#I can’t have anxiety and a big mouth

[latenightchicken]

One of these days I’m gonna stop saying stupid shit.

[merevide]

i should stop making cringe posts tbh. but i can’t.

[writingunderneathawillow]

tight spaces (bucky barnes x fem!reader)

content warnings: fluff, a pinch of angst, bucky gets anxious because of tight spaces, suggestive, bucky gets a boner hehehe, lowkey manhandling I guess, also accidentally inspired by teen wolf word count: 930

The door of the supply room fell shut, sending you tumbling towards Bucky.

You had meant to keep it open, your foot propped against it while Bucky searched for the gun cleaning supplies. But it had rested heavily on you, leaving you straining and telling Bucky to get a move on.

Supply room was a generous term. It was basically a small closet made out of metal, barely big enough to accommodate one person, definitely not two.

You were pressed against Bucky’s chest after your stumble, feeling his hands at your waist to stabilise you.

“Sorry,” you muttered as you tried to get yourself in a more upright position.

“It’s fine,” he mumbled and let go of your sides. The warmth of his skin, that had seeped through your shirt, was gone so quickly, it felt as if the room’s temperature had dropped.

You went to reach for the door, stemming your weight against it as you pressed down on the door handle, but it didn’t move an inch.

At the same time, you were equally aware of Bucky’s gaze on you and the proximity of his lap and your ass. You tried pushing yourself more at the door, but it didn’t give in and didn’t allow for any more space between the two of you, either.

“Buck? We have a problem,” you said and twisted as much as possible to look at him. “The door won’t open.”

His eyebrows knitted together as his gaze flicked between you and the door.

“Can’t be, you just gotta try again,” he instructed and nodded encouragingly.

You sighed and repeatedly tried to force the door open, but it didn’t budge.

“I think it’s shut,” You replied, teeth gritted as you pushed again.

“Let me,” he said and tried to move past you. It didn’t seem intentional to you but the way he grabbed your shoulders, gently attempting to force himself towards the door by moving you out of the way, made your stomach flutter.

However, he wasn’t successful, stuck between you and the door with no way of positioning himself closer the exit.

He sighed and apologised as he simply reached over you, accidentally pushing you into his chest while his large hands fumbled with the door.

In the dim lighting you could still make it out the way his biceps flexed under his shirt and with the way you were sandwiched between him and the door, you could take in his scent effortlessly, practically drowning you in leather and a hint of citrus.

You tried to hold your breath, embarrassed by how lightheaded you became as his smell encircled you.

With a soft groan Bucky took a tiny step back, as much as the room allowed.

“God, we’re really stuck,” he murmured, and all your giddiness disappeared as you picked up on the trace of anxiety on his words.

Bucky and closed spaces did not go well together, especially ones made out of metal. Being entombed in a cold, tight room was sending shivers down his spine, and he was barely able to conceal them. You heard how his breath quickened and saw his eyes darting in between the walls of the room, searching for a way out.

“It’s okay,” you whispered; your hands rested on his forearms and you began to softly stroke up and downwards. “The others are gonna realise soon that we’re in here, we’re okay.”

His eyes met yours, the blue nearly hidden with his enlarged pupils. He nodded slowly, his gaze fixated on you as you continued your soothing motions.

“We’re okay,” he repeated as he watched you, almost entranced by your voice. After a few seconds his eyes began to wander again but instead of taking in his surroundings, they lingered on you.

The soft curve of your mouth, the gradual slope of your nose and the gentleness of your eyes captivated him, pulling him out of his state of panic.

“You have a scar there,” he mumbled, nodding towards your eyebrow. “I’ve never noticed it before.”

The words had stumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Only when he shifted slightly, he seemed to realise where you were. How you were glued to him, skin on skin with no room between the two of you.

All the blood that had pounded in his ears and head just seconds ago now rushed south.

You became aware of your situation again as well and desperately tried to find a place in the supply room that wasn’t taken up by him.

“Doll, you gotta-,” he groaned softly as he tried to adjust himself and get a little distance between both of you.

“You gotta turn around or something ‘cause, uh-“ he searched for words that wouldn’t make it so awkward but none came.

Your eyebrows scrunched up, confused by this, and tried to twist your body to face towards the door but then you felt it.

Warmth radiated from his lap along with an unmistakable hard sensation, straining against his pants right against you.

“Oh, uh, I’m sorry,” you stuttered, trying even harder to increase the proximity between the two of you.

He muttered something unintelligible and then said: “No, don’t be. I’m the one who’s sorry, sweetheart.”

A soft hiss escaped his mouth when you finally had managed to turn around, now facing the door with warmed cheeks.

A few seconds passed, your backside now pressed into him, until he broke the silence.

“Doll?” “Yeah?” “This is worse.”

You chuckled, pressing your hand against your lips and you could hear his faint laughter. --- part 2 now out

[willyoubemycherryy]

Have one on me…(C.Kent)

Summary: “Don’t scream or shout, I’m working my way down…”, Make it to the morning x Intimacy Cues pt 2.

Contains: fluff, smut, nervousness, Clark is hot, he’s also a munch, like seriously, tongue fxcking, because I personally headcanon him to have a long tongue think misha collins (who’s next btw) kissing, they’re also kinda dorks, pussydrunk!clark, multiple 0rgasms, he gets carried away bad, coming untouched, cursing/swearing, for the love of god don’t let him get his mouth on the box for a while after this😭, you’re secretly his girlfriend you just don’t know it yet, hell of a Valentine’s Day, am I right? @moonstruks I got the ambulance this time if u need it😉🤝🏽

A/N: Be normal. Don’t make me regret updating.

. .* ੈ✩‧₊•

“Atta girl, jus’ lay there nice n pretty while I give you everything you need..”

And he wasn’t kidding.

From the next seconds following Clark stripping your bottoms off and folding your trembling legs towards your chest, become a blur as your world gets overwhelmed with a new palette of sensations. Your mouth drops open in a moan when you feel his nose skim along the back of your thighs before dipping inside making you jerk, and he coos at you, warm puffs of air breezing over your center.

God, you were wet. Wet and so pretty.

It was like a gloss the way your slick covered your lips; steadily leaking from your tight hole to the point where it was borderline messy. Clark licks his lips again with a deep breath, hot gaze locked on your cunt because he just can’t make himself look away and he’s so hard he’s throbbing. Still, he has to keep one thing in mind more than anything: that you are completely new to this. Which also meant you were trusting him and you can. He’ll go slow. He’ll simply make you cum and he won’t get carried away as you get used to how you’ll be feeling during the whole thing.

The heady scent of your arousal makes his eyes lid a bit as he blows on your clit, groaning lowly when he sees it twitch, more slick leaking from your cunt. He can hear the breakneck speed of your heart when your breathless voice shyly calls out for him, you don’t look down though. You’re still too nervous but that’s okay. He’ll get you there.

“..Clark? What- um…” you trail off and you sound so sweet and he’s just so hard and all that mixed with how he’s still in disbelief that he’s even got you like this, he can’t help himself; jaw dropping open as he laps a slow, fat stripe up your pussy. Letting his tongue sit snug against the underside of your throbbing clit before closing his mouth around it and sucking- rolling it around with his tongue like a piece of candy.

To you, it happens so fast that it’s like a shot of pure adrenaline. Your chest feels like it’s caving in with each gasping moan as your body is abruptly flung into the depths of molten ecstasy. At first you weren’t sure how you felt about his face being that close to your…but the sheer hunger in his expression made you ache- anxiety slowly fading in wake of your arousal. However now, it’s also agonizing and you don’t think you’ll ever be this miserable again when that deliciously wet suction is off your clit, only to be replaced with heavy strokes of tongue that have you reeling. Tears of pleasure bud in the corners of your eyes and the heat in your cheeks just won’t leave at the sounds coming from Clark and your own mouth. You’ve never sounded so…desperate. Needy, high pitched moans tear out of your throat- sharp stabs of pleasure giving you goosebumps and you feel the urge to reach out- touch Clark so he can ground you.

The taste of you has him drunk, big hands tightening their grip as he nuzzles his face deeper into your pussy, suckling your clit back into his hot mouth with a pleased delirious hum, the vibrations of his moans travel through you and you scream. Back arching so hard, you’re almost lifting off the bed; mouth opening and closing as you try to shut yourself up but simultaneously catch your breath. It’s a stupid idea, though. Clark is just too good with his mouth and you’ve never actually had anyone make you cum, never let anyone so close but even if you had, you doubt they’d be like Clark. He’s got you floating, unable to even think of anything not involving him.

Your entire body is trembling but he doesn’t think you even notice based on the sounds coming from your lips. You’re somewhere else entirely and If he thought you were wet before, it’s nothing compared to how soaked you were now. Each swipe of his tongue is immediately replaced with fresh waves of your slick as he licked away at you. Clark said he wasn’t going to get carried away but you were so soft. So fucking soft, and wet- so ready underneath him that it was hard especially with the way you were coating his senses. His head is spinning from the sweet, heady smell and taste of you, his ears ringing from your beautiful cries. Fuck, he could eat you out forever. Heart pounding he way you were under his mouth was beyond addicting; head dipping, he sucks at your hole and it happens too all at once for you to even tell him that you’re coming or possibly dying but coming hard.

Tears spill over as a long, almost painful sounding series of punched out moans tumble out of your mouth. The warm knot in the bottom of your stomach from before seems to explode, soaking your every nerve in searing bliss as Clark treats your poor clit like a pacifier. Using his tongue, he rolls it gently between his teeth and you pray there’s a burial ground nearby after he’s done killing you. The sharp twing of pain added to the melting pleasure has you wailing through the best thing you truly never knew you needed. It’s burning, tingling, somewhat painful honestly but oh so good. You gasp, trying to come down but Clark doesn’t stop- he can’t stop.

Lapping his more than talented tongue heavily through your slit, you absentmindedly look down. So tired from your orgasm that embarrassment doesn’t even stop by but what does make your heart stop is how Clark looks.

Messy black hair is all you see before reaching down to sweep it back, breath hitching when you’re suddenly staring into his pretty blown eyes, lidded heavily in arousal. He doesn’t stop, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he slowly licks up from your hole to your clit and you go positively lightheaded. You were always painfully aware- to an uncomfortable degree- of how attractive Clark is but seeing that same face smeared in your wetness, those same maddening fangs peeking out with the pink of his tongue as he laves open mouthed licks up your cunt was too much.

“C-came already-!” You’re cut off by your own shaky whine when you feel him continue to suckle the sensitive around your entrance.

He isn’t getting carried away- fat tongue slipping inside you to taste that delicious cream from the source, sucking sloppily as he undulates his tongue and you go boneless; falling flat against your bed while Clark eats you alive. His perfect nose nuzzles against your pulsing clit as a result, and your heart skips as white hot pleasure ricochets through you. The appendage squeezes in further, and you can feel the mess that’s beginning to accumulate but you don’t care, grinding down on his face. Reaching down, you card your trembling fingers through his hair and you’re so nice about it vs. the sick way he’s eating you up that he rewards you by pulling his tongue out some just to slide it back in, wiggling with persistence against your tight inner walls, fucking you with his tongue. Every now and then- in a pussydrunk daze- he pulls out to swallow; lower face drenched in you, and then plunges right back in, cock throbbing painfully but he’s in heaven.

Your skin is damn near ready to vibrate off your skeleton, bleated moans rise to keens as Clark flexes his tongue before pulling out to flick at your pearl. Biting your lip, you start to cry in earnest. Completely overwhelmed but so good at the same time that you refuse to tell him to stop.

It's insane. How his tongue is so big it covers your entire sex at the best of each lick, tasting you over and over. He keeps lapping at you, his tongue parting the fat lips of your swollen cunny with maddening repitition, saliva and slick sliding down over your asshole. It's lewd and noisy and oh god, oh god- you’re gonna come again.

In his world, all that exists is you. You with your pretty, overstimulated pussy that no one’s ever even seen- smelling so edible and coming so sweet in his mouth as you cry for him, melting like cotton candy. He’s worked your cunt over so well that she’s puffy. Spasming at every puff of air and another nasty wet kiss is all it takes for what’s left of you to come crumbling apart.

This time, Clark’s tongue fucks you through it. Lapping up every spurt of your juices, he holds you down while you black out. Letting the consuming waves of euphoria swallow you as Clark makes out with your pussy, eyes fluttered in bliss as he shoots ropes into his pants while he licks you clean- his own orgasm triggered by yours hitting then squeezing his tongue.

A weak groan leaves your chest and Clarks mouth reluctantly pops off your cunt and you shiver at the cool air.

His broad chest heaves as he stares at the tantalizing sight that is your cunt. Maybe he did get carried away. The slight gape of your tongue fucked hole makes him swear, brows furrowing with restraint and he whines low in his throat. As much as he would love to keep going, this is about you and you couldn’t handle anymore right now. Almost guiltily, he eyes your limp form on the bed, warm hands massaging your legs idly while he watches the quick rise and fall of your chest. Adjusting himself, he licks his lips and before he can stop it- a dazed smile raises the corner of his mouth. Your taste still sweet on his lips. Clearing his throat, Clark’s mellow voice breaks the silence, cutting through the fuzz in your ears.

“Hey..”, his hushed whisper makes you smile, albeit tiredly and you whisper back.

“..hi.”

Clark sighs in relief as he stands up, draping himself over you as he lays on top, kissing your lips softly. The shy look on your face only intensifies when you feel his wet face kiss at yours, remembering why it’s wet but in a strange way, it’s nice. You also feel lighter somehow but you’d investigate that later. The second time he kisses you, on the mouth this time, you kiss him back. Lips sliding against each other tenderly before he breaks away.

“So? How was it, baby? We still doin’ okay?” You turn your head as another hot flush overtakes your face at the petname and his audacity. How was it? Your normally smart ass didn’t even have the words to string together how good it was. Instead, you let the loopy smile you’ve been fighting win as you face him, nodding happily with sleepy eyes. Clark chuckles, nodding amusingly with you, feeling his chest swell and he’s not sure if it’s entirely because of his ego.

You really do feel great. Even with him laying flush on top of you and heavy, you don’t feel that familiar itch or urge to get away from him- for personal space which is surprising given the way he was eye and mouth contact with your most sensitively intimate areas only minutes ago.

“Mmm, better than okay- splendiforous even.” You smile as you feel his chest shake with laughter, shaking his head before kissing you again.

“Dr. Seuss? Really?” He raises an eyebrow and that same feeling that started all this begins to creep back in.

“Really really but”, you don’t know how to word it so you just pointedly look down and hope he catches your drift and he eventually does. Letting out a nervous but interested chuckle, tonguing the inside of his cheek before leaning down in your ear, the way his soft lips brush your skin makes heat slot up your spine.

“What about me?” Oh fuck.

You can’t wait to ask god what he got from creating someone as unnecessarily fine as Clark when he sends you to the afterlife.

Taking a deep breath, you manage to squeak out,

“Did you- don’t you want to…y’know…” Biting his lip to keep from smiling wolfishly, Clark drops his head on your shoulder. His breath in your ear making you shiver.

“I already did, baby.”

Oh?

“But I didn’t touch you-“

“But I- was touching you. Tasting you too and when you cum-”, he pauses to kiss wetly at your ear and you gasp, “it’s contagious, sweetheart.”

Oh.

The low whimper that leaves you has him ready to run laps and he gets real aware of how naked you are from the waist down and fights to control himself because it would be unfairly easy. Too easy to rile you up, rouse your curiosity about every single touchy thing you’ve never done and take you there but he can’t. He’s worn you out enough for one afternoon and fitting any part of him in you would be a whole other struggle entirely so he leaves that for another day when he’ll be following your lead again. A sleepy yawn breaks him out of his thoughts as he looks down at your pretty face.

“Tired?” You nod but make no move to separate and he bites his lip nervously at what now. You two were in similar circles but you never got on together so your odd relationship was new. He liked you, having you in his eye from afar since forever but he also knew how much too close could unnerve you.

“If you wanna nap I can go-”,

“Nah.” He swallows, trying not to sound to happy as your arms wrap around his big frame, snuggling into his warmth.

“No? But aren’t you tired? I don’t want to intr-”,

Your snort cuts him off.

“Intrude? I just gave you your very own lipgloss; it’s impossible for you to intrude now.” Touché. “Right, so-”,

“So now, we’ll get up after I catch my breath and then I’ll go clean up and after we’ll go get fries and do whatever covers.” You say casually but he hears your heart pounding and it sounds like a dream and he smiles, kissing you slowly for the countless times within the time you’ve been together, humming in agreement. You’re thankful he doesn’t point out the darkness of your cheeks- he still flusters you.

“Sounds perfect but what if I have plans?”

“You’ll cancel them.” You say, shrugging like it’s common knowledge and he’s reminded that he’s seen you, hence he knows you’re used to getting your way.

“You’re right. Good thing I’m free then, hm?”

You nod before running your nails up his back, cupping the back of his head as you bring him down for a sweet kiss. He warms all over, humming into your lips before he feels you pat at his shoulders- signaling him to get up so you can move. He does but you stay put, staring at him until he looks around with a confused smile.

“What?”

“Cover your eyes! I have to walk to the bathroom and I’m still naked!” Oh. Aw. How cute. Instead of teasing you, he simply nods but his smile says it all as his hands move to cover his sight.

“And if you even try to peek I’ll beat you up and steal your lunch money!” You huff out and he laughs, that devastating smile making your heart skip.

He hears you shuffle of the bed then stumble a bit before you get your footing then move around, there’s the ruffle of more fabric- probably pants- before nothing.

There’s a sudden quick press of warm softness on his lips and he gasps as your footsteps quickly pad away, the sound of the bathroom door closing seconds later and only then does he put his hands down, a hopelessly enamored grin on his face as he sits on your bed staring into space with the memory of your essence still fresh in his mouth.

Yeah. He was a goner but one thing is for sure: whatever he teaches you next- he’s taking you down with him but he gets the feeling that you’ll surprise him before then.

[dawngyu]

THE SLOW SURRENDER

Pairing: chaebol husband choi beomgyu x wife chaebol fem!reader

summary: The fear that you’re losing something you never truly had. Your own ring, now too heavy in your palm. A ring that should have meant forever.

Your deepest fear. Your husband.

warnings: reader discretion is advised. infidelity, arranged marriage, slow-burn, angst, toxic dynamics, emotional attachment, miscarriage!, misunderstandings, lovelorn, alcohol!consumption, guilt, repentance, rectification, accident, DUI(pls don't), anxiety!, panic-attack, implication of postpartum!depression, used different idols as ocs. if any of the warnings above might be triggering for you, please step back. let me know if I missed anything.

smut-warnings: MDNI, dubcon, explicit!descriptions, different smut-scenes. guilt-ridden!smut,beomgyu begging and crying while doing"it".

wc: 24k — playlist here.

notes: may this story tear you apart, and somehow, when it’s over, stitch you back together piece by piece.

a big thank you to my beta reader.

How is it that your own wedding makes you want to flee?

"To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

His voice is strangely distant—the words belong to someone else, rehearsed and repeated.

The ring slips onto your finger, its cold touch startling against your skin. You can’t tell if it’s the chill of the metal that makes you shiver—or the way his voice carries an indifference that seems to sit deep in your chest, pulling your breath with it.

The wedding dress—tailored from the finest silk, adorned with labyrinthine details—feels like something borrowed. Isn’t this supposed to be every girl’s dream? The happiest day of your life? The moment where everything begins—the start of your own family, your own story?

None of it feels like it. Not when he hasn’t said a single word to you since you arrived. It plagues your mind. And all you want to do is kick off the heels that bite into your feet, rip off the tiara that feels like a crown of lead, and run.

You let out a shaky exhale, the breath trembling in your chest when the ring settles on your finger. Your hands slip from his grasp, falling limply to your sides. The vows are done, the words spoken, but all you feel is an overwhelming urge to escape.

Your head turns, seeking the one person who feels safe. Your unsteady gaze finds Soobin, his worried eyes already fixed on you. He gives you a small, almost imperceptible nod, the kind only he would know how to give. All you want is to fall apart—to let the tears come, to crumble into the silent comfort of his eyes, whispering it’s okay.

The pastor’s voice pulls you back, and your soon-to-be husband cups your face with a tenderness that feels reluctance, almost calculated. Hands warm but the eyes that meet yours, cold.

He leans in, and you close your eyes. His lips brush yours, soft, landing just shy of your bottom lip.

“And now, I pronounce you husband and wife,” the pastor declares, the words echoing hollowly in your ears.

Everyone claps.

It's official.

He is now your husband.

"Can you at least smile?" your mother’s sharp voice cuts, gaze fixed on you with her usual expectation. Her lips press together in disapproval. "I don’t want you embarrassing us, honey," she adds, eyes narrowing.

You force a small, strained smile as another guest offers their congratulations. The words feel hollow, and meaningless.

"Mother." Soobin’s voice interrupts, his equally sharp gaze lands on her, and without waiting for her permission, he steps closer, hand brushing your elbow. "We have friends over there. I’ll take Y/N for a bit."

Your mother opens her mouth, distaste printed on her face. "I could go with her—"

"It’s just our friends, Mother," Soobin interjects, his words clipped but polite enough to stop her in her tracks. "Nothing that requires your attention. Besides, I believe Miss Park was trying to get your attention earlier."

Before she can argue further, Soobin’s hand slips into yours, and he gently tugs you away. The grip is reassuring, steady—something to anchor you in this mess.

The crowd seems endless. More congratulations, more empty smiles. Your eyes wander, scanning the room, searching for the one person who should be at your side. But he isn’t there. He isn't… here.

Your husband is nowhere to be found. He vanished as soon as the ceremony ended.

Soobin doesn’t say anything as he leads you into a quiet, empty room. Once inside, he shuts the door firmly behind you, sealing out the noise of the party.

The second the door clicks, his hands are on your face, cradling you like you might break. And you do.

"Soobin," you choke out, your voice trembling. Hot tears stream down your face, and he pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

"Shh," he murmurs, his voice shaky, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your back. "It’s okay. Let it out."

The tears come in waves, carrying with them all the weight you’ve been holding in—every forced smile, every empty thank yous, every aching reminder of your husband. That today isn’t what it should be.

"It hurts me," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "It hurts me that my dearest, sister had to go through with this." His words tremble, just like his hands that hold you tightly.

You can’t bring yourself to reply. Instead, you cling to him, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his jacket—making his heart clench. "Where the fuck is he anyway?" his voice betrays his frustration.

"I don’t—I don’t know," you whisper through your sobs. "How am I supposed to do this, Soobin? He wouldn’t even look at me." And beneath it all, the deeper truth haunts you. It isn’t just his absence or his coldness that hurts.

It’s the undeniable, unspoken reality that settles into your bones and refuses to leave: Choi Beomgyu doesn’t love you—not the way you love him.

The echoes of your wedding vows dance in your ears. For better or worse, you hear. For richer or poorer. In sickness and in health.

Until death do us part.

Three families—known as the Choi Enterprises—dominate the landscape of your country.

Names synonymous with power, wealth, and control. Together, they form an empire that touches nearly every facet of life, businesses towering over the economy like unshakable pillars.

Untouchable.

The first family commands the skies. They own the nation’s largest airline, a fleet that spans lands, with Choi Yeonjun, the celebrated heir, poised to inherit it all.

The second family shapes the skyline with their sprawling malls, and colossal structures that symbolize luxury and excess. Choi Beomgyu, their only son, is the face of it.

And then there’s your family, the architects of indulgence. You own the most prestigious hotels in the country, five-star havens that host the rich, the famous, and the powerful. Your brother, Choi Soobin—the prodigy, the golden child who has been groomed for this role his entire life.

And then there’s you. The second child. Since young, you were conditioned, moulded—not to lead, not to build, but to belong to someone else. To be a wife. One whose marriage would serve a purpose, a bargaining chip in a deal that you have no voice to protest.

Every day since you came of age felt like walking on thin ice, never knowing when it would crack beneath you. You lived with the constant dread that your father could announce your engagement at any last moment. If you were lucky, perhaps it would be someone whose face you recognized, or someone whose name didn’t sound foreign on your lips.

The three families have stood side by side for decades, their ties intertwined by history and convenience. With the heirs of each family so close in age, it was inevitable that you all ended up in the same place: a ridiculously expensive university your families could buy their way into.

It was no surprise that you had known Choi Beomgyu since you were children. And that you've loved him since.

Though you could never quite pinpoint when it began.

Your nine-year-old eyes scanned the room, overwhelmed by the sea of adults towering over you. Too many big, tall people, too many unfamiliar faces. It was the first time your dad had brought you along, always choosing your older brother instead. Never you.

“Would you like something to eat, Y/N?” your nanny asked. You shook your head, distracted. You were trying to find your brother, the one you’d begged to follow today, only to lose him. You had thought this place would be exciting, but now, you would have preferred serving tea to your dolls.

This place wasn’t fun at all.

When your nanny got busy with a conversation, you seized the chance to slip away. You weaved through the crowd, ducking under tables when the adults became too dense. You spotted Soobin ahead, standing with his friend—Yeonja? No, Yeonjun. The one who teased you mercilessly whenever he visited your house. They were too far away.

Giggling with excitement, you ran towards them, eager to finally reach your brother. But your foot caught on the edge of a rug, and you fell hard. “Ow.” You whimpered, face smacking the floor. A sharp, stinging pain in your mouth made your eyes well up. You wiped at your lips and froze when your fingers brushed against something small and hard.

Your front tooth had come out. “No. Soobin, Daddy!” you wailed, embarrassment creeping in as people started to stare. You were about to shout again when a boy appeared, no taller than you, holding out a handkerchief.

“Use this,” he said.

“No,” you mumbled.

“Huh?”

“I said I don’t want it.”

He raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Do you want everyone to think you’re ugly?” His words made you pause, his brown eyes studying you with a mix of curiosity and something else—something protective. The way he stood, it was as if he was shielding you from the judgmental eyes around you. “If you keep crying like that, everyone will think you are.”

The bluntness startled you, and it worked. Your mommy doesn't like it whenever you're crying anyway. She says it's unsightly. You grabbed the handkerchief, sniffling as you dabbed at your mouth. He watched you stand wobbly, one brow raised in quiet observation.

“Soobin?” he asked, recognizing your brother’s name.

You nodded, surprised that he knew.

He nodded back, taking your pinkie in his small hand and leading you across the yard, toward your brother safely.

That day was the day you first met your husband.

"Hey, have you heard? Choi Beomgyu and Park Ji-won broke up for the fourth time this semester," Jake, one of your batchmates, announces with a grin, his voice cutting through the chatter of your little group. The names make you freeze mid-conversation. "It’s hilarious, bro. Ji-won was literally stomping her feet like a kid."

"You little scandalmonger," Ryu-jin quips from beside you, rolling her eyes. "Why are you so invested in them? They’re a batch ahead of us. We don’t even cross paths with them."

You won’t encounter Choi Beomgyu often. The last time you had a proper, civil conversation—one forced by your parents—was when you were fifteen, and even then, your brother had been there too. That was five years ago.

During your first year, Choi Beomgyu was in the second. He got a girlfriend, Park Ji-won, the queen bee of their batch. Beomgyu was already famous, and their relationship quickly gained a reputation of its own, known for its ups and downs, the drama playing out like a spectacle for everyone to watch.

“Uh, h-hi, Y/N.” A boy stammers nervously in front of you. You look up, surprised to see him holding out a small box of chocolates. “I… I made these for you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

A soft smile forms on your lips as you reach out to take it. “Thank you, Hanbin.”

The way his name rolls so easily off your tongue catches him off guard. His eyes widen, and his face flushes a deep shade of red. He stammers out something that might be “you’re welcome” before ducking his head in a quick bow and practically fleeing the scene.

As he disappears into the crowd, Ryu-jin lets out a low whistle, her grin mischievous. “Oh-ho, my ever-charming and impossibly kind Y/N,” she teases, pinching your cheek in a way that makes you laugh and bat her hand away.

You hold the box of chocolates out to her, and without missing a beat, she takes it with a delighted, “Don’t mind if I do!”

“Why do you always know everyone’s names?” Jake asks, leaning over to snag a piece of chocolate before Ryu-jin can stop him. He pops it into his mouth, then gives you a mock incredulous look. “There are way too many people trying to win you over. If I were you, I wouldn’t even bother keeping track.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I don’t really try to memorize their names, Jake,” you explain, your voice softening. “But when someone puts themselves out there like that—when they go out of their way to do something kind for me—even if I don’t feel the same, the least I can do is acknowledge it. Knowing their name… it’s just part of respecting the effort they made.”

Jake leans back, arms crossed, pretending to look unimpressed. “You’re way too nice for your own good, you know that?”

The rest of the conversation became a blur. The details didn’t matter—they never really did. Choi Beomgyu had gotten back together with her again. That’s how it always went, didn’t it? Still, your mind dawdled on him, as it often did, bonded to a memory from so long ago: the boy with sceptic eyes and a hand who had guided you safely to your brother.

You couldn’t explain it fully, this quiet pull you felt toward him.

Maybe it was the way he kept to himself at gatherings, speaking only when necessary. His words always carried a weight your mother would later describe as "intelligent," her tone laced with rare approval. It could’ve been his eyes, dark and warm, matching the soft chaos of his hair. Or perhaps it was his low voice, that left a faint shiver dancing along your spine without warning.

Life had always been laid out for you, each piece polished and placed neatly on a silver platter. Nothing ever seemed truly exciting, not when you could have anything you wanted with minimal effort. You’d never been particularly interested in dating, either. Why chase something when the pursuit itself felt dull?

Choi Beomgyu was… different. He wasn’t even someone you could simply talk to. Maybe that’s why he fascinated you so much.

He's impossible to ignore.

"He's sick again… ugh."

The words grated on your nerves, cutting through the hallway like nails on a chalkboard. You were at your locker, minding your own business, stacking books into your bag. Ji-won’s loud voice, drew the attention of everyone within earshot.

You were ready to walk away from the nauseating cheap fog of their perfume, when her next words stopped you cold.

"Beomgyu's sick," she continued, tossing her hair back like it was some grand inconvenience to her. "We went shopping yesterday, and he lent me his umbrella when it rained. Now he's sick. Honestly, such an idiot move."

How could she talk about him like that? Here, in front of all these people, where anyone could hear?

"And I told him not to play basketball today," Ji-won added with a careless shrug. "I mean, it's not like some game is more important than my plans."

Some game? The basketball match wasn’t just some game—it was one of the biggest events of the year, something their team had poured weeks of practice into. And she expected him to ditch it for her whims?

The sharp clang of your locker shutting ripped through the air, louder than you intended when you closed it. The hallway fell silent. Ji-won flinched, startled by the sound, then turned, ready to snap at whoever dared interrupt her. But when her eyes met yours, the words died in her throat.

Your stare pinned her in place, unwavering. The entire hallway seemed to hold its breath, watching, waiting. Everyone knew better than to cross you—Choi trinity’s princess.

After a few long seconds, you broke eye contact, turned on your heel and walked away, each step of your Valentino sandals echoing with you.

As much as you wanted to speak, as much as the words burned at the back of your throat, you couldn’t. Because no matter how much Ji-won infuriated you, no matter how carelessly she spoke about him, this wasn’t your battle to fight.

You had no right to.

Beomgyu wasn’t yours to defend.

You body moved without thinking, pulling your phone out to call your driver. Medicine. Ingredients for a recovery soup. You listed everything quickly, your voice brisk to mask the slight shake in it.

Cooking had always been something you loved. There was a comfort in its simplicity—a recipe was just steps to follow, a methodical course that brought things to life. You liked how it could make someone happy, how it could bring warmth, even when words couldn’t.

When the ingredients arrived, you made your way to the university’s cooking room. It was meant for culinary students, but a single request to the club president had granted you access.

You tied your hair back, rolled up your sleeves and got to work. The familiar motions of chopping, stirring, and seasoning steadied you. The savoury aroma filled the room, spilling over into your senses. When the soup was done, you ladled it into a glass container, the warmth radiating through your hands. Perfect for the chilly wind outside.

It's no surprise that he got sick.

You packed it carefully, along with the medicine, into a small bag, and made your way toward his classroom. Sunghoon had told you where Beomgyu’s seat was, promising to keep it quiet. No one could know about this.

Not even Beomgyu himself.

The classroom was empty when you arrived, just as you’d hoped. Rows of desks stretched before you, soaked in the soft, dim light of late afternoon. Your steps faltered when you unexpectedly spotted him. You were about to turn around when you noticed he was asleep.

There he was, slumped over his desk, his head resting on folded arms. His chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths, his face flushed with fever.

You swallowed hard, the sight tugging at something deep inside you. His eyelashes, dark and delicate, brushed against his cheeks, and for a moment, he looked so unguarded, so unlike the version of him you were used to seeing.

Slowly, you approached, placing the bag on the desk beside him with the utmost care, as if any sound might disturb him. But as much as you tried to stay quiet, the pounding of your heart seemed impossibly loud in the silence.

You stood there longer than you should have, your gaze lingering on the soft lines of his face. His fever-reddened cheeks, his slightly parted lips—he looked so vulnerable, so human in a way that made your chest ache.

Your breath caught as you turned to leave. It was hard to breathe in this room, hard to ignore the charm he had on you, even now. With one last glance at his sleeping form, you turned and walked out.

It felt like you were leaving your heart with him.

Beomgyu stirs awake, his body aching and cold, as if the chill had seeped into his skin. His head feels heavy, but a faint warmth near him pulls him in. He blinks sluggishly, there's—a container of soup resting on his desk. Soup?

Confused but drawn to it, he sits up slowly, the movement making his head spin. His fingers tremble slightly as he uncaps the container, and the smell that greets him is like a hug he didn’t know he needed. His stomach rumbles in response.

His gaze drops to the items beside it: medicine, utensils, carefully placed. Whoever left this thought of everything.

He picks up the spoon, dipping it into the golden broth. Bringing it to his lips, he tastes it. His eyes widen, a soft sound escaping him—surprised. It’s incredible.

It reminds him of his mother’s cooking, back when she still had time to make him meals. A strange fullness settles in his chest as he takes another spoonful, the warmth spreading, chasing away the numbness. He can’t stop eating—it’s too good.

“Babe?”

The sound of Ji-won’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He looks up as she walks in, holding two water bottles. Her eyes land on the container in his hands, her expression flickering with something unreadable.

“Oh,” she says casually, stepping closer.

Beomgyu smiles, his lips curving softly, his voice lighter than it’s been all day. “Did you make this?” he asks, hope threading through his tone. “It’s amazing. Seriously, it’s… it’s so good. Fucking delicious.”

Ji-won blinks, startled by his enthusiasm. He was grumpy and on edge all day because of his fever. Who left this? she wonders, panic flickering beneath her composed exterior, her gaze darts to the container again, then back to Beomgyu, who’s looking at her expectantly.

“Oh, yeah—yeah!” she blurts, forcing a bright smile. “Of course, I made it.”

Beomgyu tilts his head, surprised. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Anything for my boyfriend,” Ji-won replies, stepping closer as she places the water bottles on his desk. Her smile feels tight, but she pushes through. “That’s how much I love you.”

He chuckles softly, eating a spoonful again. “Well, I love it. Thank you for this. It made me feel so much better.”

That wasn’t the last time.

You told yourself it would be. Swore it, even. No more going out of your way for him. No more small, secret gestures. But every time you thought it was over, you found yourself pulled back in, like some invisible thread tying you to him.

It started with the soup. The day after you left it, you saw him. His face, pale and tired the day before, was flushed with warmth again, life returning to his features. Sunghoon mentioned, almost offhandedly, how Beomgyu wouldn’t stop bragging about the meal, how he raved about it like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

And something about that stuck with you.

From then on, it became quite a bad habit. Throughout college, whenever you heard he was sick, you found yourself leaving small comforts behind. A bottle of tea on his desk, sweets slipped into his lockers during a lecture. And it didn’t stop there.

One time, Beomgyu forgot something important—a book, a charger, you don’t even remember now. You lent yours to Sunghoon, pretending you didn’t care, pretending it wasn’t just another way to help Beomgyu without him knowing.

Because you didn't want anything back.

When rumors spread about him sneaking around with his girlfriend, you stepped in before it escalated. His father will be angry about it, so you talked to that person who caught him, not for his sake but for your own, because the thought of his world unraveling in front of him was something you couldn’t bear to witness.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

It wasn’t for him. It couldn’t be.

It was for you.

The way your eyes scanned every room at social gatherings, always searching for his familiar face in the crowd. The way you couldn’t relax until you caught sight of him or the way your heart jumped whenever you spotted him, even if he didn’t notice you.

It was an addiction. One you couldn’t seem to break, no matter how many times you promised yourself you’d let go.

Were you in love with him for those four years? Or was it more than that?

"As you already know, this is Y/N, son," Beomgyu's mother announces, her perfectly manicured hands resting lightly on your shoulders. Beomgyu’s gaze meets yours. His hair is longer now, sitting at the edges of his sharp jawline, almost to his shoulders—much different to how you remember him last, on his graduation day. A whole year has passed since then. And you've graduated now too.

His suit—a dark blue so deep it could pass for black—fits him perfectly, exuding quiet sophistication. In contrast, your white Balmain dress feels almost too bright, too bold, clinging to you in a way that leaves no room for subtlety. You feel exposed under his probing eyes.

This morning, your mother had insisted—no, demanded—that you wear an elegant dress. You hadn’t understood why, but now the reason stands clear.

Beside you, your brother Soobin sits rigid, yet observing. He’s always been offensive, and tonight is no exception.

The two Choi family heads are deep in conversation, their voices low but purposeful, like they’re planning something big. It’s just the two families here tonight, seated at an impossibly long table in an equally expensive restaurant. The grandeur of the setting only amplifies it—the entire floor of this lavish place reserved just for this dinner, the emptiness around you making it feel more like a stage than a private meal.

“Your marriage will take place at the end of the year,” Beomgyu’s father declares. The words snap you out of your daze, and your head jerks toward him in shock. A soft gasp escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“What?” Beomgyu’s voice is sharp. His jaw tightens when he leans forward, composure beginning to crack. “You made me end things with Ji-won last week, and now you’re telling me I’m engaged?” He practically spits the words, hands curl into fists on the table. “To someone I don’t even know?”

Ji-won. You flinch involuntarily, hands dropping to your lap. You start picking at your nailbeds. The air feels thick—too thick to breathe.

“Who is that?” Beomgyu’s father demands, his tone filled with disdain. “I told you not to mention that whore again.” His words are venomous, and you barely have time to register the insult before the sound of Beomgyu’s chair scraping against the polished floor reverberates through the room.

Everyone flinches as he rises, his movements full of suppressed fury. Your heart pounds. He stands there seething, glaring at his father, everyone staring, daring for him to do something before he turns on his heel.

You bite your bottom lip, trying to hold yourself together. The sting in your chest is undeniable. Disappointment wells up, as Beomgyu's actions fill the silence you can’t bear to break, your gaze fixed anywhere but the head table. Soobin’s hand suddenly moves into your line of sight, prying yours apart gently—stopping you from further tormenting your hands. His fingers curl around yours, tight.

Beomgyu's retreating footsteps echo, each one louder than the last, leaving a charged silence in their wake.

The next time you see him is on your wedding day.

You didn’t think it would happen like this. You truly didn’t. You’d clung to the faint hope that he’d at least show up before the ceremony—just once. You went to the fittings alone, picked out the rings by yourself, and stood in bakeries surrounded by couples, as you chose the cake flavour on your own. A conversation, even a brief one, might have eased the unease that had settled in your chest like a stone.

Maybe, when the time comes, you’ll work up the courage to ask him if he can at least try to be casual with you.

But every assurance came from his parents—empty promises that fell on ears too tired to process anymore. Your parents clung to those words, desperate for this union. A necessary marriage, they said. A solution.

None of it reassured you. How could it, when the groom himself was nowhere to be found? You never saw him. It was as though you were preparing to marry a ghost.

When he finally sees you, it’s as you walk down the aisle, dressed in a gown that feels heavier than it should. His gaze lands on you, a one-second glance that’s gone before you can even register it. He doesn’t look at you again. Not during the vows, not during the ceremony, not even as you both stand side by side, bound by words you barely believe.

And now, instead of his arms around you, you find yourself sobbing into your brother’s shoulder. Soobin holds you tightly. The irony was funny—it was Soobin, the whole reason to why Beomgyu was introduced to you all those years ago.

Beomgyu, the boy who returned you safely to your brother that night, the one who left a permanent mark so indelible it stayed for years. The same mark that now hurts you, refusing to fade no matter how many years passed.

It's cruel.

Happy 26th birthday baby girl! xoxo

You smiled faintly at Ryujin's text as you stirred the pancake batter you'd made from scratch. The comforting smell of vanilla and butter filled the kitchen—your kitchen.

As much as you endured your parents' endless whims, you had to admit, you loved the simplicity of domesticity. There was something grounding about it. It made you feel useful, capable—like you could create something perfect, even in a life that often felt far from it.

"Y/N." The sound of your name broke your focus. You looked up, catching Beomgyu standing at the doorway. He was already dressed in his usual impeccably tailored suit, his fingers fiddling with the knot of his tie. "I'm heading to the office early today,"

"Again?" Your voice was softer than you'd intended. "At least have breakfast before you go. I can finish this quickly."

"Thank you," he dismissed, gaze shifting away. Avoiding yours. Reminding you the line that's stretched between you cannot ever cross. "But I'll eat at the office. I don't want to be late. I might be back for dinner later. Maybe."

He adjusted his tie one last time, nodded in your direction, and walked out without another word. The soft click of it closing behind him felt louder than it should have.

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. It was fine. You were used to this. Not because he left early again, but because it was an important day for you. A day you’d spend, once again, without him. Another day spent in the quiet of this too-big penthouse, with no one but yourself for company.

Two years into your marriage, you had learned to temper your expectations. Love was never meant to be part of the deal, and you had told yourself, over and over, that you didn’t need it. But no amount of reason could stop your heart from aching, from yearning—for Beomgyu to see you. Not as a piece of some agreement or a cog in the machinery of alliances, but as a person. As you.

Maybe even as a friend.

He wasn’t unkind. Not once had he raised his voice or shown you disrespect. But in some ways, his indifference stung more. He was here, yet not here—like a shadow that lived in the same space but never touched yours.

And sometimes, you wished that he would be mean to you, he would shout at you or he would hurt you—at least then, there would be something to feel. You hate that you gave him power over yourself.

You told your mother about it—you never saw your parents love each other, not in a way that felt real, not in front of you. She offered one thing that made sense to you.

Someday, you'll have children, and your child will give you a new purpose. You wanted to push back, to argue, but the next words stopped you cold—“Because if being an invisible wife isn’t enough, your children will see you.” You didn’t want to bring a child into this—into a life painted in shades of grey. An innocent child shouldn’t have to bear it. A child born not out of love? The thought made your chest tighten.

And yet, in the darkest, most desperate corners of your mind, another voice whispered something wicked. A voice that insisted maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

You sighed, finding the courage to pick up the spoon to eat, imagining a child sitting across from you, soft brown eyes mirroring his.

Alone, but somehow, it felt a little less lonely.

"Boss, there's a party later. It's Mr. Yoon's farewell dinner."

Beomgyu glanced up from his laptop, his secretary’s voice pulling him from the post-meeting haze. Mr. Yoon—one of his father’s most loyal employees, someone who had been with the company for years. Letting this occasion go unnoticed wasn’t an option, not for someone like him.

Later that evening, Beomgyu arrived at the resto-bar, the space already alive with the hum of laughter and conversation. As soon as he stepped inside, heads turned. Employees greeted him with a mix of respect and warmth, but his smile, though polite, didn’t reach his eyes. It was business, like always. When someone announced that the night’s tab was on him, a wave of cheers erupted, but Beomgyu barely reacted. He offered only a nod before grabbing a beer and retreating into his thoughts. Are you asleep—

"Omg, Beomgyu?"

The familiar voice jolted him. He turned his head sharply, and there she was—Ji-won. Her platinum blonde bleached hair gleamed under the bar lights, her lips curved into a playful smile. She looked almost the same, except more polished. She hadn’t changed much, down to the way her manicured fingers grazed her cheek as she tucked her hair behind her ears.

"It's you! I haven't seen you in what, two years? Almost?" she said, her tone bright, her lashes fluttering in the way she knew he once liked.

"Yeah," Beomgyu replied curtly, his voice neutral. "Nice to see you here." He grabbed his beer and took a long sip. Her laugh rang out, light and infectious, the same laugh that used to feel like heaven to him. She knew exactly what to do, exactly how to pull him in.

Beomgyu raised his beer and took a long sip again, letting the alcohol burn its way down. He probably should go now. Her friends surrounded them, teasing and nudging, playful comments flying back and forth. He stayed composed, answering in clipped sentences, trying to keep his distance. He just needs to find the time to excuse himself.

But at some point, her friends drifted away, leaving her behind—drunk and alone, leaning heavily against the table. Beomgyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. He could have left her there. Maybe he should have. But instead, he found himself walking over.

"Come on," he said quietly, offering his hand. "Let me take you home."

She looked up at him, her eyes glassy but soft, and smiled. It was a smile that used to mean so much more.

Her warm hands envelop his.

The drive to her address was heavy with silence. Ji-won kept glancing at him, her eyes longing, but Beomgyu stayed focused on the road. Her address glowed faintly from his phone’s GPS. When they arrived, he got out, rounding the car to help her. She wobbled slightly, her drunken state evident, but he steadied her without a word and walked her to her door. She didn’t let go of his arm.

As they reached her doorstep, she turned to him, her voice trembling, raw. “Did you forget all about me already?” she asked, her voice breaking slightly. “Because… because I haven’t. It's still you, Beomgyu. I still love you.”

The words stopped him cold. He looked at her then—really looked at her. The faint blush on her cheeks, the way her hair fell messily over her shoulders, and that familiar scent of her perfume. Memories flashed. The way she’d cried when he said goodbye. The way she’d begged him to stay, her arms wrapped around him like she could keep him forever. He remembered the way he had talked to his father—looking for any chance. Only to be met with a no. A hard, unrelenting no.

It was too much. She's too familiar. He's too close.

And then, she leaned in.

Her lips touched his, soft just like they used to be. He shouldn’t. But when the small of her hands gripped the lapels of his suit, pulling him closer, he kissed her back.

It wasn’t gentle—it was desperate, messy, like trying to reclaim something lost. Her body pressed against his, and the sound of her soft moan made him grip her arms. He presses her against the door. Her hands tried to open the front door for them to go inside. It felt like a reunion, a fleeting taste of something they weren’t supposed to have.

But then she whispered against his lips, “Do you think we’d be married now if your father hadn’t stopped us?”

The word married—hit him, made him open his eyes, freezing in place.

He pulled away, his breath ragged, staring at her. His lips still burned with the sin of hers. What the hell was he doing?

Ji-won stared at him, her expression a mix of confusion and hurt. “Beomgyu—” she started, but he shook his head, taking another step back.

“I… I can’t,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

Without waiting for her response, he turned and walked away, his steps hurried and uneven. She reached for him—called his name, voice crying, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

All he could see was your face.

At home. Waiting for him. Leaning to the countertop with your stupidly sweet unnecessary smile. The crinkle by your eyes. It flashes over and over, drowning out everyone, and everything else.

Beomgyu gets into his car, his hands trembling as he fumbles with the keys. The engine roars to life with an urgency that matches his racing thoughts.

His grip tightens on the wheel as the image of Ji-won flashes in his mind. Her words. Her touch. The kiss. His stomach churns. What the hell was he thinking? Did he still love her?

The elevator ride to your floor feels agonizingly slow, every second stretching endlessly. He can barely hear his own breathing over the pounding of his heart. When the doors open, he steps out hesitantly, his footsteps dragging as he approaches the front door.

He pauses in the entryway, his eyes scanning the room until they land on you.

He sees you.

You're curled up on the couch, your head resting on a pillow, a blanket draped loosely over your legs. His eyes dart on the kitchen, there sits a plate of untouched food, now cold. Dinner.

His chest tightens. You waited for him. Despite everything—despite the fact that he’d made no promises, despite the countless nights like this—you still waited.

How? he thinks, his mind reeling. How could you wait for him, when he hadn't given you anything to hold on to?

He glances at the clock on the wall. 6 a.m. His jaw clenches. He hadn’t even noticed the time had passed. He’d been so caught up at the party, so lost in the haze of old memories and poor decisions, that he’d forgotten about you entirely.

He steps closer, his gaze softening as it falls on your face. You look peaceful, your breathing even, your features illuminated by the dim light filtering in from the window. There’s something unfamiliar stirring in his chest.

The urge to reach out, to touch you, is overwhelming. But as his eyes fall to your lips, a shameful reminder washes over him—he knows that his lips had been with someone else only minutes ago.

It would be cruel to let it stain the divine of your skin.

“Come here,” Beomgyu spoke, which made you look at him through the mirror for a couple of seconds before seeing him beckon you over. You walked towards him, about to sit on the edge of the bed, when he grabbed your arm and sat you between his thighs.

“What is it?” you asked softly. You felt his arms tighten slightly around you, his fingers brushing the fabric of your robe. He hadn’t spoken to you all day, hadn’t so much as looked at you too. You just got out of your shower when you saw him sitting in your bed. And now, here he was—unexpected, yet demanding this closeness.

He didn’t answer. Instead, his lips pressed against the curve of your shoulder. You could feel his breath, warm against your skin. His hand slid slowly from your waist to your side, tracing the outline of your frame. You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening. You knew what this was. What he wanted. What he was about to do.

This was the pattern you had grown to recognise. The times he came to you like this, seeking the comfort your body could offer. The way his touch made you feel seen. And when morning came, like always, he would retreat—pulling away, storms behind his eye, leaving you to wrestle with the hollow ache in your chest.

Nights like this made it hurt more.

“Nothing.” He says. You felt his hand caress your thigh as he kisses your shoulder. He turns you around. He licked his lips before letting it explore the inside of your mouth, making you moan. He grunts in your mouth as his hand snakes to the inside of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh.

He pushes his clothed crotch to your heat. He removes the top part of your robe, his lips easily finding themselves on your nipple, kissing around it before hungrily latching his mouth on it. The feeling of his wet tongue circling your bead and the growing tent on his pants rubbing on you made your body heat up.

You should push him away.

But then he looked up into your eyes, almost begging. It's soft, glassy which makes you wonder if you're ever going to see it other than like this. At that moment, the truth hit you: this was all he could offer. This collision, the press of his skin against yours—this was all you’d ever have of him. The pain intensified. He goes up and captures your lips again.

“I want to be inside you,” he murmured against your kisses. Fine, you thought. Just this once more—one last time. You placed your hands on his chest, pushing him back gently, turned around and got on all fours. You arched your back, pressing your head onto the mattress. Your ass was in the air, and you were exposed to him. Hearing him move behind you made you close your eyes.

Beomgyu was shocked. For you to offer yourself like this, so quickly, caught him off guard. He blinked, taking in the curve of your back, and the way you presented yourself.

You felt his tip rub against your folds and swollen clit, making you whine. He pulled your legs farther apart before plunging two fingers to make sure you were ready to take him.

You moaned, feeling his long fingers massage your walls. Your wetness trickled on his hand, and it only made him harder. He sucked his fingers when he pulled out. You felt every inch, his cock reaching places that made your body arch instinctively beneath.

It burns, and it burns so good.

“You're always fucking tight.” He kneads your ass cheeks, thrusting slowly at first before gradually increasing in speed. You felt so full as he pushed into you. He reached for your clit as you buried your face into the pillow. “Y/N…” His hard cock reaches the deepest parts of you. Beomgyu flipped your body without warning, and your arm immediately flew to your face. You turned your face away from him, not knowing that he’s been observing you.

You’ve been hiding your face the whole time as much as you can. Seeing his eyes felt unbearable. Because meeting his eyes will make you want him. To want him more than this. Something he will never be able to give.

“Y/N…I want to see your face.” He grabbed your hand to move them away, and Beomgyu felt a pang in his chest when he saw your swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks. You were sobbing underneath him.

“Please…” Your voice cracked, barely a whisper. “Just make me cum. Okay?”

You were breaking your own heart, chasing his own. And as he stared down at you, his indifference, the wall he’d built so carefully around himself, was killing you.

“What's wrong?” He urges you. His thrusts are unceasing as tears continue to fall down from your eyes. “Y/N…” Your orgasm hits you hard. Your toes curled as you cried out his name. Your walls were squeezing his cock. He grunts at how tight you feel around him. His hands were gripping the back of your knees as his hips stuttered, about to reach his own climax.

Even as he continued to move, his pace sloppy and desperate, your quiet sobs filled the room, uncontrollable. Beomgyu stilled above you, his heart twisting painfully at the sound. He hated himself—hated the way he’d reduced you to this.

You feel his hot cum inside you. When he finally pulled away, he collapsed beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. His unsure eyes drifted to you, curled up in the blankets, your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle your cries. You moved your whole body under the sheets, clung to the fabric like it was the only thing holding you together.

Hiding. Hiding from the one who was supposed to be your other half.

The sight of you like this made his throat tighten, his chest heavy with something he couldn’t put into words. He had never wanted to hurt you, yet here you were.

That night, Beomgyu lay unable to find sleep, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling of your bedroom walls. You were an angel, one he had broken with his own hands.

You wake up, heart racing.

Your hands instinctively move to your face. It’s that dream again. The same one that’s haunted you night after night. The memory of him. That night. The last time Beomgyu touched you. It’s been just over four weeks.

Even in sleep, he doesn’t let you go.

You blinked, your surroundings blurry in the faint light of your room. How did you get here? You were sure you’d fallen asleep on the couch. The question barely settles before an uneasy twist in your stomach pulls you back to the present. A wave of nausea rushes through you, sharp and sudden.

Your hand flies to your mouth as you scramble out of bed, your legs barely keeping up as you dart to the bathroom. You made it just in time, collapsing onto your knees as your body seized itself forward. The bitter taste burned your throat, each heave leaving you weaker than the last. You sat there, gripping the cool edge of the toilet, tears slipping silently down your cheeks.

You pushed yourself up, legs still shaky, and made your way to the sink. The cold water was a welcome distraction, splashing against your skin and dripping down in rivulets. You scrubbed at your face harder than you needed to, as if the water could somehow rinse away more than just the sweat clinging to your skin.

Grabbing a towel, you patted your face dry, letting your gaze drift to the untouched box of tampons sitting quietly on the shelf.

“Y/N?” The knock on your door startled you. Tossing the towel aside, you stepped out of the small bathroom and crossed the room to open the door.

There he stood, his dark eyes locking onto yours the second the door opened. He scanned your face. “Are… are you okay? I heard a loud thump.” His voice was uneven, like he wasn’t sure he should even be asking.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly. You moved to step past him, but the moment you did, he took a cautious step back, his body shifting as though he couldn’t bear to be too close.

It stung, but you didn’t let it show. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No,” he replies, eyes darting to the vases on the table. “You got flowers?” Beomgyu’s stares on your face. The way your face softens at the mention of them—he notices it instantly. He doesn’t like it—not one bit.

“They were given to me.”

“Two dozen?” he presses, “By who?”

“Soobin,”

“And?” he asks again, though there’s no need. He already knows who.

“Yeonjun,” The name lands heavy between you.

His jaw tightens. “He dropped them off here yesterday? Why did—” His words tumble out quickly, too quickly.

Because it's your birthday.

“He was with Soobin, Beomgyu,” you interrupt, brushing past him toward the refrigerator. Your steps feel heavier than they should Blinking, you try to push the swelling emotions back down. Normally, you’d brush this off. So why does it feel so different today? Why are you getting emotional? You pull out a bottle of water, taking a long sip to steady yourself before asking, “What time did you come home yesterday?”

Silence.

You drink slowly, giving him time to answer, but he doesn’t. The room feels stifling in the stillness, the hum of the refrigerator suddenly too loud. You set your empty glass on the table with a dull thud, your eyes drifting back to him.

He’s standing there in his usual morning look—white shirt hanging loose, black pyjama pants slightly wrinkled. His hair is a mess from sleep, and his skin looks paler in the soft light. There’s something about how vulnerable he looks in the mornings that always catches you off guard.

He's painfully beautiful.

“Around the morning,” He's hesitant. He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t meet your eyes, and the tightness in your chest only grows. There’s an ugly nagging feeling at the edges of your thoughts.

“I’ll go get ready for work,” he says, shutting the conversation before it even has a chance to go further.

It doesn't surprise you anymore.

You step into the opulent glow of the five-star Skyline Restaurant, the clink of fine china and hushed laughter swirled around. Fingers gripping your white Dior purse, you scan the room, heels clicking against the polished marble floor. Your eyes sweep over faces until a familiar one stops you in your tracks.

“Pretty girl.” Ryujin’s voice called out, smooth and warm. She raises a hand in a poised wave, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. You mirror her expression, weaving your way toward her. Heads turn as you pass, your perfume—delicate yet potent.

“How are you?” she asks as you reach her, gaze soft yet probing.

“I’m okay,” you reply, sinking into the plush couch across from her. The tension in your shoulders eases, if only slightly. “Thank you for the gifts, by the way. And I’m sorry I couldn’t meet up with you yesterday, like you wanted.”

“I understand.” Her reply is casual, but her eyes betray her. They flicker to the dark crescents under yours, the ones you’ve tried to conceal but can never quite hide. “It’s always him, isn’t it? At the end of the day.”

Your fingers wrap around the porcelain cup in front of you. The tea is hot against your palms, and you take a tentative sip. It tasted faintly of jasmine, soothing and bittersweet. The silence between you stretches.

“Y/N.” Her voice pulls you back, insistent. Your eyes meet hers, and for a moment, you can’t look away. “He’s the reason you’re like this. It doesn't have to be, but he made it this way. You see that, don’t you?”

"I know."

Ryujin’s eyes flickered with hesitation, the way someone falters before delivering a blow. Eyes darting between you and the untouched tea in front of her. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” she began, her voice soft but unsteady. “But I… I heard something.”

Her words made your heart clench. “What is it?”

“I mean, I’m not completely sure, but it came from someone I trust and—”

“Ryujin,” you snapped, sharper than you intended. Your chest tightened as dread crept in. “Tell me.”

She hesitated, her lips parting slightly before closing again. “Did he spend the night with you yesterday?”

You felt the world shift under your feet. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Your silence was enough.

He wasn't.

Ryujin’s expression softened, pity creeping into her features, “I—there was a party,” she said, her voice quieter now, hesitant. “One with Beomgyu and Ji-won.”

The name made your stomach drop.

“They were together all night,” she said, her words rushed, like she wanted to get them out before she lost her nerve. “And someone… someone saw them. Beomgyu practically carried her into his car. They left together.”

Your vision blurred for a second, the edges of the room fading as her words registered. You forced yourself to blink, to breathe. “Oh,” you whispered.

Ryujin stood abruptly and moved to sit beside you, taking your trembling hands into hers. “Confront him,” she urged. “Find out if it’s true.” She squeezed your hands. “I’m so tired of seeing you like this. Always giving and giving while he takes whatever’s left of you.” Her voice cracked. “Loving him silently. Loving him so hard isn’t going to make him love you back.”

You didn’t even realise you were crying until the tears started dripping onto your lap, soaking into the fabric of your dress. Ryujin hated it. She remembered you in college—how you laughed so freely, how your eyes sparkled. But now, that light she admired so much was dimming, as if someone had reached inside you and quietly stolen it piece by piece.

Ryujin swallowed hard, blinking back her own tears as she watched yours fall. How hurt must you be to cry like this—without a sound, without even a gasp? Just the quiet, stream of tears slipping down your face, carving paths of pain?

She hated seeing you like this—hated how one person had managed to turn the full-bloomed, radiant version of you into a shadow of yourself, a bud closed off to the world. That someone can easily break you, when you spent years building yourself.

You're waiting.

It's 10 p.m. The hours have crawled by since you drove back here. You look around. This space, where you are supposed to build a family, where love is supposed to be—is nothing but a cold place to you.

You're sitting on the couch, the same couch you’ve spent countless nights on, staring at the clock, waiting for him. Your hands rest in your lap, trembling slightly, though you don’t realise it. With nothing but fear, the fear that you’re losing something you never truly had.

Your phone buzzes again. Two names alternate, calling over and over. You don’t pick up. You don’t even look. You can’t.

Because the truth is, you don’t know if you’ll make it through the night without hearing from him. Your husband.

The elevator dings softly, and Beomgyu steps into the penthouse. His tie hangs loose around his neck, his hair tousled and far from his usual pristine self. He looks tired, distracted—like he’s been anywhere but here. His eyes met yours.

"Why are you still awake—"

"Do you think I don’t know what you’ve done?" Your voice cuts, trembling. You see his eyes widen, just a fraction. It’s so small you almost missed it.

"Ji-won." Her name burns as it leaves your mouth, bitter. His eyes flicker toward you for just a second—a split second, just long enough to know that he heard—but there is nothing in them. Nothing.

He moves with calculated slowness, setting his bag down on the table, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. Time ticked. He doesn’t even try to explain. Doesn’t even look at you long enough for you to find a trace of the man you once thought you knew. His thumb brushes over his ring like it’s something he’s forgotten. A ring that should have meant forever.

"I can handle it all, Choi Beomgyu," you say, your voice firmer now, though your hands tremble at your sides. "I’ve handled it all, haven’t I? I didn’t say anything when you kept talking about her—days after we got married—on our honeymoon, or right in front of your family."

His back stiffens, his hands gripping the edge of the countertop. Beomgyu swallows the lump in his throat.

"Not once in these two years did I tell you how small you made me feel, how you made me feel like I didn’t belong in your world. Like I was a stranger in my own marriage." Your voice cracks, but you keep going. "I stayed silent, And after all of that—after everything—I stayed. I stayed because I thought… maybe it was enough. And yet, you still chose to cheat on me?"

You’re shaking now, and your voice rises despite your best efforts to keep it steady. "If you had just come to me and said you didn’t want this anymore, I would’ve let you go. I would’ve walked away, Beomgyu. Because everything I’ve done—every single thing—has been for you. For this marriage. For our families."

His head finally lifts, and his eyes meet yours. You hate how you feel small under his gaze, how his silence feels like a condemnation of your own vulnerability.

Beomgyu swallows hard, his jaw tightening. "That’s not what happened, Y/N."

"That you didn’t go home with her? That you weren’t with her on my fucking birthday?"

Your words hit him like a punch, and his eyes widen, the crack in his composure visible now.

"What?"

"You heard me." The burden festering inside you for so long is finally out. It feels small, inadequate even, but you don’t care anymore. You can’t. You can feel his eyes on you, and it's your turn to refuse to meet them. You’re done searching his face for answers that will never come.

You rise from the couch, your movements sharp, fueled by hurt and exhaustion. Steps are quick, your breaths are shallow as you reach your room. The door slams shut behind you with a force that echoes behind. Your hands tremble as you swipe on your phone. Tears blur your vision, falling onto the screen as you scroll, fingers fumbling to find the number you need.

You don’t think. You can’t. The tears are hot and relentless, burning tracks down your cheeks as you press the call button.

The line clicks immediately.

Outside your room, Beomgyu stands in the hallway, pacing back and forth. His footsteps are uneven, restless. The truth is, he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t even know where to begin. Every time he tries to form the words in his head, they fall apart before they can leave his lips.

How can he explain it? How can he make you understand? He never thought it would come to this—never thought he’d have to say it out loud. He’d always believed he could keep it buried, that you’d never find out.

He presses a hand to his forehead, exhaling sharply. He hasn’t spoken to Ji-won since that night. Not once. She tried to reach out—texts, calls, even showing up unannounced—but he shut it all down. He shut her out.

The irony isn’t lost on him. He, who once was hopelessly in love with her had turned his back on her entirely. What surprised him the most was how easy it was. All it took was thinking of you.

And the sight of your tears now terrifies him.

Beomgyu has always been a confident man. He was raised to be one. It’s who he was taught to be—the man who could command a room, close deals, deliver speeches without a stutter. But none of that matters now. Standing here, in front of your door, he feels small. Helpless. Negotiating with the world is one thing; facing the pain in your eyes is another.

He sighs, dragging his hands through his hair in frustration. His chest feels tight, his mind racing. He should knock. He knows he should try—should say something, anything.

He lifts his hand to knock, but the door swings open before he can. Your eyes meet his—red, swollen, glassy with unshed tears—and it feels like the air is knocked out of him. Beomgyu's chest tightens painfully, and then his gaze falls to the suitcase in your hand,"Where are you going?"

You don’t answer. Instead, you step past him, avoiding even the smallest brush against him. The sound of your suitcase wheels echoes in the hall. His heart stutters, his feet frozen in place.

"Y/N," he pleads, reaching for your wrist. His eyes flicker down to your hand, and the absence of your ring feels like a blow he wasn’t ready for.

"Beomgyu," you say quietly, pulling your hand away from his grasp."I’m going to stay with my brother for a while."

You don’t wait for his response. You can’t. If you stop now—if you meet his eyes again—you might change your mind. You walk toward the elevator, heart pounding, and breaking, but you don’t look back. When he doesn’t follow, when he doesn’t try to stop you, it cracks a little more.

The elevator doors begin to close, you think that’s it.This is the end. But then, his hand darts between the doors, forcing them open. You glance up in surprise. You've never seen him this unsure, or nervous before.

"At least let me see you out," he says softly. "Please,"

He stares at you. You nod, stepping aside to make room for him. Neither of you speaks, and the distance between you feels impossibly wide, even in the small space.

"Call me if you ever want to talk again," he finally breaks the silence, eyes fixed on the ground, "I’ll wait for you," You don’t respond, your throat tightening as you stare straight ahead, willing yourself not to cry.

Perhaps, it is his turn to wait for you.

It’s the longest elevator ride of your life.

In the parking lot, your brother is the first thing you see—tall and imposing, his glasses doing nothing to soften the sharp frown etched across his face. His eyes sweep over you, landing on the suitcase in your hand before darting behind you. The worry darkens instantly into anger when he sees Beomgyu trailing a few steps behind.

"You fucker," Soobin spits, brushing past you to square off with him. His voice is cold and furious. Beomgyu doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down, even as your brother towers over him.

"I gave you the benefit of the doubt," Soobin growls. "I thought, at the very least, you’d treat my sister with the respect she deserves. But you—"

"Soobin, stop!" You step forward, your hands desperately reaching out to hold your brother’s fists clenched at his sides. "Please, let’s just go."

He hesitates, jaw tightening as he swallows his anger. With a final, scathing glare at Beomgyu, Soobin turns away. He reached for your suitcase, grabbed it without a word and shoved it into the trunk of his car. Then he opens the passenger door, his expression softening ever so slightly as he looks at you. "Get inside."

You slide into the car, your hands trembling as you clutch them in your lap. Soobin slams the door shut behind you, the sound shouting in the empty parking lot like a final warning.

Beomgyu stands there eyes never leaving your form, unmoving, as the car engine roars to life. His chest feels like it’s caving in as he watches Soobin pull away, the tyres screeching against the pavement. It’s almost insulting, the way the sound seems to echo his own turmoil.

His eyes follow the car until it vanishes from sight, leaving nothing but silence and the crushing weight of knowing you’re gone.

Beomgyu steps back, dragging his feet to somehow delay the reality settling in around him. Every few steps, he glances over his shoulder, the faintest flicker of hope burning in his chest. Maybe you’d be there. Maybe you’d come back.

Maybe this was just a nightmare he hadn’t woken up from yet.

But you didn't.

The elevator doors slide open, and he strides inside, his mind blank and racing all at once. He walks, heading straight to the kitchen for water—something to soothe the dryness in his throat, the tightness in his chest. But as he passes the living room, his eyes catch on the portrait hanging above the mantel.

The wedding photo.

It hangs on there, just as it always has, but tonight it feels unbearable. His eyes lock on your face, and he falters. How could he have missed it? The slight redness in your eyes, the way your smile looks stretched too thin. How can a bride look so unhappy? How did it take him this long to realise how beautiful you looked that day—despite everything? How could he have failed to tell you?

How could he have been so blind?

He wasn’t the only one hurting that day. You had to stand there, dressed in white, while he grieved for someone else. On the day that was supposed to be yours, his mind had been somewhere else, tangled in memories of a woman who wasn’t you. And he never talked to you about it—not once. He never told you what you needed to hear. That it wasn’t your fault. That none of it was your fault.

He blinks hard, his vision blurring. The cracks were always there, weren’t they? Small at first, almost invisible, but they spread, creeping through everything until you were barely holding on. And he didn’t see it. He didn’t see you. Now, he stares at the picture like it might give him some kind of answer, some kind of clue to undo it all, but all it does is make the ache in his chest grow sharper.

He wished he had known. He wished he had known that the hurt consuming him would fade. He wished he could’ve said it all sooner, when the chance was still there. To tell you the truth. That he indeed had kissed her. That it was a mistake. He should have fallen to his knees and begged you to forgive him.

Would it have made a difference? Could one moment of honesty, one action, one choice have been enough to hold you here, to make you stay?

"Fuck," His voice was unsteady, tears stinging his eyes—tears he didn’t even know he was capable of. He can’t remember the last time he cried. Maybe he never has. He never cried. His hand moves on instinct, reaching for the cabinet, but instead of a glass, his fingers close around the neck of the whisky bottle. Water won’t cut it tonight. He twists the cap off, letting it fall to the counter with a hollow clink, and takes a long, burning sip.

It doesn't dull anything. Not yet. So he drinks.

It’s only been an hour—barely even that—since you left, but it feels like his world is already collapsing.

You wake up groggy, your head spinning and eyes feeling heavy. You can’t remember when you fell asleep or even how. You shift on the bed—Soobin must have carried you here.

Right. You’re at his place now.

"Y/N, you awake?" your brother’s voice carries down the hall, accompanied by the mouthwatering smell of bacon. Your stomach growls unexpectedly. You drag yourself out of bed, splash water on your face in the bathroom, and head out of the room.

“Good morning,” you mumble, stepping into the kitchen. The sight of Soobin setting down a plate of pancakes and Yeonjun grinning at you makes your chest feel warm.

Yeonjun stands and strides over, wrapping you in a tight hug. His hugs are always the warmest. He’s your brother’s best friend, someone who’s been in your life long enough to feel like family. He's known you since you were children, and you see him as your own brother.

He rests his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to the table as the corners of your lips tug into a soft smile you can’t seem to hold back. You sit down, and Soobin begins piling food onto your plate.

"Do you have any plans today?" Soobin asks casually, his focus still on divvying up breakfast.

“None, really,” you reply, your attention entirely on the bacon in front of you. Your stomach practically growls in anticipation, and without waiting, you dig in.

A little too eagerly, apparently. You choke, coughing as you try to swallow too quickly.

Yeonjun’s reaction is immediate—he’s already filling a glass of water before you even finish coughing. He places it in front of you and grabs a few napkins, sliding them your way with a concerned look. “Slow down, Y/N,” he says, his tone gentle but firm.

“Sorry,” you croak out, taking a sip of water to soothe your throat.

Last night, when you arrived, your brother didn’t ask for explanations. He didn’t push, didn’t pry. Instead, he pulled you into a hug, letting you collapse into him, tears soaking into his shirt as you broke down.

You heard him curse, his voice tight with restrained anger, but he didn’t say anything else. He just let you cry. His hands rested firmly on your back.

He didn’t ask because he knew. He knew that words wouldn’t help—not now. And maybe, he was afraid that asking would only deepen the pain already spreading through you.

It’s the reason Soobin hasn’t married yet. He’s had plenty of offers—proposals that would benefit his business, alliances that would make sense on paper. But none of it feels right. Not when he knows what you’ve endured.

He can't forget the look on your face on the day of your wedding. He keeps his distance, telling himself he has no right to fall in love or build a life of his own. How could he, knowing the choice was never yours? How could he allow himself to stand in the light of his own happiness, knowing it would only cast a longer shadow over you?

It would be unfair. Unfair to chase his own happiness.

He’s afraid. Afraid that loving someone, finding joy in his own marriage, would feel like betrayal or it would mean abandoning you to face your burdens alone.

"How are you?" Yeonjun asks, his gaze lingering on the dark circles under your eyes. His frown deepens.

"I'm… better," you say, the words catching in your throat as you force them out. It’s a lie, and you both know it. You’re far from better. Not when the image of Beomgyu standing in the parking lot, staring at you as you left, keeps haunting you. He looked… You shake your head, forcing the thought away.

You can’t go there—not now.

“There’s a party this weekend,” Yeonjun says, trying to sound lighthearted as he takes a bite of his food. “Some kind of school reunion. I think it’s three batches combined. You should come with us.”

"Yeah," you mumble, poking at your plate. "Ryu-jin’s been bugging me about it. Since Jakey won’t be able to make it—he’s overseas right now."

But the words falter on your lips as the thought you’ve been trying to avoid pushes its way forward. You don’t have to say it out loud; it’s already there, written on your face. Beomgyu. He might be there.

"He won’t be," Soobin says firmly, it's almost as if he read your thoughts. "I made sure of it. And if, by some chance, he shows up, I’ll stick by your side all night."

Your eyes flick over to Yeonjun, and he gives you a slight nod, his expression softening. "I’ll be there too,"

The days pass in a haze, each one blurring into the next, but this time, you’re not navigating them by yourself. You lean on your brother more than you ever thought you would, and somehow, he never seems to mind.

Soobin, who skips work without a second thought, pulling you out of the house when he sees you sinking too deep into yourself. He drags you to museums, to quiet cafés, or even just for drives with no destination.

And then there’s Yeonjun. No matter how busy his life is, he keeps... showing up. When Soobin’s tied up, Yeonjun is there, knocking on your door with his humor pulling reluctant smiles from you when you least expect it.

It’s not perfect—it’s still hard. Some days, you still lock your doors and don't come out no matter how many times they knock. There are days you don't even utter a single word. But they’re there, both of them, holding you up when you can’t do it yourself.

For the first time in two years, you don't feel alone.

“He’s not on the list, don’t worry,” Ryu-jin’s voice crackles through the speaker of your phone. You grip the steering wheel a little tighter, your eyes fixed on the road ahead. Soobin’s car leads in the lane in front of you.

"It's fine," you say, "It's not like I'm going for him, anyway."

"Okay. See you there," Ryu-jin replies before hanging up. You swallow hard, trying to push down yet another nausea rising in your throat. You focus on the road.

When you arrive, you walk alongside Soobin toward the entrance. Heads turn, whispers ripple through the crowd. The two of you—the university’s so-called power siblings—command attention without even trying. People smile, greet you, and their eyes linger on your Dior dress, but you barely notice.

“You’re finally here,” Yeonjun’s familiar voice calls out as he approaches, his warm smile cutting the tension in your chest. He grabs your arm gently, pulling you closer. “I’m glad you came,” he says softly, his eyes holding yours before focusing on Soobin.

"You're early." Soobin exchanges a quick greeting with him, heading off briefly to grab drinks for the three of you.

“Y/N!” Ryu-jin throws her arms around you, grinning as her eyes sweep over you. “Why do you always have to look this good?” she teases playfully. You laugh softly, a flicker of warmth in an otherwise heavy evening. The four of you settle at a table, waiting for the event to begin.

The night feels… okay. Not great, not life-changing, but okay. A simple glimpse of normalcy.

The week leading up to tonight lingers in your mind. Beomgyu’s messages. The flowers left at Soobin’s door. The missed calls that filled your screen, each one a reminder of everything you’ve been trying to forget.

You ignored them all. You had to.

Even now, standing here among friends, the memories creep in when you least expect them. Every time you close your eyes, you see them. You see her. And you see him.

And all the things that could’ve happened between them.

No matter how hard you try, the ghosts cling to you, refusing to let go.

You scrub your hands under the cold stream of water, the scent of soap mingling with the sterile air. The sound of the bathroom door creaking open doesn’t register at first—not until you hear her voice.

“Hi, Y/N.” You freeze, your stomach twisting before you even turn around. Through the mirror, her face appears behind you—Ji-won. The last person you wanted to see.

“What do you want?” Your reflection betrays the tension in your jaw. Your stomach twists violently. You don’t want to do this. Not here. Not now.

“Look, I just… I just wanted to say I’m sorry. About what happened between you and Beomgyu.” Her words falter, her tone weak, as if that soft voice could somehow soften the blow. “I—I didn’t mean for it to happen,” she continues, “It just… it just happened. We didn’t mean it.”

You know what hurts more than being cheated on? It’s the sickening realization that the person they chose is better than you in every way. Prettier. Maybe even smarter. More… everything.

Your throat tightens, but you force yourself to speak, “Stop, Ji-won.” You glance at her through the mirror, your chest tightening painfully. “I get it. I can see why.”

She looks startled, her brows drawing together. “Y/N, I’m really sorry. I know you know we had… unfinished business—”

“Unfinished business?” You spin around to face her, and the words tumble out before you can stop them, “With someone else’s husband?”

“That’s why I came to apologize,”

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head as your chest burns with a mixture of anger and pain. “Well, I don’t need it. Did you expect me to hug you?” You let out another laugh, this one harsher.

“Congratulations, I guess.” You step closer, each word laced with venom. “But don’t you ever come near me again. If you do, I’ll press charges. It will be really ugly. Do you understand?”

Ji-won nods stiffly, her expression crumbling under the weight of your stare. Without another glance, you turn on your heel and walk out of the bathroom, your steps hurried, the adrenaline rushing through your veins.

By the time you’re in the hallway, your breath is coming in short gasps. Your chest feels tight, constricted, like you’re drowning in your own emotions. You press a hand to your chest, forcing yourself to keep walking, but your vision blurs with unshed tears.

You can’t breathe.

The alcohol should’ve been enough. You thought it would drown everything out—the ache, the gnawing in your gut, the weight pressing down on your shoulders. But the pain is relentless, carving its way through you, burning and cold.

It starts in your chest, spreading like wildfire, suffocating your lungs, and crawling up your spine until it feels like you’re being pulled apart from the inside. It’s sharp, chaotic, like a bullet ricocheting through your body, tearing apart every fragile piece it touches.

You hear Ryu-jin’s voice calling your name, faint and distant, but you don’t turn around. You can’t. No. The crowd around you feels stifling, every laugh and every cheer scraping against your raw nerves. You’re barely holding it together, and you know that if you stay even a second longer, you’ll shatter in front of everyone.

You just need to go. To get away. Anywhere but here. Because right now, in the middle of this party, you feel like an open wound, with no place to hide.

“Where the hell did she go?” Ryu-jin muttered under her breath, panic creeping into her voice as she scanned the hallway outside the bathroom. She had only stepped away for a minute, grabbed what she needed, and when she came back—you were gone.

She storms back to the table, her heart racing. “Soobin, did you see Y/N?”

Soobin looked up immediately, concern flashing across his face. “She was with you, wasn’t she?”

“I lost her,” Ryu-jin admits, held up her phone, frustrated. “I’ve been trying to call, but her phone’s not connecting.” The worry on Soobin’s face mirrors her own, and for a moment, neither of them speaks.

“I’ll check outside,” Soobin says, already rising to his feet, his determination written all over his face. Yeonjun appears at the table just as Soobin leaves. “I’ll go with him.”

“Ryu-jin? Hey, long time no see.”

She turned to see Jay standing there, his familiar easygoing smile not quite registering in the chaos of her mind. “Jay,” she said, forcing a tight smile. “Hey. Yeah. Long time.”

Jay tilted his head. “Surprising. Where’s Choi’s golden girl? Isn’t she usually glued to your side?”

Ryu-jin hesitated, her smile faltering. “They… stepped out for a bit,” she lied, tone distracted.

Her gaze drifted across the room, and that’s when she saw her. Ji-won. Sitting with her group of friends, laughing, carefree, as if she hadn’t done enough damage already. The sight of her felt like a slap to the face. “The audacity…” Ryu-jin muttered under her breath.

Jay follows her line of sight, his eyebrows raising when he spots her. “That’s Ji-won, right?” he asks, his tone laced with something between curiosity and disdain. “The one who’s always been weirdly obsessed with Y/N?”

Ryu-jin’s head snapped toward him. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean,” Jay continues, shrugging, “back in college, she had this… thing. Like, she couldn’t stand it whenever someone said Y/N was pretty, which was often. It was kind of insane, honestly. Everyone knew Y/N was the prettiest girl back then, and Ji-won hated it. Like, visibly hated it.”

Ryu-jin chokes on her drink, coughing as she shakes her head in disbelief. Her fingers twitch with the urge to march over to Ji-won and give her a piece of her mind, but before she can act on the intrusive thought, Soobin reappears. His face is pale.

“She’s been in an accident,”

You got into an accident.

Beomgyu was sitting in his office when the call came. Everything around him blurred, the world spinning out of focus. It felt as if time had stopped for him, while the Earth kept spinning mercilessly. His body froze, but his mind was spiralling.

Y/N. Accident. The words replayed on a loop in his head, loud and cruel. He couldn't process them, couldn't let them sink in, because doing so would mean accepting that something terrible had happened to you.

You got into a car accident. Something terrible happened.

His throat tightened as he gripped the phone with trembling hands. "Wh-where… which hospital?" he stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear. His heart pounded so hard it felt like it might shatter.

The answer came, muffled like it was coming from underwater. The call ended before he could fully react. The phone slipped from his hand onto the desk as he staggered to his feet, his legs shaky beneath him.

Somehow, he made it to his car, though he couldn’t remember how. His chest heaved. With shaking fingers, he dialled another number, desperate for more answers.

“Don’t bother coming here, Choi Beomgyu.” Soobin’s voice was sharp and breathless when he answered. It sounded strained, furious even, and it only made Beomgyu’s heart sink further.

“Is she okay?” Beomgyu whispered, his voice barely audible. The question felt like it would break him. His chest felt like it was caving in, the pain clawing at him as he braced himself for the answer. He bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood, his free hand digging into his hair as he fought to stay grounded.

“She’s…” Soobin’s voice faltered, and that hesitation was enough to send Beomgyu spiraling further. “They’re trying. The doctors are doing everything they can.”

It wasn’t enough. Those words, those pitiful attempts at reassurance, did nothing to quiet the storm raging inside him. His hands tightened around the steering wheel as panic surged through him. If Soobin couldn’t say you were okay, it meant you weren’t.

Beomgyu floored the gas pedal.

His mind raced as fast as the car, every thought more horrifying than the last. What if he was too late? What if he never got to see you again? His breath hitched at the thought. His hands gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles pale.

He had to see you. Alive. Breathing.

Anything less would destroy him.

Beomgyu bursts into the hospital, his heart pounding so loudly it drowns out the sterile beeping and muffled voices around him. He barely registers the nurse’s directions to your room. All he knows is that he has to see you. His feet carry him faster than his thoughts, and when he spots the door, he doesn’t expect the two familiar figures standing outside.

Ryu-jin sits on a chair, her face buried in her hands as her shoulders shake with sobs. Yeonjun is pacing, his expression tight with worry, his hands clenched into fists.

The moment Yeonjun sees Beomgyu, he stops dead in his tracks. His gaze hardens, sharp and unyielding, as he steps forward and blocks the door with his arm.

“She wouldn’t want to see you,” Yeonjun snaps, his voice low and venomous. “Get the fuck out of here, you piece of shit.”

Beomgyu freezes for half a second before anger flares in his chest, red-hot and uncontrollable. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he shouts, shoving Yeonjun hard enough to make him stumble back a step. “I’m going to see my wife!”

Yeonjun doesn’t back down. If anything, he looks even angrier.

“Stop it! Both of you!” Ryu-jin’s voice cracks as she looks up, mascara streaked down her tear-stained cheeks. She doesn’t bother wiping it away. Her hands tremble as she points at the door. “Visitors aren’t allowed until tomorrow. She’s in surgery, Beomgyu. And it’s not… it’s not a minor one.”

Those words hit him like a freight train. The fight drains out of him, leaving only fear in its place. He stumbles back a step, his hands running through his hair as he struggles to breathe. “Surgery?” he whispers, his voice breaking. “What kind of surgery?”

Yeonjun glares at him, unmoving. “And now you come running,” he spits, his tone bitter. “After all this time? Now you care?”

Beomgyu clenches his jaw, meeting Yeonjun’s fiery gaze but saying nothing. Because he knows Yeonjun’s right.

Yeonjun’s shoulders sag, and his voice softens, “You don’t even know,” he says, eyes on the floor. “You don’t know what a fucking queen your wife is.”

The unexpected shift in tone stops Beomgyu in his tracks. He stares at Yeonjun. His words—they're spoken with such devastation that it leaves him frozen. He sees the sullen look on Yeonjun's face. After all, Yeonjun has always been soft when it comes to you.

So soft that it terrifies Beomgyu.

"Beomgyu." Soobin's voice cuts through the heavy silence, pulling Beomgyu out of his spiralling thoughts. He turns toward him, barely able to focus. "Let's talk here."

Beomgyu nods silently and walks over, his legs feeling heavier with every step. He follows without a word, leaving Yeonjun and Ryu-jin standing alone near the door.

Ryu-jin watches Yeonjun out of the corner of her eye. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t said a single word since his last bitter remark to Beomgyu. He stands there, staring at the floor. His hands clasped together.

The silence stretches uncomfortably, and she can’t help herself. “Yeonjun…” she starts hesitantly. “You’re not… in love with her or something, are you?”

Her words made Yeonjun’s head snap up. His eyes meet hers, and for the first time, Ryu-jin sees it—really sees it. The glassy sheen in his eyes, the way his lips part but no words come out. The heartbreak painted so clearly on his face that it makes her chest ache. “You idiot,” she whispers, her voice soft with pity.

Yeonjun lets out a shaky breath, his gaze dropping again as if he can’t bear the weight of her sympathy. “She’s… my best friend’s little sister,” he murmurs, his voice raw and quiet. “I didn’t think it was possible. Not for me. Not for her.” He doesn’t answer directly. He doesn’t need to. It’s all over his face.

Yeonjun was in love with you, ever since he first saw you.

Beomgyu sat across from Soobin, his hands clenched tightly in his lap as he listened. Soobin’s voice was calm but firm as he explained what the doctors had said—stress was the last thing you could handle right now. “I’ll let you know if it’s okay for you to see her."

The words didn’t settle easily. Beomgyu didn’t understand why no one would tell him anything about your condition, why every detail was kept from him. But knowing you were stable, even for the moment, was enough. He swallowed his frustration and nodded, agreeing to Soobin’s terms.

Still, he couldn’t help himself. As Soobin turned to leave, Beomgyu’s voice cracked, raw with desperation. “Please,” he begged, “Let me see her. Just once… before I go.”

Beomgyu felt like his heart was clawing its way out of his chest, beating so erratically it left him breathless. It begged to escape, just as he begged silently to be allowed into the ICU. His hands trembled, numb and unsteady. He flexed his fingers, forcing a crack to echo through his knuckles, before gripping the cold metal of the doorknob.

On the other side of this door was you—the woman he hurt.

The thought made him pause, the ache in his chest spreading to his throat, tightening it like a noose. He wasn’t sure he could face you—not like this. But he couldn’t stay away, not anymore.

The door creaked softly as it opened, and his heart stuttered at the sight of you. Your face was pale but peaceful, your eyes closed, your breaths slow and steady. The sound of the machines around you was the only thing keeping him grounded.

He stepped closer, each movement hesitant, his guilt weighing heavier with every inch he bridged between you. When he finally reached your bedside, he froze, staring down at your hand—fragile and adorned with IV needles. Slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours. They were soft. Warm. And just that small, simple touch made him breathe again—really breathe—for the first time in days.

“Baby,” he whispered, the word breaking in his throat.

He sank to his knees beside you, clutching your hand to his face. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over before he could stop them. They fell onto your skin, warm and unrelenting, a silent apology for every mistake he had made. He pressed his lips to your hand, shoulders shook as he cried.

The past few days without you had been unbearable. If he ever had doubts, or worries, if he ever hesitated—those thoughts were gone now. It's you. He’d thought about every little thing you did that he had taken for granted. All of it. And he realized, how much it all mattered.

How much you mattered to him.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, whispers to your skin as he continue to kiss your palm. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

The tears wouldn’t stop, and neither would the words pouring out of him. “You mean everything to me. I didn’t see it before, but I see it now. I love you. God, I love you so much.”

He squeezed your hand, hoping—praying—that somehow you could feel him. That even in this fragile, unconscious state, you could hear the desperate beating of his heart, could feel the truth in his touch. “I’ll do better,” he whispered, “I’ll be better. If you’ll just… if you’ll just give me another chance. Please.”

He didn’t know if you could hear him. He didn’t know if you’d ever forgive him. And he hates himself how it took him this long to figure it out.

Beomgyu’s heart was in his hands now, fully exposed and vulnerable, waiting—you could somehow feel it. He rested his forehead against your hand, tears pooling on the stark white sheets. If you gave him the chance, he’d spend the rest of his life proving that his love is real. He was finally here, standing in the world where you had once stood so heartbreakingly alone. And that his heart was yours, completely yours.

He would spend forever making up for what he had done. Even if it kills him.

“Where were you?” you asked, reaching over to grab the strawberry from the basket on the kitchen table. Beomgyu’s chuckle filled the room. “I went drinking with Taehyun. Just a light drink,” he said casually, his hand brushing your shoulder as he passed behind you to grab a plate.

“Why? Did you miss your husband?” he teased, carefully plating the food before setting it down in front of you. You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You wish.”

He chuckled, handing you a spoon and fork before moving around the kitchen. A tall glass appeared on the table next to your plate and he poured you water.

“Did he miss me too?” Beomgyu’s voice was soft, almost tentative, drawing your gaze upward. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you were caught in the tenderness there. It made your heart ache in that way only he could.

“He?” You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at your lips as you swallowed. “What makes you so sure it's a boy?” Your hand instinctively brushed over your stomach as a quiet smile softened your face. The thought of your little one—boy or girl—filled you with a warmth you couldn’t quite put into words.

“I just feel it,” A small smile flickered across his lips, “What if we get twins?”

You looked down, your thoughts wandering to tiny clothes, little shoes scattered across the floor, and pastel-painted walls filled with light and laughter. “That would be… amazing,” you murmured.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Beomgyu pulling out the chair beside you. He sat down at first, but then, almost as if drawn closer by some unseen force, he shifted. You felt his gaze before you saw him—soft, unwavering, and filled with a kind of awe that made your chest tighten.

“That sounds nice, two little you running around.” he breathed, his voice almost a whisper. His hand reached out slowly, brushing against your stomach. You set down your utensils, giving him a soft nod as you shifted slightly, allowing him more access.

Beomgyu lowered himself onto his knees in front of you, his large hands resting gently on either side of your growing belly. He glanced up at you, his eyes searching yours for a brief moment before he let out a long, steady breath. Then, with a tenderness that made your throat tighten, he leaned closer, pressing his forehead gently against your stomach.

“Mommy and Daddy love you,” he whispered, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. He sounded so vulnerable, so small—like all the pain he had been carrying had finally spilled over. His lips pressed softly against your stomach. And then, without a word, he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face against you.

Your hand moved instinctively, threading through his soft hair with slow, soothing strokes. He pulled you closer, as though being near you could quiet the storm in his heart. Your fingers trailed down the back of his neck, over his shoulders, and down his back.

And then—it shifted.

In your dream, you were cradling a baby to your chest, its tiny body safe in your arms. Beomgyu leaned down, smiling widely as you do.

You woke up, panting.

You were dreaming. It shattered as reality came rushing back. Pain coursed through you, sharp and unrelenting, pulling a small, involuntary sound from your lips.

The memory hit next, as vivid as the moment it happened. Driving through the night with tears blurring your vision, your hands trembling on the wheel. The sound of your ragged breathing, the pounding of your heart. You were speeding, desperate to outrun the ache inside. Then the impact—another car colliding into yours, the violent spin before your vision went black.

“Hnn,” you whimpered, barely able to get the sound out. Your throat was dry, parched, and every part of you ached. You needed water.

"Y/N," a voice broke through the haze of your awakening. You turned your head to see your brother, Soobin. His face paled as he dropped whatever he was holding and rushed to your side. “I—I—”

“Water. Please,” you rasped, your throat dry and raw.

Soobin nodded quickly, his hands trembling as he reached for the water bottle on the nearby table. He uncapped it, holding it to your lips as you drank. Relief was fleeting; the ache in your chest outweighed the dryness in your throat.

“What happened?” you asked, your voice a little stronger now, though your hands still shook.

“You got into an accident,” he said, settling into the chair beside you. His voice was low, almost fragile. “A surgery was performed. You’ve been unconscious for three days.”

You nodded, trying to process his words, but his silence that followed unsettled you. ou looked at him, noticing the way his eyes darted away from yours, how his lips pressed together like he was holding back something he didn’t know how to say.

“What is it?” you pressed, your chest tightening with dread.

Soobin hesitated, his hands fidgeting in his lap before he reached out to take yours. “Let me call the nurse first, okay?” You nodded, though the fear in his voice made it hard to breathe.

You nodded, your anxiety growing as he stepped out. Moments later, the nurse arrived, and then the doctor, their voices calm and professional as they began explaining the details of your condition. But their words blurred together—a haze of medical jargon that barely registered—until one sentence shattered everything.

“You were in your first trimester when the accident occurred. The baby didn’t survive. I’m so sorry for your loss.” Your world tilted. Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, it felt like your heart had stopped.

“A baby?” you whispered, the word foreign and fragile on your lips.

The nurse and doctor offered their condolences before quietly excusing themselves, leaving you alone with Soobin. Your hands trembled as they instinctively moved to your stomach. “I was pregnant?” Your voice cracked, disbelief and anguish bleeding into every word. "Soobin?"

“Y/N…” Soobin’s voice was choked with emotion.

“I mean… they’re saying I was…” You stopped, the reality sinking in with a force so cruel. “Oh.”

“I didn’t even know,” Tears blurred your vision as the enormity of it all crashed down on you. You lost a baby. A life you didn’t even know you were carrying. A piece of you that was gone before you ever had the chance to feel it, to know it, to love it.

Did you have to lose your child too?

The sobs came hard and fast, wracking your body until you could barely breathe. Your hands covered your mouth, trying to hold in the grief that spilled over anyway. “I didn’t even know I was pregnant.” you choked out, your voice breaking. “And now… they’re gone.” Your hands clutched at your stomach as if trying to hold on to something that was no longer there. "It's all my fault."

Soobin wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest as your cries tore the room. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice shaking. He held you tightly. The only thing that kept you from falling out.

Your cries grew louder, as the loss consumed you. The one you saw in your dream, so warm in your arms. You had held them, hadn’t you? You could still feel the weight of their tiny body in your arms.

Your baby.

All you could do was mourn for the life that had slipped away before you even knew it existed.

It’s been a week since Soobin made his last call to Beomgyu. A week since you opened your eyes in the hospital. And yet, Beomgyu has heard nothing.

Every day, he drags himself to the hospital. But every time, the answer is the same: no. On the fourth day, he arrived—you’d been discharged. You were gone.

Still, every morning, Beomgyu wakes up with that same aching hope that refuses to let go no matter how much it hurts. He gets through the day somehow, clutching at the thought of seeing your face again. But by night, when the world quiets, he’s left with nothing but his tears, falling asleep with the weight of your absence pressing down on his heart.

He’s distracted, eyes fixed on the same line of text glowing on his computer screen. It’s been minutes, maybe longer, and he still hasn’t moved past the first sentence. His mind is elsewhere—adrift—when a knock on the office door pulls him back.

His secretary peeks in, face filled with cautious expression. “Sir, I’ve been calling your phone. Someone’s here to see you—Park Sunghoon.”

Beomgyu blinked, confused. Sunghoon? His old batchmate, someone he’d shared classes with years ago. They hadn’t talked in forever. He nodded slowly, signalling her to let him in.

The door opens fully, and Sunghoon strides in. His pale complexion contrasts starkly with the black polo shirt he’s wearing, and Beomgyu notices the glasses perched on his nose—something he didn't have before. Sunghoon doesn’t look quite the same as Beomgyu remembers.

“Beomgyu,” Sunghoon said with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How’ve you been, man?”

“Sunghoon,” Beomgyu responds, sitting up straighter in his chair. “What brings you here?” He gestures toward the seat across the desk, and Sunghoon takes it. The frown etched into his brow didn’t escape Beomgyu’s notice. “Is everything okay?”

Sunghoon exhales, leaning forward and clasping his hands together on his knees. “You know I’m close with Jay, right?”

Beomgyu narrows his eyes, unsure where this is heading, but he nods. “Yeah. And?”

“Well…” Sunghoon hesitates, the words seemingly heavy in his throat before he finally speaks. “I heard about Y/N. That she got into an accident recently.” The sound of your name halts Beomgyu.

“I couldn’t ignore it anymore,” Sunghoon continues, voice quieter. “I made promises to her, you know? But lately… I don’t know. It’s been eating me alive.”

Beomgyu runs his hand to his hair, "Sunghoon…”

"I didn’t think it was my place to say this," Sunghoon begins, "When I heard you two got married, I thought maybe she’d tell you. Maybe you already know. But I came here personally, just in case. Because you deserve to know. And if I don’t tell you now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life."

He exhales deeply before continuing. “Do you remember how you used to talk about Ji-won? How you’d brag about her cooking for you, leaving little things for you—sweets, medicine, hot packs. Or the cold water she’d always leave at your bench during those grueling practices under the sun? Do you remember how she saved your ass that time you forgot your assignment, staying up late just to finish it for you? You told us all those things, over and over, like she a gem.” Beomgyu feels his chest tighten as Sunghoon meets his nervous gaze.

“All of that, Beomgyu… it wasn’t Ji-won,” Sunghoon says carefully, “It was Y/N. Every single one of those things. I know because… she asked me to help her sometimes. She didn’t want you to know. She didn’t do it for recognition or because she wanted anything back. She just cared about you. I even told her once—maybe she should tell you how she felt, and even if you didn’t feel the same, at least it’d help her move on. But she wouldn’t. She told me… her love for you wasn’t about getting something back. It wasn’t about her. It wasn’t selfish.”

Beomgyu’s hand trembles under the table, his knuckles white as he clenches his fists. His throat feels tight, each word hitting his ears.

“At first, I couldn’t understand her decision—I even judged her for it, thinking she was only making... things harder on herself,” Sunghoon admits, voice softening. “But over time, I realized—none of us have the right to judge someone else’s pain. You can’t measure someone else’s actions by your own standards. What might seem small or insignificant to one person could be earth-shattering to someone else.”

Beomgyu had been in love with the idea of Ji-won all along.

Those moments—the little gestures, the care, the comfort—they had become the foundation of his attachment to her. How he remembered her. They were the memories he clung to, the ones burned so deeply into his mind that letting her go had felt impossible. She was, in his mind, someone who cared for him. Someone who truly knew him.

But it wasn’t her. It was you. It had been you all along.

He thinks about Ji-won, the girl he once believed was willing to stand by him no matter what. She made him think about defying his parents, about running away from everything—his responsibilities, his future, his entire life. Ji-won was the one who fueled his anger, who stood beside him as he cursed the world and everyone in it.

And then there was you.

You, who never let him go too far. You didn’t encourage his anger—you challenged it. Even when it meant standing against him, because you wanted him to understand—not everything could be run from. It was you who reminded him that his obligations weren’t a prison but a part of him, something he couldn’t just abandon. It was you who helped him rebuild the bridge to his parents when he didn’t even realise it had been burned.

It’s suffocating now, the truth. To realise that the very actions that made him fall for Ji-won—the moments he thought defined her love for him—were never hers. They were yours.

Ji-won had been nothing but a mirror to his rebellion. This truth, made him want to see you more.

“Pour me another,” Beomgyu muttered to the bartender he leaned heavily on his forearm. The man hesitated, his concern written all over his face. Beomgyu noticed but didn’t care. “I said, pour me another one.”

With a reluctant nod, the bartender slid another drink in front of him. Beomgyu downed it in one go, the burn in his throat doing nothing to drown out the ache in his chest. He fumbled for his phone, the screen glaring back at him as he typed out messages he knew you’d never read.

I miss you, baby. Can I see you? Let’s talk, please. Are you not going to see me? Forever? Ok. I understand. I don’t deserve forgiveness. No. Please. Give me a chance. Just one chance to see you. To talk to you, please. I can’t go on another day without you. Please Y/N.

The messages sat there, unanswered.

Stumbling out of the bar, his legs unsteady and his vision blurred, he barely noticed the bartender calling his driver. He collapsed onto the pavement outside, his head in his hands, phone still clutched in his trembling fingers.

As he opened it again, ready to type another desperate plea, his screen lit up with an incoming call. His heart skipped, hope flickering briefly before seeing another unfamiliar number.

“When are you going to stop calling me, Ji-won?” he shouted into the phone, his voice hoarse with frustration and alcohol. “I’ve said it more than once—we don’t need to talk. Not ever again.”

“I just wanted to know how you’re—”

“Please!” he cut her off, his voice breaking as tears streamed freely down his face. He was shaking now, his words spilling out in a desperate sob. “Please, Ji-won… I know everything. I know what you did. You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You… you destroyed it.”

He pressed his palm against his mouth, trying to muffle the sound of his own cries. “Please,” he whispered, the word barely audible through his tears. “Just let me be.”

The line ends.

Ji-won freezes, her fingers trembling as the line goes dead. You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You… you destroyed it.

She exhales shakily, forcing air into her lungs that suddenly feel too tight. Her phone slips from her hand, landing softly on the bedspread. Hot tears well in her eyes, blurring the room around her. She had let herself believe—naively, foolishly—that Choi Beomgyu could still be hers.

Even after everything, she had convinced herself that there was still a piece of him that belonged to her. But now, hearing his words, she knew. She had already lost him.

The tears came harder as her mind betrayed her, pulling her back to the moment it all began. The moment her hatred for you took root.

“Beomgyu,” she had chirped, plopping down beside him on the couch. He had been immersed in a book, his brow furrowed in concentration, but she didn’t care. She wanted his attention, his reassurance. She always did. “There’s this talk going around about… Y/N,” she said, the name leaving a sour taste on her tongue. “People are saying she’s the prettiest girl on campus.” Her voice dropped, tinged with an edge of insecurity.

“But that’s not true, right? She’s not that… pretty.” She trailed off, squeezing his hand, her smile faltering as she waited for the words she longed to hear. She wanted him to say, there was no competition—that she was the most beautiful girl in his eyes.

Beomgyu was half hearing her words because he was engrossed in the book he was reading. So instead, he looked up, his eyes meeting hers with a hint of confusion. “What do you mean?” he asked simply, his tone matter-of-fact. “It's true. I think she’s beautiful.”

It was on that day Ji-won began to hate you with every fiber of her being.

The kind of hatred that wasn’t born overnight, but nurtured by her insecurities, fed by the way you walked through the world without a care—dragging every boy’s eyes in your wake as if it were effortless. And the worst part? You didn’t even seem to notice. You didn’t have to notice.

Jealousy festered in her chest, growing heavier each time she caught a glimpse of you. It didn’t help that you and Beomgyu—her Beomgyu—shared a world she could never truly enter. The Chois. The big families. A legacy. Something she wasn’t, something she could never be.

The announcement of your engagement felt like the final blow. She couldn’t understand how the universe could be so evil. You, the girl she couldn’t stand, were being handed the one thing she clung to the hardest. It wasn’t fair. And as jealousy morphed into bitterness, she let herself simmer in the injustice of it all, until it burned hot enough to ignite a plan.

Ji-won thought of everything. She knew Beomgyu would be there at the party, and she knew what she had to do. She chose the kind of dress he used to love. She styled her hair the way he used to run his fingers through, practised the words he used to adore hearing spill from her lips. She even reached for the used perfume he once said he liked.

It wasn’t an accident. None of it was. Ji-won walked into that room not as a guest, but as someone determined to remind him of what they once had. It didn’t matter that he was married.

You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You destroyed it. Please, just let me be.

She swallows hard, the lump in her throat refusing to go away. The realization settles over her like a heavy fog, a fog that turns clear—she is nothing more than a wall. A futile obstacle standing in the way of two souls who are meant to be together.

She opens her phone, booking a flight—any flight—to anywhere but here.

“It’s here,” Soobin says softly, his hand resting gently on your back as he guides you forward. His finger points to the glass grave in front of you.

Gone, but forever in our hearts. Moon.

Your Moon. The name you gave your baby—a name as delicate and luminous as the child who never got to see the world. You thought long and hard about it. It had to be beautiful, just like him. A name worthy of all the love you poured into his short, fleeting existence.

You pull out your handkerchief, wiping at the thin layer of dust that has settled on the outside of the glass. Your fingers tremble as you do, as though clearing the smudges could make it hurt less. But it doesn’t. It never does. Your brow furrows as you fight the ache swelling in your chest. He’s in there—inside that small, delicate bottle. And this is all you can do for him now.

“Hi, baby,” you whisper, your voice cracking as the words leave your lips. Soobin stands beside you, his smile soft but heavy with sadness. “Do you think I would’ve been a good uncle?” he asks, his voice barely louder than the wind.

You glance at him, your heart aching at the question. He kneels to place the small flowers you’d brought together, arranging them with the utmost care. There's an unfamiliar flower resting beside it. Someone must have wrongly placed it.

“Yes,” you manage to say, your throat tight with emotion. “I think the two of you would’ve been close.” You force a smile, though it wavers, your words choking you as they come out.

He reaches up and smooths your hair, a comforting gesture that almost makes you break. “He’s up there,” Soobin murmurs, his eyes lifting to the sky. “With no pain. Watching over you.”

You nod, swallowing hard, willing your tears to stay back. You can’t cry. Not here. Not now. If you cry, your baby might worry. You’ve convinced yourself of that, even if it doesn’t make sense.

The week after your discharge was unbearable.

You clung to Soobin like a lifeline, your hands gripping his. Your parents moved you back into their house without question, simply knowing you needed them.

Your mother—the strongest woman you’d ever known, the one who never faltered—cried with you when you broke the news. She held you in her arms like you were a child again, her tears falling silently against your hair as you sobbed into her chest. Your father walked with you every day, leading you to the garden where you could sit in the sunlight, as if the warmth could somehow seep into the cracks inside you. They cooked your meals, cleaned your space, and did everything you couldn’t bring yourself to do.

Tonight, you find yourself staring blankly at the walls of your old room.

The quiet feels suffocating, pressing against your chest. Sleep won’t come, and before you even realise it, tears are slipping down your cheeks. You didn’t even notice you were crying until the dampness touches your skin. You sit up abruptly, your chest heaving as if the air refuses to fill your lungs. The stillness of the bed feels unbearable, so you push yourself off it, your feet meeting the cool floor.

Pacing back and forth, you feel the tears come harder now, unchecked and unexplainable. You don’t even know why you’re crying. It’s just there—this ache, this heaviness. You were about to go out, to get Soobin or your parents.

But then your eyes caught the window.

It glows. The moon.

It’s full tonight, impossibly bright, casting a soft, silvery glow across the room. It feels like it’s staring back at you. You stand there, frozen, the phone slipping from your hand. The moon’s reflection shimmers faintly in your tear-filled eyes, and for a moment, you forget the heaviness pressing against your chest. It’s as if the moon is speaking to you, telling you to breathe, to let go, to just be.

Your breathing steadies. You stand there, bathed in its light, feeling the faintest glimmer of peace. And the storm inside you begins to calm.

It’s been six months since you woke up.

Six months since you returned to your parents’ house, where the familiar walls offered some sense of safety. Ryu-jin and Yeonjun visit almost every weekend, their presence a small comfort. Soobin stays, too, refusing to leave your side.

It’s been almost seven months since you last saw Choi Beomgyu.

Seven months since everything fell apart.

Choi Beomgyu, who, for six months now, has spent every single day driving two hours to your parents’ house. He shows up like clockwork, no matter the weather, no matter the time. After work, he makes the trip, arriving at the big gated doors with a bouquet of white roses in his hands. Every single day.

He doesn’t make a scene or beg to be let in. He just waits, bouquet in hand, a fragile hope flickering in his eyes. White roses. Always white roses. They used to be your favourite.

His parents send gifts, too. Packages and handwritten letters arrive, carefully chosen and delicately worded, but you can’t bring yourself to open them.

And every day, you hear the knock at the gate. Every day, you peek from the upstairs window, watching him wait, white roses clutched in his hands like a lifeline. And every day, you stay hidden behind the curtains, your feet stay rooted to the floor, your heart too bruised to carry you to him.

But today is different. Today, it has to be.

The papers are in your hands. Unsigned divorce papers. You tell yourself it’s just paper, just ink, but the trembling in your hands betrays the truth.

You walk to the building you once called home, each step echoing in your chest. The elevator hums softly as you press the button, your reflection in the mirrored doors a stranger to you. When it finally dings open, you step out into the hallway that once smelled of comfort and familiarity. Now it feels like a mausoleum.

Your hand hovers over the doorbell of your home—no, his home. The space you used to share feels distant. The ring in your other hand feels impossibly heavy, its cool metal biting into your palm.

You’ve tried to get rid of it before. Once, you even threw it in the trash, convincing yourself it was the right thing to do. But then came the panic. You tore through the garbage, hands shaking, the stench clinging to you as you clawed through. It didn’t matter that you ruined your clothes or that your mom’s voice cracked as she begged you to stop.

You just couldn’t let it go. Maybe, you should return it properly.

You take a breath and press the button. And then you wait.

When the door swung open, Beomgyu’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, everything froze. His eyes widened in shock, his lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came out. You felt your chest tighten painfully, the sight of him unravelling something inside you. He looked… so different. His hair, longer now, fell to his shoulders in messy waves, unkempt like he hadn’t bothered to comb it. His skin was pale, almost sickly, and his eyes were rimmed with red, like he’d been crying—or hadn’t slept in days.

“Y/N,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand gripped the edge of the door like he needed something to steady him, his heart hammering so loudly he swore you could hear it. Was this real? Were you really standing there? He let his gaze trail over you, taking in your thinner frame, the hollow tiredness etched into your face. He wanted to say something, to invite you in, but the words caught in his throat.

You didn’t say a word. Instead, you stepped past him, the sharp click of your heels against the floor filling the suffocating silence. Each step echoed like a countdown, louder in his ears than it should have been. Beomgyu turned to watch you, his hand hovering uselessly at his side, aching to reach out but too afraid to try.

He closed the door softly behind you.

Your eyes scan the room, and it hits you all at once—everything’s a mess. Clothes are strewn carelessly over the couch, an empty chip bag crumpled on the kitchen counter, dishes piling up in the sink. The air feels heavy, stagnant, like the windows haven’t been opened in weeks.

And then your gaze shifts—to the open door on the right. Your room.

Your breath catches as you take it in. The bed is unmade, the sheets tangled in a way that’s unmistakable.

He’s been sleeping there. Beomgyu. In your room. In your bed.

"Uh," Beomgyu starts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry, it's… kind of a mess."

You nod stiffly, not meeting his eyes. "It's okay."

The sound of your voice makes him freeze. It’s been so long since he’s heard it—too long. His chest tightens, but before he can savor it, your next words come like a knife to his heart. "I'm not going to be here for long anyway."

His brows furrow, panic flashing across his face. "Wh-why?" he stammers, his voice breaking. "I mean—"

You cut him off, extending the envelope toward him with trembling hands. "Let’s…" You swallow hard, forcing the words out despite the lump in your throat. "Let’s get a divorce."

Beomgyu stares at you, his mind reeling. The hope that had bloomed in his chest when he saw you standing at his door clashes violently with the reality of your words. His lips part, but no sound comes at first. Finally, he whispers, "Why?"

He can’t stop himself. The panic is overwhelming. "I went to your house every day," he says, his voice breaking. "Every single day, Y/N. I wanted to make this work. I—I sent you messages, I tried everything. Do you…" He swallows hard, his throat tight. "Do you not love me anymore?" He knows he sounds pathetic, but he doesn’t care. The speeches he’d rehearsed in his head dissolve into nothing, overtaken by the fright clawing at him.

Your breath hitches, and when you speak, your voice is cold, trembling with barely contained emotion. "I don’t care if I love you, Beomgyu. I don’t care if it feels like my heart is being ripped out of my chest, or if it feels like I’m dying inside." You take a shaky breath, your grip tightening on the envelope. "I want a divorce. And when it’s done, you’ll never see me again."

Beomgyu flinches like you’ve struck him, his knees nearly buckling. He shifts uncomfortably, his hands shaking at his sides. "Is this still about Ji-won?" he asks hesitantly, and the way you flinch answers him before your words can.

He swallows hard, his voice growing more frantic. "It’s true, Y/N. It’s true, that I cheated. I kissed her, but as soon as it happened, I pushed her away." He presses a trembling hand to his chest. "It didn’t mean anything—it was a mistake, a horrible mistake, and I hate myself for it every single day. But please…" His voice cracks, tears spilling down his cheeks. "Please, give me a chance."

You shake your head, a sob breaking free despite how hard you’re trying to hold it together. "It’s too late, Beomgyu," you whisper, your voice trembling as your hands shake. You open your hands, and try to give the ring back. "Too much has happened. We can’t go back."

Beomgyu doesn’t take it. He just stands there, staring at the ring in your palm, tears streaming down his face. He knows. If he takes it, it’s over. If he takes it, you’ll be gone for good, out of his life forever.

"I can’t," he whispers, his voice broken. "I can’t take it."

He won’t take the ring, so he takes your hand and pulled you to him, kissing your lips fervently and enduring the slam of your fists against his body and chest. It was all him; it was all his fault. He is an emotional wreck who doesn’t know what to do and how to contain his feelings.

“Beomgyu—” you gasped, your voice breaking as you pushed at his chest. He didn’t let go, his hands cupping your face, fingers brushing against your jaw like you were something fragile and sacred. His touch was shaky, his breathing uneven as his hands slid to the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly closer.

His movements were hurried, frantic, as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he let go. In one swift motion, he lifted you, his steps unsteady as he carried you to the bedroom. Your bedroom. The air felt heavy as he laid you down on the mattress—his mattress now, the one that carried his scent.

“Wait—,” you said weakly, your hands clutching at his shirt, your voice trembling as much as your resolve. But even as you pushed against him, your lips didn’t stop moving from kissing him back. His hands moved to your shoulders, then slid down to your waist, pulling you to him. You never knew that lips could talk without uttering a word until he declared his love for you through kisses. You let yourself melt under his touch.

Your hands, which had been pushing him away moments before, now found his shoulders for balance as he pressed you back into the bed. The mattress creaked beneath you, and you hated how your body still remembered him—how it responded to him like no time had passed at all.

His breaths were ragged, syncing with your every moan as his tongue tangled with yours, hungry and desperate. You had missed him—every part of him. That truth burned inside you as your fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer, urging him on. His body pressed against yours, grinding to yours, while his hands roamed over your skin, igniting every nerve he touched. His lips trailed downward, leaving soft kisses that melted into your flesh, a path leading straight to your core.

He stripped you of every barrier, leaving you bare under his gaze. His eyes shimmered with something between adoration and hunger as they traced your body. You hadn’t realized how powerless you were against him until your legs parted, welcoming him. He looked at you like you were sacred, like you were his entire world.

“Don’t leave me…” he whispered between kisses, his voice breaking in a way that made your heart ache. Tears pricked your eyes because you wanted to believe him. You needed to believe him. His hands explored further, his fingers reaching for your clit, pinching softly then roughly, coaxing sounds from your lips that you didn’t know you were capable of. You trembled beneath him, gasping and crying out as he whispered confessions into your skin.

His mouth was poetry, speaking without syllables. His kisses, his touch—every movement of his lips and tongue—proclaimed what he hadn’t said out loud. Your body gave in, melting under the weight of his devotion, your mind consumed by him.

“Don’t leave me again, please,” he murmured as he positioned himself, slowly sliding into you. A low, guttural sound escaped him as he felt you, tight and warm, pulling him deeper. He missed you so much that he's sure he'll come right there and then. His face buried itself in the curve of your neck, and his words spilled out—apologies, regrets.

"Please," His touch was gentle, even as his thrusts inside you grew more desperate. He cradled your head, kissed away your tears, and pressed his lips to your cheek. “I’m in love with you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It’s always been you.”

“I love you…” he murmured, capturing your lips in a desperate kiss as you both unravelled together, bodies trembling in unison. Your thighs clenched tightly around his waist, and he repeated the words softly into your ear, like a prayer he needed you to hear.

"Beomgyu," You whispered his name and it made tears well up in his eyes. His hand gently pushed the damp strands of hair from your face, and he pressed tender kisses along your cheeks, your temple, and your jaw. When he noticed your tears, he wiped them away without hesitation, his touch careful and soothing.

“Shh, angel,” he whispered, pulling you against his chest, holding you like he was afraid you’d slip away. His lips brushed the crown of your head, and his hand moved in calming strokes up and down your back. “I’m sorry… for everything.”

You had come here to end it. To finally say the words that would close this chapter for good. You’d rehearsed it in your mind, telling yourself you’d leave with your head held high.

But all of that clarity blurred with every kiss he gave you, every whisper of your name that fell from his lips. Every I love you, over and over again, spoken like a spell meant to undo you. And it did. The walls you had worked so hard to build these past seven months—brick by painstaking brick—began to crack and crumble.

And when he pulled you closer, his arms tightening around you like he couldn’t bear to let go, you felt yourself falter completely. Because no matter how much resolve you thought you had, it was never enough when it came to him.

Two fractured bodies came together, love-making to each other to chase away all the scars and time passed.

The papers meant to sever—to declare the ending—lay discarded on the floor, forgotten.

The brightness of the room stings your eyes as they flutter open. You blink, disoriented, your chest tightening with a familiar weight. Panic creeps up, sharp and unforgiving. He must have left. He must have slipped out of bed again, leaving you to wake up alone.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Beomgyu’s voice is soft, tinged with concern as he gently cradles your face in his hands. He had woken up before you, the morning light spilling across the room, but leaving the bed felt impossible. Not when you were curled so closely against him, your bodies still tangled under the warmth of the sheets.

He stayed, wrapping himself around you, his chest pressed to your back, his arms holding you. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling the faint scent that now feels like home. It was quiet—so quiet—until he felt the faint tremble on your body. His grip tightened instinctively, his voice barely above a whisper as he called out to you again. “Y/N,"

You blinked, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. Turning your head, your eyes met his—heavy-lidded and soft with sleep. His arms tightened around your waist. A shaky breath escaped your lips, your chest tight as tears welled in your eyes. You tried to hold them back, but they came anyway.

Beomgyu’s thumb brushed against your cheek, catching the first tear as it slipped down. He didn’t miss a thing. His gaze traced every flicker of emotion on your face. He opened his mouth, ready to ask what was wrong again, but you spoke first,

“You finally stayed.”

Your words made him froze. Guilt settled heavy in his chest, as he pulled you impossibly closer. His forehead pressed against yours, lips hovered so close to yours.

“I won’t ever leave. Every day, you’ll wake up, and I’ll be here. Right by your side.”

Beomgyu was different—so different it made your heart ache in the best way.

He was there, every single step, helping you out of bed like it was second nature. You had to practically fight for the simple dignity of showering alone, and even then, he lingered just outside the door, making sure you were okay.

And when it was his turn to ask for something, “Please cook for me again,” he’d said, his voice begging.

So you did. You made the soup—the very first one you’d ever cooked for him back in college. As the soup simmered, Beomgyu started to talk. He told you about Ji-won, about his unexpected interaction with Sunghoon, and how he’d rejected Ji-won long before he even knew the full truth. He spoke with an honesty that left no room for doubt, his words meant only for you.

When your mind wandered, when your eyes drifted away, Beomgyu noticed. He always noticed. His fingers would gently close around yours, pulling you back to him. He’d press soft kisses to your palms, his touch saying more than words ever could: Stay with me. I’m here.

“This is too good,” Beomgyu groaned after his first sip of the soup, you know see his face lighting up like what Sunghoon told you about. His hands cradled the bowl, and you couldn’t help but notice the glint of his ring—the one he refused to take off. It made you looked down at your own hand, there it was—your ring, the one Beomgyu fought for last night.

You took a small sip, letting the warmth spread through you. But it did little to settle the weight in your stomach. There was still something left unsaid, something you hadn’t found the courage to tell him yet. “Beomgyu,”

He squeezes your hand—the one he hasn’t let go of, even while eating. His arm stretches across the table to hold yours, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hmm?” he hums.

“Back in the hospital…” you begin, your voice trembling with of what you’re about to say. You feel his gaze shift to you, “I had a… I had a miscarriage.” You swallow hard, forcing yourself to continue. “I lost our child.”

The silence that follows is unbearable. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, your eyes fixed on the half-eaten soup in front of you. The warmth in his hand disappears, and your heart sinks. When you hear the sound of his chair scraping against the floor, dread floods your chest. He’s walking away.

But then he’s there—beside you. He pulls out the chair next to yours and sits down. When he leans forward to pull you into his arms, it’s like the air returns to your lungs. He guides your face to rest against his shoulder. His arms come around you, holding you close.

“I know,” he whispers, “Soobin told me.”

Your breath catches, and your chest feels both heavy and light at the same time. “I went to him every day, you know,” he continues, his hand running soothing circles on your back. “It’s hard not to. I couldn’t stay away. He… he got me.”

You exhale shakily, your body relaxing into his. The faint memory of flowers on your baby's grave—ones you couldn’t remember bringing yourself—floats to the surface. It all makes sense now. Beomgyu had been there, mourning as you did.

Your hand never leaves Beomgyu’s as he drives.

The road feels both too short and too long, leading you to the place you’ve come to know too well. It’s green here—peaceful and impossibly beautiful in a way that feels both comforting and heartbreaking. He parks the car, steps out, and circles around to open your door. His hand finds yours again as you step out, and together, you walk the path you’ve walked before.

In your other hand, you hold the small bouquet—a gift for the little one who rests here now, your little angel. You kneel gently, placing the flowers at the grave. Beomgyu crouches beside you, his gaze fixed on the name etched into the stone.

Beomgyu’s voice breaks the silence, trembling as he whispers, “Daddy’s here with Mommy now, just like I promised you.” His words catch in his throat, and he pauses, his head bowing slightly as he tries to gather himself. “I told you I could do it,” he continues, his voice shaking, raw with emotion. “Daddy’s so sorry for everything. I promise I’ll take care of your Mommy. I’ll take care of her, I swear. You just play up there, okay? Don’t worry about us. Mommy and Daddy love you more than anything.”

Your heart aches at his words, and you press closer to his side. His arm finds its way around your shoulders, holding you tight. You cling to him just as fiercely, your bodies leaning into one another, trying not to fall apart in front of the greatest what-if of your lives.

I can’t wait to see you, wife. Almost there. I love you.

The corners of your lips tugged into a smile as you read your husband’s text. It had been a week since you decided to reconcile. And in those seven days, he had kept every promise, showing you with quiet consistency that he meant every word.

Reaching for your perfume, you lightly spritzed it onto your pulse points. You glanced at yourself in the mirror, smoothing the fabric of your dress, a small flutter of nerves in your chest.

The past still lingered—it wasn’t something that could just disappear. There were nights you woke up gasping, caught in the grip of nightmares. But the smoke always seemed to lift the moment you heard his voice, the way he whispered comfort like he could chase away the darkness with nothing but his presence. It was a start.

You spent the weekend at your parents’ house. When you told them you were giving your marriage another chance, their eyes had softened, and they gave you their support. And now, here you were, waiting for him—your husband—who was on his way to take you on your first date.

Married for almost three years, and are going out for your first date. The date he’d practically begged for, pouting for hours until you finally agreed, because he said he wanted it.

A beginning.

You make your way down the stairs. When you reach the bottom, your eyes land on Yeonjun, lounging on the couch, his fingers absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. He doesn’t notice you at first, but the moment he does, he sets it down without hesitation.

Walking over to him, you don’t give him a chance to say anything. Your hands gently cup his face, and before he can react, you press a quick kiss to his forehead. “Yeonjun,” you say softly, standing in front of him now, your gaze grateful. “Thank you. For everything.”

Your words seem to light him up. A smile spreads across his face, and he attempts one of his signature winks—a clumsy one at that. It’s so bad it makes you both break into laughter, the sound echoing warmly in the room. “Anything for you, Y/N,” he replies, he stands up and asks for another hug from you.

"Take care, always, okay?" You nod to his shoulders. Grateful to this man who did things for you, without asking anything back.

After saying your goodbyes to Yeonjun, you step outside, your eyes sweeping across the open space in front of the large doors.

Beomgyu leans casually against his sleek black velvet car, the deep color almost absorbing the light, while Soobin stands beside him, mid-conversation. There’s a quiet ease between them, the kind that makes you pause. When they notice you approaching, Soobin pats Beomgyu’s back, their exchange winding down as they mutter their farewells.

They look like... brothers.

The sight tugs at your heart. When you told Soobin about Beomgyu’s promises, you weren’t sure how he’d react, but it felt like he already knew. “He’s the only one who doesn’t realise how much he loves you,” Soobin had said, his voice certain. “I saw it—starting back at the hospital. It was all over his face.”

Now, as you reach him, you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug that speaks more than words ever could. “I love you, Soobin.” you say, the words soft but full of conviction.

Soobin holds you for a beat longer than usual, his hand resting lightly on your back. He feels nothing but peace in his chest.

Maybe now, he can start chasing his own happiness too.

Beomgyu watches silently as you pull away from Soobin, his gaze never leaving you. When your eyes meet his and a soft smile spreads across your lips, his chest tightens. You’re beautiful. So achingly beautiful that it feels like his heart might splinter under your stare.

When you reach him, he leans down without a word, brushing a quick kiss against your lips. He knows he needs this. He knows he needs you.

Because without you, there’s no him.

The day felt like stepping back in time, a snapshot of a younger, simpler you.

It started with the movies, where Beomgyu would lean in for quick, stolen kisses during the darker scenes, his grin impossible to resist. Then came the arcade—a chaotic mix of flashing lights and laughter. He was relentless in his mission to win you a comically oversized teddy bear, to the point of nearly bribing the poor guy running the booth. When he finally succeeded, he held it up like a trophy, his smile as wide as the bear itself. For a moment, it felt like you were back in college, like this could’ve been one of your carefree dates from those days.

Now, you’re crammed into a photo booth together, squishing shoulder to shoulder as the timer counts down. Two grown, married adults pulling silly faces at the camera like teenagers. The faint hum of the machine is drowned out by your shared giggles, and you can feel the curious stares of actual teenagers nearby. They’re probably imagining your life is perfect, the kind of love they dream about. If only they knew how far from perfect it’s been—how much work it’s taken to get here.

When the photo strip finally slides out, Beomgyu grabs it first, holding it up with a burst of laughter. “Look at you, sweetheart,” he says, pointing to one particularly goofy expression you made. His laughter is infectious, and soon you’re both doubled over, bumping to each other as you cackle uncontrollably.

Beomgyu—who always seems so composed, so maddeningly serious—looks nothing like that version of himself when he laughs. He’s wide-eyed and carefree, his joy as pure as a child’s, and it’s beautiful. It heals you. Every day with him feels like this—a discovery, a new layer to peel back, something new to fall in love with.

“God, I love you,” he says suddenly, making your heart flutter.

“I love you too,” you whisper, the smile on your face softening as he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek. The squeals from the teenagers outside are instant, and you roll your eyes, laughing as you glance at them—your accidental audience, swooning over the two of you like you’re straight out of a rom-com, like they’ve just witnessed something magical.

And maybe they have.

It doesn’t matter if it’s slow, or if it took longer than it should have. Life isn’t perfect, and neither are people. Everyone deserves a second chance—just like the one you gave your marriage. Just like the one it deserved. It may have started off messy in ways you couldn’t imagine fixing, but that didn’t mean it had to end the same way.

The road ahead still feels long, but you’re learning to let go. Of the doubt that whispered you’d never make it. Of the pain. Of the mistakes and the past that clings to you. Even the scars—the ones you thought would never fade. Letting them go is the only way forward, the only way to move on. Only then can you begin again.

You glance at Beomgyu, his fingers laced with yours, his grip gentle as he leads you out of this place. His head tilts slightly as he looks back at you, and there it is—that boyish, cheeky smile that has the power to make your heart skip.

All you have to do is surrender.

This surrender is not in defeat, but in trust. Trust in him. Trust with his promises. Trust in the hope of something better.

Trust in yourself.

You’ll be okay.

THE END.

taglist: I love you @.beombunni @.lovingbeomgyudayone @.virtaideen @.hyukascampfire @.fancypeacepersona @.bamgeutori @.lilbrorufr @.beomieeeeeeeeeeees @.soobinbunnie5 @.pagelets @.yoseicour @.baekberrie @.blossommi @.younbeanz @.soohashits @.brrytears @.shycreationdreamland @.notevenheretbh1

[call-memissbrightside]

All I can think about is Katsuki dating someone with a baby—

His friends think it’s a bit odd since he’s in his early thirties and could still mess around before settling down but he’s not having it

You’re a bit nervous to tell him that you had a kid after a few dates, and you think he’s never going to hit you up again when he doesn’t really respond when you tell him, he just drops you off at your place with a emotionless look on his face.

You cry to yourself that night as you put your little girl to bed, and the two year old knows something’s wrong because she’s fussy through the whole night routine. You really liked Bakugou, he made you laugh and respect you but if he can’t accept your daughter than it's not going to work out.

Then the next morning he texts you that he got tickets for three to the local aquarium for the day. You call him, confused.

“That way we can take your daughter?” He’s confused by your question. “Why? Is she too little for the aquarium?”

You’re nervous as hell for him meeting Mai for the first time, but Katsuki is taken back at how your daughter looks just like you. She's adorable, and his stomach flipped taking in how you looked so beautiful in your jeans and simple shirt.

"Hi Mai, I'm Katsuki," He kneels down to the four year old's height but he's so big and the little girl immedietly burst into tears and hides behind your legs.

"Oh honey, it's okay," You coo at her, picking her up. Mai isn't convinced and hides away from Katsuki.

"I'm sorry, she'll warm up," You explain, but you weren't too sure. Mai had a shy personality, and was very attatched to you. You just hoped that Bakugou would be patient with her.

Mai started shedding her shy personality once you arrived at the aquarium.

"Mom, fish!" She yelled in excitement, tugging on your hand to get you to walk faster. Katsuki stands back and just watches you interact with your daughter. He knew he liked you, but seeing you be a mom did something to him and he imagined this being his life forever.

"What are you thinking about?" You asked when you noticed Katsuki seemed distracted.

He opens his mouth to answer but Mai interupts him when she squeals, "Mommy penguins!"

Katsuki was closer to her, and the little girl grabs his hand and drags him through to the penguin exhibit. Bakugou is taken aback, but quickly pushes back his fear of scaring her and kneels down to look at the penguins swimming as Mai squeals in excitement. She can’t pronounce his name correctly, so Mai just addresses him as ‘Suki which warms his heart.

It’s like a switch got flipped and Mai wouldn’t let go of Katsuki’s hand for the remainder of the tour through the aquarium. You stand back, smiling and snapping pictures, just watching as Bakugou showed a much softer side to him.

The day ended with Katsuki buying Mai the biggest stuffed penguin the aquarium store had, and the little girl could barely hold onto it as she fell asleep in her stroller.

“You didn’t have to get her that,” You said, feeling overwhelmed by his gesture.

Bakugou feels a string of anxiety pull in his stomach, wondering now if his actions were seemed as inappropriate.

“I-,” He tries to be truthful, “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked. Mai just seemed so happy and I wanted to get her something to remember me by.”

That melts your heart, and you kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you for being so sweet to my baby.”

Katsuki is blushing so hard, his ears are ringing as he helps you by packing down the stroller and putting it in the trunk while you tuck Mai into her car seat. The little girl was out, but still hugging her penguin.

Katsuki keeps the radio low as to not wake Mai as he drives you two home, holding your hand and already planning the next outing.

[luveline]

Hi!!

Could a please request Peter Parker x reader where they’ve been together for a while and discuss family planning? Like they want to start a family together but both have anxieties for different reasons with Peter being Spider-Man and just general nerves at this being a big step and they comfort one another?

If you get round to this then thank you!!!

thank you for requesting! fem, 1k

“But you’re Spider-Man.” 

Peter doesn’t know how you ended up like this, his face at your feet, his feet past your head in his pillows. Your toes wiggle in your socks unthinkingly. 

“I’m Spider-Man.” 

“How are we s’posed to have a baby if you’re a superhero?” 

You ask it without malice; you aren’t telling him to do one thing or another, you’re just posing a simple question. Or, not so simple. Thinking about it provokes a hundred different questions, and he gets your point. How can he be a father if he’s a superhero, half the time? How can he expect you to sign on to motherhood while he risks his life? 

He has to prove that he can do it without getting hurt. Without getting anyone hurt. 

“I’ve been Spider-Man for a long time,” he says softly. 

You pretend to drop your foot on his face. He laughs and curls into you, an arm around your leg like a wonky cuddle. “And it gets more dangerous every year.” 

“I would… being Spider-Man is…” Peter noses at your leg. Your pyjama pants are hiked up near your knee, leaving a calf open for his mouth to brush against. “I’m Spider-Man,” he says again. That’s the simplest explanation. He just is Spider-Man. “But I would change things. I already have, I mean, I have you to think about now.” 

“I just don’t know if I’d be okay with having a baby, if you might die.” 

Peter sits up. He frowns. “I’m not going to die.” 

You just nibble your lip. 

“Is that something you worry about?” 

You sit up to meet him. “Of course I do.” 

He’s thankful you’re close. He takes your hand, turning your wedding ring to see the stone laid at the apex. You used to worry so much it would make you sick, and he changed to make that easier on you, because he loves you. What was the point in getting married if he was gonna leave you in agony every time he left the house? Newspapers scorned a more careful Spider-Man, and Peter has had to make some hard calls. He can’t be selfless anymore —he thinks about you every time he throws a new web. 

He didn’t realise you were still worried. “When was the last time I got hurt?” 

“Last night.” 

He winces. “Alright, when was the last time I got hurt enough to need medical attention?”

“Last Tuesday.” 

“Bub, that was one finger, it healed in two hours.” 

“But if you were a normal guy, it would’ve been weeks.” You aren’t out to torture him, or argue, your lips puckered for a quick kiss as he pulls you toward him. “I’m just saying,” you murmur, tapping his nose, your eyebrow pressed against his, “if you want a baby with me? You’re gonna have to give up even more. Okay?” 

“Okay,” he says immediately. 

Okay. Because he’s Spider-Man, and it means everything to him, but he’s your husband. This is your life together. 

“I want a baby with you,” he says, a murmur to match your own as his hands wrap around your waist. He drags you forward, your faces still smushed together. “I want kids, and you want them too, and I want you to have everything. So if you need me to change, I can change. I can’t stop, but I can make it work.” 

“You’d have to stop sometimes–”

He leans away and cups your shoulder. “I know. I’m not gonna get you pregnant and go out every night.” 

“Just every other.” 

“No, no,” he insists softly. “Bub, listen to me. If you’re ready, then I’m ready. No messing around. I’m your partner, right? I’m your husband before I’m Spider-Man.” 

“Are you sure?” you ask. 

Peter’s not mad, but he’s a little upset you’d think so. He’s not trying to make you feel this way. He wants you to have total confidence in him, and your potential future family.

“You need me to tell you that? I’ve never been more sure about anything.” 

He doesn’t need you to agree to a baby tonight or anything, he just wants you to be happy with him. So he tells you emphatically that you’re his world. You already know why he’s Spider-Man, the responsibility that drives him, but there’s responsibility in being with you and making you happy. At the end of the day, you come first. He wishes you knew that, but he doesn’t mind telling you. 

It’s a little later with his arms around you, right side up this time, that he confesses, “I don’t even know if I’d be a good dad.” 

You aren’t worried. “That’s silly. As long as you don’t get killed by a giant radioactive reptile, you’ll be amazing.”

“How do you know?” 

“Same way you know I’ll be a good mom.” 

“You will be.”

You kiss his neck. “I knew you’d say that. I don’t know if I’ll be a good mom, I just know you believe in me.” 

“I do.”

“You’ll be a good dad,” you further, pressed as far into his neck as you can be, lavished by his hands running up and down your back. “I know parenting is a lot of things, but I really think it’s the same as being a good boyfriend. You’re kind. You’re so patient. You’re funny. I can’t wait to have a little baby that looks like you n…” You sigh. He loves that touch of wistfulness behind it. “I can’t wait to be a family with you.” 

“Are you tired?” he asks. 

You mumble. “Mm. Just a bit.” 

He strokes your neck. “I can’t wait to be a family, either… maybe it can wait until tomorrow, though.” 

You smile into his jaw, dragging yourself up to kiss his cheek. “Love you, Peter Parker.” 

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

teeth | i. rin

✮ tags ; afab + fem!reader, marking, sexual tension, dry-humping, cumming through clothes, 18+

✮ wc ; 1.5k

✮ a/n ; a flash comm for @1bananabread. thank u for your patience!!! i tried to focus as best i could on tension.

this is a snippet so it won't show up in the main fic at any point!! it can be an extra in that way!!! and it is from the fujoverse tag on this blog - a blog au abt fujoshi + recovering neet reader and rin.

Across the room, you give Rin a look.  

One that he’s starting to recognize without trying to. It makes his jaw clench when he sees it. Big, wet eyes like a baby deer and the soft undertone of desperation. He’s becoming good at knowing your ticks, mostly against his will. How you chew your lip, how you tap the pen of your tablet, how you draw in a frenzied anxious way when you want something from him and don’t know how to open your mouth and ask.  

It’s irritating. But it’s going to get under his skin even more if you keep it up. 

“What.” He grits. You startle. Jump in your skin like you’re surprised he even noticed you, as if you’re not staring at him. You open your mouth, then close it. “Spit it out.”  

You look flustered. You always look that way. But right now you embody it. He can’t imagine what your request could be at this point that would incite this much embarrassment.  

By now, Rin has “helped” you with a number of things. Too many to recount and all of them too close, too personal for plausible deniability. Helping you take photos for references takes up a majority of your requests - but it always ends in something more. Rin tries mostly not to think about it. Not to think about where its led and how normal you still seem to act despite it.

The fact you keep making these requests reason enough to make him seethe. Just a little.  

You take a shaky breath and give Rin a look from above the frames of your glasses.  

“C-can I give you a hickey?” 

Rin pauses. Opens his mouth before he can even think about what the appropriate reply might be. His words come out like a hiss.  

“Why?”  

You seem surprised that he asks. That he cares to. That alone feels reason enough for him to shake some sense to you. Grab you by the shoulders until it clicks.  

(He doesn’t interrogate what it is that he wants to click for you. Just that he wishes it fucking would already.)  

“Well. Uhm.”  Your feet rub together under your desk. Woolen socks worn until they’re matter as you fidget endlessly. Rin holds his stare until you crumple just slightly under the weight of it. “There’s n-not a particular reason. It’s not for my book or anything, I just uhm—wanted to do it. To you,”  

There’s a brief moment there where the world stops spinning entirely. Rin breathes. A sharp, steadying breath. Chest tight, dizzy with an emotion that wells up from the depths of him. He can’t think of anything clever to retort with, or really any good way for him to respond. He sits across from you at a complete loss.  

The next words that come out of his mouth leave before he has a chance to make sense of them. He swallows a lump in his throat.  

“Fine,”  

Your eyes go wide again. Shocked like you weren’t the one who ask. Tension lingers in the air, but Rin can’t figure out what to do about it. How to settle it. He doesn't know if he fucking can.

“A-are you sure?”  

That’s the first time you’ve asked him that. Most of the time, you’re shameless in your asks. You do it for work, just work  - and it’s always Rin who ends up….going further. Because it frustrates him to see you cower over it. Rin is used to you, by now. How you have the demeanor and general anxiety of a small shelter dog. He’s been over it all already one hundred times but—

It’s like something clicks hearing you ask him that. If he's sure. You can be so thick. It’s not like Rin doesn’t fucking know. But it’s the first time it he realizes the brunt of it.

You two are on completely different pages about your relationship.  And he's pissed about it, but not at you. Not really.

“I wouldn’t say it was if it wasn’t,” 

You look so surprised for a minute he wants to bite you. Take his teeth and dig them into the place your pulse is just to see you squirm. It’s always like this with you but right now it feels like something searing. Pressed up right against his ribs and threatening to puncture his lungs.

“Are you gonna do it or not?” He snaps, meaner than he wants. You nod, movements stiff, and clamber onto your feet before walking his way. Rin watches as you approach him nervously. Your eyes meet and you hold his gaze.  

Then, without word, you crawl into his lap. Straddling him - just barely fitting over his wide frame as both of your knees end up on either side of his thigh. Rin watches you silently. Piercingly. Your movements are trembling.  

You kiss him first. This shocks him into total silence. He returns it just so you don’t pass out from nerves. It’s clumsy like he knew it would be but it’s the first time you’ve done completely of your own accord. Normally you ask him to kiss you, beg with teary eyes.  

But you’ve got both of them squeezed shut now, kissing him with your hands fisted at his chest. Something stirs in his jeans, and you yelp when it presses against you. You gasp, low and quiet.  

“You’re—“ 

“Shut up.”  

You nod. Keep kissing him, opening his mouth up to slide your tongue in. It’s sloppy and unpracticed. You have no grace whatsoever.

Rin feels himself get so hard he’s lightheaded.  

You pull away, gently kissing the corner of his mouth. Down the line of his jaw. Mimicking something he’s sure you’ve read in your stupid doujins at one time or another. He can feel the nerves radiating off of you in waves, feel the way your body shakes in his lap. How uncertain you are. There’s that feeling again. Gnashing, possessive, mean. Not that Rin has ever been someone especially saintly.

But it’s not cruelty he wants to expose you to. It’s something else, far more demanding.  

His hands find your hips in a single breath. Pushing you down onto his lap until your full weight is rested over his hard-on. You whine when he presses up against your core, clothed cunt protected through ratty PJs. Rin doesn’t say anything, buy you know better than to stop now.  

Kissing down slowly, sweetly - you scrape and lick along his skin until you’re just underneath where his jaw and neck meet. Your eyes flutter open to look at him. It's too much for him.

Rin grinds his hips up in retaliation until you whimper. He does it over and over, steadily until you’re both rocking against each other in tandem. All clothes and hot heaving breaths, layers of fabric acting as barrier for what he's after.  

You’ve done everything under the sun aside from sex. This barely counts as foreplay by now. Even so, he’s bucking up into you with every ounce of his strength, unspoken desire shredding his sense. His hands gripping your hips, jaw grit - pleasure coiling in his stomach and wound so tight.  

“Fuck,”  

You’re crying out against his shoulder before you remember what you were trying to do.  

Your lips find his neck again trying not to be too noisy. Latching on with a soft kiss, Rin hisses as your teeth finally sink into the flesh. Your mouth is small. It’s all he can think about. He feels your incisors scrape against the skin, tongue tracing a vein. Before long, you’re sucking hard on the same spot. He can feel it. A bruise forming, broken capillaries blooming in deep dark hues of purple and red. Rin groans at the feeling. You give it every ounce of effort, holding onto his bicep tight when you do. It aches in a pleasant way.  

Pleasant enough to make his hips buck. A jolt of desire and want rips through him like a shockwave - until he’s pushing you down against the hard outline of his cock and forcing you to grind against it. It’s hard and sharp, fingers bruising. 

He cums hard. Seconds later, like a flash of lighting. His stomach flips and something rips through him and—

It’s the first time he’s cum before you. Fuck, h can feel his own cum seeping through his boxers and jeans. It’s so intense his vision blacks out for a minute before returning to him, chest heaving as you pull away and stare.  

“You—“  

Horror washes over him. Rin puts a hand over your mouth, angry and irritated. Red up to his ears to his ears and internally having the worst crisis of his life for the third time over.

He looks at your face and there's that feeling in his chest. But he recognizes it this time. Knows exactly whats making him like this, forced to confront it for the first time.

“Shut up,” He hisses, breathing heavily. “Not a fucking word,”  

You nod at him docile. Rin forces himself steady as he thinks of pinning you down and taking you.

Like he knows you'd let him. Like he fucking knows he wants to.

[slttygeto]

pairing: college student! suguru x college student!fem! reader

genre: nsfw

there was something undeniably vulnerable about sex. despite hook ups being a thing, the concept of stripping naked for someone whom you don’t know enough about beside their name was either exciting for some, and a nightmare for others.

now, you weren’t one to say no for a one night stand—you had your fair share of fun as a stressed college student looking for an outlet to the gut wrenching anxiety that ate up at your bones like a worm. you weren’t one to deny that it gave you some self confidence, but this was different.

college student! suguru had his eye on you for the longest time before finally approaching you at one of the parties he was hosting. tall, long dark hair tied in a bun and an outfit that screamed ‘I don’t even try to look good, but here we are’. the man seemed to be amused at the side eye you gave him as he sat next to you on the couch.

“not a fan of parties?”

“that would explain why I am here, right?” your sarcastic response doesn’t throw him off, he could sense that you had a sarcastic side to you the moment he saw you stare him down like that. but despite your attitude, suguru continues to talk to you.

“I’ve seen you a couple of times. you’re always dancing but I’ve never seen you leave with anyone,” he doesn’t realize the creepy connotation behind his words, only sees your face turn into one of amusement before the tip of his ears start to heat up.

“why? do you want me to leave with someone?” you are now leaning with your elbow on your lap, the action bringing a lot of attention to your bare legs and suguru can’t help but let his eyes wander.

because he finds you attractive. way too fucking attractive.

and you can’t deny that the man talking to you right now was the closest thing to the reincarnation of a god.

college student! suguru has a certain way with words. you don’t know how he convinced you to go up to his room but you do it anyway. at first, it was under the guise of “let me show you all of my books about engineering since you asked what my major is” but now that you were sitting on his soft bed, and he was sitting on his chair facing you, the tension was growing thick.

“you look comfortable,” he muses, and you have to hold back from squeezing your thighs at the sight of him looking so…relaxed.

he was leaning against his chair with his legs spread, drawing a lot of attention towards his groin. whilst he wasn’t hard, you could still tell that he was definitely impressive down there.

“your bed is comfortable,” you reply whilst patting the mattress. “smells good too.”

he leans forward, eyes analyzing you like a hawk. “oh you like it?”

“mhm,” you lick your lips while maintaining eye contact. you refuse to be the one to look away first, or to show him that you were slightly intimidated by him. by how large he was, how much confidence he was exuding, the lustful stare—you could feel yourself melting.

college student! suguru is bigger than anyone you’ve ever taken. it’s ridiculous really—not only was he attractive, but he was also big and knew how to use it. you don’t expect him to bring you to an orgasm so soon, but he does and he’s proud.

“theeeere we go,” he pulls out his dick with a proud laugh, smacking your clit a couple of times as you whimper and attempt to shut your legs. “nasty girl thought she wouldn’t get fucked, huh?”

you obviously give no response, and that seems to amuse suguru even more. he wraps a hand around your neck, pushing you deeper into his mattress.

“did I fuck the words out of your brain?” you hold onto his arm, nails digging into his skin as you shake your head.

“no?”

“no,” you choke out, wrapping both legs around his waist as you pull him in. “I can still think—I can think properly right now.”

he slowly sinks himself back in, enjoying the way your jaw goes slack and you try your best to keep your eyes open and analyzing his face.

suguru leans down, breathing against your mouth. “how about now?”

“n—no.” you say through gritted teeth, clenching your pussy around his cock. you watch as his nostrils flare up, and he drops his head on your shoulder when you try to buck up into him. “why, do you give up?”

the squeal that erupts from the back of your throat surprises you, your hand shoots down to grab his hand as he pinches your clit.

“let’s fix that attitude, brat.”

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[ddarker-dreams]

Aegis.

Yan Gojo Satoru x F Reader x Yan Geto Suguru.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, co-dependency, guilt-tripping, emotional manipulation and gaslighting (thanks Geto). Word count: 2.2k.

This is a yandere AU of the series Golden Girl. You don't have to read GG to understand this story, but it gives additional context.

-Index-

Unbelievable, you think, internally fuming. They’re unbelievable!

You ignore the voice calling your name and descend the mountainside’s decrepit staircase. Overgrown trees drape along the walkway, their wispy branches still from the lack of wind. The local wildlife has fled the vicinity, leaving an eerie silence in their wake, which is soon ruined by two pairs of footsteps approaching from behind. 

“Is it really that big of a deal?” Gojo sighs. You can envision the exasperation on his countenance. “If anything, we should be the ones upset here. You lied to us both and snuck out.” 

This comment travels like electricity through your system, shocking you into place. After a split second of deliberation, you turn on your heel, directly facing the most brazen culprit. He remains still as you march back up, jabbing an accusatory finger at his chest. 

“I’m trying to do my job, which, for whatever reason, you both always find a way to interfere with.” 

Geto, who has remained silent up until that point, finally chimes in. “I get that you’re frustrated, but was this the best way to handle it?” 

You choke out a sardonic laugh. “You’re kidding, right? There’s— there’s just no way.” 

Gojo towers over you, his hands resting on his neck. You can feel his Six Eyes scrutinizing every inch of your being behind his round shades, the intrusive sensation akin to spiders crawling along your skin. Unable to withstand the pressure, you avert your gaze, your irritation turning into anxiety. He’s not happy. Neither of them are, but Geto is better at pretending otherwise. 

“Will you at least consider our perspective?” Geto asks, his voice eerily calm. “Going to your dorm room to find the window open, your belongings in disarray…” 

“After you promised to stay put until we were back,” Gojo impatiently adds. 

His audacity temporarily eclipses your fear, reigniting your indignation. “You’re acting like I’ve had any say in the matter.” 

Geto shakes his head. “Don’t be unreasonable. This was something we all agreed on — if you had any objections, you should’ve said so.” 

“You don’t listen!” You exclaim, the sound accompanied by the flap of birds fleeing the vicinity. How you envy them. “Nothing about this is normal! You’re both seriously freaking me out. Ever since—” 

You cut yourself off, your tongue unable to form the syllables that make Amanai Riko, much less vocalize them. Fighting the tightness in your throat, you continue, “Ever since that day, it’s like you can’t trust me to take care of myself. I hate it. I hate this!” 

Gojo opens his mouth, only to close it when Geto rests a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head. The white-haired sorcerer scoffs, yet acquiesces to whatever his companion silently communicated. You remain the odd one out, unable to peer past the one-way glass they’ve placed you behind. Your hands ball into fists by your side and the lump in your throat grows more prominent. Exhaustion, humiliation, and desperation merge, forming manacles that weigh heavy on your limbs. 

You’re pulled up by your arm. You gasp, feeling weightless, mindful of the steep plummet behind you. The grip, though firm, stops shy of keeping you entirely steady so that you must cling to whoever is hoisting you up. Your eyelids squeeze shut out of instinct. When they reopen, you find that you’re facing Gojo, who has removed his sunglasses. 

Geto coils himself around you from behind like a serpent. His arms hug your midriff, holding you in place, while his chin rests atop your head. Your measly attempts to writhe away are met with his hold tightening. Never enough to hurt, just enough to prove a point. Compared to them, you’re like an injured gazelle before two lions. It’s moments like this where they don’t bother hiding the immeasurable gap in strength. 

“We’re just trying to look out for our girl,” Gojo murmurs, his omnipotent eyes devouring every ounce of your existence. “I get it. We can be a little overbearing at times, yeah? But that’s all for you. Everything we do is.” 

You can feel Geto’s chest rumble as he speaks in a low, soothing voice, “You don’t really hate us, do you?” 

… Is that what you said? Blinking rapidly, you glance around for a way out that will never appear. Your breathing turns shallow and your vision clouds around the edges. 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“Kinda came across that way,” Gojo replies. 

“I— no…” you bite your bottom lip, their native tongue turning into an indecipherable mess inside your head, “I could never. I only want things to be normal again. I want… to exorcize curses, and…” 

Your cheeks flood with warmth as Gojo tilts his head. Suddenly, every request you have feels wrong, laughably insignificant. You shrink into Geto, who is more than happy to have you. 

“Your drive, while admirable, might be better utilized elsewhere. You don’t have to always be on the field to make a difference,” he says.

“Suguru has a point. You’re still nowhere close to figuring out Domain Expansions, right? We’ve gotta work on all that.”

Everything they’re saying makes logical sense. You still have a long road ahead until you’re a proper Sorcerer, a road they blew past with ease. Who better is there to learn from than the best? Gradually, you relax your taut muscles. Geto eases his hold as well. You recall what he asked earlier — if you’d be willing to ‘consider their perspective.’ It doesn’t seem as ridiculous as when the question was originally posed. 

“But… you’re both so busy.” 

“Awe, baby,” Gojo practically coos. He squishes your cheeks together, ignoring your displeased noises. “Has somebody missed us?” 

“Don’t torment her too much, Satoru,” Geto’s chastising is weakened by the clear amusement in his voice. “You know she gets shy.” 

“Isn’t that the best part?” 

You writhe around, their usual teasing instilling discomfort. This time, Geto allows you your freedom, his arms relaxing enough for you to escape. You stand on the step above them, considering your earlier ascent. You had stormed up this staircase with such drive, determined to prove yourself. An abandoned shrine on the mountainside had reportedly been the site of a pesky curse. With both of them gone on separate assignments, you thought it’d be the perfect opportunity to get some firsthand experience…

… Only to find a bored Gojo and visibly disappointed Geto awaiting your arrival. 

A cool breeze whips through the air. 

“Uh oh. It’s never good when she gets that look,” Gojo dramatically cowers away from you, but not before adding, “How about we kiss and make up, hm? No harm done?” 

You ignore Gojo’s antics, settling on a question that’s been gnawing at you. 

“How did you find me?” 

They exchange quick glances. 

Gojo should’ve been in Toyama for another three days, whereas Geto was due back from Osaka tomorrow evening. You’re certain you weren’t spotted by anyone while leaving the school’s premises. 

“We wanted to surprise you by coming back early,” Geto explains. “As for how we found you—” 

Gojo taps his sunglasses and grins. “I’m known for my killer eyesight.” 

You fold your arms over your chest. Are The Six Eyes capable of tracking a person over such a long distance? Getting to this area required a long walk and an hour on the subway. It wouldn’t surprise you if this was within Gojo’s capabilities, but you haven’t heard of anything similar until now. Seeds of doubt sprout inside your mind. Your gut instinct demands a better explanation. Considering the predicament you’re in, you have little bargaining power. If Gojo was by himself, he’d offer you a better hint for amusement’s sake, but Geto doesn’t care for such risks. 

“We were worried something happened to you,” Geto’s eyes glaze over with an emotion you can’t identify. It makes you shiver. “I’m sure you feel uncomfortable, but you have to understand where we’re coming from.”

Silvery strands of moonlight highlight the dark bags beneath Geto’s eyes. Your heart lurches in your chest, leaving you at an impasse. Have you ever seen him so exhausted, so thoroughly drained? He does an excellent job at hiding it, but the physical signs are there. A little voice echoes within your skull, reminding you of your role in his drained condition. 

They wanted to surprise you, it scolds. All you did was cause more trouble.

Guilt prickles your insides like you’d swallowed a handful of needles. 

Your shoulders drop and you stare blankly at the ground. “I’m sorry. I know you’re both looking out for me, I really do. It’s just— I feel so useless, sitting around and doing nothing while everyone else is out there risking their lives. Does that make sense…?” 

While trailing off, your eyes flit between them, searching for reassurance to soothe the terrible ache in your chest. 

Gojo pats you lightly on the head. “You’re overthinking things. You do plenty — more than enough, actually. You’re like our little cheerleader.” 

You make a face at him. 

“What Satoru means to say is that you help motivate us,” Geto interjects, casting his companion a sharp look. He then adds in a softer voice, “I know there are times when I need that.” 

Geto’s gentle cadence plucks at your heartstrings. It’s strange how, despite being out in the vast wilderness, you feel like you’ve been cornered. The raging tempest that you clung to for vindication has vanished, leaving behind ruins that they sweep away. You can never stay upset with them for long. Right when you believe you’re out of pardons to give, they plead their case, tearing off chunks of your forgiveness and leaving you hollow. 

Gojo claps his hands together. “Anyway! All’s well that ends well, etcetera etcetera, so on and so forth. Back to the important stuff. Where’s my ‘I’m-soooo-sorry-for-worrying-my-handsomest-boyfriend’ kiss?” 

“Again with that?” Geto murmurs. 

You consider the pride of the Gojo clan. He doesn’t do well with quiet, intimate moments. It’s a detail you’ve observed as of late — his restlessness. Ever since he began using Infinity twenty-four-seven, he’s always on high alert, his vigilance never waning. The ability that’d fry your brain if you put out the cursed energy necessary to maintain it for five minutes is his constant state of existence. 

What are you going to do with these two? 

Gingerly, you cup Geto’s face, who stares at you inquisitively. You press your lips to his in a featherlight kiss. Gojo voices his fair share of complaints over who you chose first, whereas Geto cherishes the moment. It’s you who shies away, your cheeks burning. You bury your face in your hands to muffle the squeaks you emit. It isn't your first kiss with them, but you still find it as embarrassing as that disastrous experience. At least Geto knows how to control his greed, unlike a certain someone, who doesn't even bother.

“What about me?” Gojo pouts.

“Your Infinity is on,” is your weak rebuttal. 

“Like I can’t turn it off?” 

“Well—” 

“C’mere already,” he pries your hands away with ease, suddenly inches away from your face. “Lemme see.” 

Gojo whistles slowly. “Wow, you got her all cute and flustered, Suguru. Where’s my phone, I need a picture of this…” 

“She’s never going to kiss you at this rate, Satoru.” 

He bristles at the prospect, his sunglasses falling askew. “Hah? Quit giving her ideas.” 

“Just one kiss,” you manage to get out before they resume bickering. “A-And no tongue!” 

Geto chuckles at Gojo's crestfallen expression. 

To stop him from whining, you stand on your tiptoes, ready to give him a quick peck. Even standing a step above him, he’s ridiculously tall. As promised, he deactivates his Infinity, allowing you unlimited access to his person. You focus on keeping the kiss chaste. He has a habit of exploring every inch of your mouth with his tongue if left unchecked, a sensation you’re not used to. It feels weird and you have no idea why he likes it so much. 

When you pull away, he holds you in place, his grin borderline malicious. 

“How ‘bout round two?” 

“I’ll bite you,” you deadpan. 

His eyes gleam behind his sunglasses.

“Oh? Can we make that a promise?” 

Geto pulls you away, leading you down the stairs. His fingers interlock with yours. “If you don’t want to be here the rest of the night, just ignore him.” 

“Whatever happened to sharing is caring?” Gojo calls out from behind. 

When neither of you respond, Gojo’s quick to catch up, his arm slinking around your waist. You’re too busy trying to calm your pounding heart to shake him off. Once again, you’ve been swept up in their riptide. All resisting does is tire you out. You zone out Gojo’s prattling — something about the souvenirs he purchased — fixating on your school-issued shoes. 

What will come of this dynamic once you graduate? It won’t always be like this, right? You’ll train even harder, earn their trust, and prove yourself capable; then surely things will go back to how they used to be. How they’re supposed to be. This can’t be the new normal. They have to know that if they keep leaning on you for strength… 

… At some point, you’re bound to snap. 

[b0nten]

HOW ARE BABIES MADE?

[SYNOPSIS] ˚⁀➷｡ ran, rindou, sanzu, takeomi, kakucho, mikey and izana being asked by their children how babies are made.

[NOTES] ˚⁀➷｡ reader is implied to be fem, reader is called “mother”, “mommy” etc. this was so fun to write!!! thank you anon for requesting <3 also, i used tenjiku&bonten characters but everything’s taking place in the final timeline.

RAN is definitely the type to try to explain the entire thing, without any second thoughts whatsoever. He’d definitely hear the question, and open his mouth but before gets to say ‘sex’ he feels a book flat against his head. “what do you think you’re doing?” you whisper-yell from the kitchen, curry udon long forgotten on the stove. “explaining to your daughter how she spawned into the world?” he answers, dodging another decor item that you aimed toward him. upon asking, dramatically and over-exaggeratedly of course, so offended because he just doesn’t know what he was doing wrong, you just stare at him. “we agreed to tell her when she’s 14. she doesn’t even know boys have dicks and you want to explain the entirety of sex and how it goes to her? do you even know how it works?” he sighs, defeated, “let’s go eat, sweetheart, i think i made mommy a lil mad.” he says, picking up his daughter, “that last part was uncalled for, by the way.” “suck it up, mr. club owner. ”

meanwhile, RINDOU simply freezes: “daddy, how are babies made?” what? excuse him? oh my lord, he did not expect this to happen this early. why the hell is his five year old son asking him about coital activity, right when you’re not around? fuck him (himself), fuck this situation, fuck you for not being around right now (both figuratively and literally). “you see! when… uhm.. when two people love each other and they kiss, they make a baby!” he mentally face-palms for what the fuck he just said. “so you can’t kiss girls until you’re twenty-one, yeah?” finally, thankfully, his phone rings, and thank the heavens it’s you. “oh my god, y/n—” “rindou, what did i just hear on the baby cam?” “haha, my love! funny story!!!!”

SANZU just goes feral. he’s having a fucking anxiety attack or whatever so he just texts you while your daughter asks her daddy about how babies are made.

TAKEOMI plays it safe, using the infamous stork. “and it just comes flying?” “yeah, it carries a little basket with its beak and gives it to us!” he smiles, playing into his baby girl’s fantasy. “you sound just like my parents.” you smile and his gaze averts to yours, from his seat on the living room carpet. “well, your own stories inspired me, because, to be honest, i was about to shit myself.” “daddy!” the little one yells, stretching out her palm, “1000 yen!” and her father exasperates “god put me out of this misery of only being an atm, you’re just like your mother. ow! what’d i deserve that punch for?”

KAKUCHO handles it like a pro. “papa.” one of his little girls walks up to him, younger twin following her right behind. “yes, pretty girl?” he straightens his back and crouches down, still sitting on the couch. “how are babies made, papa?” the shyer one asks and his face drops for a split second. “i promise to tell you when you’re older, right now it’s classified information!” he jokes, and the girls giggle. “now… who wants to watch doraemon!!” he does the jazz hands and the twins jump into his lap. not long after, you sit down next to them. “if i didn’t know any better, i would have said you rehearsed those lines from the moment you were born.” you laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. he wraps an arm around you, chuckling, and kisses the crown of your head.

if there’s someone (who thinks they’re) escaping this question, it’s MIKEY. “ ‘tou-chan, how are babies made?” blond locks spin toward him, and the big eyes of his daughter look him up and down. “ ‘tou-chan?” she says again, a bit annoyed. mikey sacrifices the motorbike races he’s watching and looks back at her. “ask ‘kaa-chan, i’m not really good at biology.” he smiles when she jumps from her place and runs into your bedroom, where you’re blow-drying your hair. confident that he’s just dodged a bullet, manjiro returns to his priority — the tv. moments later you storm in, hair half wet, still in your bath robe with the kid in your arms, visibly furious. he knows he’s dodged a bullet but is about to get hit by a cannon.

IZANA is at the dining table doing some paper-work for tenjiku and you’re watching tv when your oldest marches into the kitchen, determined. “daddy.” the blond looks up, eyeing back at the spitting image of himself. “yes?” he answers, and you also look back to see what’s going on. slamming a big book on the table, the toddler points to the cover “how are babies made?” you burst out laughing and your husband snatches the book away, making you laugh hysterically. “where’d you find this?!” he questions, and his forehead is already soaked with sweat and he wants to bury himself into the ground. “your office.” he can’t believe his five year old son walked in there and just so happened to find this book: effective positions for baby-making. his cheeks redden and he scans the room to find you and request your help, but he’s greeted with the sight of you rolling around on the living room floor, trying to calm your laughter down. yay.

[bloodrelationsofheavenandearth]

but i want it (sweet as cherry wine)

˗ˋˏ ✰ ˎˊ˗ desc; how does it feel to hold a hand, one that fits as if it were meant to do so with your own?

˗ˋˏ ✰ ˎˊ˗ pairing; himeko : firefly : gepard : jing yuan : feixiao : argenti : aventurine : sunday : mydei : aglaea ➜ x gn!reader

˗ˋˏ ✰ ˎˊ˗ mlist; !!!!! // pt 2; !!!!!

himeko is the needle on your compass, the northern star in the sky and holds you steady- your anchor to warmth, your hearth and your home. the times that you manage to hold them, her hands are warm to the touch, usually second-hand from the coffee she always seems to have on hand; she always smells like coffee, too, rich and a little bit fruity. it lingers on her skin like ichor, soft and warm like the feeling of home- she is home, always. when she holds your hand she is caking you home, cradling one or both between her own, keeping your warmth entwined with hers because that’s just how it is. how it will stay.

firefly’s hands are familiar- not because they’re the same hands that cradle you often, but familiar in the way that makes your soul settle, stretched out lazily like a house cat under your skin. to hold her hand is to return to yourself, it is to envy the way the sky wraps itself around the sun and the moon and envy for that same closeness. it is the familiarity of matter, of what you are and will be coalescing, a bone deep ache that is soothed.

now, if you’d like to hold his hand- you’ve got to get gepard out of his gloves, first. whilst they keep his hands- big, strong, calloused hands- warm and safe during the day, they’re unfortunately not made with the idea of far sweeter things in mind. time and duty permitting, he’ll shuck them off like they burn him as soon as you, so dear to him, come into his view. holding his hand is to be encompassed, to feel the graze of his thumb over your knuckles and hand it brought up to his mouth; his cheeks are red, from the cold and you, always you. he needs, desperately, to be gentle enough, to covey all that he can’t when he is off doing his duty. you, the balm to the frigid cold.

jing yuan is a man of many people’s fascinations- yet, how amusing to you, that he seems so fascinated by simply holding your hands. ever the charmer, kissing your wrists and knuckles and palms and whispering into your skin- he is quiet afterwards, plays with your fingers and traces manicured nails over your skin. his hand, holding yours, is an endless stretch of time condensed into seconds; fleeting and effervescent, timeless and unshakeable. the press of the pads of his fingers mimic his devotion that sweetens on your tongue like honey, the weight of his palms against yours like the thudding weight of another heartbeat, intertwined together with yours. thumpthump. thump. thumpthump. thump.

perhaps, feixiao has a tendency to be a little rough around the edges- only sometimes. her hands reflect her well, especially so when you can snag them within your own; her anxiety, her anger, her mirth, her exhaustion. you alone cradle her in your hands, the cyclonic emotion that pours out of her like waves lapping at the shore. you stand, with her, cradling each other, in the eye of the storm. she is a cyclone, a constant ebb and flow that gives and takes and shelters you within herself. often, this is the case when she squeezes your hands- strength and love and loyalty and shelter.

perhaps one thing to note, is that argenti is usually never not holding your hand. or linking pinkies. or offering you his arm to hold. or somehow, in someway, near enough to feel him pressing some piece of himself to some part of you. he’s sweet, bottled sunshine that spills out of his body and burns itself into your being with its light- holding his hand is like holding the sun. holding it, cupped between your hands, reflecting its brilliance into your skin and shining its light through your body; it bounces off of your ribs and bursts out of your eyes, buries itself into your lungs and lodges so deeply it will never return completely to the sky. holding his hand is mundane, domestic, and an everyday occurrence; yet his brilliance will always be a live wire, buried in your chest and tethering you close.

holding hands with aventurine is always going to be just a little bit different each time- not because he pulls some kind of trick or because he’s unpredictable or anything of the sort. he, quite simply, just hasn’t yet found a completely sound way to honour the feeling of your hand in his. he draws from within himself to count his own luck, tracing over a freckle on the inside of your wrist. the stars bursting behind his eyelids grow ever in number when he finds a new pattern to trace over your fingers, a new way to touch the skin over your knuckles and configure a mind map every time. this, this feeling is something not even he will gamble

ever one for order, sunday is as expected, meticulous in the care he ensures in such a simple act. it is an act that is cyclical, a routine cultivated between the two of you out of careful consideration for the other; a tentative melody when your fingers brush, quickly meeting a crescendo when palms greedily press together to seek assurance. it is harmonious, yet there is a quiet strength- comforting in its presence, always known to be and never, ever taken for granted.

mydei who is ever the warrior, ever the one to weather the storm has hands like one would expect; there lay thin scars from youth, split knuckles and well worn callouses over his hands that speak of his character. these are hands that know violence. these are hands that are hard and strong and unwavering. and yet.. to hold his hand is to cradle his hardness, it is to bolster his strength like kindling to a fire or gasoline and a match. it is to let him pull you into his ribcage and make a home for you of his own skeleton, it is to be his blood and muscle and his heart. because what is a warrior without a worthy cause, a worthy reason to be strong?

to be graced by aglaea, to merely gaze upon her visage is already a beauty to be consumed of- to get closer, to feel the softness of her hands and the croon of her voice is an implosion. often, holding her hands leads to conversations that leave you levitating- knowledge shared between two lovers, whispers on the wind and sweet as morning dew. sometimes the knowledge is monotonous, or spellbinding or even a tad ridiculous; yet it always sears itself into your skin, embeds like hooks and has you strung up like a puppet on strings. to hold her hand is to languish in her beauty, in her passion and her drive you simply be who she is.

notes; sigh.. i got back into hsr again (i want mydei & anaxa & thank GOD i have a guaranteed character) and i wanted to post something! idk if half of these are coherent or for any of the characters fully, but like, it’s something :’) i took inspo from this i did for ff16 a while ago^ i can do more characters if they’re wanted in terms of hsr, just let me know!

© bloodrelationsofheavenandearth 2025 ☁︎

[princessbrunette]

so i know i always say that rafe is strictly a girl dad. well, he is. but sometimes i like to humour myself with the universe where he’s the father to the sweetest little boy ever.

the universe would be ironic like that. rafe foolishly knocked you up when he was 22 — the boy still having alot to learn. he was still walking around with that pistol tucked into his waistband, fighting pogues, mouthing off and going on coke rants. you had been terrified, wondering what kind of a father rafe was going to be — even when he promised time and time again, “i’m — i’m getting my shit together alright? i can, hey — we can do this? okay?” with sweat gathered at his hairline and tears in his eyes. thus, when the universe decided to play the hilarious prank which was having the doctor tell you ‘its a boy!’, your first thought was ‘shit.’

because he was bound to be just like rafe, right?

you had seemingly prophetic visions, a spoiled little brat — just like his father was, thundering around in a brightly coloured ralph lauren polo from the baby range, demanding the teet when he saw fit. a girl would have been fine — you’d seen wheezie grow up around rafe and turn out totally fine (aside from the likely trauma.) but a boy? what did rafe cameron know about raising a boy? was your son next up to become a drug slinging, pogue hating, maniac? (with no offence to rafe of course, you were unfortunately very much in love with him but contrary to popular belief that did not disrupt your common sense.)

rafe was over the moon about you being pregnant with a boy too, which did little to comfort you.

the anxiety subsided the second that baby was out of you, his sticky, slimy little body placed onto your chest with rafe crowding your space — his bravado dropped for a second to reveal a childlike awe. his own baby. you could tell it was only now that things became very real for rafe. his eyes well up, covering his shaky grin with an even shakier hand, saying stuff like “shit, oh uh nah i probably shouldn’t cuss infront of the baby anymore right? yeah… my god, you did it baby. brought me my boy. should be so god damn proud.” he croons as his hands dig affectionately into your sore shoulders, smearing a kiss to your sweaty temple. “ahh, aha — what the hell kinda man am i cryin’ at this huh? shit.” he sniffles as he wipes his eyes but you’re not listening. you’re staring at your perfect boy.

he grows into something perfectly reminiscent of both you and rafe’s features, all whilst smushed into the cutest baby you’ve ever seen. you were aware every parent said that about their child, but no — you were certain. he was pampers commercial level cute. ‘top ten cutest babies’ buzzfeed article level cute. sarah would often hold him to her chest and something would be healed as she’d whisper “i can’t believe you came from my brother.” into his wispy hair. he was a true blessing.

with big doe eyes that took up half his face and an appearance that somehow replicated a baby lamb that had been turned into a human on the basis of a magical spell — you had long forgotten about your worries regarding having a boy.

a few years down the line and not much has changed. your baby boy is three years old, chubby fists clutching his empty plastic lightening mcqueen plate as he toddles out onto the porch where rafe sits spread out opposite barry, sipping on a can of beer in the early evening. your son is distracted by a decorative plant, and the two men pay him no mind as they continue talk.

“but — but that’s the thing, right, barry? i dont do that shit anymore and… and i sure as hell am not looking to start again.”

“man i get that rafe you a father now, all serious and shit but think about the money. you thinkin’ with your husband head and not with your cameron head. your daddy was a piece of shit but he had that business mindset that you gotta adopt, bro.”

rafe’s expression flattens, finishing his can before leaning forward onto his elbows. “well uh, newsflash — i don’t wanna be anything like my dad. now if we’re done here…” rafes attention is caught by the mini him waddling into view, holding his plate infront of him.

“more please?” comes the sweetest voice in the world, blinking up at the man he viewed as his entire universe, much like you at times.

“finished your icecream already huh? where’s your mom?” he cranes round, but doesn’t bother searching much further when he hears the padding of your footsteps.

“aye buddy, you know we was just talkin’ about you.” barry leans forward with a smarmy grin and your son gets shy, lifting his shoulders practically to his ears and looking down, glueing himself to rafes leg.

“conversations done, actually.” rafe reminds him, lifting the boy to sit on his hip as he hoists himself to stand. as he does so, you appear in the doorway to the patio— sundress clad belly swollen with another baby.

“rafe could you bring him in? it’s too hot out there for him without his hat.” you furrow your eyebrows, deciding to ignore barry’s presence all together, which of course doesn’t stop him from conversing.

“shit, i ain’t seen you in a while mama. he got you again? you two stay busy, huh?” rafes oldest ‘friend’ chuckles, gold tooth glinting in the sun light, and like your only child — you shy away, sending rafe a parting glance that said ‘just hurry up and rid of him.’

rafe adjusts the baby boy on his hip, now staring down at barry.

“talk to my girl again n’i’ll bring out the old me alright, you don’t want that. go do somethin’ barry, i don’t care what it is just get off my goddamn property yeah?” rafe drawls tiredly, crushing the can in his hand and dropping it carelessly into the wastebin beside barry before heading inside, your son turning to stare sweetly at the dark haired man over his dads shoulder, offering a sticky, wide fingered salute in parting.

atleast rafe was still his usual charming self, son or not.

[muntitled]

𝘽𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙣 & 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩

: ̗̀➛ Mattheo Riddle x Fem!reader | Brief!Harry Potter x fem!reader

: ̗̀➛ Summary: Jealousy makes the heart grow fonder.

: ̗̀➛ Warnings: Alcoholism, Dark!fic, Ravenclaw!reader, Bullying, Unrequited Love, Shy!reader, Toxic Relationship, Jealousy, Narcissism, Weaponizing!Harry (sorry boo), Fluff, A bit of Angst, Smut +18 (Minors DNI), DubCon, Semi Public sex, Unprotected Sex, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Dom/Sub, CNC, humping, Spitting, Degradation, Dacryphillia, Choking, Gagging, Subspace, Slapping, Sadism, Breeding Kink

5k words

A/N: Hell truly is empty. I apologise in advance.

You have made peace with the incomparable fact, long ago, that if the muggle God existed - if he is known to shepard Muggles and Wizards alike, then he was far too busy to attend to you. There is just too much going on all at once. The wizarding world is caught in its archaic intolerance of Half-Bloods. On the mortal side, you were informed from your private tutoring with Professor McGonagall that their smartphones are threatening devolution.

���It’s the closest thing they’ve got to a wand, Lovie, so we can’t really fault them on that, can we?” 6 years into your schooling at Hogwarts and you would continue to shadow Professor McGonagall, hoping you might one day soar to her heights of academic prestige in the wizarding world. You needed to be a Professor as much as a mortal needs to breathe….

You cannot let him, of all people, ruin things. Your reputation is a fragile, flammable thing - and he is freaking Kerosene.

It's difficult to pinpoint when it started or how your sensibilities rushed away from you so swiftly. One moment you’re planting your textbook on the face of a wooden desk - the sound reaching the rafters in the highest peak of the deserted classroom…

“A Guide To Advanced Transfiguration.” Mattheo read the title aloud with a tedious uninterested drawl. “Seems a bit presumptuous to shove this down my throat so early on. Shouldn't we be starting from the beginning?"

You ignored him promptly, using the silence to arrange your colour coordinated stationery on your desk beside Riddle's,

“I had no idea," You began, brushing off your blue lined robes and flattening the invisible creases on your skirt, "-That the person residing under my tutelage would be a first year."

Riddle stabbed the inside of his mouth with his tongue, while his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Your face remained passive as you continued, "You are a sixth year, correct?” You asked with a snide tilt of the head before planting yourself on the desk beside him.

“You are a big boy capable of understanding big boy books,” Unbeknownst to you, your words managed to stir something foreign within Mattheo but he conceals it with his usual veneer of arrogance as he swings his head lazily in your direction.

"May we begin?" You asked, with your back straightened - inches away from his hand now hanging on your chair.

"In a bit…" he says, "Just..." his voice trails off as his eyes scan over your visage, likely assessing it like an unseen tapestry. The truth is, Riddle did not know you prior to being forced under your tutelage. His droopy brown eyes appeared even more so as he broke the distance between you two and studied you closer. A tense silence grew pregnant in the ancient classroom, and your resolve was beginning to slip. Only one thought inflated a puddle of anxiety in your stomach:

Could this be your first kiss? Is this what first kisses looked like? Could this be your very first brush of intimacy overall?

Your brain failed to rationalise and compartmentalise his attraction, but your heart pushed your head closer.

"Call me a big boy again..." He had whispered… which evidently led you here.

Your lesson had ended with your hand covered in his release and a breathless smirk painted across his face. "This goes without saying," he breathed out with a satisfied smirk, "But tell anyone about this, and you're dead."

Ever since that day, your tutoring has been but a veneer of something much more sinister. When you were thrusted into the light of day, Mattheo overlooked you as did lots of his Slytherin friends. Besides the occasional threat and vague insult, you mean nothing to him.

When you two are alone, however, as you are right now, he would enchant you into servitude, lightly pushing your head down while he kissed you silly until your knees were planted on the hardwood floor.

Mattheo briefly opens his eyes to peer down at you. It is then when you notice the fresh bruise dotting the side of his face, and his pillowy lips split by a small incursion. He had very clearly gotten into another fight..

“Your mouth feels so fucking good when you're not using it to be a smart ass,” His words illicit a bubble of heat inside you.

Despite all this, you are clearly aware of the fact that you should not be enjoying this at all. Not one bit. For starters, you can feel the old wooden floors digging into the meat of your knees and the crisp winter chill is unkind to your scantily dressed state. Your shirt is unbuttoned because Mattheo was like a moth to a fucking flame when it came to your ample breasts and his hand is buried tightly in your kinky curls, forcing his cock even further down your throat. The very bones of Hogwarts seem to be in vehement protest of your blatant whorishness.

3 silver chains hang from his neck as he plants his other hand against the wall behind you, blocking your kneeling frame between both him and cold, hard stone. You crane your neck back, keeping a half lidded gaze on the jewelry that drives you feral with lust. You are content imagining that perhaps, when he is getting ready in the slytherin common rooms, he wears the silver for you. A fanciful thought but one that consistently has your intestines weaving themselves into knots.

That, paired with his striking, jet black blazer, which is discarded somewhere in the abandoned classroom, has you keening and fighting to take even more of him into your mouth. Perhaps you were peacocking a little - flatting your tongue so his cock slid seamlessly to the back of your throat while you fought to ignore the pain blossoming on your scalp. He had turned you from an inexperienced nun to something you're not quite ready to examine yet.

"You're finally putting this head of yours to good use…" Despite his feigned arrogance you're utterly delighted knowing that only you can bring Mattheo to such an utterly restless state. He does not really know what to do with himself.

Not when you took so much of him, so well.

You clench your toes.

Feeling himself get too close, Mattheo eases his cock fully out of your mouth, languidly stroking himself but still assuming a firm grip on your scalp. He is operating on that very specific plain of narcissism that was special to Mattheo. He is aware of your presence, physically, but his words are spoken into the open air, like you are an inanimate object. A glorified toy.

"Are all Ravenclaws as compliant as you are?”

You bring a crisp white sleeve up to your lips, wiping away the excess drool as you remain kneeled in front of him, knowing he has yet to finish.

"If you ever think of finding out," your voice is hoarse, "this will be the last time I offer you any free study sessions."

"Is money all you seek?" He attempts to feign composure, continuing to languidly stroke his cock. "How utterly greedy. I thought- fuck… - I thought you were far more philosophical than that"

You watch hungrily as Mattheo bites on his pillowy bottom lip. He is prolonging the release, taking his time as he usually did... "If you plan on edging yourself in my mouth instead of actually finishing the job, I do have other commitments to attend to-"

He ignores you... his brows furrowing and smoothening at odd intervals as he continues to touch himself while studying you.

"We may not be studying… but I still intend to pass Transfiguration, hope you're aware." He punctuates his sentence with an breathless laugh- it blossoms across his usually stoic visage, raising his buttercup cheekbones towards his smiling eyes.

As he talks, you examine his scars and feel the slow essence of admiration seep into the pit of your stomach. An arguably pathetic feat, given that your feelings will not ever be reciprocated.

Brewing inside you is the need to take care of him. You knew the rest of the student body viewed Mattheo as a glorified parasite. Something that is only capable of thinking within the capacity of its own means. Something that takes, and takes, and occasionally jokes around, and takes. But how could he know anything different? You suspected that his home life was built on the foundation of survival, on needing to be the loudest, and proudest, and worst of them all.

"What the fuck are you doing?" The sharpness of his words slice through your thoughts, bringing you back to yourself. Mattheo's gaze is placed firmly on something down below. Throughout his mindless tirade, your hand had taken to rubbing soft, comforting circles against the leg of his pants, quite literally on its own accord. Mattheo is bent over, head tilted as he watches you questioningly. Seconds stretch to a minute, and your stomach sinks as time passes.

Eventually, he dismisses you. He shakes his head. "Whatever," He says, tilting your head back and lining your mouth with the head of his cock once more. His visage darkens into a cruel sadistic grin. "Tell me you want me to come in your mouth."

Almost instinctively, you do as he orders and like clockwork, you swallow his cum, wondering if he knew how deeply and truly your words actually were. There was a moment, perhaps imagined, in which his fingers gripping your hair, melted to the side of your soft, supple cheek. It stays there for longer than necessary, leaving bits and pieces of your composure scattered in its wake.

Mattheo soon straightens his posture, stuffing his flaccid cock back into his pants before making himself as presentable to the student body as they know him to be (which admittedly is not a lot) And before he turns to walk away, he leaves you stranded on a glacier with his ice cold words cutting deep into your beating heart.

"Tell anyone about this-"

"And I'm dead," You interject, "I know."

And with that, you pull your ruffled collar over your lint-free school jersey and check your reflection to assess the damage Mattheo and his iron grip might have left. You needn't wait for an extension on the conversation because your job here was done, (pun so malevolently intended).

As far as Mattheo is concerned, you are an easy conduit to release his frustrations through because your unpopularity makes you so incredibly inconspicuous. You blend into any given crowd at any given moment, your name seldom reaching the heights of ridicule among his group because you are so unforgettable… There had been no reason to point out your flaws, not because you did not have any, but because you were simply invisible.

It is particularly strange to have any social interaction beyond the bounds of group projects and class discussions… so Harry Potter gifting you even a sliver of attention had been violently unorthodox. So unorthodox, in fact, you failed to look up from the weathered pages of your novel when his gentle voice wafted in your direction during a rare free period in Study of Ancient Runes. Your professor has been summoned quite promptly by the headmaster and has yet to return. The class has been in a state of havoc ever since.

"I don't know if you're aware of this but…" A deep shadow over the pages alerted you to his presence, "They both die at the end."

It was incredibly rare that Potter, who sat at the desk directly in front of you, ever felt the need to strike up conversation that was not purely academic. Gryffindors made use of Ravenclaws as often as Slytherins.

So naturally, you peer curiously up at him…

"Sorry?"

"Y-Your book. It's a muggle book, isn't it? I haven't seen anything with a cover like that around here. It's refreshing. Everything in the wizarding world is ancient and leatherbound." He mumbles as his index finger slides into the collar of his red quidditch jersey. He finds himself suddenly overcome by a wave of embarrassment even though there was nothing at all to be embarrassed about… he turns his chair slightly in your direction, his eyes darting to the door and the empty teacher's seat before meeting yours once more.

"'They Both Die At The End." He says, pointing towards the title.

"Oh…" You affirm, rocking your head back and forth, "You were making a joke?"

"No," Harry snickers before waving a large hand in dismissal, "Evidently, the only thing I 'made' was a complete and utter fool of myself."

You're not sure when it happens but you feel the lower half of your face melting into what you suspect is a smile. You can feel your shoulders relaxing and your novel lowering imperceptibly.

"Work on your delivery next time and maybe we'll be getting somewhere."

"Is that how it is!?" Harry asked, pleasantly surprised by your banter, "- I could've sworn I had a shred of dignity before the start of this conversation. Now I'm not quite sure where that went."

Mattheo's feet pass over the threshold as soon as the sound of your laughter rushes past him. It is almost charming in its familiarity but incredibly curious in its rarity. He can't recall ever seeing you with your head thrown back while the instinctive sound of amusement races through your throat. He does not know he's staring until Draco shoves past him, to get to their own seats in the front of the class.

His eyes remain on you as he makes his way to his desk, hoping, perhaps, that you would turn your head infinitesimally, in acknowledgment of his presence.

You do nothing of the sort, and it not only fills him with a weird sort of dissatisfaction but it bubbles into full blown vexation when he realises who is capturing your attention so viscerally.

Mattheo has never prided himself on his patience or tolerance.

Overthinking is something he consistently lives without.

Most of his actions were spurred from things he felt in the now, and he was really fucking uncomfortable with what was happening now.

His glances at the front of the class before finding you once more in the very back corner of the class. He notices that Harry is stationed in front of you but the seat beside you is completely deserted.

Did you not have friends?

And more importantly; how did he never notice until now?

What if…

Perhaps if he…

"You didn't let me know we were having a picnic," The sound of a chair scraping against the tiles had both you and Harry rallying into silence. Mattheo appears at your side, pushing the chair against yours so he, too, sits facing Potter - who suddenly appears incredibly uneasy. Gone is the comfortable atmosphere cooked by easy and amicable conversation. Mattheo injecting himself into your little bubble created a suddenly charged and suffocating atmosphere. You cannot keep your wide eyes off Mattheo as he lowers himself to his chair beside you with his legs spread as he slouches down, like he always does.

"Don't stop on my accord," He exclaims, completely oblivious to the fact that your professor might walk in at any minute. "What were we talking about?" Your heart wrestles in your chest as you see him turn to address you. His slouching puts him a level lower than you, but it does nothing to lessen his intimidation.

"Maybe I should ask, Potter?" Mattheo turns his attention to the front, "What were you lot talking about?" There is not a trace of friendliness present in Riddle's tone. In fact, it's the very opposite. Your nerves, swelling with anxiety, only escalate into full-on panic when you feel him place a large hand on your skirt under the table.

Harry's voice is low and his eyes are trained on the floor, "Books-"

"Books!" Mattheo cuts him off with sarcastic fervour, "How utterly fascinating!" The hyperbolic wonder in his tone is utterly rude and unbecoming, but you look down at your desk in blatant anger. Refusing to be a part of whatever this is.

"And tell me, Potter, how many books have you read so far?"

It is then that Riddle's once stationary hand begins the faintest trace of movement. He begins slow and tame, his callouses barely registering on the soft fabric until his fingers prod the lining of your skirt…

Your breath hitches in your throat.

Never had Mattheo ever displayed a desire to touch you. Not in the way he made you touch him. It was made explicitly clear that only he would benefit from your secret rendezvous' and so you were left to deal with your aching cunt alone, with the image of the face he made when he came, still burned into your mind. It had never been about you.

"A couple,'' says Harry, fighting to show this bully that he was unaffected by his intimidation. If only he knew that with every advance Mattheo's palm made, you were slipping farther and farther away.

"A couple books?" Asks Riddle for clarity. He remains lax and languid on the inside, but the nature of his wandering hand underneath the desk tells a new story.

He finally slips under your skirt.

His palm connects with the softness of your thighs and he seems utterly pleased by it. His hand is immediately restless to explore how far you would let him go. Which isn't very far.

Not at all.

If he thought he could suddenly touch you after myriad occasions of using you like a discarded toy… he had another thing coming.

The tips of Mattheo's fingers make gradually increasing strokes along your thigh until his fingers prod the stretch marks on your inner thigh. It is there when you stop him, clenching your legs together, blocking his hand from any further movement.

Mattheo's voice is strained as he says, "And you like reading, Potter?"

Sensing something brewing between the two of you - your withdrawn, hazy gaze, staring directly through the desk and Mattheo's overabundance in questions, has Harry reeling backwards.

"I asked you a question, Harry."

"I like reading."

"Good! That's really good!" Quite suddenly, Riddle tilts the ends of his half-moon nails into your thigh. His nails bite into your skin, forcing them to weaken and unclamp. Before you're even able to think, his palm is cupping your cunt through your panties- forcing an indecent yelp from your throat which you quickly (and very badly) disguise as a cough.

Mattheo is utterly pleased while he continues mindlessly stroking your cunt. Not for the purpose of any glorious stimulation. His hand is just there to show you (and perhaps maybe himself) that he has access to the most private part of you.

That thought alone has an unforeseen and sudden wave of lust coursing through his veins and surging straight to his hardened cock. He thinks of all the things he could have done to you but failed to do. He thinks about how, up until this point, he had ever been satisfied with using your mouth alone, not when he was denying himself the softness of your pussy all along.

He felt angry with himself, for being so fucking stupid, he is angry at Potter for seeing whatever it is he saw in you, way before he did and, possibly most harrowing of all is the fact that he is angry with you. And he can't help but be angry at you. How easily you whore yourself out to any and every man. If this thing with Potter had gone far enough, would you replace him? Had you even fucked Potter before?

You bite down on your lower lip as your head bows even further into your book. The words blend into one another, and all you can feel is a rise in temperature and Mattheo's suddenly restless fingers, pressing rudely against your clit - for the sole purpose of ripping an orgasm out of you right then and there, at the very back of an unsupervised classroom, with Harry Potter still very much a part of the conversation.

"You've got so many books to read in your lifetime," Says Mattheo. He sits up slowly, likely spurred on by the dampness seeping through your panties. "Don't cut your long life short by trying to entertain other people's girlfriends, yeah?" Gone are any traces of feigned friendliness. "Fucking Mudblood,"

Your skin feels like you are bathing in magma and you hope Potter could not see the slight tremor in your hand as you gripped the sides of your book with more force than necessary.

Mattheo's words… they have you shifting forward and widening your legs minutely. You crave for nothing more than to roll your hips in tandem with the circles he's pressing against your clit.

"Understood?"

Your orgasm is dangerously close, with the promise of sheer, disgusting shame and embarrassment if he continues. You feel Harry give you one final curious look, perhaps pleading for an interjection of denial at some point but you've taken to bouncing your knee under the table, hoping the vibrations might create enough friction to aid Mattheo's hands. He is keeping you trapped in a space of wanting. So much so, that this almost feels like a punishment.

Once Harry is turned back around and facing the front of the class, Mattheo lowers his lips to your ears. The damp smell of firewhiskey floods your nostril and you realise that he is completely drunk. In the second lesson of the day.

However, you're so completely stimulated, even the warmth of his breath as you fight the urge to hump into his hand like a lost little puppy until you make a mess all over his hand.

"You're such a fucking slut, you know that?" Your book drops to your desk - muffled by the sounds of the classroom cacophony. "You like being humiliated like this?" He asks, almost in complete awe. It takes everything in you not to moan outright.

"Fuck," You whisper to yourself, blinking your eyes shut, warding off the need but to no avail. His fingers are long and limber, and they have you nearly cumming right there, in front of your entire fucking class. Had it not been for your Professor's haphazard arrival into the class, and the swift removal of Mattheo's fingers from between your legs… you might truly have become the slut he labelled you as.

Instead of moving to his designated seat, Riddle raises his hand for the professor… the very same hand that has previously been in between your legs.

"Yes, Mr Riddle?" Asks the Professor, his voice as lacklustre as his appearance.

"May we be excused? We were excused by Professor Slughorn to assist him in-"

"Fine, fine," Says the professor with a wave of dismissal before turning his attention to the rest of the class. "The rest of you, open your textbooks to page 56."

Riddle's hand is clamped around your forearm, already leading you swiftly out the door in a long and wide stride. Had it been any other teacher at all, they might have recognized this for what it so clearly was.

"Here," you have barely made it fully into the boy's bathroom before Mattheo is stuffing his fingers down your throat, making you gag and yelp at the sudden intrusion. "Tell me how good you taste." He doesn't even bother to make sure you're truly left alone in the bathroom before pushing your front against the bathroom sink.

"Is that good?" His voice is as sweet as honey as he forces his fingers deeper down your throat, causing you to cough and gag around them.

Mattheo has half his sense to pull his wand from his back pocket, and without turning around, whispers "Colloportus," and the heavy doors snap shut.

You're supposed to be afraid because you've never seen him like this. Mattheo is always a ball of sarcastic energy between trysts, but it's usually an energy he can somewhat contain.

You don't know what to do with him, not when he's watching you choke on his fingers through the mirror, while his other hand fondles at your breasts and rips your bra down until your nipples are poking through your school shirt.

The figure in the mirror distorts as your eyes begin to water. Thick beads of tears grow pregnant at the ends of your eyes before rolling down the side of your face.

"My girl," Mattheo presses his face into your hair, breathing you in, pressing his body into your side. His hard cock in unmistakable through his school pants, "My messy little girl,"

You finally moan candidly while your fingers grip the countertops and your hips buck into nothingness. Your eyes plead with him in the mirror, hoping they relay how utterly useless with lust you have become. It would not take hard work to make you cum, you're sure one more flick against your material-clad nipples might send you over the edge.

"Fuck, why didn't I think of this sooner,"

This is all new, even for the two of you.

"Spread your legs." He commands, even though his feet are already kicking them apart.

"Come here," you break eye contact in the mirror to face the boy behind you. Mattheo removes his fingers sitting in your mouth, leaving a trail of sticky saliva in its wake before replacing it with a long and messy kiss- one that has his tongue forcing itself inside.

Mattheo weaponizes your distraction to reach around and slide your panties to the side with one hand while he rubs your soft nub with his other, spit-coated hand.

You break away from the kiss, neck craning back and mouth hanging open while your eyebrows dissolve into crescents. You cannot look away from him, as you hump his hand.

"You wanna cum?" You nod enthusiastically. "And what if I told you, you can't cum until I've fucked that little pussy of yours? Hm? What then?" His words have you mewling from the sheer pleasure they bring and your orgasm threatens to snap once more.

"Fuck," He hisses, feeling unable to remove his hand from your wet cunt but needing to, in order to undo his belt and pull his aching cock out. "Don't you dare fucking touch yourself," He says in a deadly quiet voice before bringing his hand up to your mouth. "Spit." You don't ever think of disobeying him, not when you're swimming so deeply in your subspace, not when he's the one to bring you here.

Mattheo collects every bit of saliva you offer him before coating his cock in the stuff.

Deciding not to waste anymore time, he does what his body is screaming for him to do: he bends you over the bathroom sink and pushes cock right through your slippery folds. It's tense and painful and your voice is hoarse from doing all that screaming but the sudden contact strokes a deeply sated part inside yourself. His curved and pretty cock rams your insides with reckless abandon, all while he delivers small slaps against your cheek. Riddle keeps a firm grip on your throat. His mouth is inches away from you while his hips rut into yours. His words are being delivered through clenched teeth.

"You think you're so fucking smart but you're just my little whore, arent you? A little whore thst fucks anything that gives her the slightest bit of attention?" It doesn't even register that Mattheo wrongfully suspects that there had been something between you and Harry but you keep your mouth shut. For all his indifference in the past, this is how you would make him pay.

"Oh~ fuck." His cock bruises your cervix, leaving him balls deep and feral inside you. "Fucking Potter?! You wanna give what's mine, to fucking Potter?!" His voice is utterly depraved and animalistic and it has your orgasm cresting.

He is panting, while he mumbles into your ear.

"What would Potter think? If he saw you like this? What would he think? Would he still want your slutty pussy knowing I've been inside it? Knowing that I've cum so deep inside you? Completely ruining you for anyone else, huh?"

"You…" The tears threaten to spill, "It's only ever been you, Mattheo -oh my god! I'm so fucking close!" You fight down tears as the lava begins to bubble at the pit of your stomach.

"S-Say it again. Tell me you want me!" He exclaims, "Tell me you fucking need me."

"Oh my God, Mattheo, I fucking need you." You push your hips back to meet his thrusts.

His voice wavers after your confession. His strokes became sloppy. His mind is flooded with the tightest of your cunt around his cock- how someone so smart could possibly ever say they need him. It has a flood of heat pooling at the base of his cock. "You're so fucking pretty… my pretty girl - my pretty whore," He nods to himself while his heavy cock finds purchase in a specific clump of sensitive tissue inside your cunt. It has you clamping your own mouth shut, your arms wavering while your back arches towards him, only allowing him better excess.

"I need you," You say once more, swallowing a ball of saliva as you nod towards him through the mirror, "I need you to cum inside me."

"Oh my fucking god," Mattheo's eyes soften in their desperstion, "M'gonna fucking breed pussy right here- fuck!" His grip on your throat grows tighter until you're wholeheartedly cut off from your air supply. You hump his cock until you feel it twitch inside you.

"Y-Youre making me cum, baby- fuck-" You feel his hot cum spurting inside your walls, triggering your own orgasm that has you gripping his cock like a vice.

"So… so pretty" His hips stutter against yours until you've completely drained him of his cum. A sharp tremor settles over your bones and you gasp in vague increments, waiting for the overwhelming state of euphoria to subside… but it never does.

The weight of what you had done comes crashing back down but you are unable to feel anything besides an immense wave of satisfaction at having your deepest need satiated.

"I think I nearly killed Potter today." His voice is a hoarse echo within the school bathrooms.

"There is no Harry Potter," You say, watching him through the mirror, "In my whole world, there is only ever you, Mattheo."

And a part of him believes you, but he refuses to affirm something as emotionally stifling as that. Instead, Mattheo's eyes flutter shut as his nose finds your hair once more. His cock is still buried inside you, and you hiss as he moves his hips slowly, almost insitinvely. He loves being so wholly enveloped by you. He loves feeling you everywhere.

© to @mphountitled on tumblr; do not repost

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

(Dark!) BNHA: You're a lesbian

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female Reader

Boys -> Hawks + Dabi + Bakugo + Mirio

Reaction: Revealing your sexual orientation to your kidnapper is more tense that you expected.

WARNINGS: Kidnapped reader; Manipulation; Threats; Discrimination against LGBTQ.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback. 🙂

–

“I like girls.” 

The words escape from your lips, rushed and dripping of anxiety, and you immediately bite your tongue, already regretting your confession. 

Hawks

“Yeah, I know.” he yawns, rubbing his eyes. “Damn, I’m so tired right now. Think I might head to bed early.”

“Wait!” you grab his hand in a frantic move, stopping him from leaving the couch.

“Wh-What do you mean ‘you know’? If you knew, then why did you take me?!” 

“Cause I love you.” Keigo calmly says, as if that answers everything. “And truth be told, the whole lesbian thing seems like an insignificant detail to me.” 

Your whole face drops at that and Keigo immediately reaches for you, cooing. 

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that.” he consoles you, even though there’s a slight curl of his lip that proves the lack of regret or sadness. “But, in all honesty, that doesn’t really matter, does it? You’re here now, with me. You can like whoever you want, really. But c’mon, babe, we both know damn well that the only person you’re gonna have is me.”

“But I don’t love you.” you weakly try. 

“Yet. You don’t love me yet.” Keigo corrects you, booping your nose with a kiss. “But that’s gonna change real soon, I bet. I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you, I promise."

"Cause it’s either me or no one.” 

Dabi

“Yeah? Don’t you say.” 

You blink at him, fighting back the anxiety and confusion that bubbles inside you.

Dabi approaches you, the corner of his mouth twitching as an amused smile takes over. He reaches closer as he sits on the verge of the bed, a bit too close for your comfort.

If you could, you’d put some distance between you - but the solid chain on your ankle doesn’t allow you to do so. 

“What makes you think I give a fuck about that?” his smile widens at your confusion, all teeth and staples stretching. “Lesbian or not, you’re still mine.”

Your eyes load up with warm tears, a pitiful reaction that is starting to become too frequent. But you guess you can’t blame yourself when a half-burned villain is keeping you captive and chained up. 

“I can’t be who you want me to be.” you whisper with a voice low. Begging with your eyes. “Please.”

Long fingers reach for your face, uncomfortably hot, as they brush a strand of hair away from your face. 

“Sounds like a problem you’ve created for yourself. What makes you think I give a damn about what you are or what you aren’t?” his smile gets cruel, sadistic. “I don’t really care about any of that shit.”

“Cause lesbian or not, I’m still gonna make you spread those pretty legs wide for me.”

Mirio

You bitterly watch as Mirio spits out thunderous laughter, grabbing his belly as if you’ve just told him the funniest joke ever.

“Now that…that was really funny!” he says, breathless as another fit of laughter makes its way up. “Didn’t know you were so humorous, huh. My girl has a sense of humor, I like that.” 

You dodge when he tries to pat down your hair. 

“It’s not a joke.”

“Of course it is.” Mirio contradicts you with a big grin. “And a good one.”

“Mirio…”

You barely have time to react before his lips are pushing against yours, soft and firm.

His hand sneaks to grab the back of your head with his palm, forcing you to stay put and take his kiss. He tastes like mint, fresh and clean. 

“You’re so silly.” Mirio laughs when he finally parts away the kiss. “My silly little girl. See, if you were lesbian, then you wouldn’t have kissed me. That means you’re not…that.” 

“Besides, if you really were a lesbian,” he starts, smile is still present, wide and shiny, but his voice is stiff, restrained. “that wouldn’t be good. Not for you, at least. Cause I’d have to take some really serious measures to get you back on track. But I know that won’t be necessary, right?”

And you’re too scared to argue back when he pats your head, satisfied with your submission.

Bakugo

“Uh?” 

His sharp features frown, shock and surprise clearly taking the best of him. 

The way he opens his mouth, only to close it when no words come out - and the repetition of this sequence for a few times - is almost comical, but the deeply engraved fear in your heart doesn’t allow you to find any sort of humor in this situation. 

Bakugo claims to love you. As a man loves a woman. 

So it’s only understandable that his reaction to you confessing to liking women isn’t gonna be euphoric.

Part of you is scared that he might hurt you, beat you to a bloody pulp until you change your mind. You hope he doesn’t.  

“Cut the crap.” he shakes his head, deep frown between his brows. “I know you’re not…lesbian or whatever.” 

“I am.” 

“No.” 

“Bakugo, please.” you plead. “I really am. I’ve always been-”

“The fuck you are, damnit!” he snaps, raising himself so hard that the poor chair underneath him violently stumbles back, falling to the ground with a loud thump.

You wince, but Bakugo doesn’t reach for you, as you expected him to. Instead, he remains standing, hands tightly clenched around nothing and jaw rigidly set. “I know damn well what you are, don't try to fool me!” 

“I-”

“This one of your stupid little stunts, isn't it?” he cuts you off. You yelp when his hand flies forward, wrapping itself around your forearm and pulling you dangerously close to him. “Last week was the good girl act to try to escape and this week you’re pulling this shit up? Fucking behave, will you?”  

“I-”

“Shut your mouth, damnit!” a shiver runs down your spine as he glares at you, clearly pissed off. “The only words I wanna hear coming from you are apologizes.” 

“And don’t fucking piss me off with that crap again or you might not like what I’ll do.”

[ruesol]

Part two of mechanic Sukuna

Notes: not proof read, fem!reader

main masterlist

“I’m tellin’ you, man, that chick is gonna send her friend over. She looked like she was gonna faint when she saw you,” Toji called out from under the car he was working on.

Sukuna wanted to throw the wrench in his greasy hand at his friend. The two had been bickering about whether you or your friend would be coming to pick up your car after Sukuna had called you.

He was fondly recalling how shy you sounded over the phone but his friend digressed that you must’ve been scared.

There’s no way he looked scary, right? Sure, his hair was an unnatural shade of pink, pointing in every direction towards the sky. Sure, his tattoos would even send a gang member running, but it made him seem attractive. He even got a little eyebrow piercing to have that edgy yet sexy look.

He was interested in someone and it was finally time to put his looks to good use.

“I still can’t believe you made me clean her filters. You know I’m allergic to dust.” Sukuna could almost see Toji’s sulk. He pulled Toji out from underneath the Cadillac he was working on and pointed his wrench at him.

“Paid you fifty bucks for it, didn’t I? So shut up.”

“Are you threatening me with a wrench?”

“Just warning ya.”

Toji scoffed before pushing himself back under the car. There was only so much love sickness he could take.

You braced yourself before walking into the mechanic shop. Even if your first experience with a mechanic wasn’t scary, who’s to say that something bad wouldn’t happen the second time?

With a deep breath, you walked into the lions’ den, clutching your tote bag’s handle to your chest. It was your version of an armor. The battle of walking into a room full of men was never an easy one. You were hoping to be discreet but your heeled boots were loud enough to echo through the giant garage and made everyone’s heads turn towards your figure.

Your much smaller (figuratively and literally) and self-conscious figure.

As unexpected as it was, your eyes searched for Sukuna’s familiar face. You needed to stabilize your boat on the rocky waters you called social anxiety. Your sweaty hands were starting to leave an imprint on your canvas tote bag until you heard his voice.

“Looking for someone?”

There he was, standing in all his glory. No bandana but he was sporting an eyebrow piercing this time. Your eyes simply couldn’t tear away from it. It suited him well. He’d make a very attractive and charismatic gangster.

“Your car’s ready. Do you wanna check on the AC before leaving?”

You nodded at his suggestion, still too conscious to say anything. You cursed yourself for forgetting to even say hi because you were too busy admiring his piercing. His shoulders blocked everything in your line of sight so you just followed him towards your car, and you were surprised to see that it looked squeaky clean.

“Uh, we threw in a complimentary wash. College student discount and stuff.” He answered before you could even ask him. Toji scoffed at his answer but quickly went back to work when he noticed Sukuna’s glare in his direction. You felt squeamish knowing that Sukuna could read your body language a little too well.

But what happened next just made your stomach fold in on itself. He decided to lean in to your car as you sat down to check on the AC. It was like he was taking advantage of the fact that you hated confrontation. “Just tryin’ to feel a little cool. Still hot out in the garage, you know.”

Your tongue felt like it was too big for your mouth with way he was basically nose to nose with you. Did all his customers get such treatment? But then again, who were you to say no to him after he worked so hard to fix your AC. It was the least you could do (aside from tipping but he refused that).

You turned on the AC and he leaned in further, face basically resting on your neck, lips dangerously close to your cheek.

You could smell the musk of his sweat and natural scent. “Looks like it’s working fine,” he said while grinning against your face. You wish could agree with him but it was so distracting to have a man like him so close to you. It was horrifying. You had never let a man- no, anyone so close to your face without your permission. Shit, you wouldn’t even let them come into a 3 feet radius of you if you were unsettled by them.

But here he was, pushy and prideful, all up in your space. His hand was dangerously close to your ass with the way he was leaning into your car. You were basically sharing your oxygen with him. “Thank you for helping me with my AC.” You were surprised to find out that you finally had your voice back.

You couldn’t even look him in the eye while speaking. He was still very close to your face that you were afraid your lips would touch his if you were to turn. You were praying that he would pull away soon and by your lucky stars, he did. But not without breathing in deeply by your neck. Did he… try to smell you?

“You’re welcome. If you need anything else then let me know. I’ll always be available.” You were hoping that he meant during the shop’s work hours but hell, with the way he was looking at you, it could mean an entirely different thing.

“I’ll keep that mind,” you mumbled with a slow nod.

After you left, Toji walked up to Sukuna with a can of beer. “I don’t think she likes you like that. She looked like she wanted to run out of here.”

Sukuna bumped his can against Toji’s. “She’s just shy. I need to warm her up before I start the actual flirting.”

“I don’t know. You were so weird with her, man. I don’t think she’s ever coming back. Bet she won’t even send her little friend here either.”

“Oh, she’ll come back. And if she doesn’t then I’ll go to her.” Sukuna smirked while sipping his beer.

“Huh, how?”

“Destiny,” Sukuna said as he bumped Toji’s shoulder. The raven haired man could only cringe at his friend’s actions.

And you do reel him towards you. A week later, on a dark and rainy night when your car unexpectedly breaks down while driving.

—

Premise for part 3 has been built.

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