#I mean i think it's impossible for him to feel threatened by me in the first place | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

beomiracles · 1 month ago

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⌞ 𝟏𝟖𝟐𝟔 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 ⌝

DREAM RECALL ⸝⸝ “What?” He’s nearly shouting now. You know he doesn’t mean it, he never does, right? But it still hurts. You open your mouth to defend yourself, ready to tell him just how bad he hurt you. No words come out. — Beomgyu grows visibly frustrated, his hands balling up into fists by his sides. “Don’t fucking look at me like that!”

“Like what, Beomgyu?”

The use of his name makes him waver, you hadn’t said it, not once since he returned. And you can tell the gesture only angers him further. — “Like the whole fucking world owes you an apology! You left, you left without a word and you..” He hesitates, swallowing thickly as he regains his composure. “You took my son away from me.”

pairings — idol!beomgyu x fem!reader warnings — secret baby trope, miscommunication, lots of angst, verbal fighting, reader and beomgyu both hurt each other, morally grey characters?, infidelity except I'm super vague about if he did it or not (he didn't), cameo txt, oc (teddy), consumption of alcohol, reader gets intoxicated, heavy on the inner monologue. smut tags, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, implied creampie but nothing is described, marking, nipple stimulation, lots and lots of kissing and making out, emotional sex sorta? + confessions during the sex.

WC ➤ 19k

#serene adds ✎.. hi. aurora ah thank you for being so patient with me I know this has taken QUITE some time but I'm grateful for you sticking around nonetheless :3 — like I've stated, this isn't a trope I've ever written for, and I might've gotten certain aspects wrong, I'm only human, anyway heh enjoy :3

this is sort of (not very) proofread, but I am not responsible for any spelling mistakes and or grammatical errors, take that with my lawyer in court and not me. merry christmas

The bright light tickles your eyes, causing a subtle burn to settle across them. But you don’t turn your phone off, even though you probably should. In fact, you should’ve been asleep hours ago, it was late now. — For some reason you can’t let go of the small device in your hand, even as you feel sleep threatening to overtake your exhausted body. Instead you fight to stay awake. Forcing yourself to read the words written across the screen over and over until you knew them by heart. Your gaze returns to the headline:

“TOMORROW X TOGETHER, TOUR SETLIST”

Some song names are familiar, others aren’t. You tried to keep up with their newest albums, tried to learn the lyrics of their latest songs. But it was nearly impossible. For your stomach still turned whenever you heard his voice. It was so easily recognizable amongst the rest, and you curse him for having the voice of an angel. Part of you wants to listen to him forever, another part of you thinks you might go insane if you do.

Your thumb swipes across the screen, and you’re presented with pictures, pictures of them. They’re all older now, as are you. They look…mature? Like they’d grown into their features properly. Even him. He looked far from the man you’d fallen in love with back then, and perhaps he wasn’t, not anymore. — Your heart contracts at the sight of his boyish grin, it takes you right back. But it’s not enough to make you regret your decision.

“Mommy!”

Blinking away the tears that somehow had managed to accumulate in your eyes, you turn toward the door. The old wood is slightly ajar, and a small figure lingers by the threshold. Your hurt is immediately washed away, and you smile. “Yes, sweetheart?” — The shadow moves forward, and soon it creeps into the light casted by your phone. “Mommy, I had a nightmare..” He hiccups, tiny hands clutching the worn out shark plushie.

“Oh Teddy”, you sigh, flicking on the bedside lamp as you push yourself into a sitting position, discarding your phone on the bed. “Was it about the shadow monster again?” You wonder as you scoop your son into your arms. He nods as he clings to you, drawing in a small sniffle as you carry him back to his room. “I-It keeps coming back!” He wails as tears stream down his round face.

You frown, gently rocking back and forth as you glance around his room, eyes landing on the night light he always used, a blue mushroom. “How so?” — Teddy emits another sob before wiping his wet cheeks. “B-Because the l-light keeps turning o-off!” He says as he points to the very much working lamp by his bed. You hum as you set him down on the mattress, pulling the blue covers over his shark-pajama covered body.

“But this light is still turned on”, you counter as you turn to the blue mushroom lantern. Your son furiously shakes his head. “No! It wasn’t! And that’s why the shadow monster came!” His eyes darts across the small room, as if searching for the intruder. — Your hand on his cheek shifts his attention to you and you smile. “But you know what Teddy?” You ask to which your son quietly shakes his head. “You’ve got a shadow of your own”, you point to his shadow, portrayed on the wall and his eyes follow your movement.

“See? Your shadow is always with you, and who’s better at fighting a shadow monster than another shadow?” — Teddy doesn’t look entirely convinced as he watches his shadow mimic him as he lifts an arm. “But what if it can’t?” He wonders with a squeaky voice, and as he turns to you with wide eyes and furrowed brows, your heart drops. He looked exactly like his dad. You know that it was far from his fault, but every time you looked at him, you thought of what you had lost, of what you had sacrificed.

But just as your heart sinks, does it begin to beat again. Teddy looks at you expectantly, like he’s waiting for you to tell him that everything is going to be alright. Because you’re his whole world. And he’s yours. — You don’t regret your decision, because Teddy is the best thing that ever happened to you.

“Your shadow will never abandon you, and neither will I. The shadow monster won’t get you as long as we’re both here.” You lean in to press a kiss on his forehead and your son smiles. Then he turns back to his shadow on the wall, and when he waves, it waves back. — “Do you want me to get your lamp some new batteries, just in case?” you wonder and Teddy nods, “Yes please.”

The small mushroom light had a surprisingly difficult hatch leading to its battery unit, and you struggled for a good five minutes with getting it open. And as you crouch by the side of his bed, your son continues to watch in amusement as his mom fights to get the new working batteries into his night light. — “Mommy”, he suddenly says, and you don’t look up as you answer with a soft hum. He’s quiet for a moment after that, and you think he might not have had anything to say in the first place. But then he speaks up, his voice is hushed, almost as if he was afraid of asking the question:

“Why don’t I have a daddy?”

Your fingers slip against the hatch that suddenly pops open and you swallow. You knew that the question was bound to come sooner or later. You suppose you’d hoped for it not to be this soon. Many times you’d thought about how to bring the topic up. When he was ready, you’d told yourself. But none of the scenarios fabricated in your mind had involved being confronted like this.

“Well.. You see Teddy, all families are different..” You begin as you occupy yourself with shoving the new batteries into the lamp. Your son hums, his small fingers twiddling with his shark plushie. “I know!” He then exclaims and you turn to him with raised brows. Teddy smiles, exposing his uneven set of milk teeth as he does. “Ellie has two daddy’s!” He then continues, though his expression quickly morphs into a confused one, “so why does she have two but I have zero?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you shuffle closer, leaning onto his bed as your hand reaches for his. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but your son beats you to it. “If…If I had a daddy, he could help you with those things.” Teddy points to the mushroom light you had struggled with for the past minutes and you feel a melancholic smile tug at the corners of your lips. Your mind recalls the many instances in which Beomgyu had tried to “mend” things around your apartment, undoubtedly failing each and every time. You knew that he would hardly be of any help.

Still, you didn’t have the heart to tell your son that. So you nod, your hand around his giving a small squeeze. “You’re right, he would.” — Teddy grins, and despite the fact that he’s missing two of his front teeth, you’re still reminded of his father. “Your daddy would be able to scare the shadow monster away for good, I reckon”, you murmur as your hand brushes through his unkempt hair.

Your son nods to himself, clutching his plushie tightly as he yawns. “Did he scare your shadow monster away too?” He suddenly asks, and you’re taken aback, blinking as your fingers still in his hair. Your shadow monster? You don’t even know if you’d ever had one. Maybe..? — “I suppose he did”, you finally say.

Teddy’s silent after that, and you peer over at him to see if he’s fallen asleep. He hasn’t. Instead you find him quietly observing his shadow, blinking slowly as his body grows heavy. With a final yawn, he says:

“Then I think he’d be a good daddy to me.”

⸝⸝

“Beomgyu, I know what I saw.”

The air of your small apartment is thick and heavy with dread. You swallow as you try to calm your trembling hands, clenching them into fists by your sides. — Your boyfriend, Beomgyu, runs a hand through his long hair, the blonde highlights falling everywhere as he shakes his head, undoubtedly frustrated. He hasn’t even taken off his jacket nor his shoes. You’d confronted him the second he stepped foot inside.

He sighs, brows knitting together as his eyes meet yours. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about”, he argues to which you scoff. — “I know enough.” You fold your arms across your chest, throwing a pointed look toward the Tv. Beomgyu’s gaze follows yours and you catch the subtle twitch of his jaw as his attention falls on the picture of himself.

His band had finally headlined, but not for the right reasons. You should’ve expected it. It was a given, wasn’t it? Dating someone famous like him, someone young and attractive. Of course there would be rumors. But they’re not about you and him. This girl… Hell you didn’t even know her. — But she must’ve been pretty enough for him to fuck.

“It’s a rumor babe!” Beomgyu exclaims as he takes a step in your direction, but you stop him. Hands raised high above your head, you shout for him to stay back. “It’s not though.” — Your voice trembles as you inhale. Your boyfriend regards you with an expression best described as perplexed, his jaw, previously tense, now slacked as he tries to make sense of your words.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” You didn’t mean for it to sound so cold, so distant, but it did. And you can practically see his resolve crumbling as he shakes his head. “I mean…” You slowly begin, choking back the tears that threatened to spill down your cheeks. “The late nights, the non-returned calls, all my ignored texts…Don’t you think I get it?” Wiping your face with the sleeve of your shirt, you sniffle.

Beomgyu doesn’t say anything as he bites the inside of his cheek. His silence was loud and clear. You wanted to cry. — The first time your call went to his voicemail you brushed it off, but when he didn’t call you back that night, or the one after that, you’d grown worried. You called around for him, meeting nothing but dead-ends as none of his friends could advocate for his whereabouts. You texted him, again and again. He didn’t even read them.

Then he would turn up on your doorstep, at the most ungodly hour, begging for your forgiveness, promising to do better. You thought he might’ve been going through a rough time, so you let him inside. You let him inside your heart. You comforted him when he cried and you told him that things were going to be alright, that things were going to change. But they never did. And he never treated you better.

When you called Taehyun to ask if he was at practice, like he said he would be, only to be perceived as an idiot when Taehyun told you that he never showed up. It was then you knew that something was really wrong. A part of you thinks you’ve known for a while. Another part thinks you were too scared to bring it up, too scared to let him go. That part of you fought for his innocence for as long as it could.

But then he makes the headlines, and it’s not with you, but another woman. It confirmed what you had dreaded for so long. And if you didn’t act now, you were scared that you might never do.

“Do you honestly believe this shit?” He suddenly says as he throws an aggravated hand toward the Tv. Did you believe it? No, you couldn’t say that you did. Beomgyu was many things, a cheater wasn't one of them. Still, the way he acted, so nonchalantly trying to brush even a problem like this under the rug… It told you everything you needed to know about what kind of a person he was.

So you can only stare back at him, your eyes now empty as you slowly nod. “What else do you want me to believe?” You say, and your voice sounds monotone, almost robotic. — Beomgyu huffs as he shakes his head, his hand dragging across the side of his face as his narrowed gaze seizes you. “Well I don’t know, maybe me? Your fucking boyfriend?”

“Then give me one good reason.” You say, suddenly sounding irritated again. “Give me one reason to trust that you weren't out screwing someone else while I waited for you like an idiot.” — You give him about ten seconds to defend himself, watching as he scrambles for words. But when he doesn’t speak, you grow even more agitated. “See, you can't!”

“I had something important to do, okay?” He almost cuts you off and your brows furrow at the unreliable excuse. — “Something important? Like what? What could be more important than me? Than us?” You practically spit the question out, expecting at least a half-assed answer, but you’re met with none.

Oh.

Oh wow.

Beomgyu bites his bottom lip, his eyes drifting to the floor and you feel your heart sink to the same level. A bitter feeling blooms in your chest and your throat suddenly feels dry. You realize then that there was nothing else to say. This was it. Five months of your life completely wasted on someone who couldn’t give less of a fuck about you or your feelings.

“Out.”

The single word slices through the tense air and Beomgyu’s head snaps up as his eyes widen. “What?” He breathes but you only shake your head. “I want you out, now.” — He tries to object, but you won’t hear him out, you’d already made that mistake one too many times. Instead you have him leave, slamming the door behind him as he goes.

Your apartment becomes eerily silent after that, and so did the rest of your life.

You didn’t linger. That would be painful. Instead you packed whatever you thought was worth bringing along before you returned to the only place you could think of. Home. Shielded from the rest of the world, in a small village by the seaside, a place where only one knew you.

Your grandmother provided the love you had so desperately been craving for the past months of your life. She allowed you to settle into her home for a while. And for the first time in what felt like forever, things finally started to look up. — Only for them to come crashing down again as the heavy realization that you were not alone dawned upon you.

⸝⸝

“Mommy! Mommy! Look! Sharks!” Teddy exclaims as he rushes toward the arts section, eyes glued on the shark stickers before him. He’s so eager that he almost trips over his own feet before making it to his desired destination. — With a subtle roll of your eyes, you give in. “Fine, put them in the cart”, you sigh. Though nothing beats seeing your son’s face light up into a wide grin as he scurries over with his finds.

You don’t regret Teddy.

Not in the slightest. He was the best thing that had ever happened to you. Even if it meant giving up a lot of your life in order to make room for him in it. You were young, dumb and naive. And had it not been for your grandmother, you don’t know how you would’ve made it. — You owed her big time.

Still, you found that you enjoyed a quiet life. There was something special about raising Teddy in the very same environment you’d grown up in. From walks on the beach, collecting seashells and building sand castles.. To harvesting fresh strawberries in your grandmother’s garden during summer. Or the small marketplace in the center of town, bustling with life year around. — A quiet life. Far away from your past, hidden from its watchful and judging eyes.

Except today, your past seemed to have found you.

You’re almost done for the day, the ingredient list, clutched in your hand, had been nearly ticked off. But as you turn down toward the breakfast section, you’re met with what could’ve possibly been one of the most cruel pranks the world could pull.

An icy feeling washes over your body, the wheels of your cart coming to a squeaking stop in the middle of the aisle. Your eyes glue to the figure not even 10ft from you, immediately recognizing his sharp features. Dark and perfectly styled hair and a variety of jewelry dangling from his ears. He has yet to notice you, seemingly occupied with scanning the shelves before him. — Teddy stops too, his attention turning to the colorful packages of cereal on his left. You’re far too shocked to notice him scurrying to grab a box. And only when the high pitch of his voice breaks the thick silence do you jolt to life.

“Look! It’s the ones with sharks on!” He exclaims, practically shoving the cereal packaging against you as he flaunts the two sharks on the cover. Your heart drops as your son’s voice manages to attract not only your attention, but his as well. — You can practically feel the surprise radiate off of him as he turns to you, and then your name slips from his lips, and you know he knows.

You try to smile, forcing yourself to push down the dreadful feeling rising in your chest as he approaches. “Oh my god, Yeonjun?” Your words come out a short, breathless laugh and Yeonjun returns it with a small chuckle. “In the flesh”, he grins, hands now stuffed into his pockets as he studies you for a moment. “Shit, how long has it been?” He muses, a small frown etching its way to his face.

“Five years”, you reply, almost too quickly, you hope he doesn't pick up on it. But Yeonjun merely nods, muttering a quiet “Jesus, you’re right”, under his breath. You glance around, praying that he was alone, it seemed like he was. — It was impossible to know how many details Beomgyu had given them, what he’d told them, how he’d made them perceive you. But as your eyes meet his, you find no resentment in his gaze. Yeonjun looks happy to see you.

“You’ve been here all along?” He asks, sounding almost astonished. You nod, “My grandma owns a small house not far from here, I thought it’d be nice to stay somewhere close by.” Yeonjun hums in agreement, his lips parting, as if to say something, but he falls silent as his attention drifts to Teddy, clutching onto your leg as he demands attention. You catch the subtle raise of his brows as his gaze flickers between Teddy and you.

Dumbfounded, you clear your throat, “O-Oh, right. This is Teddy”, you say as you hoist the five year old into your arms, huffing at how heavy he’d gotten. Teddy studies Yeonjun’s perplexed expression, a grin on his tiny face as his small hands clutch at your shirt. “Shit, you’ve got a kid?” He finally exhales. You bite the inside of your check, nodding as you motion for your son to say hi. “Come on Teddy, why don’t you say hi to Yeonjun?”

The young boy extends his hand and Yeonjun takes it, “Nice to meet you, Teddy”, he says, the surprise slowly wearing off as he blinks a couple of times. Teddy giggles at the grown-up aspect of shaking someone's hand, and Yeonjun has to fight for your son to release his grip on him. — “Why don’t you go pick out a snack?” You tell him as you set him down once more, eager to rid yourself of him for a few minutes to talk to Yeonjun in private.

Teddy wasn’t very hard to convince and as soon as his sneakers hit the ground he was off, darting down the aisle without as much as a care in the world. “Don’t eat it before we pay!” You call out after him, not receiving a reply. — The silence that settles over you after that is beyond stale, and you find yourself avoiding Yeonjun’s gaze as best as you could.

“So..” He begins, the frown on his face still prominent. “I’m guessing you’ve found someone. els…” — “Oh god no!” You interrupt him before he can finish, the defensive edge to your voice palpable as you shake your head. “I um, I’m raising him alone..” You quickly add, trying to brush over who the father in question actually was.

“Oh.”

The conflicted expression on Yeonjun’s face seems to immediately ease up at your response. Weird. Why did he care? Has someone told him to care? Did he still care? — Now visibly relaxed, he lets his hands return to his pockets, the same careless grin on his face once more. “How old is he anyway?”

“Four”, you say, though quickly adding, “he’s turning five in a couple of months but likes to say that he is already.” — Yeonjun chuckles, shaking his head like he’s experienced the exact same events himself. “Growing up takes a great deal of time”, he muses, throwing a glance over his shoulder toward Teddy who was rummaging through the shelves by the far end of the aisle, flimsy hands grabbing at whatever he could find as he left chaos in his wake.

“The others would love to see you”, he then says, “We’re in town for two weeks, a small vacation between schedules.” The statement makes your heart skip over a beat. They want to see you? They weren’t mad at you? They didn’t hate you for walking out on their friend? — Your jaw was likely scraping the floor by that point because Yeonjun cleared his throat awkwardly as he hastily continued.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I totally get if you’re busy.” He scratches the back of his head, a nervous habit of his, “We’re going out for dinner and drinks tonight, you’re free to join us whenever, we would all appreciate your company.”

You swallow, processing the weight of his words. You hadn’t seen them, any of them, for five whole years. Would it be weird to just show up like that? And would he… “Will he be there?” The question slips out before you can stop it. But judging by the apologetic look on Yeonjun’s face, you’d guess you were correct. “He is part of the group”, he murmurs, slightly sheepish as he fiddles with the silver hoop in his ear.

“It’s fine”, you shake your head, “it was a long time ago.” Yeonjun nods, his expression unreadable as he takes a small breath. “Does he… Does he know? He didn’t tell me about.. Well you know..” — You shake your head, chewing on your bottom lip as you push your hair back. “He doesn’t know, and I’d appreciate it if he didn’t either, at least not for now”, you practically plead, sending him a hopeful look.

He blinks but then slowly nods, uttering a quiet, “Yeah, no of course. It’d just be weird right?” You quickly nod, “Right. It would.” There’s an awkward and anticlimactic silence that follows, the two of you glancing around, not knowing where to avert your gaze. Your mind scrambles for something to help fill the agonizing gap of your conversation. But Yeonjun manages to beat you to it.

“He’s changed, you know. He’s not the same guy he was five years ago.” You glance up at him, meeting his hopeful eyes as Yeonjun tries to salvage the ruins of the relationship you and his friend once had. “I don’t know what happened between you two, Beomgyu refuses to tell me anything but I.. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

You can’t help but feel bad, feel bad for Yeonjun, and for the others, left confused as you took off all those years ago. Perhaps it was guilt that steered your decision. — Dinner and drinks, it couldn’t be all bad? It was harmless, and you did miss the others. So you nod, “I’d love to join you.”

⸝⸝

“Couple of drinks? With him?”

The air inside the small kitchen suddenly felt thick, the sweet aroma of freshly baked cookies no longer lingered and the once familiar light pink walls were slowly closing in on you. With a heavy sigh you bring the porcelain cup to your lips, sipping on the warm home-brewed tea. Your grandma sits in front of you, the rounded table you’d had so many dinners by, now felt miles long, putting you and her on different sides of the world as she glares you down.

Despite the wrinkles lining her face, and the way her eyes had slowly sunken, her keen gaze was as sharp as ever. You felt yourself go rigid under it. “Well”, you set your cup down, “He was right in front of me, it wasn’t like I could just say no.” The meek excuse does little to ease the older lady’s already fragile nerves and your grandma shakes her head, her lips drawn into a thin line.

Hopelessly, you sigh. “Nana, it’s been five years. And besides, I’m going to see all of them, not just him.”

Call her sidekick, but your grandma had always had a thing for trusting her gut. Whether it had been blatantly ignoring medical advice given to her by doctors, insisting on drinking her own concoction of chamomile and honey. Or leaving the house without an umbrella even when the forecast promised rain, just because she “felt” that it was bound to be a sunny day. — So to change her mind on a matter like this, would be damn near impossible.

“You’re going to end up right back where you started”, she mutters, her old and wrinkly fingers gripping the edges of her own cup. “Oh come on nana, you don’t know that..” — “I do!” She insists, her voice rising three octaves as she slams the teacup down onto the wooden table. Holding your tongue, you glance toward the window, shielded by the checkered curtains as they flutter in the wind, you could make out the glimpse of your son as he played out in the garden.

Teddy had always made do with just himself, the absence of both a father and siblings had never seemed to bother him. Yet you couldn’t help but wish for something more for him. Something that you were unable to give. The feeling ate away at your heart, slowly but surely. — “Think you can have him, just for tonight? I’ll come pick him up in the morning”, you say, nail scraping against the handpainted flowers of your cup.

Your grandma sighs, the realization that you were about to go against her wishes dawning upon her. “I remember how you looked, that night you showed up on my doorsteps five years ago.” She begins, her voice a low drawl and you can already tell where this is going. “Nana…” But she only hushes you, pointing an accusing finger in your direction. “You were heartbroken, dear.” The statement hits you like a sharp slap in the face, leaving you speechless as you watch your grandmother fiddle with her nearly full teacup.

“I do not want you to make the same mistake again”, she sighs, and she doesn’t sound angry anymore, only sad, as if the news of your death had already been delivered. You reach out, hand grasping hers, she felt fragile in your palm, and you’re overcome with an intense need to reassure her.

“Then it’s my mistake to make.”

⸝⸝

The clacking of heels hitting the cold pavement fills the night air and you bring your arms around yourself, shivering in the cool breeze. Despite it being mid August, the biting cold seemed to know no bounds. With your heart hammering in your chest, you near the small bar, chatter echoing out onto the cobbled road.

You hadn’t known what to wear, and it wasn’t like you had anyone to ask. Your social life had severely decreased after moving out here and having Teddy. But you think the crimson dress was sophisticated enough, its simplicity toning the deep color down a tad. A coat, you should’ve brought a coat. Spoiled rotten by the warmth of July, the thought of bringing anything besides what you already wore.

It doesn’t matter now, you thought. Heaving a small sigh, you climb the three steps leading to the crowded pub. It’s warm here, thank god. Your eyes scan the rounded tables, all occupied by larger parties. Their conversations flow past you, buzzing in your ears, it’s loud, yet you can’t seem to make out a single word they’re saying.

It’s not until Yeonjun’s voice pierces through the air as he calls for you, that your searching gaze finally lands on a pair of familiar faces. Seated by one of the large windows, they all turn to you as you approach, all but one. — Kai is the first to get up, enveloping you in a tight hug before you even get a word out. You’re taken aback by the muscular feel of his arms, the tight grip he had on you represented little of the young boy you’d once known. But when he pulls back, the same boyish grin cracks across his lips.

“I’ve missed you!” He pouts, going in for yet another hug, this one just as tight as the first. You can’t help but smile, your heart fluttering in a strange manner at the fact that your absence had actually meant something to them. “I’ve missed you too, Kai.”

From there, the sounds of chairs scraping against the floor fills the bar as they all get up to take turns hugging you. Taehyun had also grown quite a lot since you’d last seen him, and Soobin wore glasses now. Yeonjun settled for a handshake as the two of you had met previously that day, thanking you once more for coming. — But when he pulls back, you catch a glimpse of the man you’d been dreading to see.

Beomgyu sits on Yeonjun’s right, his gaze intently fixated on the beer in his hand, watching as the yellow liquid swirls in the glass. The blond hair on his head immediately caught your attention as it fell evenly in front of his eyes. He doesn’t make a move to stand up, or as much as acknowledge you, and an awkward and anticipating silence falls over your small group.

Taehyun is the first to act as he grabs a chair from a nearby table, making room for you between Yeonjun and himself. You thank him, taking a seat as you busy yourself with straightening out your dress. From the corner of your eye, you catch Yeonjun’s knee nudging against Beomgyu’s as the older signals for his bandmate to say hi. Only then does he look up. — You don’t have time to avert your gaze, and your eyes lock with his.

The once warm brown now looked stale, cold and distant. He looks a lot paler than last you’d seen him, though that was five years ago. Beomgyu gives you a small, almost unnoticeable nod, you do the same before quickly diverting your attention elsewhere.

It doesn’t take long for the others to warm up, your conversations ranging from light-hearted small talk to deep and almost philosophical questions. “Have you been here all along?” Kai wonders as he shoves a piece of meat into his mouth. You nod, explaining how your grandma lived close by, mentioning the beautiful scenery and the market downtown. You avoided the topic of Teddy, though you would send Yeonjun a small glance every now and again, thankful that he didn’t bring it up either.

You can’t remember how many drinks you’d had, perhaps a few too many. But you were willing to do anything to ease the tension Beomgyu’s mere presence caused. He didn’t say much, in fact you think he might’ve not said anything at all. The others tried their best to engage him in whatever topic was being discussed, but he never gave more than a short sentence for answer.

Part of you feels guilty. Should you not have come? Were you making things awkward? But Taehyun’s reassuring hand on top of yours immediately washes any worries away as he sends you a warm smile. “Let’s order another round!” He says, immediately calling the waiter over. — Though he’s barely managed to lift a finger when Beomgyu’s hand suddenly clasps around his wrists. “I think we’ve had enough”, he says, breaking his nearly eternal silence.

Taehyun looks surprised as he shrugs his friend’s hand off, watching as Beomgyu settles back into his seat, an indifferent expression on his face. “Come on now, don’t be such a buzzkill”, Kai argues as he, too, makes a move to call the waiter over. — “Do you want to get her drunk?” Beomgyu suddenly snaps, his once distant gaze becoming sharp. It was the first time he’d as much as addressed your presence that night, apart from your brief greeting.

With a perplexed expression you turn to him, only to find him already watching you. “What are you on about-” Soobin begins but is quickly cut short by his friend. “You’re a lightweight”, he comments, stating it as if it were written on your forehead. Part of you had forgotten just how much he knew about you, how much he still seemed to know about you. It made your chest twist uncomfortably as your face morphed into a frown.

“I think I’ll be fine”, you huff, ignoring the question glances you received from the others. Without waiting for him to object, you call the waiter over yourself, ordering all of you another round of shots. — Beomgyu’s heavy gaze remained on you the whole night after that, all of him radiating with a feeling you couldn’t quite place.

You would rather die than admit that he was right. But after your fifth shot, the room started moving. With great effort, you grip the edge of the table, leaning forward as you let your eyes fall shut. “Hey, are you okay?” Taehyun’s voice carries a resemblance of worry as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. Slowly nodding, you mutter out a quiet, “Yeah.. Just need some air.” — “I’ll help you out”, Yeonjun offers, but you politely decline him.

“It’s fine, stay, I’ll only be five minutes.” With the help of Taehyun you manage to stand up on wobbly knees. Yeonjun looks more than concerned as he reaches out for you. “Are you sure?” He asks, brows knitting together as he watches you. “Yes, thank you”, you huff, maneuvering past the crowded tables as you head for the door, eager to get away from their prying eyes.

The cool night air is comforting as it washes over your scorching hot body. Your disoriented eyes search for a place to slump down, eventually settling on the side of the pavement. The cobbled stone is ice cold against your bare legs, a stark contrast to the alcohol simmering beneath the surface of your skin. Inhaling, you tilt your head back, letting your eyes close as you drink in the fresh oxygen.

It takes you about a minute to realize that you’d forgotten your bag, containing your phone. There was no way for you to keep track of time now, much less contact anyone. But you can’t find it in you to care, the buzz of liquor far too strong for you to focus on much else.

You don’t know how much time has passed when the sounds of approaching footsteps intrude on your silence. Not bothering to acknowledge who it might be, you stay where you are, leaning back on your hands as you let the cool breeze caress your face. — Not until the stranger takes a seat next to you, does your brain register that something might be up.

Cracking an eye open, you nearly lose your balance as you’re met with Beomgyu’s indifferent expression. He’s clutching your bag in his hands, slowly reaching out as he hands it to you. “You forgot this”, he mutters, the words barely audible. — Embarrassed you thank him, trying your hardest to ignore the way your fingers brush against one another as you take it from him.

You busy yourself with checking its contents, trying your hardest not to think about the person sitting next to you. Beomgyu on the other hand, remains quiet as he gazes ahead, his arms resting atop his knees as he bites the inside of his cheek. You come to realize that this is the first time you’d actually gotten a proper look at him all night. And you take this moment to study the contour of his face, the sharp bridge of his nose, his high cheekbones, his jaw, much more defined now than it was five years ago.

Beomgyu looked different. He looked like a man.

He wasn’t the only one who’d changed of course. You had too, in more ways than you’d ever thought possible. So perhaps, just maybe, this wasn’t the Beomgyu you’d known back then. Would you ever get an answer to that question? It was hard to tell. — But even with light and blond hair, Beomgyu looked exactly like his son. They were too similar, almost a replica of one another. And the sight before you, made your chest churn.

“I should… Probably go home”, your words come out slightly slurred, your speech becoming lazy and slow. But all you could think about was him. Beomgyu hums, rolling his thumbs over one another as he keeps his eyes ahead. “You’re drunk”, he states and you almost want to scoff at the obvious remark. — “So are you”, you retort, not oblivious to the three beers he’d chugged as he avoided conversation.

He shakes his head, “I’m not.” — “Not nearly enough at least”, he then sighs. You wonder what he meant by that, but you never get the chance to ask. “I’ll get you a cab”, he mutters, already rising to his feet.

It happens before you can even register it, the way your hand reaches out.

And when your fingers wrap around his wrist, he freezes, his jaw clenching as he turns to look at you for what would’ve been the third time that evening. You don’t know why you stopped him, why you felt the need to prolong the already awkward moment between the two of you. But you couldn’t let him go, not yet, not when you’d just found him after five whole years. Because a small part of you, a part of you that held no resentment for him, a part of you that you kept hidden, a part of you that had missed him. It made you cling to him, as pathetic as it may look.

“Wait”, your short breath makes him tense even further, his brows pulling together as he slumps back against the pavement. “I…” You trail off, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth as you try to navigate your foggy mind. There was nothing you could say to make things better, nothing you could say to change the past. — But Beomgyu wasn’t mad at you, right? He wouldn’t have come out here if he was.

Your eyes flicker over to meet his, the same dark and alluring ones that had drawn you in all those years ago. Maybe, a small part of him had missed you too. — His gaze drops to your lips first, the way it had so many times before, tongue darting out to subconsciously wet his own.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Your quiet whisper seems to echo down the empty street and you swallow. But the statement isn’t a lie. More than anything you craved the warmth of another body against your own, you’d craved it for five years.

Beomgyu expression morphs into one you couldn’t quite place, one you didn’t know how to read. His jaw relaxes, eyebrows returning to their normal position as he emits a soft sigh, his warm breath fanning across your already hot face. “You’re drunk”, he says, but he’s already got an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. The nostalgic scent of his cologne fills your senses, easily overpowering the buzz of the alcohol.

“So are you”, you mumble, the palm of your hand caressing his cheek. Beomgyu lets his eyes flutter closed, relishing in the feeling of your skin against his. And when he opens them again, they immediately find yours. — “Yeah”, he exhales, “I am.”

Five years you had gone without kissing him. But as he pressed his lips against yours, time seemed to cease. His arm around your body keeps you close, the other one finding its way to the back of your hair. You cradle his face between your hands, scared to let him go even when it gets hard to breathe. — Tasting the alcohol on his tongue as he slips it inside your mouth. It’s a bitter taste, reminding you of anger you’d wasted on him. The useless pain and the useless suffering.

“We shouldn’t do this”, Beomgyu exhales, separating only an inch from you as he rests his forehead against yours. You shake your head, ignoring the way your chest contracted at the simple statement. Instead you force your lips back on his, fingers twisting in his hair as you bring him impossibly close.

His hands slide down your body, tracing your figure with a sense of recognition, like he’d just stumbled across something he thought he’d forgotten. He settles on your hips, gently pushing you back as he breaks the longing kiss. — “You should go home..” He murmurs, his sharp nose sliding along the side of your neck as he trails kisses over your warm skin. Beomgyu’s words often contradicted his actions. You knew that. But it didn’t help your situation in the slightest.

“Come with me.”

It’s not a request but a demand, desperate as you cling to him, your eyes pleading with his. Pulling away from your neck, he bites the inside of his cheek. “I can’t”, he says, and the words hurt more than they should. You had expected him to deny you, why wouldn’t he? Five years without as much as a message. Five years of not knowing where you were, if you were okay. Five years of living in the dark.

Perhaps you deserved it.

But you weren’t the only one in the wrong. He hurt you. He hurt you so bad that you saw no other option than to run. Run as far as you could possibly get. Until your legs trembled and ached, until the pain in your body overpowered the pain in your heart. — You shouldn’t crave his presence, you don’t know why you did. But if you left him now, you knew that you would never be okay again.

Tears coat your lashes, threatening to spill at any moment. You can see the guilt in his eyes as you glance up. Silently you plead, drawing in a shaky breath only for it to come back out as a small sigh. — “Can you please just take me home then?”

⸝⸝

Beomgyu holds your hand during the whole cab ride home. He doesn't say anything, and neither do you. It’s a heavy silence. You steal a few glances his way, the vehicle is dark but under the light of the bright moon, you can make out the details of his face. He looks lost in thought, weighed down by the reality of your situation. His thumb strokes the top of your hand absentmindedly. You stay perfectly still, not wanting him to stop.

But as the car pulls into the small and narrow street, and your quaint house comes into vision, your stomach drops. You don’t want the night to end. Not like this. Would he even want to see you again? Did you take it too far when you kissed? Was he upset? — The screeching sound of tires against concrete has you emitting a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

You glance over at Beomgyu, he’s watching you with an almost melancholy expression and you have to remind yourself why you walked out on him all those years ago. It was better this way, wasn’t it? — Your hand turns cold as soon as you let go of his. “Thank you for tonight”, it’s polite, too polite, too formal. But you say it nonetheless. He nods, his eyes never leaving you as you climb out of the car.

Only when the door slams shut do you feel a sense of relief. You don’t wait for it to drive off, that would just hurt even more. Instead you turn on your heel, walking up the scattered stone path that leads to your door. Your hand digs through your small bag in search of your keys. The metal glints under the moonlight, and the jiggling noise fills the quiet night air.

You’re glad Teddy was at your grandma’s, you don’t think you could bear facing him in this state, nor in the morning for that matter. It wasn’t his fault that he looked like him. Your son had done nothing to warrant this life. So why did it hurt so much to look at him? — Those thoughts… Sometimes it made you question if you really were a good mother. Because what kind of mother was unable to look her own child in the eyes, just because they represented something she’d lost.

Teddy was your whole world now. So why can’t you forget him?

You’re lost in a storm of self-pitying thoughts, fumbling with the charms on the keychain as you curse yourself for drinking so much. — Too caught up in unlocking your front door, you miss the rushed sets of footsteps behind you. Not until a familiar hand wraps around your wrist. His familiar cologne invades your already drunk senses, and you barely have time to turn around before Beomgyu’s lips crash against yours.

This time he kisses you without hesitating, like he knows the road ahead, and like he’s not afraid of it. You let him, because you don’t think you could ever bring yourself to deny him. And you don’t want to.

He blindly reaches for the keys, twisting the lock before pushing your door open. You stumble inside your dark hallway, shoes flying everywhere as you kick them off. The framed drawings, made by no less than your son, rattle against the walls when Beomgyu pushes you up against it. His hands waste no time roaming your body, now without stopping as they reach the hem of your crimson dress. He slides the material up your thighs, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist as you pull him close.

Your soft moan echoes down the hall as he bites down on your bottom lip, his fingers digging into the skin over your hips as he presses you so far against the wall that you think you might make a dent in it. — It’s as if he's trying to communicate a thousand words with one single kiss. The sentences come out incoherent and messy, in no particular order and without making any sense. Still, you kiss him like it was your last. For all you know it might be.

“Where’s your bedroom?” He groans into your mouth. Your mind goes blank at the question, and you blink before quickly pointing down the dark hallway. “Last door on the right”, you say and Beomgyu doesn't need to hear anything else as he hoists you into his arms, moving through the quiet house with impatient steps. — When passing Teddy’s room you make sure to pull him in for yet another kiss, diverting his attention from anything that might get his mind elsewhere, places you didn’t need nor want it to be.

Your bedroom is sparsely decorated, all your efforts spent on making sure your son had everything he needed. But Beomgyu doesn’t seem to care in the slightest as he settles you against the mattress, quickly climbing on top of you. Your legs tangle in a mess of limbs as he places open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, moving down your neck and collarbone. His teeth nipping at your sensitive skin makes you forget about the seriousness of your situation, about the consequences and the day that would follow.

His hands yank at your dress, “Get this off”, he grunts, frustrated when it won’t budge. Your back arches off the bed, arms wrapping around his neck as you kiss along his jawline. “There’s a zipper on the back”, you murmur and Beomgyu’s fingers immediately slither behind your waist, reaching up only to tug the zip down. — It takes him about five seconds to pull your dress along your body, leaving you in the black lace set you’d picked out for the occasion. Back then, all those years ago, he would’ve made a sly comment about the suggestive underwear, but not now, not today.

Today he can only stare, in awe of the woman before him. His silence makes you squirm, even more so when he leans down to press a kiss to your still clothed nipple. “You’ve always been so gorgeous”, he murmurs, fingers sliding between your thighs as he pushes both middle and ring finger against your cunt, rubbing you through the dark lace. You whine, nails digging into his shoulders as you wordlessly beg for more.

Beomgyu groans against your chest when he feels your knee slide between his legs, your fingers fiddling with the buckle of his belt. “We shouldn’t”, he sighs, repeating the words as if they were a prayer. “You’re drunk and..” He kisses between your breasts, one of his hands reaching for the clasp behind your back. “And I’m…Fuck.” Beomgyu leans back as he rips your bra from your body, immediately caressing your perfect tits with his hand, leaning down to wrap his mouth around one of your hardened nipples.

“I don’t care”, you nearly sob, undoing his belt before pulling it through the loops and discarding it on the floor. “You should.” Beomgyu whispers against your flaming hot skin, the hand between your legs pushing your damp panties aside as he slides two fingers between your folds, letting your arousal pool onto his hand.

Your moans bounce off the bedroom walls, repeating themselves like a broken record when Beomgyu slides a finger inside your pleading cunt, his thumb pressed firmly against your throbbing clit. — “Tell me to stop”, he says, and it sounds almost like he’s begging. You shake your head, jaw slacking as your thighs quiver, hips threatening to buck up against the heel of his hand.

His kisses travel from your abused tits and up your neck once more. He’s so close that you feel every short exhale against the shell of your ear. Every small hitch of his breath and every groan he tries to conceal. You feel everything. The vibrations of his voice when he says: “Tell me to stop. I can’t stop unless you tell me to.”

With your hands either side of his face, you bring his lips to yours. His dark eyes are wide and filled to the brim with emotion, emotions so strong that no words could ever come close to describing them. “I don’t want you to stop.” You couldn’t bear it if he did, you would never forgive yourself if you let this moment slip between your fingers.

Beomgyu swallows, and your gaze follows the bob of his adams apple, trailing down his chest, landing on the shirt he wore, halfway unbuttoned. “Never stop”, you say, reaching for the buttons as you pop them open one by one. He lets you, watching with half lidded as you push the shirt from his shoulders, letting your hands wander across his naked skin. Beomgyu shudders, the fingers against your cunt completely losing sense of direction as he inhales sharply.

He sighs against your lips when you pull him down for another kiss, letting you slip your tongue inside his mouth without protest. “S’a bad idea”, he murmurs, his speech slurred. You ignore his half-assed warnings, pulling his zipper open as you push his jeans down. — “You’re not thinking straight and- fuck.” His sentence is cut short when your hand wraps around his throbbing cock, thumb pressing against his flushed tip with urgency.

It’s like a switch is flipped within him, his body jolting to life as he kisses you back with a need that is near overwhelming. You whimper when he adds a second finger inside your fluttering cunt, spreading your thighs as far as he can, his eyes steadily focused on the way your body so willingly accepted him in.

“Please”, your request slices through the hot air, “I can’t wait any longer.”

You really couldn’t. Five years you had waited for him. Five years your body had longed for his touch. Even five minutes could feel like an eternity when your future was uncertain. But this, this you were certain of. — And you’d be damned if you didn’t get your way.

Beomgyu quickly obliges, his fingers withdrawing from your core, though quickly replaced by the head of his cock as he pushes past your puffy folds. You whine as he jerks against your aching clit, thighs twitching in pleasure. You reach down between your bodies, firmly pressed together, trembling fingers wrapping around his thick shaft as you guide him inside of you.

The groan he lets out easily drowns out your whimper as his forehead comes to rest atop your own. You help him slide in slowly, making sure to memorize the way he stretched your pulsating cunt out, your clit nearly spasming when his thumb swipes across it. Once fully sheathed inside of you, Beomgyu sighs.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

His eyes linger on yours, and though you’d had sex with him more than once, this time somehow felt more intimate. Because this time it wasn’t just sex. It was an escape, an escape from the reality that awaited outside your bedroom walls, the reality that would rise just as the sun would the next morning. This short moment was all you had. You both knew that. The knowing somehow made it even more special. It connected you.

Quickly trying to shake the uncomfortable thoughts away, your hands reach for his hair, fingers tangling in the blonde mess of locks as you urged him to move, to do something, anything. — The bed squeaks as Beomgyu snaps his hips against yours, thick cock sliding in and out of your warm cunt, your bodies joined together in one, for the first time in five years.

And perhaps this was a mistake. Perhaps you’d wake up filled with dread and regret. Perhaps you’d wake up to find him gone, vanished from your life, just like you had vanished from his. And perhaps this was a cruel thing to do, not only to him but to yourself. — Letting your desires win as you give in to the greed of longing, of wanting, wanting something you already know you won’t like in the end. But right now, this is everything you need. And for the first time in five years, you put yourself first.

Beomgyu was usually one to talk when you were intimate, whether it was insults or praise, he would always be sure to talk you through it. But not tonight. Tonight his mind is occupied with everything that is you. Far too busy with tracing your every curve, kissing as much of you as he could, lips moving down your chest, across your collarbone, over your arms. Almost like he’s scared to blink and find you gone. He needs to remember you exactly as you are. Because if anything you need to live on, at least in his mind.

You wrap your legs around his waist, allowing him to sink even deeper inside of you, pulling a strained groan from him as he shudders. His kisses are centered to your neck now, and he murmurs something incoherent against your skin. You want to ask him what he said, but you don’t have to, for he repeats himself, this time louder. — “I haven’t…” His lips slide down your neck, teeth scraping across its juncture and you squirm.

“Haven’t thought about anyone else.” — “Only you.”

His confession makes your breath hitch, your fingers in his hair going lax as you peer down at him. What did he mean by that? — Seemingly reading your thoughts, Beomgyu’s pace slows down, if just barely, his head lifting from your neck as his eyes lock onto yours. “I’ve tried”, he mumbles, hands trailing along your chest, stopping by your waist. “I can’t”, he inhales, “I only see you.”

Your lips part, at loss for words. Only you? Had he tried to move on but…failed? Your brows pull together, a perplexed frown. “For…For how long?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. — “Five years.” He says, holding your gaze as he lets out the breath he’d been holding. Five years. You’d expected him to have forgotten about you, to have written you off as a bad experience and moved on with his life. But he…couldn’t?

“Do you get it now?” He murmurs, lips hovering above your own. “Do you understand why we shouldn’t be doing this?” He sounds near desperate, yet his hips continue to rock against yours, his finger circling your throbbing clit as he elicits a soft moan from you. — You don’t reply, you wouldn’t even know what to say. Overcome by the desire of having him as close as possible, in every single way you could think of.

Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling his lips to yours. He lets his eyes flutter closed, his long and soft lashes caressing your cheeks as your noses press together. Every slow and deliberate thrust of his makes you writhe in pleasure, wishing for the moment to last forever. — The five years of pain and the longing meant little when he was this close to you. And your orgasm washes over you when he presses the pad of his thumb against your clit one final time.

Beomgyu groans when he feels you clench around his cock, the soft noises spilling from your lips were angelic in his ears as he kisses you through your climax. — Only when the aftershocks have simmered down and your body begins to feel heavy, do you open your eyes again. And this time you know what to say.

“I only see you too.”

And perhaps it was a mistake.

But right now, this is everything you need.

⸝⸝

It wasn’t long until the sun rose again, basking your bedroom in a warm light. The first intruding rays of sunshine hits your face, making your eyes press together as you try to close the day out. You don’t move, afraid that everything would become real if you did. Perhaps you could just lay here forever, frozen in time, unable to think and unable to speak. It was an almost pleasant thought.

But you soon sit up, pulling your tired body into a slumped position as you grab ahold of your pounding head. Fuck, just how much did you drink? — It’s with great effort that you crack an eye open, scanning your lonesome bedroom with hazy vision. Your gaze falls on him. Sprawled out across the mattress, blanket thrown over his hips, barely concealing his naked body from your view, Beomgyu sleeps soundly.

So it did actually happen. It hadn’t been just a slip of thought, a pleasant dream.

Taking the moment to study his sleeping form, your fingers itch to reach out and touch him. You find yourself envious of his peacefulness. Envious of his relaxed muscles, envious of his unbothered expression. You envy the soft breaths he emits as his mind remains shielded by the figments of his dreams. You wished you could dream too. — Anything, you would give anything to not be conscious right now, to not have to deal with the consequences of last night.

In the morning light, everything looked different. — You’re not so sure that’s a good thing.

Somewhere on the floor, amongst the mess of discarded clothes, your phone vibrates. The blaring sound slices your ears like knives, and with a small groan, you pull yourself from the bed. — The call runs out, but it’s not long before it starts again. Following its source, you rummage through the garments, finally grasping the device in your hand. But as your unfocused eyes finally settle on the screen, you suddenly turn stone cold sober.

11am.

Fuck. You were supposed to pick Teddy up an hour ago. Your grandma's name flashes across the screen, phone buzzing in your hand as you stare at the call, dumbfounded. — A quiet grunt behind you snaps your attention back to Beomgyu who was shifting on the mattress. He mumbles a string of incoherent nonsense, quickly making you power off your phone as you rush to his side.

“Fuck, shit- You need to wake up!”

His whole body writhes as you shake him by his shoulders, making his head fall back as he groans. “Wake up!” You practically yell, forcing the sleep from his system as you try and tug him into a sitting position. — Beomgyu huffs, propping himself up on his elbows as he squints up at you through tired eyes.

“What…What’s going on..?” He murmurs, running a disoriented hand through his blond hair, spreading it in all directions. Had it not been for the fact that you were late to pick up your son, and that the realization that last night had been a mistake, a grave one, you probably would’ve found the sight of him rather cute.

But you can’t fathom any other words beside, “You need to leave. Now.” Without waiting or a response you turn back to the floor, gathering his clothes before shoving them in his arms. Beomgyu, who's still half asleep, rubs his groggy eyes as he gingerly takes his jeans from you. — “Is somethin’ wrong?” He asks, his voice laced thick and raspy as he tugs the pants up his thighs, searching for his belt.

You nearly jump at his words, exhaling a short breath as you turn to look at him. “Everything is wrong”, you say, arms wrapping around your torso, hugging the old t-shirt you’d thrown on tight. — Beomgyu frowns, fastening his belt as he reaches for his shirt. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He wonders as he tugs the fabric over his head, “Thought we were good, no?”

Good?

Swallowing a scoff, you instead bite the inside of your cheek. “I…”, your nails dig into your upper arms, “It’s complicated..” Your words were empty, he knew that too. You know he did.

Beomgyu huffs, running a hand through his hair one final time as he glances you up and down. “I can see that”, he mutters, quickly averting his gaze, causing you to do the same. The floorboards in which your eyes landed seemed very interesting at that moment. You follow the soft trails of wood, the sharp corner where one plank met the other, the slight gradient in their ever so warm and brown tone. — It’s not long until you can feel his attention on you again.

“You should probably leave..”

You don’t want him to leave. Or maybe you did. — You wanted the regret to go away, you wanted the guilt to stop eating away at your chest, slowly taking over your body and your soul. It would never go away if he didn’t go away, at least so you thought. Your arms have started to hurt, and you would surely draw blood if you didn’t ease the grip in which your hands dug into your skin.

“You think it was a mistake.” It’s not a question but a statement, and he says it like it was written in the stars. Yes. This had all been a mistake and you should’ve never let him kiss you, you should’ve never taken him home and you should’ve never let him in your bed. — You should’ve never opened your heart for him again.

Your following silence weighs heavy. And mere moments later, he’s moving, dodging you, as if afraid that you’d explode if he came too close. He pushes the bedroom door open, and you’re quick to follow, quietly trailing behind. — With your head pounding and blood rushing beneath the surface of your skin, you pray he doesn’t see anything he’s not supposed to. Kicking away the shark plushie discarded in the hallway before he even notices it. And when he steps into his shoes, you make sure to stand before the wall containing all Teddy’s drawings.

Neither of you say anything. And you’re certain that he won’t. But when the sun hits his face as he steps outside, he suddenly stops, slowly turning around as he looks at you. Under the bright light of day, his eyes looked warm once more, not the cold and distant look they'd held back at the restaurant, nor the lustful one from last night. — Right now he only looked like Beomgyu.

His gaze flickers from your eyes to your lips, but he doesn’t move to kiss you. — “I didn’t think it was a mistake.” Is all he says, and he lets the words linger, even though it’s clear he isn’t expecting a response. And when the moment passes, he turns back as he walks down the stoney pathway leading out onto the street.

You can’t pull yourself from the doorway, watching helplessly as he disappears in the horizon. It was obvious now that he had missed you just as much as you had missed him. Perhaps even more. — The thought scared you.

⸝⸝

Two weeks.

They would be in town for two more weeks, then they would be gone. Two weeks. You could do that. All you had to do was not slip up, to not look his way, to not allow yourself the pleasure of feeling anything but hatred for him. You had to forget that anything ever happened between the two of you, and you had to obliterate the fact that you’d enjoyed it.

But it was hard. Nearly impossible even.

Yeonjun thought it’d be a good idea to spend time together. You didn’t think so. Because suddenly you’re forced to come face to face with the person you were longing to forget. Every single one of your mistakes, all stored in one man, and that was him. The mistakes you were running from and the mistakes you were ashamed of. Now they were being played on repeat before your very eyes.

Beomgyu seemed to be everywhere.

He holds the door for you, and your gaze locks with his. A fluttery feeling surges within your chest. You remind yourself that he forgot your 6 month anniversary.

He gives you the last strawberry on your picnic, ignoring the glances he receives from the others. You take it, your fingers brushing against one another, a jolt of electricity rushing between the two of you. You remind yourself that he always made you eat dinner alone.

He asks you how your day was. Trying his hardest to strike a conversation with you. You remind yourself that he forgot to reply for three days.

He compliments your hair. You remind yourself that you hate him.

But no matter how hard you tried, no matter how many bad and hurtful memories you forced yourself to relive, it didn’t help. — Your heart still beats uncontrollably around him, your palms feel sweaty whenever he’s near and suddenly, you’re at a loss for words.

A week and a half passes. It draws by agonizingly slow, but at the same time, it all seems to go by too fast. You don’t know if you want it to end or not. Part of you is relieved to have him gone in a matter of three days, another part of you is near heartbroken. Did he feel the same? You wanted to ask him, you wanted to tell him what’s on your mind and you wanted him to understand. But Beomgyu had never been understanding.

Teddy had been spending the majority of his days with his great grandma. And while he had plenty of fun, you missed your son. — It was why you canceled on Yeonjun last minute when he asked if you were joining them by the beach. Instead you spent your afternoon with Teddy, out in your small yard as you lay in the grass, taking turns painting a great white shark, Teddy’s favorite.

“Don’t you think it needs a bigger fin?” You ask, pointing toward the half-painted shark. Your son purses his lips, gripping the brush between his small hands tightly. “He needs bigger teeth too”, he states, blatantly ignoring your request for a larger fin as he instead draws sharp fangs in its mouth.

It didn’t matter what you did, you lived for every second with Teddy. He eased your worries without even knowing it. — Brushing your fingers through his unkempt hair, you’re suddenly reminded of Beomgyu. They both had the same, thick and untame hair, standing in all directions when they woke up, and an easy target for the wind. Teddy also had dimples when he smiled, and his eyes were the same warm and brown shade as his dad’s.

Sometimes you feel guilty. Guilty for keeping someone as precious as his son from Beomgyu. And perhaps it made you a bad person, a selfish and an evil one. Someone who only thought about herself, fleeing when things got hard and refusing to acknowledge her own feelings. — Or maybe you were just scared. Heartbroken, alone and terrified. You often made excuses like that for yourself, justifying your own wrongdoings by pointing out the faults of others.

That was your biggest flaw.

Not only were you being unfair toward Beomgyu, but Teddy. Robbing him of a childhood spent in the presence of his father. Were you really going to put your own suffering above the needs of your child? It wasn’t what good mothers did, was it?

Your silence seems to have rubbed him the wrong way, because it’s only a moment later when Teddy turns his head to look at you. “What’s wrong mommy?” He asks, and the genuine concern vowed into his words makes your chest churn. — “Nothing baby, mommy’s just thinking.” You smile, ruffling the mess of hair atop his head as your attention returns to the painting. The shark had gotten both bigger and sharper teeth as well as the bigger fin you’d requested.

“You shouldn’t think too much”, he hums, swiping the brush absentmindedly across the canvas, “Ellie says that makes her head hurt.” — The simple statement causes you to huff, a grin tugging across your lips. “I think I’ll have to follow her advice then”, you drawl, picking up a brush of your own as you twirl it between your fingers.

Teddy nods, tapping the end of his brush thoughtfully against his chin as he studies the painting. “Something missing, Picasso?” You wonder as you follow his line of sight. Your son bites the inside of his cheek before exhaling a heavy breath. “It needs blood!” — Your eyes widen at the exclamation. “Blood? Why on earth would it need something so violent as blood?”

You’ve barely gotten the words out before he’s turning your way, a frown etched deep on to his forehead. “It’s not violent”, he counters, “all sharks get blood on their teeth after they eat, that doesn’t make them violent.” — Dumbfounded by the way he argued for his sake, you blink. “I…Sure, but is it really necessary? Why ruin such a perfect painting?” You try to steer him away from the possibility of splashing red paint all over, but once Teddy had made up his mind there was no returning, Beomgyu was similar in that way.

“I’m not ruining it”, he whines, flicking the brush feathers against his palm in a frustrated manner. Realizing that there was no way for you to win this, you prepared to give in when he suddenly spoke again. — “Blood isn’t a bad thing… People always think it is, but that’s because they don’t know any better. You shouldn’t judge something you don’t understand.” Teddy lets the brush drop back onto the canvas, “And my teacher says blood is important for the body, so it can’t be violent right?”

Half the time you brushed his words off, dismissing them as nothing but a child's imaginative mind. But as you listen to your son speak, with such understanding for the world around him, you feel as though you don’t know him at all. — “No, your teacher’s right, and so are you my love.” Leaning in to kiss the top of his head, your eyes drift over to the shark he’d painted, lingering by the uneven lines and the slightly mismatched colors as they bleed into one another.

“Forgive your mom for not thinking before she speaks”, you murmur against his soft hair, letting the scent of vanilla shampoo cloud your senses. Teddy hums, his tiny fingers splayed across the canvas as he taps the sharp teeth of the shark. “It’s okay, but you really should look at the shark and not the blood”, he says as he gingerly rises to his feet, “But not yet, because I haven't added the blood!”

Without waiting for a response he dashes back inside in search of the red paint. You don’t bother hiding the giggle that surfaces as you watch him go. Your son never failed to surprise you, and sometimes you wondered if he knew how bright he was. — Letting your gaze drop back to the painting, you turn the brush between your fingers, letting its feathers glide against the canvas, all the while you grin to yourself.

Teddy’s words linger in your mind, and you find yourself lost in thoughts as you go over their meaning. His intentions had been nothing but pure, yet you find yourself envisioning something completely different than sharks. — You shouldn’t judge something you don’t understand. No matter how hard you tried to shake the words off you just couldn’t. They played on loop in your head, each time louder and louder, and all you saw was…

“Somethin’ funny?”

Beomgyu.

His rough voice pulls you from the depths of your thoughts, making your head jerk up as you come face to face with the biggest mistake of your life. Beomgyu looms over you, his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his gray jeans as he peers down at you through the bright sun. — You had been so caught up in your previous conversation with Teddy that you hadn’t even heard the squeaky fence gate opening, nor had you realized that you’d been grinning like a psychopath this whole time.

What the fuck was he doing here? He shouldn’t be here, couldn’t. Teddy was bound to come back any moment now. You open your mouth to say something, awkwardly rising to your feet as you brush the grass from your legs. “What are you..” — “You didn’t join us today”, he says, swiftly cutting you off as he takes a step closer. Instinctively taking one back, you glance around your backyard, searching for the others, but Beomgyu shakes his head, “I came alone. I’m the only one who knows where you live, remember?” He says, a faint smirk ghosting over his lips.

You swallow, fingers nervously cramping up by your sides as you resist the urge to clench your hands into fists. “I…Well something came up”, you lie, feigning oblivion as you avert your gaze. Beomgyu hums, his eyes scanning the small house you resided in, as if getting his first proper look. “I see”, he hums, clearly not convinced but choosing not to pry further. “I just..” He begins, though quickly falling silent as he holds his tongue.

He bites the inside of his cheek, running an anxious hand through his blonde hair as his gaze avoids yours. “It’s just, we’re leaving in three days, and um”, he clears his throat, “It would be nice to see you before that.”

Your stomach might as well just have dropped seven floors, plummeting against rock hard concrete. Your heart felt heavy and your mind scattered. Had you led him on? Given him the wrong idea? It had been a mistake, but he knew that, because he’d been very open about that a week and a half ago.

“I didn’t think it was a mistake.”

Of course he didn’t. He didn’t know the shit he put you through. He didn’t know anything. You had to tell him now, you had to make it clear that what happened a week ago was never happening again and that he was an idiot for believing otherwise. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t find it in you to treat him like that, not again. You couldn’t bear the look on his face when you’d told him to get out last time, and you wouldn’t now either.

“Listen, this isn’t…” Your words are cut short by the sound of a third voice, a much more high pitched and whiny one, one belonging to a child.

“Mommy! I can’t find the red paint I’ve looked everywhere!” Teddy’s sob breaks the tension out in the backyard as he comes running toward you. Tears stream down his round face, his eyes screwing shut as he clings to your leg. You swallow, your heart hammering in your chest as you disregard Beomgyu and turn toward your son. — “Shh, I’m sure it’s there somewhere, I’ll help you look in a minute okay, love?”

Your soft spoken words are met by an even louder sob as Teddy shakes his head. “I want the paint now!” He hiccups, sniveling against your thigh as he latches on to you. — “Hey, hey, I know”, you say, prying him from your leg as you crouch down opposite him. “And I’ll find it for you. So why don’t you wipe your tears, and say hello to my friend okay?”

Teddy slowly nods as he lets you pat his cheeks dry. Only now does he seem to register Beomgyu’s presence as he turns to him teary eyes. — Dreading the look on his face, you slowly stand back up as you turn toward him once more. But Beomgyu looks…just like himself, the same playful grin he usually wore, stuck to his face, almost practiced. If it wasn’t for the way his jaw clenched, and the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, you would’ve thought nothing to be wrong.

But if he was upset, he didn’t express it. Instead he leans down, extending his hand for Teddy to shake, to which your son eagerly responds with a small squeal. “Hi Mr, my name is Teddy”, he says, flashing a smile that showcases his missing teeth. Beomgyu returns to gestures, introducing himself just like he would anyone else.

“Are you one of mommy’s friends?” Teddy then asks, completely disregarding your warning glare as he grins. Beomgyu’s eyes flicker between you and your son, a questioning glimmer behind his warm irises. — “I am”, he says before pressing his lips in a thin line, give Teddy a tight smile. Teddy himself, on the other hand, looks like he’s about to ask something else when you hurry to interrupt him.

“Why don’t you wait for me inside so that we can look for the red paint together?” You say, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. Given a few moments of consideration, Teddy finally nods. “Okay”, he hums, turning to Beomgyu one final time, “ Goodbye Mr. Beomgyu!” — You watch his retreating frame, hoping to make whatever conversation was about to happen next short.

Once Teddy is completely out of sight, you turn back toward Beomgyu, a sense of dread washing over you. He looks… Unlike anything you’d ever witnessed. There isn’t a single fragment of emotion on his face, not one. You wait for him to say something, to break the surrounding you. Part of you wants him to yell, to shout. Another part wishes for him to not even mention it at all.

A whole minute passes and you slowly realize that he isn’t going to say anything. You swallow, thinking of ways to dodge the subject at hand, to send him off without ever having to discuss the topic that so obviously laid between the two of you. — “It’s not…I mean I can explain it but..”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

His cold and sharp tone slices through the warm air. Like a dark and rainy cloud on a sunny day. And if anything, it only adds to the growing tension around you. “What?” You felt as though you were melting under the hot sun, sweat dripping down your forehead as your throat dried up. — “I mean, I get that you had shit going on, but this?” His voice grows agitated, and Beomgyu pushes his hair back, a flicker of disbelief crossing his features.

“I…I’m sorry I don’t understand what you’re talking ab-”

“My son. I’m talking about my fucking son”, he snaps, his gaze turning from cold to fury, “My son that I didn’t even know I had up until five minutes ago.” — Your mouth falls open, all air getting knocked from your lungs as you blink slowly.

“Oh come on, don’t give me that look”, Beomgyu jeers, “He looks exactly like me, how long did you plan on dragging this out? Were you going to let me go back to Seoul without as much as a word about him? When were you planning on telling me? When he graduates fucking college?” He’s shouting now, just like he had so many times before. You cringe at the uncomfortable feeling in your chest.

“I was going to tell you!” You cut him off, your eyes silently pleading for empathy as your hands balled up into fists. “I just…I needed time”, you say, biting the inside of your cheek as Beomgyu scoffs. He lets out a short, breathy laugh, even though there was little to be laughed about right now. “Time?” — “You needed…time? Fucking hell you’re hilarious.”

He continues to laugh through the irony of it all, pacing back and forth on the freshly cut grass as he runs his hands through his hair. “I mean, this whole time, I’ve been thinking, wondering, how you were doing”, he mutters as he shakes his head to himself. — “I’ve been worried”, he adds, throwing you a short glance before he resumes his pacing. “But it seems you’ve gotten on just fine with our kid.”

“It’s not what happened, if you please just hear me out I can-” “How old is he?” Beomgyu cuts you off once again, stopping mid-step as he turns to you with a small frown. “I…He’s turning 5 in November..” You awkwardly admit, your nails digging into the heel of your hand as you swallow. Beomgyu snorts, and for a second you think he’s about to yell at you again. “Five fucking years”, he mutters, silently counting the dates in his head. It only clarified what he already knew. That Teddy was his son.

“Well isn’t this wonderful? And you were about to make me miss his fifth birthday as well I presume.” It’s not a question, but you reply anyway. “I was going to tell you..” Your words have little effect, you knew that too. But it wasn’t like there was much else you could say. — You could bring up the fact that he hurt you, you could bring up the nights you spent alone, the canceled dates and the ignorant ways he treated you. They all seemed minimal compared to this. You knew that you were in the wrong, and there was nothing you could do to save yourself. You can only watch as you slowly burn, turning into nothing but ash and dust at the hands of fire.

You should’ve told him five years ago.

“I’m sorry.” The whisper barely makes it past your quivering lips, and had it not been for the ever thick silence laying between you, Beomgyu wouldn’t have caught it. But he does, his expression twisting into an annoyed grimace. — “Yeah, because sorry solves everything”, he bites, his continuous pacing coming to a sudden stop as he turns to face you completely. “But that’s the problem with you.” He points an accusing finger your way:

“You never think about anyone but yourself, and you never have.”

That’s a lie. You tell yourself that he’s lying, pushing back the tears building in your eyes and instead forcing yourself to become angry. Your shaky exhale feels shallow as you glance down at the green grass. “I think you should go”, you refuse to look at him, “my son’s waiting for me.”

He doesn't say anything, in fact you can barely make out his uneven and ragged breathing, nor the steps as he retreats. The only confirmation of his departure was the squeaky fence gate, and this time you heard it as it echoed through your garden.

⸝⸝

When the first pregnancy test showed positive, you went and bought another one. And when it turned up with the same results you bought a third. Then a fourth and a fifth. You never bought a sixth, you called your grandma instead. The phone nearly slipped from your sweaty fingers as you with a trembling hand brought it to your ear, the other one clutching the sink tightly.

“Nana?”

You nearly sobbed at the sound of her voice. The soft rasp of her tongue, still groggy from her sleep, confused as to why you’d woken her at such a later hour. — “I’m scared”, your whisper is barely picked up by the poor connection, but you can hear your grandma shuffling about, a light being turned on somewhere in the distance.

“Dear, you are being blessed with the gift of life, it’s not something to fear.” Her soft spoken words make your heart clench, and you wipe the tears from your eyes. “It doesn’t feel like a blessing..” It felt like a curse. A cruel and mean vengeance casted upon you to make you pay for leaving him like that, a reminder of what you’d lost and a reminder of what had hurt you the most.

Your grandmother sighs on the other line. “My love, this is your chance to make things right, it’s your chance to start anew.” — “Do not blame this miracle for the sorrows of your past, but treasure it for the joys of your future.” Her tone is slightly hushed, laced with sleep but still as powerful as you’d always remembered it.

With a final sob, you straighten your back, inhaling a deep breath before slowly letting it go. “But nana, what if I’m not good at it?” A rush of anxiety washes over you, the realization that you were actually about to do this, alone, becoming crystal clear. — Your grandmother huffs, and you could practically hear her rolling her eyes. “Then you will learn”, she simply states, a sense of finalization in her voice, as if she was closing the discussion for further questions.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you regard your expression in the mirror. From your bloodshot eyes to your puffy cheeks, dried up tear streaks laying flat across them, your swollen and bitten lips and the mess that was your hair. You looked just like you had any other night when Beomgyu had stood you up. The thought makes you scoff, how pathetic of you to cry over such a matter, when situations like these existed.

“Okay nana”, you exhale, nodding to yourself, “I will.”

That night you vowed to never cry over Choi Beomgyu again.

⸝⸝

It took you five years to break that vow. But as you put Teddy to bed that night, finally alone in the comforts of your own bedroom, you allow yourself to break down. Muffling your loud sobs against the pillow, your wet tears staining the soft cotton. It almost hurts, the way your fingers dig into the fabric, so hard that your knuckles have since long turned white. You don’t care, all you could think about was the way Beomgyu had looked at you, with so much anger that you thought you might just dissolve before his very eyes.

“You never think about anyone but yourself.”

Was that really how he felt? Was that really who you were? A selfish and uncaring person who hurt whoever she could just to preserve her own tears? And maybe you deserved it. You had waited for his anger, you had waited for five years. But when he kissed you that night, out on the pavement. When he kissed you rather than lashing out, when he chose to forget the past and try his luck with you once more, you only ended up hurting him further. — So maybe you did deserve it.

Far too engrossed in your own self loathing thoughts, you fail to catch the soft squeak of your bedroom door as it glides open. The soft padding of feet against the wooden floorboards as a much smaller and lighter person approaches. — Only when the mattress dips, and tiny arms wrap around your chest, do you peer up from your pillow.

Teddy isn’t looking at you, his face buried against your side as he hugs you tightly. Quickly drawing in a sharp breath and wiping your tears, you turn around to face him. “Hi baby..” Your voice is hoarse, “Did you have another nightmare?” You ask, brushing his hair back. — Teddy looks up, his big brown eyes wide as he shakes his head. “I forgot Sharptooth in here”, he says as he points to the discarded shark plushie on your bed.

A quiet “oh” is all you can muster, swallowing thickly as you reach for the stuffed animal. “Here you go sweetie”, you give him a small smile, “Want me to tuck you in again?” — Your son shakes his head once more, gripping the shark tightly between his tiny hands. “Why are you crying mom?” He wonders with a small frown, lips stuck out into a pout.

You shrug, trying to brush the topic off just as quickly as it had surfaced. “Mommy’s just had a long day”, you explain, your hand coming to rest on top of his shoulder. “Was it that man from before?” Teddy asks, and you want to curse yourself for raising such a smart child. — “No honey, he didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just…thinking I suppose.”

Teddy lets his head fall to the side, studying you closely, as if trying to detect any lies. When he doesn’t find any, he straightens back up. You’re slightly taken aback when he places his shark plushie in your arms, your son was not on to share his priced shark possessions, so the gesture could only mean he was trying his best to make you feel better. “I told you you shouldn’t think so much mommy”, he comments, an almost accusing edge to his voice.

“Thinking makes you sad, and it makes your head hurt”, he states as a matter-of-factly. You nod, hugging the stuffed animal against your chest as you mindlessly play with its fins. “You’re right, from now on I’ll only think about the good things.” — “Like you”, your arm snakes around his shoulders, pulling him to your side as you place a kiss to the top of his head. Teddy squeals but doesn’t attempt to pull away from you, instead snuggling closer as he lets out a content sigh.

“Can I sleep in here tonight?” He asks after a brief moment of silence, peering up at you through hooded eyes. The smile that spreads across your lips makes him grin, “You can.” Teddy immediately reaches for the covers as he tugs them over the two of you, making sure to tuck his mom in well before plopping down beside you. “Good”, he exhales, “I don’t think you should sleep alone today.”

Your heart flutters at the subtle comment and you wonder what you could’ve done to deserve such a kind son. — Perhaps your nana had been right all those years ago. Teddy was indeed the joys of both your present and future.

⸝⸝

Three days pass. Three days without as much as a single word from him. And today, they would be leaving.

After dropping Teddy off at your grandma’s, you find yourself back at the restaurant you’d all gathered at nearly two weeks ago. In the bright light of the sun, it looked far different than it had that evening. Now you could clearly see the cracks in the wall, running down the sides of the building, slowly tearing it apart. The chipped paint on the windows, the dirty glass and the worn out tables on the patio.

You stop in front of it, your feet leading you to that very same spot on the pavement. The grime and the dirt is clear now, white spots of splattered gum stuck to the asphalt and the small strands of grass that slowly crept their way through the cracks where the road met the sidewalk. — You sigh, anxiously chipping away at the polish on your nails as you hopelessly glance around.

To a stranger, it might’ve looked as though you were waiting for someone. But that someone would never come, and you knew that. It was just past noon, and they were to leave by late afternoon. — Beomgyu was nowhere to be found. You couldn’t quite place the feeling bubbling in your stomach. But the mere thought of him made it painfully twist.

Yet you find yourself desperate. Desperate to reach out, to see him once more, even if you know it was going to hurt the both of you. You were selfish, impossibly so. And without a second thought, you fish your phone up from your pocket, swiftly unlocking it as you search for Yeonjun in your contacts. He’d given you his number that day in the grocery store, insisting that the two of you stayed in touch. You were thankful he did.

The wait seems eternal as you listen to the beeping tone, buzzing against your ear. Perhaps he was busy packing, or perhaps he was mad at you, maybe Beomgyu had told him everything. And perhaps this time, he hadn’t held back. — Just as you were about to give up and return home, the call goes through and Yeonjun’s voice echoes from the other line. “Hey, there you are, I've been trying to get a hold of you for days!” He exclaims, sounding worried.

Surprised, you blink, not realizing how distant you’d been these past three days. Your mind had been so clouded with the thought of Beomgyu that you hadn't allowed room for anyone else but Teddy. — “I…I’m sorry I haven’t…” You bite your tongue, unsure of how much you were willing to tell. You shake your head, swallowing a deep breath before starting over. “Can I… Can I ask you something?”

Yeonjun doesn’t hesitate, “Anything.” You smile, even though he can’t see it. Your eyes trace the cobbled road, following the lines between the stones as you spoke. “Have you… Talked to Beomgyu?” Nearly terrified of uttering his name in this situation, your question comes out a mere whisper.

It’s silent on the other line, and you can only listen to the soft breaths as you await his response. Finally, he answers, a short “No.”

The confirmation makes you feel… Indifferent? You didn’t know whether to feel relieved or to cry, and the confusion between those emotions left you feeling…nothing. “Oh… I see.” It’s hard to sound unbothered, and Yeonjun can tell by the way your voice trembles, you’re certain of that. — “He’s been out all day, I’m not sure where he is, did you want to see him before we left?” He wonders, and you can’t seem to pick up any kind of anger in his voice. Perhaps Beomgyu hadn’t told him after all.

Did you want to see him? Yes. More than anything.

“No, it’s fine… I just..” You hesitate, “It’s nothing.” If Beomgyu hadn’t told him anything, then you wouldn’t either. It would just complicate things, right? It would make things even worse. And the thought of losing not only Beomgyu, but the others as well, was unthinkable. — Yeonjun, on the other hand, doesn’t sound entirely convinced as he hums, taking his time before speaking once more. “Are you sure you’re alright?” He asks, not trying to mask the concern he radiates.

“I am.” You lied, because lying was the only semblance of power you still held.

⸝⸝

You preferred white wine over red. But as you sat on your porch that evening, the half empty bottle clutched tightly in one hand, red tinting your lips, it suddenly didn’t seem to matter anymore. — Thankful that you planned for Teddy to stay the night at your grandmas, you can take solace in the liquor as you watch the sun set over the horizon. You don’t even realize how late it’s gotten until the patio’s automatic light is flicked on, the warm yellow basking you in new light.

Perched on the very edge of your porch, your legs swing back and forth with little direction, your movements slow and slightly clumsy. You purse your lips, a small grimace flashing across your face as you peer down at the bottle in your hand, watching as the dark liquid swishes inside the glass under your guidance.

It was self pity that had brought you out here. It was self pity that had made you down half the cheap bottle of a wine you didn't even like. And it was tears of self pity that had dried down on your cheeks. But you had stopped crying now, and you’d stopped drinking too, now you merely existed, just another breathing living organism. Under the stars, you felt small, insignificant, like your problems were nothing against the big world outside and beyond. Perhaps they were.

You wonder how long it would take for you to get over him this time. — Would it be over in a day? Or would it hurt for years? Finally you understand how he felt when you just walked out on him that night all those years ago. When you yelled for him to leave, when you locked him out of your life and left. And fuck it hurt.

No, you needed another sip. Just one more, you tell yourself. Bringing the bottle to your lips, you suddenly halt. The squeaking sound of your fence gate makes you freeze. Had it been the wind? Hardly. That gate was both old, rusty and not to mention heavy. A sudden lump in your throat forms, and you’re unable to down a single drop of wine, so you set the bottle down. You don’t even dare look, afraid of what you might see, of who you might see.

But in the end, you do. The sounds of approaching footsteps fill the silent nightair, and you watch as a tall shadow makes its way up the stoned path to your house, with heavy and slow steps. Finally emerging from the shadows and into the faint glow of the patio lights, you see his face clearly.

Beomgyu looks like he hasn’t slept in days. The bags under his eyes are prominent and his usually styled blonde hair is everywhere. He doesn’t say anything, hands stuffed into his pockets. His gaze is back to the same cold and indifferent one he’d held at the restaurant when you first met. His tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek before he says, “You shouldn’t be drinking.”

Following his gaze toward the wine bottle, you scoff. But Beomgyu is persistent. “You can’t hold your liquor, and I don’t want you around my kid drunk.” He puts emphasis on the words, dragging them out, shoving them in your face. Your brows pull together in an angered frown. “You’re here to poke and prod at me over that?” You say, your tone accusing as you get up on wobbly legs, your bare feet now touching the cold glass.

Beomgyu sneers, grabbing ahold of your shoulders as you take a clumsy step forward. “Of course I’m here to nag you about my fucking son, my son that you kept from me.” He spits the sentence out and it becomes clear that he had only come to pick a fight. — His grip on you tightens, fingers digging into your shoulder blades. “And I come here to see you drinking your problems away, running from them like you always fucking have!”

“Shut up..” Your attempt at telling him off comes out slurred, almost inaudible. And Beomgyu continues. “You’re a fucking coward”, he seethes. “Shut up”, your voice grows higher. “And do you know who has to pay for it?” He huffs out a short laugh, “Me. Me and everyone else around you.” — “Shut up”, you’re almost pleading with him now. Beomgyu hears none of it.

“I thought about it”, he says, the already harsh grip around your shoulders only increasing and you wince. “I’ve thought about it for three whole days..” He swallows, his dark eyes searching yours. “And I’ve realized that you’re nothing but a liar who uses people as she pleases-”

“Shut the fuck up!”

It takes all of your strength to push him back, to pry his hands from your body as you free yourself of his vice-like grip. You tumble backwards, the back of your knees hitting the porch as you almost fall over, luckily catching yourself just in time. — Beomgyu on the other hand, is watching you with an expression best described as disbelieving and outraged. His hands balling up into fists by his sides, his jaw clenched so hard it looked like it might hurt.

You don’t let him get another word out, your loud voice slicing through the air. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t lay awake each night, guilt eating away at every single fucking part of me!” The exhale you emit is shaky, your heart palpitating as you gather yourself before continuing. “Do you know how scared I’ve been? Do you have any idea of what it’s like to have a baby all on your own, with no one to help?”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you hold his cold gaze. “Have you ever had to book an ultrasound and go all on your own? Have you ever had to stay up until three in the morning, coddling a baby you never asked for, telling him that everything was going to be okay when I didn't know what okay even felt like!” — Quickly blinking away the fresh tears that threaten to spill down your already stained cheeks, you avert your gaze. “You don’t know anything. You weren’t there.”

Beomgyu remains silent when you finish. The only thing still confirming his presents was his jagged breathing. You don’t look at him, you don’t think you could, even if you wanted to.

“I don’t regret what I did.” Your voice is softer now, almost whispering. But you know he’s listening. “I was young, and I was scared.” You shake your head, “I’m not saying I did the right thing but I do not regret it and you cannot make me change my mind.

Your last statement makes him scoff, his jaw twitching as his eyebrows furrow. “Why didn’t you fucking tell me?” — “Fine, you wanted to run off, but why didn’t you tell me. Five fucking years why didn’t you tell me?” His voice grows in intensity with each word. You hold your tongue, looking him in the eyes though unable to form a response. “What?” He huffs, his gaze narrowing down on you. When you remain silent he takes a step forward.

“What?” He’s nearly shouting now. You know he doesn’t mean it, he never does, right? But it still hurts. You open your mouth to defend yourself, ready to tell him just how bad he hurt you. No words come out. — Beomgyu grows visibly frustrated, his hands balling up into fists by his sides. “Don’t fucking look at me like that!”

“Like what, Beomgyu?”

“I took your son away from you because you took my life away from me, and I was scared you were going to take his as well!” You’re crying now, unable to stop the tears from flowing down your eyes as you scream at him, hopelessly trying to overpower his sharp words.

Out of all the things you’d said to him, this was the one that finally seemed to go through as Beomgyu falters backward, his face dropping as his frown deepens. — “What?” This time the word comes out a quiet, uncertain whisper. He looks almost confused.

“You’re not the only one who got hurt.” Not thinking about how you worded yourself or what you were even saying, you continue, afraid that if you didn’t grasp this opportunity, it would never reappear again. — “You hurt people. And you don’t even realize it. You hurt me.” He opens his mouth as if to speak, you already know what he’s about to say, and you beat him to it.

“You can’t seriously believe I left you only because of that scandal? Seeing you with another woman on the news hurt sure, but it didn’t hurt as much as the missed calls, the unreplied text messages, the dates you canceled, the anniversaries you forgot and the days you could go without speaking to me.”

You inhale.

“You made me feel like a shadow in my own relationship. And I was terrified that you’d do the same to Teddy.”

You exhale.

Beomgyu looks as if he’s fighting an inner battle, his gaze flickering between yours and somewhere far off in the distance. “That’s the problem with you”, you say, letting your arms drop to your sides, “I run from my flaws, but you, you don’t even see them.” — “And nothing is ever your fault, is it Beomgyu?”

The silence that falls over the two of you after that weighed heavier than any you’d ever experienced before. The sky could come crashing down at any moment and it still wouldn’t be able to overpower the ringing sounds of nothing. Under the yellow gleam of the patio lights Beomgyu looks lifeless, his skin had turned a sickly pale and the dark bags under his eyes even more prominent.

He’s the first to break the quiet.

“I just..” He begins but quickly tails off, chewing on the inside of his cheek as his gaze drifts toward the grass. “I don’t want you to disappear again.” He looks up at you, his dark eyes suddenly gaining a new emotion, one you hadn’t seen on him ever, a pleading one. — When you don’t reply he lets out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “The thought of you disappearing again scares me”, he admits.

You feel your jaw slacking as your mouth falls open. “It…It does?” You ask, not believing his words. But Beomgyu nods as he takes a step forward, slowly closing the distance between the two of you. “Of course it fucking does”, he exhales, his fingers clenching into fists before unclenching again, as if holding himself back from reaching out. — “Why do you think I kissed you that night? Why the fuck do you think I got out of that cab and followed you to bed?”

He shakes his head, swallowing thickly, adam’s apple bobbing as he does. You catch the glossy layer of tears in his eyes just as he blinks them away. “It scares me so bad that I…” He hesitates, but only for a moment. “It scares me so bad that I would rather end up hurt in your arms than never seeing you again.”

“I thought I told you, that night, didn’t I?” He says, biting the inside of his cheek as he searches your face. “Haven’t thought about anyone else.” — “Only you.” You thought it was a drunken confession, something he said in the heat of the moment, you never expected him to… To fully mean it.

Try as you might but no words come out, no matter how hard you will yourself to say something, anything. Beomgyu doesn’t wait for an answer, instead he reaches for the discarded wine bottle, bringing it to his lips as he takes a large swig. You watch as he swallows, not hesitating for even a second as he downs another gulp, then another. Only when you pry the bottle from his hands does his attention revert back to you.

“Did you mean it?” You ask, clutching the bottle tightly in one hand as your eyes narrow on his. Beomgyu nods, licking the remaining liquor from his lips. “Every single word of it”, he says. — “Okay”, you sigh. Following his lead as you, too, bring the wine to your lips, letting the red liquid flow down your throat for a brief moment.

When lowering the bottle once more, you don’t wait before acting, not daring to think your next move through even once, terrified that you would back out if you did. Instead you take a final step forward, closing the small distance between you completely before flinging your arms around his neck, pulling his lips down on yours.

Beomgyu responds by immediately wrapping his arms around your waist, his hands settling on your hips as he pulls you flush against his chest. The bittersweet aftertaste of wine lingers on his tongue and you’re certain it does on your own. — No words are exchanged, they’re not needed, not when his body is so close to yours.

He sighs into the kiss, his breath warm in contrast to the cool night air. It doesn’t feel like that night, two weeks ago. There was no lust now, no desire, and no rush. Only the soft sounds of your hearts beating against one another, in tune and perfectly harmonized. It’s the kind of kiss that could go on forever without you even realizing it. The kind of kiss that would make your head spin and your lungs ache as you neglected the need for air.

You thought you knew everything there was to know about him. But right now, he feels like a completely different person, a person you could really love. Maybe he’d always been like that. Maybe you’d just refused to acknowledge the good, far too focused on the bad.

You shouldn’t judge something you don’t understand

It was then it hit you. You didn’t understand Beomgyu at all, and neither did he understand you. The lack of communication is what has led you to where you are right now. All because you were so fixated on the idea of love that you completely forgot what it is actually all about. Understanding.

Your hand caresses his cheek when you pull back, the gesture is soft, a silent apology. Beomgyu turns his head, placing a gentle kiss on your palm, a silent apology. — “Help me understand”, you whisper as you glance up at him, relieved to find his eyes back to their warm brown. He looks confused, but lets you place your free hand on top of his chest, just above the steady beating of his heart. “In here”, you say, “Let me understand what goes on in here.”

He smiles, a genuine smile before leaning in to kiss you once more. One of his hands rests on top of yours, and you feel the slight flutter of his chest under the tips of your fingers when you return his kiss. — When he pulls back, he does the same, the hand not clutching yours, reaching up to rest above your heart. Beomgyu remains quiet for another moment, silently listening to the soft pattern of your heartbeat. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, they find yours without hesitation.

“Only if you let me understand yours.” You nod, a timid smile splayed across your lips. — You stay like that for a while, listening to the sounds of each other's heart beats. Knowing that they both beat for the very same reason. The knowing somehow made it even more special.

It connected you.

READ THE EPILOGUE HERE

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lovebugism · 10 months ago

Note

hi!! shy!reader with eddie and love confession???

ty for requesting xoxo — eddie tells you he (doesn't) have a crush on you at a party (shy!fem!r, friends to lovers, 0.8k)

The local freak is greeted with thunderous applause.

Eddie’s late, fashionably so. His hair is wild, his eyes are smudged black, and his smile is lopsided. He makes the rounds across the dimly lit living room, acknowledging just about everyone he sees, and gets handed a drink along the way.

You feel strangely honored when he decides to settle next to you.

He plops down on the couch beside you — where you’ve been alone for some minutes now — with enough vigor to jostle the cushions below you. He doesn’t bother to leave anything more than an inch of space between your thighs. He throws his arm over the back of the couch and flashes a crooked pink smile your way.

“Hi,” Eddie greets, all cool as he sips from the plastic cup in his ringed hand.

Your face burns with his attention. You duck your gaze to your lap and fight back a too-big smile. “Hi.”

“How’s it going?”

“Fine,” you hum, peering sweetly beneath your lashes. “You?”

“Awful,” he quips. Then he beams. “Until now, anyway. ‘Cause I missed you.”

His words set your skin ablaze — you think you’d burn him if he touched you just now. Your chest swirls with the billowing flames. You couldn’t hide your giddy smile if you tried. “Missed you, too, Eds.”

The boy huffs. He rolls his eyes, hardly serious, as he says, “I bet you say that to all the boys.”

You shoot him a half-hearted glare, too pretty to be threatening. “There are no other boys, Eddie,” you murmur, visibly shy because he knows that. It’s why he’s smiling so damn big.

“Good,” he hums with a lazy grin, letting the tension between you linger for a moment. He brings the cup to his mouth for another taste of bitter alcohol. It shines on his rosy lips before he licks it away. After a second or so of silence, he confesses, “‘Cause I kinda like having you all to myself.”

A weird ache settles behind your ribcage. “I bet you say that to all the girls,” you murmur with an averted gaze, anxious hands fidgeting with the solo cup you hold between them. It’s a joke — mostly — but it comes out more serious than you mean it to.

Eddie scoffs. “There are no other girls. You’re the only person in Indiana willing to give a freak a chance, turns out.”

“Is that why you’re sitting here?” you squint, still impossibly sheepish. “Because I’m the only one who’ll give you a chance?”

“I’m sitting here ‘cause you’re the only person in Hawkins I can stand for more than five minutes,” he answers without missing a beat. Then he tilts his cheek to his shoulder and smirks. “So you having a big, fat crush on me was just fate.”

Feeling seen and half-embarrassed, you turn away. “I don’t have a crush on you.”

“Oh. Right,” Eddie says with a slow, sarcastic nod. “The same way, I don’t have a crush on you either, right?”

And it’s so like the both of you — to confess something so deep by not confessing at all.

His grin widens when you roll your eyes. He knocks his leather-clad shoulder against yours but doesn’t try to move away. Still leaning against you, he continues. “Then it might also make you feel better to know that I haven’t been in love with you since tenth grade, either.”

You peek at him, just barely. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “And, you know what? I actually want other girls lookin’ at me.”

“Do you?” you hum and face him fully.

With your chin to your shoulder, Eddie’s much closer than you thought he’d be. Your noses are mere inches apart. You can smell the whiskey-mint-nicotine concoction on his breath. The proximity makes your head swim.

“‘Cause I don’t see you at all,” he jokes with a dramatic inflection, obviously teasing.

The rest of the world is invisible when I’m with you, he’d say if he weren’t such a coward. It could be falling apart right now, and I wouldn’t even know it.

“Not even a little bit?” you press, lips quirked in a shy smile.

He shakes his head. The wild strands of his hair tickle your jaw. “Not at all,” he answers and prays you understand him in his sarcasm.

You purse your glossed lips to the side of your mouth and turn away from him again. Your cheeks feel on fire as you duck your gaze to the hardly-sipped cup in your lap. “Well, that sucks,” you quip after a few moments of silence. “I thought we had something going here.”

The boy scoffs. He drops his arm from the back of the couch to wrap more fully around your shoulders. The musky scent of his cologne swaddles you the same way his touch does.

“Oh, c’mon,” he croons with a lazy smile. “You know you can’t deny our chemistry.”

Your eyes narrow at him. “Didn’t you fail chemistry?”

His lips jut in a soft pout. “I don’t see how that’s—”

“Twice?”

You bite back a grin when he glares playfully at you — the roles now sufficiently reversed.

“Stop being mean. I’m already in love with you,” he grouses with a feigned pout scrunching his flushed features. “Now you’re just rubbing it in.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble

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saturnsorbits · 4 months ago

Text

Stuck Between a Soft Place

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Tit Fucking, Cum Eating, Pictures/Filming. Word Count: 2k.

'Babe?'

Bakugo's voice floats down the stairs, the question in his tone worrying for a man who has always treated even his opinions as facts.

You pause, head cocked. He'll shout again if it's urgent, if not -

'Babe... Babe!'

Officially intrigued, you skip up the stairs and follow his voice into your bedroom.

Bakugo looks up as soon as you fill the doorway, a weary smile tugging at his lip. He's perched on the end of the bed, boxer-clad and supporting a raging hard on that has already stained the front of his underwear. There's still droplets of water on his shoulders, beads from the shower he must have just stepped out of. It makes his skin glisten, his pale flesh almost glowing in the low light that trickles in through the translucent fabric of your curtains.

You fold your arms. 'You best not have called me all the way up here for: that.' Glaring at his cock, you raise your eyebrows as it twitches in response to your scolding.

'No.' Bakugo barks, but no sooner are the words out of his mouth than he's trying to cram them back in again. 'I mean, I -.' The words stick in his throat. With all the blood currently filling his cock, his brain feels sluggish. His thoughts cloud, coherency evading him as he tries to see past the request plaguing his mind.

Shaking your head, you sigh. 'Should have just come down and bent me over the counter again. I liked that...'

Bakugo puffs out his cheeks, knees bouncing under him.

'Spit it out.'

'I want to ask you something...'

'Oh, I can tell.'

'Not that.'

You scoff, hand moving to your hip. 'You don't want to fuck me right now?

'No. No, I do.' He inhales, pecs heaving as he steels himself against the hesitancy that nips at the lining of his stomach. 'If I tell you something, can you promise not to get mad?'

Popping your hip, you flick your tongue against the corner of your mouth. 'Alright. Did you cheat on me?'

Bakugo looks like you've just slapped him. 'What the fuck? No.'

'Go see 'Chako's new baby without me?'

'No.'

You wince. 'Tell Shouto that I secretly hate his new hair?'

'He's going through a phase.' Bakugo chuckles, the tension in his shoulders slowly leaving with each of your questions.

'It's awful.'

'I didn't tell him you hate it.'

Chewing at your lip, you scrunch your nose and pretend to think for a moment. 'Then no, I'm not gonna be mad.'

The air in the room feels hot. It burns Bakugo's skin, making him want to squirm. Clearning his throat, he ignored the persistent pulsing of his cock and begins to speak. 'Sero was talking about one of his girlfriends giving him a tit-wank and I haven't been able to stop thinking about you doing it to me since.'

'That's it?' You bite your tongue to stop the laughter from bubbling up your throat. The words 'tit-wank' falling from your typically gruff boyfriends lips something you didn't think you'd ever hear.

'Fuck off.' Now it's Bakugo's turn to cross his arms. He pouts, lip turned out as he looks up at you through thick eyelashes. He sulks. 'You know I have a hard time asking for shit.'

Stepping over the threshold, you come to a stop between Bakugo's knees. The spread of his legs accommodates you easily, your thighs brushing as you reach out and gently hook a finger under his chin. 'Don't ask then. Tell me.'

Bakugo chokes. It's a struggle to fight the haze that threatens to overwhelm him, but he manages it. Just. You're a vision, all easy confidence and curves, with your tits so close to his face that it's impossible not to stare straight at your cleavage. Dragging his eyes away, he meets his fate head on and submits to the amused arousal swimming in your eyes.

It takes him a moment to reorient himself, to slip from under your spell, but as soon as he does he dons his ego easily. Clearing his throat, he takes your hand from under his chin and grips your wrist. 'On your knees.'

You obey quickly, hitting your knees with a force that makes you thankful for the carpet. Already you can feel your cunt pulse, the tell-tale beating that promises another pair of ruined underwear and a desperation that only Bakugo can tend to.

'Take this off.' Slipping his finger under the strap of your tank top, he snaps the material against your skin.

You hiss, but waste no time. Stripping off the offending item, you toss it behind you and sit up, pressing your elbows together to make your tits sit pretty for inspection.

Bakugo swallows. His cock bobs. Gritting his teeth, he summons all the strength he has as he lets his eyes roam your naked chest. 'No bra, huh? No wonder you've got me going crazy. Look at what you do to me...' He grabs himself through his underwear, a wicked grin turning his lip as he watches the way your breath hitches.

'Can I?' You blink up at him, hands still poised on your knees despite the urge to touch him running through your veins.

He nods and you're on him in a second. You push your cheek against his hardness and nuzzle against the muscle. Desire radiates from him, causing his cock to twitch as you pull back and lick a long, thick stripe up over his clothed erection.

'Fuck...' Bakugo forces his lungs to take in air, curling over himself he watches, besotted, as you drool over him. The tip of your tongue presses to the rim of his clothed head, flicking at him in a way that makes his stomach tighten. Travelling lower, you encourage him to lift his hips, yanking his underwear off and down his legs.

Bakugo’s cock, once free of its confines, slaps back against his stomach. It’s thick, although average in size with a pretty, pink head that leaks lazily down its length. Pre-cum has given his skin a pearlescent sheen, one that begs to be cleaned and promises salt and satiation as a reward. The veins that run underneath pulse. Purpling as they near his base, they vanish, obscured by a thicket of dark blond hair that grows wiry from his groin.

You lick your lips and whine, knowing you’ll have to wait for your treat.

‘Don’t be like that baby…’ Bakugo reaches down and grips your jaw, mirroring your earlier gesture. ‘Don’t you wanna make me feel good?’

You nod. In your shorts your cunt drools. Your arousal pools, dripping down your calves as you sit ad pretty and wait.

Twisting his wrist, he places a thumb against your lips and ruins your pout. He slips the digit into your mouth and presses down on your tongue. ‘You’ll get your taste. Just gotta let me use you a little first, ha?’

You suck on his thumb, hollowing your cheeks as you curl your tongue and lap at the underside of his digit. The impatience in your stomach kicks, but you fight it for long enough to shift forwards and press your chest to his thighs.

His skin is warm against your tits as you cup yourself in cool hands. Stretching out your spine, you lift yourself up until you can lean over and slide him between.

Bakugo slips his finger out of your mouth immediately. The sight is already too much, the feel of your flesh against his a siren call to a premature end.

Leaning further into him, you press your chest to his cock, a literal flesh light that promises to fulfil all of his sordid dreams. You lock eyes with him, forcing him to bear witness, as you gently begin to use your tits to jerk him off.

The first pass feels like heaven. His cock pulses, balls pulling up tight as he fists the sheets beside his thighs. Each joint in his knuckles pale, his arms locking at the elbows as he viciously fights the urge to begin fucking up into you. ‘Fuck. Fuck -.’ He pants, chest expanding as he struggles to take in enough air.

Tilting your head, you smile sweetly and ask: ‘Is this what you wanted?’

His words jam behind his teeth. ‘Yes. Yes. Fuck - y-you feel amazing, doing so good. So fucking good.’

‘Yeah?’ There’s mischief swirling in your stomach as you watch him struggle to maintain his control. His head is thrown back now, the tension clear in the veins that trail over his shoulders.

You love him like this. Lost to himself. To pleasure. Comfortable enough to bare his throat to you.

‘So you don’t want me to do this, then?’ You don’t wait for his response, just let the tip of your tongue peak from behind your lips and lick at the soft crown of his head. Salt explodes across the back of your tongue, soaking into your saliva as you savour him and swallow him down.

Curling over himself, Bakugo feels his entire body strain with the effort to stall his orgasm.

He snaps forward, eyes watching hungrily as you continue to please him. Still, looking at you doesn’t help. You look debauched with bright cheeks and that twinkle in your eye that lets him know he’s done for. He can see his pre-cum coating your flesh, the softness of your tits glazed already with his excitement. Even your tongue, as you slip it back into your mouth, is dashed with him destined for your insides.

It happens quickly then, as he watches the head of his cock engulfed in your warm mouth. The pressure is too much. Coupled with the wink you toss him over the scene - he really should have known…

You flinch as the first lashing of cum splashes against your mouth. Ropes of it follow as it seems to reach everywhere, saturating you. It makes you feel dirty. Claimed. Take a picture…’ You pant.

Bakugo’s eyes almost burst out of his head, his cock kicking violently between your tits. A valiant effort from the otherwise spent muscle.

You lick your lips, careful not to disturb his masterpiece.

The echoes of his orgasm are anything, but fleeting. His stomach is tense, his shoulders too as he wrestles himself into a state of straightness once more… Already the bone deep satisfaction only you can deliver to him is settling in his joints. It makes him easy, bringing back the bite of confidence he’s so used to.

Reaching backwards, he pats the duvet until his phone bounces into his hand. He flips it, flicking open the camera with a practised ease, but comes to a halt when lays his eyes back on you. He swallows.

Bakugo’s been sure of a lot of things over the years. He was sure he’d go pro. Sure he’d be Ochako’s best man. Sure he’d never find a curry better than how his mum makes it. And, yet, he’s never been more sure of anything than you. Emotion tickles his throat. ‘You’re so fuckin’ beautiful. You know that, right? So fuckin’ sexy.’

You roll your eyes.

‘Oi.’ He cups your cheek, forcing your eyes to lock. ‘You’re so fuckin’ hot, you don’t even know… You could have fucking anything, you could.’

‘That right?’

You smirk and he knows he’s in trouble. Bringing the phone up, he snaps a few shots off in quick succession. All of them promising to have him hard within moments. Your tits are soft, cushioning his cock between them. Only the head of his cock peaks out, red and rosy and dripping in cum. It covers the rest of you too, from breast to face. It's even nestled in the groove of your tongue, something you've openly displayed for the camera, coupled with a wink.

Unfolding yourself, you stumble to your feet, helped by a steady palm on your forearm, but before you can escape Bakugo grabs at your ass and waist, yanking you close to him. His nose bumps against your sternum, tongue flicking at your skin as he cleans a streak of his own cum from your body.

You let him, indulge him for a moment and then, you’re lacing your hands in his hair and pulling: Hard. His neck snaps back, crimson eyes blown wide. You laugh. ‘Keep those pictures. I’m going to get a shower.’

He swallows audibly, the click like a gunshot in the ambience.

You unfurl yourself from him and tap the phone in his hand. ‘Oh, and Katsuki… When I get back, we’re gonna make a movie.’

Bakugo groans, flopping back on the bed. His cock twitches, balls tightening again despite the recent release. Already his mind is swimming, the arousal in his stomach making him dumber by the second. ‘You’re gonna be the death of me woman!’

The door to the bathroom shuts, locking your laughter behind it. ‘And you’re gonna love it.’

-> Full Masterlist

#kinktober #bakugo x reader smut #bakugo smut #mha smut #bakugo x reader #saturnscribbles #saturnsorbits

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osarina · 11 months ago

Text

ᡣ𐭩 EAT IT 'TIL YOUR TEETH ROT!

FEATURING: dazai osamu, fyodor dostoevsky, nikolai gogol, suehiro tecchou & jouno saigiku, nakahara chuuya

SUMMARY: oral with the bsd boys! (wordcount: 4k; ņsfw; fem!reader; lowercase intentional/notes app smut ahaha; more warnings at the start of each section!)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: plsss someone help me with this divider issue i beg, why can't i use dividers on my fics (っ˘̩╭╮˘̩)っ i got carried away on chuuya's <.<

DAZAI OSAMU

fem!receiving, edging (650 wc)

your breath is shaky, eyes sliding shut as your thighs tremble, keeping them spread apart. one buck of your hips, your thighs clamping down around his head, even letting a moan spill from your lips, and you would lose.

dazai is having the time of his life. you can feel the way his lips curl up into a wide smile against your cunt, the tip of his tongue tracing circles between your folds. you long to bury your hand in his dark curls and force him down between your thighs, burying his face between your folds, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of winning again.

your breath catches as he flicks his tongue over your clit, lips parting in a silent moan. but instead of keeping the pressure on, dazai pulls back, brown eyes peering up at you through his lashes, deceptively innocent.

“did you say something?” he asks, leaning his cheek against your inner thigh as he watches you.

“osamu,” you warn, but your tone was far less threatening than you intend for it to be considering you’re breathless and it’s tinged with an embarrassing amount of neediness.

“bella,” he coos, “you’re making this so difficult for us both. just agree, and we’ll both get to feel good, yeah?”

difficult for us both, you want to scoff at his words. you can see the sick enjoyment thinly veiled beneath the faux-sympathy—he’s enjoying this, watching you squirm as he edges you over and over again, and that pisses you off even more.

but there isn’t much more of this you can take. your head feels hazy and your vision is blurry—if you look to the clock sitting on his desk, you know it would say it’s nearly seven o’clock, the sun setting long ago. the two of you have been at an impasse for nearly an hour now and-

“fine!” you spit out as dazai’s warm breath ghosts over your cunt again. “fine, i’ll do your goddamn paperwork, you lazy piece of-“

dazai doesn’t even hesitate, pressing his open mouth back against your cunt and sliding his tongue between your folds. this time, you let your thighs clamp down around his head and your hand fly down to grip his dark locks, pressing his face down impossibly closer against you as your back arches up off his desk.

dazai moans shamelessly against you, hands coming up to hold your thighs as he buries his face into your cunt, fucking his tongue deep into you once before sliding up to focus on your clit.

dazai is exceptionally good at using his tongue—usually, he uses it for nefarious means, like talking circles around kunikda until the man gets frustrated enough to storm off or antagonizing chuuya to the point of the port mafia executive erupting, but every once in a while, he puts it to good use.

like now.

you think it should be humiliating how quickly your hips are stuttering against his face, how you’re so quickly breathing out his name, how your mind becomes muddled and empty of anything but the feeling of his hands and his tongue, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“osamu,” you gasp. “osamu, i’m close, i’m-“

dazai sucks gently at your clit, teeth grazing the sensitive bud, and you’re gone. your jaw falls slack and your stomach tightens, hips jerking up and thighs tightening, as you come undone on his tongue.

he lets you ride out the waves of your high, tongue lazily sliding beneath your folds as he laps up all of your cum, careful not to let a single drop go to waste.

as soon as you‘ve mostly settled down, heart still racing and ears still ringing, he leans back.

his eyes are lidded and his cheeks are flushed pink, lips swollen and wet—utterly debauched as he stared up at you.

“one day, you’ll let me die between these thighs, bella.”

•••

FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY

male!receiving (850 wc)

you smile softly as you press a soft kiss to the tip of his cock, relishing in the way it instinctively jumps at your touch, reacting in a way that the cool and collected man above you certainly will not.

fyodor’s long, thin fingers toy with your hair as you nuzzle your nose into his thigh. he’s more focused on the computer screens in front of him that gives him a bird’s eye view of the events happening yokohama, but every once in a while you can feel the way his fingers pause in their ministrations, proving that you have a bit more of his attention than he’d care to admit.

“fedya,” you murmur, glancing up at him from where you’re kneeling but he barely spares you a glance, frowning at something on the screen.

you sigh dramatically, turning your attention back to where you had managed to free his cock from its confines. you never thought you’d describe a cock as pretty before you saw his for the first time, but it is. it stands tall and pale with a pretty, leaky pink tip that you can never stop yourself from poking at with your tongue, a vein on its underside that you can never stop yourself from tracing.

you hum softly as you lean in again to do just that, letting the tip of your tongue trace up the underside of his cock along the vein before letting your lips close gently around the tip of his cock, flattening your tongue against the beading precum.

fyodor’s thighs tense beneath your hands. your eyes gleam, peeking up to see him glancing down at you, an unreadable look in his purple eyes.

he doesn’t tell you to stop. so you don’t.

reverting your attention back to the job at hand, you let your eyes flutter shut as you take fyodor deeper into your mouth, lips sliding down his cock. your eyes water a bit as your throat adjusts to the stretch—taking fyodor all the way down your throat is always a struggle—but you hear the quiet noise that slips from his lips and immediately, you’re blessed with a newfound willpower because fyodor dostoevsky’s moans might be the prettiest sound in the whole world, and the rarest, but you are determined to hear them tonight.

“temptress,” you hear him sigh. “i indulge in you far too much.”

your hands slide against his thighs as you shift on your knees to get a better angle, and you feel his fingers slide against your hair, caressing you in a way that makes you want to melt into him.

you force your eyes back open as you lift your head up, watching as he tilts his head back, lips parted in a silent moan. you kiss up his length messily, and you think that you could spend an eternity on your knees in front of him worshipping his cock if it meant you’d be blessed with the symphony of his soft, breathy moans and gasps.

sinking your mouth back down around him, your tongue teases his slit before swirling around his length. you feel his cock twitch in your mouth, hips bucking slightly—and you know he’s close. you take him all the way down your throat, only sheer willpower stopping you from gagging around his length, but your efforts prove worthwhile when you hear a choked, obscene moan escape fyodor’s lips at the sudden feeling of your tight throat spasming around him.

his thighs tense again, fingers pressing just a bit more firmly against the back of your head as he spills his cum down your throat with no warning. you hum around him, swallowing every drop before pulling off of his cock with a pop, tongue darting out to lick your lips as you look up at him.

his expression is fond, if not a little flushed as he holds his hand out to you, beckoning you to join him on his chair.

you take his hand, letting him help you up from the floor and into his lap, and you shudder when you feel his cock slide against your panties as you settle against his chest, still half hard. you move to try to subtly grind your hips but his hands snap to your waist firmly, keeping you still.

he clicks his tongue in a chiding manner. “insatiable,” he murmurs, cool lips grazing your neck as he leans down to brush them against your skin. “but you have to wait this time, things are finally getting… interesting.”

you turn your head to the side to look over your shoulder at him, noticing that he’s watching one of the upper screens with rapt fascination. following his gaze, you see a timer counting down from two minutes, and his finger hovering over a button that you know will override the cancellation command should it be hit.

you lay your head down against his shoulder and mourn, because you think this is going to be the longest two minutes of your life.

•••

NIKOLAI GOGOL

fem!receiving, a bit of blood play and pain play, nikolai is so debauched & i love it (850 wc)

nikolai buries his face between your thighs like a man whose been starved for weeks. he’s sloppy, rough, ravenous. he bites your inner thighs so hard that you bleed, and then he licks it up, face smeared with a depraved mixture of spit, cum and blood.

your breath is shaky as he looks up at you with eyes that are so wide and adoring that it almost looks unfitting on such a crude scene. you reach down, fingers grazing his cheek, and he leans into your touch so instinctually that it makes you want to pull him up and devour him yourself—but instead, you press two fingers to his lower lip and watch as he takes them into his mouth, making a show of lewdly sucking them, eyes fluttering shut and tongue swirling around the digits. you press down hard on his tongue and he moans, high-pitch and whiny, hips instinctively jerking to grind against the bed.

pulling your fingers back from his lips, nikolai doesn’t hesitate as he drops his head back down between your thighs. you let out a breathy sigh as he licks back along the bite on your thigh, lapping up the blood that had spilled while he was sucking your fingers.

your head falls back against your pillow as nikolai drags open mouthed kisses up your thigh to your cunt, eyelids heavy and lips parting. you gasp, feeling nikolai’s tongue sweep between your folds.

the grip he has on your thighs borders on painful, and you know you’ll have marks in the shape of his fingerprints decorating them in the morning, but it feels good—the bruising grip, the stinging wound on your inner thigh, the feeling of his tongue circling your clit and his lips sliding against your cunt. he’s so messy, so eager, that you can barely think straight.

your fingers twist the sheets beneath you, back arching up off the bed as your hips jerk when nikolai sucks your clit—always playing the dangerous game with his teeth as he lets them graze the sensitive bud, just enough to let a shock run through your body.

he moans against you, loud and obscene as one of your hands fly from the bed to his hair while the other swings to cover your mouth, muffling the noise that nearly slipped through your lips.

a mistake, of course, because nikolai’s instantly reaching up to grab your wrist, pinning it down to the bed next to you. he doesn’t look up at you, too focused on fucking his tongue deep inside of you, nose nudging your clit. your thighs instinctively tighten around his head and you glance down when you hear him let out another muffled groan, this one even more whiny than the last, taking on a lilt that it only takes when he’s close to release, you can tell even with his face buried in your cunt.

“oh, fuck,” you breathe out, eyes widening when you see nikolai grinding his hips against the bed, desperate and erratic, trying to get himself off in time with you.

the sight of it sends a shock through your body, a gasp escaping your lips as you press the back of your head into the pillow, lashes fluttering and thighs trembling on either side of his head. you can feel heat spread through you like a wildfire, your hips instinctively jerking up to grind hard against his face. your wrist strains against his ironclad grip, squirming as his tongue drags in and out of your cunt over and over again.

he pants against you, wanton and shameless, hips snapping against the bed faster, each thrust timed perfectly with his tongue plunging in and out of you. your vision feels blurry and your thigh muscles burn as he tongue fucks you closer and closer to release.

you try to tell him that you’re close, head falling to the side and saliva pooling at the corner of your lips—your head feels foggy and your body feels hit. the lewd sound of his moans and the creaking of the bed and the sloppy, wet sound of his tongue driving in and out of you, swiping up between your folds, flicking over your clit, it’s all too much for you. you can’t keep up. you’re pretty sure the warning comes out as a garbled slur of incomprehensible words.

your entire body seizes when you cum, thrashing in his hold, your free hand flying up to grab the pillow behind your head as you cry out his name. distantly, you realize that he must have cum too, you can feel the way his hips still against the bed after one last frantic thrust, you can hear the pornographic moans muffled against your cunt—god, he’s shameless, you think again as you lay limp against the bed, reeling from your intense orgasm.

in your half-dazed state, you feel nikolai rest his cheek you thigh and say: “quiz time!” and you swear you might just suffocate him down there next time.

•••

JOUNO SAIGIKU & SUEHIRO TECCHOU

male!receiving, face fucking, jouno's a bit mean & guides you through it, 'princess' pet name (600 wc)

“that as deep as you can go?”

jouno has the nerve to sound disappointed as you struggle to take tecchou’s cock down your throat. you want to glare at him, or spit out a vile string of words that would put his mouth to shame, but you can barely even breathe with your lips and throat being stretched like this.

your nails are biting into tecchou’s tense thighs as you try to keep yourself steady, and you can hear the man breathing heavy above you, his own fingers digging into the edge of the bed he’s sitting on as if he’s afraid to touch you.

you can’t even bring yourself to look up at him, focused on trying to take tecchou deeper because the last thing you want is to give jouno something else to lord over your head.

“c’mon, princess.” the sweet pet name sounds so degrading and insulting the way jouno says it. you hear his heels clicking against the floor as he makes his way over to the two of you, dread builds in the pit of your stomach as you feel his familiar, thin fingers entangle in your hair, pressing gently against the back of your head. “i taught you better than this.”

“jouno-“ tecchou tries to say. you hardly have a chance to relish in how utterly broken the strongest hunting dog sounds above you, voice breathy and cracking over your boyfriend’s name, because in an instant, jouno’s fingertips are digging into the back of your scalp as he pushes your head down hard, forcing your nose to tecchou’s pelvis.

your throat spasms at the sudden intrusion, choking and gagging, trying to pull off but jouno’s far too strong for that to be successful. tears spill over your cheeks and your body trembles as you try to adjust but you can’t because tecchou let’s out a strangled gasp as his hips jerk up instinctually, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat hard.

you can’t breathe, you realize, panicked as black dots swarm your vision. you try to reach back and slap off jouno’s arm but that only spurs him on more. he pulls your head back, making you think he’s going to give you a bit of relief, only to push it back down instantly. cruel. he’s always so cruel.

your nails drag against tecchou’s thighs, leaving deep red lines in their wake as you struggle to remain conscious. you feel pricks and pins all over your body, your head feels fuzzy.

distantly, you can hear tecchou’s obscene moans and garbled words and you wish you have more awareness because you want to be able to remember this. it’s not everyday you have the meteor slasher crumbling beneath your touch and god knows when, or if, jouno will let this happen again.

it feels like it’s been an eternity and a second all at once when tecchou’s hips finally stutter and still against your mouth, spilling his cum deep down your throat. you barely even hear his choked warning before the warm, thick liquid is coating the inside of your throat.

you struggle to swallow, and you think you must look disgusting as jouno finally lets you lift your head from tecchou’s cock and you crumple against his leg, clutching at the red material of his pants to try and hold yourself up—but tecchou looks at you with such a devoted expression that it makes you hot and flustered, and jouno’s fingers are carding gently through your hair as if to make up for the roughness.

“lay down.” you hear him say to tecchou, voice sharp and commanding. “now it’s her turn.”

•••

NAKAHARA CHUUYA

male & fem!receiving (69), face fucking, 'doll' and 'baby' pet name (1.1k wc)

you aren’t sure how chuuya managed to convince you to do this.

your thighs tremble on either side of his head, straining to not drop all of your weight on his face as you lean forward over his lithe body, lips hovering above his cock. you feel him pinch your outer thigh hard and you yelp, body jerking instinctively.

“c’mon, doll,” chuuya coos, trying to coax you into lowering your hips so that you’re sitting on his face, rubbing your thighs soothingly. “you know i can handle it. relax.”

his tone is soft, but you can hear the edge to it, almost as if he sounds insulted over the fact that you don’t trust in his capabilities and you would roll your eyes if you weren’t so nervous.

“i don’t want to suffocate you,” you snap at him, thigh muscles already burning painfully.

“don’t piss me off.” chuuya’s temper finally starts to waver after five minutes of trying to make you relax. his words are biting, as if your fears are utterly ludicrous. “stop holding yourself up or i’ll make you stop.”

“chuuya,” you complain, a bit more pathetically this time.

chuuya doesn’t even deign you with a response this time. you gasp when you feel his arms hook around your thighs, toned biceps tensing as he physically forces you down on his face. your eyes shoot open, lips parting in a silent moan when he immediately buries his face into your cunt, tongue licking a blazing stripe between your folds.

“chuuya,” you cry when you feel his lips close around your clit, rolling the sensitive bud between his teeth gently.

chuuya hums around you, the vibrations making your abdomen coil and your hips unconsciously grind down against his face. he jerks his hips up, as if he’s impatient, and you vaguely remember what you’re supposed to be doing, laying a wet, open-mouthed kiss against his length.

you can hardly think straight as chuuya’s tongue swirls around your clit, heat spreading through your body rapidly. it takes three attempts, but you’re finally able to wrap your lips around the tip of chuuya’s cock, the familiar taste of his precum overwhelming your senses.

you try to focus on sliding your lips down his length—a difficult endeavor considering chuuya is evidently doing his best to make it impossible for you with how he plunges his tongue into your hole, one hand sliding up your thigh so he can press his thumb against your clit.

your head feels light and airy, and with a bit of diluted horror, you realize you might be close to cumming already—with the taste of chuuya on your tongue, the sound of him groaning against you, the feel of his tongue and fingers working deftly to bring you closer to release, it’s almost too much for your body to handle.

you don’t even realize that you’re barely sucking him off until chuuya gets impatient, this time snapping his hips up so abruptly that he drives his cock halfway down your throat. your eyes shoot open, a muffled moan spilling from your lips at the unexpected action, because chuuya is hardly ever forceful when you give him head, always letting you take the lead.

“fuck,” chuuya breathes out, gasping as he kisses your thigh, panting for air before he dives right back in. “you liked that, didn’t you? want me to fuck your face, baby? felt you tighten ‘round my tongue.”

you don’t respond—can’t really. chuuya’s hips snap up again, forcing his cock deeper down your throat, your lips flush to his pelvis, his tip shoved down the back of your throat. you gag around him, tears spilling over your cheeks as your nails dig into his thighs, trying to adjust to his length stretching you.

“so fucked out already that you can’t even do one job,” he sighs softly, lifting his head to ghost his lips back against your clit, your entire body shivers as you let out a muffle sob around his cock. “s’okay, doll, i’ll do all the work.”

he hardly gives you a second to process his words, not that you’d be able to even if he did give you the time. you’re choking over him as he thrusts his hips up again, fingers digging into your ass cheeks as he drags you back down so he can smother himself in your cunt.

your head feels foggy—you’re not sure if it’s from lack of air and the feeling his cock bullying your throat and his hips rutting against your face, or if it’s from the way chuuya’s tongue is drawing circles around your clit so quickly that you can barely keep up, dragging between your folds to fuck deep inside of you before repeating the process over and over and over again.

you’re so gone. you’re so gone, you can’t think straight, your body feels like its on fire, thighs straining around his head, chuuya is moaning against you, thrusts erratic and frenzied as he chases his release. you’re still sputtering around him, your face must be a mess of drool and cum, and you think you might be cumming already, you can’t tell, you’re trying to focus on getting him off but he wasn’t lying when he said he’d do all of the work, you can scarcely even flatten your tongue along the vein that runs on the underside of his cock.

you don’t need to though, because the moment chuuya feels you moaning his name around his cock with your cum staining the lower half of his face, his hips stutter and still against your face, cumming so deep down your throat that you genuinely think you might drown in it.

you should pull off of him, you’re struggling to breathe through your nose, your vision is spotty, but your limbs won’t cooperate with you, laying limp on—you wonder if you’re about to pass out.

luckily, chuuya still seems to have enough sense for the both of you.

he reaches down, hands wrapping around your waist so he can twist you around so that you’re laying comfortably on his chest. still desperately trying to recover from your orgasm, you settle against him, listening to the steady thrum of his heart as you try to ground yourself.

“see, baby.” his chest rumbles gently as he speaks lowly, a comforting familiarity, you’re still so out of it that you find yourself starting to dose off. you can hear the soft smile on his face as he tilts his head down to ghost his lips against your hair. “not so bad, was it? don’t be so nervous next time.”

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avocado-writing · 4 months ago

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The idea of Wade as a used car salesman found a love of his life during his midlife crisis before he met Logan. They don’t have a clue that he’s Deadpool. They just fall in love with Wade the used car salesman Wade Wilson, even see him as a funny, harmless person till one day his partner showing a picture of Deadpool and goes “He looks hot, could we find some costume to wear next time we fuck, dear?”

Wade totally forgot that he’s retired from Deadpool cause he’s in his suit, ready to fuck the love of his life for eternity. 👀

Wade Wilson knew he was in love the first time you cried laughing over one of his stupid jokes.

You’re probably too good for him with your easy smile and kind heart, and he knows he’s punching above his weight when he asks you out - but somehow you end up saying yes.

At the bar that night he keeps you laughing until there are tears in your eyes and then continues the show in bed. It’s so lovely to have you all giggly under him, pressed into the mattress as he makes you cum so hard all you can do is moan.

You lie there, walking your fingers up and down his chest, molasses-slow as the streetlights outside your apartment silhouette you both in fluorescence.

“I like you, Wade. You’re nice,” you sigh, in a way which suggests you don’t often meet nice people. Ah man, he fucking melts. He’s never letting you go.

Your relationship is pretty easy. He never feels like he has to work to impress you or keep you onside, you like him for him. It’s a… refreshing feeling, from a world where Wade Wilson constantly feels like he’s too much.

He catches the Deadpool keyring on your house keys one night after the two of you have grabbed pizza on the way home; spotting the telltale red and black while trying to keep a pile of boxes in place between his hands and his chin.

“Oh, Deadpool fan?” he asks, trying to affect nonchalance. He sees you get a little flustered.

“I mean… yeah? Back in his heyday I thought he was cute, kind’ve a shame he disappeared. Merc with a mouth, what’s not to love?” you pause for a second. “He reminds me of you actually.”

Wade laughs at that way too loud and way too hard.

“What? No. That’s crazy!”

You throw him a side-eye but don’t comment further.

He lets it rest for a couple of days so as not to draw suspicion, but when you make yourself a cup of coffee and his own mask is staring back at him from the ceramic, he can’t hide his wandering eyes.

“What’s up?” you ask.

“Nothing. Just didn’t realise they made those.” He didn’t get a cut. Should he have gotten a cut? Would have been nice if whoever had merchandised his face had asked him if he was cool with it.

“Oh, look, everyone has a crush on at least one superhero, okay? It’s impossible not to. They’re everywhere and they’re hot!”

He lets himself digest this. You think Deadpool is a superhero? He didn’t get that much. Mostly he was referred to as “god’s curse to crimefighting”. But also you have a crush on him? Both of these facts are… interesting.

“I… think Deadpool is hot, too,” Wade blurts out when he realises he’s been silent for ten uninterrupted seconds.

“Oh,” you reply, settling down a little when it turns out he’s in agreement with you. “Well, cool! Glad we can agree.”

Phew. Got outta that one, then.

He really doesn’t think any more of it, or tries not to, until a couple of weeks later when you bring it up in bed.

“Wade, can I ask something kinda kinky?”

Cuddled in post-coital bliss, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin, he pauses.

“Abso-fuckin’-lutely, sweet cheeks. I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

“How do you feel about roleplay?”

He turns to you with a grin which threatens to split his face in half.

“Oh, you’ve been keeping that under your hat!” he laughs, “But, in answer to the question, very positive. What were you thinking? Cop and criminal? Nurse and patient? I’m down to play any of those roles by the way, I believe in equal gender opportunities in the bedroom.”

You chuckle, but when you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and try to work out how to phrase the next part of the question, he cottons on.

“Oh my god. You want me to roleplay Deadpool, don’t you?”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to! It’s just, you said you thought he was sexy… so I wondered…”

He puts a finger on your lips, stoppering the spill of panic from your lips.

“Baby, I am so down to clown that you might as well call me Pennywise. Let me sort the details and I’ll give you the best night of in-character boning that’s ever been known to man.”

You look giddy at that promise. Truth be told, he’s kinda excited himself.

Wade retrieves the suit the next day and feels a little weird putting it back on, covering his body again with red and black. When he’s done this in the past it’s in order to go and kill like, a lot of people, not to fulfil a fantasy. But hey - there’s a first time for everything. And it’ll make you so happy, too.

You scream when he taps on your window from his perch on your fire escape. Admittedly he should have told you he was coming, but he thought it could be a fun and sexy surprise. He was wrong.

“WHAT THE FUCK—!”

Wade whips off the mask as you lunge for your kitchen knife set, hands up in a gesture of peace.

“Baby! Babe, it’s just me!”

You go limp with relief, leaning against the counter to support yourself.

“Holy shit! Wade, what the fuck do you think you’re…”

You trail off as you take in the picture of your boyfriend crawling in through the tiny window decked out in his suit. An eyebrow raises.

“Oh.”

“Yeah! See, I told you I’d sort it.”

Anger and fear now completely ablated, you walk a slow circle around where he stands in your kitchen, appraising his look.

“This is a high quality suit. Where did you get it?”

“Peter,” he says quickly. This isn’t a lie. He did get it from Peter… Peter’s locker anyway. You look confused.

“Our coworker Peter?” When Wade nods you furrow your brow. “He… he hasn’t fucked in this suit, has he?”

“No!” says Wade with far too much force. Actually he can’t prove that. Now it’s an image he can’t shake from his mind. Not super conducive to the mood.

He takes a knife from his belt, and your eyes go wide in a mixture of panic and arousal.

“Oh my god…”

“It’s blunt! Well. It’s sharp enough for me to cut your underwear off, which I’ve been rocking a semi all day from imagining…”

From the smile which takes up your face, he knows he’s done right.

Any way you ask him to fuck you, he does. Over your dresser. Against your wall. While running the dulled point of baby knife over the curve of your ass as he pistons his hips inside you, getting the mess of your cum all over the front of his suit. It’s filthy. It’s fantastic.

But when you lay there cuddled up to his chest that night, Wade feels… conflicted. It isn’t that he’s lying to you, exactly, but it feels like he’s keeping a pretty fucking big secret.

If you knew, would you still like him? Still want to be with him? Having a crush on a superhero is one thing, but being with one is entirely different. Ask any of the assorted Spider-Man and their various fucked up partners. It isn’t always pretty.

As if determined to take his mind away from this thought you nuzzle into his side, blissfully fucked out. He buries his lips into your hair.

It never needs to be an issue. Deadpool is retired. He’s never gonna be used for non-kinky reasons again.

…right?

taglist: @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse @yeethaw13 @na-is-salty @florduarte @hunterispunk @starfleetteddybear

#mcu x you #mcu x reader #mcu imagines #mcu x y/n #mcu imagine #marvel x you #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel x y/n #deadpool x you #deadpool imagine #deadpool x reader #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson imagine

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cashmoneyyysstuff · 4 months ago

Note

having scary dog privileges when going out in public with Bakugo

Except people only avoid him because they’re afraid of getting rabies 😭��

he’s just so chaotic he has to be infected

LMFAOOO UR IN MY BRAIN BC I THINK THIS !!!!

(him n my oc r like this cough coiugh cough)

i mean,, look at him..💀 sure, he's scary and big n buff n whatnot but also he looks like a damn dog with rabies the way he walks around shoulders slouched n saggy n with that impossible frown on his face. (plus his little waddle) and if you catch him on a good day he's even scaries cus hes walking upright like he does when he has those big ass gauntlets on his arms and hes just smuch more imposing and scary😭😭😭 (🤤)

and the way he practically snarls foaming at the mouth at the thought of anyone daring to approach you with any typa romantic intent,,very scary stuff indeed. goosebump inducing.

like he's scary in the way hes intimidating and also he looks like a freak😭 plus he's just soo loud when he feels threatened. like if he thinks someone (god bless their soul for even having the balls big enough to walk up trynna flirt) is trynna start something with you hes all GLARESS. the pressure in the room goes hard and when the person doesnt get the hint he will very much start talking for you. he'll lean over your shoulder where he was walking next you and full on get in ppls faces😭😭

"HAAAH???!!! you can't hear or somethin' ?! we're fuckin' busy !"

he'll be so pissed off about the interaction he'll keep mumbling about some "tch,,damn extra..trynna start shit with me.." he'll keep doin this till you kiss his boo boo's better

#does this make sense #like do you see..no ?#anyways thanks for the ask mootie ilub it sm #u always send heat #and give me the urge to shove my head into a stove #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #cash speaks <3 #bakugou imagine #bakugo fluff #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou katsuki #rambliiiinng uh ohhh #dm this just an insane rambling about this stupid loser

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jenanigans1207 · 7 months ago

Text

“I don’t regret it, Dean.” Cas says quietly. “Telling you I love you was the best moment of my life.”

“Yeah? Well, it was the worst of mine!” Dean yells, throwing his arms out to the side. There’s a moment of stricken silence where Cas’s face falls and Dean realizes how his words came across. He rushes to elaborate. “Do you know how many years I wondered if angels could feel love? Romantic love? Do you know how long I hoped that they could— that you, specifically, could? And more than that, that you would feel it towards me? I wondered all the goddamn time, Cas. And then you— you finally—“ Dean swallows past a lump in his throat, letting his arms fall back to his sides. “You finally tell me not only that you can love, but you love me. Me. And in one second, ten years of my wildest dreams came true and then were ripped away.”

Dean looks down at his feet. Clenches his jaw against the feelings threatening to choke him. He tries to take a steadying breath in through his nose but it doesn’t help him feel any better.

“Dean—“

“I didn’t think I was ever gonna see you again.” Dean confesses to his boots. “I thought I’d have to live the rest of my miserable life knowing I could’ve had you and kicking myself for being such a dumb piece of shit.” He swallows again and looks up. “I thought you were going to spend eternity not knowing that I love you, too.”

“I didn’t mean— Dean, I didn’t—“ Cas shakes his head as words fail him.

“So yeah,” Dean shrugs a little helplessly, his voice still tight with emotion. “It was the worst moment of my life. Except for every moment that came after— because every single moment from your death until you came back was the worst moment of my life. Every moment without you is. And you coming back could’ve been the best moment of my life if you hadn’t been such an ass about everything.”

There was a time, once, in the distant past where Cas’s face never betrayed any emotion. Dean could’ve scrutinized every single molecule of his expression and he wouldn’t have been able to read a goddamn thing from it. That hasn’t been the case for a long time— Cas took to emotions and humanity better than Dean did, and it was the only thing Dean had ever known.

Now, Dean can read a multitude of emotions in Cas’s expression: disbelief in the slight part of his lips, hope in the blue of his eyes, shock in the rise of his eyebrows. He can practically read every thought going through Cas’s mind as he tries to process what’s happened.

And then, there it is: acceptance in the way the corner of Cas’s mouth ticks up.

“I had no idea.” Cas answers after a moment.

“‘Course you didn’t.” Dean replies, his own mouth mirroring the small smile. “You fucked off before I got a chance to say it back.”

“I just assumed—“

“You know what they say about assuming, Cas.”

“No, I don’t.” Cas is full on smiling now, warm and full of the love Dean had only ever seen hidden in shadows of his expressions. Now it’s practically splitting his face open, spilling out of Cas like he’s finally filled up with so much of it that it’s simply impossible to keep it all in. “And frankly, I don’t care. I only care about what you have to say.”

Dean huffs out a fond laugh as he shakes his head. “Finally gonna let me do the talking, huh?”

“I’m in the mood to do some listening,” Cas’s grin is dazzling and a little cheeky, Dean wants to memorize it immediately.

He takes a step closer to Cas. And then another. Cas simply watches him approach, making no attempt to back away. His personal space is inviting and Dean enjoys stepping directly into it with no hesitation.

“Well, I might be in the mood for something other than talking.” Dean whispers, less than a foot from Cas now.

“Oh?” Cas prompts, his hand reaching across the minuscule place between them to settle on Dean’s hip.

“Yeah,” Dean murmurs, leaning in. “But just to make sure you get it through your stubborn head: I love you, Cas. And I’ll fucking kill you if you ever do something like that again.”

Dean kisses him before Cas has a chance to reply.

#idk man #these idiots just won’t leave me alone #I never write fucking little ficlets and I’ve written like five for these assholes #they just make me so insane #I’m literally not in control anymore #ficlet #destiel #deancas #supernatural #spn

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vixemi · 8 months ago

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A/N: love this man but also love me some 🎶 angst 🎶

———————————————————————————

You had always known Gambit and Rogue shared a complicated history, but you never imagined it would lead to this. It started innocently enough – a lingering glance here, a playful smile there – but soon, it became impossible to ignore the growing tension between them.

One evening, as you walked into the common area of the X-Mansion, you found Gambit and Rogue deep in conversation, their laughter filling the room. But as you approached, their smiles faltered, and you couldn't shake the feeling that you had just interrupted something.

"Hey, what's going on?" you asked, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling gnawing at your gut.

Gambit glanced at Rogue before turning to you with a nonchalant shrug. "Just catching up, chère," he replied, his tone casual as ever.

But you could see the tension in Rogue's posture, the way her eyes darted away from yours. Something wasn't right, and you couldn't shake the feeling that you were being kept in the dark.

As the days passed, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered between you and Gambit. Every time you caught him stealing glances at Rogue or sharing inside jokes with her, it felt like a knife twisting in your heart.

Finally, unable to contain your frustration any longer, you confronted Gambit one evening in the training room. "What's going on between you and Rogue?" you demanded, your voice trembling with anger and hurt.

Gambit's expression hardened, his gaze meeting yours with a mixture of defiance and guilt. "It's nothing, chère," he insisted, but his words only fueled your anger.

"Nothing?" you scoffed, feeling the tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. "Don't lie to me, Remy. I see the way you look at her, the way you flirt with her. Do you think I'm blind?"

Gambit's jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "It ain't like that, okay? Rogue and me, we got history, but that don't mean nothin'."

But his words fell on deaf ears as the anger inside you boiled over. "I can't do this anymore," you cried, the pain of betrayal cutting deep. "I can't compete with your past, with her."

And with that, you turned on your heel and stormed out of the training room, leaving Gambit standing alone, grappling with the consequences of his actions and the realization that he had pushed you too far.

———————————————————————————

For days, the tension between you and Gambit hung thick in the air, neither of you willing to address the elephant in the room. Every interaction was strained, every word carefully measured, until it felt like you were walking on eggshells around each other.

But despite the distance that had grown between you, Gambit couldn't shake the feeling of regret that gnawed at his insides. He knew he had to make things right, to prove to you that you were the one he truly cared about.

So one evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the X-Mansion grew quiet, Gambit sought you out, determination burning in his eyes. He found you sitting alone in the garden, the moonlight casting a soft glow on your face as you stared off into the distance.

"Chère," he began, his voice gentle yet filled with sincerity. "I messed up, and I'm sorry. I should've been more mindful of your feelings, of what this – what we – mean to each other."

You turned to face him, your expression guarded yet hopeful. "And what about Rogue?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Gambit sighed, running a hand through his hair as he searched for the right words. "Rogue and me, we got history, but it's just that – history. You're the one I want, the one I care about. I'll do whatever it takes to make things right, to earn back your trust."

For a moment, the air between you was heavy with uncertainty, the weight of the past and the pain you both carried threatening to tear you apart. But then, slowly, you reached out to take his hand in yours, the warmth of his touch melting away the walls you had built around your heart.

"I want to believe you, Remy," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But you have to show me, not just tell me."

And with that, Gambit pulled you into his arms, holding you close as he vowed to do whatever it took to make things right, to prove to you that his heart belonged to you and you alone. And as you melted into his embrace, the weight of the past began to lift, replaced by a glimmer of hope for the future.

#angst #misunderstandings #rogue #rogue xmen #gambit imagine #gambit x reader #gambit xmen #gambit #xmen #x men 97 #xmen imagine #remy lebeau imagine #remy lebeau x reader #remy lebeau

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joelsrose · 2 months ago

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Guns and Roses: Chapter 6

masterlist

Guys this is my favourite chapter so far PLS ENJOYYY AND LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK plsss

TW: physical recovery, PTSD, trauma, blood, mentions of death

Summary: you confront the challenges of recovering from the attack, dealing with a broken leg and the necessity of relying on others for care. An unexpected figure emerges to support you.

please listen to this song as you listennnn fits the vibe perfectly

The last thing you remembered was pain—excruciating and unrelenting, tearing through your leg and radiating up your spine. It was all a blur of chaos—those men, the feeling of being overpowered, the crushing weight of helplessness. Then there was Tommy’s voice, the desperate shouts, and… Joel.

You jolted awake with a sharp gasp, your breath catching in your throat. The world came back in fragments—the lights above were dim, casting a hazy glow over the room, and there were voices, soft and distant, just beyond your understanding.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” a gentle voice cut through the haze, drawing you back to the present. It was Maria, leaning over you, her expression a mixture of concern and relief. She was by your side, a cool rag in hand, gently dabbing your forehead. “You’re safe. You’re okay now.”

Your eyes darted around the room, wide and unfocused, trying to make sense of where you were. The space was cluttered with old medical books, shelves stocked with bandages and other supplies, and the faint smell of antiseptic lingered in the air. “What… what happened?” you croaked, your voice weak, throat raw from disuse.

Maria’s hand rested gently on your shoulder, anchoring you as she spoke. "You got hurt, but you're going to be okay. We've got you, and you're safe here, I promise." Her voice was calm and steady, laced with a warmth meant to soothe, yet the worry in her eyes betrayed her. It was a quiet, lingering fear, as though things could have taken a far darker turn.

Your thoughts spun in a frantic blur, grasping desperately for fragments of memory. “Is Tommy… is everyone okay?” The words tumbled out, urgent and unbidden, as the chaos replayed in your mind. All you could remember were the screams—Joel collapsing, clutching a stab wound in his leg, crimson pooling beneath him, spreading like a relentless tide.

Was he still alive?

The thought left you cold, a chill sinking deep into your bones, twisting in your gut like a knife. Nausea clawed at your throat, a sickening dread that threatened to swallow you whole.

“Yeah, everyone’s fine,” Maria reassured you, her voice a soothing balm over the raw edges of your fear. Relief washed over you in a rush, loosening the tightness in your chest. You could breathe again—deep, shaky breaths that seemed to draw you back from the brink, grounding you in the present.

“Tommy just stepped out,” she said, her tone gentle, trying to fill the space with reassurance. “He’ll be right back. He’s been here a lot and… so has—” She stopped abruptly, the pause heavy, as if you were too fragile to hear what came next.

“Who?” you asked, your voice quiet and rough, oblivious to what she was about to say.

Maria’s gaze met yours, hesitant for a heartbeat before she continued, “Joel.”

His name hung in the air, unspoken but heavy with meaning. “He’s been here every day,” she went on, her voice gentle. “Sleeping in that chair, even with his bad back. He only left about an hour ago—I practically had to force him to go home and rest.”

“Oh,” you breathed, the sound barely audible. The thought of Joel being here, keeping vigil while you lay unconscious, was almost impossible to fathom.

Why?

Was it guilt that kept him close?

You blinked, struggling to absorb the reality of her words. “Days?” The question tasted unfamiliar, heavy as it fell from your lips, the weight of it settling in your chest like a stone sinking to the bottom of a deep, dark lake.

How long had you been out?

“Yeah, honey,” Maria nodded, her hand smoothing over the blanket covering you, as if to reassure you with the small gesture. “But you’re okay now, I promise. The worst is over.”

With that, you nodded, surrendering to the pull of sleep as it reached out like an old, familiar embrace. You drifted away, slipping back into its depths with Maria by your side.

•••

People had come and gone, each one offering their reassurances and relief that you were okay. Tommy, Ellie, even a few of the patrolmen had stopped by, voices mixing together in a blur of well-wishes and murmured conversations.

But he hadn’t been here—not since you’d woken up. It gnawed at you, that empty space where Joel should have been. Your gaze drifted to the chair, its emptiness almost taunting, as though it knew who was missing. You could picture him there, sprawled out, his familiar form slouched back, the hardness of his jaw catching the dim light, as if sleep might take him at any moment. But the chair remained vacant, a silent reminder of his absence.

You lay propped against a stack of pillows, just as the doctor had instructed, your leg elevated in a makeshift splint. The “cast” was a patchwork of salvaged materials—wooden splints, thick strips of cloth, and pieces of an old brace, all bound together with whatever scraps could be scavenged. Vague flashes of pain flickered in your memory, the white-hot agony as they’d set the bone while you were only half-conscious. Even now, the thought of it sent a shudder down your spine. Everything blurred together—you must have blacked out from the pain. You had no recollection of how you’d made it back to Jackson. Perhaps they’d explain it all once you were stronger, but for now, the mystery lingered, hovering just out of reach.

Now, Tommy and Maria sat beside you, their presence a quiet comfort. The doctor—a woman in her late fifties, her graying hair pulled back in a loose braid—handed you a small bundle of pills wrapped in cloth. “Alright, here are your pain meds,” she said, her voice kind but firm. “Take these every day, okay? And don’t overdo it. If the pain gets too bad, you let someone know.”

You nodded, the instructions making you feel small and helpless, like a child being told what to do.

You nodded, barely listening as the doctor went on.

“Do you live alone, or…?”

“Yeah,” you replied, the word slipping out almost automatically. The reminder hit you like hard, the starkness of it unwelcome.

“Okay,” she continued, her gaze shifting to Tommy and Maria with a practiced look of concern. “You’re going to need someone to look after you for the next few weeks, at least. You’ll be on crutches, and getting around won’t be easy. The fracture was pretty nasty.” She glanced at the injury, her glasses perched low on her nose as she inspected it. “We did our best to set it, but you’ll have to take it slow for a while. The bone needs time to heal—and it’s not like we have proper casts and X-rays anymore.”

Maria's voice broke the silence, reassuring and no-nonsense. "We’ll take care of her, Doc. Don’t worry about that.”

The doctor gave a final nod before leaving, and Tommy and Maria helped you ease out of the bed, every small movement sending a jolt of soreness through your leg. It was a painstaking process getting you dressed and bundled into Tommy’s truck. The ride back was bumpy, every jostle a reminder of just how fragile your body felt right now.

•••

The house was quiet when you arrived, the air cool and still, carrying that unmistakable sense of emptiness that lingers when you return from a long absence. The familiar scent stirred something inside you, a reminder of what was left behind. It took both Tommy and Maria to help you inside, steadying the crutches under your arms and guiding you carefully through your home. Once you were settled on the worn couch, Maria draped a blanket over you.

“We’ll make sure you’ve got everything you need,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Tommy and I will check in every day. Ok?”

You offered a small, grateful smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. The emptiness gnawed at you again, that absence like a weight pressing on your chest. And even though you didn’t say it, you couldn’t help but wonder why Joel hadn’t come to see you—why he hadn’t been there when you opened your eyes.

The question hung unasked in the silence, drifting in the air like dust suspended in the afternoon light.

•••

It was harder than you’d anticipated. True to their word, Tommy and Maria stopped by every day, but it was clear that Maria was struggling. Her pregnancy symptoms had worsened—nausea and vomiting so severe that some days she couldn’t even get out of bed, much less come over to help. Tommy did his best, but he was stretched thin, torn between caring for Maria and trying to be there for you.

When he showed up alone one morning, his face etched with worry as he helped you down the stairs, you knew something was off.

“Hey, kid,” he greeted, his voice softer than usual.

“Hey,” you replied, forcing a smile even as you leaned heavily on the crutch, each step sending a dull throb through your leg. It had only been a few days, and you were still getting used to it—the pain meds took most of the edge off, but a deep, relentless ache lingered, a constant reminder of how far you had to go.

“I got some bad news,” Tommy said once you were settled on the couch, his expression hesitant.

A pit formed in your stomach. “What is it?” you asked, your voice trembling despite your attempt to keep it steady. You couldn’t help but think of Maria and the baby. “Is it… is it Maria?”

He shook his head quickly. “No, no, she’s okay. As okay as she can be, anyway. The nausea’s been pretty rough lately.” His voice trailed off, and you could see the guilt etched on his face as he ran a hand through his hair, which looked more disheveled than usual. The dark circles under his eyes told the rest of the story—he probably hadn’t slept in days.

“I know I promised to be here every day, help out with whatever you needed, but… it’s been harder than I expected. She needs me more than I thought, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it here as often.”

“Tommy, don’t be ridiculous,” you said, your voice a little too sharp. The lie came easily, out of habit more than anything. “I can take care of myself.”

But you both knew that wasn’t true.

You could barely manage to get out of bed on your own, let alone keep up with the daily tasks piling up around you. “Take care of Maria. I understand, trust me,” you said, offering him a reassuring smile, though it felt a bit strained at the edges.

Still, you couldn’t help the sinking feeling that crept up inside you, a sense of being a burden that you couldn’t quite shake.

Tommy frowned, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “Darlin’, you’re in no shape to be alone,” he said gently. “But don’t worry—there are plenty of folks who can come by to check on you.”

“Who?” The word came out sharper than you intended, a hint of bitterness cutting through. It wasn’t really anger, just a raw insecurity that twisted inside you. You didn’t have anyone—not like Tommy and Maria had each other.

“Well, there’s Ellie… and Joel,” Tommy began, his tone almost cautious, as if even saying Joel’s name might be too much. “He’s… well, he hasn’t come by to see you yet, but—” He hesitated, the unspoken words hanging in the air like a fragile thread.

“He hasn’t come to see me,” you repeated, the words falling flat in the quiet room.

It wasn’t a question; it was an unspoken hurt that hung in the air.

“Why not?” you asked, even though a part of you wasn’t sure you wanted to hear the answer. Joel didn’t owe you anything; the past few months you’d spent together had been anything but friendly. So why did you expect him to be here? Why did his absence sting more than it should?

Tommy hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck as though searching for the right words, his gaze skirting away from yours. “He’s been… around,” he began slowly. “Been checkin’ in with Maria and me, makin’ sure you had everything you needed. But he…” Tommy hesitated, his voice dropping as he searched for the right words. “He just wanted to give you some space while you adjusted. Thought it might be what you needed.”

It was clear Tommy was struggling with the conversation, likely because of the awkward position he was in—Joel being his brother, after all. But there was something else behind his reluctance, something unspoken. After the attack, Tommy had seen firsthand just how far Joel was willing to go to save you. He’d watched his brother fight with a desperation that bordered on reckless, doing whatever it took to keep you alive.

Now, Tommy saw the truth clearly, piercing through Joel’s carefully maintained indifference toward you. He chastised himself for not seeing it sooner, for how thinly veiled Joel’s façade had always been. The reality of it all came to light after the attack, when Joel’s restraint shattered—he fought for you with a fierce, unyielding desperation, never once leaving your side. In those moments, his cold detachment dissolved, and the depth of his feelings bled through, unmistakable in the way he tended to you, as though keeping you safe was the only thing that mattered.

But it wasn’t his place to say anything; that was a conversation Joel needed to have with you. Tommy could only hope his brother would find the courage to speak sooner rather than later, though a part of him doubted it. He knew Joel too well—knew how stubbornly he kept his guard up, even when his heart was on the line.

“Oh,” you said softly, nodding as if the explanation made sense. “Okay.” You tried to believe him, tried to convince yourself that it was just Joel’s way of being cautious, of giving you the space you needed. But as it always did, doubt crept in, clawing its way up from some dark place inside. Old wounds had a way of reopening, their whispers cutting through the fragile comfort you tried to build.

What if he doesn’t really care? The thought sank its teeth in, a quiet voice reminding you of every time you’d been left behind, every promise that had turned to dust. The doubt was relentless, clawing at the edges of your mind, whispering that maybe, just maybe, you were fooling yourself. That Joel's absence was a choice—a choice to keep his distance, to keep you at arm's length, even now.

You looked away, swallowing against the tightness in your throat, wishing you could silence the voices that told you to expect the worst. Because sometimes, it was easier to accept doubt than to hope for something different.

After all, wasn’t it always the same? People keeping their distance, claiming they were doing it for your own good? It was a wound that hadn’t healed, a scar from years of being left behind. You told yourself not to think like that, not to read too much into it—but the hurt had a way of seeping in, even when you tried to hold it back.

If only you knew how much he did care—if only you remembered the lengths he had gone to, the sacrifices he made without a second thought. The men he had killed to save you, his hands stained with blood that wasn’t his own. The miles he trudged, his body battered and broken, fighting exhaustion and pain as he pushed forward because stopping meant losing you. How he had almost bled out for you, a deep wound gushing crimson, his vision blurring as he clung to consciousness with sheer stubbornness, all for the chance to see you breathe again.

If only you knew the hours he spent by your bedside, his rough hand wrapped gently around yours when he thought no one was watching. How he would sit there in the dark, his thumb tracing idle circles against your skin, his quiet vigil a testament to the depths of his worry. You didn’t see the way his shoulders sagged with relief whenever your chest rose and fell steadily, nor did you hear the whispered words he spoke when the night was at its darkest—words he could never bring himself to say when you were awake.

If only you knew how his heart shattered the moment he saw you kiss Sam. How the sight of it hit him like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from his lungs. He had to step outside just to breathe, to force himself to swallow the bitterness that rose in his throat. The jealousy burned hot and fierce, a mix of anger and hurt that tore through him as he watched Sam linger too long, his hands on you against your will, and Joel could’ve killed him right then and there.

If only you knew how his heart stopped the very first time he saw you, that instant when his gaze fell on you and the world seemed to quiet around him. It was a feeling that terrified him, a pull he didn’t understand, as though he’d been struck by something he hadn’t even realized he was missing.

“So, you’d be alright with him coming around?” Tommy asked, his voice gentle, almost hesitant, as if testing the waters. “He’d just help you up and down the stairs, morning and night, like I’ve been doing. He wouldn’t have to stay a second longer than you’re comfortable with.”

You hesitated, the thought of Joel being here, in your home—your sanctuary—sending a jolt of unease through you. The idea of him seeing you this vulnerable, laid bare, made your stomach twist. It would only confirm what he already thought about you—that you were clumsy, helpless, always in need of saving. And now, because you were his brother’s friend, he was stuck picking up the pieces.

“Tommy, I don’t want him to go out of his way,” you said, forcing your voice to sound steady, though uncertainty laced your words. “I can handle myself,—”

The words had barely left your mouth when your hand slipped, knocking the glass of water off the edge of the table. It hit the floor with a sharp crack, the water spilling out in a widening puddle, and you winced at how your body tensed, too slow to catch it.

Tommy raised an eyebrow, giving you a look that said more than words ever could.

You sighed, slumping back against the cushions. “Fine,” you muttered.

“Good,” Tommy said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “He’ll be here tonight, then. And Maria and I will still drop by once she’s feeling a bit better.” He flashed you a grin, his eyes warm with relief. “But listen, kid,” he added, his tone growing playfully stern, “if you ever die on me, I’ll kill you myself.”

You returned a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes; your mind was preoccupied with the thoughts swirling in your head. Deep down, you knew you couldn’t keep refusing help, no matter how much you hated the feeling of being a burden.

•••

That afternoon, you did anything and everything you could to distract yourself. You read the same page of a book over and over, the words slipping away before they could take root. You scribbled in an old notebook, your handwriting growing messier with each line, the sentences trailing off into nothing. You even watched the people passing by your window, their faces unfamiliar, their footsteps echoing in the stillness of the day.

But no matter how hard you tried to push it away, the thought of him coming around tonight lingered in the back of your mind—persistent and unwelcome. It gnawed at you, that quiet anticipation twisting itself into anxiety.

What would he say? Would he say anything at all? How would he act?

You wondered if his touch would linger, like it sometimes did in those fleeting moments when you weren’t sure if you had imagined it or if it had been real. The uncertainty wrapped around you like a thick fog, leaving you on edge, caught between hope and fear. Would he bring warmth or distance? The question hung heavily in the air, refusing to let you find any semblance of calm.

You shifted restlessly, your leg aching from the hours spent sitting still, but you didn’t know what else to do. Nothing seemed to quiet the thoughts racing through your head, the uneasy flutter in your chest. All you could do was wait, counting down the hours and distracting yourself with anything that kept you from thinking about the fact that, soon, he would be here. And you weren’t sure you were ready to face him, to face whatever came next.

•••

You hobbled over to the mirror, the crutches clicking on the worn floorboards with every step. The reflection staring back at you made your breath catch in your throat. You looked awful—scratches and bruises marred your face, a dark purple mottling your cheekbone. Your hair was a mess, barely held together by a loose braid, and your eyes were shadowed with deep, dark circles. You didn’t recognize the girl in the mirror, bruised and battered, looking like a stranger you’d crossed paths with in another lifetime.

You suddenly felt a stab of self-consciousness that took you by surprise, the thought prickling at the edges of your mind. Why did it matter what you looked like right now? You shouldn’t care—but still, the feeling lingered, a quiet discomfort crawling under your skin.

You hadn’t expected to be seen like this, so vulnerable and broken. There was a time when you’d been self-reliant, stubbornly independent, but here you were again, needing someone… needing Joel.

Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a knock at the door, breaking the stillness of the room. You glanced at the clock—7:00 p.m on the dot.

It was Joel.

“Come in,” you called out, your voice catching in your throat as you angled your body toward the door.

The door creaked open, and there he was, filling the doorway. Joel stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over you with a quick, assessing look. His eyes flicked to the crutches, the bruises on your face, and then back to your own eyes. For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, as if weighing what to say.

“Hey,” he said finally, his voice low and gravelly, as though the word itself carried more than just a greeting.

You nodded in response, unsure of what to say, the silence between you heavy with unspoken things. There was an unease that hung in the air, not quite tension but something close to it— And yet, seeing him standing there, his expression guarded but not unkind, stirred something in you - deep and unsettling

“Didn’t mean to keep you waitin’,” Joel added, his eyes lingering on the scratches along your jaw.

He stayed near the doorway at first, the corridor stretching between you like a gulf neither of you knew how to cross. “It’s okay,” you whispered, trying to sound casual, but the tension in your voice betrayed you, your hands gripping the crutches for support. There was too much unsaid, too much hanging in the air between you both.

Joel took a few steps forward, his gaze never leaving yours. That’s when you noticed the limp, the subtle hitch in his stride that he tried to shrug off. Your eyes flickered down to his leg, and your eyebrows furrowed with concern. He was hurt—there was no mistaking the way he winced as he moved, a slight grimace crossing his features that he tried to mask with a tough exterior.

“Just a graze,” he said, catching your gaze before you could look away, his voice dismissive. But the tightness around his mouth, the way his jaw clenched with each step, betrayed him. It wasn’t just a graze, and you both knew it. Did he forget you’d seen him get stabbed? The memory of it was still vivid—how he’d staggered, the blood soaking through his jeans.

You didn’t know what to say. The air between you felt thick and stifling, almost hot, like there was too much pressure building and nowhere for it to go. His presence filled the room, and the space between you seemed to shrink and stretch all at once, charged with everything you weren’t saying.

Joel’s gaze swept over you again, taking in the bruises, the cuts, the exhaustion etched into your face. It made his chest ache in a way that was almost physical, like someone had squeezed his heart and wouldn’t let go.

When Tommy had told him you’d woken up, the relief had been overwhelming, nearly knocking the breath out of him. But it was quickly followed by a familiar pang of worry—worry that he wasn’t ready to face you, that the things he had said to push you away still lingered too heavily in the air. The memory of his last words to you was a constant knot in his chest, a reminder of how his fear had driven him to build walls between you… and of the bitter regret that came afterward, unyielding and sharp.

That was why he hadn’t come to see you. Every day, he found himself at your door, his hand hovering just inches from knocking, but doubt tightened its grip, pulling him back each time. It wasn’t until Tommy asked him to step in that he finally crossed the threshold. Joel knew the truth had dawned on his brother—the way things had unfolded left little room for secrets. But Tommy had kept his silence, letting the unspoken truth linger between them, and for that, Joel was grateful.

He took another step closer, and you noticed his gaze softening just a fraction. “How’re you holdin’ up?” he asked, his voice quiet and hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure you wanted him to ask. There was a vulnerability in his tone that made your heart race.

He crossed his arms over his chest, a gesture that, unbeknownst to you, was a silent act of restraint—as if by folding himself inward, he could physically prevent his hands from reaching out to trace the bruise on your cheek or gently comb his fingers through your hair. It was a protective barrier, not against you, but against his own unruly impulse to close the distance between you.

You met his eyes, trying to read the expression in them—trying to make sense of the storm brewing in your own chest. “I’m managing,” you replied, though the waver in your voice told a different story.

“Good,” Joel said, but the word came out rough, like it hurt him to say it. He took one more step, as if testing the waters, trying to bridge the distance between you. But even with the few feet that still separated you, it felt like there was an entire world keeping you apart.

“You ready for bed?” Joel asked, his voice low, but softer than you remembered.

“Yeah,” you replied, your stomach tightening as you remembered why he was here. The weight of his gaze felt heavy on your back as you began the slow journey toward the stairs.

The climb was harder than usual, each step sending a dull throb through your leg, and the silence between you seemed to grow thicker with every inch. Joel was close behind, his hand hovering near your back, as if he wasn’t sure whether to touch you or let you handle it on your own.

You were almost halfway up when your crutch slipped on the edge of the stair, your balance giving way beneath you. You let out a small gasp as you stumbled forward, and in an instant, Joel’s hands were on you—strong, steady, catching you before you could hit the ground.

“Sorry,” you breathed, the word slipping out almost inaudibly as he held you. Embarrassment washed over you, a warm flush rising to your cheeks as his touch made you feel exposed, vulnerable. His grip was firm, his fingers pressing into your arm with a quiet desperation, as though he was afraid to let go. You were close now—closer than you had been that day at the lake, when the water blurred the lines between you. His scent wrapped around you, familiar and heady, pulling you back into a moment you weren’t sure you wanted to escape.

“You’re fine,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes lingered on yours for a moment longer, his brow furrowing slightly as though he wanted to say something else. But he didn’t, instead he helped you regain your footing, guiding you up the rest of the stairs with a gentleness that made your chest ache.

When you finally reached your bedroom, you hesitated in the doorway, a strange sense of vulnerability washing over you. Joel’s presence here, in this space that had always been yours alone, made the room feel smaller somehow, more intimate. It was the first time he’d ever stepped inside your sanctuary, and you could see him taking in the details of your world—the faded quilt draped over your bed, the stack of books teetering on the nightstand, their covers worn and pages dog-eared from countless readings. His gaze lingered on the half-open drawer, where a few shirts had spilled out, as if it were a glimpse into your life, a life he had only touched from a distance. You felt a flutter in your chest, a mix of embarrassment and something deeper, more meaningful.

He turned to you, helping you sit on the edge of the bed, his hands lingering at your waist before he stepped back. You watched him as he took another glance around the room, his gaze moving from the old, threadbare rug to the small collection of trinkets on the dresser—little things you’d kept over the years, reminders of the life you’d built even in this broken world.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him—the way his jaw tightened, as if he was struggling to hold something back, the way a few strands of hair fell over his forehead, unkempt and tempting your fingers to brush them away. Your head throbbed, and you wondered why you were thinking these things—was it the medication clouding your mind, or was it something deeper, something you’d been avoiding for far too long? There was a tension in the set of his shoulders, a heaviness to his stance, as though he was carrying a weight that wasn’t his alone, but yours as well.

“You take your meds yet?” he asked, his voice breaking the silence, “Doc said two at night.”

Your brow furrowed, a small frown forming as you looked at him. “How do you know what the doctor said?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

Joel’s gaze flicked to yours, something unreadable flashing in his eyes before he glanced away, his jaw tightening again. “Tommy told me,” he said after a beat, but there was something about the way he said it—too casual, too quick—that made you wonder if that was the whole truth.

The silence stretched out between you, thick with things neither of you knew how to say.

“Yeah, they’re in that drawer over there,” you said, motioning with your hand. Joel walked over, pulling open the old wooden drawer, and you couldn’t help but notice the way he groaned softly as he bent down. The sound made something tighten in your chest—a sudden urge to help him, or to do something, though you weren’t sure what.

He straightened up with a slight wince, returning to you with the two pills in his hand. Just as he reached your side, your stomach betrayed you, grumbling loudly in the quiet room.

Joel raised an eyebrow. “Have you eaten dinner?” he asked, his tone almost challenging.

“Not hungry,” you muttered, brushing off the question, reaching for the pills.

“That sound says otherwise,” he shot back, his eyes narrowing. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“Too tired to cook,” you said with a shrug, trying to make it seem like it wasn’t a big deal. “I’ve had coffee.”

“Coffee isn’t food,” he retorted, the frustration slipping into his voice. He didn’t seem to notice how close he’d gotten, his presence filling the space between you.

“Joel, it’s fine. Just gimme the meds,” you insisted, reaching for the pills. But he pulled his hand back slightly, just out of your reach.

“No,” he said, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. “Not lettin’ you starve to death. I’ll be back in a bit. You okay here?”

You stared at him, a protest forming on your lips, but the look in his eyes made it die before you could speak. There was a stubbornness there, a refusal to back down. It was the same look he always had when he was dead set on something, and you knew you weren’t going to change his mind.

“Fine,” you muttered, sinking back against the pillows. “But don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“I won’t,” he said, though the corners of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. And with that, he turned and headed for the door, leaving you in the quiet of your room with a strange warmth curling in your chest that you didn’t quite know what to do with. As you listened to his footsteps fade down the stairs, you found yourself staring at the empty doorway, wondering why the thought of him coming back made you a tinge nervous.

You lay in bed, the quiet ticking of the clock blending with the distant sounds of pans clattering downstairs. The noise echoed faintly through the house, and you couldn’t help but think of Joel, moving around down there. The thought of him in your kitchen—cooking, of all things—felt oddly domestic, almost jarringly so. You stared at the ceiling, your mind wandering back to the last few hours, trying to piece together why he was being so… nice.

It wasn’t that you doubted his capacity to care; you had glimpsed his protective nature before, you had seen it in the way he interacted with Tommy and Ellie.

But this—him going out of his way to make you dinner, staying when he could have easily kept his distance, when he could have helped you up to bed and left within minutes—felt different.

You couldn’t help but question his motives. Was it guilt that drove him? A sense of duty? Or was it something far more complicated, something unspoken that seemed to pulse in the silence between you?

You shook your head, trying to dismiss the spiraling thoughts. After all, Tommy had asked Joel to look after you; it wasn’t like he could have said no. But even that explanation didn’t fully quell the uncertainty brewing inside you. The nagging feeling lingered, urging you to confront the reality that maybe, just maybe, his care went beyond brotherly duty.

The smell of cooking began to drift up the stairs, pulling you out of your thoughts. It started as a faint hint of spices, then grew stronger, filling the room with the warm, savory aroma of whatever he was making. Your stomach twisted with a mix of hunger and something you couldn’t quite name, a flutter of nervous anticipation that made you shift restlessly against the pillows.

A few minutes later, you heard the sound of the stairs creaking under Joel’s weight as he made his way up, and your pulse quickened. When he appeared in the doorway, you could see the steam rising from the bowl he carried.

“Here,” Joel said, his voice low as he stepped closer, placing the bowl carefully on your lap. His touch was surprisingly gentle, the kind of care that sent a quiet ache through your chest. You felt the warmth of the bowl seep into your skin, a small comfort against the chill that always seemed to linger.

“Joel, you didn’t really need to do this,” you said, your voice softer than you intended. There was something vulnerable in the way you spoke, almost as if you were trying to deflect the tenderness behind his gesture.

It was no big deal right?

“It’s nothing,” he replied, brushing off your thanks as he turned to find a seat. “Just eat.”

You didn’t expect him to stay, but he pulled up a chair from the corner of the room and sank into it, his gaze fixed on you. There was a quiet intensity in the way he watched, a kind of tension that coiled tightly between you both. As you took your first bite, you became painfully aware of the bruises on your face, the dark circles under your eyes, and the tangled mess of your hair. You felt exposed under his gaze, the awareness prickling across your skin.

“Is it alright?” he asked, his voice laced with a softness you’d never heard from him before.

You swallowed, the flavors rich and satisfying, better than you could have hoped for. “Yeah, it’s perfect,” you said, and though the words were simple, they carried a weight you hadn’t expected. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

He gave a half-shrug, his eyes drifting away for a moment, lingering on the worn floorboards beneath his feet. “You kinda have to learn when you’re not just feedin’ yourself,” he said quietly, his voice shifting into a tone that hinted at a past he rarely spoke of. The words hung in the air, delicate yet weighty, creating an invisible thread between you that tugged at something deeper, something unspoken.

You could sense the layers beneath his casual remark, the unguarded glimpse into a life filled with responsibilities and sacrifices. It made your heart race, drawing you closer to the vulnerability he often kept hidden. In that moment, the silence between you felt charged with meaning, echoing the unsaid stories you had yearned to hear.

You saw a flicker in his eyes, a shadow of a life that felt far away and unreachable. He was talking about before, about a time when he wasn’t alone. When he had someone to take care of, someone who depended on him.

“You used to cook for someone else?” you asked, your voice quiet and almost hesitant. “Your… wife?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and a pang of anxiety gripped you. For a brief moment, you feared you had overstepped, that you’d messed up the one time Joel had allowed himself to share even a small piece of his past.

Joel’s expression shifted, a flicker of something deep and raw passing over his features. He shook his head, his jaw tightening as if bracing himself against the words. “No,” he said, the word coming out low and rough. “My daughter.”

The room seemed to hold its breath, the silence pressing down on you both. You hadn’t expected that answer, hadn’t expected the weight it would carry. There was a depth in his voice, a quiet pain that spoke of a love that had been lost, and the hurt that came with it. It hung in the air between you, heavy and unspoken, like a wound that had never quite healed.

Your chest tightened, a swell of emotion rising within you—part sympathy, part quiet understanding. It explained so much—the way he kept a watchful eye on those around him, the way he cared for Ellie with a fierce yet unspoken tenderness, the protective instinct that lingered even when he kept his distance. You saw it clearly now, the echo of the father he used to be.

“I didn’t know…” you started, the words faltering as you tried to find something, anything, that wouldn’t sound hollow or empty. But what could you say to a man who had already lost so much?

Joel just gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, as if he didn’t expect you to say anything. “A long time ago,” he murmured, the edge of his voice roughened by the years. “Feels like a different life.”

And with that, the silence settled in again, but this time it felt different—more like an understanding shared in the quiet spaces than a chasm between you.

The rest of the meal unfolded in a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need words to fill the space. You were both absorbed in your own thoughts, though neither of you realized that they kept circling back to each other. Joel’s gaze flickered toward you now and then, watching with a quiet intensity as you ate. He noticed the slight tremor in your hand as you lifted the spoon, the way your brow furrowed with each careful bite. There was a vulnerability in those small, deliberate movements—in you—that tugged at something deep within him.

When you finally finished, you set the bowl aside and offered him a small smile. “Can you…?” You hesitated, feeling the weight of the request, even though it was a simple one. “I need some help getting to the bathroom.”

“Yeah, of course,” Joel replied, practically leaping to his feet, his eagerness almost surprising you. He moved quickly to your side, his hand steadying you as you stood. There was a tenderness in the way he supported your weight, his grip firm but not overpowering.

“Thanks,” you murmured as he helped you down the hall, your voice quiet against the stillness. After brushing your teeth, you leaned on him again as you made your way back to bed, each step a little easier with him by your side.

Back in your room, you sank beneath the blankets, the day’s fatigue and the weight of the medications settling over you like a heavy fog. It was time for Joel to leave, and you could feel the air shift—an almost imperceptible change in the atmosphere now that his task was complete.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked, concern lacing his words.

“Yeah,” you replied, nodding slightly. “Thanks again, Joel.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, his tone almost dismissive, but there was something softer in his eyes. As he turned to go, his hand reached for the small lamp that cast a warm glow across the room.

“Can you… keep it on?” The words tumbled out before you could stop them, a quiet admission that made your cheeks burn with embarrassment. “Just… for tonight.”

Joel’s hand froze mid-motion, and when he looked back at you, his gaze softened. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Of course.” There was a faint ache in his chest, the idea of you lying here in the dark, alone and scared. It stirred something fierce in him, an urge to stay—to sit by your bedside, to wrap his arms around you and promise that you’d be safe. But he didn’t. Of course, he didn’t.

“Alright,” he said, his voice low and gruff again. “I’ll be here tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” you murmured, leaning back and resting your head on the pillow. “Goodnight.” Your voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, drifting through the quiet room.

He nodded and turned, the soft creak of the floorboards marking his departure. You listened to his footsteps as he walked down the stairs, each one growing fainter. The house felt colder without him in it, the warmth he’d brought with him fading into the night.

Your thoughts drifted back to what had just happened. The way Joel had opened up, even if only for a moment. The glimpse into a past he kept guarded, the vulnerability he’d shown in sharing that part of himself with you. It was rare, and it was real, and you could sense that something had shifted between you.

As you stared at the dim glow of the lamp, a quiet ache settled deep in your chest—a longing for something unspoken, still taking shape in the silence you shared. It lingered in the spaces where words had failed, in the glances that spoke more than you dared to acknowledge. But beneath that yearning, there was also a wall—a familiar fear tightening around your heart, warning you against letting him in again, only to be hurt all over again. The possibility of reopening old wounds kept you guarded, even as the ache for something more refused to fade.

•••

The next few days passed in a quiet, unexpected rhythm—something that felt almost like domestic bliss, though you hardly dared to call it that. Joel came by every morning and evening, helping you with the mundane tasks that had somehow become monumental—getting you out of bed, steadying you on your crutches, making sure you didn’t push yourself too hard. He never said much, never offered any explanations for why he was being this way. But his actions spoke louder than words, a silent devotion that was as confusing as it was comforting.

He made you breakfast and dinner without a word, the smell of sizzling eggs or simmering stew becoming a familiar, almost soothing part of your day. There was a quiet care in the way he placed the plate in front of you, the way he made sure you ate before he’d allow himself to sit down. It was in the little things, the quiet gestures that spoke of a protectiveness you hadn’t expected, but found yourself welcoming all the same.

You noticed how easily you had grown accustomed to it all—the sound of the door turning, signaling his arrival; the faint scent of his shampoo that lingered in the air when he leaned close to help you; the warmth of his hands, rough but steady, as he guided you out of bed in the morning and back into it at night. You found yourself looking forward to the soft murmur of his voice, the way his presence seemed to fill the room without overwhelming it.

And it scared you, just a little—how you had almost become too comfortable, too used to this new normal. There was a part of you that knew it couldn’t last, that eventually, things would have to go back to how they were before. But for now, you allowed yourself to savor it, to sink into the simple pleasure of having someone there, of not feeling so alone.

It was easy to pretend, in those moments when he was near, that the world wasn’t as broken as it was. Easy to forget, if only for a while, that this wasn’t really yours to keep.

Little did you know, Joel felt the same. Each time he came over, it was as if he was easing into a life he hadn’t known he still yearned for—a life where caring for someone wasn’t just a burden but a choice he made every day. In the quiet moments spent helping you up the stairs or preparing a simple meal, he found a strange kind of solace. It was a way for him to show how much he cared without having to say the words aloud, words that felt too heavy, too close to the heart he kept so tightly guarded.

He poured his feelings into the little things—into the way he made sure your coffee was just the way you liked it, the way he lingered an extra moment to tuck the blankets around you at night, or the way his hand would steady your shoulder as you wobbled on the crutches. It was in the way he watched you when you weren’t looking, his gaze softening with a tenderness he wasn’t sure he had any right to feel.

Joel had never been good with words, especially when it came to emotions. But this—this quiet care—was something he could offer, a way to be close to you without crossing the unspoken lines that had kept him at a distance for so long. It was as if, in these simple acts, he could bridge the gap between you, express everything he couldn’t say in a way that felt real, solid.

With each passing day, he found himself wanting more—wanting to linger a little longer, to find more reasons to be near you, to close the distance between you inch by inch, to press his lips against your wounds and soothe the ache beneath them. But even as the lines between you began to blur, he couldn’t help but wonder if you felt it too—the subtle shift, the quiet understanding that had nestled itself in the spaces between the familiar routines. Sometimes, he thought he saw it in your eyes, a flicker of recognition, as though you sensed the change but weren’t yet ready to name it.

•••

Just like the nights before, Joel had helped you into bed after making you dinner. He had left your room a while ago, and now you lay there, your mind racing. The memory of his touch lingered—the way his fingers had brushed against your arm as he steadied you, the warmth of his hand lingering even after he’d pulled away.

The lamp still cast its soft glow across the room, a gesture you’d grown to appreciate. Joel hadn’t tried to turn it off since that first night; it was a quiet kindness, one he hadn’t spoken of, but it said more than words ever could.

You tossed and turned, struggling to find a position that didn’t worsen the dull ache in your leg. You’d only taken one pain pill tonight, ignoring Joel’s gentle reminder to take two, as the doctor had instructed. It had been a mistake. You told yourself you could start cutting down, but the pain pulsed deep in your bones, each throb growing sharper and harder to ignore. Reaching toward the side table, you fumbled for the second pill, but your fingers froze when you realized the glass of water was all the way across the room, just out of reach.

“Fuck,” you whispered under your breath, frustration flaring within you. With a burst of determination, you threw off the covers and opted to hop across the room on one leg, leaving the crutches behind. But the instability of your injured foot and the darkness of the room conspired against you. Suddenly, the floor slipped out from under you, and you fell hard, the impact twisting your leg in a way that sent a shockwave of pain coursing through your body. A sharp cry escaped your lips, the intensity of the agony so overwhelming that tears sprang to your eyes, blurring your vision as the world around you tilted dangerously.

It took a moment for the world to stop spinning, and when it did, you realized Joel was suddenly beside you, his arms wrapping around you before you could fully process what had happened. “Hey, hey, you’re okay,” he said, his voice steady yet edged with panic. “What were you doing?”

His eyebrows were furrowed, worry unmistakable in his brown eyes as they searched your face for signs of injury. His hands moved to cradle your shoulders, his grip both firm and gentle, as if he was afraid you might shatter at any moment.

“Joel, you’re still here?” you gasped, your voice strained as you tried to focus through the pain.

“Here, let me get you up, slowly,” he said, already lifting you, his movements careful and deliberate. He helped you back onto the bed, then quickly fetched the water and pain pill, bringing them to your trembling hands. You took the pill, grimacing as you swallowed.

Joel’s questions came in rapid succession, his worry evident in every word.

“Are you okay? Do I need to get you to the doc? What the hell happened? Why were you out of bed?”

His voice shifted between concern and frustration, each syllable laced with an urgency that made your heart race.

“It’s nothing, Joel,” you murmured, though your voice lacked conviction. “I just needed water, and it would’ve only taken a second.” You glanced at him, your brow furrowing. “But… why were you still here?”

His expression faltered, a hint of flustered uncertainty passing over his face. “I—well, I stay,” he admitted, almost reluctantly, his words tumbling out in a way that revealed more than he intended. “Just for a while. Till I know you’re asleep.”

There was a vulnerability in his admission, a softness that contrasted sharply with the tough exterior he usually maintained.

You blinked, taken aback by the confession. “You… wait for me to fall asleep?”

The thought of Joel—gruff, guarded Joel—sitting quietly for hours, just to be sure you were safe, sent something rippling through your chest.

“When I hear you snoring, I know you’re asleep, and I can step out—”

“I do not snore!” you shot back, despite the way your heart quickened at the thought. But the hint of a smile tugged at his lips, softening the hard lines of his face.

“Yes, you do,” he said, his voice gentler now, almost teasing.

You scoffed, shaking your head, though the warmth of his words lingered. “Well, thank you… but you don’t need to stay.”

Joel’s eyes darkened with something serious, something almost vulnerable as he said your name softly. “Imagine if I hadn’t been here tonight. You’d have been on that floor till morning.”

The reality of it sank in, the thought of lying there, helpless and in pain, with no one to hear you. You swallowed, the tension in the air thickening, the weight of his concern pressing down on you.

“I think I should stay over,” he continued, his voice steady but carrying an undertone of resolve. “At least for a bit, until you’re more stable on your feet. Only if you’re okay with it.”

There was no denying the sincerity in his eyes, the way his gaze held yours, unflinching and unguarded. The quiet worry etched into his features told you everything you needed to know—Joel wasn’t just offering to help; he needed to be here, to be sure you were safe.

Was this also part of his brotherly duty to Tommy? Or was this something more?

You just nodded, taking another sip of water, the tension still crackling softly in the air between you. “Okay,” you murmured.

“I’ll be on the couch,” Joel said, his voice quieter now, as if he were offering you reassurance rather than just stating a fact. “You need anything, you just holler, alright?”

“Goodnight,” he said, lingering in the doorway for a heartbeat longer, as if making sure you were truly settled.

“Goodnight,” you whispered back, the word barely more than a breath, but it felt like it carried more weight than usual. You watched him turn and walk out, his footsteps fading as he headed down the hall.

As the house fell into a familiar stillness, you lay back against the pillows, letting your eyes close. The sound of Joel settling on the couch echoed faintly through the walls, and you took a small comfort in knowing he was still there, just a shout away. It made the darkness seem a little less daunting, the ache in your leg a little more bearable.

•••

The next morning, as you sat in the kitchen, something caught your eye—a splash of color at the center of the table. Turning your head, you saw a vase filled with roses, their petals a rich, velvety shade of deep red, almost brown, offering a gentle contrast to the morning light streaming through the window. A smile tugged at your lips—a sincere, unguarded smile, the kind you hadn’t felt in a long while.

“Look,” you called softly, glancing toward the stove where Joel was busy cooking. The familiar sight of his broad back moving about the kitchen had become a comfort, a routine you had come to cherish. “Someone brought roses—my favorite.”

Joel glanced over his shoulder, his expression carefully neutral. “Yeah?” he said, though he was well aware of the flowers.

He had been the one to bring them, after all.

“They’re so pretty,” you continued, reaching out to brush your fingers over the soft petals, inhaling the sweet, delicate fragrance. “And they smell amazing. I’ll have to thank Tommy and Maria the next time I see them. They really brighten up the room.” You smiled to yourself, the thought of their kindness warming you. It was a small gesture, but it felt significant, a reminder that even in this harsh world, moments of beauty could still exist.

Joel just nodded, his back turned to you as he poured your coffee. “Mmhmm,” he murmured, the faintest hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“They’re real pretty,” Joel said, but as the words left his mouth, his eyes weren’t on the roses—they were on you. There was a softness in his gaze, a warmth that made something flutter in your chest. You didn’t notice it at first, too focused on the delicate petals and the sweet scent that filled the air. You just nodded, your smile widening as you breathed in the fragrance again.

“They really are,” you murmured.

Joel didn’t say anything, merely offering a quiet grunt of acknowledgment as he handed you your coffee. You wrapped your hands around the cup, relishing the familiar comfort of its warmth, blissfully unaware that he had gone out of his way to find those roses for you. He had spent months listening to Tommy talk about you, absorbing all the little details—your favorite things—and carefully keeping them tucked away in his mind.

•••

The day passed in a blur of familiar routines. Joel was out on patrol, as he often was when he wasn’t at your place, leaving you to settle into the rhythm of the day. Tommy and Maria dropped by in the afternoon, filling the house with a brief burst of warmth and lively chatter. You noticed how Maria’s baby bump had grown, her hand instinctively resting on it with each movement. There was a radiant glow about her that made the future feel almost hopeful. You tried to soak in the comfort of their visit, letting thoughts of a future baby wash over you. It stirred a yearning deep within for the dreams you once held—of a husband, a family, and a home filled with love.

That evening, after dinner, you and Joel lingered downstairs longer than usual. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the walls as you found yourselves drawn into conversation. Joel had become more talkative lately, his gruff demeanor easing into something softer, almost companionable.

You’d asked him about patrol, and he’d shared more than you expected—details of the day, the quietness that hung over the forest, the way the world felt almost too still. There was an openness in the way he spoke, a willingness to let you into his world, even if only a little. It made the space between you feel smaller, more intimate.

But when the night grew late, you finally retreated to your room, slipping under the covers with a lingering sense of unease, one that would often creep up on the dead of night. But tonight, as you lay there, the dark seemed to press in closer than usual.

The memories came back with a vengeance—visceral and hauntint, vivid flashes of pain and terror. You could see the look on their faces, those men who had tied you up, the glint of cruelty in their eyes, the sound of their mocking voices. The memory of your leg snapping, the sharp, blinding agony, and the sight of your own blood pooling beneath you—all of it rushed back in fragments, relentless and suffocating.

You were caught in the grip of a night terror, your heart racing like a drum against your ribs. Sweat soaked through your clothes, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you thrashed against the sheets. You felt trapped, unable to wake yourself from the nightmare, your body locked in the awful, helpless fear that had consumed you then.

In the dream, you were calling out for help, your voice echoing in the darkness, but no one could hear you. It was like screaming into a void, each cry swallowed up by an unforgiving silence. The world around you was twisted and wrong—faces you recognized lay lifeless on the ground, unmoving. Tommy, Maria… Joel. They were all gone, and the sight of them sprawled out in the dirt, blood pooling beneath their bodies, filled you with a terror so deep it felt like you were drowning.

You kept screaming, clawing at the darkness, but there was no one left to answer. The emptiness swallowed you whole, pulling you down, down, until—

Suddenly, a jolt of sensation ripped through the nightmare. Someone was shaking you, pulling you back from the abyss. The darkness shattered into a blur of movement and sound as you struggled to orient yourself. The nightmare's suffocating grip began to loosen, and you gasped for air, blinking furiously to clear the lingering terror from your mind.

“Hey, hey! You’re okay—wake up,” a voice urged, rough and panicked. You blinked up at Joel, his hands on your shoulders, shaking you gently but urgently, his face etched with a fear that was all too real. “It’s just a dream,” he said, his voice low and steady as he tried to calm you.

Tears streamed down your face, hot and unrelenting, as if all the fear and pain of the nightmare were pouring out in a flood you couldn’t control. Your chest heaved with each breath, the sobs wracking your body as you struggled to come back to reality. It was like the terror had followed you, clinging to your skin, and no matter how hard you tried to blink it away, the images still burned behind your eyes.

Joel’s grip on your shoulders tightened, his touch grounding you, anchoring you in the here and now. “Hey, look at me,” he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “You’re safe. It was just a dream. I’ve got you.” He reached up to brush the tears from your cheek with the pad of his thumb, his movements gentle, as though afraid you might shatter.

The tenderness in his gaze felt almost too much to bear, the concern etched into the lines of his face stirring something deep inside you—something raw and vulnerable that you weren’t sure how to face. You didn’t know what to say, couldn’t find the words to explain the depth of the fear that still clung to you. All you could do was cling to the sound of his voice, the warmth of his hands, and the quiet strength that held you together even as you fell apart.

“You were all…” you gasped, the words tumbling out in a broken, frantic rush. “You were all gone… and they—they had me tied up…” The rest of the sentence fell away, your voice faltering as the horror of the dream clung to you, its shadow still lingering in your mind. The words didn’t make sense even to you, but they spilled out anyway, desperate and raw.

“Hey, hey, you’re alright, sweetheart,” Joel murmured, his voice a soothing rumble that felt like a balm against the jagged edges of your fear. If you had been more conscious and less consumed by terror, you might have realized the weight of the endearment he used—how sweetheart fell from his lips so naturally, as if the word itself had been created just for you.

He shifted closer, his hands cupping your face with a tenderness that took you by surprise. His thumb gently wiped away the tears that continued to streak down your cheeks, the contact grounding you in the moment. “I’m here. Nobody’s gonna hurt you, I promise.”

His gaze was steady and unwavering, holding you in the present, as if willing you to believe him. In that moment, the world felt small, contained within the warmth of his touch and the low, steady cadence of his voice. It was enough to make you feel anchored, as though the terror that had gripped you was beginning to ebb away, leaving only the thrum of your heartbeat and the safety of Joel’s presence in its wake.

Little did you know, that night haunted Joel just as deeply. It wasn’t just your cries that lingered in his mind—it was the echoes of the past, bleeding into the present. The screams of Sarah, the look of terror in your eyes, even Tess's pained expressions—they all mixed together in the haze of his own nightmares. The memories twisted and blurred into a chaotic swirl of pain, death, sorrow, and loss, each one clawing at him in the darkness.

He’d often wake up in a cold sweat, his heart racing, the remnants of those horrors gripping him tight. But there was one thing that kept him grounded, something that offered him a small measure of comfort: the sound of your soft, rhythmic breathing drifting through the quiet house. It wasn’t just a reminder that you were safe—it was a reminder that he hadn’t failed this time.

The past still weighed heavy on his soul, but the knowledge that you were there, alive and still fighting, was enough to keep the darkness at bay… at least for a little while.

Your breathing had finally begun to steady, each inhale less ragged than the last. Joel stayed by the edge of your bed, his hand still resting on your shoulder, waiting for you to give some sign that you were okay, that he could go back to the couch downstairs. But instead, your gaze met his, the tears still glistening in your eyes, unspoken words trembling on your lips.

“Could you…” you began, your voice wavering as you struggled to get the rest out. “Could you stay?”

He frowned slightly, his brow furrowing in confusion. “I’m already downstairs,” he said softly, as though reminding you of his usual spot. “You know that.”

“No, I mean…” You swallowed, your voice barely above a whisper, almost afraid to say the words out loud. “Here. With me.”

The request hung in the air, fragile and tentative, but the meaning was clear. Joel’s eyes widened ever so slightly, the surprise flickering there as if he hadn’t expected you to ask.

You caught the hesitation in his eyes, and suddenly, all the harsh words he’d ever thrown at you seemed to come crashing down at once—burden, useless—echoes of moments when you’d felt like nothing more than an inconvenience. Your cheeks burned with shame, and you dropped your gaze, stumbling over your words. “I mean… sorry, that was stupid,” you muttered, the regret already tightening in your throat. “It’s just my meds talking.”

“No.” His voice was firm, cutting through the fragile air between you. You looked up, and the expression in his eyes had changed—there was no trace of doubt left, only a quiet resolve. “I’ll stay,” he repeated, his tone gentler this time. “If you want me to.”

You nodded, and Joel didn’t hesitate this time. He moved around to the other side of the bed, his features softened in the glow of the lamp and the pale wash of moonlight that spilled in through the window. He dipped into the bed, settling carefully beside you. Even as he gave you space, you could feel the warmth radiating from him, a steady comfort that made your chest tighten.

You turned toward him, your voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you, Joel. I know I can be… a lot. I—”

“Hey.” He cut you off gently, his voice firm but soft, as though he was willing away the words before they could take hold. “Don’t do that.” His eyes found yours in the dim light, steady and unyielding, and the way he looked at you made your breath hitch, like he saw past all the broken pieces you tried to hide.

“You’re not a lot. You’re—” He paused, the words catching in his throat as if he hadn’t meant to say them aloud. “You’re someone worth looking after.”

His voice was low, roughened by the weight of things unsaid, and for a moment, you were too stunned to respond. There was no pity in his gaze, no trace of frustration or burden—just a quiet sincerity that sank deep into your bones.

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat and gave a small nod, your voice trembling as you whispered, “Okay.”

He reached out through the darkness, and your breath caught in your throat as he brushed a strand of hair from your forehead, his touch warm against your skin.

“Now try to get some rest,” he murmured, his tone soft and almost tender, like a promise wrapped in warmth.

As you closed your eyes, you felt the quiet reassurance of his presence, the way he stayed close enough for you to hear his steady breathing—the rise and fall grounding you, a reminder that you weren’t alone.

Not tonight. Not with him here.

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obaewankenobis · 1 year ago

Text

born to die ; finnick odair

pairing: finnick odair/reader (afab but i don't think i use pronouns? also no use of y/n)

word count: 6.8k

part 2: find here!

summary: having just finished your victory tour, you, the winner from district 4, are forced to confront the reality of winning the games. luckily, you know someone who's done this before — finnick odair.

warnings: mentions of violence, death, nightmares, blood, sex trafficking, i mean... it is the hunger games so read at your own risk! mutual pining, slowish burn, unprotected sex ( wrap it before u tap it ), p in v sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, idk it's not that bad. minors dni!

a/n: sorry to everyone who followed me for my star wars content... anyways here is my first finnick fic cause my friend made me watch the hunger games a month ago so here i am. i was super interested in the cashmere/glimmer theory so i kinda used it here. i have a prequel and a part 2 planned so lmk if you want that <3

There were things nobody ever told you about winning the games, things you wished you would’ve known before you tried so hard. Before you’d clawed your way up a cliff of desperate survival and emerged on top. Before you’d killed people — other children — to be able to stand here now. Your father, a former Victor himself, hadn’t told you about this side of things before he died. With a pang, you realized how badly you wanted him beside you, and how impossible that was. How you were now confined in shoes so tall you thought you might wobble over, in a dress so thin you were beginning to shiver, and a hairstyle that pulled uncomfortably at your roots. It all tied in for a look that was clearly meant to have all eyes on you. It was your victory party, you tried to reason as you slipped into the dress and noticed just how much of you would be on display. They wanted all eyes to be on you. It was okay.

You just wanted to feel beautiful again, to not be plagued with the feeling of revulsion when you looked at yourself in the mirror. The outfit wasn’t the problem, it was perhaps the most stunning thing you’d ever worn: a loose dress with billowing sleeves that fell off your shoulders and opened around the stomach, the silky material melting from transparency to a solid, pale purple around the parts that clung to your breasts and hips. The opalescent color, meant to mimic the expensive pearls commonly found in District 4, shimmered in the moonlight, threatening to turn even the solid parts translucent and expose every part of you to the Capitol.

Not that they’d mind, you thought, the words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth that threatened to rise to the surface, breaking through a perfectly painted smile and tugging your blush lips into a frown. You couldn’t help but feel that was the point, with all the oogling that no one was trying to hide. And that feeling… that is what kept you from feeling anything but beautiful. You felt used, and exposed, but not beautiful.

A hand on your arm startled you out of your bitter thoughts, your skin immediately crawling with disgust as your gaze traveled to the face connected to the hand still placed possessively on you. While not particularly ugly, the man in front of you was pushing fifty, and the lewdness dripping from his gaze as he leered at you, an eighteen year old girl…

“There you are,” his lips curled into an unpleasant smile; he was close enough you could smell the stench of alcohol on his breath, almost overpowered by the sheer amount of cologne that clung to him. “I must say, my sponsorship has paid off… handsomely. I mean, look at you! Such a stunning addition to the Capitol, I just cannot wait for you to become—”

“Excuse me,” a new voice — a familiar voice — cut through. “I think your wife is looking for you, Quillon.”

Of course he knew this man, he seemed to know everyone. And of course the man — Quillon — listened, his eyes widening as he immediately removed his hand from you, leaving an unpleasant dampness from his sweaty palms. He backed away until he had disappeared into the crowd and it was just you and him.

Him. Finnick Odair, Capitol Darling, youngest Victor of the 65th Hunger Games, the most insufferable and obnoxious boy you’d ever had the displeasure of encountering. You were sure he’d never liked you from the beginning; you’d tried to introduce yourself to him at fourteen when you accompanied your father to the Capitol to train the new tributes, only to be brushed off without a second glance.

That dislike had only seemed to grow when you had been Reaped the year your father had been killed (the rumors of the siblings and children of Victors being chosen so often finally making sense to you), and Finnick Odair, master of the Games, expert of the field, had all but ignored you.

“You!” All of the rage you’d pent up about his mentoring skills — or lackthereof — were coming out in full force, though even you were surprised by the venom in your words. With a jab of a finger in his chest, you finally began to let it all out. He seemed to have sensed that you would come at him swinging, grabbing your wrist and dragging you to a quieter corner of the party, beneath a small pergola weighted with vines that crept up the sides and wove inbetween the planks on top.

“Look, I know you must be upset — ” No. You wouldn’t let him talk, not before you had the chance to give him a piece of your mind. You took a step closer, until your nose was brushing against his, and tried to keep your voice as level as you could.

“Nice of you to finally fucking show up, Odair. Didn’t think you’d see me again, huh? Not after you all but fucking abandoned me during training week. I mean, I know we never really got along, but seriously? Is that why you left me with Mags and I never saw you past the first day? You hoped you’d train Kier—” the breath caught in your throat as you finally uttered the name of your fellow District tribute for the first time since… well, that wasn’t important. “—and then I would be out of your hair, is that it?”

Finnick, however, took this as an opportunity to spit his own words out, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard as he looked down at you. “I was trying to help you.” He was so close you could feel his breath fanning your lips, almost making you want to close your eyes.

“Help me?” A laugh escaped your lips, one that could’ve almost been seen as genuine because of the honest disbelief that coated it. “You think I’d be better off dead?”

He didn’t respond. Couldn’t even look you in the eyes, choosing instead to fixate on a tiny rose growing from within the depths of the ivy layers. That was basically a confirmation of what you’d just said, but for some reason he couldn’t even admit it to your face.

You weren’t sure why, but hot, angry tears were beginning to form in your eyes; you tried frantically to force them down. He couldn’t know how much he’d hurt you with his indifference. “You were supposed to be there for me, you were supposed to teach me how to survive, and you fucking left me to die!”

Had you done something? You replayed all of your interactions with him, coming up short with a conversation that would make him hate you so much he wanted you to die. Sure, you’d been a bit annoying when you’d trailed behind your father, and maybe you had been a little relentless to pursue his attention when he moved next door to you in Victor’s Village, but this? The way he couldn’t even answer you? The way he was just standing there, his gaze in some far off place? It made you angrier. How dare he be so indifferent, how dare he act as if he was doing you a favor?

There was a moment of hesitation before Finnick sighed. “It’s not like that. I was trying to protect you. Look— has Snow talked to you yet?”

This left you truly at a loss for words. “Snow?” You words were less harsh and more curious. “Why would Snow want to talk to me? You know what — don’t try to spin it on him, this is about us! About you—” You stabbed at his chest again, and this time he let you. “—about you abandoning me in that arena, when it was your job to fight for me! To keep me alive!”

“There’s a lot you don’t understand right now,” he began again, hesitantly reaching out to grasp the hand that had struck against his chest, and that was the final straw snapping; you were done.

With a scowl and a tug of your hand, you yanked it free of his grasp and whirled around, the flow of the dress whipping around from the sudden gust of wind. “Whatever, Odair. I’m done. If you can’t even admit what you did was wrong, then… then just leave me the fuck alone from now on.” You didn’t bother to look back, missing the way his jaw hung open and his entire face crumbled. If only you had any idea.

You found out soon enough.

“You’re quite popular now, if you didn’t know that already. Although you’re quite perceptive, I can’t imagine you don’t.” Though he sealed the compliment with a smile, it did little to soothe the unease stirring within your belly.

“Yes, Sir. I’ve noticed. Is that a bad thing?” You hated how weak you sounded, your voice faltering slightly at the end of your sentences, hanging uncomfortably in the air and weighed down with uncertainty.

“I knew you were a smart one,” he finally tucked the envelope in his hands into his pocket, his undivided attention now on you. “You see, with how desirable you are… there are certain expectations that come with that. We wouldn’t want the Capitol to be unsatisfied, now would we?”

When did attention turn into desire? When were there suddenly expectations, and why was it suddenly your responsibility to keep people satisfied?

“I’m not sure what you mean, sir.” A hollow, empty statement, but a genuine one.

“Well,” it seemed Snow was particularly delighted by your response, as if it allowed him to explain something that pleased him greatly. “Victors have their place in Panem, just as all the Districts do. What would Panem be without Eleven’s grain, or Five’s power?”

Realizing it was not a rhetorical question, that he really wanted you to answer, you stumbled through a response. “Well, I— I suppose it would topple the whole structure. We… we can’t survive without eachother.”

“You’d be correct. The same thing applies to the Capitol. Without everyone doing what’s required of them, the Games fail to run smoothly. With no… incentives, shall we say, people… sponsors… become uninterested. There are things you, as a Victor and a mentor, need to do to ensure that interest remains. Do you understand me now, my dear?”

You did, oh how you did. And that was the worst part.

That was how you got here on the rooftop of the Victor’s apartment complex, wrapping a thin robe around the once pretty, now torn chemise that did little to hide your body. You barely survived the first night, there was no way you could spend the rest of your life doing this. No amount of hot showers and scrubbing your skin raw until it bled could free you from feeling so dirty. Tears glistened on your cheeks, highlighting your face in the pale dawn light and exposing your true emotions to anyone who could see you. Luckily — or perhaps unluckily — you were all alone in the Capitol, your family safe and sound because of what you’d agreed to, but so far away.

With slow movements, you hoisted yourself onto the ledge of the roof, telling yourself you wanted to get a better glimpse of the city skyline as the sun crept higher into the sky, not wanting to admit the real reason why, even to yourself. The wind whipped all around you, tearing the robe from your body and splaying your hair in different directions, but you felt as close as you could to freedom. If you just— took another step, or stumbled forward and fell, maybe you would truly be free in the entire sense of the word.

“There’s a forcefield. They wouldn’t let you get away that easily,” the all too familiar voice of Finnick Odair startled you out of your thoughts.

“Did you know?” You had to ask, but couldn’t bring yourself to turn your head and look back at his features, because you would surely crumble if you saw the look on his face.

To his credit, Finnick didn’t bother to sugarcoat it. “Yeah, of course I knew. That’s why…”

“That’s why you wouldn’t train me. You wanted me to die, so I wouldn’t end up like this—” you whirled around sharply to stare straight into his eyes for confirmation as you guessed what you were going to say next. “—like you. Because he makes you do this too, doesn’t he?”

Finnick was never an easy person to read, always hiding behind dimples that indented in his cheeks when he flashed one of his dizzying smirks. But now? You felt like you were staring at a statue, his gaze unable to leave yours but also unable to say anything in return.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, allowing the cold caress of the breeze to take hold of you. If only you could fall back, if only…

“I tried to protect you,” his voice cracked, finally pushing something past his lips and drawing you away from the dangerous thoughts fighting in your mind. “Don’t you see it now? It would’ve been better if you’d died in the arena, you wouldn’t have to do this,” he spat out the word like it was hot tea burning his tongue, but you noticed the crack of defeat in his voice. The way his shoulders slumped, the way his sea green eyes were fixed on his shoes. “And I… I wouldn’t have to see you like this.”

You did see it now; there was a fate worse than death. “I should’ve listened to you, Finnick.” His first name felt foreign on your tongue, as if you were speaking an intimate language only known to the both of you. “I— I’m sorry. I had no idea, I…”

He let your apology hang heavy in the air, flicking his eyes over your shoulder to the waking Captiol, evident by the honks of car horns and the chatter of thousands turning into a dull buzz.

You couldn’t stand silence, it reminded you too much of what followed your father’s execution, what followed when your name was called from the Reaping Bowl. So with a huff, you jumped down from the ledge and hoped he wouldn’t notice your disgruntled appearance.

Not that you cared what he thought of you. But one look from him and you were a goner; your lips began to quiver and you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Finnick, I… I don’t know how to do this,” a choked sob escaped you, and then it was all over and you were crying, shaking violently as you tried and failed to regain your composure. That seemed to snap him out of the haze he’d been in, his eyes flickering over and fixating on your figure, deep frown lines etching themselves on his face in a worried expression. “I don’t know if I can—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he didn’t hesitate to surge forward as you began to sway, the lack of sleep from the night before becoming evident in the dark circles beneath your bleary eyes, cracks in your skin holding onto tears that had long since been shed. He placed a careful hand near the small of your back, hovering over your skin before you fell back into it, like he was uncertain if you would be okay with touch. It reminded you of two nights ago, where he’d been so close to you but still kept his distance, not wanting to invade your space. His reluctance to touch you without your explicit permission made sense now, it all did.

“I just— I don’t—” Your body convulsed with gutteral sobs that sliced his heart in two, his fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you into his chest, allowing fresh tears to stain in the wool of his white sweater. “I don’t…” you tried again, wanting to continue despite the hiccups, “I just don’t… don’t… know what to do.”

You could feel his lips moving against your hair from where they rested on top of your head as he answered. “You don’t have to do anything. Not right now, at least.”

Time passing was the last thing on your mind as you remained in his embrace, soaking up everything about him, relishing in the comfort his closeness brought to you. How when your mind began to wander, the rhythmic pattern of his heartbeat brought you back so you could listen with your ear against his chest. How when your body expelled the last of its shudders and gasps from your breakdown, you could feel his arms flexing, squeezing you a little tighter. How when you pulled back from his embrace, he traced the red indent on your cheek, left from one of the buttons on his sweater.

“When was the last time you slept, sweetheart?” Finnick asked in a tone so gentle it brought fresh tears to your eyes; perhaps it was the sleep deprivation this time.

“I— I can’t go to sleep,” you began to panic again, digging your fingernails into his clothed arms. “I just close my eyes and I keep reliving it over and over again, I can’t do it again, I can’t—”

“I get it,” he stopped your rambling with a simple sentence, and you finally felt like you didn’t have to explain, he just understood. “Just… come with me, okay? You can trust me.”

Wordlessly you nodded, allowing him to guide you gently through the long corridors of the various penthouses until you arrived to one that had been occupied by none other than yourself. No, I can’t sleep, you wanted to shout at him, but remained silent. Trust him.

You allowed him to go through the motions of a bedtime routine, paying no attention to the fact that it was probably breakfast time. Pulling back one side of the blanket, he patted the uncovered space, motioning you to come lay down beside where he sat.

“Finnick, I can’t…” I can’t sleep.

He shook his head, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Just trust me, okay? Come and lay down, you don’t even have to sleep.”

Reluctantly, you threw the robe off of you and on to a chair, trying very hard to ignore the fact that the nightgown underneath did little to hide your body, reaching just past the tops of your thighs and exposing most of your legs. But Finnick didn’t even seem to notice, watching just your face as you settled into bed beside him, laying stiffly on your back until he motioned for you to roll over on your side, facing away from him.

“What are you—” you were shushed yet again and tried to comply, feeling a bit odd facing away from him when he was supposed to be distracting you.

You suppressed a shiver as his finger came into contact with your back, the thin silk of the nightgown doing little as a barrier and feeling more of a second skin. He began to trace a pattern— wait, were those letters?

“Finnick, what are you doing?” You forced back the beginnings of a smile, the first time you’d genuinely wanted to in what seemed like forever.

“Just relax, okay? Sometimes it’s okay to just… let yourself be distracted,” his voice trailed off, differing from the confidence you were used to, replaced by something much more vulnerable. “What am I drawing now?”

“I…” you frowned in concentration, trying to piece together the light strokes of his finger just barely gliding over you. “The sea, no! Waves?”

“Woah, that was fast. Didn’t know I was such an amazing artist, but it doesn’t surprise me—” The teasing tone had returned to his voice, no doubt an effort to continue to distract her

“Can you just continue drawing?” You rolled your eyes knowing he couldn’t see, but there was a slight humor to your voice that let him know it was working, that he was distracting you. His fingers continued their roaming, dancing so delicately and so dangerously close to your bare shoulder.

Finnick traced a moon, a star, and even a fish before he switched over to words, indenting each letter in your back with featherlight strokes of his fingers.

At first it was people, places. Your name. His name. District 4. District 1. Then it transitioned to phrases, which proved to be much more difficult. ‘You should sleep’—

“—Hey! I thought this was supposed to just be a distraction,” your words were finished with a heavy yawn that caused a chuckle to vibrate within his chest, and a feeling of warmth spread through you like wildfire. You couldn’t help it, in a moment you had flipped over onto your other side, wanting to see him. You could hear him, small chuckles passing from his lips and the slight rustle of the sheets beneath his body; you could smell him, a comforting, clean scent that instantly relaxed you, but nothing compared to actually being able to see him in all his glory.

You studied the high of his cheekbones, the straight edge of his nose, the golden glow of his skin that matched his bronzy hair dishevled from its place against your headboard. You studied the way his hair curled around his ears, the way you could faintly see the indents in his cheeks from where his dimples would appear if he were to smile, how the white of his two front teeth would poke out from his lips if he flashed you a smirk. They were full and pink, and, with a pang of jealousy that rocked your entire body, you wondered how many Capitol women had been blessed with feeling his lips on theirs — then swallowed that thought down with a shudder of disgust. He hadn’t wanted them, any of them, it was all a facade made up from by the Capitol, and you needed to realize that.

And while hearing him, and smelling him, and even seeing him was great, all you wanted to do was touch him. Not like that; no, you just wanted his arms around you again like they had been on the rooftop, shielding you from the cruelty of the world and finally allowing your body to feel safe enough to sleep. You wanted to reach out and trace the sharpness of his jawline, trail your fingers down to explore the planes of his chest, draw letters and shapes and meaningless patterns over his shirt like he’d just done to you. He watched you through sea green eyes that were glassy with sleep or emotion, which one you couldn’t say. His breaths came out short and shallow, hitting your face as you stared right back. You wondered if he could feel your breath fanning his face, or the warmth radiating from your body as you could from his.

He was close, so, so close, like that night you’d first seen him in the Captiol. You were wanting, just about begging for him to say something, something that would snap you out of whatever trance you were in.

It wasn’t fair that he could be so close, mere inches away on the bed, but be so unreachable.

But, as Snow had so graciously reminded you, fairness was a luxury you were not blessed with. So with great effort you tucked one arm under your pillow, using the other to pull the covers over you. Much to your relief, Finnick made no attempt to leave, saving you the embarassment of asking him to stay.

“Finnick?” You asked after several moments in a hushed whisper, not wanting to wake him. You felt guilty enough to have kept him up until mid morning.

“Mmmm?” Was the response, thick with sleep.

“Thanks for staying with me.” You fell asleep before you could hear his response.

Blood. Red and warm and sticky.

Heat. Blistering your skin and parching your throat.

A knife. Glinting in the sun, slicing straight through skin and muscle and bone.

A scream. Bloodcurdling and drawn out and all too familiar.

A scream escaped your lips, mimicking the one in your dream to an uncanny degree until you realized it was your scream. The sheets were tangled around your limbs, suffocating you and rendering you paralyzed as you fought with them, sweat drenching your forehead and leaving your hairline damp as you struggled for what felt like hours, though it was probably only a moment or two before your disorientation faded and you realized you weren’t back in the arena. Two hands were on your shoulders, strong and grounding, and you realized someone had been calling your name.

“You’re okay. You’re safe, it’s just— it’s just me,” Finnick’s voice was soothing to your ears, a calming melody against the screams and sounds of sliced flesh that were assaulting your mind.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, chest heaving as you sucked in as much air as possible, needing desperately to occupy your mind with something else, anything else. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up—”

“It’s okay,” he cut you off; his hands moved up from your shoulders to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks and you realized you’d been crying. “I get it, you don’t… you don’t have anything to be sorry about.”

His arms wrapped around your body until you had been tucked into his side, your head resting in the crook where his neck met his shoulder, and allowed steadying inhales and exhales to relax you as he resumed tracing patterns on your back. You cried, for everything you’d lost in those games, mourning the person you were before, and he just stayed there, cradling you against him, wanting nothing more than to take your pain on as his own.

“I— I— I just— I can’t—” you hiccuped, fresh tears spilling from your eyes as memories from your Games kept crashing down, how your District partner had protected you and you’d killed him—

“Please, what do you need?” Finnick squeezed his hands a bit tighter around you, trying desperately to bring you back to today. “Just tell me, and I can get it for you— liquor, morphling, anything, just—”

“Finnick,” you croaked out, hating how your voice sounded so weak, so broken. “Can you just…” your eyes flickered down to his lips, and despite every cell in your body screaming at you not to ask: “Kiss me.”

His eyes widened like it was the last thing he expected you to say, “I— okay— are you sure?”

You answered his question by surging forward and capturing his lips with your own, telling yourself it wasn’t his lips that you craved, but that you just needed something to get you through the night. He reciprocated immediately, matching your desperation with his own, like the two of you were trading blows as he pulled you fully under him, settling himself between your legs. You felt the hardness in his pants and couldn’t help but roll your hips up to meet it, pressing your own desire up against his. That — the feeling of his cock straining through the material of his sweatpants — made everything a little too real, and you suddenly found yourself needing to justify your actions. Why you felt this way was a mystery, perhaps you were protecting yourself, scared he wouldn’t feel the same if you were honest, but you truly had no idea, it just slipped out.

“I just… can’t think about it anymore,” you panted out. He didn’t have to know that you’d been pining after him since you were sixteen, didn’t need to know you hid your wanting behind sharp jabs and petty slights. “I don’t want you to think— this doesn’t have to mean anything, okay?”

Maybe you were imagining it, but Finnick’s eyes flickered with something you’d never seen before, clenching his jaw for a moment. “Okay.” He didn’t sound okay. “This means… whatever you want it to mean,” his voice was husky with a mix of something that sounded a little like… well you weren’t really sure, and you soon forgot to ask him as he stole your lips in another kiss.

You swore you would never get used to the feeling of Finnick’s lips on your own, even if you kissed him every day for a thousand lifetimes. Because each time his lips met yours, the world as you knew it was set ablaze with the same fuel that set your whole body on fire. You could never get enough of him, the way his lips were so soft and gentle, the way his breath mingled with and matched your own until it was like you were breathing as one. The way his tongue slid into your mouth but didn’t invade it while his hands roamed your body, squeezing the flesh around your hips, your sides, not being able to keep them contained to one place.

They finally settled on the sides of your thighs, squeezing around the area where your nightgown stopped, fading into a lacy trim and then disappearing completely. With tentative hands, he gripped the bottom of your nightgown and slowly began to hike it up your body. You helped him slide it up your legs, your stomach, your head, until it was completely discarded and you were left in nothing but underwear, having not worn a bra to sleep and leaving your chest completely exposed. Before you even had the chance to cover yourself, he was pressed up against you and his lips were on your neck, nipping at the sensitive spots under your ear and near the base of your throat, soothing the sting of his teeth with the swirl of his tongue.

This continued for a bit without any talking or shifting around, until you decided you weren’t content with being the only one practically naked, and reached for the hem of his shirt. He got the hint pretty quickly, leaning back and sitting on the backs of his thighs before tugging the shirt over his head. His biceps flexed in the process as he revealed a body sculpted and shaped into what you could only describe as perfect, not a single flaw to be seen.

Sitting above you, your legs spread around him and almost completely bare before him, this was the first time he was truly able to take in all of you, his green eyes nearly black with how wide his pupils had been blown out. His cheeks were so flushed they nearly matched the red of his lips, swollen from the constant attack of your own.

“You’re so beautiful,” Finnick whispered, so quietly you thought you imagined it. He didn’t leave much time for the compliment to settle in before he was back on you again.

His lips trailed down your neck, sucking and licking a path of hot, open mouthed kisses down past the valley of your breasts, down your stomach and not leaving an inch of skin untouched. You let out a little whine at the loss of contact when he suddenly pulled away, stopping his kisses just by your hip bone. You opened your eyes to see him searching them for any trace of unwillingness, finding none.

You nodded, desperate to have his mouth on you, and involuntarily shivered as a finger hooked around your panties and rolled them down your legs. You couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed as he was met with how eager you were for him, evident by the growing wetness between your thighs, and instinctively pressed your legs together to shield yourself from his prying gaze, despite being completely bare before him.

“You don’t have to hide, it’s just me,” he said as gently as possible, gripping your thighs and slowly spreading them apart, “Are you really sure about all of this? I don’t want you to think that’s why I stayed.”

God he was so good, you realized with an ache that rocked your body, shooting straight to your heart as you stared at him, met with only sincerity that made you want to cry again, because you could never truly have all of him.

He was doing this as a favor, as a distraction, not because he had any real feelings. But you were so desperate for him you’d take what you could get, which was why you nodded fervently and said, “Please, Finnick, I’m sure, I need you, just… touch me.” And as soon as the last words slipped past your lips, his mouth was on you, and you knew in that moment you were utterly fucked.

Finnick, on the other hand, knew he there was no coming back the moment he came into contact with your clit and tasted you with his tongue. He wanted you, all of you, and chanelled that into the expert motions of his tongue as he dove it deeper in you, continuing at an agonizing pace until you were trembling, practically begging for release. Your fingers raked through his hair, tugging him closer to you, his groans vibrating against your folds whenever you pulled a little hard.

And then, he stopped altogether, and you let out a frustrated groan at the loss of contact, but he was quick to make his way up your body again, peppering kisses along the way before swallowing your whine with another kiss, your mouth opening to let his tongue inside and tasting yourself on him. He broke away for a moment, just in time for you to cry out his name.

“Finn—” you barely had time to whimper again before he suddenly sunk a finger in and kissed you at the same time. His mouth never left yours as he continued, his tongue sliding along the seam of your lips as you parted them with a gasp. And he swallowed that with the kiss, too, like he was hungry for every part of you that he could get.

Desire ignited every part of his body, reflected in the way he began to pump his finger in and out before adding another, wanting you to be ready enough for his cock that he so desperately wanted to sink into you.

But Finnick had waited so long for this moment, he didn’t want to ruin it by moving too fast. No, he needed to relish in every moan elicited from your lips, every clench of you around his fingers. He needed to memorize every dip and valley of your body, kiss every square inch, memorize the taste and feel of you, in case he never got the chance to again.

He broke away his lips from yours and reattached them to your neck as his thumb began to trace a pattern against your clit. His pace quickened as your moans grew louder and more frequent. Your walls squeezed his fingers tighter, until you were practically undone, as he reveled in the sting in his roots and on his back as as you pulled his hair even tighter and your fingernails dug little crescent moons into his otherwise perfect skin.

“I’m gonna—” You were cut off as he sent you over the edge with the slight curl of his finger, pure bliss blinding every other sense until all you could think of was Finnick. It took you a moment to come down from your high, realizing it did little to satiate you because you still wanted him, all of him.

You reached for his bare torso, feeling each of his abs flex individually as you trailed your hands down his stomach. You stopped just above the waistband of his pants, not only wanting to feel him, but wanting to hear him say he wanted it just as badly as you did; but it seemed he was thinking the same thing and beat you to it, shucking off his sweats and boxers until he was also bare before you.

“Tell me you want me,” his chest heaved with each word, demanding you say just what you wanted to hear from him, tearing your attention away from everything else. “Need to hear you say it.”

“Want you so bad,” your voice was barely above a whisper. “Please, I need you inside me. Right now, just… please.” If you could get drunk off of the word please leaving your mouth you’d be wasted by now, almost wanting to laugh with how often you’d said the word.

“Whatever you want,” the way he said that made your spine tingle, the purr in his voice causing you to border on ferality.

This caused you to laugh and hook your arms around his neck, pulling him closer with the intention of kissing the smirk right off his mouth until you felt the tip of his cock brush against your entrance, making this feel a little to real once again.

“You sure?” He halted your movements, both hands resting on either side of your head as he remained hovering above you, repeating his question from earlier.

The vigor in your nod caused him to throw his head back with laughter, though not before you asked for confirmation of his own.

Mimicking your move from earlier he answered with a kiss, this one so sweet and quick it was more of a peck. Before he had time to overthink, he was inside you in a swift motion, a moan tearing from your throat as he paused, waiting for you to adjust to the sheer size of him. Your fingernails dug into his arms as he held still, waiting for you to give him the go ahead before he started moving.

“Just— move, please—” that was all it took before his hips snapped against yours and he was inside you fully, biting back a groan to match yours as you clenched around him.

After a while of slow strokes, you were starting to grow inpatient with how gentle he was being. Not because you didn’t like it, but because then you had the chance to slow down and remember it was actually Finnick, and not some nameless man you wouldn’t remember in the morning. He seemed to pick up on your growing disinterest quickly enough, and began quickening his pace until you were crying out. His thrusts soon became wild and erratic, signaling he was just as close to finishing as you were.

“It’s okay,” he crooned, his lips brushing your ear as his hand reached down to circle your clit once again. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

You weren’t sure whether it was his command, or the pet name, way his lips felt against your ear, or even his thumb pressing against your clit, but you came hard and fast, your body spasming and clenching around his cock until he followed soon after. He collapsed on top of you, his chest shining with sweat as he continued to press kisses on you shoulder, up your neck, behind your ear. The weight of Finnick pinning you to the mattress was oddly comforting, grounding you and effectively keeping you from wandering back to thoughts of your Games. The distraction had worked, you realized as he eventually rolled off of you and up into a sitting position.

You wondered tiredly where he was going, but he had left and returned before you could even ask where. A damp towel in one hand, he cleaned you up with gentle movements, slowing when you gasped from sensitivity and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead while whispering sweet words of encouragement in your ear. The whole interaction was so domestic you actually felt nauseous as you remembered this was just a one time thing, and you’d never experience any of this again. This was just a favor done by someone who wasn’t even really your friend — a familiar stranger who knew more about you than most.

Finnick oh so desperately wanted to know what you were thinking. He would ask, but the look in your eyes kept his mouth shut as he fell on the mattress beside you. He itched to pull you close to him, to be able to fall asleep with the security of you in his arms, but couldn’t bring himself to make any first moves. Had he not slept here before you two had just fucked, he’d be questioning whether or not he should remain or go back to his room.

If only he knew you were craving his touch just as much as he was craving yours. So the two of you fell asleep shoulder to shoulder, with so many words left unspoken.

And when you woke up the next morning, you tried not to let your heart sink completely into your chest as you reached over and felt nothing. He was gone.

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