#a lot of this leads to a LOT of angst too
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astraystayyh · 2 days ago
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Bleeding heart dove
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pairing: idol!chan x lawyer!reader. youngerbrother!seungmin.
genre: f2l. slow burn. angst (lots of it). fluff. (un)requited love. forced proximity. law/corruption sub-plot.
warnings: parental loss. grief. self-depreciating thoughts. suicidal thoughts. reader has she/her pronouns. this is a work of fiction. the actions and timeline depicted in the story don’t represent the idols in real life.
word count: 25.7k.
You are ashamed, even in the privacy of your thoughts, of this longing, of this sharp ache. For even thinking, daring to dream of a world where you could behold his warm hands into your butchered ones. Where he’d let you. Where you’d let yourself.
It feels like death to think of Chan, it feels like living too.
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a.n: she’s finally here!!!! i haven’t written for chris in such a long time and i’m so grateful to @kayleefriedchicken for commissioning this fic :,) it spiraled and i took some creative liberties that’s why it’s so long now LMAO but i hope you’ll enjoy reading!!!! i challenged myself writing this, it is a bit different from my other fics. much heavier too. but i’m slowly finding a writing structure i truly enjoy. i love you all 🤍 thank you for waiting for me
They say that smells are little vessels of memories, wrapping themselves around moments in time. When a certain scent floats by you, it doesn’t graze your shoulder like a stranger in the streets, never to be seen again.
No, smells seize you by the wrist, their nails sinking deep into the softness of your skin. Scents do not pass. They pull. They lead you into the locked corridors of your mind, to places you thought had crumbled into dust, memories buried seven feet under by the weight of years.
You smell rust.
Many may not recognize it, most might not even notice it. But you do. The scent of rust is etched into your nostrils, carved along your nerve endings, again and again. It smells earthy, metallic, sharp—like blood smeared on your tongue against your will.
As everything in your life has ever been.
Every orphanage you lived in reeked of rust. It seeped into the walls, staining them beneath layers of pale, lifeless paint. It curled into the battered beds and damp linens. You tried to pinch your nose shut at night, suffocating against the foul scent. But rust was patient. Rust had time. And so, naturally, rust always won.
It was a cruel smell at that— the scent of things stolen— childhood, innocence, soft mornings, your very ability to dream.
You were ten years old when both your parents died in a tragic accident. A drunk driver slammed into their car and made it combust into flames. He was quickly caught and cast into prison. But what did that serve you? Your parents were gone. What respite would this semblance of justice bring you?
That part of your life remains hazy since there was no room to mourn, only movement, hands ushering you from one orphanage to another. Each time the walls could no longer contain any more children. Any more grief.
And you were only ten.
But Seungmin was only six.
Your brother didn’t understand what was happening. Why did he have to leave his shiny toys and Pochacco-themed bed behind? He cried at night for your parents, his wails cresting and receding like waves against a fragile shore.
Sometimes, he cried so fiercely that no one could calm him—not even you. You would leave him to sob until exhaustion claimed him. You envied him, in a way. Sleep refused to visit you. You were sentenced to lay awake instead, burdened by responsibilities too heavy for your small hands. Yet, when you glanced at Seungmin’s resting form, the ache in your chest eased, just slightly. If he could rest, that was enough.
You didn’t know it then, but this thought would become the basis of your entire life. You’d give and give, tear at your own flesh if it meant Seungmin would remain intact and safe.
The first orphanage was small. Twenty beds crammed together in a single room. It was a temporary holding place while the city council decided your fate. Orphans, you realized, were like misplaced luggage—tagged and eagerly discarded, waiting for someone, anyone, to claim them.
The second orphanage was somewhat worse. There were a hundred beds this time, a larger playground, warmer food. But the older kids were cruel. That’s what you remember. Rust and cruelty, entwined.
They shoved you hard against the ground on your first night there. And then, they turned to Seungmin. The moment their hands reached for him, something primal surged within you—a burning, blistering rage as if your very being was dipped into scalding water. You lashed out, punching the nose of one of the older boys. Blood. Yours, his, theirs. It all blurred together.
Then, punishment quickly followed: no more dinner for three days.
Seungmin didn’t understand. He tugged at your sleeve, crying that he was hungry late at night. That’s when you decided it was better to endure in silence. To take the blows, as long as your brother could eat.
By thirteen, you arrived at Promise Orphanage. Your hand trembled in Seungmin’s grip as Miss Jeeho introduced you both. Forty-four pairs of eyes bore into you, gliding over the faint bruises that painted your arms like ink stains.
You braced yourself for the worst. But then, a girl stepped forward, her hair a messy halo around her face. Her smile was wide, her eyes bright despite the dust coating her skin. She held out her hand, and you noticed how rough and calloused it was for her age. How warm it was too.
“I’m Winter,” she said, her voice soft.
You blinked at the odd name, then nodded. Later, you would learn she had been abandoned as a newborn, left nameless at the orphanage’s doorstep. It was a cold night when the workers found her, with heavy snow. It was surprising she didn’t pass from pneumonia.
Winter chose her name after the season she was born, since her parents didn’t bother to do so for her.
You came to realize that in these walls, even something as mundane as a name was a privilege, something the world could simply not grant you at birth.
“I’m Y/n, and this is Seungmin,” you replied, gripping your brother’s clammy hand. There was steel in your voice as you said his name, ensuring everyone knew he wasn’t to be touched.
But the other children simply smiled at you, and you tried to smile back. Though it came out much more like a grimace. Smiling felt foreign to you, like a muscle long unused.
Promise Orphanage then became your home for five long years. The children were kinder, their grins did not sharpen into unkind hands. Your bed was slightly bigger. You got gifts for your birthday and cake on New Year’s. You always gave yours to Seungmin— the better toys, the bigger slices, the softest pillows. You hoped it would make him feel better, even for a second.
But rust remained.
It followed you when you turned eighteen, into your first apartment. A single room, smaller than your childhood kitchen. But it was enough. Enough to build a life for Seungmin, to earn his custody, to gift him the privilege of dreaming.
Though even then, when Seungmin laughed, when he sang with Winter, when you had enough warm showers to forget the cold of the orphanage, you wondered if other people could still smell the rust like you did.
Perhaps it was your mind’s way of reminding you that, even if you shut your eyes so tightly that colors bloomed behind your eyelids— even if you thought hard enough of your summer home and salt-kissed winds, if you strained to hear your parents’ airy laughter calling you to dinner— this was not home.
It never could be.
“Y/n?”
Han’s voice slips through the fog of your memories, bright and familiar. You blink, the haze receding like chimney smoke to find him leaning casually against the doorframe.
He’s the first one out of the stylist’s room, his hair falls in soft waves over his forehead, and silver dust coats his eyes, catching the overhead lights like scattered stars.
“Hey, Han,” you greet, pulling him into a brief hug.
His grin is as easy as ever—warm and full of mischief. “Like the makeup?”
“It’s perfect,” you reply, poking his rosy cheeks.
“The boys are still getting ready,” he says, falling in step beside you as you walk toward the waiting room. Shelves stacked with instant noodles, water bottles, chips, and candy stare back at you.
“Figured.”
Your gaze flickers to the jelly candies, and you smile. You can already picture Hyunjin diving for them first and Seungmin scolding him for his sugar intake.
Jiho, the manager, greets you with a nod, and you return the gesture.
“You seemed far away just now,” Han notes, twisting the cap off a water bottle.
You exhale slowly. “The vents smell like rust. This whole place can quickly turn into a safety hazard. That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
Han gasps in mock horror, clutching his chest. “Why is it that every time you talk about law, I feel like I’m about to be sued?”
You swat his arm, giggling at his theatrics, before pinching his forearm lightly.
“Hey—“ he yelps and you narrow your eyes at him.
“I should actually sue you for not visiting my new office though,” you point out, doing a neck-slicing motion with your hand.
“Okay, creepy. AND, for my defense, I sent you that fruit basket, didn’t I? Been busy writing songs. You know how it is when inspiration strikes me.”
You do.
It tugs at a distant summer, long days spent on the coast of Jeju Island alongside the boys, to celebrate your first successful case. Han locked away with his notebook while the sea breeze knocked at his window. He only joined you once he had finished writing the lyrics of two new songs. Some of your favorites too, at that.
“There she is! You’re smiling,” Han says, poking your cheek.
“Just remembering our trip.”
He sighs dreamily, before slinging his arm around your shoulders. “Best summer ever. Next time, the vacation’s on me. Pinky promise.”
Your smile softens, warmth pooling within the cracks of your heart.
Han was angry once, when you had first met him. Just like you. But where his anger burned bright, yours hid beneath the surface, smoldering slowly. But time softened his edges. You wonder if the same could ever be said for you.
“You’re here,” Seungmin appears suddenly, peeling Han’s arm away from your shoulder with a scowl. Han retaliates by blowing you an overly exaggerated kiss before wandering toward the vending machine.
“I finished up the case early,” you explain.
Seungmin’s gaze narrows slightly, scanning the lines of your outfit.
“And why are you so dressed up?”
“Can’t a sister look nice for her favorite brother’s first sold-out concert at the Kyocera Dome?” you tease, clasping your hands.
Jiho snorts from his seat. Traitor.
“I’m your only brother, and we both know you’re lying,” Seungmin deadpans.
It’s endearing—the way he shields you from heartbreak as if he hasn’t spent his whole life beneath the cover of your arms.
It’s foolish too— as if you still have a heart that beats hard enough to love, then to break.
“Fine. I have a date after the show.”
“With who?” Hyunjin’s voice drifts in as he steps into the hallway, Changbin trailing closely behind.
You smile. “Jaehyun.”
Seungmin pinches the bridge of his nose. “You know I don’t love him.”
“And who said I do?” you ask, a sly smile tugging at your lips.
“Then why do you still meet up with him?”
“Because he’s fun. And I like spending my time with fun people.”
Changbin leans in, grinning wide. “I’m fun too. Why not date me?”
He drapes his arm over your shoulder, and Seungmin groans, pretending to smash his head against the wall repeatedly.
“Alright, alright, stop the flirting,” you laugh, shaking your head. “I fear you’ll end up killing my brother.”
Seungmin pouts, and you laugh softly, pulling him in for a tight embrace. “Look at you, performing in such a big arena,” the words suddenly catch in your throat, a silky rope tightly binding the syllables together. “You know that I’m proud of you, right?”
You smile, and Seungmin holds you a little closer.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Thank you for coming. I really wanted you here.”
You clear your throat, stepping back with a playful flick to his arm. “I’ll see you after the show. Say hi to the rest of the boys for me.”
“You’ll do great,” you add, and his smile softens like sunlight melting across the sea.
His voice follows you down the hall. “We’re still talking about this date later, though!”
“Seungmin loves acting as if she isn’t older than him—” Swat.
There is one peculiar emotion that always beats within your heart at your brother’s concert halls. It is warm, like beholding a glowing sun within the empty hollows of your ribcage. It swells and swells, spreading within your being like paint spilled on canvas— soaking your heart in wildflower hues.
You feel relieved to see your brother and his friends so loved. You sense it in the cacophony of cheers, in the misty eyes of all the fans surrounding you. You know that the boys can feel it too. In the shaking of their voices as they take turns saying their ending ments. It is a monumental moment for them, something they only dared dream of back when they were still trainees and you had to sneak snacks into their dorm.
It is Seungmin’s turn to speak. His shaking hand barely manages to hold the mic. Seungmin doesn’t cry as often as before. Never in front of you anymore. He suddenly stopped once he turned fifteen, as if he had made a vow to himself, to lift off some of his worries off your burdened spine.
But tonight, unmistakable tears gather at the edges of his eyes, glinting like faraway constellations.
He tilts his head toward the sky, and you wonder who these words are really addressed to.
Deep down you already know the answer to this.
“My sister is here tonight,” he starts and tears glisten in your eyes, all of the sudden. “If I’m here today it’s all thanks to her, so I– I hope you’re proud of me,” he says, voice tight, breaking. But he still speaks. “You know, I… I don’t believe in forever—” his lips tremble like leaves at the mercy of autumn winds. A faint ringing surges through your ears, muffling the sound of everything until only his sharp words remain. “But just at this moment, being with the members and everyone who stood by our side, I— I want to believe in eternity with you.”
The crowd roars at his words. Cameras flash everywhere. The boys quickly move forward to wrap Seungmin in their arms.
But you’re not here anymore.
You’re somewhere quieter. Smaller. Somewhere dimly lit by flickering hallway lights and hushed whispers past curfew.
Your hands shake, pressing into your thighs as if their weight might ground you. But the cold creeps in anyway, walking alongside your veins, settling into your heart like an old companion.
He was eight.
His hair stuck to his forehead in damp curls, and the faint glow of the moon reflected onto his eyes like a gleaming water surface.
You remember smoothing his bangs away, tucking him beneath a worn blanket that didn’t quite reach his toes. He didn’t mind. Seungmin never minded the small things.
“Did you make a wish?” you whispered. It was his birthday. Birthdays never got easier for Seungmin, nor for you. Most days you were just pretending— that you knew what you were doing, that your knees were strong enough to hold you upright. Pretending that you had what it takes to protect your brother when you, yourself, were in desperate need of protection.
How do you salvage innocence in halls that spell out loss and grief at every turn? How do you make a birthday a happy memory in such a terrible place ?
Seungmin blinked up at you as his small hand curled around your fingers.
“I said that I want to see mommy and daddy again.”
The air had thickened then, and the knot in your throat twisted so tight it left no room for you to breathe.
You forced on a smile anyway. “You will,” you promised, voice soft but unsteady. “Soon.”
He paused, blinking slowly.
“What’s forever?”
The question felt like a swinging pendulum suddenly came to a halt— Seungmin’s innocence slipping away from your shaky grasp.
“Why do you ask?”
“I told Gyuvin I’ll see our parents soon. But he said that you lied, and it will take forever until then.”
Your chest tightened. You knew Gyuvin had a mean streak—sharp edges chiseled by loneliness and unspoken grief. You never held it against him. He was only eight too.
Still.
“He’s joking, Seungminnie,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “Forever just means something that doesn’t end. Like numbers. Numbers don’t end, right?”
He thought for a moment, lips pressing into a pout.
“Would you like to believe in forever?” you asked, teasing gently.
“No,” he said quietly, “Because then I’ll be sad for a very long time. I want the time to pass quickly.”
Oh.
Seungmin drifted off not long after, his breaths soft and even. But you stayed awake—long enough for the world outside to fall silent. Long enough to bury your face in the pillow, stifling the sobs that trembled past your chapped lips.
Seungmin was only nine.
But you were only thirteen.
And you missed your parents, so terribly so. You wished your mom was there, combing your hair with fingers that seemed to be made up of silk. You wished you could press your ear to her chest and listen to her heartbeat, breathe it in, soak in the love that the sound seemed to spell out for you.
You wished your dad was here, holding your hand in his much larger, weathered down one— rivulets of age running between his knuckles. You wished he’d carry you once more on his shoulders, tall enough for you to reach out to the stars, to foolishly believe you’d be able to graze them with your fingertips. You wished they were still here. You hated them for being gone. You hated yourself for hating them, even for a millisecond. For allowing the thought to filter through the endless void that constitutes your mind.
You thought of what it’d be like to float atop the sea near your home. Of letting the waves carry you deep into the darkness of the water. Of sinking deep enough that you wouldn’t feel anything anymore. You couldn’t bear it. You couldn’t bear having a heart that kept demanding you to live. It felt like a curse, like every heartbeat spelled out horrible truths for you. You wished for it to stop. All of it. All of you.
“Yah, Y/n why aren’t you smiling?” Changbin nearly shouts in your face and you and Jeongin scurry away on cue, cradling your ears at his loud voice.
You plaster a smile on your face, force the corners of your mouth to tug forward— “Because! You’re all sweaty and pressing onto me,” you say, and a cacophony of protests erupts all at once— “this is the sweat of hard work”, “but our sweat smells nice though!”, a groan, “that’s just you Hyunjin.”
Your yelp as a hand suddenly wraps around your wrist, Felix’s, pulling into the middle for a group hug.
“Stop, your sweat will rub off of me!” Your high-pitched shriek causes all of them to back off on cue, giggling loudly.
You don’t give yourself a second to breathe, afraid that your mask will slip away quicker than you can stop it. You take advantage of the commotion to kiss Seungmin’s cheek quickly, avoiding his gaze as you run off to the entrance. “You all did well! I’ll have to go now! My date is waiting!”
You don’t leave him time to respond as you scurry away, leaving the backstage. You can feel the oxygen settle like stones into the pit of your heart, weighing the rushing of your blood down. It takes you excruciatingly long to breathe. Being here suffocates you all of a sudden.
You remember your wish, for the waves to carry you away into whichever place they rest in. What a violent thing for a thirteen-year-old to wish for. What a violent thing to still seek now deep into your twenties. You felt guilty. To be surrounded by many people who love you and yet to not feel loved.
You’re almost outside when a warm hand curls around your wrist.
“Seungmin, I told you I’m—” you turn around expecting to see your little brother’s gaze, full of mischief, full of affection, only to be met with Chan’s worried one. Your retort dies on the tip of your tongue, like a deflating balloon. You try your hardest to plaster a smile on your face but it comes off like a grimace. Chan’s frown only deepens further.
“I—” you think of something quick to say, to get his scrutinizing gaze off of you. You can predict the question forming, swirling his mind, you already know which way this conversation will head. But all your thoughts seem to melt, your mind unable to conjure something to save your facade.
Your phone suddenly rings, Jaehyun’s name lighting up the screen. You go to reply when Chan grabs the phone away from your hands, silencing the call.
“What’s wrong?” he finally asks and it feels as if the walls are closing on you once more. You can hear the waves thrashing around, calling. “And don’t say you’re just feeling emotional because we made it so far.”
You chuckle faintly. You know it’s no use lying to Chan, of all people. “Jaehyun is calling again,” you point to your lit-up screen, and his lips press into a flat line, rejecting the call.
“Cancel your date,” he cocks a perfectly shaped eyebrow at you, “you know you have the most fun hanging out with me”.
“Alright, Mr. Cocky,” your heart is heavy as you attempt to smile at him, as if you’re forcing it to perform something it does not wish to, to pump blood for an action as meaningless as smiling. What purpose does it really serve if you are not happy? “I'm not in the mood for you to psychoanalyze me, though.”
“I won't,” his eyes soften as he takes one step closer to you. “We'll go on a drive okay, like old times?”
What is the point of pressing ice to a third-degree burn? Nothing, if not a fleeting respite, to close your eyes and pretend as if the burn would come undone, to soothe the fire only for it to barge in again. With a vengeance. Stronger. Harsher.
That is what being next to Chan is like to you.
“Fine,” you concede, though. Because you despise worrying people. You despise worrying Chan mostly. “I don’t want Seungmin to know though.”
“Don’t worry,” he smiles as he hands you back your phone, his thumb brushing your wrist for a second before he walks back. “I’ll come to your car, alright? Wait for me.”
It was a late summer night when Chan first discovered his love for music. He was only five, the air fragrant with the sweetness of strawberries and the tang of lemon zest. His curls were damp, clinging to his forehead from how hard he played with the neighborhood kids. The glass of water his mother handed him felt like the sweetest reprieve against his parched throat. Because Chan was happy, a joy so vivid it seemed to have taken roots within his veins, blooming into gleaming eyes and a smile so vast it could mend every crack in the universe.
He didn’t know it then, but there was a beautiful carelessness in the way he dashed outside, barefoot and giggling to order ice cream from the vendor near his house. Vanilla and bubblegum. In the way he did not use a spoon, instead licking the ice cream directly from the cone, as the sun melted it into rivers of sweetness that coated his fingers, leaving them sticky and fragrant. In the way he paid no mind to the earth clinging to his shorts, the sweat glistening on his face, or the syrupy mess on his hands. Because his happiness was so full he was bursting at the seams with it.
Because he was still a child, and children did not care for perfection. Children did not see the world through a lens that sought out every flaw— Chan did not learn yet how to turn that lens inward, harsher as he aimed it at himself.
His dad had brought him a ukulele, gently placing it into Chan’s small hands. The notes stumbled out, clumsy and wrong at first, as if their melody were caught in the strings, hesitant to be set free. It took a few tries for Chan to untangle them, but he didn’t mind. Because within these notes he found a new kind of joy—one that seemed to amplify his racing heartbeat, spilling into the room and filling it with the decadent taste of happiness.
It was a late autumn night when Chan first hated himself.
It was a particularly exhausting training day, the kind that left Chan barely upright as he walked down the stairs, his legs shaking with every step. He couldn’t bring himself to head back to the cramped dorms just yet, nor did he want to speak to anyone. Or rather, he no longer knew how to talk to anyone anymore. How could he make futile small talk when his soul was seized by a terrible longing, one that lingered bitterly on his tongue like the cough syrup he used to drink as a child?
See, how could he explain to anyone that he even missed that—the syrup, the warmth of his home, the pieces of a life that now felt as if they belonged to somebody other than him. He felt as if the wound only grew larger each day, spreading farther into his ribcage, infesting every part of his heart—every vein, every molecule—tainting them with the blueish colors of sorrow and ache.
Chan had found a quiet spot by the Han River, tucked far from prying eyes, his shoulders slouched under the weight of nostalgia, not the sweet one, rather, the one that felt like pine needles digging into his skin, at once. He liked it here—if he closed his eyes long enough he’d pretend the salty air was Australia’s breeze. He missed the wind there and how it ruffled his hair like an old friend. He missed his father’s grilled meat, his mother’s lemonade, his sister’s shenanigans. He missed his dog.
Would Berry even remember him now? Has it been too long?
It had.
The thought stung sharper than he expected. Was it all for nothing then? Does Berry not remember him for nothing?
Sometimes, it only takes one second for the world to shift off its axis, for the seconds to march forward but for you to remain stranded in the past. It took Chan this single question to break apart. It was as if someone had driven their fist into his chest, their claws digging deep, twisting around his heart until it felt on the brink of bursting— an ugly eruption of crimson, staining the blissful river with its bloodied ache.
What is wrong with me? He’s been asking himself the same question ever since.
It was a late winter night when Chan saw you for the very first time.
He was seventeen, shackles of self-doubt and insecurity wrapped around his ankles, digging deeper into his flesh with each year spent farther from his dream. Chan hated looking at his reflection in the mirror. He hated thinking of home. He avoided thinking of the future, of who he was, of who he hoped to become. Sometimes, he wished his mind could just go quiet. The voices were very loud and very mean.
Yet, unbeknownst to him, there were fragile blossoms of hope that fought to flourish in his chest, tentative, frail, since they grew in barren soil that didn’t quite believe in meeting the sun once more. But they were there.
Because Chan wasn’t alone anymore. Jisung joined him first, a kid with a passion that burns so fiercely it scathes his own heart at times. Then Jeongin, a voice singing of a reverence that shook Chan to his core. Hyunjin, who saw in dancing a form of salvation. Changbin, the missing golden piece to complete the infamous 3RACHA.
And then Seungmin.
It was through Seungmin that Chan saw you.
You had just dropped off Seungmin at the trainee dorms, bags full of homemade food in his hands. You hugged him tightly as he waved you off before disappearing into the building. And then, as soon as Seungmin was out of sight, Chan saw you collapse against the wall, your body wracked by cruel sobs. Cruel, because it was winter, and he knew that crying during the cold was somewhat harsher on the soul. You can’t cling to blooming flowers, to warm sun rays, to anything beautiful to ease your pain.
Cruel, because he recognized himself in you. In the way you rushed to hide your tears, wiping them away with your sleeves so that no one would see you. As if you were not deserving of this moment of weakness. As if you were not deserving of being human too.
“Do you still pick at your nails?” Chan asks, glancing at your figure as the light turns red. “Can’t give up bad habits?”
“You’re the last one to talk about bad habits, Mr. Never Sleeps.”
“Touché,” he chuckles, and you shake your head, the faintest smile lingering on your lips.
The seasons passed, and Chan’s fragmented heart had somehow found itself pieced together again—not to its original form. That would be a fool’s hope. People noticed the external changes—the different hues of his hair, how his muscles grew more chiseled with time—but they couldn’t see how pain and self-doubt had altered him, down to the very molecules of his being.
Because pain doesn’t pass like an angry cloud, casting a dark shadow only to drift away. That would be too kind, too merciful for emotions forged to drain you dry. No, it breaks you, reshapes you, molds you with the thorns in its calloused hands. It forces you to relearn who you are, how to breathe, where to stand, how to cling to the fragile thread that keeps you from stumbling back into the darkness.
The heart Chan carries isn’t his own anymore. It belongs mostly to sorrow now. But it still beats.
And so it did. And that winter passed, and so did spring. Then summer came, and fall returned once more.
And the years went by, and Chan blinked, and suddenly it had been ten years since he first saw you. And yet, it felt as though you remained stuck in winter. Because you did not have anyone’s hand to hold, warm enough to make you believe that summer would come again.
“Is this about Seungmin?” Chan asks softly, his fingernails drumming absentmindedly against the steering wheel.
“No, yes—I… I don’t know,” you sigh in exasperation, and he nods, turning his head to glance at you.
You first went on a night walk with Chan when you were still a law student, and his group had just debuted. Your apartment was under renovation, so you had to stay in the boys’ dorm for a few days. It was late into the night, with both of you the only ones still awake, working through your respective tasks in silence. He had offered to go for a walk, and you had accepted.
Neither of you spoke. Chan pretended not to see the stray tears that silently slipped down your cheeks, with no previous warning. He wondered what had weighed on your heart so heavily that it searched desperately for any moment of solitude to escape.
Your eyes are distant now, glazed over as if your mind has carried you to a place where the sun never rises. You bring your hand to your mouth once more, but Chan gently pushes it away, cradling your fingers in his palm.
He has to pretend that the sensation of your hand in his doesn’t feel like a thunderbolt—a surge of electricity that shoots up from the tips of his toes, swirling deep into his chest and settling into warmth in his stomach.
“It will bleed, and then you’ll come whining because it hurts,” he jokes, though his heart pounds in his throat, threatening to choke him.
“When did I do that?” you exclaim, but you don’t pull your hand away.
Your hand is in his.
Your hand is in his.
Your hand is in his.
“Besides,” you say, your fingers slipping from his grasp to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “You know I’m the last person to ever whine.”
Was it normal to still feel your hand on his? For his hand to memorize the warmth of yours so quickly? As if it had been thirsty, like a man astray in the desert, longing for what a drop of water would feel against his parched throat.
“Yeah, you should do that more often, actually,” he chastises softly. You exhale a shuddered breath in response.
It feels like a lifetime before you speak again. “You heard Seungmin’s speech,” you say quietly, like a wounded animal, hesitant and wary of what approaching another human might bring, of what baring your heart might cost.
Chan wants to say: It is safe with me, I would shred my own heart if it meant keeping yours intact.
“Hard to miss, since I was on stage next to him,” he jokes, and you finally giggle—a real laugh, not the artificial ones you’ve been giving him. It feels like Australia’s breeze ruffling his hair, like he can finally breathe again.
“You know,” you say, your voice shifting to something gentler, “It reminded me of Seungmin when he was still young, discovering the concept of forever.” A bittersweet smile tugs at your lips. “Seungmin was short, pale, and so fragile that I was afraid the faintest wind would break him. You should’ve seen him. When he looked up at me, his eyes were wide, his irises pitch black, and they looked so trusting. He was an easy target for the kids who needed someone to blame, someone to pour their anger into, to soothe their bruised hearts. There was no one else to punish. Too much injustice, and no respite.”
Chan’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. To think of such sad times for both you and him. Should he rewrite the march of time, he would have forced the universe to make him your friend, to entwine your hand in his, to stop the cold from making a home within the pathways of your heart.
“I remember when I first saw him. He was very shy. Like he didn’t quite know how to carry himself yet. But he ranked second in the open audition.”
“He did,” you smile. It’s a bit different from all your grins. You’re always different when it comes to Seungmin—softer, bursting with pride.
“And…” Chan trails off, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, a wide smile tugging at his lips. “I remember you.”
“Oh, please, no,” you hide your face in your palms. “That’s so embarrassing.”
Chan chuckles softly, but in his heart, he remembers your first encounter with such clarity. He had found you many things—beautiful, brave, human. ‘Embarrassing’ had never been an adjective that crossed his mind when it came to you.
He remembers.
“Here,” Chan handed you a handkerchief, and you looked up at him, a frown deepening in your eyes. Time had somehow stilled then. The seconds felt like years passing on Chan. The cold seemed to dissipate, his heart emanating a warmth he hadn’t known before. Everywhere. Consuming him.
You blinked, and time resumed, and yet Chan was changed.
“Thank you,” you said tentatively. “Something got into my eye.” You attempted to explain, and he simply nodded, humoring you.
“I figured. There’s a lot of dust around here. From the trees and all,” He cringed internally, realizing how silly that sounded. So, he fell into silence, as did you, both of you just looking at each other. Chan had never felt this way before. He ached to ask you what was wrong, if he could do anything to alleviate your pain. If you too would like to break near Han River with him.
“I’m Chan. Bang Chan. Christopher, actually. But you can call me Chan.”
You had giggled then, and his ears burned so fiercely he was sure they were a shade of fuchsia, bright and loud. The sound was melodious, like notes strung along a flute just right. Soothing and warm. He loved your laugh. He wished his piano could recreate it. He wished he could save it so he could dance to it later.
“Alright, Christopher Actually Chan,” you smiled, and his cheeks flared a shade brighter. He silently prayed you’d account for the harsh winds that wrapped around you both.
“And I know you, actually,” you continued.
His eyes widened in surprise, and you chuckled softly at his reaction. He liked making you laugh. He liked it so much he’d make a fool out of himself if he needed to. “I’m not a stalker, Kim Seungmin told me about you. He’s my brother.”
“Right,” Chan responded, his usual confidence slipping for just a moment. He was never awkward—social prowess was one of his greatest strengths. Still, with you, all semblance of normal interaction vanished. There was something in your gaze, something so beautifully haunting, like the sight of tree branches in autumn. Something that once was whole, now stripped bare, yet still captivating in its vulnerability. It made him wonder if beauty like this could ever be captured in music.
“I’m Y/n, by the way,” you bowed slightly, before quickly turning and walking away. Chan watched, breath hitched in his throat, as you paused, and then as if pulled by some invisible thread, you turned back to him.
Without a word, you grabbed his hand, gently placing something within his palm.
A cherry lollipop.
“As a thank you,” you said, a bit sheepishly, eyes still puffy from the sobs that kept you prisoner just a few moments ago. “Ah, and, you better debut with my brother!”
You pointed at him, and in that moment, a grin broke through your face—one so radiant, so full of life, he wondered if this was what witnessing the first sunset felt like to humans. A beauty so grand, so overwhelming, he didn’t quite know what to do with it.
Chan’s fate was sealed right then and there—he would spend the next ten years chasing after your smile, no matter how foolish it seemed.
For one would ask, what’s a drop of white against a sea of black? What use are cherries’ scent before the stench of sorrow? And the answer would always be everything. Everything, if it’s you.
Chan clears his throat, settling on the least incriminating adjective of the bunch. “You were brave, Cherry. You still are.”
“You think too highly of me,” you snort.
“I think of you just right, actually.”
You are nearly home when, out of nowhere, you speak. “What if I told you I’m terrified?” The words rush out, as though you are afraid they’d die in your throat before they could reach him.
Chan’s heart tightens in worry. He parks hastily in front of your place, the engine still humming as he turns to face you, you who’s like a Russian doll—layer upon layer of your soul wrapped carefully, each one guarding the other.
“Why?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper, thick with concern.
“I didn’t want to tell Seungmin,” you begin, pausing to bite your lower lip. “He’d be heartbroken... I know him, I—” you falter, your voice cracking just slightly. “My new case... It's about Promise Orphanage. They want to tear it down to build a luxury apartment complex. A fucking billionaire’s investment, with pools and golf courses.”
“Sun Corporation,” you explain, “it’s owned by the son of Gyeongdo Holdings’ CEO. They’ve been harassing Miss Jeeho for two months now because she refuses to desert the orphanage. It’s a mess, Chan.” you’re angry, he can feel it, the rage burning bright right beneath your skin.
“The city council caved in and granted them a permit because the land belongs to the state and this project apparently serves public interest, but that’s bullshit. Who would benefit from this other than billionaires?” you bite your lower lip, sucking in a deep breath. “I told you Winter became the vice director of the orphanage, right? She just learned about this and told me. They’re offering compensation but I’ve dealt with those kinds of people. They’re greedy. They’re corrupt.”
“I couldn’t turn my back on it,” you whisper. “I had to take the case. Those kids… they’ll have nowhere to go. And I know how cold it feels, how brutal it is when you lose your family and still have to look for someplace to call home.”
Your eyes glisten, tears clinging to the edge like dew on a leaf, only to be blinked away before they fall. How much does it cost your soul to bear this weight? How much longer until you fracture—like a pomegranate violently split open, bits of your soul scattering out in splatters of raw scarlet.
Chan’s palm finds your knee, squeezing it gently. “You’re worried they’ll end up forgetting about the orphanage and not building a new one?”
“Yeah. They did this before. I checked the civil files. They built over a nursing home and never gave them proper compensation, paid hush money to the owner to keep them from suing. What if I can’t stop them? This is all those kids have. This is all Winter has. Miss Jeeho too.”
“They won’t. you’ll stop them. I know you will, Cherry, alright?” he says with all the sincerity he can muster. You seem dubitative and he sighs, reaching out to hold your cold hands. Please warm up.
“You will, okay? I have no doubt you will,” he repeats with a fire that seems to light you up. A sudden light reflects off the broken shards of your heart.
“I will.”
Chan: you up?
Your phone lights up, distracting you from the mountain of paperwork scattered across your desk.
Y/n: What a fuck boyish text
Chan: akldkdkd so you’re definitely up
Y/n: I’m working on the case :(
Chan: open up!! i have snacks
You blink at the message, confused, before padding to the door. When you open it, Chan stands there, a wide grin stretching across his face. He’s wearing a grey varsity jacket that drapes across his broad shoulders perfectly, and a blue navy cap. You still don’t understand why he rarely allows his curls to see the light.
“What are you doing here?” you ask, crossing your arms.
“I got bored alone in the studio,” he shrugs casually. “So I thought I’d drop by.”
“Drop by?” you repeat, laughing softly. “Your studio is on the other side of town.”
“Okay, I guess you don’t want fish cake and tteokbokki—”
“Come back,” you interrupt, wrapping your hand around his forearm and tugging him inside. His body is warm, and it is only then do you realize just how cold your apartment truly is.
“It’s a mess, I’m sorry,” you apologize, glancing at the dirty plates in the sink and the papers all over the desk, and the floor, and the couch too.
“Need me to tidy up again?” he teases, grinning as he steps inside.
You swat his arm, rolling your eyes. “You did it once because I was bedridden, and Seungmin was in Japan for a schedule.”
“I don’t mind, Cherry,” he says softly, setting the food down on your coffee table. His gaze flickers to yours. “I’d do it even if you weren’t sick, you know.”
Chan has a habit of saying things that send your heart into a slow, painful thrum—one long pulse that stretches endlessly, forcing you to acknowledge its existence. But, as always, you avoid it. You never allow yourself to question the warmth that only blooms when he’s near.
You both sit cross-legged on the living room floor, the spicy scent of tteokbokki wafting between you. For a while, the only sound heard in the apartment is the soft clink of chopsticks against takeout containers.
“Any updates on the case?” he asks.
You nod, running a hand through your hair. “I filed for an injunction,” you say, sighing deeply. “Trying to stop the demolition for now, at least until I figure out what to do next. The city council is ridiculous.They keep saying this is for the public benefit, but how is that true? Who benefits from luxury penthouses except rich assholes? And because the orphanage is on state land, they think they can just sell it off like it’s nothing.”
Chan’s eyes have been tracking each one of your words intently, drinking in every syllable that drips from your mouth. He has long thought your calling was law, there is a certain logic in you, a peculiar fire that burns in your core that seems inherent to this job. Though oftentimes he wonders if this is truly what you’ve always wanted. Had you been raised in your home would you have turned out differently? Would you like to pursue something else? Would you sing like Seungmin too?
“I’m trying to figure out who’s behind those apartment deals. Jaehyun’s helping me track it down.”
Chan’s eyes darken, like a storm has gathered within his irises. He doesn’t realize his jaw is ticking. You do. You pretend as if you don’t notice.
“Jaehyun… are you guys together yet?” Chan asks, and your heart pauses at the change in conversation. You shake your head. “Hm? No. We’re just friends.” you say between bites.
“You go on dates with your friends?” he chuckles, but there is nothing funny in the sound. His eyes don’t morph into crescents, his dimples refuse to show.
“You know, we’re just messing around, or whatever,” you quickly say.
“Right.”
Chan remembers the moment with striking clarity—when you first mentioned Jaehyun. You were both at a hotpot restaurant, the steam from the bubbling broth curling around you.
You had said his name casually, A journalist you’d met at one of the court hearings, someone with the same fiery passion for justice that you had. He was annoying, you’d said, always bothering you with his questions, his relentless pursuit of truth. But there was something else in your voice when you spoke of him—something new, something soft and fond that made Chan’s chest tighten.
“Anyways, he’s friends with one of the junior employees in the city council,” you continue, voice tinged with frustration. “So he’s been trying to convince him to help us out.”
“An insider,” Chan says absently, his voice flat, like the surface of a pond long undisturbed by pebbles. He’s thinking, how long is it acceptable to harbor a crush on someone? Three months? Six? A year? What if Chan’s been carrying this weight for ten years? 3650 days spent thinking of you, chasing the shadow of your image away from his eyelids at night, yet always yearning for a dream where all he’d glimpse is you.
What if bile rises in his throat at the thought of Jaehyun so close to you, his fingers tracing the lines of your lips, memorizing the shape of your body, the rise and fall of your chest as you sleep? What if he cannot bear it, cannot stand the thought of anyone else knowing you in ways he never will?
You sigh, fingers digging into your temple as the weight of your exhaustion becomes tangible. “It’s tiring, Chan,” you admit as your forehead rests against your knees. Chan feels something shift inside him—a peculiar ache that only surfaces when you are in pain.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his hand hovering above your back before it settles there. He slowly pats your back, dragging his nails along your spine. It’s very quiet all of the sudden, a calm that only manifests when two souls, not bodies, are sitting by one another. You lean into his touch, your body angling towards him like a sunflower tilting towards the sun.
“Do you remember when the possibility of us debuting became very high?” he says and you nod, resting your cheek against your knee to look up at him. His hand doesn’t stop caressing your back. You don’t wish for it to.
“What is it with you and my most embarrassing memories?” you giggle quietly only to sober up at the sincerity you gather in his eyes. They are like pools of amber, the color of decadent chocolate, like the rich bark of trees kissed by sunlight.
“Everyone was out and I was the only one in the dorm.” He recounts the memory as if you weren’t there; as if he needed you to hear this, not as a participant but as an outsider. “And then you came knocking on my door, disheveled, looking like you hadn’t slept in days. You asked me, ‘Is it true? Are you debuting soon?’”
You close your eyes, the weight of that moment flooding you—how raw and real it was. You remember it vividly: the way his eyes met yours, like he had seen you for the first time right there and then.
“You were petrified. Because yes, you worked overtime to pay off Seungmin’s vocal lessons, you supported him so much his confidence never wavered, and yet, you were scared,” his words soften, and the pit in your throat tightens. You can’t speak even if you wish to.
“I said yes and you started crying. and I hadn’t seen you cry in three years. Not since the night we first met.” You remember his worried gaze, how he sank to the ground with you when your knees crumbled beneath you. He called you Cherry for the first time then, as if he had kept the nickname a secret, wishing to speak it outloud but never daring to. He did it because he thought back to your first meeting, and the cherry lollipop in your hand. You thought of it too.
“Seungmin,” you heaved, “please protect him, Chan, I— please, you have to protect him, please.”
“What’s wrong?” He panicked. “Talk to me Cherry, hm?”
“What if they are unkind to him? What if they somehow find out he’s an orphan and use that against him? He doesn’t like telling me anymore when it hurts. What if he’s hurt and he can’t tell me?”
His thumb swipes at the lone tear slipping from your eyes, gentle and warm. What if Chan is too kind to you? What if your heart wasn’t crafted to handle it?
“Then when all the boys came back ten minutes later you smiled as if nothing happened. I had seen you break down on the floor a few moments prior, and yet, you found the strength to smile, so as to not worry anyone, especially Seungmin.”
Chan’s heart throbs in his chest, the rhythm uneven and insistent. His voice wavers as his gaze locks with yours. Your eyes glimmer, like a river kissed by the summer sun, like stained glass basked in the light of a centuries old cathedral.
His palms cup your cheeks, tentative and gentle, akin to a flower breaking through the soil for the first time. “You are the strongest person I know,” he says, his voice soft, “The most hardworking, too. You care, so much, even when you try to hide it. It’s that passion that makes you the best at what you do. You’ll win this case, and every case after it, because you’re the one handling them.”
His thumb brushes against your skin. “And you believed in me when I said I’d protect Seungmin. So I believe in you, Cherry. Please believe in yourself too.”
You nod, over and over, like a broken record stuck on a single note. Before he can process it, your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him close. Your head finds its place in the crook of his neck, and for a fleeting second, he’s frozen, the world tilting off its axis. Then, slowly, his hands slide to your waist as he breathes you in—your shampoo, your favorite laundry detergent, the faint trace of cherry lingering on your skin like a memory of a distant summer.
“Thank you, Channie,” you whisper against his shoulder.
He nods, his voice muffled by the turmoil caging his heart. “You’re welcome, Cherry.”
For how long is it acceptable to love someone who doesn’t love you? Chan doesn’t know. He doesn’t really want an answer. Even a lifetime wouldn’t be a waste if it’s spent loving you.
“Three penthouses are already registered under different names,” Jaehyun tells you, handing over a couple of lease contracts. You’re seated in a small café near Promise Orphanage, waiting for Winter to join you. The junior employee in Sun Corp. has finally caved and handed over the registrants to Jaehyun—names of the people who have already secured luxury apartments, long before the project even saw light.
“Park Yuna, Lee Seo-Jun, and Choi Joon-Ho,” you read aloud, glancing up at Jaehyun, who’s already smirking.
“Park Yuna…” you pause, “isn’t she the wife of the city council president?”
“Bingo!” he exclaims, his arms wide open, head tipped back as a sinister giggle rips out of his throat.
“Oh gosh,” you cover your face as some customers turn to look at you. “This isn’t an action movie stop it.”
Jaehyun pouts as you swat his arm and you laugh despite yourself.
“Anyway, you’re right. She’s his wife. I also found out Seo-Jun and Joon-Ho are tied to prominent council members. Second cousin and son-in-law. They had their penthouses promised before the project was ever public.”
“They didn’t even register them under their names. Subtle,” you mutter, shaking your head.
“Yeah, I bet they weren’t even expecting Miss Jeeho to resist the compensation.”
You sigh, leaning back in your chair. “They think those kids are just pawns, something they can move around for their benefit. They don’t get that those children have nothing but each other and the comfort of a familiar bed.”
The conversation lulls. Jaehyun grows quiet as you stare holes into your coffee, swirling the caramel syrup into the dark liquid. But no amount of sweetness can mask the bitterness on your tongue—the bitter taste of injustice, of watching people prioritize their greed over others’ lives.
“We’ll gather more evidence of their corruption,” Jaehyun says eventually, his tone firm. “And when we do, we’ll confront them. They won’t risk this becoming public with so many global investors involved.”
You nod. “You’re right.”
He leans back in his chair, a teasing glint in his eyes. “By the way, why did you cancel on me two nights in a row?”
The question catches you off guard, and your mind drifts to last night: Chan showing up at your home, his comforting words, the warmth of his hand on your back, the scent of pinewood and cinnamon lingering in the air, the clean apartment you woke up to. Something stirs in your chest, warm and soft.
“Chan came over,” you admit.
Jaehyun whistles, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
“Chan,” he says, drawing out the name.
“Mhm,” you reply, suddenly shy under his gaze.
“The man who calls you Cherry.”
“Yeah. Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because you’re so oblivious.”
“Agreed,” a familiar voice chimes in as Winter slides into the seat next to you. She presses a quick kiss to your cheek before sitting back with a knowing smile.
You groan, burying your face in your hands. “This isn’t the subject of discussion,” you say pointedly, glaring at both of them.
You’re momentarily distracted by Winter’s appearance. Her cheeks are hollow, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion. She’s poured so much love back into the orphanage she grew up in. Losing it would destroy you both.
“That man likes her,” Winter says casually, sipping from your drink.
You glare at her. “No, he doesn’t. He’s my friend.”
Winter raises an eyebrow at you. “He always looks at you differently. His tone is softer when he talks to you.”
Your eyes drift away, thoughts pulling you back to last night—to how Chan stayed with you until dawn, watching awful dramas with you despite his packed schedule, simply because he was worried.
“What’s the point of him liking me if I can’t like him back?” you murmur, voice barely audible. “My heart isn’t made for this.”
“Have you ever given yourself a chance?” Jaehyun asks and you scoff.
“A chance for what? To hurt someone?” you reply, shaking your head. “I don’t know how to love. I never had the time to learn. I was too busy surviving. We were,” you say glancing at Winter who averts her gaze.
This suddenly felt like a conversation too grim to have in the open. To speak of how your heart has been morphed into a cowardly being, shrinking at the simple thought of being looked at. What would anyone behold anyways? If not an organ that’s too battered, too bloody, unworthy of being seen, let alone to be loved.
“Anyway,” you say, forcing your voice to steady, “Can you set me up a meeting with that employee? We need more insider evidence and he’s the only one who can help us. I’d like to talk to him alone.”
“Yeah, I’ll try to convince him,” Jaehyun reassures you. The three of you nod and dive back into the stacks of paperwork, but the words blur in front of your eyes, forming an incoherent mass.
There are things you’ve always wished to escape—dark truths you thought you'd one day outrun. You still haven’t. Perhaps, you will never.
Perhaps, had you not been shaped by the cruelty of others, had you not been born beneath a star soaked in grief. Perhaps, if you never had to carve pieces of yourself out to survive, if you had the time, the strength to sit quietly with your own heart, to listen to who it wanted you to be, then, maybe, just maybe, you would have known the warmth of another’s touch.
You would have allowed yourself to melt into the softness of their gaze, you would have let your cheeks flush freely with the sweetness of their words, with no restraints, no shame. But the world is not kind. It will not offer you such a path. And so, this is your curse: to be one of grief’s favorite beholders, for you to wear it like a second flesh. To cling to it, as it clings to you because it is all you’ve ever known.
Your mother’s fingers were always warm as they entwined with yours, no matter the season. You remember the feel of them particularly when you went on walks by the ocean, her hand tugging you close to her frame. She was like an angel, walking softly on earth, coaxing the waves to slow down their feverish run as she brushed against their milky foam.
You can’t see her clearly in your memories anymore. Your temples ache each time you try to picture the fine details of her features. But you remember her humming along with the waves, as if singing a song to the sea, thanking them for the salty breeze they carry within their tides and swells. You remember closing your eyes to soak it in, as if you had known, even back then, that you’d forget the map of moles drawn upon her face, and the specific hue of her hair against the sun, and yet you wouldn’t forget her voice filling up your heart to the brim.
You remember coming home and trying to replicate her humming, through broken whistles at first, then, adding words where you saw fit. You remember singing to your mother in your living room. You remember feeling as if the sea was lodged right within your heart.
You loved singing, for the three years before your parents’ deaths. You sang in chorals, you sang to the birds and to the flowers blooming in your garden. You sang to the sun and to the moon. You sang to your reflection in the mirror. You sang, because it made you feel like your mother talking to the waves. And then, your parents died, and the music within you did too. The flowers, the sun, the birds… They were all an unworthy audience all of the sudden; since they all turned blind to your voice, allowing for your entire world to be stripped away from you. Leaving you bare, rootless.
You were then forced to learn that there isn’t just one big death in a lifetime. That the heart can perish multiple times before it finally stops beating completely. It felt like a little death when you began to loathe the ocean. It felt like a little death when Seungmin told you that he wished to become a singer.
You too, had wanted to, once. Maybe. If you had been given enough time to think.
It felt like a little death when you stepped into a recording booth for the first time.
You’d told Winter you were desperate for money. She mentioned agencies looking for anonymous artists to record backing vocals for prominent groups. It paid well, she said.
Your voice was well-liked. Not overpowering, but subtle, like a floral perfume—soft, seamless, blending effortlessly with whoever you sang alongside. It paid well to sing lifeless songs, to let your name dissolve into the footnotes of prominent groups, 2PM, Twice… Even your brother’s group when he debuted.
You knew that fans liked to speculate on who you were. You knew that the songs in which you sang were popular. And yet, it did not matter.
It felt like death, to kill your voice and for the sun to keep rising regardless.
“You were brave, you still are, Cherry.” Chris had told you. You wanted to believe him so badly. You wanted for the world to split open and atone for what it did to you. You wanted for the world to mend the cracks in your soul. You wanted for the world to disappear with you in it.
Your legs are growing weary of driving for so long with no destination in mind. Your eyes burn from how long you’ve stared at the road, unblinking. Somehow, you find yourself outside of Chan’s and Jeongin’s place.
It would feel like death too for you to head back to your empty apartment.
You grab your phone, sending Chan a message before you can second-guess yourself.
Y/n: Are you home?
You wait, fingers hovering over the delete button. His reply comes three seconds later.
Chan: yeah, innie is sleeping over at seungmin’s
A heartbeat.
Chan: why? are you here? are you alright?
You sigh, resting your forehead against the steering wheel. What the fuck are you doing? But still, you unbuckle your seatbelt and walk hurriedly to his door.
You knock. He opens immediately, eyebrows furrowed.
“I’m okay,” you say quickly, expecting the deluge of questions swarming in his mind.
“It’s 1 a.m.,” he replies, concern etched into his features.
“I can read the clock,” you joke, and his pout deepens as he steps closer. He’s beautiful in a way that makes your soul wish to split open to escape it. It overwhelms you.
“I’m just anxious about the next few days,” you admit.
“What’s happening?” he asks, already taking your coat and leading you to the kitchen. He pours you a glass of cold water, just the way you like it.
“I’m meeting a junior employee at Sun Corp. He’s called San. I need to convince him to give me materials proving the corporation’s corruption for our case.”
Chan’s worried gaze meets yours, and you shake your head quickly.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmur. “I didn’t come here to worry you. I just… I wanted your company.”
Chan’s demeanor softens at your words, like white foam finally resting against the warm sand.
“I think I feel less anxious around you,” you add, the warmth in your cheeks suddenly betraying you. Winter’s words echo in your mind: That man likes you. What a foolish thought to engrain in your mind.
“Oh, I…” His words stumble, and his fingers flex as if they’re debating reaching for you. Instead, he lowers them and smiles softly.
“So do I, Cherry,” he admits. His voice is gentle, his ears tinting red. “And I could come with you to meet San, if you’d like.”
“Really, you’d do that for me?” his being slacks off, his shoulders sinking low. If you were in a battle, this would be him dropping his sword, kneeling.
“Of course, you don’t even need to ask.”
You see it then—visions of yourself wrapping your arms around Chan’s neck in his kitchen, holding him long enough for his warmth to seep into your soul, shielding it from the many winters to come. You imagine, for a fleeting moment, putting down your defenses and letting one human in.
Perhaps this is the most violent act of all—to have visceral fantasies of something as innocent as a hug.
“Were you working?” you ask, and Chan clears his throat, nodding. “Yeah, working on some new songs. But I’ll take a break now.”
“The mighty producer CB97, taking a break for little old me. How wonderful,” you tease, a giggle escaping your lips. He rolls his eyes, his tongue pressing against his cheek in mock exasperation.
“Should we have a drink?” he offers, and you clap your hands excitedly. “Yes, I’d like that.”
It’s easy to recall with Chan—to relive the memories alive in your shared history. The summer vacation in Jeju, grilling meat for the boys, playing video games till dawn. Chan face-planting into the snow, the times you hid backstage to surprise them. You remember him accidentally body-slamming you onto the floor, the way you nearly drowned in the pool from laughing too hard.
The clock creeps toward four a.m., but you don’t feel tired. You’re tipsy, the wine warming your stomach—a bright, crisp taste, like biting into a ripe apricot. And you are happy. Your soul feels satiated, as though this laughter could sustain you for a lifetime.
Your giggles fade, leaving a comforting silence between you. You’re close to all the boys—you care for them deeply. But Chan is different. Because he dropped by only because he was worried. Because he calls you Cherry. So he remembers, and not alot of people remember you.
“I was thinking on my drive home of this… melody my mom used to sing,” you whisper, staring ahead. Your shoulder brushes against Chan’s. You rarely speak about your parents. Never this openly. Chan knows this well.
“She used to hum it to the ocean, to me when I’m about to sleep, when I was sick, when she was cooking,” you smile softly, bringing the drink to your lips. “I’ve been trying to replicate it on the piano but I’ve never managed to.”
You turn to look at him, only to find his gaze already fixed on you. His eyes are wide, vulnerable, twinkling like stars witnessing the birth of a galaxy. He licks his lips, hesitant, and your eyes linger on them. They are glossy, red, and impossibly inviting.
“Can I hear it?”
You start humming, singing what you remember off of your fragmented memory. Chan listens intently, his eyebrows tightly knit in concentration. You hear the waves, you taste the salt in the breeze. You miss the sea.
You finish, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “Thank you for sharing,” he says.
“Thank you for listening,” you whisper, and your eyes are closed, but you feel it, his lips pressing to your temple, soft as a petal. It quakes through you, unmaking you, as though your soul has been cleaved wide open. You are a supernova, unraveling, scattering light in a beautiful, dying burst.
You wake up to a note on the bedside, and a pink plaid blanket draped over you. It hits you then: you’re in Chan’s room. A blush spreads across your cheeks, igniting your skin. When did you fall asleep? Did he carry you here? Of course he did. Did he press another kiss to your temple? Why would you think of that? Still, you can’t help but wonder if he too felt it— the way your soul trembled under the weight of his touch.
You imagine him writing the note, his figure hunched near you, glancing at your peaceful form, his eyes fleeting to yours as if making sure you were still there.
‘I’ve made you breakfast, it’s in the kitchen. I have an early morning schedule, but I’ll see you tomorrow, Cherry. Thank you for coming to see me :)’
You close your eyes, burying your head deeper into the pillows surrounding you. You can’t help but inhale their scent—traces of Chan lingering in the fabric, pinewood and cinnamon, intoxicating, as though they were made for you alone to breathe in. Your skin tingles with the thought, as you imagine him beside you, what it would be like to press your face into the soft curve of his neck, to take in that scent and to fill all the hollow spaces inside you with it.
You are ashamed, even in the privacy of your thoughts, of this longing, of this sharp ache. For even thinking, daring to dream of a world where you could behold his warm hands into your butchered ones. Where he’d let you. Where you’d let yourself.
It feels like death to think of Chan, it feels like living too.
You find Chan leaning casually against his car, arms crossed over his chest. With his Chrome Hearts beanie nearly swallowing his eyes and a mask covering the rest of his face, he looks almost intimidating. Almost—because you can’t help but giggle at his over-the-top efforts to stay incognito.
“I think we’ll scare the poor boy away,” you tease in greeting, and he huffs, reaching out to lightly punch your arm.
“Do you want me gone? It’s fine, I can leave,” he mumbles, his pout clear even behind the mask. “It’s not like I made all this effort to come here—”
“Oh my god, you’re still a whiny baby at your big age,” you cut him off, laughing as you both step into the café.
You choose a table by the large windows, the sunlight streaming in and bathing the space in golden light. As Chan sits across from you, his grin spreads wide, making his eyes crinkle and nearly disappear. You miss the sight of his dimples, all of the sudden.
San arrives ten minutes later, sliding into the seat across from you. His eyes dart to the door every few seconds, as though someone might burst through at any moment. He fidgets in his chair, tugging at his slightly askew tie, beads of sweat gathering on his brow despite the cool air conditioning.
Your fingers curl loosely around a lukewarm cup of coffee you’ve yet to sip. “Thank you for meeting me, San. I really appreciate it,” you begin softly, and he barely nods. He reaches for his iced Americano but pulls his hand back.
“Look, Miss Kim,” he stammers, voice barely above a whisper. “I gave Jaehyun the names of the apartment holders, but what you’re asking of me now... it’s dangerous.” He avoids your gaze, eyes fixed on the floor, as if it might open up and swallow him whole. “They’re not the kind of people you cross. You have no idea how high this goes.”
“I do,” you say firmly, leaning forward. “I know exactly how high it goes. That’s why I’m here. And that’s why I need your help.”
San hesitates, his lips pressing into a thin line. His gaze flickers to Chan before meeting yours again.
You take a deep breath, knowing how delicate this conversation is, how crucial it is too. “Look, I’m not asking you to go public,” you murmur, lowering your voice. “I just need the truth. Documents, emails… anything that proves there’s a corrupt force behind this decision. I’ll keep your name out of it. I promise. Whistleblowers are common in our lines of work. No one has to know where it came from.”
“I want to help you, I do,” he says, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “But they will find out, and I’ll lose everything,” he pauses, shoulders slumping, “I’m the sole caregiver for my mom… She’s in the hospital, and I still have bills to pay. You understand, right?”
Your eyes soften as you watch his anxious form. He’s still young, shouldering a burden you know all too well. You think he will understand, only if you bare a part of your heart to him.
“San,” you start gently, “I once lived in Promise Orphanage too.” you admit and his eyes slightly widen. “Before that, I was in two other orphanages in the city…” You pause, looking for the right words. “I still have nightmares about those places. About how cruel some of the people there were.” Your voice cracks, and Chan’s warm hand finds your knee.
“It’s hard to be happy in a place like that, but Promise Orphanage was the only place I ever thought of as home. It felt like family. I still visit to play with the kids. They’re happy, I see it, as best as they can, anyways. But they’re well taken care of. I know Miss Jeeho, I know Winter. They love those children. They allow them to dream. They don’t deserve to have their only familiarity stripped away from them.”
San swallows hard. "And what happens when Sun Corp. finds out anyway?”
“You’re here,” you reply, “you’re afraid, but you also believe in what we’re fighting for. Otherwise, you would’ve rejected this meeting.” You sigh, your voice softening. “You’re a good person, San. Don’t let them corrupt you too. You know this is wrong.”
“I do,” he admits, voice shaky. His resolve is unraveling.
“Look, I know they gifted the city council members penthouses to sway them in their favor. But no judge would consider this hard evidence since I can’t prove intent. What we need is what’s inside your office. You know, emails, memos, contracts, whatever. I can’t do this without you, San. I mean it.”
San stares at you for a long moment. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “There are emails,” he admits quietly. “Some from the CEO, discussing how to ‘incentivize’ council members. And I’ve seen the transaction logs... Large deposits to personal accounts, listed as ‘consulting fees.’ It’s not hard to connect the dots.”
Your heart leaps in your throat. “That’s exactly what we need. Can you get copies?”
“I think so,” he says reluctantly. Then, in a quieter tone he adds, “I lost my father too, you know.” There’s a rawness in his voice that only those who’ve been burdened by grief can understand. “I’ll find a way. For those kids.”
You reach out, briefly covering his hand with yours. “Thank you,” you whisper, and he nods, a miniscule smile finally stretching across his lips.
-
“Should we celebrate?” Chan asks, his voice light, once you’re settled in his car. For a moment, you hesitate. Celebration feels foreign to you. You’ve been the prosecutor and the wrongfully accused, you tie the noose and gasp when it tightens. But now, it seems like you’ve closed this case without needing a trial. That’s something worth celebrating.
“You know what? Hell yeah,” you giggle, and Chan’s face lights up like the sun cresting the horizon. “Great! Because I already planned for us to!” His laughter bubbles over, and you yelp as the car suddenly accelerates.
“Cherry! you’re free tomorrow, right?” he shouts over the music, and you recognize the song—No. 1 Party Anthem.
So you’re on the prowl, wondering whether she left already or not…
“Hmmm, let me check if my schedule is clear for being kidnapped…” you tease, pretending to swipe through an imaginary calendar. He chuckles, his dimple deepening, and the sound makes you feel giddy, like champagne fizzing in your veins. “Looks like I am!”
“Perfect! Let’s go on a trip, then!”
Sunglasses in doors are par for the course…
“Where to?” you laugh, and he simply winks in response, “You’ll see.”
“Fine, you be mysterious, and I’ll…” You grab his Fendi sunglasses from the console, perching them on your head, “I’ll be your passenger princess.”
It doesn’t escape him— how readily you’ve let go, how much you’ve placed in his hands without hesitation. It makes him want to drive further, faster, to a place where your bruised hearts won’t catch up with the two of you.
Her eyes invite you to approach…
You stop along the way at a small, unassuming seafood stand nestled along the coast—one Chan seems to know well. The air is alive with the sizzle of grills and the briny scent of the ocean. The ahjumma behind the counter greets Chan warmly, her hands deftly working as she prepares your meal.
You’re served grilled crab, its shell glistening in a marinade of soy sauce, chili, and honey. The flavors burst on your tongue—savory and spicy with a delicate sweetness that reminds you of the sea itself. Chan insists on feeding you the oysters, gently placing each one on your plate. They’re buttery and tangy, kissed with lemon and sea salt and the warmth of Chan’s gaze.
Your heart softens as you watch Chan chatting easily with the older woman, a laugh bubbling out of him as she teases him for eating too fast, as he fist-bumps her grandson as he clears the plates. How tragic it would have been for him to remain closed off, a flower enclosed in itself, never sharing the vibrant beauty of his petals with the world.
And it seems as though those lumps in your throat that you’ve just swallowed have got you going…
You pause again at a roadside shop, picking out heart-shaped sunglasses and trading the ugliest souvenir T-shirts you can find, laughing until your sides ache. Chan drapes an obnoxious orange scarf over his shoulder, striking a runway pose that makes you topple over from how hard you’re laughing. But then, in the mirror’s reflection, you catch his gaze—soft, unguarded, and filled with something you don’t dare name. Your breath falters. You’ve never been looked at like this before, as if someone could unravel you completely and still leave you whole.
Come on, come on, come on…
The road stretches endlessly ahead, the horizon blurring as you feed Chan fresh strawberries from a farmer’s market along the road. You don’t question why your pulse skips each time his lips brush your thumb. You don’t question why you’re suddenly sure the fruit would taste sweeter off of his mouth. You simply let the wind whip past, wondering if his cheeks are flushed from the cold or from you. You pray it’s the latter.
Number one party anthem…
“Welcome to Gangneung,” he announces as the car rolls into the small coastal town. The sea glimmers outside your window, and the houses—painted in pastel blues and greens—climb the hills like a living postcard. A group of high schoolers are biking down a narrow street, their laughter reaching you even as you drive away. While three women walk uphill, groceries in hand, their wide-brimmed hats bobbing as they chatter energetically. They seem to be gossiping. They seem happy.
“You remembered,” you say softly, your gaze flickering to him.
“I’d like to go to Gangneung one day,” you had once told him during a late-night walk. “I heard it’s a small town, and the locals agreed to all paint their houses blue. Isn’t that sweet? I’d love to escape there one day, without telling anyone.”
“I didn’t tell anyone,” he says, giggling. “Well, except Winter—so she could pack a bag for you. And Jisung, so the kids wouldn’t worry. But I didn’t tell them where we’re—”
You don’t let him finish. Stopping yourself would feel unnatural, like damming a river mid-flow. You lean over and press a kiss to his cheek, right where his dimple is hidden.
The look of love, the rush of blood…
“Thank you, Channie,” you whisper. He simply nods, a bit dazed, so are you.
Come on, come on, come on…
Both your cheeks are still burning as you pull up by the sea. You’re the first to step out, stretching your arms to shake off the nerves while Chan rummages through the car. A sudden chill creeps over you, and you instinctively wrap your arms around yourself.
Number one party anthem…
“Here,” he says, draping a hoodie over your shoulders. He’s got a towel slung casually over one shoulder, and a basket balanced in his hands. “Come on,” he beckons softly, leading you to the shoreline.
He spreads the blanket atop the golden sand and you both lay on it, admiring the sea. You’re lost in your thoughts as you silently nibble at the cheese and crackers Chan brought with him. You haven’t sat before the waves in so long. For all your bravery in courtrooms, you were a coward in real life, scared that the mere sight of the overlapping water would make your buried wish resurface— to be adrift amidst waves, to sink with the peaceful certainty that you won’t resurface again.
But you haven’t felt this serene in a long time. Like you could draw in a deep breath and not dread the one that will follow it.
“I made you something.” Chan blurts suddenly, and you twist your neck to look at him. You’ve seen Chan in many states— happy, angry, weeping. But you haven’t seen him this nervous before.
“What is it?” you ask, your curiosity tinged with caution as you sit up.
He hesitates, his words tumbling over one another. “I’m sorry if this is too much, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the melody you hummed. I... I turned it into a piano piece. I recorded it. Do you want to hear it?”
He offers an earphone with trembling hands. Your own shake as you tuck it in, and then—oh god.
“Chan, I—” you choke, clutching his arm as the music flows into you. It’s her. It’s your mother, her voice resurrected in the notes. It’s as though he’s handed you a forgotten fragment of time, lighting it up, brushing away the dust of years. The memories flood back—her hand in yours, the melody she sang to you like a lullaby for your soul. Because she loved you, so much. You were once very loved.
You close your eyes as silent tears slip down your face. It’s a short recording, just fifty-five seconds, so you replay it, again and again, until the night falls gently around you. You want to live, you want to live if only to keep her voice alive.
“Should we go swim, Chan? I feel like swimming.” You suddenly say, a smile breaking through your face. This is the easiest it has been for you to grin in a long time.
“We’ll get sick,” he says, though a grin tugs at his lips.
“We haven’t been kids in so long”, you say and something shifts in his gaze. He understands, so he nods, suddenly picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder.
“Wait, not like this!” you shout, flailing as Chan hoists you up with ease. But it’s no use—he’s already running and the next thing you know, you’re plunging into the cold water.
He dives in after you, surfacing with a loud laugh that echoes across the shoreline. The water is freezing, but it doesn’t matter. He feels weightless, unburdened, like a child again, like he could do anything he wishes for in this world, like he could get on his knees and confess to you right there and then.
You’re both trembling still by the time you reach the hotel. You linger by the entrance, your gaze tracing the cracked wallpaper and worn-out carpets. Chan is at the desk, talking to the receptionist. Snippets of their conversation float your way—“only one room... unfortunately a pipe broke... an old hotel.”
Oh.
When he returns, his ears are tinged with pink. “There’s only one room left,” he stammers. “The other one has a water leak. But it’s okay! We can find another hotel. I understand you might be—”
“Christopher, I’m fucking freezing,” you interrupt, teeth chattering. He giggles softly, boyish. “I’ll let you shower first, then.”
The room is sparse, reminiscent of a hanok. There are no beds, only two padded mats that side by side on the heated floor, and a small desk in one corner. It feels intimate, ten times smaller as Chan stands behind you.
“Go ahead,” he says, “I’ll wait.”
You quickly grab your bag and retreat to the bathroom. With trembling hands, you unlock your phone.
Y/n: Winter!!!!!!!!!! Are you here?
Winter: OMG are you still with cherry man?
Y/n: Yes, and we’re sharing one room 🫣
Winter: Wooooooo my ship is sailing
Y/n: I hate you. Did you pack me cute pajamas at least?
Winter: Of course i foresaw this
You giggle slightly, gusts of powdery air materializing before you.
Y/n: I’ll kill you once I’m back!!!
Winter: you love me 😘 you’ll have to tell me everything when you come back
Y/n: I will ❤️ He’s very sweet… and confusing
Winter: Just trust your gut
Trust your gut? You’re quite unsure what your gut is trying to spell out for you. You sigh, before quickly heading into the shower. You know Chan must be freezing too even if he tries not to show it.
You hear the water cascade down when he goes in after you, still avoiding your gaze. It feels almost forbidden to imagine him standing there, steam curling in clouds scented with your cherry shower gel. He’ll carry it with him, you think—a faint trace of you on his skin. That thought seems to send goosebumps rippling down your spine.
Later, the two of you lay atop your mats in a quiet darkness. You can hear the hum of the heater, and the splashing of the waves far away. You don’t remember falling asleep, but the cold wakes you, sharp and biting.
“Chan?” you whisper into the quiet.
He hums instantly. He hasn’t slept.
“Aren’t you cold?”
“I am.”
“Should we move closer? Body heat and all,” you suggest, your voice barely audible. You hear him swallow in the dark.
Slowly, cautiously, he inches closer until your shoulders brush. You wrap a tentative arm around his waist, and he draws you in, his palm resting on your back. The embrace feels intimate, terrifyingly so, but you stay. He is warm. He smells like pinewood and cherry. He smells like you and him.
“Good?” he asks, voice rough, and you nod. “Yeah, good.”
You hear his heartbeat, frantic at first, mirroring yours, then slowing down as the minutes pass by. It feels familiar to lay so close to him, it feels natural, ordinary.
“Channie?” you whisper.
“Yes, Cherry?”
“How different do you think we’d be, if we hadn’t gone through the things we did?”
You don’t know why you ask, except that today, for the first time in forever, you feel like blank paper—uncrumpled, untainted, left to be.
He thinks for a while, his hand threading gently through your hair, lulling you back toward sleep.
“I think I would open my heart more,” he finally says, voice soft. “I’d be myself without fearing judgment or abandonment. I’d stop chasing perfection. I’d just... exist.”
You nod against him. “You should stop apologizing for wanting the things you do.”
It feels hypocritical coming from you, but you mean it.
“Yeah, Cherry,” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “And you?”
“I’d allow myself to love. Without fear. I’d be someone worthy of being loved.”
A pause stretches between you, heavy and sharp. You inhale deeply.
“I’ve dated people,” you say quietly, “it drives Seungmin’s crazy because I know he wants to protect me from heartbreak,” you giggle softly, memories of the long talks Seungmin had dealt you flooding your mind.
“He’s a good brother.”
“He is,” you smile, before sighing. “But I don’t know how to tell him that it has always been for fun. They know what they’re getting into, which is, nothing beyond a few dates because... that’s all I have to give. I’m afraid someone might waste their time peeling away my layers, only to find nothing worthwhile. I’m hollow inside, Chan. A hollow chest can’t beat for another. Not in the way they deserve.”
His hand stills, his grip falters on your back. You hope he has heard your plea, unspoken, that he can read between the lines of your words. Please, you beg. Don’t love me. Don’t hurt yourself.
Chan sees it then, as evident as the rising of the sun. The truth of you, the truth of himself. Chan is loved by many, yet he doesn’t feel loved. You do not love Chan, perhaps you will never allow yourself to love another, and yet—he still loves you. Despite your warnings, he does. Even if you paint the image of the most violent of heartbreaks, he still will.
You judge heels by two criterias: one, how easy they are to stand long hours in, and two, how satisfying they sound when you walk. The powdery pink Jimmy Choos Seungmin gifted you hit both marks perfectly, sounding particularly delicious as you stride through the halls of Sun Corporation’s headquarters.
From the corner of your eye, you catch employees glancing up from their desks, whispers rising as you breeze past the secretary’s protests, her voice growing increasingly frantic. But you already know where you are headed: straight for the conference room, where you know an important meeting is currently unfolding.
Fun!
The secretary, a petite brunette, jogs after you, her heels barely keeping up with her urgency. She plants herself in front of the double doors, blocking your path, literally, with her arms outstretched.
“Miss, you can’t go in there,” she says, chest slightly heaving. “This is a private meeting.”
You flash her a thin smile, the kind that looks anything but kind. “Private? How convenient! It seems like they’ve kept their corruption private too!”
Her face pales, and she stammers. “I… I’m sorry, but I’ll need you to wait. Mr. Choi is—”
“Expecting me,” you cut her off, brushing past her without a second glance.
With a forceful push, you throw open the conference room doors. The chatter inside ceases instantly, replaced by stunned silence as ten executives turn to face you. At the head of the table sits Choi Min-soo, the CEO. His expression remains calm as his gaze locks with yours. He’s young, roughly in his thirties, surrounded only by men, of course. Perhaps that's why he keeps accumulating one bad decision after the other.
Choi leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowing in irritation. “Who let you in here?”
“Apologies for the interruption,” you say, though there’s not a shred of remorse in your voice. “I’m here about the demolition permit for Promise Orphanage.”
Choi leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t recall scheduling a meeting with you.”
“No, you didn’t,” you reply coolly. “But I thought I’d save your secretary the trouble. Some things simply can’t wait. Surely you understand.”
An executive to Choi’s right clears his throat, tapping his fingers against the table in a measured rhythm. “This is a private meeting. You can’t just barge in—”
“Oh, but I can,” you curtly cut him off, “And I have. Now, if you’d prefer, we can do this in front of the press, but I thought you’d appreciate the courtesy of keeping this internal.”
Choi’s mask of indifference falters ever so slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line.
“Sit,” he says curtly.
You ignore him, instead leaning forward, your palms pressing into the polished surface of the table. “No need for pleasantries. Let’s cut to the chase. I have evidence that the city’s approval for your demolition project didn’t come through lawful means. Bribery, to be precise.”
A heavy silence blankets the room. The executives exchange uneasy glances, but Choi’s smirk betrays no concern. Though you know it is all rehearsed. Every expression is part of the masquerade that is their lives.
“I could sue you for defamation, you know,” he says, leaning forward. He’s beautiful, but in a sinister way. Like staring into the core of a bubbling volcano knowing it could swallow you whole.
“Is it defamation if it’s supported by your own emails?”
From your bag, you retrieve a thick stack of documents and toss them onto the table. One of the younger executives fumbles to pick them up, his face paling as he scans the contents.
“These emails detail discussions between your company and key city council members about how to tip their votes in your favor. Then there are the transaction logs. Substantial sums of money deposited into personal accounts, labeled as ‘consulting fees.’ Oddly enough, these transactions occurred right after a cozy dinner at that hotpot spot downtown. Convenient timing, wouldn’t you agree?”
Your grin widens as you add, “All of it obtained lawfully, of course.” You know they’re infuriated by you. You’ve learned over the years that men like these don’t fear consequences as much as they despise being brought down by a woman.
“There is nothing illegal about consulting fees,”a voice quips from your right, “it’s standard practice.”
“Standard practice,” you repeat, tilting your head. “How fascinating that these fees always seem to align perfectly with approvals for morally bankrupt projects. This isn’t your first rodeo, Choi, is it? Remember the nursing home? Your big debut? The one that earned you Daddy’s approval?”
Choi’s fist slams onto the table. The sound echoes sharply through the room. You don’t flinch.
“How dare you speak to me like this?”
“And how dare YOU prioritize greed over the lives of children?!” you fire back, your voice rising. “YOU are the one bulldozing an orphanage to fatten your pockets. Not me.”
The room shifts uneasily. The executives glancing at one another, avoiding your gaze.
“You have two choices,” you say, straightening. “Withdraw the permit and take responsibility for the lives you’re willing to destroy, or I’ll take this to the media. Every email, every transaction log, it’ll all be public knowledge. Let’s see how long you keep your title when the truth comes out.”
Choi chuckles, a sinister sound that sends shivers down your spine. Spoiled assholes are always somewhat deranged. “So let me get this straight. You barge in here, threatening ME in my OWN office? Do you have any idea what this project is worth? FUCKING BILLIONS! And powerful people back it, people who won’t tolerate interference.”
You pick up your bag, winking. “Then I suggest you start figuring out how to explain this mess to them. You have five days to withdraw the permit. Good luck!”
Without waiting for a response, you turn and stride out, the sharp clicks of your heels like music to your ears. You wave at the secretary who looks at you as if she’s just seen a ghost. And so do the rest of the employees. Your voice must have been loud enough then.
Now that was fun.
Winter launches herself at you as soon as you open the door to her car. “Fuck you were so badass!” she laughs, hugging you tightly and you giggle, the sound light and airy, as you take out your phone from your back pocket, silencing the call with her.
“I can and I have,” she repeats your words, voice dipping lower as you high-five excitedly, your palms almost ricocheting off one another.
“God winter you should’ve seen his face,” you laugh, cheeks almost splitting open, “he looked like a big baby throwing a tantrum!”
“Ah I think this is over, right?” she asks excitedly, as she gets out of the parking lot, “they’ll yield or else you’ll drag their reputation through the mud.”
“I think so,” you sigh, resting your head against the seat cushion. “If they’re any smart they’ll know that the general public will always empathize with children. We’ll wait and see,” you grin, pinching her cheeks. “Either way, I’m not letting them take away the orphanage from us.”
“Never doubted you will,” she smiles widely, before elbowing your side, “girls night then? It’s been so long.”
“Yeah, let’s do it!”
You glance at her as she drives, the sun threading between her blonde strands like molten gold. You’ve always found it ironic that she chose the name Winter for herself when she’s the warmest person you know— she’s the saccharine taste of honey, she’s the colors of the sun and the sounds of a joyous summer. She cannot possibly be a mere human. She’s too kind, too patient for the confines of such a flawed label. You suddenly remember her supporting you as you undertake your law classes, working long hours at the bakery near your home to pay for Seungmin’s lessons. You feel her move for you when your body was too weary to even stir.
“I love you,” you suddenly say, your voice a raspy whisper, and she turns to look at you, her eyes softening. “Yah save this for the sleepover.”
The sun has long slipped beneath the horizon, as you talked the night away with Winter, stomachs full of sweetened Soju and laughter on the living room floor. You rest your head on her stomach as she idly runs her fingers through your hair, reminiscing. It doesn’t hurt as much to remember these days.
“So, will you tell me about Chan?” she whispers, and you groan, hiding your face in your hands.
She giggles at your reaction, gently scratching your scalp. “Come on. How was your getaway?”
It takes you a few moments to admit it. Out of joy. Out of fear. “It was the happiest I’ve been in a long while, Winter.”
“You don’t sound happy about it,” she observes, and you nod.
“I’m terrified, because he’s confusing me.”
She’s silent, and you gather your memories—the ones that have kept you afloat for the past week, the ones that have mended some hidden part of your heart, though you can’t say which one. It is too scarred to keep count, but you can feel it, something inside you has healed, something caged within you can breathe again.
“He remembered which coastal city I wanted to visit, something I said on a whim during one of our walks, years ago, Winter” you say softly, as though speaking of his memory would make the universe take him away from you.
“He took me to eat oysters; You know how much I love oysters. He wore every ugly souvenir I gave him,” you giggle faintly before quieting down. You choose to skip over your mother’s piano piece secret. You feel as if you’d desecrate it by speaking of it, like it’s a memory that belongs only to Chan, you, and the sea. “And then… since we had to share a room, we cuddled because it was cold.”
You expect her to tease you, but her voice is gentle as she asks.
“How did you feel?”
You think hard of how you felt. How easy it was to fall asleep near him. How beautiful he looked as dreams wrote themselves behind his eyelids.
“I felt safe. Like I could let go, and he’d be there to catch me.”
“I don’t think he would hurt you. I don’t think he could, even if you hurt him.”
You sigh, straightening up to meet her gaze.
“I don’t want to hurt him, Winter. That’s my issue. And I know I will.”
“Why would you—”
“I’m a bundle of issues, grief, and sorrow,” you cut her off, resigned. “You know that. I didn’t choose to be this way, but I am. I will taint him.”
“What I know,” she says, taking your hands in her own, “is that you are a good person. Your heart is warm and full of goodness, despite everything that happened to you. Grief changes a person, injustice changes them even more. But your heart still overflows with love. That’s something not everyone can say.”
You shake your head, tears welling in your eyes.
“Winter, have you ever found a flower so beautiful? You see it, and its petals are the brightest colors, almost calling to your soul. Would it be right to cut it and take it home? Yes, it might bring you joy for a while. You’d change its water, add vinegar and sugar cubes. But then what? It’ll falter and die early. Because I was selfish. Because I hurt the flower, even though I loved it so much.”
Your voice cracks, and the tears you’ve been holding back are now dangerously close to spilling. She’s quiet for a long moment, and you begin to believe you’ve imagined this whole conversation. But then—
“What if that flower’s only wish is to be loved?”
Sometimes, words feel like a soothing balm coating your wounds. Sometimes, they feel like a dagger suddenly protruding what’s left of your heart. Sometimes they feel like both.
Your phone pings, and you reach for it through a hazy view, grateful for the small distraction.
Except it isn’t.
Jaehyun: Your cherry man just paid for San’s hospital bills.
You frown, and Winter leans over to peek at your screen.
Y/n: What???
Jaehyun: Yeah, he just called me. An anonymous (beautiful) man (with dimples ;) per the nurse’s description) paid for all his mother’s expenses.
Winter stares at you knowingly as your heart does somersaults—throbbing in your chest, in your throat, in your stomach. You feel him everywhere, Chan, like he’s made a home inside you and is now setting you ablaze.
Does he have to be so kind? Does he have to make it so hard for you not to love him?
Somehow, it’s 4 a.m. before you notice, Winter sleeps soundly beside you while you lie wide awake. You can’t stop thinking about Chan. His desire to be seen, his fear of it too. His voice. His warm hands. His soft lips. His heart. His soul.
You slip away from Winter and head to the balcony, a shawl wrapped around your arms. You hesitate for a moment, then press ‘Call’.
“Cherry?” Chan answers instantly, and your shoulders relax despite yourself. Is this what it feels like to be a flower plucked from millions? Cherished. Loved.
“Hi, Channie,” you whisper, and you hear him rustling in bed.
“Are you okay? Where are you? Do you need me to pick you up?” His questions come fast, and you stop him before he can leap out of bed.
“No, no. I just… I wanted to thank you. For what you did for San.”
“Oh, who told you?” he sounds sheepish, timid. “I thought I told the nurse to keep it anonymous.”
“Well, not many men have dimples as pretty as yours.” The words slip out before you can stop them. You don’t hate yourself when you hear Chan chuckling softly, the bed covers rustling with his movements. Does he too chase remnants of your perfume on his pillows? Does he too imagine you laying on his bed once more?
“Well, it’s the least I could do.”
“No, you didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to take me on that trip, or rearrange your whole schedule to spend a night watching shitty dramas with me. You didn’t have to do any of it. So why? Why do you do these things, Chan?” you ask, breathless.
He sighs softly. “Does it make you happy, Cherry? When I do these things?”
“Yes.”
“Then you have your answer.”
Oh.
The silence stretches, long and endless. Your shoulders hurt from always being cowered, tense. You wish you could ease them down.
“Thank you for making me happy. Sleep well, Channie.” You hang up before he can reply, before he can call you Cherry again. Because it makes you feel like dying. To love Chan in a world where you won’t let him love you feels like the biggest of deaths.
Seungmin’s earliest memories have always been of you.
There was a hollow space in his small heart, carved with the dullest of knives, something that pulsed even though he didn’t know who was it far. He knew his parents existed, he remembers his old home, but only faintly. They’d been taken too soon, he didn’t have much to hold on to.
So it was always you and him.
He remembers being a whiny child, crying endlessly because he didn’t understand why the world was so cruel—to him, but mostly to you. It confused him deeply, the way people overlooked your kindness. You were his older sister, his light. Why, then, couldn’t everyone else see you the way he did?
By the time he grew more into his body, into his heart, the tears stopped coming as often. He noticed the way a light dimmed in your eyes every time you tried to console him, and it frightened him. He didn’t know how many lights you had to give, or how many were left. So, he stopped crying.
Seungmin started piecing together truths he didn’t yet know how to speak. He began to understand the sharpness in your voice when prospective parents visited the orphanage, the urgency in your words when you told him to hide in the bathroom. You were protecting him. You didn’t want to be separated from him. It was almost impossible for two children to be adopted at once.
He began to understand why you always came back a bit breathless from talking to the older kids, the ones you strictly forbade him from playing with. Why would blue marks always appear on your arms after those conversations. Why he often heard you crying at night when you believed him long asleep.
And it killed him. There was no other way to describe it, because Seungmin had scraped his knee and lost his parents, and yet it did not hurt as much as it did when you were hurt. So, he tried to be as small as possible, as quiet, he tried to not get sick, to get good grades, to do his bed and yours. He tried to be perfect, so you wouldn’t be burned by him. So you wouldn’t cry when looking at him asleep.
Joy was scarce in Seungmin’s life. And it was all tied back to you. He was practical, even as a child, understanding early that he’d have to work harder than most to make something of himself. But not for personal gain, it was all to repay you for everything you gave him.
Then, one day, he stumbled onto something unexpected—a gift. A cheat code. “You’ve got a beautiful singing voice,” Miss Jeeho told him on his second night at Promise Orphanage. She had caught him singing in the garden. He didn’t like singing in front of other people. He feared you’d be punished for it too. “Have you ever thought of becoming a singer?”
The idea felt like cracking open a window in a suffocating room, a breath of air sweeping through the dust and decay of a crushed life. For the first time, he saw a semblance of dream take shape. He felt hope settle below his ribs, softening the thorns in his chest.
So he researched in the library of his school obsessively on this topic. How to be a singer, how to audition, how to win. He kept it hidden from you in all the years you spent in Promise Orphanage. Only Miss Jeeho knew, and she was kind, he didn’t feel scared sharing his hope with her. He was fifteen when he told you, after a year of relentlesses fighting to gain his custody. “I want to be a singer.”
You froze for a second, and Seungmin hasn’t stopped wondering where your mind went in that moment.
“Will you help me?” he asked, voice burning with resolve. “It pays well. I promise I’ll debut, and I’ll make you proud. And I’ll repay you, for all of it, I swear.”
“What’s this talk of you repaying me?” you said softly, your eyes so kind it made him want to weep. “All of me is for you, Seungminnie.”
Seungmin felt a sharp, throbbing ache in his chest at that moment. There she was, his greatest supporter, promising to back his dream. And yet, he felt hideously worthless, as though merely looking at the mirror would make it shatter.
It was then he named it—the poison coursing through his veins, the thorn lodged deep in his throat—the guilt. He wore that guilt like a second skin, its barbed wires sinking deeper into his soul with each passing year. Did you have a dream, too? Did you abandon your own to make room for him? He should’ve asked what your dream was. He should’ve begged you to keep your heart for yourself.
Seungmin could not rewrite the past, could not save his parents, could not undo his own birth so that you would not carry the weight of him. So, he sought to make up for it. He never spoke of his weariness during practice, nor of the pain, the fear, or the anger that gnawed at him. He only shared the triumphs—him ranking second on the entry competition, his voice praised by the vocal coaches at the company, finding friends that turned into family who genuinely cared for him, and you with time, that he would debut soon, that he has made it.
He spent his first paycheck on you, buying you the heels you’ve been eyeing for a long time, the ones you wore to your first courtroom. He spent the next on you too, and the one after it. He overcompensated for the guilt– gifts, flowers, a luxurious coffee machine, a two weeks retreat fully paid. He grew overbearing too, when it came to your heart, when it came to protecting it, disapproving of every person you chose to date.
He understood after a while that you weren’t looking for anything serious, at least not for now. Your dates seemed to understand this too. But he was afraid that one day you’d fall for someone who’s still looking for fun, who wouldn’t care for your heart like it was your own.
His hyungs would always poke fun at him for his protective nature, but he couldn’t help it. He was terrified for you, terrified that a heartbreak would be the thing to take you away from him.
He still remembers the look on your face when you caught him sitting in the same restaurant as your date. You’d laughed, and he’d felt sheepish under your gaze. “I told him it was a bad idea,” Jeongin giggled, throwing his hands up.
“I don’t like him,” he grumbled and you had chuckled, ruffling his hair, “when do you ever?”
You had then spent the night with him at the dorms watching movies with all his members. It was a normal occurrence for you to hang out with them, his found family, because they too had been touched with your kindness, back when they were all still trainees and you insisted on making them homemade food.
Seungmin knew it was your way of clinging to a normal home, that too killed him a little.
He knew that the members loved you, that they too cared for you deeply. Though they liked to annoy Seungmin by flirting with you. Which made you giggle, so, although he despises it, he still lets it slide.
Which brings him to today.
Seungmin hasn’t seen you since the concert at Kyocera Dome. So, he spammed you long enough for you to finally agree to have dinner in his dorm. Except 3RACHA was there too since they were all working on a song. It wasn’t their presence that weirded out Seungmin. Nor the fact that Han and Changbin took turns flirting with you, turning more obnoxious and loud and making Seungmin wish he could hit them with the plates on the table. Not that.
It was Chan. Who looked tense, jaw tight, his fingers flexing each time they sent a flirty remark your way.
Was he… Jealous?
“Thank you honey,” Han says, blowing you a kiss when you hand him his chopsticks. You giggle and Seungmin buries his face in his hands when Changbin grabs your plate, declaring that he will cut the steak for you.
“She doesn’t like meat cut that way,” Chan suddenly says, taking away the knife and plate from Changbin. Your cheeks blush as if a dahlia blossomed there. Han and Changbin exchange knowing looks.
Okay. What?
“Is there something—” he asks when your phone suddenly rings and he quiets down, swallowing the question with the rest of his beer. That would have been a stupid question, anyways.
“Winter!” you pick up, tone cheerful. Though all the color drains from your face as she speaks, the flower withering and turning into ash.
“W-what…?” you ask, slightly dazed, your hand gripping the table.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Cherry, what’s wrong?” so does Chan.
Cherry?
“The orphanage…” you say, Chan seems to understand what you’re talking about perfectly. You don’t finish, getting up and running out of his dorm. Everyone gets up on cue following you. “We’ll take my car,” Changbin says.
Is it possible to have sinned right before birth? To have done something so terrible you cannot atone for it no matter how much time passes. You accept it, you accept that your star is an unlucky one. You accept that even the most restless waters will always drown you, not carry you. Still, for how long do you have to pay the price, over and over again? Till how long is it no longer justice? Till how long does it become the universe toying with you? Does it think you can’t break? Does it think there is no limit to how much you can take?
Because there is.
You think you’ve reached it now.
Time seems to have slowed down, so much you’re sure five lifetimes have passed between each of your breaths. You know that there must be people screaming, a loud shatter, the sirens of ambulances and firefighters. Still, it’s quiet in your head. Save for a faint ringing, a buzzing, like a swarm of bees has lodged itself within your ear.
The earth is moving beneath your feet, it threatens to split open and swallow you. And you’d let it. You don’t have the nails to dig yourself out. You don’t have the will. You don’t have the hope.
You almost feel like laughing. You’re cursed. Every bit of happiness comes back to haunt you down the line.
It’s hot, extremely hot, and ashy. And you’re before the orphanage but you don’t smell rust. You smell smoke, pungent and bitter. You smell loss. You smell your last hope dying.
The orphanage is burning.
The kids are outside, covered in blankets and hugged turn by turn by the staff— Miss Jeeho, Mister Seonghwa, the cook, the gardener, the teachers, the psychologist, Winter.
The firefighters are trying to control the fire, but it’s spreading rapidly before your eyes, emboldened by the wooden floors and squeaky doors. You are losing your home again. The fire is eating the room you slept in, the kitchen where you learned how to cook, the garden where you caught Seungmin singing to Miss Jeeho. It’s eating the stairs where you sat with Winter laughing, the attic where you hid when existing became too rough.
It’s eating your memories, it’s eating you.
“What’s— what’s happening?” Seungmin stammers, his hand on your shoulder. You feel like kids again, back when the policeman came to your home and found only you and a toddler inside. A kid caring for a kid.
Winter sees you from afar, rushing to wrap you in her arms. You don’t feel her warmth. You don’t feel anything, now that you’re thinking of it. Has your heart bled dry? Finally?
“Cherry,” you hear but you brush the hand away, walking towards two firefighters once only smoke remains. “Who started it? The fire?” you ask breathlessly.
“Why?” they ask, cautious, “do you have reason to believe it was intentional?”
“Who started it?” you repeat.
“It’s too early to tell,” he says, eyes fixed on his coworker, sweat dripping from his brow, his forehead smeared with ash. “Preliminary findings suggest it began in the garden, which is odd, since there’s no apparent cause and no sign of a cigarette. The owner claims no one smokes. We did find what looks like traces of gasoline, but more investigation is needed. It spread quickly towards to the utility room, where there are electric wires. Something, or someone must’ve sparked it, and now it’s out of control.” He sighs, “We’ll call the police.”
You feel it then, a stone that sinks deep within your gut: they burned it. Sun Corporation burned the orphanage because if there is no orphanage then there is no case. They burned the orphanage and you with it.
“Would someone tell me what’s going on?” Seungmin grows more agitated the more you remain silent in your apartment. You can tell everyone is looking at you, waiting for you to snap out of your daze. But you don’t know where to begin. You don’t know how this will end.
“Miss Jeeho called,” Winter says softly, reappearing from the balcony. “There’s enough suspicion to begin an investigation. They need my testimony.” Changbin, without a word, stands and grabs his car keys. “I’ll drive you,” he says. She nods in reply.
“Do the kids have a place to go tonight?” Han asks, his voice laced with concern. Winter shakes her head. “No, Miss Jeeho is still trying to figure that out.”
“Alright,” Han says, pulling out his phone. “Let me call the others for help.”
“You have my card,” Chan says, pressing a sleek, cold card into Winter’s hand.
“Text me,” you tell Han, and he nods, following Changbin and Winter out the door.
And then there were three.
“Would you please tell me?” Seungmin asks again, kneeling before you. His voice is quieter now, laced with something you hadn’t anticipated—hurt, confusion. A part of you stirs alive and you sigh, beginning to recount everything— the apartment, the corruption, San, the meeting, the fire— but your voice feels like someone else’s, void, unfamiliar.
“And why didn’t you tell me any of this?” he asks once you finish. There’s raw pain coating his gaze, Seungmin has always been an open book to you.
“I was going to tell you,” you murmur, “once the permit was withdrawn. I didn’t want to burden you with this.”
“But I want you to burden me!” his voice rises slightly, as he stands up, pacing before you. “I could have helped you. I would have stood by you!”
“Seungmin, please,” you breathe, the weight of it all pressing against your chest.
“You don’t always have to carry everything alone. It doesn’t make you stronger, it only makes the pain ten times worse,” he presses his eyes shut, “I wouldn’t have hid something like this from you.”
“Well, you’re not me!” You snap, and he flinches, recoiling like you’ve struck him. You’ve never raised your voice at Seungmin before.
There she is, the person who pushes those who love her away, the person who deserves to be punished.
“I’ll go help the boys,” he softly says, walking out, shoulders slumped. He looks smaller now, like you’ve just hurt the child within him mourning his only home.
“Cherry…” Chan’s voice cuts through the tense silence, and you rise to your feet, instinctively covering your face. “Not you too, Chan.”
“Would you talk to me?” His voice is gentle. “You haven’t said a word in over an hour. This isn’t healthy, I know this must hurt so you shouldn’t keep it all inside.”
“I don’t have anything to say,” you reply, your voice colder than you intended. Please go, you beg. Please, before I snap at you too.
“Just talk, okay? Say whatever comes to your mind. I’ll listen to you. It’ll feel better if you let it all out.”
“Except it won’t!” The words come out harsher than you meant, and you feel yourself spiraling. You’re throwing up thorns, and you can’t stop it. “You don’t always know what’s best for people, alright? You can’t always fix people, Chan! And I can’t be fixed! Talking about it won’t help, keeping it in won’t help, because this is who I fucking am. This is all I’ve known.”
“Cherry, please. You know that’s not what I meant.” His voice is soft, still tender, still trying to reach you.
He still calls you Cherry. He’s still here. You can feel the desperation creeping inside, a bitter realization that they should all run before you curse them too.
“Oh, come on,” you laugh, the sound hollow. It feels like daggers slicing through your throat as you speak. “Don’t you see me as a project to fix? Something to make you feel in control for all the years you’ve lost it?”
“Is this how low you think of me?” he asks, taking a step back, his face a mix of hurt and disbelief. “I never thought you needed fixing.”
“Well, it’s how I felt around you,” you say, the words spilling out like venom. Liar. Liar. Liar. “Like I’m the poor orphan and you’re the knight in shining armor, coming to save me.” He looks like you’ve just slapped him in the face.
Does he hate you now? Does he hate you as much as you hate yourself?
“You know, you should stop punishing yourself, Yn.” He says your name, not Cherry, but your name, plain and flat. It feels like all your little deaths combined in one. “You only have one sin and it’s that you wish to be loved.”
He pauses. You feel as if the world was cracked wide open. You feel as if your soul just splattered before his feet, naked, trembling.
“And I love you. God, I’ve loved you for the past ten years, and I wish you could open your heart just a little bit to see it.”
“What?” you ask, breathless, the words barely leaving your mouth before he turns away, silent. He doesn’t answer. He leaves.
He left.
Your feet move before your mind can catch up, and suddenly you’re running after him. “What do you mean you love me?” you shout, the words raw, desperate. Your chest is heaving, breaths coming in ragged gasps. You’re sure your neighbors are peeking from their windows, watching, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now except him, nothing has in a long time. “What do you mean, Chan?!”
“Forget it,” he mutters.
“You can’t say that and ask me to forget it!” you shout and he chuckles, hand tightly gripping his hair in frustration.
“Has it not been clear? That you’d ask me to get you the moon and I'd fucking die trying. Can’t you see that I’d sacrifice the sun if it means making you happy?”
You back away, tears streaming down your cheeks in an unstoppable flow. No. Yes. No. How?
“N–no, you… You shouldn’t love me.”
“Do you think I haven’t tried?” His voice rises, raw and hoarse. “I’m human too, it kills me to love someone who I know won’t ever love me. But tell me, please, teach me how to pause the throbbing of my heart. Teach me how to silence it when it calls out your name, when it aches because it misses you so much I feel like I’m dying. When there is a void in my soul shaped after your laugh, your smell, your words, how do I—“ his hands land on your shoulders, his forehead resting on the crook of your neck. You can feel the shaking of his hands, you can feel his being unraveling before you.
Your hands curl in tight fists, you are broken, shattered, there is no glue that could piece you back together. Even if gold travels between your shards, it will not make you into something beautiful. You’ll remain a disaster. You’ll ruin him too.
“Look at me.” You shake your head, unwilling, unable to face him. “Please, Cherry, look at me. Even if you’ll leave me right now, please, I— I’d rather you leave while looking at me.”
You bite your lip, choking on the sob rising in your throat.
“Tell me you don’t love me,” he pleads, taking your palm and placing it atop his chest.You can feel the erratic thrum of his pulse, alive and desperate beneath your hand. “Say it. Say you never will. Make me believe it, so this thing inside me will die. Please.”
“I can’t say that,” you whisper. The world offers itself at your feet. “I can’t say that because I won’t mean it.” Your eyes finally meet his, you wonder what he sees in yours. You wonder how someone like him could ever love you.
You lick your lips tentatively, tasting the saltiness of your tears and the cherry of your chapstick.
“Do you know what a bleeding heart dove is? It’s a small pigeon, with a plumage so white and pristine it resembles the first snow. But right in the middle of it, there is a patch of crimson, it looks like a bullet wound Chan, it looks like his little heart is always bleeding.” Your voice cracks like glass, Chan’s eyes soften more than you’ve ever thought was possible. “That’s how I feel, like I always always carry this wound that won’t ever heal. It bleeds and it bleeds and the blood oozes so much at times that I choke with it. I don’t want to taint you with it too.”
“What if I want you to taint me?” His warm palms cradle your cheeks, threads of sunlight brushing against your skin. “What if I want you to change me? What if I want everyone who has looked at me to know that I’m loved by you?”
You smile softly, shaking your head. “That would be selfish of me.”
“Then love me selfishly, love me with greed. Just love me, Cherry. Please, love me,” he begs, his eyes boring into yours. You peer into him, his soul, the sincerity in his offering to you— his heart, so fragile, yet so resolute in loving you.
“You’re so beautiful, Channie,” you gently say, as your palms tenderly cup his cheeks. His eyes flutter closed, tears staining your hands as he leans into your touch, placing his heart right in your hands. “I’d like some time to think of myself as beautiful, too. Would you wait for me? Until I figure it out.”
He softens. “I waited for you for ten years. I’d wait for you for an eternity if I have to.”
A knot forms in your throat. “You’re so sweet, God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know you don’t pity me, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just so overwhelmed and everything spiraled down and I don’t know where to even begin now,” you ramble, and he cuts you off by placing a tender kiss atop your wrist.
“Would you breathe now?” he smiles and your world somehow brightens despite it all. “I'm not mad, alright? And we’ll figure it out together, Cherry. You have us. You always did.”
Your voice is small as you mumble– “Seungmin is mad at me.”
“He’s not. He always wants to protect you so he feels bad when you don’t let him in. You know that.”
You did, of course you do.
You feel a little less ashamed of plucking a beautiful flower out of its soil. You’ll insuflate your own soul in it to keep it blooming.
“Will you stay with me, Chan?”
“Always.”
“So, they burned down the orphanage?” Jeongin asks, disbelief thick in his voice as you finish recounting the horrors of the past month.
Your small apartment is packed the day after the fire—Winter, Jaehyun, Miss Jeeho, San, and the boys. Some sit huddled on couches, others sprawl across the floor, leaning into one another. You’ve never known that warmth could become a tangible thing, that it could weave itself around your heart like silk, drip sweetness down your ribcage like rivers of honey. You feel it, despite how harrowing the situation is, because all your friends care. They care for the orphanage like it’s their own.
“Yeah, I’m sure of it,” you reply. “We got a report of a suspicious van speeding off right after the fire started.”
“And remnants of gasoline were found at the scene,” Jaehyun adds, taking a leisurely sip out of his beer. “The police are tracing it now.”
You nod, thinking back to the police chief who happened to be one of your high school classmates. He got promoted and he promised he’d tell you first, if anything happened. “Yeah, the firefighters confirmed that it was arson. Once the police officer gets back at us I’ll file a lawsuit against them.”
“But can you believe the fucking nerve?” Felix scoffs, “I just read their statement: ‘We are extremely saddened by the news of the burning of Promise Orphanage due to faulty wiring. We promise to work side by side with the community to ensure the children are safe and living in better conditions’. Do they think we are stupid?”
“They’re lying,” Miss Jeeho says bitterly. “Trying to save face while they can.”
Hyunjin’s face pales. “This makes me sick,” he whispers. “The fact that they’d endanger those kids just for their agenda…” He trails off, shaking his head, and the room falls into a heavy silence.
“They stopped communicating through emails after you confronted Choi,” San says, his voice tight. “They must’ve realized someone was leaking information. Now everything’s confidential.”
He slumps, defeated, and you reach over to pat his back gently. “It’s okay. I don’t think they’d be dumb enough to discuss arson in emails anyways. We’ll find another way.”
“What about the kids? Are they okay?” Jeongin asks, his brows furrowed in concern.
“They’re doing fine, considering,” Minho answers, nodding toward Han. “Yeah,” Han adds with a soft laugh. “We visited this morning. They’re warm, well-fed, like michelin chef well-fed, we made sure of it, and maybe a little spoiled, we might’ve gone overboard with the toys.” The group chuckles briefly, Minho throwing a pillow at Han’s face before smiling fondly at him.
“But this is all just temporary,” Winter whispers, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears. “We can’t keep them in a rented house forever. They’ll need to be sent to different locations, scattered across the country.”
“Is there really no other way?” Changbin asks, as he squeezes Winter’s shoulder gently.
“Unless we can rebuild the orphanage in record time, then no. It’s all gone,” Miss Jeeho sighs, and you feel the knot in your throat tighten. You’ve avoided looking at her ever since the fire, you can’t bear the sight of raw grief in her eyes, specifically.
“What if we rebuild the orphanage?” Seungmin suddenly asks. It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice during the night.
“We don’t have the funds for that, Seungminnie” you say softly.
“We do,” Chan interjects firmly, “If we all donate, we can raise the money. Start a fundraiser, maybe?”
You see it then, a fickle of hope blossoming in the air.
“You know, it’s not a bad idea,” Jaehyun says, leaning forward. “Media coverage of the case is really strong and it has garnered a lot of public sympathy. I also told friends in media to keep up intense coverage since something big is simmering beneath the case.”
“I can hold a press conference then,” you say, your voice quipping up. “Expose everything, from the beginning and ask for public support.”
“And me,” Seungmin says suddenly, looking up to meet your gaze at last. His voice is steady, but his eyes are tinged with vulnerability. “I want to stand by your side. It’ll help us garner more attention too.”
“Are you sure?” you ask gently. “Are you ready to reveal where you grew up?”
“I’m not ashamed of it,” he replies softly. “It’s because of that place that I’m here today.”
Your heart swells, and tears sting your eyes as you nod. “Alright. Sounds like a solid plan.”
You’ve known loneliness long enough to recognize that it doesn’t wear a singular face.
“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. My name is Y/n Kim, and I am the lead attorney representing Promise Orphanage.”
You’ve known the loneliness that slices your bones. That cuts so deep within your marrow you’re unsure whether the sun will rise tomorrow, whether you’ll be even there to witness it. You knew it when you were ten and your parents simply never came back home.
“You are aware that Promise Orphanage has been burnt down last week. A tragedy for our community as this orphanage housed forty children who only have that place to call a home.”
You’ve known the loneliness that doesn’t stab, its sharp tip always remaining at the edges of your soul, as if threatening you, reminding you that it could sink within you at any given moment. You knew it when you were fourteen and Winter shook your hand for the first time.
“I am here to explain that this isn’t due to uncontrollable circumstances. But a crime. The fire did not start hazardously but was intentionally caused. By Sun Corporation, the subsidiary of Gyeongdo Holdings.”
You’ve known the loneliness that doesn’t fill you, but rather sits beside you on a bench. Loneliness that only manifests when you’re surrounded by people who love you, and who you love. And yet, you feel as if you are enclosed in transparent glass, always keeping you at arm’s length from them. Because your heart is different. Because you grieved a lifetime before you were old enough to understand it.
But for the first time in years, you don’t feel lonely.
Not when the people in your life have worked tirelessly with you for the orphanage, for justice, for the children. Not when a room full of journalists hang onto your every word, cameras flashing, questions flying. Your eyes scan the crowd, landing on your loved ones in the back. They nod.
The legal case is airtight. You’ve worked tirelessly with your team to gather the proof—police reports, financial records, surveillance footage. You exhale, steadying yourself, and nod toward the screen.
“We have obtained documentation, in collaboration with the authorities, confirming that a van was seen fleeing the scene moments after the fire started getting out of control. That van was rented by a company in which Sun Corporation holds 45% of the shares. The individual who rented it is also an employee at Sun Corporation, whose identity we’ll keep anonymous. For now.”
Your eyes meet San’s, and he winks—he’s the one who verified the identity, right after depositing his resignation letter at Sun Corporation.
A journalist raises his hand. “Are you saying Sun Corporation committed arson?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. But don’t take my word for it, of course.”
You press a button on the laptop connected to the speakers.
The room falls silent.
Then, the recording crackles to life.
“Are you insane?! I said a warning, not a damn inferno!”
Murmurs ripple through the crowd, cameras shifting toward the speakers as the voice, angry, panicked, continues.
“You idiots lost control of it! The fire department is involved, you know that bitch is going to the police too. Do you have any idea what’s at stake? BILLIONS! I wanted to sue them for neglect and now we are the ones who will lose EVERYTHING! Fix it, or so help me—”
The recording cuts out. The silence that follows is deafening.
Journalists erupt all at once.
“Who is that speaking?”
“Was this obtained legally?”
“Is Sun Corporation under criminal investigation?”
You raise a hand, and a hush falls upon the room.
“The voice belongs to Choi Sungho, CEO of Sun Corporation,” you confirm. “This recording was obtained from a whistleblower inside the company and has been turned over to the authorities. The police are actively investigating Sun Corporation for arson, conspiracy, and fraud.”
You think back to the brunette secretary. You now know her name—Jia. She once dreamed of becoming a lawyer too, but she needed money for her sister’s medical bills, so she had to give up her aspirations. She heard snippets of the conversations authorizing the fire and recorded the aftermath. You know she’s watching this at home too.
“This is not just a case of reckless endangerment. This is a coordinated criminal act, executed for financial gain. Sun Corporation had previously filed for a demolition permit for the orphanage, but the permit was granted under questionable circumstances.”
You gesture toward the documents on every table.
“There is evidence that Sun Corporation bribed city officials to fast-track the permit process. However, because of our legal scrutiny, the project was delayed. Burning a part of the orphanage to argue neglect was their alternative. But as you can see, it backfired.”
More whispers, more frantic typing. A journalist from the back calls out, “Are you pursuing legal action?”
“Yes. We are also working closely with law enforcement to hold all responsible parties accountable, including those within the city council who enabled this corruption.”
You suck in a deep breath, nodding towards Seungmin who was standing behind the curtains, veiled from everyone’s view.
“There is someone I’d like you to meet now.”
He steps forward, taking the mic from your hand.
The camera flashes become incessant as the interrogations ripple from everywhere.
“Is that…?”
“Wait, Kim Seungmin?”
“What is going on?”
“Hello,” he says, voice reverberating around the room. “My name is Kim Seungmin. Some of you may be familiar with who I am, but today, I do not speak to you as an Idol.” A pause. “I am here as one of the children who once lived at Promise Orphanage.”
The cameras shift, zooming in on his face. Jaehyun excitedly signals that the viewer’s count is rising up rapidly.
“I’ve never spoken about this publicly before, but I am an orphan. My sister,” he nods at you, “raised me. My fans may recognize her voice from some of our songs,” he smiles softly, before sobering up. “We moved from place to place, but Promise Orphanage was the only orphanage that felt like home. The only place where we were truly taken care of, where I was allowed to dream, thanks to Miss Jeeho, the director. She’s the one who helped me become a singer. She’s also the one who helped my sister in her fight for my custody.”
He swallows hard, steadying himself.
“This crime is not just about corporate greed. It’s about children who lost their home overnight. And now, they face being scattered across different locations, losing the only family they have left.”
His gaze fixes every camera, every journalist in place. You feel pride swell in your heart, loud and bright and all encompassing.
“We are not just seeking justice. We are seeking solutions. We are launching a legal fund to rebuild Promise Orphanage. We ask for your steady support in holding Sun Corporation accountable and in ensuring that these children are not left behind.”
“Please don’t let this injustice go unanswered.”
He bows deeply. You follow. Cameras flash, a deluge of light and sound.
It’s done, now. The end of the beginning is finally over.
Sometimes a month is just a month. Sometimes a month stretches like ten lifetimes crafted solely to hurt you. Sometimes a month slips through your fingers like running water, not yours to keep.
The past six months have been both, somehow.
You spent sleepless nights building the most solid case against Sun Corporation. Exhausting weeks passed before the judge finally struck his gavel against the wood, charging them with arson, criminal activity, bribery, and interference with civilian law. It took the sweat and tears of many to rebuild the orphanage from the charred ground. It took a lot of love to fill its multicolor walls with children’s laughter again— yours, your brother’s, your friends’, the fans’, the general public’s too.
And yet, when it was all over, when you could finally exhale without fearing the consequences of letting go, you were left with a gaping hole in your chest. Void was an insatiable creature gnawing at your heart, void was a creature that sought something you could not name.
That is until Seungmin talked to you.
“Can I sit?” he asks, pointing to the patch of shade near you. You nod, scooting over as you both lean your backs against the freshly planted pine tree. For a while, it’s quiet as you watch Han and Felix, dressed as clowns, playing hide and seek with a group of children at the orphanage’s reopening party.
“They look happy,” he whispers and you smile softly, letting their giggles waft to your ears.
“They do.”
“I never apologized for that night,” he suddenly says, turning to look at you. “When I got mad because you didn’t tell me about the orphanage.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry,” you sigh. “I knew how much this place means to you. I knew this was where you figured out what your dream was. I just… didn’t want to burden you, not when you already have so much atop your plate” you explain, gently smoothing down his bangs. “I guess a part of me still sees you as the little kid I have to protect.”
“You were a child too, protecting me,” he whispers, voice hoarse as he places his warm palm over yours. “You don’t have to protect me anymore. I promise. I’d rather you look after your own heart. Listen to what it really wants.”
Your eyes drift toward Chan. He’s playing guitar for a group of older kids, their small hands clapping to the upbeat melody. His smile is the sun. His smile tastes like the ocean breeze.
“Do you like him?” Seungmin asks softly.
Your breath catches. “What?”
“Chan. I’m not blind. I see the way you look at him. The way he looks at you, mostly.”
“Does it bother you?”
“Why would your happiness ever bother me?” He smiles, and you feel a weight dissolve in your chest. The creature within you perks up at his words.
“Then yes,” you admit, breath hitching. “I like him. So much it terrifies me.”
You speak your feelings for the first time, and yet, the sky does not collapse, the earth does not tremble beneath your feet. It feels almost miraculous— to voice what you long for and not be punished for it.
“Sometimes the things that scare us the most are the ones that make us happiest,” he says. “Because we’re scared of allowing ourselves to feel joy. Because we’ve conditioned ourselves to think we don’t deserve it.”
Tears prick your eyes, and you crack a soft smile. “Look at you, saying such wise things.”
“I’m literally twenty-four,” he deadpans and you laugh, ruffling his hair. “But you’ll always be a baby in my eyes, Seungminnie.”
“All right, all right.” He laughs, pulling you into a side hug. “But would you do it? I know you’ve sacrificed a lot for me, it must have hurt to do so,” you go to interject but he stops you, “Please. Would you listen to your heart for once?”
It takes a week away from everyone to do just that. You return to Gangneung, you walk past the blue houses, you talk to the locals and play chess with the grandpas and drink tea with the kind women at the local market. You twirl barefoot by the waves until salt clings to your skin, you lay on the sand and trace constellations with your fingertips. You sit in stillness. And you listen, truly listen, to the silence between each of your breaths. And then slowly, the melody emerges. Faint at first, like a distant lullaby. Then clearer, insistent, unwavering—stuck on a single note.
Chan.
You’ve never quite known who you were. When personality quizzes asked how your friends would describe you, you hesitated. Funny? Sweet? Practical? What about nothing—an emptiness that expands to swallow you whole? You never knew what to say when interviewees asked about your strengths and weaknesses, the things you’d like to change in your being, the ones you’d like to keep. You felt like a water lily floating aimlessly atop the still water, untethered, with no roots to return to.
But you knew you were a coward when it came to your heart. That you craved love so violently you could cleave the earth open with your ache. You knew that your mind had convinced you that you were cursed, flawed, undeserving.
But for the first time, you allow yourself to simply feel human.
You sit by the waves once more, the endless sea stretching before you. The sun disps slowly beneath the horizon, the clouds are dusted pink. Are they blushing too, at the thought of what you are about to do?
You had asked Chan to meet you on the beach at Gangneung whenever he could free himself, and he did—without hesitation. Seungmin texted you that he left the mid-writing session and jumped into his car with no second thought. He seemed happy, he said. That made you happy too.
“You look different,” Chan observes, and you turn away from the sea. His eyes are kind and you don’t shy away from his gaze, for once.
“Different?” you echo.
“At peace.”
You nod, curling your knees to your chest, resting your cheek against them. He follows suit, his legs grazing yours now and then, grounding you in his presence.
“I’ve thought a lot about what it means to be human,” you murmur. “To soften my heart, to open doors I thought were long sealed. I don’t have all the answers. But I found something.”
“What is it?”
“I found you,” you confess, so softly like you are speaking of a prayer. His eyes widen but you press on. “I weighed in the pros and cons, of what I want, of what losing what I want would cost me. And yet, in all my most horrible twisted scenarios, where you’d leave me heartbroken and bleeding, it still feels worth it. It feels worth it if it means you’d love me for a while, and that I’d love you too.”
He gently tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture tender, as all his touches are.
“A while? The only way for me to stop loving you is if my heart stops beating, Cherry.”
“So you still love me?” you ask, a bit shyly, too hopeful.
Chan blinks, then deadpans, “Are we sitting by the sea?”
You burst into laughter, the sound rolling out of you freely. As it fades, you see him—your beautiful Chan—the faint smile lines etching themselves around his lips, the kind warmth in his eyes, the remnants of dimples on his cheeks. He is so achingly beautiful it feels like an axe splitting your chest open. It feels like being born once more.
“I haven’t listened to my heart in so long,” you confess, brushing your thumb against his cheek, letting it trail softly over the corner of his mouth, a whisper against his lips. “But right now, it only wants one thing.”
“I’m yours,” he breathes, lips slightly parted.
There is no one around but the two of you and the sea. Who is there left to pretend for? The play is over. You bow to the sadness. You bow to the grief.
You take a deep breath. You dive into the water. You finally kiss Chan.
You knew that his lips would be as soft as silk, that pressing your mouth to his would be akin to breathing in oxygen for the first time, and yet, you did not imagine it to be this soul-shattering. You did not foresee the fireworks going off behind your eyelids, the bees and the bleeding heart doves singing in your chest, the garden buzzing in your stomach, telling you that you are alive, and that you are loved, at last, and that that is all that matters.
You did not imagine that he would taste like salvation, like honey and cherries and everything beautiful in between. You did not imagine that his tongue dancing along yours would feel like floating atop the sea, warm as sun, carnal like surrendering to your heart’s rawest desires.
You did not foresee that his warm palms would cradle your cheeks, that he would kiss you with the urgency of a starved man. That he would not tire of you, never ceasing, never faltering. That he would lay you on the sand and kiss you till night fell above you both, till your lips are both swollen, tender, and bleeding cherries.
“I love you,” you finally breathe, your heart throbbing all over your body, “I’m sorry it took me so long to see it.”
“Nonsense,” He smiles against your lips. “Even if you only loved my last dying breath, it would still be enough for me.”
“So, does this mean I can officially no longer flirt with you?” Han asks, eyes wide with mock horror. Seungmin flicks his forehead in response, and Chan tosses a napkin at him, an amused smile playing at his lips.
“Wait, pause, I can’t believe I lost to Chan,” Changbin pretends to weep, earning a laugh from the others.
“She’s mine,” Chan cocks his eyebrows at them, leaning back on his chair. “Go find yourselves your own partners.”
You are tucked away in a remote town of Japan, a hard-earned vacation after the turmoil you’ve went through the past months. You figured it was the best time to tell the boys that you are dating, only for wave of questions (and indignation, mostly) to immediately crash over you, followed by a group hug that lasted two full minutes, courtesy of Felix.
“Wait, but we liked you first!” Han protests once more, and Seungmin groans, his face contorting in annoyance that borders on anguish. “God, I thought I would be free of this torture.”
“I literally liked her before you guys even saw her,” Chan chimes in with a satisfied grin.
“So you’ve loved her for ten years now?” Hyunjin shouts, raising from his seat dramatically. “Wait this is so romantic.”
“I’m sorry, Jisungie, Binnie,” you tease as you press a lingering kiss to Chan’s cheek.
“Oh my god guys he’s BLUSHING!” Minho shouts, pointing excitedly at Chan. “This is too funny! Channie hyung is so flustered,” Jeongin laughs, whipping out his phone to capture the moment. “Wait, Innie pan over to Seungmin’s face!” Felix claps in pure delight, and you turn to see your brother sulking.
“What? I’m still not used to… this,” Seungmin grumbles, wiggling his fingers in front of you both in exaggerated disgust, but there’s a soft gleam in his eyes. He’s happy for you, only after threatening Chan five hundred times to treat you right, but he’s happy.
“Who wants ice cream?” Chan suddenly asks, not waiting for an answer before he grabs your hand and pulls you away.
“What was that?” you ask once you are out of the house.
“Nothing, I just wanted you all to myself for a bit,” he smiles bashfully, and you giggle, wrapping your arm around his waist. “You’re making it a habit to kidnap me,” you tease.
“Do you mind?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Good,” he grins, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Also, it’s Changbin and Jisung for you,” he chastises, a big pout tugging at his lips.
“Does Mr. Bang feel jealous when I call them Binnie and Jisungie?”
“Yes, I am. Sue me, I worked day and night to be yours. Day and night and for ten years at that too,” he sighs dramatically and you tip your head back in laughter. Your giggles lull when you see it.
“Are we standing underneath…” you draw out.
“A cherry blossom,” Chan whispers, his gaze soft and full of warmth. His smile is so wide, so radiant, it feels like your soul is buzzing, melting underneath his light.
“This reminds me… Did you fall for me because I gave you a cherry lollipop?” you tease, wrapping your arms around the nape of his neck, his hands instinctively finding your waist.
“Yeah, you must have laced that lollipop with something,” he chuckles, eyes twinkling with mischief.
“What if I hadn’t given it to you? What if we hadn’t met at all?”
He softens, his palms cupping your cheeks gently. “I would’ve found you,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against yours. He can almost taste it, vanilla and bubblegum. “In the streets of Gangneung. As you swam in the sea. In one of your courtrooms… I would’ve found you, my Cherry, and I would’ve loved you just the same.”
What does it mean to soften your heart? What does it mean to open the doors of what you thought was long sealed? The answers didn’t come to you all at once, you found them serendipitously, as you rounded up corners of paths you never thought you’d walk in.
You learned that softness is the greatest act of courage. You learned that to tear down your defenses is the greatest act of rebellion. You learned that love is a patient being, that it is all encompassing, that it heals, but only if you allow it to, only if you let it make a home out of your ribcage.
You learned that being human, unapologetically so, in all of its sorrowful and joyous shades, is to forgive, first and most. To forgive the world, for being sharp at times, for being cruel. To forgive yourself, for depriving your soul of happiness, for doing what you had to do to survive the cold.
To forgive the rust, for walking by your side for a long time. To let cinnamon and pinewood and cherries invade your senses instead, settle upon your sheets and waft into your home. To let the fire within you simmer, to let the anger go, even if it had kept you warm for a while.
For you have the sun now.
You have Chan, and he has you too, at last.
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tkwrites · 16 hours ago
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The Hughes's Take Hawaii: Maui Edition
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Title: The Hughes’s Take Hawaii: Maui Edition
Author: Tory / @tkwrites 
Relationship: Pre-established: Quinn Hughes x  Sarah Roberts / Hughes family being family 
Warnings: there’s quite a lot of pining in this, and Quinn is more than a little mopey, especially in the beginning. There's one very mild family fight and lots of brotherly chirping. Other than that, it's mostly fluff with some angst.
Summary: Quinn and his family are on Maui for their first week in Hawaii. Without the knowledge that Jack and Sarah have teamed up to surprise him, Quinn is missing her and wishing she were with them. After all, summer is a long time to be without the love of your life. The family goes snorkeling, Quinn proves just how down bad he is for Sarah, and he asks his dad a very important question, which leads to a full Hughes family discussion. All the while, Sarah and Jack are trying their best not to spoil the surprise.
Word count: 7,000
Comments: I know this snapshot has been a long time coming. The rest of the story - when Sarah and Kylee come in to surprise their guys, will be coming next (posting date tbd). I have a love hate relationship with parts of this. Quinn is so, so piney, but also I can’t see him being any other way. In any case, I think it’s still enjoyable to read. I also really enjoyed writing more about the brothers' relationships with each other. 
Anonymous asked: Will we get to see the family in Hawaii before Sarah comes? Like I could imagine Quinn just talking about her a lot not realizing she is coming. Also I feel like it would be a good time for him to ask about using his grandmas ring.  Anonymous asked: I just read your snapshot where Quinn talks about asking his dad for his grandmas ring for Sarah. I hope we get to see that and he asks in front of his brothers and Ellen as well. It would be so sweet.  Anonymous asked: I was thinking about him asking his dad for the ring in front of his brothers and Ellen.  Anonymous asked: Does Quinn get mad at Jack because Sarah isn't coming on the trip? We know she's coming as is Luke's gf, but he doesn't know that. Does he blame Jack for that, or does he just embrace the brother and family time instead. aloragrace asked: When do you envision Jim and Ellen finding out about Sarah and Kylee joining them on the trip? Are they surprised, too? Did Ellen try to get Jack to change his mind only to be told the plan? Or one of the girls accidentally tell them? Many possibilities 🤔
The Hughes's Take Hawaii: Maui Edition
A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot
Upon landing in Maui, the Hughes’ picked up their car and got dinner before going to their vacation rental. It was a beautiful, modern house full of natural light and wooden furniture. It was the rich kind of beachy - all floor to ceiling windows, skylights, and open spaces with tiled floors so the sand would be easy to sweep out. There were stainless appliances and countertops made from the cross-section of a tree - raw edges and all. It looked impressive and expensive and also homey. The furniture was plush and comfortable, as were the beds. This was what a vacation to Hawaii was supposed to be.   
On the drive from the airport, they’d decided they should take that first day to adjust to the time change, go to the store, and relax before starting their explorations in the morning. 
After helping to unload all the groceries and luggage, Quinn pulled up his world clock to check the time in Vancouver. 8 here meant it was 10 there. Sarah would be getting ready for bed. 
“Hey,” she greeted two rings in, “you made it?” 
“Yeah,” he said, settling into one of the chairs on the patio, which overlooked some cliffs towering over the ocean. The sun was dipping into the horizon behind them, turning the sky orange and pink and blue. It was so beautiful here, it was almost surreal. How could anything possibly be this beautiful? 
“How was the flight?” 
“Fine,” he said, tracing the metal filigree of the chair. 
“Did you not sleep?” 
“Hu?” 
“You seem really tired or something,” Sarah said, sitting on her bed. He was usually a little more talkative when they got on the phone. 
“I just…” he knew he shouldn’t be feeling this way. He was in paradise, and he was with his family. Millions of people would trade him for this position any day. “I wish you were here.” 
Wincing, she stood to pull pajamas from her dresser. “I know, Quinn, but you’re going to have a great time with your family.” 
“I know,” he said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “I just don’t get to see you very much this summer, and I miss you. I’m still kind of pissed that Jack wouldn’t let you come.” 
Biting her lip to keep from saying something stupid, she responded to the only thing she trusted herself to. “I miss you too.”
“You even know Hawaii,” he continued after his deep sigh rushed over the connection. 
“I gave your mom a list of things to do,” she reminded. 
Even though she had given Ellen a list, she’d done most of the planning with Jack. He’d messaged her as soon as her flights were confirmed, asking what she liked to do, and if there was anything she hadn’t been able to do while she was here.  
He booked a helicopter tour she'd always wanted to take, but never had the funding to, as well as a kayaking and hiking trip she’d been on several times, and recommended to everyone who asked her what to do in K’auai. 
“It’s not the same,” he said, knowing he sounded like a child. 
“It’s not,” she agreed, “but you’re still going to have a great time. You get undivided time with your brothers, which I know you've been looking forward to.”  
Although part of him wanted to argue the point more, Quinn let the subject drop. It was done and couldn’t be changed. Even he was growing tired of hearing himself talk about it. When he was able to see past the yawning chasm of missing her, he was looking forward to the time with his brothers.
She seemed to sense the change in his mood and asked, “what does the house look like?” 
He switched the call to FaceTime to show her the view and then took her on a tour. Everyone waved from the living room, where they’d started playing chess, when he walked through. 
By the time he made it back to the porch, she was yawning. 
“I’ll let you go,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she said, holding her free hand over her mouth. 
“No, don’t be. You’ve got work tomorrow. Call me when you’re off?” he asked.
“I will. Love you, Quinny. Have so much fun at the crater tomorrow.” Of all the activities they were doing this first week, this was the only one she was really sad to miss. She'd never been to the Molokini Crater, but the snorkeling was supposed to be unreal, legendary even. 
“I’ll take pictures,” he said. 
“I can’t wait to see.”
“Love you. Sleep well.”
“I will. Love you, Q.” 
As soon as they hung up the call, Sarah breathed a sigh of relief, slumping against the bathroom wall. It had been terrible to keep this secret from him, but now that they were so close to the surprise, it was becoming almost impossible. She couldn’t tell Quinn half of what she was really doing, and it was getting harder and harder to redirect his attention. Now, on top of all that, he was so genuinely sad she wasn’t there, it made her ache. She wanted nothing more than to tell him to just hold on for a few more days. Just a few more days, and she’d be by his side again. The surprise would be incredible, but the build up to it was becoming damn near unbearable. 
The next day started early - much earlier than Quinn was used to in the summer. Thankfully, the time difference made the 6am wakeup call feel a little less extreme. 6am Hawaii time was 11am back home. If he and his brothers hadn’t stayed up half the night talking and laughing, he would have been extremely rested. 
They had to drive to the west side of the island to catch the boat that would take them on the tour of the crater. His mom had done a ton of research and, Quinn was sure, talked to Sarah, and learned that snorkeling was best in the early morning or late evening. Always the early riser, Ellen had booked them a boat at 7. 
The Hughes boys spent most of the 45-minute drive slumped on each others shoulders, trying to catch some extra sleep. Poor Luke, stuck in the middle, got the brunt of it. 
The crater, however, was well worth the early drive and the long boat ride. Seeing the half moon of rock rising out of the waves while the morning light glinted pink off of the water as they approached on the yacht, made for an incredible sight.  
Once in the water, they saw fish and sea turtles and so much beautiful coral. It was a feast of color and texture. 
After diving for a while, Quinn let himself float, taking in the surroundings. More tour boats had arrived while he was under the surface, bringing more people and making the water more choppy.
He couldn't help but feel of two minds. It was incredible to be there and to be there with his family, but he found himself wanting to share everything with Sarah and to hear what she had to say about everything they were seeing. She knew so much about the ocean, and he had so many things he wanted to ask her about.
The peaceful scene was shattered when water flooded into his face as someone suddenly surfaced next to him. 
Spluttering and blinking salt water out of his eyes, Quinn laughed as Jack pulled his snorkel out of his mouth and gestured wildly, which only caused him to sink and splash more water around. 
“There’s some giant…” Jack paused, gasping for breath through his excitement. “Some giant thing over there,” he exclaimed, pointing at the east end. 
Quinn glanced over. 
“You can’t see it from here. Come on!” 
He hesitated for a moment, looking from Jack to the tip of the crater he was gesturing toward, wondering if this was some kind of prank. There was a crowd of people gathered, all looking the same direction, though, so there had to be something there. 
“Dude,” Jack said, an earnest, eager look on his face, “come on.” 
So Quinn followed. They made their way to the front of the crowd, and when Quinn dipped below the surface, a huge fish came into view. It was spotted and gliding through the water with lazy swishes of its tail. Compared with the beast, the people in front of it looked tiny, as if it could swallow them whole. 
“See?” Jack demanded, when they came back up for air. Pushing his shoulder, he sent more water over Quinn
“What is that?”
“How would I know? Some kind of whale?”
Quinn looked around, spotting his parents a ways off. 
After waving and yelling at Luke to join them, they all met in an open spot of water just off from the crowd. 
“Did you see the leopard shark?” their dad asked. 
“Is that what that is?”
Jim shrugged. “I don't know. That’s what someone by us called it.” 
“Kinda big for a shark, isn't it?” Luke asked. 
Jim shrugged, “Sarah could tell us.”
“Well, she’s not here,” Quinn pointed out, not quite able to bite back the accusing tone in his voice. 
“Can't you send her a picture?” Jack asked to stop himself from apologizing. He had every right to request their vacation to be just their family. Not to mention that Sarah would be joining them in less than 6 days. He didn’t need to feel guilty for anything, and especially didn’t want to ruin the surprise. 
“Oh. Yeah,” he supposed he could once they were back in the boat. “Give me the GoPro,” he gestured to Luke, making a grabbing motion. 
Luke passed him the camera, and Quinn dove back under the water.
Each time they surfaced after that, even if Quinn was still under water, at least one of them would wonder what Sarah could tell them about what they'd just seen.
All in all, they were in the water until 1pm, by which time Quinn was so hungry, he felt like his stomach might just eat its way right out of his body. He'd never been so glad for his moms experience as a hockey mom when she pulled protein bars, trail mix and even Gatorade from that giant beach bag of hers on the boat ride back to the island.
It was at least enough to get back to the car and find a place for a small lunch before going to the luau that night.
“Luke, are you ready?” Ellen called down the hall. She told everyone to be ready at 5:30 so they could leave by six, but Luke was taking his time. She wondered if he was on the phone with Kylee. 
“Yeah!” he called back, “just putting on my shoes.” 
In a list of things to do, going to a Luau wasn’t on the top of his, but his mom wanted to go, and, as his dad pointed out, she put up with enough stuff she didn’t like, they could spend at least one night doing something she really wanted. 
When they finally pulled out at 6:05 and Ellen put their destination in her GPS, she realized their timing was a little off. She’d been certain the center was twenty minutes away. They must have been further from their house when she looked it up earlier. Now, they were only ten minutes away and would arrive more than thirty minutes early. At least they wouldn’t miss anything. 
“Why did we have to leave so early?” Jack asked as they pulled in and paid for priority parking. 
“I thought it was further away,” she said. 
The boys looked at each other, wondering if she’d told them to be ready so early so that they would be there on time. It was a bad day to be punctual. 
A woman in a grass skirt and coconut bra welcomed them in without question, giving them each a lei, and leading them to their seats. The crazy thing was they weren’t the only one’s there. At least five other groups were already seated at the long counters overlooking the stage. 
Sarah called as they were waiting for the show to start. 
As soon as he’d picked up, Luke snatched the phone from Quinn’s hand. “Did you see the leopard shark?” he demanded.
“The whale shark, you mean?” she asked. 
“Is that what it was?”
“Who said it was a leopard shark?” she asked, giggling.
“Some woman near us,” Jim said, reaching across Quinn to take the phone. “So, it was a whale shark? Everyone seemed really scared of it.”
“That's too bad.”
“Why?” Ellen asked, popping into the frame. 
Quinn huffed. She’d called him, and now she was talking to everyone but him. 
“I mean, you shouldn't just swim right up to a wild animal, but whale sharks only eat plankton, so they're usually pretty docile,” Sarah explained. “There was one that used to swim by our conservation cove a lot that we nicknamed Ferdinand. He was always really sweet. We'd pet him and stuff, and he never minded.”
Before Quinn could break in, Jack was reaching across his mom to take the phone, “you're telling me I could have pet a whale?”
“A whale shark,” she corrected.”They're not really whales. They have different fins and different skeletal systems.”
“Whatever,” he said with an impatient wave of his hand. “I could have touched it?”
“Maybe? Was someone telling people to back off?”
“I don't know, we didn't get any closer than that.”
“You might have then?” How was she supposed to know when she hadn't been there? 
“This is bullshit,” Jack said, “I told you we should have gone closer,” he said, shooting a sarcastic look at his mom.
“I didn't know what it was,” she said, instantly defensive. “It was a big thing in the ocean. Big things in the ocean eat people.”
Sarah giggled, and unable to stand it any longer, Quinn interrupted, “can I talk to my girlfriend, please?” His demand came out strained and too loud as he practically lay across his dads portion of the table, reaching for the phone. 
Several people sitting in front of them glanced over their shoulders at his sudden outburst.
“Sorry Quinny,” Jack said, handing it back as he fought to bite back his laughter. He'd known Quinn was anxious to talk to Sarah. It was one of the reasons he'd been so quick to steal the phone from his dad before Quinn could break in. He wanted to see just how long he could stand it. 
Jim chuckled as he passed the phone to Quinn, knowing that this outburst would go down in Hughes family history. An instant classic, bound to be brought up at parties and dinners anytime someone asked about Quinn and Sarah. We knew he was whipped when…
Sarah was giggling when Quinn’s face appeared on her phone screen. She was anxious to talk to him, too, but she would be lying if she said she didn’t love the fact that she could hold a conversation with every one of his family members now. It was a relief, really.
“Hi,” he said, feeling heat rise into his cheeks as the reality of what he’d just done settled on him. He was almost always desperate to talk to her, but he could usually hide it better.
“Hi,” she said, a ghost of a laugh still on her face. 
Now that he got a good look at her, he saw she was sitting at her desk, wrapping her hair around some kind of contraption he knew was for heatless curls. He’d seen her do it once before: after they got back from their escapades in his parents' car in New Hampshire.
“How was your day?” he asked, trying not to feel awkward about talking to her not only with his family as an audience but a growing number of strangers in the amphitheater as well. 
“It was good. I finally got Walter to respond the way I thought he would with the dopamine. I figured out I was using too much. How was yours? Did you enjoy the crater?” 
“Yeah, it was so beautiful. I wish you could have seen it.” 
Even knowing he was likely going to say something like this didn’t stop Sarah’s heart from catching in her throat. She wished she could have seen it, too. It’d been on her bucket list the entire time she’d lived in Hawaii, but she’d never made it there. “We’ll go back someday,” she said smoothly, glad that she’d rehearsed something to say. 
Her response soothed something in him. Yes, she wasn’t here, but they could always come back another summer or during a break in the season. They’d have to come back eventually to get her tattoo at any rate.
“Oh, damn,” she said as the scrunchie she’d been getting ready to wrap around the end of her curler flicked off her fingers, sailing into the closet. 
When she got up to retrieve it, he got a clear view of her room. His eyes were immediately drawn to the riot of color covering her bed. Her space was usually very tidy, but today, she had a bunch of what looked like swimsuits spread out over her patchwork quilt.
“Are you going somewhere?” 
Sarah stopped, mentally cursing herself for letting the hair tie get away from her. If it hadn’t, he wouldn’t have been able to see the piles of clothing she was going through so she could more easily decide what to pack. 
Deciding to feign ignorance, she asked, “hu?”
“You have swimming suits all over your bed?” 
Jack glanced at his mom, eyes wide. He was going to be so pissed if Sarah was about to blow the surprise over a bunch of swimming suits. 
Ellen subtly shook her head, trying to tell him not to react. 
When she’d seen Jack’s opinion of Sarah shift a little more after the family reunion, she asked him if, maybe, he’d consider inviting Sarah to Hawaii. It wasn’t that she didn’t want the time with just their family, but she hated seeing Quinn so moody when he and Sarah were apart. Getting that happy side of her oldest son back in New Hampshire made her rethink Jack’s insistence on the vacation being just them. 
That’s when he’d filled her in on the plan to surprise his brothers, making her swear not to tell anyone else because, “dad can’t keep a secret for shit.” She found herself surprised and so proud that not only was he planning something so special for his brothers, he was welcoming the girls into the family in a way he hadn’t before. 
Now, she was trying to keep him from blowing their cover by reacting to Sarah’s honest mistake.
After retrieving her hair tie, Sarah sat back at her desk and tried to keep her voice level as she told him a partial truth, “Jane, Eunice and I are going to the beach tomorrow. I was just deciding what suit to wear.” She and her roommates were headed to the beach the next day, though Sarah usually didn’t pull out every swimsuit she owned for an outing like that. 
He jumped on her story immediately, "not the black one."
"Why not?" She asked, glancing over her shoulder, where it was laid out on her pillow, already in the ‘yes’ pile. "I thought you liked that one." 
"I do like that one. You look incredible in it." 
Incredible wasn't quite the best word - she could be on the cover of Sports Illustrated in that bikini.
"So I can only wear it around you?" she teased, finally getting the last of her hair secured in place. 
"Well, no," he flustered, caught in his imagined jealousy of some guy seeing her at the beach with her friends, thinking she was hot and single. 
Pressing her lips together, she tried not to laugh at his flushed cheeks. "I promise I'll wear it the next time we go to the beach together." If only he knew how soon that would be. 
It wasn’t quite the conversation he wanted to have as his family was around, but it was when they could talk, so he took what he could get. 
“Talk tomorrow morning?” she asked when he told her the show was about to start and he had to hang up.
He nodded, already planning to get out of the house so they could talk without anyone overhearing. 
“Okay, love you, Quinn.” 
“Love you, too.” 
“Bye, Sarah,” Luke said, jutting into the frame. 
“Bye everyone,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief as the screen went black. All things considered, that call could have been so much worse. At least she’d been able to redirect him away from thinking she was going somewhere. 
The lights in the amphitheater dimmed, and Jack couldn’t help but seize the opportunity to chirp his brother a little before the moment passed them by. “I didn’t know you were down THAT bad, Quinny.”
“Fuck off.” 
“Boys,” Ellen reprimanded, “we’re in public.” 
“He started it,” Quinn said, pointing at Jack. 
“I don’t care who started it. Watch your language. We’re not at the rink.”
Jack smirked, glad to have pulled the reaction out of Quinn he’d been aiming for.  
The next morning, Quinn woke before everyone else, having set an alarm expressly for that purpose. He wanted some time alone with Sarah, even if it was just to hear her voice.
The phone rang five times and went to voicemail. As he was checking the time — it was nine in Vancouver — his phone buzzed and her photo appeared on the screen. 
“Hey,” he said. The greeting came out as a breathed sigh of relief.
“Hi,” she said through a yawn.
“Did I wake you up?” he asked, guilt creeping into his stomach.
“No, not really.” He had, but she wasn’t going to make him feel bad about it. It was well past the time she should be up anyway. “What’s up?” 
“I just wanted to talk,” he said. “We didn’t really get the chance last night. Not about important stuff, at least.” 
“Important stuff?” she repeated, feeling hesitation flutter in her chest. “What important stuff?” 
“Just like, us, you know?” 
“I don’t,” she said, voice gone wary. What was he getting at here? 
“I just mean…” he sighed, deciding he should just be honest, “I just want to hear your voice. Hear about your week.” 
“That’s the important stuff?” she asked, feeling a little whiplashed. 
“It’s important to me.” 
Something in her melted. “I thought I’d pissed you off or something.” 
“No. I’m just –” he was just desperate is what he was, and the longer they were apart, the harder it was to hide it. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too, Quinn,” she said,
“Just want to have a conversation with you where I get to keep you to myself,” he confessed. 
“Is this your way of telling me you want to have phone sex?” she asked, her voice lilted with teasing. 
“I mean, I'm on a public street right now, which would be a little awkward, but if you want to get yourself off, I wouldn’t say no.”
She laughed, and he smiled at the sound.  
“So how was your week?” 
“Good,” she told him about the tour she’d given to a rowdy bunch of daycare kids, one of whom fell into the touch tank while trying to pet the sting ray on the other side, and the string of experiments that all failed until they hadn’t. 
It wasn’t as good as having her with him, but hearing her while he walked in such a beautiful place made her not being there more bearable than it had been. 
He told her about the snorkeling, making sure to let her know everyone in his family mentioned wanting her around so she could tell them what they were looking at. 
She smiled, thinking of the snorkeling cove she planned to take them to on K’awai. They’d get that chance, at least. 
“So what are you doing next week?” he asked. He knew they’d talk before then, but he liked to know her plans so he could mentally picture where she’d be.
“Going to Trav’s house tomorrow” she said, “and then I have to cram a bunch of stuff in on Monday since I won’t be back to work…” she trailed off, mentally cursing herself.  She’d managed to keep this secret from him for two months through two family vacations, and now she’d almost given it up twice in a span of less than twenty-four hours. 
“Why are you only working on Monday?” he asked. She hadn’t told him she had any big plans. He would have remembered. 
“I —” her mind raced. “They asked me to help out at the rehab hospital with Dr. Forrest,” she lied. They were real plans, but they wouldn’t be taking place for another few weeks. “He wants me to get more exposure to that side of things.”
“That’s awesome, Sar,” he said. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought Sarah was lying. She usually halted like that when she was lying. But why would she lie about this? She’d been wanting to break into the research unit for months. 
Sarah breathed a silent sigh of relief, glad to have dodged that bullet. 
“I wish you were coming here,” he said. 
“I know, Q,” she said, “but we’ll see each other soon.” It was the same answer she’d been giving him all summer. He just didn’t know soon would be much sooner than he expected. “And I’m glad you’re getting family time in.” 
The call continued as he made his way back to the house. They talked about nothing and everything and made plans for her trip to Michigan. 
“I can’t wait to show you the lake,” he said. “It’s so peaceful out there.” 
“It sounds really nice.” She knew Quinn loved it in Michigan and that it was more home than anywhere else for him. “I want to see campus, too.” 
He beamed. “I’ve gotta take you to Yost. It’s like…”
He was going to tell her it was like a cathedral, but she didn’t finish his sentence. He’d brought it up every time they talked about the Michigan trip. She liked the way he talked about it — with reverence and steeped in memory. It obviously meant so much to him, she couldn’t wait to see him there. 
“It’s like a cathedral,” he said dreamily.
“I can’t wait.” 
He was back at the house now. He could see Jack at the stove and his parents in the kitchen, preparing coffee. Luke must still be asleep.
Sliding into one of the metal deck chairs, he knew he needed to end the call but put it off a little while longer. Having to say goodbye was the worst part of any phone call with Sarah.
“Are you back at the house?” she asked. 
“How’d you know?” 
“It sounds different. And I can tell you’re not walking anymore.” 
Laughing a little, he marveled at her attention to detail. These little things made him feel seen, like she was really paying attention. 
“I guess I have to let you go,” she said, and he was glad she was doing the hard part this time. 
“I don’t want to,” he said, surprised to find there was no whine in his voice. It was just a statement of fact. He didn’t want to let her go.
“I know, but we’ll be together before you know it.” 
He was never doing a summer like this again. “Yeah.” 
“I love you, Quinn.”
“I love you, too, Sarah.” 
“We’ll talk soon?” 
“Yeah. Tomorrow?”
“Sounds perfect. I’m free anytime before four. I love you.” 
“Love you, too.” 
She even did the hardest part for him and hung up the phone. 
Sighing, he lay his head back against the cold metal of the seat as the hand holding his phone fell into his lap.
“Was that Sarah?” his dad asked, coming out to the porch with a mug of coffee.
“Yeah,” Quinn said, still looking up at the sky. 
“I’m sorry she couldn’t be here.” 
“Me too.” 
“You know Jack means well.”
“I know,” Quinn admitted with a sigh. “I just — I miss her, you know?” 
Jim hadn’t felt the kind of honeymoon love in a long time, but he remembered it clearly. Wanting to spend every moment he could with Ellen, and feeling like time without her was time wasted. Looking back on it now, it seemed like some kind of euphoric fever dream. He got glimpses of it every once in a while, but the settled, understanding, companionable kind of love he and Ellen shared now wasn’t something he’d be willing to give up for anything.
“You really love her, don’t you?” 
“Yeah, I do.” It felt nice to say it out loud to someone else. He knew he loved Sarah. He’d known for a long time, but to be able to voice it to someone else made it more real. 
 “I was actually wondering —” Quinn cut himself off. Was he really about to ask this question?
His dad nodded, encouraging him to go on as he took a sip from his mug. 
“If I could use grandma's ring?” he asked in a rush, forcing the words out before he lost the nerve. 
When his grandmother had died, she gifted a ring to each of her children. Jim walked out with her engagement ring, and the romantic streak in Quinn had always imagined using it as his own engagement ring when he found someone he wanted to marry.
Jim’s eyes widened in shock. He knew Quinn and Sarah were serious and likely headed toward marriage, but Quinn was usually more level-headed than this. 
“Not now!” he jumped to clarify, practically shouting. His voice grew softer as he continued to explain, “we haven’t even been dating a year. I don’t want to marry her right now, but I’ve never felt like this before, and I…I always imagined proposing with that ring.” Quinn felt a blush flood his cheeks with the admission. “I think Sarah would really like it. She’s not one to like something flashy, you know?” 
“I didn’t know you were even interested in that ring,” Jim admitted. He’d figured none of the boys would actually use it, and it would eventually go to one of their daughters-in-law if she thought it was pretty. More likely, he thought it would end up with one of his nieces. Ellen wore it occasionally on a night out, but the women his boys dated all seemed like they would like something more…well, something more. He agreed that Sarah did seem the type to want something more practical. 
“I just…” Quinn paused, trying to find the right words, “you always talked about one of us giving it to our future wife.”
Jim had no idea that sentiment had actually stuck. Plus, things were so different now that all of them had multi-million dollar salaries. Who would choose an old heirloom with a few small, bright diamonds over a giant rock like he saw most players' wives wearing?
“We’ll have to make sure it’s okay with your brothers,” he said. It felt sort of perfunctory, but he couldn’t just go giving something to one of them without talking to the other boys, too. 
He nodded.
“We could always ask now,” Jim offered, noticing Quinn playing with the fabric of his basketball shorts. It was one of his nervous tells. “I think Jack’s almost got breakfast ready.” That was something he’d never expected to say while on vacation, but the boys had all volunteered to cook breakfast as they were shopping. He knew, more than anything, it was a surefire way for each of them to get what they wanted at least once, but as a parent, he’d take what he could get. 
Quinn agreed. He wanted to have the idea settled. He’d been sitting with it enough now that he knew he wanted to marry Sarah. He wasn’t going to barge forward just yet. They needed to know each other through all four seasons and live together before he did, but as long as everything continued on the path it was on now, he wanted a ring on her finger. He wanted to make it official in every way possible.
The rest of the family was around the table when they walked back inside. 
“Took you long enough,” Jack huffed, going to the stove to bring over the eggs, bacon, and pancakes he’d made. 
“We were just talking,” Jim said casually, taking his seat across from Ellen. 
“Yeah?” she asked, spooning scrambled eggs onto her plate. 
“Quinn has a question for everyone.” 
They all turned to look at him expectantly. He should have known his dad wouldn’t let him off easy. He always wanted his sons to do the hard work.
“I…” he cleared his throat, “I was asking dad if I could use grandma's ring.” 
Before the freak out he could see building on Jack and Luke’s faces came about, he rushed to continue, “not now. I don’t want to propose now, but eventually. I’ve always wanted to use that ring.” 
Instead of a freakout, Luke’s fork clattered to his plate, exploding a small mound of scrambled egg over the table. “I want to use that ring,” he said, his voice on the cusp of a whine. He and Kylee had been dating the longest. They should have first dibs, even if Quinn was the oldest, and he and Sarah might be closer to actually getting married. 
“I’ve thought about it, too,” Jack admitted, staring down at his plate. 
Jim looked across the table to Ellen, who’s surprised expression mirrored his own. 
“I suppose,” Ellen said, “it would go to the first one of you to get married.”
“Hmm,” Jim pulled a face, “I don’t want any of them rushing into marriage just so they can have it.”
All three of his sons slumped into their seats in identical expressions of defeat. He almost laughed. Sometimes, it felt like they forgot who raised them. 
“Who gets it, then?” Quinn asked, pushing his eggs around his plate.
“Well, traditionally, it would go to the oldest, right?” Ellen asked, looking at Jim for backup. 
“That’s not fair!” Luke burst out, his youngest child whine coming out. “It shouldn’t go to Quinn just because he’s oldest. It’s not my fault,” he pointed a finger at his own chest, “I was born last!” 
A heavy silence spilled over the table.
“We could get copies made,” she suggested when Jim didn’t say anything, She wasn’t about to touch that with a ten foot pole. She’d always thought inheritance in male birthright order was stupid, but she didn’t have another solution.
Jack snorted, “yeah because that’s not weird.” As much as he wanted to, Jack knew he didn’t really have a claim in the conversation. Luke and Quinn both had serious girlfriends, and Jack hadn’t dated anyone for more than three months since he and Madison broke up. He felt so separate from his brothers in this and nearly suggested that he ought to be the one to get it since he was the only single one. They already had girlfriends. Why should they get thing ring, too? Even thinking it, he knew it didn’t make any sense. 
“What’s so weird? You all like it.”
“Because it belonged to grandma,” Luke said, “not because of what it looks like.” 
“If you can’t decide, you could all use it as your engagement ring - give it back after the wedding,” Jim offered. 
Quinn grimaced. Glancing up, he found an identical expression on Luke’s face. Jack was staring at his plate, forlorn.
“I hate that idea,” Quinn said when no one else spoke up. Then, he shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth to stop himself from saying something stupid like that he’d rather Luke have the ring than make Sarah give it back after they got married. If he said that out loud, Luke would jump on it — he would too if the roles were reversed — and he wasn’t ready to give up just yet. If it came down to it, he’d give it to Luke, but he wanted his shot. 
“Well,” Ellen said, stepping into the diplomatic role once again, “since none of you are ready to get married just yet, we have some time to figure out what to do.” 
“Yeah,” all three of them said in matching tones of resignation. 
They spent that afternoon at one of the most beautiful golf courses they’d ever seen. Luke won by one stroke, and Quinn couldn’t help but think Sarah would have taken them all to task if she was there. 
The next day found them at a small beach, trying to surf. The actual surfing wasn’t a problem. They all had excellent balance and wake surfed in the lake back home, but paddling out to catch a wave was exhausting. 
After fifteen or so attempts, Quinn decided to take a break and flopped onto the beach blanket next to Jack, who was reading a crime thriller Quinn had recommended to him. 
“Wha’d’ya think?” 
“It’s good so far. This Audrey woman is nuts.” 
Quinn laughed, remembering, “yeah, she gets worse.”
Jack didn’t think that could be possible, but it was fiction for a reason. 
When he finished the chapter, Jack shut the book and set it back in the big basket his mom had brought. She and their dad were on a walk. If he’d been following their progress correctly, they were the two little specks in front of the sandy cliff around the north side of the bay.
“I can’t believe you’re getting ready to propose to someone,” Jack said when he and Quinn had been sitting in silence for a while. 
“I don’t know that I’m getting ready, really.” 
“Whatever. Semantics,” Jack defended, waving away his rebuttal. 
Quinn laughed. “Can you call it semantics when it’s about a life altering question?” 
“I just mean like, you know, you know? I’ve never felt that way.” Truthfully, Jack always thought he would be the first one to get married. He was more outgoing than his brothers, and he’d had more girlfriends. Although he supposed this was probably one of those things where quality held more weight than quantity. At the rate things were going, he was likely to be the last. 
“Yeah,” Quinn agreed, leaning back on his elbows. He hadn’t expected to feel like this either. Comparing this summer to the one before was like comparing apples to oranges. Sure, they were both summers, but he felt so off kilter last year, and this year, other than wishing he and Sarah weren’t living apart, he felt settled. 
“It just seems right, you know?” he said with a shrug.
“I’m excited to spend more time with her,” Jack said. 
Quinn glanced at him, “when are you spending more time with my girlfriend?”
Oh, Fuck. Jack’s heart jumped into his throat, and he coughed, trying to clear it. “Just that…” he couldn’t believe he’d just said that. He was excited to spend time with Sarah, see how she was around just their family, but he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. They were only two days away from the surprise, and he was blowing it. He consciously stopped himself from slapping his hand to his forehead. A reaction like that would undoubtedly give him away. “I mean, she’s coming to Mich, right?” 
“Yeah,” Quinn said, sighing as he lay on his back. He’d put his t-shirt back on, but the sun still licked through the fabric, making him feel warm and sleepy. “Next month.” 
Glancing over, Jack was relieved to see Quinn relaxed. Either he was an excellent actor — doubtful — or he’d managed to redirect him enough to not be suspicious. It was time to change the subject.  
“You need to throw those glasses in the ocean, man,” Jack said, reaching over to pull the gold frames from his face. Jack knew he liked them, but everyone else agreed they were awful. He thought they made Quinn look like a finance bro. 
Quinn smacked his hand away. “I like them. Sarah likes them.”
“She does?” Maybe he needed to rethink his opinions of her. She apparently had worse taste than he thought. “Has she seen them?” 
Glaring, Quinn pushed himself up onto his elbows so he could get a better look at Jack, who was sitting with one of his legs bent, an arm loosely slung around it. 
“Yes. She’s —” he broke off. “I think she’s seen them.” 
Jack scoffed, “I don’t think she has. They’d give her the ick.” 
“Fuck off. I do not give Sarah the ick, I can promise you that.” 
“You don’t, but those glasses will. Just throw them in and get it over with.” 
“First of all, that’s bad for the environment. Secondly, I like them, and third, they were expensive.” 
Jack threw his hands in the air in defeat. “One day,” he said, pointing at Quinn, “One day I will make you see reason.” 
“Yeah, sure,” Quinn snorted. 
“Are we talking about Quinn’s fuck-ass glasses?” Luke asked, walking up to the blanket and dripping water over everything.  
“See?” Jack demanded, pointing at their youngest brother as Luke reached for a towel. 
By the end of the day, Quinn’s cheeks and stomach hurt from laughing so hard. He had to admit, it was really nice to get this time with his family away from training and the grind of daily life, even if Sarah was still in Vancouver. Now, more than ever, he understood why Jack wanted this vacation to be just them. 
Everything would figure itself out. They’d decide who got their grandmas ring, and Sarah would come to Michigan, and then move in when he got back to Van. And the next time a family vacation came around, Quinn knew Sarah wouldn’t get left behind. 
Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist
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badbihsemiluvr · 14 hours ago
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hi can you please make a jealous se-mi x fem! reader au like smut+some angst and fluff at the end for it like se-mi gets jealous when she sees reader talking or (whatever you prefer) with other girls but it’s just bcoz reader saw some random girl hitting on se-mi and se-mi didn’t right away turn off them so it ended up like se-mi showing that she only has eyes for reader with kinda rough s3x (but only if you’re comfortable with it!) no pressure at all and thanks in advance! your writing is saurr great!!!
jealousy is a drug 🚬 𖥔 ݁ ˖
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semi (player 380) x fem reader
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!! cw/tw !! 18+, dom semi x sub reader, flirting with other women, jealous + possessive semi, yelling/fighting, mentions of alcohol + cigarettes, car sex, rough sex, degrading, strap on usage (r! receiving), semi refers to her strap as her dick, semi calls the reader a slut often, reader crys during sex, oral (r! receiving), hickeys (giving + receiving), princess treatment once you get home <3
overview: your gf, semi has always been overprotective of you. especially when you talk to/have encounters with other women. but when she does it, it’s ok? jealousy is a two way street, so you decide to teach semi a lesson in jealousy during your night out at the club.
!! an !! hey guys this is a bit of a long one, so prepare urself. if u love toxic angsty smut this one’s for u. also!! this took me HOURS to write, because the entire smut portion got deleted after i spent 2 hours on it, i had a major crash out moment and got such bad writers block after that. anyways, regardless of that incident i feel like this is one of my best works yet, hopefully you guys enjoy it as much as i do! 🤞🏻
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you and your girlfriend, semi, live very stressful lives. you guys are in severe debt so you live paycheck to paycheck. it’s rare the two of you have a night out to forget about all the worries of your world. but tonight, the two of you decided to go out to one of the craziest clubs in seoul, club pentagon.
you put on a white slip dress that looked angelic against your skin tone, and your favorite thigh high boots. semi’s glossy eyes were practically glued to your figure, she stared in awe.
“like what you see?” you say, a slight smirk forming on your lips. “mhmmm” semi hums, eyes still observing every inch of your body.
“isn’t that a little too scandalous to go out in?” semi says with a hint of protectiveness in her tone. “no i don’t think so, it’s a club everyone will be dressed like this.” you say with firmness in your voice, knowing you weren’t gonna change your outfit to make your girlfriend happy.
“let’s get going then.” semi said as she slides her hand behind your waist, leading you out the door. once you arrive to her car, she opens the door for you like the gentle man she is. she gets in the drivers seat shortly after.
semi cranks the engine, and turns on the radio. the two of you yap, and admire the beautiful sights of seoul as you make your way to the club. it’s quite a drive from your shared apartment.
finally, you arrive to the club. semi pulls in the parking lot and finds a spot. “you ready, love?” semi says. you nod with a gleam in your eye, ready to drink away all your problems. you and semi walk hand in hand to the line to enter the club. after what felt like forever waiting in the line, due to the club being the most popular in seoul, the bouncer lets the both of you in.
the second you and semi enter the club, she grabs your wrist, immediately leading you through the haze of neon flashing lights to the bar. she orders the both of you some shots of soju, to start the night off.
the bartender slides the glasses her way, and semi hands you two shots to take. you throw them back in unison, the burn of the alcohol lingered in your throat. you take a moment to look around, taking in the crazy environment of the club. there were girls throwing up in corners, people putting god knows what in their drinks, and a thick smoke filled the air.
you look semis way, and see a gorgeous tall brunette girl approaching her. you didn’t think much of her, until she started flirting with your girlfriend. she slid effortlessly onto the empty seat beside semi, and drunkenly muttered “well aren’t you something.”
semi let out a chuckle, brushing her fingers through her messy black hair. “is that supposed to be a good thing or a bad thing?” she says with a slight smirk on her lips. you felt a fire growing inside of you, how could she be so naive. this woman was clearly flirting with her, and she didn’t even turn her away. she was playing into it, and that made you pissed.
“I don’t know wanna find out?” the woman said, eyes black with lust. semi shook her head, with an amused look on her face. “well aren’t you bold?” semi says eyes wide. you roll your eyes at her comment, grabbing semis wrist pulling her back into reality. the reality that she was in a relationship, with you.
semi finally turned the woman down by saying, “sorry, i’m actually in a relationship.” signaling to you. the woman is slightly taken aback when she sees you with a cold look on your face, apologies quickly escape her lips. you brushed off the apology, not necessarily mad at the woman. but more so mad at semi, for leading her on. it made you wonder, does she do this often?
semi turned to you, seemingly unfazed by the encounter and unaware of how mad it really made you. she mutters “i’m gonna step out for a quick cigarette, that ok?” you roll your eyes, wondering if she was gonna go sneak out to hook up with the woman from earlier. it’s not like the club cared if people smoked inside.
as semi slipped away to smoke, you sat at the bar filled with anger and frustration. “can i get another round?” you uttered in a low tone to the bartender. he nodded and slipped you another round of shots. ?you downed the alcohol faster than you could think of all the possibilities of what your girlfriend could be doing.?
as the alcohol from earlier started to kick in, your angry demeanor loosens up. you think of a idea that surely will give semi a taste of her own medicine. a subtle smirk forms on your lips, knowing what you were about to do was slutty, but you didn’t give a fuck.
you get up from the bar, making your way to the dance floor. the air was heavy with with sweat, lust, and smoke. the loud bass of the music and people yelling were so loud you could barely think straight.
you spot a woman in the distance with short black curly hair, slightly covering her face, and a cold composure that reminded you a lot of semi. she looked like she was alone, and could use some company from a pretty girl like you.
you approached the woman, tapping on her shoulder. she turned back to face you, her eyes looking you up and down taking in the sight of your beauty.
“you looked lonely, wanna dance?” you say in a low tone, returning the stares she was giving you. she nods, agreeing to the offer. you grab her by the wrist and pull her closer to the door, making sure semi would see you guys when she came back. the woman shakes her head in confusion at your sudden actions.
she grabs your waist and you wrap your arms around her neck, the two of you start dancing. “you drag me across the club like a maniac, don’t i at least get the privilege of knowing your name?” she whispers in your ear as the two of you sway to the music. you smirk at her words, and mutter “it’s y/n, and why does that matter?” “because i needed a name to put with this pretty face.” the woman says as her rough, calloused hands grazed over your jawline, tucking some loose hairs behind your ear.
as the two of you dance and make meaningless conversation, semi comes back into the club after her smoke break outside. her eyes scan the club, looking for you, clearly no longer at the bar anymore. she finally spots you in the distance, dancing with the mystery woman.
semi couldn’t even form coherent thoughts when she sees the woman all over you, the way you were smiling at her, the hand placement. semi angrily walks over to the two of you. she grabs you tightly, instantly removing you from the woman.
“and who the fuck are you?” she shouts passionately at the woman. “uhh, i’m saebyeok? and who are you.” the woman says with confusion evident in her tone. “i’m your worst nightmare. get the fuck away from my girlfriend” semi curses at her, dragging you outside of the club by the wrists like a kid that’s about to get scolded.
“what the fuck was that about?” she yells at you, her voice filled with intense anger. “just a friend, i was dancing with to pass the time while i waited on my girlfriend to finish doing god know what.” you say, your voice shaky. hearing your words, semi gets more heated.
“excuse me? i told you i needed a smoke, what the hell else did you think i was doing?” she mutters slowly backing you up to a nearby wall. you felt an ounce of fear take over, you’ve never seen semi THIS jealous to the point of physical anger.
tears slowly escape your eyes, smudging your eyeliner as semi continues to yell at you. people on the streets were looking at the encounter as you just stood there and took it, scared of what semi might do next. you knew she would never get physical with you, but with the alcohol in her system, that might change things.
semi noticed the stares, and didn’t want the police called for causing such a disturbance. she grabbed you and whispered “we’ll continue this conversation in the car.” with an annoyed look plastered on her face, acting like the people staring were interrupting something.
you and semi head back to the car, not speaking at all, but a heavy unspoken anger filled the air. the second you got to the car semi unlocked it, this time not opening the door for you. she scoffs and gets in the drivers seat.
the second the two of you are both in the car, the insults continue “you are such a slut, y/n? you know that. i step out for one second and your already over there with a new bitch.” semi practically barks in your face.
you finally snap at the way she’s treating you, practically sobbing you say “why do you think i did it, semi? i don’t have any fucking interest in that saebyeok. i did it to make you jealous.” semi’s demeanor slightly changes when she hears your muffled words. “what? why would you wanna make me jealous?” she says with confusion in her voice, acting naive like she didn’t know what she did to you.
“oh my god semi, don’t be fucking stupid. that woman from the bar earlier, she clearly wanted you and you were feeding into it.” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. when you say that, semis eyes soften. “baby, i had no clue you felt that way about that little encounter. i truly thought it was a meaningless interaction with a drunk girl. i mean i was laughing the whole conversation.” semi says, her demeanor switching from mad to understanding.
“well, it really did hurt me. it made me feel ignored, and worthless. especially when you had to leave the second after talking to that woman.” semis hand locks with yours, the other brushing the loose hairs behind you ears. she gently says “baby, i will always be yours. no other woman could compare to you. and i wouldn’t risk my future with you for some with some stupid drunk whore.” she laughs, eyes glazing over your body.
the heavy breathing and tears stop, as semi comforts you. her fingers ghost over your thigh, and she places a light peck on your lips. “i love you so much, princess.” she whispers, her face inches from yours.
you pull her in for a more passionate kiss, the sympathy in the air quickly turning to lust. semi pulls away from the kiss and whispers in your ear “how about i show you who you really belong to?” you nod, biting your lip. semi signals you to move to the backseat. you immediately crawl to the back, sprawling your body across the seat already needy for your girlfriends touch.
out of the corner of your eye you catch semi shuffling through the passenger seat console. your mind wonders what she could be looking for in this moment. semi finally pulls her 8 inch black strap out of the console, a devilish smirk forming on her lips and she crawls to the backseat to join you.
“you just casually keep a strap in your console?” you laugh. “well you never know, especially with a whore like you.” she utters, while throwing her shirt and pants off. she throws the strap on the floor board, wasting no time to get your clothes off.
“hands up.” semi says pulling your dress over your head, leaving you in just your bra and panties. semis eyes glaze over the sight of your nearly naked body, only the lacy fabric of your lingerie covering you. she fiddles with your bra straps and says “you wore this for me, huh?” you nod your head at her words, knowing it was true. you loved dressing pretty for semi.
“well you know just what i like, such a pretty girl.” semi says as her long fingers ghost over your body. semi pushes you back down, hovering on top of you, she leaves you feeling trapped due to the size difference.
semi loved the authority she had over you in this moment. her lips make their way to your neck, sucking the sensitive skin. light moans escape your mouth as semi leaves her mark. you feel her teeth every now and then bite the skin on your neck, making you squirm.
you feel semi smirk against your skin as her marks trail down your neck. she pulls away for a moment and you ask if you can mark her up. semi says “of course baby, i want everyone to know exactly what we did in this car.”
your soft, pink lips wrap around semis neck. she lets out low grunts as you suck on her sensitive skin. semis hand trail over all your curves as you mark her up. when your done you pull away, letting semi take control again. “good girl.” semi mutters, making you feel butterflies in your stomach. it was rare semi praised you during sex.
semi wastes no time, unclasping your pretty lace bra with one hand, sliding off your thong or with the other. which by the way, was completely soaked and ruined. she threw your undergarments to the floor board, shortly after taking hers off and sliding the strap onto her waist.
semis dark glossy eyes scan over your body in complete lust as she hovers over you. “i wanna fuck you in missionary, so i can see your tits bounce up and down.” semi says in a raspy low tone. semi positions her strap in between your thighs, her tip teasing your already soaked entrance.
she slowly sinks her strap into you, letting your tight pussy adjust to the size of her big cock. you let out a yelp, due to the suddenness of her entering you. “god, your so tight, you’d think a slut like you would already be stretched out by now.” she mutters as she slowly starts thrusting her cock in and out of you.
her pace is slow and passionate, which shortly would turn into the complete opposite, rough and merciless. a string of moans and curses escape your lips as her speed starts to increase. you want to feel her dick, in every inch, every crevice of your body. you didn’t care how sore you would be the following day, she could put you in a wheelchair and you would thank her.
semi grabs your boobs, and started playing with them as she slammed her cock in and out of your squelching pussy. “mmmm” semi hummed, loving the sight of your boobs bouncing up and down with every thrust. you loved how rough she was with you, you didn’t care if it hurt, you just wanted to feel her, deep inside of you.
your practically screaming in pleasure as semi speeds up her thrusts by the minute, you are a complete mess for her. lewd sounds of your pussy being destroyed and your desperate moans fill the car. semi puts a tight grasp on your waist to create a rhythm with her thrusts. “stop squirming, god why are you so sensitive.” semi says as she cocks her head to the side. you throw your head back in pleasure, and your back arches as her rhythm is hitting you in just the spot you need her most.
your breath hitches, tears can’t help but escape your eyes from the feeling of semis rough pounding into your cervix, repeatedly hitting your spot. semi notices your crying and says sarcastically “that’s what good dick does to a slut like you.” well, what she didn’t know that the tears were a mix of intense pleasure and pain. your eyes roll back into your head at her sarcastic comment, god she’s so hot.
sweat causes semis hair to stick to her forehead as she’s fucking you, mercilessly. she can’t take her eyes off of your boobs and the pretty faces your making, every inch of your body being explored by her.
you feel your body getting weaker at her mercy. semi’s dick was hitting spots you didn’t even know existed. you were in complete ecstasy. your a moaning mess, that can barely form coherent sentences, you manage to get out a weak “i-im getting close, semi, don’t stop.” “already? god that’s pathetic.” semi mutters. her pace slows down, and speeds back up leaving you on edge.
you were practially in heat. your jaw hanging open in bliss at the feeling of semis dick deep inside of you, fucking you dumb. you couldn’t manage to get out any words besides loud cries of pleasure. you feel your body tremble, your walls start to clench around semis cock. you arch your back in complete bliss as semi smacks your ass, leaving a slight sting. your vision goes fuzzy and you throw your head back, you scream as you release all over semis cock. she continued thrusting throughout your orgasm to make it last longer. she pulls out and your juices coat her plastic cock.
“suck it.” semi demands you, like your some kind of dog or something. but you obey, you wrap your big pouty lips around her cock. semi pushes your head down, practically making you choke on her dick. not missing a single drop of your cum.
once you’ve sucked her dry, you lay on the sweaty car seat exhausted and absolutely fucked out. feeling lifeless, you look over at semi sat on the seat beside you, her messy black hair sticking to her face, catching her breath after fucking the living shit out of you.
you get up to grab your clothes, and semi grabs your wrist tightly. “we’re not done here, understand me?” she says demandingly, you nod and sit back on the car seat. semi slides the strap off of her waist and throws it in the front seat. she crawls to the front to push the seat forward, providing us with more room. you wonder what she has planned next to do to you.
semi gets on her knees, positioning herself in front of your closed legs. “you really thought we were done here, i haven’t even had my dessert.” semi says a slight smirk playing on her lips, signaling you to spread you legs. you throw your legs over semi, your knees resting on her shoulders. her face inches from your pussy, you can feel hear breath.
“so pretty baby, all mine.” she says as her fingers tease your already wet folds. you are a needy mess for her, all this teasing has you feeling like an absolute whore. after what felt like forever, semis lips attached to your cunt. you let out a loud moan, and throw your head back at the sensation of her cold lip piercing against your pussy.
semi’s tounge began to move at unimaginable speeds, eating you out like she’s an animal. you moan out semis name, barely able to think straight. at this point, the car windows are foggy, lewd sounds of your pussy being ate, curses and moans fill the air.
semi hums “mhmmm.” into your pussy as her tounge motions continue. you feel vibration pulse throughout your body as semi lets out little hums now and again. you are trembling, barely able to keep your legs open “s-semi, baby i’m getting close.” you moan lightly, tilting your head back from the intense pleasure of semis tounge swirling against your clit.
semi didn’t even realize you said anything, she was completely pussy drunk, with her head buried in between your now closing thighs. her strong hands grasping them open. she was eating you out like it was her last meal.
semi pulls away for a second and says “don’t look at the ceiling, look at me. i wanna see your pretty face when i make your cum.” she wasn’t even eating you out anymore yet just her words formed a giant knot in your stomach. she pressed her lips back against your soaked cunt, and picked up where she left off.
her motions slowing down and speeding up, helping you reach your climax. your eyes locked onto hers as you grabbed her hair, trying to resist the urge to tilt your head back. your body can’t stop shaking and loud moans escape your lips.
semi hummed against your pussy, and before you knew it the knot in your stomach broke. you cry out loudly, releasing all over semis face. she licks your fluids off of her lips, and wipes some of the cum off her face onto her fingers. “open up.” she says placing her fingers in your mouth. your eyes widen as you suck your release off of semis slender fingers.
semi places a kiss on your lips afterward, tasting the juices your lips were coated with “your mine, every inch of you. no one will ever fuck you as good as me.” semi says. you let out a light chuckle agreeing with semi as she gently helps you put your clothes back on.
shortly after, she puts her own clothes back on, adjusting herself before crawling into the drivers seat. you follow, crawling into the passenger seat. semi starts the car looks over at you and says “i think we should just go home baby, nothing in that club is more exciting than what we just did.”
you nod in agreement, saying “yea, i’m absolutely exhausted, i wouldn’t mind another night in.” semis face lights up by the light of her phone typing in your apartment address on the navigation app. semi shoots you a soft smile before pulling out of the club parking lot, heading home.
semi places her hand gently on your thigh. you stare out the window, as the radio hums lightly on the lowest volume notch. the two of you are silent the entire car ride, but a comforting warmth fills the air. even though the two of you aren’t physically saying it, you feel very loved in this moment. it’s the little gestures like this that matter, so much.
semi pulls the car into the parking lot of the apartment complex, she gets out of the car and makes her way over to the passenger side. she opens the door for you and picks you up bridal style, you laugh at the sudden gesture. but deep down you found it cute.
once the two of you arrive at your apartment, semi shuffles through her pockets for the keys. at this point, she’s holding you with one hand. you wrap your arms around her neck for extra support, so you don’t go falling flat to the floor. but somehow she manages to hold you in one hand and the other rummaging for the keys.
you wonder how she does that, she’s so strong. finally, semi finds the key, she jiggles it into the lock. she takes you inside, straight to the bedroom. semi places you on the gently on the bed, like you were the most delicate thing in the world.
she places a sweet kiss on your forehead, admiring your flushed face. semi whispers in your ear “how about we get you all cleaned up.” you agree, feeling gross from the club and sex with semi, a bath is just what you needed.
semi swiftly exited the room to start the bath for the both of you. you wait patiently on the bed, slightly tipsy and exhausted. you see semi walking back into the bedroom with a pack of makeup wipes. she says “let’s take this pretty makeup off baby, before we get in the bath.”
semi’s body slightly hovers over yours, gently rubbing the makeup wipe over your smudged eyeliner and mascara. “all done” she utters as she places a soft kiss on your lips. “your even prettier without makeup.” she says. you feel your cheeks glow red at her words.
semi picks your weak body up bridal style, taking you to the bathroom. once you arrive, semi sits you down on the counter, slowly taking off your dress and undergarments. she then lightly places you in the bath, and starts stripping herself.
after semi takes her clothes off, she gets in the bath with you. the two of you sit in the bath in a comforting silence, the only light in the room provided by a singular candle. “do you want me to help clean you up, baby?” semi offers. “yes i would love that.” you say, letting semi know your gratitude for her caring act.
semi takes the shampoo bottle sitting on the side of the tub, and squeezes some out into her rough hands. she then starts massaging the shampoo through your beautiful hair. the feeling of semis long fingers massaging your scalp sent you into an instant relaxation.
you were so thankful for semi taking care of you. even though she showed no mercy on you in the bedroom, she really does treat you like a princess and would do anything for you.
“relaxed, baby?” semi chuckles, noticing your state of bliss as she massaged her fingers into your scalp. “yea haha, your hands are magic.” you softly exclaim. a smile forms on semis lips. she grabs the small pink cup on the side of the tub, and dips it into the water, pouring it into your hair.
once semi has washed all the shampoo out of your hair, she washes her own hair. you sit and relax staring at semi as she washes up. the light glow of the candle, lit up her face. she was so beautiful, even doing the most simple things she was just otherworldly.
once semi finished up, she grabbed the nearby loofah and put some of your vanilla scented body wash on it. she moved your wet hair out of the way, and started washing you up. not making you lift a finger, semi washes your entire body. now and then she would ask you to turn around or sit up. you silently let semi clean you and when she’s done you thank her with a short, but loving peck.
semi washes herself off after. you admire the way her body looked as the soap bubbles covered it, her soft fair skin looked beautiful. semi finished washing herself off and gets up out of the bath. she then grabbed you out of the bath, your naked bodies pressed against each other. she sets you down, and wraps a big fluffy towel around your wet body. “you smell so good.” she mutters softly.
you smile at her sweet remark as the two of you walk to your bedroom. you shuffle through the drawers and ask semi if you can wear one of her oversized t-shirts. “of course baby, you’ll look so cute in it.” semi says. you put on some underwear and semis t-shirt and immediately crawl into bed as semi gets herself dressed.
you stare at your girlfriend as she puts on her grey sweatpants and black t-shirt, such a simple outfit yet she made it look so sexy. you can’t help yourself but stare. she looked in the mirror, brushing her wet messy back beside out of her face.
she noticed your reflection staring at her in the mirror, she didn’t say anything but it warmed her heart. she shortly joined you in bed, wrapping her big arms around you. she placed a gentle peck on your forehead saying “feel better baby? i could tell you needed some time to relax, after the night we’ve had.” you nod and exclaim “yea semi, that was much needed. thank you for pampering me.”
semis cheeks light up crimson red at your words. spoiling and taking care of you just came so naturally to her, but she appreciates it even more knowing it makes you feel loved. “i’m glad, i think we both needed it.” she exclaimed softly.
you feel yourself slowly drifting off, from the extremely emotionally exhausting day. you feel so safe in semis arms. as your nearly asleep, you feel semis hand brushing through your hair, making you open your eyes. “i really love you, y/n you know that.” semi says with pure love and adoration in her voice.
butterflies fly around in your stomach at her words, she said i love you a lot but those 3 words made you feel so secure. “i love you too, semi. and ill never love anyone else.” you say as semi places a soft but passionate kiss on your lips. “good, cause i almost beat a bitch up tonight.” semi chuckles sarcastically. you smile into semis arms, drifting off into a peaceful sleep.
semi’s fingers ghost over your lower back, tracing lazy circles as you sleep peacefully in her arms. she knows deep down in her heart, she wants every night to be as sweet as tonight, forever. . . ♡
TYSM FOR READING I REALLY PUT MY HEART AND SOUL INTO THIS!! MORE FICS COMING SOON :p
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pedgito · 3 days ago
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well, january is finally over. i feel like this month has dragged, but the surplus of fics have kept me going. this one includes a few wildcards (and a lot of smut) that i'm blaming on friends. as always, i can't wait to see what everyone is cooking up as the year progresses!
this key will help you figure out which fics are more your vibe, or if you’re just curious of the contents before you dive in:
smut = 🌶️, fluff = ☁️ angst = ☄️
total fics listed below: 24
✎ — 𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑
↝ the warden by @arcanefox207 — 🌶️ (DDDNE, dubcon)
Your hike into the woods doesn’t go as planned when a depraved Game Warden catches you breaking the rules.
↝ hotline to heaven by @chaotic-mystery — 🌶️
An inquisitive man gets more than what he's used to when he pushes the wrong number on a phone sex hotline.
↝ me and the devil by @gracieheartspedro — 🌶️, ☄️ (dubcon)
Joel seeks out revenge on the man who stole from him. He finds you in the process. 
↝ cake by @/wannab-urs — ☄️
You make a cake for Joel on his birthday, but it doesn’t go well. 
↝ father figure by @gutsby — 🌶️
Parents’ Weekend looks a little different this year with Joel showing up in the place of your father.
✎ — 𝐉𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐀
↝ strangers by @joelmillerisapunk — 🌶️
You meet a sexy stripper at your bestie's bachelorette party and he tries his absolute hardest to get your number
↝ read it again by @almostfoxglove — ☁️
Your best-selling novel is being turned into a Hollywood blockbuster. Ordered to tweak some awkward lines with the lead actor, you've got no clue that the Javier Peña is a massive fan of the source material. He has no idea that the script doctor Stechner just sent to babysit him is the author of his favorite book.
✎ — 𝐓𝐈𝐌 𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐃
↝ the impaler by @kiwisbell — 🌶️
Chief Detective Tim Rockford makes a breakthrough in New York City’s latest serial killer case. The mysterious culprit is in the mood to share more than information.
↝ cuffed to the grind by @whocaresstillthelouvre — 🌶️
You're working late 'cause you're a detective. Oh Tim looks so good handcuffed to a chair.
✎ — 𝐃𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐉𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍
↝ bedroom hymns by @saradika — 🌶️
mand'alor!sub!din x wife!dom!reader
↝ pas de deux (series) by @burntheedges — ☄️, ☁️, 🌶️ (finished)
When Din Djarin – principal dancer at Concordia Ballet Company and generational talent in the classical style – suddenly left CBC and joined the Nevarro Ballet Theater mid-season, it shocked the ballet world. You never would have guessed that he would change your life, too.
↝ the apostate (series) by @murder-wife
Din Djarin is the most beautiful Angel in existence. The only thing that matches his beauty is his pride. He just can't help but meddle in the affairs of the Mortals. This time, he's gone too far and must be taught a lesson.
↝ beg by @amanitacowboy — 🌶️
Din tortures and edges you with a remote control vibrator.
↝ your king & lionheart (+ marcus acacius) by @kedsandtubesocks
Trouble grows & you’re in need of a personal guard, thankfully Rome’s grand general seems to be perfect - not just for you (but maybe for your husband as well)
✎ — 𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐎
↝ never have i ever by @wannab-urs — 🌶️
You and Dieter play never have I ever and it gets spicy.
↝ chaos angel by @always-andromeda — 🌶️, ☄️
It's Emmy night. And your infamous ex-boyfriend is stirring up all kinds of trouble for you.
✎ — 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐒
↝ she keeps me up by @iamasaddie — 🌶️
After having sex with you, Lucien is losing his mind over it, unable to let you go from his m
✎ — 𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊
↝ the man whose hands are stained by @jolapeno — 🌶️
This week, a man (single) recounts an intimate encounter with his neighbour—a woman who’s lingered in his thoughts far longer than he cares to admit.
↝ pretty in pink by @/gracieheartspedro — 🌶️
You don't stay awake for Dave's arrival. He finds you in bed in a compromising position.
↝ yes, ma'am by @sizzlingcloudmentality — 🌶️
Life goes sideways and Dave is close to snapping. He needs professional help aka let himself be dominated and be at the receiving end for once. Good thing he has your number.
↝ ice cold by @punkshort — 🌶️, ☄️
Dave ghosts you, so you get even by dating someone else in the office. That doesn't sit well with Dave.
✎ — 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄
↝ just once by @eupheme — 🌶️
You know you shouldn’t look for the handsome stranger that shows up, night after night. Should lock your window, forget you saw him. That’s the smart thing to do, after all. But you think you might like that he needs you. That you can’t stop thinking about him. That you can’t stop wanting more.
✎ — 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍
↝ cotton mouth by @/gracieheartspedro — 🌶️, ☁️
You need a new dealer and you know a guy through the unfortunate grapevine you used to be wrapped up in. But I mean... the banter is great, and you cannot help but fall for him. But don't fret, he feels the same way.
↝ my, my those eyes like fire by @the-unforgivenn — 🌶️
You’ve heard of the classic Same Bed Trope? Well, what would you call it when all you expect to do is fall asleep in luxury after a missed flight, only to find the room already occupied? Same Hotel Room Trope?
likes, reblogs, and comments keep the motivation alive, so if you’re taking a look at these for the first time, please leave a kind word for these writers or just reblog, even. support your writers <3
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g4rvez-r3id · 16 hours ago
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I Love You, I’m Sorry
Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader
Synopsis: You left the BAU and your boyfriend, Spencer, after a case took a hefty toll on you. You only left behind a letter, explaining yourself and why you had to leave. Four years later, you find yourself back in DC on a whim. You learn that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea.
Category: Angst
Warnings: NO HAPPY ENDING, mentions of a past case, mentions of trauma, case related things, reader getting kidnapped but only mentioned, reader lowkey being stalker-y, arguing, mentions of 2x15 “Revelations” but it’s brief, takes place in Season 9 but this is with the Season 7 team, angst angst angst
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It’d been four years since he last saw you. You’d left the BAU after a particular case took a massive toll on you and you’d decided the best thing to do at the time was leave.
It was a case in your hometown, no less — the team had no leads and all they had to go off were three bodies tattooed with some kind of weird symbol on their bodies. Before joining the BAU, you were in the taskforce and you’d dealt with something similar. The victims had all been women and the symbol was some kind of branding initiation. You never caught the guy.
And when the team finally got a lead, you and Morgan were sent to check the place out. Unfortunately, it ended with Morgan being knocked out cold and you being kidnapped.
It took the team four days to find you. You were tortured, slashes on your body and the amount of mental trauma you endured during that time was disturbing. He managed to gather most of your team’s belongings and present them in blood as if it were proof that they were dead. You were led to believe that your team was dead for four days.
But by the fourth day, they realized that their unsub was someone who worked for the PD and luckily, they cracked it down and found you. You almost believed that they weren’t real, that everyone was a figment of your imagination. It took Spencer approaching you and actually touching you for you to realize that this was real. That your team was still alive.
And the case took a toll on you. Even after you passed your psych evals and came back to the BAU, you were still flinching at anyone touching you. And unfortunately, it just became too much in the end that you left.
The only person you explained yourself to was Spencer. You left behind a letter for him, I know, not great thinking on your part considering that’s how Gideon and his father left him. But you knew if you talked to him face to face, he would’ve talked you into staying. He was your boyfriend, he always had a way with words that no one else did. And you knew he’d try and get you to stay because this was where you belonged. But you felt totally alone. Even though the team was there for you, you still felt alone.
Four years have passed since you left. And as expected, the only person that found you was the BAU’s very own Penelope Garcia. You only allowed her to tell the team that you were okay and that you were safe but not to tell them where you were. For the last four years, you thought about the team every day.
So what exactly pursued you to come back all of a sudden? Call it homesickness, say it was only because you missed everyone dearly and started thinking about them a lot more recently. Or maybe it was because you only missed Spencer. That’s why you were standing outside of his apartment unit, right?
You were outside, staring at the tall building and you had no idea what brought you here but you were here. It was like you woke up and all of a sudden, you were here. You had no idea what brought you here. But you walked out that door and your feet took you here.
Spencer had been invading your mind as of recently. You had no idea why but it probably had to do with the fact that his birthday was recently. His thirty-second birthday. You wondered what he did, you wondered how he spent his birthday. Did he spend it with the team? Did he spend it with his mom? You wondered if showing up was a mistake. Maybe it was.
Spencer, on the other hand, was carrying about his night in his apartment. It had been one of those nights where he couldn’t sleep, so he’d started the day off at 3am. Probably not the smartest idea because he’d be tired by the end of the day, but at least there was coffee.
He’d turned on the coffee machine and got his crossword of the day ready at the kitchen table. He’d decided to bring some light in by walking towards the curtains and opening them. Granted, there wasn’t going to be a lot of light, but it would’ve helped. Plus, something told him to just open the curtains, so he did.
When he opened the curtain, he usually has a good look at the front of his building. Who’s coming, who’s going, what’s going on. And when he looks down, he sees something odd. Something that makes him question if he’s hallucinating. Have the schizophrenic symptoms finally taken over? Because there’s no way he’s seeing you, right here and right now.
And you’re staring right back at him. In the flesh. And you’re not a figment of his imagination, you can’t be. There were times after you left, where he thought about you and that other women he’d passed by were you. But this wasn’t like those other times. This was different.
Spencer was quick to scramble out of his apartment, almost toppling over his own feet as he struggles to get his slippers on and quickly rushes out of his apartment, down the stairs and towards the entrance of the building. Mind racing with questions and wanting answers as opens the door and blinks as he looks around for you. Because now you’ve disappeared.
Spencer looks around. You couldn’t have gotten far. He even opts to call out your name to the gods. There was no way you were figment of his imagination. You couldn’t have been. You were staring back at him. He’d almost forgotten what you looked like. And he doesn’t forget anything.
You’d managed to escape right when you saw him back away from his window and grabbed a taxi and ordered the driver to take you anywhere but here. You looked behind you and saw Spencer was in the middle of the street, wondering where you disappeared off to.
You had to leave. It was the only option you needed to take. You ended up getting a hotel early that morning. You still had no idea what you were doing here in DC. And it didn’t do you any good with Spencer seeing you. You hated to think it but you’d hoped that he thought that maybe you were just a figment of his imagination. You didn’t want him to go and ask Garcia where you were since she was the only person that knew. And you knew she’d give in because she wasn’t that great at keeping secrets.
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Since you opted for staying for a few days, you had to be incognito. And that meant avoiding Spencer at all cost. That didn’t help when all the places you used to go to, you introduced him to.
You thought you were safe going to your local coffee shop this morning, but you walked in right when he was getting his order and you were quick to hide behind a very tall, burly man and rush out of the coffee shop.
Unfortunately, to your luck, Spencer saw you. Or at least thought maybe he did. He’d spotted you the minute you hid behind that burly man and then when you practically ran out of the coffee shop.
He definitely wasn’t imagining you now. He’d seen as you ran far away from the shop and called your name, probably looking like a total lunatic as he yelled your name across the street. You were most definitely caught now. Your jig was up. You should’ve expected this to happen.
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Penelope 💕: You’re in town?
Sent 12:34pm
Penelope💕: And don’t even try and lie, Spencer blew your cover.
Sent 12:34pm
Penelope💕: Also, he tried bribing me with a croissant to figure out where you are. I can only hold on for so long!
Sent 12:35pm
Penelope managed to spam your cell phone when you got back to the hotel after your harrowing escape. You decided to send a quick reply with a sigh falling from your lips.
You: Please please PLEASE don’t tell him where I am.
Sent 12:37pm
Penelope💕: Okay, fine. But under one condition.
Sent 12:38pm
You: Which is?
Sent 12:38pm
Penelope💕: Come out with us to O’Keefe’s tonight! It’ll be lowkey, everyone on the team will be there! And you get to straighten this whole thing out because even JJ is asking questions now!
Sent 12:39pm
Your biggest thing was that you didn’t want anyone knowing you were here. You don’t even know what sparked you even showing up in the first place. What were you going to tell them if they’d asked why you were here? There were so many questions you wanted to avoid. Because you’d just left without a trace.
You: Oh, Penny. I don’t know… :/
Sent 12:40pm
Penelope💕: Oh, just consider it! It could be fun for you!
Easy for you to say, Penelope. But she had a point. Maybe it could be fun, seeing the team again. Morgan, Rossi, Spencer. Then again, you almost wanted to avoid him because of how you left him. Was he the only thing holding you back from going tonight? Not to mention, did anyone else know exactly how you left him? They could’ve hated you just as much as you knew he hated you. Your phone dings again.
Penelope💕: I know your gears are turning but trust me, everyone really wants to see you again! Emily was literally talking about you the other day. Please! With sugar on top!
Sent 12:43pm
Okay, that made you feel a little bit better. You did miss them. Maybe Penelope would be the one to help you with your decision.
You: Fine, I’ll make an appearance. But only for an hour!
Sent 12:45pm
Penelope💕: YESSSSS 🥳 I’ll send you deets after work! 😊
Sent 12:45pm
Your plan to avoid Spencer backfired on you, oh, so greatly. Maybe you still could avoid him. Maybe he decided not to go to O’Keefe’s once he found out you were gonna be there.
He never liked the bar scene anyways. He hardly drank since what happened with Tobias Hankel. You prayed for the slight chance that he wouldn’t come drinking with the team. And you even hoped Garcia may have been so excited to tell Spencer that you were coming, she’d blurt it out to him and maybe he wouldn’t go. You hoped you were right.
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I hate this already, I hate this already, I hate this already. You thought in your head as you walked to O’Keefe’s. It’s been a while since you’ve been in this area. Your mind is built with memories of walking these same streets with Spencer, arm in arm as he rambled about just about anything. Your heart broke in two as you thought about those times, so simple and delicate before they got ruined. By you.
You walked towards the bar and entered the building, scouting out to look for the team until a chippy voice shouted your name. “Y/N!” Your eyes trailed over to the bubbly blonde, “Over here!” She waves her arm over and you walk over pretty slowly as you join them.
“Well, as I live and breathe!” Morgan stands from his seat, welcoming you with a hug. “It’s good to see you.” You muffle into his shirt that it’s good to see him too and by then everyone pretty much follows with a hug and Rossi kisses both of your cheeks in welcoming. Everyone seems happy to see you. Everyone except Spencer, who keeps sipping his drink and looking anywhere but you like you don’t even exist. And he has the right to that. But he’s not gonna ruin this, tonight.
The night consists of everyone asking you how you’ve been and what you’ve been up to. And not that Spencer cares but he overhears as you mention you work at a desk job in California — the place he knows you’ve always wanted to live — and that you recently got a new cat and that you don’t have a boyfriend. Again, not that he cares.
And then he catches onto something you say. About how you were sorry you left the team so abruptly. And Spencer scoffs under his breath as he spoke — “Least you’re explaining yourself in person now, right?”
Spencer met your eyes and everyone sat there awkwardly after the fact. You knew what that was. A diss at how you left him. You knew how he was. He got petty. And when he got petty, he got mean. It didn’t help that he’d been nursing his drink a bit, too.
Garcia had distracted everyone, asking to join her on the dance floor, to which Morgan, JJ, Emily and even you obliged. Spencer had declined, deciding to stay at your table and Rossi and Hotch went over to the bar to get more drinks for everyone.
Spencer’s jaw clenched as he watched you dance with the rest of his team. How can they act like you didn’t just up and leave them three years ago? Like everything was fine again? How could they just sit there and laugh with you when you broke their hearts when you left? He didn’t forget how Garcia cried for weeks, or how frustrated Morgan was when he found out, or how Emily kept turning over to your empty desk to tell you something but forgot you weren’t there and how heartbroken you left him when he read your letter over and over again.
I can’t stay here anymore. I love you. I’m sorry. He could see your handwriting in the back of his mind. The wires in his head crossing as he wrapped his head around the fact that you were here. I can’t stay here anymore. I love you. I’m sorry. He told you that you two were gonna be fine, you were going to get through this together. I can’t stay here. I love you. I’m sorry. But you left. You left and you didn’t turn back. How could you leave him like that? The same way his dad did, the same way Gideon did. I can’t stay here anymore. I love you. I’m sorry.
Finding himself growing frustrated, Spencer decides to leave. He can’t stay here. Not while you’re here, not while the team can act like they’re happy to see you. He’s infuriated. And he needs to go.
He slams a twenty down at the table and lets Hotch and Rossi know he’s leaving. They don’t even attempt to get him to say, exchanging a knowing glance at the fact it was because you were here but he wasn’t going to pay any attention to that. He heads for the door but he doesn’t realize he’s had an audience this whole time.
You were watching him. You couldn’t help it. You hated the way he glared at you. It pained you that you caused this. You were the reason he hated you. So, when you saw him leave, you decided that maybe you needed to talk, one on one without anyone else present.
You excused yourself to everyone, saying you going to get some water and that you’d be right back and exited the building, seeing as Spencer was about eight feet ahead of you and calling his name. “Spencer!”
Spencer scoffs, turning around as you fiddle your hands together, approaching him. You did that when you were nervous. “Can we talk, please?” Spencer turns back around and continues walking. “I don’t think we have anything to talk about.”
“Yes, we do. And you know it.” You say as you catch up to him even if he continues walking away from you. “Spencer, I know you hate the way I left. And trust me, I did, too but you can’t blame me forever.”
“Well, I have,” Spencer turns around and faces you. “You left, or did you forget that? Because I sure as hell didn’t.”
“Spencer—”
“You left. You wrote a letter to me, just like my dad and just like Gideon because you were a coward and couldn’t face me. We could’ve worked it out, we could’ve talked about it, Y/n!”
“I couldn’t talk to you about it!” And now here you were, shouting at him, this was the last thing you wanted when you decided to come here tonight.
“Why not?”
“Because I know you’d talk me out of leaving!” You take a deep breath. “And I didn’t want that. I needed not to be persuaded by you, I needed to think about this. And I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t. And I hated that I did that to you, it haunts me every single day.” Your voice wavered when you said the last sentence. “Not a day went by that I didn’t think about you. You have to know that I’m sorry.” You go to touch him but he’s quick to back away from you.
“Oh, and you’re making amends now?” Spencer questioned. “You’re just acting like what you didn’t matter? Well, it mattered to me, Y/n. You left and you didn’t care!”
“I did.” You argued.
“No, you didn’t. ‘I can’t do this anymore’? ‘I love you, I’m sorry’?” You furrow your brows at this. And all he can think is — how can you not remember the most painful words you’d ever written to him? “You wrote that to me in your letter. Your letter that you left behind to me, along with your badge and gun. You can’t just slam this door closed and pretend like you’re not at fault when you’re completely at fault. You hurt me, in the only way a person could. How could you do that?”
“I know, I know!” You tell him, shutting your eyes as you pull your hair back away from your face. “I shouldn’t have left you like that. But I couldn’t be there anymore. I wasn’t the same girl that you fell in love with. And you deserved better.”
“I deserved better than that.” Spencer retorted and you nod with a sniffle, “Yeah, yeah, you did.” You admit defeat, wiping your nose.
You walk closer to him as he stares at the ground. “And I’m so sorry,” You tell him. He still avoids your eyes, opting for the ground until he feels your hand on his cheek and you force him to meet his eyes. “And I’m telling the truth. I thought about you everyday. And I love you, I could never lie about that. Ever.”
Spencer looks into your eyes and you can’t make what’s in them. Anger? Sadness? Regret? All of the above? “Why did you come back?” The question lingers above your head and you try to come up with a valid reason in your head. But you can’t come with anything. Why did you come back? You could’ve left this alone, you could’ve moved on because that was the way life went. You could go on, forget anything happened. Was it some form of a guilty conscience for leaving him? Was it closure? Did you need to move on? Did you need Spencer to move on before you could? “I don’t know.” You answer.
“That’s not an answer.” Spencer tells you and you back away from with a scoff, “Well, then what do you want to hear, Spencer? I don’t know why I’m here. I just know that I am now.”
“Why? Did you expect to get back together or something? That maybe I’d just forget what happened and leave it behind in the past like nothing did?” It was obvious he couldn’t forget it.
“No, I-I didn’t expect that, at all—!”
“Then, why?”
“I don’t… know.” Maybe you did know why. Maybe you still loved him. But you couldn’t. Not in this way at least.
“You can’t just stumble your way back into my life simply because — what? You’re lonely, all of a sudden? Is that it?”
You’d had enough. This was pointless when all he was doing was arguing with you and making you feel even worse than you already did. You shake your head — “I don’t have to listen to this.”
“Maybe you need to,” He argued. “Y/n, you were cruel to me. And somehow, you were also the best thing that happened to me. I loved you, did you know that? I tried moving on, I tried — but that didn’t even work out.” It makes you wonder why. But it’s not your business. “When I saw you again, all I could think about was how you left. And how much it hurt when you did. And you’re back now and now I’m more confused than ever. I hate you for coming back. But… I… I can’t even wrap my head around this. I can’t… I can’t be around you. I need to go.”
Spencer shakes his head and begins to walk away. You watch as he does so but not before you tell him — “I knew,” You say and he stops in his tracks. “And for the record, I loved you, too.”
Spencer stands still for a moment before he continues walking. And he turns his back on you, just like you did him years ago. There was time where he would’ve spun around and forgave you and held you and kissed you until you needed a breather but that time was long gone. Because now, he couldn’t even stand to be around you. You watched as he walked away from you and you know you deserve that.
You two were on different paths and maybe that’s the way it had to be. You’d book a flight back home when you got back to your hotel tonight. Because he was right, you couldn’t stumble back into his life, begging for forgiveness when you left him the way you did. That was the way life went, you move on.
And you supposed you should start doing that now. Since Spencer was on his way to doing so, already.
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redr0sewrites · 16 hours ago
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GRAHH TY FOR THE TAG UR SO COOL I LITERALLY TEEHEED WHEN I SAW THIS !!!!!
oki. i have a lot. im gonna list em from oldest -> most recent
Jason Todd x ftm!dysphoric!reader smut (DC)
five times you fell in love with Robin!Dick Grayson (and the one time you find out he fell in love with you too) (DC)
Jason Todd soulmate au (DC)
Aizawa nsfw alphabet (Bnha)
smoking a cigarette leads -> smut Dabi x m!reader (Bnha)
angst to comfort pro hero Bakugou x wife!reader (Bnha)
Pro!Bakugou x assistant!reader (Bnha)
Shigaraki x reader smut - hypnosis (Bnha)
Ua!Touya x reader smut (Bnha)
general Dainsleif x reader hcs (Genshin Impact)
Sunday x reader fluff (Honkai star rail)
Kafka x afab!reader smut (Honkai star rail)
PLEASE feel free to ask about any u feel interested in or want to be tagged in !!! 💕💕💕 im also willing to show like. little snippets if theres one that anyone wants to see
anyways ! no pressure tags 💕💕:
@sniigura
@bigfatbimbo
@archangeldyke-all
@graveyardcannibal
@isabeauwolf
@peachdues
@bloodabi
@lucyblue101
@splishfish
@shiggyhatesme
@bbluefllame
@writersdelight
i tried to tag all of my writer moots (excluding the ones currently on hiatus or inactive :((( etc) but i am SO sorry if i missed anyone, pls feel free to join !!
WIP Folder
Rules: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous and tag AS MANY PEOPLE AS YOU HAVE WIPS
People send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then you post a snippet or tell them something about it!
There's more Wips I just can't in good faith list them all as I'd have to basically tag all my moots
Thank you @ladyofcrowsandcoffee for being interested enough to see my folder of chaos. (I'm about to feel so exposed about some of these titles.) These are all my OG ideas not including request!
Domestic Bliss
Dark!Rolan x Innocent Reader
Corrupted
Cal x Lae'zel part 3 (final)
Snowed In
Boat Captain
Professor Parker
Professor Miggy
Help Wanted
Gym Buddy
Brat Tamming
Healing You
Big Bad Wolf
We need a Bard
Lumberjacks (?)
Taken away by your new husband
Rolan goes to Caress
The Drids Mate
Weird Girl
Vingette 2 (shadowheart and Gale)
Dark prince rolan chapter 4
tagging! @dark-and-kawaii @darkurgetrash @dutifullylazybread @vera-king-hrfl @lemonsrosesandlavender @lazyjellyfish300 @buck-star @graysparrowao3 and @ultravioletrayz
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nikyu0 · 42 minutes ago
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Are there any fun shenanigans that unfold after the bond in the avatar au? after the angst dies ofc
I actually still have a lot of ideas with the other arcane characters that happen before the bond! Although ldk lf I'm gonna be able to draw them all, because some of the ideas are very lengthy. So, I might as well practice my writing!
One of the ideas involves how Jayce and Viktor begin their relationship with the tribe in the first place.
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VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV
Jayce and Viktor have been out on their research trips for a couple of days now. Sergent Caitlyn Kiramman, a fellow avatar driver with combat training, accompanies them for protection. Although they have been exploring the deeper forest for a while, all they have encountered so far was peaceful fauna, yet none of the natives.
"I wasn't expecting that we were so good at hiding our presence to not even spot one na'vi." Jayce remarks as he tries to keep up with Viktor's pace.
"They've known we are here the moment we got off the military base." Viktor assures him while looking down at his tablet. "Afterall, we are in their domain. Just because we don't see them, does not mean they are not here, no?"
The eeriness of Victor's comment made Caitlyn's ears twitch, she couldn't help but look up at the thick tree crowns and scanning through them. As they continued through the forest, she grabbed her firearm tighter.
The trio reaches a cliff that opens a view to the base of the Hallelujah Mountains. All of them in awe as they watch the floating rocks defy gravity right infront of their eyes.
Unfortunately, the devices that were helping them navigate the forest so far, start to act up because of the strong magnetic fields surrounding the mountains. The group begins to consider returning to the base to prepare for tomorrow, when they suddenly hear the sound of a cry, a na'vi battle cry.
They have been spotted by 4 na'vi flying their Ikran, the one leading the patrol being Ekko (in this AU refered as "Eko", is a young warrior na'vi from the tribe that Jayce and Viktor are going to be working with later on. Although smaller than his fellow tribe members, he is known for his skilled flying, amazing scouting and leadership qualities).
He was informed by Vi, who suspected that dreamwalkers started roaming around the forest but was unsure how deep they might enter. Confiming her suspicions, Eko spots the trio too deep for his comfort in the tribes territories, on one of his flying patrols.
He was about to descend to confront them when he noticed the outsiders strangly waving at him in panic and the one with the weapon aming past him. Eko turns back to the sudden calls of his fellow tribemates. That is when he sees the Toruk above him, who was diving straight down to Eko, claws ready to grab him. An air chase through the mountains happens and he finally loses Toruk when he flies through the dense forest which annoyingly results in him falling off his ikran. Although the fall was softened by the big leaves, it still results in him getting injured enough to not make it back alone. His Ikran and fellow tribemates not hearing his calls for help.
That is when he gets discovered by our avatar trio. In an attempt to scare them off, he tries to stand up and grab his knife but yelps in pain. Viktor and Jayce try to calm him down to get closer to examine his wound, but it takes a while, especially with Caitlyn and her firearm facing him. Eko does finally let the two scientists inspect him when they start speaking na'vi and tell Caitlyn to step back.
Viktor tries to create a temporary brace out of branches for Eko but is unable to break the thick wood, frustrated at the tools he has at hand.
"Ugh, we don't have the right equipment here! Only if the labs were closer..." "May I try?" Jayce squats besides Viktor, who states that it is useless but does not stop Jayce from taking the branch. Jayce inspects the thick stick while holding it in his gloved hands, determining how much force he would need to use. "Jayce, I really don't think-." He snaps it with ease before Viktor could finish his sentence.
"Oh! That was easier than I expected... You sure this works as a good support? Maybe I should look for another one?"
Both Viktor and Eko were baffled at what they just witnessed, it wasn't unrealistic but it was definitely surprising to see. The hardness of that branch could compare to a thinner metal rod, and there you have Jayce just snap it in half with no trouble. He continues to ramble about the branch unaware of Viktor's perplexion. Eko simply muttering a low "Tewti.." (translation "what the heck...").
(Turns out Jayce is much stronger than the average na'vi, his Avatar builds muscle much more easily. Similar to Jake Sully.)
The 3 help Eko back to the tribe, where they are already expected. A crowd forms around them, many wary but many curious about the dreamwalkers since this clan had no prior interactions with them, besides through stories from other tribes. Before the leader and tsahik aproaches them, a na'vi, Jinx (in the AU refered as Tsyensk, a peculiar but very creative and innovative na'vi with a strong connection to Eywa, she usually keeps her distance from the tribe in self-exile because of her emotional unpredictability) jumps down from above the trees to check on Eko.
Caitlyn furrows her brow and points out to the two scientists in english that the na'vi girl has been following them since the they found Eko, what none of the 3 expected is that Tsyensk would reply back in english!
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illustriousday · 3 days ago
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method acting (like you love me) by illustriousday
Chapters: 1/29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Regulus Black/James Potter
Additional Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Idiots in Love, Minor Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Minor Marlene McKinnon/Dorcas Meadowes, Past Regulus Black/Barty Crouch Jr., also some present oops, denial is a river in egypt, Inspired by a Lizzy McAlpine Song, actually her whole discography, Regulus Black and Sirius Black Angst, Regulus Black & Sirius Black Have a Good Relationship, eventually, POV James Potter, POV Regulus Black, Everyone Is Gay, Regulus Black Needs a Hug, Walburga Black’s A+ Parenting, Rivals With Benefits, Meeting the Parents, Fluff and Angst, Mild Sexual Content, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, because it’s regulus and sirius come on, Gay Regulus Black, Pansexual James Potter, Alternate Universe - Actors, Musician Sirius Black, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hurt/Comfort, Social Media, Trans Regulus Black, British Regulus Black, American James Potter, the story is split between Europe and the US, Press and Tabloids, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, James Potter & Lily Evans Potter Friendship, they are not and will not be romantic ever, No Lily Evans Potter Bashing, she's my girl i love her, Minor Mary Macdonald/Lily Evans Potter, Mutual Pining, French Black Family (Harry Potter), Enemies to Friends to Lovers
Regulus Black has hated James Potter for years. He’s obnoxious, and arrogant, and stole his brother away. James Potter has hated Regulus Black for years. But only because he’s so mean to him. And James, frankly, doesn’t think he deserves it. When the two star as romantic leads in a new coming-of-age movie and have a very public catfight at the wrap party, the publicity team scrambles to find a way to fix this before social media runs wild with it. Something like… a relationship between the two Hollywood golden boys? Featuring fake dating, lots of late-night talk shows and interviews, getting a little too heated “for the paparazzi”, and denial being a river in Egypt.
CHAPTER 1 IS OUT RAHHHHH!
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thatbirdguyy · 2 days ago
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Hi Nic, hope you’re well!
I saw on twitter that you said you’re interested/tempted to rewrite Lost Worlds Story and do art for it. So just wanted to ask how you’d go about changing the story? Would love to know what idea you have for it!
Oh I love Sonic lost world! But it has such major flaws I wanted to see if I can take my spin on it.
Sonic lost world has this very blunt and colourful world building, that pretty cool, and the mechanics are awesome, but it wants to tell a story of everything slowly falling apart around Sonic and it feels very very forced and rushed. The constant jokes and missing plot holes sadly do no good either, so fixing the story could probably make the game majorly better! I won't change the story for what it starts with and what it leds to, but I will improve it by simply adding more dialogue, fixing some the dialogue and retelling scenes in a less jokey and rushed way, so the impact of the actual intention is felt.
Sonic especially, but even Tails is really just a bratty teenager who feels the need to whine and brag about every single thing in the story till he's captured. And Sonic's whole "character development" feels forced. He isn't a character that needs to learn. You can make a powerful and heart changing story without needing to change a character to fit the plot. Certain scenes are more bearable than others. There isn't even a lot to change about Sonic lost world, just the set of the scenes and some dialogue with the character's execution in expression need work.
I already thought about a few things! Like for example in terms of character writing, I'm not going to make Tails the most confident person, I want to consider frontiers in this but I will likley make him similar to be the Tails that he was in adventure, just so we keep the sorta inconsistent character plot here. He knows his tricks and skills, but he's still very much unsure about it and doesn't know how to intervene in the fights. Low self esteem and such. But he does help and he isn't baggy about it. So yeah, less cowardly, less snarky but still distant towards unknown danger. (Which btw is very in character for him).
Sonic on the other hand, gets this whole, snarky jokey behaviour removed. I'll still leave some jokes in, like for example the whole chonch kick away section, that was fine. But at most, I'll rather make him annoyed working with Eggman. I want the deadly six to be an actual threat for everyone, but Sonic does see them as just another enemy to deal with until the whole situation goes downhill. You can put Sonic in that serious situation but rather than making him whine, make him want to take action, let him be temperamental in this instant. Like, his brother is kidnapped!? His friends- no everyone is dying down below!? Sonic's not gonna sit down and joke around, he's gonna go out there are do this his way, in his favour. He has no fear, he won't back down not when everything and everyone is in danger.
I know this game was speaking to kids, so I will hold back with the very angsts lead, but I will make the story less cheerful and more toned down to the themes it was going for. The world building could be such a good contrast, even ironic considering the dark themes they were trying to implement but couldn't quite capture. So I'll get my hands on this, and see what I can do. Staying faithful, but not too faithful.
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pukefactory · 19 hours ago
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AM I LATE? OKAY OKAY COUGH UHHH IMMA TRY AND MAKE THIS QUICK.
Either Cosmo x Young (around 9?) sibling reader...Some Plot: not a lot of people like us since we act differently from their favorite and it continues to repeat into bulling for weeks and weeks until one day we come up crying to them and then we start to explain that we were getting bullied for just being different and go explaining what they did. Then Cosmo procedded to confront the person (not sure what you want but something like that and then Cosmo ends up reporting them to the handlers.
Im sorry if it's not clear but I hope this wasn't too late! It really just angst to fluff
Nope, you’re not late at all! This is a unique and intriguing prompt. It did challenge me a bit, but I hope it meets your expectations!
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── ・ 。゚⟡ AND ONCE MORE ⟡ ˚。 ・ ──
♫ Summary: Cosmo helps his bullied little sibling
♫ Character(s): Cosmo (Dandy’s World)
♫ Reader Pronouns: Non Specified
♫ Genre: Short Story, Angst, Comfort
♫ Word Count: 567
♫ Warning(s): Mentions of Bullying, Physical Abuse
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You remember every name you’ve been called but how many times? You’ve lost count. It’s been more than enough. And every time you ask them why they’re so cruel, they just laugh in your face, calling you a freak, a no-show, a good-for-nothing weirdo—just because you’re different from the other toons. You don’t fit in.
According to them, there’s nothing special about you. That’s their excuse for treating you so horribly. And for a while, you believe them. Why wouldn’t you? If they keep pushing, shoving, and yelling, they must be right… right?
You endure their cruelty for weeks, letting them hurl insults and knock you around because you think you deserve it. But today, they take it too far. One of them shoves you to the ground, spitting out the same tired words you’ve heard a hundred times before. Then comes the first kick. Then another. And another. They don’t stop until they’ve had their fill and walk away, leaving you curled up in a ball, trembling and sobbing, trying to shield yourself from the pain.
The moment they’re gone, you scramble to your feet, ignoring the throbbing in your back, and run. Run to the one place you know is safe. Run to the one person who can help you.
Cosmo is in the kitchen, casually baking cupcakes—something he and Spout have done countless times. Lately, he’s always in the kitchen, experimenting with new recipes, even when his best friend isn’t around to help. He slides a tray into the preheated oven, wipes the sweat from his forehead, and then hears the front door creak open, followed by soft sniffles.
The second he sees you—his little sibling, tear-streaked and shaking—he rushes over, not caring about the batter-covered mess on his hands.
“Hey, what’s wrong, buddy?” His voice is gentle but filled with concern.
You sniffle, trying to wipe away your tears, but they keep falling no matter how hard you try. “They keep hurting me…”
“Who keeps hurting you?”
“A group of bullies.” You hiccup, voice breaking. “They keep hurting me because I’m a freak!”
Without hesitation, Cosmo pulls you into a warm hug, shushing you softly. “You’re not a freak. You never were, and you never will be.”
He rubs your back in slow, soothing circles, his embrace melting away some of the fear.
“How about we bake some cupcakes together? And after that…” He pulls back slightly, giving you a knowing look. “Would you mind showing me who those meanies are?”
You nod without hesitation. You trust him. You feel safe with him.
After sharing a fresh batch of cupcakes, you lead Cosmo to the ones who have been tormenting you for weeks. He sends you back to the kitchen with a simple request—to clean up a little while he handles things.
An hour passes before he finally returns, looking somewhere between satisfied and angry. As he steps inside, his eyes flick to the kitchen, clearly impressed by how spotless it is.
“What took you so long?” you ask.
“Oh, I was just dealing with those mean people.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing bad! I told the toon handlers everything, so they definitely won’t be bothering you anymore.”
You gasp, then throw your arms around him. “Thank you, Cosmo.”
“Of course. Anything for you, bud.” He hugs you back, a small smile on his face, relieved that you’re finally safe.
Everything will be okay now.
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slamrink · 9 days ago
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rip peskyavs but any thoughts on the mikko trade?? miss when u used to hockeypost :(
the WHAT
him ????? THE MOOSE ??????
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#haven't been keeping up w/ hockey too much on account of my main team bears The Curse and it's hard to keep investing so much hope into that#after a while. and if my beautiful latino butch gf auston “big papi” matthews isn't leading the league in goals then honestly what is#the fucking point !!! we are currently witnessing the second most fraudulent rocket richard race of our time ... but that's for another day#anyway if i had a nickel for everytime a franchise traded one of their handsomest and most widely beloved players who was also a cornerston#of their highly (!!!) unprecedented 2022 championship in exchange for a couple of role players who haven't won shit#Well. lets jusr say#fuck shit fuck my stupid avs and dubs fan life#literally who has it worse than me bro 😭😭😭#ok I mean probably a lot of fanbases do actually tbh#in terms of like playoff success and stuff but#in terms of trade angst#ive definitely been having a Year#lemon it's january#ok i got it mikko and freddie to the leafs in free agency who says no (they do probably but a girlboy can dream)#auston gets his gf back and willy gets another european diva to queen out with ... everyone wins !#but in all seriousness does no one find it at the very least a little curious how the canes keep landing all these 'blockbuster' deals#that almost never result in an extension?#they traded bunts for guentzel who walked and I can't remember who the last big name they had before that was#also no employer of one or multiple staal brothers has any respect of mine#well those are my thoughts anon hope that answers ur question lol. and ur right i do need to hockeypost more i miss it too !!!#nik's asks#nik's rants
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small-spark-of-light · 2 years ago
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just some old Velda doodles :)
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arolesbianism · 10 months ago
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Thinks oh so hard abt the spiraling upwards clan founders, especially the birchclan founders. Silly lil kitties who's pasts are drenched in blood with the primary regret of not drawing it sooner
#rat rambles#oc posting#warriors posting#spiraling upwards#long story short they had a shitty awful terrible leader who sucked absolutely ass and they tore him to shreds#I mean that literally they pinned him onto the mountain side and slashed and mauled the shit out of him so hard that his lives evaporated#and several of the cats involved in that scene are sill alive and major parts of the story and I love them#oh also the cat that pinned him through a stab through the throat was his own daughter btw everyone hated his ass so much#and for good reason get his ass#alas in the main story I dont rly get to go too deep into how he harmed everyone involved mostly just three main ones#aka bristlestar because shes murtlepaw's ghost mom dawncrackle because hes also haunting murtle and gullspot because shes bristle's kit#so basically all the flashbacks we get involve those three in some form or another#honeystar was also there and involved but Im not currently planning on having her rly talk abt that#most of her more modern angst is the fact that she was forced into leadership against her will#and shes been alive long enough that shes been leading birchclan far longer than she ever lived in her old clan#but she did go through a lot of shit before birchclan was founded and it definitely shaped her a lot#she used to be a very determined and high spirited lil kitty cat who tried to be optimistic#but her family began to slowly be picked off one by one by both the old leader and the one whod later get evicerated#some of the older cats around her hoped it make her back down from her revelutionary ideas but she noticed that and it backfired on them#instead of being worn down to submission she became absolutely Furious and began to lash out more and become more demanding#it got to the point that she really only had two friends in the entire clan and one of them was her aunt whod later also die after coming#out abt having witnessed the leader killing his own kits#that was the final fucking straw for her and she was fully on board when bristle and dawn started looking for cats to join their rebellion#she did get rly frustrated with them as they waited patiently for the right moment but her remaining bestie kept her from going apeshit#so once the big fight finally broke out she was more than eager to join the hoard of cats chasing the bastard upwards#now unlike some of the other cats involved this legitimately actually made her feel a lot better for a while#for the first time in ages she finally felt like she could be optimistic abt smth again and was excited abt the idea of leaving this place#she had lost so much in this damn place since she was an apprentice and just wanted to finally be able to rest easy#but once they got to their new territory and set up camp things went south real fast as a flood fucked everything up#and after losing the only cat she had left in her life and losing her tail and being made deputy on top of that she deteriorated quickly
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if-loki-was-a-fox · 10 months ago
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As much as I love any life series content, ngl this whole real life thing has me just a little bit anxious for its discourse potential
I reeaallly want people to have fun with it and move on, and not turn people not taking it seriously into A Thing because it is objectively not at the same scale as any other seasons
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allylikethecat · 1 year ago
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Hey Ally, I see you’ve seen the satvb stuff and especially the wax figure bit. I’d love to hear your pov of it in a fic form if that makes sense sort of like an introspection into his “nightmare” ie. being vulnerable and feeling exposed and naked but also trying to protect himself. I know that probably doesn’t make sense but I would still like to hear your thoughts and theories regardless. Hope you’re having a good day :)
Hi! My day was pretty average, I went to work and then Pop got his fall vaccines today and is always extremely mopey and dramatic about it, so I felt bad for him even when he was being a little terror. I hope that you had / have a good day and thank you for sending in this ask!
SO, I haven't really watched much of the satvb coverage and I purposely didn't watch any of the live streams so there would at least be *some* surprise when I went to my first show. I did however see way too many pictures of the wax Matty figure laying in the fake grass and am very stressed about how I am going to explain THAT to my casual fan friends that are going to the shows with me. 😂
And on that note, I'm going to my first show of the tour next week and I can't make any promises regarding a fic dealing with the wax figure situation (I have some other projects up my sleeve now that the A&E Fic is nearly finished- one of them while still a Gatty situation is very different from anything I've ever written 👀) however, that's not to say that inspiration won't strike when I'm confronted with a life sized, naked, fake Matty in person 😂
I will report back after my show- but from what I understand, despite the shocking, absurdity of it all, it is actually a rather sad moment? Regardless, if I do decide to write something relating to it (whether a fic or just me over thinking and having ~feelings~), it will for sure be after I see the entire thing go down in person. Thank you so much for like... caring what my thoughts are on this! I'm excited to form a more complete opinion on it after the show! Thank you again for reading and sending in this ask!
❤️Ally
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haedgaf · 2 years ago
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i honestly don’t know who i would’ve chosen if i were her. with donghyuck it’s like,she managed to fall for someone that mainly gave her mixed signals, went out and dated someone else, realised that ‘wait they’re pretty boring i don’t want them’ and went back to the reader?? like sorry that would’ve genuinely pissed me off because you’re basically treating me as a second option!!!
with jeno, he is head over heels for her and would prioritise her over himself and his happiness which is so :((( but the issue is that she has no attraction to him at all so would the relationship even work? it would’ve just been very forced and one sided with jeno basically just being in a relationship that’s also unrequited love
so i also would’ve pursued hyuck 😭
what if we stay — l.dh, l.jn
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description. one summer, two boys and a rollercoaster of emotions later.
pairings. lee donghyuck x female reader x lee jeno
genre. fluff, angst, brief university!au, summer!au, friendship!au, band!au (drummer!hyuck, guitarist/bassist!jeno)
warnings. swearing, mentions of a strained relationship with parents, alcohol consumption, really mixed emotions, kissing (<3), and a pinch of pining
word count. 21.7k
playlist. #0505
notes. this is my entry for ficscafe’s fic exchange event written for @luvholicz​, i’m so sorry it’s a few days off the deadline! i finished this on sept 1st. if i only knew about your birthday, i could’ve posted it sooner! belated happy birthday bub, i hope you had a good one. also a huge shout out to husna @masterninjacow​ for beta-reading, the comments you left kept me going ilysm x
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When you finally received a response from the only university you applied for—in the middle of a scorching hot day, one month into summer vacation—you braced yourself for the worst. Which was ironic considering that its arrival was by far the best thing that happened to you since graduation. 
Keep reading
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