#But a step forward is a step forward!!!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jupiterpilgrim · 2 days ago

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Drown With Me

Pt.3: Ecdysis

Ningning x Minji x Male Reader

word count: 23K

part 1 | part 2

Love hurts.

But honestly, who would survive without love?

A small window into the present:

The park is quiet this afternoon, the kind of peace that feels slightly artificial—manicured paths, neatly trimmed grass, and a fountain bubbling in the center as if someone planned it to be calming. The air is crisp but not cold, the weak winter sun filtering through the bare branches. You sit on a bench near the lake, waiting. It’s been a week since dinner at Minji’s parents’ house, a week of strained silences and avoidance. Not intentional, not entirely, but life has gotten in the way. Work has been relentless, and honestly, you weren’t sure how to approach her after everything. That dinner had been a disaster—a collision of expectations and tension, her parents’ thinly veiled judgment clinging to the air like smoke.

You spot her before she sees you, walking down the path with her usual poised stride. Minji is dressed simply—a long, beige wool coat belted at the waist, black boots clicking softly against the cobblestones. Her hair is tied back into a sleek ponytail, and her glasses reflect the weak sunlight. Even in this casual setting, she’s impeccable, and it makes you feel a little underdressed in your battered jacket and scuffed boots.

She notices you and gives a small, polite wave. You stand up as she approaches, shoving your hands into your pockets to hide your nerves.

“Hey,” she says, her voice calm but guarded.

“Hey,” you reply, gesturing to the bench. “Thanks for meeting me.”

She nods, sitting down gracefully, her hands folded neatly in her lap. You sit next to her, leaving a deliberate gap between you.

“How’ve you been?” she asks, breaking the silence first.

“Busy,” you say. “Work’s been... you know, the usual.”

She hums softly, her eyes on the lake. “And otherwise?”

You hesitate, your gaze dropping to the ground. “I started therapy.”

That gets her attention. She turns her head, her expression softening slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding slowly. “I—I needed to. I’ve been thinking about what you said, about dealing with my shit instead of burying it.” You glance at her, trying to gauge her reaction. “My psychologist recommended AA, too. I'm thinking of giving it a try. I’m not blaming it all on the drinking, but I think it’s tied up in... everything else.”

Minji’s lips curve into a small, genuine smile. “I’m really glad to hear that. I know it wasn’t easy for you to get to this point.”

“It wasn’t,” you admit, leaning forward, your elbows on your knees. “But I think it’s the right thing. I’m tired of feeling like I’m just surviving day to day.”

She nods, her gaze softening. “You’re taking a step, and that’s what matters. I'm proud of you.” There’s a pause, the kind that feels both comforting and uncomfortable. You shift slightly, the tension in your chest easing just enough to let you exhale.

“What about you?” you ask, your voice quieter now. “How’ve you been holding up? How are your parents?” Minji’s expression falters for a moment, the mask slipping just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the strain beneath. She adjusts her glasses, buying herself a second before answering.

“They’re... adjusting,” she says carefully. “It’s a lot for them. They’re not used to this kind of… situation. Nobody really is.”

You nod slowly, unsure what to say. Dinner had been rough—her father’s terse remarks, her mother’s forced smiles, the unspoken tension hanging over the table like a storm cloud.

“I hope I didn’t make things worse,” you say quietly.

Minji shakes her head. “This had to be done sooner or later. They’re just... traditional. It’s going to take time for them to see things differently.”

You watch her for a moment, the way her fingers fidget with the belt of her coat, a rare crack in her usual composure. “I want to make it right,” you say softly. “With them. With you.”

She glances at you, her expression unreadable. “We'll get there.”

The restrained distance between you feels less sharp now, softened by the honesty in her tone. You both sit in silence for a while, watching the ducks glide across the lake.

“I meant it, you know,” you say eventually. “About wanting to change. I don’t want to keep screwing things up.”

Minji turns to you, her gaze steady. “I believe you.”

You nod, the weight on your shoulders lifting just enough to make the world feel a little less heavy.

“Thank you,” you say.

—

The park ice cream stand is one of those charmingly outdated carts with a cheerful umbrella and a grumpy vendor who only half-cares whether you want sprinkles or not. You order two cones—strawberry for Minji, chocolate for yourself—and hand hers over as the two of you start walking. It’s quiet, save for the soft crunch of gravel underfoot and the occasional laughter of kids running past. You’re trying to keep the momentum going, anything to draw her out a little more after the conversation about her parents.

“So,” you say, licking your cone, “are you sleeping any better these days?”

Minji glances at you, her lips brushing against the edge of her ice cream. “Not really,” she admits after a pause.

“Still the nightmares?”

She nods, looking ahead at the path, her face thoughtful. “It’s weird. I’ve always had the occasional bad dream, but ever since... you know, the hospital, it’s like my brain can’t let me have a single peaceful night.”

You frown, concern tightening in your chest. “What are they about? Same one, or do they change?”

“They change,” she says, her voice soft but steady. “But there’s this one I’ve been having lately. It’s... strange.”

“Strange how?”

She takes a deep breath, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “I’m in this garden. It’s beautiful, like something out of a storybook. Perfectly trimmed hedges, colorful flowers everywhere, the works. It feels like mine, you know? Like I take care of it.”

You nod, already intrigued. “Go on.”

“And there are these birds,” she continues, her voice taking on a distant quality. “Hundreds of them, all in cages. They’re everywhere—hanging from trees, lining the paths. But they’re not unhappy. It’s like... they belong there.”

“Okay,” you say, licking your cone thoughtfully. “Then what happens?”

“Something breaks,” she says, her brows furrowing slightly. “I don’t know what—maybe the wind, maybe it’s me—but the cages all shatter at once. Suddenly, the birds are flying everywhere. They’re panicked, and so am I. I’m running through the garden, trying to catch them with my hands.” Her voice trembles just slightly, and you glance at her. She’s still looking straight ahead, her posture composed but her eyes haunted.

“Why were you trying to catch them?” you ask softly.

“I don’t know,” she says, shaking her head. “I just... I felt like I had to. Like, if I didn’t, something terrible would happen. They were important to me. But there were so many, and they kept slipping away, no matter how hard I tried.”

“Did you catch any?” you ask.

She shakes her head again. “I don’t know. I always wake up before I can figure it out. But it’s so... desperate, you know? Like this frantic feeling in my chest that doesn’t go away, even after I’m awake.”

You take a moment to process that, glancing at her as she licks her cone absentmindedly, lost in thought. “You know,” you say finally, “I think you caught some.”

She looks at you, surprised. “What?”

“The birds,” you say, shrugging. “I mean, if they’re that important to you, I like to think you managed to catch at least a few. Maybe not all of them, but some. The important ones.”

A faint smile tugs at her lips, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re an optimist, huh?”

“Not really,” you admit, finishing the last of your cone. “But I figure dreams are weird like that. They don’t always give you answers, so you might as well make up the ones you like.”

She chuckles softly, and for the first time that day, she seems a little lighter. “Maybe you’re right.”

You walk in silence for a while, the sound of the gravel underfoot filling the space between you. The sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the park.

“Thanks,” she says suddenly, her voice quiet but sincere.

“For what?”

“For this,” she says, gesturing vaguely to the park, the ice cream, the conversation. “For listening. You know I like talking to you, I always have.”

“Anytime,” you say, meaning it.

As you walk back toward the bench where you started, you glance at her again. She still looks a little haunted, a little worn down, but there’s something else now too—a faint glimmer of hope, like maybe she’s starting to believe she can catch at least some of those birds.

—

Back to the past

The bar hums with the low buzz of voices, the occasional clink of glasses, and the muted crackle of a classic rock playlist that’s been stuck on repeat all week. You’ve been here since six, same as always, pouring drinks and wiping counters, forcing smiles and easy conversation like a well-rehearsed act. The clock ticks past ten, and you’re starting to think everyone’s forgotten your birthday.

Not that you expected much. Birthdays aren’t exactly high on the list of priorities when you’re juggling shifts and school deadlines. Still, the lack of acknowledgment stings more than you’d care to admit.

You’re stocking glasses when the door swings open, and in walk Ning and Minji, their energy lighting up the place like a spark in dry kindling. Minji’s carrying a neatly wrapped box, and Ning—beaming from ear to ear—is balancing a modest cake in her hands, the kind that looks too perfect to eat. Behind them, your coworkers suddenly start clapping and shouting, “Happy Birthday!”

You blink, startled, as they gather around.

“Surprise!” Ning practically shouts, setting the cake down on the bar with a flourish. She's wearing this short red dress that you've never seen before, while Minji is cozy in a beige sweater.

“You didn’t think we forgot, did you?” Minji says, her lips curling into a faint smirk.

“Well, I—” You trail off, feeling a ridiculous wave of emotion swell in your chest. “You guys are insane.”

“Insanely thoughtful,” Ning corrects, nudging you with her elbow.

After your coworkers and even the few customers present at the bar wished you a happy birthday, you find yourself sitting at the counter, a glass of something amber and sharp in your hand, while Ning fusses over the cake she’s brought. She’s crouched on the other side of the bar, carefully lighting the candles one by one, her face illuminated by the small, flickering flames. Minji leans against the counter beside you, her head tilted as she watches Ning, a faint smile playing on her lips.

“You didn’t see this coming, did you?” Minji asks, her tone light but edged with amusement.

“Not even a little,” you admit, taking another sip. “I thought you two forgot.”

“Forgot?” Minji repeats, raising an eyebrow. “Are our morale really that low?”

“We would never forget, silly,” Ning chimes in, straightening up and stepping back to admire her handiwork. She looks at you, her catlike eyes bright with excitement. “Okay, ready?”

“Ready for what?”

“Happy Birthday, obviously,” Minji says, nudging you lightly.

The room quiets as everyone gathers around the bar. Ning starts the song, her voice sweet but a little off-key, and the others quickly join in. Minji doesn’t sing—of course she doesn’t—but she taps her fingers against the counter in time with the melody, her eyes never leaving yours.

When the song ends, Ning beams at you. “Make a wish!”

You stare at the cake, its frosting a perfect swirl of white and blue, the candles flickering like tiny beacons. For a second, you feel like a kid again, the kind of kid who still believes in wishes.

You blow out the candles, and everyone cheers. Ning claps her hands together, practically bouncing on her heels, while Minji leans closer, her voice low enough that only you can hear. “What’d you wish for?”

You smirk, leaning back slightly. “Not telling. It won’t come true if I do.”

“Superstitious,” she murmurs, her lips curling.

The cake is sliced, the drinks keep coming, and the music on the jukebox changes to something faster, something that makes it impossible not to move. You’re buzzed now, maybe more than buzzed, the alcohol blurring the edges of the world in a way that feels like freedom.

Ning is the first to drag you to the small open space near the jukebox, her hand tugging insistently at yours. “Come on,” she says, laughing. “It’s your birthday. You have to dance.”

“I don’t dance,” you protest, but she’s already pulling you along, her grip surprisingly strong for someone so small.

Minji follows, her movements slower, more deliberate, but there’s a glint in her eye that tells you she’s enjoying this more than she’ll admit. The three of you end up in a loose, messy circle, moving to the beat in a way that’s more about feeling the music than looking good. At some point, Ning spins you around, her laughter ringing out like bells, and when you turn back, Minji is there, her hands brushing against yours as she steps closer. She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, everything else fades.

—

It’s later—maybe an hour, maybe two—when the dynamic shifts again. The music slows, the room thinning out as people leave, and suddenly it’s just the three of you near the jukebox. You’re sitting on a stool now, another drink in your hand, watching as Ning and Minji dance together.

They move differently when it’s just them. There’s a fluidity to it, a quiet intimacy that makes it hard to look away. Ning’s hands rest lightly on Minji’s shoulders, her head tilted as she says something that makes Minji laugh—a soft, genuine sound that you don’t hear often. Minji’s hands skim Ning’s waist, her touch fleeting but deliberate, and the way they look at each other feels like a conversation you’re not quite part of.

They know you’re watching; Minji glances over her shoulder, her eyes locking with yours for just a second before she turns back to Ning, her lips curling into a smirk. Ning follows her gaze, her expression softening as she meets your eyes.

“Come dance with us,” Ning says, holding out a hand.

You hesitate, the weight of their attention making you feel unsteady in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol. But then Minji tilts her head, her expression calm but expectant, and you realize there’s no saying no. You stand, letting Ning pull you into their orbit. It’s not much—a simple sway to the music, their hands brushing against yours, their laughter low and easy—but it feels like more. Like something unspoken is passing between the three of you, something you don’t fully understand but don’t want to let go of.

At some point, you find yourself sitting at a corner table, away from the noise and laughter. The room spins slightly as you lean back, closing your eyes for a moment to steady yourself.

“Hey.” Ning’s voice pulls you back. She slides into the seat next to you, still wearing that easy grin of hers, the hem of her dress riding up slightly as she crosses her legs.

“Hey,” you mumble, your words slurred but soft. “Having fun?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” she teases, nudging your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you say, exhaling heavily. “It’s... nice. Thanks for this.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, her smile softening. “Oh, and I didn’t bring your gift tonight. I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you say, shaking your head. “Your company’s already the best gift.”

Ning’s cheeks flush slightly, and she ducks her head, hiding her expression behind her hair. “That’s sweet,” she murmurs.

There’s a pause, the kind that feels comfortable and heavy at the same time.

Then, Ning speaks again, her voice quieter. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you say, your head lolling slightly as you turn to face her.

“Are you and Minji... you know... sleeping together?”

You blink, caught completely off guard. “What? No,” You lie instinctively. Something tells you that telling the truth now, under these circumstances, is not a good idea. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” she says, shrugging casually but with an edge of something sharper in her tone. “She’s been meeting you alone a lot lately. And you guys talk about... stuff.”

“Yeah, studies and stuff,” you insist, feeling a little defensive despite the alcohol muddling your thoughts. “That’s it.”

Ning studies you for a moment. “I don’t believe you.”

“Well, it’s true,” you say, leaning back and running a hand through your hair. “There’s nothing going on between us.”

Ning shifts closer, her knee brushing against yours. “Okay,” she says, her voice light, almost teasing. “But can I ask you something else?”

“Sure,” you say again, your voice slower now, confused but too drunk to really think it through.

She takes your hand—gentle but deliberate—and places it on her bare thigh. The warmth of her skin jolts through you, and you freeze, your mind struggling to catch up.

“Do you like this?” she asks.

“What... what are you doing?” you stammer, blinking at her.

“Nothing,” she says. Her hand moves yours slightly higher up her thigh, her dress hitching up with the motion. “Just asking a question.”

Your fingers twitch, and she leans in closer, her breath warm against your cheek. “Squeeze it,” she whispers.

You do, but it’s hesitant, your grip light and unsure.

“Do you like it?” she asks again.

“I don’t... I don’t know,” you mumble.

Your hand is still resting on her thigh, and every second it stays there feels heavier, more confusing. The alcohol muddles your thoughts, makes everything feel both too sharp and too distant at once.

“And,” Ning says softly, her voice carrying a dangerous kind of sweetness. “What do you think of my body?”

Your eyes snap to hers, wide and uncertain. “What?”

“My body,” she repeats, tilting her head slightly, her dark eyes almost playful. “Do you like it?”

“I—” You stammer, your throat dry. “Ning, you’re—you’re my friend.”

She smiles faintly, but there’s something sharper behind it. “That’s not what I asked.”

“I don’t know how to answer that,” you admit, your words slurring slightly. “You’re—you’re beautiful, okay? You know that.”

Her smile widens, but it doesn’t feel warm. “So you do like it.”

“I didn’t say that,” you mutter, rubbing your temples with your free hand.

“Relax,” she says, her voice softer now, almost coaxing. “I’m just asking questions.”

Her fingers brush against yours on her thigh, and you flinch slightly. She doesn’t let go. “Did you know I was the one who reminded Minji about your birthday?”

“What?” you ask, blinking at her.

“The cake?” she says, her tone light but insistent. “The party? That was all me. I thought of the flavor, too. Minji wouldn’t have remembered without me.”

You stare at her, unsure of what to say. “Thanks,” you mumble finally. “I mean it. Thanks for thinking of me.”

Her grip on your hand tightens slightly. “Do you mean that?”

“Of course,” you say, looking at her through the haze of alcohol. “It... it means a lot.”

Her smile softens, but only for a moment. Then, she leans in closer, her breath warm against your ear. “Have you ever imagined me naked?”

The question hits you like a slap, and you jerk back, blinking at her. “What? No!”

“It’s okay,” she whispers, her tone unnervingly calm. “You can be honest. I know how guys are. Sooner or later, you all think about it.”

“I haven’t,” you insist, shaking your head. “I swear.”

She tilts her head, studying you like she doesn’t believe you. “Well,” she says quietly, “I’ve imagined you naked.”

You try to pull your hand away, but she keeps it there, sliding it a little higher up her thigh.

“Ning, stop,” you mumble.

“Why?” she asks, her tone almost innocent. “Don’t you like it?”

“I don’t—” You shake your head, trying to focus. “Ning, what’s going on with you?”

Her eyes narrow slightly, her voice dropping lower. “Are you having sex with Minji?”

“For the last time, no!” you say, frustration breaking through the fog in your mind.

“That’s good,” she says, her smile returning. “Because she can’t, you know. Not really.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Her heart,” Ning says, her voice soft but steady. “She can’t handle anything that gets her heart rate up too much. No sex, no heavy exercise... nothing.”

You stare at her, your mind reeling. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because,” she says, sliding your hand a fraction higher, “that means you don’t have anyone to make you feel good. But I could. If you gave me a chance.”

You feel a sudden urge to vomit, and you finally manage to pull your hand away, the effort making your head spin. “Ning, stop. Please.”

“Why?” she asks, her voice sharper now, almost accusing. “Why won’t you give me a chance?”

“Because,” you say groggily, leaning back against the booth, “you’re like a little sister to me. I want to take care of you, not... not this.”

Her expression flickers, something dark passing over her features. “A little sister?” she echoes, almost disgusted.

“What’s going on with you?” you ask, your voice heavy with exhaustion and confusion.

Before she can answer, a voice cuts through the air, sharp and clear.

“What are you two doing over there?” Minji calls from the other side of the bar, her tone light but with an edge of suspicion.

Ning sits up straight, her movements quick and practiced. She adjusts her dress, tugging the hem back down, and smiles sweetly in Minji’s direction.

“Just talking!” she calls back, her voice cheerful.

Minji raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press, turning back to her drink. Ning glances at you, her smile turning sly.

“You should drink more,” she says softly, nudging a fresh glass toward you. “It’s your birthday, after all.”

Your head is spinning, your thoughts tangled and heavy. You don’t know what to say, so you pick up the glass, hoping the alcohol will blur the edges of whatever just happened.

—

Ning grips the small, neatly wrapped package in her hands, her palms damp with sweat. Her stomach twists with nerves as she walks toward the bar, the memory of last night replaying in a loop she can’t turn off.

She hadn’t slept much, tossing and turning as the weight of what she’d done settled deeper into her chest. The heat of embarrassment burned through her every time she replayed the moment she put your hand on her thigh, the words she whispered, the things she revealed. It had been wrong—she knew that now, knew it even then—but the alcohol and whatever storm had been brewing in her mind made it all seem like a good idea at that moment.

Now, she’s stuck between two strategies. If you remember, she’ll apologize, chalk it up to being drunk, to losing her mind for a second. She’ll laugh it off, maybe throw in some self-deprecating humor about how dumb she can be. But if you don’t remember—well, then she’s off the hook.

And she hopes, desperately, that you don’t.

When she steps into the bar, the air is cool and familiar, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses greeting her like usual. But you’re not there.

“Hey,” she asks one of your coworkers, her voice tight. “Where’s—uh—where is he?”

“In the back,” they reply, jerking a thumb toward the storage room. “We just got a shipment in. He’s organizing it.”

Ning nods, swallowing hard, and makes her way toward the back. Each step feels heavier than the last, her nerves threatening to get the better of her. She clutches the gift tighter, as if it’s a lifeline.

When she reaches the door to the storage room, she hesitates, taking a deep breath before pushing it open.

The sight stops her cold.

You’re there, your back to her, leaning against one of the shelves stacked high with boxes of liquor. Minji is in front of you, her hands resting lightly on your chest, her lips pressed against yours in a kiss that’s somehow both casual and intimate.

Minji left the dormitory when Ning was taking a bath, and didn't bother to say where she was going. Now it makes sense.

Ning’s heart plummets, her breath catching in her throat. She doesn’t even think to step back, to hide—she’s frozen, rooted to the spot as the scene plays out in front of her.

Minji’s eyes are closed, but as the kiss lingers, they flutter open—and meet Ning’s.

Minji doesn’t react the way Ning expects. There’s no guilt, no panic, no scrambling to pull away. She’s calm, composed, as if she knew this moment was inevitable. She doesn’t move at first, just looks at Ning with that quiet, assessing gaze of hers. Then, she lifts one hand and nudges you gently, breaking the kiss.

You turn, confused at first, until you see Ning standing there, pale as a sheet, clutching the small package like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

“Oh,” you say, your voice awkward, unsure. “Ning. Hey. What are you doing here?”

Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out at first. She clears her throat, forcing the words out. “They said you were back here.”

“Yeah, uh...” You rub the back of your neck, suddenly very aware of the situation. “We were just, um, sorting the shipment. Minji was helping.”

Ning’s eyes flick to Minji, who’s watching her with that same impassive expression. Not smug, not apologetic—just... unreadable.

Ning nods stiffly, holding out the package like it’s a shield. “I brought your gift.”

You blink, caught off guard, and take it from her hands. “Oh. Thanks. You didn’t have to—”

“It’s fine,” she says quickly, her voice clipped.

You fumble with the wrapping, tearing it open to reveal a hardcover book you’d mentioned weeks ago, something about entrepreneurship or finance that you’d wanted but couldn’t justify buying. Your face lights up, and you look at her, genuinely touched.

“This is... wow. Ning, this is perfect. Thank you.”

Without thinking, you pull her into a hug, the book still clutched in your hand. She stiffens for a moment before relaxing, her arms looping around you loosely.

When you pull back, she’s already stepping away. “I should go.”

“What? No, stay,” you say, frowning. “I was just about to head back to the bar anyway. We can hang out—”

“I can’t,” she cuts you off, her voice flat but with an edge that betrays her. “I have stuff to do.”

Before you can say anything else, she’s already turning, her steps quick and purposeful as she makes her way out of the storage room.

You’re left standing there, the book in your hands, a strange weight settling in your chest.

Behind you, Minji speaks for the first time. “She’s upset.”

You turn to look at her, but her face is as calm and unreadable as ever.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I noticed.”

Minji doesn’t reply, her eyes fixed on the door Ning just walked through.

“Why would she leave like that?” you ask aloud, not really expecting an answer.

“Like I said, she’s upset,” Minji repeats.

You turn to her, frowning. “But why? I don’t get it. It’s not like I did anything wrong.”

Minji tilts her head slightly, her dark eyes steady on yours. “It’s not about you doing anything wrong,” she says, her voice measured and thoughtful. “It’s... Ning.”

“What about her?” you ask, genuinely curious.

Minji sighs softly, taking a step closer to you, her hands clasped in front of her. “Ning likes to be the center of attention. Always has. It’s part of who she is. She doesn’t know how to share things—friends, experiences. She probably thinks I’m stealing you from her.”

You blink, her words sinking in. “Stealing me? That’s... I mean, I don’t think that’s it.”

“She wouldn’t say it outright,” Minji continues, her voice gentle but firm. “But she feels it. She doesn’t like to share her people. And lately, she’s been sharing you more than she’s used to.”

You frown, glancing down at the book in your hands. “I don’t want her to feel that way. I hope I didn’t mess things up with her.”

“You’re not messing anything up,” Minji says, her voice softening as she takes another step closer. “This isn’t your fault.”

You look up at her, and for a moment, you’re caught by the way she’s looking at you—steady, calm, her expression full of quiet understanding. She’s close enough now that you can smell her perfume.

“I don’t know,” you say, shaking your head slightly. “Maybe I should talk to her.”

“I’ll handle it,” Minji says. “Let me talk to her later. She’ll listen to me.”

You nod slowly, relieved but still uneasy. “Thanks. I just... I don’t want things to get weird, you know?”

“They won’t,” she says, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Trust me.”

Before you can respond, she closes the remaining distance between you, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders.

“You’re not messing anything up,” she says again.

Her gaze locks onto yours, and for a moment, the air between you feels electric, and then she leans in, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s soft but insistent.

You freeze for half a second, but then you find yourself leaning into it, your eyes fluttering shut as the warmth of her mouth against yours sends a rush of heat through your chest.

When she pulls back, her face is still close to yours, her dark eyes searching yours for a reaction.

“Minji,” you murmur.

“You’re not messing anything up,” she repeats, her tone steady but soft. “You’re amazing.”

You feel a strange mix of emotions swirling in your chest—confusion, excitement, guilt. But most of all, you feel captivated. Minji is... everything. Beautiful, intelligent, composed. She’s the kind of girl you never thought you’d have a chance with, the kind who feels like a fantasy brought to life.

“Thanks,” you say finally, your voice shaky. “I just... I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“They won’t,” she says simply, her hands sliding down your arms before she steps back, giving you space. “We’ll figure it out.”

You nod, swallowing hard as you watch her. There’s something about her that draws you in, something magnetic and almost overwhelming. You can’t help but feel like you’re being pulled into her orbit, whether you’re ready for it or not.

—

The dorm is silent and cloaked in darkness when Minji steps inside, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Her eyes adjust quickly, tracing the familiar outlines of the room: the tidy desk on her side, the slightly chaotic one on Ning’s, and Ning herself—sprawled face down on her bed like a discarded doll.

Minji knows she’s not sleeping.

She turns on the lamp by her desk, its soft glow casting long shadows across the room. Ning doesn’t stir, but her breathing isn’t the deep, rhythmic pattern of sleep. Her messy hair spills over her pillow in wild waves, her loose top riding up just enough to reveal the curve of her waist above her panties. She’s a cute mess, but a mess all the same.

“Ning,” Minji calls softly, her voice calm, measured.

No response.

Minji crosses her arms, leaning against her desk. “I know you’re not sleeping.”

There’s a beat of silence before Ning turns her head slightly, just enough to meet Minji’s gaze. Her eyes are red, swollen, and have deep dark circles, as if all her accumulated tiredness had collapsed on her at once. Minji doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she holds up the tub of ice cream she’s carrying, Ning’s favorite flavor, like it’s a peace offering. “Sit up,” Minji says gently.

Ning hesitates, her expression guarded, but eventually pushes herself upright, her movements sluggish. Minji walks over and sits beside her on the bed, her posture as perfect as always, even in the dim light.

“Why’d you leave the bar like that?” Minji asks, her voice calm but probing.

Ning shrugs, her eyes fixed on the floor. “I just felt like leaving.”

Minji isn’t buying it. She studies Ning for a moment, then leans in slightly. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

Ning doesn’t respond, her silence speaking volumes.

Minji sighs, setting the ice cream tub on the bed between them. “Alright,” she says, her tone soft but purposeful. “Then let me make it easy for you. Yes, I’m seeing him. We’re hooking up.”

Ning stiffens, but she keeps her eyes down, her expression carefully blank.

“Does that bother you?” Minji asks, her voice light but probing, her gaze unwavering.

Ning stays silent, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

Minji presses on, her tone shifting to something softer, almost confessional. “I only let things happen because I thought you didn’t care. You’ve always said he’s just your friend. And I believed you.” She pauses, letting her words settle before continuing. “But if I was wrong... if you like him too, tell me. I’ll step back.”

Ning looks up at her then, startled. “What?”

“I’m serious,” Minji says, her expression calm. “You knew him first. You introduced me to him. If you like him, I’ll stop seeing him. Friendship comes first.”

The words hit Ning like a punch to the chest. There’s nothing accusatory in Minji’s tone, no edge to her gaze—just an unshakable calmness that makes Ning feel small and foolish.

“I don’t like him like that,” Ning says finally.

Minji tilts her head slightly, her eyes narrowing just enough to suggest she doesn’t entirely believe her. “Are you sure?”

Ning hesitates, her mind racing. If you and Minji are already together, what difference would it make? You’d never leave Minji for her. She’s better than Ning in every way—prettier, smarter, more composed. Ning would just make everything worse by admitting the truth.

“I’m sure,” Ning says again, forcing the words out.

Minji watches her for a long moment before nodding, as if accepting it. “Okay,” she says softly. “Then why did you leave the bar like that?”

“I was embarrassed,” Ning lies, her voice steadier now. “I saw you two kissing, and... I don’t know. I thought you’d be mad at me for walking in on you.”

Minji chuckles softly, shaking her head. “Why would we be mad? It’s not like we were doing anything wrong.”

Ning doesn’t respond, her fingers still picking at her shirt.

Minji reaches for the ice cream, peeling off the lid and handing it to Ning along with a plastic spoon. “Here,” she says, her voice gentle. “Eat.”

Ning takes it reluctantly, her movements mechanical as she scoops a bite into her mouth.

Minji watches her for a moment before speaking again. “You’re sure everything’s okay?”

Ning forces a smile, one that feels brittle even to her. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

Minji exhales softly, a small smile playing on her lips. “Good,” she says. “Because I think... I think I’m falling for him.”

Ning freezes mid-bite, the spoon hovering in the air.

Minji doesn’t seem to notice. “I don’t fall for guys easily,” she continues, her tone contemplative. “You know that. I don’t date just to date. But with him...” She trails off, shaking her head slightly. “It feels different.”

Ning forces herself to swallow, her chest tightening painfully.

Minji reaches out then, her thumb brushing against the corner of Ning’s mouth. “You’ve got ice cream,” she says softly, her touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

The gesture sends a jolt through Ning, and she quickly looks away, focusing on the ice cream in her lap.

“Eat, Ning. You’ll feel better.”

Ning nods, shoveling another spoonful into her mouth, her movements hurried and desperate.

She glances at Minji, who’s watching her with a faint, unreadable smile, and decides to take the plunge.

“Did he say anything about last night?” Ning asks, her voice casual, as if the question doesn’t mean much.

Minji raises an eyebrow, clearly puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Just... I don’t know,” Ning says, forcing a shrug. “Like, did he mention anything weird? About the party, I mean.”

Minji tilts her head slightly, studying Ning like she’s trying to figure out what angle she’s working. “No,” she says finally. “Why?”

“No reason,” Ning replies quickly, her eyes dropping back to the tub of ice cream in her lap. “I was just curious. He got very drunk yesterday.”

That makes Minji laugh, soft and elegant. “Oh, trust me, I know. He told me he had a splitting headache and a killer hangover. Said he drank so much he forgot a lot of what happened.” She pauses, her smile turning almost amused. “Apparently, that’s not the first time it’s happened. Seems to be a habit of his.”

Ning nods, her grip on the spoon tightening slightly. “Yeah, I know.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Minji leans back slightly, resting her hands on the bed. “But he was really happy about the surprise party. And he loved your gift.”

Ning feels a sudden urge to cry, but it’s different this time—something bittersweet, something almost tender. “It wasn’t anything special,” she says.

“It was,” Minji counters, her tone firm but kind. “Mostly because it came from you.”

Ning doesn’t know how to respond to that, so she takes another bite of ice cream, the sweetness almost too much now. She glances at Minji, who’s still watching her, and before she can stop herself, the next question tumbles out.

“Have you and him... you know.”

Minji blinks, caught off guard for the first time that night. Her composure falters just slightly before she regains it, smoothing her expression into something neutral. “Not yet,” she says, her voice carefully even.

“But you’ve done something?”

Minji hesitates, then nods, her eyes flickering toward the window as if she doesn’t want to meet Ning’s gaze. “I... gave him a blowjob.”

She doesn’t know why she asked—doesn’t know what she expected—but the answer still hits her like a punch to the chest.

Minji, sensing her discomfort, lets out a soft laugh. “It was the first time a guy’s ever... you know, finished in my mouth.”

Ning swallows hard, her throat suddenly dry. She forces herself to keep her voice steady. “And? How was that?”

Minji shrugs, her lips curving into a faint, wry smile. “Not as bad as I thought it’d be. A little weird, but... not terrible. But no facials with me. That's my limit. It would ruin my skin.”

Ning doesn’t respond, her mind racing. She feels like she’s on the edge of something, teetering between jealousy and shame and something dangerous, something she doesn’t want to name.

Minji stretches slightly, her movements graceful as always, and lets out a small sigh. “I’m exhausted,” she says, her tone softening. “You should brush your teeth when you’re done with that ice cream.”

She leans in then, pressing a light kiss to Ning’s cheek, her lips soft and cool. Ning freezes, the touch sending a shiver through her, but Minji pulls back quickly, standing and moving toward her dresser.

“I’m going to change,” Minji says, her voice light and casual as if nothing unusual had just happened.

Ning watches her, the tub of ice cream still heavy in her hands, and wonders how Minji always manages to walk that perfect line between kindness and control, between affection and distance. And she wonders, for the hundredth time that night, why it hurts so much to lose something she never really had.

—

The kitchen glows under the soft light of your pendant lamp, a warm oasis on a cold evening. Minji is standing at the counter, dressed in a slim, forest-green silk dress that clings to her form without being ostentatious. The fabric moves like water, catching the light every time she shifts her weight or raises her arm. A subtle slit at the hem reveals just a hint of her toned leg as she steps closer to the chopping board. Her hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail, a few stray strands framing her face, and her gold-rimmed glasses sit neatly on her nose, catching the light like a delicate accessory she doesn’t even notice.

You stir the sauce simmering on the stove, stealing glances at her as she expertly dices a red bell pepper. The soft rhythm of her knife against the cutting board blends with the faint hum of music coming from the speaker in the corner. It’s some instrumental jazz you picked randomly, but it fits—smooth, understated, just like her presence.

“It’s funny,” she says suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. Her voice is calm, clear, the kind that pulls you in without demanding attention. “The lecture I had today—it was about communication, or the lack of it, really.”

You glance over your shoulder, curious. “Yeah? What about it?”

Minji doesn’t look up from her task, the tip of her tongue caught briefly between her teeth as she concentrates on slicing the pepper into perfectly even strips. “How dangerous it is,” she says simply.

“Dangerous?” you echo, turning back to the stove. The sauce is thickening nicely, the smell of garlic and tomatoes filling the space.

“In my field, sure,” she continues, setting the knife down and picking up a carrot. “Business is all about negotiation, asserting yourself, making your position known. If you can’t communicate—if you’re passive, afraid to take up space—people walk all over you. You become... irrelevant.”

You nod, scooping up a spoonful of sauce and tasting it. It’s missing something—salt, maybe. “Makes sense. You’ve got to make yourself heard.”

“Exactly.” She pauses, running the carrot under the faucet, then patting it dry with a paper towel. “But it’s not just in business. It’s everywhere. Relationships, friendships, even just day-to-day interactions. If you can’t say what you think, if you’re always holding back...”

She trails off, her knife poised over the carrot. For a moment, you think she’s lost in thought, but then she shakes her head slightly and starts slicing again.

“It’s cowardly,” she says finally, her tone sharp but not loud. “To let life pass you by because you’re too afraid to say or do anything. It’s—" She stops herself, exhaling softly. “I don’t understand how people live like that.”

“You’re not wrong,” you say instead, reaching for the salt and sprinkling a bit into the sauce. “But some people are just wired differently. They don’t know how to... I don’t know. Assert themselves?”

“That’s an excuse,” Minji replies. She sets the knife down and turns to face you, leaning slightly against the counter. “It’s not about being wired differently. It’s about choice. If you let fear dictate your life, if you don’t fight for what you want—what does that say about you?”

Her eyes are dark, steady, the kind of look that makes you want to nod and agree with her, even if you don’t fully understand.

“I guess it says you’re not living,” you say finally.

“Exactly.” She smiles faintly, turning back to her work. “Not living. Just... existing. Letting other people decide everything for you.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you focus on the food instead. The sauce is perfect now, the pasta boiling steadily in the pot next to it. You grab a wooden spoon and stir, the repetitive motion grounding you.

Minji starts talking again, her voice lighter now, almost casual, but there’s still an edge to it. “We had this case study in class,” she says, slicing the carrot into neat, thin rounds. “A guy who inherited a failing company from his father. Had all the tools, all the resources, but he couldn’t make decisions. Always second-guessed himself, deferred to his advisors, avoided confrontation.”

“What happened to him?” you ask.

“The company went bankrupt,” she says simply. “And he blamed everyone but himself.”

You whistle softly. “Harsh.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s deserved. If you can’t take responsibility—if you can’t stand up and say, ‘This is what I think, this is what I want’—you don’t deserve to succeed. Period.”

There’s a finality to her tone that makes you glance at her again. Her hands are steady as she gathers the sliced vegetables and transfers them to a bowl. There’s no anger in her expression, just quiet conviction, like she’s already decided what the world should be and won’t waste time pretending otherwise.

“I guess you’re right,” you say, draining the pasta and dumping it into the pan with the sauce. “But some people are just... afraid. Of rejection, failure, whatever.”

She snorts softly, reaching for a tomato. “And that’s supposed to excuse them? We’re all afraid. The difference is whether you let it control you.”

“You’re good at this,” you say, gesturing to the cutting board as you plate the pasta.

She glances at you, a faint smile playing on her lips. “At cooking?”

“At everything,” you say, surprising even yourself with the honesty in your tone.

Her smile widens slightly, and she tilts her head, studying you for a moment. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she says, her voice softer now. “Honestly, I don’t think people realize how much they lose when they hold back,” Minji says, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s like...” She pauses, searching for the right words, her knife resting momentarily on the cutting board. “Imagine having all this potential—ideas, feelings, everything—and just letting it rot inside because you’re too scared to let anyone see it. It’s...”

“Wasted,” you finish for her, nodding.

“Exactly. Wasted,” she echoes, her gaze flicking to yours for a moment before returning to the half-sliced tomato in front of her. “I see it all the time. Students who are brilliant but can’t speak up in class. Colleagues who let others take credit because they can’t bring themselves to push back. It’s infuriating.”

“Not everyone can be as fearless as you,” you tease, half-smiling as you wipe your hands on a dishtowel.

She lets out a soft laugh, but there’s an edge to it. “It’s not about fearlessness. It’s about... discipline. Conviction. Knowing what you want and not apologizing for it.”

The words linger in the air, and for a moment, you think she might say more. But then she shakes her head slightly and focuses back on the tomato, her knife moving with a precision that seems almost meditative.

“You really have this figured out, huh?” you say, watching her work.

“I try,” she replies, her voice almost introspective. “But it’s easier to see these things in other people. When it’s yourself...” She trails off, slicing through the tomato, her knife slipping slightly as she loses focus.

“Shit!”

The knife clatters onto the cutting board, and she pulls her hand back, blood welling up from a neat cut on the side of her index finger. For a moment, she just stares at it, as if unable to comprehend what’s happened.

“Are you okay?” you ask, already stepping closer.

“I—I don’t know,” she stammers, holding her hand up as blood starts to drip onto the counter. “I’ve never...”

“It’s not bad,” you say quickly, grabbing a paper towel and wrapping it around her finger. “It’s just a small cut. Let me see.”

She doesn’t move, her body rigid, her breath shallow as she stares at the blood soaking into the towel. “I’ve never cut myself before,” Minji says.

“It happens,” you say gently, trying to keep your tone calm. “Everyone does it sooner or later. Here, hold this tight while I grab the first aid kit.”

You guide her hand to press the towel against the cut and rummage through the drawer until you find the small, rarely used kit. When you return, she’s still standing in the same spot, her expression a mixture of shock and something sharper—anger, maybe.

“Let me clean it,” you say, carefully unwrapping the paper towel. The cut is thin but deep enough to keep bleeding. “It’s not serious, I promise.”

She flinches as you dab at it with an antiseptic wipe, her jaw tightening. “I can’t believe this,” she mutters, more to herself than to you.

“Minji, it’s really not a big deal,” you say, glancing up at her.

“It is to me,” she snaps, then immediately looks away, exhaling sharply. “Sorry. I just... I don’t like this.”

“I get it,” you say, wrapping a bandage around her finger. “But it’s going to heal. Probably won’t even leave a scar.”

Her head snaps up at that. “A scar?”

“Maybe a tiny one,” you admit, trying to keep your tone light. “Nothing noticeable.”

Her lips press into a thin line, and she pulls her hand away as soon as you finish wrapping it. “I’ve never had a scar before,” she says, her voice low but sharp. “Not a single one.”

“Well, if it does scar, it’ll be really small. Barely visible.”

“That’s not the point,” she says, her tone rising slightly. “I don’t want one at all. Why should I have to live with something like that?”

“It’s just a part of life,” you say, shrugging. “Everyone gets scars eventually.”

“Not me,” she retorts, pacing to the other side of the kitchen. “I’ve always been careful. Always.”

“Hey,” you say softly, stepping closer. “It’s really not that bad. I promise.”

She doesn’t look at you, her gaze fixed on her bandaged finger. “Do you think there’s something that can get rid of scars? Like a cream or... something?”

“Maybe,” you say carefully. “I think there are treatments, yeah.”

“Good,” she says, finally meeting your eyes. “I’ll look it up later.”

You nod, deciding not to push her. “If it bothers you that much, we’ll figure it out. Okay?”

She exhales, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Okay.”

The air between you feels fragile now, like a thread pulled too tight. You want to say something to break the tension, to bring back the easy warmth from before, but you don’t know how. Instead, you reach for the chopping board, picking up where she left off.

“Why don’t you sit down?” you suggest, glancing at her. “I’ll finish the vegetables.”

For a moment, she hesitates, her gaze lingering on you. Then she nods, walking to the table and sitting down, her movements slower than usual.

—

Dinner unfolds with a quiet kind of intimacy. The two of you sit across from each other at the small dining table, your plates piled high with pasta, the vegetables Minji had been chopping earlier perfectly sautéed and scattered on top. The warmth of the meal fills the space, but the air between you feels delicate, like a glass balancing on the edge of a table.

She’s been quiet since the incident in the kitchen, only speaking when you ask her something directly. You don’t mind the silence, though. You know her well enough by now to understand that she’s working through her thoughts, rearranging them until they feel presentable.

Finally, as you’re finishing the last bite of your pasta, she sets her fork down and looks at you. Her hands are folded neatly in her lap, her posture straight but not stiff.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, her eyes meeting yours. “About earlier. I didn’t mean to overreact.”

You lean back slightly, letting her words settle. “It’s okay,” you say, your voice calm, steady. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“I do,” she insists, her gaze dropping to her plate for a moment. “I... I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to make such a big deal out of it. Or ruin the night.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” you say firmly, leaning forward now, your elbows resting on the table. “I promise. It’s not a big deal. Things like that happen all the time.”

“Not to me,” she murmurs. She takes a deep breath, her fingers tightening slightly in her lap. “I’ve always been... careful. Protected. My parents, my doctors, even my friends... they’ve always made sure I never got hurt. Physically, I mean.”

You nod slowly, giving her space to continue.

“I guess that’s why it rattled me so much,” she says, a faint, self-deprecating smile tugging at her lips. “It sounds stupid when I say it out loud. It’s just a tiny cut.”

“It’s not stupid,” you say gently. “I get it. If you’ve never had to deal with something like that before, of course it’s going to feel... bigger.”

She looks at you then, her expression softening. “You always do that.”

“Do what?” you ask, curious.

“Understand me,” she says simply, her voice warm. “Even when I don’t make sense, you... you just get it. Get me.”

You smile, a quiet sense of gratitude settling in your chest. “That’s because I like you, Minji. A lot.”

She ducks her head slightly, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. “I like you too,” she says softly.

After a moment, you both rise from the table, moving together to clear the dishes. The easy rhythm returns as you rinse the plates, her hand brushing against yours as she hands you a glass to dry.

When everything is cleaned and put away, you lead her to the couch, the soft hum of the jazz playlist still filling the background. She sits down first, but then, without hesitation, shifts onto your lap. Her body fits against yours like it belongs there, her dress cool against your hands as they find their way to her thighs.

Her arms loop around your neck, and for a moment, she just looks at you.

“I really like you,” she says again, her voice quieter now, more intimate.

“I feel the same way,” you reply, your hands instinctively tightening their hold on her thighs.

She leans in then, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that starts soft, tentative. But as you respond, as your hands slide up her legs and her fingers tangle in your hair, the kiss deepens, the world outside the two of you fading into nothing.

Her breath hitches slightly as you pull her closer, your hands finding the bare skin just above the slit in her dress. Her lips taste faintly of the wine you had with dinner, warm and lingering, and you think you could stay like this forever.

When she finally pulls back, her forehead resting against yours, she exhales softly, her fingers tracing the back of your neck. “I’m happy,” she says quietly.

You smile. “Me too.”

Her warmth presses against you, your hand rests lightly on her thigh, the silk of her dress cool and slippery under your palm. It should feel perfect, unbroken, but something niggles at the edge of your mind.

Ning.

You don’t know where the thought comes from, but it’s there, uninvited, lingering like a shadow just out of reach. Your hand flexes slightly against Minji’s thigh, and she notices, tilting her head to look at you.

“Something on your mind?” she asks.

You hesitate, trying to shake it off, but the words tumble out before you can stop them. “Is Ning okay? I mean, really okay?”

Minji blinks, her lips parting slightly in surprise. For a moment, she’s quiet, her gaze searching yours. Then, she smiles faintly, leaning back just enough to study your face.

“I told you,” she says calmly, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on the nape of your neck. “I talked to her. She’s fine.”

You nod, but it doesn’t feel like enough. “What did she say? I just—she seemed upset that night at the bar.”

Minji’s smile doesn’t falter, but something shifts in her eyes. “She said she was embarrassed. That’s all. Embarrassed and worried she might be... getting in the way of us.”

“In the way?” you echo, frowning.

Minji hums softly, her thumb brushing against your jaw. “You know how she is. Always second-guessing herself, always afraid of being too much. She didn’t want to... complicate things.”

You’re quiet for a moment, processing her words. Your hand is still on her thigh, your thumb brushing absently against the slit in her dress. The thought of Ning being embarrassed—or worse, feeling like she doesn’t belong—makes you feel wrong somehow. “She didn’t need to leave like that,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Minji.

“No,” Minji agrees, her voice soothing. “But that’s Ning. She always runs before she can let anyone help her.”

The words sting, though you’re not sure why. Minji shifts in your lap then, her movements deliberate, and takes your hand in hers. For a moment, you think she’s going to pull it away, but instead, she guides it down, sliding it under the edge of her dress.

You freeze, your breath catching as your fingers brush against the soft fabric of her panties. She doesn’t stop, doesn’t even falter, her hand pressing yours firmly against her.

“Keep going,” she whispers, her lips brushing against your ear.

“Minji,” you start, but she cuts you off with a small, reassuring smile.

“It’s fine,” she says, her voice steady. “I want you to.”

Her hips roll subtly against your hand, and instinct takes over, your fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles over the fabric. She exhales softly, her body relaxing against yours, but her gaze remains locked on you, sharp and unflinching.

“Ning really is a good friend,” she says suddenly, her tone casual.

The words catch you off guard, but you nod, your movements faltering slightly before you find your rhythm again. “Yeah. She is.”

Minji hums in agreement, her head resting against your shoulder. “I like her. She’s sweet. A little naive, maybe, but sweet. Sometimes I think of her as a doll, but I can never decide whether she's made of cloth or porcelain.”

You’re not sure how to respond. Your hand is still moving, the heat of her seeping through the fabric, and the dissonance between her words and what you’re doing is dizzying.

“She’s always been so... eager to please,” Minji continues, her voice soft but steady. “It’s endearing. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” you say quietly, unsure if you’re agreeing with her or just trying to keep up.

“She looks up to you,” Minji adds, her lips curling into a faint smile. “Did you know that? She talks about you all the time.”

“Does she?” you ask, your voice thick, your movements slowing as the conversation twists into something unknown.

“Mhm.” Minji’s eyes flutter closed for a moment, her body arching slightly against your hand. “She admires you. Trusts you. I was the only one she felt this way about… until you came along.”

The weight of her words settles over you, heavy and disorienting. Your fingers pause, but Minji presses down against your hand, guiding you to keep going.

“She’s lucky,” she murmurs, her voice taking on a dreamy quality. “To have someone like you.”

“Minji...”

Her eyes snap open, locking onto yours, and the intensity there makes your breath hitch. “Don’t stop,” she says, her tone firm but not unkind.

You obey, your hand moving again, and she lets out a soft sigh, her head tilting back slightly.

“I mean it,” she says, her voice quieter now. “You’re good to her. Better than she knows how to be to herself.”

There’s a finality to her words, a weight that presses against you even as her body moves in perfect sync with your hand. The contrast—the tenderness of her words, the sharpness in her gaze, the heat of her pussy against your fingers—leaves you unmoored, unable to do anything but follow her lead.

As her breathing quickens, her grip on your shoulder tightens, and you can feel the tension building in her body. But her expression remains calm, composed, her eyes never leaving yours.

When she finally pulls back, her chest rising and falling with each breath, she smiles—a slow, deliberate curve of her lips that feels like both a reward and a warning.

“Do you understand?” she murmurs, her fingers brushing against your cheek. “We must take care of her.”

And somehow, despite everything, you nod.

Minji’s lips press against yours with an intensity that leaves no room for misunderstanding. It’s a kiss that demands, that consumes, that floods every sense. Her fingers find the back of your neck, pulling you closer, her touch as steady and deliberate as the woman herself.

When she finally breaks away, just enough to catch her breath, her dark eyes search yours, gleaming with something you can only describe as hunger. She reaches up, slipping her gold-rimmed glasses off her nose with a slow, deliberate motion, and places them on the cushion beside her.

“Take me to the bedroom,” she murmurs, her voice low, husky.

You hesitate for just a moment, searching her face for any sign of doubt. “Are you sure?” you ask, your voice softer than you expect.

“Yes,” she says firmly, her hands gripping the sides of your face. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Her words leave no room for argument. You kiss her again, deeper this time, your hands tangling in her hair as she pulls you closer, her body pressing against yours like she’s trying to meld into you. It’s clumsy and desperate as you guide her toward the bedroom, bumping into walls and laughing softly between kisses.

By the time you reach the bed, you’re both breathless, flushed. She steps back for a moment, her hands moving to the straps of her dress. You watch, your pulse pounding in your ears, as she lets the silk slide off her shoulders and fall to the floor in one fluid motion.

Her lingerie is understated but stunning—a black lace bra that clings to her curves and a matching pair of panties, delicate and sheer, the fabric clinging to her hips like a second skin. The lace pattern catches the dim light of the bedside lamp, adding an air of quiet elegance to the raw heat between you.

She smiles then, a slow, teasing smile that makes your stomach flip. Stretching her arms out, she falls back onto the bed, her hair fanning out against the pillows. “Your turn,” she says.

You chuckle, feeling a rare flicker of self-consciousness as her eyes roam over you. Kicking off your shoes and pulling off your shirt, you move quickly, her gaze following every movement. By the time you’re down to just your underwear, she’s propped herself up on her elbows, her smile widening.

“Not bad,” she teases, her tone light but edged with genuine appreciation.

“Not bad?” you repeat, grinning as you crawl onto the bed.

Before she can answer, you’re on top of her, your hands braced on either side of her head, your lips crashing into hers with a force that steals her breath. She arches against you, her hands running down your back, her nails pressing lightly into your skin as your kisses grow more frantic, more demanding.

Her laughter mixes with soft gasps as you trail kisses down her neck, her shoulders, the curve of her collarbone. Her skin tastes faintly of the lavender lotion she always uses, warm and familiar.

“You’re overdressed,” you mutter against her skin, your fingers toying with the clasp of her bra.

She laughs softly, her hands sliding into your hair. “Then do something about it.”

You do, the clasp giving way easily under your fingers. The bra slips off, and for a moment, all you can do is stare, taking in the sight of her bare skin, her confidence, the way she doesn’t flinch or shy away from your gaze.

“You’re incredible,” you whisper, and her smile softens, her hands pulling you down for another kiss.

Her skin is impossibly soft under your hands, warm and alive as your fingers trail over her collarbones, down the slope of her shoulders, and back to the curves of her breasts. The contrast between her confidence and the slight tremble in her breath makes your pulse race. You take your time, letting your thumbs graze over her nipples, dark and inviting, their perfect areolas standing out against her smooth skin.

Minji sighs softly, her chest rising under your touch. You lower your head, your lips brushing against one nipple before your tongue flicks over it, savoring the way her body responds—a sharp intake of breath, her fingers tangling in your hair.

You suck gently at first, then harder, your mouth working over her, tasting her, teasing her. Your other hand cups her other breast, your thumb circling her nipple in time with the rhythm of your mouth. She gasps, her back arching into you, her hips shifting beneath your weight as if she can’t stay still.

“God,” she whispers, her voice breathy and raw. “You’re—” She doesn’t finish, the words melting into another soft moan as you move to her other breast.

You give it the same attention, your tongue tracing slow, deliberate circles around her nipple before you take it fully into your mouth. Her hands tighten their hold on you, pulling you closer, her body alive under yours.

When you finally pull back, both nipples glistening, hard from your attention, she’s looking at you with half-lidded eyes, her lips parted, her breath shallow. You lift your head, your lips brushing hers lightly before your noses meet, a quiet moment of intimacy as they nudge and caress each other.

She smiles against your lips, soft but full of mischief. “My turn,” she murmurs, her voice still heavy with desire.

Before you can respond, she pushes against your chest, flipping you onto your back with surprising strength. She straddles you for a moment, her hair falling around her face like a curtain as she leans down to kiss you again—slow, deep, her tongue teasing yours before she pulls away.

She crawls backward, her hands trailing down your chest, your stomach, until she reaches the waistband of your underwear. Her fingers hook into the fabric, and she glances up at you, her eyes dark and gleaming with intent.

“You don’t mind if I take these off, do you?” she asks.

“Be my guest,” you manage, your voice thick.

She smirks, tugging your underwear down slowly, deliberately, her nails grazing your skin as she goes. She takes her time, her movements unhurried, like she’s savoring the moment. When she finally pulls the fabric free, she tosses it aside without a second glance, her eyes fixed on you, her lips curling into a satisfied smile.

“Perfect,” she says softly, more to herself than to you, her hands sliding up your thighs as she settles between your legs.

Minji lingers for a moment, her lips hovering just above your skin, close enough that you can feel her breath but not her touch. The anticipation is maddening, every nerve in your body strung tight as she takes her time, her hands steady on your thighs.

She starts slowly, pressing a soft, teasing kiss to the base of your shaft. The warmth of her lips makes you shudder, and she smirks, clearly pleased with your reaction. Her mouth trails upward, planting light kisses along the length of you, her tongue darting out occasionally to flick against your skin.

“God, Minji,” you murmur, your voice thick and strained.

“Patience,” she says softly, her tone almost playful. “I want to enjoy this.”

Her lips reach the tip, her kiss lingering there as if she’s savoring the moment. Her tongue flicks out, running over the head in a slow, deliberate motion that makes your breath hitch. The first bead of precum gathers, and she laps it up with a quiet hum of satisfaction, her eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“You taste good,” she murmurs, her voice low and sultry.

You’re too far gone to respond, your body already aching for more. She seems to know exactly what she’s doing, letting her tongue circle the head, her movements deliberate, teasing. Every flick, every graze, every soft kiss feels calculated to drive you to the edge without giving you what you’re desperate for.

When she finally takes you into her mouth, it’s slow, her lips wrapping around the tip and sucking gently, just enough to make you groan. She pulls back slightly, her tongue pressing against the underside as her hand wraps around your base, stroking in time with her movements.

She takes more of you in, her mouth warm and wet, her lips sliding down your length with a slow, practiced rhythm. Her hand moves with her mouth, stroking the part of you she can’t yet take, her fingers firm but gentle. She hums softly, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your hands gripping the sheets as she sets a steady pace, her head bobbing slowly, her hair falling around her face.

She glances up at you, her eyes locking with yours, and the intensity there nearly undoes you. Her movements quicken slightly, her tongue working in tandem with her lips as she takes you deeper, her free hand pressing against your thigh to keep you steady.

She doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter, her focus unbroken as she works you over, her lips and tongue and hand driving you to the brink.

And just when you think you can’t take any more, she slows, her mouth pulling back slightly, her lips leaving you with one last teasing kiss before she leans back, her smile wicked and satisfied.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asks.

“Are you kidding?” you manage, your breath ragged.

She laughs softly, her hand still stroking you lazily. “Good. Because I’m just getting started.” Her hand replaces her mouth for now, stroking you slowly, deliberately, as she leans down further. Her lips trail lower, pressing kisses along the sensitive skin beneath your length, her tongue flicking out to taste as she goes.

She settles between your legs, her warm breath ghosting over your balls before she places an open-mouthed kiss there, her tongue dragging lazily over the soft skin. A low groan escapes your throat, your hands fisting the sheets as she takes her time, exploring every inch with her lips and tongue.

“Fuck, Minji,” you murmur, your voice hoarse.

She hums softly in response, the vibration sending a spark of pleasure through you. Her tongue traces slow, deliberate circles over one ball, her lips following close behind to suck gently, her saliva pooling and making everything slick. She pulls back slightly, her gaze flicking up to meet yours as a string of spit clings to her lips before breaking.

“You like this?” she asks, her voice low and teasing, her hand still stroking you in time with her movements.

“God, yes,” you groan, your hips twitching involuntarily.

“Good,” she whispers, leaning back in.

Her mouth wraps around one ball fully this time, sucking lightly, her tongue rolling over the sensitive skin in slow, deliberate motions. She pulls back only to give the other the same attention, her hands never stopping their steady rhythm along your shaft. Her spit drips down, messy and unabashed, mixing with the heat of her mouth and the wet glide of her strokes.

The sound of it—the wet, lewd noises her mouth makes as she works—fills the room, mingling with your ragged breathing. Every flick of her tongue, every gentle suck, every glance up at you from beneath her lashes feels like it’s designed to undo you completely.

Her free hand moves lower, her fingers pressing lightly against the base of your balls, massaging them in time with her tongue. She’s thorough, relentless, her lips and hands and tongue working in perfect harmony to keep you on the edge without letting you tip over.

“Minji,” you groan, your voice strained, your body taut with need.

She pulls back slightly, her lips glistening, her chest rising and falling with each breath. “Not yet,” she murmurs, her smile wicked as her hand tightens slightly around your length.

“Fuck,” you hiss, your hips jerking against her touch.

“Patience,” she says again, her voice soft but commanding.

Minji’s mouth wraps around you with a deliberate slowness, her tongue swirling over the sensitive head before she slides her lips down your length. Her eyes remain locked on yours, dark and gleaming, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth even as she takes you deeper. The sight of her, so poised and yet so filthy in the way she works you, sends another wave of heat coursing through your body.

Her hand strokes the base of your cock in time with her mouth, her spit dripping down, messy and unapologetic. She hums softly, the vibration making your thighs tense as your breathing grows ragged. You’re holding on by a thread, her movements so precise, so unrelenting, that you can’t think of anything but the need building inside you.

“Minji,” you groan, your voice thick and raw.

She pulls back just enough to speak, her lips glistening, her hand still working you. “What?” she asks, feigning innocence, her smile widening as her tongue flicks out to taste you again.

“Enough,” you manage, your hand tangling in her hair. “I need to fuck you. Now.”

She laughs softly, her hand slowing but not stopping. “Hmm, okay, I think you deserve a break,” she teases, pressing one last kiss to the tip of your cock before pulling away.

You sit up, reaching for the drawer beside the bed, your hands fumbling slightly as you grab a condom. Minji watches you with a smirk, leaning back on her elbows, her chest rises and falls as she catches her breath, her hair wild, her lips swollen.

You tear open the foil, rolling the condom over yourself quickly. When you look back at her, she’s watching you with a raised eyebrow, her smile almost mocking.

“You’re on top?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you say, climbing over her, your hands bracketing her hips. “I want to see your tits bounce while I fuck you.”

Her laughter is low and throaty, her hands sliding up your chest. “Direct. I like that.”

You slide your hand between her legs, hooking your fingers around the edge of her panties and pulling them aside. She’s already wet, the heat of her pussy making your pulse quicken as you position yourself at her entrance.

“Minji,” you murmur, leaning down to brush your lips against hers. “If you need to stop—if it’s too much for your heart—you have to tell me.”

For a moment, something flickers in her eyes—frustration, maybe, or something deeper. But she nods, her voice soft but firm. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Just... go on.”

You nod, pushing forward slowly, your cock stretching her inch by inch. The warmth of her, the tightness, the way her body yields to yours—it’s almost too much, and you have to force yourself to go slow, to savor the moment.

Her breath hitches, her nails digging lightly into your shoulders as you sink into her fully. “Fuck,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “You feel...”

“You okay?” you ask, your voice strained as you fight to keep still.

She nods quickly, her hands sliding down your back. “Yes. Don’t stop. Please.”

You begin to move, your hips rocking into hers with slow, deliberate thrusts. Her body arches beneath you, her breasts bouncing with every motion, her moans soft and breathy as you find your rhythm. It’s new, electric, every sensation heightened as you lose yourself in her completely.

Your hips move with slow, deliberate precision at first, every thrust designed to make her feel the full length of you. Minji's back arches beneath you, her head pressing into the pillows, and the soft, breathy moans slipping from her lips fuel the fire raging in your veins.

"God, you're so deep," she gasps, her voice breaking as you sink into her again, her tight heat enveloping every inch of you. Her nails rake down your back, her fingers digging into your skin as though she needs to hold on for dear life.

You lean forward, your chest brushing against her bouncing breasts, each motion of your body sending them into a hypnotic rhythm. Your mouth finds her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone, leaving trails of wet, open-mouthed kisses. "You like that, Minji?" you growl against her skin, your voice rough and ragged. "Feel me stretching you, filling you up like this?"

Her answer is a strangled moan, her hands gripping your shoulders so tight it’s as if she’s afraid you’ll stop. "Yes," she pants, her legs wrapping around your waist to pull you even closer. "God, you’re so big—I can feel you so deep inside me."

Her words make your pulse spike, a growl rumbling low in your chest as you shift your weight, planting your hands on either side of her head. You increase the pace, your thrusts growing harder, deeper, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the room. Her moans grow louder, less controlled, her usual composed demeanor shattered beneath the pleasure you're giving her.

"Fuck, Minji," you hiss, your eyes locked on her face, on the way her mouth falls open, her brows pinched in bliss. "You look so fucking good like this—moaning under me, begging for it. Never thought I'd see you like this."

"Fuck—you're... driving me crazy."

"Yeah? That so?" you taunt, leaning down to kiss her, your lips claiming hers with a roughness that leaves no room for doubt. Her tongue meets yours, desperate and needy, her hands threading into your hair and pulling hard.

Her walls tighten around you, her body responding to every thrust, every grind of your hips against hers. "Harder," she whispers, then louder, "Harder! God, I can take it—don't hold back!"

You oblige, slamming into her with a rhythm that’s wild, relentless, each movement pushing her closer to the edge. The headboard rattles against the wall, the slick, wet sounds of your bodies joining filling the room. Her cries grow higher, her hands clawing at your back as if she’s trying to anchor herself amidst the chaos.

"You're so fucking tight, Minji," you groan, your head dipping to suck one of her nipples into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the hardened bud, biting lightly, and her reaction is immediate—a loud, desperate moan that makes you even harder.

"Yes!" she cries, her hips bucking to meet yours. "Oh my God—don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!"

"Look at you," you rasp, pulling back just enough to watch her. Her chest heaves, her hair sticks to her damp skin, and her lips are swollen from your kisses. "You're a fucking mess for me, Minji. You like being fucked like this? Having me ruin you?"

"Yes!" she screams, her voice breaking as her body shudders beneath you. "Fuck, yes! You're—ah—you’re going to make me—oh, God!"

Without missing a beat, you pull back, your cock slipping free from her soaked pussy with a wet, obscene sound that makes her gasp. Minji looks up at you, her flushed face a mix of frustration and anticipation, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

“I'm gonna make you cum hard,” you growl, your hands sliding down her thighs. Her skin is damp and hot under your palms, trembling slightly as you grip her legs and shift her position.

You lift her legs, folding her knees toward her chest, then place them on your shoulders, her panties still aside. The movement leaves her completely exposed, her slick folds glistening in the dim light, her body open to you in a way that makes your cock throb.

Minji lets out a shuddering breath, her hands gripping the sheets beside her head. “What are you waiting for?” she snaps, her sharpness laced with a raw, desperate edge. “Fucking do it.”

Your smirk is wicked as you lean down, pressing your weight into her just enough to make her feel the shift in power. The new angle makes her eyes widen slightly, and you can’t help but revel in the way she’s completely at your mercy.

“Oh, I’ll do it,” you rasp, your cock pressing against her entrance again. “I’m gonna fuck you so deep you’ll feel me for days.”

She doesn’t even have a chance to respond before you thrust back inside her, hard and fast, your cock stretching her again in one smooth motion. Her back arches off the bed, a strangled cry tearing from her throat as the new position lets you sink even deeper.

“God, yes!” she gasps, her hands flying to your forearms, nails digging in as you start to move. “Fuck—so deep—Jesus, you’re—”

“You like that, huh?” you grunt, your hips slamming into hers with a rhythm that’s rough and unrelenting. Her legs tremble against your shoulders, her body jolting with every thrust. “Like being stretched open like this, taking all of me?”

“Yes! Fuck—yes, don’t stop!” she cries, her voice high and breathless. Her walls squeeze you tight, her slick heat making every movement feel like heaven.

You lean forward, pressing her knees closer to her chest, the angle driving you even deeper. She lets out a broken moan, her head thrashing against the pillow as her hands claw at your arms.

“Look at you,” you growl, your eyes locked on her flushed face, the way her mouth falls open with every thrust. “You’re fucking perfect like this, Minji. So wet, so tight—taking my cock so well.”

Her reply is a choked moan, her words lost in the overwhelming sensation. Her breasts bounce with every thrust, her nipples hard and begging for attention. You lean down further, capturing one in your mouth, sucking hard as your hips keep their punishing rhythm.

“God, yes!” she wails, her nails raking down your back. “I can feel you—oh, my God, I can feel you in my stomach!”

Her words send a thrill down your spine, spurring you on. The sound of your bodies meeting—the wet, lewd slap of skin against skin—is loud, raw, and completely unrestrained. Her cries grow louder, her hips lifting to meet yours despite the overwhelming pressure.

“You’re mine, Minji,” you hiss against her skin, your teeth grazing her nipple. “You hear me? No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to fuck you like this.”

“Yes!” she gasps, her body tightening around you. “Yours—I’m yours—just don’t fucking stop!”

Her words are a command, a plea, and you obey, driving into her harder, faster, your cock slamming into the spot that makes her whole body tense and shudder. Her legs shake against your shoulders, her walls clenching so tightly around you that it’s almost too much.

Her head falls back, her voice breaking into a string of curses and moans as her orgasm builds, her body arching beneath you. “Fuck—yes—don’t stop—I’m so close!”

You reach between your bodies, your thumb finding her swollen clit and rubbing in tight, fast circles. The added stimulation makes her scream, her entire body locking up as the climax overtakes her.

Her walls flutter and squeeze around you, her cries filling the room as she comes hard, her body shaking violently beneath you. The sight of her—completely undone, wild and raw—nearly pushes you over the edge, but you grit your teeth, determined to hold on just a little longer.

As her orgasm subsides, her body slackens slightly, her chest heaving as she struggles to catch her breath. Her eyes flutter open, glazed and hazy, but the look she gives you is pure hunger.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers, her voice hoarse but insistent. “Fuck me until you come.”

You don’t waste a second. The moment those words leave her lips, something primal inside you takes over, your need to claim her completely, to make her yours in every way, surging to the surface. You shift her body with practiced ease, turning her onto her side, her legs tangling slightly as you follow her movement.

She gasps at the new angle, her body arching instinctively as you position yourself behind her. Your chest presses against her back, your arm slipping under her head to cradle her, your other hand gripping her hip to pull her flush against you. The intimacy of the position is electric, raw, and the way her body yields to yours drives you wild.

“You feel that?” you rasp against her ear, your voice low and rough as you slide back inside her, your cock filling her with a single, deep thrust. “Feel how perfectly you fit around me, how tight you are?”

“God, yes,” she whimpers, her hand flying back to grasp at your hip as you start to move, your pace slow but relentless. “You’re so deep—I can’t—oh, fuck—”

Her voice falters as you rock into her, the sideway angle letting you reach deeper than before, your cock pressing against spots that make her whole body tremble. Your hand on her hip slides up, roaming over the curve of her waist, her ribs, her breast. You squeeze her flesh possessively, your thumb flicking over her hard nipple, and she lets out a soft, needy moan, her body arching into your touch.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” you murmur, your lips brushing against her ear before trailing down the side of her neck. “Every inch of you. I could fuck you like this forever, Minji.”

Her answer is a shaky, desperate whimper, her head tilting back against your shoulder to give you more access. Your mouth moves lower, leaving hot, wet kisses along her neck, her shoulder, tasting the salty sheen of sweat on her skin. The scent of her—sex and sweat and lavender—fills your senses, intoxicating and addictive.

Your hand slides down her stomach, your fingers finding her clit and rubbing it in slow, firm circles that make her hips buck against you. She’s so wet, so slick, and every time you thrust into her, the sound of it is loud and obscene, driving you both higher.

“Please,” she breathes, her voice soft but filled with need. Her hand reaches back, her fingers threading into your hair as she clings to you. “Don’t stop. Don’t let go.”

“Never,” you growl, your teeth grazing the curve of her shoulder. “You’re mine, Minji. All of you. And I’m going to fuck you until you can’t think about anything else but how good I make you feel.”

Her body shudders against yours, her walls tightening around your cock as your words send a new wave of heat through her. She turns her head, seeking your lips, and you kiss her hungrily, your tongues tangling as your thrusts grow harder, faster.

Her moans become louder, higher, her hand clutching yours where it cups her breast, her other hand gripping the sheets. “Oh, my God—fuck—I’m so close—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” you whisper fiercely, your mouth moving to her ear. “Come for me, Minji. Let me feel you.”

Your fingers press harder against her clit, your cock driving into her with a pace that’s relentless, merciless. Her body tenses, her breath hitching, and then she’s coming undone, her climax hitting her like a tidal wave.

She cries out, her walls clenching around you so tightly that it pulls a groan from your throat, her entire body shaking in your arms. You don’t stop, don’t let up, fucking her through her orgasm as her pleasure peaks. The way she’s clinging to you, her nails digging into your forearm, her breathless gasps of your name—it’s all so intense.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your thrusts growing erratic, completely focused on her pleasure.

“Yes,” she gasps, her voice trembling. “Please—don’t stop—I want to feel it all—”

Her words spur you on, and you continue to drive into her, every movement designed to prolong her ecstasy. With one last, deep thrust, you bury yourself inside her, feeling her body convulse around you as her orgasm reaches its peak, your breath ragged as you hold her close.

For a moment, neither of you move, your bodies tangled. Then Minji shifts slightly, turning her head to press a soft kiss to your jaw.

“You’re incredible,” she whispers, her voice barely audible but filled with warmth.

“So are you,” you murmur, your arms tightening around her.

She’s still trembling slightly, her slick pussy clenching around your cock, her breath shallow and uneven as she tries to recover. You pull back slightly, adjusting your angle, and thrust into her again, slow but deliberate, dragging a gasp from her parted lips.

"Not done with you yet," you growl against her ear, your hand sliding down her body, fingers tracing the curve of her waist, her hip. "You’ve got another one in you, don’t you, Minji?"

"I—" she starts, but her words cut off with a sharp moan as you roll your hips, the movement grinding your cock against her sweet spot. Her head falls back against your shoulder, her hand clawing at your forearm where it holds her steady.

"That’s what I thought," you murmur, your lips brushing the shell of her ear before trailing down her neck. You suck hard enough to leave a mark, your tongue soothing the sting as your other hand slips between her legs.

Her breath catches as your fingers find her clit again, slick and swollen, and you rub slow, teasing circles over it in time with your thrusts. "God, you’re so wet," you say, your voice rough with desire. "You hear that? Hear how messy you are for me?"

The lewd, wet sounds of your cock sliding in and out of her echo through the room, and Minji’s cheeks flush even deeper. "Please—ah, fuck—" she tries to speak, but another roll of your hips cuts her off, leaving her gasping.

"Uh-uh," you taunt, biting down lightly on her shoulder. "You don't have to say anything, baby. Just moan for me. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel."

Her moans grow louder, her hips rocking back to meet yours despite the overwhelming pace. Her body is completely pliant in your hands, her usual control stripped away by the sheer intensity of the pleasure you’re giving her.

"Fuck—so deep—" she gasps, her voice breaking as you press harder against her clit, your thumb working in tight, relentless circles. "I can’t—oh, God, I can’t—"

"Yes, you can," you whisper fiercely, your teeth grazing her earlobe. "You’re gonna come for me again, Minji. I can feel it. Your body’s begging for it, squeezing me so fucking tight—"

"Shit—ah—" Her words dissolve into a strangled cry as your fingers pinch her clit lightly, the shock of sensation making her thighs tremble.

"You like that?" you rasp, your thrusts growing harder, sharper, each one driving her closer to the edge. "You like being fucked like this? My cock filling you so deep you can’t even think straight?"

"Yes—fuck, yes—don’t stop—" Her voice pitches higher, her hands scrambling to find purchase on the sheets, your arm, anything to anchor herself. "I’m so close—I’m gonna—ah, fuck, I’m gonna—"

"Come for me, Minji," you command, your voice low and rough. "Come on my cock again. Let me feel you fall apart."

It’s all she needs. Her body seizes up, her walls clamping down on you in a vice grip as her orgasm tears through her. She lets out a loud, broken cry, her nails digging into your arm, her legs shaking uncontrollably as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over her.

"That’s it," you murmur, riding her through it, your thrusts slow but deep. "Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this. So fucking perfect."

Her cries taper off into soft, breathless whimpers, her body going limp against you, utterly spent.

You pull her close, wrapping her up in your arms and covering her in kisses. Your lips trace her cheeks, her jawline, the delicate curve of her neck, every press of your mouth filled with an intensity that makes her sigh softly against you. Her plump lips, slightly smudged with lipstick from your earlier assault, part as she lets out a quiet moan when your tongue teases along her bottom lip.

“You’re stunning,” you murmur against her mouth before capturing it again in a deep kiss. When you finally pull back, your forehead presses against hers, your breaths mingling in the shared, charged air. “Do you want to take control now?”

Her answer comes as a throaty moan, her nails lightly grazing your chest. “Yes,” she whispers.

Your lips curl into a wicked smile as you tilt her chin up to meet your gaze. “Do you like being in control?”

“Yes,” she breathes, the single word coming out as a desperate sound. Her hips shift slightly against yours, the motion sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you.

“Do you want to make me cum?” you ask, your voice dropping lower, rougher.

Her dark eyes meet yours, filled with a mixture of mischief and raw desire. “I really want to,” she confesses, her voice dripping with need.

Your hand comes up to cradle her face, your thumb brushing over her swollen lips. “You have no idea,” you murmur, your tone heavy with honesty, “how hard it’s been to keep my eyes off you since the first day you walked into that bar.”

Her breath hitches, her fingers curling around your wrist as her lips brush against your thumb. “Is that so?” she asks, her tone light, teasing, but her cheeks flush a deeper red.

“Yes,” you admit, your eyes scanning her face. “Every time you walked in, I couldn’t stop staring. You were so calm, so composed, and all I could think about was ruining you.” You let the words hang for a moment, letting their weight settle between you.

She bites her lip, her gaze flicking down to your chest before meeting your eyes again. “And did you ever imagine us like this?” she asks, her voice soft but edged with curiosity. “Have you ever thought about fucking me?”

Your hand trails down her back, pulling her even closer. “Yes,” you confess, your voice raw. “I imagined you riding me. I imagined watching you take control, watching you use me to make yourself come.”

Her breath catches, and for a moment, you think she might shy away. But then her lips curl into a wicked smile, her hands pressing against your chest as she pushes you back onto the mattress. The movement is assertive, commanding, and it sends a thrill straight through you.

“Then let’s make that fantasy real,” she purrs, swinging her leg over you to straddle your hips. Her hands slide up your chest, her nails dragging lightly over your skin as she settles herself on top of you.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your hands finding her hips as she shifts her weight, the heat of her pussy pressed against you through the slick mess between you.

“Like this?” she asks, rolling her hips in a slow, deliberate motion that makes your cock twitch beneath her. “Is this what you imagined? Me on top, calling the shots?”

“Exactly like this,” you admit, your voice strained. “Except you’re even hotter than I ever imagined.”

Her smirk widens as she reaches down, wrapping her fingers around your length and guiding you to her entrance. “Good,” she murmurs, sinking down onto you with a slow, deliberate motion that makes you both gasp.

Her head falls back, a soft moan spilling from her lips as she takes you in, inch by agonizing inch, until you’re buried fully inside her. Her walls squeeze you tightly, her body adjusting to your size as she braces herself against your chest.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” she breathes, her nails biting into your shoulders as she starts to move.

Your hands grip her hips, guiding her movements as she grinds down on you, her rhythm slow and sensual at first. The sight of her above you—her flushed skin, her breasts bouncing slightly with each roll of her hips, her hair falling around her face in a wild curtain—is enough to make your restraint falter.

“God, Minji,” you groan, your head pressing back into the pillows. “You’re incredible. You’re so fucking sexy like this.”

She leans forward, her lips brushing against your ear. “You like it?” she whispers. “Like watching me fuck you like this?”

“Fuck yes,” you growl, your hands sliding up her back to pull her closer. “You’re fucking perfect. Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop.”

Her laughter is breathy, her movements growing faster, more erratic, as she loses herself in the pleasure. “I wasn’t planning to,” she pants, her breath catching as she rides you harder, her nails raking down your chest.

The sight, the sounds, the feel of her—it’s overwhelming, intoxicating. Every roll of her hips sends sparks of pleasure racing through you, and you can tell she’s close again, her moans turning into broken cries, her rhythm faltering slightly as she chases her release.

“Come for me again, Minji,” you urge, your hands gripping her ass, helping her move. “Show me how good it feels to take control.”

Minji settles into a rhythm that’s nothing short of hypnotic. Her hips roll with a perfect, deliberate precision, her thighs flexing as she lifts herself just enough to tease before sinking back down, taking you to the hilt. Every motion sends a jolt of pleasure through your entire body, your cock throbbing inside her tight, wet heat.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your hands sliding up her ass to her hips, gripping them tightly. “The way you move—it’s driving me fucking crazy.”

She smirks down at you, her dark eyes gleaming with mischief and desire. “Good,” she breathes, her lips curling into a teasing smile as she grinds her hips in slow, torturous circles. “That’s exactly what I want.”

Your grip tightens, your fingers digging into her soft skin as you fight the urge to flip her over and take control. But you hold back, letting her have her moment, letting her ride you the way she wants. Her pace is maddening—slow and deliberate, her body squeezing you so tightly with every movement that you feel like you’re teetering on the edge of control.

“You’re so fucking tight,” you rasp, your voice rough with strain. “I can feel every inch of you, Minji. It’s like you were made for me.”

Her breath hitches, her smirk faltering for just a second as a soft moan slips past her lips. “God, you feel so good,” she whispers, her hands bracing against your chest for balance as she starts to move faster, her rhythm quickening.

The sight of her is almost too much—the way her plump lips part with each breathy moan, the light sheen of sweat on her flushed skin, the way her breasts bounce with every movement. She’s a vision, completely uninhibited, completely in control, and it only makes you want her more.

“You look fucking perfect, Minji. The way you take me—shit, I could stay like this forever.”

She laughs softly, the sound low and throaty, and leans forward, her lips brushing against your ear. “Forever, huh?” she whispers, her voice dripping with playful arrogance. “You’re really losing it, aren’t you?”

“Can you blame me?” you shoot back, your hands sliding up to cup her breasts, your thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples. Her moan is immediate, her body arching into your touch as her hips buck against you. “You’re fucking incredible, Minji. The way you feel, the way you move—I’ve never felt anything like it.”

Her reply is a strangled gasp as she grinds down on you, her movements growing rougher, more desperate. “God, you’re—” She cuts herself off with a sharp moan, her head falling back as her pace falters for just a second. “You’re so big—I can feel you everywhere—”

Her words send a surge of heat through you, your grip on her hips tightening as you thrust up into her, matching her rhythm. “Yeah?” you growl, your voice low and rough. “You like the way I fill you up? Like the way my cock stretches you, baby?”

“Yes,” she cries, her nails digging into your chest as she moves faster, her moans turning into soft, breathless gasps. “Fuck, yes—don’t stop—I don’t want this to stop—”

“Then don’t stop,” you urge, your hands guiding her as she bounces on your cock, the slick sounds of your bodies meeting filling the room. “Ride me just like that, Minji. Fuck, you’re perfect—so fucking perfect.”

She moans louder, her movements growing more frantic as the pleasure builds between you. Her body squeezes you tighter with every motion, the heat and wetness of her making it almost impossible to hold back. But you don’t care. You don’t want to hold back. You want to lose yourself in her completely.

Minji’s movements grow frantic, her rhythm breaking as she chases her high. Her hips slam down onto you, her thighs trembling as she rides you harder, faster, the sound of her ass meeting your hips filling the room in wet, obscene slaps.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your head pressing back into the pillows, your hands gripping her hips to steady her. Her pussy clenches around your cock, impossibly tight, her slick heat driving you closer to the edge with every erratic motion.

Her breath comes in short, desperate gasps, her nails digging into your chest as she moves. Her hair is wild, damp with sweat, sticking to her flushed skin as her moans turn into broken cries.

“God—fuck—I’m so close,” she gasps, her voice high and strained. “I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna—”

Before she can finish, you act. Sitting up, you wrap your arms around her, lifting her with ease as she lets out a startled gasp. Her legs instinctively wrap around your waist, her arms looping around your shoulders as you hold her against your chest.

“My turn,” you growl, your voice low and rough as you adjust your grip, your hands sliding down to cup her ass. With one powerful thrust, you bury yourself inside her, pulling a scream from her lips as you take back control.

“Fuck—oh, my God—” she cries, her head falling back as you pound into her, your cock driving deep into her tight, slick heat. Every thrust is hard, relentless, your hips slamming against hers as her body bounces against yours.

“You’re so fucking tight,” you groan, your breath ragged as you move. “Jesus, Minji—you feel like heaven. Taking me so fucking perfectly.”

Her only response is a series of broken moans, her nails clawing at your back as she clings to you, completely at your mercy. Her pussy tightens around you, her walls fluttering as her cries grow louder, more desperate.

“I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna fucking cum!” she screams, her voice breaking as her body tenses, trembling in your arms.

“Come for me,” you command, your voice rough and strained. “Scream for me, Minji. Let me feel it.”

Her entire body seizes up, her head pressing against your shoulder as her orgasm hits her like a tidal wave. She screams your name, her nails digging into your shoulders, her pussy clenching around you in tight, rhythmic pulses that make you see stars.

“Fuck, yes,” you groan, your thrusts never faltering as you ride her through it, your grip on her ass tightening as you slam into her over and over. Her body shakes violently, her cries turning into soft, breathless whimpers as she collapses against your chest, completely spent.

You don’t stop, your cock still buried deep inside her as you hold her close, your lips brushing against her ear. “You’re fucking incredible,” you murmur, your voice soft but filled with awe. “The way you come for me—Jesus, Minji—you’re perfect.”

She shudders at your words, her breath hot and ragged against your neck as her fingers tangle in your hair.

You gently lift Minji from your lap, her body still trembling slightly from the intensity of her orgasm. Her legs are weak, and her cheeks are flushed, but there’s a gleam in her eye, a hunger that hasn’t been sated yet. You kneel on the bed, tilting her chin up so her gaze meets yours.

“On your knees,” you murmur.

Her lips part in a breathless little gasp, but she obeys without hesitation, slipping down to kneel on the floor in front of you. Her hands rest lightly on your thighs, her touch hesitant for a moment as if waiting for your instruction.

You reach down, peeling the condom off and tossing it aside. Your cock is still rock-hard, and her eyes dart down to it, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips.

“Make me cum,” you say. “Make me cum in that pretty little mouth, Minji.”

She doesn’t say a word—she doesn’t need to. Her hands move to your length, her slender fingers wrapping around you as she leans in. Her tongue flicks over the tip first, tasting herself on your cock, and she lets out a soft hum of satisfaction that sends a shiver through you.

“Fuck,” you groan, your hand finding its way into her hair as she slowly takes you into her mouth.

Her lips wrap around your head, soft and warm, and she starts with slow, deliberate strokes, her tongue swirling over the sensitive underside as she takes more of you in. Her hand strokes the base, slick with her spit, matching the rhythm of her mouth.

She glances up at you, her dark eyes locking with yours, and the sight of her like this—on her knees, your cock in her mouth, her lips stretched around you—is almost too much.

“You’re fucking gorgeous like this,” you murmur, your hand tightening in her hair, guiding her movements. “Look at you—such a messy, beautiful little slut for me.”

Her eyes sparkle at your words, and she hums around your length, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. She takes you deeper, her lips sliding down your shaft with a slow, deliberate rhythm that has you gripping her hair tighter.

Her pace quickens, her spit dribbling down her chin as she starts to lose herself in it, her hunger taking over. She pulls back slightly, her tongue swirling around your tip before plunging back down, taking you deeper than before. The wet, obscene sounds of her mouth fill the room, mingling with your ragged breaths.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your head tilting back as she works you over. “That mouth of yours—you’re so fucking good at this.”

She gags slightly as she takes you too deep, her throat contracting around you, but instead of pulling back, she swallows hard and coughs a little. Then she looks up at you, her lips swollen, her chin slick with spit, and gives you the cutest, most mischievous smile you’ve ever seen.

“Goddamn,” you mutter, your fingers tightening in her hair as your hips jerk forward slightly. “You are the hottest girl I have ever seen, you know that?”

Her only response is a low hum as she dives back in, her mouth warm and wet, her tongue moving in perfect rhythm with her hand. You take control then, gripping her hair firmly and guiding her movements, setting the pace.

“Just like that,” you rasp, your voice rough and strained. “Take it, baby. Take all of it. You love this, don’t you? Being on your knees for me, choking on my cock?”

She moans around you, her hands gripping your thighs for support as you move her head faster, harder. Tears well up in her eyes, her makeup smudging as spit pools at the corners of her mouth and drips down her chin.

“You’re such a good girl,” you growl, watching her struggle to take you deeper. “Look at you—so fucking messy for me, and I can’t get enough of it.”

Her moans grow louder, more desperate, and she starts sucking harder, her cheeks hollowing as she works you over with a fervor that makes your thighs tremble. You’re close, so fucking close, the tight knot of pleasure in your core threatening to unravel at any second.

Your grip on her hair tightens as her pace grows more frantic, her mouth sliding over your cock with a wet, obscene rhythm that has your entire body trembling. The tight warmth of her lips, the way her tongue works against you, the sight of her on her knees like this—it’s all too much.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your voice strained as you feel the tension building, coiling tight in your core. “I’m so fucking close.”

She pulls back suddenly, your cock slipping from her mouth with a wet pop, and she looks up at you, her lips red and swollen, spit dripping down her chin. “Go all out,” she says, her voice breathless but firm. “I want you to cum in my mouth.”

Your breath catches, your grip in her hair slackening for just a moment. “Are you sure?” you ask, your voice low, rough, almost a growl.

“Yes,” she breathes, her eyes dark with determination. “I can handle it. Give me everything.”

Her words ignite something feral in you. Without hesitation, you tighten your grip in her hair, guiding her back to your cock. “Open wide, baby,” you rasp, your voice raw with need.

She obeys, parting her lips and taking you in again, her mouth warm and eager as she lets you set the pace. This time, there’s no hesitation, no holding back. You thrust into her mouth, deep and deliberate, the head of your cock brushing the back of her throat with every motion.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your hips moving with a steady, relentless rhythm. “Your mouth—it’s so fucking perfect. Feels just like your pussy. So tight, so warm—shit, I'm gonna cum so hard.”

Her moans vibrate around you, her hands gripping your thighs for balance as she takes you deeper and deeper. Her throat tightens around you, the sensation almost unbearable, and her eyes water, tears spilling over as drool drips from the corners of her mouth.

“You’re such a good girl,” you growl, your voice rough as your thrusts quicken. “Taking me so fucking well. Look at you—so messy, so perfect.”

She glances up at you, her eyes red and shining with unshed tears, and the sight nearly undoes you. Her cheeks hollow as she sucks harder, her tongue working in tandem with the movements of your hips.

“Goddamn,” you rasp, your hand tightening in her hair as you hold her in place. “I’m gonna cum, Minji. Gonna fill your mouth with it. You ready for that?”

She hums her approval, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through you, and you can’t hold back any longer. With a guttural groan, your hips jerk forward, burying yourself deep in her throat as your release hits.

Hot, thick spurts of cum shoot down her throat, and she chokes slightly, her body trembling as she struggles to take it all. But she doesn’t pull away, her hands gripping your thighs tightly, her throat working around you as she swallows.

“Fuck,” you groan, your head tilting back, your body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure courses through you. “Take it all, baby. Swallow every fucking drop.”

She does, her throat contracting as she drinks you down, her tongue swirling over your length as if coaxing more from you. When your hips finally still, your cock twitching as the last of your release spills into her mouth, you don’t pull back right away.

Instead, you keep her there, your hand still firm in her hair, her lips wrapped around you as you catch your breath. “You’re incredible,” you murmur, your voice hoarse as you look down at her.

She blinks up at you, her cheeks flushed, her chin slick with drool and cum, and smiles around your cock, her eyes filled with satisfaction. It’s a sight that sends another shiver through you, even as the intensity of the moment begins to fade.

You finally release her hair, your fingers brushing against her cheek in a moment of tenderness. “You okay?” you ask softly, your voice still rough around the edges.

She nods, pulling back slightly, her tongue darting out to lick her swollen lips. “More than okay,” she whispers, her smile turning wicked. “I told you I could handle it.”

—

The morning is still. The faint light of dawn filters through the curtains, painting soft, pale lines across the bedroom walls. The room is warm, cocooned in the leftover heat of two bodies tangled together through the night, but outside, the air bites with the typical cold morning wind. Minji lies on her side, the blanket pulled up just enough to cover her hips, her upper body bare against the cool sheets. She’s been awake for a while now, watching you sleep.

Your breathing steady, your chest rising and falling under the rumpled comforter. Minji studies you, her dark eyes roaming over the curve of your cheek, the slight furrow of your brow even in rest. She wonders if you always look like this in the morning—calm, almost boyish, as if the weight of the world hasn’t found you yet.

She can’t remember the last time she felt like this. Like last night. Intense. Raw. Alive in a way she hasn’t been in years, maybe ever. Her heart aches—not in the poetic sense, but the literal one—and she remembers the sharp, searing pangs that struck her chest after you left the bed last night.

You’d gone to brush your teeth, humming faintly to yourself, water running in the sink. She’d waited until the door closed before scrambling to her purse, her fingers fumbling to find the small orange bottle. The pills rattled like a cruel reminder as she popped the cap and dry-swallowed two, her breath shallow, her chest tight.

The worn pill bottle, a constant companion in her purse for safety and convenience, as her doctor had recommended, held only two pills remaining after months of sporadic use. But now it's empty, and the prospect of replacing it fills her with a sense of dread.

Even now, the memory of it stirs something dark in her. Disgust. Weakness. She is beautiful, young, confident—by all accounts, powerful. But her body betrays her, fragile and unreliable, reminding her with every beat of her heart that she is not invincible.

Her lips press into a thin line as the thoughts threaten to pull her under, but Minji has never been one to drown. She takes action.

Sitting up, she reaches for her glasses on the nightstand and slides them onto her face, the world snapping into focus. The blanket slips from her shoulders, exposing her naked body to the cool air, but she doesn’t shiver. She stands, her movements deliberate, and crosses the room to the chair where you’ve draped one of your shirts.

She picks it up, the fabric soft and worn under her fingers. It’s loose on her, hanging down to mid-thigh, the hem brushing her bare skin as she adjusts it. She could’ve grabbed any shirt, but she chooses this one—the one Ning had complimented once. “I like that shirt,” she’d said, almost shyly, her catlike eyes flicking over you.

Minji smirks faintly to herself, her lips curling as she pads out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

The apartment is quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the muffled sound of her footsteps on the hardwood floor. She pulls back the curtains, inviting the soft, gray light of the cloudy morning to fill the room and spill across the kitchen counter, and sets to work. She opens the fridge, pulls out eggs, butter, and milk, and sets them on the counter. The cabinets yield bread and a frying pan.

As the pan heats, she flips on the TV mounted above the counter, more for noise than anything. The channel is set to some early-morning talk show, the kind with too much smiling and overly earnest hosts. But she doesn’t bother changing it, her attention focused on cracking eggs into a bowl and whisking them into a frothy yellow mixture.

The host is interviewing someone—an author, maybe, or a psychologist. The woman’s voice carries over the gentle sizzle of butter hitting the pan.

“Sexual frustration in young people has reached an all-time high,” the woman says, her tone serious. “We’re seeing a generation that’s more disconnected from their own sexuality than ever before.”

Minji pauses, the spatula in her hand hovering over the pan as the words register. She glances at the screen, where the guest sits primly, her hands folded in her lap, speaking with clinical precision.

“Pornography, dating apps, social media—these things create a toxic environment where unattainable standards of beauty and performance are the norm,” the woman continues. “Young people are left feeling inadequate, their self-esteem eroded. They’re losing touch with the natural, messy, human nature of sex.”

Minji snorts softly, shaking her head as she flips the eggs. “Interesting topic for seven in the morning,” she mutters to herself.

Still, the words linger. She finishes the eggs, sliding them onto a plate and setting bread in the toaster. The coffee pot gurgles behind her, filling the air with its rich, familiar scent. She moves with purpose, each motion precise, controlled. It’s how she keeps the dark thoughts at bay—by filling every moment, every space, with action.

But as she spreads butter over toast and pours two cups of coffee, the woman’s voice echoes in her mind. Minji doesn’t consider herself disconnected. She knows what she wants, who she is. But there’s something about the idea of inadequacy, of being shaped by forces beyond your control, that gnaws at her.

She pushes the thought away as she carries the plates and mugs to the table, the smell of breakfast filling the apartment. She glances toward the bedroom, where you’re still asleep, and allows herself a small, fleeting smile.

—

You wake slowly, your body heavy with the warmth of the bed, the remnants of sleep still clinging to you like cobwebs. The first thing you notice is the absence of Minji. The sheets on her side are cool, and the room is quiet, but the smell of breakfast—coffee, butter, eggs—wafts in from the kitchen. It's a good sign.

You sit up, running a hand through your hair, and glance at the clock on the nightstand. It's earlier than you thought, but you don’t mind. Pulling on a pair of sweatpants, you shuffle out of the bedroom, drawn by the sounds of movement and the clink of plates.

Minji is there, near the table, pouring coffee into two mugs. She’s wearing your shirt, loose and hanging off one shoulder, her hair messy from sleep but her posture calm, deliberate. She looks over her shoulder when she hears you, her glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of her nose.

“Good morning,” you say, your voice still rough with sleep as you walk up behind her and kiss her. Her lips are warm, soft, and she smiles against your mouth.

“Morning,” she murmurs, turning to face you. “Coffee?”

You nod, glancing at the plates on the table. Eggs, toast, and even a small bowl of fruit. “This looks amazing. Thanks, but you didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to,” she says, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Consider it a little favor. A thank-you.”

“For what?”

She smirks, raising an eyebrow. “For last night.”

You laugh, leaning down to kiss her again, then take your seat at the table. She joins you. The morning feels easy, warm, the kind of domesticity you didn’t realize you wanted until now.

As you eat, the conversation flows naturally, alternating between teasing and genuine reflection about the night before.

“So,” you say, spreading butter over your toast, “how’s your finger?”

Minji glances down at her hand, flexing her fingers before carefully peeling off the band-aid. The cut is clean, small, but still raw around the edges. “Not bad,” she says, holding it up for you to see. “But there’ll probably be a scar.”

You set down your toast, reaching for her hand. She lets you take it, her fingers warm and delicate in yours. Without thinking, you lean down and kiss the tiny wound, your lips brushing against her skin lightly.

She inhales sharply, a soft, barely audible sound, but the goosebumps that ripple across her arm don’t lie. When you look up, her expression is unreadable, her eyes dark and steady on yours.

“Does it hurt?” you ask, your voice quieter now.

“No,” she says, shaking her head slightly.

“Good.”

The moment stretches, the air between you charged. You lean closer, your lips brushing hers once, then again, deeper this time. Her hand slides into your hair, pulling you closer, and just as the rest of the world starts to fade away, the intercom buzzes, cutting through the stillness like a blade.

You both freeze, the sound startling in the quiet morning. Minji pulls back, her brow furrowed. “Who the hell...?”

You stand, crossing the room to the intercom. Pressing the button, you lean in. “Hello?”

“Hey,” comes a familiar voice, hesitant but unmistakable. It’s Ning. “Uh, it’s me. Can I come up?”

You glance back at Minji, who is now standing, her arms crossed, her expression equal parts surprised and wary.

“It’s Ning,” you say, your tone as confused as hers.

“At this time?” Minji asks, her voice sharp but quiet.

You press the button again. “Yeah, sure. Come up.”

The intercom buzzes as Ning lets herself in, and you turn to Minji, shrugging. “I have no idea what this is about.”

Minji exhales sharply, adjusting her glasses as she leans against the counter. “Neither do I. But I guess we’re about to find out.”

The knock comes a minute later, light but insistent, and you open the door to find Ning standing there, her coat wrapped tightly around her, her cheeks flushed from the cold. She looks up at you with her usual nervous energy, her cat-like eyes darting behind you to where Minji is standing.

“Hey,” Ning says, her voice small but steady. “Am I... interrupting something?”

You hesitate, glancing back at Minji, whose expression remains carefully neutral. “Uh, no. Come in.”

She steps inside, the warmth of the apartment seems to relax her slightly.

“Hey,” she says, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Her voice is soft, careful. “I hope it’s okay I came by. I was feeling... I don’t know. Weird. Lonely.”

Minji is the first to respond. “Did something happen?”

Ning shakes her head quickly, her hands gripping the straps of her purse. “No, nothing like that. I just didn’t want to be by myself.” She glances at you, her catlike eyes wide and almost pleading. “I thought maybe I could hang out here for a while? Keep you guys company.”

You and Minji exchange a glance, her eyebrows raising slightly as if to say, “What the hell is this about?”

“Of course,” you say, your voice more certain than you feel. “You’re always welcome.”

Ning takes off her coat and places it on the couch, the purse too.

The smell of breakfast seems to catch her attention, and she glances toward the kitchen. “Did I interrupt something?” she asks, her voice tinged with self-consciousness.

“Just breakfast,” Minji replies smoothly, already moving toward the stove. “Have you eaten? I can make you something.”

“Oh, no, I don’t want to bother you—” Ning starts, but Minji cuts her off with a small, easy smile.

“It’s no bother,” she says, pulling a pan from the rack with practiced efficiency. “Sit down. I’ll make you something quick.”

Ning hesitates for a moment before nodding, taking a seat at the table across from you. Her eyes flick to your plate, then back to you. “Thanks. I wasn’t really hungry earlier, but... I guess I could eat now.”

You nod, watching as Minji moves around the kitchen with her usual precision. She doesn’t even ask Ning what she wants, just starts preparing something—scrambled eggs with a little sesame oil, a slice of toast, and some sliced fruit. You can tell it’s not random; she knows exactly what Ning likes.

“So,” Ning says after a moment, looking at you with a small, nervous smile. “What are you guys doing today?”

You hesitate, glancing at Minji, who doesn’t look up from the stove. “We didn’t really make plans,” you say carefully.

“Well, I was thinking,” Ning continues, her voice growing a little more confident, “it’s been so long since the three of us did something together. Maybe we could go to the movies? Like old times?”

You blink, caught off guard by the suggestion. You’d been planning to spend the weekend with Minji, just the two of you, but you don’t want to outright refuse Ning. You glance at Minji again, who’s now plating Ning’s breakfast, her expression unreadable.

Before you can respond, Ning’s face lights up with a new idea. “Actually, better than the movies—what if we just watched something here? At your place?”

The enthusiasm in her voice is hard to ignore, and you find yourself nodding automatically. “Sure. That could work.”

Minji sets the plate in front of Ning with a small smile. “But first, eat,” she says, her tone gentle but firm. “You’ve been eating so little lately.”

Ning ducks her head slightly, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. “I haven’t been that bad...”

“You have,” Minji counters lightly, sitting back down at the table. “But it’s okay. Just eat this, and then we’ll figure out what to watch.”

Ning picks up her fork, her smile growing as she takes a bite. “This is really good. Thanks, Minji.”

Minji waves off the gratitude with a small shrug, her focus shifting to her coffee. The three of you fall into an easy rhythm as Ning eats, the conversation turning to light topics—shows you’ve been watching, new restaurants you want to try. Ning seems to relax more with every bite, her earlier awkwardness fading into something closer to comfort.

But then she pauses, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looks at Minji. “Hey,” she says, her tone still casual but tinged with curiosity. “Is that... my favorite shirt of his?”

Minji glances down at the shirt she’s wearing, then back at Ning with a small, knowing smile. “Maybe. Why?”

“I love that shirt,” Ning says, her voice slightly higher now, almost pouty. “It looks so soft. Lucky you.”

“It’s just a shirt,” you say lightly, trying to diffuse whatever tension is brewing.

Ning looks at you, her expression suddenly shy. “Can I have one of your shirts?”

“What?” you ask, laughing a little. “Why?”

“Just... because,” she says, shrugging one shoulder. “I want something special. From you.”

The request is so childlike, so out of nowhere, that you’re not sure how to respond. Minji raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything, her eyes flicking between you and Ning with quiet amusement.

“I mean,” you say slowly, “you can take one, I guess. Just not one of the good ones.”

Ning lights up immediately, clapping her hands together. “Really? Okay! I’ll pick something after breakfast.”

You glance at Minji, whose smirk is subtle but unmistakable. She sips her coffee, saying nothing, but the look in her eyes speaks volumes.

—

The dorm room seems to get smaller and smaller as the mess grows, cramped with the kind of lived-in clutter that comes with two girls sharing a space for years: piles of books on the desk, a forgotten hair tie looped over the edge of a lamp, shoes scattered haphazardly near the door. It works like a cycle of nature: Ning messes up, Minji cleans up. Ning messes up, Minji cleans up. (Although Minji's efforts have diminished, almost considering them in vain).

Minji stands in front of the mirror, fastening her earrings, the soft click of metal against metal the only sound besides the faint hum of the blow dryer. She’s already dressed, her black skirt snug around her waist, a cropped sweater revealing just enough of her stomach to be intriguing but not loud. Her hair, sleek and shiny, falls perfectly into place with only a few quick passes of her hand.

The plan? You and the two girls go out to dinner and then go back to your house to watch a movie (which will surely be chosen by Ning).

Behind her, the bathroom door creaks open, and Ning steps out, wrapped in a fluffy white towel, her skin still damp from the shower. Steam follows her into the room, curling around her like smoke. Her bare shoulders glisten, and her dark hair sticks in wet strands to her cheeks. She holds the towel tightly against her chest as if she’s still unsure about her own body, even after years of sharing this space with Minji.

Minji catches her reflection in the mirror and smirks faintly. “You’re going to freeze like that,” she says, turning around to look at Ning. “Dry your hair before you catch a cold.”

Ning nods, her movements tentative, and plugs in the blow dryer. The roar of the machine fills the room, and Minji returns to the mirror, adjusting her earrings, turning her head to check how they hang against her jawline.

When the blow dryer clicks off, Ning stands there, her hair still a half-tangled mess. She looks at Minji hesitantly, her hands hovering near her head as if unsure what to do next.

“Come here,” Minji says, sitting down on the edge of her bed. “I’ll do it.”

Ning doesn’t hesitate. She walks over, dropping to the floor in front of Minji, sitting cross-legged. Minji picks up a wide-toothed comb from the nightstand and starts working through Ning’s hair, careful but firm. The room feels quieter now, as if the act of detangling Ning’s hair has drawn them into a bubble separate from the rest of the world.

Ning exhales softly, leaning back into Minji’s hands. “I like it when you take care of me,” she says quietly, her voice almost drowned out by the rustle of the comb through her hair.

Minji pauses for a moment, then resumes, her tone calm, matter-of-fact. “Of course. That’s what friends do.”

Ning hesitates, her hands resting on her knees, her fingers picking at the hem of her towel. “Sometimes... I wish I could be more like you. And less like me.”

Minji laughs softly, the sound light but not mocking. “You don’t want to be like me.”

“I do,” Ning insists, turning her head slightly to glance back at her. “You’re confident. Cool. You don’t let people push you around. And you’re... I don’t know. Just... you.”

Minji tilts her head, her lips curling into a small, almost secretive smile. “You think that’s all good things?”

“Yes,” Ning says firmly, her voice stronger now.

“Well,” Minji says, her hands still moving through Ning’s hair, “I wouldn’t want to be you either. You’re too sweet. Too soft. You’d make a terrible Minji.”

Ning lets out a quiet laugh, but it fades quickly. She stares at her lap, her fingers still pulling at the edge of the towel.

“You know,” Minji says after a moment, her voice quieter now, almost playful, “sometimes you remind me of a doll.”

“A doll?” Ning asks.

Minji hums softly, setting the comb down and smoothing Ning’s hair with her hands. “That's why I like taking care of you. And, you know, If you were my doll, I’d take you everywhere. Even to bed. You’d sit on the pillow next to me, and I’d never let anyone else touch you.”

Ning’s cheeks flush, and she bites her lip, her voice wavering. “You’d get tired of me.”

“No,” Minji says simply, her tone decisive. “I wouldn’t.”

After a long moment, she turns slightly, her face tilted up toward Minji’s. “After university... do you think we’ll still see each other? Or will we... you know... separate?”

Minji frowns slightly, her hands resting on Ning’s shoulders. “Why would we separate? Of course, we’ll still see each other. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Ning smiles faintly, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t know. I’ve just been feeling... strange lately.”

“Strange how?” Minji asks, her tone still calm but edged with curiosity.

Ning hesitates, her gaze dropping again. “Like... like love hurts. Is that normal?”

Minji seems caught off guard. She blinks, her hands stilling on Ning’s shoulders before she leans back slightly, considering her words. “Sometimes love hurts,” she says finally, her voice softer now. “But it’s a good kind of pain. It reminds us that we’re alive.”

Ning is silent for a moment, her fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the towel. “It doesn’t feel good,” she says quietly.

“No,” Minji agrees, her voice low. “Not always. But that’s what makes it real.”

Minji brushes a strand of hair from Ning’s face, her touch gentle, almost reverent.

“Come on,” she says finally, her voice lighter now. “We’ll be late if you don’t get dressed.”

Ning nods, standing slowly and heading to the closet. Minji watches her for a moment, her gaze lingering before she turns back to the mirror.

—

The credits roll, and the room falls into a quiet, dim stillness. The TV screen casts a faint blue glow over the apartment, and Ning is sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep. Her head rests on Minji’s lap, her hair fanning out like ink on the soft fabric of Minji’s skirt, while her legs stretch out over yours. She’s wearing her usual mismatched pajamas—striped shorts and a slightly oversized blouse—and her breathing is steady, her face slack with the kind of peace that only sleep can bring. You glance at Minji, who’s idly running her fingers through Ning’s hair, her other hand resting lightly on her own thigh. She doesn’t look at you, her gaze instead fixed somewhere past the TV, lost in thought.

“She’s out,” you whisper, your voice soft so as not to wake Ning.

Minji hums in agreement, her fingers still moving gently through Ning’s hair. “She always crashes like this when she’s comfortable.”

You nod, shifting slightly, careful not to disturb Ning’s legs on your lap. “We should move. She can sleep here.”

Minji’s hand pauses for a moment before she nods. Slowly, the two of you maneuver yourselves off the couch, trying not to jostle Ning. She stirs slightly but doesn’t wake, her body curling in on itself as you reach for the blanket draped over the back of the couch.

You unfold it and drape it over her, tucking it gently around her shoulders. She lets out a soft sigh, her hand twitching slightly as if reaching for something in her sleep.

“She’s fine,” Minji says quietly, her voice almost absent as she watches Ning for a moment longer. Then she turns, heading toward the bedroom.

You follow her, closing the door softly behind you. The room is dark except for the faint light spilling in from the hallway, and Minji moves with a kind of quiet efficiency, unzipping her skirt and letting it fall to the floor. She pulls off her sweater next, leaving her in a simple white bra and matching panties, her movements as unselfconscious as ever.

You tug your shirt over your head, tossing it onto the chair in the corner, and sit on the edge of the bed, watching her. “She’s been acting strange lately,” you say, breaking the silence.

Minji glances at you over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. “How so?”

“She’s... clingy,” you say, frowning slightly. “I mean, she’s always been kind of like that, but lately, it’s more. She’s always around. Always with us. Even at weird times.”

Minji turns back to the dresser, rummaging for something before straightening up. “That’s normal,” she says simply.

“Normal?” you repeat, your brow furrowing. “How do you know?”

“I know Ning,” Minji says, her voice calm, measured. “This is just a phase.”

You shake your head, leaning back slightly. “I don’t want to sound like an asshole, but... it’s too much. I mean, I like Ning. She's my friend, and sometimes she's like a little sister to me. But she’s everywhere. And it feels like she doesn’t even realize how... weird it is.”

Minji sits on the edge of the bed, her back to you. She stretches her arms above her head before turning to face you, her legs crossed under her. “It’s both,” she says.

“Both what?”

“On purpose and unintentional,” she replies.

You stare at her, more confused than ever. “What does that even mean?”

Minji tilts her head slightly, her hair spilling over one shoulder. “It means she doesn’t fully understand why she’s doing it. But part of her does. Part of her knows exactly what she wants.”

You shake your head again, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t get it. You make it sound like some... elaborate plan.”

“It’s not a plan,” Minji says. “It’s instinct. She’s shedding her skin.”

That stops you. You blink at her, trying to make sense of the metaphor. “Shedding her skin?”

Minji smiles faintly, leaning forward slightly. “Like a snake. She’s outgrowing herself. She doesn’t know what’s next, but she knows she can’t stay the same. And it’s messy. Confusing. For her and for everyone else.”

You shake your head again, feeling like you’re missing some crucial piece of the puzzle. “I don’t understand.”

“We don't need to understand everything,” Minji says simply, standing and walking toward you.

She climbs onto your lap, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders, her body warm and familiar against yours. “She just wants love,” she says. “That’s all anyone wants. What’s wrong with giving it to her, until she learns to find it for herself?”

You stare at her, your hands resting on her hips, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond.

“Minji...”

She shakes her head, silencing you with a small smile. “It’s okay,” she says, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “It’s not forever. Just for now.”

And somehow, that’s enough to quiet the unease in your chest, at least for tonight.

—

Ning stirs awake, the sunlight filtering through the blinds cutting across the living room. She groans softly, the weight of sleep still heavy on her as she stretches out on the couch. The blanket you’d thrown over her the night before slides down, pooling at her waist as she blinks groggily at the room.

She sits up, yawning hard enough that her jaw cracks, and rubs at her eyes, her hand raking through her messy hair. The TV is off now, but the faint echo of the movies you binged together still lingers in the back of her mind. She smiles sleepily, recalling the way you’d teased her about falling asleep halfway through the second one.

Her bladder nudges her out of the haze, and she stands, her bare feet padding softly across the floor. She heads to the bathroom, her movements slow, unhurried, the quiet stillness of the morning lulling her into a half-awake stupor.

Inside, she flips on the light, squinting slightly at the brightness, and shuffles over to the toilet. She tugs her loose shorts down her hips, settling onto the seat with a sigh of relief as the sound of her peeing fills the small space. Her head tilts back slightly, her body relaxing as the last remnants of sleep start to ebb away.

When she's done, she lazily reaches for some toilet paper, tearing off a few squares and carefully wiping herself, the paper crinkling softly in her hand. She gives a quick glance to make sure she’s clean before tossing it in the toilet and standing up.

The loud whoosh of water startling her slightly. Still on autopilot, she moves to the sink, turning the tap on and letting the water run cool before washing her hands. The soap smells faintly of citrus, and she rubs it into her skin, rinsing and drying off quickly.

She leans against the sink, staring at her reflection for a moment, her fingers brushing over her slightly puffy face. She frowns at the bags under her eyes, then cups her hands under the water to splash her face, the cold shock waking her up a little more.

Grabbing a toothbrush from the cup on the counter, she squeezes a line of minty toothpaste onto the bristles and starts brushing, the rhythm of it almost mechanical. She looks at Minji's toothbrush and yours and for a moment thinks about how it looks like a dystopian domestic scene. Her thoughts wander, drifting back to the conversation from last night, the easy laughter, the way you’d tossed popcorn at her when she said something smart. Or when Minji stroked her hair until she fell asleep. She smiles faintly around the toothbrush, rinses, and spits, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

As she leaves the bathroom, the quiet of the apartment feels different now—less serene, more alive somehow. Her footsteps slow as she makes her way back to the living room, a faint murmur catching her attention.

She pauses, tilting her head, her brows furrowing. The sound is faint, indistinct, but it’s coming from your room. She takes a step closer, curiosity tugging at her as her ears strain to make out the words.

The murmur becomes clearer as she approaches, her heartbeat quickening. She shouldn’t eavesdrop, she knows that, but something about the tone—the soft giggles, the whispered urgency—pulls her in.

When she reaches your door, she hesitates, her hand hovering near the handle. The murmur continues, and a thrill of something she can’t quite name runs down her spine. Slowly, carefully, she crouches down, her knees brushing against the carpet, and leans in to peek through the keyhole.

Her breath catches in her throat as her gaze sharpens on the scene inside. You’re there, standing next to your bed, your hands sliding up Minji’s thighs. Minji’s back is arched slightly, her nipples hardened by the cold, arousal and risk, her head tilted back, her hands gripping your shoulders as she lets out a breathless laugh.

“We need to be quick,” you mutter, your voice low but playful, your fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties. The delicate white lace slides down her hips as she bites her lip, her eyes flicking toward the door. “Before Ning wakes up.”

Ning freezes, her heart pounding in her chest as the words sink in.

Ning’s breath hitches, her heart hammering in her chest as she presses her eye closer to the keyhole. The angle isn’t perfect, but she can see enough. You’re on your knees now, your hands gripping Minji’s thighs, spreading her legs as you bury your face between them.

Minji’s fingers tangle in your hair, her knuckles whitening as she fights to keep her composure. Her lips part, and Ning can barely make out the soft, desperate moans that slip past them, muffled by the hand she brings up to cover her mouth.

“Fuck,” Minji whispers, her voice trembling as her head falls back, her hips jerking slightly against your mouth. “You’re—ah—you’re so fucking good at this.”

From Ning’s perspective, it’s almost surreal. Minji’s bare skin gleams in the soft light of the room, her body shivering as your hands roam her thighs, your grip firm and possessive. The wet, obscene sounds of your mouth working on her pussy carry through the quiet, and Ning’s thighs press together instinctively, her body reacting without permission.

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, her breathing shallow as she keeps watching, her cheeks heating as she realizes how wet she’s getting just from the scene unfolding before her.

Minji bites her fist, her other hand gripping your shoulder for balance as you suck on her clit, your tongue flicking over it with deliberate, relentless precision. “Oh, God,” she gasps, her voice still quiet but shaky. “Right there—fuck, don’t stop.”

You don’t. If anything, your movements grow hungrier, more focused, your hands sliding up to grip her ass and pull her closer to your face. Minji’s knees tremble, her body swaying slightly, and Ning can see the tension in her muscles, the way her chest heaves as she tries to suppress her cries.

“Please,” Minji whispers, her voice breaking, her hips grinding against your mouth. “Please—don’t make me scream. Ning—oh, fuck—Ning’s right out there.”

Your laugh is muffled, the sound vibrating against her, and Minji’s response is immediate—a sharp, shuddering gasp that has her nearly collapsing into your arms. “You’re such an asshole,” she hisses, but there’s no heat in her words, just breathless, desperate need.

Ning’s hand slips between her own thighs without her even thinking, her fingers brushing over the damp fabric of her shorts. She curses softly under her breath, her cheeks burning as she realizes how turned on she is. Her fingers press down lightly, teasing herself through the material as she watches you work, her breath catching every time Minji lets out another muffled moan.

“God, you’re gonna make me—” Minji gasps, her nails digging into your shoulder. “I can’t—I can’t stay quiet—”

Your hands tighten on her ass, holding her in place as your tongue moves faster, the wet, lewd sounds of your mouth against her pussy growing louder. Minji’s body trembles, her legs nearly giving out as she fights to hold herself together, her cries growing more desperate despite her best efforts.

And all the while, Ning watches, her fingers pressing harder against herself, her body trembling as arousal coils tight in her stomach. She knows she should stop—knows she shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be watching—but she can’t tear her gaze away.

Your tongue works Minji’s clit relentlessly, swirling, flicking, sucking with a precision that has her trembling against you. Her legs are unsteady, her grip in your hair tightening as you lap at her pussy, your face buried in her heat. The wet sounds of your mouth on her, combined with her quiet, gasping moans, fill the room.

“Fuck—fuck,” Minji whispers, her voice barely controlled as she tries to keep her cries quiet. “You’re gonna make me cum, you asshole—I’m so close—”

You don’t let up, doubling down as your lips close around her clit, sucking hard and then flicking your tongue rapidly over the sensitive bud. Her whole body jerks, her thighs squeezing your head as she bites her fist to muffle the scream that’s building in her throat.

Ning watches through the keyhole, her heart racing, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. Her fingers press harder against herself, her mind racing with conflicting emotions. She shouldn’t be watching this—she knows that. But watching you make Minji cum, watching the way you dominate her with your mouth, is more than she can resist.

Minji’s body locks up suddenly, her breath catching as her orgasm crashes over her. Her nails dig into your scalp, her hips bucking against your mouth as she lets out a muffled cry, her legs shaking as she tries to keep standing. You don’t pull away, your tongue and lips drawing out every last wave of pleasure until she’s practically collapsing into your arms.

“Fuck,” Minji gasps, her voice weak, her body trembling as she clings to you. “I’m done—I’m so fucking done—”

But you’re not. You guide her toward the bed, gently lowering her onto her knees, her arms bracing against the mattress as she pants for breath. “I know you can handle more, on all fours for me,” you tell her, your voice rough with hunger.

Minji obeys without hesitation, her knees sinking into the mattress as she shifts into position. You stand behind her, your hands hooking into the waistband of your underwear and sliding them down. Your cock springs free, thick, hard, and glistening with need, and for a moment, the room seems to pause.

Ning stifles a gasp, her eyes widening as she stares through the keyhole, her breath catching in her throat. She’d imagined it before—fantasized about what you might look like, what you might feel like—but nothing had prepared her for the reality. It’s almost too much, seeing you like this, seeing the cock she’s dreamed about so vividly right there in front of her, but not for her.

You stroke yourself slowly, your eyes fixed on Minji’s ass, the curve of her back, the way she looks so perfectly ready for you. “I’ll grab a condom,” you mutter, your voice rough, your tone almost detached as you try to keep control.

Minji glances back at you, her eyes hazy with lust. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t care. Just fuck me now—I need you inside me.”

Her words resonate with Ning. She can feel the heat pooling between her legs, the ache of desire building to an unbearable level. Before she even realizes what she’s doing, she’s tugging her shorts and panties down her thighs, her fingers slipping between her slick folds as she watches you climb onto the bed behind Minji.

You line yourself up with Minji’s entrance, your hands gripping her hips as you press the head of your cock against her wet, swollen pussy. She lets out a shuddering breath, her body trembling with anticipation, and then you’re inside her, sliding deep with one smooth, deliberate thrust.

“Goddamn,” you groan, your head tilting back as you bury yourself to the hilt. “You’re so fucking tight, Minji. So goddamn perfect.”

Minji cries out, her hands gripping the sheets as she adjusts to your size. “Fuck,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “You feel—shit—you’re so deep—”

Ning’s fingers work faster, her hips lifting slightly as she rubs her clit in tight, desperate circles. Her other hand grips her thigh, her eyes locked on the scene in front of her, her breath catching every time you thrust into Minji. She’s wet, so wet, her fingers sliding easily as she imagines it’s her on the bed instead, her body stretched and filled by you.

“Harder,” Minji begs, her voice muffled against the mattress. “Please—fuck me harder—”

You don’t hesitate, your hips slamming against her ass with a rhythm that’s rough, relentless, each thrust driving you deeper. Minji’s moans grow louder, less controlled, and Ning bites her lip to keep from crying out herself as she watches your cock disappear into Minji’s tight, glistening pussy over and over again.

“Look at you,” you growl, your hands tightening on Minji’s hips. “Taking me so fucking well. You love this, don’t you? Love being fucked like this?”

“Yes,” Minji cries, her voice cracking as her body rocks with every thrust. “Yes—don’t stop—please, don’t stop—”

Ning’s breath hitches, her fingers sliding faster, her body trembling as she teeters on the edge. She’s so close, the sight of you fucking Minji, the sound of your groans and her cries, pushing her to the brink. She bites down hard on her lip, her eyes squeezed shut as she imagines what it would feel like to have you inside her instead.

This makes her go beyond reason, her body moving on instinct, completely overtaken by the scene playing out in front of her. Her fingers, already slick with her arousal, slide down to her dripping entrance, and before she can second-guess herself, she pushes two fingers inside.

The sensation is electric, her walls clenching around her fingers as she starts thrusting in time with your movements, mirroring the rhythm of your cock driving into Minji. Her other hand remains pressed to her mouth, trying to stifle the quiet, breathy moans that spill out as she fucks herself.

On the other side of the door, you’re relentless, your hips slamming into Minji with a force that makes her cry out, her voice muffled against the mattress. “God, Minji,” you growl, your tone dripping with dominance. “You’re so fucking wet, squeezing me so tight. You love being my little slut, don’t you?”

Ning’s eyes flutter shut, her fingers curling inside her as if you’re the one filling her up. “Yes,” she whispers, barely audible, her voice shaky and desperate. Her fingers move faster, her thumb brushing over her swollen clit, and she can’t stop herself from whispering again. “Yes, I love it—I love being yours.”

Your voice cuts through the door again, rough and commanding. “Say it, Minji. Say how much you love being fucked like this, how much you need my cock.”

Ning's head leans against the door, her lips parting as her fingers drive deeper, the wet sounds of her own arousal mingling with the lewd noises from the other room. She’s lost, caught up in the fantasy, responding as if the words were meant for her.

“I need it,” Ning murmurs, her hips rocking against her hand. “Fuck, I need you so bad—”

Inside the room, Minji’s voice rises, a high-pitched, breathless cry. “Yes, I need it—I need your cock so bad—don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

Ning matches the rhythm of her fingers to the frantic pace of your thrusts, her knees trembling as she pushes herself closer to the edge. Her juices drip down her thighs, her clit throbbing under the relentless assault of her thumb. She’s mumbling now, her words incoherent, her body shaking as she chases the pleasure building inside her.

“Fuck,” she whispers, her voice trembling as her fingers curl inside her, brushing that spot that makes her legs weak. “So deep, baby—feels so good—oh, my God—”

You grunt loudly, your hands gripping Minji’s hips tighter, pulling her back against you with every thrust. “You’re fucking perfect, Minji,” you growl, your voice rough. “Taking me so fucking well—like you were made for this.”

Ning can’t hold back her response, her whispered voice growing louder despite herself. “Yes—I was—I was made for this,” she mutters, her breath hitching as her fingers slam into her wet pussy. “Fuck me harder—please—don’t stop—”

Her words blur into soft moans and gasps, her body trembling as she teeters on the edge of release. Her eyes are glued to the keyhole, watching the way your cock disappears into Minji’s pussy, the way Minji’s body arches with every thrust. It’s too much, the visual, the sounds, the fantasy she’s building in her head—all of it pushes her closer, her fingers working furiously as she chases the same pleasure Minji is drowning in.

“Fuck,” she gasps, her voice breaking as her fingers curl again, her body arching off the floor. “I’m so close—oh, my God, I’m gonna—”

But she doesn’t let herself finish, biting down hard on her lip to keep herself from crying out. She’s too lost, too far gone, completely consumed by the rhythm of your thrusts, the sound of Minji’s cries, the fantasy of being in her place.

You slow your thrusts, pulling out of Minji for just a moment, earning a frustrated whimper from her as you guide her toward the edge of the bed. Sitting down, your cock slick and throbbing, you grab her hips, pulling her onto your lap.

Minji straddles you, her knees pressing into the mattress on either side of your legs. Her chest brushes against yours as she lowers herself, your cock sliding back inside her in one smooth motion. She lets out a shaky gasp, her fingers gripping your shoulders as she settles into the position, her tight pussy squeezing you in all the right ways.

“Ride me,” you murmur, your hands gripping her ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “Show me how much you love this cock, Minji.”

Her lips curl into a wicked smile, her hips starting to move in slow, deliberate circles. Her pace is teasing at first, her heat clenching around you as she adjusts to the angle. Her chest presses against yours, her nipples brushing your skin, and you can’t resist leaning forward to capture one of her breasts in your mouth.

Your tongue flicks over her hardened nipple, your lips closing around the sensitive bud as you suck greedily. Minji moans above you, her nails digging into your shoulders as she starts to bounce on your lap, her movements growing more erratic, more desperate.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” she gasps, her voice trembling. “I love your cock—I love the way it fills me, stretches me—God, I can’t get enough.”

Ning’s breath catches as she watches through the keyhole, her own hand moving instinctively to her breast. Her fingers slip under her tank top, squeezing the soft flesh as her thumb brushes over her nipple. Her other hand is still buried between her legs, her fingers glistening with her arousal as she thrusts them in and out, imagining it’s your cock instead.

“Yes,” she whispers softly to herself, her cheeks flushed as her hips rock against her hand. “I love it too—I love the way it feels—”

Your mouth moves to Minji’s other breast, your tongue swirling around her nipple before sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Her back arches, her cries growing louder, her hips slamming against yours with an urgency that drives you wild.

“You’re fucking incredible,” you growl against her skin, your hands sliding up to grip her waist, helping guide her movements. “The way you ride me, Minji—fuck—you’re perfect.”

“God, yes,” she moans, her head tilting back as she grinds down on you, her pace frantic. “You make me feel so good—so fucking good—I never want to stop.”

Ning’s thighs tremble as she matches her rhythm to Minji’s, her fingers curling inside her, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. She squeezes her breast harder, her thumb flicking over her nipple as she imagines it’s your mouth on her, your hands gripping her body, your cock buried deep inside her.

“I need you,” Ning whispers, her voice barely audible but filled with raw need. “Fuck, I need you so bad—I’d ride you just like that—I’d make you feel so good, baby—”

Inside, Minji’s cries grow louder, her hips slamming down on you with a force that makes the bed creak. Her hair sticks to her damp skin, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted as she moans your name over and over again.

“You’re so fucking tight,” you rasp, your grip on her waist tightening as you thrust up into her, meeting her movements. “You take me so fucking well, Minji. You’re perfect—so fucking perfect.”

“Yes—fuck—yes,” Minji moans, her nails raking down your chest. “I love it—I love your cock—I love the way you fuck me—”

Ning’s own voice joins hers, a soft, breathy murmur as her body shakes with pleasure. “I love it too—I love it—I’d take you so well,” she whispers, her words blending with the sounds of your thrusts, the wet, obscene noises filling the room.

Her hips rock harder, her fingers plunging deeper as she imagines you looking at her the way you look at Minji, your hands on her, your cock filling her completely. She’s on the edge, teetering between reality and fantasy, her entire body trembling as she chases the release building inside her.

You grip Minji’s waist tighter, your breath coming in ragged gasps as her movements grow faster, more erratic. The tight, wet heat of her pussy has you on the edge, your cock twitching inside her as your body threatens to lose control.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your head falling back as she rides you harder, her hips slamming down with a desperate rhythm. “You’re gonna make me cum—God, you’re gonna fucking make me cum.”

Her nails dig into your shoulders as her moans mix with yours, her face flushed, her lips parted. “Me too,” she gasps, her voice trembling. “I’m so close—I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna fucking cum, too.”

You grip her ass, pulling her closer as you thrust up into her, your words spilling out in a rush. “Where do you want it, baby? Tell me where you want my cum.”

Her eyes lock on yours, filled with wild lust. “On my tits,” she says, her voice cracking with need. “I want it all over my tits.”

The words send a jolt of heat through you, and Minji’s body responds, her pace growing frantic as she bounces on your cock, trying to hold back the screams threatening to burst from her lips. Her hips jerk, her thighs trembling, and then she’s cumming—hard.

Her back arches, her nails scraping down your chest as her pussy clenches around you in tight, rhythmic spasms. “Oh, fuck—fuck—” she cries, her head tilting back, her eyes rolling as waves of pleasure crash through her.

Ning’s fingers falter for a moment as she watches through the keyhole, her breath hitching at the sight of Minji’s orgasm. The way her body shakes, the sheer rawness of it, sends a fresh wave of arousal through Ning’s already trembling body. She bites her lip, her own fingers slick with her juices as she thrusts them deeper, chasing the same release.

Minji’s hips slow, her movements languid as she comes down from her high, her breath ragged as she whispers, “Please—I need your cum—I need it so bad.”

You growl low in your throat, gently lifting her off your cock and guiding her to lie back on the bed. Her chest rises and falls, her skin flushed, her eyes hazy with lust as she looks up at you.

You climb over her, your hand wrapping around your cock, stroking it slowly as you hover above her. Minji’s lips curl into a wicked smile, her voice soft but dripping with urgency. “Give it to me,” she whispers, her hands sliding over her own body, cupping her breasts and squeezing them together. “I want it all—cover me in it. Please, baby, cum for me.”

Ning’s breath comes in shallow gasps as she mirrors Minji’s words, her voice barely audible as she whispers, “Cum for me—please, I need it—I need you.” Her fingers pump in and out of her dripping pussy, her other hand teasing her breast, pinching her nipple as she imagines being in Minji’s place.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you groan, your hand moving faster as you watch Minji writhing beneath you, her words driving you closer to the edge. “You’re gonna get it—all of it. You ready?”

“Yes,” Minji moans, her eyes locking on your cock. “Yes, I’m ready—give it to me, please.”

The tension snaps, and with a deep, guttural moan, you let go. Hot spurts of cum shoot out, painting Minji’s chest and dripping down her cleavage as she gasps with each pulse. “Fuck, yes,” she cries, her hands smearing the thick, warm fluid over her skin. “God, there’s so much—”

Ning’s body arches, her fingers thrusting deep as she watches your release, the sight of you cumming and Minji’s reaction sending her spiraling. “Oh, God,” Ning whispers, her breath catching as her own orgasm crashes over her. Her thighs tremble, her hips bucking against her hand as pleasure floods her senses, leaving her shaking and gasping for air.

Back in your room, Minji reaches up, her hand wrapping around your cock as she guides the tip to her lips. She sucks greedily, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head, and you let out a shuddering groan, the overstimulation almost too much to bear.

“Fuck,” you whisper, your body trembling as she cleans you off, her mouth working over you with slow, deliberate precision.

In the hallway, Ning slumps against the wall, her body still trembling from her climax. Reality crashes back in, her cheeks burning as she realizes what she’s done. Her fingers are sticky with her own juices, her shorts and panties pushed down around her ankles. She feels the ache of her release, but also the heavy weight of knowing she’s still alone, left only with the echo of her own mind.

—

The kitchen is quiet except for the clink of forks against plates and the faint hum of the coffee machine. Breakfast is simple—scrambled eggs, toast, a little fruit—because none of you had energy for anything more elaborate after the intense morning sex. You and Minji sit side by side, her hand occasionally brushing yours under the table, while Ning sits across from you, her posture slightly hunched, her head down as she picks at her food.

You and Minji exchange a glance, subtle but questioning.

“Did you sleep okay?” you ask finally, your voice cutting through the silence.

Ning looks up briefly, her eyes darting between you and Minji before settling back on her plate. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “The couch was fine.”

“Are you sure?” you press, trying to read her expression. “If it wasn’t comfortable, you could’ve said something.”

She shakes her head quickly, her fingers tightening around her fork. “No, it was fine. Really.”

Minji leans back slightly, her dark eyes studying Ning with a precision that always feels a little too sharp. “You seem... off,” she says, her tone light but probing. “Nervous, almost.”

Ning’s shoulders stiffen slightly, but she forces a small smile. “It’s just... college stuff,” she says, her voice a little too quick, too rehearsed. “You know how it is.”

Minji hums softly, her gaze lingering on Ning for a moment longer before she nods. “Yeah. I get it. Stress gets to everyone.”

There’s a pause, the silence stretching out again as Ning takes a small bite of her toast, her movements mechanical. You glance at Minji, who shrugs subtly, as if to say, “Leave it alone.”

You’re not sure why the mood feels so strange. You’re satisfied—more than satisfied, really—after the slow, sleepy morning you spent with Minji. But Ning’s tension casts a shadow over everything, and you can’t help but feel like there’s something you’re missing.

“Anything specific?” Minji asks suddenly. “With college, I mean. Anything you’re struggling with?”

Ning’s head snaps up, her expression briefly startled before she smooths it out. “No. Nothing like that. Just... the usual. Assignments, deadlines. It’s fine.”

“You know you can talk to us, right?” you say, trying to sound reassuring.

“I know,” Ning says quickly, her voice tight. “It’s not a big deal. Really.”

Minji doesn’t push further, instead picking up her coffee cup and taking a slow sip, her eyes never leaving Ning. It’s a look you’ve seen before—the way she dissects people without them realizing, pulling apart their words, their body language, their silences… You wonder if she knows something you don’t.

“Okay,” Minji says finally, setting her cup down. “But if it ever does become a big deal, you know where we are.”

“Thanks,” Ning murmurs, her smile faint but grateful.

The conversation fizzles out after that, and the rest of breakfast passes in strained silence. Ning keeps her head down, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her tank top, while you and Minji exchange the occasional glance, unsure how to bridge the gap.

When Ning finally stands to clear her plate, you notice the way her hands shake slightly, the way she avoids looking at either of you. Minji notices too—you can tell by the faint narrowing of her eyes, the slight tilt of her head. But she doesn’t say anything.

—

The sun hangs high in the sky, its warmth spilling over the quiet streets as Minji and Ning walk side by side. The air smells faintly of spring—cut grass, blooming flowers, the faint musk of pavement warmed by sunlight. It’s the kind of day that makes you forget there’s still homework to finish, lectures to catch up on, deadlines looming like dark clouds in the distance.

Minji is wearing her usual glasses, her stride confident, her shoulder purse slung loosely over one arm. Ning is quieter, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her skirt, her pace a little slower. The two of them have walked this route several times, but today, the silence between them feels heavier, more intentional.

Ning is the one who breaks it. “How are you?” she asks, glancing sideways at Minji.

Minji doesn’t falter, but the question surprises her. She tilts her head slightly, her lips curling into a faint smirk. “I’m fine,” she says. “Why?”

Ning shrugs, her gaze fixed on the sidewalk ahead. “Just asking.”

Minji hums softly, unconvinced. “I’m fine,” she repeats, her tone a little firmer now. “Really.”

Ning hesitates for a moment, then takes a deep breath. “I meant... how’s your heart?”

Minji slows, her glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of her nose as she turns to look at Ning. It’s always a complicated question (even if she pretends it isn't), one she’s learned to deflect with ease. But Ning’s tone—gentle, almost hesitant—makes it harder to brush off.

“It’s fine,” Minji says finally, her voice even. “Everything’s fine.”

Ning doesn’t push, at least not directly. Instead, she pretends to shift the conversation. “Are you and him having sex?”

Minji stops walking, blinking at Ning like she’s just been hit with a bucket of cold water. “What?”

“You heard me,” Ning says, her voice steady but her expression unreadable.

Minji stares at her for a moment before she starts walking again, her steps a little quicker now. “Yes,” she says finally, the word clipped, like she’s trying to end the conversation before it starts.

“How’s it been?” Ning asks, keeping pace with her.

Minji’s jaw tightens. “Good. Very good.”

“That’s not what I’m asking,” Ning says. “I mean... is it too much? For you, I mean. With your condition...”

Minji’s steps falter, just barely, but she recovers quickly. “No,” she says, her voice sharper than she intends. “He’s... gentle. Respectful. He knows my boundaries.”

Ning nods slowly, as if considering her words. “I know you took the medicine,” she says suddenly, her voice quiet but firm.

Minji freezes. “What?”

“Your medicine,” Ning repeats, stopping to face her. “You took it. I know you did.”

“That’s not true,” Minji says, her voice flat.

“It is,” Ning says, crossing her arms. “Before we left for the restaurant yesterday, the bottle was sealed. This morning, when I saw it in your purse, it was open.”

Minji’s mouth opens, then closes, her mind scrambling for a response. “Why are you going through my purse?” she demands finally, her tone defensive.

“You told me I could borrow your lipstick,” Ning says simply.

Minji stares at her, caught off guard by the straightforwardness of her answer. For a moment, she doesn’t know what to say. Then she exhales sharply, tugging her glasses off and running a hand through her hair before putting them back on. “Fine,” she says, her voice quieter now. “I took it. After... after we had sex.”

Ning’s brows knit together, her tone growing sharper. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Minji says, brushing past her and continuing down the sidewalk.

“Not a big deal?” Ning echoes, catching up to her. “Minji, your heart hurts so much you need medicine, and you think that’s not a big deal?”

Minji stops again, turning to face her. “I said I’m fine.”

“You’re lying,” Ning says bluntly, her voice rising slightly. “You’re putting your health at risk, and for what? To prove that you can handle it? That’s not fair, Minji. To him or to you.”

Minji’s jaw tightens, but she doesn’t respond. She can feel the heat rising in her chest—not from her heart this time, but from the frustration of being called out, of having someone see through her so easily.

“You need to tell him,” Ning says firmly, her voice steady despite the tension between them. “If you don’t, I will.”

Minji stares at her, her lips parted slightly in shock. Ning’s tone, her posture, the unwavering determination in her expression—it’s not the Ning she’s used to. It’s... impressive, in a way. “Fine,” Minji says finally, her voice softer now, almost grudging. “I’ll tell him.”

“Good,” Ning says, her expression softening slightly. They start walking again, the tension easing but not disappearing entirely. Minji glances at Ning out of the corner of her eye, a small, wry smile tugging at her lips. “You’re full of surprises,” she says quietly.

Ning doesn’t look at her, but there’s a faint flush on her cheeks. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” she murmurs.

The words hang in the air between them, heavier than the warm sunlight, and the ambivalence of feelings silently settles in Minji, something without its own identification. Gratitude, maybe. Pride. Love. Or something else entirely.

For Ning, the moment is different. Seeing Minji vulnerable—seeing her imperfect—fills her with something that feels almost like relief. Minji isn’t untouchable, after all. And somehow, that thought is comforting.

Continued in part 4...

#kpop m!reader #minji x reader #minji newjeans #minji smut #kpop male oc #newjeans smut #ningning smut #aespa ningning #ning yizhuo #ning yizhuo smut #aespa ning yizhuo #ningning x reader #kpop angst #kpop male reader #angst and smut

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urmum-lovesme · 3 days ago

Text

The Gas Station

pairing: Rafe Cameron x Pregnant!Reader

summary: Y/n is in her final trimester of her pregnancy and Rafe is eager to make sure the birth of his first baby goes smoothly, but thanks to Y/n's stubbornness they find themselves stuck in a pretty sticky situation with the last two people they expected.

a/n: So I watched "We Live In Time" yesterday and I loved the movie so much that I wanted to rewrite the childbirth scene from it cause it was my favourite! Rafe is so 'grumpy to everyone else but soft for her' core in this. Ps: I’ve never given birth so this might not be too accurate, don’t kill me

warnings: Spoilers for the 'we live in time' childbirth scene, mentions of contractions, labour, childbirth (pretty visual ig?), mentions of a zoot but no smoking, mentions of alcohol but no drinking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The living room of the Chateau was warm and filled with the low hum of conversation. Sarah was sprawled on the floor, while Kiara leaned back against the couch, discussing the possibilities of the new Cameron baby being a boy or girl. Pope sat at the kitchen table, half-focused on whatever book he had cracked open, pen scribbling against the paper trying to figure out the probability the mathematical way, and Cleo lounged near the window, lazily watching the wind shift the trees outside as they all spoke to one another

Y/n was sitting on the couch opposite Sarah and Kiara, half-listening, half-focused on the cookie in her hand as her other one rubbed over her large, rounded belly. Sarah grinned as she caught Y/n eyeing the cookie.

“What, are my cookies that good?”

Y/n opened her mouth to answer but suddenly sucked in a sharp breath. Her hand instinctively flew to her lower stomach, the cookie forgotten on the side of the couch.

Rafe, who had been leaning against the doorway, taking the time to admire the girl in her last couple of days of pregnancy, immediately straightened. His relaxed expression vanished. She had been persistent that she wanted to come and visit Sarah and the Pogue’s at the chateau, and as much as he protested, knowing the due date of their baby was any day now, she managed to sway him with those pleading eyes of hers and small pout, which he couldn’t seem to say no to.

“What’s wrong?”

His voice softened, but there was a thread of tension running through it as he crossed the room in two quick steps. Y/n didn’t answer right away. She squeezed her eyes shut, shifting to the edge of the sofa and placing both hands on her belly. She took in a slow, shaky breath.

“I… think I’m having contractions.”

The room fell into a sudden, heavy silence as they all looked at eachother.

Sarah blinked. “Wait, what? Like, actual contractions?”

Cleo sat up straighter, eyeing her. “No way sweet thing, maybe you just ate too many of them damn cookies huh?”

“Okay, that’s it. We’re leaving. Right now.”

Rafe’s face paled and he was already patting his pockets for the car keys, panic creeping into his voice as he grabbed the girl’s shoes from next to the door. Pope closed his book slowly, brows furrowed.

“Hold on, how far apart are they? That matters, right?”

Kiara leaned forward, calm but attentive. “Yeah, how bad was that one? Like, on a scale of one to ‘get in the car’?”

Y/n exhaled slowly, leaning her head back. “It wasn’t that bad. Just… caught me off guard. I’m fine.”

“Fine? You just said you’re having contractions!”

Sarah gawked her eyes wide with disbelief. She had been buzzing with excitement ever since she found out she was going to be an aunt. The girl had been planning baby showers and picking out names for months, practically bouncing off the walls with anticipation that her brother was going to be a father, and that he’d changed so much since the couple had found out about their little angel. And now, that Y/n was in labour, and she couldn’t help but feel a mixture of concern and sheer excitement.

“She said ‘think,’” Cleo corrected, smirking. “Key word, Sarah. Could just be gas, ya know?”

Y/n let out a weak laugh. “Thanks for that, Cleo.”

Rafe didn’t laugh. He crouched in front of her, eyes scanning her face for any sign of distress, “Y/n, we should go. The hospital’s all the way in Figure 8, and we’re in the Cut, that’s not a quick drive.”

Y/n shook her head, breathing steadily, she’d noticed how he’d been on edge for the past few weeks, his nerves fraying with every little thing. Rafe cared about her more than he ever thought possible- she was everything to him. The thought of losing her or their baby terrified him to his core, he couldn’t bear the thought of not being there for her, of not protecting the two most important people in his life.

“Rafey, that was the first contraction, my waters not even broken yet. We have time.”

“No, we don’t,” he snapped, then caught himself and softened his tone, letting out a sigh, “I just… I don’t want to risk it, okay?”

Kiara, who was watching the exchange with an amused expression surprised to see the once frat boy asshole so attentive, leaned over to Sarah.

“Is he always this dramatic?”

“Oh yeah, it's become a talent.”

Pope stood up, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Look, if they’re still spaced out, you probably have hours. First babies take their time. But we should keep track.” As he looked around the kitchen drawers for something, cutlery clanged in them as he opened and shut the wooden furniture, finally fishing out an old plastic stopwatch.

Rafe shot him a glare, “Yeah, well, I’m not exactly betting on that.”

Y/n reached for Rafe’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Lets just sit here for a bit more please. If they get worse, we’ll go.”

Rafe stared at her for a long moment, then let out a frustrated breath. “Fine. But if anything changes, we’re out of here. No arguments.”

“No arguments.”

She responded as she smiled in agreement, leaning forward slightly to give the boy a quick peck on the lips. Reluctantly, Rafe sat beside her, shuffling so she rested against his side, his hand protectively resting on her belly, a place it had gotten used to resting on in the past few months. Sarah cleared her throat.

“So… does this mean more cookies, or…?”

Y/n laughed out nodding her head with wide eyes and Cleo snorted at the girl's reaction.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The room had grown quieter, but the tension clung to the air as Rafe stood by the window, pacing with his phone pressed to his ear. His free hand raked over his short hair as he listened to the calm, too-casual voice on the other end of the line.

“What do you mean we shouldn’t come in yet?” Rafe snapped, disbelief lacing his voice.

“She’s in labour!”

The nurse on the other end responded evenly, used to anxious fathers. “Sir, unless her contractions are between three to five minutes apart, there’s no point in coming now. First-time labours can take hours, sometimes longer. You’ll be more comfortable at home.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Do you know who I am?” his tone dropped, sharp and cold, “My family practically owns half this island, and you’re telling me to just sit around and wait?”

From the couch, Sarah groaned audibly and rolled her eyes.

“Oh my God.”

She pushed off the armrest and stormed over, snatching the phone from Rafe’s hand before he could say another word and pressed it to her ear,

“Hi, sorry about him,” Sarah said sweetly into the phone, giving Rafe a sharp glare. “We’ll keep an eye on things and call if anything changes. Thanks for your help.”

She hung up and tossed the phone onto the table.

“Are you serious right now?” she snapped. “Pulling the Cameron card on a nurse? What was that supposed to do- magically speed up labor?”

Rafe’s eyes flashed angrily as he looked down to his younger sister, his finger jabbing into his chest as he spoke, “I’m trying to make sure she’s safe, Sarah! We’re stuck in this shithole cause you've,” his raised his finger pointing it to his temple, “put some voodoo spell on her so she doesn't want to leave and no one seems to care!”

Cleo looked over from where she was sitting, flipping her pocket knife, her eyebrows raised, clearly impressed by his sudden bizarre speculation. Sarah crossed her arms.

“Yelling at the hospital won’t fix that. You need to calm down before you stress her out even more.”

Rafe opened his mouth to argue, but the sound of the back door creaking open cut him off. Kiara stepped in, shaking off the light drizzle from outside, a bright blue yoga ball awkwardly tucked under her arm.

“Found it!” she grinned, holding it out like a trophy.

Y/n’s face lit up despite the discomfort. “Oh, thank God.”

Kiara rolled it over to her, and Y/n carefully shifted forward, accepting it gratefully.

“I heard these help,” Kiara said with a small smile.

Y/n slowly eased herself onto the ball, her hands holding onto Kiara’s outstretched ones in support before she sat down on the plastic sphere starting to gently bounce. A relieved sigh slipped from her lips.

“Oh wow… yeah, this is way better.”

Sarah smirked. “Look, see? This is called helping, Rafe.”

Cleo, still lounging by the window, spoke up. “Yeah man, maybe if you threaten the ball next it’ll really speed things up.”

Pope cracked a small smile from his spot at the table at the girl’s words. Rafe, still tense, exhaled sharply and dropped into a chair by the kitchen table, rubbing his hands over his face. His eyes drifted to Y/n, watching her breathe easier with each bounce. As he watched her, he realised he seemed to be more stressed than she was, but was he in the wrong for that? He only wanted to make sure the mother of his child could have the most comfort possible. Without a word, he pushed up from his chair and slowly crossed the room. He crouched down in front of her, eyes locked on her face, his hands resting lightly on her knees.

“Baby… are you sure you want to stay here?”

His voice was softer now, the edge gone, replaced by something fragile. Y/n blinked down at him, her breathing steady. She lifted one hand from her belly and gently cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing along his skin which was still smooth from when he shaved before they left their home.

“Rafey, please relax, yeah?” she murmured, her other hand drifting to rest protectively over her bump. “We’re okay.”

The weight in his chest loosened just a little at the sound of her voice, but it didn’t disappear.

Rafe leaned in just a bit closer. “Okay, but when you start feeling off you tell me, yeah?”

Y/n gave him a playful eye roll, but her smile was soft. She leaned forward, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips once more, she knew he was on edge, but she just wanted peace for the last few hours it was going to be just the two of them.

“Yes, I promise.”

Rafe’s shoulders finally dropped as he let out a quiet breath, grounding himself in her touch. Behind them, Kiara exchanged a look with Sarah and smirked.

“Well, that’s gross.”

Sarah laughed under her breath at her best friend's comments, shaking her head, but there was a warmth in her smile as she watched them. As much as she teased, she couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of happiness for her brother. It was clear that Y/n had done something to him- something that had changed him for the better, something that made him softer, more present. Sarah could see it in the way he looked at her, how much he cared. It warmed her heart to know her brother had found someone who truly made him happy.

Rafe didn’t hear the girls giggling as his focus was completely on Y/n, “Alright,” he whispered, brushing his thumb along her knee before standing.

“Just… don’t scare me like that again.”

Y/n smiled, leaning back and resuming her gentle bounce on the yoga ball hands circling her bump again.

“No promises.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours had passed the sky outside the windows now dark, the streetlamps having switched on which caused an orange glow around the island, but time seemed to stretch as the intensity of Y/n’s contractions grew. The living room was dim, the rain outside tapping softly on the windows, the air thick with anticipation.

Y/n was on her knees, her body leaning against the couch for support. Her face clearly reflected her discomfort, lips pressed together in effort as she rocked back and forth slowly, trying to breathe through the latest wave of pain. Rafe kneeled beside her, one hand gently rubbing her back, the other resting on her arm. His voice was low, soothing, a steady presence as he spoke to her.

“Is it passing?”

Y/n groaned softly, her breath hitching before she let out a quiet whine, barely audible.

“Yeah… it’s passing.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, but he kept his hand on her back, massaging in slow circles, his eyes never leaving her face. He looked up to Pope, who was standing near the window, timing her contractions with the stopwatch hanging loosely around his neck.

Pope glanced at the timer, then back at Rafe. “Okay, that’s about ten minutes apart now, but getting closer.”

Rafe’s gaze shifted back to Y/n, his concern deepening. He rubbed her back a little harder, as if that would somehow ease her discomfort, “Sweet girl,” he murmured gently, leaning closer, his breath warm against her ear.

“I think we should get going now, hmm? The hospital’s still a bit of a drive.”

Y/n, in a small haze of pain, didn’t answer immediately. She just rested her head against her arms on the couch, humming out in agreement. Her nod was slow, but definite.

“Mmhm… yeah, let’s go,” she whispered, her voice small and weary.

Rafe exhaled, relief flooding through him but mixing with the urgency that had been building in his chest. He helped her slowly rise, supporting her as she stood, her legs somewhat unsteady beneath her.

“Alright, that's it”

As Rafe helped Y/n slowly stand, Sarah came rushing down the stairs, her face flushed from the hurry. Cleo was right behind her, holding a bag in one hand and a frantic expression on her face.

“Rafe!” Sarah called out, her voice breathless. “We got the bag Y/n left last time.”

She handed it over to Rafe, but before he could take it, Cleo swiped it from her hands with a dramatic roll of her eyes.

“Let the man take her to the car,” Cleo said, “I got this.”

Cleo gave Rafe a reassuring pat on the shoulder before turning to Y/n. “You’re good, girl. Just focus on not giving birth in here, aight?”

Y/n let out a soft chuckle, despite the tension in the air. “I’m fine. I’m fine,” she repeated, her voice calm and steady. Rafe shot Cleo a grateful look, still holding Y/n’s arm as she stood by herself, steady on her feet.

“Thank you,” he muttered under his breath, before turning back to Y/n. “Okay, baby, let’s get you to the car. You sure you’re alright to walk?”

Y/n gave him a sideways glance, rolling her eyes a little. “I’m fine, Rafe, really.”

But before they could make it to the door, Kiara popped up, her eyes wide with a mixture of concern and determination. “Wait, wait, don’t leave without me I want to say goodbye!”

Sarah quickly followed behind, carrying a jacket for Y/n, while Pope grabbed his keys, shaking his head in amusement. The group swarmed around Y/n, helping her navigate the small space. It was a chaotic rush of arms and voices as everyone tried to keep the situation under control- except for Y/n, who was walking at a steady pace, looking far calmer than anyone else in the room. It was amusing, watching everyone fuss over her, she couldn't wait till the baby was here and they’d have all their aunts and uncles fussing at their every cry.

“I swear, I’m fine,” she said again, giving Rafe a teasing smile as she walked on her own. “I’ve got this.”

Rafe’s eyes were glued to her, his brow furrowed in concern, but a small smile tugged at his lips as he followed her toward the door.

“Alright, if you say so,” he muttered, his voice low but full of warmth.

The car was already parked outside, the engine running, the group had gathered around the car, each of them offering their well-wishes as Y/n leaned against the car door, not wanting to get in till Rafe came out. He’d gone back in to the bathroom and Sarah had scolded him for being an ‘unprofessional dad-to-be’ which he told her to ‘fuck off’. Sarah called out, giving her a thumbs-up.

“Good luck, Y/n! Let us know when Baby Cameron gets here!”

“You got this,” Kiara added, offering a smile. “Call us if you need anything- I mean we can’t give birth but you know….”

Cleo, arms crossed and leaning against the car, smirked. “Don’t be taking forever, yeah? I wanna meet the little Poguette!”

“Poguette? We don’t know the gender yet” Pope asked as he turned to the girl eyebrows drawn down into a small confused frown

“Don’t worry- auntie Cleo’s got a feeling” She responded with a wide smile as she winked to Y/n causing her to giggle.

“I think you mean Kookette not Poguette”

Rafe spoke up as he appeared back from the house helping the girl into her seat. Y/n, sitting in the car, gave them all a tired but genuine smile, her face a little flushed from the effort. “I’ll do my best. Don’t worry, you’ll all get your chance to meet Baby Cameron soon.”

Rafe was about to close the door when she paused.

“Wait!”

The group froze, and all eyes snapped toward her, panic flashing in their faces for a brief second.

“Is everything okay? Are you—?” Sarah started, her tone suddenly worried.

Y/n looked up at her friends, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. Biting her bottom lip gently before she spoke out,

“Are there any of those cookies left?”

The entire group stared at her for a beat, then burst into laughter, the tension breaking in an instant. Kiara snorted. “Nope, you ate them all, girl, not a crumb left.”

Y/n’s face dropped in exaggerated disappointment. “Aw, man… they were so good.”

Rafe, who had just started to walk around the front of the car, stopped and turned back to her with a grin. “Come on, baby. You’ll get your cookies in the hospital. I promise.”

“Guess that’ll have to do.”

Y/n sighed softly, leaning back into her seat with a deep breath. Kiara leaned in the window, shaking her head but grinning. “You’re gonna eat cookies while in labor…?”

“Hey, it’s what I want.”

Rafe sighed, shaking his head at the girl, but he couldn’t hide the fond smile that crept onto his face as he finally closed the door. He muttered, half to himself, as he walked around to the driver’s side. “We’re getting you to the hospital, cookies or not.”

The group waved them off, still laughing and calling out their goodbyes, as Rafe got in the car. Y/n smiled at the familiar faces outside the window before the car pulled away, heading toward the hospital.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The drive from the Cut to Figure 8 was a blur. Rafe’s focus was entirely on the road, but his eyes kept flicking over to Y/n, every so often. She was gripping the handle on the roof of the car, her knuckles white as the pain of her contractions began to intensify. Rafe’s hand rested on her thigh, his fingers gently squeezing as he glanced at her.

“How we doing baby?”

He asked softly, though he could already see the tightness in her jaw, the way she was trying to breathe through the pain. Y/n groaned lowly, her grip on the car handle tightening as her breath hitched.

“Mmm, not great…”

She muttered, her voice strained. Her back arched slightly as another wave of pain hit, and her hand shifted to rest protectively on her belly. Rafe’s heart ached for her, but he kept his voice steady, trying to keep her calm.

“Breathe, baby. Yeah? Just like we practiced in the classes.”

His voice was gentle, encouraging, though it wasn’t lost on him how much harder it was for her now. Y/n nodded slightly, her eyes squeezing shut as she focused on her breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Her whole body rocked with the rhythm, but it didn’t stop the groans slipping out of her.

“That’s it, baby. Good—”

“Shut the fuck up, Rafe.”

Her voice was sharp despite the pain, and Rafe froze for a moment, blinking in surprise at her words but he couldn't help but accept them with a nod. She was the one in labour not him. Y/n’s hand pressed harder against her bump as she groaned, her head resting back against the seat, her body arching slightly in response to the contraction.

She wasn’t having it.

Rafe couldn’t help but smile slightly at her attitude, but it was tender as he spoke, “Okay, okay,” he muttered, his hand still gently on her thigh. “I’m sorry.”

He kept his eyes on the road driving carefully, now that he had precious cargo in his car, but they would flicker occasionally to Y/n in the passenger’s seat. Always watching, always waiting, as they pushed forward toward the hospital. The pain was coming in waves now, each one crashing over her with more intensity than the last. Y/n’s body was tense, and her breathing was shallow, but she still managed to mutter through the strain,

“Sorry… just hurts…”

Rafe’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly as he leaned forward, his eyes focused on the road, but Y/n could see the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his knuckles went white around the wheel.

“You don’t need to apologize to me, baby,” Rafe said softly, his voice tight.

Y/n turned her head slightly, her eyes meeting his for a split second. He looked anxious, his focus split between her and the road ahead. The tightness in his posture didn’t escape her, and she could see how much he was trying to hold it together. With a small, reassuring smile, Y/n placed her hand over his, which was still resting on her thigh. The touch was gentle but firm,

“Ready to meet Baby Cameron?”

She mumbled, her voice soft but sincere, trying to ease some of the stress in the car. Rafe’s breath hitched at the mention of their baby, and he glanced down at their hands, a small smile crossing his face. He squeezed her hand, his thumb brushing gently across her skin.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’m so lucky that you’re the mother of my child Y/n… I love you.”

She squeezed his hand back, her eyes softening as she leaned back against the seat. Her breath was steadier now, a calmness settling in her chest as she gave him a small, exhausted smile.

“I love you, too, Rafey,” she whispered back.

—

The car crawled forward for a few agonizing seconds before the engine came to a halt once more. Rafe slammed his hand against the horn in frustration, the sharp sound echoing through the stillness of the traffic. His knuckles were white as he gripped the wheel, his jaw clenched tight.

“Fuck.”

He muttered under his breath, his eyes darting around, trying to make sense of why the cars ahead weren’t moving. Y/n, breath coming in heavy bursts now, groaned quietly beside him, trying to steady herself as another wave of pain rolled through her.

“Rafe…”

“I know, baby, I know,” he spoke out to her, his voice tight with frustration. “No one’s fucking moving.”

She turned her head slowly, her hand resting on her belly as she let out another shaky breath. She could feel the tension radiating off him, could see the way his shoulders were hunched in that familiar way he got when he was stressed.

“Rafe, please… just relax,”

She said softly, though she was struggling to keep her own calm with each passing minute. It was no use because he could barely sit still anymore. Without another word, he threw the door open, slamming it behind him, and stepped out into the stagnant heat of the afternoon. Y/n’s eyes followed him through the windshield as he walked down the line of cars, frustration written in his tense shoulders. The bridge conjoining The Cut to Figure 8 stretched ahead, a long line of unmoving vehicles in both directions, but it seemed like nothing was happening. No one was getting anywhere.

Rafe walked halfway down the bridge, his eyes scanning the cars as he tried to figure out what was going on. He stopped beside a car with a window rolled down, the driver staring out at the traffic in the same defeated way everyone else was. Rafe stepped closer, his voice terse as he addressed the guy.

“What’s going on up there?”

The guy glanced at him, his face creased with annoyance. “Accident upfront and tree fell in the back. Gonna be stuck here for a while, man.”

Rafe let out a low curse, his hand instinctively rubbing the back of his neck. “Fuck.”

He stood there for a second, staring at the endless line of cars, the weight of the situation finally hitting him. They were stuck. Stuck in the one place they couldn’t afford to be, halfway in the middle of nowhere. Taking a deep breath, Rafe turned around and started walking back toward the car. The frustration was palpable in every step, but it didn’t touch his determination. Rafe opened the door to the car, his eyes already scanning the area as he made his way back toward Y/n. But the moment his gaze landed on the seat next to him, his heart skipped a beat.

She wasn’t there.

His mind raced as he blinked, looking around the car in confusion. He slammed the door shut, his breath quickening as he jogged over to the other side of the vehicle, checking the backseat and the floor. Where the hell could she have gone? His pulse started to race- this wasn’t happening.

“Y/n?” he called out, his voice frantic.

He spun around, looking down the bridge, feeling the panic rise in his chest. She couldn’t have just disappeared, she’s literally a nine month pregnant woman, she wasn’t easy to lose. His eyes locked on a figure at the end of the bridge, and his heart dropped into his stomach.

There she was.

Y/n was standing at the far side of the bridge, her body leaning slightly against the wall, one hand resting gently on her bump. She looked serene in a way, her posture relaxed even in the midst of the chaos, but Rafe could see the slight tremor in her shoulders, the way she was swaying lightly from side to side. The air around him seemed to still as he watched her, his thoughts spiraling, but then he broke into a jog, moving toward her with urgency.

“Y/n!”

He called out again, his voice rough. She didn’t seem to hear him at first, or maybe she was just focused on the feeling of her own body, her eyes unfocused as she rubbed her belly in slow, soothing circles, looking down at her hand. Rafe’s steps quickened, and when he reached her side, he gently cupped her arm, his fingers warm against her skin.

“You can’t just run off like that! Are you crazy?”

His voice was sharp, but underneath it, the worry was clear. He wanted to scold her for being out of the car, but the relief flooding him kept him from doing anything but reaching for her. Y/n raised an eyebrow, unbothered by his scolding, as she gently rubbed her belly.

“I just wanted some air, Rafey,” she replied with a calmness that made Rafe’s frustration falter for a second.

“Jesus, woman,” he muttered, shaking his head. His shoulders dropped in exasperation as he sighed. “I—I don’t know what I’d do- what if I lost you huh?”

She smiled at his concern, “I'm nine months pregnant and in labour, I doubt I would’ve gotten very far Rafe.” A soft, reassuring smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, that helped calm some of the nerves still buzzing in his chest.

“C’mon, let’s get you back to the car,”

He said, his voice softer now, his hand gently brushing the hair away from her face as he guided her back, but as they started walking back toward the car, Y/n’s eyes drifted behind him, catching something in the distance. Rafe looked over his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

He asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. Y/n’s gaze lingered on the gas station behind them, her fingers lightly playing with his as she spoke.

“Really want some cookies right now…”

She said, her voice full of that playful lilt. Rafe blinked, taking a moment to process what she was saying before he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Are you serious right now?”

Y/n looked at him with a sweet, innocent expression. “Mmhmm.”

Rafe stared at her for a long moment, torn between disbelief and the need to smile. He glanced at the car, then at the standstill traffic behind him, a long sigh leaving his lips as the realization set in.

“Please?”

Y/n added, her voice soft but pleading, her hand still holding his with that familiar touch which guided his palm to rest it against her baby bump which made it hard for him to say no. Rafe’s lips curled into a reluctant smile.

“C’mon then,” he sighed, shaking his head in mock defeat. “Let’s just be quick, aight?”

And just like that, they veered off toward the gas station, Y/n’s determination to get her cookies almost making Rafe forget about the fact she was in labour, if it wasn’t for her groan every couple of minutes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The door of the gas station swung open, the little golden bell above it ringing as soon as they stepped inside, Y/n’s breathing hitched. Rafe was right behind her, his hand resting gently on the small of her back, ready to support her. Yet the moment the door closed behind them, Y/n groaned loudly, the contraction hitting her with full force. Her breath came in quick, shallow bursts, and her hand instinctively went to her belly. A few people in the gas station glanced over, some in surprise, others in concern, but Rafe barely noticed them as he leaned closer to her, his voice low and calm.

“Let’s grab your cookies and go, baby,” he murmured, his breath brushing against her ear.

Y/n barely registered his words, still trying to push through the pain, her face scrunching in discomfort as she stepped forwards towards the sweet treat aisle. She let out another soft, pained groan as she leaned against the shelf, her hand gripping the cool metal for support.

She scanned the shelves in front of her, her eyes landing on a pack of cookies, double chocolate-chip. They weren’t Sarah’s but she guessed they would have to do. She grabbed one, then another right next to it, her body rocking slightly as she breathed heavily through the contraction.

Rafe stood behind her, watching in a mix of concern and frustration, trying to hold everything together while his brain screamed that they needed to hurry. He sighed quietly, trying to hold his patience as he watched whilst she picked up random things off the shelves- gatorade, crisps… a microwavable hot-dog for one? He furrowed his eyebrows at the girl as she shoved them all into his arms, groaning in distress, was she planning on having a picnic in the hospital?

“Is that good now?”

Rafe asked quietly, glancing at her with a raised brow as he balanced the pile of items in his arms. Y/n didn’t even look up at him. She was bent over slightly, both hands gripping onto the handles of the fridge, her body still rocking gently as the contraction slowly passed. She nodded, the sound of her breath steadying now.

“Mmhmm,”

She mumbled, barely able to focus on anything other than the sharp ache she was still feeling.

“Jesus,”

Rafe muttered under his breath, his frustration mixing with disbelief at the bizarre situation, as he moved toward the counter to pay. He tapped his foot impatiently, his eyes flicking from Y/n to the Rolex on his wrist. The seconds were ticking by, and every minute felt like an eternity. He glanced over his shoulder at the long queue in front of him, a subtle frown on his face. He hated waiting, but he hated even more that they were stuck in this gas station in the first place. Y/n was still by the fridge, her back slightly arched as she leaned against it, trying to breathe through the pain of another contraction. Her groan echoed loudly through the small shop, and Rafe felt his stomach tighten.

“Oh my Gooooooooddddd-”

The people in line ahead of him turned around at the sound, their eyes narrowing as they glanced in the direction Y/n was. Rafe clenched his jaw, his grip on the products in his arms tightening as he fought to keep his composure. Another loud groan broke through the silence, and Rafe’s patience snapped. He shot a look at the guy in front of him who seemed somewhat disturbed by the sound, his teeth gritting as he tried to stay calm but his irritation bubbled over, and he shot at him quickly, his voice sharp.

“She’s pregnant, okay?”

He snapped, his gaze hardening. The man blinked, taken aback by the harshness in Rafe’s voice. The rest of the people in line seemed to take a step back, all of them suddenly understanding the gravity of the situation. Rafe was breathing heavily now, his mind racing as the seconds dragged on, but he couldn’t look away from Y/n. She was still by the fridge, still gripped by the pain of the contractions, but somehow, there was a calmness in her, even in the middle of everything, and she was now once again rocking softly back and forth. He exhaled, trying to push down the anger and frustration bubbling up inside.

The man in front of Rafe raised his hands in surrender, his face showing quick understanding. Without another word, he grabbed his items from the counter and muttered a hurried, “Sorry,” as he quickly walked past Rafe, giving him space. Rafe, barely noticing the man’s retreat, threw the items he was holding down onto the counter with a frustrated sigh. His eyes immediately darted back to Y/n, his head swiveling as he tried to spot her over the shelves. The moment he looked away from the counter, though, a voice interrupted his frantic search.

“Rafe?”

Rafe froze. He knew that voice. He didn’t have to turn around to know who it was, but of course, he did anyway. There, standing a few feet away, was John B. He groaned inwardly. How much worse could this get? He rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, “Pogue.” The name slipped from his lips, a reflexive reaction to the guy who always seemed to be around just when Rafe didn’t need him. John B gave him a tight-lipped smile, clearly trying to keep the peace, but Rafe could see the faint annoyance in his eyes.

“You need a bag?”

John B asked, trying to be helpful, but Rafe wasn’t in the mood for small talk.

“Uh, yeah,”

Rafe replied absently, barely glancing at John B as he spoke. His focus was entirely on trying to spot Y/n. His hands clenched the card in his hand as he tried to spot her around the shelves, his eyes scanning every inch of the small store. He didn’t even wait for John B to reply as his feet moved instinctively, carrying him away from the counter. He walked quickly down the aisles, his breath shallow as he called out her name, his voice strained with the urgency and stress building inside him.

“Y/n?”

His eyes darted from side to side, but there was no sign of her. He rounded the corner to another aisle, his heart starting to race as panic set in. He called out again, his voice louder this time.

“Y/n?!”

But there was still no response. Rafe felt the irritation crawling up his spine, seriously? Not again.

“Are you kidding me?” he muttered, his words laced with frustration as he threw a glance back at the counter. He felt like the whole world was working against him right now. Rafe’s eyes flicked back to John B, ready to ask if he’d seen Y/n, but then something caught his attention. The door near the counter, with a small blue sign W/C, was just slightly cracked open- it was enough to stop him dead in his tracks. He shot a quick glance at John B, his jaw tightening.

“Put my stuff to the side,”

Rafe said, his tone clipped, he once again didn’t wait for an answer, already moving toward the bathroom door. The women’s, men’s, and disabled toilets were all closed, but Rafe stepped closer to the disabled bathroom, he placed his ear against the door, trying to hear anything over the noise in the gas station.

It was then he heard it- a soft groan, followed by heavy breathing.

A slight whine escaped the other side of the door, and his pulse raced. Without thinking, he knocked gently against it, his voice low but full of urgency.

“Baby?”

A faint voice from within answered, weak but clear.

“Yeah?”

Rafe let out a relieved breath, his forehead resting briefly against the door, relief slowly hitting him. For a moment, he just stood there, collecting himself before he pulled back, his hand still gripping the handle of the door but it didn’t move. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, but he needed to stay calm- for her- well maybe for himself too.

“Are you okay?”

He asked, his voice soft but still edged with concern.There was a pause before her voice came through, strained but almost casual.

“Um…yeah?”

“What do you mean, um?”

Rafe’s eyebrows furrowed at her response. Another groan came from the other side of the door, followed by a sigh.

“Well, I… uh, I thought I needed to use the toilet, but now that I’m in here… I think I need to push.”

“NO!”

Rafe’s eyes widened, and before he could even think, he blurted out the word. His hands raked over his hair, the panic setting in as his mind raced.

“Baby, no- no, don’t push, okay? Please. I need you to open the door.”

He could hear her groaning again, and the sound made his chest tighten, “Y/n, I need you to open the door, okay? So we can go to the hospital. Are you listening to me, baby?”

His voice cracked with desperation as he waited for her response. Rafe took a step back from the door, rubbing a hand over his face as he tried to steady his racing thoughts. His mind was spinning in panic, but he was doing his best to keep it together. Another groan came from the other side of the door, louder this time, and Rafe’s chest tightened.

“Rafe, I can’t… I can’t open the door,” her voice cracked, strained. “I need to push.”

His breath hitched, and he placed a hand against the door, his grip tightening. “Okay, okay. It’s okay.” His voice was soft but desperate.

“I’m gonna come in, yeah?”

There was a brief silence before her voice came through again, strained but barely audible.

“Yeah.”

The word was cut off by another loud groan, and the sound sent a jolt of panic through Rafe’s veins. Rafe’s patience snapped. Without a second thought, he barreled back to the counter, his voice urgent as he slammed his palm onto the surface.

“I need the key to the toilets Y/n is stuck in the disabled one.”

His words came out in a rush, and John B didn’t hesitate. His brows furrowed in concern, and he quickly reached under the counter, pulling out multiple sets of keys before he found the right one.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I got it.”

He gripped them in his hand as he looked at Rafe, he’s never seen the brunette so worried. “Sorry,” John B muttered to the guy on the other side of the counter as he quickly stood up, walking around the register. Rafe was ready to go straight back to Y/n when suddenly, John B called out.

“JJ!”

Rafe froze for a split second. Not him too. He shook his head in disbelief. What had he done to deserve this? He knew he had been a dick to so many people, for so many years, but was this really the punishment he deserved. JJ, the last person Rafe wanted to deal with, sauntered up to the counter with his signature blonde hair and cocky grin, with a zoot tucked behind his ear.

“Sup?” he asked, sounding entirely too carefree for the situation.

“Need you to take over the counter for a bit,”

John B said, his voice tight with urgency. JJ nodded lazily, unconcerned, “Mkay, my man,” he said, easily slipping into the role. John B turned back to Rafe, and the Cameron boy grabbed his arm.

“Let’s go.”

They both moved toward the corridor with all the bathrooms, John B crouched in front of the disabled toilet door, the key in his hand as he started to unlock it. Rafe stood by him, his muscles tense, feeling like he could finally somewhat breathe again now that they were this close. They were about to get Y/n out, and finally going to leave this godforsaken place.

“Don’t worry, man,” John B said, trying to reassure him as he worked the key into the lock. “We’re gonna get her out of there.”

But then, there was a loud snapping sound. Both of them froze.

Rafe’s stomach dropped.

“What? What is it?”

His voice was sharp, fear creeping in. John B hesitated, his face a mixture of guilt and disbelief. “Well… um… the key broke.”

Rafe blinked in stunned silence. “What? Speak up!”

John B looked back at him, the words tumbling out quickly. “The key broke.”

Rafe’s frustration hit a boiling point, his voice cracking with anger as he slammed his hand against the wall angrily.

“What the fuck do you mean, you broke the key?!”

“I’m sorry! It was an accident, alright?” John B’s hands shot up in defense.

Rafe’s eyes went wide. “How the hell do you fuck up opening a door? Are you fucking serious right now!?”

Before John B could answer, they both heard a loud voice from the other side of the room. “Heyyy, what’s going on here? What’s all the yelling for?” Rafe’s head snapped toward the voice. He could feel his blood boil. Of course. It was JJ. Of course it was. John B rolled his eyes.

“Y/n’s stuck in the toilet, and I broke the key-”

Then, a loud, strained groan from the other side of the door cut him off. Y/n’s voice echoed out, desperate and pained.

“Fuuuucckkkk,”

Rafe slammed his hand against the door, his voice softer but filled with worry. “Baby, you okay?” There was a brief pause before she answered.

“Yeah, just… fuuuuuuck…”

“Jesus,” Rafe muttered, running his hands through his hair, trying to keep it together. John B glanced at him.

“What was that?”

Rafe’s breath quickened, his anxiety rising again as he looked down to the door handle of the door, the snapped metal now lodging into the keyhole.

“She’s in labor.”

JJ blinked, processing that. “What the fuck?”

“And now she’s fucking stuck in there… because of you!” Rafe growled, his eyes narrowing in fury. “I swear to god-”

But before Rafe could say anything more, JJ was already moving. He pushed past both of them, walking straight up to the door. Rafe stared at him, scoffing in disbelief. JJ turned to face the door, knuckles knocking against the wood in a rhythmic pattern. He called out, looking toward the door,

“Hey sunshine,”

“JJ?”

“Yeah, yeah,” JJ answered as he pulled his cap off and readjusted his hair, putting it back on backwards. “I need you to take a step away from the door.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

Rafe’s confusion was evident, his brow furrowed. JJ didn’t respond. He kicked the door hard, and the force of it echoed in the space, making Rafe’s heart skip a beat as he realised what the boy was trying to do.

“Wait!”

He called out as he rushed forward, his voice frantic as he called out to Y/n.

“Y/n, I need you to step back from the door, yeah?”

“I just told her that.”

JJ spoke back to the boy, hands out in the air in confusion at his actions. Rafe rolled his eye’s as he spoke back so Y/n couldn’t hear,

“She’s a stubborn pregnant woman, obviously she’s not going to listen to you.”

JJ gave him a look before shrugging his shoulders, “touché.” From the other side, her breath was labored, each inhale shaky. “Ughh… okay,” she responded weakly, and there was a faint sound of movement behind the door.

“Have you done that for me, Y/n?”

Rafe’s voice was strained, as if he was holding onto his patience by a thread. Another soft “yeah” came from her, and he stepped back, taking a deep breath to calm himself. Without saying another word, Rafe squared his shoulders. The frustration of the past few minutes boiled over. He looked at the door one last time and, without hesitation, launched his foot into it with everything he had. The sound of his kick reverberated through the small space, but the door didn’t budge. John B stepped forward, shaking his head in skepticism, but nevertheless he kicked the door next, his hit less forceful than Rafe’s but still forcefull.

Nothing.

JJ followed suit, throwing his foot at the door, his kick full of impatience.

Still nothing.

Rafe watched them, frustration building in his chest. “Get out of my way,” he muttered through gritted teeth. Without another word, he ripped his jacket off in a quick motion, tossing it aside as he stepped forward with sheer determination. This time, he didn’t just kick. He slammed his foot into the door again and again, each strike more powerful than the last, the force of his anger and desperation driving him. Finally, with one last powerful kick, the door swung open, the sound echoing loudly in the small hallways to the toilets.

Rafe rushed in, his breath still heavy from the effort of kicking the door in. His eyes darted across the cramped space until he found Y/n. She was sitting there, slumped against the toilet, arm supporting herself on the sink next to her as she sat leant over, her face flushed with sweat, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps.

“Sweet girl,” Rafe murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he dropped to his knees in front of her. His hands instinctively cupped her cheeks, his fingers trembling slightly.

“Are you okay? C’mon, let’s get you to the hospital, yeah?”

Y/n’s eyes were wide, and her grip tightened around his wrist. “I can’t… I can’t, Rafe,” she gasped, her voice a strained, breathless whimper.

“I need to push, Rafe… I can’t—”

The words trailed off as another wave of contraction hit her, causing her body to tense up. Rafe’s heart dropped in his chest. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He’d promised her he’d make sure everything was smooth, that she’d be in a safe, controlled place when the baby came. This definitely wasn’t how he’d envisioned the birth of his first child to happen.

“Okay, it’s okay-”

He whispered, his hand brushing the small strands of damp hair away from her flushed, sweaty face. He gave her a soft, reassuring smile, even though inside, panic clawed at him.

“-I’m here now, yeah? C’mon, let’s get you comfortable.”

And as he gently helped her try to shift, he held her gaze, his own filled with worry and tenderness. He wasn’t sure how things would play out from here, but he knew one thing- he was going to make it work.

The moment John B and JJ stepped through the door coming back from locking up the door of the small gas station shop, they froze. Their eyes locked on Y/n, who was still leaning against the sink, her breathing ragged and uneven, sweat dripping down her face. JJ’s eyes widened in realization, his mouth falling open.

“Oh shit,” he muttered, his voice a mixture of disbelief and concern.

“This is like for real- she’s in labor… like it’s legit-”

Rafe didn’t even look at them as he snapped into action, the blonde boys rambles falling on deaf ears. His focus was solely on Y/n, his voice low and strained.

“Go get some towels, some water- anything.”

They both stared at him motionless as they took in the scene of the Kook who’d tormented them for so many years, gently help the girl down to a sitting position on the floor.

“NOW!”

He barked out. John B and JJ scrambled out of the bathroom, their feet clattering as they bumped into each other in their rush to get the supplies. They didn’t say anything, just focused on finding whatever they could to help in their panic. Rafe turned back to Y/n, his face softening despite the storm of anxiety in his chest.

“C’mon, let me help you.”

He murmured, his hands gently gripping her arms as he helped her pull down her sweatpants, hands lovingly rubbing against her calves in an attempt to comfort her. Y/n hummed out slightly, her uneasiness palpable, but as another contraction hit, she winced, her face contorting in pain. Rafe’s brows furrowed with concern, his heart aching for her.

“I know, baby, I know. Just breathe. We’re gonna get through this, okay?”

And just as she nodded, another wave of pain hit, and Rafe exhaled in frustration, running a hand over his hair. “Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath, barely able to contain the rush of panic rising inside him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The gas station bathroom looked nothing like it had before. Blankets and towels were scattered across the floor beneath Y/n, cushioning her knees as she rocked back and forth, panting through each wave of pain. Bottles of water and crumpled packaging littered the corners- whatever JJ and John B had managed to grab in their scramble. Y/n’s skin glistened with sweat, strands of hair clinging to her flushed face. She reached up with trembling hands, tugging at her top, desperate to get it off. The sticky fabric clung to her skin, and she let out a frustrated groan.

"Here, baby, let me—" Rafe’s voice cut off as his phone buzzed against his ear, someone's voice being heard from the other side. He was crouched down, gripping the phone so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"Yeah, okay, yeah—she's on the floor, towels everywhere. No, the hospital’s blocked off! We're stuck. I've just told you this, are you even listening to me!"

His voice cracked, running high with panic. John B sat awkwardly near Y/n’s head, trying to offer some sort of comfort. Her hand suddenly shot out, fingers digging painfully into his arm. His breath hitched, tears stinging his eyes. He muttered, voice shaky,

"Shit- okay, okay, you're okay,"

Y/n barely managed to choke out, "Sorry," between laboured breaths as her nails digged into his skin. John B’s voice squeaked,

"It's fine! Totally fine!"

His face twisted in pain, but he didn’t dare pull away. JJ hovered uselessly in the doorway, wide-eyed and wringing his hands feeling a little awkward with the situation at hand.

“Uh… y’all need anything else? Snacks? Beer? No—okay, cool.”

Rafe paced in a tight circle before crouching behind Y/n again, gripping the phone. The nurse’s voice was brisk but calm as she spoke into his ear,“Can you see the baby’s head, sir?”

Rafe swallowed hard, leaning over for a quick glance. His face was drained of all colour.

“Uh… yeah I can see the head.”

Y/n’s head snapped up. "What?! What do you mean you can see it?!"

Rafe’s eyes were wide, panic rising in his throat as the nurse’s voice cut through the phone, steady and firm. “Listen to me carefully. That means she’s ready to push. You need to place your hand firmly against the baby’s head to guide it out slowly. If it comes too fast, there’s a risk of decapitation.”

Rafe froze. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He stared at Y/n, blinking rapidly, his mind spiralling. His brain was screaming at him to move, to do something, but fear was holding him in place, like a heavy weight on his chest. He wasn’t prepared for this. He had no idea what to do, only that he couldn’t screw this up.

“Hello? Sir? Are you still there? Is everything okay?”

He cleared his throat, forcing the words out.

"Yeah—yeah, I’m here."

Rafe squeezed his eyes shut, dragging a shaky hand down his face, his fingers briefly pressing into his eye’s. He needed to keep it together, but every second felt heavier than the last. He sucked in a breath, grounding himself before snapping his head up.

“JJ! Get over here and hold this fucking phone!”

JJ shuffled forward, noticeably hesitant, eyes fixed awkwardly on the wall as he stood beside Rafe, who held the phone out for the boy slightly. However, as the blond boy refused to look down Rafe remained with his hand held out, causing him to look away from Y/n and see the boy still staring straight ahead at the wall. Rafe stared at him, disbelief simmering under his skin.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Bro?”

John B glanced over from where he was crouched by Y/n’s head, frowning. JJ muttered under his breath, barely audible. Rafe’s patience snapped.

“What!?”

“Listen, your girl is literally naked right there, man! I don’t wanna look- it’s disrespectful!”

JJ winced, shoulders tensing. Rafe’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt. His fists balled at his sides, knuckles white. Every muscle in his body screamed to just hit him, to shake the stupidity right out of him. He could see himself doing it- just one solid punch. But instead, Rafe forced himself to take a breath, exhaling hard through his nose. He dragged a hand roughly over his face once again, muttering, “Jesus Christ-”

Y/n let out a sharp, pained groan, her voice cracking.

“JJ, I don’t care! Just help him- oh SHIIIIIIT!”

Her scream cut through the room like a knife, yanking everyone’s attention back to reality. JJ’s eyes shot wide.

“Okay! Okay! If you insist-”

He didn’t even get the words out before Rafe shoved the phone- now on speaker- hard into his chest. JJ scrambled to steady it, and as his eyes flicked down, his face drained of colour as he looked at Y/n. The very top of the baby’s head was there.

“Holy shit, Y/n there’s like a fucking baby in your pussy-”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, JJ!”

Y/n’s scream was sharp and furious, echoing in the cramped space. JJ jumped, gripping the phone like it might explode.

“Okay! Sorry! Jesus!”

His voice cracked as he lifted the phone so they could hear it if the nurse spoke out. Rafe knelt back down behind Y/n, and he swallowed hard, as he felt the slick warmth of Y/n's skin under his palm, pressing his hand gently but firmly against the top of the baby’s head, just like the nurse had told him. His other hand rubbed slow, steady circles along the curve of her trembling back, grounding her as best he could. His heart was thundering in his chest, but he forced his voice to stay calm, soft- for her.

“Okay, sweet girl,” he murmured, “I need you to listen to me, yeah?”

Y/n’s head lolled against her arm, sweat-damp hair clinging to her flushed face as she let out a shaky breath. His voice firmed, but it was still gentle, coaxing. His hand didn’t stop moving on her back.

“You’re doing so good, baby. So fucking good. But I really, really need you to push on the next contraction, alright?”

Her glassy eyes flickered to his, searching, scared. He gave her the smallest, crooked smile despite the panic clawing at him.

“We’re so close, yeah? You’re so strong. Just one big push for me, okay?”

Y/n’s fingers dug into the blankets beneath her, knuckles white. She gave a slight, barely-there nod.

“That’s my girl,” his hand pressed steady against the baby’s head, the other still rubbing soothingly along her back, “Next one, baby. We’re gonna meet our little Cameron. You’ve got this.”

Y/n clenched her jaw, groaning through another push, but Rafe could feel it- nothing was changing. He leaned back slightly, panic creeping into his features, and turned towards the phone in JJ’s grip.

“I—nothing’s happening,” he said quickly, his voice strained, eyes darting from the phone to Y/n’s hunched figure. “What’s going on? Why isn’t the baby moving?”

The nurse’s voice came through, calm but firm. “She’s not pushing hard enough. You need to get the baby out soon, Mr Cameron. The longer the baby stays in the birth canal, the more risk there is of oxygen deprivation.”

Fuck. Rafe’s heart plummeted at the words, and he felt his hand slip slightly against Y/n’s damp skin. He sucked in a sharp breath, his lips parting to respond, but before he could, a faint sound drew his attention.

“Rafe…”

It was John B, his voice hesitant, almost soft. He was kneeling at Y/n’s side, her trembling fingers curled weakly around his forearm.

“Rafe, man… I think you need to talk to her…”

He said quietly, glancing down at the way Y/n’s grip seemed to falter, her breaths shallow and uneven. Rafe swallowed hard, his chest tightening at the sight of her pain and exhaustion. God, she wasn’t even on any painkillers, he didn’t want to imagine how she felt right now. His eyes darted between Y/n and the phone before he scrubbed a hand over his buzzed hair, frustration and fear mixing in his expression. John B slowly rose to his feet, giving Y/n’s hand a small squeeze before letting go. He turned to Rafe who had also risen, his face softer than it usually was when the two of them interacted.

“You heard what she said,” Rafe said slowly, voice tight.

John B met his eyes and gave a small, steady nod. “Yeah. I heard.”

Without warning, Rafe’s hand shot out and fisted the front of John B’s shirt, yanking him in close, nose to nose. His grip was iron, knuckles white.

“You hurt my child…” Rafe’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, his blue eyes blazing, “…I’ll kill you. Is that clear, John B?”

John B didn’t flinch, didn’t fight back. He just stared at Rafe, steady and calm. Because for the first time, he wasn’t seeing Rafe Cameron the hotheaded psycho- he was seeing a terrified father on the edge.

“Yeah,” John B said quietly, voice even. “Crystal.”

Rafe’s eyes flicked over his face, searching for any sign of weakness, but all he saw was understanding. He slowly uncurled his fingers, shoving John B back slightly. Without another word, they switched places. John B moved towards the phone, kneeling behind Y/n and Rafe dropped to his knees beside her, his hands instantly reaching for hers. One hand cradled the back of her head, fingers threading through her own holding her hand, while the other gently rubbed along her back in slow, grounding circles.

“Hey, hey, baby, look at me,”

He murmured, his voice softer now, but the cracks of fear still clung to the edges. Y/n barely lifted her head, her body trembling.

“Rafe… I can’t,” she whispered, her voice thin and shaky, “I’m so tired-”

Rafe’s chest tightened, his throat burning. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Not like this. Not here in this crappy gas station bathroom.

“I know, sweet girl… I know,” he breathed, pressing his forehead against hers for a moment. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t want this for you.”

Y/n shook her head faintly, her grip on his wrist weakening.

“No, baby, listen to me.”

Rafe cupped her face, his thumbs brushing the sweat from her cheeks. His own eyes were glassy now, but his voice steadied. “I need you to be strong for me now, yeah? Just a little longer. You can do this. You’re so close.”

She blinked at him, breath shaky, and he leaned in closer, his nose brushing against hers.

“Please, baby. For me. For our baby.”

Y/n swallowed hard, a tear slipping down her cheek, but she gave him the faintest nod.

“That’s it,” he whispered, kissing her forehead as his thumb came out to wipe her cheek free of the salty water..

“That’s my girl.”

Y/n let out a guttural groan as she pushed with everything she had on her next contraction, her entire body trembling under the effort. Rafe was right beside her, one hand braced on her back, the other still gently cupping her hand, which she gripped ferociously.

“Oh my God- the head’s out!”

John B shouted, voice laced with disbelief and panic. He was kneeld awkwardly, eyes wide as he stared down. JJ was next to him, his knees slipping slightly on the layered towels.

“Holy shit, man, I see it! Okay, okay, you’re so close, Y/n!” His voice was high with adrenaline, but there was something soft in it, too. “Come on, mama, just a little more, you’re about to meet your baby!”

Rafe tightened his grip on Y/n’s shoulder, leaning in close, his breath shaky. “Sweet girl, we’re right there, yeah? One more push. You’ve got this.”

The nurse crackled through the phone still in JJ’s shaky grip, “Support the baby’s head! Careful, slow—don’t let it drop!” JJ scrambled, hands trembling as he carefully cupped the tiny, slick head, his face frozen in panic. “Okay, okay, I got it—I got it! Oh my God, John B, help me!” John B, swallowing his own panic, steadied JJ’s hands, both of them crouched and bracing themselves.

“Y/n, baby, one more. Just one more push,”

Rafe whispered, voice breaking but full of determination. Y/n let out a ragged sob, gripping Rafe’s arm like a lifeline, her face buried into his neck. She drew in a shaking breath and bore down, crying out as her body strained.

“There we go!” John B’s voice cracked with disbelief. “The shoulders are coming!” JJ’s eyes were wide, hands gently guiding the tiny body. Rafe’s hand slid to her damp cheek, brushing her hair back.

“That’s it, baby. That’s it.”

And in the next moment, the baby slipped free into JJ and John B’s waiting hands, their eyes wide with shock and awe. For a moment, the entire room was still. Breathless. Then, the silence shattered. A sharp, piercing wail filled the air—raw, loud, and alive.

The baby was crying.

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” the nurse’s voice crackled through the phone, filled with warmth. “That’s exactly what we want to hear, means their airways are clear- congratulations!” the nurse’s voice came through, vibrating with relief.

Y/n’s body sagged with relief, sobs breaking free as she wept, trembling from exhaustion and overwhelming joy. Rafe let out a shaky breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding. His chest tightened, and his eyes, glossed over, locked on Y/n, a tear sliding down his cheek. “Oh, sweet girl…” His voice was raw as he leaned in, cupping her tear-streaked face.

“I’m so proud of you. You hear that?”

He whispered, pressing his forehead to hers, voice breaking. “That’s our baby Y/n, you did that.” He pressed soft, lingering kisses to her forehead, his arms holding her close. Y/n’s breath hitched, tears slipping freely. Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Is it… is it a boy or a girl?”

John B, though still emotional, took the lead as he carefully placed his hands on the baby’s tiny chest, rubbing gently as the nurse instructed to ensure air was circulating properly. His movements instinctual despite the fear and emotions tangled in his chest.

“It’s a girl.”

A fragile, joyful sob escaped Y/n’s lips, her hand flying to her mouth. The nurse’s voice crackled through the phone, her tone calm and clear. “Alright, now I need you to swaddle the baby tightly, make sure she doesn’t get cold.”

JJ moved quickly, wrapping the baby snugly in the towel, his hands surprisingly gentle despite the chaos unfolding around them. The nurse continued as they worked on the little being amongst the towels. “And how’s mom? Make sure she’s covered up too, don’t want her getting cold either.”

John B, standing up from his kneeling position, grabbed a second blanket and draped it over Y/n, making sure it covered her body as he gently rubbed her back. “Good job, Y/n. You’re amazing.” Never in a million years did he think when he got a job at the gas station he would be helping to deliver his brother in law’s baby. Y/n, leaning heavily against Rafe, gave him a small, exhausted smile.

The nurse’s voice came through again, more reassuring this time. “Now, I need you to pass the baby to mum. Be gentle, don’t pull on the umbilical cord. The ambulance is just two minutes away.”

Rafe, still crouched behind Y/n, gently helped her lean back against his chest . His arms were wrapped securely around her, as he supported her with a steady, comforting presence. He gently adjusted her position, making sure her back was firmly against his chest, and spoke softly, his voice laced with concern,

“You okay, baby?”

Y/n hummed softly, her breath shallow as she nodded faintly, exhaustion clouding her features. She leaned back further into him, her body still trembling, but her grip on her blanket was firm. Rafe gave her a soft kiss on the side of her head, his hands gently rubbing her arm in soothing circles. JJ gently cradled the newborn, his hands trembling slightly from the weight of the moment.

“Well done sunshine.”

He said softly, his voice full of emotion as he carefully passed the baby to Y/n. With shaky hands, Y/n cradled the baby to her chest, her breath catching in her throat as she looked down at the sweet, tiny face. Tears welled up in her eyes, the overwhelming joy of finally holding her daughter too much to contain. She let out a shaky sob, her heart swelling with emotion. Rafe leaned in close, his voice soft as he spoke,

“It’s okay, we’ve got her now, yeah?”

He wrapped his arms around Y/n from behind, his chin resting gently on her shoulder, offering her all the reassurance she needed. Y/n barely heard him though, her attention entirely on the little life in her arms. She watched as he ran a trembling finger over the baby’s cheek, the softness of his daughter's skin pulling at his heartstrings.

“She looks just like you, Rafey”

Y/n murmured, her voice full of awe. Rafe let out an emotional laugh, a tear slipping from his eye as he leaned in to kiss Y/n’s forehead, feeling completely overwhelmed by the moment. Y/n turned her head to look at him, and he leaned forward slightly to press his forehead gently against hers, their breaths mingling in the quiet, sacred moment. After a moment of silence, he kissed her softly, his lips lingering for just a second. With glossy eyes, he whispered,

“Thank you for giving us our sweet girl.”

Y/n smiled, her heart full as she leaned her head against his, both of them looking down at their peaceful, sleeping baby in her arms. Although baby Cameron was born in a gas station on the cut, in the hands of two Pogues who they didn't always get along with, and not in the prestigious private suite of the hospital they had planned to give birth in originally, they wouldn’t have had it any other way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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eowynstwin · 19 hours ago

Text

peristalsis - ii.

selkie!soap x reader. depression. suicidal ideation. strangers to "lovers." 4.9k. . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

You sleep long enough that, when you wake up, you have enough energy to cry.

It’s a big one. The kind of cry that threatens to turn your throat out, with how hard you sob. Alone in the cottage, far away from anything resembling civilization, you wail like wounded animal, choking on your own tears and mucus, losing track of your body buried underneath the covers—

But it happens at a remove. You watch yourself implode from someplace deep inside, not entirely sure why it’s happening at all—but long past trying to figure it out.

This is how it’s been for a while. There’s nothing special about it anymore. Nothing urgent. Most of the time, you are a blank space of a person, a vacuum where joy or rage or fear should be, but occasionally some maelstrom or another kicks up to fill it in, and your only course of action is to ride it out until it ends.

You’ve stopped trying to fix it. And you’ve stopped hoping anyone else can, either.

So you cry, until at last, you’re empty again. Or you’re too tired to continue. The difference is negligible, but functionally irrelevant. Once it’s done, you get out of bed.

The pressure in the shower is as weak as Johnny reported, but the water is indeed warm when you turn it on; you stand naked under the flow, arms hanging at your sides.

The day stretches itself out before you with nothing to occupying it, just as you’d planned. Nothing to work towards; no effort to put forward. Nothing, thanks to your choice of locale, to feel guilty about not seeking out.

A day of peace and utter quiet.

Suddenly—violent banging, somewhere in the cottage. It startles you; you jump so sharply at the noise that you smack your wrist on the soap caddy attached to the shower wall. The banging comes again—annoyed, you realize with no little bemusement that someone is at the front door.

You wrap yourself in a towel and hobble out of the bathroom to answer it, a piece of your mind on your tongue, dart-shaped and ready to fly—

Of course it’s Johnny.

Johnny, big and burly in a sweater, kilt, and pelt once again, two paper cups balanced in one large hand and a grocery bag hanging from the other. Whose dark brows shoot up his forehead as his eyes travel with surprise, and blatant appreciation, down the dripping length your body.

“Well, good mornin’, bonnie,” he purrs.

“What,” you grunt. A cold breath of wind chooses that moment to force its way through the door, gasping across the shower water still running in rivulets from your hair to the rolled edge of your towel. Goosebumps erupt from your bare skin in millions of simultaneous pinpricks—you flinch bodily at the chill.

“Ah, hell’s bells, don’t just stand there,” Johnny says, following the wind. “It’s freezin,’ go on, let me get in, hurry.”

You let him step inside, for some reason, and he shuts the door behind him with the heel of his boot. He wastes no time after that, heading to the kitchen to set down his things.

“Brought breakfast!” he says cheerfully. “There’s this bakery on Barra I thought you’d like, fresh doughnuts and coffee. Dunno how you take yours, but there’s sugar in the pantry and cream in the fridge.”

“I don’t want breakfast,” you say.

“What? ‘Course you do. I’m no’ takin’ you seal-watchin’ on an empty stomach.”

He starts unpacking the grocery bag and setting things on the counter while your jaw hangs open. Several things occur to you to say—I never agreed to that and what the hell is wrong with you, for starters—but your stomach growls at him before you can. The aroma of fresh-baked pastry wafts through the kitchen when he opens one box, and he turns to grin at you, cheeks dimpling.

“Do you get dressed, bonnie,” he says. “It’ll still be here when y’get back.”

It is less polite than he perhaps intends it to be, given that his gaze travels appreciatively across your bare shoulders. You cross your arms fruitlessly over your chest and, nothing else for it, retreat to the bedroom, feeling his eyes on you the whole way.

You return to the kitchen after having pulled on wool leggings and the same fleecy sweater from the day before. Johnny, one hip set against the counter, has a cup of steaming coffee in one hand and a half-eaten cruller in the other, crumbs at the corner of his mouth.

“Got anythin’ heavier?” he asks around a chewed-up mouthful. “Gets cold out there.”

You look down at his bare calves, broad and taut and covered in a down of dark hair. “You seem alright.”

“I’m used to it,” he says, shrugging—the muscles flexing under your gaze.

You purse your lips. “I don’t have anything.” You hadn’t intended to leave the cottage overmuch.

You approach the counter. Johnny does not move a centimeter, forcing you to stand close as you pick through the two boxes of doughnuts and feel the body heat radiating off of him, displacing the scent of fried dough with his musk.

“That’s all right,” he says. You’re close enough to hear the way his voice hums deep in his chest. “I can keep you warm.”

You snatch a plain glazed from the box and take two very large steps away from him. The hair on the back of your neck lifts as you press against the sink behind you. If he notices your reaction, it doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest—he lifts the cup to his lips and drinks, eyes sliding closed with simple, obvious pleasure, dark lashes curling against his cheek.

You take the brief respite from his gaze to stare at him. In the morning light, on a full night of sleep, you can almost believe that whatever you’d seen in him yesterday had been nothing more than a misfire of exhausted synapses. An overlay of a dream; a circadian prompt to rectify nearly seventeen hours of sleeplessness. You’d been cold, and tired, and hungry. That was all.

You bite down on your doughnut, not really tasting it. The nerves along your spine twitch and contract around the memory of his flashing gaze.

His eyes open again, and he smiles at you. “Good?” He flicks a look at the single bite you’ve taken, looks at your mouth, and then waits for your reply.

“It’s fine,” you grumble. Then, “How did you get here? I didn’t hear the truck drive up. Do you live close by?”

“Sometimes,” he says. He looks pleased that you’ve asked, that you’re interested at all, and you immediately regret inquiring. “Live on a boat, me. Moored in the cove right now.”

“A…boat,” you say.

“Aye.” A wisp of dark hair, something he must have missed when he gelled his mohawk this morning, flutters as he nods. “Nice and cozy. Not as grand as all this, mind.” He gestures around with coffee and doughnut at the less than five hundred square feet of the cottage. “But it’s still a sight nicer than some other places I’ve slept.”

He’s likely hinting at his military service. “Okay,” is all you say, unwilling to entertain it.

He smirk—undeterred. “We’ll take her out once you’re ready.”

“I never said I was going.”

Dark brows lift. “Got somethin’ else planned for today?” he asks, incredulous, as if he never imagined you wouldn’t want to hang out with him.

“No, I—”

You wrack your brain. You have no intention of explaining to this complete stranger that the last thing you’d wanted to do, when you booked this trip, was really anything at all—and in fact, you hadn’t even considered that that might be something anyone else would care much about.

Much less proactively address.

“No,” you repeat, sulking.

Johnny considers you, chewing. His eyes do not stray, this time, to places they don’t belong; but there’s an insight to them. A sharp awareness. A perception in his gaze that is just as undressing, as if whatever is going on with you is visible to the naked eye.

“I figure,” he says, slowly, as if to coax, “you put your wee shoes on, an’ I’ll pack this back up, and we take it along.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you grouse. “I don’t need you to, like—be my tour guide.”

“Aye, but that doesnae mean I don’t wanna,” he retorts, smiling.

He shoves the last bite of cruller in his mouth and gazes patiently at you as he works it with his jaw, the muscles flexing along his temples as he chews.

Exhaustion, your constant companion, stares you down alongside him. It would take so much more energy to fight him than to go along with whatever he has planned. Energy you just don’t have anymore. And going along doesn’t mean you have to pretend to enjoy yourself—it’s not like you care enough about Johnny’s self-esteem to conjure up a happy face to show him.

You can go, and be a bitch about it, and once you do maybe he’ll realize you’re not at all worth the effort he’s making, and then finally leave you alone.

“Fine,” you say, which is how you end up on a fishing trawler headed south toward, ostensibly, a colony of breeding seals.

It’s an old vessel—that much is obvious. Its edges and corners are dull with the passage of time and constant maintenance, scuffed by innumerable passes-over with cleaner and cloth. Mildew competes with the aroma of fresh varnish as Johnny leads you onto the bridge, which is mercifully closed in from the ocean wind.

The interior is mostly wood of a warm, orangish variety—you can’t tell if that’s a decision made with aesthetics or function in mind. The space comprises a kitchen, surprisingly well-appointed with a stove, sink, countertop, and fridge, and a small sitting area with both couch and booth seating. Surrounding windows allow in the grey light of the morning.

“Bought it off an old bloke on Lewis,” Johnny says, taking his place at the wheel, which is in a little alcove off the kitchen.

If you’d thought steering a boat would have curtailed his chatting, you’d have been wrong—he seems to have no trouble with that and talking, incessantly, at the same time, as he pulls the vessel away from the cove and into the open water.

“All his family moved to the mainland, he told me, an’ this is after generations fishin’ these islands, even makin’ it through the Clearances! No money in it anymore, he said, not like you could make in some office somewhere countin’ someone else’s money.” He checks something on the dashboard in front of him, but it doesn’t distract him for long. “Held on for a while, but people just kept leavin,’ an’ he was gettin’ too old to go out on his own. Got such a good price on it, I think he was just happy someone else was gonna take up the tradition.”

“Did he sell you the cottage too?” you ask, and then dig your nails into your wrist for encouraging him.

“Yup,” he says. “No one else wanted it, but me? I saw somethin’ special about it.”

He turns to smile at you—no doubt pleased you made the connection. You avert your gaze.

“Imagine someday I’ll have my own family here,” he continues. “Good place for it. Nice and slow, not like city living. Can hear yourself think out here. Perfect place to have a few wee ones.”

“If people stop leaving,” you mutter.

He turns to you again. “I’m no’ worried about that,” he replies. He’s still smiling. “You came here, after all.”

You have nothing to say to that.

The trip is a short one—Johnny brings the trawler alongside an island he informs you is called Mingulay, a square mile smaller than Vatersay’s tiny dot in the North Atlantic. Unlike the latter, he says, this island has not been inhabited since 1912, and has been completely reclaimed by the ocean and its wildlife.

After he drops anchor offshore, Johnny disappears down a steep flight of stairs below deck, which he had not offered a tour of, and emerges a short time later with a large, bulky coat.

“Didn’t I tell you?” he says proudly, holding it out by the shoulders. “Here, turn ‘round.”

You pause in the middle of reaching for it. You don’t know exactly why you comply—it occurs to you that if you grabbed for the jacket, he could simply not let go of it, and you would end up exactly where he wants you anyway. So you lower your arm and, resigned, give him your back.

He steps up behind you. Warmth pours off of him, more than you think any human body should be able to generate.

You hear him inhale, deeply, as he brings the jacket to your back. As you slide your arms into the sleeves, you feel his exhale on the nape of your neck, teasing through individual follicles of hair.

“There w’go,” he murmurs, much closer than you expected.

You can hear the low hum of his voice in his chest; his hands linger on your shoulders far longer than they need to, heavy, big enough that his index fingers brush along your collarbones.

When his hands make to slide down your back you step away from him and fumble to zip the jacket up; he chuckles lightly behind you. When you turn to face him, his lips are curled—smug.

“Alright then,” he says. “Let’s get out there.”

He rows the two of you to shore in a small kayak, two pairs of binoculars in your lap as you huddle away from the wind. You’ll be walking to the haul-out, he says—getting too close to the breeding grounds, which he calls a rookery, would spook them, possibly causing a stampede.

“It’s grey seals we’re gonna see,” he explains as the two of you pick your way across the rocky landscape. “Not the biggest haul-out you could see, some colonies get into the thousands, but we’ll have it all to ourselves.”

He insists on taking your elbow every time the two of you cross particularly uneven terrain, even though you don’t need it. You think he takes your attempts to shake him off as proof of your lack of balance, because he grasps you all the tighter every time.

“I’m not a child, Johnny, I can walk on my own,” you finally snap at him.

“Just bein’ a gentleman, bonnie,” he replies nonchalantly. He does not let you go.

As you get closer, you hear the seals before you see them, and when their voices reach you across the open island, you stop dead.

Groaning, grunting, hissing in a cacophonous chorus. Some part of your hindbrain double-takes, reshuffles itself—some ancestral instinct always on the lookout for predation. If you’d been given a chance to guess what a colony of mating seals might have sounded like, you’re not sure you could have guessed what they sounded like.

Certainly not like what you hear now—

Like people.

Johnny grins at you when he notices. “Aye, it’s a right ruckus, innit?”

He leads you up a small rise, where he has the two of you settle belly-down over the machair to overlook the wedge of rocky coast that the colony has claimed for its own.

And when you finally see it—it’s underwhelming.

Perhaps two hundred long, fat bodies, in varying shades of brown and grey, lay indolently along the rocks, in groups of three or four, some heavily galumphing from one place to another while others roll occasionally from side to side. The shifting winds catch their scent and blow it uncaringly into your face; you nearly gag at the admixture of dead fish and ammonia.

It doesn’t escape you that this is a rare thing to witness; you are not wholly immune to the fact that you are only a hundred meters away from something most people only encounter on a screen. It’s just that without a swell of awed music in the backdrop, or a narrator’s breathless wonder at the miracle of pinniped life, what’s left for you to observe is a population of wet, stinking animals, shitting where they lay, vocalizing without cease while they laze about doing basically nothing.

Johnny does not seem to notice your disillusionment; he hands you one pair of binoculars, and directs your attention to activity along the shoreline. You follow to where he’s pointing; one larger seal is hassling a smaller one, which snarls at the aggressor as it thrashes around with its substantial bulk.

“Little one there—” Johnny says, “that’s a female, probably obvious. Big one knows she’s ready to mate, can smell it on her.”

The female bares her teeth and lunges at the bigger male, which flinches back but holds his ground.

“Doesn’t look like she agrees,” you mutter.

“She’s just givin’ him a hard time. She’s all in heat, see? Just makes her cranky,” Johnny says. You feel his eyes on you, and lower your binoculars to look at him. “She’s got to fuss to feel all in control.”

You flush. “Right.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No,” you say. “He’s—he’s just bothering her.”

He gazes at you for a moment, contemplative. Corners of his mouth quirking upward. He does not reply for a long moment, long enough that you have to avert your gaze from his.

“Nah,” he finally says, and you don’t think you’re imagining the low, sultry note in his voice. “She wants it bad as he does.”

You scowl, uncomfortably perceived, and return your binoculars—the pair is still facing off, gurgling and growling at each other. The female is slim, almost sleek, unlike most of the other seals populating the rookery.

“Is she sick?” you ask.

“Hm? Oh, no, she’s alright. The mums lose a lot of weight when they nurse. Takes three weeks, and they don’t eat in the meantime.”

“Jesus.”

“Be nice if the dads ever brought ‘em a bite, aye?” Johnny agrees. “Deadbeats, the lot of them.”

The two of you survey the colony in silence for a moment. As the morning wears on, the cloud covering thins overhead, allowing cool sunlight to filter through. The temperature doesn’t rise in response; begrudgingly, you tug Johnny’s jacket a little tighter around you.

Then, suddenly, his hand lands on your back, between your shoulder blades.

“Got some pups over there,” he says. “Look, by the kelp.”

You find them; smaller bodies, white dinged with wet sand and dirt, lounge near their mothers or wriggle with aimless difficulty. They’re fluffy and round as plush toys, with shining black eyes and noses, and once Johnny’s pointed them out you can differentiate the higher, sweeter pitch of their cries from the overall cacophony.

“Sometimes,” Johnny murmurs, “search and rescue’ll get called out because someone thought they heard a baby crying. Some kid stranded or lost, right? Turns out to be a baby seal.”

“That’s kind of scary,” you say.

“Aye,” says Johnny. “Always makes me think that’s where the old legends come from, about seal people or mermaids.”

A small ways away, some of the mothers lay with their pups far into the surf, letting the waves break over them. You watch as one mother thunks her large head overtop of her pup’s as the water rushes toward them; the pup wriggles, and then, as the wave engulfs them, it begins to thrash, whipping up a panicked froth.

“Time for swimming lessons already?” Johnny muses. “Seems early.”

You’re horrified. “She’s going to drown it!”

The hand still on your back pats you consolingly. “Just watch,” says Johnny.

The wave reaches as far up the shore as gravity allows, and then begins to recede. The pup’s thrashing calms as the air meets its face once again; the cow allows the pup to lift its head, and after a few sputters, the pup seems no worse for wear.

“They’re hardier than they look, bonnie,” Johnny says.

His hand, heavy and warm even over his borrowed jacket, slides down from your shoulders to your lower back, and then he rubs, slowly, side to side, as if to comfort you—but the knobs of your spine contract at his touch.

“Last of the births this season, looks like,” he says. “Mum’s getting ready to leave—probably not the only one.”

Something hard drops into your stomach.

“They leave their babies?” you ask.

“Aye. Once they’re done nursing, they mate, and then they go.”

You look back at the other cows with their pups. One baby has its muzzle to its mother’s belly, quivering and suckling, while she lays with her head on a patch of grass. She looks uninterested—more, she looks disinterested. As if how voraciously her pup is nursing has nothing much to do with her, and she’s bored of even having to think about it.

Bored—and already looking forward to the next part of her life without a baby in it.

“That’s horrible,” you say.

“They’re solitary animals, bonnie,” Johnny says, not ungently. “The only time they’re really all together is for this.”

A line tightens between your stomach and throat, and you feel it start to build between your ribs. A tremor—foreshocks. The wind picks up, bringing a sharp chill off the ocean and up the rise that cuts into your stinging eyes, abrades the naked skin of your hands and the exposed part of your neck.

When you look through your binoculars again, you wonder how many of the pups you see have already been abandoned.

“Aw, bonnie,” Johnny says. There’s a kind of pity in his voice that has your hackles raising.

“I want to leave,” you say, yanking away from his touch and shuffling down the incline. “Take me back to the cottage.”

“Bonnie, it’s okay!” Johnny protests, rolling to his back to look at you as you stand. “The pups make it, they figure out how to fend for themselves.”

You glare at him, vision blurring. “All of them?”

Some part of you knows you’re being irrational—knows that nature is a cruel home, and that many children face worse fates than the seal pups. Abandoning the young, the needy, is no aberration; it is, in fact, far more the standard than the human practice, which lingers for decades—

Most of the time.

Johnny has no response. He holds your angry gaze, brows drawn low, mouth pressed into a thin line. It’s the first time that cocky aura, which seems to rest in every fine line on his face and every angle at which he holds his body, is completely absent.

He isn’t reflecting your anger back at you, though—he’s internalizing it. Letting it hit him, you think, and trying to use it to figure you out.

You do not want to be figured out.

You scoff again. “Take me back,” you repeat, and then you start walking in the direction you came, without waiting for him to follow.

Johnny drops you off in the cove, and thankfully does not linger this time before he departs—he bids you farewell after rowing you to shore, contemplation on his face, and then leaves you to yourself.

You retreat, seeking the cottage’s empty quiet.

As you perch on the couch you listen to the radiator hum—the wind blow over the reeds in the thatch roof—your own heart beating a drum in the arteries of your neck.

Percussive. Quick and hard. Like heavy knockers on a door. Pounding as if to burst through.

You realize you’re still wearing Johnny’s jacket, and you throw it off, disgusted with yourself. You get up and pace, and try to ignore it lying in a heap on the floor.

You do something you swore you wouldn’t do the moment you set foot on the island—you turn your phone back on.

True to Johnny’s word, there’s no signal. You picked this island, this part of the world, for a reason; for the past several years, a slow exodus from the British isles has vacated the need for dedicated cell towers or satellite or internet access, especially given that the only ones who remain are too old now to want it or need it or know how to use it.

It’s isolated. Cut off. Left behind by anyone with better options, and only clung to by those trying to preserve the only way of life they know.

Some kinder part of you belongs with that demographic; the part that was telling your mother the truth, before getting on the plane.

The rest of you holds your phone up and starts walking around.

In the furthest corner in the bedroom, you find a single bar of signal. A tiny chip of connectivity—a thin, frayed thread. Something you lied to yourself about cutting.

It’s a weak connection. Unstable. It could take a while—you stand there, waiting.

The screen dims. You tap it again.

Blank.

You unlock it, look through your apps. Wonder if maybe your notifications are bugged by your new SIM card.

Nothing—

No one.

You whip around and, with a cry, pitch the thing at the far wall—it hits the stone with a crunch, falling to the floor in pieces.

You’re out of the cottage then in a mad dash, door slamming behind you, driving yourself back into the wind. Far away—you want to be far away, far from everything, so far that nothing could possibly reach you. You trudge down the path toward the beach, banding your arms across your chest, shivering in the cold, and yet you hardly feel it.

Not worth it. No point. Waste of your time. Energy. All of it. Stop trying. Stop wanting. Nothing. Nothing. You want nothing.

You’re halfway down to the shore, not really knowing what you’re going to do when you get there, when you catch sight of a body on the sand.

You gasp, a sharp breath down your larynx, and freeze in a dead halt.

The body is completely still.

A swimmer? A diver? It’s dark, like it just pulled itself out of the ocean—or washed up—

Then, it moves. A twitch, a ripple across its bulk, and your chest rapidly decompresses.

A seal. It’s a large seal, lounging alone on the beach.

You stand motionless. You’re very close—much closer than you and Johnny had been at the rookery. You hadn’t contended with the sheer size of the animals, tucked safely up and away from them, but there is no illusion of distance now.

It’s the biggest one you’ve seen today, you’re sure of it. Bigger, you think, than most adult men. Its pelt is a riot of every shade of grey, splashy, like liquid paint thrown across a canvas. Black speckles scatter overtop of marbled white and cool slate, and down the center of its back is a broad, dark line, soft at the edges, which reaches all the way up to the top of the seal’s head.

The bull—it must be male—turns over. It lifts its head, and opens its eyes—

Fear suddenly zips up your spine as it looks right at you.

You stumble backward and trip on your own feet, landing hard on your ass. Johnny’s care with keeping enough distance from the colony rushes back to you, along with the warring couple’s bared teeth.

They can’t move that fast on land, right? They aren’t interested in people, right?

You scramble backward. It’s so much bigger than you ever would have imagined. If it got to you—threw itself over you—it could crush you with its weight alone—

The bull watches you placidly. Unperturbed.

You pause.

Its small eyes are dark and glossy—watchful and focused. The whiskers on its muzzle twitch a little as it takes you in. It breathes, deeply and evenly, huge body expanding and contracting at a slow, calm tempo. Its—his—nostrils flex, widening and narrowing, as he blinks docilely.

Unafraid.

If anything—curious.

Then he snorts, and wriggles in place. It startles a laugh out of you, more reaction than humor. Still watching you, the bull lowers his head back down, resting it again on the sand.

Your heartbeat abates. He doesn’t move again—nor does his attention leave you. Slowly, you sit up.

Wary. No sudden movements.

He doesn’t react; only continues to watch you.

You draw your knees up. Wrap your arms around your shins, and dust a bit of sand from your leggings. Rest your chin in the crevice between your knees.

There’s an intelligence in the bull’s eyes that is fathoms deep. There is a massive gulf between his experience of the world and yours, millennia of evolution separating your species from his—and yet…as you hold his gaze, you recognize the look in it.

Him, seeing you. And seeing you see him. The pendulum swinging between awareness of each other, and recognition of that shared awareness.

An empty space in the cloud cover passes overhead; sunlight touches the earth, warms it briefly before disappearing again. You wonder a little why this bull isn’t with the other seals.

Johnny would probably know.

“I didn’t come for you, you know,” you grumble at him.

The seal blinks. Awareness notwithstanding, you don’t share any language.

You sigh. “I guess you didn’t come to see me either,” you say.

But you don’t move away.

And you stay like that for a long while, you and he—regarding each other as the wind breathes out across the shore.

next chapter early access

a/n: follow for more seal facts™

Also huge thanks to Lev for trawler listings/info. Didn't explore it much this chapter but Soap's boat will show up more soon :)

#soap x reader #soap x you #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mctavish x you #john soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x you #soap mactavish x reader #soap mctavish #john soap mactavish #mwritessoap #madi writes #am i happy with the photos i used? no #am i going to make an effort to change them? also no #does that image of a whirlpool look terribly erotic? oh yes #selkie soap #peristalsis

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meazalykov · 3 days ago

Text

mystery

barcelona femeni x lena oberdorf x reader

the team finds out about your potential relationship at the same time as everyone else

the chill of december bites at your skin as you step off the plane, a light fog of condensation forming with each exhale.

cairo airport is filled with activity, a stark contrast to the quiet ache in your chest from leaving barcelona behind for the break. everyone else scattered to their families..alexia to her parents, mapi to her sisters.. ingrid tagging along with mapi.

however, you made a different choice. you texted lena as soon as the winter schedule was released, your fingers shaking with equal parts nerves and excitement as you hit send. her response had been almost immediate:

yes, come to me.

the cab ride to the german resort in egypt feels longer than it is, the traffic weaving around you in a rhythm you can’t quite predict. your mind drifts to her…how her voice sounded over the phone just the night before, soft and inviting despite her latest recovery session.

you remember the way she laughed when you told her you’d packed her favorite chocolate from spain, calling you “extra” with a playful tease.

when you finally step into the lobby, obi is already waiting with lea. she stands near the entrance, her dark shirt hanging loosely on her body, her hair tied back in a simple ponytail.

obi’s eyes light up the second they meet yours, a warmth there that makes the entire journey feel worth it. she doesn’t move right away..her lips curl into that familiar smile, the one that always tugs at something deep inside your chest, and then she steps forward.

“you’re here,” she says, as if she needs to convince herself this isn’t just another late-night call or grainy video chat.

“i’m here,” you echo, your voice quieter, carrying all the weight of missing her and finally seeing her again.

she pulls you into her arms before you can say anything else, her grip firm but tender, as though she’s afraid you might disappear if she holds too tightly. the scent of her shampoo..something citrusy and sharp..mixes with the faint chill on her skin, and you close your eyes, melting into the familiarity of her embrace.

obi’s hands trace soothing lines along your lower back, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades. it’s just you and her, breathing each other in.

“you must be exhausted,” she says when she pulls back slightly, her hands still resting on your shoulders. obi’s eyes scan your face like she’s memorizing every detail all over again.

“i’ve had worse travel days,” you joke, but lena shakes her head, her lips quirking in mild disapproval.

“you never let me take care of you,” she mutters, almost to herself, before lacing her fingers with yours and tugging you toward the elevator.

“no hey for me?” lea jokes.

“how could i forget about my favorite person here!” you laugh, pulling lea into a tight hug.

“hey!” lena says which gets a good laugh out of lea and you.

the ride up to obi’s room is quiet, save for the faint hum of holiday music filtering through the speakers. lena leans against the wall, her thumb absently brushing over your knuckles.

you don’t say much..it’s a comfortable silence, the kind that comes with knowing someone so intimately that words aren’t always necessary.

once inside the room, lena drops her small bag near the small table and immediately turns to you. she’s always been like this…direct, unguarded when it’s just the two of you. she steps closer, her hands finding your cheeks, her thumbs brushing lightly over your skin.

“you’re really here,” she whispers, and this time it sounds more like a confession, a quiet marvel at the reality of it.

“of course i am,” you reply, your voice steady even though your heart is racing under her gaze.

“you think i’d spend with anyone else?”

obi’s smile softens, and she presses a kiss to your forehead before resting her own against it.

“you have no idea how much i’ve missed you.”

you think you do. you’ve felt it in every passing day since the last time she came to barcelona to see you, when you had to say goodbye in the quiet of your apartment, neither of you wanting to let go. you feel it now, in the way her hands linger on you like she’s trying to make up for lost time.

“probably as much as i’ve missed you,” you say, and it earns you that laugh…the low, melodic one that makes your chest feel impossibly full.

“impossible,” she teases, before finally pulling away just enough to guide you to the bed.

you lay down cuddling with her for a brief moment before you have to go outside for more activities. the both of you talk lightly, just discussing things that maybe you guys didn’t on the phone.

she mentions lea and kathi’s terrible jokes during her recovery sessions. there’s a tenderness in her voice whenever she talks about her friends, and you’re grateful her friends has been there for her during the times you couldn’t be since you played in barcelona.

after a night out, where lena djs with her friends while you just sit with lea by the bars in support.. you feel the exhaustion from the trip begin to creep in, but lena seems to notice before you can say anything.

she nudges you gently, her arm wrapping around your shoulders as she takes you back to your shared hotel room.

“sleep,” she murmurs, her voice low and soothing.

“i will still be here, i am just going to the bathroom to get unready.”

maybe five minutes later.. you feel yourself getting pulled into her arms, in this secret little world you’ve built together in egypt while the time lasts.

throughout the next week in egypt felt like a dream. the kind of dream you never wanted to wake up from or escape. you and lena spent days exploring, stealing moments for yourselves, surrounded by her closest friends.

the most thrilling part of it all? riding dune buggies across the sprawling sands. the powerful machines roared as you navigated the uneven terrain, the wind whipping against your face as lena rode beside you, grinning like a kid who just found her favorite candy.

somewhere in the golden expanse of the desert, lea insisted on capturing photos of everyone. lena was her usual reluctant self, but you? you were feeling the sun on your skin, the freedom in the air.

when lea aimed the camera your way, she didn’t even have to ask you to stand still when you started walking so you had your own individual pictures.

the timing of the pictures couldn’t have been more perfect..your hair moved gently in the breeze, and the sunlight painted your skin with a radiant glow, setting you apart from the vast golden orange backdrop of sand.

“oh wow this one’s stunning,” lea grinned, showing the screen to lena first. obi’s eyes lingered on the image a moment longer than necessary, a small, almost imperceptible smile pulling at her lips before she nodded.

“you’re posting that, right?” lena asked, her tone teasing but edged with sincerity.

you did. how could you not? it was the kind of picture that didn’t come around often. within minutes, your feed was getting notifications.

what you didn’t expect was for some eagle eyed fans to piece together that lena and lea had posted stories from the exact same desert in the same hour. while neither of them appeared in your photo, the connection was made…three high-profile football players in the same place, at the same time?

the internet was quick to notice.

still, everything was manageable. until lena, in true lena fashion, decided to break the silence. obi’s comment on your post was simple, direct:

hot

that one word sent shockwaves through your notifications.

suddenly, the noise grew louder. fans were scrambling for answers, dissecting every post and interaction…or lack thereof. you and lena had never made a habit of commenting on each other’s photos, not publicly, at least.

sure, you liked her posts, and she liked yours, but it was subtle. this? this was anything but subtle. you were not mad at lena, in fact, you kind of enjoyed that people were starting to know about this.

the first text came late that night. your phone buzzed on the nightstand as you lay beside lena, who was lazily scrolling through her own notifications.

ingrid.

ingrid: what are you doing in egypt with obi?

ingrid: nothing wrong! i didn’t think that you guys even knew of each other

you stared at the screen for a moment, debating your response. lena noticed, leaning over to catch a glimpse of her old wolfsburg teammate texting you.

“are you going to answer her?” she asked, her voice calm but curious.

“not yet,” you murmured, locking the phone and setting it back down. lena chuckled, pressing a kiss to your lips before tossing your phone to the side.

the texts didn’t stop there. by morning, your phone was flooded…alexia, salma, frido, ewa. all of them had the same question:

alexia: what's going on?

ewa: i see you guys 😏😏

salma: so what are you doing in egypttt!??? 😏😏🤨

fridolina: since when did you and obi start dating?

later, lena posted her slideshow on instagram. a collection of moments from the trip since its your last day here: the sunset over the desert, the group at dinner, her in the pool.

however, it was the last photo that threw everything into chaos. the picture was taken by the dj booth, all of you in one frame. lea stood between phil and fridolin, and lena stood on fridolin’s other side.

there you were, at the end, lena’s arm draped comfortably around your shoulders, your head leaning against hers.

the comments exploded.

HELLO???

wait… are they together?!

obi and y/n?? since when??

HOW DID WE NOT SEE THIS COMING?!

THE HARD LAUNCH OKAYYY

lena smirked at the influx of attention, but you could feel the tension brewing in your phone as it buzzed relentlessly on the table. by now, the barcelona group chat was probably in flames.

you could picture alexia starting her own mini investigation, salma and frido laughing at the absurdity, and ewa typing out a flurry of messages just to be nosey about her old teammate and new teammate being together.

“they’re not going to let this go, you know,” lena said, her tone light as she scrolled through her own growing list of missed calls and texts from her bayern teammates like kathi, tuva, and georgia.

“i know,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair.

“but we’ll figure it out when we get back. you to munich, me to barcelona.”

lena smiled, pulling you closer.

“as long as i have my beautiful sexy girlfriend, then i am okay.”

you giggled.

back in barcelona, a week after you and obi left egypt.. the locker room is quiet as you push the door open, though the quiet feels almost… staged.

your footsteps echo slightly as you step in, and the moment you glance up, you realize why. every single one of your teammates is staring at you, arms crossed, smirks plastered across their faces like they’ve been waiting for this exact moment.

“so,” vicky starts, leaning against her locker with the kind of casual confidence that spells trouble.

“how was egypt with your new girlfriend?”

you roll your eyes, already regretting every decision that led to this.

“good morning to you too,” you mutter, heading straight for your locker, hoping and praying that they’ll let it slide.

they won’t.

salma snickers as she moves to sit beside your locker, her grin way too wide.

“you’re not even going to deny it, are you?”

“what’s there to deny?” you sigh, pulling off your hoodie and grabbing your training shirt. your hands move a little quicker than usual, like if you’re dressed fast enough, they might lose interest.

they don’t.

“what’s there to deny?” ewa repeats, feigning shock.

“you’ve been secretly dating obi, and you think we’re just going to let that slide without asking questions?”

you groan internally but keep your face calm, pulling your shirt over your head and starting on your socks.

“it’s not a secret anymore, is it?” you reply, your tone steady, but the small smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

“how long?” ewa presses, leaning forward.

“and don’t even think about lying.”

you glance up at her, then at the rest of the team, who are all waiting, some sitting on the benches, others leaning against lockers, every single one of them focused on you.

alexia, standing near the door, raises an eyebrow as if to say, you might as well tell them.

“four months,” you say finally, your voice even.

the reaction is instant. gasps, laughter, and a mix of disbelief ripple through the room.

“four months?” frido exclaims.

“and you didn’t tell anyone? not even us?”

“i told esmee,” you admit, earning a collective groan from the group.

esmee turns her head away from the team, hoping to not become the center of the teasing since she didn’t spill your secret.

salma throws her hands up dramatically.

“esmee doesn’t count. she’s your best friend here.”

you shake your head, tying your laces as you prepare for the next wave of teasing.

“obi and i wanted to keep it private for a while,” you explain, keeping your voice calm despite the heat rising to your cheeks.

“it’s long-distance. clearly since she plays at bayern. we wanted to make sure it worked before people started asking questions or… making assumptions.”

that quiets them for a moment, and alexia nods slightly, her expression softening.

“that makes sense,” she says, her tone understanding.

“it’s a lot of pressure, especially with both of you playing in different places.”

you give her a small, grateful smile before aitana pipes up.

“but you’re terrible at keeping secrets, you know that, right?”

the whole room erupts in laughter, and even you can’t help but join in.

“apparently,” you admit, grabbing your water bottle and heading toward the door.

“hey, for what it’s worth,” vicky calls out as you reach the exit,

“you make a cute couple. but don’t think this means we’re done teasing you.”

you roll your eyes but grin despite yourself.

“i wouldn’t expect anything less.”

masterlist

#lena oberdorf #lena oberdorf x reader #lea schuller #barcelona femeni #fc barcelona #woso x reader #woso community #woso fanfics #alexia putellas #salma paralluelo #esmee brugts x reader #vicky lopez

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theglowsociety · 2 days ago

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Self-doubt often creeps in during our toughest moments because pain and struggle can cloud our perspective. When we’re in the middle of hardship, the weight of the moment feels endless, making it hard to see beyond it. Our minds focus on survival rather than possibility, and fear convinces us that the struggle is permanent. But feelings, no matter how intense, are temporary. The light at the end of the tunnel exists, even if it’s not visible yet. In those moments, it’s crucial to remind ourselves that storms don’t last forever, and we are stronger than we think. Progress may feel slow, but every small step is proof that we’re moving forward.

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clockwayswrites · 2 days ago

Text

City Pigeons Bleed Green, Part 26

masterpost this is a first draft, please no editing or concrit <3

“Hey, chum, you’re up early,” Bruce said, his own voice still rough with more exhaustion than sleep. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the mess of black hair as he passed the kitchen table. “Didn’t sleep great?”

Danny blinked up at Bruce. His startled eyes glowed faintly green eyes in the dim, more night than morning light of the kitchen. He clutched his coffee mug like a lifeline.

Bruce pulled his hand away from Danny’s hair and took a small step back. He kept his arms carefully relaxed at his side, palms forward. “I’m sorry Danny, was that too much touch? It’s fine if you feel it was. I was acting on habit, like I would with my other kids.”

“No, um, it was nice. I just didn’t think that you would… we were…,” Danny wiped at his eyes with his sweater sleeve in a jerky, frustrated motion. “Sorry. Just was a rough night, and I guess I’m feeling a little overwhelmed.”

“That’s more than understandable.”

It was only the second day after Danny had told them everything. The kids had spent that first night building an impressive pillow fort and watching movies all night. The day after was basically a game of distracting Danny. It wasn’t a surprise that it was all hitting Danny now.

“Do you need any more coffee?” Bruce offered.

Danny offered up his cup silently and Bruce too it over to the kraft. Coffee with creamer for Danny while Bruce added a splash of creamer and sugar to his own. He took the seat next to Danny when he got back to the table, careful not to step on Ursa, who was sleeping under the chairs, snuggled against Danny’s blue bear.

“Danny, you’re my kid, chum.”

Danny looked down at his coffee. “I’m your clone.”

“You’re a child,” Bruce said gently. “Specifically you’re a child with my genetic make-up. You just have more of it than normal. That doesn’t make you any less my kid. I… can be bad at words. I am, often, especially when it matters most. I say a lot more through actions and touch. I am trying to be better. Danny, you are my kid. This is your home whenever you need it to be, and I love you as much as any of my children. You don’t have to earn or wait for it. Okay?”

“Okay,” Danny said with a sniffle as he scrubbed at his eyes again. “Can I—is it okay to ask for a hug?”

Bruce held open is arms and Danny flung himself into them. Bruce pressed another kiss to Danny’s hair. “More than.”

After breakfast, showering, and more coffee and tea than was probably healthy for one family to consume, those that were still in the house settled outside on the patio. They watched Dick and Danny frolic about with the dogs in the yard; Damian was watching from the sidelines.

“Damian is going to be tackled by a dog soon,” Tim commented, almost absently, as he glanced up from his tablet.

“Yeah, he totally is,” Duke agreed. He was stretched out in his chair, feet up on an ottoman, and half looking like he was ready to fall back asleep.

Bruce smiled slightly. “I’m sure that he’ll manage to survive the attack.”

“After screaming about it,” Jason added.

Bruce nodded in agreement. There probably would be screaming; it would wake Duke up. At least it would be a lively mid-morning. It’s a shame that Danny was still healing, or they could go swimming later. Well, the pool would still be there another day. They had time.

“So,” Tim said. He glanced up from his tablet again to catch Bruce’s attention. “What are your plans about Danny?”

Jason snorted. “So clinical, Timbit.”

Tim flicked Jason off.

Bruce sighed, “Boys.”

“Bruce,” the two of them chirped together, utterly unrepentant.

Bruce valiantly resisted the urge to sigh again. “I’ll arrange a press conference once we are sure that his back story and papers are iron clad. I’m sure that Barbara has already been work on it, along with you, Tim.”

Tim just shrugged, unrepentant. “It seemed prudent to. We haven’t decided anything concrete, though Babs may have started to hack into things in Michigan to have access down the right bread crumbs. We figured sticking midwest was best, even if he doesn’t have much of an accent.”

Bruce hummed in reply.

“What’s going to be your excuse for his scars?” Jason asked.

It was true there would be no hiding them.

“His mother was a casual affair,” Bruce said. He pulled together the threads of a plan as he spoke. “She never let me know that she was pregnant, though after being abroad for a time she did reach out to me hoping to meet up in a few months. I thought nothing of it until Danny showed up. We were old acquaintances but never socially that close. It turns out that she died in child birth before we could ever meet again. Danny went to live with a someone estranged aunt. While the inheritance money from his mother’s estate lasted, things were neglectful but manageable. When it started to not live up to the Aunt’s desired lifestyle, she became cruel and methodical in her abuse.

“Desperate and trapped, Danny started to look for new hiding places in the house. It lead him to finding his mother’s journals. Her thoughts, some old letters, and the occasional picture. He started to put things together. He risked taking his Aunt’s cellphone one evening when she was drunk and looked me up. He made a plan to come this way however he could manage. Enraged at losing her meal ticket, and social standing with him, the aunt went into a rage. She died in a drunk car accident when she drove into a light post the same night Danny ran.”

“Right. You’re scarily good at that,” Jason said after a beat. “I guess then we just go more with the truth. He arrived in Gotham, got stabbed, and ended up on the Bat’s radar. They took care of him of him until he was ready to tell his story and meet you.”

“That’s two more people that we need to make a paper trail for,” Tim grumbled.

“Annalise Linwood. I met her in boarding school,” Bruce said softly as he watched his children play. “I would be seen in her company on and off throughout the years. She had reached out to me for help on how to approach the birth of her child from an affair she was having. The father was a sometimes violent sort who she had used to think she could save. She died in childbirth, as did her child. Her estranged sister was her only living relative after a tragic accident with small aircraft the year before. The sister was reclusive unless she was drunk, or so Annalise had said once. It would be easy to assume she home schooled Danny and kept him out of the social eye. So, no, we just need to fake the paperwork for Danny.”

Bruce could feel Jason’s eyes on him.

“Oh.”

Bruce smiled softly, sadly. “It is changing the story of the dead, but Annalise was looking forward to being a mother. I think she would be alright with it, if it helped a child out.”

“Right, one set of paper trails,” Tim said quietly. “I’ll make sure Babs gets the information.”

There was a sudden shout from the lawn as Damian went down under the weight of Titus. Duke jolted awake and scrambled to not fall of his chair. Jason barked out a laugh as he tried to help catch Duke. Tim took photos. Danny ran over to help Damian, Ursa on his heels.

Yes, Bruce thought, Annalise would be alright with this.

---

an: great, now I'm emotional over a filler oc I made! ;-;

#dp x dc #batpham #city pigeons

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reiding-writing · 2 days ago

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hi. I have been reading all your criminal minds stuff and I just LOVE IT!!! Anyway, my request is a cold!reader x Spencer, were reader gets hurt pretty badly (like veeeery badly) and he saves her. Keep writing, you got talent there!

CRACKED ICE — SPENCER REID!

a foot chase goes awry when a shot takes you down. spencer makes sure you’re alive enough to make it to the hospital.

spencer x cold reader | 2.4k | angst | cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

WARNINGS | reader gets critically shot, unsub also gets shot but not badly, lots of blood mentions

a/n — thank you <333 i need to write more angst for this series i think

The air was thick with the scent of gasoline and rainwater, the streets slick with puddles reflecting the dim streetlights. Sirens wailed in the distance as your boots slapped against the wet pavement.

You were closing in on the unsub now, your breath ragged but controlled, each step pushing you further into the chaos that had erupted only moments ago. The rest of the team was scattered behind you, covering different angles, but you were in the lead.

“Team, status!” you barked into your comm as you rounded a corner, hoping to catch a glimpse of your target.

“No visual,” came JJ’s voice, breathless but steady. “He’s fast—too fast. We need to get him before he gets out.”

You glanced ahead. So many side streets, perfect for a man who knew the area. But you wouldn’t let him get away. Not this time.

“Keep looking,” you ordered, even as you sprinted forward, the adrenaline pumping faster than your legs could keep up with.

Without waiting for confirmation, you veered left, cutting through a narrow alley that wound its way between two old brick buildings. The sky overhead was clouded with the weight of an impending storm, and it was only a matter of time before the rain began to fall again.

Your fingers brushed the side of your gun, just a touch, ensuring it was secured in its holster. You couldn’t afford to hesitate.

The alley narrowed as you sprinted deeper, the sound of footsteps behind you fading as you focused on the task at hand. And then, just ahead, you spotted him.

The unsub.

A tall, lanky figure darted from one shadow to the next, the barrel of a gun glinting briefly as he moved. You had to act fast. You skidded to a stop, pressing your back against the wall of the building to the right, silent and still. You could hear his labored breathing now, closer than ever.

“FBI! Drop your weapon!” you shouted, your voice cutting through the silence.

For a heartbeat, there was nothing but the rain. Then, a flicker of movement.

The unsub was turning, eyes wide with panic. You knew he had a gun, but you didn’t hesitate. You raised your own weapon, fingers tight on the trigger. He was cornered now. There was no escape.

But then, in a desperate last-ditch effort, he spun, his gun coming up in a smooth motion—too fast, too practiced.

The first shot rang out, and you barely had time to register the impact before the world seemed to slow. Pain. White-hot, jagged pain shot up your leg, and for a brief moment, all you could do was stare at the blood blooming through your pants.

You hit the ground hard, knees slamming into the asphalt, but your finger squeezed the trigger reflexively, sending a burst of fire at the unsub. The recoil was a blur, but you saw the man stumble, his shoulder jerking as the bullet grazed him. He stumbled back against the wall, clutching at his arm with a howl of pain.

Your breath was ragged now, your focus on him, not the searing pain in your leg. You pushed yourself to your feet, gritting your teeth as you made the effort to stagger toward him. The alley was spinning slightly, the walls closing in around you as dizziness swept over you. But you weren’t done yet. You had a job to do.

“Hands in the air!” you shouted, even though the words came out slurred. You were close now, so close. The unsub was on his knees, clutching his arm, but his gun was still gripped tightly in his other hand.

“Don’t make me shoot you again.” you warned, your voice growing hoarse as you approached. Your fingers were trembling now, the pain too much to ignore, but you had to finish this. Had to cuff him.

You took another step forward, but that’s when your leg finally gave out. A sharp cry tore from your throat as your knees buckled beneath you, and you crumpled to the ground in a heap, the world spinning faster now.

The unsub—he was moving again, but you were too weak to stop him. You blinked hard, trying to clear your vision, but it was no use. Blood was pooling beneath you now, the sharp taste of metal in the air as your vision blurred at the edges.

The sound of pounding feet grew louder, and then familiar voices cut through the haze.

“Shots fired! There’s an Agent down!” Morgan’s voice was sharp with urgency. “Over here!”

You blinked up at the blurry shapes of your teammates rushing into the alley. Morgan went straight for the unsub, forcing him onto his stomach to secure the cuffs. But Spencer ignored the scene entirely, his focus laser-sharp as he dropped to his knees beside you.

“Hey,” he said, his voice tight. His hands hovered uncertainly for a moment before he pressed them against your thigh, trying to stem the bleeding. “Stay with me, okay?”

“Reid,” you muttered, your voice strained but laced with sarcasm. “You’re ignoring your arrest quota.”

He didn’t rise to the bait. His jaw was clenched, his normally steady hands trembling slightly as he worked. "You’re losing too much blood," he said, more to himself than to you. “I need to—hold on—“

He pulled off his jacket, looping it tightly around your thigh just above the wound. The pressure made you hiss in pain, but he didn’t falter. “This is going to hurt,” he warned, twisting the fabric to form a makeshift tourniquet.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” you bit out, your tone dry despite the agony.

“Keep talking,” he said, glancing up at you briefly. “Sarcasm’s good. Means you’re still with me,”

“Spencer Reid,” you said, pausing to suck in a shallow breath. “Master of the obvious and amateur tourniquet maker. Truly a man of many talents.”

His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile. “You’re going to be fine,” he said, more firmly this time. “The ambulance is on its way,”

“Just let me bleed out,” you muttered, blinking rapidly to stave off the encroaching darkness. “Better that that another stupid hospital.”

Spencer’s expression tightened. “Stop that. You need to stay awake.”

“Your concern is cute, but there are more important things at hand here,” you murmured.

“Not right now,” he snapped, though his voice cracked slightly on the words. His hands pressed harder against your leg, trying to slow the bleeding. “You’re going to make it. Do you hear me?”

You swallowed hard, the fight to stay conscious growing harder with every passing second. “Fuck—“ You take as deep of a breath as you can manage. “Go, fucking cuff the guy already, dig your finger into his bullet hole if that makes you feel better.”

“I’m staying here,” Spencer stutters out a breath of his own, hands still applying pressure against your leg, fingers saturated red.

You snorted, despite the pain, trying to focus on something—anything other than the pounding in your leg. “I didn’t just get shot for you to not arrest this guy, Reid.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed. “I’m not letting you bleed out on me,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tight with concern.

His fingers were trembling slightly, but he kept his focus, muttering to himself about the importance of stopping the blood flow, keeping you conscious, keeping you alive.

“You can’t just… you can’t just ignore the guy,” you protested, even as your head swam and your vision darkened. “He’s still there…”

“Morgan’s handling it,” Spencer interrupted, his voice firm now. “And you’re not going anywhere until I make sure you’re stable. Do you hear me?”

You tried to nod, but it came out more like a half-hearted shake of your head. The world around you was spinning, the sounds of the city fading into the background.

You heard Morgan’s voice in the distance, barking orders as he secured the unsub. JJ was likely talking to the EMTs, telling them to hurry.

And all you could do was lay there, helpless, staring up at Spencer’s face. His wide, concerned eyes locked on yours as he hovered over you, applying pressure to your wound with shaky hands.

“I’m not dying, Spence,” you muttered, your voice thick with exhaustion. “I just… need a second. Just… a second.”

“Don’t close your eyes.”

But you do, and then you don’t have the energy to open them again.

—

The room was quiet except for the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air, mingling with the lingering smell of coffee from the cup sitting untouched on the small tray table by your bed.

When you stirred, the first thing you noticed was the heavy ache in your leg, a deep, throbbing pain that felt like it had settled in your bones. The second was the weight on your hand—warm, steady, and grounding. You blinked, your eyes adjusting to the pale morning light filtering through the partially drawn curtains.

Spencer was slouched in a chair beside your bed, his lanky frame folded awkwardly into the too-small seat.

His head was tilted forward, soft brown curls falling over his forehead, and his hand rested lightly over yours. His jacket was draped over the back of the chair, his tie loosened, and the faint shadow of stubble lined his jaw. He looked exhausted, but even in sleep, his grip on your hand didn’t falter.

You shifted slightly, wincing at the sharp pang in your leg. The movement must have been enough to wake him because his eyes fluttered open, bleary and unfocused for a moment before they locked onto yours. Relief flooded his face in an instant.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice raspy from sleep and tinged with something you couldn’t quite place—concern, maybe, or perhaps guilt.

“Unfortunately,” you croaked, your throat dry. You glanced at the IV drip hooked to your arm and the bandages wrapped tightly around your thigh. “Looks like I survived.”

Spencer leaned forward, his hand tightening around yours. “Barely. You lost a lot of blood. If we’d been a few minutes slower—”

“But you weren’t,” you interrupted, your voice firm despite the lingering haze of fatigue. “You got me here. That’s what matters.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, his brows furrowing. “You scared the hell out of me,” he admitted quietly. “When you passed out, I thought—” He cut himself off, shaking his head as if trying to dispel the memory. “I thought we were going to lose you,”

You offered him a faint smirk, trying to inject some levity into the moment. “It takes more than a bullet to get rid of me, Reid. You should know that by now.”

His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile breaking through his serious expression. “I do. But still…” He glanced down at your hand, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “You need to stop putting yourself in these situations,”

“Occupational hazard,” you replied, shrugging as best as you could while lying flat on your back. “Comes with the badge.”

Spencer didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning your face as if to reassure himself that you were really okay. “The unsub’s in custody,” he said after a moment. “Morgan and Rossi handled it. He’s not going anywhere,”

“Good,” you said, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “At least it wasn’t for nothing.”

“It wasn’t,” Spencer agreed. His voice softened, and he added, almost to himself, “But you scared me. I don’t want to go through that again.”

You met his gaze, the raw emotion in his eyes catching you off guard. “I’m sorry,” you said, your voice quieter now.

“I know,” he interrupted gently. “And I know you’ll probably do it again if it means saving someone else. But just—be careful, okay? Please?”

The vulnerability in his words made your chest tighten, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the right words. Instead, you gave his hand a light squeeze, letting the silence speak for you.

After a moment, Spencer cleared his throat, his usual awkwardness returning as he shifted in his chair. “I brought you some books,” he said, gesturing to a small stack on the table beside your bed. “Thought you might want something to do while you recover.”

You glanced at the titles—an eclectic mix of crime novels, classic literature, and even a few puzzle books. “You think of everything, don’t you?”

He shrugged, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. “I just wanted to make sure you had what you needed.”

You smiled, genuinely this time, and for the first time since waking up, the weight of the past day felt just a little lighter. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he replied, his voice soft but steady.

The two of you sat in companionable silence after that, the chaos of the previous night a distant memory as the morning light spilled into the room. For now, you were safe. And that was enough.

#cold!reader ᝰ.ᐟ #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #mgg #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst

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earlysunshines · 2 days ago

Text

you bewitch me (every second you're with me.)

hufflepuff!danielle marsh x slytherin!fem!reader; angst, fluff

synopsis: danielle is stubborn. that’s a fact. her friends tell her to stay away from you—you’re the epitome of a slytherin and bad news as a whole. but danielle, being herself, does not listen whatsoever, which somehow works out in the end.

warnings: i don't know enough ab harry potter to be writing this ; or maybe i do ; slow burn ; anything that comes w harry potter idk ; reader has terrible parents, reader has LORE ; theyre so smitten and soft for each other im gonna sob ; everyone but hyein are around the same age but lalala older and younger sides of the grade exist ; anything else i didn't mention ; not proofread

a/n: fun fact i am a slytherin but the first time i took a harry potter sorting thing but every other time i got slytherin and i just took one and i am still slytherin so ignore the slytherin hate in this bc its WRONG slytherins r FIRE!!! omg also bruh my obsession with (these types of titles)... they're always dani too LOL. ALSO i rly liked writing this and spent a lot of time this is another favorite of mine.

danielle marsh embodies the spirit of a hufflepuff down to the bone. she’s friendly, easygoing, and effortlessly kind. ask anyone about danielle, and you'll hear nothing but glowing praise for her.

her personality and liveliness are the reason she’s friends with people from other houses. her best friends, hanni and minji, are ravenclaws that were drawn to her radiance from the moment they bumped into each other before being sorted into their houses. five years later, the trio is still inseparable, whether it’s studying, practicing spells, or even mentoring an underclassman they’ve unofficially adopted—hyein.

“so, how was your first week back?” danielle asks as hyein lazily kicks a crumpled-up piece of parchment along the floor.

“ugh, i can’t keep up with professor bae,” hyein groans. “she’s already assigning work during the beginning of the term. mind you, it just started.”

minji chuckles, patting the younger girl on the back. “it only gets worse from there, but you’ll get used to it! you had her last year and you survived. plus, you’re a third year now! third-year transfiguration is much more interesting this year, you actually learn spells that aren’t turning bugs into… bigger bugs.”

“yeah but transfiguration as a whole is going to kill me.” hyein sighs.

“hey! don’t talk like that… i’m always here to help you with anything hyein. professor bae is nice once you get under her skin. she just has a unique teaching style.”

hanni, who’s rolling her eyes at danielle, chimes in, “that’s easy for you to say dani, every professor loves you. even professor seong likes you. he hates everyone.”

danielle just giggles, shaking her head. “well, he’s a tough one, but if you just did his work and participated—”

before she can finish, minji–who’s been walking ahead and distractedly watching danielle—turns a corner and collides head-on with someone. there’s a thud as books clash onto the ground, and minji stumbles back, wide-eyed.

“i’m so sorry—” minji blurts out, bending down to pick up a fallen book before freezing mid-motion.

the person in front of her is you.

y/n l/n.

you stand there, calm and unflinching, though your gaze is sharp as it lands on minji, like a dagger pointed right at her. your expression is unreadable, jaw tightening just slightly as you flick your wand to retrieve your fallen book.

minji opens her mouth to apologize again, but her voice falters.

it’s danielle who cuts in, stepping forward with her signature brightness to interrupt the tension in the air. “hey, excuse me, you just bumped into my friend—”

before she finishes her sentence, hanni elbows her sharply, and your piercing gaze shifts to danielle. for a moment, you study her, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as if searching for something beneath her easy smile.

the corridor feels heavier, and quieter, as you finally give her one last look before walking past without a word. the group is left frozen in place, but danielle turns around to call out for you again.

“hey! excuse—” hanni elbows danielle once more, giving her a serious look.

you don’t even turn at the sound of danielle’s voice. your posture is perfect as you continue to walk, your steps echoing throughout the hall.

“dani, are you crazy?” hanni breaks the following silence, scolding her with a voice that’s barely above a whisper. then, she turns to the oldest of the bunch. “minji, you just—”

“i know,” minji mutters, her eyes narrowing at your figure before you turn the corner, disappearing into the next hall.

danielle blinks, confused by her friends’ reactions. “what’s her deal? who was that?”

hanni spins around, grabbing danielle’s shoulders like she’s trying to shake sense into her. “dani, danielle, are you serious? that was y/n l/n.”

“oh, her? she’s the keeper for slytherin, right?”

“yes, but dani. is that all you—?” minji cuts herself off, her tone urgent before she continues, “she’s the slytherin. like, the epitome of a slytherin. she’s smart, sharp, and cold as ice—allegedly. plus, no one’s ever seen her smile unless it’s during quidditch. i know i haven’t.”

“so?” danielle shrugs, and a giggle slips from her lips. “she’s just like us, no? a slytherin, sure, but still. i mean they always stray from hufflepuffs, i’ve heard some things but i never took them that seriously…”

“you don’t get it, danielle.” hanni then turns to hyein, “i mean i’d understand if hyein didn’t know her, she’s only a second year but we’re literally in our sixth year and you don’t—” hanni groans, gripping danielle’s shoulders tighter. “her family is like, insane. her parents are famous pure-bloods, super influential at the ministry of magic, and filthy rich. their legacy at hogwarts is well-known, they have an effect on some of our curriculum bro. and? y/n is scary. did you see her?”

“she’s not scary,” danielle argues, brushing off hanni’s dramatics. from what danielle saw, you were simply just a girl. a slytherin girl with an intense look and a rude approach to others. nothing crazy. “she’s not all that from what i can tell, not from moments ago and her quidditch matches.”

hanni grabs danielle, hugging her and setting her forehead on one shoulder exasperatedly as she closes her eyes. “you’re crazy, danielle.”

“completely insane,” minji agrees, though her voice still holds a hint of awe.

meanwhile, hyein, who has been quietly observing, adds her own input. “she did seem kinda scary.”

danielle sighs, shaking her head as the group begins walking again. “you all are being ridiculous. she’s just like anyone else, i bet. who cares what her parents do, we’re all equals.”

but even as she says it, she can’t help but think about how your eyes lingered on her, as if peeling back the cheerful exterior to find something underneath. something about it unsettled her—but she’d never admit it out loud.

“i don’t think she would see you as one.” minji admits, biting the inside of her lip. “she’s not friends with any muggles—she’s only interacted with pure-bloods from what i can see. the only person she’s around and actually talks to, maybe even friends with, is haerin, who’s from a very prestigious family.”

danielle understands the implications in minji’s response. danielle is muggle-born, but that doesn’t mean anything to anyone that knows her. she excels in her classes, especially potions and defense against the dark arts. could you really be so uptight to not see that she’s an equal? danielle would be mad, but she seriously can’t believe it.

“well that’s a flaw on her end.” danielle huffs, crossing her arms.

“considering her lineage, what can you do?” hanni sighs.

—

the next morning, herbology feels oddly quieter than usual as danielle takes her usual seat, surrounded by her friends. she glances at the row of ravenclaws and slytherins across the greenhouse, her stare lingering on you before quickling flicking away when minji nudges her.

“are you seriously looking at her again?” minji whispers, raising an eyebrow.

the seating for the class—if not each class—was usually grouped by house, with a few groups of mixed others. minji, hanni, and danielle usually stick together, however. the three are pretty much inseparable, and most are aware of it.

“i’m not,” danielle whispers back, though the slight heat rising to her cheeks betrays her.

danielle has never been that interested in you. she’s aware of your reputation due to a brief overhearing from some other hufflepuffs and a few gryffindors, but she never cared enough since you two were never within proximity. maybe she cared just a bit when you would prevent her house from scoring during quidditch, but it was never that deep.

ever since that encounter, however, her curiosity has definitely piqued. and since she’s a hufflepuff, there’s nothing that could suppress that curiosity.

you stand at the far end of the room, posture as perfect as possible with an unreadable, stoic expression painted on your face. even as the greenhouse buzzes with chatter, you stay just how you are, solitary. she watches you flip through your herbology textbook casually, and yet, it somehow feels intimidating.

on your end, you’re a sentence in when you feel someone's eyes on you. turning to your right, you catch the eyes that you felt, and they’re from no one other than danielle marsh. the same girl from yesterday. you’ve heard of her, but only that she’s like any other hufflepuff, that she’s the hufflepuff.

when professor seo clears her throat, everyone quickly redirects their attention and quiets down.

she goes down a list of names, some of the pairings playing out just how some would like, one of the pairs being hanni and minji. some of them were terrible, such as soobin and beomgyu who would most definitely break something.

but the pairing that really turns heads is the last.

“and lastly, miss marsh and miss l/n.”

the silence that follows is deafening. all eyes flicker between you two, most of them staying on danielle. a wave of whispered speculation ripples through the room, and even haerin, who rarely reacts to anything, looks slightly taken aback. her gaze darts between you and danielle, then lingers on you while she studies your own reaction.

danielle blinks in surprise, her heart skipping a beat. her eyes don’t steer away from you, she’s expecting some kind of protest or hesitation, but you simply gather your materials and walk over to her table with the same unbothered composure. everyone’s eyes follow you.

you place your book on the table, then sit down right next to her. danielle swallows lightly, feeling the weight of your presence. for someone so calm and quiet, your proximity feels overwhelming.

when everyone pretends to get over your pairing, professor seo goes over the lab.

the task is simple enough—repotting mandrakes—but the tension in the air makes it anything but easy. danielle steals another glance at you, trying to make sense of the sharp edges of your personality. you’re intensely focused, your hands moving with practiced precision as you handle the plant with care.

“you’re staring,” you mutter quietly, not even lifting your eyes. this is the first time danielle’s ever heard you speak, and your voice isn’t as scathing as she thought it would be.

danielle jolts, nearly dropping her towel. “don’t get ahead of yourself.”

that gets your attention. you raise a brow, finally meeting her eyes. there’s a beat of stillness between you, the air thick with something unspoken. your expression remains calm, but there’s a clicker of something beneath the surface—maybe it’s interest. maybe,

“you never apologized to minji,” danielle huffs firmly, though her cheeks betray her with a subtle blush. “i mean, you just walked away. like it didn’t matter. you could’ve at least said something.”

you tilt your head slightly, taking her in. her determination is… unexpected, and so is the way she doesn’t shrink under your scrutiny. “i see,” you reply evenly, turning back to the task.

“that’s it?” danielle presses, slight frustration bubbling over despite how composed she seems. “you don’t care at all, do you?”

you glance at her again, your expression still neutral. “should i?”

“most people would.” she counters, her gaze steady now, no longer flustered.

you study her for a moment longer, the corners of your lips twitching just barely. something about her surprises you, catches you off guard. people usually tiptoe around you, wary of your reputation. but danielle doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest. she looks at you as if none of it matters.

no one’s ever looked at you like that, no one other than haerin.

“you don’t care about my reputation, do you?”

“should i?” danielle almost mocks you, her voice firm. “because i don’t.”

for a moment, silence hung between you. your lips twitch again, ever so slightly.

“then care about the mandrake instead,” you simply say, turning your attention back to the plant. “it might cry, and its cry is fatal.”

danielle blinks, momentarily thrown off by how calm you are about everything, but she doesn’t back down. she focuses on the task, her frustration slowly morphing into something else while she planted the other mandrake.

across the room, minji and hanni exchange glances, whispering to each other as they watch the interaction unfold.

“she’s actually holding her own,” hanni mutters, wide-eyed. “she’s insane.”

“i didn’t think she had it in her, especially after we scolded her like that.” hanni replies, both of them utterly captivated.

as the two of you worked in tense silence, danielle couldn’t help but wonder: why did you intrigue her so much now? it’s not like she ever noticed you like that before. maybe it’s because you’ve broken the silence and she’s gotten a glimpse of who you are.

and why, despite everything, did you seem just a little impressed by her too?

—

chatter spills throughout the hallway as class ends. you’re walking beside hyein, her presence comforting and a contrast to the buzz around you two. as you two make your way down the hall, she suddenly starts,

“how was your lab?” she asks, “with the hufflepuff.”

“ah,” you mutter, recollecting everything—from her confrontation to how well she handled the mandrakes. “danielle is… interesting. she’s good at the labs, at least.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.” you hum, “what’s got you so curious?”

“i think everyone is curious. l/n and marsh, what a combination.” a faint smirk pulls at haerins lips, you roll your eyes at her.

a few more steps down, you feel a tap at your shoulder. both you and haerin turn, surprised to find danielle standing there with her a friends a few paces behind her. you tilt your head slightly.

“you’re not as bad as everyone paints you out to be.” danielle says, her voice steady. you swear there’s a hint of mischief in her eyes.

your expression shifts for a split second—just enough for danielle to notice the faint twitch of your features—before you return to the practiced stoicism you wear so well. narrowing your eyes, you tense your jaw, measuring her.

and then, she smiles. not a mocking smile or anything meant to provoke—it’s genuine. warm, even.

a low sigh escapes your lips, your shoulders relaxing by the smallest margin. you glance at minji, who’s right behind her. she stiffens slightly when you make eye contact, clearly caught off guard by the directness of your gaze.

“i’ll watch where i’m going,” you say firmly, voice even, before turning away.

haerin gives the trio a lingering glance—danielle with her bright grin and her friends with their stunned, wide-eyed expressions—before following after you.

as you disappear down the hallway, danielle’s grin only widens. behind her, hanni mumbles, “i have to be dreaming.”

danielle doesn’t reply, her gaze fixed on where you’ve just vanished around the corner. and as you do, aware that you’re not in her sight, haerin starts to speak to you again. “what was that about?”

“i–” you begin, sighing again. “i bumped into the ravenclaw—minji. danielle kept bugging me about it, saying i should care and apologize for bumping into her friend.”

haerin’s eyes widen again, she looks at you in disbelief. “she’s got guts.”

“i know.”

—

danielle marsh really does have guts.

the next day during herbology, professor seo doesn’t assign pairings. instead, everyone has the opportunity to pick whoever they want. minji and hanni usually pair themselves up due to convenience, since they’re in the same house and all. danielle, on the other hand, would pick liz or sunoo, two hufflepuffs she also gets along with quite well.

but something churning in her nerves pushes her out of her seat before she even realizes it. she moves toward the opposite side of the room and no one really pays attention at first, not until it’s clear where her destination is.

she stops in front of your desk. her strong, lively presence makes you glance up and you meet her eyes. she’s staring at you with a neutral expression (though there’s always a very faint smile on her lips) before a small grin forms.

you tilt your head and raise both brows just barely, as if asking her what do you want? through a simple look. it conveys the question perfectly, silently.

“let’s be partners,” she says, her tone casual. the words shock the few that are eavesdropping.

you turn to haerin briefly, who’s watching with mild interest but says nothing, leaving the choice entirely to you.

danielle notices a flicker in your eyes, something she can’t pinpoint.

“okay.” you reply, standing to meet her level as if it were a challenge. she smiles wider, her confidence unwavering, and you exhale just slightly, your jaw loosening.

from there on out, there’s whispers and mutters shared throughout the room. who wouldn’t gossip considering the pairing that was willingly put together?

the task at hand was much more complex now, the duos in the class having to put up with venomous tentaculas. their writhing vines and snapping leaves demand quick reflex and unspoken coordination. you and danielle still had your tension, not knowing each other well, but there was this weird amount of trust. and the trust went a long way, the two of you handling the plants with ease.

when one of the tentacula lashes out, it’s sharp teeth glinting, danielle’s uses a spell to restrain it in an instant. you pause, meeting her eyes briefly, the faintest hint of gratitude crossing your features.

then you return to your task without a word, your hands steady as you document the plant’s behavior.

why did danielle suddenly pop into your life—six years into being at hogwarts?

and why don’t you mind in the slightest?

when the lab ends, you and danielle are the first to finish. instead of going back to her side of the room, she walks over to the slytherin side and sits down right next to you. her curiosity is radiating.

“you’re good with plants,” she says, breaking the silence.

you don’t respond immediately, your attention still on your notes.

“worked with them before?” she asks.

“rarely,” you reply, flat but honest.

“you’re a natural.”

silence stretches out again, but danielle doesn't waver.

“not much of a talker, are you—”

“why are you so insistent on pestering me?” you cut her off, glancing at her finally. your voice isn’t sharp, but it’s more resigned like you’re genuinely curious.

her grin returns, but softer this time. “because i don’t think you’re everything your reputation says about you. and i want to know why.”

you blink, caught off guard, though your expression remains steady.

she’s ridiculous.

her words settle somewhere in your chest, unfamiliar yet oddly weighty.

“what makes you think i’m nothing like what everyone says?” you murmur, looking her dead in the eye and testing her resolve again.

“well, i’m going to need evidence to figure that out.” she says without missing a beat.

you nearly smile at her audacity, but instead, you pick up your quill, turning back to your notes. danielle doesn’t leave, her presence steady beside you, as if she’s already decided she’s staying.

—

haerin meets you back at the dining hall during lunch, sitting down beside you as you look over a few pages in a textbook that professor seong decided to assign.

“you’re always studying.”

“and i’m always top of the class, haerin.” you respond teasingly, one corner of your lip turning up just a bit.

“i guess you’re right.”

haerin takes a bite out of the protein on her plate, some type of seasoned chicken, and you munch on broccoli as you observe your surroundings. near the end of your table, heeseung, one of your least favorite slytherins, is joking around with his friends. he’s probably boasting on about something uninteresting.

past your table is the hufflepuffs table, and of course your look manages to land right on danielle—who’s right across from you, basically. you immediately look away again, down at the book on the table, but haerin is observant.

“danielle.” haerin says simply.

“what?”

“what’s with you two?”

“nothing,” you’re quick to answer her, shaking your head slightly. “she just… doesn’t care about my reputation.”

“i figured. seems you don’t care whether she’s in your bubble or not either.”

“what do you mean?”

“something tells me you’re not against her presence—her.”

“you’re being ridiculous.”

“i’m not. you didn’t ignore her, you spoke to her and agreed to be her partner. why is that?”

you think about it for a second, you can’t pinpoint it. “i— i don’t know.”

“you stuttered.”

“haerin.” you groan, looking at her with defeat. “let’s save this for when we’re alone. please?”

“fine.” she complies, taking a bite of chicken.

you glance at danielle once more, then to haerin, who’s poking at something on her plate. why is she so curious anyway? haerin’s always been nosy, but not in the same way as those pretentious slytherins are. she’s just observant and always wanting to know more. her nature helps her out with that.

danielle’s the first person you’ve let into your life like this, well, not in your life, but in your ‘bubble’ as haerin says. why do you do that? maybe haerin’s playing mind games with you. could it be because you didn’t partner with her? maybe she’s—

“i’m not jealous, by the way.”

woah.

“what? what are you even saying?” you brush her off, eyeing her from the side.

“just curious, not jealous.” haerin repeats. “i don’t mind working with wonyoung at all. if anything, i think it’s great you’re branching out—even after what heeseung did for your rep.”

you give her another good look, watching her turn back to her plate and bite into her chicken almost like a feline.

she’s something else.

—

“i can’t believe you’re willingly partnering with her in not one, but two classes now.” hanni says, half baffled and half amazed as she walks beside danielle.

what she’s referring to is the fact that danielle had decided to pair up with you during potions class. everyone in the class reacted the same way—eyes wide, shushed whispers, and going stiff at the sight of danielle approaching you.

hanni nudges her, eyebrows raised. “seriously, what’s the deal? you’re one of the nicest people i know. that everyone knows. y/n is… she’s, well—her.”

danielle adjusts her bag on her shoulder, shrugging lightly. “she doesn’t seem that bad, and from my time with her she really isn’t.”

“bro, there’s a rumor that she shoved some first year when we were third years because they were in the way. i mean, we’re lucky she didn’t do that to minji. and also, she’s friends with heeseung. you know how he is.”

“those are rumors.”

“sure, but you’d have to be malicious to get a rumor like that. that’s like me pushing hyein because she decided to breathe near me.”

“that’s ridiculous.”

“danielle, her parents are batshit insane.” hanni says a little more seriously. “i’m just trying to look out for you.”

“well i appreciate that hanni, thank you.” danielle says, smiling. “but honestly, i really like working with her. i think we make a great team and… she’s not all that bad.”

hanni stops walking, staring at her as if she just grew another set of eyes. “you like working with her?”

“i do.” danielle stops too, turning to face hanni fully. “she’s focused, efficient, and knows what she’s doing. i mean, did you see how she handled the venomous tentacula last week? she barely flinched. even if she is as evil as you say, she’s a really good student.”

hanni crosses her arms, still unconvinced. “okay, but what about the part where she’s basically nonverbal? or how literally no one in the class wants to go up to her by themselves? not even slytherins.”

danielle laughs softly, the sound light and unbothered. you’re just… quiet. you’re really not that bad, and you don’t have much venom in your tone. you’re like a snake with dull fangs.

“maybe she’s just not used to people actually trying to get to know her. you should give her a chance.”

hanni looks skeptical, but there’s a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes. “you’re telling me you know how to get through her scales?”

“i wouldn’t say that,” danielle says, smiling again. “but i do think there’s more to her than what everyone says. i mean, does anyone really know her?”

“no…” hanni shakes her head, muttering under her breath. “only you would willingly do this. god, i bet you’re just trying to spice up your last years here.”

“maybe,” danielle says, her grin widening as she starts walking again.

—

for the next two weeks you and danielle voluntarily partner up during herbology and potions. you do it because she’s a great partner, and she does it because she just loves to talk to you. sometimes you think that she could make conversation with a brick wall.

your marks are high, and everyone is getting used to your weird dynamic a little more. there’s less shock each time you pair up, less whispers, and less of every look that comes with.

the two of you even grow acustomed to working together, being able to predict the others next move and building your collaboration skills. it’s odd, yeah, obviously. but you’re comfortable and excelling in each task, so who are you to complain?

—

after potions class everyone gathers their materials before heading out. danielle waves to her friends, telling them she’ll meet them later. they look at her skeptically, shrugging and saying goodbye before danielle starts walking over to the exit without them,

you’re halfway out the door when you hear a voice—bright and cheery as usual—then turn to see no one other than your hufflepuff partner.

“hey,” danielle greets, suddenly appearing at your side.

you glance over, surprised, not uttering anything in response. there’s only a slight twitch in your brows, but danielle doesn’t seem to mind.

you both head out together in the hall with your books in your hands while you make your way to the dining hall. danielle starts to speak first, “that class was interesting, don’t you think? professor kim has a unique teaching style that i like very much. and potions in general, they’re cool, aren’t they? wow, the one we had to learn was difficult but cool. the ingredients were all so rare and mingled with one another so strangely.”

you don’t reply, but your silence isn’t unfriendly. you listen instead, the faint twitch of your lips and slight softness in your gaze betraying that you don’t entirely hate her rambling.

danielle doesn’t seem to care whether you respond or not, continuing on, “i think it’s my favorite class—well, maybe tied with herbology. no wait, im lying, it’s definitely care of magical creatures. i loooove animals. what about you, do you have a favorite?”

you don’t answer, and not because you’re being your usual self, but because you’re really trying to think of which class you like the most. to be fair, it might just be defense against the dark arts or transfiguration, classes where you use your wands more. but before the silence can stretch further, and before you can utter something in return, an unwelcome voice cuts in.

“didn’t know you started letting mudbloods talk to you.” heeseung sneers, stepping in front of you with two of his friends behind him. “what are you doing with one of them.”

danielle freezes, her cheerful expression dimming slightly, and something flickers in her eyes–hurt.

a nerve in you tightens. before you can stop yourself, you scoff and deliver a retort without thinking. “none of that concerns you, heeseung. maybe you should focus on balancing on your broom instead.”

he flinches, the sting of your words evident in the way his jaw clenches. he’s known to have a poker face, or something intimidating to most, but you know him like the back of your hand whether he likes it or not. for a moment, he looks like he wants to say something back, but then he thinks better of it.

you’re scary to everyone. even him. especially him. he hesitates before muttering, “whatever,” and brushing it off like it doesn’t bother him. “the team needs to gather to talk about the game tomorrow. don’t keep us waiting because of a mudblood. know your worth, l/n.”

the word ‘mudblood’ tightens your nerve further. you narrow your eyes at him, already annoyed, and he takes the hint, leaving with a muttered curse under his breath.

danielle looks at you, her brows slightly raised. and for the first time you witness her hesitate before speaking, “you’re friends with him?”

“no.” you don’t elaborate on it, instead you give her a glance that lingers for a moment too long. something about the way she looked a little hurt earlier still bothers you, though you don’t know why.

“see you later,” you say politely before turning and heading in the same direction heeseung did.

as you walk away, you feel a strange, nagging irritation—not just at heeseung, but at yourself.

—

haerin watches you stare at the ceiling for about five minutes before deciding to poke you.

“what’s going on with you?”

“nothing.” you lie.

“you’re disassociating.” haerin points out, then moves over to sit at the edge of your bed. “do you want to tell me? or do you want to bottle everything up like always.”

you sit up at her words, giving her a look that has a tinge of hurt and defeat. you look down at your mattress for a moment before looking back up at her. she tilts her head, you sigh.

“heeseung is a prick.” you say, though a little too calmly for your burning hatred for the guy.

“nothing new.”

silence passes on for a few seconds before you continue,

“he called danielle a mudblood right in front of her.” the word doesn’t slip off your tongue easily, it feels wrong just saying it. “what’s wrong with that— ugh.”

“why do you care?”

you snap your head to meet haerin’s gaze. “what? what kind of question is that?”

“one that you should answer.”

“i— i don’t know? you don’t call a muggle a mudblood in front of them. that’s so rude.”

haerin narrows her eyes at you, seemingly studying you. it’s scrutinizing. and almost as if a lightbulb has just lit up above her head, she says, “you care about her.”

“what?”

“danielle.”

“why would i? we— we’re just partners.”

“but you want to be more than that; you want to be friends with danielle.”

you don’t respond, insetad, surrendering under her eye contact. she raises her brows and you lay down in bed again, shutting your eyes.

“she’s… nice.”

“then be friends with her y/n.” haerin urges, “she wants to be friends with you.”

“it’s not that simple—”

“it is. danielle goes out of her way to talk and be with you, but you’re the one making it impossible.”

you don’t even try to argue back with haerin—she’s right after all. it’s just, you don’t know how to do all this friend stuff. haerin’s the only one you could converse with freely due to her similar nature, which is the complete opposite of danielle, who’s the sun, and in contrast, you’re like the moon.

plus, heeseung just made it ten times harder for you. everyone has this idea that you and him are good friends, and that’s only because your parents are good business partners that also happen to have dinner with one another from time to time. this drags you and heeseung into the same orbit, which feeds the illusion of a bond that doesn’t exist..

the truth is, he’s the bane of your existence.

heeseung has been in love with you since your second year, but when you rejected him and decided to show platonic interest in others—he completely ruined everything for you.

not many knew much about you back then, not until heeseung revealed your parents’ connections and influence, your lineage, wealth, and even spread rumors about you. he painted you as some carbon copy of your parents, and people believed it just because of your demeanor. plus, you were naturally smart and had the same look as your father, which added on to the ‘slytherin stereotype’ that everyone placed on you.

heeseung ruined your chance at being even a little normal. he screwed your chances at a normal social life. you lost the few friends you made, it took a long while to make a new friend, a real friend. now he’s called your new potential friend—or even someone you’re able to be casual with—a mudblood.

—

the whole day consists of danielle not being her normal self, not even during your herbology lab. danielle loves herbology.

her signature smile isn’t on while tending to the plants. instead, she’s focused and attentive like usual, but without the liveliness and infatuation. you don’t say anything to help the tension, simply staying quiet unless it’s needed. she utters something here and there, telling you to be careful due to the plants nature and its venom and whatnot.

you want to ask if she’s okay, but it’s out of character for you. what if she keeps giving you the cold shoulder even after that? what if you say something wrong, or maybe—

“hey, be careful with your finger.” danielle snaps you away from your thoughts. “it has a long reach for it’s bite.”

you nod at her. “right, thanks.”

she offers a small smile and it gives you a slight push to keep it up.

…

the thought of danielle being hurt from heeseung’s words gnaws at you even after your class with her. her energy from before lingers in your mind during lunch, and even during your last class before your game.

it’s then that you realize: you cannot play while being this bothered.

and maybe haerin was right, maybe you do care for her. there’s no harm in caring anyway, which leads you to where you are right now.

before the quidditch game, you spot danielle lingering near the stands. her expression is soft, distant, and nothing like her usual self. you can’t bear to see it. something pushes you to walk up to her when no one isn’t paying attention, catching her by surprise as you drag her over to someplace private even though your team is already gathering in the stadium.

“don’t let heeseung’s words get to you.” you say firmly, looking her in the eye. “he’s a terrible person. you shouldn’t take anything he says to heart.”

danielle blinks, startled by your directness and the fact that you have started the conversation and approached her instead. your tone has something in it—sincerity, maybe frustration—that makes her listen carefully.

“you’re a great person,” you add, though quieter than before. “way better than someone like him in every way.” your voice softens when you say it, and there’s a vulnerability in your look. “i don’t want his words affecting you at all. i… i was so overwhelmed because your smile wasn’t as bright and wide today.”

her lips part as if to respond, but no words come out. she’s processing your words, you just called her smile bright? you step back before she can figure out how to respond. your voice drops to a lower register as you finally add, “i have to leave. just… don’t let him bother you. he’s the reason we lose points anyway.”

danielle smiles and your jaw relaxes. with that, you turn and rush toward the pitch, your quidditch uniform swishing behind you. danielle watches you disappear into the crowd of players, her heart thudding unevenly in her chest.

when the game starts, her eyes stay on you. usually she’d be focused on kazuha or jake, two of the best players for hufflepuff, but she’s so intent on watching how you move. your actions are effortless and precise. you’re observant and quick to prevent chasers from scoring; danielle’s never really paid attention to your work on the field until today’s game.

the match is long, intense, and draining. you can hear the crowd roaring with every near miss or scored goal. sweat builds up on your face as you move from goal to goal, not letting a single chaser score.

danielle focuses on you, revelling in the flash of raw emotion when your teammates score against hers or when you manage to prevent hufflepuff from scoring. she wants to see your lips turning upwards up close and in person, not just from the stands.

by the time the game ends, danielle’s admiration for you has grown into something more. it’s undeniable and reeling, something she can’t quite ignore. your talent and unique demeanor inevitably tugged at her, but also the way you saw her. you took the time to spare assuring words, something you wouldn’t do for anyone else. you spoke to her like you were willing to chip your walls down a bit.

—

danielle takes a bigger leap and sits next to you next herbology class. she’s smiling wider than last time, you can tell she’s back to her usual self. it brings a feeling of relief.

haerin is sitting with you and witnessing the whole scene. danielle smiles at her too, and oddly enough the younger girl nearly smiles back. haerin tightens her jaw to fight it.

danielle turns to you, suddenly saying, “you did well last game! but ugh, hufflepuff was so close…”

you look at her and she’s giving you those puppy eyes as she waits for a response, which makes it really hard to stand your ground. you don’t know what to say, how to respond, and really how to formulate a response that’s not boring or generic.

you feel haerin nudging you with her knee under the table, then shoot her a quick glance. she puts her chin on her palm as she raises a brow subtly, but very much noticeable to you. you tighten your jaw before attempting a response.

“barely.” harsh. you wonder if anything you say won’t be laced with something negative.

much to your surprise, danielle smiles, letting out an amused giggle. “wow, is the win getting to you?”

“no.” you scoff, “hufflepuff was barely scoring. they scored twice.”

“how humble of you.”

“it’s just the facts, danielle.” you shake your head, and when you look at her again, her smile is from ear to ear.

she’s successfully created a conversation, and neither of you wants it to stop.

before you both can continue, a loud smack of a textbook hitting a desk is heard. everyone looks toward the front of the room, meeting the professor as she starts the lesson—just when things were on a roll. you bite the inside of your lip in defeat.

—

haerin walks with you after all the classes are done and you both catch up on what’s gone on through the day. the sun hits her skin as a small smile tugs at her lips.

“an underclassman bumped into me earlier,” she says, her voice light with amusement. “she apologized by giving me a pack of gummies and rushing away. she was probably running late.”

you chuckle. “peach gummies… let me guess, you didn’t waste a second before you ate them all.”

“of course not,” haerin replies with a shrug, her tone playful. “finished the whole packet during the class before this.”

you laugh quietly, shaking your head as you turn the corner together. the carefreeness fades. when you and haerin notice a scene simultaneously. much to your dismay, heeseung is at the end of the hall with his two friends you couldn’t care less about. they’re in front of a group of four girls, they all look visibly uncomfortable. one of the girls catches your eye immediately—danielle.

before haerin can even react, you’re already striding forward.

“mudbloods like you,” heeseung starts, stepping up. “need to know their place here.”

you don’t care to hear the rest of what he has to say before stepping in between him and danielle, who he’s in the middle of conversing with, and seemingly size up with him. heeseung is taller to the point where you have to tilt your head up slightly to meet his gaze, but still, he immediately seems to back down when you lower your chin. your eyes drill into his.

“y/n.” he bites down on his teeth, then smirks just barely. your brows furrow and your lip quirks to a faint expression of disgust. he chuckles, looking you up and down. “what, you’ve gone soft for a mudblood and her measly friends? what’s gotten into you l/n?”

“get out of their way.”

“what would your parents say?”

“i’ll cast a spell that tangles your limbs if you don’t get out of my face right now.” you say sharply. you lean a little closer near his ear, nearly whispering, “what would your parents say if they found out how desperate you are to ruin the l/n’s daughter's social life because you can’t handle rejection?”

heeseung watches you pull back, looking at him with nothing but resentment. his smirk slips from his face and he stiffens. he pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, scoffing and tilting his head at his friends before backing off.

as he retreats, you turn back to danielle and her friends, their expressions a mix of shock and relief. haerin looks equally stunned, her brow raised as she observes you silently.

you give danielle one last look before motioning for haerin to continue on with you, but before you can even step away, danielle grabs for your wrist and tugs lightly. the warmth of her skin catches you off guard, and so does the soft urgency in her voice.

“wait,” danielle begins. “thanks.”

haerin is looking at you intensely—from what you can see in your peripheral— which urges you to respond, “heeseung is a parasite. don’t let him talk to you like that.” before gently pulling your hand away from her grasp.

danielle grins again, her expression softening. “hey, you busy?”

“what?” you ask, caught off guard.

“my friends and i are going to study together, wanna join?” her question is abrupt, out of nowhere, and you have not prepared for it. you’re left momentarily speechless. haerin, who has been watching the interaction like a hawk, clears her throat just as one of danielle’s friends—hyein—chimes in.

“wait a second,” hyein says, pointing at haerin. “you’re the girl from earlier! peach gummies!”

haerin blinks, caught off guard. “oh. that was you?”

hyein grins. “yeah. sorry for making you drop your books, and thanks for not getting mad.”

the coincidence seems to diffuse some of the lingering tension. you and haerin exchange a brief glance, silently agreeing to go along with the invitation.

“alright.” you say finally. her friends look a bit skeptical, but danielle lights up.

the group moves to the library, settling into a quieter corner but not without earning a few looks from the odd mix of individuals. books and notes are spread across the table as conversation flows between the girls. danielle ends up sittign across from you, her focus flitting between her work and sneaking glances your way—just to make sure you’re doing alright, that’s all.

meanwhile, haerin and hyein hit it off unexpectedly, their conversation sprinkled with playful remarks about their earlier encounter.

the quiet hum of the group’s murmurs and faint rustle of parchment as you all settle into conversation in between studying. haerin and hyein are seated across from each other, fully engrossed in a lighthearted debate about their favorite snacks.

“peach gummies are the best,” hyein insists, tapping her quill against the table for emphasis. minji raises her brows at the loud noise. “sorry—” hyein apologizes, “but anyway, they’re fruity and chewy—what could top that?”

haerin tilts her head, her expression as composed as ever. “they’re good, but i like the caramel sweets better. they’re something to savor during boring lectures, and they taste great with many things.”

hanni, sitting beside hyein, chimes in, “okay, but chocolate frogs? iconic, come on now.”

“overrated,” you say without looking up from your notes.

you shrug, looking up now with a smirk threatening to form. “milk chocolate is too sweet. dark chocolate has more depth.”

minji nods in agreement. “she’s not wrong… dark chocolate is way better.”

hanni narrows her eyes playfully. “this is such a slytherin take. dark, less sweet, come on.”

you raise your brows in mock offense, leaning back in your chair. “slytherin? really?”

danielle giggles softly, and the sound draws your attention for just a moment. it’s light and warm, and you find yourself nearly smiling—something small, fleeting. but danielle notices, her gaze lingering on your with a touch of awe like there’s a slight sparkle in her eye. it’s as though she’s just uncovered a secret.

the conversation shifts back to haerin and hyein, the youngest of the bunch, while the upperclassmen actually study.

“you’re so pretty, it’s unreal.” hyein says suddenly, her voice filled with sincere admiration. “teach me.”

haerin blinks, caught off guard, but her lips curve into a small, genuine smile. “that’s… sweet of you to say. no one’s ever said that to me.”

her rare smile draws a full grin from you. haerin’s reserved nature mirrors your own, and seeing her relax enough to enjoy herself feels strangely gratifying. and the fact that someone else has complimented her so sweetly when no one else dares to do so, it deepens the turn of your lips. hyein is such gryffindor material.

only danielle catches you smile, her chest tightening as she observes the once-in-a-blue moon sight. it’s warm and brief and a flicker of something unguarded—vulnerable—but to her, it’s mesmerizing. it makes you even more admirable. if she could frame the moment, she’d do it in a heartbeat.

(that must be weird, danielle thinks. there’s fireworks going off in her head, for some reason.)

“alright,” minji says, breaking the moment with a teasing grin. “but seriously, if we’re ranking snacks, the red bean dorayaki is so on my top five.”

the conversation continues, lighthearted and easy, but danielle can’t stop thinking about how lovely your smile is, even if it was fleeting. her heart flutters for some strange reason.

the chatter fades into the background as you push back your chair and stand, brushing off a stray crumb from your knitted sweater. “i’ll be back,” you mutter, directing the comment vaguely toward haerin, who briefly glances and nods.

the quiet of the library reaches a near silence as you navigate the towering shelves, the scent of parchment and ink filling the air. your fingers trail along the spines of books as you scan for the title you need. it doesn’t take long before a familiar presence is felt by your side.

danielle steps into view, her footsteps light as she comes to stand beside you. she doesn’t say anything at first, just mirrors your movements, her gaze flitting over the shelves as if she’s searching for something as well.

you glance at her, surprised. “need something?”

she shakes her head, her lips curving into a small smile. “just wanted to tag along.”

you hum, not entirely convinced, and return to scanning the shelves. when you spot the book you’re looking for, you reach out to grab it, your fingers brushing against the rough, aged spine of the book.

“you’ve got a lovely smile.” danielle says suddenly, her voice soft and clear as day.

the comment catches you off guard. you turn your head sharply to look at her, your fingers still resting on the book. you heard her perfectly, but still respond, “pardon?” and maybe it’s because you don’t believe it.

“you should smile more,” she continues, her tone casual as her fingers glide across a line of books. there’s a hint of sincerity in her eyes when she meets your gaze again, her finger landing on a text with a leather spine. “it suits you.”

heat rises to your cheeks and there’s nothing you can do to stop the faint blush spreading across your face. unfortunately for you, the light from the large windows at the end of the aisle shines on your features and gives danielle a perfect view of your flustered state. you quickly pull the book off the shelf, turning so danielle can only see the side of your face in an attempt to cover your reaction.

danielle’s smile widens, her eyes filled with amusement. “that’s cute,” she teases, tilting her head slightly. “didn’t know you could be so shy this easily, miss slytherin.”

you huff, avoiding her gaze as you tuck the book under your arm and start walking the other direction. danielle trails behind briefly, then falls into step beside you.

“we never got to continue our conversation about your game,” she says, sparking conversation.

you roll your eyes, though your lips twitch with the threat of a smile. “slytherin won. it wasn’t even close.”

danielle gasps in mock offense, clutching at her chest as if you’ve just knocked a bludger toward her. “are you always this insufferable? maybe the rumors about you are true…”

insufferable? if anyone else were to utter those same exact words, you’d spell them. but danielle earns a small chuckle. “only when hufflepuffs make it easy,” you reply smoothly, glancing at her out of the corner of your eye “your seekers and beaters were having trouble—so were your chasers.”

she narrows her eyes at you, but the playful glint in them is unmistakable. “we’re going to destroy you in the next match. kazuha has just been… out of it.”

“right,” you drawl, the corners of your mouth tugging into a toothy smile. danielle has the same exact smile when she notices yours.

as the two of you stroll through the aisles, your conversation flows naturally (but still quiet and on the reserved side), dipping between friendly jabs and earnest remarks. danielle is still talking much more, but you’ve always been on the quieter side, the dynamic fits. besides, you like listening to her—you could listen to her for hours, you think. the tension from earlier dissipates, replaced by something comforting and quiet that feels easy.

for a moment, as danielle laughs at one of your dry comments while approaching the group's table, you wonder how she manages to make even the smallest moments feel magical.

…

you and haerin nod your heads at the others before parting from the group and walking toward the slytherin commons. you notice a small smile from haerin as you two walk back, but you don’t mention it. it seems that haerin’s found a friend, someone other than you. someone other than superficial, stuck-up pure bloods in your house.

meanwhile, danielle and her group walk with hyein to drop her off at her common room first.

“y/n isn’t that bad, actually.” hyein says throughout the conversation. “and her friend is cool, i like her. i think we can be great friends.”

minji nods. “maybe danielle was right. she’s… really normal. nothing like the rumors…”

“yeah, even i felt kind of at ease. she just kept to herself most of the time. it seemed like she was just there to… i don’t know, be with us. she didn’t mind it.”

danielle beams, “i told you! she has some of those slytherin stereotypes, but she’s really sweet.”

“maybe you’re not insane.” hanni snickers, grinning at her best friend. “i’m down to hangout with her and the fifth year she’s friends with.”

the group continues on, dropping off hyein before they walk danielle last since hanni and minji are in the same house. when danielle is inside, she returns to her bed and lays flat for a bit. she reminisces, enjoying the alone time she had with you and your stance in a group setting. you’re quiet, and observant. that makes you all the more interesting—especially when you decide to speak.

danielle’s spirits are lifted at the prospect of having someone like you in her life.

—

as the year continues, both you and danielle grow closer.

she learns to slither under your skin, getting you to open up more than before. it starts with the little things, like you admitting that you could care less about certain topics in herbology, visibly showing your annoyance whenever you see heeseung, and even telling danielle brief anecdotes about him during your younger years together. she learns your favorite color, and how it’s actually the color yellow, which might be the reason you’re so tolerant of her. she learns that you’re a sucker when it comes to your pet cat, and that the rumors of you having a venomous snake are completely wrong. she learns a lot about you, but nothing is that deep or personal.

(“he’s shy. he doesn’t like to leave my bed, but he always gets his exercise walking around the commons when everyone is away.” you explain.

you pull up a small picture you keep with you at all times, a small square photo of your black cat. the quality of it is alright, but it’s enough for danielle to notice how green your cat’s eyes are.

“that’s a slytherin cat.” danielle says firmly, clicking her tongue. “everything about him screams it.”

you chuckle lightly, rolling your eyes. “and what if he’s a hufflepuff?”

“then i’d take wonderful care of him.”

“i don’t think haerin would like that… she gets jealous.”)

you learn more about danielle too, like how she has an older muggle sister back home with a passion for music, her grandparent’s dogs that she misses, her parents whom she cherishes. everything about her upbringing screams loving, which is probably why she’s full of love herself. she tends to drop stories during herbology about her scary encounters with the plants you deal with, and stories about how it took her a while to get over her fear of being a witch.

“odd things would happen to me while i was in primary school,” danielle says one morning as you walk to class. “books would float, i could see fairytale-like animals—weird stuff. then i got a letter from some school in scotland—hogwarts—and now i’m a witch.”

you nod, and she continues. that’s how it usually goes.

“i was so scared. for a moment i thought i lost my whole life because i was able to use magic. i mean, i didn’t know a single person who was a witch or wizard. i think i sobbed my eyes out the night before getting on the plane here. they were so puffy the morning after.”

you frown, looking at her with concern. “really?” you ask.

“yeah.” danielle admits. “i decided that there wasn’t anything i could do, i mean, i accepted it—i willingly went to hogwarts after all, even if it was new and terrifying. it felt so scary but so… right? eventually i really wanted to be a witch, but i also had so much fear in my bones. but hey, i put on a smile and made some good friends here. you can’t get over your fears without friends, no?”

“i—” you never really had that many friends until danielle. even before her, it was just haerin. maybe she’s right. “i guess so.”

the two of you walk into potions together, settling into your usual seats by the window that always shines perfectly on danielle. the slight frizz of her wavy hair stands out in the afternoon sun, and her brown eyes light up the room. something you’ve realized after being friends with danielle is that she’s a wonderful sight.

“hey, danielle?”

“yeah?”

“how far is your home? i don’t think i’ve ever asked.”

“you couldn’t tell by my accent?” she teases. “i’m from australia. not too far from sydney actually, a city called newcastle.”

you freeze. “what?”

“newcastle, it’s a bit north—from sydney i mean.”

danielle tilts her head as she notices the change in demeanor. it looks like you’ve seen a ghost, which, isn’t anything special in hogwarts. scratch that, it looks like you’ve just seen a dementor. she turns around to see absolutely nothing, then turns back to you, who seems a bit out of it.

“hey, you alright?” danielle questions, placing her hand on yours and leaning forward slightly.

the warmth radiating off her hand snaps you out of it immediately. you nod, then stare at your hands a bit too long. “y-yeah, i just, i just remembered something.” you choke out. “sorry.”

“aw, it’s nothing. i thought you saw a ghost, or something scary like a dementor.”

you smile softly, shaking your head and turning to your parchment. “right.”

other than being closer to danielle, you’ve also built a bond with her three friends. you and minji have a very friendly dynamic, with you two treating each other as academic equals—even playful rivals—due to your high markings. hanni, on the other hand, got comfortable with you as soon as she realized there was nothing to be scared about. hanni is known for being a tease, to you and minji especially. and hyein. hyein certainly is something else. she’s this ball of energy that even danielle can’t keep up with sometimes. she’s bright, cheerful, and somehow exactly what haerin needed to start opening up—being her true self. haerin talks more now, even laughs, and it’s mostly because of hyein and the rest.

the change is unexpected and scary, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world. sure, others are critical and still surprised even when winter break nears, but you don’t mind. they’re still scared of you anyway, mainly because heeseung is trying to tear you down. as long as you have you friends.

for the first time in your six years at hogwarts, you truly feel at home. you feel alright—to an extent.

—

the end of the term is in less than two weeks, which means everyone will be home for the winter.

your ‘home’ isn’t really all that. there’s no family that awaits, only maids and butlers that greet you with the most respect possible. they’re lovely, of course, but going back to a monotonous life after a life-changing semester brings your spirits down.

it’s not hard to hide how you feel, but when it’s danielle, it’s much more difficult. she can notice the slightest change in your mood just by the twitch of a lip or the octave of your sigh. she’s attentive, especially when it comes to you.

which is why she’s off to find you not too long after you leave early from a study session, a flicker of hesitance in your features when you were packing your things.

danielle can’t reach you when you’re nowhere to be found, and she can’t ask anyone since they avoid you like you’ll snap any second. she checks near the entrance to the slytherin commons, then some of the halls, and even the classes you two have together. danielle ends up with no sight of you.

not even a second later, a location pops up in her mind,

you always mentioned how much you liked astronomy, even if it wasn’t your favorite. you’d mention how often you frequented the astronomy towers to clear your mind and have some peace when you were troubled, and how it was your favorite spot on campus.

and when she arrives, it’s not much of a shock that you’re sat down staring out at the sky.

she walks over and sits next to you, and it seems that you don’t mind from the way you keep staring out at the clouds painted by the sunset.

“i was looking for you.” danielle says softly, looking out in the same direction. “why’d you leave so early? i missed you. i wanted you there, i always do.”

the words hit your heart weirdly, like daggers being pushed into it but it doesn’t hurt in the way it should. it’s… nice?

you don’t respond for a moment, swallowing shallowly before ending the silence. “i just needed to think.”

“about?”

“too much.” you mumble. there’s too many things racing in your mind: going home, the possibility that your parents will be there, being away from danielle—that one is the worst—and newcastle. newcastle has been lingering in your mind for a while and it’s because of loosened ties. “is your hometown nice?’ you ask out of the blue, catching danielle off guard. “what’s it like?”

“why do you ask?”

“just curious.”

danielle scoots closer so your shoulders brush. she continues to look out as she explains, “well, it’s beautiful. the people are lovely, and the coast is jaw-dropping. i especially love the nature. and also being with my family. i can’t wait to go back.”

a smile graces your lips, it’s bittersweet, sad, and all too much. “that sounds nice.”

“yeah. it is.”

a stretch of quiet takes place, one that danielle doesn’t interrupt. the moment seems too intense, and she can sense that you need it.

“i’ve always wanted to go.” you say quietly.

“you should.”

…

“danielle.” you start again.

“hm?”

“when you told me you were from newcastle, i felt a wound open.” you begin, turning to face her now. “someone i—someone i know lives there.”

“oh,” danielle meets your eyes—-there’s regret and longing. “is that so?”

“yeah.” danielle reaches over for your hand, holding your fingers in her small hands as if she knows whats going on in your mind. you take a deep breath before continuing, “someone i need to apologize to.”

“what?”

“some of the rumors are true, you know. i had a habit of pushing others away, usually not in the nicest ways.” you purse your lips. “i was… i was cruel. until you came into my life i just… i don’t know. i was worse than i am now.”

“y/n…” danielle holds your hand a little tighter, squeezing it reassuringly. “it’s fine.”

“i used to have a thing against muggles. there wasn’t a valid reason for it, i just did.” you admit, your voice so fragile with regret that even the slightest sound could break it. “i’m sorry. it eats up at me, what i used to think and even say sometimes. ever since i met you it’s just… been a guilt weighing me down.”

“that’s not the case now though.” danielle assures. “it’s okay. i know there’s a reputation for muggles that isn’t the best, but as long as you’ve seen through that… it’s okay.”

“are you sure? could i really be changing?” you suddenly ask, vulnerability taking over. “i’ve spiraled so much these days. i keep thinking about if i’ve changed enough, if i deserve to be friends with the rest and most importantly you.”

“y/n, what are you even saying?”

“i don’t know.” you sigh, putting your face in one hand. “sometimes i wonder if i should be able to even be friends with you guys—minji, hanni, hyein, haerin—mostly you. i’m just… i’ve made a lot of mistakes, danielle.”

“and you’ll make a lot of memories to make up for those mistakes in the future. you can’t be stuck on your past.” danielle says, taking your hand off your face and making you look directly at her. “it’s okay, y/n.”

you look at her in a new light now. the words come out of her mouth softly, comfortingly. it seems that everything will be okay because of the way she speaks. and the look in her eyes, the sudden movement of her hand cupping one of your cheeks—it makes you see her differently.

before your sixth year with her, your heart was parched. dry. dull. it’s like a wave of something warm and soothing has washed over it, giving it a reason to pump and feel.

“thank you.” you practically breathe out after staring at her in awe. you shake your head now, retracting from her out of instinct. “i’m sorry, i don’t know what got into me.”

“it’s okay to feel.”

“i know, i just—” you cut yourself off, deciding not to finish your thought and instead responding, “i can’t believe you walked all the way up here.”

the astronomy tower isn’t hard to reach. the top of the tower, where all the pretty sights and rougher winds blow are. it’s late now, the sun nearly hidden by the horizon, the winds ruffling your hair a bit more noticeably—and danielle is right there with you. did she really walk up all this way just to see you?

she shrugs. “it’s not too bad.”

you chuckle to lighten the mood. “i’m not letting you walk back down—not at this hour.”

“well i figured i’d walk down with you.”

“so you came here without knowing for sure that i’d be here? danielle…” you sigh, standing up and walking over to your broom standing up against the stone. “let me take you down.”

“on the broom?”

“would you rather we jump off…?” you question with a slight teasing tone.

danielle rolls her eyes. “you’ve got jokes.”

“i’m still learning.” you say before motioning her over. your broom hovers and you get on, using the tilt of your head as a signal for her to get on. she sits behind you, her hands immediately snaking over your waist and linking with one another to tighten her hold. you feel your stomach doing all sorts of twists and tricks, so you laugh to cool your nerves. “scared?”

“no,” danielle is only lying a little.

“i’m here. just hold on tight.” you look back at her, giving her a reassuring look. she smiles, putting her head on your back and squeezing tighter.

“i trust you.” she mutters into your robe.

you nod, taking off slowly, but picking up the pace shortly after. instead of darting straight down, you take a more leisurely route over the lake, which urges danielle to pull away just a bit to get a glance of the moonlit river. she smiles as you hover over the water, your reflections rippled on the surface. how wonderful, danielle thinks.

she rests her head against you again with much more comfort and less stress now. she uses you as a sort of pillar, a headrest as she holds onto you. you smile when you feel her arms tighten, not wanting the moment to end.

it doesn’t take long before you reach a certain window near the hufflepuff commons, helping danielle off and into the building. she dusts her robe as she glances back out, giving you a bright smile.

before she closes the window, she peeks her head out. “i enjoyed that, thanks.”

“yeah, no problem.” you say, adjusting your seating on the broom.

danielle holds onto the window frame before she adds, “you can always talk to me, y/n. i care about you more than you know.”

your lips purse into a smile, your jaw relaxes, and you nod. “yeah, thank you. i hope you know that i feel the same.”

and with that danielle grins widely, before closing the window, leaving you outside and in place for a good minute to process everything. you think about how easy it is to be vulnerable around her, how easy it is to be you, and how content you’ve been feeling ever since she’s been in your life. it’s then that you realize what you feel for her is too strong to keep in the back of your mind. and it’s just as scary as it is strong and overwhelming.

—

when finals come around, you’re spending a lot more time away from danielle with your head in the books. this isn’t only because of finals, it’s also because you’re going to have to go home soon. “home.”

the cherry on top is that heeseung is coming with since your parents are going to have dinner together, catching up and discussing the term—but mainly business. you don’t need any spell or scroll to predict your future, you already know there’s only sorrow ahead. so for now, you’ll focus on passing your classes, mainly so you can have some time with danielle.

throughout this time, you and danielle share a lot more moments alone. walking in the empty halls after class, meeting before quidditch matches, and even when you’re not physically next to each other, there are those shared, knowing moments of eye contact from across the dining hall.

the worst moments, though, are during quidditch matches. you figure she’s doing it on purpose, to distract you with her big, brown, and sparkly eyes so hufflepuff can score. second to this might have to be during class presentations; sometimes you’re up in front of the class and folding just because danielle’s eyes meet yours.

but now that’s come to and end, since finals are all over and everyone is stress free for the break. everyone but you.

danielle makes you forget that you have to go home with heeseung tomorrow. she’s dragging you by the hand, her skin soft and warm as always, and leading you somewhere ‘special,’ as she says.

“it’s way better at night,” she says matter-of-factly. you chuckle, following her down a little trail that’s on a hill right outside the woods.

she sits down right on a big boulder, scooting over and patting down space for you before looking right up at the sky. the stars are scattered over the dark landscape, shining and dimming right before your eyes. you glance back at danielle for a moment, noticing how she shines just a little brighter than anything up there.

“at my house there’s a balcony that gives a really great view of the stars, the city, and everything that’s pretty.” you break the silence. “i live in oxford, so there’s always something going on in the town. lights still shine in the streets, sometimes i can hear the faint tune of street music from my house that’s up on the hill.”

“that’s lovely y/n.”

“yeah, but,” you look down at the gravel under your feet. “that’s the only good thing about home.”

danielle frowns, grabbing your hand with hers. “hey, maybe one day you can come over to my hometown. maybe this summer?”

you smile at the idea, being with danielle someplace far from home. anywhere with her would be nice. “i’d like that.”

she sighs happily, leaning on your shoulder and tensing up a bit. “it’s cold.” she giggles, “still haven’t gotten used to the winters here. it’s never colder than ten degrees back home, and that’s in the winter. when i go back it’ll probably be twenty degrees minimum.”

a small frown takes over, you slip off your slytherin scarf and adjust it to cover danielle a bit more. it fits her quite well. “keep this on for now. i’m, um, used to this weather since i live in england.”

“did you always live there?”

you shake your head. “no. i’ve moved around a lot because of my parent’s work, but it got tiring. they purchased a place for me.”

“all for you?”

“yeah. i…” you don’t know how to word it. “i guess they just care about me when i’m doing something that fits their image. oxford is very academically rich so… they thought i’d flourish there, kinda.”

“y/n…” danielle frowns, moving her head away so she can look at you with a sort of pity. you’re not really fond of the look until she holds your face in her hands and it’s far too intimate to the point where your heart is beating against your ribs. “parents shouldn’t be like that.”

you don’t respond, instead tearing up just a bit. danielle sees your waterlined eyes, then pulls herself closer to embrace you in a hug. you freeze in the moment, but immediately after you completely melt against her. your hands press into her curly hair a bit, your nose in the crook of her neck as you sigh,

“i don’t want to be away from you, danielle.”

“then come with me.”

“i can’t.” you say defeatedly, feeling your heart sink.

—

the next day, danielle gives you a big hug in front of heeseung before you two depart. heeseung grills you about your friendship with a “mudblood” the whole way back to your home. it’s not the longest journey back on the train, but every second spent with him around makes you want to cast a menacing spell.

and when you arrive back at your place with heeseung trailing behind, you speedwalk toward the entrance and head to your room as quick as you can, eager to stay away from him. you get at least two minutes of peace before it’s interupted again, hearing someone shout your name from the first floor.

you walk down the steps hesitantly, now clad in more formal attire. you’re met with your parents, who don’t even smile at you, and heeseung’s as well. you nod at them politely, moving over to stand beside your parents before everyone meets at the dining table.

not a word is uttered from you the whole dinner. heeseung sits across from you, which makes the expensive dish on the table unappetizing. your parents discuss some business, something about funding for the ministry of magic and hogwarts—you could really care less.

you’re snapped out of your thoughts when your name is suddenly called, shooting your head up at the person who said it: your father.

“i would assume your term has been going remarkably well, yes?”

you nod.

“top of the class?”

you nod again.

“you should ask her about her social life, sir.” heeseung butts in, making your head turn sharply at him. you meet his eyes, which are piercing right through you. don’t, you try to say silently. heeseung simply smirks, taking another bite of his steak. “she’s made new friends.”

“is that so?” your father says with a hint of venom. “that shouldn’t be a problem, unless they’re distractions.”

“they’re not.” you assure firmly, biting the inside of your cheek.

“a muggle.” heeseung practically spits. “she’s made a muggle ‘friend.’ a hufflepuff, might i add.”

everyone at the table has their attention on you now, confusion and near disgust in their features.

“what are you doing talking to such individuals?” your mother scoffs. “a hufflepuff? why are you wasting your time talking to those at the bottom of the chain?”

“they’re not.” you reply with a surge of confidence. “they’re driven and excel in their classes. this ‘hufflepuff’ is more of a wizard than half the stuck-up slytherins.”

“pardon?” your dad says, seemingly seething. “how dare you speak on your own house like that?”

“are you mad at me for telling the truth? how about you ask heeseung about how he’s been doing in his classes—or how he never fails to give up points in quidditch.” you say angrily, standing up now. “don’t act like you care about me in the slightest when i’m just a mere business strategy, something to keep the family name going.” you set your utensils down, pushing your chair in before walking off. “i’m leaving. thank you for the dinner.”

—

you get into a heated argument with your parents after, something about how you’re too pure for muggle filth. it disgusts you, makes you want to throw up. they tell you that you need to focus on your studies and stop fooling around, and you respond with silence.

an even more severe argument with heeseung starts not so long after. your wand had been at his throat, your words deathly, threatening. he’s never seen you so serious, and you’ve never seen him so scared. it was quite a start to your so called ‘break.’

the rest of the winter was spent alone. your parents left with a disappointing energy lingering around them, one that made the maids and butlers shiver. you didn’t mind, though, because what could they do to you? not much, for sure.

you spend time painting, a little hobby you picked up as a kid when studying became boring and repetitive. it was your comfort zone, something you could do for hours on end and the best part about it was that you were quite excellent with the brush. and through everything you were doing to pass time, danielle was on your mind. you missed her, you missed her more than anything and it physically pained you.

—

one night, just past the middle of the break, an owl shows up at the balcony you had told danielle about. you’re stargazing when the brown feathered bird shows up holding an envelope, dropping it on the ledge before departing with a chirp.

you quirk your brow, reaching for the envelope and opening it curiously. there’s a colorful piece of paper inside with a variety of stickers adorning it. you smile softly—maybe the first smile the whole winter. well, other than when you would catch yourself grinning while thinking about your memories shared with your friends, with danielle.

the letter reads,

hi y/n! i hope you’re doing well :)

i miss you a lot! so much. i’m back home spending time with my family, some old friends, and hanging out near the coast or the little trails. i often find myself thinking about you, if not all the time. i wish you were here right beside me. but we’ll see each other again soon!

i hope you’re doing well, tell me how oxford is! i heard it’s quite scholarly over there, haha. i told my father that you live there and he looked shocked! he seemed in awe. i really hope you’re alright, i wish i were with you.

the main reason i sent this was because i couldn’t stop thinking about you. it feels off being without you. let me know how you’re doing, i hope this reaches you well. newcastle is pretty far from oxford, but this owl (according to a wizard i met at the post office—the magical one, of course) is quite the traveler. apparently that little guy can travel across the world in just a day! how wonderful is that?

anyway, after you’re done reading this, i hope you’ll send a response back. i miss talking to you, i miss you (as if i haven’t said it enough). let me know how your break is.

yours truly,

danielle marsh <3

p.s. there’s some pictures i took on the disposable! and i snuck a little timtam in there–an australian little treat. it’s dark chocolate, just how you like it miss slytherin ;)

a wide grin spreads across your lips as you read through, and then you read it again, and again, and again… lingering on each moment she says “i miss you.” and that’s truly because you miss her too, maybe more than she misses you.

you pull out the other items in the envelope, three pictures that all have little notes on the back. the first image is the beach, it’s beautiful and bright. it reads “my favorite place :)” on the back.

the second image is of a town. there’s buildings and shops in sight that glow in the sun, and everything about it seems warm and comforting. on the back, it says “a lovely place for a stroll and some yummy ice cream, crepes, acai bowls—really anything sweet and delicious! they have a place that sells some wizarding food, but it’s only accessible to people like us. i went in briefly, they have chocolate frogs!”

and finally, the third image is just a picture of danielle with some slim fit jeans on, a slim fit t-shirt, and a denim hat posing with a peace sign. she’s smiling brightly, making you do the same, even chuckling. the background displays some sort of body of water, maybe a lake, and the sun is setting in the background. you can’t help but stare a little longer at her, thumb brushing over her face lightly.

“when i took this, i imagined you right there next to me. that’s why my smile is so bright.”

the maid catches you smiling at the letter, and as if it were contagious, she finds it spreading to her too.

—

your next winter break activity is in session. you take the maids and butlers by surprise by throwing on a coat and your comfiest dress pants as you tell them, “i’ll be back by the evening,” and leaving with a wave, a smile, and an odd spark in your eyes.

the first stop is your favorite library. you walk around, memories flooding in as you scan the shelves. you often frequented the romance section, always getting lost in various novels and pretending to not be enamored by the tales. you sneak a picture of the main area where the university students always studied. it’s large, beautiful, and meticulously arranged to captivate anyone at first glance.

the next stop is a little park area that you would sketch at. it’s sunny, which is rare, so you take the chance to capture the once-in-a-blue-moon moment. the sun is a contrast to the naked trees, the lingering snow from days before, and everything that could paint the scenery mellow. it’s pretty, it’s wonderful, it’s like danielle.

you walk around and around trying to find another place, but there are too many options. you’re also a bit tired from walking all around the city, making your way through the city and its shops until the sun starts to descend slowly.

when you get back home, the maids and butlers greet you respectfully, asking questions like “do you need help with your coat?” and “how was your day, miss?” which you respond to casually. after your term at hogwarts, all this respect threw you off, especially since you’re not that prestigious in your eyes. you’re just a seventeen-year-old girl, really.

as the sun disappears, you stand at your favorite balcony looking over the city. it’s quiet, you like that. the chill of the winter tints your cheeks, nose, and ears pink as well. there’s tranquility in moments like these.

the idea hits you while the stars shine above. you reach for your digital camera, then call for a maid. she’s there to assist as fast as she can, wondering what she can do to help. you catch her completely off guard when you ask for a picture, simple as that.

“is that it miss?”

“you can call me by my first name. and yes, that’s all.” you assure, nodding at her before walking back to the balcony. “i just need it to catch the view well, and myself i suppose.”

next thing you know you’re standing by the edge, leaning against the sturdy guard. you position yourself, but hesitate a bit.

“is this alright? i just need my waist and up—i think. do you have suggestions?”

the maid halts for a moment, then motions with her hand. “miss—ah. i mean, y/n. scoot this way a bit?” she suggests, so you scoot to the left a bit. “there. the view is much more visible like that. are you ready?”

“yes.” you answer. you offer a big, toothy smile and look at the camera. it flashes, you blink, and then you walk over. “did it turn out alright?” you question, “do i look nice?”

“y/n, you look wonderful.” she gazes at the picture in admiration, grinning to herself upon seeing your rare smile. “you have a wonderful smile.”

“is it… pretty?” there’s a lack of confidence in your question to which the maid responds with a nod.

“very beautiful, dear.”

a soft sigh leaves your lips, a sigh of relief. “that’s great.”

—

a few days later danielle is sitting on the rocking chair on her porch. there’s a vhs tape connected to her headphones, something old and nostalgic from her dad’s drawer. she’s looking out, not at anything in particular, and thinking of you.

and as if the universe read her mind, an owl stops by. it sits on her mailbox, chirping once and catching her attention immediately. she walks towards it, then grabs the envelope sitting in its beak. it hums when danielle pets it fondly, praising it before it flies away.

(danielle still doesn’t know how it’s possible for these owls to travel so far… maybe it’s the magic?)

she sits back down where she was before, thankful for the light above her porch illuminating everything. she opens the envelope, taking out a piece of parchment and three printed photos. the corner of her lips tug upwards almost immediately.

danielle opens the letter first, her smile widening when she sees the proper, perfect handwriting.

dear danielle,

i hope this letter finds you well.

i hope you��re alright. i received your letters not too long ago, and they really made my night. i really appreciate that you took the time to create and send that to me. i love it.

these days i find myself thinking of you all the time. i can’t help but miss you every second, as crazy as it sounds. we’ve only been friends for a bit, but i hope you know that you’re one of the few people i cherish the most. i appreciate you more than letters can express.

my life isn’t too crazy. i’ve been studying, reading, and painting—a hobby of mine that i haven’t shared with you yet, i think. anyway, i just wanted to say i miss you. i already said it, but i really do. thinking of you is getting me through this break.

i hope you like the pictures i sent. oxford isn’t as exciting as australia, at least in my opinion. but there are places that i adore, and so i wanted to share them with you too. enjoy.

yours,

y/n l/n

then danielle flips through the pictures, all while grinning like an idiot with a strangely warm flutter in her chest. she looks at the first one, a picture of a library and a note on the back that reads: my safe place. it’s huge here, and the books are lovely. i think you’d get lost here, haha.

the second picture is of some park, the sun shining beautifully in the background. on the back it says, “oxford isn’t usually sunny. i’m lucky i was able to capture this sight. the sun reminds me of you.”

and the third picture makes her eyes slightly waterline. she’s looks at you posed in your balcony with a beautiful backdrop of stars, the city in the background lit up with small dots of light from lamposts and buildings. and you. wow, you.

danielle stares for a good moment. your cheeks and nose are a bit red, most likely from the cold. your smile cools her down when the summer breeze blows. she’s never been so captivated before, not by someone's smile, words, or anything like that.

you’re something special, danielle says silently to herself.

—

you’ve never been so excited to go back to school in your life.

platform 9 ¾ is filled with parents and their kids bidding farewell before the next semester starts. you’d be by danielle’s side in a heartbeat, but the exchange students from abroad have to take a different type of transportation.

haerin, however, manages to find your seating area despite not having contact with you the whole winter. she sits right in front of you in the booth, giving you a small smile. you mirror her.

both of you catch up briefly, listening to her talk about her trip to korea and the states. you tell her that you didn’t do much, just painted and walked around.

(leaving out the part about danielle and your letters. something in your chest tells you she’d tease you about it, or make some comment that makes you rethink a lot of things.)

the trip to hogwarts isn’t long, but it seems like forever in this specific moment.

when you reach the campus, you get off quickly with haerin. you two walk beside each other, your demeanor is less intimidating and more eager. there’s a relaxation in your features that wasn’t there before, making you seem a little less like your rumors. haerin laughs when you scan the area intensely.

you don’t see danielle as everyone piles in, you don’t see her in the dining hall—somehow—but you do run into her once all the ‘welcome-back’ ceremonies are finished. the two of you catch each other in sight simultaneously, visibly lighting up before rushing over to hug one another.

danielle crashes into you, her arms wrapping around tightly. “oh my god! you’re alive! i missed you so much.”

“i missed you too, danielle.” you mutter into her hair. she smells like violets, daisies, vanilla, and everything nice.

—

the rest of the year is fine. it’s great. better than great.

it’s not just because heeseung is out of your life, barely making eye contact with you or even interacting unless it’s against his will. but the fact of the matter is: you and danielle are glued to the hip, seriously. you’re always with one another, especially during your classes and really anytime that’s not spent away. she rambles, you listen. you stare, she still rambles. it’s a routine, it could be a lifestyle for you, that’s for sure.

throughout your year, there’s something that wasn’t there before. or maybe it was, but just not palpable like now.

haerin is the first to notice. she catches your stares while the teacher is talking, how your fingers somehow end up twirling a piece of her hair without thinking, how soft your gaze gets with danielle. she notices everything.

it’s not just you either. danielle stares at you like you’re the world, looks at you like you’re more precious than anything in the universe. she’s touchy too, in general but especially with you. she also looks at your lips from time to time, compliments you differently than the others, and there’s even moments that are really questionable. there’s something there, something more than friendship in the air.

haerin fully realizes it when the class is outside to meet a hippogriff. on the way there, haerin catches danielle plucking a flower from the ground and putting it in the pocket of your robe. you do the same, but instead of placing the flower in her robe, you brush her hair behind her ear and place it right there.

a lightbulb shines above haerin’s head: you two are in love.

—

“y/n,” haerin asks one afternoon as you walk down the corridor. “how do you feel about danielle?”

“oh, she’s lovely.” you mutter softly. “why?”

“how do you feel about her.”

“haerin, what?” you raise a brow, looking at her skeptically.

“what do you feel while you’re around her?”

you find yourself blushing and looking down at the ground. “um. well, happy? i don’t get why this is—”

“what else? i know there’s more.”

“haerin—” you start, but sigh. “she’s nice. i like being around her. i don’t know what you’re getting from this.”

haerin stops in her tracks, making you turn around when you’re two steps ahead. she’s giving you this scrutinizing gaze, looking through your skin, past your bones, into your heart.

“you like danielle.” she states. “you love her.”

you’re quick to defend yourself. “what kind of assumption is that?” you scoff, shaking your head. “you’ve gone mad… haerin. let’s get back to the—”

with a swift movement, haerin uses her wand to cast a spell on you. it makes you shift over to the wall, your back pressing against it harshly with added pressure. “don’t give me that.”

“what’s gotten—”

“you deserve to revel in these feelings.” haerin says, stepping closer. “i’m sick and tired of you ignoring things like this. first it’s being friends, then it’s opening up, and now? y/n, you two are such stark contrasts that it only makes it all the reason for completing each other.”

you shiver, and so does your breath. haerin’s noticeably shorter than you, but it feels like she’s towering over you with her stern tone and serious look. you gulp. she’s not wrong, when has she ever been? it’s sudden, out of nowhere, and really shaking you up. it takes a while for you to process.

“so what if i’m in love with her?” you nearly whisper. “my blood is tainted, poisoned, and undeserving. being friends with danielle is enough. i don’t need to be pursuing further, i’ll taint her too. she’s pure, sweet, and everything i’m not. i can’t do that to her haerin. it doesn’t matter what i feel.”

“well it doesn’t matter what you think of the matter.” haerin pushes her wand right on your sternum, making you stiff in place. “stuff like this isn’t avoidable. it’s inevitable.”

you bite down and tense your jaw before breaking eye contact with haerin, feeling defeated.

—

the crowd is roaring while gryffindor and slytherin dual on the field. it’s a highly anticipated match since the rivalry is tense, so each and every house is invested. danielle seems to be distracted from the fact that one of the slytherin’s had just scored, because she’s watching you display that small, signature smile that occurs every time slytherin gains a point.

minji and hanni are next to her, somehow managing to sit with a different house with the help of hyein. danielle’s attention is on something completely different, which is noticeable when she doesn’t cheer when everyone else does or looks on edge when things get heated. her friends catch on quickly, exchanging a knowing look as they lean forward, their expressions mixed with curiosity and mischief.

“are we watching the same game?” minji asks right into danielle’s ear. “because it seems like something—someone else has gotten your attention.”

hanni laughs, nudging danielle by the shoulder. “you’ve had your eyes on slytherin’s keeper the whole game.”

“i— no!” danielle responds defensively. “i’m not. the game is so… entertaining.” she adds, trying to lie her way out.

“who scored last?” minji asks, to which danielle responds with a clueless look. she opens her mouth to speak, but nothing slips from her lips. she frowns.

“right…” hanni teases. “you’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

“i’m not in love with her!” danielle responds, shaking her head. she rolls her eyes before insisting, “let’s just watch the games. you guys are being fools.”

“uh huh.” minji snickers.

throughout the game, danielle really tries to focus on whatever is going on. heeseung is floating around or whatever, nearly scoring and then not. one of the gryffindor’s, jungwon, scores and you look all angry when he does so. it’s mildly attractive to danielle, and it shouldn’t be. but the way you bite your lip out of frustration and fly back to your position—yeah, it’s got her attention back on you for the rest of the game again.

…

after the game, danielle meets you down near the field. she’s with minji, hanni, and hyein, who’s found haerin along the way.

you emerge from the exit, your uniform slightly battered, your hair ruffled, and skin shined with a thin layer of sweat. there’s something about it that makes danielle’s knees slightly weaker. you make eye contact with her then, the exhaustion in your features slipping away and a more relaxed, but still stoic, expression on your face. your lips nearly curl into a smile.

“great game!” danielle beams, walking over to you.

“i could’ve done better.” you sigh, disappointed by the loss. gryffindor won by a mere ten points, a score that you nearly prevented. “it was alright at best.”

“don’t be so harsh on yourself. you’ll get it next time.”

“yeah, for sure. we’re going against hufflepuff. there’s no way we’ll win.”

“hey!” she playfully punches your shoulder, making you laugh quietly. “you only won by twenty points last time.”

“and we’ve always won against you guys.” you say brazenly.

“whatever.”

“right. well, i’ll see you later. i’m gross at the moment.” you mumble, running a hand through your hair and the action itself makes danielle blush. “bye.”

“bye.” danielle bids farewell with a smile. she turns back to see her friends—including haerin—giving her a knowing look. there’s a heat in her cheeks that’s visible, earning a pair of raised brows from minji and hanni.

she’s not beating any allegations.

—

by the time your sixth year ends, the feelings you two harbor are almost unbearable. you can’t stop thinking of her, glancing at her lips, absentmindedly playing with her hair—and too much more. it’s clear as day to your friends that there’s something more, but you can’t do that to her.

danielle’s been fond of tracing patterns into your skin during lectures—under the table of course, where not a single person will notice. you get used to the feeling of her fingers on you since she’s so touchy. you also learn that the dip of where your neck starts is danielle’s favorite place to lean on. its really overwhelming, this ‘friendship’ that’s been blossoming into something dangerous.

and what’s more dangerous is that danielle doesn’t forget her suggestion from before winter break. she says to you one day during a group trip to hogsmeade, while you’re trailing together on your own away from the group, “come to australia with me.”

it takes a moment for you to respond, but you eventually do so. “i thought you would’ve forgotten about that.” you wish she had, even if you certainly hadn’t.

“never. i’ve been thinking about it all semester.” she admits bashfully. “i want you to come.”

“danielle…” you trail off, kicking a stone on the ground. should you be able to do so? or would your blood taint the ground that her sun shines on. the ground that she shines on. “i, i don’t know.”

“what’s stopping you? is it that person you mentioned”

it’s a lot. you want to spill everything out: the conflicted feelings, how shameful you are to be you, and everything else that’s scattered throughout your mind and tormenting you. maybe it’s internal, maybe everything is just in your head. being with her at every location she sent in the envelope sounds like a dream. still, something is gnawing at you from the inside. “there’s… there’s nothing.”

“then come.” she says it like you have no choice. you really don’t have one when she gives you that sincere, longing look.

her eyes seem to shine, glowing under the rays that brighten her features. you can’t help but sigh, “alright.”

—

the end of your sixth year is a bit more overwhelming, much more emotional for sure. everyone is focused on what they can do for their future, their plans for the new year, which means everyone’s bracing for big changes.

your friend group bids their farewells, wishing you a wonderful summer and hopefully for everyone to meet at some point before the upperclassmen’s last year. danielle is at your side whole time, the farthest she would be is arms length while she’s hugging everyone before walking off with you.

you’ve bought the tickets for the flight back to newcastle, which almost didn’t happen because danielle nearly fought you for it. you had to explain to her that it wouldn’t dent your pockets—your parents’ technically—multiple times before she calmed down.

the two of you board together, blending in with the muggles and catching a few older wizards here and there. danielle gets the window seat and you sit in the middle. the universe also seems to adore you, making it so that there’s no third person in the row. just you and danielle.

the plane starts to shift, then it rolls forward, faster, and starts to take off.

…

everything around you is muted as if the world has lost it’s color. you turn around trying to make sense of everything, but your environment is still like an old, faded photograph. it seems like you’re in the middle of a scene, not part of it but watching like an invisible bystander. you feel powerless, you can’t move.

a woman appears first, her silhouette framed against the backdrop of a coastal town. there’s a baby girl in her arms, the expression on her face is a mix of resolve and heartbreak. you blink and the scene changes immediately, your father—or at least a younger version of him—standing tall and cold. his voice is sharp as he dismisses the woman and her child.

“this,” his eyes dart between the woman and her child. “cannot go on. we’re cutting ties, no questions asked. my relations with a muggle like you can’t be revealed.”

his words sting even though they’re not directed at you, and the finality in his tone sends a chill down your spine.

the woman doesn’t argue. she clutches her daughter tighter, walking away without looking back. even in your place, you can feel the weight of what was left unsaid, the bitterness and pain that she’s carrying. your father shows no remorse, watching until they disappear, then turning and walking back into the shadows.

the scene shifts abruptly, and now you see the girl. she’s older, around eleven, standing at the entrance at hogwarts in her hufflepuff robes. her dark eyes are identical to yours, and right now they’re filled with wonder and nerves. her mother’s encouragement echoes faintly in the air, but it’s her determination that shines the brightest. she strides forward, her head held high, and you can’t help but feel a strange sense of pride.

time skips again. the girl grows up before your eyes, excelling in her studies, earning her prefect badge, and finding joy in the company of a slytherin girl whose hand she holds with quiet affection. yet, there’s a shadow that follows her—a secret she keeps buried deep. there are times when she’s looking into the mirror, her dark eyes staring back, and you can sense her bitterness toward the man who abandoned her, the man whose features passed onto hers. she has only heard of this man from her mother, seen him in old pictures and articles, but still, there’s a strong resentment.

soon, she’s at the corridor at hogwarts. it’s eerily quiet, the torches casting a light that flickers on the stone walls. your father is there, older now, but no less imposing. the girl rounds the corner, her robes swishing softly. when they lock eyes, both sets widening at the same time, the resemblance is striking—so evident that it momentarily stuns them both.

your father asks, “who are you?” his voice low and sharp.

her response is firm, the kind of tone that eliminates any doubt. “i think you know the answer to that.”

the silence between them is suffocating, and your father’s face hardens as if refusing to acknowledge what’s in front of him—who’s standing right before him. he turns on his heel, walking away without another word, leaving the girl standing alone. her shoulders straighten, and though her expression stays calm, you can sense the hurt radiating off her.

the dream shits once more. the girl is older now, maybe in her early twenties, smiling softly as she tends to a row of vibrant plants in a greenhouse alongside her fiance–the same slytherin from before. it warms your heart just a bit. they work together easily, the love they’ve built together and partnership palpable in the way they move around each other.

but then, a wizarding newspaper flutters into view, the headline catching her eye: “l/n’s revolutionize wizarding curriculum with bold new reforms.” as she studies the accompanying photo, her gaze sharpens. your face—from when you were around twelve or so—stares back at her, animated within the frame. your dark eyes, so much like hers and your father’s, flicker with life. the girl’s breath catches.

again, the scene dissolves. you look around to see a large estate, your family’s home in oxford. the woman stands at the door, hesitant but determined, her wand tucked securely into her coat pocket. she knocks, and the sound reverberates like thunder on a stormy night.

you’re pulled closer now, the dream drawing you into the moment. your point-of-view is switched, now you’re transported to a memory you remember in fragments. you’re thirteen and waiting for the butler to open the door, curious as to who’s here so abruptly. your parents are in the dining room, so they don’t see the woman walking through. she looks curious, hurt, and when her eyes land on you—there’s a glint in her eyes.

“i think i’m your sister.” is the first thing she says. she says it as if sighing from relief, like dots have connected into one big picture.

she walks closer, you hesitate and step back. there’s something in her look that reassures you, gives you a sense of comfort and security. the butler quickly rushes over and grabs her wrist, viewing her as a threat until you motion for him to back down.

“that’s not possible,” but in the moment, you really think it is.

before she can add on, your father appears. he’s seething.

…

you jolt awake, your chest tight and heart racing. you place your palm over your head, shut your eyes, and attempt to calm yourself down. you stay in place as the revelation presses down on you, the pieces of your family’s secret suddenly so much clearer.

you figured out about your secret sister in that moment during the dream, remembering it much more clear now. you remember your dad scolding her, nearly hitting her until she draws her wand out. you shiver remembering everything.

she’s the person you should have apologized to as soon as she was sent out. you remember the longing and care in her look when she turned back to see you one more time, then left without another word. you wanted to run out after her, apologize for not doing anything, and simply talk to her. that woman is your sister, the sister you played bystander for while your father yelled the most unorthodox curses at her.

now you’re on the plane back to where she lives, which you only know because she managed to slip a small note before she left. an owl delivered something that same night, only a note with a number and an address. you rub your face with one hand, realizing that the other is occupied.

looking down just a bit you catch sight of danielle. she’s fallen asleep next to you, her breathing slow and steady, her head resting on your shoulder comfortably. her arm is linked with yours loosely, and you instinctively move it to hold her hand again. her touch is calming, making you forget your dream just a bit. a surge of confidence courses through you, urging you to press a light kiss on her head.

you fall asleep quickly after that.

—

you land without any detailed dreams. danielle stretches her arms before you two wait to leave your seats and grab your luggage. she walks down the aisle first and you follow her out, hands meeting one another once you’ve stepped into the airport.

shortly after (almost too quickly) you meet her parents. they’re bright and cheery just like her—parents beaming like this had been foreign to you. they greet you kindly, hugging you as if they’d seen you before. you melt into it, tears welling.

the drive back isn’t too long and you enjoy every second of it. danielle’s pointing out some of her favorite aspects of the scenery, sharing some short stories, and her parents start a simple, yet lovely, conversation that everyone joins in on. you’ve never felt so at ease.

when you get to her house (danielle had to fight you (again) to convince you to stay there. you argued that you could spend the whole time at some hotel, but danielle did not approve at all) she leads you in happily. she leads you to her room which sparks the revelation that you’re going to be staying in her room. most likely sleeping in the same bed as her. your heart rate speeds up.

she helps you with your luggage, setting it down in the corner before flopping onto her mattress tiredly.

“it’s so great to be back.” she sighs joyfully. “come lay with me.” and you do so, setting yourself down delicately since you’re terrified of disturbing anything.

“we’re sleeping… together?”

“yeah, on my bed.” danielle turns her head to meet yours. “it’s a queen, so it’ll fit us wonderfully.”

for sure, but there’s a light hunch that tells you danielle is going to be in your space. you’re not sure if you can handle that while conscious.

“it’s comfortable. your room, your family, um, everything.” you mutter.

“that’s how it is here.” she mumbles quietly, staring at your lips dangerously. you bite down before looking away, getting up and examining her room to save yourself from the strange feeling in your stomach.

“your room is really nice. it’s so you.” you say as you look over to plants on her windowsill with leaves that spill onto her shelf. it’s quite saturated, bright, and lovely. it really is her. the scent of it is also just like her—sweet, floral, and soothing. “makes mine seem a little dull,” you add, picturing the monotonous space for yourself back home.

“i bet your room is lovely.” she argues while sitting back up. “hey, let’s go eat something. i think my mom saved us some yogurt and fruit. we can make something yummy for that! oh, i wonder if we have granola…” she’s already up and going, urging you to follow her out.

—

time spent with her is extremely calming. there’s a unique peace that comes with following her around, conversing freely, and staring at her face when she’s not looking. the thud in your heart is always banging against your chest when she’s near, always warming your cheeks up. you try not to mind.

(you focus on the way danielle interacts with the cashier, handing her a few bills and smiling from ear to ear. she compliments the cashier, spreading her contagious bubbly energy. everyone is smiling: danielle, the cashier, and you.

danielle has this weird thing where she can light up the room by just breathing in it. she steps in and it’s sunshine and rainbows.)

but even through these moments there’s always a lingering weight. the dream you had on the plane still sticks, and you’d be lying if you hadn’t searched for the address on the sticky note you received from your sister. it’s a twenty-minute drive from danielle’s place and closer to the beach, practically on it actually. the proximity keeps you awake at night even when danielle sleepily drapes her arm over your body while unconscious.

one night, when danielle’s closer than before—you notice that she’s always closer with each night, her head resting on your arm and hand brushing against your forearm this time—you’re unable to sleep. you keep your eyes closed for the longest time, try counting sheep, thinking of the good, and still, you’re fully awake. it’s terrible since the sleepless nights start to seep into the day, your energy lower with every twenty-four hours that pass. danielle notices, but you make excuses saying it’s the time difference despite adjusting the second day in.

the real problem is that your sister is here. you’re up late at night thinking on what to say to her, how to apologize, and whether you should see her or not.

your curiosity gets the best of you.

you slip away from danielle slowly, replacing yourself with two of her pillows before heading out. the door creaks and so does the floor, but everyone seems to be deep asleep. and so, you head out the back door, call a cab that surprisingly is still available at two in the morning, and head to the address you’ve memorized from reading it over and over and over.

…

the cab dropped you off quicker than the gps said it would. the house in front of you is on the smaller side, perfect for a family of three or four (if the two are willing to share a room). the wind brushes through the greenery that decorates the house, emphasizing the beauty of it.

you walk up the steps, though not without hesitating, and stop at the doormat. you raise your fist to knock lightly, second guessing because one: it’s late. and two: you’re terrified. your heart is beating out of your chest and not in the way that it does when danielle’s around, you might hurl.

but before you can even move your hand, the door opens. a woman appears in a tank top and shorts, the same woman from your dream.

“you’re actually here,” she looks at you in shock, though there’s a sense of relief, maybe joy even. “you have dad’s eyes.” she says lightheartedly.

your lips part as if to say something, but you can’t. you stare at her, she has dad’s eyes too. she has a lot more than just his eyes. there’s also a youth to her features, dark hair tied up into a lazy bun, and a face that screams ‘family.’ there’s also tattoos on her skin, small ones of plants, and others that you can’t make out in the dark. you also notice that she’s a bit shorter than you, maybe shorter than danielle.

“come in,” she says, opening the door wider and gesturing with her hand. “it's chilly this time of the year, especially at night. our seasons are flipped compared to europe’s.”

you nod, walking inside. she turns on a light and the earthy tones of the house are all visible now. the light is warm, dim, and highlights her features more as she sits down on the brown couch. you opt for the singular seat diagonal from her.

“tea?” she asks, to which you shake your head. she smiles softly, examining you close. “you’re not much of a talker, are you?”

“i just… don’t know what to say.” you admit, your voice low. “how did you know i’d be here?”

“i had a dream.” she starts, “you were in it. you were the main character actually. i was a bystander as i watched you roam around newcastle with this girl, and then i saw you on the way here. dreams are magical like that. everything is.”

you nod, taking everything in. you still feel stiff, but not out of place.

“do you remember me?” she asks.

“i do.”

“that’s a relief. i wish i’d gotten the chance to talk to you more before… father intervened.”

“i’m sorry.” you suddenly say, feeling helpless. “i should’ve done something. i wanted to. i tried to push that moment down and i just couldn’t. it used to linger in my head and mock me. even while i was here i couldn’t sleep knowing you were here. i’m sorry, i should’ve stepped in—”

“hey, hey.” she reaches over to pat your knee, then stands. “come with me to the kitchen, i’ll make you some tea.”

now you two are in the kitchen. she’s leaning against the counter while pouring some hot water into a mug with chamomile in it. she hands it to you, you take it and stare at the water. she sips, then continues.

“don’t be sorry. it’s not your fault. there wasn’t anything you could’ve done anyway. you were young and it was all abrupt.”

“i wanted to run after you. i just wanted to talk to you even for a bit, but i couldn’t find the confidence to.”

“and that’s okay.” she assures, sipping again. “your father is azazel l/n. his first name is evil itself.” she says half-jokingly. “speaking of names, i never knew yours. it’s funny, kind of, how i have a sister and know nothing about her. not even her name.”

“it’s y/n.” you state plainly, sipping on your tea for the first time.

you’ve known that you had a sister ever since that moment, even your father couldn’t deny it. you had asked him who the girl was and if she really was your sibling, to which he responded with a blunt “it’s not a matter you should focus on,” which basically meant “yes.”

“beautiful name.” she says. “my mother named me after a flower that can bloom at night.”

“primrose?”

“close! it’s jasmine, although i’m impressed with your guess.” she giggles while looking at you with a love in her eyes that you’ve never seen before. “my mom named me after it because she really likes the tea, but also because even in darker moments, i can still bloom.”

“that… that’s really beautiful.” you respond with admiration. “i um, i had a dream on the plane about you. i know it sounds weird but, i don’t know. i think your name suits you very well from what i’ve seen.”

she smiles then. you catch yourself grinning just a little bit too.

the rest of the hour is spent catching up. your sister asks the questions, you answer. the two of you find yourselves back on the couch sitting next to each other now. she’s reminiscing back on her years at hogwarts, laughing about how quick the sorting hat was to put her in hufflepuff. her radiant energy is so similar to danielle’s that it’s almost uncanny. she tells you about her time growing up as a muggle and slowly learning she has something else in her blood. she tells you about your father, her mother, and everything outside and in between. she tells you a great amount.

but there’s something different in her expression when she starts to talk about her wife. her smile grows, she relaxes into the cushion, and her tone is much more… adoring.

“we met during our second year. i almost ran into her with a broom and she got real mad at me.” she laughs, shaking her head. the moonlight’s rays seep through the windows and reveal the faint blush on her cheeks. “i did everything i could to apologize to her, or at least get her to smile. she was so blunt and, well, slytherin back in our earlier years. i got through to her eventually, and we became really good friends. there was a terrible divide with the houses back then, so it shocked everyone.”

“there was?”

“yup. and this leads to when i realized i was in love with her. she was so different, i mean, all the slytherin’s i knew would kind of bully me. i was strong, so i endured it easily. one time a slytherin was real mean to me, so mean that my wife stepped in and gave that guy a good punch to the face. she looked back at me then and i realized how much she meant to me.”

“was that it?” you question with a curiosity that wasn’t in your previous replies. “what else made you realize.”

“i think i’ve always been in love with her, maybe since i nearly crashed into her.” she chuckles. there’s stars in her eyes and she sounds like a romance lead. “you don’t really realize it until, well, it hits you like a bludger. my friends noticed before me though, there’s a look that gives it away.”

“a look?”

“yeah. like heart eyes in those cartoons. hey, you seem real interested in this.” she giggles, then turns her head as she sits up with a realization. “are you in love with someone?”

you blush. “what? i don’t— i’m—”

she notices how easily you’re flustered upon hearing the question. you’ve only met briefly and have shared your life stories in the quickest way possible, maybe that one is a little more personal. so she saves you from short-circuiting. her question is answered with your reaction anyway.

“i’m only teasing.” she says, yawning. “hey, it’s late. i can drive you back to where you’re staying. is it a hotel?”

“oh, no. i’m staying at a friend's place.”

“ah, okay. let’s get you back, it’s four and you’re still awake.”

—

your sister stops right in front of danielle’s. on the way back she’s asking about your studies, your friends, and a lot about you since she had talked about herself more at her house. you answer casually and yet your sister seems amazed. you laugh for the first time and your sister revels in it. your heart feels heavy with something you’ve never felt before. you assume that it’s the feeling of what it feels like to be loved unconditionally, with no expectations or anything, just love that exists because you’re family.

“hey, tomorrow—or, well, today—come over to shop. it’s down the road from my house, a ten minute walk down the right. maybe less than two kilometers? just walk down, and when you see a ton of plants you’ll know where you’re at.”

“i will. i’ll have to ask my friend, i think we’re hiking or something until late afternoon.”

“that’s perfect then!” she beams. “bring something to swim in, the beach is a short walk from there. bonding time, you know?”

“yeah, got it.” you mutter. “i’ll see you.”

“see you, my little sister.”

you give her a hug and she smells exactly like her name—jasmine. she bids you farewell and you do the same, then head towards the back of the house to come in the same way you left.

when you reach danielle’s room again, the door creaks just as it did before. you cringe at the sound, which is much louder than before. danielle shifts just barely, but it seems like she’s still asleep. you get into bed, moving the pillows you used as a replacement and slipping back to the same position you were in before.

“where were you?” danielle says softly, sleepily. “the pillows aren’t as comfy as you.”

shit. you’re caught off guard, feeling your throat close up a bit. “i, um.” you try to find words, but it’s hard to explain years of a secret all while danielle pulls you closer like you’re her teddy bear. “i went to see my sister.” you say, because what else is there to say.

danielle stays silent for a bit before snuggling even closer. “okay.” she murmurs against your skin. “tell me more tomorrow.”

“okay danielle.”

—

tomorrow comes, you’re in the car with her parents and squished with her and her sister in the back. her parents hum along to the song on the radio and her dad talks about how he wanted to buy it on vinyl when he was a teenager.

during the hike you often get alone time with danielle. she doesn’t question the whole sister ordeal and instead takes as many pictures she can of you, but eventually she does mention it.

“so, you really have a sister?” she questions as she takes a picture of the view, looking into the screen of the digital camera to take a look.

“yeah.” you reply while staring out into the distance. “she invited us over to her shop, if you’re willing to go with me this evening.”

danielle looks up and right in your eye. “i’m willing to go anywhere with you.”

—

the walk from your sisters house to her shop is just above ten minutes, which gives you enough time to explain the sudden information about you having a sister. danielle frowns hearing some of the parts, especially anything including your dad, but smiles when she hears about the reconnection—and how much you look up to her despite only knowing her very briefly.

the building is surrounded by plants, there’s even plants decorating the exterior as well. the sign on the door reads ‘closed,’ but when you approach and knock twice, jasmine is right there to open it for you.

“there you are!” she greets, then looks at danielle. “you must be y/n’s friend, yeah?”

“yup! i’m danielle, nice to meet you! she told me about you on the way.”

“wonderful! come in, come in.” your sister directs you two inside. both of you are immediately struck with awe upon seeing the beauty of the interior. it’s green, bright, and smells wonderful. there’s a variety of plants that danielle’s eyes sparkle at, she even makes that high-pitched sigh she usually does when she sees something cute or cool. your sister smiles, nudging danielle. “you can explore all you want, we’re closed. there are wizarding plants in the back portion of the place if you want to check them out, but be careful of course.”

danielle nods eagerly, it’s cute. you grin as you witness her curiosity get the best of her, watching her happily.

your sister notices this, narrowing her eyes slightly while a subtle smile tugs at her.

it isn’t long before you meet her wife, who’s taller than your sister but still shorter than you. she has softer features but more serious energy, a slight contrast to your sister. she greets you warmly as if you’d met her already. and then you all head out, but not before danielle snaps a few pictures of both muggle and wizardly plants.

your sisters wife luna (her name a perfect pair for your sisters) shares a few stories about your sister, herself, and really just anything. she talks less than your sister, but everything she says is worth listening to. you all find yourselves at the beach not too long later, setting down a blanket before your sister runs off with her wife hand in hand.

it’s then that danielle urges you two to do the same, grabbing your hand and pulling you up on your feet. you giggle before running toward the water, with her, your feet sinking into the sand where the waves brush over. danielle’s talking about how nice the water and weather are, or something. you really can’t tell because she looks gorgeous in the moment. you can’t believe she just looks like that without trying.

“tired?’ your sister asks as she sits down next to you on the towel. you two are watching as luna takes pictures for danielle, helping her with poses and timing each jump before capturing the moment. “you should get lots of sleep tonight.” your sister advises.

“i will.” you respond, your gaze still on danielle.

your shoulders relax, your eyes soften, and you smile to yourself. jasmine nudges you, making you hum in response.

“you’re in love with her, i can see it in your eyes.”

“what?”

“that’s the same look i gave and still give my wife.” she chuckles, turning back to look at the two. “she’s just as in love with you.”

“you don’t know that.”

“i can tell just by how you two interact. she reminds me of how i was back then.” your sister sighs. “and she’s looking at you now,” you turn to look over, and your sister is right. danielle is looking right at you, walking up and waving for you to come over. “go take a picture with her.”

“do you really think she likes me too?”

“she doesn’t like you, y/n. she loves you. i don’t think just anyone brings their friend over for the summer—well, winter—back at their home. she adores you, i can see it in her eyes too.”

you give her a skeptical look, pursing your lips and sighing before you get up. you give your sister one last remark, “i trust you.”

she laughs. “i’m glad.”

—

after the sun completely sets, your sister and her wife tap out early. they tell you they’ll wait back at their shop and say they had to clean up a bit—but you can tell there’s another reason they left you alone in the look they exchange.

now it’s just you and danielle sitting on the towel covering the sand. your hands prop yourselves up and you two are staring towards where the sky meets the sea. it’s a little cold, so you give danielle the light jacket you brought.

“i’m really glad you came, even if you weren’t a hundred percent sure you wanted to.”

“i— what?”

“you hesitated. you always do.” she says plainly, crossing one leg over the other. “but i’m glad you went through for me. i appreciate it. you mean the world to me, you know?”

“you mean the universe to me, danielle.”

“yeah?” she questions, turning to look over at you, her eyes glossy with the moonlight.

you nod. your fingers crawl over just barely to meet hers. “i just, i think about a lot of things and most of the time it’s you. you’re someone i’ve grown to care about a lot. i don’t think i’ve met anyone like you.” you begin, voice soft, fragile, and sincere. “you made me realize that there’s a lot of good in this world. there’s a lot of good in my life that i never knew could be there.”

“there’s good around us all the time. i’ve always been surrounded by that, but when i ran into you i knew there was ‘great.’”

you chuckle, then. it’s a weird statement, but so sentimental that your heart aches a bit.

“y/n.”

“yeah?”

“i always thought you were really cute.” danielle is staring down at the sand now, growing shy. “you’re the prettiest person i’ve ever met, inside and out.”

“i think that way about you too.”

“really?” she asks.

you nod.

“danielle.”

she hums.

“i love you.” you breathe out, “i love you more than anything.”

danielle responds by leaning in for a kiss. all you can imagine is doing this over and over again for the rest of your life—her lips on yours, hand on your cheek, and scent overwhelming your senses. for the first time, there’s not a single doubt in your mind, nothing to make you spiral, just the thought of her and her only.

she pulls away to smile at you. a small smile, which is rare for her. but this one is a little toothy, and similar to a warm embrace. you lean in again, then, and kiss her once more.

“i love you too.” she says while her hand slides down to the base of your neck and yours tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “i’ve loved you since the first time i caught you smiling in the library.

danielle eagerly presses her lips against you again, albeit a bit more aggressively this time. her arms wrap around your neck and she keeps you close, your forearms holding both of your weights as you kiss and kiss again. and this is what love is, you think. it’s the prettiest girls lips on yours, her wavy hair in your hands, her muttering something adoring in between kisses, and everything else that happens with danielle.

—

you spend the rest of the break with your sister, her wife, and most importantly danielle. the two of you frequent their shop, the beach, and danielle’s porch.

the porch is freeing, you spill secrets and confessions that have been sitting inside of you waiting to be released. you tell danielle that you don’t really care about whatever your last name holds, about your passion for painting, and how you want to live a relaxed life. nothing big like your father. you tell her about how the sorting hat nearly sorted you into hufflepuff, and how you managed to get sorted into slytherin all because of your determination to make your father proud. you tell her about regrets, worries, goals—everything. and danielle listens, she listens to all of it while her hand is linked with yours, or her head is on your shoulder. or both.

danielle’s there for you and you’re there for her.

then the break ends, your days of freedom and messing around—and nights spent unable to part from one another, hands roaming and lips puffy. you two bid farewell to danielle’s family and yours, then head back on the plane back to hogwarts. you don’t have a strange dream this time. everything you’ve been spiraling about isn’t a worry anymore. you’re content. you’re happy. you’re ready to face anything that’s in your way.

—

your last year of hogwarts starts off with your friends pretending to be surprised that you and danielle finally confessed. haerin teases you, but not nearly as much as hyein and hanni. they especially tease you when danielle is caught giving you a peck on the cheek before and after classes when you two have to part ways. it’s grueling sometimes, but who cares.

heeseung is out of the picture. he ignores you completely, but there’s a slight air of jealousy that comes off of him. you couldn’t care less, not when danielle is always at your side.

and time flies quickly, the end of your last year coming to an end. hyein is devastated that her friends are off to the real world, but of course you all assure her it will be alright. the six of you spend your time goofing around here and there, sneaking out, hiding in corridors before the janitor catches you—just living. you never would’ve guessed that you’d make it here, that you’d branch out and turn out completely opposite to how you started.

when you graduate, you cut ties with your parents completely. they’ve never supported you unless it was in their favor. of course, they were furious. they scolded you, expressed their disappointment and everything else. you simply took it and left with your things, moving on with your life without them. your life with danielle and people who loved you unconditionally.

—

you’re nineteen now and living with your sister in the spare room of her house. your room is cluttered with various art supplies—acrylic paint, oil paint and pastels, canvas’, pretty much everything you could find in the craft store. fortunately, you’ve made a good amount of money with your hobby, selling a few pieces online and at flea markets by the beach. a few of your works make their way over to your sister's building, hanging above tulips and beside mandrakes.

your days are peaceful, with no OWLs to prepare for, and nothing heavy on your shoulders. the most you worry about is figuring out which movie to watch with your girlfriend or what you should cook for dinner on certain nights—scratch that, the biggest worry is definitely the possibility of the tentacula in your sisters backyard snapping out of nowhere.

but really, you’ve spent your time painting, creating, and loving. everyday is spent with danielle, you make sure of it. she has her own mug in your sisters place, a signature side on your bed, and the biggest space taking up your heart.

“i just remembered something,” you mumble to danielle. the only sound heard is your breaths mingling together while you two are tangled in danielle’s bed.

“what?”

you laugh lightly. “remember that rumor about me pushing a girl? i think it spread during our third year or something.”

danielle’s drifting off to sleep, her head on your chest, blinking slowing down—but she still hums in response.

“it wasn’t a girl i pushed—it was heeseung.”

you feel danielle giggling against you before she shifts over to press a lazy kiss on your neck. “that’s so dumb.” she mutters almost incoherently.

“yeah. i just remembered it randomly.” you respond, the drowsiness getting to you. “am i keeping you up?”

“no,” she sounds like an alarm had just annoyed her awake. “i like when you talk like this.”

“you like it so much that you’re about to pass out?”

“mm.” she sighs, shifting one more time before pausing completely, the only movement being her heart against her chest.

how this happened is still a blur, your time with danielle and her charm that reeled you in (maybe she casted a spell on you, you think. but then you think again: she is the spell). but when your days end like this, with her sprawled over you; there’s no one else that could bewitch you like her.

#kpop x reader #newjeans x reader #danielle x reader #danielle marsh x reader #mo jihye x reader #mo jihye #danielle marsh #newjeans danielle

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pinkrangerv · 3 days ago

Text

Also, let's talk about racism in warfare!

In history, pretty consistently, when Nation A wants to go to war with Nation B, they often try and amp up the general populace with 'hey, I know you don't want to hurt people...but Nation B is evil and awful. They're not really human. They're animals. We should put them down'.

Sinephobia--racism against Chinese people--has been hinting at this since around the early 2000's. And whatever the real security risks here, it was a key decision in trying to make Americans accept a TikTok sale.

Notice: They want a sale. They don't want to ban it--they want it to be owned by someone they like. This wasn't even in itself an attack on anything militarily or Constitutionally, some rich guys just realized they bought Congresscritters and Trump, so hey, let's use our new pet politicians and make us profit!

And to do that, they continued amping up the idea:

China is inherently evil. Chinese people are brainwashed animals. You don't want to do bad things. But we can't let these evil animals spy on us via this app. All those people saying 'that's illegal and you're corrupt' are clearly just brainwashed kids.

Historically, this is the first move to war...

Except that, en masse, those 'brainwashed kids' learned another language and went to go check out the other nation themselves.

They won't find everything sunshine and roses. China's current government is often dystopian--much like ours! Chinese citizens are probably horrified to find we can end up homeless over a medical bill; Americans are horrified to find you can't admit in public that you're gay or talk about things the CCP doesn't like.

But they are also openly saying:

These are not animals. Chinese people are not born evil. They are human. We are going to go talk to them, learn the truth, and fuck you--we don't go to war unless there's a reason.

This affects you because of the legal precedent of forced sales and bans, but it also affects you because you are witnessing in real time a nation openly rejecting a prequel to war. If nothing else, then at least stop and realize that people are winning a victory over senseless slaughter--a minor one maybe. But still a real step forward.

“I’m not on tiktok anyway so this does not affect me” no???? it’s not just about tiktok or whether or not you like the app??? it’s about them being able to censor and control what they want and what they don’t want people to see. it’s about them being able to keep people uneducated for the sake of their personal gain and benefits.

(it’s also about small businesses who relied on tiktok to gain customers / income.)

that being said, if the only thing you care about is the platforms you’re on, sorry to break it to you, but if they can ban tiktok, they can go after any other platforms too.

they can go after tumblr, archive of our own, instagram, youtube, facebook, etc, you name it.

it actually does affect you.

#reblog #multiple lines of effect #TikTok migration #history #warfare #sinephobia #really this is a fascinating historic event #and I don't think most people know the context #so I'm gonna tell you #we just made a huge leap forward #let's all go celebrate

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4linos · 1 day ago

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they call you clingy pt. 2

ot8 x fem!reader

genre: slight angst. hurt/comfort. fluff. (mostly) happy endings.

wc: 8916

(read they call you clingy pt. 1 first)

bang chan

When Chan returned home later that night, he was overwhelmed with guilt. He expected to be greeted with a warm embrace, maybe even a soft joke about how awkward he had been earlier. But when he entered your shared bedroom, he was greeted with silence. The lights were dark, and you sat on the edge of the bed, back to him. "Y/N?" He called out quietly, almost pleading.

You did not respond.

Chan's heart fell as he got closer, but you flinched when you felt him behind you. He stood there for a while, unsure of what to do, before finally speaking, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say what I said. It was a terrible joke. Please… please look at me.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough for him to see the tear tracks on your cheeks. Your eyes were red and swollen, and your expression was tight, like you were holding everything in. The sight broke him, and he stepped forward, kneeling in front of you, trying to meet your gaze.

“I didn’t mean it, Y/N. I was frustrated, and I let it all out in the worst way. I’m so sorry, I should’ve never said that. You’re not clingy. I don’t think that at all. I was wrong. I never should’ve made you feel that way.”

You shook your head slowly, your voice cold. “No, you meant it. I heard the way you said it. You don’t want me around. You think I’m suffocating you.”

“I don’t,” Chan whispered urgently, his hands reaching out to touch yours, but you pulled them away. “I don’t think that. I swear. I don’t want you to think that at all. I just… I don’t know what came over me.”

But you didn’t want to hear it. You wanted to believe him, but the words still stung too much. The way he had looked at you with indifference, how he dismissed your presence like it was something burdensome. It wasn’t just the words it was the way it made you feel so small, like you weren’t wanted.

You stood up suddenly, avoiding his touch. “I just need some space, Chan. Please. Just leave me alone tonight.”

Chan flinched, but he didn’t argue. He nodded, his heart breaking as he quietly walked out of the room. He knew he had crossed a line, and the weight of that reality hit him hard. He didn’t sleep well that night, tossing and turning on the couch, feeling the distance between you both like a wall that couldn’t be scaled.

The next morning, Chan woke up early, with his mind still filled with guilt. He'd apologized the night before, but he knew it wasn't enough. He needed to express how sorry he was and how much he cared. He crept quietly into the kitchen and began preparing breakfast, hoping to get it right for once. When the smell of pancakes and coffee filled the apartment, he returned to your bedroom, gently knocked on the door before opening it slightly.

You sat on the side of the bed, looking out the window. Your back was still turned to him, but when you heard him enter, you had stayed still.

Chan took a deep breath, his voice soft. “I made breakfast… for us. Please, can we just eat together? I want to talk.”

You didn't say anything at first, but eventually nodded and stood up, following him into the kitchen. You both sat silently, the tension hanging between you like a cloud. Chan pushed the dish of pancakes toward you, his hands shaking slightly. He took a breath and spoke again, his voice full of earnestness.

"You were not clinging, Y/N. I was wrong. You aren't suffocating me. I adore having you around; I always do. I… I'm not sure why I said that. My frustration clouded my judgment, and I hurt you. I'm really sorry."

You didn’t answer right away, but the tightness in your chest slowly loosened. You looked up at him, seeing the genuine regret in his eyes. His usual bravado was gone, replaced by a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before.

You sighed softly, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. “It just hurt, Chan. I… I don’t want to be a burden to you.”

“You’re never a burden,” he said quietly. “You’re my partner. I want you to be with me. Always. You nodded, the words finally sinking in. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have shut you out.”

He reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. “No, I deserve it. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you both ate in silence, the unspoken understanding between you filling the room with a quiet comfort. The hurt was still there, but you knew you could heal it together.

lee know

The warmth from the burns on your leg persisted, but the coldness in your chest stung the most. You sat on the edge of the bed, carefully placing a cold compress against your skin, hoping that the discomfort sting would ease.

Your mind was racing, trying to figure out what had just transpired in the kitchen. Minho, your Minho, had yelled at you, and the words cut worse than anything physical could. You couldn't understand how it had come to this.

You had tried so hard to help, to lighten his burden, but instead you had made matters worse. The kitchen was a wreck, your leg was on fire, and your heart felt like it had been ripped open by the very person who had always made you feel safe. You wanted to believe it was just a moment of frustration, something that could be forgiven, but the distance between you both felt insurmountable.

When Minho’s voice called from the living room, it felt like the world’s weight pressed on your chest. “Hey... can we talk?" He sounded tired, but there was an undertone of hesitation, as if he wasn’t sure if you’d even listen.

You didn’t respond, hoping the silence would send the message you weren’t ready to face him just yet. But moments later, the sound of his footsteps in the hall brought you back to reality, and before you could register, he was standing in the doorway of your bedroom.

His expression shifted from confusion to panic when he saw you sitting there, the cold compress against your leg, and your tear-streaked face. His eyes widened, a rush of guilt flooding over him.

"What... what happened?" His voice was quieter and more uncertain now. He took a step forward, peering down at the reddening skin on your leg. "I—oh God, did you burn yourself?" His eyes scanned yours for a response, his hand quivering slightly as he reached out to touch your leg. You didn't say anything. You couldn’t find the words. The burn hurt badly, but the heaviness of his words in the kitchen made it intolerable.

Minho's hands shook as he gently led you to lie down on the bed. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" His voice cracked slightly as he rubbed a cool cloth on the burns, the chill alleviating the sting slightly.

You finally let yourself to cry, tears rocking your chest and the emotional weight coming down on you. You didn't understand how much you were holding back until the tears started pouring freely. "I-I'm sorry for the soup," you said through sobbing. "I didn't mean to ruin everything. "I just... wanted to help."

Minho's face softened, expressing regret and disbelief. He wiped your tears away with his thumb, his voice barely audible. "Stop. I don't care about the soup. Not when you're hurt. "Why didn't you tell me you were in pain?"

His words felt like a balm to your wounded heart, but they didn’t erase the ache. You buried your face in his chest as he leaned down to kiss your forehead gently, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m so sorry for what I said. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. You don’t deserve that... you never deserve that.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten even more. You clung to him, your arms wrapped tightly around his torso, needing his warmth, his presence. “Minho... I just—everything went wrong today. And then you... you made me feel like I was a burden.” Your voice trembled, and the weight of your emotions finally broke free.

Minho’s arms tightened around you as he whispered into your hair, “I never meant to make you feel that way. I was frustrated, and I took it out on you. But you are not a burden. You never will be. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

You could feel his hands softly comb through your hair, comforting you as you kept crying into him. The tears weren't simply over the soup, the burn, or the day's failures. It was all about trying to keep things together, to be strong, and not show how overwhelmed you were. And everything came tumbling down in his arms. "I should have been there for you today." "I should have seen how much you were struggling," Minho said, his voice thick with regret. "I'm not upset at you. I should never have said that. I'm so sorry."

You nodded into his chest, the tears slowly subsiding as his comforting words washed over you. Despite everything, despite the mess and the hurt, there was still love between you two, even if it was lost in the chaos for a moment.

“I love you,” Minho whispered, his hand gently wiping away the last of your tears. “Please, forgive me.”

You pulled back slightly, meeting his eyes. There was nothing but tenderness there now, no trace of the frustration that had clouded his expression before. “I love you too,” you said, your voice still shaky, but steadying. “I know you didn’t mean it. I just... I just had such a bad day. Everything went wrong, and I was just trying to fix it... and I ended up making it worse.”

Minho kissed your forehead again, his lips lingering for a moment. “You don’t have to fix everything. You don’t have to carry it all alone. I’m here. I’ll always be here. Let me help you.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief settle over you as his arms wrapped around you again. “I’m sorry, too,” you whispered, hugging him tighter. “I just... I wanted to help you. To make it better. I didn’t mean to make things worse.”

“I know,” Minho whispered back. “And you didn’t make it worse. I promise.”

As the silence between you two grew, the storm within you began to calm. It wasn't entirely mended yet, but for the first time that day, you felt like you weren't going through it alone. You felt at ease in his embrace, and you gradually began to hope that things can get better again.

changbin

Changbin's breath came out in weak, raspy gasps as he stood there watching you walk away. Every instinct in his body shouted for him to go after you, to draw you back and explain himself, but something in the air held him still. The severity of his own words resonated in his thoughts, a jarring reminder of the damage he had just done. You were hurt. And now, so was he.

He watched as your form disappeared through the exit, the door closing softly behind you. The gym suddenly felt suffocating. The weight of his own anger and frustration, which he had not yet fully comprehended, seemed to settle in his chest like a stone. He turned over, and his face flushed, his head dizzy with regret. He never wanted to make you feel like this, never wanted you to feel like a burden. His mind was spinning with confusion, but one thing was painfully clear: he had messed up. Badly.

He stood there for a long time, eyes fixed on the door, as if begging you to return, but he knew it was pointless. He had said too much. The damage was done.

You'd never felt smaller than you did at that time. Changbin's words felt like a hefty blow to the chest, knocking the air out of you. You weren't expecting him to snap. Sure, he'd been distant before, but this was different. The sharpness in his voice, the way he stared at you with irritation and anger, hurt in ways you couldn't articulate.

You didn’t know how long you had been walking for when you found yourself in the parking lot, your car now looming in front of you like a silent reminder of what had just transpired. You stood there for a moment, your hands trembling as you fumbled to unlock the door. The cold night air bit at your skin, but the chill in your chest felt much worse.

Why was he so angry?

You understood that sometimes people needed space, but you had no idea that your presence, which you expected to bring you closer, would make him feel overwhelmed. The realization hit you hard: He had been letting you to follow him about because he didn't know how to express his need for space. And, in the end, when he exploded, it broke the fragile link you had formed with him.

Your eyes stung with the promise of tears, but you pushed them away. You weren't sure if you were ready to let them fall yet.

You got in the car and drove aimlessly at first, wanting to get away and clear your mind. The drive seemed to go on forever, but you couldn't escape the agony in your chest. You eventually pulled over onto a quiet street and parked. You allowed the silence to settle in, the only sound being the faint hum of your car's engine.

Your phone buzzed, and you looked at it nervously. It was a message from Changbin. Your finger hovered over the screen, unsure whether to open it or not. But the yearning for an explanation, some attempt to make sense of it all, was overwhelming. So you opened it.

Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I didn’t mean to make you feel unwanted. Can we please talk?

You bit your lip, your eyes scanning the words over and over. His apology felt sincere, but it didn’t erase the sting of what he had said. How could it? And yet, a part of you still wanted to hear him out, to understand where he was coming from, even if it hurt.

You debated texting him back. Part of you wanted to ignore him, to hold onto the distance you felt was needed right now. Another part wanted to reach out, to explain that you weren’t trying to smother him, that you just wanted to be close.

Instead of responding, you did the one thing you never thought you’d do: you called him.

The phone rang a few times before he answered. “Y/N?” His voice was soft, hesitant, almost nervous.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Can we talk?”

A long silence passed. You could hear him take a deep breath on the other end. “Yeah. I think we need to.”

Back at the gym, Changbin had barely managed to collect himself before his phone buzzed in his hand. When he saw your name on the screen, he almost couldn’t believe it. He had messed up so badly, and yet, you were still willing to talk to him. His heart beat faster as he swiped to answer, his voice coming out quieter than he intended.

“Y/N?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t imagining this.

“I… I’m still upset, Bin,” you said, your voice shaky. “I don’t know what to think. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was invading your space. I just… I wanted to be close to you.”

“I know,” he whispered, guilt flooding his chest. “I should’ve told you sooner. It’s not your fault. I don’t want you to feel like that… like I’m pushing you away. But I just… the gym was the one place where I could just be by myself, clear my head. And when I didn’t have that anymore… I didn’t know how to handle it.”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see it. “I didn’t know. I thought… I thought you’d like it. That maybe it would be something we could do together.”

“I do like spending time with you,” he said, his voice steady now, more sincere. “I really do. But I didn’t realize how much I was taking it out on you. I didn’t mean to hurt you. And I’m sorry for how I said it. I shouldn’t have snapped like that. You’re not a burden to me, Y/N. You’re the last person I want to hurt.”

You closed your eyes, trying to steady yourself. “I just wanted to be close to you. I didn’t realize I was making you feel suffocated.” There was a long pause before he spoke again. “I know. And I should’ve communicated better. I just didn’t know how.”

“I understand,” you replied softly. “I just… I need a little time. To process this.”

Changbin’s heart sank, but he understood. “Yeah. I get that. Take the time you need. But please know I’m here. I don’t want to lose you over something that should’ve been a misunderstanding.”

You inhaled deeply, feeling the weight of the conversation. It wasn’t fixed, not yet, but you could feel the tension easing a little, the sharp edges of the pain starting to soften.

“Okay,” you said quietly. “We’ll talk more when I’m ready.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Changbin replied, his voice full of warmth despite the distance between you. “I’ll be here.”

The call ended, leaving a quiet, uneasy space between you two. You were unsure where this would lead or what would happen next. But perhaps, just maybe, you can find your way back together.

hyunjin

The next morning, you woke to a cloud of confusion still hanging over you. Hyunjin's remark from last night, as well as the way he pushed you away, played on an unending loop in your memory. The hurt was still fresh, but you were beginning to wonder why. Why had everything changed so dramatically? Why had Hyunjin, who you had always trusted, suddenly become distant?

You'd barely slept, your mind knotted in a web of despair, confusion, and betrayal. Everything seemed odd as you tried to get through the day. The calm hum of your daily routine had been replaced by a heavy silence in your chest. Your phone remained silent, and you weren't sure if that was a relief or something else entirely. You couldn’t decide whether to hope Hyunjin would reach out to explain himself or whether it was better to just forget it all.

But then, in the late afternoon, your phone buzzed. It was a text from him.

Hyunjin: Can we talk? I need to explain.

Your stomach twisted, both nervous and cautious. You stared at the message, weighing the possibility of opening the door to this conversation. You didn’t know if you were ready to hear whatever he had to say. Still, part of you needed answers, even if they were painful.

After a few moments of hesitation, you typed back.

You: Where?

Hyunjin: Meet me at the park in 30 minutes. Please.

You took a deep breath and, despite everything, found yourself getting ready to meet him. Part of you was angry, but there was another part, the part that still missed him, that needed to understand. You had always believed in the strength of your friendship. You didn’t want to just throw that away without knowing what had really happened.

When you arrived at the park, the air felt cool against your skin, and the trees around you swayed gently in the breeze. The park was quiet, mostly empty, with only a few scattered joggers. You found him near a bench, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, his posture tense. He stood as soon as he saw you, but neither of you moved closer at first. There was an awkwardness between you two that felt thick enough to cut.

“Hyunjin,” you said softly, your voice almost faltering. "You wanted to talk?"

He nodded but didn’t say anything right away. He just stood there, staring at you as if he wasn’t sure how to start. Finally, after a long pause, he exhaled sharply and took a step closer.

“I’m sorry,” he began, his voice low and unsure. "I know I hurt you last night, and I—I need you to know that wasn’t my intention. I’ve been… I’ve been a mess, and I didn’t know how to handle it. I don’t know how to deal with these feelings.”

You furrowed your brows, the confusion growing. “Feelings? What are you talking about?”

Hyunjin seemed to hesitate, as if he was unsure whether to voice the words out. But after a moment, he added, his voice breaking slightly: "I—I like you. More than just a friend. I had for a while, but I wasn't sure how to deal with it. So I tried pushing you away. I figured if I detached myself from you, it would go away. That I could let go of these feelings."

The words struck you like a thunderclap. For a while, you just stood there, your mind spinning, trying to make sense of what he had just revealed. Hyunjin... liked you? Was it why he had been so distant? All the time you'd spent wondering what had changed, what had gone wrong… it was this?

He looked at you, his eyes full of vulnerability, guilt, and something else that you couldn’t quite name. “I didn’t know how to deal with it, and I thought… if I pushed you away, I could just forget. But the more I tried to ignore it, the worse it got. And last night, I just… I didn’t know how to act around you anymore. So I lashed out. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

You stood there, silently absorbing his words. The knot in your chest relaxed, but it was replaced by something else: a rush of feelings you couldn't quite describe.

You had no idea how to handle this revelation. You had been wondering what had happened to your friendship, why things seemed so tense, and now it all made sense. But it was overwhelming. You never saw it coming.

"I don't know what to say," you confessed gently. "I did not..." I didn't realize you felt that way. All I saw was you slipping away, and I wondered if I had done something wrong. I didn't realize it was about this."

“I should have told you,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. "I was so afraid of ruining everything, of losing our friendship. But instead, I ended up pushing you away. I thought if I could stop being close to you, I could stop feeling this way. I was wrong."

You felt a mixture of emotions rise up relief, anger, sadness, confusion. But beneath it all, there was something else: you understood now. He had been trying to protect himself, even if it meant hurting you in the process. It didn’t make his actions right, but it made them a little easier to comprehend.

“So what now?” you asked, your voice softer than before.

Hyunjin took a step closer, his gaze intense. "I don’t expect things to go back to how they were immediately. I don’t know how to fix this. But I want to try. I want to be honest with you now. If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. But I couldn’t keep pretending anymore. I couldn’t let you think you didn’t matter."

You paused for a long moment, the weight of his words sinking in. Part of you still felt hurt, but another part of you your heart, maybe was softening. You had always cared about him. The idea of more than just friendship… it was a lot to process, but you realized that in some way, you were willing to listen, to figure out what this meant for the two of you.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen next,” you said, finally meeting his gaze. “But I’m not going to lie and say I don’t care. I do. I care a lot. We just need time. To figure this out.”

Hyunjin nodded, his eyes filled with a quiet hope. “I’ll give you time. I won’t push you. I just needed to say it. To be honest.”

The two of you stood there for a while, neither of you moving, but there was a shift a change in the air. For the first time in weeks, it felt like there might be a way forward. Maybe it wasn’t simple, maybe it wasn’t easy, but at least you had the truth. And that, you realized, was enough to begin again.

HAN

The silence lingered for what seemed like hours, the kind of silence that enveloped you both like a thick cloud. You hadn't moved, still curled on the bed, eyes locked on the wall, as if it might give some answers. You couldn't get the idea that something inside of him had permanently shifted, that whatever had cracked tonight had been building up for a time and was now beyond your control.

Jisung said nothing, did not try to pull you closer, nor did he give his usual soothing words of regret. But he had not left either. His presence next to you, despite its normal comfort, suddenly felt like a distant recollection, a piece of him that had vanished.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you heard him shift on the bed beside you. His voice was barely a whisper, but you could tell he was struggling, his words thick with emotion.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and you could hear the weight of the apology, like he had been holding it back for so long it had become a raw, painful thing.

You stayed silent, not sure what to say. He had hurt you, and though you wanted to forgive him, you couldn’t shake the sting of his words. His harshness had cut deeper than anything he’d said before, and you weren’t sure if it was the exhaustion of the day, or something more, something that had been building up between you two for a while.

“I didn’t mean it, Y/N,” he continued, his voice shaky, as if the apology itself had become difficult to express. “I’m just… I’m just tired. I don’t know how to deal with everything. But that doesn’t excuse how I snapped at you. You don’t deserve that. You never do.”

You eventually allowed yourself to turn towards him, your gaze scanning his face, and you saw the weakness there, the same vulnerability you had always seen beneath his normal confidence. His fists were clasped in his lap, and his shoulders bowed, as if he were bracing for the impending storm.

"You are not a burden, Y/N." "You're not clingy," he continued quietly, his voice much lower now, as if the apology was gradually peeling away the layers of irritation and hurt. "I just.. I'm not always sure how to let you in. I am so overwhelmed that instead of accepting your help, I push you away."

Your heart squeezed. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he was battling with himself, trying to figure out how to make it right without knowing how.

“I’ve been so used to dealing with everything on my own,” he continued, looking at the floor as if he couldn’t bear to look you in the eye. “I didn’t want to burden you with my problems. I didn’t want you to see me as weak. But instead, I ended up hurting you.”

The vulnerability in his words hit you hard, and it took everything in you not to reach out and wrap your arms around him. You knew he had been struggling, you knew it. But hearing him admit that he had been keeping things from you, afraid of showing his true self, only made the ache in your chest grow.

“I don’t think you’re weak,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly. “I think you're strong. But you don’t have to do everything by yourself, Jisung. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

He shook his head, eventually meeting your eyes. His eyes were filled with sadness, but there was also a quiet desperation in them, as if he didn't know how to mend the rift between you two.

“I just... I'm so sorry. I don't know how to ask for help," he said, his voice full with sorrow. "But when you try to help me, I... I push you away because I'm not sure how to let you in. But you aren't a burden, Y/N. You have never been one. I just didn't know how to handle anything on my own, so I ended up pushing you away when all you wanted was to be there for me."

The honesty in his words was almost too much to bear. You had always known Jisung to be someone who wore his heart on his sleeve, someone who could make light of even the darkest situations. But now, seeing him like this, so raw and open, made your chest tighten.

“I don’t want you to push me away anymore,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want to help you. But I can’t help you if you keep shutting me out.”

Jisung's lips twitched, as if he wanted to say more but couldn't find the right words. Instead, he simply nodded, the impact of his quiet screaming loudly. He didn't need to say anything else because you could feel the pain in his chest and all the frustration he'd been carrying around for too long.

For a long time, the two of you merely sat there, your quiet now distinct. It wasn't the crushing stillness of earlier, but one filled with empathy, even if neither of you understood exactly how to mend anything.

After a while, Jisung reached out, his hand hesitating before softly stroking your arm. The warmth of his fingers across your skin brought back memories of how simple things had been between you two. He didn't say anything unnecessary, but you could sense his apology in the way he held his hand there, letting you know he was sincerely sorry.

"I'll try to do better," he answered simply and softly. "I will try to let you in more. I do not want to push you away anymore."

You nodded, your heart still heavy but not as broken as it had been moments ago. “I just want to be there for you, Jisung,” you said softly. “I don’t want you to have to go through everything alone.”

The quiet stretched again, but this time, it felt different. It felt like a beginning. Neither of you knew how to fix everything right away, but you both knew that you wanted to try. And sometimes, that was enough.

Jisung shifted closer, his hand still resting on your arm, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel so distant from each other. There were still things left unsaid, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that you were both here, both willing to try again.

felix

The hours passed by in agonizing silence, the kind that made everything seem more impossible than it actually was and stretched and clawed at your thoughts. Nothing could take away the icy emptiness that had descended between you and Felix, even as you lay there, wrapped up inside yourself, listening to the gentle buzz of the night.

When the world got too much, he would wrap up with you and reassure you with soft touches and quiet words. You recalled the warmth you had previously enjoyed. Now, it felt like a lifetime ago. His distance was more than just physical; it was something that made your chest hurt since you didn't know how to make it better.

But as much as you wanted to lie there, to let the hurt consume you, you couldn't. You couldn't just wait and wonder if things would somehow improve on their own. You were the kind of person who needed closure, who needed to understand what was happening. And right now, Felix was slipping through your fingers, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

You sat up, wiping at your tear-streaked face, and glanced towards the living room. The faint glow from the TV still flickered through the hallway, casting a cold light on the darkness of the apartment. You could feel the weight of the choice pressing down on you: Should you leave him be, give him the space he seemed to want, or should you push through, confront him, and demand answers?

You hesitated for quite some time. But then you made a decision. You needed answers. You needed to understand why the person you loved had abruptly shifted into someone you didn't recognize. You moved along the hallway, the apartment's silence more oppressive than before.

Felix kept his position on the couch, his eyes looking blankly at the TV, his posture tight and walled off. You stayed there for a moment, studying him, trying to determine whether he noticed your presence.

His eyes didn’t leave the screen. His face remained unreadable.

"Felix," you said again, your voice steady but laced with emotion. This time, there was no hesitation in your tone, no softness. You needed him to hear you.

He didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel the tension in the room shift slightly, as if he knew you were waiting for him to say something. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, quieter than before.

“I told you I don’t want to talk,” he said, almost in a whisper. But this time, the words weren’t as sharp. There was something else in his voice, something you hadn’t heard before. It wasn’t anger, but a deep exhaustion, a weariness that seemed to go beyond just physical fatigue.

You didn’t take a step back this time. Instead, you closed the distance between you, sitting on the arm of the couch, your hand brushing lightly against his. It was small, a gesture that once would have meant nothing, but now it felt like everything. You needed him to know you were still here, that you hadn’t given up.

“Felix,” you repeated, softer this time, your voice trembling with vulnerability. “I know something’s bothering you. And I get it. You don’t have to talk right now, if you’re not ready. But I need to know—am I the problem?”

When you asked the question, his head snapped towards you, his eyes wide with amazement, as if he had never considered it before. For a brief moment, his gaze softened, and you thought you caught a glimpse of the old Felix, the one who used to share everything with you, the one who would always turn to you when the world got too much.

"Of course not," he said gently, his voice husky. He took a deep breath and wiped his face with his palms before running them through his hair. "You aren't the problem. "I just...I’m a mess right now, okay? I did not mean to push you away. I didn't know how to deal with it, and I thought if I could draw back, maybe it would get better.”

His words hung in the air, and for the first time in what felt like days, you understood. Felix had always been the strong one, the person who seemed so capable of handling everything on his own. But now you saw how much he was struggling beneath the surface, how much he had been hiding.

"You don’t have to carry it all alone," you said, your voice gentle but firm. "Felix, we’ve always been a team. You can lean on me. You don’t have to push me away just because you’re having a hard time."

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze flickering to the floor, then back up to you. The tension in his shoulders finally seemed to ease, and he let out a long breath. It was as though a weight was slowly lifting, and for the first time in days, you saw a glimpse of the Felix you had known and loved.

“I’m scared,” he admitted softly, his voice breaking slightly. “I’m scared of being a burden. I’m scared that if I show you how much I’m struggling, you’ll leave. I’m scared you won’t love me if I’m not always the one who has everything together.”

The rawness of his confession hit you like a wave, and for a moment, you just sat there, your heart aching for him. You had always known Felix to be strong, but in this moment, you realized just how vulnerable he was beneath it all, and how much he had been carrying alone.

“You don’t have to be perfect for me, Felix,” you said, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “I love you, all of you—the good, the bad, and everything in between. You don’t have to be anything but yourself.”

Felix finally looked at you, his eyes wide, his expression almost disbelieving. The walls that had been built up around him seemed to crack ever so slightly, and you could see the relief in his eyes. He swallowed hard, then reached out, taking your hand in his.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his grip tightening around your fingers. “I’ve been pushing you away for no reason. I was just so scared.”

You shook your head gently, squeezing his hand. “It’s okay, Felix. You don’t have to be scared. We’ll get through this together.”

For a minute, you just stood there, the two of you having an unsaid understanding. There was still a lot to sort out, and the path ahead would be difficult, but you knew that if you were both ready to try, you could do it.

As Felix drew in closer, resting his forehead against yours, you felt the warmth of his presence return, as well as the relief that you hadn't lost him despite everything. Not yet.

And for the first time in days, you allowed yourself to believe that things could be better.

seungmin

The morning light filtered softly through the kitchen windows, casting a dull glow over the room. Seungmin walked in, a faint sigh escaping his lips as he poured himself a cup of coffee, his mind still half-occupied by the rehearsals and everything waiting for him outside the walls of this apartment. But as he sat down at the breakfast table, he was immediately hit with an unexpected shift in the air.

There was no cheerful greeting from you, no attempt to share a quiet moment together before the day began. Instead, you sat across from him, silently eating your breakfast, your gaze fixed on the plate in front of you. Usually, you’d be making something small, even if it was just a quick toast or coffee, a gesture that made mornings feel connected. But today, the stillness felt suffocating.

Seungmin frowned, the weight of the silence pressing down on him. He didn’t quite understand why you weren’t speaking, but he knew something wasn’t right. He set his cup down, meeting your eyes for the briefest of moments before his voice broke through the quiet.

"What’s wrong?" he asked, his tone a bit strained, not sure if he was even ready to hear the answer.

You did not respond immediately away, keeping your gaze fixed on your food and your jaw tight as if the words you wanted to say were locked between your teeth. But they didn't come, and your silence spoke louder than any argument. Seungmin waited, his patience dwindling as time passed.

Finally, you scoffed, making a little but harsh sound that seemed to cut through the air, and you stood up from the table, pushing your chair back with an audible scrape.

"I don’t know, Seungmin," you shot back, your voice tinged with frustration, barely holding back the anger bubbling beneath the surface. "Maybe I’m just tired of feeling like I don’t matter to you."

He blinked, taken aback by the intensity of your words. Before he could respond, you stormed off, the door to the bedroom slamming shut behind you with a force that rattled the still air. Seungmin sat there, the taste of the bitter coffee suddenly unfamiliar in his mouth, his mind spinning. He hadn’t expected this. Not after everything that had happened last night.

The rest of the day felt like a blur. He went through the motions work, meetings, rehearsals but your words lingered in his mind, a constant hum of unease. By the time he returned home that evening, the tension was unbearable. He hesitated by the front door, unsure of what to expect. Normally, he would have found you sitting on the couch, or you would have greeted him with a small smile, asking about his day. But tonight, there was only silence.

He walked into the apartment, his footsteps faltering slightly as he noticed you in the corner of the living room, avoiding his gaze completely. You sat curled up on the couch, eyes fixed on the television but not really seeing anything at all. He stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of you, and the hollow feeling in his chest deepened.

"Can we talk?" he asked carefully, his voice laced with concern. His eyes searched yours for any sign that you were ready to listen.

You didn't respond immediately, your body rigid and remote. His heart fell as he saw the look on your face, as if a part of you had closed off, trapped behind a door he couldn't open. "Please," he said, getting closer. "I don't know what's going on, but..." "I can't fix this unless you tell me."

You snapped your head up, your eyes burning with a mix of pain and frustration. Your voice was more emotional than usual. "You don't get it, do you, Seungmin?" You stood up abruptly, raising your voice with each word. "I have tried. I've been trying for days to get you to come see me and realize that something is wrong! But all you have done is brush me off, make me feel like I’m too much for you, like I’m just… clingy."

His eyes widened in realization, the words you had uttered earlier in the morning returning to him with a crushing force. He had no idea it had gotten this bad, nor did he realize how much his words had hurt you until now. And it stung when the weight of his own stupidity fell on him. You carried on, your voice cracking as you talked.

"You've been really distant, Seungmin. And when I try to talk to you or look for your attention, you just push me away. You make me feel as though I am a burden. And I can't keep pretending that I don't feel it.”

Seungmin opened his mouth, but no words came out. He stood there, completely stunned, his chest tightening with regret. He had been so wrapped up in his own stress and exhaustion, so focused on his own battles, that he hadn’t realized how far apart you had grown, how much pain you had been quietly carrying.

He swallowed hard, stepping closer, his voice small now, barely a whisper. "I never meant to make you feel that way. I… I didn’t realize how much my actions were hurting you."

But your anger had already started to bubble back up. You shook your head, arms crossed tightly against your chest. "How could you not realize, Seungmin? How could you not see how much I’m struggling with this? I needed you, but you’ve been so… so cold." You paused, your breath shallow. "I needed you to care. To see me."

The words stung like salt in an open wound, but Seungmin couldn’t deny the truth in them. His heart clenched, and without thinking, he moved toward you, pulling you into his arms before you could step away.

"I’m so sorry," he murmured, his voice thick with regret. "I didn’t mean to make you feel invisible, or like you were too much. I’ve been so caught up in everything that I forgot to see you, to notice what I was doing to us." He held you tighter, his grip desperate now, like he was trying to hold onto something he feared was slipping away. "Please forgive me. I don’t want to lose you."

Your body trembled against him, but for the first time in what felt like ages, you didn’t pull away. You rested your forehead against his chest, letting out a shaky breath, your emotions swirling but slowly softening under his touch.

"I just need you to be present, Seungmin," you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt. "I need to know that you’re here with me. That I matter to you."

"I hear you," he whispered softly, gently touching your face and lifting your head to meet his gaze. His embrace was raw and vulnerable in a way you had not seen before. "I hear you, and I promise to do better." I will make you feel seen. I will make sure you understand how much you mean to me."

You nodded softly, your heart aching but glad for his genuine remarks. The path to healing would take time, but for the first time in a long time, you felt confident that he would accompany you on it.

I.N

The next day, Jeongin arrived at your apartment, his normal bright smile on his face as he walked through the door. It was as if yesterday had never happened. His aura was light and carefree, as if he hadn't just disrupted the peace you had previously enjoyed in your relationship.

You, on the other hand, were still reeling from his cold demeanor the night before. The hurt persisted, and you couldn't shake the weight of his words. Stop being so clingy. It wasn't the first time someone had made you feel small, but it hurt more than you expected, especially coming from him.

You didn't answer as usual, and you didn't greet him with the warmth he had grown to expect. Instead, you kept your distance by giving him short, clipped answers. You preoccupied yourself with little things in the apartment, refusing to make eye contact in the hopes that the stillness would bridge the gap between you. The tension in the room, however, was palpable.

Jeongin didn't seem to notice right away. He went about his usual business, jokingly discussing his day and laughing as if everything was alright. When he reached for your hand, you automatically pushed it away, indicating that something was wrong. His smile faltered, and the warmth in his eyes was gradually replaced by confusion.

"Hey," he said, voice soft, the smile still not fully gone but now laced with a hint of concern. "What's wrong?"

You looked up at him, saw the real confusion in his eyes, and almost let it go. Almost let go of your pain for his smile, for the Jeongin you adored. But the words you'd been keeping in all day sprang to the surface. "What was that yesterday?" You snapped, your voice filled with emotion. The anger, hurt, and confusion you'd been harboring all night had finally bubbled over. "You were an entirely different person. One minute you were fine the next you were pushing me away, telling me I was too clingy. What was that?"

Jeongin blinked, taken aback by your strong tone, his eyes wide as if he had not expected such an outburst. His posture tensed, and for a brief period, you could see the walls he had built to protect himself from whatever discomfort was brewing inside. But that didn't erase the fact that his actions had harmed you more than he knew.

"If you want to act like that, maybe we should just break up," you muttered, the words tumbling out before you could stop them, a mix of hurt and frustration in your voice. "I don't want to be with someone who suddenly treats me like I'm a burden just because they're worried about what others think.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Jeongin’s expression faltered, his brows furrowing as if the idea of you breaking up was the last thing he expected. His eyes softened slightly, and his voice became almost breathless as he spoke, not quite believing what you’d just said.

“Wait… what?” His voice wavered, the hurt in his eyes clear now. "No, no, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean to hurt you."

You crossed your arms, feeling the burn of frustration building again. You needed answers. “Then what was it, Jeongin? Why did you act like that? I thought we were fine, but now… now I don’t know where I stand with you.”

He exhaled shakily, his hands running through his hair as he paced for a moment, clearly struggling to find the right words. After a beat of silence, he stopped in front of you, meeting your eyes, this time with a vulnerability that was both unexpected and painfully familiar.

“I… I love you," he began, his voice steady but filled with an edge of fear. "I love you so much, but I was afraid… I was afraid that if we showed too much PDA, the members would tease me relentlessly. They’re always joking about stuff like that, and I didn’t want them to make fun of me, of us."

The explanation hung in the air, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, stunned. Was this actually the reason? Was he so concerned about what his members thought that he distanced himself from you, his girlfriend, in front of them? You struggled to wrap your head around it.

"Are you embarrassed of me?" The question fell out of your mouth before you could think. The thought of it twisted something inside you, the possibility that he might consider you as something to hide rather than something to be proud of.

Jeongin’s face immediately morphed into one of panic, as if the very suggestion cut him deeper than anything you could have said. “No! God, no. I would never—” He stepped forward, his hands reaching for you, but you instinctively took a small step back. He stopped, his hands falling to his sides, the hurt in his eyes obvious now.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, the weight of his confession hanging between you two. "I never meant for you to feel like that. I just… I just didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t want the members to think I was soft or that I couldn’t keep my cool. But I was wrong. I was so wrong. I’m sorry for pushing you away, for making you feel like I didn’t care about you."

His words were a mix of regret and sincerity, and as he spoke, you could feel the depth of his struggle, the dread of being judged and ridiculed that kept him from completely being himself with you. It wasn't that he didn't love you; it was just that he hadn't understood how to balance his feelings with the demands of his life.

You stood there, silent for a moment, contemplating what he had just said. Your heart was still raw, but you could see remorse in his eyes and feel it in the way he stood, as if he was waiting for you to decide what to do next.

Finally, you spoke, your voice quieter than before, but the hurt remained beneath the surface. "I don't care what others say, Jeongin. I care about us. I want to be able to express my love for you without having to worry about what others might say."

He nodded quickly, his stare focused, and took a slight step toward you. "I promise I won't do it again. I will never make you feel that you are too much, or that I am embarrassed by you. You are more than just someone I care about; you are someone I am proud of. And I will do better. I will."

You held onto his gaze, seeing the honesty in his eyes and sensing the truth in his words. It was not a simple fix. There was work to be done and trust to be rebuilt, but you could tell right away that he was eager to give it his all.

"I just need you to be honest with me," you muttered, feeling the tension between you begin to ease. "That's all I want."

Jeongin's expression softened as he made one final step forward, closing the gap between you. His hands met yours, and his contact was warm and grounded. "I'm here. I'm actually here. And I will make sure you never feel that way again."

(❌ proofread)

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