#Shes a faint memory from his past lives

[cosmic-d1ce]

i cant remember if you clarified this anywhere, but what do you headcanon phil’s species being? I know you don’t draw him with wings in this but I was wondering if you had any specifics

He is actually an avian and he used to have wings

He's based on an angel but q!phil specifically has no connection to actually being an angel, he just is one?? and he has no idea why. Unlike in his past lives, he never earned his wings or divinity, he doesn't even have a connection to any gods

He lost his wings because of that, he just didnt deserve them and had no reason to have them

[jupiterpilgrim]

Collision

Christmas Special🎄

Yujin x Male Reader

word count: 16K

The driveway crunches under your tires, the snow thick and fresh, the icy wind biting at your face the second you step out of the car. It smells like home—pine trees and the faint whiff of wood smoke from the chimney. But none of it feels comforting. The weight in your stomach isn’t from your bag slung over your shoulder; it’s dread.

Christmas is supposed to be easy, right? Some lights, shitty jokes from your dad, a pile of gifts no one really needs. But this year? No, this year is a fucking curveball. Your dad remarried. Out of nowhere. Surprise! He’s got a wife, and she’s got a daughter. You haven’t even met them yet. They could be anyone. Strangers, stuck in your house, calling it theirs. What if they don’t like you? 

Worse—what if they do?

The front door swings open before you even reach it, and there’s your dad, grinning like he’s already three spiked eggnogs deep. “Hey, kiddo!” he booms, pulling you into a bear hug that smells like aftershave and nostalgia. You pat his back awkwardly, your fingers cold and stiff.

Inside, the house is warm, almost stifling, and decked out like Christmas threw up everywhere—tinsel, garlands, the works. You catch a glimpse of the tree in the living room, its blinking lights like a sugar rush for your eyes. You put your bag on the floor for a moment.

That's when you see one of them.  

Your stepmother’s standing in the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a towel, her smile wide but a little hesitant. She’s tall, polished, the kind of woman who looks like she’s never eaten a carb without guilt. She steps forward, offers a hand. “Good evening, sweetheart. So nice to finally meet you.” Her voice is smooth, polite. You shake her hand, mumbling your name and something about being pleased to meet her as well.

But your eyes slide past her, drawn like a goddamn magnet, and there she is.

Yujin. 

Yes, her.

It’s like getting punched in the gut. She leans against the doorway, arms crossed, lips curled in that same fucking smirk you’ve had nightmares about. Her black hair falls over one shoulder, her skin flawless, her legs impossibly long in ripped jeans that should be illegal. She hasn’t changed, except maybe she’s hotter now, and isn’t that just the ultimate middle finger from the universe?

“Hey, sweetheart,” she says, her voice low and syrupy, and it knocks the air out of you. Her smile widens as your brain short-circuits. “So nice to finally meet my stepbrother.”

You can’t even answer. 

Your throat’s dry, your palms clammy. All the memories come rushing back—her cornering you by your locker, stealing your homework, making you trip in front of half the school. She was your personal tormentor, a one-girl wrecking crew of humiliation. 

And now? 

Now she’s in your house.

You force your legs to move, stepping forward to shake her hand, because what the fuck else are you supposed to do? But she doesn’t take it. Instead, she pulls you into a hug. A hug. Her body presses against yours, warm and soft and so fucking wrong, and then she leans in, her breath hot against your ear.

“God, you’re still such a little bitch,” she whispers, her voice so quiet only you can hear. “This is gonna be so much fun.”

Your heart’s slamming in your chest, your hands shaking as you pull away, trying to act normal. But she’s watching you with that sly grin, her eyes sparkling like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. 

“Dinner’s almost ready,” your dad says, oblivious to the tension in the room. “Why don’t you kids catch up?”

Yujin winks at you. “Yeah, let’s catch up,” she says sweetly. Too sweetly.

You nod, because what else can you do? Christmas Eve has already become your funeral. The nightmare’s just started, and there’s no waking up from this one. 

“Err, sure, I'll just keep my stuff in my room.” 

I'll help you!" exclaims Yujin, the altruist.

“You don’t have to—” you start, your voice cracking as Yujin plucks your bag off the floor like it weighs nothing. 

“Don’t be stupid,” she cuts you off, grinning wide enough to show teeth. “What kind of stepsister would I be if I didn’t help my adorable little stepbrother settle in?”

Her tone drips with mock sweetness, and you glance toward your dad, silently pleading for rescue, but he’s too busy smiling like a proud idiot. Your stepmother nudges him with her elbow, murmuring something about how nice it is to see the two of you bonding. 

You want to scream.

“I can handle it,” you try again, grabbing for the bag, but Yujin just tilts it out of reach and turns toward the stairs.

“Don’t be rude,” she says over her shoulder, her smirk still firmly in place. “Lead the way, champ.”

You have no choice but to trudge up the stairs, Yujin trailing behind you with your bag. You can practically feel her eyes burning into the back of your neck. Your old room’s at the end of the hall, unchanged except for the faint smell of mothballs and abandonment. You push the door open and step inside, already imagining locking it and barricading it with a chair. 

But before you can say a word, Yujin’s behind you, kicking the door shut with the heel of her boot. The sharp click of the latch sends a shiver down your spine.

“Well,” she says, dropping your bag onto the bed with a heavy thud. “This is cozy. Still jerking off to the same anime posters, or did college finally level you up?”

Your cheeks go hot instantly, and you spin to face her. “Shut up,” you snap, sharper than you mean to, but it just makes her grin wider.

“There’s that fire,” she purrs, stepping closer, her dark eyes glittering with amusement. “I was starting to think college turned you into a total bore.”

You take a deep breath, forcing your voice to stay calm. Mature. “Did you know?” you ask, your fingers curling into fists at your sides. “Before today. Did you know I was—” You can’t even finish the sentence. The words feel too ridiculous. Too impossible.

“Your dad’s son?” she finishes for you, arching a perfect eyebrow. “Obviously. He showed me this cute little picture of you two together. Big grins, matching dorky Christmas sweaters. I thought I was gonna piss myself!"

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “So you’ve been planning this.”

“Planning?” She tilts her head, mock-innocent. “Oh, no, stepbrother. I’ve just been… looking forward to it. Every day since I found out.” She pauses, leaning in until you can smell her shampoo, something sharp and floral that makes your head spin. “You should’ve seen the look on your face downstairs. Priceless.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to hold your ground. “You’re acting like we’re still in high school,” you say, your voice steady, even though you’re sweating bullets. “We’re not kids anymore. Can you try acting like an adult for five minutes?”

“Hmm.” She taps a finger against her chin, pretending to think. “Nope. Too boring.”

You want to scream again, but instead you sit on the edge of your bed, burying your face in your hands. “What do you want, Yujin?” you mumble through your fingers. “Why are you like this?”

“Why am I like this?” she echoes, feigning shock. She perches on the bed next to you, so close her knee brushes yours. “I’m like this because it’s fun, dummy. Look at you. You’re so easy.”

“I’m not—” You stop yourself, clenching your jaw. “Can we just… not?”

“Not what? Talk about college? Your big, important life now?” She rolls her eyes, leaning back on her palms. “Alright, let’s hear it. Tell me all about your boring classes and your boring friends.”

“It’s not boring,” you mutter, glaring at her. “I’m doing well. Better than high school, anyway.”

“Well, that’s a low fucking bar.” She smirks, nudging your shoulder. “C’mon, I’m kidding. Lighten up.”

You sigh, leaning back against the headboard. “Fine. What about you, then? What are you doing with your life, besides making mine hell?”

“Oh, you know.” She waves a hand lazily. “This and that. I’ve got a part-time job. Still deciding what I want to do long-term. For now, I’m focusing on hobbies.”

“Hobbies,” you repeat, narrowing your eyes. “Like tormenting me?”

“Bingo.” She winks, crossing her legs and making herself way too comfortable on your bed. “But seriously, I’ve mellowed out. College must’ve made you soft.”

You bristle at the jab, but you don’t take the bait. Not this time. “Can you just—can you try to be normal? Just for Christmas?”

“Normal?” She laughs. “Oh, sweetheart. You’re in my house now. Normal’s not on the menu.”

You close your eyes, exhaling through your nose. 

This is going to be the longest Christmas of your life.

“Remember that time I locked you in the janitor’s closet during lunch?” Yujin says, lounging across your bed like she owns it, her smile is as sharp as ever, her voice dripping with nostalgia. “You cried so loud, the janitor thought the fire alarm was going off.”

You stiffen, gripping your knees so tight your knuckles turn white. “I didn’t cry,” you mutter, though your face burns hot at the memory. You’d been pounding on the door, desperate to get out, and yeah, maybe your voice cracked a little, but crying…? No way.

“Oh, you definitely cried,” she shoots back, her grin widening. “Tears streaming down your nerdy little face, begging for someone to let you out. It was adorable.”

“It was traumatic,” you snap, glaring at her. “I missed half my math test because of you.”

“Half your math test?” She gasps, mocking a look of horror. “God forbid! How did you survive without your precious GPA?”

“Can you not?” you groan, dragging a hand down your face. “Why do you think this is funny? You made my life a nightmare.”

“Nightmare?” She laughs, the sound light and cruel. “Oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad. You’re acting like I burned your house down or something.”

“It felt like it,” you grumble under your breath.

She smirks, propping herself up on one elbow. “You know, I was doing you a favor. Toughening you up. Making sure you didn’t grow up to be a total pushover.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, thanks for that. Really shaped me into a beacon of confidence.”

She leans closer, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “You’re welcome.”

“God, you are a sociopath,” you mutter, turning away to stare at the wall. You feel her gaze burning into the back of your head, like she’s trying to decide whether to poke the bear or let it simmer.

“So,” she says after a beat, her tone turning mock casual, “what about that time I replaced all your locker stuff with tampons? Classic, right?”

You whip around, your face a mix of disbelief and exasperation. “Classic? That was humiliating. Everyone laughed at me for weeks.”

“Months,” she corrects with a smirk. “Come on, though, you’ve got to admit it was creative.”

“Creative?” You bark out a laugh, bitter and sad. “You literally ruined my high school experience.”

“And yet here you are,” she says, spreading her arms as if presenting you. “Still alive. Still kicking. Still, uh… well, you.”

You glare at her, trying to ignore the smug look on her face. “How do you even live with yourself?”

“Easily,” she says with a shrug. “I’m amazing.”

Before you can retort, your dad’s voice booms from downstairs, calling your name. “Dinner’s ready! You two coming down?”

Yujin hops off the bed, stretching her arms over her head like she didn’t just spend the last ten minutes reliving your personal hell. “Better not keep the old man waiting,” she says, sauntering toward the door. She pauses, glancing over her shoulder with a sly grin. “Try not to trip on the way down, nerd.”

You grit your teeth, swallowing the retort that’s bubbling up. You can feel your temper boiling under the surface, but you clamp down on it. She’s not worth it. Not here, not now. 

Following her downstairs, you try to shake off the memories, but they cling to you like cobwebs. Her laugh echoes in your ears, and for a moment, you wonder if this Christmas can get any worse. 

Something tells you it can.

—

The dining room is warm, the table set with enough food to feed a small army: a roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, cranberry sauce—the works. The smell alone would normally make your stomach rumble, but you can’t think about eating right now. You’re too busy trying to disappear into your chair while Yujin holds court.

She’s sitting directly across from you, a glass of wine in her hand and a mischievous glint in her eye. Your dad and stepmother are at either end of the table, smiling like this is a damn Coca-Cola commercial. They keep stealing glances between you and Yujin, clearly delighted that their kids are finally “bonding.”

“So,” your dad starts, cutting into his turkey, “how are you two getting along so far? Hitting it off?”

Yujin’s grin stretches wider as she sets her glass down, her fingers trailing along the rim. “Oh, we’re getting along great,” she says, her voice sugary sweet, but her eyes are locked on you, daring you to contradict her. “It’s like no time has passed at all.”

“That’s wonderful,” your stepmother gushes, clasping her hands together, apparently without noticing the subtext of her daughter's speech. “I was hoping you two would click. It’s so important, you know? Especially with blended families.”

Your dad nods enthusiastically, raising his glass. “To new beginnings!” 

You mumble something noncommittal, raising your water glass just to avoid looking rude, but Yujin doesn’t miss a beat.

“New beginnings,” she echoes, winking at you over the rim of her wine glass. “Though, really, it’s more like picking up where we left off.”

The words hang in the air like a challenge, and your stomach churns. You glance at your dad, praying he doesn’t take the bait, but of course, he does.

“Oh?” he says, perking up. “Did you two know each other before?”

Yujin leans back in her chair, crossing her legs, her expression pure amusement. “Oh, sure. We were… friends in high school.” She emphasizes the word “friends” in a way that makes you want to crawl under the table and die.

Your dad’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really? That’s incredible! What are the odds?”

“It’s like fate,” Yujin says, her tone dripping with mock sincerity. “We were absolutely inseparable. Weren’t we, little brother?”

You choke on your mashed potatoes, coughing violently. Your stepmother hands you a napkin, her face full of concern, but Yujin just watches, her smile never faltering. 

“You okay, champ?” she asks, tilting her head like she’s genuinely worried. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” you croak, your voice raw. “Just… went down the wrong pipe.”

“Well, don’t die on us,” your dad jokes, oblivious to the tension. “So, you two were close, huh? Why didn’t you ever mention this before?”

Yujin answers before you can even open your mouth. “Oh, you know how it is. There are so many things we need to remember daily... And High school’s such a whirlwind. But yeah, we spent a lot of time together. In fact…” She pauses, letting the suspense build as she picks up her fork, stabbing a piece of turkey. “Some might say I had a… profound influence on him.”

You grit your teeth so hard you’re surprised your molars don’t shatter. “That’s… one way to put it,” you mutter.

“Don’t be modest,” Yujin teases, pointing her fork at you. “You were so dedicated. Always trying to impress me, always going out of your way to… help.” She says the last word with a sly smile, and you feel your face burning.

Your dad looks between the two of you, clearly delighted. “Well, that’s just fantastic. See? This was meant to be.”

“It really was,” Yujin agrees, taking another sip of wine. “I mean, what are the chances? You, me, and now—” She gestures around the table dramatically. “One big, happy family.”

“Exactly,” your stepmother says, beaming. “I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to see you two getting along. It’s like a Christmas miracle!”

You force a tight-lipped smile, shoving a forkful of green beans into your mouth to avoid saying something you’ll regret. Meanwhile, Yujin’s smirk grows impossibly wider, like she’s savoring every second of your misery.

“Tell us more about this,” your dad says, clearly eager to keep the conversation going, “what kind of stuff did you two do together back in high school? Any fun stories?”

Your heart sinks. Before you can come up with an excuse to dodge the question, Yujin leans forward, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Oh, so many stories,” she says, her voice light and breezy. “Like the time we… Oh, but I wouldn’t want to embarrass him. You know how sensitive he is.”

You glare at her, your hands clenched into fists under the table. “I’m not sensitive,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intended.

Yujin gasps, her hand flying to her chest in mock surprise. “Wow, defensive much? Relax, stepbrother. We’re just reminiscing. It’s healthy.”

Your stepmother chuckles, keeping a conspiratorial and amused expression with your father. “They’re just like siblings already, aren’t they?”

“Just like siblings,” Yujin echoes, her tone syrupy and smug. She catches your eye across the table, her smirk so infuriatingly smug it makes your blood boil. “Don’t you think, bro?”

You grind your teeth, stabbing your turkey with unnecessary force. “Sure. Just like siblings.”

The meal continues, the conversation flowing easily for everyone except you. Every time you start to relax, Yujin finds a new way to dig her claws in—mentioning a “funny” story that conveniently paints you in the worst possible light, brushing her foot against yours under the table, or throwing out a sarcastic comment every time you try to speak.

By the time dessert rolls around, you’re ready to fake food poisoning just to escape. But your parents? They’re over the moon. As far as they’re concerned, this is the happiest Christmas dinner ever.

—

The circus of horrors ends in a swirl of polite conversation and over-loud laughter, the kind that covers up awkward silences and unspoken tension. You pick at the crumbs of your dessert plate until you can’t justify sitting there anymore. Your dad, ever the enthusiast, claps you on the shoulder as everyone starts to disperse. His eyes are bright, his cheeks flushed from a few too many glasses of wine.  

"Hey, kiddo," he says, steering you toward the living room while Yujin and your stepmother clean up the table. "Can we talk for a second?"  

You stiffen but nod, letting him guide you to the couch. He plops down, gesturing for you to do the same, and you oblige, your hands fidgeting in your lap.  

“Look,” he starts, his tone softening in that way parents do when they’re trying to get serious. “I just want to say how proud I am of you. I know it’s not easy, this whole blended family thing. But seeing you and Yujin getting along? It means the world to me.”  

You swallow hard, guilt twisting in your gut like a knife. “Yeah,” you say, forcing a tight smile. “She’s… great.”  

“She really is,” he says. “And you, you’ve grown up so much. I know high school wasn’t easy for you, but look at you now—college, a bright future. I couldn’t be prouder.”  

Your chest tightens. How are you supposed to tell him that his perfect stepdaughter was your high school tormentor? That every smile she throws your way feels like a dagger aimed at your sanity? 

You can’t. 

It would ruin everything.  

So you nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Thanks, Dad.”  

He pulls you into a quick hug, ruffling your hair like he used to when you were a kid. “Alright, get some rest. Tomorrow’s a big day—Our first Christmas morning as a new family!”  

You force another smile, mumbling something about heading to bed. And with that, this one-sidedly joyful conversation ends. 

—

Your room feels like a sanctuary as you close the door behind you, the silence wrapping around you like a blanket. You set up your laptop on the bed, scrolling through animated movies until you land on The Lion King. The opening notes of “Circle of Life” fill the room, and for the first time all evening, you start to relax.  

You’re halfway through the Mufasa's death when you hear a knock on the door. 

You freeze, your heart sinking. 

There’s only one person it could be.  

With a sigh, you pause the movie, put the laptop on the desk and shuffle to the door, pulling it open just enough to peek through. Sure enough, there’s Yujin, leaning against the doorframe in pajamas that leave very little to the imagination—short shorts that barely cover her thighs and a tank top so tight it’s almost transparent.  

“What do you want?” you ask, trying to keep your eyes on her face and not the way her shorts cling to her hips.  

She smirks, tilting her head like she’s already won. “Relax, nerd. I just need to borrow your toothbrush.”  

You blink, sure you misheard her. “My toothbrush?”  

“Yeah.” She pushes past you into the room without waiting for an invitation, looking around like she owns the place. “I forgot mine at my mom’s place, and I’m not going to bed without brushing my teeth.”  

You turn to face her, incredulous. “You’re insane if you think I’m letting you use my toothbrush.”  

She glances at your laptop screen, her smirk widening when she sees the paused scene. “Wait—are you watching The Lion King?”  

“Yeah, so?” You fold your arms, trying to deflect.  

Her laugh is sharp, cutting. “Oh my God, you’re such a child. What’s next? Gonna snuggle up with a teddy bear and sing 'Hakuna Matata'?"  

“Classic Disney movies are comforting,” you snap, your cheeks burning. “They’re timeless. Not that you’d understand.”  

“Comforting?” She raises an eyebrow, her grin downright wicked. “You’re pathetic. Do you still sleep with a nightlight too?”  

“At least I’m not barging into people’s rooms asking to share their toothbrush,” you fire back. “That’s disgusting.”  

She shrugs, unbothered. “What’s the big deal? We’re practically family now.”  

“That doesn’t make it okay!”  

“Well, I’m not going to bed without brushing my teeth.”  

“Use your finger,” you suggest, exasperated.  

She gasps, clutching her chest in mock horror. “Oh, the audacity! What kind of savage do you take me for?”  

“An entitled one,” you mutter, regretting it the second it’s out of your mouth.  

Her eyes narrow, but her smirk doesn’t waver. She steps closer, the air in the room suddenly feeling heavier. “Careful, stepbrother,” she says, her voice low, almost teasing. “You wouldn’t want to hurt my feelings.”  

You swallow hard, stepping back instinctively as she invades your space. “I—just… go ask your mom or something.”  

“Nah,” she says, taking another step forward, her eyes locking onto yours. “I like seeing you squirm too much.”  

Your back hits the edge of your desk, your laptop wobbling precariously. The paused image of Simba and Mufasa feels absurdly out of place, but you can’t tear your eyes away from Yujin as she leans in, her smirk turning predatory.  

“So,” she whispers, her voice dripping with false innocence. “Are you gonna lend me that toothbrush, or do I have to get creative?”   

You're tired of being trapped in this kind of situation and know that if you don't make a change, nothing will be different. Decided, you straighten your spine, crossing your arms over your chest as you stare her down.

Enough is enough. 

You’re not the same awkward, scared kid she pushed around in high school. “No,” you say, your voice firm. “You’re not using my toothbrush. Ever.”  

Her eyes narrow even further, her smirk faltering for the first time. “What’s your fucking problem, dude?”  

“My problem?” You laugh. “My problem is that you think it’s normal to walk into someone’s room and ask to scrape your nasty teeth with their toothbrush.”  

Her jaw drops, her eyes flashing with indignation. “Nasty?! Excuse me, but my teeth are perfectly clean!”  

You snort, shaking your head. “Yeah, sure. If you count all the lying and cheating you’ve done with that mouth...”  

Her lips part, and for a moment, she looks genuinely offended. Then her expression hardens, her voice dripping with anger. “You’re such a little bitch, you know that? Sitting here in your sad little room, watching Disney movies like a five-year-old.”  

“And you’re a dumb bitch,” you snap back, your temper flaring. “You only made it out of high school because you stole my homework and cheated on every test. I bet you don't know how to solve even a first degree equation!” 

The second the word leaves your mouth, you know you’ve fucked up.  

Yujin goes very still, her smirk vanishing. Her dark eyes fix on you, cold and unblinking, and for the first time, you feel a genuine spike of fear.  

“What did you just call me?” she says, her voice dangerously low.  

You open your mouth, trying to backpedal, but nothing comes out. She steps closer, her presence suddenly towering.

“I said,” she repeats, each word deliberate, “what did you just call me?”  

“I… I—I didn’t mean—”  

She cuts you off with a sharp laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “You’ve got some balls, stepbrother. Calling a woman a bitch like that. You think you’re tough now, huh? Big college guy? Watching The Lion King and talking shit?”  

You hold up your hands, trying to de-escalate. “Yujin, come on, I didn’t mean it like—”  

“I’ll teach you,” she interrupts, her voice dropping into a dangerous purr. “I’ll teach you to never call a woman a bitch again.”  

Before you can react, she moves. It happens so fast, your brain barely processes it—her hands on your arm, a twist, a pull, and suddenly your back hits the floor with a dull thud.  

"Jesus Christ!” you yelp, gasping for air.  

She’s on you in an instant, her knees pressing into your shoulders as she straddles you. “What’s the matter, nerd?” she taunts, leaning down so her face is inches from yours. “Not so mouthy now, huh?”  

“Get off me!” you sputter, squirming beneath her, but she’s stronger than she looks.  

“Oh, no,” she says, her grin returning with a sadistic edge. “You’re not getting off that easy.”  

Her thighs shift, and before you know it, they’re wrapped around your neck, squeezing just enough to make you panic. You grab at her legs, trying to push her off, but it’s like grappling with steel.  

“Holy shit, Yujin! What the hell are you doing?”  

“Teaching you a lesson,” she says, her voice mockingly sweet. “Say it. Say you’ll never call me a bitch again.”  

“Fine, fine!” you choke out, your hands clawing at her thighs. “I won’t! Just let go!”  

But she doesn’t let go. If anything, she squeezes harder, a triumphant laugh spilling from her lips. “Oh, no. Not until you say it properly. Beg me, stepbrother. Let’s hear it.”  

“Yujin, come on!” Your voice is muffled, your vision starting to blur. “You’re insane!”  

“And you’re pathetic,” she counters, her smirk widening. “Now say it. Please, Yujin, I’m sorry for being such a little bitch.”  

You groan, your pride warring with your desperation for oxygen. But as her thighs tighten again, cutting off what little air you have left, you know you don’t have a choice.  

“Fine!” you gasp, your voice ragged. “Please, Yujin, I’m sorry for being such a little bitch!”  

She laughs, a rich, mocking sound that vibrates through her thighs where they clamp loosely around your neck. Her long, toned legs feel impossibly strong, even though she isn’t really applying pressure. The mere implication that she could is enough to make you break out in a cold sweat.

“Sorry?” she repeats, tilting her head like she’s genuinely considering your words. “Hmm, doesn’t sound very convincing. Say it again, but this time really mean it. Oh, and call me ma’am.”  

Your face flushes hot, humiliation creeping up your neck. “I-I’m sorry, ma’am,” you stammer, hating how meek you sound. “Please, I swear I won’t say anything like that again.”  

She smirks, her thighs shifting slightly, the soft warmth of her skin pressing against the sides of your head. “That’s better,” she purrs, “but we’re not quite done, are we? Will you lend me your toothbrush now, or do I have to keep teaching you some respect?”  

You grit your teeth, anger flaring despite your position. “I’m not lending you my toothbrush, Yujin! That’s disgusting.”  

Her expression darkens, but there’s a playful glint in her eyes. “Wrong answer,” she says sweetly, leaning forward so her weight presses just a bit more against your throat.  

“Wait, wait!” you gasp, your hands instinctively grabbing at her thighs. “Fine! Take it, okay? Just let me go!”  

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” She loosens her hold, but she doesn’t get up. Instead, her gaze drops, and her grin grows wider. “Oh my god,” she says, her voice dripping with mockery. “Are you seriously hard right now?”  

Your heart stops. You glance down in horror and realize that, yes, the bulge in your pants is painfully obvious.  

“It’s not—” you start to protest, but she cuts you off, shifting her thighs back into position.  

“Don’t even try to deny it,” she coos, leaning in closer. “Look at you, blushing like a little schoolboy. Are you actually enjoying this? Do you like being choked by my thighs?”  

“N-no!” you stammer, though your voice falters as her thighs press just a fraction tighter, the plushness of her skin enveloping your cheeks.  

“Liar,” she says, her voice low and teasing. “Come on, admit it. I can feel you squirming, and I can see that pathetic little boner of yours. Just say it—you like it, don’t you?”  

You try to shake your head, but her legs hold you in place. “I don’t—”  

“Say it,” she interrupts, her tone firm but still playful. “Or I’ll keep you here all night. Admit that you like how warm and soft my thighs are. Tell me you’re a submissive little perv.”  

Your resistance crumbles under her relentless teasing. Your face burns as you mumble, “Okay… fine. It’s kind of… nice.”  

Her laughter is bright and triumphant. “That’s what I thought. You’re a submissive little slut, aren’t you?”  

You close your eyes, wishing the floor would swallow you up, but she’s relentless. Her thighs move between your face, forcing you to look up at her.  

“So,” she drawls, “are you a virgin?”  

“No!” you blurt out immediately, your face heating up.  

She raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “No? Really? I don’t buy it.” Her grin widens as she watches you squirm. “Come on, don’t bullshit me. Who the hell would fuck you?”  

Your mouth opens, then closes. “I’m not lying,” you manage. “I’ve had sex before! In college.”  

Yujin bursts into laughter, loud and mocking, her head tilting back in genuine amusement. “Oh my god, that’s hilarious. You? Getting laid? Please.” She leans in closer. “What was her name, huh? Bet she doesn’t exist. Face it—no girl, not even the most desperate, would fuck a loser like you.”  

Her words hit harder than you expect, and the shame wells up in your chest. But she turns your chin with her thighs, forcing you to face her again.

“Aww,” she coos, feigning sympathy. “Did I hurt your little feelings? Well, maybe I’m feeling generous tonight. Must be the Christmas spirit or something.” She lets out a low chuckle, her thighs rubbing your neck slowly, almost like a massage. “Tell you what. Since you’re clearly a pathetic little virgin, how about I take that burden off your hands?”  

Your eyes widen, your body betraying you as your erection presses harder against your pants. She notices immediately, her smirk turning wicked. “Oh, you like that idea, huh?”  

“W-wait,” you stammer, but her voice cuts through yours.  

“Not so fast,” she says, her thighs flexing against your neck just enough to make your pulse spike. “Before I even consider it, you need to admit something to me.”  

“Admit what?” you ask nervously.  

She leans closer, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “That I’m beautiful.”  

You laugh nervously, shaking your head. “Yeah, no chance.”  

Her thighs squeeze tighter, making you gasp. “What was that?” she taunts. “You sure about that answer?”  

Your heart races as you struggle against the pressure. “Okay, okay! You’re beautiful, alright?”  

Her smile grows triumphant. “See? That wasn’t so hard. But just beautiful?”  

You hesitate, her expectant gaze burning into you. “You’re hot too,” you mutter.

She feigns surprise, pressing a hand to her chest. “Hot? Oh, you’re making me blush. What else?”  

You swallow hard, your voice trembling. “Your thighs… they’re, uh, juicy. And thick.”  

Her laughter is rich and sultry. “Juicy and thick, huh? You like being smothered by them?”  

“Yes,” you admit, your voice small.  

She grins. “What about my smile?”  

“It’s beautiful,” you say reluctantly.  

Her grin widens. “Oh, really? Didn’t you say earlier that my teeth were nasty?”  

You groan, the heat in your face unbearable. “I lied. Your teeth are… perfect.”  

She leans back slightly, studying you with an amused glint in her eye. “You’re not just saying all this so I’ll fuck you, right?”  

“No,” you insist. “It’s all true.”  

Her smirk softens into something almost curious. “Alright then. What did you think of me back in high school?”  

You try to avoid her gaze, but she won’t let you look away. “I… I don’t want to talk about it.”  

“Talk,” she demands, her thighs pressing just slightly again. “Or I’ll keep you here all night.”  

You sigh, defeated. “Fine. I had a crush on you, okay? I just… I wished you’d been nicer to me.”  

She snorts, shaking her head. “A crush? On me? That’s adorable. Why didn’t you do anything about it?”  

“Because I knew you’d never notice me,” you mumble. “I was just the guy you bullied.”  

She grins wickedly. “That’s not true. You were also good at doing my homework.” Her laugh is loud and unrepentant, and you can’t help but feel a flicker of humiliation all over again.  

Her fingers tug at the hem of her shorts. “What do you think of my pajamas?”  

You glance up at her reluctantly. The short shorts hug her hips in all the right ways, and her tank top perfectly shapes her breasts. “You look… hot,” you admit quietly.  

She smirks, clearly satisfied. “Good, because I picked them out just to tease you. But I think you’ve humiliated yourself enough for one night.” She stands, finally freeing you from her hold, and stretches languidly. “Go get on your bed. It’s going to be the best night of your life.”

Without much choice, you agree. Yujin goes to the door and locks it, then joins you. Now the bed feels smaller now with her on it, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight as Yujin stretches out, making herself comfortable like she owns the place. The Lion King is still paused on your laptop, Simba frozen trying to wake up his already lifeless father, a stark reminder of how normal your night had been before this. Your stomach flips as she looks at you with that amused smirk, her eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and authority.  

“So,” she says, her voice soft but teasing, “if you want me to fuck you, you’ve got to prove it.”  

“Prove it?” you echo nervously, fiddling with the edge of your blanket.  

“Yeah,” she says, sitting cross-legged now, her bare thighs on full display. “Show me you love me. Show me you’re capable of doing anything for me.”  

Your throat feels tight as you stammer, “But… isn’t this… wrong? I mean, because of our parents?”  

Yujin’s smirk deepens, and she leans forward, her face close enough that you can feel the warmth of her breath. “Who says they have to know? This can be our little secret,” she purrs, her tone dripping with mockery.  

You hesitate, your thoughts racing. She notices, of course. Yujin notices everything. “Look,” she says, her voice firm now, “I don’t fuck guys who don’t value me. If you’re not willing to worship me, I'm getting the hell out of your little room so you can jerk off to some disgusting hentai alone.

Her words sting, and before you can even formulate a response, she stretches out one long, toned leg, her foot pointed like a ballerina’s. “Here’s how this works,” she says, wiggling her toes. “If you want to cum tonight, you’re going to worship me. Like a goddess.”�� 

Your face burns as you stare at her foot, delicate and perfectly pedicured, her nails painted a glossy red. “I don’t… I don’t have a foot fetish,” you stammer weakly.  

Yujin rolls her eyes, laughing softly. “I don’t give a fuck if you do or not. I told you to suck my toes. So, do it.”  

You hesitate, but her expression shifts, her gaze narrowing. “Are you really going to make me repeat myself? Suck. My. Toes.”  

There’s something commanding in her tone that makes your heart race. You swallow hard, your gaze flickering to her foot. It’s undeniably… beautiful. Soft skin, high arch, perfectly shaped. Before you can overthink it, you lean forward, pressing a hesitant kiss to the top of her foot.  

She laughs, low and pleased. “Good boy. But I said suck, not kiss. Start with my toes.”  

Your hands tremble slightly as you lift her foot, her skin warm against your palms. You bring it closer, your lips brushing against her big toe. “Take it slow,” she says, leaning back on her elbows, her voice a purr. “I want to enjoy this.”  

You start tentatively, pressing kisses along her toes, your lips lingering longer each time. The scent of her lotion is faint but sweet, and you find yourself losing the initial awkwardness. Her skin is soft, smoother than you expected, and the warmth of her body feels oddly intimate.  

“Now lick,” she commands, her tone playful but firm.  

Your tongue darts out, tracing the curve of her big toe. The taste is neutral, nothing unpleasant, and as you swirl your tongue around the pad of her toe, you catch a glimpse of her face. She’s watching you intently, her lips curved into a satisfied smile.  

“See?” she says, her voice a little breathier now. “Not so bad, is it?”  

You don’t respond, too focused on the task. Your lips wrap around her toe, sucking gently, and she lets out a soft hum of approval. “That’s it,” she murmurs. “Use your tongue more. I want to feel it everywhere.”  

You move to her other toes, sucking and licking each one, the wet sounds almost obscene in the quiet room. Her foot flexes slightly in your grip, and you realize you’re gripping her ankle like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.  

“Good boy,” she says again, her tone dripping with condescension. “I think you’re actually starting to enjoy this.”  

You hate how right she is. 

There’s something strangely intimate about the act, the way her soft skin feels against your lips, the way her low murmurs of approval send a thrill through you. You glance up at her, your cheeks burning, and she smirks.  

“Don’t stop now,” she teases. “You’re just getting started. Show me how much you appreciate me.”  

Your tongue trails along the arch of her foot, your kisses growing bolder. Her laughter fills the room, light and mocking, but there’s a genuine note of pleasure there too.  

“Damn,” she says, wiggling her toes against your lips. “You’re a natural. Maybe you do have a foot fetish after all.”  

You shake your head, her toes still in your mouth, and she laughs harder. “Whatever you say, loser,” she purrs. “Just keep going. You’re doing great.”

Your lips drag slowly along the arch of her foot, tongue gliding up the curve, and every second feels surreal. You’re too deep into it now to stop. Yujin lounges back, one hand resting lazily on her stomach while the other dips beneath the waistband of her tiny shorts.  

Her movement catches your attention, and you pause for a fraction of a second before her voice cuts through the air. “Did I say you could stop?”  

“N-no,” you stammer, your breath warm against her skin.  

“Then don’t,” she snaps, but her tone is lighter now, almost teasing. Her fingers shift under her shorts, her hips shifting slightly. Her smirk widens when she sees your gaze flicker to the way her hand moves. “Eyes on my foot,” she orders. “You’re not done worshipping me.”  

You swallow hard and lean back in, your tongue running along the side of her foot now, your lips brushing her toes again, sucking gently. You hear her soft, satisfied sigh, and the sound sends heat pooling in your gut.  

“God, you’re really into this, huh?” she purrs, her fingers clearly working beneath the fabric of her shorts. “Look at you, completely devoted. It’s actually kind of cute… in a pathetic, loser-way.”  

Her words should sting, but instead, they just make you want to keep going, to prove yourself. You press firmer kisses along her foot, your tongue tracing every curve and ridge. Your hands tremble as they grip her ankle, and your own arousal throbs insistently, impossible to ignore.  

“You’re so fucking hot,” you blurt out suddenly, the words tumbling from your mouth before you can stop them.  

Yujin giggles, a sound that’s both mocking and genuinely pleased. “I know,” she says smugly, her hips rolling subtly as her fingers continue their work. “But it’s cute of you to say it out loud. Keep going, loser. You’re doing great.”  

Your mouth moves faster now, kissing and licking with more fervor, as if her approval is the only thing that matters. Your hand drifts down to your own pants, palming yourself through the fabric as you watch her.  

She notices, of course. “Oh, look at you,” she teases, her voice low and syrupy. “Touching yourself already? You’re so fucking easy. What are you even thinking about right now?”  

“You,” you admit breathlessly, the words spilling out in a rush. “You’re so hot, Yujin. You’re making me—”  

“Making you what?” she interrupts, her smirk growing.  

“Making me so fucking hard,” you say, your voice cracking slightly.  

Her laughter is soft, sultry, and her hand moves faster under her shorts. “Yeah? And you’re making my pussy so wet,” she says, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Look at you, on your knees, sucking my toes like a good little boy. How could I not get turned on?”  

Your breath hitches at her words, and you press your palm harder against yourself, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through your body. “You look so fucking good,” you mutter.  

She grins lazily, her fingers disappearing deeper beneath her shorts. “Keep going,” she says, her tone commanding. “Make me even wetter. Prove you’re worth fucking.”  

You obey, diving back into your task with renewed determination. Her soft moans fill the room now, and every sound she makes sends shivers down your spine. You can’t believe this is happening, can’t believe how easily she has you wrapped around her finger.  

“God, you’re pathetic,” she murmurs, but there’s a heat in her voice that makes it sound like a compliment. “And you fucking love it, don’t you?”  

You nod against her foot, her skin warm and soft against your lips. “I do,” you admit, your voice cracking slightly. “I love it. I love… you.”  

She freezes for a moment, her fingers pausing their movements. 

Then her smirk returns, sharper than ever. “Of course you do,” she says simply, her voice like velvet. “Now keep going, bitch.”

Your tongue glides across her toes, your saliva leaving them shiny and glistening. Yujin watches with a smirk that grows wider each time she flexes her foot and you eagerly follow, sucking and licking every inch. Her toes are damp, her skin slick and wet, and by now the faint taste of her lotion feels familiar on your tongue.  

“Wow,” she says mockingly, her voice dripping with amusement. “You’re really committed to this, aren’t you? My foot’s fucking drooling, and you look like you’re ready to propose to it.”  

You look up, her smug expression only making your cock twitch harder against the confines of your pants. Your lips hover over her big toe for a moment as you catch your breath, her words hitting something deep inside you.  

“You want to keep going?” she asks, tilting her head as her fingers lazily tap against her thigh. “Or are you finally gonna admit how much you’re loving this?”  

You don’t answer, at least not verbally. Instead, you lean down again, kissing the top of her foot, sucking on her toes, letting your lips linger longer this time. It’s humiliating, sure, but there’s something addictive about the way she looks at you, the way she controls every second of this.  

After a while, she pulls her foot away suddenly, smirking when she sees the disappointment flash across your face. “Alright, enough foreplay,” she says, her voice playful but firm. “Take off your pants.”  

You blink, caught off guard. “Wait, what?”  

“You heard me,” she says, sitting up straighter. “Pants. Underwear. Off. Now.”  

Your hands hesitate at the waistband of your pants, but her sharp gaze cuts through any lingering doubts. You nod, fumbling as you undo the button and slide them down, your boxers following soon after.  

The moment your cock springs free, Yujin’s eyebrows shoot up, and for the first time, her cocky smirk falters. “Holy shit,” she says, her tone caught somewhere between surprise and appreciation. “For a loser virgin nerd, you’ve got a pretty big, thick cock. What a waste.”  

You don’t know whether to feel proud or embarrassed, so you just stand there awkwardly, your hands twitching at your sides as she leans forward slightly, inspecting you like she’s trying to decide what to do next.  

“Alright,” she says, waving you back toward the bed. “Lie down. I wanna play with you a little first.”  

You obey, climbing onto the bed, your heart racing as she stretches out on the opposite side of the bed. Her foot, still slick with your saliva, presses gently against the base of your cock. The sudden contact makes you gasp, and she giggles, clearly enjoying your reaction.  

“Damn,” she teases, slowly sliding her foot up along your length. “Look at you. You’re already leaking, and I’ve barely touched you.”  

You bite your lip, your breath hitching as she presses her other foot against you, sandwiching your cock between both of them. The wetness from your earlier efforts makes every movement smooth and almost unbearably good.  

“How’s that feel?” she asks, her tone mockingly sweet as her feet start to move, stroking you with slow, deliberate motions.  

“F-fucking amazing,” you admit, your voice shaking.  

She laughs, her toes curling slightly as she drags them up the shaft. “Of course it does. I mean, look at you—getting jerked off by my feet. Bet you never imagined this happening in your wildest nerdy dreams.”  

You groan, your hips bucking slightly as her pace picks up. The wet glide of her skin against yours is intoxicating, every stroke sending jolts of pleasure through your entire body.  

“Stay still,” she orders, pressing her heel against your tip just enough to make you gasp. “You move, and I stop. Got it?”  

You nod frantically, your hands gripping the sheets as you fight to keep yourself in place. “Y-yeah, I got it,” you stammer.  

“Good boy,” she purrs, her voice dripping with condescension as her feet resume their slow, teasing movements.  

The room fills with the obscene sound of her slick feet stroking you, the wetness amplifying every glide. She watches you intently, her lips curling into a smirk every time you let out a ragged moan or bite your lip to hold back a louder one.  

“Look at you,” she murmurs, her feet pressing tighter around your cock as she moves faster. “All that attitude earlier, and now you’re just a whimpering little mess. Bet you’d do anything I told you to right now, huh?”  

“Y-yes,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.  

She grins triumphantly, her toes brushing against your tip in a way that makes your entire body shudder. “That’s what I thought,” she says, her voice low and teasing. “You’re such a good little loser when you’re like this. Makes me almost want to keep you around.”  

You groan, your hips jerking slightly despite her earlier warning. Her smirk widens as she presses her feet down harder, the added pressure making you gasp.  

“Getting close already?” she asks, her tone dripping with amusement. “Wow, you really are pathetic. Guess I’d better slow down, huh?”  

“Please don’t,” you beg, your voice breaking.  

Her laugh is low and wicked as she leans back slightly, her feet never stopping their relentless motion. “I dunno,” she says playfully. “Maybe I’ll let you cum… if you beg me properly.”  

Her words send a fresh wave of heat through you, and you can’t help but moan. “Please, Yujin. Please let me cum. I’ll do anything you want.”  

Her smirk softens into something almost approving. “That’s better,” she says, her feet stroking you faster now. “Now, let’s see just how much of a mess you can make for me.” 

Yujin’s feet slide up and down your cock with maddening precision, the slick warmth of your spit coating every inch of her smooth skin. Each movement sends sparks of pleasure coursing through your body, and her smug smirk only makes it worse. She knows exactly what she’s doing—driving you insane with a combination of physical control and that sharp tongue of hers.  

“Look at you,” she says, her voice low and dripping with mockery. “I’ve barely touched you, and you’re already falling apart. You’re such a fucking mess.”  

Your hands grip the sheets tightly, your breath coming in short gasps. “Y-Yujin…” you stammer, but she doesn’t let you finish.  

“Don’t talk,” she snaps, pressing her toes against the sensitive tip of your cock. The pressure makes you moan loudly, your hips jerking against her feet. “Just moan for me like the desperate little virgin you are.”  

The words even hit you with a certain impact, but the pleasure is too overwhelming for you to even protest. “I’m not—”  

“Shut up,” she interrupts, her feet sliding faster now, the wet sounds filling the room. “Do you really think I believe that? You’re pathetic. A loser. But you’re my loser tonight, aren’t you?”  

“Yes,” you gasp, your voice barely audible.  

She smirks, clearly pleased with your response. Her hand disappears under her shorts again, and this time, she doesn’t bother to hide what she’s doing. Her fingers move rhythmically, and she lets out a soft moan, her hips rocking slightly.  

“You like this, don’t you?” she says, her voice breathy but still full of authority. “Being under me. Being humiliated by me. You missed it, didn’t you?”  

Your breath catches, and for a moment, you can’t speak. She doesn’t let up, her feet sliding faster, her toes curling around you just right. “Answer me,” she demands.  

“Yes,” you finally admit, your voice cracking as the confession spills out. “Yes, I missed it.”  

Her grin widens, her movements growing more deliberate. “Missed what, exactly? Be specific.”  

You groan, your head pressing back against the pillow. “I missed… I missed you,” you manage between ragged breaths.  

“Missed me?” she repeats, her laughter soft and condescending. “That’s cute. But what about me, huh? Did you miss being humiliated? Miss the attention I gave you? Did you miss the way I used to push you around?”  

Your chest tightens, and the words tumble out before you can stop them. “Yes! Fuck, yes, I missed it. I missed you. I missed… how aggressive you were.”  

She lets out a low, triumphant hum, her hand moving faster under her shorts as she leans forward slightly. “You missed me putting you in your place, didn’t you?”  

“Yes,” you moan, your voice desperate now.  

“And now you’re here,” she purrs, her toes pressing down against the head of your cock, drawing a strangled gasp from you. “Completely under my control. Look at you, squirming under my feet like a little bitch. I bet you’re loving every second of it.”  

“I am,” you admit.

“God, you’re such a loser,” she says, her feet sliding faster, the wet sounds growing louder. “But at least you’re my loser. Tell me how much you love this. Tell me how much you love me.”  

“I love it,” you gasp, your body trembling as you edge closer and closer to release. “I love you, Yujin. Fuck, I love you.”  

Her smirk softens slightly, just enough to make you wonder if she’s taking this all in stride or actually enjoying it as much as you are. Her toes curl around you again, and the friction pushes you right to the edge.  

“Go on, then,” she says, her voice low and sultry. “Paint my feet with your virgin load. Show me what a good little foot bitch you can be."

She speeds up her movements again, her feet working your shaft with practiced skill. The pressure builds and builds until you can't take it anymore. With a strangled cry, your orgasm explodes making you roll your eyes. 

Your cock pulses violently as thick ropes of cum shoot out, coating her soles and toes in your hot seed. She doesn't stop moving her feet, milking every last drop from your twitching member as you shake and moan helplessly.

"Holy fuck, look how much you came," Yujin laughs, spreading her toes to watch the cum drip between them. "Guess you really did need this release badly. Been saving up all this spunk just for my feet, haven't you?"  

You nod weakly, your body still trembling as the last waves of pleasure roll through you. She pulls her feet away, inspecting them with an amused grin before wiping them on the sheets.  

“Hope you’re ready,” she says, her voice light but wicked. “We’re just getting started.”  

The room feels heavy with the aftermath, the air thick with the scent of cum and sweat. You’re sprawled out on the bed, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Before you can fully recover, she leans in.  

Her face is so close that you can feel her breath on your lips, warm and teasing. Her eyes lock onto yours, a spark of mischief and something darker flickering there. Her lips brush against yours, just barely, a ghost of a touch that sends shivers down your spine.  

“Do you want me to kiss you?” she whispers, her voice low and sultry, dripping with temptation.  

“Yes,” you breathe, barely able to get the word out.  

She smirks, leaning back just a fraction. “Say it,” she demands, her tone sharp. “Say you belong to me.”  

Your heart pounds in your chest as her eyes bore into yours. “I… I belong to you,” you stammer, the words feeling both foreign and natural in your mouth.  

“Good boy,” she purrs, and then her lips crash against yours.  

It’s electrifying. Her mouth moves against yours with a mix of dominance and hunger, her lips soft but demanding. The taste of her consumes you, your head spinning as her hand cups your jaw, holding you exactly where she wants you.  

When she finally pulls back, your lips are tingling, your breath coming in shallow gasps. She studies your face with a satisfied smirk. “Was that your first kiss?”  

Your face burns, and you nod, too embarrassed to speak.  

“Holy shit,” she murmurs, her voice filled with disbelief and delight. “Your first fucking kiss. God, you’re such a loser.” Her smirk deepens, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw. “But you’re my loser...”  

Her words make you shiver, and she leans in again, her lips hovering over yours. “Open your mouth,” she orders softly.  

You obey, your lips parting instinctively, and she spits directly into your mouth. The warm, salty taste coats your tongue, and before you can even process it, her mouth is on yours again.  

This time, the kiss is messier, wetter. Her tongue invades your mouth, exploring and claiming, and you can’t help but respond, your own tongue meeting hers in a clumsy but eager dance. Spit mixes and drips down your chin, but you don’t care. All that matters is her, the way she tastes, the way she’s completely consuming you.  

When she finally pulls back, a string of saliva connects your lips, and she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, looking down at you with that same infuriatingly smug grin.  

“Are you going to take everything I give you?” she asks, her voice low and demanding.  

“Yes,” you reply immediately, your voice shaky but certain.  

“Promise me,” she says, her tone softer but no less commanding.  

“I promise,” you say, your eyes locking onto hers.  

She sighs dramatically, shaking her head with a playful smirk. “God, it’s so fucking annoying how wet you make me. You’re such a pathetic little virgin, but you’re driving me insane.”  

Her words send a fresh wave of heat through your body, and she sits up, her fingers hooking into the waistband of her shorts. She slides them down slowly, revealing her soaked panties, the fabric clinging to her skin.  

“Your turn to please me now,” she says, pushing her panties to the side to reveal her glistening folds. The sight is mesmerizing, and your throat tightens as you take her in.  

“If you eat my pussy well,” she continues, climbing onto the bed and positioning herself over you, “I might just reward you. But if you suck at it…” She smirks, her thighs flexing slightly. “Let’s just say I’ll be very disappointed.”  

She shifts closer, her knees on either side of your head, her thighs framing your face. Her scent is intoxicating, heady and warm, and you can feel the heat radiating from her core.  

“Are you ready to be squeezed by my thighs again?” she asks, her voice teasing but firm.  

“Yes,” you reply, your voice trembling with anticipation.  

“Good,” she says. “Now don’t disappoint me, loser.”

Yujin lowers herself onto your face slowly, deliberately, the wet heat of her pussy pressing against your lips for the first time. You’re instantly overwhelmed—her scent, her warmth, the slickness of her folds—it’s all so new, so intense.  

You freeze, unsure of what to do. Your tongue flicks out hesitantly, just barely brushing her, and you hear her scoff from above.  

“Don’t just sit there, nerd,” she says, her voice sharp but tinged with amusement. “Start licking. God, do I have to teach you everything?”  

You nod against her, your hands awkwardly resting on her thighs as you try to figure it out. “Yes,” you mumble, your voice muffled by her.  

She lets out a frustrated sigh, reaching down to grab your hair and yank your head back slightly. “Fine. Listen up,” she commands. “Start with my clit. It’s the little nub at the top. Just lick it softly—don’t get all sloppy yet. Got it?”  

“Got it,” you mutter, and tentatively, your tongue moves to where she’s directed. You find the sensitive bundle of nerves and give it a slow, deliberate lick.  

“Yeah, like that,” she murmurs, her voice softening slightly. “But don’t be afraid to use your whole tongue. Make it feel good for me.”  

You nod again, more confident now, and start swirling your tongue around her clit, alternating between soft licks and gentle flicks. The reaction is immediate—her thighs twitch slightly against your head, and she lets out a low, pleased hum.  

“Not bad,” she says, her voice teasing. “For a first-timer, anyway. Keep going. Use your lips too—suck on it a little.”  

You obey without hesitation, wrapping your lips around her clit and sucking gently. Her soft moan above you sends a rush of adrenaline through your system, and you grip her thighs tighter, wanting to hear more.  

“Fuck,” she mutters, her hand still tangled in your hair as she starts to grind against your face. “You’re learning fast, aren’t you? Maybe you’re not as useless as I thought.”  

Her words spur you on, and you press your tongue flat against her, licking her in long, slow strokes before returning to her clit. Her wetness coats your lips and chin, and you find yourself savoring the taste—warm, slightly salty, and completely intoxicating.  

Her moans grow louder, but her tone remains dominant, even now. “Don’t get cocky,” she warns, her hips rolling against your mouth. “You’re doing okay, but I want more. Stick your tongue inside me.”  

Your heart pounds as you comply, your tongue darting into her entrance. Her slick walls clench around you, and the sensation is overwhelming. You push deeper, your nose brushing against her clit as you try to keep up with her grinding.  

“Fuck, that’s it,” she breathes, her dominant tone cracking just slightly as her pleasure builds. “You’re finally starting to get it. Keep going, don’t you dare stop.”  

Her taste is addictive, her heat pulling you in, and you lose yourself in the act. Your hands slide up her thighs, holding her hips steady as you thrust your tongue in and out of her, your lips dragging against her folds with every movement.  

“God, you’re such a little slut for me,” she says, her voice trembling with pleasure. “Getting addicted to my pussy, huh? I can feel it—you don’t want to stop, do you?”  

You shake your head against her, your tongue never faltering.  

Her laughter is breathy, almost ragged now. “Of course you don’t. You’re fucking addicted already. Good. That’s exactly where I want you.”  

Her thighs tighten around your head, squeezing just enough to make you feel completely trapped beneath her. Her grinding grows more frantic, her slickness dripping down your chin, and you can feel her body trembling as she approaches her climax.  

“Don’t stop,” she commands, her voice breaking into a moan. “Fuck, don’t you fucking stop.”

Yujin’s moans fill the room, soft and breathy at first but quickly growing louder, more desperate. Each sound she makes sends a surge of adrenaline through you, pushing you to work harder, your tongue flicking and swirling against her clit, dipping into her soaked folds. Her taste is addictive, her slickness coating your lips and chin, and you’re completely lost in the moment.  

“Fuck,” she hisses, her hand gripping your hair tighter, her hips rolling against your face. “You’re actually good at this. Keep going, loser. Don’t stop.”  

Her praise—if you can even call it that—makes your heart pound harder. You grip her thighs, your hands trembling slightly as you pull her closer, burying your face even deeper between her legs. Your tongue moves faster now, swirling around her clit before sliding down to tease her entrance.  

“Goddamn,” she moans, her voice muffled as she bites her lip, clearly struggling to keep quiet. Her head tilts back, and her free hand flies up to cover her mouth. “Shit… I can’t—my mom—fuck, don’t stop, loser, just… don't go all out like that.”  

You’re too focused to respond, your tongue pressing firmly against her clit as you suck gently, your lips dragging against the sensitive bundle of nerves. Her thighs clamp tighter around your head, and you can feel her whole body trembling, her hips grinding harder against your face.  

“Shit, shit, shit,” she mutters under her breath, her hand still covering her mouth as her muffled moans escape. “If they hear—fuck, it’s so good—I swear I’ll kill you if you stop now.”  

You have no intention of stopping. 

Her moans are your fuel, and you redouble your efforts, your tongue working furiously to push her closer to the edge. You flick your tongue rapidly against her clit, sucking softly between strokes, and her reaction is immediate.  

“Fuck!” she whispers harshly, her hips bucking against your face. “Right there—yeah, your tongue is perfect!"

Yujin’s thighs tighten around your head, the wet heat of her pussy pressing harder against your lips as her moans grow louder, more urgent. Every breathy whimper, every shaky sigh she lets out fuels you, pushing you to work harder, your tongue flicking and swirling with renewed determination.  

“Shit,” she gasps, her voice cracking. Her hand flies to her mouth again, muffling her next moan. “God, you’re gonna get us caught, you idiot—” Her words cut off into a muffled moan as her hips grind harder against your face.  

You don’t stop. If anything, her desperation spurs you on. You flick your tongue rapidly against her clit, sucking gently before dipping down to explore her folds, her slick juices coating your lips and chin. The taste of her is intoxicating, and you can’t get enough.  

“Fuck, fuck,” she mutters behind her hand, her thighs trembling against your head. “You’re actually—oh my god—you’re actually good at this.”  

Her hips start moving erratically, grinding against your face with an urgency that makes your heart race. She’s close, you can feel it in the way her body tenses, in the way her moans pitch higher despite her efforts to muffle them.  

“Don’t stop,” she whispers harshly, her voice barely audible over the wet sounds of your tongue against her. “Fuck, don’t you dare stop—”  

You tighten your grip on her thighs, holding her steady as you give it your all, your tongue focusing on her clit, flicking and circling as her grinding grows frantic. Her juices drip down your chin, warm and slick, and you don’t care about the mess—you’re too consumed by the need to push her over the edge.  

“Oh my god,” she gasps, her voice muffled but trembling. “I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”  

Her body stiffens suddenly, her thighs clamping tightly around your head as a muffled cry escapes her lips. Her hips jerk against your face, and you feel a rush of warmth as she cums, her juices flooding your mouth and dripping down your chin.  

You keep going, your tongue moving gently now, lapping up every drop as she rides out her orgasm. Her hand falls from her mouth, and she lets out a shaky sigh, her body trembling above you.  

“Holy shit,” she mutters, her voice raw and breathless. She shifts slightly, her thighs relaxing their grip on your head, and you pull back just enough to meet her gaze. Her face is flushed, her chest rising and falling as she catches her breath.  

“You actually… you actually made me cum,” she says, her tone laced with disbelief and a hint of amusement. “I didn’t think you had it in you, loser.”  

You manage a weak smile, your lips and chin still glistening with her juices.  

She smirks, leaning down to wipe your chin with her thumb before sucking it clean with a satisfied hum. “Guess you’re good for something after all,” she says, her voice soft but teasing. “Now, lick me clean. Every last drop.”  

Yujin slides off your face, leaving you breathless, her thighs glistening with her slick juices. She collapses onto the bed, spreading her legs lazily, her pussy still flushed and dripping. “Come on, you’ve got work to do,” she says, tilting her head toward her wet thighs. “Clean me up.”  

You nod wordlessly, leaning in and pressing your tongue to the inside of her thigh. Her skin is soft and warm, her taste still fresh on your lips. You drag your tongue up slowly, savoring every drop, alternating between long licks and soft kisses.  

Her fingers thread through your hair as she watches you work. “What do you think of my taste?” she asks, her voice low and teasing.  

You glance up at her, your lips brushing against the curve of her thigh. “It’s perfect,” you say, your voice full of reverence.  

A satisfied smile spreads across her face, and she props herself up on one elbow. “Good boy,” she purrs. “You’ve earned a reward.”  

Before you can ask what she means, she pulls her tank top over her head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. Her bare breasts are revealed—average-sized, perky, with small, pink nipples that practically beg for attention. She lies on her side next to you, her body relaxed but her eyes sharp as she studies your reaction.  

“First time seeing tits in real life?” she asks, her tone a mix of curiosity and mockery.  

You nod, your face flushing. “Y-yeah.”  

She smirks, leaning closer. “You wanna touch them?”  

Your throat feels dry as you nod again, unable to tear your eyes away from her chest.  

“Ask nicely,” she demands, her voice taking on that commanding edge again.  

You swallow hard, your voice trembling as you say, “Yujin, can I… can I touch them, please?”  

She grins, clearly enjoying your nervousness. “Go ahead,” she says, arching her back slightly to push her chest closer to you.  

Your hands tremble as you reach out, your fingers brushing against her soft skin for the first time. The sensation is incredible—warm, supple, and completely new. You cup her breasts gently, your thumbs brushing over her nipples, and she lets out a soft hum of approval.  

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” she asks, her voice softer now, almost tender.  

“Yeah,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.  

“Don’t be shy,” she says, her smirk returning. “You can squeeze them. Play with them.”  

You obey, your hands moving more confidently now. You massage her breasts, your fingers exploring every curve and dip, your thumbs circling her nipples until they harden under your touch. She arches her back slightly, pressing into your hands, her breath hitching.  

“Good,” she murmurs. “Now suck them.”  

You don’t hesitate. You lean down, your lips wrapping around one of her nipples as your tongue flicks against it. She lets out a soft sigh, her hand resting on the back of your head to keep you in place.  

“Fuck,” she breathes, her voice thick with pleasure. “You’re eager, huh? Like a starving puppy.”  

Her words make your cock twitch, already rock-hard again. You switch to her other breast, sucking and licking with the same enthusiasm, your hands kneading her soft flesh.  

She notices your arousal, of course, her hand trailing down your body until it wraps around your shaft. “You’re so fucking hard again,” she murmurs, stroking you slowly. “It’s almost pathetic how much you want this.”  

You let out a muffled groan against her breast, your hips jerking into her hand as she strokes you with practiced ease. Her thumb glides over your tip, spreading the pre-cum leaking from you.  

“God, you’re such a mess,” she teases, her voice full of mockery and heat. “But you’re my mess.”  

Yujin’s fingers work your cock with a steady, teasing rhythm, her hand warm and slick from your pre-cum. Meanwhile, your mouth is still on her breasts, sucking and licking her hardened nipples with devotion. You feel intoxicated—her scent, her taste, the way she completely controls every second of this—it’s all too much, yet not enough.  

You get carried away, your teeth grazing her nipple just a bit too hard. She gasps, her back arching, and suddenly her hand tightens around your cock, squeezing just enough to make you freeze.  

“Hey!” she snaps, her tone sharp as her eyes narrow. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You can’t just bite a woman’s nipples like that.”  

You pull back immediately, your face heating up. “I-I’m sorry,” you stammer, looking up at her.  

She huffs, her fingers loosening but still holding you firmly. “God, you’ve got so much to learn,” she mutters, shaking her head. “What are you, a fucking caveman? Be gentle.”  

“Yes, I’m sorry,” you say again, swallowing hard.  

She lets out a dramatic sigh. “At least you’re eager. I’ll give you that. But don’t fuck up again, or I might just leave you here with blue balls.”  

You nod quickly, your lips returning to her breast, this time much more careful. She relaxes again, her smirk returning as her hand resumes stroking you. “That’s better,” she murmurs, her voice softening. “Good boy. Keep sucking.”  

You lose yourself in the moment, your lips wrapping around her nipple, your tongue flicking and swirling while her hand works you faster. The combination of sensations is almost too much to handle, and you let out a muffled moan against her skin.  

“God, you’re so fucking loud,” she mutters, her fingers sliding up to rub your sensitive tip. “If you keep making noises like that, they’re gonna hear us.”  

She pulls back suddenly, her breasts leaving your mouth as she sits up, looking down at you with a wicked grin. “I think it’s time, don’t you?”  

“Time for what?” you ask, breathless and dazed.  

“For me to fuck you,” she says simply.

Your heart skips a beat, and you nod quickly. “Yes. Please.”  

She chuckles, leaning in close. “You sure?” she asks, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “I’m not stopping until I cum, so you’d better keep up.”  

“I’m sure,” you say, your voice trembling.  

Her grin widens as she pulls away, finally standing up beside the bed. “Maybe it won’t be too hard,” she says, eyeing your cock. “With a dick that big, you might actually make me feel something.”  

She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her panties, sliding them down slowly, teasingly, until they fall to the floor. Her pussy is glistening, flushed and ready, and you can’t take your eyes off her.  

“Open your mouth,” she commands suddenly.  

You blink, confused. “What?”  

She picks up her soaked panties and dangles them in front of your face. “You heard me. Open your mouth.”  

“Shouldn’t you be the one gagged with them?” you blurt out, unable to stop yourself.  

She lets out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. “Oh my god, you’re adorable,” she says mockingly. “But no, loser. You don’t get to make the rules here. Now open up, or I’ll reconsider this whole thing.”  

You hesitate for only a second before obeying, parting your lips.  

“Good boy,” she says, smirking as she presses the damp fabric into your mouth. The taste of her is overwhelming—warm, musky, and undeniably intoxicating. “See? You love the way I taste anyway, don’t you?”  

You nod, your cheeks burning as she climbs back onto the bed, positioning herself above you.  

“Keep those in,” she orders, her hands planting on your chest as she straddles your hips. “I don’t want to hear a fucking peep out of you.”  

Her wet folds brush against the tip of your cock, and the sensation is electric, making your whole body tense. She grins down at you, her eyes locking onto yours as she teases you, grinding against you without letting you inside.  

“Ready, loser?” she asks, her voice dripping with mockery and heat.  

You nod frantically, muffled sounds escaping around the panties in your mouth.  

“Good,” she murmurs, positioning herself before sinking down onto you in one slow, deliberate motion.  

The heat and tightness of her envelop you completely, and the sensation is almost too much to handle. Your head falls back against the pillow, muffled groans spilling out as she bottoms out, her hips resting flush against yours.  

“Fuck,” she mutters, biting her lip as she adjusts to your size. “Maybe you’re not completely useless after all.”  

She starts to move, her hips rolling slowly at first, her wetness making every movement smooth and maddening. Her hands slide up your chest, her nails digging in slightly as she picks up the pace, riding you with a confidence that leaves you breathless.  

“God, you feel so fucking good,” she moans.

Yujin's hips roll against you with an almost punishing rhythm, her wetness making every thrust slick and smooth. Her moans escape her lips in breathy, desperate bursts, and she bites her lip, trying and failing to keep them low. The whole scene feels unreal—Yujin, the girl who made your life hell in high school, is now on top of you, her pussy gripping you so tight it feels like she was made for this.  

“Fuck,” she whispers, her voice trembling as she rides you harder. “You’re actually doing it for me. Who knew this pathetic little loser would have such a good cock?”  

You can’t reply, not with her soaked panties stuffed in your mouth, so you nod instead, your muffled groans mixing with the obscene sounds of her riding you.  

Her hands slide up to her breasts, squeezing and kneading them as her pace quickens. Her nipples, hard and pink, peek between her fingers as she teases herself, and the sight makes your cock twitch inside her.  

“You like watching me, don’t you?” she asks, her voice sultry but still laced with that teasing edge. “Bet you’ve been dreaming about this, huh? Your big bad bully fucking the shit out of you.”  

You nod frantically, your eyes glued to her chest as her hands work her breasts.  

“Thought so,” she purrs, smirking down at you. “Am I hot? Tell me I’m fucking hot.”  

You nod again, your muffled voice straining around the fabric in your mouth.  

She laughs breathlessly, her hips slamming down harder now. “God, you’re so easy. Just a big, dumb dick for me to use. And fuck, you feel so fucking good.”  

Her moans grow louder, and she presses one hand against her mouth, her other hand still massaging her breast. “Shit, I can’t be too loud,” she mutters, grinding harder. “Your dad and my mom would fucking kill us if they knew what we were doing.”  

The thought of being caught only seems to turn her on more, her movements becoming more frantic as she chases her own pleasure. You’re completely at her mercy, her pussy clenching around you in perfect rhythm, her thighs flexing as she rides you like she owns you.  

But then she slows, her hands sliding down to your chest as she leans over you, her breath hot against your ear. “Let’s change it up,” she whispers, her voice dripping with authority.  

She pulls off you with a slick, wet sound, leaving you throbbing and desperate. Grabbing your wrists, she maneuvers you onto your back, your legs spreading awkwardly as she positions herself between them.  

“This is called the Amazon position,” she says, her tone mocking as she smirks down at you. “You’re about to get fucked properly.”  

She straddles your waist, your cock pressing against her soaked folds again as she grips your thighs for leverage. With one hand, she lines you up, her other hand pressing against your chest to keep you in place.  

“Ready?” she asks, her smirk widening as she looks down at you.  

You nod, your muffled groan turning into a desperate whimper as she sinks down onto you again, her pussy taking you in inch by inch.  

“Fuck,” she breathes, her head tilting back as she adjusts to the new angle. “You’re so fucking deep like this. God, I might actually let you cum if you keep feeling this good.”  

Her hands grip your thighs tighter as she starts moving, her hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles. The position gives her complete control, and she takes full advantage, slamming down onto you with a force that makes the bed creak beneath you.  

“Look at you,” she taunts, her voice trembling with pleasure. “Lying there like a good little toy, letting me use you. Bet you’ve never had a girl take charge like this, huh?”  

You shake your head, your hands gripping the sheets as she rides you relentlessly, her moans filling the room despite her earlier efforts to keep quiet.  

“God, you’re so fucking easy,” she pants, her movements becoming faster, more erratic. “I could do this all night. Fuck, I might have to—I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this dick.”  

Yujin’s hips roll and slam against you with abandon now, the room filled with the wet, obscene sounds of her pussy taking you over and over. Her breathing is heavy, her moans louder, no longer restrained. It’s as if she’s forgotten where you are—or maybe she just doesn’t care anymore. The way her nails dig into your chest, her thighs flexing with each thrust, tells you she’s chasing her high, and nothing else matters.  

Your body arches beneath her, the sensation overwhelming, her wet heat gripping you so tightly it feels like she’s molding herself to your cock. You can’t help it anymore—the panties in your mouth feel suffocating. With trembling hands, you yank them out and gasp, your voice cracking as you moan, “Fuck, Yujin… this feels so good. I’m—I’m loving this.”  

Her head snaps down, her eyes locking onto yours, a mix of dominance and amusement lighting up her face. “Oh yeah?” she pants, her pace not faltering for a second. “You love being fucked by me? You love being under me like this?”  

“Yes,” you moan, your voice shaky but full of conviction. “I fucking love it.”  

She laughs, low and breathless, her lips curling into that wicked smirk that’s burned into your mind. “Of course you do,” she says, leaning forward slightly, her hips still slamming into you with precision. “You’re my little whore, aren’t you?”  

“Yes,” you gasp, your hands clutching the sheets as her words send another wave of heat through you.  

“Say it,” she commands, her voice sharp despite the tremor of pleasure in it. “Say you’re my little whore.”  

“I’m your little whore,” you cry out, your voice cracking as her movements grow more frantic.  

She bites her lip, her head falling back for a moment before she looks down at you again, her eyes burning with intensity. “Do I own you?” she asks, her voice softer now, almost intimate, but the demand in her tone is unmistakable.  

“Yes,” you say, your voice trembling. “You own me. I belong to you, Yujin.”  

Yujin’s movements become erratic, her hips grinding down onto you with a desperate rhythm, her thighs trembling as she takes you deeper with every thrust. The Amazon position lets her dominate you completely, her hands pressing firmly against your chest for leverage.

The wet, obscene sounds of her pussy swallowing your cock echo in the room, mingling with her moans, which are growing louder and less controlled. She’s past caring about being overheard, her voice shaky and raw as her pleasure builds to a fever pitch.  

“Fuck,” she gasps, her head tilting back, her hair cascading over her shoulders as she loses herself in the sensation. “You feel so fucking good… I’m so close.”  

Her thighs flex around your waist, her entire body trembling with the effort to ride you faster, harder. She leans forward, her face hovering inches above yours, her breath hot and ragged as she looks into your eyes. “You’re such a fucking loser,” she pants, her lips curling into a smirk even as her voice shakes. “But this cock… god, this cock is fucking perfect.”  

You groan beneath her, your hands gripping the sheets as her pussy clenches tighter around you. The heat, the pressure, the way she moves—it’s all too much, and you can barely hold on as she takes you closer to the edge.  

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” she cries out, her voice cracking as her pace grows frantic. Her hands slide up to her breasts, squeezing and teasing her own nipples as she rides you like her life depends on it. “Don’t you fucking dare come now,” she orders, her tone desperate now. “Just… fuck, just stay right there.”  

Her hips slam down onto you one last time, her body stiffening as she throws her head back with a loud, guttural moan. Her pussy clamps down around your cock, squeezing and pulsing as her orgasm crashes over her like a tidal wave. Her thighs tremble violently, and her nails dig into your chest hard enough to leave marks as she grinds down onto you, riding out every last wave of pleasure.  

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she chants, her voice raw and breathless as her body jerks against yours. Her slickness floods around you, the heat of her orgasm soaking your thighs and dripping down onto the bed.  

When she finally collapses forward, her chest pressing against yours, her breath comes in ragged gasps, her hair sticking to her damp skin. She’s still trembling slightly, her pussy fluttering around your cock as the last aftershocks of her climax ripple through her.  

“Holy shit,” she mutters against your neck, her voice low and hoarse. “That was fucking insane.”  

You stay still beneath her, your cock still hard inside her as her slick heat surrounds you. She lifts her head after a moment, her smirk returning as she looks down at you, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your chest.  

“You didn’t cum yet, did you?” she asks, her tone smug.  

You shake your head, your breath still uneven.  

“Good,” she says, biting her lip as her hips shift slightly, her pussy still gripping you tightly. “Because I’m not done with you yet. Your cock is amazing.”

You smile weakly, your hands resting on her back as you catch your breath. “You’re… pretty amazing yourself,” you manage, your voice still shaky.  

She chuckles softly, her breath warm against your skin. “Damn right I am.”  

For a while, you just lie there together, your bodies tangled, the post-orgasm haze making everything feel surreal. Especially Yujin, who is kissing you with a tenderness you would never expect from her.  

Then, a sharp knock on the door shatters the quiet.  

“Everything okay in there?” your dad’s voice calls out, muffled through the wood.  

Your heart stops, and Yujin’s eyes snap open, wide with panic. She looks at you, mouthing, do something!

“Y-yeah!” you call back, trying to sound casual.  

Your dad pauses for a moment. “I thought I heard a scream,” he says.  

“Oh, uh, I'm watching a movie!” you blurt out, your voice cracking slightly. “That must’ve been it.”  

“A movie?” he repeats, sounding skeptical.  

“Yeah,” you say quickly. “I’ll, uh, turn it down. Sorry about that.”  

There’s another pause before your dad finally says, “Alright. Just keep it down, okay? Yujin must be asleep already.”  

“Okay, no problem!” you reply, relief washing over you as you hear his footsteps retreating.  

You and Yujin stay frozen for a moment, then look at each other, wide-eyed. Slowly, a grin spreads across her face, and she starts laughing softly. You can’t help but join her, the tension melting away as you both dissolve into quiet, breathless giggles.  

“You’re fucking insane,” you whisper, shaking your head.  

She smirks, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “There’s nothing wrong with a little fun,” she says smugly.  

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. “What does it feel like?” she asks suddenly, her voice softer now.  

“What?”  

“Being fucked by a woman,” she says, her smirk returning. “What’s it like?”  

You pause, your face flushing as you search for the right words. “It’s… the best feeling ever,” you admit. “Your pussy is so tight, it feels so fucking good.”  

Her smirk widens, and she sits up slightly, her hands resting on your chest. “Yeah?” she says, her voice teasing. “Wanna see how my pussy grips your cock?”  

Your breath catches, and you nod quickly. “Yes,” you whisper, your voice trembling.  

She grins wickedly, sliding off you and turning around. “Alright then,” she says, positioning herself on your thighs in a perfect reverse cowgirl. She glances over her shoulder, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Let’s see how much you can handle.”  

With that, she lowers herself onto you again, her wet heat enveloping you completely. The sight of her ass bouncing as she starts to ride you is almost too much to handle, and you grip her hips, your fingers sinking into her soft skin as she takes control once more.

Yujin’s hips move in slow, deliberate circles, her wet heat gripping your cock like a vice. From your vantage point, you have a perfect view of her pussy taking you in with every motion, clinging to you tightly as she lifts herself up and sinks back down. It’s mesmerizing—the way she moves is hypnotic, every roll of her hips precise and calculated.  

Her head tilts back slightly, her hands braced on your thighs for balance, her breathing steady but filled with quiet moans. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and it’s driving you crazy.  

“Fuck,” you mutter, your hands sliding up to her waist and then lower to her ass. You can’t help yourself—you squeeze her buttocks, soft and fleshy, feeling the way they move under your hands as she rides you.  

She chuckles breathlessly, glancing over her shoulder at you. “Like what you see?”  

“Yeah,” you gasp, your fingers digging into her skin as her pace remains maddeningly slow. “You’re fucking perfect.”  

“I know,” she purrs, arching her back slightly to give you an even better view. “Keep talking, loser. I like hearing how much you love this.”  

“You’re amazing,” you admit, your voice trembling. “The way you move, the way you feel… it’s fucking incredible.”  

Her smirk widens as she lets out a low moan, her pussy clenching around you in perfect rhythm. “Of course it is,” she teases. “I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you, and now you finally know it.”  

Your fingers tighten on her ass, your hips twitching involuntarily as she grinds down harder. The pleasure is almost unbearable, and then she slows again, her movements languid and torturous.  

“Yujin,” you groan, your voice strained.  

She glances back at you, her smirk turning wicked. “What?”  

“Don’t stop,” you plead, your hands gripping her tighter.  

“Oh, I’m not stopping,” she says, her voice dripping with amusement. “I’m just enjoying myself.”  

Her pace remains steady for a moment before she shifts her weight slightly, taking you deeper. Her wetness makes every movement smooth and slick, and the sound of it fills the room, mixing with your ragged breathing.  

Then, out of nowhere, she asks, “Do you want to cum inside me?”  

The question jolts you, and your heart skips a beat. “W-what?” you stammer, staring at her in shock.  

She giggles, rolling her hips in a way that makes your whole body shudder. “You heard me,” she says, her tone playful but teasing. “Do you want to cum inside me?”  

“I… I can’t,” you say quickly, panic creeping into your voice. “You could get pregnant.”  

Her laughter is wicked, and she glances back at you with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Oh, so you’re saying you’d like to get me pregnant, huh?”  

“What? No!” you protest, your face burning.  

“Think about it,” she continues, clearly enjoying your reaction. “The big, bad bully who made your life hell, walking around with your baby. Everyone would know it was you. Hell, I’d make sure they knew.”  

“Yujin!” you groan, equal parts embarrassed and aroused.  

“You’d love it, wouldn’t you?” she teases, her pussy tightening around you as she moves. “The thought of me, pregnant because of you. God, you’re such a perv.”  

“It’s exciting, yeah,” you admit reluctantly, your voice barely above a whisper. “But… no. I don’t want that.”  

She laughs again, the sound rich and sultry. “Relax,” she says, her tone softening slightly. “I’m on the pill, dumbass. I’ve been on it for a while.”  

You blink, her words catching you off guard. “Why?”  

“Maybe,” she says, leaning forward slightly, her hips still moving, “I was waiting for this moment.”  

The idea sends a jolt of arousal through you, and your cock twitches inside her. “Fuck,” you mutter, your voice shaky. “If that’s true… then yes. I want to cum inside you. I really fucking want to.”  

Her grin widens, and she lets out a low chuckle. “Of course you do,” she says smugly, her hands gripping your thighs as she picks up the pace.  

Her hips slam down harder now, the rhythm more erratic as she chases both of your highs. The sight of her pussy taking you in, the sound of her moans mixing with the wet slap of skin against skin—it’s almost too much, but you manage to hold on, even as the pressure builds inside you.  

“Don’t you fucking dare cum yet,” she warns, her voice breathy but firm. “Not until I say so.”  

Yujin’s movements grow frantic, her hips slamming down on your cock with an obscene rhythm. The sound of her ass smacking against your pelvis fills the room, wet and loud, accompanied by her uncontrollable moans. Her head tilts back, her hair cascading over her shoulders, and you’re completely transfixed by the sight of her ass bouncing on your cock, jiggling with every violent thrust.  

“Fuck, Yujin,” you gasp, your voice strained. “If you keep this up, I won’t be able to hold out.”  

She glances back at you, her face flushed and glistening with sweat, her lips curling into a devilish grin. “Don’t you dare,” she snaps, her breath coming in sharp gasps. “You hold on. I need to cum again!”  

You grip the sheets beneath you, your knuckles white as the pleasure builds to unbearable levels. She’s going wild now, her pace relentless, her moans louder and more desperate. Every thrust sends waves of heat coursing through your body, and you can feel yourself teetering on the edge.  

“Yujin,” you groan, your voice barely audible. “I’m gonna cum. I can’t hold it.”  

She lets out a sharp cry, her nails digging into your thighs as she rides you harder. “No,” she barks, her tone commanding even as her moans turn ragged. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? You’ll wait. You’ll cum when I say you can.”  

Her words send a shiver down your spine, and you struggle to nod, your breath hitching as she continues to take you to your limits.  

“That’s it,” she pants, her voice softening slightly. “You’re my good boy. You’ll wait for me. Just a little longer, okay? We’re gonna cum together.”  

Her encouragement is intoxicating, and you fight to hold back, even as her pace grows more erratic. The wet sound of her pussy taking your cock mixes with the obscene slap of her ass against you, and you can feel her walls tightening around you, clenching rhythmically.  

“I’m so close,” she moans, her voice trembling. “Hold on for me. Just a little more.”  

Your body trembles beneath her, your cock throbbing inside her as she leans forward slightly, her nails dragging down your thighs. Her dirty talk spills from her lips in breathless gasps, driving you both closer to the edge.  

“God, you’re so deep,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “I can feel every inch of you, stretching me so good. You’re gonna cum inside me, aren’t you?”  

“Yes,” you manage to choke out, your voice desperate.  

Her smirk returns, her hips slamming down harder. “You’re gonna fill me up,” she murmurs, her tone filthy. “Mix your cum with my juices. God, I want it so bad. I want your thick, hot cum in my pussy. Are you gonna give it to me?”  

“Yes,” you moan, your voice breaking as your grip on the sheets tightens.  

She lets out a loud, shaky cry, her movements growing wild and uncontrolled. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” she gasps, her head tilting back. “I’m cumming! Cum with me, baby, cum inside me!”  

Her words are your undoing. Your body jerks beneath her as your orgasm crashes over you, and you let out a loud, guttural moan as you release deep inside her. Her pussy clamps down on you, pulsing and milking you for everything you have as she cries out, her body trembling with the force of her climax.  

The two of you ride out the waves together, your bodies locked in rhythm as her walls squeeze you tightly, your cum flooding her. Her hips slow, her movements becoming more erratic as the last tremors of her orgasm roll through her. Finally, she collapses forward, her chest heaving as she rests against your thighs, her body still twitching from the intensity.  

“Fuck,” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. “That was… holy shit.”  

You’re too spent to reply, your chest rising and falling as you struggle to catch your breath. She stays there for a moment before slowly sitting up, a satisfied smirk spreading across her face.  

“Let’s see the damage,” she says, her tone playful but tired.  

She lifts herself off you slowly, and you watch as your cock slips out of her with a wet, lewd sound. Thick streams of cum drip from her swollen pussy, trailing down her thighs and pooling on the sheets beneath her.  

“Damn,” she murmurs, reaching down to swipe her fingers through the mess before holding them up to show you. “You really filled me up, huh?”  

You nod weakly, unable to tear your eyes away from the sight of her pussy still leaking your cum.  

She grins, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “Not bad for a loser,” she teases softly. “Not bad at all.”  

The room is still, the air thick with the lingering heat of your bodies and the unmistakable scent of sex. Yujin sits beside you, her chest rising and falling as she catches her breath, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips. You watch her, unable to tear your gaze away from the way her flushed skin glows under the soft light, her hair messy, her lips slightly swollen. Before you can stop yourself, you lean in and kiss her.  

It’s not a tentative kiss this time. It’s intense, filled with every ounce of passion you didn’t know you had left in you. Yujin freezes for a second, clearly taken aback by your sudden boldness, but she recovers quickly. Her lips move against yours, just as hungry as before, her hands cupping your face as if she’s trying to figure out what just got into you.  

When you finally pull back, her eyes are wide, searching yours. “Wow,” she says, letting out a small laugh. “Where the hell did that come from?”  

“I couldn’t help it,” you admit. “That was… the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”  

Yujin chuckles, a low, lazy sound that warms the environment. “Not gonna lie,” she says, brushing a strand of hair out of her face, “I think I might agree with you on that.”  

Your heart skips a beat, and you can’t stop the words that come tumbling out next. “You look really beautiful right now,” you say, your voice trembling slightly.  

Her smirk returns, but there’s something softer behind it this time. “Careful,” she teases, tilting her head. “Are you falling in love with me or something?”  

Your face burns instantly, and you fumble for a response. “No! I mean… I—uh, that’s not what I meant—”  

She cuts you off with a laugh, waving her hand dismissively. “Relax, loser. I’m just messing with you.” Her voice drops slightly, and she looks at you, almost shy. “But… maybe I like you too. Just a little.”  

“Do you mean you like me now,” you ask after a moment, your voice hesitant, “or… did you like me in high school?”  

She hesitates, chewing her lip as if deciding whether to answer honestly. “Yeah, since high school,” she admits finally, avoiding your gaze.  

“But… then why were you so mean to me?”  

She rolls her eyes, but her smirk doesn’t quite reach her eyes this time. “You only ever see the bad side of things,” she says, her tone playful but tinged with something serious. “Do you not remember how many times I kept other people from fucking with you?”  

You blink, the memory surfacing almost instantly. A group of older guys had cornered you once by the lockers, shoving you around, but before things got worse, Yujin had shown up like a goddamn storm cloud. She’d sent them scattering with nothing more than a sharp glare and a few choice words.  

“That was you,” you mutter, the realization sinking in.  

She shrugs, her expression carefully neutral. “Yeah, that was me. Look, I’m not good at showing feelings, alright? My love language is… teasing. Irritating people. Making their lives hell. It's my defense mechanism. It's complicated to explain."

“So, what you’re saying is… the more you teased me, the more you liked me?”  

Her face flushes, and she scowls, swatting your arm. “Don't feel special just because I told you this, dumbass.” She pauses, then mutters, “But… maybe.”  

You grin, the bittersweet humor of it all settling over you. “That means you must have liked me a lot, then.”  

“Shut up,” she grumbles, but her lips twitch into a reluctant smile as she leans in and kisses you again, softer this time.  

When she pulls back, she stretches out on the bed, looking far too comfortable. “Let’s watch your stupid Lion King movie,” she says.

You blink at her. “Didn’t you just make fun of it earlier?”  

She rolls her eyes. “I was teasing you, silly. Everyone loves Disney movies.”  

You laugh, shaking your head as you reach for your laptop on the desk, but something nags at you. “Shouldn’t you go back to your room?” you ask, glancing toward the door. “What if your mom or my dad heard us?”  

She smirks, unfazed. “First of all, your room is the last one in the hall, if they barely heard my screams before, they won't hear us now. Second, they both sleep like rocks. We’re fine.”  

Her confidence is oddly reassuring, and you relax a little as she scoots closer, resting her head on your shoulder.  

“What if they wake up early?” you ask, still not entirely convinced.  

She snorts. “I’ll sneak back before they do. Relax, loser. I’m not leaving yet.”  

The idea of her staying here, curled up next to you, makes your chest tighten in a way you don’t entirely understand. You glance down at her, and she catches your gaze, raising an eyebrow.  

“What?” she asks, her voice softer now.  

“Nothing,” you say quickly, but the small smile that tugs at your lips says otherwise.  

“Okay, let's change these sheets before we watch the movie,” says Yujin clapping her hands and getting up from the bed. “You need to wash them in secret tomorrow, don't forget.”

— 

After changing the sheets and Yujin brushing her teeth (and yes, she used your toothbrush), the two of you are in bed again, still naked, at Yujin's insistence. According to her, she loves the feeling of the soft blanket fabric against her bare skin.

You adjust the laptop on the bed, propping it up on a pillow so you both can see. "Alright, but if you start singing 'Hakuna Matata,' I swear..." you tease, giving her a playful nudge.

Yujin grins, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Oh, I'll sing it alright. You'll be joining in by the end, just watch."

As the movie starts, you can't shake the surreal feeling of the whole situation. Here you are, watching The Lion King with Yujin, your new stepsister, both of you naked and sticky from what just went down. 

It's fucking weird, but also... kind of nice.

You glance down at her, her head resting on your shoulder. Her eyes are glued to the screen, a soft smile playing on her lips. She looks so different like this—relaxed, almost innocent. It's a far cry from the smirking, foul-mouthed girl who was jerking you off with her foot just minutes ago.

About halfway through the movie, you feel her hand creep onto your thigh, her fingers tracing small patterns on your skin. It's distracting, but you don't want her to stop. You cover her hand with yours, giving it a squeeze. She looks up at you, her smile softening even more.

"This is nice," she murmurs.

You nod, a lump forming in your throat. "Yeah, it is."

As the movie continues, you can't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you. This is fucked up, no doubt about it. But it also feels... right. Like this is exactly where you're both meant to be, at least for tonight.

You push aside the nagging thoughts about what this means, about what happens next. For now, you just want to enjoy this moment, this strange, perfect little bubble you've found yourselves in.

As the credits roll, Yujin looks up at you, her eyes searching. "So, what the hell are we going to do with this?" she asks, her voice soft.

You shrug, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I don't know. But I'm glad you're here."

She smiles back, her hand squeezing yours. "Me too, loser. Me too.”

[grimdarling69]

Another deaged Ellie and Dan, but Danny was reincarnated as Damian Wayne

Danny Damian because he was Damian now, wasn't he? He remembers now the Fentons, the GIW, Sam and Tucker, jazz. He wonders if they could have also followed him here. A part of him longs to see his fraid again, but are they his fraid still? He was a new person. Son of The Bat and Heir to the Demon Head. Something Dami he remembers reminding people of. If only Sam could see him now, he knows she'd love that. "Who's edgy now?" He can picture her saying. He can almost see Tucker laughing so hard he'd fall out of his seat.

Crack

The sharp sound of the thunder brings him to the present. He looked over at his clock, 3:00 A.M. The witching hour he can hear Ellie tell him with a mischievous smile on one of their flights around Amity Park. She loved to drag him and Dan sometimes Vlad if he was feeling friendly. Dan, his future evil self tormented by the deaths of all his family and friends, so hurt he got Vlad to rip his human half out so he didn't have to feel the pain. Ellie, his clone, created by Vlad to be the perfect son, too bad she was a daughter. Looking down at his stomach where their cores are now incubating, he couldn't help but wonder if Vlad had anything to do with this.

He shook his head as if that would rid himself of that thought. Vlad was a real fruitloop,but he would never purposefully endanger Dan or Ellie. Vlad, in his twisted and weird ways, did love them in his own ways like kidnapping and keeping him hostage to save Ellie. He had forgiven vlad for the desperate attempt to save his daughter, but incubating Ellie and Dan's cores would make him their father now, too. Ew, coparenting with Vlad does not sound like a fun time. He glanced down and lifted his shirt hesitantly. If he focused on his stomach, he could see a faint blue and red glow emanating from his stomach. Red, Vlads' color, he thought distantly. Hopefully, it didn't mean much. As if signaling him, the envelope they had carried with them to him fell off the bed carried to the floor by the slight breeze.

Lighting lumineating the bedroom, making the crisp white color shine for just a second. He tentatively reached down to grab it. He was being a baby. He was a trained assassin from birth, and his fear trained beaten out of him a long time ago. Some part of him whispered his father and Richard's teachings of being brave but not without fear.

He paused. Father would want to know everything. His past life, Ellie and Dan, the ghosts, being a halfa. He wouldn't understand, Richard would try to, but not even he could never really understand. He couldn't subject his babies to that. He couldn't live with the threat to being ripped apart molecule by molecule. His father's lack of emotional intelligence certainly would not help young halfas. He was fourteen again the age he was killed in his first life. The age he started facing ghosts from another dimension.

He started younger in this life. Killing younger, he learned to fight his whole life. Jazz would hate that. Jazz... he wondered if she was alright if she survived the attack... no, there's no time to think of that right now. He ripped open the envelope( like a band-aid, Richard would remind him), and he noticed Vlad's familiar fancy fruitloop writing immediately(he had fancy fruitloop writing now, instead of the chicken scratch Jazz chided him over). So he was right about one thing this had vlad all over it.

Dear Daniel,

Though I understand you might not be Daniel when this letter finds you. I have been reincarnated into another life as I believe you have as well. My new name is Alexander Luther. I own a corporation called Lexcorp. I unfortunately can not change the name according to my board. The idiot lot of them.

He snickered at that. His smile dropped immediately. Vlad was Lex Luthor, the archnemesis of Superman. Jon would most certainly not like this. He forced himself to read on before he spiraled further.

I regained my memories after an experiment went wrong. I know how original. My new incarnation was able to open a small portal that grew in size, and eventually, somehow Danielle and Dan fell through. The portal then exploded, and I regained my memories. Unfortunately, it destabilized their clone bodies. I couldn't grow working bodies in time, and eventually, I had to hope they could find you. I hoped somehow that the yeti doctor would have imparted some of his strange knowledge onto you that might save them.

Vlad, no Lex still wrong. Vlad was somewhat right about that. During one of his all things ghostly lessons from Frostbite, he told him of how in the old ages ghosts often incubated their ghostlings. A protective measure back when magic and spirits were more prevalent. He didn't really understand it back then, and he doesn't understand it much now, either. Apart from the fact he was doing it, he supposed. What if he did something wrong and he lost them? He doesn't think he could live out his half-life if he lost them again. He needed to get to Vlad, and quickly too so they could start building a new portal to the infinite realms.

If this letter finds you. Come find me immediately at these coordinates. I've gone deep underground to escape my new archnimesis's suoer senses. I've m started research on a new portal, but I'll need your endeneering skills. This world is severely lacking in ectoplasmic science and engineering. I am once again forced to start from scratch on my own. Once we get the portal open, you'll need to go straight to The Far Frozen.

It's as if he's reading my mind, I think jokingly.

P.s. One of my experiments may or not have regiven then my new DNA in an attempt to restabilize them.

Only Vlad.

Well, it looks like they actually were going to be coparenting after all. This was going to go great.

I sigh and lean my head back down on my pillow. He committed the cords to memory before lighting the letter on fire with the lighter he kept in his bedside drawer. Point to assassin training. Jason would be proud. He supposed he could stay for a month or so before leaving, which would give him enough time to get away or think of some kind of mission to give himself. He shoots up. Todd had died and came back. He was a revenant. He couldn't stick around if he were to visit he'd know something was wrong immediately even if he didn't understand it.

He sprung out of bed quickly, but quietly, his foot steps perfectly silent despite his rushed mood of packing a bag. He packed a few pairs of clothes and lots of hidden weapons, some snacks he kept hidden for that should keep him fed on his journey but leaving any sentimental things behind. He glanced longingly at his sketch pad, but Vlad was most likely under the water judging by the coordinates he was given. Who knows if it would survive.

He checked the pack, making sure he got all he needed. He promptly checked it again. Twice. After deeming it sufficient, he willed himself to open the door. He mentally cataloged everyone in the manor. Pennyworth was most likely still in Father's room, making sure he actually listened to his insructions. Richard and Todd in Bludhaven and Crime Alley, respectfully. Cain and Brown in Hong Kong. Thomas was sleeping after his dayshift.

Everyone accounted for except Drake. He was most likely using Pennyworth's attention on Father to work cases. He just had to take the risk. For his ghostlings, for himself, Vlad. He crept down the hallways. He was opening the grandfather clock in record time. He went slower this time. He would use his powers, but his father had supernatural wards of all kinds in the cave. Who knows what they did. He was also admittedly trying to save his little energy for his voyage on the open sea. Light snoring hit his ears as he peered around the corner.

Thank ancients.

Drake was sleeping at the batcomputer, still in his Red Robin suit sans mask surrounded by his poor choices. Empty coffee cups and files spread around. He would still need to be quiet, Drake was a light sleeper, as was everyone else in his family. He grabbed the keys to his bike quickly, sneaking by. If he wasn't ditching his bike at Gotham Bridge, he would have disabled his trackers. He checked the gas and made sure he could make it. That's when he made his first mistake.

Putting the gas jug back down, he accidently hit another of one of his siblings' tools to the floor. He tried catching it without success, but it fell anyway, the loud clang echoing. Mistake number two.

Shit.

"Huh? What's happening?" Drake arose sleepily rubbing his eyes.

He froze. Mistake number three.

"Damian? What are you doing down here?" His eyes landed on him, and he spoke confusedly with his voice heavy with sleep or lack thereof.

He panics. He's blaming the pregnancy hormones on this.

He runs.

"Damian!" Drake responded to his dead sprint with his own. "Stop!"

He reaches his bike, and he turns the keys and prays. Luckily, it comes to life. He fumbles with his helmet it would hide his tears he needed it. who knows if he'll ever get to see them again. He shoots off down the tunnel. Flicking the cave door open remotely.

Another bike rears to life behind him. "Damian wants going on?" Drakes voice echoes in his ears. He can almost taste the concern in it amplified by the helmet. He ignores it and accelerates. He ignores the returned acceleration behind him.

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

Tim has no clue what made Damian panic enough to run away. He quickly ran to his own bike while swearing. Damian is already gaining distance on him. After another attempt at getting Damian to calm down and talk, he calls the only person Damian would actually listen to.

He hopes Dick will forgive him for waking him at five o'clock in the morning on his day off.

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1880 - labyrinth of my heart

chapter summary: When walking the streets of Chicago he spots you across the street, so real, so alive. Logan takes this as a second chance; but fear slowly slithers up, making him wonder if he'll lose you all over again.

word count: 9.3k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: first, i want to say thank you so much for the support and love for this series! this is way shorter than the first chapter, only because i wanted the ending to feel abrupt to hopefully make it feel more realistic. anyways, i'm super excited for next chapter since it's a concept i haven't ever really done before. but for now, enjoy this while it lasts :)

warnings/tags: fluff, angst, outdated mindsets on women, character death

series masterlist - chapter 1 → chapter 3

Logan left New York City after you died, going back to Victor who told him exactly what he expected to hear, ‘you shouldn’t have fallen in love,’ and ‘the only people we can trust is each other’.

The Civil War had begun seven years after your death as he and Victor fought for the North for four whole years. There was one thing he always kept with him, the ring he bought for you, that he never got to use. It stayed in his pocket at all times, never leaving, always there.

He had been doing the same thing he was doing before he met you, moving around the country, never staying in a spot for too long, doing odd jobs to stay afloat.

Logan found himself in Chicago, walking along the sidewalk, the faint sound of a train in the distance. The air was heavy with the scent of coal smoke, the city bustling with life in the late afternoon. Men in long coats and women in modest dresses hurried past him, some tipping their hats in his direction as he walked by. It was just another city to him, another place he would pass through on his way to nowhere in particular.

It had been 26 years since you died. Twenty-six long years, but to Logan, it still felt like yesterday. The weight of your loss hadn’t lessened. If anything, it had only grown heavier. Every town, every face he saw, reminded him of you in some way. That soft smile you always wore, the way you’d brush your hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought. He kept your memory alive in the smallest of ways. The ring he’d never had the chance to give you stayed in his pocket, its presence a constant, painful reminder.

He walked without a destination, his mind lost in the past as his feet carried him down the streets of Chicago. The city had a pulse of its own, far different from the quiet life in New York where you’d once lived, where you had died in his arms. He hadn't felt truly alive since then—just going through the motions of life, the decades slipping by as if time itself didn’t matter.

As Logan neared a small schoolhouse, something caught his eye. A group of children were gathered outside, their laughter echoing through the street as they played. But it wasn’t the children that caused Logan to stop. It was the woman standing among them, her smile bright as she helped one of the younger boys tie his shoe. The world around him seemed to blur, fading away as his gaze locked onto her.

It was you.

Logan’s heart stilled in his chest. He blinked, sure that his eyes were playing tricks on him, but there you were, the same face, the same gentle presence. You looked exactly as you had all those years ago—maybe a little younger, maybe a little different, but unmistakably you.

For a moment, he couldn’t move. He just stood there, watching you laugh with the children, completely unaware of his presence. His mind struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. You were dead. He had been there. He had held you as you took your last breath, felt the life leave your body. And yet, here you were, as if the last 26 years had never happened.

Logan’s feet moved on their own, pulling him closer to the schoolyard. His heart pounded in his chest, his throat dry. His mind raced with a thousand questions. How could this be? Was it some kind of dream? A cruel trick?

But the closer he got, the more real you became. You were wearing a simple dress, your hair tied up in a way he hadn’t seen before, and yet everything about you felt so familiar. The way you carried yourself, the warmth in your eyes as you spoke to the children—it was all you.

“Excuse me, miss,” he called out, his voice rougher than he intended.

You turned at the sound of his voice, your eyes meeting his for the first time, and Logan felt his heart lurch. It was like being thrown back in time—like the years between this moment and the day you died had vanished. You looked at him with a polite curiosity, but there was no recognition in your eyes. No flicker of memory. To you, he was just a stranger.

“Yes, can I help you?” you asked, your voice soft, kind.

Logan’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know what to say. How could he possibly explain what was running through his mind? How could he tell you that he had loved you, that he had lost you, and that now—somehow—you were standing in front of him again?

“I... I thought I knew you,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. He didn’t trust himself to say more. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the ring in his pocket suddenly feeling heavier than ever.

You smiled, but it was the smile of someone trying to be polite, not of someone who knew him. “I don’t think we’ve met before,” you said. “I’m Y/N. I’m the schoolteacher here.”

Logan swallowed hard. Of course, you wouldn’t remember. You had no idea who he was, no memory of the life you’d lived before. To you, this was just another day, another moment. But to Logan, it was everything. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. You were here, alive again, but you weren’t his Y/N. Not yet, anyway.

“I’m Logan,” he finally managed, his voice thick with emotion he couldn’t hide. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, his heart aching in a way that felt both familiar and new.

You nodded, offering another warm smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Logan. Was there something you needed?”

Logan shook his head slowly, still reeling from the shock of seeing you again. “No,” he said quietly. “No, I... I just thought you looked like someone I used to know.”

You tilted your head slightly, a curious look in your eyes. “I get that sometimes. Chicago’s a big city, but it can feel small.”

Logan nodded, though his mind was far from this moment. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from you, couldn’t shake the feeling that this was some kind of miracle—a second chance. But what could he do with it? Could he approach you, tell you everything? Or would that only drive you away?

Before he could say anything more, the school bell rang, and the children started to gather their things. You glanced back at the sound, then looked at him with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I have to get back to my class. But maybe I’ll see you around?”

Logan nodded, his throat too tight to respond with words. He watched as you turned and walked back toward the schoolhouse, his heart aching with the weight of all the things he couldn’t say.

For the first time in 26 years, Logan felt hope stir in his chest. You were here. You were alive. And even if you didn’t remember him, even if you didn’t know who he was... he couldn’t walk away. Not this time.

---

Logan stayed near the schoolyard most afternoons, hidden just enough not to draw attention, watching you from a distance. It felt strange, almost painful, standing there, knowing you had no idea who he was. Every time you emerged from the schoolhouse with Ida, another schoolteacher, chatting and laughing, the urge to approach you tugged at him. But fear held him back—fear that you’d think he was insane, or worse, that you’d reject him outright.

He clenched his fists inside his coat pockets, feeling the cool metal of the ring press against his palm. It had been with him through wars, across states, through lifetimes. And now, here you were, alive again, and he still didn’t know what to do with it.

It was absurd, the way his heart raced just from seeing you walk down the street. How after all these years—after so much pain—hope could sneak its way back in. This wasn’t just a coincidence. It couldn’t be. Logan wasn’t the type to believe in magic or miracles, but what else could explain this?

As he lingered, the school bell rang, signaling the end of another day. Children poured out of the building, laughing and running. A few hung on your arms as you walked them down the steps, their chatter filling the air.

Logan shifted from foot to foot, nerves prickling along his spine. Just talk to her, idiot. You’ve been through worse.

But when you stepped into the street, Ida at your side as usual, the words died in his throat.

“Y/N, you coming for dinner at my place tonight?” Ida asked, tucking a stray curl beneath her bonnet.

You smiled, brushing your hands on your skirts. “Can’t tonight, but I’ll stop by tomorrow. The kids wore me out today.”

Ida chuckled. “You’ll turn into an old maid before you’re thirty at this rate.”

You rolled your eyes, but your laugh was warm. Logan felt the sound of it settle deep in his chest—like an old memory coming back to life. It was a laugh he hadn’t heard in 26 years, and it took everything in him not to run to you right then and there.

As you and Ida turned the corner toward the tenement, Logan followed at a distance. His heart hammered against his ribs. He just needed a moment, a chance to say something—anything.

Finally, the two of you paused outside the building. Ida gave you a quick hug before heading upstairs, leaving you alone on the stoop. You stood there for a moment, adjusting your shawl against the evening chill.

This is it. Now or never.

Logan forced his feet to move, crossing the street toward you.

You looked up as he approached, a little surprised but not alarmed. “Logan, wasn’t it?”

His throat felt tight, but he gave a short nod. “Yeah. Logan.”

You smiled softly, the same kind smile that had haunted his dreams. “What brings you by?”

He cleared his throat, trying to find the right words. “I... I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, but there was no fear, only curiosity. “About what?”

Logan shifted his weight, his hands tightening around the edges of his coat. The ring in his pocket seemed to burn against his skin, a reminder of everything unsaid.

“I... You remind me of someone,” he admitted, voice low. “Someone I lost a long time ago.”

You studied him for a moment, your gaze steady but gentle. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “That must’ve been hard.”

Logan’s jaw clenched. “Yeah,” he muttered. “It was.”

There was a beat of silence between you—heavy, charged with the weight of all the things Logan couldn’t say. You didn’t know him, didn’t know what you’d meant to him in another life, but standing here, so close to you again, it felt like the world had tilted back into place.

“You... wanna walk for a bit?” Logan asked suddenly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

You hesitated, but only for a moment. Something in his expression must’ve stirred your kindness, because you nodded. “Alright.”

The two of you started down the sidewalk together, the city humming around you. Logan kept his hands stuffed in his pockets, fingers brushing the ring again and again like a talisman.

“So, how long have you been in Chicago?” you asked, glancing over at him.

Logan shrugged. “Not long. Just passing through.”

You gave a small smile. “It’s a good place to get lost in for a while.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Guess so.”

The conversation fell into a comfortable rhythm after that—small talk, nothing too deep. Logan told you bits and pieces about his travels, careful not to reveal too much. He learned that you’d moved to Chicago a couple of years ago, taking the teaching job because it felt right.

“I’ve always liked working with kids,” you said with a soft smile. “There’s something... hopeful about it, you know?”

Logan nodded, though hope had been a foreign concept to him for a long time. But walking beside you now, listening to your voice, he felt something stir in him—a flicker of warmth he thought he’d lost forever.

As the evening deepened and the sky turned a dusky purple, you reached your building again. You stopped on the stoop, turning to face him.

“Thank you for the walk,” you said, your smile gentle. “It was nice.”

Logan nodded, his heart heavy with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t. “Yeah. It was.”

For a moment, it felt like time stood still—like the universe had bent just enough to give him this moment with you. And even though you didn’t remember him, didn’t know the history you shared, Logan knew he couldn’t let you slip away again.

“Y/N...” he began, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You tilted your head, waiting.

He swallowed hard, the words catching in his throat. “Can I see you again?”

Your smile widened, something warm flickering in your eyes. “I’d like that.”

Logan gave a short nod, his heart pounding against his ribs.

“Good,” he murmured.

And for the first time in 26 years, Logan allowed himself to believe—just for a moment—that maybe, just maybe, he’d found his way back to you.

---

You had taken up Ida’s offer after all, you lived in the same building so it wasn’t like it was out of the way for you.

“Oh, hey! Thought you weren’t gonna come by.”

You shrugged, taking off your shawl, “changed my mind.” You sat down on the couch and told Ida about your walk with Logan, and she listened intently.

“I’m surprised you hadn’t noticed him. He’s been watching the schoolyard for the past few weeks.”

"Wait, what do you mean, ‘he’s been watching the schoolyard for weeks?’” you asked, your brows knitting together as you leaned forward.

Ida waved her hand dismissively but gave you a sly smile. “Oh, don’t get the wrong idea. He hasn’t been creepy about it or anything. Just... noticed him hanging around, that’s all. Kind of hard to miss a guy like that, don’t you think?”

You blinked, a sudden flush creeping up your neck. “A guy like what?”

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” she teased, sitting down across from you. “Tall, rugged... that serious, brooding look. You’re telling me you didn’t notice? He’s practically been glued to the corner across from the schoolhouse for days.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, thinking back to the walk you’d just had with Logan. You hadn’t seen him watching the school, but now that Ida mentioned it... there had been something in his eyes. A familiarity you couldn’t quite place, like he was looking at you but seeing something—or someone—else.

“I didn’t know he was hanging around,” you admitted, glancing down at your hands. “But... he seems kind. Sad, but kind.”

Ida leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest with a thoughtful hum. “Sad, huh? You picked up on that, too?”

You nodded, feeling a strange tightness in your chest. There had been a weight to Logan’s presence, something unspoken in his voice, like he was carrying the world on his shoulders. And then there was the way he looked at you—like he wanted to say something but couldn’t bring himself to.

“You think he’s okay?” you asked quietly.

Ida shrugged, her teasing expression softening. “Who knows? The world’s a tough place. We all got our own burdens to carry. But... maybe he’s looking for something.”

“Looking for what?”

“Maybe someone to share the load,” she replied with a small smile, her eyes twinkling. “Maybe that someone’s you.”

You shook your head, the idea seeming too far-fetched. “I don’t even know him, Ida. I mean, we just talked for the first time today.”

“Hey, stranger things have happened,” Ida said, getting up to grab a pot of tea from the stove. “You felt something, right? That’s not nothing.”

You sighed, leaning back against the couch. “I guess. He did say I reminded him of someone he lost.”

Ida paused, setting the teapot down carefully. “Lost, huh? That would explain the sad part. But... why hang around you then? What’s he hoping to find?”

“I don’t know,” you murmured, more to yourself than to her. The idea that Logan had been watching you, even unknowingly, made something stir in your chest—a mix of curiosity and something you couldn’t quite name.

Ida handed you a cup of tea, sitting back down beside you. “Well, maybe next time you see him, you can ask.”

You looked up at her, one eyebrow raised. “Ask him why he’s hanging around the schoolyard?”

Ida laughed softly. “Maybe not that bluntly, but yeah. There’s something about him, Y/N. Might be worth finding out what.”

You sipped the tea, the warmth spreading through you. Maybe Ida was right. Maybe Logan was carrying something heavy, and maybe—just maybe—you could help.

---

The next day, you found yourself more aware of your surroundings as you walked to the schoolhouse. Every sound, every movement seemed sharper. You scanned the street, looking for a familiar figure, but Logan wasn’t there—at least, not that you could see.

The day went on as usual, though you felt a bit distracted, your mind drifting to the walk you’d shared with him. There was something about Logan that pulled at you, a quiet intensity that you couldn’t shake. He was a mystery, and part of you wanted to solve it.

When the school day ended, you lingered outside a little longer than usual, hoping—half-expecting—that he might show up again. The children ran off, their laughter echoing down the street as they disappeared into their homes. You smiled at the sight, but your thoughts were elsewhere.

“Looking for someone?”

You jumped slightly, turning to find Logan standing just a few feet away. He had approached so quietly you hadn’t even heard him.

“Logan,” you said, surprised but not unwelcome. “I didn’t see you.”

He gave a small shrug, his hands shoved into his coat pockets. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

You smiled softly, your heartbeat slowing as the initial surprise wore off. “It’s alright. Just didn’t expect to see you today.”

Logan shifted his weight, his gaze flicking to the ground for a moment before meeting yours again. “I wanted to see if you’d like to take another walk. If you’re not too tired, that is.”

You hesitated, but only for a second. There was something in his voice—something vulnerable, almost hesitant. And despite not knowing him well, you found yourself wanting to say yes.

“I’d like that,” you said, stepping down from the schoolhouse stoop.

The two of you started walking again, this time in a different direction, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the street. For a while, neither of you spoke. It was a comfortable silence, though, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. Logan walked beside you, his steps steady but deliberate, like he was trying to figure something out.

“Why’ve you been hanging around the school?” you finally asked, your curiosity getting the better of you. “Ida said she noticed you there for a while.”

Logan’s jaw tightened slightly, and he didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was quiet. “I wasn’t trying to... I don’t know. I guess I was just... drawn there.”

“Drawn there?��� you echoed, glancing up at him.

He nodded, his gaze fixed ahead. “Yeah. Like I said before, you remind me of someone.”

You didn’t press, sensing that whatever it was, it was personal. Instead, you walked in silence for a few more steps before Logan stopped abruptly.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said, turning to face you fully. His eyes were intense, but there was something almost apologetic in them. “If I am, just tell me, and I’ll leave you alone.”

You shook your head quickly. “No, you’re not making me uncomfortable.”

Logan studied your face, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he gave a small nod, almost as if he was relieved.

“Alright,” he said quietly.

The conversation shifted after that, lightening as you talked about small things—the city, your students, even the weather. Logan listened more than he spoke, but you could feel him relax bit by bit, the tension in his posture easing as the afternoon wore on.

When you reached your building again, Logan stopped with you on the stoop. There was a moment of hesitation, like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you asked, offering him a small smile.

Logan looked at you for a long beat before nodding. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

As you turned to head inside, you couldn’t help but glance back over your shoulder. Logan was still standing there, watching you with that same look in his eyes—the one that made you feel like you were more than just a stranger to him.

And in that moment, you realized... you didn’t want to be just a stranger to him either.

---

After about a week of Logan walking you home, it became a familiar routine. Each time, you’d stand on the stoop, exchanging a few words before you’d head inside, always with that lingering feeling of something left unsaid. But tonight was different—the air was colder, and the wind was biting, so when you reached your building, you didn’t hesitate.

“You’re not going out in that cold again,” you said firmly, reaching for his arm. He tensed slightly under your touch, but you ignored it, tugging him toward the door. “Ten minutes outside in the cold, you need to warm up before you go.”

Logan didn’t protest, but you could sense his hesitation. He glanced around the dimly lit hallway as you led him up the stairs to your small apartment.

“Don’t worry,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. “I won’t keep you long. Just until you can feel your fingers again.”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, following you inside. Once you were both in, you motioned for him to sit down on the worn couch, tossing your shawl onto a chair as you made your way to the stove to boil some water for tea.

Logan stood there for a moment, his eyes scanning the modest space, before finally sitting down. His presence seemed to fill the room, making it feel smaller, more intimate.

“You don’t gotta fuss,” he muttered, his gruff voice breaking the silence. “I’m alright.”

“Humor me,” you replied with a soft smile, setting a kettle on the stove. “Besides, I’ve been dragging you along on these walks. Least I can do is make sure you’re not freezing to death.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, leaning back into the couch. His eyes followed your movements, though his expression stayed guarded. He looked... cautious, like he wasn’t sure how to be here with you, in this space. It was strange, this carefulness, coming from a man who seemed so unbreakable.

“Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?” you asked, turning to face him while the water heated up. “We’ve been walking for a week, and I feel like I barely know you.”

Logan’s gaze shifted, and you could tell he was weighing his words. “Not much to tell,” he said after a beat. “Just a guy who’s been around a while.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “That’s it? No family, no friends? You just... wander?”

He looked down at his hands, his fingers idly tracing the worn fabric of the couch. “Had family once. Friends, too. Lost most of ‘em.”

There was a heaviness in his voice, and you could feel the weight of his words. You didn’t push him, though. Instead, you poured the hot water into two cups, walking over and handing him one.

“Sorry,” you said softly. “That must’ve been hard.”

Logan took the cup but didn’t drink right away. He stared down into the tea, his expression unreadable. “Life’s hard for everyone,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You sat down beside him, the warmth from the cup seeping into your hands. For a while, the two of you sat in silence, sipping tea and letting the quiet fill the space. There was something about being near him that made you feel calm, like the world slowed down for a little while when he was around.

“Why’d you let me walk with you?” Logan asked suddenly, his voice rougher than before.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t know me,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “Most people wouldn’t... They’d be scared, or they’d push me away. But you... you let me stay.”

You frowned, trying to find the right words. “I don’t know... I guess I just felt like... I should.” You shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious under his intense gaze. “Besides, you’re not exactly a scary guy. Brooding, sure, but not scary.”

A small, barely-there smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re not afraid of much, are you?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Not really. I mean, what’s the point of being afraid? Life’s hard enough without worrying about things that might not even happen.”

Logan’s smile faded, replaced by that familiar look of sadness. He stared into his cup for a moment, then set it down on the table in front of him. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Guess you’re right.”

The silence stretched between you again, but this time it felt heavier, like there was something unsaid hanging in the air. You could feel it, pressing down on both of you, but neither of you seemed ready to break it.

Finally, Logan stood up, his movements slow and deliberate. “I should go,” he said, though he didn’t make a move toward the door.

You stood up too, your heart pounding a little harder than usual. “Logan...”

He turned to face you, his eyes dark and full of something you couldn’t quite place. “Yeah?”

You took a step closer, your hand reaching out to touch his arm again. “You don’t have to carry it all alone,” you said softly.

For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then, without saying a word, he nodded once, a silent acknowledgment that you didn’t need to explain.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said quietly before turning to leave.

You watched him go, your heart heavy but hopeful. There was something between you—something unspoken, something old—and you weren’t ready to let it go.

Not yet.

---

It had taken a few more days to convince Logan to come back into your apartment. You weren’t sure how you convinced him this time, but you were happy that you did.

Your apartment smelled nice and homey. Before you had left for work, you had put bread in the oven to bake, and now, as you came back home with Logan in tow, it was finished. The warm, inviting scent of freshly baked bread filled the room as you stepped inside. Logan hesitated in the doorway, lingering for a moment before following you in, his expression unreadable but curious.

You busied yourself with the bread, slicing into the crust and offering Logan a piece. He took it, though his attention seemed more focused on you than the food.

"Thanks," he muttered, taking a bite.

You smiled, trying to ignore the way your heart sped up just from him being here. "I was thinking..." you started, turning to grab a couple of plates from the cupboard. "Maybe we could go into the city tomorrow? It’s market day. There's a lot to see, and it’d be nice to get out of the schoolhouse routine for a bit."

Logan raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter. "Market, huh?"

"Yeah, you know, just... walk around. Maybe pick up a few things." You looked over at him, half expecting him to decline, but to your surprise, he didn’t.

"Alright," he said, his voice low but without hesitation. "I’ll come with you."

You smiled, feeling a small flutter of excitement in your chest. "Great. It’ll be fun. I promise."

---

The next day, you found yourself walking through the bustling streets of Chicago with Logan by your side. The market was crowded, full of people haggling and chatting, the air thick with the smell of fresh produce, spices, and the occasional whiff of roasting meat. It was a world away from the quiet walks you'd shared, and you could feel Logan's unease in the busy atmosphere. But he stayed close, his hand brushing yours more than once as you wove through the crowd.

"Do you come here often?" Logan asked, his eyes scanning the vendors with mild interest.

"Once or twice a month," you replied. "I like the energy here. Makes the city feel alive, you know?"

Logan grunted in response, though he didn’t seem entirely convinced. You could tell he wasn’t used to this—being around so many people—but he stuck close to you, his presence protective without being overbearing.

After a while, you stopped at a stall selling flowers. The colors were vibrant, a burst of life in the middle of the dusty street. You picked up a small bouquet of wildflowers, smiling as you held them up.

"These are my favorite," you said, glancing up at Logan. "They're simple but... I don't know, they make me happy."

Logan’s gaze softened as he looked at the flowers in your hand, then back at you. There was something in his eyes, a flicker of something unspoken, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a few coins, handing them to the vendor before you could protest.

"Logan, you don’t have to—"

"Consider it a thank you," he said quietly, cutting you off. "For the bread."

You blinked, surprised but touched by the gesture. "Well, thank you."

He nodded, and the two of you continued walking, the flowers resting in the crook of your arm as the city bustled around you. For a while, you walked in comfortable silence, the sounds of the market fading into the background as the two of you wandered further from the busy streets. Eventually, you found a quiet park at the edge of the city, a small, peaceful space away from the noise.

You sat down on a bench, feeling the cool breeze brush against your skin. Logan sat beside you, his posture relaxed but his eyes always scanning the area, as if he couldn’t fully let his guard down.

"Do you ever stop looking over your shoulder?" you asked, half teasing but curious.

Logan’s mouth twitched into a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Old habit."

You studied him for a moment, sensing there was more behind those words. He had a way of holding himself, like he was always ready for something, always waiting. It made you wonder just how much he’d seen, how much he’d lived through.

"I’m glad you came with me today," you said softly, looking out at the park. "I feel like I’ve been stuck in a routine for a while now. It’s nice to just... do something different."

Logan glanced at you, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual. "I’m glad I came too," he admitted, his voice low.

There was something in the way he said it, something that made your heart skip a beat. The air between you felt different, charged with a quiet tension that neither of you seemed willing to break. You wondered if he felt it too—the strange pull between you, like something just beneath the surface was waiting to be uncovered.

After a long pause, Logan spoke again. "I ain’t good at... this." He gestured vaguely, his brow furrowing as he searched for the right words. "Being close to people."

You turned to him, surprised by the admission. "You’re doing fine," you said gently.

Logan’s jaw clenched slightly, and he shook his head. "It’s not that simple."

You felt a pang of something—sympathy, maybe, or understanding. Whatever it was, it made you reach out, your hand lightly brushing his. "You don’t have to explain," you said softly. "I get it."

Logan’s eyes flickered down to where your hand rested near his. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, he turned his hand over, his rough fingers brushing against yours in the faintest of touches. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a step—like maybe, just maybe, he was letting you in.

---

As you walked to the tenement building after work one day, you glanced over at Logan. “You ever been to the exhibition hall in the city?”

Logan looked over to you, slightly puzzled by the question. “The exhibition?”

You nodded, turning toward him. “There’s a display of inventions and art from all over. I heard they’ve got this new thing—electric lights. I was thinking about going this weekend, and… maybe you’d like to come with me?”

For a moment, Logan just stared at you, as if unsure what to say. The idea of stepping out into the city, surrounded by people, probably wasn’t something he did often. But he shifted slightly, his eyes softening in that way they did when you caught him off guard.

“You want me to go with you?” he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Well, yeah,” you said, smiling. “We’ve been walking the same few streets for days. Thought it might be nice to do something different. Besides, I’m curious about those lights. They say it’s going to change the way people live.”

Logan gave a low, thoughtful hum, and for a moment, you worried he might decline. But then he nodded slowly, his expression softening further. “Alright. I’ll go.”

Your smile widened. “Great! We can meet at my place on Saturday afternoon, then head out.”

The conversation drifted back into easier topics—your students, a new bakery that had opened nearby, and the way the city seemed to grow busier every day. But beneath it all, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this small invitation marked a shift, a way to see more of who Logan was beyond the quiet man who walked beside you in silence. Maybe out in the world, you’d understand him better.

---

Saturday came quickly, and the two of you walked side by side through the busy streets, the sounds of horses and carriages filling the air. You led Logan through the bustling avenues toward the exhibition hall, your excitement barely contained.

“Ever seen anything like this?” you asked, glancing up at him as the towering hall came into view.

Logan’s eyes flicked over the building, a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not in a while.”

Inside, the hall was a wonder of modern marvels. Booths lined with mechanical inventions, sculptures, and paintings from around the world. The hum of excitement filled the air, and the bright new electric lights cast a strange, almost magical glow over everything.

You wandered the displays together, your curiosity leading the way. Logan stayed close, his attention less on the inventions and more on you. Every now and then, he'd glance at a piece of machinery or a strange-looking contraption, but his eyes kept drifting back to your face, watching the way your expression changed with each new discovery.

"This is incredible," you murmured, leaning in to get a closer look at a large machine labeled as an ‘automatic loom.’ You smiled at Logan, your excitement clear. "Can you imagine how much time this would save?"

Logan nodded, though you could tell his thoughts were elsewhere. "Yeah, I can see how it'd be useful."

You moved to the next display, but Logan lingered for a moment. When he finally caught up, you were already studying a painting—a soft, pastoral scene that contrasted with the industrial energy around you.

"It's beautiful, isn’t it?" you said, glancing at him.

Logan’s gaze flicked to the painting, but quickly returned to you. "Yeah," he said, though it was clear he wasn’t talking about the art.

You felt his eyes on you again and looked up, meeting his gaze. There was something there—something that made your heart skip. Logan had always been protective, always hovering just close enough to shield you if need be. But this felt different, like there was more to it now.

"You sure this ain’t boring for you?" you asked, trying to lighten the moment. "I know you’re not one for crowds."

Logan gave a quiet grunt, his version of a chuckle. "It’s fine. Long as you’re enjoying yourself."

You smiled, touched by the sentiment. "I am. Thanks for coming with me."

For a while, you wandered together in silence, taking in the sights and sounds of the exhibition hall. The crowds around you buzzed with excitement, but the space between you and Logan felt almost separate—like the world had shrunk to just the two of you.

At one point, you stopped in front of a display showcasing early electric light bulbs. "Look at that," you said, pointing to the glass bulbs flickering with soft light. "They’re saying these will replace gas lamps soon."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Doesn’t seem right, replacing something that’s worked for so long."

"Change is good sometimes," you said, glancing at him. "It keeps things moving forward."

Logan met your eyes, his expression soft but thoughtful. "Guess I’ve never been good with change."

You tilted your head slightly, sensing the weight behind his words. "Maybe you just haven’t found the right reason to embrace it yet."

For a moment, Logan didn’t respond. His gaze lingered on you, like he was trying to make sense of something. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Maybe."

As the afternoon wore on, the two of you eventually stepped outside the exhibition hall, the sun low in the sky and the city’s evening glow starting to take over. The air felt cooler now, a welcome relief after the warmth of the crowded hall.

You walked beside Logan in comfortable silence, but the charged undercurrent between you hadn’t faded. It felt like something had shifted—like you’d both acknowledged a deeper connection, even if neither of you had fully put it into words yet.

"You want to get something to eat?" Logan asked, breaking the silence.

"Sure," you said, smiling up at him. "There’s a place not far from here. They make the best stew."

Logan nodded, falling into step beside you again as you made your way toward the small restaurant you had in mind. The quiet between you was easy, but there was an unspoken understanding that something had changed between the two of you today. Neither of you said it out loud, but you didn’t need to.

As you entered the restaurant, the warm scent of food filled the air, and you found a table near the back, away from the main crowd. Logan took the seat across from you, his eyes scanning the room out of habit, but eventually settling back on you.

"This place isn’t so bad," he said, giving a small nod of approval.

You laughed softly. "Glad it meets your standards."

Logan smirked, but there was a softness behind it. As the two of you talked over dinner, you realized just how much you enjoyed moments like this—quiet, simple, yet meaningful. It wasn’t about grand gestures or fancy places; it was about being together, about the way Logan made you feel safe and seen.

---

One day, after inviting Logan into your apartment once again, you set out to make tea like you always do.

You felt a cough building up in your throat, so you grabbed a small handkerchief from the counter and coughed into it. You had seen the school doctor while you were at work, and he said you just had a mild cold.

Logan, who was sitting on the couch, immediately turned his head to you, his heart almost beating out of his chest. He’d heard that cough before—26 years ago.

"Y/N?" he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You turned around, still holding the handkerchief to your mouth. "Yeah?" you answered casually, noticing the tension in his voice but thinking nothing of it. “Just a little cough, nothing serious. I saw the doctor earlier, and he said it’s just a cold.”

Logan stood up slowly, his eyes fixed on you, his expression unreadable. He took a step closer, his mind racing back to 1854, to your last days—bedridden and coughing, just like this. He had lost you then, watching helplessly as the illness took you. He couldn't shake the feeling, the memory, and the fear that history might repeat itself.

"Cold, huh?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady, but there was an edge to it.

"Yeah, no big deal." You smiled, folding the handkerchief and putting it back in your pocket. "Really, Logan, I’m fine."

Logan’s jaw tightened. He had seen too much, lived too long to believe in coincidence. This was too familiar, too painful. And yet, here you were—alive, vibrant. This time, he couldn’t lose you again. He wouldn't.

"You should take it easy," he said, stepping closer, his tone gentler now. "You been workin' too hard at that school."

You raised an eyebrow, sensing his concern but not quite understanding the depth of it. "I’m fine, really. It’s just a little cold. Nothing that rest and tea won’t fix."

Logan didn’t argue, but the worry in his eyes didn’t fade. He reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before he gently brushed his fingers against your arm, grounding himself in the fact that you were here, with him. This wasn’t 1854. But the memory haunted him.

You noticed the way he was looking at you, his eyes searching yours like he was afraid to lose you. "Hey," you said softly, resting a hand on his. "What’s really going on?"

Logan’s breath hitched for a moment, and he fought the urge to pull you closer, to tell you everything. But how could he? How could he explain that you’d been here before—that he’d watched you die, that he’d loved you once in another life, in another time? Instead, he just shook his head, the weight of those memories too heavy to share.

"Just... don’t push yourself too hard," he said, his voice quieter now. "I’ve seen people get worse when they don’t take care of themselves."

You nodded, though his intensity still lingered in your mind. "I promise, I’ll rest." You gave him a reassuring smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Besides, you’ll make sure I do, right?"

Logan’s lips quirked into the smallest smile, but there was still something distant in his eyes. "Yeah," he said softly. "I will."

The moment hung in the air, the unspoken weight of Logan’s past pressing down on him, though you couldn’t see it. You were the same, and yet not. The woman he had once loved and lost was standing right in front of him, alive, but without any memory of that life you’d shared.

---

You didn’t see Logan for a few days, which was unusual, ever since he started walking with you he had never missed a day.

You couldn’t help but worry a tad bit, it wasn’t like him to just not be there. Even Ida had made a few comments, including now as you sat in her apartment, just a few doors down from your own, sipping tea.

“He hasn’t been by at all?” Ida asked, her brow furrowed with concern. “That man never misses a day. He’s usually lurking outside, waitin’ to walk you home.”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah, I noticed. It’s been three days now.”

Ida leaned forward, her hands folded on the table. “You don’t think somethin’s happened to him, do ya? That man is tough, sure, but even the toughest get into trouble sometimes.”

You shook your head quickly, not wanting to entertain the thought. “No, I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe he just needed some time alone. He’s... not the type to explain himself much.”

Ida hummed, though she didn’t look convinced. “Maybe. But if he doesn’t show up soon, you ought to go find him. He’s a good man, Y/N, and you’ve only known him a month, but it’s clear he cares about you.”

The truth of her words settled over you, heavy and unspoken. You cared about Logan too. Even if you didn’t quite understand the pull between you, it was there—undeniable. And the fact that he hadn’t shown up, without so much as a word, made your chest tighten with worry.

Later that evening, after you’d left Ida’s apartment and returned to your own, you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling. Logan had become part of your routine, part of your day-to-day life. And now that he was gone, it felt like something was missing.

Just as you were about to turn in for the night, a knock sounded at the door.

Your heart jumped, and you rushed to open it, half expecting—half hoping—it would be Logan.

And there he was.

He stood in the doorway, his coat damp from the light rain outside, his hair slightly tousled. His eyes, though, were what caught you—the familiar intensity, but with something else lurking beneath. Something darker.

“Logan,” you breathed, stepping aside to let him in. “Where have you been? I was starting to get worried.”

Logan stepped into your small apartment, his broad frame somehow filling the space, making it feel even smaller. He didn’t say anything right away, just ran a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply, as if he were trying to gather his thoughts.

“I needed time,” he finally said, his voice low and gravelly.

“Time for what?” you asked gently, sensing that whatever he was about to say wasn’t easy for him.

Logan glanced at you, then looked away, as if he couldn’t meet your eyes. His jaw tightened, and you could see the struggle on his face—like he was wrestling with something deep inside. After a long pause, he spoke again, quieter this time.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, the words sounding foreign in his mouth, like he wasn’t used to saying them.

You blinked, taken aback. Logan was the last person you ever expected to hear those words from. “Scared of what?”

His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and you saw the vulnerability there, raw and unguarded. “Of losing you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Logan… we’ve only known each other for a month,” you said softly, though the words felt strange even as they left your mouth. Because deep down, it felt like you’d known him much longer—like this connection between you was more than just a month in the making.

“I know,” Logan said, his voice rough. “But it doesn’t change how I feel.”

There was something in the way he was looking at you, something desperate and pained, like he was holding onto you with everything he had. You wanted to ask him why, to understand what had happened in his past to make him feel this way. But instead, you just reached out, your hand finding his.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said quietly, squeezing his hand gently. “I’m right here.”

Logan’s breath hitched, and before you could say anything more, he stepped closer, his hand cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushed your cheek, his touch rough but gentle, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fall away. It was just the two of you, standing in the quiet of your apartment, the air between you thick with unspoken words.

And then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was urgent, almost desperate, like he was trying to tell you everything he couldn’t put into words. His lips moved against yours with a fierceness that took your breath away, and for a moment, all you could do was hold onto him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his coat as you kissed him back.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His hand still cupped your cheek, his thumb gently brushing along your jawline.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Your heart ached at the raw honesty in his words, and you wanted to promise him that he wouldn’t—that you were here, that you weren’t going anywhere. But something about the way he said it made you hesitate, made you wonder what he wasn’t telling you.

“Logan…” you started, your voice soft. “What aren’t you telling me?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. His hand dropped from your face, and he took a step back, his expression guarded once again. The walls he’d let down just moments ago seemed to be rising back up.

“I’ve lived a long time,” he said finally, his voice low. “I’ve lost people before. People I cared about. I can’t… I can’t go through that again.”

You felt a pang in your chest at his words, but there was something else there too—something unspoken. “Logan… who did you lose?”

His eyes flickered with pain, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he just shook his head, as if he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

You wanted to press him, to understand, but you also knew that Logan wasn’t someone who opened up easily. So instead, you just stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him in a gentle hug. He stiffened at first, but then his arms slowly came around you, pulling you close as if he was afraid to let go.

“I’m here,” you whispered against his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For now, that was all you could offer him. And for now, it seemed to be enough.

---

You and Ida sat in the back of the rattling carriage, bundled against the cold, the wheels creaking beneath the weight of your bags from the market. The late afternoon sky was heavy with clouds, promising rain before nightfall and a storm by morning.

“Supposed to come down hard tomorrow,” Ida said, clutching her shawl tighter. “Glad we got everything done now. Don’t wanna be caught in that mess.”

You smiled, shifting a bag of potatoes off your lap. “It’ll be nice to have an excuse to stay in and rest. Logan’s been after me about taking it easy anyway.”

Ida gave you a knowing look, her brow lifting. “That man likes you, Y/N. More than you think.”

You shrugged, though your cheeks warmed slightly. “I know he cares. He’s just… different. Keeps to himself.”

“He’s different, alright,” Ida muttered, peering out the carriage window. “But he’s not the type to care about someone without good reason. Don’t let that one get away.”

You didn’t respond, but your thoughts drifted to Logan—how he had kissed you that night, holding you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. There was something ancient in his touch, like he had carried the weight of loss for far too long. You didn’t fully understand it, but you felt it—something deeper than words or time.

The carriage jolted suddenly, jerking you forward in your seat. The horse up front whinnied, wild and panicked.

“Whoa!” the driver shouted, yanking hard on the reins.

You clutched Ida’s arm, your heart racing. “What’s going on?”

The driver cursed, standing in his seat to get a better look. “The damn harness snapped! The horse—”

Before he could finish, the horse bolted, the broken leather straps slapping wildly behind it. The carriage lurched, and you and Ida were thrown sideways. The wheels screamed as they spun out of control, the driver shouting as he fought to keep it steady.

“Hold on!” he yelled.

The world tilted violently as the carriage careened off the road, slamming into a ditch. Bags spilled across the floor, and you hit your shoulder hard against the side wall. Ida’s scream filled your ears, but the noise was drowned out by the thunder of the collapsing carriage, wood splintering and wheels buckling beneath the weight.

And then—nothing.

The carriage stopped, shuddering to a halt in a twisted heap at the bottom of the ditch. The rain started, light at first, pattering against the wreckage.

---

Logan was walking back toward your tenement building, the collar of his coat turned up against the cold drizzle, when he saw it—just beyond the next block, down by the road.

The sight hit him like a punch to the chest.

A carriage, overturned, one of the wheels still spinning lazily. The horse was gone, its reins dangling uselessly from the harness. People were gathering, but no one dared approach the wreckage yet.

Logan’s heart stopped. He knew—he just knew.

His feet moved before he could think. He sprinted toward the wreck, rain falling harder now, soaking through his clothes. His boots hit the muddy road with heavy thuds, splashing water as he ran faster than any ordinary man should.

By the time he reached the scene, a bystander had climbed down, trying to pry the splintered door open. Logan shoved him aside without a word, claws itching under his skin, ready to tear the door off if need be.

“Someone’s inside!” the man stammered. “Two women—”

Logan didn’t wait. His hands found the edge of the door, and with a growl of effort, he yanked it off the hinges. Inside the crumpled interior, he saw you, half-buried beneath scattered bags.

“Y/N!” His voice cracked, raw and frantic. He dropped to his knees and pulled you free, cradling you in his arms.

You stirred, barely conscious, your head lolling against his chest. Blood streaked your temple, and your breath came in shallow gasps.

“Logan…?” you whispered, confused, your hand weakly grasping his coat.

“I got you,” Logan said, his voice breaking. “I’m here. You’re gonna be fine.” But even as he said it, dread gnawed at him—this wasn’t fine. It was happening again.

Ida groaned nearby, struggling to sit up, but Logan’s focus was locked on you. He pressed a hand against your side, where your ribs felt wrong under his touch. He could feel the heat of your blood seeping into his fingers.

“No, no, no…” Logan whispered, shaking his head. The storm raged around him, but all he could hear was the shallow rasp of your breathing.

You looked up at him, your gaze unfocused, but your lips curled into the faintest smile. “I told you… I’d rest…”

“Don’t,” Logan begged, his forehead pressing against yours. “Don’t do this. Stay with me. You hear me? Stay.”

You blinked slowly, your hand slipping from his coat. “I… tried…”

Logan clenched his jaw, biting down hard against the scream building in his chest. His healing mutation would keep him alive through anything—but it couldn’t save you. Not now. Not again.

He kissed your forehead, his breath shuddering. “I can’t lose you again, darlin’. Not like this…”

Your breath hitched once, then stopped.

“No,” Logan whispered, rocking you in his arms. “No, no, no…”

His hands trembled as he pulled you closer, your lifeless body limp against him. The rain poured down harder, drumming on the wreckage, but Logan didn’t care. He sat there, holding you, feeling the familiar, soul-crushing emptiness settle in his chest like an old wound tearing open again.

And still, he held you. Because this time, just like 26 years ago, he couldn’t let go.

in this chapter logan is 48 years old and reader is around 22-24 years old. just a reminder that going forward there is going to be an age gap between the two since logan obviously keeps getting older.

[sophrosynesworld]

Summer Softness

Katsuki’s always had that fierce, protective streak—everyone knows it. But what happens when the paparazzi go too far?

The gala is… unexpectedly pleasant. The air inside is filled with low, refined chatter, the clink of glasses, and the soft melodies of classical music drifting through the space. For a while, it’s easy to forget about the pressures outside.

Katsuki seems more relaxed than usual, in his own way. He’s never fully off duty—there’s always an edge to him—but tonight, he’s actually engaged in the conversation, smiling down at me as we move from one painting to the next. His crimson eyes scan the pieces before he offers a comment about the colors or techniques, terms he’s learned from watching me paint in our living room.

"I’ll be right back," Katsuki murmurs, his soft lips brushing against my ear as his hand rests gently on my waist. I hum in acknowledgment, leaning into his chest and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. As he steps away, I wander toward another sculpture, drawn in by the intricate twists of her hair, each curve and detail mesmerizing.

I glance down at the plaque beneath it.

Antonio Mardie, Summer Softness.

I step closer to the sculpture, tracing the air just above her delicate features, careful not to touch. The marble feels alive under the gallery’s soft lighting, shadows dancing over her form as if she might move at any moment.

"Beautiful, isn’t she?" A quiet voice pulls me from my thoughts. An older man, dressed in a dark coat, stands beside me, his eyes fixed on the sculpture. His expression is curious, like someone who’s seen countless works of art and yet still finds wonder in them.

I nod, glancing at him. “Yeah… I think she’s waiting for someone.”

He smiles faintly, a knowing look in his eyes. “Antonio Mardie was known for capturing fleeting moments—the softness of summer love, the quiet before a storm. It’s said this piece was inspired by a lost love, the woman he could never quite forget.”

I would go crazy without him too.

“It’s amazing,” I say softly. “Did he ever show it to her?”

“No.” The man’s voice is soft, eyes fixed on the sculpture as though lost in his own memories. “She died before it was finished… cancer.” He pauses, his voice faltering slightly before he clears his throat.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, unsure if I’m apologizing for his loss or simply for prying too much.

He nods, a faint, melancholic smile gracing his lips. “It’s all right. She’s here, in a way.” He taps the plaque lightly, the metal clinking softly under his touch. “I like to think she’d be proud.”

I smile back. “I’m sure she would be.”

As the man turns and drifts back into the crowd, I feel that familiar sensation of being watched. Scanning the room, my eyes catch on a figure with platinum hair, sitting at the bar and sipping his drink. Katsuki’s gaze is locked onto me, as if he’s been waiting the entire time.

“You’re staring,” I tease. Katsuki's eyes track my every movement, but he doesn’t respond immediately, just extends a glass of wine as I reach him.

“Couldn’t help it,” he replies, his voice low. “You were stealing the spotlight.”

I chuckle softly, accepting the wine, brushing my fingers against his. “I guess I just found something worth looking at.”

He raises an eyebrow, smirking as he leans back against the bar. "Me too.”

I take a sip of the wine, letting its warmth wash over me, and smile at him, feeling a little lighter.

The night flows like that, with a steady rhythm of quiet moments and his sharp, witty remarks keeping things light. Katsuki's hand rests on the small of my back, guiding us toward the entrance. We finally step outside, the colder winter weather enveloping us, and the next thing I know, they’re on us—paparazzi swarming from every direction. The blinding lights, the rapid clicking of cameras, and the overwhelming noise—it’s all too much. I blink, trying to make sense of it when suddenly, someone shoves past me. Hard.

My breath catches in my throat as I stumble forward, feet catching on the concrete. My heart stops in that split second—until a strong arm wraps around me, pulling me upright. It’s Katsuki who catches me mid-fall, his grip firm but careful, instantly shifting me behind him like the first time we met.

The second he pushes me behind his back, I feel his whole body tense. He’s furious—I can see it in the tightness of his jaw, the fire burning in his eyes. Katsuki’s glare cuts through the crowd, searing into the faces of the people around us. The once-shouting paparazzi shrink back, their aggressive pursuit turning hesitant under his gaze. My arms wrap around his waist, attempting to calm him, but it’s pointless.

His voice is low, a growl barely restrained. “Who the hell touched her?”

No one dares respond. The air around us feels heavy, almost crackling with his anger. He takes a step forward, towering over them.

“I said, who did it? Step forward, or I swear to god, I’ll give you something to report about.”

The crowd of photographers seems to freeze, like they’re deciding whether getting the next big story is worth Dynamight’s wrath. There’s a moment of eerie silence, then a few of them start backing away, realizing that whatever shot they were hoping for isn’t worth the risk.

He turns back to me, his crimson eyes searching my face with a sharp, almost frantic focus. His hands lift to rest on the sides of my face, and despite everything, his touch is gentle, almost delicate.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice rough but quieter now.

I nod, even though my heart’s still racing, the adrenaline pumping through my veins. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Good,” he mutters, his jaw still clenched, though his grip loosens slightly. "If anyone tries something like that again, I’ll handle it.” He glances back at the remaining paparazzi, eyes narrowing into slits. “I'll fucking kill you. Put that on the record.”

With that, he guides me forward, his arm firmly around my waist, shielding me from any more intrusions. As we walk away from the crowd, I glance up at him, noticing the way he stays on high alert, even as the commotion begins to die down.

“Thanks, katsuki,” I whisper, but he just grunts in response, his eyes still scanning for any threats. But in this moment, walking beside him, I don’t mind the danger. Because I know, without a doubt, that he’s got me.

Author's note: I was giggling and kicking my feet this entire chapter. We are so back baby.

[whimsyfinny]

How to Avoid the Love of Your Life

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: (Y/n) had spent the last four years of her life avoiding him, but when her and Dean inevitably cross paths again it could go one of two ways - either really good, or really bad.

Warnings: Language, angst (so much fucking angst I'm sorry), Smut, PinV, Fingering, Oral (F receiving), Overstimulation, Dean being a sex God, reader being anxious, bad breakup, reader having a gun

MDNI! 18+

Word Count: 8200 (wtf I'm sorry I got carried away)

A/N: Here it is! I'm sooooo sorry @jackles010378 that this took so long. I would've had it up last week but my kid got sick and I had to learn how to solo parent hahaha. Anyway, this is the final competition oneshot, and I hope you enjoy it!

“Well well, what do we have here?”

A voice that I knew all too well reached my ears through the crowd of people in the bar. The deep tone of his voice immediately brought goosebumps to my skin and a small smirk to my lips. I straightened where I stood besides the pool table, lowering the cue and leaning on it lazily as I turned to the direction the voice had come from.

“Dean Winchester,” I let my eyes travel over his rugged form; taking in the faint new scars on his face, his weather-beaten jacket and distinctive choice of plaid and denim. He looked virtually the same as he did when I last saw him four years ago - just older. His eyes now holding more haunting memories than any man should ever have to keep locked away in the depths of ones mind.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” I asked with the tilt of my head as he took a step closer, ignoring the bustling of people trying to get past him to order more drinks.

“You know why we’re here,” he pushed his hands into his pockets as he took another step, slowly creeping closer.

“Hmm,” I hummed, reaching for my beer and taking a sip, letting the bitter bubbles sit on my tongue for a moment before swallowing them down.

“So, I take it this has nothing to do with coming for that falsely promised personal visit, and all to do with the pack of werewolves that have moved in across town?” I jabbed the beer bottle in his direction, feeling the smile on my face lose its warmth. Dean sighed and looked at his boots, and when he’d pondered on his answer, ready to verbalise it, I cut him off.

“Jody has been doing her fucking best to keep shit safe around here with the skills you taught her. The least you could do is check in a couple of times a week - visit once a month.”

“Listen sweetheart-”

“I don’t need to hear how you saved the world five hundred times this week. I don’t need to hear it second hand from other hunters. I need to hear it from you. She needs to hear that you’re ok. We all do.”

Dean looked up, his eyes meeting mine, clouded by a regretful shadow.

“(Y/n) I’m sorry. Life has been so fucking messed up and sometimes I don’t even know what fucking month it is. I’ll do better. Me and Sam - we’ll be better.”

I stared at him intently, reassuring myself that he wasn’t saying ‘he’d be better’ if he didn’t mean it. He’d fed me empty lies wrapped in colourful silk in the past and I’d unwrapped every one with a hopeful heart, disappointment following every single one of them. People live and they learn, and I was no exception.

“If you’re not better, for Jodys sake - for Claire and Alex and even Donna - then I will never forgive you.” I stared at Dean long enough to feel the frustration towards him start to simmer in my veins, reminding me why I did what I did all those years ago. I was willing to endure him for my family’s sake despite hating that stupid pedestal they’d put him on - hating how in their eyes, he could do no wrong.

If only they could see him through my eyes.

The sound of long-strided footsteps and a familiar voice exclaiming “oh shit” snapped me from my festering thoughts, and I looked up to see Sam walk up and stand next to Dean.

“Sam!” I smiled, his face the picture of apprehension as he nervously smiled back.

“H-hey (Y/n), it’s been a while. I’m surprised to see you.”

I raised an eyebrow and looked around the room incredulously before locking eyes with him again.

“Surprised to see me? Drinking in a bar, in my hometown? Where you guys know that I live? I know, right? Who would’ve thunk it.”

Sam shifted nervously, like he wanted to whisper something to his brother or simply whisk him away to a booth where they could sip beers, work a case and ogle waitresses. I sighed out a mentally exhausted breath - the presence of the Winchesters flooding my mind with memories of a better time - a simpler time. Dean was right about one thing - that life was messed up.

“Look, I’m clearly keeping you boys from your secret club meeting. I promise to behave if you do too,” I eyed them, waiting for them to accept the proposal of peace. Sam nodded, offering a few lacklustre words of poor convincing whilst Dean just stared at me, his lips twitching into a slight smirk, his eyes swimming in defiance.

“You’ve never been one to behave yourself, have you? Let's see how long this lasts.”

“Fuck you, Dean.”

Sam pulled Dean away before any more weaponised words could be fired, Deans lips forever holding that slap-worthy grin as he eventually turned his back and headed to the other side of the bar.

For the whole evening I could feel eyes on my back and a prickle on my skin. No matter what I did or how much I tried to distract myself - I was so hyper-aware that the Winchesters were sitting at a table just across the room. Every time I turned my back or walked to the bar, I could feel myself scrutinised under an unwanted observation. As I politely turned down the offer of a drink from a handsome stranger, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I reached to answer it, my palms growing sweaty when I saw the name flash on the screen.

“Hey Jody,” I fought to keep my voice steady, my previous frustrations starting to bubble to the surface again.

“Hey (Y/n)! You’re never going to guess who’s in town!”

My teeth immediately clenched and I shot a glare over to where the brothers were sitting, watching Dean tuck his phone back into his pocket and drop his head into his hands.

When I failed to utter a single word at Jody’s excited proclamation, she instantly caught on.

“Oh shit, you know already, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You at the bar?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you spoken to him?”

“I feel like I spoke at him, which counts I guess.”

Despite knowing my inner conflictions, she chuckled slightly.

“You give him a piece of your mind?”

“Yup,” I sighed, running a hand over my face, “I think I’m going to have to keep my distance from him, Jody. Just seeing him - looking at him after all these years - it hurts. It fucking hurts and he doesn’t realise how much he messed me up with everything that he did and said,” I could feel that all too familiar burn in my eyes as I fought desperately against the tears; biting my lip to stop it from trembling. When I gave my emotions away with a not-so-discrete sniff, Jody’s more sympathetic side emerged.

“Aw sweet girl, I know it’s hard. Do you want me to come and get you?”

I shook my head despite knowing she couldn’t see me and wiped away a rogue tear.

“No it’s ok, I think I just need to be alone. Plus I know you - you want to spend some time and catch up with them, which is fine and I get it. It’s just not something I can be there for right now,” I lifted my head and looked through the crowd of people, watching how Sam talked to Dean and Dean fiddled with his beer bottle again. I looked down before he could see me, though I knew he would be able to pick me out of any crowd anywhere within a matter of minutes. I hated that he knew me so well.

“If you’re sure, you know where we are if you need anything.”

“I know, thanks Jody. And… I’m sorry for making this so complicated for you. I know you have no reason to hate him, and I don’t like putting you in the middle like this.”

“(Y/n) I get it sweetheart, you have nothing to apologise for. Just…” she paused, as though debating if her words were worth saying.

“Just what?”

“Just don't do anything stupid,” I could hear the slight amusement in her voice despite her words of caution. I chuckled slightly, wiping away another tear.

“You know me - I can’t make that promise. Bye Jody, see you later.”

After the farewell I hung up the phone, deciding some fresh air would help me to cool my head.

I'd barely taken five steps out the bars entrance and into the parking lot when the harsh sound of rowdy chatter drew my attention. Snapping my head towards it, cold blood filled my veins at the sight in the shadows - the gut wrenching sight of a small group of men huddling together and attempting to steal a car.

To steal Baby.

The cold sensation of dread quickly transformed into the heat of fury as my blood started to boil at the sheer audacity of the thieving group, now doing their best to stay out of the glow of the street lamp. They were lucky it was me that had found them and not Dean, as the latter would have dropped every single one of them by now and not left a soul breathing. I know Dean and I no longer had any sort of relationship, but when we did, this car had been witness to every moment. Baby saw every smile, laugh, and happy tear shared between Dean and I, along with petty lovers quarrels and raw moments of lust filled passion. I'd lost count of how many times we'd steamed up those back windows since we were teenagers and Dean stole the car from his old man for our first date. Then there were the long rides from case to case - Sam and I arguing over who rode shotgun - with Metallica blasting from the speakers, windows rolled down and the wind wisping every worry away as we belted our lungs out. Those were the best moments of my life. In that car. And I'd be damned if I let some dive bar fuckheads steal her.

With zero hesitation I pulled out the gun tucked into my boot and fired three warning shots to the sky before aiming my piece at them, wary that they might also be packing.

“Get away from the FUCKING car - NOW!”

The anger in my voice was a deadly warning as the group turned to me like rabbits in the headlights before turning tail and bolting - one of them dropping a hefty crowbar in the process. As I lowered my gun when they fled, I turned around at the sound of hurried footsteps thumping on the gravel behind me.

“What the hell is going on?” Dean had arrived at my side before Sam and he reached to rest a hand on the small of my back; guided by muscle memory. I turned to face him, a small crowd gathering outside the bar to witness the fleeting commotion. As Sam arrived I explained, my voice harbouring a slight tremble of adrenaline and frustration.

“Some assholes tried to steal Baby-”

“WHAT?!” Deans voice filled with horror, yet his hand remained on my back.

“But you- you're ok right? They didn't hurt you?”

“What? No, I'm fine.”

With my confirmation he withdrew his hand and doubled over, resting his palms on his knees and dropped his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Ugh thank fuck - you scared the shit out of me.”

Sam, who appeared shortly after Dean, patted him on the back and flashed me a split-second grin, the glint lingering in his eyes.

“Yeah, I don't think I've seen Dean move so fast - like… ever.”

I couldn't stop the soft, airy laugh leaving my lungs, a memory flooding my mind.

“I think the fastest I ever saw him move was when we used to hunt with your dad, and Dean took the car without permission. John ended up stranded at that god-awful motel for six hours after we accidentally fell asleep in the layby-”

“Oh god, was that the motel with those raccoons?” Dean stood up straight, the memory seeming to light up his face as he looked me straight in the eye, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin.

“Yes - oh my GOD those raccoons were awful,” I started to chuckle and I could tell Dean was holding it in.

“Raccoons?” Sam asked, looking between us with a raised eyebrow. I opened my mouth to explain but Dean beat me to it.

“In every corner of each room there was a taxidermy raccoon, however the person who taxidermied them obviously had no idea what an actual raccoon looked like.”

“Most of them had eyes that were too close together and their bodies were way too long - like some sort of ferret-raccoon hybrid,” I chimed in, the memory bringing warmth to my chest at the comical idiocy of it all.

“I remember dad turned his so they faced the wall and away from the bed,” Dean let out a small laugh, managing to pull one from Sam as well as we slowly made our way over to the car, my gun returned to the holster in my boot.

“I'm pretty sure that was the first and last thing that ever gave John Winchester genuine heebie jeebies,” I looked up at Sam's disbelieving expression.

“And your brother hid his in the bottom of the closet.”

Dean grimaced before chuckling again.

“They had tiny little ferret-raccoon buttcheeks.”

“Oh god yeah, they were so prominent.”

“So prominent.”

Stepping up to Baby, Dean gave her a thorough once over, running his large hands gently over the places most likely to have laid victim to the crowbar. After three laps and continuous scrutiny, he deemed her unharmed.

We stood together for a moment in silence, the conversation having bled out, leaving nothing but our prior heavy tension and my own dwelling sorrow. I looked up at them both, my gaze lingering on Dean.

“Look, I need to go. I can't- I can't be around you right now, Dean. I'm glad Baby is ok and I…” I sucked in a breath, steadying my voice, “I wish you all the best. Both of you. Stay safe out there.” with my final words I spun on my heel and left.

The motel room was pitch black save for the small box TV flickering in the corner, the original Ghostbusters playing through blown out speakers. I sat in the middle of the couch rocking baggy plaid pj pants and an old band t-shirt (likely Deans, much to my own dismay). With criss-crossed legs and a bowl of popcorn in my lap, I attempted to wallow, Rory Gilmore style, over a man who I would never fully get over. Mine and Deans relationship had ended years ago, yet here I was, the wound still as fresh as the day it was inflicted. Most days I get by, and sometimes even forget the pain he caused me, allowing me to feel light and almost normal. But seeing him in the flesh, catching the scent of him and hearing his voice had turned my defences to ash. I felt exposed and raw, my heart practically on a silver platter ready for another round of being ripped to pieces. I thought I would be able to handle it if I ran into him. I knew deep down in my gut that it would happen eventually, that it was unavoidable given my living arrangements. That he would likely come and visit Jody and the others, and I would have to pretend that everything was ok - that my heart wasn't still breaking over him. I'd avoided him for this long, always able to find the perfect excuse to not be around when he showed up. It was about time the avoidance streak ran it out.

The sound of his laugh earlier this evening had tightened every muscle in my chest, reminding me of every blissful moment we'd spent together - obsessed with each others company and craving nothing else on this fucked up Earth. His smile had made me want to weep, knowing I no longer got to wake up to it every morning or let it be the last thing I witnessed before sleep. The smile that got us both into so much trouble, both as teenagers and adults alike. The smile that always made arguments feel absurd half way through. No matter who I encounter in life or how many people God throws at me in an attempt to fill the void left behind by Dean, it's an incurable hole in my soul that can never be healed.

I shovelled a handful of popcorn into my mouth as I watched the movie unfold - desperate for the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man to reach through the screen and devour me along with my melancholy attitude. Too preoccupied with the film and the strange attraction I seemed to be harbouring to men in boiler suits, I almost missed the low rumble of an engine pull into the motel parking lot outside my room. An all too familiar engine. My ears pricked before reality dawned, the blood draining from my face.

“That son of a bitch.”

I scrambled off the couch and ducked behind it, popcorn flying, knowing all too well that he'd come peering in through the gaps in the blind - which my dumbass had left open so I could watch the rain. Heavy rain and self pity went together like jack and coke after all.

There were a few breaths of silence after the squeak and slam of the impala door, and I thought maybe I'd gotten away with it. Perhaps he was staying in a room further down? Fate was forever against me though when there was a loud knock on the door. I flinched, anxiety dampening my palms as I tucked my knees into my chest and held my breath, praying to Chuck himself that Dean would leave. That he'd convince himself that he was making a reckless decision by being here, or that he had the wrong room. I almost jumped out of my skin when he rapped on the window and his voice boomed through the pattering of rain and static-y TV audio.

“I know you're in there (Y/n), now open the door.”

Even if I'd wanted to move, the ability to do so had fled my body, my muscles petrified at the thought of confronting him. I jumped again when he hammered on the door this time, the cheap wood rattling on its hinges.

“Jesus Christ, (Y/n)! Your truck is parked outside and I can see your hunting gear on the table. Open the fucking door!”

“Go away!”

“Not until you let me speak to you!”

“No!”

There was a loud THUD as his boot collided with the door and I heard him growl in frustration. I could just picture him pacing in a circle, running a hand through his hair.

“(Y/n)-”

“Please, Dean, just… just don't. I can't look at you.” I felt my voice shrink as I pulled my knees tighter to my chest, unsure if he caught my words. He did.

“What- why not?” His voice was a wretched mix of desperation and confusion, cracking between words.

I was quiet for a moment, letting the silence hang thick in the air before I pushed myself to my feet, instantly missing the comfort of the upright foetal position. I wandered over to the door, my fuzzy-socked feet padding on the thread-bare carpet.

“Because,” I leant against the wood, my heart aching at the thought of him being so close yet so devastatingly untouchable, “if I open this door I'm going to undo all the progress I've made with getting over you, Dean.” His name was bittersweet as it slid off my tongue. The quiet sound of Dean sucking in a breath hissed through the gaps in the wood.

“Please, sweetheart. I need you to open this door.”

The softer tone of his voice made him infinitely harder to resist, but I had to stand my ground.

“Dean, you know I can't,” my eyes burned as the tears started to well, my voice objecting to my words with a pitiful rasp.

“Yes you can,” he paused, “you have to, otherwise I'm going to kick this piece of shit down.”

My eyes flew wide.

“No-no Dean-”

“Stand back.”

“Don't!”

“Three…”

“Stop-”

“Two…”

“Dean-”

“One-”

“Fine!”

I grasped the handle and flung the door open, my heart dancing with my stomach when I finally caught sight of him. There he was, soaked through from the rain and giving me that woeful Mr Darcy stare. The water droplets clung to his lashes and trickled down his cheeks, the breathtaking beauty of him erasing the pre-prepared sentence from my mind. Now, all I could think at that moment was to get him warm and dry. The noose around my heart tightened when I reached a hand out to grasp his, pulling him in out of the downpour. As the door closed behind him there was a pause, my quickly dissolving self restraint making it agonising to be in his presence. And Dean seemed to know that, yet he remained.

“(Y/n)-”

“Don’t,” as the cold water started to pool around his boots, I paced over to the bathroom, quickly emerging with a fuzzy towel in hand. I passed it over to him slowly, treating him like a wild, unpredictable animal that could pounce at any moment. He took it gently from my grasp, his fingers softly brushing mine. His skin was cold and damp from the outdoors. We stood in silence for a few moments whilst Dean dried his hair as best as he could, shortly after shrugging off his jacket to hang on the dining chair beside him. As he continued to ruffle his hair dry, I steeled myself, taking a deep breath and crossed my arms over my chest.

“Why are you here, Dean? What do you want?”

He lowered the towel and hung it with his jacket, sighing from the pit of his stomach.

“Me and Sam went to see Jody and the others. I was hoping to run into you again - I wanted to talk to you. But when you didn’t appear, Jody said you’d checked out for a few nights - said you wanted to be away from the house when… uh…” his voice faltered and something akin to guilt flashed in his eyes. Unable to finish his sentence he leant on the table, staring intently at the pile of hunting gear I'd dumped there.

“When you arrived,” I finished it for him, “Yeah, that’s right. And I told  her not to tell you where I was.”

“She didn’t,” he stood up straight again, holding his hands up, “I knew you wouldn’t have gone far, so I drove around until I spotted your truck,” he admitted, gaze flitting down to the floor. More silence followed, the atmosphere thickening as the seconds ticked by.

“Dean,” my voice was small as my anxiety spiked again, the question ready to spill from my mouth though no matter what he said, I knew I wasn’t ready for the answer. “Why are you here? What do you want from me? You say you want to talk, but you’re the one who ended everything. You ended our decades-long relationship out of fucking nowhere. What could there possibly be to talk about anymore. It’s been four years.” My voice trembled and he clenched his teeth, looking away from me before setting his eyes back to the floor. He dragged his gaze back up to mine, and something burned deep in those evergreen irises that took my breath away. Yet he remained silent.

“You crushed me when out of nowhere you said we were over - that we had no future. That you couldn't imagine growing old with me, like we'd always talked about. You have no idea how much you broke my fucking heart, and then you just expected me to live alongside you in the bunker like nothing was wrong? In my own room, far away from you? Why did you think that I would be ok with that?” I felt the familiar drip of hot tears and they flooded down my cheeks and rolled off my chin, the dam I’d fought so hard to contain now bursting wide with vengeance.

“You think I wanted you to leave?” Dean spoke up finally, his voice deep and gravelly, like it always was when he was upset. “You don’t think that telling you that everything was over wasn’t the hardest thing that I’ve ever had to do? That I was happy watching you pack your bags and walk out without so much as a goodbye?”

“You didn’t love me, Dean, so why would you have cared? You obviously didn’t love me the way that I loved you.”

He flinched, but took a step closer. 

“You think this is because I stopped loving you? (Y/n)... it wasn’t safe- you weren’t safe in the bunker. You weren’t safe with me…” his expression turned to one of pain as his brows pinched and his eyes glistened. He took a deep breath. “I thought maybe if you just stayed in the bunker with little to no association with me, then it would be ok. I mean, I'd still get to see you, talk to you. Be in your fucking presence. I never expected you to- to…” he took another deep breath, his lungs almost stuttering. “I didn’t think you would leave.”

He never took his eyes off mine. I saw the years of hurt and heartbreak intertwine with glimmers of green and gold, the emotions I always knew he’d struggled to cope with were swimming in a pool of desperation and fear. On the outside, Dean Winchester was the strongest there was. He was an undefeated and undisputed leader of men. He was the King of hunters. The Alpha. The man who could make you wish you were dead. Yet here he was, wearing every vulnerable emotion on his sleeve as he stood before me with anxious breaths and fearful eyes. The sight made my heart break all over again.

“Dean,” his name was like a quiet prayer as he moved closer again, “I don’t think you understand…”

“Understand what, sweetheart?” the rasp in his voice pebbled goosebumps on my skin, and when he reached for a lock of my hair to twirl around his finger, I had to fight off every instinct to just throw myself into his arms and bury my face in his chest. His familiar scent floated through the air and wrapped itself around my senses, and when I breathed him in the aroma of old leather and gunpowder went straight to my brain like a hit of cocaine. The pleasant hum from my chest was involuntary. 

“I don’t think you understand that… that…” I sighed a woeful breath, looking up at him and seeing nothing but a warm, expectant gaze.

“That I’m still in love with you.”

The finger Dean had looped around my hair froze in place and I heard him suck in a breath, his lips parting. He remained unmoving, as though every thought racing through his mind had taken precedence over his body. It was a moment before he blinked, coming back down to Earth. When he looked down at me, all of the desperation, hurt and heartbreak dissipated from his eyes and in their place was the blazing heat of hope, accentuated by a small upturned twitch of his lips.

“You do?” 

“Yes.”

“You’re not fucking with me?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Before I could react Dean had scooped me into his arms and crashed his mouth onto mine. The urge to push him away and tell him to get the fuck out bubbled up inside me, however when his familiar taste graced my tongue, a taste that was home, every desire for him to leave evaporated. The years of being apart, of being unable to touch him had made every caress electric, no matter how feather-light. My hands had tangled in his shirt as he pressed his mouth harder onto mine, pulling him crushingly close. His embrace was almost suffocating before he gently slid his hands up and threaded his rough fingers through my hair, and I lifted my own hands to do the same. I took my time with the motion, reminding myself of what he felt like - not that the memory of him ever truly left. I remembered how the muscles across his stomach and chest felt hard beneath a soft layer of skin. I remembered the way they quivered at my touch, and how my touch always pulled soft moans from his lips. My hands crept up to take hold of his face, the familiar feeling of his rough stubble beneath my fingertips ever present, a reminder of how that rough stubble felt when it tauntingly brushed against other parts of my body. I cupped his cheeks, feeling my own tears dampen his skin. He kissed me in a way that said I’m sorry, a kiss that held four years of pent up emotions with a desire to be released. A kiss that I knew was designed specifically for me. Our breaths and lips became frantic, the pace in which we were now devouring each other was still not enough to soothe the wounds in our hearts that were so desperate to be healed. Dean pulled away and held my face in his hands, running his rough thumbs over the soft skin under my eyes to wipe away the tears.

“I miss you, so fucking much,” his voice was low, his words for my ears only - not that anyone else was listening.

“I miss you too,” I sniffled, resting my palms on his chest again and relishing in the heat seeping through his shirt.

He leant down and rested his forehead against mine, taking a deep breath with his eyes closed. The atmosphere shifted however when he dipped down lower and pressed a hot kiss to my cheek, then to my ear, and then to my neck - each press of his lips drawing a shiver from my spine. I gasped when he nibbled my pulse point gently and my hands flew to grasp the short strands of hair at the back of his neck, my nails dragging over his scalp. He groaned against me at the sensation, one large hand moving to grip my hair at its roots whilst the other slid to my hip - squeezing the soft flesh. A moan of his name slipped past my lips and it was like a switch was flipped as he pulled away suddenly. He turned to take a few steps across the room, attempting to put some distance between us. I stood, baffled for a moment, but when he turned back to me and his vibrant eyes were now black with lust, I almost knew what he was going to say.

“Do you really want to go there sweetheart? Do you think you’ll be able to handle it?” he started making slow strides back towards me and I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth. 

“Yes,” my voice was more breathy than I’d anticipated.

“No regrets?” he was almost within reach again.

“No regrets.”

When his hands landed on my waist again, his frenzied kisses on my lips, I was expecting to be able to ravage him equally; but when he lifted me and threw me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing I let out a shocked yelp. 

“Dean!”

He chuckled, the sound low in his chest as he strode over to the bed and threw me down, the impact on the mattress knocking a breath out of me.

“I’ve not been able to fuck you sensless for four years, there ain’t no way I’m going easy on you tonight sweetheart.” I propped myself up on my elbows and watched as he tore his top from his body. I barely got a glimpse of his rugged physique that I’d so terribly missed before he all but pounced, trapping me beneath him. My hands immediately clung to the tight muscles of his back, my nails digging in and drawing a hiss from his clenched teeth before his mouth pressed to my neck right below my ear.

“Do you remember how you used to scream my name?”

I nodded.

“I’m going to make you scream much, much, louder than you ever have before. I’m going to make all past encounters feel like a warm up compared to what I’m gonna do to you tonight.” I shivered at his words as his hot breath fanned over my skin. His hands were fast, desperately tugging on my pyjama pants to slip one inside the soft fabric, not bothering to remove them entirely. There was an urgency to his movements like nothing I’d ever seen, the air leaving my lungs on a gasping moan when his fingers grazed my underwear. He chuckled slightly, pressing a series of searing kisses down my neck to my collar bone. 

“Well, aren't you sensitive? How long has it been, darlin’? Since someone else touched you - since someone else made you cum?” The heat rose to my already flushing cheeks at his words and I tried to cover my face with the back of my hand. My attempts to hide were futile as his long fingers wrapped around my wrist and he pinned my arm above my head. 

“Well?” he pressed, a smirk on his lips.

“Four years,” I all but squeaked. He thought for a moment before his smirk evolved into a widespread grin. “Don't let it go to your head, Winchester,” I did my best to bite out my words yet my voice trembled with a mixture of apprehension and excitement. My head rolled into the quilt and my back arched when he pushed his finger against my clit through my underwear a second time, this time harder, more purposeful. His own breath was shuddering as he continued to plant hot kisses against my skin, the slight dampness from his lips cooling quickly when he pulled back to sit on his knees. My heart didn't know if it wanted to stop dead in my chest or palpitate itself into oblivion when he looked down at me. Dean eminated a dark, primal hunger, glazing his eyes with lust as he gnawed his bottom lip. There wasn't a part of me that he hadn't seen before, and despite my current lack of nakedness it was as if I wasn't wearing anything at all. He made a noise in his chest that seemed to roll up his throat, like a growl of approval as I lay like prey beneath him. Dean may be older now, but he was bigger. Broader. Larger. The years of saving the world and fighting every abomination in his path had forced him to bulk up most exquisitely. With my free hand I traced over the scars adorning his shoulders, chest and abdomen: some old and silver, some newer and pink. There were even a fresh few, still scabbed over, and he shivered at every gentle touch. His gaze, however, was unrelenting. Without uttering a word he yanked my pyjama bottoms from my legs and tossed them into the depths of the room, immediately doing the same with my underwear. Instinctively I attempted to pull my knees together despite him being planted between them and he laughed softly, dragging his dark eyes over my slightly squirming body. He clutched my hand that was touching his chest and pinned it with my other one above my head, leaning down to lift the hem of my t-shirt, to gather above my breasts with his teeth. A shiver tore through me as his hot breath dusted the soft skin of my stomach and ribs, perking my nipples instantly.

“I think your body missed me sweetheart.”

“Definitely not just my body,” I panted. He breathed over my lips for a moment, every possibility of tonight's endeavours flashing before his eyes before he dipped his head to kiss me. His mouth moved slightly slower this time, like he was desperately trying to control the beast inside and make every moment count. To make every moment memorable.

“Do you remember Oasis Plains, Oklahoma? With that fancy house we borrowed?” His voice dropped an octave, eyes hooded as he recalled the memory.

“Yes,” I practically clenched, remembering the late night escapades from all those years ago. In my mind it was like yesterday - the way his lips felt on my skin, how his strong fingers bruised my thighs, and how he brought me to total completion no less than three times. His lips twitched up as he slid down my body and off the edge of the bed to kneel on the floor. He roughly gripped my thighs and threw them over his shoulders before slowly, tantalisingly sliding his hands up the supple flesh to grasp my ass and pull my whole body towards him.

“I’m gonna make you lose your fucking mind, just like you did back then. Maybe I'll even beat that record.”

My eyes could've disappeared inside my skull with how far they rolled back, his mouth's quick descent over my most intimate area - a soft kiss placed just above my clit - had me gasping in anticipation. Without a second to gather my thoughts he pressed his next kiss to that bundle of nerves; the wet heat of his mouth sending a pulse after pulse of fire through my veins as I twitched at his touch. He was an expert. Every flick of his tongue was practised and calculated, knowing which way to swirl, to caress, and how much pressure to apply. It was only a matter of minutes before my hands plunged into his hair and I grasped desperately at the soft strands, feeling that tidal wave build, and build, and build before he daringly grazed his teeth over my clit and it sent the wave crashing down around me, my body arching off the soft mattress as I came undone in his arms at the mercy of his mouth. 

“F-FUCK- Dean-”

My limbs twitched as they relaxed on the come-down, Deans tongue softly tracing up and down my opening. Without pulling away, he spoke in a husky tone:

“Fuck, sweetheart. You have no idea how many times I've reminisced about you moaning my name like that.”

The breath from his words made me shiver, and I moved to prop myself up on my elbows. 

“Ready for round two?” His voice remained low, not waiting for my inevitable confirmation before slowly dipping a finger into my still-clenching walls. The moan that slipped past my lips pulled a groan from Dean, a second finger joining the first as they curled up to push against the soft cushion hidden in the depths of my core. He knew where to find it with zero hesitation - his fingers seemingly acting on muscle memory as he beckoned another orgasm from me. He coaxed it forward, my inner nerves dangerously sensitive as the pleasure began to pool for a second time. With every motion of his finger, again and again, I started to feel the coil twist. I was in two minds on whether to be mortified by how easily he could pull a climax from my very soul, or impressed by it. Either way, he had me teetering on the edge a second time before a single flick of his tongue snapped the coil and euphoria claimed me once more.

His name merged with the endless moans spilling from my mouth, my hazy brain struggling to differentiate the two.

“Shit, you taste so good baby. I could devour you all night.”

“I wouldn't stop you.”

He grinned.

“As much as I would love to indulge you, I need to fuck you. Now.”

He pushed on the backs of my thighs, urging me to centre myself on the bed before he climbed back over me. I could feel myself salivating at the sight of his broad shoulders flexing under his weight, his skin damp with sweat from being trapped beneath my thighs.

He leant down to capture my mouth again, a kiss fueled with raw, carnal desire as he struggled to hold himself back. He shuddered under my fingertips as I trailed them down his torso to his belt, hastily unfastening the buckle and top button of his jeans. It was a joint effort to push them off his hips and down his thighs, but that's as far as they went. The feral need to be inside me had consumed him, and I'd barely withdrawn my hands from between us when he lined up and buried himself to the hilt. 

The burn and stretch was immediate - knocking the air from my lungs as I clutched his solid biceps like a lifeline, my nails indenting his scarred skin. He had the common decency to stay still for around ten seconds before his self restraint diminished yet again and he withdrew slowly. I could feel the divine ridges on his length through the immense build up of my slick and his spit, and as he eased back in he dropped his head into the crook of my neck with a gasp and a groan. A large, rough palm glided down my thigh, goosebumps in its wake as he grasped beneath my knee to rest my leg on his hip. Another moan filled the air between us at the new angle, the top of his cock kissing the soft, sensitive cushion inside. His mouth was hot on my neck as his hips found a rhythm against mine - a rhythm that gradually increased in speed with the intense pleasure unrelenting on my over-sensitive insides. My next impending climax swiftly appearing on the horizon.

“Dean,” I pleaded, my eyes cracking open to look up at him through welling tears, “I'm getting close again-”

He lifted his head, that play-boy grin finding his lips as he saw the mess I'd become at his touch; the mascara-stained tear tracks smudging on my cheeks and the unruly sex-hair was always a good sign of a good time.

“I need you to let go sweetheart - cum for me. Please…”

His words were the cherry on the cake for my undoing yet again and I felt my whole body explode with pleasure and tense up around him. The third orgasm of the night had my vision blurring when he cursed under his breath at my contracting walls, yet he didn't let up. He fucked me through the mind blowing bliss, not letting me catch my breath as a fourth climax hit me out of nowhere, the torturous attack on my g-spot making me feel close to blacking out.

“F-FUCK- Dean- Please- I can't,” my voice was hoarse from the moans and ragged breaths ripping from my throat every other second and my whole body trembled, slick with sweat from both myself and Dean. Despite the death grip I had on Deans cock, every involuntary clench making my knees twitch, he still wasn't finished. His powerful thrusts stuttered slightly before he pulled out, causing me to suck a breath through my teeth. Before I had a chance to query his actions he flipped me with ease, landing me flat on my stomach, my face buried in the soft quilt. Much like before, he didn't wait for an invitation to push back in, the overstimulated nerves in my core sending a jolt through every aching muscle in my body. The deeper angle pulled a cry from my lips when he bottomed out, and if I didn't know any better I would've said that his cock was in my ribcage. Deans large, warm hands took up residence on the supply flesh around my hips, tugging them up so my ass was in the air.

“Shit, (Y/n), with a view like this I'm not gonna last much longer- fuck,” Deans words were strained as he picked up the pace again, albeit this time there was an urgency to his movements. A desperate desire to experience the same Earth shattering euphoria that he had hand delivered to me. With my face in the fabric I snuck a hand down between my legs, finding the pleasure of circling my clit both a relief and an amplifier for the scorching pleasure Dean was inflicting. It didn't take long for him to tear my hand away, only to replace it with his own - pulling noises from my lips that were a whole new calibre of erotic that I didn't know I was capable of. My moans had an effect on Dean, and the hand that was on my hip, that was kneading my soft skin with a bruising grip had shot forwards and planted beside my head, bracing his weight above me. I couldn't see him but I could feel his solid chest against my back, his head dipping down to place rough kisses against my shoulder, his stubble tickling the sensitive skin there. I prepared myself for the bruises I'd find on my body in the morning - his firm hold on me would have been almost painful given any other situation. That's not to forget the biting and sucking he was now subjecting my neck and shoulder blades to - the sensation setting my skin ablaze. Deans strained breaths were a tell for his own impending end, with his hips losing their strong rhythm as he panted out laboriously. The sound of him on the verge of bliss, accompanied by every other agonising ministration performed on my body had me unravelling one last time; one hand fisting the sheets whilst the other reached back, my nails brushing over Deans scalp and toying with his short, soft hair. The fluttering of my channel around his cock was all it took to bring him to his long awaited fervid finish. I trembled beneath him as he groaned into my ear, the sound something primal, something almost unhinged. We remained still for a moment, waiting for the post climax clarity to come along and make us regret our decision. He pulled out slowly, earning a hiss from both of us at the loss of warmth and intimate contact. The simultaneous feeling of emptiness and relief was an odd feeling, as I know full well he’d ruined me for anyone else - no one in Heaven or Hell could compete with that. Not that I wanted them to in the first place. Every nerve ending in my lower region fizzled with overstimulation, yet I couldn't have felt more relaxed; more satiated. For the first time in a very, very, long time, I felt complete. 

Dean grabbed the towel he'd left on the back of the chair and used it to catch the evidence of our intimacy, the wetness cooling quickly on my thighs as I pushed myself to sit on my knees. I turned and looked up at him, watching as he stood beside the bed, eyeing me nervously. I raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on my lips.

“What's wrong? Regretting the whole ‘No Regrets’ thing already?” 

He shook his head.

“Do you?” His voice held a crackle that equaled his nervous expression.

I shook my head. He looked down at his clothes on the floor.

“No, although I'm getting the impression from you that this was a one time thing,” he must've heard the disappointment when I spoke, his eyes flying up to meet mine.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because you're picking your shit off the floor like you're about to leave, that's why.”

“You…want me to stay? I thought-”

“Did I fucking stutter when I said I still love you, Dean? Because I do, and it's all-consuming and to be totally honest, I never want to leave your side again.” Heat bloomed across my cheeks at my sudden proclamation. Deans grip on his clothes slackened, letting it all fall back to the floor. From the look on his face it was like I'd just declared him King of the world; like a light switched on behind his eyes and a smile threatened to spread across his face.

“Yeah?” 

I fiddle with my fingers in my lap, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth.

“Yeah-whoa!”

I didn't get the chance to feel bashful or embarrassed when Dean tackled me onto the bed. At first he peppered my still-damp skin with small kisses that tickled with his stubble, before placing his mouth over mine. I couldn't recall a time that he'd kissed me so softly, and accompanied by the gentle embrace of his arms with his fingers carefully threading through my hair, it was enough to bring me to tears.

“I've missed you so much,” my sniffles brought an almost relieved smile to his features as he pulled back and stroked my hair with overwhelming tenderness.

“I've missed you too, sweetheart.

So fucking much.”

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

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[halfmoonaria]

what i can’t undo

pairing: tara carpenter & reader

summary: tara goes down a path she never expected to take.

word count: 9.9k

author’s note: part two of ‘what i can’t undo’

The bathroom was small, its walls painted a faded cream that reflected the golden glow of the single overhead bulb.

You didn't care about the way it flickered slightly, nor did you care about the damp towels tossed over the hooks or the cracked soap dish on the sink.

None of it mattered because your mind was spinning, your heart racing like you'd just stepped off a rollercoaster.

Brian had kissed you.

You stood in front of the mirror, gripping the edges of the sink to steady yourself as your reflection smiled back at you, wide and unabashed.

A soft squeal bubbled out of your throat before you could stop it, your hands flying up to cover your face as though you could somehow hide from your own excitement.

It didn't work.

A grin tugged at your lips anyway, spreading until it hurt your cheeks, but you couldn't stop it. How could you? Brian—the boy you'd been dreaming about since you were old enough to understand what a crush even was—had kissed you. He'd actually kissed you.

The memory replayed in your head like a favorite scene from a movie. The way his hand had lingered on your waist, the faint taste of his drink on his lips, the way he'd smiled at you before leaning in—it was perfect.

Everything about it felt perfect.

You leaned closer to the mirror, running your fingers through your hair to fix the strands that had fallen loose in your excitement. Your reflection stared back at you with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine what Tara would say when you told her.

She'd probably tease you about how long it took for Brian to finally get the courage, maybe roll her eyes and say, "Took him long enough."

You couldn't wait to tell her all about it.

So, with one last look in the mirror, you smoothed your hands over your outfit, took a deep breath, and turned for the door. The night felt like it was only just beginning.

The hallway outside the bathroom was crowded, a line having formed sometime during your moment of excitement.

You squeezed past a few impatient faces, murmuring quick apologies as you tried not to push too hard. The music from the party thumped louder now, vibrating through your chest as you re-entered the main part of the house.

The crowd had only grown, spilling into every corner of the space. People leaned against walls, danced in the middle of the living room, and sat sprawled on furniture with red cups in hand. It was warm and hazy, the air thick with a mix of sweat, spilled beer, and perfume.

You tucked yourself into the flow of the room, weaving between bodies as you excused yourself with a polite smile here and there.

Your head felt light, your steps unsteady—but it wasn't entirely from the alcohol.

At least, you didn't think it was. Was it the kiss? The way Brian's lips had lingered on yours, soft but sure, like he'd wanted it for just as long as you had?

Or was it the remnants of the few drinks you'd nursed earlier, finally catching up to you? You couldn't tell, and honestly, you didn't care.

A few familiar faces stopped you along the way, their greetings overlapping with the music. You smiled, exchanged quick hellos, and let their words pass without really processing them.

Your mind was focused on something else entirely—getting to Tara and Brian. You couldn't wait to see Tara's expression when you told her how the kiss had happened, how perfect it had felt.

You rounded the corner toward the spot where you'd left them just a few minutes ago, threading your way through another group of people. But when you got there, the space was empty.

The corner of the room where Tara had been leaning, arms crossed with her sharp smirk, was now vacant. Brian, who'd stood beside her looking effortlessly charming, was nowhere to be seen either. Your brow furrowed as you glanced around, scanning the crowd for any sign of them.

At first, you didn't think much of it. Tara and Brian probably went to grab another drink or stepped outside for some fresh air. Maybe Tara needed to use the bathroom after all, or Brian had spotted someone he wanted to say hello to. In your slightly drunken haze, every excuse you came up with felt perfectly reasonable.

Still, a faint unease bubbled at the edge of your thoughts, though you quickly brushed it away. There was no reason to overthink it. So, instead of lingering, you turned to walk to the dance floor.

You exchanged a few fleeting smiles as you passed familiar faces—people you recognized from school or other parties, their names blurred in the haze of your tipsiness.

Someone called your name from across the room, but when you glanced back, you couldn't place who it was, so you just offered a polite wave before continuing.

The crowd was packed tighter here, bodies moving in time with the heavy bassline that vibrated through the room.

You slipped into the mix, weaving your way through swaying shoulders and raised arms until you caught sight of a familiar face—Aria, one of your relatively close friends, standing near the edge of the makeshift dance floor.

Her dark curls framed her face, damp with sweat from dancing, and her eyes lit up when she spotted you. She tilted her head, raising her eyebrows in a teasing question as she motioned for you to come closer.

"Where the hell have you been hiding all night?" she asked loudly, her voice barely cutting through the music.

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair out of your face as you stepped closer. "Everywhere except here," you answered, your voice light.

Aria gave a short laugh, her shoulders shaking, before gesturing vaguely to the crowd around her. "You missed the fun," she teased, but her tone was warm, her teasing meant for banter, not criticism.

The moment felt light—like a reprieve from the chaos of the party—but something in the back of your mind nagged at you. Tara and Brian weren't where you had left them.

The question slipped out before you could overthink it.

"Hey, have you seen Tara or Brian?" you asked casually, scanning her face for any hint of recognition. "They were over there earlier, but now I can't find them."

Aria's smirk widened, and for a second, she didn't say anything, just let the music thud around you like she was holding onto some secret. Then, without shame, she leaned in, almost laughing as she said, "They're at it upstairs."

You blinked, leaning closer to her to make sure you heard her right. The music pulsed too loud, swallowing her words, and your mind tried to fill in the blanks. They're sitting upstairs? They're chatting upstairs?

It was almost funny—her tone, the absurdity of what she'd just said—so you laughed loosely, shaking your head. "What?" you asked, still grinning, your voice light, almost teasing.

She leaned back slightly, her expression practically glowing with drunken mischief, and repeated, louder this time, "They're fucking upstairs."

The smile fell from your face.

At first, the words didn't feel real. They felt distant, like they'd been said about someone else, not Tara and Brian. Not the Brian who had kissed you. Not Tara, your best friend.

You stared at Aria, blinking, waiting for her to break the joke. Surely, she was messing with you. Surely, it was just Aria being Aria, drunk and teasing.

"What?" The word came out soft, barely audible, trembling on your lips like it wasn't really yours.

It couldn't be true. Tara and Brian? Brian kissed you. His lips had been on yours, his hand on your waist. Just minutes ago, it had felt perfect—like something out of a dream.

You tried to rationalize it, to push the idea out of your head.

Sure, people had teased about Tara and Brian before, said they'd look cute together. But that was years ago, back when it was nothing more than an innocent observation. Not now. Not when Brian kissed you.

Aria, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you, kept going, her smirk growing even wider. She leaned closer, her voice teasing but louder, like this was all just harmless fun.

"What, you wanna go join them?" she joked, laughing lightly as she nodded toward the stairs. Her finger lazily pointed in their direction. "Because if that's the case, they went up there."

Her grin was huge, too wide, and you forced a laugh—tight and nervous—just to play along. But it didn't sound right, even to your own ears. Your lips twitched into a smile that didn't reach your eyes, and you felt your head buzzing, like there was a ringing in your ears, a static you couldn't shake.

Not from the music. Not from the alcohol.

It wasn't true. It couldn't be true.

Your mind scrambled for reasons, for excuses. Tara would never do something like that—not to you.

You knew her, didn't you? She was loyal, maybe reckless when alcohol hit her senses, but not cruel.

And Brian? Sure, you didn't know him as well, not as deeply as you thought you knew Tara, but you'd grown up in the same spaces. You'd been close enough to see him on the field while you stayed on the sidelines, cheering from afar.

Your stomach twisted again, bile rising in your throat as you forced yourself to ask the question, the only question that might give you an out.

"Are you sure it was them?" Your voice was quiet, barely audible over the music, but the words came out steady despite the pounding in your chest.

You clung to the hope that Aria had been wrong, that she had seen someone else, that this was all some stupid misunderstanding.

Aria tilted her head at you, her expression slightly confused, as if she couldn't understand why you were asking. "Oh yeah," she said, her tone as casual as if she were talking about the weather. "They were making out in the kitchen too. It was pretty gnarly."

Her words hit like a second blow, stealing the breath from your lungs.

She didn't even seem fazed, just took a lazy sip from her red cup, her lips curling into that same amused smile.

The ringing in your ears grew louder, drowning out the music, the chatter of the party, the sound of your own breathing. Your fingers twitched at your sides, your body frozen between fight and flight, between storming upstairs and pretending this wasn't happening.

Because it wasn't happening. It couldn't be.

You scanned the room desperately, your gaze darting between the couples tangled up on couches, slipping away toward the stairs. People you didn't know. People who didn't matter. It could be anyone upstairs, couldn't it? There were so many people here, so many faces that blurred together in the haze of alcohol and sweat and flashing lights.

But the image of them—Tara and Brian, together, doing what Aria said—burned behind your eyes like a brand.

The bass of the music pounded in your chest, an unrelenting rhythm that only made the nausea clawing at your throat worse.

You couldn't stay in there. The walls felt like they were shrinking, the air thick and stifling as if every breath you took was doing nothing. Your chest was tight, your stomach turning violently, and the music was a cruel, unrelenting pulse in your skull. You felt like you might throw up, or cry, or both.

But you couldn't. Not here. Not in front of Aria, not in front of anyone.

You turned sharply, barely aware of the steps your feet took as you wove your way through the crowd. It was a blur of faces and noise, laughter and voices blending into a shapeless roar.

Your legs felt shaky, your knees unsteady, but you kept moving, forcing yourself toward the front door like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

The cool night air hit you the second you stepped outside, but it didn't bring the relief you were hoping for. Your breaths were shallow and fast, coming out in sharp gasps that did nothing to ease the tightness in your chest.

You stumbled down the steps, the wooden ground feeling unsteady beneath your feet, your hand brushing the railing just to keep yourself upright.

It was quiet outside, but not enough.

The ringing in your ears wouldn't stop, and it wasn't the music anymore—it was the words Aria had said, looping in your head like a cruel joke. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep going, the gravel crunching beneath your shoes as you moved further down the walkway, away from the house and the noise and the suffocating heat.

Tears burned at the edges of your eyes, blurring the porch lights and casting halos around the shadows. You blinked rapidly, trying to force them back, but it was no use. They slipped free anyway, streaking down your face in hot, silent trails.

Your hand shot up to your mouth, your fingers pressing hard against your trembling lips as if that would stop the tears, stop the shaking in your chest. You couldn't breathe—your lungs refused to fill no matter how hard you tried, and the ache in your throat only grew sharper with every failed attempt.

You leaned against the wooden railing at the base of the stairs, gripping it so tightly your knuckles ached. The nausea rose again, sharp and overwhelming, and you hunched forward slightly, gasping for air like you'd just run a marathon. The tears came faster now, hot and relentless, and you gave up trying to fight them.

Your mind screamed that it wasn't true, that it couldn't be true. Aria was drunk—she had to be wrong.

There were so many couples here, so many people sneaking away. She probably confused them with someone else. But even as you tried to convince yourself, you could feel the doubt creeping in, winding its way around your chest and squeezing tighter and tighter.

It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. It couldn't be Tara. It couldn't be Brian.

___

Tara laid on her back, staring at the ceiling, the hazy glow of the bedside lamp casting uneven shadows across the cracked plaster.

Her chest rose and fell quickly, her breath catching in her throat like a sob she wouldn't let out. The room reeked of sweat and stale alcohol, and every inch of her skin felt wrong—sticky and stifled, like it didn't belong to her anymore.

The air felt heavy and suffocating, the dull thrum of the music outside the door a distant reminder that the party was still going on. But in this room—in this bed—everything had gone horribly, irreversibly wrong.

She could still feel Brian beside her, his warmth radiating off the sheets they had shared, and it made her skin crawl. Every nerve felt raw, exposed, and the sweat slicking her skin wasn't from exertion or alcohol anymore—it was shame, seeping out of her pores and clinging to her like a second skin.

She sat up abruptly, the motion making her dizzy, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The room tilted for a second, and she dug her nails into the mattress to steady herself.

The sheet slipped down her shoulders, and she yanked it off like it had burned her.

She couldn't even look at Brian, couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. She didn't need to; his lazy grin was practically tangible in the air, smug and satisfied in a way that made her want to throw up.

Her mind raced, fragments of the last hour playing on a loop she couldn't stop.

The way he had touched her, kissed her—none of it had felt like it was supposed to. It had been mechanical, hollow, every moment an act she had performed because she had to. Because she was the one who had started it.

She pressed her palms against her forehead, digging her fingertips into her temples like she could claw the memories out. She hadn't wanted him.

Not really. But she had kissed him first, hadn't she? She had leaned in when she shouldn't have, her lips brushing his in a moment of weakness, confusion, or something she couldn't even name.

And he'd kissed her back. Of course, he had. Because he was an idiot.

From there, it had spiraled—hands that didn't belong on her skin, whispers she didn't want to hear, a weight pressing her down until she felt like she couldn't breathe.

She had gone along with it, letting herself sink into the numbness because it was easier than facing the truth. She had laughed when he made a joke, arched her back when he touched her, gasped in all the right places like she wasn't dying inside.

Like she wasn't drowning in disgust.

But the truth was suffocating now, wrapping around her throat like a noose. She had let it happen. Worse—she had made it happen.

Her body felt heavy, her limbs sluggish as she stood and began searching for her clothes. Your shirt lay crumpled at the foot of the bed, but when she reached for it, her hand froze. She couldn't put it back on. It didn't feel right. Nothing felt right.

Your shirt. Tossed carelessly over the back of a chair in the corner, the one you had given to her earlier. Because you thought this night would be fun, for both of you.

You had wanted her to come.

The sight and thought of it sent a pang through her chest, sharp and unbearable, but she grabbed it anyway.

She pulled it over her head, the familiar fabric brushing against her skin, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like a lifeline. Like she could pretend this hadn't happened. That it wasn't real.

But the sweat was still there, sticky and vile against her skin, and no amount of fabric could hide it. It felt like it had seeped into her soul, tainting her in a way that no amount of scrubbing would ever erase.

Brian shifted on the bed behind her, and she stiffened.

"Tara," he said, his voice low and lazy, like he had just woken up from a nap. "What's the rush? Come back here.”

She didn't even look at him. Her jaw clenched as she yanked her skirt on, her fingers fumbling with the piece. The lump in her throat grew thicker with every second, threatening to choke her.

"Seriously, are you mad or something?" he asked, a hint of confusion creeping into his tone.

Her response was the click of the door latch.

The hallway felt brighter than it should have, the overhead light buzzing faintly as her bare feet padded against the cool floor. She could feel the stares the moment she emerged, the way the noise in the hallway quieted just slightly as people turned to look.

Her stomach twisted, bile rising in her throat as she caught sight of a group of guys leaning against the wall. One of them smirked at her, elbowing his friend, and she wanted to scream. She could feel their assumptions, their judgments, and the heat of their eyes burned into her skin.

Someone let out a low whistle as she passed, and her fists clenched at her sides.

She kept her head down, her hair falling like a curtain around her face as she descended the stairs. Each step felt heavier than the last, her legs trembling under the weight of what she had done.

The air felt colder when she reached the ground floor, the faint draft from the open door biting at her skin. She scanned the room automatically, her eyes searching for you, even though she wasn't sure she could face you now.

But you weren't there.

The corner where you had stood earlier was empty, the space where she should have been—where she wanted to be—gaping and hollow. Her chest tightened, her heart pounding so loud she could barely hear the music anymore.

She didn't know what she would say when she found you. If she would tell you the truth or if the words would choke her before they ever left her lips. But she knew she needed to see you. Right now.

Because this—this thing that had just happened—it wasn't who she was. It wasn't who she wanted to be. And it wasn't supposed to happen.

It wasn't supposed to happen.

Her breath hitched as her gaze swept over the empty space where you should have been. Her chest felt like it was caving in, the weight of your absence pressing against her ribs.

She lingered at the base of the stairs, her hand gripping the banister so tightly her knuckles turned white. The urge to turn around, to flee back up the stairs and disappear into the bathroom, was almost overwhelming.

Her hands moved to her hair, fingers threading through the strands as she tugged at the roots, trying to ground herself. Her mind raced with thoughts she didn't want to think.

The walls of the house felt like they were closing in, the noise of the party distorting and warping around her. She could still feel Brian's touch, still feel the sweat clinging to her skin, and it made her stomach churn violently.

She wanted to throw up. God, she needed to throw up. She wanted to purge every trace of him from her body, like vomiting would somehow erase what she'd done. Her body screamed at her to turn back, to lock herself in the bathroom upstairs and sob into her hands until the party was over. Until she could leave without facing you.

Because seeing you would mean telling you. And she didn't want to. She didn't want to tell you.

Her chest heaved as the thought of your face swam into her mind, unbidden and crystal clear. She could already see it—your wide, questioning eyes, the way your lips would part, trembling as the realization hit.

It would look just like it had when you were kids, back when Tara had lied to you about something stupid or broken a promise. The memory of it felt like a punch to her gut, and she nearly doubled over with the force of it.

She didn't want to see that look on your face again. She couldn't bear it.

But she had to.

Tara's legs felt rooted to the ground, her body teetering on the edge of a decision she didn't want to make. Her nails dug into her scalp, her breath quick and uneven as she fought the overwhelming urge to run.

Every instinct screamed at her to hide, to shove this moment into some dark corner of her mind and bury it where it couldn't hurt either of you.

But she couldn't.

She had to find you. She had to see you. Because no matter how much she didn't want to face what she'd done, no matter how disgusted she felt with herself, she knew that running wasn't an option.

Her feet finally moved, one step at a time, as if the very act of walking was a war against gravity. She let her hands fall from her hair, clenching them at her sides, and forced herself to keep moving. The knot in her stomach tightened with every step, but she pressed forward anyway.

Because she owed you the truth. Even if it destroyed her.

Tara scanned the dance floor, her eyes darting from one face to another, searching desperately for a glimpse of you. The flashing lights and shifting bodies blurred together, and no matter how hard she looked, no head turned out to be yours. The longer she searched, the harder it became to breathe. Panic clawed at her chest, her stomach twisting tighter with every passing second.

Then she saw Aria.

Tara didn't know Aria—not really—but she recognized her. She'd seen the two of you together before, laughing at something Tara hadn't been privy to. And now Aria was looking at her, eyebrows raised, her lips curled into an amused smirk that made Tara's skin crawl.

Before Tara could decide what to do, Aria lifted her hand, her painted nails catching the light, and pointed to the door.

Tara froze.

It wasn't the gesture itself that hit her; it was what it meant. Aria had caught her looking, and she knew. Whether it was some instinct, some unspoken understanding, or just Aria being perceptive, it didn't matter. She knew.

Tara swallowed hard, her throat dry. She didn't know why Aria was pointing, but she could only guess it had something to do with you.

Had you gone outside? Or had you left entirely?

Her feet moved before her mind could catch up, carrying her toward the door. If there was even a chance you were out there, she had to find you. She couldn't let you leave, not without telling you.

The knot in her stomach tightened, her pulse pounding in her ears as she pushed through the crowd. Tara didn't look back at Aria—she couldn't. Whatever silent judgment lingered in that smirk would haunt her later. For now, all that mattered was finding you.

So, she pushed through the crowd, the sweaty, swaying bodies pressing against her as the stench of spilled beer and cheap cologne filled her nose.

Her breaths came fast and shallow, the air in the house too thick, too stifling. She couldn't stop imagining what she'd see when she finally found you—if you were even still here. If you weren't, she wasn't sure she could handle it.

Her nerves twisted into something sharp and unbearable, clawing at her insides.

How could she look you in the eye? How could she possibly explain that she'd ruined everything?

Every step closer to the door made her chest tighten. She couldn't picture your face, not without picturing the moment it would change—when you'd realize what she'd done.

How your eyes would harden, your lips press together, and then your expression would crumple like it always did when you were trying not to cry. That was what would kill her. That look.

And then what? Would you ever speak to her again? Would you ever let her near you again? She'd ruined everything. All of it.

When she finally shoved her way to the front door and pushed it open, the cold air hit her like a slap. Her bare legs prickled, and the chill seeped into her skin, but it wasn't enough to wash away the sweat clinging to her body.

That disgusting, sticky sweat that felt like a mark of her guilt. She shuddered, her arms crossing over her chest as she stepped out onto the porch.

She looked around carefully, her heart pounding. The street was mostly quiet, save for the faint thrum of music from the house and the occasional passing car. For a moment, she thought you weren't there, and her stomach dropped.

But then she saw you.

You were sitting on the stairs, hunched over slightly, your arms wrapped around yourself as if trying to block out the cold. The soft light from the porch cast a faint glow over you, illuminating the curve of your shoulder, the tilt of your head.

Tara froze.

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she couldn't move. Couldn't think. She just stood there, staring at you, her hands trembling at her sides. The weight of what she'd done pressed down harder than ever, making her legs feel like they might give out beneath her.

You were right there. Right in front of her. And she had no idea what to say.

For a second, Tara wanted to turn around again. Her feet twitched like they might carry her back inside, up to that bathroom where she could lock the door and collapse on the tile floor. She didn't have to tell you. She couldn't tell you. She couldn't even look at you.

Her chest heaved, her breath catching as she stared at the back of your head. You sat there so still, so quiet, and she felt like an intruder just being here, like her very presence was an assault on whatever moment of peace you were trying to hold onto.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't tell you.

Her stomach twisted, the nausea bubbling up again, and she swore the sweat clinging to her skin got colder, thicker. The words she needed to say tangled in her throat, choking her. She didn't dare to move. Didn't dare to speak.

But then, before she could stop herself, before her brain could stop her body, her mouth opened.

And your name slipped out.

"Y/N?"

It was small, barely audible over the faint hum of the night. Raspy, broken, like it had been clawed out of her throat. It wasn't even a word, really—just a sound, raw and desperate, heavy with everything she couldn't say.

You flinched, your shoulders jerking upward like a startled reflex, the same way you always did when something scared you.

It was such a specific little quirk, one Tara had known since you were kids—how your hands would shoot up, brushing at your face as if shielding yourself from something unseen.

It almost made her smile. Almost.

But she didn't deserve to smile around you anymore. Not after what she'd done. The thought hit her like a slap, and whatever faint curve had started forming on her lips immediately dropped.

You didn't need to look back to know who it was. That voice was ingrained in you like muscle memory. It was the same voice that had yelled your name when the ice cream truck jingled down the street, excitement cracking through every syllable.

The same voice that had pleaded between gasps of laughter, "Y/N, stop! Please, I'm begging!" when you'd tickled her so hard she'd collapsed onto the carpet, tears of joy streaming down her face.

But you did look back.

And when you did, Tara's breath caught in her throat.

Your face was streaked with faint trails of tears—not many, just a few—but they were enough to break her all over again. Enough to twist that growing knot in her stomach so tight it felt like it would crush her from the inside out.

Your mascara was still perfect, though. Of course, it was. Everything about you always seemed perfect. You looked beautiful, even now, even when the evidence of your sadness glimmered faintly under the dim porch light.

But then there was the look on her face, the faint crease of her brows, the way her lips parted like she couldn't quite piece it all together. Why were you crying? Did you already know?

Or was it something else?

Had someone else hurt you tonight? Had someone been rude to you, said something that cut too deep?

Her chest tightened at the thought, an instinctive protectiveness surging up despite the shame gnawing at her. If someone had hurt you, if someone had dared to make you cry, she'd—

But then it hit her: it didn't matter. Whatever had happened, whoever had said or done whatever—it wouldn't erase what she'd done.

She didn't know what to say.

Her mind was blank, drowning under waves of guilt and shame that threatened to pull her under, her breath catching painfully in her throat. What was she supposed to say? How could she possibly say it? Every sentence she tried to form shattered before it could even reach her lips, the jagged pieces cutting deeper into her as the silence stretched on.

And yet, even as her chest heaved, even as her hands trembled, and every instinct screamed at her to speak—to do something—Tara stood frozen. She stood there, her entire world crumbling beneath her feet, unable to find the words that might save her from this moment.

But she didn't have to think.

Because you spoke first.

"Is it true?"

Your voice wasn't loud or sharp. It wasn't angry or demanding.

It was soft. Raspy. Raw, like it hurt just to speak.

And it was worse than anything Tara had prepared herself for.

The sound of your voice sliced through her like a blade, sharper than anything she had ever felt. Her stomach twisted violently, a sickening churn that made her want to double over. The cold night air wasn't enough to stop the heat rushing to her face, or the prickling sensation behind her eyes that threatened to spill over.

Her breath hitched, and for a second, the world around her seemed to stop.

Tara froze, her heart slamming against her ribcage as though it were trying to escape.

You knew.

The realization hit her like a freight train, leaving her reeling, unable to breathe, unable to think. You knew, and she hadn't even been the one to tell you.

Her chest constricted painfully, her shame deepening into something far more unbearable. Who had told you? Who?

The question burned in her mind, the thought of someone else's voice breaking this news to you making her stomach churn with nausea and fury. She wanted to scream. She wanted to punch whoever it was. To yell at them for stealing this moment from her, for forcing this confrontation before she'd had a chance to figure out what to do—how to fix it.

But then another, far more horrifying thought crept in.

Were you talking about Brian?

Were you talking about what she'd done with him?

Or was it something else entirely?

The flicker of hope—the desperate, irrational wish that this wasn't about what she had done—was crushed almost immediately under the unbearable weight of her guilt.

It had to be about Brian.

It had to be.

Her throat tightened, her mouth dry as the silence stretched on between you. She needed to say something, to explain, to beg you to forgive her. But she couldn't move, couldn't force the words out of her throat.

Her knees felt weak, her chest heavy, like she might collapse at any moment. All she could do was stand there, trembling and small, as the world continued to crumble around her.

"No," she said finally, the word slipping out too fast, too sharp, too desperate.

The sound of her own voice made her wince, the harshness of it only amplifying the crack in her composure. She swallowed hard, her chest heaving as she tried to reel herself back in.

"I mean..." Her voice broke, cracked open like a wound as she scrambled for some semblance of control. "What are you talking about?

Her words sounded weak, hollow, dripping with guilt so heavy she felt like it might crush her. She hated how obvious it was. How every crack in her voice betrayed the truth she was trying so hard to deny.

Her hands were trembling now, clenched into tight fists at her sides as if holding onto herself would stop her from falling apart entirely. But it wasn't enough.

Silence passed between you, thick and suffocating, wrapping around Tara like a noose.

She thought she heard you sniffle, a soft, broken sound that barely reached her ears but still managed to pierce her heart. It sent a fresh wave of guilt crashing down on her, nearly knocking the air from her lungs.

Her chest ached with the overwhelming urge to do something—to move, to reach for you, to fix this. She wanted to sit down next to you, to wrap her arms around you and hug you so tight you could barely breathe.

Like she always used to.

Like she had done every time you cried about the thought of never having Brian. How she would shush you, brush her fingers through your hair, and promise that no one would ever make you feel that way again.

But this wasn't like those times.

This wasn't her comforting you over some distant, unreachable heartbreak.

Now, you were crying because of her.

Tara's breath hitched as the thought echoed in her mind, her legs trembling as she fought the overwhelming instinct to fall to her knees in front of you, to beg you to tell her how to make this right. But the guilt—the shame—kept her rooted in place, her fingers digging into her palms as she struggled to keep herself upright.

She wanted to say something. To ask if you were okay. If you were mad. If you hated her.

But then you spoke, and everything around her shattered.

"Did you fuck him?"

Your voice was quiet, soft in a way that somehow made the question even sharper. It wasn't an accusation or a scream—it wasn't even a demand.

It was a plea.

And that made it worse.

Tara swore the ground beneath her feet disappeared, a sickening freefall that left her stomach in knots. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out, her throat tightening like a vice as the words refused to form.

She could barely breathe, barely think, as your question lingered in the air, heavy and unbearable. You didn't look at her as you said it, your head tilted slightly away, as though the very idea of meeting her gaze hurt too much.

And God, she wanted to fall apart right then and there. To drop to her knees and tell you everything. To grab your hands and promise you that she didn't mean for this to happen.

But all she could do was stand there, her chest rising and falling in uneven gasps as the question echoed in her ears.

Tara couldn't hold it in anymore.

Her hands felt clammy, trembling at her sides as tears blurred her vision, spilling over before she could even blink them away.

Her chest ached, heaving with shallow, panicked breaths that she couldn't seem to steady. And then, when she opened her mouth to speak, her voice cracked—fragile and uneven, the way it always did when she tried to talk through her tears.

"I'm sorry," she almost sobbed, the words escaping her lips before she could stop them.

Her voice trembled, heavy with guilt and desperation, breaking apart on the syllables like she couldn't even hold herself together long enough to say the words properly.

She felt her knees buckle, her legs trembling under the weight of everything she'd been holding in. It was too much, far too much, and she swore she was going to collapse right there in front of you.

She couldn't even pretend it hadn't happened. She didn't have it in her to lie to you—not to you. Not ever.

Not since you were kids, when you could always tell if she was hiding something. She could never play Mafia with you during those endless summer afternoons because she couldn't keep a secret from you, not even a small one. You always saw right through her, always caught her when she tried.

And now, you'd caught her again.

Tara's throat felt raw, her tears spilling faster now as her whole body seemed to betray her, shaking like she couldn't stand under the weight of her own shame.

You didn't say anything.

Tara couldn't even make out your body language—not with the way her tears blurred her vision, turning you into a hazy shape against the dim light of the porch. It made her feel even smaller, even more pathetic, knowing she couldn't even look at you properly. The space between you both felt impossibly vast, though you were so close.

Her sobs came in uneven gasps, too loud, too sharp, filling the silence like a jagged edge tearing through her. It was almost unbearable, the way the quiet stretched on, the way you didn't speak or move. It felt like you were waiting, like you were letting her cries settle into the air before either of you could do anything else.

And eventually, they did.

Tara's sobs began to quiet, the frantic hitching in her chest slowing to an uneven rhythm. She was still crying, though. The tears kept falling, one after the other, hot and relentless, dripping down her cheeks and onto the ground beneath her.

Her breaths were shaky, catching now and then like she might start up again, but the storm was beginning to fade.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, quieter this time, but no less desperate. She was clinging to the words like they were her last hope, like repeating them enough might somehow make them mean more, make them matter.

But the silence between you both pressed back at her, heavy and suffocating, and she didn't know what else to do.

Then you spoke.

Tara's breath caught at the sound of your voice, soft and filled with emotion, yet still unmistakably yours—the voice everyone loved. It was steady, even now, even when it shouldn't have been.

She could see it, imagine it, the way everyone at school hung on your every word during presentations. The way people complimented you, envied you for the way you spoke so clearly, so beautifully.

But now, it wasn't a presentation.

"It's fine," you said, so softly it almost sounded like a sigh.

Tara froze, her whole body stiffening at the words.

A brief silence followed, and she felt her heart pounding in her chest, each beat echoing louder in her ears. And then you continued.

"You could've told me you liked him, Tara... because I didn't know that you did."

You still weren't looking at her, but Tara could hear the strain in your voice. The slight quiver that betrayed you were on the verge of crying. She could picture it—the tears welling in your eyes, the way you'd blink them back like you always did, refusing to let them fall until you were alone.

And it shattered her.

Anger and sorrow crashed over her in waves, pulling her under until she could barely think, barely breathe.

Why would you say it was fine? How could you say it was fine? It wasn't.

It couldn't be fine.

Tara wanted you to spit in her face, slap her so hard her cheek stung, shove her down the porch stairs— anything to show her how much she'd hurt you. Anything to prove she hadn't ruined this for nothing. Anything to show that what she'd done mattered.

But she wasn't surprised.

You were a forgiver. Always.

You forgave the girl who spread rumors about you in middle school, the bus driver who skipped your stop in the pouring rain, Sam when she didn't make enough food for dinner when you were over and you had to go hungry. Every time, you brushed it off with a smile and moved on.

And now, even this.

But Tara couldn't take it. She couldn't stand that you thought she liked Brian, even for a second.

Liked him? She despised him.

She hated him so much it burned, hate so deep it made her sick to her stomach. She hated the way he smirked, the way he touched her, the way she could still feel his hands on her skin if she thought about it too long. She hated his voice, his eyes, his existence.

How could you not see that? How could you not understand that you were the one she wanted? That it had always been you.

"I..." Her voice cracked as the words clawed their way up her throat. "I don't like him."

It was barely audible, so soft and stammering that she wasn't sure you even heard it.

But she couldn't say more.

She wanted to. The words were right there on the tip of her tongue—I like you.

But she couldn't say them.

Of course, she couldn't.

Tara didn't know if you'd heard her. She couldn't tell, and she wasn't sure if it even mattered. It wasn't like she could confess that she'd loved you since the day you two were each other's first kiss at ten years old.

Even then, it hadn't been serious—just a joke, a silly little "practice" kiss to prepare for middle school. But Tara had carried it with her ever since.

She watched as you stood up from your makeshift seat on the stairs, brushing off your dress—the dress you'd worn to impress Brian. It was pretty on you, almost too pretty, and Tara hated how much she loved the way you looked in it.

When you turned to face her, the dim light caught your face, and Tara's heart sank at the sight of your teary, bloodshot eyes.

She couldn't tell if they were red from crying or from the alcohol you'd been drinking, and that thought filled her with an ache she couldn't describe. She didn't know how much you'd had to drink after you left the bathroom and disappeared into the party, alone.

But it didn't matter.

You didn't acknowledge her quiet confession.

Instead, you said, "I really don't want to talk to you right now... so I think I'm going to leave."

Your voice was steady, even soft, but it held a distance that made Tara's chest tighten.

You turned away, muttering something about how "it's getting boring anyway," and that was when Tara realized what you were planning. You were going to leave. Alone.

You'd promised to leave together.

Tara had come to the party for you, to take care of you, and now you were walking away.

She saw it before it happened—the way your steps faltered on the stairs, your balance tipping as if you might fall.

Tara was moving before she could think, catching you, her hands gripping your arms tightly to steady you. She felt the panic rise in her throat, her breath hitching at the thought of you stumbling home, drunk and vulnerable, without anyone to protect you.

"I'll call Sam," she said quickly, nervously, brushing her hair behind her ear. Her voice wavered, soft and hesitant. "She'll come pick us up."

But you pulled your arms free from her grip, stepping back.

"I really don't want to be anywhere near you right now," you said, your voice quieter now, but just as sharp. "I'll walk. It's fine."

Tara scrambled for another option, her words tumbling over each other in a frantic rush. "I—I don't have to go with you! I'll call Chad, or Mindy—they'll take you home. Please."

You were already heading down the outdoor stairs, your steps uneven but determined.

"I said it's fine, Tara," you said, your voice cutting through her rambling. You didn't stop, didn't turn to look back.

"I'll walk."

Tara instinctively began to follow you. Her feet moved on their own, driven by the thought of you wobbling down the dark streets, vulnerable in the cold night air. But she stopped herself after a few steps, freezing in place as her guilt pulled her back.

She'd done enough already.

Sleeping with Brian—your crush since you were five—was bad enough. Chasing after you now, invading the space you clearly wanted, would only make things worse. She had no right to follow you, no right to protect you after what she'd done.

So she stayed rooted where she was, watching you disappear into the night. Your steps were uneven, your shoulders hunched against the cold, and Tara could see you trembling. She didn't know if it was from the icy air or the tears she could still hear in your voice, but the thought of either made her stomach twist.

She wanted to help you. She wanted to run after you, throw a jacket around your shoulders, and walk you home, just to make sure you were safe. But she didn't. She couldn't.

It was a long walk to your house from here. Tara knew the streets you'd have to take, how dark and empty they'd be at this hour. The thought of something happening to you made her chest ache, but the weight of her guilt held her back. She couldn't follow you—not when you'd made it so clear you didn't want her there.

Instead, she turned back toward the party, the sounds of music and laughter filtering through the air, mocking her.

She stepped inside, the warmth of the crowded room doing nothing to ease the cold settling deep in her bones. Without you, the party felt hollow. Pointless. She couldn't even remember why she'd agreed to come in the first place—oh, right. You.

Tara lingered near the door, scanning the room as if looking for someone she knew. But no one else mattered. Aria, not Brian, not anyone else who might've offered a distraction.

You weren't here.

And without you, she couldn't stay.

___

friday (11:24pm)

im so sorry y/n

can you text me once you're home so I know you're safe?

11:56pm

did you get home safe?

pls answer

saturday (9:15am)

can you please just text me back?

im sorry. im so sorry.

2:42am

how are you? are you okay?

can i come over so we can talk? please?

2:56am

i don't know what to do... just please answer me. i just want to make things right.

sunday (10:31am)

are you coming to school tomorrow?

1:25 PM

if you want, me and sam can give you a ride. we'll pick you up, i promise.

5:58 PM

please don't shut me out like this.

Tara's eyes were glued to her phone as she pushed through the school doors, her thumb scrolling through the unanswered messages she'd sent over the weekend.

One after another, each one a desperate attempt to reach you, to say something—anything—that might make things better. But the blank screen staring back at her was the only response she'd gotten.

At first, when the silence stretched into the early hours of Saturday, Tara was terrified. She couldn't shake the thought that something might have happened to you.

Her imagination ran wild—someone approaching you while you were walking home, dragging you into the shadows. Her chest tightened every time she pictured it, and no matter how tightly she wrapped herself in her blanket, she couldn't stop shaking.

It wasn't until she remembered Life360 and checked your location that she finally exhaled. You were home. Safe. She stared at the little pin marking your house for what felt like hours, the relief flooding her body so quickly it made her dizzy. But the relief didn't last long.

The rest of the weekend was a haze of disgust and self-loathing. Tara couldn't eat. Every time she tried, her stomach twisted, and she had to stop before she threw up.

She spent most of the time curled up in her room, alternating between clutching her phone and pacing like a trapped animal. The guilt was unbearable. Every second she replayed the night in her head, wishing she could take it back, wishing she could erase the hurt she'd caused you.

Now, walking through the school hallways, the weight in her chest felt heavier than ever. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to face the stares, the whispers she knew were waiting for her. It felt like everyone could see through her, like they all knew what she'd done.

But to her surprise, the whispers weren't as loud as she'd expected—if they were there at all.

A few people glanced her way, and while some looks were judgmental, others seemed... impressed. Tara's stomach churned at the thought. She didn't want their admiration, their approval for something so vile.

She made her way to her locker, her steps dragging with every step closer. Your locker was right next to hers, and she'd been bracing herself to see you there, to finally face you in the harsh fluorescent light of the school hallway. But when she arrived, the space next to hers was empty.

Tara stood frozen at her locker for a moment before typing a quick message, her fingers moving faster than her thoughts. She wasn't expecting an answer—she hadn't received one all weekend—but the hope still lingered as she sent it anyway:

are u not coming?

are u really going to put me through history with mrs. johnson alone?

She stared at the screen for a few seconds, almost willing the writing bubble to appear. It didn't.

Sighing, Tara grabbed her books slowly, dragging out the process as if that would somehow make time pass faster—or maybe just delay the moment she'd have to admit you weren't coming.

When nothing changed, her frustration bubbled up. What else could she do? She'd apologized, begged, and explained everything she could think of.

And yet, you still weren't here, still weren't answering. With a sharp slam, she shut her locker harder than she meant to, the sound echoing down the hallway and turning a few heads. Tara didn't care.

Clutching her books against her chest, she walked toward her first class, her eyes darting to her phone every few steps. Maybe this time, the bubble would be there.

Maybe this time, you'd reply. But the screen stayed empty, and the knot in her stomach tightened with every passing second.

As she rounded the corner, her head down and shoulders tense, someone grabbed her forearm.

The sudden force pulled her off balance, dragging her closer to them in one quick, fluid motion.

Her heart skipped, and for a split second, she thought it was you. The possibility almost made her legs give out. But as her eyes darted up, the hope drained out of her when she saw who it really was.

Brian.

Her stomach twisted violently at the sight of him, and her body tensed as she tried to pull her arm free.

Brian let her arm go as quickly as he had grabbed it, holding his hands up slightly in mock surrender. "Whoa, didn't mean to scare you," he said, his voice softening. He must've seen the tension etched into her face—the way she couldn't even hide how much she didn't want to be there.

He shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "Look, I know we didn't exactly leave things on the best terms..." His words trailed off, and then he let out a nervous laugh. "You know, after you left me alone just minutes after we, uh... finished."

Tara's stomach churned, her jaw tightening. She avoided his gaze, but her silence only seemed to encourage him to keep going.

"I guess I'm just a little confused," Brian admitted, his tone dipping with hesitation. "I mean, you left like... like it burned you or something."

It did, Tara thought bitterly, the memory flashing in her mind like an open flame she couldn't put out.

"But..." he continued, stepping a little closer, "I really liked it."

Tara flinched at his words, the knot in her chest tightening with every syllable.

"And I think you're a great girl," Brian added, his voice soft and earnest, like he thought he was paying her some grand compliment.

She nearly scoffed. A great girl? The thought made her want to laugh or cry—or both. She wasn't a great girl. A great girl wouldn't have lost her best friend over a guy she didn't even want. A guy who was now standing in front of her, completely clueless to the destruction he'd unintentionally helped cause.

And then he said it.

"So... I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me?" He paused, his eyes hopeful. "You know, just try again?"

Brian looked sincere as he waited for her response. Nice, even. Of course he was—he had to be. You wouldn't fall for a prick.

At first, Tara wanted to spit in his face. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to tell him that she never wanted to see him again, let alone entertain the idea of going out with him.

As if sleeping with him hadn't been enough to upend her entire world.

Why wasn't he asking you out? That question burned in her mind. He'd kissed you first, flirted with you first. He'd made you feel special. So why was he standing here, looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered? Why wasn't he chasing you?

Her chest tightened as anger bubbled just beneath her skin, hot and unrelenting. But then, as she looked at him, something shifted. His face wasn't smug or calculating—it was sincere. He looked like he meant it, like he actually wanted this, and the fire in her chest began to dull. Her expression softened against her will.

Did he really want to be with her?

The thought felt impossible at first, but the longer she considered it, the more it began to make sense. Or at least, she convinced herself it did.

Because you weren't coming back to her. That much was clear. You hadn't answered a single text, and you weren't waiting at her locker like you always did. You didn't even want to look at her, let alone talk. And why would you? She'd ruined everything.

The ache of losing you hit her again, sharp and suffocating. You were her best friend—her only true friend. And now? She had no one. Sure, there were Mindy, Chad, and Anika, but they didn't share the same schedule. She didn't see them enough to cling to them like she clung to you.

So what else was she supposed to do? The least she could do was try to fill that void with something. With someone.

And Brian... well, he was here. He wanted her—or at least, he seemed to. Maybe this could go the right way. Maybe this could be enough.

Tara swallowed hard, trying to steady her thoughts.

It wasn't about replacing you—not really. Nothing could. But if you weren't coming back, if you weren't going to forgive her, what was she supposed to do? Sit alone, wallowing in her mistakes while you moved on without her?

The sincerity in his voice and the way he looked at her—like she wasn't the terrible person she knew she was—made it easier to rationalize. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea. He wasn't a bad guy, after all. He was sweet in his own way, and clearly, he liked her. That had to count for something, right?

You wouldn't even care. The thought stung, but it came unbidden. You were probably glad to be done with her. Maybe she was the only one left mourning what you'd had.

So Tara forced herself to take a deep breath, her gaze softening completely as she met Brian's eyes.

"Sure, I'd love to."

[loveanddeepdick]

gummy dummy ᯓᡣ𐭩

childhood bff!yuta okkotsu x f!reader || part 2 to gummy bear fic

warnings: none! there’s no real plot it’s just short dabbles of domestic fluff + suggestive at some parts. yuta is a bit of a perv (he steals your panties and just loooves watching you) >.<

summary: it’s been months after you and yuta had reunited and after you two became official after the long night of pent up sex. he moved in with you which only made sense and you two became intertwined again in each others lives. but how have you two been doing?

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

“yuuu!!” you called out to him from the kitchen of your shared apartment, “help me open this jar!!”.

thankfully, he helped you unpack your belongings into the apartment, moving his things in shortly after as well. however, his small secret was that he made the jars extra, extra tight. knowing your little corporate job didn’t require you to be physically strong so he took advantage of it, being there to open every jar, every container, and every bottle. he just found it cute.

“coming, gummy bear” he called out, his calm voice drawing closer as his soft footsteps approached, pressing into your back as he enveloped you. “need help again?”.

you nodded as you watched him open the jar with easy, smiling happily as you took it from him. sending him off to go back to whatever he was doing with a kiss.

“thanks, yu!”

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

you noticed after a while, your panties had gone missing one by one. well, there was only one culprit; your quiet and calm boyfriend who you already knew was a pervert deep down.

you knew he had them, you just had no clue where he put them. you searched everywhere, his sock drawer, under the bed, in the bathroom, cabinets, everything. then you had a small lightbulb moment. you knew he kept a box in his closet, full of memories of you two when you were younger. it was full of trinkets, letters, photos, everything. you opened it with a victorious grin which grew to annoyance. what a pervert!!!

“yuta okkotsu! get your ass in here right!! now!!” you called out to him from your shared bedroom. he quickly rushed in, knowing you only used his full name in serious situations. he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you standing, hand on your hip, the other one holding the box which was supposed to hold only nostalgic memories, filled with your used, dirty panties.

“care to explain, hm?”

he smiled sheepishly, knowing he was in for a ride when you grabbed him by his wrist, pulling him onto the bed.

“gummy bear, please go easy on me.. i couldn’t help it!”

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

saying your parents were overjoyed when you revealed that not only were you back in touch with yuta, but dating him as well, was a big understatement. they begged you two to come visit so you did.

you brought him back to your childhood home and he was greeted by open arms by your parents, bombarding him with questions of where he’d been, how we even met again, and doting on him for how handsome he’d grown to be.

“you’ve grown into a fine, young man!” you dad proudly chided, patting his back as he led him inside.

“oh, yuta, you look so different! your hairs so long! i am just so happy it’s you coming back to our home and not this rowdy girl’s stupid guys she kept bringing home!” your mom sent you a playful glare back. you saw yuta slightly tense up at the mention of it, but you rubbed his arm in a comforting manner, easing him again.

you four were all sitting in the living room, listening to yuta run through the past couple years, telling them about his trip to africa when your mom accidentally let her thoughts slip out,

“so! when are you giving us a grandbaby?”, your mom smiled.

yuta nearly fainted.

[mywhisperingwords]

want your midnights | george f. weasley

summary: you teach george about some muggle traditions word count: 1.6k masterlist

“This Muggle tradition… what exactly is it?” Arthur Weasley asked, his curiosity alight as the Christmas festivities at the Burrow wound down.

“It’s a way to celebrate the end of one year and the beginning of another,” Hermione explained patiently. “It usually involves singing, dancing, and other festivities. People stay up until midnight and count down the seconds. Then they shoot off fireworks.”

At the mention of fireworks, you could almost feel the sharp turn of Fred and George’s gazes toward Hermione. Mr. Weasley’s face lit up with intrigue, his trademark fascination with all things Muggle clearly piqued.

This little discussion had only started because of a casual comment you’d made to Hermione earlier.

Growing up, you’d loved celebrating the holidays with your family—filled with traditions and superstitions that were magical in their own way, even without wands or spells. But now you were older, and though you cherished these memories, you’d started spending the holidays with friends instead. It made sense, but it didn’t make this year any easier—it was your first without your family.

“Finally, a Muggle invention I can get behind,” Fred declared, his voice breaking through your thoughts as he approached with his characteristic grin.

“Seems they weren’t as boring as one might’ve thought,” George added, sidling up beside Hermione. Unlike Fred, though, his gaze was focused on you.

“So, do tell us, Mine,” Fred said, leaning in conspiratorially. “How does one go about celebrating this so-called Muggle tradition?”

Before Hermione could answer, Mrs. Weasley appeared, tea towel in hand, her expression a mix of suspicion and exasperation. “I beg you, Hermione, don’t give them any ideas,” she warned.

Fred and George exchanged a grin that spoke volumes. Whatever ideas were brewing in their minds, they were likely more explosive than Hermione’s explanation.

The talk of New Year’s Eve made you nostalgic, memories of past celebrations with your family surfacing. The pang of longing was sharper than you cared to admit, and perhaps that was why you decided to join the conversation.

“My favorite part has always been the New Year’s resolutions,” you offered quietly.

“What’s that, then?” Arthur asked, his attention swinging to you with the eagerness of a child opening presents.

Before you could answer, Hermione interjected, her tone brisk. “It’s just people setting goals because the calendar changes. Honestly, I think real progress comes from working toward something year-round—not just because it’s January 1st.”

She glanced at you apologetically, realizing too late that her practicality might’ve come across as dismissive. You returned her gaze with a small, reassuring smile. You knew she hadn’t meant any harm—it was just Hermione being Hermione.

“These resolutions,” you explained, “are like promises people make to themselves at the start of the year. It’s a way to mark a fresh start—a chance to become a better version of yourself. I think it’s a beautiful tradition.” A faint smile tugged at your lips.

“Me too,” George said softly, surprising you. His agreement, simple as it was, felt oddly significant.

“What do you think, love?” Arthur asked, turning to Molly with a hopeful smile.

“No Firewhiskey!” she declared firmly, cutting through any mischief before it could take root.

And just like that, plans for a New Year’s Eve party at the Burrow began to take shape—with you and Hermione at the helm.

The Burrow was a flurry of activity. Strings of fairy lights had been charmed to hang themselves across the living room, glowing softly in the dim light. Plates of finger foods hovered over the table, and laughter echoed as Fred and George attempted to enchant a Muggle disco ball.

“You’ll blind someone with that thing!” Ginny hollered from the sofa, shielding her eyes dramatically as the ball emitted a cascade of multicolored sparks.

“Don’t be jealous of our craftsmanship, Gin,” Fred retorted, smirking.

“You mean your craftsmanship. This is clearly my genius,” George corrected, giving the disco ball a smug pat before it spiraled out of control.

Mrs. Weasley bustled past, muttering under her breath as she righted the ball with a quick flick of her wand. “I swear, if anything explodes tonight—”

“We’ll take full responsibility!” Fred called after her, earning a sigh in response.

Despite the chaos, the atmosphere was warm, filled with the kind of energy only the Weasleys could create. Friends filtered in as the night went on, and soon the living room was packed with chatter, music, and the clinking of glasses.

You found yourself weaving through the crowd, smiling at familiar faces but searching for a quieter corner. The noise was wonderful, but it left a small ache in your chest—a reminder of home and your family traditions.

That’s when you spotted George slipping out the back door, his tall frame silhouetted against the moonlit garden. Curiosity tugged at you, and before you realized it, you were following him.

Outside, the crisp air bit at your skin, but it was refreshing after the heat of the crowded living room. George leaned against the railing of the porch, gazing up at the stars with a thoughtful expression.

“Escaping your own party?” you teased as you approached.

He turned, startled for a moment before his lips curved into a small smile. “Needed a breather. You?”

“Same.” You joined him at the railing, the sounds of the celebration muffled behind you. For a moment, neither of you spoke, content to share the quiet.

George broke the silence first. “What’s your New Year’s resolution?”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider your answer. “I can’t tell you, or it won’t happen.”

He raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes. “That’s not how it works. Resolutions aren’t like wishes.”

“Oh, and you’re an expert on Muggle traditions now?” you teased, giving him a pointed look.

“Well, no,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “But I don’t think you’re supposed to keep me in suspense.” He kept quiet for a moment, before asking, “How about another tradition instead?”

You smiled, leaning slightly closer as you explained. “Alright, here’s one for you: kissing someone at midnight means you’ll be with them for the rest of the year.”

George blinked, and for a moment, the only sound was the faint rustling of the wind. Then, his lips curled into a sly grin. “Just the year?”

“Just the year,” you confirmed, though your heart beat a little faster when his eyes didn’t leave yours.

“Well then,” he murmured, voice low and warm, “I suppose I’ll have to do that every year, won’t I?”

You laughed, though it was softer than usual, your cheeks warming against the cold. His expression was teasing, but the sincerity in his gaze lingered long after the moment passed.

“What about you?” you asked, shifting the focus away from yourself. “What’s your resolution?”

George hesitated, the playful air around him faltering for just a second. “Can’t tell you, or it won’t happen,” he mimicked, grinning.

You rolled your eyes, nudging his arm lightly. “Touché.”

The two of you stayed out there for a while longer, talking about everything and nothing. Eventually, the cold drove you both back inside, where the party was in full swing. But as the countdown to midnight crept closer, you couldn’t help but wonder if George’s resolution had something to do with the way he’d looked at you under the stars.

The living room was alive with anticipation as everyone gathered near the clock, the air crackling with excitement. The enchanted disco ball spun lazily overhead, casting shimmering lights across the room. Plates clinked, conversations hummed, and the countdown loomed closer.

“Alright, everyone!” Fred called out, standing on a chair like he was addressing an assembly. “It’s time! Ten seconds to go—don’t mess it up now!”

The room erupted in laughter and shouts of excitement. You found yourself squeezed between Ginny and Hermione, your eyes flicking through the crowd in search of George.

But he was nowhere to be seen.

“Ten!” the group began, voices blending in chaotic unison.

Your heart started to race. Had he slipped outside again?

“Nine!”

You craned your neck, trying to catch a glimpse of his tall frame, but all you could see were the swaying heads of everyone else.

“Eight!”

The disco ball flickered, and you felt Hermione tug on your arm, smiling at you as she yelled the next number. You managed a half-hearted smile in return.

“Seven!”

Where was he?

“Six!”

Your stomach sank a little. You told yourself it was fine—after all, it wasn’t like he had to be there. It wasn’t a big deal.

“Five!”

But maybe it was.

“Four!”

A hand brushed your elbow, and you turned so quickly you nearly collided with him. George stood there, his hair slightly disheveled and cheeks flushed, grinning at you like he’d just pulled off the greatest prank in the world.

“Three!”

“Where were you?” you blurted, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably.

“Had to grab something,” he said cryptically, slipping his hands behind his back.

“Two!”

Your heart jumped into your throat. “George, what—”

“One!”

Before you could finish, he moved faster than you thought possible, dipping his head to capture your lips in a kiss. It wasn’t hurried or awkward—it was soft and warm, full of a quiet kind of confidence that left your knees a little wobbly.

Cheers and whistles erupted around you as everyone shouted, “Happy New Year!”

When George finally pulled back, his grin was nothing short of triumphant. “What were you saying?”

You blinked at him, flustered. “I—what—what did you grab?”

He stepped back just enough to reveal a small, sparkling firework in his hand, the kind that shot out glittery sparks. With a quick flick of his wand, it lit up, fizzling into the shape of a heart before fading away.

“That,” he said simply, his voice soft but his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Happy New Year, love.”

[hnslchw]

a nonsense christmas - LN4 x Reader

Summary: The holidays bring unexpected reunions, stirring up memories you thought were long behind you. As snow falls and emotions rises, you are reminded that sometimes the season isn't about what you planned—but about the surprises that lead to something more.

Warnings/Themes: slight angst, very warm fluff, second chance romance (?) (let me know if i missed any! English isn't my first language)

Word Count: 1.5k

Author's note: Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays here's an early gift for you. Hope you guys enjoy this one, something different from angst for once. I should really start writing for other people, but i dreamt of Lando last night 🤷‍♀️ anyways hugs and kisses to everyone.

You adjusted the strap of the overstuffed gift bag on your shoulder, balancing a smaller box in your other hand. The icy December air nipped at your nose, but the cold did little to dampen your excitement. You’d been looking forward to this for weeks—Pietra always went all out decorating for Christmas, and you couldn’t wait to see her.

The plan was simple: drop off the gifts, catch up with Pietra for a few minutes, and then head off to finish your errands. Even though you were flying out for a winter vacation tomorrow, you’d insisted on squeezing in time for this visit. Spending a bit of the holidays with one of your closest friends was too important to pass up.

The door swung open before you could knock.

“Hey, look who it is!” Max grinned, stepping aside to let you in. The warmth of the apartment hit you immediately, along with the faint hum of Christmas music and laughter from inside.

“Hey, Max!” you said brightly, already looking past him for Pietra. “Where’s P?”

“Right here!” Pietra called, appearing from around the corner. Her face lit up when she saw you, and she hurried over to wrap you in a tight hug.

“You didn’t have to come all this way,” she said, but the warmth in her tone betrayed her words.

“Of course, I did,” you replied with a grin. “I couldn’t miss seeing you before Christmas. And I brought presents!”

Max raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Presents? You’re making us look bad.”

“I doubt that,” you teased, handing Pietra the overstuffed bag.

But before you could say more, a familiar voice floated in from the living room. It was light, teasing, and completely unmistakable.

Lando.

Your breath caught in your throat as you glanced toward the couches. The living room was filled with Max’s friends—Will was sprawled across one side of the couch, laughing loudly at something Niran was saying. But sitting at the edge of the group, holding a beer and smiling softly, was Lando Norris.

You hadn’t seen him in months, not since the two of you had broken up.

Pietra must have noticed your sudden tension because she frowned slightly. “I should have warned you,” she whispered. “I didn’t think you’d run into him.”

You shook your head quickly, pasting on a polite smile. “It’s fine,” you said, though your pulse betrayed you.

As if on cue, Lando glanced over. His gaze met yours, his smile faltering for just a moment before he gave you a small, almost uncertain nod.

“Hey, come say hi!” Max urged, motioning toward the group.

You cleared your throat, taking a step back toward the door. “Actually, I didn’t realize you guys were here. I just wanted to drop off your gifts, but I really need to head out. I’ve got more stops to make, and I’m leaving early tomorrow for my trip.”

“Oh, come on,” Will called from the couch, grinning. “Stay a bit! It’s Christmas.”

You forced a light laugh. “I wish I could, but I’m on a tight schedule. Piet, can you help me grab something from my car? There’s a few more gifts I forgot to bring in.”

Pietra hesitated, clearly wanting to say something, but nodded. “Of course.”

-🎄-

The cold air outside was a welcome reprieve as you and Pietra reached your car. You opened the trunk, pulling out two small packages for Will and Niran and holding a third in your hands. Your grip tightened on the last one as your heart sank.

It was Lando's.

You’d bought it months ago, back when everything felt easy between you. The Cooking Mama game had been a nod to one of your inside jokes—about how he always insisted he’d make a better chef than you despite never stepping foot in a kitchen. You’d pictured him laughing when he opened it, teasing you about how thoughtful you were.

But life had a way of changing plans.

Pietra’s eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced at the package in your hands. “That’s for him, isn’t it?”

You sighed, nodding. “Yeah. I bought it before we broke up.”

“You should still give it to him,” she said gently.

You shook your head. “No. It doesn’t feel right.”

Pietra gave you a small, knowing smile. “Sometimes the right thing doesn’t feel easy. But it’s Christmas—you never know what might happen.”

You hesitated, weighing her words. But before you could decide, the apartment door opened, and Max stuck his head out.

“Hey, everything okay out here?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, passing one of the gifts to Pietra and keeping the others in your arms. “Just finishing up.”

After a round of goodbyes inside, you finally escaped back into the cold evening, your chest heavy with unresolved emotions. As you drove away, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d made the right choice in walking away.

-🎄-

Days later, the mountain air was crisp and cool as you zipped your jacket, your breath visible in the frosty air. The ski resort was picturesque, blanketed in snow and bustling with holiday travelers.

You hadn’t expected to run into anyone familiar here, which was why the sight of Lando standing by the lodge hit you like a shock of cold water.

He noticed you almost immediately, his face a mix of surprise and determination as he crossed the snowy path toward you.

“Hey,” he said softly, his cheeks pink from the cold—or maybe from nerves.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice cautious.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he admitted, his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. “I thought you’d be halfway across the world by now.”

“Change of plans,” you said lightly. “I needed some quiet.”

He hesitated, his eyes scanning your face. “Can we talk?”

Your first instinct was to refuse, to keep walking. But something in his voice—earnest, almost hopeful—made you pause.

“Okay,” you said finally.

-🎄-

An hour later, you were sitting together by the fireplace in the lodge, a steaming mug of hot chocolate in your hands.

“I never got to thank you for the gift,” Lando said suddenly, pulling something out of his bag. It was the Cooking Mama game, the wrapping paper still torn at the edges.

You blinked, startled. “How—?”

“Pietra,” he said, smiling faintly. “She said you’d never forgive her, but she thought I needed to see it.”

You felt your cheeks heat, your heart pounding in your chest. “I bought it months ago,” you admitted. “Before everything… fell apart.”

Lando looked at the game, then back at you. “It’s perfect. But you always knew me better than anyone.”

You looked down at your hands, unsure of what to say.

“I miss you,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet but steady. “And I don’t just mean the jokes or the little things. I miss *us*. And if there’s even the smallest chance we can get that back…”

Your heart twisted as you met his gaze. “I don’t know, Lando. What if—”

“What if we get it right this time?” he interrupted gently.

For a long moment, you just stared at him, the warmth of the fire softening the edges of your hesitation.

“Okay,” you said finally, your lips curving into a small smile.

-🎄-

That night, Christmas Eve, the two of you sat together in your cabin, playing Cooking Mama and laughing like you hadn’t in months. Snow fell softly outside, blanketing the world in quiet peace, but inside, your heart felt lighter than it had in a long time.

It wasn’t the Christmas you had planned, but as Lando smiled at you, his hand brushing against yours, you realized it was exactly what you needed.

[nachrosas]

PADDY | s.reid x daughter!reader

summary: in which your daughter wants to be called paddy because her paddington bear. pairing: spencer reid x daughter!reader content warnings: just a bit of spencer insecurities and childhood, i think? word count: 603 a/n: hope you guys like it and feedback is always appreciated! till the next one!

The sun streamed timidly through the bedroom window, reflecting off the small stickers on the glass. The room was silent, except for the faint sound of pages being turned in a book. Spencer was sitting on the small fluffy rug, surrounded by a pile of books that Olivia, his four-year-old daughter, had rearranged in her own way — in other words, scattered randomly on the floor.

The little girl, her hair still messy from having just woken up, was sitting next to her father with her inseparable Paddington Bear in her little arms. The teddy bear, with his slightly worn red hat, seemed as focused as she was as they both stared at a book with map illustrations.

“Daddy?” she called, without taking her eyes off the book.

“Yes, Chérie?” Spencer replied, while rearranging the books in alphabetical order.

“My name isn't Olivia anymore.”

Spencer looked up, now puzzled. He adjusted his glasses and tilted his head, already accustomed to his daughter's surprisingly complex thoughts — which had undoubtedly been one of the traits she had drawn from him.

“What would you prefer me to call you?”

She clutched the bear to her chest and looked at her father seriously. “Paddy. Because now I'm like Paddington Bear.”

Spencer blinked, surprised, trying to hide a smile as he considered his daughter's statement. He closed the book he was holding and turned fully towards her.

“Oh, I see! And as Paddington Bear, do you have a special mission?”

Olivia frowned thoughtfully, as if that were the most important question in the world.

“I need a red hat and a suitcase. Can you help me?”

Spencer let out a low laugh, standing up.

“Sure, Paddy. We'll sort it out. After all, even bears need to be prepared for their adventures.”

He held up the small but old red hat he had found at the back of the cupboard. It was a little big for Olivia's head, but she put it on proudly, adjusting it with both hands. Her smile was so wide that he couldn't look away.

She spun around, holding the Paddington Bear like a trophy, and asked: “Is it good, Daddy?”

Spencer opened his mouth to reply, but an unexpected wave of memories hit him. He remembered the lonely nights of his own childhood, surrounded by books and theories, but with no one his own age to share all his fantastic ideas with. 

Looking at Olivia, full of life and with eyes brimming with joy, he felt a pinch. For a second, he hesitated. He didn't want to be the kind of father who quenched his daughter's imagination.

Taking a deep breath, he knelt down to her height and gently adjusted his hat. “It's perfect, Paddy. I've never seen Paddington look so elegant and stylish.”

Olivia let out a giggle and hugged the bear tightly, as if she had just received a title of nobility. Spencer smiled, but his mind was still wandering. He couldn't change the past, but he could do something now. He could be the father he wished he had, someone who didn't just accept Olivia's imagination, but celebrated it.

“You know,” he said, his voice soft as if revealing a secret. “Imagination is an adventurer's greatest tool. It's how the great explorers discover new and unexplored places.”

Olivia tilted her head, curious. “Like me, Dad?”

“Like you, Paddy,” he nodded.

And at that moment, he decided that he would never let Olivia feel that her imagination was small. For him, her every fantasy was an adventure worth living.

“So, where are we going to travel first, Paddy?” he asked, taking her hand.

[verstappenf1lecccc]

Could you please write something with Fernando and you’re Ayrton Sennas daughter but you where only three when he died. Growing up you didn’t have much to do with Formula 1 until Alain took you to an Price ceremony in the early 2000s where you met an young Fernando you’re pretty sure there is still a picture somewhere. If someone would have told you you would end up marrying an F1 driver let alone that you would have a son you would have told them you’re crazy but the universe had other plans for you and so by the time Fernando finally retires you have a three year old which loves cars over everything with unruly curly hair and an crooked smile and as it is the last race you decide too take him with you too Abu Dhabi he deserves too see his Dad drive atleast once live and so he ends up sitting in the dark green Aston Martin grinning from ear too ear gripping the steering wheel before Fernando picks him up again you’re heart arches you love them so much without Fernando you probably wouldn’t have seen the positive side of everyone all the joy and celebrations and you’re thankful for that.❤️

Racing Through Timeline

this fic made me emotional idk why hope yalls enjoy it

Life has a strange way of unfolding, often in ways that are impossible to predict. You were just three years old when your father, the legendary Ayrton Senna, tragically passed away at Imola. That day, the racing world lost a giant, and so did you—a little girl who would never truly know the father whose name was spoken with reverence, whose legacy became a symbol of passion, talent, and greatness. Ayrton Senna wasn’t just a driver; he was a legend, a man who lived for the thrill of the race, and yet, for you, he was merely a memory—a faint echo in the stories your mother would tell, in the photos, the videos, and the occasional piece of memorabilia. Your father’s world was a place you could never fully grasp, and it wasn’t until later that you began to understand the depth of his impact on the sport and the hearts of those who followed him.

In those early years, Formula 1 felt like a foreign, distant world. The roaring engines, the bright lights, the high-speed cars racing across tracks—it all seemed so far removed from your small, quiet life. Your mother, though always gentle with you, would speak of your father in hushed tones, always reverent, always holding a certain sadness in her voice. She would tell you stories about his passion for racing—how he would approach the track like an artist, crafting perfect lines, how he could feel the rhythm of the car in a way no one else could. But to you, these were just stories, tales from a past you couldn’t truly touch, and as the years passed, the pain of losing him became something you could only feel in the gaps between your mother’s words and the quiet spaces in your life.

But life, as it does, sometimes finds a way to bring the past crashing back into the present. It was Alain Prost, your father’s fiercest rival, who became the person who helped bridge the gap between the man you never knew and the world of racing you would one day come to embrace. Alain wasn’t just a figure from your father’s past—he became a quiet protector, someone who, over the years, guided you through the complexities of your own grief. His affection for you was not loud or extravagant, but steady and unwavering, always there when you needed him. He never pushed you into the racing world, but he always made sure you knew the importance of your father’s legacy.

It was Alain who invited you to a Prize Ceremony in the early 2000s, a grand affair that would forever change the course of your life. You were still a teenager then, unsure of what you were stepping into, but Alain insisted you needed to witness the respect and admiration that your father had earned, to see for yourself the impact he had made on the sport. It was there, in that glittering, surreal world, that you first met Fernando Alonso.

He was young then, still climbing the ranks of Formula 1, but there was something magnetic about him. He spoke about racing with the same fire in his eyes that your father had, the same passion and drive that had defined your father’s career. It wasn’t just his talent that caught your attention; it was the energy he exuded when he talked about the sport. You could feel the same intensity, the same love for the track that you had heard about in your mother’s stories, and for the first time in years, you felt a connection to your father’s world. Fernando didn’t know it then, but his energy, his joy, his spirit, ignited something inside you—a spark that would soon become a fire.

As time passed, you lived your life, far removed from the high-speed, adrenaline-filled world of Formula 1. You followed your own dreams, built your own life, and found a quiet peace in the simplicity of it all. But life, as it often does, has a way of bringing you full circle. Fernando had risen to the top of the sport. He was no longer just a rising star but a champion, someone whose name was known by millions. And then, unexpectedly, your paths crossed again.

When you saw Fernando again, you were both older, different in ways you hadn’t expected. Yet, the connection between you was undeniable. He was no longer just a racer you admired from afar—he was someone who saw you for who you were, who understood the delicate balance between your father’s legacy and your desire to create a life of your own. Your shared passion for racing and the quiet bond between you grew into something far deeper than either of you anticipated. Over time, you found yourself drawn closer to Fernando, not just as a racer, but as a man who was grounded, steady, and full of life. And before you knew it, you had fallen in love with him—not just for his passion for the sport, but for his kindness, his love for life, and the way he made you feel alive in ways you hadn’t felt in years.

Fernando’s proposal was simple, yet profoundly meaningful. One quiet evening, you were sitting on the balcony of your home, the soft hum of the world outside a gentle backdrop. Fernando, ever thoughtful, looked at you with those same eyes that had first captured your attention years ago. He didn’t need grand gestures. There were no cameras, no grand stage—just the two of you. In that moment, he held out a small, simple ring and asked you to marry him. It wasn’t the fireworks of a big public proposal, but it was perfect. It was real, it was intimate, and it was everything you needed. Your heart soared as you realized that this life, the life you’d always dreamed of, was finally falling into place.

The years that followed were filled with quiet moments of joy and profound love. Despite his demanding career, Fernando was always there for you—his presence a steady rock in your life. When you were expecting your son, Fernando became even more attentive, staying by your side through every milestone of your pregnancy. The late-night conversations, the small touches, the way he would softly whisper to your belly, telling your unborn child how much he loved them—it was the kind of love that you had always imagined, but never truly believed you would experience.

When your son was born, it felt like the world had finally aligned. He was the perfect combination of both you and Fernando—a perfect little human, with eyes that shone with the same mischievous sparkle as his father’s. You would spend quiet afternoons watching Fernando hold him, cradling him in his arms as though he was the most precious thing in the world. Those soft moments—when Fernando would softly kiss your son’s forehead, or when he would lay next to you, both of you wrapped in the warmth of your family—were the kind of moments that made every sacrifice, every challenge, worthwhile.

Yet as time moved on, a new chapter began to loom on the horizon—Fernando’s last race. As the years passed, you had known this moment would eventually arrive. The talk of retirement had been subtle, but it was clear. Fernando had achieved everything he had set out to do. But even then, it wasn’t an easy decision. He had dedicated his life to the sport, and stepping away was not something he could do lightly. But then came the moment that changed everything: you kissed him, as you always did, before a race—your touch soft, your love palpable. It was just another pre-race ritual, another tender gesture between two people who had shared so much together. But as you pulled back from that kiss, something shifted in Fernando. A realization took root in him. He knew, at that moment, that his heart was ready to retire. He had made his mark, and now, he was ready to build the next chapter of his life with you and your son. That kiss, that moment, was the milestone that allowed him to finally walk away from the track he had loved so much.

When Fernando’s last race arrived, the emotions were overwhelming—not just for him, but for you too. As you stood in the stands, watching him in his final race, you couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of pride, sadness, and nostalgia. Every lap felt like a piece of his soul was being left behind on that track. You remembered your father’s legacy—how you had wished you could have been there for his last race. But now, you were witnessing Fernando’s final lap. There was something incredibly emotional about seeing him finish, knowing that this would be the last time you would see him race at the highest level.

You watched him cross the finish line, and it was as though time stood still. The roar of the crowd, the flashing lights, the cheers—it was all distant. All you could focus on was Fernando’s face, the quiet reflection in his eyes, the understanding that this was the end of one era and the beginning of another. You could feel your heart swell with both love and a deep sense of loss. You had witnessed something monumental, not just as his wife, but as someone who had walked alongside him through the highs and lows of his career.

As you held your son in your arms, the tears welled up. You thought of your father’s own last race and wished, just once, you could have been there to see it. But now, as you looked at your husband, your son nestled between the two of you, you realized that you had witnessed something even more precious—a man who had lived his dream, who had dedicated everything to the sport he loved, and who now stood beside his family, ready for the next chapter. You smiled through your tears, knowing that the legacy of racing would always be a part of your life, but that this was just the beginning of something even more beautiful. Fernando was no longer just a racer; he was your partner, the father of your child, and the man who would shape the future in ways that racing never could.

As the sun set on the horizon, casting a golden glow over the racetrack, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. You had always known that the world of racing was unpredictable, filled with highs and lows, victories and losses. But now, looking at Fernando, you realized that what truly mattered was not the wins or the trophies. It was the quiet moments like this, the ones spent together, the ones that would shape the family you were building.

Fernando gently kissed the top of your son’s head, his eyes soft with love. “He’s going to grow up knowing what it means to chase your dreams, just like his mom and dad,” he said, his voice steady but filled with emotion.

You nodded, feeling a swell of pride. “He’s already learning from the best,” you whispered.

As the three of you stood there, the world of racing slipping away in the background, you knew that this was only the beginning. The track may have been where Fernando had earned his name, but now it was at home, in your hearts, where the real legacy would live on.

And as your son grew, you hoped he would always carry the lessons of passion, perseverance, and love. You and Fernando would teach him to dream big, to face challenges head-on, and to never forget the importance of family. The racing world might have given Fernando his start, but it was his love for you and your son that would propel him forward in ways the racetrack never could. The future was unwritten, and together, you were ready to write it.

[lxvsiick]

THE STARS ARE ALL ASLEEP | HAN TAESAN X READER

PAIRING: idol! han taesan x non!idol! fem! reader

SUMMARY: The loss and regret Taesan feels, trying to hold on to the memories of Y/n despite the pain

GENRE: angst, breakup, taesan is kinda an ass, imagine, short story

WORDCOUNT: 5.9k

A/N: ngl, did i procrastinate during my lecture to write this? yes . . . i wrote this after listening to 星星都睡了 by PPlin x Zhen Li -- I'm basically giving you guys song reccs to listen to -- the song is really good!... enjoy the story!

★🎸🎧⋆｡ °⋆

I can take care of myself, you don’t need to keep worrying about me.

I don’t smile anymore.

The clock on the wall ticked away the late hours of the evening as Y/n sat curled up on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, staring blankly at the TV. She wasn’t really watching, her mind too preoccupied with the events of the day. Work had been a disaster. Her boss had been harsher than usual, throwing out unreasonable demands and critiques that left her feeling drained and upset.

She sighed, glancing at her phone. No messages from Taesan. It wasn’t unusual—he was busy, always on the go with rehearsals, interviews, and performances. Being a famous idol meant long hours and even longer nights. Still, they shared this apartment, and she always tried to stay awake to talk to him when he came home.

Her heart lifted slightly when she heard the soft jingle of keys at the door. The lock clicked, and Taesan stepped inside, his hood pulled low over his face, slumping with exhaustion as he kicked off his shoes. He barely glanced in her direction as he made his way into the living room.

She straightened up on the couch, hoping for just a moment of his attention. “Hey, you’re home,” she greeted softly, forcing a small smile. “How was your day?”

“Long,” he muttered, not meeting her eyes as he walked past, heading straight for the kitchen to grab a drink. His tone was flat, his movements sluggish.

Y/n watched him, her heart sinking. “I had the worst day today,” she said, trying again to start a conversation. “My boss was being such a—”

“Not now,” he interrupted, his voice edged with weariness as he leaned against the counter, rubbing his temples. “I’m tired. I don’t want to talk.”

She froze, the words hanging in the air between them, heavier than she expected. She had been waiting all day to tell him about what happened, hoping he would listen, hoping she could find some comfort in his presence. But his dismissal felt like a slap to the face.

Her throat tightened as she swallowed her emotions. “Oh,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Okay.”

The silence stretched out uncomfortably as Taesan took a sip of his drink, still not looking at her. She tried to keep her disappointment from showing, but it was too late. The lump in her throat made it hard to speak, and the weight of the day, combined with his coldness, felt suffocating.

She stood up quietly, wrapping her arms around herself as if to shield against the sudden chill between them. “I’ll... leave you alone, then,” she murmured, backing away toward the bedroom. She didn’t wait for his response. He didn’t offer one.

As she turned, her steps slow and deliberate, her heart ached. This wasn’t how she imagined the night going. She had wanted to vent, to share her frustrations with the one person who mattered most to her. But now, she felt more alone than she had all day.

When she closed the bedroom door behind her, the click sounded louder than usual in the quiet apartment. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her hands, wondering if he even noticed how much she needed him right now.

Back in the living room, Taesan let out a deep sigh, closing his eyes as the weight of the day pressed down on him. He hadn’t meant to be so cold, but he was just too tired. Too tired to think, to listen, to be anything but worn out.

But in the silence that followed, something gnawed at him—a faint sense of guilt that he couldn’t quite shake, knowing she had wanted to talk, knowing she had needed him.

And he hadn’t been there.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

I don’t want to think about you all the time.

We tried our hardest to hurt everything between us, and now it’s impossible to repair.

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, orange glow over the city streets. Y/n sat on the bench at the bus stop, nervously checking her phone for what felt like the hundredth time. Her heart was filled with a mixture of excitement and impatience—today was supposed to be special. Their anniversary.

Taesan had promised to take her on a date after his interview, a rare moment in their hectic lives where they could celebrate together. She’d dressed up, her heart racing with anticipation, hoping for some time alone with him. But now, as the minutes dragged on, she couldn’t help but feel the growing sense of unease.

She scrolled through her phone again, the unanswered messages staring back at her: "Hey, interview over yet?" "Are you still coming?" "Let me know if you're running late."

No response. No calls. Nothing.

She sighed, biting her lip and glancing down the empty street. The buses came and went, passengers getting on and off, but there was still no sign of him. Her excitement slowly deflated into something more like dread.

A cold breeze picked up, and she pulled her jacket tighter around her. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being stood up, but that couldn’t be true, right? He wouldn’t just forget their anniversary. He wouldn’t break his promise to her.

In an attempt to distract herself, she opened her social media, scrolling absentmindedly through the feed. That’s when she saw it—a post from a fan page featuring Taesan and his group at some event. There he was, smiling and laughing with his bandmates, dressed in an outfit far too formal for just an interview.

Her heart sank. The caption beneath the photo read, "Surprise appearance at the event! BOYNEXTDOOR looking dashing as always."

She stared at the screen, the image of him so happy, so carefree. She felt a knot twist in her chest, anger and sadness mixing together. He wasn’t just late—he had gone somewhere else entirely, without even telling her. He had time for an event but not for their anniversary.

Her fingers hovered over the phone, wanting to call him again, but she knew it wouldn’t change anything. He wasn’t coming.

With a heavy sigh, she stood up, her heart feeling heavier than her feet as she trudged back toward their apartment. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she ignored it, knowing it wasn’t from him.

The walk back felt longer than usual, her mind replaying the excitement she’d felt that morning—how she’d looked forward to tonight, how she’d thought this anniversary would be a rare moment where they could be like any other couple. But instead, she was left alone, walking home in the dim light, her hands stuffed in her pockets to keep warm.

Finally, she reached the front door of their apartment building. Pausing for a moment, she glanced back at the empty street, a small part of her still hoping to see him running toward her, apologizing for being late. But the street remained empty, quiet, just like the unanswered messages on her phone.

With a deep breath, she entered the building and climbed the stairs to their apartment. As she unlocked the door and stepped inside, the stillness of the apartment felt colder than the air outside. No flowers, no candles, no sign that today was any different from any other day.

She sank onto the couch, staring blankly at the wall, the weight of disappointment settling in her chest like a stone. All she wanted was to be with him, to feel like she mattered, like they mattered. But tonight, she felt more alone than ever.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

You never cared about trying to get my forgiveness.

Don’t let us be covered in scars.

The apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside. Y/n sat on the couch, her knees pulled to her chest, hugging a small black cat stuffed animal that Taesan had won for her on one of their early dates. Her eyes were red-rimmed, tears brimming but not falling. She stared blankly at her phone, an article open on the screen, the words blurring in front of her.

The jingle of keys at the door signaled his arrival. The door creaked open, and Taesan stepped in, exhaustion heavy in his posture. He looked worn from the day, his hair disheveled, still in his stage clothes. He let out a deep sigh as he kicked off his shoes, glancing toward her, not immediately noticing the tension in the air.

"Hey," he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. "I'm home."

Y/n didn’t respond, her gaze locked on him, her lips pressed into a thin line as she clutched the stuffed animal tighter. Her chest ached with the weight of everything unsaid.

He finally noticed her silence, his eyes narrowing in concern. "What’s wrong?" he asked, his voice more annoyed than gentle. He was too tired for this—whatever this was.

She didn’t speak at first, just held out her phone toward him, the screen illuminating her tear-filled eyes. He frowned, walking over to take it from her hand. When he looked at the screen, his expression immediately shifted.

It was a news article—another baseless rumor. His name splashed across the headline alongside another female idol, the two of them speculated to be in a relationship. There were photos from a backstage event, carefully cropped and captioned to imply intimacy where none existed.

He groaned, already dreading the conversation. "You’ve got to be kidding me," he muttered under his breath, tossing the phone onto the coffee table.

"Is this why you’re never around anymore?" Y/n finally spoke, her voice small but laced with hurt. Her eyes, shining with unshed tears, held a mixture of frustration, sadness, and fear. "Because of her?"

His jaw clenched, frustration quickly overtaking his fatigue. "What? No. It’s just a rumor," he snapped, throwing his hands up. "You really believe that crap? I told you not to pay attention to those things."

"But you’re never here anymore!" Her voice cracked as she stood up, still hugging the stuffed cat to her chest. "You’re always too busy, too tired, or too... distant. And then I see this and—" She broke off, shaking her head, tears spilling over now. "How am I supposed to feel? Am I supposed to just ignore it when you’re gone all the time?"

"I’m working!" he fired back, the anger rising in his chest. "I’m busting my ass for this career, for us—but you’re here, worried about some stupid tabloid story? Where’s the trust?"

"Trust?" she repeated, incredulous. "How can I trust you when you don’t even talk to me anymore? When you don’t make time for me at all? Do you even care about this relationship?"

Her words cut deep, but his frustration was too overwhelming to process the hurt beneath them. "Of course I care! But you’re suffocating me with all these doubts. Every time I come home, it’s something like this. You worry too much."

"I worry because I care!" Her voice broke, raw with emotion. "Because I love you, and I feel like I’m losing you—like you’re slipping away and I can’t do anything about it."

The silence that followed was deafening. They stood there, staring at each other, both breathing heavily from the intensity of the argument.

Taesan rubbed his temples, his voice lowering but still tense. "This is ridiculous. It’s just a rumor. I’m tired, and I don’t want to do this right now."

"You never want to do this," she whispered, her voice barely audible. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, her chest heaving as she tried to control the sobs threatening to spill over. "Fine."

With a quiet, bitter laugh, she turned and walked toward their bedroom. "I’m done with this conversation. Go sleep at your dorm or wherever it is you’d rather be."

His eyes followed her as she disappeared down the hallway, her door closing softly behind her, though the emotional slam still reverberated through him.

He stood there for a long moment, his anger simmering down into guilt, exhaustion pulling at him from all sides. He didn’t want to fight, but it always seemed to end up this way. They always ended up like this—torn apart by his career, by misunderstandings, by everything he didn’t have time to fix.

With a heavy sigh, Taesan grabbed his jacket and keys, heading back toward the door. The silence of the apartment felt unbearable now.

As he stepped out into the cold night air, he shoved his hands into his pockets and walked toward his group’s dorm, his mind filled with everything left unsaid, wondering how they had come to this.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

When the stars in the sky all sleep, I feel so dark, my body feels inexplicably cold

The night air was heavy, thick with a silence that seemed to press down on everything. The small park near their apartment was a place once filled with memories—their late-night walks, quiet conversations, stolen moments—but now it felt distant, like something from another lifetime.

Taesan stood at the edge of the path, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his breath visible in the cool air. He hadn’t been back here in weeks, not since he’d started staying at his group’s dorm. It felt strange now, almost foreign.

His eyes shifted as he saw Y/n approaching slowly from the other side of the park. His heart clenched at the sight of her, though he couldn’t quite place why. She looked…different. Her face was pale, her eyes hollow, the dark bags beneath them evident even in the dim light. The spark, the warmth he always loved in her eyes, was gone. She looked like someone who had been carrying the weight of the world for too long.

She stopped a few steps away from him, the space between them feeling like a chasm.

“What did you want to talk about?” he asked, his voice quiet but carrying an edge of tension. He already had a sinking feeling in his chest, but he wasn’t ready to confront it.

Y/n looked at him for a long moment, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out at first. She shifted her weight, wrapping her arms around herself like she was trying to hold herself together.

"I’m tired," she finally said, her voice flat, void of emotion. "I’m tired of waiting for you. Of waiting for us to feel like it used to." Her eyes met his, and the emptiness in them hit him like a punch to the gut. "I can’t keep doing this."

His heart stuttered in his chest, but he didn’t say anything. He just stared at her, trying to process her words, hoping this wasn’t what he thought it was.

“I’m done,” she continued, her voice firmer this time, as if she had rehearsed these words over and over in her head before finally saying them. “I don’t want to have to keep waiting on you, waiting for something to change. I feel like I’m always waiting.”

The silence between them was unbearable now, but he couldn’t find the right words to say. His throat felt tight, like any response he tried to form would only come out broken.

She wasn’t crying—there were no tears. She wasn’t angry. Just…done. It made it worse somehow. He would’ve preferred her to scream at him, to be angry, to throw something, but this quiet resignation was shattering him in a way he hadn’t expected.

“You’re not the same,” she whispered, her voice barely audible but sharp enough to cut through the air between them. "I don’t recognize you anymore. And I know you’re tired too. Tired of me, of this... You don’t need to say it. I can see it every time you walk out the door and don’t come back until late or not at all."

He wanted to protest, to tell her she was wrong, that things could be different, but the words wouldn’t come. Maybe because a part of him knew she was right. He hadn’t been present—not really. His career had consumed him, and in the process, he had let her slip away. He let them slip away.

She let out a shaky breath, her eyes momentarily glancing down at the ground before meeting his gaze again. "I loved you," she said softly. "I still do, but I can’t keep holding onto something that’s already gone."

His chest tightened painfully, and he took a small step forward, as if to reach for her, but stopped himself. He didn’t know how to fix this. He didn’t even know if he could.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, though it was unclear if she was apologizing to him or to herself.

And then, she turned around, her figure illuminated only by the faint glow of the park’s streetlights. She didn’t run. She didn’t storm off. She just walked away, her back to him, her shoulders slightly hunched as if the weight of everything was too much to bear.

He stood there, frozen in place, his heart breaking with every step she took. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He could only watch as she walked further and further away, her silhouette fading into the distance until she was nothing more than a distant memory in the night.

The cold settled into his bones, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t. He felt numb, like everything inside him had shattered and there was nothing left but the aching emptiness where she used to be. The night stretched on, and the only sound that filled the silence was the faint rustling of leaves in the wind, as the world around him continued on, unaware that his had just fallen apart.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

I don’t need the hottest and best car.

I don’t need to be the best pop star.

I want to express myself, but I messed up.

What’s there to lose! My heart’s already half empty.

The studio’s lights were harsh, reflecting off the mirrors that lined the walls. The steady beat of the music thumped through the room, filling the space with energy, but Taesan’s movements felt sluggish, disconnected from the rhythm. He was usually so precise, so in sync with the choreography, but today he couldn’t seem to get it right.

"Again," the instructor called out, clapping their hands sharply, frustration seeping into their voice. "You’re off, Taesan. Focus."

He nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow, though it felt like the sweat wasn’t the problem—it was the weight pressing on his chest. They started the routine again, but halfway through, his steps faltered. His foot missed the mark, his body off-beat. He felt his group members glance at him in concern, but he kept his head down, trying to push through.

"Stop!" the instructor barked, cutting the music abruptly. "Take five. Taesan, get it together."

He didn’t respond, just stood there, panting, his hands on his knees. The others slowly moved to the sides of the room to grab water or stretch. Taesan didn’t move. His mind was spinning, but not about the dance. His thoughts kept drifting to her—Y/n. The look on her face when she walked away, the sound of her voice when she said she was done, the quiet resignation in her eyes. It haunted him.

It was all he could think about.

He pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to clear his head, but it was no use. The more he tried to shake it off, the more the memories flooded back. The last argument, the tension that had been building for months, how he had shrugged her off when she needed him most.

“Hey, man. You good?” Jaehyun asked, cautiously approaching him with a bottle of water in hand.

Taesan shook his head slightly, forcing a deep breath. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though the tightness in his voice said otherwise.

“You’re not,” Leehan said bluntly, walking over with the rest of the group. "You’ve been off all day. What’s going on?"

He opened his mouth to respond with something dismissive, something to brush them off like he always did when things got too personal, but this time, he couldn’t. His chest ached too much. The guilt, the regret—it was all bubbling up inside him, and he couldn’t keep it down any longer.

“I—” His voice cracked, and he quickly looked away, swallowing hard. He hated this. Hated feeling this vulnerable, especially in front of them.

His group members exchanged glances, clearly worried.

“I miss her,” he finally whispered, barely audible.

“What?” Riwoo leaned in closer, frowning.

“I miss her,” he repeated, louder this time, though his voice wavered. “I miss Y/n… so much.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the usual energy drained as his words settled in.

“I screwed up,” he said, his hands trembling slightly as he raked them through his hair. “I didn’t realize what I had until she was gone. And now—” He paused, his throat tightening, the memories of their breakup flashing in his mind. “Now it’s too late. I hurt her, I wasn’t there when she needed me, and she left. I don’t blame her.”

His eyes burned, but he refused to let the tears fall. Not here. Not in front of them.

“I regret everything,” he admitted, his voice strained, raw. “Everything that led to us falling apart. I pushed her away, I was so wrapped up in my own life that I didn’t see how much I was losing her.” His hand clenched into a fist. "I thought I could balance everything, but… I couldn’t. I failed her.”

His group members stood in stunned silence. Taesan was always the one who kept things together, the one who didn’t let his emotions get the better of him. Seeing him like this, so vulnerable, so broken, was a shock.

“I don’t know how to fix it,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper now. “I don’t think I can. She’s done with me, and I can’t blame her. I’ve been a terrible boyfriend… and a terrible person.”

Sungho stepped closer, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, man, don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth,” he said bitterly, looking down at the floor. “I still love her. I never stopped. But she’s gone, and it’s all my fault.”

“You’re human, Taesan hyung,” Woonhak said, his tone gentle. “People make mistakes.”

“Not like this,” Taesan muttered, shaking his head. “She waited for me. She was patient, and I took her for granted. I should’ve been there for her.”

His group members shared worried glances, unsure of what to say. They had never seen him like this—so lost, so regretful.

“It’s not too late,” Jaehyun offered hesitantly. “You can still reach out to her, talk to her—”

“She’s done with me,” Taesan interrupted, his voice flat. “She said she’s tired of waiting, and I can’t blame her. I would’ve left me too.”

He slumped down onto the floor, leaning against the mirrored wall, his head in his hands. The silence stretched on for what felt like forever, the only sound being the faint hum of the air conditioning in the studio.

His group members sat down around him, unsure of how to help, but unwilling to leave him alone. They could see how much pain he was in, and it hurt to see their usually composed, confident friend in pieces like this.

“I’m sorry,” Taesan whispered again, more to himself than anyone else. "I’m so sorry, Y/n."

And for the first time in a long time, he let the tears fall.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Through the whole night, you’re no longer in my sight.

Maybe everyone feels the same, but time goes by too fast.

The air backstage was charged with excitement, a low hum of activity as the staff rushed around making final preparations. Taesan sat quietly in a corner, his hands resting on his lap, staring at the floor as the muffled cheers of the crowd reached his ears. The energy of the arena was palpable, but inside, he felt a familiar weight pressing down on his chest.

It had been a few months since the breakup. Since the day she’d said she was done. He hadn’t realized how hard it would hit him—how much he’d miss her. Even now, the thought of her still tugged at his heart, the hurt still raw even though time had passed.

"Taesan, you good?" Sungho asked, breaking through his thoughts as they finished a huddle nearby.

He glanced up, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, I’m fine."

They’d asked him that a lot lately, and every time he said the same thing. He had to be fine. He had no other choice. Being an idol meant putting on a perfect face, no matter what was going on behind the scenes. It was all part of the job, and he owed it to his fans to give them everything he had. But the truth was, no matter how much time passed, she never really left his mind.

A staff member approached, headset in place, clipboard in hand. "Five minutes until showtime."

His group gave a collective nod, standing up to stretch and prepare. Taesan rose to his feet, brushing off his outfit, and took a deep breath. He could feel the adrenaline starting to build, the anticipation of the stage waiting for him. This was his world now—his stage, his music, his fans. He had to focus on that.

But as his mind drifted back to her—her smile, the sound of her laugh, the way she used to wait up for him—his chest tightened again. The ache that hadn’t fully healed throbbed beneath the surface, a constant reminder of what he’d lost.

"Focus," he whispered to himself, closing his eyes for a moment. He couldn’t let this affect him now. Not here. Not when the world was watching.

The fans were already screaming, chanting their names, and he knew the second he stepped onto that stage, he had to be the idol they all adored—the one who smiled for them, who gave them his all, no matter what was happening in his personal life.

A deep breath. He opened his eyes as the staff gave the signal.

“It’s time,” one of his group members said, nudging him gently. "Let’s go."

He nodded, shaking off the last traces of his wandering thoughts. Putting on his best smile—the smile that had charmed millions—he stepped in line with his group as they prepared to walk onto the stage.

The music swelled through the speakers, and the moment the curtains parted, a wave of sound crashed over them. The roar of the crowd, the flashing lights, the sea of fans waving lightsticks—it was everything he’d worked for, everything he loved.

He couldn’t let them down.

As they walked out, the fans’ cheers grew louder, the energy electric. He felt it surge through him, pushing the heaviness of his emotions to the back of his mind. The stage was where he belonged, and for now, that had to be enough.

But even as he smiled, danced, and sang, giving his all to the performance, a part of him still carried her with him—her memory, her absence. He knew he had to move on, but it wasn’t that simple. She had been a part of him for so long, and the love he had for her didn’t just disappear. He was still learning how to live with that ache.

As the music thumped in his ears and the fans sang along to every word, he forced himself to be present, to let the performance carry him. But every now and then, between the beats, he could feel her shadow lingering in the back of his mind.

And when the concert was over, and the adrenaline faded, he knew she’d be there waiting in the back of his mind—just as she always had been.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Finally, the wounds have scabbed over, but am I still thinking about it?

The room was dimly lit by the slivers of moonlight that slipped through the half-drawn blinds. The quiet hum of the air conditioner was the only sound breaking the silence of the night. Taesan lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling with a contemplative expression. The shadows cast by the moonlight danced across the walls, but his focus remained on the blank expanse above him.

He was in his shared dorm room with Woonhak, who was already fast asleep, snoring softly. Taesan had been lying awake for hours, his mind racing through thoughts he couldn’t seem to quiet.

It had been five months since the breakup. He had made significant progress—he wasn’t as heartbroken as he once was, and his days were filled with the busyness of his idol life. But despite all that, thoughts of Y/n still occupied a corner of his mind.

He wondered about her often. What was she doing now? Was she happier without him? Was she moving on with her life, creating new memories, and finding joy in things that didn’t include him? The questions lingered, and even though he tried to push them away, they always seemed to return.

He remembered their last conversation, the look in her eyes when she had ended things. It wasn’t anger or resentment but a calm, resolute sadness. He had always wished he could go back and fix things, do better, be the person she deserved.

Turning his head slightly, he glanced over at the small bedside clock—it was well past midnight. He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he shifted uncomfortably. The ache of missing her wasn’t as sharp as it once was, but it was still there, a gentle, persistent throb that reminded him of the love they had shared.

He recalled the little moments they had—walking in the park, sharing secrets, the way she used to laugh at his jokes, the sparkle in her eyes when she listened to his songs. Those memories were bittersweet now, tinged with the sadness of knowing that those times were in the past.

He wondered if she ever thought about him. Did she ever look back and remember the good times? Did she ever miss him, even just a little? The curiosity gnawed at him, but he didn’t have any answers. He had made the decision to give her space, to let her heal and move on, but it didn’t make the longing any easier.

He closed his eyes, imagining what it would be like to see her again, to talk to her, to hear her voice. He hoped that wherever she was, she was happy. He hoped she had found the peace and joy that they both deserved.

As he lay there, the weight of his thoughts became a little heavier. He had learned to live with the separation, to accept it as part of his journey, but that didn’t mean it was easy. The nights like these were the hardest—when the world was quiet, and the only thing he had was the memory of what once was.

Eventually, he forced himself to turn away from the ceiling, pulling the covers closer as he tried to settle into a more comfortable position. It was a futile attempt to silence his racing mind, but he knew that some things would take time to fully resolve.

For now, he would focus on his work, on the present, and try to hold onto the hope that things would get better. And maybe, just maybe, someday he would get the closure he needed. Until then, he would carry on, living his life while cherishing the memories of what they once had.

He finally drifted off to sleep, the thoughts of her slowly fading into the background, though never completely out of reach.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

I realize I can live without you, but I once decided to grow old with you.

How much loneliness and struggle remain pierced in my heart.

The crisp autumn air was cool against his skin as Taesan and his group members strolled down the street. Their faces were concealed behind masks and sunglasses, a necessary precaution to avoid being recognized. Despite their disguises, the atmosphere was relaxed, and they enjoyed the rare chance to go out incognito.

They chatted casually, their conversation punctuated by laughter as they approached a quaint café they had heard good things about. The cozy little place had a warm glow that contrasted with the chilly evening air.

As they reached the entrance, Taesan was the last to go inside. Just as he was about to cross the threshold, the door swung open and someone bumped into him.

Startled, he looked down, his heart skipping a beat when he saw who it was.

It was her. Y/n.

She looked different—brighter, happier. Her hair was shorter, framing her face in a way that seemed to enhance her natural beauty. And her eyes—those eyes that used to be so full of sadness—were now sparkling with a joy he hadn’t seen in a long time.

They locked eyes for a split second, and he felt a pang of something he couldn’t quite place—hope, regret, longing. He stood frozen, caught between the urge to speak and the overwhelming surge of emotions.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, her voice warm and apologetic as she quickly stepped back. She didn’t seem to recognize him, her focus more on the minor collision than on the person she bumped into.

“No problem,” he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper.

She flashed him a quick, polite smile before turning and walking away, her figure gradually diminishing as she moved down the street.

Taesan stood there, watching her retreat, his heart pounding. The moment felt surreal—seeing her like this, so changed, so content. It was as if the universe had given him one more chance to make things right, and he wasn’t sure if he should let it slip away.

“Hey, what’s taking you so long?” Riwoo called out from inside the café. “Let’s go!”

Still reeling from the encounter, Taesan snapped back to reality. He turned towards the café, where his friends waited, but something inside him urged him to follow her—to find out if this new version of her was truly as happy as she seemed.

Without a word, he pulled his mask and glasses off and turned on his heel, rushing out of the café. His group members called after him, confusion evident in their voices, but he ignored them, his focus entirely on the woman who had just walked away.

He sprinted down the street, glancing around, his heart racing as he searched for any sign of her. The sight of her figure, walking away with a spring in her step, seemed to guide him forward, pushing him to bridge the gap that had grown between them.

Every step felt heavy with anticipation, each breath a mix of excitement and anxiety. He didn’t know what he’d say or what he hoped to find, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a chance he couldn’t let slip by.

Finally, he spotted her again, standing on the corner, waiting for a bus. With a deep breath, he approached, trying to steady his racing heart.

“Y/n!” he called out, trying to keep his voice calm and steady.

She turned, a look of surprise crossing her face as she recognized the urgency in his voice. Her eyes widened as they met his, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. Everything around them seemed to disappear and it was only them there. Y/n’s look of surprise turns into a smile, her sparkling eyes meeting him.

“Hi.”

★🎸🎧⋆｡ °⋆

PART TWO VER.1 -- VER.2 | MASTERLIST

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, lxvsiick, 2024

[gabstea]

Cozy Library

Levi x female!reader Words: 768 No warnings, enjoy!

Nights had always been difficult for her. A good night’s sleep was a luxury. Tossing and turning beneath the sheets, which suddenly didn’t feel comfortable enough—hell, not even the pillow felt good enough, either too hard or too flat for her liking. She sighed, trying to focus on her breathing, closing her eyes, counting to 100. Nothing worked.

And when she did manage to drift off? It never lasted. Every few hours, a stupid little sound, almost imperceptible, would rouse her.

“Really?” A groan escaped her mouth as she covered her eyes with her arm, a clear testament to how frustrating this situation was. No matter how many years she had been dealing with it…  it never got easier.

The empty corridors helped clear her mind as she walked through them, almost every single night. And almost every single night she would cross paths with him—the feared Captain of the Survey Corps who happened to have the same problem as her…

Too much in his mind—plans, endless files, maps and the constant memories which haunted him every time he closed his eyes. So he would do the same: walk through every corridor, until inevitably ending up in a quiet and seemingly forgotten library.

The aroma inside of it was a blend of old books and a hint of dust that made most people wrinkle their noses. Yet, he found it comforting, allowing himself to forget, for a moment, how unpleasant the dust felt on his hands whenever curiosity led him to touch the shelves. The spot he usually chose to sit, the only area that has been cleaned.

When he started crossing paths with her, something changed. In his mind, the thought of her willingly choosing to follow him until that library felt… appealing. When morning came, he ordered a scout to clean the area, inspecting it himself later that same evening. Good enough.

A few nights later, as she wandered around, the faint scent of freshly brewed tea filled her chest with an unexpected warmth she couldn’t ignore. Her steps were cautious, silent, except for the occasional soft cracks of her joints against the cold stone. She ended up peeking through the door, her hair falling over her shoulders as she leaned in.

There he was. Levi is sitting in his usual spot, a teacup in hand. He glanced up, watching her. His expression as calm and indifferent as if they haven’t crossed paths in their entire lives. As if he hadn’t noticed her since he decided to join the Survey Corps years ago.

“Sorry, didn’t think someone was actually here, Captain.” She fidgeted with her sleeves. Levi frowned.

“What a stupid thought.” He mumbled. He wasn’t entirely wrong. The cozy library was softly illuminated by candlelight, and he knew that the scent of the tea he brewed could be smelled from the distance. It was obvious someone—he—was there.

The silence embraced the place, and when she opened her mouth to speak—some quick apology— he clicked his tongue and shifted on his seat.

“You gonna stand there all night?”

It wasn’t just a question. It was an invitation. He stretched out his legs, nudging the chair across from him with his foot and then nodded, the message was clear. A quiet laugh escaped her, and slowly, she walked, sinking into the offered chair.

“Why are you here?”

“Could ask the same. It’s past midnight.” He took a sip from his teacup, not taking his eyes off her. “We’ve been running into each other almost every night.”

Crossing her legs, she sighed deeply and looked at the table—the only thing between them.

“Trouble sleeping?” Levi continued speaking. His gray eyes softened for a second. It was subtle, but it was enough to make her chest tighten and a faint blush creep up her neck.

“That’s an understatement.” A shy smile appeared on her face, quickly trying to hide it by looking away.

He huffed quietly. “Figured.”

They didn’t say anything more, he sipped from his tea again and leaned back in his chair. She shifted under his gaze, suddenly feeling self-conscious about her disheveled hair, or her large nightgown swallowing her whole. I look ridiculous.

“How long are you staying?”

His voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

She blinked repeatedly, caught off guard. “Depends. Are you kicking me out?”

Levi raised an eyebrow. Lips curling into a smirk.. “Not tonight.”

His gaze softened again.

It was an invitation. One she couldn’t bring herself to refuse. Maybe their trouble sleeping wasn't so bad after all, not if it meant sharing a quiet, cozy library in the middle of the night.

[m4rv3l-girl]

Dad!Bucky x Mom!reader

After you gave birth to your little one, you stopped going on missions for a while as did bucky but a mission came up that required buckys help.

Bucky came home unscathed and seemingly okay but you could tell that something was wrong but didn't push bucky would tell you on his own time and one night the nightmares came crashing back but this time the nightmare were pierce killing reader and thier kid as they were a distraction to his real purpose in life being the WS and bucky jumped awake after pierce killed you both and he reached over to your side of the bed to feel you against him but he was met with a cold bed and no you beside him, he jumped up and frantically hunted for you feeling the panic rise the more he looked, he dreading checking the nursery encase the dream was real and instead if nightmares and doom, he was met with you and your baby curled up on the day bed sleeping, bucky carefully puts baby back to bed and carries you back to bed and you feel his panicked heart rate and he eventually tells you that it was a hydra mission and it brought back the nightmares and he tells you the one he had that night and how he thought it was real when he couldn't feel you beside him

Safe Haven

Bucky x Y/N

Warnings: Angst. Mentions of violence. Some fluff.

Bucky stepped into the dimly lit hallway of the townhouse he shared with Y/N and their baby, closing the door deliberately quiet.

The soft click of the latch echoed in the stillness of the night. He paused for a moment, his shoulders sagging as the adrenaline from the mission ebbed away, leaving behind an aching weariness.

From the living room, a faint light flickered—probably the baby monitor. The sight of it filled him with a bittersweet warmth. He kicked off his boots and hung his jacket by the door, moving toward the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Despite returning from the mission unscathed, the weight of Hydra's shadow still clung to him, like a film he couldn't wash off.

The mission had been routine—intel gathering and a quick extraction—but the sights and sounds of Hydra facilities had been too familiar. Ghosts of the past lurked around every corner, whispering memories he'd worked so hard to bury.

Bucky’s metal hand tightened around the glass, the coolness of the water grounding him. He hadn't told Y/N much about the mission, knowing she'd see through any attempt to downplay its effect on him. She always did. Still, he wasn’t ready to unpack it yet—not when the words felt like barbed wire trapped in his throat.

He set the glass in the sink and padded toward the bedroom, eager for the comfort of Y/N’s presence. The door creaked open, and he frowned at the sight of the empty bed.

“She must be with the baby,” he murmured, rubbing a hand over his face.

As he turned toward the nursery, an icy chill crept up his spine.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Hours later, the house was silent other than the soft hum of the baby monitor. Bucky stirred in his sleep, his breathing quickening as shadows of his past engulfed him.

Pierce's voice was as clear as it had been decades ago, venomous and manipulative. “Distractions, Soldier. That’s all they are.”

“No…” Bucky’s voice was strangled, barely audible.

In his dream, Pierce loomed over Y/N, their baby cradled in her arms, both of them trembling. Bucky was restrained, powerless to move as Pierce raised a gun.

“You don’t need them,” Pierce hissed, his smile cruel. “They’re a weakness. Your real purpose is to follow orders.”

The gunshot rang out, and Bucky screamed…

He bolted upright, drenched in sweat, his chest heaving.

His eyes darted to Y/N’s side of the bed, only to find it cold and empty. Panic gripped him like a vice, his heart pounding as he flung the covers aside and stumbled out of bed.

“Y/N?” he called, his voice hoarse.

No answer.

He checked the bathroom—empty. The living room—empty. His breaths came faster, the nightmare’s grip refusing to loosen as dread twisted in his gut.

When he finally reached the nursery, he hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob. What if…?

The door creaked open, and the sight before him stole the air from his lungs.

Y/N was curled up on the daybed, their baby nestled against her chest. The soft glow of the nightlight bathed them in a warm halo, a picture of peace.

Bucky exhaled shakily, his legs nearly buckling with relief. He stepped inside, the wooden floorboards creaking under his weight. Carefully, he lifted the baby from Y/N’s arms and placed them back in the crib, adjusting the blanket to ensure they were snug.

Then, turning back to Y/N, he scooped her up into his arms, cradling her as though she might disappear if he let go. She stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open.

“Bucky?” she murmured sleepily, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Shh, Doll,” he whispered, his voice thick. “Just taking you back to bed.”

As they lay in bed, Y/N ran her fingers through Bucky’s hair, her touch soothing the lingering panic in his chest. He clung to her as though she were his lifeline, his metal arm wrapped protectively around her waist.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?” she asked softly, her voice laced with concern.

Bucky hesitated, but the raw vulnerability in her eyes gave him the courage to speak. He told her everything—about the mission, the Hydra facility, and the nightmare that followed. His voice broke when he described seeing her and the baby in danger, the helplessness he felt, and the relief that had overwhelmed him when he found them safe.

“I thought it was real, Y/N,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “When I couldn’t feel you beside me… I thought I lost you both.”

Y/N cupped his face, her thumbs brushing away the tears he hadn’t realized were falling. “We’re right here, Bucky. I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

She pressed a kiss to his forehead, then his lips, her touch grounding him in the present.

“Every time I look at you and our baby, I’m reminded of how far I’ve come,” he whispered. “But Hydra… they’ll always haunt me. I don’t want to lose you, Doll. You’re my everything.”

“You’re not losing us,” she reassured him. “You’ve built a life for us—a safe, happy life. And I’ll be here to remind you of that every single day.”

As they drifted off to sleep, Bucky’s grip on her didn’t loosen. And for the first time since returning from the mission, he felt a flicker of hope that the shadows of his past wouldn’t always define his future.

——————————————————————————————————

Hope you enjoyed this! I tried to capture your request as best I could so, I’m hoping it’s what you imagined. 🫶

Requests Open!

[ajortga]

timeless

pairing: wednesday addams x fem reader

word count: 1k+

a/n: originally this was supposed to be a completely different story with a happy ending so if you like reading fluffy stories, maybe skip this one? pls let me know if this makes u sad!!

summary: wednesday visits the room that held all her favorite memories, bringing back a reminder that you two were so close to being timeless.

-

Wednesday didn’t know how she felt so different in this place, even though everything was the exact same.

The room she was in felt cold, empty, unknown. It was like a piece of coal that was once an ember, it was stale. 

It was all so strange, looking around and knowing that everything was like how she’s always seen your room. The way there were fairy lights and vines everywhere, the guitar that Wednesday learned how to play because of you, the random knick-knack animals that hung upon your display case.

She would’ve never felt like what she’s feeling now. That feeling was you, she had always thought your room had brought her so much comfort and a sense of tranquility.

Maybe it was the way she could hear the faint wind chimes when you told her all the things you wrote about in her journal, or the way you turn on your lamp at night, illuminating a soft glow in your room.

Or maybe it was just you.

Everything was the same, except you. And Wednesday tried to convince herself that you weren’t even a part of the room itself, yet some part of her felt as though you were the biggest piece. 

Because why did she feel so empty when she looked around? Why did it feel like a wilted candle that no longer burned?

The braided girl looks where Thing was at, his hand movements sad on your bed. She would’ve rolled her eyes, but she doesn’t feel anything when she sees it, just opens her mouth, “I feel more anxiety when I’m in here than the haunted houses I explore.” 

And though it was lingering, Wednesday knew that your perfume was fading away. Because no longer did your sweaters smell like the sweet musk of your skin and a faint hint of flowers, it smelled washed. 

And sometimes Wednesday wished that your parents had saved unwashed ones for hers, for that it would’ve comforted her when she slept at night now. For that it would've kissed her goodnight like you would’ve instead of Wednesday laying on an empty, cold bed in the days to come.

A deep exhale escapes her lips, her hands cascading over a journal that she knew all too well.

Thing tries to ignore the way Wednesday’s chin quivers as she bites on the inside of her lip, turning away from him to somehow make her feel better. She opens the journal, tons of photos falling out and onto your desk.

Photographs of you and her.

Us, Wednesday thought. It would’ve been us. Our lives against the world.

And instead it was a car against yours.

And it felt like all the spirit that the places those photos had captured were now dead. Wednesday’s heart and feelings were dead. You were dead.

But some part of you was alive somewhere in Wednesday’s heart, and it kept it beating. All these different shards and sides of you were all stored in the souls you knew.

The photograph was wrinkled, and as much as the girl was brought with negativity, your smiling face made it all better. Like you brought the light that she felt when you both were in that photo.

God, you had always found a way to make Wednesday feel the emotions she was so unfamiliar with. The happiness that came with what love was given. She was always an emotionless person.

But now the traces of you linger, and she no longer feels emotionless. Where in the past she would’ve felt the feeling of you. The feeling of happiness, a sense that she was at ease, that you were always there to catch her when she fell.

But she wasn’t there to catch you when you did. And now you were gone, and she was stuck with feeling the emotions she never felt when you were by her side. Stuck with knowing that she had never told you she loved you.

And Wednesday couldn’t handle that thought. In every other lifetime you would’ve been exploring mysteries that were unsolved, sharing unspoken and sacred kisses. 

Wednesday couldn’t bear to know that in this lifetime, it was different. 

Because she wasn’t there when you breathed your last breath, she wasn’t there to comfort you when someone had crashed straight into your car. She wasn’t there to hear your last words, or for you to see her for the last time.

She hated the fact that she slowly saw the people around her move on from their grief. She hated the fact that she was still stuck to you. She hated the fact that people didn’t feel the grief she did, because you deserved everyone staying at your grave till night. Why did other people move on so easily? 

Why didn’t they see you in the eyes of Wednesday?

Everytime she was in bed, she’d turn and see you, nuzzled up to her. Her hands would run through your hair as your lips slightly parted, your peaceful face resting as your cheeks were flushed with warmth. She would pull up the blanket to your neck so she could quietly press her lips to your forehead.

She always found it so endearing.

The reason she fell asleep with a small smile.

Then in the blink of an eye, she’d remember running up to the stretcher, seeing your peaceful face and a cover being draped over you. And this time, she remembered screaming, “It’s not sweet now Y/N! Open your eyes!" The tears that she fought back drizzled down her cheeks.

Wednesday never cried.

"You can't be gone."

For the first time in her life, she was scared. She was terrified. It was no different to how you looked when you might have slept, but oh it did. It terrified her knowing that you were sleeping and not waking up anymore to her brown eyes, to her kisses.

You were so cold, and as Wednesday stares at the journal, she knew it made her her heart cold again too.

“We had so much ahead of us,” Wednesday says, voice raw and a crack hiding underneath. She tucked the journal with your photographs into her bag. It served as a reminder on how your smile looked, and then your smile brought back how your laugh sounded, how your voice sounded, your smell, her memories of you. “We were so close to being forever.”

You two were so close to being timeless.