#I meant to make one eye blind but I forgot

[hereforuconnwbb]

Unexpected Halt - CHAPTER FOUR

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

~paige plays for uconn and azzi plays for stanford~

word count: 11.7k

warning: language, suggestive content

i was supposed to publish this a few hours ago but as i was going over it my dumbass wasnt rlly making any sense and there were some mistakes (i probs still forgot some in there😓) so i had to cut some bits and add more stuff so that its adding up properly (im hoping it adds up now... 🤞🏽) but yurrrr heres chapter 4 😏

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting lines across Azzi’s ceiling as she stared up, her mind stuck on last night. The teasing, the tension, the way Paige’s voice had dropped lower, her words making Azzi’s stomach flip. And then Caroline had walked in, snapping the moment in half before anything could actually happen.

Azzi groaned, throwing an arm over her face.

It wasn’t just what almost happened—it was how much she had wanted it to.

Her phone sat beside her on the bed, the screen dark, but she knew Paige usually texted her first thing in the morning. Normally, Azzi would check immediately, eager to see whatever dumb or teasing thing Paige had come up with. But this morning, she hesitated. She wasn’t sure where they stood after last night. Would it be weird? Would Paige brush past it like nothing happened?

Taking a slow breath, she finally grabbed her phone, unlocking it with her thumb. No messages.

Paige hadn’t texted.

Azzi exhaled, locking the screen and tossing it beside her. Maybe that was for the best.

—-----------------------

Across the country, Paige was lying in her dorm bed, staring at her phone. Still nothing from Azzi. She huffed, running a hand through her hair before rolling onto her stomach.

Was she supposed to say something first? Probably. But what? Good morning. Hope you slept well. By the way, you looked way too good in that tank top while teasing the hell out of me last night. Yeah, no.

She locked her phone and flipped onto her back, draping an arm over her eyes. The shift between them had been coming for a while, but now that it actually happened—now that they both knew—what were they supposed to do? Keep flirting until one of them finally cracked?

Minutes passed before she finally caved, unlocking her phone and typing out a message.

Paige: Morning.

She stared at the screen, waiting. Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then nothing.

Azzi had seen it. She wasn’t answering.

Paige raised an eyebrow. Oh, so that’s how it was?

She smirked, settling against her pillows, fingers moving quickly.

Paige: Ignoring me already? That’s cold.

This time, the response was quick.

Azzi: I was thinking about responding, but I didn’t want to boost your ego first thing in the morning.

Paige grinned.

Paige: Too late. You already admitted you were thinking about me.

Azzi groaned, pressing her phone against her forehead before replying.

Azzi: Don’t get ahead of yourself.

Paige: Can’t help it.

Azzi hesitated, then typed:

Azzi: …Did you sleep well?

Paige paused. A simple question, but they both knew what it really meant.

Paige: Took me a while to fall asleep. Kept thinking.

Azzi’s heart skipped.

Azzi: About?

The three dots appeared. Disappeared. Then finally—

Paige: Take a wild guess.

Azzi stared at the message, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Before she could respond, a loud knock on her door made her jolt.

“Azzi! We’re heading down for breakfast,” Caroline called.

Azzi exhaled, running a hand through her hair before quickly typing out a reply.

Azzi: I have a feeling we’re thinking about the same thing.

Paige’s response was immediate.

Paige: You should think about it more. I’ll be waiting. ;)

Azzi rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips gave her away.

She took a deep breath, trying to shake off the warmth creeping up her neck. Paige was impossible. She knew exactly what she was doing, and the worst part? It was working.

Caroline knocked again, more impatient this time. “Azzi, seriously, we’re gonna be late.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” Azzi muttered, pushing herself out of bed.

By the time she met up with her teammates in the hallway, she had forced her expression into something neutral. Caroline, of course, wasn’t fooled.

The second they stepped into the elevator, Caroline gave her a look. “You’ve been weird since last night.”

Azzi stiffened. “What?”

“You know what.” Caroline leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. “You and Paige.”

Azzi nearly choked on air. “There is no ‘me and Paige.’”

Caroline just smirked. “Right. That’s why you’ve been checking your phone every two seconds.”

Azzi cursed internally. She should’ve known Caroline would notice. Trying to brush it off, she shrugged. “We were just talking.”

“Mhm.” Caroline clearly wasn’t buying it.

Azzi sighed, rubbing her temple. “Look, it’s—complicated.”

Caroline tilted her head. “Complicated how?”

Azzi hesitated. She and Paige hadn’t really defined whatever this was. Were they just flirting? Was it leading to something more? Did they even need to talk about it yet?

“I don’t know,” Azzi admitted.

Caroline nodded like she expected that answer. “Well, you better figure it out before one of you combusts.”

Azzi opened her mouth to argue, but the elevator doors slid open. Saved by breakfast.

—-----------------------

Across the country, Paige was stirring her cereal around her bowl, only half paying attention to the conversation around her. KK, sitting across from her, was watching her with narrowed eyes.

“You’re being weird,” KK finally said.

Paige raised an eyebrow. “How?”

KK pointed her spoon at her. “You’re distracted. You’ve barely said anything all morning.”

Paige shrugged. “Just tired.”

“Uh-huh.” KK wasn’t convinced. “You FaceTimed Azzi last night, didn’t you?”

Paige rolled her eyes. “What makes you think that?”

“Because every time you two talk at night, you act like this the next day.” KK smirked. “So what happened? More flirting? More almost moments?”

Paige huffed, shoving a spoonful of cereal in her mouth to avoid answering. KK just laughed.

“I swear, at this point, I should start taking bets on how long it’s gonna take for you two to finally do something.”

Paige nearly choked, coughing as she glared at KK. “Shut up.”

KK just grinned. “Oh, you definitely did something.”

Paige groaned, pushing her bowl away. She wasn’t going to survive this breakfast.

—-----------------------

Paige had a long morning of workouts, classes, and film study, but no matter how busy she kept herself, her mind always wandered back to the night before. The shift between her and Azzi was undeniable now. Their usual late-night calls had always carried a level of comfort, but last night had been different—charged. It had started with her checking in on Azzi, making sure she was okay after the loss, and somehow, by the end, they were toeing a line neither of them had explicitly crossed before.

Even now, sitting in the locker room before practice, Paige absentmindedly scrolled through their messages. The conversation had been light that morning, mostly filled with teasing over how Paige had “corrupted” their calls into something more suggestive, but she could tell that neither of them was ignoring what had happened. If anything, they were testing it, pushing at the edges to see where it would lead.

KK plopped down beside her, glancing at her phone. “You’ve been smiling at that screen for like five minutes. Wanna share with the class?”

Paige locked her phone immediately, shooting KK a glare. “Mind your business.”

“Oh, so that’s a yes.” KK grinned, nudging her. “Come on, I already know it’s Azzi.”

Paige rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. There was no point—KK had already pieced things together weeks ago. “You are actually the most annoying person I know.”

“And yet, you still love me.” KK smirked, dodging the half-hearted shove Paige sent her way. “So, when’s the next ‘accidental’ meet-up? Y’all are practically dating at this point.”

Paige opened her mouth to argue but hesitated. They weren’t dating—at least, they hadn’t talked about it—but the way they’d been acting lately…it was a fair assumption.

“Shut up,” Paige muttered, standing up before KK could keep digging. “I gotta go warm up.”

“Uh-huh, run away all you want. I know the truth,” KK called after her.

As practice started, Paige did her best to focus, but the thought of Azzi lingered in the back of her mind.

—-----------------------

Meanwhile, on the West Coast, Azzi was dealing with her own distractions.

She sat in the team lounge, half-listening to her teammates talk as she scrolled through her messages with Paige. The teasing was light, playful, but every now and then, a message made her stomach flip—like when Paige had casually dropped a “wish I could see you right now” in the middle of their back-and-forth.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, debating whether to say something just as bold, when Caroline sat down beside her. “You look like you’re having a very serious internal debate.”

Azzi sighed, locking her phone. “Just…thinking.”

Caroline raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Thinking about Paige?”

Azzi groaned. “Why does everyone know everything?”

Caroline laughed. “Because you’re bad at hiding things.” She leaned in. “So, what’s going on now?”

Azzi hesitated, unsure how to explain the shift between her and Paige. She didn’t even know how to define it herself. “We’ve just been…talking more. It’s different now.”

Caroline smirked. “Different how?”

Azzi bit her lip, debating how much to admit. “Just…more.”

Caroline hummed knowingly. “So, when are you seeing her next?”

That was the thing—Azzi didn’t know. Their teams were both in the thick of their seasons, traveling across the country. The distance was always there, but lately, it felt heavier.

“No clue,” Azzi admitted. “But I want to.”

She didn’t realize just how soon it would be.

—-----------------------

The exhaustion hit as soon as Paige flopped onto the couch in the team lounge after practice. The day had been brutal—scrimmages, drills, weight training—Geno wasn’t letting up, and neither were the assistant coaches. She let her head drop back, closing her eyes for a moment, only to hear someone collapse onto the seat next to her with a dramatic groan.

KK.

“I swear, my legs are gonna give out,” KK muttered, stretching out with a wince. “If we don’t get a break soon, I might actually cry.”

Paige huffed out a small laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”

KK shot her a glare. “Am I? Or am I speaking facts?” She nudged Paige’s arm. “You’re just as dead as me, don’t even try to act tough.”

Paige smirked but didn’t deny it. Instead, she sighed. “Yeah, I’m tired as hell.”

KK was quiet for a second before she suddenly sat up. “Wait. Hold on. You do know we have a break coming up, right?”

Paige frowned, turning her head. “What?”

KK gave her a look like she was an idiot. “We literally get a few days off after the next game. How did you not know that?”

Paige blinked. She honestly hadn’t even thought that far ahead. Between practices, games, and keeping up with everything else, the idea of an actual break hadn’t even crossed her mind.

KK scoffed. “Wow. And you call yourself the leader of this team.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

But KK was already grinning, leaning toward her. “Sooo…what are you gonna do with your time off?”

Paige shrugged, grabbing her water bottle. “I don’t know. Probably just chill or go home.”

KK hummed. “You know…” She dragged the word out, her voice teasing. “A certain someone might have a game around then.”

Paige froze mid-sip.

KK smirked. “I checked. Stanford has a game.”

Paige slowly lowered her bottle, her mind already racing.

KK’s grin widened. “And I mean…you have all this free time. It’s kinda crazy how the universe works, huh?”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “Did you seriously just set me up for this whole conversation?”

KK laughed. “I literally just gave you the idea. The rest is on you.”

Paige shook her head, but she couldn’t fight the small smile forming. She had been thinking about how much she missed Azzi—this just gave her the perfect opportunity to do something about it.

Her fingers twitched against her phone, an idea forming.

“You should do it,” KK nudged her. “Surprise her. She’d lose her mind.”

Paige exhaled, already opening Instagram.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Maybe I will.”

She scrolled until she found Caroline’s profile and hesitated for only a second before typing out a message request.

Paige: Yo, I need your help with something. It’s about Azzi.

She hovered over the send button for a second before pressing it.

Now, she just had to wait. She set her phone down, trying not to stare at it like that would somehow make Caroline reply faster.

KK, of course, was watching her like a hawk. “You look like you’re about to jump out of your skin.”

Paige scoffed. “I’m fine.”

KK smirked. “Nah, you’re nervous.”

Paige just rolled her eyes, leaning back into the couch, arms crossed. She hated waiting. She’d much rather be taking action, but she also knew she needed Caroline on board for this to work. Azzi would probably kill her if she just showed up out of nowhere—okay, maybe not kill her, but she’d definitely be caught off guard.

Her phone buzzed.

Paige snatched it up immediately.

Caroline: ??? What did you do

Paige exhaled sharply, typing back.

Paige: Wtf?? Nothing. Chill lol. I just need your help with something.

It only took a few seconds for Caroline to reply.

Caroline: Mhm. Sure. What is it

Paige hesitated for a second before getting to the point.

Paige: I wanna surprise Azzi at her next game. But she can’t know.

The three little dots appeared, then disappeared. Then reappeared.

Finally, a message came through.

Caroline: LMAO. Oh, she’s gonna LOSE IT.

Paige smirked.

Paige: So you’re in?

Caroline: Absolutely.

Paige exhaled in relief. Step one—done.

Caroline: When’s your break again?

Paige: Right after our next game. That’s when I’d fly out.

Caroline: Alright. I’ll help you figure it out. But just saying, if you ignore her when you show up, she’s gonna be PISSED.

Paige grinned.

Paige: That’s kinda the point.

Caroline: You’re insane. I respect it.

Paige chuckled, already picturing how this would go. If there was one thing she knew about Azzi, it was that she hated being ignored. She’d get riled up, probably confront her about it, and—Paige wasn’t gonna lie—she kind of wanted to see that.

KK was still watching her. “Judging by your face, I’m guessing she’s in?”

Paige locked her phone. “Oh yeah.”

KK shook her head, laughing. “You’re really about to drive Azzi insane.”

Paige smirked. “That’s the plan.”

—-----------------------

It was the night after their blowout game against Xavier which also marked Paige’s last night before flying out to surprise Azzi. She barely slept—not because of nerves (she was sure Azzi would love the surprise once she got over being ignored), but because she had spent hours making sure every detail was planned perfectly.”

Her bags were packed and waiting by the door, her alarm set way too early, and her phone charged so she wouldn’t miss any updates. 

When morning came, she slipped out of her dorm before most of her teammates were even awake, grabbing an Uber to the airport.

Once she checked in, she sent Caroline a quick message.

Paige: Made it to the airport. Boarding in like an hour.

Caroline: Damn, you’re really doing this. Azzi’s gonna lose her mind lol.

Paige: That’s the plan 😉

Caroline: She’s already pouting that you haven’t answered her all morning btw.

Paige: Good.

Paige grinned to herself as she made her way through security, tossing her phone into the bin before stepping through the scanner. When she got to her gate, she grabbed a quick breakfast and found a seat away from the crowd. She kept her hood up, half-watching the news on one of the overhead screens while checking her texts.

Nothing from Azzi.

Not yet, at least.

It wasn’t surprising. Azzi had already messaged her a couple of times yesterday, and Paige had forced herself not to answer. She hated ignoring her, but it was part of the plan. If she kept Azzi waiting long enough, her reaction would be even better.

Her flight got called for boarding, and she sent Caroline another update.

Paige: Getting on the plane. Next stop: Cali.

Caroline: Lmfao you’re insane. Safe flight.

Paige: Always.

She settled into her seat, threw on her headphones, and let herself relax as the plane took off.

—-----------------------

Azzi had checked her phone at least ten times that morning.

Nothing.

Her texts to Paige still sat on read. Her last message—just a simple good morning, have a great day ❤️—hadn’t even been acknowledged. Paige never ignored her like this.

She knew she shouldn’t be upset. Maybe Paige was busy. Maybe she had a team meeting or classes. But it didn’t sit right with her.

Caroline had noticed, of course.

“You good?”

Azzi sighed, locking her phone and tossing it onto her bed. “Yeah.”

Caroline raised an eyebrow.

Azzi groaned, flopping back. “She’s just… ignoring me. Like completely.”

Caroline hummed, pretending to think. “That’s weird. Maybe she’s busy?”

Azzi turned her head to glare at her. “You’re the worst liar ever.”

Caroline laughed, throwing her hands up. “Hey, I’m just saying! Maybe she’s planning something.”

Azzi’s frown deepened.

If Paige was planning something, why would she be acting like this? Paige wasn’t the type to just cut her off with no explanation.

She sighed, staring at the ceiling. Maybe she was overthinking. Maybe—

Her phone buzzed.

Paige: Hey. Sorry, been busy. Talk later?

Azzi sat up instantly.

What the hell? That was it? No explanation? No usual warmth? Just talk later?

Her jaw clenched as she typed back.

Azzi: Oh. Okay.

She didn’t even wait for a response before locking her phone and setting it aside.

She was done thinking about it.

Or at least, that’s what she told herself.

—-----------------------

Paige leaned back in her seat as she landed, stretching after the long flight. She sent Caroline another update.

Paige: Landed. Heading to the hotel now.

Caroline: She’s so pissed btw lol. Good luck.

Paige: Perfect 😈

Paige grabbed her bags, pulled up her hood, and made her way out of the airport.

Azzi had no idea what was coming.

—-----------------------

Paige dropped her bags onto the hotel bed, stretching out her sore muscles from the flight. She had a few hours before the game, and she needed to figure out what to wear. If she was going to make an entrance, she had to do it right.

She flopped down and shot Caroline a message.

Paige: What should I wear to the game?

Caroline: Idk, look casual but hot.

Paige: Wow. Helpful.

Caroline: Fine, fine. What are you thinking?

Paige: Short cargos? Maybe a white top?

Caroline: Okay, that’s a start.

Paige stared at her suitcase, then glanced at her phone again, smirking as an idea popped into her head.

Paige: What if I wear Azzi’s jersey on top?

Caroline: Ohhhh. Oh, she’s gonna fold. DO IT.

Paige: Bet. Where do I get one?

Caroline sent back a quick location for the nearest store that sold Stanford gear. Paige was out of the hotel in minutes.

By the time she found the store, she was practically jogging inside. She scanned the racks, eyes landing on the bold Fudd #35 jerseys. Grabbing one in her size, she rushed to the counter, throwing down her card before the cashier could even finish their greeting.

Ten minutes later, she was back at the hotel, slipping into her outfit: white tank, short cargos, and Azzi’s jersey on top. She checked herself in the mirror, adjusting the fit.

Yeah. This was gonna wreck Azzi.

She smirked, snapped a quick selfie, and sent it to Caroline.

Paige: Fit check. You approve?

Caroline: Lmaooo. She’s done for.

Paige: Exactly.

Now, all she had to do was show up and make sure Azzi saw her.

—-----------------------

Azzi couldn’t focus. No matter how hard she tried to shake the feeling, something was off.

It had started the night before, a pit settling in her stomach when Paige didn’t text her like she usually did before bed. It was stupid—she knew that. Paige didn’t owe her constant conversation. But after weeks of late-night calls, teasing texts, and stolen moments despite the distance, the sudden silence hit her hard.

She had tried to brush it off, convincing herself that maybe Paige had just fallen asleep early. But when she woke up to nothing, that pit in her stomach deepened. No good morning message, no random meme or TikTok link, no teasing remark about her weird breakfast habits. It was a complete shutout, and Azzi had no idea why.

Now, standing in the tunnel as her team prepared to take the court, she clenched her jaw, shifting from foot to foot in frustration. She hated distractions before a game, and right now, Paige was the biggest one.

Caroline nudged her shoulder. “You good?”

Azzi exhaled sharply. “Yeah.”

Caroline arched her brow, unconvinced. “You sure? You’ve been weird all day.”

“I’m fine,” Azzi insisted, rolling her shoulders back in an attempt to physically shake the feeling away.

She couldn’t let Paige mess with her head.

She had a game to win.

—-----------------------

Paige, meanwhile, sat courtside, heart hammering in her chest as she adjusted Azzi’s jersey over her white top.

The arena was loud, fans buzzing with excitement as the Stanford team ran from the tunnel on to the court for warmup. Paige kept her head low, fingers gripping the edge of her shorts as she tried not to make it obvious she was watching one person in particular.

Azzi looked locked in—at least, on the surface. But Paige knew her too well.

The tightness in her movements, the way her brows furrowed just a little too deep—it was clear something was bothering her. Paige swallowed hard, knowing exactly what.

Azzi was pissed at her.

And if Paige was being honest, she kind of deserved it.

But the plan was already in motion. She just had to hold out a little longer.

Her grip tightened on the fabric of Azzi’s jersey.

She couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when she noticed her.

As the team continued warming up, Caroline bounced on her toes, shaking out her arms while scanning the crowd. She wasn’t searching for anyone—just soaking in the energy of the arena—when her gaze landed on Paige. 

Blonde hair. Tied back into a perfect bun. 

Caroline smirked. Of course. 

She had already spotted Paige earlier, but seeing her now, sitting courtside like she owned the place, just made it funnier. Dressed in a plain white shirt with Azzi’s jersey pulled over it, Paige looked like she belonged in the Stanford fan section. 

She sat back in her seat with a manspread, one arm draped over the chair next to her—all confidence and ease, effortlessly blending in. But Caroline could spot that smugness a mile away.

It was such a Paige move.

A slow grin stretched across Caroline’s face. She immediately gave Paige a thumbs-up, silently hyping her up for the bold play. Paige simply smirked, tilting her chin up in acknowledgment.

Caroline had to give it to her. This plan was genius.

Quickly, she jogged over to the sidelines, making sure Azzi was still focused on her warm-up before slipping past the other players. Paige saw her coming and grinned, standing up just in time for Caroline to reach her.

“You are so messy for this,” Caroline whispered, but her tone was pure amusement.

Paige chuckled, eyes flickering toward Azzi for a second before landing back on Caroline. “Good, right?”

Caroline bit her lip to keep from laughing. “She’s so pissed at you right now.”

Paige ran a hand down her face dramatically. “I know. She’s probably plotting my murder.”

Caroline smirked, shaking her head. “Nah, she won’t be mad once she sees you. Well—maybe for a second. But then she’ll fold.”

Paige grinned. “That’s the plan.”

Without another word, they dapped each other up, the silent confirmation that this was about to be so worth it.

Caroline quickly jogged back to the court before Azzi could notice she was missing, but her excitement buzzed under her skin.

Paige had played this perfectly.

—-----------------------

The energy in the arena was electric, the kind that buzzed through every inch of the building and made every movement feel heavier, sharper. The Stanford crowd was loud, and Azzi was locked in—jaw tight, eyes sharp, moving with that calculated precision that made her so lethal. Paige knew that look. It was the same one Azzi had before every big game, the one that meant she was about to turn up.

Paige leaned forward in her seat, elbows resting on her knees, eyes never leaving Azzi. The game had barely tipped off, but Paige was already locked in like she was the one about to step onto the court. Every move Azzi made, every shot she took, every defensive stop—Paige watched like her life depended on it.

Stanford’s offense flowed smoothly, and Azzi was at the center of it. She started strong, knocking down a smooth pull-up jumper off a screen, then cutting backdoor on the next possession for an easy layup. Paige smirked, nodding her head. Yeah, that’s my girl.

Caroline, who was subbing in at the scorer’s table, stole a quick glance at Paige and let out a knowing chuckle. Paige was so obvious. The way she sat forward every time Azzi touched the ball, how she reacted to every shot like she was playing herself, the small fist clench whenever Azzi locked up on defense—Caroline had never seen Paige so animated during a game that wasn’t her own.

Stanford was holding a small lead when Azzi got really going. She drilled a deep three from the wing, nothing but net, and Paige shot up in her seat, clapping hard.

“Hell yeah, Azzi!” she yelled before remembering where she was and quickly sitting back down, glancing around to see if anyone noticed.

Caroline caught it and definitely noticed. She shook her head, grinning as she ran back onto the court. This was gonna be good.

—-----------------------

The game stayed tight, the opposing team making runs to keep it close. Azzi was Stanford’s rock, steady and composed even under pressure. But Paige could see how badly she wanted this. She knew the little things—the way Azzi’s shoulders tensed when she missed a shot she knew she should’ve hit, how she bit her lip when she was deep in thought during a timeout.

Paige could feel her own adrenaline spiking as the game reached the final minutes. Stanford was up by two, but the opposing team had possession. Azzi was locked in on defense, shadowing her player step for step. The girl tried to shake her with a crossover, but Azzi didn’t budge, staying in front of her.

Paige sat up straighter, gripping the edge of her seat.

The girl went up for a contested jumper, and Azzi blocked it.

The crowd exploded. Paige exploded. She jumped up, her hands flying to her head before she let out a yell. “LET’S FUCKING GO, AZZI!”

Caroline turned toward the sideline and caught Paige’s reaction again. She smirked, shaking her head slightly. Yeah, Azzi was about to lose it when she found out Paige was here.

Stanford secured the rebound, and after a few free throws, the win was locked in. The final buzzer sounded, and Azzi exhaled, letting the tension drain from her shoulders as she high-fived her teammates.

She had no idea.

Caroline jogged over to her during the post-game huddle, casually bumping her shoulder. “Good game.”

Azzi sighed. “Thanks. That was a battle.”

Caroline nodded, then tilted her head slightly, her smirk barely contained. “You had a pretty enthusiastic fan tonight.”

Azzi furrowed her brows. “Huh?”

Caroline just gave her a pointed look before subtly tilting her head toward the sideline. “Look over there.”

Azzi followed her gaze, and—

She froze.

Blonde hair tied up in a bun. Her jersey.

Paige.

Sitting courtside, her smirk smug as hell.

Azzi’s breath caught. Her heart skipped a beat.

No. No way.

Paige was here?

Everything suddenly clicked. The constant text messages that Paige suspiciously stopped sending an hour before the game. The way Caroline had been weirdly smirking all night.

Her jersey.

Paige planned this.

Azzi’s eyes widened, her lips parting slightly as the realization sank in. She had spent the last day annoyed as hell at Paige for ignoring her—only to find out Paige had flown out here to surprise her at her game?

Azzi’s whole body tensed as the realization settled in. She didn’t know whether she wanted to yell at her or kiss her. 

Paige had ignored her for the past day, leaving her annoyed, restless, and frustrated—just for this? A surprise that made Azzi’s stomach flip and her heart pound in ways she wasn’t prepared for?

She was still frozen in place when Paige—smug as hell—tilted her head slightly and shot her a teasing little wave. Azzi narrowed her eyes, her jaw clenching as Caroline barely held in her laughter beside her.

“Oh my God,” Azzi muttered, rubbing her temples. “She’s so annoying.”

Caroline grinned. “Annoying, but…”

Azzi exhaled sharply. “But this was… a lot.”

Caroline bumped her shoulder. “Just admit you love it.”

Azzi shot her a look, but her stomach was doing too many damn flips for her to deny it.

The rest of the team was still caught up in post-game talk, but Azzi’s attention was locked on Paige, who was casually leaning back in her seat like she hadn’t just driven Azzi up the wall for a full day.

She looked so satisfied with herself.

Azzi exhaled, running a hand over her face before mumbling, “I’m gonna kill her.”

Caroline just snickered. “Sure you are.”

Azzi shook her head, turning back to the rest of the team, trying to focus as they wrapped up post-game talks. But she could feel Paige’s gaze on her. She knew Paige was enjoying every second of this.

And worst of all? Azzi couldn’t even be mad.

She was supposed to be pissed—Paige had ignored her for a day and a half just for this—but instead, all she could think about was the fact that Paige had flown out here just to see her. Just to sit courtside in her jersey. Just to pull off a surprise that had Azzi’s whole mind spinning.

God, she was so whipped.

As the team started making their way toward the tunnel, Caroline leaned in and whispered, “So… you gonna talk to her, or are you gonna keep pretending you’re mad?”

Azzi shot her a look but didn’t answer.

Caroline grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

And then, before Azzi could say anything else, Caroline was jogging ahead—just as Paige, still radiating smugness, slipped past security and walked straight into the tunnel.

Azzi exhaled sharply. Of course she did.

Azzi took a deep breath as she walked toward the tunnel, trying to process the game she had just played. They had won, and everyone seemed to think she played well, but she knew she could’ve done better. Right now, all she wanted was to get back to the locker room and unwind.

But then she saw her.

Paige stood a few steps ahead, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, looking way too pleased with herself for someone who had been ignoring her for two days.

Azzi’s steps slowed, and despite everything, a warmth spread through her chest.

She almost thought she was imagining things. But no—Paige was actually there, standing in her jersey, paired with an almost unfairly good outfit. The white top underneath was just fitted enough, and the damn short cargo shorts had no business looking that good on her.

Azzi should have been mad.

She was mad.

Right?

Paige tilted her head, smirk deepening as she took in Azzi’s obvious reaction. “Hey, superstar.”

Azzi exhaled sharply through her nose, quickening her steps and stopping just inches away from Paige, eyes narrowed.

“You ignored me for this?” she demanded, voice low.

Paige didn’t flinch. If anything, she looked amused. “You mad?”

Azzi crossed her arms. “Yes.”

Paige’s smirk grew. “No, you’re not.”

Azzi clenched her jaw. “You ignored me for almost two days, Paige.”

Paige gave an easy shrug. “And?”

Azzi scoffed. “And I should be mad.”

Paige’s voice softened just slightly, teasing fading into something quieter. “But you’re not.”

Azzi bit her cheek, willing herself not to fold. But it was so hard when Paige was standing this close, looking at her like that.

Azzi sighed, the frustration melting into something much softer. “…You’re so annoying.”

Paige beamed. “And yet, here you are, melting for me.”

Azzi groaned. “I hate you.”

“Liar.” Paige’s voice dropped, her gaze flickering just slightly to Azzi’s lips before meeting her eyes again.

Azzi swallowed. Nope. She was not doing this here, in the middle of the tunnel, with the whole arena still buzzing outside.

Before she could step back, movement from the side caught her attention.

Caroline.

Azzi turned her head just as Caroline strolled up with a massive smirk, eyes flicking between the two of them.

“I knew something was up,” Caroline said, crossing her arms as she took in Paige’s outfit. “And you really thought wearing her jersey was subtle?”

Paige grinned, looking completely unbothered. “I mean… she noticed.”

Azzi hated how flustered she felt. She shot Caroline a glare. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Caroline ignored her, eyes gleaming as she leaned toward Paige. “So, when’s the wedding?”

Azzi groaned loudly. Paige just laughed.

Caroline held up her hands. “Fine, fine, I’ll leave you lovebirds alone… for now.” She winked at Paige and Azzi as she walked back.

Paige watched Caroline disappear into the locker room, shaking her head with a small laugh. When she turned back to Azzi, her teasing smirk softened into something warmer, more affectionate.

Azzi rolled her eyes. But her heart was still racing. Because as much as she wanted to be mad, all she could think about was the fact that Paige was here.

Azzi exhaled sharply. “I hate both of you.”

Paige just grinned. “Again… liar.”

They both let out a chuckle.

“C’mere”  Paige murmured, opening her arms.

Azzi didn’t hesitate.

She stepped forward, melting into Paige’s embrace, her arms looping around Paige’s shoulders and fingers brushing against the soft hairs at the nape of her neck. Paige’s own arms wrapped securely around Azzi’s waist, pulling her in close, her hands resting just above her lower back.

Azzi let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, pressing herself deeper into the hug, her forehead resting against Paige’s collarbone. She could feel the steady rise and fall of Paige’s chest, the familiar scent of her perfume mixed with the faintest traces of laundry detergent and something so distinctly Paige. It made her relax in an instant.

Paige’s hands moved slowly, caressing Azzi’s back in soothing circles.

“You played so good, Az,” she murmured into her hair, her voice soft and full of admiration. “Seriously. You were locked in, making big shots, playing defense—key reason for that win.”

Azzi exhaled, sinking further into Paige’s warmth, letting herself enjoy the moment.

“You think so?” she mumbled against Paige’s shoulder.

Paige scoffed lightly. “Think so? Baby, I know so.”

Azzi felt her cheeks heat at the casual use of baby, but she didn’t pull away. If anything, she pressed closer. Paige chuckled softly at the reaction, her breath warm against Azzi’s temple before she placed a lingering kiss on the top of her head. Then another. And another.

Azzi closed her eyes, feeling the tension from the game finally dissipate.

“You know,” she murmured, her voice slightly muffled, “you look really good in my jersey.”

Paige smirked, her hands still caressing Azzi’s back. “Oh yeah?”

Azzi pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, lips twitching. “Yeah.”

Paige leaned in slightly, their faces mere inches apart, her voice teasing. “Should’ve worn it sooner, huh?”

Azzi rolled her eyes but didn’t fight the smile pulling at her lips. “Shut up.”

Paige just grinned.

Before either of them could say anything else, a loud voice interrupted.

“Alright, lovebirds, break it up,” Caroline called from the doorway, her arms crossed.

Paige sighed dramatically, her grip on Azzi tightening playfully for a second before she reluctantly pulled back. Azzi immediately missed the warmth.

“I gotta go before she starts really running her mouth,” Paige muttered, giving Azzi’s waist one last squeeze.

Caroline smirked. “Too late for that.”

Paige shot her a look before turning back to Azzi. “We’ll meet up after, yeah?”

Azzi nodded, then hesitated before quickly leaning in, pressing a soft kiss against Paige’s cheek. Paige’s eyes widened slightly, but she recovered fast, her smirk returning.

Azzi tilted her head. “Where are you staying?”

Paige blinked. “Oh, uh—hotel. Not far from here.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Which one? And what room?”

Paige chuckled. “You tryna rob me or something?”

Azzi gave her a look. “Paige.”

Paige bit back a smile. “Fine, fine. It’s—” she told her the hotel and room number.

Azzi nodded. “Okay. I’ll text you.”

Paige smirked. “Or you could just show up.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but fought back a smile as she stepped back toward the locker room.

Caroline, who had been watching the whole exchange with barely contained amusement, finally turned away.

And the second she did, Azzi took her chance—quickly leaning back in to steal another kiss, this time at the corner of Paige’s mouth before pulling away with a small smirk.

Paige blinked, momentarily stunned.

Azzi tilted her head. “See you later?”

Paige exhaled sharply, shaking her head in disbelief. “Yeah, Az. See you later.”

Azzi turned and walked off, leaving Paige standing there, staring after her like an absolute goner.

Had that just happened?

Her hand absentmindedly brushed against the spot where Azzi had kissed her, her brain trying to process the last few minutes. Azzi had been so soft with her, so quick to close the distance between them, so—bold.

Paige shook her head, a smirk pulling at her lips as she finally turned on her heel, heading out of the arena.

Caroline had been right. Azzi was folding.

—-----------------------

As she stepped outside into the cool night air, she pulled out her phone, quickly typing a message to Caroline.

Paige: solid W on the assist 👏🏻👏🏻

Caroline: I know. You owe me big time 😌

Paige: relax. All you did was tell me to wear the jersey

Caroline: yeah, and now she’s about to sneak off to your hotel later. You’re welcome.

Paige huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. Caroline wasn’t wrong.

She pocketed her phone and walked toward her hotel, feeling a little lighter with every step.

—-----------------------

Back at the locker room, Azzi was definitely not paying attention to whatever post-game speech her coach was giving.

Her mind was still stuck on Paige.

On the way Paige had pulled her close, on the way she smelled like something fresh and familiar, on the way her hands had traced slow circles against her back, on the way she had called her babe so easily.

On the way she had leaned in for that second kiss without even thinking about it.

Gosh.

Azzi clenched her jaw, forcing herself to focus.

She just needed to shower, grab her things, and then—then she’d figure out what the hell she was going to do.

She wasn’t backing out now.

Not when she had already asked Paige for the address.

Not when Paige had told her to just show up.

And especially not when her entire body was already aching for another hug, another whispered compliment, another anything from Paige.

She just had to play it cool.

Easy.

Right?

—-----------------------

Back in the dorm, Azzi stood in front of her closet, eyes scanning over her options even though she already knew what she was going to wear.

She had told herself—really told herself—that she was just going to keep it casual. Paige had only invited her over to relax, nothing crazy. They were just going to hang out, maybe talk about the game, just be together.

But somehow, she still found herself reaching for a fitted pink cropped tank top, one that showed off just enough to make a statement without trying too hard. She paired it with short, ripped jeans, the kind that hugged her hips just right.

Her hair was the last thing she focused on, pulling it into a slicked-back bun, leaving the front curls out to frame her face.

She stared at herself in the mirror, lips pressing together. Okay, yeah. She looked good.

Too good for just a chill night?

Before she could overthink it, her door swung open, and Caroline strolled in like she owned the place.

“Wow,” Caroline drawled, crossing her arms as she took in Azzi’s outfit. “So this is your definition of ‘just hanging out,’ huh?”

Azzi rolled her eyes, pretending to adjust her top. “What are you talking about?”

Caroline smirked. “Don’t play dumb. You’re dressing way too nice for a casual hangout in Paige’s hotel room. You tryna make her pass out the second she opens the door?”

Azzi felt her face heat up. “Shut up.”

“I mean—” Caroline gestured at her. “This whole thing? The top, the shorts? Paige is gonna gush. Probably won’t even let you inside without standing there admiring you for ten minutes first.”

Azzi huffed, shaking her head as she grabbed her phone and her bag. “You’re so annoying.”

“I’m right though,” Caroline countered, grinning. “She already showed up to your game in your jersey. You might as well return the favor by making her speechless tonight.”

Azzi tried not to let the teasing get to her, but Caroline’s words settled somewhere deep inside her.

Was she doing too much?

Or—maybe—was she just finally letting herself do what she wanted to do?

Either way, there was no turning back now.

She was about to find out exactly how Paige was going to react.

Azzi took one last look at herself in the mirror, smoothing her hands down the front of her top before huffing out a breath. It’s just Paige. That thought should’ve calmed her, but instead, it only made her more nervous.

Her phone buzzed on the dresser.

Paige: Text me when you’re on your way.

Azzi smiled to herself, fingers hovering over the screen before she quickly typed out a reply.

Azzi: Leaving my dorm now.

She grabbed her pink jacket off the chair and slipped it on, zipping it up halfway. As much as she wanted to see Paige’s reaction when she took it off, she wasn’t about to freeze walking out of her dorm just for the sake of dramatics.

“Okay, okay,” Caroline said, watching her with an amused expression. “You’re already glowing. Relax.”

Azzi shot her a flat look. “I am relaxed.”

Caroline snorted. “Right. That’s why you’re fidgeting with your hoodie zipper like you’re about to walk down the aisle instead of, I don’t know, go see your not-girlfriend in her hotel room.”

Azzi sighed, shaking her head as she pulled the hood up slightly, if only to avoid giving Caroline the satisfaction of seeing how flustered she actually was.

“I’m leaving now before you make me rethink my entire life.”

Caroline held up her hands in surrender, but her teasing smirk never wavered. “Have fun. Or, you know, try not to combust when she inevitably loses her mind over you.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, stepping out the door without another word.

But as she made her way outside, heart already racing at the thought of seeing Paige again—this time, with no game, no crowd, no distractions—she couldn’t help but think that maybe Caroline had a point.

Paige was going to lose her mind.

And Azzi?

She was so ready to see it.

—-----------------------

Azzi slid into the driver’s seat of her car, gripping the steering wheel for a moment before exhaling deeply. The night air was cool, but she could still feel the warmth on her skin from getting ready—whether it was nerves or excitement, she wasn’t sure. Probably both.

She started the engine and plugged in the hotel’s address, her phone screen illuminating her face as the navigation loaded. The drive wasn’t far, but it felt significant—like a shift in something she wasn’t quite ready to name.

The streets were quiet, the late hour making traffic almost nonexistent. With one hand on the wheel, she reached for her phone at the red light and shot Paige a quick text.

Azzi: Just got in the car. On my way.

A reply came almost instantly.

Paige: Bout time.

Azzi rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smile creeping onto her lips. The light turned green, and she pressed down on the gas, heart picking up speed along with the car.

As she got closer to the hotel, her thoughts started racing. She wasn’t sure what to expect—actually, that was a lie. She knew exactly what to expect. Paige waiting for her with that signature smirk. Paige leaning back like she had all the time in the world. Paige probably being annoyingly smug about Azzi coming all this way just to see her.

—-----------------------

She pulled into the hotel parking lot, turning off the engine but staying seated for a second. Her fingers drummed lightly against the steering wheel as she tried to calm the anticipation thrumming through her.

Then, her phone buzzed again.

Paige: You just gonna sit out there or you coming in?

Azzi huffed out a laugh. Of course, Paige was waiting for her.

She grabbed her phone, jacket still zipped up as she stepped out of the car and locked it behind her. Her sneakers barely made a sound against the pavement as she walked toward the entrance, pulse quickening with every step.

This wasn’t just a meet-up. Not after everything that had happened.

And she had a feeling tonight was going to change everything.

—-----------------------

Azzi stepped into the hotel lobby, the cool air conditioning hitting her skin as she scanned the quiet space. It was late, so there weren’t many people around—just the receptionist at the front desk and a few scattered guests lingering near the elevators.

Her phone buzzed again.

Paige: 5th level,  Room 535.

Azzi exhaled through her nose, a small smile tugging at her lips. She made her way across the polished floor, slipping into the elevator and pressing the button for the fifth floor. The doors slid shut, enclosing her in the soft hum of the moving lift.

As she leaned back against the wall, her reflection stared back at her in the mirrored interior. She looked… composed, but her fingers still fidgeted slightly with the zipper of her jacket. The pink tank top underneath clung to her just right, and she could already hear Caroline’s teasing in her head about how much effort she’d put into getting ready.

A quiet ding signaled her arrival, and the doors slid open. Azzi stepped out, the hallway stretching out ahead of her in warm, dim lighting. The carpet muffled her footsteps as she made her way toward Paige’s room, heart thudding in a steady rhythm.

She barely had a chance to knock before the door swung open.

Paige stood there, leaning against the doorframe, one hand gripping the edge of the door while the other rested lazily on her hip. She was wearing a plain black hoodie and shorts, the sweatshirt hanging loose over her frame—Azzi could tell she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. And somehow, that made it even worse.

The slow smirk Paige gave her wasn’t helping.

“Took you long enough.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but stepped inside, brushing past Paige as she did. She caught the faint scent of her body wash—something clean and slightly citrusy—lingering in the air.

Azzi stepped further into the room, scanning the space as Paige shut the door behind her. It was a standard hotel room—neutral tones, soft lighting, a single bed that looked inviting—but the only thing Azzi’s mind really registered was Paige.

Paige, who stretched her arms above her head with a satisfied sigh before flopping onto the bed like she owned the place.

Azzi barely had a second to process it before her eyes caught on the way Paige’s hoodie shifted, rising just enough to expose the toned expanse of her stomach. The fabric bunched up slightly, leaving her abs on full display, and Azzi’s brain short-circuited for a moment.

Her mouth felt dry. God.

Paige had changed out of the jersey, now in just a hoodie with no shirt underneath and a pair of shorts that did nothing to help Azzi’s situation. The way she was sprawled out so effortlessly, completely at ease, made it even worse.

Paige’s eyes flickered to her, a slow, knowing smile forming.

“You just gonna stand there?” she teased, patting the spot next to her. “C’mon.”

Azzi inhaled slowly, willing her face to stay neutral as she made her way over. She tried not to overthink it as she sat down beside Paige, her body instantly feeling warmer, too aware of how close they were.

Even the minimal space between them felt like too much.

Paige shifted slightly, propping herself up on one elbow, and Azzi could feel the weight of her gaze. It was impossible to ignore.

The warmth in her chest only grew hotter.

- She exhaled through her nose, suddenly feeling stifled. Without thinking, she reached for the zipper of her jacket, tugging it down slowly. The sound of the zipper filled the quiet room, dragging far longer than it should have.

Paige had stopped moving.

Azzi could feel her eyes locked on her as she slid the hoodie off her shoulders, revealing the fitted cropped pink tank top underneath. She wasn’t usually this bold, but something about the air between them, the way Paige’s gaze darkened slightly, sent a thrill through her.

Paige’s lips parted slightly, her eyes trailing over her like she wasn’t even trying to hide it.

“Damn,” Paige muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Azzi to hear.

Azzi felt her stomach flip, heat creeping up her neck, but she just raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “What?”

Paige shook her head, a slow smirk tugging at her lips. “Nothing,” she murmured, her voice lower than before. “Just… you look really good.”

Azzi’s heartbeat stuttered.

The tension had shifted, thickened, like they were teetering on the edge of something neither of them could ignore.

Azzi swallowed, forcing herself to stay composed despite the way her heart pounded. She played it off with a small smile, tilting her head slightly.

“Thanks,” she murmured, feeling the warmth of Paige’s eyes still on her.

There was a beat of silence, thick and charged. Paige’s gaze lingered, and Azzi could feel it, feel the way it traced over her bare shoulders, her collarbone, down to where the fabric of her cropped tank top hugged her frame.

Then Paige shifted, leaning back against the pillows with a smirk tugging at her lips. “Damn,” she said, exaggeratedly fanning herself. “Is it just me, or is it getting kinda hot in here?”

Azzi’s breath caught.

Before she could even think of a response, Paige reached for the hem of her hoodie and tugged it over her head in one smooth motion, tossing it carelessly to the side.

Azzi’s brain short-circuited.

Paige was left in nothing but a black Nike sports bra and her shorts, her toned arms and defined abs completely exposed. The way the dim hotel lighting hit her skin only made it worse.

Azzi could not look away.

She felt warmth creep up her neck, her fingers unconsciously tightening around the edge of the bedspread as Paige stretched her arms above her head again, muscles flexing just enough to make Azzi’s throat go dry.

Paige shot her a knowing look, tilting her head. “Something wrong?”

Azzi blinked rapidly, trying to shake herself out of whatever daze she had just fallen into. “No,” she said, a little too quickly. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Paige hummed, clearly amused, but didn’t push. Instead, she settled back against the pillows, arms folded behind her head, completely at ease—while Azzi was still trying to remember how to breathe.

The air between them was thick, heavier than before, like they were walking a fine line neither of them was ready to break just yet.

—-----------------------

Azzi could still feel the heat on her face, and it had nothing to do with the warmth of the room. She needed to look anywhere else—the TV, the hotel lamp, the bland paintings on the wall.

But her eyes betrayed her.

Paige was lounging so effortlessly, arms still folded behind her head, her toned stomach fully on display, abs flexing slightly as she shifted. She looked completely unbothered, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Azzi swallowed hard.

The confident smirk on Paige’s lips told her she knew exactly what she was doing.

Azzi tried to play it cool, leaning back on her hands, pretending like she wasn’t struggling to keep her breathing steady.

“You’re really out here getting too comfortable, huh?” she teased, hoping to steer herself back to safer ground.

Paige just shrugged, her smirk deepening. “It’s my hotel room. Might as well make myself at home.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, forcing herself to glance away. “Yeah, well…” Her voice trailed off, but before she could even think, the words slipped out under her breath.

“You look hot, though…”

The second the words left her mouth, her body froze.

Her eyes widened slightly, her breath catching in her throat as she realized what she had just said.

Paige definitely caught it.

The smirk on her lips turned into something sharper, more pleased, her blue eyes darkening with amusement as she lifted an eyebrow.

“What was that?”

Azzi wanted to die.

She cleared her throat, shaking her head quickly. “Nothing.”

Paige pushed herself up onto her elbows, her gaze locked onto Azzi’s like a challenge.

“Nah,” she said, biting her lip slightly. “I think I heard you say something.”

Azzi groaned, rubbing a hand over her face as she tried to recover, but her skin was burning. “Shut up.”

Paige chuckled, her voice lower, smug. “So you do think I look hot?”

Azzi refused to answer.

Paige leaned in slightly, tilting her head, her eyes practically twinkling. “Don’t worry, Az,” she murmured. “The feeling’s mutual.”

Azzi’s breath hitched.

The air between them shifted again, tension crackling like an unspoken challenge neither of them wanted to acknowledge just yet.

Azzi swallowed hard, pressing her lips together, but it was useless.

Paige noticed.

Of course she did.

That damn smirk was back, sharp and knowing, her blue eyes gleaming with something that made Azzi’s skin burn.

“You good?” Paige asked, her voice dipping into something lower, smoother.

Azzi blinked rapidly, snapping herself out of it. “Yeah—yeah, I’m fine.”

Paige hummed, clearly not convinced.

Then, without warning, she reached over, her fingers brushing against Azzi’s bare shoulder.

Azzi barely had time to react before she felt a gentle tug.

Paige’s fingers were playing with the strap of her tank top, toying with it slowly, dragging it between her fingers before letting it slide just slightly down Azzi’s shoulder.

Azzi swore her breath got caught in her throat.

Paige leaned in a little, her eyes flickering up to meet hers, her lips curling into something dangerously playful.

“You know…” Paige murmured, her fingers still tracing the strap lazily. “This reminds me of something.”

Azzi felt a shiver crawl up her spine.

“…What?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

Paige tilted her head, that knowing smirk deepening.

“That one night,” she said. “When we were on the phone. And you kept playing with your tank top strap.”

Azzi froze.

Her heart slammed against her chest as the memory rushed back—that night, when she had been teasing Paige, letting her tank top strap slip lower and lower just to get a reaction out of her.

And now Paige was flipping the script.

“I wasn’t—” Azzi started, but Paige cut her off with a soft chuckle.

“You so were,” she murmured, her fingers still tracing over Azzi’s shoulder, barely there, yet so much.

Azzi could barely breathe.

The air between them felt dangerous, charged with something unspoken, something they had been dancing around for so long.

And Paige? She knew it.

She let the strap slip just a little further, her fingers grazing Azzi’s collarbone, her touch featherlight, teasing.

Azzi felt hot. Everywhere.

The deliberate touch sent a shiver down her spine, and she barely registered Paige’s teasing voice.

“Didn’t think I’d forget about that little show you put on for me, did you?” Paige murmured, her voice smooth, edged with something unmistakable.

Azzi swallowed, heat pooling in her stomach. “I—I wasn’t putting on a show,” she tried to argue, but her voice betrayed her, breathy and uneven.

Paige smirked, eyes gleaming with mischief. She let the strap go, her fingers trailing featherlight down Azzi’s arm before settling on her waist. The warmth of Paige’s hand burned through the thin fabric, and Azzi’s pulse thundered in her ears.

Azzi tried to focus—tried to keep her eyes locked on Paige’s face—but it was impossible when Paige was sitting there, toned stomach and defined abs on full display, looking so effortlessly confident, so effortlessly… hot.

The tension crackled between them, neither willing to break first, until Azzi couldn’t take it anymore. Her gaze flickered down to Paige’s lips, and before she could second-guess herself, she leaned in, closing the distance.

The kiss was slow at first, almost hesitant—Paige’s lips molding against hers, soft and warm. But then Paige tilted her head, deepening it, and Azzi felt herself melt into her. Paige’s hands tightened on her waist, and in one smooth motion, she pulled Azzi fully onto her lap.

Azzi gasped against her lips, hands flying to Paige’s bare shoulders for balance. But Paige didn’t stop—didn’t give her a second to process. Instead, she kissed her again, harder this time, and Azzi responded in kind. Their lips moved in sync, breaths mingling, the room suddenly feeling much warmer.

Paige’s tongue swiped against Azzi’s bottom lip, teasing, asking for entrance, until Azzi parted her lips just enough to let her in. The moment their tongues met, a low sound rumbled from Paige’s throat, and Azzi felt it all the way down to her core. The kiss turned heated, tongues tangling in a slow, intoxicating rhythm, neither of them willing to pull away.

Azzi’s fingers curled into Paige’s shoulders, gripping tight as she lost herself in the sensation—Paige’s hands roaming up and down her back, Paige’s lips moving with a kind of confidence that made her dizzy. Paige kissed like she knew exactly what she was doing, like she’d been waiting for this as much as Azzi had.

Azzi barely noticed when Paige’s hands slid up, fingertips brushing just under the hem of her tank top, before retreating just as quickly. Teasing. Always teasing.

She pulled back, just enough to catch her breath, her forehead resting against Paige’s. Paige’s hands stayed firm on her waist, thumbs rubbing slow circles against her skin.

Azzi licked her lips, dazed. “Wow.”

Paige grinned, eyes dark with something unreadable. “Yeah?”

Azzi nodded, still breathless. “Yeah.”

Paige chuckled, tilting her head back against the headboard. “Told you you’d fold.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the smile forming on her lips. “Shut up.”

Paige hummed, her grip on Azzi’s waist tightening ever so slightly. “Make me.”

Azzi didn’t hesitate. She crashed her lips back onto Paige’s, fingers tightening against her shoulders. Paige barely had a second to smirk before she was kissing her back, matching Azzi’s urgency with just as much intensity. Their lips moved in sync, the heat between them undeniable, impossible to ignore.

Paige’s hands slid up from Azzi’s waist, fingers ghosting over the exposed skin beneath her tank top, teasing but never pressing too much. It drove Azzi insane—the way Paige knew exactly how to make her want more without giving it right away.

Azzi sighed against Paige’s lips, and that was all it took for Paige to take control. Without warning, she flipped them, shifting their positions so that Azzi was suddenly beneath her, head hitting the pillows. Paige settled between her legs, pressing her weight down just enough to make Azzi breathless.

Paige’s lips curled into a smirk. “That’s better.”

Azzi blinked up at her, wide-eyed and stunned. “H-how did you—?”

Paige only grinned, lowering herself down until their lips met again. This time, she didn’t rush. She took her time, savoring every kiss, making sure Azzi felt each one. Her hands roamed, fingers tracing patterns along Azzi’s sides before slipping under the hem of her tank top again, pushing it up just a little.

Azzi gasped when Paige’s lips left hers, trailing downward, along her jaw, down the column of her neck. She tilted her head back instinctively, giving Paige more space, her fingers threading into soft blonde hair as she felt Paige’s lips press against her skin.

Then she felt it—Paige sucking lightly, her lips lingering, her tongue flicking over the spot right below her ear. A shiver ran through Azzi’s entire body.

“Paige,” she breathed, her grip tightening in blonde locks.

Paige hummed against her skin, pleased with the reaction. She continued her slow descent, placing open-mouthed kisses down Azzi’s neck, lingering long enough to leave faint marks. When she got to Azzi’s collarbone, she bit down lightly before soothing the spot with her tongue.

Azzi’s breathing grew unsteady, chest rising and falling beneath Paige, heat spreading through every inch of her skin. Paige wasn’t just teasing her now—she was claiming her, making sure Azzi would feel every single place she kissed.

When Paige pulled back, her eyes usually light blue now dark and full of mischief, Azzi was left dazed, her lips slightly parted as she tried to catch her breath.

Paige smirked. “I wish I was able to do this sooner.”

Azzi swallowed, her pulse still racing. “Same,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Paige leaned in again, lips brushing against Azzi’s jaw before moving back up to capture her lips once more. The kiss was slower this time, softer, but no less intense.

Azzi didn’t know how long they stayed like that, tangled in each other, Paige’s lips on hers, on her neck, on her collarbone. All she knew was that she didn’t want it to stop.

Paige pulled back slightly, just enough to admire her work, her fingers lightly tracing over the faint marks she had left behind. A satisfied smirk tugged at her lips as her gaze flickered up to Azzi’s flushed face.

“You’re so sensitive,” Paige murmured, dragging a thumb over one of the marks just to watch Azzi squirm beneath her. “Look at this…” She pressed another kiss just below Azzi’s jaw, lips lingering for a second. “I barely even tried.”

Azzi exhaled sharply, her hands gripping Paige’s arms as heat flared beneath her skin. Paige’s voice alone was enough to set her on fire, but the way she was looking at her right now—like she had all the time in the world to explore every inch of her—was almost too much.

Azzi wasn’t about to let Paige have all the control.

With a spark of determination, she shifted slightly beneath Paige, tilting her chin up with feigned innocence before letting her fingers ghost down Paige’s bare sides, her nails dragging lightly over the toned skin of her abdomen.

Paige inhaled sharply at the touch, her muscles tensing.

“Oh, you think you’re funny?” Paige challenged, her voice dropping lower.

Azzi hummed in response, letting her fingers continue their slow, teasing path over Paige’s stomach, deliberately pressing against the defined ridges of her abs. She was fully aware of how much Paige loved being touched like this—how much she craved it, even if she’d never admit it.

Paige’s smirk faltered for just a second before she moved, effortlessly capturing Azzi’s wrists and pinning them down beside her head, intertwining their fingers.

Azzi’s breath hitched.

Paige hovered over her, their noses nearly brushing, their lips close enough that Azzi could feel the warmth of Paige’s breath. The weight of Paige’s body pressing down against her, the strength in her grip—it made Azzi’s head spin.

“Not so bold now, huh?” Paige teased, her lips hovering just above Azzi’s, taunting, waiting.

Azzi swallowed hard, her heart pounding against her ribs. She could feel every inch of Paige against her, feel the heat radiating between them, feel the tension wrapping around them like a thread pulled too tight.

Paige squeezed her hands gently, her thumbs brushing over Azzi’s knuckles. “What’s wrong?” she murmured, eyes flickering between Azzi’s parted lips and the flushed skin of her cheeks. “You were real confident a second ago.”

Azzi wasn’t sure if she wanted to push back or pull Paige down completely. Either way, she wasn’t backing down. She could feel the weight of Paige’s body pressing against hers, and the heat radiating between them was almost too much to ignore.

Paige seemed to sense the moment too, her grip loosening just slightly around Azzi’s wrists. She gave her a brief, teasing smile before flipping them over in one swift move. Now, Paige was leaning back against the headboard of the bed, with Azzi straddling her lap. The change in position was electric, and Azzi’s heart raced as she looked down at Paige, feeling the weight of the moment.

Paige’s hands slid up Azzi’s back, pulling her closer until they were pressed flush against each other, like an embrace that somehow felt more intense than anything they had shared before. Paige buried her head in the crook of Azzi’s neck, her breath hot against her skin. The gentle rhythm of Paige’s exhales made Azzi shiver, and she let out a small breath as she leaned into the comfort of the embrace.

“I need you to message Caroline,” Paige said softly, her lips brushing against Azzi’s skin as she spoke. “Let her know you’re spending the night with me. Tell her you’ll be back tomorrow so she doesn’t worry.”

Azzi hesitated for a moment, but she nodded, the gentle pressure of Paige’s arms around her easing any lingering uncertainty. She reached for her phone, fingers tapping out the message quickly. As soon as she hit send, her phone buzzed with Caroline’s response: “Well, look at you two. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do… ;)”

Paige grinned, pulling back slightly to look at the marks she’d left on Azzi’s skin. A soft smile tugged at her lips as she traced her fingertips gently over them, her touch lingering with a possessive tenderness that sent warmth through Azzi’s chest. Then, without a word, Paige placed several soft, lingering kisses over the marks, her lips gentle and warm against Azzi’s skin.

Once Azzi finished texting Caroline back, she raised an eyebrow and let out a playful laugh. “It’s not fair,” she said with a teasing smile, “I’m the only one with marks.” Without waiting for an answer, she leaned down, brushing her lips against Paige’s neck and leaving a few marks of her own.

The heat between them seemed to rise again as they met each other’s gaze, and in that moment, it was clear: things had shifted. The playful teasing, the laughter, the soft touches—all of it had led them here. The connection between them had deepened in ways neither of them could fully explain, but neither of them wanted to pull away, either.

As they kissed again, it was slower this time—gentle but full of meaning. Azzi could feel every sensation as their lips met, the warmth, the sweetness, the promise of something more. The kiss lingered, not rushed, but full of a quiet intensity. But eventually, they pulled back, both of them breathing a little heavier, the air between them felt thick with unspoken tension. Paige’s chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, her hand lingering close to Azzi’s, unsure whether to close the distance again or pull away.

Paige’s voice broke the silence, hesitant, almost stuttering. “Azzi… I— I really need you. But, if… if you don’t want this, we can stop, okay? I don’t want to rush you or—”

Azzi’s heart pounded so hard she could feel it in her throat. The hesitation in Paige’s voice, the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes—it made something deep inside her ache. She couldn’t stand the thought of Paige doubting this, doubting them.

She cupped Paige’s cheek, her touch both soft and certain, her thumb brushing lightly over her skin. “Paige,” she murmured, her voice steady despite the wildfire in her chest. “You don’t have to worry. I want this. I want you… so bad.”

The words carried more weight than she expected, wrapping around them, filling the space between them. For a moment, Paige just stared at her, something vulnerable flashing behind those blue eyes before she let out a shaky breath. The tension that had held them so tightly for so long seemed to break, melting away as Paige turned her face into Azzi’s palm, pressing a lingering kiss there before threading their fingers together.

Azzi didn’t hesitate. She closed the space between them, her lips meeting Paige’s in a kiss that was slow, deep, and unrelenting—full of every unspoken word, every bottled-up feeling, every ounce of longing they had been too afraid to voice. Paige responded just as desperately, her fingers tightening around Azzi’s like she never wanted to let go.

Their lips moved together with a newfound certainty, each touch infused with trust and desire, as if they were finally allowing themselves to embrace what had always been there. The hesitation that once lingered between them was gone, replaced by the undeniable pull drawing them closer. In this moment, nothing else mattered—not the world outside, not the doubts they’d once wrestled with—just the quiet, electric connection between them.

Paige’s hands found the hem of Azzi’s cropped tank top, her fingers brushing against warm skin as she slowly pushed it upward. She hesitated for half a second—giving Azzi the chance to stop her, to pull away—but Azzi only leaned in closer, her breath hitching as Paige tugged the fabric over her head and tossed it aside. The sudden cool air against her skin sent a shiver down her spine, but Paige’s hands were quick to chase the warmth, palms skimming over her back, pulling her in like she never wanted to let go.

Azzi barely registered anything else—the soft rustle of sheets as they shifted, the way Paige murmured something against her lips, or the way her own hands instinctively found their way to Paige’s bare skin. All she knew was the heat between them, the slow, intoxicating press of Paige’s body against hers, and the unspoken promise lingering in every touch.

The rest of the world faded away, leaving only them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[thedangoratio]

Saw that cheerleader wukong was resurfacing, so I thought I’d have a little bit of silly fun with that 🤭

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - TWELVE

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of severe anemia; pregnancy; abortion

💌MASTERLIST

Rafe rolled over, squinting against the sunlight breaking through the shitty broken blinds he'd meant to replace weeks ago. His phone buzzed on the nightstand, and before his eyes were even fully open, he swiped it up.

"Yeah?" His voice was a low growl, all gravel, and irritation.

The voice on the other end was professional. "Mr. Cameron? We’re calling to follow up on your father’s properties. There are a few—"

Fuck off.

Rafe cut them off with a sharp exhale, rubbing his temples.

He didn’t let them finish. "Yeah, I know what you’re calling about. I’m not dealing with that right now, okay? Call someone else."

"Sir, you are listed as—"

"I said call someone else," He snapped, hanging up before they could launch into another scripted response. He tossed the phone onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling, breathing hard.

It had been months since Ward died, and somehow, his name was heavier now than it ever was when he was alive. Everyone wanted something—answers, signatures, money. All things Rafe didn’t have or didn’t care to deal with.

The phone buzzed again. He grabbed it, ready to tell whoever it was where to stick their questions, but it was just a reminder about his plans with Topper. For half a second, he considered texting back: Can’t make it. Something came up.

But he doesn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he shoved himself upright, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and dropping his head into his hands.

The dream the call robbed him of was still vivid. For a moment, he forgot where he was—his room felt colder, and emptier, and the bed might as well have been a mile wide.

In the dream, you were eighteen again, and so was he. Back when things were simpler—or maybe just felt that way. Back before he’d ruined everything.

He could see it so clearly: the two of you sneaking out of some party you didn’t want to be at, your hand locked in his as you ducked through the dark streets. You’d been laughing, trying to shush him because he couldn’t stop cracking dumb jokes.

You ended up at the dock by your uncle’s boat. The stars were out, scattered across the sky like a million little promises. He remembered how you’d sat cross-legged on the wooden planks, your hair falling into your face as you smiled at him like he was the only person in the world.

The dock, your laugh, the stars—those were the good parts. But he remembers what you were going through back then, and it hit him all over again.

You’d just lost everything—your parents, your sister, gone in an instant. The private plane went down, and so did the life you’d always known. He remembers the way you’d talk about them—your family—late at night when it was just the two of you. Your voice would crack, and your eyes would shine with unshed tears, but you’d talk anyway. About your dad teaching you how to sail, your mom’s tenderness, the way your sister used to be your role model.

He hadn’t thought about those nights in years, but now they come rushing back, all tangled up with the dream. He still wasn’t strong enough for you back then. He let his own shit get in the way, let his insecurities and his anger twist everything good between you over the years. And when he walked away, he left you to deal with the wreckage of your life and his own cowardice.

He threw on a shirt, and some old shorts, didn’t even bother fixing his hair. No one was going to care—not like anyone was looking to him for anything these days anyway. He stomped down the stairs, rubbing at the back of his neck, pretending like he didn’t spend the night dreaming of your face. 

Wheezie was at the kitchen counter, cereal in front of her, scrolling her phone.

She didn’t glance up when she heard him, "You look like shit."

Aw, nothing like a teenager. 

"Good mornin’ to you too," Rafe grumbled, heading for the fridge. He grabbed a bottle of water, unscrewing the cap like it had personally offended him, “You’re really settling in, huh?"

Wheezie snorted, not looking up from her phone. "Rose stuck me here with you. What else am I supposed to do? I’m just trying to survive." 

“It’s two days."

He hadn’t exactly planned on babysitting Wheezie while Rose was out of the country, he hadn’t planned on much lately

"Two days too many," she shot back, smirking. "You going somewhere?" 

Rafe slammed the fridge shut, twisting the cap off his water.

"Why are you stomping around like that?" 

"Not fuckin’ stomping," Rafe muttered, leaning against the counter.

"You are," she scowled, shoving a spoonful of cereal into her mouth. "You sound like a baby elephant."

Rafe glared at her, but she just shrugged, unfazed. "You’re up early. What’s the occasion?"

"Just woke up, okay?" he snapped.

"Jeez, someone’s in a mood," Wheezie rolled her eyes. "What’s your deal?"

"No deal." He took a long sip of water, staring out the window.

"Can you drop me off later?" she changed the topic, her tone too casual to be innocent.

Rafe side-eyed her. "Drop you off where?"

"Poguelandia.”

His hand froze halfway to the trash can. "You’re kiddin’."

"Nope," Wheezie said, popping the “p.” She didn’t even look at him, scrolling on her phone like this was just a normal request.

"You know Sarah’s there, right?"

"Yeah, that’s kinda the point," Wheezie finally met his glare. "She texted me. Wants to hang out."

Rafe scoffed, tossing the empty water bottle into the trash. "Since when are you and Sarah talkin’?"

"Since forever," Wheezie pursed her lips, "Just because you two can’t stand each other doesn’t mean I can’t hang out with her. Also," She adds, "there’s a party happening later. Like, nothing crazy, but… y’know."

He hadn’t been around much for his little sister lately—shit, not for a long time, if he was honest with himself. After their dad died, he kind of just… checked out. Too much of his own crap to deal with. But Wheezie didn’t ask for any of that.

"Nothing crazy," Rafe repeated flatly, his arms crossed.

"Relaxxxx,” She shoved another spoonful of cereal into her mouth. "Just drop me off. I’ll figure out a ride back."

He rubbed a hand over his face, groaning. "Wheeze, do you even know what you’re walking into? Pogues don’t fuck with us."

"I wonder why….” She hummed, waving him off. “I’ll be fine, they don’t hate me."

"Yeah, well, they hate me."

"Good thing I’m not you.” Wheezie fired back, hopping off the stool.

Yeah, good thing.

"And it’s not just a party. I’m visiting Sarah, too."

"Yeah, I heard you the first time," Rafe rolled his eyes, "Here’s the deal: I’ll drop you off—"

She perked up, her face lighting with hope.

"—but on one condition," he cut in, smirking just enough to make her suspicious.

He hadn’t really spent time with her in ages—not since Ward died. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, it was just…easier not to. Easier to stay away, to let the silence pile up.

The real issue was that, for the longest time, he’s been gone for a reason. He didn’t want to be here. It was easier to be numb by being drunk or high. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his sister—it was just that it was too painful, and complicated.

Yesterday, his therapist had told him to invest time in his sisters. To be there for them, to reconnect, because they were his only real family left. Whezzie he could do, Sarah? 

Only time would tell. 

You have to show up for the people you love. Even if it scares you.

It scared the shit out of him, honestly.

"What?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"You come with me and Topper on the boat first," he said, folding his arms tighter like he’s already won.

Wheezie groaned, slumping back in her chair. "Seriously? What part of not showing up on a yatch is this?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“Why? So I can sit there and listen to you two talk about girls you’ll never get and beer brands you can’t pronounce?"

Rafe glared at her. "It’s not up for debate. You wanna go to fuckass poguelandia? You’re comin’ with us. End of story."

At least he was trying—trying to do something for her, to make up for the time he’d lost, the ways he’d been absent or worse. Even if he still sounded like an asshole most of the time.

"Fine. Whatever. I’ll go with you and Topper. But you owe me big time.”

The whole idea of being present was terrifying, it ruined him when he was a teenager, but he couldn’t keep hiding from it. There was nothing left to hide behind.

“I’ll buy that stupid cereal you like.”

"Lucky me."

"Alright, smartass," He grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee, trying to ignore her smug look. "What do you even eat besides cereal? You’re gonna starve or some shit.”

"I’ll survive. You, on the other hand…" she trailed off, gesturing vaguely at his unkempt pantry. "You look like you could use a babysitter."

Rafe let the corners of his mouth twitch. "You’re an asshole, y'know that?"

“You’re my brother, what did you expect?”

It was just the two of them in his big, empty condo. He might not have been much of a role model—or even a decent older brother—but for the next two days, he could try.

“You’re the worst,” she grumbled, grabbing her phone off the counter.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Rafe said dismissively, turning toward the door. “Be ready in ten.”

Wheezie, rolling her eyes so hard he thought they might fall out of her head, stomped back upstairs, probably to change into something less “little sister on a boat” and more “teen rebel” or whatever the fuck kid’s liked these days. She could dress however she wanted as long as she didn’t make him regret dragging her into this.

Rafe leaned against the truck while he waited for his sister. His arms were crossed, his fingers drumming against his bicep in a nervous rhythm. It wasn’t about the boat—he didn’t even know why he’d suggested it. Maybe it was just an excuse to keep her close for a little longer before dropping her into pogue territory. He missed her.

An hour later, he was pulling the truck into the dock’s gravel lot, the tires crunching as he rolled to a stop. Topper was already there, lounging on the boat, a beer in one hand and sunglasses perched low on his nose.

Wheezie hopped out of the truck before Rafe even had a chance to cut the engine. “God, does he ever not look like a wannabe country club poster boy?”

Rafe smirked as he climbed out.

“Rafe! Wheezie!” Topper called out, spreading his arms wide like he was greeting royalty. “What’s up, losers?”

Wheezie snorted, marching toward the boat. “Nice shorts. Did Vineyard Vines have a clearance sale, or did you just raid your dad’s closet?”

“Stop being ruthless,” Topper glanced down at his pastel pink swim trunks, feigning offense. “These are a classic.”

“A classic embarrassment,” she fake gagged, stepping onto the boat.

Rafe followed her, shaking his head. “Play nice.”

“Fantastic,” Topper drawled, “There’s two of you today.”

“You make it too easy.” Whezzie dropped onto one of the cushioned seats and leaned back, pulling her sunglasses down over her eyes. “What’s the plan, Captain Douchebag?”

Topper raised his beer in a mock toast. “The plan is sailing.”

“Wow. Revolutionary.”

Rafe chuckled, untying the boat and giving it a shove off the dock. “Just sit back and relax, Wheez. We’ll drop you off later.”

Topper’s head snaps up, “Drop her off where?”

"Where do you think?" Rafe leaned over to check the boat's engine. He didn't bother looking at Topper, already waiting for the inevitable reaction, “Sarah's.”

"Wait, wait, wait," Topper held up a hand like he was stopping traffic. "You're taking her to Poguelandia? Are you out of your mind?"

"It's not your problem," Rafe grumbled, starting the engine. The low hum drowned out part of Topper's rant, but not enough to miss the gist.

"Not my problem? Dude, the second you step foot over there, it's everyone's problem. She’s there too, y’know? Stopped by earlier to make peace…She changed her gate’s code. And the lock.”

The gate code. The lock.

He couldn’t get it out of his head.

For years, it had been the same—just like the keys he used to have to your place. Just days ago, the gate had swung open just like it always did, the same code he’d memorized like it was second nature.

You hadn’t changed the code, hadn’t swapped the locks. He’d half convinced himself it meant something, maybe you weren’t ready to fully let him go, either.

Rafe’s hands stilled on the throttle. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but his jaw tightened all the same. Topper, of course, noticed immediately.

"See? This is what I’m talking about," Topper leaned back in his seat, spreading his arms like he was laying out some grand revelation. "Where do you think she’s staying at? It’s fuckin’ obvious. We show up, and it’s gonna stir shit up.”

It was almost like you’d left the door cracked open for him. Just enough to make him believe there was still a chance. Now he wasn’t so sure. Had his visit been the final straw? Had the sight of him standing on the other side of your door—looking desperate and pathetic—been the thing that made you decide to shut him out completely?

You didn’t let him in, but you’d opened up the door. After everything he’d put you through, it was your way of protecting yourself. Shutting the door so he couldn’t come crashing back in.

Topper’s voice snapped him back to reality, “You even listening to me, man?”

Rafe blinked, forcing himself to re-focus on the boat’s controls.

“Yeah. I heard you. ’m not staying. Just dropping her off."

“We’re dead meat.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Topper knew better than to keep talking, the conversation ended there.

For the next twenty minutes, the boat cruised over the water, Rafe kept on steering, letting Topper and Wheezie chatter away behind him. He wasn't really listening—hadn't been for most of the trip—but every now and then, Wheezie's laughter or Topper's exaggerated storytelling pulled him back just enough to remind him they were still there.

When they finally dropped anchor near the sandbar, Topper leaned back, cracking open another beer as he stretched out under the sun.

"Alrigh’, who wants to make a toast? First outing of the month, gotta celebrate properly!"

Rafe shook his head, pulling a bottle of water from the cooler instead. He twisted off the cap and took a long sip, ignoring the way Topper raised a brow at him.

"Wait a second," Topper said, sitting up slightly. "You're not drinking?"

The fact his best friend sounded surprised was reason enough to stay sober. He didn’t like being scrutinized.

"Nah," He waived off, leaning back against the seat and letting the sun warm his face.

He’d made the choice not to drink before they even left the dock, but it didn’t stop the instinct—the small urge to crack open a beer and let the eventual numbness take over like it usually did.

Topper looked between the beer in his hand and Rafe, "You serious? Could've told me, wouldn’t have brought all this shit."

“Yeah, sure you wouldn’t have.”

"Fair," Topper admitted, "Still, man. That's… good. Like, really good."

Wheezie, who had been scrolling on her phone, perked up at the exchange. "Yeah, Rafe. I think it's awesome."

Proud. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had said that to him. Maybe you, but it had been a long time since anyone had looked at him and seen something worth being proud of.

He shrugged, “It’s not a big deal.”

But it kind of was. Because sitting there, sober and fully present for the first time in months, he realized it didn’t feel as bad as he thought it would. He’d been drinking non-stop—first to deal with his dad’s death, then to quiet the guilt, and then to forget you.

The therapist had called it “self-medicating.” Rafe had scoffed when she first said it, she didn’t know what she was talking about, but the longer the sessions went on, the harder it was to deny. Drinking had become a way to drown out the memories and feelings he didn’t know how to face. 

The therapist had suggested he take a break from drinking, just for a while. “You don’t have to stop forever,” she’d said. “Just give yourself a chance to feel what’s really going on.”

Yeah, because that sounded like fucking fun. Sitting with his feelings. 

But something about today felt different. He couldn’t explain it—maybe it was Wheezie’s not hating spending time with him after all the stunts he pulled, or the way Topper had thrown himself into planning this trip like he was trying to cheer him up—but for once, he didn’t feel like drowning himself in alcohol.

It wasn’t like drinking had helped anyway, if anything, it made it worse. The mornings after, when the hangover hit and he couldn’t even look at himself in the mirror, let alone call you to apologize for everything he’d done wrong. 

So, yeah. Maybe the therapist had a point. 

He glanced at the cooler full of beers and liquor that Topper had dragged aboard. “Don’t feel like it today.”

Topper was still eyeing him like he was an alien, while Wheezie had gone back to scrolling her phone, but every now and then, she'd glance up at him, like she was checking to see if he was still there—if he was still him.

"Alright, enough of the sentimental shit," Topper declared, "Let’s make this a proper day. Who’s up for some wakeboarding?"

Wheezie groaned, flopping back dramatically. "You two are so predictable. Wakeboarding, really? What’s next, golf? A steak dinner? Gonna break out the cigars and talk about how much you love cripto?"

Rafe snorted, tossing a towel at her. "Wheez, you screamed your head off last time you tried it."

“Yeah, because I nearly died!" she threw the towel right back at him.

"You were fine.”

“You said I was fine while I was choking on lake water.”

Rafe smirked, standing up to adjust the rope for the wakeboard. “Builds character.”

“Builds trauma,” she retorted, kicking her flip-flops off and stretching her legs out over the seat. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you when I’m suing your ass.”

“Good luck with that.”

She tilted her chin up with a satisfied grin, “I can now, thank you very much. I’m an adult.”

“You turned eighteen two weeks ago. Chill with the big-girl talk.”

Topper cracked up from the other side of the boat, pointing his beer at her like it was a microphone. “She’s got you there, big bro. Maybe let her drive the boat next.”

Wheezie perked up instantly. “Wait, can I?”

“No,” Rafe deadpanned.

“Why not?” she whined, her entire body deflating.

“Because last time you tried, you almost ran over a dock,” Rafe tugged the line to make sure it was secure.

“Okay, that was one time, and I was learning,” Wheezie argued. “You’ve done way dumber stuff.”

Topper leaned over, watching the exchange like it was the most entertaining thing he’d seen all week. “This is amazing. You guys should fight more often.”

“Shut up,” Rafe and Wheezie said in unison, which only made Topper laugh harder.

The afternoon passed quickly, filled with sun, water, and Wheezie’s relentless commentary. She refused to try wakeboarding again, opting instead to sunbathe and heckle them from the safety of the boat. Rafe couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard her laugh so much—or the last time he’d felt this calm.

As the sun dipped lower, painting the water in shades of gold, Rafe slowed the boat to a gentle drift. Wheezie was sprawled out with her headphones in, her phone propped up on her stomach. Topper had passed out in the corner, his sunglasses slipping down his nose. Rafe sat at the helm, one hand resting on the wheel, the other dangling over the side. The cool water lapped at his fingertips, calming him in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

For once, he wasn’t thinking about the mistakes he’d made or the people he’d lost. He wasn’t drowning in guilt or regret. He was just… there, present. It didn’t feel as bad as he thought it would

Rafe cut the engine as the boat drifted closer to the dock. The sight of Sarah’s house on the Cut came into view. It wasn’t a kook mansion or some pristine estate—just a house that Sarah and her friends had claimed for herself.

The second the boat bumped against the dock, Wheezie sprang up, tugging her bag over her shoulder. Rafe was quick to follow, throwing the rope around a cleat to tie them off.

“You’re not getting off, are you?” Wheezie asked, looking over her shoulder with her brows furrowed.

Rafe stepped off the boat, sneakers hitting the creaky dock with a purpose. She rolled her eyes when she realized he wasn’t staying behind like she hoped.

“You don’t need to come,” she grumbled, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Yeah, I do,” Rafe said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Not letting you walk in there alone.”

“She’s our sister, not some random stranger,” Wheezie stomped down the dock.

She might as well have been.

Rafe grabbed the bag she was struggling with and followed her toward the weathered building at the end of the pier. Sarah’s place wasn’t just a house; it was a business. A small café-slash-bait shop that catered to the locals. The painted sign hanging over the front door read Cut Cafe in faded lettering, with a little drawing of a fish under it. 

He hated it.

Not because it wasn’t nice, but because it wasn’t theirs. It was Sarah’s—a piece of her new life that had nothing to do with him or Wheezie or anything resembling their family. Another reminder of how far he hadn’t gone.

If he was being honest—something he rarely let himself do—he missed her. Not the Sarah she was now, but the sister she used to be, before the huge fights, before she looked at him like he was some kind of monster. Before Ward.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Ward had made sure Rafe would never get to have what Sarah did. She was the golden child, Dad’s favorite. And Rafe—he was just there, a constant disappointment.

It wasn’t that he hated her; it was that he hated what she represented.

Approval he’d never get, a life he wasn’t good enough for.

It was ironic, really. He used to resent Sarah for being Ward’s favorite.

Now he resented her for being yours.

Rafe scowled as the sound of the party reached his ears, even from the dock. Music thumped loud enough to vibrate the air, shouted conversations, and the occasional crash of something—probably a bottle—shattering.

Someone let out a loud whoop, followed by the unmistakable sound of people chanting for a keg stand. Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose, his patience thinning with every passing second. He wasn’t in the mood for this juvenile shit.

“You're way too comfortable here,” he scoffed under his breath as Wheezie marched ahead, her steps confident. It pissed him off more than it should have.

“Maybe because Sarah doesn’t treat me like I’m still twelve,” Wheezie shot back, smirking at him over her shoulder.

Rafe ignored the jab, his eyes scanning the small crowd outside.

A couple of Pogues lingered near the porch, laughing over beers and baskets of fries. Their relaxed, judgmental stares followed him like they could smell the kook entitlement on him from a mile away. He bristled, tightening his grip on Wheezie’s bag.

She bounded up the steps and pushed open the door, the bell above it jingling. He hesitated for half a second before following her inside, knowing he was going to regret ever stepping foot in this place.

The air smelled like beer, fried food, and sunscreen. Behind the counter, Sarah stood with her back to them, her hair tied up in a loose bun.

Wheezie cleared her throat loudly. “Hey, Sar!”

Sarah turned, her smile faltering the second she saw Rafe lurking behind Wheezie. Her expression hardened. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too,” Rafe said dryly, crossing his arms.

“I told Wheezie to come by. Not you.” Sarah’s eyes flicked to Wheezie, softening just slightly. “You didn’t need to bring a bodyguard.”

“I wasn’t gonna let her wander around here by herself,” Rafe shot back, his voice low and defensive. He hated the way Sarah’s words hurt, hated that her disapproval still got under his skin after all this time.

Sarah rolled her eyes, wiping her hands on her apron as she stepped out from behind the counter. “Wander? She’s not a toddler. She knows how to get here. It’s safe.”

Wheezie stood between them, looking like she was torn between laughing and rolling her eyes so hard she might fall over. “Okay, can you two stop? It’s embarrassing.”

Sarah sighed, brushing past Rafe as if he wasn’t even there.

“Whatever. You can go now. Wheezie’s fine here.”

He stood awkwardly near the door, arms crossed, glaring at the locals who cast curious glances his way. It wasn’t worth staying.

Wheezie was safe.

Sarah would make sure of that, whether she hated him or not.

With a sigh, hr pushed open the door and stepped back out onto the porch, letting the door slam behind him. He took a deep breath of salty air, rubbing the back of his neck.

He’d barely made it to the dock when he spotted someone climbing off the boat—

“Dude,” Rafe’s brow furrowed as his friend stepped onto the creaking wood. “Thought you were scared shitless of this place.”

“I’m not scared,” Topper lied through his teeth.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, “Right.”

“We ran out of snacks on the boat, and I’m starving, figured I’d raid the stash at the party.”

“Snacks?”

“I’m starving!” Topper argued, throwing his hands up. “And unless you brought a secret bag of chips somewhere, this is my best shot!”

He sighed, knowing there was nothing he could do to change Topper's mind. “Hurry up.”

“Relax, I’ll be two minutes!"

He watched Topper jog away, sighing and leaning against one of the wooden posts. 

You were probably in there, somewhere. Laughing, maybe, or smiling that smile he used to wake up to, a smile that used to be for him.

Now, it was for everyone but him.

He tried not to think about you, but that was like telling the ocean not to rise and fall with the stupid tides. Therapy had taught him to sit with his feelings, to not let them rot into something worse, but he was just starting and you weren’t just the girl he loved.

You were the only person who had ever seen him for more than his name, his mistakes, or the wreckage Ward Cameron had left in his wake. You didn’t just tolerate him; you chose him, since day one.

He didn’t deserve you, not then, not even now. 

The sound of footsteps broke his focus.

“About time,” Rafe muttered, turning. But it wasn’t Topper.

Sofia stumbled into view, her dark hair wild and face flushed. Her hand gripped the railing for support as she swayed slightly.

He frowned, mildly concerned, “What the f—are you okay?”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and frantic. “Y-You need to go get Topper. Right n-now.”

His first thought was that she might’ve come here to throw some drunken, slurred insults his way.

The last time they'd spoken, things had ended...He didn’t even know how to classify that mess. But it didn't look like she was there to slam him with any guilt-trips or hurtful words.

She just looked scared.

“What?” His brows knit together as he stepped toward her, “What are you talking about? Are you drunk?”

Sofia waved him off, her breathing panicked. “The T-thorntons.”

That stopped him cold.

“What about them?”

She tried to grab his arm, her eyes wide, “They’re fighting. It’s bad.”

“Fighting?”

It couldn't be just some random fight; this had everything to do with the bullshit Topper had pulled.

Shit.

Rafe wasn’t even sure if he could fix it. Could he? You hated him too, and no matter how hard he tried, it seemed like you’d never forgive him for everything he’d fucked up. But Topper—Rafe didn’t even have to think twice.

He knew you, how you were when you’d had enough. You weren’t the type to lose your shit unless it was really bad.

He gritted his teeth, knowing full well that when you finally let it out, it was never just a “throw a drink and move on” kind of thing. Nah, when you lost it, it was like you’d been holding all this shit in for way too long and finally decided you weren’t gonna take it anymore.

He knew exactly what you were pissed about.

Topper. Of course. And him. Fuck.

He hated it.

The way your voice would rise when you finally let everything out.

You weren’t someone who yelled, but when you did? Jesus fucking Christ, it hit different. Rafe could never prepare himself fully for that kind of fury, especially when it was aimed at him. 

He hated seeing you like this, especially when he knew it was because of him. But it was his fault, wasn’t it?

Rafe’s thoughts were a mess as he followed Sofia, who was clearly way over tipsy, stumbling a little, but she was still trying to explain, voice slurring a bit from the alcohol.

“You gotta understand—she was helping me. I wasn’t feeling so great, right? M-my head was spinning, I don’t know… I just needed a little space. But then Topper walked in and he...S-she just lost it.”

He wasn’t even surprised when she mentioned that you’d been helping her out. Of course you would.

You always had that side to you. Even when you were pissed, even when you hated people, you couldn’t help but step in when someone was in need. You hated Sofia, and everyone knew it. You hated the fact that she’d come around right after he’d fucked everything up with you. You hated how fast she seemed to take your place, even though Rafe didn’t want to admit it to himself either.

Still, there you were, trying to make sure Sofia was okay, again. It made him feel like shit. Not just because you were still holding it together when he couldn’t, but because he knew the whole fucking reason you probably didn’t want anything to do with Sofia—because of how it’d felt when he’d jumped into something else so quickly, so recklessly, after breaking your heart.

The sound of raised voices reached him before he even saw you. He could hear the anger in your voice. There was no mistaking it: you were pissed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen you this way, and it fucked with his gut. You didn’t lose control easily. You never let anyone see the mess, the shit you were going through.

Now you were ripping into Topper in a way that made his blood run cold. He rounded the corner and saw you, hands flailing, and he couldn’t help but wonder: When was the last time anyone stepped up for you? It certainly hadn’t been him. Not the way he should’ve.

And then, of course, there was Topper. He could see the look on his face—guilt, embarrassment. But it wasn’t going to be enough. You had to work through it yourself.

Your shoulders were tense, the way you stood, like you could snap anyone who walked through that door in half if they so much as blinked the wrong way, was all too familiar.

Your cousin was standing in front of you, trying to apologize like it was gonna fix anything, but you weren’t hearing it. No, you were done with that shit.

Topper wipped his hands down his ruined shirt, green smears of guacamole spreading across the fabric. “I fucked up.”

“No shit,” you hissed, “You don’t get to come back from this. You have no idea how fucking sick I am of you—” Hands shaking as you shoved him back, your words coming out in short bursts, "You're the fucking worst. How could you—"

You were about to throw something—probably another drink—when your eyes snapped over to Rafe.

For a fraction of a second, he thought he saw your breath hitch. You froze, eyes wide for a second, and then your expression soured.

Your lip quivered before you sucked in a breath and squared your shoulders.

"Not you too,” you sneered, throwing your hands in the air as the world had just dropped another pile of shit on your already full plate. “Oh my fucking god, seriously?"

Your face was flushed with anger, lips twisted in a snarl. You were so fucking beautiful, even when you were fuming. He could see the fire in your eyes, that same spark he’d fallen for all those years ago. You were just... you. And it was killing him.

He was so fucked. 

“All of you—” You spit out, “I should’ve known better. I did know better, but I was stupid. So fucking stupid.”

He couldn’t think straight when you looked at him like that, when you had that look in your eyes. Even in the middle of a fight, it was so goddamn hard to look away.

You weren’t just a memory to him anymore. You were right in front of him, and he couldn’t even breathe straight.

Rafe’s throat tightened, feeling something that wasn’t just anger or regret or confusion. He felt longing. He longed to hear your voice, all the time, longed for those mornings when you’d be pressed against him, all warm, the world outside his shitty room irrelevant.

He missed the simple stuff.

He missed your face, the way you’d look at him with that irritation and affection.

It hit him harder than anything had in months—how much time had passed since he last saw that pretty face smile at him like you used to. Since he last kissed your forehead while you fell asleep next to him, since you last fit so perfectly into his arms that he didn’t want to let go.

He didn’t even know how to start getting that back.

He left. Over and over again.

Rafe registered another drink splashing across Topper’s face a little too late, the sound of the liquid hitting his skin pulling him out of his trance. He blinked a few times, the moment dragging back to the mess in front of him.

You weren’t done, though, as if throwing the drink wasn’t enough, you whipped a bowl of guacamole from the table and hurled it at Topper’s face. It splattered across his shirt, leaving a sticky, green mess in its wake.

He didn’t even flinch, still apologizing, still taking it.

“Sis—”

“I don’t want some bullshit excuse! You were supposed to be my family. You were supposed to—” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head because you couldn’t fathom finishing the thought.

And then—slap, slap, slap—you were hitting his arms, frustration flashing across your face as you let him have it. 

Your cousin stood there like a fucking idiot, wiping guac off his face, trying to stammer out some kind of half-assed apology. 

“You had no right,” you spat, voice breaking on the words. “None. You don’t just walk in here and act like everything’s fine after what you—” your words choked in your throat. You threw another plate, “You had no right!”

Rafe saw it all, saw the tears ready to spill as you wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand. You weren’t crying yet, but he knew that was about to change. And when it did, it was going to hurt worse than the yelling, worse than the throwing.

Before you could even get another word out, Rafe was there, stepping in between you and Topper, his body tense, preparing himself for something, maybe a few slaps across the face, a drink if you felt generous. You didn’t have to say a word, he could sense it in the way your lips quivered, the way your shoulders shook.

“You need to calm down,” He told you tenderly, though it wasn’t a demand—it was more of a desperate plea.

You didn’t listen.

Instead, you shoved him out of the way, the tears starting to slip down your cheeks, but you didn’t even bother to wipe them away.

“Get out,” you snapped, "Move.”

Rafe didn’t budge, he was here for you, he never stopped fucking choosing you even when he had no right to. He remained still, staring down at you with those blue eyes that had always known you better than anyone.

“Fuck, not like this,” Rafe muttered under his breath, stepping forward once more, this time blocking your path before you could reach Topper again. His hands were gentle on your shoulders as he held you back, “Please, stop.”

You froze, eyes wide, like you couldn’t believe it—you hadn’t been expecting him to step in, hadn’t been expecting him of all people to be the one to try and talk you out of it. 

Rafe’s heart dropped when he saw the way your body was starting to shake. You were spiraling, he could see it coming—he'd been here before. The way your breath hitched, how your eyes turned glassy.

He still knew the signs all too well.

His hands shot out instinctively, grabbing your arms, trying to hold you still, "Hey, hey, calm down," he muttered, his voice soothing, "You're gonna make yourself worse if you don’t stop."

He could feel the rapid pulse under your skin, the way your body tensed like a coiled spring, and he didn’t give a fuck that you still hated him. 

"Look at me," he coaxed, "Please, just breathe with me. You know this ain't gonna help. You gotta breathe."

Rafe’s heart broke all over again as you crumbled in front of him, damn it, he should’ve been there. He should’ve been there when this all fell apart, when you needed someone to hold you together instead of pushing you away.

He hated seeing you like this.

"I’m right here," he said again, softer this time, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

Topper stood there, eyes wide, not sure what to do, his face pale as he watched you fall apart in front of Rafe.

Sofia, still drunk and disoriented, caught the look in his eyes and quietly grabbed his arm, “We need to go," she whispered, nudging him, "T-this isn’t helping her."

Topper’s eyes moved to you, and then to Rafe, you could see it in his expression—the guilt, the regret. His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

Rafe shot him a look, one that said everything—get out.

Your cousin, wiped his face before he took a few steps back. "I’m sorry," he muttered, eyes darting between you and Rafe.  "I’m so sorry.”

He turned away like a dog with his tail between his legs, Sofia following him without saying much, leaving you.

Rafe barely paid them any mind, his entire focus on you, his hands still holding yours, as he watched you try to calm your breathing.

He pulled you closer, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath mingling with yours as he whispered again, "Not going anywhere. I’m here, swear to God, I’m here."

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into him fully, not caring if he was blocking the view of anyone else, not caring if things were a fucking mess—he only cared about getting you back to yourself.

He could feel it in his chest, every shitty thing that had piled up, every moment no one had your back when you needed it most.

You didn’t pull away. Maybe it was the anger finally burning out or the exhaustion catching up to you, but for a moment, you let him hold you. Your chest heaved as you fought for control, but your weight sagged against his hands.

His hands loosened their grip, his thumb brushing against your arm without him even realizing it. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to risk letting go because God knew if he’d ever get this close to you again.

You’re safe. You’re okay. I’ve got you. 

He didn’t deserve it—not even a little, but he couldn’t let go, you needed someone, even if it wasn’t really him you wanted anymore. 

Rafe could sense the way your breathing came out as almost pants against his chest. Every little tremor sent a pang through his chest, like someone had grabbed his ribs and squeezed until it hurt to breathe.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Why hadn’t he fought harder? 

Rafe rested his cheek against your hair, closing his eyes as he let himself feel it—the weight of you leaning on him. The smell of your perfume, faint but still the same as always. He felt like a fucking thief, stealing this moment from you when he had no right. You didn’t want this from him, didn’t need this from him.

He wished he could take it all back, erase every mistake, the fight, every stupid decision that had pushed you to this point. If he could trade places with you, take all the pain and carry it himself, he would. In a heartbeat. 

You took one shuddering breath, then another. It was enough for him to feel like maybe he’d done something right for once. Maybe he could—

“Get your hands off me.”

Rafe barely moved. His grip slackened, but he didn’t let go, didn’t step away like you wanted.

You pushed at his chest, but he didn’t budge. “I said get your fucking hands off me.”

“Not happenin’,” He swallowed hard, his pulse thrumming against his throat, but he didn’t loosen his grip. “You’re not okay.”

 “Go fuck yourself. You don’t get to decide that—”

Your voice cracked, and the sound of it nearly knocked the will to live from his body. He’d always known your tells, had always been able to read you better than you liked.

Rafe’s hands twitched, and then he moved them, moving like he was about to let you go—but then you did it.

You curled your arms around yourself, your fingers gripping the fabric of your dress, right over your stomach. Protective.

Fuck.

Could it be? It was an unconscious gesture, you probably didn’t realize you’d made, but to him, it might as well have been a fucking confession.

Rafe felt his body lock up, every muscle going rigid as the pieces fell into place. 

Fuck fuck fuck. Topper was right, wasn't he?

His throat went dry, he managed to croak out, “You’re—”

“No,” you snapped immediately, your fingers tightening on your dress, but you wouldn’t look at him.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I don’t need you.”

He knew he was losing you.

Rafe exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Bullshit.”

“Fuck you. You don’t get to— say shit like that. You don’t get to—” Your breathing hitched, and you bit down on the inside of your cheek.

“To what? To give a shit?”

He waited, watching, hoping, praying—please look at me, baby, please—but you didn’t move.

You scoffed, a bitter sound.

“You don’t care. You just don’t like the idea of—” Your breath caught, but you swallowed it down, pushing past the lump in your throat. “You don’t like the idea of me making a choice that doesn’t involve you.”

He hadn’t breathed properly since he saw your hands gripping your stomach, hiding yourself from him like you thought he was something to be afraid of. Like you thought he wouldn’t love you.

You thought he wouldn’t fucking stay.

“I love you.”

He barely recognized his own voice when he said it, but it was the only thing he could spill out. He swore to God he saw your left eye twitch at the confession, he knew what came next, but he’d never been good at shutting up when he should when it came to you.

“I do,” he insisted, “And I know I don’t—I don’t deserve to say that. I don’t deserve to expect anything from you.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “But I need you to know it.”

You clenched your jaw.

“I fucked up, I know. I fucked up so bad.”

You turned your head to the side, blinking up at the ceiling, refusing to spare him a glance. “I don’t want you to fix it.”

“I know,” he said immediately. “I know, but I can’t—I can’t just let you go through this alone.”

Your chest rose and fell too quickly, your breath uneven, but still—you stood your ground. “I don’t need you.”

“Please don’t say that,” he nearly dropped to his knees. “Please.”

You looked at him, since he’d realized what this meant, you lifted your head, met his gaze—really met it.

And shit—It nearly destroyed him, because he knew that look.

“Where the fuck were you, Rafe? Kissing her two months after we ended? Huh—” Your breath shuddered, and you shook your head, stepping back, “You didn’t even wait. You just—just moved the fuck on like I never even mattered—”

“It wasn’t like that—”

"Did you fuck her?" Your lips curled into a faux smile. "That’s what I thought."

"No,” He added quickly, shaking his head like the thought alone disgusted him, "No, I didn’t."

You chuckled disbelieving. "Don’t lie to me."

"I’m not," he said, stepping closer despite the way your body went rigid. "I didn’t touch her like that. I swear to God."

"But you wanted to, right?"

His head moved so fast it gave him whiplash, "No. The only person I’ve ever wanted is you.”

You scoffed, “That’s real sweet, real fucking poetic.”

“I let my own shit get in the way, and I hurt you. But I swear to God, I’ve never stopped loving you.”

“That supposed to make me feel better? You fucked off to play house with some other girl,” You swallowed hard, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Why were you there with her? Why did you let me think—"

"Because I’m a fucking assshole," he admitted, "I was trying to forget you, okay? But I couldn’t. No matter what I did, it was always you."

“Fuck you.” You snickered. “Where were you when I finally got my internship? The one I worked for, the one I wanted so bad?” You shook your head, “You didn’t even text me. Not once.”

His throat was tight, his pulse hammering, because he had thought about it—so many times, so many nights staring at his phone, fingers hovering, but he hadn’t.

Rafe’s heart plummeted.

“I—”

“You what? You forgot?”

His nails bit into his palms, “I—”

“You don’t get to speak,” you seethed, you eyes burning through him. “You don’t get to fucking say you care when you weren’t there, when you didn’t even fucking check if I was okay.

"I'm sorry."

"Where the fuck were you,” you whispered, voice shaking with grief, “when I found out I was pregnant with your fucking kid?”

Rafe froze, his stomach jumped around, violently, his ears started ringing. His brain short-circuited, his lungs forgot how to take in air, his heart fucking stopped.

Pregnant.

Pregnant. With his—

“Oh, right.” Your laugh was venomous, “You showed up at my charity gala.” You licked your lips, shaking your head, “Defending her.”

He never felt so completely useless, completely fucking helpless while you stood in front of him, looking up at him like you hated him.

“I—” He started, but nothing came out. “You—”

There was nothing to fucking say, you were right, he had failed you.

You weren’t telling him this so he could weigh in or because you wanted him to be a part of it. You were telling him so he’d know, so there wouldn’t be any misunderstandings, so he wouldn’t ever think, even for a second, that there was still a version of this where he got to be a part of it.

“How long?” The words were hoarse, hardly audible.

Your lips curled in disgust, arms crossing tight over your chest. “Like you fucking care.”

He did, he did care.

So fucking much that he thought he might fucking die under the weight of it. Except the realization hit him just as quickly—he didn’t get to stand here, wide-eyed and breathless and shocked like this wasn’t the natural conclusion to the shitshow of mistakes he’d made.

“Don’t fucking stand there and act like this is some big revelation. You didn’t spend the last months with your tongue down someone else’s throat while I was home—sick, alone—wondering how the fuck I was supposed to do this without you.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, pressing your knuckles to your lips to stop them from shaking.

His gut twisted.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Jesus Christ, he’d been so fucking stupid.

“I don’t need you. I never did.”

It was a lie, maybe you even believed it.

But Rafe knew you, understood how hard it was for you to ask for help. Knew how much it had hurt to stand in front of him, admitting the truth. And Rafe—he needed to fix this. Even if it was the last thing he ever did.

“I should’ve been there.”

“Yeah? No shit.”

Rafe felt his ribs caving in. “I’m here now.”

“That’s not good enough.”

It was a death sentence, it was fair but fuck, he couldn’t accept it.

Rafe stepped closer.

You took a step back.

“Don’t.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he swore, desperate. “I don’t care if you fucking hate me, don’t care if you never forgive me.” His throat worked around the lump in it. “I’m here.”

You were so fucking angry. So fucking hurt. He didn’t blame you for it. But if he didn’t try, if he didn’t fucking show you—prove to you that he was here now—then he’d never forgive himself.

“You think I’m gonna just forgive you for this?” you sneered, arms folded tightly over your chest. “Just because you’re here now, just because you say the words that mean nothing—that’s enough? After everything? After all of it?”

All he could do was look at you—look at the person he had ruined, the person he had loved, and still loved, more than anything. 

“I just—” He sucked in a breath, running a hand through his growing hair. “Tell me about the baby.”

Your expression faltered before you hardened again, lips pressing into a thin line.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Bullshit.” His voice broke. “Don’t do that—don’t shut me out. Is it... a boy? A girl?”

You hesitated, shifting uncomfortably on your feet. “Why does it matter?”

“Don’t—don’t keep me in the dark, please. You’ve felt them move?” 

You looked down at your feet. “No.” 

"Did you—uh—" He rubbed the back of his neck, nerves raw. "Do you have morning sickness? I read that happens early on, right?"

You blinked, "What?"

"Like... throwing up and all that? You okay?" He sounded genuinely concerned, but it only made your head spin.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, “Can we drop it?”

It’s then he remembers the beach cleanup, the memories of that afternoon colliding all at once—the way you’d collapsed into him, pale and unresponsive. The panic that gripped his chest as he carried you to the truck. The fight during the drive, when you told him to leave, your refusal to let him come inside.

Jesus fucking Christ.

“You were…” He pratically gasped, “You were pregnant. At the beach cleanup.”

You stiffened, already dreading where he was going with this.

“Don’t.”

His pulse raced, “That’s why you didn’t want me to come inside the hospital, wasn’t it?” His words spilled out, “You were scared they’d tell me. Holy shit.”

“Stop,” you snapped, but he couldn’t.

“You passed out because of—” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. “Jesus Christ.”

“I said stop.”

He couldn’t unsee it now—couldn’t unfeel your dead weight on his arms. He’d been right there, clueless, driving you to the hospital while you were carrying his baby. And instead of being there for you, he’d made everything worse.

“I didn’t know,” he pleaded, voice breaking. “I swear I didn’t know.”

“Exactly.” Your voice was cold, “You didn’t know because you weren’t there.”

He was going to have to spend that entire fucking inheritance fortune on therapy

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

@rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron

@serrendiipty @sunny1616 @yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog

@psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[bi-writes]

ok simon and his mail order bride live rent-free in my head now and, like, what i wanna know is what their anniversaries look like? not just their one year anniversary, but also their fifth or tenth? how does it change as they settle into that deep comfortability that comes with being with someone a long time? -391780

this piece i still consider canon mail-order bride, but i see it almost as an extra than a continuation of the current story since it is very much in the future of that timeline. <3

mail-order bride

it's difficult to see the potential of something so mangled. sometimes things are so worn out and so used that they don't reflect what their purpose was. instead of function, they see flaw. instead of value, they see waste.

sometimes you wonder if that's what they saw in you. sometimes you wonder if that's why you were given to him.

that's what they made him. simon was a tortured dog they let loose. they saw value, but only what was left, and perhaps they thought something like you might help them squeeze just that little bit more out of him. one more year. one more op.

the sunlight wakes you up. you forgot to pull the blinds, but when you see simon sleeping peacefully next to you, it's worth it to be up so early. you know as soon as you move, he will wake, so you keep still for just a few more minutes.

today marks ten. he doesn't look much older. he seems to have stopped aging ever since you asked him to put in his papers.

like always, as soon as you sit up, simon blinks awake. he's bleary, but conscious, and when your eyes meet, you smile at him. he lifts his big hand and rubs your back gently. you don't speak any words so early in the morning, but you don't have to. there isn't much to say when the love of your life loves you, and you love them back.

you push the blankets off, giggling when you reveal the black and orange balls of fur that blink up at you. they almost seem irritated that you interrupted their sleep, snuggled in the heat that simon radiated. they'll just have to deal with it.

you drag your hand down simon's leg wordlessly. you hear his deep breaths from behind, and you reach into your bedside table to press a little balm into your hand before spreading the ointment across his knee and under it. you work it into the muscles nice and slow; any faster, and simon will hitch his breath in pain, and you'll have to start over.

you kiss his knee before laying back down, settling into his side, and you lift up your left hand, wiggling your fingers knowingly at him before looking up towards his face. he smiles down at you sleepily, raising his hand to cup your fingers.

"still love me?" you ask softly, and simon pretends to think about.

"mmm..." he rumbles. "still love ya."

"but do you still like me?"

"more everyday."

the first few years were spent trying to play catch-up. fancy dinners, expensive gifts, handwritten letters that could've been novels to try and stuff the love you have for each other all in one night. they were all wonderful; you think about those nights all the time, and you cherish the gifts he's given you like they are a part of you, but today feels different.

today might not be just another day, but it's just as special as yesterday. and the day before that. and the day before that.

when it's time to really wake up, you let simon guide you. he walks easy, barely a limp, and he sits you down at your vanity to help you do your hair as you add your serums and moisturizers. he's good with that brush, running it through gently, parting your hair the way you like so he can tie it up. he'd braid your hair if you asked him to (he said it wasn't unlike all the knots he knows how to tie--and he meant it, no one dutch braids like him), but you know your show came out last night, and you want to watch them with the scones you have proofing in the fridge.

he makes the coffee and tea while you set the scones in the oven. you fill the cat's bowls while he cleans out the water fountain. it's wordless, the morning routine, but you like the times when you brush by him. when your arm runs against his. when your hands bump going for the same cabinet. when he leans down as he passes you, kissing along your jaw before he keeps walking.

bliss. fucking bliss.

he's waiting for you in the living room once you pull the scones out of the oven. your coffee sits on the table on its coaster, in your favorite mug, and he's under your blanket as he flips through the tv. he already knows what you'll want to watch, and you bite back your smile when you notice him typing it into the search bar because he didn't see it when he scrolled past (you keep telling him to wear his glasses, but he'll never listen).

you take a seat next to him, thumbing at his cheek, and he takes a scone off the plate before biting into it. he smiles when he tastes chocolate, looking at you knowingly, and you reach for his hand as you settle against his chest.

you used to be mangled, too. a mess. pretty on the outside, dying on the inside. all fried wires, a traumatized animal, learned behavior of relieve and appease that kept you out of trouble and out of sight.

you have never seen simon this way. and simon has never seen you this way. no hopeless potential. no wasted space. no diminishing value.

i matter because you matter. you matter because i matter.

hidden, not broken. disguised, not incomplete. you did not have jagged edges, only armor that you tried to put up to protect yourself.

you tip your head back to look up at him, and when he cups your jaw to stare back at you, you're relieved by what you see in his eyes.

ten years. it will be nothing like forever. it will be nothing like your next life, nor like the life after that. it's comforting to know what home looks like. maybe you will recognize it the way you recognized it in this life.

no, that can't be it.

you recognized it because it had already happened. in some other time, in some other place, you were sitting where you sit now, looking at simon the way you look at him now.

you knew who he was before you even met him, and you will know who he is when you meet him again.

[jayden-killer]

Greediest man in the Stone World.

summary: you've just being awaken by your old friend and classmate, Senku, in a whole new human era. But, who's this young guy claiming you as his? a/n: waahh, i sincerly apologise if i disappeared...again. i literally forgot my tumblr writing page, and life took a.. strange turn of events(?) kinda. i hope this first ryusui one shot will make me forgive!!!

☆

Dark. And then... a golden beam of light passed through my eyes, blinding me. My muscles began to melt. I felt them sore, as if I had slept in an uncomfortable position all night. Or maybe, for three thousand and fifty years. This was what was brought back to me when I woke up from that sleep I thought was eternal. The first thing my eyes noticed when they hatched was a blinding sun. There was so much green. So much vegetation was not seen even in the well-preserved jungles. Then, a group of boys with familiar and unfamiliar faces. My eyes met his.

"Senku..?"

I uttered that name in a subtle tone of voice, and the boy did nothing but address to me that mischievous grin of his own.

"Yoh, Y/N...we need your help".

[ Time skip...(*ゝω・)ﾉ ]

"So... you need my dexterity in putting these little pieces together so you can build, um... Repeat it, thank you".

"An oxygen tank" Senku rest, without even thinking of getting that smirk off his face.

His attitude hadn’t disappeared after 3,700 years. Not even when he claimed in front of a professor that their speeches were meaningless.

Here we go again...

Between a sigh and the other I immediately set to work, while in the distance I heard Senku arguing with what seemed to be his colleague.

Just in the middle of my work I felt someone touching my shoulder gently. A delicate touch, like that of a…

"Child?"

The girl in question wore a watermelon helmet on her head, with lenses inserted in the two holes that created a space for the eyes. She made a sound of wonder, her hands to her mouth.

"So, you are new here!"

With a confused look I lowered myself to her level, able to have a face-to-face conversation with the little creature. " I suppose so..? And you are...?" That little girl who didn’t immediately show her intentions and courage was pretty to say the least.

"Suika wanted to welcome you to the Science Team!" she said clearly, now showing me her hand to shake her. I took her, and with a kind smile, I accepted her request. "How kind of you! Since I am now a new addition to your team, can I have the honor to meet my future colleagues and companions?"

Little Suika nodded happily, running in the opposite direction where I was working. Heck. Maybe it was me who was no longer a child like her, but Suika seemed really fast in the race, not giving me a chance to keep up. I didn’t know where she was taking me; we passed through several huts, erected on wooden structures, running as if someone was after us.

The only one chasing her was me. Looking back to see if we’d actually drifted apart, my foot tripped on a double-sized rock. The collision with the stone made me lose my balance; I was ready to crash on the dirty ground and have some bruises all over my face for a few days. Only that never happened. In the instant that I was about to feel my face against the damp soil, two arms wrapped my waists not too strong, but with determination, preventing me from slipping a second time. I didn’t even realize I closed my eyes.

"It’s not even the first day you’re back here on Earth, and you were destined to get hurt. Pff, not very convenient for our team, huh?"

A moment later my eyes sprang to meet his, and those eyes reminded me of an autumn now close to winter. " Well, lady killer, now you might as well put me down. I’m not meant to be your princess." I said authoritatively. His powerful arms let go of my body, and with a little thump my butt bounced off the ground.

What an idiot!

Not only was he now laughing at me with a fat laugh, as if I had just said the funniest joke on Earth, but he didn’t even deign to preseed himself! The blond slightly lowered his head, as I was still on the ground, and with an energetic voice he replied:

"Not yet", later going in the opposite direction, with firm step. Oh, what kind of weird I had in front…

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

"Become mine! With all my Drago you would become the luckiest woman in the world!"

Somebody kill me...

It had been two months since I had made my unexpected (better to say, unlucky) acquaintance with blondie, who had the name of Ryusui Nanami. With his egocentrism and sheer avarice, he had proved to be one of the most promising members of the Kingdom of Science so far, with great skills for navigation. Apparently he came from one of the wealthiest families in Japan, and he certainly had not lost the habit of being indulged in everything, even after 3,500 years. And since our first meeting, he hasn’t stopped trying once. On every occasion he would give me his flirtations comments (sometimes shabby), he would become handsy, or he would try to buy me with his stupid Drago.

I was not one of those women who was so easily deceived, especially if a situation was about money. He thought I would give in so easily. I was so determined to prove to him the opposite, during these months, that this would give him up. With a gesture of the hand, I pushed him away. " I’m sorry, Ryusui. As I’ve explained many times before, I’m not interested." I took a dramatic break. ".. to you."

He whined loudly like a little baby, fogetting his money behind to get close to me. "You’re making a mistake!"

"I have made many mistakes in my life," I answered sharply.

"Then add another to your long list." I nailed him down with my sharp look, sketching a tight smile. Nothing to do. That man would never wave the white flag in the sky. However, it was becoming a nuisance, and having it close to me like a fin was starting to run out. For the worse.

I had only one idea that could have saved me in that instant, from a near future in which he was no longer clinging to me like an octopus: make him believe he had a chance with me. A bold idea; nevertheless, it had to be tried. Either it will make it or break it.

"Maybe, in the future, you might have a chance…" I implied in a vague tone, already heading somewhere, any, to get him off my back. I could swear to see his eyes shining remarkably with hope, and a new fire, fueled by determination.

He snapped his fingers, his iconic gesture that everyone, by now, had learned to recognize, and if he did, it was because he decided to do something. There were no roads back.

"HA-HA!" His laughter seemed to flow throughout the Ishigami village. Even Senku and Chrome turned to us, with confused scowls, to see what was so funny at the time. But Ryusui found nothing amusing in this situation, except a challenge to complete.

"So be it! I’ll show you how much I’m willing to change your mind. Anything to get the chance to become yours!"

Though I did not turn to look at him, once again, his muscular arms clasped my waists, turning my body to meet his. Face to face. "You, damned Nanami, what do you want now?!" That gesture had taken me by surprise, because he was not used to come so near me, but with his cheeky smile, he kissed me on both the cheeks. A quick gesture that made me blush remarkably in my face, almost to feel it burn under the palms of my hands.

"What the f...?!"

"You don’t know it, but you’re already mine!"

[dyingswanpavlova]

Lessons to be learned

Pairing: Nam-gyu × Reader

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Restraints, Edging (More like Withdrawal of Release), Fingering, Unprotected Sex, Rough Sex, Degradation Kink, Implied Manipulation, Minors Do Not Interact!

Author's Note: I'm not sure what the hell this is. Probably porn with little plot. I fucking hate Nam-gyu and I hate that I like him.

Nam-gyu is testing you "in order to see if you really belong to him", but it's mostly him being cruel.

"You doin' okay over there, huh?"

Your eyes fluttered shut and you took a slow breath to keep yourself from...

Fuck, there wasn't much you could do anyway, right?

The motherfucker was right there, only a few steps away, scrolling dumbly on his phone. And you? You were there.

Legs spread to a nearly inhumane degree, your mouth dry by the pair of panties he'd forced inside. Every part of you was aching - in pain, in humiliation, in rage...but mostly in need. He had been doing this for hours now and you were slowly going insane.

You muffled out a response and only then heard him smirk.

"Right." He mubled in amusement. "Probably not."

A treacherous, pleading sound came over your lips before you could stop it. They felt chapped, like sandpaper and all you really wanted was to lick your lips.

Or, well, punch his gut.

"Okay, okay. We'll give it another try."

He set his phone down and lunged forward. His weight pressed you down into the mattress even more than the binds, the screech of the slat frame barely audible compared to your needy moan.

"Who do you belong to?"

He wasn't gentle. And he sure as hell wasn't merciful.

No, he pressed two fingers against your core and pushed them inside almost immediately, but there was no resistance anyway - you were dripping.

"You." You muffled out desperately. "Mhpf...Belong to you-"

He pumped his fingers faster, harder, stretching you so cruelly, you were sure you wouldn't survive this night if it continued on like this.

"I didn't quite catch that." He whispered menacingly, before he sharply withdrew his hand.

You whined needily and tried to arch into his touch, but he was just out of reach - and he wasn't a man for half-assed restraints.

"Please-" Your chapped lips somehow formed.

He smirked. That fucking bastard.

"Please what? Please fuck me? Please lick my pussy? Please leave me here to rot all night? Use your words, you dumb little slut."

Your face flushed in embarrassment and anger, but you forgot about it, the second he pressed his hips down against your own. Instead, you moaned - as expected.

You couldn't tell how long you'd been in this position, how many times he brought you to the edge and left you there, begging, whining, all but sobbing. You had never felt this desperate in your entire life. The ache between your legs was slowly killing you.

It meant something to him, you knew that. He didn't trust easily, not anyone, not even you. He needed to test you, to push you, to drive you to madness and still have you. Still see you. And maybe then, maybe when you were good for him just a little longer, if you were truly ready to endure whatever he did to you...Maybe then he would finally realize that he was indeed lovable.

Loved.

You knew how messed up it was to even think like that, but what else could you do? You were in love and he was an idiot. A blind one, at that. Burnt one too many times.

"Please." You croaked out somehow. "Please...fuck...fuck me."

He bared his teeth in a predatory grin.

"You don't know what you're asking for, baby."

The sound of his pants being unzipped and the rustling of the fabric falling to his ankles was enough to make your heart stop beating. You needed to come so bad. But what you needed even more than that was him.

You didn't struggle when he pushed himself inside you. The low moan on his lips was enough to make your skin tingle, your insides squirm.

He was no man for gentleness. So, you didn't protest when he began to fuck into you like a beast in heat. You just moaned. Closed your eyes. And begged.

Oh, you'd feel him for the next few days. But you couldn't bring yourself to care. You needed him. You needed release.

You felt it approach faster than you thought. Being kept on edge for hours was a cruel endeavour and being so close to the damn-well-needed release was even worse.

Because, just seconds before you felt yourself tip over the edge with you arching your back and moaning against the material in your mouth, he stopped.

As expected.

You gasped and tried to move your hips but it was futile. He was still inside you, still so incredibly close to your sweet spot, but he refused to move. You closed your eyes in your frustration, but his firm grip on your jaw forced you to look up at him.

"That's right. Now that's a good girl if I've ever seen one." He smiled and it almost looked genuine.

He leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against your forehead.

Almost loving.

Almost.

"Don't worry, baby. We'll take it one day at a time."

It might have sounded reassuring from any other man, in any other situation.

Yet you couldn't help but feel the dread creep into your bones.

You understood it now.

This was only the beginning.

[satorusdiary]

2:29 am; back in love ! - toji fushiguro

summary: ex bf! toji in your bed for the first time in months after the split up.

continuation from dilf!toji being your ex bf

pure fluff, that’s all.

ps. the pic above isn’t mine :)

Gojo sent 2:29 am

i’m worried for you, are you even home?

the constant buzzing coming from toji’s phone continues to annoy him, and his chances of sleeping. it was his mistake not silencing his phone before he drifted off with you in his arms.

yet how could he pull away from you when all he wanted to do was trap you with his warmth? it was impossible trying to get away from you.

he almost forgot how he was able to be away from you for so long. now that you are in his arms again, his heart has been soaring of excitement for so long in the past few hours.

he’s missed you so much.

his love for you has never stopped, nor has it stopped looking for you. his other half.

Toji sent 2:30 am

the fuck are you on?

the light is almost blinding, and the small squirms you make against his chest almost make his heart stop. he doesn’t want to wake you up, especially when you were already having trouble sleeping.

the bags under your eyes, and the dried tear stains under them as well had him concerned for you. all he wants to do is care for you.

Gojo sent 2:30 am

your car isn’t outside your house, and i know damn well u don’t park shit in ur garage.

Toji sent 2:32 am

that’s because i’m not home, ya dumbass

before his phone was attacked with multiple messages from his friend, he shuts off his phone and places it face down on the nightstand.

sleep is far from consuming his body now. his eyes stay looking outside the window, and into the dark starry sky. his thoughts weren’t all over the place, but had certain things to think about.

he’s gonna have to explain everything to you in the morning. then he is gonna have to pick up megumi from nanami’s home, go to work.. all that stuff.

he might consider taking the day off if it meant staying by your side.

a sudden movement snaps toji out of his thoughts, your arm that was around his bare torso slithers off, you rub your eyes while slightly whining.

“toji?..” you muttered, your head moving up to look at the wide awake man. you were still tired, but wide awake to know that toji wasn’t able to sleep.

his arm went under your— his hoodie that was over your body and rubbed your bare back. his warm hand easing you quickly with satisfaction.

“shh— shh. go back ‘ta sleep, sweetheart.” toji snuggles in closer to you, your head snuggling in deeper towards his broad chest.

“‘m sorry, pretty baby. didn’t mean ‘to wake you up.” he whispers, making sure to not wake you up more than you already were.

instead of complaining, you only hummed. whilst placing a kiss on his chest.

“‘ts okay. sleep with me, tojii.” you slurred. sleep was just about to take over your body, until he kissed your forehead sweetly.

“yeah, will do princess. sleep well, mkay?” it wasn’t really question, more of a concerned demand coming from him. none the less you nodded your head, with your eyes drooping closed.

“love you..” you started off, bringing one of your hands to caress his arm lovingly. the confession makes toji smile, snuggling into you more.

“i love you more baby.”

jujutsu kaisen masterlist

[elegantlyeva]

I loved your last Scott fic and was wondering if you could do something with just him and fluffiness for his girl? (Or as fluffy as he can get)

Burned Breakfast

a/n: Thank you for the request babe! i assumed you met established relationship fluff but if you meant for the pining stages lmk!!

Word Count: 0.6K

The sunlight from the early morning peeks through the blinds, the curtains wide open. One of you forgot to close the blinds, and considering you were the one woken up by the sun’s intrusion, you blame Scott.

Scott, the peaceful man soundly asleep next to you, small snores leaving his lips, despite how many times he’s rejected the idea that he snores.

Early mornings, ones right after a night in with you, were the only times he looked truly at peace. No complaints from any of his co-workers, no gum in his mouth to fidget with and no one but you to irritate him, though he enjoys you.

He had been extra nice yesterday, making dinner for the pair of you after he got home from a particularly good day with Storm Par. So, considering you were up, you thought to return the favor, slipping on your slippers and peeling Scott’s arm that lay heavily on your waist.

He moved a bit, his brows furrowing in agitation, even in sleep, when he doesn’t get his way. Eventually, he relaxes again, and you make your way out of his bedroom.

It wasn’t even half an hour before Scott started to stir, his hand reaching out to grab you, but met with your side of his bed, cold.

Scott sits up abruptly, opening his eyes in a frenzy. You never got up before him. Did you leave in the middle of the night? Had he done something wrong?

The man was contemplating his entire life when he heard a pan fall from the kitchen.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and got up to follow the noise quickly. He was met with his panicked-looking girlfriend running a hand under the sink.

Scott scowls at the sight, scurrying over to you to inspect the damage.

“What the fuck were you trying to do?” he asked incredulously, kissing your cheek in lieu of a good morning.

“Cooking you breakfast,” you frown, moving your hand to motion around the mess you made in the kitchen. “Pancakes and bacon!”

Scott shook his head, laughing slightly. “Oh really?” he asks, moving to wrap his arms around your waist from behind, pushing your burned hand back under the running water when you move it away. “And how’s that working out for you?”

You narrow your eyes playfully, “You can’t be mean. I’m injured,” you say rather dramatically.

Scott rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, you did that to yourself.” But he moves to the fridge to collect the burn cream he kept there after a nasty incident he had a couple of months back.

He turns off the water for you and snatches your hand towards him so he can apply the cream. “Why were you trying to make me breakfast anyway? Not that I don’t appreciate it.” He raises a brow, and you smile sheepishly.

“I wanted to do something for you.”

“That’s sweet ‘n all, babe, but I promise I’m happy with waking up to you in my bed,” he says, blowing on your burned hand when you wince. “The cream won’t stop the pain, but it’s refreshing, and if you keep applying it, the burn won’t scar.”

“Thanks,” you say flatly, cheeks tinged pink at his words.

“Alright, no offense, but I'm not sure how much I trust this pancake batch,” he starts, staring judgmentally at the (burned) batch you made. You start to protest, but he cuts you off. “It’s fucking early. How about we go back to sleep for another hour, and when we wake up, I'll take you out to the diner?”

The argument dies on your tongue, and you nod, grabbing his hand. “Well, come on, then. I’ve been dying to get back to bed the second the opened curtains that someone forgot to close last night woke me up.”

The corners of his mouth twitch up as he pushes you back into the room, gently. “Thought you wanted to be nice?”

[cherrygirlfriend]

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚ safe haven

pairing: lottie x roommate!reader synopsis: lottie hears her psych ward roommate crying warnings/tags: angst, comfort wc: 700 a/n; i want to write more for them :( also do NOT date someone you meet at a psych ward. zon't- zon't zo it.

lottie had gone through the wringer when it came to inpatient facilties. after returning from the wilderness, her parents had taken her to an institution that barely let the patient out of their room for the first week they were there, and most of the time lottie had spent there had been spent in restraints.

for the next two years, she transferred from one hospital to another, pumping her full of medication until every part of her was numb, each new place meant for people that were doing better than the last place she had been at, yet most of the time she felt the same she did the day they returned.

the current place wasn't too bad; at least no one was standing outside the showers, even though every piece of cutlery was made of colorful plastic and there were nurses in every room outside of your bedroom, making sure nothing you did went unnoticed. she'd been there for about three weeks, but today, someone new arrived.

the second bed in lottie's room had stayed untouched for as long as she'd occupied the room, and girl hoped it would stay so, but the new arrival had been led to lottie's room, and she knew not to go in there before the nurses got done checking the duffel bag the girl had arrived with.

lottie had tried to talk to you throughout the day, but you simply chewed on your nail before going back to sketching into your sketchbook, being quiet even during 'group discussion' aka when the nurses would force everyone to talk about what they were looking forward to in the upcoming week.

eventually, ten pm rolled around, and everyone had been forced to retreat to their rooms, the lights automatically shutting after fifteen minutes, so lottie was left to stare at the shadow of the open blinds on the ceiling caused by the bright moon, listening to the ticking of the clock on the wall, your breathing too quiet for her to hear.

but after about an hour of just laying there, lottie could hear shuffling from the other side of the room divider, turning her head to stare at it with furrowed brows. the girl could now hear soft sobs that were only slightly louder than the clock that had been placed over the room divider.

she listened to the soft sobbing for a while; you were clearly making an effort to stay quiet, and lottie wasn't sure if it was because you thought she was asleep, or if it was just out of habit. but she got her answer when she moved to sit up in bed, her bedsheets rustling and the sobs immediately quietened.

tentatively, lottie sat at the edge of her bed before slipping on the beige slippers, taking soft steps until she reached the end of the room divider, peeking into your side of the room, your head hidden under the your duvet, muffling the already quiet cries you were letting out.

when she reached your bed, she knelt down next to it, her hand tentatively going to your head that was covered by the duvet, softly stroking it.

you lowered the duvet until your eyes, glossy with tears, were peeking out, looking at the girl who simply continued stroking you, a gentle smile on her lips. normally, you'd think the situation was strange and would tell her to stop, but there was something about the girl that was... soothing. something that made you feel calm. something that told you that she felt what you were feeling.

you didn't even realize you were scooting backwards on your bed until the other girl climbed in, and you pulled the duvet over her too. her hand continued to stroke your tear-streaked cheek, and as she laid next to you, it felt like you forgot every reason you were even crying, and even though neither of you spoke a word, your eyes never left hers, and hers never left yours, and it was like only that said a million different things.

[obae-me]

The Devil's Desire

Nothing like trying to come back from a long hiatus with more Luci content. It's always him, I can't escape.

Warning: This fic contains a makeout scene but nothing explicit, so 16+.

Disclaimer: I am NOT bashing religion, nor am I calling out any specific faith, denomination, etc. It's written to be mostly generic on purpose, and is simply based on a real life experience I have had before. Don't take this seriously, please.

Word Count: 2.3k

With that out of the way, please enjoy some Luci romance!:

To lie with the devil is to wake up in hell. Tender lips stained with debauchery embrace nothing but lies. Tainted is the temporary vice. Lost is the lamb who leaves the flock. Damned is the devoured; the ones drowned in their own sins, plunged into the fires, entombed in brimstone. The cries of pleasure now ones of wailing. Of gnashing their own teeth. Made to suffer an eternity of eternities for shunning the light.

At least, that’s what they say.

And by they, right now you meant the very adamant woman standing in front of you, brandishing pamphlets like they were her very own Ten Commandments. If only 'Thou Shall Not Harass Unsuspecting People on the Street' were one of them. If you had your own rules, that would make it into the top five for sure.

Unfortunately, the lady slowly singling you out from the rest of the passers-by did not share your same sentiments. She was on a mission. Her mission? You. The goal? To wear you down and pester you long enough to join whatever group she was promoting. You’d seen these things enough before to see the danger signs in advance. A clipboard so they could take your name and number. A promotion selling tickets that you’d inevitably have to use your email to register for. All in an attempt to get your information so they could track you down in a less stalker-y sort of way.

“Oh, hello, dear. How are you today?” The hunter was closing in, two teens carrying signs at her side working on sequestering you- the weaker link- away from the pack.

“I’m good, how are you?” Damn your polite force of habit! Curse you, customer service default settings!

She grinned, knowing that if she played her cards right, she could probably keep you trapped here for a while longer. She spoke, and due to the survival instinct in your brain, you were capable of tuning her out for the most part. Something something, for the greater good, something something, special soul. They never meant what they said, or even if they believed their own words, it was undermined by their intentions. You’d been in this boat before. You kept waving your hand and nodding your head, explaining to her that you were busy and had someone you were meeting.

As you stepped backwards, she approached again. “Just one minute of your time! One minute could save your soul from Lucifer’s clutches!”

Without entirely meaning to, the drop of that name made you pause. Every once and a while, you forgot that the person you had come to know so well was such a prominent- albeit infamous- figure in the human world. Although, the way he tended to be described made him seem more like a boogeyman rather than a demon capable of Armageddon, scaring children across different nations and cultures into behaving. Perhaps you should be insulted on his behalf. Perhaps you should share some of the stuff you had seen. Tales of ivory wings and the blinding glow of a fallen angel whose twisted voice now told beings to Be Afraid. With a haunting beauty so enveloping, you openly fell further into the nightmare. That being said, you almost laughed in her face, wanting to tell her that the man she was so afraid of had been fretting over what kind of coat to wear this morning. Black was classy. But blue made his eyes pop more. But red was his color. Thirty minutes he pondered over this. “I’m not all that worried about it.”

Maybe you hadn’t contained your amusement as well as you thought you did, because for some reason, a righteous fire had lit under her sandy open-toed wedges. “You should be! Whatever promises the devil gives you, it will only bring you misery in the end! He cares nothing for you! Only HE can give you the joy you seek.” Her pointer finger raised up while she gazed to the clouds like she could peer into Heaven from down here. It was hard to tell if the dramatics were more for you or her. When she glanced at you again, she appeared spooked, clutching pearl hands at the ready.

An arm snaked around your waist, a hand settling on your hip. If the touch wasn’t so familiar, you would’ve jumped. “I don’t know. I think I bring plenty of joy, wouldn’t you say, love?”

Speak of the devil, in a quite literal sense.

Relief flooded your body, the tension you’d unknowingly built in your shoulders loosening. Even posing as a human, Lucifer was intimidating. At the very least, no one bothered to approach him out of the blue. This party buff seemed to extend to you as well. This lady seemed much less interested in trying to convince you of anything now. She cleared her throat and thought about potentially leaving you one last message of warning, but the man in your company wasn’t having it. He scoffed under his breath before he gestured to some of the other sign bearers in the group, tilting his head slightly to the side.

“Strange weather today, isn’t it? You might want to help retrieve your things,” Lucifer announced. Eyebrows raised. The weather was quite nice today, albeit a little cold. Curiosity got the better of her. Just as the woman turned around, a heavy gust of wind blew over you all, making pamphlets and signs fly upwards and into the streets. Subtle. People scrambled. The lady hiked up her skirt and ran to the edge of the sidewalk. Cars screeched to a halt and honked, people stopped to gawk at the calamity, all the while, you felt yourself being tugged away.

Lucifer’s hand remained on your waist for a few minutes until he was certain the annoyance was far behind you. How much of a mess was the scene now? You turned your head to look over your shoulder, but only saw darkness as a gloved hand covered your eyes. A slight huff sounded off to your side.

“Leave it. This hesitancy of yours is what got you caught in the first place.” The hand moved from your eyes to the top of your head, making you look up at him with a twist of his fingers. “I leave you be for a few moments, and you once again find yourself tangled up in nonsense.” His narrowed eyes flitted over your form as if checking for signs of distress or injury, like the woman was a master of combat with pamphlets as her weapon of choice. Always the worrier that one. He’d have still a similar reaction if you found yourself lost in a grocery store…

A frown crossed over your face. “I did try to leave. How many times do I have to say ‘no thank you’ before someone leaves me alone?”

He tisked, his posture straightening as he fixed the scarf around your neck. The plush fabric was rubbed against your jaws. “There’s your first issue. Manners are all well and good until someone takes advantage of it. At some point, you have to drop the politeness and just say ‘no’. With your entire chest.” All of a sudden, he took two pointer fingers and manipulated your cheeks and lips to mouth some words. “N. O. Just like that. Can you say it with me? Nnnn…ooo…”

You narrowed your eyes a bit at his teasing, batting his hands away. “Knock it off, Luce…”

“Hmm. Maybe I should go get one of those eccentrics and tell them we changed our minds and—“

“No!”

“Ah, see, you are capable of it.” Someone was mighty pleased with himself. Anytime he found himself in a place where he was free from his responsibilities, he always got shockingly more playful. It would be cute if it weren’t so frustrating right now. His hand started running over your head. “Good job.”

“That’s not funny. You heard how they were talking about you… I hate listening to it.”

At your words, his teasing smile faded. Rolling his eyes, he lowered his hands. “I would much rather you save that vexation for yourself and how they treated you. All the humans in the world could despise me and I would not bat an eye.” Suddenly, his finger tapped your chin, trying to regain your full attention. “I only care what one of them thinks about me.”

Something about the sudden sappiness in public snapped you out of things. You turned a bit on your feet and started walking. “Did you check us in already?”

“I took care of it. Did you want to head in now or wander around the town a while?” His partial pout at ignoring his romanticism could almost be felt physically as he matched his pace with yours.

“I think I’ve had my fun for now.”

A hum, and his hand found your own. Clasping it, guiding you to the hotel as you both walked. It was astonishing how such a move cast a level of camouflage over you two. Suddenly, it was as if you both were a normal couple following the regular flow of foot-traffic, keeping each other warm in the crisp air with the heat of each others close proximity.

If the devil was so callous, why were his hands so tender?…

The rest of the walk was a bit of a blur. The people, buildings, spoken words, all unimportant compared to the sensation of having him near. The elevator ride jostled, giving you some more awareness to your surroundings. A short walk, a brandished key card, and he opened the door for you, the very picture of a perfect gentleman.

If the devil cared not for you, why would he bother with chivalry?

The “room” was huge, with an entire kitchen, walled off bathroom, closed off bedroom, and separate living area. This was more an apartment than a simple hotel room. The luggage was already brought inside, Lucifer’s portion already opened and put away. “Leave it to Diavolo to save you the biggest, fanciest suite in the hotel. If the tub has jets, I’m never leaving.”

“Do you expect the Avatar of Pride, the right hand to royalty, to expect anything less?”

“You’re funny if you think Diavolo wouldn’t give you something like this regardless of your gilded titles. Careful, your sin is showing.” You rolled your eyes and gave him a playful nudge.

He swiveled on his feet and poked your ribs. “You dare push me?” His voice rumbled in amusement deep in his chest. “Rather bold to do to such a dangerous demon.”

“Oh? Is that a threat? Going to take my soul? Well, you’re going to have to get through me first.” Fake punches flew through the air, striking at his chest and face with no force. Although you knew real punches would have the same utterly useless, painless outcome for him.

The world tilted, some of the air leaving your lungs in a giggling gasp as he scooped you up over his shoulder. He twisted, spinning around occasionally to leave you somewhat disoriented until you were plopped down on top of the bed, the whole mattress bobbing. Lucifer hovered over you. “You cannot hope to win, human. You’re mine now.”

Something in your chest fluttered at that. “So you win then, is it? How would you like my soul? Grilled? Blended? Braised?”

One of his hands worked on removing the scarf from around your neck, the back of his index finger tracing the outline of your chin. Just a breath away from being in contact. “Let me see…” Adjusting, rubbing his nose against yours, he waited for that tell-tale sign of permission, of you closing some of the distance. Temptation struck you, flooding in your heart. The plunge was too alluring. You bit of the fruit, and the devil wrapped his clutches around you.

Watch out for the schemes of the devil, who prowls like a beast, waiting for the moment to strike and devour- lips whispering inner desires. Raise up your guard to save yourself from being pulled into darkness, into his embrace, limbs aching and craving. For his claws shall tear and shred in eagerness, unable to contain themselves as they remove the body of protective vestments. He will take the very breath from your lungs. Crush the bones with a heaving chest. Partake of your flesh.

Lucifer raised his head for a moment, letting you both catch your breath. Your thumb traced his bottom lip, puffy and scarlet where you’d nipped it. Red was always a good color for him. That’s why you picked the crimson coat for him today. It matched his cheeks, the end of his ears, his longing eyes.

“Authentically,” he said, answering your question you felt you asked two lifetimes ago. His mouth covered yours as his broad hands squeezed your shoulders. “Slowly…” You could almost feel his hum in the back of your throat as he spoke between kisses. “Bit by bit…” His teeth grazed you top lip. “Over the course of a lifetime…” His affection moved on, venturing out and exploring your cheeks and gently over your eyelids. “So you’ll be right here with me… exactly like this… for a very-“ a searing mark was placed right under your earlobe, against a tingling part of your neck, “…very long time.”

To lie with the devil is to wake up wrapped up in braids of limb and cloth. Tender lips stained with last night’s embrace whisper saccharine words. Cherished is the temporary stillness. Beloved is the lamb who measures the meter of the heartbeat of the wolf. Blessed is the enamored; the ones drowned in their own affection, plunged into the fires of passion, entombed in each other’s chests. The cries of pleasure echoed with ones of mirth. Of declarations and vows held tight between their own teeth. Made to persist an eternity of eternities for existing as the other’s light.

For it's his desire.

[maxlarens]

i promise i'm writing my max oneshot CURRENTLY but i had to get the sillies out about this really badly. australian spring/summer i love u i love u i love u!!!! also at this point i think the difference between a one shot and drabble on this account is non existent and simply based on vibes. this is only a one shot bcs it feels a bit more coherent i suppose?

LN: australia street

pairing(s): lando norris x piastri!reader, oscar piastri & piastri!reader

word count: 1.3k+

It all feels very familiar, nostalgic even— though you've never been in quite this situation before. With Oscar sure; you always rope your brother into doing things when you're in Australia again. But this is the first time that Lando's joined you.

It's nice, to be home.

Not that it's yours or Oscar's home anymore (that's not true. It always will be, no matter where in the world you jet off to). It's certainly not Lando's. It's hard to put words to the feeling, you just know it's nice.

You're driving, of course, because Oscar and Lando can never decide which of the two of them should drive. So you'd snatched the keys to the Piastri family '96 Holden Commodore and slammed the driver door behind you before either of them could say boo. Lando had snagged the passenger seat in a mad dash that you'd watched play out in the rear-view mirror, while Oscar had complained all the way to the backseat.

"Whered'ya wanna go?", you half turn your head to ask Oscar, checking your blind spot at the same time.

Oscar hums as he thinks. You can feel Lando's eyes burning a hole into the side of your face.

"Do you remember that fish and chips shop—"

You do, "Where Dad used to take us? Yeah, it closed down," then you add, "Besides, Lando hates fish. Jeez, Osc."

"Ah fuck," Oscar groans, "That sucks."

Lando makes a noise, indignant, "I can't believe you forgot. It's my one thing."

Oscar rolls his eyes, "It's not your one thing, Lando. You have plenty of things."

They start to bicker, devolving into an argument that you only understand about half of, about pet peeves and the things the other one does that get on the other’s nerves. You chime in a few times to agree about Oscar’s annoying habits, the things you'd grown up complaining to your Mum about. Quietly to yourself, you decide on a route to an old Italian place you know is still kicking around— they won't mind.

You roll your window down, feel the balmy spring breeze in your hair, on your face. It smells like the bloom of jasmine flowers, of warmth, of the smoke of people BBQ-ing in their backyards. You breathe deeply, absently aware of the petered-out conversation. Oscar dozing in the backseat like he always does. Lando looking out the other window, watching gum trees and bottlebrush on the sides of the road. 'M looking for koala’s he'd said the other day, which had made you laugh. You'd been tempted to tell him about drop bears, but you're sure that Daniel had already warned him of the dangers.

"Do you miss it here?", Lando asks suddenly.

"Mm," you affirm, "I do."

"A lot?"

You shrug at the question, not sure why he's pressing it, "Sure, Lan."

"Then why do you travel with Oscar?", you spare a glance at him, he's fiddling with a bracelet on his wrist, the one you'd made him that matched the one you'd made Oscar that matched the one you wore, "Don't you want to, y'know, settle down here?"

You raise an eyebrow, scoff a little, "God, I'm not an old maid, dude. I'm not ready to pop out babies yet. Far out."

"No, no," he's blushing, you know he is, you don't even need to check, his tan cheeks growing a little darker, redder, "Fuck. That's not what I meant. You know what I meant."

You snicker. You do. But Lando is fun to rile up.

A latent sigh leaves your mouth, "I dunno," you admit, "It's my favourite place. But I have the rest of my life to come back, and besides, it's more special like this. I appreciate it more when I'm only here for a short time."

Lando hums, turning your words over in his head. You think he may be about to say something else—

"Do you like it here, Lan?"

You're not sure why you ask. No, you are. There's this fantasy that keeps floating around in your head. Little bits of it have been coming true on this trip. Lando standing in the garage with your Dad, talking about project cars and then showing him grease covered parts, explaining where they'll eventually end up. Your Mum roping you, Lando and Oscar into helping her cut vegetables at the kitchen counter. Your younger sisters giving you loaded looks behind Lando's back, you trying to pretend you have no idea what they mean by them. It's a pipedream, it's weird and you need to stop doing it.

But you can't. Sometimes, you look at Lando and your thoughts just pick up and run away with themselves.

Lando nods in answer to your question, "'Course. It's very," he trails off, fingers finding the beads on his bracelet again, he hums, "It's very you. Hm, does that make sense?"

You feel warm all of a sudden. Something creeps up your neck, settles at the base of your skull. You blink a few times, remind yourself to focus on the road.

You skitter out a laugh, an awkward thing, you're trying not to look at him, your hands tight on the wheel, "Yeah— uh— it does. I s'pose."

You lapse into silence for a short while. The sky is eggshell orange and purple and red, stretching out in front of you. Punctuated by the star-brightness of the street lights, terracotta tiled roofs and the shadowed branches of towering Eucalyptus trees. It fills you with a feeling you can't name— there's nothing else quite like it out there. Not in London, not in Monaco, not in any of the many other cities you've traveled to or lived in for a stint.

They're all gorgeous and interesting in their own right, but they don't live up to the special peculiarities of suburban Australia. The flash of a possum's eyes where it's skittering across a powerline. The faint sounds of kookaburras laughing as dusk falls. The glow of families watching TV in living rooms coming through screen doors left unlocked. Old men tinkering in wide open garages. Wheelie bins with red and yellow lids out on the curb— cricket stumps painted on the sides.

It’s special. In the way that home is always special.

Then Lando says, apropos of nothing, “Pretty.”

“Huh.”

He shrugs, gestures around at the neighbourhood, “It’s pretty. Warm too. I can see why your parents live here. Raised you guys here. I can see myself doing that.”

You decide not to tell him about the bipolarity of Melbourne weather. Cold to hot to wet to dry to gusty all in a few hours. You let him enjoy the rare consistent spring day. And you try not think about what he’s saying, what he’s admitting. You try not to think about what you might be admitting, driving him through streets you used to play in, to places you used to go with your family, talking about settling down, like it’s on the horizon anytime soon.

It’s not— you’ve not met anyone to settle down with.

At least you don’t think you have.

It’s certainly not Lando, in the passenger seat of the old family car, fresh off a day of meeting your grandparents for fuckssake and taking a tour of your childhood bedroom. Laughing at your old boyband posters and the teenage girl shrine you’d kept to Niki Lauda. It can’t be Lando, who you turn to when you can’t turn to your brother, who gives you his hoodies when you’re cold even though he’s colder, who’s come on a bloody trip to Australia in his four week break because you’d said you wouldn’t know what to do without him for that long.

It can’t. It’s not.

He’s talking in hypotheticals and you’re getting carried away with yourself again. Like you always do.

listened to this playlist while writing😌

[bluejutdae]

best friend Stray Kids saving you (or being saved by you) from a bad date | Hyunjin x you

Chan , Minho, Changbin, Jisung , Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin.

a/n: finally I managed to write the last part of this series, the Hyunjin part! There’s not much “saving” here because I had this dramatic idea in my head and I didn’t want to renounce to it. Enjoy!

The rain outside has been incessant for days, so many that it started to be difficult to recognize the time of the day just by looking at the sky. Everything it’s gray, and you almost forgot about this date. The guy is the cousin of one of your colleagues, and you would have canceled it if only you had a bit more hope. Not on this date, you know it’s gonna end up with you telling the guy it’s not the time for you for a relationship or some other fake excuse, you’ll apologize for wasting his time and the truth is: you do feel sorry for wasting his time, but staying home knowing Hyunjin is probably out there kissing his girlfriend and having fun made you a bit selfish. You ignored him for the last 5 days, after he called you at 2 am and you couldn’t help it but hope it meant something. But what would it mean? You’ll never know, cause you didn’t answer.

Your heartache clings to you like molasses, covers you head to toes, you can feel it under your teeth. You’re so used to it, it doesn’t scare you anymore. But it’s so tiring to wake up everyday and do the same routine: wear your clothes, slip in your shoes, put on your grief, grab your purse. Day after day.

The restaurant you’re having your date at is a nice one, you often order takeout from it. The only downside is that it doesn’t deliver home, so anytime you want its amazing food, you have to get out of your house and come collect it. It’s worth it.

Shivering in your cute top, you nod to something your date just said and reach for the wine glass. You have nothing in common with him, you barely remember his name. Was it Minjoon? Minhyun? Once again something distracts you from the conversation (it’s a monologue, at this point) when you hear your phone chime, signaling a message. And since love is blind, and most days it’s also stupid, you can clearly recognize the tune you use for Hyunjin and Hyunjin only.

You have been ignoring him, but you were sure he didn’t even notice. Ten minutes pass and you’re on the verge of just leaving the date, apologize profusely and go home to cry. The bell on the door chimes as someone enters and, once again not paying attention to the man in front of you, your eyes wanders to look at whoever enters. It could have been a couple grabbing dinner, it could have been parents celebrating their kid’s success, it could have been anyone. But just as love is blind, so is luck. Because it’s Hyunjin who just entered the restaurant, and it’s Hyunjin looking directly at you, eyebrows knit in a frown and a sour expression distorting his lips. You’re frozen in your seat, watching him shaking his head, speaking with a waiter, collecting his dinner and leaving. You can't have him leave like this. Something in your gut is telling you it’s now or never, if you let him go now, you might as well let him go forever. And you’re not ready for that.

In a blur of apologies and confused sentences you leave your share of money on the tablecloth and, grabbing your purse, you flee the restaurant. It doesn’t matter that you left your jacket on the back of your chair, it doesn’t matter that’s it’s pouring outside, it matters only your voice calling his name.

He doesn’t turn, doesn’t stop, keeps on waking under the rain, head down and fast steps. You start doing that awkward running walk, reaching to grab his wrist. This effectively makes him stop, but he looks displeased.

“Why did you leave without saying goodbye?”

“You’re on a date.” He frees himself from your grasp, almost like your touch burns him.

“So?”

“So you’re having dinner with another man. Why would I interrupt?”

“Because you always come say ‘hi’ when you meet me by chance.”

“Not when you’re on a date!” He snips. You’re still both under the rain. For a moment you wonder why he hasn’t insisted on moving under a covering. You haven’t because the cold rain is soothing your nerves, soothing the pain you feel anytime you’re too close to him. Did Icarus feel like this when he was soaring too close to the sun? Did he wish for the rain when the scorching wax burned his skin? Did he love the freedom so much he reveled in the pain, hating it at the same time?

“I never go on dates!”

“Clearly, you do.”

You sigh, “this was my first date in 4 years, Hyune.”

“And I didn’t know you had a date, wanna guess why? Because you ignored me for days!” He uses his free hand to push back the strands of hair that fell on his face, dripping wet.

“I thought you were busy. Last time we talked you were really focused on getting ready to meet your girlfriend. Why would I interrupt that?” He’s baffled, and rightly so. In the past, you had no qualms about texting him at all hours.

“Well, I was focused”, you can hear his mocking tone. When did this transform into a fight? “because I was meeting her to put an end to our relationship, because I realized I’ll never be in love with her because I am crazy in love with you. And I tried to call you because I needed to tell you so, I needed to know I did the right thing. I thought this wasn’t one sided. And yet you ignored me and- fuck” he laughs disheartened. “-and went on a date with another man.”

“I- you, what?” You blink rapidly, drops of rain blurring your sight. “You broke up with her? For…” you can’t say it. You can’t bring yourself to say ‘for me’, because it’d make it real. And it could be the best thing or the worst thing. Or both, at the same time. Did Icarus ever think he’d succeed? Did he ever consider he could fly, escape and be free; or did he -like you- only ever imagined failure in front of him? Was he like you, swimming stroke after stroke towards something, wishing for the best but never thinking it could come true? There’s a certain push that animates the despairings, there’s no fight or flight response. There’s only the pilgrimage towards the unreachable goal.

“For you.”

A beat passes. Another. Another one.

“Since when?”

“Since you held my hand after that nightmare. Since I realized I'm not scared when I’m with you.”

There’s something they don’t tell you about desperation, about wanting something so bad that you can feel it missing from your own body. For weeks, for months, you get used to the longing, the yearning. When you can finally wrap your hands around his shoulder, when you can press your lips against his and hear him utter a soft groan, all that you used to feel transforms into electricity, it runs through your whole body and sets you aflame from the inside. This kind of burning, though? It’s a welcomed feeling.

[jedisupernova]

reuniting with seong gihun

notes minors dni contains fem aged up reader (same age is gihun), always written with plus size reader in mind as i am myself but truly anyone can read, takes place in the midst of his pursuit of finding the salesman, ANGST (self deprecation, selfishness, mentions of hardships, death, failed relationships, suppressed emotions, mentions of infertility, includes arguments; this does not have a happy ending), dynamic between reader and gihun is childhood friends who reconnect in later adulthood, some made up lore to build said dynamic, mentions of nightmares, violence, smoking, sickness, slow burn maybe? i'm trying something new, and smut (mutual masturbation) after trusting someone for the first time in a long time mends part of his soul, but for how long, and at what cost?

requested? no, this is an original idea! i can't be normal about anything and how underrated he is in his own show is diabolical. anyway this one is long. please request something if you'd like or stop by the ask box or dms to say hello! i love a man with big brown eyes whose real good at looking sad. enjoy!

you always looked forward to every other saturday because it meant you had the day off. you took this time to sleep in before heading to nearby markets for your weekly grocery run. it was right after lunch time that you were perusing coriander so fresh you could still see water droplets on its leaves. just before you were to ask the older woman who ran the stand for the price, a familiar face swept past your peripheral vision.

you looked over your shoulder, seeing a man dressed in an unzipped jacket and talking rather quickly into his phone. he looked around the street corner like he was lost, a passing car letting you hear only fragments of what he was saying: "—station? which one?" you were about to return to your business when he faced in the direction of your gaze entirely. you hadn't seen that face in years . . .

he hung up the call, now typing with fervour. without thinking, you started walking: "gihun? seong gihun?" your voice was soft, approaching him with an air of caution you couldn't explain. he looked up, face tense with something beyond stress. "yes?" "it's me." you said your name. "we—we went to grade school together? my ... my parents owned a shop just down the street from your mother's." why did every syllable feel more embarrassing than the last, and why did your voice get quieter with every word? you were certain that you were looking at the gihun you grew up with—who could forget those distinctly emotive brown eyes, or those ears that stuck out and were made fodder for incessant teasing from your classmates? but gihun's expression didn't move an inch, his eyebrows knitted together in the slightest of confusion. but it was merely momentary, because when you were uttering apologies, his eyes widened with belated realization. "yes," he thought aloud, his tone was still oddly serious. "i taught you how to tie your shoes."

your expression blossomed into utter elation, lips separated in shock. he so casually swept the dust off of a shelf of memories you forgot even existed, making you mentally regress to that afternoon during p.e. who knows how many years ago. "y-yes!" you nodded. "i wore velcro shoes until i was eleven!" another memory came to the forefront: "we used to trade cassettes during lunch! we argued so much over the british ones. who was it again? david bowie and—" "—duran duran." said gihun. "duran duran!" you repeated, beaming. "oh my ... when was the last time i listened to them." you pondered aloud.

warmth crept onto your cheeks, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth: "i remember you and sangwoo styling your hair like theirs." a breath left his lips, chest tightening, his eyes betraying him as they quivered in abrupt grief. "you wore so much hair gel it blinded me in study hall. i wonder where sangwoo is now. i haven't heard much since he graduated from snu. are you still friends today?"

your question was objectively harmless. there was absolutely no way for you to have the faintest clue of the atrocities gihun's been forced to witness; the painful guilt he carries; the nightmares that carve the abysses underneath his eyes; the debilitating anxiety that fills his head with endless noise even in the eerie quiet of his deserted motel. he nods, forcing a tight, small grin. "we did stay friends." he says bravely, his eyes looking more familiar than ever.

the genuine smile you give in return was added to his self-anointed list of reasons why, at the end of his life, he would not die a peaceful death. it was another thing he would laboriously mewl over in the afterlife, looking up at the rest of the world, shackled to the deepest, darkest pits of eternal regret.

"that's good to hear." you say. "how're you doing, hm? you've cleaned up well from when we were in our twenties." you quipped playfully. through the scattered shells of his soul littered throughout his body, his innocent self was still somewhere in there, because he subconsciously looked for an out to ease his internal tension, letting out a chuckle at your remark. those vibrations in his chest felt foreign after these past two years, but that murky remnant of his past self welcomed the change, no matter how minute it was. "i've been better." he responded.

"yeah?" you asked. "if it makes you feel better, i'm glad i ran late today. because i got to see an old friend after a long time." gihun glanced at either of your hands—no ring. "have you met anyone?" he asked. you nodded, understanding what he meant. "i did." you say. "he left me when the doctor told us i couldn't carry." your eyes widened, unsure of why you were suddenly so honest. "i don't know why i just—" "i'm so sorry." gihun cut you off. his hardened expression turned shocked, even appalled. you recouped, wanting to look past this: "it's okay." you shake your head, metaphorically dodging the memories of your marriage counselor telling you to not 'to deny your own personal wounds as it'll seep into the companionship.' "it was a long time ago, gihun. how about you? did you meet someone?" he nodded, sympathy glistening across his retinas. "we separated shortly after our daughter was born."

"seong gihun, a father?" you grinned. "anything's possible." the ringing of his phone diverted both his and yours attention away. "i'm sorry for keeping you. you looked like you were in the middle of something—" "no, no. it's fine," gihun shook his head. "here, give me your number. i'll call you." he didn't know why he did it. he failed to stop himself declining the phone call from the loan shark he hired to head the search for the salesman, let alone handing you his phone to type your number in. was the impulsiveness of his past self also crystallized, emerging at this very moment? his discreet vow to blend into the shadows seemed to have crumbled in these past five minutes, giving in to his complex feelings: your sweet demeanor made him feel like a normal human being, and he wanted more of it. for the first time in a long time, seeing someone from his past didn't end in complete anguish. or perhaps it was the gleam of sadness that washed over your eyes as you spoke of your ex-husband, inflating his subconscious savior complex. even so, after you exchanged polite goodbyes, walking off in different directions, he mentally kicked himself for compromising your safety concurrent with unabashed intention of calling you that very evening. through any stage of his life, through the gambling and the scheming, it seemed selfishness remained his kryptonite.

for you, it was a hell of a lot to take in. at some point, it felt as if a prank was being played on you. it was one thing to offer sincere condolences for his late mother, or be sorry that his daughter lived so far away. but ... children's games that ended in murder? masked guards with triangles, circles, and squares hiding their faces? a handsome, well-groomed man that tenderized his face over a game of ddakji, in the middle of a train station? sure, you would miss a lot of someone's life after not seeing them for nearly three decades. but ... but this? it was properly outlandish. crazy, even. but over that hushed dinner, sat in a corner booth, the scent of sizzling samgyeopsal on the grill increasingly nauseating, it was too detailed to be a lie. he pleaded nonverbally for you to believe him—through the desperate glossiness of his eyes. you affirmed your belief in the same wordless manner, visibly nodding. you almost threw up when he handed you a business card, the three aforementioned shapes on one side, a random assortment of numbers on the back.

gihun brought you to his motel that same night, barren and lifeless besides white noise of the warm-toned, aged ambient lighting on the first floor and the tinkering of various ceiling fans with rusted hinges. you took in the six monitors mounted on the wall in front of his bed, equipped with live block-to-block security camera footage of his immediate surroundings, the metro transit map tabbed meticulously, and the calendar with past dates crossed out in thick red marker, pages of months previous mixed with takeout containers lodged in the corner trash bin. you quietly followed him upstairs, seeing his hidden stash of weaponry as he explained his recruitment of underground crime groups he's known since his gambling days. you didn't utter a word, not even when you lastly saw the mountain of cash stacked on a random bed in a random room. it stared at you as you did it—blankly.

he broke the silence. "this is where i've been these last three years." he said. he turned to look at you. "i ... i understand that it's a lot." his voice grew quieter. he swallowed, feeling shame brewing in his chest. "i just—i just felt like telling you. i don't know why. i understand if you don't want to know me—" "—i want to help." you said. his eyes widened. "what?" "i want to help you, gihun." you looked at him. he was bewildered. he shook his head, dumbfounded. "no, i think you misunderstood—" "—i did?" you cut him off. "you brought me here because i believe your story, didn't you? what did you expect then, exactly? for me to take my conviction away, like you say those masked soldiers did to those people who didn't stand still enough, or broke their dalgona? you tell me all of these crazy stories, your pain is so visceral that it makes me nauseous with guilt, and you want me to walk away? huh? what is it, then? what did you want!?" you hadn't anticipated your voice to rise, but were yelling by the end, your irritation stuffing the room.

he took your verbal berating silently, avoiding eye contact and shoulders lowering. "i don't ..." his voice trailed. "i don't want you to get hurt." "you gave up the right to protect me when you gave the impression sangwoo was still alive." you spoke firmly, voice now leveled. a breath of defeat slipped through his teeth. "you should've never called me." you said. "you should've done what everyone does: offer to get lunch to be polite, but never actually do anything. you shouldn't've called. i shouldn't've answered. i shouldn't've have shown up tonight, and i should've walked away the moment you started talking. you've given me no choice but to stay."

the silence was deafening. he looked up upon hearing the skid of your shoes against the floor, coming face to face with your softened expression. it was strangely disarming, feeling goosebumps travel up his spine."you were rid of me for thirty years. it's only right we make up for lost time." you said. his gaze didn't falter. it was his turn to affirm his belief of your wordless plea. he nodded, "okay."

you stopped by the motel in the early morning before work, listening to him comb through whatever new strategy he was going to run by his men that day ("what do you think? does this sound efficient?") and in exchange for making you miss your train, he drove you to work before parking at his usual spot. his guilt of bringing you into all of this felt stronger some days than others, showing in your not hearing from him for a couple days at a time. until you squashed that like a bug, dialing him in the middle of your lunch break: "... hello?" "why haven't you called me?" "i ... i've been busy." "you don't have time for a one minute phone call? thirty seconds?" "no, no. that's not what i meant—" "—i'm coming to the motel tonight."

and like clockwork, at nine pm, you showed up on the security camera. his phone vibrated: I am outside. when he unlocked the door, you walked past him without uttering a word, b-lining to his room. he did not immediately follow, purposefully hovering at the entrance after locking it back up securely. he walked with a lowered head, peering into the doorway some moments later. he was taken aback by the sight of you unloading your tote bag, nose tickled with the scent of freshly brewed stew, steaming rice, and side dishes. "i've brought tupperware. you're not eating takeout anymore." you don't look at him, hanging your bag on the back of a chair after fishing out utensils, sitting down with a small huff.

you looked at him. "are you not joining me?" gihun walked into the room, but fell short of sitting down at the table. "how long ... how long have you been cooking?" he felt stupid for asking the question, but the gesture left his mind blank. he felt atomically undeserving. "i got off work early." you responded curtly, plating your food. gihun didn't say anything, making you look up at him again. "it's going to get cold, gihun." your softened tone gave you what you wanted, watching him sit down across from you with muted satisfaction. you ate together in silence, nothing but the gentle clattering of plates and a quiet "thank you" when passing dishes rivaling the white noise of the air conditioning.

"from now on," you started, bringing your bowl to your lips, finishing off the last of your serving of stew. "you will update me everyday. i will bring food for us. if you forget about me, i will haunt you in the afterlife." "understood." he muttered, avoiding eye contact, pretending to look for a piece of meat in his stew, ignoring the one showing itself plainly on the left side of his bowl. his bottom lip quivered; he tightened his mouth. his arms started feeling weak; he inhaled sharply through his nose, tapping his foot under the table. but then a ragged breath rattled out of his diaphragm, his shoulders shuddered, and his vision went blurry; he was a goner. he sobbed into his hand. it sounded a lot like a coughing fit, so you initially thought the food hadn't gone down smoothly. but his defeated, muffled mewls into his palm and sunken shoulders said otherwise, sending you to your feet.

gihun instinctually turned towards the feeling of your hand on his shoulder, crying into your stomach. his hands pulled at your jacket, making you stumble, but you caught yourself. "f-forgive me, please. i won't be able to live with myself. i haven't been able live with myself for a long time." you looked down at the top of his head, unsure of what to do. you brushed his hair back with your fingers—not sure if it was crossing a boundary, but it felt wrong to just stand there—he only cried harder, arms wrapping around your waist, holding you so tightly as if you were a lifeline. "you—you make me feel normal." he said, breathing in short gasps. "after all the sins i've committed, you've—you've shown me atonement is possible." he lifts his head, eyes reddened, cheeks wet. the imagery of the moment was almost religious; if you listened closely, a distant artist began hammering at a marble slab. "b-but i'm not deserving of mercy." he shook his head, his hands coming together, visibly pleading. "leave me. i've hurt too many people. i can't hurt you next."

you wiped his tears. "you already hurt me when you didn't call." you said. "you already hurt me when you pretended sangwoo was alive and well." you reminded gihun, his head sinking in shame. your hand traced his jaw, lifting his head to look up at you. "you don't get to hurt me again by acting like you're alone in this." your voice faltered to a whisper. gihun's fingers ghosted over your wrist. "listen to me—" "—no, you listen to me." you cleared your throat. "we met that saturday for a reason. you let me in tonight for a reason. we're sharing a meal for a reason. stop lying to yourself." you said. "i can handle myself. i've been through a lot. i don't know how many sins you've committed, but even the devil gets a second chance. you should know, you've looked down the barrel of his gun."

gihun tsked. "save your prayers, gihun. just let me have the peace of knowing i'm helping a friend." he sucked in a shaky breath, sinking his face into his hands. "what have i done?" he whispered. "no one deserves to be alone as long as we both have." you retort. silence fills the room, making way for the words to settle into his psyche. goosebumps arise along his spine at the return of your fingers brushing his hair back. you take a step forward, his forehead brushing against the same place he wept on seconds before. "the least i could do is stay," you spoke quietly as if someone would overhear, even if you two were alone. "even if it's for a little while." as embarrassing and hypocritical as it felt to him, gihun gradually wrapped his arms around your waist. his touch hovered, however, only for you to pull him in, letting him know it was okay.

he got the message. his eyes closed, a long breath escaping his lips. you would've missed what he said if you weren't listening closely: "please do." he said, voice low, tone weakened. "please stay the night. there's—there's a room close to mine. down the hall." "i will." you assure without hesitation."what're friends for, hm?" you grinned. gihun let go. "i'll go—" he cleared his throat, voice gravely. "i'll go wash my face." he gestured to the bathroom behind you, rising from his seat. you returned to yours, "when you come back, have more food. you look sunken in." "i will." he muttered.

gihun closed the sliding door, inhaling through his nostrils, wiping a rogue tear with his knuckles. before he turned on the water, he looked over his shoulder, peering through the translucent palm tree imprint adorning the bathroom door. he caught a glimpse of you re-plating his food, leaned over the table, carefully pouring more stew; a hefty pile of rice on his plate; the side dishes pushed towards his seat. his bottom lip quivered, quickly looking away and tugging the right knob, the faucet pouring. the water ran and ran, but his eyes were stuck on his reflection in the mirror. he felt nauseated by the sight of his glossy eyes, deepened frown lines, and pathetic expression: worthless, contradictory, complacent.

seeing himself felt revolting. not even a mother could love this face after all i've done. he thought to himself. how would he know? he found his mother lifeless on the floor when he came home, eternally impairing her with the gripping chokehold of disappointment routinely tightened by her deadbeat son throughout the last years of her life. what would she think of her son now, a secluded loner who lives off of blood money, whom watched his best friend die right before his eyes, hired criminals to do his bidding to further involve himself in a fight that feels too big, and on top of all that has looped in an innocent woman into all of this? and for what, comfort? a semblance of peace? gihun splashed his face haphazardly, drying off with a towel hastily. he turned the faucet off, staring at himself again: "own the consequence." he whispered to himself. "it's all your fault."

you stayed at the motel even if it was against your better judgment, such as having work earlier than usual. gihun stirred awake at the rustling outside of his closed and locked door, reaching over and squinting at his phone screen: 5:37 AM. his senses clouded by exhaustion, he didn't realize just how quickly he recognized your footsteps, climbing out of bed without a second thought. his voice startled you, even if it was quiet: "what're you doing up so early?" he asked. "you don't have work for almost three hours." "i go in earlier today," you weren't sure why you were whispering anymore. "and i forgot something at home. i'm sorry for waking you up, gihun. go back to bed." he left the doorway, coming back with his jacket and shoes on, keys in his pocket. "let's go. i'll take you home, then to work." "no!" you protested, shaking your head and waving your hand. "i've caused enough trouble waking you up." "i'm already here," he said, taking your purse and carrying it in his right hand, his left gently ushering you alongside him. "let's go. you'll be late."

you shared cigarettes after dinner, the emptied tupperware long forgotten on the small table some feet away. you blew the smoke out the window, watching it disappear into the night. the click of gihun's lighter caught your attention, gaze lingering whilst he inhaled. you smirked to yourself: "i kicked this habit right before i started trying for a family." you said, bringing the cigarette between your lips. "i guess you're as bad an influence you say to be." you quipped, exhaling. "high school gihun would ask if he looked cool doing it." he muttered, holding his between his lips, putting the lighter back in his pocket. "he would. and i'd tell him he does." you affirmed with a nod, flicking ash into the tray lining the windowsill. "he would also ask for you to not tell his mom, even though he stole those cigarettes from her shop. then, two days later, he'd ask you for one." you chuckled, leaning towards the window and blowing. gihun shook his head, "what an annoying kid." "funny." you corrected him. "you were funny. aware, but also clueless. caring, too."

"i was shameless." he murmured lowly, blowing his smoke. you tsked un-approvingly, "stop being so brooding. now that's annoying." he looked at you as if you detested his entire family lineage, eyes widened in an expression fit for schoolyard bickering. "i'm not being annoying, i'm being real! hey—" he said, pointing his cigarette at you. "you're the one being annoying, just going against whatever i say! you've been doing this so much lately! on wednesday, when i offered to buy dinner because you've been working so late these days, and you said to me 'hey gihun, i have fifteen more years until i'm eligible for elderly welfare. i can cook just fine.' you could've just said either yes or no!" he waved his hand to accentuate his point, continuing: "and last week when you told me five times to stop wearing the same three shirts on rotation, and i told you i have more than that but there's no need because i sit in a car all day, and you said 'you're more dedicated to an outfit than the president is to the oath of office.' where do you even get this stuff?" he questioned, bewildered, pointing his cig to his temple. you nearly drew blood from your lip from attempting to contain your laughter. "and i wasn't stealing from my mom when i was that young! at least be honest about that." hearing him accentuate his vowels in the midst of his frustrated rant—a habit he's seemingly had his entire life—made your face feel warmer than before, a wide smile appearing whilst laughter finally rang out of you; you'd unpack the former later.

"okay, okay." you nodded, your free hand coming to rest on his arm as a way of both giving in and telling him to calm down. "was it my mom you stole from, then?" you joked, unable to hold your laughter at the look on his face. "you can tell me, gihun. i'm sure the statute of limitations is up by now for theft." "you're impossible." he muttered, shaking his head, bringing his cigarette to his lips. "hey. hey," you said, arm traveling up to his bicep, "i'm just kidding. i know you didn't steal." he stayed silent until he couldn't. "jungbae used to take his father's cigarettes. that's what i smoked." "okay, okay. i believe you, no need to be emotional." you said that on purpose, an upside down grin molding your face at his expression, suppressed laughter clouding your lungs. "how am i emotional for just telling the truth! hey, you can't just lay the bait and expect me not to take it!" "are you really this unable to take a joke?" you questioned. "wow, gihun. you take our role as elders more seriously than anyone our age." you remarked with faux indignity, hiding your grin behind your hand, inhaling. "impossible." he muttered to himself, turning away from you to face the window. your hand fell to your side, glancing at his cigarette between his lips before gazing out the window yourself.

silence washed over the room. after a few minutes, you put out your cigarette in the ash tray. you cleared your throat, crossing your arms over your chest. "i know it's hard, but lighten up." you began. "we just had a good meal. our shit will pass smoothly in the morning." gihun turned his head, looking at you with those routinely emotive brown eyes, too capacious for his own good, gaping at you. you thought you knew what he was going to say, but he scoffed, looking back out the window, a hint of a chuckle leaving his diaphragm, a ghost of a smile on his face. "poop jokes? at our age?" he shook his head, inhaling. upon his exhale, he struck gold: "you're so full of shit." both of you turned to each other with widened eyes, an open smile of surprise on your face: "a pun!" you called out, pointing at his chest. "you just said a pun!" "i'm not inept." he said. "of course not." you agreed. "just stubborn." you grinned, hearing him scoff.

"you may not be the seong gihun i remember entirely," you said, watching him extinguish his cigarette. "but you're certainly a seong gihun that'll be hard to forget." your words weigh unexpectedly heavily, suddenly bringing up the inevitable next step when gihun confronts the salesman. it's long been established as you two have talked about it before, albeit more hesitantly these days, even if it didn't start that way. in the beginning, it was treated with zero sugarcoating; basic fact; common sense—he's going back in there and no one can stop him. however, over these last few months, it's not as if the end goal has changed, but its honest, unforgiving nature has become increasingly visceral. it lingers in the air like an unwanted draft, but you're scared shitless to get up to close the window, fearing something bad might happen if you leave your bed. it was overtly irrational, a perfect concoction of contradiction and avoidance; even at your big age. it made you feel sixteen again, narrowly evading your crush in the busy school corridor, but stealing every possible glance during your shared class. wait . . . hold on . . . did you just use the word . . .

"i don't plan on forgetting you." gihun cut your inner monologue off. you were taken aback. his gaze is unrelenting, even if his eyes give away his own surprise at his words. your mouth moved, but no sound followed. your mind was completely and utterly blank. gihun felt it too, considering you always had something to say at any given time. that's how you made your way back into his life; upended his routine; granted him a better sleeping schedule; made a technicolor life seem possible again; filled his aura with something other than regret and disdain. his life felt—even if it was only momentary—not like it was unfolding to the beat of a ticking metronome, but in peaceful silence, like now. there was no room for hurtful memories, intrusively incessant conflicting feelings born out of his festering trauma, or the hefty responsibility to avenge those lost that he attributes to his own faults. there was room for only you. you.

gihun turned away, flustered. he suddenly wished he never put his cigarette out, yearning for the scent of nicotine to distract him from the discomfort he felt now—a feeling he was sure you shared, too. "i'm sorry." he muttered, so quiet it nearly blended in with the noise of the air conditioning kicking in. you stepped forward, locking your arm with his. he turned his head, glancing at you when you laid your temple against his bicep. he feels one of your hands gingerly rub his arm, saying something neither of you had the guts to verbally. his posture was stiff, unsure of what to do, but he didn't think for an iota of a second to step away or nudge you off. he felt something inside him begin to thaw, or maybe it slowly had been this entire time. "tonight is the first time i've heard you laugh since we met again." you spoke. your tone was so hushed it made gihun feel as if you were the last two people on all of earth. you two stood in silence, looking out the same window; listening to the distant cares drive by; the meow of a stray cat; the air conditioning shutting off. too afraid to move his gaze—and frightened by how hot his face felt—gihun slowly pulled his hand out of his pocket, slipping it into yours. it took him a moment to mount the courage to intertwine your fingers, and another to lay his temple against the top of your head.

something shifted after that night. how could it not? your apartment collected dust with how you practically lived at the motel, other than to cook. gihun awoke before you did on days you had work earlier, intentionally setting this alarm no matter the time he fell asleep the night before. you stayed in his car a little longer than usual when he dropped you off, really pushing that five minute grace period you have to clock in on time, even if those extra few minutes were spent in flustered silence or repeatedly glancing at how close your hands were on the center console. every time you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket, you hoped it was him; elated if it was indeed his name in your messages, and an eye roll if it was an email or the news. gihun found himself sitting up in his seat when your text came through midday (Going on lunch in 15 min), uncomfortably tugging at the collar of his shirt. he cleared his throat when you sent your usual follow up (Free now), staring at the call button next to your contact name. what am i going to say? he thought to himself, only to realize how ridiculous he sounded. gihun pressed the button hastily, bringing the phone to his ear with an irritated huff. since when did i become sixteen again?

on the evenings where you're running late for dinner, gihun is in your room at the motel, tidying it. he didn't want to face the fact that he lingered in your space because it was precisely that: yours—or in more truthful words, he just really missed you. it was where your energy remained a constant, even through the poorly-lit space and stuffy air. it felt irrational to miss someone he would see in a matter of hours, but he could not help it. he distracted himself with fixing the folded corner of the thin duvet; smoothening a stubborn wrinkle on a pillow case; replacing a faulty lightbulb; cracking the window open just enough if it was particularly humid that day. if you still hadn't arrived afterward, gihun sat on the edge of your finely made bed, waiting idly. he sped down the hall upon reading I'm outside, hushing your flurry of apologies with a gentle "it's okay. i only just came home, too."

gihun was no stranger to nightmares. he had them often, tossing and turning in bed, waking up in a cold sweat or with a prolonged headache that followed him into the day. over time, he got better at lulling himself back to sleep, harnessing the mantra of it's not real as best he could. but one night . . . it was too tangible, tactile, even. filled with villains of his past, ghosts of mistakes, ominous reminders of the uncertain future. he knew he was in a dream, but his subconscious was at war with his conscious efforts to wake up—throwing him in a very frightening limbo. he awoke with a sharp gasp, his body riddled with sweat and coughing abhorrently, throat heinously dry. this was the most severe dream he's had in a while. gihun tried to ground himself by whatever means his mangled mind could think of: steadying his breath, feeling the fraying blanket with his fingertips, trying to remember that mantra ... but his senses felt electrified, the visceral fear of the nightmare still fresh.

his eyes shot open when he heard a knock at his door. he stilled, unsure whether he'd imagined it. some of his rationale had returned, but not entirely, because when there was another knock, he quickly got out of bed, grabbing the gun on his nightside table. that dream really must have done a number on him, because he didn't look at his monitors and moved based on assumption—halting upon hearing "gihun?" your voice laced with concern yet gentle, ear pressed against the door. you knocked again. "gihun? are you awake?" you asked. "is everything okay in there?" his shoulders sunk in relief. have i lost my mind? he thought to himself. he put the gun back, momentarily deferring his disgust over his rash actions, cracking open the door.

he swallowed, hiding his grimace at his still aching throat with a quick swipe of his forehead. "good evening." he said rather monotone, trying to mask as light-spirited but executing it meekly. "i'm okay. i had a bad dream." "i heard you—" you gestured down the hall. "i heard you from my room, gihun. you sounded like you were in pain. i was worried that, that—" "—i'm fine." he nodded, trying to assure you. before you rebutted, he asked "what time is it?" whilst rubbing his eyes. "two in the morning." you answered hurriedly. "look, gihun. you're drenched in sweat and you're breathing so hard. i know this wasn't some ordinary dream." you say. "was it ... was it about them? the men in masks, the games?" gihun's hesitant pause was your answer. "i'm okay." he said again. "i'm sorry for waking you up. go back to bed." you tsked. "still so stubborn, even when he's sleepy." you eyed him, seeing his glistening face. "okay," you gave in. "i'm down the hall if you need me." a pause. "you're not alone in this." you reminded him, walking away and returning to your room. his gaze lingered in your general direction for a moment before closing his door.

he tried to fall asleep, but found himself stuck, only able to stare at the ceiling. gihun's mind ran a million miles an hour, feeling short of breath if he focused on that for more than ten seconds. he looked at his phone for the fifth time in three minutes: 2:47 AM. sleep felt nowhere in sight. his sweat had mostly subsided, heartbeat leveled, but his mind remained riddled. if he closed his eyes, they would open right back up. your proposition played in his head like a broken record, but like anyone his age, his pride stood in the way. it's not only that he didn't want to seem weak or have an insecure grip on self-sufficiency, but also seeking comfort still felt foreign to him. it was another symptom of circumstance, both of the past three years and the last four months. gihun felt undeserving, foolish for pursuing such a thing when he's so close to throwing himself back into a world running on nothing but adrenaline and fear.

gihun laid on his left side with a stern huff, closing his eyes, trying so desperately to feel that lilting tug of sleep, even if he had to pretend. he did all of this to protect you and himself. to protect the inevitable, to crystallize his oath of taking down those bastards once and for all. but when he looked at his phone, seeing it was now 3:16 AM, he suddenly felt thirty-five again: coming home horrendously late after another taxing day at the factory, muscles weak and his will even more so. his wife wasn't home, having been at her relative's house the past few days after an argument they had. he laid atop the bed the best his sore muscles allowed; he hadn't enough strength to shower or even feed himself. he got up less than four hours later, freshening up as best he could in an eerily silent house, ignoring the grumble of his stomach as he boarded the public bus.

it was one of his loneliest moments. he didn't know why he thought of that specifically, considering the divorce, custody battle, and moving back in with his mother was a different low point entirely. his eyes opened to the darkness. the silence felt similar, the shame even more so . . . gihun got up, taking his pillow and blanket with him. he knocked twice, pressing his ear against the door, only for it to creak open. it must have been left open. he stepped inside, closing and locking it behind him. the layout of your room was the same as his, so he had no problem navigating the dark room. he quickly laid his pillow on the floor next to your bed, closing his eyes after unfolding his blanket. you were awake, overhearing his shuffling into the room. "gihun?" he gasped: "you scared me." he whispered back, hand on his chest. "why are you on the floor?" you asked. silence lingered. "i wasn't—i wasn't sure if it would be okay." "get on the bed, gihun." unbeknownst to him, you were awake for the past hour and some change waiting; having moved purposefully to lay on one side of the bed.

your face felt warm, eyes squeezing shut and nestling into your pillow when you felt the weight of the bed dip behind you. even though your backs faced each other, you thanked the universe that no lights were on in the room. gihun laid as far on his side of the bed as he could; not enough to warrant worry that he would fall off, but enough to thwart his fastening heartbeat he felt come increasingly close to his throat. or so he thought, because he stuttered with his next words: "you—you left your door open. don't ... don't do that. someone might come in." a beat. "you did." was all you said. barely ten minutes later, both of you succumbed to the white nose of the air vent, gihun's quiet snores and your steady breaths filling the room.

a week later, you walked into your apartment, setting bags of fresh groceries down on the kitchen counter. you heard your text tone go off in the midst of searching your cabinets for the usual pots and pans you used to cook—a piercing rattle reverberating through the immediate space when you dropped a small pot onto the stove, reading the text from gihun: 1 do not come. you stared at the text in horror, inner monologue clustered and borderline indecipherable—did he find him? how? when—yesterday it was another dead end—and lunch was smooth, too—how could have things changed so quickly? where is he—do not come? is he at there, at the motel? he sent this seven minutes—did he confront him there? how did he even find him there? how did he even— how did he even get inside? your eyes flickered back to the 1—a code you two established the night you took your wordless oath to help him in his endeavor ("it's quick to type. the 'one' we're looking for, the 'one' chance we have.") gihun sent the other three words to deter your stubbornness under the glimmer of the neon pink motel sign he didn't turn on himself, further punctuating the sentiment of imminent danger.

"how ... how long do i wait for?" you whispered to yourself. you paced back and forth, gnawing at whatever skin was left on your lips, moving to your nails after they felt raw. you didn't process your stomach rumbling more time went by; another hour passing on the clock, nor did you pay mind to how your loafers continuously pinched the back of your ankles, too occupied to remember to take them off. your phone rang close to midnight. gihun hadn't realized how quickly you picked up his call: "gihun!? what happened? is everything okay? are you okay?" "i'm safe." he said. "i am okay." he let out a breath, hearing yours on your side of the line. he began to explain: "we found him an hour after lunch. we tailed and tried to corner him, but he was too quick. one of my men are dead, and he used to other to find me at the motel." "n-no." you said weakly, shaking your head, horrified. "he was in my room." gihun continued. "he challenged me to a game of russian roulette. i won. he's dead."

you hadn't the faintest clue what that game was. but that did not matter. "d-dead? just—just like that?" your voice was quiet, eyes glossy. "after searching for these three years, he's gone just like that?" these people were so fucking odd. no matter how many times you reeled over the details, anecdotes, of whatever you learned, their ominous nature left you with an uneasy stomach; an urge to look over your shoulder at any given moment. it was consuming you these last six months. you couldn't imagine how it's been for him for the past few years. gihun nodded, despite you not being able to see. "yes." he affirmed. "he gave me what i needed. there's a card with a date and address for a halloween party, i think, since i searched it up and saw its a club. that's where the leader of the games will be. we've started planning what we're going to do—" "—that's—that's two weeks from now." you thought aloud. "yes." said gihun, nodding again. here came the part of the conversation he'd been avoiding: "i need you to ... i need you to stay at your apartment. just for tonight." you were deeply offended. "what? are you crazy?" you retorted, furrowing your eyebrows. "absolutely not. you listen to me, i'm coming—" "—no, listen to me." he cut you off. "it's a mess at the motel. i can't—" he huffed, shoulders sinking a little. "i can't do that to you."

you understood what he meant. "okay." you sounded hurt, but agreeable. you leaned on the kitchen counter, elbow rustling against the grocery bags. "okay." you repeated, running your hand over your face, clearing your throat afterward. you realized this wasn't gihun acting as if he was alone in his endeavor, but asking nonverbally for your belief in him. "i'll stay here. i trust you." "thank you." he responded in a whisper, overcome by a hefty wave of relief. "just for tonight. i promise." he specified once again. "i know." you said. a moment of silence washes over before gihun speaks. "i'll take you to work tomorrow." he said gently. "do you go in at nine?" "seven." you correct. you look over your shoulder, seeing it was nearing one in the morning on the oven clock. "i didn't realize how late it was. i haven't even showered yet." "me neither." he responded, glancing at the time on his car's dashboard. "i'll be at your building at half six. is that okay?" you nodded, despite his not being able to see. "yes, that's okay."

silence washed over the call. "thank you for trusting me." he said. "thank you for trusting me too. goodnight, gihun." "goodnight." he quickly hung up the call, tossing his phone onto the empty passenger's seat. a shaky breath left his lips as his eyes watered, fingers harshly rubbing his closed eyelids. "fuck." he muttered under his breath. when his vision cleared, he turned his head, looking out his car window to your apartment building. he stared and stared, eyes flittering up and down the various floors, trying to spot yours with any hint; a lamp turned off, a curtain closed, anything. some part of him wanted to stay in his spot until he was to pick you up, and another irrationally hoped you'd walk out of the building, like a lovesick teenager who's lost all reason. but eventually, gihun's hand reached for the gear, putting the car in drive, gradually pushing down on the peddle.

those two weeks were a stilled, prolonged goodbye. your face and muscles felt heavy as if you were already in mourning, but your brain remained defiant. he's too stubborn to let those people kill him. you told yourself, pouring creamer into your coffee at work. he's not stupid enough to die. the later half of october rolled out. with each passing day, you slowly lost the strength to cross out the dates on the calendar in his room. gihun would be a fool to not see the growing cynicism that deepened your eye bags, the perpetual frown on your face during dinner, or the avoidance of eye contact. you woke up too easily these days, gihun often hearing your shower head long before your alarm went off. he wasn't sure if you even set an alarm anymore, but it was enough to deduce you weren't getting much sleep. what was once a witty back-and-forth when reviewing the day's plans for his recruits, became a subdued, one-sided conversation where you looked at the whiteboard with an unreadable expression, offering a monotone "sounds good" in the end. as halloween drew closer, your midday texts lessened. gihun reached out—Are you going on lunch soon?—only to come to terms with his hurt upon reading your response: Busy day. I'll see you at dinner. your eyes watered, bottom lip quivering when he texted back: Okay. No problem. you clicked your phone off, turning it face down. you pushed away your half-eaten lunch, losing your appetite. a ragged breath left your diaphragm, tears threatening to leave your waterline. no one else was in the break room, so the consequences of suppressing your emotions thankfully beared no audience. but you felt exposed nonetheless, confronted by the fact that you couldn't bear to lose gihun, but you had no choice.

the motel was eerily silent the night before halloween. the plan was concrete, reviewed ad nauseam over the last couple of weeks. dinner had wrapped a few hours prior, the tupperware packed away in your tote bag hanging on the back of a lounge chair in your room. you didn't dare look at gihun. in fact, your eyes stayed down the entire time, speaking minimally other than to ask to pass a side dish, or offer him more rice. your quivering lips were hidden well behind your utensils, or taking a drink of water. gihun was just as quiet. not passive, but quiet. he didn't muster the courage to say anything. he might not be the most gifted in expressing his emotions, but he was aware enough to read the room and know it wasn't the best time to bring up the inevitable. he knew he couldn't leave you alone. he couldn't, not without saying something.

so there he was, some time past eleven pm, knocking on your door frame. "are you awake?" he asked gently, even if your nightside lamps were on, apparent that you weren't asleep. you peeked over your shoulder. "yes." you answered, returning your temple to your pillow. gihun walked into the room, back facing you as he sat on the edge of your bed. he had enough gall to keep you in his peripheral vision, but fell short of looking at you directly. "what did i tell you about leaving your door open, hm?" he asked, trying to sound sharp, but succumbing to tenderness. "anyone can walk in." "you aren't just anyone, gihun." you said oh so delicately, enough to have him turn his head completely, eyebrows turned up sympathetically. you saw his eyes on you in your periphery, but avoided his gaze, keeping yours on your palm running back and forth along a small spot of the thin duvet.

"i—" gihun reached into his pocket. "i made you a key for the motel." he leaned over to his right, setting it down on your nightside table. "if you ever need anything," he glanced in your direction, the strength to look at you fleeting. "take as much as you want. you know where the room is." you didn't say a word. your palm stilled. his gaze fell to the duvet, too, his hand gliding across the wrinkles. "like i said before," his voice was low. "i don't plan on forgetting you—" "—gihun, stop." you interrupted. "i don't have the strength for this."

silence. he tries again: "i'll come back." he spoke warily. "i'm going to come back." "please." your voice fell to a whisper. "i can't take it." your chin hovered above your chest from the length you went to avoid his eyes. you felt fragile as porcelain, every single utterance of this conversation chipping away at you without remorse. gihun doesn't try again, internally frustrated with how easily he felt defeated. silence wins again, but not for long. he continues tracing the duvet's wrinkles, inching towards to your hand with every swipe. his hand comes closer and closer, until he slows. you watched his fingers gradually hold yours. gihun doesn't apply pressure, but he stays there. he keeps them in his grip when he moves to lay on his side, facing you. "at least look at me." he whispered, pleading. "i can't." you sounded so defeated. his eyes glistened, gripping your fingers properly now. "i can't regret my decision now. not when i'm so close." his eyes shined under the warm-toned light of your lamp. "don't make me regret my decision. please."

your head rose, meeting his eyes. he looked his most familiar: a deep somberness etched in the crevices of his face, his eyes perhaps the most poetic of all. they looked so soft, so gentle; as if a look of malice could never come close to tainting them. he could try his damn hardest, feel the most visceral of anger, but he could never look truly dissatisfied, forever unable to mask his true desire for comfort. for love. a small grin tugged at gihun's lips. "there you are. i missed you." he was barely audible, almost as if he mouthed the words. without thinking, he moved his head onto the pillow, not realising how close you two were until it was too late. it was like a strange instinct, the way he leaned in. he couldn't stop himself; not when the quietest of gasps escaped between your teeth, or his heart thumping so harshly his chest felt it was going to burst, or when his lips hovered admittedly awkwardly above yours. the kiss was light, almost nonexistent, until gihun leaned forward a little more. the tip of his nose brushed past yours, bringing his lips against yours wholly. his nose lightly dipped into your cheek when he kissed you again. before you could show any semblance of reciprocity, gihun abruptly pulled away.

"i'm sorry." he said. "i shouldn't have ... i shouldn't have done that. i'm sorry—" "—it's okay." you shook your head, panicking slightly. you slipped your fingers out of his grip, using them to make him look at you. "come here." you say. he follows, molding his lips with yours once again. the kiss was one of fervor; relocating misplaced frustration into that of palpable yearning; two souls who came together by chance after decades past; an atomic understanding of each other's pain, yet accepting you'll never truly know what's its like to live the other's life; a long-awaited embrace of the unknown, succumbing to the desire—no, the need to be loved.

gihun's lips felt soft, contrasting with his stubble rubbing against your chin and upper lip. it made you pull him closer, his head tilting to the side to deepen the kiss, eyebrows turning upward at the sound of your muffled whimper. your hand left his face, taking his hand and laying his palm atop your clothed breast. he took the hint, kneading it with just the right amount of firmness, but not without moaning lowly into your mouth. his pointer and middle fingers pulled the collar of your sweater down, breaking the kiss mind-numbingly slowly before trailing down to your neck, past your double chin, settling on the faint stretch marks adorning your shoulder. your eyes fluttered closed at the sensation, an encouraging hand in his hair as your chest nearly collided with his, back arched in bliss.

you brought yourself back down to earth, hand reaching past his chest, undoing his belt. you scrambled to undo the button and zipper, escaping into his briefs. gihun let out a guttural moan into your warm skin, embarrassingly (to him) hard in your hand, breathing hard through your slow strokes. "h—h-ha ... h—ngh!" he tried to contain himself by peppering kisses onto your skin, but ended up bucking his hips up into your soft palm. you fastened your pace, fingers wrapped securely around his girthy cock, his precum wetting your hand. gihun shuddered, mouth agape and face burrowed into your clothed chest, fingers limp on your shoulder. you bit your bottom lip as you continued your ministrations, thighs rubbing together for any sort of friction. a whimper rattled out of his diaphragm when you began pumping only his tip. "i'm g-gonna pass out!" he whined. he gasped sharply when he felt something stir in his abdomen. "n-no, no—w-wait!" he suddenly moved, laying his head next to yours on the pillow. "w-wait! s-stop! i'm—" his body reacted before he did. gihun's nose brushed against your cheek, his mewls and grunts making your eyebrows knit together in a fit of awe and sexual drive you hadn't felt in years. hot spurts of cum coated his briefs and your inner wrist. you gradually came to a halt, overhearing his labored breathing.

you leaned in, softly reconnecting your lips. even in his clouded haze, gihun kissed back with intent. his hand found the hem of your pants, leaning closer to you, your free hand holding his cheek, deepening the kiss. you turned your head towards the ceiling with a sharp inhale, effectively breaking the kiss, however, when his fingers dipped between your folds. goosebumps arose on your arms underneath your sleeves, a soft hiss brewing between your teeth. "your hand is cold." you whispered. his nose pushed against your cheek, lips pressing chaste kisses onto your supple skin. "i'm sorry." he said. "i can ... i can stop." "no, it's okay. it's okay." you say breathily, closing your thighs around his wrist. gihun's jaw dropped at the sight."it'll warm up. just—just keep going." you tell him. "fuck!" his voice fought so hard to stay quiet, coming out hoarse.

your eyes were closed, eyebrows furrowed. it was only every few swirls of his finger did a small gasp leave your slightly swollen lips, feeling him come closer to your clit than before. gihun was so fucking close to where you needed him to be, but not quite there. his unintentional teasing concocted the subtle yet apparent slosh of your wetness as your puffy lips encased his middle finger. you arched your back a little, hoping it would slip him into place, but to no avail. you reached for his head, fingers slipping into his hair. "gihun," you swallowed, mouth dry. "a little h-higher." "where? here?" his cock was hardening in your hand again, blurring his logic, trailing kisses up to your temple in his misunderstanding. "your hand, gihun. your f-finger." "right, right." he quickly realized. "i'm sorry."

the pad of his middle finger inched higher. the light of heaven was now in your sight. you opened your legs to allow just enough room for his wrist to fulfill your next request: "a l-little deeper, gihun. a little—f-fuck!" your gasp echoed off the walls. your hand left his hair, coming to cover your mouth, eyes barely open to look down at his hand in your pants. your wetness was blatant, the sticky sound making his cock stiffen and your vision blur. "g-gihun!" you whimpered, feeling him rubbing unrelentingly your sweet bundle of nerves. every swipe tightened the muscles of your inner thighs, toes curling in your socks. "k-keep going! keep going!" you pleaded helplessly, voice stuck at a whisper.

gihun pressed his forehead against your temple, eyes cast below with no intent of looking away. "f-fuck." he muttered under his breath, mouth agape at how he worked you. his mind became mush, marveling over your warmth and intoxicating softness. "please." he muttered to himself, squeezing his eyes shut at the thought of how you would feel wrapped around him. his shame made him feel juvenile, embarrassed by how his thoughts were as sexually erratic when he was 21 to his now 51, but not enough to stop him from grinding his cock into your loosened grip. "p-please," he whispered to himself. "god almighty—hngh!"

you began pumping him again, your other hand going back into his hair, turning your head and kissing his lips. it was one of newfound hunger; quick yet deep; quiet but stuttered through moans and hushed whimpers. suddenly, a knot formed in your abdomen, threatening to unravel. you broke the kiss. "i'm close." your tone was so vulnerable, like you would trust him with the world. gihun opened his eyes, taking in how beautiful you looked under the lamplight, the sheerest coat of sweat glimmering off your skin. "are—ngh!—a-are you?" you asked. he felt your breath brush against his cheeks, his forehead atop yours, nodding. "y-yes. we can finish together. c'mon." he kissed your cheek and your temple. "o-okay," you said breathily, head turning towards the ceiling, feeling his lips rest against your skin. "i trust you."

before gihun could register it, you unraveled. your moans were so delicate, so gentle, descending into shudders rattling out of your chest; back arching, eyebrows turned upward in ecstasy. "i—i!" you whimpered, the feeling of his finger continuously circling your clit through your unimaginable orgasm making your sinuses loosen, tears prickling even in your tightly shut eyes. "yes! yes! y-yes!" you chanted like a prayer, pumping him whilst you rode out your high. gihun was an incoherent mess through his second orgasm, his sweaty forehead sticking to your cheek, spilling onto your wrist in finality. he felt depleted of all energy, dizzy for those first few moments whilst you laid beside each other in your respective post-orgasmic hazes, your joint-labored breathing outdoing the room's air conditioning unit.

his hand slowly pulled out of your pants, yours slipping from his briefs when he turned to lay on his back. gihun's eyes closed, lulling his heartbeat with every deep breath he took. even though your body had stilled—eyes closed, tongue running over your dried lips; trying to bring yourself back down—something stirred inside of you. your body had its release, but your heartbeat fastened for a reason you did not want to acknowledge. in fact, there could not have been a worse time than now. you hastily wiped the tear that had fallen during your orgasm, your face contorting into a near sob, almost giving in to the reality that you convinced yourself you've long accepted. but you loathed it so much, so viscerally that your temples vibrated with anger; resentment; vitriol, even. all those missed phone calls, lying texts, quiet dinners, avoidant conversations . . . now here you were, suffering the consequences the night before he's set to leave.

am i really going to cry after an orgasm? really? you thought to yourself. you knew it wasn't the truth, but you were internally fighting tooth and nail to not yield to the suffocating devastation consuming your lungs like smoke at the moment; breath stuttering through your nostrils, chest convulsing whilst you held back the tears. but then, you felt his hand ghost past yours when he fixed his posture in bed. all hell broke loose.

gihun's eyes widened when he heard you cry. his hand did not hesitate to ride up your arm; a firm, yet gentle tug at your shoulder in an attempt for your attention. "hey," he spoke softly. "what happened? is everything okay?" you cried even harder, bringing your hand to your mouth. gihun's knuckles wiped what he could reach, turning on his side to face you. his big brown eyes looked to you with the same devastation your body was currently expelling. "was it something i did?" he whispered tragically. he was afraid he overstepped a boundary tonight, the intensity of it all hitting you suddenly. but that couldn't be farther from the truth. if only you could stop crying to tell him.

you turned to look at him, pawing weakly at his chest to somehow ground yourself enough to speak. the attempt proved to be worthless, the warmth of your tears lulling you into a state of incoherence. gihun's hands came up, holding either side of your face. "what is it?" his voice was low, laced with concern and perpetual shame. "what happened, hm? you can tell me." he encouraged, fingers wiping your fresh tears, palm softly encasing your cheek afterward. "i can't stand to see you like this. please, tell me."

"i-i'm so sorry i've been so distant!" you exclaimed, your tears added an unintended tone of urgency. you looked into his eyes, shaking your head. "i'm so sorry i've b-been so mean!" "no—" gihun dismissed gently, pulling you into his chest. he wrapped his arms around you; one hand smoothening your hair, the other holding onto your hip. "it's okay. you have nothing to apologize for." he meant every word. gihun never once questioned why you acted the way you did. he's anticipated this from the moment he asked for your number that early afternoon several months ago. out of all the unpredictable variables that have unfairly cast themselves into the trajectory of his life, he could always count on his selfishness to rear its ugly face in the end. whether it be debt, addiction, or hurting the ones he loved—he bears the consequence. but some part of this makes it feel worth it, as murky as it is. "it's okay. it's okay." he hushed your cries. gihun kissed your temple tenderly. "there is nothing to be forgiven." he told you when your tears subsided, holding onto you even tighter. "you haven't done anything wrong."

after a while, you slowly sat up. gihun too, albeit cautiously, watching you wipe underneath your eyes with the back of your hand. you let out a long breath, lifting your head to meet his gaze. "i've always been such an ugly crier." you muttered. gihun exhaled through his nose, grinning. "i can never predict what's going to come out of your mouth next. no matter how hard i try." you grew flustered, an upside down grin tugging at your lips. "you missed thirty years of my life." you said. "of course you'd be a little lost."

gihun couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. comfortable silence washed over the room. your palm began to swipe back and forth on the duvet again, but your eyes were on him. avoidance wasn't in the realm of possibility anymore. it hurt, but you felt ready. "you can't die, gihun." you spoke, voice quiet, as if volume would shatter the sanctity of your oath. you looked at him as if you were the only two beings on the entire earth. "i have more food to make." his gaze did not waver. "i won't." he responded, equally gentle. "i have more to eat."

two days later, you unlocked the door, stepping into your apartment. you kicked your shoes off without a moment's hesitation, setting your purse down on the kitchen counter. the rustle of the plastic bag in your hand almost overshadowed the vibration in your pocket. fishing your phone out, you rolled your eyes at the work email notification. something regarding an ongoing project, or an upcoming meeting—you could have cared less. "it's nine fucking pm. are they this incompetent?" you muttered as you walked to the living room, clicking your phone off and setting it down on the coffee table.

the plastic bag, surprisingly, was not filled with fresh vegetables and your other go-to ingredients, but takeout. you untied the knot, opening the styrofoam containers filled with freshly-cooked fried chicken and tteokbokki, respectively. "shit," you said to yourself, getting up from the couch and scurrying to the fridge, bringing back a can of sprite to accompany the meal. you ignored the cabinet housing your tupperware, not even permitting your oven, which stored your pots and pans, in your peripheral vision. for now, and for your sanity, they were dead to you.

you ate your meal in silence. the crunch of the chicken, chewiness of the rice cake, and the fizzing of your soda kept you company. your phone lit up with emails, the news, reminders to pay bills, your paycheck hitting your bank account; you didn't waver. you did what you vowed to do for the next days, weeks, or maybe the next thirty years: waiting. for something. anything.

honey's taglist! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა: @gongyoosgf @infinetlyforgotten

[4vanaa]

WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING, rafe cameron, 07

summary: y/n left the outer banks years ago, determined to build a life far from the memories of her childhood love, rafe cameron. now a botanist, she's moved on-though a quiet part of her still clings to the past. when an event brings her back to OBX, she's forced to confront the one person she never truly forgot.

cw: mature language, angst | masterlist | 06 | 08 |

❀ ❀ ❀ - indication that the chapter takes place in the past!!

i recommend listening to free now, this chapter.

❀ ❀ ❀

The car is a pressure cooker of silence, ready to explode. Your arms are crossed tightly, your nails digging into the skin of your palms. The dull ache is a distraction, something to focus on besides the rage simmering just beneath the surface. Rafe's hands strangle the steering wheel, his knuckles ghost-white in the dim glow of the dashboard. The only sound is his sharp, uneven breaths, and yours — tight, shallow, like you’re suffocating in the space you once felt safest.

You glance out the window, the night outside a blur, trees flashing by like accusations you can’t escape. It’s unbearable, this silence, the weight of everything unsaid pressing on your chest.

“Are you just going to sit there and pout?” Your voice breaks the stillness, bitter and trembling. You don’t even recognize it.

His eyes flicker toward you, icy blue and ablaze with something dark and twisted. He doesn’t respond. The muscle in his jaw jumps.

“Fine. I’ll talk, then.” You turn to him, your anger bubbling over. “You embarrassed me back there, Rafe. In front of everyone.”

His lips curl into a humorless smile. “Embarrassed you?” His voice is low, rough, a sharp edge to each word. “I’m sorry I care too much. I’m sorry I don’t like watching guys hang all over you like they have a fucking chance.”

You laugh, but it’s hollow, a choked sound that barely escapes. “Care too much? That’s what you call it? You’re possessive, paranoid, and it’s driving me insane.”

He slams the brakes. The tires screech as the car jerks to a stop on the side of the road. Your heart hammers against your ribs as you brace yourself against the dashboard, your breath caught somewhere between panic and fury.

“What the fuck, Rafe?” you spit, turning to him, eyes blazing.

He’s staring at you, eyes wild, chest heaving. His voice is low, dangerously calm. “Why can’t you just admit it?”

“Admit what?”

“That you like the attention,” he snarls, eyes narrowing. “That you love being everyone’s favorite. That you love knowing guys are just waiting for me to screw up so they can take my place.”

Your jaw drops. The accusation slices through you, raw and unforgiving. “You’re fucking delusional.”

He leans in closer, his voice trembling with rage and something far more fragile. “I’m not blind, Y/N. I see the way they look at you. I see the way Pope—”

“Pope likes Cleo, you fucking idiot!” you shouted, your hands trembling. “You’re so goddamn insecure you’re seeing threats that aren’t even there.”

He recoiled as if you’d slapped him, his breathing ragged. “You don’t understand what it feels like to—”

“To what?” you cut him off, your voice shaking with fury. “To feel like you’re never enough? Because that’s exactly how you make me feel. I’m never enough for you. Nothing I do is ever enough.”

He runs a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands like he’s trying to tear out his frustration. “You don’t get it. People leave, Y/N. They always leave.” His voice cracks, and for a moment, his eyes betray the pain, the abandonment etched into his soul.

Your breath hitches. You knew what he meant. You knew this wasn’t just about you. It was about his father’s coldness, the way Ward’s approval was always dangled just out of reach. It was about the nights Rafe spent in his room, fists clenched, jaw tight, wondering why he was never enough for the man who was supposed to love him unconditionally.

But that didn’t make his words hurt any less.

“I’m not your father, Rafe,” you said quietly, your voice raw. “I’m not going to abandon you just because you’re not perfect.”

He flinched like you’d struck him, his grip on the wheel loosening. His voice wavered, cracking at the edges. “You say that now. But one day, you’ll wake up and realize you can do better than me. That you deserve better than me.”

The resignation in his voice was a gut punch. You swallowed the lump in your throat, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. “I’ve never wanted better, Rafe. I wanted you. But you’re so busy being terrified that I’ll leave that you’re pushing me away.”

Your heart twists, but you can’t soften now. You’re too far gone. You’ve given too much.

“I’m not your fucking father, Rafe!” you shout, tears blurring your vision. “I’ve been here, with you, fighting for you, while you’re too busy trying to control me to even see it.”

His breath catches, his eyes wide with disbelief and desperation. “So what, you’re just going to give up now?”

The air in the car feels thick, suffocating. Your voice drops to a whisper, trembling with exhaustion. “I got accepted to Stanford.”

The words hang between you, a ticking bomb you’ve been too afraid to let go of. His face crumples, the color draining from his skin. His eyes search yours, pleading, as if he can unhear what you just said.

“When?” he rasps.

“A week ago,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I thought maybe… maybe we could figure something out. Maybe long distance—”

He shakes his head, his jaw clenched so tightly you think it might break. “No.”

You blink, stunned. “No?”

“I can’t do it, Y/N. I can’t sit here while you build a life without me. I can’t be the guy you text when you have time between classes and your new friends.” His voice is hollow, a gaping void where his heart should be. “I won’t.”

The finality in his words knocks the breath out of you. A sob claws its way up your throat, but you swallow it down, your chest aching from the effort.

“God, you’re such a fucking coward.” The words tremble out of you, barely more than a whisper. “You’ll look for me in everyone else. You’ll chase girls who remind you of me, and when they’re not as forgiving as I was, you’ll remember this. You’ll remember that you did this. You didn’t want it enough.”

His face contorts with anguish, but he doesn’t say a word. The silence is louder than any shout, heavier than any blow.

You push open the door, the cold night air rushing in and stealing your breath. You step out, your legs unsteady, your heart shattering with every step. You pause, your back to him, your voice barely holding together.

“I hope your pride keeps you warm at night.”

And then you walk away, the sound of your footsteps swallowed by the darkness. You don’t turn around. You can’t.

Because if you do, you know you’ll see him, broken and alone — and you might break too.

a/n: can you tell my favorite ao3 tag is hurt/no comfort?? 😏 also the next 2 chapters will be past and then only present. also once we get out of the past, it’ll be mostly smau, i just wanted to storybuild and i was unsure how to do that through social media. and 1 more thing j wanted to get gracie tickets for msg, and why are they $1000+ rn, who she feeling like 🤔.

tags: @xoxo-ada @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @sleepiibunniiii @urbrunettebombshell @sideboobrry11

[pinkcarnatixns]

georgia stanway | flowers for vases

synopsis georgia does her first tattoo on you, it leads to a confession after of years of feelings [1.6K] contents best friends to lovers, nervous georgia, tattooing, mentions of needles

You normally took pride in your fearlessness when it came to adding to your growing collection of ink on your skin, but now you were completely petrified.

When Georgia had first approached you to be her canvas for her very first tattoo on real skin, you had immediately agreed- your haste chalked up to a trust built on years of friendship and definitely not the fact you’d do anything she asked. 

What your sometimes scatterbrained best friend had forgotten to mention was that this was not a private affair, but a moment that was going to be televised for all the nation to see. Of course, this meant that you’d have to act like you weren’t completely smitten with the woman-  in front of a bunch of cameras while you tried to not blush at her hands on you. 

Safe to say, you were quite ticked off with Georgia when you first arrived at the small tattoo studio’s address, only to be greeted with people rushing filming equipment inside the building from a van with a big ‘BBC’ plastered on the side. When you entered the studio with a quirked eyebrow and crossed arms, her face clearly dropped as she realized her mistake, rushing over to your side. 

“I completely forgot to mention the filming part, didn’t I?” She pouts at you, grabbing a hold of your bicep to plead her case.

You sighed, “You know, I really thought this was a sweet gesture of trust between us, not to get you a big check from the BBC.”

At your jest, she deflated even further and you struggled to stop your lips from quirking up at her dramatics. You could never stay mad at her for very long, especially when she made you laugh just by being in the same room as her. Still, you were a bit mortified at the possible outing of your feelings for the girl being broadcast to the world, so you tried your best to hold your ground. 

“It’s not like that at all! You know there’s nobody else I’d rather share this with, I swear!” She held onto your biceps tightly, and you felt your resolve washing away like a sand castle with the wave of her cologne that hit your nose. 

Her hands were trembling lightly, and at her gaze and proximity you quickly turned shy, only managing to mumble out, “You don’t mind sharing it with everyone in the nation, clearly.” 

However, taking pity on her already clearly fried nerves, you followed the snark up with a playful eye roll and returned her gaze. “Well, since I’m here, let’s see what you’re going to put on my body forever.” 

Her already big brown eyes seemed to light up at your compliance, and she gently pulled on your forearms to uncross them with a blinding smile. She effortlessly initiated the intertwining of your hands, nearly dragging your shocked form to the ground with her fervor to show you what she had drawn. 

She got shy as you both approached her already prepped little work table, going quiet as you peered down at the paper and leaning into your body for comfort. The warmth that spread through your body at your still entwined hands creeped all the way up to your ears at what she had designed just for you: a little broken flower vase. 

When you two had first met as kids, Georgia, persistent to impress you with her football skills- had wrongly decided to do so inside your house. When this naturally ended in the broken heirloom, and your mother’s harsh scolding, you had taken the fall for the overexcitable girl. She had been inconsolable at the mess she had caused, promising to make up for it someday. To this day, she still felt guilty for the incident while you often brought it up, joking that she was only still by your side to repay her debt. 

Through all the growing pains and hard times, you had stuck by each other’s sides. Even when you got into fights, one of you would always bring up the vase as an olive branch, knowing that it really meant that you could never get rid of one another. 

Your eyes got misty, your heartbeat in your ears drowning out the hustle and bustle around you two, “Georgia, that’s so sweet- you sap.”

“You really like it? Don’t lie.” Her hand nervously fiddled with the rings that adorned yours, both of you refusing to meet each other’s eyes. In a moment of bravery, you pecked her on the cheek and rested your head on her slightly taller shoulder. 

“I love it. Can’t wait to have it on me forever.” You punctuated the genuine words with a squeeze to your intertwined hands, hoping to calm her nerves with the action. 

She stumbled a bit over her sentence, before forcing it out nearly too fast for you to catch it, “There’s three flowers on one side and then one on the other. Y’know like 31, like my number at Bayern.”

Your head jumped off your shoulder, gaping at her as she was locked in a staring contest with the table- cheeks red like she had just played a full 90. With your heartbeat nearly breaking at the confines of your ribcage, you decided to lean into the moment, tripping over your words a bit but whispering. “That’s perfect. I like it even more now.”

At your reassurance, she shyly met your sincere gaze, struggling to keep a goofy smile subdued as you nodded at each other.

Your little bubble was broken when a crew member called for her presence, apologizing for interrupting as he dragged her over for an interview. You watched on with hearts in your eyes as she spoke to the camera, her sincere appreciation for the art shining through with every word and the sparkle in her eye. Caught up in watching her, you barely realized when they had wrapped up, rushing over to her side after missing your name being called a couple times.  

They perched you up on a stool for her to place the stencil on your calf, sighing in relief as it peeled off exactly as she wanted it. She gently held your hand to help you down, using it to guide you over to the table while instructing you to lay down comfortably.

When she actually starts dancing the needle over your skin and attempting to answer questions at the same time, she clearly struggles. Nearly every time she punctures your flesh, she can’t help but look to you for your reaction- scared to hurt you. You try not to laugh as her sentences trail off again and again as she continually locks eyes with you, knowing she’s going to make the editor’s job a nightmare. As she nears finishing, you try to shoot her encouraging smiles, wishing you could tell her how good she was doing if not for the mics that would pick it up. 

The tattoo takes quite long for how simple the design is, partly due to her insistence on doing everything right, stopping for the littlest things. It’s sweet that she’s so adamant to not hurt you or have the ink blow out, but it’s pretty comical and clear that the camera crew is getting antsy. You are happy to sit for as long as she needs, content with the heat of her palm through her gloves soothing the ache of the needle, but try to silently encourage her in order to get everyone out on time. 

As she takes the final swipe of a paper towel over your skin and declares that she’s finished with a shaky breath, the first thing she does is to once again look at you. She visibly relaxes as you send her a beaming smile, taking your hands to move you to sit upright. You admire her work as she turns to give you her water bottle, watching you like a hawk as you take a sip.

You get shy at her attention, “I’m not going to pass out you know, I’m literally covered in tattoos already.”

“You’re really feeling alright? We can take pictures after you have a second, yeah?” 

“Georgia really, you look much more lightheaded than me. You did great, I promise.” As you try to scoot off the bench, her hands stop you- pinning your thighs to the table. The position forces her to lean closer to you, putting you at eye level with one another. She has a certain determination in her eyes, but is clearly quite mortified at the proximity her actions have caused.

Still, with her big brown eyes boring into yours, slightly rough palms on your naked thighs, and the slight dizziness that you do feel- you look around the room to see everyone busy packing up before you do something drastic. As you turn back to her soft gaze, a slight tilt to her head and a quick glance at your lips is all the encouragement you need. 

Your hands cover hers, desperate for something to ground you as you lean in to peck her lips. At your slight movement, she excitedly surges forward and you clash much harder than you had expected. 

Pulling away, you’re both reduced to hysterics at the release of the tension that the day caused, and for finally giving in to a moment to had both waited for all your lives. Who knew it would take her marking you forever for you both to make a move.

a/n: wow so sorry I have not uploaded in forever! midterms absolutely kicked my butt and then I was celebrating my birthday! anyways I'm not super happy with this but I hope yall enjoyed <3

my requests are still open and i will really try to be much quicker in getting to them lol

[0omillo0]

HAN JISUNG X FEM! READER

Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

a/n: I really like how this one came out!! please let me know if you liked it too! ᡣ𐭩

Warnings: Panic attack, Miscommunication, Emotional distress

Summary: A misunderstanding leads to heartbreak, but sometimes love can heal even the deepest wounds.

𝜗𝜚

Jisung had been working tirelessly for weeks on his music, and you could see how much pressure he was under. You wanted to do something special for him—something that would not only surprise him but remind him how much he meant to you. For your anniversary, you came up with an idea: you'd record yourself singing one of his favorite songs, “bad” by wave to earth, and reorganize his messy music files while you were at it.

You spent hours preparing everything, perfecting your voice, and carefully categorizing his music. Then, you left a little note at the end of the recording, telling him to check the closet for his anniversary gift—a brand-new guitar you knew he’d been eyeing for months. It was meant to be a beautiful surprise.

When Jisung came home that evening, you were sitting by his computer, making the final tweaks to his project. His face was a mix of surprise and confusion.

“What are you doing on MY computer?” he asked, his tone sharper than you expected.

You smiled, excited to reveal your surprise. “I was working on something for you. I—”

Before you could finish, he had pushed past you, eyes scanning the screen. His face contorted in panic.

“Where’s my work? What did you do?” he asked, voice rising.

You blinked, taken aback by his sudden shift. “I just reorganized it a little. Everything’s still there—”

“Reorganized?!” Jisung cut you off, not even listening to the last sentence, his voice now full of anger. “You deleted everything, didn’t you?! Why would you touch my stuff without asking?! You just made my day even worse thank you.”

His words cut deep. You tried to explain, but the words got stuck in your throat. Tears welled up in your eyes as he continued to lash out, too blinded by panic to see the hurt written all over your face.

Finally, unable to bear it anymore, you grabbed your things and rushed out of the house, sobbing. Before leaving you yelled a “Well then maybe you’ll be happier without me, Jisung. Have a good life we’re- we’re done.” Jisung didn’t stop you.

You needed to get away, needed to breathe. Without thinking, you found yourself at Minho’s apartment. He was your best friend, someone who had always been there when you needed him. The moment he opened the door, he didn’t need to ask. He pulled you into a tight hug, letting you cry into his shoulder.

---

Back at home, Jisung sat in silence, the weight of his words hanging in the air. His chest felt tight, and something gnawed at him. He knew he overreacted, but in the heat of the moment, all he saw was chaos where he expected order.

With trembling hands, he went back to his computer, hoping—no, praying—that you hadn’t deleted everything. As he clicked through the files, he realized that you hadn’t deleted a single thing. Everything was still there, neatly organized, far better than how he had left it.

And then he saw it.

A file titled “Happy Anniversary.” Confused, he clicked on it, and your voice filled the room. You were singing “bad,” and it was beautiful. He had no idea you could sing like that. By the end of the recording, his chest ached.

And then your voice—soft, almost hesitant—spoke up.

“Jisung, I hope you liked my surprise. I wanted to help you organize everything because I know you’ve been so stressed. There’s one more surprise—look in the closet. Happy anniversary, babe. I love you.”

His heart dropped. He even forgot your anniversary. He scrambled to the closet, yanking it open to find the brand-new guitar, complete with a handwritten letter.

As he read the words you had so carefully written, guilt consumed him. His hands shook, his breathing shallow. He sank to the floor, panic seizing his chest. His phone slipped from his hands as he tried to call you, to text you, but you didn’t answer.

Please Y/N… Please babe answer me… I’m so sorry…

---

At Minho’s apartment, you had finally cried yourself to sleep. Minho, ever the protective friend, watched over you for a while before noticing your phone buzzing endlessly. Seeing Jisung’s name flashing across the screen, he sighed and decided to call him.

“Minho…” Jisung’s voice was hoarse on the other end, barely above a whisper.

“What happened, Jisung?” Minho asked, his tone calm but firm.

“I—I messed up. I thought she deleted my work, but she didn’t. She was trying to help, and I… I yelled at her,” Jisung confessed, his voice breaking. “I’ve been calling her, but she won’t answer. I don’t know what to do.”

Minho glanced at you, asleep on his couch, your tear-streaked face a testament to the pain Jisung had caused. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Listen, Jisung. Calm down. She’s here, and she’s hurting. You really messed up, but I think you already know that,” Minho said quietly. “I’m leaving for the day tomorrow. Maybe when she wakes up, you can try to make things right. But give her space, okay?”

Jisung could only mutter a quiet thank you before the call ended.

---

The next day, you woke up feeling emotionally drained, the events of the previous night weighing heavily on you. Minho had left a note saying he had errands to run and that you could stay as long as you needed.

As you sat on the couch, trying to sort through your emotions, there was a soft knock at the door. Hesitant, you opened it to find Jisung standing there, his face pale, eyes red-rimmed as if he hadn’t slept.

“I—Can I come in?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stepped aside, not trusting yourself to speak. The air between you felt thick with tension and unspoken words.

Jisung took a deep breath, his eyes filled with regret. “I’m so sorry. I… I overreacted. I thought you deleted my work, and I didn’t even give you a chance to explain. I should have trusted you.” His voice cracked. “I listened to your recording. It was beautiful. And the guitar… I don’t deserve it, or you.”

You blinked back tears, still hurt but softened by the sincerity in his voice.

“I was just trying to help, Jisung,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I wanted to do something nice for you, and you—” Your words caught in your throat as you recalled how he had screamed at you.

“I know,” Jisung said, stepping closer. “I know I hurt you, and I hate myself for it. I had a panic attack after you left because I realized how much I messed up. I love you, and I never want to make you feel like that again.”

The silence stretched between you as you searched his face, trying to decide if you were ready to forgive him. And then, slowly, you nodded, tears falling down your cheeks.

“I love you too, Jisung,” you whispered. “But we can’t keep doing this. You need to trust me. Your words hurt me so bad.”

He reached out, gently pulling you into his arms, holding you close as if he was afraid to let go. “I promise I’ll do better. I’ll trust you. I can’t lose you.”

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still as you held each other. The hurt didn’t vanish, but in that moment, you both knew that love would help you heal, one step at a time.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d come out stronger on the other side.