#I spent almost 3 hours on this for no reason

[azsazz]

Over Ice (Part 12)

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: She’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!!

Warnings:

Word Count: 2957

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11)

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“I’m still not sure I understand,” you say, rubbing the grit from your tired eyes. “Would you mind walking me through it one more time?”

You swear you see Emerie roll her eyes in exasperation. You’re not even upset with your new tutor, it’s late, and you’re just as annoyed as she is, but there’s something about the way she’s explaining biological bases of behavior that you’re just not getting.

It doesn’t help that your entire week has been a juggle of avoiding almost everyone in your life.

You’ve felt just as sick as Gwyn was the night of her birthday all week long. For more reasons than one.

For one, you kissed one of your best friend’s cousin. For the second time. After she deliberately told you not to, and you agreed. For two, Rhysand hasn’t stopped trying to contact you since the incident, which you haven’t been able to stop thinking about. You haven’t answered him once, too worked up about the possibility of word somehow reaching Mor.

And the worst part is, you don’t even know if Gwyn remembers what she witnessed that night. Your legs around his waist, his hands gripping your butt. Mouths fused together, so tightly, so desperately. You had no intentions of stopping yourself, couldn’t if you wanted to. You’ve been thinking about his mouth pressed against yours since the very first time you kissed, and with a few drinks in your system, your confidence was off the charts. There was no one to stop you from taking what you wanted, what you both wanted, until your roommate barged through the door to catch you in the act.

You’ve been skirting Gwyn, walking on eggshells around your apartment, spending as much time as you possibly can outside your dorm, tucked between stacks of books in the library, hiding out in the commons. You’ve even gone as far as finding a dingy diner named Rita’s to hunker down and try to instill psychology into your brain. It’s mostly empty, and you’ve sort of befriended the waitress, or maybe she feels bad for you, growling down at your books in a futile attempt at studying, because the Shirly temples she delivers to your table somehow never make it onto your bill.

You’ve even managed to find a new tutor, though she’s about as good at teaching you as Rhysand is.

“I’ve already told you,” she points to the diagram in your textbook with the tip of her pen a little more forcefully than you’d like. Frustration furrows your brow, and you manage to keep your glare aimed at the book. “The cerebrum is the part that starts and manages conscious thoughts, and the cerebellum is the part that processes and regulates signals between other parts of your brain and body.”

It sounds like she’s read it straight from your textbook. Wait a second. You squint at the highlighted text right beside the photo. She is reading this right off the page!

You could fucking do that. You have, and you’re still just as confused. You need some real-life fucking examples, or you’re never going to pick this up. You have a practice quiz on Thursday, and even though it doesn’t count toward your grade, you want to do well.

Do well on the practice, ace the exam.

Simple.

Or, it would be if you could fucking understand.

You set your jaw, grinding your teeth. Rhysand would be so much better at explaining how all of these brain functions work. He’d even give you real life examples and flash cards to help you out. Emerie is doing none of that. She’s spent about half of the hour you’ve been here scrolling through her phone, and you’re pretty sure you’re just prone to having easily distracted tutors.

What have you put out into the universe to be gifted this back?

“Okay, I think I get it now,” you lie. If anything, you can come back to this. Emerie’s phone lights up on the table beside her and you slyly check the time. 8:30. Gods, when did it get so late? One minute, you were tucking your drawing pad in your cubby after the life drawing class you signed up for and the next moment, you’re seconds away from stabbing your pencil into your eye in the middle of the study room at the library. “Can we move onto the next thing?”

But Emerie isn’t even listening to you anymore. She’s frowning down at her cellphone, completely engrossed. Her face scrunches in the same disappointed look you’ve seen from her thrice tonight before she begins tapping a response.

You’re almost impressed at the number of letters she punches in in such a short amount of time. You’d hate to be the person on the other end of the phone with the essay of a message she seems to be writing. It must be almost as bad as being on the other side of her tutoring skills.

You decide to use the reprieve to check your own phone. There’s a message from your mother, something about a conversation she had at the convention her work sent her to. You don’t really understand what she’s talking about, so you click out of the thread with an air of disappointment. There aren’t any other texts.

Rhysand’s name calls to you like a siren. You hover over the chain, sadness curdling your stomach. You made the right decision to cut him from your life, but you’d be lying if you said it was easy. You’ve missed his flirtatious nature, the feeling of being wanted by someone, even if it was just for fun. You miss how helpful he was in your tutoring sessions, even if he was late on more than one occasion. You miss his violet eyes, gleaming with mischief as he teased you. You missed the curve of his wicked smile, the way they slotted perfectly against yours—

The door to your study room opens, drawing your and Emerie’s attention.

Your breath hitches as the very boy you’d successfully avoided for five days and counting saunters through the door like he fucking owns the place.

Your heart stammers in your chest at the sight of him. You don’t know how he found you, tucked away in the most discreet room in the library you could find. You would have invited Emerie over to your dorm room to study, if it weren’t for the whole avoiding your roommate’s thing you have going on right now.

Rhys looks just as fuckable as he did the last time you saw him. A waffled, white shirt stretches across his broad shoulders. The sleeves are shoved up to his elbows, offering you the perfect view of his forearms. To your dismay, he’s not wearing those sweatpants you love to see him in, but the dark wash jeans that fit snugly around his hips do just as much justice. A Velaris U snapback sits backwards atop his dark hair that curls around the edges post shower. You swallow hard, trying very hard not to think about how he’d look in the shower, toned body on display and water cascading down his muscles, down between thick thighs and dripping off the tip of his cock.

You clear your throat, cheeks heating as Rhys tilts his head. There’s a hint of a smile on his mouth, like he knows exactly where your mind went, because he’s thinking the same thing. His eyes trail slowly across your face, down your chest and torso to where the table hides the rest of your body.

Good thing, so he doesn’t see the way you have to clench your legs together.

“And who are you?” Emerie questions, but with her dry tone, you don’t think she really cares all that much.

You do, however.

“I’m her tutor.”

Emerie’s caramel eyes flicker between you and Rhys with a flash of intrigue. You hold your breath carefully as she decides if the captain of the hockey team looming over you is enough hot gossip to stay for the show. Anyone would be interested in watching this play out, but your new tutor seems less than interested in Rhys’ interruption.

Maybe she thinks you’re a lost cause, you think as she silently begins packing her things without so much as a mumble or an apologetic glance in your direction. If she is thinking there’s no hope for you in psychology, she’d be right. It’s been over an hour of working through the questions you got wrong on your last test and all you’ve managed is one corrected answer and a whole lot of mind-wandering to the boy who currently stares at you like you’re across from him in a faceoff. His brows are flat, eyes sharp, mouth drawn in a firm line.

“You’re not,” you insist vehemently. Maybe Emerie will stay if you refuse to give your attention to Rhys. Your warning glare does nothing to deter him. He doesn’t falter. His shoulders don’t wither under your harsh look. He stands tall, straightens his shoulders even, and stands his ground.

Rhys’ lips quirk when your tutor stands. Your attention is diverted to Emerie as she slides her backpack over her shoulder. “Emerie, please—”

“I’m sorry,” she shakes her head solemnly. Rhys’ triumphant smirk quickly disappears when you whirl his way. You’re about to give him a verbal lashing when Emerie slows by his side. She holds her hand out and your jaw continues its descent toward the floor as Rhys proceeds to tug out his wallet and hand her a wad of folded bills.

His trickery slides down your spine like an ice cube down your shirt. What the actual fuck? He paid Emerie to get you here, all because you’ve been avoiding him? A part of you is flattered, but the feeling is smothered by his cunning. You knew Rhys was sly in the rink, but you didn’t know that extended into his daily life. Not like this.

“Thanks, Rhys.” Emerie shoots you a ‘what can you do?’ look and shoves her way from the room. Your shoulders fall in defeat, your mind reeling. Has she ever even taken a psychology class? You want to slam your head into the open book on the table. Surely, that will be more help than the hour you just wasted as an unknowing pawn in Rhysand’s little game.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Rhys starts, and flames course through your veins. You can feel the path they inch to your cheeks, anger flushing your skin bright red. How dare he? How dare he pay someone to pretend to tutor you so he can ambush you?

Good, then I’m doing exactly what I’m supposed to be doing. You give yourself a mental pat on the back. You’ve made it nearly an entire week without reaching out to Rhys no matter how many times you typed out responses went unsent or fell asleep to your text threads. Small wins.

“And you’ve just ruined my night,” you snip back, slamming your book shut. The test you’d been working through is trapped between the pages, squashed in half, but you’re too annoyed to care. An off-center crease on your paper will be something to distract you from studying later. “I can’t believe you faked me out like that! Is she even in psych?”

Rhys winces and that’s all you need to know. Frustration presses hot behind your eyes, prickling your sinuses as it tries to escape. You could explode on him right now, but you bite your tongue. He doesn’t deserve your words or your tears.

“Not technically, no,” he answers sheepishly, but you’re much too angry to think about how cute Rhys is when his face scrunches in concern like that. You avert your eyes and chuck your book into your bag. “Was she any help?”

Of course she wasn’t any help. Although, that means the single question you reworked and corrected is either another small win or you need to double-check your work.

You don’t deign Rhys with a response.

“Look,” he says when you exchange your pencils in the front pocket of your bag for your headphones. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to show up this late but watching film ran late, and I swear I was going to help you study, darling, after I had the chance to talk to you.”

“We have nothing to talk about,” you reply stubbornly. You can’t even look at him right now.

“We do,” he argues. He rounds the table and plants a hand on the back of your chair, keeping you from sliding back to make your escape.

You can feel his breath on the back of your neck. You can’t turn to peer over your shoulder because you know it will bring you face-to-face, maybe even so close your lips might brush. You fight the shiver that crawls up your spine at the thought, the warmth that pools between your legs.

“Please, Rhys,” you sigh. Your gaze is drawn to his broad body like a magnet as he lowers himself into the freshly unoccupied chair. Staring at you with those determined, violet eyes tugs at the wound in your chest you’ve been trying to plaster shut all week. “Can we be adults about this?”

“Sure,” he shrugs, kicking his chair back on its hind legs. “You start.”

You pin him with an unimpressed look.

“Fine,” he rolls his eyes. “You can’t tell me that kiss didn’t mean anything to you.”

“It didn’t,” you respond all too quickly. The fact that your eyes have fallen to the table again doesn’t help your façade.

In truth, the kiss meant more than it should have. You haven’t felt that sudden rush in a long time. You were left buzzing afterward in more ways than one, could still feel the shape of Rhys’ lips against yours all the way back to your dorm that night, could still see that hungry look in his eyes. Even the sight of Gwyn retching into the toilet afterward didn’t chase that image away.

“Liar,” he argues.

“It can’t mean anything, Rhys!” You bite. You cross your arms tightly over your chest and stare at the table, swallowing tightly.

The silence that falls is heavy. His stare is heavy. Everything is fucking heavy.

Suddenly, you’re exhausted. All you want to do is slink your way home and curl up beneath your blankets and avoid everyone for a little bit longer. You hadn’t expected Rhysand to drop in on your tutoring session, nor set up your tutoring session for you. It’s late, and your test is in two days, and you don’t feel any more confident in the material than you should.

You don’t want to fail another exam. You need his help.

After a beat of silence, Rhys asks softly, “Why?”

“Because Mor is my friend,” you repeat for the umpteenth time. You force your gaze to Rhys and your chest aches at the concern on his face. He’s normally so rugged and cocky, winking and smirking, to see him like this needle’s holes in your chest. “And I won’t ruin our friendship over a guy.”

“I can handle Mor,” Rhys says like all of this is so easy. Maybe for him, it is. He’s her family, and she can’t stay made at him forever. You on the other hand, have no such ties. If she found out that you went behind her back to be with Rhys…you don’t know how you’d recover from that. You know Mor, and you know that while she’s confident on the outside, your betrayal would scar her deep inside. “Just give me a chance.”

“It’s not that simple, Rhys,” you respond with a sigh. You wish it were. You wish you could slide from your chair onto his, straddle him and hold him close, let him console you with pretty words and soft kisses until you’ve relaxed enough to keep studying.

You’d love to see him outside of school, outside of hockey, where you can have all of his attention, but there are too many factors that play into being more than friends with Rhys. You need to pass this class, and he has so much on his plate you don’t even know how he has the time to sleep, let alone date.

“It could be.”

You shake your head. You would give him the chance, but you don’t know how. Your fears rear their heads and bare their teeth. The loss of a relationship with one of your best friends in the entire world.

You couldn’t do that to Mor.

Rhys must see your inner turmoil. He plants his chair back on the ground and places a gentle hand over yours to stop you from wringing them together anxiously. Oh. You didn’t even know you were doing that.

Emotion pricks your sinuses as the warmth from his hands spreads throughout your body. He strokes a thumb across the back of your hand, and your bones ache with the need to flip your hand and intertwine your fingers with his. But you can’t. You can’t do any of it.

His eyes are soft when you’re able to look at him.

“It won’t happen again, I swear,” he promises, though there’s a sad twist to his mouth that tells you he doesn’t quite believe it’s possible. He’s telling you right now that he wants more, but he’ll give you the time that you need, as long as you need it.

You don’t tell him that this is going to last a lifetime.

“We can…we can be friends,” Rhys says like he doesn’t like what he’s agreeing to. You don’t like it very much, either. “Just…don’t replace me as your tutor.”

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Over Ice Taglist:

@saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @mrsjna @velarisdusk @bionic-donut @tenshis-cake @eleganttravelercloud @lilah-asteria @serena05 @bwormie @soph1644 @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @tothestarsandwhateverend @topaz125 @judig92 @se7enteen--black-blog @thecraziestcrayon @cherry-cin @itsinherited @justafictionalnerd @bookishbroadwaybish @405rry @w0nderw0manly @bbykaixx @marina468 @taechvita @marigold-morelli @esahintzkanen @miakxn @ssmay123 @webvics @shylahstarzz @yourallaround-simp

[vesna-v-irkutske]

hi vesna, wanted to know what the apparent letter that artyom sent to ''varya'' says if u have time😭

Hi! To be honest, this whole situation is very annoying and stupid.

First of all, who is Varya? Varya is supposedly a 15 year old girl who wanted to break up Artyom and Daphne. A couple of things: - the photos she sent weren't even hers (and they weren't NSFW); - it doesn't look like Artyom knew her real age. Some more information and rumors from r/IrkutskMolotochniki, most of it comes from a person with an extremely annoying way of talking who communicated with Daphne:

Comments from March 22, May 14 (pic. 2 and 3), May 20 and June 1, 2024.

In early August, Daphne made 2 posts on r/Earkutsk (her subreddit) explaining everything. You can read them here and here.

I have one of Artyom's previous letters to Varya, so I'll translate it first.

"Hello, Varya. I received the letter on September 26. I deeply apologize for such a long reply. I can't physically do it faster. I ask you to be understanding… or not =D O-o-oh, I also missed your birthday. This is somehow completely unjust. I apologize for that too. I understand how you've probably been waiting, but you see — I work at the sewing machine, so sometimes I get completely stitched up¹... =) If we live to see it, I'll do better by next birthday. Probably… =) • I'm not against communication, if you're not against communication in such a leisurely, to put it mildly, rhythm. Nice to meet you, by the way =D Thanks for the photo. You've really lifted my spirits. I spent half an hour admiring and licking my lips X) • Jurisprudence is a good choice, I'm a jurist too². What is the reason for this choice? • I'm doing fine, thank you for your concern. What about you? I fill my free time with a little bit of everything. I write letters mostly. Well, I also read, watch TV, listen to the radio, study foreign languages and do music. How do you spend your free time? • My musical preferences are about the same as yours — genre is not as important as quality. But still, by and large, they come down to heavy and electronic music. Do you have any favorite artists, compositions? • I'm both working and studying. Bad habits?.. o.O Well, let's say I don't smoke³. There's no need to talk about alcohol and drugs — there just aren't even such opportunities =) What else do you mean by bad habits? I don't think I have any, I'm almost perfect =D • My relationship with my mom is good. She doesn't miss a single long visit. • As for the girls, my interest here is situational. I don't gravitate towards any particular type, I evaluate all the details of the personality in the aggregate. As for the situation with Daphne, no comments yet =) Thank you for your congratulations and generous wishes. Even though I'm a month and a half late, I wish you well too, and I wish you all your dreams come true =) Since our communication will continue soon, in conclusion, I'd like to ask you what books do you read and what movies do you watch? Good luck! 27.11.2023"

¹ He meant that sometimes he gets too caught up in his work. ² I'm not sure he has a degree. He obviously wouldn't be able to become a sworn advocate AT LEAST because of his reputation. I think it's a matter of terminology. A jurist is a person with expert knowledge of law; someone who analyzes and comments on law. This person is usually a specialist legal scholar, mostly (but not always) with a formal education in law (a law degree) and often a legal practitioner. In the Russian Federation, a jurist can be a person who has received secondary professional or higher legal education. A jurist can provide legal assistance and legal services in criminal, civil, tax, labor, family, inheritance, housing, corporate, administrative and other legal matters. A jurist needs the status of an advocate only to defend someone in a criminal case. In some categories of criminal cases, protection may be provided by persons who don't have an advocate's status. So, basically, as I understand it, MAYBE he can be a jurist, but not an actual advocate/lawyer. Genuinely, whatever, take everything Artyom says with a grain of salt, he likes trolling. ³ Answers this question, I guess.

Now to the letter you sent. 👇🏻

"Varya, hi. I received the letter on November 30. Also, on the very eve of the New Year, I received a photo of you, which you intended to convince me of your coming of age... =) Great photo. You're irresistible =D • Before I get to the main content of your letters, I'll start with the non-main one =) I congratulate you on the past holidays and wish you good health, lots of money, always a great mood, and that everything goes according to plan, and, of course, great and pure love =D Speaking of love. It's a beautiful feeling, isn't it?.. =) It sometimes makes you do rash things, doesn't it? =) That's gratifying that you turned out to be a conscientious girl and immediately after your rash act you wrote to me and repented. This will definitely be counted as a mitigating factor for you in the future¹ =D And who is this girl whose channel² you sent the letter to? What's her name? Any idea why she needs it if she didn't delete it? And here another kind girl wrote to me that it was you who posted the letter in your channel... =) This is probably that misinformation about you. As for the dirt, insults, and threats, who exactly allowed themselves to do this to you? If possible, give at least a couple of examples of people who did this. At least you're not like them, are you? Not being rude or threatening anyone there? =) I don't recommend doing this. Those who do this, especially in relation to those whom I know in a positive light, may not expect anything good from me. • Okay, Varechka. You did something stupid and you did it. Who doesn't? Let's hope that this doesn't lead to more serious difficulties for you, in particular problems with the law. It also happens… Let's finally talk about you. How are you feeling? Not sick anymore? How did you spend the New Year holidays? And what's the news in general? What are you currently studying at your educational institution? You're getting a tertiary education, right? • You write that you go to the gym, well done. What kind of sport do you practice? Or just fitness? You're reviewing photos and videos of me? Well, you have great taste XD I have the same thing with my favorite music artists — I can't get enough forms to list them all =) Well, you know, you saw the playlist³ =) The TV series "Fisher"⁴? Well, yes, I can guess who it's about. Have you watched "The Method"⁵? I think you'll like it too =) • My favorite dish? I wonder why you need this? o.O Mostly pelmeni =D In general, I'm unpretentious in gastronomic matters. As long as it's tasty, healthy and nutritious =) And what's your favorite dish? • As for the cities I've been to, there's not even much to choose from… I've been to Ulan-Ude, Usolye-Sibirskoye (Irkutsk region), Novosibirsk, Omsk, Tyumen, Kirov, Vologda. In the last five of the mentioned cities, I was only in detention centers and saw a little bit of the street from the window of the paddy wagon =) In general, it was difficult to form an opinion about the cities. Well, judging by the data about the cities of the world, which became known to me from wherever it was, then... it's even more difficult X) First of all, I'd like to visit the city of Spijkenisse in the Netherlands⁶. It's a good city, they say =) But Moscow⁷, in general, is not bad either. If you know what I mean... X) • A movie? Perhaps, "Saw." For all time =) And what are your favorite city and movie? • Varechka, what can I sew for you? I can't sew anything but workwear. So no matter what I start sewing, I'll still end up with some kind of cop's or worker's clothes. You don't need that, do you? =) • I'm cool by nature =D There's nothing more to add. • How I feel about trolls on the internet. I don't give a hoot about the internet and everyone who lives in it =) I hardly ever go there, so I don't come into contact with trolls. I was a troll? o.O Where does this information come from?.. Tell me, who is without sin? We all get in the mood to troll. But depending on the skills, the result is different for everyone: who becomes a troll, and who becomes a sad shit X)

• The question about Zonatelecom's⁸ tariff seems to have an underlying reason... =) I haven't used this tariff, because I haven't used phone calls on a regular basis yet. I called with permission, which is not given as often as I'd like. So what's the point in me figuring out these tariffs? And even when you call regularly, I personally don't see the point in them, because if you get a cheaper call than usual, it means you're losing something, because for free pleasure, as they say, someone also has to pay. Thus, the cost of a telephone conversation decreases because the quality of connection deteriorates. And I treasure the connection with my loved ones =D • Oh, I got to your second letter. Hi, Varya =) Things, mood, well-being — everything's all right. And you? I'm glad to know about your dog =) I don't remember what a Yorkshire Terrier looks like, so if you want, you can send me a picture. • Well, Varya, I can't give birth to a story out of the blue, but when it's appropriate in our dialogue, I'll definitely tell you something. Be patient =) All the best! 06.01.2024"

¹ It's not me, it's him writing like an idiot. For a second, he imagined himself as a priest, to whom people should repent of their sins. I mean, this checks out. You know what they say about Christian priests. It's noteworthy that he uses the word "девочка" (little girl) instead of "девушка" (young woman), which would mean a more mature age. 🤮 ² On Telegram. I doubt it exists now, but who knows. ³ A few years ago, Artyom wrote a long list of songs that he listens to, and someone made a playlist on Spotify. ⁴ "Fisher" is a Russian thriller TV series. The plot of the 1st season is based on real events — serial killer Sergey Golovkin, who operated in the Odintsovsky District of the Moscow region from 1986 to 1992, had the nickname "Fisher." ⁵ "The Method" is a Russian crime drama TV series. Some of the characters were loosely based on real criminals, including the Academy maniacs. ⁶ Daphne, Artyom's fiancée, is from the Netherlands. ⁷ Varya probably said that she lives in Moscow. ⁸ Zonatelecom is an app for communication with prisoners. You can call them, write letters, send postcards, money.

Письма на русском для тех, кто хочет прочитать их в оригинале, но не хочет разбирать почерк Артёма. Орфография сохранена.

"Здравствуй, Варя. Письмо получил 26 сентября. Приношу глубочайшие извинения за такой долгий ответ. Быстрее физически никак не могу. Прошу отнестись с пониманием… или не относиться =D О-о-о, я ещё и день твоего рождения пропустил. Это уж как-то совсем неправосудно. Прошу прощения и за это тоже. Понимаю, как ты наверно ждала, но видишь — я работаю на швейке, так что иногда совсем зашиваюсь… =) Если доживём, то к следующему дню рождения исправлюсь. Наверно… =) • Я не против общения, если и ты не против общения в таком неторопливом, мягко говоря, ритме. Приятно познакомиться, кстати =D Благодарю за фото. Очень подняла настроение. Полчаса любовался и облизывался X) • Юриспруденция — хороший выбор, я тоже юрист. Чем такой выбор обусловлен? • Дела у меня в порядке, благодарю за беспокойство. А как у тебя? Свободное время я забиваю всем помаленьку. В основном письма пишу. Ну а так ещё читаю, смотрю телек, слушаю радио, занимаюсь иностранными языками и музыкой. Как ты проводишь свободное время? • Музыкальные предпочтения у меня примерно, как у тебя — не столь важен жанр, сколько качество. Но всё же по большому счёту они сводятся к тяжёлой и электронной музыке. У тебя есть какие-то любимые исполнители, композиции? • Я и работаю, и учусь. Вредные привычки?.. o.O Ну, скажем, я не курю. Об алкоголе и о наркоте и говорить не приходится — тут просто даже возможностей таких нет =) Что ещё подразумевать под вредными привычками? Пожалуй, нет у меня таковых, я почти идеален =D • Отношения с мамой хорошие. Она не пропускает ни одного длительного свидания. • Что касается девушек — тут мой интерес ситуативен. К какому-то определённому типажу не тяготею, все детали личности оцениваю в совокупности. Что касается ситуации с Дафной, то пока без комментариев =) Благодарю за поздравления и щедрые пожелания. Хоть и опоздал на полтора месяца, но и тебя тоже с прошедшим и желаю сбычи всех мечт =) Коль скоро наше общение продолжится, в заключение хотел бы поинтересоваться, какие книги ты читаешь и какое кино смотришь? Удачи! 27.11.2023"

Второе письмо мне пришлось разделить на 2 блока из-за лимита знаков, поэтому там внезапный разрыв. 👇🏻

"Варя, привет. Получил письмо 30 ноября. Также в самое преддверие Нового года получил твою фотографию, которой ты намеревалась убедить меня в своём совершеннолетии... =) Отличная фотография. Ты неотразима =D • Прежде чем я перейду к основному содержанию твоих писем, начну с неосновного =) Поздравляю тебя с минувшими праздниками и желаю здоровья, много денег, всегда отличного настроения, чтобы всё шло по плану, ну и, конечно, большой и чистой любви =D Кстати о любви. Прекрасное чувство, не правда ли?.. =) Оно порой толкает на необдуманные поступки, да? =) Отрадно, что ты оказалась совестливой девочкой и сразу после своего необдуманного поступка написала мне и покаялась. Тебе это в дальнейшем обязательно зачтётся, как смя��чающее обстоятельство =D А что это за девочка такая, в чей канал ты отправила письмо? Как её зовут? Есть предположения, зачем ей это нужно, если она не стала его удалять? А мне тут другая добрая девочка написала, что это ты в своём канале выложила письмо... =) Наверно это та самая деза (дезинформация) о тебе. Что касается грязи, оскорблений, угроз, кто конкретно позволил себе такое в отношении тебя? Приведи по возможности хотя бы пару примеров лиц, кто это делал. Ты-то хоть им не уподобляешься? Не грубишь там никому, не угрожаешь? =) Не рекомендую этого делать. Те, кто так делает, тем более по отношению к тем, кого я знаю с хорошей стороны, могут ничего хорошего от меня не ждать. • Ладно, Варечка. Совершила глупость и совершила. С кем не бывает? Будем надеяться на то, что это не обернётся для тебя более серьёзными трудностями, в частности, проблемами с законом. Бывает и такое... Давай лучше наконец о тебе поговорим. Как самочувствие? Больше не болеешь? Как провела Новогодние каникулы? И какие в целом новости? Что сейчас проходите в вашем учебном заведении? Ты же высшее образование получаешь? • Ты пишешь, что в зал ходишь — это ты молодец. Каким видом спорта ты занимаешься? Или просто фитнесом? Фото и видео со мной пересматриваешь? Что ж, у тебя отличный вкус XD С любимыми исполнителями музыки у меня такая же фигня — всех перечислять бланков не напасёшься =) Ну, ты знаешь, ты видела плейлист =) Сериал "Фишер"? Ну да, догадываюсь, о ком это. А "Метод" не смотрела? Думаю, тебе тоже понравится =) • Моё любимое блюдо? Интересно, зачем тебе это? o.O В основном пельмешки =D А вообще я в гастрономических вопросах непритязательный. Лишь бы было вкусно, полезно и питательно =) А какое любимое блюдо у тебя? • Что касается городов, то из тех, в которых я был, даже и выбрать как-то не из чего... Я был в Улан-Удэ, Усолье-Сибирском (Иркутская область), Новосибе, Омске, Тюмени, Кирове, Вологде. В последних пяти из упомянутых городов был только в СИЗО и видел немного улицу из окна автозака =) В общем, мнение о городах составить было сложновато. Ну а если судить по тем данным о городах мира, которые стали мне известны откуда бы то ли было, то... ещё сложнее X) В первую очередь я бы хотел побывать в городе Спейкениссе в Нидерландах. Хороший, говорят, город =) Но и Москва, в общем-то, неплоха. Если ты понимаешь, о чём я... X) • Фильм? Пожалуй, "Пила". На все времена =) А какие твои любимые город и фильм? • Варечка, ну что я могу тебе сшить? Я кроме спецодежды ничего шить не умею. Так что, что бы я ни начал шить, на выходе всё равно получится шмотка мента какого-нибудь или рабочего. Тебе же такое не надо? =) • По характеру я клёвый =D Больше и добавить нечего. • Как я отношусь к троллям в интернете. Да мне по барабану этот интернет и все, кто в нём живёт =) Я-то там практически не бываю, поэтому и с троллями не соприкасаюсь. Я был троллем? o.O Это откуда такие сведения?.. Скажи мне, а кто без греха? У всех у нас бывает настроение потроллить. Только в зависимости от умений результат у всех разный: кто становится троллем, а кто — УГ (унылое говно) X)

• Вопрос о зонателеком��вском тарифе, кажется, с подоплёкой... =) Я таким тарифом не пользовался, потому что вообще телефонными звонками я ещё на постоянной основе не пользовался. Я звонил по разрешению, которое даётся не так часто, как хотелось бы. Поэтому смысл мне разбираться в этих тарифах? Да даже когда звонишь регулярно, я лично не вижу в них смысла, потому что если звонок тебе дешевле обычного, значит ты чего-то лишаешься, ибо за бесплатное удовольствие, как говорится, тоже кто-то должен заплатить. Таким образом, стоимость телефонного разговора снижается потому, что ухудшается качество связи. А связью с близкими людьми я дорожу =D • О, добрался до твоего второго письма. Привет, Варя =) Дела, настроение, самочувствие — всё в порядке. А у тебя? Рад узнать о твоей собачке =) Как выглядит йоркширский терьер, не помню, так что, если хочешь, можешь отправить фотку. • Ну, Варь, на ровном месте родить историю я не могу, но когда это будет уместно в нашем диалоге, я обязательно что-нибудь расскажу. Запасись терпением =) Счастливо! 06.01.2024"

[nuggetpool-hi]

Saw a cool pose on pinterest and my hands gained a mind of their own

+ stupid doodle because Wade covered in lipstick marks sigh falls to the ground

[cemeterym]

today's lesson is teach your kids to use public transport so they do not end up like me bc holy shit

[olessan]

I love the fact that I can work as hard as I can manage with a broken tooth and a dying tooth (one on each side, I've been chewing on the cavity for a year) and I still cannot save even $10 towards getting dental treatment (2 impacted wisdom teeth, + tooth broken off under the gum, + bad cavity) because I barely make enough to cover my food and board and the insane energy bill

[archaeren]

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

[cassandralexxx]

Actually no I am so pressed like it is actually absurd the number of times I have had to say “well English is my first language” while up here these past few years. to a point it’s like kind of insulting like people seem to ignore all of my background and greater details about myself and focus in on half of my ethnicity.

[adieutristana]

Hiiii! Can you do arcane women having “I’m not better than a man” moment?

of course! thank you for the request <3

sunder by hibou on repeat rn

summary; arcane women having an ‘i’m no better than a man’ moment (aka being distracted by your assets).

characters included; jinx, vi, mel, sevika, caitlyn, maddie.

tags/warnings; SUGGESTIVE, no explicit nsfw, fluff, mentions of drinking, crack kinda, arcane women being whipped for u

men and minors dni.

jinx;

✧.* jinx is a tit girl, no doubt about it. she doesn’t care the size, the shape, how they sit, she’s just utterly obsessed with your boobs. she tries to keep her hands to herself, she really does, but sometimes she just can’t help herself.

✧.* though she does have to show some self-restraint sometimes, as torturous as that is. as much as she'd love to, jinx knows it's probably best that she doesn't smother you and keeps her hands to herself until you're behind closed doors... which makes days like this so difficult.

✧.* today, it's hot out, and zaun gets humid. for that reason it's optimal to dress wisely, you'd picked a simple tank top and pair of loose-fitting shorts in hopes of not sweating yourself half to death. you and jinx had a day planned together, a day of visiting street vendors and exploring the undercity. not much necessarily, but you've found that anything can be fun as long as jinx is around.

✧.* you've run a bit late, and you're internally hoping that your girlfriend won't be mad. she's never exactly punctual herself, but you always feel awful running behind on plans with her. what if she thinks you stood her up, or even left her? though your worries melt off of you as you step into her view, and you see her lips curling into a smile.

✧.* "hey, babe, i'm so sorry for the wait, i was running l-" you're cut off by jinx's index finger on your lips, while her own tug into that grin you've come to love. "don't worry about it, you're here now."

✧.* within seconds, you're grabbing her hand and leading her right into the street market, eager to make up for lost time. jinx thanks janna above that you're preoccupied with looking for a stall to visit, because her gaze is... elsewhere.

✧.* naturally, with it being warmer out today, you'd opted to wear lighter clothing. this included a spaghetti-strap tank top with a very low neckline, where she could see your cleavage just right. her mind immediately went to all the places she knows it shouldn't. you're in public, in broad daylight. but they're right there, and she can't help it.

✧.* what would it look like if you bent over- would they start spilling out? or if you started bouncing on your heels? she thought about how she could see your bra straps, how she might be able to see the clasp from the back. what she'd do to unclasp it right now.

✧.* you pull her to a stall with old records, seemingly donated or imported from piltover. they're not exactly cheap- but still, they're nice to look at. you and your girlfriend have spent many an hour browsing stands like this, with jinx swiping a few vinyls for her stereo more often than not.

✧.* the boxes of records instantly draw you in, all organized by genre and decade. you take a record from one of the first boxes you see, holding it up for jinx- this is one you've been looking for for months, and they have it. finally.

✧.* "baby, look!" you smile, holding the record up. her eyebrows raise, jinx has clearly heard you, but her gaze is... downcast. "uh, babe? what's wrong?" until it clicks. she's looking at your tits.

✧.* "oh- jinx!" you gasp, as one of your hands flies to cover your cleavage. it's a playful gesture, yet still earns a scoff from the girl. she rolls her eyes in response, her voice slightly exasperated. "what? they're right there, and you expect me not to look?"

✧.* this only earns a light shove on the shoulder from you before you return to browsing through records. it's almost comical how hard it is for jinx to resist looking at you like this, but you can't exactly complain.

vi;

✧.* you and vi visit a sports bar in piltover around once a month now. you've made it a routine after she stumbled upon the place by chance, and you both ended up actually enjoying the experience. the bartenders were friendly, the drinks were fairly priced (for piltover), and the patrons were respectful enough.

✧.* it was the same routine: you'd tell vi when you were on your way, she'd swing by your place to pick you up, you'd walk hand-in-hand or with linked elbows to the bar, and you'd have a few hours of fun.

✧.* it's no different this time, with you slipping on a simple yet fun outfit for your night out. vi wasn't ever much of one for dressing up, but she tried for you, and it was always adorable seeing her efforts.

✧.* so when vi shows up at your door and hears a shouted "coming!" from inside, she's rocking back and forth on her heels, anxiously waiting your arrival. she just saw you a few days ago, yet she already misses you- can you blame her?

✧.* you swing the door open with a soft smile on your face, slinging your bag over your shoulder. you make your way down the steps to take vi into your arms, pressing a light kiss to her cheek. "hi, baby," you hum, smiling into the skin. "hi, cupcake. i missed you. you ready?"

✧.* with a nod, the two of you head off. vi had noticed your outfit when you opened the door- a simple lacy tank top with black bell-bottom jeans. it was simple, a bit dressy, but appropriate for the location. yet it wasn't until you turned around to lock the door before taking her hand that she noticed your ass.

✧.* she takes hold of your hand, taking the short walk to the bar with you. though her hand is clammy, more than usual, and she's trying so damn hard to focus on what you're saying to her while she can only think of how incredible you look in those pants. how much better you'd look if she took them off.

✧.* "so then my manager said i needed to ease up on the customers, but i was just being fair! he told them the same thing i did!" "i- yeah, that's not good. not good at all."

✧.* you both arrive at the spot, take your usual place at the bar. the bartender greets you, seemingly a new one- but she seems friendly enough. you both order your usual drinks, but you're still hung up on the work situation you'd been ranting about. you need to get it off your chest, and vi has always been such a good listener.

✧.* with your elbows braced on the bar counter, you turn back to her, "i mean, i just don't understand why the need to be so adamant! i told them that we were out of it, what did they expect?"

✧.* though your girlfriend seems to be distracted still, with her blue eyes fixated.. somewhere else. you can't figure out exactly where, though. snapping your fingers a few inches from her face seems to do the trick, though, as she quickly shakes her head. "huh?"

✧.* "are you listening?" you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. "i- yeah, i'm listening! your manager, a customer insisting on something that you don't have, uh..."

✧.* you nod slowly, raising a brow. she's listening enough to catch the gist of it, though the girl's tone is starting to worry on you. still waiting on those drinks, you lean a bit closer. "hey, what's up? is something wrong? you seem kinda distracted."

✧.* it's in that moment that vi feels her heart drop. she's been caught. she has no other option than to simply confess, or that's what she thinks.

✧.* "i'm sorry, it's just... your ass looks really good in those jeans."

✧.* your eyes widen for only a moment, and vi is preparing for the worst to happen. she's never shied from intimacy or letting you know the depths of her attraction, but while you're trying to talk to her? the last thing she wants is to be disrespectful. though what follows isn't you getting up, isn't a scoff or you telling her off. it's a bark of laughter, followed by a gentle shove of the shoulder.

✧.* "come on, you could've just told me that! i knew they were doing something for me, but damn!"

mel;

✧.* mel frequently brings you to gatherings. aside from being an influential councilwoman, she's also something of a socialite. being a woman of high status like herself and having the influence she does, she has to get out, to network, make meaningful connections that will not only help her career, but serve as good friendships.

✧.* and mel has never been shy about you, either. while she believes the personal details of your relationship should be kept private (for the most part), she also adores you, and wants the entire city to see that. it's often that you'll be her date to galas, to conferences, to progress day celebrations of all kinds.

✧.* when your girlfriend invites you along to a cocktail party, it's nothing out of the ordinary. she tells you that the dress code is formal, the venue is small yet still lavish- as always. she'll arrange transportation for you, and meet you in the lobby so you can go together.

✧.* choosing a dress certainly took time, though it was an effort you enjoyed. you'd never been one for events or clothes like this before meeting mel, but getting to be part of her world was fun. seeing the life of a powerful politician and socialite like herself was exciting, something entirely new to you.

✧.* you didn't see the point in buying outfits you'd only wear once, though, so you took to rentals for these events. deciding on a cocktail dress proved a bit more tricky than others, but you managed after several hours of trying on garments, switching sizes, checking price tags, and asking for second opinions from shop attendants. a long satin dress in a dark color with a slit up the right side. not too pretentious for an event like this, but far from casual.

✧.* after arriving at the venue, you'd taken a moment to simply take in your surroundings. white marble floors, gold accents on the doorways, marble pillars and framed portraits in the lobby. the attention to detail in this place was nothing short of incredible.

✧.* "there you are," you hear from behind you, prompting you to turn over your shoulder. a smile tugs at the corner of your lips the moment you recognize who it is. "i couldn't find you. i was getting worried."

✧.* mel places a light kiss on both cheeks, before pulling back to take your hand. though as she pulls back, she can't help noticing the slit up your dress, and just how high it runs. it stops just below your hip, and shows off the smooth skin below when you step to the side. it's tantilizing.

✧.* though she's a professional. she swallows, she rolls her shoulders back, and leads you into the main room. she has to keep herself under control- not just for your sake, but for the public's. what would the other guests do if they saw her looking at your legs like that?

✧.* and still, with a cocktail in one hand and her own hand in the other, even as you're making small talk with other guests, mel can't help her wandering eyes. lingering on that oh so high opening along your dress. her mind drifts to what's under that, how much she'd love to tear that dress off of you right now- but she can't. so she takes a quick sip of her drink, and tries to distract herself.

✧.* yet as soon as you notice exactly where her eyes are, you can't help the low chuckle that escapes you as you teasingly stick your leg out just a little more, revealing that much more of your upper thigh. "distracted, miss medarda?"

✧.* "i'm not distracted," she protests, but you can hear the hitch in her breath when you step out just that bit more. "gods, that isn't fair."

✧.* you only roll your eyes in response, giving her hand a firm squeeze. "save it for later," you whisper. a promise- something to look forward to. "we've gotta behave for now."

✧.* mel isn't able to focus on much else for the rest of the night, to say the very least.

sevika;

✧.* you and sevika live together, for the most part. although you've still got your own place that you pay rent on, you're at sevika's more often than not. it's small, rather run-down and cramped, but it's home. she keeps it clean, keeps your belongings around so that it feels more familiar, even started burning candles once you started coming around for a more welcoming atmosphere. she cares, she truly does.

✧.* though there are some times you want to take some time to yourself. sevika gets it. she's been by herself for much of her life, and the only person occupying her living space would be her. if you need a day or two every few weeks to yourself, then so be it.

✧.* you parted with a kiss to her cheek, and a whispered, "i'll be back, baby." she has your number, so it's not like you won't be talking- and your address, in case of an emergency.

✧.* the two days you took to yourself were uneventful, spent relaxing. you'd read a book, cleaned the place, caught up on laundry, rearranged furniture (several times, out of indecisiveness) and called your girlfriend at odd hours of the night to hear her rough voice. though you decided it was time to go back once you noticed there was nothing left to do, nothing you wanted to do. you enjoyed your own company, but you were ready to be in sevika's.

✧.* you'd worn a simple bralette and pair of sweatpants to her doorstep, your overnight bag slung over your shoulder. you clicked your key into the lock, slowly pushing the door open and stepping into the living room. you never had to announce yourself, sevika was usually there.

✧.* though as she looks up from the book she's reading, you swear you can see her eyes widen. if only for a moment. it's unclear what exactly they're focused on, but you assume it has something to do with your choice of outfit.

✧.* "sorry, didn't feel like a shirt today," you chuckle, situating yourself next to sevika on the couch. placing your overnight bag on one of her side tables, you look up at her, and now you see. now you can see very clearly that your girlfriend's light eyes are lingering on your breasts, and the fact that the lace of the bralette is rather... sheer.

✧.* "yeah, uh- don't worry about it," she mutters, her eyes flitting to the side. for the love of janna, you've just gotten back. she can't be all over you right now. "you... you can start unpacking, if you want."

✧.* you cast her a sidelong glance, though slowly get up from the couch. you take the bag and unzip it, beginning to take out some clean clothes you've brought and turning on your heel to put them away in her room. yet still, you feel sevika's gaze lingering on you. on your tits.

✧.* "that distracting, huh?" you tease, casting a look over your shoulder. sevika lets out a heavy sigh, but nods- there's no point in denying it. she's never been particularly shy about her fondness for your boobs, either. "yeah. something like that."

caitlyn;

✧.* you and caitlyn have a dinner date planned tonight. it's the day before your anniversary- you would've loved to celebrate on the actual day, but something that your girlfriend couldn't get out of came up at work. though it wasn't ideal, you understood. you still have today to celebrate, don't you?

✧.* so naturally, you pulled one of your best dresses from your closet to wear. a light color that compliments your complexion, something simple enough that it's not too much for a restaurant- but still formal enough for the occasion.

✧.* caitlyn had also taken care to wear one of her best dresses, style her hair, do her makeup in a way she knew would draw you in (despite you thinking she's beautiful no matter what she does).

✧.* you'd agreed to meet each other at the place, but caitlyn had taken care to make sure it was within walking distance from both of you. the attention your girlfriend paid to detail never ceased to amaze you, neither did her consideration.

✧.* upon arriving at the restaurant, you take a few moments waiting. you sit down on one of the benches offered, patient, until a hostess spots you and asks if you need help. you inform her that you're waiting for somebody, only to be told that caitlyn is already sat at your table. you're at the table within seconds.

✧.* "i'm so sorry, i didn't keep you waiting, did i?" you breathe out, slinging your bag over the back of the chair. "not at all," she assures, giving a gentle smile. her piercing blue eyes soften every time they fix on you, something you've come to know and love. "i got here early, anyways. i'm just glad you're here."

✧.* but before you sit down, cait's eyes travel down, down, to your hips. the way the dress you chose perfectly hugs them and accentuates the curve. she's always had such a weak spot for those hips, and this dress isn't helping.

✧.* "...you look beautiful, by the way," she says, clearing her throat shortly thereafter. you're in public, caitlyn, behave yourself. she orders her food, she makes small talk with you over your drinks, she makes a point to try and distract herself with the fact it's your anniversary. this is a refined celebration, anything else can wait for later.

✧.* and it's working, until you tell your girlfriend that you have to go to the bathroom quickly, you'll be back. you step out to the side to get up, and her eyes are immediately drawn back to your hips and just how incredible they look in that dress. then you turn to walk in the direction of the bathroom, she sees them sway, and caitlyn is gone. her mind wanders to how they'd look if she pulled your skirt up just that bit, or how they'd look bent over her desk.

✧.* caitlyn tries to finish her meal in peace, she really does. but she finds it increasingly difficult with just how distracted she is. once you return, she's flushed, she's playing with her food, she's stumbling over her words. "cait, baby, is everything alright?"

✧.* "mhm. yes, yes, everything is wonderful. don't worry about me," she rushes out, taking a quick bite of her food. though something tells you she's not telling the full truth- but by the flush dusting her cheeks and the tips of her ears, you have a feeling you'll find out later.

maddie;

✧.* you and maddie have frequent sleepovers, alternating between your own apartment and hers. it's a routine of sorts: maddie will come to your place after work with a bag full of her things for the night, greet you with a kiss on the cheek and a firm embrace. she often brings gifts for you as well: little things. snacks, a bracelet she saw while window shopping, the likes.

✧.* today is no different. maddie had to take a double at work, so she's taking a bit longer than usual, but this isn't out of the ordinary. being a junior officer is nothing if not time-consuming. until then, you've decided to occupy yourself by making dinner for your girlfriend. she's done all this work, she deserves it- besides, you know she'd do the same for you.

✧.* it's rather late, you having already showered and changed into your pajamas. you've eaten your dinner, now it's just a waiting game for your girlfriend.

✧.* as soon as maddie walks in the door, she's hit by the aroma of dinner cooking. her favorite, too. it's a familiar smell, and makes her all the more eager to finally see you. though when she walks into the kitchen, she sees you in a loose tee, and... sleep shorts. tight ones, that hug the shape of your ass just right. maddie's always had something of a dirty mind, and it immediately goes to all the things she could be doing with that ass. but she hasn't even said hello yet.

✧.* so she forces herself to reign it in, snaking her arms around your waist from behind. the girl rests her chin on your shoulder, gently brushing her lips against your temple. "hi, gorgeous," she hums, nestling a bit closer to you. "sorry i took so long."

✧.* you shake your head, giving her a reassuring smile before kissing her cheek in return. "don't worry about it. i know how work is. dinner's almost ready, okay?"

✧.* she nods in response, but doesn't loosen her grip on you. she's glad you're doing this for her. you've always been so thoughtful, so sweet when it comes to her, but still, her mind keeps going back to how incredible you look in those shorts. how badly she wants to take them off.

✧.* once you announce that dinner is ready and set down a steaming plate on the table, maddie reluctantly pulls herself from you to sit down. she starts eating, of course. she's grateful for what you've done for her. "i'm gonna clean up a bit, okay?" you hum, before turning back to the counter, and maddie nearly chokes.

✧.* she's watching you move swiftly throughout the kitchen- wiping down the counter, organizing spices, washing dishes, cleaning cabinet handles. yet she's not watching any of the actual tasks, only the way you look in those little sleep shorts. good gods.

✧.* but you can feel her gaze on you from behind, searing into you. burning, almost. without turning around, you pause at one of the cabinets. "...you're staring," you state. not a question, but an observation. "is it that interesting?"

✧.* maddie takes a moment to swallow, slowly shaking her head as if you could see her. "not exactly, just... you look amazing in those shorts, yeah?"

[motorsportbarbie13]

The Yapping Hour Is Upon Us - Part 2

In which you spend the weekend in Miami as Max's personal guest.

Warnings: smut at the end ;) Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 5k words (whoops) plus social media posts

Part 1 Master List

(a/n: holy shit you guys absoltely blew up part one (its sitting at 1.7k notes last time i checked in under 3 days??? like WHAT???) so here's the much requested part 2. LMK if you want a part 3! Also going to try something different with the tag list tonight, so bare with me as I figure this out!! xoxo)

You play with the hem of the cornflower blue sundress, nerves ratcheting up another notch when the car pulls into the race track. After you had wrapped up filming the podcast two weeks ago, Max had taken you out to one of his favorite London restaurants where you had spent the next nearly five hours talking about everything and nothing all at once. The only reason you had left was that the staff of the restaurant had started cleaning up around you, literally sweeping up under your feet and turning off the music as you had lingered over the last bits of your dessert together. 

The next day, Max had needed to go back to Milton Keynes to spend some time in the sim ahead of Miami weekend, unable to stay in London with you despite every bone in his body screaming that he didn’t want to leave you. It was weird, almost scary, to him how much space you took up in his thoughts so quickly. He didn’t usually get attached to anyone, much preferring to remain aloof and independent but in the two weeks that passed since he had seen you, he was unable (or unwilling, depending on who you asked, honestly) to think of anything else. The way you laughed, the way you smiled, the way you seemed to hang on every word that came out of his mouth simply mesmerized him. 

So now, here you were, two weeks later, moments away from seeing him again. Because while Max was down bad and trying not to blow this, you were also completely smitten with the Dutch driver. You had spent hours editing the first and second part of his episode yourself, something you hadn’t done in years, because you insisted you wanted to keep the integrity of the interview under your total control. Your video editor had seen the way you spoke about Max and just nodded, knowing that there had been something that sparked between you and him and that there would be no arguing about it with you. 

Max is in the garage when he gets the text from you that you’re in the parking lot waiting for him. As luck would have it, he’s just finishing up with some engineering meetings so he’s got some free time. He replies instantly, telling you to wait in the car for him and he’ll be right there. 

“I’m running out for a bit, GP. I’ll be back before FP1.” 

“I mean, you’d better be. Who else is going to get in that car? Horner?” 

Max chuckles, clapping his racing engineer on the back before slipping out the back of the garage. 

Max’s heart stalls when he sees the car you're in, nerves suddenly twisting in his gut. You two had been texting back and forth constantly since he left London the morning after you met. Evenings had been spent on FaceTime together when you could manage, but with your busy schedules it hadn’t been enough for Max. The relief he felt knowing you were less than 100 feet away had him swaying on his feet a bit. 

You knew Max was coming to meet you at the car but it had been a long drive from the airport, so while you waited you decided to stretch your legs. Max watches helplessly from a distance as the rear door on the SUV swings open, your bare legs making his mouth go dry when you hop out out of the car. 

It’s almost as if you sense his eyes on you, the weight of his gaze caressing your bare skin like the touch of a well known lover. It takes you a moment to recover when your eyes lock with his, the look on his face practically a billboard for how excited he is to see you. A wide grin spreads across your face when he starts towards you, heart tumbling down through your toes as he jogs your way. 

“Hi.” He breathes, stopping just short of gathering you up in his arms like he truly wants to. Despite how close you’ve grown over the last two weeks, Max reminds himself that it truly only has been two weeks and he doesn’t want to come on too strong. 

You look up at him, eyes sparkling with delight at finally being in his presence again. “Hey you.” You croon, nearly unable to stop yourself from throwing yourself into his arms. 

This kind of behavior was as out of character for you as it was for Max. You’d been burned by men in your life that were supposed to be there for you, love you, and protect you and so those walls had been put in place high and strong for years now . Something about Max made you question those defenses, wondering if he was going to be the one to stick around long enough to tear them down. While you tried to remain calm, objective, and aloof it was utterly impossible to act that way when you were around him. 

“How was your flight?” Max stuffs his hands in the pockets of his shorts, nerves turning the tips of his ears pink. He wants you in his arms so badly but didn’t want to push you away, didn’t want you thinking he had only brought you out to Miami this weekend for one thing. Because he hadn’t. He had simply wanted you by his side. 

“Well I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to fly commercial ever again, so I’ll be sending you the bill for all my private flights from now on.” You wink.

“You can use my jet whenever you want, schatje.” 

Your stomach does the same involuntary flip it does whenever he calls you that. At first it had been timid, slipped in at the end of a sentence almost like it was an afterthought or unconscious desire to claim you but as time goes on, Max settles into calling you either that or liefje more often than not. 

“Don’t tempt me.” You grin up at him, knowing that he fully means what he says. He’d absolutely let you use his jet whenever you wanted, all you had to do was ask. 

“So, your timing is really good.” Max nearly reaches for your hand but chickens out at the last minute, settling for just walking you back towards the car that sits idling behind you. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, I actually have an hour and a half break before I have to be back for the first practice session so I thought I could take you over to the hotel, get you settled in. I booked you your own room, of course and thought you’d maybe like to take a shower or a nap during the first session and then I could have an intern get you so you can watch the sprint quali later this afternoon.” 

Your heart warms at the earnest look on Max’s face. The fact that he’s gone ahead and thought all of this through for you, clearly wanting to make sure you’re comfortable and taken care of all while you’re sure he’s overwhelmed with work, softens those well built walls arond your heart a bit more. 

“A shower and a nap does sound good.” 

Max smiles down at you, those blue eyes of his taking in every inch of your face like he’s trying to commit it to memory. “Good. Lets get you to the hotel then.” 

“Lead the way, Maxie.”  

yourpersonalinsta posted a story

story replies: user9029 girl drop the diet and workout routine plsss yourdad baby girl, i love you but put some clothes on >>>yourpersonalinsta love you too dad! maxverstappen1 are those my socks??? >>>yourpersonalinsta my feet got cold while you were gone playing with race cars. >>>maxverstappen1 i was literally working! and how'd you get into my room??? >>>yourpersonalinsta a lady never reveals her secrets, maxie ❤️ >>>maxverstappen1 i was right, you are trouble >>>yourpersonalinsta i prefer the phrase 'joy to be around'. pls hurry though back. i'm hungry and i may die of starvation in the next twenty minutes if you don't feed me. >>>maxverstappen1 do your fans know you're this dramatic??? >>>yourpersonalinsta why do you think they're my fans?

The rest of Friday blurs together in a watercolor wash of heat, and people, and sounds that you’re utterly exhausted by the time you tumble into your bed late at night.

Alone, thank you very much.

The wine that you had drank at dinner with Max and a few other drivers has heat pooling low in your belly as you watched Max watch you all night. You had wanted to invite him back to your room, but something kept those words from slipping out all night and Max had been the picture of respectable, simply dropping a kiss on your forehead before wishing you goodnight at your hotel room. 

Saturday’s sprint race is just as busy and loud as qualifying had been and by the time it’s over, you’re exhausted, hot, and sweaty. You’re over the moon when Max pulls off the win in the sprint, throwing your arms around his damp neck the moment you see him after his media duties are completed and he finds you waiting for him in front of Red Bull's hopsitality. 

“That was amazing Max. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had this much fun. You make it all look so easy.” You gush.  

“It looks like you’re my lucky charm now, schatje. Won’t be able to win without you.” 

You smile, cheeks aching a bit at how much you’ve been doing that this weekend. You’ve fit in so well with everyone it’s almost spooky, like your presence was expected and welcomed in the garage, slotting into Max’s world with uncanny ease. 

As you follow Max back to his driver’s room that’s tucked away in the back of hospitality, his hand reaches for yours almost unconsciously. When his fingers twine with yours, the butterflies that have taken up permanent residence in your stomach this week take flight yet again. If this is how you react when he reaches for you, you can’t imagine how you’re going to handle when he finally kisses you properly. 

The hallway is quiet and long, with Max’s room at the end of the corridor. You’re only about half way there when a sudden wave of nausea washes over you, stopping you in your tracks. “Woah.” You whisper, free arm bracing against the wall for support. 

Max turns to you in an instant, his handsome features a mask of concern. “You okay?” 

You blink a few times, trying hard to fight the impending fainting spell you can feel yourself hurtling towards. “I..ummm…I think so?” 

Max all but picks you up in his arms, ushering you the short distance that separates you from his drivers room. “Lets get you sitting down. Have you eaten today?” 

A blush creeps up your cheeks. “Not since breakfast.” 

Max frowns, “That was hours ago, liefje.” 

The room is small with just enough room for a couch, massage table, and closet but it does the job, serving as a quiet respite from the mayhem of the paddock. Max gently leads you over to the navy blue couch. “Sit. I’m going to get you some water and food. The heat in Florida is no joke.” 

You nod, already feeling a little better now that you’re sitting down. Max is gone for several minutes but comes back absolutely laden down with so much food, you can’t help but laugh. “Max, I don’t know who you think I am but I am not a 300 pound body builder.” You say though your giggles. 

Max looks a little embarrassed but just tuts at you, placing the plates (of which there are three) down on the table in front of you. “I didn’t know what you liked. You had fish at dinner last night, much to Lando’s dismay, but they’re cooking salmon tomorrow, even though I asked for some today for you.” 

The way your chest squeezes at his ramblings has nothing to do with the headache that’s forming between your eyes and everything to do with the man sitting next to you practically spoon-feeding you a roasted beet and goat cheese salad. You obediently open your mouth when he lifts the fork to your lips, only rolling your eyes a bit at his fussing. “I am an adult, Verstappen. I can feed myself.” You grumble between bites. 

“I know but just humor me.” 

You roll your eyes again but open your mouth, the beet and goat cheese salad actually tasting really good. 

“Good girl.” He coos, setting your thighs squeezing together on their own accord. 

Your eyes flicker up to his at the praise and something passes between you two, a little spark of heat igniting there in the small room. 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper after a few more bites, tension hanging thick between you as you're tucked up together on the small couch. 

“Don’t be.” He insists, pushing a bottle of icy cold water into your hands. “I’m just glad I was here to take care of you.” 

“Me too.” You breathe, acutely aware to how close his body is to yours.

The urge to kiss you overwhelms Max, and it's not the first time this weekend this has happened. He’s been fighting the ever strengthening desire to just sweep you up and haul you back to his hotel room since you first stepped out of the Range Rover yesterday afternoon. Truthfully, he’d been wondering what you taste like ever since he’d walked into that recording studio in London.

He couldn’t explain how or why but your sudden appearance in his life seemed like some cosmic shift under his feet, his entire existence adjusting to this new normal of being in your orbit. He’d spent the last two weeks listening to all five years of your podcasts, even finding some old work you’d done in college and with each episode he found himself falling further and further into a rabbit hole that he wasn’t sure he’d ever want to climb out of.

Max falls silent then and so do you, a comfortable quiet settling over the room. The spark that had ignited so innocently just minutes before begins to smolder into something that has the energy between you two shifting. Like the entire reason for you being here this weekend had led up to this very moment. 

You break the spell first, leaning in just a fraction closer to Max like he's is the magnet you’re elementally obligated to be attracted to. But Max is equally compelled in his desire to finally find out what you taste like so he closes the gap between your lips and his, mouth grazing yours with the slightest pressure. It starts out as a timid thing, unsure of if it should exist in such a charged atmosphere. Once it gains its footing though, the kiss lengthens and takes on a life of its own. 

You sigh into Max’s mouth like it’s a relief to finally have him kissing you. Max lifts the tips of his fingers to your chin so he can tilt your head upwards, allowing him to deepen the kiss to a more heated pace. Your fingers grip at his Red Bull polo, desperate for something to hold on to while the taste of Max races through your veins. 

Something akin to a purr rumbles in the back of your throat when Max’s hands sift through your hair and it grows a little hotter when he tugs on the ends, forcing your head back so the slender column of your neck is fully exposed to him. You try not to cry when his lips leave yours, unhappy with how you can’t taste him fully anymore, but that disappointment quickly evaporates when he trails open mouthed kisses towards the enticing hollow of your throat. 

“I’ve been wondering what you taste like since the moment I laid eyes on you.” Max murmurs against your heated skin. 

Your head spins at his words. So it hadn’t just been you that had felt the spark that first day. “Max.” His name is a reverent prayer on your lips, urging him to never stop touching you. 

Max thinks he could go the rest of his life without winning another race and he’d still die happy because he’d finally kissed you. “You drive me mad, liefje. I am utterly consumed by you and I have no idea how you slipped this far under my skin so quickly.” 

The words send shivers skittering down your spine and you find yourself leaning into his touch even more, heart hammering wildly against your ribcage. 

A sharp and sudden knock sends you leaping out of Max’s arms so quickly, you nearly fall to the floor. “Holy fuck.” You whisper, hand flying to your lips like they’ve been burned. 

“Christ.” Max breathes, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah?” He calls, voice a strangled mess. 

“Uh…” The hesitation in the person’s voice told you that they knew they had interrupted something. “Max, Christian and GP wanted to go over a few more things before quali.” 

Max touches his forehead to yours, letting loose a breath to steady himself before he can answer. “I’ll be there in five.” He grumbles and you can hear the shuffle of feet retreating moments later. 

“You are going to ruin me, schatje.” Max murmurs, even though he has a feeling he was already ruined. 

You chuckle, rubbing your fingers over your swollen lips. You had never had a first kiss like that, ever. The way your body simply melted around Max like warm butter had your center turning molten. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” You joke.

Max just shakes his head and chuckles before his face pulls serious again. 

“How are you feeling? Do you want to stay here and rest or come with me to the garage? I could have an intern take you back to the hotel?” Max lifts his hand so it frames your face, concern flickering across his features. Your chest constricts in the most delicious way when he pulls your hands into his lap. 

“I’m good. I think your kisses may have healing properties actually.” You flirt, gazing at Max from under long lashes. “If I’m not too in the way, I’d like to stay with you.” 

It crosses your mind then, a quick rabbit of a thought, darting across your consciousness that you’ve been so independent for so long, so bent on not relying on anyone for security or safety, only to have the entire rug of your resistantance ripped out from under you. It’s a gooey and warm feeling that you hope isn’t just a flash in the pan, although your gut tells you Max is the real deal. 

You hadn’t given yourself this freely to anyone in so long, panic grips at your throat for a moment, the desperate need to flee suddenly choking you. Just when the panic of what’s transpiring here threatens to pull you under, Max’s cool blue eyes yank you back to him where you belong. 

“I think I’m going to like having you by my side.” His breath fans out over your cheeks, pulling you further out of your tumble.

Max stands, sensing something shifting deep within you then. He saw something pass behind your eyes just then, the delicate shiver of hesitation. He’d been expecting it. No one who was as strong as you were got that way without having a story to tell. He knew that and had known this moment would come. What he hadn’t expected was to watch you pull yourself back from that precipice of panic. It had been a stunning thing to watch, even if the act was nothing more than a fleeting moment. But the way he watched you catch yourself spinning and knit yourself back together without so much as a whisper of a breath made him want to shield you from whatever had caused you the heartache to begin with. 

He holds his hand out to you, which you gladly take, and leads you towards the door while knotting his fingers up with yours. The nerves in your stomach settle with his touch and it sort of scares you, how well this man can read you so soon. This had been the last thing you had ever thought would happen when the man you were falling for walked into your life just 2 weeks ago. 

yourpersonalinsta posted

198,392 likes liked by maxverstappen1, redbull racing, and others yourpersonalinsta omg miami if this is how you introduce yourself to a girl, i can't wait to see how the first date goes! super proud of @/maxverstappen1 for winning the spring race today. next up: quali. user992 girl is auditioning to be the next WAG in the paddock >>>user020 seriously thirsting for nothing but clout this weekend maxverstappen1 told you you'd bring me extra luck this weekend >>>yourpersonalinsta ❤️ >>>user0093 oh this is interesting user9392 the fact that she was such a genuine fan of the sport before and now she's AT her first race as Max's guest all because of her podcast. i just... >>>user223 now i'm crying, thanks. redbullracing so fun having you in the garage today! excited for sunday! >>>yourpersonalinsta thank you for having me!

There was just something so enticingly attractive about watching Max race on Sunday that had you feeling embarrassingly needy for him by the time he got you back to his hotel room that night. As you had watched him on the podium that afternoon, you just knew how messy you’d be below him later that night.

“I think your performance this weekend has earned you a reward.” Your rasp, voice a husky whisper in his ear as you glue yourself to him in the elevator that evening.

Max cocks an eyebrow at you while his fingers grip at your hips. “Oh yeah? And what would that be, lifeje?”

“Why don’t you take me back to your room and let me show you.” You lick at his neck, savoring the taste of sweat and champagne that clings to him despite his shower at the track earlier.

Max’s groan is enough of an answer and when the elevator slows, signaling your arrival at his floor, you follow him out into the quiet hallway, giggling when he playfully grabs a handful of your ass.

You had tried to convince yourself the entire drive back to the hotel that this wasn’t how the night was going to end. It was too soon, you thought. This was the first weekend you had spent any time with him and you didn’t want Max to get the wrong idea about you. And then he had spent the entire drive back to the hotel with one hand inching higher and higher up on your bare thigh. His thick fingers traced random patterns on your tanned skin, until the very tips had slipped just under the hem of your dress and all thoughts had eddied right out of your head.

Max, meanwhile, had been thinking of this moment since the second he had climbed out of the car. He didn't want to push you but the need to learn how you sounded when he was buried deep inside you was was out of control.

The moment the door snicks closed behind you, you're shoving Max against the wall, utterly desperate to get your mouth on him. Sinking to your knees in front of him, hands trailing down his torso. Your fingers drag over the skin just above the waistband of his jeans, long nails sending a shudder down Max's spine.

"Let me taste you, Max." You moan, reaching for the buckle of his belt.

"Please." He begs as he sinks his hands deep into your hair.

You have to stifle a gasp when you free his thick cock from his boxers, pushing the soft cotton down to his ankles along with his jeans. He's already desperatly hard, dick all red and angry with arousal, practically begging you to take it in your mouth.

Max can hardly believe the sight before him. You down on your knees for him, lips mere millimeters from his raging hard-on, was probably the prettiest sight he'd seen in a long time. When you first wrap your lips around the tip, tongue darting out to taste the salty precum that he's already leaking, it takes every ounce of control Max has to not sink deep down your throat.

"Holy fuck, baby." He shudders, fingers gripping your hair even tighter. Max would be lying if he said he hadn't played out this exact scenario several times over the past two weeks, only it had been his own hand fisting his cock instead of your lips.

All you do is hum in response, the vibration of your voice sending sharp new shivers bolting down Max's spine. One hand snakes up his toned thighs, enjoying the thick muscles bunching and flexing as you take him deeper down your throat. Your other hand, however, trails down your own thighs, dipping below the hem of your dress to find your own already ruined panties wet with the arousal Max has already drawn from you.

"You like touching yourslef while you suck me off, pretty girl?" Max's voice is all gravel as his hips snap towards you, forcing you to take him even deeper into your mouth.

You look up at him, eyes watering, thick lashes matted with tears and smile the best you can with your lips wrapped around him. You continue your work, head bobbing up and down on his length, enjoying the way his dick is slick with your saliva, a bit of it dripping down your chin as you take him even deeper. You swear you could spend the rest of the night down on your knees with how good Max feels and tastes in your mouth, your own fingers buried deep inside you. The release you've been wanting all week starts to build and Max begins to feel it too.

Max knows he's not going to last much longer and he doesn't want to come quite yet. Gently he pulls you off, chuckling at the mewl of protest that slips past your lips when he pushes you off of him.

"Max." You whine, wanting nothing more than to swallow his release down your throat.

"Get on the bed, lifeje." He orders.

You scramble to your feet, disappointment at not making him come with your mouth quickly replaced with the anticipation of what you know is coming next. You've tried so hard to resist the fact that you've wanted this since the moment you saw him Friday afternoon but as you lay down on the bed and watch Max stalk towards you like a lion after his prey, all reservations evaporate into thin air. You know deep within your chest that this is what's supposed to happen right now.

"Dress off." He commands and the thrill of being ordered around flashes through you.

You follow his directions before laying back on the pillow, watching as Max reaches behind him back to strip off the sweaty team kit you hadn't bothered taking off before sucking his dick. A sudden wave of vulnerability sweeps over you as Max stands at the foot of the bed, eyes raking over your bare frame.

"You are the most beautiful creature I've ever laid eyes on." Max murmurs, sensing your hesitation at being so vulnerable in front of him. He doesn't want you to be nervous, needing you to know how utterly obsessed he is with you. It staggers him when he thinks about how deeply you've dug yourself under his skin in such a short time. You've barely spent longer than a few days together and he's already so deeply lost in you.

"Do something, Maxie." You beg, squirming under his heated stare.

His weight is heavy and delicious when he finally covers your body with his, notching his cock just outside your dripping core. Max reaches down, letting out a heated moan when he feels how wet you are for him. "You are soaked for me, gorgeous girl. God, how did I get so lucky? Have you been like this all fucking day, schatje?"

"Been desperate for you all fucking day, Max." You breath, your hips lifting up off the bed in a needy search for the friction you crave.

"Lets see if we can get you some relief, yeah baby?"

When Max sinks into you for the first time, you can't help the desperately needy whine that escapes from your mouth. His name is a prayer on your lips, every nerve ending in your body sparking to life. The stretch of his cock burns in the most delicious way. "So full." You cry as Max's hips meet yours when he slides into you completely.

Max doesn't quite understand how you're so blissfully tight and wet and warm all at the same time but he thinks it's the best feeling he's ever experienced. His head drops to the crook of your neck as he buries himself in you to the hilt, the base of his dick grinding against your clit. "Fuck, you're to tight around me baby. How do you feel this fucking good?"

You and Max fall into a rhythm, the only sound in the room are the quieted sighs slipping their way from your lips before Max can steal them from your throat. The friction is amazing and before he can quell it, Max feel the lick of fire coiling at the base of his spine, telltale sign that he's about to spill. “Won’t last much longer.” He pants, lips falling to suck at the skin at your neck. 

Max struggles to keep the pace up, diving into you with long, slow strokes that fill you up and empty you out over and over and over. Sweat forms on his brow that was tipped down in concentration and you have to resist the urge to lick it off. Every stroke deep into your pussy fills you up so fully it's almost too much. Too much sensation, too much heat, too much fullness. You can’t help the whines that slip from your lips but Max only encourages them by chanting your name over and over. 

“I know, baby. I know.” He coos in your ear as your muscles tense beneath him. “You’re doing so good for me, taking it all so good.” 

The praise is almost too much. “Don’t stop.” You beg when his fingers dip down between you to find your clit as he continues to stroke into you. Stars erupt on the back of your eyelids. “Holy fuck. Max.” You manage to bite out.

“Come for me. I want to feel you come all over my dick, please baby.” Blinding need consumes Max's entire existence, his full attention focused on the way you clench around him over and over.  

That’s all it takes. The command sends you hurtling over the edge, right into a spine tingling orgasm. Your body goes rigid for a moment under Max's weight but as quick as it starts, a boneless languid feeling sweeps through you as the endorphins flood your system. Your own climax has pushed Max over he edge and he comes hard, groaning in your ear as he rasps your name. 

Max collapses on top of you and you relish the heavy weight of his body on yours. Much too soon, he rolls off and you whimper, instantly feeling empty without him inside you. Max gathers you up in his arms though, the heat of his body quickly warming your chilled skin. Your hand settles on his chest, right over his heart, which is still racing.

“Jesus Christ, shactje.” Max finally breaks the silence, giving my hip a squeeze as he nuzzles into my hair. “You really are going to ruin me.”

maxverstappen1 posted:

838,291 likes liked by yourpersonalinsta, redbullracing, yourdad and others maxverstappen1: another great weekend with a good haul of points! Thank you Miami, you were good to us. On to the next! user2992 uh, max? care to explain that second photo >>>user92928 is that who I think it is??? yourpersonalinsta had so much fun with you this weekend! can't wait for the next one >>>maxverstappen1 ❤️ >>>user0221 EXCUSE ME. user0022 i ran into them late Sunday night at the hotel and let me tell you...there's nothing PR about their chemistry together. >>>user9288 i fucking KNEW it user05543 anyone else see @/yourpersonalinsta's dad in the likes!?

yourpersonalinsta posted

231,209 likes liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, charlesleclerc and others yourpersonalinsta after this weekend, i think i can consider myself officially a red bull girlie. blissfully excited i got to see a MV1 podium AND sprint win! thank you for letting me into your world @/maxverstappen1. can't wait til next time ❤️ maxverstappen1 gonna need you at every race now that you're my lucky charm. user9282 'thank you for letting me into your world' YOU EXPECT ME TO ACT NORMAL AFTER THAT CAPTION MA'AM??? >>>user7623 kicking my feet and giggling and i'm not even @/yourpersonalinsta omg redbullracing you're welcome in the garage any time!! >>>user9935 even admin has a crush! >>>maxverstappen1 @/user9935 i mean, how can you not??? >>>user9935 omg hi king. glad you know how amazing she is! don't hurt our girl, k??? >>>maxverstappen1 i would never ☺️ (liked by yourpersonalinsta)

maxverstappen1 private stories

story replies: yourpersonalinsta god i look good in navy >>>maxverstappen1 no more ferrari red for you, sweet girl >>>yourpersonalinsta miss you already 😢 >>>maxverstappen1 i know. i'll see you soon, promise >>>yourpersonalinsta ❤️ danielricciardo excuse me but WHAT THE FUCK >>>maxverstappen1 : 🤭 charlesleclerc oh she's got you using the lip biting emoji. it's over, pack it up boys. MV1 is officially off the market. >>>maxverstappen1 accurate though

@shelbyteller @martygraciesversion381 @anilovessadbooks @formulaal @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99

[hyuckiefluff]

Flipped Pt. 2 | Mark Lee

pairing: gryffindor!mark lee x slytherin!fem.reader genre: smut summary: the first time you met mark lee, you flipped his world upside down— literally. seven years later and after countless attempts to avoid you, you're still driving him insane. except now, it’s for an entirely different reason. wc: 6.3k+ cw: explicit content, cursing, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, semi-public sexual acts, oral (fem receiving) a/n: hi!! this is a continuation to my hogwarts au, so please read part one before checking this out <3 I originally wasn't even planning on adding any smut to this fic, and I think it works well without it, but still, a little smut is always a good bonus so here it is! enjoy!

By the time your seventh year rolled around, you and Mark felt like two halves of the same whole. You spent nearly every possible hour together and most of it was sweet and wholesome. He’d sit with you in the greenhouse while you tended to your plants, pretending to be helpful but mostly just watching you with this lovesick look on his face. Or sitting beside you in the library when you worked on assignments, though he hardly ever got any studying done himself. Or at the Quidditch games, where he’d celebrate his wins by flying over the stands and swooping down to kiss you.

But there were also the other moments. The ones where you simply couldn’t keep your hands off each other. Most of your prefect shifts ended in heated makeout sessions behind the statue of the one eyed witch on the third floor. Or tucked away in the Astronomy Tower when everyone else was asleep. Or in the dark staircase leading to the dungeons, pressed against the cold stone wall with his hands roaming your waist and your fingers tangled in his hair. You two found a way to use any place that offered even a little privacy.

And it was getting harder and harder to stop once you started.

You could feel the way his kisses were getting hungrier. Like that time when his hands slid under your robes during Charms class. Or the time in the greenhouse when he kissed you so deeply his knee had ended up between your legs, and you’d gasped, clutching at his robes before hastily pulling away.

And last time things almost went too far.

You’d been tucked in a hidden alcove near the Transfiguration classroom, his back against the stone wall, your body pressed firmly against his as his mouth moved feverishly against yours. His hand had slipped beneath your robes, skimming up your thigh, and before you even realized it, he was fumbling with the buttons of your uniform. His breath was heavy, and you could feel how badly he wanted you, his hands trembling slightly as he tugged at your clothes.

“Wait—” you gasped, grabbing his wrist.

Mark froze immediately, his face paling like he’d done something horribly wrong. “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to” he pulled his hands back “I wasn’t trying to push you or—”

“No, it’s not—” you swallowed hard, trying to ignore the heat still simmering in your stomach. “It’s not that I don’t want to… I do. It’s just…”

Mark watched you carefully, still looking wrecked with guilt. “…Just what?”

You bit your lip. “I don’t… I don’t have any experience with this. I’ve never…I mean, I’ve kissed people before but not like… that. Or… y-you know.”

It took Mark a moment to process what you were saying. Then his face softened immediately, his brows knitting with so much tenderness it almost made you cry.

“Hey, that’s okay” he breathed, pulling you closer again but gentler this time. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

You felt your face burn. “I don’t know… I guess I was embarrassed. I thought you’d expect me to…”

“I don’t,” Mark cut you off gently, his thumb stroking your cheek. “I swear. I don’t expect anything from you, Y/N. I just… I get carried away sometimes because I really, really like you. But you can tell me to stop anytime, okay?”

“Really?”

“Really,” he promised. Then he nudged your nose with his, grinning cheekily. “Besides… I think it’s kinda cute you’ve never done any of that before.”

You swatted his arm, groaning. “Oh my god, Mark.”

He just laughed, pulling you back in for another kiss.

Later that night, you were curled up in the common room with Karina when the question came bursting out of you like word vomit.

“How does sex feel like?”

Karina choked on her pumpkin juice, coughing violently as her eyes practically popped out of her skull.

“I’m sorry— what?” she spluttered, whipping her head toward you like you’d just grown a second head.

“Like… is it painful at first?” you pressed on, your face heating up. “I imagine it is. It probably depends on the… y’know… size. I mean, I read about it in a Muggle book back home but it was mostly about conception, not really the experience itself, so I—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold it.” Karina held up a hand, looking half-horrified and half-amused. “Where is this coming from… Since when are you so curious about sex?”

“Rina, I’m seventeen.... almost eighteen. It’s perfectly normal for me to start being curious about these things.”

“Oh, so it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you spend every free period snogging the Gryffindor Seeker?”

“Keep your voice down!” you hissed, glancing around the room.

“What?” Karina giggled. “It’s not like everyone doesn’t already know. I think half the school’s caught you guys in the corridors by now”

You groaned loudly, covering your burning face with your hands. “Forget I ever asked.”

“Oh no, no, no. You can’t just drop a bomb like that and then back out—”

Before you could beg her to drop it, Haechan strolled into the common room in his Quidditch uniform, hair damp with sweat, looking like he’d just finished practice. His eyes immediately landed on the two of you  and of course, he caught the tail end of Karina’s cackling.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, flopping onto the couch next to you.

Karina turned to him, grinning like the devil. “Oh, nothing. Our sweet, innocent little Y/N here just wants to know what sex feels like.”

“Karina!” you shrieked, whipping around to glare at her as she howled with laughter.

Haechan’s jaw dropped. “WHAT?” He turned to you, scandalized. “You—? You wanna know about... holy shit…”

“Oh my God, stop,” you groaned.

Haechan’s face split into a wicked grin. “Ohhh, I’m so telling him you’re asking about this—”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Why not? I think he’d love to know that his girlfriend’s getting all hot and bothered thinking about—”

“Haechan!”

“I’m kidding!” he laughed, hands raised in surrender. “But seriously. What exactly do you wanna know, huh? Like… the logistics of it? Or do you just wanna know if Mark’s packing—”

You lunged at him with the pillow. “I swear...”

“Alright, alright!” he howled, practically collapsing onto the floor in laughter as you rained down pillow smacks. “I’m just saying, if you want details, I’m right here—”

“Absolutely not.”

Haechan, despite his teasing and borderline inappropriate comments, was surprisingly chill about Mark and you. You had made it clear months ago that you had no romantic feelings for him. He’d taken it well, saying he saw it coming, and from that moment on, he treated you just like he would anyone else. He even became close friends with Mark, realizing he had more things in common with the seeker than he initially thought.

Karina, still crying from laughter, gasped, “Oh my God, you should ask Mark yourself. See how he reacts.”

You froze, mortified. “Are you insane? I’m not asking Mark what sex feels like!”

“Why not?” Haechan snickered, finally pulling himself back onto the couch. “It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it already. Honestly, I’m shocked you two haven’t done it yet, considering how often we catch you practically shagging in the corridors.”

“We do not!”

“Oh, please,” he scoffed. “You two make the entire school feel single.”

You groaned, absolutely done with this conversation. “I hate both of you.”

“But seriously. If you’re curious, just… talk to him about it. He’ll probably combust on the spot, but he’ll definitely be honest with you.” Karina suggested.

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling a little hot under the collar.

…Yeah. Like that conversation wouldn’t end with you both tearing each other’s clothes off.

Mark was in the Gryffindor locker room, gulping down water after finishing practice, when Peeves suddenly popped up right in front of him with a loud "Boo!"

He flinched, nearly choking on his water and dropping the bottle to the floor.

“Peeves, what the hell!” Mark coughed, clutching his chest as the poltergeist erupted into a fit of maniacal laughter, floating circles around him.

“What do you want?” Mark huffed, yanking off his gloves. He was the last one in the locker room since he stayed behind to practice a little longer for the upcoming match.

“Ooh, Peeves has a message for you! A juicy little message about your pretty girl!” Peeves sing-songed, grinning mischievously.

Mark froze mid-motion. “Y/N? What about her?”

“She’s in the prefect’s bathroom right now, calling out for you!” Peeves giggled.

Mark furrowed his brows, confused. “Why would she be looking for me there? I’m not a prefect, I can’t even go in there.”

Peeves simply shrugged dramatically, floating upside down. “Peeves is just telling you what Peeves saw! Go, don’t go, who cares! But your pretty girl seemed awfully eager to see you…” he teased before disappearing with a loud pop.

Mark stood there for a second, his heart suddenly hammering. Were you really asking for him in the prefect’s bathroom? That made no sense. But if Peeves was telling the truth… 

“Shit,” Mark muttered, quickly tossing his gloves aside and hurrying out of the locker room.

He knew Peeves wasn’t exactly known for being helpful, but what if this time he was actually being serious? Mark’s gut twisted at the thought of you upset or needing him for something.

When he reached the entrance to the prefect bathroom, he hesitated. He wasn’t supposed to be here— it was strictly for prefects and Quidditch captains— but he couldn't just walk away if you were inside asking for him. With a deep breath, he gripped the handle and pushed… but the door didn’t budge.

Mark cursed under his breath. Of course, there was a password.

He racked his brain, trying to remember if you’d ever mentioned it. But you’d never told him the password. Why would you? He wasn’t a prefect, so he had no business knowing it.

“Think, think, think,” Mark muttered to himself, glancing up and down the corridor to make sure no one was around to catch him. Then he remembered that Jaehyun, the Gryffindor team captain, also had access to the bathroom. Mark recalled how he had once bragged about how nice it was, especially with the giant bath and fancy soaps. He’d also, at some point, mentioned the password in passing. What was it again? Pine something…?

“Pinewood?” Mark tried hesitantly, his wand out.

Nothing.

He groaned and ran a hand through his damp hair, his nerves bubbling up again. Peeves had said you were in there looking for him. What if you were hurt or crying, and he was just standing out here like an idiot?

“Pineapple? No, that’s stupid. Pine scent?” Mark paced in front of the door, feeling his frustration rise. He was about to give up when it finally hit him.

“Pine Fresh,” Mark said, his wand raised with more confidence this time.

A soft click echoed from the door, and Mark felt it give under his touch. His heart thudded in his chest as he pushed it open and stepped inside. The room was warm and steamy, the faint smell of soap and fresh water filling the air. Massive white marble walls surrounded a pool-sized bathtub filled with shimmering water.

“Y/N?” he called out, his voice echoing slightly.

Silence.

Mark’s brows furrowed. His stomach sank. The room looked empty like you’d never been here at all. His gut twisted as he realized Peeves’d probably just duped him. That little poltergeist lived for messing with students, and Mark had fallen for it like an idiot. He was about to turn and leave when—

“Mark?”

His head snapped around, his heart leaping to his throat.

You were there.

You were sitting against one of the walls, your legs curled up to your chest, looking small and anxious. Your face was a little flushed, though Mark wasn’t sure if it was from the steam in the room or something else. The second you locked eyes with him, relief flooded your features.

“Oh my god, you are here,” you breathed. You scrambled to stand, your socks slipping slightly on the wet tiles as you rushed toward him.

“Wait, wha... what’s going on? Are you okay?” Mark asked quickly, meeting you halfway. His hands instinctively went to your arms, his concern spiking when he realized how clammy your skin felt. “Why did Peeves say you were asking for me?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, your teeth catching your bottom lip nervously. Mark watched as your gaze darted around the room like you were trying to muster up the courage to speak.

“I…” You swallowed thickly. “I didn’t actually ask for you. I mean... not out loud. I just- I was in here thinking and I really, really wanted you here. And then Peeves showed up and I think he just… I don’t know, sensed it or something and—”

Mark’s stomach did a little flip. You were thinking about him so intensely that Peeves picked up on it?

“Wait, wait.... slow down,” Mark said gently, his thumbs rubbing circles on your arms. “Why did you want me here? What’s wrong?”

You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, you almost looked embarrassed. “I… I need to talk to you about something. I didn’t know how to say it and I—”

“Hey, hey,” Mark interrupted softly, his hand tilting your chin to look at him. “It’s okay. I’m here"

You took a shaky breath, and then  “I want to do it.”

Mark blinked. “…Do what?”

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as you averted your gaze, suddenly looking incredibly nervous. “Hey, it’s okay. Just tell me,” he urged softly.

You swallowed hard, your eyes flickering back up to his wide, shiny, and filled with something he couldn’t quite place. But it stole the breath straight out of his lungs. Suddenly, you rose onto your tiptoes and kissed him.

It wasn’t like your usual kisses. It was deep and desperate, your fingers curling into the fabric of his Quidditch robes tightly. Mark instantly kissed you back, his hand cupping the back of your neck to keep you there. But just as his head started to spin from how good it felt, you broke away and before he could even ask what was going on, you blurted it out.

“I want to have sex with you, Mark.”

He felt his entire body stiffen as his eyes snapped open, sure he had misheard you or that you were joking, or that Peeves had somehow cursed his ears. But the look on your face was anything but playful.

You were serious.

“W-what?” Mark croaked, his voice cracking embarrassingly.

Your face flushed, but you didn’t back down. You held his wide-eyed gaze, your hands now clenching into fists at your sides. “I… I’ve been thinking about it for a while. And I know we’ve never really talked about it or anything, but I just—” You swallowed hard. “I want you. I really want you.”

Mark’s brain was malfunctioning. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again like a complete idiot. “You mean like… like now?” he stammered, his voice embarrassingly high.

“I mean if you want to,” you rushed out. “We don’t have to. I just… I don’t know. I thought about it and then I couldn’t stop thinking about it and… and I didn’t know how to bring it up so I just—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Mark interrupted, his hands shooting up like he was trying to slow down time itself. His pulse was roaring in his ears. “You seriously, like, actually want to…?”

“Have sex with you?” you finished bluntly, your voice small but certain. “Yes.”

Mark swore he nearly passed out.

“Oh my god,” he wheezed, running a hand down his face. “Are you…I mean, not that I don’t want to, but are you sure?”

“Yes,” you said quickly, your voice shaking a little. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life, Mark. I just… I think about you all the time. And not just like—” You gestured wildly, your face burning. “not just like normal thinking about you. I mean like thinking about you. Like in ways that make me—”

Mark made a strangled noise in his throat. “Holy fuck.”

You groaned, covering your face in embarrassment. “Oh my god, this is so humiliating”

“No, no! It’s not! It’s hot,” Mark blurted without thinking. “I mean… it’s not embarrassing. Like at all. I’m just... wow.” He paced back a step like he was trying to physically process this information. “You’ve been thinking about it?”

“Yes,” you practically cried. “For months.”

Mark clutched his chest. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“So you… you’d want to?” you asked quietly, watching him carefully.

Mark let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-disbelieving wheeze. “Angel, if I knew you’ve been wanting this for months we would’ve done it a million times by now.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait, really?”

“Are you kidding me?” Mark choked. His face was practically glowing red now. “I’ve been... I’ve wanted you like that since forever. I just didn’t want to push you or make you uncomfortable or— oh my god.” His hands flew to his hair like he was about to rip it out. “You actually want to?”

“Yes, Mark!” you laughed, still flushed. “I literally just said that.”

“And you mean like right now?”

You hesitated for half a second, then took a deep, shaky breath. “If you want to.”

Mark stared at you. Then his gaze dropped to your lips, and then lower, and then—

“Holy shit.”

And then he was kissing you again. Harder, more desperate, like the floodgates had finally burst open and he couldn’t get enough. His hands found your waist, gripping you tight as he walked you backward until the small of your back hit the marble edge of the enormous bathtub. You gasped into his mouth, and Mark swallowed the sound like he was starved for it.

“You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this,” he groaned between kisses. His fingers splayed against your waist, digging in like he was trying to anchor himself. “Like, stupid thoughts.... Constantly. Every time we’re alone together I just—”

“Me too,” you panted, tugging his sweater up slightly so you could touch his skin. “Every time you so much as look at me, I just... god, Mark.”

“Fuck,” Mark cursed, his teeth catching your bottom lip as he kissed you even deeper. “You’re gonna kill me.”

And Merlin help him—he was ready to let you.

Mark yanked your robes off in one swift motion, his touch eager but careful, like he was still trying to convince himself this was real. Your vest followed just as quickly, and when his fingers made quick work of the buttons on your shirt, you had to bite your lip to keep from gasping. He was so quick like he knew what he was doing, and for a fleeting, horrible moment, you wondered how many times he’d done this before. 

...Had he done it with Mia?

Your stomach dropped and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing the thought away. Not now. You were not about to ruin this for yourself by thinking about that. Not when Mark was kissing you like his life depended on it, not when his hands were brushing over your skin like he needed to touch you.

And Merlin, his mouth felt so good. Soft and warm, his tongue curling against yours as his hands ghosted over your waist. Your shirt was completely open now, hanging loosely off your shoulders, and you barely had a second to feel self-conscious before Mark was already tugging it off.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your lips, his voice strained. “You’re so—” His words trailed off into a low exhale as he pulled back just enough to look at you. His pupils were blown wide, his gaze devouring every inch of exposed skin.

Heat rushed to your face. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Mark asked, his voice rough.

“Like you’ve never seen a girl in a bra before.” You tried to sound playful, but your heart was pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it.

Mark let out a breathless laugh, his hands finding your waist. “I haven’t. Not like this. Not you.”

Oh.

Your stomach flipped violently.

You didn’t have time to dwell on it because you were already tugging at his uniform, desperate to get him equally undressed. His Quidditch robes were a nightmare to get off, heavy and tangled around his feet, and you couldn’t help but giggle when he nearly tripped trying to kick them off.

“Sorry— sorry, fuck,” Mark laughed breathlessly, finally ripping the damn thing off and tossing it aside. His sweater followed, and then you were tugging at his tie, trying to loosen it enough to get it over his head.

“Why is your uniform so complicated?” you grumbled, your hands fumbling.

“Tell me about it,” Mark huffed, yanking the tie off himself and tossing it somewhere behind him. You barely had a second to catch your breath before his hands were on your waist again, pulling you flush against his bare chest.

And oh my god.

Your mouth ran dry. His skin was burning hot, still slightly damp from Quidditch practice, and his lean frame was ridiculous. The toned muscles of his stomach, the sharp lines of his collarbones, the veins running down his forearms. You couldn’t stop staring.

“Holy shit,” you breathed without thinking.

Mark blinked. “…What?”

“You’re, like… really fit,” you admitted, your face heating up.

Mark stared at you for half a second, and then he laughed a nervous, slightly disbelieving sound. “What? No, I’m not—”

“Mark,” you cut him off, your eyes still glued to his chest. “Yes, you are. Do you even realize how many girls at Hogwarts talk about you?”

He looked scandalized. “What?”

You laughed, your hands running over his sides just to feel him. “I’m serious ‘Hot Seeker Mark Lee.’”

Mark actually choked. “Stop— what the fuck”

“You think I’m joking?” you teased, loving how red his face was getting. “Girls love you.”

Mark groaned, his head dropping forward to rest against your shoulder. “Oh my god, stop. I’m literally trying to hold back right now and you’re—”

“Hold back?” you laughed breathlessly. “Why?”

He lifted his head, and the look on his face was almost pained. His gaze dropped to your chest, to the lacy black bra you hadn’t exactly planned for him to see, and then back to your face. “Because if I don’t, I’m gonna, like—” He swallowed hard. “I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

Heat flared in your stomach.

“Then lose it,” you whispered against his lips.

The second the words left your mouth he crashed his lips back to yours, messier this time. His hands gripped your waist and he pushed you even closer. Your legs instantly parted to make room for him, and he stepped between them, pressing his erection against your core.

“Mark,” you gasped, your brain short-circuiting. “Your pants—”

“Oh, right” Mark breathed, realizing he was still half-dressed. His hands fumbled with his belt, but his fingers were clumsy from how badly he was shaking. “Fuck, can you—?”

“Yeah, I got it,” you said quickly, reaching down to unbuckle it yourself. Your hands brushed against the prominent bulge in his pants, and Mark whimpered. 

You froze. “Did you just...?”

“Don’t,” Mark groaned, his head dropping onto your shoulder again. “I’m barely hanging on right now, please don’t.”

You bit back a laugh. “You’re so cute.”

“Agh, stop laughing” Mark whined, his face burning.

“Sorry, sorry,” you giggled, finally managing to unfasten his belt and push his pants down his legs. They pooled around his ankles, and Mark practically kicked them off in desperation. Now you were both down to your underwear, and the sight of the outline of his arousal straining against his boxers made your mouth water.

And apparently, Mark was having the same reaction because his eyes were glued to you. His chest heaved, his jaw slack, his gaze devouring every inch of bare skin like he couldn’t believe it was in front of him.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice wrecked. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

Your smiled shyly. “You think so?”

“Do I think so?” He exhaled sharply, his hands skimming over your bare thighs. “Angel, I’ve literally had dreams about you. Fantasies. Every time I see you in those stupid little skirts—” He broke off, his hands gripping your waist tighter and pushing you impossibly closer.

Mark’s gaze snapped to yours, and you swore his pupils somehow dilated even more.

“Can I touch you?” you both blurted at the same time, and then immediately burst into breathless laughter.

“Jesus—” Mark groaned, his head dropping as he laughed. “We’re such losers.”

“Losers who are about to have sex,” you reminded him, grinning.

Mark laughed harder, but his amusement quickly dissolved into something primal when his hands slid up your thighs again, fingertips skimming dangerously high.

“…Please,” you breathed, your voice barely audible.

Mark’s hands were shaking slightly as he tugged at your panties. Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt him start to pull them down, and for a moment, you almost closed your legs instinctively, but his gaze was full of a hunger and a kind of desperate focus that made you feel weak in the knees.

He paused for a second, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, I promise, pretty girl,” he whispered, the words low and heavy.

You felt your pulse quicken at his words, the rush of heat between your thighs making everything feel too much, but all you could do was nod. You had no idea what you were doing, but the need to have him all over you was enough to make you forget any uncertainty.

With one last look to make sure you were okay with this, he dropped to his knees and dove between your thighs. You gasped, your legs trembling as his tongue licked a long, clean stripe up your already wet core. It felt too good, too overwhelming, and your hands scrambled to grip at his hair as his mouth moved over you, sucking on your clit with a fervor that made your eyes roll back in your head.

“Oh my God, Mark,” you moaned, your body involuntarily trying to press closer to him. Hehummed against you, his hands caressing your thighs.

His mouth wasn’t slowing, even when your thighs tried to squeeze around him. Every flick of his tongue made you feel like you were floating and falling all at once. You couldn’t help the moans that kept escaping you, the tightness in your stomach that was building up with each second.

Your breathing was erratic, and your body was trembling from the pleasure, all you could think about was how badly you needed him—how badly you needed to feel more of him.

“Mark… please,” you whimpered, but you didn’t need to say anything more. He knew exactly what you wanted.

His hands gripped your thighs tighter as his tongue continued its delicious work. You were already so close, your body coiling tighter and tighter with each second.

The pleasure built slowly at first, a steady, insistent warmth curling in the pit of your stomach. It coiled tighter and tighter with every flick of Mark’s tongue, every soft hum that vibrated against you. Your fingers clutched at his hair, unsure whether you wanted to push him away or pull him closer.

It was too much, too intense, and yet you couldn’t stop chasing it. The sensation crackled through you like static, lighting up every nerve in your body, making your breaths come in short, desperate gasps.

Then—something inside you snapped.

Your body tensed, your legs trembling as a strangled moan tore from your lips. You had never felt anything like this before—like you were shattering and unraveling all at once, floating somewhere between pleasure and something dangerously close to madness.

Mark didn’t stop. He kept his mouth on you and his hands firm on your thighs while you trembled through the aftershocks. Your body twitched, hypersensitive. He only pulled back when you gasped out his name in a broken plea. His lips were glistening, his eyes blown wide with awe and the sight was almost sinful.

You pulled him to you, crashing your lips against his, tasting yourself on his tongue. He groaned into your mouth, his hands kneading the flesh of your ass, pulling you impossibly closer. It wasn’t until you felt him—hot, heavy, bare against you—that you realized at some point his boxers had come off too.

The realization made your breath hitch, and when you pulled back slightly to look down, your stomach clenched.

Oh.

You’d never seen him naked like this before. You’d imagined it, sure, but now that he was here completely bare in front of you, flushed from head to toe, his cock hard and pressing against your slick folds; you felt a different kind of heat spread through you. He was beautiful. And big. Your throat went dry, your fingers twitching against his shoulders.

Mark must have noticed your sudden hesitation because he stilled, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath ragged. “You okay?” he murmured, his voice rough but gentle.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. His pupils were blown, his lips swollen, but there was something tender in the way he was looking at you—patient, waiting.

“I just…” You exhaled a shaky breath, fingers drifting tentatively down his torso, feeling the hard planes of his stomach. “You’re… um.” You bit your lip, heat flooding your cheeks.

Mark let out a breathless laugh, his hands smoothing over your waist. “Yeah?” His lips brushed the corner of your mouth, teasing. “What about me?”

You swallowed again, your eyes flickering back down. “You’re just… bigger than I thought.” The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and as soon as you realized what you’d said, you squeezed your eyes shut in mortification.

Mark choked out a laugh, his head dropping against your shoulder. “Jesus, Y/N,” he groaned, his hands flexing on your hips. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Ugh... sorry” You buried your face in his neck, burning from the inside out, but you couldn’t stop yourself from giggling.

Mark pulled back slightly, tipping your chin up so you’d look at him again. His expression had softened, though his eyes still burned with desire. “You’re sure you still want this?” he asked, thumb brushing your cheek.

You took a deep breath, letting yourself take in the sight of him again—his flushed skin, the way he was holding himself back, the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

You nodded, heart pounding. “I want you, Mark.”

That was all it took.

Mark groaned, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. His hands guided your hips, and you felt him rut against you, his cock sliding against your slick folds. The contact alone made you gasp into his mouth, your fingers gripping his shoulders.

“Fuck, baby…” he groaned, his voice breaking as he fought to keep himself together. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, pulling a whimper from you, and he swallowed it like he was starving for more of you.

Your head was spinning and your body was still sensitive from your first orgasm, but the ache for all of him only grew more unbearable.

“Please, Mark… I need you,” you begged, your fingers gripping his biceps.

Mark squeezed his eyes shut trying to control himself, keeping in mind that you’d never done this before and he needed to be careful. But the way you were pleading for him made it nearly impossible.

“Shit—okay, okay, angel,” he promised, his voice cracking under the weight of his need. His hand slid between you, gripping himself at the base, and you gasped when you felt the hot, blunt tip press right against your entrance.

His breath caught. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

You nodded quickly, your chest heaving. “I will… just—please—”

And then he pushed in, slowly, carefully, like he was afraid you might break. The stretch burned, a sharp sting that made your breath hitch and your nails dig into his shoulders, but you didn’t ask him to stop. Mark’s face contorted, his brows furrowed like he was in pain just trying to hold himself back.

“Fuck…you’re so tight,” he gasped, his head dropping to your shoulder as he pushed in a little more. Your walls clenched around him involuntarily, and his whole body shuddered. “God, Y/N—”

“You’re so big, Mark,” you whimpered, your thighs shaking as you tried to adjust to the overwhelming stretch.

“Angel, you’re doing so good,” Mark gritted out, his voice strained as he stilled inside you, trying to give you time to adjust. His fingers were digging into your waist like he was using all his strength to not start pounding into you. “Just tell me when, okay? I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You sucked in a shaky breath, your body slowly accommodating him. The sting soon melted into a dull ache, and the pleasure started creeping in. You rolled your hips experimentally, and the friction made you both groan. 

“I’m okay,” you breathed, your voice shaky but sure. “You can move.”

Mark let out the most wrecked sound you’d ever heard and then he did. He pulled out just a little before sinking back in, the drag of his thick length against your walls making you throw your head back against the tile. 

“Holy fuck,” Mark rasped, his grip on your ass tightening as he thrust into you again, a little deeper this time. “You feel so…so fucking good” 

The pace he started was slow but there was no mistaking the sheer desperation in his touch. And you were losing your mind. Every stroke made you gasp, the head of his cock brushing places you didn’t even know could feel that good, and the tension in your core was already building again. 

“Mark, faster...please,” you whimpered, wrapping your arms around his neck. The ache had turned into pure bliss now, and you needed more of him. 

“Fuck…yeah, okay—” Mark practically growled, and his pace quickened, his thrusts becoming rougher. His hand slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit.

Your body jerked in reaction, your walls clenching down around him so tight it made his hips stutter. 

“Shit… do that again, baby. Please—” Mark begged, his voice cracking as he pounded into you harder. The sound of skin slapping filled the steamy bathroom, mixed with the high-pitched whines leaving your throat and the desperate grunts coming from Mark.

Your nails raked down his back and he hissed. “Mark… I’m—oh my god—I’m gonna—”

“Cum for me, angel,” Mark growled, his thumb rubbing harsh circles on your clit, his thrusts losing rhythm. “Please—fuck—I need to feel you cum on my cock.”

And that was it. Your body tensed as the coil in your stomach snapped again. You sobbed his name, your walls clenching down so hard around him it made his hips falter. Mark cursed loudly, his thrusts growing erratic before he finally stilled inside you, his whole body shaking as his own orgasm ripped through him. 

“Fuckfuckfuck—” he gasped, his face buried in your neck as he came hard, his fingers bruising your hips as he emptied himself inside you. 

For a moment, the only sound in the room was your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the castle. Mark stayed inside you, his arms still trembling as he held you against him. 

“You okay?” he finally rasped, his voice hoarse and breathless. 

You managed a soft, blissed-out laugh. “I think… that was the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Mark pulled back just enough to look at you, his flushed face breaking into a dazed grin. “Yeah? That good?

You leaned up and kissed him softly, smiling into his lips. “I don’t think I can get enough.” 

And Mark laughed, his nose nudging yours as he kissed you again. “Fuck… me neither.”

The train wheezed as it prepared to depart, and you and Mark stumbled onto the platform, both breathless and disheveled from sprinting to catch it in time.

Your hand was still clutching Mark’s as you tried to straighten out your clothes. Your skirt was askew, your shirt half tucked in, and your hair a mess from the rushed… activities prior. Mark didn’t look any better, his tie crooked, his shirt rumpled, and his hair sticking up in odd directions.

“What were you two freaks doing?” Haechan called through the open window as you approached. Karina was beside him, smirking like she already knew the answer.

“Um…” you fumbled, glancing at Mark for backup. “I forgot my… uh… thing, and Mark was helping me find it,” you stammered, tugging at the hem of your skirt in a poor attempt to look composed.

Haechan scoffed. “Right. And I’m the bloody Minister of Magic.”

“Right,” Karina snorted, her eyes narrowing with amusement. “So you’re telling me you two weren’t shagging in the empty dorms while everyone was on the train?”

“What?” Mark drawled, trying to sound appalled but his voice cracked halfway through. “That’s… ridiculous. Do you really think we’re capable of such.. depravity?” 

You bit your bottom lip to keep from laughing, but the little grin trying to peek through made it impossible to sell your innocence.

“Mate, your shirt is literally on backwards,” Haechan deadpanned, pointing at Mark’s disastrous state. “Just get on the train, you bloody nymphos.”

Your face burned, but you couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. Mark, always quick with his mouth, gestured wildly. “This is a gross violation of our characters, honestly.”

“Yeah, yeah, get in before we leave you,” Karina waved dismissively, biting back a laugh of her own. “And fix your clothes, lover boy.”

Mark squeezed your hand, grinning like an idiot as he led you onto the train. The two of you practically collapsed into the first empty compartment you found, still a little breathless, and when you finally caught your reflection in the window, you burst out laughing.

“God, we look a mess,” you giggled, trying to smooth down your hair.

Mark plopped down next to you, his head falling back against the seat.

“Worth it though,” he mumbled, a small smile playing on his lips.

He turned his head to look at you, his soft brown eyes melting with affection as he took in your flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and hair still a mess from his fingers. His chest tightened with the overwhelming urge to kiss you again, but he just smiled instead. “So worth it.”

The train began to move, and you turned your head toward the window. The castle was still visible in the distance, and your heart clenched at the sight of it shrinking away. 

You felt Mark watching you, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over the back of your hand. “You okay?” he asked softly.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah. It’s just… hard, you know?”

Mark’s gaze flicked to the window, watching the last of the castle towers disappear from view. “Yeah… it really is.”

For a moment, you let yourself mourn it— the end of an era, the end of childhood, the end of the place that had been your entire world. But then you felt Mark squeeze your hand, and when you turned to look at him, he was already smiling softly at you.

“But hey,” he said, nudging you gently. “It’s not really the end, we’ve got plans, remember? Summer at mine, then we’ll find our own place. Maybe a flat in London, or  I don’t know… wherever you wanna go. We’ve got forever now, Y/N.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you smiled through the sting in your eyes. “Forever?” you repeated softly.

“Forever,” Mark promised, lifting your intertwined hands to press a lingering kiss to your knuckles. “I mean, if you’ll have me, obviously.”

You scoffed, giving him a playful shove. “Mark Lee, we literally defiled the Gryffindor dorms fifteen minutes ago. I think you’re stuck with me now.”

Mark let out a loud laugh, his head tipping back, and it was like the heavy weight in your chest finally lifted. Because yes, you were leaving Hogwarts, and yes, things would never be the same again but you had Mark now. You had forever. And that made it all okay.

“Goodbye, Hogwarts,” you whispered under your breath. “Thank you for everything.”

And just like that, the castle disappeared from sight.

asjkjdh i loved writing this so much :(((( i could literally make a whole hogwarts series

[i9chicago]

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Sweet loving you.

pairing — spencer reid x professor! fem! reader.

genre — smut (18+ so minors dni)

summary — you think you despise dr. spencer reid with all your bones, you think he's too good and too accomplished at what he does, and you think he despises you too. till you discover his particular liking for you that night when he saw you in a red dress.

word count — 9k (i'm so sorry)

warnings — oral (f receiving) fingering, soft dom! spencer cuz it's rotting my brain cells. masturbation. semi-public sex. lots of kissing. reader is a neuroscience professor.

a/n — this is my first fic here so be nice or i'll cry. english is not my first language so forgive me for any grammar mistakes. like for part 2 (please) ehh, i hate the ending. that's it. hope at least you enjoy it! <3

Red was never a color linked to joy. For some, it was the antithesis of calm—an unruly hue brimming with everything those fond of gentler tones tended to avoid: anger, desire, unbridled passion. A color that rose along a scale of relentless intensity, evoking not warmth, but power.

That’s why you chose to wear a crimson dress fitted neatly across your back, for the event. It didn’t need to be overly elegant or striking— just enough to keep you from feeling underdressed. Just enough to give you the confidence to stand tall and lift your chin in a room full of professors and potential future colleagues, the ones you'd meet again in hallways and over hurried lunches. You loved teaching. And truthfully, you didn’t mind being surrounded by university students who emailed you at four in the morning with long-winded excuses dressed up in flowery language to explain why they missed class or hadn’t done the work. You bit your tongue and kept going. People in the field admired your approach to teaching and your background in neuroscience had taken you far—far enough to park your car outside a sleek hotel and walk through its doors to stand among the best. To make your position as a tenured professor feel less like a myth spun into fantasy in your own head—and more like the fact it was becoming.

It was meant to be a calm affair, or so claimed the invitation embossed in gold thread and impeccable calligraphy, which promised a welcoming evening for the newly appointed tenured professors. You were one of them, even though you'd only been teaching for a year. Your heart thudded in erratic rhythms and you clutched your small handbag so tightly your knuckles turned white, the click of your heels echoing across the ceramic-gray tiles. Tilted your head, curious, catching sight of a golden chandelier overhead, mirroring the three-dimensional designs painted into the ceiling. It was such a pivotal moment, and yet, in all the hours spent getting ready, your mind had spiraled through a thousand reasons for things to go wrong. You couldn’t help it. Your head was always turning against you like it took some kind of pleasure in watching you unravel into a mess of nerves and dread, about the room’s reactions, about your own autonomy. Maybe you’d spill wine on your dress. Maybe you’d choke on a piece of ice from a champagne flute. Maybe you'd talk too much and accidentally let slip something painfully personal. The other professors didn’t need to know that. They didn’t need to know anything about you. Still, when alcohol starts to feel like a second skin, you’d promised yourself you’d manage it, one drink every two hours. Enough to keep disaster at bay.

You greeted a few adjunct professors as they passed by, and the moment you stepped into the grand hall, your jaw nearly dropped. The entire place was blue. Neon lights laced the walls, and a young DJ—probably no older than twenty—was spinning electronic remixes of ‘80s hits. It was almost a joke. There were far too many people for this to be just faculty. You doubted it. The entire teaching department must’ve been here, something you hadn’t quite expected. You’d imagined a more traditional venue: jazz music, old money burning through the most expensive drinks at a quiet bar in the corner. Instead, the tables were dressed in white linen with centerpieces of soft blue and white flowers. And suddenly, you felt overwhelmed. You accepted the glass of champagne a waiter offered you, now, it felt less like a choice and more like a necessity. You didn’t see a single familiar face and with the sheer number of bodies crowding the space, heat began to wrap around your bones. Usually, you were good at socializing, at least good enough not to make a fool of yourself. Winning over professors — especially the ones in physics— was a simple task, and the unspoken rule from the arts department was clear: never, under any circumstances, cross them. So yes, faking camaraderie came naturally to you. And with a few drinks, the task became almost idyllic.

You approached a table and picked up a small peach pastry, the sweetness of the powdered sugar melting on your tongue as your eyes scanned the room, now with a faint smudge of red lipstick on the bite. Then, something shifted. You felt it a gaze on the back of your neck. You turned slowly, your breath catching just as your pulse began to quicken.

Spencer Reid. And he was looking at you.

The same who was too ‘good’ to consider a tenured position at the college. The genius. The chosen one. The prodigy. An FBI profiler whose dignity vanished from the young girls in his classes as soon as they saw him or attended his seminars purely to watch him talk and talk and spill random data that none of them really cared about. They just went to see him. And he didn't even notice. Or, if he did, he was perfectly good at turning a blind eye to it.

It made your blood crawl. Cause you spent months hearing praise behind your back about how all his degrees and accomplishments put him in an optimal position to walk the halls as if he were a member of royalty himself. Sometimes you would see him in the gardens talking to some students being so generous and so kind that you would inevitably roll your eyes at his perfect kindness that you wanted to avoid seeing him as soon as possible. Everyone talked about him and you could understand why: He was an excellent prototype of the good man wrapped in good faith. Occasionally, you would meet his gaze at teacher's meetings, passing a cup of coffee in the mornings of pure silent politeness because neither of you had ever conversed in sentences that veered beyond a harmless thank you and good morning. You offered him your best smiles as his fingers brushed yours as you held out the cardboard cup full of black coffee and he would stare longer at your lips before sliding his periphery into your hands and leaving, as if touching you made him burn, as if he ached for the involuntary touch of your skins. Your friends were aware of how much you didn't like at all everything that endorsed his presence, and they didn't understand. You had a stable job. And of almost the same vitality as his. They told you that your reasons for loathing him were ridiculous, childish and, for a moment, they said you just didn't like him because he incarnated in flesh and blood everything you were attracted to in a man. And you were perfect at dismissing that.

Because it was. And that's what you really fucking hated.

You were unlucky. That was it. As if there was some bizarre entity pre-existing that dragged your decisions into an eternal abyss and turned you into a mixture of bad experiences that only increased as the years went by. And Spencer, in theory, seemed to be too surreal. Sure, his proportions as a whole were appropriate. And you had no trouble figuring out why young girls sighed with their hand on their chin every time he opened his mouth. There was no name for what you felt for him. It was just... It was weird. Weird for you, even, because you were used to being around people like him. But never like him. No one was like him.

Maybe your friends were right in saying that your occasional disdain for Spencer was born solely out of a need for adrenaline that you simply stopped paying attention to him. When your eyes met his in the distance, in a crowd, he smiled at you.

Bastard.

He had no right. He had no right to smile warmly at you as he raised his hand slightly in greeting, which he then lowered because of how awkward and absurd it looked. Much less did he have it to look this well melted by a suit that seemed to be itching his skin. With the red tie and the white shirt stuck to his body. All your attempts to pretend to be indifferent when it came to him were more than unsuccessful, in fact, irrational was a better word to describe it. You did nothing more than answer his greeting with a rehearsed smile as you turned to the food table swallowing a couple of those peach snacks, which you simulated with another swig of champagne feeling how the taste of alcohol numbed the few senses you had left one hundred percent. You sighed, much to your dismay, the dress was starting to feel tighter and tighter around your waist and you felt a flash of wind caressing the bare skin of your back. And to think that Spencer was probably watching you sent a searing heat through all your extremities. You stood up on your back and walked to the other end, however, the glass goblet you held in your right hand had a small crack that dug into your palm making you gasp from the sting of the glass against your flesh. Blood, thick and metallic, gushed out in small gushes from the wound. You felt dizzy for a second. And you wanted to go straight to the nearest bathroom.

Spencer followed your figure gliding through the crowd. The music was loud and what he heard from some of the professors, even if he didn't like to admit it (they were a bit older and kind of jerks) he stopped listening to them the moment your eyes connected with his and just lost himself in how he felt his heart rate become erratic. Superficial. He didn't need the world to be quiet to hear his heart racing. And it wasn't in the ingestion of alcohol, so in his glass rested a simple apple cider that he drank with enthusiasm. It was in how you received his perception, he was used to reading between the lines. And he had spent a lot of time reading specifically how you responded to being in his presence. Always evasive. You pleaded silently. He was not indifferent to your avoidance and sometimes caught you looking at him when you thought he didn't notice. In some other context it would seem creepy and worthy of concern. But it was you. All he saw was you. He wanted to see why his limits seemed to be nonexistent when it came to you and everything that warranted your mere objectivity. He listened to you in your classes, giving extensive perorations on the theory of neuroplasticity, and your students raved about you.

There was something irrefutable in how you learned to avoid him with a grace that overwhelmed him. He wished the words you never pronounced could be a clear language. But no. You chose evasion, silence. An elusiveness so subtle that it only left room for curiosity, for the need to understand why you were doing it. As if everything between you was an unwritten dialogue that he couldn't complete.

He could hear the softness of your words as he rummaged deep into his memories, when you talked about the evaluative changes in neuroscience in front of a packed classroom, your voice flowed like a calm river but inside him everything was churning and he didn't even bother to look for its root. It didn't bother him, actually, he was fascinated by how you were able to captivate everyone, and, at the same time, keep him out of your reach.

It killed him. It killed him slowly and torturously how he begged you with the simplicity of his gestures and looks and you purely eluded him. But what killed him the most was that, despite being so close, it always seemed like it wasn't enough. That he never reached that last layer that protected you.

He couldn't help but feel like a doomed voyeur watching as that invisible barricade between you held firm. Talk to me. Look at me. Why not? How long will I endure? Every vestige of desire of his was mounting to catatonic levels.

A cold current was seeping deep into his skin, icing his fingers as he waited, patiently, for some movement, a sign from you.

But nothing.

Only the pleasure of your indifference, so bitter and bewitching, like a trap he didn't know how to escape from. And, damn it, he loved it.

The white walls in the bathroom loomed over you as you walked in hoping for an aid kit somewhere, you looked in the mirror for a moment, realizing how lousy the night was going and you were just getting there. It was supposed to be a good time to continue making friends and finally find more people to have lunch with at noon. You should have seen it coming. You thought for hours about whether it was a good idea to attend and your apartment, not far from the hotel, a few blocks from the venue, was a mess. Dresses strewn across the floor and your cat found the jumble of sleeping fabric in every corner of the house fascinating. The pain in your hand was getting more intense, too strong, unbearable. A burst of burning that intensified every second. You made a point of washing away the bright blood with the water and grimaced at the new coolness and stinging sensation of the cut.

But even the pain didn't lessen the fact that you were thinking about him. And that infuriated you. The gazes that lasted longer than usual, the gestures you avoided and those imperceptible moments charged with something much more substantial. What did you want to do with all of that? Nothing. You couldn't do anything. Spencer was in a completely foreign league to you and you had to respect that.

You didn't even want to imagine what would happen if people at the college found out. People talk, and they don't measure the magnitude of their words and all that a simple hallway rumor could trigger. Like teens. No one should be interested in what two professors were doing outside the institution. And besides, he wasn't even working full time. He was an agent. Even more reason why this growing, heated thing between you two was a flat out no way it was going to happen. It was undermining all your senses. All your good judgment diminishing it to nothing. No, it couldn't happen. The tension was limiting your core beliefs. And as you tried to maintain a control you knew you didn't have, the restlessness in your chest only grew.

As you did everything in you to heal the cut quickly, you heard the faint creak of the door. You raised your head and, in the reflection of the mirror you saw Spencer's figure bursting into the glare of the bathroom lights. You failed to keep calm. Because you had nothing left. Spencer briefly held the handle, his eyes sliding a quick glance between the mess in your hand and the confusion evident on your face, your cheeks flushed, your breathing still uncontrolled. And, without a word, he locked the door.

The sound of the lock clicking echoed in the air, amplifying the tension already vibrating in the space. His scent enveloped you, the warmth of his presence washed over you so tightly that the sting in your cut receded into the background. But for him it seemed otherwise. He stood in front of you so close you could feel his breath, a faint sigh that seemed to touch your skin, make the air thick, dense. He looked at you briefly, straight into your eyes and that's when you understood why you were avoiding him so much. It was him. His gaze. His warmth. Everything about him sucked you in, pulled you in and was all too evident. His intensity was like a force of gravity that drew you in hopelessly. No matter how much you dodged it, no matter how hard you tried to shield yourself from that connection, it was as if the very nature of the situation had determined that the distances between the two of you were simply not viable.

He looked at you as if asking for permission to heal your hand, and though he didn't say it out loud, he didn't need to. The question was in the solid silence between the two of you, in the way he watched you, so close that you could almost feel his thoughts without a single word needing to be uttered. That look, that little action.

You couldn't hide from him.

You, who had always maintained control, felt how he crumbled at the softness of his gesture, at the implicit trust he offered. At how his hands, veiny and warm, took yours with an unspoken hush. You were trapped in his closeness and in his palpable presence. And worst of all, you wanted to stay there, caught in the nervousness of his look, in the subtle touch of his fingers.

You decided to speak. Or else you couldn't stand it any longer. “I should put in a beef about the dangers of champagne glasses.” You said trying to sound normal, calm. But the tension in your voice was so intense that you ignored it, "It was broken, hmm, I guess it's no big deal. It's probably not even deep."

“You're bleeding out here,” he chuckles, and the sound of his laughter, light but kind of warm, sneaks through the cracks in your conscience. You feel his thumb caress the palm of your hand, and the derision in his tone makes you laugh too. He clears his throat, before scanning his gaze around the bathroom for an aid kit. "You need to clean that. Or it'll get infected.”

“No, no. You don't need to ” you whisper, but you let his hand continue to hold you. “I'm fine, really...”

Spencer stopped in front of you, bent down slightly to look at your hand in more detail. “It does need to,” he replied in a slight murmur. "Superficial wounds can be much more dangerous than they appear. In fact, small cuts are more susceptible to infection than larger ones, because they may go unnoticed, but they leave a perfect entrance for bacterias. In this case, if you don't clean and disinfect it, Staphylococcus aureus bacteria are quite common, and that could lead to a serious infection."

You felt a little stunned. The amount of information he dumped on you so quickly left you somewhat entranced. However, the concern on his face was genuine. And it touched you.

Why did he have to look like that?

“Uh, I can't say I knew that.”

“Does it hurt?”

 “Just a bit.” You replied. It was true. But it hurt more that as he looked at you he kept stroking your hand with his thumb and each caress drove you crazy. “Any diagnostic, doctor?”

He laughed, and your heart skipped a beat. God. His smile was even more charming holding you that close. A pair of dimples growing in his cheeks and he effortlessly aroused sensations in you too primal to admit out loud.

“I'm not that kind of doctor,” he whispers, the hint of his smile still visible. “But I need to clean that up for you... It's... It's okay if I do?”

You nodded, not knowing what to answer. Her gaze slid across the bathroom coming across a small white box resting on the counter. He turned away from you for brief seconds and, though it was a flicker in time, you felt the emptiness he left. You missed his touch and felt pathetic. So simple. So insignificant. And yet he still managed to unsettle you

Why did his closeness make you feel exposed, vulnerable? You knew something between the two of you was changing, but was it something you really wanted? Or rather, something you could afford to want?

It didn't give you time to think as he stepped in front of you again and wiped a cotton ball with antiseptic. Taking your hand again, the cool sensation of the antiseptic with the warmth of his fingers pressing against you making a twisted contrast of what it was. It was soft. It was gentle. As if he feared to break you with the simplicity of his caress. He was exalted, you could tell by the way he was breathing through his nose and his chest was rising and falling in a continuous back and forth. You couldn't help but think how, for a second, it seemed like the rest of the world disappeared, and all that was left was him. Just him.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, breaking the silence. “I don't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

It was strange to hear him say that. Because how could he not know that discomfort was, in fact, what made you feel so alive? The vulnerability, the not knowing what was going on between you and the uncertainty you felt in his every gesture. It was all there, hovering between the two of you, and you weren't saying anything about it. You just held each other in this delicate balance that you longed to break.

“You don't.” you said quickly, "It's dumb. I probably wouldn't have done it. I'm not good at this stuff, the last time my cat scratched my whole arm and I'm pretty sure I made the scratches even worse."

Spencer looked up, and for a moment, his expression softened. “I just don't want you to think I'm invading your space,” he said, and the sincerity in his voice was like a soft punch to the chest.

Spencer curved his lips, barely a smile. He continued his slow, meticulous movements cleaning your wound with a precision that was hard to ignore. Every time his finger brushed your skin it was like lighting a thousand matches inside you.

 “This isn't so bad,” he murmured, as he carefully cleaned the area around the cut. “It could have been so much worse.”

“Well, hopefully I'm not bleeding to death,” you replied with a small touch of humor. The slight stinging in the wound when the antiseptic touched your skin was somewhat tolerable now, and his presence somehow made you feel calmer.

And, of course, you decided not to pay attention to the closeness of his face and that incipient beard that adorned it perfectly. All over his jaw, you had the urge to touch it and put the fingers of your free hand on the fabric of your dress as if it contained all those growing desires.

“Hopefully not” Spencer laughed, not looking away from your hand. "It's not that dramatic, but you know, some people faint over something as simple as this. The body's reaction to minimal pain can be interesting."

“Really? How?”

You knew the answer. But hearing him speak for you was a necessity now and you decided to take advantage of every second.

"The fear of pain and the physiological reaction is more prevalent than it seems, that's all kind of like a mind game. That it thinks you have something, when the damage is likely to be minimal.”

“And I assume that if there was anyone here passed out, it would be me.” you said, shaking your head and looking at the wound with mock concern. "Yeah, I should have guessed. I cannot tolerate pain.”

Spencer let out a genuine laugh, a laugh that made the air around the two of you feel less tense.

“Definitely,” he said with a laugh. “But don't worry, I'll keep an eye on you.”

“Good to know.”

He continued cleaning and gently placed a children's band-aid (from some cartoon you couldn't recognize) over your cut, now clean and out of harm's way. Were his eyes always this bright or was it the glare of the white lights? And his lips, his lips. Slightly splendorous from whatever he was drinking before he came in. You swallowed saliva, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks as he seemed to have scanned across your face and the bathroom was flooded by a couple of giggles that pretended to say a lot, but was nothing. It wasn't awkward, but that kind of silence that hovered over you and enveloped you in a still atmosphere that you countered with the rowdiness outside. You sat on the countertop, the coldness of the ceramic hitting your thighs hoping he wouldn't leave. You lay your head back in the mirror, and Spencer's head shorted out.

He didn't know how much more he was capable of taking, if he was fit to drown everything that came into his head when he saw through the mirror's reflection that curve of your back, smooth, perfect. The red dress tight to every curve fitting in the right places and that lipstick, lightly smeared across your lower lip. He put his hands in his pockets and swallowed thickly. Your eyes traveled down his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with nervousness and notoriety.

“You didn't seem to be enjoying yourself over there" you say amused, your voice tired. "I don't blame you. Teachers' humors are crap."

Spencer nods, standing in front of you. Your knee brushing against the fabric of his dress pants. "I usually enjoy theoretical physics jokes but there's a point where it gets repetitive and boring. If I'm honest, I was looking forward to getting out of there.”

The laugh you let out was soft, almost intimate, as if only he was meant to hear it. Spencer drank it in as if it were something sacred. His fingers, still warm from touching you, flexed in his pants pockets, trying to contain the absurd need to brush against you again. 

“Spencer Reid?” you repeated with an arched eyebrow, watching him with a vague smile as you leaned your head back against the mirror a little more. "You must have the highest tolerance for repetitive. You analyze it, dissect it. You find patterns in it, revel in it. I thought you were used to it.”

Spencer tilted his head slightly, tickled by your remark. His eyes roamed over your face with a scrutiny that made you hold your breath. He didn't seem to be looking at you out of mere habit anymore, it seemed he couldn't even help himself. You cleared your throat, but his closeness was brutal. He smelled like aftershave, so strong that the scent drugged you completely.

"Maybe you're right, but there are exceptions. There are always exceptions to the rule, no matter how much I'd rather abide by them." he said, this time turning to you and you swore your heart was going to jump out of your rib cage.

His hands slowly came out of his pockets, and he leaned lightly on the countertop to the side of you. His arm almost brushed your thigh and for an instant you thought he would do it on purpose, that he would trace the fabric of your dress with his fingertips. That he would dare. And you thought how good it would feel to be on his hands, long fingers and protruding veins, holding you like a longing.

“And is tonight one of those exceptions?” you asked, tilting your face toward him, watching him closely. 

His throat worked in a strained swallow. "I'm sure it is.”

A shiver ran down your spine. Your breathing got slower, deeper. Your inhibitions out of you. His knuckles, distracted, barely grazed your knee in a touch so light it might have gone unnoticed if it weren't for all your skin igniting in response. Spencer froze at his own boldness, but didn't immediately pull his hand away. Instead, he exhaled slowly through his nose, and his eyelashes lowered slightly as he looked back up at you. All content, his eyes dancing all over your face.

He didn't move. 

He didn't leave. 

The air in the bathroom seemed to thicken as Spencer leaned forward gently, closing the distance with torturous slowness as if to give your body time to react, to reject him. But you didn't. And you had no plans to either. Your back brushed against the mirror, the coolness of the glass seeping through the thin dress as Spencer's warmth enveloped you from the front. His hands continuing to rest on the countertop on either side of your legs, locking you in with devastating ease.

He was tense. You could see it in his jaw. The line of his throat working as he swallowed saliva with visible effort. Almost instinctively, you tilted your head, and mentally beat yourself up as you thought you could ignore or simply disregard everything that revolved around him because it was impossible. You hesitated on whether to do that thing that was killing you so much, to touch his face, to caress his cheek. Let him do something. His gaze made you breathless. Dark, intense. Fixed on you and only you. His dark, chocolate irises, a hazel hue that you could finally detail up close.

He had the most beautiful eyes you'd ever seen.

“Why do you keep avoiding me so much?” his voice was a whisper, but you felt it throughout your body. His breath was warm with a minty undertone, it brushed your mouth. "Did I...did I do something to bother you? I didn't say anything bad about you, if you were wondering. I have eidetic memory, I would remember if I was rude to you at any time.”

You found yourself caught between need and uncertainty. Your hands rested on your thighs, and you wanted him to push them away. Spencer saw it. He saw it in the way your eyelashes quivered in a flutter that sent shocks through his body, in how your gaze dropped fleetingly to his mouth before returning to his eyes, in the way your chest rose and fell too fast, too erratically. 

His knuckles brushed the fabric of your dress with calculated carelessness, a light touch on your right thigh that made everything in you tense with an internal jolt. There was no urgency in his movement. Only a torturous patience, an unspoken question in the way his skin tested yours. As if testing the ground.

A restrained sigh escaped your throat, almost inaudible, but he heard it. 

“You didn't do or say anything bad about me, Spencer.” you murmur, your voice sharp. "It was my thing. I make movies all the time in my head. I think I was just jealous.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. His knuckles still moving in a steady rhythm over the fabric of your dress, “Jealous? Why would you be jealous?”

Your tongue fleetingly moistened your upper lip. His gaze followed the movement with unsettling thoroughness, his fingers twitching subtly on the countertop. You were unconsciously tasting him. And it delighted you to watch his jaw clench.

“I guess you're too good to be real.” you let out an irony-laden laugh, "It's lame. Don't mind me. I actually thought you didn't like me."

“Why would you think that?” he sounded almost offended, incredulous at what you just said as he let his fingers trail southward away from the red fabric. It was silk, fine silk that hugged your thighs beautifully. His fingers were just as warm on your skin and you shivered as his caresses went up and down. Paulatine, subtle, but it made your hair stand on end. And the way he whispered your name... Almost like a longing held on his tongue, like a heavenly prayer. "I've done nothing but silently wanted you. If you only knew... How long I've been saving this. Keeping you. As if just looking at you was enough.”

Your lips parted, but the words stuck in your throat. As if every particle had stopped in time, leaving them suspended in that instant where nothing else existed except the way he touched you. His hand slid, slow, barely perceptible, but enough to set your skin on fire. His fingers traced invisible lines over your thigh with a devotion that left you gasping for breath, memorizing the texture of your skin, the way you reacted under his touch.

“I'm sorry,” you murmured, it was the only thing that could come out of your mouth. Your voice cracked, feeling the pressure building in your chest, in your belly, in every nerve ending in your body. 

A sound escaped from his throat. Low. Grave. As if the confession had managed to shake something inside him. 

His hands moved, with deliberate leisure, barely moving up the curve of your thigh before clinginging to the flesh. His torso was so close you could feel the heat radiating from him, the racing beat of his heart pounding in sync with yours.

"No, don't be sorry" his voice was a whisper, his lips against your temple. They were so close you could feel them, a temptation suspended in the air. The edge of his nose brushed yours, a touch so thin, so intimate, that a shiver danced down your back. "I guess it's my fault for not talking to you in the first place. But if you'll let me... I promise not to ask for more than you're willing to give. Because having you anyway is already more than I ever thought I deserved."

God. 

You couldn't think, not when he was there, so tangible, so immensely real, tearing down every barrier you'd ever built between the both of you. 

His fingers came up again, this time with less hesitation, brushing the inside of your thigh in a barely perceptible movement, but one that sent an electric whiplash up and down your spine. If you moved a little, just a little, he would brush the fabric of your panties.

"Spencer..." his name was a breath caught in your mouth, a plea, a surrender.

He took it. He took your exhalation and made it his own. He kissed you with the kind of awe with where someone touches something sacred for the first time. His mouth rested on yours in a brush that contained months of longing compressed into a single instant. So violently that your body tensed. His lips moved gracefully over yours and his hands squeezed the flesh of your thighs as if he was holding back from touching you further. At first it was slow, painfully slow, waiting for you to refuse. But you had no intention of it. You sensed how his tongue brushed your lower lip in an invitation to thrust inside you, and the sweet gasp that came from your mouth in delight entranced him. He sensed it in the way your fingers reached up to grasp at the lapels of his suit, clinging to him as if you were about to collapse.

Kissing Spencer was just how you imagined it would be. Addictive. Teeth and tongues in a rough dance, he was stunned by how you responded to his caresses. By how your hands stopped trembling and rested on the back of his neck, in his hair, pulling him closer to you till you melted into a lingering kiss. Spencer moaned against your mouth, a harsh, restrained sound that reverberated between the both of you, becoming a vibration that traveled down your backbone and spread in torrid heat throughout your body. His fingers, which until now had traced a contained path over superficial parts of your body, twitched over the skin of your thigh, sinking just barely into the soft flesh, as if he needed to hold on to something in particular to keep from twisting his grip. He was losing it completely.

The kiss became hungrier, more impatient. His tongue slid against yours in a fiery, deep caress as his other hand moved up the curve of your back, pressing you against him as if trying to memorize every inch of your body. You shivered from just feeling his touch on your back and how that slit in your dress gave him the opportunity to move down a little.

Every scrape of his lips against yours was a silent confession, every halting gasp a secret that slipped out without the need for words. 

Spencer wasn't doing anything by halves, and kissing you was the ultimate proof of that. He was feeling you with every fiber of his being. He was drinking you in with the devotion of a thirsty man finally finding water in the middle of a forsaken desert.

With every particle of his autonomy, with every heaving breath that escaped his throat and the way his body pressed against yours, drawing closer and closer until the air between you ceased to exist. His hand, the one that had traveled up the curve of your back, slid with exasperating slowness to the base of your nape, tangling in your hair. Wrapping itself around the strands of your locks.

As if afraid you might fade away.

His other hand went up another inch, and when his fingertips brushed the thin fabric of your panties, a fierce thrill ran through you, arching your back involuntarily at his touch. Wanting more. That he would turn his attentions upon you. He sensed it in the way your nails scratched his hairline, in how your thighs trembled under his caresses and the sudden gasp that escaped from your mouth, imprisoned in his. 

He pulled away just a few millimeters, just enough to be able to look at you. To see the slight tremble of your lips swollen by his kisses, the febrile shine in your eyes. His breath collided against your skin, warm and ragged, and in the thick silence of the bathroom, his breath seemed an echo of yours. 

The Adam's apple in his throat rose and fell in an effort to swallow saliva. 

"I can't believe we missed this just because we had misconceptions about each other." he whispered, as if he found it hard to speak, as if the words scraped his throat as they came out, "You don't know all you do to me."

"I think I have an idea." you said, stunned. With a slow smile curving your mouth as your hands went back up to his cheeks, his beard stinging your fingers, "But I think I'm starting to like it when you show me."

A low growl escaped his chest before he took your mouth again, and no fantasy could match how good it felt to be in his arms. His kisses were intoxicating, tongue everywhere, low moans sending shocks straight to the recent growing bulge in his pants. He held your jaw and claimed you. And you loved it. You melted into him. Your hands took advantage of traveling to his neck, his cheeks, his shoulders. You could spend hours like that. There was a latent tension in his muscles, in the visible struggle between his control and his desire, in the way his dark gaze devoured every detail of you. His hands were so big, gripping your face as you moved closer until you wrapped your legs around him, your thighs at his sides.

Spencer pulled away, he was a mess. His brown hair tousled and his lips glossy and swollen from you. His thumb traced a sweet line over your lower lip. "You're beautiful," he exhales briefly. "So beautiful.”

You pull him by the neck and kiss him again. Hopeless. Hungry. You were sure the denim of your lingerie was wet and that he could feel it. You move your hips moaning against his mouth from the friction of your center against his pants. Spencer noticed your need, and his knee began to rub you. Slowly, feeling you contract from the pleasure. Your dress rode up over your thighs and he pulled them almost all the way up, to the level of your hips, allowing himself to revel in the matching lace of your wet panties. Soaked. For him. His right hand slid to your chest and groped your dress, seeking to pull it down. You nodded in agreement still with your lips on his, letting him know you needed him. That he would touch you. It was a slight effort, but with blind skill he lowered the top of your dress.

"I'm surprised at how skillfully you did that," you whispered between kisses. You hear his laugh, hoarse and throaty, as his knee continued to rub your center, and you cried out. A low cry that you silenced by biting your tongue.

"If it makes you feel any better, I thought as soon as I saw you come in." he said resting his forehead with yours. Widening his hands below your knees, and when he stretched a little, the breath caught in his throat.

You looked like a gorgeous wreck. Your lipstick was running, your barely visible red lace bra made your hardened nipples noticeable and the feel of the cold made them hard as rocks. Spencer kissed you. Quick, fleeting, placing his thumb and forefinger against your right nipple and pressing it, making you turn your eyes. His touch sent tingles all over your body, no matter how small or large, the mere fact that he was touching you was driving you crazy.

His kisses descend to your neck, leaving soft bites in an everlasting path. He nibbles that spot on your pulse and you tremble. Your hand touching his curls as you gasped uncontrollably.

"You're..." he began, but the word was lost in your neck. He kissed the curve of your collarbone, the racing pulse in your throat. " You're devastating.”

He scattered sporadic kisses across your neck and suddenly you felt like you were out of orbit when his fingers found your panties. Stroking you over the fabric. You wiggled your hips in search of more friction and melted into his arms. He teased both of your nipples. He kissed you with such vehemence and eagerness. It was simply too much. Your eyes traveled to the bulge in his sweatpants, and you had that urge to touch him again. It was big, you deduced immediately by how the fabric of the pants fit painfully around the outline of his cock. Your hand barely grazed it as he pushed you away and returned his kisses to your lips. Tugging at them. Biting, sucking with impetus.

"Is that good or bad?" you asked curving your back.

Spencer looked up from his spot, his eyes burning with an intensity so pure it took your breath away. "It's all I want.”

He bent down with only one knee digging into the floor, and your brain lit up. You were aware of what he was about to do and you pressed your thighs together, almost reluctantly. In response, he put his hands on your knees and looked at you over his long eyelashes and his eyes sparkling from all the excitement that was only growing more and more. No, he had no right to look at you like that. To have you at his mercy with just a kiss. To look so needy for you. 

"Don't get shy now." he said, his fingers squeezing the hypersensitive flesh of your thighs to open them for him again. "I want to touch you, please, angel. Let me show you how much I've needed you. How much I've longed to touch you, please, can I?"

His plea turned you to plasticine. It was a desperation rooted from deep in your chest and the mere thought that he had imagined this precise scene in the past turned you on. That maybe he had it all planned out and now he was kneeling before you basically begging to touch you. Your hand reached out to his curls, stroking his brown, unruly hair and you nodded as your lips curved into a smile that Spencer was quick to retort.

"Of course, I wasn't going to let you leave me like that and then leave." you whisper in amusement, holding his face "You owe me.”

Spencer smiled at you, sweet, almost too sweet for the kind of look he gave you. Filled with desire, with something far, vastly stronger than you. His fingers groping the edges of your panties. Swiftly pulling them down to your ankles. You shuddered at the change in sensations, the gusts of wind setting your nipples on edge and his gaze fixed on your cunt enveloped you in a cloud too intense for your brain to function properly. He looked at you with dilated pupils, licked his lips slowly as if tasting you on it.

"I owe you, huh?" he said, pressing a kiss on your inner thigh. Then on the other. "I guess I should make it up to you, right? Is that what you want?"

You nodded frantically, but he bit down on a thin layer of skin and you gasped.

"Use your words, angel."

"I..." you doubted that your head could work correctly, his touch sent tingles through parts of your body unthinkable. "Fuck, Spencer. Just do it.”

"So desperate." he whispered, his tongue beginning to lick the wetness of your thigh. You swayed in response to the sensation, your back arching as your hands involuntarily moved up to your nipple, pinching and stimulating. You needed to feel him everywhere. It was disarming you. "Have you thought about this, do you think I don't notice when you look at me, when you sneak into my classes?”

He grabbed you by the knees and pulled you into his mouth with such speed that you didn't even have time to get used to the thrill. Fuck. His mouth was desperate, he licked your folds and his curls hide between your legs. You'd let him sleep right at dawn right there. You moaned his name so loud that you were thankful the music outside was so loud no one could hear, 'cause you needed that. You needed to scream how much you enjoyed it and when Spencer gasped in delight, your whole body jerked. A rough hand gripped your thigh, his thumbs pressing into your skin, holding you open just for him. To keep you from shivering. His tongue was relentless. He swirled with precision, sucked you with intensity and reserved kisses for your clit. You rolled your eyes and your hips followed in a back and forth motion over his mouth, surrendering yourself completely to the pleasure.

There was a heat swirling over your belly, over your bloated, hypersensitive center. You shuddered and Spencer hummed above you as you tightened his head making him bury himself in your pussy. You were drunk, it was vertiginous, too much to bear.

He pulled away slightly, his breathing ragged. You couldn't see him because he was still hiding between your legs but the image was projected in your head instantly. His lips glossy from your wetness, yearning for more. The fibers of his hair messy from your pulls "How did I not notice before that you are this beautiful?" he kissed one of your folds and your back flexed again. "That you taste so good…”

Your whole body jerked in pleasure as he sealed his lips on your clit. Sucking. Drinking. Opening his mouth wide and devouring every nerve of you like a starving man. As if you were his last entrée that he would hesitate to ravish for how exquisite it was. One hand came up and took away yours that was caressing your boobs, his now cold fingers closing on them. His hand was large. It went all the way around you and pressed your hard, overstimulated nipple between the middle of his fingers.

"Spencer," you moaned, your thighs trembling and his mouth devouring your cunt with vigor, "It's too much. Sensitive."

His mouth closed on you again, your hips still twitching at him. Pleasure engulfed you, your stomach contracted and you swore you saw nebulae and tiny stars the moment his tongue sucked slowly at your slit. It curved, it teased you, driving you to your limit.

"No, not yet" he groaned against your skin, but his fingers didn't falter for a single second. The bundle of stimulation cut your lungs out. "Just one, yes? Can you give it to me, angel?"

You barely nodded as he returned to devouring you. He wanted to take you to the last of your strength. Heat coiled in your stomach and your heart was about to burst out of your chest. Irregular beats that succumbed you in instant pleasure. His tongue licked in one last long line in your pussy that tore out a scream that you stifled by biting your lip. The release of your orgasm taking you elsewhere. You were trapped in ecstasy. Your limbs ached and you needed him more and more. His breath was warm as he pulled away and kissed your mons pubis, testing, seeing how much more you could take. It made your hair stood on edge.

"You had this well planned, hmm?" you whimpered in a murmur, feeling the sequels of your first orgasm shaking your body, "I bet you've thought about it too. About how good it would feel to have me in your hands, is that it? Did you want me so bad you couldn't do anything but imagine it?”

He growled in reply, and the sound made your blood rise. Time slowed down around you and for a moment you forgot there was a whole party going on outside. But all you could think about was that you had Spencer on his knees for you, his erection probably being too painful for him and yet he continued to kiss you and tasted all of your senses. The pressure of his lips was deep worship, in restrained cravings that would sooner or later explode into frenzy. Your head fell against the mirrored glass as now his fingers curved lightly to touch your cunt in search of more. He added a finger, then another, patiently opening you up. Your hips throbbed again from the overstimulation, your brow furrowing as he rose and began to spread kisses all over your face.

"You have no idea, I asked myself that every night I pretended I didn't care about you more than I should have." he murmured, his palm pressed against your clit and his bulge in his pants pressed against your thigh, in pursuit of a delicious friction you both needed. You were at his mercy completely. You lowered your head and rested your forehead on his shoulder, feeling his fingers move nimbly inside you. "And each time, the answer was yes. I wanted you so much that it hurts. Do you think you can give me one more, sweetheart?"

You nodded again and that sweet moan that came out of your mouth when he added a third finger made you see stars. Your eyes closed, you impaled yourself on his hand until you felt Spencer silencing as best he could his moans by stifling them with his own lips, still glistening from your arousal.

He continued touching you. Kissing you with ardor. And you questioned if you would have done this if you were both talking to each other instead of immediately deducing that you disliked each other. You were an idiot. Because from now on you didn't want to be in the hands of any man but Spencer. You didn't want to see another face. Neither did you want to go back to the normal course of your life when he had brought you to a point of no return that you never reached with anyone else.

"Just like that," he whispered, kissing that dangerous spot in the area of your racing pulse. Provocatively. "Fucking my hand. Gasping for me. You're so good. So beautiful. I can't get enough of you."

He bit back a slim layer of skin, and you moaned.

"Spencer..." you hissed, leaning your hips into him, "Fuck.”

You glimpsed his frown trying to concentrate on your own pleasure, but his hips bucked and he rubbed at your inner thighs, you could almost see some pre seminal liquid pouring out of his pants and the sight made you rush at his touch. His fingers curled, you grabbed him by the cheeks and kissed him as you bucked unconsciously and the surges of your second orgasm filled you up to your ears. Spencer gasped as you came in his hand, and he was precious. Beautiful, dark eyes, rosy cheeks and fully swollen, glowing lips. Your breaths hitched in unison as he pulled his hand away from you and you brushed back the strands of hair that clung to his sweaty forehead.

You give him a smile, tired, and his head does nothing but spin. At the need, at how good it felt to finally touch you and feel you collapse into him. At how masterful you perceived better than all the times he imagined what it would be like. A giggle escapes from his lips, pressing a kiss to your temple, his warm breath spreading over your skin, and his hand, almost by instinct, moved up your abdomen in a lazy rubbing tracing distracted circles. Now yours played with the hairs at the nape of his neck and you let yourself drift in the sweet silence surrounding you.

"Hmm," he whispered. "It took us longer to heal your wound."

You opened your mouth in an offended gesture, hitting him gently but you didn't have the strength for much. His body vibrated from his laughter, and you loved it. "I want to see you say that later. We'll see who gets the last laugh and it will definitely be me.”

Spencer looked at you with those deer-eyed eyes full of tenderness that your knees felt weaker. He left another soft kiss on your cheek and you hummed in delight at the gesture. Slipping your arms around his shoulders, hugging him. Melting into him.

"Whatever you say, angel." he said with his eyes closed. "We still have time."

It was as if the entire universe had shrunk to that instant. The feel of your skin against his effortlessly banishing everything you felt for him before. Of knowing he craved you as much as you craved him. His breath attached to yours, coupled in a quiet, slightly agitated rhythm, just enough to fill the bathroom with him.

You leaned your forehead against his shoulder, feeling the slow waves of his breathing, and for a moment you felt light. As if in that minuscule piece where nothing bad could reach you. As if he was the refuge you had always wanted to return to without knowing it.

"Do we have it?" you repeated softly, shyly, almost as a question to yourself.

Spencer nodded, his nose brushing against your temple."We have all the time in the world if you're with me.”

Your lips pursued his just because the words got stuck in your mouth, this time in a more chaste kiss. One that tasted of rest, of complicity. And your heart was beating so fast you could hear its beat rewinding in your ears.

"I like you so much," you murmured against his mouth, barely a whisper. "I reiterate that I'm concerned about all the effects you have on me.”

His hands traced slow figures on your back, the whisper of his voice lulling you low:

"Then let's be scared together. It's much safer for both of us, isn't it?"

And you did. You closed your eyes, sank into him... And, for the first time in a while, you didn't care what came next.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

so! you mentioned in the 'p0rn preferences' post that Gaz is not the one who jerks off the most in the 141, and I humbly ask you, who would that be?

I don't mean this as a request, just a little discussion, cause I feel like Soap would just be going at it at any chance possible, like a bunny. he probably doesn't care much if someone hears it, but that's just me thinking too much into it.

Who Jerks off the Most in the 141 + König

Warnings: 18+, Heavy Mentions of Masturbation, Male Masturbation, Implied Reader in Individual Headcanons, Accidental and Implied Voyeurism, Edging, Brief Mention of Injury, Men Who Moan <3, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except 'You'.

A/N: As per Anon's question (which I just had to turn into a post of its own) I present to you the list of the 141 members (and König) who jerk off from the most to least <3

Soap

I have to agree with you here, Anon - Johnny is most definitely the king of self love when it comes to the 141.

He doesn't much care where he is or who he's with; when he has to satisfy his needs, he'll do so.

Though, he'll spare whoever's with him the sight of watching him throwing his head back, trying to stifle his moans behind gritted teeth whilst the wet sound of his hand slipping up and down the length of his shaft fill the room.

Unless they want to.

For one reason or another, he's nigh-insatiable when it comes to his libido, and the fact that his stamina affords him the luxury of beating himself off until his cum is practically translucent doesn't help.

The slightest thing can set him off.

Someone brushing past him ? Hard.

Someone stroking his ego a little too enthusiastically ? Bricked up.

He sees something that's shaped to be a little too curvy or phallic ? Stiff as a pole.

He remembers something mildly suggestive you did three years ago in that restaurant ? He's going to the Horny Realm.

Yes, his teammates have complained about his incessant moaning-come-grunting-come-whimpering through all hours of the night, his voice contorting through a spectrum of desperation and Johnny always ending up spent and overstimulated by the time the sun comes up.

And then he's ready to do it all again the second night touches the horizon line, giving his teammates a knowing smile when he walks into the room sporting nothing else save for a pair of boxers and a monster that looks to be trying to tear itself free from them.

Gaz

Dude's young. Of course he's throttling that rooster on a nigh-daily basis.

The only reason he's not at it as much as Soap is because he likes to believe he still has a few threads of his self-restraint intact.

He doesn't.

Especially when it comes to you (regardless of whether you're dating yet or not).

But he doesn't need to know that.

Honestly, the only thing that separates him from Johnny's unmatched libido is the fact that it takes a little more than the slightest provocation to get Gaz going.

Albeit, that line is a thin one.

If he so much as accidentally sees something explicit for upwards of three seconds, he's hard.

The only advantage of his need for satisfaction is the speed with which he can achieve it.

He and Johnny actually timed each other once to see who could get off the fastest.

Gaz won. Though, only by a slim margin.

Needless to say, that made for a rather interesting conversation with the Captain when he walked in on two of his best soldiers sat panting on the edge of their cots, an almost-translucent spray spattered across their stomachs, eyes half-lidded and hazy.

Ghost

The third-in-line for the Throttle Throne is none other than our beloved Ghost.

Unlike Johnny and Gaz, Ghost is more likely to leave himself alone at the first sign of trouble, toughing it out until he can will his mind to less lustful pastimes.

He won't make his jacking off known to anyone, either, often doing it in the shower where the water beats down so harshly that no sound can be heard for the water's fall.

That, and he's a master at keeping his voice low, no matter the circumstances.

More often than not, Simon makes quick work of jerking off purely because it’s a means to an end. However, if it’s you he’s thinking of, he’s much more likely to take his time — to immerse himself in the fantasy of your body around his, taking him so well in one capacity or another. Fucking yourself dumb on his cock.

During these times, he’s thorough — much more likely to edge himself, to throw his head back and growl between gritted teeth, to savour the sensation coiling in his stomach, his balls growing tight.

Otherwise, he’ll stroke one out as quickly as he can, getting back to business as usual.

And to look at him, on the surface, you'd never know that he just spent the last three minutes rubbing one out in the bathroom (yes, he is also a contender for first place in the 'Who Can Jack Off The Quickest Competition', but he'll never allow Johnny or Gaz the luxury of witnessing his unprecedented skill; that's for your eyes only).

Until he corners you, breathing down your neck, scolding you for tempting him - a man whose restraint lies only in his ability to hold off from reducing you to an exponential reflection of his prior state, breathless and covered in fluids.

König

Have you seen the size of that thing ? Man should be in the olympics for being able to throw that weight around.

Similarly to Ghost, König only gets himself off when it's absolutely necessary.

Only if he doesn't have you lying around to help him, of course.

Though, he lets himself have a bit of fun with it. Especially if it's been a tough day.

He's vocal, too. Though he tries not to be.

He just can't help it. Days' - maybe even weeks' - worth of unspent adrenaline and semen is hardly any way for a soldier like König to go about his life. So, he expels it in the privacy of quite literally any isolated space he can find.

König is not an adventurous spirit by any means when it comes to self pleasure, but when needs must, he's willing to shoulder the weight of the prospect that someone on his team could walk in at any second and catch him spraying his stomach or the wall white with, let's face it, thick ropes of cum.

Hong-Jin's actually caught him doing that before now.

That's actually how the two became friends: Horangi heard König grunting in the store cupboard and, knowing how stubborn his Colonel was with letting others know when he was injured, sought him out. Wanted to offer his help.

Catching Colonel König in the act of throwing his head back whilst growling the name '(Y/N)' into the darkest corner of the room was, suffice it to say, not what Horangi had been expecting.

Price

You just know he's cool with it. And by 'cool', I mean incredibly intentional, controlled, and not ravenous in the ways our other favourite military princesses are.

Sure, Price has gotten hard on the job a few times.

Who hasn't ?

But thanks to his level head, unwavering devotion to his work, and absolute refusal to acknowledge that he did, in fact, get a little bit of a chub during a shoot-out, he's managed to gain control over every facet of his body.

Until he comes home to you, of course.

Until he's able to loom over you like an omen and run his hands down your sides, stopping at your hips and pressing kisses that become more open-mouthed the further down the side of your neck he dips.

Pressing his hips into yours. Something demands your attention.

There have been very few occasions where a cold shower wasn't a quick enough fix for him.

When the days of having you milk him are too far out of sight, he's had to suffice with his own hands before now. Had to imagine - remember - what yours felt like in his place, your lips curled up as he gripped the chair arms, breathless as he moaned into the warm tones of your shared apartment.

But don't worry ! He'll be sure to catch you up on everything you've missed while he's been away once he returns.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad Tumblr Backup Account

[majoryeager104]

Totally Accurate Katsuki Bakugo Headcanons

I do one of these for every character I write frequently, so consider this his initiation into my writing schedule

Katsuki Bakugo x Reader + generally random hcs

Warnings: language, but that’s to be expected with Katsuki

✦••······················••✦•······················•✦••······················••✦

His hygiene is immaculate

everything about him is tbh

except his personality haaaaaa-

but yeah, he has a skincare routine, hair masks, he’s on it

why do you think he goes to sleep so early? He’s looksmaxxing

oh

but don’t ask him about any of this

dont bring up hygiene at all

he will yell at you

“what do I stink or somethin’??”

and if not that, then its

“Yeah I take care of myself, idiot. you got a problem with that?”

he’s so defensive 😔

so tsundere

but once ur dating then his favorite pastime is falling asleep with his head in your lap

another random thought I had with my brain (crazy)

is that he lets you make tiny braids in his hair

And keeps them in

like hiccup in httyd with the random braids here and there that are absolutely from Astrid

Well these are from you

also

back onto hygiene but he gives you skincare tips and product recommendations

and like

lowk

he’s always right

if you’ve got a problem w ur skin and he gives a recommendation

try it

bc he’s always right

its almost as if he’s spent hours reading about this stuff online late at night

crazy

mooooving on

get it? Mooooo?

Bc this man loves animals

secretly ofc don’t tell nobody

But he loves cows for some reason

understandable but random

like if he’s on his phone late at night he’s not texting other ppl

hes looking at highland cows frolicking in a field

and if you ask why?

”bc fuck you that’s why”

too defensive

but after you start dating he’s absolutely letting you watch with him

its so random but I know for a fact he loves highland cows

its just… it just feels right

but maybe im projecting

so ill move on

his most psychopath behavior

is that when he stubs his toe on something

Hes got like

no reaction

not even a single curse word

hes always yelling but the one time it’s excusable and he literally does not care

its kind of unsettling

god I hate him

i want to throw him off the side of a building and drop an anvil after him

pookie bear <3

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[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 TWO SLOW DANCERS, LAST ONES OUT

FEATURING: osamu dazai

SUMMARY: your one day of pretend with dazai is over, but something isn't right. there's more going on than what he's led you to believe, and you're desperately trying to figure out what it is before it's too late.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: WAHHHHHHHHHHH PMREADER BEAST AU IS OFFICIALLY DONE. CAN U GUYS BELIEVE IT. what was supposed to be a 15k one-shot turned into a 40k monster </3 one day i will learn to be casual about things, but i fear it is not today </3 and especially not with beast au. wahhhhhh guys this was such a pleasure to write & share with you all, thank you all for bearing with me throughout it and showing me so much love. i put my full heart into this one :') and a special thank u to miss river & one of my irls who beta'd this whole monster for me and cleaned it up for you all to read. if you guys had seen the number of commas that river had to fix for me naifhsaiudfhsdu HUMBLING TRULY. anyway i love the both of you so so very deeply this couldn't have been done without you. as always, reblogs appreciated! MWAH love you guys <33

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, beast!dazai, tragedy, angst, canon compliant.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: mcd (suicide, canon), hints toward suicidal thoughts at the end.

SEE: TWO SLOW DANCERS SERIES MASTERLIST

The next morning, the two of you dress in silence. 

You don’t know what to say—you don’t even know if you have anything to say. Or you suppose that’s not true, you have a lot to say, but most of it you’re sure will just be answered with more ‘I can’t’s and you just don’t want to deal with the disappointment. Plus, Dazai seems to be done with whatever day of ‘weakness’ he had yesterday. His expression has been cold and withdrawn since he woke up an hour ago—he’s hardly even spared you a glance. 

He slept well, though. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was the first time he’d slept through the night in months—years, even. The moment he rested his head back on the pillow, one arm curled around your waist, Dazai was out for the night. He ended up shimmying closer to you so that he could rest his head on your chest, breath even, expression peaceful for the first time in… too long.

You were not quite as lucky.

Your eyes are heavy as you button up your dress shirt. You spent the whole night awake, restless as you watched him sleep; hours were spent carding your fingers through his hair, relishing in intimacy and trust he hadn’t given you in years, and hours were spent with your fingers curled around a paper-knife he left on the nightstand, considering the drawbacks of putting it through his throat while he slept in your arms. 

You could’ve done it—you almost did do it. You had the tip of the small knife pressed to his pulse point for twenty minutes, fingers trembling, each breath he took making the sharp edge press deeper into his bandages. Dazai is usually a light sleeper, so you suppose it’s a testament to how tired he was and how much he trusts you that he didn’t even stir with a knife against his throat. 

You weighed out the pros and cons. You would get away with it; who would even try to punish you for it? The Flags? Itou or Klaus? Chuuya? Over half of the upper echelon wants him dead, and the other half has no love left for him after he murdered Mori—Dazai is alone; he has no friends left, and he has no allies. The only reason people put up with him as boss is because of how the Mafia has prospered under his reign, and that will only be enough for so long. There are already whispers of incompetence and madness because of his recent decisions with the Armed Detective Agency. So, not only would you get away with it, but you’d be rewarded for it, you’d be given the seat and the scarf and full control over the Port Mafia. The worst you’d deal with is Chuuya’s irritation because he wanted to be the one to put Dazai down. 

And Dazai deserved it, didn’t he? After the four years of hell he put you through, after murdering Mori—Dazai deserves to die, and you deserve to be the one to do it, Chuuya would understand that. Dazai treated him like shit too, but it was nothing like what he put you through. He’s only as insistent as he is now about being the one to do it because he doesn’t think you can handle it. You gave him better than he deserved—a whole day of being able to pretend nothing changed between the two of you, being able to pretend his actions didn’t ruin what you had with him… it was more than he deserved by all accounts.

You almost don’t know why you didn’t go through with it.

“What are you thinking?” he finally asks, voice still rough with sleep, all of the warmth from yesterday gone. 

You look at him from the corner of your eye as you pull your suit jacket on. He’s not looking at you—he’s adjusting his scarf, making sure the ends are even in the mirror. His lips are curled down, bandages back over the left side of his face, and when you don’t respond immediately, his gaze flickers up to look at your reflection. You immediately look away.

“That I regret not putting a knife in your throat last night,” you tell him flatly. 

Dazai lets out a noise, you’re unsure if it’s a laugh or a scoff. You stiffen when you hear him padding across the bedroom in your direction. You can feel his presence looming behind you, fingers brushing over your hips before he lifts a hand to your chin, tilting your head back enough to force you to look at him over your shoulder. His touch is light, but it’s so different from the gentle caresses from last night that it sends shivers down your spine. It’s almost… you aren’t even sure how to describe it—oppressive, possessive, taunting? It’s light, but somehow the weight of it is unbearable—like he knows he’s going to say something to upset you and he’s waiting for you to react just as he wants.

You’re back to the mind games and power plays.

“You’re so quick to say such cruel things,” he murmurs, breath warm against your skin. His eye glints with something unreadable—amusement, maybe, like he knows something you don’t—but all you care about is the confirmation that yesterday is really over. You know that for sure now with him looking at you like this. “But you always come crawling back to me, don’t you?” 

You slap his hand away hard, but he doesn’t flinch.

“Fuck you,” you say coldly. “Do you want to know why I didn’t?” 

Dazai tilts his head to the side, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. His gaze is half-lidded as he looks over you, but he finally raises his eyebrows, beckoning for you to speak.

“Because last night, I finally realized how fucking miserable of an existence your life is,” you tell him, but you don’t find any pleasure in the way he draws back ever so slightly. “Death would be too easy for you.”

For a moment, the air between you stills, thick with something neither of you wants to name. Dazai’s expression is unreadable, but you don’t miss the flicker of pain that crosses his face. Just as quickly as you catch it, it’s gone, replaced with that infuriating smirk.

“Oh?” he hums, rocking back on his heels. “And here I thought it was your inability to let go of the past kicking in again. You’re too fond of me to ever hurt me.”

“Fond of you?” you scoff, taking a step closer, ignoring the way your heart races when he doesn’t move away. “What is there to be fond of, Dazai? Chuuya is right, you’re a walking corpse. I haven’t been fond of you in years, I’ve been mourning you.”

You don’t mean the words; you’re just looking to hurt him, but his expression shifts again, something raw in his gaze as he looks down at you that he can’t quite push away fast enough. Your stomach twists, but before you can say anything, his sharp grin returns. “Ah, and yet, you stayed. How many times did I give you the opportunity to leave?”

You shake your head and move to walk past him. You can’t stay in this place any longer—it’s suffocating, too much of a reminder of what could’ve been. Before you can get far, his hand darts out to grab your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. 

You turn your head to the side to look at him from the corner of your eye.

“Just out of curiosity,” he finally asks, a cruel edge to his voice that has you stiff, “how much of yesterday did you actually believe?”

His words and the implication of them don’t cause the pain that he clearly wants to make you feel. They can’t, not with the way you can feel his fingers trembling around your wrist. You look down at them pointedly and then drag your gaze back up to his face. Dazai snatches his hand back and shoves it into his pocket, but the damage has already been done.

“Not even you’re that good of a liar, Dazai,” you say quietly. Before you can change your mind, you turn to face him, lifting your hand to cup his cheek. His lashes instinctively flutter shut as he leans into your touch; the immediate reaction only serves to prove you more. “I don’t regret yesterday, but I hope you do.”

Dazai’s throat bobs beneath his bandages as he looks down at you. He looks young suddenly, even with the black cloak acting as a shield and Mori’s scarf hanging around his neck. He looks like a kid who knows he’s done something wrong but doesn’t know how to fix it. His lips part slightly, then press together again, as if he wants to say something but can’t find the right words. The usual playful glint in his eyes has dulled, replaced with uncertainty, fear even. 

“I should,” he replies, voice hoarse. “I really should, but I’ve always been too selfish when it comes to you. I’m sorry.”

You exhale, thumb running over his cheekbone gently. “I wish I could hate you.”

Dazai’s lips curl up into a small, wry smile. “Me too.”

Your hand drops from his face as you look away, gaze lowering to the ground. “We should go.”

Dazai lets out a quiet hum of agreement, following you out of the bedroom and to the front door. As you step outside, the early morning air is crisp, biting against your skin. The world feels too quiet as if it knows the weight of what happened between you and Dazai. He walks a step behind you, subdued.

You pause when you see that there are two cars waiting outside, your throat tight. If you’re not going back to headquarters together, then… You can’t help the wave of panic that starts to claw at your chest when you realize what that means. You look back at him and ask too quietly, “Are you… sending me away again?” 

His expression shifts into a softer one when he sees the genuine fear that crosses your face. His lips curl up into a small smile, and he reaches out to brush the back of his fingers against your cheek. 

“Just for a meeting,” he says to ease your panic, voice low and soothing, fingers lingering against your face as if he’s reluctant to pull away. “The Family reached out, wanted us to send someone to Rome to meet with them. Didn’t want to disclose why over the phone.”

Your brows furrow. “Goldoni reached out to you?” you ask suspiciously, wondering why he wouldn’t have just reached out to you instead. 

Dazai raises his eyebrows. “I am the boss,” he replies dryly, amused. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

You frown but decide not to press any further, letting it go with a shake of your head. You look back over to the cars—Albatross and Iceman are in one, two of Dazai’s personal guards are in the other.

“Itou and Klaus are already at the airport getting things ready,” Dazai answers your unspoken question. “Albatross and Iceman will escort you there.”

“Chuuya has a mission in Tokyo today, Lippmann is filming in Nagoya,” you say quietly, watching Dazai’s face carefully for any flicker of a reaction. “Who is going to be back at headquarters with you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” he says, much to your displeasure. When he sees the flinty expression cross your face, he smiles. “Atsushi-kun and Kyouka-chan will be there. So will Kouyou-kun and Piano Man. I’ll be fine.”

You’re still unsettled; something about it isn’t sitting right with you as you turn your attention back to the two cars. You take a deep breath, trying to shake off the unease creeping up your spine. Dazai is many things—careless isn’t usually one of them. He’s the smartest man you know, every action he takes is perfectly calculated. If he says he’ll be fine, then logically, you know he will be.

But logic doesn’t soothe the pit in your stomach.

“Fine,” you say at last, though it’s clear you don’t mean it. You step toward the car where Albatross and Iceman are waiting, but before you get down the front steps of the porch, Dazai speaks again.

He says your name. His voice is light, almost teasing, but there’s an underlying weight to it that makes you pause. When you glance back, his expression is unreadable, dark eye giving away nothing as he stares at your face, almost like he’s trying to memorize the picture of you beneath the early morning sun.

“What?” you press after a moment when he doesn’t say anything else.

“Will you… kiss me one last time?” he asks, his voice raspy and his gaze flickering with uncertainty as he looks down at you, fingers twitching at his side.

Your breath catches at the request, and for a second, all you can hear is the faint rustling of the trees, the distant chirp of a bird somewhere overhead, the engines of the two cars waiting for the two of you running. The morning light is soft, golden, and his eye looks like a pool of honey beneath it, gentle and inviting, warm. 

You swallow, heart stuttering in your chest. One last time. He watches you carefully, waiting, fingers curling slightly at his sides as if he wants to reach for you but doesn’t dare. You’re acutely aware of the four pairs of eyes trained on you from inside the waiting cars.

You could say no. You should say no. 

Yesterday is over, you’ve already given him more than he deserves.

But you step forward, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body. His breath hitches, the soft expression on his face shifting to something closer to yearning. You barely breathe as you reach up, fingers brushing lightly against his jaw as you tilt your face toward his.

Neither of you close the distance for a moment. You stand there, lips just almost brushing, dizzy with the feeling of sharing each other’s air. You finally lean in that last bit, lips grazing his. The kiss is soft, hesitant at first, and then he exhales shakily, pressing his lips firmly against yours. He shudders as your hands slide up to thread your fingers through his hair, kissing you with a type of aching desperation that makes your chest tighten. His hands find your waist, fingers digging into your skin like he’s afraid to let go. Like the moment is slipping through his fingers even as it happens. 

When you finally break apart, his forehead rests against yours, breath uneven. His fingers linger on your waist, reluctant to let go.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just close your eyes, willing away the sudden tears that spring to them. You don’t even know why you want to cry—maybe because it feels too much like a formal goodbye, that this is Dazai telling you that things will never be the way they were again, and he needs you to let go.

“I love you,” you tell him quietly, voice cracking.

Dazai lets out a shaky breath, eye sliding shut as he finally pulls away. His hands drop to his side limply, and you pull yours to your body, wrapping your arms around your waist as you look up at him. 

“I know,” he whispers. “You shouldn’t. I’m sorry. I love you, too. Always.”

You make your way over to the car, but before you can open the door, Dazai speaks again.

“I—” he starts to say, and when you look back at him, there’s a conflicted expression on his face that makes you concerned. “I’ll miss you.”

You hesitate. “I’ll miss you too. See you in a few days.”

A smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes tugs at the corner of his lips, but he doesn’t say anything more. You slide into the car, shutting the door behind you. Neither Albatross nor Iceman says anything as you get settled in the back, your chest feeling impossibly heavy as you stare down at your lap.

“I didn’t understand,” Iceman says after a moment, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“You still don’t understand,” you reply tightly, swallowing the lump in your throat as your gaze flickers up to the rearview mirror. Dazai hasn’t budged from his spot on the steps, lips curled up into a small smile as he watches you pull away. “You can’t understand.”

“I know,” Iceman agrees quietly as Albatross drives down the long driveway of the beach house, “but I understand enough to know that I was wrong.”

You don’t reply, resting your head against the window as you stare into the side mirror until Dazai finally disappears from your line of sight. You don’t see the way his smile fades as soon as the car turns out of view, but that unsettling feeling returns, curling deep in your stomach like a warning that you can’t quite decipher.

You exhale slowly, trying to shake it off, and prepare to meet Itou and Klaus at the airport. It’s more important for you to figure out what this meeting with the Family is going to be about before you get there, but the further you get from Dazai, the bigger that pit in your stomach gets.

———

Klaus has been insufferable since the plane took off. He’s excited to be going back to Europe—it’s his first time back since you brought him back to Yokohama with you three years ago. Every five minutes, he’s asking if you guys can go to Munich after business is handled with the Family, and you don’t know how to tell him no without feeling like a bitch, so you keep giving Itou pleading looks to make him be the bad guy, but the man has the audacity to blatantly ignore you, whistling as he looks out the window. 

He’s calmed down for the most part now, though. He’s lounging back across the seats behind you and Itou, playing on his phone while you guys try to theorize why the Family wants to meet so suddenly. You’ve been dancing around the subject of what happened yesterday, and you know he wants to ask because he keeps side-eyeing you but just can’t figure out how to go about it. 

“Just ask, god,” you finally say irritably when Itou gives you another long side eye before dramatically sighing. “Stop pretending to be coy.”

Itou lights up like a kid in a candy shop, straightening in his seat before leaning forward, green eyes gleaming. “Tell me what happened yesterday. You were with him, weren’t you?”

You roll your eyes, distantly noticing that Klaus stopped tapping away at his game and is probably eavesdropping. You shift in your seat, trying to decide what exactly you want to say—neither of them are particularly fond of Dazai. Klaus especially dislikes him and doesn’t even really try to hide it when the two of them are face to face. So, you have to put in an effort to ensure that Klaus never has to go up to his office, that way you don’t have to deal with the repercussions of him disrespecting the boss to his face. Itou isn’t quite as upfront with his feelings about Dazai, but you know and that’s why you also know that in spite of his gossip mongering attitude, he wants you to tell him that his suspicions are wrong because he doesn’t like you spending time with him. 

“Why do you even care?” you finally ask flatly. “You already know the answer.”

As you expect, disappointment flashes across Itou’s face, and Klaus lets out a scoff of disgust, hanging above your seat to intrude on the conversation. You shake your head and look back down at your phone, frowning when you realize you still don’t have a response from Goldoni. It’s still the middle of the night back in Italy, but you’re becoming increasingly more concerned about all of this—the disconcerted feeling you’ve had since the beach house has only become more intense with each moment away from Dazai.

“I want to hear it from you,” Itou says flippantly, leaning back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest. “What happened?”

“Yeah, what happened?” Klaus parrots, tossing a leg over the other seat so he can climb over to sit next to you. He leans in obnoxiously before he’s even fully climbed over and says, “Tell us.”

“Yeah,” Itou agrees with a smug smile. “Tell us.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Oh?” you question with a smile that neither of them trusts from the way they exchange looks with one another. “You want to hear about how good he fucked me?” 

Klaus recoils immediately, freezing mid-climb, knee awkwardly bent over the seat, and Itou stares at you aghast, like you’ve personally betrayed him.

“Gross,” Klaus gags, not even bothering to sit down next to you, going right back over the seat into his own area of the plane. He spits something else out in German that you can’t quite make out before sneering at you and saying, “You’re so disgusting. God. Don’t look at me, I can’t even stand the sight of you.”

“What is wrong with you?” Itou demands, looking thoroughly perturbed as he turns his attention back to the window. “That was so unnecessary.”

You laugh, delighted by their reactions. “But you asked,” you say sweetly, resting your chin on your hand. “You wanted details.”

“Not those details,” Klaus snaps at you from the far end of the plane, clearly trying to put as much space between the two of you as possible. “Obviously.”

“I was thinking more like, where did he bring you? Why did he bring you somewhere other than his office? Not—” He gestures vaguely, looking genuinely disturbed. “Not whatever nightmare you were about to unleash on us.”

Your smile softens as Itou rubs harshly at his eyes, still thrown off by your comment. You sigh as you look down at your lap. “I don’t know. It was… weird. He was acting weird.”

Itou looks up at you again, frowning. “How so?” 

“I… I don’t know, I can’t describe it,” you say quietly, shaking your head.

You won’t explain it. How are you supposed to explain the stuff he was saying without him sounding insane? You trust Itou and Klaus with your life, but that’s exactly the problem. Their loyalty has never been to the Port Mafia, it’s been to you. They’re already of the opinion that Dazai is bad for you, you don’t need to fan the flames with information that could confirm all of the rumors circulating about Dazai’s deteriorating mental state. 

Dazai doesn’t need more people working against him right now, so until you can figure out exactly what he meant at the beach house, you’re going to keep the information to yourself. 

 Klaus has drawn closer again, standing in the aisle next to your seat. He frowns, uncharacteristically serious, “Why not? What did he do?” 

You hesitate, fingers tightening in your lap. “Just… off,” you say, knowing it’s not enough but not sure how else to put it. “Like he wanted to tell me something, but he wouldn’t. Or couldn’t.”

“That bastard never has an issue running his mouth,” Klaus mutters, ignoring the flinty look you give him. “What? It’s true.”

“Watch your mouth,” you tell him flatly, picking at your nails. 

He isn’t entirely right—Dazai never has a problem running his mouth when it serves his interests, but he’s notoriously prone to withholding information from people when it doesn’t. You’ve known since the day you met him that there was something… odd going on with him, that he doesn’t tell you everything, but the things he was saying back at the beach house… they just didn’t make sense. You couldn’t understand the jumbled explanations he gave you, so there was no way anyone else would.

Itou leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. 

“Did he hurt you?” His voice is soft, but there’s a dangerous edge beneath it—one that reminds you just how serious he can be when it comes to you. Sometimes, you forget just how ruthless he is, how easily he’ll turn to violence if he thinks you’re in danger. Klaus might be the louder of the two and quicker to act, but Itou is the one who follows through without hesitation. Of all of the members of the Port Mafia, he’s the one with the most blood on his hands—more than Iceman, more than even Chuuya. 

“No,” you say immediately. “No, he didn’t. He—he just… He said things. Things I don’t really understand yet.”

Itou and Klaus exchange another look, the kind that makes your stomach twist. They don’t trust Dazai, and you can’t even blame them for it.

“And you’re not going to tell us what those things were,” Itou sighs with a frown, but he doesn’t push more than that.

You shake your head. “Not yet.”

Klaus rolls his eyes but changes the subject as he nods down to your phone. “Goldoni responded.”

You sit up straight in your seat, turning your attention down to your phone. Itou shifts in the seat across from you, leaning forward as he waits for you to read the message. You almost fumble as you open your phone; the unnerved feeling that’s been clinging to you since you left the beach house returns so suddenly that it almost makes you sick.

Goldoni: We don’t have a meeting. Did I miss something? 

“Well?” Itou asks, but his voice is distant, muffled, like it’s coming from underwater. Your ears ring as your eyes track over the words over and over again, trying to figure out if you’re reading them correctly. “What did it say?”

No meeting? But then why—

You feel sick to your stomach as you force yourself up to your feet. A cold wave of nausea crashes over you, head swimming, and Klaus has to steady you. His lips move—he’s saying something—but his words are lost in the deafening thrum of your pulse pounding in your ears. You blink down at your phone, fingers tightening around it as if the message might change if you stared hard enough.

Dazai lied.

But why?

“We need to get back to Yokohama,” you breathe out, voice hoarse and uneven. “Right now. We need to go now.”

“What?” Klaus demands, disgruntled, but concerned more than anything else. “What’s going on?” 

“Just breathe for a second,” Itou tries to soothe you, but your heart is racing out of your chest, the dark claws of dread ripping you open. “Breathe, what’s going on?”

But you can’t breathe. Not when your stomach is twisted in knots, not when your mind is racing through the implications at a dizzying speed. Your thoughts are unraveling, and panic is clawing its way up your throat, heart hammering against your ribs erratically.

Dazai is moving pieces.

He sent you, Klaus, and Itou to Europe.

He made sure Chuuya was out of the city.

Lippmann is up in Nagoya.

Iceman and Albatross are occupied all day with missions.

Are Kouyou and Piano Man even at base? Atsushi and Kyouka? Or was that a lie, too?

It’s not a coincidence, not chance—nothing ever is with Dazai Osamu. 

He planned this. He’s clearing the building out of all of the Mafia’s most capable members, all of the people who protect him. 

But why? What is he trying to do?

Only one answer comes to you—your hand flies to your mouth to hold back the nausea that suddenly pushes at your throat. 

“There’s no meeting with Goldoni,” you gasp, stumbling in the direction of the cockpit. Your body is moving solely on instinct, driven by fear. “He lied. We need to get back to Yokohama right now.”

Itou pushes past you to get to the pilot, not wasting any more time, and Klaus leads you back to a chair to sit down before you collapse. Your mind races, trying to piece together answers, dragging you through every interaction you’ve had with him the past two days, a whirlwind of fragmented moments flying around you. The lingering looks, the flashes of everything he refuses to speak in his eyes, the way he cried after he called you up to his office. The unusual tenderness, the beach house, all of the apologies, all of the regret, all of the refusals when you begged him to explain.

You’ll never forgive me.

You still don’t understand, I hope you never do.

You were never supposed to be the price of this.

I’m scared. I’m so scared for what comes next.

I knew how things were going to end from the beginning.

I tried to rid myself of you to make things easier on both of us.

How did it take you so long to realize? 

Your hand flies to your mouth as you gag, vision blurring—you should’ve realized, you know Dazai. You knew something was up, it never should’ve taken you so long to figure this out. If you hadn’t been blindsided by everything at the beach house, caught up in the fleeting illusion of everything that could’ve been, maybe you would’ve understood sooner.

“That’s why he brought me there,” you gasp, trying to rock back and forth to calm yourself down as horror sinks into your chest. “That’s what yesterday was about. It wasn’t—he wasn’t—it was a distraction. It was to distract me. We’ll never get there in time.”

You can text Iceman and Albatross to go back, but Chuuya won’t look at his phone until his mission is complete. Dazai knows this—he planned this, he counted on it—and you’re sure he also accounted for you putting together that there isn’t actually a meeting in Rome with Goldoni, which means—

Which means whatever Dazai is doing, it’s already started, and you’re rapidly running out of time to stop it.

———

Headquarters is a mess by the time you, Klaus, and Itou arrive. The air is thick with gunpowder and the acrid scent of burning rubber. Muffled shouts echo from inside the building, and the crack of gunfire ricochets through the parking lot. Albatross and Iceman are in the parking lot shooting at an enemy you can’t see, crouched behind a line of abandoned cars, Chuuya hasn’t even read your text yet, you don’t know where Kouyou and Piano Man are, you don’t know where Atsushi and Kyouka are, you don’t know where Dazai is. He hasn’t read any of your texts either, and every passing second has your heart crawling up your throat.

“What’s going on?” you demand, yelping as Albatross reaches out to drag you undercover with him and Iceman. You hit the ground hard, barely catching yourself on one hand as bullets pepper the pavement inches from where you were just standing. Klaus and Itou follow quickly. “Al—”

“It’s the Armed Detective Agency,” Albatross snarls with a bitter expression, reloading his gun with quick, practiced movements. “I don’t know how the fuck they got inside headquarters. We can’t get in—every time we manage to take one down, that fucking doctor of theirs heals them right back up. They’re holding us at the entrance while their other members do… whatever the fuck they’re doing in our base. We don't—”

You go still. Albatross doesn’t notice your reaction, but Iceman does. His sharp gaze flickers to you, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Yosano is… here?” you ask, suddenly feeling too cold. You don’t really know what you were expecting—you knew Yosano was with the Armed Detective Agency, and you figured that with the rising tensions, you’d be forced to see her soon, but you didn’t expect it to be this soon. “Now?” 

Iceman looks at you from the corner of his eye. “You know the Agency’s doctor?” 

“It’s a long story,” you say distantly, swallowing thickly as you try to push away all of the old insecurities that claw their way to your throat. You can’t think about any of this now, you need to get to Dazai. You still don’t know what he's planning, but you know it’s nothing good, and if your suspicions are right… “I need to get over to her. I can convince her to let me through.”

A lie. Or at least a gamble. Yosano has always been sentimental, and you’re betting your life on her feeling guilty over having left you behind on Tokoyami Island when she blew it up, but you can’t let your uncertainty show; otherwise, Itou and Klaus will never let you try. 

“You’re not going over there alone,” Itou immediately says, as you expect. 

“They won't let all of us through, Itou,” you say quietly. “We don’t know how many there are. We can’t waste time fighting. I need to get to Dazai now. I’ll have an easier time convincing her to let me through alone than all of us. She knows I’m noncombatant.”

“No,” Itou snaps, his voice low but firm. “We’re not splitting up. The moment you stand up, they’ll be shooting at you—”

“I’m not asking permission,” you interrupt coldly. “Don’t forget who’s the executive here.”

His jaw tightens. Klaus shifts beside him, uncertain, glancing between the two of you. Albatross swears under his breath. The tension is thick enough to choke on, and you’re becoming increasingly more desperate—time is passing too quickly, and you’re already out of it. 

“I don’t give a fuck if you’re an executive. I’m not letting you die for whatever fucked up scheme that bastard planned,” Itou spits at you. “You said yourself that he set this all in motion for whatever reason. You—”

“Let her go.” It’s Iceman who speaks up, expression grim as his gaze settles on you. “She knows the boss better than any of us. If she thinks she needs to get up there, then she’s probably right. I’ll cover you if they don’t stop shooting.”

Itou gives Iceman a betrayed look, but Iceman keeps his gaze trained on you. You think maybe this is supposed to be an apology for the argument that happened the other night. You nod at him in thanks.

You don’t give them time to change their minds. Before anyone can stop you, you brace yourself, inhale sharply, and then run right into enemy fire. You brace yourself for the pain—the bullets don’t immediately stop, one grazes your ear, another your bicep. It’s a miracle that you’re not struck in the chest or head. It’s an agonizing three seconds before the gunfire comes to a halt, and when it does, you almost wish that you had been shot because you turn your gaze to the doors of headquarters, and Yosano Akiko is standing there staring at you like you’re a ghost.

She doesn’t move. She just waits there, eyes wide, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. The last time she saw you, she was being dragged off the Schwalbe Ritter after planting explosions that would have killed you, her, and everyone else still on the ship.

Behind you, you hear someone shift, but no one dares open fire. Your gaze drags behind her—you only see two gunmen, a boy with orange hair and a blonde man, but that doesn't make sense, does it? It seemed like there were far more than just two gunmen. 

“You…” she breathes out, a haunted expression on her face. “I—”

“I need to get through,” you say, not wasting a second. You have to force your voice to stay steady. “Now.”

Yosano doesn’t answer right away, grip tightening on the weapon in her hand, but she doesn’t raise it. Her expression twists—guilt, disbelief, and hesitation all war in her eyes before something else creeps in. Something colder. Your stomach drops.

“I can’t let you through,” she says quietly. “We have people in there and—”

“I don’t give a damn about your people,” you interrupt. “I need to get to Dazai. Please, Yosano.”

The words taste like acid—you hate begging, but you especially hate begging her. You think you’d rather swallow glass; it feels like reopening an old wound with your own hands. Yosano is the last person you ever wanted to need anything from, and yet here you are, standing before her, forcing yourself to beg her to let you into your own headquarters. The bitterness in your chest is suffocating, but you force it down and lock it away. You can’t afford to let it cloud your judgment, can’t let it stop you from what matters most right now—Dazai. Getting to him before he does something stupid.

“Please, Yosano,” you force yourself to say it again, a hint of desperation clinging to the words this time. “I can’t lose him too.”

Yosano’s face cracks at your words. You see the guilt in her eyes and the way her shoulders slump, and you know you’ve won, but the sweetness of victory is tainted by her bitterness over the situation.

Her gaze lowers as she steps to the side. “Go.”

You rush past her, pausing just long enough to murmur, “In the future, you shouldn’t be so sentimental with enemies. This kind of hesitation will get you killed one day.”

Yosano scoffs, folding her arms. “You really are just like him now. Can’t even manage a simple ‘thank you’ without slipping into a lecture about emotions. Go. Before I change my mind.”

You let out a huff of laughter. “It’s nice to see you haven’t changed, Akiko-chan.”

“You have,” she replies quietly. “I’m sorry that things went down the way they did back then. If I had done things differently… maybe we both could’ve gotten out of there.”

Your throat spasms as you swallow. “I guess we’ll never know,” you reply, and before she can say anything else to unsettle you, you make your way into headquarters. 

The detectives of the Agency haven’t actually killed anyone, you realize as you see the unconscious bodies strewn across the lobby. You think that’s more impressive than if they’d slaughtered everyone in here—the fact that they out-classed so many of the lower-ranking members of the Port Mafia to the point that they’d been able to fight with non-lethal force against lethal force is… unnerving to say the least.

It’s not something you can waste any time thinking about right now, though. You need to figure out where Dazai is. Because the emergency lights are on, you know that the building’s power must’ve gone out, and with it, the building’s elevators. You figure that it must’ve been Dazai’s doing because you doubt the conflict would’ve reached down to the electrical room. And if Dazai went out of his way to make sure the power was out, to make sure nobody could use any of the elevators, that leads you to believe he can only be in one place:

The roof.

You take off without hesitation, sprinting toward the nearest stairwell and throwing the door open with a slam. The air inside is stifling, heavy with the scent of concrete and dust. Your legs burn almost immediately, but you force yourself to push through, taking the steps two, sometimes three at a time. 

There are forty stories in the main building of headquarters. It’s an impossible distance, you know that—you’re already panting as you drag yourself up each flight of stairs, but you can’t give yourself time to stop, to think even. You can hear the rapid thud of your footsteps, the harsh drag of your breath, and the distant gunfire from outside resuming. Your muscles scream for relief, and your heartbeat hammers in your ears, but you force yourself to push it away—each step you climb, you become more and more certain that Dazai is at the top, about to do something terrible.

By the time you get to the roof, your body wants to give out—tears sting your eyes, your legs tremble violently, and you can barely breathe. Sheer adrenaline gives you the strength to push open the heavy metal door that leads to the roof; you don’t even notice Atsushi and a detective lying slumped on the ground, gaze focused on the familiar figure behind both of them standing on the edge of the roof.

Dazai is breathtaking under the light of the setting sun—it’s almost enough to make you forget where the two of you are, that he’s on the edge of the building, that you’ll never be able to reach him in time if he steps off the side. The warm golden hues cast soft shadows over his features, his black hair taking on an auburn sheen in the fading light—his eye widens as soon as he realizes you’re standing there, the usual dark void closer to a shimmering amber in the sunset.

“You… got here faster than I expected,” he says breathlessly.

“What are you doing?” you ask, voice shaky. “Dazai, come away from there.”

His smile is soft as he looks over you, gaze lingering on every detail like he’s trying to memorize the sight of you. His fingers twitch at his side like he wants to reach out for you but knows he can’t, so he resigns to committing the image of you to memory. There’s something almost reverent in the way he studies you—like he knows that this is going to be his last chance.

Dazai tilts his head slightly, gaze focusing on yours. “You always did have a way of making things difficult,” he says fondly. “I thought it would be easier if you weren’t here.”

Your heartbeat thuds painfully loud in your ears. You try to take a step forward, but he tilts his head to the side, warning you silently that if you come any closer, he’ll step right over the edge. You feel sick, hands trembling because you don’t know what to do—you’ll never get to him in time, and once Dazai has his mind set on something…

“Easier for who?” you demand, stomach lurching as you fumble desperately for something to say to convince him to come away from the edge. “For you? For me? Did you think I wouldn’t care if I wasn’t here?”

His small smile doesn’t waver, but something in his expression cracks just for a second. You notice his own fingers are trembling at his side and you remember his words from last night: I’m so scared for what comes next. 

How hadn’t you realized? 

“I know you would,” he murmurs. “Don’t you understand now? That’s been the problem this whole time.”

You don’t dare take another step forward, but you find yourself leaning forward a little even though you know you can’t reach him from this distance. The wind whips around him, tugging at his long black coat and scarf. Each gust has your heart in your throat.

“Then come down,” you beg. Your cheeks are wet, vision so blurry that you can barely make out Dazai’s figure on the edge of the roof. “Please, Osamu. We can figure something out. I know we can. If you need to disappear, we can make you disappear—Tolstoy, his cousin’s ability, he can wipe everyone’s memories of you, and we can run. We can go back to the beach house or go to the countryside. We can get away from all of this. Nobody has to know, it’ll just be us.”

His smile softens, lashes lowering as he looks down at the ground. His voice cracks as he says softly, “That’s… a really nice dream.”

“Please just come away from there,” you rasp. “We can find a different way. Just—just explain everything to me, Osamu. Tell me what’s going on, what all of this is really about, and I’ll find a different way, you know I can. Give me that chance. Give us that chance. We deserve that, at least. I deserve that.”

Dazai exhales sharply, tilting his head back as the wind rushes around him, tousling his hair. The setting sun casts his silhouette in gold, and for a moment, he looks ethereal—untouchable, like something not meant to exist in this world. 

“I know it’s selfish,” he says, voice raw with emotion as he looks up at the sky. “I didn’t want you to be here for this, but I’m glad I got to see you one last time.”

Your heart sinks in your chest as his words slowly register. You shake your head, desperation clawing at your throat, and your lips part to speak, but the words die on your tongue when Dazai tosses you a bright smile, a genuine one that hurts more than anything else. It’s the kind of smile you’ve longed to see on him for years, the kind that has haunted your dreams since he took over as boss—warm, bright, alive, happy. But now, you only feel dread at the sight of it.

Terror grips your chest. “Osamu—”

“Thank you,” he whispers, and though you know you should be racing toward him now, your entire body locks up, feet planted to the ground. “For everything. I love you.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, time seems to slow. You scream his name as his body tilts over the edge, but instead of rushing to the edge, you turn back the way you came. 

Five.

You know you’ll never make it—you studied physics with Chuuya when he was learning how to refine his ability. The force of gravity is 9.8 meters per second squared, the Port Mafia headquarters is forty stories, around 130 meters—you know the equation like the back of your hand; it was one of the first things you learned. 

You don’t have more than five seconds before he hits the ground.

But you can’t accept what’s happening—your brain isn’t letting go of the futile hope that maybe Klaus or Itou will see what’s happening and they’ll do something, that maybe Chuuya got back and he can do something. You know they can’t. Logically, you know that they can’t use their abilities on Dazai, but you think maybe there’s a chance, that maybe you’ll get down there and Dazai will be—he’ll be okay.

Four.

Your heart races, the seconds stretching impossibly long as your feet carry you down the stairs with reckless speed. You leap down them three, four, five at a time, pain shooting up your shins to your knees with every jump, but you don’t let yourself lose momentum—you can’t because the moment you stop, you’ll fall apart. 

Three.

The whole world narrows, your heartbeat thrumming painfully loud in your ears. The seconds count down, mocking your attempts to hope against the inevitable, but still, your legs push forward, faster, harder. You know it’s futile, you do, but that tiny thread of hope, the denial your heart clings to, refuses to let go. 

Every time your eyes slide shut, you see him—you see his smile, you see the soft expression on his face, and you see him falling. You can still feel him, his hands on your waist, cradling your face, his lips brushing yours. He was in bed with you this morning, his body warm, curled up next to you, his breath against your skin in even puffs, and he was at peace. How did things go wrong so quickly?

You’ve barely eaten anything today, but you feel your stomach churning like you’re about to throw up. Each deep breath has you choking, your head feels dizzy because the air just isn’t getting to your lungs, but you can’t stop moving.

Two.

You could’ve done something different. You know it. If you hadn’t been so blind, you would’ve realized something was seriously wrong at the beach house. You knew it was some sort of goodbye, but this? You thought it was his way of indulging in one last day of pretending before he cut you off altogether, but you should’ve realized it was something deeper. The way he looked at you should’ve clued you in—he told you he was scared for what’s next, he tried to stay away because he knew he planned on dying. How didn’t you fucking realize? 

If you had more time, you could’ve convinced him. You know you could’ve; you saw the look on his face when you tried to convince him to leave with you, you saw the yearning. He wanted it, and if you had more time to persuade him, you would’ve been able to. If you’d realized back at the beach house what was going on, you would’ve convinced him to choose another option. This was your fault. 

One.

Your foot slips on the next step, and when you crash against the middle landing, pain shoots through your wrist and spreads—you don’t hear or see the impact of Dazai’s body hitting the ground, but you feel it. The pain in your wrist is sharp, a violent jolt, but it’s nothing compared to the agony that floods through you like a tidal wave. It’s like every bone in your body shattered the moment his body hit the ground, like his ribs, his spine, his skull fracturing on the pavement, is happening inside of you, too. 

You can’t hear anything above the terrible buzzing in your ears, you think you must be screaming because it feels like knives are dragging through the inside of your throat, and you can taste blood in the back of your mouth. You feel it all—the way his body must have crumpled, the way his breath must have left him in one final, shuddering exhale, you feel it all. 

A crushing weight slams into your chest, pressing down until you can’t move, can’t even breathe. The pain is unbearable—not just in your wrist, not just in your body, but everywhere. In your heart, in your soul. 

Dazai is gone, you know it.

You don’t know how long you lay there—it could’ve been seconds, minutes, you don’t know. You don’t think it could’ve been that long because it’s when you start to regain your hearing and the numbness in your body from the pain starts to fade, you realize that the whole building is shaking. The rumble vibrates your bones; first, a low, resonant hum, but it becomes violent quickly. 

Chuuya.

Chuuya felt Dazai’s death in the same way you did. Of course, he did. The three of you have always been bound together since the beginning. It was never just the two of them, and it was never just you and Dazai—whether it was a curse, a bond, or just fate, it didn’t matter. One way or another, the three of you have always been tied to each other. 

The thread that bound you together was woven of something that transcended logic and reason, something that all of you had become too dependent on, something that none of you could live without, and the loss of Dazai causes it to unravel, causes you to unravel, causes Chuuya to unravel.

It was always supposed to be the three of you together—there’s no world where one of you can just die, and the other two go on with their lives. Maybe Dazai knew that, and that’s what his incoherent ramblings were about back at the beach house, but if that’s the case, and he tried to push you and Chuuya away so the two of you could live on after his death, then he did a shit fucking job at it.

The metal of the building shrieks, and the very foundation trembles with the force of Chuuya’s grief and anger. You don’t know where he is, but he must be close, and he’s losing control. You need to get to him before that shitty corruption god wakes up inside of him to take advantage of his loss of control.

You push yourself up weakly, wrist screaming in protest, but you don’t care. You drag your body forward, forcing yourself to move, forcing yourself down the stairs, because you can’t lose them both—not in the same breath, not ever, you won’t survive it.

Your legs threaten to give out beneath you as you stagger down the stairs, breath ragged and body screaming for rest—you can hardly see in front of you, vision blurry with tears. It takes too long for you to get back down to the lobby. Your whole body is trembling, and you’re so unsteady on your feet that when you push open the door out of the stairwell, you almost topple right into the room.

You’re not thinking as you make your way forward. Distantly, you notice that you don’t see the Agency anymore, and you realize that the Flags, Itou, and Klaus are in the lobby dealing with the now waking subordinates who had been neutralized by the detectives, which means the Agency either left or was driven further into the building. You don’t care about any of that—your brain has you on a one-track mission to get to Chuuya before you lose him too, and you don’t consider what you might see stepping outside until you catch a glimpse of red from the corner of your eye through the window as you approach the door.

Is that—?

You don’t even have a chance to focus your gaze on what you’re looking at. 

Immediately, Itou is launching himself at you, only just now realizing in the chaos that you’ve finally arrived. He grabs your bicep hard and yanks you toward him, one hand flying up to cover your eyes as his other wraps around your waist, holding you close. The noise that escapes your lips is inhuman—animalistic, almost—something caught between a scream and a wail that rips from your throat before you can stop it. Every cell in your body screeches in protest, instinct demands that you tear yourself from Itou’s grip and look, but he holds you tight, fingers digging into your skin and hand firm over your eyes.

“Don’t,” he whispers, voice raw, desperate for you to listen. “You don’t want to see that.”

“Let me go, Itou,” you scream, thrashing against him, blind with grief, fury, denial. You know it happened. You felt it the moment it happened—the moment he hit the ground—but knowing and feeling is different than seeing. “Let me go to him, let me go!” 

“He fell forty stories,” Itou rasps, voice cracking. “You don’t want that to be your last memory of him.”

You fight, claw, kick—anything to get to him—but Itou doesn’t loosen his hold. He shifts, adjusting his grip so you can’t break free, keeping one hand over your eyes and the other locked around your waist, pinning your arms to your sides. 

“Please,” you choke out. “Please, I need to—”

“No,” he says again quietly. “There’s nothing you can do.”

A sob wracks through you, violent and gut-wrenching. You sag against him, body unable to take anymore as the weight of everything crashes into you at once, pressing down on your chest until you can’t breathe. When you stop fighting, Itou’s hand slides from your eyes to hold you more gently, but you don’t reopen them—you can see him, you can see Dazai bathed in the sunset, you can see the golden glow, his soft eyes, his smile. 

You try to breathe in but end up gagging over the air. Itou is quick to make sure your hair is out of your face before you vomit what little you have left in your stomach onto the ground. You hear Albatross and Iceman shouting for all of the lingering subordinates to clear out of the room. Klaus is somewhere in front of you, expression fraught as he watches you fall apart. Your chest heaves as you choke down another sob; your mind feels disconnected from your body, floating somewhere between numbness and agony, trapped between the image of Dazai in that golden light before he fell back over the edge and the knowledge of what’s left of him beyond this wall. 

“I should have—” The words crumble before you can finish them, dissolving into something incoherent. You should have known, you should have stopped him, you should have been faster—you’re always too slow. 

“You did everything you could.”

A lie. You know it’s a lie. 

Your hands tremble as you clutch at his sleeve, desperately trying to ground yourself, but all you can feel is the cold creeping in, the emptiness hollowing out your chest where his heart used to beat.

“I need to get to Chuuya,” you finally gasp. Your whole body is shaking, you can’t even bring yourself to sit up straight. “I need to—”

“Chuuya is gone.”

Your gaze lifts to focus on Piano Man, who looks grim as he steps into the headquarters with Kouyou, who can hardly even stand to look at you. Klaus dragged a table over to where you’d caught that glimpse of red, blocking your view of it.

“What do you mean?” Itou demands, arms still tight around you, hands running up and down your biceps to calm you down. “Yo, would you fucking—”

Piano Man doesn’t reply to him. Instead, his gaze focuses on you; there’s no trace of the whimsiness you’re used to as he takes a few steps forward to kneel in front of where you’re wide-eyed and shivering in Itou’s arms on the ground. His throat bobs as he swallows, and you can tell that he’s warring with himself before he finally speaks.

“You need to pull yourself together,” he finally says quietly. Itou tenses behind you, but you only stare at Piano Man, hardly registering what he’s saying. “The government sent a special ops squad to handle Chuuya. They sedated him and took him and are bringing him to a government facility to keep him imprisoned.”

“How the hell did the government react so quickly?” Klaus demands, voice shrill with nerves. “How does that make any sense?”

“We don’t know,” Piano Man answers flatly, keeping his gaze trained on you. He reaches out to hold your hands tightly as he focuses on you again. “You are boss now, and I am so fucking sorry it has to happen like this, but the Port Mafia is not in a good spot right now. Once word spreads about Dazai’s death and Chuuya’s imprisonment, we’ll have half of the criminal underworld on our doorstep. We need to get Chuuya back before that happens. Do you understand me?” 

Your mouth is dry as you stare at him. You don’t think you could respond if you wanted to. You see the frustration fly across his face, and Itou tenses again, ready to intervene if Piano Man acts out of line, but his shoulders only slump as he takes in a shaky breath.

“You know what happened to him when he was a kid,” Piano Man says tightly. “He is the strongest ability user in the world. Every second we waste, we give them the chance to do that to him again—and they will do it again because if they could find a way to replicate his ability or understand more about Arahabaki, they could make themselves the most dominant military power in the world. They will keep him locked up in whatever facility they bring him to, and they will experiment on him night and day, and he will not survive this happening to him again. It will break him. Do you understand me?” 

You nod, throat spasming as you swallow thickly.

“Okay,” Piano Man agrees after a moment. “Then pull yourself together. We need to get working.”

“Fucking hell, Piano Man,” Itou spits out. “She hasn’t even had the chance to process what just happened, let her fucking mourn, she just lost—”

“There is no time to mourn during transitions of power,” Piano Man says coldly. “She knows this better than anyone.”

The words cut through you deeper than a blade ever could have, and the silence that follows them is suffocating.

Your whole body begs for rest, for just one moment to grieve, to let the pain consume you—Dazai is dead, Chuuya is gone, and the weight of the Port Mafia is crashing down onto your shoulders before you’ve even had the chance to breathe. It’s only a matter of time before the rest of the crime lords of the Eastern Hemisphere catch wind of what happened here, and when they do, all bets are off.  

You swallow hard and force yourself to sit up. Itou moves with you, steadying you, hesitant to let go, but you shake him off. You need to do this on your own. Piano Man watches you, unreadable, waiting to see what you say.

“We need to consolidate power first,” you say. Your voice is weak, too shaky. “I need to talk to Mishima and Tolstoy. Goldoni too. We need two executives to replace—”

You can’t even finish the sentence. You can’t speak their names. Your throat tightens again as you try to swallow down the lump of grief threatening to choke you.

“We need two more executives,” you say instead. Itou shifts closer to you, trying to remind you that he’s here, that you’re not alone, but it still feels like you are. You feel hollow, empty, alone in a world where both Dazai and Chuuya are gone—it was always supposed to be the three of you. It was never supposed to be just one. “I’ll reach out to Mishima and Tolstoy. We—we have to move quickly.”

Your gaze tracks back over to where you’d gotten a glimpse of red before Itou pulled you away. Your voice is far away as you whisper, “We can’t leave him there.”

“I’ll handle it,” Itou promises quietly. 

You nod, taking in another deep breath, and at once, everyone gets to work. Everything around you is a blur, and you can’t tell if it’s a testament to how quickly everyone is moving into action or if it’s because of the tears that threaten to roll over your cheeks. You don’t let them—not now—you just need to keep it together a little while longer for Chuuya, and then, maybe, you can finally let yourself rest alongside Dazai.

———

Dazai Osamu is dead.

There’s no arguing with Chuuya about it because he’s gone, too. There’s no clashing with the Flags because they saw it happen. There’s no disagreeing with Itou and Klaus, because they were the ones who cleaned up his body. There’s no warring with yourself because you felt it the moment it happened.

Dazai is dead.

Dazai is dead.

You haven’t been in his office since it happened two weeks ago—you haven’t had the time. You haven’t stopped moving, haven’t stopped making decisions, and haven’t let yourself feel anything beyond the fear of knowing that one mistake could lead to everyone else’s deaths, too. You’ve been in Tokyo talking to Mishima, you went to Vladivostok so you could talk to Tolstoy face-to-face and tell him what happened yourself, you’re leaving for Rome tomorrow to talk to Goldoni, and you’ve been trying to solve things peacefully with the government to get Chuuya back. 

Everything is a mess—Mishima and Tolstoy are in conflict with Cao Xueqin, trying to buy you time to get Chuuya back before the Red Chamber is at your doorstep, and Goldoni is distracting the Guild, who evidently are preparing to come to Yokohama for Atsushi, but the government is refusing to hand Chuuya over. Atsushi and Kyouka are missing. The Agency has gone silent after causing all of this, and you don’t have time to deal with them either. 

You haven’t had any time to grieve him, but standing in the space he left behind, it hits you all at once.

Dazai is dead. 

“You’re such an asshole,” you breathe out to the empty room like he can hear you, staring at the desk he sat behind. “How could you just leave me with all of this?”

Everything is exactly as he left it. Papers stacked haphazardly, a pen resting at an odd angle, a half-empty cup of stagnant tea. It’s like he could walk through the door at any moment, like none of this ever happened—this is just another one of his games, sitting back with that infuriating smile, waiting to see how you’ll react so he can hold it over your head, mocking you for taking everything too seriously, teasing you for mourning him. 

You don’t even remember why you came up here—you had a reason for it, otherwise, you would’ve avoided it for as long as possible. Your fingers ghost over the edge of his desk, hovering above the polished wood hesitantly before you finally let your hand fall down against it, fingers dragging across the wood as you walk to the other side of the desk. 

You shouldn’t be here. You’ve avoided this room for a reason.

But instead of leaving, your legs decide to give out on you. You take in a breath that’s too ragged as you sit back in his chair, burying your face in your hands. The weight of his scarf around your neck is suffocating, a weight that you’re not strong enough to bear—it was the only thing Itou could salvage from his body, and as much as it makes you sick with grief, you can’t bring yourself to part from it. You swear you can almost still catch the faint scent of him on it, and if you close your eyes, you can pretend that it’s the weight of his arms draped around your shoulders as he hangs behind you, back pressed to your chest and chin on top of your head as he uses you as a shield to antagonize Chuuya without consequence. 

You need to get yourself together. It’s only a matter of time before someone comes up here looking for you, and you don’t want to be spiraling when they get here. Now isn’t the time to mourn—Chuuya is still out there, trapped, waiting for you, tortured with god knows what horrific experiments the government is performing on him. You have to get him back. You have to keep the Port Mafia from falling apart. You have to keep yourself from falling apart. Now isn’t the time for this.

You exhale shakily and rest your hands down on the arms of the chair to push yourself up so you can leave the office, but you pause when you see one of his desk drawers not fully closed. You press your lips together, hesitating, before reaching out to open it the rest of the way. 

Inside, neatly stacked and untouched, are documents, mission reports piled up, but your eyes aren’t drawn to that. They’re drawn to the single envelope sitting at the very top and the very familiar, small metal trinket sitting next to it.

It has your name scrawled across the front in Dazai’s handwriting. 

Your pulse roars in your ears, breath catching. 

Slowly, almost afraid that it will disappear if you touch it, you pick it up. The paper is thin beneath your fingers, fragile, like it's been sitting there for years instead of days. The weight of it in your hands is unbearable.

You don’t know if you should open it.

You shouldn’t open it.

You know you shouldn’t.

But your hands are already shaking as you slide a finger beneath the fold, breaking the seal with excruciating slowness. You hardly breathe as you pull it out of the envelope, swallowing at the address written on the back of the paper before you unfold it.

The handwriting is unmistakable. All across the page, you see characters crossed out and rewritten where water had blotted the ink. Dazai had been crying as he wrote it.

My sweet hime,

If you’re reading this, then everything has probably settled by now. I can already imagine the look on your face. Don’t frown too much—it’ll leave wrinkles.

Kidding. I wasn’t going to write anything. I thought a clean break would be easier for you. But after the day we spent yesterday, I realized I’d already ruined things enough. I figured a goodbye wouldn’t do more damage than anything else I’ve already done.

There was nothing you could’ve done differently to change what happened—I know that’s what you’re probably thinking. You’re going back through every moment, trying to find all of the places where you could have said something, done something to change my mind, but it wouldn’t have mattered. This was always how this was going to end. This plan had been set in motion long before you and I ever even met.

I wish I could’ve spared you from this. I really did try. I told myself for months leading up to our meeting that I wouldn’t let myself get close to you. There were so many plans that I made, so many ways I convinced myself that I could keep my distance. I wasn’t even supposed to go with Chuuya on the mission to pick you up, but when Mori dangled it in front of my face, I couldn’t stop myself.

Loving you was my biggest and only mistake. Not because you weren’t worth it but because I was never meant to have you. Not in this life. But you always made me weak. Reckless. I never think straight when you’re around, even when you’re not around, you’re always in the back of my mind. But I thought that knowing how things were going to end would be enough to keep me from slipping up. I thought I would be satisfied with admiring you from afar and knowing you would be okay when I was gone. I should’ve known better—I never should’ve let myself get close to you when we were younger, I should’ve been cruel from the beginning, I should’ve made you hate me.

But I was selfish. I let myself love you, and I let myself be loved by you, and now you’re alone dealing with the consequences of it.

I’m sorry.

Once I realized I let things go too far, I thought I would be able to make you hate me after I took over as boss. I thought if I could be cruel enough and cold enough that you would finally turn your back on me, but you are just too goddamn stubborn. You kept coming back again and again, and I was too much of a coward—too selfish—to push you away the way I should have.

You were right back at the beach house—I was frustrated and angry that I couldn’t stop myself from seeking you out, and I was even more frustrated and angry that you kept coming, and I put you through four years of hell because of it. I’m sorry for that, too. I’m sorry for a lot of things that I know you’ll never forgive me for.

I wish I could explain more, I wanted to tell you everything. Do you know how many times I almost did? How many nights I almost turned to you and let it all spill out? I know you would have believed me, I know you would’ve shared the burden with me, but this was never supposed to be your price to pay. I wish I had done things differently because it became yours anyway, didn’t it?

I hope you hate me. I hope you find a way to curse my name and let me rot in the hell I’ve made for myself. I don’t deserve for you to mourn. I don’t deserve to be remembered by you at all. But I know you, and I know you’ll mourn, and I know you’ll blame yourself even after reading this, so I hope you just remember that this was something bigger than you and I and the ending was never going to change no matter what you did differently.

I love you. I’ve always loved you, I’ve always been yours. In this life and every other one. I’m sorry we couldn’t be happy in this one, but I promise I’ll make it up to you when we find each other again in the next. I’ll love you better in that one, the way you deserve, I’ll give you all of me, every piece I held back in this lifetime. And in the next, I promise I won’t make you say goodbye. We’ll live a quiet life—we’ll go to the countryside, and we’ll grow old, and we’ll be happy. Maybe we’ll even drag the slug along, force him to be our farmhand, give him a new flock of sheep to herd.

Now to business. 

Dark times are coming to Yokohama. I know you’re probably sick of me saying sorry, but I’m sorry that I’ve left you to deal with everything like this. There are foreign threats coming—the Guild, the Order of the Clocktower, and Fyodor Dostoevsky. All of the files below this envelope are full of information I’ve put together for you. Abilities, strategies they’ve used, how everything has gone down in different timelines—I’ve put it all together so you can figure out how you want to handle this. I left some suggestions, but it’s all very dependent on how things played out after everything settled. 

The Armed Detective Agency will be a valuable ally going forward. Don’t blame them for what I did—they were only pawns I used to get everything set up. Everything that happens today is what I’ve planned, my actions and theirs. They’ll help protect Yokohama from the coming storm, and you’ll stand a better chance working with them. 

I don’t think there’s anything else that needs to be said that’s not in the folders. Don’t underestimate Fyodor Dostoevsky. And I know you’re going to say ‘I spent many months with him when you sent me abroad blah blah blah’ but there’s so much more to him than you can ever imagine. You’ll understand when you read through everything. 

There’s no perfect way to end this letter. I could apologize a million times and it wouldn’t be enough. Just know I meant what I said before—I’ll find you again in the next life, and we’ll be happy. I’ll love you better. I won’t leave you behind.

Live well. I’ll always be with you. 

Yours always, 

Osamu

———

beast au fun facts:

i think i made it pretty clear, but for those of you who read wykyk, essentially ages 16-18 were what wykyk would’ve been if dazai wasn’t emotionally incompetent. he was obviously still a little bit hot and cold with her, but he was quite clear with how he felt about her from day one, which is why it was so hard for her to reconcile how rapidly everything changed. 

she finds mori at the address dazai left for her. the first thing she asks when she gets over the shock is if dazai is here too. she thinks maybe he too might’ve faked his death and is here with mori.

reader dies several weeks later. during the operation to break chuuya out of the government facility, they need all hands on deck. she stays behind in headquarters because it’s safest for her there. she ends up leaving headquarters to go visit dazai’s grave and is assassinated while she’s sitting at his grave. like with dazai, chuuya feels it when it happens but refuses to believe it until they find her body.  

this was unfortunately intentional on reader’s part. this is actually something she does or has tried to do in multiple universe: she uses her life(/death) as a weapon for the port mafia. we will see it (or attempts of it) in canonverse and civzai. her death triggers multiple powerful organizations coming to the assistance of the pm, and she knows this, so when the pm is backed into a corner and threatened on multiple fronts, she’ll manufacture a situation where she’ll be assassinated because she knows the only way the pm will come out of it intact is if they get help, and the quickest and most surefire way of getting that help is if she’s killed.

make no mistake: it IS a last-resort option when there’s really nothing else they can do. although, i'll also say that i don't think the pm WAS backed into the corner here, but our girl was ... very tired after losing dazai and everything that happened afterward. she only wanted to push through things long enough to rescue chuuya.

it does indeed work btw. after she dies, tolstoy & the three deaths wipe out cao xueqin before coming to yokohama to help with the guild and dostoevsky. the family engages the clocktower in open conflict to keep them out of yokohama.

the conflict takes about a year to come to an end, chuuya only lets himself die once everything is settled. pmtrio indeed became the price of a world where oda can live. 

this is the only universe where itou & klaus outlive her. this is also the only universe where they meet. idk if anyone guessed it, but the reason dazai sent her away after he took over was so she could meet klaus. 

dazai genuinely didn’t think that his death would ruin her and chuuya the way it did since he ensured that the flags, itou and klaus were all here for them. he was wrong

[zevrra]

𝐝𝐨 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰?

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩: pervy!jayce gets caught in the lab being anything but a golden boy, so you have to tease him just a little bit.

𝐰𝐜: 3.8k

𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬: nsfw, fem!reader, pervy!jayce, lil bit of exhibitionism, jayce gets caught red handed being a perv, cunnilingus (oral f receiving), jayce is pathetic, reader tops jayce, clothed sex, foot-job, dirty talk, jayce makes a mess in his pants :3

𝐚/𝐧: part 2…hopefully soon…

Oh he was pathetic. It was just a jacket for fuck’s sake…but it was your jacket.

Jayce runs his fingers down along the hem of the lighter fabric, his fingers trembling ever so slightly as he caresses the jacket. It had been forgotten in the after hours of the lab but there was no reason to worry; for now it was in his possession. Where he’d worship it, take such good care of if. Treat it as perfectly as he would treat you.

And while he knew better than to let this possessive, weaker side of himself slip out when he wasn’t at home; he couldn’t help it. Your jacket was right here, in his grasp, and wanted nothing but to have you. And it certainly did not help when the only thing he could smell was your intoxicating perfume clinging to the cloth, fueling his need even further.

He lifts the closest sleeve of the jacket to his face, pressing it directly into the side of his cheek where he blends into the fabric. He lets his mind imagine it as your hand touching him instead of the cool of the jacket. He smoothes the fabric across his lips, planting a kiss against what he imagines is your knuckles. His lips trail along the seam of your jacket sleeve, pressing kiss after kiss into your arm, until he reaches the collar.

God, how sweet would your skin taste? Would you moan his name? How wet could you get just from kissing and him absolutely desiring you?

“Fuck…this is bad.” Jayce whispers under his breath, feeling himself grow, tightening inside of his pants.

He presses the collar of the jacket around his nose, taking in the deepest breath that he could; practically inhaling the perfume you wore. He imagines pressing his nose right up against the curve of your neck, breathing in even deeper against your skin, while his hands run up along the curve of your back. With the jacket clasped in his grip he can almost completely imagine hugging around you, enveloping you entirely within his grasp; and it makes him so fucking hard. Thinking about the front of your body pressed directly against his own. Getting to feel your heart pound directly through your ribcage as he kisses you. Fuck, getting to touch you, feel every inch of your body; would you tremble beneath his hands? How hard would you grip his biceps when he slipped a hand down the front of your chest and touched between your thighs? His very creative imagination and the huff of every deep breath he took of your perfume, oh god it was a recipe for disaster.

“I know I shouldn’t…” He mutters into the empty room, as if he’s trying to talk himself out of doing what his mind so desperately wanted…but fuck if he wasn’t going to do what he wanted. So there he was, in the lab, sliding into the chair he normally sat in during the day, palming the front of his pants while every single little voice in his head told him it was a terrible, horrible idea. Of course he had done other…promiscuous things…to the thought of you but never in public. Never in the lab of all places; where he had just spent the entire day trying his best not to think about you, fearing he’d get hard.

God, he really, really was pathetic.

He moves to lay your jacket across his chest, keeping the collar curled up as close to his nose as he could, while his other hand travelled down his chest. He inhales that pretty perfume of yours into his lungs with every breath he takes, undoing the front of his pants and slipping his fingers right beneath the waistband of his underwear. His fingers curl around the thick of his stiff base, taking a deep breath at the same time his hand rises to the head of his cock, where Jayce groans heavily at his own touch. He bites his bottom lip as he daydreams about your hand wrapped around him instead. He couldn’t help but wonder how your fingers would feel rubbing over his head instead of his own. How soft they would be, how reactive he would be to your touch. Would you use your mouth? God, just the idea of it makes his hips jerk and his fingers stumble.

“Jayce?”

He could almost imagine how sweet your voice would be calling out his name. The breathless whine that would slip between your lips as your tongue tastes every inch of him and his name. He softly grunts at the thought of you sucking him off; how much could you take of his aching cock without crying while he tried his hardest not to fuck into the back of your throat.

“Uh…Jayce?”

The ring of his name this time was different…more real. Suddenly, Jayce is realizing he wouldn’t imagine you calling his name with such confusion. He quickly turns towards where your voice comes from. And when his eyes find you, standing in the doorway of the lab, he freezes like an animal caught in headlights.

You had cursed yourself for leaving behind your jacket. Halfway home and shivering, you almost gave up on going back for it but then you’d never hear the end of it from Jayce or Viktor. Getting scolded first thing in the morning about leaving your belongings around in the lab was not something you wanted so you had no choice. Halfway home, you unfortunately have to turn around and sneak your way back into the lab. But when you get back to the lab, strangely enough, the door is still unlocked. And what you find inside is Jayce Talis, Piltover’s golden boy, stretched out in his chair, gripping your jacket as close as he possibly can, as he strokes himself off.

At first you can’t even find the words to speak to get his attention. On one hand, you almost don’t want to say anything; too interested in how far he’d go or how long it would take him to notice you were standing, watching him as he committed this unholy act. Wondering what scene he was imagining in that moment that made him huff and groan the way he was. But on the other hand, he was certainly imagining you…and that was something you needed more detail about immediately.

“Jayce?” You call out, stepping closer to the chair he has seated himself in. When he doesn’t jump at your voice, you speak up once again. “Uh…Jayce?” This time, your voice shocks him back to reality.

Jayce turns to you, fear glistening in his pretty eyes, as he stares at you with his hand thoroughly shoved under his underwear and wrapped around himself. Your jacket lays coddled against his chest and nose—oh he was in deep. And all it did was make you smile.

He had been ignoring you for weeks now. Short, curt conversations; fleeing the lab whenever the opportunity arose. He avoided your gaze anytime the two of you were in the same room, staring at something else to keep himself busy. You assumed he had found out about your own feelings for him and was avoiding you at all costs but no…now you finally knew the reasoning behind it all.

“This! This isn’t! I’m so…I!” Jayce stammers, ripping his hand out of his pants and away from his body, attempting to cover himself while he also yanks the jacket away from his chest. He moves to stand but you plant a hand firmly on his shoulder and force him to stay in his seat.

You take the jacket out of his hand, tossing it over onto the desk adjacent to you. It wasn’t going to be of use anymore. “I would’ve never guessed that the Golden Boy of the council would be doing something so…scandalous.” You hum, a wide smile stretching across your lips.

Jayce stares up at you, a nervous flush stretching across his face. And he knows he could break free of your grip but why would he? You caught him, could blackmail him with whatever you wanted…but all he wanted was you. So why would he run away when he could get even the slightest bit of your attention. He’d just continue to turn red and be embarrassed about it; as if he didn’t enjoy it.

“What would they think of you?” You continue, sliding your hand along his shoulder before fiddling with the tie he wore every day. You tug the clothing item out from its usual position, twirling the red tie between your fingers. “All that money they give you to fund this lab and here you are jerking yourself off in it. How shameful.” You snicker, letting go of his tie. Watching with a smile as he struggles to defend himself but never attempts to hide the tightening in his boxers.

Oh, Jayce loved this.

Without another word, you lift yourself onto the top of the desk, curling a single finger to order Jayce to scoot closer to you; and he does without an ounce of hesitation. You slip out of your shoes before pressing a foot right up against the bulge in his underwear. You add just a little pressure and it makes Jayce groan.

“Jayce Talis the Pervert.” You nickname the large man who trembles under your touch. Moving the flat of your foot across the length of his shaft still hidden beneath his underwear. Even with him hiding inside of his boxers, you can clearly feel how big he is. You could clearly see it in comparison to your own foot snug up against him. Brains, brawn, and well endowed? Jayce just had it all. And you were lucky enough that he wanted no one but you.

“I’m not!” Jayce starts to speak up, to attempt to defend himself from any further embarrassment but it falters with another press of your foot against his aching cock.

You chuckle at the way he shivers and effectively shuts up with just a little pressure against his lower half. He tenses under your touch, gripping the chair with both hands while his gaze struggles to meet your own; too afraid to look you in the eye now. All that confidence of him touching himself inside the lab, where anyone could have found him, is all but completely gone now. He’s perfectly golden and obedient once more.

“Jayce.” Your voice rings out and he begrudgingly lifts his eyes to meet yours, eyelashes fluttering as he stares at you. “Tell me what you were thinking about and take off my pants.”

Jayce hesitates now, worry coloring his gaze as he glances up at you in an attempt to see if you were fooling him. But you stay silent, waiting for him to act and when he sees that you’re not joking, that he isn’t dreaming, his hands move to the front of your pants. He adjusts himself the best he can as he begins to remove them. “I was uh…thinking about…you...” Jayce whispers with an awkward laugh following as he yanks off your pants in a hurry. Like you might change your mind if he isn’t quick enough. “I was thinking about your touch and maybe where you would touch me if I ever got the chance to…be with…you.” He admits in a shameful tone.

You stifle a laugh at his embarrassment, pressing between his thighs once again and causing him to grunt. “Touching you like this?” You ask, lifting an eyebrow and you can feel him twitch beneath your toes.

He whines, bottom lip trembling. “Sorta…” He mutters, turning his gaze away from yours. “I imagined your fingers and your mouth…”

“Oh poor pervert Jayce, this isn’t enough for you?”

“No!” Jayce blurts out, scooting even closer in between your legs, forcing your foot to fully weigh down onto his shaft. “It’s good! Please, it's good.” He begs.

You smirk at his eagerness. Raising a hand to caress the side of his face where he melts into your touch. Probably another thing he’s craved for so long. You rub your thumb across the high of his cheekbone while his eyes stare up at you, begging, yearning, waiting for you to speak.

“On your knees.” You hum, scooting closer to the edge of the desk.

He falls immediately to his knees, adjusting himself as close as he can to you. His hands grip either side of your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles as he waits for more orders.

Your reposition your foot up against his twitching cock once again while he nuzzles his head between your thighs, right up against your knee. He draws his fingers against your skin, pretty eyes staring up at you. He soaks up every second with you. Finally getting to touch you and he was desperate to keep you. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” Jayce admits, pressing a kiss against your knee. “I’ve wanted you so badly…please let me have you now. Even though I’ve been bad, I know I can be a good boy for you.” He mumbles softly against your skin before trailing kisses up along your inner thigh, his own hips rolling forward into the flat of your foot. Grinding into your foot like the depraved man that he was. His pretty hazel eyes stare up at you, pleading, begging you to let him make you his; but you wouldn’t break, not yet. He’d have to prove himself first.

“How good?” You ask, running a hand through the waves of his hair, as you give him a soft smile.

A red blush stretches across his face as he glances from your eyes, trailing down to your core just inches away from his lips. “I’ll be so good.” Jayce mutters before he leans forward, pressing his lips directly into your cunt, right over your underwear. His gaze returns to lock with your own, staring up at you as he does. “Please,” He mutters, hot and heavy against your clit. “Let me touch you…I’m begging. I’ll be good…” Jayce whispers as he continues to press kiss after kiss right into the curve of your core. His hips jerk again to further grind himself into your foot as his fingers grip around your thighs. “Please…”

You can’t help but chuckle again at his eagerness, softly groaning as he presses a kiss flush against your clit once more. “No. Perverts don’t get what they want.” You respond with a soft laugh.

Jayce whines but continues to rut himself against your foot. Pretty eyes pleading up at you as he does so, placing another steamy kiss right over your panties. “Not a pervert…” He mutters in an attempt to save face.

“No? Jerking yourself off in public? While thinking about me and using my jacket? Tsk, tsk. What if someone from the council saw you, pervert.” You respond with a smile.

Jayce adverts your gaze then, focusing on only lapping between your thighs instead. Didn’t want you to see it in his eyes how not-so-perfect he’s been, even if he admits that he isn’t as golden as he seems.

“I bet it isn’t the first time either.” You hum, pressing your foot directly into his stiff cock and forcing him to shudder. “I’ve noticed you staying late at the lab, just assumed it was you doing some overtime but no. You were touching yourself weren’t you? Pervert.” You chuckle at his weak, pathetic whine that slips from his lips at your touch.

“Can’t help it…you’re just so perfect…” He whines before looking away in shame before continuing to mouth at your cunt and grind into your foot. But you knew better, he wasn’t as ashamed as he probably should have been; no, he was entirely aroused, could feel it in every twitch under your foot. Could even see it in the blush that flushed across his cheeks like a red river. Sure, he was embarrassed about being caught but it was almost like he wanted to be caught…he wanted you to know how deprived he was for you, especially now that he didn’t have to pretend or sneak around.

But you’d drag it out as long as you could, just to tease him just a little more. ”And I don’t even want to mention the clothes I’ve been missing.”

This time with a little more force and roughness, you press into his head with your foot. Causing Jayce to harshly gasp at your words and from the pressure on his cock. A deep moan echoes from within his chest at the accusation…the rightful accusation.

“‘M sorry!” Jayce huffs, tears jumping to the corners of his eyes. “I was going to return them, I swear!” He claims, once again trying to save his skin.

Although you truly doubted he had ever planned on returning your clothes and that they would forever be used for his pleasure. His only bonus is that now he didn’t have to steal your clothes unless you wanted him too. You chuckle again softly, running your fingers through his hair and giving it a sharp tug, forcing him to look up at you. “Doesn’t matter right now, be a good little pervert and make it up to me. Please me and don’t use your hands.” You order.

Jayce is far too eager to please. He huffs against your cunt, using his teeth to yank your panties to the side and pressing his mouth against your wet core. He grunts, nose flush to your body as he sucks harshly along your skin. His tongue lashes out, pushing through the slick folds of your pussy. His tongue moves to dance against your clit, relishing the way you suck a sharp breath through your teeth, before diving back in between your lips.

Keeping his hands rightfully out of the way, gripping your thighs just like you told him, and he moans at your taste. Jayce presses his tongue inside of you briefly before licking right back up to your clit. He rolls any spit off his tongue back onto your cunt, whimpering your name as he dives as deep as he can. He’s messy eating you out, tasting every inch and every drop of your slick that he can. His eyes practically roll into the back of his head as he finally gets something he’s been craving for weeks or even longer. He’s desperately lapping at your cunt like a man finally getting the first sip of water after weeks of dehydration. You wouldn’t have imagined how sloppy Jayce is, smearing every drop of slick and his spit along his chin as he eats you out. He’s grunting, moaning against your core while his hips continue to jerk forward; fucking his cock right up against the foot that still presses into him.

A sob breaks from your lips, instinctively your hand grips Jayce’s hair tighter. Your own hips jerking as his tongue wiggles against your clit. “Fuck. You’re good at this pervert…you’ve been daydreaming about it for so long haven’t you?” You moan, sucking in a sharp breath when Jayce sucks harsh against your core. You bite down on your bottom lip when he responds with a whimper of his own. “Wonder what else my little pervert has been daydreaming about.”

Jayce doesn’t answer though, just whines because he knows how perverted he truly has been. You could imagine how many countless dreams he’s had of you, touching you, tasting you, getting to fuck you to his hearts desire; waking up with morning wood, having to hide massive hard on’s when you two simply stood in the room together. You could imagine it all.

“Mmph…please.” Jayce finally breaks, leaning back ever so slightly, letting you see how messy he truly is. Where your slick dawns his face and smears across his lips. Sticks to his smooth, flushed face; so wet you can even see the strings of his saliva gleaming, still attached to your cunt. He doesn’t give you the chance to answer right away though, desperately lapping at your core again in an attempt to persuade you even further. His breath slips in and out quickly, ragged huffs of air as he moves his hips faster and faster. He grunts heavy against your cunt, sucking harshly on your clit, wild and chaotic as he seeks out his orgasm. His big eyes plead with you while his mouth is busy, begging to let him come.

“Ugh…” You groan, trying your hardest not to pant as badly as he was, fingers tightening in his hair. It was so hot. How desperate and pathetic he was that he was willing to get off on just your foot, just because that’s what you wanted. God, you’re so glad that you came back for your stupid jacket tonight or else you would never have known this side of Jayce. “Mhm, go ahead. A good boy like you deserves a reward.”

Jayce hiccups at your approval, because finally, his fingers move to grip around your calf where he lifts his entire body up to fully thrust against your foot. He eagerly ruts into you while attempting to place kisses along your thighs but it’s all too much for him to handle. He’s hunching over, a mix of your name and whimpers leave his lips as he reaches his high. His orgasm hits him, hard, causing him to shutter and tremble against the sole of your foot. You watch as his mouth falls open with a strangled sob as he cums inside his underwear and directly against your foot. And he doesn’t stop moving until he’s finished entirely with his orgasm. His entire body trembles as his head hangs low but he continues to keep his hands on your leg. Running his fingers up along your calf before kneading into the thick of your thigh to ground himself as he calms down from his orgasm.

When he’s spent, his hazel eyes are glancing up at your pretty face. Where he dawns a lopsided smile that matches the euphoric glint to his eyes.

“Please,” Jayce begins to beg again, his voice hoarse from his previous sobs. “Let me fuck you. I know I’ve been bad but please, I’ll fuck you so good…I’ll be so good...”

You smile, bitting down on your bottom lip to try and contain your giddiness. Not only did you have THE Jayce Talis, a man wanted by so many, getting off on your foot alone; here he was, on his knees, begging to fuck you. You move the hand tangled in his hair down along his jaw, caressing his face once more. “Take the rest of your clothes off then. And you better keep your word, or I’ll have to tell everyone in Piltover what a pervert you are.” You respond. But no matter the threats, all Jayce could hear was that yes, he finally would get to feel you. No more imagining or stealing your clothing items to use for his fantasies. He could have you. And he didn’t care, or maybe didn’t even know, that you were even lying. Oh, lying through your teeth. You’d never tell another soul about this side of Jayce…it was for you, and only you.

@ 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐙𝐄𝐕 | 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖/𝐎 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

[4linos]

fractured silence pt. 3

yang jeongin x idol!reader

synopsis: when your pregnancy complicates your secret relationship, the emotional distance between you and your boyfriend grows, leaving you unsure of where you stand and what the future holds.

warnings: idol pregnancy, lots of fluff, angst, hurt/comfort.

wc: 17,645

[part 1, part 2]

It was a quiet, still morning, the kind you usually cherished. The sun had barely climbed high in the sky, its golden rays pouring gently through the curtains of your room, casting a soft glow over the space. You had just returned from your latest check-up, now officially eight and a half months along. The visit had gone smoothly, the doctor confirming what you already knew: you were almost there. So close to the moment your life would change forever.

You’d done everything you could to stay under the radar, hoodie on, mask tight, oversized clothes hiding your growing belly. You didn’t even tell the girls you were going out. You just wanted a moment of peace, to feel like a regular person doing a regular thing. And for a little while, it worked.

Now, back in your room, you were sprawled across the couch with your feet up, absently watching a show that didn’t have enough of a plot to hold your attention. Your hand rested instinctively over your bump as you scrolled through your phone, eyes half-focused until a headline jumped out at you, bold and brutal.

“Idol on Hiatus Due to Pregnancy? Rumors Swirl Around Stardust Member, Y/N.”

You froze. Your heart dropped so fast you felt sick. Your fingers trembled as you clicked on the article. It wasn’t long, and there were no photos, no names from company officials. But the damage was already done. It was out there.

Despite your efforts, the silence, the fake reason for the hiatus, the long hours spent hiding away, someone had leaked it. Someone had taken the choice from you.

Your eyes scrolled to the comments before you could stop yourself.

“No way. I don’t believe it.”

“Is she serious? Throwing her career away like this?”

“There’s no proof, this is fake news.”

“Honestly if it’s true… I’m disappointed.”

Each word hit like a brick to the chest. You’d been prepared for judgment, but seeing it in black and white? It was worse than you imagined. You wanted to disappear.

Your phone buzzed in your hand. Jeongin.

You answered without even thinking.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice urgent and full of worry.

You tried to answer, but the words didn’t come out right away. Your throat was tight, and your heart was racing. “No,” you finally whispered. “I’m not okay.”

“I saw it. I saw the article. I'm so sorry— I don't even know what to say.”

Before you could answer, another buzz lit up your screen, a message from Jinhee.

Jinhee: Emergency meeting. Company needs you in immediately. Please hide well when coming. No press can see you. I'm so sorry.

You stared at the text in disbelief, the room suddenly spinning just a little. Everything you’d feared for months, the exposure, the scrutiny, the fallout was unraveling before your eyes. The careful plan to take a quiet hiatus, to give birth privately and come back on your own terms, was gone.

Jeongin was still on the line, waiting. “Do you want me to come with you?” he asked softly. “I’ll go. I’ll be there.”

You shook your head, more to yourself than to him. “No. It’s better if you don’t. They’re already going to twist this. If we’re seen together right now... it’ll only make it worse.”

He hesitated. “I hate this. I hate that you have to go through this alone.”

“I’m not alone,” you said, even though the loneliness sat heavy in your chest. “But I have to do this. I have to face them.”

He exhaled shakily. “Okay. But please call me right after. I’ll be waiting.”

You ended the call slowly, reluctant to lose even that tiny bit of comfort. But there wasn’t time to cry or process, not now.

You grabbed your mask, oversized hoodie, pulled your hair into a loose cap, and stood in front of the mirror. Your eyes were puffy, your body tired, your belly unmistakable beneath the layers of fabric. But you squared your shoulders, steadied your breath, and reminded yourself of something you had to believe: You were still you, even if the world had decided to see you differently.

And now, it was time to fight for yourself.

The company building was quieter than usual or maybe it just felt that way. You were walking through the familiar halls, the sound of your shoes against the floor the only thing you could hear over the thunderous beating of your own heart. Every step felt heavier, like each one brought you closer to something you weren’t ready to face.

You reached the meeting room and paused at the door, taking one last deep breath before walking in. The girls were already there. Jinae was sitting upright, eyes glued to the table; Minsu was chewing on her bottom lip like she always did when she was nervous; and Chae, looked up the moment you stepped in, standing up to greet you with a gentle hand to your arm.

“Are you okay?” she asked, voice soft but urgent. The others turned to you, eyes full of concern.

You gave them a small nod and a rehearsed, too calm “I’m fine,” even though nothing about this felt fine. You could tell they didn’t believe you how could they, when your shoulders were so tense and your jaw so tight? But they didn’t press. They just made room for you to sit between them like they always did when they knew you needed them close.

Moments later, the door opened again. Jun entered first eyes tired, mouth set in a grim line. Behind him came Jinhee, who gave you a brief, apologetic look, followed by two more company reps you didn’t know well, faces serious and businesslike. Everyone took their places, the air thick with tension.

Jun cleared his throat and looked at all of you, but mostly at you.

“This isn’t ideal,” he began. “It’s not how we wanted this to happen. Someone seemed to have leaked information to the press. It’s already out there, and the article is spreading.”

You felt your stomach twist again. You’d already read the article, already seen the comments tearing you apart the denial, the judgment, the disappointment. You didn’t need to hear it again.

Jun sighed. “We have two options. We can deny the rumors, issue a statement that this is baseless, just speculation. But if anything comes out after that… if there's any confirmation down the line…”

“We’ll be liars,” you finished for him, your voice bitter.

He hesitated. “Yes. And that could be even more damaging. To you, to the group, to the company.”

You scoffed, leaning back in your chair. “With all due respect, this was your idea from the beginning. You told me to lie. You told me to disappear quietly and not say a word.”

The room was silent for a beat.

Then one of the company representatives, a man you didn’t even know by name spoke up from across the table.

“Why not just come clean?” he said casually, like he wasn’t suggesting the very thing that could destroy your entire career. “Tell the truth. People are going to find out eventually. Why not control the narrative now?”

Before you could even respond, Jinae turned her head so fast you thought she might’ve pulled something. Her glare was sharp and immediate.

“Do you understand what you’re asking her to do?” she asked, voice low and clipped.

Minsu nodded, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “You want her to put her life on fire so you can write a good press release?”

Chae added, “She’s not a headline. She’s a person. And she’s pregnant. Don’t forget that part.”

You swallowed hard, heart swelling at their defense even though your eyes burned with fresh tears.

The man held up his hands. “I’m just saying.. the longer we stay silent, the worse it could get. Controlling the truth is better than letting people twist it.”

Jun cut in again before things could spiral. “No one’s forcing her to do anything.” He looked at you again, more gently this time. “We just need to be realistic. The story is out there. There’s no guarantee it’ll go away.”

You looked around the room. Everyone was waiting on you. Like you were the only one who could make this call, but also the one who’d take the fall either way. Your lips trembled as you finally said, “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”

And that was the truth.

Because how do you tell the world something they never asked for, something you weren’t ready to give? How do you explain that you didn’t mean to hurt anyone that you were just trying to love someone, to live a little, and now everything might fall apart?

You looked down at your belly, your hand resting gently on the curve of it, the smallest kick tapping back against your palm.

You weren’t just deciding for yourself anymore.

And that made everything so much harder.

-

It had been hours since the emergency meeting, and though the company’s vague statement had finally gone public, nothing really felt resolved. If anything, the silence only made things worse, the uncertainty, the unspoken fear, the way people online began to fill in the blanks with their own narratives. You scrolled through social media in bed, jaw clenched, heart heavy. The statement was vague, sterile..

“We are currently looking into the situation. Please refrain from speculation until an official update is provided.”

It wasn’t exactly protective, but it was better than being thrown under the bus… for now.

Still, you couldn’t relax. The weight of everything the secrecy, the fear of what might come next, the guilt about Jeongin, the burden of protecting both your baby and your career was pressing in on you from all sides. You hadn’t been able to keep food down, and every time you tried to sleep, your mind spiraled through worst-case scenarios.

The dorm, usually lively and filled with chatter and music, had gone quiet over the past few days. Jinae, Chae, and Minsu were around for a short rest from their own schedules, and they made it a point to stay close to you. They tried their best to distract you, Jinae brought snacks and put on your favorite dramas, Minsu dragged her blanket into the living room and made a cozy space to lay down beside you, and Chae spent every free moment near you, humming gently, rubbing your back when she thought you needed it most.

But something was off today.

You’d been feeling light cramps since that morning, a low discomfort in your back that had started small, barely noticeable. At first you’d brushed it off, just another side effect of stress, right? Or maybe just normal end-of-pregnancy things. You didn’t want to scare the girls, didn’t want to worry them more than they already were, so you stayed quiet.

But by afternoon, the tightness in your stomach became more rhythmic, sharper, harder to ignore. You bit your tongue when a sharp pulse hit you suddenly, tears pricking at your eyes.

It was Chae who noticed first.

She turned from the TV to find you sitting frozen, your knuckles white from gripping the couch cushion. “Hey… are you okay?”

You shook your head quickly. “Yeah, I’m fine, just—just a cramp—”

But then your breath hitched. You let out a soft cry before you could stop yourself.

“Jinae?” Chae’s voice raised an octave, full of panic. She scooted toward you just as Jinae stood from the kitchen, her eyes narrowing.

“What’s going on?”

“She’s in pain,” Chae said quickly. “Like… real pain.”

Minsu rushed over from her room, phone already in her hand. “Do we need to go to the hospital?”

You tried to wave them off, but another contraction rolled through your body and you bent forward, gripping your belly. “Something’s… wrong…”

“No,” Jinae said firmly, already helping you to your feet. “We’re not waiting”

They helped you into a coat and shoes, supporting your arms. The car ride was a blur. Your breathing came in sharp, shaky bursts, tears sliding silently down your cheeks. Chae sat beside you in the back seat, holding your hand the entire time. Minsu drove like her life depended on it.

By the time you reached the hospital, your world had narrowed to the pain and the overwhelming fear in your chest.

The nurse who greeted you was quick, a check-in, some quick vitals, then straight into an exam room. “You’re in labor,” she said calmly, and your heart dropped into your stomach.

“No, I’m not ready,” you whispered, the words falling from your lips as panic bloomed in your chest. “It’s early. It’s too early.”

“It’s a little early, yes, but you and your baby are both okay right now,” the nurse said gently, signaling for someone to prep a room. “We’re going to take care of you.”

The girls had fallen quiet. Jinae’s hand found yours again, firm and grounding. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “We’re here, right? You’re not doing this alone.”

Minsu nodded, already halfway out the door. “I’ll call Jeongin.”

“I’ll get your hospital bag,” Chae said, disappearing down the hall toward the car without hesitation.

But you barely registered their voices.

You lay back on the hospital bed, a mess of fear and tears and pain. This wasn’t how you pictured it. This wasn’t the moment you’d imagined, no quiet nursery, no weeks of nesting, no last-minute baby prep. You still didn’t know what your future looked like, not with the company, not with the world. But the one thing you did know was this:

The baby was coming.

Ready or not.

-

The moment Jeongin burst into the delivery room, everything around you stilled for a second like time paused just so you could take in the look on his face. He was breathless, cheeks flushed from running, his mask barely clinging to one ear, and his hair was a complete mess under his hoodie, but none of that mattered. His eyes searched for you immediately. And when they found you exhausted, drenched in sweat, tears dried on your cheeks and hand clutched tightly in Jinae’s he rushed to your side without hesitation.

He didn’t even say anything at first. He just cupped your face, pressed a kiss to your damp forehead, and then another to your temple, before finally whispering, “I’m here. I’m here. Are you okay?”

You couldn’t speak. You were too overwhelmed with pain, fear, emotion, but your eyes watered as you managed the tiniest nod. Jinae, ever the anchor, spoke for you, her hand still resting lightly on your shoulder.

“apparently she’d been having cramps all day, but didn’t really tell us until Chae noticed she wasn’t doing okay.” she explained to Jeongin gently.

Jeongin’s jaw tensed as he turned back to you, eyes scanning every inch of your face, as if trying to read through your pain. “Why didn’t you call me earlier?” he asked, voice soft, concerned not angry, just deeply scared for you.

You gave him a tired, fragile smile, your grip on his hand tightening. “Didn’t think it was time,” you breathed, “I wasn’t ready.”

He leaned in again, brushing your hair off your forehead with a trembling hand. “You don’t have to be ready. I’ll be ready for both of us. Just hold on a little longer, okay?”

Jinae excused herself quietly, placing a hand on your shoulder in quiet support before stepping out. Jeongin looked up just long enough to mouth “thank you” to her, and the weight in his voice wasn’t lost on her.

What followed felt like the longest hours of your life.

The contractions were intense, coming faster now, every wave threatening to drown you. Jeongin didn’t leave your side, not for a second. He held your hand through every breath, whispered encouragements in your ear even when your body trembled too much to focus on his words. He wiped your tears, whispered “you’re doing so good,” over and over again, even when you felt like you weren’t.

And then it happened.

A final push, every muscle in your body straining with everything you had left and then…

A cry. Tiny, but powerful. The sound sliced through the room, filling every corner with something electric and raw and real. You collapsed back against the hospital bed, tears rushing down your face, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to process it.

Jeongin let out a laugh that was really more of a choked sob. His face crumpled the moment he heard your baby’s first cry. “That’s him,” he whispered, awe painting his voice with something reverent. “That’s our boy…”

You couldn’t even answer. You just nodded weakly, tears slipping down your cheeks again as you watched the nurses clean him, measure him, swaddle him.

“He’s perfect,” Jeongin breathed. “He’s so small. So perfect…”

You felt his hand slip into yours again as he turned back to you, kissing your knuckles. “You did that,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “You did all of that. I’m so proud of you. So proud.”

The nurse finally brought him over, wrapped snugly in soft blue and white, and the moment she gently placed your baby into your arms, it hit you all over again.

This was real.

This tiny, warm, pink-faced little boy… was yours. Yours and Jeongin’s.

He blinked slowly, as if confused by the world he had just been brought into. His little fingers curled near his cheek, and his breathing was soft and even.

Jeongin sat beside you, one arm around your shoulders, the other carefully resting over yours as you both looked down at him.

“Welcome to the world, little one,” he whispered.

And for the first time in what felt like months, you didn’t feel scared. Or tired. Or anxious.

You just felt full of love, of peace, of something you didn’t know you’d been missing until that moment.

And Jeongin, still looking down at his son, said it again, this time louder, steadier:

“I’m here. For both of you. Always.”

Jeongin sat there in the hospital chair, cradling little Yejun in his arms like he was the most fragile and precious thing in the world, and to him, he probably was. His hand supported the baby’s head with practiced gentleness, and his eyes never left his son’s face. It was quiet in the room, the soft hum of monitors fading into the background, the weight of everything that had happened resting somewhere far away from this moment.

Jeongin’s voice was low, barely above a whisper as he spoke to Yejun, his words soft and sweet like a secret only they shared.

“You’ve got your mama’s nose,” he murmured with a small smile. “That’s a good thing. She’s the prettiest person I’ve ever met.”

He reached out to gently trace a tiny curve of the baby’s cheek with his finger, watching in fascination as Yejun shifted just a little in his arms, lips parting in sleep.

“You don’t even know how lucky you are yet,” he went on, glancing toward you for a second eyes warm, filled with so much love it made your chest ache. “You’ve got her. And you’ve got me. And I promise, I’ll protect you both with everything I’ve got.”

You lay in the hospital bed, head resting against the pillows, utterly exhausted but unable to look away from the sight of the two of them Jeongin, wide-eyed and reverent, and your newborn baby, bundled up and quiet in his arms. Your eyes burned as you watched them. It was surreal, after everything, this was your life now. This little boy was yours. And Jeongin... he was really here.

Jeongin finally stood up and came to your side, careful and slow with every movement as he handed Yejun over to you. You adjusted yourself slightly in the bed, cradling your baby to your chest, and you gave Jeongin a tired but utterly soft smile.

“Did the company say anything?” you asked after a moment, voice weak but steady. “About you being here?”

His smile faltered slightly, and that was answer enough. You watched the way he looked toward the floor before meeting your eyes again, hesitant.

“I... didn’t tell them,” he admitted quietly. “I kind of just left.”

Your brow furrowed. “Jeongin—”

“They’ve been calling nonstop,” he added quickly, “I know. I know. I’ll probably get chewed out later or worse, but... I just couldn’t stay away.”

You blinked at him, processing his words. “They’re going to be so angry. You know that.”

“I don’t care,” he said, firm now. His hand reached out, cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing gently against your cheek. “None of that matters right now. All that matters is you... and him.”

Your breath caught in your throat. It wasn’t just the words, it was the way he said them. So sure. So sincere. As if nothing could ever pull him away from you again. And maybe, after everything, that was what you needed most to hear.

“You’re gonna get in trouble,” you murmured again, not because you wanted to argue, but because you were scared for him, for the weight of what this moment meant in the world outside of these four walls.

“I know,” he said. “But he only comes into the world once. And I’m not going to miss that for anyone, not even the company.”

Your eyes welled up again. You looked down at Yejun, his tiny chest rising and falling against yours, his warmth settling over your skin like a blanket, and then back up at Jeongin, whose hand was now resting protectively over both of you.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “For being here.”

He leaned in and kissed your forehead again, lingering for a moment before resting his own against yours.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

The quiet calm of the hospital room didn’t last long, not that you minded. Within moments, the door swung open and the girls came rushing in like a whirlwind of excited energy and love. Jinae was first, holding a handful of light blue balloons with little white clouds and a big “Welcome Baby!” banner tangled around her wrist. Chae and Minsu followed behind, carrying a gift bag nearly half their size that was overflowing with tissue paper in pastel colors. Their faces lit up the moment they saw you sitting up in bed with your son in your arms, and the room filled instantly with warm laughter and squeals of excitement.

“There he is!” Chae beamed, her voice cracking with emotion. “Oh my god, look how tiny he is!”

Minsu didn’t even hesitate. “Can I hold him?” she asked, eyes wide, bouncing on her heels like a kid waiting for candy.

You smiled, glancing at Jeongin who was still standing by your side like a guard dog and a proud dad rolled into one. He looked at you, silently asking if it was okay, and when you nodded, he carefully leaned down and helped Minsu cradle baby Yejun in her arms.

“He’s perfect,” Minsu whispered immediately, her voice trembling slightly as she swayed side to side, instinctively rocking him. “He’s seriously perfect.”

Jeongin grinned, chest puffing up slightly. “I know, right? He’s got the tiniest fingers. Look at his ears. He yawned earlier and I nearly cried.”

Chae and Jinae gathered around Minsu, cooing at the baby and gently touching his little hands and feet. “He’s going to be spoiled,” Jinae said knowingly, eyes gleaming. “He has no idea how loved he is already.”

“He’s going to grow up with four moms,” Chae added with a laugh, nudging Jeongin. “Five, if you count you. You’ve barely blinked since he was born.”

“I’m just making sure he’s okay,” Jeongin defended with a sheepish grin. “And that she’s okay too,” he added, turning his attention back to you.

You could see it in his eyes, he hadn’t stopped worrying about you even for a second. While the girls bickered over who would hold Yejun next, Jeongin leaned in close, brushing your hair gently away from your face.

“Are you feeling alright? Do you need water? Food? I can run out and grab something if you’re hungry. Or I can ask the nurse—”

“Jeongin,” you interrupted softly, smiling up at him. “I’m okay. I promise.”

He gave you a look, not convinced, still on full alert, but he nodded anyway and reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “You scared me,” he murmured. “Going into labor so suddenly like that. I thought we had more time.”

You sighed, your body heavy with exhaustion, but your heart full. “Me too. But he had other plans.”

The girls had now passed Yejun into Chae’s arms, and she was whispering something about how she wanted to knit him a tiny beanie, while Jinae opened the massive gift bag to show you an entire set of newborn clothes, soft blankets, and a tiny framed card that said ‘Welcome to the world, Yejun.’

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at their chaos, it was comforting, grounding. Even in a sterile hospital room with all the uncertainty still looming beyond those walls, this moment felt perfect.

You leaned your head against Jeongin’s shoulder, still watching your baby get passed from arm to arm, and whispered, “This… feels like a dream.”

Jeongin kissed the top of your head gently, his voice just as soft. “Then let’s never wake up.”

-

The hospital room felt quieter that morning, still warm and soft with the gentle scent of baby powder and fresh linens, but quieter in a way that tugged at your chest. You sat on the edge of the bed in your discharge clothes, Yejun bundled up in his tiny baby onesie, swaddled in a blue blanket with little stars on it, asleep in your arms. Jeongin had been fussing all morning, fixing the straps on the car seat, making sure your discharge bag had everything in it, adjusting Yejun’s tiny hat over and over again, even though it was perfectly snug.

He didn’t want to leave.

You could see it all over him. The way his shoulders stayed tight, how his eyes kept flickering between you and the baby, like he was trying to memorize every last detail before he had to walk out that door. He had schedules, ones he couldn’t get out of this time, even though he’d begged. His company had drawn the line. He was lucky to have gotten this much time off to be here for Yejun’s birth at all.

“I hate this,” he finally muttered under his breath, gently pressing a long, soft kiss against Yejun’s tiny cheek. “I should be the one taking you home.”

You reached out, placing a hand on his arm with a small, tired smile. “I’ll be okay. Jinae’s almost here. She said she’s five minutes away.”

Jeongin gave a reluctant sigh and leaned down to buckle Yejun into the baby seat that sat on a small rolling cart beside your bed. He was so gentle, adjusting the tiny straps over your son's chest, making sure they weren’t too tight. “You be good, little guy,” he whispered, watching as Yejun stirred slightly in his sleep. He reached out, and his tiny hand wrapped around Jeongin’s finger in a surprisingly firm grip.

Jeongin’s lips quirked into a smile, his eyes suddenly glassy. “He’s strong,” he said softly. “Just like you.”

He turned back to you then, his expression shifting, the proud father melting into the man who had stood beside you through every high and low, the man who loved you more than he could explain. He stepped toward you and wrapped his arms around you tightly, burying his face in your hair. The warmth of his body was grounding, safe, and it made the ache in your chest spread wider.

“I’ll call you the second I get in the van,” he murmured. “And later tonight. And tomorrow morning. I’ll sneak out if I can. I swear. Just hang in there a little longer.”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, your throat thick with emotion so you simply nodded, your arms winding around his middle just a little tighter. You didn't want him to see the tears welling in your eyes. You didn’t want to cry and make it harder for him to leave, even though every part of you wanted to ask him to stay.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much. And I love him more than I ever thought I could love anything.”

Another nod. Another squeeze. You were going to miss him the moment he walked out that door.

Right then, the door creaked open and Jinae peeked in, slightly out of breath and clutching her phone in one hand and a small bag in the other. “Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said gently, catching sight of the two of you tangled in each other.

Jeongin let out a quiet chuckle, not turning away just yet. “Perfect timing,” he said under his breath. Then, slowly, reluctantly, he pulled back. He turned to Jinae and offered a grateful nod. “Please take care of them. Both of them.”

Jinae gave him a soft, understanding look and nodded. “Of course. Always.”

With one last glance at you, eyes full of unspoken words Jeongin stepped close to Yejun and gave him one more kiss on his tiny forehead. “Appa loves you,” he whispered, voice thick. Then he leaned over and kissed you, slower this time. A kiss that said I’ll be back. I’m not going anywhere.

And just like that, he was gone.

The room felt quiet again, but this time in a different way. Not lonely, just… paused. Waiting for the next chapter to begin.

When Jinae helped you up the few stairs to your dorm door, your body still sore and heavy with exhaustion, the last thing you expected was what you saw the moment the door swung open.

“Welcome home, Yejun & Mommy!” a big banner read in bright, cheerful letters, strung across the entryway.

The entire dorm was filled with light laughter and soft squeals as you stepped inside, greeted by a sea of baby blue balloons scattered across the wooden floor like soft bubbles. Some had little stars drawn on them in silver marker, others had “Yejun” scribbled across in cute handwriting probably Minsu’s, based on the little hearts surrounding each letter. A faint sweet scent filled the air, vanilla and something a little floral. Your heart squeezed in your chest as you looked around.

“Oh my God,” you breathed out, laughing softly as your hand came up to cover your mouth, the wave of emotion washing over you all at once.

The girls stood proudly around the entrance. Chae was the first to rush forward, arms out to greet you, her voice full of excitement. “Surprise!” she beamed. “Jinhee helped us decorate! She even dropped off food for you like, a lot of food, but she had to go before you got here.”

You nodded, overwhelmed and grateful. “You guys… seriously. This is too much.”

“It’s not even close to enough,” Minsu grinned, quickly hurrying over to you and Jinae, who had just finished settling Yejun’s baby seat down on the floor gently. “You deserve everything.”

Then she leaned in and mischievously looped her arm through yours, practically bouncing. “Okay, okay we have a huge surprise for you. But you have to close your eyes.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Another surprise? You guys already—”

“Nope!” Jinae cut in, smiling. “Eyes. Closed.”

You laughed softly, heart warm, and shut your eyes with a nod. “Alright, alright. But bring Yejun, okay?”

“Already on it!” Minsu called, and you could hear the girls giggling softly as they quietly tiptoed around, getting everything ready.

Carefully, they guided you down the hallway, past the familiar walls of your dorm, but when you stepped into your room, the air felt… different. New. You could hear a whisper-shouted “Surprise!” and opened your eyes, heart thumping.

You gasped.

The room, your room, which used to be modest and simple had been completely transformed. A brand new crib stood by the window, painted a soft gray with moon and star carvings along the sides. Next to it, a bassinet rested gently beside your bed, and an adorable white changing table stood stocked with baby wipes, diapers, tiny creams, and tiny socks rolled into bundles.

Soft blue and cream curtains now hung where your plain ones used to be, and a new fluffy rug had been laid down, plush under your tired feet. On one wall, a little wooden name sign spelled out “Yejun” in delicate cursive, and on another, picture frames had already been put up, some with little drawings, others waiting for your first family photos.

You felt your throat tighten as the tears welled up. “You guys…” you breathed, lips trembling into a smile.

“We wanted you to have a space for both of you,” Chae said gently, stepping beside you.

“If the crib breaks, Minsu built it,” she added with a laugh.

Minsu gasped in mock offense. “Excuse me! It is stable and perfect! I watched like three tutorials!”

You let out a soft, watery laugh, reaching over and gently taking sleeping Yejun into your arms from Jinae, who had been swaying slightly with him as he slept.

You brought him closer to the crib, holding him up just slightly as if showing him the room built for him with so much love. “Look, baby,” you whispered. “This is your new home.”

The girls watched quietly as you leaned down and gently placed Yejun in the crib for the first time. He stirred only slightly, his tiny hand twitching against his blanket as he snuggled deeper into sleep.

You turned back to your members, who were now leaning on the doorway and walls, beaming proudly.

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Really. I don’t… I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”

Jinae stepped forward and hugged you, tight and warm. “You don’t have to do anything without us. We’re here. All the way.”

And in that small, glowing room with love pressed into every corner and a baby boy sleeping in a crib built by your family, you finally let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay.

You had barely had time to soak everything up when Yejun’s little face scrunched up, a tiny whimper escaping his lips. You sighed softly, instinctively reaching for him again, but Chae was already ahead of you.

“I got him,” she said with a gentle smile, lifting him from the crib and into her arms. “You go eat. Rest. I mean it.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, eyes flicking between her and your son, who was beginning to fuss more intensely now.

She nodded confidently, brushing a thumb gently over Yejun’s cheek as she bounced him slightly. “I’m serious. If I can memorize a 5-minute dance in one practice, I can handle this tiny bean. Go eat.”

You chuckled quietly, heart warm, and muttered a soft “Thank you” as you turned toward the kitchen table where Jinae and Minsu were already seated, waiting with two warm trays of food, courtesy of Jinhee.

Jinae pushed one toward you. “Here. She brought you seaweed soup and grilled chicken with rice said it's good for recovery.”

“And there’s also some ginger tea in the thermos,” Minsu added. “Smells kinda weird, not gonna lie, but she said it helps with digestion and energy.”

You smiled gratefully, sitting down with a wince, still sore in places you hadn’t known could hurt and picked up your chopsticks. As you began to eat, the comforting warmth of the soup spreading through you, you watched Chae in the living room.

She had set Yejun down on the changing mat you kept in the corner and was expertly unsnapping his onesie. You paused mid-bite, eyebrows raised. “She’s really doing it,” you mumbled.

“Honestly?” Jinae said, leaning back in her chair. “She’s doing better than I did my first time changing my cousin.”

“She’s doing better than me and I gave birth to him,” you joked lightly, earning a laugh from Minsu.

“She’s a natural,” Minsu said with a smirk. “Already a pro.”

“I heard that!” Chae called from the living room without turning around. “Don’t jinx me!”

You were just about to respond when your phone, sitting beside your tray, buzzed sharply. You glanced down and saw the name instantly, Jeongin.

Minsu leaned over with a teasing grin. “Didn’t even give you a full two hours before checking in, huh?”

You rolled your eyes fondly, warmth blooming in your chest as you wiped your fingers on a napkin and picked up the phone. “It’s like he knew the second I set Yejun down,” you muttered before answering quickly.

“Hey,” you greeted softly.

“Hey,” Jeongin replied almost instantly, his voice a little out of breath like he’d run to a corner of the building just to call. “How are you? Did you make it home okay? Did they decorate? Was it the surprise you wanted?”

You let out a small laugh, touched. “Yes. It was perfect. They really went all out.”

“I wish I could’ve stayed longer,” he mumbled. “I barely got to hold him…”

“You were with us every moment you could be. He knows,” you reassured, your voice lowering as you leaned slightly away from the girls for a little privacy.

“Is he okay?” he asked quickly, barely giving you time to breathe. “How’s he doing? He ate, right? He’s not too cold? Did you get to rest yet?”

You smiled despite yourself, eyes drifting to the living room where Chae was now gently lifting Yejun, talking softly to him while patting his back. “He’s okay. Chae’s got him right now. She changed him and everything.

“She did?” Jeongin laughed quietly, almost in disbelief. “She’s braver than me. He screamed bloody murder when I tried earlier.”

“He fussed a little,” you said softly, watching them, “but she’s doing amazing.”

“You both are,” he said, voice quieter now. “I know you’re tired… but thank you. For doing all of this. For him. For… us.”

Your heart softened at his words, the exhaustion clinging to your bones momentarily replaced by that strange warmth again, the one that always came when he reminded you how much he cared.

You didn’t say anything right away, but your silence spoke volumes, and Jeongin didn’t press.

“I’ll call again tonight, okay?” he finally whispered. “And tomorrow. And every day until I see you both again.”

“Okay,” you whispered back, the corners of your lips lifting.

Just before you hung up, you heard him chuckle again and say gently, “Tell Yejun I miss him already.”

You stared at the phone for a second after the call ended, heart a little fuller than before.

“Everything okay?” Jinae asked.

You looked up and nodded. “Yeah… he misses us.”

Minsu reached over and squeezed your shoulder with a knowing smile. “He’s not the only one.”

And in that tiny dorm filled with baby blue balloons and quiet warmth, you finally took another bite of your soup, a little more comforted than before.

You settled into your new rhythm at the dorm, a life so vastly different from the one you had just months ago, yet somehow fuller, softer, and warmer. The air always carried a gentle hum now not just from baby monitors or lullabies playing faintly in the background, but from the constant, quiet love that surrounded you. Your members, your sisters, wrapped themselves around you and Yejun like a warm blanket.

Each of them had settled into their own roles naturally, seamlessly. Jinae, ever the grounded and calm one, took on the “mom friend” energy with ease making lists, helping you manage baby supplies, and gently coaxing you to nap even if it was only for twenty minutes while she rocked Yejun in her arms. Chae was full of chaos and heart, always ready to make you laugh, even if it meant doing a ridiculous impression while trying to bottle-feed Yejun. She was loud and energetic, but with your son, she softened, something about the way she hummed lullabies when she thought no one was listening always made your chest ache in the best way.

Minsu was the most surprising, she had this quiet affection, often expressed through little things. You’d wake up from a nap to find your laundry folded, your favorite drink in the fridge, or a new onesie for Yejun she picked up “just because it was cute.” She didn’t hover or fuss, but you always knew she was watching, making sure everything you needed was in place, even if you never had to ask.

The days blurred together a little, bottles, diapers, cries in the middle of the night, and the smallest moments that made all the fatigue worth it. Yejun’s soft sighs when he fell asleep on your chest. The way his tiny hand instinctively curled around your finger. His little yawns, and the first time he almost smiled in his sleep, those moments carved themselves into your memory like stars dotting the sky of your new life.

And Jeongin, even with the distance, even with the world between your dorm and his schedules, he never let you feel forgotten. He called every day, sometimes multiple times. His texts were random, a “did Yejun burp okay?” at 3 a.m., or a “you doing alright today?” during lunch break, but they reminded you of something simple and solid: that he was trying.

You’d often pick up his calls with a sleeping Yejun against your shoulder. He’d greet you in that soft voice he reserved only for these moments, the one that was laced with exhaustion but also love.

“I miss you,” he’d whisper. “I wish I could be there. It doesn’t feel right being so far.”

Sometimes, his calls came between music show rehearsals or as he hid in a stairwell to avoid his manager. You could hear the strain in his voice, not just the tiredness from dancing and singing all day, but the emotional weight of missing his baby boy, of missing you.

“I watched the fancams today,” you’d tell him with a small smile, voice low as you rocked Yejun to sleep. “You looked good. The fans went crazy.”

“I didn’t feel good,” he’d admit, and you could hear the crack behind the joke in his tone. “My head was all over the place. I kept thinking about if Yejun cried today. If you got any rest. If I should’ve just snuck out again…”

“You’re doing your best,” you’d whisper. “He knows. I know.”

There was always a pause after that. A moment where silence didn’t feel heavy but full. Full of all the things neither of you could say aloud, not right now, not yet, but both understood deeply.

Some nights, he’d ask you to hold the phone near Yejun while he slept, just so he could listen. And he’d stay on the line long after your responses had faded, the soft breaths of his son a lullaby he’d memorized over time.

And though the days were long and the nights often longer, with the quiet ache of what-ifs and stolen time, there was something beautiful in how love stitched all the pieces together, messy and imperfect, but unwavering.

You were figuring it out, the sleepless nights, the healing body, the balancing act of who you were before and who you were becoming. But you weren’t doing it alone. And that, somehow, made all the difference.

You were bouncing Yejun gently in your arms, the dim light from the living room lamp casting a soft glow across the dorm’s cozy silence. It had been a long day, not exhausting in the way that tore you apart, but tiring in the slow, steady way new motherhood tended to be. The girls had left early that morning, their flight whisking them off for an overseas performance that would span the weekend. They'd helped pack up everything the night before, triple-checked your fridge for food, and reminded you to text them the moment you needed anything. You reassured them like always, you were fine, Yejun was fine. It was just another weekend.

You had just laid Yejun down for a nap when your phone buzzed softly. It was Jeongin.

Is anyone at the dorm with you?

You paused briefly, thumb hovering over the keyboard. You didn’t think much of it at first, maybe he was just wondering if you had help, maybe he was worried you were alone. You responded simply.

Nope, just me and Yejun.

Less than a minute passed.

I’ll be there soon.

Your eyes widened slightly. Here? Now?

Your heart gave a small flutter, one you didn’t bother trying to suppress. You knew he missed Yejun. He hadn't seen him in over a week. Between your hiatus and his relentless schedules, time moved fast, but moments like these, being with Yejun were things he never wanted to miss.

Just be careful, you typed quickly, thumbs moving faster than your thoughts. No one can see you.

I will, came his reply. Promise.

The next thirty minutes passed in a slow rush. You straightened up a bit, tucked away a few bottles, re-smoothed the baby blanket over Yejun. You weren't sure why you were suddenly nervous. Maybe because this visit felt different. It was the first time in a while that it would be just the three of you. No girls, no distractions, no rushed hellos in the middle of the night. Just Jeongin. You. And your son.

And then, a soft knock at the door.

You opened it quietly, and there he was. Black cap low over his brows, mask still clinging to his face, eyes wide and tired but full of something warmer. You didn’t say a word. Neither did he. Not at first.

He stepped in quickly, shut the door behind him, and before you could even catch your breath, his arms wrapped tightly around you. You let yourself melt into him, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne and the soft fabric of his hoodie. He pulled back slightly just to press a rushed, messy kiss to your lips, then another, then one to your cheek, your jaw, your forehead.

“I missed you,” he mumbled against your skin. “So much.”

Your arms tightened around his middle. “I missed you, too.”

But before you could say more, a soft sound came from the side of the room, a quiet whimper. The tiniest, familiar cry.

Jeongin froze, and then smiled.

“That’s my boy,” he whispered, already moving toward the bassinet.

You watched from behind as he crouched down and carefully reached in. Yejun blinked sleepily up at him, little fists waving in the air. The moment Jeongin’s arms wrapped around him, the baby stilled. A soft hum escaped Yejun’s lips, followed by a gentle sigh, almost like he knew like he remembered this presence, this scent, this voice.

Jeongin looked down at him like he was the most delicate, perfect thing in the world. “He’s bigger,” he whispered, eyes glassy. “His cheeks got chubbier. Look at you, buddy.”

Yejun blinked slowly, nestling into his father’s chest, tiny fingers curling around the drawstring of Jeongin’s hoodie. And Jeongin just stood there holding him, eyes never leaving the tiny face resting against him.

You stood beside them quietly, taking it all in, the soft way Jeongin swayed instinctively, the low hum he offered that lulled Yejun back to a sleepy state, the way Jeongin kissed the top of his head like he’d been waiting months just to do that again.

Then Jeongin looked over at you, his voice barely audible.

“I hate not being here.”

“I know,” you whispered.

“I want more of this. I want…” he looked down at Yejun, eyes heavy with emotion. “I want to be there for everything.”

You stepped closer, resting your head against his arm.

“You are,” you told him softly. “You’re doing the best you can.”

But the guilt in his eyes didn’t waver. And still, there was so much love. So much longing.

That night, you stayed up later than you had in weeks. The three of you curled up together on the couch, Yejun tucked between you both, Jeongin’s hand on his son’s back and your hand in his. There were no cameras. No managers. No pressure.

Just your small, hidden family.

And for a little while, the rest of the world didn’t matter.

-

The soft hum of the night wrapped around the dorm, the only sounds coming from the subtle whirr of the heater and the gentle, even breaths of baby Yejun sleeping in his bassinet nearby. You and Jeongin sat side by side on the couch, the room dimly lit, with a warm blanket draped over both your legs. Yejun had long since drifted off, soothed by the rhythm of Jeongin’s heartbeat and your soft voice, and now rested peacefully just a few feet away. But Jeongin hadn’t said much since laying him down again, and you noticed it.

You turned toward him slightly, your eyes narrowing as you studied the side of his face. His smile was there, but it wasn’t the same. It was thin, tight. Tired.

“Hey,” you said softly, nudging him gently with your shoulder. “Are you okay?”

He blinked out of his thoughts and glanced at you, the smile still there, but sad. It wavered a bit, like he didn’t have the energy to pretend.

“I just…” he started, his voice low and a little strained. “I just hate this. Not being with you two every day.”

Your chest ached at the vulnerability in his tone. You reached out instinctively, slipping your hand into his and squeezing it, nodding.

“I know.”

He exhaled, shaking his head like he was still working out the words before finally saying them. “What if… what if we lived together?”

You blinked.

“I mean it,” he added, more sure now, sitting up straighter. “I’ll get an apartment, something simple, private. Yejun would have his own room. You’d have your space. We’d finally be together. I could come home after a long day and see both of you there… I wouldn’t miss things anymore.”

You stared at him, heart pounding not because you didn’t want it, but because you did. So badly.

And that made it hurt more.

“Jeongin…”

“I know,” he said before you could respond fully, already sensing your hesitation. “I know it’s not that easy. But just think about it. You wouldn’t have to keep going through all this alone. We could figure it out, together.”

You looked at him, into the quiet hope in his eyes, and you wanted to give in. You wanted to say yes. That idea of waking up with him there, watching him carry Yejun around in pajamas, the three of you curled up in one space that was yours, it wasn’t just tempting. It felt like the dream. Something so close it felt real.

But it wasn’t.

Not yet.

“I want to,” you admitted softly. “Yes, I want to. But I can’t, not right now.”

His face fell. Not in frustration, but in that quiet, disappointed way you knew he was trying hard not to show too much emotion.

“I still have my idol responsibilities,” you continued gently. “This hiatus is temporary. When it ends… I’ll have long days. Just like you. Busy schedules. Long hours. Rehearsals. Interviews. Performances. Everything.”

He was quiet, nodding slightly, but his jaw tensed.

“I understand that,” he said after a moment, “but… who’s going to be there for Yejun when that happens?”

You opened your mouth but had no answer.

“If we lived together,” he continued, trying to reason with it all, “we could split it. I’ll stay with him when you’re busy. And when I’m busy, you’ll stay with him. We’ll make it work.”

“It’s not that simple,” you whispered. “What if we’re both gone? What if we both have back-to-back schedules? What if it overlaps and neither of us can be there?”

Jeongin looked down, his brows drawn together.

“I know,” he said after a long pause. “I know you’re right. I’m just scared.”

You softened, leaning into him, resting your head against his shoulder.

“So am I.”

He turned his head, kissing the top of yours.

“I just want to be a good dad,” he whispered. “And I want to be with you.”

“You are,” you murmured. “You’re already both.”

And though the moment lingered in a cloud of uncertainty, the warmth of his arm around you, and the quiet, sleeping sounds of your son just a few feet away, grounded you both in a truth stronger than any plan.

You didn’t know how you’d make it work. Not yet.

But you both wanted to.

And for now, that would have to be enough.

-

It was a quiet afternoon, the kind you’d grown to appreciate in the chaos of your new life. The dorm was filled with soft laughter and the gentle coos of Yejun. The girls had offered to look after him for a bit so you could have some rare time to yourself, and while it was hard to pull away, the momentary silence was a relief. You stretched out on your bed with a book that had been sitting on your shelf untouched since your pregnancy, finally able to breathe without keeping an ear out for baby cries.

Then your phone buzzed.

Jeongin.

Your brows furrowed. He never called around this time, especially knowing that you were usually resting or trying to get a small break. Your heart jumped with concern, was everything okay? Was something wrong with him? Was he hurt?

You slipped out of your room quickly, poking your head into the living room where the girls sat with Yejun, who was contently playing with a soft toy in Minsu’s lap. Jinae looked up with a small smile, instantly calming some of your worry.

“Everything’s okay,” she said, reading your face. “He’s being an angel.”

You nodded in thanks, quickly ducking back into your room and shutting the door softly behind you before answering Jeongin’s call.

“Jeongin?” you asked, your voice slightly breathless, “Is everything alright?”

There was a beat of silence on the other end. Then another.

“…No,” he said finally, his voice lower than usual, almost hollow. “No, not really.”

Your stomach twisted. “What happened?”

“I… I just need you to know something before it comes out.” His tone was careful, heavy, and it made your chest tighten.

“What are you talking about?”

“No matter what happens, I hope you won’t be too upset with me,” he said. “I just… I had to do it. I needed to. For you and for Yejun. I want to be closer to you both.”

Now you were panicking.

“Jeongin, what did you do?”

“I have to go. I love you. I love Yejun so much. Please just… remember that, okay?”

And just like that, the line went dead.

You stared at your phone in complete confusion, your pulse rising like a storm starting inside your chest. What the hell did he mean by that?

Your fingers worked faster than your mind, already pulling open every app, scrolling for answers, updates, anything that could explain what he meant.

And there it was.

Your heart dropped as you saw it: the JYP Entertainment logo sitting bold and ominous at the top of a new post.

The words “official statement” made your blood run cold.

You clicked it.

And read it.

“Hello, This is JYP Entertainment.

We would like to share some personal news regarding Stray Kids’ I.N. Recently welcomed the birth of his child. While this news may come as a surprise, we ask for your understanding and support during this personal and important time in his life. To ensure that he can focus on the wellbeing of his family and spend time with his newborn son, I.N will be taking a temporary leave from his group schedules. We ask the public and media to respect the privacy of all involved.

Thank you.”

You stared at the words.

You read them again.

And again.

And with each pass, it felt like the air in your lungs grew thinner. The room felt smaller.

Your child. His family.

He announced it.

No names were used no photos, no details, but everyone would know. Everyone would connect the dots. This was huge. A JYP idol, openly admitting to becoming a parent and stepping back for it? It wasn’t just shocking, it was unprecedented.

And the worst part?

He hadn’t even warned you.

You felt the anger bloom beneath your skin, rising like boiling water. You understood why he did it.

You knew he meant well. But this? Making a public statement like that without talking to you not just as the mother of his child, but as someone whose own career, own future, was directly impacted by this? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t okay.

He had promised not to put you or your group in jeopardy. He had promised to be careful. And now, even without your name, your fans everyone would speculate. They’d start digging. It wouldn’t be long before someone made the connection.

And worst of all… he’d done it alone. Without you.

Your phone buzzed again. A message from him.

Jeongin: “Please don’t be too mad. I wanted to tell you earlier. I just didn’t know how. I did it because I want to be there. Really be there. Not just sneak around to see you and Yejun. I want to do this right.”

You stared at the message, heart hammering, frustration swirling deep in your chest. You believed him, that part was never in question. But trust wasn’t just about intention. It was about action. And he’d made this choice alone.

And now?

Now everything was going to change.

You sat on the edge of your bed, clutching your phone, not knowing whether you wanted to scream, cry, or call him back.

Maybe all three.

Your phone buzzed again, but you ignored it. You needed a minute.

Because this time… he didn’t just step on a line, he crossed it.

-

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm amber glow through the dormitory windows, you found yourself alone. The girls had left for practice, leaving the apartment unusually quiet. The stillness was soon interrupted by a gentle knock at the door. Your heart skipped a beat as you approached, peering through the peephole to see Jeongin standing there, his posture slightly hunched, hands tucked into his pockets.

Taking a deep breath to steady the whirlwind of emotions within you, you opened the door. Jeongin's face lit up with a hopeful smile as he stepped forward, arms outstretched to embrace you. But the memory of the day's events was still fresh, and your feelings were too raw. You instinctively took a step back, avoiding his touch.

He paused, his arms falling to his sides, a sigh escaping his lips. "I know you're upset," he began, his voice laced with regret. "I'm sorry for not discussing it with you first, but I felt I had to do this.”

A bitter chuckle escaped you as you crossed your arms over your chest. "Had to?" you echoed, disbelief coloring your tone. "Jeongin, making such a monumental decision without consulting me, is that truly the best way to handle our situation?"

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident. "The statement didn't mention any names," he argued. "I thought it would keep things private."

Your eyes narrowed, anger bubbling to the surface. "Private? Are you serious? Do you remember the article that surfaced just before I gave birth, speculating about my pregnancy? This statement only fuels those rumors. And now, Yejun is dragged into this media frenzy.”

Jeongin's expression hardened. "Why are you making this such a big deal?" he questioned, his voice rising slightly.

That was the breaking point. "Because my career is on the line!" you shot back, your voice trembling with emotion. "I'm sorry if I'm not jumping for joy over this."

A soft wail from Yejun's bassinet cut through the tension. Jeongin's demeanor shifted instantly. He brushed past you, his focus solely on his son. Lifting Yejun into his arms, he gently rocked him, whispering soothing words until the baby's cries subsided. Carefully, he placed Yejun back into the bassinet, ensuring he was comfortable.

Turning back to you, Jeongin reached into his pocket and produced a set of keys, holding them out toward you. "I thought you'd be happy," he said softly. "I wanted this to be a joyful moment. I've secured an apartment for us, a place where we can be a family. Yejun has his own nursery, fully furnished. I've moved in already. The only things missing are you and Yejun."

The weight of his words hung heavily between you. While his intentions were clear, the execution left much to be desired. The path to building a life together was proving to be more complex than either of you had anticipated.

The silence between you and Jeongin was heavy. Even after his heartfelt gesture, the storm of emotions in your chest hadn’t quite passed. You were still upset, still frustrated, but underneath it all, there was a deeper emotion simmering quietly: fear. Fear of what the future held for you, for Jeongin, for Yejun. Fear of how fragile your world felt now that everything was teetering on the edge of exposure.

You crossed your arms, your eyes avoiding his for a moment before you finally broke the silence. “I’m still really upset,” you admitted quietly. “But… I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier.” Your voice wavered, soft with exhaustion. “I was just… scared, Jeongin. Everything’s been so overwhelming, and I wish you had talked to me before making such a huge decision. I hate feeling like I’m not part of things that affect all of us.”

Jeongin’s expression softened immediately. “You’re right,” he said, stepping closer again. “I was stupid—I didn’t think it through. I just… I saw you drowning in stress, and I felt helpless. I thought maybe I could fix something for once.”

You let out a breath, and when he opened his arms again, you let yourself fall into them this time. His embrace was tight, warm, the familiar way his hand curved around your back calming the restlessness in you just a little. He kissed the side of your head, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself be in that moment.

A tiny whimper from Yejun broke the quiet, and you both turned to see his small body wriggling in the bassinet. Jeongin’s eyes lit up with the kind of joy that never failed to make your heart ache, and he pulled away from you gently, walking over to scoop his son up into his arms.

“Hey, buddy,” he whispered softly, kissing Yejun’s head. “You ready to see your new room?”

Yejun gurgled in response, his little hands reaching up toward his father’s face. You walked over slowly, watching them with a fondness that dulled some of the anxiety in your chest.

“Wait, so it’s real?” you asked softly. “The apartment? The nursery?”

Jeongin turned to you with a look of mock offense. “Why would I lie about that? Of course it’s real. I’ve been working on it for weeks.” He chuckled softly. “The members even helped. Chan-hyung built the crib, and Seungmin found the nightlight you said Yejun needed. It’s got everything, books, clothes, food, diapers… even a rocking chair.”

You sighed, half-exasperated, half-touched. Your eyes lingered on Yejun’s peaceful expression as you leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “What do you think of your crazy dad?” you murmured to him. “He does all this without even asking…”

Jeongin laughed, rubbing small circles on Yejun’s back. Then his eyes met yours, this time more serious, more vulnerable. “I meant what I said,” he told you. “I really want you both there. I want to wake up and hear his little sounds in the morning. I want you to come home to a place that feels safe. It’s ready—it’s all ready. It’s just missing you and Yejun.”

You swallowed hard, that tight knot in your throat forming again. You wanted that too, you did. But your thoughts were still scattered, clouded by the weight of responsibility and fear of what might come next. The scandal, the fans, your career, your return, it all loomed over you like a fog you couldn’t quite see through.

“I’ll think about it,” you said finally, voice quiet. “I’m not saying yes, and I’m not saying no. I just… I need to clear my head. My mind’s everywhere right now.”

Jeongin nodded, not pushing you further. “That’s okay,” he said, stepping forward to brush your hair back gently. “Take your time. I’ll wait. I just want you to know the door’s always open.”

And as you stood there, the three of you wrapped in the stillness of the dorm, you wondered if maybe, just maybe the future you were so afraid of might not be as terrifying with him by your side.

-

When Jeongin finally left that evening, there was a quietness in the dorm that lingered like the aftertaste of an emotional whirlwind. You stood there for a moment, Yejun softly gurgling in the bassinet, your thoughts caught between the memory of Jeongin’s offer and the uncertainty still clouding your chest. You barely had time to sort through them before the front door opened again, the girls pouring in one after the other noisy, chaotic, warm, and familiar.

“Where’s my baby boy?” Minsu practically yelled, kicking off her shoes as she made a beeline toward Yejun without even glancing in your direction.

“I swear, none of you care about me anymore,” you called out sarcastically, though there was a smile tugging at your lips.

Chae laughed as she finally acknowledged you, her arms wrapping around you in a quick hug. “We missed you too, mom of the year,” she teased, then pulled back just enough to study your face. “You look... thoughtful. Everything okay?”

You hesitated. It wasn’t a question you could brush off, not this time. There was too much swirling in your chest to bottle it up anymore. You gave a small nod toward the couch, silently suggesting you all sit down. Something about the way your voice softened as you said, “I want to talk to you guys,” shifted the energy in the room instantly. The chatter died down. Minsu stopped tickling Yejun’s little feet and looked up. Jinae narrowed her eyes in suspicion as she took the seat across from you. Chae sat beside you, one hand on your arm.

“What’s going on?” Minsu asked, brows already furrowing.

You took a breath, trying to find the right way to say it. “Jeongin got a place,” you began slowly, your eyes flicking from face to face. “An apartment. It’s already furnished, has a nursery for Yejun… everything.”

Chae tilted her head, cautious. “Okay... and?”

You fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, voice quieter now. “He asked me and Yejun to move in with him.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, the weight of your words hanging in the air.

“I haven’t said yes,” you added quickly, before they could jump to conclusions. “I just… wanted to talk to you guys first. I needed to know how you’d feel if I moved out.”

Their reactions came gradually. Jinae blinked a few times, processing. Minsu leaned back with a soft ‘huh.’ Chae’s lips parted slightly, her eyes flicking toward the bassinet.

“You’re serious?” Jinae finally asked. “Like… fully move out?”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah. He says he wants to be around more for Yejun. And I get that. I want that too. I really do. But I also don’t know what this means for me, for the group, for all of us.”

Chae placed her hand over yours again, gentler this time. “Do you want to go?” she asked carefully.

You were silent for a second before answering. “Part of me does,” you admitted. “He’s Yejun’s dad, and… he’s trying so hard. He made this whole place just for us. But the other part of me is terrified. What if people find out? What if this all backfires? I love you guys, I love living here with you. But I don’t want to hold Yejun back from having both of his parents close.”

Minsu sat up straighter, her voice sincere. “Hey. First of all—no matter where you live, we’re always going to be your family. That doesn’t change. Second… it sounds like he really wants to step up. And maybe, maybe that’s not such a bad thing. You’ve been doing this on your own for a while, and you’ve done it so well. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

Jinae gave you a small smile. “We’d miss you like crazy. But you wouldn’t be abandoning us. You’d be doing what’s best for you and your son.”

Chae leaned her head on your shoulder. “Just promise us that when you need us any hour, any day, you’ll still call. We’re not going anywhere, okay?”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you nodded slowly, overwhelmed by the love they still offered you so effortlessly. “Okay,” you whispered. “I promise.”

And just like that, the tension in your chest loosened a little. Maybe you weren’t ready to say yes yet. But at least now… it didn’t feel so impossible.

You spent the whole night thinking lying in bed, eyes on the ceiling while the soft hum of the dorm quieted around you. Yejun had finally drifted off after his last feeding, and the soft rise and fall of his little chest next to yours should’ve been enough to lull you into sleep too. But your mind wouldn’t stop racing.

The apartment. The nursery. The idea of waking up in the same space as Jeongin every day, raising Yejun together, making a life not just as co-parents, but something more, something real. It was terrifying. It was overwhelming. But maybe… it was also the right step forward.

By morning, the apartment was still tugging at the back of your mind. You stood at the threshold of the living room where the girls were already immersed in their morning rituals. Chae was stretched out on the floor, baby Yejun bundled up beside her as she took picture after picture of his squishy cheeks and sleepy yawns, giggling softly every time he blinked. Jinae and Minsu were curled up on the couch with steaming mugs of coffee, their quiet chatter mixing with the hum of the morning news on low volume.

You stood silently for a moment, letting the warmth of the scene fill you, savoring it because you knew what you were about to say might change things.

You cleared your throat. “Hey,” you said, a little too quietly at first. They barely heard you. “Guys?”

Chae glanced up first. “What’s up?”

You walked toward them, hands nervously brushing against your thighs. “I’ve been thinking about what we talked about yesterday.”

That made everyone go quiet.

You took a deep breath. “And I think… I think I’m going to do it. I’m going to move in with Jeongin.”

The silence stretched for a beat longer than expected.

You rushed to add, “Not just for me, or for him. But for Yejun. I think it’s what’s best for him to have both of us around. As much as I love it here, as much as I love you guys, I think it’s time.”

Minsu slowly set her mug down, a grin creeping onto her face. “Okay, now that was a plot twist.”

Jinae stood up, walked over to you, and pulled you into a warm hug. “We knew it was coming. We just wanted you to be sure.”

Chae gently scooped Yejun up from the blanket and waddled toward you dramatically, hugging both you and the baby at once. “We’re going to miss you so much, it’s ridiculous.”

Then the others joined, creating a tight, messy, emotional group hug, Yejun half-asleep in the middle, mumbling a soft noise of protest that made all of you laugh through the lump in your throat.

“You have to send updates,” Jinae sniffed.

“Daily updates,” Minsu said firmly.

“Hourly,” Chae corrected, making you laugh.

“I promise,” you said, your voice warm with gratitude. “You can visit any time. I’ll be back all the time too.”

You excused yourself shortly after, heart racing as you pulled out your phone and dialed Jeongin. The second he picked up, you could hear faint ambient sounds in the background, some muffled traffic, a dog barking in the distance, maybe even the quiet buzz of a fridge.

“Hello?” he said, voice low but hopeful.

“Hey,” you said softly. “Are you home?”

“Yeah… I’m at the apartment right now,” he replied, a nervous chuckle in his voice. “Just… soaking it in. Wondering if maybe today’s the day.”

You smiled to yourself, nerves settling with each word. “It is,” you said.

There was a beat of silence. “Wait—what?”

“I said yes,” you repeated, laughing a little. “We’ll move in with you. Me and Yejun.”

He was completely silent, then let out a loud breath of disbelief. “You’re serious?”

“I am.”

“Wait—are you messing with me?” he asked quickly. “Don’t play with me right now. I’m standing in the middle of the living room and I just looked at the rocking chair and almost cried.”

“I’m not messing with you,” you promised, smiling so hard your cheeks ached. “We’re really coming home.”

And on the other end of the line, Jeongin was quiet for a few seconds before you heard him whisper, “I can’t believe it.”

Then, louder, a grin in his voice: “I swear, this is the best day of my life.”

You chuckled through the warmth filling your chest. “Better than the day Yejun was born?”

“That’s top-tier, but this? This is real. This is our future.”

And you couldn’t help but believe him.

It had been nearly four months since you moved into the apartment with Jeongin and baby Yejun, and life had begun to take on a quiet kind of rhythm beautiful, messy, soft. The kind of rhythm that didn’t need music because Yejun’s baby giggles filled the air instead. Each morning started with Jeongin’s sleepy hair and your baby's bright smile, and the rest of the day unfolded like a delicate routine you had built together: diaper changes and coffee breaks, stolen kisses over the baby monitor, and late-night cuddles when Yejun couldn’t sleep unless he was nestled between you both.

Yejun had grown into a playful little bundle of energy, always giggling, always grabbing at anything near his chubby hands, always watching the two of you with wide, adoring eyes. He was curious about everything, especially Jeongin’s voice and your fingers. And every morning, without fail, he would reach for you the second you leaned close enough to kiss his forehead. Today was no different.

You had to head out for your first official company meeting in what felt like forever. Your nerves danced under your skin as you crouched in front of Yejun, kissing his cheeks over and over while he squirmed and laughed and grabbed at your hair, his soft little hands refusing to let go.

“I’ll be back soon, baby,” you whispered. “Be good for daddy, okay?”

He gurgled a response, and you smiled, even though your chest ached at the thought of leaving.

Jeongin, ever the calm in your storm, scooped Yejun up with a laugh and gave you a long, slow kiss. “We’ll be fine,” he promised as he pulled away, brushing a thumb against your cheek. “I’ll call if anything happens. But today? Today is daddy and Yejun bonding day.”

You smiled, nerves still lingering, and nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you both soon.”

The ride to the company building felt longer than usual, even though the streets were quiet. Your heart hadn’t raced this fast since you stood backstage at your last show, stomach fluttering with nerves, mic in hand, lights waiting to warm your face. You’d missed that feeling. You missed being on stage.

When you finally stepped into the meeting room, it was strangely calm. No cameras, no full room just a small group: Jun, Jinhee, and a few key company staff. They welcomed you warmly, genuine smiles on their faces, and a few even congratulated you on Yejun with soft, surprised laughter.

Jun gave you a firm nod. “You look good,” he said. “Well-rested.”

You laughed a little at that, maybe it was the makeup hiding the tiredness. “Yejun lets us sleep most nights. It’s a miracle.”

Jun smiled faintly before his tone shifted. “So, how are you feeling about everything? About returning?”

You inhaled slowly and said the truth. “I miss it. I miss performing. The fans, the stage… the energy of it all. I want to come back.”

Jinhee gave you a proud, but slightly sad smile like she already knew the weight of the words you’d just spoken.

Jun leaned forward. “That’s good to hear. Because… and I’ll be honest, if you had said otherwise, the company was already considering plans to remove you from the group.”

Your smile faltered.

The silence in the room thickened for a second before Jinhee, quickly sensing the shift in your mood, interjected gently, “But that’s not going to happen. You made your choice and you’re here. They just wanted to be sure your heart was in it. That you weren’t feeling forced.”

You nodded slowly, even though your hands felt cold. “I understand,” you said quietly. “I… I love being a mom. I love Yejun. But I’ve worked so hard for this career. I know it’s going to be hard, balancing everything, but I want to try.”

Jun stood then, gathering his things, his voice brisk but not unkind. “Then I’ll let them know. Thank you for coming today.”

You gave him a soft smile. “Thank you.”

As he and the other reps filed out, Jinhee moved closer, sliding a printed schedule in front of you.

“These are the upcoming commitments you’ll be reintegrating into,” she said. “It’s staggered, we’re easing you in for the next few weeks some rehearsals, choreography updates, variety prep, then eventually stage performances.”

You took the paper with a shaky breath. It was real now. Not just an idea. Not just a maybe.

“Do you want to tell the girls yourself?” Jinhee asked gently.

You looked up at her and nodded. “Yeah. I think I need to.”

She gave you a knowing smile. “They’re going to be so happy.”

You smiled, but this time it was laced with both excitement and fear. This new version of you, a mother, an idol, a woman in love was stepping into unfamiliar territory. But even with the fear, there was something else blooming in your chest.

Hope. For yourself. For your dreams. And for the family waiting at home.

Your fingers lingered on the printed schedule Jinhee had given you. It felt surreal to see your name on a line-up again real, tangible proof that your comeback was happening. It wasn’t just a daydream in your head anymore. You were returning not just as the same person, but as someone entirely new reshaped, stronger, a little softer, and full of purpose.

Jinhee smiled as she gathered her things, then paused at the door and turned back toward you. “The girls are in the practice studio right now. You should go surprise them.”

You blinked. “Right now?”

She nodded, a grin forming. “Yes! Go on—it’ll make their day. They’ve missed you more than they let on.”

You exhaled a nervous little laugh, heart thumping as she pointed toward the direction of the studio. “Okay… I guess it’s time.”

Your footsteps echoed quietly down the hallway, memories flooding back as you passed the familiar walls. The sound of music thumping behind the studio door brought a rush of nostalgia and nerves. You paused for a second to compose yourself, brushing your hands against your sides and letting out a steadying breath before slowly pushing open the door.

The moment the door creaked open, four heads snapped toward you and then, chaos.

Squeals erupted from every corner of the room as Minsu, Jinae, and Chae rushed toward you, shouting your name with uncontainable joy. You barely had time to laugh before their arms wrapped tightly around you, almost knocking the breath out of your lungs.

“Wait, wait—don’t crush me!” you giggled, your cheeks already aching from the smile you couldn’t hide.

“Where’s Yejun?!” Chae immediately demanded as she pulled back just enough to look at you.

You laughed, holding up your hands. “He’s okay! Still the same dramatic little baby you saw last week. I promise, he’s safe at home with Jeongin.”

They all let out a breath of mock disappointment and cooed anyway, clearly already missing their honorary baby group member.

Jinhee stepped into the room behind you with a wide grin, arms crossed proudly. “Well? Don’t you want to tell them something?”

You raised a brow, feigning a dramatic sigh as you stepped to the center of the room, the girls hanging on your every word.

“Okay,” you started solemnly, biting your bottom lip. “So… I actually came here to let you all know… I’m leaving the group.”

The room fell into stunned silence. Their faces dropped, joy flickering out like a candle snuffed too soon. Jinae’s eyes widened, and Minsu let out a tiny, heartbroken “what?”

You couldn’t hold it anymore you burst out laughing. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding!”

“Hey!” Chae shouted, smacking your shoulder playfully as the rest of them groaned in relief. “Are you serious?!”

“You should’ve seen your faces!” you said between laughs, tears starting to pool at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming emotion.

“So what’s the real news?” Jinae asked, breath still catching.

You took a soft breath and met their eyes, heart thumping again, but this time from happiness. “I’m coming back. Officially. I’m joining you again.”

The room erupted again, this time with shouts of joy and relief and laughter as they rushed you a second time, pulling you into the tightest, warmest group hug imaginable.

“I knew it,” Minsu said through a sniffle. “I just knew you’d come back.”

“You belong with us,” Jinae whispered, resting her chin on your shoulder. “And we missed you so much.”

You held onto them tightly, overwhelmed by their love.

And though you had changed in many ways, one thing remained constant: this group was still your family too.

-

When you stepped through the front door of the apartment, it felt like the world slowed down for a moment. The scent of baby powder and Jeongin’s cologne greeted you first, familiar, comforting, like home had been waiting for you to walk in. The soft hum of the TV played in the background, but it was the sound of laughter that truly filled the space. Not just any laughter, Jeongin’s, light and playful, mixed with the sweetest baby giggles.

You walked into the living room to find them both on the couch, Jeongin sitting cross-legged, holding Yejun up in the air like he was the most precious thing in the world. Yejun’s little fists were curled, cheeks full, and there were smudges of yogurt around his mouth. He looked so proud, like he knew he had his dad wrapped around his tiny finger.

They were snacking on the small yogurt melts you kept in a container for Yejun, except Jeongin was clearly sneaking bites too.

You raised a brow, crossing your arms as you leaned against the doorframe with a teasing smirk. “Those treats are for Yejun, you know.”

Jeongin turned to look at you with that signature sheepish grin, shrugging as he popped another one into his mouth. “They’re good! You shouldn’t have left them in plain sight.”

Yejun caught sight of you and his entire face lit up, his little legs kicking in excitement as he stretched his arms toward you. You melted instantly, hurrying over to him with open arms.

“Hi, baby,” you cooed, lifting him into your arms and showering his chubby cheeks with kisses. He erupted into happy squeals, his tiny hands patting your face.

Jeongin scooted closer to you on the couch, his hand resting on your leg as he looked at you expectantly. “So… how did it go?”

You let out a soft sigh, glancing down at Yejun, who was now busy grabbing your necklace with intense concentration. “They’re ready for me to go back,” you said gently. “My first day back is next week.”

His expression faltered slightly, just for a second but you caught it. The subtle downward curve of his lips, the way his shoulders sank just a little. He gave you a small pout, shifting closer. “Four days,” he mumbled. “That’s all we have left with you home all day.”

You turned toward him, resting your cheek against Yejun’s head and reaching out to take Jeongin’s hand in yours. “I know,” you whispered, squeezing his fingers. “But I promise, I’ll spend every single minute I can with you two until then.”

Jeongin leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before brushing his lips against your temple. “I know. I’m proud of you, you know? You’re doing all of this, for yourself, for Yejun, for us. I just wish we had more time.”

You smiled through the soft ache in your chest, your fingers brushing over his knuckles. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

And in that quiet, warm little apartment, surrounded by half-eaten yogurt melts and the smell of baby wipes, you held onto each other. Because even if time was short, love wasn’t. And with every moment left, you planned to soak in every second, together.

The morning of your long-awaited comeback arrived sooner than you were emotionally ready for. It crept up through the quiet of dawn, with the soft light pouring in through the apartment windows and the buzz of the city waking up just beyond the glass. You stirred awake before your alarm even had the chance to go off, nerves already prickling beneath your skin. This was it, the day you’d return to the life you’d once lived so comfortably, before everything changed. Before Yejun.

You moved through your morning slowly, with care. There was something heavier about this day than any other. It wasn’t just your comeback, it was your first step back into the world as both an idol and a mother. That balance had seemed so distant and uncertain when you first held Yejun in your arms, but now here you were, standing at the edge of it.

Jeongin was already awake, moving around the apartment with practiced quiet, holding Yejun against his chest as he gently patted his back. You smiled softly at the sight, his sleepy face, his mussed hair, the way he looked down at Yejun like he was made of gold.

He turned toward you as you walked into the room, giving you a smile that was warm and proud and a little sad. “You look good,” he said, voice hushed as not to stir the still-drowsy baby in his arms.

You walked over to him, pressing a kiss to Yejun’s fuzzy head before leaning in to kiss Jeongin. It was soft and slow, full of unspoken words how proud you were of each other, how hard this was, how strong you’d both been.

Jeongin gently shifted Yejun’s hand, making him wave it toward you. “Say good luck, Mama,” he cooed, and your chest tightened.

You exhaled shakily, running a hand through your hair as you whispered, “I’ll be back before dinner.”

Jeongin nodded, even though his eyes said he didn’t want you to go. “We’ll be right here.”

With one last glance back at your boys, the ones who had become your entire world, you stepped out the door.

Back at the company, the moment you walked through those familiar halls, the atmosphere shifted. People turned to look, some surprised, others smiling, a few tearing up as they spotted you. It was like you’d never left, yet everything was different now. You were different. More grounded, more weathered, more… whole.

Jinhee was waiting for you near the main studio, her arms immediately wrapping around you in a tight hug. “You’re really here,” she whispered, her voice cracking just slightly.

“I’m here,” you said softly, holding her back. “For real this time.”

Jun and the rest of the staff were already gathered in the conference room, and when you stepped inside, they greeted you with genuine warmth. The energy was familiar, comfortable, but it didn’t erase the knot in your stomach.

Jun offered you a seat beside him and began going over the schedule, rehearsals, shoots, variety shows. It was a lot, but it was nothing you couldn’t handle. Not now. Not after everything you’d already been through.

“You sure you’re ready for this pace again?” one of the staff asked, concerned but not condescending.

You looked around the room at everyone who had supported you, some from a distance, others closely and you nodded. “I missed performing. I missed being with the girls. I think it’s time.”

Jun gave you a small nod of approval. “Then let’s make this comeback one to remember.”

And as you sat there, surrounded by the people who had once only seen you as a performer, now acknowledging all the different pieces of you the artist, the partner, the mother, you felt it. You were ready. Nervous, but ready. And in the back of your mind, you could already picture Yejun’s gummy smile waiting for you at the end of the day.

-

Your limbs ached, every muscle humming from exertion, but the familiar burn beneath your skin was something you hadn’t realized how much you missed. You were sprawled out on the cool floor of the practice room, cheeks flushed and breath still coming in soft pants. The other girls surrounded you in similar states, some laying down beside you, others sitting up, all of you basking in the rare moment of rest after your first full day back.

It had been long. A full day of rehearsals, catching up with the choreography, syncing with the others, adjusting to the pace that once had felt second nature to you. But now, it was different. And every beat, every turn, every breath reminded you of how much your body had changed and grown.

Still, through all the sweat and exhaustion, you felt proud.

Jinae nudged you with her foot from where she lay beside you, grinning. “You didn’t miss a beat.”

“Okay, well maybe one or two,” Minsu chimed in playfully, earning a soft laugh from everyone.

You smiled, heart warm. “It’s good to be back,” you said quietly, the truth of the words settling gently over your chest.

Just then, the door creaked open and in walked Jinhee, holding a bottle of water in each hand and wearing a proud smile. “Look at you all,” she said, handing one bottle to you and the other to Chae. “Like nothing’s changed.”

You sat up slowly, brushing some hair off your damp forehead. “Almost nothing,” you said with a small laugh.

Jinhee nodded. “It’s really good to see you here again,” she said sincerely. “I know it’s not easy coming back after everything… balancing everything.”

Before you could respond, Minsu beat you to it. “She fits right back in. Like she’s the missing piece to our puzzle.”

Your heart fluttered at that, and you offered Minsu a grateful look. “Thanks,” you said softly.

Jinhee let the moment settle before she cleared her throat lightly. “Actually… there’s something I wanted to ask.”

You turned to her with raised brows, the others sitting up more attentively too.

“The company’s planning something small, a little welcome back celebration,” she said. “Nothing big, no press, no cameras, just a private gathering. A way for the staff and everyone close to you to say congratulations, not just for returning, but for becoming a mom.”

Your lips parted in surprise, and Jinhee quickly added, “Totally your call, of course. But we thought maybe it’d be nice. If you’re okay with it… we’d love for you to bring Yejun. And Jeongin too.”

You blinked, the words settling into you slowly. A welcome back party. For you. For all of you.

The girls immediately lit up around you.

“Yejun at a party? Yes please,” Chae grinned.

“Finally, everyone gets to meet the little prince,” Jinae added, excitement twinkling in her eyes.

You felt yourself smile, warmth spreading through your chest at the thought. Yejun had been your quiet world for months, a secret you’d held close and dear. The thought of introducing him, really introducing him to the people who had become your second family felt… right. Special.

You looked at Jinhee, eyes soft. “Yeah,” you said after a pause. “I think… that would be really nice.”

She beamed, clearly relieved. “We’ll keep it intimate, promise. Just the people who matter.”

And suddenly, despite the exhaustion in your bones, despite the ache in your muscles and the overwhelmingness of this transition, you felt grounded.

-

The sun had just begun to set, casting a soft golden hue over the city as you made your way back home. The day had been long, your body aching from your first full schedule back with the group, but your heart raced with one singular thought: Yejun. All day long, his smile, his little giggles, the warmth of his tiny arms around your neck, those thoughts had kept you grounded through every choreography run, every vocal warm-up, every debriefing. And of course, there was Jeongin, too. But if you were being honest with yourself, your heart was set on one thing, finally holding your baby again.

As soon as you stepped through the front door, the familiar sound of little claps met your ears. You turned your head quickly to see Yejun in his playpen, his chubby hands slapping together in excitement the moment his eyes met yours. Your lips parted into the biggest smile as a soft laugh escaped your chest.

“Hi, baby,” you whispered, emotion already swelling in your throat.

Jeongin appeared from the hallway just moments later, having heard the door open. He looked relieved, happy, and maybe a little tired too. Still, he reached you with a soft peck to your lips and effortlessly took the bag from your shoulder.

“Welcome home,” he murmured.

“Thank you,” you said quickly before making a beeline toward the playpen, already crouching down to scoop Yejun into your arms.

“Oh my god, I missed you,” you whispered, holding him close as he wrapped his small arms around your neck, squealing in delight. His tiny fingers grabbed at your cheeks, and he smiled so widely it made your heart swell.

Jeongin leaned against the doorway, arms crossed and gaze fond. “He noticed the door before I did,” he said with a chuckle.

You looked up from Yejun and asked, “How was today?”

Jeongin walked closer, gently brushing some hair behind your ear. “Started off rough. He got pretty fussy after you left. Wouldn’t nap, wanted to be held constantly. I think he missed you,” he said softly.

You gave Yejun a small bounce, smiling. “Did you miss me?” you cooed. Yejun reached for your face again, giving a soft hum and another wide smile.

“But,” Jeongin added, “once he finally fell asleep, he woke up in a much better mood. We had a good day. Played a lot.”

You kissed your son’s cheek a few times, earning giggles that melted your tiredness like butter on a hot pan. Only then did your eyes drift toward the dining table and you blinked in surprise.

“You cooked?” you asked, your tone full of pleasant shock.

Jeongin nodded like it was no big deal. “Yep. Just waiting for you to get home so we could eat together.”

You walked over slowly, Yejun still in your arms, and took in the spread: a mix of all your favorite comfort foods. You turned toward him again, touched. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he said simply.

He took Yejun from your arms and gently settled him into his high chair, buckling him in before sitting beside you. You both began eating, taking turns making sure Yejun was munching on his soft, steamed veggies and fruits. It was peaceful, domestic, normal. And in that moment, you felt whole.

Midway through your meal, you glanced up at Jeongin. “By the way… I wanted to talk to you about something.”

He looked up, attentive. “Hmm?”

You poked at your rice. “The company’s throwing a little welcome-back thing for me. Nothing major, no press or cameras. Jinhee says it’s just close staff, team members… and they invited you and Yejun to come, too.”

Jeongin didn’t hesitate. “Of course we’ll go.”

You blinked, taken aback by how quickly he agreed. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted gently. “I would’ve gone even if there were cameras. I don’t want to hide anymore, not you, not Yejun. I know it’s complicated… but I’m proud of you. Of us. I want people to see that.”

His voice was steady, his eyes sure. There was no wavering in his conviction.

You lowered your gaze slightly, chewing on your bottom lip. “I’m just… not sure if I’m ready. Even if people are already speculating, it’s still different when it’s real, when it’s confirmed.”

He reached across the table and took your hand in his. “I get it. Really, I do. And I’ll never pressure you. But just know… whenever you are ready, I’ll be right there beside you.”

You looked up at him, heart full, and gave a small nod. “Okay,” you whispered. “Thank you.”

Yejun let out a soft squeal, smacking his little palms against his high chair tray, and both you and Jeongin turned to look at him, laughing. His cheeks were puffed with a piece of carrot he hadn’t swallowed yet, and his eyes darted between you both, so full of joy.

You leaned in and gave him a soft kiss on the forehead. “What do you think, baby? Should we show you off a little?”

He giggled, and you took it as a sign.

Even if it wasn’t tomorrow, even if the world wasn’t ready to accept it yet, you were getting closer. And you’d be ready, in your own time.

-

The morning of the welcome-back party felt different. There wasn’t the usual rush of early schedules or the sleepy shuffle of new parents just trying to survive the day. No, this morning was special. It was quiet, warm, filled with excitement and nerves. You and Jeongin were finally attending something as a family.

You both had gotten up a bit earlier than usual, taking your time between breakfast and morning snuggles with Yejun, easing into the day with quiet conversations and soft kisses. But once the clock started ticking closer to the afternoon, the calm faded into chaos.

Specifically, chaos over outfits.

“No, this one’s cuter,” you insisted, holding up a soft beige romper with tiny bear ears on the hood, smiling at the cozy, cuddly look of it.

Jeongin wrinkled his nose playfully. “It’s adorable, but this one’s cooler,” he said, lifting up a tiny button-up shirt with suspenders and matching little pants. “He’s gonna look like a baby model.”

You crossed your arms. “He’s a baby, not going to a photoshoot.”

Jeongin smirked. “Says you. The world deserves to see his fashion era begin now.”

You both stood there for a moment in your shared bedroom, each of you holding up your candidate outfit like you were presenting evidence in a court case. Yejun, sitting in the middle of the bed with a soft bib around his neck, watched the scene unfold like a tiny judge, babbling and kicking his legs, occasionally squealing when either of you turned to him.

“Fine,” you finally said, lifting your eyebrows. “Let’s let him pick.”

Jeongin’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Democratic parenting.”

You laid both outfits down on the bed in front of Yejun, who immediately reached for Jeongin’s pick, the tiny suspenders and button-up shirt, though mostly because it crinkled the loudest.

“See!” Jeongin said, grinning triumphantly. “My son has taste.”

You rolled your eyes, amused. “Okay, okay. But now we have to match him, not the other way around.”

“Already ahead of you,” he said, moving over to the closet and pulling out his own cream shirt and tan slacks. “I thought we could all wear warm tones. Like… subtle, matching without being cheesy.”

You blinked at him, a little caught off guard. “You thought about this?”

He turned and gave you a small smile. “Of course I did. I want us to look like we belong together.”

Your heart fluttered just a little at that. You didn’t say anything, just nodded quietly and went to pick your own soft-toned outfit to complete the trio.

As you finished getting ready, you gently changed Yejun into his chosen outfit. He wiggled and squirmed on the bed, letting out a giggle when you blew raspberries on his belly, tiny fists waving in the air. Jeongin leaned over as you snapped up his buttons, reaching for Yejun’s feet and giving them a playful tickle.

Yejun burst into another round of giggles, kicking his legs and clenching his little fists, his round cheeks flushed with joy. You both laughed along with him, caught in that quiet, golden moment where time seemed to slow and nothing else mattered.

“Okay,” you said softly, scooping Yejun up and placing a kiss on his forehead. “I think we’re ready.”

Jeongin stood next to you, slipping one arm around your waist as you balanced Yejun on your hip. He looked between the two of you, your matching tones, your smiles, the way your bodies leaned into one another without even trying and gave a small, content sigh.

“Perfect,” he whispered.

You were on your way to something new scary, maybe, and uncertain, but you were doing it together.

You hadn’t been nervous, not really. Not during the car ride, not while getting dressed, not even as Jeongin adjusted Yejun’s little bowtie for the fifth time before you left the apartment. Everything had felt calm, like just another moment in your new normal. But as soon as you stepped into the company building and stood just outside the glass doors of the office, your stomach twisted.

This was the first time you were appearing as not just an idol, not just a group member, but as you. As a woman who had quietly taken on the biggest change of her life and was now walking through those doors with everything out in the open.

You paused just before reaching for the handle.

Jeongin, who had Yejun in his arms bouncing him lightly, murmuring soft nonsense into his ear to keep him calm, glanced at you. He immediately noticed your hesitation. Without a word, he reached out and rested his hand on the small of your back, his thumb rubbing slow, reassuring circles.

You looked over at him. His face was soft, his smile calm and certain. Like there wasn’t a doubt in his mind about being here with you. About walking in like this. Like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

He leaned in just a bit. “Hey,” he whispered. “You’re doing amazing. And we’re right here with you.”

You nodded, lips trembling a little, before leaning in to kiss his cheek. Yejun let out a little coo at the motion, his big eyes looking between the two of you as if sensing this was a moment of some kind. You reached up to gently stroke his back, and then with a slow breath, you turned back to the door and pushed it open.

The moment you stepped inside, it was like a wave of warmth rushed to meet you.

“Welcome back!”

“There’s the little guy!” another voice chimed in as heads turned and a few people rushed forward, all beaming.

The small office space floor had been rearranged a bit for the casual celebration. A table in the corner had some snacks and drinks. Soft decorations hung loosely from the ceiling, in warm neutral colors, not flashy, just cozy. One sign in particular stood out, handwritten but neatly framed: Welcome Back.

You were still processing when Jinhee appeared through the crowd, eyes shining as she reached out to give you a hug. “I was hoping you’d really come,” she said softly.

“Of course,” you replied, your voice a little hoarse from emotion. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

People were already cooing over Yejun, who blinked at the new faces with curious eyes, resting comfortably in Jeongin’s arms. He gave a small squeal when one of the stylists gently waved at him, his cheeks puffed out in a gummy smile. Jeongin laughed under his breath, bouncing him a little.

You glanced around at everyone, the familiar faces of your team, your managers, a few other idols who had slipped in, and your girls who were already waving you over from the corner with teasing grins. For a second, it didn’t feel like a company party. It felt like family.

Like maybe… everything was going to be okay.

//

masterlist.

❌proofread

(a/n: didn’t realize that y/n’s group didn’t have a name til i was writing this part lol. I hope everyone likes the group name stardust. i literally wrote the first thing that came to mind. they’d probably have the typical girl crush concept 🙉🙈)

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