#There's something so satisfying about creating and making things

[losing-it-lately]

i just finished part two and it turns out that things dont have happy endings and theres smth deeply ingrained in me that loves angst and i need to stop indulging it 😭

this is so beautiful and your writing is genuinely so amazing. you have such a knack for creating interesting plots that hook readers in and also creating characters that have fun details (like being nicknamed blossom or being a writer in a small town) without making the characters themselves seem one dimensional. despite the cliche of the ex getting back with their small town romance, there's something realistic and vulnerable about the way you write these stories that i really appreciate. i dont know when the next part will come out or if this story finishes, but honestly, the way part 1 and 2 are written are quite literally enough to satisfy my cravings for this story bc of how beautifully put together they are!

✰20 Something✰

{Ellie Williams x Reader}

Summary: How you ain’t say you was movin’ forward? Honesty hurts when you’re gettin’ older, I gotta say I’ll miss the way you need me.

an: first things first, yes it’s based off of the sza song, yes this is going to be very angsty, and yes I purposefully used the lyrics of the song to leave a bit of mystery for the summary hehe. But anyways! Here’s the second part of Blossom! This one is pretty short, and the ending is a bit abrupt, but that’s only because I have plans for the next part!! I hope you enjoy angels. Mwah mwah 🖤🖤

Warnings: angst!! Ellie is an idiot in this one I’m sorry, Joel being a dad figure to reader, alcohol usage, reader gets a lil drunk, jealous!reader, let me know if I missed anything pleaseeee (not proofread)

You can read part 1 here!

Tag list: @gold-dustwomxn @liabadoobee @uraesthete @heathermuahhh

For the first time in five years, your bed is warm.

And that doesn’t go to say you never had a warm body filling up the empty spot next to you in your bed. There were many times where you’d fallen into bed with someone for a one night stand, or finally working up to the person you would be seeing at the time to sleeping over.

But that was all in the city, you hadn’t once given someone the opportunity to fill your bed in your current home. The home that you were sprouting your roots into, and creating a space that you’d call home forever.

That, and none of those people before warmed you up like Ellie did.

Ellie’s arms never leave yours within the night, they’re strong and they hold you tight against her chest even when she’s snoring softly in your ear. It’s almost as if she’s scared you’ll slip away somehow, like she’s worried if she doesn’t hold on tight enough, she’ll no longer be in this dream that she’s found herself in.

And you don’t mind, her warm embrace helps clear your head from the noisy thoughts that threaten to cloud your mind. Without her strong arms wrapped around your middle, and the dreamy smell of her shampoo and her cologne, you’d be panicking.

Panicking because none of this is okay, and you both know it.

It allows you to sleep, and enjoy her for the moment, because you know exactly what you’ll do when the sun rises.

You have it all planned out, playing out the scenario and what you’ll say in your head. It’s like you’ve written a script for yourself, one that you’ve closely analyzed and revised countless times between the heavy sedation of sleep and wake that finds you through the night. You continuously fall in and out because the foreign feeling of Ellie next to you is too apparent to ignore, and it makes itself even more known when you realize that it’s Ellie.

Despite it all, the sleep is good. It’s heavy, and comfortable and it’s like your bodies are tangled up within one another in the most perfect way, making your insides feel warm and fuzzy. You’re sure you’d be able to stay there with her till the end of time. You feel her wake up a few times as well, pressing gentle kisses at the nape of your neck, whispering sweet promises into your ear as her hands slip underneath your t shirt, toying with your soft skin and pulling you in closer.

Because she can’t get enough of you. She’s cursing herself on the inside because she can’t believe she’d almost forgotten how good you felt pressed up against her, how nice your supple skin felt spilling from between her fingers, how responsive your body was to her every kiss and touch.

So she feels she has some catching up to do, and she plans on roaming her fingers along every available space of your body. She wants to remember everything she’s ever experienced with you, all while making new memories as well.

And you can feel it, which makes it all the more harder to get out of bed the next morning.

The morning sun is warm and inviting, but it comes all too soon.

It takes everything in you to peel Ellie’s limbs from your body. You let out a sigh of relief when once you’re out of bed, she’s still fast asleep. You tilt your head to the side as you eye the girls sleeping form, she looks like her younger self when she sleeps. Her cheeks look fuller, and her lips look plumper. It reminds you of all the times you traced your fingers over her sleeping face when she’d fallen asleep in your bedroom when you were teenagers.

It reminds you of the face that wouldn’t even look in your direction when shoving a box into your arms.

And maybe you’re being petty, because it was something that happened so long ago and you both were so young. But it still hurts, and it doesn’t matter if it happened when you were both young, or if your relationship was doomed anyways.

Ellie did what she did, and no matter how many sweet things she said to you, she couldn’t take it back.

You sigh softly as you blink out of your trance, breaking away from the memories that you had been holding onto for so long. You need to get dressed, and you need to get downstairs before Ellie wakes.

You settle on a plane white t shirt, and a pair of your favorite denim shorts. They’re your moms from when she was younger, they remind you of when you were little.

Your feet pad against the wooden floor as you make your way downstairs. It’s still very early, and if Ellie is anything like the way she was when she was younger, you’ll be clear of her for at least another hour or so.

You settle on grabbing some fresh lemons from a near by bowl and making some lemonade to kill the time.

On the other end of your house, Ellie is groaning softly. She takes a moment to realize where it is that she is, the foreign bed making her feel extremely confused. Once her eyes have adjusted to the early morning light peeking in through your window, she immediately remember where she is.

Memories of the night before come flooding in, and she can’t stop the stupid smile that paints her face.

She’s blushing like an idiot, and she brings her strong hands up to her face as she groans softly. She’s just as fucking smitten for you as she was back when she was a teenager, and she can’t even deny it.

You, where were you?

The question runs rapid in her mind as she sits up, frowning a bit as she looks around. She isn’t too worried, seeing as she is in fact in your house. She knows you couldn’t have gone far, but the fact alone that she wasn’t able to wake up to you in her arms makes her upset.

From upstairs she can hear a bit of clattering downstairs in the kitchen, and she knows exactly where you are.

Ellie is up on her feet instantly, yawning as she scratches the back of her neck. She makes her way through your home, smiling softly at all the little trinkets you have set around on different shelves and tables.

But when she finally finds herself in your kitchen, and spots you, you’ve taken her breath away.

The window near your counter lets the warm glow of the sun hit you perfectly, sun rays shining through your hair and onto your pretty features. The song you’re humming softly is the sweetest melody she’s ever heard in her entire life, and your clothes are simple, but they’re making her fucking swoon.

It all feels so domestic, like she’s waking up to you, her girl, in the kitchen of your sweet home, and it’s enough to make her head spin.

It almost feels like nothings ever changed.

You’re too lost in your own thoughts as you slip a few more lemon slices into the pitcher before you bring your wooden spoon into it and stir it once more, finally happy with the drink. You don’t even hear Ellie when she’s approaching you from behind, strong hands wrapping around your waist and pulling you against her chest. You gasp softly, almost forgetting that the girl was in your house for a moment.

Your eyes flutter shut as you let her hold you. She’s lifting you up and into her body to the point that your toes almost leave the floor, her face pressing into your neck as she inhales the sweet scent of your shampoo.

She brings a hand up, pushing your hair back so she’s able to press soft kisses to your neck. The feeling of her lips against your skin makes you whine.

“Morning, blossom…” she hums. Her voice is raspy, and deep and still thick with sleep. It makes you tug your bottom lip between your teeth, tugging on it softly, and you can’t help but close your eyes and tilt your head to the side to give her better access to your neck, silently begging for more of her kisses.

It’s when you feel one of her strong hands slipping under your shirt and toying with the waist of your denim shorts that you open your eyes and quickly clear your throat, stepping away from her grip as you turn around.

You almost wish you’d stayed in her arms, because Ellie looks like a fucking dream right now.

Her hair is messy, and her eyes are puffy from sleep, lips pouting from the lack of you in her arms. Her t shirt is hanging loosely on her body, boxers low on her waist. She looks like something you would’ve assumed only existed within the depths of your fantasies, and nowhere in the real world.

Yet here she was, standing right in front of you, arms already reaching out and begging for you to be pressed against her.

You quickly step grab the pitcher of lemonade and hold it between the two of you, acting as a form of separation, one that would keep her away from you for at least a few seconds longer. You knew that it you let her hold you the way she did, or even come any closer, you’d fold.

“I um…thought you’d be thirsty…so I…made you some lemonade”

Ellie frowns as she watches you stutter, a habit that seemed to be the most present whenever you were nervous or hiding something. She could still recall the time when you and Joel were planning a surprise birthday party for her eighteenth, and she questioned you on why you’d been so absent for the past month or so. You were a babbling mess, avoiding eye contact, trying your best to get out of being in rooms alone with her, anything so that you could be free of the guilt that came with keeping something from her.

Just like you were now, babbling, eyes blinking rapidly as you looked everywhere but her eyes.

Her eyebrows are furrowed in confusion as she watches you for a moment longer, she opens her mouth to say something, but you’re already reaching behind her and grabbing two glasses and bringing them to your little kitchen table.

She watches you as you move, your focus now on the two glasses as you fill them up. She settles on leaving it alone for now, mainly because she’d like to just focus on you right now.

She moves to sit down at the table, but it doesn’t go without her hand sliding against your waist, her tattooed arm wrapping around it as she presses a kiss to your head. “You alright baby?” She mumbles against your hair, giving your skin a gentle squeeze before she moves to sit down, her green eyes never leaving your face as she takes her glass into hand.

It makes it feel like you’ll lose your footing, the way she’s so quickly comfortable enough to do these things to you, say these things to you, like she never even left you in the first place. It’s all too quick, and it makes you feel like you’re the happiest girl in the world, all while being the saddest.

You have to get away from her, you can’t be anywhere near her.

You quickly clear your throat, giving her a quick nod as you grab your glass and move over to your sink, which is opposite of the kitchen table. Her eyebrows furrow again as she watches you flee her touch, and it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

You’re quite literally flinching away from her touch as if you’re afraid of her, and it makes her anxiety settle in with each passing moment.

You stand near the sink, staring into the glass filled with lemonade, a lemon wedge floating around in the surface as you find it far more interesting to stare into it rather than looking into Ellie’s eyes.

“What’s going on?” She questions, one of her hands resting on her thigh as she watches you. The worry in her voice is enough to make you wince, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before you exhale loudly, looking up so that you’re now staring out your window, the calm morning breeze swaying through the trees calming you for a moment before you speak.

“I can’t do this, Ellie.” You mumble softly, voice barely above a whisper.

Your tone has Ellie on her feet before you can even finish, your kitchen table scraping against the wooden floor as she pushes it back so she can stand. You’ve barely even said anything, or given any explanation to what it is that you’re even talking about, but she already knows.

“What do you mean? You said last night that you were okay with this…with us-“ you cut her off quickly, the words falling from her lips too hard to listen to.

“I know….what I said Ellie…I just…” you sigh sadly, hands gripping the edge of your counter as you try to compose yourself. It doesn’t help that Ellie is by your side, her body towering over yours as she stares down at you. One of her hands come down to brush your hair away from your face, trying to get a better view of your expression as her other hand comes down to grip your hip gently, massaging the skin gently.

Despite you telling her you can’t be with her, she’s still there, comforting you and helping you get the words out. It makes it hurt even more.

She leans down, pressing a kiss to your head. “Say it…” she mumbles softly against your hair. Her words leave a chill down your spine, because her tone isn’t malicious or even angry, she knows she’s getting what she deserves, and she knows that you deserve to get it out.

You lick your lips, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth before you turn to face her, your eyes finally looking up into hers. It makes your breath shudder, because they’re holding so much pain, and confusion and it makes you hate yourself for doing this.

“It is as just…a lot…seeing you for the first time in so long…I wasn’t thinking and…and you don’t even live here anymore, Ellie. How are we even supposed to do this? I let you stick around and fuck me until it’s time for you to leave again? And then it’s back to how it was? I don’t even know you anymore…I can’t…I won’t do it.” You sigh out, your words are stern and there’s no getting through to you, and Ellie can see that.

You feel your eyes burn with hot tears, and you don’t even care. You inhale deeply as they spill out onto your cheeks, gently grabbing Ellie’s hands from your hips and removing them so they’re now hanging down by her own legs.

“I deserve better, Ellie…and you aren’t that” you whimper out. The words are like fire on your tongue, burning your insides and setting your heart ablaze as you stare at her. It hurts to even say it out loud, but it’s the truth, you both know it.

Ellie’s own green eyes pool up with tears, the whites of her eyes going red as she inhales deeply. She knew it was all too good to be true, too much of a fantasy to indulge in. She didn’t deserve your kindness, she didn’t deserve your forgiveness, she knew that for a long time.

It was just nice to pretend that she did for a moment.

Ellie knows deep down, that she’d do anything to beat the obstacles that would’ve came with being with you. The distance, trust, making it all up to you, she would’ve done it all. You’d never been anything less than the girl that she wanted to grow old and grey with.

You both new that.

She licks her lips, looking down at her feet for a moment before she gives you a nod. She can’t make this any harder for you than it’s already been. You do deserve better, and as much as she feels she can provide only the best for you, she can’t put you through anymore pain than she already has.

“I’ll um…I’ll let myself out…” she nods to herself, her words barely above a whisper in fear that it’ll break through her tears, and she’ll crumble onto her knees, begging you to give her the chance that she didn’t deserve.

You inhale deeply, looking away from the girl as you nod. Any longer staring into those big, sad eyes, and you would’ve crumbled with her, holding her in your arms and telling her it had always been her, and that you’d give her a million chances if she wanted them.

But you needed to do right for yourself, you had to put your foot down.

Ellie disappears upstairs, grabbing her jeans and her sneakers and getting dressed in silence. She takes in the details of your room, knowing that it would be the last time that she sees this intimate side of you. It’s one of the things she regretted the most, not taking in the little things about you leading up to when she left, it made it harder to remember them down the road.

You don’t move from your spot until she comes back, because it’s hard to retain the last twenty four hours that you’ve experienced. It feels bizarre and unreal and it feels like a disturbingly realistic dream. You feel like you can’t move, like you’re suddenly glued to the floor.

Ellie’s foot steps padding against your floor breaks you away from that feeling, and you’re quickly on your feet and walking her towards the door. It’s awkward and strange and it feels like she wasn’t just grabbing you and pulling you into her body mere moments ago.

Before Ellie walks out of your door, she quickly turns around eyes scanning over your living room for a moment before she moved over to the little brown wooden entrance table near your door.

Along with a small bowl holding your keys, there was a little note pad and a little red pen. Without skipping another beat, she grabbed it, jotting down her number. She cleared her throat as she handed it to you, eyes down casted before she spoke. “My um…my number…feel free to call or text or..whatever you want. I’ll always answer” she reassures.

You stare at the little note for a moment, chewing your bottom lip before you sigh softly. “Ellie you really don’t have to do that-“ she cuts you off, stepping forward and grabbing your hand, turning it over before she pushes the paper into your hand, closing it around it.

“I don’t wanna be strangers anymore..even if we can’t be together in the way I’d want…I miss you…i’ll take you in any way you’ll let me have you…” she sighs out, her tone pleading with you.

You finally stare up into her eyes, and you know she’s telling the truth. You lick your lips, looking down at the little note scribbled in her hand writing, paired with a little smiley face at the end.

“Maybe we could go out sometimes…as friends or something” she adds on, weary of the way you’ve been completely silent this entire time.

You let out a soft sigh before you give her a slow nod, your finger tips gently running along the numbers on the paper before you finally look up at her, giving her a soft, sad smile. “Yeah…I’d like that, Ellie” you speak softly to her.

Despite it being far from what she wants, she gives you a soft smile. She nods with you, staring at you for a moment longer before she nods her head towards the door. “I’d better head out then…I’ll see you around?” She says almost hopefully, scared that it’ll be yet another promise you’ve made that you aren’t sure you want to keep or not.

You smile softly, giving her a reassuring nod. You’re leaning against the front door, watching her as she walks out to her car. She feels like she’ll pass out at any moment, because it’s like the universe is playing a cruel joke on her. The most beautiful girl in the entire fucking world is the one she can’t have, and seeing you leaned up against the door, sun shining down on you like you’re a goddess in the flesh.

She’s surprised she didn’t fall over with a nose bleed.

“I’ll….text you Ellie” you sigh out, and your words alone have Ellie grinning from ear to ear. She almost trips over her own feet as she walks backwards towards her car, causing you to giggle.

She quickly grabs onto the handle of the car, giving you a nod. “Yeah! Yes, um…I’ll answer!” She tries, smoothing down her t shirt to try and come off as cool as possible. You smile softly as you nod, giving the girl a small wave.

It’s all bitter sweet, the smiles on both your face and hers, the way you’re leaning against your door watching her get into her cat and leave, the dreamy look in your eyes as you watch as her car pulls out of your drive way. It all feels too much like a dream, like things had never changed, and everything you had ever wanted was all yours.

But it isn’t, Ellie isn’t yours and you aren’t hers. That was the decision you made, and you were sticking to it.

You huff loudly as you tug yet another dress of your body a bit too roughly.

Nothing looked right, everything looked wrong, and you had to be at Joel’s house within the next hour for the party he was throwing for Ellie.

It had been about a week since the entire situation with Ellie had happened, and as hollow as it made your heart feel, things between the two of you had been surprisingly good. You and her texted often, keeping things as friendly as possible. Apart from the numerous times Ellie tried flirting with you. You’d even gone as far as meeting with her and Joel for dinner sometime within the week. During which, Joel had mentioned that he was throwing a welcome home party for Ellie, and he expected you to be there.

And before you knew it, Friday was upon you. Your hair and makeup was already done, yet you had no idea what the hell to put on. You huffed loudly in annoyance as you threw a denim skirt across your room, stepping forward to rummage through your closet once again before the sound of your phone buzzing caught your attention.

You raised your eyebrows as you turned around, looking at your phone on its spot upon your bed. You roll your eyes playfully as you step forward a bit and realize it’s Ellie.

Ellie: do u know what ur gonna wear?

You sigh softly as you look at your mess of a closet for a brief moment before you begin typing away at your phone.

You: not a clue. U?

Ellie: birthday suit. Wanna twin?

You: do u want me to block u?

Ellie: jeez relax

Ellie: was just a suggestion 🙄

Ellie: srsly tho, u comin soon?

You: soon as I figure out what to wear

Ellie: hurry up. People are already here and I need someone to talk shit with

You: yes ur majesty

Ellie: oh I like that

You: I’ll send these messages to ur dad

Ellie: are u telling on me?

You: bye Ellie

Ellie: byeeeeeee

And that’s what your relationship consisted of. Witty back and forth texts with the occasional flirting that you’d have to shut down every once in a while. It felt…simple, easy, like there was no complicated history between the two of you and you could just be friends who would talk shit sometimes.

It made it feel easier to be around her.

You let out a soft sigh before you turn towards your closet once again, tossing your phone onto your bed and tackling the issue at hand that was finding an outfit for Ellie’s party.

About twenty minutes more of rummaging through your closet, you settle on a black lace table top, one that falls a bit frilly towards the end, a pair of blue jeans, and black sandals. You sigh softly as you look into the mirror, giving your hair a few more shakes and cleaning up any access lip liner around your lips before you grab your purse and make your way over to Joel and Ellie’s house.

When you get to Joel’s house, you aren’t sure you’d ever seen so many cars lined up against the curb.

Ellie had always been a town favorite, and it’s no shocker that everyone would wanna get in on the action of seeing her now that she was back.

You inhale deeply as you stare up at the house, for a moment a feeling of uncertainty washing over you. Regardless of the fact that you and Ellie were on speaking terms, it was still hard to shake the uneasy feeling that came with being around her. It made your heart rate quicken, made your palms sweaty, your hands shaky. It was an overwhelming full body experience that no matter how much you tried to shake, you couldn’t.

But, you promised you’d be there. You let out a soft sigh before you wiped your palms against the rough denim of your jeans, shaking away your nervous before you walked up the steps to the house, and let yourself inside.

You can’t remember the last time Joel’s house was so lively. Anytime within the last few months that you’d been there had been quiet, and it was only ever the two of you. Joel preferred it that way, keeping things quiet and more intimate. He just for some reason had a thing with home coming parties

As soon as you’re in the house, various familiar faces are coming towards you and greeting you with smiling faces. You smile softly as you embrace a few of them, allowing them to calm your nerves for a brief moment before you have to see Ellie.

But before those thoughts can even begin to disperse in your mind, Ellie is cutting the conversation she was having short, because her eye had been on the front door the entire night, waiting for the moment that the person behind it would be you.

It almost makes her angry, because you never fail to take her breath away. You’re supposed to be her friend and she’s gawking at you from the moment you set foot in her house. She licks her lips, eyes raking down your form as she brings the red solo cup to her lips, her other arm reaching out and circling your waist to pull you into a hug.

You take your bottom lip between your teeth as she pushes you flush against her body. She’s not drunk, but she’s certainly warmed up enough to grab you as she pleases. You can’t help but giggle softly as she holds you before you press your hands to her chest, pushing her away from your body. “Already broken into dads liquor cabinet I see?” You tease her.

She rolls her eyes playfully before she looks down into her cup before taking another sip. “Had no choice, he spent way too much fuckin money on whiskey for me…said he wanted the good stuff” she groans out. You smile softly as you nod, looking down into the cup with her before your eyes scan the room for the man in question.

“Where is he anyways? I wanna say hello” you breath out, your voice slightly raised as you lean into her a bit so that she’s able to hear you over the chatter of party goers conversations and the low music playing in the background.

Her eyes drift down towards your face as you look around for her father, licking her own lips as she takes in your pretty features for a moment before she looks up with you, catching sight of her dad across the room chatting up some work friends. “Probably talking about building decks and the game coming up…boring stuff…meaning you’d much rather hang with me” she mumbles out nonchalantly. You roll your eyes as you give her a nudge, your palm pressing against her chest.

She smirks softly as she watches you. You’d both fallen into such a comfortable relationship, regardless of the fact that her heart yearned for you whenever you were near, and every time other than that. She was at least grateful for the way you were around her now.

“You have an entire house of people here to see you, and talk to you…I won’t hog” you nod to yourself, and it makes her want to whine.

She’d trade every single person in that room for you, any fucking day.

“You’ll catch up later though, yeah?” She questions, her big eyes looking down into yours and practically begging for the reassurance that she so desperately needed. That had become a common thing for her, constantly asking you for reassurance that you’d text her or that you’d come back around to see her later on.

You know why she does it, she’s scared you’ll leave her. She’s scared you won’t keep your promise of sticking around and you’ll realize that this isn’t right, and she doesn’t even deserve you as a friend.

She’s scared you’ll do to her what she did to you.

But you always reassure her. You always give her that little act of devotion that she doesn’t deserve, yet you always feel the need to give her. You smile softly as you look up at her, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. “I’ll come and find you” you promise, and you can physically see relief wash over her. She smiles softly with you as she nods, mumbling a soft ‘okay’ before you set out to go find Joel.

Joel’s face lights up the exact same way Ellie’s does when he spots you, excusing himself from the conversation with his friends as he pulls you into a big bear hug. “There’s my girl…was starting’ to think you weren’t comin’ kid” he breaths out, and you can practically hear the smile on his face as he holds you close.

You giggle softly as you hug him back before you nod. “M’sorry, Joel…the walk is pretty long” you admit, leaving out the part where you ruined your entire bedroom searching for an outfit that was good enough.

Your words make him groan. “I told you kid, I could’ve came and picked you up. Don’t like you walkin’ home so late at night” he sighs out. You giggle softly, the prominent frown on his brow making it clear how annoyed he was with you doing that. “This town is harmless Joel. Plus, you’re celebrating with Ellie, I knew you’d wanna have a drink or two…I’ll be fine” you reassure him, giving his arm a playful punch.

He sighed softly, nodding slowly. “If you say so…but if you change your mind I’m sure one of my buddies wouldn’t mine taking you home” he promises, and you give him a nod paired with a soft smile. “I’ll keep that in mind Joel..” you smile up at him before you turn your attention to the party, smiling softly at what Joel had managed to put together.

“The place looks great by the way…you sure know how to throw a party old man” you praise him, causing his eyes to crinkle towards the edges as he smiles proudly. He nods in agreement as he brings his cup to his lips. “Looks good, right? Ellie said it was too much but…with her first time back and all..wanted to make it a good one” he breaths out before he looks down at you.

“M’really happy you made it kid. You don’t know how much it means to her” his voice drops a bit as he looks down at you, and you look up at him. His eyes are filled with genuine gratitude, the ones he looked at you with every time he saw you and Ellie together when you were younger. It was as if he was thanking you for loving his daughter, despite everything that had happened.

You smile softly up at him before you nod, looking down as you toy with the rings on your fingers. It all felt like too much, like you were given credit for something you didn’t deserve. You inhaled deeply before you nodded your head towards the kitchen. “M’gonna get something to drink…I’ll be around” you promise him, and he smiles softly as he nods, giving your back a soft, gentle rub before he goes back to his friends.

And those are the two longest conversations you have for the night. You decide to lay low, babysitting the drink that you’d made for yourself which consisted of whatever soda you could and the cheapest liquor that Joel had, because you didn’t want to use io the expensive stuff he’d bought for Ellie.

You float around from the living room, to the front porch, and the kitchen, choosing not to stay in one place for too long at one time. You have gentle smiles and small waves to people you knew from town, the drink in your hand giving you the warmth to not feel embarrassed when fleeing the conversation too quickly.

You do it, because you know that no matter what, you and Ellie would gravitate towards one another within the night. It was inevitable, because you were both drinking and if her eyes weren’t on you, yours were on her, and you had to make it a point to not make your way around her at all.

Because you knew it wouldn’t end well.

About an hour or two into the party, you’re leaned up against the island in Joel’s kitchen. You were working on your second drink, quietly sipping away at with your chin leaned into your palm, humming softly to the music that was playing.

Joel had made his way towards you within the night, checking in on you and making sure you were okay and had whatever you needed or wanted.

He leans up against the counter with you, his forearms resting against the wooden top as he leans into you a bit. “Why do I keep findin’ you hidin’ in a corner? You’re not havin’ fun?” He’s only half teasing you. The other half of his question is genuine, and you can’t help but feel bad that he’s worried about you, and why you’re not socializing.

You smile softly as you shake your head, bringing your red cup to your lips and taking another sip before you speak. “I’ve never been a social butterfly…you know that” you hum softly, and it’s true. You’ve never been one to party too hard or speak too much. Sure, you had your fair share of it all in college, but it was all done with the gentle shove of your friends behind you. You were an introvert through and through, who simply had a few extrovert tendencies whenever it counted.

But that was only half the truth.

The rest of it, was that you were in deed hiding from something, two somethings actually.

You didn’t mean to see it, or even catch it, although saying it that way made it sound like she was doing something wrong or something she shouldn’t have been, which was far from the truth. Joel had really gone as far as extending an invitation to anyone he saw in town, and urged them to spread the word to whoever they wanted. In that, came various familiar faces that you hadn’t seen in a very long time.

Amongst those faces, was a girl named Jade.

Jade became a prominent name during your high school years. Before you and Ellie began dating, it was no secret that the girl had been crushing on Ellie for quite some time. Ellie told you she noticed it all during the third grade, said that Jade would pass her notes or ask her to be her valentine, but she never truly paid it any mind, because she didn’t see Jade that way.

And when you started dating, the flirty eyes never really stopped. You’d always catch Jade ogling Ellie, whispering things to her friends when you’d walk past, laughing loudly to make sure you knew they were talking about you. You knew it wasn’t anything against you, it was for the simple fact that Jade wanted something that you had. In fact, when you’d return to town, Jade had even made it a point to pull you aside and apologize to you one day when you were running errands in town. You could tell she was genuine, and that it was all petty little high school games, and you considered her to be somewhat of a friend in your new life there.

And you never once accused Ellie of wanting Jade, because you always felt secure with her. Despite everything that Ellie had put you through, you’d never label her a cheater.

But seeing them both on the couch, Jade whispering something into Ellie’s ear, Ellie’s arm draped across the couch behind Jade, the two of them looking far too much like a couple for comfort. It put a dull, burning feeling inside your stomach. It made your heartbeat loud inside of your head and it felt like all the blood was rushing to your head. It was too much, and you couldn’t be around to watch.

But you’d never tell Joel that.

He somehow already knows that it’s what’s on your mind, because he’s leaning into you and his voice is dropping lower in volume so that no one but you will hear. “She’s just bein’ polite, you know…doesn’t mean anything…” he’s trying to reassure you, as if it would ease the blow.

You sigh softly, shaking your head as you bring your cup up to your lips, taking a sip of the flattening soda and the bitter alcohol, the flavor making you wince a bit. “Doesn’t matter if she’s being polite, or if she likes her…it’s none of my business…I’m just here because you asked me to be” you mumble out as you swirl the drink in the cup, staring down into it as you have a half shrug.

Joel sighed sadly as he watched you. Regardless of the fact that he knew Ellie was wrong for what she did, he knew his daughter, and he knew that she was just being young and reckless when she did what she did. He’d always been rooting for the two of you, secretly hoping that some how, some day, you’d find it in your heart to forgive his daughter, and give her the privilege of loving you.

His eyes drifted over towards Ellie for a moment, watching as the girl leaned in and whispered something in her ear, her hand resting on Ellie’s thigh. It was enough to make him roll his eyes, which prompted you to giggle softly. Alcohol always brought out the sassy side of the man.

“Im tellin’ you kid, if you went over there right now, you’d have her full attention” His words make you laugh dryly, shaking your head as you down the rest of your drink, tilting your head back to get all of it into your mouth before you toss it into the nearby trash.

“Maybe. But I’m not gonna stick around to test that theory” you breath out, your words slow and soft from the affects of the liquor in your system. Joel raises his eyebrows as he watches you, frowning softly.

“Leavin’ already? You sure about that?” He tries, his attempt at trying to get you to stay not so casual. You hum softly as you nod, leaning against the opposite side of the counter as you looked over at Joel with heavy eyes.

“I wanna get out of here while I can still walk…plus I don’t wanna keep you from your friends” you nodded towards the various people that Joel had left throughout the night to check on you. It made you feel bad, because he truly was the only person you felt okay with speaking to throughout the night, and the guilt you felt knowing you were pulling him away from his guests was something you could’ve easily gone without.

He sighed softly as he shook his head. “You know I’d rather spend time with you kid, don’t mind them” you’re already waving your hand lazily as you practically shoo him away, giving him a soft smile as you shake your head. “It’s way past my bed time anyways Joel….I’ll see you next week” you reassure him, and he knows there’s no convincing you.

He sighs gently before he gives you a soft nod, telling you to get home safe to which you assure him you will.

On your way towards the door, various people are calling after you. Telling you that it’s far too early for you to check out, you’re even sure a few hands grab your own, trying to tug you back. You simply give a soft giggle as you wave them off, telling them you have work to do at home.

It isn’t until a strong hand wraps around your waist when your hand is on the door, that you completely stop.

There’s no question on who it is, the feeling of Ellie’s hands having been burned into your brain from the last time she was with you. You can’t help but whine softly in annoyance, because you know that’s it’s her, and you know that there’s no reason for her to have gotten up from where she was sitting to stop you.

She’s the entire reason you’re leaving anyways.

Ellie’s tugging at your waist to turn you around, needing to see your face. The whine you let out makes her sigh softly. Once she’s gotten you to turn around, you’re rolling your eyes at her.

“What is it now, Ellie?” You sigh out tiredly, and it makes the girl frown. You sound like you’re over it, and tired of her, and like the only thing you truly want to do in that moment is go home.

“You’re leaving already? I thought…you said you’d come and find me later” she mumbles, her voice desperate and confused. You raise your eyebrows in disbelief as you watch her before you inhale deeply, giving her a half shrug. “I’m just tired, Ellie…it’s best if I go home now” you nod, trying to turn around and end the conversation short. You truly did not have the energy to deal with any of it, your emotions, the jealousy you felt, her.

She frowns further as you try to leave, her hand grabbing your wrist and stopping you from leaving before she speaks up again. “Is it..are you leaving because of Jade? Because her and I weren’t doing anything I swear-“ you let out a soft giggle, but it doesn’t sound friendly or even happy. You’re quite literally over it.

“Why are you explaining yourself to me? I’m nothing to you, Ellie. You can be with whoever you want, it has nothing to do with me” you breath out, and the words you’re saying are breaking Ellie’s heart.

She thought she had it all planned out. She wanted to just…make you a little jealous, get your attention in the slightest bit. She was running out of options, and doing some harmless flirting seemed to be the way she’d get you to her. She wanted you to stomp over to her and Jade on the couch, and demand that she come upstairs with you.

But when she simply saw your shoulders deflate from the kitchen, and you made your way to her front door, she knew she’d made a mistake.

It was starting to feel like that’s all she could do, make mistakes. Every thing she did, or said was always the wrong thing. The worst possible option for her to make was the one she always followed through with.

And she hated herself for it.

And she couldn’t even say anything to you. She just stared down at you as you waited for her to say something. You let out a tired sigh before you grab her hand gently, prying it away from her wrist. “Have fun with her…you deserve it” you sigh out, giving her a sad smile before you turn around once again to leave.

But this time, Ellie doesn’t stop you.

Because she isn’t sure how to reverse what she’s done. Nothing has gone the way she’s wanted it to, and what she thought would bring you two closer together has merely driven a wedge between you instead. She frowned as she watched you open the front door to her house.

Before you leave, you give her a small wave, and she can see in your eyes how much this has all taken out of you, how much life she had sucked out of you and left you dry. Despite all that she’d done, you still had it in your to leave with a sweet smile and a wave.

It was like she couldn’t do anything right, and seeing you leave and walk out of her home once again was breaking her heart.

She was letting you walk out again, and she felt utterly hopeless.

As she watched you leave, she promised herself that she would do everything in her power to make things right, to do right by you and be the girl that you deserved.

She was going to fight for you, no matter what.

[mattnott]

𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

mattheo riddle x fem reader

SUMMARY. in wich your boyfriend thinks the best way to spice up the relationship is by playing hide and seek. WORDS. 4.7K+. english is not my first language. N/A. literally have no fucking idea, i was having a mental breakdown and this came out.

WARNINGS. smut, mdni, knife play, kinda mean!mattheo, porn w//plot, aged up characters, rough sex, established relationship, unprotected pnv, hard chocking, swearing, ass slapping, licking, making out, blood kink.

masterlist -> navigation -> mattheo masterlist

Being satisfied.

Mattheo was sure that he was not asking for too much. Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself over and over again for the last few weeks, but lately, satisfaction seemed out of reach—almost like an impossibility—and no matter how hard he tried, a fucked up emptiness was still there, tattooed on his very being as the control flipped down his fingers.

It was maddening. Absolutely maddening. He was certain he was losing control of his own body, of his mind, and just that thought alone made him feel nauseous; he felt like someone was twisting his stomach, slowly and painfully; and that wasn’t him. Being fucking miserable like this? That had never been him.

He was Mattheo Riddle, for fuck’s sake.

He never lost control; he thrived on it—he was the fucking embodiment of control. He controlled himself, his actions, and, most importantly, everything around him: Quidditch strategies, his routines, his grades, but above all, his relationships and everyone around him. But lately, everything felt off...vague, as if everything he had carefully built was slipping away, leaving him exposed and raw.

He felt like a wreck, in every sense of the word.

And the worst part? It wasn’t just affecting him anymore; the worst part was that it had started to affect his relationship with you. You, the only person he genuinely gave a shit about, the only person who mattered to him, the only person he couldn’t let slip away. That was the fucking problem.

In the beginning, everything was perfect, so goddamn perfect that sometimes he was fucking terrified to wake up and find out it had all been a dream, a goddamn illusion that his own mind created to punish him. The truth was that being with you was like a goddamn drug—in the best, most fucked-up way. It was addictive, intoxicating, and never lost its thrill. 

The way your bodies fit together, how you let yourself get lost in the things he did to you, how he knew your body by the tip of his tongue—it was all fucking exciting. And you? You never dared to say no to anything he asked, no matter how sick it sounded; that was what made him want to keep you locked up, all to himself.

And for a while it was all he needed.

But Mattheo wasn’t the type of man who loved gently or held himself back when it came to relationships. He never knew how to give just a piece of himself, and in return, he took everything from you, consuming you in ways that were almost humanly impossible. He always wanted to possess, to have power, and with you, it was no exception. 

No matter how much he tried to suppress it, the need to control you, to use you, was becoming unbearable, and Mattheo was sure that it was turning into physical pain; he could feel it in his ribs.

And besides all that bullshit, lately, the little control he had over you felt more fragile than ever, as if something had shifted in a weird way, something he couldn’t quite pinpoint, but it was fucking there, eating him alive, almost destroying his mind and opening his ribs; there was a part of you he could no longer reach, no matter how hard he tried, and it was driving him insane—he was furious with himself, and a twisted part of him was even furious with you.

He knew it didn’t make any sense, at least not to him. After all, he still fucked you in every way he could—rough, slow, and sometimes, when he was feeling nice enough, even with a strange kind of tenderness, Mattheo fucked you until you were both so drenched in sweat that your bodies stuck together like glue. But even that wasn’t enough.

He was not satisfied. 

It wasn't that being with you was horrible... fuck no! He would never say that, because he knew that if he did, it would only be a lie to hide the sexual frustration that was haunting him like a ghost. And if there was one thing he definitely wasn't, it was a liar. Besides, you were the only girl he dared to touch more than once, the only one he didn't toss aside like the others, the only one he fucking surrendered himself to—not just to blow off steam.

He knew he couldn’t be with anyone else but you. But lately, something was missing, something different, something more obscene, something more…him.

Mattheo couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to spice up the things in your relationship; he was done with the same shitty routine over and over again—he needed to push the limits of what he had with you, to push you further, to fuck you even better than he ever did.

He needed to fight for the relationship, fight for you.

It was then that an idea popped into his mind. A game. Something as twisted as it was intimate, something that would push the two of you into new territory that would push him toward the satisfaction he so desperately sought.

Hide and seek.

He knew it was probably a sick idea, a really sick one, but the way the thought consumed him, how it gripped his mind, and how the mere idea of hunting you down in a dark room with nothing but his filthy thoughts and a knife made his cock throb was impossible to ignore, especially after weeks feeling like shit, like a failure as a partner.

The truth was, Mattheo couldn’t stop himself—not when every nerve in his body burned with the desperate need for the satisfaction he craved and not when he finally found a way to solve his problems. He couldn't let you slip away, not when you were the only one who ever mattered to him.

He’d spent way too much time drowning in frustration, feeling his satisfied façade crumble, feeling the control he valued so much slip through his fingers like fucking sand.

But this—this fucked-up, twisted game—was how he’d take it all back. How he’d finally feel in control again, finallyfeel like he had all of you exactly where, to him, you truly belonged. To remind himself that you were still his—to wreck, to ruin, and to use however he wanted.

And that thought alone sent a rush of adrenaline through his veins.

So Mattheo approached you with caution, whispering sweet but fake words to tempt you, tracing his thumb along your thigh, offering you a false sense of security that he was waiting to take away. Looking into your eyes, almost pleading, begging for the uncertainty to finally leave them.

He offered you space to process what he wanted, making you think you had a choice, even though he knew he had already pushed you toward a thing you couldn’t refuse. And when you finally said yes, satisfaction washed over him, and he wasted no time pushing you into the game.

The small room was dim, with the only light coming through the large crystal windows. The setting afternoon sun streamed through the colored glass, casting soft, vibrant hues over the dusty old furniture and the cold stone walls. Strangely, it brought an odd sense of comfort and freedom to a space that otherwise felt heavy and stifling with what was happening inside.

The room was silent except for the faint creak of the floorboards beneath his slow, deliberate steps. Somewhere in the darkened corners, Mattheo moved like a shadow, his fingers wrapped around the cool silver of the knife, the blade glinting faintly in the dim light.

He wasn’t rushing—no, he wanted to savor this, to draw it out for as long as possible, and he knew that even if you couldn’t see him, a part of you could feel him and listen to his footsteps.

You were in the other corner of the room, your back pressed against the edge of an old desk, the cool wood biting your skin through the fabric of your shirt, your breath was shallow as you tried to stay as quiet as possible, determined not to catch Mattheo’s attention. The dim light filtering through the colored glass windows barely reached you; keeping you concealed in the shadows was the only advantage in this twisted game.

Every inch of your body felt wired, tense, your pulse quickening with each passing second, yet you could feel your pussy starting to get wet with anticipation of being haunted.

“Sweetheart.” He called in a purr, his voice smooth, slicing through the silence. It was the first word he’d spoken since he’d given you time to hide and entered the room, and you couldn’t help but press your hand to your chest, trying to steady your racing heart. “You’re hiding well... it’s almost cute, really.” Mattheo’s words were filled with mockery as he moved his head around, his eyes scanning the shadows of the room, searching for any sign of you.

He stopped near a bookshelf, casually flipping the knife between his fingers, the blade gliding effortlessly with every lazy movement. His dark brown eyes scanned the room, and he held his breath, savoring the familiar, sweet, and addictive scent of your perfume that filled his nostrils, quickening his pulse and making his heart skip a beat with anticipation. Yet, the scent was still too faint, and he knew you were still far from him.

And that made him even more eager to play, to catch you and use you as he wanted.

He tilted his head slightly, straining to catch any sound, but the room remained silent, save for the faint rustle of old books settling on the shelves and the distant hum of the castle beyond. Mattheo chuckled to himself. You were good—too fucking good for your own good. He couldn’t hear a thing. No sharp inhale, no shift of weight against the wooden floor, nothing to give you away. And he couldn’t help but feel a strange sensation of pride.

A slow, cruel smirk curled at the corners of his lips as he tapped the flat side of the knife against his palm, the sound barely breaking the silence of the stone walls. You were making this interesting—dragging it out, pushing him to the edge, making him hard, testing his patience. But patience? That was never his strong suit, and it never would be.

Mattheo’s footsteps echoed faintly as he began to move again, the knife still shifting between his fingers with that unnerving ease. His eyes scanned the room attentively, every inch of it, studying the shadows, waiting for the slightest slip—a twitch, a breath, the faintest shift in the air that would give you away.

But nothing did.

You held your breath even longer, your hand pressing against your chest as your fingers dug into the fabric of your shirt in a futile attempt to steady yourself against the nervousness that made your heart pound violently against your ribs—and the need now pulsing deep in your now wet cunt.

“Are you trembling right now, aren’t you?” His voice was a quiet hiss, the words almost dripping with a twisted amusement that sent another shiver down your spine. You could hear the satisfaction in his tone, his words dripping with that familiar sense of control. “Holding your breath? Hoping I’ll just walk right past you?”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” the voice in your head cursed as you felt his footsteps drawing closer, desperately trying to control the frantic pulse of your throbbing cunt.

Despite Mattheo’s footsteps, the room felt too still, too quiet—like you were holding onto every second, every inch of space between you and him. But he still could smell you, your scent growing stronger with every passing moment, enough to make his pants tighten around his cock, and then he finally could hear the faintest breath that made his blood burn with desire through his veins, and he wanted nothing more than to push you, to see you crack, to take this game further until you bleed.

His hand clenched tighter around the knife, the grip intensifying as he took another step, shaking his head violently to refocus on the task… breaking you? Well, that could come later.

He was going to make sure of it.

Your breathing quickened with the adrenaline, your heart pounding violently against your ribs as his footsteps grew louder, the vicious scent of his cologne intensifying with his proximity. You gripped the fabric of your skirt between your trembling fingers in a futile attempt to calm your nerves and to stop the excitement that was now dripping between your legs, hardening your nipples.

“Come on, sweetheart, I know you’re close; I can feel it.” Mattheo’s voice came out sweet, and you knew that was the exact opposite of the intentions that had him searching for you so eagerly. “You’re really making me work for it, huh?” He asked, gently squeezing the knife in his palm, the weak lights of the room casting the shadow of the metal on the wall in front of you. “Cute.”

You cringed at the falsely sweet tone his voice carried as you tried to hold your breath even tighter, bringing your trembling knees to your chest in a nearly stupid effort to stop your pussy from growing even wetter at the sound of his manipulative words.

Mattheo stopped suddenly, his brown eyes flicking across the big dark room, narrowing slightly as they scanning every corner for any sign of you. His fingers toyed with the knife, the blade catching the light as he stood still, trying to hear even the smallest sound.

He could feel the impatience growing, clawing at him, but it didn’t dull the ache in his cock—in fact, it only made him harder. The thrill of catching you, of fucking you into the oblivion, made the excitement burn even more.

“Don’t make me wait any longer, love,” he said again, his voice rougher than before, almost like a threat. “The longer you make me wait, the worse it’s going to be for you.” He chuckled low, sending a shiver down your spine, and your heart raced even faster than it already was.

You glanced up at the ceiling, noticing how his shadow was growing bigger and bigger by the second. He was getting closer to your hiding spot, making you instinctively rub your legs together in a desperate attempt to ease the heat growing between them.

Mattheo cursed under his breath, his impatience growing as he scanned the room once more, searching for any shadow that might betray your position.

When no sign appeared, he sighed again, this time with a touch of irritation; the silence was starting to get to him, but it didn’t last long, because a wicked idea flashed in his mind, and a cruel smirk curled on his lips, and in an instant, he slammed his foot against the wooden floor with all his strength.

The loud sound of his foot hitting the floor echoed through the empty room, so sharp against the silence that without thinking, without noticing, you jumped back, slamming into the table behind you. The movement was small but enough to knock over a stack of books, which crashed to the floor, the noise even louder than his footsteps.

You couldn’t help but curse yourself under your breath, realizing the mistake you’d made, your heart nearly leaping out of your throat.

Mattheo stopped instantly, a low chuckle slipping from his lips as he tightened his grip on the knife in his hand. His eyes locked onto the spot where the books had fallen, and a slow, malicious smirk spread across his face. He tilted his head mockingly, his gaze glinting with amusement when he caught a small glimpse of your head peeking out from behind the desk where you were hiding from him.

Without giving you a chance to run, he moved toward you swiftly, his heavy footsteps echoing off the walls, blending with your shallow, frantic breathing, and before you could even blink, Mattheo was right there, standing over you like you were nothing but his goddamn prey.

“Finally found you, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery, the way he said “sweetheart” making it clear he was loving every second of your discomfort. His eyes never left yours, and he could feel his pants tightening around his hard cock as the panic in your eyes grew.

Oh, there it was—the excitement he had been craving for so long.

You swallowed hard, your hand gripping the edge of the table you were leaning on for support, trying to ignore the dampness already soaking through your panties and the way his eyes were still locked onto your body, his fingers casually playing with the small knife in his hand as you stood in front of him.

“Yeah, i guess you found me” you said, your voice shaky as you tried to steady your shaky legs. “Satisfied now?” You forced yourself to meet his gaze, though all it did was make his twisted smirk grow even wider.

Mattheo took a final step, standing right in front of you. His free hand landed on your hip, his grip so tight it would surely leave a bruise. The coldness of his palm against your warm skin made you shiver involuntarily, and he couldn’t help but let out a low, knowing laugh at the way your body reacted to him, your pussy tightening at the rough, throaty noise.

It was always like this, always—you trying to hold your ground while your trembling legs threatened to give out, even if you tried to resist the urge to drop to your knees right in front of him, you trying to challenge him, when in reality, all you wanted was to have your wet pussy filled with his big cock and feel him pump you full of his cum.

The same thing happened each and every time, regardless of how you two fucked, and he felt dumb for ever thinking that this time would be different.

Still, he wasn't complaining, since it made the game much more entertaining.

“No, not yet,” he whispered, leaning forward, your faces so close that his warm breath brushed against your skin. His free hand massaged your hip gently, his thumb stroking your skin in a way that was both mocking and soft, and you pressed your thighs together, trying to control the throbbing between your legs.

Mattheo’s hand left your hip, his fingers tangling in your hair with a strength that had you gasping in surprise as he yanked your face closer to his.

His breath mingled with yours—hot—and you could feel the press of his hard cock against you; still, he kept his lips just out of reach, teasing you. “Be a good girl,” he whispered, the words almost a command. “Show me your tongue, love.”

“And why?” you asked, your voice trembling as you tried to keep your composure, but it was impossible. The air between you thickened as he pushed his hips forward, his clothed cock pressing against the top of your panties, making you whimper.

“Show. Me. Your. Fucking. Tongue.” He repeated like a command, his fingers tightening in your hair as he pulled you even closer. The grip on your scalp made a sudden soft escape your lips—somewhere between a moan and a whimper. “Now.” He ordered, and you quickly opened your mouth, your wet muscle sliding out to meet him, and you felt his cock throbbing harder against you.

“Such a good girl for me,” he praised you almost softly, and before you could react, he stuck his own tongue out of his mouth and gave yours a slow, tentative lick, making you shiver and whine with the contact, and then before you could even open your eyes again, he crashed his lips against yours in a heated kiss, full of teeth and tongue.

You moan into the kiss, feeling your tongues roughly clash against each other, teeth hitting with an brutal force as you taste each other’s lips, almost as if you were claiming again a territory that had belonged to both of you for a long time.

Your lips moved against each other in a frantic and aggressive rhythm, your tongues so intertwined that neither of you could tell where one ended and the other began. Mattheo let out a low groan, his cock growing even harder as the kiss deepened, and his grip on your hair loosened just enough for his hand to slide under your skirt.

He grabbed the flesh of your ass tightly, squeezing it tightly with a strength that would surely leave a mark before yanking you forward, grinding your hips against his, forcing you to feel the full weight of his hard cock pressing against you.

“Such a good fucking ass,” Mattheo growled against your mouth, fingers digging harshly into your ass as he thrust his hips into you, the rough friction making you whimper against his lips, your cunt dripping from the pressure alone.

He could already feel his damn frustration fading away, little by little.

His hand tightened on your ass, pulling you closer, making you gasp at the sudden pressure. Before you could react with another whine, you felt his teeth bite your bottom lip, breaking the skin enough to make the taste of your blood linger in both of your tongues. He grunted in satisfaction, savoring the familiar taste, and you felt how hard he was pressing his cock against your clothed pussy.

Without warning, he slapped your ass sharply, the impact leaving you surprised, a mark of his fingers on your sensitive skin. Almost immediately, he gave another slap, this one softer but still enough for the sting to make you shudder, biting down on your already bloodied lip.

Mattheo moved away from your body a little bit, a wicked smile twisting his lips as he kept just enough distance to leave you yearning for more, wanting him to finally fuck you the way he intended there and then. His pupils were dilated as he looked at you, and you met his gaze, agitated and breathless.

"Mattheo, please!" you pleaded, trying to ignore the pain on your lip, your brow wrinkled slightly due to the lack of friction you were experiencing. Yet, he only laughed, mocking you, finding it amusing that you were nearly as frustrated as he had been previously.

“Oww, are you anxious, sweetheart?” He blinked, pretending innocence, the hand that had been gripping your skin now tucking a stray lock of your messy hair behind your ear in a mockingly sweet gesture. “Poor, poor girl…” he taunted you, his eyes drifting to the small blade in his free hand, anxiously waiting to mark your skin.

He already had the prey; he only needed to cut it.

Mattheo pressed the flat edge of the knife against his palm, his grip tightening as he slowly dragged it down your skin. A shiver raced through you, and you held your breath as the cold, sharp blade grazed your sensitive flesh.

“What you’re trying to do?” you asked, your voice shaky as you watched the knife press harder against your skin.

But he didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed you by the waist and slammed your back against his chest, your feet stumbling to catch up as he dragged you with him. His arm locked around your stomach, keeping you pressed to him, making your head spin, and a soft gasp escaped your bruised lips when you felt his hard cock pressed against your ass.

Mattheo’s grip tightened around your waist, his chest resting against your back as he roughly pushed you into that position, giving him a better view of your ass. Another gasp escaped your lips when you felt his hand slide up to your throat, his fingers tightening around your skin, almost like a reminder of who was in control. Who the fucking prey was.

“Stay fucking still,” he breathed against your ear, his breath hot as he continued to press his clothed hard cock against you, and you obey, trying to ignore the pain of his grip tightening around your neck.

Your pulse hammered under his strong grip, your throat tightening as you swallowed, yet Mattheo only tightened his hold in response, his satisfaction growing with every painful whimper that escaped your lips and every shudder that ran through your already weak legs.

His other hand—the one holding the sharp knife—moved slowly down your stomach, the handle brushing against your skin as he slid the blade lower and lower. Mattheo couldn’t help but smirk even more as he felt your body tremble again and again, his cock pulsing, sensing the way you seemed to shrink back against him.

Mattheo was savoring every second of it, watching you squirm, watching the nerves take over, watching you hold your breath, waiting for the inevitable pain. That was what he wanted, what he needed—to regain control, to own you. You, the one who held his heart in your hands like it was nothing. If he controlled you, you could never hurt him, never break his heart, never crush it with your touch. So, he was just taking the safe option.

Control you before you even realize you were controlling him.

In a swift move, he yanked your skirt and panties down, exposing the soft flesh of your ass even more and your wet folds to the cold air. The sudden vulnerability made your stomach twist in a mix of nervousness and anticipation, but you barely had time to process it before Mattheo thrust one of his knees between your legs, forcing your thighs to open wider, giving him a clear view of your cunt.

“Such a perfect little pussy…” He whispered against your ear, his breath sending goosebumps down your body. “Hands on the table. Now,” he ordered. His hand remained firm on your neck, choking you, his voice dripping with dark mockery, as if he knew exactly what you were feeling. And he did. He knew, and he planned to use it all to his own advantage.

His fingers clenched around your neck more tightly when you hesitated, pressing with such force that you choked slightly—the gesture almost like a silent warning.

"You really think you can disobey me, slut?" He whispered, letting out a dark, dry laugh as he rubbed his covered length on your bare cunt, causing you to whine. “You know better than to piss me the fuck off. Especially when I have a knife in my hand. Don’t fucking test me.”

You followed the command, stifling a moan as his hands tightened around your neck, your shaking hands resting on the wooden surface, your fingers turning white from the pressure.

Mattheo hummed in approval, rocking his hips harder against you, and you instinctively rolled your ass against him, eager for more contact, his grip on your neck loosened just enough for his thumb to caress your jaw—mocking, almost caring.

Then, he finally pressed the cold blade into your ass, and you held your breath, feeling your heart slamming against your ribs.

He muttered, "Stay still," and bit down on your ear. You leaned into him—into the pain—knowing that this would be the closest thing to comfort he’d ever offer you in that moment.

And just when you let yourself relax a little on his grip, the first cut came.

Your eyes snapped shut with the new contact, and you trembled as the pain of your skin being sliced open hit you. Mattheo let out a chuckle, his cock throbbing harder at the sound of your whimpers and the sight of your eager, exposed pussy.

He pressed the blade harder, dragging it slowly and painfully across your skin, cutting through the soft flesh of your ass, still marked by his slaps.

Another shock of pain coursed through your whole body, and you let out a soft whimper, trying to move instinctively. But Mattheo’s grip on your neck only tightened, keeping you locked in place.

He wasn’t going to let you escape, not now that he was so close to getting what he wanted, to the satisfaction he was craving.

“Shhh, it’s just a game. Stay still, or you’ll make it worse.” His fingers tightened around your throat, cutting off your breath enough to make you struggle against his hold. Your head spun, your body fighting for breath, but strangely the adrenaline only turned you on more.

Reluctantly, you gave in, your fingers loosening their grip on the table as you allowed yourself to sink into his hold.

“Just like that, let me take care of you.” His voice dripped with false sweetness, but you let yourself fall for it, ignoring the burning pain in your marked ass as you tried to convince yourself it was worth it.

Mattheo dragged the knife further down, the cold blade scraping roughly over your skin, cutting into you and leaving a trail of blood behind before it finally tore through your flesh. You bit your lip hard, fighting back the scream clawing at your sore throat, your legs instinctively parting, offering him a clearer view of your dripping folds.

This time, it wasn’t just a cut—it was a permanent mark.

“Mine.”

The final stroke completed the “e,” and with each precise cut, you felt the heat of your own blood dripping down the curve of your ass, making your legs tremble more and more. The pain was sharp, but it made your heart race violently against your ribcage in a way you couldn’t explain; and yet his heartbeat mirrored yours, as if, after everything, he had finally regained control over you again.

Mattheo step back slightly, his hand loosening around your neck as he looked at the mess he’d made. He watched as your blood poured down your ass, staining your skin, tracing the deep cuts in thick, red lines. His eyes then moved lower, taking in the sight of your pussy pulsing with need, as if it were calling for him.

Fuck, he wanted to fuck your pussy so bad.

He placed the knife down slowly, his heart pounding in his chest, as he felt his cock straining against the zipper of his pants, watching your chest rise and fall, and your nipples pressed against the fabric of your shirt. His hand slid down to your ass, his fingers tracing the bloodstained marks, feeling the warm liquid collect beneath his nails.

Mattheo licked his lips before bringing his fingers to his mouth eagerly, sucking them clean, licking with the taste, savoring the metallic taste, as if, absorbing it as if by magic, your blood would mix with his.

“Your blood tastes so fucking good,” he muttered, sucking harder on his fingers. You blinked slowly, trying to keep the tears from spilling down your cheeks.

After one last slow lick of his fingers, Mattheo holds you again, a groan escaping his throat as he looks at your dripping cunt, and without wasting another second, he freed his hard cock from his pants, and with a single thrust, he slid himself inside your pussy.

“Ah, fuck!” You cried out in surprise as Mattheo's rigid cock entered you without warning, the force of his penetration making you almost sob. Yet instead of pulling back, he drove himself deeper, relishing the way your tight pussy clamped down on his throbbing cock. A low moan rumbled in his chest as he felt the familiar sensation of your inner walls around him.

“Even after all these months, you're still so fucking tight.” Mattheo groaned against your ear, his hips slamming against yours, the brutal force causing the blood pooling in your ass to trickle down and coat his skin. Each thrust pushing him deeper into your cunt, until the head of his cock was almost kissing your cervix, making your tender folds throb with the strange pleasure.

Fuck, he has been begging for this for months. Months begging for control, for satisfaction, and it was finally there; it was finally in his hands.

His hand tightened around your neck, making it hard to breathe, but he didn’t care. He only drove his cock deeper into you, forcing a loud moan from your lips as the pain from the fresh cuts burned through your skin, leaving you no chance to speak, no chance to even gasp his name.

You were almost certain that if he choked you just a little longer, or five more times, maybe even less, you’d be completely out of air—left to die right there with his cock still buried inside you.

But even though you couldn’t say his name or form a single coherent word, that didn’t stop the loud, desperate moans from spilling out of your bruised lips, your cries turning into broken, incoherent pleas as his grip on your throat tightened, dragging you closer to the edge.

“Yeah, just like that—moan like a fucking slut for me,” he breathed against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. His large palm slid over your stomach, pressing you even harder against his muscular chest, forcing your fresh cuts to rub painfully against his bare pelvis. The sharp sting made you bite your lip to stifle a cry, your fingers tightening around the edge of the table as another type of pain spread through you.

The pain only pushed you closer to your orgasm.

Mattheo’s grip on your neck tightened, making it almost impossible for you to breathe, let alone moan. His hot breath ghosted over your ear as he fucked your pussy with deep, brutal thrusts, each one so relentless that you knew you wouldn’t be able to get out of bed tomorrow. Yet you didn’t say anything letting him chase what he needed.

“Only letting go of your throat when you fucking come like a bitch, sweetheart.” Mattheo moaned in your ear, his hips fucking you faster, burying himself to the hilt as he felt your walls clenching around his dick, signaling your climax. He knew that his own release was close, but he refused to acknowledge it, determined to push you over the edge first like a sick competition he was playing alone.

With three more thrusts, both you and Mattheo felt your pussy clamp down around his rigid length, your whimpering cries echoing through the room as you came, making him grunt in satisfaction. He finally loosened his grip on your throat, allowing you to gasp in relief, but he didn’t stop. He slammed into you one final time before his release hit him like a wave, his cock pulsing violently, spilling his hot cum deep inside your cunt.

After a moment of silence, Mattheo carefully pulled his cock out of your pussy, his breath still ragged as he watched his cum spill out of your hole, then he gently traced his fingers over the “mine” carved into your skin, brushing the marks softly, almost reverently, as if he was looking at a piece of art. The satisfaction he craved now has a permanent mark on you.

“Are you good now?” you asked softly, feeling the exhaustion take over your features as you tried to steady yourself and keep your eyes open despite the pleasant pain.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss on your bruised neck before whispering, “You can say that, sweetheart.”

© mattnott 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝, 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚎, 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕, 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔.

hate this shit, the smut sucks but the idea is good, bye bye.

thank you to my girl @bucksplum for helping with the last paragraphs, i love you a lot <3

it’s 4 am so if you want to be rude, i will visit you in your nightmares or worse… (tomorrow i might edit better…or not

comments and reblogs are appreciated and help me a lot, so feel free to interact 🫶🏻

[pjmmania]

If Snow Decides to Fall

7. “Something to celebrate.”

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has liked, commented, or reblogged this story. I truly didn't imagine it gaining this much traction. I hope all of you continue to read. Anyway, a LOT happening in this chapter, so I won't take any more of your time;)

Chapter Warnings: pregnancy, smut, explicit language, references to alcohol abuse, misogynistic language, explicit language, mental health struggles

Taglist: @marihoneywk @amarawayne @chimmy-licious

Back to Chapter Index

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Fuck.”

His grunt was muffled against the back of your neck. Unable to help it, his fingers dug painfully into your inner thigh, which he was holding up to give him a deeper entry. His seed burst into you as you both moaned.

This was you way of celebrating your first morning waking up next to each other, with you fully moved into the apartment. This was your home now, your bed.

“I love you.” you exhaled.

Spent, Jimin pulled out of you and kissed your temple, “I love you too, you little minx.”

His hand smoothed over your hip to find rest ok the side of your belly. At almost twenty weeks, you were definitely looking pregnant.

A faint smile drew across your face, “Hormones, or whatever.”

“Mm,” he kissed your neck again, “Glad I could satisfy. You’re so fucking hot like this, baby.”

You laughed and turned your head so you could kiss his lips slowly, the world slipping away for a moment. It could now only be you and him, locked faithfully together with your unborn child nestled comfortably within you.

True, there had been some bumps in the road with your argument, the Namjoon situation, and with your parents, but the two of you were breaking through all of that. Your relationship felt stronger and better than ever before.

When your lips parted, he sighed. You read his mind immediately, with the trip to LA looming over both of your heads. The flight would be early the next morning.

“Don’t go down this road again,” you whispered, “Doctor Yoon gave it the green light, and pregnant women fly every day. Plus, I won’t be alone. Chae will be with me.”

“I know,” he spackled his worries over with a grin, “It’s a very long flight, though. It’s going to feel so uncomfortable for you and I don’t want it to affect your sleep. Lack of sleep can raise your blood pressure.”

You giggled a little bit, adoring how much he cared for you . You sat up and scooted off the bed so you could head into the bathroom, “Countless things can raise my blood pressure, Jimin. Now why are you the one getting all worried, hm? You were the one who told me not to be concerned. Doctor Yoon approved this trip, and she would have said something if she was worried about my or the baby’s health.”

“You’re right, but do me a favor for my own sanity?”

“Hm?”

“Tell Chaeyoung about it,” he pleaded, “That way, she will be able to look out for you when I’m not there. It would make me feel a lot better with not being able to watch you like a hawk.”

You would be with her for most of the trip. For PR reasons and to avoid rumors, stylists were always flown separately from the boys.

You picked up his boxers off the corner of the bed and threw them at his face, “If that’s what will get you to relax, then fine.”

He chuckled as he balled up the underwear in his hands. As you disappeared into the master bathroom, he decided he wasn’t done toying with you. Smirking mischievously, he rolled out of bed and followed you.

You were brushing your sex-knotted hair in front of the mirror. The changes to your body were immaculate in his eyes. The fullness of your breasts and belly was so maternal. It created some kind of spiritual beauty that he’d never imagined. He adored how you had a little extra cushion on top of your hip bones and in your face. Your hair was silkier. Even your lips were a bit puffier.

And to top it all off, his cum was leaking down your legs.

As you brushed, he stood behind you, drinking in the sight through your reflection in the mirror. His hands cupped around the bottom of your bump, lips planting on your shoulder.

“You are the most stunning creature I’ve ever seen.”

You yawned deeply, putting your plastic hairbrush down. Your head fell back to rest on Jimin’s collarbone, eyes closed.

“And the most tired.” Jimin chuckled, kissing your jaw.

You grinned with a hum, letting him sway you gently, “Getting fucked at twenty weeks pregnant can be taxing.”

His low chuckle was another octave below normal, as it was the morning, “You asked for it sweetheart. Don’t think I don’t know what it means when you shift your ass against me like that.”

“You were asking for it,” you giggled, rubbing your belly along his hands, “Your morning wood and the way you held me tighter was quite the tell.”

The two of you stayed like this for a minute or so.

“At least it’s Sunday. You have all day to recuperate.”

You gently broke free of his hold and went to jump in the shower, “Not entirely. I haven’t packed a thing for this trip."

She was folding her boyfriend’s boxers and sorting them into a small pile on his bed. It was in her nature to offer assistance with things like this whenever he had a lot on his plate.

Namjoon finished whatever emails he had to send and made his way into the bedroom to contribute to the stuffing of his own suitcase. He paused in the doorframe and crossed his arms, letting his back rest against the post as a smile crept onto his face.

She was beautiful even performing the most mundane of tasks.

“Hana,” he sighed, “You really don’t need to be folding my underwear.”

Her round, dark eyes met his with humor, “I know. I guess I just wanted something to do.”

He could have sworn she became more endearing every day. With a laugh, he removed himself from the doorframe and went to crouch on the floor beside her, beginning to fold a pair of pants.

“Should be a fun trip.” Hana said.

Namjoon drew in a breath and spoke it out, “Yeah…should be.”

She pursed her lips, trying to appear amicable to his perspective, “You don’t need to pay her any mind, you know. You could decide to simply go away on business with your closest friends in the world and be content.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, his hands pausing all motion, “As a friend, that’s impossible.”

Hana rolled her eyes. As much as she adored the man beside her, she was beginning to wonder how correct his speculations were on this matter.

“Joonie, I love you, but this grudge of yours seems to be getting you nowhere. If you can’t be in close proximity to this woman, why on earth did you agree to that get-together with everyone?”

“That has nothing to do with her. I just miss being around the guys like that. I don’t intend on so much as speaking to her.” his tone reeked of bitterness.

She rubbed his shoulders, “What happened to the wise Namjoon? This is unlike you. I hate to say it, but I can see why this has grown a rift. I don’t believe you are being reasonable.”

Her tone was so gentle that it couldn’t possibly stir anger.

He continued to fold his clothes and pile them into his suitcase, “I can understand how it appears that way, I really can. But baby, you weren’t there when Seoyeon broke his heart. I have never seen a man so shattered. Jimin has always been a sensitive soul. And though he’s strong, I fear that another incident like that would break his spirit irreparably. He can’t handle that again. You weren’t…you weren’t there, Hana. He was drunk all the time, he stopped caring about anything, saying really…worrying things.”

He'd never mentioned it before - the episode. It was one of the worst moments of his entire life. Flashes of that dark morning ran through his mind, causing him to wince.

Her heart dipped, “I see. But, she pulled him out of it, right? She showed up and he’s been happy ever since.”

Namjoon bit the inside of his cheek, his tone dropping, “I see what you’re saying, and I even agree. I don’t deny that she makes him happy.”

“But…You’re trying to get him to give up on his happiness.”

“He was happy with Seoyeon too, Hana.”

She stood up, heading into his closet to grab some socks, “What evidence do you have, beyond mere speculation? I know you said she apparently she's told people that the father has wealth...but you don't know for sure that it's even true. Even if it is, are you sure that proves your theory?"

He groaned, "Why are you pressing so much? And yes, I believe it gives me a reason to be worried for Jimin."

"I don't think so." she muttered.

Namjoon huffed, turning his head to look at her, "Well I do."

"I think-"

"You're the world to me, baby, but I don't care to know what you think right now."

She ignored his warning, plopping some pairs of socks into his suitcase, "I think that at this point, you simply want to be right. You have dug your heels so deep that it's no longer about reason. You just want to win."

Now a heat began to rise between his ribs, "If 'winning' means that my younger brother doesn't go past the point of no return, then yeah, Hana. I want to fucking win."

The young woman softened. Her resolve to go to battle weakened once she realized there existed a story untold. Instead, she knelt beside him, looping her arms around his tense neck.

She kissed his cheek, “I’m sorry.”

He let out a breath and pulled her in for a quick hug, “I am too. And maybe I’m wrong. I just can’t risk feeling comfortable with her right now. I’m the only one in the group with his guard up. Until there is proof that her intentions are genuine, someone has to be vigilant.”

Hana grinned sympathetically, pushing some of her highlighted brown hair behind her ear,“You’re a really good friend, Joonie. But maybe the lack of any wrongdoings is the proof, you know? If she was really going for fame, she could have gone public a long time ago. You said they’ve moved in together, right? And still nothing?”

It gave him pause.

“Yeah, they have.”

She landed one final thought before the topic would be dropped, “Try to open your mind just a little bit, hm? If you want to be a good friend, then you also need to be prepared to be incorrect. Otherwise, you might miss out on something really amazing happening for Jimin. For all of you, really. One of you is going to be a father. If Y/N isn’t some gold digger, then this is good, right? Something to celebrate.”

Your knuckle was firm around the handle of your wheeled carry-on. You were waiting in line to show your passport so that you could then proceed into the security area for bag checks. Chaeyoung had texted you that she'd gotten out the door late and that her husband would be dropping her off in a short while. You didn't blame her - she had her twins to care for and say goodbye.

You were dressed in your most comfortable clothing possible, without overheating yourself on this humid first of September. The top you had on was Jimin's - an indistinguishable plain white t-shirt. He'd owned it for years and it came from a non-designer brand. It had a couple holes along its hem and a small tear on the right sleeve.

This new stage in your gestation had you growing out of your normal clothes, and almost none of your tops fit. For bottoms, you had a pair of black biker shorts. These were the only real maternity wear you had thus far, accommodating your swelling bump well enough to not make you feel suffocated.

Standing in line gave your mind time to wander. You thought about how you’d bid your boyfriend farewell at the apartment. You had to be at the airport earlier than he did. A small smile came to grace your features as you thought about his gentle touch, the way he held you and kissed you, making you feel secure as the most important person in his life. How he got on his knees to give the baby a kiss before you went out the door, his hair wet and slicked back after just getting out of the shower.

Any reminiscing was cut short by the sound of a young woman’s squeal. It was soon followed by a swarm of others, and a rush of quickened footsteps in one direction. As everyone else in the waiting line did, you lifted your head to see what the commotion was about.

You should have known.

Behind and enclosed by their security guards, the members entered the airport. They were closeby, but you could only faintly catch a glimpse of Jimin before a group of people gathered to block your view.

People were clambering to see them, buzzing past you like a flock of birds. One young woman, blinded by the frenzy, ran into the back of your shoulder, barreling you forward.

Unable to catch yourself on your suitcase, you fell to the white terrazzo floor with a thud that no one could hear above the screaming. Thankfully, your body’s protective motions kicked in and you landed on your palms first, giving yourself a split second to reinforce yourself on your knees, guarding your belly from impacting.

The woman who was standing behind you was quick to come to your aid. She had long espresso hair and bangs, dark eyes filled with concern, “Oh gosh, are you alright?”

She put her hand on your back and the other held your forearm as she helped you to your feet.

“Yes, I’m okay,” you said with a raised voice so she could hear you, “Thank you so much.”

You hadn’t noticed you were doing it, but your hands were on your bump, making it more apparent. It was as if you were trying to soothe your mind, or your child, or both.

The woman glanced down, “Oh, I didn’t even realize. Are you out sure you’re alright? I can call for the medical staff to check you out.”

You offered a nervous smile and waved your hand, “No, no I’m okay. I appreciate it, though.”

The woman’s eyes were in your torso for a moment. Then she sighed, placing her hand on her own abdomen, which was rounded unmistakably. She looked further along than you were.

“No worries. We have to look out for each other, don’t we? BTS shows up and suddenly no one cares about running over a pregnant woman.”

You laughed lightly, “Yeah, apparently so.”

The line began to move a little, and you both shuffled forward where you could.

“So how far along are you?” she asked, her tone oozing with a honey sweetness.

“Twenty weeks.”

“Halfway,” she chuckled, “I’m Twenty-eight.”

Your brows raised as you gladly engaged her, “Wow. You look great, by the way.”

She beamed, “Thank you. Believe me I don’t always feel that way, but I’ve been assured that it will be worth it.”

It was a pleasure to be able to relate to someone like this, “Same. Is this your first?”

The woman nodded.

“Me too,” you sighed, moving up in the line once more, “Anyway, where are you traveling?”

“Los Angeles,” she said, “My husband is wrapping up on some business there. We’re going to treat this as something of a babymoon.”

You giggled, “I am too! Not for a romantic getaway, though. For work.”

“Oh, how funny,” she laughed, “Let’s grab a decaf together then, as we wait to board. Takeoff isn’t for another hour or so.”

You were the next person in line now, waiting to be called forward by one of the security officers to show your identification.

“I’d love that,” you smiled, “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

She nodded her head, “Seoyeon.”

It took all willpower to not appear shocked and slightly horrified.

Your mind made every attempt to rationalize so you wouldn’t freak out.

Perhaps this was a coincidence. There was certainly more than one woman with that name. She didn’t have to be that Seoyeon.

You feigned a smile, pointlessly hoping that somehow Jimin or Chaeyoung would come and whisk you away from her.

“It’s nice to meet you, Seoyeon.”

“Next, please.”

The security officer’s voice rang out, calling you up.

You turned away from her and all traces of contentment disappeared. You went slightly pale as you approached the desk, taking out your passport to show.

The officer examined your identification and instructed you to look into the face scanner. Once you were clear, you took off into the next zone. Your mind was spinning as you took off your shoes and put them and your bag into bins. So much that you didn’t hear the airport personnel calling you up when it was your turn to step into the body scanner.

When you were through security, you sat on a small bench and jammed your shoes back on, which was tricky with your feet being as swollen as they were. Seoyeon was right behind you.

She sat on the bench next to you to put her own shoes back on, smiling, “At least after all the waiting, they take you through quick.”

You mustered up a chuckle, “Yeah.”

The pair of you got up at the same time, a couple of pregnant women feeling uncomfortable for varying reasons.

“Come on,” she said, grabbing her bag, “There’s a coffee shop this way.”

Reluctantly, you wheeled your carry-on after her. A part of you wanted to decline, and another was curious to know if this was really her. Was this really the woman who’d broken Jimin’s heart? The one he’d been in love with for longer than he’d known you?

Chaeyoung had mentioned that she ended up marrying a wealthy man, and this woman was dressed in fine clothing. Her suitcase was designer, but that didn’t confirm anything.

You just wanted to know.

You ended up sitting down at the coffee shop with her, ordering yourself a decaf iced latte. Sitting across from her, you got a much clearer view of her face. She was gorgeous. Aside from nearly perfect hair and a flawless complexion, her lips were a pretty bow shape, stained with a nude rose color. Her eyes casted a twinkle. She even smelled lovely, like jasmine.

“So,” she sighed happily, removing the paper wrapping from her straw while glancing at your shirt again, “You said you’re going to LA on a work trip. What do you do?”

You had no idea how to answer. If she was the Seoyeon and you told the truth about your job, then maybe your answer would trigger a response in her to give you confirmation. Then again, would you want to share that information? You were meant to be discreet, and certainly in your situation, you were in no place to be risky.

You used taking a sip of your coffee as a means of buying yourself time to think of a response.

“I’m in fashion,” you said after swallowing, “There’s a shoot I’m working on.”

She seemed intrigued, “Wow, that sounds amazing. I once envisioned myself going into a creative field like that. But I’ve been around the industry a bit and I found it…challenging.”

Though still lacking one hundred percent certainty, that comment didn’t help her case. You came closer to believing it was her.

You took another sip of your cold, bitter drink, “Did you? How come?”

“Ah, it’s not important,” she waved it away with a laugh, regaining a sense of nonchalance, “Just isn’t my scene. I mean you saw with BTS coming through here. It’s pandemonium, chaos.”

You raised your brows, “Yeah. Anyway, what do you do?”

She hummed as she sipped on her drink, “I work at my husband’s firm, but I will likely stay at home after the little one gets here.”

Her husband’s firm. You recalled Chaeyoung saying she’d married a CEO. One step closer.

The more it sank in that this was likely the woman, the further the pit in your stomach dug.

“That’s nice,” you nodded, “I’m doing the same.”

“My,” Seoyeon’s eyes were on your collarbone, “We seem to have a lot in common, don’t we?”

You smirked, masking your rising repugnance, “We do.”

At last, your saving grace arrived, though it was awkward as could be. Chaeyoung appeared and spotted you. Her beaming smile faded slightly when she saw who was with you. Despite your own discomfort, you had to play it off as if you had no idea who you were talking to. Your coworker never told you the name of Jimin’s ex. If you gave any indication that you had connected the dots, it could raise suspicion in your friend. You should have had no way of knowing.

“Hey!” she approached you both, “So sorry I’m late. Have you been waiting for me long?”

“No, not at all.” you said.

The woman sitting across from you seemed to recognize her.

Her face was pleasant as could be and she looked at Seoyeon, and then back at you, “Do you two know each other?”

"We just met," you said while glancing across the table, "This is-"

"Seoyeon," Chaeyoung nodded, bowing to her politely, "I remember perfectly. Um, I don't know if you remember me..."

She nodded, "Ah, yes. I do recall your face. You're a stylist, correct?"

Your colleague affirmed, "I'm Chaeyoung."

Then she seemed to put the pieces together, looking at you while sipping her coffee again. When her lips parted from the straw, she grinned at you with a dimmed enthusiasm, "Oh, so you're a stylist too. The same company?"

You both nodded in reply, and her eyes grew a hint of skepticism. She knew you were with BTS, and that you knew her ex. But she didn't know the half of it, and that gave you the upper hand.

"I see," Seoyeon trailed off, unlocking her phone, "Oh! I didn't realize the time. I forgot to mention that my husband is expecting a call from me."

Then she rose from her chair and grabbed her bags, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. And to see you again, Chaeyoung. Please excuse me."

"Of course. It was nice to meet you as well. I hope you have a great babymoon." you bid her farewell.

With her coffee in hand, she left the cafe area and started in the direction of the gate. Then Chaeyoung sat down in her place, her expression changing to one of flabbergastment.

She put both of her palms down on the table, "Okay, first of all, I'm sorry I'm late. The twins were cranky and I had trouble getting out the door."

You smirked, "It's fine."

"Second of all," she wasted no time in lowering her volume, "That woman is Jimin's ex. The one I told you about."

You pretended to be surprised, though you knew it in your gut already, "Oh, shit. But I thought you said she was a total...well, bitch. Honestly, she was very kind. We started getting acquainted after she helped me up. She seems nice."

"Wait, you fell?" Chaeyoung's eyes were full of concern, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. It happened when the guys showed up, actually. There was a bit of a scuffle and I got shoved," you shrugged, "Anyway, that's not the point. Funny enough, she's going to LA too."

Your friend looked disturbed, "Right...We may have to give the company a heads-up."

You almost choked on your cold beverage, "What? W-Why?"

"Just out of precaution. Y/N, this person came close to blowing the lid on their relationship and causing a giant press nightmare for the boys. I'll never forget how torn up Jimin was..."

You looked down, "I understand that. But why would she pose a threat now? She's married, she's having a baby of her own. I feel like she's moved on by now. Plus, she was clearly intimidated by us. You saw how she got up and walked away. We made her uncomfortable, maybe even ashamed. I know she probably brings back bad memories, but it's in the past."

You were conscious of the fact that you were partly trying to convince yourself, but you also felt that it was logical. Seoyeon wasn't who she was back then. She was a married, pregnant woman who seemed to have no time to get involved in drama again.

Chaeyoung sighed, "Well I guess for my own moral clarity, I'd still like to notify someone. They'd rather have all the facts, you know?"

There was a pit in your stomach, "Yeah, I suppose you're right."

You finished your coffee before you realized, sipping away nervously as you thought about how you would break it to your boyfriend. If she told Management, they'd certainly give him a call.

To your right and across the wide hallway, there were the giant window panels with a view of the tarmac. A smaller jet roared as it glided down the pavement, lifting off the ground in a tilt.

"That's probably them," Chaeyoung said quietly, "The boys."

Lost in thought, you nodded, voice low, "There they go."

The flight was halfway over. His thumb and his index finger kept rubbing together subconsciously. He was unable to sleep, though weary.

He shifted in his roomy reclining seat. It could turn into a makeshift bed, if wanted. Many of the other members, or at least the ones he could see, had taken advantage of this luxury feature. Some light snoring could be heard - Namjoon’s, but he was sitting on the opposite end of the cabin. The two men still were hardly speaking, even when in close proximity.

Taehyung was nearby and awake, scrolling mindlessly on his phone. His face reflected the light of his screen, as the cabin was dark. It was nearing dusk, still plenty of light outside, but all the windows were shut to allow for better sleeping conditions.

Alert and bored out of his mind, Jimin checked his phone once again to see if you’d replied to his texts. He knew better, aware that you probably put your phone on airplane mode, but couldn’t resist. However, when he saw no reply from you, he sighed and decided to open the window next to him. Perhaps watching the skies could occupy his thoughts for a while.

Taehyung heard his sigh from across the aisle and looked over.

There was never mistaking Jimin’s inner feelings, especially with this second youngest member. Only a couple months apart in age, their bond had always been unique - rocky at times like siblings, but overall especially linked.

The younger cleared his throat and said quietly, “Talk to me, Jimin. What’s up?”

He looked over with a pained expression, not even bothering to conceal anything, “I’m sitting here, on a private jet. With so much space in my seat that you could fit two of me. I can recline and stretch my legs. I could even press this button here and the chair will vibrate on my back.”

He looked around to make sure that no flight attendant or outside individual was nearby. Luckily, their security guards and the attendant were sitting on the other end of the plane, out of earshot.

Jimin leaned closer and lowered his voice, “Meanwhile, my pregnant girlfriend is flying commercial, probably uncomfortable as hell. It just feels so wrong. I should have pushed for her to be onboard with us.”

Taehyung chuckled, “You know why you couldn’t have done that. Then, we’d have to have Chaeyoung as well, and there’s no room.”

“It’s not funny, Tae,” his brows furrowed shaking his head out of annoyance, “We found out at the ultrasound that her blood pressure is too high. If she doesn’t sleep or eat well or keep her stress down, it could be dangerous for both of them.”

His bandmate’s face softened, as did his tone, “Oh shit…I’m sorry, I didn’t know. But she was given the okay to travel anyway?”

Jimin sighed, “Yes. It was more of a warning, not an immediate risk. I know I’m kind of being irrational. If the doctor said it’s fine, then I should trust that. I’m just worried is all.”

Taehyung grinned a little and reached across the aisle to put his hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle shake, “Well I think that probably just comes with the territory of being an expectant father. It would be concerning if you weren’t worried.”

He nodded, “That may be true, but that does nothing to change my guilt about her comfort. If anyone should have a nice, cozy place to sit for this long journey, it should be her.”

“I agree with you, I do,” the younger said with more reservation, “But it just had to be this way, unfortunately. Y/N has proven she’s tough going through all of this. She’ll be fine and when you two get home you can spend all the time you want doting on her.”

The thought made Jimin chuckle as he leaned back to his original position in the seat, “Actually, she wants to spend time decorating when we get back. She brought all of her wall art and fake plants with her. Safe to say I think my apartment is about to undergo a feminine transformation.”

Taehyung laughed in return, “Nothing wrong with that. You barely decorated your place to begin with. It could use some wall art and fake plants and shit.”

“And throw pillows,” he laughed quietly as he thought of you carrying in that giant black trash bag full of them, “So many pillows…”

The other shrugged, “Eh, let her make it what she wants. Make the place more homey before the little bundle of joy gets here. You have a nursery to build too, my friend.”

His head his the back of the seat, “I know. So much to do. We haven’t even discussed names yet.”

“You still have months for that.” Taehyung said.

There was a silence that fell between them, both daydreaming for a moment. Jimin pictured what was currently a guest bedroom transformed into a nursery, perhaps painted a different color. Toys littering the floor. A crib along the wall with a mobile hanging overhead. A small, precious new person tucked safely in its confines. He couldn’t stop envisioning a baby girl in a pink onesie.

“You’re so ooey-gooey,” Taehyung chuckled, “Looks good on you.”

He shrugged, but he couldn’t contain his smile, “It’s been a lot, but thank you.”

*The next day*

Your alarm went off, and you were already awake from the hunger. You got in late the night before and found a small bite to eat, but you were still ravenous.

Hotel breakfast would begin in half an hour, giving you enough time to shower and refresh. After breakfast, you and Chaeyoung would head over to the site of the music video shoot and get to work.

Stepping out of the shower, your phone was vibrating on the sink counter. It was Jimin. You felt guilty when you saw his name appear, having missed a call from him last night. You were just too tired.

You picked up, “Morning.”

His soft, hoarse morning voice brought you comfort, as always, “Hey. You alright sweetheart?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Just exhausted.”

“I am too,” he said, “How was yesterday?”

“Fine," was your answer out of habit, but then you remembered the news you had to share with him about the person you met, "Actually, um, there was a slight hiccup of sorts. I, uh...I got pushed."

You chickened out, squeezing your eyes shut and putting a hand to your forehead as soon as the regret hit you. He had to know - the company would inevitably reach out to him once Chaeyoung explained it. Though you knew it was best to be the one to tell him, it was unbearably awkward, and you didn't want to add more stress to the pile. It would mean opening a whole new can of worms.

What Jimin heard was more than enough to send him into a tizzy, "What? Was it deliberate? Were you hurt?!"

"N-No," you stammered, "It happened while you guys were entering the airport. That rush of people. Someone blew right by me and knocked me over. But I'm alright. I landed on my hands and knees.”

You heard him let out a long breath, “Oh, good. Y/N, please don’t scare me like that. You know I already feel bad about not being with you.”

A pang of guilt jolted in your chest for avoiding the truth, “Sorry, I know. Um…I guess what I’m trying to tell you is something else. After I fell, a woman helped me up. She-”

You heard the sound of a door in the background, followed by a muffled voice.

Jimin muttered something before getting back to you, “Shit, baby I’m going to have to let you go. We need to head down for the overview while they are prepping the set. Um, we’ll find a minute to talk there, okay?”

“Oh,” you stiffened, “Yeah, sure. I’ll see you there soon.”

“Great, eat a good breakfast, hm? I love you.”

You pulled a subtle smile, “I will. Love you too.”

Once you hung up, there was no reason to do anything other than get ready for your day. You took care of your hair and makeup, and put on whatever clothes that would fit you and permit you to look the least bit presentable. Then, you grabbed your purse and went down to meet Chaeyoung for breakfast.

The morning was pleasant with her. She made little to no mention of Seoyeon - just talked about the shoot and the baby. It had been a while since she checked in with you.

She forked a bite of scrambled eggs, “So, how is everything? You just had your ultrasound, right? All good?”

You smiled as you chewed, “Yep, all good. And no, we didn’t find out the gender.”

She laughed, “That was going to be my next question. I’m intrigued that you used ‘we’ instead of ‘I’, though. Care to explain?”

Her smile was for lighthearted gossip, so it didn’t bother you that much. You’d gotten used to lying to her face.

“Yes, the father was there,” you sighed, sitting back in your chair, “He missed the first one and really appreciated being there for this one.”

“And did you appreciate him being there?”

You grinned, “Yes, as a matter of fact I did. We get along…And I think he will make the most incredible father.”

Chaeyoung subtly pointed her index finger at you, “I’m detecting a blush on your cheeks. You’re really into this guy, huh? Do I get to know his name now?”

You giggled to hide your dismay, “Once again it’s a no. I told you, he’s private. Maybe I like him too much to disregard his wishes.”

She teased, “Oooo, alright I can get behind that. I’m sort of jealous of you, actually. Having a baby, enjoying a fun little love affair. And on top of that, you’re traveling across the world. You’re killing it.”

You nodded and smiled, but your spackle job crumbled. Bit by bit, your pleasant expression faded, and then soured. Your heart was racing. Your gut was churning. Tears pricked your eyes and you gulped, all while maintaining a nodding motion of your head.

It was all railing you over at once.

Your secret relationship with one of the most famous men in the world. Your unexpected motherhood. The friend of your partner who hated you. Your probable job loss. Your parents who weren’t speaking to you. The ex girlfriend who had re-appeared like some cruel joke from the universe.

It hardly came out as a whisper, “Y-Yeah.”

Chaeyoung’s lightness dropped immediately. She leaned in, concern plaguing her features, “Hey…Hey, what is it? Did I say something?”

A tear rolled down your cheek as you shook your head, reaching for your napkin so you could dry your eyes, “No. I’m sorry, I’m okay. I just…It’s been difficult at times. And on top of all of it, the OBGYN gave me a warning about my blood pressure. It��s been elevated and I feel like it’s just been one more thing to worry about.”

Her hand found yours, “I get it. I’m sorry, I should have known. I should have remembered that feeling, when everyone is so happy and excited that you’re pregnant but you feel like complete shit on the inside.”

You forced a short-lived grin, “Yeah, it’s hard.”

If she only knew.

Chaeyoung patted the back of your hand a few times as she leaned to her side, apparently digging for something in the purse that lay by her feet, “I was going to save this for another time, but I guess now’s as good as ever.”

She pulled a small, thick book out of her purse and set it on the table, “For you.”

You picked it up, sniffling, “A baby naming book.”

The sweet woman smiled softly, “When I felt overwhelmed carrying the twins, a little escape would always help me. I found that going through all the names in this book was a comfort. I got to forget about all the hard stuff and focus on my babies. What their names might be. Who they might become. Only the good stuff. Maybe give it a shot?”

You wiped another tear and smiled, grateful to have a friend, “Chae…This is so kind. Thank you so much. This probably doesn’t come as a shock, but I haven’t started thinking about names yet.”

She shrugged happily, “Well you will now. It’s fun.”

You both finished your meal and ordered a ride to the Los Angeles Theatre, the set of the music video.

“Holy shit,” Hoseok smirked, bobbing his head as he checked himself out in one of the building’s ornate gold mirrors, “You guys did amazing with the looks. Wow.”

You and Chaeyoung laughed, watching all the guys look at each other’s clothes in delight. They were all dressed and made up, waiting on the director to give them the signal to begin filming.

Jungkook, who was in a corset, was particularly pleased, “Yes. Chef’s kiss, ladies. Thank you. They match the venue perfectly.”

Chaeyoung murmured in your ear, “I wish my waist was that fucking small.”

You covered your mouth as you giggled, “Mine certainly isn’t.”

Even Namjoon seemed content, joking here and there with Yoongi. Ironically, his was one of your favorite outfits of all. It was a black suit with a simple yet bold cargo detail on one side, a satin band to highlight his torso. Nothing highly elaborate, but cool. Complete with lug-sole boots, it was the perfect mix of debonair and rugged.

While the others goofed around in the spare time, Jimin approached both of you stylists. It was the first glimpse of him up-close since you said goodbye at your apartment the day before. He looked beyond words, hair dyed a bluish black for this concept. It was the first time in a while you’d seen him with anything other than his natural hair, but he pulled almost anything off.

He bowed slightly as he greeted you, wishing he could bring you into his arms instead, “Thank you both. How was your flight?”

Chaeyoung crossed her arms, “Ah, you know. Awful.”

You elbowed her gently and reassured Jimin, “It really wasn’t that bad.”

Your colleague rubbed your back, endeared by your fib, “Says the one who is five months pregnant. It’s alright to admit it sucked.”

You shrugged a little and looked at your boyfriend, “Alright it did kind of suck. I had to periodically get up and take walks up and down the aisle, just to stretch. I was able to sleep a bit, though. It was just a lot of sitting.”

You knew that would ease his concern a level.

“Speaking of sitting,” Chaeyoung said, craning her neck to either side in search of something, “Let’s find you a chair, shall we? Being on your feet for long periods will increase your blood pressure, girl.”

Before you could say a word, she was off to find something for you to sit in. Jimin looked quite pleased with this. He inched closer to you and grinned, “Thanks for telling her like I asked. She’s a good friend.”

You nodded, “She is. She also gave me a baby naming book.”

He chuckled, “Ah, so when we get home, we can talk about names while finding a way place for the million throw pillows you brought, hm?”

You laughed, narrowing your eyes in jest, “I would love that actually, thank you very much.”

A comfortable silence arose between you two. He just took you in, dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved black top that likely wouldn’t fit in a matter of weeks.

Maybe this was the time to tell him. You didn’t know when Chaeyoung aimed to get in touch with the company, but you doubted she’d wait very long.

You checked your surroundings quickly before muttering, “Jimin, I-”

Then a deeper voice called to him, “Hey.”

Both of you looked to find Namjoon, the members filtering away to the filming area behind him. His hands were in his pockets, eyes switching between you and Jimin for a second. Even a brief stare from him was intimidating. Then he cocked head towards the set, “We’re starting.”

Jimin’s eyes went cold, but not bitter. He nodded without a word before turning to you once more, “Sorry, really quickly, what were you going to say? Is it what you wanted to tell me earlier?”

You froze for moment, locked in a dilemma. You hated to let it slip by again, but you had to. It could wait until the end of the shoot.

“Uh, nothing,” you grinned, “Later.”

He agreed reluctantly, “Alright. Go sit down, please.”

Then he went off to join the guys. The shoot commenced right on schedule. For a while, you and Chaeyoung sat in the background, watching them perform to a much more contemporary choreography than normal. The song was called “Black Swan”. It was beautiful and artistic - and Jimin was perfectly in his element. He sank into his craft wholeheartedly, fluid and precise with every movement, right down to his finger tips.

Watching him do what he was born to do made you warm inside. You were proud of him, while also relieved that he had his performances to escape the chaos. It was like his character disappeared, and he took on a new persona. He was freer.

In between takes, you and Chaeyoung would refresh their looks wherever you could. They would film certain parts of the choreography in different places. Each setting called for different looks, and it was your job to help them get settled quickly.

At one point, they were directed to take shoot both still shots and parts of the dance at this grand staircase. The wardrobe for this setting consisted of black suits with black, reflective rhinestones in varying places.

You divvied up the task of lint rolling all the jackets. You and Chaeyoung went through each member with haste, to a point where the only two left were Jungkook and Namjoon. She went in the direction of the youngest member before you could, leaving you to handle the one you wasn’t particularly fond of you.

Maintaining your dignity and a sense of security, you approached him as you would anyone else.

Jimin was subtly but dutifully observing from a distance.

You smiled at the tall man, who was blonde now, “Hey.”

He offered a congenial grin in return, “Hey.”

You felt so pathetic, rolling the sticky paper down his sleeves.

“How are you, uh, feeling?” Namjoon asked.

You didn’t know if he was trying to be genuine or if he simply didn’t want to deal with an awkward silence. Caught off guard by the remark, you took a moment to answer in a hush, “I’m alright. I appreciate you asking. How are you?”

“I’m doing okay,” he said, biting the inside of his cheek, “Look, I don’t know if this is the place, but I’m sure you know what’s been going on between me and him.”

You glanced at Jimin. He was leaning against the large and gorgeous post of the staircase, now with a fire in his eyes. His head was tilted slightly downward as he glared at the situation unfolding before him. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but he could see something was off-kilter. If Namjoon was about to try anything with you, he’d have hell to pay.

You started to lint roll the back of his jacket, “I have heard, yes. It’s…That’s not what I want for you guys.”

“Me too.” he lamented.

The real regret was palpable in his voice. It made you pity him, in a way. It reminded you that he wasn’t truly a good man, with a good heart.

Namjoon continued, “I realized I never gave you the chance to defend yourself. So I’m asking you now, Y/N…Do you, in any way, have bad intentions towards Jimin? Do you seek notoriety out of all of this, even the slightest bit?”

Your stomach was in a coil. In one respect, you were glad to have been given the chance to speak for yourself, but it was such an unexpected move on his part that you fumbled for an answer.

You took a deep breath and let the words out as confidently as you could, “I do not and have never thought so lowly of him that I would deceive him like that. My feelings have always been real. That is the truth.”

He was quiet as you went about your work. When you finished, he nodded to you and walked away to go join the guys.

You knew your boyfriend was still looking at you, searching for your eyes to know if you were okay. You avoided his gaze, feeling somewhat dirty. It was odd - you had told Namjoon the truth, but you felt shameful that someone really felt the need to ask you that.

You tore the used lint paper off the roll and crumpled it in your hand as you and Chaeyoung reunited off-set. You sat back down on your collapsible chairs behind all the crew, fading into the background once again.

As the leader of the group climbed the staircase to his position as directed, Jimin grabbed his wrist. It looked like a gentle hold to everyone who might have been able to see it, and he was mindful to keep a composed demeanor. His face was totally neutral.

He and Namjoon shared a look. You noticed and prayed he wouldn’t start anything.

From afar, you watching Jimin crane his neck the tiniest length to one side. His lips didn’t move. He just wanted the other to see his expression. He wanted him to know he’d seen that little interaction, and he wasn’t happy.

The tense moment was over in a couple of seconds, and they went back to performing for the camera.

Well into this portion of filming, Chaeyoung nudged your arm and whispered to you, “What were you and Jimin talking about?”

Your heart dropped, “Nothing. Just joking around. You know how he is.”

She sounded apprehensive, “You didn’t tell him about Seoyeon, did you?”

Timidly, you replied, “No.”

“Good,” she sighed, “I wouldn’t want him to know that I told you about her. Oh well, he will be getting a call from Management sometime today, most likely. I told them early this morning. Don’t worry, you’ll be safe. They know you had no way of knowing who she was.”

You nodded, “Right…Thanks for doing that. H-How do you think he’ll take it?”

She shrugged, pursing her lips as both of you watched the guys go about their routine, the song playing in the background, “Honestly, I don’t know. He’s been really great without her. But this is going to come out of nowhere and it might stress him out. It's just a little mess.”

You looked at your shoes, “Yeah.”

You and him kept sharing periodic eye contact throughout the rest of the shoot. It was like he was monitoring you, and you could only assume he’d demand to know what his bandmate had said to you during that little rendezvous.

Each time his eyes floated over to yours, your heart would ache. You held so much adoration for this man. The lengths he would go in order to care for you were more than you could have imagined for yourself. He didn’t just want you to be happy - he chased after it.

You put your hand on your belly, letting in the bond. A part of that wonderful man was growing inside you. His legacy and yours.

As your thumb stroked up and down, you felt a light tapping from within.

It was here, finally. The child in your womb was moving with enough force for you to feel it.

Tears welled up. After everything, this baby was growing strong. Your world had been turned upside down. You’d been under more duress than ever in your life, yet your child was healthy. You were both soldiering through it all.

You closed your eyes, relaxed in your chair, and smiled as the taps continued.

Chaeyoung caught this. While she was grinning, she was confused, “What’s got you so gleeful?”

You looked at her, “The baby’s moving.”

Your friend shared your excitement as you peered back to find Jimin. He was focused on his work. You couldn’t help but think your little one was trying to dance with him.

The boys were celebrating in Hoseok's hotel suite late at night. They always did this after completing a music video shoot, which was no small feat. Someone ordered a few bottles of champagne to toast, and more drinks were bound to flow afterward. However, one could cut the tension between two of the members with a knife. Now it could finally be brought up, and Jimin wouldn't miss that chance.

As soon as the leader plopped down on the sofa, Jimin sat next to him.

The air between them wasn't hostile - just strained. It wasn't enough to deter any of the other members from having fun with one another. They hardly noticed at all.

Jimin leaned forward with his elbows on his thighs, holding a champagne flute in the middle of his legs. He simply sighed. Namjoon situated his right ankle on his left knee and let his posture relax and recline.

The younger of the two chuckled ironically, "Do I really need to ask?"

Namjoon smirked, taking a sip from his glass, "Did I chew into your girlfriend? Of course not."

"She looked uncomfortable with you from where I was standing."

"Yeah, well you were standing pretty far away."

"Namjoon," Jimin's teeth were nearly at a grit, "What did you say?"

The older let out a breath and shifted forward, meeting his eyes and softening his tone, "Out of fairness, I asked her if her intentions were benevolent."

No longer could he maintain his cool, but he kept his voice low, "What?"

"Yeah, I flat out asked her. We were being cordial, and so I just thought I'd give her the chance to speak for herself."

Jimin's tone was dripping with revulsion, "Well how very generous of you, Joonie. How very gracious. You showed her so much respect by asking her if she's a fucking gold digger!"

The raised voice drew the attention of the others.

He went on, "What the fuck is wrong with you?! Don't you realize that by asking her that question, you were essentially calling her that?!"

"Jesus Christ, you guys," Yoongi groaned, "What now?"

The infuriated man gulped down the rest of his drink and set the glass firmly down on the table in front of them. Then he stood up and looked at Namjoon, gesturing to the group with his hands with flaring nostrils, "Tell them, huh? Tell them what you just told me."

The man on the couch put up his hands in self-defense before calmly stating, "Today at the shoot, I asked Y/N if she has good intentions."

Several eye rolls and sighs came about.

Jungkook was almost as frustrated as Jimin, "What the hell, hyung?"

"That's a bit much." Taehyung remarked.

"I was seriously trying to be fair, okay?" the head of the group objected, "I felt bad that this whole drama centered around her has been happening behind her back. I wasn't trying to fucking intimidate her. We were talking like adults and I honestly thought it would be the right thing to do."

"You thought it would be good to ask our friend's pregnant girlfriend if she's only in it for fame and money?" Hoseok scowled.

"I'll admit that it sounds so much worse when you put it like that, but yes."

Jimin threw his hands up in his exasperation, “It sounds bad because it is!”

Jungkook came to his aid, patting his back to try to get him to calm down, “Hey, just relax. The yelling doesn’t help anything.”

“No, I’m fucking sick of his foolish, insane agenda! It was bad enough when you were saying these things to me, but now you go and take it straight to Y/N?! She’s carrying my child! She doesn’t need you and your ridiculous false assumptions cast down from up there on your high horse!”

This time, Jin tried to soothe the enraged member, “Alright let’s just take a breather, okay?”

He put his hands on his shoulders, but Jimin broke out of it immediately, “Stop acting like you know everything, Namjoon! Just because you are the leader of this group on paper doesn’t mean you are the fucking alpha! You don’t know!”

Namjoon couldn’t take it anymore. He shot up, “I know you, Jimin! And I knew you at your very worst! At your lowest! You don’t remember?! The day Seoyeon ended things, who was at your side?!”

Yoongi tried to stop him, “Joon, you don’t-”

“Who, Jimin?! Who checked on you every day, only to find you drunk and saying you didn’t want to live anymore?! Who helped you wash the bloodstains from your shirt after you broke a fucking fifth of whisky and cut yourself trying to clean it up wasted?!”

Jimin was still fuming, but speechless. He was just a tight ball of nerves.

“I did! I fucking did! I don’t ever want to see you in that state again and I won’t apologize!”

“SHE IS NOT SEOYEON!”

Just then, his phone began to ring. With veins popping out of his neck and a face red, he stopped.

Everyone was frozen, shocked by the outburst. They’d never seen him scream at anyone like that.

The phone kept ringing.

Aggravated beyond words, Jimin rolled his eyes, “Where’s my goddamn phone?”

Yoongi found it resting on the dresser against the wall. He picked it up and looked at the screen, eyebrows furrowing, “Uh, it’s Management…”

The anger slowly drained from his demeanor. They rarely called out of the blue, but when they did, it was almost never good.

Jimin calmed his breathing and pushed a tuft of hair out of his face, taking the device out of Yoongi’s grasp.

Everyone remained quiet as he answered.

“Hello?”

“Jimin,” a familiar manager’s voice came through, “Apologies, I know it’s late over there.”

“It’s alright. What’s going on?”

There was a brief pause before the reply.

“Seoyeon is in LA. And I’m afraid she met and spoke to the styling team that traveled with the group.”

[qwibkwib]

Unscripted Desire

Part 2

<---- Part 1

Bae Suzy X Reader

Word Count: 7k+

The first thing you notice when you wake up is the warmth pressed against your side. Soft, delicate, her breath tickling your chest with every slow exhale. Suzy.

Your arm is draped over her bare back, her cheek nestled into the curve of your shoulder, her fingers loosely curled against your ribs. The nation’s first love, tangled up in your sheets, clinging to you like she belongs there.

You exhale, rubbing a hand over your face, still half-dazed from sleep. The room is dim, bathed in the quiet glow of the morning light filtering through the curtains. It should feel peaceful. Instead, it’s… irritating. Not as much as before, but still enough to bother you.

You weren’t supposed to wake up like this—with her.

Not because you regret it. No, that would be too easy. But because she’s always been a thorn in your side, a constant source of disruption in your otherwise structured life. And now, seeing her curled against you, her body so naturally fitted to yours, that disruption is worse.

The worst part? You don’t want her gone anymore.

That realization settles uncomfortably in your chest. You should move. Get up. Create distance. But before you do, she stirs.

Her body shifts, pressing even closer, her thigh brushing dangerously against yours. Then she makes that sound—a soft, barely audible whimper—shifting her hips just slightly, enough that you feel the warmth of her bare skin dragging against you.

Your body reacts before your mind can intervene. Heat coils in your gut, tension pulling tight in your abdomen. You grit your teeth. Not now. Not like this. You won’t give her the satisfaction of knowing just how much she affects you.

Carefully, you pull away, inch by inch, shifting to put space between you. It’s agonizing, her warmth leaving your skin like an unbearable tease, but you refuse to let yourself indulge. Not this morning. Not when she’s asleep and unaware of the chaos she’s causing inside you.

You sit up, running a hand through your hair, willing the sensation away. A few deep breaths. Control.

Behind you, she stirs again, this time with a sleepy sigh.

“Mmm… you’re awake?” Her voice is thick with sleep, soft and expectant.

You glance over your shoulder. She’s stretching, eyes still half-lidded, a lazy smile tugging at her lips. She looks… satisfied. Smug, even. As if she’s expecting you to be captivated, to hover over her, to worship her after last night.

You don’t give her the reaction she wants.

Instead, you stand, reaching for your discarded shirt. “You should go back to sleep,” you say flatly.

That throws her off. Her brows furrow, lips parting slightly as she props herself on her elbows, the sheets slipping down just enough to tease.

“You’re not even going to say anything?” she asks, voice tinged with disbelief. “After last night?”

You button your shirt, not sparing her a glance. “What do you want me to say?”

Suzy scoffs, clearly unimpressed with your lack of enthusiasm. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe something about how amazing it was? How you couldn’t get enough of me? How waking up next to me makes your entire morning?”

You roll your sleeves up, unbothered. “That’s what you expected?”

She pouts, but there’s a flicker of something sharper in her gaze. “That’s what most men would do.”

You finally meet her eyes, your expression unreadable. “I’m not most men.”

That earns you a glare, but before she can bite back, you check your watch. Time to leave. You’re already running behind schedule.

You grab your jacket, ignoring the way her gaze follows your every movement, clearly dissatisfied with how this morning is playing out.

“Where are you going?” she finally asks, her voice shifting slightly—less playful, more uncertain.

“Work,” you answer simply.

She blinks, as if the concept of you moving on so easily is unfathomable. “You’re seriously just… leaving?”

You pause at the door, glancing at her over your shoulder. Her hair is tousled, her skin flushed, her lips still slightly swollen from last night. She’s undeniably beautiful. And yet, you refuse to let her think she has you wrapped around her finger.

“There's still leftovers from last night, don't bother going to my work again” you say before stepping out, leaving her in your bed, dissatisfied and confused.

The last thing you hear before the door closes is her frustrated sigh.

Good. Let her stew.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Suzy sat in his bed, the sheets tangled around her, staring at the spot he had just vacated.

He left. Just like that.

She scoffed, throwing herself back against the pillows, her arms crossing tightly.

"There's still leftovers from last night. Don’t bother going to my work again."

His voice echoed in her mind, dripping with indifference, dismissing her like she was some clingy inconvenience. And yet, the warmth on the other side of the bed, the faint scent of him lingering in the fabric, all of it told a different story.

A very different story.

Suzy rolled onto her side, pulling the pillow closer, nuzzling into it—before abruptly realizing what she was doing. She shoved it away and sat up, raking her fingers through her messy hair.

"Good. Let her stew."

That was probably what he was thinking when he walked out.

“Ugh, you arrogant—” She grabbed the nearest thing—his pillow—and threw it across the room. It hit the wall with a pathetic thud.

And now, she was left alone in his apartment.

She sighed, rubbing her face, before finally forcing herself out of bed. The cool air hit her bare skin, making her shiver as she reached for her clothes.

Something about the act of getting dressed here felt… too familiar.

Her fingers brushed against the closet door, hesitating before she pulled it open. Inside, amongst his dark jackets and button-ups, was her hoodie. A pair of her slippers tucked neatly in the corner. A small hairbrush on his dresser, a bottle of her favorite lotion beside it.

Since when did I start leaving things here?

She walked toward the kitchen, her movements muscle memory at this point. The fridge hummed softly when she opened it. Just like he said, last night’s leftovers were still there—neatly packed away.

Suzy closed the fridge without taking anything.

Eating alone? Absolutely not.

She had never eaten alone before. Not once.

She either ate on set, with staff, with other celebrities, or with people who catered to her schedule. Even if she wanted to eat privately, there was always a manager, an assistant, a stylist hovering nearby. The very thought of sitting down to a silent meal, alone in his apartment, made her stomach twist.

She could try, but she knew what would happen.

It had happened before. The one time she thought she could handle it, the loneliness had settled in so thickly that she felt suffocated. Halfway through her meal, she had rushed to the bathroom and thrown up everything she had eaten.

Pathetic.

Her grip tightened on the fridge handle before she let it go.

Forget it. She’d rather starve.

Just as she turned away, her phone buzzed.

A familiar name flashed on the screen—her manager.

She let it ring once. Twice. Then—

With a sigh, she answered.

“Finally! Suzy, where the hell have you been?” Her manager’s voice came through, exasperated.

Suzy smirked, leaning against the counter. “Nice to hear from you, too.”

“This isn’t funny. The director called me—again. He’s been waiting for you to get back to reality, and I don’t have an excuse for you anymore. You need to stop playing around.”

Her smirk faltered.

There it was.

The other side of this.

The part of her life she had been ignoring—the part she was losing by staying here.

Suzy closed her eyes for a brief second before responding, her voice light and careless, even as something heavy settled in her chest.

“Playing around, huh?” She exhaled. “Yeah. Maybe I have been.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The end of your shift came faster than expected.

Normally, you’d be relieved. Work was exhausting, but it was a predictable kind of exhaustion—one that you could drown out with a drink, a shower, and a few hours of sleep.

But today… your mind wasn’t as clear.

It started as you packed up your things, a simple thought slipping in.

Home.

Then, right after—

Suzy.

Your grip tightened around your coat.

It was frustrating. Earlier, you had left her in bed, tossing her nothing but cold words. At the time, it felt like the right thing to do—to keep the upper hand, to remind her that you wouldn’t dance in the palm of her hand like everyone else.

But now, you weren’t so sure.

Maybe you had been too harsh.

Your mind replayed the mornings you had spent with her—not just the bickering or the annoyance, but the small moments in between. The way she always complained about waking up early, only to end up stealing sips of your coffee. The way she would demand you eat with her, acting dramatic about dining alone. The way she somehow turned your dull apartment into something lived in, something warmer.

She was an inconvenience, sure.

But she had also become… something more.

Someone who made your mornings less quiet. Your nights are less empty.

And you? You had taken that for granted.

Your feet moved on their own, leading you away from work and toward a small, secluded café. Her favorite.

The bell above the door chimed softly as you stepped inside. The owner recognized you immediately and, without a word, started preparing the dish you had ordered for Suzy before.

A small, satisfied feeling settled in your chest.

She would like this.

She would probably smirk and say, “Oh? So you do care about me, after all.”

You could already hear her teasing voice.

The thought was annoyingly pleasant.

You adjusted your sleeves, waiting at the counter—until something inside the store caught your eye.

Or rather, someone.

Suzy.

Dressed up.

Not in your oversized hoodie, not in the comfortable clothes she wore around your place, but in something sleek and polished—something meant to be seen.

She looked stunning. And she wasn’t alone.

Across from her sat a man, equally refined, equally stunning. His suit was different from yours—not the tired, practical kind you wore, but something sharp, effortless, expensive.

And she was smiling.

Laughing.

The sight hit you harder than it should have.

For the first time in a while, you remembered—who she was. Who you were.

Suzy wasn’t some ordinary woman who just happened to stumble into your life. She was a star, the nation’s first love, someone meant for cameras and flashing lights.

And you?

You were just a man coming off a long shift, in a suit that felt dull in comparison, holding a takeout bag like an idiot.

You clenched your jaw, exhaling sharply.

What were you even thinking?

Without another glance, you turned on your heel and walked out.

But before you could get far—

“Hey.”

Your steps halted.

Her voice cut through the air, sharp and unmistakable.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Suzy rested her chin on her palm, barely listening as the CEO droned on.

“—so you don’t need to worry. The scandal has been completely taken care of. You can return without any issues.”

She smiled, just enough to appear interested. “That’s good to hear.”

But in truth, she didn’t care.

Normally, this kind of news would’ve been a relief. The industry had nearly eaten her alive before, twisting the smallest rumors into career-ending disasters. But now?

Now, it felt distant. Like something that belonged to another life.

The CEO kept talking—schedules, brand deals, comeback strategies—but her mind had already drifted.

She glanced out the café window absently.

And then she saw him.

The moment she recognized his figure, her posture straightened.

There he was, walking away. Why?

Her eyes darted down, and that’s when she noticed it—the takeout bag in his hand.

From this café.

Her breath caught.

Without hesitation, she stood up. “Excuse me.”

The CEO raised an eyebrow. “Suzy?”

“Something came up.” She didn’t wait for his response before slipping away, moving quickly out the door.

Her heels clicked against the pavement as she caught up to him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

He didn’t stop.

She huffed, stepping in front of him, blocking his path. “What’s with that attitude? Didn’t I tell you before? If you see me, you should at least say hi.”

Still, he didn’t meet her eyes.

Suzy’s lips curled into a smirk, masking the unease bubbling inside her. “What, are you mad about something?” She tilted her head, voice laced with teasing. “Did you miss me?”

That did it.

He stopped, finally looking at her—but there was no usual irritation, no amusement hidden beneath his glare.

Only coldness.

“I don’t have time for this, Suzy.” His voice was firm. Detached.

The smirk on her lips faltered.

That was new.

He had always been exasperated with her, annoyed even. But never like this. Never this distant.

Her fingers curled slightly, nails pressing into her palm. “What’s wrong with you?”

He exhaled sharply, gripping the takeout bag tighter. “Nothing. I just realized something today.”

She crossed her arms, trying to keep her tone light. “And what’s that?”

His gaze flickered past her, as if looking at her was a waste of time.

“That I don’t belong in your world.”

Her heart skipped. “What?”

His next words were quieter. Resigned.

“You’re right. You’re Bae Suzy. Admired by everybody.”

She scoffed, but it came out weaker than she intended. “You—you only realize that now?” She tried to sound confident, but her voice wavered.

His jaw clenched, and for a second, something flickered in his expression—something unreadable. Then, it was gone.

“So whatever game you’re playing, you can stop now.” His grip tightened around the bag. “I admit it. So please… leave now. Let me go back to my life, where Bae Suzy isn’t in it.”

He exhaled, as if releasing something heavy.

“It’s time to end this.” A pause. “I mean it this time.”

The words weren’t loud.

But they hit like a wrecking ball.

Suzy’s breath caught.

She had seen him frustrated before, annoyed, even furious. But never like this. Never this certain.

Her fingers curled slightly, nails pressing into her palm. “Don’t be stupid.” Her voice came out softer than she wanted. “You don’t mean that.”

His jaw tensed.

He didn’t answer.

He just stepped past her.

Instinctively, she reached out, fingers grazing his sleeve. “Wait—”

He flinched.

Not dramatically. Not cruelly. Just enough to make it clear.

There was no room for negotiation.

Her hand dropped back to her side, feeling suddenly foreign.

This wasn’t a game.

He wasn’t just pulling away. He wasn’t waiting for her to chase him.

He was leaving.

For real.

The sound of the busy street faded into the background as she stood there, frozen.

For the first time in a long time, she didn’t know what to do.

His tone reminds her of how they started distant, cold if not more

His tone reminded her of how they started—distant, cold. If not more.

They had come so far—hadn’t they?

They went from strangers, both an annoyance to the other.

To—

The way he looked at her last night, the way she had started feeling at home in his space, the way his presence had become something she looked forward to—

And now, it was slowly reverting back to the beginning.

Had all of that meant nothing?

She forced herself to breathe, scrambling for answers. Was it last night?

The thought made her stomach twist.

Had it been a mistake? Had she miscalculated, played too recklessly?

Her fingers twitched, aching to grab onto something, to stop everything from slipping away.

And yet, no matter how much she replayed their conversation, she couldn’t find an opening.

Because this time, he wasn’t just angry.

He was done.

…

She didn’t know how long she stood there.

By the time she forced herself to move, she didn’t even remember where she had been going.

Her feet carried her aimlessly, her mind replaying the argument in an endless loop.

Then—the bag.

The takeout bag he had been holding.

Her breath caught in her throat.

From this café.

Her heart thumped.

He had bought food. For her.

Even after this morning. Even after pushing her away.

That meant something. It had to.

The realization burned away some of the panic creeping up her spine.

There was still a chance.

She just had to stop playing games.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You arrived at your apartment, your footsteps heavy, your thoughts heavier.

The door clicked shut behind you, locking out the world. But the moment you stepped inside, you realized it hadn’t locked out everything.

Traces of her were everywhere.

Her clothes, once carelessly scattered across the floor, had been gathered into a small pile in the corner. It was barely an effort, but it was an effort nonetheless.

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair.

She had actually tried.

The air still carried the faintest hint of her perfume, something light, something warm. A used coffee mug sat on the counter, untouched since morning. The blanket she had stolen from your bed was folded—messily, but folded—on the couch.

Everywhere you looked, she was there.

Even when she wasn’t.

You slumped onto the couch, the weight of everything crashing down on you all at once.

It had to end.

It was always going to end.

You and Suzy were from different worlds—worlds that were never meant to cross. You had made that clear tonight. There was no reason to dwell on it.

But still…

Your eyes drifted toward the pile of clothes. The blanket. The mug.

She had made this place her own.

And now, it was emptier than ever.

You sighed, sinking further into the cushions, closing your eyes. The exhaustion from work, from her, from everything, threatened to pull you under.

Then—

The doorbell?

Your eyes snapped open.

It rang?

You sat up, mind scrambling for possibilities. It was late. No one ever came here.

Another chime.

Then, before you could even move—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Not gentle. Not patient.

Desperate.

You exhaled sharply, standing up.

And just as you reached for the handle—

The door burst open.

And there she was.

Suzy.

Still dressed in that sleek outfit, still looking every bit like the star she was. But there was something different now—her chest rising and falling like she had run here, her lips slightly parted, her eyes burning with something raw, something desperate.

She stepped inside without hesitation, shutting the door behind her.

“Suzy—”

“Don’t.” Her voice wavered, but only slightly. She exhaled, steadying herself. “Just listen.”

You clenched your jaw but said nothing.

She took another step forward.

“You want to know why I kept coming back?” Her lips pressed together, almost like she was searching for the right words. “At first… it was because you didn’t recognize me.”

Your brows furrowed.

She let out a breathy, almost bitter chuckle. “Do you know how rare that is? To walk into a place and have someone not immediately know who I am?” Her gaze met yours, something distant flashing through them. “You weren’t interested. You didn’t care. That annoyed me. It intrigued me.”

Your chest tightened, but you stayed silent.

“And yeah, maybe at first, it was a game,” she admitted, her voice softer now. “A challenge.” She looked down, almost like she was ashamed. “But at some point, it stopped being that.”

The air between you shifted.

She swallowed hard before meeting your gaze again.

“I liked being here,” she murmured. “I liked waking up in this apartment, stealing your coffee, arguing about stupid things. I liked being around you. I liked…” Her breath hitched. “I liked you.”

Your fingers curled into fists.

She took another step, closing the distance. Her eyes flickered with something raw, something aching. “You think I don’t know what this is? What we are?” Her voice trembled, but it was steady. Determined. “I know what I feel. And I know you feel it too.”

Your throat tightened. You wanted to deny it, to push her away. But you couldn’t. Not when she was standing this close, not when every word she spoke chipped away at the walls you had built.

She searched your face, her brows knitting together. “I don’t want to play anymore,” she whispered. “I’m done with the games.”

A pause.

Then, softer—

“I want something real.”

Your throat felt dry.

You wanted to believe her.

But reality loomed over you like a shadow.

You shook your head. “Suzy…”

Her eyes caught the hesitation in your voice.

The part of you that wanted to reach out, to pull her in, to admit everything.

You almost did.

Almost.

But you stopped yourself.

Because if you said it out loud, there would be no going back.

And you weren’t sure if you could survive that.

Suzy saw it.

She saw the reluctance, the fear, the way you wanted to hold on but were too scared to.

Her jaw clenched.

Then—

She grabbed you by the collar.

Before you could react, her lips crashed onto yours.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful.

It was desperate.

Like she was trying to force the truth out of you, trying to shatter whatever wall you had built between you.

But even as your lips connected—

You didn’t.

She felt it.

The way you stiffened, the way you refused to pull her closer, the way you were still holding back.

She pulled away just slightly, breathless, forehead almost resting against yours.

Her fingers curled against your shirt.

“You feel it too,” she whispered. It wasn’t a question. It was a fact.

Your eyes shut.

Because you did.

And that was the problem.

“Suzy—” you started, a weak attempt at denial.

“No.” Her voice was firm, unwavering. She refused to let you finish.

Then, before you could push her away, she pulled you in—her lips crashing onto yours, desperate, insistent. There was no hesitation, no room for resistance. Her tongue slipped past your lips, stealing the breath from your lungs, forcing you to meet her halfway.

You should have stopped her.

But you didn’t.

Your fingers twitched at your sides, your body caught between fight and surrender. She was relentless, pressing closer, molding against you like she belonged there. And maybe, for a fleeting second, you let yourself believe it.

The taste of her, the warmth, the way she moved—it was intoxicating. And as much as you wanted to pull away, to regain control, you found yourself drowning instead.

She pulled away just enough to breathe, but she stayed close—so close her forehead nearly rested against yours. 

“Please…” she whispered, her voice trembling, almost teary. 

The raw emotion in her eyes should’ve been enough to make you push her away. Instead, it rooted you in place.  

Then—she moved.  

Before you could react, before you could say something, she pressed against you, forcing you back until you hit the couch. A sharp exhale left your lips as you sank into the cushions, your body tense, your mind screaming at you to stop this before it went too far.  

But Suzy wasn’t waiting.  

She tossed her purse to the ground in one swift motion, not caring as its contents spilled across the carpet.

Then, with practiced ease, she reached for the zipper of her dress.  

Your breath hitched.  

The fabric slid from her shoulders, inch by inch, baring more of the smooth, unmarked skin beneath. She wasn’t teasing, wasn’t playing games. There was no hesitation in the way she stripped herself bare, her dress pooling at her feet before she stepped forward—completely, utterly exposed.  

Your hands curled into fists at your sides.  

This was dangerous.  

And yet, when she climbed onto the couch, settling onto your lap, pressing against you—warm, soft, relentless—you didn’t push her away.  

You should have.

But instead, you just sat there, trapped between the weight of her body and the weight of your own unraveling resolve.

She kissed you again—deep, desperate—before slowly trailing down your body.

Her fingers worked with impatient precision, loosening your belt, unzipping your pants. The fabric slid down, pooling at your ankles, and your breath hitched as you felt the cool air against your exposed tip.

Then, she touched you.

Her hand wrapped around you, firm yet deliberate, stroking with slow, measured movements. Her other hand worked at the buttons of your shirt, hurried and eager, as if she couldn't stand any barriers between you.

Once the last button was undone, she positioned herself between your legs. She leaned in, her breath warm against your cock—teasing, lingering.

Then, she looked up.

Her gaze locked onto yours, dark and unreadable, as if she were searching for something—waiting.

And then, finally, she took you in.

A sharp exhale left your lips as heat enveloped you, her tongue teasing, exploring. Her hands gripped your thighs, steadying herself as she moved, slow at first, then deeper, her rhythm unrelenting.

She never looked away.

Her eyes held yours, intense, unwavering, reading every flicker of restraint, every inch of surrender.

Your fingers wove into her hair, not guiding, just following—helpless against the way she pulled you under.

A groan escaped your throat.

“Fuck…”

As if it wasn’t the reaction she was hoping for, she paused, bracing herself. Then, with quiet determination, she took you in fully—almost choking, her cheeks hollowing as air desperately escaped her throat.

“Suzy…”

You knew she couldn't hold it for long. This wasn’t just desire—it was a plea. A desperate attempt, a refusal to back down, to be denied.

Before she could hurt herself, you gently pulled her away.

Her eyes flickered with confusion, with worry. Searching yours, as if trying to understand.

“Wh–why–” Her voice wavered. “Did you not like it?”

“You didn’t have to,” you said softly, trying to assure her.

“I have to!” she argued, her voice tight with something raw—something desperate.

She leaned on top of you, her hands gripping your shirt like she was afraid you’d disappear if she let go. Her chest rose and fell against yours, her breath warm, uneven.

The words sat heavy between you.

Then—

Her phone rang again.

The sound cut through the charged air, shrill and demanding, but Suzy didn’t move. She stayed there, staring at you, as if waiting for you to challenge her, to push her away again.

You didn’t.

But you didn’t pull her closer, either.

“You should answer that,” you said quietly.

“No.” She shook her head, her grip on you tightening. “This is more important.”

Still straddling you, she reached down, fingers fumbling against the carpet until she found her phone. Without even glancing at the screen, she powered it off and tossed it aside. The dull thud echoed in the silence.

Then, she turned back to you.

Her eyes—wide, searching—held yours.

“I want you,” she whispered. “I need you to want me too.”

Your hands rested on her hips, trembling. She felt it—the war inside you, the way your body betrayed you even as you fought to keep yourself guarded.

“Suzy…”

“Don’t think,” she pleaded, leaning in, her lips hovering just above yours. “Just feel.”

Her hand disappeared beneath, reappearing as a sensation—a slow, deliberate touch, stroking your dick.

She straightened her back, lifting her hips as she positioned herself above you. A quiet breath escaped her lips as she guided you to her entrance, her warmth pressing against your tip, her juices flowing from her to yours. Slowly, she sank down, inch by inch.

She jolted, hesitating for a brief moment. Her eyes met yours, searching. Then, with a sharp breath, she dropped fully onto you, her body colliding with yours as she took you in completely. You feel her muscles contracting responding to the intrusion.

“Haaah—!”

Her hands flew to your chest, fingers curling, gripping. Her hair cascaded around her face, veiling her expression, but you could hear it—her breathing, uneven and audible, each inhale sharp, each exhale trembling.

You stayed still, waiting as she adjusted, feeling the way her body clenched around you, how every breath she took made her tremble slightly against you. 

Then, she rises.

Slowly, she straightened, arching her back, shifting her hands to brace herself against your thighs. Her head tilted back, hair flowing freely, a few stray strands catching on her parted lips.

She was breathtaking.

And then, she began to move.

She started slowly, letting you feel every inch of her warmth, her curves, the way she gripped around you. Her movements were unhurried at first, teasing, making you savor every second as she ground against you.

Gradually, she found her rhythm, growing bolder, more confident. Each motion became smoother, more fluid, her body pressing closer until her breath mingled with yours.

Before she could collapse from the strain, you reached up, cupping her chest, massaging, teasing—easing her tension as she lost herself in the moment.

As she gathered her strength, she straightened again, your hands following her movements, trailing over her skin, fingertips brushing against her sensitive peaks. You admired the way she arched into your touch, the way she responded so effortlessly to you.

“Suzy… you feel so good,” you murmured.

Her fingers tangled in her hair, twisting strands around her face as pleasure overtook her. She bit her lip, her breath coming in uneven gasps, her body trembling.

“Fuuuuck…” she cried out.

A sudden shudder coursed through her, her muscles tightening around you as she reached her peak. Her body convulsed, waves of pleasure washing over her, leaving her breathless.

Slowly, she collapsed onto you, her head resting beside yours, her fingers tracing soft, absentminded patterns across your cheek. You could feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the warmth of her breath as she tried to steady herself.

She pressed a soft kiss against your jaw, her breath warm as she whispered, "You feel that? That’s real."

Her fingers trailed down your chest, lingering, teasing.

"Stop holding back… Show me you want this too."

Her words sent a sharp current through you, unraveling the restraint you'd been clinging to.

You stared down at her—chest rising and falling, lips parted, eyes dark with something you weren’t sure you could resist any longer.

Your fingers twitched at your sides.

She noticed.

A slow, knowing smile curved on her lips, daring you. She reached up, her fingertips grazing your jaw, featherlight but insistent. “You always hesitate,” she murmured, tilting her head, watching your expression shift. “Why?”

You didn't answer.

But you didn’t stop yourself this time either.

With a sharp breath, you moved—grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head as you pressed her into the couch. A small gasp left her lips, her body reacting to the sudden shift.

She barely had a second to process before you claimed her mouth, hard and consuming, swallowing the teasing words before she could say them.

Her breath hitched, then melted into you, her legs wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer.

This was different.

No more games. No more lines blurred with uncertainty. This time, you needed her to understand.

She did.

Her body moved against yours, desperate and yielding, her hands trembling where you held them down. Her breaths turned uneven, her chest pressing against you as she arched.

She wanted more.

So you gave it to her.

You let go of her wrists, and the moment you did, her hands tangled in your hair, pulling you back into her. Her fingers scraped down your back, nails biting into your skin as if anchoring herself.

Your hands explored her body in return, tracing the curves you’d memorized yet never allowed yourself to claim like this. Every touch, every press of your fingers, left her gasping, her body shifting to meet your every movement.

You could feel the heat radiating from her, the way she trembled when you kissed down her neck, when your lips ghosted over her collarbone, when your hands traced lower, pulling her hips flush against you.

The anticipation built with every second, every lingering touch, every breathless whisper.

Then, finally, you positioned yourself against her, her warmth enveloping you inch by inch.

She tensed, breath catching, before forcing herself to relax around you, her hands gripping your shoulders, nails pressing into your skin. Her body adjusted, stretched, taking you in completely.

Her forehead fell against yours, eyes shut tight, lips parted as she took slow, measured breaths.

You waited.

And when she exhaled, her eyes fluttering open to meet yours, something unspoken passed between you.

She moved first.

A slow, tentative roll of her hips, testing, feeling.

Your breath hitched.

She did it again, this time with more confidence, dragging a groan from deep in your chest.

And then, she found her rhythm.

She moved, and you let her, let her set the pace, let her lose herself in the pleasure, watching as she melted against you.

Her hands roamed, desperate and aimless, one moment clutching at your arms, the next twisting into her own hair. Her head tilted back, exposing the long curve of her neck as she gasped your name between each breath.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

Gripping her hips, you took control, moving with her, deeper, harder, until neither of you could form words—only sounds, only the raw, unfiltered expression of need.

Her body trembled beneath you, her legs tightening around you as she edged closer, her walls fluttering around you.

You were close.

“Suzy…” your voice was strained, warning.

Her fingers curled against your back, dragging you impossibly closer.

“Me too…” she whispered.

The moment broke.

She clenched around you, her release hitting her first, her body shuddering as she cried out. The sensation dragged you over the edge with her, your own pleasure crashing down in waves, leaving you breathless.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

She was spent, her body completely relaxed beneath you, her chest rising and falling against yours as she caught her breath. You stayed like that, pressed against each other, feeling the aftershocks of what had just happened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Suzy felt warmth, the kind that settled deep in her bones. Her body molded against his, her breathing steadying as the silence stretched between them.

She had done it.

She had broken past his restraint, made him feel, made him stop holding back—if only for a moment.

A slow smile tugged at her lips.

Soft. Satisfied. Content.

Because for the first time, he wasn’t pushing her away. He wasn’t building walls between them. He was here, with her.

But then… he shifted.

It was subtle—the way his muscles tensed, how his fingers curled ever so slightly against her skin. But she felt it.

The hesitation.

The doubt creeping back in.

Her heart skipped, a sudden unease slipping into the warmth she had been basking in.

She lifted her head slightly, searching his face. His eyes were open now, staring past her, distant. The way they had been earlier. The way they used to be before everything changed.

Her stomach twisted.

No.

Not now.

Not after this.

Before she could say anything, a vibration broke the silence.

It wasn’t her phone.

It was his.

She stiffened as he reached for it, the shift in his body—away from her—far more deafening than the sound itself.

Then, she saw the name flashing on the screen.

Her manager.

The unease coiled tighter around her chest.

Something was wrong.

And this time, she couldn’t ignore it.

Suzy’s breath hitched as she read the name flashing on the screen.

Her manager.

Her stomach tightened.

She looked at him, waiting—praying—he wouldn’t answer. That he would ignore it, just like she had ignored hers. That he would choose this moment, her, just a little longer.

But then he exhaled, and the weight of it told her everything.

He swiped to accept the call.

“Hello.” His voice was calm, even.

Too even.

She felt cold.

She slowly sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest, her pulse suddenly too loud in her ears.

Then she heard it. The frantic voice on the other end.

Words spilling too fast. Urgent. Panicked.

Her name. His name.

The apartment.

Photos.

Exposure.

Scandal.

She didn’t need to hear the rest.

Her throat tightened as she reached for her own phone, fumbling to turn it back on. The screen lit up in an instant—dozens of missed calls, unread messages stacking one after the other.

And then the headlines.

Her heart plummeted.

BAE SUZY SPOTTED LEAVING UNKNOWN APARTMENT

ACTRESS INVOLVED WITH MYSTERY MAN?

SCANDAL OR SECRET ROMANCE?

She felt lightheaded.

This wasn’t just some rumor. This wasn’t speculation.

They had proof.

Paparazzi shots. Her outside his building. Her coming and going. The timestamps… they had been watching her. Watching him.

She gripped the edge of the couch as reality crashed in.

She didn’t even realize she had stopped breathing.

“…Suzy.”

Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice.

And that was when she saw it.

The way his face had shifted.

The way his expression had gone blank.

Carefully guarded.

Like a door had slammed shut between them.

Like the last few hours had meant nothing.

Her throat tightened.

Then—

A knock at the door.

Loud. Urgent.

She flinched.

“Suzy! Open up!”

Her manager’s voice, sharp with barely restrained panic.

She curled her fingers into the blanket.

“Suzy, we have to go. Before the press shows up.”

This was happening too fast.

She wasn’t ready.

She turned to him, searching his face, searching for anything—a sign, a flicker of something real.

Something to hold on to.

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t reach for her.

She felt something inside her crack.

Slowly, mechanically, she forced herself to sit up.

Her limbs were heavy as she pulled on her clothes, every movement deliberate, slow, as if drawing it out would somehow change the inevitable.

She fastened the last button on her blouse with trembling fingers.

She could still feel his touch on her skin.

Could still taste him on her lips.

And yet, it already felt like he was gone.

Her bag lay nearby, its contents scattered from when she had tossed it aside earlier.

She crouched down, picking up her phone, her keys, her lipstick—every little piece of herself she had left behind in his space.

Another knock.

Louder this time.

“Suzy, now!”

She straightened, exhaling slowly.

Then, finally, she turned to him.

One last time.

Her lips parted, but she didn’t know what to say.

Because what was there left to say?

He had already made his choice.

She gave him a chance.

A moment to stop her.

To say her name, to ask her to stay, to fight for something.

But he didn’t.

He just sat there.

Silent.

And that silence broke her more than anything else ever could.

A soft, bitter smile flickered across her lips.

Then, with quiet finality, she turned away.

She reached for the door handle.

Paused.

Hoped.

But nothing changed.

So she pulled it open—

And stepped out of his life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up before the alarm.

Not because you’re well-rested—far from it. You wake up because your body still expects something that isn’t there.

The quiet. That’s what hits you first.

For weeks, your mornings had been filled with sounds that weren’t yours—the rustle of blankets from the next room, the faint clatter of her rummaging through the fridge for something she never finished, the soft hum of a song playing from her phone as she brushed her hair.

Sometimes, when she was feeling particularly intrusive, she would wander into your room uninvited, crawling onto your bed, complaining about the cold or just because she wanted to bother you.

You used to sigh in annoyance, push her away, tell her to go back to her own damn bed.

Now, you wake up to silence. And you hate it.

The bathroom feels colder without the usual mess she left behind. The overstocked bottles of shampoo stare back at you, a mistake born out of habit—because she always used too much, and you got used to compensating for it.

The kitchen is worse. You open the fridge and see the takeout you bought last night, untouched. Two portions.

You pick it up, stare at it for a moment, then set it back down.

She used to steal bites from your plate, even when she had her own. Always with that smug little smirk, like she was testing how much she could get away with.

You would give anything for that annoyance now.

The walk to work is unremarkable. The world moves on, oblivious to the fact that something vital has been ripped from yours.

At lunch, your phone sits face-up on the table, her contact just a tap away. Your fingers hover, but you don’t press it. What would you even say?

By the time the afternoon rolls in, exhaustion weighs on you in a way that has nothing to do with work. You’re distracted. You catch glimpses of her everywhere—in the reflection of a passing train window, in the way someone tosses their hair, in a distant laugh that sounds too much like hers.

And then—

Your phone buzzes.

An unknown number.

You stare at the screen for a moment before answering.

"Hello?"

"Finally! Man, you do not make it easy to get a hold of you."

You recognize the voice instantly—Suzy’s manager.

Your grip tightens around the phone. "What do you want?"

"Relax, I’m not here to cause you a headache. Got enough of my own." There's a tired chuckle on the other end. "I just wanted to check—have you seen Suzy?"

Your brows furrow. "What? No."

"Talked to her? Met up with her?"

"Why would I?" You say it slower this time, unease creeping in.

There’s a pause. Then, a sigh. "So you really haven’t seen the interview yet, huh?"

Something in your stomach twists. "What interview?"

Another sigh, this one heavier. "Okay, look… just turn on the TV, alright?"

Before you can ask anything else, the line clicks dead.

You stare at your phone, a strange weight settling in your chest.

Curiosity—or maybe something closer to dread—pushes you to unlock it.

A trending video immediately catches your eye.

"Bae Suzy, Unscripted!?  –  Full Interview (Archived Livestream)"

Your breath slows.

You hesitate for only a second before tapping on it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The lights were blinding, the hum of production buzzing around her—stylists making last-minute adjustments, the mic being clipped to her dress, the host running through her lines with an easy smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Suzy sat still, hands folded on her lap, posture perfect. Outside, she was composed. Inside, her mind was a storm.

It’s just another interview.

A familiar dance. A routine she had perfected over the years.

"Going live in ten… nine… eight…"

She tuned out the countdown, exhaling softly.

The screen flashed.

The host smiled. The music faded. And the world was watching.

"Welcome back, everyone. Today, we have the one and only Bae Suzy with us—an icon, a survivor, and, dare I say, someone who knows how to make a comeback."

Suzy returned the smile, unfazed by the underlying bite in the words.

"I try," she said smoothly.

They eased into it, the same questions she had answered a hundred times before. The trials, the triumphs. The resilience of a woman who refused to disappear. She answered each with effortless grace, her voice steady, her expressions controlled.

But every now and then, the interviewer would say something—something meant to sound supportive but laced with skepticism. And each time, her mind would twist it, redirect it, until she wasn’t thinking about the industry or the scandals.

She was thinking about him.

How he looked at her that night. How he didn’t stop her—but didn’t hold on either.

"So, Suzy, after everything, what made you come back? Was it passion? The love of the craft? Or maybe… unfinished business?"

Unfinished business.

Her grip on her lap tightened.

She thought about waking up in his apartment, wrapped in a stolen blanket that still smelled like him. She thought about the way he used to watch her when he thought she wouldn’t notice—always guarded, always holding something back.

She thought about how easy it had been to walk into his life.

And how stupid she had been to walk out.

She almost laughed.

The interview went on, the questions getting bolder. She met each one head-on, undeterred. But then—

"Speaking of unfinished business…" The interviewer leaned forward, eyes glinting. "Your most recent… situation. That’s quite the scandal, isn’t it? A secret relationship? A hidden romance? Care to clarify the truth for your fans?"

The air shifted.

An unscripted question.

The storm inside her stilled—then changed direction entirely.

Her lips parted, the words already forming. The scripted denial, the casual dismissal.

But instead—

A bitter smile curled on her lips.

"You want the truth?" she mused.

The interviewer hesitated, as if realizing too late that the game had changed.

Suzy tilted her head, gaze sharp. "The truth is, it’s exhausting."

Silence.

"Having cameras in your face the second you step outside. Having every move dissected, every breath turned into a headline." Her voice was steady, but something dangerous lurked beneath it. "But you know what’s worse? The way you all act surprised when we get tired of it."

A murmur rippled through the studio. The host shifted, suddenly less comfortable.

"You paint a picture," she continued. "You create a story. You decide what we are, who we’re with, what we feel. And then, when the truth doesn’t fit your fantasy, you get upset."

She exhaled, a humorless laugh escaping.

"And the best part? No matter what I say, you’ll twist it anyway. So why bother?"

The interviewer blinked, caught between intrigue and damage control. "Are you saying the rumors are true, then?"

Suzy smiled.

Not the polished, camera-ready kind.

Something softer. Smaller.

"You all want to know who he is." Her voice dropped just slightly, the weight of her words pressing against the silence. "You want to know if I chose him."

A heartbeat.

Her fingers curled against her lap.

"I think the real question is…" Her gaze drifted, somewhere beyond the cameras. "Why didn't he choose me?"

The air in the room froze.

The interviewer scrambled to recover, but Suzy had already leaned back, mic still on, eyes burning with something fierce, something alive.

I intruded into his life before.

Why not do it again?

If he wasn’t going to hold onto her—

Then she’d just have to make sure she never let go.

~~~

You watch the screen, heart pounding louder than it should.

Suzy sits there, poised, confident, unshaken by the interviewer’s leading words. But then the question comes—the one meant to corner her, to trap her into a scandal she can’t escape.

But she doesn’t dodge.

She doesn’t deny.

She leans in. Smiles. And then she says it.

"You all want to know who he is… if I chose him."

A slow inhale. Your fingers tighten around the phone.

"I think the real question is… why didn’t he choose me?"

The world might not understand what she meant. But you do.

Because that wasn’t a farewell.

That was a challenge.

A laugh bubbles up, breathless and disbelieving, and suddenly, you can’t sit still. Your chest feels too tight, your hands restless.

You run.

Out the door, through the streets, past people you barely register. Your heart pounds, your mind races, but there’s only one thought screaming through it all—

She’s coming back.

By the time you reach your apartment, you’re breathless, but exhilaration drowns out the exhaustion. You shove the key in, fling the door open—

Empty.

Your chest still heaves as you scan the living room. Nothing.

The excitement flickers, but you don’t stop. You check the bedroom. The bathroom. The kitchen. Each empty space chipping away at the joy, replacing it with something hollow.

She’s not here.

You stand in the middle of the apartment, heartbeat slowing, an ache settling deep in your ribs.

Maybe you misunderstood.

Maybe she wasn’t talking about you.

Maybe it’s too late.

Maybe that was the final moment, and you were too much of a coward to grasp it when it mattered.

You sink onto the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Then—

The door clicks open.

Your head snaps up.

And there she is.

Suzy steps inside, gaze sharp, movements purposeful. Her lips are parted, ready to argue, to fight, to demand.

She came here prepared to battle.

But she doesn’t have to.

Because the second she crosses the threshold, you’re in front of her, arms pulling her in.

She stiffens—startled—but you don’t let go.

"You can do whatever you want," you murmur into her hair, voice shaking. "Stay, intrude, turn my life upside down—I don’t care."

Her hands clutch at your shirt, but she doesn’t push you away.

"I missed you," you admit, breath hitching. "I—God, Suzy, I took you for granted, I was an idiot, I let you walk away when I should have held on."

Suzy swallows hard. You feel it against your chest.

"You regret it?" she whispers.

"Every damn second."

A shaky exhale. Then softer—"You’re nothing without me, huh?"

You let out a breathless laugh. "Not even close."

She lingers in your arms, tension melting away, her fingers curling into your shirt as if anchoring herself. And then, as if she’s just now realizing what this means—what this moment is—a small, knowing smile tugs at her lips.

"So what now?" she murmurs. "Another scandal?"

Your heart is still racing, but this time, it’s not from fear.

You smirk. "Why stop now?"

Her laughter is warm, bright, everything you didn’t know you’d been missing.

And then, just because you can, you tighten your grip, lift her off the ground for the briefest second, making her yelp in surprise before you crash onto the couch together. She’s breathless, half laughing, half complaining about how reckless you are, but she doesn’t pull away.

Instead, she cups your face, brushing her thumb over your cheek, eyes glinting with mischief. "You better be ready for what’s coming."

You grin. "I’ve never been more ready.”

~The end

A/N: this was such a pain trying to upload this T_T

[sunflowersandchrysanthemums]

Why is SatoSugu so compelling?

Oftentimes, I gravitate to ships with solid characters who end up with poor writing decisions. Just look at any of my past Kalpollo fics, but SatoSugu defies this. Instead, Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto are some of the best-written characters I've encountered in a long time. Expertly crafted as individual characters, a duo, and in their respective roles in the larger story of JJK. I believe it is within this masterful writing between these two characters that we find what makes the Ship so compelling.

Stirring beyond the surface of their ship tropes, we find a narrative that simultaneously presents us with two opposing questions: What change would need to happen to impact their fates? and would those changes be enough?

For more details and nerd stuff, see footnotes at the end of the post.

My intention here is not to provide a character analysis or study on what makes Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto great characters, instead, what I am doing is reflecting on my personal reactions to this ship in order to better understand why I find it so compelling. (1) As well as doing some critical analysis of the writing.

When I get into a ship, I find a sense of compulsion to write fanfiction. My previous endeavors into fanfiction were fuelled by a desire to write these characters better endings and, more importantly, work through some personal trauma. (2) The end result is a fic that satisfies both needs, I get to create or explore these beloved characters more and gain personal insight.

So far, this has not been the case for SatoSugu, like everyone in this ship, I just want to see them to be happy. Similar to before, my first thought upon writing a fic was what would need to happen for them to have a happy ending; it seemed like a simple enough task. Instead of diving head first into writing, I found myself stuck with how well-written they were.

When I write fanfiction, I try to stay as true to the characters as possible, but these two have made this quite a challenge. Gege wrote them so well that I have constantly found myself doubting if these characters would do the things I imagine in my fics. I'll go on a fic planning session feeling great only to learn something new or remember a small detail about them, causing me to completely rethink my perspective.

I, as a writer, am stuck with determining how much would I need to change about their story for them to have an ending where they work together to change their society without completely altering what makes their characterization so compelling.

This conflict helps demonstrate just how well crafted Gege wrote these characters. So much of who they are, their personalities, their quirks, and their uniqueness, is tied directly to the events of Hidden Inventory/Premature Death. It is not an exaggeration to conclude that without HI/PD happening the rest of the events in JJK would not have happened or would have been drastically different. Again, now leaving me with the question, if HI/PD doesn't happen, then how much of Satoru's and Suguru's characterization is impacted? Am I still staying true to the characters? (3)

It is within this conflict that Gege has incited in many of us, both viewers/readers and creatives, that we find why the ship is so compelling to us. It makes us question ourselves, question what choices we would make, and think beyond what is shown to us to understand our interpretations. Never before have I had such a long and continuous visceral reaction when thinking about what happens to these characters. Their stories make me cry, but they also make me think.

They inspire me to not just reflect on their characters but to create something of my own and for that, I thank you Gege for giving the world this deeply compelling ship.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------Footnotes

Academically, what I am doing is phenomenological analysis, most in line with feminist thought; reflecting on personal experience to gain insight into a topic. In this case, I am using my personal reactions to SatoSugu as a part of gaining a better understanding of why I find them so compelling.

See my AO3 fics, Hues of Blue and Gray, and Apollo's Fathers

This is just my personal goal for fanfiction and not a statement on other writers' interpretations of Satour and Suguru

[mimzywhimsy]

The Bowens Problem: Breakups, Feuds, and Narrative Tension

Think about your favorite wrestling feuds in AEW. I'll name a few of my own from recent memory; MJF vs. CM Punk, Swerve vs. Hangman, Mariah May vs. Toni Storm, and Daniel Garcia vs. Jack Perry. I also like whatever the fuck The Elite have had going on, but that's a whole separate post.

What makes these feuds great? Three things come to mind: Pacing, History, and Character Work.

I'll start with the easiest: pacing. Groundwork needs to be laid. Foreshadowing. Length of time, to really establish the relationship. Rushing a feud is like jacking off to relieve sexual frustration; it might get the job done in the end, but is it really satisfying? Would MJF vs. Punk be as good if we didn't have them blatantly ignoring each other for weeks before meeting face to face on the mic? Would Mariah May's betrayal be as gutwrenching if we didn't follow her efforts to gain Timeless Toni's trust?

The Acclaimed's breakup feud is good when it comes to pacing. Max Caster has been calling himself the Best Wrestler Alive on TV for many months now, and we've seen how his attitude change has slowly worn down on Anthony Bowens' last nerve. How The Acclaimed just aren't winning matches when it counts anymore; something's been off. They've been more and more out of sync in the ring, and Max has only gotten more abrasive and egotistical. Their breakup was hardly a surprise, for this reason.

Next, history. All the feuds I've listed above have this, to one extent or another. MJF's history as a rabid fan of Punk's as a kid. That autograph signing picture. Mariah May following in Toni Storm's footsteps, career-wise. Jack Perry's history as a fan-favorite babyface and his subsequent fall from grace intersects neatly with Daniel Garcia rise from tough midcard heel to beloved, dancing face.

The Acclaimed also have plenty of history: we've been along for the entire ride, witnessing it. Their rise from an obscure Dark tag team to one of the most popular and well-known acts. They fought their battles together, even when the going got tough. Suspensions and ill-times injuries couldn't break them up. They had fire in their eyes and a clear-set goal to be Tag Team champions, and they achieved far beyond our wildest dreams.

So, what's my problem? This feud practically writes itself, right? The breakup of a beloved tag team is a classic trope. Max and Anthony have always portrayed themselves as a Heel-and-Babyface duo who balance each other out, so their roles for this story seem well defined.

....But is that really the best way to go about it?

Enter the third element: character work. Specifically, I want to talk about tensions.

If Max is a clear-cut heel and Anthony is an obvious face, it makes sense- but it's also boring. In other good feuds, even if there is clearly a "good guy" to root for, nothing is ever black and white. Think of MJF's inner vulnerability, and Punk's underlying cruelty towards him. Mariah May's love for Toni that she tries so hard to deny. Daniel Garcia's inherent violent nature that he has to fight against to literally not kill Jack Perry. Swerve is dangerous, and he broke into Hangman's house, but then Hangman burned his childhood home down.

Do not boo me- do NOT boo me for being right, when I say that out of the two, Max Caster has been doing much better character work. It's in his music, his indie work, and (more recently) his work on AEW.

He's especially good at creating tension by showing the warring dichotomy within himself. He has a huge ego, but only to cope with his poor self esteem. He's a sleazeball player who wants love and is afraid of ending up all alone. He never shuts the fuck up, but who is he if he's silent? Sure, he's embarrassing himself in the ring- but is he more delusional than any other wrestler that refuses to give up in the face of hardship? Stubbornly sticking to an idea arguably led to The Acclaimed winning championships. Hell, he refused to stop scissoring his partner, and look what that led to!

Max Caster is an AEW locker room veteran who clearly loves to big league and bully his lessers. He's super awkward and doesn't seem to have many friends. He thinks he's better than everyone else. He's his own worst enemy and harshest critic. He's rich, and pretty, and powerful, and successful. He's the loneliest and saddest guy in the world.

He's a multidimensional, fleshed-out character.

Anthony Bowens is....a good guy? I struggle to figure out anything about him besides for the fact that he's a Great Athlete and Nice Guy who is good at a lot of other things like modelling and baseball. He does and says all the right things. He speaks at colleges and attends charity events. He lives in a cute West Hollywood apartment with a cute husband. He's openly gay and proud of it, but isn't in your face about it like those other more annoying gays! He's not The Gay Wrestler, he's just a wrestler...who is gay....and nice...and talented.

Do you see my problem, here? Anthony Bowens does not bring any tension to the narrative.

He's flatter than Charlotte Flair's pancake ass. He's so focused on being picture perfect that he fails to provide any substance for me to sink my teeth into.

But the thing is, he easily could! He checks all the right boxes and says all the right things- but isn't that just the slightest bit calculating and manipulative? If the image he broadcasts to the world is so perfect, then doesn't that imply that it might be fake? He wants to keep doing the Scissor Me Daddy shtick despite it getting stale, why? The money? The merch sales? Would a good guy with nothing but good intentions cynically do a segment with the Costco Guys and fucking Jericho?

No hate, I'm not trying to smear Bowens' name here! We're in the middle of the feud, so maybe he'll surprise me. I think that Caster's appeal in part comes down to how willing he is to be vulnerable and messy. It might benefit Bowens to do a little of the same.

[lienwyn]

15 questions, 15 people

I was tagged by @clawbehavior! Thank you so much 💜

1. Are you named after anyone?

I am not. My grandmother picked my name to somewhat match my big sister's (we both have names beginning with L) but that's about it.

2. When was the last time you cried?

I guess yesterday? Because my back pain suddenly got ten times worse and sometimes when I tried to move I'd get a stabbing sensation that made me spontaneously start crying. Which is pretty impressive considering that I have a pretty high pain tolerance.

It was also confusing because it wasn't a conscious choice of mine or anything. My body just decided it hurt too much and therefore tears were required. While I was just completely baffled by what was happening because crying from pain isn't something I do very often.

It was an interesting experience.

3. Do you have kids?

Nope.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Not anymore, no. When I was a teenager, it seemed to be the only kind of humour I could actually pull off, but I've been steering away from it more and more. Now I'm saving it for special occasions ;)

5. What's the first thing you notice about people?

I genuinely can't say. I think it depends more on the person I'm seeing/meeting than anything I have control over. Like, with some I might notice their posture, with others it's their hair colour (if it's something very noticeable), with others it's the way they speak.

I really don't have a set order or something I look for first.

6. What's your eye colour?

Greenish blue

7. Scary movie or happy ending?

Happy ending. Always.

8. Any special talents?

I'm really good with my hands and usually excel at most types of crafts or creative pursuits I attempt, from art and sculpturing to sewing, weaving, embroidery, making furniture, baking etc.

I'm also good at reading people and situations, which comes in handy when I write.

9. Where were you born?

In the north of Sweden.

10. What are your hobbies?

Honestly too many to count. But the ones I spend most time on right now are drawing, writing, reading, playing video games, and taking walks.

11. Do you have pets?

Sadly, no :C

But I grew up with dogs and love them to absolute bits. One of my favourite words in Swedish is "hundlängtan" which basically just means "dog longing" or "longing for a dog."

That's me. I am in a perpetual state of longing for a dog.

12. What sports do you/have you played?

Basketball, floorball, and badminton were the most organised, but I also did gymnastics and skiing as a kid.

13. How tall are you?

176 cm (5'9)

14. Favourite subject in high school?

History! Because I had an AMAZING teacher who made it so, so much fun, especially with the ugly little drawings he kept making on the whiteboard. Half of the time, we couldn't even see what he was drawing, but that was a part of the charm.

I also really liked English :)

15. Dream job?

I would honestly love to be an artist or a writer full-time, but I'm too scared (and comfortable with my current salary) to attempt it. But if I could choose without having to take finances into consideration? Definitely an artist or a writer.

I tag: @miss-ingno, @sjazna, @mesaimouse, @a-very-fond-farewell, @fr-wiwiw, @stl29tide, @writingfanficsfan, @k-s-morgan, and whoever else wants to do it! (I really suck at tagging x'D)

[s0fter-sin]

i’ve stopped expecting interesting animation from bones. the star and stripe fight is cool but like every other fight/moment in mha, it’s only cool bc the source material itself is cool; bones does nothing to elevate the manga

they rarely try to experiment with colour and style. i saw so many colourings of the moment star and stripe made a giant version of herself out of the air; people made her look like a cosmos, like it reflected and bent the sky around her, doing so many inventive things and for the anime to just make her an outline against that godforsaken sky? i’m disappointed

but people will take me saying i’m disappointed and spin it to me saying the fight was bad. it wasn’t, just like most fights and moments in the anime aren’t bad but that’s all bc horikoshi knows how to draw. they never do anything beyond that; they never try and adapt it. whether it’s bc of time, direction, budget, or what have you, they will never do something truly inventive with their colouring

i’ve said this before and i’ll say it again, it’s not just that the sky is blue; it’s what the blue sky represents and that is an unwillingness to broaden their colour palette or atmosphere to support the changes in the tone of the story. the story isn’t just “will midoriya get into his dream high school and achieve his dream job?” it’s child abuse and societal systems and their dysfunctions, it’s racism and morality and is it right to try and save someone who’s determined to destroy the world just bc they are also a victim?

look at the finale of atla, a show that mirrors the narrative tone of mha; it starts out bright and colourful and vibrant to match the happy and small stakes nature of the story and as the tone of the story changes, the environment changes to reflect that. the siege of the north pole? everything goes blood red when the moon spirit is threatened, then goes completely desaturated when it is killed with only fire bending having any colour. the day of black sun? uses a solar eclipse to change the lighting. the entire sozin’s comet fight? has red skies and lighting to show the threat

bones abject refusal to change anything about the art itself is a detriment to horikoshi’s complex narrative

[gingerbreadmonsters]

its so important to me that you know how much ive already cried over this wip and its literally only been two days

[fingertipsmp3]

Okay I’m adding two more resolutions for 2025. I am exclusively mood-reading books, which means no TBR and no regimented planned reading, and I am also refusing to wear anything I don’t want to wear

[leori-the-unlearned]

the way digimon does conflict/drama between two characters who should be or are close: chef’s kiss <3

the way sonic idw handles creating conflict/drama between two characters who should be or are close: *wilting flower*

[the-way-astray]

it should be a crime for writers/creators to not make a crazy wall for their story that connects pictures representing the characters and plot points together with an obscene amount of yarn.

[disposal-blueeee]

gay gay homosexual gay

[readymades2002]

something difficult about writing/storytelling but only in short disconnected bursts is that writing anything longform is very difficult. there isn't as much time to practice long-term character development or subtlety (implying character instead of immediately clarifying) when its not really meant to go anywhere but a notes app. its a little frustrating...i'd love to do something more longform though. i've considered maybe just doing some short writing scenes in my various original universes a lot recently mostly because i just havent had time to draw anything fancy recently </3 maybe that would be something...

[trashbatistrash]

,

[bluewaterlily]

My depression is making it so that it’s hard to write and not being able to write is just adding to the depression *sigh*