it on camera?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Post it.”

Oscar Piastri

Oscar stands at the top, eyeing you cautiously. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes! I’m a natural athlete.”

You immediately fall.

Oscar’s soul leaves his body as he rushes to you, sliding to a stop. “Y/N? Please tell me you’re okay.”

You open your eyes and just start laughing.

Oscar blinks. “You’re— you’re laughing?”

You nod, wiping snow from your face. “That was fun.”

He sighs, shaking his head before chuckling. “I thought you died for a second.”

“Not yet, but the day is young.”

Oscar groans, but he’s still smiling. “You’re unbelievable.”

Max Verstappen

Max watches you from the top of the slope, arms crossed, smirking. “You sure you don’t want a few practice runs first?” he asks.

You roll your eyes. “How hard can it be?”

Famous last words.

One second, you’re upright; the next, you’re airborne, limbs flailing like a ragdoll before face-planting into the snow.

Max sprints down, panic in his eyes. “Y/N?! Are you okay?” He drops to his knees beside you, but instead of groaning in pain, you’re wheezing with laughter, unable to breathe.

Max stares for a moment before shaking his head, chuckling. “You absolute idiot,” he mutters, flopping onto the snow next to you, laughing. “You looked like a falling pancake.”

“A pancake?” you gasp between laughs.

“Yeah, a very uncoordinated one.”

ꨄ taglist! : @ham1lton @ietss @animeandf1lover @nelly187 @heartsfromtaeyong @bloodyymaryyy @nor-4 @zacian117 @mel164 @uhhvictoria @hadidsworld @zabwlky1999 @sya-skies @lillysbigwilly @avengers-assemble123456 @santanasaintmendes @km-23mr @hookhausenschips @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @Ronpho @minekarina @aeongism @Formula1-motogpfa @slagclarens @aleexvqa @f1updates4you @booksandflowrs @chaostudee @winkev1 @strawblueberrys @Blakesbearblog @cel-b @perfumejamal @aykxz98 @pandora-08 @teti-menchon0604 @bxtosa @fadingcloudballoon @whatevenisthisxxxxx @anamiad00msday @luula @tellybearryyyy @exotic-iris13 @magixpracticality @eoduuung @eternoangel @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @flowerpetalk @oledoledoffen @jimcarreyfann42 @revolutionsingingintherain @acesbakery @oliviah-25 @matcha—-matcha @unkownmystery_22 @sophienorris18-blog @armystay89 @paucubarsisimp

[biteyoubiteme]

mango flavored.

yeonjun x fem!reader

synopsis: yeonjun and you work at rival companies and he’s always looking for a way to prove you wrong.

warnings: 🔞!!! yeonjun and reader pick on each other, rivals to lovers, mentions of fingering, unprotected sex, pull out method used, choking (f!rec), handjob, mirror sex, prob forgot some sorry

wc: 3.1k

an: posting early because I can't keep anything in my drafts thats done and if I look at it too much I wont like it. also this one kinda got away from me it was supposed to be hate sex but I don't think it really turned out like that lol so sorry about that and also more rivals to lover and not enemies to lovers ;-; forgive me pls feedback is appreciated :)) [m.list]

this is apart of my mini kinktober event check out the other fics here! [dumdum m.list]

It had only been a summer since you had last seen yeonjun and you would have been better if it had been longer. Even just thinking of the last event the two of you had attended together made your blood boil. both of you sneering at each other waiting for your cars, “I mean the numbers aren't looking too hot for you, down two percent in just the last quarter,” 

you had rolled your eyes arms crossed as you cursed the valet for being so slow, “well some of us don’t fudge the numbers to make our company look good,” 

his scoff was stone cold, “If you think- no I'm not even going to tolerate that accusation,” his hands shoved deep into his pockets, jaw tight. 

“Then don’t start with me,” you had fallen into silence, both of you having fought all night. Every time you tried to rub elbows with another firm, Yeonjun was right at your side trying to wedge himself into the conversation, to steal anyone away who was willing to talk to you. 

This late after the event you couldn’t think of anything better than going home as soon as possible and yet your car still wasn’t here; Neither was his. 

“I'm so sorry for the inconvenience but it seems there is a problem with one of our cars,” the valet states, their hands folded apologetically in front of them, “we only have the one left unless you’re willing to wait forty minutes. We did check the routes and both of you seem to live on the same street and if you’re willing-“ 

“no,” you start at the same time yeonjun says, “That’s fine,” 

“I don’t think I’d be able to survive a car ride with you, you’d take up all the air,” the valet looked mildly uncomfortable as yeonjun and you stared each other down. 

“well if you’re willing to wait then by all means don’t let me stop you,” 

"I am not waiting,” you would call someone before you let yeonjun watch you stand here in his rearview mirror feeling like he won the night. 

“Well I’m not waiting so suck it up,” you huff a humorless laugh at the way he waves you away. “we will take the car it's fine,” 

“We will compensate you both for the inconvenience we are so so sorry,” the valet apologizes wanting to be done with the situation.

“it’s okay we’re friends,” his cocky grin adds to your annoyance. 

“the day i’m friends with you is the day you’re sucking up to me after my company absorbs yours,” 

“Please we both know it will be the other way around,” 

you don’t even try to fight back, you're too tired from the day ready to get the ride over with so that you can cozy up in your apartment and think about anything else besides yeonjun. For the short car ride you could play nice. You didn’t even say anything when he was quick to get Into the car first. Both of your companies always rented out the same car place after events that had drinking involved. The sleek blacked-out suvs provided layers of privacy from the outside in. The divider separating the front and back seat when closed made the back seat seem like you were truly secluded, important calls could be made without the driver hearing so long as you made sure the window was closed. The driver wasn’t able to see into the back unless it was open. It wasn’t an ideal place to be seated next to someone you didn’t like. 

“The pavilion is first for drop off. Does that work for you two?” the driver asks both of you nodding as he closes the divider leaving the two of you in complete silence. 

“When did you move into the pavilion? If I had known we were neighbors I would have sent a basket of something,"Yeonjun asks, sitting back and getting comfortable for the drive, his legs spread knee knocking yours. 

“Only a month ago so if you’re still handing out gifts i’d like you to keep it so I’m not indebted to you in any way,” 

“I’ve seen the penthouse layout the place is huge you couldn’t possibly be sharing that whole space alone,” 

“if that is some way of asking me if I have a partner-“  

he cuts you off. “I was asking if you were going home to anyone or your vibrator because someone or something needs to work out the tension the stick up your ass gave you,” 

“you’re a fucking dick,” you roll your eyes 

“I’m just saying only uptight people don’t get laid maybe that’s your problem, you haven’t gotten off,”

“If you’re suggesting it be you to do it I’d rather go with the vibrator. i’m sure all the girls who find themselves in your bed fake it only because they don’t want to bruise your ego,” 

he laughs, “If you think I can’t get a girl off-“

“I would bet money, pretty boys like you don’t work too hard in the bedroom besides maybe a little nipple play but that’s only if you’re a boob guy,” 

“I’ll prove it,” 

Now you’re laughing, hand over your mouth to try and catch the sound but it keeps bubbling up, “What?” 

“I’ll prove it,” he repeats, shrugging like it’s nothing at all.

“Okay prove it then,” and he was digging in his pocket and pulling out his wallet. He pushed open the divider and told the driver to do a couple laps around the street leaving him a few bills before shutting the two of you back into your bubble. 

You’ve never confessed to anyone what happened in the back of that car. Not even when you were a few drinks in with your friends and they giggled about their best orgasms. You kept your mouth shut and prayed you would never stumble across yeonjun again. 

It was hard to admit he was right. Even just thinking about the way he looked as you got out of the backseat, that grin so devilish before he licked your wetness clean from his fingers. You had egged him on and now you found it impossible to cum without thinking about the way he completely shattered your world. His breathy voice pressed right to your ear, “I want to hear you, I want to know just how good I’m making you feel,” how when you moaned he praised you, every “good girl,” adding to the build-up to your climax. Only now can you look back and hate on the moment because that was exactly what it was; a moment you desperately wanted to forget. No man, not even yeonjun deserved to have that moment hanging over your head. 

It was only the next day when someone in your company brought up his name and you hated how you felt yourself ache in remembrance. How even a week later you tried to sleep with someone else and they failed miserably to get you anywhere close to what yeonjun made you feel. At least not until you started to imagine it was him on top of you. Just that confession itself was enough to make you believe he ruined your life. It was always a good day when you could successfully push away that night from your memory. Then it was nighttime and flickers of that car ride flashed in your mind. Even your own hand down the front of your shorts couldn’t satisfy the craving. 

Anyone else and it would have been fine even if they were all you could think about but with yeonjun, he was the only competition you had at any other company in your field or at least a competitor that actually made your job worth the effort. If he wasn't there to beat there wasn't much to the day-to-day monotony. If anything it was annoying that he one upped you in something where the playing field was so uneven, if you wanted to match the score you would have to return the orgasm and speak about the fact that he had won in the first place. But you wouldn't be the one to bring it up even if the thought of sucking him off made your mouth water. 

For the past few events your companies have participated in you've missed meeting each other at least face on. Any across the room glances were quickly avoided; neither of you looking out for the other. Even this late into the night with so many people already leaving you've yet to stumble across yeonjun. The event hall was loosely filled with people waiting for cars instead of making their way outside to wait, the early fall breeze already setting in. Everyone you've needed to impress tonight is gone giving you the excuse to sit at the bar without worrying people hovering. 

Stirring your drink you watch the way the ice clinks against the glass, the faint music covering up the sound of yeonjun sitting down on the leather stool next to yours.

“Are you avoiding me?” the question just on the edge of teasing. You don’t even have to look up to know he’s smirking.

“no,” but even if the one word comes out confident, your pulse is hammering. 

“hum, you know for a second my feelings were a little hurt but then I thought about how embarrassed you must feel,” 

you finally turn to look at him, his suit tie undone and hanging loosely around his neck, hair uncut since the last time you saw him this close. “Embarrassed? In all the updated stats I've widened the margins between us. you should be embarrassed,” 

“my mind has just been so preoccupied thinking about how embarrassing it would be to cum in under three minutes,” 

all the blood rushes to your face, not because it’s anything to be embarrassed about but because it’s brought the image right back to you. Your nails digging into his forearm, knees trying to press together as you came. His lips right against your ear, that breathy, ‘look at that,’ still haunts your dreams. and it wasn't only once, he kept going, the heel of his palm pressed right against your clit, ‘too easy I'm sure I could get two more out of you,’ 

it’s like he can see right into your mind, follow the scene like a script he had memorized. “Just like I said that night, I hate you,” you toss your drink back, not even bothering to push in your seat when you stand. 

“Nooo, don't go now,” he chuckles and you roll your eyes. He’s matching you step for step making sure not to leave you alone. 

“my cars out front,” you lie not caring that you can see the exit and clearly empty parking lot. 

“Perfect I needed a ride and you look like the perfect one to do it,” 

you can’t help but laugh, stopping in your tracks making him bump into you, “as if I would put in that much effort to please you,” 

“I'd just let you use me,” he shoves his hands into his pockets, “I'm sure you would get a kick out of that,” 

“if you want to sleep with me you'd have to do all the work but if you thought I came ‘embarrassingly’ quick,” you roll your eyes “I'd hate to think about how long you would last,” 

“If I want to sleep with you? So it’s my choice?” his brows raised lips teasing a small grin. 

“I don’t think it would go well,” you’re stalling trying to think of every reason why it was a bad idea to sleep with him. If he had already ruined sex for you without trying if he did put in the effort you’re sure you would never be able to look back. You wanted him, needed him, and yet he was the worst possible option in terms of survival. You would never get over him. 

“I can last, I can even prove it,” your eyes go to his lips, watching the way his tongue peeks out to wet them. 

“We shouldn’t,” 

“I didn’t ask if we should I offered to prove you wrong or if you’re lucky prove you right then you could hold it over me,” 

he wanted you desperately to say yes, knew he shouldn’t, and still couldn’t help himself. His memories of that night did little to satisfy him anymore, he needed the real thing. Every night since he could hear the way you whimpered, craved to feel you clenching his fingers again. 

“Fine, prove it,” and you don’t think he actually will, not here at least but he’s grabbing your hand leading you to the furthest bathroom in the building. 

You hardly have time to process what's happening between the twist of the lock and his mouth on yours. "We shouldn't be doing this," you mutter breathlessly between kisses.

“then tell me to stop, tell me to leave you alone," but his words meant nothing to you as your hands worked on his belt. His lips trailing down your jaw, teeth scratching down your neck. 

The restroom is a single stall with little space for two to move around much, and the mirror and sink are right in front of the door. You can see yourself in the reflection pressed against the door, yeonjun sloppily kissing over your pulse. When you slip your hand into his pants, fisting his hardening cock. His moan is pressed right against your collarbone, his hand pressed right next to your head using the door to steady himself. You can feel precum starting to bead up and you swipe it up with your thumb. You give a few loose tugs watching the way he reacts, his lashes fluttering as you circle your fingers over his tip. 

“Now look at that, you really do know how to be quiet. Who knew this was all it took,” you tease free hand reaching up to pull on his tie. His head dips until his nose is brushing yours, mouth open in a silent gasp. 

His free hand slips right past your waistband, slim fingers finding your clit with ease. Your hand tightens on his tie and he gives a throaty chuckle at your gasp, your brows coming together as you try not to make any more sounds. 

“no, I told you last time I wanted to hear you, I need to hear you,” his precise circles on your clit give him exactly what he wants, and you’re unable to keep your whimpers to yourself. He is no better off with his hips bucking forward into your hand, every little noise of his caught on your lips. If you kept up the pace you were at he definitely wouldn't last long, every brush over his sensitive tip was making his knees want to fold. 

yeonjun had dreamed about his fingers slipping through your slick again, tasting you, even watching you slam the door as you left; his laugh mixing in with your flustered i hate you. he went through every event fighting the images of that night. But tonight was enough to break him with you dressed in the same skirt you wore then, the fabric smoothed down right over your ass. He wasn’t strong enough to turn away. 

Pulling his hand away from the door he reached down to stop your movements needing a fighting chance to last. 

“I wanna feel you cum on my cock, do you think you can take it?” and you’re nodding following him to the sink. 

The two of you in the mirror look disheveled, lips slightly swollen from the kissing. “I’m kinda glad we don’t work together because I don’t know how I would get work done sitting across from someone this distracting,” his hand slides down the back of your thigh before he lifts your leg. with one hand bracing yourself on the countertop your other goes to the back of your knee to keep it in place while he pushes your panties to the side. 

yeonjun wastes no time in running the head of his cock through your folds, taking the time to slap his tip on your clit making you jerk back against him. “if you don’t-“ but you’re cut off by the stretch of taking him in even an inch, your words caught in your throat as he watches your reaction in the mirror. 

“hum? What was that?” he asks with a cocky grin looking right back at you, his hands wrapping around your waist, as he pushes all the way in. 

The angle has him pressed deep inside you, far enough to make your thighs shake.  your head falls forward as he starts to thrust, hips knocking against yours pushing you further to the countertop. “fuck- you feel so good,” 

The praise makes you clench around him, his moan echoing in the small space. He pulls out almost all the way before snapping his hips back against you the force sends you down to your elbow. 

yeonjun wants to see your face, needs to see the way you come undone for him again. Taking one of his hands he loosely wraps it around your throat guiding you back up to lean against his chest. “Look at us, look at the way you’re taking my cock, don’t we look good together?” his mouth is right next to your ear as he asks, his fingers tightening enough to feel every vibration from your moans. 

“Are you going to cum for me? I wanna feel it,” the hand on your hip goes to your clit helping the build up of your climax. You can’t even form words to reply before you’re falling over the edge. 

yeonjun has to slow his pace as you cum, your gummy walls sucking him in as he helps you ride out your high. He has to drop his hand from around your throat when he pulls out giving the last few tugs on his cock before he spills hot streams of cum on the back of your skirt. 

“I think I won,” he smiles, watching you stand up straight catching each other's gaze in the mirror after you’ve come down for your highs. 

Although you know he’s right you roll your eyes turning your hip so that he can see the mess he’s made. “this was one of my good skirts,” 

“Whatever,” he shrugs, hand coming back up to your neck and tugging your mouth to his kissing you sweetly like he hadn’t just rearranged your organs. “just bill me for the dry cleaning, and next time i’ll just make sure I get you nice and full so you won’t complain,”

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