#and knowing his character like. he’d be like ? well of course. you made it for me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

98shawns · 2 days ago

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some protector. (ii)

In the past, you and Rafe enter each other’s lives and change in ways neither of you expect. In the present, you’re worried that you haven’t changed one bit.

good girl/pogue!reader x rafe cameron

chapter one | two

words: 6622

warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of throwing up, allusions to bullying, abusive situations, kissing, lowkey panic attacks, attempts at parallels, possible ooc rafe but only because he’s being sweet

a/n: why is this chapter twice the length of the first one? lmao. i think i like pre-established relationships wayyyyy to much !!!

o2: all at once familiar and foreign

[in the past]

Rafe Cameron is a bit intimidating.

His reputation precedes him. An obnoxious Kook boy who parties too hard and studies too little; a boy who could wreak havoc on your whole school and get away with just a slap on the wrist. Who would dare to step up to someone whose father could drag them into the ground?

Not you… definitely not you.

Not because you couldn’t, more because you had no reason to. You had better things to worry about than some rich kid with zero fear of consequence swimming through his mind. Rafe was as much of a background character in your life than you were in his— sure, you were classmates who saw each other every day, but there’s no reason he’d be interacting with you. The line that separates you from Kook royalty is drawn loud and clear.

Well, that was until you started tutoring Sarah Cameron.

“What the hell?” Were the first words out of Rafe’s mouth when he answered the door on your first day. His first words to you ever. You stood in front of the grand front door of the Cameron house, still dressed prim and proper in your school uniform despite biking from school, while he had already changed out of his: shirtless (because of course he is), and wearing a pair of grey sweatpants that sat low enough on his waist for you to lose your train of thought.

He must’ve just showered, with his face flushed and hair damp and messy and sticking to his forehead. You catch yourself staring just long enough to realize that he has caught you staring him down.

“Oh… hi.” You greet him, heart racing. “I’m here to tutor Sarah.”

Rafe tilts his head, “You’re the tutor?”

Your eye twitches because there’s something about the way he says it; like he’s shocked and amused, like he doesn’t know whether to laugh in your face or let you in.

“Yes,” you cleared your throat. “Your dad contacted me personally to set this up. Tuesdays and Thursdays after school.”

Rafe hums and leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “You’re that Pogue girl from fourth period, right? The fisherman’s daughter.”

You raise your chin. “I’m also top of our grade. But sure, let’s go with that.”

A flicker of surprise crosses his face. It’s gone in an instant, replaced with a smirk.

But before he could respond, Sarah’s voice rings out from deeper in the house. “Rafe! Is that the tutor?”

“She’s all yours, princess,” Rafe calls over his shoulder. He steps aside, but not without giving you a once-over that makes your skin feel hot. “Good luck.”

You frown as you walk past him, and you try to ignore the feeling of his eyes on your back.

But try as you might, Rafe Cameron is hard to ignore.

His house was huge; there were too many hallways and high ceilings that should’ve made sure you never crossed paths. Yet, he still finds a way to linger in the background like some sort of ghost for your first few visits. Sometimes you heard his music thumping from upstairs, sometimes he was gone entirely doing god knows what. But there are moments when you catch him watching you. Just glimpses: leaning on the banister above the sunroom where you tutored Sarah, or perched on the stairs as you pack your things. His gaze is unreadable, always lingering a beat too long.

Even in the walls of Kook Academy where everyone else whispered storms around you, you sometimes caught Rafe silently staring at you from across the classroom, or in the hall while you swapped books out from your locker. He kept himself at an arm’s distance, and you paid him no mind the best you could while swallowing the fact that sometimes when you looked up, your eyes were searching for his without even realizing.

𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𓇼˚₊‧✩*ੈ𓏲

It isn’t until a few weeks of catching glimpses of Rafe that you finally speak to him again.

It was at a party one of the seniors from your club was throwing— something you were offhandedly invited to, and something you were not planning on attending until one of your old friends from The Cut called you in the middle of the night.

“I’m throwing up in the most beautiful bathroom I’ve ever seen.” Her words were slurred over the phone, and after confirming that she doesn’t have anyone to drive her home tonight, you immediately swipe the car keys off the kitchen counter and tiptoe out the front door to pick her up.

When you pull up to the house and walk inside, you’re immediately swarmed by what seems like the entirety of your school’s student body. You brace yourself as you swim through the crowd, eventually jogging up the stairs and repeating to yourself where your friend had told you she was posted. The second floor, four doors to the left.

You turn left and count the doors as you pass them, each decorated with some sort of ornate crowning that would make you feel dizzy if you were actually paying any attention. Four doors. Three doors. Two doors. One door.

“Hey I’m here, are you—” You're quick to open the door, only to be met with Rafe Cameron. Shirtless. Kissing some girl’s neck.

You barely even notice that this door did not open to the most beautiful bathroom you’d ever see. Heat crawls up your neck as Rafe looks up at you, pulling away from the girl he was holding to give you a genuinely surprised expression. His lips part and the beginning of your name starts at the curl of his tongue, but you’re quick to squeak out an apology before he can call out to you, slamming the door shut and scrambling towards the next door over.

There, you’re finally met with your friend groaning over some sort of fancy contraption that you could only assume was a toilet. You try to ignore the image of Rafe Cameron caging some girl against the wall to help your friend up, almost dropping her in the process when you remember the way he looked up at you. Did the mere sound of your voice do that much to take him out of the moment?

“Fuck, sorry.” You huff, wrapping your arm around your friend’s waist to steady her wobbling body.

You walked out the bathroom and into the hall, only to be met with Rafe pulling his shirt back on, his eyes lighting up when he saw that you hadn’t left.

Your mind feels numb, and you aren’t quite sure if the beating in your chest is from the bass reverberating throughout the house or your heart.

“Hey,” Rafe greets, smoothing down his hair before quirking a brow at your friend. “I didn’t know you had friends other than Sarah.”

You roll your eyes, tightening your grip on your friend’s waist.

“She’s a friend from my side of the island.” You muttered, finally glancing at Rafe to give him a quick once-over. His shirt was rumpled, half-tucked into his shorts, and his eyes are still hazy from whatever he was doing before you interrupted. But there’s something sharper behind them now… like he’s awake in a way he wasn’t just moments ago.

He lets out a low chuckle and steps toward you, snapping you out of your trance. “Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

Your friend groans dramatically in your arms, her head lolling forward and it makes you sigh, already dreading the dead weight she’s about to become.

Rafe watches for a second, then steps closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “Here,” he says, voice low. “Let me.”

Before you can even protest, he’s sliding an arm around her back and the other under her knees, lifting her like she’s nothing. His forearm brushes across your chest briefly. Totally accidental, but something about it still sends a little shock through your spine.

“She’s heavier than she looks,” you manage.

Rafe grins. “Good thing I work out.”

You snort before you can stop yourself, which earns you a glance. A real one. Not the usual smirk or once-over, but something slower, something that lingers.

“You laugh different when you’re not at school,” he says, casually, like he didn’t just say something that made your heart skip a beat.

You blink. “You notice how I laugh?”

His gaze doesn’t flinch. “I notice a lot more than you think.”

Your breath catches for half a second before you look away, heat blooming on your cheeks.

The two of you make your way through the chaos of the house, dodging spilt drinks and stumbling students slurring, “Oh my god, is that the Pogue girl?”, whenever they passed you. You’d be bothered any other day, but for some reason, focusing on Rafe’s back made the chaos of the party unnoticeable.

Once you’re outside, you unlock your truck with a click. “I drove the Chevy my family uses for business. It’s beat-up. You can’t miss it.”

Rafe gives a half-laugh. “The one with the duct tape around the mirror?”

“Hey, that duct tape is structural.”

He lowers your friend gently into the passenger seat, making sure her head doesn’t hit anything. She mumbles something in her sleep, and you watch him silently as he buckled her in.

He closes the door, then straightens up before walking over to where you stood at the passenger side. He looks at you closer now, closer than he probably needs to be. His hand lingers on the roof of your truck.

“You sure you’re good to drive?”

You nod. “Didn’t drink. Just came for her.”

He studies your face for a moment, and the air feels heavier with whatever it is he’s not saying.

Then he cocks his head, “You’ve got that look.”

You frown. “What look?”

His voice dips just slightly. “Like you’re used to taking care of everyone but yourself.”

You don’t answer. Mostly because you can’t. Not when his words settle right in your brain and block your thoughts.

Rafe rocks back on his heels, then gestures to your truck. “Still… be careful. Lots of idiots out tonight.”

You narrow your eyes, trying to stay steady. “Are you… being nice to me?”

He gives a low laugh. “Don’t get used to it.”

But he’s smiling. Not smirking. Smiling. And it makes a wave of warmth crash through your body.

You open the driver’s door but hesitate, glancing back one more time. “Thanks. For helping.”

He lingers, looking at you through his lashes. “You should come to one of these parties not as a rescue mission sometime.”

“And do what?” you scoff. “Shotgun beers with the Kooks?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Or maybe just let someone take care of you for once.”

Your breath hitches. He holds your gaze for a second too long, then turns, disappearing into the house like nothing happened.

But you stay there. Frozen, heart thudding stupidly in your chest.

𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𓇼˚₊‧✩*ੈ𓏲

You don’t speak to Rafe until the following Tuesday tutoring session.

(Not that you’re paying attention)

He shows up in shorts and a grey hoodie, zipped up low enough for his chest to be visible. The hood of his sweater loosely covers his hand, and you notice that his hair’s damp again. You wonder if he’d come back from the beach. Sarah gives him a look when he wanders into the sunroom where you're reviewing chemistry formulas with her. “Do you mind?” she says, flicking a pencil at him. “You’re not subtle.”

“I live here,” Rafe deadpans, grabbing a bottle of water from the mini fridge and cracking it open. “Didn’t know I needed a reservation to hydrate.”

You keep your eyes on the textbook, even as you feel his stare burn like sunlight against your skin.

Sarah sighs. “If you’re staying, don’t distract—”

“Relax,” Rafe says, already dropping into the armchair across from you both. “I’ll be quiet. Like a ghost.”

He’s not quiet.

He interrupts twice to ask dumb hypothetical questions. At one point, he throws an eraser at Sarah and then blames it on you. Every time you look up, he’s already looking at you: amused, like he knows he’s getting under your skin.

But the weirdest part?

He listens. Actually listens. He doesn’t even pretend to be bored when you’re explaining molar mass. When Sarah groans and throws herself dramatically onto the couch, declaring she’s over it, you expect Rafe to leave with her.

Instead, he stays.

“Think you could tutor me sometime?” He asks with a smirk.

You snort. “Sure. I specialize in lost causes.”

He leans forward, arms braced on his knees, voice lower. “Bet you could fix me if you really tried.”

That shouldn’t make your stomach flip. And yet…

You clear your throat and shut the textbook a little too forcefully. “Session’s over.”

He grins. Like he knows he got to you. Because he did.

𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𓇼˚₊‧✩*ੈ𓏲

You couldn’t get Rafe out of your mind.

There was something confusing about him… he’s been hanging around you for months now, and the more you got to know him, the more you found out that he wasn’t all that he seemed. He teased you yet he seeks you out whenever you’re around. He was crass in a way all the Kooks in Figure Eight were, but at the same time he was kind like so many others hadn’t been. He was known as a stupid asshole party boy but was as clever as a whip, with a quiet kind of curiosity that made you feel seen.

You think about the way he leans in close whenever you speak, how his lips part whenever he says your name, how his lips were attached to that girl's neck at the party those fewmonths ago—

Fuck, you think, increasing the speed of your pedalling as you bike to the Cameron house. You had to stop thinking…

And it works, because Sarah had cancelled tutoring at the last minute, texting that she’s going out with friends. You showed up anyway—mostly because you forgot, mostly because you already made the ride.

You step inside when no one answers the door, calling out a soft hello.

No answer.

The house is oddly still.

You’re about to leave when a low voice catches your ear, muffled but sharp. You hesitate before following the sound, slow, careful not to make the floorboards creak. You knew who it came from, and something about his tone made you worry.

It’s coming from Ward Cameron’s office.

You’re halfway down the hall when you finally hear Rafe’s voice.

“I told you, I have it under control.”

Ward’s voice is colder. More precise. “What you have is a goddamn pattern, Rafe. Picking fights. Blowing money. Scaring off the clients we need. You think you’re bulletproof?”

“I’m doing everything you ask—”

“You’re doing everything wrong,” Ward cuts in, and the silence that follows is so thick you feel it in your teeth.

“You keep throwing my mistakes in my face,” Rafe says, quieter now. Bitter. “But you’ve made worse. You just hide yours better—”

That earns a sound that makes you flinch. Sharp, angry, skin making contact with skin.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that in my house.”

You flinch like you were slapped. You weren’t supposed to hear any of that.

You take a step back, heart thudding in your throat, only for your shoe to catch on the edge of the hallway rug with the softest shuffle of fabric.

Silence from the office.

Fuck.

You barely make it two steps off the porch before the door swings open behind you.

“Hey.”

Your breath catches.

Rafe.

He’s standing there like he was already on his way out, like he knew. His jaw’s clenched, cheeks flushed; not in that golden-boy, post-surf way, but like something just snapped.

Your stomach drops at the red mark blooming on the side of his face.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, voice low, guarded.

“I—” you hesitate. “Sarah canceled. I forgot. I was just leaving.”

“You heard that?” he asks, cutting straight through the lie.

You open your mouth. Close it again.

What point was there in lying?

His expression flickers. Not angry. Not yet. Just… raw. Like you peeled back something he’s spent years trying to bury.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” he mutters, stepping out onto the porch, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Fuck.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you say quickly. “I—I wasn’t trying to snoop or whatever. I just… heard your voice.”

He laughs, but it’s bitter. Humorless. “Yeah, well. That’s what I am, right? Loud. Screwed up. Impossible to ignore.”

You shake your head. “That’s not—”

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t do that. Don’t pretend like you care.”

Your pulse jumps.

“Rafe, I—”

He says, stepping closer. “What do you even know? You’re just the perfect Golden Child with her whole life ahead of her while I’m some fuck-up who can’t do anything right.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, heart hammering.

“Fuck,” he adds, voice softer now. “You’re always somewhere you’re not supposed to be. When I’m getting my ass handed to me, when I was at that party…”

He stops himself. Breath hitching. It’s like he’s weighing something dangerous on his tongue.

“I didn’t mean for you to see me like that,” he says. “With him. With that girl. With any of it. I didn’t mean for you to see me at all.”

And there it is.

The truth.

“You think I care about that?” you whisper, the words leaving before you can stop them. “That you’re not perfect? That you fight with your dad? Rafe, I don’t think less of you for any of that.”

He looks at you like he doesn’t believe it.

Like no one’s ever said that to him before.

You step closer, your voice trembling. “But I do care for you… but also, fuck. I’m worried, Rafe, of… whatever this is between us. Because it’s confusing and it’s not supposed to be happening.”

“Why not?” he says, voice rough.

“Because I’m supposed to keep my head down and get into college and not get tangled up with a Cameron.”

His eyes darken.

“But I can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s scaring me.” you admit. “It’s driving me insane.”

He moves then. Fast, but not reckless. Like he’s wanted to do this for weeks but was holding back out of some twisted sense of mercy. He cups your jaw with one hand, the other settling on your waist like he needs something to ground him.

“You don’t have to be scared,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “Not of me.”

Then he kisses you.

And every second leading up to this; every stare, every smirk, every sleepless night replaying the way he looked at you just clicks.

Because this? This was always coming.

But by the time you process all of that, you barely notice, too focused on kissing him back to care.

𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𓇼˚₊‧✩*ੈ𓏲

You don’t see Rafe at school the next day.

Or the day after.

No lazy smirks across fourth period. No shoulder bump in the hallway. No lingering in the back of Sarah’s tutoring sessions.

You keep your head down and spend your time trying to convince yourself that you didn’t imagine it. The way he kissed you like the world might end mid-breath. The way his hands curled at your waist like he didn’t know how to let go.

You’re not sure what you are to him now, and maybe he isn’t sure either.

Tutoring feels weird today. Sarah’s restless, asking for breaks every fifteen minutes, texting someone under the table. You can’t even blame her. You’re not exactly making English sound all too interesting.

You’re finishing up, quickly sifting through some vocab when you hear him.

Footsteps from upstairs. Slow. Careful.

Your heart kicks up even though you’re pretending to focus on irregular verbs.

A beat. Then another. He stops in the hallway, just outside the sunroom.

You freeze.

"Hey," comes his voice. Soft. Almost too soft to catch.

You look up. He’s leaning on the doorway, dressed down in a hoodie and gym shorts, like he just rolled out of bed. But his eyes are alert. Tired, maybe, but tracking yours like they’re trying to say something his mouth can’t yet form.

"Hey," you say back, quieter than you mean to.

Sarah doesn’t look up, still glued to her phone.

There’s a long pause. Rafe scratches the back of his neck, like he’s trying to figure out what he’s even doing here. His gaze flicks to your notebook, then back to you.

“I was gonna… ask if you wanted a ride home.”

Your heart stumbles.

You blink. “Oh. Um… I biked.”

His lips twitch, something like a smile. “Right. Forgot you’re stubborn like that.”

You can’t help the small smile that slips through. “And you’re nosy.”

His hand drags through his hair, anxiously. Endearingly. “Yeah. Guess I am.”

You don’t know what to say next, and you think he might fill the silence, but then Sarah groans and mutters something about needing to pee, sliding out of her chair with her phone still in hand.

You and Rafe are left in silence.

And just before he turns away, he looks at you again; softer this time. Vulnerable, like a deer approaching a man with a gun.

“I meant what I said, you know,” he murmurs.

You tilt your head. “Which part?”

His jaw shifts, like he’s afraid of saying too much. “The part where I kissed you.”

You struggle to form a single thought. The air feels like it holds its breath with you. Rafe just gives a quiet nod, like he’ll take whatever you can give, even if it’s nothing yet.

But you call out to him as he’s about to turn around and leave.

“Rafe,” You call, heart skipping a beat at the speed he turns back to look at you. “Maybe I… I’ll take you up on that ride.”

He takes a beat before nodding silently, mumbling something about how he’d put your bike in the back of his truck and wait for you while you cleaned up your space. You barely remember to say bye to Sarah as you make haste towards the driveway, where Rafe was leaning against the passenger door. He opened the door for you, holding out his hand to help you in as if your family didn’t also own a huge vehicle.

When he settles into the driver’s seat and starts the car, it’s the beginning of a long, long ride.

The air is charged with a sort of tension that’s happy to rest on your shoulders. You think about what you said earlier. What he said earlier. And the words, the feelings that have been building up since that kiss, make your pulse race all over again. The quiet moments, the stolen glances… everything feels different now.

The only sounds that fill the silence between you two are your directions and the soft rumble of the truck. You fidfet with the hem of your skirt, glancing out the window to avoid looking at him too directly. But by the time you reach your neighbourhood, you finally use a moment to take Rafe in; the way he chews the inside of his cheek and furrows his brow in thought… the way his eyes are focused on the road but you know his mind is probably thinking about all the same things you were…

The sun had already set as he pulled into your driveway, and it’s only then when you realize you’d barely spoken to him the whole ride here.

“Rafe,” You start, taking in how he immediately turns towards you in anticipation. You bite your lip, “Thank you for the ride.”

He nods. “No problem—”

“Wanna come inside?” His eyebrows raise at the offer, and even though your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of its chest, you remain calm. “We should talk… away from my nosy neighbours.”

“Your parents would let a rowdy Cameron kid into your room with you alone?”

“No… just park a block away and come back through the window to my room, Rafe. I’ll let you in through there.”

Rafe is silent, taking a beat to consider your offer before he nods at your instructions. You leave the truck and unlock the door to your house, greeting your family before telling them you didn’t want to be disturbed in your room while you studied. They brushed you off with a nod, and you immediately head to your room to open your window; just a crack.

You take the time to quickly tidy your room; loose clothes and books were strewn across your room, and you picked them up and threw them in the closet with a clumsy quickness. The thought of a boy in your room… of Rafe Cameron in your room, even if he was just there to talk, made warmth bloom in your cheeks.

You’d tossed the last novel on top of your desk when you heard the tap on your windowsill— so quiet that you almost missed it.

Your breath catches as you turn towards your window because he’s there. Rafe Cameron, standing just outside your window, one hand on the ledge, hair wind-swept, eyes lit like he’s been wandering around in a storm and finally found home.

“You got here faster than I thought.” You say, moving to let him inside. Your eyebrows raise at the sight of him holding your bike by one handle.

He shrugs, “You left it in the back of my truck.”, and the thought of Rafe Cameron riding your beat-up pink bike back to your house makes you laugh a bit too loudly. He smiles back, carefully leaning your bike against your house before climbing in like it’s second nature, like he’s done it a hundred times before.

Rafe lands lightly on the floor of your room, his presence filling the space with a quiet intensity. He doesn’t say anything at first, just glances around; eyes flitting over the books, the mismatched posters on your walls, the small trinkets scattered across your desk. He huffs out a chuckle at a picture of you posing with your brothers when you were kids, but there’s a moment of quiet, a bit of awkwardness that lingers between you both as he takes in the room.

You clear your throat, feeling the need to break the silence, even though you’re not entirely sure what to say.

“Rafe,” you start, catching his attention. He’d been smiling tensely, but upon seeing how you were looking at him, his lips quickly faded into a more serious expression. “What did you want to say to me earlier?”

He’s quiet, mustering up his words; the words that had been left unsaid.

“I guess,” he begins, voice a little rougher now, “I just wanted to make sure that kiss wasn’t just something that happened in the heat of the moment.”

You feel your heart leaping out of your chest as you shake your head, eyes locked on his.

“It wasn’t.” You whisper, your heart hammering in your chest as the words slip out before you can stop them.

Rafe’s expression softens at your response, his eyes searching yours, as though he’s trying to make sure he hasn’t misunderstood you. You can feel the weight of the conversation settling between you two, but something about it is different now… something in the way he’s not afraid that you’ll run away from him anymore.

He steps closer to you, the space between you getting smaller, until he's standing right in front of you. His eyes flick to your lips briefly, but he doesn’t move in just yet.

His gaze flicks to your collarbone, then back up to your eyes. You feel the heat between you both, thick in the space, as he leans in just a fraction, like he's waiting for permission, waiting for you to pull him the rest of the way in.

You know you’re the one to close the gap.

But before you do, your hand instinctively reaches out. You touch the side of his face, your fingers grazing the bruise there; the one he’d gotten from Ward the day you two kissed. It’s faint, a mix of purple and yellow, and you trace it with the tips of your fingers, barely pressing.

Rafe’s breath catches at the touch, and for a moment, there’s nothing but the soft sound of your breathing and the rush of your heart in your ears. His hand is warm as it reaches up to cover yours, his thumb brushing against your knuckles, his eyes locked on yours, vulnerable in a way he hasn't been before.

“I didn’t mean for this,” he whispers, his voice raw, “To hurt you, to make things complicated.”

You give a small shake of your head, your touch lingering on the bruise, fingers lingering on his skin for just a moment longer. “It’s not complicated. Not really.”

The moment stretches, holding you both in its pull, and without thinking, you’re leaning up. Your lips meet his in a kiss that feels different this time; softer, but more certain. It’s not frantic, not desperate. It’s a slow, deliberate thing, full of the things unsaid between you.

And as you pull back, the two of you stay close, your hand still on his cheek, his thumb brushing your wrist gently, neither of you quite ready to move away just yet.

The breeze from your open window sweeps over you, and the smell of the sea wafts into your room to wash away your worries.

𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𓇼˚₊‧✩*ੈ𓏲

[the present day]

“Fuck!” You let yourself scream before you could cover your mouth, surprising Rafe in the process since you’d opened your window a crack before showering. He jumps, shocked as if he hadn’t just snuck up to your window like some thief in the night.

“You alright in there?” Your mom calls, her tone concerned as you run towards your bedroom door.

“I’m— shit— I’m fine! Just got scared by my reflection…” You yell back, closing your door as she mumbled something about profanity.

Your attention switched back to Rafe, who’d been frowning at your window like some sort of dog who got locked out of his owner’s house. You frown back, stomping towards where he stood as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“What the hell?” You ask bitingly. If you were paying any less attention to the man on the other side of the glass, you wouldn’t notice how his shoulders almost flinched at your tone. “Are you going to stalk me now that I’m back in town? What made you think it was okay to just show up at my house like this?”

If Rafe couldn’t tell you were angry before, you’d think he’d became a blind man. You doubt he was even confused in the first place; if there’s one thing about Rafe Cameron it’s that he could read you like an open book, whether you liked it or not. He knew your tells, knew that every twitch in your face meant something different. He’d know you’d be livid to see him come to your window. It’s as if the last three years of no contact meant nothing to him as he stood in front of you, brow furrowed as he stared up at you. He was messing with you because he’d know. You know he’d know.

He’d know… yet you don’t quite understand why he looks so worried as he examines your expression.

“Your dad got into an accident.” He says, more as a statement than questioningly.

You roll your eyes, “Gee, news travels slow up in Kook-dom.”

Rafe’s frown deepens. “That’s why you’re back?”

“Rafe—”

“Are you okay?”

Your lips press together in an emotion you can’t quite describe. It’s the anger at seeing Rafe’s face mixed with the relief of feeling his concern… The juxtaposition of emotions makes your heart ache.

Tears welled up in your eyes before you knew how to respond, and Rafe’s reaction is immediate as his hands find your window pane.

“Let me in—”

“Wait.” Your voice is shaky as your hands come up to stop Rafe from opening your window and climbing into your room. He’s silent, watching the tears you’d left unshed in front of your family finally escape from your eyes.

“You’re not okay.” He says, sternly and plainly. He kept his hands on your window but didn't continue sliding it fully open, even though he could easily overpower your strength if he wanted.

You sniffle, “I’m fine.”

“Your dad is hurt and you had to go back in that boat. You’re not fine.”

“Fuck, Rafe.” You sobbed, knowing full well that there was no need to ask why he’d come all the way to The Cut to see you in your family’s quaint house by the water. History be damned, he knew you needed someone the way your family needed you; someone to lean on while you kept your household glued together. “How were you so sure I’d even talk to you?”

Rafe sighs, “You left your window open a crack.”

“It was out of force of habit!” You cry, finally crumbling at the reminder of a ritual between the two of you that had long passed its intended purpose.

It was all too much, being back at the Outer Banks. You cried like the child you were when you left, and couldn’t find it in yourself to care when Rafe moved to finally open your window. He climbed into your room with a practiced ease, and pulled you in an embrace that was all at once familiar and foreign. His larger frame engulfed yours like you were jumping into water.

Rafe stayed with you until you calmed down, sitting the both of you down on your bed while wiping your tears with the pads of his thumbs once you stopped sobbing. He didn’t speak, waiting for you to break the silence as your breathing evened out.

After a few minutes of quiet, you finally look over at Rafe to take him in.

He’d always been handsome, but he turned from a boy to a man in the few years you were apart. Looking at him now, he’s broader than you remember, with arms lined with muscle that he didn’t have as a baby-faced teen. The delicate features on his face that once made him look innocent like a child had been hardened by something you weren’t quite able to grasp; a seriousness that made you feel small in comparison. The only thing that hasn’t changed was the feeling of warmth radiating from his palm as he rubbed your back.

Your eyes travel to his, and you wonder if he was studying you the same way as he looked you over.

“Rafe,” You start, catching his attention. His gaze is gentle, almost hopeful as he locks eyes with you. “Why were you at the harbour?”

“Oh. Stuff for my dad. He was there too; at a place near where your boat is docked.” He says, almost deflatedly.

You hum in response at the mention of Ward Cameron, and you barely notice how telling your frown is until Rafe huffs out a chuckle.

“What, you worried about me or something?” His smile is crooked when he asks, and now things are feeling way too familiar.

��Don’t joke. You shouldn’t have come here,” You sniff, deciding not to mention how he was the one who went out of his way to watch you set your sails this morning. He was the one who crossed the island just to see you when he knew you’d be home. He was the one who’s wiping your tears because he’s worried. “I told you the last time we saw each other that I didn’t…”

Rafe’s smile falters at the very mention of the memory, and you almost feel bad for him as he looks down at your lap to distract himself from it. You could still feel how his mood shifts— it’s suffocating. Rafe Cameron controls the air around him like he’s flicking a switch.

“I mean fuck, Rafe,” You felt your heartbeat quicken at his silence. “You can’t just— I can’t. I need to focus on what my family needs from me here… my dad needs surgery on the mainland and my mom has never been on her own and my brothers are way too young to—”

“Stop. I get it, okay? How long is your dad going to be recovering for?”

“A few months… at least six.”

“Shit…”

You know what Rafe wants to ask. You really can’t afford some help for a few months? Well, no… your family does well enough for life on The Cut but it’s only because your father works as much as he does. Early mornings to late evenings just like his father and his father’s father. And with the incoming hospital fees… no. You can’t afford to hire someone who wouldn’t put all their earnings back into your family.

But Rafe knows this. He may be a spoiled Kook but you know he knows… when he’d confide in you about his family, you’d confide in him about yours. That’s how it went back then. He knew you well enough not to ask.

There’s nothing more to say. The two of you sit in silence for a few moments longer before you speak up again.

“You should go home. I have an early day tomorrow.”

Rafe stills before nodding slowly, and the warmth of his hand on your back is suddenly gone as he moves to stand up. You follow close behind, leading him back to your window from whence he came.

“Let me know if you need anything, okay? You or your family. I can help, y'know." Rafe says, climbing out of your room and softly landing back onto the ground outside. He looks up at you as you lean out your window to see him off, just like you always did.

You take a beat to answer, taking in the sight of Rafe Cameron standing in front of your window. You always used to joke that he was some sort of Romeo whenever he said goodbye like this. Too sweet and cheeky to you for someone that was otherwise so apathetic and vicious towards everyone else. You look at him now, all grown up, and realize how long ago that all was.

“I hear things about you, dangerous things.” You start, studying Rafe’s face as your hands unintentionally find your window sill to come closer towards him. “If you want to help me out then stay out of trouble, Rafe. Please just stay safe.”

You can almost feel the tears welling up in your eyes again, and you know he can read your mind. Please stay safe. Please don’t make me worry about you, because you know I will.

Rafe’s expression turns from one of surprise into one of knowing, all in an instant. His smile is almost pained as he stares back up at you.

“After all these years apart, you're still the only person here who worries for me.” He says, more to himself than to you. You don’t respond, and the two of you take one last moment to put each other to memory before Rafe turns around and leaves without another word.

You watch him depart until he’s out of sight when you move to slide your window down, making sure it’s closed all the way before you make your way to your bed.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #obx x reader #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe fanfiction #outer banks x reader #outer banks x you #obx fic #obx fanfiction #rafe x you #rafe obx #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #outer banks

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aventurinesweetheart · 12 hours ago

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「AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES..!?」

character: anaxa <33 genre: p0rn w/ plot summary: having anaxa as a roommate doesn’t go as planned. warnings: afab reader, modern au, reader is mentioned to smoke weed, anaxa is a lil shit, closet perv anaxa, panty stealing, masturbation, i believe in freaknaxa supremacy, uhm lazy ending but there will be a pt2 dw a/n: shout tf out to @astofofo for this idea omfg

you first met anaxa when you’d posted the ad for a new roommate—the last one had ended up stealing some of your shit, and when you found out, and while you had been contemplating not renewing the lease with them, this was the final straw and cemented your decision.

he seemed sensible enough, if not a little arrogant? or snarky.., but all around well rounded and exactly what you were looking for in a roommate—besides, he had mentioned that you two wouldn’t even have to interact at all, something that pleased you greatly considering how clingy your last roommate was and how tired you were.

little did you know that you would end up falling hard for mr. anaxagoras.

it started with small things—his mannerisms, the way he spoke, ..his good looks, obviously, how fucking smart he was?? even if he made you feel like a fucking idiot sometimes. even if he had a bit of a tendency, not to mansplain, but as you’ve begun affectionately calling it, anaxsplain. because you wholeheartedly believed he was just.. Like That. and that he would always anaxsplain regardless of his gender.

it wasn’t until things started going missing that you began to wonder if you’d made a mistake. but.. it wasn’t things your old roommate had stolen (like your weed, money, even some of your favorite clothes), no, it was something much more intimate this time..

the first time your panties had disappeared, you just assumed you misplaced them…. until they showed up washed and in your drawer unprompted when you swear you looked there. ..it didn’t occur to you until a few months later, when this became a repeated offence that maybe your roommate had something to do with this..?

no, surely not. he doesn’t seem like the type, right? he always paid his portion of the rent on time, made sure you paid yours on time, even cooked dinner for the both of you from time to time. a man like that had no business stealing your underwear….

so, you simply deluded yourself into believing that it was some other factor for your magically disappearing and then reappearing, freshly washed panties..!

the first night you were out with a friend, though, you had told anaxa, just so somebody would know where you were and what you were doing while you were out and about. anaxa, of course, took note of this, and waited until at least half an hour after you were gone to stalk into your dark bedroom. god forgive him for what he’s about to do, but…. it really isn’t his fault! you were just so.. tempting! you may have fallen first, but anaxa fell harder. much harder than he’d like to admit.

already in his casual wear for the evening, he sits on the edge of your bed, feeling the mattress dip beneath him as he imagines you sitting by his side—or maybe on his lap. either way, he thinks about the two of you kissing, slowly at first, building up to something much more heated. leaning back into the bedding, he can feel his blood starting to flow to his dick instead of his brain, and he lets out a quiet sigh before readjusting himself to lay in your bed fully so he can rest his head against your pillows.

slowly, one hand trails down his abdomen, pretending it was your fleeting touch, until it reaches the waistband of his sweatpants. god… should he really commit to the bit like this?

his cock twitches in response to his moral dilemma before he gives into his more perverse desires and uses both hands to tug his pants down to his knees, followed by his boxers, and he inhales sharply at the feeling of the cold air of your room hitting his sensitive and flushed cockhead. that part was on him, though… as of late, he’d taken to setting the thermostat to colder than it usually was, just to see your stiffened nipples through your shirt whenever you weren’t wearing a bra around the house.

spitting into his hand—he wishes it was your saliva—he grasps his twitchy shaft before slowly starting to jerk it up and down….

“mmh,” he hums softly, grateful that you had mentioned something about staying the night at a friend’s tonight. this would give him plenty of time to jork it and cover his tracks by washing your sheets!

truthfully speaking, he came much faster than he’d care to admit.. and then twice over. sure, he was a little overstimulated, but he doesn’t know when he'll get this chance again! he simply just took advantage of it, that's all. i mean, why wouldn’t he? when you were so…. he doesn’t have the words for it, and perhaps that was part of the reason he was enamored by you.

finishing himself off for the fourth and final time around one in the morning, he takes a long moment to merely lay there and recuperate so he could wash your bedspread clean of his sins. he even stays up the whole laundry cycle so he can make your bed to even neater than before he’d soiled your resting place.

he’s finally done around seven, and he’s quite pleased with himself this time. sure, he’d jerked himself off with your panties before, but that was in the privacy of his own bedroom. what he had done tonight was something else entirely….

sitting on the edge of your bed once more, he falls back onto the comforter and closes his eyes as his pretty green hair sprawls out behind him and his breathing begins to slow. he was exhausted after tonight’s gooning session—not that he would EVER. refer to it as that—and couldn’t resist the temptation of sleep as a little smile tugs at the corners of his full lips.

unfortunately for anaxa, you had come home around 9:30, stumbling to your room hungover as hell when you spotted him just laying there, on your freshly made bed. because you know you hadn’t washed your sheets in perhaps an embarrassing amount of time. oh wow. what were you supposed to do with this situation..?

deciding to let him rest and spare him the embarrassment, you make your way to the living room and crash on the couch until around noon. and whenever you woke up, you realized you had been covered with a blanket in your slumber—and the only person who could’ve done this was your roommate, of course. man…. he’d been oddly considerate recently, so.. maybe you should do something for him? ..but what? certainly something to think on.

anaxa, who had woken from his nap about half an hour after you got home and passed out on the couch, quickly flees your room, gently shutting the door behind him, and silently prays you weren’t home yet—or that you at least hadn’t stopped by your room…… even if he knows that may be unlikely. okay, well at least there was no evidence of his jizz on your bedsheets, so you couldn’t exactly accuse him of anything other than missing you (and he did, but you weren’t allowed to know that).

when he finds you asleep on the couch in the living room, he feels some sense of relief as he grabs a blanket from .. well, wherever y’all decided to store them before making his way over to your peaceful form and he can feel his heart clench a bit. … what an odd feeling. it was one he wasn’t used to, so he wasn’t sure how to interpret his feelings, but he did know that he needed to touch you… to dissect you and devour you whole.

a few days soon go by and you can feel a certain tension in the air beginning to thicken. ever since you found him conked out in your freshly made bed?? something had to be up. men don’t just fuckin’ wash your sheets and make your bed for you. not unless they wanted something from you, or perhaps just you yourself.

then, one day, you both happened to be in the hallway at the same time—which would normally be fine except for the fact that, uhm. well, you really can’t help the way your eyes take in his half naked form—the way his towel is slung so low on his hips should be illegal.

okay so clearly you had just caught him as he’d gotten out of the shower, which would be fine except for the fact that he had a noticeable boner through the thin fabric that was covering his dick, but not his prominent v–line. good lord he looked delicious.. suddenly you were overcome with the urge to lick him, and you can feel your mouth starting to pool with drool. damn!! take a breath, thirsty; he cannot know that you wish he’d give you a chance.

later that night though, you couldn’t help the way one of your hands snuck past the waistband of your panties and started toying with your clit—gently at first, just to tease yourself, until the image of a mostly naked anaxa popped into your mind, and all of sudden you found yourself jerking it to the thought of the erection you’d caught sight of earlier.

“nngh,” you moan softly, momentarily forgetting about your thinner than you’d prefer walls as two of your fingers come to gather slick from your hopelessly empty cunt to further lubricate your clit. “‘n–naxa,” you whine, back arching a bit as you work yourself up to an orgasm.

you don’t even notice the way your door slowly opens and how anaxa stands there ominously—silently listening to your whimpers and whines of his name, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t start palming his hardening dick at your pretty noises.

“aa–aah!” you cum with a cry, hips lifting off the bed as you rub yourself through your orgasm, when you finally noticed that stupid green haired man standing there. what the fuck!? how long had he been there!?

“an–anaxa!” you squeal, sitting up in bed and yanking your hand out from between your legs. “wh–what the fuck are you doing here!?” you ask him incredulously.

“you aren’t exactly quiet, y’know,” he tells you bluntly. “i was going to offer my assistance since i noticed you eye fucking me earlier, but it seems you took care of yourself well enough,” he says indifferently, but secretly aching with the need to touch and fuck you. maybe.. just maybe if he played his cards right….. tonight could be the night..?

“you— huh?” you say dumbfoundedly, jaw dropping. what!! what was he implying by that! “well— just hold on a second–!” oh, this was going to make for a great conversation...

HSR m.list | pt.2

#hsr #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader smut #honkai star rail x reader smut #anaxa #anaxagoras #hsr anaxa #anaxa x reader #anaxagoras x reader #anaxa x reader smut #anaxagoras x reader smut #amphoreus #hsr amphoreus #amphoreus hsr #amphoreus x reader

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grapejuice32 · 2 days ago

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Move In?

Rafe x angel!reader

more angel!reader here main masterlist here

word count: 700+ a/n: angel asks Rafe to move in with her

It was midday and the two of you had been lounging around, just relaxing and watching a film together while snuggled up on the couch. You’d taken a break from the film, leaving it paused for Rafe who went to the bathroom, your eyes glued to one of the tapestries on your walls, taking in all the details. As he made his way back over to you, he passed by the room that you always kept locked, “Y’know, I know everything ‘bout you apart from what’s in that room.”

You just nodded before desperately trying to change the subject, “You have a lot of stuff here.” He smiled, taking his place besides you on your couch, immediately wrapping one of his arms around your shoulders to pull you into his side, only responding to you with a hum. “You’re also here a lot,” you continued, your gaze still fixed but no longer focused on the tapestry. He remained quiet, signalling you to continue speaking, “You also bought it off of my parents for me, so you technically own the house. So, if you think about it, this is really your house.”

“No, ‘s your house, angel. ‘s got all your stuff in it, and you’ve lived here f’years.” Amusement was clear in his tone.

“But it’s also got your stuff in it,” you countered, trying to make your point.

He just shrugged, “Well I’ll just take my stuff if ‘s a problem, you only have t’ ask.” You shook your head quickly, that was the opposite of what you wanted.

“Or…you could just bring all your stuff here,” you spoke slowly, feeling slight shy about the conversation now that you’d actually said what you really wanted.

He sighed, “I guess, but then it’d jus’ be in y’way and it wouldn’t help with the way you’re feeling.” You had to fight back from face palming, never having thought he was stupid until this moment. Rafe knew what you were asking, of course he did, but he just wanted to hear you say it.

“But isn’t it easier if it’s all here if you’re always here?” you tried, hoping maybe that would help him realise what you were trying and failing to ask in the direct way you’d rehearsed in your head.

“Oh,” he pondered, “I guess I’ll jus’ try and be here less. Don’t wanna get in the way, y’know.”

Your eyebrows raised and you lips parted, this was the opposite of what you wanted. The panic caused you to speak faster, “Or you could just have all your stuff here and you could always be here and then we can just always be here together.”

“I don’t think I understand,” he said, playing clueless.

You sighed and threw your head back for a moment before looking at him properly, “Like, we could live here. Both of us…together.”

“Oh,” he exhaled, “oh, like, have me move in?” He asked, as if he hadn’t figured you out at the start of this conversation. You nodded, biting your lower lip to hide your nervous smile. “And y’want that?” He had to check, just to be sure. You nodded again, your face begin to burn with a blush of embarrassment as you got ready for him to turn down your offer. “Then I’d love that.”

“Really?” You weren’t sure why you thought he’d say no, but you’d convinced yourself he would.

“ ‘f course, then I get to be ‘round my girl every day, hm?”

“You’re already around me every day.” You mumbled beneath your grin.

He chuckled and leant in closely to you, placing a kiss on your temple before murmuring in your ear. “Does this mean I get t’ see what’s in the secret room now?”

You paused, as if you were thinking before bluntly saying “No.” Turning your head back to the tv and switching the movie back on. The action causing Rafe to throw his head back and laugh at your antics.

“I’ll get in there one day, just you see.” He teased loudly, causing you to ‘shh’ him, when your favourite character started to speak in the film, favourite of course meaning the one you had a crush on, causing him to mumble beneath his breath grumpily, trying to ignore the jealousy that flared up inside him at your attention fixed on a man other than him, even if it was a fictional one.

a/n: requests are open

#rachel writes <3 #grapejuice32 #angel!reader #rafe x angel!reader #obx #outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x reader #outerbanks rafe #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe headcanons #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe #send asks

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targaryenfelikayt · 21 hours ago

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headcanons: passing the night. |Boys from horror|

characters: Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Art the clown, Pennywise. wc: 1,630 summary: headcanons about what nights might look like beside some of horror's most terrifying icons — from cold and distant Michael Myers to unexpectedly cuddly Thomas Hewitt. tags/warnings: lots of fluff, romance (as much as possible), nighttime routine. note: how i love these routine headcanons, you should know.

Bo Sinclair.

He’s the kind of man who can fall asleep anywhere without batting an eye, so when Bo suggests you share the bed before dragging you into it — you might as well be signing a deal with the devil. A devil that’s damn handsome, charming as hell, but utterly oblivious to anyone else’s idea of comfort.

No matter how many times you try to move him — asleep or awake — Bo always ends up sprawling across the middle of the bed like a starfish.

Knowing his lover’s light sleeping habits, Sinclair is willing to allow any liberty: sleep on either side, throw your legs or arms over him, or even treat him like a human pillow and lie right on top go ahead, have fun. He won’t even stir.

But God help you or what’s left of Him after the priest left town in a pine box if you dare get up in the middle of the night. That’ll wake him up, and if he doesn’t hear a very good excuse, he’ll just haul you back under him, curl his body around you like a bear trap, and snore right in your ear.

He does not care if you’re hot, or uncomfortable, or squished. “Sorry, doll, but you’re leaving me no choice,” he’d murmur. Some might find it romantic. But when a grizzly like Bo steals your personal space, it’s mostly just... inconvenient.

Vincent Sinclair.

Catching this waxy fish from his sculptor’s pond is no small feat, he’s utterly consumed by his work, more so than most people can imagine.

He can disappear into the basement and not reemerge for three days — no food, no sleep. That’s the price of genius. And the burden... is mostly yours.

You’ve learned to tell him it's bedtime in a tone that leaves no room for discussion. You turn off the lights in the next room and wait patiently until Vincent finally puts down his tools and follows you to bed.

You might fall asleep in whatever position, but come night, the sculptor always drifts closer and clings tighter. Sometimes he holds on so firmly, it wakes you. Then, with a low, hoarse murmur asking what’s wrong, he’ll kiss whatever bare skin he can reach and stroke your hair until you calm down.

If you didn’t know him well, you might think he’d died, he breathes so silently without the mask.

Morning always starts the same: you wake first, trying to sort out what limb belongs to who is in the knot of bodies and blankets, before slipping out and leaving him to rest. Artists don’t exactly keep normal hours, let the man catch some sleep.

Lester Sinclair.

Lester took a bit from both his older brothers and made it into something uniquely his own. He can fall asleep anytime, anywhere, with anyone simply because it’s bedtime. He might toss you the truck keys and immediately move over to the passenger seat and pass out. No seatbelt, of course, he knows these roads. What for? He’s already snoring.

If you’re at home, he’s always the first one upstairs while you’re still wrapping things up downstairs.

He used to sleep with the dog before you came into his life, but he’s since adapted. If you want, Lexie will curl up at the foot of the bed. If not, she’s got cozy beds in the living room, on the porch, even the bedroom.

Be ready for snoring. This man works hard and barely rests. You can nudge him, but don’t do it too hard, he might get hurt and head to the couch. (Honestly, he prefers you over the dust mites, but he worries about whether he’s being too much.)

It’s hard to remember the last time you saw him well-rested. Oh wait, it was Thanksgiving, when he drank too much with Bo and couldn’t get up the next morning. Even disheveled, Lester looked so heartbreakingly peaceful in sleep.

Jason Voorhees.

You never really got to enjoy him fully when your need for touch crept in. Not because Jason didn’t like affection — he did. But he was never the one to initiate it.

You wanted to cuddle, to curl up beside him. But come nightfall, Jason always went off to patrol the camp, making sure no unwanted guests had wandered in. By morning, when you woke, he was already gone again doing another sweep of the grounds.

A hundred thoughts ran through your head: maybe he just wanted to keep things secure, maybe he needed control… or maybe he was afraid to let you see him without the mask.

Everything changed one summer day. You dozed off by the lake, drowsy from the sun, and when you woke, Jason was still there, unmoving, silently keeping watch.

After that, he started coming back earlier. And in the mornings, he lingered a little longer, waiting for you to wake up, understanding that in those quiet moments, you needed him just as much as he needed you.

On especially hot days, Jason would lie down beside you, acting as your own personal cooling system — machete in one hand, the other slipped under your head. Just… make sure he never mixes them up.

Michael Myers.

Michael either goes to bed in the dirty clothes he wore all day (if you're lucky, they're not bloodstained), or completely naked. There's no in-between with this man — nor does he consider any alternatives. Why bother? He's perfectly comfortable either way.

If you manage to convince him to shower before bed, it’ll only be if you join him. You can even scrub his back with a floral body wash, he doesn’t really care about scents.

Sleeps like a corpse, arms straight at his sides. He gets annoyed when you throw your legs over him, it disturbs his already fragile sleep. But he also refuses to sleep elsewhere, so you’re left finding creative compromises.

One night, seemingly out of nowhere, he brings you a pregnancy pillow, the most comfortable thing you’ve ever used.

Everyone’s content. Everyone’s happy. And on the rare nights when you’re sick or not feeling well, he taps into a hidden reservoir of affection, doling out careful, measured touches.

Thomas Hewitt.

At first, Thomas was terrified to share a bed with you. You scared him more than a loaded gun pointed at his face. He knows how to handle weapons, not delicate girls, he might have a crush in his sleep.

If there had been any books about human relationships in the house, he would’ve devoured them in a couple of nights. But the shelves only held trashy romance novels, basic crime thrillers, and not a single piece of classic literature.

He usually naps in the basement, but at night he comes upstairs to guard your sleep from the other housemates. You picked Cerberus and turned him into a house-trained puppy who melts under your care.

Some nights, the fear of his own strength fades, like when you have nightmares and he rocks you gently in his arms, stroking your hair before lying down next to you.

To help you feel safe, he even moves the bed so one side touches the wall. That way, your body is nestled between the bricks and its broad back.

And of course, he installs a bolt on the door from the inside.

Art the Clown.

It’s hard to say if he even needs to sleep, but Art is more than happy to pull out a black-and-white striped pajama set and make the bed like he’s playing house.

His bedtime routine plays out like the start of a bad joke — pulling knives, axes, a bloody costume, and a lonely shoe from under the bed. Then, seeing your horrified expression, he sheepishly shoves it all back in place.

He prefers to sleep with his head on your chest like it’s the softest pillow in the world or curled up on your stomach, perfectly content.

He suffers from what you call "bedtime hyperactivity", he can’t settle down, pokes your side to check if you're asleep, readjusts his pillow, changes position every few seconds.

Eventually, you give up and let him do whatever he wants, if he lets you sleep. At first, he finds ways to keep himself occupied… but that doesn’t last long. One night, your eyes adjust to the darkness, and you spot him standing in the doorway like a guilty child, pillow in one hand, the other gesturing desperately to let him back under the covers.

Pennywise.

This clown has a habit of falling asleep next to you in different shapes, which pretty much sums up your bizarre relationship.

No matter how many times you ask him to just stick with his human form (or at least the clown — just don’t look at him at night), Pennywise always listens… and does the exact opposite.

“Since when you have a ginger cat?”, your friend asks as she turns to leave. You glance at the stairs and spot a smug feline face watching from above. He swishes his fluffy tail dramatically as he struts past, and you’re forced to spin some tale about feeding stray animals and how this one just won’t leave.

He only falls asleep with you, the moment your breathing evens out, he vanishes into the shadows. It would be a waste not to use such a perfect opportunity to snack.

But mornings are reserved for human form, he senses the gentle warmth radiating from your sleepy self and doesn’t want to scare you… well, maybe just a little.

Expect naked strutting and elaborate breakfast trays in bed. Pennywise is still adjusting to being “one of you,” so give him free rein to try all the weird things he’s seen on TV. Maybe a few of them will even grow on you.

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loverboyfang · 6 days ago

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the thought of zayne keeping all of the silly handmade stuff i make him cooks me like a fucking lobster . like fuck

#subzero #fang.txt #imagining myself going over to his place to see like #the handmade flowers or silly painting or little jar of paper stars #i love making things with my hands for people #like it’s a little embarrassing but idk it’s just the easiest way to show my affection #cooking or baking or crafting something. something tangible i had to put effort into and whatnot #i would never expect zayne to keep any of it #in my mind he’s a very high profile doctor and in my head i think he’s just accepting to be polite #but like . the idea of going over and they’re all sitting at his home office desk and shelves is making me so ☹️#lord that shit would doom me for all of eternity like oh no #it’s cooking me so bad picturing it #and knowing his character like. he’d be like ? well of course. you made it for me #AND SURE I DID BUT I DIDNT . EXPECT U TO KEEEP IT. LIKE AUGH #given my personality i’m actually so unfortunately sentimental as a person l #i have a box of memories and it has such random Things in it #but i do not really express my lovergirlism with the expectation of return #to me stuff like that makes me so #like AUHGGHHHSHDHFJMHKSJABN #i can’t . like haoshdjgmhlsl #I CANTTFF LIKE WHY ARE U BEING NICE TO ME?#i literally would not be able to act normal all night and i’m. shdngmsjfnmfjajdmfmsjenfns #he would also pick up on it surely . but i don’t know if i could bring myself to tell him #im embarrassed he’s embarrassing me . but i just . Know it would make me so clingy it makes me want to die #im supposed to be nonchalant and apathetic u can’t do this to me . i cant be putting my face in your shirt what the fuck #GOD . i need to sleep he’s just making me spiral so bad #he’s so much like my boyfriend in a way that i think my selfship with him is so vulnerable on accident like FUCK #like. nice and patient and honest like ohh im doomed

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screampied · 6 months ago

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#TRYNA FUCK ME I'M LIKE OKAY! g. suguru

☆ sum. suguru geto wasn’t used to losing a race, especially to a fucking rookie—but you’ve got him confused, intrigued, and… hard? long story short, ever since he hit it he’s never been the same.

wc. 6.8k

warnings. fem! reader, street racer! geto, pwp, unprotected, 2 fast 2 furious references, bratty reader, rivals to lovers ( ? ), geto has a dīck piercing, big size kink, riding, he fucks you on the hood of your car, cunnīlingus, sore loser geto gets humbled lel, overstim, squīrting, dirty talk, praise, petnames.

an. chase atlantic inspired me again </3 same au as this one.

second fucking place. he got second place and he lost to you, a newbie—the newest racer with the prettiest trendy wheels, flashy rims, and a hot pink 2001 honda s2000. stupid, stupid, the reality of losing left a sour taste in geto’s mouth. he can’t remember the last time he’s lost, ever. .

the moment he saw your car bolt in front of him at those last few milliseconds of the race with fiery pink smoke coughing from your steel pipes dusting near his front window, he just knew he lost to you. geto scoffs. “tch,” he’d mumble, slamming his car door shut, and releasing the straps of his custom-made helmet. you leaned against your slick hood, innocently fanning yourself with a pamphlet of the track’s course layout that was given to every racer before glancing at geto. he was quite tall and he looked down at you with a look of intrigue and bitter annoyance. “cheater.”

“excuse me?” you raise a brow. you knew damn well who he was, suguru geto—one of the if not the best street racer in tokyo. notorious for his wins and extremly cocky ego - except this time, your win against him bruised that little detail a bit. a small grin spreads across your glossed lips before your eyes rove up and down his dark leather ripped clothes. “you said somethin’?”

“you heard me, sweetheart,” he utters, bringing a gloved hand up to his face. doing so, geto tucks his sticky black tresses back inside his helmet. he’s so close, that he practically has you cornered against the hot hood of your car and his eyes stare at the medal that’s pinned near the left side of your chest. that gold medal that was supposed to be his. “besides,” and you nearly gasped once you felt your rear tap against the front of your vehicle. “your ‘riding’ could use a ‘lil work, rookie.”

you saw the look in his eyes. he’s challenging you, geto sees you as a potential threat and he wasn’t fond of losing.. ever.

it just wasn’t in his vocabulary.

you don’t know why but beating one of tokyo’s top street racers made cocky pride swell right up in your chest. the same kind of cocky pride that he was used to, and damn were you a force to be reckoned with. he just had to learn that the hard way.

“do i?” you reply, reaching an arm inside of your car to twist the keys out of the ignition. with a roaring sputtering growl, your engine gradually turns off and the sounds of whirring wind fill the air.

geto’s got his hands buried in his pockets as his tall lean body stands still. he’s checking you out.

his head slightly tilts to the side with his helmet cracked open and you can feel his eyes trailing up your entire physique.

he’s studying you - trying to figure out just who this pretty girl that just dusted him in a race.

you’d be lying through your teeth if you didn’t idolize him just a little bit. he was well known not just in tokyo but worldwide. the fangirls loved him, and the racers despised him with envy.

beating the suguru geto was a rare fever dream of itself.

“or are you just upset you’re not in the spotlight for once?” brat.. though your comment made him scoff with a sly smile curling against his thin lips.

“mm. for a new racer you sure have a smart mouth,” and his eyes quickly dash toward your car.

hot pink, it even looked freshly new and painted. and just to put the icing on the cake, it also has a pretty character design painted near the sides with the addition of a cheetah print wheel.

he lost to . . that?

geto’s quietly admiring your ride though—it looked like it was straight out of a movie. once he looks down at you again, he speaks in a gruff intimidated tone, finishing his sentence. “it’s only your first win, don’t be cocky.”

“i’ll be cocky if i want,” you murmur, and there’s a loud competitive tension between you both.

people started to leave the car meeting spot until it was just the two of you. your car’s parked near one of the garages where geto’s car was coincidentally parked also. you’re still leaning against the pink hood of your car before walking up to him. you close the awkward distance between you both, being just a few inches apart.

you’re bold, and he liked your spunk although he’d never flat-out admit it.

just . . . who were you?

geto didn’t like losing—that’s already been established. but now, he’s starting to realize he probably has to deal with you in future races, and oh- he knew you were gonna be a problem.

and he was right, because perhaps he’d finally met his match.

“besides, even if i did cheat,” you retaliate, your tone sounding more and more coy and foxy. playfully, your arms wrap around his shoulders and you tap against his sheer black helmet that had ‘s. geto’ autographed in bold purple near the other shell. vexed, mousy eyes glare at you through the protective gear and you lean up all the way close. “what are you gonna do about it, suguru?”

famous last words,

because one moment you’re being nothing but a mere brat and the next, you found yourself bent over the hood of your pretty blush-colored honda.

well, fuck.

suguru geto didn’t take disrespect lightly . . although, he liked the brat in you. a nice change of pace, even though it pissed him off a bit - a lot.

“s- shit,” you gasp, feeling your thighs squeeze together. geto’s domineering aura sends you chills, the kind of chills where it runs through your entire soul.

he’s so close that you could almost taste his loud cologne on your tongue. it’s a manly scent, you’d probably guess one of the main ingredients was oak moss. as you’re pondering deep in thought, still trying to get over his loud smell—a hand gingerly starts to brush down your skimpy lace-up chaps.

his touch felt good. . and sure, maybe you’ve fantasized about this exact moment once or twice while watching his races broadcasted on live television. geto’s pressed up against you as you’re idly hunched over, biting your lip. with a huff, you’re so close to your tinted window that you were practically having a staring contest with your rosy windshield wipers. “aw. you planned to spank me over my car?”

“not exactly, pretty girl,” he tsks with a clicked tongue, and that’s when you feel it. something poking against your rear — oh, he was hard.

it was something hard and you don’t quite think it was his helmet..

that couldn’t have been anything else other than a raging boner, and it makes you smugly hum. geto groans once he feels your ass wriggling against his skin-tight leather jeans. “think you’re funny, yeah girl?”

“a bit,” you utter in a breathy tone, feeling his fingers zig-zag down the exposed straps of clothing that reveal a bit of skin. you didn’t mind his touch - in fact, you only wanted more.

the inside of the garage was widely spacious—big enough to fit your car and geto’s iconic skyline gtr. it’s a gorgeous midnight dark purple that glimmers in the dead of night, akin to a raven’s wings.

with the garage lot being empty, it was just the two of you, the witching hour steadily approaching. all that could be heard was the occasional squawks and chirps of squaking birds and loud cars honking near the far distance by the freeway. as he’s still got you pinned over, you bite your pointer finger with a cheeky hum. “hilarious even.”

but, you don’t find anything funny moments later when the street racer’s tongue is shoved right between your splayed, plush thighs.

not at all, in fact- the only ‘words’ that came from your mouth were babbling inaudible whimpers, and he made sure you’d eat your sentences… just like he’s eating out your first place cunt like the starved man he was.

with widened eyes and a stretched jaw hanging open, you stare back with a hand on your ass, giving your skin a soft squeeze. geto grunts, on his knees as you’re hauled right over your pretty decorated hood.

hell! you figured he’d ask to rematch but this..

it seemed like all he wanted to do was take out his loss on your pussy… with his second-place tongue.

and that’s just what he does too.

not that you were even complaining—suguru geto was a nasty man to no one’s surprise. he’s nasty on the road and he’s even nastier with his tongue recklessly driving up and down your slobbering twitching cunt.

you feel a crooked nose sloooowly drag its way like a trail against your entrance. geto starts near the bottom and then makes his way up, making sure to have his button nose dripping with your mess. letting off a sweet whimper, it doesn’t take long before he’s starting sucking against your swollen clit.

“hng,” a needy whine dashes from your throat, and you can already feel a shaking judder spasm between your legs. geto’s unapologetically sloppy with his mouth too. as he’s repeatedly flicking the pointed pink tip of his tongue in crazed different directions, a throaty hiccup leaves from your glued lips. “fuuck, do you usually mhm--do this to your opponents who hah, beat you?”

“only the ones with the smart fuckin’ mouths,” he replies with a quickness, taking a moment to spit right on your sticky cunt. it’s a loud ‘ptui’ and it’s a filthy slimy trail that dribbles past his lips, polishing near the creasing crevices of his mouth.

a rubber-gloved hand snakes toward the crack of your pried open thighs and he spanks your pussy, causing a cute shrieking squeal to leave out your strained cords. “also, a reminder again. you didn’t beat me. i let you win. big difference.”

“s- sure,” you sheepishly moan, feeling vapid air circle around you both.

the night was eerily and silently dead—you swallowed thickly, praying no one would see you bent over your flashy pink hood getting eaten out by one of the most famous street racers in the world. although, the thought of getting caught made you throb in a way you didn’t think it would.

he’s mean with his tongue.

geto was competitive in everything he did, including with how he ate it.

your strapped pants were pulled down along with your panties lazily sticking toward the side of your feeble quaking thighs.

within minutes his jaw would angrily ache, growing slack and locking from how it was reaching soreness - but he didn’t care.

if he didn’t win his race, the least he could do was win by eating you out…right?

geto’s designer mauve-colored helmet probably costed thousands and rests near the side of him. he took it off before he started to feast himself between your sprawled legs.

through hazed doe-like peripherals, you stare at it and admire the designs that paint across his visor.

everywhere, there’s writing and designs—and again, you spot his famous autograph that’s nearly written near the side. typical, of course, he’d autograph his helmet.

he’s suguru fuckin’ geto.

regardless though, you’re still nothin’ but a whining mess though, and as he continues to eat you out, you let off a sweet ‘ooh!’ as soon as he bites near your pearly clit.

it’s soft and tender, but it still makes you babble out a sobbing moan. his teeth gently nibbled against your pussy . . . leisurely slithering his tongue between your flooding flaps.

so good, each time you hear the wet smacks from his lips, you can hear geto huskily groaning out satisfying ‘mmmh’ ‘s.

it’s a feeling that makes your legs stagger within the firm hold of his hands. geto’s still wearing his gloves and each time the stretchy rubber rubs onto your skin, you moan. “fuck, fuckk,” you whine, and he’s groaning right against your sobbing cunt. his hair’s pinned back into a high messy ponytail - a few ravened strands running down the sides of his face. pretty long lashes of his were closed as he was slurping you clean.

so damn sweet . . . he wonders why he’s never seen you on the track until now. well- you were new. maybe he has seen you, but geto’s never been one to pay attention.

either way, you were a meal he didn’t wanna stop tasting, ever.

and despite the bitter taste of defeat continuously lingering on his flat tongue even still . . your cunt sprinkled a bit of flavor to it, an aftertaste of vying rivalry . .

“mmph,” he grunts, feeling you push him further into your cunt with one hand. with a twist, you turn your torso just a bit to look down at him, bringing his face further. geto’s slick wet tongue slides across your nub before he’s sloppily thrusting it in and out of your weeping flowery entrance.

you whimper once he reaches that spot, feeling a sudden heave of a breath snatch its way out from your puffed lungs. geto’s dark brows amusingly knit together and he’s already nose deep—the hooking bridge that smears against your pussy makes you nearly wail out a needy weep.

he’s smearing his face everywhere, and wet splotches of your juices started to coat his clear face.

but he doesn’t mind - geto’s always been one to get a ‘lil dirty during a match.

two slack lips munch against your clit wholly before his lengthy tongue reaches toward your winking hole. “pff,” he clicks his tongue, letting off another husky groan once he feels the tint in his pants arises.

fuck, you made him hard—even more, now that he was eating you out.

the louder you were, the more his dick twitched underneath the rough fabric of his jeans. it’s almost painful- the way his hardened bulge prods its way against the leathery fabric makes him suck his teeth. he needs you.

geto’s lips remain glued against your cunt before he uses a gloved thumb to peel your pudgy sweltering folds apart just a biiiit more.

his tongue creates a downward slope that trickles its way below your clitoral hood that’s frantically throbbing right in his mouth.

ba dum, ba dum, ba dum. . .

pulse pulse pulse after fucking pulse,

a smoky chuckle echoed from his lips as his shoulders slightly shake and fuck- it vibrates against your pussy. “god, she’s a ‘lil crybaby isn’t she,” he breathlessly mumbles as his thumb peels your soaked flaps all the way down. he’s intently staring inside, studying all the pretty nerves and your twitching nub before spitting right inside yet again.

airy cold breath fans over your nude slit and you whimper, feeling his tongue douse itself back inside. “were you drivin’ around this wet the entire time, princess?” and you moan, feeling the rubber of his palm smear a few circles around your clit. “drivin’ around, tryin’ to beat me with a pretty pussy this fuckin’ soaked?”

with a shivering whimper ghosting past your splintered lips, you snivel out a soft mewl.

“sugu—fuuuck, ‘m gonna cum,” and as your breath gets caught in your throat, you feel him grab a nice chunk of your ass.

at his very grip, he gives your rear a rude spank and the recoil makes him hum in amusement. so soft, the way it bounced just from his palm alone.

oh, and spanking you became his favorite thing to do, especially since you were so fucking noisy.

as a shrilling whine prepares to race out your strained esophagus, you nearly yank his head forward again, hearing him groan against your clit. “d- did you hear me? ‘m close, gonna cu—”

“yeah yeah girl, i heard you,” he swats your hand away, and the low grit that rumbles from underneath his tone makes you throb for the nth time.

geto brings a few digits up toward your cunt to rub against your runny folds, and he starts making out with your pussy - with tongue.

sloppy smacks slosh out from your crying folds and you gasp, feeling him impishly nip your clit with his teeth once more. “mmf,” and his eyes start to become low and hooded.

he’s pussy drunk, very much so.

geto eats you out until you’re abruptly coming undone on his tongue, letting off a sweet euphoric battle cry with your toes curling in your knee-high boots. fuck, and even as he’s savoring the syrupy taste that pours on his flat flushed tongue, he’s still eating you out.

with brief circular maneuvers of his tongue, he’s got you whimpering from the sensitivity. as a staticky twinge pulses through your pussy, your hand grabs at his hair hard, tugging near his roots, having to literally pry him apart.

your cunt was so sensitive, throbbing a plethora of pulses as your mouth fatally goes dry. “f- fuck,” you moan, and you can feel your legs stick together once they instinctively close shut.

“tsk. drama queen,” he soils his lips together that were now perfectly glossed from top to bottom with your juices.

oh, his chiseled chin was just shimmering with such sparkling sap that it even poured a stream down the lower part of his face. his tongue slides near the cracked corner of his right lip, and he’s just luxuriating at the treacly taste of you. if you tasted this good, maybe the second place wasn’t so bad after all. .

as he’s still lapping up his lips with a wolffish grin, geto notices you openly gawking at his bulge and he snickers, patting his fly with a gloved hand. “it’s rude to stare, sweetheart.”

“it’s rude to walk around with a bulge that big.”

“oh yeah? how ‘bout you fix that problem for me then, rookie?”

a brat, almost as much of a brat as you.

geto gets silenced once you slam your lips onto his, not even batting an eyelash that you’re tasting yourself on his tongue that’s swirling around yours.

it’s intense, you could feel your heartbeat start to match the exact pulsing pace from between your legs. his lips were icy, and you moaned—tasting a bit of mint that resides on his tongue.

his breath is freezing cold, it’s an almost sweet candied taste and you whine in his mouth once his hands start to roam up and down your body.

geto’s feeling you up- feeling up the pretty girl who just beat him in a race.

rough protected hands drag down your frame, taking in your curves before toying with the leather straps that droop against your pink lace-up chaps.

it’s as if even the kiss was far more competitive than the actual street race.

both desperately fought to win, swerving through each tongue like swerving lanes.

geto grunts, lightly pushing your ass back against the hood of your car. as tongues twist and tango in lewd unison, he seductively sucks on your pointed tip.

as geto’s eyes open halfway, you open yours, and he’s just staring at you with a look of feral - a carnal smug grin tweaking on each side of his lips.

“turn around again, pretty. hands on y’r hood like…this,” and once he spreads you apart, you moan once he rubs his bulge against the middle fabric of your pants. “good hah- messy girl.” his bulge was so damn hard, it felt like a brick.

the more he rubbed himself against you, the more your body ached and yearned for more.

oh..

his hands, geto kept his racing gloves on the entire time. as the stretchy rubber sensually crawls down your waist, you hear the jangling of his studded skull belt. with a few shuffles, he leans up close, pinning your hands behind your back like you were under arrest.

“just for the record again, you didn’t ‘beat’ me, you cheated,” and you scoff, feeling frigid air waft between your inner thighs. oh- here he goes again. talk about a sore fuckin’ loser.

“sur— mmph,” and he cuts you off, placing a gloved palm over your mouth.

“quiiiiet, you’ll get your turn to talk,” he cuts you off, and you let off a moan once you feel his bulbous tip smack against your sopping cunt.

it’s loud..

dozens of paps and squelches leave it right away and he plants a wet kiss near your exposed neck.

the rubs from his blushing reddened cockhead make loud noises that constantly replay through your empty mind.

“see? let her talk,” and you swallow thickly, feeling him use an extra hand to pry your legs apart further. clammy, big hands glue against the pink hood of your car before your tongue tastes the metallic fibers of his glove. “so eager. poor baby,” he coos against your ear, feeling you trying to swallow and gulp him down right away. your twitching pussy’s aching, and you can’t help the pathetic whimpers that hiccup from your lips. you even try to wriggle your ass but he rubs a hand underneath your clit. “aw, impatient are we? what’s the sayin’, princess? slow ‘n steady wins the race?”

‘okay…but i beat you,’ was what you were saying in your head… but you sort of forgot his hand was covering your mouth. duh girl.

“mmph—” you let off a muffled moan against the palm of his hand, trying to wriggle your ass against him harder.

geto lowly groans and then you groan, feeling what was a piercing that attaches toward his pre-creamed dewy frenulum. geto strokes himself a bit, fisting his cock. with hooded, jaded eyes, he watches his loose skin peel back before arising up again and he hisses. the frenulum perfectly hooks itself over his tip, and oh- how you wished you could have seen it.

you couldn’t see but, fuck did you feel it.

you’re so wet, your swollen pussy lips resemble a blossoming flower as he spreads you apart with two scissoring rubber fingers.

his dick piercing almost tickles once it starts to rub against you some more. he swipes it all against your clit, teasing it near your opening before pulling it right back out. ��fuck,” you whine once he finally removes his palm from your mouth, glossy strands of your saliva coating the entirety of your hand. “h.. hurry up, suguru. ‘m gonna fall asleep at this rate.”

geto rolls his eyes, and that’s when with a semi-loud thud, your chest lands against your hood.

“oh please..” he murmurs, a brow twisting upward in annoyance. one of his hands still has its grip on your wrists and you bite your lip in anticipation.

geto’s tip leaked with creamy coating pre, and you felt remnants of it sprinkle against your entrance. with a raspy grunt, he drags his angered pierced crownhead down your drooling folds before roughly smacking it against your cunt.

more sloppy wet splats! of squelches spurt out from your folds as if it’s saying its own kind of lewd language and he grunts.

geto makes sure you’re arched over the hood of your car before whistling at your presented frame. “so damn…pretty,” and within seconds, he’s easing his way inside.

immediately, your eyes widen with your jaw collapsing down like earlier—fuck, he’s big.

from the countless times, you stared at his bulge, you figured as much. geto’s vast head had a rosy-pink tint of vermillion with how close it mirrored to being a pinkish red.

sucking in a greedy breath, he watches as he’s gradually disappearing inside of your cunt. his pierced dick made things even more sensitive, and you moan once you feel the piercing softly graze its way inside of your fluttering orifice.

pasty gummy walls welcome him, and now it’s his turn to bite his lip.

“hng, f- fuckin’ big,” you try to inhale a single breath, and he raises your leg just a bit. it now sits over your hood- and damn it, the angle he has was just brutal.

you just knew you were gonna feel him everywhere.

geto’s obelisk-like girth was wide ‘n fuckin’ tall, you felt him fully and the shaft ring that’s on top of his top continues to kiss against your sensitive throbbing nub.

prince albert to be specific!

it decorates his tip perfectly, making sure to tickle inside of you as he’s feeling you clamp down. “shiiiit,” you slur out your words in a mere whiny syllable, gasping at the curved column of his fat dick search through your walls like a maze. he’s expanding through you and you can’t help but part your lips, squealing before letting off a cute, ‘ooohh!’

your hand prints stick against the pink-stained hood of your car due to the insane amounts of perspiration and you whine once he gives you one biiiig thrust.

just one- and ah!

it rocks your world - literally.

you let off a cute squealing shriek, your legs shimmying a bit from his pressed-up weight.

“atta girl, bare ‘round me, good girl—fuck,” and the warmth you envelop his dick with makes him groan. your pussy was clingy, already so eager to devour him whole.

within a few punctuated thrusts to start, geto’s finally fucking you and each vigorous piston of his honed snatched hips makes your crossed eyes roll back in needy rapture.

his hands now stick toward your sides and you’re just whimpering from his size over and over again.

weighty inches pound into you at full speed, giving you whiplash every time as he impales your sweet greedy cunt. “fuck, mhm,” you bawl a fist against your car, gritting your teeth. riiiight there, the moment his tip smooches its way against that pretty bullseye spot, it’s over. there, he locates a spongy texture with the mushroomy pierced crown of his cock and it earns out a sobbing whimper from you. “ahng! right there, fuck. faster, there sugu.”

“right there, fuuuuck. faster there, sugu,” he mocks your whiny babbles, fully exaggerating.

to hell with him, you didn’t even sound like that but oh, did he enjoy getting on your nerves. just like you did- cute.

geto’s hefty sack smacks back against you from each nudging thrust he creates with his hips. every time, it makes him groan at how your body cutely slams back against him. with how sharp your ass pounds on his dick, those pretty wet sounds singing straight from your cunt- a sound way better than screeching tire wheels. “god, so fuckin’ warm. hah, squeezin’ all around me,” and as his irregular breathing patterns pick up, he leans in to kiss a slope down your neck. “bend over just a bit more- hah. there we go, m- my good girl.”

as your chest continued to lie flat down against your car’s hood now—he’s got you at such an angle to where you feel his cock expand everywhere.

it reaches every depth and rummages through every open orifice or just about near it. “oh my god!” you whimper out, hearing the sloppy sounds of your cunt whistle through the silent night. geto’s hitting you deep, slamming his keen hips into you with such rhythm, and each time he does, your brain short circuits.

tiny invisible stars circle and float over your head as you’re completely dumbfounded, thinking about nothing but how big his cock is and the way his pierced tip just plummets its way in and out of your drooling cunt.

speaking of drooling—you were starting to drool from the slit cracks of your mouth. you couldn’t help it- his dick was out of this world, and maybe you were exaggerating but fuck, you didn’t want him to stop. ever.

geto’s hastily rearranging your insides with just a few inches and it felt oh so good.

it was so good that you forgot the two of you raced together. you forgot about street racing as a whole, and instead, he had you dumb from his dick. “biiiiig fuckin’ stretch baby,” he’d grunt, starting to witness viscid stringy strands glue against each slapping thighs. geto’s dick slips out for a minute and he groans, gradually sliding himself back in.

it’s a sloppy ‘pop’ that rings between your cunt and it’s cute. you were wringing him dry, and with how wet you were, it wasn’t exactly helping things.

geto’s hot breath brushes against the open part of your neck before he gives your ass another playful swat. “fuck, that’s it. fuck back against me, don’t get lazy, uh huh. work those hips baby, f- fuck.”

as you weakly try to sway your ass into him to coordinate in sync with his crazed hips, he holds you in place—pumping inch after inch into you.

his cock sheaths inside between your syrupy-coated pussy almost effortlessly, and you let off a melodic moan the second his tip starts making out with your g-spot.

the pierced bulbous head dared to french kiss against there—making you writhe around him, on the verge of losing composure. you don’t think you’ve felt more sensitive than ever.

geto’s silvery dick piercing probes up and down your pearly clit every few seconds and he grunts at the gripping friction. “suguru…..fuuuck!” and as your words start to get bouncy, more sweet whimpers rose out of your sore throat. “more, more.”

“ungh,” he purses his lips together as he feels your cunt hungrily swallow his cock from top to bottom. with a rough pound, your ass smacks against his base—right near his tender plump testes and he groans.

such power-

even geto’s stunned for a moment, and his head throws itself back. the air surrounding you both starts to feel thick as smoke, and his eyes glance at your exposed backside that’s oh-so-pretty while arched.

all for him, and him only.

geto’s hips were simply maddened, and even he didn’t care about the race anymore.

well actually, maybe he did a little..

your pussy was brimmed with cock — sooo full, and you felt yourself starting to pant quicker and quicker. it’s as if you were having a literal street race with your breathing. geto’s getting lost inside of you, and it’s only a matter of time before his hips turn wildly sloppy.

gloved hands still reel you back into him as he’s breaking sweats within each long millisecond that passes. “pheww,” he’d wipe a sheet of sweat off his forehead, veins bulging in his beefy tatted arms. the drenching grip you had on his dick had him craving more…more of you.

the stoutness of his shaft jackhammers inside of your walls repeatedly until you’re on the verge of breaking yet again. geto grunts, the loud quick snap of his hips bringing him back to reality every time he’s about to go into another fantasm.

“fuuuck, ‘m gonna cum,” his words come out in a quiet rasp, and he claws a hand near the back crown of your head. “god,” his jaw tightens, and geto leans right up close to your neck, panting heavily against the outer shell of your ear. as long tangled tresses of hair freely cascade past his shoulders - all ruffled and messy from his helmet, he groans. “where do ya want it, sweetheart. tell m—”

“insideee,” you whine, barely giving him time to finish his husky words. your legs slightly raise against your headlight as it’s still stretched up and over.

geto’s still hitting you deep - so deeply good, swollen tip massaging every part of your clit and all. dozens of your toes curl up in erotic excitement as your tongue lolls out. you probably looked a sight. “inside, sugu, in- fuckin’- side.”

sassily smacking his lips together, he spanks you. “tch, dumb girl,” and the racer brings a hand to wrap around your neck. with a firm safe grip, his gloved thumb caresses a trail up your neck before he drills into you much quicker.

each snap of his hips draws out harmonic whines from you, gargled moans following out of your throat shortly afterward. the burn that’s twinging near the undersides of his thighs grows more and more intense before he geto lets out a guttural growl.

so……damn….. wet..

your flooding cunt’s slathering all over him, dripping near his base and he can’t help but snicker. “hah, fine. better hold still though.”

“fuck,” you whimper in response, feeling his sharp hips pound into you at such a pace. his rhythm was insane and there was no way in hell you could match his pace.

when it came to geto’s speed- yeah, you’d always lose. sure, you may have won today but when it came to his cock- you were losing with the hasty speed of his hips drilling into you at such miles per fuckin’ hour. .

as his turgid fat tip gives its final thrusting pumps inside of your cunt, geto’s body starts to violently shudder.

oh.. you were about to wring him dry. with a mewling slosh sound leaving the front your folds, you gush out yet again.

but at the same time…. so does he.

geto’s head remained tossed back with his round adam’s apple bobbing out of his throat. gnawing in the inside of his squishy cheek, he lets off a low grunt. his abs cockily flex through the white tee that tucks underneath his half-on leather jacket.

geto pulls out though, and it’s quick like the flash. he doesn’t finish inside to your devastated surprise, and a downturned pout forms on your lips. he huffs, watching such creamy-white amounts gush ‘n goo out in ropes and he sprays it on the outside of your pussy.

“damn,” he murmurs, feeling the awkward needy fidget of your hips. cute. darkened eyes remain on you the entire time and he grabs ahold of his veiny cock, aligning hit pierced tip against your pearled throbbing clit. “heh.. ain’t that a pretty sight,” and he smears it all against your pasty-creamed entrance.

now . . it’s painted with his color, white.

and geto came a lot because it’s still trickling out in ribbony globs, filthily oozing from the thick girthy sides and all like an erupted volcano. his teeth get caught by his quivering bottom lip as he watches such immoderate ropes of cum leave out of him. “such a- hah, messy girl,” and as he’s still lathering his sloppy seed that’s pouring out, sticking wads of splotches between the heat of your thighs, geto squeezes your ass. “awww,” he huffs breathily, noticing a few ivory stains splattered near the pink bumper of your car. “oops. might wanna clean that, sweetheart.”

hours passed . . many hours, and to say that you got fucked stupid was merely an understatement.

suguru geto had the stamina equivalent to a toyota supra MK4. his horsepower was his hips- with the added addition of his cock driving in and out of you.

but oh- you knew he wouldn’t be running out of gas soon.

or would he?

so. . many rounds, geto had you questioning your insanity the entire time, all because of his dick. if it was one thing he knew how to do, it was to fuck.

whether it involved his tongue or not, he knew how to make you feel good. it was one of the many things he excelled at, truly.

the only thing that got in the way was his cocky smug ego. every few seconds, he’d boast and remind you for the umpteenth time that your win was an unruly cheat, a hoax, or that he just couldn’t see the finish line because of your pink fucking smoke.

of course, geto didn’t say that part, that would have been him admitting that he lost the race and his pride couldn’t let him admit that he lost fair in square—

but your pussy could.

“hngh,” he falls back against your front cottony plus seat. geto grunts with a scowl entrapped in his thoughts. you pushed him - the audacity.

both of you were still sensitive but you had a tiny trick up your sleeve. “got some.. nerve,” and with low-dropped eyes, he watches you align yourself on his swollen pierced tip yet again.

he’s soft-flaccid, and he was pretty ran down. maybe now, geto was finally starting to run out of gas. with sweltering reddened lips smearing together, he watches you pick back up his expensive helmet, putting it over your head. “oh, gonna ride me while wearing my helmet, yeah? do your wors— oh.. fuck.”

his priggish words come to a not-so comedic halt the moment your cunt slams down on his cock. geto was still sensitive and he slouches back against your programming warming seat, dark eyes rolling back.

“goddamnnn,” and as your hips swerve around in circles identical to 360 car donuts, he sees you touching yourself while wearing his helmet. “fuckin’ brat—god.”

“aw,” you mock the exact faux caring tone he did to you earlier, making him touch you by bringing his shaky rubber hands toward your chest. geto’s fingers feel against the cropped top you wore, squeezing at your jiggling neglected breasts. “c’mon, sugu. i gotta guide your hands now too?”

“tch, shut up,” he groans, his heavy-sunken base sticking near your skin. dried splotches of cum glue against your sheeny ass as your hips continue to whirl ‘n rotate. you were unpredictable—you moved and jerked while he sat there with the most pussy drunken expression. geto lowly grunts, already feeling his balls starting to tighten up. he was trying to stop a sleazy grin from forming and oh.. was your cunt just making it impossible. “shit, ‘m not gonna last. s- still fuckin’ sensitive…. fuuuckk.”

the pink honda’s loud grumbling engine resounds through the echoey walls of the isolated garage with only the sounds of sheer skin slapping and a mixture of grunts following afterward. without thinking, you lift his helmet off of you, leaning in to kiss him and he returns the gesture almost right away.

geto’s lips were a tad bit delayed once they pressed onto yours. its a small yet cute detail- how he’s so pussy drink that he could barely crash his lips onto yours. as he’s moaning from your hands feeling on his burly tatted arms, his tongue sloppily delves into your mouth with no rhythm whatsoever.

maybe you were crazy, but you think you heard a whimper leave from his lips as he tried to nibble on your tongue. geto grunts, feeling that same pressure from earlier build up and fuck.. you were about to make a mess out of him . . . again!

his dick stills itself inside of you and his hands continue to roam down your body, further and further away from your jostling bouncy tits. “fuck ‘m cumminggg,” he’d moan between sultry kisses as stringy strands of saliva entangle with one another.

wetly, they form a web of sheeny lustrous cobwebs. geto’s foot rests against your bedazzled hard brake pedal before within seconds, he cums again.

this time, inside.

but it’s different this time- so so different.

it feels tenderly warm..

such hot gooey amounts dribble inside of you, spraying further inside your precious womb and you hum at the feeling.

his pierced cock fitting real nice and snug inside and you moan into his mouth, cocking your head in different directions as you trap his lips with another steamy kiss. “mmph.” a muffled whimper gets caught against your lips and you can already start to feel the whiteish searing ropes of fresh cum trail down the insides of your thighs. geto feels you slowing down on his lap—still buried balls deep, and he grunts in defeat..

soon, embarrassment overtakes him once he realizes how early he finished.

it’s a lot, again.

a thick load splatters heavily inside and past the inner lining of your cunt and he’s shivering underneath you. once you finally break away from his lips, your eyes meet his.

geto’s staring back at you, and you don’t see that cocky sly look in his eyes that everyone else sees.

right now, he looks…needy, and you think you broke him.

“what . . ?” he grouses, his hands still attached to your waist. his grip- it was gentle and tender a rubber thumb softly caressing down your curve. geto wasn’t ready for you to leave the garage, at least not yet.

“say it, pretty boy,” you whisper, pressing a kiss near his chin. your touch - it drove him mad.

never in a million years would he, suguru geto- have thought he’d get humbled by a rookie . .

humbled by you.

geto’s shooting straight daggers at you, but you can tell how flustered he is because he breaks eye contact a second later. you’re making him nervous, the same feeling he was making you at first when you had your first encounter with him.

as geto’s still warmly buried inside, he grunts once you take it upon yourself to softly wrap a hand around his throat.

oh- you were a mere tease, mimicking his exact movements from earlier. slightly wide-eyed and all, geto stares at you. and as he does—there’s that familiar glimpse of brattiness glimmering in his irises again.

you fucking turned him on..

“heh, f- fine then,” he stammers, heaving every few seconds to catch his irregular breaths. his body felt like it was on empty. no more gas left in him and that same cunning grin that plastered on his lips slowly started to fade.

geto’s not so cocky now, and in fact— he lets off a soft quiet whimper once you start to grind against his lap.

shakily, his hand squeezes your ass before finishing his sentence in a shaky defeated rasp.

“you . . fuckin’ win, sweetheart,” and you let off a sweet gasp once a loud smack! interrupts the moment, his hand swatting against your ass. “mhm,” geto grunts, “didn’t s- say stop. finish ridin’ me, sweetheart,” and his gloved finger swirls itself inside of your stuffed full cunt before pulling it right back out.

again, he’s filthy.

and even while being in such a state, geto brings his fingers up to his lips, slowly poppin’ them into his mouth before tasting the concoction mixture of both bittersweet messes. your syrupy cum and his.

quickly, he presses the tips of his rubber fingers toward his uvula, before staring at you with a greedy smug expression. he’s panting harshly, still trying to get over how you just outrode him literally, and he laps up his fingers right in front of you.

geto reclines your seat back a bit as you still straddled him, and he gives your ass its final spank before tiredly huffing,

“best- two out of three, what do ya say, r- rookie?heh..”

#★vegasbaby.#geto smut #geto x reader #geto x you #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #female reader #geto suguru #geto #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk #anime smut

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dollivication · 3 months ago

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ᥫ᭡. IF THEY GOT A HOLD OF YOUR PANTIES ᥫ᭡.

ᢉ𐭩 ft. hwang in-ho/player 001/the frontman, seong gi-hun/player 456, thanos/choi su-bong/player 230 , kang dae-ho/player 388, nam-gyu/player 124

ᢉ𐭩 cw: nsfw, perviness, panty-sniffing, masturbation, nam-gyu cussing you out/insulting you LOL??, fairly icky stuff, dirty fantasies, fem!reader. gooner activities. mdni

ᢉ𐭩 a/n: doesn’t take place in the games but… if you want to interpret this that way you can LOLS. sorry if it seems rushed i was very eager to take this out...

HWANG IN-HO/PLAYER 001/FRONTMAN

-honestly? he’d probably find it very endearing how you still maintain your style underneath all your clothes.

-he uses this as a better insight to your tastes. mentally noting down your preferences as he properly looks at the pair in his hands, turning the article of clothing around with a watchful gaze and rubbing it between his fingertips to feel the texture.

-lacy or simple? noted. silky or cotton? he’ll keep it in mind. dark or pastel? he’ll make sure to keep an eye out for something similar. he wants to know every aspect of your character, and this serves as the perfect chance. “How cute..” he’d muse.

-doesn’t judge whatsoever. after all, they belong to you, that by itself is a blessing. that being said, he doesn’t exactly have a need for them as he much prefers the thing that wears them. he prides himself on his self-control. you could not catch him acting like a hormonal teen.

-at the most, he’ll give them a tiny sniff, brushing his lips against them and flick the tip of his tongue out just to give himself the daily dose of your smell and taste, smiling to himself as he intakes the scent and flavor. but don’t worry, he puts them right back where he found them without ever telling a soul. <3

SEONG GI-HUN/PLAYER 456 (S1)

-his mind goes blank. does this make him a perv? well, probably. does he really care? somewhat. he wouldn’t have much of an explanation if someone walked in on him at that moment.

-just stares as he ponders what to do with them. he could put them down, pretend it never happened—it’s not like he had any bad intentions.. but an opportunity like this doesn’t come around often. and it’s been years since he had anything to properly give him a release.

-kind of has an inner battle over whether or not it’s worth actually being a dirty old man for relief or being a respectable one and giving up on this opening. yet of course.. he’s only human. and he just wants you so much :( !!

-pretty much uses your panties to muffle himself, sniffing at it like a dog whilst rutting slowly into a pillow. of course, the thin undergarments could only do so much in the face of his needy little sounds <3

-panting heavily, letting out grunts as he squeezes his eyes shut. “Please.. Please..” his face almost looks pained with a slack jaw and furrowed brow, hands grasping at the pillow beneath him to try and ground himself. (it doesn’t work, because he quickly begins to pick up the pace.)

-gasps when he finally climaxes, burying his face even deeper into your underwear to the point he might suffocate himself all while shooting out his seed over his pillow. feels pretty disgusted in himself and guilty after he comes down from his high, pouting a little at the mess he made. still, he can’t deny how blissful it felt. it was almost like you were right there with him…. </3

-keeps your panties. yeah, hopefully those weren’t your favorite pair—because they’re his now. he’ll return them at some point, but until then, if you ever exasperatedly tell him about the loss, gi-hun will keep his mouth shut and play the oblivious. >.<

THANOS/CHOI SU-BONG/PLAYER 230

-he looks like an immature highschool boy with the way he marvels at your panties, as if he hasn’t been in previous sexual flings and one-night stands where he has most likely witnessed all kinds of undergarments. and yanked them off…

-i guess the only reason why he’s so fascinated is because they’re yours. no way in hell you’d ever willingly give a pair to him—did you really think he wasn’t going to savor every moment of this? this is heaven served on a silver platter.

-it starts off as a joke for thanos, stretching the elastic waistband in various degrees and angles while giggling. maybe even uses them as a slingshot. he never imagined that he’d find himself in a position like this, you know? this is the type of shit you’d see in crappy rom-coms.

-all that runs through his head is something along the lines of “Hell yeah.. Nice.” UNTIL it finally occurs to him that, holy shit. he’s actually got your panties in his possession. the way he looks around to see if anyone’s by (despite obviously being alone) is damn well near cartoonish.

-wastes no time in lowering his pants to his knees, biting his bottom lip as he wraps a hand around his cock. he’s hard almost instantly, the thrill of doing something so filthy behind your back making his dick twitch and expel tiny drops of pre-cum.

-“Oh, fuuuck.. Mhm..” his words are shaky and border on a breathy chuckle, pumping his dick while raising his other hand to his face. takes sporadic sniffs of your panties, bunching them up in his palm whenever a particular stroke really made his hips buck.

-His head will roll back, his motions lazy and unhurried while he kicks and spreads his legs out. his voice is husky as he grunts out incoherent curses, gradually speeding his hand up before he eventually shoots out warm ropes of cum, letting the strands coat his fingers in short spurts.

-“Mannn...” he’d grumble, quite miffed by the fact that he was gonna have to clean up when the flow stopped. but he immediately cheers up, seeing that your panties were free from the spill. that meant he wasn’t gonna have to discard them just yet!!

-also keeps your panties and acts like he doesn’t know anything if they’re ever brought up in a conversation. he thinks of them as his personal lucky charm, which of course he won’t give up until he actually has to. but at that point, he’ll just try to get his hands on another pair and so on.. silly little addict :3c

KANG DAE-HO/PLAYER 388

-having been the youngest brother of 4 sisters, its safe to assume that he’s probably had similar occasions whilst doing laundry. bras, panties, he’s most likely handled them at least once throughout his life while being surrounded by women.

-thats not to say he doesn’t still get a little bit shy, even as an adult. its mostly out of respect more than it is embarrassment. he understands that underwear is meant to cover women’s privates, he’s been taught not to view them in a sexual light. but that’s because it came to family. there, underwear was just that—articles of clothing to literally wear under.

-this is a much different situation: being accidentally exposed to the type of undergarments his crush puts on. with the way he fumbles with your panties, you’d think they were sizzling hot and causing burns. poor dae-ho doesn’t know what to do !!

-especially not when his pants feel a little tighter than usual. his free hand will shoot down, try to adjust the tent forming with a tiny frown on his face. “Don’t be gross, Dae-ho. Cmon..” he’ll scold himself in a hushed whisper, but his body clearly having other plans.

-he’ll start to panic, desperately trying to make his boner die down. he swears he isn’t a perv, honest! he just can’t help but think about how good you’d look teasing him in them, rubbing your clothed pussy against his dick…!

-yeah, he’s got it bad. the imagery would make his dick stir that much more, practically throbbing as he hesitantly sneaks a hand beneath the waistband of his pants. “Shit, I’m so sorry—” he’d gasp out an apology followed by your name, his warm palm finally coming in contact with his aching cock, wrapping his fingers around the base.

-dae-ho’s eyes would flutter, his adam’s apple bobbing as he’d begin to jerk off at a moderate pace to the thought of you, wanton moans falling from his parted lips. he would swipe the pad of his thumb over his leaking tip, the motion causing a high pitched mixture of a whine and grunt. “Oh, god..”

-can’t help but to give your panties little licks, the taste of your cunt making his hips buck into his hand. the overwhelming feeling of his orgasm creeping up accompanied by a tugging guilt began to form tears in his eyes, nothing ever actually escaping yet threatening to.

-his back arches when he cums, thighs trembling as his digits tighten around your underwear, holding the pair close to his chest as he groans. “Yes! Oh, please, I love you—” his voice would tremble, practically breaking off into a small cry. his warm cum coats his hand, the latter continuing to give weak strokes until he’s unable to produce anymore.

-the moment he regains his composure and he realizes what he just did, he’ll be so disappointed in himself :( washes his hands with soap like 4 times, as if it’ll get rid of his dirty little misdeed. gosh he feels so pathetic…

-tells NO ONE about the endeavor, and leaves your panties where he found them. he’s going to have a lot to think about. (◞‸◟)

NAM-GYU/PLAYER 124

-one word: shameless.

-for some reason, nam-gyu just won’t fess up to the fact that he probably does genuinely have a crush on you. that’s absurd, he doesn’t do that kiddie shit! so, instead he’s making it his duty to find every possible way of throwing you off. because it’s funny. and what better chance does he have than right now?

-so what if this makes him a creep? hopefully you’ll take it as a sign to stay the hell away from him after this. (he says, anyway. a part of him actually hopes you’ll enjoy what he’s about to do and come back for more… he’s just,, strange like that.) he doesn’t think twice about taking his cock out from his boxers.

-the only one to actually USE your panties to jerk himself off. he tells himself he’s doing it out of spite, furiously pumping his veiny dick as he bites into the hem of his shirt, exposing his stomach that jumped with the contrasting nip of the cool air on his warm skin.

-“Stupid bitch. See how you fucking like it,” he’d growl, pausing a few times to frustratedly tuck strands of hair behind his ear whenever they’d get in his face. has no problem being loud, letting out groan after groan with every intention of getting caught. walk in on him, why don’t you? see how pissed off you make him feel. how fucking pent up he is for you.

-“Gonna cum all over your face,” nam-gyu’s threats would flow with no particular party on the receiving end. only the thought of you on your knees tending to him. doesn’t care that he probably looks like a lunatic while guiltlessly talking dirty, his balls drawing up at his own filthy-natured words.

-saliva would begin to seep into his shirt’s hem, his pace unrelenting as he fists his cock into your underwear, his other hand curling and uncurling whenever his pleasure spiked. he’ll swallow thickly as the knot in his lower stomach begins to form, squirming slightly in his spot in a visible attempt to chase his climax.

-he’ll align the inner crotch area perfectly along his length, his head tossing back as he finally lets go, your panties easily catching the globs of semen that shot out. “Fuck yeah.. Take it, take my cum.” he’d grunt, eyebrows furrowing while sinking his teeth deeper into his top.

-breathes heavily upon seeing the stick and foggy white liquid cause an evident dark patch on your panties. with a self-accomplished smirk, he’ll tuck himself back into his pants, releasing his shirt from his mouth as he pinches the waistband of your cum-soaked panties with the tip of his index and thumb, keeping it a distance away from him. he has just the thing for you.

-nam-gyu will actively seek you out, bringing along the end result of his.. work. once he finds you, he’ll toss it right at you, not caring if you were in catching-range or not.

-“Just a little something from me to you. Enjoy the gift, yeah?” he’d give you one of his sly smiles, eyes twinkling with the typical hint of mischief before walking off without even waiting for a reply or reaction.

-well, at least you got your panties back, right? <3

#in ho x reader #in ho squid game #gi hun x reader #seong gi hun #thanos x reader #thanos x you #thanos squid game #dae ho x reader #kang dae ho #nam gyu x reader #player 001 x reader #player 456 x reader #player 230 x reader #player 388 x reader #player 124 x reader #choi su bong #namgyu x reader

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not-neverland06 · 9 months ago

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n a s t y d o g I logan howlett x fem!mutant!reader

One-shot A/N: I've never felt this way about a fictional character before. Every gif I see of him has me gnawing and biting at the bars of my enclosure. I want to bite him. If Hugh Jackman ever discovered what thoughts lurk inside my rotted brain about him he'd get a restraining order. This isn't OKAY Anyways... Summary: You'd thought you'd had a good thing going with Logan. You weren't officially anything to each other, but you were getting close. You truly saw a future with him, but he made it incredibly clear he did not feel the same 18+ HATE FUCKING (MDNI)

(one chance please, just one chance with him)

“Are you sure this isn’t totally clingy girlfriend of me?”

Ororo gives you an irritated look and Jean laughs. “Not at all, Scott loves it when I surprise him like this.” You’re all huddled in your room, each of you in varying stages of getting ready. Jean is finishing off her eyeliner at your vanity, Ororo is putting on her boots, and you’re trying to decide between a skirt and a dress.

You’re not entirely sure how, or why, Logan and Scott decided to go to the bar together tonight. You suspect it has something to do with Jean. She wants them to start getting along so there’s less friction when you’re all around each other.

At Jean’s idea, Logan had muttered, “When hell freezes over,” in your ear before he had left for the night. You’d gotten a little antsy without him to entertain you and had mistakenly blurted out the idea of going to visit them. Ororo had been dying to get out of the house and Jean was a little worried about her boyfriend as well. They’d agreed to go along with you and you’ve felt a weight in your stomach ever since.

Your relationship with Logan was relatively new. Hell, a month ago you’d thought he’d hated you the same he did Scott. You’d, of course, been proven wrong when you’d had a few drinks with him and things had taken a very physical turn.

You weren’t sure if he’d just wanted a one-night stand or something serious. But when you’d tried to sneak out the next morning and he’d muttered a grumpy, “Where’re you going?” You’d gotten your answer.

You hadn’t been on any real dates, there didn’t ever seem to be time for them. But you spent most of your days together. Sometimes just silently enjoying each other’s company, other times you would be holed up in one of your rooms cuddling. The thought always brings a stupid lovesick grin to your face.

It’s one of your first real relationships and you’re worried that things are moving a little too fast. At least on your end. You can already tell that you’re falling for him. Headfirst into the deep end of love. And it’s terrifying because you truly cannot tell what he thinks about you. Clearly, he likes you. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t let you follow him around like a lost puppy.

But he’s never truly said anything to you. There’s no official label as to what you two are. You say girlfriend off-handly and you usually don’t mean it when you reference yourself. You’ve never outright said he’s your boyfriend and he’s never really claimed you. He’s made it explicitly clear he doesn’t want you sleeping with other men, and you’ve said the same to him about women. You both agreed on that, but…

You kind of drive yourself crazy trying to figure this out. He’s not vocal about his feelings and everything’s still new so you don’t like pressuring him. You also worry that if you push him too far he’ll just get tired of you and move on. It’s not fair to assume that of him, and you know everything would be better if you just talked to him. But you’re scared. You’re scared the conversation will take the wrong direction and everything will blow up in your face.

Jean calls your name and your head shoots up to see both Ororo and Jean looking at you expectantly. You flush when you realize they must have been talking to you and you’d just completely zoned out thinking about Logan.

“Huh?” You blurt out, cringing at how dumb you sound.

Jean gives you a concerned look, “I can practically taste your anxiety.” The telepath frowns and offers you a comforting smile. “Don’t worry about it, I promise, Logan won’t mind at all.”

“You’re fine,” Ororo adds, because clearly the look on your face screams, I need constant validation. They’re not wrong, but still, you hate feeling like an exposed bundle of nerves. “Think of it as girl’s night, the boys just happen to be there.”

You force a smile on your face and give your most enthusiastic nod. You change into the dress and finish up with your hair. You finally start chatting with them again, engaging so it might disguise just how nervous you feel.

There’s this clenching feeling, traveling from your stomach up to your chest. It makes you sick, makes you hurt. And it’s not because you think Logan will be upset with you for crashing. He’d be relieved, if anything. There’s something else. Premonition isn’t one of your abilities, but you’re seriously starting to doubt that now.

The bar is loud when you walk in. The soles of your shoes immediately start to stick to the floor and your nose screws up in disgust at the loud laughter coming from around the pool tables. You glance around, trying to see if you can spot Logan.

You’d say you could spot him in any crowd. But has a propensity to hunker down and try to attract as little attention as possible so people don’t bother him. “There he is,” Jean taps your shoulders and points to the two men at the end of the bar.

Like you’d thought, Logan is hunched over his whiskey, glowering down at the wood under him like it had insulted him. You almost want to laugh at the sight. Some of the earlier anxiety eases its grip on you and you feel your shoulders begin to untense.

Before you can walk over Ororo grabs Jean’s wrist. “Gotta go to the bathroom,” she tugs Jean behind her.

Jean looks over her shoulder at you and smiles encouragingly, “Go to them, we’ll catch up in a second.” You give her a tentative nod and slip through the crowd. There are more people here than you thought there would be.

You’re happy not to spot any kids in the crowd. You’ve had a few too many nights out crashed by kids who thought they were good at sneaking out.

It’s easy enough not to spot you or the other women in the crowd. Mutants have gotten good at blending in with the people around them. Makes it easier to get around. It’s probably why neither Logan nor Scott stop their conversation as you approach. “So,” Scott draws the word out, fingers tapping against the glass of his beer.

“Don’t,” Logan warns. You want to laugh at his grumpy demeanor, but someone’s accidentally elbowed you and you find yourself stumbling a few steps back. It’s taking entirely too long to get to them, the bar isn’t even that big. There’s just that many people here.

Scott ignores him and rolls his eyes. “Look, we’re stuck here for a while. Try and pull that stick out of your ass.”

“How about I put one in yours?” Logan’s claws come out slightly. But then they both share an odd look and Scott smirks. “Shut the fuck up,” Logan grouses, “not like that.”

“Right,” Scott huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. He picks up his bottle and takes a long drink. You’ve nearly reached them now. You stop, though, when you hear Scott say your name. You shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t. Eavesdropping now is just asking to get hurt.

You drop back into the crowd, hoping the smells of others will stop Logan from discovering you lurking behind them both. Scott continues, “How’s that going?”

You crane your neck forward, trying to hear them better over the karaoke happening behind you. Someone is butchering Britney Spears but you couldn’t care less right now. Logan shouldn’t answer. Since when has he ever shared anything with Scott?

So, imagine your surprise when his answer isn’t immediately telling him to fuck off. “Eh,” he shrugs, downing the rest of his whiskey. Your face drops in irritation. Seriously, all this skulking around for an Eh? That’s bullshit.

You keep yourself from stepping forward, forcing your feet still, and ignoring the little voice in the back of your head telling you this is a bad idea. You’ve committed this much, you’re seeing it through. Scott whistles lowly, “That bad, huh?” Oh, fuck off, Summers.

Logan shakes his head and for a moment you have a brief feeling of hope lifting you up. “Nah, not bad. It’s just, I don’t know.” Logan sits up and signals the bartender for a refill. Your snooping senses go off and you briefly see Ororo and Jean exiting the bathroom. Desperate for something to keep them at bay, you flick your wrist. The man in front of them tips his drink down Jean’s shirt, slurring out apologies. Jean huffs and Ororo brings her back into the bathroom.

Scott and Logan somehow missed the whole interaction and you promise yourself that you’ll pay for Jean’s dry cleaning. You’re definitely not going to. “Think she wants something I don’t,” Logan tells Scott, and your heart plummets to your feet. You can practically see it deflate, all the lovesickness draining out of it and onto the floor of this grimy bar.

“Like, she just wants to fuck around?”

Logan shakes his head and downs another glass of whiskey. He’s just swallowing it down like it’s water. At a certain point, the bartender gets sick of it and just leaves him with the bottle. “No, she wants something real. Like a real relationship.” Scott’s brows furrow and Logan shrugs. “Not interested.”

It’s the way he says it that really bothers you. There’s nothing wrong with wanting something different in a relationship. It happens all the time. But he says it so dismissively. He knows that you want something real with him, something secure and loving. He knows that, continues to fuck you and lead you on, and then speaks as though you’re an idiot for ever being interested in that.

Hurt hasn’t set in yet. You’re staring wide-eyed, jaw agape with shock as you stare at Logan’s back. You’d thought a conversation needed to be had. But you didn’t think that he thought of you like this. You’d thought you meant something to him.

Scott seems to share the sentiment, his lips tugged down into a frown. He leans against the bar, surveying Logan with a disbelieving look. “What?” Logan snaps.

Scott raises his hands in surrender, shaking his head and backing off. “Nothing, man, I just thought you two were serious about each other.” You miss whatever Logan says as an arm slings itself around your shoulder.

“What’re you doing?” A husky, seductive voice whispers against the shell of your ear. You jump in shock, glaring at Ororo as she grins at you. She lets her arm slide off your shoulders and glances over at Jean. “I think she was spying.”

Jean nods, nudging you forward. “Definitely spying. Hear anything good?”

You fortify your mind against her probing fingers before she can find out. “Nope,” you blurt out. You hope the racing of your heart is dismissed by your constantly frazzled nature. You hope the look on your face is explained by your earlier boredom and anxiety. You pray that none of them notice the way you lean away from Logan when the men finally turn around and notice you all.

Scott breathes out a dramatic sigh of relief and slumps onto Jean. “Thank god, I thought I was going to die trying to talk to this brick wall.” his eyes flick towards you in a blink-and-you-miss-it moment. There’s a brief pitying look before he grins. “Come to get your boyfriend?” There’s a heavy emphasis on the word that you never would have noticed had you not heard their conversations.

It’s clearly a petty dig at Logan. And you would appreciate it if you didn’t feel the sudden urge to vomit up your dinner. “Thought you might need saving from Logan.” You tell him, a chuckle hiding the slight tremor in your voice.

You’re not sure if he does, but you hope Logan notices how you avoided the word boyfriend. You hope that he hurts the same way you do. But you know, deep down, that he doesn’t care. He’s probably relieved that you didn’t use the title.

Logan gets off his stool, he wraps his arm around your shoulder, and pulls you into a brief hug. His lips press against your temple before he dips down to whisper, “Thank you,” in your ear.

Asshole, he’s not allowed to smile at you the way he is. If you weren’t in such a crowded place and already overstimulated, you’d shove him away. If your friends weren’t watching you’d take his arm and slam it down onto the bar until you hear his fucking adamantium bones break.

That might have been too far. Maybe you’re not that angry, but you’re hurt.

You place your hands against his chest, a thin smile on your lips while you hum a simple, “Mhm.” He doesn’t seem to notice the way you push away from him. It’s easily dismissed by you cheekily stealing his seat at the bar.

He comes up behind you, hands bracketing you and keeping you stuck against the bar while you order your drink. One of his hands drifts down, laying against your thigh. You know this isn’t sexual, this is him comforting you.

He shouldn’t know how horrible you feel in such busy places. He shouldn’t know that and know that his touch is grounding and then help you. Not if he doesn’t want something serious. If he didn’t want to be your boyfriend, didn’t want to be anything but a fuck, then why do this to you? Did he not think this was leading you on? Is this just him caring for you?

You’ll drown in a sea of unanswered questions before the night is over if you linger too long. You tip your head back, let your shot burn its way down your throat, and turn towards the others with a smile. You feel your worries fade and your focus loosen as you simply drift further into your mind.

You must have disassociated or something. By the time you realize you’re no longer hearing bad karaoke and your elbows aren’t sticking to the bar, you’re already home. You stare in the mirror, hand pausing as you brush your teeth before you quickly finish.

You didn’t drink much, you never do. It fucks with your abilities and causes migraines. You rinse your mouth out and glance into your bedroom. Logan groans and stretches. His back bows, muscles flexing and you rip your eyes away. You can’t let yourself be distracted by the chest you want to drape yourself across.

You need to talk to him. It’s never been more clear. You wipe your mouth and toss the towel onto the rim of the sink. You take in a deep breath, trying to get rid of the nerves plaguing you. It’s never worked before, it’s not going to suddenly cure you now.

You give up on the thought and instead, shove down the anxiety until you have enough confidence to speak. It takes a little while, Logan peaks an eye open, eyebrows quirked when he sees you just staring at him. “Something up, bub?” he flexes, on purpose, and you roll your eyes. You grab his shirt out of your hamper and toss it at him.

“Put this on. Can’t think when you look like that.”

He chuckles, “That’s the point.” at your pointed glare his smile drops and he tugs the beater on. It barely does anything to deter you. If anything you’re having more trouble paying attention. Especially now that his full attention is on you. The humor is gone from the room, a thick tension replaces it. Logan seems to feel it, sitting up straighter and glaring at you like he’s trying to read your mind. “What’s wrong?” It’s a demand more than a question.

It’s hard to look at him. But you refuse to let yourself cower now. You take in a fortifying breath and let your gaze bore into his. You put all the hurt and anger you feel into it, willing yourself to be firm. “We need to talk.”

“‘Bout what?” He’s brusque, but there’s a slight concern to his tone.

There’s no point hiding this. And maybe you had misheard, maybe there was a conversation prefacing the one you’d heard. And you’ll talk it out and everything will be okay. “I heard you and Scott talking at the bar.”

The hope you had, as minimal as it was, is dashed at your feet. He sucks in a deep breath and the look on his face has you crestfallen. You can feel your chest cave in. You feel so stupid all of a sudden. Constantly following after him, even before you started dating him. Looking at him with stars in your eyes and latching onto his every move and word.

You’d worshiped him, put him up on a pedestal he didn’t deserve. Superhuman or not, at the end of the day he was still a man. And they’ve done nothing but disappoint you. You suck your teeth, gaze dropping to your feet as you fight back the tears in your eyes. “Right,” you whisper, stepping back from him.

“Look,” he starts. You force your eyes up and watch as he rubs uncomfortably at the back of his neck. He takes a step towards you and you shake your head, stepping away from him. His arms fall to his sides and he sighs. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“That’s it?” You demand, tone incredulous. You weren’t some great love or anything. But that’s seriously all he has to say.

He opens his mouth, eyes softening as he stares at you. Then he snaps it shut, something covers his face and his expression is borderline cruel as he sneers at you. “Not my fault you got in over your head, kid. Never said I wanted anything more with you.” He points at you, and you suddenly feel like a little girl getting scolded. You’ve never had a partner make you feel this small, especially not Logan. “You were just convenient.”

You rear back like he slapped you. You think it might have hurt less than that. To know you wasted so much time on such a fucking dick makes you want to throw up. Or scream, or cry. You can’t decide on one. But your powers can, the walls are shaking, knick-knacks falling off your shelves as energy pulses from you.

You’ll face the hurt, the sadness, the horrible ache of rejection later. Right now, you need him out of your face before you bring the whole mansion crumbling down around you. “Out.” You grind the word out, turning away from him and clutching your hands to your chest. You take in quick, rapid breaths, trying to think of anything other than how horrible you feel.

You haven’t lost control like this in a long time. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction of being the reason you get put on probation again. He whispers your name, coming up behind you like he’s going to touch you.

You want to lash out, want to hurt him like he’s hurt you. But you’ll only cause more damage than necessary. He’s not worth hurting the kids in the rooms around you. You shove past him, ignoring the way he shouts your name.

You dart out into the hall, grateful there are so few people milling around. Nearly everyone’s asleep, just a few stragglers finishing up their homework for tomorrow. A few of them give you odd looks that turn concerned when they see Logan chasing after you. Your bones are practically vibrating by the time you make it outside.

You rush towards the grove of trees at the back of the mansion. Your knees give out under you before you can make it very far. Energy pulses out of you in an explosive circle. You hear bark crack and turn into nothing but dust as the air around you trembles.

It’s a relief, like going to the bathroom after holding it all day. You feel it drain away from you, a plug pulled out as the energy rushes from you. It slows after a minute, feeling more like a leak than a steady stream.

Your hands shake by your sides as you lay trembling on the grass. Your eyelids flutter shut and you try and keep them open but it’s hard. All of your energy had been spent keeping yourself in check until you made it out of the mansion.

“I’ve got you,” a voice mutters near your ear. Familiar strong arms dip under your knees, lifting you up and pulling you into a sturdy chest. You recognize the body, recognize the uncomfortable warmth coming from him. But your tongue won’t work and you're passing out before you can try and push him away.

You’re in your own bed when you wake up again. You’re briefly comforted by the warm feeling of the sheets around you before you realize how cold the other side of the bed is. You’re so used to the feeling of someone being beside you that it’s jarring for no one to be there. You sit up, a spark of anxiety lighting up inside you before it’s being quelled by an outside force.

“I think it’s best if we keep that under control.” You’re not surprised to hear Charles’s voice. You can’t be, not when he’s actively keeping you calm and placid. You lean back against your headboard. You tilt your head lazily, looking at him while he looks out the window.

“That tree was a hundred years old.”

You wince, face screwing up when you remember the large oak tree you obliterated last night. “I can remake it,” you promise.

“You could,” he corrects, “but whatever happened last night between you and Logan is causing your powers to be volatile.” He finally turns towards you, the motor of his wheelchair a dull buzz as he smiles at you. There’s no resentment in his gaze at least. You’d known he wouldn’t be mad at you. He was used to accidents like this. Had you hurt another person, however, this would be an entirely different conversation.

There’s a dull ache in your chest at the mention of Logan, but it’s quickly covered by another wave of calm from Charles. He smiles and holds out two metal bracelets. They’re thick, something red inlaid into the black metal. They look like handcuffs more than anything. His lips quirk up at your thought and you frown.

“That’s what they are, right? Cuffs.”

“You’re not a criminal,” he assuages, his tone gentle as you take them from him. There’s a small silver button inside that you click and the metal springs open. You place your left wrist inside and it snaps shut, it’s a snug fit. It won’t be moving around anytime soon. You put the right one on and feel Charles’ hold on your mind ease the second it's closed. Every horrible feeling from last night crashes down on you and you nearly choke on it.

You wonder how Charles managed to keep you asleep for so long without the roof crumbling. He chuckles, the noise tired. “Jean helped me. It took a while for the cuffs to be ready.”

The way he says that causes alarms to go off in your head. “How long?” He takes in a sharp breath and shakes his head, attempting to dismiss the question. “Charles,” you snap, voice bordering on a shout.

“Two days,” he says. You gasp and slump back against your sheets. He says your name but you get to your feet and pace. You don't know what to do with yourself. There’s energy buzzing under your skin, but the cuffs are keeping it at bay. It feels wrong like your pores are being clogged with acid.

“Two days.” You look over at him, horror painting your face and you can see why he was so apprehensive to tell you. “It’s never been that bad before.”

“No,” he starts cautiously, “It hasn’t. Which makes me wonder, what transpired between you and Logan that destroyed my grandfather’s tree?”

You cringe at the mention of the tree. He’s never going to let go of that. Even when you recreate it, he’s still going to hold it over your head. His teasing eases you out of the spiral you were heading down and you glance over at him. “You’ve been in my head for two days. I’m sure both you and Jean already know.”

He smacks his lips together and shrugs, clasping his hands in front of himself. “Simply seeing if you wanted to discuss it, my dear.”

You vehemently shake your head and sit back down on your bed. “No, I don’t want to talk about him. I don't want to see him.” Charles gives you a look like he doesn’t believe you and you hate it. You truly don’t want to see Logan again. Just thinking about him makes you want to explode. He was a pig and you regret ever wasting your time on him.

There’s a shriveled part of your heart weeping somewhere, but you crush in your fist until it shuts the fuck up. “Right,” Charles nods. “I do believe it’s best for your recovery that we keep you two separated for a while.” He rolls past you and places a comforting hand on yours. “Rest, you’ll feel more like yourself soon.”

You nod and watch him leave. Exhaustion suddenly seems to drop its heavy weight on your shoulders. Two days being restrained by telepaths probably wasn’t very restful. You lay across your comforter, rolling over and hoping when you wake up your heart will be healed.

Two weeks. Two pathetic, snot-filled, and disgusting weeks of sobbing over Logan. You felt like a sixteen-year-old again, crying over the boy that didn’t like you back. It was awful, especially knowing that the entirety of the mansion knew what was wrong with you.

Your students would leave your class and you would lock your doors, hiding under your desk as you wept. Those with superhearing or telepathy would bake you cookies and leave gifts at your door. It was sweet, but honestly made you feel ten times worse. You felt like your sadness was a burden you were forcing everyone to carry.

Your mother would be so disappointed in you. She’d always told you that you mourn a relationship half the amount of time you were in it. Of course, hers never lasted more than a few weeks. And she’d had more boyfriends than you could count on three hands.

Besides, you were allowed to wallow for a while. This was someone you were starting to fall for. To be so blind going into and leaving the relationship was awful. Having the rug ripped out from under you had been cruel and needless. You’re resentful and grateful he’d been so horrifically honest with you. On one hand, if the relationship had just ended, you’d be pining after him. Wondering what you’d done to lose such an amazing guy.

But being faced with the brutal truth, knowing he was a piece of shit, it makes you hate yourself. You should have seen it. Should have known that he didn’t want you like you wanted him. But there were never any signs. You’d run it through your head a million times. Every interaction you’ve ever had with him. None of it shows you where he’d been lying to you or using you. You can’t even trust yourself anymore.

There’s a loud knock on your door and you sniffle, tossing another tissue in the trash as you go to answer it. “Hello?” You croak. You can barely see, eyes puffy and so swollen your vision is blurry.

“Holy hell,” Ororo scoffs and shakes her head. She pushes into your room and slams the door shut before anyone can see how awful you look. To be fair, you keep yourself relatively put together during the day. But it’s after hours now, you’re allowed to be a mess.

“You look like shit.”

Neither of you are prepared as you begin to blubber. Your lips tremble and your voice shakes as you begin to sob. “I know,” you wail. “I hate it.” Ororo’s eyes widen in horror and she quickly pushes you into your desk chair, grabbing a box of tissues and shoving it in your hands.

“I feel,” you stutter, having to take in a few shuddering breaths before you can get the words out. “He tore out my heart and ripped it up with his stupid fucking claws.”

“Okay, okay,” Ororo runs her hands over your arms, trying to soothe you. “I know, sh, it’s okay.” She groans, “Stop crying,” she pleads under her breath.

“I’m trying!” You snap at her, running hands over your wet cheeks and trying to swallow down the rest of your tears.

“Look,” she steps back and shakes her head. She glances down at you, disgust poorly hidden on her face. She’s really fucking bad at comforting someone. “This is awful, I can’t take it anymore. You two keep dancing around each other and you’re putting everyone on edge. You won’t stop crying and he keeps going off,” she holds her hands up and shakes her head. “I just can’t do it anymore.”

You frown, brows turning down in confusion. “What?” You didn’t think Logan would be mad. You pictured him skipping through a field of daisies, happy to finally be rid of you. It only made you hate yourself more that you were still crying over it all.

“He’s kind of losing it,” she seems reluctant to relent the information. “Look,” she kneels in front of you and snatches the tissue box from your hand. She tosses it to the side and forces you to meet her eyes. “He’s in love with you. We all know it, Jean’s confirmed it. He loves you, he needs you, he’s just terrified to admit it. He’s afraid of what's going to happen if you two become real.”

Your eyes widen with the realization. She nods enthusiastically as you connect the pieces. You can’t deny what’s so plainly laid in front of you when she assures you that even Jean knows. Jean knowing means she just did a nosy dive into his head.

You can picture what could happen. With rom-com levels of nauseating romance, you run to find him. You tell him you don’t care that he’s afraid. You don’t care he pushed you away and you do love him. He’s not going to lose you. Nothing can rip you apart. You ride off into the sunset on Scott’s bike blah blah blah.

This isn’t a fucking romance. And you’re not going to cry over a man who's too much of a pussy to admit he has feelings. You like men who have emotional depth deeper than a teaspoon. “Are you fucking kidding me?"

Ororo’s face blanches and she slowly backs away from you as you stand. “No,” she answers slowly, like she’s not sure of herself now.

“That’s what I’ve been crying over?” You feel upset for an entirely different reason. You never misread the signs. You never missed a hint that he didn’t feel what you did. He did! He was just happier letting you doubt yourself and the love you held for him than admitting he felt something. You tear off the depression hoodie you’ve been living in for the past two weeks. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

You don’t know where you’re going. Normally, you’d run into a forest to let out a blast of energy. It drained you enough that you wouldn’t have to feel anything. But with these cuffs on, you can’t do anything.

You storm out of your room and stomp down the stairs, uncaring who you wake up. You’ve wasted so much time on Logan, you refuse to stay in your room and cry for another fucking night.

“I want to see her,” Logan growls. He tries to move around Charles, but he stops him with his mind, holding him in place while Jean disappears inside your room. Logan watches her go and glares at her retreating back as the door closes behind her.

It’s been a day already, you’ve never needed to be out for more than a few hours. He doesn’t want to think that there’s anything wrong with you, that he might have permanently broken something inside you.

That talk at the bar with Scott had been stupid. He would have said anything to get him to shut the fuck up and leave him alone. He didn’t really mean what he said, he just wanted him to back off. And saying that your relationship wasn’t anything was quicker than pouring out every thought he’s had of you.

It was easier lying than it was to admit just how much he wanted you. Just how far he would go for you. But then you’d overheard, and you brought it up. And there’d been faith on your face. Like even you couldn’t believe what he had said because you could see through the bullshit.

But all Logan had seen was a way out. This was an opportunity to finally get out of the suffocating clutches of something he didn’t want to admit was love. He took the chance before he could think. It’s what he was used to. Taking the easy way out, especially when it came to shit like emotions.

He hadn’t thought you were going to explode, though. Because that’s exactly what you’d done. By the time he’d caught up to you, you’d burned a crater into the ground and had destroyed Charles’ stupid fucking tree.

Seeing you like that, laying there lifeless, it terrified him. He didn’t want to live in a world that you weren’t in. There was no fucking point. It was sobering, realizing that, and then realizing that he was the reason you were like that in the first place.

He didn’t want to live without you and he certainly would never be able to come to terms with being the reason you were dead. But it didn’t matter, whatever realizations he was coming to. Charles and Jean were completely blocking him from your room. They weren’t even giving him a chance to look at you. And he was about five seconds away from ripping the old bastard’s head off and just barrelling inside.

He didn’t care what they said, he needed to see that you were okay. “I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to see her for a very long time.”

“Stay out of my head,” Logan growls, glaring down at the man. “What are you talking about?” He presses, finally processing the rest of his sentence.

Charles sighs and rolls away from him. Logan glares at his back but ultimately follows. “You were the cause of this, yes?” Reluctantly, Logan nods, there’s no point in hiding it. He’s sure Charles already knows. “For her own safety, the two of you will need to remain separated.”

That had been it. There was no arguing about it. No fighting Charles. It was for your safety that he stayed away from you. No matter how much he wanted to explain himself, he wouldn’t risk another meltdown like that.

You didn’t deserve to get hurt because of someone like him. He wouldn’t be able to stand hurting you again.

But two weeks seemed like a lot. At a certain point, he’s sure you’re just avoiding him. He knows he can’t blame you. He’d been a fucking idiot. But that didn’t make him any happier. If anything, he was getting more and more pissed off every day.

He had less patience for mistakes. Was lashing out at the kids more often and don’t even get started on the petty fucking fights he was picking with Scott. How long did you fucking need before you talked to him again?

He knows you’re upset, your crying keeps everyone up at night. Something he’s sure you’d be mortified to learn about. Why won’t you let him comfort you? Why do you have to be so petulant, running around the corner every time you see him? Pointedly ignoring him when you’re in the same room together.

He could fix this, make this all better. But you’re just not letting him. He knows this is why he loves you. It’s why he was so drawn to you. You seem like a bundle of nerves, constantly flitting around and keeping yourself small. It had been off-putting at first. And then he’d seen you training with Scott, kicking his ass more like. A switch had been flicked in his head.

He could finally see you for what you were. He finally realized that it was your abilities you were keeping small. You were a fucking spitfire and you didn’t hesitate to tell him off, he loved it. Loved arguing with you just so he could see you get all pissed off.

But that stubborn attitude he loved was really biting him in the ass right now.

There’s a knock on his bedroom door and he doesn’t even get to pretend it’s going to be you. He smells Jean’s perfume and rolls his eyes. He puffs on his cigar and contemplates ignoring her.

“Don’t be a jackass, open the damn door.”

Fuckin’ telepaths. “What?” He snaps at her the second the door is open. Her face screws up when she smells the smoke from his cigar. He knows she wants to put it out, and can see it in the twitch of her fingers. He raises a brow, a silent challenge to try him. He’s itching for another fight and she can feel it.

She lets out a sharp breath, choosing her battles wisely and backing off. He’s almost disappointed. “We need to talk. This whole thing between the two of you is ridiculous. You’re a mess, she’s a mess…”

Her voice trails off into nothing more than the annoying pitch of a fly. Logan can’t be bothered to listen to her scold him. He’s not a fucking kid, and maybe if you were acting like an adult, they wouldn’t be having this problem.

A few doors down he can hear you shouting, then the door to your room slams open. He darts off his bed, opening his own door to see what you’re doing. He only sees the back of your head as you angrily stomp down the stairs.

Enough is fucking enough, he was finishing this now. He was sick of your side of the bed being empty and the stupid fucking glare on your face every time you saw him. He doesn’t even bother saying anything to Jean as he leaves, just chases after you.

Jean watches him go with a perturbed look. She steps out of the room and glances down the hall. Ororo steps out of your room and walks towards her. “Well?” Jean probes.

Ororor shrugs, “She’s over it.” Jean smiles but it’s quickly wiped off her face by Ororo’s expression. “Not in the way we wanted.

Jean clenches her eyes shut and takes in a deep breath. She needs you two to figure your shit out or she’s never going to be able to get a good night’s sleep again.

You find yourself in the gym. It’s not your favorite place in the world, you don’t usually get to train with the others. You’re stuck with telepaths, mainly the ones who can shut your powers down if you get too out of control. That hasn’t been a problem since you got the cuffs, but you’ve been too sad to test them out.

Now you find yourself obliterating a punching bag. You wrap the energy around your fists and let it protect the thin skin as you pummel into the bag. You don’t know what else to do. You can’t have energy meltdowns anymore. You have to try and funnel it all out physically, but it’s not working. Nothing is.

“Imagining it’s me?” You pause midswing. You glance over to the door just in time to see Logan stalking towards you. He unzips his jacket slowly. So slowly it almost seems provocative. He tugs it off and tosses it onto a nearby bench.

You scoff as you watch him. “Do you ever have a shirt on?”

He shrugs and moves towards the ring in the middle of the gym. His movements are lithe and fluid as he hops onto the ring, every bit a wild animal. You watch as the muscles in his torso ripple and force your eyes off of him. You try and focus your attention back on the bag, but all your earlier energy is gone. Your mind is completely wrapped around Logan.

Which you’re sure is exactly what he wants, or he wouldn’t be staring at you so smugly as he leans against the ropes and waits for you to acknowledge him. You suck on your teeth, irritation blooming in sporadic bursts throughout your body that has you nearly shaking. Finally, you give in.

He smirks the second your eyes meet, “I can take it, sweetheart. A lot better than that little toy of yours can.” He nods towards the punching bag but the insinuation isn’t lost on you. You and Logan had been very active in your relationship. You could barely go a day without tasting each other.

You’ve been pent up since the breakup. You’d given in a few days ago, pulled out your old vibrator, and tried to bring even a semblance of joy back into your life. But nothing could compare to Logan.

His tongue darts out, wetting his lips as he waits for you to react. He’s standing there, staring down at you with all the surety in the world that you’re going to fuck him. It makes you want to dig your nails in and rip him apart, bit by bit.

You can already picture it in your mind, using your abilities to pick him apart until he’s nothing but molecules dispersed through the air. He’s lucky you have the cuffs on, without them you’re sure he’d already be dead.

You smirk and move towards the edge of the ring, your voice drops as you purr up at him, “You wanna play, Logan?”

He grins and moves off the ropes, starting towards you as you make your way onto the ring. You’re slightly less graceful than he was, but you’re too focused on wiping the smug look off his face to pay attention. “Come on kid,” he taunts, voice as low as it usually is when he’s fucking into you. “Let’s see what you got.”

You’re not stupid enough to just outright swing at him. You feint to the right and bring your knee up into his ribs. He only needs one hand to wrap around your thigh and drag you forward. His other hand goes to your hip, tugging you closer until you’re practically grinding against each other. You grit your teeth and glare up at him.

“Come on, sweetheart, that can’t be all you got for me.” Energy wraps around your head, blurring the air around you. You slam your temple against his, it provides enough of a distraction for you to yank your leg out of his grip. You throw your right fist into his ear, bouncing back with a grin as he shakes his head.

He practically growls as he reorients himself. You shrug and smirk, “What, don’t tell me that’s all you got, wolvie.”

“Don’t fuckin’ call me that,” he grumbles. You open your mouth, prepared to taunt him again. But he’s lunging towards you and you just barely have enough time to dart out of his way. You know he’s going easy on you. He could have had you just then if he really wanted this.

But he’s dragging this out. Forcing you to spend as much time with him as you can. It only pisses you off further. You plant your foot on his back and kick him forward. He barely even stumbles and it only further confirms your suspicions. “Stop fucking holding back,” you yell at him.

He turns around slowly. You almost expect there to be a sneer on his face, something angry. Instead, he looks fucking thrilled, like this is all just foreplay for him. He laughs, so low you can barely hear it, and his chest flexes as his claws come out.

“You sure?” It’s a taunt, a dare, he knows you aren’t going to take the bait. You’d be stupid to, you don’t heal like he does. Once those things get in you, you’re screwed. But right now, you’re too pissed off to try and care.

You don’t say anything, you just duck under his fist as he swings at you. You know he made it easy for you, giving you an opening to fall into. He’s treating you like you’re something fragile. And maybe you are. One wrong move in this fight and you might not make it through the night. But anger is making you blind to logic.

Him playing fair just makes you want to play dirty. You use the opening he gives you, letting energy form around your fist and pulling back just enough to slam into his ribs. He coughs, doubling over as you hear bones crack under your hit. He’ll heal in seconds, you can’t bring yourself to feel too bad for him.

Maybe if he ever took you seriously you might not be such a bitch. But he didn’t think you were good enough to be honest with and he still was treating you like a plaything. In your opinion, he deserves whatever you give him and more. He doubles over and you swing your leg around, bringing it down across his face.

You hear a crack as your socked foot connects with his face, something crunches underneath you. And when your sole hits the mat again you see the blood leaking from his nose. You almost apologize. Almost, then you see the look on his face. His pupils are swallowing the hazel of his eyes, lips parted as he pants through his teeth. He looks fucking animalistic.

You have no warning as he pounces on you. His lips smother your own, moving over you with little to no grace. There’s nothing romantic or gentle about this. His fingers are digging so hard into your shirt, you’re sure you hear the seams rip. But you can’t bring yourself to care.

One of your hands goes to his hair, tugging at the roots until he’s groaning into your mouth. You rake your nails up his back roughly. He cusses against your lips, hand traveling up to your chin so he can roughly jerk you back.

He stares down at you, a silent question on his face. You’ve barely nodded before he’s descending upon you again. Lips and teeth clash borderline painfully as he lowers you onto the mat. You’re missing all the usual love and tenderness he treats you with, but you don’t care.

You want to be rough. You want to hurt him like he hurt you, make him ache for you the way you do him. You wrap your legs around his, lifting your pelvis until you have enough leverage to flip him. Your thighs straddle his waist and you grind down against the prominent bulge in his sweatpants.

He groans into your open mouth, large palms grabbing at your ass and spreading you so he can thrust between your clothed thighs. You can’t help but moan at the friction. It’s just enough to keep you on edge, he pulls back every time you think you might be close to something real building.

You rip your mouth off his. He glares up at you as you grab his hair and yank his head back. You slam his head hard enough into the mat for it to echo through the room and he growls against your grip. You grin down at him as you slowly get off him. You make a show of stripping, enjoying the way his eyes track your movements. He looks like a dog, panting and waiting for his treat.

You’re tempted to get yourself off, making him watch, and then leave him straining against his sweatpants. But you need this bad, need him to scratch the itch you can’t reach so you can finally get him out of your head. Neither of you are patient as he jerks his sweatpants down just enough for his cock to pop out.

It’s already leaking from the tip like a faucet. You kneel, straddling his waist again. You don’t have to do much to slick him up. You pump him a few times before he’s gripping your wrist and jerking your hand away. “Get up here,” he commands, voice rough as he grips your hips. You don’t even get a chance to protest before he’s flipping you over.

He grabs your thighs and wraps them around his waist. Your ass is off the ground, hovering above his lap as he lines up with your slit. You moan when the tip rubs against your clit. “Whose teasing now?” You grit out, glaring at him.

His lips curl up, that insufferable smirk on his face before he slams into you. The attitude is practically fucked out of you as he starts pumping in and out. You groan, raking your hands down his chest. He fucking moans at the pain, blood blooming under your nails and immediately closing the further down you go.

Neither of you are giving up this fight, you don’t want to lose, not even while you’re fucking. He pulls out of you and flips you over so fast you don’t even have time to whine. He’s back in you before you can blink, hips slapping into you in a way that you know is going to leave bruises tomorrow. You’re not going to be able to sit for a week and he knows it. His hands are groping at the skin of your ass, pulling you apart and watching the skin ripple as he fucks into you.

You’re not going to last long. You’ve been too desperate, too pent up while you’ve been pissed off at him. He leans over you, draping himself across you lazily. You groan at the added weight, it only adds to the sensation, only makes you want him deeper inside you. “Thought you didn’t want me anymore, sweetheart.” He whispers in your ear and you flutter around him as his hand snakes around your waist, rubbing tight circles on your clit.

You open your mouth but all that comes out is disjointed moans. You know there’s something sarcastic in there, and he must know too because he laughs at your pathetic mumbled sentence. “I don’t know,” he leans back and watches as he makes room for himself inside you. “Seem to need me real bad now.”

Your nails dig into the mat, energy leaking through your fingertips and warming up the canvas beneath you. You can feel it fluctuating, fighting against the cuffs the closer he brings you to the edge. “Fuck you,” the words escape you at a particularly deep thrust and you struggle to keep your eyes open.

He pauses and you nearly cry at the loss of movement. “Sorry, couldn’t hear you. What’d you say? Stop?”

You glare over your shoulder at him “Don’t you fucking dare, Logan.” You let your power push up against his back, forcing his hips to move again. He chuckles at the move, fingers creating figure eights on your nub.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart,” he protests, voice innocent. “Ah, fuck,” his voice is nothing more than low grunts and groans in your ear the closer the both of you get to your release. You can’t speak anymore, can’t think. You can feel it cresting higher and higher inside you.

Your abilities are rising with your release. They’re pushing against the cuffs, fighting desperately against the control the foreign metal has on your powers. You can feel it, heat building up under your skin, like a tingling on the tip of your tongue that you just can’t reach. It’s Logan’s release that finally tips you over the edge.

The way his breath catches and his hips stutter in their perfect rhythm as warmth floods you from the inside out. You can feel it, him, dribbling down your thighs and staining the mat beneath you. It has you clenching around him, pushing your hips back weakly while you let the feeling overwhelm you. You nearly black out. Two weeks without him hadn’t felt long until you remembered what you were missing.

You lose your sense of time, dropping to the mat like your bones have gone liquid, dripping out of you. You can feel Logan draped over you still, his weight a comforting blanket that nearly has you drifting to sleep. Naked, in the middle of the boxing ring. He pulls out of you and you whimper at the loss.

He shushes you, rubbing a hand up your spine and pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your temple. He wraps his arms around you, laying down and pulling you back into his chest. It takes a few minutes of quiet cuddling for you to remember what exactly led you down to the gym in the first place.

You feel disgusted with yourself for giving in to him so easily. It’s clear what his plan had been. And you’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. You’d barely even fought against him. Of course, you could reason that you needed to get the tension out. This was the perfect way to funnel out your built-up energy.

But you’re disgusted with yourself for giving in to him so easily. You just disregarded dignity and self-respect for a chance to get him between your legs. You were such a fucking idiot. No wonder this is all he wanted you for.

“Shit,” you mutter, trying to pull yourself out of his grip. Your eyes widen as his arms tighten around your waist. He tugs you back down until he’s got you in what essentially feels like a headlock. He could easily pass it off as spooning, but it feels a little more demanding than that. “Logan,” you warn, the silent peace of the moment officially shattered.

“Don’t,” he gripes. You can fight against him for as long as you want, but you’ll only tire yourself out. His arms are literally metal bands around you. “Let me talk and then you can run off.” You huff and wait, but he never speaks. Finally, you look over your shoulder and glare at him. “Well?”

You roll your eyes, “Fuck’s sake,” you mutter. “Alright, speak.”

You can feel his grin against the back of your head. If he didn’t have you in such a tight grip, you’d elbow him in the gut just to be petty. “I made a mistake,” you scoff and he keeps going. Stopping you from interrupting him with something bitchy. “You weren’t just something convenient to me, sweetheart.” he pauses and chuckles, “You’re a huge fucking pain in my ass.”

“Is this your idea of an apology?” You snap, “Because this is pathetic.”

He doesn’t say anything and you’re tempted to snark at him again. But then the world is flipped on its side as he jerks you around and forces you to face him. Your chests rub together, the sweaty skin sticking together and bordering on uncomfortable. “You ever shut up?” He asks, but there’s no heat to the words. If anything he looks fond of you, and it makes you shift around, trying not to look him in the eye. But there’s nowhere for you to hide, you’re both naked and bare before each other.

You’re as physically vulnerable as he must feel emotionally. And as much as this is a horrible way to display how he’s feeling, you’re starting to understand him a little better. You know why this conversation is so hard for him, why he can’t accept that someone truly loves him and he loves her back.

But that’s not going to get him out of it. He’s still yet to say the words. Maybe if he manned up and said something real you’d consider forgiving him. You give him an expectant look and he sighs, forehead pressed against yours as he slumps over you. You want to pretend you’re annoyed at the contact, but you’ve been craving it since you ran away two weeks ago.

You’ve been desperate for this warmth that only he can provide you. Without realizing it, you nuzzle further into his chest, hands drifting up to wrap around his bare waist. Logan feels the tightness in him ease slightly at the way you curl into him. He’s got a shot, even if you try and tell him he doesn’t.

It’s silent for a while, while you linger in the emotions of what just happened and he tries to find the right words. He leans down, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and smiling against the shell of your ear. “I love you,” he whispers.

You’d told yourself you’d only consider forgiving him if he said those words. But that’s only because you’d never thought he would actually say it. You didn’t think he was capable of admitting that to himself. It seems so out of character for him. But, maybe, you don’t know him as well as you thought you did.

He pulls back, hand landing on your jaw and gently guiding your head out of his neck. He gives you an expectant look but you’re finding it hard to meet his eyes. You’ve been waiting for him to say that, but now it feels like you can’t. You’re still struggling to forgive him. He put you through so much unnecessary hurt just because he couldn’t face his own feelings.

And now you’re struggling to do the same. “I want to say it back,” you tell him. “But how am I supposed to trust that the next time things get hard, you won’t lash out again?”

He frowns, an irritated huff of breath shooting out his nose. But you know it’s frustration towards himself. For letting you both get to this point because he couldn’t just say three words. “I’ll wait,” he promises. “For as long as it takes, I’ll wait.”

You smile and nod, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his neck. You’re sure you’ll be saying it sooner rather than later. But what’s the harm in making him squirm a little? He deserves it.

A/N: I don’t write smut, it’s literally in my rules. I think I stared at a gif of him for too long and some horny ass demon possessed me and made me write this. Forgive me, universe, I’m no better than a man.

#Wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett x you #x men #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine #smut #ohmygod #i can’t believe i wrote this #Someone sedate me #im just a girl #i cant be blamed LOOK AT HIM #he's actually older than every adult man in my life #can you tell i need therapy

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gremlingottoosilly · 1 year ago

Text

I met a guy in the Summer (dilf!Konig x fem!Reader)

Your boyfriend is an asshole. Luckily, his hot dad just returned from deployment. CW and Tags: Cheating, dub-con, size kink, daddy kink, age gap(reader in 20s, Konig is early 40s), Konig is a pervert, slightly obsessive Konig, love(and lust) at first sight, fingering, dom!Konig Word count: 3713 AO3

“Just one more game, babe, don’t be a buzzkill. I don’t want to end at a loss.” You didn’t want to be a buzzkill, of course. You simply wanted to be a good girlfriend, have some domestically cozy date, and for your boyfriend to at least try to put an effort into being with you. It wasn’t much to ask for, really. You hoped so, at least. You didn’t want to be an annoying, nagging girlfriend who only ever waits for another reason to yell at him, but your patience started to run thin.

You spend the past three hours either listening to his apathetic rambling about the shows he watched – really, you wanted to invest in stuff he liked, but an abnormally large amount of animes he talked about had 1000-year-old girls who looked like they were 10, wearing inappropriate outfits, and you started to raise the alarm.

You also watched him play – and also listened to his rage quitting and angry voice messages to his team that, honestly, made you slightly anxious. You never liked loud people, people who were so easy to rage about something as silly as some colorful video game with too many characters to look after.

So, like a good girlfriend would – you wanted to be a good girlfriend, he was such a nice guy before you started dating, and you need something to think about besides the tremendous amount of study work you are doing for college – you decided to go and look for snacks. Maybe bring something for him as well.

— I’ll find something to eat, alright?

He didn’t respond at first, so you shook his shoulder. Your boyfriend took off his headphones with annoying look on his face, half-turning to look at you. You gulped, suddenly feeling like a child in front of the principal – not a feeling that you were supposed to feel around your partner, but with him, you somehow constantly felt like you were being judged.

— Nah, stay here. I don’t want my father to see you.

— Ah…your father is at home?

You never heard anyone else being at the house – big house, you must admit, and it’s embarrassing almost how you never thought about his family. He lives with his dad, apparently, and the depth of your relationships can only be judged by the fact you literally didn’t know what his father’s name was.

— Returned from his fucking deployment. He’d ask too many questions about you.

— You didn’t tell him about me?

Ah, now you’re hurt a little bit. You knew it wasn’t anything serious or too committed yet, but you intended to make this work. To try and fix all the problems you can without ending things abruptly.

— He never asked. Not like he cares too much, but…

An apathetic dad, huh.

You started to slowly piece together the puzzle that was your boyfriend’s horrible boyfriend skills. Now, you want to meet the man who conceived him and kick him in the nuts for creating such an unlovable human being who somehow captivated your chronically lonely heart.

— If you don’t want me to come and meet him, I can go home.

He doesn’t answer because his queue is finally coming to another match – you simply nod, knowing everything you need to. You can grab a little snack for yourself, fuck off to your dorm and rethink your life choices while your roommate is getting pounded by some gruss British bloke with an accent that makes your ears bleed.

You have dignity, and right now, it has asked you to get some snacks from the kitchen.

*** Now, the only thing König wanted after returning from deployment was to take as many hot showers as he could, shut his bastard of a son up, and get some delicious food waiting for him in the freezer. He was already home for a few days, but adjusting is always hard when you basically fucking hate living at your own house. Of-fucking-course, his son was watching the house while he was away – and now he can’t even think of a good excuse to set him off to his mother. Too old to do this, and split custody never really worked when not even one part of the relationship wanted to take care of the kid.

König closes the door of the refrigerator – of course, his son took every good thing that he stashed for himself. With a groan, the colonel fights the urge to finally throw him out of the house – a thing he needed to do a few years ago, just when he celebrated his 18th, but some sentimental part of his heart instead promised to help with finding a place close to the college. No good deed goes unpunished.

With a groan, he takes a few steps from the fridge – and then he almost stumbles across an angel.

Scheisse

Now, König never thought of himself as a predator who prefers running after college girls who might as well be his daughters. He never thought of himself as a gut who liked them young – his wife, god forsake her name, was his age when they started dating, and he hardly had any sexual encounters with a person under 25 in the past few years. Well, not like he had any sexual encounters in the past years, but…

The thing is – he never thought he liked girls with wide eyes, pouty faces, and trembling hands who were holding a bag of his cookies that he carefully stashed away from his son.

You are wearing something cute, a nice skirt and an adorable pink cardigan that looks so cozy and warm and soft, and he fights the urge to grab your skirt and simply lift it, You’re dressed up for a cute coffee date, and König has to double check if he isn’t dreaming and no one has decided to play a prank on him and send him a cute callgirl.

— Oh! Sorry. It’s yours, isn’t it?

You give him his cookies back – but not before your fingers fished another salty caramel goodness out of the bag, and you bit it. He looks at your teeth, at your lips, and glimpses of your tongue – god, he is an old, dirty bastard because even his baggy pants aren’t enough to hide his boner. You have no right to look this pretty for a man who hasn’t seen a woman in three months and hasn’t had sex in the past few years.

You lick the crumbs from your fingers – it’s such a deliberate action that he can’t believe he actually sees it, and it’s not even something from porn he used to like.

— Ja. You can have it.

He would give you the code to his bank account if you asked for it.

— Thank you, sir. I’m…well, I assume if Paul didn’t introduce me to you…I’m his girlfriend. Nice to meet you.

You lick your lips and take a step back, pressed against the counter. He looks at the sway of your hips, a bit of crumbs on your shirt, and almost brushes it away with his hands. It would be a good excuse to touch your chest – but he can’t be like this, he has to keep his urges under control, or else his son will never forgive him.

Yeah, like he needs a better reason to throw his useless son from his home.

— Girlfriend? He never spoke about you.

You look sad, and he immediately curses under his breath. For a moment, you look too fragile – too real. He can’t handle this look on a woman, especially as pretty and young as you are. You bat your eyelashes, even involuntarily, and he already prepares to give you the keys to his home just so you’d stop with such miserable expressions. He has a spare bedroom.

He has his bedroom with a bed that would be enough for both of you.

— Ah. Um. We’re…I guess we’re not at this stage yet.

— Knowing him, you’ll never be, Schatz.

You look at him immediately – you’re offended, angry, and sad at the same time. There is a certain stubbornness in your eyes that immediately makes him want to simply scoop you in his arms, lift you, and drag you straight to the altar – and here he thought that his impulses over getting married would be over after his first divorce.

— What do you mean by this, sir?

You look uncertain now, he can see this in your eyes – and really, knowing his asshole of a child, he is almost sure that Paul never once got you off, either physically or emotionally.

Now, König never once considered himself to be a good man. He has killed countless people, overthrown many governments, and made shitty jobs for shitty people way more than saving hostages to help the good guys – and in the romantic field, it’s even worse. Wife, unsatisfied with his controlling tendencies and inability to feel normal love for a human being – and a son who hates him because, in fact, he never once wanted to have a kid.

He looks at you and sees a pretty young thing, still in college or freshly out of, probably without a stable job and normal social standing – a good girl won’t be with his son if she isn’t stupid or extremely desperate for a relationship.

The thing is, König is also extremely desperate for another warm body next to his, to feel a woman beside him, to love and obsess over someone – he looks at your pouty lips and shaky hands, at the way you bite the corner of your glossy mouth, and he almost wants to drop you on this very table and fuck you until you’re crying under him. He can’t do just that, of course. It would probably make you extremely uncomfortable and scared, but…well, quite frankly, his son doesn’t deserve you.

König is.

— I won’t sugarcoat it, Schatz. My son is a Scheiß Arschloch…fucking asshole, that is. I’m surprised he brought home someone as cute as you.

You feel embarrassment collecting in your body. Paul’s dad is a…interesting man.

Tall, broad, very muscular – even his baggy house clothes aren’t really concealing his extremely interesting physique from your eyes. He looks yummy and tasty, and you fight the urge to eye the bulge in his pants because you’re a good girl, you don’t look at your boyfriend’s dad like this.

König has greying ginger hair, locks already curling slightly at the lack of cutting, and you fight the urge to sit on the counter and get your palm in his scalp, massage his head gently, and pull him closer for a kiss. You feel like a dirty, horrible woman – your boyfriend is in his room, probably enjoying his time on your “date” while you’re lusting over his father.

Then again, this date already felt like a disaster. This relationship, too.

— Paul isn’t all that bad, sir.

“He at least has a nice dick,” you wanted to add but stopped yourself. Paul is tall and somewhat strong – if he weren’t sitting at his computer all day, you would call him even muscular. And he has a nice dick, yes, even though he had no idea how to use it. You liked the idea of laying with him, of spraying your jaw trying to fit all of this in your mouth, but his kinks and his sex skills being directly taken from porn…not really your thing.

You look at König and wonder if they are similar in all of the places. He is his father, after all.

König catches your gaze locked on his bulge and smirks.

God, if he knew his son had such a cute girl, he would ask her to come earlier. He is two weeks off deployment and probably won’t take another long contract for a few months because they just upped his retirement payings, and he can afford to slack off a little bit, only visiting the home base for some training and instructions for rookies.

He can afford to retire and never worry about money again – but he needs someone to make his days less boring, right?

You look like a good candidate.

— I’m sure my son was convincing, but I know him better than anyone. He doesn’t deserve you, Schatz.

He is shitty at flirting, it’s not his forte – he can flaunt his money, maybe, show you in his wallet and bank account face first. He can just straight up ask you to be his sugar baby and suck his cock instead of doing your studies, but he can’t flirt and manipulate to save his life. Lying isn’t something he is good for, this is why his wife has left.

— I…not sure we should be having this conversation here.

You’re a good girl, and it’s infuriating. He knows that having someone in his bed shouldn’t be the end goal for his leave, but he wants you, and by the look on your face, you aren’t opposed to the idea. König doesn’t understand if he likes that you’re so reserved about it or if he wants you to be a bit more slutty – but he captures you in the space between the kitchen counter and presses you with his body.

— You want to see the bedroom then?

Pushes you so close his knee gets between your legs – it might look involuntary like he didn’t exactly want for it to be placed here, but you aren’t dumb, you know what he wants from you. Like a good fucking girl, you’re too shy to give it to him right about now. God, sometimes he hates being so nice to people around him.

— Sir, this is very…

He got you caged in his hands, body trapped in his embrace – you jerk your head upwards a little bit, staring at him like a small bird in the hands of a predator. He isn’t a strong man in regard of morals, he doesn’t see anything wrong with fucking his son’s girlfriend – if the girl is up to it. And if she isn’t…well, he better make sure she is.

— What is it, Schatz? Paul won’t hear us in his headphones.

You know just how wrong it is, and you almost want to escape – his dick grinds on your pelvis through his pants, and you’re horrified to see how big it is. Excited too, of course, he is bigger than your boyfriend ever could be, and you don’t want to be a slut, but, oh well, not like you were in a committed and serious relationship anyway.

Paul was seeing your friends more than you ever saw them – it’s probably a sign that you should settle for someone older. You did enjoy Lana Del Rey's songs, after all.

— I don’t want to break his heart.

— He doesn’t have one.

You’re lost when he pushes his lips to kiss you over and over again – a surprisingly good kisser, and you give in because it was the first time in forever a kiss made you feel this good. His lips are sending electricity down your spine, you want to moan just from his knee, pushing on the softness of your cunt through that adorable skirt you liked so much – you feel so small like this, so tiny in his hands, you…

God, you feel like a slut, and you like it.

Soon enough, you answered the kiss, your lips meeting his in a dance that made you feel hot, that made you feel like your boyfriend never could. Never thinking of yourself as someone who can fall so easily into the hands of an older man, now you know that he got you right where he wanted.

You push your hand on his pants, trying to get the control back – but he stops you, a giant hand enveloping your wrist and pushing you back. With a surprise on your face, König just wants to kiss you all over. God, you’re adorable, and he knows that you deserve way more than being fucked on the rough kitchen counter while your so-called boyfriend is too busy dickriding his friends in some useless online game.

— Not now, princess. You deserve better than being fucked on the kitchen counter, ja? It can come later.

“Later” sounds like a promise, and you bite back your moan when he keeps pushing his knee against your cunt, making you throb and clench on nothing. He is such a gentleman, you can’t help but compare him to his son – and his fabulous ability to make you feel dirty after fucking you in the backseat of his car and tossing you to your dorm with your pussy still wet and messy after you didn’t cum.

You sob, not from sadness, but from pleasure mixed with some weird, unnatural for you emotions – you feel weird, strained here like this, but you hug his neck and whisper something in his ear. Something, dangerously sounding just like “daddy, please”

König is blushing, and he looks fucking adorable.

— Daddy, ja? God, you’re dangerous, liebling. Going to get me in trouble with my son later.

He laughs when he kisses you again, his hand slipping in your panties only to find them completely soaked – he knows you deserve a nice pillow and soft sheets under your body, and he pushes you up so you can hug his waist with your legs. You rely on him like a cute pet, and you’re so perfect in his hands he curses himself for not seeing you before.

He is going to ruin you for anyone but him. Put so much cum in you, it will make your tummy bulge – make you his precious sugar baby, pay for your dumb college and make you move to his bedroom instead of some shitty dorm you probably share with four other people.

He can be good for you – but he will ruin you for anyone else, anyone appropriate, every guy your age who clearly doesn’t know how to treat a lady right.

— So wet for me…such a filthy thing, I didn’t know my son dated a whore.

— N…not a whore, please…

He kisses you on your forehead, silently apologizing. You feel his crooked, scarred smile, and you push your face up to kiss him – you want to touch him so badly it makes you feel stupid.

— Sorry, Schatzen. Not a whore, a good girl for her daddy, ja? So nice for me, too fucking young…

— W…we really shouldn’t… — Tshhh, don’t think about it. Thinking will only hurt your pretty dumb head. — I’m not…

— Quiet, little one. Let daddy handle everything.

He kisses you over and over, his fingers playing with your pussy – meaty digits digging in your hole, making you whimper from sudden intrusion. He is big, bigger than anyone else, just two of his fingers are enough to spread you as much as normal cock would, and even though you’re used to taking Paul’s size, you just know that his dad would be much, much bigger. He is going to split you open, and you will love every fucking second.

It feels so wrong, you still aren’t sure if you want him to touch you like this.

It feels so right, he is experienced and eager, pushing every button to make you squirm in his grasp. Your orgasm comes embarrassingly quick – maybe because you haven’t gotten off in ages, only miserable masturbation sessions and poor attempts at faking your orgasm made it feel real. Paul never cared enough to actually get you off – but now…

You aren’t ready for him. You squirm in his grasp when the pressure becomes too much, and he soothes you, two fingers still buried in your soaked cunt. You feel so dirty, so wrong right now – you are cumming on the fingers of your boyfriend’s absent father, and you love every second of it.

Post-orgasm clarity makes you whiny and sobby, and you whimper in his shoulder when he gently lifts you in his hands. God, you’re adorable, and he knows that he just scrambled your brain with that orgasm – it’s good, really, he might just want to keep your pretty head nice and empty for him. Not like you would ever need to think in his presence, the colonel can handle everything in- and out- of bed.

König holds you close, not allowing you to scramble away no matter how embarrassed you are. You are his precious thing, with a pouty face, and he will do everything in his power to make you squirm on his fingers again and again before he makes you his wife for good.

So impulsive, maybe this is why his son is such an asshole – taking the worst traits of his father.

— Don’t cry, Schatzen. You’re okay, it felt good, didn’t it?

— W…we shouldn’t have. Shit. I’m sorry, it was a m…god, I need to tell Paul.

— I’ll tell him.

— No! — I will tell my asshole of a son that you’re my girl now, ja? And then I will take you to the bedroom, so we can fuck.

— I need to return to my dorm.

— And then I will dine you properly, okay? Sorry, Liebling, I know I should court you before all of this…but we can afford to go a bit off board, ja?

He is smiling, so smitten and obsessed over just having you cum on his fingers once – you don’t have the heart to say no. Never did. You’re a good, proper girl, and Paul was never treating you right anyway. You feel dirty, yes, but somehow, it is almost right.

He peppers your face with kisses, like a dog lapping its tongue all over your skin – you’re so concentrated on the warmth of his strong, seasoned body that you don’t even look in the direction of the doorway to the kitchen.

Paul, however, looks straight at you, disheartened and shocked.

— W…what the fuck, dad?! König laughs, kissing you once again – deep, hot, with tongue and loud, sloppy sounds of your mouth pressing into one another. You’re stuck in place, still caged in his arms like a precious little pet you are.

— She’ll make a good step mom, ja?

You don’t even register his hands slowly caressing your fingers as if he already tries to check the ring sizes.

#cod #konig x reader #yandere konig #konig #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #yandere cod #konig mw2 #reader insert #yandere x reader

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inside-lees-mind · 1 year ago

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Naruto Characters Accidentally Calling their Girlfriend their Wife

MR KRABSSSS I HAVE AN IDEAAA

Fem reader (or if you want to be called wife)

Characters: Naruto, Sasuke, Shino, Kiba, Shikamaru, Choji, Neji, Rock Lee, Kankuro, and Gaara.

(Masterlist is up now) also I’ll be adding Sai to this in the morning

Naruto Uzumaki

He’s talking to some new people and enthusiastically pulls you to his side, a large smile on his face, and he says “This is my wife! Y/N!”

You can’t hide your shock, not fully at least. He’s never called you his wife before. I mean, he’s said things like “you’ll be my future wife, right?” As he giggles or something.

But you are in a state of shock that he introduced you that way.

Nonetheless, you’re happy.

If the person makes a comment about how young or cute you two are for a married couple, he’d realize. Likely, he’d respond a little oddly, stuttering, but recovers and just full sends with the claim you’re his wife.

Sasuke Uchiha

If he’s with you, you’re gonna be his wife anyways. He didn’t get with you until he was sure of that, because it took him a long time to realize he felt that way anyways.

So he calls you his wife with full confidence, before realizing his mistake. However, he doesn’t care too much to correct himself or anything.

Because you are gonna marry him right? (He’s actually really nervous to propose, but he won’t admit that.)

People would probably just believe him immediately considering just how serious he is about you to even be with you.

When you confront him about it later, he’ll ask you if that was okay, explain it was a mistake, but he’ll probably comment on how he’s dating to marry anyways so… you might as well be his wife.

You can probably expect a proposal soon.

Shino Aburame

I can’t fully see this happening tbh. However, let’s say that it does.

He’d probably over explain himself to the person he referred of you as his wife too.

Not that he doesn’t want you as his wife, but you haven’t said you’ll be his wife yet. So he can’t call you his wife. That’s how he sees it.

He’ll probably think he messed up and upset you, so you’ll have to explain it was cute.

Once you explain to him, he’ll see your point. Maybe with some reluctance to lighten up on himself.

He’ll be happy you want to be seen as his wife though.

Kiba Inuzuka

Realized his mistake, but he could not be bothered.

He will keep on as if there is no mistake. As if you are legally married.

He’ll be upset if you correct him in front of people.

It’ll turn into a bit of an argument if you correct him in any way other than sweetly.

Because what the big deal???

If you leave it alone, and talk to him later, now he’s nervous and stuttering. But he’ll likely comment on how he knows you want to marry him so you might as well be called his wife.

Shikamaru Nara

Immediately realizing what slipped out his mouth.

Does he really want you to be his wife? Well, of course he does. But that’s a lot for him to accidentally spill out to some strangers you’re both meeting.

They don’t know he made a mistake, because you roll with it.

Later, he’ll try to avoid talking about it, but if you bring it up, he’ll say it was a mistake, don’t take it so seriously.

If you seem down about his underwhelming response, he’ll likely have an actual talk about his future with you to reassure you that he was just being an idiot when he said that.

Choji Akimichi

He forgot you’re not his wife.

I think Choji would just love you so much that he would simply treat you like a wife. To the point he forgets, you’re not his wife.

If you comment on it, he’ll think about it and probably be like ohhhh right.

He’ll apologize, but more than likely you’ll just say it was cute.

I can see him calling you wifey.

But if he’s gonna call you that, he’s gotta get you that ring. He’s planning on it as yall speak.

Neji Hyuga

You two are waiting a while before calling it official. Plans of marriage are far off.

He’s a little too traditional to jump at marriage quickly.

So when he accidentally calls you his wife, it was to Hiashi. He went pale. Paler than usual.

Later, depending on how exactly that went, he’ll probably be in his head.

Let’s assume for this though, that Hiashi approves of you completely.

Hiashi made a comment, rather he meant it badly or not, Neji will take it the wrong way. Realize he jumped too far.

You’ll have to tell him you find it cute, and rather his uncle approves of you two or not, you’ll be his wife someday :)

Rock Lee

It COULD be an honest mistake.

But let’s be honest,

It’s Lee.

He calls you his wife to your face, to other people, hell, he’d shout it from the roof tops.

So it’s not an accident. He meant it. He will one day make you his wife, so why would he not call you his wife now!

If you have any reserves about being called his wife before actual marriage, he will pout and be upset. He won’t understand.

But, once that’s over, he’s crying and begging for forgiveness.

Please tell him it’s cute that he wants to marry you, even if you do want to have a talk with him about not assuming roles you don’t officially have.

Gaara

HE CALLED YOU HIS WIFE IN FRONT OF A CROWD. so now he’s blushing.

He might correct his mistake, might not. Depends.

He’s a confident speaker, but that threw him off a little bit.

Likely you were a strong shinobi or something and he was trying to give you credit where it’s due, but it didn’t go as planned.

When you too are alone later, you’ll bring it up likely.

If you tell him you thought it was cute or sweet, he’ll turn bright red like his hair.

He likely won’t go on calling you his wife or anything. Maybe in private.

But he’s not ashamed of it. After all, he’s strongly considering marriage.

Kankuro

Called you his wife to his siblings while you were over for dinner.

Temari is not letting him live it down.

“Hey, I think your wife is trying to get your attention.” “I don’t know, maybe ask your wife?” “What about your wife?” From then on out.

He’s frustrated because it was a mistake, BUTTTT honestly, eventually he’ll make some snarky comment about how at least he’s closer to marriage than she is. Then he probably harps on Shikamaru a little bit in defense for his own comment.

(He approves of Shikamaru tho, if he’s being real. He just thinks it’s a little funny)

As long as this is before a certain point.

He decides to call you his wife to your face.

He’ll call you that to tease you now.

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accioharrington9 · 4 months ago

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we can't be friends (but i'd like to just pretend)

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

prompt: four times you spent a holiday with your best friend Steve Harrington and one time you didn't and missed him.

word count: 10.2k

warnings: friends-to-lovers, everyone can see it (including steve and reader but they're both kind of in denial), mutual pining, characters in their mid-twenties, fluff and (some) emotional angst, steve uses a cheesy nickname for reader, mentions of partying and alcohol consumption, some swearing, no use of y/n

notes: hi all, this is the first reader fic that i publish here, so bear with me, i tried my best <3 in light of the year-end celebrations, this fun little idea of a fic came to me and i decided to give it a shot, so i hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

🥂🥂🥂

“What are your resolutions for the new year?”

You looked up from your glass of champagne when Steve asked you that question out of the blue. You were both leaning against the kitchen island at Nancy and Jonathan’s apartment, distractedly observing your friends playing a drinking game you had both stepped out of. You were glad to allow your friends their fun, but mostly, to have a reason to get some alone time, just the two of you. A silent agreement, as always.

“You know I don’t believe in resolutions,” you answered before bringing a flute smudged by your red lipstick to your lips.

“Oh, come on, kitten, humor me for a second.”

You raised an eyebrow at him while he waited for your response with a cheeky smile. You heard Robin burst into laughter from the living room, but you were too focused on Steve’s loose strand of hair and the woody scent of his new cologne to acknowledge it.

“Fine,” you obliged him. “Well, I resolve to quit drinking coffee, exercise more, and buy a new and well-functioning car.”

“You’re full of shit,” Steve laughed. “Like you’re ever going to get rid of Gina.”

“Of course I’m not getting rid of Gina, she’s my ride-or-die,” you said, referring to your personified old car.

“Yeah, emphasis on ‘die’ – you're missing a rearview mirror in there.”

You nudged him playfully, briefly losing your balance but Steve helped steady you immediately, putting a hand on your hips that hovered there longer than necessary. You chuckled for good measure but couldn’t help the heat that rushed to your face.

Everyone knew you and Steve had a thing for each other. It had been that way since high school – lingering looks in the hallway between classes, overly tactile during a mundane conversation, pretending to forget something at the other’s house to have a reason to go there again… Everyone knew it, was used to it, and never mentioned anything about it – you and Steve included.

Nothing had ever happened because the timing was always off. If it wasn’t Steve who was dating someone, you were; then you moved away to go to college, and when you came back to Hawkins after graduating, Steve had just left for an internship in New York. Eventually, you grew tired of the never-ending “what-ifs” and made your peace knowing that Steve Harrington would always be more than just a friend but less than a lover. A fine line you both tiptoed in and out of too much over the past eight years.

“What about you?” you eventually asked Steve. “You’re corny as shit, you must have a lot of them resolutions in mind.”

“I only thought of a couple, and they’re not that corny.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

Steve laughed again, running a hand through his hair as he reflected on what he’d say. You admired him while he did so. It was frustrating, still having that teenage crush on your longtime friend, not being able to let it go, not entirely at least. You sometimes wished you could be his friend the way Robin was to him, or Eddie was to you. It would make it all so much easier, so much less painful than this in two minds you were both stuck in, this blatant desire for more, this fear that it could all be ruined in seconds, poor decisions fragmenting the illusion of a blissful friendship.

“I thought about learning how to play the guitar.”

“Cliché,” you teased. “What else?”

You could see the turn the conversation had taken when Steve hesitated before talking – looked nervous, even.

“Moving out. Getting my own place.”

You stared at Steve, quiet. You couldn’t say you were surprised – he’d been roommates with Eddie since they both enrolled in community college a few years ago. Even after graduating and getting a job, they stayed that way, because it was simple; splitting the bills, having someone to talk to after a lonely day. But it could only work for so long. It was only a matter of time until one or the other got bored and needed a change of scenery. To you, it was no surprise Steve had that revelation first.

“You sound serious,” was the only comment you could express.

“Because I am,” Steve said. “I started looking at one-bedroom apartments to rent in the neighborhood.”

“Does Eddie know?” you asked.

Steve pursed his lips as he shook his head from left to right. You hummed and couldn’t help but look at the young man in question, with his curly hair tied back in a bun and his poor imitation of some football player his team had to guess the name of. You loved this friend group – you loved the dynamic, the hijinks, and the stability. You loved hanging out with Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan at Eddie and Steve's apartment. You loved everything about it and the thought of losing your bearings, of disrupting your habits, made you too sad for the 31st of December, five minutes away from another midnight of confetti, embraces, and promises.

“You’re the first person I told,” Steve eventually said, breaking the silence that had settled between you two. “I thought you could share some of that wisdom you have to advise me.”

You snorted, lazily knocking your shoulder against his arm. “You buttering up to me, Harrington?”

“Only if it’s working.”

You got lost in his beautiful brown eyes, aware of the subtlest things, like his pinky finger brushing your hand timidly, the mint toothpaste on his breath, or how perfectly he wore the sweater you gifted him. It felt so right, standing close to him and toying with the possibility of the unknown. It always did with Steve.

“Okay guys, it’s officially one minute away from midnight, gather ‘round!!” Nancy exclaimed, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention.

Reluctantly, you left the little bubble of peace and happiness you had created in the kitchen, Steve following closely behind. As you started counting down from ten, surrounded by all your closest and dearest friends, you only had eyes for Steve.

It had become a habit since you first celebrated New Year’s Eve with him years ago – you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d kiss you at midnight. It was a fantasy you’d entertained ever since you were eighteen, the final and first thought of each year that passed without ever becoming real. Each year, naively, you thought it’d be different. But each year, it was the same old song all over again.

As the clock struck midnight and cheers erupted among the friend group, you hugged everyone. You saved the best ‘til last, heart beating frantically as Steve wrapped his arms around you. You buried your face in his neck, getting drunk on his cologne – pathetic, disillusioned.

“Happy New Year, kitten,” Steve whispered in your ear before kissing your cheek – soft, tender, and terribly platonic, as usual.

“Happy New Year, Harrington,” you kissed his cheek in return, the trace of your lipstick leaving a mark on his skin like a temporary tattoo.

And you were too busy thinking about the undone to notice that this year, Steve held you in his arms a little longer than usual.

🌹🌹🌹

“Bro-lentine’s Day?”

“Is that one of those boys band they keep talking about on the radio?"

You held back a laugh at Steve’s question and Eddie’s comment regarding the odd suggestion Robin had just made. The four of you were waiting in line at a Wendy's drive-thru in Steve’s car, the crescent moon shining its feeble light in the night sky above.

“Why would you even think about spending Valentine’s Day with your loser single friends when you have a beautiful girlfriend you could shower with gifts?” Eddie asked, to which Steve, behind the wheel, concurred immediately.

“I mean, I obviously love you guys, but I mostly suggest that because Vickie’s working a night shift on the 14th and I figured it’d be nice to hang out together, the four of us, instead of just… I don’t know, being alone?” Robin admitted.

“Oh, so we’re your stand-ins?” Eddie exclaimed, feigning offense under your amused attention. “Classy, Buckley.”

“That sounds a hell of a lot like a pity party, Rob,” Steve pointed out.

You laughed along as Robin kept putting her foot in her mouth. It was often like that – Robin and Eddie gently bickering in the back seats while you exchanged knowing looks with Steve, in your designated seat at the front of the car.

The only difference was this time, when Steve searched for your eyes to have a silent laugh with you, you avoided his gaze, pretending to look in the distance, thinking about something you needed to say to him but couldn’t find the courage to.

“Okay, fine,” Eddie eventually yielded. “Let’s do this thing. But I have one condition – we go to Steve’s new apartment.”

“Excellent idea!” Robin exclaimed, enthusiastic.

“I told you guys, I’m not done unboxing my stuff, the place is a mess,” Steve argued as he started the ignition to move forward.

Robin rolled her eyes. “You say that like you have a thousand boxes.”

“It's his plethora of hair products - they take up a lot of room,” Eddie teased, which made Robin snort.

“You’re both hilarious, seriously, I can’t stop laughing,” Steve said with a straight face.

“So, it’s a deal,” Eddie said. “Bro-lentine’s Day at Steve’s new place – no, I’m sorry Rob, you’ll have to find another name, I hate how it sounds when it comes out of my mouth.”

“What do you think, babes?”

You only focused back on the conversation when Robin called your name, looking away from the constellations in the sky.

“Hmm? Oh, I’m sorry babes but count me out of this one,” you said with a sorry smile.

Robin laughed, thinking you were probably messing with her. Steve was driving slowly now that the line ahead finally seemed to clear.

“Right, because you have something better to do on Valentine’s Day, of course,” Robin joked while Eddie chuckled.

You tried not to take offense because you knew it was some innocent banter, but it didn’t stop you from frowning.

“Actually, yes, I do,” you contradicted. “I have a date that day.”

The car braked abruptly, causing a blast of horns from the vehicle behind and surprised yelps from the back seats.

“What the fuck, Harrington??” Eddie ranted. “That’s why I keep telling you you’re a shit driver, seriously, how did you manage to get your license, man?"

“Sorry, I got… distracted for a sec’,” Steve apologized.

You couldn’t bear to look Steve in the eye, so you toyed with the bracelets around your wrists and stared at your shoes, waiting for your friends’ reaction to the news.

“Is it someone we know?” Robin asked bluntly. “It’s the cute guy from the music shop at the mall, isn’t it? I knew he had a crush on you, you��re the only one who got Like a Prayer for half price.”

“It was… actually a twenty-percent discount,” you corrected, even though none of your friends cared about that information.

“Who even asks someone out on Valentine’s Day?” Eddie asked himself out loud. “We have three hundred and sixty-five days a year, why choose this nightmare of a commercialized day deliberately?”

“I think it’s cute,” Robin shrugged.

You attempted a smile, but it was nowhere near convincing. Robin and Eddie weren’t even paying attention to you anymore, discussing with each other the pros and cons of a first date on the 14th of February. You gathered the courage to look at Steve, decipher his expression. He might’ve been trying to get your attention a moment ago, but now, he was just staring in front of him, both hands firmly holding the lower part of the wheel.

“So, you’re really going to abandon me with these two idiots, huh?”

Your laugh at Steve’s rhetorical question was a mix of amusement and relief. If there was one thing that meant more than anything to you, it was the harmony between you two. You knew that as soon as you or Steve dated someone, that harmony was threatened. It had happened before. It was a fatality.

“You’ll be just fine,” you assured softly. “It’s just one night.”

Steve chuckled, finally making it to the pickup window. “Yeah, you’re right. Just one night. Easy-peasy.”

At that moment, you couldn’t have imagined that on the 14th of February, you’d find yourself knocking on Steve’s door at ten in the evening, makeup ruined by your disappointed tears, holding tight to your coat and shame in the cold evening air.

When Steve opened the door and saw you standing before him, he blinked at the unexpected sight of you sniffing and shivering.

“What are you doing here, kitten? Is everything okay?”

As soon as you heard Steve’s voice and the concern he displayed, it was out of your control – another tear rolled down your cheek.

“Oh no. Come here.”

You didn’t need to be asked twice- when Steve opened his arms at you, you dived in, letting him hug you tight, accepting his warmth and empathy.

“Dude stood you up?” Steve asked, voice muffled as his face was buried in your hair.

“Worse,” you said. “He was there.”

Steve huffed, because it could’ve been a funny anecdote if not for the dried mascara that ran under your eyes.

“So, we’re not going to the music shop again, huh?”

“I never said it was the guy from the music shop,” you pointed out.

“You never denied it either.”

You snorted and you felt Steve smile against your head. He was the first to part from your embrace, but you were under the impression he could’ve stayed like that much longer.

“What’s taking so long, dingus?” Robin shouted from the living room. “You need help with the pizzas?”

“It’s not the pizzas,” Steve retorted as you stepped inside the apartment.

Both Robin and Eddie turned around on the couch and looked equally surprised to see you there.

“Is it okay if I crash Bro-lentine’s Day?” you asked sheepishly.

“We’re not calling it that!” Eddie said in a singsong.

“You’re more than welcome to crash Bro-lentine’s Day, babes,” Robin told you while wrapping her arm around your shoulders as you sat next to her.

“I give up,” Eddie sighed before heading for the kitchen.

“What did the loser do to get you like that?” Robin inquired, touching your face where the tears had dried.

“Honestly, he wasn’t even that bad,” you explained. “He just… wasn’t what I expected. I guess I’m tired of getting my hopes up and ending up disappointed every time.” You paused, reflecting on that state of mind. “It’s stupid, I know.”

“It’s not stupid,” Robin contradicted with a sympathetic smile. “It’s Valentine’s Day, anyone would’ve expected a perfect date.”

“Hence why you don’t date on that doomed day.”

“Can’t you just let it go already, Eddie??”

You smiled softly at your friends’ innocent quarrel, and you realized in the end, there were no other people you’d rather spend the day of love and romance with.

So, you settled comfortably on the couch in Steve’s new apartment, surrounded by dozens of wrapped boxes and your closest friends with a glass of wine and a cheesy movie to watch, sharing the details of your date with them.

“Well, his loss, darling, not yours,” Eddie said in conclusion to your story.

“Definitely,” Robin nodded.

You smiled lightly and you thought maybe, just maybe, they were right.

“Why are you smiling like that, Harrington?” Eddie then asked.

“Hmm? Oh, no reason,” Steve answered casually before finding a tiny spot between you and Robin on the couch.

🎉🎉🎉

There was nothing more frustrating than being late to meet your friends and having your car’s engine make that hideous sputtering sound as you kept putting the key in the ignition without it ever starting.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” you echoed in sync with the car’s noises.

“I see Gina’s being cranky today.”

You glared at Steve, sitting in the passenger seat and enjoying himself a little too much.

“It’s too hot outside, she doesn’t like it when it’s too hot,” you explained to yourself more than Steve.

“It’s the 4th of July, kitten. It’s always hot on the 4th of July.”

“Thank you so much for this enlightening forecast, Harrington, have you ever considered a career in meteorology?”

You bit your lip when you realized how harsh your comeback had sounded. You slowly turned your head to lay regretful eyes on your friend.

“Sorry,” you winced.

“You’re good. I think I know why Gina’s cranky today – she takes from her owner.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t bother denying it.

The sun was starting to set in a sky adorned with pink and orange hues only summer could take credit for. The air was hot, crickets chirping and bees buzzing while the whole town was already busying itself in preparation for the incoming festivities.

For the past six years, on Independence Day, you’ve met all your friends by the lake on the outskirts of Hawkins to have a barbecue with beers and watch the fireworks. It was a tradition you all honored religiously each Fourth of July.

Except this year, Robin was celebrating with Vickie’s family, Eddie was working at the music camp, which meant you were spending the evening with Nancy, Jonathan, and Steve, a group hangout that looked an awful lot like a double date, and it worked yourself up into quite a state.

“Did you get the Buds?” you asked Steve as the ignition still wouldn’t start.

“Packs in the trunk,” Steve answered straight off.

“And the blankets?”

“In the backseat.”

“The radio for the music?”

“Nance’s taking care of it.”

You fell back in your seat after failing one too many times to start the car and just closed your eyes, sighing heavily. You wiped your hands on your shorts, the summer heat getting the best of you, chest heaving and patience hanging by a thread.

“We can take my car tonight, maybe Gina needs the rest,” Steve suggested. It irritated you even more.

“We always take your car, tonight’s the one night a year we take mine,” you argued, putting the keys in the ignition again.

“We’ll take yours another time, then, it’s no big deal.”

“No,” you just said.

Without a heads-up, you got out of the vehicle. Steve followed you as you opened the hood to check the engine. You were rough in your endeavor, hair falling out on your face and hands quickly stained with oil.

“Why are you being so stubborn today?” Steve asked you, tone cutting sharp like a knife.

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are! You can tell as much as I can your car’s not going anywhere tonight, mine’s parked right behind and ready to go, so why are we losing time for nothing?”

“She’s just being picky right now but I’m getting there. She needs a little boost and she’s good to go,” you insisted, wiping the back of your hand on your forehead before realizing it’d smudge the oil.

“Yeah, sure, at this rate, she’ll be good to go for Thanksgiving,” Steve said ironically.

You shut the hood close abruptly, shooting daggers at Steve as he stood in front of you with his arms crossed. He looked just as irritated as you did.

“You’re being an asshole,” you stated matter-of-factly.

Steve snickered, eyebrows raising like he couldn’t believe what he just heard.

“Oh, I’m the asshole in this situation? You’re a fine one to talk!”

“Are you seriously turning the tables on me right now?!”

“I’m not, you’re clearly in a mood today and you’re taking it out on me! Last I heard, I’m not a punching bag!”

Your face twisted into a scowl because Steve annoyed you a great deal, but mostly because he was right. You were far from being good company today, and today was meant to be fun, chill, eventful. You could blame it all on Gina, but you knew that was just the tip of the iceberg.

“I’m just saying I’m going to get the car started just fine, all I need is a few minutes to figure it out. And we’re already late anyway, they won’t hate us for the extra ten minutes,” you said as you opened the hood again.

“This is not about the car and we both know it,” Steve stated, sure of himself. Of course, he was – he knew you like the back of his hand.

You closed the hood as soon as you opened it, walking closer to Steve to face him properly.

“Maybe you should take it easy if you want her to work, you know,” Steve remarked.

“Why don’t you just say what’s on my mind, Steve? Since you apparently know it better than I do,” you hit him with your words.

“But that’s just the thing! I don’t!” Steve exclaimed, his voice raising an octave. “I don’t know what’s going on with you right now and you won’t tell me a goddamn thing!”

“You already know what’s going on with me, I made it perfectly clear – I want my fucking car to start so we can go and meet our friends, as we do every year!”

“And I made it perfectly clear that we can take my car, so why are we still arguing about this??”

“Because it’s the way things are supposed to be!!”

The silence that followed that revelation felt intrusive. You couldn’t wait for Steve to tell you off, to argue with you some more, but instead, he didn’t say another word and just stared at you, dumbfounded. It allowed you to reflect on your behavior of the past ten minutes and you immediately dropped your eyes to look at your shoes, ashamed.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked you then, voice softer.

You sighed and looked in the distance, avoiding his gaze.

“It’s the tradition. On the 4th of July, you come to my place to help me pack everything, we take my car to pick up Eddie and Robin on the way to the lake, we meet Nance and Jonathan there, then, you and Eddie set the barbecue while Jonathan and I take care of the music, and Nance and Robin lay the blankets to make us cozy. And we eat and drink until they shoot the fireworks from downtown – it’s how the day is supposed to go.”

“Right, and it’s how it’s going to go today,” Steve assured, confused.

“No, it’s not. Rob and Eddie are not there this year, and because of Gina, we’re late and missing out on the sunset.” You paused, taking a breath. “It’s what I look forward to the most. Watching the sunset on the lake with you guys. All of you.”

Steve relaxed his shoulders and breathed out like he finally made sense of the underlying problem. He stepped closer to you and his hand cupped your face, willing you to look him in the eyes.

“Okay, I’m going to take a wild guess and assume it has something to do with Nancy and Jonathan talking about moving to Chicago next year for Nancy’s job,” Steve said. “Am I boiling or getting colder?”

The rhetorical question elicited a weak smile on your lips.

“I know Chicago’s not that far from Hawkins, but… I like the way things are right now, you know?” you explained while Steve listened, nodding. “I like that we can hang out whenever we want to, show up unannounced at each other’s place, and whatnot.”

“You can still do that if they move to Chicago. It’ll just take you more than three hours to get there,” he teased you.

Steve did it – he made you laugh. “I’m not so sure Gina would survive the trip.”

“I’ll let you borrow my car, then,” Steve whispered, and even though you were bantering, it sounded like a promise.

You chuckled, the knot in your stomach coming undone as Steve put his thumb to your forehead, stroking where you had wiped the oil stain earlier.

“You look like shit,” he told you unceremoniously.

“And you’re a shitty friend,” you bit back, making you both smile.

Friend. The denomination never felt strong enough to define what you and Steve meant to one another. Yet, it was the only one you used, the only one that brought you comfort, especially in those blurry moments that kept you wondering why that boy had always been so sweet and kind to you, even when you felt undeserving.

You jumped at the sound of a car honking from the street, bringing you back to reality as you and Steve turned your heads to see what happened. You felt amused, and somehow relieved when you saw Nancy popping her head out the passenger window of Jonathan’s car like a beautifully staged interruption.

“Oh my God, you guys are late too?” Nancy shouted at them. “I told Jonathan to go over the speed limit, and as you can imagine, he was not happy about it.”

Steve laughed, and you followed suit because it was almost ridiculous, how perfect the situation had turned out. Sure, things felt different this year, with winds of change impending, and the future of your friend group unclear. But at least, you were all on the same page.

“While we’re here, get in the car with us!” Nancy offered, gesturing for you to come closer. “Maybe we can still catch the sunset.”

You exchanged an amused look with Steve, silently agreeing that your uncooperative car and your latest conversation would remain a secret you’d share only between you. Your friends didn’t need to know the reason why you were late.

So, you and Steve hurried to put everything in Jonathan’s car, climbed in the backseat, and made it to the lake just in time to admire the remnant of sunset and put everything into place to wait for the fireworks.

And as you put a blanket over your and Nancy’s shoulders, the fire crackling in the quiet of the evening around you, you couldn’t help but search for Steve’s eyes. He was already looking at you, sitting across the fire next to Jonathan. You smiled when you realized, and he winked at you, playful, secretive.

Maybe you were lying to yourself, in the end. Maybe you didn’t mean it when you said you liked things the way they were. Maybe there was one thing you wouldn’t mind changing, you thought as you looked away from Steve to look up at the fireworks now erupting in the sky above.

🎃🎃🎃

“I’m not sure I get it, Robin – who are you dressed as?”

“Are you seriously asking me that question, Nance? Marty McFly? Don’t tell me you still haven’t watched Back to the Future!”

“I didn’t have time.”

“In five years, you didn’t have time to watch a two-hour movie?”

“I work a lot, okay?!”

You were only half-listening to Robin and Nancy’s bickering as you finished getting ready for the Halloween party that your high school classmate Tina and her best friend Vicki Carmichael threw every year.

Usually, on the 31st of October, you would just crash at Steve and Eddie’s former apartment with the group, stuffing your face with popcorn and watching horror movies. But this year, the boys didn’t live at that apartment anymore and it was the last Halloween you’d all spend together in Hawkins before Jonathan and Nancy moved to Chicago next January. You all agreed it called for a memorable celebration, hence why you were now getting ready with the girls at your place.

“So, you mean to tell me you haven’t had time to watch Back to the Future, but you had it to watch all three Star Wars movies, judging on your costume?” Robin asked while Nancy grunted in frustration.

“I told you last week, me and Jonathan are wearing couple’s costumes – he’s Han Solo and I’m Princess Leia, obviously,” she explained while pointing at her long white dress and peculiar hairstyle.

“Couple’s costumes,” Robin repeated. “Kids these days, they’re just talking nonsense.”

“It’s romantic and fun, you’re just jealous you didn’t think about it for you and Vickie,” Nancy retorted as you were starting to think you were in the middle of playground taunts.

“Oh yeah, I should’ve asked Vickie to dress as Doc, it would’ve been crazy romantic,” Robin sassed.

Once the heels were at your feet, you turned around on your chair to stare at your friends.

“You two realize how stupid your fight is, right?” you chipped in.

“We’re not fighting,” Robin and Nancy said in unison.

You rolled your eyes and turned back around to face your vanity and finish your makeup, but it was too late – you had involuntarily drawn the attention to you.

“And who are you dressing as, hot stuff?” Nancy cooed while smirking at your reflection in the mirror.

You hummed the Dirty Dancing theme song to answer her question, and she nodded approvingly, taking in your pink dress and silver heels.

“I love it,” Nancy smiled.

“Thanks,” you said as you stood up. “And you two look equally great, so stop biting each other’s heads off.”

“So, if you’re Jennifer Grey, does it mean Steve’s dressing as Patrick Swayze? I could see him pulling that off.”

Robin’s question took you aback for it came out of nowhere. You gaped at her, face warm and thoughts racing.

“Hmm, no, he’s not. That’d… be a great couple’s costume, for sure. But we’re not a couple, so…” you stammered, awfully self-conscious.

“Well, yeah, but you might as well be.”

“Robin,” Nancy reprimanded her with warning eyes.

“What??” Robin exclaimed while you watched, confused. “It’s not like she doesn’t know what I mean, it’s been going on for years, this… whatever this is. And honestly, we’re all tired of pretending like we can’t see it.”

Nancy blushed, embarrassment written all over her face as she rubbed a hand over it.

“I don’t… understand,” you admitted, tugging at the hems of your dress to anchor yourself in the moment.

“There’s nothing to understand, babes,” Nancy said softly. “Robin was just joking. Right, Rob?”

Nancy was now glaring at Robin, who had no option but to concur. It felt like you were missing something there, and you didn’t like it. Were your friends talking behind your back? Were they annoyed at your relationship with Steve? Annoyed at the ambiguity, the unsaid, the attraction? Was it all that obvious as of late?

“I’m sorry, guys,” Robin said with a sigh. “I had a fight with Vickie earlier today and it messed me up a little bit.”

“Oh, babes,” Nancy softened, hugging Robin from the side.

“I know that’s no excuse for being a jerk,” Robin winced in your direction.

“You’re all right,” you said with a sympathetic smile, and both Robin and Nancy seemed relieved.

The three of you talked Robin through her problem until it was time to meet the guys outside. Nancy was the first to exit the apartment, but Robin lingered by the front door, hand hovering hesitantly above the handle. Eventually, she made up her mind and turned over to face you.

“I just want you to know that I’m really sorry for earlier,” Robin told you.

“It’s okay, Rob, I get it. You were upset about your fight with Vickie and said stuff you didn’t mean. It’s fine, it happens to all of us,” you said, wondering why Robin had felt the need to bounce back on that.

“No, but see, that’s the thing – I did mean it,” she contradicted. “I just didn’t say it like I should’ve.”

“And how should you say it?” you asked with a frown.

Robin looked uncertain now, fidgeting where she stood. You imagined that if Nancy were still in the room with you two, she’d probably give Robin an earful.

“When I said that we’re all tired of pretending like we can’t see what there is between you and Steve, I didn’t mean that in a bad way,” she elaborated under your undivided attention. “It’s just… We’re your friends, and you know, as friends, we want what’s best for each other, I’m sure you feel that way about us too –“

“Robin, cut to the chase, please,” you interjected before she could lose herself in her explanation.

“We just think if you two admitted what you’re both obviously feeling for each other… You could be very happy together. And the rest of us would be too because damn, we’ve watched it happen since high school and it’s about time one of you does something about it, babes.”

You stared at the door behind Robin, wishing to run away from this conversation that was too much for you to handle. It was the first time one of your friends confronted you on the matter, upfront, and you had no idea how to react.

“I’m not expecting you to say anything, don’t worry,” Robin added. “I just wanted you to know what everyone else is thinking. Do what you want with that information.”

You opened your mouth to respond but you heard the distinctive sound of Eddie’s van parking on the street, your sign that it was time to go and end this conversation for good. You rushed to the door, opening it before Robin could and hurtling down the stairs to some extent on your heels. Once you were outside, you breathed in slowly, calming down and processing what one of your best friends had just confided to you.

You and Robin met Nancy on the curb as Eddie slid the van’s side door open to let you in the backseats.

“Evening, ladies,” Eddie greeted.

“Wow, you’re Elton!” Nancy exclaimed after studying Eddie’s costume, a white ensemble with feathers and glitter that was the singer’s signature.

“You could get that but not mine?!” Robin exclaimed, almost offended.

“Move on, Rob, and let’s have fun tonight,” Nancy teased her while sitting near Jonathan, dressed in the easily identifiable Han Solo outfit.

Robin took the passenger seat next to Eddie, leaving you with no choice but to sit next to Steve at the back of the van. Of course. Almost like it had been on purpose, you thought to yourself.

You settled next to him and you were almost insecure, something you’d never felt around him. You resented Robin for not knowing best, and not keeping her mouth shut.

“Hey, kitten,” Steve welcomed you as you smoothed the edges of your dress.

“Hey, Harrington,” you said in return, attempting to smile at him.

You studied his costume as he studied yours. Aviator sunglasses on his head, green jumpsuit, sleeves rolled back under his elbows – Maverick from Top Gun. You'd gushed over the character when the movie came out, and you wondered if it happened to be a funny coincidence or if Steve had picked that costume on purpose.

“Baby,” Steve suddenly said.

“What?” you choked out with widened eyes.

Steve frowned. “Your costume,” he clarified. “Baby from Dirty Dancing, right?”

You processed the information and chuckled awkwardly, feeling stupid. You let Robin get in your head and you hated it.

“Right,” you breathed out as Eddie drove away.

Something passed in Steve’s eyes, and you were not sure what it was. Hesitation, desire, resignation… You watched and waited, fingers laced on your lap, heartbeat echoing in your ears.

“You look… very nice,” Steve told you in a hushed voice.

You knew neither Nancy nor Jonathan could’ve heard it – they were engaged in a vivid conversation with Robin and Eddie in the front of the car. It was an intimate declaration, meant for you and you only.

Your lips parted subtly, but Steve’s eyes caught it regardless. It did not soothe the rate of your beating heart.

“Thanks,” you croaked it, throat tight. “You’re not too bad yourself."

Steve smiled briefly, then did the strangest thing. He leaned in, his face awfully close to yours, and you thought; this was it. He was going to kiss you. Right then, right there, in the back of Eddie’s van dressed as the guy from Top Gun on the way to a Halloween party.

And as much as you wanted him to kiss you, it wasn’t how you wanted him to do it. Not the place, not the time. Maybe Steve realized it too because he moved away as quickly as he had gotten closer to you, clearing his throat and watching out the window like nothing happened.

The party at Tina’s villa was loud, messy, and packed with former classmates – some you were glad to run into, others you made a strong case of avoiding. You had a nice chat with your high school sweetheart, even though you could feel Steve’s eyes on you the whole time. When you couldn’t bear the weight of his yearning gaze, you took a sip of that rum punch Vicki Carmichael had made – a few times.

You fled to the bathroom around eleven to freshen up and have some alone time. You were reasonably drunk, but still conscious enough to notice someone was already in the room when you barged into it.

“Oh, so sorry, I didn’t know someone was in there –”

You cut the apology short when you recognized the person’s reflection staring at you in the mirror.

“Becky, hi,” you said, surprised.

The girl greeted you back, the sound of your name imperceptible amid the party people shouting in the hallway. Now, you were reasonably drunk and very uncomfortable.

Becky was the last girl Steve had dated. They had been together for two years and seemed happy until Becky broke up with Steve overnight. Everyone assumed she’d probably met someone else, but you always felt like that was too simple and there was another more plausible explanation.

“You okay?” Becky asked you.

“Y – yeah, I just needed to cool off,” you mumbled.

You assumed Becky would urge you to clear off and leave her be, but instead, she stepped aside to give you some space in front of the sink.

You closed the door behind you and stood in front of the mirror, silently watching Becky perfect the mascara on her lashes. You quickly gathered she was dressed as Madonna in the Material Girl music video.

“It’s… been a while,” you said to break that awful silence. “What are you up to these days?”

“Small talk, huh? I thought we were way past that.”

You chuckled, ill at ease and too drunk to have a proper conversation. Out of all the girls Steve had dated, Becky was the one who unsettled you the most. You never knew what to expect of her.

“How’s Stevie?” Becky then asked before reapplying some lipstick.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was Becky's inquiry, but something turned your stomach. You always hated it when she called Steve that name. It reminded you of a jealous version of yourself you’d rather leave in the past.

“He’s good,” you said casually, no matter your inner turmoil. “You know. Same old, same old.”

Becky’s lips turned into the semblance of a smile.

“I take it you two still aren’t together.”

You felt your heart drop at that comment. What did she mean, “still”? And what was up with everyone and their insights regarding your relationship with Steve?

“It sounded a lot less petty in my head, I promise,” Becky said when you stayed silent.

“It’s not that,” you replied. “I’m just… surprised you would say that.”

Becky sighed and turned around to face you. It looked like she was about to get a lot of things off her chest, and you were not sober enough for that.

“You know why I broke up with Steve?” Becky asked you, and she obviously wasn’t waiting for an answer. “Why all the girls he dates eventually break things off with him?”

You blinked. You didn’t want Steve’s ex-girlfriend to share that information with you. You had absolutely no desire to detain such knowledge. Yet, you shook your head, permitting Becky to say what she really thought, too curious to pretend you didn’t care.

“Because it’s painfully obvious he’s in love with you and we’re just here passing time until he finally has the balls to tell you.”

In love. You had thought about it all with Steve – he thinks I’m pretty; he’s attracted to me; he likes me more than a friend. But never in your wildest dreams had you dared fantasize about these powerful little words.

He’s in love with you, Becky’s voice repeated like a broken record on a loop in your mind. Taunting, hopeful, too good to be true.

You found yourself sitting on the bathtub’s edge, both arms at your side, speechless. Becky leaned against the wall across from you and chuckled like she'd just shared the funniest story.

“Don’t tell me this is shocking news.”

“I…” you started without finishing your thought. You were at a loss for words and your head started spinning, the fateful sentence seeping into your mind faster than the liquor in your system.

“Look, obviously, it wasn’t my place to tell, but you know, despite everything, I always liked you,” Becky confessed. “You were always nice to me, even though I could tell it was not easy for you.”

You lowered your eyes, apologetic. It was true – you had always been nice to Becky. After all, it wasn’t the girl’s fault if you had feelings you’d never dare confess to your best friend.

“That’s why I’m telling you,” Becky resumed. “I’m trying to help you two out. This whole faint-hearted act was probably cute when you were sixteen, but you’re adults now. Are you waiting for him to get married and start a family with someone else to tell him how you feel?”

The mere thought made your heart ache. You didn’t want to picture Steve married to someone else. It made you nauseous.

“Sorry, that was harsh,” Becky apologized.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked her in a whisper, feeling like your head was about to explode. “Why are you telling this to me and not him?”

Becky stared at you like you’d just said the most nonsensical thing.

“Because he’s an idiot and a coward. If you’re waiting for him to make a move, you’ll wait a long time, honey.”

You spaced out for a moment, and when you returned to your senses, Becky was gone, leaving you alone with your spiraling thoughts in that bathroom.

Becky was right. Steve was an idiot and a coward. The inebriation clouded all your good judgments, so you got to your feet and walked out of the bathroom to look for Steve. After everything that happened tonight, you were confused, upset, and even angry.

You found him outside by the pool, joking around with some guys from his old swim team in high school. You marched to him, bold and determined, and he didn’t notice you right away, so you hooked your fingers to the fabric around his arm and dragged him behind you. You ignored the guys whistling at you both or Steve protesting and asking what had gotten into you until you walked into an empty room on the side of the villa and closed the patio door behind you.

“Okay, what the hell was that about??” Steve exclaimed, his voice loud in the quiet of the room, away from the party noises and the music. “Have you lost your shit??”

“You’re an idiot,” you told him in an accusing tone.

“Tell me about it,” Steve sassed you.

“And a coward!”

“Oh, so you have a whole list, huh?”

“That’s what Becky said.”

Steve looked at you in silence, processing what you just said.

“Of course, you talked to Becky….” he sighed. “Let me guess – she said I stole her INXS tape? She needs to let it go, she clearly lost it, she can’t keep blaming me for –“

“I don’t want you to get married, Steve,” you interrupted him, blurting out what you had been obsessing about for the last ten minutes.

Steve froze and looked at you like you were insane. And you might just be, you realized. You took a step back, dizzy and embarrassed.

“I… was not planning on getting married any time soon. Where is that coming from?” Steve asked you, stepping toward you.

You bit your tongue, holding from saying another stupidity you’d immediately regret. Suddenly, your choice to confront Steve and isolate yourselves in a bedroom didn’t look like the brilliant plan it seemed to be five minutes ago.

“Forget it, I’m drunk, and I don’t know what I’m saying,” you stammered, head low as you walked toward the door.

“Hey,” Steve brought you short by taking your hand before you had the chance to leave. His touch was tender, your hand fit perfectly in his, and you understood what Becky meant when she said "still not together".

“Talk to me,” Steve urged, lacing his fingers with yours. It was unbearable, how natural it felt. “You used to tell me everything, and now, I have no idea what’s up with you anymore.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, wishing you could go back in time and stop yourself from putting the two of you in this awful situation.

“Come on, kitten, we’re friends, you can tell me anything.”

Friends. You loathed the word that normally comforted you. You couldn’t stand to hear it.

He’s in love with you. How could he say you were friends when he was the one you called first when your car broke down, when he’d snuck out of college to comfort you after you got dumped by your ex-boyfriend, when he drove you across the country to see your sick grandfather for the last time? How did he have the audacity to minimize what you meant to each other after taking such a significant place in your heart for years and years?

“We’re not friends,” you mumbled.

You looked at him and thought you could see heartbreak in his eyes. You’d hurt him. You’d hurt him badly.

“We’re not?” he asked, his voice breaking in the inflection.

You held your breath as Steve questioned you with glistening eyes. He didn’t understand what you were trying to tell him, and it was killing you.

“You know what I mean,” you breathed out, unable to say the actual words.

He’s in love with you. It was so simple. Why couldn’t he just admit it?

You’re in love with him too, why can’t you say it? you admitted to yourself.

Because no, it wasn’t that simple. Steve wasn’t the only coward in this situation. After all these years, it was so scary to admit, even more to say out loud. How could you expect him to say it when you were terrified of doing it yourself?

Eventually, Steve let go of your hand, an almost insignificant gesture that shattered your heart into a million pieces.

“Actually… No. I don’t know what you mean,” he said, defeated, before leaving the room.

You did it. You ruined everything, you thought as you sat on the floor and cried your heartbreak away.

🎁🎁🎁

It was supposed to be the merriest day of the year, with children's laughter filling the air and countless presents to unwrap. Yet, your heart was not in it, and you had to hold back tears during dinner that night at your parents’ house.

You hadn’t talked to or heard from Steve in almost two months, and it was officially the longest you’d spent without seeing each other. The thought was excruciating. He was your best friend in the entire world, you were head over heels in love with him, and the absence of him was like gasping for air on the verge of drowning.

But today was a merry day. Today was all about spending time together, eating a nice homemade meal, and reuniting. So, you played the part – you ate dinner, played board games with your cousins, and chatted with your uncles and aunts. You did what you were expected to do, and nothing more.

When you returned to your place, to your sad and lonely apartment, you sat down on the floor, still in your red party dress, back to your couch with a glass of wine, and flipped through a photo album Nancy and Jonathan had given you for your twenty-fifth birthday.

It was a recollection of happy times Jonathan had captured with his camera throughout the years – from graduating high school to renting your first crappy apartment, taking your first trip to New York with the group, and celebrating various occasions with them.

You took the last photo from the album, holding it between your fingers to get a closer look. It was a picture of you and Steve on New Year’s Eve the year before. You were posing for the camera, smiling from ear to ear. You were looking at the lens, but Steve only had eyes for you, holding you in his arms with rosy cheeks. When you looked at it like that, in retrospect and from another’s perspective, it seemed so evident that the guy in the picture loved the girl posing next to him.

You were fully crying now, blurry eyes and stuffy nose in contradiction with the holiday spirit. You were about to put the picture away in the album when something in the back of it caught your eye.

There was a note in the handwriting you would recognize anywhere at any given time – Steve’s. Your heart skipped a beat. It had gone unnoticed the first time you’d looked through the album at your birthday party and none of your friends had mentioned a thing about it. You started to look at a handful of pictures to see if others had something hidden on the other side, but they were all blank. All except for one.

You took a deep breath, pondering. Maybe Nancy and Jonathan were unaware of it, but Steve not saying anything didn’t make sense. This note had been there, forgotten in an album gathering dust in your bookcase, for months, and it could’ve gone on for years had you not felt nostalgic on that specific day.

You wondered if you should read it or pretend you’d never seen it. It was only a few words; they were probably some meaningless inside jokes or more personal birthday wishes. But they could also be something more, much more.

You knew you couldn’t live with the uncertainty, so you gathered your courage and read.

Happy birthday, kitten! Don’t know if you’ll ever see this, but I want you to know you’re my favorite person in the entire world, and I love you. Yours always, Steve PS: stop being a sourpuss just ‘cause you turned 25

It had been there. Right there, under your nose, all along. Yours always.

Before you could think it through, your coat was around your shoulders and you were behind the wheel, ready to drive to Steve’s place and tell him how you felt. Screw the stability and the uncertainty – you loved the boy too and you needed to tell him tonight.

It was past midnight, the air was cold and the streetlights reflected in the puddles on the pavement as you drove a little too fast toward Steve’s building. Your heart was racing in your chest, anticipation mingling with excitement while you rehearsed what you’d say in your head.

You were going to confess your true feelings to Steve. Nothing could scare you anymore.

Except, perhaps, the ominous sputtering sound your car made when you tried to restart at a traffic light.

“No, no, no, no, no, come on, not now!!” you begged desperately.

The ignition wouldn’t turn over, and you could’ve screamed at the sky. Was it some sort of cosmic sign preventing you from making the biggest mistake of your life?

You got out of the car to check the engine under the hood. When you opened it, it did something it’d never done before – it gave off fumes.

You coughed violently as you stepped away from the car, looking all around you and realizing you were alone on the street in the middle of the night with a kaput car and wasted opportunities.

“This is a nightmare,” you told yourself out loud. “This can’t be happening to me.”

Your eyes burned as you were about to cry again, disheartened and pathetic. Then, some headlights on the other side of the road caught your attention.

A maroon car stopped next to you and turned the ignition off. You held your breath, recognizing the vehicle instantly and wondering if the universe wouldn’t happen to be messing with you.

The driver exited the car and eyed yours up and down before chuckling.

“I had a feeling Gina wouldn’t make it through the year,” he said.

You laughed, the sound choked up in your throat at the improbability of the situation. You couldn’t believe Steve was there, rescuing you even without meaning to, always being there when you needed him to, the constant one in your life. As luck would have it, you thought.

“What are you doing here this late at night?” you asked him.

“Could ask you the same thing,” he remarked with a smile.

You returned his smile, nervously fixing your hair. The wind was rising, and the air was filled with change and expectations.

“I was… on my way to your place, actually,” you explained, somehow shyly. “I wanted to talk to you.”

A few seconds passed until Steve spoke again like he was processing the information. “That’s funny, I was on my way to your place too.”

You swallowed, unable to stop hoping. “You were?”

“Yeah… Of course, I was,” Steve shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep, and I realized I never got a chance to give you your present because we weren't speaking to each other, so… Anyways, I can just give it to you now.”

“We’re literally in the middle of the road, Steve.”

He looked around at the empty and silent street for good measure. “Yeah, and it’s not like it’s rush hour right now, I think we’re good.”

You opened your mouth to retort but opted against saying anything else. It was your first interaction with him in weeks, it was out of the question to ruin it just to have the last word.

The young man got something from the backseat of his car and immediately handed it to you. You took it carefully, turning it over in your hand to try and figure out what was beneath the wrapping paper.

“I… don’t have your gift,” you admitted, crestfallen. “I mean, I did get you something, but I didn’t think to give it to you tonight.”

“It’s okay, kitten. Just open it.”

You complied, slowly unwrapping the paper with trembling fingers and shortness of breath as Steve observed quietly.

You were now looking at a book’s front cover, and it might’ve seemed unremarkable at first glance, but it was not some common paperback.

“First limited edition,” Steve explained, even though you already knew. “You talked about it at Eddie’s place a couple of months ago, that it was almost impossible to find today, and you’d love to have it. So, I went to every bookstore in town to ask if they knew where to get it, and one of them gave me their counterpart's number from England, they had to send it all the way here but… Yeah,” Steve concluded, face red and hands in his pocket. “I found it.”

You looked up from the book to lock eyes with Steve. He seemed expectant and abashed, almost anxious of your reaction.

“You went to all this trouble for me?” you asked in disbelief.

He pursed his lips and nodded as if it was that obvious.

“You’re well worth the trouble.”

All this time, you had expected blatant signs, big gestures, and declarations, when Steve had been telling you how he felt in his own way for years. It had always been there – in fleeting touches, longing stares, and understated actions.

“I read it,” you eventually confessed.

"The book?" Steve asked, puzzled.

“No," you laughed. "The note you wrote in my photo album. I read it tonight.”

You noticed the way Steve held his breath at that revelation. Suddenly, you no longer cared that you were standing in the middle of the road with your dead car by your side. Suddenly, all that mattered was the pretty boy standing before you and what you felt for him.

“It was corny, right?” Steve said with a nervous laugh. “I know you don’t like it when it’s corny but –“

“Can’t you just be serious for one minute, Harrington?” you cut him short with an amused eye roll. “I’m trying to tell you how I feel here.”

“I know,” Steve breathed out. “I’ve been trying to tell you how I feel for months now, but I never find the right words.”

In the elation of the moment, your words got a mind of their own, and you heard yourself saying: “Show me, then.”

Friends. A designation you held onto for the past eight years, a status that put things into perspective whenever Steve introduced a new girlfriend to the group, a word that freed you of your guilt when getting into relationships yourself, a term that helped you when you would yearn for something more, something you thought to be unrealistic and unreachable.

That word no longer held any power over you now that you were in Steve Harrington’s arms and he leaned in to seal his lips with yours into a long-awaited and overdue kiss, the promise of a cherished and beautiful future.

You'd envisioned the scene time and time again in your mind, but none of the imaginary scenarios your fantasies created could measure up to that kiss. It was sweet, yet demanding, like you were the air he needed to breathe. He kissed you like he loved - sincerely, tenderly, and intensely. You smiled against his mouth, and your heart melted when he did it too.

When you parted from him, lips swollen and eyelashes fluttering, you felt like everything was finally right and mourned the time you wasted being scared of changes.

“So… What now?” you whispered, getting a strand of hair out of Steve’s face to look at him better.

The boy held your gaze, enamored and enraptured like you’d never seen him before. You enjoyed it while it lasted because it was a momentary bliss until reality caught up.

“Well, first, we’re going to call a tow truck," Steve said as he entwined his fingers with yours. "And then, you’ll bid farewell to Gina,” he nodded toward the car.

Your heart tightened in your chest. You’d almost forgotten about your car. It was truly ironic, how you needed to say goodbye to your oldest partner while embracing a new beginning with your best friend.

“Can it wait until tomorrow?” you asked while batting your lashes at him.

“Hey, just because we’re going to make out a lot from now on doesn’t mean you get to do that,” Steve jokingly scolded you while gesturing at your face.

“Do what?” you asked, coy and amused.

Steve laughed and put his arm around your shoulders. “Come on, kitten, I’m taking you home.”

At first, it didn’t feel like much had changed between you and Steve. You were still teasing each other, spending time with the group before Nancy and Jonathan’s departure, and arguing about what car you should buy now that Gina was in a junkyard.

But things had changed for the better, and you realized it on New Year’s Eve when Steve kissed you at midnight, as he would for many new years to come.

❤️❤️❤️

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington oneshot #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff

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sp0o0kylights · 7 months ago

Text

“Dustin isn’t coming.”

“What?” Eddie says, all frantic and jovial movements freezing instantly.

His eyes narrow on Lucas--the bearer of bad news. “Why?”

“Family emergency.”

Mike makes a face. “I saw his mom yesterday and she was fine, so is this a…?”

He makes a gesture that is entirely incomprehensible to anyone who isn’t Sinclair and his terrifying girlfriend.

(At least, Eddie thinks Max is Lucas’s girlfriend this week. It got a little hard to keep up after the third break-up-make-up marathon, and he frankly, stopped bothering to try.

It helped that she barely spoke--The only time notable being when Eddie had mockingly asked Sinclair if he needed a cheerleader when she’d first sat in, upon which she’d asked Eddie if he needed new kneecaps with a look in her eye that said she was serious.)

Wheeler Jr.’s gesture however, made her put her book down.

“You think he’s having migraines again?” She not so much asked as demanded, which had Mike shrugging.

“Dunno." Lucas says. "Dustin didn’t say.”

“Gotta be, if he called Dustin.” Mike mutters, Lucas shuffling his papers about as he begins to set up for Hellfire. He was the last in the room, practically late, which Eddie had planned on harassing him for had he not announced Henderson’s absence.

(Fucking freshmen. They just weren’t terrified of Eddie like they used to be.)

“Robin must be sick or something, otherwise he’d call her.” Lucas finishes as he finally sits down.

“Didn’t the Marching Band go on some trip?” Mike turns to address the rest of the table, and gets nods from Jeff and Gareth both.

“Yeah they’re marching in some parade in Indianapolis.” Jeff confirms.

“So his last resort was Dustin?” Max is getting that tone in her voice, the one that makes everyone at Hellfire very uncomfortable. “Typical.”

She pushes away from the table, making a show of gathering up her things before rising easily to her feet.

Eddie trades looks with the elder Hellfire members as she makes her exit--the kind that says they’re all going to be talking about this later.

They knew their freshmen had some weird obsession with the former King, of course, but Mayfield too?

What the hell was up with that guy?

At least Eddie thinks, right before things are once again shot to shit, they can go back to playing the game.

He can make it work this early into things, and if Henderson isn't’ a fan of what he’s about to do to the kid’s character in his absence, well.

Maybe he shouldn’t be fucking absent then.

“So what, Max, you're gonna go over there and make it worse?” Mike snorts.

Fatal mistake.

Eddie almost strangles him for it, if only because it prolongs this entire unnecessary conversation.

Max performs a military perfect heel turn, coming straight back for Wheeler Jr., which makes him right about fall out of his seat in panic.

“What was that, Wheeler?”

“I’m just saying--!”

“We don’t know Steve’s having migraines.” Lucas reiterates, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Maybe it’s something else.”

“Does Steve get migraines a lot?” Grant asks, because despite all appearances he’s a terrible gossip and gets sucked in far too easily.

Eddie throws a pencil at him for it.

“Hel-looo, we have a game!?” He thunders, but unfortunately for him, precious Stevie-Weavies headache now has everyone’s attention.

“Yeah, though he’s really good at pretending he doesn’t.” Lucas answers with a put upon sigh.

“There’s a whole pattern--he ignores it until it gets super bad, then he has to call Robin or Dustin to come get him when he inevitably gets stranded at work or the like, grocery store.”

“Well who else do you think he’d call?” Mike scoffs again. He does a lot of that, when discussing Harrington. “It’s not like his parents are--Ow, Max!”

“Close your mouth before I close it for you.” She hisses and Mike, shockingly, does just that.

To Eddie, she says;

“Your ass isn’t any better, or did you forget I live across from you?”

Eddie--who had an insult primed and ready--promptly shuts his mouth.

(Fucking! Asshole! Freshmen!)

“Maybe I should go too.” Lucas says, hedging a look between his girlfriend and his DM.

“No.” She snaps, pointing a finger at him.

“If you go, then this idiot,” she flicks her finger to Mike, “will go and then we really will make it worse. Stay here before your bichon frise has a fit about all his sheep abandoning him.”

Then she’s turning on her heel again, storming out.

“What the hell’s a bichon frisé?” Gareth asks in the aftermath, frowning.

“It’s a type of ahhhh--” Jeff clearly thinks better of the explanation, eyes sliding to Eddie.

Who’s scowling.

“I know what a bichon frisé is, Jeff.” He snaps.

“I don’t.” Grant loudly complains.

Jeff attempts to both calm Eddie and explain while Mike and Lucas spend far too many minutes looking after Max.

“Enough!” Eddie howls, temper finally getting the best of him. “Are we playing or do you also need to go sit by the King’s bedside?”

“Thank you,” Mike says, like he wasn’t a third of the entire problem. “Let’s play!”

They make it about ten entire minutes before getting knocked off track again.

In fairness, not that Eddie would ever admit it--the second meltdown is his own fault.

xXx

Hellfire is Eddie’s domain.

It’s one of the few places where he could relax without getting harassed or hounded, and having his freshmen--his!--abandon him for King Fucking Steve had set him off.

So he’d made a few comments about it.

Maybe introduced an NPC who sounded suspiciously similar to Harrington, only to instantly kill him off.

Made another couple of nasty comments.

Who cares? It worked him through his snit rather nicely, and his boys all knew to leave him be.

Except, apparently, for Lucas.

“Dude, would you lay off?” The kid finally snaps, pencil slamming down on the table.

Which is the most backbone-like thing anyone has ever heard Sinclair say, and he gets far more whistles for it than he should.

Eddie pins him in place with a glare.

“What was that Sinclair?” He snarls, voice as menacing as he can make it.

(It’s pretty terrifying, he’s practiced quite a bit with it.)

Sinclair flinches, but doesn’t back down.

“I said lay off. Steve has migraines because of--” He stops, before seeming to come to a decision. “Because of me. He took a hit for me, and I owe him a life debt for it.”

To Eddie, he says; “You get what those are, right?”

Mike rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t just for you--”

“That time with Billy was!” Lucas is quick to snarl. “But you know what Mike, you’re right. It wasn’t just for me. He T-boned a car for all of us!”

Sinclaire is on his feet now, which is the unfortunate moment that Eddie realizes he has once again lost control of the room.

A situation he firmly blames on Steve Harrington, because he’s petty.

“Or did you forget that part? That’s you, me, Will, Nancy and Jonathan right there! Nevermind the tunnel. Or the junkyard!

“We had the junkyard handled--”

Lucas scoffs.

“We absolutely did not.”

“I don’t get why you’re all making such a big deal out of this. He’s the fighter. That’s what he does. That’s why we brought him to the tunnel.”

“You recall what happened at Starcourt, right?” Lucas challenges, furious. “You did see him after, right?”

This, finally, seems to shut Mike up.

“Shouldn’t you be mad at him for that?” He says after a moment, and the rest of Hellfire has completely put aside all actual gaming to watch this play out with a morbid sort of fascination.

Eddie allows it, only because he’s trying to breathe the way Wayne taught him to before he loses it entirely and throws both of the idiot kids out of the drama room.

“He pulled your sister into it.”

“Have you met Erica!? You can’t pull her into shit!” Lucas spits furiously. “That wasn’t D&D, Mike. It was the Upsi--real life.”

Lucas is quick to correct himself, even in the heat of the moment--as all the kids are, like the entire school hasn’t clocked that they have some weird ass secret they’re terrible at hiding.

“And if we’re playing those games, then who pulled him into the tunnels? Who made him come to the junkyard?”

“Dustin.” Mike says snidely.

“You don’t get to blame Dustin when Steve was the only person around.”

“There were people around! They just weren’t people who--weren’t--who couldn’t--”

“Finish that sentence.” Lucas demands

“Be trusted.” Mike spits out, like it hurts him.

“Exactly.”

“El went through way more than Steve ever has! El--”

“El was using her po--doing mage things! And also, she shouldn’t have had to go through all this shit either! We can’t rely on her to save the day every single time, Mike--and look at how hurt she gets!”

“She--”

“She hides it from you, you know. How bad she hurts. Cause she wants to put your feelings first.”

“I--”

“Will does too.” Is Lucas’s parting shot. His backpack is in his hands in a blink, papers and character figure shoved wildly into it, before he’s storming out the door in a poor mimicry of Mayfield.

“Harrington T-Boned a car?” Grant says, in the resounding silence.

“That BMW of his hasn’t had a scratch on it--” Jeff says, with an inquisitive tilt to his head.

“He didn’t use the Beamer.” Mike interrupts, angry and sulking. “Are we playing or not?”

“I’m gonna say not, given we are down two players.’ Eddie tells him through clenched teeth.

“I’m going to be so mad if Steve doesn’t have a migraine.” Mike grumbles, as he begins packing up his stuff.

The rest of Hellfire follow his lead, after one look at Eddie’s face convince the lot of them that it’s best to flee now, before Eddie unleashes all his pent up rage.

“Not as mad as I’ll be, Wheeler.” Eddie promises darkly.

And it is a promise--because now, he’s going to follow all his stupid (sans Mike, who isn’t in his good graces either but at least stayed) freshmen--and go visit one fallen King.

If Harrington doesn’t have a headache now, he will when Eddie’s done with him.

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staryuee · 1 year ago

Text

GIVING THEM A FRIENDSHIP BRACELET

꒰warnings꒱ not proofread…:3

⠀꒲ ` synopsis . . . how would your significant other react when you give them a friendship bracelet made by your own kind hands?

⠀꒲ ` characters . . . diluc, kazuha, kokomi, scaramouche, heizou, itto, cyno, lyney, lynette, freminet, furina, neuvillette, navia, ga ming, chiori, arlecchino

⠀꒲ ` notes . . . this reminded of primary school days of making randomly coloured loom band bracelets…sniffles, the good ol’ days of giving your crush bundled up daisies that had bugs on them from the schools yard and then immediately running away (i am a lesbian i had no such experience in just talking for the sake of poetry ☆〜（ゝ。∂)

R. DILUC — 迪卢克

“what’s this, my love?” he cautiously surveyed the tiny strings and charms with a shocked yet rather satisfied expression. so this is what you were so focused on for the last couple hours…? he can’t help but feel slightly relieved that instead of wasting away at work you were merely crafting a cutely childish gift for him.

“it’s a friendship bracelet! look, i even managed to find these cute strawberry charms for you.” you laughed and start fiddling with the short strands near his scalp, fiddling with them and folding them over to create a stem-like shape.

diluc softly exhaled in amusement, wrapping the small piece of jewellery around his already bedazzled wrist. it takes him a real good second to actually realise what you just said. awkwardly coughing into his hand, diluc catches your attention, “darling, you do realise we’re married?”

a smile possesses your face as you hook your arm with his. “of course i do! i just thought it’d be cute, you know?” he smiled in response.

diluc is no stranger to friendship bracelets. after all, him and kaeya used to make those for each other all the time. sometimes that young triplet consisting of a very dedicated jean, a shy kaeya and a mischievous diluc (sometimes a cutsey barbara who tried to eat the beads) would gather together to create and exchange such bracelets.

a tradition that diluc might’ve let go of but had never forgotten. when you go to sleep at night diluc immediately places your bracelet into a drawer where he kept all of the ones from his childhood.

K. KAZUHA — 枫原万叶

“is this a friendship bracelet? that’s very considerate of you, my love.” kazuha tilts your chin to press a feather-light kiss onto your lips, his touch so tender it was like being touched by sunlight itself. “but i thought we were passed our journey of friendship?” his hand travel down to your hips. squeezing them intently to bring you close to his flowery scent.

“or do i need to remind you that we’re lovers?” taking your hand in his, kazuha leaned his head down to press his lips against your knuckles, eyes peeking through his bangs as if to entice you. and, well, of course it did. kazuha knew just a simple glance at you paired with an affectionate grin was enough to lure you into loving his arms.

kazuha didn’t expect for a piece of handmade jewellery consisting of maple leaf charms with red string to become so sentimental to him, but it was only a matter of time till the bracelet helped become an engraved memory of you. he’d kiss it each time you were apart, hold it up against moonlight while stargazing, trying to illustrate your figure within a constellation.

wandering became more exciting. he’d get to slowly part from your lips, while still having a perpetual reminder of the love you shared with a few pieces of strings tied to his wrist alone.

kazuha, though content with this, always secretly craved to hear the sound of your voice as you called his name and reached out to him. however, within his life he’s learned one thing that has truly stood out; it’s the small things in life that mirror true beauty.

S. KOKOMI — 珊瑚宫心海

“your excellency? what is that on your wrist?” gorou tilted his head curiously, his ears twitching in tandem.

“hm? oh, this?” she shakes the coral coloured bracelet, making the beads and fish charms jingle excitedly as if they were jumping within sea waves. “haha, [name] gave it to me. it’s a friendship bracelet!” kokomi shows it off with pride, a flutter of flapping fins hit her ribcage in the form of her beating heart at the prospect of people seeing the deepness of your ocean-depth bond with just a few beads on a string.

burnout is utterly debilitating. as kokomi spends only a few minutes in her recluse corner within watatsumi, even the shimmering of pearls and the quiet sound of the shore isn’t enough to bring her fragmented energy to rest. nesting her head upon the bundled arms that laid carefully on her desk, she attempted to snooze. finding that she can just barely flutter her curled eyelashes close before an unbearable ache pinches her eyebrows into a knot.

feeling defeated, kokomi sits back up and taps her fingers absentmindedly on the wood, finding just a tiny bit of solace in the sound of clicking and clacking. wait…she quickly glanced at her wrist, noticing she completely forgot to take off her bracelet when preforming her duties. despite her fatigue, kokomi can’t help but exhale a smile. calloused fingers tweezing the bubbly fish charms in an attempt for stimuli that wasn’t so agonising.

she’s so glad she has you, even if that memory of you is withheld in something children share for an intended promise of foreverness.

SCARAMOUCHE — 斯卡拉姆齐

“are you twelve?“ scaramouche raises his eyebrows at you with a sneer, a look of either disgust or confusion on his face. “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were mocking me.”

“you’re short but not kid short!” you retorted to appease him, rolling your eyes at his annoying theatrics. did he really have to be so bitchy all the time? i guess when people say that short people tend to be the most angry because all that wrath is bottled into such a teeny body it’s very true…

the friendship bracelets (yes you made two!) were a representation of his journey from the malicious “balladeer” to the slightly less malicious and more so bittersweet wanderer. a contradicting colour palette yet his frosty and asshole attitude remained the same no matter what hue of the rainbow he was dipped in (should’ve been named skittle not scaramouche).

“if you don’t like it that much you don’t have to wear it, it’s not like i’m forcing you.” a pang of disappointed squeezed your chest heavily. it would’ve been fine if he just threw it away after a week or so. you would’ve been extremely hurt yes, but it’s better than having your own lover reject a handmade gift without even a thought for your feelings.

seeing your frown lines and the way your eyebrows scrunched together, scaramouche sighed and immediately snatched the bracelets back. quickly covering them over his wrist and crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. “i never said i wouldn’t wear it, stop being whiny.”

the slight embarrassment he felt was worth every stroke of blush on his cheeks if it meant he could see you smile brightly at something so childish.

S. HEIZOU — 鹿野院平藏

“it’s not our anniversary.” heizou stated simply.

“nope.”

“neither of our birthdays.”

“nope.”

“not a special achievement either.”

“nope.”

“alright, love, spill. what’s the occasion, hm? just in the mood to spoil me with your affections?” heizou threw his hands up in defeat. not being able to use his detective experience into deciphering why you decided to be so cute today and bless his otherwise uneventful day.

carefully, you wrapped the bracelet around his eager wrist. “no occasion~ just felt like giving you a friendship bracelet to show my love for you.” he raises an eyebrow. leaning to your eye level, heizou procures a look of confused distaste at your seemingly innocent admission. “friendship?” he looks away dejected, placing his hands on his hips. “and here i thought i was your very cool and sweet boyfriend.”

brushing away his dramatics and looping your arms around his neck to pull his pouty face in closer, you retaliate. “oh hush, you’re still my lovely dramatic boyfriend.” heizou smirked and leaned in impossibly close, his breath tickling your soft skin generously.

“then, could you show your love for me in another way too?” begrudgingly, you caved. moulding your lips with his while his hands gradually situated themselves on your hips. a chuckle escapes his occupied mouth, leaving a tingling feeling down your spine as you pull away, a bright smirk on his face. “thanks for the bracelet, baby~ i’ll be sure to wear it as my lucky charm during investigations!”

A. ITTO — 荒泷一斗

“well of course you’d want to bless the almighty arataki itto with such a gift! i humbly accept your offering~” itto sways a thumbs up, tongue rolling across his pointy teeth in an extravagant display of confident hubris. all in vain, of course. no amount of bravado could dull the charming blush on his cheeks; the way his grin hoisted into a genuine smile of gratitude or the way his eyes glistened with a familiar light; childlike wonder.

itto was never and has never been accustomed to such small things in life. honestly, he was lucky for a stranger to not throw insults, physical objects, hits, kicks, spit, and the like for his mere existence. a friendship bracelet was an event that was so far out of reach for the oni that the only thing he wanted to do right now was to kiss you stupid.

but, he couldn’t. he stood still, twiddling with the beads that nested against his wrist with a haze that was absentminded you felt like tapping him would cause a bubble to burst above his head for water to splash him awake.

the word “friend” doesn’t even register into his brain. he’s too content with the knowledge that your bond meant something to you. that he meant something to you.

you’ve never seen itto so quiet before. he’s usually this giant (literally) ball of energy that bounces around the place and shares an infectious attitude of confidence and joy with no restraint even to the most stoic, but right now, it was like he was that small vulnerable child again given a chance at redemption for simply living.

CYNO — 赛诺

cyno tilts his head to the side as he stares with pinched brows at the weaved threads of purple and yellow beads and charms that you held in front of you with a delicate hand. “what’s the bracelet for?”

“it’s a friendship bracelet!” taking the initiative, you wrap the bracelet around his relatively small wrist and watch in awe as it seems to match his palette perfectly. perhaps not his personality, but maybe if he wore this around regularly people wouldn’t be so frightened by his frozen features.

cyno went quiet for a moment, a look of confusion on his face. a look that made you shrink in shame. did he not like it? was something wrong with it? is it too childish for someone with such an esteemed status? all such baseless thoughts get immediately dispelled once cyno’s lips curl into a subtle grin, his eyes narrowing devilishly.

you’ve often seen this look when he’s about to score a rewarding win in a tcg tournament. but, he also had this look when…fuck. you sigh in defeat and simply let him say it. “why did the friendship bracelet break up with its partner?”

“…ha. why?”

“because it felt tied down.”

you know how in animes when someone says something very fucking stupid, it’s like the world echoes with silence to allow the person to truly feel the embarrassment from their words? you hoped that’s what cyno felt when you blank stared him with a thin line for your lips, hands clenching and unclenching as you fought the urge to squeeze his cheeks together.

“do you get it?” he asks, but before he can ramble about the absolutely articulate construction of his pun, you spring into action and press your lips passionately on his. of course, he replies eagerly. enjoying the clicking of the beads hitting together as his hand made it’s swift, instinctive movement to your waist.

LYNEY — 林尼

“mon ange…is this for me?” lyney smiles gently at you, sneaking the red bracelet onto his wrist. unable to take his away from the fine craftsmanship and the adorable details of hats, doves and some card charms. knowing you thought of him so directly and so in depth made his heart flutter the same way a dove’s wings expand after being liberated from a cooped cage.

“of course it is, it’s a friendship bracelet!” you clasp your hands behind your back, awaiting either his praise or his teasing — whatever he was in the mood for more. despite the happiness that surged through his heart like a bad game of throw the dart, believe me you shot him hard in the feels, lyney frowns.

“but, mon chéri…” he sighs in despair, a theatric hand over the very heart you had gripped tightly in your hand with a mere few beads of coloured wax. “i haven’t gotten a gift for you, i feel rather ashamed of myself.”

“don’t worry about that, this is just meant to be my good luck charm for you during your shows and…” your voice trailed off to him. not because he was uninterested but because he loved the buzzing sound of your melodic syllables each time your lips opened.

“ah, my dear,” lyney paused your affectionate rambles politely, “you’ve got something here…” you tilt your head to the side quizzically and await for him to point at it or take it out. he grins wildly. “well, isn’t that cute?” lyney chuckles softly and while leaning suuuper close to your ear, ‘magically’ pulls out a rainbow rose from seemingly no where.

“it seems we’re even now, hm?” he gestures, handing the rose over with a wink, leaving a cheeky kiss to your jawline in gratitude.

LYNETTE — 琳妮特

knowing lynette’s character and demeanour intricately, you’re aware that grand gestures aren’t at all her thing. she can barely handle a tea time conversation with someone if she’s forced to play an active role.

the bracelet sat enclosed within your palm as you rambled on about your day to lynette, feeling an unshakable amount of anxiety vomiting into your gut for no reason but overthinking. you’ve been avoiding giving her this bracelet for a week now in fear she’ll find very little value or use in something so minimal.

“you have something you want to give me.” a phrase intended as a question, but said more so as a statement.

“i…uh, how did you know?” you laugh and play with the strings of the bracelet cautiously as to not break it.

“your eyebrows are furrowed and you keep glancing away from me.” she analyses you like a real robot…i guess she’s really committed to that bit. either that or she just loves you too much that being unable to read your expressions would be a grievous sin on her part.

with a sigh of defeat, you slide over the bracelet to her with an awkward smile paling your usually joyous lips. “i made a friendship bracelet for you…thought it’d be cute.” lynette doesn’t understand people around her a majority of the time. truly, she doesn’t even want to, it’s not like she needs to either since she has her brother to leech on and others to fool with her robotic party trick and yet, she can’t help but wonder why it is you choose to defend yourself over something so sweet.

“thank you, it’s cute. i’ll wear it for my next show if i’m able to.” her lips curve upward in what to most would seem like a twenty degree uplift, but to you, it meant quite literally everything.

FREMINET — 菲米尼

nothing. no amount of experiences with his interactions with people could’ve prepared him for the absolute heart attack that was this gesture.

he loved it, too much. he wishes he could just dip back into the ocean depths. indulge in a meaningless conversation with the tidalga, or even express his feelings of adoration to you to pers. but currently, it was only you two sharing a humble moment together. no person he could lean in, no space he could rush the words he’d love to say to you in gratitude for the gift.

and you knew that. and that’s what he also loved about you. how willing you were to accept and love him even with him being less socially adept than a coral reef. feeling the cool and vibrant coloured bracelet tilt around his wrist and knot in place, he smiled wobbly.

between the silence, you knew that the quiet smile and nod meant more than his stammered and hushed words could ever express. leaning in to press a kiss to the side of his wrist and cheek, freminet manages to gulp a bit of courage and swallow his static and tingly anxiety, reaching to kiss your forehead. letting his lips linger momentarily before he backed away. “thank you…”

FURINA — 芙宁娜

heartbeat pounding in her ears. eyes narrowing into puffy circles. her bottom lip bitten brutally by her gnashing teeth. hands shaky, making her teacup tremble within her grip. why were you glaring at her so intensely?!

first the invitation for a tea party with only you two as the special guests. second the ominous letter claiming you two “need to talk.” and now, you were completely quiet and calmly snacking, drinking away several blends of tea without a word! it was absolutely ridiculous to think the one person she has entrusted her still mending heart with is ignoring all the clear signs of hesitance and vulnerabilities within the relationship despite them all being initiated by them!

“so, furina.” you clasp your hands together, an impish look transforming your usually peaceful face. her heartbeat stammers as her eyes meet yours in a tender glance. “uhm..yeah?” furina attempts to appear more courageous than she is, but truly, she’s shitting it (for lack of a better term).

the silence stretched on for too long before you giggled and pulled up a blue and white toned bracelet from your sleeves, shaking it with your fingertips with a kind smile. “i made you a friendship bracelet!”

a ghost wavered out of her frightened soul, the tea in her hand put down at this point so she can savour the comforting feeling of her head in her hands. being a gorgeous, shining star in the spotlight of fontaine’s grand stage, furina isn’t a secondhand stranger to gifts. whether they’ve been given to her personally, awkwardly, silently, with no words signed or a creepy letter attached expressing their reverence.

she wishes you’d sometimes go that route instead of matching her in these theatrics! begrudgingly, despite the little flutter in her heart, she slipped the bracelet onto her wrist and looked at you with a pout that you couldn’t help but lean in to kiss.

NEUVILLETTE — 那维莱特

neuvillette hums a tune along to the orchestra of the vinyl. an accompanying sound of his pen hastily itching onto the paper adding to the rhythm. his door opens and while he’d normally remain quietly focused on his piling paperwork, he recognised this particular patter of footsteps coming towards him. you.

smiling habitually and peering his head up, neuvillette greeted you lovingly. “hello, my love. what brings you here today? did you get in trouble?” he knew the reason you’d come ushering into his office was hardly with the intention of getting him to aid you with your troublesome quarrels, but rather, you just wanting his love and affection that he was more than willing to fulfil. if time allowed, of course.

“no, no. nothing like that, yet…” you grinned and neuvillette looked at you with a playful look of disappointment at the hesitance. “i made you a gift!” with a prideful aura that was less arrogance and more pure joy, you presented the bracelet to him. he wasted no time in stirring the small bundle of fabric and beads with his gloves. “look,” you pointed eagerly, “i even managed to commission some furina and melusine charms! you know how we always joke about them being like our children? i thought i’d be a cute addition!”

he exhaled a satisfactory laugh in agreement, interlocking your hand in his to press a kiss to your knuckles in thanks. “cute, indeed. thank you, mon chéri. you’re too sweet sometimes.” you sit on the edge of his desk, watching excitedly as he places the bracelet onto his wrist. “as a gift in return, after i’m done with work, how about we take a nice stroll together? i assure you, no rain will interrupt our serenity so long as you’re by my side.”

NAVIA — 娜维娅

immediately gushes at you as your palm opens to present the gold and blue hued bracelet to her, adorned with rose charms that you personally painted in gold and a greyish blue to accentuate her outfit if she decides to wear it. it was less a decision and more a necessity.

she delicately handled the bracelet onto her wrist and kissed both of your cheeks in gratitude, “thank you so much, sweetheart! this is so cute…but what’s the occasion? it’s not our anniversary or anything like that.” navia smiled at you, playing with some of the little roses and twirling them around in appreciation.

“it’s a friendship bracelet!”

her lips pucker into a pout as she starts to coddle you within her arms, occasionally swinging you around gently. “you’re so absolutely adorable!” she nips at your earlobe, kissing it as a form of apology. “but honey, you do know we aren’t just friends right?” navia captures your cheeks within her palms. “we’re lovers!” she presses several kisses across your face, ending her affectionate spillage with a press of her lips on yours.

“oops— haha, sorry i got lipstick all over you, darling.” navia chuckled and began wiping away all the lipstick smudges from your pretty face. yet her attempts bore no fruit. instead of wiping away anything, she only made it oh so much worse. “ah well, guess we both got presents from one another today?” she snickers, twirling her wrist to show off the bracelet with a wink.

GA MING — 嘉明

if you thought this man’s eyes couldn’t get any brighter, then you’re absolutely dead wrong. if you thought he could jump high while lion dancing, you’re also absolutely dead wrong!

he could outrun god right now. if you asked him to defeat a hoard of lined up mondstadt and liyue treasure hoarders, he’d do it in a heartbeat. what possessed you to be so cute?! do you seriously think he can take another heart attack like this after the one he had during lantern rite?

you aren’t able to say much or even explain your reasons for as to why you decided to make this nor what it even is or represents before ga ming smacks his lips messily all over your face. a mixture of your own gloss from kissing you earlier and his own saliva stick to your skin sloppily and you can’t help but feel both enamoured and grossly repulsed at the mixture of sticky wetness on your cheeks as well as the love that seemed to glow like fireworks.

“mmuah~! i love you so much…are you trying to make me cry?” he pouts, becoming a giggling mess as soon as you roll your eyes at his dramatics.

he keeps the bracelet on every day. sometimes he’ll be pouty all day if he’s unable to wear it in fear of it snapping and wasting away all your precious hard work due to either his negligence or the pains of manual labour…he’ll have to cope with simply glancing at the red imprints the beads had left intended onto his skin for satisfaction.

CHIORI — 千织

“what is this?” she jingles the vivid and strong orange coloured bracelet in front of her face, appreciating the tiny details of the cute sewing equipment charms and what looked to be handmade porcelain bows embedded onto some beads.

“it’s a friendship bracelet!” you gleam at her, pride evident in your face at your creation. she hums in agreement; it was certainly something alright.

“oh. cute.” that’s all the genuine feedback she could give you without mentioning how tacky it would look with her attire — it was an affectionate gesture, one which she didn’t want to undermine and therefore, with little complaint despite her own personal conflicts, she slipped the bracelet onto her wrist, extending her hand out and twirling it to admire the craftsmanship.

you won’t see her actively wearing it out in every day life, perhaps you’ll manage to sneak a glimpse of her playing with the beads while she’s going over some designs in her sketchbook but otherwise, her gloved hands contain nothing but the smell of perfume.

not that she’d admit it outright until you asked, but the real reason she refuses to wear your bracelet daily is for a simple reason; she doesn’t want it to break in order to have that constant reminder of you as she goes to bed and stares up at her ceiling with the bracelet being coddled between her fingertips.

ARLECCHINO — 阿蕾奇诺

“you’re so childish.” she muses, tracing her nails across the beads, eliciting a weird clacking sound as the charms and beads hit against each other. “but i suppose that’s also an alluring aspect to you.” she ushers the bracelet onto her wrist. despite it being completely covered, there was something even more intimate about her gift being a part of a hidden identity for her; your affection only intended for your gorgeous eyes and her narrowed ones.

tilting your head to her eye-level, you can smell her musky perfume. she leaned in for a kiss. her lips tasting like flavoured gloss consisting of all sorts of red berries, an accurate mirror to the rosey colour of her bright lips. a sneaky hand traced circles around your hips and waist as she attempted to take your breath away. a scythe is a befitting weapon for a woman who’s kiss was practically a notion for death.

she’s used to her children offering gifts and trinkets to her. rocks, random jewellery they crafted with glue, messy crayon drawings, sometimes even in the most macabre scenarios, blood itself. each of those, however, she cherished wholeheartedly. the same way she’d cherish the bond between you two that she’d never allow for anyone to break.

so long as she continuously receives silly gestures like this, she’s convinced she’ll be able to hold you within her embrace with very little effort.

©STARYUEE do not copy, steal or repost ♡ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ɪʜᴇᴀʀᴛɢᴀɴʏᴜ

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thedensworld · 21 days ago

Text

Villain Origin Story | c.sc

Pairing: Seungcheol x reader

Genre: Conglomerate au! Revenge au!

Type: angst, slow burn, drama

Word Count: 17k

Summary: At the end, Seungcheol is the only one who see you—not as the villain, but the main character of the story he is willing to write.

Seungcheol smiled faintly as he watched the engagement ceremony unfold. His best friend’s big night was going well — laughter echoed through the grand ballroom, and everywhere he looked, there were fresh white florals, soft golden lights, and faces glowing with celebration. It was branded an “intimate” party, but the extravagance in every corner whispered otherwise.

Love was in the air — in the clink of champagne glasses, the exchanged glances, the carefully curated perfection.

And then his eyes stopped.

A shadow against all the light — you.

Dressed in black, perched quietly on the second-floor balcony, sipping wine like you were mourning something the world had forgotten. Seungcheol tilted his head, amusement curling at his lips. Of course you’d show up like this. It was your stepsister’s engagement, after all.

And she was marrying the man you once loved.

Drawn by something he couldn’t quite name, Seungcheol found himself climbing the stairs, walking to your side with quiet steps. From this height, the room looked like a music box — perfect, spinning, artificial.

“Black suits you,” he said, voice laced with a teasing edge. “A little dramatic for your sister’s big day, don’t you think?”

You didn’t flinch. Not even a blink.

That calm, polished stillness — it unnerved him more than any icy comeback.

Your eyes slid toward him, briefly. Cool. Empty. You raised the wine glass to your lips again before elegantly turning away from the scene below, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows framing the Seoul skyline like a painting.

The city glittered beyond the glass, oblivious to the party, to the people, to the past.

You sighed — quiet but deep — and drank again. Not a single word escaped your mouth.

Seungcheol leaned beside you, studying your profile.

"How’s life?" Seungcheol asked, his voice low, almost hesitant. He admitted to himself — it had been a long time since he’d seen you in person. Sure, he’d seen your face everywhere: on posters, luxury brand ads, movie trailers. But the real you? The one standing beside him now? Maybe not since college.

"Terrible," you murmured, eyes vacant as they stayed fixed on the city lights beyond the window.

Seungcheol turned to follow your gaze, then leaned his back against the railing beside you. You didn’t look like the girl who used to light up a hallway with drama and perfume. You looked tired. Polished, but hollow.

“You’re a rising star,” he offered.

You scoffed — not bitter, not sad — just... amused in a way that felt cold.

You turned to him for the first time that night, eyes meeting his. “You must’ve missed the latest headline then. Apparently, I’m a homewrecker now.” You raised your brows slightly, your tone laced with indifference. “Dropped just last week.”

Your gaze drifted to the glowing couple in the center of the ballroom — Baek Ara and Joshua, hand in hand, surrounded by the buzz of celebration.

“Not even sure whose home I supposedly wrecked,” you added lightly. Then, your eyes locked with his again, sharp and knowing. “But I have a pretty good idea who orchestrated it.”

Seungcheol blinked, caught off guard by the directness. His brows rose. “Me?” he repeated, letting out a scoff that bordered on a laugh. “I don’t have time for that, Y/n.”

You smiled. Not the soft, glowing smile you once reserved for Joshua. No — this smile was the one that used to make underclassmen trip over themselves in the school hallway. The one that promised destruction to anyone who dared cross you.

Seungcheol recognized that smile. He didn’t enjoy the drama you used to bring, but he remembered the chaos — and how much he’d secretly lived for the way it made Joshua squirm back in the day.

He sighed and let his amusement fade, studying you more seriously now. “I heard being a celebrity is hard,” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t know firsthand... but I hope you’re doing okay.” He hesitated, then added, “Just don’t do anything you’ll regret later.”

You let out a quiet chuckle — then, to his surprise, it blossomed into a laugh. A full, honest laugh that echoed off the high ceiling of the balcony. Seungcheol watched you in confusion, brows furrowed. You weren’t laughing with him. You were laughing at him.

“It’s funny hearing that from you, Choi Seungcheol,” you said, his full name slipping from your lips for the first time. He stiffened slightly. All those years, you barely acknowledged him. Back then, you were too busy making heart eyes at Joshua to notice anyone else.

You held out your half-empty wine glass to him, an elegant gesture that felt more like a dismissal than anything else. He took it without thinking.

Then you turned, walked down the stairs, and disappeared from the ballroom without looking back.

Seungcheol stood still, staring after you.

That wasn’t the girl he remembered. That wasn’t drama.

That was something else.

And it unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

To his surprise, he saw you again just two days later — and in the most unexpected place. The elevator of Choi Group's main building.

He was returning from a business lunch, casually heading up to his office when he spotted you standing by the elevator with someone he assumed to be your manager. You wore an oversized blazer and sunglasses that covered half your face, your posture reserved but poised. You gave him a polite bow.

Seungcheol blinked, unsure why at first — then it clicked. You were an ambassador for one of Choi Group’s skincare brands. Technically under his father’s empire. That explained it.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Choi,” your manager greeted him warmly as you all stepped into the elevator together. He was much friendlier than you, practically oozing eagerness. “I’m Kim Byungho. I’m Y/n’s manager. We’re heading to the marketing department to discuss the revised contract.”

Seungcheol nodded, only half-listening. He glanced at you, who hadn’t said a word.

“I hope we can count on your kindness,” your manager added, bowing deeply as the elevator doors closed. “It’s been a rough week for her, and we’re trying our best to handle the damage.”

Seungcheol frowned slightly, unsure what he was talking about. He glanced toward Jun, his secretary, who stood beside him with a subtle shift in posture — tense.

Before Seungcheol could respond, your voice cut through the space, calm and sharp like a blade.

“Stop it,” you said to your manager. “It’s not up to him. It’s up to his father. So let’s stop begging.”

You didn’t even turn your head, your voice muffled only slightly by your sunglasses. The bitterness was controlled, but not hidden.

Byungho clenched his jaw, clearly frustrated, but didn’t argue further. Seungcheol, still processing the tension, turned to Jun for an explanation — and saw his secretary clenching his tablet a little too tightly.

The moment the elevator doors slid open, you and your manager turned in the opposite direction, heading to the marketing floor. Seungcheol watched you disappear around the corner, your heels clicking against the marble tiles like a metronome marking the slow descent of your public image.

He didn’t say anything until he and Jun stepped into his office.

“She’s the one who’s been rumored to be a homewrecker,” Jun handed Seungcheol his tablet, already pulled up to the article. There was a blurry screenshot of messages — one-sided, emotional texts supposedly from you. The headline screamed “Top Star Ji Y/n Exposed as Third Party in Chaebol Love Triangle?”

“A screenshot leaked. People say she was blowing up the phone of an engaged man — supposedly begging him to break up with his fiancée.”

Clingy. Desperate. Pathetic.

That was the narrative.

"Apparently, she was also a bully in high school," Jun added casually, scrolling through his tablet.

Seungcheol’s brow furrowed. Was she?

He dug through his memory, trying to match that claim with what he remembered of you. You were definitely intimidating — the kind of girl who walked through the halls like you owned them, confidence woven into every step. Popular. Sharp-tongued. Beautiful. But a bully?

He couldn’t recall a single instance of you picking on anyone. If anything, your silence did more damage than words ever could. Maybe people just assumed that someone like you — magnetic and unapologetic — had to be cruel.

“We were in the same high school,” Seungcheol murmured.

Jun blinked. “Seriously? That’s real?”

Seungcheol didn’t answer. His gaze drifted to the floor for a moment, lost in a flicker of memory — you in your perfectly pressed uniform, arms looped around Joshua’s like he was yours and the world was just extra.

Jun scoffed. “Damn. I’m honestly disappointed. I was a fan of her acting. But turns out she’s just… a terrible person.”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched.

He remembered what you’d said on the balcony just two nights ago — how your voice was low, detached, as if the world had already given up on you and you were only matching its energy.

“Terrible.”

The word had hung between you like a joke only you understood.

Seungcheol repeated it under his breath. “She’s… terrible.”

Jun perked up at the agreement. “Right? I knew it!”

But Seungcheol wasn’t so sure. Something about the way you’d laughed that night — bitter, hollow, nothing like the queen bee from back then — stuck with him. That laugh didn’t belong to someone evil. It belonged to someone hurt. Someone exhausted.

Maybe you had been terrible once. Or maybe… they just needed you to be.

And he was beginning to wonder which was worse.

Seungcheol stood in front of a painting one quiet afternoon, stealing an hour for himself at the museum — a rare act of rebellion against his punishing schedule. It was meant to be soul-searching, a breath of calm before drowning in the flood of paperwork waiting at the office.

The painting was titled Discarded, signed simply, G.

It was achingly beautiful — and heartbreakingly tragic. A woman in a white dress, stained with chaotic swipes of color, sat alone in the middle of a road. People passed by on either side, their faces blurred into motion, ignoring her as if she weren’t there at all. She looked misplaced, messy, like something no one wanted to claim.

Something about it made his chest tighten.

“This is one of her latest pieces,” came a gentle voice beside him. The curator, observant and perceptive, had noticed how long he’d been staring. “She’s been on a long break, but she recently started painting again. If you’re interested, I can show you the rest of the collection.”

Seungcheol turned toward him slowly, not realizing he’d been holding his breath.

“This one…” he started, but the words stuck in his throat.

The curator smiled knowingly, his hands folded behind his back. “I know. It hits hard, doesn’t it? There’s something cathartic about it. Tragic, yes — but honest. That’s why we saved it for last.”

Seungcheol looked back at the canvas, unable to shake the haunting familiarity of the figure. The mess. The silence. The beauty of being unseen.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “It feels like she’s waiting for someone to notice her. But no one does.”

The curator nodded, then motioned gently. “Come. I’ll show you the others from G.”

Seungcheol followed, but not before casting one last glance at the woman in the painting — alone, forgotten, yet unforgettable.

The late afternoon sun poured through the tall windows of Seungcheol’s office, casting long shadows across the piles of documents on his desk. Contracts, proposals, reports — all neatly stacked, all waiting for his attention. But his pen hadn’t moved for the last twenty minutes.

His gaze was unfocused, distant, pulled back to the painting now carefully stored in the private gallery wing of his home. Discarded.

He bought it without hesitation. The moment the curator mentioned it was available for purchase, Seungcheol wrote the check like it was a lifeline — not for the artist, but for himself.

Because that woman in the white dress, stained and overlooked in the chaos of the world, wasn’t just a figure on canvas. She was him.

He could still see her — sitting in the middle of that imaginary road while people rushed past her, uncaring. She wasn’t screaming or crying. She wasn’t begging to be seen. She had simply given up.

It haunted him.

Because it was familiar.

The shadows in this office were nothing new to him. He had always been someone’s shadow. His older brother, the golden child — charming, accomplished, his father’s pride. Joshua, the favorite among friends — warm, articulate, and effortlessly adored. Even his father, whose name carried the weight of the company, cast a long silhouette across his life.

Seungcheol was there, always. Present, reliable, good — but never bright enough to stand on his own.

He couldn’t even bring himself to hate them for it.

There was no bitterness, just... exhaustion. A quiet ache from being half-visible all the time. Like he was allowed to exist, just not too loudly.

His fingers brushed over a printed memo. He didn’t read it. He just sat there, eyes locked on nothing, remembering the sadness in that painted woman’s posture. She hadn’t given up because no one cared. She had given up because she had cared too much for too long without anyone noticing.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and exhaled slowly.

It was strange.

Joshua stepped into Seungcheol’s office with his usual easy stride, a cup of iced coffee in hand and a folder tucked under one arm. His eyes immediately drifted to the new artwork hanging on the far wall — subtle yet striking pieces, all seemingly from the same artist.

"You purchased paintings?" he asked, curiosity laced in his voice as he walked closer to one of them. “These are... different for you.”

Seungcheol didn’t look up from his laptop. “Needed some change,” he replied simply, fingers still tapping away before finally pausing to take a sip from his lukewarm coffee. “The walls were too bare.”

Joshua tilted his head slightly at one of the canvases, squinting at the signature in the corner. “They’re all from the same person. ‘G’?” He turned back toward Seungcheol. “You know the artist?”

“Not personally.”

Joshua raised a brow but didn’t press. He set the folder down on the desk, then leaned casually against the armrest of the nearby couch. “How’s everything going here? You look like you haven’t left this chair since Tuesday.”

“Probably haven’t,” Seungcheol muttered. Then, as if remembering, he added, “How’s Ara? Haven’t seen her since the engagement.”

Joshua let out a light laugh, “Busy. Planning things. Overthinking things. You know how she is.”

Seungcheol finally looked up, a faint, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “She’s always had a plan.”

“She does,” Joshua said with a chuckle. “Down to what I’m supposed to wear on our honeymoon.”

There was a comfortable silence for a few seconds before Joshua’s eyes returned to the painting. “You sure you’re okay, though?” he asked, this time more quietly. “You seem a little... distant.”

A pause.

“I ran into Ji Y/n,” Seungcheol said casually, eyes still on his screen.

Joshua blinked. “Really?”

“She was at the company this week. Elevator ride. She’s still the ambassador for the skincare line, apparently.” He tilted his head. “Marketing kept her while the other brands dropped her.”

Joshua looked thoughtful. “Kind of surprised, to be honest. I figured the whole thing would scare off everyone.”

“Yeah, well. Father said she still sells. Numbers don’t lie.”

There was a brief silence between them.

“She didn’t look great,” Seungcheol added after a moment. “Not that she ever talks much to me. But still… she seemed tired. Detached.”

Joshua didn’t say anything right away, just nodded slowly and tapped his fingers against the armrest of the chair.

Then, he sighed. “This whole thing’s messier than I thought.”

Seungcheol gave him a glance, sharp but unreadable. “You say that like you’re surprised.”

Joshua didn’t respond — just stood up, smoothing out the front of his shirt.

“Well,” he said lightly, “I’ll tell Ara you asked about her. And maybe bring her some flowers so she doesn’t kill me over the honeymoon wardrobe.”

Seungcheol gave a faint smile. “Good call.”

Joshua paused at the door, hand on the knob, before turning slightly. “I met Y/n... before the engagement.”

Seungcheol looked up, surprised. “Before?”

“Yeah. A few months before Ara and I got engaged.” He let out a slow breath, as if choosing his words carefully. “It… complicated things more than it should’ve.”

Seungcheol raised a brow but didn’t interrupt.

“Ara’s always been a bit…” Joshua hesitated, then gave a short laugh, “jealous. With her step-sister, I mean.”

Seungcheol leaned back, folding his arms as he watched Joshua.

“I’m not saying it’s justified,” Joshua went on. “She wouldn’t have been, honestly — if Y/n ever acted like a sister. But she never did. Not really. I guess I get where it starts from. That weird invisible tension between them. But… things happened.”

Joshua didn’t elaborate, and Seungcheol didn’t push, though the implication hung in the air like smoke.

“I thought Ara was managing the label now?” Seungcheol said eventually, voice even.

“She is,” Joshua nodded. “It’s technically under her father's group, but she’s been running it since last year. Y/n was already under contract before that. Ara didn’t have a say in it… at first.”

“And now?” Seungcheol asked, his voice just a touch quieter.

Joshua offered a tired smile. “Let’s just say it’s a mess I’ve learned not to get involved in. Or at least, I try.”

He turned toward the door again, tapping lightly on the frame. “Just… don’t mention to Ara that you saw her. It’ll only spiral.”

“Right.”

The door shut behind him with a muted click.

Left alone, Seungcheol stared at the spot where Joshua had stood. The image of the painting—of that woman in white, messy, aching and ignored—flashed behind his eyes again.

And somehow, this time, she looked a little more like you.

Your presence in front of him brought back memories of high school in a rush—moments of crowded hallways, student council speeches, and the way you used to own every room you walked into. You still carried that same quiet confidence, the kind that demanded attention without trying. That main character aura—so distinctively yours—hadn’t faded.

But something was different.

Gone was the loud, commanding prom queen, the sharp-tongued yet respected queen bee of high school. The woman sitting across from him now was Actress Ji Y/n—composed, refined, and heartbreakingly untouchable. A woman who had earned her place in the industry with undeniable talent, not just a pretty face.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, your voice steady, almost too calm. “But I’m leaving South Korea.”

Seungcheol stilled. “Why?”

There was a pause. A small breath. And then you answered, “Some people want me there.”

His mind immediately went to your Hollywood debut—buzzing headlines, red carpet premieres, glowing reviews.

“So... LA?”

You nodded.

Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, exhaling. “I was about to offer you a job.”

“I appreciate it,” you replied, polite but distant. “But I don’t think you understand—I’m an actress, not just a pretty face for an ad campaign.”

The words weren’t sharp, but they landed with precision.

He watched you carefully. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t try to soften the blow. There was something admirable about that. The girl he once knew had always been fierce—but this version of you was unshakable.

He cleared his throat and adjusted his posture, choosing his words carefully. “Five-year contract,” he said. “And I’ll cover seventy percent of the debt you owe your label.”

You blinked, visibly taken aback for the first time. The silence stretched between you.

Seungcheol didn’t break eye contact. His voice, steady and low, carried a rare sincerity. “It’s not just about the face. I want to help you survive. You have so much potential, Y/n. More than any of them ever gave you credit for.”

You let out a quiet chuckle, though it lacked any real humor. Your gaze dropped to your hands resting neatly on your lap.

“That’s... almost more humiliating, to be honest.”

He furrowed his brows, watching as your smile faltered just slightly.

“To be pitied,” you continued softly. “To be seen as someone that needs saving. I’ve fought too hard to still look like a damsel.”

Seungcheol exhaled, the weight of your words settling heavy between you. But he didn’t backpedal. He understood now—this wasn’t just about pride. It was about dignity.

“I didn’t mean it as pity,” he said finally. “I meant it as someone who knows what it’s like to be discarded.”

That silenced you. For a moment, neither of you said a word.

And somewhere in that silence, something unspoken passed between you—recognition, maybe. Or something dangerously close to understanding.

“Why?” you asked, your voice quieter now, touched with something fragile.

Seungcheol took a slow breath, eyes never leaving yours. “It might be too late to say this,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I’ve realized… you might not the person I painted you out to be all this time. You’re not nearly as bad as I convinced myself you were.”

He paused, searching your expression for a flicker of emotion.

“In fact,” he continued, softer now, “I think I was just too proud to see you a little bit clearer.”

After Seungcheol helped you clear your debt—every last Won tied to the label Ara managed—he didn't just stop there. Once your contract officially ended, he introduced you to someone he trusted deeply in the entertainment world. Boo Seungkwan, a sharp-witted industry professional with an eye for comeback stories, offered you an exclusive contract under his rising agency.

Unlike others, Seungkwan didn’t see you as tainted or a risk—he saw potential, resilience, and star power buried under the scandal’s dust. And just like that, after months of silence, rejection, and whispered humiliation, your name began to rise again. Slowly, steadily. New endorsements, indie film scripts, magazine shoots—small steps, but they were yours.

Then came Joshua’s wedding.

You had debated not coming. But Seungcheol insisted. “You’ve earned the right to be in the room,” he’d said. And so, you came—not as a girl wounded by the past, but as a woman who had survived it.

You entered the grand ballroom with your arm looped through Seungcheol’s, the train of your gown flowing behind you like a quiet declaration. The low hum of conversation dipped as people turned. Eyes followed you, the infamous Ji Y/n—once the center of controversy, now the embodiment of elegance.

Joshua turned too.

He was standing at the altar, hands clasped in front of him, awaiting his bride. But when his eyes met yours, something in him faltered.

You looked ethereal. Graceful. Almost untouchable.

And beside Seungcheol, who held himself with quiet strength and calm authority, you looked… safe.

Joshua hadn’t seen you in months. Not like this. Not since the tabloids. Not since Ara's label dropped you after 'quietly' blacklisting your name in industry. Not since he met you before the engagement and complicated everything.

He couldn't stop staring. Because it felt wrong. It felt wrong to be standing at the altar, in a suit tailored for a promise, when his eyes were still chasing a past he’d never truly understood—only judged.

You didn’t look at him for long. Just a brief glance, polite and composed. But it hit him harder than any argument ever had. Because in that one glance, he saw it all:

That you were no longer his.

You sat down beside Seungcheol like you belonged there. Your posture perfect, your smile calm. And Joshua… he stood there, a groom on the verge of vows, wondering if the girl he once left behind had finally outgrown him for good.

Joshua assured himself—he loved Ara. He must love her.

He loved her because she wasn’t you.

Ara didn’t flood him with a million questions when he needed space. She didn’t throw tantrums or cry in the hallway when he didn’t text back. She didn’t show up unannounced to his classes demanding explanations with teary eyes and trembling lips. Ara was quiet, composed, graceful. She stayed in her lane, gave him room to breathe, and never made him feel overwhelmed.

She wasn’t you, and that was the point.

He never once thought of Ara as difficult. Not when he was with you. Because back then, chaos had a name, and it was you. You were loud and alive and far too much for him when all he craved was stillness. Ara gave him that stillness. That peace.

Joshua's mind drifted, uninvited, to that day—the day everything truly fell apart.

College campus, mid-semester, the lecture hall packed. He still remembered the low hum of voices before the professor walked in, the clatter of keyboards, the scent of ink and burnt coffee. He had been seated near the front, flipping through his notes, trying to concentrate. Trying to stay focused.

He was under pressure—his family needed him to step up, to start preparing for his role in the business. His father had just handed him a department to manage part-time. His days were full of meetings, documents, and late-night calls. And there was you.

You didn’t fit into that life the way you used to. You needed more than he could give—more of his time, his attention, his affection. You were fighting for him, but he was too exhausted to fight back.

And then you walked in.

The door swung open with a thud and gasps filled the room. All eyes turned to the girl in the black hoodie and dark jeans, your eyes puffy, hair pulled into a messy ponytail. You didn’t care who was watching. You came for him.

“Hong Joshua” you said, your voice trembling but loud enough for everyone to hear. “You can’t even reply to a single text, but you have time to pretend like I don’t exist?”

He had closed his eyes then, wishing the earth would just swallow him whole.

“Not here, Y/n,” he muttered, rising to his feet.

“No. Here. If this is what you care about most, then let’s do it here.”

You were upset. You were hurting. And you were right. But he couldn’t see it at the time.

“Stop it,” he hissed. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“I loved you!” you had cried. “I gave you everything, and you’re shutting me out like I’m nothing?”

That was the moment something in him snapped. The pressure, the expectations, the embarrassment—he cracked under it all.

“We’re done,” he said coldly, his voice slicing through the lecture hall like glass. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Silence.

Your expression didn’t fall right away. You held it together just long enough to straighten your spine, to blink away the tears, to lift your chin in that signature prideful way. Then, without a word, you turned and walked out—your head held high even as your heart broke.

He never saw you cry that day. But he knew you did.

And now, years later, as he stood in his wedding hall, waiting for his bride, he looked across the room at the woman you’d become—elegant, untouchable, a thousand miles away from the girl who once begged him to stay.

But he knew better.

He once knew what your love looked like when it was messy and loud and real.

And as Ara walked toward him in white, smiling politely, Joshua’s jaw clenched with the weight of a truth too late to confess.

Ara is not you.

The clink of ice in your glass was the only thing filling the silence for a moment, soft jazz humming in the background of the dimly lit hotel bar. You sat beside Seungcheol on one of the plush stools, legs crossed, a half-finished drink in your hand as you watched the golden amber swirl.

"You were great today," Seungcheol said, eyes on you—not just glancing, but looking. Like he was still trying to figure out how someone could walk into a room full of people who used to love her, used to hate her, and act like she ruled the place.

You took a small sip and set your glass down. "I have no reason not to be."

Seungcheol chuckled lowly, impressed. “Right. Why show the ghosts that they haunt you, when you can just haunt them back?”

You smirked at that, tilting your head toward him. "That’s poetic of you. Been reading my old fan letters?"

He rolled his eyes playfully but couldn’t hide the slight flush at your teasing. “Please. If I had a fan letter for you, I’d hand-deliver it.”

You raised a brow. “Would it come with flowers?”

“Only if you signed a ten-year ambassador deal.”

You both laughed, and for a second, the world felt soft. Comfortable. Familiar.

He watched you silently for a moment after that, eyes lingering a little too long on your profile, the way the bar lights kissed your skin. You turned to meet his gaze, lips parted slightly.

“What?” you asked softly.

Seungcheol leaned back, swirling the drink in his hand before answering, “Nothing. Just thinking how weird it is… that I know the version of you people were too afraid to claim. And now I get to sit here next to the woman no one can ignore.”

You bit your lip—subtle, unintentional, but he noticed. “Sounds like someone’s getting sentimental.”

“I think I’ve earned the right,” he replied, and you weren’t sure if it was the drink or the way his voice dropped just slightly—but suddenly the air between you felt warmer.

Dangerous, almost.

So you turned back to your drink, smirk playing on your lips.

“Don’t fall for me, Choi.”

He tilted his glass toward you. “I don't fall easily, Ji.”

You smirked, lips brushing the rim of your glass. “You didn’t do a very good job at it.”

He finally glanced at you, and this time it lingered. Just long enough.

“I never said I succeeded.”

A beat passed. Tension curled between you two like smoke. He wasn’t making a move, but he didn’t need to—not when the pull between you was this thick, this unspoken.

You leaned in just slightly, voice almost a whisper, teasing but not joking. “Be careful. Ara might start another rumor.”

“I’m not the type to hide behind someone else's narrative,” he said easily, eyes flicking down to your lips and back. “Let them talk.”

You blinked, just once, and leaned back with a soft chuckle. “You’ve changed.”

“Not really,” he said, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I just got better at playing your game.”

You didn’t say anything, just let the silence stretch with the same thrill of a held breath. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew this could end badly—but you also knew you wouldn’t be the one walking away first tonight.

The silence between you stretched through the elevator ride—thick, magnetic, every breath laced with possibility. You didn’t touch, didn’t speak, but the heat simmered in the air like static before lightning.

When the elevator dinged at his floor, Seungcheol stepped out first, pausing just long enough to glance over his shoulder. You followed.

His suite was spacious, minimal, clean. A half-empty glass of whiskey rested on the table from earlier, but he ignored it. You stepped inside slowly, heels tapping against the floor, fingers brushing your hair behind your ear as you looked around.

“Still the same taste,” you said softly, running your hand along the edge of the table. “Neat. Expensive. Subtle.”

“Like it?” he asked, closing the door behind him.

You turned around, arching a brow. “You didn’t bring me here to give me a room tour, did you?”

He gave a small, breathy laugh, loosening the first two buttons of his shirt. “Depends. Do you want the full experience?”

You stepped toward him, but stopped just short. “Are you flirting with me, Seungcheol?”

Seungcheol tilted his head, eyes meeting yours with a quiet boldness. “Only if you’re going to flirt back.”

The pause that followed was heavy—your heart drumming against your ribs, his gaze never wavering. You stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until the air between you barely existed.

Your voice dropped. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“I’m not scared of you anymore,” he said, and there was no cockiness in it. Just truth.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “That’s the problem.”

You didn’t kiss—not yet. But your hand brushed his arm, slow, and lingered. His eyes dropped to your lips, then back up. His restraint was impressive, but you could feel the tension in the way his shoulders stayed firm, jaw clenched just a little too tightly.

“You look tired,” you whispered, changing the subject just to mess with him.

He smirked, stepping a hair closer, his voice low. “You’re exhausting.”

You tilted your head. “You like it.”

His hand finally moved—fingers brushing lightly down your bare arm. “Maybe.”

Neither of you made the next move yet. But the invitation hung in the air—unspoken, charged, and undeniably mutual.

You turned away first, walking slowly toward the window, your back to him. The city lights outside blinked through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. You could hear him behind you, his quiet steps, the sound of him undoing his cufflinks.

“I didn’t think you’d let me get this close,” he said, voice lower now, a little rough around the edges.

You didn’t turn around. “You didn’t get this close. I let you.”

Seungcheol chuckled under his breath. You felt him step behind you—close, not touching. His presence was magnetic. You could feel the heat of his body near yours, his breath just brushing your neck.

“You were the storm in every room you walked into,” he murmured. “And somehow tonight, you walked in like silence… and I still couldn’t look away.”

Your breath caught—he noticed.

When you finally turned, his hand moved to your jaw, not quite cupping it, just the slightest touch, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. He was looking at you like he was memorizing the way you’d changed—how your eyes didn’t burn like wildfire anymore, but something softer, something wiser. And yet, you were still you.

“You look like you’ve got something to prove,” you whispered, barely audible.

His smile was slow. “Only to you.”

You tilted your head, letting his hand steady you as you leaned in. “Then prove it.”

The space between you disappeared. His lips found yours—unrushed, firm, like he’d waited long enough and wanted to do this right. It wasn’t desperate. It was deliberate. The kind of kiss that said he was still holding back, just a little, because the night was young and you had time.

He pulled away just enough to press his forehead to yours.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he said, voice hoarse.

You shook your head. “You already know I don’t.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, and his hands found your waist, pulling you into him. Every step backward you took was guided by his touch, until the backs of your knees met the bed.

Still clothed, still caught in the tension between boldness and restraint, Seungcheol looked down at you like he wasn’t sure if this was real—like after everything, having you here, like this, might still be a dream.

But you were real. And this was happening.

And tonight, for once, neither of you was pretending.

The morning light slipped through the curtains, golden and gentle. Seungcheol stirred, reaching out instinctively to the other side of the bed—empty, but still warm.

He opened his eyes slowly, gaze landing on the slight indent in the pillow where your head had been just hours ago. Your scent still lingered faintly on the sheets, and the memory of your skin, your breath, your laugh pressed against his senses like a soft echo.

Then he noticed the phone on the nightstand blinking with a message.

[Y/n]

I had an early shoot. Didn’t want to wake you. I ordered breakfast—it should be arriving soon.

A small smile tugged at his lips. It was such a simple gesture, but it settled something warm in his chest. He ran a hand through his hair, still lying back against the pillow.

Peace. That’s what this felt like.

But the next notification made his brows furrow.

[Joshua]

When did you and Y/n get close?

He blinked at the message. No greeting. No preamble. Just straight to the point. A day after his wedding.

Seungcheol sat up, the sheets slipping down his torso, and stared at the screen. For a moment, he didn’t know if he wanted to reply or throw the phone across the room.

He took a breath.

[Seungcheol]

Didn’t realize you were checking in this soon. Everything alright?

A beat passed before Joshua responded.

[Joshua]

Just answer me.

[Seungcheol]

We reconnected. That’s it.

He didn’t offer more. Because Joshua didn’t deserve more. Not after everything.

Seungcheol dropped the phone on the desk and turned toward the room. The bed was still messy from last night, your scent faint on the pillow. He smiled to himself—not because of the intimacy, but because of the quiet trust you gave him.

No theatrics. No clinging. Just you, choosing to stay for a night and go without a scene. Leaving coffee, breakfast, and a piece of peace he didn’t know he craved.

[Joshua]

You never told me.

Seungcheol rested his arm on the windowsill of his office, the city below flickering with late lights. The coffee on his desk had gone cold, untouched since the text from Joshua hours ago. He hadn’t responded further—and didn’t plan to.

But memories had their own way of seeping in. Joshua once told him about you during college. Late one night after drinks, tipsy honesty filling the space between laughter and bitterness.

“She was loud,” Joshua had said, lips curled into something between a smirk and a wince. “Demanded everything. Even in bed. Too aggressive. She wanted to control how I moved, how I touched her, like it was her stage.”

Seungcheol had just hummed back then, pretending not to care. But he remembered how Joshua laughed like he needed to laugh—like he was trying to prove he wasn’t affected. Like he needed to make you smaller, just to feel bigger.

But now, standing here with last night still clinging to his skin, Seungcheol couldn’t relate to a single word Joshua had said.

You were all fire, yes—but not in the way Joshua made it sound. There was no chaos, no demand. Just honesty. Just heat. Just the kind of intimacy that came from finally being with someone who wasn’t scared to want.

You were present. Intentional. Unapologetic.

And for the first time in a long time, Seungcheol felt seen without ever needing to explain himself.

He smirked to himself, recalling how you'd pressed your lips to his jaw, how you’d texted him about breakfast like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Joshua had complained.

But Seungcheol had no complaints.

Only a feeling. One that told him—this wasn’t over.

Night after night was spent with you—no pressure, no promises. Just two bodies colliding, wrapped in warmth and need, with emotions neither of you dared to unpack. Whether it was after a sunrise shoot or squeezed between late-night meetings, you always ended up together.

There were no labels. Not lovers. Not even friends, really. Colleagues, maybe—by day, you worked as the face of his brand, smiling in front of cameras and attending sleek product launches. By night, you laid tangled in his arms, limbs heavy with exhaustion, silence filling the spaces where feelings should’ve been spoken.

It was an arrangement. A quiet, sacred escape. And both of you prayed no one would ever know. Let it stay like this—uncomplicated, unspoken, and only yours to understand.

One afternoon, Seungcheol found himself sharing coffee with Ara after a quick business lunch. What was supposed to be a brief check-in had stretched longer, the conversation drifting into the familiar waters of the entertainment industry Ara had been part of for five years.

“You interested in entertainment now?” Ara asked, casually setting down her cup, eyes glinting with curiosity.

He leaned back, expression unreadable. “This isn’t about your step-sister, right?” he said, his voice smooth. “That situation your label made 'helped' her a lot.”

Ara tilted her head, her smile strained. “You’re saying that like you weren’t involved.”

Seungcheol raised his brows. “It was all business. I saw potential. That’s it.”

“But it started with her,” Ara pointed out. “That sudden interest in the industry, the sponsorships, the rebranding… it wasn’t just coincidence.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he let a small smirk tug at his lips. “The entertainment world is complicated. Messy. Political. And layered in ways most industries aren’t. It’s fascinating.”

Ara chuckled dryly. “Well, my husband runs an agency too, in case you’ve forgotten. Maybe ask him for lessons—he’s been in the game far longer than I have.”

Seungcheol met her gaze with an amused glint. “True. But I think you’re more impressive.”

She narrowed her eyes, a faint crease forming between her brows. “What are you trying to imply, Choi Seungcheol?”

His smile didn’t falter, but he leaned forward just slightly, sensing the shift. “Nothing,” he said smoothly, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “You’re sharp, and you’ve handled your position well. That’s all.”

But the tension lingered. Ara’s tone dropped, voice tighter now. “Her mother married my father for money, Seungcheol. You expect me to pretend we’re sisters and braid each other's hair? Please.”

Seungcheol didn’t respond right away. He only observed her—sharp lines, guarded eyes, that perfectly placed bitterness. There was more to her story. Just as there was more to yours. And maybe that’s what fascinated him most.

“How’s your relationship with Ara?” Seungcheol asked one night, his voice low and rough against the crown of your head.

Your bare skin pressed against his, arms wrapped lazily around him as his warmth soaked into you. The air was thick with the silence that always followed—after he picked you up from the late-night shoot, after the tangled sheets and unspoken feelings. Now it was just his breath, fanning your hair as his fingers traced idle circles along your back.

“She’s…” you hesitated, then exhaled softly, “She’s like a step-sister. A good stepdaughter for my mom, actually. Kind of like Cinderella—except she gets the spotlight wherever she goes.”

His hand stilled for a moment, then continued moving in gentle motions. “I didn’t ask what kind of person she is,” Seungcheol murmured, his voice deeper now, quieter. “I asked about your relationship. Are the two of you... good?”

You paused, searching for the right word, then shrugged lightly against him. “We barely talk. Almost never. But I don’t hate her. She’s just... there. Existing in the same house, the same air, but never really touching mine.”

He didn’t speak right away, but you felt the subtle shift in his breathing, the way his arms tightened around you just slightly—like he was bracing himself for the weight of your truth.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, then began, voice barely above a whisper.

“My mom remarried when I was eleven. She didn’t love him, not really. But he had money. A big house. Enough to get us out of the debt my dad left behind.” You paused. “It wasn’t a choice made out of love. It was survival.”

Seungcheol’s thumb grazed over your shoulder gently. You leaned into him more, your words tumbling out slow and soft like they’d been waiting years to be said.

“I never blamed her. But I wasn’t happy. I don’t think I ever was in that house.” You let out a small laugh, bitter at the edges. “It was always Ara this, Ara that. She was pretty and charming and everything I wasn’t. She knew how to smile in front of people. I just... slowly faded.”

He stayed quiet, his hand now resting flat against your back, grounding you.

“I was never seen. Not by my stepdad. Not by his family. Not even by my mom. It was like—I existed in that house as a shadow. And Ara… she shone so brightly. She didn’t do it to hurt me. But... it still hurt.”

You felt your voice shake, but you kept going. “Joshua was the only one who ever looked at me. He was just… kind. He noticed. He talked to me when no one else did. Asked how I was. Remembered things I said. He made me feel human when everything else made me feel invisible.”

That moment lingered for a beat longer than comfortable.

“I’m sorry,” Ara said, shifting in her seat across from Seungcheol at the polished table. “It’s… very discomforting to talk about my husband’s ex.” Her words were cool, clipped with a professional courtesy that didn’t quite hide the tension behind them.

Seungcheol nodded, biting back the words at the edge of his tongue. She’s your sister, though. But now he understood. The dynamic between you two wasn’t just complicated—it was detached. Ara didn’t just dislike you. She resented your presence in any form, even as a memory.

Still, he offered a diplomatic smile. “I’m glad you and Joshua married,” he said simply, his tone even, sincere. “He seems happy. Genuinely.”

Ara let out a breath, shoulders softening a little. She nodded, accepting the statement as though it was a gift. “He is. He really is.”

But even as Seungcheol smiled, part of him couldn’t stop remembering the warmth of your skin against his, the quiet sadness in your voice when you said “she’s just there.” And in that silence, he realized—he didn’t want you to be just there anymore.

“You took days off.” You glanced at him as the plane ascended, your voice a mix of disbelief and amusement.

The two of you sat side by side in business class, on a flight bound for Jeju. Somewhere quiet—somewhere Seungcheol had planned for the both of you. A much-needed vacation. You had just wrapped your first major project in a while, and he, after endless launches, meetings, and late nights at the office, decided it was time to breathe.

“You, of all people—the workaholic—took days off,” you repeated, eyeing him like he’d grown a second head.

Seungcheol smirked as he leaned back in his seat, arms folding behind his head with practiced ease. “Tell me something I don’t know, Y/n.”

You sighed, mirroring his position, the tiredness finally sinking out of your shoulders. “You’re crazy.”

“I know someone crazier, back in high school.” He turned his head toward you, lips curving mischievously.

“What?” you narrowed your eyes, suspicious.

He gave a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t want to know. She once went after the football game committee and demanded the referee be fired because her boyfriend got injured without the other guy getting carded.”

You groaned, sinking into your seat. “I didn’t technically get him fired. His boss made the decision.”

“After a call from your stepfather’s office.”

You shrugged innocently. “Something could’ve gone seriously wrong with Josh. Someone had to be responsible.”

Seungcheol laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “He wasn’t six, Y/n. He was seventeen. You were unhinged.”

You lowered your gaze to your hands, fingers fidgeting slightly. “I know,” you murmured.

There was a pause.

Seungcheol tilted his head, watching you more closely now. “You really cared about him, didn’t you?”

Your nod was small, but immediate. “Of course I did,” you said softly. Then you looked up at him with a teasing smile. “Didn’t you?”

He chuckled at the way you dodged the depth of the question, as always with that playful glint in your eye. He let it slide.

“Has anyone told you how much you’ve changed from your old self?”

You smirked, turning your attention to the screen in front of you, searching through the inflight movies. “I haven’t changed, Seungcheol.”

He raised an eyebrow, expecting the twist.

“I’ve grown.” You threw him a wink before pressing play on the action film you’d been looking forward to since boarding.

Seungcheol didn’t reply—he just leaned his head back and smiled. The kind of smile that stayed long after the words faded.

The resort was everything Seungcheol promised—secluded cliffs overlooking Jeju’s deep blue sea, private villas built with wood and stone, where the wind carried the scent of salt and pine. You stepped onto the terrace, hair slightly damp from a shower, wearing one of the white robes provided by the resort. The breeze kissed your skin, and the sound of waves crashing in the distance melted some invisible weight from your chest.

Seungcheol came out behind you, two wine glasses in hand. He handed you one and leaned on the railing beside you. “You look like someone who finally remembered what rest feels like.”

You sipped your wine with a grin. “I feel like someone who forgot how good silence can be.”

He clinked his glass gently against yours. “To silence, then.”

The night crept in, painting the sky in deep indigo. Neither of you said much. There was no need to. His presence beside you was enough.

Later, in the dim light of your shared villa, you sat on the rug beside the fireplace, your legs tucked beneath you, watching the flames move. Seungcheol sat behind you, his hand gently massaging your shoulders.

“You’ve been tense for months,” he murmured, his voice low and close to your ear.

“You’ve been watching me for months,” you replied just as quietly.

His hand stilled for a moment, then resumed its motion. “Someone had to.”

You leaned back slightly into his touch. “Why do you do this?” you asked, eyes still on the fire.

“What?”

“This. Us. It’s not just sex and you know it.”

Seungcheol didn’t answer right away. Instead, he placed a kiss on your shoulder, slow and intentional. “Maybe because I don’t want to be another man who takes and leaves. Maybe because… when I see you, I don’t feel like I need to lie.”

You turned to face him, your gaze sharp. “That’s dangerously close to romantic.”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We agreed not to talk about emotions, didn’t we?”

You leaned in, kissed him softly, and whispered, “That’s because we’re cowards.”

The fireplace crackled as his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, your robe slipping slightly off one shoulder. Neither of you said anything more that night.

And in the quiet hum of dawn, wrapped in sheets and the scent of him still clinging to your skin, you realized that whatever this was—it was no longer casual.

You were still asleep when Seungcheol stepped out onto the villa balcony with his phone pressed to his ear. The ocean breeze tousled his hair as he leaned against the railing, his body still relaxed from last night—until he saw the caller ID: Joshua Hong.

He hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen, then finally answered. “Yeah?”

There was a beat of silence before Joshua spoke, voice flat but tight. “Did you go to Jeju with her?”

Seungcheol’s jaw tensed. “What are you talking about?”

“There’s a video of her at the airport yesterday. Some media caught it. She was covered up, but not enough.” Joshua inhaled sharply. “You were in the background.”

Seungcheol didn’t respond right away. His gaze shifted toward the bedroom, where the curtains fluttered and the silhouette of your sleeping body could be seen beneath the sheets.

“You’ve been seeing her, haven’t you?” Joshua asked again, his tone sharper this time. “Since when?”

Seungcheol let out a slow breath. “We reconnected. That’s all you need to know.”

“That’s all?” Joshua’s laugh was bitter. “You’re sleeping with her.”

“That’s not your business anymore,” Seungcheol said, a finality in his voice. “You’re married. You chose your path. So did she.”

“You know what happened between us—how it ended. You were there when she—” Joshua stopped himself. His voice cracked, either with anger or regret. “I just didn’t expect you.”

“I didn’t expect me either,” Seungcheol replied. “But here we are.”

There was another pause. Then Joshua said quietly, “You’re not just sleeping with her.”

Seungcheol’s grip tightened around the phone. “Goodbye, Joshua.”

He ended the call before the man on the other end could say another word.

When Seungcheol stepped back into the bedroom, you stirred slightly. Your eyes opened, still heavy with sleep, and you blinked up at him with a soft smile. “Who was that?”

He walked over and sat at the edge of the bed, brushing your hair away from your face. “No one important.”

But he knew better. Joshua was important—to you.

And this… whatever this was between the two of you… wasn’t going to stay quiet much longer.

"You did amazing," Seungcheol said as he climbed back onto the boat, water dripping from his hair as he reached over to help you out of your gear. His hands were steady, warm against the cool metal of your breathing apparatus. "Seriously. You did amazing."

You exhaled, catching your breath as you pulled the mouthpiece from your lips. “Really? I was worried I looked like I was flailing down there. It’s been a while since I last dove.”

“I couldn’t tell. You looked calm. Natural,” he replied as you shrugged off the rest of your gear and made your way toward the seating area in search of your robe.

He was already a step ahead, handing it to you as you approached. You murmured a quick thanks, wrapping it around your body, still slick from the sea.

"You were amazing too," you added, glancing at him as he ruffled his wet hair with a towel. "I mean, you’ve been doing this for a while, right?"

Seungcheol tilted his head, eyeing you with curiosity. "How do you know that?"

You smirked lightly. "I remembered Joshua mentioning it once. Something about how you always went diving every semester break. Guess you were coming here?"

He paused for a moment, eyes studying your face like you’d just said something he hadn’t expected. Then he nodded slowly. “Yeah… I used to come here a lot. Especially back in high school. The water felt like the only place I could breathe.”

You met his gaze, the silence stretching comfortably between you as the wind tousled both your hair. He broke it first.

“I didn’t think you’d remember something like that,” he said, quieter this time.

You chuckled as you settled onto the bench of the boat, wrapping the robe tighter around your body. “I know a lot of things about people, Seungcheol. I’m not as ignorant as you might’ve thought… and I never was.”

Seungcheol sat beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours. “I figured that out. But… why didn’t you ever talk to me in high school?”

Your brows furrowed as you turned your head toward him. “I thought you hated me. I mean… everyone kind of did. But with you, I figured you especially didn’t like my presence, so I just—stayed away.”

He shook his head instantly, reaching out to place a hand gently on your arm, grounding you. “No. God, no. Of course not. Did I ever say anything like that to you?”

You hesitated, biting your lower lip, eyes flickering away for a second. “I… I don’t know. I can’t remember exactly. Maybe Joshua said something? Or maybe I just inferred it from the way things were.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Joshua told you I didn’t like you?”

You exhaled a short breath. “No. I told you, Seungcheol. I forgot. Maybe no one said it. Maybe it was just... the way everything felt back then.”

A beat of silence hung between you, filled only by the gentle sound of waves lapping against the boat. His hand didn’t move from your arm.

“I didn’t hate you,” he said softly. “If anything, I think I noticed you more than I was supposed to.”

It was a memory Seungcheol never quite managed to forget.

He had just arrived at campus that day, walking leisurely down the hallway with his headphones on, music playing loud enough to drown out the world. But the moment he turned the corner toward class and saw a group of students peeking through the door, murmuring with their phones half-raised, something tugged at his gut. He paused, pulled the headphones down around his neck, and stepped forward.

Inside, he saw it—the moment Joshua broke up with you. Publicly.

Your face was pale, jaw tight, but your eyes didn’t flinch as Joshua stood there, saying things he clearly hadn’t rehearsed enough. His voice was calm, yet his hands betrayed him—fidgeting, twitching, unsure.

“Y/n is so crazy about her reputation. Anything she’ll worry about is how people think about her.”

Those words had echoed in Seungcheol’s head for a long time, not just because Joshua once said them to him in passing, but because they didn’t fit with what he saw that day.

Joshua ended it in front of everyone, knowing full well how much you hated being watched, being judged. Seungcheol had always thought Joshua wouldn’t intentionally humiliate you—but then, why do it like that? He could see it in Joshua’s eyes too—something inside him was breaking just as much.

And then you ran. You rushed out of the classroom, your shoulder colliding with Seungcheol’s chest as you stormed past him. No apologies. Just heartbreak in motion. He remembered watching your figure disappear down the hallway, the faint sound of your heels against the tiles lingering far longer than they should.

Now, sitting across from you with glasses of whiskey in hand, the sea breeze from Jeju brushing in from the half-open window, Seungcheol finally asked what had been sitting at the base of his chest for years.

“How did it feel?”

You sipped your drink slowly, eyes staring into the amber swirl in your glass. “It was humiliating, of course,” you said. “He didn’t have to do it that way.”

Seungcheol nodded. He agreed. “But?”

“But I was relieved,” you continued softly, a dry smile playing on your lips. “At least it woke me up.”

There was a pause. Heavy. Honest.

Then you looked up at him, your voice just a breath. “I knew Joshua liked Ara.”

Seungcheol blinked. “What?”

You gave a slow nod. “I saw it. The way he looked at her during her sweet seventeen. Like she was… something he desired. Like he forgot I was in the room.”

“Did you ever confront him?”

“Of course I did,” you said, letting out a soft chuckle. “But I didn’t say her name directly. I just asked, ‘Do you like someone else?’”

“And what did he say?”

You shrugged. “Does a cat say anything after it knocks a vase off the table and watches it shatter?” you said with amusement, your smile laced with bitterness. “He didn’t answer. He just stood there like silence would undo the damage.”

Seungcheol watched you carefully.

“Maybe that’s why it didn’t hurt that much. That day,” you murmured.

“But still… he hurt you,” Seungcheol said, voice quiet but firm.

You looked at him, a ghost of a smile on your lips. “Who cares?” you said lightly. “Who cares if he hurt me? When I realized he wasn’t the same person who saw me like I existed—like in high school—I chose to be hurt. That was my decision. My freedom.”

Seungcheol looked away, his jaw tightening. He stared at the bottom of his glass as if the answer to everything might be swirling in the amber liquid. Then he looked back up at you, eyes unreadable. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “For everything you had to go through. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

And for the first time, Seungcheol saw you cry.

Not the quiet, composed kind of tears that slid down silently—but the kind that surprised even you. It cracked something in your voice, your expression trembling as the tears pooled and broke, slipping down your cheeks. You tried to laugh it off, blinking rapidly, but your chest stuttered on a breath you couldn’t quite catch.

“I’m sorry,” you said, brushing at your cheeks. “God, I don’t even know why—”

But Seungcheol reached out, not to stop your tears, but to be with you in them. He didn’t speak. He just looked at you with the kind of gaze that saw straight through the armor you'd built, right into the hurt you thought you’d buried.

“You don’t have to be strong around me,” he finally whispered.

And for once, you let yourself believe that.

“I’m tired, Seungcheol,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The kind of tired that didn’t just sit in your bones—it lived in your chest, in the corners of your mind, pulling everything down with it.

“I’m so tired of fighting. Of defending myself. Of always having to prove I’m not what they think I am. Not a homewrecker. Not a villain. Not someone cold just because I don’t cry in public or fall apart when they expect me to.”

You looked away, ashamed of the crack in your voice. “I tried so hard to hold myself together. To keep my name clean. To be someone my younger self would be proud of. But somewhere along the way, I forgot what it’s like to just... breathe.”

Seungcheol leaned in slightly, his hand still resting near yours, but he didn’t try to console you with empty words. He just listened. Present. Unflinching.

“Sometimes I think I survived everything just to be this exhausted version of myself,” you exhaled. “And I hate that. I hate that it still hurts, even when I know I did the right thing.”

“You’re not just surviving anymore,” he said gently. “You’re healing. It’s slow, and it’s ugly, but you’re doing it.”

You laughed softly through the ache. “Does healing always feel this lonely?”

Seungcheol’s eyes softened. “Not when you have someone who stays.”

“What is this?”

Ara’s voice trembled as she shoved her phone into Joshua’s face. The screen lit up with an article, the headline bold and accusatory, accompanied by a grainy photo of Joshua standing in front of you in a hotel lobby. The timestamp showed it was taken just last week.

Joshua exhaled, chest tightening. He hadn’t expected anyone to snap a photo that night—let alone that it would end up online so fast.

“Ara, I—”

“What were you doing talking to another woman when you’re married, Joshua? And not just any woman—her?” Ara hissed, eyes blazing. “She’s your ex.”

“She’s your sister,” Joshua reminded her, the words heavy with frustration.

“I don’t care!” Ara shouted. “She’s still your ex! You promised me—promised—you’d stop talking to her! And then I find this? In a hotel lobby? What am I supposed to think, huh? That you were just there for coffee and childhood memories? Or should I believe you slept with her?”

Joshua clenched his jaw. “Is that really how little you think of me? After everything? You know me, Ara. You know I’ve always been loyal.”

Ara scoffed bitterly, folding her arms. “Then explain to me why the entire internet thinks my husband is cheating—with my own sister.”

It was supposed to be just a talk.

That’s what Joshua told himself when he texted you last week, asking to meet. Just a small catch-up in the hotel lobby while you were in town for a schedule. A moment to ask about your career, which he was quietly relieved to see bouncing back after the scandal. But the conversation drifted, as it always did with you, into places it shouldn't have gone.

He shouldn’t have asked. But he did.

“You two… are you dating?” he asked, voice low and cautious.

You looked at him, eyes cool, unreadable. “That’s none of your business, Joshua.”

Joshua flinched at the words. “You’re my ex,” he said, voice tightening. “And he’s my best friend.”

“And you’re married,” you snapped back, your voice cutting through the air with quiet finality.

Silence dropped like a curtain between you. Joshua stared at you, taking in the version of you that sat in front of him—no longer the girl he once held in his arms, but a woman. Confident. Grown. Blossomed in a way he never imagined.

He wasn’t sure if it was regret or longing creeping up his spine, but he hated it.

“You still love me, Y/n…” he whispered, almost as if testing the weight of his own delusion.

You blinked at him, lips parting slightly in disbelief. But you said nothing. You didn’t need to.

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Joshua… it was all in the past. I don’t love you anymore. And honestly? I don’t even know if it was love to begin with… or just obsession. I was hurt—by my family, by everything. You were just a way out.”

Joshua’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Obsession? Y/n, you were obsessed with me? How could you say that…”

He watched you stand up from your seat, your body tense with finality. Panic sparked in his eyes, and without thinking, he reached out and gripped your wrist.

“Don’t go. Please… don’t go to him.”

You looked down at his hand on your wrist before meeting his eyes, cold and sharp.

“Why are you always like this, Joshua? Seungcheol is your best friend. You said that yourself. So why?”

Joshua blinked. Why? Why did it always feel like he needed to prove something? Like he needed the world—and maybe himself—to believe Seungcheol would always come second? That he was the one who shone brighter?

You pulled your hand back, voice low but laced with exhaustion. “Stop being jealous of him. We’re not seventeen anymore.”

His chest tightened. Then he said the one thing he’d been clinging to.

“You called me that time. You texted me.”

You froze. He was talking about the screenshot. The one floating around the internet. The one Ara had weaponized into a full-blown scandal.

You turned back to him, eyes burning.

“That was because your wife tried to ruin me, Joshua!” Your voice trembled, fury shaking through every word. “Ara tried to kill my career. She turned down every offer sent to me. She wanted me jobless. I texted you because I was desperate—I thought maybe you could talk some sense into her.”

Joshua opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“And you ignored me,” you whispered, voice breaking. “You left me hanging. And now… now you make it look like I’m a homewrecker? You let them believe that? You stayed silent while she tore me apart.”

There was a pause. A silence that felt heavier than any scream. And in that quiet, Joshua saw it—what he’d done. What he didn’t do.

“Ara, it’s over. It’s been over for a long time. You’re the only one,” Joshua said softly, reaching for her hands and holding them firmly in his.

Ara stared at him, eyes glassy, hurt simmering beneath the surface.

“Then tell me,” she said through gritted teeth, “why were you captured with her? Why were you seen with your ex in a hotel lobby like you had nothing to hide?”

Joshua sighed, tension coiling in his shoulders. “It wasn’t like that. We just… talked. But things got complicated. Everything’s been complicated lately, and you know that.” His voice faltered, almost pleading. “I’ve always loved you, Ara. Even when I was still with her.”

Ara bit the inside of her cheek, swallowing the bitter taste his words left behind.

“Then why…” she whispered, voice trembling, “why do you keep getting distracted by her these days? Why do your eyes drift when you think I’m not watching?”

Joshua looked down. His silence was louder than anything he could’ve said.

Because Ara wasn’t you.

And that truth—shameful, quiet, and damning—sat heavy on his chest.

Seungcheol had read every article. Every damn headline that twisted the truth into something grotesque. And still—he hadn’t seen you since that night. Since everything with Joshua hit the internet like wildfire.

He hated to admit it, but he was scared. Not of the public, not of the media—but of the possibility that you were avoiding him. That you might be too hurt, too tired, too ashamed to even face him. And the thought gutted him.

But more than anything, Seungcheol didn’t care what the world said. He knew you. He knew you wouldn’t do anything reckless. He knew your mind—how it worked, how it processed things wisely even when you were breaking. He was proud to say he knew you now, not just the girl from the past, but the woman you had grown into.

Still, it didn’t stop the media from fanning the flames.

Old wounds were reopened and picked apart. Every detail of your past with Joshua was dissected like you were nothing more than a scandal. Reporters interviewed your high school classmates, hungry for scraps of gossip. And somehow, overnight, you were painted as everything you never were: a homewrecker. A manipulative ex. A washed-up actress. A high school bully. A villain. Cancelled.

Seungcheol couldn’t stomach it. He couldn’t even look at your name trending without feeling sick. He called Seungkwan, desperate for answers, but Seungkwan only offered a tired sigh and a polite refusal.

“She’s somewhere safe. That’s all I can tell you.”

It was a déjà vu of the darkest kind. All over again, you were losing everything. Sponsors withdrew. Brands pulled out. Upcoming projects were "postponed indefinitely." And the public, once so quick to idolize, now tore you apart with bloodthirsty glee.

Then, a week passed. No word from you. No appearances. No social media activity. Just silence.

Until your name resurfaced.

This time, attached to a formal letter. A retirement.

Seungcheol stared at the screen, his blood running cold as he read your words. Calm. Gracious. Final.

You were leaving the industry.

And it broke something in him.

Two days later, he was standing at Joshua and Ara’s doorstep, fists clenched, jaw tight. He didn’t care about courtesy. He didn’t come to talk. He came to confront.

To demand answers.

Because while they lived comfortably inside their quiet home—married, unscathed—you were out there picking up the pieces of a life they helped destroy.

And Seungcheol wasn’t about to let that slide. Joshua opened the door, surprised to see Seungcheol standing there. He looked disheveled—no styled hair, no jacket, just a plain black shirt clinging to his chest, damp from the light rain outside. His eyes were bloodshot, tired, and angry.

“Seungcheol?”

Seungcheol didn’t say anything at first. He stepped inside without being invited, brushing past Joshua with a force that made it clear he wasn’t here for small talk.

Ara appeared from the hallway, her expression stiffening the moment she saw him.

“Seungcheol,” she said carefully. “What brings you—”

He turned to Joshua. “You let it happen again.”

Joshua blinked. “What?”

“You let her go through all of it again. You stood there and watched the world tear her apart—again. And this time, it was because of you.”

Ara folded her arms. “Don’t bring that tone in here.”

“Don’t tell me how to speak when she’s out there suffering because of you!” Seungcheol snapped, pointing at her. “You knew exactly what you were doing when you pulled those strings—blacklisting her, blocking projects, feeding lies to the media.”

“I never—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he growled. “You tried to bury her, Ara. And you—” he turned to his old friend, “you let her take the fall alone. You saw the articles. You saw the comments. And what did you do? Hide behind your silence like a coward?”

Joshua’s jaw tightened. “It wasn’t supposed to go this far.”

“But it did!” Seungcheol shouted. “Because you never stopped it. You never protected her. You just stood there while she wrote her own damn retirement letter like she was the villain in a story you wrote.”

“Cheol…” Joshua’s voice cracked. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“But you did,” he said coldly. “You hurt her. And then you let the world finish the job.”

Silence fell. Joshua couldn’t meet his eyes anymore.

Seungcheol took a shaky breath, voice lower now, but no less sharp. “She loved you. Even after everything, she respected you. And you disrespected her name like it was nothing.”

“Then why are you here?” Ara asked, her voice tight.

“Because I’m not like you,” Seungcheol said, eyes locked with hers. “I don’t stay quiet when someone I love is bleeding.”

Joshua looked up sharply at that.

Seungcheol didn’t flinch. “Yeah. I love her. And I’m not going to sit still while people like you rip her apart.”

With that, he turned and walked toward the door, chest heaving.

“Fix it,” he said, without looking back. “Both of you. Before you lose whatever soul you still have left.”

And then he was gone—leaving the door open behind him, the air thick with the weight of everything they refused to face.

A year had passed.

Seungcheol found himself once again wandering an art gallery in Samcheong-dong, his safe haven. On days like this—quiet, gray-skied afternoons with no schedules—he liked to get lost in colors and silence. Museums, paintings, sculptures… they helped him think, helped him breathe. They grounded him when the world felt too fast. But today, they did little to soothe him.

Because today, he missed you.

More than yesterday. More than last week. More than he was willing to admit to anyone else.

He hadn’t seen you since that night—since your name was dragged through headlines, since your tear-stained retirement letter was posted across every screen, since he watched you disappear like smoke in a storm. No goodbye. No closure. Not even a whisper.

Still, deep inside, he believed you were okay. That you were somewhere far, healing. Creating. Living quietly. He told himself that every time your name made his chest ache.

After your contract officially ended, Seungcheol had taken care of everything. Without asking for your permission, he’d paid off the remaining debts you owed to Seungkwan.

“Just let her know I did this for her,” he told him quietly. “Not out of pity. But because I care.”

He never asked for anything in return. He only hoped you knew.

As he drifted past the modern impressionist section, a familiar texture caught his eye. Thick, dreamy brush strokes. G. The artist he’d admired. But it had been a while—almost two years—since G last released anything.

“She just launched five new paintings,” the curator beside him said. “Would you like to take a look, Mr. Choi?”

He followed, curious but detached—until his eyes landed on Beautiful Beach.

And suddenly, he couldn’t breathe.

It was a painting of a man standing at the shoreline, his arms wide open to the sea. The ocean crashed behind him, the wind caught his white shirt, and his pants fluttered around familiar legs. The way his hair curled in the wind—it was unmistakable.

It was him.

Seungcheol’s heart skipped.

“This one has drawn the most attention,” the curator said, handing him a pair of headphones. “There’s a recorded synopsis from the artist herself.”

The headphones pressed against his ears, and for a moment, only the sound of waves and seagulls filled the silence. Then a voice—soft, warm, clear. Familiar.

Your voice.

“Jeju. When the beach was beautiful… and you were too—beautiful.”

The date mentioned in the audio matched the exact day you both stayed in Jeju. He remembered that day clearly: leaving for almost a day to meet old friends while you stayed behind at the villa. When he returned, your painting tools had been scattered on the balcony, though you had brushed it off, asking the staff to clean them up before he could say a word.

He should’ve known. Should’ve asked.

He turned to the curator, voice tight. “Is G a woman?”

The curator nodded. “We believe so. Still in her thirties, based on the timing of her first portfolio. But we don’t have any biographical information—she chooses anonymity. Her agent manages everything.”

Then Seungcheol stared at another painting, breath caught in his throat. His fingers trembled. His chest tightened—not from fear, but longing. And then dread.

Love of My Life, G.

“I need her personal contact or information,” he said, turning toward the curator, urgency coating every syllable. “Please… can you help me?”

You were halfway through folding laundry when your phone buzzed with an unknown number. You picked it up absently, expecting a telemarketer.

“Hello, this is from Haesung Delivery. We’re arriving shortly with five paintings for Ji Y/n-ssi. Just confirming someone will be home to receive them.”

You froze. “I’m sorry—paintings?”

“Yes, five canvas pieces, already in shipment. Should be arriving in about fifteen minutes.”

Your mind started spinning. You hadn’t ordered any paintings. Not one, let alone five. None of your friends had mentioned sending you anything either. Confused and mildly anxious, you thanked the caller and hung up.

When the delivery arrived, the workers carried in large, bubble-wrapped canvases, each labeled with careful handling instructions. You signed the receipt in a daze.

The moment they left, you tore the packaging open—urgently, like unraveling a mystery that had been quietly waiting for you.

Your breath caught in your throat.

They were your paintings.

Paintings you had sold—some long ago, some to private collectors you never met in person. Yet here they were, standing like memories reincarnated in oil and color.

Villain Origin Story—the jagged depiction of a woman painting her own portrait while shadows loomed behind her, each one holding knives. A piece you created in the darkest part of your twenties.

An Actress—a surreal image of a man pulling off layers of masks, each one playing a different female role.

Detached—a woman sitting alone in the middle of a road while people rushed past her on either side, all in blurred motion. A painting about grief disguised as resilience.

Beautiful Beach—the serene figure of a man staring into the ocean from Jeju, his back turned, as if the sea might offer an answer he couldn’t speak aloud. That was the first one inspired by Seungcheol.

And then there it was—Love of My Life.

A baby’s tiny hand reaching up, fingers curled, with a paper label around the wrist. Scribbled in your brushstroke handwriting: love of my life.

You swallowed thickly. Your heart clenched.

Taped gently to the back of the final canvas was a small envelope. Inside, a handwritten note, no signature.

I enjoy these paintings so much.

You’re a piece yourself.

You stood there, the letter trembling slightly in your hand. You didn't know who sent them back or why—but the message was clear: someone saw you. Someone remembered. Someone thought you were worth returning to.

Your eyes lingered on the letter as your phone began to vibrate beside the unboxed paintings. You didn’t recognize the number, but something—your instinct, your gut, your heart—told you to pick it up.

You did.

“Hello?” you breathed.

A pause, just long enough to make your chest tighten.

Then a voice. Familiar. Deep. Gentle.

"Are they arrived safely?"

Your heart stopped for a moment.

You clutched the phone tighter. “You sent them...”

A low hum rumbled through the speaker, warm and quiet.

“The moment I found out it was you,” he said softly, “I couldn’t think of anything else but returning these pieces to you. They never belonged with me.”

You sat down slowly on the edge of your couch, knees weak, surrounded by fragments of your own soul painted on canvas.

“You bought all of them?”

“I had.” He paused, like he was choosing his next words carefully. “Turns out they held pieces of you I didn’t get to keep. But I realized… they’re not mine to hold onto.”

Tears burned behind your eyes. You blinked fast. “Why are you calling now?”

“Because I couldn’t go another day pretending that I was okay with the silence. I know I helped from afar… but I never asked if you wanted me to.” His voice cracked faintly. “I just wanted you to know… I still see you.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek.

“I see you,” he repeated. “Not the headlines. Not the scandal. Not the rumors. Just… you.”

You whispered, “Choi Seungcheol… I miss you.”

There was a sharp inhale on the other end of the line, like he’d been holding his breath for a year just to hear those words.

“I miss you too, Y/n,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Every damn day.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, as if that could somehow slow the racing of your heart. The silence between you was no longer heavy—it was full. Of everything unsaid. Of everything still waiting.

“I wanted to call you after everything,” he confessed. “After the letter. After the way the world turned its back on you. But I thought… maybe I’d done enough damage.”

“You didn’t,” you said softly, wiping your cheek. “You were the only one who didn’t.”

He let out a shaky breath, relief bleeding into his voice. “Do you think… maybe I can see you?”

You looked around your apartment, now filled with the ghosts of your past, returned like gifts. A warmth bloomed in your chest—not because the pain was gone, but because someone had carried it with you, even when you didn’t ask them to.

“You’re not here?” you asked as you opened your door, half-expecting to see him on the other side. Empty.

You heard Seungcheol chuckle softly through the phone, the sound tinged with affection.

“They wouldn’t even give me your address. They’re pretty strict with their artist… which, honestly, I’m glad.”

You bit your lip, your breath hitching as a sob threatened to escape. You turned away from the door, wiping your tears with the back of your hand, trying to steady your voice.

“I’m in Busan.”

There was a pause on the line. “Busan,” he repeated, like he was picturing it—like he could already see you there.

“That’s unexpected…” he murmured. “If I go there today… would that be okay?”

Your heart twisted. You looked down at the phone, your fingers trembling slightly as you held it closer.

“Totally,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I’d really like that.”

And for the first time in a long time, hope didn’t feel like a heavy thing.

Seungcheol stood in front of your door, his heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. His fingers hovered over the doorbell, then curled into a hesitant fist. For someone known to command people and boards, this—this quiet moment in front of a small apartment door in Busan—was the most nerve-wracking thing he’d done in years.

He took a deep breath. The salt in the sea breeze lingered in the air, and for a second, he remembered the painting—Beautiful Beach. It was him. It was you. It was everything they never said out loud.

He pressed the doorbell.

Inside, you froze. You hadn’t expected him to come this fast. You were still in your oversized sweater, your hair pinned up messily. But you moved to the door anyway, barefoot on the warm wooden floor.

When you opened it, he looked up.

For a beat, neither of you said anything. You took in the sight of him—dressed simply, holding nothing, but carrying everything. The way his eyes searched your face. The way his shoulders dropped like he could finally breathe.

“You’re really here,” you whispered.

“I had to see you,” he replied. “I couldn’t wait anymore.”

And then, as if time folded in on itself, you took one step forward—and he pulled you into his arms. Tight. Like he needed to prove you were real.

You stood there in his arms for a long moment, neither of you saying a word, the hallway holding its breath around you. You felt his chest rise and fall against yours, the warmth of his skin through the soft cotton of your sweater. He smelled like a memory—faint cologne, a hint of coffee, and the ocean air clinging to his coat.

When you finally pulled back, your hand lingered on his arm. “Come in,” you whispered.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Inside, the apartment was small but warm, art supplies scattered on the table, half-finished sketches on the wall. He walked in slowly, like he was stepping into a sacred space. His eyes scanned the paintings, some new, some old—some he had bought back with trembling hands, now resting again where they belonged.

“It’s strange,” he said, voice quiet. “They look different here. Like they can breathe again.”

You watched him as he ran his fingers along the edge of Villain Origin Story. “I used to stare at this one the most,” he murmured. “I kept wondering what kind of pain could birth something so bold. And then I realized… it was everything I missed while you were breaking.”

You swallowed hard, tears stinging your eyes. “I didn’t want you to see me like that. I didn’t want anyone to.”

“But I would’ve stayed,” he said, finally turning to you. “If you’d asked me to. I would’ve fought for you. I still would.”

You sat down on the couch, the heaviness in your chest both familiar and new. “I needed to lose everything. To see what I could survive without.”

He took a seat beside you, his hand finding yours.

“And now?” he asked.

You looked down at your intertwined fingers. “Now I’m starting to wonder what I want to live with.”

His thumb brushed your knuckles. “You know… I never said it back then. I thought it was too late. That I didn’t deserve to. But I’ll say it now, if you’ll let me.”

You met his eyes, steady and warm.

“Say it.”

“I loved you then,” he said, voice cracking. “And I still do. I don’t know if I deserve a second chance, but if there’s even a piece of you that still wants this… I’ll be here. For every version of you.”

You exhaled shakily, emotion flooding through your chest.

“I never stopped wanting you, Cheol,” you whispered. “Even when I had to let you go.”

He reached for you again—and this time, the kiss came softly. No fire, no rush. Just a promise. Just the beginning.

“Love of My Life,” Seungcheol said, his voice low but intent. “Enlighten me… because the moment I saw it, I thought—” He paused, brows furrowing as he gently pulled you closer, cupping your face with both hands. “I thought you had my baby.”

Your breath hitched at his honesty. You let out a soft sigh and gave a small, almost bittersweet smile as you shook your head.

“No,” you whispered. “I didn’t get pregnant or anything like that.”

You looked away for a second, then back into his eyes.

“It’s just… that painting,” you said, voice trembling slightly. “That was the moment I realized how deeply I loved you. My love for you—that love—was born the day I painted it.”

His hands tensed slightly around your cheeks, eyes scanning your expression like he was memorizing every word.

“I didn’t know how else to hold you,” you added softly. “So I held you there… in that painting.”

Seungcheol exhaled shakily, a small, relieved smile tugging at his lips.

“You have no idea,” he said, voice thick with emotion, “how long I’ve waited to hear something like that from you.”

You laughed again, this time with a lightness in your chest you hadn’t felt in years.

“And you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to say it.”

He leaned forward, forehead resting against yours, eyes closing as he breathed you in.

“You’re still the love of my life,” he whispered. “Even after everything. Even now.”

And as his lips met yours—soft, slow, and full of promise—it didn’t feel like starting over.

It felt like finally coming home.

Seungcheol sat beside you in the dressing room, his fingers intertwined with yours, grounding you as the hum of reporters buzzed through the walls. The press conference had just begun, and the moment you’d been running from for years was now moments away.

"You ready?" he asked softly, eyes steady on you.

You looked down at your name card—Ji Y/n, Artist—and took a deep breath. "I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready," you admitted, then smiled faintly, "but I’m here."

“That’s more than enough,” he said, lifting your hand to press a kiss against your knuckles. “Let them meet the soul behind the art. The woman I never stopped believing in.”

The emcee's voice echoed from the stage, calling your alias.

“Painter G has agreed to speak today…”

You stood, hands trembling just slightly, and walked toward the light with Seungcheol right behind you.

The cameras clicked furiously the moment you stepped into view. Whispers rushed through the crowd like a wave crashing against the rocks.

And then you spoke.

"Hello. I’m Ji Y/n,” you said calmly into the microphone. “Some of you know me as Painter G.”

A stunned silence washed over the room. You didn’t flinch.

“I want to begin by apologizing for the way I disappeared from the narrative. For what happened in the past.”

You paused, your fingers gently grazing the edge of the podium, heart steady despite the lights and cameras.

“For years, I painted anonymously. Not because I feared being seen, but because the world I came from didn’t have space for me to exist freely. So I spoke the only way I knew how—through colors. Through shadows. Through light.”

A soft breath escaped your lips as your gaze found the familiar face watching from the wings—Seungcheol, eyes full of quiet encouragement.

“My art was born in silence, but I hope it spoke loudly. And now, standing here as Ji Y/n, I hope my paintings can continue to be what they’ve always been meant to be—a place of comfort, a mirror, a home—for anyone who needs it.”

You smiled, a gentle but certain curve of your lips.

“Thank you for listening to me now… for seeing me.”

There was a heartbeat of stillness.

Then came the applause—hesitant at first, but quickly growing into something loud and warm.

Later that night, you stood in front of your newest piece at the gallery. The curator had insisted on exhibiting The Return, a new painting you created in Busan after Seungcheol came back.

It showed two silhouettes under soft light—one standing, one opening the door. Between them was a blur of colors, a reunion in motion.

Seungcheol came up behind you, arms circling your waist.

“Do you know how proud I am of you?”

You leaned back into him, eyes on the painting. “I think I’m starting to.”

He kissed the top of your head and whispered, “Welcome home, Y/n.”

The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting golden lines across the wooden floor. You were curled up on the couch, sketchpad in your lap, feet tucked beneath you as soft jazz played from the speaker in the corner. The house smelled faintly of fresh coffee and vanilla candles—Seungcheol’s favorites, even though he insisted he didn’t have favorites.

From the kitchen, you heard the familiar sound of him humming. You peeked over your sketchpad.

Seungcheol stood at the stove, hair slightly messy, wearing a faded gray hoodie and plaid pajama pants. He was flipping pancakes with a focus so intense, you had to smile.

“You’re taking this very seriously,” you teased.

He turned his head just enough to smirk. “These pancakes are a celebration. One year of not running from love deserves fluffier batter.”

You laughed, closing your sketchpad. “I’m glad you’re not running anymore.”

He set the pan down and walked over to you, lifting your feet and settling beside you, resting your legs on his lap. “You make it easy to stay.”

You reached out to touch his face, thumb tracing the scar on his eyebrow you always loved. “I still can’t believe we get mornings like this.”

Seungcheol caught your hand, kissed your knuckles. “We deserve mornings like this. And afternoons. And quiet nights. Maybe even a dog.”

You raised a brow. “A dog?”

He grinned. “A big one. Clumsy. Terrible guard instincts. But loves you more than anything. Like me.”

You snorted, but your heart swelled.

Then he leaned in, forehead resting against yours, voice softer now. “One year down. Forever to go. You still okay with that?”

You smiled, eyes glistening. “I’m more than okay with that.”

On the day of your first anniversary, Seungcheol took the day off, determined to make every second count.

He showed up at the door—where two of you lived together, with a shy smile and a bouquet of your favorite flowers—messily wrapped, as if he tried to do it himself, which only made it more perfect. "Ready for the best date of your life?" he grinned, eyes crinkling.

You nodded, slipping your hand into his, and the two of you stepped into the day like it belonged only to you.

First stop: an art gallery tucked between tall buildings, the kind only locals knew about. You both wandered through quiet halls, stopping in front of unfamiliar artists' work, whispering thoughts like secrets. He stood beside you with his arm around your waist, proudly watching you lose yourself in the brushstrokes, like you always did.

Shopping came next—just small things. A sweater you said felt like a hug, snacks for later, a new sketchpad. Every step was light, easy, like breathing.

By evening, you were at a rooftop restaurant overlooking the city. The lights below sparkled, but nothing outshone the warmth in Seungcheol’s eyes as he sat across from you. You had just finished dessert when he reached into his coat pocket and slid a small velvet box across the table.

Your breath caught.

“No pressure,” he said, voice gentle, but his fingers trembled slightly. “It’s not what you think, love. Not yet. But it’s a promise."

You opened it slowly. Inside was a simple, elegant ring—silver, with a tiny engraving inside: I see you.

Tears welled in your eyes.

“I’m not asking you to marry me, love. Not tonight,” he whispered, reaching across to take your hand. “But I am asking to keep growing with you. Keep showing up. Keep choosing you. Every day.”

You looked at him—your Seungcheol. The man who saw you behind every canvas. Who came back when you thought everyone else had walked away.

“Actually… I have a gift too.” You reached into your bag with a soft smile, and Seungcheol tilted his head, his brows lifting with curiosity.

“A gift?” he echoed, already intrigued.

You pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box—simple, but with care in every detail. You slid it across the table to him.

His eyes narrowed playfully. “It’s not a watch, is it?”

“Just open it,” you said, barely containing your grin.

He chuckled, but carefully peeled the ribbon away and lifted the lid.

And then—he froze.

The moment his eyes landed on what was inside, his breath caught. His gaze shot to you, wide with disbelief, then back to the box.

He blinked, once. Twice.

“Love… really?” His voice was almost a whisper, trembling with the weight of a thousand emotions.

He closed the box as if needing a second to process, pressing his hand over his mouth. His other hand gripped the edge of the table like the world had just tilted.

You watched him, biting your lip in amusement, your heart swelling at the way he was visibly falling apart—in the sweetest way possible. His joy was so big, he didn’t know where to put it.

After a few beats of stunned silence, he opened the box again, his eyes shimmering. Then, he let out a laugh—soft, breathless, completely overwhelmed.

“We need to get married,” he whispered, leaning in closer, his voice cracking as his eyes flicked between your face and the testpack laying in the box. “Love, we’re going to be parents?”

You nodded slowly, tears pricking your lashes. “Yeah… we are.”

In that moment, the city lights faded behind him. All that existed was you, him, and the quiet miracle growing between you.

He stood up suddenly, walked around the table, and pulled you into his arms with so much love it nearly knocked the air from your lungs.

“Forget everything I said earlier,” Seungcheol said suddenly, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes—his own still glossy with wonder. “I’m not waiting anymore. I’m proposing tonight.”

He reached for your hand, holding it like it was the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

“Let’s get married, love. I want to build everything with you. Starting now.”

The living room looked like a battlefield—and Seungcheol was clearly losing the war.

There were wedding brochures everywhere, color swatches pinned to walls like crime scene clues, half-finished to-do lists scattered across the coffee table, and at least three different planners lying open, none of which seemed to be helping his sanity.

“We still haven’t finalized the seating chart,” he muttered, pacing. “And what if the venue changes the lighting last minute? Or the florist forgets we said no roses? Love, seriously, we’re two weeks away!”

From the couch, you let out a soft hum, cradling your slowly growing belly with one hand and flipping a page in your book with the other. “Babe… relax. It’s all under control.”

He spun around, pointing dramatically at you. “You’re too calm. You’re suspiciously calm. You’re either hiding a meltdown or secretly plotting my downfall.”

You just smiled, glowing in a way that had nothing to do with stress and everything to do with the small life inside you. “Why would I be stressed? I’m marrying you. That’s the only thing that matters.”

He opened his mouth to argue—then closed it again. His eyes dropped to the gentle curve of your belly under your loose shirt. That stopped him cold.

Your free hand slid over your bump, soothing it instinctively, and his gaze softened, the stress in his features unraveling just a little.

“I already have everything I need,” you said quietly. “You, and our baby. The rest is just… decorations.”

Seungcheol let out a long sigh and walked over, letting you pull him down beside you. You snuggled into his side, resting your head against his chest, feeling the way his heart slowly calmed. He placed a hand on your belly, rubbing it gently.

“You’re dangerous,” he mumbled, smiling despite himself. “You and this baby—tag-teaming my blood pressure.”

You giggled. “Then you better get used to it, Mr. Choi. This is just the beginning.”

He kissed your forehead, then your temple, then your belly. “As long as I have you both, I’ll survive. Even if the cake is wrong and the napkins are beige instead of ivory.”

You laughed again, softer this time. “See? We’re going to be just fine.”

He nodded, eyes shining. “Yeah. We really are.”

Two weeks later when the morning light filtered gently through the hotel room curtains, casting a golden glow across white satin, soft florals, and the delicate lace of your wedding dress hanging by the window. The air was quiet—peaceful, even—as makeup brushes moved like whispers across your skin, stylists moving carefully, reverently, as if they knew this wasn’t just any wedding.

This was yours. And today, you would marry the love of your life.

Your hands rested gently on your belly, the softest curve showing beneath the silk of your robe. The baby gave a tiny flutter, like even they could feel it—today was special.

“Y/n,” your stylist whispered, handing you a mirror, “you’re glowing.”

You smiled, eyes meeting your reflection. You looked like someone who knew she was loved.

Meanwhile, in the groom’s suite, chaos ruled.

“Where’s my cufflink?” Seungcheol asked, half-dressed, half-breathless. “The gold one—no, the one she picked.”

Jeonghan, his cousin, rolled his eyes as he calmly handed it over. “Relax. You’re still handsome. Even with one cufflink.”

“You don’t get it,” Seungcheol muttered, fidgeting with his collar. “She’s pregnant. She’s walking down the aisle carrying our baby. I need to be perfect.”

Mingyu, another cousin, patted his shoulder. “You love her. That’s already perfect enough.”

And Seungcheol nodded, grounding himself in that truth.

When the music finally began and the doors opened, everyone turned—but for Seungcheol, the world went silent. There you were, walking down the aisle, a soft smile on your lips, bouquet in hand, your other hand brushing protectively over your belly.

He blinked, almost disbelieving, his heart rising to his throat. You were everything. His future. His family.

As you reached him, your eyes locked—and all the nerves in him melted. He held out his hand, steady and sure, and you took it with no hesitation.

“Hi,” he whispered, teary-eyed.

“Hi,” you whispered back, voice trembling with joy.

The ceremony passed like a dream—vows spoken between soft tears and laughter, rings exchanged with trembling fingers, and a kiss that promised forever.

The reception had faded into a blur of lights and laughter, toasts and warm embraces. The music had slowed, the guests slowly leaving, and the stars outside blinked quietly over the city. You were finally alone.

Back in your suite, shoes kicked off and veil set aside, you curled into the couch together—your head resting on his chest, his hand gently resting over the swell of your belly. No cameras, no speeches, no expectations.

Just you. Just him. Just this.

Seungcheol shifted slightly, brushing his lips against your forehead before whispering, “Thank you.”

You looked up at him, brow raised. “For what?”

He smiled softly. “For not giving up on love even when life gave you every reason to. For choosing me. For letting me be the one to build a life with you. I never thought I’d find someone who makes me feel seen the way you do.”

You blinked back the tears, biting your lip as you leaned up to cup his face. “Then thank you… for showing me I’m not hard to love. For holding space for me, for everything I carried before I met you. And for loving me in the softest way I never knew I needed.”

He kissed your palm, holding it over his heart. “You and this baby… you’re my everything.”

You rested your forehead against his, your voice a whisper, “And you’re home. Always have been.”

In that stillness, wrapped in each other and in the promises you made only hours ago, there was nothing left to say. Just quiet gratitude—heavy, full, and endlessly warm.

The end

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