#tried to fix it and only made things Worse somehow

[squisheebugdoodles]

technology is trying to gaslight me tonight i swear to fuck

[alexiroflife]

"tears"

fluff for the sukuna fans bc i've been in a soft sukuna mood

ryomen sukuna x reader

Synopsis: sukuna isn't a stranger to arguments with you, but when he catches you crying after a particularly harsh one, he finds himself scrambling to fix it... in his own way

to sum it up: sukuna is an asshole but he loves you, so he tries his best

WC: 3,296

Warning(s): a lil angst

You knew exactly what you were getting into when you first started a relationship with the infamous king of curses, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less when his tendency to be an asshole hurt your feelings. 

You know Sukuna isn’t a sentimental person who cares much for things like verbal reassurance, or consideration for the way the things he says can impact you, or anyone for that matter, but damn! Sometimes, he’s just too much of a jerk for you to handle, and Sukuna himself has no idea why your fragile human emotions sway you to be so affected by him. He doesn’t even think he’s said anything wrong the times in which you grow angry with him.

Now, Sukuna can handle your anger. Anger is good. Anger means that there is something he can react to, something he can tame or involve into your intimacies when he takes your mind off of silly arguments or subdues your attitude over what he deems to be small inconveniences. Anger is the only human emotion that he has felt himself in his many years of existence, so he knows what to expect. He understands it. He’s not, in the slightest, intimidated by it.

But what Sukuna finds he can not handle is the sound of your sniffles that resound from behind your door after you’ve just slammed it into his face. Sukuna angles his brows, pressing his ear to the door in confusion. Are you… cold? Coming down with a fever? What the hell are you sniffing your nose so much for?

Then he hears the meek gasps that intercept, the vocalization of pain that creeps into your weakened inhalations that accompany your damned sniffling. That’s when he realizes that you’re crying, and his pupils shrink slightly knowing that he has gone a little too far this time. 

Hell, how is he supposed to handle you crying? He can’t fuck your sadness away like he can with your irritation. He can’t mirror your sadness, since he has no clue what the hell it’s supposed to feel like. He can’t empathize with it either, for he has no idea what he could have done to bring tears to your eyes and empathy, well, it’s not in his vocabulary to begin with. It’s pathetic, he thinks, the way you have allowed him to bother you this much…

Yet it kills him to know that he’s the reason behind your tears.

He stands there for some time, unsure of what to do. Should he get Uraume to handle this? No, that may make things worse. You may want to be alone.

He turns to leave, but something stops him. He feels an ache in his chest, pressing his hand to his bicep. What the hell? What is this feeling?

He can still hear you crying, and somehow, it sounds like it’s getting worse, louder, or perhaps that is all in his head. He can no longer tell, but that sound you’re making is the only thing occupying his mind, and it’s ruining him. It’s making his chest tighten, his brow furrow, his lips press together tightly. He should leave, but he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to abandon you like this. 

Never once in his life has Sukuna felt remorse. Not even for all the times he has made you angry in the past when you two have had arguments. He is so quick to blame your reactions to things on your feeble human emotions. He is so quick to evade responsibility, or more so, refrain from guilting himself over the things he is responsible for. He is so quick to dismiss you, but it’s always fine because he has never witnessed you grow sad over his behavior, not until now.

Sukuna turns back to your door slowly. His hand flies to grab the handle to throw the door open, but he hesitates. He’s unsure of what’s happening to him, for he’s never hesitated before in his life. This, you crying, him second guessing himself, it’s all so new and he hates it. He needs to fix this immediately. 

What do you humans like when you are upset? There’s a word that’s slipping his mind, one he always hears you pester him for but turns down repeatedly. He had found the concept so irrelevant that he hadn’t even bothered to recall what it’s called.

He crosses his arms and stares ahead harshly in thought, then it comes to him. An apology! Yes, that’s what it is. But of course, you can’t expect him to verbalize such a thing. You must want something as a gift. A physical representation of his desire not to see you cry. He rushes off to locate Uraume for preparations.

About an hour later, you’re curled up on your bed and facing the wall with a blank stare. Your tears stopped a while ago, and since you hadn’t heard from Sukuna, you assumed he just didn’t care about your feelings. Like always.

“Oi,” a gruff voice through the door startles you. You jump and turn over, curling your brows in confusion at the sound of Sukuna’s voice. For a moment, you don’t believe he is speaking to you, so you wait some time to see if he will speak again. “I know you can hear me in there,” his voice sounds again, and you groan.

“Go away,” you tell him, flipping back over.

Sukuna, on the other side of the wall, clicks his tongue in agitation. “Quit your pouting and come open this door.”

“No. Until you learn how to treat me better, I don’t want to see you.”

Treat you better? Sukuna doesn’t understand this nonsense. You live in his large estate, you’re pampered by servants, showered with gifts and homemade meals, you sleep by his side every night, and he allows you to disrespect him far more often than he should. Not to mention, he has his arms full of presents at this very moment that are preventing him from opening the door himself. How can he possibly treat you any better than he’s already treating you?

He growls lowly and closes his eyes in irritation. “If you open the door, your mood will improve.”

“I don’t want anything other than what I just said.”

Sukuna’s eye twitches. Why are you so damn difficult? “What is your-”

“Go. Away.”

Oh. Alright, then. 

You sit up abruptly when Sukuna’s foot breaks in the door with a loud crash. You stare with wide eyes, the door, now off its hinge, creaking open weakly to reveal the king of curses with his arms full of several bouquets of flowers.

“What the fuck, Sukuna?!” you cry. He only stares frustratedly as he walks into the space univinted.

“This was going to go on for too long if I hadn’t done something,” he says, approaching the side of your bed.

“You can’t just- fuck! What is wrong with you?”

Okay… this is already going poorly. 

This is not the reaction he had desired from you, and perhaps he should have revisited the idea of kicking in the door, but he had been growing impatient. Despite his big talk, he doesn’t like when you speak to him in such a cold way. He doesn’t like being separated from you. He doesn’t like not being able to see your face, and after all the work he has just done to collect these plants for you, he can not tolerate being turned away. 

“Must you be so dramatic?” he tsks. “Do you not see what I have brought to you? Don’t you humans like these things?”

You stare at him incredulously, mouth agape. Sukuna can see the tear stains clear on your face, and his heart clenches again. God, why is that sight so abominable? 

He holds his arms out, presenting the flowers to you as if you could have possibly missed them. “They are yours. Take them and be done with this.”

“Be done with what, Sukuna?” you shake your head, face scrunched.

“With your tantrum- your tears, and the sniffles. Be done with them now. Here.”

You scoff. “Do you even know why you're giving these to me?”

Sukuna raises a brow. “To cease your tantrum. As I just said.”

“I can’t with you sometimes, Sukuna. Honestly.” 

“This is really the thanks that I get for bringing you these damn flowers? I thought you were supposed to like things like this. Why would you make me waste my time?”

“If you think it’s a fucking waste of time to bring me flowers, then there’s your problem right there,” you raise your voice, pointing at him accusingly. Sukuna’s face hardens. He thinks you’re getting angry again, but he can still see the sadness behind your eyes. You look almost… defeated. “And if you knew me at all, you’d know that I never cared about any of that stuff. I never cared about the flashiness or the gifts or whatever the fuck.”

Sukuna lowers his hands, letting the bouquets drop carelessly to the floor. “Now you are accusing me of not knowing you?” he seethes. “I’m not sure when you decided that it was acceptable for you to speak to me this way, but I will not tolerate it. I do nothing but dote on you, you ungrateful brat.”

“Yeah, sure, you dote on me, and then you turn around and berate me and call everything I feel stupid because you don’t care to even try to understand why some of the things you say are not okay!”

Sukuna walks closer to invade your personal space, leaning in to glare angrily at you as you do the same. This is what he knows. This is what he chooses to respond to. Not the curl in your brow, not the tremble of your lips, not the unsteadiness of your voice, but your anger. “Why should I care if all you do is whine,” he grumbles. 

You clamp your mouth shut as a lump forms in your throat. Sukuna watches you unravel before him, and while he tries to keep an unmoved expression, he is internally panicking when he sees your eyes gloss over again and your nose flare. 

Shit. He’s supposed to be making you feel better. How has he gone and made things worse again? Why is he incapable of understanding how to be what you want him to be?

You take in a trembling inhale as your hands clench and unclench at your sides. You don’t want him to see you cry. You don’t want him to call you weak, but you can’t help the tear that breaks past your lashes and dashes down your cheek, a physical display of your heartache. 

Sukuna’s crimson eyes fly to the tear, and his brows smooth out against his intent. 

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You’re crying again, and it’s his fault. It’s always been his fault. What is this now that he’s feeling? Regret? Shame? Is that what is clawing at his chest and stripping him of his resolve? Making him wish to replay this entire interaction so that you do not appear before him with tears in your eyes once more? Is this what it is to fall? 

You rub angrily at your eyes and huff, turning away from him and plopping back down on your bed, back facing him. You shut yourself away, close yourself off, and deprive Sukuna of your pretty face for the second time today. “Just leave me alone. You’ve made it perfectly clear that you don’t give a fuck about me or anything, for that matter.”

Sukuna’s eyes widen slightly with the deepening of his frown. That ache he has felt in his chest spreads throughout his body, serving as tension in his back, head, and shoulders. You think he doesn’t care for you? What nonsense. You’re the only being on this planet who has made a millennia of existence worth living, and you think he doesn’t care?

Sukuna can not even pin the blame onto you this time around. He can not accuse you of overreacting, nor can he evade such a thing that is so clearly his doing. He has made you feel uncared for, and while his temper may get out of hand, and his inability to fully comprehend the plagues of the human mind gets in the way, and he never tells you that he loves you, making you feel unloved is the last thing he ever meant to do. 

“Hey,” he mumbles, but you do not move. You cling to yourself for comfort because you do not believe he can provide any for you. “Brat-” he starts, but rethinks. He reaches his hand out to you. “(Y/n). Enough of this.”

“I don’t want to see you right now, Sukuna. Can’t you respect at least that for once?” you croak. 

His hand freezes and he lets it fall. Respect. Understanding. That is what you want from him, and he has not been giving it to you. He has not been giving you anything that you request of him emotionally, for that matter. He has been neglecting your mental needs whilst overpowering you with the physical, and it’s drawn you away from him. 

He could force you to get up. He could drag you by your hair to his bedroom. He could make you look him in the eye, make you stay with him, make you stay silent about this from this point on and forever more. Sukuna has the power and the authority to do so…

But the idea is not appealing. Not in the slightest.

Sukuna wants you happy. He wants you to want to be with him willingly, and if he ignores your consent now of all times, it would be like throwing away the life he has built with you. Throwing away your desires, and Sukuna does not long for a world in which you are any more uncomfortable than you already are. 

He takes a step back, looking over the flowers that he has dropped, and accepts the will of the mortal he fell in love with. 

“I will be in my chambers if or whenever you wish to see me,” he says lowly, giving in. He moves to leave but stops himself once more. He never had stopped himself this much before. “...I apologize for making you cry. I will send someone to fix your door immediately.”

Sukuna is well on his way when he hears you shuffling behind him. He turns, admittedly hopeful for your reaction, and finds you peeking in confusion over your shoulder. “...What did you just say?” you whisper.

The king of curses stalls, looking directly into your eyes from across the room. He feels suddenly… weak. Vulnerable. For the first time, he has relented his power for you to take hold of, and it feels strange to say the very least. “Do you wish for me to repeat myself?”

You sit up slowly, turning around. You knuckle at your red nose, watching him suspiciously. “I do. I may have misheard you.”

He studies you for a moment until he realizes that you are being facetious. “You heard me the first time.”

“Maybe I just want you to say it again.”

Sukuna sighs heavily. “I did not intend to make you cry, nor did I intend to make you feel as though I do not care for you. That is a foolish thought, but I understand I do not convey the depth of my feelings for you the way you wish me to convey it.”

You look dumbfounded as you stare at him in silence. Sukuna clicks his tongue, unsure of how you are going to respond. 

“Quit staring at me and say something, woman.”

“I just… never thought…” you trail off, swallowing harshly. “I never thought you would ever say something like that to me.”

“You will only hear me say such things when you are- when I’ve made you unhappy,” he clarifies firmly. Your nose twitches, an involuntary movement that Sukuna catches and finds entirely too adorable. Your eyes are still damp, but your breathing has evened out. 

“That’s the first,” you quip.

“Enough.”

You press your lips together, glancing at the flowers Sukuna brought you. Just then, you notice that they are your favorite. 

You tell yourself you knew what you were getting into when you first started dating the king of curses, but at times you forget that Sukuna is in fact a demon, and a king at that. He does not believe in any better than what he is.

“You hurt my feelings, Sukuna,” you say softly. “Don’t you get what that means? At least for me?”

“No,” he responds honestly. “But I do see now that you have different needs. And I understand that I refuse to watch you cry if there is something I can do about it.”

You try to remain angry with him. You try to keep yourself distanced, but you can not help the way that you are softening, and Sukuna notices. A hint of a smirk curves at the corner of his lips. 

“Is that all I had to say to make this better?”

“Shut the hell up,” you hiss. “It wouldn’t have killed you to apologize for the hundreds of other times we’ve fought, you know.”

“You weren’t crying the other times, woman.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you roll your eyes. 

Sukuna tilts his head, placing a hand on his hip. “You’re not still upset, are you?”

“Yes,” you pout, and he catches on.

“What is it you want now, to be pampered like a spoiled brat?” 

He makes the suggestion as if to offend you, but the two of you both know that he is hardly making a joke. “What I want is for you to fuck off.”

A chuckle rumbles in Sukuna’s throat as he makes his way over to you. You immediately break and screech when he yanks you forward by your ankle and loops you up into his arms before sitting down on your bed and setting you in his lap. 

He looks you dead in the eye and lifts a rough thumb, swiping stubbornly at your tear stains and your damp lashes. “Crybaby,” he mutters, and you swat his hand away.

“Whatever, asshole.” You push at his chest with weak contempt and he looks at you boredly.

“You’re pitiful,” he grumbles, gripping your chin securely and guiding it to him. His blood red eyes seep into yours, gazing intently. “No more tears, do you understand?”

“Then don’t make me sad.”

“I won’t,” he tells you confidently.

A smile twitches on your lips as you look over him, completely unfamiliar with this side of the king of curses. “Can you do one more thing for me, and then I’ll maybe think about forgiving you?” you bite your lip, pressing your finger to his broad shoulder.

Sukuna grunts. “More demands, huh? I suppose you know how to take advantage of a situation. What more do you want?”

You wrap your arms over his neck. “Tell me how much you care about me,” you sing. 

“Did I not just do so?”

“No, I want you to spell it out. Tell me you love me.”

“I highly tolerate you.”

“Tell me you loveeee me.”

“You are the only human being I do not frown upon.”

“Sukuna.”

“Christ, woman, you’re mine. Isn’t that enough?” he grits his teeth and you snort, patting his cheek gently. 

“For now.”

“Such a pest, you know that?” he mumbles, pushing in swiftly to press his lips firmly to yours in a swift peck. “Don’t ever say I don’t care for you again. It is the most false and offensive thing I have ever heard."

[suiana]

yandere! dragon hybrid who's been ostracized since birth. his father fell for a dragon and his mother died during child birth. it's been him and his father since and things with the rest of society haven't been good. after all dragon-human relationships are taboo and you know how people are with those deemed weird.

yandere! dragon hybrid who's bullied and left out. no matter how hard he tries, it's never enough. people are heartless, even if his father tries to tell him otherwise. how can you change the foundations of society? when all humans are taught that dragons are dangerous and a threat to mankind. poor little dragon, left to deal with life all alone... then he met you :3

"why're you crying?" huh? is someone talking to him? he quickly wipes away the tears, sniffling softly as he musters up a small smile. can't show anyone he's hurt. it'll just worsen things and he doesn't want his father to worry. "n-nope! not at all!" "you're lying!" the young dragon can only watch in silence as your tiny hands rub at his wet cheeks, your warm body fitting snugly by his side. huh... this feels nice. is this what it's like to have a friend? do you want you be friends? "don't cry! crying is bad because it means you're sad." you pause before grinning at him. for a moment, the little boy feels his heart skip a beat. is this normal? is he sick? he hopes not. he doesn't wanna be sick, not when he finally feels wanted by someone. "you can come to me if you're sad! I'll make you happy!"

yandere! dragon hybrid who grows up by your side as your best friend. you two are both adults now and you're the only one who's been nice to him. even when he's tried befriending others, none are as sweet or as welcoming as you are. it hurt at first but he's learned to accept it. it's okay if others are mean, you're by his side, and that's all that matters.

"you're my best friend." best friend. somehow, that title is a little irritating to him. but he pushes it aside. why would it be annoying? it must just be him overthinking things again. no one's going to steal you away from him. "yeah, you're my best friend too." the dragon feels his heart flutter again. oh, your sweet smile and beautiful voice... how he wants to capture this moment and put it on repeat for eternity. sure, the best friend thing is still off-putting but like, you're here! that's all that matters. he'd give up everything for you, you know? but then you just have to go and mess it up by running to that boy again. "again?" he feels his annoyance spike again. it's like the best friend title but worse. this... this boy. you've been getting too close to him lately. all you ever do is gush about him when you get the chance and it's starting to get on his nerves. you don't get this excited talking to someone who's 'just a friend'. "mhm! sorry, I'll be back tomorrow!" and off you go, running along with that nobody and leaving him in the dust. best friend? hah! that's it. he's made up his mind about this... issue. you're being stolen away from him and he's going to fix it. don't worry, you only need him anyway. who needs another friend when you have him?

yandere! dragon hybrid who's turned out to be rather possesive. he's decided he doesn't want to be just friends anymore and now he's making sure you see that. by killing off that guy you're crushing on, of course. i mean, what better way than to show you?

"get away from me!" he pouts. you've never screamed at him before. is it because he's dirty? well, he supposes that he is covered in blood. does it stink? "I'm sorry, I'll clean up and we can go for ice cream-" "ice cream?! you think we can just go back to being normal after you- you killed him?!" oh, you're really mad. the dragon's smile falters and he lowers his clenched fist. what to do... what to do... he really doesn't like making you upset. he remembers throwing your toy away once and you ignored him for a whole week! he never wants to experience that again! "I'm sorry... what do you want me to do? how do i make up for it?" he smiles again. ah, right. maybe he can just get rid of another pest that's been annoying you? perhaps that guy that's been looking at you funny? maybe you'd like it? "no! you can't make it up to me! he's dead god damnit! you're a murderer! just piss off and leave me alone!" silence. then he's caging you against a wall. his eyes are wide, face completely devoid of his usual smile and warmth as he keeps you trapped between him and the cold wall. he can't let you escape. he won't let you. you're his. "you're mine, remember? my best friend." best friend... he doesn't like the sound of that anymore. it's too... how do you say it. too small of a title. too small to encapsulate how he feels about you. "i want all of you, darling."

yandere! dragon hybrid who finally has you. yay! you're his now! sure you might be a little snappy but that's alright! you'll warm up to him again and you two will be happy together! only this time, you're not just friends anymore.

"oh piss off. i don't need you staring at me 24/7." it's been like this for a few days now and your dragon's feeling a little down. he knows that humans are emotional. hell, he's half of a human! but he really misses how you used to treat him and he just wants you to smile at him again. "I'm sorry..." what does he say now? you're mad at him and clearly don't want him to bother you. is it because he took you to his secret hide out? he hasn't told you about this place before because he wanted to surprise you. but clearly you aren't happy :( "you're just really beautiful." he means it. you're the stars, the flowers, and everything that's beautiful in this world. if he had it his way, you'd be the face of beauty anywhere and everywhere. the dragon looks up and freezes. is that... a blush he sees? "...flattery will get you no where." god! you're blushing AND saying that! it feels like heaven's blessing him! "a-ah..." he stammers and looks away, rubbing his fingers together. inside, his heart is thumping and his brain is racing with imaginary scenarios. soon, you'll want him to compliment you! and then- "my mate." god, he hopes that day comes soon. to call you his mate... that would be a dream.

[odileeclipse]

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 16

<<<Previous Next>>>

No, you would go. But today would be different. You had decided determined, really that today would be nothing more than a lesson. All work, no jokes. No lingering on things that didn’t matter. No personal questions. No stolen glances. Because it wasn’t fair. He knew so much about you. Your struggles, your habits, the way your mind worked…or failed to work, at times. 

He had seen you laid bare metaphorically, of course, but somehow that was worse. He had read you like an open book, and yet when you tried to do the same, you found the pages blank, sealed, or written in a language you could not understand. What did you know of him? He played the harpsichord. That much you had gathered. But what did he listen to when he was alone? What was his favorite piece?

Did he hum while he worked, or did he sit in silence, letting the weight of knowledge fill the air? Did he prefer tea or coffee? Did he even need to eat? And if he did, what was his favorite meal? Who were his friends? Did he have friends? Or was he always the Sage, always standing apart, untouchable and revered? What had he been like as a child? Had he always been this way poised, unwavering, impossibly composed? Or had he once been clumsy, uncertain, still learning what it meant to be the Sage of Truth? Was he spoken for? 

That thought, more than any other, made something twist inside you, a sharp pang of something you refused to name. It wasn’t his fault you had gotten attached. But you had. And now, you had to fix it. You pushed the door open, stepping into the study room with renewed resolve. Today, there would be no unnecessary conversation, no lingering warmth. Just work. At least, that was the plan. You only hoped he wouldn’t make it difficult.

You entered the room, not bothering to hesitate at the threshold. No unnecessary thoughts. No unnecessary emotions. Just work. Without so much as a greeting, you pulled out your notes, flipping to the section you had struggled with most. The paper was a mess of hurried scribbles, half-finished equations, and the occasional margin note that made less sense now than when you first wrote it. But that didn’t matter. You dropped the pages onto the desk in front of you and spoke clear, direct, without hesitation.

 "On the application of astral runes in planar stabilization," you began, skipping pleasantries altogether. "How does the stability matrix account for flux when the anchor points shift independently of one another?"

It was an advanced question, more than a little out of your depth, but that was precisely the point. If you buried yourself in complex theory, there would be no room for anything else, no stray thoughts, no wandering emotions, no reflections on how unfair it felt to be this exposed while knowing so little about him.

You finally lifted your gaze, forcing yourself to meet Shadow Milk Cookie’s golden eyes. He had been watching you from the moment you stepped in, his hands folded neatly on the desk, his expression unreadable. Usually, he would greet you with a thoughtful remark, perhaps a small observation on your mood or state of mind. But this time, you had given him no opening.

No space for idle chatter. Only a question. His gaze lingered for a moment, searching, as if trying to discern something unspoken. Then, with an almost imperceptible tilt of his head, he answered. "A precise question." His voice was as smooth as ever, but there was something else there, something quieter. "Let us begin."

You sat down with a sharp, deliberate motion, placing your notes onto the table before Shadow Milk Cookie could say anything. No greeting, no lingering hesitation, just a question. “About the theorem we covered last time,” you said, flipping to a particular page in your notes, voice brisk, focused. “I was reviewing the applications, but I’m not sure how it applies when you shift the variables outside of the original bounds.”

The words left your mouth in a rush, leaving no space for anything else. No space for warmth. No space for familiarity. No space for him to see through you. For a moment, there was silence. Then, Shadow Milk Cookie, ever composed, inclined his head. His golden eyes flickered over you not with suspicion, not with amusement, but with something unreadable. He did not acknowledge the shift in your demeanor. Did not ask why there was no hello, no trace of your usual energy. Instead, he smoothly picked up the thread of your inquiry, as if nothing had changed.

“A fair question,” he mused, steepling his fingers before him. “To understand the constraints of the theorem, one must first consider its foundational premise. If we deconstruct the function as an extension of its primary logic, we find that-” He launched into an explanation with his usual measured eloquence, his voice even and assured, weaving seamlessly between theory and application.

Good. Good. This was what you needed. You nodded along, forcing your mind to follow the thread of his reasoning, gripping onto each word like a lifeline. If you focused truly, deeply focused on this, then maybe the rest would fall away. Maybe you wouldn’t feel the weight in your chest, the sting of self-awareness whispering that you were lying to yourself. But Shadow Milk Cookie was thorough.

He explained the theorem in layered depth, drawing diagrams with practiced ease, his golden eyes alight with the quiet thrill of dissecting knowledge. His words flowed effortlessly, forming intricate patterns of logic, each thought linking seamlessly to the next. His explanations were precise, unraveling the structure of the problem with such clarity that, for a moment, you felt yourself being swept into it.

You blinked. Wait. What? Your grip on your quill faltered as you scrambled to process the last few sentences. Somewhere between defining the function’s behavior and its correlation to alternative magical applications, he had gone far beyond what you could follow. “Slow down,” you blurted, lifting a hand in surrender. “I don’t-I don’t understand.” Shadow Milk Cookie halted mid-sentence, his gaze flicking to yours. His expression did not change, but there was something in his eyes something careful, something aware. You swallowed, feeling frustration creep into your chest not at him, but at yourself. At the fact that you had let yourself get caught in the cadence of his voice, in the way his words spun knowledge so effortlessly, and now you were struggling to keep up.

No. That wasn’t the only reason. You were frustrated because even now even after deciding that you needed to create distance, that it wasn’t fair how much he knew about you while you knew so little of him he still had the power to pull you in. Still had the ability to make you forget yourself. He tilted his head slightly, as if considering you. Then, instead of continuing, he leaned forward slightly, hands resting on the table with practiced ease. "Tell me, then," he said, his voice softer now, less of a lecture and more of an invitation. "Where did I lose you?"

You gritted your teeth. That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t fair. If he had just been indifferent, if he had simply continued as though you were nothing more than a struggling student, it would have been easier. But he wasn’t indifferent. He was patient. And worse he was perceptive. You forced yourself to exhale. “The part about restructuring the function,” you admitted, flipping back a page in your notes, trying to ignore the way your voice had lost its sharp edge. “You lost me there.”

Shadow Milk Cookie nodded once, then, with the same patience as always, began again. And you let him. You let him guide you back through the explanation, let yourself focus on the words, let yourself be lost in the steady rhythm of learning. Because deceit was a warmer embrace than truth. And if you focused hard enough, maybe you could convince yourself that this was all there was. Your quill hovered over the page, ink pooling at the tip, threatening to drop onto your already messy notes. You stared, not really seeing the words anymore, your mind an unsteady blur of half-formed thoughts.

Shadow Milk Cookie’s voice was steady, patient as always. His explanations wove through the air, each word carefully measured, precise, yet they slipped through your grasp like sand. You tried to follow, tried to focus, but nothing stuck. You knew it wasn’t him. It wasn’t the material. It was you. And that made it worse. “Do you follow?” he asked, his tone as composed as ever. You blinked, suddenly aware that he had finished speaking. You hadn’t even processed the last thing he said.

“Uh-” Your grip on the quill tightened, your heartbeat loud in your ears. You scrambled, flipping back a few pages in your notes as if searching for something, anything that would make the past few minutes click into place. But it was useless. His gaze was expectant, not impatient, not unkind. Just waiting. Waiting for you to catch up. Waiting for you to be honest. Your chest tightened. You couldn’t do this. “I don’t get it.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, low and tense, barely above a whisper. You swallowed, willing your voice to stay even, but the frustration was creeping in, sinking its claws deep into your ribs. “I don’t” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “I’m not following anything you’re saying.”

Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head slightly, studying you. “Would you like me to simplify it?” That…That was it. The final push. You let out a short, bitter laugh, but there was no humor in it. Your quill clattered onto the desk as you leaned back, rubbing a hand down your face.

“What’s the point?” His expression didn’t change. He simply regarded you, eyes steady, waiting for you to continue. You almost didn’t. But something in you snapped. “It’s not like I’ll get it if you keep trying,” you muttered, shaking your head. “I don’t...I don’t know why I even bother.” You exhaled harshly, hands clenching into fists on your lap.

“I just...I thought if I kept showing up, if I kept listening, I’d get somewhere, but I...” Your breath hitched, frustration rising to the surface, sharp and undeniable. “It’s useless. I don’t get it. I never get it.” Your voice wavered at the last part, and you hated that. A quiet settled between you, thick and heavy. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the heat behind them to go away. You didn’t want to be seen like this weak, frustrated, cracking under the weight of something that shouldn’t even matter this much.

But then he spoke. “Are you frustrated with the material?” The question was simple. Too simple. And for some reason, that made your chest tighten even more. You opened your mouth, ready to snap out an answer, to deflect, to insist that yes, of course, it was the material. What else could it possibly be? But the words wouldn’t come. Because it wasn’t just the material.

And Shadow Milk Cookie…He was too perceptive for his own good. You clenched your jaw, turning your face away, unwilling to meet his gaze. “I don’t know,” you muttered. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth, either. Silence stretched between you again. You wished he’d just move on. Let it go. Let you sit in your frustration and wallow until the feeling passed. But instead, he said  “Truth is not always kind.”

Shadow Milk Cookie rested his chin against the back of his hand, watching you carefully. “It is a mirror that does not bend to our wishes. And when we look into it, we do not always like what we see.” You stared at him, words caught in your throat. He continued, voice calm, unwavering.

“Deceit, on the other hand, is a gentler embrace. It soothes, where truth may wound. It comforts, where truth may force confrontation.” He tilted his head slightly, gaze sharp, piercing. “Would you rather remain in deceit, then? Because it is easier?” You jolted as if struck.

Your mouth opened, then shut. You had no response. Something in you curled inward, like an exposed nerve, raw and aching. You wanted to say no. You wanted to deny it, to insist that you sought truth, that you weren’t weak enough to cling to something false just because it hurt less. But wasn’t that exactly what you were doing? Wasn’t that why you were here, sitting stiffly in your chair, forcing yourself to create distance because you had let yourself see too much? Your throat tightened. “I-” Your voice failed you. You suddenly felt… exposed. Like he had peeled back a layer of yourself you hadn’t even realized was showing.

Your hands clenched into fists. You needed to focus. You needed to ground yourself in something solid before you spiraled too far. You forced yourself to look at your notes, flipping a page just for the sake of doing something, anything. “Let’s” You cleared your throat, trying to steady your voice. “Let’s just get back to work.”

Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a long moment. His gaze wasn’t harsh. It wasn’t pitying, either. Just… knowing. You didn’t like that. But he did not press. “Very well,” he said simply, and began again. You tried to follow. You really did. But your thoughts were elsewhere, your mind still tangled in the weight of his words. And before long, you realized, You weren’t listening at all. You were staring. You weren’t sure when it happened, but at some point, you had stopped hearing his words entirely. His voice became nothing more than a distant hum, like waves rolling in and out against the shore. His gestures, his careful movements, the way his golden eyes flickered with thought it all blurred together into something incomprehensible.

“Are you following?” You snapped upright, startled. You blinked rapidly, heat rising to your face as you scrambled to make sense of where you were, of what he had just said. But you had nothing. You had absorbed none of it. Your breath caught. Your heart pounded against your ribs. You swallowed thickly, gripping the edge of your notes like they could anchor you back to reality. “Wait-wait, slow down, I-I don’t understand.”

Shadow Milk Cookie paused. Then, slowly, he leaned back, folding his hands neatly in his lap. “I see,” he mused, and there was something almost amused in his voice. “You weren’t listening at all, were you?” Your face burned. You turned away sharply, jaw clenching, frustration bubbling up all over again.

“Forget it,” you muttered. “Forget it?” he echoed, arching a brow. “You were so determined when you arrived today. I wonder, what changed?” Your breath caught. You wanted to say nothing. You wanted to pretend it was just another day, another failed attempt at understanding material that would always slip through your fingers. But you couldn’t. Because you knew what changed. And you were afraid to admit it. To him. To yourself.

The silence stretched between you. You weren’t sure how long you had been staring at the parchment in front of you, but the words no longer made sense not because they were difficult, but because they felt distant, irrelevant. Like trying to grasp smoke. You knew he was watching you. You could feel the weight of his gaze, the quiet patience with which he waited for you to speak. But you had nothing to say. Your fingers curled against the edge of your notes, gripping them tightly before relaxing again.

What were you doing here? You had asked yourself that before, but the question had never burned as much as it did now. It wasn’t his fault. That much you knew. It wasn’t his fault that he was always composed, always steady, always carrying himself with the unshaken confidence of someone who knew their place in the world. It wasn’t his fault that he could look at you, really look at you and see through the barriers you thought you had built. That he could tell, without needing to ask, whether you were listening, whether you were engaged, whether your mind was somewhere far away. Instead of addressing anything he continued tutoring in the hopes you’d start to follow along.

The ink on your parchment blurred before your eyes, the symbols and diagrams twisting into meaningless shapes. You weren’t even tired…not really, but focus felt impossible, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. You knew he could tell. Of course he could. Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t miss things like this. Even now, as you sat stiffly across from him, your notes spread out in front of you, you could feel the weight of his gaze.

Patient. Expectant. Waiting for you to catch up, to ask a question, to engage. But you hadn’t. Not tonight. Instead, you had simply nodded along, feigning understanding when in reality, your mind was a thousand miles away. Shadow Milk Cookie finally set down his quill. The motion was deliberate, the quiet tap against the desk almost deafening in the heavy silence.

“You are unfocused.” Your jaw tensed. It wasn’t a question. You swallowed, gripping your quill a little tighter. “I’m fine.” His golden eyes studied you. “Then tell me what I just explained.” You hesitated. There was an answer somewhere in your head, you were sure of it. But when you reached for it, all you found was noise his voice, the rhythm of his words, the structure of his explanations, all slipping past you too fast to grasp. “I-” You frowned. “It was about…” Nothing. Your silence was all the answer he needed.

Shadow Milk Cookie hummed, tapping his fingers lightly against the parchment. “Curious. If you are fine, as you claim, then why do you falter?” You inhaled sharply, irritation prickling under your skin. “I just zoned out for a second.”

“More than a second.”

You clenched your jaw, heat rising to your face. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “It is if you wish to learn.”

That was the thing, wasn’t it? You did want to learn. You wanted to be here. Or at least, you had convinced yourself that you did. But tonight, everything felt wrong. You had walked into this session determined to build a wall, to keep things strictly professional, to separate whatever this was from what it needed to be. He was your tutor, nothing more. And he knew you weren’t listening. It was unfair. Unfair that he could read you so easily, unfair that he always seemed to know exactly what you were thinking, unfair that he could see right through you while you…You knew so little of him. You had spent all this time by his side, listening to his teachings, watching the way his mind worked, the way his words wove knowledge into something tangible. You had seen him confident, assured, unwavering. But beyond that?

What did he like outside of all this? Did he have a favorite color? A favorite meal? Did he ever get frustrated? Did he ever feel lost? Who were his friends? What was his childhood like? What made him him? He had told you once that his hair was a reflection of who he was. But that answer had only left you with more questions. And yet, he had never offered more. And why would he? Why should he?

Your fingers curled into fists on the table. This wasn’t his fault. That was the worst part. This wasn’t his fault. It was yours. Yours for letting yourself get attached, for allowing yourself to wonder, for looking at him and seeing something beyond what was there or worse, for seeing something that was there but was never meant for you.

Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled softly. “Shall we begin again?” His voice was calm, composed. Like this was just another lesson, just another evening. Your frustration swelled. You couldn’t do this. Not like this. “Why do you care?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, sharper than you intended.

Shadow Milk Cookie’s eyes narrowed slightly not in irritation, but in consideration. “Is that truly what you wish to ask?” You let out a sharp breath, shaking your head. “I just. I don’t get it. Why does it matter if I’m paying attention or not? It’s my problem, isn’t it? It’s my responsibility to learn.”

Shadow Milk Cookie leaned back slightly, regarding you with a look you couldn’t quite decipher. “You misunderstand.” You frowned. “Do I?”

“Yes.” His tone was measured, deliberate. “It is not that I care whether you listen. It is that you wish to listen, yet you do not.”

Your heart stuttered. His gaze didn’t waver. “And that, I believe, is what frustrates you most.” Your breath caught in your throat. You did want to listen. You wanted to be here. But your thoughts had tangled into something unmanageable, something overwhelming, and no matter how hard you tried to pull yourself back, you couldn’t. You looked away, your voice quieter now. “It’s not that simple.”

“Is it not?”

You scoffed. “Of course you’d say that.” His lips quirked up at the corner, almost imperceptibly. “I only speak the truth.” You exhaled sharply, pressing your fingers against your temple.

“You always do, don’t you?” There was a pause.

“Would you rather I lie?” You looked up at him sharply, startled by the question. Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze remained steady, unyielding. But there was something beneath the surface. You swallowed. “No.”

He nodded, as if that answer was expected. “Then tell me.”

You hesitated. “Tell you what?”

“What troubles you.” You nearly laughed.

“That’s not how this works.”

He tilted his head slightly. “No?” You let out a dry chuckle. “You’re the Sage of Truth. You already know, don’t you?” He didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his voice was softer than before.

“I know what I observe. But I am not omniscient.” Something in your chest tightened. You shook your head, looking away again. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.” You exhaled sharply, frustration flickering back to the surface. “Why?”

He regarded you for a long moment before speaking. “Because truth is not always what one wants. And yet, it remains. Would you rather embrace deceit?”

Yes. Yes, because deceit was easier. It was a warmer embrace than the truth. Because the truth was…You liked him but…you didn’t know him. Not really. And yet, you had let yourself want to. Your fingers curled against the parchment, heart pounding. Shadow Milk Cookie sighed, leaning forward slightly. “We will begin again,” he repeated, quieter this time. You swallowed hard, nodding without a word. You didn’t know what you were doing anymore. But you knew you had to move forward. Even if the truth was the last thing you wanted to face.

The sharp edges of frustration had dulled now, replaced with something else something quieter, something bitter. You had let your emotions dictate your actions, let them warp your thoughts into something unbecoming. You had sat here, barely listening, building walls between yourself and the one person who had done nothing to deserve it. And for what? Because he saw through you? Because you didn’t know him the way he seemed to know you? It was childish. You were childish.

Your grip on your quill tightened before you finally sighed, letting the tension slip from your shoulders. “I…” You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry.” Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t respond right away. He merely watched you, eyes unreadable in the dim candlelight of his office.

“For what?” You hesitated, pressing your lips together before exhaling. “For… behaving like that. For letting things get to me. For…” You frowned, searching for the right words. “For allowing emotions I don’t even understand to dictate what I do.”

He tilted his head slightly, considering your words. “A rare admission.” You let out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “Yeah, well. I feel foolish.” His gaze didn’t waver.

“Foolishness is not in acknowledging one’s emotions. It is in denying them.” You stared at him for a long moment before shaking your head. “You always do this.”

“Do what?”

“Say things that make too much sense,” you muttered, rubbing your temple. Then, after a beat, you looked at him again, more serious this time. “How do you always know the truth?” He blinked, the shift in topic catching him off guard. “I am the Sage of Truth.”

“No,” you interjected. “Not as the Sage of Truth. I want you to answer me as Shadow Milk.” His expression flickered, the ever-present composure cracking just slightly at your request. You leaned forward, elbows resting against the table. “What is the truth to you? And don’t give me some grand, philosophical answer. I want to know what it means to you.”

Shadow Milk Cookie was quiet for a long time, his fingers idly brushing against the parchment on the table. You could see the way he weighed his words, measured them as he always did. But this time, it wasn’t for the sake of some grand declaration. Finally, he spoke. “The truth,” he said slowly, “is both burden and gift.” You frowned slightly, but let him continue.

“It is an unyielding force. One that exists beyond our desires, beyond what we want to be true. It does not change, no matter how we plead or fight against it. And yet…” His gaze softened, almost imperceptibly. “It is also what guides us. What shapes us. What reveals us, even when we do not wish to be seen.”

You exhaled through your nose, mulling over his words before finally asking, “And what about me?” Shadow Milk Cookie blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You said truth reveals us even when we don’t wish to be seen.” You met his gaze fully now, unwavering. “What do you see? What do you know just from what you observe in me?”

His expression shifted something deeper settling in his gaze, something you couldn’t name. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. “I see someone who tries to convince themselves they do not care, when in reality, they care far too much.” Your breath hitched. “I see someone who holds their own struggles close, too stubborn to share them, because they believe no one would truly understand."

You held your breath. “I see someone who seeks knowledge not just for the sake of learning, but for the sake of proving something to themselves, to others, to someone whose voice still lingers in their mind.”

Your chest felt tight. “That’s-” But he wasn’t done. “I see someone who is afraid.” Your breath caught in your throat. His voice was softer now, but no less steady. “Afraid of being seen. Afraid of being known. However…” He studied you carefully, as if peeling back the layers of your very being.

“You crave it, all the same.” The room felt too small. You swallowed hard, looking away. “I hate that you’re right.” Shadow Milk Cookie hummed, tilting his head.

“Did you want me to lie?” You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. “No.” He nodded, as if that was all he needed. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

“…Is that all you see?” The question was quieter than before, uncertain. Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his golden eyes. “I see someone who is trying.” You looked up at him. He continued, voice steady. “Someone who, despite everything, still moves forward. Who still chooses to be here. And that, I believe, is no small thing.”

Your chest ached. There was nothing grand about his words, nothing overly poetic. Just simple, honest truth. And somehow, that made it harder to bear. You exhaled, rubbing your temple. “You really don’t hold back, do you?” His lips curved ever so slightly. “You asked.” You let out another breathless chuckle, shaking your head. “Yeah. I did.” The weight of the conversation still lingered, pressing down on you. But somehow, it didn’t feel quite so suffocating anymore. “…We should probably get back to studying,” you murmured after a beat. Shadow Milk Cookie inclined his head slightly. “If you are ready.” You hesitated just for a moment before nodding. “I am.” And this time, you meant it. At least you thought you did.

The conversation lingered in your mind, even as you forced yourself to refocus. Shadow Milk Cookie had said his piece laid bare what he saw in you and though the weight of it still sat heavy in your chest, you found yourself breathing a little easier. And as the lesson resumed, something within you eased.

The usual rhythm returned the back-and-forth, the push and pull. You let yourself slip into the banter, your playful nature peeking through in small quips and exaggerated sighs of suffering whenever he asked a particularly difficult question. “Of course you’d expect me to remember that,” you muttered, frowning at the notes before you. Shadow Milk Cookie merely arched a brow. “Would you prefer a simpler question?”

You scoffed. “What, and give you the satisfaction? I don’t think so.” He exhaled, amusement dancing in his golden eyes. “Your defiance is commendable, though misdirected.”

You grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” And so it went. You asked questions. He answered them. He posed new ones, guiding you toward realizations without simply handing you the answers. Somehow, without even realizing it, you learned. Not through rigid memorization or frustrating drills, but through genuine discussion. By the time you finally closed your notebook, the weight of the day felt lighter, the earlier frustration nothing more than a faint echo in the background.

“Well,” you sighed, stretching slightly. “That’s that.” Shadow Milk Cookie gave a satisfied nod. “You grasped the concepts well.” You hummed, tapping your fingers idly against the cover of your notebook before saying, “I don’t actually think I needed to learn this.” His gaze flickered to you, mild curiosity in his expression.

You shrugged. “I just picked the concept that seemed the hardest.” You smiled a little, rolling your shoulders. “Figured if I was going to spend time learning something, it might as well be the biggest challenge. Maybe it’ll come in handy one day.” Shadow Milk Cookie studied you for a moment before exhaling a quiet chuckle. “That is certainly one approach.”

You smirked. “Hey, if I’m going to suffer, I might as well choose my suffering.” He shook his head, though there was no real disapproval in his expression. “You continue to be an enigma.” You laughed. “And yet, somehow, you always seem to figure me out.”

He hummed, watching you with that ever-measured gaze. “Not entirely.” That made you pause. Your grin faltered slightly, just enough for the shift in expression to be noticeable. But before you could ask what he meant before you could linger too long on the thought he spoke again. “Shall we conclude for today?” You blinked before nodding.

“Yeah. That sounds good.” He nodded in return, gathering his own notes as you shut your notebook. You found yourself wondering just for a moment, if he had truly meant what he said. That he didn’t entirely know you. That there was still more to be seen. You left his office only to return. You should have stayed gone. But, It wasn’t time for dinner yet, and you had nothing to do. You also nothing to say, no reason to sit here idly while he worked.

Your fingers tapped against the arm of your chair, your gaze flicking between the bookshelves that loomed over his desk, the faint glimmer of candlelight against the deep blue strands of his hair, and the serene focus on his face. Shadow Milk Cookie hardly seemed to register your presence. Or maybe he did and simply chose not to acknowledge it. You weren’t sure which would have been worse. You shifted in your seat, uncomfortable, not with him but with yourself.

Your mind was restless, searching for something to latch onto, and before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out. “…What do you actually like?” The quill stopped mid-stroke. For a long, silent moment, he did not move, his head only barely tilting in your direction. Then, his golden eyes flickered toward you, unreadable. “…I beg your pardon?” You swallowed, suddenly feeling foolish, but you had already spoken. There was no taking it back. “I mean… I don’t know anything about you. Not really,” you admitted, leaning back in your chair. “I know the Sage of Truth. I know the scholar, the mentor, the one everyone looks up to. But… I don’t know you.”

That surprised him. You could tell by the way his brows lifted just slightly, the way his quill lingered, forgotten, between his fingers. You exhaled, shifting under his gaze. “What do you like?” you repeated, softer this time. Shadow Milk Cookie set his quill down, folding his hands neatly over the parchment. “You are quite direct today.”

You huffed. “Would you rather I beat around the bush?” He studied you, something thoughtful behind his gaze, before exhaling softly. “No,” he admitted, almost to himself. You weren’t sure why, but the way he said it made something in your chest feel lighter. Still, he seemed to consider your question carefully, as if deciding how much of himself he was willing to share.

Finally, he answered. “I enjoy playing the harpsichord,” he said, voice even, measured. “The act of creation through music is… calming.” You blinked, you knew this.

He continued. “I find solace in quiet libraries, where the weight of time lingers in the air.” He glanced briefly at the nearest bookshelf, his expression softening just slightly. “And I prefer tea to coffee. Something floral, with a subtle sweetness.” You listened, eyes fixed on him, taking in every word as if they were the rarest truths you had ever heard.

Shadow Milk Cookie hesitated for a fraction of a second, then added, quieter almost like an afterthought “…I like the night sky.” Your breath caught. Not because of what he said, but because of the way he said it. There was something different in his tone something uncharacteristically unguarded.

You tilted your head. “Why?” He glanced at you, then away, his fingers pressing together slightly. “…Because it is vast, endless, and unknown.” A pause. “Because no matter how much I seek to understand it, there will always be something beyond my reach.” You watched him carefully, his golden eyes fixed somewhere distant, as if lost in thought.

For a moment, he wasn’t the Sage of Truth. He was just himself. Perhaps you selfishly wanted to see more of that. You hummed, letting his words settle before saying, “So… if you like the night sky because it’s something you can’t fully understand… does that mean you like a challenge?”

His gaze snapped back to you. And for just a second just a heartbeat you thought you saw it. A faint warmth at the tips of his ears. It was gone before you could be certain, but something about it made your own heart stumble over itself. Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled through his nose, amusement flickering in his expression, though his eyes held something else something curious. “

You are quite bold today,” he remarked. You shrugged. “Maybe I just wanted to see what kind of answer I’d get.” His lips quirked up slightly, a ghost of a smile, before he leaned back in his chair. “And? Are you satisfied?”

You studied him for a moment, the quiet flicker of candlelight reflecting in his eyes. Maybe it was because you swore just for a moment that you had seen something there, something warm and human and quietly sincere, but you found yourself smiling. “…I think I’ll need to keep asking to know for sure.” Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled softly, shaking his head, but there was no disapproval in it. Only quiet amusement. “…So be it.”

The soft glow of candlelight flickered against the polished wood of Shadow Milk Cookie’s desk, casting long shadows that stretched toward the walls lined with books and parchment. You leaned back in your chair, staring at the ceiling as you let your thoughts drift, the memory of the night in the Ghost City lingering in your mind. You had meant to focus on your studies tonight to keep things light, simple, free of the tangled web of thoughts you kept getting caught in. But your curiosity gnawed at you, persistent and unshaken. And so, before you could think better of it, you spoke.

“You know… the other day, when we went to the Ghost City, I heard this story.” Shadow Milk Cookie hummed in acknowledgment, quill still moving against parchment, his focus undisturbed. “Oh?”

“Yeah. A ghost told it in the Storyteller’s Circle,” you continued, watching his expression carefully. “It was about two lovers who could only meet once every hundred years.” His quill paused for just a fraction of a second before continuing its path across the page. “A compelling premise,” he mused, his tone neutral.

“What did you make of it?” You huffed, tilting your head. “I don’t know. Chai Latte thought it was romantic.” He let out a thoughtful sound, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “Hazelnut Biscotti said it was tragic,” you added, crossing your arms. “A reasonable perspective.”

“And Earl Grey Cookie said some people are worth waiting for.” At that, Shadow Milk Cookie finally glanced up from his work, his golden gaze flickering toward you with quiet intrigue. “And what do you think?”

You hesitated. That was the real question, wasn’t it? You exhaled, shifting in your seat. “I think… I don’t know if I could wait that long. A hundred years is a long time.” You tapped your fingers against the desk idly. “But I guess it depends.”

Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you carefully, setting his quill down. “On what?” You met his gaze. “On the person.” A beat of silence stretched between you. You weren’t sure if he caught the way your voice dipped slightly, the way something quiet curled beneath your words. If he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, considering. “A rather pragmatic answer.” You shrugged. “So… would you?” His brow arched slightly. “Would I…?” 

“Wait,” you clarified. “A hundred years. For someone you cared about.” You tried to keep your tone casual, as if this were just another question in a long list of inquiries about philosophy, logic, and the nature of truth itself. But your fingers curled against the fabric of your sleeve. “Would you wait that long for someone?” His eyes searched yours. You forced yourself to hold his gaze, though your heart had a traitorous way of lodging itself in your throat. Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled softly, his fingers pressing together in thought. “I suppose,” he began, voice measured, “that would depend on what awaited at the end of that wait.”

You swallowed. “What do you mean?”

“If one waits a century,” he mused, “it is not merely a question of patience, but of purpose. Is the reunion assured? Or is it a mere hope, a wish cast into the void?” His golden gaze flickered slightly. “If there is certainty. if the one I waited for would be there, unchanged, unwavering then perhaps.”

You nodded slowly, absorbing his words. Then, after a pause one that felt light, almost playful you added, “Are you waiting for someone now?” It was meant to sound like casual curiosity. A natural follow-up. But even you knew better. Something in his expression shifted not in a way that was easily decipherable, but in a way that made your stomach flip nonetheless. He held your gaze for a moment too long. Then, a slow, knowing smile tugged at his lips.

“An interesting question,” he murmured, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Why do you ask?” You forced yourself to shrug. “Just curious.” His expression didn’t change, but there was something about the way he looked at you something you couldn’t quite name. You realize now it’s hard to make out his expressions. Perhaps it’s faint amusement. A quiet knowing. Then just for a moment you swore you saw it again. A flicker of warmth at the tips of his ears. It was gone as soon as you noticed it, replaced by the careful neutrality he always wore so well. Shadow Milk Cookie leaned back slightly, regarding you with interest. “And if I were?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“If I were waiting for someone,” he elaborated, “what would that tell you?” You opened your mouth, then closed it. Because what would that tell you? Your heart was a traitor, thrumming in your chest as if it knew something you didn’t. But you weren’t ready to answer that yet. So instead, you scoffed, crossing your arms. “It would tell me that someone has very high standards if they’re making you wait a hundred years.”

That earned a chuckle from him soft, real. “I see,” he said, shaking his head in amusement. “A fair assessment.” And just like that, the moment passed like a leaf caught in the wind, drifting just out of reach. But even as you turned the conversation elsewhere, even as you forced yourself to move on, you couldn’t quite forget the way he looked at you in that fleeting second. Or the way something in your chest felt just a little warmer because of it.

Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you carefully, golden eyes gleaming with quiet curiosity. You weren’t sure why you kept talking why you pushed just a little further. Maybe it was the way he always seemed to know everything about you, yet you knew so little of him. Maybe it was the way he answered without answering, weaving around your questions like a scholar sidestepping an argument they didn’t want to commit to. Or maybe it was something simpler. Something quieter. Maybe you just wanted to hear him say it…whatever it was. You exhaled, leaning your chin into your palm.

“I don’t think I’d even live to a hundred years old,” you mused, keeping your voice light. “A century is a long time to wait for someone.” Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head. “Indeed it is.”

You tapped your fingers against the desk, gaze flickering toward him. “If it were me, though…” That caught his attention. His fingers stilled against the parchment. “If I knew it was you,” you continued, voice thoughtful, “I wouldn’t keep you waiting.” A flicker of something crossed his expression so brief you almost missed it. You shrugged, as if the words hadn’t set your heart pounding, as if you were merely speaking in hypotheticals. “I mean, someone as important as you? It’d be ridiculous if someone kept you waiting for a hundred years.” You laughed, trying to pass it off as a casual remark. “Who in their right mind would do that?”

Silence. You expected him to brush it off. To give you some grand, scholarly response about patience, about truth, about the nature of time itself. But he didn’t. Instead, he regarded you for a long, quiet moment, his expression unreadable. Then, so softly you barely caught it he spoke. “Who indeed?” Your breath hitched. It wasn’t a question. It was something else. Something weightier. Something that made warmth coil low in your stomach, even though you weren’t sure why. You blinked, forcing out an awkward chuckle. “Well, it’s just a thought.”

 “Is it?” You froze. He was still watching you, head tilted slightly curious, contemplative. He didn’t press, didn’t pry, but the weight of his gaze alone was enough to send your heart into an uneven rhythm. You swallowed. “Yeah. Just a thought.” He hummed, studying you for a second longer before looking back down at his parchment.

But that flicker of warmth the one you swore you saw, barely dusting the edges of his ears didn’t quite disappear. And neither did the feeling settling into your chest. Shadow Milk Cookie was silent for a beat too long. His quill hovered above parchment, the ink threatening to blot as his golden eyes flickered toward you, unreadable. Yet there was no mistaking the way his ears' traitorous things remained dusted with that telltale warmth. You had caught him off guard. But the Sage of Truth was nothing if not adaptable. Slowly, his lips curled into something unreadable too knowing to be innocent, too amused to be cruel. He set his quill aside with deliberate grace and leaned back ever so slightly, watching you with something that made the space between you feel suddenly smaller. "What about you though...Would you wait for me?" You asked with faux confidence, after all it was just a follow up question nothing more...

"A most fascinating inquiry," he mused, tilting his head. "Tell me, are you testing the limits of my patience? Or is this merely a cunning attempt to unravel the heart of the Sage of Truth?" Your breath hitched. You hadn’t expected him to turn it back on you. He must have noticed, because his smile deepened. "You have already given your answer, have you not?" he continued, fingers steepling as he regarded you.

"You would wait for me. And yet, here you are, asking if I would do the same." His voice lowered mischievous, like a scholar who had just found a contradiction in a well-argued thesis. "Curious. What is it you are truly seeking, I wonder?"

Your face grew warm. "I was just asking," you muttered, crossing your arms. "It’s not that deep." "

Oh?" His golden gaze gleamed. "Not that deep, you say? And yet, you pressed the matter. As if my answer mattered greatly to you." You had never wanted to shrink into your chair so badly. "I was just curious!"

"Ah, curiosity!" He gasped theatrically, placing a hand over his heart as if he had just uncovered a great mystery. "A scholar’s greatest vice. And yet, I cannot help but wonder…" He leaned in just enough to make your breath falter. "Is it truth you seek from me, or something else entirely?"

You opened your mouth then closed it. He had you cornered. And the worst part? He knew it. His expression was far too pleased, as if your silence was the answer he had been seeking all along. "You are unfair," you grumbled, shoving a book toward him in some weak attempt at distraction. He chuckled, the sound richer than you expected.

"Unfair? My dear scholar, it is not I who sought answers this evening." You scowled, looking away. "Just forget I asked."

"Ah, but you did ask." His voice was teasing, yet there was something else beneath it something warmer, more thoughtful. "And for that, I shall give you an answer…" You dared a glance back at him, finding his expression softened. He did not look away. "If it were you," he said, quieter now, "then I suppose…" A pause so brief, yet so heavy.

"Waiting a century would not be such a terrible thing." Your heart stumbled. Before you could react, he picked up his quill again, the moment vanishing as quickly as it had come. "Of course," he added, voice turning light once more, "I imagine it would be quite inconvenient for you. You did say you wouldn’t last a hundred years, after all." You gaped at him. "Are you seriously throwing my own words back at me right now?" He gave you a slow, knowing smile. "Why, of course. What kind of scholar would I be if I ignored inconsistencies?" You groaned, dropping your head onto the desk. The Sage of Truth may have been flustered before. But now? Now, he was enjoying this far too much.

For a long moment, Shadow Milk Cookie said nothing. You weren’t sure if that made it better or worse. The weight of his gaze lingered, golden eyes gleaming with something unreadable something you couldn’t quite grasp. And yet, the corners of his lips twitched, ever so slightly, as if he was holding something back. Amusement? Intrigue? Something crueler? It was almost infuriating. “Curious,” he murmured at last, tapping a gloved finger against his parchment. “You asked such a question, knowing full well what you have already declared.” You frowned, tilting your head. “What?”

 “You claimed you would wait for me,” he said simply. “With that same breath, you asked if I would do the same. Are you hoping to trap me in my own words? Or…” He leaned forward slightly, just enough to be teasing, his voice taking on that lilting quality he used when debating. “Are you seeking something more, something beyond a mere answer?” Heat crept up your neck. “That’s not-” 

“Ah, no need to deny it.” His eyes gleamed, a smirk playing at his lips. “It is only natural. When one flirts with the unknown, they wish for something in return. A revelation. A secret.” He tilted his head, mock-considering. “Perhaps even a promise.”

Your breath caught. He had to be doing this on purpose. You clenched your fists, looking away, frustration bubbling under your skin. It wasn’t just the teasing…it was the way he always did this, always knew more, always stayed just out of reach, dangling answers like bait but never letting you catch them. “I was supposed to be mysterious,” you muttered, your voice quieter now. “Cold, even.” Shadow Milk Cookie blinked. The teasing glint in his eyes faltered, ever so slightly. You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “As silly as it sounds… it’s not fair.” You glanced at him, gaze searching.

 “You know everything about me. Where I come from. My friends. How I react to things. And yet, I barely know anything about you.” A pause. A shift. Your hands curled into your sleeves. “It’s not fair.” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a long moment, his smirk fading into something quieter, something more thoughtful. The playful glint in his eyes dimmed not gone, but subdued, as if considering your words in a way he hadn’t before. Then, unexpectedly, he let out a soft chuckle. “Ah… so that is what troubles you.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, fingers steepled together.

 “You wish for the truth, yet I remain an enigma. A most tragic plight.” “Don’t mock me,” you mumbled. “Oh, but I wouldn’t dare.” He tapped a finger against his temple, a slow, thoughtful motion. “It is true, I know much about you. Perhaps… an unfair advantage, as you say.” You raised a brow, wary. “And?” He hummed, as if considering. Then, he smiled mischievous, teasing, but not unkind. “Very well,” he said lightly. “Ask, then.” You blinked. “What?”

 “Ask,” he repeated, tilting his head. “Since you wish to know me as I know you… ask a question. Any question.” His voice dipped slightly, a challenge hidden beneath the invitation. “Let us see if you are ready for the answers you seek.” Your heart thumped. You swallowed. For all your complaints, for all your frustrations, you had not expected him to offer this. And yet… now that he had… What would you even ask?

For a moment, you hesitated. Not because you didn’t have anything to ask, but because there were too many things. Countless questions had been building in your mind since the day you met him things he sidestepped, things he answered only in riddles. But if this was your only chance… if he truly meant only one question… You had to make it count. Your fingers curled against the table. “Were you always immortal?” Shadow Milk Cookie stilled. The glint of amusement in his eyes faded, replaced by something quiet.

For the first time, he looked… caught off guard. You had never seen him hesitate like this before. The weight of the silence between you thickened, pressing against your ribs. He did not scoff, nor tease, nor weave his way around the question like he usually would. Instead, he merely studied you, his golden eyes flickering with something distant. Finally, he spoke. “I was made this way.” His voice was softer than you expected. Not heavy. Not sad. But… thoughtful.

Carefully measured. You watched him, searching his expression. “You were made immortal?” He nodded, fingers tracing the edges of his parchment, though his focus was nowhere near it. “From the moment I came into being, time held no claim over me. It was never a question of fate or choice. It simply was.” The way he said it was almost… detached. As if he were reciting something from a book, something he had accepted long ago. Your heart thumped, but you pushed further. “So you’ve never known anything else?” A soft chuckle escaped him not mocking, but almost… amused by the idea itself. “No. I have not.”

You bit your lip. That answer felt so final, so matter-of-fact. But something about it gnawed at you. Because if he had never known anything else… had he ever wanted to? You hesitated, then asked the next question before you could stop yourself. “And do you ever wish you weren’t?” This time, he truly paused. His fingers stilled against the parchment. Golden eyes met yours, and for the first time, you weren’t sure what you saw in them. He did not answer immediately. The silence stretched not uncomfortable, not tense, but thick with something unspoken. Something considering. He exhaled softly, tilting his head. “You do not hesitate to dive straight into the depths, do you?”

“You said I was allowed to ask,” you murmured, voice steady despite the warmth creeping up your neck. “I had to make it count.”

Shadow Milk Cookie studied you for a long moment before letting out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Ever the scholar, seeking the deeper truths.” He hummed, almost to himself. “And yet… you are the first to ask me this.” Your breath caught. The first? Before you could dwell on that, he leaned forward slightly, resting his chin against his steepled fingers.

“There are those who would envy my existence,” he said, voice measured. “To be free of time’s grasp, to witness centuries unfold like pages in a grand tome… It is a privilege few could even fathom.” You swallowed. “That’s not an answer.” His lips curved not quite a smile, but something close.

“No, I suppose it is not.” A flicker of warmth coiled low in your stomach. He wasn’t avoiding the question not exactly. But he was making you wait for it. So you did. You held his gaze, waiting. Finally he spoke. “There are moments,” he admitted, almost absently, “when I wonder.” Your fingers curled against the desk. “I do not regret what I am,” he continued, as if carefully choosing each word. “Nor do I mourn a life I have never known.” A pause. A slow inhale. “But to exist beyond time… is to be a witness, never truly a participant.”

A witness. Your stomach twisted at the weight of that. “How lonely,” you whispered. His eyes flickered. You hadn’t meant to say it aloud. Another silence stretched between you, heavier this time. And then slowly, deliberately his smirk returned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Ah,” he mused, tilting his head. “And here I thought I was meant to be the enigmatic one.” You rolled your eyes, but your chest still felt tight. “You still haven’t really answered me.”

“Haven’t I?” You scowled. “Not properly.” A thoughtful hum. “Perhaps not.” You huffed, crossing your arms. “Then at least answer this if you could choose, right now, to be mortal… would you?” Another pause. A longer one. His gaze met yours, not just glanced, not just observed, but looked. As if he were weighing something unseen, something vast and unspoken. Then, very softly he answered. “I do not know.” Something in your chest ached at that. Since you met him, you weren’t sure who had truly won this exchange. You hesitated for only a moment before exhaling, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "Well… if it makes you feel any better, we’re friends now...remember?."

A/N Sometimes it really is easier to put a band aid over it ㄟ( ▔, ▔ )ㄏ In other news I did not do as great as I thought on that chem exam...However, I still have 2 more exams to lock in for...but I got a 93 on my philosophy midterm sooooo, it balances out sort of...

Anyways...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

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[goatgoesmbe]

angst, no comfort, everyone involved in this fic got hurt including the author

inspired from: this song, (english) + this old indonesian song (from reader's perspective) (english)

tw : Dead dove: do not eat, infidelity, depression, mention of abuse, mention of PTSD, implied suicidal thoughts, self-harm, dark theme, heavy ass shit, toxic relationship, one-sided hatred, one-sided love, self-loathing, major character death, violence, mention of blood, probably inaccurate medical scene, implied past-Ghoap, post-Soap's death

last warning : it started bad and it got worse before everything burned in flames

Thanks to @ahobaka-trash & @herdarkangel for beta-reading :3

word count : 9187

rated : E

You can't fix him

Ghost x f!Reader

AO3

The sun was shining brightly in the sky, specks of white decorated light blue. Everything was too bright, too colorful, that he needed to squint his eyes and pull his hoodie to cover his face more. He hadn’t worn his mask for a while now, not since he was discharged. He just couldn’t be bothered to anymore, not finding any use for it when he didn’t need to separate himself between two lives.

But he regretted not wearing any now.

Despite the warm temperature, he was dressed in all black, with his jacket zipped up all the way. His appearance was a contrast to the pretty thing holding onto his forearm. You were skipping beside him, smiling cheerfully as you cooed at babies and greeted every dog passing by.

He made a mistake by glancing at you, to which you responded with a bright smile that made him grit his teeth.

“Don’t be so grumpy, Simon. We’re almost there” You said to him in such a sweet voice that sent a shiver down his spine- not the pleasant kind.

This was not a scenario Simon thought he would ever be in.

It all started when he first met you. His neighbor who wouldn’t leave him alone ever since he moved into the flat beside yours. He didn’t know how you even had the courage to approach him, he knew he was huge and imposing, intimidating everyone in and out of field. He was not charming in any way like you were, he was broody, even more so now that he was medically discharged from the military.

He got his heart punctured in a fight—a near-fatal wound. He was rushed to a field hospital, then airlifted back home, where surgeons fought to keep him alive. Hours of open-heart surgery. Internal bleeding. A cardiac patch to repair the damage. But somehow, he survived.

“Your heart took too much damage. Even with the surgical repairs, any extreme exertion could worsen the scar tissue, cause arrhythmia, or lead to heart failure. If you push too hard… you’ll need a transplant.” He remembered a doctor explaining  it to him.

The very last thing he liked about himself, his strength, was now useless since he couldn’t get his hands dirty. He was angry, but he knew there was nothing he could do, couldn’t argue with Price to at least get him to have Johnny’s revenge and kill Makarov.

You kept pestering him. Starting with knocking on his door to offer him some baked goods, approaching him for small talk even though the most he would respond with was  an annoyed grunt.

It was very obvious that you had a not-so-little crush on him. And he tried to make it obvious that he wasn’t interested, that you were better off trying to charm some better bloke out there that wasn’t full of emotional baggage.

But he was starting to learn that you were a stubborn little thing, and it started to get on his nerves.

And so, that’s how he got here. Letting you drag him to some cozy cafe in the city, you looked so pretty in your flowy sundress and white wedges. He hated it.

You clearly made an extra effort to look pretty for this date. For him.

While he couldn’t even be bothered to shower.

He only agreed to this date so you would see how uninteresting he was, so you would finally leave him alone for the better. 

“So.. we talked a lot before.. but you rarely talked about yourself” You said to him after you both were sat at a table by the window. He had to hold back the urge to roll his eyes at that, because no- we didn’t talk a lot, you did, while he just endured listening to you.

“Why should I talk about myself..” He responded while looking down at his tea, stirring it so he had something to do with his hands to make this whole thing less awkward.

You giggled at that, and while he was used to you being such a sweetheart all the time, it still irked him. “Well.. this is a date.. so, that’s kind of the thing you have to do..” You replied.

“Only if you’re comfortable of course..!” You quickly added when he looked at you with his soulless eyes.

He grunted in response. Like he always did in every interaction with you.

“Well.. let me go first then” You uttered before rambling about yourself like he hadn't  heard it  all before already. You worked as a vet and often volunteered at various local shelters, you liked baking and always shared some with the others, especially him even though he still had quite a few stuffed at the back of his cupboard, uneaten.

Now, Simon knew he had been really cruel with you, especially with how you’ve been nothing but nice. But he couldn’t help it, he didn’t know why but the way you looked at him like he mattered,when he thought the total opposite, just rubbed him the wrong way. 

You clearly fell hard for him for some reason, but he didn’t feel the same way. And he was not a total asshole, he made it very clear with his words and action toward you. “I’m not interested,” He said curtly when you asked him for a coffee yesterday. “..Please? Just this once, then I’ll leave you alone..” You responded. So he only agreed because he hoped you’d keep your word and leave him alone after.

But he couldn’t say that he hated you either. It’s what you do that pissed him off. He was not used to being treated this way, receiving this much affection, when he didn’t deserve it. He felt like a feral animal being forced to wear some cozy sweater. Made his skin itch, Irritating, left him wanting to tear it all at the seams.

It was him that he hated, not you. He shouldn’t be receiving this kind of attention for being the person he was.

“So.. that was all about me, your turn,” your voice snapped him out of his head.

“..Fine, what do you want to know?” He responded,  then took a sip of his tea that tasted horrible on his tongue. But he gulped it down anyway.

“Um.. what do you do for work? I don’t think I’ve seen you out much..” You asked with a tilt of your head.

“Was in the military.” Simon’s answer left out as many details as possible, telling you it’s classified when you asked questions about it. 

He still had a lot of savings to survive living without working for a while. Until he got himself sorted out at least.

A soft giggle left  your lips at his secrecy. “Well.. alright, how about things you do in your free time?” you asked in a gentle tone, being so patient with him as always.

“Nothing much” He answered as he looked anywhere but at you who tried to blind him with your sunshine. He wasn’t lying, he spent most days distracting himself from his thoughts by working out, and when he wasn’t, he was content staying in his flat to zone out at anything playing on tv, at full volume to drown out the voices in his fucked up head. He was sure you could hear him from your place whenever he did that, but you never complained so he wasn’t really sure.

You didn’t respond for a few seconds, which was odd because you were usually so quick to fill the silence with anything you could think of. It was as if you were being more careful with him now in hopes that he would open up to you more eventually.

Stupid thought.

“I noticed you work out a lot, ” you then said with a cheeky smile as you eyed his biceps that were still obvious under his thick hoodie. “Once I saw you went on a run at 2 am,” you added.

He grunted again.

Yeah, he did that sometimes.. woke up in the early hours from nightmares, then tried to tire himself out by running. At least until his body deemed it enough, he didn't want  to put a strain on his heart like the doctor had said.

And when he couldn’t bring himself to go outside, he’d just stare at the wall while unconsciously picking on the stitches from some of the wounds he got from the last deployment. Finding comfort in the sting that distracted him from the heavy weight in his chest. Sometimes it caused him to bleed slightly, but it’s not like he couldn’t stitch it up again  himself. If anything, the pain he felt when doing so  grounded him.

But he couldn’t say that.

“Last time I did so much of a workout was when I got chased by a dog, ” you joked and laughed at yourself. Simon gave no reaction, he was staring at you in the eyes but it was obvious his mind was elsewhere.

You fidgeted in your seat at his lack of response and put on a smile. “So.. if you need a workout buddy, I don’t mind being one.. been wanting to start exercising regularly anyway” You then said shyly, looking up at him with those damn doe eyes.

Simon shrugged. “You wouldn’t be able to keep up”.

Wrong answer.

Because instead of taking it as a rejection, you took it as a challenge.

And you totally broke your promise to leave him alone after this date.

His time of solitude was filled with your sweet voice and giggles.

“Hey, why don’t we rest a bit..” You suggested the first time you invited yourself to his early morning run, panting and sweating already even though it had only been a short while.

He rolled his eyes and kept running at his pace. “Told you, you wouldn’t be able to keep up, ” he responded without looking at you, keeping his gaze forward.

Expecting you to give up and leave him alone, he was surprised when you instead started sprinting, laughing at the way his eyes widened. “Race you..!” you yelled over your shoulder.

Your footsteps kept getting farther and farther, and he could feel himself relaxing again. Finally some peace and quiet.

Simon didn’t bother to race you, content with being with himself along with the feeling weighing him down in his chest. From the damage he got on his heart, or something else, he wasn’t sure.

And as he continued with his run, he caught up with you eventually,  sitting on a bench.

“I won! ” You teased  him with a grin.

Simon didn’t respond, didn’t say that he wasn’t even interested in participating in the stupid race.

You didn’t take the hint of him wanting to be left alone, like  usual . And so, Simon had to endure with your yapping the whole way back to the flat.

“That was fun, Simon. I’ll join you again sometime, yeah?” You headed inside your own flat without waiting for his response since you were used to it by now. And for the first time, Simon appreciated your act of kindness.

It was not surprising when you kept tagging along with his morning run despite him being obviously bothered by it. He was pissed at first, but then your presence became familiar to him, so much so that he found himself looking for you when you didn’t show up.

He quickly shook his head. Damn, you were starting to invade his mind.

Grumbling under his breath, he dumped the thought of you before resuming his run.

Without your cavity-inducing voice to accompany him, he found himself lost in thoughts. Drowning in the cacophony of noises in his head: his dad’s yelling, his mum’s cries, the sound of gunshot to Johnny’s head.

“I said, I already have a boyfriend!” Out of nowhere, your voice snapped him out of his head. Just then, his eyes locked with yours.

“See?  That's him!” You looked relieved and immediately left the guy who had been bothering you to stand by Simon’s side. With a simple stare from him, the guy immediately tensed before hurriedly walking  away. He didn’t mean to intimidate him or help you, but you thanked him anyway.

Boyfriend. Him.

He didn’t think much of it, no. It was obvious that you only said it at the time so the guy would leave you alone.

That was until he heard you telling everyone else that. He overheard you talking to some neighbors who were curious about him, the brooding loner who lived beside you. He didn’t know why he stood back  and refused to  say anything when you told them you’ve been dating him. Maybe it didn’t matter to him what you or everyone else thought , or maybe he didn’t mind the thought of it. The former was more likely.

He thought about it  when he was back at his flat. Since when did you start thinking that?  Was it since  that so-called first date? He probably should say something about it. Not probably — definitely.

But then he remembered how fucking stubborn you were. How you kept pestering him even though he clearly ignored you, how you managed to convince him to go on a date with you, your uninvited presence during his morning run, the insistent knocking on his door whenever you wanted to share your baking with him.

He could already feel his head pounding at the thought of your reaction if he were to make it  clear to  you. Initiating a break-up already felt like a chore, especially with someone like you. His life already felt like hell ever since he was discharged, he really didn’t need another shit on his plate, and didn’t want to start any drama.

Alright, he’d play along for now. Your silly little fantasy would eventually pop after you saw what a burden he truly was.

…

“I can tell you never had anyone over, huh? Well, I feel honored..” You beamed when he invited you over. Big eyes sparkling as you took in the mess that is his apartment, piles of laundry he didn’t bother to fold after getting them out of the dryer, some leftover takeout on the coffee table swarmed by a trail of ants, dust particles in the air, the stench of it all.

“Go sit wherever.” His voice rumbled before he went to the kitchen and prepared the only thing he could even be bothered with: instant noodles.

When he got back from the kitchen, he found that you had tidied up a bit, windows opened for some fresh air, and you somehow found some trash bag  to put some of the mess in, which was now gathered in the corner. “I hope you don’t mind me touching your stuff..” You said with an apologetic smile.

“‘S fine” He responded. It was not fine, he didn’t like having other people in his private space, and now you had made it worse by messing up his familiar surroundings. But he didn’t feel like arguing.

He sat on the couch and ate in silence, didn’t even bother to hand you your plate, instead  letting you get to it yourself.

“Is this what you eat every day?” You asked when he felt your presence beside him. The tone indicated that you were genuinely curious and not judging. You probably noticed the trash in the kitchen was filled with instant noodles packages when you were retrieving your food.

He answered with a hum.

“Well.. you know, I like to cook so I don’t mind doing it for you too..” He heard you say and grunted in response.

But of course, you took it as an invitation to invade his personal space even more.

Simon’s previous plan of getting you to turn your nose up at him backfired. Now you didn’t only come over from time to time to give him cookies, but twice a day to feed him proper food.

And you didn’t stop there, no. Because when he opened the door to receive whatever it was that you  were giving him,as always, you had now begun inviting  yourself inside to eat with him, telling him about your day without him having to ask as he tried to not show how much he enjoyed the food. But you seemed to pick it up with how you started bringing larger portions, packing up the leftovers to fill his empty fridge.

You also turned his dump of an apartment livable. No more trash scattered around, his clothes are contained in his wardrobe, smelling of flowery laundry conditioner rather than the musty smell he was used to, the layer of dust on his furniture is  gone, and the nasty stench that used to linger in his apartment has been replaced with sweet lavender.

He didn’t like it at first, not a fan of his world being flipped upside down. To some people, the state he was in was miserable, sure. But it was comforting in a way because that was his personal sanctuary isolated from everyone, he was used to the darkness consuming him that he recoiled at the blinding light that was you.

Now however, he had just accepted his fate. His previous expectation of finally having you leave him alone once you see how miserable he was had  failed. Does it frustrate him? It probably should, but he was used to how stubborn you were by now.

You took his lack of response as acceptance. But is it? Not  really.

Being around you still made him feel on edge since everyone would see how much of a sweetheart you are, which automatically meant he was an  asshole. He pushed your hand away every time you tried to touch him because even just the thought of it made him want to flay himself alive.

Why do you even like him? Do you really like him? Or do you have this hero complex and saw him like one of those poor animals you rescued at work?

Well, he doesn’t know, but if he paid attention to the way you looked at him, he’d notice how you never looked at him with pity, just pure adoration like how despite everything he was worthy of love.

He eventually found the answer when he slept with you for the first time. It was something that he did just to get his needs filled.  He was only a man after all, and you were there, pretty and willing. He saw faint marks on your thighs, some neat lines from cuts that told him you did it yourself.

Leaving your sleeping form on the bed, he went to the bathroom and saw more confirmation of what he suspected. At one of the cabinets, he found some pills, anti-depressants. A few of them were left in a cylinder container with a label that was fading like it’s been left untouched for a while. Did you give up trying? Or maybe did it not help you  the way that you thought  it would?

You two weren’t as different as he thought after all.

So perhaps you saw yourself in him in a way that he couldn’t. That you were so kind to everyone,even to an asshole like him, to make you hate yourself less. How you were so nice and patient with him to make up for how you couldn’t treat yourself that way.

You thought his life was worth more, so you didn’t care if loving him took pieces of your own.

He didn’t say anything about it, but he found himself  being less  hostile towards you.

…

“-They’ve been ganging up to bully me, acting so tough until I stand for myself?” You vented to him about your day at work one night, lounging on his bed as he scrolled on his phone. 

“Can’t believe people like them exist. Adults —some of them married with children — but act so childish. ” You continued despite his lack of response.

“I know I should tell HR about it.. but doesn’t it just make it worse? Basically everyone at work is in on it.. plus I don’t know if HR would actually do something about it anyway-” 

“Why don’t you just quit your job?” He mumbled, cutting off your sentence which made you look up at him, surprised at his response. And then you smiled with a faint blush on the high of your cheeks, like you were happy that he was actually listening.

Wow, you really need to raise your standard if having your partner doing the bare minimum made you gleam.

He didn’t push you away when you snuggled to his side.

“Well.. the thing is, I’m really stubborn. So resigning feels like I’m quitting the battlefield, losing. And I don’t lose.” You answered with a cheeky smile that actually made him snort. What a ridiculous mindset, but it was not odd for you.

Your smile widened at his amusement.

“What are you gonna do then?” He asked when you didn’t say anything and just stared at him with those loving eyes. Ugh, he was still not used to being looked at that way.

“Well.. I’m gonna act like an adult unlike them, be professional and show that their words don’t affect me.. kill them with kindness and all. Maybe it won't stop them, maybe I’ll get fired eventually.. but that’s the only realistic thing I could think of..” You rambled again.

“Am I pathetic?” You then added in a more somber tone, like you already thought that about yourself. That usual shine in your eyes dimmed and for a second he thought he saw the you that was hidden from the world.

“Yeah,” He thought to himself out loud without meaning to. And seemed like it was an incorrect response from the flicker of disappointment seen in your eyes before you hid by nuzzling your face to a pillow. Were you expecting him to comfort you? Did he raise your expectations of him just because he listened?

Simon looked away, he was never good at comforting people so he didn’t know what to say. After a moment of silence, he heard you snoring softly.

As he too closed his eyes, he thought to himself about what he had been feeling. While he still found himself disappointed  waking up another day, the thought of you feeling the same void in your chest made him feel better because he knew he wasn’t alone. He didn’t know how you could live everyday with a smile,everyday which made him respect you a bit.

He was used to your company by now, you cleaned his place, fed him, and fulfilled his sexual needs, and he was content with that.

But did he start feeling the same way as you?

Receiving your affection still gave him goosebumps, he never touched you tenderly like a boyfriend should, he was still as grumpy as ever around you. Though he didn’t push you away like he used to, he let you touch him, let you talk his ear off. But did it really mean anything? He  merely tolerated you. No more loathing, but he couldn’t say that he liked you. He just didn’t care to feel for you, positively or negatively, indifferent. So perhaps not.

He can’t love you anyway. It was one thing to be loved, it was another to love. The latter would give you power over him.

He can’t let himself be vulnerable again. He remembered how it was with Johnny, the hurt he felt when he got taken away in front of his eyes, dying in his arms.

He didn’t want to feel that loss again, so he settled with not having.

But then he let you kiss him. 

It wasn’t like you two never kissed before but this was different, it was not something that would end up with the  two of you having sex. 

He was smoking outside late at night, watching the flickering stars, and thought of the time he did the same thing a long time ago.  He was on  deployment, . taking a break at a hideout after a long day of fighting and running.

He had felt more alive then , despite the horrors he’d seen everyday, compared  to the peaceful yet boring life he had now.

Johnny was with him that night, yapping his ear off like he always did, exchanging shitty jokes. He kissed him that night.

So maybe that’s why it happened. When you somehow found him and invaded his solitude- like you always did, filling the silence with whatever rant you had  in store from the day.

Then the conversation slowed down, and he noticed you kept glancing at his lips. And when you stopped talking, you leaned in.

And he didn’t move, didn’t turn his head away.

Didn’t reciprocate the kiss and just stood still as you kissed him.

But it still made you smile. And you told him how life had never been great to you for a long while. How the universe has been  testing you harder lately.

And then you said that he was the best thing you had at the moment. You thanked him for whatever reason.

And he felt his heart stop .

He was half-listening to all that, was lost in thought about why he let you kiss him so softly, why hadn’t he pushed you away. But this? It made it all clear.

He had , in a way, developed  feelings for you. He didn’t want to call it love, but he cared at least.

If not, he wouldn’t have reacted so negatively to that remark. Would’ve stayed nonchalant and stayed there, continued to smoke, and acted indifferent.

Instead, he left. Leaving you who only stared at his retreating figure.

Because you were wrong, he wasn’t the best thing you had in your life. But for some reason, you saw him as your savior. He gave you a purpose, loving him was giving you some kind of fucked up hope. A reminder to yourself that your heart wasn’t broken because it was still beating.

He had to stop you there because he was the last person on earth who was able to give anyone salvation. He couldn’t save you, you couldn’t save him. He needed to get away from you.

You would be better off without him. That was proof that he cared about you, not wanting you to  chase  after some false hope. You deserve better.

But he could just leave, move out, and go far away. It would give him a nasty itch that would bother him wherever he goes. And he had a lot of shit haunting him already.

No, he needed to get it to your thick skull that whatever this was, was not happening.

He still didn’t like the thought of initiating a break-up because it was such a fucking chore. But he had to do this, for your sake.

…

And so the next day, he knocked on your door.

When you opened it, you looked up with those big eyes sparkling and beamed like you didn’t just spill  your heart out last night.

“I want to talk,” He said as he looked you in the eyes.

He was hoping you’d get the message with how intense his stare was but you just smiled and nodded. “Sure, come in-”

“No,” He cut you off immediately. It was better this way, so he could leave immediately after.

“I want to break up,” he continued.

He watched you stay silent, not showing any emotion, and then blinked before smiling again.

No hint of surprise, anger, or sadness. Like you had been expecting this conversation for a long time. Perhaps you’ve been hurt too much and more, and now you just felt numb.

“No,” you said with a giggle like he was just telling a joke.

“What do you mean, no?” He asked incredulously.

“I meant no, Simon.” You responded a bit more firmly.

“Why? I’ve never even loved you,” He said harshly. Cold and sharp, masking the feeling that was starting to bloom poorly in the cold vessel that was his heart.

“I don’t care..” You said in a softer tone, locking your eyes with him for a few seconds before looking down. “I don’t care if you  don’t feel the same way, Simon. Being with you makes me happy”.

“I’m being selfish, I know, I’m sorry..” You added, looking up at him again.

“How?” He couldn’t help but ask, feeling bewildered.

“It just is.. I can’t explain it, can’t really explain love..” You answered with an empty chuckle.

“No, why do you even love me? ” He asked again.

You smiled and tilted your head, the smile reached your  eyes as you looked at him with adoration. “You didn’t need to do anything to deserve love, Simon, ” you answered.

And he wondered if you could say that to yourself.

Simon let out a long sigh, letting out all the frustration he felt ever since he first met you. “I’m not really in a state for a relationship right now..” He didn’t mean to say anything about himself, it left his lips before he could stop it. But he hoped it would do something.

“Just give it some time..” You responded.

He frowned.

“I’m not giving up on this relationship, Simon.. or you,” You then continued and looked him dead in the eye.

Stubborn little thing.

He shouldn’t be surprised, should be used to how stubborn you could be, but he was.

He wondered if there was a limit to your stubbornness.

He really regretted agreeing to that first date, he was stuck with you now.

And if he was hurting you before by simply being himself. Now he would actually put in an effort.

Being back to square one where everything you do irritated  him. He did his best to avoid you, shut you down with a look whenever you tried to talk to him, not leaving a gap for you to have any hope of things changing. 

But despite all that, you still loved him.

Still looked at him like he hung the moon, somehow always managed to find him when he was out for some fresh air. And so he tried leaving his flat less often, but you still knocked on his door every day. He didn’t answer, but when he eventually opened the door, he saw your homemade food packed nicely with a little note.

Like you thought this was just a little fight that would eventually pass if you kept treating him nicely,as you usually did, and kept apologizing.

Always so fucking stubborn.

You were too kind, never cried, didn’t know when to quit, and never run away.

That's why you’d just hurt each other. That's just the way you two lived.

And It really pissed him off.

If being loved made his skin crawl before because he didn’t think he was deserving, wasn’t used to receiving any, like a feral snarling and hissing at some innocent girl that tried to pet it. Now he felt even worse because you made him  treat you like this, made him an even more horrible man than he already was . For him to be so cruel to such a sweet little thing, he hated himself even more.

There were worse things he could do. He could make it very clear if he put a hand on you, slapped you across the face just once. But he couldn’t, no matter how horrible he thought he was, how irredeemable his soul was, there was always a voice at the back of his head saying "Don't be like your father" eerily similar to his mum's.

He doubted it would work anyway, seeing his mum still stayed with that piece of shit.

So he did the next worst thing he could think of.

…

Heavy boots stepped into the dimly lit bar, and with a slow, deliberate motion as  he settled onto a stool and ordered a glass of whiskey. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and the low hum of conversation. His eyes flickered sideways, scanning his surroundings with a sharp unreadable look. The bar was filled with a mix of tired regulars and weekend wanderers. He made no move, but there was something in his posture, in the way his fingers drummed lightly against the bar, that suggests he was waiting for something. Or someone.

His presence attracted attention immediately when he stepped in. Curious glances strayed to him before trailing away at the sight of his intimidating demeanor. He was used to that, he was not new to this game. And as expected, soon enough a pair of eyes lingered. A woman, confident and clearly interested, slid into the seat beside him, nursing a cocktail. She glanced his way, smirking slightly. 

“You look like you got a lot on your mind..” She purred with a tilt of her head.

“Maybe.” He lifted his glass, voice still quiet.

The woman took a long sip of her cocktail, humming with intrigue.

“You waiting on someone?” She asked.

“No,” He responded.

And then there was silence, not uncomfortable but thick with something unspoken. He let her watch him, feeling her gaze trailing from head to toe, admiring his physique, and seemed to like what she saw. 

But he didn’t meet her gaze directly. Taking another sip of whiskey, he then set the glass down.

“Just.. seeing who’s around.” He mumbled before he finally looked at her.

The woman raised a brow, interest sparking. She then smirked, stirring the ice in her glass with a lazy flick of her wrist. And then leaned in slightly, testing the waters.

“So, just looking? Or hoping to find something?” She asked as she fluttered her eyelashes.

His eyes settled on her like a slow burn which made her blush. Even though his mind was somewhere else, she didn’t seem to notice though.

He lifted his whiskey, taking a slow sip. “Haven't decided yet.” He spoke, not quite answering, not quite denying.

She exhaled a soft laugh. “Mysterious. That your thing?”

He responded with a shrug. “Just don’t waste words”

She watched him for a moment, like she was trying to figure out if he was a challenge worth pursuing. “And if I wanted to waste a few?”.

He didn’t smile, but he set his glass down, turning his body just a fraction more toward her. She was pretty enough, and clearly interested in him. He wasn’t picky anyway, just needed anyone to get this done with.

“Guess that depends on how you’d do it.” He responded.

“Well... I could start with a name..” She said before telling hers and asking  for his. But he couldn’t care less. His mind was a mess, making it a struggle to pay attention.

Without hesitation, he gave her an old name he hadn’t used in a while. A name that separated who he was and what he did. And what he was doing right now, was almost as horrible as what he had done in the military.

“Ghost?” She asked playfully like she thought he was joking.

He took another sip of his whiskey and said nothing. 

“Alright.. Ghost,” She purred and leaned in even closer, being bolder. “What’s a man like you doing here alone?”

“Maybe I was waiting for someone worth wasting time on,” He answered bluntly.

That seemed to intrigue her even more rather than discourage her. She tilted her head, grinning. He was quiet, but not passive. He was waiting, watching, letting her step into his space but not too close. It was a different kind of confidence. The kind that makes people lean in without even realizing it.

“Lucky me, then,” She said before taking another sip of her cocktail.

The conversation stayed slow, measured. He didn’t flirt the way most men do, didn’t try to impress. He just listened. Let the silence stretch when it needed to. And somehow, that made her want to fill the spaces with more.

Another drink. Another shift closer.

“You gonna make me do all the work here?” She said after a lull in the conversation, tilting her head playfully, teasing.

He blinked at her, slowly. “Thought you were enjoying yourself.” He mumbled, keeping his eyes on her.

She laughed, shaking her head. “You gonna take me somewhere quieter, or are you just going to keep watching me like that?”

Finally. He didn’t know if he could take another back and forth. He just wanted to get to the point.

He didn’t answer immediately. Just finished his whiskey, set the glass down, and stood up.

“Let’s go,” He said. She followed.

The rest of the night was a blur. Lips locking with each other as soon as he opened the door to his flat, his feet moved on their own, stumbling in a dance that led them to his bed. Her hands pulled on his clothes, and soft giggles escaped her lips when he went down on her.

Came to think of it, it was the first time he had  brought  a stranger over to this flat he now called home. It wasn’t like he was a stranger to one-night stands , but he never could be bothered to ever since he moved here. There had been too much going on in his head, even more so when you started invading his mind.

He regretted it.

Regretted not doing this sooner.

It felt good, to be able to release some steam without feelings attached. To be lusted at without being loved, engaging in pleasure with some faceless stranger he wouldn't meet again. He didn’t need to endure a loving whisper of ‘i love you’. It didn't make him feel vulnerable like when he did it with you, he was fully in charge.

…

The morning light slipped through half-closed blinds, casting long streaks across the room. The air was  thick with the remnants of last night—alcohol, perfume, the quiet warmth of tangled sheets. The woman stirred, stretching languidly before she turned towards him, only to find his back facing her as he stood by the balcony, tending to a cigarette.

“Morning,” She said softly, still drowsy.

“You should go,” Simon uttered flatly.

While he couldn’t see her face, he could hear the frown in her voice. “..What?”

He ran a hand through his already messy hair before finally meeting her gaze, his expression unreadable —cold. “Time to go” The words are clipped, no room for argument.

She sat up, gripping the sheet around her, studying him. “Wow. Straight to that, huh? No coffee, no small talk?”

He exhaled  sharply through his nose, but it’s not quite a laugh. More like an acknowledgment of how predictable this must look. “This wasn’t that.”

He kind of forgot how the morning after was. How some people expected something more and didn’t get the hint from the get-go. He was used to you who tolerated his behavior, never expecting  him to be soft or tend to you  after. You’d get up and prepare  some breakfast , while he laid there and stared at the ceiling.

He turned his head and watched as this stranger’s face contorted in irritation. She was searching for any trace of the man from last night, the one who let her in just enough to make her think there was something worth chasing. But now he’s a wall, solid and immovable. 

He was ashamed to say that he had been thinking of you previously and at the moment. That was why he was like this, so this stranger wouldn't hope, just like you who were already attached to him.

“Guess I should’ve seen this coming,” She said harshly, a pity to herself.

“Probably,” He responded just as blunt.

That probably stung more than it should. Good.

She exhaled, shook her head, then threw back the covers and stood up, grabbing her clothes from where they were carelessly discarded the night before. He didn’t turn away, didn’t offer to help— because why should he?

She pulled on her dress, shoving her heels onto her feet before facing him one last time. “Are you  always this charming in the morning?”.

“Just honest,” he said flatly, flicking his cigarette.

“Honest? Please. You act like you don’t want anyone close.” She sneered.

Then, he finally turned around to face her. “Now you get it” he said as his soulless eyes met her fiery ones.

Just like that, it’s over. She didn’t say another word, just grabbed her things and walked out, he followed her behind to lock the door.

And then he saw you.

What happened last night was obvious from his appearance alone, looking disheveled, shirtless, with some lovemarks across his chest. And he let you take it all in, he waited for the pang of regret to appear in his chest, for you to react, cry, yell, run. But instead, you just sighed and smiled at that woman when she passed you by.

“I have to go to work earlier today, but I  already made you some breakfast,” You said and handed him a Tupperware, kissed his cheek before walking away. Like he didn’t just cheat on you, like you were used to pretending  everything was okay.

There was a lump in his throat and he swallowed it down immediately. Regret.

He shouldn’t feel any regret, didn’t allow himself to feel it.

It was cruel to pull the knife out after he’d stabbed you deep. It was better to leave the knife in so you wouldn’t bleed out.

So he didn’t call out to you to apologize or explain himself. He simply turned around and got back inside, closing the door behind him.

Because he knew if he were to change for the better you would just forgive him, and that would be horrible. He didn’t deserve to be loved by you then and even more now after what he just did.

Best thing he could do right now is to continue what he’s doing. To hurt you so you’d eventually hate him and leave. 

This is for your own sake.

And so, he continued. Bringing strangers home each night and fucking  them without making an effort to be subtle. One time, he did it when you were home, when you could surely hear every noise  through the wall. However, it didn’t affect you in the slightest bit. You still brought him food, still greeted  him with that fucking smile, still talked to him with endearment. Like nothing happened, or that you refused to acknowledge anything had happened.

His only hope is the almost unnoticeable flicker in your eyes as you tried to hide how this had  started to affect you, how you approached  him less and less.

But you never left him.

So he’d keep doing what he could do best, to hurt. And maybe, eventually you’ll get it. Hopefully.

…

The night was calm, draped in a velvety darkness that stretched endlessly above, safe for the moon shining brightly. Its light poured through the window, stretching long, pale streaks across the floor, illuminating dust motes drifting in the still air. A distant murmur beneath the hush of the wind. The air was cool, slipping through the open window, carrying with it the faint scent of rain on the pavement.

Outside, the world was at peace, yet his room was steeped in shadow. The  air was thick, heavy, pressing down like an unseen weight. The curtains swayed slightly from the draft, their slow movement the only sign of life in the dimly lit room. 

He laid on his bed, zoning out as he stared at his ceiling. The stillness around him wasn’t peaceful—it was hollow. The kind that settled deep, coiling in the spaces between breaths. It was one of those days when he didn’t feel like doing anything, content to stay in one place all day.

So he didn’t go out for another conquest tonight. But he did need to eat, so when he heard a knock at his door, he let you in.

Now, the silence was filled with a sizzle of oil, the quiet clatter of a pan being shifted. The warmth of it seeped into the air, cutting through the lifeless stillness that had settled over him like a second skin. He stayed on the bed, while you were there, just beyond the doorway, tending to whatever was on the stove. The soft scrape of a spoon against a bowl, the rhythmic chop of a knife against the cutting board—it was all steady, unhurried, you’ve done it a hundred times before after all. Made him feel like he wasn’t alone.

His breath came a little slower now, his mind drifting between the weight of exhaustion and the quiet pull of that warmth beyond the door. He didn’t get up, not yet. But with you around the corner, the dark didn’t feel so endless.

Whatever bit of calmness he felt then was taken away when he heard another sound coming from the door.

Not a knock, but an insistent banging.

There was a feeling of unease at the back of his head, but he ignored it.

Which he soon realized to be a mistake.

“Coming..!” He heard you yell and approach the door. Being so understanding since you knew he didn’t want to meet anyone at the moment.

He closed his eyes and couldn’t help but listen to the conversation.

When you opened the door, you saw some men dressed in all black towering over you. Their expressions were hard, sharp eyes pinning you in place, giving  you goosebumps.

“Is Simon Riley around?” The one at the front asked.

Your hand gripped the handle of the door, wanting to slam it shut but you knew it would make it worse, might get them agitated, and would try to break in anyway.

“Who..? I think you got the wrong place- sorry..” You said as calmly as you could, but it seemed like you failed with how they didn’t seem to buy it.

“Don’t think we do, sweetheart.” The other said and pushed the door open with his feet when you tried to close it. His eyes caught a pair of large boots, Simon’s boots, and then glanced at the other.

Despite your best efforts, the men made their way in and immediately scattered around to search the place. Furniture  pushed around, drawers were pulled out to spill  all of its content onto the floor.

Eventually, they headed to the other rooms in the flat. And you made a mistake by trying to prevent one of them who approached the bedroom.

You sighed in relief when you saw the bed was empty. But it was too late, they noticed your reaction and knew you were hiding something.

They were now gathered around you, talking in a language you don’t understand. And then, your arm was yanked, you were being pushed around, forced to follow them as they exited the apartment.

“W-wait, where are you taking me..!? let go..!” You screamed in panic which made one of them clasp his hand to your mouth. 

“Don’t worry about it, if you’re important enough to him he’ll come to us immediately to save you..” He said, before clicking his teeth when you kept struggling.

“If not- well..” The other one behind you chuckled and reached out to grope your curves. “We could have a little fun before getting rid of you.. you’ve seen too much anyway”.

You froze at the way they leered at you. Tears welling up in your eyes before you fought back like your life depended on it– because your life depends on it.

You bit the hand on your mouth hard, kicking around, pulling, and hitting anyone at arm length.

Didn’t need to win the fight, just needed to keep struggling, make some noise until hopefully someone– anyone noticed and called for help.

They overpowered you easily, and you were starting to give up hope when a damp cloth was pressed to your nose and mouth. But of course, you were stubborn and made them struggle as much as you were.

Everything went in a blur. Suddenly, you were tossed aside when something huge rammed the one holding you to the wall. You laid on the floor, holding your head which was pounding as you tried to focus on the scene in front of you while  the world spun. Black dots danced in your vision.

Bloodshed.

A masked figure moved with lethal precision. You couldn’t see his face fully but you were certain of who he was. A knife gleamed in his grip, flashing under the dim light as he drove it into the first man’s throat. Blood sprayed, and before the others could react, he turned, slashing across another’s chest. The man screamed, stumbling backward, clutching at the gaping wound.

He moved like his old name, slipping between them, dodging fists and blades, his knife finding a home in the flesh over and over again. His body still remembered who he was before everything. The Ghost.

One man lunged at him, but he ducked, driving his knife up into the attacker’s ribs. Another came from behind—too late. The stranger spun, slashing his throat in a single, fluid motion. Bodies fell around him, the floor slick with crimson.

It was a massacre.

Simon was hiding outside all this time. He climbed out the window and kept himself flat to the wall as he waited. And he should have just stayed hidden, should have just waited until the help he called would come. That would be smarter, safer.

But he couldn’t bring himself to. Hearing your screams, your cries. He just couldn’t bring himself to do nothing. Perhaps, it was because it was the first time he saw you truly break. And he didn’t like that, even though all this time he tried to break you. Hypocrite.

For the first time ever he wanted to see that damn smile on your face.

It was as if his body moved on its own, slipping inside and going on a rampage.

You didn’t run nor hide, looking around for something to do, to be useful yourself despite how  you lacked any knowledge in combat.

A click.

The last man standing, who was trembling, raised a gun. Aimed it at him.

And you didn’t think—you just moved.

He watched you throw yourself between them. A deafening gunshot rang through the air. And  white-hot pain exploded at the side of your head.

His eyes widened at the familiar scene flashing in front of his eyes, from when the one he loved died the same way.

Your knees buckled and you fell.

Somewhere in the distance, someone screamed. His own voice that he didn’t recognize, low and furious, filled the air.

He could feel his heart thumping in his ears as he froze.

Another mistake.

Simon was too shocked, too focused on you to pay attention to the last man. 

A blinding pain exploded in his chest. His breath hitched as he stumbled, the world tilting. The force of the impact sent him to his knees. He pressed a shaking hand to his shirt, feeling warmth bloom beneath his palm.

He gritted his teeth, forcing himself up. His body protested, his heart hammering wildly—too wildly. His pulse was erratic, his vision blurred, but he wasn’t done yet.

The gunman aimed again.

With the last of his strength, Ghost lunged, knocking the weapon aside just as it fired. The shot went wide. Knife lodged deep into the man’s throat, sending him gasping to the ground.

Then—silence.

His legs gave out, his body slumping against the bloodied carpet. His breath came in short, uneven gasps, blowing warm air beneath his mask. The wound was bad but worse than that—his heart was failing. He could feel it, every skipped beat, every strangled attempt to keep going.

The last thing he heard before slipping into unconsciousness was the distant wail of sirens.

…

When he woke, everything hurt. The sterile scent of the hospital filled his lungs, monitors beeping steadily beside him. He found himself disappointed for waking up once again, for surviving everything, to live another day. Just when he thought it was all over.

His former captain and sergeant,who had been waiting outside, were allowed in after the medical staff checked on his condition.

“How are you feeling Simon? ” John asked as he pushed his former lieutenant back down when he tried to sit up.

“Horrible,” He responded curtly.

John then explained everything that happened. Some old enemies he made in the past seeking revenge. How everything was taken care of during the time he was unconscious.

Simon just stayed silent the whole time. Not relaxing a bit at the news.

Then, John’s voice softened, as if to speak more carefully as he told him about your condition.

Brain death.

Just then, he finally relaxed. His shoulders sagged and he had to hold himself back from sighing in relief

Finally, you were gone.

A cruel thought. But really, it was better for you to not be around him anymore. You would only get hurt more whether he tried to be better or worse, it didn't  matter. And if death was the only thing that could save you from him, then so be it. Your life was torture anyway from what he’d seen, as much as his life was. If anything, he was envious.

But then John didn't stop talking.

Simon felt his heart stop as he processed every word, his limbs went cold, and his throat felt constricting.

“The gunshot had torn through scar tissue from your previous injury, weakening your heart even more. The doctors had stabilized you, but your heart wouldn’t last much longer. Without a transplant, you were living on borrowed time.” John explained his injury to him, which made Simon turn his head to look his former captain in the eyes.

No.

John smiled, not  noticing  how Simon looked at him with horror. “You would’ve died if it wasn’t for her, Simon”.

You were an organ donor.

Of course you fucking are.

He was in need of an immediate transplant and you were there, compatible with him  in a way that you two weren’t before.

His ears drowned every word  after that. He caught fragments—something about them trying to reach your family, but no one responded, and the consent form you’d filled years ago from when you signed up for the program, became a greenlight to save his life. To give up yours entirely.

"You're a lucky bastard Simon, a rare bird she was." Kyle finally spoke up beside him, and Simon looked at him who sported an apologetic smile. He wanted to punch that smile, because no- he didn’t feel lucky at all.

His heart- your heart, thumped in his chest. Climbed up his throat, to his skull, defeaning.

Simon Riley considered himself to be  a level-headed man, all the way from his childhood to his days in the military and after. He wasn’t one to make a scene.

So he didn’t recognize who was being held down to the bed by the men beside him as he started screaming and trashing  the bed, almost pulling the tubes that were  attached to him.

You were a part of him now.

He could never get you away from him, huh?

taglist : @niazrzl, @iiriam, @defronix

[bangtan-junkie]

Dissonance (Part 3) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (f) ft. Jimin

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Genre/Tags: coworker!JK, enemies to lovers, smutttttt, slow burn (ish?), ANGST

Word Count: 9028

Synopsis: Giving you what you wanted seemed to put more of a rift between you and Jungkook. How could you enjoy his every touch, but despise him for it at the same time? Now you were stuck working on a huge project together, adding to the tension building between you two. High tensions and deadlines finally brought things to a head, forcing some truth out of each of you. But somehow that only seemed to make things worse. You couldn't handle it anymore. You needed a distraction. And what better distraction than a certain pretty red-haired man that you worked with?

Note: the plot and smut might be equal for once lmfao. as always, i hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! (longer note at the end)

This time around, you didn't have the privilege of avoiding Jungkook. You were still very much stuck on the project with him, despite all the excuses you had tried to make to your boss. She was having non of it; determined to get you two working together. So, you grit your teeth, and for the sake of professionalism (mostly just to keep your job), you remained civil with him. Your job was made surprisingly easier by Jungkook. After your last encounter, he'd become distant and quiet. He was now only talking to you if he really needed to, and doing everything in his power to not be in the same room as you.

Jungkook was not happy. Despite giving you exactly what you wanted the last time, you still loathed him and he couldn't understand why. When you left that file room, he was quick to get himself off - still reeling from your taste, how you felt, your sweet moans. But even after climaxing, he was still rock hard. As much as he wanted to keep going, he knew he'd been gone for too long and someone would come looking for him soon. So, he fixed himself up as best as he could. He tucked his cock up into his waistband, tried to fix his collar, and ditched his stained blazer. The rest of the day, he seemed normal enough to everyone else, but he was all too aware of his arousal. Jungkook couldn't have gotten home quicker that night; immediately pulling your panties out of his pocket and his cock out of his pants. Once he finally felt satisfied and his hormones balanced out, that's when the reality of his thoughts hit him. He'd put up with so much of your shit; but you treated him like trash, started rumours about him, humiliated him at work and in front of your boss - all because you wanted him to touch you. And when he did just that, he was still the asshole at the end of the day somehow. Did you really hate him that much? The frustration that was building up in him wasn't healthy and he knew that. He couldn't help himself when you looked at him with so much defiance and self-righteousness. He just wanted to wipe that look off your face - put you in your place. Jungkook had to stop himself; stop giving you what you wanted every time. So he decided to distance himself.

You'd think you would've been happy with his efforts to stay away from you. And you were, at least in the beginning. You were fully expecting this project to be a nightmare because Jungkook was going to give you a hard time. But he didn't. He was as civil as you were. Initially, you thought that maybe he finally understood how poorly he'd treated you- felt bad even. Maybe that's why he was making this easy. That was until you noticed how he was rushing out the door whenever you were the only person in the room. Or how he'd stopped quipping back when you slipped in any passive-aggressive comments. Or how rigid he was around you - all the time - despite being completely normal with everyone else. That was when your blood began boiling. He was basically turning the tables on you now, even using your tactics against you. Granted, in all your rage, you'd gone too far before. It was only fair that you'd humiliated him just as he'd done to you. Even though you didn't feel even by the end of your last exchange. While his degrading words never failed to drench your panties, some of it felt a little too real. Did he really think you were just one of these women that throw themselves at him? Extra desperate for him? That you were just waiting around for him to pay attention to you? You tried not to think about it, knowing it would only piss you off more. His new behaviour was most definitely not helping. It felt like he'd proved his point to himself, and now he was ignoring you as if you were a bad one night stand.

Despite your growing frustrations, part of you did feel bad about starting that rumour about him and the boss. You still didn't know whether it was true or not (although you were strongly leaning towards it being true). Jungkook had never clarified that; he had seemed more offended by your accusations of his lack of skill. But whether he was sleeping with her or not, the whole office didn't need to know. Not that she didn't make it obvious that he was her favourite anyways. You felt the need to clean up the mess you'd made, just to clear your own conscious, if nothing else. Just as sneakily as you started the rumour, you began discrediting the idea whenever people brought it up around you.

"He acts like that with everyone."

"He's everyone's favourite, apparently. Of course he's the boss' favourite too."

"He does get a lot of the shit projects that no one else wants too."

Your passive-aggressive comments and the fact that everyone had forgotten who'd started the rumour, helped with the damage control. Soon the rumour began dying down, and thankfully before your boss had heard them. But while you were doing a saint's work, Jungkook continued treating you like a stranger. You fought the urge to march over to him and give him a piece of your mind, but the last thing you wanted was to draw more attention back to him. Maybe this distance that he was putting between you two was for the best.

The next two weeks went by quickly as you engrossed yourself in the project and ignored Jungkook's weird behaviour. You were surprised to find that you actually worked well together when you weren't at his throat. He worked hard, made sure to get his work done on time, and - despite refusing to socialize with you - was good at communicating with you about the project. At first, you found it hard to move past Jungkook's cold behaviour towards you. But you certainly couldn't let it affect your work either, so you decided to stick it out - at least till this project was over. When the project finally came to a close, you were quite proud of your work. But the lingering feeling that you'd never speak to him again after this was slowly eating away at you. Why did you even care?

The night before your submission and presentation, you and Jungkook were the last ones left in the office. As you closed the last tab on your computer, you sighed contentedly and stretched your back. After sitting at your desk for so many late nights over the last few weeks, you felt like your entire body was sore. A disgruntled sigh from behind you made you swivel in your chair. While you'd just wrapped up the presentation for the next morning, Jungkook was still busy at work. His brows were furrowed as he carefully examined the papers in his hand, his desk scattered with more paper. He had taken on the responsibility to finalize the submission documents which is what he'd been working on the entire day. Maybe it was the lack of sleep from the past few days, or maybe you felt bad, but you decided to try and make conversation.

"Do you need any help?" you asked, standing up to stretch a little more. Jungkook's eyes flitted over to you as you broke the silence, his gaze roaming over your figure briefly.

"No, I'll manage," he replied blankly, quick to get back to his reading. You rolled your eyes, not entirely surprised by his cold answer.

"I'm gonna get some coffee. Looks like a late night for you, do you want some?" You asked as you walked towards the door.

"Yeah," he answered curtly. You froze in your spot momentarily, not expecting him to agree. This was probably the most friendly he'd been in over two weeks. "Oh and do you have the final drafts? I need them to cross reference and edit."

"Yeah, I do," you said, turning on your heels to get back to your desk. But Jungkook just waved dismissively.

"Just leave them on your desk before you leave. I'll get them later." You nodded, heading out to get the coffee. You returned with the two coffees, stepping behind Jungkook's desk to hand him his.

"Here. You like yours sweet right?" you asked, handing him his cup. Your stomach fluttered as his fingers brushed against yours while he took the cup. Jungkook didn't miss the way your gaze dropped to your touching fingers, but he didn't say anything. He simply nodded, sipping his drink. You sighed, walking back over to your desk and plopping in your chair.

"Don't you have manners?" you snapped, annoyed with his dismissive behaviour. Jungkook looked up at you, an amused glint in his eyes. You snapped your fingers. "Hello? You're supposed to thank people when they do things for you."

"Really?" he asked condescendingly, turning back to his papers. "I've done plenty of things for you, and haven't heard a 'thank you' either." The insinuation of his words made your face heat up with embarrassment and anger.

"You're such a fucking prick," you cursed, quickly grabbing your things. Suddenly, you couldn't get out of the office quicker. You didn't know why you'd bothered to try to talk to him at all. Why stay here and suffer further humiliation when you could be at home, taking a bath instead?

"First an asshole, now a prick. I must really be the worst," he said, a bite to his words despite his disinterested tone. You scoffed in disgust, feeling stupid for thinking he'd even consider being polite. Without another word, you shoved your things into your bag and left the office. Jungkook's eyes only lifted to watch you walk out the door, a certain frustration building up in him. But he shoved his feelings down to focus on his work.

When you finally got home, you ate something sweet with your coffee, took a hot shower, and climbed into bed. Pushing aside all thoughts of Jungkook, you knew you had to get a good night's rest to nail your presentation in the morning. Luckily for you, your exhaustion from the past few weeks caught up with you the moment your head hit the pillow. And then you were out like a light. At least until the sound of your phone buzzing woke you up a few hours later.

"Hello?" you mumbled groggily into your phone, beyond pissed that someone had woken you up.

"It's Jungkook. Where are the drafts? I can't find them anywhere," he asked, annoyance clear in his voice. It took you a moment to process what was going on as you wiped the sleep from your eyes.

"They must be on my desk," I groaned angrily, just wanting to back to sleep.

"If they were on your desk, why would I be calling you?" he snapped. You sat up, trying to think clearly. You knew they were on your desk, but then it dawned on you - you had shoved them into your bag in your hurry to leave. You cursed under your breath, knowing that Jungkook was about to give you more shit for this.

"Fuck, I think I might've taken them by accident," you admitted, bracing yourself. There was a moment of silence which was followed by a quiet groan. You could picture him pinching the bridge of nose in irritation.

"I need those drafts to finish to finalize the submission docs," he said blankly, as if the solution to this problem was glaringly obvious. You pulled your phone away from your face, staring at the screen in disbelief for a moment.

"I am not coming in to the office right now Jungkook. It's 3am for fucks sake," you said, bewildered.

"Well I need them now," he grit through his teeth. "We have to submit these at 8, you know that."

"Look, I'm sorry. But I'm not coming in at this time. I can come in earlier in the morning," you offered.

"I need them now," he repeated. "Fine. I'll just come pick them up myself. Text me your address," he demanded before hanging up. Once again, you were left staring at your phone in disbelief. What other choice did you have? You texted him your address and laid back down to rest your eyes for a minute - which meant you went right back to sleep.

You jolted awake as your doorbell rang incessantly, over and over again. Groaning in irritation, you reluctantly got out of bed, dragging your body out of your room.

“Can you fucking stop?! I’m coming!” You shouted. You weren’t the nicest person to start with, but you were much worse when people fucked with your sleep. You unlocked the door, angrily swinging it open. “Do you have to be an asshole even at 3 in the morning?” You spat, groggily rubbing your eyes. Jungkook shot you a dirty look, like he was repulsed to just be in your presence. He took in your disheveled state. Without a word, he pushed past you, stepping into your apartment. You scoffed at his attitude.

“The drafts?” He asked curtly. You groaned, feeling your annoyance build up.

“You’re seriously gonna walk into my apartment and act like this?” You asked, your words laced with venom. Jungkook stepped closer to you, his presence suddenly feeling intimidating.

“I wouldn’t have to be here if you knew how to fucking listen, hm?” He grit through his teeth. Your jaw nearly fell to floor, bewildered by his audacity. “What did I tell you earlier today?” His voice was deeply condescending.

“Excuse me?” You scoffed, still in shock. He took another step closer to you, now towering over you.

“I told you to make sure you left the drafts for me. Did you listen?” He questioned rhetorically, the anger in his voice rising with each sentence. When you didn’t answer, he grabbed your jaw and forced your head to shake a no. “I wouldn’t have to be here, with you, to get those fucking drafts if you’d just done what I said,” he spat, practically shoving you away as he let go of your face. There was no fucking way he just did that. "What is it? Does everything I say go through one ear and out the other? Nothing in here to make it stick?" he asked, flicking your forehead, a dark glint in his eyes. It was obvious that he wasn't just talking about the drafts anymore.

Finally snapping out of your shock, you grabbed his hand as he was about to flick you again. Tension swam in the air as your grip tightened and your gaze pierced him. "Jeon Jungkook, you're crossing the line," you said firmly, trying to contain your anger.

"Crossing the line?" He laughed loudly before pulling his hand away from you. "Like you did?" he asked with dry amusement. You winced slightly at his words, feeling like he'd slapped you with them. He leaned against your kitchen counter, seeming tense despite his lax posture. "Actually no, I'm crossing the line in the privacy of your home - with no one around. But you felt the need to do it in front of other people. So I guess this isn't the same, is it?"

Your eye twitched at his words. Logically, you knew he was right. What he was doing now wasn't the same as what you'd done. It wasn't nearly as malicious as your actions and you probably deserved some of this. But, as guilty as you felt, anger was quickly replacing the feeling as he continued to behave so disrespectfully. Besides, you were also fighting back your irrational side that was telling you to slap him in the face.

"Do you feel better now? Are we even?" you grit through your teeth. He chuckled darkly, not a hint of humour reaching his eyes. He stepped forward again, backing you against the counter with no room to escape.

"Not even a little bit," he said, the depth of his voice rumbling through your chest. He leaned down, looking into your eyes so intently that you felt vulnerable; like he could see all your innermost thoughts. “We’re nowhere near even Y/n.” Your heart raced as you braced yourself against the counter, staring up at him.

“Then what else do you want from me?” Your words came out as a hoarse whisper. His hands enveloped yours on the counter, keeping you trapped under him.

“I want you to tell me why.” It felt like he was consuming you with his body and his words. Your stomach churned at the thought of baring your feelings to him. You tried to turn away to avoid his gaze, but his hand quickly grabbed your jaw and forced you to meet his eyes. “I’ve been very considerate; waiting for this project to be done and keeping my distance at the office. So you’re going to do one thing for me, and tell me why.”

“Why does it matter? Don’t you just want to get your revenge?” You retorted, a new fire burning in you that was fueled by embarrassment.

“Y/n, I’ve had to deal with people looking at me like I’m a walking STD for weeks. It’s truly a miracle boss never heard about the rumours or I would’ve been in so much shit,” he seethed, leaning closer. “So yeah, I wanna know why you did it.”

“I-I fixed it! No one really thinks it anymore. I already undid what was done. Isn’t that enough?” You tried to justify, squirming in his hold.

“Enough?” His voice dropped lower as he spoke mere centimetres from your lips. “You want me to thank you for fixing your own mistake?” When he put it that way, you felt even more stupid. “Why Y/n?” He repeated. You took a deep breath. He wasn’t going to let you go if you didn’t answer. There was no way around it.

“You left me. In that bathroom, you used me and you left me.”

Your heart pounded in your chest from a mix of emotions. Jungkook didn’t react. His expression stayed the same, indifferent, still staring into your eyes. Silence followed your answer which somehow felt more humiliating than actually being left in that bathroom. Your rage quickly built up.

“Seriously?! You have nothing to say about that?” You asked, angrily yanking his hand away from your jaw. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“You were the one that didn’t want anyone to know,” he finally spat. “So yeah, I left. Did you want to walk out together?” His voice began to rise a little, but he was sure not to yell.

“No, but–,” you started, but he interrupted you.

“That’s what I thought,” he scoffed. “And as for using you, you were pretty eager yourself.” He pressed you harder into the counter as his expression darkened. “I remember you taking my cock all the way to the back of your throat; so determined to make me feel good, to make me cum.” You tried to even your breathing so you wouldn't give yourself away as your mind raced with the memory. It wasn’t working too well. “I barely had to do anything. You were practically begging to suck me off.” The embarrassment was making it a lot harder to maintain your eye contact but you didn’t want to back down.

“Fuck you Jungkook. This is why I did it.” Your eyes were fiery as the truth came out. Well, part of it at least. “All you’ve done since then is humiliate me. Is this a game to you? Fuck with me and then make fun of me after?”

“Humiliate you?” He looked at you like you were insane. “You think this is me making fun of you?”

“What the fuck else is it then?! You make me sound like…” you trailed off, suddenly feeling like this conversation was getting too real. You had to turn away to hide the emotions that were most definitely written all over your face. Jungkook shook his head, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He wasn’t even sure how to explain that he wasn’t making fun of you.

“Y/n.” His voice was serious. “If I wanted to humiliate you, I wouldn’t be doing it here, when no one’s around. I’m not interested in pulling any stunts like you did.” His words stopped your thoughts in their tracks. He leaned down next to your ear.

“Because as much as I want everyone to know that it's me that makes a mess of you," he whispered, "I don't want anyone else to see what a dirty little slut you turn into for me." It felt like the oxygen was sucked out of the air as the soft words hit your ears.

"Every filthy word, every depraved sound that comes out of that pretty little mouth of yours is only for me to hear." Why was it that your brain turned off whenever he spoke to you like this? His body was now fully pressed against yours, trying to get as close as he could. But his hands stayed put, keeping your hands pinned to the counter. He nuzzled his face against your hair, right above your ear. His own breathing was heavy and this somehow felt more intimate than anything else you'd done before.

"That lewd face you make for me when you finally get what you want, fuck," he groaned. "I don't want anyone to see that but me." The possessiveness that laced his words should be setting off warning signs in your mind. Instead, it was making your chest heavy and building an ache in your core.

Jungkook was starting to feel more vulnerable than he wanted and he could feel his mental fortitude chipping away. He'd vowed to himself that he wouldn't cave to you - to his own desires - after your reaction last time. But he was finding it extremely difficult in the moment. He pulled away enough to look at you again. You found yourself searching for something in his eyes as you stared back at him. Sincerity maybe? You weren't sure you'd even be able to see it past the frustration that adorned his features.

"You think I'm making fun of you? You have no idea what you do to me Y/n." His face contorted into a snarl. "It's burned into my brain; the way your throat felt, your pleads and moans, how good your pussy tastes, how fucking tight you are." You knew that your eyes, clouded with lust, were definitely giving you away now. "Makes me rock hard whenever I think about it," he admitted with a humourless chuckle. He was pissed - at you, but even more so at himself. Meanwhile, you were struggling to process what he was saying. "Does that sound like I'm making fun of you?"

You were left speechless. Your mouth opened to answer him, but no words came out. Jungkook scoffed at your lack of reaction, feeling even more frustrated after spilling the truth. While both of your bodies were reacting to the situation, the tension in the room was becoming too suffocating to ignore. Your eyes subconsciously dropped to his lips, and that was nearly enough to snap his thin thread of restraint. His own breathing was ragged with the effort it took him to maintain his self control. He went to say something but quickly stopped himself. His eyes closed as he turned away to collect himself for a brief moment.

"You, on the other hand, are hell bent on ruining me," he grit, finally putting some space between you two as he stepped back. "You wanna talk about making fun of someone? How 'bout all that shit you said about me - that you lied about - in front of everyone?" His anger was becoming abundantly clear, and you couldn't help but start feeling guilty.

"I-I said I was sorry," you mumbled.

"Do you even realize how fucking humiliating that was for me? Or how screwed I would've been if the boss found out?" he grit through his teeth. "I tolerate so much of your shit Y/n. Just because I take it in stride doesn't mean you can do and say whatever the fuck you want. You think this is some joke? You could've destroyed my career Y/n." With every word he spat at you, your guilt resurfaced, taking in the gravity of your actions.

"Do you hate me that much?" he asked, a hint of hurt in his voice. When you didn't respond, he just scoffed. Your answer was clear to him. It shouldn't matter to him, because it's not like he had any reason to care about whether you liked him or hated him. But the bitterness of your silence still left a bad taste in his mouth, making him want to leave as soon as possible. He took a few more steps back until he was near your front door again.

"Get me those drafts" he said coldly, any sign of his previous emotions disappearing from his face. You didn't move for a moment, still processing what he'd just said. When he shot you an expectant look, you finally snapped out of it and grabbed the files out of your bag on the couch. You handed them to him wordlessly, a mix of emotions swirling through you. As he turned your front door, about to leave, he looked over his shoulder at you. "And by the way. You actually haven't even apologized once." Your stomach dropped as you realized you hadn't said "I'm sorry" at any point - too busy defending yourself the entire time. Before you could say it, Jungkook was already out the door.

It took you a while to fall asleep after Jungkook left. There were a million thoughts running through your mind. How were you supposed to process Jungkook's confession and rejection at the same time? It truly felt like he was done with you now that he'd said his piece - like one last 'fuck you' before he never had to speak to you again. You tried your best to push away all the thoughts that clouded your mind. The presentation you had to give in the morning was far too important for you to screw up because of all this shit. With great difficulty, you eventually managed to get some sleep.

The morning went by in a blur and before you knew it, you found yourself in the conference room at work, with Jungkook by your side, in front of your boss and coworkers. Regardless of your lack of sleep and heightened emotions, you managed to keep yourself composed and present your work clearly. Jungkook seemed to do the same, although you weren't sure he cared about what had happened at all. Even under the scrutiny of your boss, you felt confident about your work. This was only solidified as your boss praised you and Jungkook at the end of the presentation. Obviously, she leaned a little heavier into praising Jungkook, but she still commended your work. As your boss collected all the documents and left the room, you felt relief and dread take over you. Yes, it was a relief that this huge project was finally complete. But did this mean that Jungkook would never talk to you again?

Your coworkers came up to you, congratulating the two of you and immediately making plans to go out that night. You tried refusing but they remained persistent until you caved in. You glanced over at Jungkook. He seemed so normal when he was interacting with everyone else; he had a smile on his face, he was joking, and happily agreeing to go out later. You felt a pang in your chest. You focused on the conversation happening around you.

As 5 o'clock rolled around, your coworkers were already buzzing to leave. You followed their suit and began wrapping up your things.

"Hey," a familiar voice caught your attention. "I didn't catch you earlier, but I heard your presentation went well. Great work." Jimin's kind words eased some of your inner turmoil. You mirrored his smile with a small thank you.

"Are you coming to the bar?" You asked, gesturing to the groups of people that were leaving together. Jimin nodded, offering you his arm as you stood up from your chair. You gratefully took it, using him for support to steady yourself in your heels.

"Shall we?" he asked. You smiled again, appreciative for the distraction as you walked together to the nearby bar. When you got there, you wasted no time in ordering your drinks. You caught sight of Jungkook walking in not too long after, your gazes meeting for the briefest of moments. You immediately downed a drink, the burn in your throat working as a perfect distraction. By now you should've learned your lesson; that you and alcohol was the perfect recipe for disaster. But your mind seemed to have forgotten that as it craved for a way to take the edge off. Jimin watched you amusedly as you drank so quickly.

"Stressed?" he asked with a chuckle, sipping his own drink. You turned to him, trying to forget about Jungkook being there.

"Hmm?" you asked, confused.

"You drank that cocktail like it was a shot," he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You must be stressed."

"Right. Yeah, just need to clear my mind a little," you answered sheepishly. You sipped your next drink, not wanting to alarm Jimin any further.

"You just finished a huge project. Shouldn't you be relieved? Less stressed in fact?"

"I should," you sighed. "It's not..." you started, your eyes glancing over at Jungkook again, "...work related. I guess." Seeing him acting so normal, as if he hadn't confessed how he couldn't stop thinking about you, was frustrating. You began questioning your memory. Had he really said that? Because anyone who looked at the two of you right now would assume he didn't even know you at this point. You polished off the rest of your drink in seconds. Jimin followed your gaze, a look of understanding washing over his face as he put the puzzle pieces together.

"What's going on between you two?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Nothing," you answered truthfully, turning back to him. After all, he'd barely even spoken to you over the last few weeks. And how would you even define what was happening between you two before that?

"It must be some pretty intense 'nothing' to have you drinking like this," he joked, watching you start on your third drink already. But Jimin took the hint; you didn't want to get into it and he would respect that. While the rest of your coworkers seemed to mingle amongst each other, you and Jimin kept to yourselves, the conversation flowing smoothly between you. Talking to Jimin was easy and it was doing wonders at calming your mind. You noticed that he was moving closer to you as the time went on, soon sitting so close that your knees were brushing. The more drinks you had, the less you minded his proximity, finding it almost comforting in a sense.

Jimin, who was buzzed but not as tipsy as you, noticed every little movement you made. The way you leaned in to talk to him, the way your skirt rode up your thighs as you crossed your legs, the hazy look in your eyes. It was all building up in the back of his mind. He'd always found you interesting, cute even - but between work and your bickering with Jungkook, you never seemed to have the time to actually become friends. He'd also be lying if he said he just wanted to be friends with you. He wouldn't be sitting so close to you, his fingers tracing patterns into your knee, innocently teasing the hemline of your skirt if he wanted to just be friends. Although you continued the conversation, he saw your eyes flit down to where his fingers lay and your breathing get slightly heavier. But you didn't move away.

Maybe it was the drinks in your system, but Jimin's fingers that were threatening to slip under your skirt were making your heart race. It had been a while since you'd flirted with someone else; usually, too busy bickering with Jungkook when you came out to the bar with your work friends. It was a nice change of pace, and it was certainly helping you ignore your guilt and frustration towards Jungkook. You'd always thought Jimin was attractive, but you never got any non-friendly signs from him - until now. Because the dark glint in his eyes as he listened to you speak and whatever his hands were doing were definitely not friendly. You tried to finish the story you were telling, but your brain kept getting side-tracked by him, making you halt momentarily in between words. Your gaze kept going back to his fingers that were trailing further up your thigh now. And when you were looking at his face, they kept dropping to his plump lips.

"Something wrong? You're struggling to focus," Jimin said, leaning in to speak softly into your ear. The feeling of his breath against your lobe sent a shiver down your spine.

"No, just...got a lot on my mind," you answered, your mouth suddenly feeling dry. You sipped your drink as Jimin pulled back a little, a smirk resting on his lips. His other hand came up to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear, his gaze seemingly more intense now.

"I hope you're thinking about me, especially when you're looking at me like that," he teased. Your face heat up a little as you realized he had could see the effect he had on you. His hand rest in your hair, while the other continued it's ministrations on your thigh. You didn't reply, turning away in embarrassment. Jimin chuckled at your reaction, cocking his head to the side to meet your gaze again. "I don't think I've ever seen you flustered like this before. It's really...cute." You flushed more when he placed a finger under your chin, guiding you to look at him. The kindness - the sweetness - he was treating you with felt foreign compared to Jungkook's ravenous appetite.

"Are you really calling me cute right now?" you asked weakly, hyperaware of his full hand gripping your thigh now. You found yourself leaning into his touch, subconsciously moving forward, as if his simple touch was beckoning you.

"I guess you're right," he chuckled, his hooded eyes roaming over your face. "I'd be lying if I said I'm just thinking about how cute you are." Your stomach flipped at the implication behind his words.

"What else are you thinking then?"

"You do look very cute like this," he said gently, leaning in closer, gaze dropping down to your lips. "But I'm also thinking about what you'd look like if I..." he trailed off, his breath hitting your lips. It felt like every thought in your mind had disappeared as you focused on your proximity. The few moments that he lingered, your heart raced with anticipation. Then his eyes met yours again, hazy with lust and that was the last straw. You weren't sure if it was you or him that closed the distance, but the next thing you knew, his lips were pressed against yours. Jimin's kiss was soft and tender; his hand slid behind your ear, pulling you closer to kiss you deeper. You moaned quietly against his lips - enjoying the sensuality of his kiss. His tongue gently swiped across your lips, slowly meeting yours as you parted your lips. His mouth and hands were doing an excellent job at clearing your mind. And while it worked - you were solely focused on Jimin and how he felt for the most part - a nagging thought broke through your amorous barrier.

Had Jungkook kissed you yet?

The simple thought broke your immersion. You pulled away, breathing heavily to catch your breath. Jimin's gaze was darker as his chest rose and fell.

"How do I look now then?" you asked, gulping down the lump that was forming in your throat as you were silently spiraling. Jimin grunted, his fingers trailing down your neck.

"Tempting," he answered, the one word heavy with desire. Your brain was at war with itself. Half of it was telling you to crawl into Jimin's lap and keep kissing him. And the other half couldn't stop thinking about how Jungkook hadn't kissed you - not even once. The conflicting thoughts in your already drunk mind were overwhelming and you needed a minute to calm down. Despite your urges, you slipped off the barstool.

"I'm just gonna go to the bathroom. I'll be right back," you said, stumbling a little as you straightened yourself. You gave him a small kiss to reassure him that you weren't rejecting him - you truly just needed a cold splash of water on your face to wash away Jungkook from your mind. Jimin's lips followed after yours as you pulled away, but he shot you a smile and nodded as you stepped away. You made your way through the crowd, distracted and hazy from the alcohol. You'd almost made it out of the crowd until you someone bumped into you. The force was enough to make you lose your balance and bump into someone's back.

"Oh fuck, I'm so sor-" you began, only for the person to turn around and of course, it was Jungkook. Your stumble had caused his drink to spill on his shirt. Your words got stuck in your throat as you mentally cursed your luck. You and alcohol is a recipe for disaster. Just walk away. You tried to convince yourself, but the annoyed look on his face was keeping you tethered in your spot. All your guilt and hurt bubbled up to the surface of your skin. The thoughts and feelings you'd spent the last couple of hours repressing came rushing back, threatening to spill from your lips. After a moment of shock, you laughed at the irony of the situation. Jungkook's brows furrowed, realizing that you were already drunk. You grabbed a nearby napkin and started wiping at his shirt, not noticing how close you were getting to him. As you wiped at his shirt, you were dazed with emotion. Jungkook watched you curiously. Your movements slowed down as your thoughts consumed you.

"I-I'm sorry," you mumbled. But it dawned on you that Jungkook probably couldn't hear you in this crowd of people. Taking a deep breath and gathering all your courage, you looked up at him. "I'm sorry Jungkook. I'm really sorry," you repeated.

Although you hadn't said anything else, Jungkook understood what you meant; the heaviness of your words clear. You weren't just apologizing about his spilled drink. His expression softened a little, but he was still upset with you. A drunken apology, no matter how sincere, wasn't going to fix everything.

"Shit, I keep fucking up with you huh?" you laughed, the sound devoid of any humour. You held onto his shirt as you struggled to get on your tiptoes. "I really do have a knack for making your life harder." Jungkook held onto your arm, supporting you so you didn't fall over. Your breath hitched as you met his dark gaze. There was that look again - like he would eat you alive. Your breath hitched.

"You must really hate me," you said quietly, now close enough that he could hear you despite the noise that surrounded you. You could see the frustration and restraint painted across his face.

"Y/n, you're drunk," he pointed out, voice low. His grip on your arm tightened as you leaned in closer, your eyes flitting between his eyes and lips.

"Did you mean it? That you can't stop thinking about me?" You asked, your thoughts blurting out of your mouth before you could even think. Jungkook growled as you pressed your body to his. You were really testing his self control; every inch of his body itching to pull you into him.

"Y/n," he warned, his jaw clenching while he tried to put some space between you. But you refused to let him, leaning on him so heavily that if he moved, you'd probably fall over.

"I think you're lying. You look at me with so much anger, so much hatred," you scoffed. Jungkook's eyes narrowed as you spoke, fighting the urge grab you and shut you up.

"That's why you won't kiss me, right?" you asked, voice shaky as the words finally left your lips. Jungkook was taken aback by your question, his brows furrowing even deeper. "You touch me, everywhere..." you whispered, "...but you won't kiss me. Because you can't stand the thought, you can't enjoy kissing someone you don't like, right?" You felt unbearably vulnerable as the questions lingered in the air. A few seconds passed as Jungkook scanned your face, the gears of his own mind turning. But he didn't answer you. The silence only confirmed your thoughts. Your stomach dropped as realization hit you and you knew that if you stayed any longer, you wouldn't be stay composed. You felt embarrassed and hurt enough as it was; you didn't need to humiliate yourself any further. You slowly let go of his shirt, pushing away from him, spinning on your heels, and heading to the bathroom.

The cold water against your skin did nothing to cool you down. Looking up in the mirror, you were met with your own flustered reflection. Was it the alcohol, Jimin’s kiss, or Jungkook’s lack there of that left you so heated? You didn’t know. You hated that you’d let Jungkook see you in such a weak moment. You and alcohol were a bad mix. Why did you even care if he didn’t kiss you? What would a kiss change anyways? The only thing you liked about him was how he handled you and your body. Kissing him meant nothing. At least that’s what you told yourself as you tried to pull yourself together before walking out of the bathroom. But the moment you stepped out, you were greeted with the sight of some girl pressed up against Jungkook. Your stomach churned at the sight, feeling like you'd been punched in the gut. After baring your hurt to him, this felt ten times worse. He really didn’t care about you or your feelings. You weren’t special; he just enjoyed messing with you, like every other girl he flirted with. How could he say all those things to you - confess that you had some effect on him - and then do this? As Jungkook briefly looked up from the girl who now had her arms looped around his neck, his eyes met yours. He shifted slightly, trying to step away from the girl as he saw the look on your face. You couldn’t stand there a moment longer, immediately rushing back over to Jimin. Before Jimin could even ask what was wrong, you were ordering shots. He quietly observed you downing your shots. With the frustration that was painted across your face, he could only assume this had something to do with Jungkook. One quick glance over to Jungkook, and he was sure; he was already staring in your direction. Jimin sighed softly. He didn't necessarily want to get between the two of you, but if Jungkook was causing you this much distress then maybe he should.

"You okay?" he finally spoke, placing a hand on the back of your head, guiding you to look at him as he polished off the rest of his own drink. You couldn't really tell if you were nodding or shaking your head no, but he must've seen the slight distress on your face because his eyes softened. He pulled you closer, turning you around before lifting you onto his lap. You were too hazy to protest as his chest pressed against your back.

"Jimin," you murmured, "I need a distraction."

"What kind of distraction sweetheart?" Your heart fluttered at the nickname.

"Anything." He leaned down, his breath hitting your neck as he moved your hair to the other side. He hummed against your skin, lips pressing gently against your pulse. The small gesture made your crane your neck the other way, your heartbeat racing more as your worried about whether he could feel it or not.

"This work?" he asked, biting at the skin before kissing it harder.

"Yeah," you replied shakily. Jimin's hands made their way to your hips, holding you firmly against himself. Your eyes closed while Jimin continued kissing your neck, his tongue now laving softly over the contrastingly sharp bites he was leaving. Yep, that was a pretty effective distraction. Before you knew it, your chest was heaving as your breathing became laboured. Jimin's arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you impossibly close. But you loved the proximity. It was intoxicating, yet comforting. He made you feel wanted which was something that Jungkook didn't do. Your body was quickly reacting to his touch, heat already pooling between your legs. You shifted slightly - only to feel Jimin's growing erection rub against you. Both of you groaned at the feeling. Jimin's lips moved to your ear, nipping at the lobe. In this position, you could hear his heavy breathing as you subconsciously continued shifting in his lap. Amidst such a good moment, you made the mistake of opening your eyes - only to meet Jungkook's gaze from across the bar. He was far away enough (and you were tipsy enough) that you couldn't make out his exact expression. But the fact that he was watching you was enough to unnerve you. You craned your neck to turn away, pulling away from Jimin with the motion as well. Jimin didn't even have to ask what happened as he caught Jungkook's stare too. A flash of irritation passed through him as Jungkook continued ruining your mood. But he brushed it off quickly, not wanting to upset you further. He held your chin, turning you to face him.

"You wanna get out of here?" he offered, mostly just wanting to get you away from Jungkook. A sense of guilt washed over you as Jimin treated you so sweetly. It wasn't that you didn't like Jimin, and you certainly found him incredibly attractive, but you felt like you were using him to get over Jungkook in a sense. You knew that this probably wouldn't be happening if everything between you and Jungkook hadn't happened. And you weren't sure you wanted anything more from Jimin anyways. Jimin was too kind for you to lead him on and use him like this.

"I-I do," you began, your voice heavy with guilt. "But I don't want to hurt you." Jimin gave you a look of confusion.

"Hurt me?"

"This...this is just a distraction for me." You winced as the words left your lips, feeling worse about yourself. "You're just a distraction." Jimin paused for a moment, but then his lips curled into a soft smirk.

"I'm okay with that. I can be your distraction," he whispered huskily. Your eyes immediately clouded with lust as he washed away all your guilt with two simple sentences. Suddenly, Jungkook was gone from your mind. You grabbed Jimin's hand, sliding off his lap, before dragging him up. He laughed at your enthusiasm, standing up but staying put in the spot.

"Let me settle our bill sweetheart," he chuckled, calling the server over and dropping some cash off with her. The second he paid, you were dragging him out of the bar.

Within thirty minutes, Jimin was struggling to open your apartment door while you messily kissed his neck, your hands roaming over his body. The second he got you through the door, he pinned you against the door and caught your lips in a hungry kiss. His own hands moved from cupping your face to sliding along your silhouette, appreciating your curves under his touch. The alcohol was catching up to you, making your movement sloppy now. But Jimin didn't mind, his own drunken mind loving the desperation in your touch. You slid your hand between your bodies, hastily rubbing his clothed cock.

"Y/n, fuck," Jimin groaned, struggling to contain himself. You took the opportunity to deepen your kiss, letting your tongue battle with his. Jimin huffed, matching your vigour, before grabbing your mischievous hands and looping them around his neck. His hands slid to your ass as he guided you towards the couch, not breaking the kiss for a second. When the back of your knees hit the couch, you tossed your bag on the coffee table. Some of your belongings fell out - including your phone - but you were too far gone to notice or care. Jimin lay you down on the couch, crawling on top of you immediately so as to keep kissing you. You groaned into the heat of his mouth. Your body felt like it was on fire as he pinched one of your excited nipples. When you finally ran out of breath, that was when he broke the kiss.

"Jimin, more. Want more," you mumbled, hastily trying to unbutton his shirt. He chuckled as you struggled with the small buttons. He held your hands to his chest, taking a moment to calm both of you down.

"Patience Y/n. We're not in a rush," he kissed the words into your neck. "We have all night," he whispered, sending shivers down your spine. He pulled away to look down at you, admiring your fucked out state. Your cheeks were flushed, eyes half-lidded as you looked up at him, and you were biting your lips in an effort to control yourself. The sight made him impossibly hard.

"I'll be the best distraction you could ever have," he spoke softly; but the tone of his voice was so alluring, you found yourself holding your breath in anticipation. And then, as if on cue, your phone buzzed on the coffee table. The vibrations against the glass were enough to draw Jimin's attention, while you returned to unbuttoning his shirt. Jungkook's name was plastered on the screen. Of course it was him.

Jungkook was still at the bar - now standing right outside for some fresh air. He was dealing with his own conflicting emotions. He was seething when he saw you in Jimin's lap, watching him kiss your neck. The way you were so docile in his hold, just letting him touch and kiss you, it made his skin crawl. Why were you so resistant to him, but so receptive to Jimin? You were meant to be his - his toy alone. He had half the mind to walk over there and yank you off Jimin's lap. But at that point, none of your coworkers had noticed the two of you yet. He didn't want to make a scene and embarrass all three of you; he couldn't afford any more workplace rumours. On top of that, he couldn't get your question out of his head: why hadn't he kissed you? Unable to bear watching the scene before him any longer, he turned away and focused on drowning his thoughts away with drinks. When he looked back, you were gone. His mind immediately flooded with all the scenarios you could be in. Were you with Jimin? He shook his head clear of his suspicions. What did he care? You were a grown adult, capable of taking care of yourself and making your own decisions. He continued drinking, but he couldn't shake off his anger and confusion. After a few drinks, his self restraint was slipping and he stepped out for some fresh air to calm down. But he found himself reaching for his phone and calling you. Why was he calling you? To check up on you? Make sure you were safe, find out where you were so he could come to you, or question you about Jimin? He didn't know as he stood there, watching his breath form clouds in front of him as the phone rang.

Jimin stared at Jungkook's name on your phone and grunted in annoyance. Even when he wasn't physically present, Jungkook managed to get in his way every time. At least this once, couldn't that man leave you two alone? Then a thought crossed his mind - a way to get Jungkook to leave you alone for tonight. Noticing the irritation on Jimin's face, you went to turn and look at your phone, curious to see what was bugging him. But Jimin stopped you, quickly cupped your face with one hand and crashing his lips to yours - effectively making you forget all about your phone. Meanwhile, his other hand slid over to your phone and swiped to answer Jungkook's call.

"Tell me what you want Y/n," he demanded between breaths as he purposefully kissed you sloppily. You moaned softly against his lips as the lewd sounds of your kissing filled your ears.

"Want you, Jimin," you groaned. You pulled at his collar, trying to get him closer.

"Yeah?" he prompted you further, his fingers pinching at your already hardened nipples to provoke you further. You gasped, moaning his name as your back arching into his touch.

"Want you to touch me, wanna taste you, wanna feel you," you rambled. "Want you to keep kissing me," you admitted with a sigh. Jimin's body was reacting your words too, his hips already grinding into you. He hummed with satisfaction, peeking over at your phone. There was still silence from the other end, and he felt his pride swell as he watched the call end. Jungkook wouldn't be bothering you tonight.

another note: HOLY FUCK YOU GUYS! i finally go this goddamn chapter out! I am truly so sorry it took me this long. but i was actually crashing out from life and THEN tumblr fucked me over and didn't save my draft for this chapter TT i literally had to take a break from the app i was so annoyed. it took me forever to rewrite this. to everyone who asked how I was doing and checked up on me, thank you <3 you guys are the sweetest and I am doing much better now! as for the story, was the plot twist what you expected? how're we feeling about reader and Jungkook right now? the tension continues to tension... while i'm decently satisfied with this chapter, i might have to take a break from Dissonance for a bit. i have a lot of other stories i want to write (specifically Love and Deepspace ones lmfao) and Dissonance is taking up a lot of my time right now. I swear I'll still be working on it, just expect some other works to be released before D4. thank you all so much for reading! I appreciate each and every one of you for enjoying my work :)

side side note: if y'all have any ideas for D4, or requests for new fics as well, please let me know! i already have noona x jk in the works lol.

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tag list: @myjungkookthighs @bemuas @junecat18 @exortedgoods @jahnaviii @jk97bam @itsmekylabear @blueberriesm @marvelbun @vantelover1306 @runariya @btstrology @diame93 @curse-of-art @minyoongi7016 @joonwater @jeonzll @hagridshaircare @user-190811 @praetae @llallaaa @chimchoom @persona3012 @softhaes @darkangelfei

[wonupatootie]

김민규 // Kim Mingyu Fic Recsᡣ𐭩 Part II

이 길을 다시 함께 걸을 수 있다면 두 손 꼭 잡아 온기를 주고 싶어~

Main Recs Masterlist

➣Part I // Part II

MINORS DNI!!!!!!!

Please like and reblog the fics to show the creators love and support~

“Again and Again” by @lovelyhan

Fem!reader || Idol au, exes, fake dating, angst, fluff, smut || W.C: 15.7k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･your mother calls one day, asking if you’re bringing mingyu along for chuseok this year. in your panic, you end up giving her an affirmative—never mind the fact that you and mingyu have stopped seeing each other over half a year ago.

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“The Way of the House Husband” by @wonustars

Fem!reader || Fake marriage, fluff, angst, smut || W.C: 19k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･you and mingyu (a former mafia member and also your ex-fiancè's former best friend) are forced into witness protection. All you’ve been told is that you’re meant to act like a happily married couple. Pushed into a cookie cutter house, and a suburban neighbourhood far from the city, where people bring you baked goods on your first day and partake in small talk, it’s all foreign and new. There’s so many things you don’t know about him, but for a man who’s only known violence and all things illegal, he’s somehow the perfect house husband.

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“Fools in Love” by @bluehoodiewoozi

Fem!reader || Uni au, strangers to lovers, fluff || W.C: 10.5k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･When Jeonghan made you declare a stranger in the library your new boyfriend, you had a very different outcome in your mind.

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“This is How We Fall” by @bitterie-sweetie

Strangers to lovers, fake dating, fluff, light angst || W.C: 18.5k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･You should know better than to make a deal with a stranger, but the need for a date to Minghao’s party has you desperate. It can’t be too bad though; all you have to do is show Mingyu what you saw in your reading, and he would be your date for one night. Simple enough, right?

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“The Very First Night” by @fxstpace

Fem!reader || Roommates au, exes to lovers, romance, angst, smut || W.C: 19.7k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･the search for a new place to live takes a turn for the worse when the only person willing to split rent with you is your ex-boyfriend.

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“Falling Flower” by @thedensworld

Fem!reader || CEO x Secretary, suggestive, fluff, humour, angst, heavy plot || W.C: 10k+ (not specified)

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Mingyu never thought that he would find Y/n, his friend's secretary, attractive. What's started from eyes, physical, has fallen to his heart. As he tries to get to know you, he realizes he knew nothing about you.

⤷“Flower Bloomed” (Part 2 of Falling Flowers series)

Fem!reader || Marriage au, angst, romance, heavy plot || W.C: 10k+ (not specified)

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･it's been a year since Mingyu and you were married. Once united by a good feeling, has started to scatter, both you and Mingyu couldn't find reason to stay together.

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“New Rules” by @leejihoonownsmyheart

Gn!reader || College au, fake dating, strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, smut || W.C: 26k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Kim Mingyu is the star basketball player of your schools' team, and one of the most popular boys in your entire University. You’re just a college student with the best boyfriend in the world.

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“Covert Desires” by @etherealyoungk

Fem!reader || Spy au, enemies to lovers, fake marriage, angst, fluff, suggestive || W.C: 19.5k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ the mission is simple - infiltrate a high-stakes auction that the top leaders, businessmen, women, and politicians of the world attend every year and steal one of the most highly guarded and hidden-away paintings from the target’s collection. the only downside, you had to work with kim mingyu, whom you absolutely hated. and to make it even worse, you had to pretend to be his wife for this mission to work.

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“Fix You” by @smileysuh

Afab!reader || Sci-fi au, AI!mingyu, smut || W.C: 15.5k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ “As a member of 53V3NT33N, I have two different states of mind coded into me, aggression and admiration. To love something, to admire it, is to feel aggressive when it’s questioned, to want to control it, if even for a little while- it’s the need to consume it, endlessly, as my fans consume and control me as an automaton. Even though I’m a member of a group, there’s a distance. Automatons can never truly motivate each other because our motivations are based on external human needs, it’s built into us- We can see when humans need us, and we do what we can to fix that need… I know you need me, the way I’ve needed you since I got here.”

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“Creep” by @smileysuh

Afab!reader || Halloween au, ghost!mingyu, smut || W.C: 9.1k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･“If the roles were reversed - if you were a ghost bound to this apartment forever - you’re saying you wouldn’t watch me get naked every day?” He’s definitely got a point. As your eyes skim Mingyu's perfect form again, that tingle returns between your legs. There’s no reason for him to be as sexy as he is- murders aren’t the onlyshocking thing this man has under his belt and you can see that now. 

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“Love Me Out Loud” by @twogyuu

Fem!reader || Established relationship, fluff, angst, crack || W.C: 14.6k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Kim Mingyu was your first, but to him, he was for sure you were his endgame. One year out from university, no one expected you to be dating the former campus heartthrob. It's why you had to hide it from everyone – Mingyu's 14.5K Instagram followers, at least. However, the return of your childhood best friend Kim Taehyung to Seoul for a wedding, forces Mingyu to rethink the secrecy of your whole relationship. 

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“Hydrangeas” by @kwallanghae

Gn!reader || Uni au, Hanahaki au, heavy angst, fluff, childhood friends || W.C: 9.3k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･hydrangeas were your favourite flower, until you started choking on them. but they reminded you of him, and he was enough to bear it.

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“Reckless Driver” by @hengqarae

Afab!reader || Street racer au, smut, romance, angst || W.C: 10k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･you hate racing and you don't date racers. kim mingyu loves racing, and he finds out that he loves you, too, from the moment that he first lays eyes on you.

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“So High School” by @cherriegyuu

[Series] || Fem!reader || College au, smut, fluff, angst, comedy || Parts: 2(as of now) || Current W.C: 16.6k || Status: Ongoing

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･when you’re suddenly thrown in Mingyu’s direction, you have no choice but to stay by his side, and maybe it’s not as bad as you think

Please let me know if the links have any problems~

[spookyscarydemonbabe]

Beauty Sleep

Summary- Time and time again, Bill and his stupid friends have woken you up with their nonstop bouts of childish arguments, and you’ll be damned if you’ll let them do it again

Genre- Fluff (?)

Warnings- Some swears and hints at perverted boy thoughts

Tag List- no tag list yet, let me know if you’d like to be added 🖤

Word Count- 2.3k

Friday night’s surprisingly were definitely not your favorite night of the week.

While you could be out acting your age, staying out late with friends or going to the movies, you were stuck inside getting ready for bed. Damn your job for giving you opening shifts on Saturday.

You yawned as you flipped the light switch on to your bedroom, shutting the door behind you as you pushed the power button on your TV. Whatever tape you had left in your VCR from the night before would be decent background noise to help get you to sleep. You’d need it, knowing that Bill was going to have his stupid friends over just like he did every Friday night.

Why couldn’t they ever have their obnoxious club meetings anywhere else?

Each Friday it was the same thing: You’d get yourself ready for bed, get comfortable and warm under the covers, and just as you were about to fall asleep you’d be woken up by another screaming match about god knows what from the basement next door. And you were starting to get sick of it.

With one final yawn you pulled the covers aside and flipped the light switch, the TV providing enough illumination to guide you to your bed. You pulled the covers up to keep yourself warm and sighed, hoping and praying that they would keep quiet for just one night. You had always wondered what it was that they would constantly argue over, but whatever it was it couldn’t be that bad. It wasn’t bad enough to keep any of them away for longer than a week, and yet somehow it always ended up with them ‘making up’ and coming over for another club meeting. You’d only seen bits and pieces of the basement they would hide out in. Shelves full of comics, VHS tapes, action figures, and it was always a disgusting mess.

God knows what other things they kept down there.

You tried to pay no mind to it, not wanting it to be the last thing on your brain as you fell asleep. It was just so hard sometimes to get them out of your head. Especially when you had to live next to the biggest nuisance out of all of them.

Why your parents always insisted on trying to get along with Bill, you’ll never know, but you knew that you couldn’t stand him and that was enough.

It was fine at first, he used to be just like any other boy on the street who would keep to himself, but as he got older it just got worse and worse. The constant ogling, the countless amounts of times you’ve caught him trying to fix a camera into the tree next to your bedroom window, the vulgar comments he always made to his friends whenever they saw you. It was always easier to just ignore him, to leave him with his perverted thoughts alone and keep your peace. But with these fights getting louder and louder every week it was becoming more than you could take.

One more little thing was enough to make you snap, and you prayed that tonight would be the night for you to finally stand your ground and put him in his place. He seemed like he needed it.

You were finally starting to feel the sweet embrace of night take over, your eyes heavy, the TV providing the perfect white noise for your brain to turn off, you were kept warm and cozy in your pajamas beneath your comforter. Everything was perfect, and just as you were about to take that final long exhale and let yourself drift off to sleep,

“NO, ITS YOUR FAULT!” followed by a loud crash could be heard from next door.

With a growl you sat up in bed, your exhaustion replaced with anger as you had finally had enough. This was it, the final straw.

They had woken you up too many times beforehand, and you were done being passive, done with letting them think that time and time again they could keep up their obnoxious antics and go punishment free. Done with HIM.

You turned and gripped the soft pillow in your hands, shoving your face into it and screaming in frustration before throwing it to the ground, grabbing the jacket hung on your doorknob and fitting your feet into your slippers before rushing downstairs. Thank god your parents had gone for the weekend, otherwise the stomping around and doors slamming would’ve been enough to wake the whole house up.

You flipped on the back porch light and you shut the back door after grabbing the key on the hook next to it. Your arms crossed over your chest, ignoring the other loud threats and insults they had been giving to one another for the last 5 minutes. There was no plan, no script for what you were to say, and you knew damn well that Bill had been preparing himself for this.

As you got closer and closer to the basement door, a wave of anxiety washed over you. What were you going to do? What were you going to say? Your footsteps became slower and slower, stopping yourself just a few yards away from the door.

The wind blew through your hair, a chill running down your spine as you hugged your jacket closer to your body. You had been waiting for this moment for weeks, waiting for them to finally pull some stunt and get you to come over there and tell them off. Tell Bill off. And now that the moment was finally here, you were so uncertain of what to do. That little voice in the back of your mind saying ‘Do it. Do it!’ was getting quieter and quieter. There was nothing you could do to stop them for longer than tonight, and you knew that Bill would go right back to his snarky remarks and wandering eyes.

You took a deep breath and looked back towards your house, staring at that back porch light just above the door. It wasn’t too late to turn back and try to get a good nights sleep while you could. You’d have another opportunity next week, you thought, slowly and reluctantly turning on your heels and taking a few steps back towards your back door.

You stopped once more as your attention was pulled right back to Bills basement door, a loud crash and bursts of shouting were heard once more and the anger you had felt minutes ago had come back full force. The breaking point had been reached.

Without even thinking, your gritted your teeth together and stomped to his door, pounding your fist onto it to grab his attention.

“Shh! Someone’s there!” You could hear their attempts at being quiet now. Of course they’d switch their act up as soon as they got caught.

You stood there with your arms crossed, a scowl on your face as you heard the lock click. Bill opened the door and as soon as he saw you his annoyed expression was difficult to hide.

“What do you want?” He said, as if you were the one who had interrupted his night.

“Can you at least try to shut the fuck up?” Your anger was so easy to hear in your voice, and you saw the three other boys at the little card table start to tense up. Bill still stood there like he was unphased.

“What are you talking about?” He scoffed.

“Are you kidding me?!” You shouted, stepping inside the doorframe to get yourself out of the cold, “Every week you pull the same bullshit: your friends come over, you do your stupid little club meeting, and somehow you ALWAYS manage to be the loudest, most obnoxious fucking house on the street!” Your shouting made the annoyed look on Bills face fall into one of confusion and embarrassment, “I shouldn’t be able to hear your stupid fucking arguments from my room.” You leaned in closer, and as you kept stepping forward, Bill took a step back.

“They’re not stupid arguments!” Bill shouted back, leaning over you to try and make himself seem somewhat intimidating.

“Really?” You said, shocked he would even try to excuse whatever nonsense they had been screaming at each other for, “Alright then, tell me, what could possibly be making you scream at each other loud enough to wake me up?”

You stood there with your arms crossed, waiting for his lame excuse.

“We were… It was…” Bill stuttered as he stood there, trying to remember whatever it was they had gotten into another physical altercation over. Never did he think that a girl, especially you, could make him so embarrassed. He never had anyone speak to him this way, and although he knew deep down that he deserved it, he was too proud to let himself lose this, “Well we wouldn’t have woken you up if Pete didn’t make a bullshit roll and had his fireball miss the-“

“Hey, don’t blame this on me!” The shorter boy with the backwards cap yelled as he stood up from the card table.

“Yeah Bill, you’re the one who insisted he use a fireball instead of using a mind blank spell like I suggested.” The bigger boy with his hair tied back into a ponytail said matter-of-factly as he sat back in his metal folding chair, arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh please, if Jerry just did his job as a good dungeon master and let it slide i wouldn’t have broken Petes minifig!” Bill scoffed as he looked angrily at the last blonde haired boy hiding behind his DM folder.

“Bill, i already told you, that’s not how the dungeon master role works.” Jerry insisted from his seat.

Their voices toppled over one another yet again, and watching it unfold in real time was just as confusing and frustrating as it was to hear it from your bedroom. It was overwhelming, anger inducing to see that the whole reason you had been woken up time and time again had been over reasons so petty and childish. You couldn’t take it any longer.

“SHUT UP!” You shouted, nearly tearing your hair out as you covered your ears to not head any more of their petty arguments.

They were silent as soon as they heard your shout.

“That’s what this is all about? Some stupid fucking role playing game?!”

“It’s not stupid-“ Bill cut you off, but you weren’t going to let him interrupt you any longer.

“I’m talking! And it is stupid, i get woken up every fucking week all because you and your friends can’t stop having these childish arguments! Screaming at each other over what? A bad roll while you’re playing D&D, are you serious??”

Bill stood there, taking every word you had as he glanced over at his friends at the card table, each of them sulking as you berated them. They knew they were in the wrong, they knew that their arguments were stupid, but they’d be damned if they would ever apologize for it.

“Stop fighting over bullshit that doesn’t matter, stop making dumbass excuses to try and save your asses when someone actually does come over here and tells you what the problem is, and keep the fucking noise down.”

You were stern with your words, and you felt quite proud of yourself as you turned on your heels to leave. But Bill couldn’t let you go without getting the last word.

“Or what?” He scoffed.

You quickly turned back to him, stomping over and gripping the collar of his shirt in your fist. Your reaction caught him so off guard he nearly fell back as you pinned him against the wood paneled wall behind him.

“Or, i’ll come back over here and beat the shit out of you myself, nerd.” You let him go and angrily walked back out the door, slamming it behind you.

You took a deep breath as the door closed behind you, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off of your shoulders.

It was what they deserved after doing it time and time again, and it felt so good to finally put Bill in his place. Especially in front of his friends after a smart ass comment like that.

It didn’t feel good to berate anyone, but when they deserved it, it was the sweetest taste you could’ve ever experienced.

Bill stood there quietly, peering out the small window as he watched you walk back inside. He couldn’t believe what had just happened.

He was completely awestruck, speechless, and he had no idea what came over him in that moment.

The feeling of your hand gripping his collar, walking him against the wall like he was nothing wasn’t anything he ever pictured himself experiencing. Never once had he pictured you as someone that would’ve ever stood up to him, and the fact that you did made him terrified of what else you could do.

And he liked it.

He liked that you weren’t afraid to threaten him and put him in his place. He liked that you did it in front of his friends just to make him seem smaller. He liked that you were so angry about it that you stopped everything just to stomp over there and scream at him. He hated how much he liked it.

“Bill?” Jerry said from the table, “Do you want to finish the session?”

Bill stayed quiet for a moment before a small smirk tugged at his lips as he watched your bedroom light turn back on.

“Yeah, coming.” He said as he took his place back in the empty chair at the card table.

His mind was racing at the thought of you keeping your promise. He didn’t know if he should be scared, or excited.

He couldn’t wait to piss you off again.

[fangswbenefits]

Discovery

Summary: Miguel tries to fix the damage of his obsession for you, only to discover a secret you’ve been keeping that will change everything…

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

Word count: 3k

18+. Miguel POV. Obsessed and jealous Miguel. Inexperienced/In*ocent/V*rgin reader. Mast*rbation. Voye*rism (have to thank this anon).

Part 1 (if you’re just starting out) - Previous Part

Miguel O’Hara took pride in being able to keep his emotions at check.

For the most part, at least.

But when it came to you, he constantly found his reason at war with his feelings.

The way you were eyeing him expectantly, made his stomach flip.

“Is there something wrong?”

Many things.

For once, he didn’t want to lie to you. However, he dreaded what might happen in case he told you the truth.

Shaking his head, he took your pad in his hands, and glanced over at his watch.

100%

He wanted to just open the file and finally know who this Tom individual was, but he could see a faint frown settle on your face.

“Why can’t I have access to the settings?” you asked, coming to stand by his side to glare at the lit up screen.

He really didn’t want to lie.

“I needed to adjust the prototype first, before giving you full access,” he managed to say.

Great, Miguel.

Your eyes moved to glare at him. “You could have informed me of that.”

He could only nod, he tapped and scrolled through the interface, overriding the block he had placed on it a couple of days ago.

You didn’t seem upset in the slightest. If anything, it you seemed… tired? Sleepy?

“It’s done,” Miguel said, handing the pad back to you. “The interference was probably a mic, by the way.”

As you fought back a yawn, your face twisted into confusion. “A mic?”

Miguel was trying to play it casually, hoping that it would be enough to deflect this issue altogether.

But you… you were not easily detracted.

“Why is there a mic in my suit?”

His heart rate had nearly doubled, and he felt his sweat grow cold as your gaze intensified.

Then, he saw you straighten up as if hit by a sudden realisation.

“You… don’t trust me?” your voice was but a whisper and you started backing away from him. “You’re spying on me?”

Somehow, the conclusion you had drawn was almost as appalling as the truth.

“No! That is not why.”

“Then why?”

Miguel pressed his lips together, and you took his silence as an answer.

“Oh… you really don’t trust me, do you?” you went on, tears welling in your eyes. “I mean… Jessica did tell me you were against me joining Spider Society… I just… thought she wasn’t being serious…”

Miguel stepped closer, feeling a surge of indignation. “That was before I realised your potential!”

You blinked your tears away angrily. “You’re not even denying it.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “I had my doubts at first, yes. Your inexperience, for example. But Jess quickly convinced me to take you in,” he continued, knowing that he sounded desperate at this point. “You are a very talented spider, and I realised that nearly right away.”

Then your eyes widened all of a sudden as if you had just realised something daunting.

Miguel felt his stomach flip, already anticipating more something much worse.

“Oh… oh… you — you sent Jessica to my dimension because of Tom…” you said, visibly shaken. “He’s subject A. You… you… woah!”

Miguel felt control slip through his fingers with each accusation you threw at him.

There was no point denying it, and he didn’t want to lie to you. If anything, he only sought to do damage control.

But your usual calm and sweet demeanor had long vanished.

“Who do you think Tom is?” you said between gritted teeth, clenching your fists at your sides. “Some… some secret weapon against Spider Society? Is that it?”

It was evident from your reaction that he clearly wasn’t that.

“Listen, I d-”

But you immediately cut him off, tears streaking down your face. “You want to know who he really is? Do you?”

In truth, he did. However, not at the expense of your emotional stability. Not like this. Everything was going sideways and he felt petrified.

“You don’t have to.”

“I’ll tell you!” you spat, hurt swelling in your voice. “Three days after I got bitten by that spider, I was struggling to get the hang of all the changes.” You began pacing nervously around the room, no longer looking at him. “I was heading toward a robbery site and… Tom was there… the criminals had dynamite and were threatening to blow up the building,” your voice cracked momentarily and you took a deep breath before continuing. “In an effort to get him out of there, I shot my web at his chest, but lost control and balance, and sent him flying across the street as the explosives went off…”

Miguel could only stare from a distance, feeling the frustration in your words.

You halted and glared at him, lips quivering and more tears spilling. “Tom broke his arm and suffered a serious concussion. Because of me.”

He opened his mouth to offer words of comfort, but decided not to interrupt.

“I grew up with Tom. He is — was my best friend,” you sniffled, lowering you gaze. “I even had feelings for him at one point, which was ridiculous… he was too good for me, anyway.”

Miguel took a few steps in your direction, wanting to convince you otherwise, but you immediately retreated away from him.

“Thankfully, he managed to fully recover. No one found out it had been me who caused it in the first place… everyone just assumed it happened because of the explosion…” you mumbled, before crossing your arms and hugging yourself, showing him you had done this multiple times before in search for comfort. “And I was a coward… I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the truth… so I removed myself from his life.”

A tense silence followed.

Nothing could have prepared Miguel for this revelation, and he couldn’t help but to feel a wave of sympathy for you wash down on him.

You then eyed him. “I don’t want your pity. I deserve this. I was never a decent spider-woman and-”

He quickly stopped you. “That is absolutely not true and you are not a coward.”

“Oh, but I am. When Jessica approached me with the offer to join you, I didn’t even think twice,” you confessed. “I’d do anything to spend as much time away from my dimension as possible.”

“You still perform your duties, as far as I know,” he pointed out rationally.

You let out a pained groan. “Because I have to! I’d much rather stay in the lab, piecing things together and be useful in other ways.”

“You could have told me.”

This time, you frowned and Miguel realised such expression didn’t suit you. At all.

“I didn’t want to. I didn’t have to. This is something I’m ashamed of.” You then pointed at his watch. “Your file won’t tell you any of this, and I really wish you hadn’t gotten involved, because this was my story to tell.”

Your words pierced through him like sharp knives, and he realised he had not only gone too far, but had also managed to hurt you in the process.

“If there is anyone here who understands what you are going through, it’s me,” he began carefully. “I know how it feels to want to do the right thing, only for the consequences to be disastrous.”

He watched your face soften ever so slightly, and you didn’t flinch away from him when he came to stand right in front of you.

“I’m really sorry that I overstepped the line,” he said softly. “I really care about you. That is the reason why I had the mic in your suit and why Jessica went looking for Tom.”

A half-truth, he figured. He couldn’t flat out say the actual reason. How would he even explain that he was obsessed with you? How could that justify any of this?

Simply put, it couldn’t.

And you would resent him.

So, he settled for a half-truth. He did care about you. Immensely. More than he could possibly reason with. But he just couldn’t have you know how much he wanted you to be with him to the point of extreme obsession.

Especially not after discovering this secret of yours.

He had to win you over.

“There is no one who can understand how hou feel better than me,” he whispered, cradling your face in his hands, tilting it enough to have your eyes meet his.

“But… you’re the Miguel O’Hara… you’re so… ” your voiced trailed off.

“Spider Society exists because of my mistake. Many people died at my hands, even if it was unintentional,” said with a sigh. “That is a burden I’ll carry forever with me. What you see here came at a price.”

You swallowed.

“But you don’t have to go through this.”

“How so?”

He caressed your cheeks with his thumbs. “You get a chance set things straight. Tom is still alive. I don’t get to have that.”

He would never have Gabriella back. Ever. That was the ultimate price he had to pay.

Your gaze dropped and he saw a couple of tears streaming down your face. “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s not, but it’s still an open door. A choice you have.”

He felt your hands grip his wrists for support, as silence took over you.

“I just wish you’d told me,” he whispered, closing his eyes and planting a kiss to your forehead. “I would have been here for you sooner.”

The effect of his words coupled with the gesture were enough to have you break into a sob, tears streaming down your cheeks, as Miguel held your face with both hands.

This was painful to witness.

He knew all too well how it felt to feel powerless and thinking that you’ve run out of options.

He knew you now. He understood you. Better than anyone ever could.

“I’m… s-sorry…” you mumbled, trying to keep yourself from crying. “You’re… getting all w-wet…”

Miguel couldn’t help but to smile endearingly at your concern, as your tears began to roll down his hands.

“Do not apologise,” he said firmly. “You can cry. I’m here for you.”

Nodding, you opened your eyes again and tilted your had back to stare at him.

“Please s-stay…” you said in between sobs, your hands gripping him tightly. “Please…”

You were killing him.

Little by little.

Miguel would give you everything.

He nodded and you stepped back and let go of him, running the back of your hands across your cheeks to dry them.

Then you went to sit on your couch, removing the clutter of wires and boxes that were in the way.

Miguel spotted a blanket nearby and came to sit by your side, draping it over your shoulders.

You leaned against the backrest, and he followed suit, feeling your head drop to his shoulder.

“Please remove the mic… and delete that file…” you mumbled.

“I will.”

He swung his arm across your from you, to pull you closer to him.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, and Miguel closed his eyes, relieved that he had managed to somehow control the damage he had caused. Unfortunately, it had come at the expense of you having to open up to him, and he felt guilty for that…

He knew he had to prove himself to you, and was grateful that you hadn’t chosen to shut him out completely.

“Somehow… this was sort of cathartic?” your voice was suddenly heard.

Miguel squeezed your arm tenderly.

“I had… never told this to anyone…”

Guilt hit him at once. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be… I think I needed to let it out,” you mused against him.

He couldn’t help but to feel an intense wave of compassion for you. There was no way around it: Miguel was in too deep when it came to you. Everything about you pulled him in and gripped him.

You would always be his sweet girl.

His devotion was yours.

Just yours.

“Hey, Miguel?”

He felt you shift beside him and he looked down to meet your sleepy eyes. “Yes?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Your words didn’t register at first, and he thought he had misheard you.

“What?”

You slipped your feet under you, before leaning slowly into him, face drawing near. “Can I kiss you?”

Denial hit him. “You’re just sleepy.”

But you didn’t back down. “No… I just…” your eyes darted down. “Can I?”

His heart went into a frenzy and he was left speechless. Your eyes were set on his lips and he somehow found the strength to nod.

It took you a couple of seconds to adjust yourself, and once you did, you closed the the gap, parting your lips slightly.

Miguel was left perplexed.

Weeks of yearning and obsession were finally being vindicated.

“Pretty eyes,” you whispered, breath fanning his lips. “So pretty…”

Your noses brushed together and he fought the urge to pull you into his lap at once.

“You’re the pretty one…” he said truthfully.

A smile curved your lips even through your sleepiness. “I’m going to kiss you now, Miguel O’Hara…”

And you did.

The moment your lips met his, Miguel felt his body react. It didn’t take long for the blood to rush down to his cock, slowly stirring it.

He could taste the inexperience on your lips as you kept breaking the kiss to gasp for air. It was blatantly obvious you needed some help figuring out what do next, so he happily obliged.

With one hand he managed to shift your leg to swing across his, and with the other he propped you onto his lap.

You broke the kiss, adjusting yourself and lacing your arms behind his neck and taking his lips again.

This time, he pressed his thumb to your chin, parting your lips, so he could deepen the kiss with his tongue. You immediately complied, and allowed him in with a soft whimper.

Miguel finally tasted you.

His sweet girl.

You came down to press your crotch against his painfully hard cock, and he immediately had to still your hips and lift you slightly.

You broke the kiss again, confusion in your eyes. “What…”

He didn’t dare confess it to you.

Instead, he pressed on your lower back so you would lean into him again with a kiss.

He wanted to taste you, but he couldn’t have you sit on his cock like that… he would absolutely burst.

His sweet girl sounded so sweet and receptive…

He felt you trying to defy his hold on your hips, surely wanting that friction, but he couldn’t afford that.

As much as he wanted to feel you grinding on him, he would be too embarrassed to cum so soon, and that thought was what ultimately prevented him from reaching the point of no return.

He brought one hand to grip your wrist, allowing the top half of his digital suit to disintegrate, so he could place the palm of your hand on his chest, revelling in your heated skin against his.

Suddenly, you parted from him with a gasp. “Wait… I’m…”

He arched an eyebrow in confusion and watched as you snaked your arm in between you two, sliding your hand down your sweatpants.

Miguel’s eyes widened and he was about to lose it until he realised what was really happening.

You slowly removed your hand and glared at it. “Oh.”

Your fingers were drenched in your wetness.

You were soaked.

For him.

He carefully looped his fingers around your wrist, wanting to taste you, but that sent you into an immediate frenzy, and you fumbled to get up from his lap, nearly falling back if not for his incredible reflexes.

“Easy…” he cooed, caressing his thumb along your pulse point. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything.”

You tumbled to the side and he let go of you, watching you sit back against the cushioned backrest and looking startled like a deer in headlights.

Just how inexperienced were you?

“Thanks…” you mumbled, chest heaving erratically. “I’m… yeah… and sorry…”

Miguel sat up straighter and arched a brow. “You don’t have to apologise.”

You nodded, your eyes falling to his bulge. “I mean… for that…”

Only you would ever apologise for giving him a raging boner.

His sweet girl…

“Don’t worry,” he reassured, feeling his heartbeat slow down. “Are you okay?”

“Yes…”

He offered a warm smile. “Good.”

Miguel didn’t even know where to begin. He couldn’t quite grasp the events of tonight, and it almost felt like a fever dream.

He was so used to getting hard from just the thought of you, that he couldn’t believe he was now hard because of you.

Still, the way you had reacted when you realised how wet you were for him led him to believe that maybe you were far more inexperienced than he had anticipated.

And he would respectfully give you all the time and space.

He would wait for you to ask him for more.

He could wait. His throbbing cock not so much, but he had other ways of dealing with that.

“Can I use your bathroom?” he asked, adjusting himself over his suit.

Your eyes widened. “Oh…”

“Just to ease some of the tension,” he immediately said.

He was desperate to let his cock spring free, and let it calm down until he was back at his apartment.

You then averted your gaze. “Can you… do it here?”

Miguel was utterly and completely taken aback.

“I… I have never…” you went on, quickly pulling your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them, and covering your face. “Nevermind…”

Oh.

Now it all made sense.

“Hey… look at me,” Miguel started, reaching out to tug at your wrist. “It’s okay.”

Slowly, you lifted your head to peer at him with evident hesitation. “Is it too… weird?”

“Not at all.”

And he meant it. By this point, he could feel his cock twitching more often, as more and more precum began to drip from the tip.

“Are you sure?” he asked, needing the absolute confirmation.

You promptly nodded, resting your chin on your forearm, eyeing him intensely.

He paused for a moment, expecting to be jolted away from this dream, or to have you backtrack.

“Please…” you whispered.

Swallowing hard, he allowed himself to sink into the backrest, before having the lower half of his suit disintegrating, and his cock finally released from its confinements.

Your eyes widened and your lips parted.

An instant ego boost that caused him to hiss as he wrapped his fingers around it. His body was so ready for you. Almost too ready. It didn’t take long before Migue felt droplets of precum sliding down his hips.

He couldn’t tear his eyes from you and it only added to the pleasure he felt.

Giving himself a few tentative pumps, he watched closely as you glared at the motion, curiosity splattered all over your face.

The first moans escaped his lips and he nearly slid his eyes shut, trying to stop himself from cumming too quickly.

But he didn’t want to miss out on anything you had to offer.

Miguel soon found a steady rhythm and began to fuck his hands like so many times before. But unlike those other times, he had you as an audience and he knew he wouldn’t last long no matter how hard he tried to muster images of the Vulture to dwindle his impending orgasm.

Then, you shifted closer, your legs dropping, but still pressed together.

He groaned, knowing exactly why you were being so fidgety.

Your hand was clutching at the hem of your shirt as a way to anchor yourself from the visual stimulation.

“You can touch yourself…” Miguel rasped, tightening the grip around himself, precum now flowing down his knuckles.

You pressed your legs tighter together and Miguel had to halt his motion or he would burst.

“…. or not,” he added, not wanting to overstep your line of comfort.

Your eyes darted to his face momentarily and, for the second time, Miguel saw your hand disappear inside your pants. You gasped softly and he could only guess that you must have reached your clit.

You let out the sweetest whimper, and Miguel’s cock twitched immediately.

His chest heaved and he swiped his thumb across the tip of his cock, letting out a groan.

He watched in awe as your arm moved rhythmically, and your eyes fluttered shut.

“Look at me…” he breathed.

You were biting yout lip, but did what he asked.

The urge to replace you hand with his — better yet, his cock — was almost painful and he knew he was heading towards the precipice, having to space out his strokes.

Your gaze fell to his hand. “How’s it so hard?”

He would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so dire and him being in need of release.

You scooted closer and closer, until your face was mere inches away, while still touching yourself.

For him.

Because of him.

“Why do you think?”

You gasped and he saw your hand slid out of your pants, fingers glistening with your wetness.

“Can… I?”

Miguel was too far gone to deny you of a newfound experience, so he nodded, bracing himself for what was about to happen.

He would burst.

You chewed on your lower lip as if unsure of what to do next, but he wanted you to take your time. A few moments later, you reached down with your soaked hand and he lets go of his cock, welcoming your touch.

He threw his head back and had to muster all of his willpower not to cum right away, as the pads of your fingers tentatively traced the underside of his cock, slowly moving to graze the veins that bulged from under the sensitive skin.

Everything inside him was suddenly burning like wildfire and he couldn’t stop his hips from jerking up.

By the time your thumb reached his tip and grazed slowly, Miguel hissed violently.

“Stop… stop - stop… please-” he begged, but was already being overtaken by the suffocating grip of a powerful orgasm.

You had indeed stopped touching him, but the damage had already been done.

His cock twitched rhythmically as hot spurts of cum began to cover his abs. Witch each roll of his hip, Miguel felt his vision blur and his fangs extend. He groaned your name a couple of times, before his words started to fuse together in a incoherent mess.

The stiffness of his peak shattered after a while and he slumped into the couch, struggling to even out his breathing.

Once he was finally able to open his eyes again, you came into his field of vision, holding a towel in your hands.

“Here,” you said as a smile broke across your face, before sitting by his side and offering it to him.

Even through the haze of an orgasm, Miguel was ablet o feel his heart skip a beat from your tenderness.

He proceeded to clean himself, wiping away the impressive amount of cum that had pooled on his lower abdomen.

“That was…”

His eyes were immediately on you. “Do you want me to…” he trailed off, allowing the not so subtle implication to dangle.

You didn’t catch it at first, but his silent was very telling.

“Oh, no — no, I’m fine, thanks,” you said with a chuckle.

“It’s only fair that I return the favor…”

You shook your head more vehemently this time. “It wasn’t a favor to begin with, Miguel. I was curious and… just wanted to watch you do it,” you mumbled as his digital suit began to cover his body again. “I had never… yeah — I’m still…”

Miguel had his suspicions that you were inexperienced, but he had no ultimate proof of that.

But this… “You’ve never had sex before?”

You settled back on the couch, crossing your legs. “No.”

He wasn’t sure of what to say. Was there even anything he should say?

So, he fell silent, waiting for you to take the lead.

“But… this was an interesting experience,” you eventually went on with a smile. “Do you… regret it?”

“No.”

But he could see doubt already settling on your face. “Maybe it was too much.”

“Not for me,” he said truthfully, straightening up in his seat. “Don’t think that, please.”

You nodded, but Miguel felt a pang of dread spread across his body. The last thing he wanted was for you to regret having opened up to him.

He had been longing for this for far too long to let it all be for nothing.

You were his sweet girl and you had his heart.

“Listen,” he started, set on preventing that from happening. “I can only speak for myself, but that was extremely hot. You are so, so attractive,” he went on, earning a doubting glare from you. “You are. I usually last longer than that.”

Your lips curled into an embarrassed smile, but Miguel could feel his words weren’t exactly reaching you.

Then silence took over.

You kept staring at your hands, head down and humming softly.

“Are you okay?” he shifted closer.

You took a deep breath. “I was thinking about your words earlier…”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

He watched you closely. “And what are you thinking?”

“I think you’re right, Miguel,” you drawled out, your voice but a whisper. “I’ve been blaming myself for what happened to Tom for too long.”

A jab of compassion and empathy tugged at his heartstrings. “You’re absolutely right.”

Then, lifting your head, you met his eyes. “I think… I want to meet up with Tom again. Thank you for making me realise that, Miguel,” you finished with a sweet smile.

Part 6

Masterlist

[8r14r-r0s3]

Ì don't think a piece of media has fucked me up as much as tetro has. Like Jesus fucking christ. It's frankly horrifyingly realistic how none of the characters are recognizable. They're all broken.

Wada's regressed in every way possible. His selective mutism came back as a stress reaction. He hasn't eaten in a week. And just like into the game, he has no one. But now it's even worse, because now instead of never having them, each and every one of them slipped through his fingers. It's unlikely he'll actually be able to locate any of the other students, and before the game he was struggling to make ends meet. Now he doesn't even have a coping mechanism. Isono is gone. He'll never be able to view a streamer the same way again. His eating habits aren't going to get better when he's completely and utterly alone. He's going to starve to death. Wada Masanari died in the killing game, just like Isono, Tsuno, Watari, and Hama. And with them gone, his stumbling husk will meet their same fate.

Mai. God Mai. She fought through everything. She shouldered every burden, she made every sacrifice, she befriended every last person, and in the end, it wasn't enough. Hayashi Mai was broken. She was physically tortured, she lost any semblance of feeling safe, she lost parts of her body, and she fought through it all until the very last second. She died fighting, I doubt it was just shock, her hands were cut because she wanted to try to save herself. But in the end, Hayashi Mai lost the fight. She fell on the sword for everyone else. Hayashi Mai died in the killing game. And what's left of her body will remain in a burned down school in an underground cavern to rot.

Ojima seemingly lost nothing, but Ojima also lost everything. At first he was genuinely trying his best to be a leader for the group, almost like a second in command to sasaki at some points, but he lost his privacy and then everyone pitied him. Ojima was close with no one, but he was close with everyone. Ojima wasn't well socialized, he views every person who continues to be near him a friend, it's why he always calls people by their first names. While Ojima lost no one, Ojima lost everyone. He had what was left of his innocence defiled. He no longer felt safe within his own mind, he was scared he would hurt someone, he forced himself to stay afloat in an ocean with no bouys but a million whirlpools, and he broke. Ojima Takeshi died in the killing game just like Sasaki. And now he exists as an adult, stripped of his blissful ignorance of the world, and now way to escape the horrors he's seen.

Hiroaki. Where to even begin with Hiroaki. He was hurting when he entered the killing game, and he was hurting when he left it. He was broken, and slowly he tried to fix himself, and he was broken again by the people he hurt, and eventually he couldn't find the strength to fix himself. He's using again. He has been fairly clean for a few weeks, and now he's using again. He at least used to have his ego to fall back on, but now? Now he's nothing. He says his own name like it's an insult. He's done horrible things and hurt the people around him. Every character from Isono to Yanagi, he all hurt them somehow. And he didn't get the chance to apologize to most of them, and he has to live with the guilt that he didn't. It's honestly doubtless that Hiroakis behavior patterns are only going to get worse. He has his drug supply back, he's back with those same faux friends, and he's separated from the people he's grown to actually care about. Hiroaki Nakamigawa died in the killing game, just like Sasaki, Chiba, and Tsuno. And what's left of his facade has to continue through his old routine and go through his same habits, but with none of the artificial joy they used to provide.

Tamba is ruined. Her career is over. Her parents aren't going to give her the kind of love she's desperate for. She's looked in the mirror and seen the worst, ugliest, most horrible parts of herself. She's a coward, she's a backstabber, and she's a hypocrite. And worst of all, Tamba survived. Out of everyone who died. Isono, Sasaki, Chiba, Harada, Kamimura, Tsuno, Watari, Hama, Mai, and Hasegawa. Tamba Ruiko survived but they didn't, and she has to live with that forever. When she was cruel, when she was angry, when she bit the hands reaching out to her, and when they did everything they could to be safe. But Tamba is alive. But she isn't. Tamba Ruiko died in the killing game, just like Kamimura, Watari, and Mai. And now what's left of her broken body has to live in the shadows of their lives.

Hasegawa lost. He was a winner. He was a champion. And he lost. Everything about his life in the killing game was fundamentally unfair. He did his best to do everything right and protect the people he loved and he lost. Then he did his best to hurt the people he felt let his best friend die, and he lost. They were going to lose. He was going to win. But due to forces outside of his control, he lost. Hasegawa lost the only things keeping him steady. His meds ran out weeks ago. Kamimura died weeks ago. And now he's rotting in the med bay. He didn't have the energy to care about the people reaching out to him, and when he did get his energy back, the only thing he wanted to do was get revenge. To make them suffer the same loss he suffered, to make them understand a fraction of what it felt like. Hasegawa Ken died in the killing game the exact moment Okazaki killed Kamimura. And then with what little he had left in him, he took the blade from Okazaki's cold hands and plunged it into Hayashi.

Yanagi Shigeki became what he despises. He's nothing like who he used to be and he'll never be able to go back. One by one the layers of his facade he had built up over the years were stripped away. First he lost his faith when Sasaki killed Isono. Then he lost his dignity when he broke and hurt Nakamigawa. Then he lost his prince guise when he continued to fail time and time again to please and protect the people around him. Then, he lost Mai. He lost his knights oath. The one thing he has left was that he had Mai, he had her and he was loyal to her and he was at her service and he was going to hold onto her and die before he let go. But he was forced to. He was locked in a room with all his failures as the one flicker success he had was snuffed out. And now, he's angry. He's angry and upset and he's violent. He's exactly what he despises, a violent man who scares people. He feels deserving of death, because those kind of men are deserving of death. Yanagi Shigeki died in the killing game just like Sasaki, Tsuno, Watari, and Mai. And now, all that's left of him is everything he despises, and with nothing but hatred in his heart, he's forced to return to the people who would fear him most

This wasn't a happy ending. It was never going to be a happy ending. They're alive. The five of them are alive, but they're all dead. Everything that made them *them* when they entered the game was destroyed. Sasaki was right. Children are their best before they become aware of the horrors of the world.

Goodbye, Tetro Danganronpa Pink. Goodbye Isono Miki. Goodbye Harada Keizou. Goodbye Chiba Airi. Goodbye Kamimura Kazutoshi. Goodbye Hayashi Mai. Goodbye Wada Masanari. Goodbye Sasaki Hitomi. Goodbye Ojima Takeshi. Goodbye Okazaki Hanano. Goodbye Hama Ran. Goodbye Tsuno Manami. Goodbye Hiroaki Nakamkgawa. Goodbye Tamba Ruiko. Goodbye Hasegawa Ken. Goodbye Watari Nishino. Goodbye Yanagi Shigeki. It was an honor to meet you all, and wherever you are, I hope you're happy. You all deserve it. You were all just children, broken, innocent, scared children. And while you may never be innocent again, I hope you can still be happy.

And thank you most to Von Babbit, the voice actors, and the editors. Thank you for giving me the honor to experience your art. I will never be the same again, but that's okay. Because you guided me here. I'm not lost, I'm not afraid, I'm just somewhere new. And I think it's beautiful here.

[kittynovelist111]

Coffee shop

pairing: joe goldberg x f!reader

MDNI tw: some explicit content

summary: joe gets aroused seeing reader working

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Joe’s eyes glinted with curiosity as he stepped into the little coffee shop, the one he passed every day on his way to work. The bell above the door gave its usual soft chime, but something about this morning felt different.

He observed her behind the cafe counter for the first time. Her every move , each motion deliberate and delicate, from the way she poured hot coffee to how her slender fingers moved across the cash register. He watched, entranced – god he wished she would touch him. Something in the way she existed so effortlessly in that space made him feel like it was only the two of them in the shop.

He craved her touch, Joe's mind wandering to a dark place, as he found himself thinking about the way her fingers would feel wrapped around his cock, how her hands would feel on him, not on the keypad or the cups, but wrapped tightly around him, fingers curled with intention. Heat coiled low in his stomach. God, he wanted her. Not just to look at her, not just to speak to her, but to have her—entirely.

He made it a habit to visit the cafe at the same time every day, never approaching her just watching. She never really noticed him. Not yet. He liked it that way. Observing her from a distance felt safer, more intoxicating somehow.

But today he felt like it was time to finally make his first move. The hunger had grown too strong to ignore.

He stepped into the cafe, his gaze fixed on her as he made his way up to the counter. He could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins, the excitement of finally being this close to her was driving him mad.

"Welcome! What would you like to order today?" she said smiling, her voice soft, cheerful, completely unaware of what she was igniting inside him.

Her smile sent a jolt of electricity through Joe.

"I'll have a coffee please"

"Here or to go?"

"Here please"

"Alright coming right up!" she said turning around to prepare the coffee.

He took a seat at a small table in the corner, his eyes never leaving her as she continued her work behind the counter. He was watching her every move with intense interest. The way her uniform clung to her curves, the way her lips turned when she smiled, every little movement made his pulse pound harder. He shifted in his seat, silently thankful that his his legs were crossed, hiding the arousal that smile had caused in him.

*She seems too good for this city, to good for the men here… too trusting, too naive. She needs someone to protect her. Someone who really sees her. Someone like me.*

He watched you from his table, his gaze never wavered, not even for a second. The uniform you wore wasn’t flashy, just the standard black and fitted the café required, but on you it was something else entirely. It hugged your body in all the right places, tracing the curve of your waist, the gentle flare of your hips...

Every time you turned, every time you reached for something on the top shelf or bent slightly to grab a new stack of cups, he found himself holding his breath, watching every angle like a man starving.

There was something impossibly alluring about the way you moved, not trying to draw attention but that only made it worse. You had no idea the effect you were having on him, how easily you stirred things in him that he tried, and failed, to suppress.

He felt it again, that pulse low in his abdomen, that aching pressure starting to rise. A stirring that had become more than familiar. It happened almost every time he saw you now. The tightness in his pants. The weight of his own desire pressing against the fabric like it had a mind of its own.

He shifted in his seat, adjusting his legs beneath the table to mask the obvious. His jaw clenched as he took in another breath, slow and controlled, though his thoughts were anything but.

It wasn’t just want. It was *need*.

an: i really have a thing for hard-ons the concept of the guy fantasy but not into sex... reflecting..

[lihhelsing]

steddie | 1.6k | mature | angst

cw: mentions of parental abuse (verbal)

written for @steddieangstyaugust day 21

Prompt: Please

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The second Eddie steps into the kitchen, he knows something is wrong. 

Steve always says he doesn't mind doing the dishes and Eddie has given up on arguing with him about it long ago.

He watches as his boyfriend stands in front of the sink. On any day, he would find Steve whistling to some pop song, swaying his hips to whatever rhythm he has in his head as he soaps up their dishes. 

He's usually happy when he does it. Tells Eddie it always helps. And Eddie can't quite put his finger on what's wrong but he's definitely not happy. 

Eddie walks up to him slowly, and once he's a little closer he can see Steve's shoulders shaking. It's barely there and Eddie is unsure what to do, but when he reaches his hand and touches Steve, he knows that's the wrong choice.

Steve recoils, dropping whatever he was holding in his hand with a loud noise inside the sink and Eddie pulls back.

He's not sure what's happening, but he doesn't like it one bit. 

"Hey, hey. Steve. Look at me. What's wrong baby? 

Steve turns to him and his face is red and wet from the tears spilling down. Eddie feels his inside twisting, and his mind goes straight to Dustin and the kids. 

Something happened to them, and somehow Steve knows it and-

"P-please," Steve says, so fucking small. "Please, don't be mad."

Eddie frowns, his brain scrambling to catch up. 

"Why would I be mad?" 

At first, it seems like Steve's not going to say anything but then he moves to the side and Eddie sees the sink. 

The sink is a mess. And Steve is usually a neat guy so it takes Eddie one second to adjust. And then, he sees the blood.

It's not a lot of blood, but it's definitely blood. Eddie tries not to freak out because he knows it'll only make it worse

"What happened, sweetheart?" Usually, Steve loves when Eddie uses pet names, but today? Today he almost folds in on himself.

"I broke a-a mug," Steve says and Eddie has to hold himself together, afraid of hurting his feelings with the tiniest reaction.

"That's... ok," Eddie says, hoping that's the right answer. Steve doesn't relax but he also doesn't get worse, so he counts that as a win.

"No, Eddie. I broke a mug. And it's your favorite," Steve says and Eddie nods softly.

"Is it the Garfield one?" Eddie asks and Steve's eyes widen. He nods, doesn't meet his eyes. 

Eddie actually dislikes that mug. It was his father's and he felt obliged to keep it, but he kept hoping it would break. Nothing against Garfield, but he would much rather not have anything to remember his father by. 

"Well," Eddie looks at the sink, "I'll clean it. And you can go sit in the living room and I'll be there in a second to patch you up." 

Steve doesn't move. He just shakes his head and Eddie is a little lost. Maybe his hand is hurting so he tries to grab it but Steve flinches, back hitting the sink and making a pan slide down. 

"Baby, what... what is it?" Eddie asks. He's at a loss here and has no idea what to do. If nothing works, he'll have to call Robin because Steve is clearly about to have a breakdown.

"You're mad," Steve says. And... no. Eddie's not mad. Why would he be mad over a dumb mug? Even if it was his favorite, Eddie wouldn’t be made. Accidents happen and he’s honestly more worried that Steve is hurt than anything else.

"I'm not, Stevie,” he tries to sound sincere, but it’s like Steve has checked out of their conversation. Like he’s lost inside his own head.

"I broke your favorite mug. I made a... a mess. But I'm gonna clean it up." 

Eddie shakes his head. "You'll do no such thing. You're gonna go to the living room and you're gonna let me clean it. And then you’re going to wait for me because I need to take a look at your hand, need to make sure it’s just a superficial cut."

Eddie moves again and Steve freezes. 

"No! I'm gonna clean it," he says and Eddie is starting to get tired. He wants to fix it, he wants to help Steve, but he’s not sure how. 

There’s a little voice inside his head that tells him this is not about this particular mug on this particular day. Eddie likes to think he’s a nice boyfriend. Treats Steve well. Because he does. Never did anything to make Steve think he would be mad over a broken mug and definitely wouldn’t be mad about any mess. 

Everyone knows Steve is the one putting up with Eddie’s messy ass. 

Then, like a lightning bulb, something clicks, and Eddie decides to try something. 

"Steve," he says, voice stern, and Steve looks like he was expecting it. "Go to the living room. Right now. I'll be there in a second." 

Eddie hates the way his voice sounds. He’s not being rude, just a little more firm than he would usually be with Steve. 

Steve likes soft and sweet. But this seems to do the trick. He watches as Steve’s eyes fall to the ground with a small nod and then he walks away, pressing his hands together to keep the blood from dripping everywhere.

He sighs. He feels so out of his depth right now it's not even funny. He wants to call Buckley and ask her what she thinks, but he can’t right now. Steve would definitely hear it and that wouldn’t end up well. 

Eddie gets to cleaning. He collects the broken pieces and feels like the mug is mocking him, telling him how dumb and useless he is. Can’t even help his boyfriend.

He’s not in any rush. Feels like Steve could use the quiet time to calm down. To maybe tell Eddie what’s happening and then Eddie will fix it.

But that’s not what happens.

Steve is sitting on the couch, head low as he clutches his hand. His sweatpants are stained with blood and Eddie knows he'll have to ask Wayne how to clean them. 

"Steve," he says softly but even that makes him jump. He looks up at him and his eyes are glassy and distant. Eddie fucking hates it.

"I'm sorry," he says again and Eddie sighs. He doesn't know what's happening but he has a hunch and he's going to go with it. 

"It's ok. It was an accident," he says and he can see Steve shaking his head. "Stop. I'm talking now." 

Eddie's voice is calm but firm and Steve just nods, sniffling. 

"I wouldn't lie to you, would I?" Eddie asks.

Steve shakes his head. That's not enough. 

"Words, Steve. Would I lie to you?" 

"N-no," Steve says and Eddie offers him the hint of a smile. 

"Right. So, I'm not mad that you broke the mug, ok?" 

Steve nods. "Ok."

"I am mad, though," Eddie starts and he sees fear in Steve's eyes. His insides twist. He's either going to nail this or ruin his relationship. "That you hurt yourself and didn't call for me. Why didn't you call me for, Stevie?"

He says the last part a little softer. Steve's eyes are on him and this is it. Either he cracks him or fucks this up completely. 

"I... didn't want you to be mad," he says. 

"Because of the mug?" 

"Y-yeah," Steve's voice shakes and Eddie takes a step forward. "I didn't mean to, it slipped from my hand and broke, and I thought you would be mad." 

"Baby," Eddie says. It's hard to keep his stance. He wants to hold Steve and kiss him and promise him things are ok, but he needs Steve to see it first. "I wouldn't. I couldn't. You know that, don't you?" 

Steve doesn't seem sure but he nods. And it’s after a long sigh that he keeps talking, "my... dad.  He always got mad. Always yelled at me and called me stupid." 

Eddie sighs. Bingo. 

"I'm not your dad though, am I?" 

"N-no."

"Who am I?" Eddie asks and Steve looks at him and his face finally softens. 

"You're Eddie. My... boyfriend" 

Eddie smiles. "Yeah, I am. And I don't get mad, do I?"

"Only..." Steve says. He looks like a kid, afraid to get the answer wrong. "Only if I hurt myself and don't call you." 

Eddie feels his chest filling up with pride. He nods, takes a step forward, and puts his hand on Steve's face. 

"Yeah. That's right. Because it's ok to ask for help. I'll always help you, ok? I'll always take care of you, Stevie. And I'll never get mad at something like this, ok?" 

Steve's eyes flutter shut. He's calmer now. He nods and nuzzles Eddie's hand. 

"Ok, Eddie. Thank... thank you." 

Eddie caresses his face. "You're welcome, sweetheart. I got you, ok? Can I clean you up?" 

Steve nods. "Please."

God. Eddie's heart is in pieces right now. He's so sad and so angry at the same time. He wants to storm into the Harrington's house and beat the shit out of Richard Harrington. 

He remembers seeing Steve walking around in school. Hidden bruises that no one seemed to notice. But Eddie did. 

He's going to kill that motherfucker.

But not right now. 

Right now he's going to take Steve to the bathroom in their tiny apartment. And he's going to clean him up and patch his cut. And he's going to take him to bed, to cuddle him and whisper in his hair how much he loves him. 

How he's the best thing that has ever happened to him. How Steve makes him so, so happy. How he wants to spend the rest of his life with him. 

But tomorrow? Tomorrow he's going to make sure no one hurts Steve ever again. 

[lostatsea-blog]

Bringing Home the Gold (Part 2)

Alexia Putellas x England Reader

Alexia starts to understand the mistake she had made

(Take two on this one as it was pointed out to me that the way I had written it was a little confusing to keep up with. If you have already read the first edit that I have deleted, please read this edit and see what you think)

Part 2

Alexia stared at her phone screen reading the message over and over again as though she could somehow force the words to change. She felt her chest tighten as the meaning set in, you were not going to return to Spain tomorrow but had said nothing else in the message. Alexia did not know where you were or where you were going to be staying and that caused an unnerving sense of panic to rise inside of her. Without thinking, Alexia hit the call button waiting anxiously but the phone did not ring and she was met with a robotic voice telling her the phone she had called was switched off. Barely waiting a second, she hit the call button again and again the same message blared through the phone. By this point, Alexia was desperate to speak to you and desperate to make things right.

The Spanish captain had been confused at first, not understanding why you had reacted the way you had. In her mind, surely you knew that it meant nothing and that it was just a friendly thing – Solidarity between two people in a difficult time and situation. She quickly realised that the rest of the world saw it differently when the first thing Alba did was tear into her. Alexia’s sister had pointed out that Alexia and Jenni had been the only two people on the team to swap shirts the way they had so it wasn’t a team thing it was a her and Jenni thing. Alexia had been disappointed when you declined her offer to go and celebrate as you were the only person she really wanted to celebrate with but she knew that she needed to give you time so did not push it further. When she had seen the papers the next morning, Alexia knew that she had fucked up. The internet, social media and newspapers were rife with speculation about what the shirt swap had meant. Some were speculating that she had split with you and resumed her relationship with Jenni or worse that she had cheated on you. Some of the comments had left her feeling sick. There were people celebrating the idea that the two of you were no longer together implying that you were punching above your weight and that Alexia and Jenni were soulmates. Alexia knew that she had to try and fix this but she did not know where to start and worst of all she had no idea where you were.

Sleep did not come easily to Alexia that night. She spent the whole night attempting to make contact with you. Every half an hour she would hit the call button on your number and every time she would be greeted by the same phone switched off message. Somewhere around 6AM she felt the tears start. Wave after wave hit as she realised that she might have just ruined the best relationship that she had ever had. When Alexia woke to a loud thumping on her door, she realised that she must have cried herself to sleep. Her head felt fuzzy and her face puffy as she pulled herself off the bed and stumbled across the room to the door. When she pulled it open her mother stood on the other side and again tears started to stream down her face as she allowed herself to fall into the safe, familiar arms.

Alexia’s mother had been shocked by her appearance and demanded to know what was going on. Alexia explained about your message and explained that she had been unable to make contact.

“Mami, I messed up” Alexia cried, wiping furiously at the tears that continued to fall. She was amazed that she had any left at all. “Now, I have no idea where she is because her phone is off”

Eli, as ever, tried to be the voice of reason and asked if you had mentioned when you were coming back but Alexia showed her the message and Eli knew that wasn’t good. When Eli suggested to Alexia that she go to Ibiza as planned to give you space, Alexia felt a rage build up inside her but knew that she could not take her frustrations out on her Mami, so she just shook her head explaining that she couldn’t and that she had to try and fix things with you and show you how much she loved you.

Alexia could not bare the uncertainty anymore. All people kept saying was to give you time but that wasn’t an option to her. She knew that you had gotten on the flight back to England with the rest of the team and so her decision was made. She could not fix anything from the other side of the world and the thought of waiting in Spain for the next few weeks, hoping that you would return tore at her heart; she would catch a flight to England and try to track you down.

Alexia quickly began throwing all of her things into a case, with little regard for her usual tidiness. Elia had tried to show Alexia that her decision was somewhat impulsive but before she had even spoken, she knew that it was a battle she would lose. Her daughter was nothing if not stubborn and determined (it was how she had achieved so much in football). Alexia had reasoned that England was a small island once there, she could figure out where you were. Within ten minutes of making the rash decision, she had booked an outbound flight to Manchester.

When the rest of the Spanish team saw Alexia with her bag checking out they were stunned. After the incident with Jenni and Rubiales the team had rallied. They all felt that Alexia (as the captain) needed to be seen supporting Jenni and while she did fully support and stand with Jenni, she knew, in her heart, that going to England and trying to find you was what she needed to do.

At 1:30PM, two days after winning The World Cup, Alexia took her seat on the 12 hour flight destined for England. She had no real plan except find you and convince you to give her another chance so that she could show you how important you were to her…

[boohorns1136439]

Learning to belong ~ poly!MHA x fem!Reader (10)

So it’s been a while, huh? I think the beginning of the year crashed into me like a bulldozer, and I wasn’t in the mood to write. Well, I did write, but everything looked like shit from the butt. But at last, I managed to push through it. I tried something different with the writing here, so I hope it’s better than my previous work. Enjoy!

Tags: Pack! Izuku Midoriya X Bakugo Katsuki X Shoto Todoroki X Kirishima Eijirou ; Pack! X fem!Reader ; Omega!Izuku Midoriya ; Omega!Bakugo Katsuki ; Omega!Shoto Todoroki ; Omega!Kirishima Eijirou ; technically Beta!Reader ; modern Au ; post-UA ; Reader has a quirk ; non hero!Reader ; smut eventually ; fem!Reader ; afab!Reader

09 <- 10 -> 11

Masterlist

Taglist

Izuku truly wished they could put this whole incident behind them and move on. He had hoped that once Todoroki sent an email to the hospital director—a carefully worded, deeply sincere apology addressed to Doctor L/N and the hospital, sent the day after his failed attempt at apologizing in person— would lift some of the weight off Todoroki and Kirishima’s shoulders. That soon enough, things would settle, and the pack would be back to normal.

But from the moment Todoroki first told them what had happened, Izuku had a bad feeling. He knew that Todoroki going to the hospital alone to apologize was the right thing to do, but there had been something in Todoroki’s eyes, a sharp glint of excitement that didn’t sit right with him. And when he’d returned home that night, he’d found him on the couch, motionless, his hand buried in a bowl of peach slices and his fingers sticky with juice. His expression vacant, and absent. Kirishima hadn’t been the same either. If anything, after hearing about the failed apology attempt, he had gotten worse. Somehow, a single alpha, one Izuku had never even met, had managed to throw his entire pack into chaos.

Rationally, he knew it wasn’t the doctor’s fault. If anyone was to blame, it was his mates. But the whole situation was so strange, so frustrating, that he couldn’t help understand how the hell they had ended up here. He’d tried to ask Todoroki about the alpha, about you, but all he got was a name, and something about the way Todoroki said it made him hesitate to press any further. When he turned to Kirishima, he got even less. The redhead had been too angry that day to remember much at all. All he recalled, a few days later, was an unfamiliar fruity scent mixed with Todoroki’s before he broke the door open.

Now, three days had passed, yet the air in their apartment only grew heavier. And Todoroki—Todoroki was hardly there at all, more shadow than man. He spent most of his days asleep, and when he was awake, he barely moved, barely spoke. Just sat there, eyes fixed on the wall with an hollow expression, as if he were somewhere far beyond their reach. He wasn’t eating either, at least not enough. He’d claimed to have no appetite. The only thing Todoroki had asked for—had eaten without hesitation—was peaches. Not just a few, but an almost absurd amount, day after day, like he was possessed. He would sit there, silent and distant, methodically working through bowl after bowl, as if peaches were the only thing tethering him to reality. And the strangest part? He never seemed satisfied. No matter how many he ate, it was never enough. Since when did Todoroki even like peaches this much? Izuku had no idea and he was getting weird out by the sheer amount of peach’s pits in their trash can.

Izuku had tried to get him to eat more, something other than just peaches. He tried a soft approach, casually suggesting he add something else to his plate, like rice or any protein, just to balance it out. But no matter how he went about it, Todoroki refused every time, just shaking his head and mumbling that he wasn’t hungry. Kirishima’s attempts weren’t successful either, he had brought home soba from Todoroki’s favorite spot, but Todoroki only took a couple of bites before pushing the bowl away. Katsuki couldn’t do any of the gentle approaches. He had yelled, scowled, and was a breath away from shoving food down Todoroki’s throat. But none of it worked. It was like trying to start a fire with wet wood—Todoroki just sat there, blank-eyed and distant, completely unreachable.

It was a mess. A complete, exhausting mess. And if Todoroki was worrying him to death, Kirishima wasn’t far behind.

At least he was still functional—he still ate, still spoke, still went to work—but there was something off. He was quieter, his usual warmth dulled at the edges. Kirishima was their glue, the one who lifted their spirits and held them together when things got rough, but ever since they failed to get through to the hospital—failed to contact you—he hadn’t been himself fully. The only response they had gotten to Todoroki’s email was a generic, automated reply, and that had done nothing but add to Kirishima’s guilt.

Izuku sat on the couch, his laptop on the coffee table while he absentmindedly tapped his fingers against his knee, his thoughts running in circles.

This wasn’t the first time Todoroki had been reckless. Beneath that calm exterior, he could be just as stubborn as Katsuki and him, even rash. But this? The complete detachment, the disregard for his own well-being, the strange obsession with a single food ? It wasn’t just a quiet withdrawal from his pack, It was like he’d stopped caring about himself completely. And that’s worried Izuku to death. He felt sick and helpless, and powerless. Why is this happening? His thoughts spiraled, fast and frantic. Was there something we missed? Maybe he’s just really tired and it will all get sort out ? But this isn’t like him. He’s shutting everyone out. Izuku’s chest tightened. What if I can’t fix this? What if it’s already too late? His mind kept racing, as it always did, with no answers, just more and more questions.

The coldness from their mate reminded him too much of their early high school days, when Todoroki had been a boy made of ice, all sharp edges and frozen shut doors. Izuku felt like the bond they shared had frayed, leaving him disconnected, adrift, as if though he was fading from their grasp.

The pieces didn’t add up. Frankly, the more he thought about it, the stranger it became. How had a simple visit to the hospital turned into this? What exactly had happened in that room? Izuku couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something. And when he felt like that, he did what he always did—he investigated.

He started with the hospital itself, combing through their website, news articles, and patient reviews. Most of it was clean. No major scandals, no malpractice lawsuits, no patient complaints that weren’t immediately resolved. Still unsatisfied, he called the hospital again, this time pushing harder for answers but all he got was a meeting with the director of the hospital tomorrow afternoon which was better than nothing.

After that call, something clicked. When Todoroki came back home, he’d been in heat—and Kirishima had stayed with him through it. But it had been early, too early. The pack tracked their cycles meticulously, they had to. If all of them ended up « indisposed » at the same time, and a high-profile villain struck, it would be a disaster.

This wasn’t just odd. It was wrong, he thought. There has to be an explanation for this.

And so, he dove into research again, scouring medical papers, forums, even the more questionable corners of the internet. At first, all he found were the usual causes—stress, sudden hormonal shifts, pack mates, environmental factors. But none of those fit. None of them explained why Todoroki’s heat had hit him so randomly. And then, buried under layers of medical jargon and old case studies, he found it.

It was possible to induce a heat. Not naturally, not safely, but with the right mix of drugs, it could be done. Hospitals wouldn’t do it legally, of course, but the medications required for it? They weren’t rare. Every one of them could be found in any hospital.

Did someone do this to him? His heart hammered in his chest, just imagining this possibility. The thought alone made his hands tremble with anger. Alphas abusing omegas were not rare, and doctors abusing their patients were even less rare. It disgusted him to think Todoroki and Kirishima were beating themselves over this incident when the doctor was responsible after all. No, just potentially responsible. He couldn’t know for sure but part of him was already certain that this was the explanation.

As Izuku scrolled through paper after paper on this drug, the apartment remained still allowing him to fully soak every information he could find online. The low hum of the heater was the only sound breaking the silence. It was just him and Todoroki tonight, though he hadn’t seen his mate since morning.

But then, footsteps.

Todoroki stepped into the living room, his movements slow, mechanical. He didn’t acknowledge Izuku, didn’t even glance in his direction—just crossed the space and sank onto the couch with a quiet, exhausted sigh. His posture was loose, almost boneless, but there was no real relaxation to it—just the weight of someone running on empty.

Izuku’s fingers hovered over his laptop. He hadn’t even realized how much time had passed, how deep he’d buried himself in his research. Outside the glow of his screen, the apartment was already dark, save for the dim light spilling from the his pc. It was late. Later than he’d thought and he probably start to make dinner for tonight.

Izuku still remained sited on the couch though, seeing Todoroki like this—so empty—only made his anger burn hotter and made him stop his tracks. But he forced himself to swallow it down. He couldn’t afford to lash out, not when he still wasn’t sure. He had to wait for tomorrow, when he’ll have the meeting with the director.

One way or another, he was going to get answers.

Izuku shut his laptop, fingers lingering over the lid. He didn’t want anyone finding out about this—not until he had proof. But before he could fully gather his thoughts, the sudden bang of the front door swinging open, followed by the unmistakable rasp of Katsuki’s voice, nearly sent him jumping to his feet.

“The hell is it so damn dark in here?” Bakugo grumbled, irritated as he flicked on the lights.

Izuku blinked at the sudden brightness, squinting as his blond mate strode inside with Kirishima trailing closely behind.

“Hey, I thought you guys had night patrol,” Izuku said, glancing toward the clock hanging on the wall. They weren’t supposed to be home yet.

“We did,” Bakugo responded as he tossed his keys onto the counter. “Something came up, someone covered for me.”

Kirishima didn’t say anything at first. He moved past Bakugo, arms crossing over his chest as he leaned against the back of the couch, his gaze flickering toward Todoroki. Checking on him.

“My agency had an emergency downtown,” he finally said, voice lacking its usual warmth. “A villain attack turned into a rescue op. They needed extra hands for search and rescue. By the time we were done, they gave me my evening.”

Izuku hummed in acknowledgment, but his attention drifted to Katsuki, who hadn’t moved from where he stood. His gaze was locked onto Todoroki, sharp, expectant.

Waiting

But Todoroki didn’t react. Didn’t look up. Didn’t even acknowledge any of them too.

Just nothing

Bakugo grumbled something under his breath before heading into the kitchen with anger in each step.

I hope y’all enjoyed the chapter! Chapter 11 will be out soon, and we’ll get a Bakugo POV soon too. I wanted to focus on the pack dynamics before the reader enters, and there’ll be more of that next chapter. I think it’s important to show the established couple’s bond, so yeah we’ll get a lot of it and even more after the reader come in the picture.

Doing a taglist is a too much work omg, no wonder most people don’t do it nowadays. On one hand I like that it hard bc that’s mean so many people want to keep up with my fics that I ended having to tag many people, on the other hand this lowkey discouraging me from posting bc I know I have to update the list every time 😭

This is such a fake ass problem to have, I am self aware.

As always, criticisms are welcomed

Big thank you to @cafekitsune who made the beautiful dividers

09 <- 10 -> 11

Taglist: @too-much-gacha ; @electronicexpertshark ; @poopopp ; @cjdjfhfhfufjfdj ; @kimi01985 ; @icycoldbeanieweanies ; @ghostlyworld ; @marsbars09 ; @queenondeezmatatas ; @imnotherw ; @bedheadloser ; @chrisbiniesluvrr ; @fsocs-blog ; @jadeddangel ; @qardasngan ; @goldenglow149 ; @andysteve1311 ; @pinkmelodies ; @hopefulb1ue ; @redkarmakai ; @zukusluvr ; @navezepol221 ; @candiiee ; @aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaq ; @mniya ; @randomhuman112 ; @mintvender r ; @deadendgrim ; @captainswanarcher ; @figbaby ; @midnight-nightmare ; @talilosha ; @bawlangya ; @optimisticprime3 ; @purplescorpi0 ; @astrolovedy ; @desiree-lee ; @okaysxx ; @the-faceless-bride ; @thelameone101 ; @gethexxed ; @lowkeyhottho ; @bvirrious ; @heespretty ; @roxy776699 ; @kamy-thee-egg ; @talia-the-gemini ; @pikachuzhc ; @itsnotjustmyself-blog ; @roxy776699 ; @mystic60 ; @reallysparklychaos ; @sixxze ; @blurryperrtymoonlight ; @1poison-cat1 ; @allyfoxglove ; @mindsbloody ; @jkvolgs ; @haruaikawa ; @k3nmakyan ; @my-anime-garden ; @fto6 ; @hanniesroom ; @readeryn68 ; @queenofsimps001 ; @mai1em ; @demonzgutzz ; @sleepy-x-snake ; @xxang3|zz ; @decadentcrusadefun ; @shhhstar ; @n3ptOnee ; @nxcx|Ixsevens ; @mailem ; @aslos ; @thatone-gayweeb ; @eveylynnn ; @nervoussangel ; @inakyo ; @graythecoffeebean ; @ninabinna ; @3thr3al ; @barrythestrawberry041 ; @omgeyeless-blog ; @primary-022 ; @prettyprojectshq ; @bluepatrolbear ; @literallyjustmyself23 ; @p3n310p3 ; @slayerdiva ; @hw-shorty ; @quixoticcat ; @fluffypuffyfishyswishy

[jjenthusee]

A Broken Mug

Pairing: Jason Todd x GN!Reader

a/n: i wrote this because of @janybabyy hilarious comments on my last angsty drabble. It made my morning and I wanted to also contribute some fluff as an apology lol (there also might be a little steamy scene if u squint) i love reading comments and reblogs so leave some if your comfortable ENJOY (also the angsty drabble is here)

tags: tons of fluff, shameless flirting

3.5k words

When Jason went out on patrol, you busied yourself filling the time with aimless activities and chores until he came home. You didn’t plan on trying to shift your sleep schedule with his reversed one, but with your lenient job and bad sleeping habits, nothing was really stopping you.

You got to see him come back from patrol and took naps on the couch together, so you didn’t see any problem with it. Tonight was also any other night that you were walking around the apartment getting any chores done.

Your usual weekly mop and washing your dishes at three in the morning was productive. Until you tried to see how many mugs you can try to carry from the drying mat to the cabinet, then you dropped two mugs.

An old shark mug that would be missed and Jason’s birthday mug you got him last year. You wished you could reverse time, but you stood there watching the mess you created.

Now with the broken pieces, a tube of super glue and your will, you sat on the floor studying how to put the mug back together. The rug in your living room doubled as your current operating table as you laid your supplies around the fragments of Jason’s previous birthday gift.

You had two hours to make it looked like nothing happen, not cry and figure out if you picked up all the pieces. Then apologize to Jason and promise to never pick up a mug again.

…

You looked at your finished handiwork, eyeing the glued ceramic pieces of Jason’s mug.

It looked bad. The glue had settled in some of the smaller pieces, but almost the entire tube was gone and you were out of options. Maybe some last finishing touches, but that wouldn’t fix the problem of it being broken in the first place and you weren’t sure if this was even safe to drink out of anymore. If it didn’t leak.

Now your boyfriend’s precious mug became the victim of your carelessness. The handle broke off completely and the rim had several chipped pieces. With a final attempt you managed to somehow pray that the handle fit and it did, but there were definitely pieces that didn’t fit that smoothly.

Luckily, when the mug fell it didn’t fall onto the floor like the other victim, but onto the kitchen counter. The impact could’ve been worse, but some higher understanding kept most of the mug still intact, but ceramic was fragile, so only so much could be held together against the force of gravity.

“Maybe he won’t notice?” You sighed defeatedly picking at the dried glue.

“Notice what?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at Jason’s voice. You didn’t expect him to be casually standing near the window, standing tall behind you in full Red Hood gear.

You always did manage to forget about his stealth and agility. You nearly smacked him with a pan when you thought a burglar was in your kitchen when you first started dating. Good thing the flowers he brought with him were unharmed.

After closing the window, he slowly removed his leather jacket and gloves with visible exhaustion in his movements, relieved to remove a layer of his nightly outings.

“Welcome home.” You softly spoke, but a bit of strain crept into your voice at the realization that you didn’t clean your mess in time. You whipped your head back to your crime scene that sat in front of you.

Trying to act as naturally as possible, you capped the glue shut.

“Another night of being a handsome vigilante taking down kidnappers and stopping drug trafficking?” You teased as you shifted your body fully toward Jason, no doubt the slight hesitation in your voice giving you away, but you grabbed the tube of super glue, quickly shoving it in your sweatpants pocket as you spoke.

“Nah, only drug trafficking.” Jason lazily said, not paying direct attention to your awkward movements as he emptied his hidden arsenal of weapons off his body. “I made Roy handle the kidnappers.” A hint of amusement in his voice as he stretched his body, muscles contorting. The movement more visible with his jacket off.

“Only drug trafficking.” You tried mimicking him, giving a bad deep voice impression. You slid the mug closer to you, flush against your back so he wouldn’t see it from his angle.

Jason stopped in the middle of his post-patrol routine to look at you. His helmet tilting at you slightly, analyzing you.

Shit. He noticed something.

“Jay, my love, did you shine your helmet recently? It looks shiny and I couldn’t help but notice—“ Your voice quickly died as your gaze shifted from his red helmet down to his hands on his utility belt, lazily resting on the release latch. The look was…wow.

“Cleaner and polish.” Jason spoke slowly, clearly feeling smug under his helmet. He was all too familiar with that look in your eyes. You could practically see the smirk forming.

Click. The belt released as it fell loosely around his waist. Your mouth felt dry. You snapped yourself out of your thoughts.

You can eye-fuck him later, you wanted to hide the cup, but delaying your apology until tomorrow didn’t feel right.

Jason gave one last glance at you, then resumed his attention to his gear as he took the belt off.

“I was thinking we could eat something simple tonight…or morning? I guess it’ll technically be breakfast.” You shifted to get up, grabbing the cup along with you. Thankfully you were able to grab the handle while keeping your eyes on Jason, making sure it wasn’t entirely noticeable.

Jason removed his helmet, a puff of air releasing as he placed it on the dining table.

“Wanna cook something or pick up? It’s kinda limited since it’s early, but there’s always something open.” His voice was clearer, more defined without the modulator distorting it. A slight raspiness that poked at you.

Without the helmet, you could see Jason’s messy hair, matted in some places and fluffier in others, a slight stubble pricking his jaw and that sweet exhausted expression that made him mellow. Your heart raced every time you saw Jason’s face after a night of patrol.

You need to focus. You were getting distracted.

A distraction. That’s what you needed.

With the cup still held behind your back, you walked to Jason as he was placing his belt on the back of the dining chair. He didn’t expect the sudden closeness, but didn’t refrain from it. He looked more…curious than anything.

Jason watched as you reached for his face with your free hand. You didn’t fully extend your arm, purposefully leaving some distance that he would have to fill himself. Giving him the time to come to you.

Sometimes Jason needed time to adjust after a night of patrol, some days he wanted to come to you and other days you had to step in and make baby steps towards him, guiding him back to the domestic life he shared alongside you. Either way you waited and were willing to wait as long as he needed.

This was one of the moments you reached out first, asking to touch him. It was a quiet signal letting your hand hang in the air. Sometimes he held that hand or he let you caress his face. Despite how much you told him he didn’t have to follow it every time, he always did. Like telling you ‘no’ would end him.

Like a magnet, Jason lowered his face placing his cheek in your hand, placing a kiss inside of your palm.

Your heart raced as you watched his careful movements.

He moved his own hand over yours, intertwining your fingers together, but keeping your hand on his cheek. His skin was slightly cold, but he kept your hand in his and he rubbed his face on your palm trying to absorb your heat. It must’ve been freezing outside, maybe you need to get him some hand warmers to keep in his jacket, but a part of you also wanted him to use you to warm himself up.

You felt him sigh as his lips touched your skin. His eyes closed as he fully lost himself in the moment, it felt like he was giving you a silent ‘I missed you’ as he refused to move from you and you squeezed his hand, hopefully giving the message back.

As he breathed your scent in, you counted his eyelashes while you waited, refusing to disrupt his moment from decompressing from patrol. You loved seeing his face from this angle because you could see that some of his eyelashes were white like his hair. It wasn’t that prominent, but your heart fluttered that you were probably one of the only people to know.

Your thumb caressed the edge of his eye, watching him lean into your hand more.

Jason’s eyes opened, barely enough to gaze at you, but you wouldn’t miss the devotion that sat in his eyes. He trusted you and is willing to give himself to you, to let you touch him. To ruin him, if you desired.

“Jay…” You breathlessly spoke into the intimacy pulling at you.

Jason stayed still, waiting for permission, for you to lead him in whatever direction you wanted. All of his resolve focused on what you desired. He was hesitant to even breathe too hard, if it meant you would move away.

You carefully leaned into him, mindful to not touch him more than you already were. Moving your hand from his cheek to the back of his neck. Pushing your fingers through the edges of his hair, his labored breathing on your lips as you hovered over his mouth, just near enough to touch his lips if you spoke.

You wanted his full attention.

You couldn’t tell if you tugged him first or he leaned in, but you were too lost in the kiss to care. You started with a gentle touch, but once Jason angled his face to bring your body closer to him, it felt like he wanted to engulf you.

You felt his fingers slowly itch onto your waist, playing with the fabric of your shirt. You flinched, surprised at the sudden, but welcomed touch. You moved your hand holding the cup—you forgot about the mug!

Luckily, your realization went unnoticed by Jason. He pressed into you, leaning your neck further back to adjust to his height. The new development let a sound reach his throat, but with your bodies this close, you could feel the murmur. Your stomach fluttered.

Before his hands could move toward your back, you maneuvered your arm still holding onto the cup to avoid getting tangled. You laid your arm on his shoulder, holding the mug by its handle, careful to not let the mug touch him, letting him get even closer.

The movement allowed him to breathe onto your mouth, lost in your contact. It made your stomach warm at the sound.

Your mind went blank and you instinctively followed the movements of the man in front of you. You lead him to this point, but with the permission you gave him, he followed his desires. You wanted him to want more, he barely asks for things and he deserved to be spoiled.

His hands found the edge of your shirt, placing his cold hands underneath onto your bare waist, rubbing the skin with his thumbs.

You shuddered. He watched the tremor in your body, resting his nose next to yours. Dwelling in intimacy and shaky breaths.

Once his hands started to warm against your heated skin, you looked up to him. Watching his reddened skin. Maybe you can mention the mug now.

“Jay…I broke—“

Jason was too infatuated with the moment and holding you in his embrace that he didn’t comprehend anything you were saying. He took advantage of your mouth opening to deepen the kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, to keep yourself from falling and to somehow find a way to merge your body with his.

You took a sudden breath, releasing yourself from Jason’s mouth. A sudden…hunger in his eyes as he watched you breathe. You gripped onto the handle of the mug and Jason’s broad shoulder, overwhelmed by the combination of Jason’s touch, breathing and look.

He must’ve not felt any different as he nipped at your jaw, using his hand to cup your neck and angle your face up to give him more access.

“Jay—“ You breathlessly pleaded.

Clink.

The handle of the mug broke off, leaving the handle in your hand and the rest of the cup bouncing off of Jason’s back and shattering on the floor.

Both of your movements stop as Jason shoves you behind him, shielding you from the imaginary attacker.

You could only see the back of his shoulders and his flushed ears peaking out as you looked at the broken handle still in your hand.

“Jay…it’s fine.” You tapped his shoulder to point to the cup broken on the ground. “It’s my fault.”

“Wha?” Jason asked, still breathless as he was ready in attack mode.

“I was trying to tell you, but I—got distracted.” You cleared your throat.

Jason leaned down taking some of the broken pieces near his boot in his hands. Recognizing the fragments once he got a closer look.

“I’m sorry. I tried to fix it, but then I guess super glue isn’t as reliable as I thought—“

“Sweetheart—“ Jason soothed as he stood up.

“Then I forgot about the time and you came back before I could figure out what to do. I can buy you a new one—“

“Sweetheart, it’s okay.” He placed his hand under your chin, grabbing your attention. “It’s really alright.”

“But look at it.” You defeatedly gestured to the broken handle still clutched in your hand.

Jason could only laugh watching his partner sadly show him the aftermath of their handiwork, his full set of teeth visible, giving him the cute boyish look you loved.

“You don’t have to apologize, it’s really okay.” He grabbed the handle out of your hands. “I’m glad you didn’t cut yourself from the broken pieces, but we don’t need to fix it.”

He had a smirk on his face.

“Especially with super glue.”

“Hey! I had to use what we had in the drawers.” You puffed.

He placed the pieces on the counter. Carefully moving you to the couch, so you don’t step on any sharp pieces. Cleaning up the mess of his cup.

You silently watched, making you feel worse. Jay noticed your sullen look and consoled you as he swept up any left over pieces.

“I have shoes on still and your in your socks, I just want to make sure it’s safe.”

You frowned further.

A small tender smile spread across his face as he properly disposed of the remaining pieces and walked over to the couch. Your eyes followed his form as he kneeled in front of you, making him sit just below your eye level with your legs in between his, gently taking your hands in his as he methodically rubbed your skin with his thumb. His hands were warm now, probably from your earlier…activity.

“My love, it’s okay. We can replace it or get an entirely new one.”

“But it was a matching set.” You rubbed his hands back.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t choose a new set.” You looked up from both of your hands to his gentle gaze, filled with so much warmth and understanding. “I’ve been meaning to take us to that new pottery place you talked about. We can each make a mug, okay, sweetheart?”

You brought his hands to your lips, gently placing a kiss on his rough hands. A mesmerizing hum left Jason’s mouth.

“Can you make one for me and can I make one for you?” You quietly asked.

Jason laughed, the cute smile poking through again.

“I would love that.”

Maybe breaking Jason’s mug wasn’t so bad after all.

…

Your date to the pottery place was even better than you expected. You got to try something new, Jason made a few cheesy Ghost pottery scene jokes that the instructor probably heard too often and you got to watch Jason’s hands intricately make your brand new mug.

You were internally thanking your clumsiness for breaking his cup earlier in the week and blessing you with the scene of your boyfriend’s biceps. You wish you could brand the memory into your eyes.

Now you tried to concentrate as you painted Jason’s mug. You both decided on painting things about the other person onto the cup, a completely unique design.

You managed to decide on an overall simple red color (surprising, I know), paint a wonder woman emblem and a simplified doodle of Jason’s face. It was your proudest work.

You even snuck in a clumsily written “I love you” with a tiny Red Hood doodle at the bottom of the inside of the cup. A cheesy surprise for him.

“I don’t think I’m made for the arts.” Jason carefully held the paint brush in his hands.

“Don’t say that, your mug shape looks better than mine. Sorry that I made yours a little wonky.” You looked at the slightly slanted rim of the mug.

“I love wonky. You know me so well.” He playfully flirted.

You chuckled at your love-struck boyfriend. You could have given him a ball of clay and he would’ve proudly kept it on his nightstand. You just rolled your eyes at him, knowingly that you also didn’t care if Jason bought a plain cup and handed it to you. You would love it all the same.

A small quiet silence, both lost in your individual masterpieces. You looked up to watch Jay, who concentrated with furrowed brows, trying to add his iconic red bat symbol to your cup. When you noticed he also painted a couple cracks around the handle, clearly digging at the broken handle you religiously held onto earlier that week.

“You’re never going to let that down.” You sighed.

“Huh?”

You pointed at the handle, a smirk appearing on his face.

“Of course, sweetheart, I wish I could’ve gotten a picture of how sad you looked. I would’ve made it my wallpaper.” He chuckled.

“Don’t make fun of me, I was really nervous about telling you. And I lost a pair of sweats because the super glue decided to permanently close my pocket.”

“I’m not, I thought it was cute.” He looked up from your mug. “Besides I already saw it when I crawled into the apartment.”

“What!?” You almost shouted. “What do you mean? You knew?”

“I didn’t know anything, just saw it, but you gave yourself away after you called me ‘my love’ and then I just wanted to see what you were planning.” He finished painting the outline of his iconic bat symbol. “You always call me that when you’re up to something.”

“That’s embarrassing.” You put your paint brush on the table, attempting to cover your flushed face with the back of your hand, careful to not put any paint on your face. “I thought I managed to get past you, but I guess making out doesn’t really count as a distraction.”

“Oh, no, I was distracted, so I guess your plan worked.” He placed his finished work on the table. “But, you’ll have to try harder next time, my love.”

He was getting too cocky now.

“If I tried harder, you would have a hard time getting up in the morning, my love.” You teased.

Jason’s eyes widened. A second to process what you said, then a brazen look in his eye appeared.

“What if that’s my plan all along, my love?” He shamelessly asked.

You leaned in closer to Jason’s side, hiding your voice away from the other customers in the shop.

“One of us isn’t going to be able to walk and it won’t be me.” You joked, both of you laughing at one another. You moved away from Jason. “I think we better stop before we get kicked out, your Ghost jokes earlier already have us on the instructor’s last straw. If it’s not cringy jokes, we’ll be kicked out for indecency.”

“There goes my plans of making out next to the kiln.” Jason shook his head. “I guess it would be bad if we couldn’t pick up our mugs later.”

Your eyes widened at your boyfriends hidden plans. A small twinkle of mischievousness in his eyes.

“We have to change up our make out spots once in a while, can’t let them catch on.” You playfully nudged his arm.

Jason smiled and brought your hands up to his mouth, a small kiss on your knuckles that were covered in paint.

A flutter inched in your stomach at the brief contact.

“Then we should schedule a knitting class tomorrow.”

[obxsummer]

loml (loss of my life) // ghost of you

pairing: jj maybank x routledge!reader

summary: jj up and leaves in search of his dad after receiving a weird letter and kiara witnesses a showdown between you and rafe that reveals more about what happened between the two of you than you wanted to share.

warnings: angsty angst angst, ptsd, rafe cameron muahaha, szn 4 spoilers

navigation -- series masterlist

ask me anything

--

Let’s do a little recap, okay?

In the last 48-72 hours, a lot of shit had gone down. And now, the seven of you were rehashing the details, so, might as well share them. JJ bid off the last of the gold, Wes Genrette gave y’all five grand to find a necklace, you and JJ found the necklace but managed to land in the hospital, Wes ended up dead somehow, Topper’s girlfriend almost killed you all, Cleo got kidnapped, JJ got interrogated by Shoupe because Kooks take no threat lightly, and now Terrance was dead in your living room.

Yeah, dead. In the living room.

So, that’s what everyone had been up to. For the most part, anyway.

You slept. You slept for 14 hours with no interruption and no intent of doing anything else as rain battered against the windows. The last few days didn’t feel real and you were terrified the moment you tried to get going again, something else would go wrong.

The rest of the Pogues handled things while leaving you to rest, to which you were extremely grateful. Cleo climbed in bed with you at some point, sobbing into your chest as you held her tightly, allowing her the space to let out all emotions.

After laying Terrance to rest, the lot of you were heading to Charleston in hopes of figuring out what exactly the amulet inscription said. There was of course the matter of the property tax and zoning change lingering over your heads while all of this was decided.

You hung back with JJ while he fixed the Twinkie, agreeing to prep the store for your departure and handle business until you had to leave. It wasn’t anything too heavy on your brain but it kept you occupied enough to prevent thinking about worse things.

“Babe.” JJ came flying into the covered dock with a rush, practically tripping on his own feet to get to you.

“What’s wrong?”

The instant concern on your face made him feel guilty. You’d been jumpy, rightly so, after everything happened. Especially now that the cops were aware of JJ’s threat, it was only a matter of time before someone came looking for you in retaliation.

He held a piece of paper in front of your face, waving it around chaotically where you couldn’t catch a glimpse of the writing. “I gotta go. I gotta- look.”

“Breathe.” You put your hands on his shoulders to keep him upright. “What is it?”

“A letter, from Wes Genrette. Said my dad would know, I gotta find him.”

“Your dad?!” You repeated in shock, hoping he was lying or at least misspeaking. “Jayj, your dad left.”

He shook his head, jumping forward to kiss you like his life depended on it. Fingers slipping into your hair, he repeated his action before pulling away. “Gotta trust me, baby. Be careful, alright? Go to Charleston, stay with John B. I’ll be back.”

You nodded in response, holding on to his fingers as long as you could before he pulled away and ran down the dock to the HMS Pogue. You hated not know what he intended on doing, but like he said, you had to trust him. No matter what, you trusted him. And maybe it would bite you in the ass, but you had to try.

Not long after, the remainder of the group returned from their ceremony for Terrance and found you in the shop. You sat on the counter where you’d been in a daze while watching the water.

“What’s up?” John B asked as he tapped the counter surface and climbed up next to you, recognizing the look in your eyes enough to know you weren’t fully present. The group piled in the area, taking their own spots.

“JJ left,” You explained directly. “Came running in here spewing all this shit about his dad, took the HMS, and left.”

Pope frowned at the news and grabbed a bag of chips to munch on. “Ohhkay. Are we supposed to wait on him or?”

You shook your head. “He said go. He’d catch up later.”

“Are you okay with that?” John B watched you carefully, knowing last time you’d left JJ in Kildare with no way to get ahold of him had terrified you. He promised to never do that to you again, to make sure you were comfortable and in the right state of mind to make those decisions yourself.

You looked over at your brother and shrugged honestly. “He said it had to do with his dad, John B. I don’t like that.”

“He said to go,” Cleo repeated as she dug her knife into the wood of the support post. “We should go.”

You licked your lips and took a deep breath. She was right. JJ was fully capable of handling himself, and with the dirt bikes here, he could catch up easily if he wanted. Nodding, you looked at John B. “She’s right, we need to go.”

John B nodded when you didn’t budge. “Alright, we’ll go load up the Twinkie. Meet us up there, when you’re ready.”

The group followed your brother up to the house, giving you some space and time to wrap up the shop and get your things together.

“Hey.” You looked up to see Kiara standing a few feet away from you, her fingers tangled together in nervousness.

“Hi,” You returned the greeting and climbed off the counter, shifting behind the register to collect the cash from today and lock up.

Kie walked a little closer and cleared her throat. “I just…um. I wanted to say I’m sorry, for the other day on the beach. I shouldn’t have lashed out on you like that when you had a good point.”

Your hands moved absentmindedly to band together the few bills you’d collected for the day before tucking them in the lockbox and hiding it in the safe. Kiara continued to try and explain herself, which you appreciated, but it wasn’t necessary.

“Kie,” You interrupted her softly with a small laugh, “It’s okay, girl. I promise.”

“I just got really scared,” She admitted sheepishly and tugged on her curly hair. “I saw us getting attacked, again, and someone going to jail. And I… I can’t do that again. Not after everything that’s happened.”

“I get it Kie, really. I mean, at first, I was upset because why were you mad that I was trying to defend us but to be honest, there’s so much more going on right now that my mind is clouded with.” You weren’t trying to come off rude, but the way she immediately switched on you as if she wouldn’t have lost her mind over dead baby turtles…

“Are y’all done?” Your heart dropped at the all too familiar voice and you looked up to meet Rafe Cameron’s eyes. He smirked at your shocked expression and he took a step closer making you take one back.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice was shaky and you refused to break eye-contact with him. The pocket knife slipped between your fingers as Kiara moved to stand behind you.

Rafe scratched his head as if his presence was a normal thing and he wandered around the shop, running his fingers across the shelves. “Uh, yeah. Do you—what you don’t think I’m just a customer coming to shop?”

“Rafe,” You snapped, your tone having a bite to it to let him know you weren’t down for games.

He fiddled with random items as he crossed the wooden floor to get closer to you and Kie. “I’m just looking for my sister.”

“She doesn’t want to see you,” Kiara answered as her fingers wrapped around your elbow. How Rafe managed to get in here without any of your friends noticing, you weren’t sure.

“Well, she’s my sister, okay? I can come have a little chat with her if I want,” He dismissed with a scoff. He grabbed a snow globe in his hands and your mind suddenly went to the ways he would probably kill you with it. “That was a really nice performance yesterday at the break. Really fun to watch, it was awesome. You know this place is on the chopping block, right?”

“Let me guess, you’re behind that or something?” You sneered at his nonchalant attitude. “I don’t know why Sofia puts up with you.”

Rafe flipped around pretty quick at the mention of the girl’s name. “You really ran your mouth to her huh? Took me a while to convince her that things had changed.”

“Did you drug her too?”

He was quick to close the gap between you, hands pressing against the counter that barely separated the two of you. “No, no. She uh, told me about your little problem, though.” Rafe motioned toward your abdomen with a hint of a smirk on his face.

Your eyes burned with tears as you realized what he was referring to, and you’d never felt betrayal like this in your life. “Fuck you, Rafe.”

He groaned and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes like his brain had flipped a switch. “Fuck, that’s not- no. No. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.”

“You did!” You spat as tears fell down your cheeks. Kiara’s gaze was burning into the side of your head as she watched the two of you argue, no words coming to mind as she watched you cry. “You always mean it!”

Pope clocked your distance immediately. He knew you wouldn’t be super warm and energetic after coming back from the Camerons’, even less so with John B in prison. He knew that, but there was something off about it. You weren’t just hiding away to cope, you were hiding in pain.

From the subtle wincing, the paleness in your skin, and slow movements, something was wrong. At first he chalked it up to getting your nutrition back and sleeping properly, but when it didn’t improve, Pope knew he needed to step in. 

It didn’t come to that, though. You’d pulled him away from plotting on how to catch Ward and Rafe and into the hushed space of your room. As much as you wanted to handle it all on your own, you knew if any of your friends could keep things down low and quiet, it would be Pope. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, his voice soothing and concerned as you paced in front of your bed. 

The darkness in your eyes was so sad, and so terrified that Pope was worried you were too far past where he could help. You stopped in front of him, hands shaking as you laid out the details of your concern..

“I need your help, Pope. Please, I don’t know what to do.”

Rafe paced a few steps and shook his head. “You know, I came here to try and do you a solid, a-and you just push my buttons every time that-“ He paused and let out a deep breath. “I want to be better. I want to try and be a good brother, and fix what happened but,” He snapped his fingers in front of your eyes and you stumbled back. “You guys always wonder why you end up at the bottom of the food chain, it’s…it’s sad.”

You almost choked on your tears and attempted to give him the most menacing glare but it was useless. Stabbing you in the heart would’ve been less painful than this.

He walked around the counter to face you directly and you decided then you had nothing to lose. If he killed you, it would be welcomed at this point. He’d shredded you down to bones and still couldn’t stop taking digs at the scars left behind.

Every movement of his body screamed addiction withdrawal, and while you hoped he could be better for Sofia, you didn’t believe he could change. You wished the light in his eyes would fucking burn, that you didn’t have the empathy to hope for him to get better but God, you did. You wished Rafe Cameron would’ve been a better person. And you wish the world wouldn’t have been so cruel to him that he could’ve been better to you.

Rafe’s hand was shaking as he placed it on your arm gently. His face contorted when you gasped like he’d burned you and he pulled back. Instead, he reached into his pocket and held out a small card between his fingers. “I… this is my business card. Tell Sarah to call me, I think I can help. Or… or if you need anything to help, okay? I’m not your enemy.”

Silence hovered the three of you, Kiara’s fingers in your back pocket as you stood eye to eye with the person who ruined your entire past and most of your future. He must’ve realized you had nothing to say and dismissed himself from the store without another word.

The second the bell rang with his exit, your knees gave out and hit the floor. You gasped and heaved for air, threatening to throw up the breakfast JJ had made you.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Kiara reassured as you sobbed. “He’s gone.”

You forced a deep breath in your lungs and held it as long as possible. You were so sick of crying and feeling useless when everyone else seemed to take it all in strides and you were left a broken piece at the starting line. Life was so cruel to you, and now, more than ever, you wanted to give up on trying to run from the impending reminder that Rafe Cameron scarred you in more ways than one.

“Breathe,” Kiara reminded you as she scanned your eyes for any sign of pain. “John B!”

The yell for your brother had you clamming up as you jumped to stop her. There were so many tears on your face and you looked so scared. “No, don’t call John B.”

Kie shook her head, utterly confused and concerned by your actions. “You’ve gotta tell me what’s going on.”

You whimpered and laid back on the floor with a shaky breath. “I will, but you have to swear on your life not to tell anyone. Not John B, none of them, okay?

If Kiara wasn’t so rattled by the last twenty minutes, she would’ve probably agreed with crossed fingers for your safety. But seeing you like this, so raw in front of her after she’d yelled at you for expressing your feelings, she nodded. “Yeah, okay. Okay. I swear.”

It took a few more deep breaths to settle enough to speak without hiccuped sobs seeping in your words. And so you told her. You told her what happened in the Camerons’ house, how Rafe had left you with more than surface level scars and how you’d never forgiven yourself for giving up, for letting him win.

Because some people only got one chance at family, and Rafe Cameron had taken that from you before you even had the slightest idea what life would mean without it.

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a/n: broke this chap into two parts to give you more original content in the next one! more insight into the reader's time at the cameron house ;)