#and me her and her little brother all sobbed

[astraystayyh]

Bleeding heart dove

pairing: idol!chan x lawyer!reader. youngerbrother!seungmin.

genre: f2l. slow burn. angst (lots of it). fluff. (un)requited love. forced proximity. law/corruption sub-plot.

warnings: parental loss. grief. self-depreciating thoughts. suicidal thoughts. reader has she/her pronouns. this is a work of fiction. the actions and timeline depicted in the story don’t represent the idols in real life.

word count: 25.7k.

You are ashamed, even in the privacy of your thoughts, of this longing, of this sharp ache. For even thinking, daring to dream of a world where you could behold his warm hands into your butchered ones. Where he’d let you. Where you’d let yourself.

It feels like death to think of Chan, it feels like living too.

a.n: she’s finally here!!!! i haven’t written for chris in such a long time and i’m so grateful to @kayleefriedchicken for commissioning this fic :,) it spiraled and i took some creative liberties that’s why it’s so long now LMAO but i hope you’ll enjoy reading!!!! i challenged myself writing this, it is a bit different from my other fics. much heavier too. but i’m slowly finding a writing structure i truly enjoy. i love you all 🤍 thank you for waiting for me

They say that smells are little vessels of memories, wrapping themselves around moments in time. When a certain scent floats by you, it doesn’t graze your shoulder like a stranger in the streets, never to be seen again.

No, smells seize you by the wrist, their nails sinking deep into the softness of your skin. Scents do not pass. They pull. They lead you into the locked corridors of your mind, to places you thought had crumbled into dust, memories buried seven feet under by the weight of years.

You smell rust.

Many may not recognize it, most might not even notice it. But you do. The scent of rust is etched into your nostrils, carved along your nerve endings, again and again. It smells earthy, metallic, sharp—like blood smeared on your tongue against your will.

As everything in your life has ever been.

Every orphanage you lived in reeked of rust. It seeped into the walls, staining them beneath layers of pale, lifeless paint. It curled into the battered beds and damp linens. You tried to pinch your nose shut at night, suffocating against the foul scent. But rust was patient. Rust had time. And so, naturally, rust always won.

It was a cruel smell at that— the scent of things stolen— childhood, innocence, soft mornings, your very ability to dream.

You were ten years old when both your parents died in a tragic accident. A drunk driver slammed into their car and made it combust into flames. He was quickly caught and cast into prison. But what did that serve you? Your parents were gone. What respite would this semblance of justice bring you?

That part of your life remains hazy since there was no room to mourn, only movement, hands ushering you from one orphanage to another. Each time the walls could no longer contain any more children. Any more grief.

And you were only ten.

But Seungmin was only six.

Your brother didn’t understand what was happening. Why did he have to leave his shiny toys and Pochacco-themed bed behind? He cried at night for your parents, his wails cresting and receding like waves against a fragile shore.

Sometimes, he cried so fiercely that no one could calm him—not even you. You would leave him to sob until exhaustion claimed him. You envied him, in a way. Sleep refused to visit you. You were sentenced to lay awake instead, burdened by responsibilities too heavy for your small hands. Yet, when you glanced at Seungmin’s resting form, the ache in your chest eased, just slightly. If he could rest, that was enough.

You didn’t know it then, but this thought would become the basis of your entire life. You’d give and give, tear at your own flesh if it meant Seungmin would remain intact and safe.

The first orphanage was small. Twenty beds crammed together in a single room. It was a temporary holding place while the city council decided your fate. Orphans, you realized, were like misplaced luggage—tagged and eagerly discarded, waiting for someone, anyone, to claim them.

The second orphanage was somewhat worse. There were a hundred beds this time, a larger playground, warmer food. But the older kids were cruel. That’s what you remember. Rust and cruelty, entwined.

They shoved you hard against the ground on your first night there. And then, they turned to Seungmin. The moment their hands reached for him, something primal surged within you—a burning, blistering rage as if your very being was dipped into scalding water. You lashed out, punching the nose of one of the older boys. Blood. Yours, his, theirs. It all blurred together.

Then, punishment quickly followed: no more dinner for three days.

Seungmin didn’t understand. He tugged at your sleeve, crying that he was hungry late at night. That’s when you decided it was better to endure in silence. To take the blows, as long as your brother could eat.

By thirteen, you arrived at Promise Orphanage. Your hand trembled in Seungmin’s grip as Miss Jeeho introduced you both. Forty-four pairs of eyes bore into you, gliding over the faint bruises that painted your arms like ink stains.

You braced yourself for the worst. But then, a girl stepped forward, her hair a messy halo around her face. Her smile was wide, her eyes bright despite the dust coating her skin. She held out her hand, and you noticed how rough and calloused it was for her age. How warm it was too.

“I’m Winter,” she said, her voice soft.

You blinked at the odd name, then nodded. Later, you would learn she had been abandoned as a newborn, left nameless at the orphanage’s doorstep. It was a cold night when the workers found her, with heavy snow. It was surprising she didn’t pass from pneumonia.

Winter chose her name after the season she was born, since her parents didn’t bother to do so for her.

You came to realize that in these walls, even something as mundane as a name was a privilege, something the world could simply not grant you at birth.

“I’m Y/n, and this is Seungmin,” you replied, gripping your brother’s clammy hand. There was steel in your voice as you said his name, ensuring everyone knew he wasn’t to be touched.

But the other children simply smiled at you, and you tried to smile back. Though it came out much more like a grimace. Smiling felt foreign to you, like a muscle long unused.

Promise Orphanage then became your home for five long years. The children were kinder, their grins did not sharpen into unkind hands. Your bed was slightly bigger. You got gifts for your birthday and cake on New Year’s. You always gave yours to Seungmin— the better toys, the bigger slices, the softest pillows. You hoped it would make him feel better, even for a second.

But rust remained.

It followed you when you turned eighteen, into your first apartment. A single room, smaller than your childhood kitchen. But it was enough. Enough to build a life for Seungmin, to earn his custody, to gift him the privilege of dreaming.

Though even then, when Seungmin laughed, when he sang with Winter, when you had enough warm showers to forget the cold of the orphanage, you wondered if other people could still smell the rust like you did.

Perhaps it was your mind’s way of reminding you that, even if you shut your eyes so tightly that colors bloomed behind your eyelids— even if you thought hard enough of your summer home and salt-kissed winds, if you strained to hear your parents’ airy laughter calling you to dinner— this was not home.

It never could be.

“Y/n?”

Han’s voice slips through the fog of your memories, bright and familiar. You blink, the haze receding like chimney smoke to find him leaning casually against the doorframe.

He’s the first one out of the stylist’s room, his hair falls in soft waves over his forehead, and silver dust coats his eyes, catching the overhead lights like scattered stars.

“Hey, Han,” you greet, pulling him into a brief hug.

His grin is as easy as ever—warm and full of mischief. “Like the makeup?”

“It’s perfect,” you reply, poking his rosy cheeks.

“The boys are still getting ready,” he says, falling in step beside you as you walk toward the waiting room. Shelves stacked with instant noodles, water bottles, chips, and candy stare back at you.

“Figured.”

Your gaze flickers to the jelly candies, and you smile. You can already picture Hyunjin diving for them first and Seungmin scolding him for his sugar intake.

Jiho, the manager, greets you with a nod, and you return the gesture.

“You seemed far away just now,” Han notes, twisting the cap off a water bottle.

You exhale slowly. “The vents smell like rust. This whole place can quickly turn into a safety hazard. That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

Han gasps in mock horror, clutching his chest. “Why is it that every time you talk about law, I feel like I’m about to be sued?”

You swat his arm, giggling at his theatrics, before pinching his forearm lightly.

“Hey—“ he yelps and you narrow your eyes at him.

“I should actually sue you for not visiting my new office though,” you point out, doing a neck-slicing motion with your hand.

“Okay, creepy. AND, for my defense, I sent you that fruit basket, didn’t I? Been busy writing songs. You know how it is when inspiration strikes me.”

You do.

It tugs at a distant summer, long days spent on the coast of Jeju Island alongside the boys, to celebrate your first successful case. Han locked away with his notebook while the sea breeze knocked at his window. He only joined you once he had finished writing the lyrics of two new songs. Some of your favorites too, at that.

“There she is! You’re smiling,” Han says, poking your cheek.

“Just remembering our trip.”

He sighs dreamily, before slinging his arm around your shoulders. “Best summer ever. Next time, the vacation’s on me. Pinky promise.”

Your smile softens, warmth pooling within the cracks of your heart.

Han was angry once, when you had first met him. Just like you. But where his anger burned bright, yours hid beneath the surface, smoldering slowly. But time softened his edges. You wonder if the same could ever be said for you.

“You’re here,” Seungmin appears suddenly, peeling Han’s arm away from your shoulder with a scowl. Han retaliates by blowing you an overly exaggerated kiss before wandering toward the vending machine.

“I finished up the case early,” you explain.

Seungmin’s gaze narrows slightly, scanning the lines of your outfit.

“And why are you so dressed up?”

“Can’t a sister look nice for her favorite brother’s first sold-out concert at the Kyocera Dome?” you tease, clasping your hands.

Jiho snorts from his seat. Traitor.

“I’m your only brother, and we both know you’re lying,” Seungmin deadpans.

It’s endearing—the way he shields you from heartbreak as if he hasn’t spent his whole life beneath the cover of your arms.

It’s foolish too— as if you still have a heart that beats hard enough to love, then to break.

“Fine. I have a date after the show.”

“With who?” Hyunjin’s voice drifts in as he steps into the hallway, Changbin trailing closely behind.

You smile. “Jaehyun.”

Seungmin pinches the bridge of his nose. “You know I don’t love him.”

“And who said I do?” you ask, a sly smile tugging at your lips.

“Then why do you still meet up with him?”

“Because he’s fun. And I like spending my time with fun people.”

Changbin leans in, grinning wide. “I’m fun too. Why not date me?”

He drapes his arm over your shoulder, and Seungmin groans, pretending to smash his head against the wall repeatedly.

“Alright, alright, stop the flirting,” you laugh, shaking your head. “I fear you’ll end up killing my brother.”

Seungmin pouts, and you laugh softly, pulling him in for a tight embrace. “Look at you, performing in such a big arena,” the words suddenly catch in your throat, a silky rope tightly binding the syllables together. “You know that I’m proud of you, right?”

You smile, and Seungmin holds you a little closer.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Thank you for coming. I really wanted you here.”

You clear your throat, stepping back with a playful flick to his arm. “I’ll see you after the show. Say hi to the rest of the boys for me.”

“You’ll do great,” you add, and his smile softens like sunlight melting across the sea.

His voice follows you down the hall. “We’re still talking about this date later, though!”

“Seungmin loves acting as if she isn’t older than him—” Swat.

—

There is one peculiar emotion that always beats within your heart at your brother’s concert halls. It is warm, like beholding a glowing sun within the empty hollows of your ribcage. It swells and swells, spreading within your being like paint spilled on canvas— soaking your heart in wildflower hues.

You feel relieved to see your brother and his friends so loved. You sense it in the cacophony of cheers, in the misty eyes of all the fans surrounding you. You know that the boys can feel it too. In the shaking of their voices as they take turns saying their ending ments. It is a monumental moment for them, something they only dared dream of back when they were still trainees and you had to sneak snacks into their dorm.

It is Seungmin’s turn to speak. His shaking hand barely manages to hold the mic. Seungmin doesn’t cry as often as before. Never in front of you anymore. He suddenly stopped once he turned fifteen, as if he had made a vow to himself, to lift off some of his worries off your burdened spine.

But tonight, unmistakable tears gather at the edges of his eyes, glinting like faraway constellations.

He tilts his head toward the sky, and you wonder who these words are really addressed to.

Deep down you already know the answer to this.

“My sister is here tonight,” he starts and tears glisten in your eyes, all of the sudden. “If I’m here today it’s all thanks to her, so I– I hope you’re proud of me,” he says, voice tight, breaking. But he still speaks. “You know, I… I don’t believe in forever—” his lips tremble like leaves at the mercy of autumn winds. A faint ringing surges through your ears, muffling the sound of everything until only his sharp words remain. “But just at this moment, being with the members and everyone who stood by our side, I— I want to believe in eternity with you.”

The crowd roars at his words. Cameras flash everywhere. The boys quickly move forward to wrap Seungmin in their arms.

But you’re not here anymore.

You’re somewhere quieter. Smaller. Somewhere dimly lit by flickering hallway lights and hushed whispers past curfew.

Your hands shake, pressing into your thighs as if their weight might ground you. But the cold creeps in anyway, walking alongside your veins, settling into your heart like an old companion.

—

He was eight.

His hair stuck to his forehead in damp curls, and the faint glow of the moon reflected onto his eyes like a gleaming water surface.

You remember smoothing his bangs away, tucking him beneath a worn blanket that didn’t quite reach his toes. He didn’t mind. Seungmin never minded the small things.

“Did you make a wish?” you whispered. It was his birthday. Birthdays never got easier for Seungmin, nor for you. Most days you were just pretending— that you knew what you were doing, that your knees were strong enough to hold you upright. Pretending that you had what it takes to protect your brother when you, yourself, were in desperate need of protection.

How do you salvage innocence in halls that spell out loss and grief at every turn? How do you make a birthday a happy memory in such a terrible place ?

Seungmin blinked up at you as his small hand curled around your fingers.

“I said that I want to see mommy and daddy again.”

The air had thickened then, and the knot in your throat twisted so tight it left no room for you to breathe.

You forced on a smile anyway. “You will,” you promised, voice soft but unsteady. “Soon.”

He paused, blinking slowly.

“What’s forever?”

The question felt like a swinging pendulum suddenly came to a halt— Seungmin’s innocence slipping away from your shaky grasp.

“Why do you ask?”

“I told Gyuvin I’ll see our parents soon. But he said that you lied, and it will take forever until then.”

Your chest tightened. You knew Gyuvin had a mean streak—sharp edges chiseled by loneliness and unspoken grief. You never held it against him. He was only eight too.

Still.

“He’s joking, Seungminnie,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “Forever just means something that doesn’t end. Like numbers. Numbers don’t end, right?”

He thought for a moment, lips pressing into a pout.

“Would you like to believe in forever?” you asked, teasing gently.

“No,” he said quietly, “Because then I’ll be sad for a very long time. I want the time to pass quickly.”

Oh.

Seungmin drifted off not long after, his breaths soft and even. But you stayed awake—long enough for the world outside to fall silent. Long enough to bury your face in the pillow, stifling the sobs that trembled past your chapped lips.

Seungmin was only nine.

But you were only thirteen.

And you missed your parents, so terribly so. You wished your mom was there, combing your hair with fingers that seemed to be made up of silk. You wished you could press your ear to her chest and listen to her heartbeat, breathe it in, soak in the love that the sound seemed to spell out for you.

You wished your dad was here, holding your hand in his much larger, weathered down one— rivulets of age running between his knuckles. You wished he’d carry you once more on his shoulders, tall enough for you to reach out to the stars, to foolishly believe you’d be able to graze them with your fingertips. You wished they were still here. You hated them for being gone. You hated yourself for hating them, even for a millisecond. For allowing the thought to filter through the endless void that constitutes your mind.

You thought of what it’d be like to float atop the sea near your home. Of letting the waves carry you deep into the darkness of the water. Of sinking deep enough that you wouldn’t feel anything anymore. You couldn’t bear it. You couldn’t bear having a heart that kept demanding you to live. It felt like a curse, like every heartbeat spelled out horrible truths for you. You wished for it to stop. All of it. All of you.

—

“Yah, Y/n why aren’t you smiling?” Changbin nearly shouts in your face and you and Jeongin scurry away on cue, cradling your ears at his loud voice.

You plaster a smile on your face, force the corners of your mouth to tug forward— “Because! You’re all sweaty and pressing onto me,” you say, and a cacophony of protests erupts all at once— “this is the sweat of hard work”, “but our sweat smells nice though!”, a groan, “that’s just you Hyunjin.”

Your yelp as a hand suddenly wraps around your wrist, Felix’s, pulling into the middle for a group hug.

“Stop, your sweat will rub off of me!” Your high-pitched shriek causes all of them to back off on cue, giggling loudly.

You don’t give yourself a second to breathe, afraid that your mask will slip away quicker than you can stop it. You take advantage of the commotion to kiss Seungmin’s cheek quickly, avoiding his gaze as you run off to the entrance. “You all did well! I’ll have to go now! My date is waiting!”

You don’t leave him time to respond as you scurry away, leaving the backstage. You can feel the oxygen settle like stones into the pit of your heart, weighing the rushing of your blood down. It takes you excruciatingly long to breathe. Being here suffocates you all of a sudden.

You remember your wish, for the waves to carry you away into whichever place they rest in. What a violent thing for a thirteen-year-old to wish for. What a violent thing to still seek now deep into your twenties. You felt guilty. To be surrounded by many people who love you and yet to not feel loved.

You’re almost outside when a warm hand curls around your wrist.

“Seungmin, I told you I’m—” you turn around expecting to see your little brother’s gaze, full of mischief, full of affection, only to be met with Chan’s worried one. Your retort dies on the tip of your tongue, like a deflating balloon. You try your hardest to plaster a smile on your face but it comes off like a grimace. Chan’s frown only deepens further.

“I—” you think of something quick to say, to get his scrutinizing gaze off of you. You can predict the question forming, swirling his mind, you already know which way this conversation will head. But all your thoughts seem to melt, your mind unable to conjure something to save your facade.

Your phone suddenly rings, Jaehyun’s name lighting up the screen. You go to reply when Chan grabs the phone away from your hands, silencing the call.

“What’s wrong?” he finally asks and it feels as if the walls are closing on you once more. You can hear the waves thrashing around, calling. “And don’t say you’re just feeling emotional because we made it so far.”

You chuckle faintly. You know it’s no use lying to Chan, of all people. “Jaehyun is calling again,” you point to your lit-up screen, and his lips press into a flat line, rejecting the call.

“Cancel your date,” he cocks a perfectly shaped eyebrow at you, “you know you have the most fun hanging out with me”.

“Alright, Mr. Cocky,” your heart is heavy as you attempt to smile at him, as if you’re forcing it to perform something it does not wish to, to pump blood for an action as meaningless as smiling. What purpose does it really serve if you are not happy? “I'm not in the mood for you to psychoanalyze me, though.”

“I won't,” his eyes soften as he takes one step closer to you. “We'll go on a drive okay, like old times?”

What is the point of pressing ice to a third-degree burn? Nothing, if not a fleeting respite, to close your eyes and pretend as if the burn would come undone, to soothe the fire only for it to barge in again. With a vengeance. Stronger. Harsher.

That is what being next to Chan is like to you.

“Fine,” you concede, though. Because you despise worrying people. You despise worrying Chan mostly. “I don’t want Seungmin to know though.”

“Don’t worry,” he smiles as he hands you back your phone, his thumb brushing your wrist for a second before he walks back. “I’ll come to your car, alright? Wait for me.”

—

It was a late summer night when Chan first discovered his love for music. He was only five, the air fragrant with the sweetness of strawberries and the tang of lemon zest. His curls were damp, clinging to his forehead from how hard he played with the neighborhood kids. The glass of water his mother handed him felt like the sweetest reprieve against his parched throat. Because Chan was happy, a joy so vivid it seemed to have taken roots within his veins, blooming into gleaming eyes and a smile so vast it could mend every crack in the universe.

He didn’t know it then, but there was a beautiful carelessness in the way he dashed outside, barefoot and giggling to order ice cream from the vendor near his house. Vanilla and bubblegum. In the way he did not use a spoon, instead licking the ice cream directly from the cone, as the sun melted it into rivers of sweetness that coated his fingers, leaving them sticky and fragrant. In the way he paid no mind to the earth clinging to his shorts, the sweat glistening on his face, or the syrupy mess on his hands. Because his happiness was so full he was bursting at the seams with it.

Because he was still a child, and children did not care for perfection. Children did not see the world through a lens that sought out every flaw— Chan did not learn yet how to turn that lens inward, harsher as he aimed it at himself.

His dad had brought him a ukulele, gently placing it into Chan’s small hands. The notes stumbled out, clumsy and wrong at first, as if their melody were caught in the strings, hesitant to be set free. It took a few tries for Chan to untangle them, but he didn’t mind. Because within these notes he found a new kind of joy—one that seemed to amplify his racing heartbeat, spilling into the room and filling it with the decadent taste of happiness.

It was a late autumn night when Chan first hated himself.

It was a particularly exhausting training day, the kind that left Chan barely upright as he walked down the stairs, his legs shaking with every step. He couldn’t bring himself to head back to the cramped dorms just yet, nor did he want to speak to anyone. Or rather, he no longer knew how to talk to anyone anymore. How could he make futile small talk when his soul was seized by a terrible longing, one that lingered bitterly on his tongue like the cough syrup he used to drink as a child?

See, how could he explain to anyone that he even missed that—the syrup, the warmth of his home, the pieces of a life that now felt as if they belonged to somebody other than him. He felt as if the wound only grew larger each day, spreading farther into his ribcage, infesting every part of his heart—every vein, every molecule—tainting them with the blueish colors of sorrow and ache.

Chan had found a quiet spot by the Han River, tucked far from prying eyes, his shoulders slouched under the weight of nostalgia, not the sweet one, rather, the one that felt like pine needles digging into his skin, at once. He liked it here—if he closed his eyes long enough he’d pretend the salty air was Australia’s breeze. He missed the wind there and how it ruffled his hair like an old friend. He missed his father’s grilled meat, his mother’s lemonade, his sister’s shenanigans. He missed his dog.

Would Berry even remember him now? Has it been too long?

It had.

The thought stung sharper than he expected. Was it all for nothing then? Does Berry not remember him for nothing?

Sometimes, it only takes one second for the world to shift off its axis, for the seconds to march forward but for you to remain stranded in the past. It took Chan this single question to break apart. It was as if someone had driven their fist into his chest, their claws digging deep, twisting around his heart until it felt on the brink of bursting— an ugly eruption of crimson, staining the blissful river with its bloodied ache.

What is wrong with me? He’s been asking himself the same question ever since.

It was a late winter night when Chan saw you for the very first time.

He was seventeen, shackles of self-doubt and insecurity wrapped around his ankles, digging deeper into his flesh with each year spent farther from his dream. Chan hated looking at his reflection in the mirror. He hated thinking of home. He avoided thinking of the future, of who he was, of who he hoped to become. Sometimes, he wished his mind could just go quiet. The voices were very loud and very mean.

Yet, unbeknownst to him, there were fragile blossoms of hope that fought to flourish in his chest, tentative, frail, since they grew in barren soil that didn’t quite believe in meeting the sun once more. But they were there.

Because Chan wasn’t alone anymore. Jisung joined him first, a kid with a passion that burns so fiercely it scathes his own heart at times. Then Jeongin, a voice singing of a reverence that shook Chan to his core. Hyunjin, who saw in dancing a form of salvation. Changbin, the missing golden piece to complete the infamous 3RACHA.

And then Seungmin.

It was through Seungmin that Chan saw you.

You had just dropped off Seungmin at the trainee dorms, bags full of homemade food in his hands. You hugged him tightly as he waved you off before disappearing into the building. And then, as soon as Seungmin was out of sight, Chan saw you collapse against the wall, your body wracked by cruel sobs. Cruel, because it was winter, and he knew that crying during the cold was somewhat harsher on the soul. You can’t cling to blooming flowers, to warm sun rays, to anything beautiful to ease your pain.

Cruel, because he recognized himself in you. In the way you rushed to hide your tears, wiping them away with your sleeves so that no one would see you. As if you were not deserving of this moment of weakness. As if you were not deserving of being human too.

“Do you still pick at your nails?” Chan asks, glancing at your figure as the light turns red. “Can’t give up bad habits?”

“You’re the last one to talk about bad habits, Mr. Never Sleeps.”

“Touché,” he chuckles, and you shake your head, the faintest smile lingering on your lips.

The seasons passed, and Chan’s fragmented heart had somehow found itself pieced together again—not to its original form. That would be a fool’s hope. People noticed the external changes—the different hues of his hair, how his muscles grew more chiseled with time—but they couldn’t see how pain and self-doubt had altered him, down to the very molecules of his being.

Because pain doesn’t pass like an angry cloud, casting a dark shadow only to drift away. That would be too kind, too merciful for emotions forged to drain you dry. No, it breaks you, reshapes you, molds you with the thorns in its calloused hands. It forces you to relearn who you are, how to breathe, where to stand, how to cling to the fragile thread that keeps you from stumbling back into the darkness.

The heart Chan carries isn’t his own anymore. It belongs mostly to sorrow now. But it still beats.

And so it did. And that winter passed, and so did spring. Then summer came, and fall returned once more.

And the years went by, and Chan blinked, and suddenly it had been ten years since he first saw you. And yet, it felt as though you remained stuck in winter. Because you did not have anyone’s hand to hold, warm enough to make you believe that summer would come again.

“Is this about Seungmin?” Chan asks softly, his fingernails drumming absentmindedly against the steering wheel.

“No, yes—I… I don’t know,” you sigh in exasperation, and he nods, turning his head to glance at you.

You first went on a night walk with Chan when you were still a law student, and his group had just debuted. Your apartment was under renovation, so you had to stay in the boys’ dorm for a few days. It was late into the night, with both of you the only ones still awake, working through your respective tasks in silence. He had offered to go for a walk, and you had accepted.

Neither of you spoke. Chan pretended not to see the stray tears that silently slipped down your cheeks, with no previous warning. He wondered what had weighed on your heart so heavily that it searched desperately for any moment of solitude to escape.

Your eyes are distant now, glazed over as if your mind has carried you to a place where the sun never rises. You bring your hand to your mouth once more, but Chan gently pushes it away, cradling your fingers in his palm.

He has to pretend that the sensation of your hand in his doesn’t feel like a thunderbolt—a surge of electricity that shoots up from the tips of his toes, swirling deep into his chest and settling into warmth in his stomach.

“It will bleed, and then you’ll come whining because it hurts,” he jokes, though his heart pounds in his throat, threatening to choke him.

“When did I do that?” you exclaim, but you don’t pull your hand away.

Your hand is in his.

Your hand is in his.

Your hand is in his.

“Besides,” you say, your fingers slipping from his grasp to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “You know I’m the last person to ever whine.”

Was it normal to still feel your hand on his? For his hand to memorize the warmth of yours so quickly? As if it had been thirsty, like a man astray in the desert, longing for what a drop of water would feel against his parched throat.

“Yeah, you should do that more often, actually,” he chastises softly. You exhale a shuddered breath in response.

It feels like a lifetime before you speak again. “You heard Seungmin’s speech,” you say quietly, like a wounded animal, hesitant and wary of what approaching another human might bring, of what baring your heart might cost.

Chan wants to say: It is safe with me, I would shred my own heart if it meant keeping yours intact.

“Hard to miss, since I was on stage next to him,” he jokes, and you finally giggle—a real laugh, not the artificial ones you’ve been giving him. It feels like Australia’s breeze ruffling his hair, like he can finally breathe again.

“You know,” you say, your voice shifting to something gentler, “It reminded me of Seungmin when he was still young, discovering the concept of forever.” A bittersweet smile tugs at your lips. “Seungmin was short, pale, and so fragile that I was afraid the faintest wind would break him. You should’ve seen him. When he looked up at me, his eyes were wide, his irises pitch black, and they looked so trusting. He was an easy target for the kids who needed someone to blame, someone to pour their anger into, to soothe their bruised hearts. There was no one else to punish. Too much injustice, and no respite.”

Chan’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. To think of such sad times for both you and him. Should he rewrite the march of time, he would have forced the universe to make him your friend, to entwine your hand in his, to stop the cold from making a home within the pathways of your heart.

“I remember when I first saw him. He was very shy. Like he didn’t quite know how to carry himself yet. But he ranked second in the open audition.”

“He did,” you smile. It’s a bit different from all your grins. You’re always different when it comes to Seungmin—softer, bursting with pride.

“And…” Chan trails off, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, a wide smile tugging at his lips. “I remember you.”

“Oh, please, no,” you hide your face in your palms. “That’s so embarrassing.”

Chan chuckles softly, but in his heart, he remembers your first encounter with such clarity. He had found you many things—beautiful, brave, human. ‘Embarrassing’ had never been an adjective that crossed his mind when it came to you.

He remembers.

“Here,” Chan handed you a handkerchief, and you looked up at him, a frown deepening in your eyes. Time had somehow stilled then. The seconds felt like years passing on Chan. The cold seemed to dissipate, his heart emanating a warmth he hadn’t known before. Everywhere. Consuming him.

You blinked, and time resumed, and yet Chan was changed.

“Thank you,” you said tentatively. “Something got into my eye.” You attempted to explain, and he simply nodded, humoring you.

“I figured. There’s a lot of dust around here. From the trees and all,” He cringed internally, realizing how silly that sounded. So, he fell into silence, as did you, both of you just looking at each other. Chan had never felt this way before. He ached to ask you what was wrong, if he could do anything to alleviate your pain. If you too would like to break near Han River with him.

“I’m Chan. Bang Chan. Christopher, actually. But you can call me Chan.”

You had giggled then, and his ears burned so fiercely he was sure they were a shade of fuchsia, bright and loud. The sound was melodious, like notes strung along a flute just right. Soothing and warm. He loved your laugh. He wished his piano could recreate it. He wished he could save it so he could dance to it later.

“Alright, Christopher Actually Chan,” you smiled, and his cheeks flared a shade brighter. He silently prayed you’d account for the harsh winds that wrapped around you both.

“And I know you, actually,” you continued.

His eyes widened in surprise, and you chuckled softly at his reaction. He liked making you laugh. He liked it so much he’d make a fool out of himself if he needed to. “I’m not a stalker, Kim Seungmin told me about you. He’s my brother.”

“Right,” Chan responded, his usual confidence slipping for just a moment. He was never awkward—social prowess was one of his greatest strengths. Still, with you, all semblance of normal interaction vanished. There was something in your gaze, something so beautifully haunting, like the sight of tree branches in autumn. Something that once was whole, now stripped bare, yet still captivating in its vulnerability. It made him wonder if beauty like this could ever be captured in music.

“I’m Y/n, by the way,” you bowed slightly, before quickly turning and walking away. Chan watched, breath hitched in his throat, as you paused, and then as if pulled by some invisible thread, you turned back to him.

Without a word, you grabbed his hand, gently placing something within his palm.

A cherry lollipop.

“As a thank you,” you said, a bit sheepishly, eyes still puffy from the sobs that kept you prisoner just a few moments ago. “Ah, and, you better debut with my brother!”

You pointed at him, and in that moment, a grin broke through your face—one so radiant, so full of life, he wondered if this was what witnessing the first sunset felt like to humans. A beauty so grand, so overwhelming, he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

Chan’s fate was sealed right then and there—he would spend the next ten years chasing after your smile, no matter how foolish it seemed.

For one would ask, what’s a drop of white against a sea of black? What use are cherries’ scent before the stench of sorrow? And the answer would always be everything. Everything, if it’s you.

Chan clears his throat, settling on the least incriminating adjective of the bunch. “You were brave, Cherry. You still are.”

“You think too highly of me,” you snort.

“I think of you just right, actually.”

You are nearly home when, out of nowhere, you speak. “What if I told you I’m terrified?” The words rush out, as though you are afraid they’d die in your throat before they could reach him.

Chan’s heart tightens in worry. He parks hastily in front of your place, the engine still humming as he turns to face you, you who’s like a Russian doll—layer upon layer of your soul wrapped carefully, each one guarding the other.

“Why?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper, thick with concern.

“I didn’t want to tell Seungmin,” you begin, pausing to bite your lower lip. “He’d be heartbroken... I know him, I—” you falter, your voice cracking just slightly. “My new case... It's about Promise Orphanage. They want to tear it down to build a luxury apartment complex. A fucking billionaire’s investment, with pools and golf courses.”

“Sun Corporation,” you explain, “it’s owned by the son of Gyeongdo Holdings’ CEO. They’ve been harassing Miss Jeeho for two months now because she refuses to desert the orphanage. It’s a mess, Chan.” you’re angry, he can feel it, the rage burning bright right beneath your skin.

“The city council caved in and granted them a permit because the land belongs to the state and this project apparently serves public interest, but that’s bullshit. Who would benefit from this other than billionaires?” you bite your lower lip, sucking in a deep breath. “I told you Winter became the vice director of the orphanage, right? She just learned about this and told me. They’re offering compensation but I’ve dealt with those kinds of people. They’re greedy. They’re corrupt.”

“I couldn’t turn my back on it,” you whisper. “I had to take the case. Those kids… they’ll have nowhere to go. And I know how cold it feels, how brutal it is when you lose your family and still have to look for someplace to call home.”

Your eyes glisten, tears clinging to the edge like dew on a leaf, only to be blinked away before they fall. How much does it cost your soul to bear this weight? How much longer until you fracture—like a pomegranate violently split open, bits of your soul scattering out in splatters of raw scarlet.

Chan’s palm finds your knee, squeezing it gently. “You’re worried they’ll end up forgetting about the orphanage and not building a new one?”

“Yeah. They did this before. I checked the civil files. They built over a nursing home and never gave them proper compensation, paid hush money to the owner to keep them from suing. What if I can’t stop them? This is all those kids have. This is all Winter has. Miss Jeeho too.”

“They won’t. you’ll stop them. I know you will, Cherry, alright?” he says with all the sincerity he can muster. You seem dubitative and he sighs, reaching out to hold your cold hands. Please warm up.

“You will, okay? I have no doubt you will,” he repeats with a fire that seems to light you up. A sudden light reflects off the broken shards of your heart.

“I will.”

—

Chan: you up?

Your phone lights up, distracting you from the mountain of paperwork scattered across your desk.

Y/n: What a fuck boyish text

Chan: akldkdkd so you’re definitely up

Y/n: I’m working on the case :(

Chan: open up!! i have snacks

You blink at the message, confused, before padding to the door. When you open it, Chan stands there, a wide grin stretching across his face. He’s wearing a grey varsity jacket that drapes across his broad shoulders perfectly, and a blue navy cap. You still don’t understand why he rarely allows his curls to see the light.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“I got bored alone in the studio,” he shrugs casually. “So I thought I’d drop by.”

“Drop by?” you repeat, laughing softly. “Your studio is on the other side of town.”

“Okay, I guess you don’t want fish cake and tteokbokki—”

“Come back,” you interrupt, wrapping your hand around his forearm and tugging him inside. His body is warm, and it is only then do you realize just how cold your apartment truly is.

“It’s a mess, I’m sorry,” you apologize, glancing at the dirty plates in the sink and the papers all over the desk, and the floor, and the couch too.

“Need me to tidy up again?” he teases, grinning as he steps inside.

You swat his arm, rolling your eyes. “You did it once because I was bedridden, and Seungmin was in Japan for a schedule.”

“I don’t mind, Cherry,” he says softly, setting the food down on your coffee table. His gaze flickers to yours. “I’d do it even if you weren’t sick, you know.”

Chan has a habit of saying things that send your heart into a slow, painful thrum—one long pulse that stretches endlessly, forcing you to acknowledge its existence. But, as always, you avoid it. You never allow yourself to question the warmth that only blooms when he’s near.

You both sit cross-legged on the living room floor, the spicy scent of tteokbokki wafting between you. For a while, the only sound heard in the apartment is the soft clink of chopsticks against takeout containers.

“Any updates on the case?” he asks.

You nod, running a hand through your hair. “I filed for an injunction,” you say, sighing deeply. “Trying to stop the demolition for now, at least until I figure out what to do next. The city council is ridiculous.They keep saying this is for the public benefit, but how is that true? Who benefits from luxury penthouses except rich assholes? And because the orphanage is on state land, they think they can just sell it off like it’s nothing.”

Chan’s eyes have been tracking each one of your words intently, drinking in every syllable that drips from your mouth. He has long thought your calling was law, there is a certain logic in you, a peculiar fire that burns in your core that seems inherent to this job. Though oftentimes he wonders if this is truly what you’ve always wanted. Had you been raised in your home would you have turned out differently? Would you like to pursue something else? Would you sing like Seungmin too?

“I’m trying to figure out who’s behind those apartment deals. Jaehyun’s helping me track it down.”

Chan’s eyes darken, like a storm has gathered within his irises. He doesn’t realize his jaw is ticking. You do. You pretend as if you don’t notice.

“Jaehyun… are you guys together yet?” Chan asks, and your heart pauses at the change in conversation. You shake your head. “Hm? No. We’re just friends.” you say between bites.

“You go on dates with your friends?” he chuckles, but there is nothing funny in the sound. His eyes don’t morph into crescents, his dimples refuse to show.

“You know, we’re just messing around, or whatever,” you quickly say.

“Right.”

Chan remembers the moment with striking clarity—when you first mentioned Jaehyun. You were both at a hotpot restaurant, the steam from the bubbling broth curling around you.

You had said his name casually, A journalist you’d met at one of the court hearings, someone with the same fiery passion for justice that you had. He was annoying, you’d said, always bothering you with his questions, his relentless pursuit of truth. But there was something else in your voice when you spoke of him—something new, something soft and fond that made Chan’s chest tighten.

“Anyways, he’s friends with one of the junior employees in the city council,” you continue, voice tinged with frustration. “So he’s been trying to convince him to help us out.”

“An insider,” Chan says absently, his voice flat, like the surface of a pond long undisturbed by pebbles. He’s thinking, how long is it acceptable to harbor a crush on someone? Three months? Six? A year? What if Chan’s been carrying this weight for ten years? 3650 days spent thinking of you, chasing the shadow of your image away from his eyelids at night, yet always yearning for a dream where all he’d glimpse is you.

What if bile rises in his throat at the thought of Jaehyun so close to you, his fingers tracing the lines of your lips, memorizing the shape of your body, the rise and fall of your chest as you sleep? What if he cannot bear it, cannot stand the thought of anyone else knowing you in ways he never will?

You sigh, fingers digging into your temple as the weight of your exhaustion becomes tangible. “It’s tiring, Chan,” you admit as your forehead rests against your knees. Chan feels something shift inside him—a peculiar ache that only surfaces when you are in pain.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his hand hovering above your back before it settles there. He slowly pats your back, dragging his nails along your spine. It’s very quiet all of the sudden, a calm that only manifests when two souls, not bodies, are sitting by one another. You lean into his touch, your body angling towards him like a sunflower tilting towards the sun.

“Do you remember when the possibility of us debuting became very high?” he says and you nod, resting your cheek against your knee to look up at him. His hand doesn’t stop caressing your back. You don’t wish for it to.

“What is it with you and my most embarrassing memories?” you giggle quietly only to sober up at the sincerity you gather in his eyes. They are like pools of amber, the color of decadent chocolate, like the rich bark of trees kissed by sunlight.

“Everyone was out and I was the only one in the dorm.” He recounts the memory as if you weren’t there; as if he needed you to hear this, not as a participant but as an outsider. “And then you came knocking on my door, disheveled, looking like you hadn’t slept in days. You asked me, ‘Is it true? Are you debuting soon?’”

You close your eyes, the weight of that moment flooding you—how raw and real it was. You remember it vividly: the way his eyes met yours, like he had seen you for the first time right there and then.

“You were petrified. Because yes, you worked overtime to pay off Seungmin’s vocal lessons, you supported him so much his confidence never wavered, and yet, you were scared,” his words soften, and the pit in your throat tightens. You can’t speak even if you wish to.

“I said yes and you started crying. and I hadn’t seen you cry in three years. Not since the night we first met.” You remember his worried gaze, how he sank to the ground with you when your knees crumbled beneath you. He called you Cherry for the first time then, as if he had kept the nickname a secret, wishing to speak it outloud but never daring to. He did it because he thought back to your first meeting, and the cherry lollipop in your hand. You thought of it too.

“Seungmin,” you heaved, “please protect him, Chan, I— please, you have to protect him, please.”

“What’s wrong?” He panicked. “Talk to me Cherry, hm?”

“What if they are unkind to him? What if they somehow find out he’s an orphan and use that against him? He doesn’t like telling me anymore when it hurts. What if he’s hurt and he can’t tell me?”

His thumb swipes at the lone tear slipping from your eyes, gentle and warm. What if Chan is too kind to you? What if your heart wasn’t crafted to handle it?

“Then when all the boys came back ten minutes later you smiled as if nothing happened. I had seen you break down on the floor a few moments prior, and yet, you found the strength to smile, so as to not worry anyone, especially Seungmin.”

Chan’s heart throbs in his chest, the rhythm uneven and insistent. His voice wavers as his gaze locks with yours. Your eyes glimmer, like a river kissed by the summer sun, like stained glass basked in the light of a centuries old cathedral.

His palms cup your cheeks, tentative and gentle, akin to a flower breaking through the soil for the first time. “You are the strongest person I know,” he says, his voice soft, “The most hardworking, too. You care, so much, even when you try to hide it. It’s that passion that makes you the best at what you do. You’ll win this case, and every case after it, because you’re the one handling them.”

His thumb brushes against your skin. “And you believed in me when I said I’d protect Seungmin. So I believe in you, Cherry. Please believe in yourself too.”

You nod, over and over, like a broken record stuck on a single note. Before he can process it, your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him close. Your head finds its place in the crook of his neck, and for a fleeting second, he’s frozen, the world tilting off its axis. Then, slowly, his hands slide to your waist as he breathes you in—your shampoo, your favorite laundry detergent, the faint trace of cherry lingering on your skin like a memory of a distant summer.

“Thank you, Channie,” you whisper against his shoulder.

He nods, his voice muffled by the turmoil caging his heart. “You’re welcome, Cherry.”

For how long is it acceptable to love someone who doesn’t love you? Chan doesn’t know. He doesn’t really want an answer. Even a lifetime wouldn’t be a waste if it’s spent loving you.

—

“Three penthouses are already registered under different names,” Jaehyun tells you, handing over a couple of lease contracts. You’re seated in a small café near Promise Orphanage, waiting for Winter to join you. The junior employee in Sun Corp. has finally caved and handed over the registrants to Jaehyun—names of the people who have already secured luxury apartments, long before the project even saw light.

“Park Yuna, Lee Seo-Jun, and Choi Joon-Ho,” you read aloud, glancing up at Jaehyun, who’s already smirking.

“Park Yuna…” you pause, “isn’t she the wife of the city council president?”

“Bingo!” he exclaims, his arms wide open, head tipped back as a sinister giggle rips out of his throat.

“Oh gosh,” you cover your face as some customers turn to look at you. “This isn’t an action movie stop it.”

Jaehyun pouts as you swat his arm and you laugh despite yourself.

“Anyway, you’re right. She’s his wife. I also found out Seo-Jun and Joon-Ho are tied to prominent council members. Second cousin and son-in-law. They had their penthouses promised before the project was ever public.”

“They didn’t even register them under their names. Subtle,” you mutter, shaking your head.

“Yeah, I bet they weren’t even expecting Miss Jeeho to resist the compensation.”

You sigh, leaning back in your chair. “They think those kids are just pawns, something they can move around for their benefit. They don’t get that those children have nothing but each other and the comfort of a familiar bed.”

The conversation lulls. Jaehyun grows quiet as you stare holes into your coffee, swirling the caramel syrup into the dark liquid. But no amount of sweetness can mask the bitterness on your tongue—the bitter taste of injustice, of watching people prioritize their greed over others’ lives.

“We’ll gather more evidence of their corruption,” Jaehyun says eventually, his tone firm. “And when we do, we’ll confront them. They won’t risk this becoming public with so many global investors involved.”

You nod. “You’re right.”

He leans back in his chair, a teasing glint in his eyes. “By the way, why did you cancel on me two nights in a row?”

The question catches you off guard, and your mind drifts to last night: Chan showing up at your home, his comforting words, the warmth of his hand on your back, the scent of pinewood and cinnamon lingering in the air, the clean apartment you woke up to. Something stirs in your chest, warm and soft.

“Chan came over,” you admit.

Jaehyun whistles, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“Chan,” he says, drawing out the name.

“Mhm,” you reply, suddenly shy under his gaze.

“The man who calls you Cherry.”

“Yeah. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you’re so oblivious.”

“Agreed,” a familiar voice chimes in as Winter slides into the seat next to you. She presses a quick kiss to your cheek before sitting back with a knowing smile.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “This isn’t the subject of discussion,” you say pointedly, glaring at both of them.

You’re momentarily distracted by Winter’s appearance. Her cheeks are hollow, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion. She’s poured so much love back into the orphanage she grew up in. Losing it would destroy you both.

“That man likes her,” Winter says casually, sipping from your drink.

You glare at her. “No, he doesn’t. He’s my friend.”

Winter raises an eyebrow at you. “He always looks at you differently. His tone is softer when he talks to you.”

Your eyes drift away, thoughts pulling you back to last night—to how Chan stayed with you until dawn, watching awful dramas with you despite his packed schedule, simply because he was worried.

“What’s the point of him liking me if I can’t like him back?” you murmur, voice barely audible. “My heart isn’t made for this.”

“Have you ever given yourself a chance?” Jaehyun asks and you scoff.

“A chance for what? To hurt someone?” you reply, shaking your head. “I don’t know how to love. I never had the time to learn. I was too busy surviving. We were,” you say glancing at Winter who averts her gaze.

This suddenly felt like a conversation too grim to have in the open. To speak of how your heart has been morphed into a cowardly being, shrinking at the simple thought of being looked at. What would anyone behold anyways? If not an organ that’s too battered, too bloody, unworthy of being seen, let alone to be loved.

“Anyway,” you say, forcing your voice to steady, “Can you set me up a meeting with that employee? We need more insider evidence and he’s the only one who can help us. I’d like to talk to him alone.”

“Yeah, I’ll try to convince him,” Jaehyun reassures you. The three of you nod and dive back into the stacks of paperwork, but the words blur in front of your eyes, forming an incoherent mass.

There are things you’ve always wished to escape—dark truths you thought you'd one day outrun. You still haven’t. Perhaps, you will never.

Perhaps, had you not been shaped by the cruelty of others, had you not been born beneath a star soaked in grief. Perhaps, if you never had to carve pieces of yourself out to survive, if you had the time, the strength to sit quietly with your own heart, to listen to who it wanted you to be, then, maybe, just maybe, you would have known the warmth of another’s touch.

You would have allowed yourself to melt into the softness of their gaze, you would have let your cheeks flush freely with the sweetness of their words, with no restraints, no shame. But the world is not kind. It will not offer you such a path. And so, this is your curse: to be one of grief’s favorite beholders, for you to wear it like a second flesh. To cling to it, as it clings to you because it is all you’ve ever known.

—

Your mother’s fingers were always warm as they entwined with yours, no matter the season. You remember the feel of them particularly when you went on walks by the ocean, her hand tugging you close to her frame. She was like an angel, walking softly on earth, coaxing the waves to slow down their feverish run as she brushed against their milky foam.

You can’t see her clearly in your memories anymore. Your temples ache each time you try to picture the fine details of her features. But you remember her humming along with the waves, as if singing a song to the sea, thanking them for the salty breeze they carry within their tides and swells. You remember closing your eyes to soak it in, as if you had known, even back then, that you’d forget the map of moles drawn upon her face, and the specific hue of her hair against the sun, and yet you wouldn’t forget her voice filling up your heart to the brim.

You remember coming home and trying to replicate her humming, through broken whistles at first, then, adding words where you saw fit. You remember singing to your mother in your living room. You remember feeling as if the sea was lodged right within your heart.

You loved singing, for the three years before your parents’ deaths. You sang in chorals, you sang to the birds and to the flowers blooming in your garden. You sang to the sun and to the moon. You sang to your reflection in the mirror. You sang, because it made you feel like your mother talking to the waves. And then, your parents died, and the music within you did too. The flowers, the sun, the birds… They were all an unworthy audience all of the sudden; since they all turned blind to your voice, allowing for your entire world to be stripped away from you. Leaving you bare, rootless.

You were then forced to learn that there isn’t just one big death in a lifetime. That the heart can perish multiple times before it finally stops beating completely. It felt like a little death when you began to loathe the ocean. It felt like a little death when Seungmin told you that he wished to become a singer.

You too, had wanted to, once. Maybe. If you had been given enough time to think.

It felt like a little death when you stepped into a recording booth for the first time.

You’d told Winter you were desperate for money. She mentioned agencies looking for anonymous artists to record backing vocals for prominent groups. It paid well, she said.

Your voice was well-liked. Not overpowering, but subtle, like a floral perfume—soft, seamless, blending effortlessly with whoever you sang alongside. It paid well to sing lifeless songs, to let your name dissolve into the footnotes of prominent groups, 2PM, Twice… Even your brother’s group when he debuted.

You knew that fans liked to speculate on who you were. You knew that the songs in which you sang were popular. And yet, it did not matter.

It felt like death, to kill your voice and for the sun to keep rising regardless.

“You were brave, you still are, Cherry.” Chris had told you. You wanted to believe him so badly. You wanted for the world to split open and atone for what it did to you. You wanted for the world to mend the cracks in your soul. You wanted for the world to disappear with you in it.

Your legs are growing weary of driving for so long with no destination in mind. Your eyes burn from how long you’ve stared at the road, unblinking. Somehow, you find yourself outside of Chan’s and Jeongin’s place.

It would feel like death too for you to head back to your empty apartment.

You grab your phone, sending Chan a message before you can second-guess yourself.

Y/n: Are you home?

You wait, fingers hovering over the delete button. His reply comes three seconds later.

Chan: yeah, innie is sleeping over at seungmin’s

A heartbeat.

Chan: why? are you here? are you alright?

You sigh, resting your forehead against the steering wheel. What the fuck are you doing? But still, you unbuckle your seatbelt and walk hurriedly to his door.

You knock. He opens immediately, eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m okay,” you say quickly, expecting the deluge of questions swarming in his mind.

“It’s 1 a.m.,” he replies, concern etched into his features.

“I can read the clock,” you joke, and his pout deepens as he steps closer. He’s beautiful in a way that makes your soul wish to split open to escape it. It overwhelms you.

“I’m just anxious about the next few days,” you admit.

“What’s happening?” he asks, already taking your coat and leading you to the kitchen. He pours you a glass of cold water, just the way you like it.

“I’m meeting a junior employee at Sun Corp. He’s called San. I need to convince him to give me materials proving the corporation’s corruption for our case.”

Chan’s worried gaze meets yours, and you shake your head quickly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmur. “I didn’t come here to worry you. I just… I wanted your company.”

Chan’s demeanor softens at your words, like white foam finally resting against the warm sand.

“I think I feel less anxious around you,” you add, the warmth in your cheeks suddenly betraying you. Winter’s words echo in your mind: That man likes you. What a foolish thought to engrain in your mind.

“Oh, I…” His words stumble, and his fingers flex as if they’re debating reaching for you. Instead, he lowers them and smiles softly.

“So do I, Cherry,” he admits. His voice is gentle, his ears tinting red. “And I could come with you to meet San, if you’d like.”

“Really, you’d do that for me?” his being slacks off, his shoulders sinking low. If you were in a battle, this would be him dropping his sword, kneeling.

“Of course, you don’t even need to ask.”

You see it then—visions of yourself wrapping your arms around Chan’s neck in his kitchen, holding him long enough for his warmth to seep into your soul, shielding it from the many winters to come. You imagine, for a fleeting moment, putting down your defenses and letting one human in.

Perhaps this is the most violent act of all—to have visceral fantasies of something as innocent as a hug.

“Were you working?” you ask, and Chan clears his throat, nodding. “Yeah, working on some new songs. But I’ll take a break now.”

“The mighty producer CB97, taking a break for little old me. How wonderful,” you tease, a giggle escaping your lips. He rolls his eyes, his tongue pressing against his cheek in mock exasperation.

“Should we have a drink?” he offers, and you clap your hands excitedly. “Yes, I’d like that.”

It’s easy to recall with Chan—to relive the memories alive in your shared history. The summer vacation in Jeju, grilling meat for the boys, playing video games till dawn. Chan face-planting into the snow, the times you hid backstage to surprise them. You remember him accidentally body-slamming you onto the floor, the way you nearly drowned in the pool from laughing too hard.

The clock creeps toward four a.m., but you don’t feel tired. You’re tipsy, the wine warming your stomach—a bright, crisp taste, like biting into a ripe apricot. And you are happy. Your soul feels satiated, as though this laughter could sustain you for a lifetime.

Your giggles fade, leaving a comforting silence between you. You’re close to all the boys—you care for them deeply. But Chan is different. Because he dropped by only because he was worried. Because he calls you Cherry. So he remembers, and not alot of people remember you.

“I was thinking on my drive home of this… melody my mom used to sing,” you whisper, staring ahead. Your shoulder brushes against Chan’s. You rarely speak about your parents. Never this openly. Chan knows this well.

“She used to hum it to the ocean, to me when I’m about to sleep, when I was sick, when she was cooking,” you smile softly, bringing the drink to your lips. “I’ve been trying to replicate it on the piano but I’ve never managed to.”

You turn to look at him, only to find his gaze already fixed on you. His eyes are wide, vulnerable, twinkling like stars witnessing the birth of a galaxy. He licks his lips, hesitant, and your eyes linger on them. They are glossy, red, and impossibly inviting.

“Can I hear it?”

You start humming, singing what you remember off of your fragmented memory. Chan listens intently, his eyebrows tightly knit in concentration. You hear the waves, you taste the salt in the breeze. You miss the sea.

You finish, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “Thank you for sharing,” he says.

“Thank you for listening,” you whisper, and your eyes are closed, but you feel it, his lips pressing to your temple, soft as a petal. It quakes through you, unmaking you, as though your soul has been cleaved wide open. You are a supernova, unraveling, scattering light in a beautiful, dying burst.

You wake up to a note on the bedside, and a pink plaid blanket draped over you. It hits you then: you’re in Chan’s room. A blush spreads across your cheeks, igniting your skin. When did you fall asleep? Did he carry you here? Of course he did. Did he press another kiss to your temple? Why would you think of that? Still, you can’t help but wonder if he too felt it— the way your soul trembled under the weight of his touch.

You imagine him writing the note, his figure hunched near you, glancing at your peaceful form, his eyes fleeting to yours as if making sure you were still there.

‘I’ve made you breakfast, it’s in the kitchen. I have an early morning schedule, but I’ll see you tomorrow, Cherry. Thank you for coming to see me :)’

You close your eyes, burying your head deeper into the pillows surrounding you. You can’t help but inhale their scent—traces of Chan lingering in the fabric, pinewood and cinnamon, intoxicating, as though they were made for you alone to breathe in. Your skin tingles with the thought, as you imagine him beside you, what it would be like to press your face into the soft curve of his neck, to take in that scent and to fill all the hollow spaces inside you with it.

You are ashamed, even in the privacy of your thoughts, of this longing, of this sharp ache. For even thinking, daring to dream of a world where you could behold his warm hands into your butchered ones. Where he’d let you. Where you’d let yourself.

It feels like death to think of Chan, it feels like living too.

—

You find Chan leaning casually against his car, arms crossed over his chest. With his Chrome Hearts beanie nearly swallowing his eyes and a mask covering the rest of his face, he looks almost intimidating. Almost—because you can’t help but giggle at his over-the-top efforts to stay incognito.

“I think we’ll scare the poor boy away,” you tease in greeting, and he huffs, reaching out to lightly punch your arm.

“Do you want me gone? It’s fine, I can leave,” he mumbles, his pout clear even behind the mask. “It’s not like I made all this effort to come here—”

“Oh my god, you’re still a whiny baby at your big age,” you cut him off, laughing as you both step into the café.

You choose a table by the large windows, the sunlight streaming in and bathing the space in golden light. As Chan sits across from you, his grin spreads wide, making his eyes crinkle and nearly disappear. You miss the sight of his dimples, all of the sudden.

San arrives ten minutes later, sliding into the seat across from you. His eyes dart to the door every few seconds, as though someone might burst through at any moment. He fidgets in his chair, tugging at his slightly askew tie, beads of sweat gathering on his brow despite the cool air conditioning.

Your fingers curl loosely around a lukewarm cup of coffee you’ve yet to sip. “Thank you for meeting me, San. I really appreciate it,” you begin softly, and he barely nods. He reaches for his iced Americano but pulls his hand back.

“Look, Miss Kim,” he stammers, voice barely above a whisper. “I gave Jaehyun the names of the apartment holders, but what you’re asking of me now... it’s dangerous.” He avoids your gaze, eyes fixed on the floor, as if it might open up and swallow him whole. “They’re not the kind of people you cross. You have no idea how high this goes.”

“I do,” you say firmly, leaning forward. “I know exactly how high it goes. That’s why I’m here. And that’s why I need your help.”

San hesitates, his lips pressing into a thin line. His gaze flickers to Chan before meeting yours again.

You take a deep breath, knowing how delicate this conversation is, how crucial it is too. “Look, I’m not asking you to go public,” you murmur, lowering your voice. “I just need the truth. Documents, emails… anything that proves there’s a corrupt force behind this decision. I’ll keep your name out of it. I promise. Whistleblowers are common in our lines of work. No one has to know where it came from.”

“I want to help you, I do,” he says, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “But they will find out, and I’ll lose everything,” he pauses, shoulders slumping, “I’m the sole caregiver for my mom… She’s in the hospital, and I still have bills to pay. You understand, right?”

Your eyes soften as you watch his anxious form. He’s still young, shouldering a burden you know all too well. You think he will understand, only if you bare a part of your heart to him.

“San,” you start gently, “I once lived in Promise Orphanage too.” you admit and his eyes slightly widen. “Before that, I was in two other orphanages in the city…” You pause, looking for the right words. “I still have nightmares about those places. About how cruel some of the people there were.” Your voice cracks, and Chan’s warm hand finds your knee.

“It’s hard to be happy in a place like that, but Promise Orphanage was the only place I ever thought of as home. It felt like family. I still visit to play with the kids. They’re happy, I see it, as best as they can, anyways. But they’re well taken care of. I know Miss Jeeho, I know Winter. They love those children. They allow them to dream. They don’t deserve to have their only familiarity stripped away from them.”

San swallows hard. "And what happens when Sun Corp. finds out anyway?”

“You’re here,” you reply, “you’re afraid, but you also believe in what we’re fighting for. Otherwise, you would’ve rejected this meeting.” You sigh, your voice softening. “You’re a good person, San. Don’t let them corrupt you too. You know this is wrong.”

“I do,” he admits, voice shaky. His resolve is unraveling.

“Look, I know they gifted the city council members penthouses to sway them in their favor. But no judge would consider this hard evidence since I can’t prove intent. What we need is what’s inside your office. You know, emails, memos, contracts, whatever. I can’t do this without you, San. I mean it.”

San stares at you for a long moment. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “There are emails,” he admits quietly. “Some from the CEO, discussing how to ‘incentivize’ council members. And I’ve seen the transaction logs... Large deposits to personal accounts, listed as ‘consulting fees.’ It’s not hard to connect the dots.”

Your heart leaps in your throat. “That’s exactly what we need. Can you get copies?”

“I think so,” he says reluctantly. Then, in a quieter tone he adds, “I lost my father too, you know.” There’s a rawness in his voice that only those who’ve been burdened by grief can understand. “I’ll find a way. For those kids.”

You reach out, briefly covering his hand with yours. “Thank you,” you whisper, and he nods, a miniscule smile finally stretching across his lips.

-

“Should we celebrate?” Chan asks, his voice light, once you’re settled in his car. For a moment, you hesitate. Celebration feels foreign to you. You’ve been the prosecutor and the wrongfully accused, you tie the noose and gasp when it tightens. But now, it seems like you’ve closed this case without needing a trial. That’s something worth celebrating.

“You know what? Hell yeah,” you giggle, and Chan’s face lights up like the sun cresting the horizon. “Great! Because I already planned for us to!” His laughter bubbles over, and you yelp as the car suddenly accelerates.

“Cherry! you’re free tomorrow, right?” he shouts over the music, and you recognize the song—No. 1 Party Anthem.

So you’re on the prowl, wondering whether she left already or not…

“Hmmm, let me check if my schedule is clear for being kidnapped…” you tease, pretending to swipe through an imaginary calendar. He chuckles, his dimple deepening, and the sound makes you feel giddy, like champagne fizzing in your veins. “Looks like I am!”

“Perfect! Let’s go on a trip, then!”

Sunglasses in doors are par for the course…

“Where to?” you laugh, and he simply winks in response, “You’ll see.”

“Fine, you be mysterious, and I’ll…” You grab his Fendi sunglasses from the console, perching them on your head, “I’ll be your passenger princess.”

It doesn’t escape him— how readily you’ve let go, how much you’ve placed in his hands without hesitation. It makes him want to drive further, faster, to a place where your bruised hearts won’t catch up with the two of you.

Her eyes invite you to approach…

You stop along the way at a small, unassuming seafood stand nestled along the coast—one Chan seems to know well. The air is alive with the sizzle of grills and the briny scent of the ocean. The ahjumma behind the counter greets Chan warmly, her hands deftly working as she prepares your meal.

You’re served grilled crab, its shell glistening in a marinade of soy sauce, chili, and honey. The flavors burst on your tongue—savory and spicy with a delicate sweetness that reminds you of the sea itself. Chan insists on feeding you the oysters, gently placing each one on your plate. They’re buttery and tangy, kissed with lemon and sea salt and the warmth of Chan’s gaze.

Your heart softens as you watch Chan chatting easily with the older woman, a laugh bubbling out of him as she teases him for eating too fast, as he fist-bumps her grandson as he clears the plates. How tragic it would have been for him to remain closed off, a flower enclosed in itself, never sharing the vibrant beauty of his petals with the world.

And it seems as though those lumps in your throat that you’ve just swallowed have got you going…

You pause again at a roadside shop, picking out heart-shaped sunglasses and trading the ugliest souvenir T-shirts you can find, laughing until your sides ache. Chan drapes an obnoxious orange scarf over his shoulder, striking a runway pose that makes you topple over from how hard you’re laughing. But then, in the mirror’s reflection, you catch his gaze—soft, unguarded, and filled with something you don’t dare name. Your breath falters. You’ve never been looked at like this before, as if someone could unravel you completely and still leave you whole.

Come on, come on, come on…

The road stretches endlessly ahead, the horizon blurring as you feed Chan fresh strawberries from a farmer’s market along the road. You don’t question why your pulse skips each time his lips brush your thumb. You don’t question why you’re suddenly sure the fruit would taste sweeter off of his mouth. You simply let the wind whip past, wondering if his cheeks are flushed from the cold or from you. You pray it’s the latter.

Number one party anthem…

“Welcome to Gangneung,” he announces as the car rolls into the small coastal town. The sea glimmers outside your window, and the houses—painted in pastel blues and greens—climb the hills like a living postcard. A group of high schoolers are biking down a narrow street, their laughter reaching you even as you drive away. While three women walk uphill, groceries in hand, their wide-brimmed hats bobbing as they chatter energetically. They seem to be gossiping. They seem happy.

“You remembered,” you say softly, your gaze flickering to him.

“I’d like to go to Gangneung one day,” you had once told him during a late-night walk. “I heard it’s a small town, and the locals agreed to all paint their houses blue. Isn’t that sweet? I’d love to escape there one day, without telling anyone.”

“I didn’t tell anyone,” he says, giggling. “Well, except Winter—so she could pack a bag for you. And Jisung, so the kids wouldn’t worry. But I didn’t tell them where we’re—”

You don’t let him finish. Stopping yourself would feel unnatural, like damming a river mid-flow. You lean over and press a kiss to his cheek, right where his dimple is hidden.

The look of love, the rush of blood…

“Thank you, Channie,” you whisper. He simply nods, a bit dazed, so are you.

Come on, come on, come on…

Both your cheeks are still burning as you pull up by the sea. You’re the first to step out, stretching your arms to shake off the nerves while Chan rummages through the car. A sudden chill creeps over you, and you instinctively wrap your arms around yourself.

Number one party anthem…

“Here,” he says, draping a hoodie over your shoulders. He’s got a towel slung casually over one shoulder, and a basket balanced in his hands. “Come on,” he beckons softly, leading you to the shoreline.

He spreads the blanket atop the golden sand and you both lay on it, admiring the sea. You’re lost in your thoughts as you silently nibble at the cheese and crackers Chan brought with him. You haven’t sat before the waves in so long. For all your bravery in courtrooms, you were a coward in real life, scared that the mere sight of the overlapping water would make your buried wish resurface— to be adrift amidst waves, to sink with the peaceful certainty that you won’t resurface again.

But you haven’t felt this serene in a long time. Like you could draw in a deep breath and not dread the one that will follow it.

“I made you something.” Chan blurts suddenly, and you twist your neck to look at him. You’ve seen Chan in many states— happy, angry, weeping. But you haven’t seen him this nervous before.

“What is it?” you ask, your curiosity tinged with caution as you sit up.

He hesitates, his words tumbling over one another. “I’m sorry if this is too much, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the melody you hummed. I... I turned it into a piano piece. I recorded it. Do you want to hear it?”

He offers an earphone with trembling hands. Your own shake as you tuck it in, and then—oh god.

“Chan, I—” you choke, clutching his arm as the music flows into you. It’s her. It’s your mother, her voice resurrected in the notes. It’s as though he’s handed you a forgotten fragment of time, lighting it up, brushing away the dust of years. The memories flood back—her hand in yours, the melody she sang to you like a lullaby for your soul. Because she loved you, so much. You were once very loved.

You close your eyes as silent tears slip down your face. It’s a short recording, just fifty-five seconds, so you replay it, again and again, until the night falls gently around you. You want to live, you want to live if only to keep her voice alive.

“Should we go swim, Chan? I feel like swimming.” You suddenly say, a smile breaking through your face. This is the easiest it has been for you to grin in a long time.

“We’ll get sick,” he says, though a grin tugs at his lips.

“We haven’t been kids in so long”, you say and something shifts in his gaze. He understands, so he nods, suddenly picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Wait, not like this!” you shout, flailing as Chan hoists you up with ease. But it’s no use—he’s already running and the next thing you know, you’re plunging into the cold water.

He dives in after you, surfacing with a loud laugh that echoes across the shoreline. The water is freezing, but it doesn’t matter. He feels weightless, unburdened, like a child again, like he could do anything he wishes for in this world, like he could get on his knees and confess to you right there and then.

You’re both trembling still by the time you reach the hotel. You linger by the entrance, your gaze tracing the cracked wallpaper and worn-out carpets. Chan is at the desk, talking to the receptionist. Snippets of their conversation float your way—“only one room... unfortunately a pipe broke... an old hotel.”

Oh.

When he returns, his ears are tinged with pink. “There’s only one room left,” he stammers. “The other one has a water leak. But it’s okay! We can find another hotel. I understand you might be—”

“Christopher, I’m fucking freezing,” you interrupt, teeth chattering. He giggles softly, boyish. “I’ll let you shower first, then.”

The room is sparse, reminiscent of a hanok. There are no beds, only two padded mats that side by side on the heated floor, and a small desk in one corner. It feels intimate, ten times smaller as Chan stands behind you.

“Go ahead,” he says, “I’ll wait.”

You quickly grab your bag and retreat to the bathroom. With trembling hands, you unlock your phone.

Y/n: Winter!!!!!!!!!! Are you here?

Winter: OMG are you still with cherry man?

Y/n: Yes, and we’re sharing one room 🫣

Winter: Wooooooo my ship is sailing

Y/n: I hate you. Did you pack me cute pajamas at least?

Winter: Of course i foresaw this

You giggle slightly, gusts of powdery air materializing before you.

Y/n: I’ll kill you once I’m back!!!

Winter: you love me 😘 you’ll have to tell me everything when you come back

Y/n: I will ❤️ He’s very sweet… and confusing

Winter: Just trust your gut

Trust your gut? You’re quite unsure what your gut is trying to spell out for you. You sigh, before quickly heading into the shower. You know Chan must be freezing too even if he tries not to show it.

You hear the water cascade down when he goes in after you, still avoiding your gaze. It feels almost forbidden to imagine him standing there, steam curling in clouds scented with your cherry shower gel. He’ll carry it with him, you think—a faint trace of you on his skin. That thought seems to send goosebumps rippling down your spine.

Later, the two of you lay atop your mats in a quiet darkness. You can hear the hum of the heater, and the splashing of the waves far away. You don’t remember falling asleep, but the cold wakes you, sharp and biting.

“Chan?” you whisper into the quiet.

He hums instantly. He hasn’t slept.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“I am.”

“Should we move closer? Body heat and all,” you suggest, your voice barely audible. You hear him swallow in the dark.

Slowly, cautiously, he inches closer until your shoulders brush. You wrap a tentative arm around his waist, and he draws you in, his palm resting on your back. The embrace feels intimate, terrifyingly so, but you stay. He is warm. He smells like pinewood and cherry. He smells like you and him.

“Good?” he asks, voice rough, and you nod. “Yeah, good.”

You hear his heartbeat, frantic at first, mirroring yours, then slowing down as the minutes pass by. It feels familiar to lay so close to him, it feels natural, ordinary.

“Channie?” you whisper.

“Yes, Cherry?”

“How different do you think we’d be, if we hadn’t gone through the things we did?”

You don’t know why you ask, except that today, for the first time in forever, you feel like blank paper—uncrumpled, untainted, left to be.

He thinks for a while, his hand threading gently through your hair, lulling you back toward sleep.

“I think I would open my heart more,” he finally says, voice soft. “I’d be myself without fearing judgment or abandonment. I’d stop chasing perfection. I’d just... exist.”

You nod against him. “You should stop apologizing for wanting the things you do.”

It feels hypocritical coming from you, but you mean it.

“Yeah, Cherry,” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “And you?”

“I’d allow myself to love. Without fear. I’d be someone worthy of being loved.”

A pause stretches between you, heavy and sharp. You inhale deeply.

“I’ve dated people,” you say quietly, “it drives Seungmin’s crazy because I know he wants to protect me from heartbreak,” you giggle softly, memories of the long talks Seungmin had dealt you flooding your mind.

“He’s a good brother.”

“He is,” you smile, before sighing. “But I don’t know how to tell him that it has always been for fun. They know what they’re getting into, which is, nothing beyond a few dates because... that’s all I have to give. I’m afraid someone might waste their time peeling away my layers, only to find nothing worthwhile. I’m hollow inside, Chan. A hollow chest can’t beat for another. Not in the way they deserve.”

His hand stills, his grip falters on your back. You hope he has heard your plea, unspoken, that he can read between the lines of your words. Please, you beg. Don’t love me. Don’t hurt yourself.

—

Chan sees it then, as evident as the rising of the sun. The truth of you, the truth of himself. Chan is loved by many, yet he doesn’t feel loved. You do not love Chan, perhaps you will never allow yourself to love another, and yet—he still loves you. Despite your warnings, he does. Even if you paint the image of the most violent of heartbreaks, he still will.

—

You judge heels by two criterias: one, how easy they are to stand long hours in, and two, how satisfying they sound when you walk. The powdery pink Jimmy Choos Seungmin gifted you hit both marks perfectly, sounding particularly delicious as you stride through the halls of Sun Corporation’s headquarters.

From the corner of your eye, you catch employees glancing up from their desks, whispers rising as you breeze past the secretary’s protests, her voice growing increasingly frantic. But you already know where you are headed: straight for the conference room, where you know an important meeting is currently unfolding.

Fun!

The secretary, a petite brunette, jogs after you, her heels barely keeping up with her urgency. She plants herself in front of the double doors, blocking your path, literally, with her arms outstretched.

“Miss, you can’t go in there,” she says, chest slightly heaving. “This is a private meeting.”

You flash her a thin smile, the kind that looks anything but kind. “Private? How convenient! It seems like they’ve kept their corruption private too!”

Her face pales, and she stammers. “I… I’m sorry, but I’ll need you to wait. Mr. Choi is—”

“Expecting me,” you cut her off, brushing past her without a second glance.

With a forceful push, you throw open the conference room doors. The chatter inside ceases instantly, replaced by stunned silence as ten executives turn to face you. At the head of the table sits Choi Min-soo, the CEO. His expression remains calm as his gaze locks with yours. He’s young, roughly in his thirties, surrounded only by men, of course. Perhaps that's why he keeps accumulating one bad decision after the other.

Choi leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowing in irritation. “Who let you in here?”

“Apologies for the interruption,” you say, though there’s not a shred of remorse in your voice. “I’m here about the demolition permit for Promise Orphanage.”

Choi leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t recall scheduling a meeting with you.”

“No, you didn’t,” you reply coolly. “But I thought I’d save your secretary the trouble. Some things simply can’t wait. Surely you understand.”

An executive to Choi’s right clears his throat, tapping his fingers against the table in a measured rhythm. “This is a private meeting. You can’t just barge in—”

“Oh, but I can,” you curtly cut him off, “And I have. Now, if you’d prefer, we can do this in front of the press, but I thought you’d appreciate the courtesy of keeping this internal.”

Choi’s mask of indifference falters ever so slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“Sit,” he says curtly.

You ignore him, instead leaning forward, your palms pressing into the polished surface of the table. “No need for pleasantries. Let’s cut to the chase. I have evidence that the city’s approval for your demolition project didn’t come through lawful means. Bribery, to be precise.”

A heavy silence blankets the room. The executives exchange uneasy glances, but Choi’s smirk betrays no concern. Though you know it is all rehearsed. Every expression is part of the masquerade that is their lives.

“I could sue you for defamation, you know,” he says, leaning forward. He’s beautiful, but in a sinister way. Like staring into the core of a bubbling volcano knowing it could swallow you whole.

“Is it defamation if it’s supported by your own emails?”

From your bag, you retrieve a thick stack of documents and toss them onto the table. One of the younger executives fumbles to pick them up, his face paling as he scans the contents.

“These emails detail discussions between your company and key city council members about how to tip their votes in your favor. Then there are the transaction logs. Substantial sums of money deposited into personal accounts, labeled as ‘consulting fees.’ Oddly enough, these transactions occurred right after a cozy dinner at that hotpot spot downtown. Convenient timing, wouldn’t you agree?”

Your grin widens as you add, “All of it obtained lawfully, of course.” You know they’re infuriated by you. You’ve learned over the years that men like these don’t fear consequences as much as they despise being brought down by a woman.

“There is nothing illegal about consulting fees,”a voice quips from your right, “it’s standard practice.”

“Standard practice,” you repeat, tilting your head. “How fascinating that these fees always seem to align perfectly with approvals for morally bankrupt projects. This isn’t your first rodeo, Choi, is it? Remember the nursing home? Your big debut? The one that earned you Daddy’s approval?”

Choi’s fist slams onto the table. The sound echoes sharply through the room. You don’t flinch.

“How dare you speak to me like this?”

“And how dare YOU prioritize greed over the lives of children?!” you fire back, your voice rising. “YOU are the one bulldozing an orphanage to fatten your pockets. Not me.”

The room shifts uneasily. The executives glancing at one another, avoiding your gaze.

“You have two choices,” you say, straightening. “Withdraw the permit and take responsibility for the lives you’re willing to destroy, or I’ll take this to the media. Every email, every transaction log, it’ll all be public knowledge. Let’s see how long you keep your title when the truth comes out.”

Choi chuckles, a sinister sound that sends shivers down your spine. Spoiled assholes are always somewhat deranged. “So let me get this straight. You barge in here, threatening ME in my OWN office? Do you have any idea what this project is worth? FUCKING BILLIONS! And powerful people back it, people who won’t tolerate interference.”

You pick up your bag, winking. “Then I suggest you start figuring out how to explain this mess to them. You have five days to withdraw the permit. Good luck!”

Without waiting for a response, you turn and stride out, the sharp clicks of your heels like music to your ears. You wave at the secretary who looks at you as if she’s just seen a ghost. And so do the rest of the employees. Your voice must have been loud enough then.

Now that was fun.

Winter launches herself at you as soon as you open the door to her car. “Fuck you were so badass!” she laughs, hugging you tightly and you giggle, the sound light and airy, as you take out your phone from your back pocket, silencing the call with her.

“I can and I have,” she repeats your words, voice dipping lower as you high-five excitedly, your palms almost ricocheting off one another.

“God winter you should’ve seen his face,” you laugh, cheeks almost splitting open, “he looked like a big baby throwing a tantrum!”

“Ah I think this is over, right?” she asks excitedly, as she gets out of the parking lot, “they’ll yield or else you’ll drag their reputation through the mud.”

“I think so,” you sigh, resting your head against the seat cushion. “If they’re any smart they’ll know that the general public will always empathize with children. We’ll wait and see,” you grin, pinching her cheeks. “Either way, I’m not letting them take away the orphanage from us.”

“Never doubted you will,” she smiles widely, before elbowing your side, “girls night then? It’s been so long.”

“Yeah, let’s do it!”

You glance at her as she drives, the sun threading between her blonde strands like molten gold. You’ve always found it ironic that she chose the name Winter for herself when she’s the warmest person you know— she’s the saccharine taste of honey, she’s the colors of the sun and the sounds of a joyous summer. She cannot possibly be a mere human. She’s too kind, too patient for the confines of such a flawed label. You suddenly remember her supporting you as you undertake your law classes, working long hours at the bakery near your home to pay for Seungmin’s lessons. You feel her move for you when your body was too weary to even stir.

“I love you,” you suddenly say, your voice a raspy whisper, and she turns to look at you, her eyes softening. “Yah save this for the sleepover.”

The sun has long slipped beneath the horizon, as you talked the night away with Winter, stomachs full of sweetened Soju and laughter on the living room floor. You rest your head on her stomach as she idly runs her fingers through your hair, reminiscing. It doesn’t hurt as much to remember these days.

“So, will you tell me about Chan?” she whispers, and you groan, hiding your face in your hands.

She giggles at your reaction, gently scratching your scalp. “Come on. How was your getaway?”

It takes you a few moments to admit it. Out of joy. Out of fear. “It was the happiest I’ve been in a long while, Winter.”

“You don’t sound happy about it,” she observes, and you nod.

“I’m terrified, because he’s confusing me.”

She’s silent, and you gather your memories—the ones that have kept you afloat for the past week, the ones that have mended some hidden part of your heart, though you can’t say which one. It is too scarred to keep count, but you can feel it, something inside you has healed, something caged within you can breathe again.

“He remembered which coastal city I wanted to visit, something I said on a whim during one of our walks, years ago, Winter” you say softly, as though speaking of his memory would make the universe take him away from you.

“He took me to eat oysters; You know how much I love oysters. He wore every ugly souvenir I gave him,” you giggle faintly before quieting down. You choose to skip over your mother’s piano piece secret. You feel as if you’d desecrate it by speaking of it, like it’s a memory that belongs only to Chan, you, and the sea. “And then… since we had to share a room, we cuddled because it was cold.”

You expect her to tease you, but her voice is gentle as she asks.

“How did you feel?”

You think hard of how you felt. How easy it was to fall asleep near him. How beautiful he looked as dreams wrote themselves behind his eyelids.

“I felt safe. Like I could let go, and he’d be there to catch me.”

“I don’t think he would hurt you. I don’t think he could, even if you hurt him.”

You sigh, straightening up to meet her gaze.

“I don’t want to hurt him, Winter. That’s my issue. And I know I will.”

“Why would you—”

“I’m a bundle of issues, grief, and sorrow,” you cut her off, resigned. “You know that. I didn’t choose to be this way, but I am. I will taint him.”

“What I know,” she says, taking your hands in her own, “is that you are a good person. Your heart is warm and full of goodness, despite everything that happened to you. Grief changes a person, injustice changes them even more. But your heart still overflows with love. That’s something not everyone can say.”

You shake your head, tears welling in your eyes.

“Winter, have you ever found a flower so beautiful? You see it, and its petals are the brightest colors, almost calling to your soul. Would it be right to cut it and take it home? Yes, it might bring you joy for a while. You’d change its water, add vinegar and sugar cubes. But then what? It’ll falter and die early. Because I was selfish. Because I hurt the flower, even though I loved it so much.”

Your voice cracks, and the tears you’ve been holding back are now dangerously close to spilling. She’s quiet for a long moment, and you begin to believe you’ve imagined this whole conversation. But then—

“What if that flower’s only wish is to be loved?”

Sometimes, words feel like a soothing balm coating your wounds. Sometimes, they feel like a dagger suddenly protruding what’s left of your heart. Sometimes they feel like both.

Your phone pings, and you reach for it through a hazy view, grateful for the small distraction.

Except it isn’t.

Jaehyun: Your cherry man just paid for San’s hospital bills.

You frown, and Winter leans over to peek at your screen.

Y/n: What???

Jaehyun: Yeah, he just called me. An anonymous (beautiful) man (with dimples ;) per the nurse’s description) paid for all his mother’s expenses.

Winter stares at you knowingly as your heart does somersaults—throbbing in your chest, in your throat, in your stomach. You feel him everywhere, Chan, like he’s made a home inside you and is now setting you ablaze.

Does he have to be so kind? Does he have to make it so hard for you not to love him?

Somehow, it’s 4 a.m. before you notice, Winter sleeps soundly beside you while you lie wide awake. You can’t stop thinking about Chan. His desire to be seen, his fear of it too. His voice. His warm hands. His soft lips. His heart. His soul.

You slip away from Winter and head to the balcony, a shawl wrapped around your arms. You hesitate for a moment, then press ‘Call’.

“Cherry?” Chan answers instantly, and your shoulders relax despite yourself. Is this what it feels like to be a flower plucked from millions? Cherished. Loved.

“Hi, Channie,” you whisper, and you hear him rustling in bed.

“Are you okay? Where are you? Do you need me to pick you up?” His questions come fast, and you stop him before he can leap out of bed.

“No, no. I just… I wanted to thank you. For what you did for San.”

“Oh, who told you?” he sounds sheepish, timid. “I thought I told the nurse to keep it anonymous.”

“Well, not many men have dimples as pretty as yours.” The words slip out before you can stop them. You don’t hate yourself when you hear Chan chuckling softly, the bed covers rustling with his movements. Does he too chase remnants of your perfume on his pillows? Does he too imagine you laying on his bed once more?

“Well, it’s the least I could do.”

“No, you didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to take me on that trip, or rearrange your whole schedule to spend a night watching shitty dramas with me. You didn’t have to do any of it. So why? Why do you do these things, Chan?” you ask, breathless.

He sighs softly. “Does it make you happy, Cherry? When I do these things?”

“Yes.”

“Then you have your answer.”

Oh.

The silence stretches, long and endless. Your shoulders hurt from always being cowered, tense. You wish you could ease them down.

“Thank you for making me happy. Sleep well, Channie.” You hang up before he can reply, before he can call you Cherry again. Because it makes you feel like dying. To love Chan in a world where you won’t let him love you feels like the biggest of deaths.

—

Seungmin’s earliest memories have always been of you.

There was a hollow space in his small heart, carved with the dullest of knives, something that pulsed even though he didn’t know who was it far. He knew his parents existed, he remembers his old home, but only faintly. They’d been taken too soon, he didn’t have much to hold on to.

So it was always you and him.

He remembers being a whiny child, crying endlessly because he didn’t understand why the world was so cruel—to him, but mostly to you. It confused him deeply, the way people overlooked your kindness. You were his older sister, his light. Why, then, couldn’t everyone else see you the way he did?

By the time he grew more into his body, into his heart, the tears stopped coming as often. He noticed the way a light dimmed in your eyes every time you tried to console him, and it frightened him. He didn’t know how many lights you had to give, or how many were left. So, he stopped crying.

Seungmin started piecing together truths he didn’t yet know how to speak. He began to understand the sharpness in your voice when prospective parents visited the orphanage, the urgency in your words when you told him to hide in the bathroom. You were protecting him. You didn’t want to be separated from him. It was almost impossible for two children to be adopted at once.

He began to understand why you always came back a bit breathless from talking to the older kids, the ones you strictly forbade him from playing with. Why would blue marks always appear on your arms after those conversations. Why he often heard you crying at night when you believed him long asleep.

And it killed him. There was no other way to describe it, because Seungmin had scraped his knee and lost his parents, and yet it did not hurt as much as it did when you were hurt. So, he tried to be as small as possible, as quiet, he tried to not get sick, to get good grades, to do his bed and yours. He tried to be perfect, so you wouldn’t be burned by him. So you wouldn’t cry when looking at him asleep.

Joy was scarce in Seungmin’s life. And it was all tied back to you. He was practical, even as a child, understanding early that he’d have to work harder than most to make something of himself. But not for personal gain, it was all to repay you for everything you gave him.

Then, one day, he stumbled onto something unexpected—a gift. A cheat code. “You’ve got a beautiful singing voice,” Miss Jeeho told him on his second night at Promise Orphanage. She had caught him singing in the garden. He didn’t like singing in front of other people. He feared you’d be punished for it too. “Have you ever thought of becoming a singer?”

The idea felt like cracking open a window in a suffocating room, a breath of air sweeping through the dust and decay of a crushed life. For the first time, he saw a semblance of dream take shape. He felt hope settle below his ribs, softening the thorns in his chest.

So he researched in the library of his school obsessively on this topic. How to be a singer, how to audition, how to win. He kept it hidden from you in all the years you spent in Promise Orphanage. Only Miss Jeeho knew, and she was kind, he didn’t feel scared sharing his hope with her. He was fifteen when he told you, after a year of relentlesses fighting to gain his custody. “I want to be a singer.”

You froze for a second, and Seungmin hasn’t stopped wondering where your mind went in that moment.

“Will you help me?” he asked, voice burning with resolve. “It pays well. I promise I’ll debut, and I’ll make you proud. And I’ll repay you, for all of it, I swear.”

“What’s this talk of you repaying me?” you said softly, your eyes so kind it made him want to weep. “All of me is for you, Seungminnie.”

Seungmin felt a sharp, throbbing ache in his chest at that moment. There she was, his greatest supporter, promising to back his dream. And yet, he felt hideously worthless, as though merely looking at the mirror would make it shatter.

It was then he named it—the poison coursing through his veins, the thorn lodged deep in his throat—the guilt. He wore that guilt like a second skin, its barbed wires sinking deeper into his soul with each passing year. Did you have a dream, too? Did you abandon your own to make room for him? He should’ve asked what your dream was. He should’ve begged you to keep your heart for yourself.

Seungmin could not rewrite the past, could not save his parents, could not undo his own birth so that you would not carry the weight of him. So, he sought to make up for it. He never spoke of his weariness during practice, nor of the pain, the fear, or the anger that gnawed at him. He only shared the triumphs—him ranking second on the entry competition, his voice praised by the vocal coaches at the company, finding friends that turned into family who genuinely cared for him, and you with time, that he would debut soon, that he has made it.

He spent his first paycheck on you, buying you the heels you’ve been eyeing for a long time, the ones you wore to your first courtroom. He spent the next on you too, and the one after it. He overcompensated for the guilt– gifts, flowers, a luxurious coffee machine, a two weeks retreat fully paid. He grew overbearing too, when it came to your heart, when it came to protecting it, disapproving of every person you chose to date.

He understood after a while that you weren’t looking for anything serious, at least not for now. Your dates seemed to understand this too. But he was afraid that one day you’d fall for someone who’s still looking for fun, who wouldn’t care for your heart like it was your own.

His hyungs would always poke fun at him for his protective nature, but he couldn’t help it. He was terrified for you, terrified that a heartbreak would be the thing to take you away from him.

He still remembers the look on your face when you caught him sitting in the same restaurant as your date. You’d laughed, and he’d felt sheepish under your gaze. “I told him it was a bad idea,” Jeongin giggled, throwing his hands up.

“I don’t like him,” he grumbled and you had chuckled, ruffling his hair, “when do you ever?”

You had then spent the night with him at the dorms watching movies with all his members. It was a normal occurrence for you to hang out with them, his found family, because they too had been touched with your kindness, back when they were all still trainees and you insisted on making them homemade food.

Seungmin knew it was your way of clinging to a normal home, that too killed him a little.

He knew that the members loved you, that they too cared for you deeply. Though they liked to annoy Seungmin by flirting with you. Which made you giggle, so, although he despises it, he still lets it slide.

Which brings him to today.

Seungmin hasn’t seen you since the concert at Kyocera Dome. So, he spammed you long enough for you to finally agree to have dinner in his dorm. Except 3RACHA was there too since they were all working on a song. It wasn’t their presence that weirded out Seungmin. Nor the fact that Han and Changbin took turns flirting with you, turning more obnoxious and loud and making Seungmin wish he could hit them with the plates on the table. Not that.

It was Chan. Who looked tense, jaw tight, his fingers flexing each time they sent a flirty remark your way.

Was he… Jealous?

“Thank you honey,” Han says, blowing you a kiss when you hand him his chopsticks. You giggle and Seungmin buries his face in his hands when Changbin grabs your plate, declaring that he will cut the steak for you.

“She doesn’t like meat cut that way,” Chan suddenly says, taking away the knife and plate from Changbin. Your cheeks blush as if a dahlia blossomed there. Han and Changbin exchange knowing looks.

Okay. What?

“Is there something—” he asks when your phone suddenly rings and he quiets down, swallowing the question with the rest of his beer. That would have been a stupid question, anyways.

“Winter!” you pick up, tone cheerful. Though all the color drains from your face as she speaks, the flower withering and turning into ash.

“W-what…?” you ask, slightly dazed, your hand gripping the table.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Cherry, what’s wrong?” so does Chan.

Cherry?

“The orphanage…” you say, Chan seems to understand what you’re talking about perfectly. You don’t finish, getting up and running out of his dorm. Everyone gets up on cue following you. “We’ll take my car,” Changbin says.

—

Is it possible to have sinned right before birth? To have done something so terrible you cannot atone for it no matter how much time passes. You accept it, you accept that your star is an unlucky one. You accept that even the most restless waters will always drown you, not carry you. Still, for how long do you have to pay the price, over and over again? Till how long is it no longer justice? Till how long does it become the universe toying with you? Does it think you can’t break? Does it think there is no limit to how much you can take?

Because there is.

You think you’ve reached it now.

Time seems to have slowed down, so much you’re sure five lifetimes have passed between each of your breaths. You know that there must be people screaming, a loud shatter, the sirens of ambulances and firefighters. Still, it’s quiet in your head. Save for a faint ringing, a buzzing, like a swarm of bees has lodged itself within your ear.

The earth is moving beneath your feet, it threatens to split open and swallow you. And you’d let it. You don’t have the nails to dig yourself out. You don’t have the will. You don’t have the hope.

You almost feel like laughing. You’re cursed. Every bit of happiness comes back to haunt you down the line.

It’s hot, extremely hot, and ashy. And you’re before the orphanage but you don’t smell rust. You smell smoke, pungent and bitter. You smell loss. You smell your last hope dying.

The orphanage is burning.

The kids are outside, covered in blankets and hugged turn by turn by the staff— Miss Jeeho, Mister Seonghwa, the cook, the gardener, the teachers, the psychologist, Winter.

The firefighters are trying to control the fire, but it’s spreading rapidly before your eyes, emboldened by the wooden floors and squeaky doors. You are losing your home again. The fire is eating the room you slept in, the kitchen where you learned how to cook, the garden where you caught Seungmin singing to Miss Jeeho. It’s eating the stairs where you sat with Winter laughing, the attic where you hid when existing became too rough.

It’s eating your memories, it’s eating you.

“What’s— what’s happening?” Seungmin stammers, his hand on your shoulder. You feel like kids again, back when the policeman came to your home and found only you and a toddler inside. A kid caring for a kid.

Winter sees you from afar, rushing to wrap you in her arms. You don’t feel her warmth. You don’t feel anything, now that you’re thinking of it. Has your heart bled dry? Finally?

“Cherry,” you hear but you brush the hand away, walking towards two firefighters once only smoke remains. “Who started it? The fire?” you ask breathlessly.

“Why?” they ask, cautious, “do you have reason to believe it was intentional?”

“Who started it?” you repeat.

“It’s too early to tell,” he says, eyes fixed on his coworker, sweat dripping from his brow, his forehead smeared with ash. “Preliminary findings suggest it began in the garden, which is odd, since there’s no apparent cause and no sign of a cigarette. The owner claims no one smokes. We did find what looks like traces of gasoline, but more investigation is needed. It spread quickly towards to the utility room, where there are electric wires. Something, or someone must’ve sparked it, and now it’s out of control.” He sighs, “We’ll call the police.”

You feel it then, a stone that sinks deep within your gut: they burned it. Sun Corporation burned the orphanage because if there is no orphanage then there is no case. They burned the orphanage and you with it.

—

“Would someone tell me what’s going on?” Seungmin grows more agitated the more you remain silent in your apartment. You can tell everyone is looking at you, waiting for you to snap out of your daze. But you don’t know where to begin. You don’t know how this will end.

“Miss Jeeho called,” Winter says softly, reappearing from the balcony. “There’s enough suspicion to begin an investigation. They need my testimony.” Changbin, without a word, stands and grabs his car keys. “I’ll drive you,” he says. She nods in reply.

“Do the kids have a place to go tonight?” Han asks, his voice laced with concern. Winter shakes her head. “No, Miss Jeeho is still trying to figure that out.”

“Alright,” Han says, pulling out his phone. “Let me call the others for help.”

“You have my card,” Chan says, pressing a sleek, cold card into Winter’s hand.

“Text me,” you tell Han, and he nods, following Changbin and Winter out the door.

And then there were three.

“Would you please tell me?” Seungmin asks again, kneeling before you. His voice is quieter now, laced with something you hadn’t anticipated—hurt, confusion. A part of you stirs alive and you sigh, beginning to recount everything— the apartment, the corruption, San, the meeting, the fire— but your voice feels like someone else’s, void, unfamiliar.

“And why didn’t you tell me any of this?” he asks once you finish. There’s raw pain coating his gaze, Seungmin has always been an open book to you.

“I was going to tell you,” you murmur, “once the permit was withdrawn. I didn’t want to burden you with this.”

“But I want you to burden me!” his voice rises slightly, as he stands up, pacing before you. “I could have helped you. I would have stood by you!”

“Seungmin, please,” you breathe, the weight of it all pressing against your chest.

“You don’t always have to carry everything alone. It doesn’t make you stronger, it only makes the pain ten times worse,” he presses his eyes shut, “I wouldn’t have hid something like this from you.”

“Well, you’re not me!” You snap, and he flinches, recoiling like you’ve struck him. You’ve never raised your voice at Seungmin before.

There she is, the person who pushes those who love her away, the person who deserves to be punished.

“I’ll go help the boys,” he softly says, walking out, shoulders slumped. He looks smaller now, like you’ve just hurt the child within him mourning his only home.

“Cherry…” Chan’s voice cuts through the tense silence, and you rise to your feet, instinctively covering your face. “Not you too, Chan.”

“Would you talk to me?” His voice is gentle. “You haven’t said a word in over an hour. This isn’t healthy, I know this must hurt so you shouldn’t keep it all inside.”

“I don’t have anything to say,” you reply, your voice colder than you intended. Please go, you beg. Please, before I snap at you too.

“Just talk, okay? Say whatever comes to your mind. I’ll listen to you. It’ll feel better if you let it all out.”

“Except it won’t!” The words come out harsher than you meant, and you feel yourself spiraling. You’re throwing up thorns, and you can’t stop it. “You don’t always know what’s best for people, alright? You can’t always fix people, Chan! And I can’t be fixed! Talking about it won’t help, keeping it in won’t help, because this is who I fucking am. This is all I’ve known.”

“Cherry, please. You know that’s not what I meant.” His voice is soft, still tender, still trying to reach you.

He still calls you Cherry. He’s still here. You can feel the desperation creeping inside, a bitter realization that they should all run before you curse them too.

“Oh, come on,” you laugh, the sound hollow. It feels like daggers slicing through your throat as you speak. “Don’t you see me as a project to fix? Something to make you feel in control for all the years you’ve lost it?”

“Is this how low you think of me?” he asks, taking a step back, his face a mix of hurt and disbelief. “I never thought you needed fixing.”

“Well, it’s how I felt around you,” you say, the words spilling out like venom. Liar. Liar. Liar. “Like I’m the poor orphan and you’re the knight in shining armor, coming to save me.” He looks like you’ve just slapped him in the face.

Does he hate you now? Does he hate you as much as you hate yourself?

“You know, you should stop punishing yourself, Yn.” He says your name, not Cherry, but your name, plain and flat. It feels like all your little deaths combined in one. “You only have one sin and it’s that you wish to be loved.”

He pauses. You feel as if the world was cracked wide open. You feel as if your soul just splattered before his feet, naked, trembling.

“And I love you. God, I’ve loved you for the past ten years, and I wish you could open your heart just a little bit to see it.”

“What?” you ask, breathless, the words barely leaving your mouth before he turns away, silent. He doesn’t answer. He leaves.

He left.

Your feet move before your mind can catch up, and suddenly you’re running after him. “What do you mean you love me?” you shout, the words raw, desperate. Your chest is heaving, breaths coming in ragged gasps. You’re sure your neighbors are peeking from their windows, watching, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now except him, nothing has in a long time. “What do you mean, Chan?!”

“Forget it,” he mutters.

“You can’t say that and ask me to forget it!” you shout and he chuckles, hand tightly gripping his hair in frustration.

“Has it not been clear? That you’d ask me to get you the moon and I'd fucking die trying. Can���t you see that I’d sacrifice the sun if it means making you happy?”

You back away, tears streaming down your cheeks in an unstoppable flow. No. Yes. No. How?

“N–no, you… You shouldn’t love me.”

“Do you think I haven’t tried?” His voice rises, raw and hoarse. “I’m human too, it kills me to love someone who I know won’t ever love me. But tell me, please, teach me how to pause the throbbing of my heart. Teach me how to silence it when it calls out your name, when it aches because it misses you so much I feel like I’m dying. When there is a void in my soul shaped after your laugh, your smell, your words, how do I—“ his hands land on your shoulders, his forehead resting on the crook of your neck. You can feel the shaking of his hands, you can feel his being unraveling before you.

Your hands curl in tight fists, you are broken, shattered, there is no glue that could piece you back together. Even if gold travels between your shards, it will not make you into something beautiful. You’ll remain a disaster. You’ll ruin him too.

“Look at me.” You shake your head, unwilling, unable to face him. “Please, Cherry, look at me. Even if you’ll leave me right now, please, I— I’d rather you leave while looking at me.”

You bite your lip, choking on the sob rising in your throat.

“Tell me you don’t love me,” he pleads, taking your palm and placing it atop his chest.You can feel the erratic thrum of his pulse, alive and desperate beneath your hand. “Say it. Say you never will. Make me believe it, so this thing inside me will die. Please.”

“I can’t say that,” you whisper. The world offers itself at your feet. “I can’t say that because I won’t mean it.” Your eyes finally meet his, you wonder what he sees in yours. You wonder how someone like him could ever love you.

You lick your lips tentatively, tasting the saltiness of your tears and the cherry of your chapstick.

“Do you know what a bleeding heart dove is? It’s a small pigeon, with a plumage so white and pristine it resembles the first snow. But right in the middle of it, there is a patch of crimson, it looks like a bullet wound Chan, it looks like his little heart is always bleeding.” Your voice cracks like glass, Chan’s eyes soften more than you’ve ever thought was possible. “That’s how I feel, like I always always carry this wound that won’t ever heal. It bleeds and it bleeds and the blood oozes so much at times that I choke with it. I don’t want to taint you with it too.”

“What if I want you to taint me?” His warm palms cradle your cheeks, threads of sunlight brushing against your skin. “What if I want you to change me? What if I want everyone who has looked at me to know that I’m loved by you?”

You smile softly, shaking your head. “That would be selfish of me.”

“Then love me selfishly, love me with greed. Just love me, Cherry. Please, love me,” he begs, his eyes boring into yours. You peer into him, his soul, the sincerity in his offering to you— his heart, so fragile, yet so resolute in loving you.

“You’re so beautiful, Channie,” you gently say, as your palms tenderly cup his cheeks. His eyes flutter closed, tears staining your hands as he leans into your touch, placing his heart right in your hands. “I’d like some time to think of myself as beautiful, too. Would you wait for me? Until I figure it out.”

He softens. “I waited for you for ten years. I’d wait for you for an eternity if I have to.”

A knot forms in your throat. “You’re so sweet, God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know you don’t pity me, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just so overwhelmed and everything spiraled down and I don’t know where to even begin now,” you ramble, and he cuts you off by placing a tender kiss atop your wrist.

“Would you breathe now?” he smiles and your world somehow brightens despite it all. “I'm not mad, alright? And we’ll figure it out together, Cherry. You have us. You always did.”

Your voice is small as you mumble– “Seungmin is mad at me.”

“He’s not. He always wants to protect you so he feels bad when you don’t let him in. You know that.”

You did, of course you do.

You feel a little less ashamed of plucking a beautiful flower out of its soil. You’ll insuflate your own soul in it to keep it blooming.

“Will you stay with me, Chan?”

“Always.”

—

“So, they burned down the orphanage?” Jeongin asks, disbelief thick in his voice as you finish recounting the horrors of the past month.

Your small apartment is packed the day after the fire—Winter, Jaehyun, Miss Jeeho, San, and the boys. Some sit huddled on couches, others sprawl across the floor, leaning into one another. You’ve never known that warmth could become a tangible thing, that it could weave itself around your heart like silk, drip sweetness down your ribcage like rivers of honey. You feel it, despite how harrowing the situation is, because all your friends care. They care for the orphanage like it’s their own.

“Yeah, I’m sure of it,” you reply. “We got a report of a suspicious van speeding off right after the fire started.”

“And remnants of gasoline were found at the scene,” Jaehyun adds, taking a leisurely sip out of his beer. “The police are tracing it now.”

You nod, thinking back to the police chief who happened to be one of your high school classmates. He got promoted and he promised he’d tell you first, if anything happened. “Yeah, the firefighters confirmed that it was arson. Once the police officer gets back at us I’ll file a lawsuit against them.”

“But can you believe the fucking nerve?” Felix scoffs, “I just read their statement: ‘We are extremely saddened by the news of the burning of Promise Orphanage due to faulty wiring. We promise to work side by side with the community to ensure the children are safe and living in better conditions’. Do they think we are stupid?”

“They’re lying,” Miss Jeeho says bitterly. “Trying to save face while they can.”

Hyunjin’s face pales. “This makes me sick,” he whispers. “The fact that they’d endanger those kids just for their agenda…” He trails off, shaking his head, and the room falls into a heavy silence.

“They stopped communicating through emails after you confronted Choi,” San says, his voice tight. “They must’ve realized someone was leaking information. Now everything’s confidential.”

He slumps, defeated, and you reach over to pat his back gently. “It’s okay. I don’t think they’d be dumb enough to discuss arson in emails anyways. We’ll find another way.”

“What about the kids? Are they okay?” Jeongin asks, his brows furrowed in concern.

“They’re doing fine, considering,” Minho answers, nodding toward Han. “Yeah,” Han adds with a soft laugh. “We visited this morning. They’re warm, well-fed, like michelin chef well-fed, we made sure of it, and maybe a little spoiled, we might’ve gone overboard with the toys.” The group chuckles briefly, Minho throwing a pillow at Han’s face before smiling fondly at him.

“But this is all just temporary,” Winter whispers, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears. “We can’t keep them in a rented house forever. They’ll need to be sent to different locations, scattered across the country.”

“Is there really no other way?” Changbin asks, as he squeezes Winter’s shoulder gently.

“Unless we can rebuild the orphanage in record time, then no. It’s all gone,” Miss Jeeho sighs, and you feel the knot in your throat tighten. You’ve avoided looking at her ever since the fire, you can’t bear the sight of raw grief in her eyes, specifically.

“What if we rebuild the orphanage?” Seungmin suddenly asks. It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice during the night.

“We don’t have the funds for that, Seungminnie” you say softly.

“We do,” Chan interjects firmly, “If we all donate, we can raise the money. Start a fundraiser, maybe?”

You see it then, a fickle of hope blossoming in the air.

“You know, it’s not a bad idea,” Jaehyun says, leaning forward. “Media coverage of the case is really strong and it has garnered a lot of public sympathy. I also told friends in media to keep up intense coverage since something big is simmering beneath the case.”

“I can hold a press conference then,” you say, your voice quipping up. “Expose everything, from the beginning and ask for public support.”

“And me,” Seungmin says suddenly, looking up to meet your gaze at last. His voice is steady, but his eyes are tinged with vulnerability. “I want to stand by your side. It’ll help us garner more attention too.”

“Are you sure?” you ask gently. “Are you ready to reveal where you grew up?”

“I’m not ashamed of it,” he replies softly. “It’s because of that place that I’m here today.”

Your heart swells, and tears sting your eyes as you nod. “Alright. Sounds like a solid plan.”

—

You’ve known loneliness long enough to recognize that it doesn’t wear a singular face.

“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. My name is Y/n Kim, and I am the lead attorney representing Promise Orphanage.”

You’ve known the loneliness that slices your bones. That cuts so deep within your marrow you’re unsure whether the sun will rise tomorrow, whether you’ll be even there to witness it. You knew it when you were ten and your parents simply never came back home.

“You are aware that Promise Orphanage has been burnt down last week. A tragedy for our community as this orphanage housed forty children who only have that place to call a home.”

You’ve known the loneliness that doesn’t stab, its sharp tip always remaining at the edges of your soul, as if threatening you, reminding you that it could sink within you at any given moment. You knew it when you were fourteen and Winter shook your hand for the first time.

“I am here to explain that this isn’t due to uncontrollable circumstances. But a crime. The fire did not start hazardously but was intentionally caused. By Sun Corporation, the subsidiary of Gyeongdo Holdings.”

You’ve known the loneliness that doesn’t fill you, but rather sits beside you on a bench. Loneliness that only manifests when you’re surrounded by people who love you, and who you love. And yet, you feel as if you are enclosed in transparent glass, always keeping you at arm’s length from them. Because your heart is different. Because you grieved a lifetime before you were old enough to understand it.

But for the first time in years, you don’t feel lonely.

Not when the people in your life have worked tirelessly with you for the orphanage, for justice, for the children. Not when a room full of journalists hang onto your every word, cameras flashing, questions flying. Your eyes scan the crowd, landing on your loved ones in the back. They nod.

The legal case is airtight. You’ve worked tirelessly with your team to gather the proof—police reports, financial records, surveillance footage. You exhale, steadying yourself, and nod toward the screen.

“We have obtained documentation, in collaboration with the authorities, confirming that a van was seen fleeing the scene moments after the fire started getting out of control. That van was rented by a company in which Sun Corporation holds 45% of the shares. The individual who rented it is also an employee at Sun Corporation, whose identity we’ll keep anonymous. For now.”

Your eyes meet San’s, and he winks—he’s the one who verified the identity, right after depositing his resignation letter at Sun Corporation.

A journalist raises his hand. “Are you saying Sun Corporation committed arson?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. But don’t take my word for it, of course.”

You press a button on the laptop connected to the speakers.

The room falls silent.

Then, the recording crackles to life.

“Are you insane?! I said a warning, not a damn inferno!”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd, cameras shifting toward the speakers as the voice, angry, panicked, continues.

“You idiots lost control of it! The fire department is involved, you know that bitch is going to the police too. Do you have any idea what’s at stake? BILLIONS! I wanted to sue them for neglect and now we are the ones who will lose EVERYTHING! Fix it, or so help me—”

The recording cuts out. The silence that follows is deafening.

Journalists erupt all at once.

“Who is that speaking?”

“Was this obtained legally?”

“Is Sun Corporation under criminal investigation?”

You raise a hand, and a hush falls upon the room.

“The voice belongs to Choi Sungho, CEO of Sun Corporation,” you confirm. “This recording was obtained from a whistleblower inside the company and has been turned over to the authorities. The police are actively investigating Sun Corporation for arson, conspiracy, and fraud.”

You think back to the brunette secretary. You now know her name—Jia. She once dreamed of becoming a lawyer too, but she needed money for her sister’s medical bills, so she had to give up her aspirations. She heard snippets of the conversations authorizing the fire and recorded the aftermath. You know she’s watching this at home too.

“This is not just a case of reckless endangerment. This is a coordinated criminal act, executed for financial gain. Sun Corporation had previously filed for a demolition permit for the orphanage, but the permit was granted under questionable circumstances.”

You gesture toward the documents on every table.

“There is evidence that Sun Corporation bribed city officials to fast-track the permit process. However, because of our legal scrutiny, the project was delayed. Burning a part of the orphanage to argue neglect was their alternative. But as you can see, it backfired.”

More whispers, more frantic typing. A journalist from the back calls out, “Are you pursuing legal action?”

“Yes. We are also working closely with law enforcement to hold all responsible parties accountable, including those within the city council who enabled this corruption.”

You suck in a deep breath, nodding towards Seungmin who was standing behind the curtains, veiled from everyone’s view.

“There is someone I’d like you to meet now.”

He steps forward, taking the mic from your hand.

The camera flashes become incessant as the interrogations ripple from everywhere.

“Is that…?”

“Wait, Kim Seungmin?”

“What is going on?”

“Hello,” he says, voice reverberating around the room. “My name is Kim Seungmin. Some of you may be familiar with who I am, but today, I do not speak to you as an Idol.” A pause. “I am here as one of the children who once lived at Promise Orphanage.”

The cameras shift, zooming in on his face. Jaehyun excitedly signals that the viewer’s count is rising up rapidly.

“I’ve never spoken about this publicly before, but I am an orphan. My sister,” he nods at you, “raised me. My fans may recognize her voice from some of our songs,” he smiles softly, before sobering up. “We moved from place to place, but Promise Orphanage was the only orphanage that felt like home. The only place where we were truly taken care of, where I was allowed to dream, thanks to Miss Jeeho, the director. She’s the one who helped me become a singer. She’s also the one who helped my sister in her fight for my custody.”

He swallows hard, steadying himself.

“This crime is not just about corporate greed. It’s about children who lost their home overnight. And now, they face being scattered across different locations, losing the only family they have left.”

His gaze fixes every camera, every journalist in place. You feel pride swell in your heart, loud and bright and all encompassing.

“We are not just seeking justice. We are seeking solutions. We are launching a legal fund to rebuild Promise Orphanage. We ask for your steady support in holding Sun Corporation accountable and in ensuring that these children are not left behind.”

“Please don’t let this injustice go unanswered.”

He bows deeply. You follow. Cameras flash, a deluge of light and sound.

It’s done, now. The end of the beginning is finally over.

—

Sometimes a month is just a month. Sometimes a month stretches like ten lifetimes crafted solely to hurt you. Sometimes a month slips through your fingers like running water, not yours to keep.

The past six months have been both, somehow.

You spent sleepless nights building the most solid case against Sun Corporation. Exhausting weeks passed before the judge finally struck his gavel against the wood, charging them with arson, criminal activity, bribery, and interference with civilian law. It took the sweat and tears of many to rebuild the orphanage from the charred ground. It took a lot of love to fill its multicolor walls with children’s laughter again— yours, your brother’s, your friends’, the fans’, the general public’s too.

And yet, when it was all over, when you could finally exhale without fearing the consequences of letting go, you were left with a gaping hole in your chest. Void was an insatiable creature gnawing at your heart, void was a creature that sought something you could not name.

That is until Seungmin talked to you.

“Can I sit?” he asks, pointing to the patch of shade near you. You nod, scooting over as you both lean your backs against the freshly planted pine tree. For a while, it’s quiet as you watch Han and Felix, dressed as clowns, playing hide and seek with a group of children at the orphanage’s reopening party.

“They look happy,” he whispers and you smile softly, letting their giggles waft to your ears.

“They do.”

“I never apologized for that night,” he suddenly says, turning to look at you. “When I got mad because you didn’t tell me about the orphanage.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” you sigh. “I knew how much this place means to you. I knew this was where you figured out what your dream was. I just… didn’t want to burden you, not when you already have so much atop your plate” you explain, gently smoothing down his bangs. “I guess a part of me still sees you as the little kid I have to protect.”

“You were a child too, protecting me,” he whispers, voice hoarse as he places his warm palm over yours. “You don’t have to protect me anymore. I promise. I’d rather you look after your own heart. Listen to what it really wants.”

Your eyes drift toward Chan. He’s playing guitar for a group of older kids, their small hands clapping to the upbeat melody. His smile is the sun. His smile tastes like the ocean breeze.

“Do you like him?” Seungmin asks softly.

Your breath catches. “What?”

“Chan. I’m not blind. I see the way you look at him. The way he looks at you, mostly.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Why would your happiness ever bother me?” He smiles, and you feel a weight dissolve in your chest. The creature within you perks up at his words.

“Then yes,” you admit, breath hitching. “I like him. So much it terrifies me.”

You speak your feelings for the first time, and yet, the sky does not collapse, the earth does not tremble beneath your feet. It feels almost miraculous— to voice what you long for and not be punished for it.

“Sometimes the things that scare us the most are the ones that make us happiest,” he says. “Because we’re scared of allowing ourselves to feel joy. Because we’ve conditioned ourselves to think we don’t deserve it.”

Tears prick your eyes, and you crack a soft smile. “Look at you, saying such wise things.”

“I’m literally twenty-four,” he deadpans and you laugh, ruffling his hair. “But you’ll always be a baby in my eyes, Seungminnie.”

“All right, all right.” He laughs, pulling you into a side hug. “But would you do it? I know you’ve sacrificed a lot for me, it must have hurt to do so,” you go to interject but he stops you, “Please. Would you listen to your heart for once?”

It takes a week away from everyone to do just that. You return to Gangneung, you walk past the blue houses, you talk to the locals and play chess with the grandpas and drink tea with the kind women at the local market. You twirl barefoot by the waves until salt clings to your skin, you lay on the sand and trace constellations with your fingertips. You sit in stillness. And you listen, truly listen, to the silence between each of your breaths. And then slowly, the melody emerges. Faint at first, like a distant lullaby. Then clearer, insistent, unwavering—stuck on a single note.

Chan.

You’ve never quite known who you were. When personality quizzes asked how your friends would describe you, you hesitated. Funny? Sweet? Practical? What about nothing—an emptiness that expands to swallow you whole? You never knew what to say when interviewees asked about your strengths and weaknesses, the things you’d like to change in your being, the ones you’d like to keep. You felt like a water lily floating aimlessly atop the still water, untethered, with no roots to return to.

But you knew you were a coward when it came to your heart. That you craved love so violently you could cleave the earth open with your ache. You knew that your mind had convinced you that you were cursed, flawed, undeserving.

But for the first time, you allow yourself to simply feel human.

You sit by the waves once more, the endless sea stretching before you. The sun disps slowly beneath the horizon, the clouds are dusted pink. Are they blushing too, at the thought of what you are about to do?

You had asked Chan to meet you on the beach at Gangneung whenever he could free himself, and he did—without hesitation. Seungmin texted you that he left the mid-writing session and jumped into his car with no second thought. He seemed happy, he said. That made you happy too.

“You look different,” Chan observes, and you turn away from the sea. His eyes are kind and you don’t shy away from his gaze, for once.

“Different?” you echo.

“At peace.”

You nod, curling your knees to your chest, resting your cheek against them. He follows suit, his legs grazing yours now and then, grounding you in his presence.

“I’ve thought a lot about what it means to be human,” you murmur. “To soften my heart, to open doors I thought were long sealed. I don’t have all the answers. But I found something.”

“What is it?”

“I found you,” you confess, so softly like you are speaking of a prayer. His eyes widen but you press on. “I weighed in the pros and cons, of what I want, of what losing what I want would cost me. And yet, in all my most horrible twisted scenarios, where you’d leave me heartbroken and bleeding, it still feels worth it. It feels worth it if it means you’d love me for a while, and that I’d love you too.”

He gently tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture tender, as all his touches are.

“A while? The only way for me to stop loving you is if my heart stops beating, Cherry.”

“So you still love me?” you ask, a bit shyly, too hopeful.

Chan blinks, then deadpans, “Are we sitting by the sea?”

You burst into laughter, the sound rolling out of you freely. As it fades, you see him—your beautiful Chan—the faint smile lines etching themselves around his lips, the kind warmth in his eyes, the remnants of dimples on his cheeks. He is so achingly beautiful it feels like an axe splitting your chest open. It feels like being born once more.

“I haven’t listened to my heart in so long,” you confess, brushing your thumb against his cheek, letting it trail softly over the corner of his mouth, a whisper against his lips. “But right now, it only wants one thing.”

“I’m yours,” he breathes, lips slightly parted.

There is no one around but the two of you and the sea. Who is there left to pretend for? The play is over. You bow to the sadness. You bow to the grief.

You take a deep breath. You dive into the water. You finally kiss Chan.

You knew that his lips would be as soft as silk, that pressing your mouth to his would be akin to breathing in oxygen for the first time, and yet, you did not imagine it to be this soul-shattering. You did not foresee the fireworks going off behind your eyelids, the bees and the bleeding heart doves singing in your chest, the garden buzzing in your stomach, telling you that you are alive, and that you are loved, at last, and that that is all that matters.

You did not imagine that he would taste like salvation, like honey and cherries and everything beautiful in between. You did not imagine that his tongue dancing along yours would feel like floating atop the sea, warm as sun, carnal like surrendering to your heart’s rawest desires.

You did not foresee that his warm palms would cradle your cheeks, that he would kiss you with the urgency of a starved man. That he would not tire of you, never ceasing, never faltering. That he would lay you on the sand and kiss you till night fell above you both, till your lips are both swollen, tender, and bleeding cherries.

“I love you,” you finally breathe, your heart throbbing all over your body, “I’m sorry it took me so long to see it.”

“Nonsense,” He smiles against your lips. “Even if you only loved my last dying breath, it would still be enough for me.”

—

“So, does this mean I can officially no longer flirt with you?” Han asks, eyes wide with mock horror. Seungmin flicks his forehead in response, and Chan tosses a napkin at him, an amused smile playing at his lips.

“Wait, pause, I can’t believe I lost to Chan,” Changbin pretends to weep, earning a laugh from the others.

“She’s mine,” Chan cocks his eyebrows at them, leaning back on his chair. “Go find yourselves your own partners.”

You are tucked away in a remote town of Japan, a hard-earned vacation after the turmoil you’ve went through the past months. You figured it was the best time to tell the boys that you are dating, only for wave of questions (and indignation, mostly) to immediately crash over you, followed by a group hug that lasted two full minutes, courtesy of Felix.

“Wait, but we liked you first!” Han protests once more, and Seungmin groans, his face contorting in annoyance that borders on anguish. “God, I thought I would be free of this torture.”

“I literally liked her before you guys even saw her,” Chan chimes in with a satisfied grin.

“So you’ve loved her for ten years now?” Hyunjin shouts, raising from his seat dramatically. “Wait this is so romantic.”

“I’m sorry, Jisungie, Binnie,” you tease as you press a lingering kiss to Chan’s cheek.

“Oh my god guys he’s BLUSHING!” Minho shouts, pointing excitedly at Chan. “This is too funny! Channie hyung is so flustered,” Jeongin laughs, whipping out his phone to capture the moment. “Wait, Innie pan over to Seungmin’s face!” Felix claps in pure delight, and you turn to see your brother sulking.

“What? I’m still not used to… this,” Seungmin grumbles, wiggling his fingers in front of you both in exaggerated disgust, but there’s a soft gleam in his eyes. He’s happy for you, only after threatening Chan five hundred times to treat you right, but he’s happy.

“Who wants ice cream?” Chan suddenly asks, not waiting for an answer before he grabs your hand and pulls you away.

“What was that?” you ask once you are out of the house.

“Nothing, I just wanted you all to myself for a bit,” he smiles bashfully, and you giggle, wrapping your arm around his waist. “You’re making it a habit to kidnap me,” you tease.

“Do you mind?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Good,” he grins, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Also, it’s Changbin and Jisung for you,” he chastises, a big pout tugging at his lips.

“Does Mr. Bang feel jealous when I call them Binnie and Jisungie?”

“Yes, I am. Sue me, I worked day and night to be yours. Day and night and for ten years at that too,” he sighs dramatically and you tip your head back in laughter. Your giggles lull when you see it.

“Are we standing underneath…” you draw out.

“A cherry blossom,” Chan whispers, his gaze soft and full of warmth. His smile is so wide, so radiant, it feels like your soul is buzzing, melting underneath his light.

“This reminds me… Did you fall for me because I gave you a cherry lollipop?” you tease, wrapping your arms around the nape of his neck, his hands instinctively finding your waist.

“Yeah, you must have laced that lollipop with something,” he chuckles, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“What if I hadn’t given it to you? What if we hadn’t met at all?”

He softens, his palms cupping your cheeks gently. “I would’ve found you,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against yours. He can almost taste it, vanilla and bubblegum. “In the streets of Gangneung. As you swam in the sea. In one of your courtrooms… I would’ve found you, my Cherry, and I would’ve loved you just the same.”

What does it mean to soften your heart? What does it mean to open the doors of what you thought was long sealed? The answers didn’t come to you all at once, you found them serendipitously, as you rounded up corners of paths you never thought you’d walk in.

You learned that softness is the greatest act of courage. You learned that to tear down your defenses is the greatest act of rebellion. You learned that love is a patient being, that it is all encompassing, that it heals, but only if you allow it to, only if you let it make a home out of your ribcage.

You learned that being human, unapologetically so, in all of its sorrowful and joyous shades, is to forgive, first and most. To forgive the world, for being sharp at times, for being cruel. To forgive yourself, for depriving your soul of happiness, for doing what you had to do to survive the cold.

To forgive the rust, for walking by your side for a long time. To let cinnamon and pinewood and cherries invade your senses instead, settle upon your sheets and waft into your home. To let the fire within you simmer, to let the anger go, even if it had kept you warm for a while.

For you have the sun now.

You have Chan, and he has you too, at last.

[foreverisntenough]

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Disclaimer: Still the same.

Chapter 28- 'Safe Now' | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 12.9 k

The house party had fallen into complete and utter chaos. Jess stood off to the side watching it all unfold with Megan beside her. She rolled her eyes looking on as you sobbed into Trent, his hands bloodied, Jack attentively speaking with the police, Josh licking his wounds as he got escorted out of the house, Noah consoling a terrified Layla, Devon still on the phone. Out of the corner of her eye Megan caught the reaction. 

“Jess, what the fuck…”  Megan asked, confused why her best friend just rolled her eyes looking at you bruised and battered. 

“They all protect her like she’s five years old.” Jess quipped very clearly disinterested in your wellbeing. 

“Jess, they protect her like someone has hurt her… Like someone has abused her.” Megan corrected her, annoyance and anger evident in her voice, and empathy for you in her eyes. 

“Abuse? Please.” Jess scoffed with a shake of her head. “Whatever, it used to happen to her all the time and no one said shit before this whole "relationship." Before T decided she was something she’s not.” Jess complained, taking another jab at you all whilst revealing she’d known about the way Josh had treated you.

“Sorry?” Megan looked at her gobsmacked. 

“Oh Meg, come on. You didn’t see the way Josh would throw her around?”  Jess snickered with a devious grin watching your body shake in Trent’s hold. Meanwhile, Megan’s voice cracked as she turned to Jess. The realization of everything that had been going on hit her like a ton of bricks. 

“Jess, you knew about the way he treated her? The abuse?” Her voice was strained, a mixture of hurt and disbelief. “What the fuck?…. You don’t have to like her, that’d beside the point… Y/N aside, knowing that’s going on and not saying anything is fucked up” Megan yelped feeling betrayed by her best friend. Jess rolled her eyes again, as if she had no remorse for the situation unfolding around her. 

“Is it?” she sneered, the venom in her voice unmistakable. “Because some people… I don't know, kind of deserve it, don’t they?” Jess explained her rationale, clearly believing it. Megan’s face twisted in disgust, clearly disagreeing. 

“Fuck you! You knew about this, you bitch” Layla interjected, after overhearing, shoving Jess. Jess’s back hit the marble bar top behind her. 

“Ow, you cunt. Fucking psycho, that hurt!” Jess yelped. The tension in the air was thick, and the atmosphere felt like it was on the edge of shattering. Layla, who had been at the center of the emotional whirlwind all night, couldn’t hold it in anymore. Thankfully someone else was going to intervene to prevent another fight breaking out. 

“Aye! Aye! Aye! C’mere,” Noah yelled, trying to prevent another explosion between Layla and Jess, dragging Layla back into him, leaving Jess standing a few paces away, looking frustrated and defensive, and inappropriately strangely offended. Jess’s smirk had faltered, but the bitterness in her gaze hadn’t gone anywhere. Layla collapsed into Noah’s arms, her sobs racking her body. He held her tightly, trying to offer comfort despite the mess of emotions swirling around them.

“Jess, I can’t… I can’t be friends with someone like that… I… I… can’t be your friend anymore.” Megan’s words were quiet, but they rang with finality.  Her jaw was slack, just in utter shock. She took a step back, as if the physical distance could help her emotionally detach from the girl she once thought she knew. “This is too much. You’ve done too much.” Then Jess’s smirk faltered for just a moment, her defenses cracking as she realized Megan wasn’t backing down, in fact, she was backing out. 

“You don’t understand, Meg. You don’t get it.” Jess babbled trying to buy time to come up with an excuse that’d salvage a friendship.

“No,” Megan said, shaking her head, her voice firm. “I get it, Jess. You let someone suffer. You let a man hurt a woman. You willingly let that happen…” Her voice wavered slightly but grew stronger with every word. “And you know what? I’m done.” She wiped a tear from her cheek, turning away from Jess. Layla’s sobs grew more desperate hearing them, the reality of your situation reduced down to ‘a man hurting a woman,’ it didn’t feel like enough. Noah could feel the weight of her emotions in his own chest. 

“I gotcha,” He whispered softly, gently rocking Layla back and forth as she clung to him, her hands gripping his shirt tightly. 

When Devon awkwardly came back, he took a deep breath and moved closer to them, trying to assess the situation. He tensed up when he saw Noah consoling Layla, his mind racing with uncertainty. He wasn’t sure how to react. He didn’t want to intrude, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that Layla was falling apart right in front of him and comforted by someone else.

“Layla… we should probably head out,” Devon suggested gently, his voice barely above a whisper. His words were careful, trying not to add any more weight to an already fragile situation but trying to take back something he thought he wanted. Noah’s hold on Layla loosened slightly, giving her the opportunity to go freely but she clung to him even harder, her grip tightening as if she feared losing him, or worse, losing herself in the storm of everything that had happened.

“I… I can’t. I’m sorry, no,” Layla whimpered, her voice broken and raw. The words were barely audible, but they hit both Noah and Devon hard. Noah hesitated, his heart aching for her. He looked down at her, unsure of what else to say or do. Devon stood silently, exchanging sympathetic glances with Noah. He knew Layla was in a fragile state, and he didn’t want to push her. His own discomfort was palpable, but he tried to mask it.

“It’s cool, bro. As long as she’s good,” Devon said quietly to Noah, his voice steady but laced with concern. His attempt to brush off the awkwardness was clear, but it didn’t quite work. He didn’t want to make a bigger deal of it than it already was. Layla and his potential romance really wasn’t the concern tonight, especially not to Layla. Devon was trying not to take it personally. Noah nodded, still unsure of the best course of action. He wasn’t sure what was driving Layla’s need to cling to him, whether it was the trauma of the night, the need for comfort, or something else entirely. He figured it was just that she needed to be with someone she trusted, someone who understood her, even if he didn’t fully understand her emotions at the moment and why he was the one she wanted. He could feel the weight of the night pressing down on both of them, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that things had changed between them all. They stood there for a long moment, in an uncomfortable silence. Devon didn’t object. He just nodded, stepping back and allowing Noah the space to comfort Layla. They all felt the gravity of the situation, but for now, the most important thing was making sure everyone was okay, and doing whatever that took.

The room felt suffocating, like everything that had just transpired had pressed the air out of the space. Jack was still speaking with police officers, as you clung to Trent on the ground. You looked almost unrecognizable, your eyes swollen shut from tears, bruising beginning to purple from Josh’s hands on you, your top ripped, Trent’s hands holding you, but simultaneously leaving behind a soft trace of soft still coming from his knuckles. All of it was amplified by Layla’s sobs echoing softly in Noah’s ears, and he could feel the tremble in her body as she clung to him. It wasn’t just the weight of the night; it was everything coming to the surface—her frustration, fear, the weight of everything she had witnessed, everything she felt for you. She was unraveling, and he couldn’t look away. Noah’s arms held her gently, but his mind was a blur. He wasn’t sure what to do. He hadn’t been expecting this, hadn’t prepared himself for the emotional gravity of the situation. He’d never expected things to come to this. Come to something so serious. He had always been the lighthearted one, keeping things in check, but now? He was standing at a crossroads. He was hurting for you and Trent, and Jack, now Layla needed him... and what if he might've needed her too.

“Noah…” Her soft, desperate voice broke through his thoughts. He leaned in, trying to find some calmness to anchor the situation. 

“Hmm? You want me to get you back home or you to Jack and Y/N’s?” Noah offered sweetly, brushing past his own emotion. But she shook her head, and Noah felt a slight chill. There was something more here. Something deeper than just the chaos of the night. His gaze softened as he tried to make sense of it. “Devon’s?” he asked quietly, his mind grasping for a logical answer. But the tension in Layla’s body told him she wasn’t thinking logically right now. “Just gotta get his address for me. Just wherever you want, alright Lay?” He whispered. She was overwhelmed. She needed something, someone, to ground her. He wasn’t sure where that was going to be, but he wanted to help.

“Yours,” Layla whimpered.  Noah’s body stiffened holding her, something shifted in him. He froze, his entire body stiffening, his heart thudding louder in his chest. Her words were soft, vulnerable, and they hit him in a way he didn’t expect.

“Ah… Lays,” he stammered, not sure if that was a good idea but she was already pressing into him more, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“Please,” she begged, and Noah could hear the rawness of her plea, her quivering lip breaking through the last of her control. In that moment, Noah knew he couldn’t turn her away. Despite the confusion, the weight of his own feelings, and the uncertainty of what this might lead to, he couldn’t let her go.  Noah hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of Layla’s distress. He had never seen her this vulnerable, and it weighed heavily on him. He’d known her for years, but tonight, everything felt different. As she sobbed against him, his protective instincts kicked in, but at the same time, the tension in the air made him question his decision. He knew that taking her to his place would complicate things further, but her pleading eyes made him relent.

“Yeah, alright,” he murmured, squeezing her tighter, his voice thick with emotion he hadn’t anticipated. He wanted to say more, to ask questions, to try and make sense of what was happening, but he didn’t. He accepted trying to do anything to deescalate tonight, although in his right mind this felt like opening a can of worms.  Tonight wasn’t about figuring it out. It was about being there for her, letting her lean on him when everything was falling apart around them. He didn’t want to overthink it, even though he knew this was going to lead them down a path they hadn’t expected. But for now, in the quiet of this moment, he just held Layla. And that was enough. Layla’s sobs slowly softened, and she nodded weakly against his chest. She wasn’t looking for an answer from him. She just needed to feel safe, needed something familiar. Noah pulled back slightly, brushing his hand through her hair and wiping away the stray tears that had fallen down her cheeks. He wasn’t sure what this would mean for them, for his relationship with Layla, if there was one. He had never imagined he’d be the one comforting her like this, not in this context.

“I’m here, Lays,” he whispered, his voice soft. “I’m not going anywhere.” His mind was racing with questions he wasn’t sure he had answers to. Noah’s thoughts kept drifting between the night’s chaos and the way Layla clung to him like a lifeline. He wasn’t sure if he was the right person to help her through this, but he wasn’t about to leave her alone. He gently guided her out of the room, trying to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to bring any more attention to themselves. The night had already spiraled out of control, and Noah wasn’t sure what the next steps would be. But for now, all that mattered was making sure Layla was okay. That was all he could focus on.

The party, which had already turned into an emotional minefield, was officially a wreck. People were starting to trickle out, some of the boys from the group still standing in stunned silence, unsure of how to react. The only thing that seemed certain was the mess of relationships, friendships, and trust that had been irreparably shattered. But as the last echoes of chaos subsided, Trent was there, by your side, holding you as if he never wanted to let go. And though things felt broken, in that moment, at least you weren’t alone.

When Noah and Layla arrived to his place, he flicked on the lights, his voice light but cautious. “Alright, home sweet home.” He muttered, scratching the back of his head as he stepped aside to let Layla in first.  Layla, still shaken by the evening, wasn’t really in the present moment but she was taken aback by the organization of it all. She’d been over before, she thought she had at least, but there were always boys there, beers everywhere, balls being kicked around, the tv on. But right now, it was so clean. She anticipated a space full of clutter, leftover takeout, and the remnants of last night’s entertainment. But as she walked further inside, her brows furrowed slightly in surprise. It was immaculate. The living room was tidy, pillows arranged perfectly on the sofa, no stray bottles or misplaced shoes in sight. Even the air smelled fresh, clean. She blinked. Noah caught her staring, a bashful chuckle escaping him.  “Okay, so…” he exhaled, shifting on his feet. “I don’t really have much… stuff for when a girl comes over.” He earnestly admitted. Layla’s lips twitched at his awkwardness mostly because it was so uncharacteristic but before she could say anything, he rushed to clarify, waving a hand. It wasn't like Noah wasn't hooking up with people ever. It was more of a preferred way of living. He wasn't exactly keeping extra towels around just for them. “Nah, fuck off. That’s not—what I mean is, I don’t like extra stuff. I just—I like my things neat and tidy.” Layla let out a soft giggle, stepping further into the him. 

“I can tell.” She teased, her eyes scanning the space as they made their way upstairs. His bedroom was just as pristine, the bed perfectly made, not a thing out of place. She glanced at him, tilting her head. “This is… not what I expected.” She giggled. Noah scoffed, smirking as he leaned against the doorway. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Thought I was a mess, didn’t ya?” He teased with a smirk. It was a soft remnant of normalcy but at the same time, it was a reminder of how incredibly abnormal the night had been. 

“I mean… a little.”  Layla shrugged, grinning. He rolled his eyes dramatically before nodding toward the bed. 

“Alright, you take my room, I’ll grab the couch. Good?” He instructed her. There was an elephant in the room but they were both going to ignore it best they could.

“Are you sure?” Layla hesitated. Noah dug through a dresser drawer finding a shirt. He turned with a smile and tossed it to Layla. 

“Beauty sleep and all that, you know? Look at me—” he gestured to himself with a smirk. “I could use a night on the couch, it’s starting to get unfair.” He cheekily laughed.

“You’re so obnoxious.”   Layla let out a giggle, shaking her head with a smitten smile, grabbing the shirt.

“Some call it endearing.” He shot back effortlessly. Layla bit her lip, shaking her head fondly before meeting his gaze. 

“Count me as some.” She murmured. Noah’s smirk softened, something unreadable flashing across his expression for a brief moment before he gave her a small nod. Noah ran a tired hand down his face, exhaling as he moved around the room, the weight of the night still heavy on his shoulders.

After teeth were brushed, and lights beginning to turn off, Layla lay tucked into his bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, watching him through tired eyes as he grabbed his glasses from his nightstand. He looked exhausted—worn from everything that had happened.

“Alright, get some rest, Lay.” He cooed.  She exhaled, exhaustion finally hitting her as she settled into the bed.  She glanced down at the oversized t-shirt she was wearing, the fabric soft and smelling like him. Guilt tugged at her chest as she watched him stretch his shoulders, rubbing at the tension in his neck. She hated the thought of him sleeping on the couch when there was enough space for both of them.

“Noah… you can stay.” Layla murmured, voice soft in the quiet of the room. It was olive branch, but simultaneously a devil's offer. Noah stilled, his hands dropping to his sides as his gaze met hers. 

“Yeah? You sure?” His voice was hesitant, as if he wasn’t entirely convinced. But internally he was biting at the bit. Layla simply nodded, shifting onto her side in silent invitation. He hesitated for a moment longer before sighing and switching off another light, then crossed the room to the bed. As he crawled in, he kept a safe distance, lying on his back, one arm draped over his stomach. The space between them wasn’t uncomfortable—it felt natural, unspoken trust settling between them. For a long moment, they just stared at each other in the dim light filtering through the curtains. It wasn’t awkward. If anything, it felt grounding. Then, Layla’s voice broke the silence. 

“You always take care of everyone, Noah. Who takes care of you?” She asked. Noah’s breath hitched slightly, and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t have an immediate answer. Nothing quick witted came to mind. The question hit somewhere deep, somewhere he didn’t often acknowledge. Being the middle child in a big family, he’d always been the peacekeeper, the one who looked out for everyone else. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

“Ah, I’m a big boy, Lay. I’ll be alright.” He attempted to brush it off, forcing a small smirk, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Layla exhaled softly, her voice laced with something that sounded a lot like understanding.

“Yeah… but we all appreciate it. I appreciate it.” She whispered. Noah didn’t respond, just stared at the ceiling, something warm settling in his chest at her words. She meant them. He could feel it. Layla shifted, rolling onto her side, facing away from him. Noah turned his head slightly, watching the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders before letting out a slow breath,

“Will be alright.” Noah leaned over and kissed her hair. A gesture that innately he hadn’t had thought twice about but it was loaded now, they were in bed. Noah's lips had barely grazed the back of her head before his brain short-circuited. Shit. Shit. Shit. He cursed himself instantly, eyes snapping shut as if he could undo the moment. Layla stiffened, the silence stretching for what felt like eternity. "... sorry Lay... I...." His voice was rough, hesitant, already preparing to get pied off and laughed at. Layla didn't turn to look at him, but her voice was soft, almost shy when she spoke.

"You're really sweet, Noah." She told him gently. His heart pounded. He should've left it at that— should've rolled away, thrown himself off the bed, maybe out the window. Instead, she spoke again, quiet and unsure. "Noah... do you... do you like a cuddle?" He exhaled, relief washing over him but it was laced with trepidation.

"Yeah, 'course." He told her. Layla didn't move. She just lay there, waiting, as if silently asking him to do something about it. Noah swallowed hard. "Would a cuddle make you feel any better tonight?" His voice was softer now, more careful. She nodded over her shoulder. Noah was fucked-and he knew it the second she arched her back, just enough for him to pull her against him properly. His hands slid around her waist pulling her into him, unintentionally dragging up the oversized t-shirt she was wearing, his shirt. He hadn't meant to, but Layla didn't stop him. "Better?" His voice was low, barely above a whisper. Layla hummed in response, melting into his touch. Letting his hands begin to wander-skimming her thighs, the dip of her waist, the curve of her ass.

And then he heard the most perfect thing he’d ever heard in his life, Layla whined. Noah nearly lost it, his mind went bank. "Yeah, you're good." He murmured, lips ghosting over the back of her neck. Every muscle in his body was tense, but his touch remained slow, careful. "Just wanna make sure you're good." He whsipered. Layla barely managed a breathy response. 

"Yeah, I'm good." She whined. But then she moved. Intentionally. Grinding her ass back against him, slow and deliberate. Noah clenched his jaw. He was fighting demons. The way her body fit against his, the heat of her pressing back on his already rock-hard dick, the way she whimpered so softly, he thought he might die right there.

"Good girl." He spoke and Layla was very much so in the same boat as him. She swore she blacked out for a second. This was Noah-silly, goofy, Noah. The same one who gave her shit for everything, made every joke on the table. And yet, right now, he was none of those things. He was careful, but firm. Gentle, but commanding. His hands weren't just holding her anymore-they were learning her. Her pussy was throbbing, desperate for something, anything. She barely recognized the noises leaving her lips, soft little whimpers that only spurred Noah on. Meanwhile, Noah was struggling. Every instinct in him wanted to flip her over, push her thighs apart, wreck her. But he didn't. He held himself back, settling for pressing his mouth against her skin, letting his fingers roam just enough to drive her crazy. He didn't know what the fuck was happening between them, but he knew one thing— Layla was ruining him.

When you all stepped back into your house, the silence was oppressive, almost deafening. It wasn’t the comforting kind of quiet that accompanied safety—it was heavy, suffocating, and filled with the weight of everything left unsaid. Trent carried you in, his strong arms holding you as securely as he could. Your face stayed buried in the nape of his neck, where it had been for what felt like hours. He didn’t mind. He’d have carried you forever if it meant you didn’t have to feel the weight of the world pressing down on you. The house was dark, every shadow stretching out like a reminder of the emptiness you felt inside. Even with Trent’s steady heartbeat against your cheek and Jack’s concerned presence lingering nearby, the void within you consumed everything. Trent shifted slightly, his voice low and soft, like he was afraid to disturb whatever fragile piece of you was holding on. 

“I’m gonna take her upstairs,” he whispered to Jack. Jack nodded quickly, his own voice equally hushed. 

“Yeah, course.” He stepped closer, his gaze darting to you, searching for any sign of recognition, of acknowledgment. “Y/N…” he whispered, crouching slightly to meet your height in Trent’s arms. “You’re gonna be okay, alright? We’re here, and you’re safe.” His voice was gentle, his tone pleading for some sort of response, some proof that you were still there with them. Jack leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment as if the gesture alone could transfer his strength to you. But you didn’t respond. You didn’t flinch or pull away. You didn’t nod or hum. You remained still, silent, completely withdrawn. Trent adjusted his hold on you, his grip firm yet tender as he carried you up the stairs. Jack watched after the two of you, his heart heavy, wishing he could take the pain from you, share the burden somehow.

Upstairs, Trent moved slowly, as though every step might break the fragile stillness surrounding you. He pressed another soft kiss to your temple as he reached the bedroom.

 “I’ve got you, baby. You’re safe now.” He whispered opening the door. But even those words, the ones you always believed when they came from him, couldn’t reach you—not yet. You stayed curled into him, as small as you could make yourself, lost in the dark and quiet, hoping for the light to find you again. “Alright, let’s get you to bed, baby,” Trent murmured softly, his voice calm despite the storm of emotions raging inside him. His hand throbbed, his knuckles bruised and aching, and his face still stung from the earlier confrontation, but none of it mattered—not when he looked at you. His heart clenched at the sight of your fragile state, your tear-streaked face buried in his neck, your body trembling against his. He carried you further into the room like you weighed nothing, your trust in him the only thing grounding him in the moment. Carefully, he lowered you onto the bed, but the moment your body hit the mattress, the dam inside you broke. A guttural sob tore from your throat, and tears began streaming down your face all over again. You reached out for him desperately, your fingers clutching at his shirt, clinging to him as though you were afraid he might disappear. “Hey, hey, I’m here,” Trent whispered, his voice cracking slightly as he settled down on the bed beside you. He reached for your hands, holding them firmly but gently, as if anchoring you to him. His eyes scanned your face, taking in every inch of your pain, his own heart fracturing under the weight of it. “You don’t want me to let go?” You shook your head frantically, burying your face into his chest as your cries grew louder. 

“No, T,” you choked out between sobs, your voice small and broken.

“Okay, okay,” Trent murmured, his lips brushing against your hair. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, cradling you like you were the most precious thing in the world. “I’m not leaving you. Not now, not ever, baby. I promise. I’ve got you.” For a while, he just held you, letting you cry against him as his hands rubbed soothing circles over your back. Every now and then, he pressed soft kisses to the top of your head, whispering reassurances into your hair. “You’re safe now, baby. It’s over. I’m here.” Eventually, when your sobs began to quiet, Trent gently pulled back to look at you. His fingers came up to brush away the tears from your cheeks, his touch so soft it felt like a whisper against your skin. “Can I get you into some different clothes, pretty girl?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a murmur. “Might make you feel a little better. Little comfier, cozier.” He tried to smile but it was hard. You didn’t respond, only whimpered quietly as your body trembled in his arms. Trent let out a shaky breath, trying to keep his emotions in check. “I know, I know,” he said gently, his tone soothing as his fingers stroked your hair. “C’mon, I’ll help you. I’ve got you, baby.” Moving carefully, as if you might shatter under his touch, Trent began peeling your clothes off. His heart sank as he saw the bruises littering your skin, the harsh marks standing out like cruel reminders of the nightmare you’d just endured. When his eyes landed on the cut near your collarbone—where Josh had torn your necklace off—his breath caught in his throat. He turned his head away for a moment, his jaw clenching as tears filled his eyes. He blinked them back quickly, swallowing down the anger and guilt that threatened to overwhelm him. You didn’t need his pain right now. You needed his strength. “Do you want to shower, baby? Or is that too much right now?” he asked gently, his voice thick with emotion. 

“No, T… I just want you.” You shook your head quickly, your voice breaking as you whispered. The sheer vulnerability in your voice broke him. 

“Alright, alright. I’m here, baby. I’m not going anywhere,” Trent said softly, his hands trembling slightly as he grabbed one of his oversized shirts. He slipped it over your head carefully, the familiar scent of him surrounding you like a protective cocoon. Once you were covered, Trent quickly peeled off his own clothes, leaving himself in just his boxers. He pulled down the sheets and climbed into bed beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms. He tucked the blanket around both of you, his strong arms wrapping around you as he held you close to his chest. Your head rested against his shoulder, your body curled into his as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. His fingers threaded gently through your hair, his touch slow and soothing as he whispered to you.

“I’ve got you,” Trent murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve got you, pretty girl. You’re safe now, yeah? I promise you, you’re safe.” Your breathing eventually began to even out, though your body still trembled slightly against him. He held you tighter, his hand moving in slow circles over your back. “Not letting go, baby,” he whispered again, his lips brushing against your temple. “Not tonight, not ever.” You nestled against Trent’s chest, your head tucked under his chin as his arms wrapped around you protectively. His steady heartbeat echoed in your ear, grounding you amidst the swirling chaos of your mind. The warmth of his body and the way he held you felt like a lifeline, tethering you to safety when everything else felt broken. “I love you,” Trent whispered, his voice soft and trembling with emotion. “I love you more than anything in the world. You’re everything to me, baby.” His words washed over you like a balm, soothing yet bittersweet. Your heart ached, a deep, raw pain that mirrored the soreness in your body, but Trent’s voice kept pulling you back, reminding you that you weren’t alone in this. And then, as if trying to fill the empty, aching spaces inside you, Trent began listing every reason why he loved you.

“I love because of everything that you are, pretty girl. You’re so perfect,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your hair between words. “You’re so sweet, nicest girl I know, you care so much about everyone, even when they don’t deserve it. I love how smart you are, how funny you are. I love how you light up a room without even trying.” His voice cracked slightly, but he kept going, his hand rubbing slow, gentle circles on your back. “I love the way you laugh, the way you smile at me like I’m the only person in the world. I love to make you smile, baby. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. I used to come over and just pray you’d be home, just so I could sit next to you, make you happy, keep you happy.” Trent ached recalling how you two grown up together and all he wanted was to keep you happy and yet here you were crumbling in his arms. You cried harder listening to him but he kept going. You needed to know. “I love how you’re always there for people, even when it’s hard. And I love how you let me be there for you, like now. I love you, baby, more than I’ll ever be able to say.” You listened in silence, tears streaming down your face as you burrowed closer into his chest. His words carried so much love, so much tenderness, it was almost unbearable. You cried harder, the weight of everything crashing down all at once. “I’ve got you,” Trent murmured, his voice steady even as his own emotions threatened to overwhelm him. “Always.” His lips found your hair, pressing soft, lingering kisses there as he held you tighter, yet with so much care it felt as if he thought you might break. His hands never stopped moving, tracing slow, comforting patterns across your back. Eventually, your sobs began to quiet, exhaustion overtaking you as Trent’s warmth and gentle reassurances lulled you into sleep. Your breathing evened out, your body going limp in his arms as you finally found some semblance of peace. Trent stayed still for a moment, his chest rising and falling steadily as he looked down at you. Your tear-streaked cheeks glistened in the faint light, your lips slightly parted, your face still etched with the pain you carried even in sleep. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. Tears filled Trent’s eyes, spilling over as he shut them tightly, his chest heaving with quiet, shaky breaths. He pressed another kiss to your hair, the salt of his tears mingling with your scent.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he held you closer. “I love you. I love you so much. I’m so sorry, baby.” He cried silently, his tears dampening your hair as he stroked your back, his thumb brushing over a small bruise on your arm. The sight of your battered body and the weight of your pain tore at his heart, and all he could do was hold you, hoping his presence would be enough to start piecing you back together. “I’ll fix this,” he murmured softly, his voice a quiet vow. “I don’t know how, but I’ll fix this. I’ll keep you safe. Always.” Trent stayed awake for hours, his tears eventually drying as he held you close. Every now and then, he’d press another kiss to your hair, his lips lingering as if he could somehow pour all his love and apologies into you through that simple touch.And as the night stretched on, Trent whispered one final promise into the quiet room: “I’ll never let you hurt like this again. I swear, baby. Never again.”

It was late into the morning, it was actually leaning into the afternoon when Jack knocked gently on your bedroom door.  Trent barely heard it. Jack opened the door seeing that he heard no sound on the other side. Jack stepped into the doorway, his face etched with concern as he took in the sight before him. The room was dim, the curtains still drawn, letting in only a sliver of the afternoon light. You were completely draped over Trent, your body molded to his like you couldn't bear even the smallest distance. Trent was awake, but his entire focus was on you-his hands never stopping their slow, soothing strokes along your back, his lips pressing gentle kisses into your hair every so often, murmuring soft ‘I love yous’ like a prayer. 

“Yo.” Jack whispered quietly, nodding to grab Trent's attention off you, if only for a moment. Trent glanced over, his tired eyes meeting Jack's as he reached out a hand, silently dapping his mate up. It was a simple greeting, but there was a quiet understanding between them-Jack was checking in, making sure Trent was alright too. But the moment Trent's hand left you, you stirred, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you instinctively sought out his touch again. Your body shifted on top of him, nuzzling into his chest, your arms tightening around him as if to pull him back. Trent immediately brought his hand back to you, rubbing slow circles into your back again.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm here," Trent whispered, his voice impossibly soft, his lips brushing your forehead. Jack watched, something deep in his chest aching at the sight. He had never seen you so vulnerable before, so completely dependent on someone else's presence just to feel safe. And he had never seen Trent like this either-his usual confidence stripped away, his entire being consumed by the need to comfort you, to protect you.

"She get any sleep last night?" Jack looked at you, keeping his voice low. Trent nodded, but his eyes were still full of exhaustion. Trent let out a slow breath, looking down at you. Even in sleep, you still looked troubled, your brow slightly furrowed, your grip on him impossibly tight. He hated it-hated that you were hurting like this, hated that he couldn't take it all away.

"Yeah... cried herself to sleep, but she's been in and out for a while now." His hand never stopped moving on your back, keeping you tethered to the safety of his touch. "She's not let go of me once, though." Jack sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. 

"I figured. Just wanted to check on you both." He hesitated before adding, "When she wakes up, I'lI make sure there's food, yeah? She'll need it." Trent nodded, a silent thank you passing between them.  The room stayed dimly lit, the curtains still drawn, keeping the world outside at bay. The only sound was your steady breathing, though even in sleep, your body remained curled into Trent’s, as if afraid to let go. His hands never stopped moving, rubbing slow circles along your back, grounding you in whatever way he could. His own body ached—his swollen hand throbbed, his face bruised and sore—but none of it mattered compared to the way you clung to him. “Brought you some ice too…” Jack held up an ice pack Trent hadn't noticed was in his hand.

���Thanks, bro. Probably a little late now… swollen already.” Trent exhaled, a tired chuckle escaping his lips as he nodded down at his bruised hand on your back. Jack shrugged, setting it down on the nightstand.

“Yeah, well, if you want it, it’s here.” He hesitated for a moment, eyes flickering down to where you lay on Trent’s chest, his arms locked protectively around you. His voice dropped even lower. “How’s she been, seriously?” He asked, looking for more. Trent sighed, rubbing his thumb over your shoulder absentmindedly. 

“The same as,” he admitted, his voice thick with exhaustion. “Obviously rattled, but she’s just been sleeping… if she wakes up, she cries for a bit and then back to sleep.” Jack gave a sad, knowing nod, his brows furrowing as he reached out, gently brushing a piece of hair from your face. You barely stirred, just nestled deeper into Trent, as if even in your sleep, you knew where you were safest. Trent’s voice softened even more, his grip tightening around you instinctively. “If I take my hands off her, asleep or not, she freaks out, so…” Jack inhaled sharply, shaking his head. 

“Jesus.” His voice was barely above a whisper, a mix of anger and sorrow laced in the single word. Trent’s jaw tensed, his gaze fixed on you. 

“I don’t even know, mate… this is…” But his sentence trailed off into nothing, because there weren’t words for it. Jack sat on the edge of the bed, watching his sister— someone he used to think of a strong—curled up like a wounded animal, looking anything but. 

“It’s awful,” he admitted. “But she trusts you. She just feels safer with you after last night. She always has.” Trent swallowed hard, nodding. 

“It was fucking awful, but she should trust me. I love her. I tried to protect her, mate.” Trent tried to explain. Jack met his eyes, nodding with quiet conviction. 

“I know, mate. You did.” Jack confirmed sincerely. Silence settled between them again, thick and heavy. Trent shifted slightly beneath you, hesitating before lowering his voice, not wanting to wake you, as if an inch more of space between you would make it so you couldn’t hear, what he was going to ask.

“Any word on…” He didn’t say the name, he didn’t even need to say Josh’s name. He didn’t have to. Jack already knew. Jack’s jaw clenched.

“Said charging him with assault and extortion.” Jack explained. Trent’s brows shot up in surprise. 

“Really?” He said low but surprised. He had expected Josh to walk away unscathed, like he always did. The fact that something was actually sticking this time? It stunned him. Jack nodded. 

“Yeah, I mean, obviously the physical evidence on her from what he did that night was obvious to them, he had her under his fingertips." Jack swallowed and Tfrent winced. It was just as brutal to hear as it was to say. "And all the other times—she had photos of, so I grabbed those. And then Ty got all the video stuff sorted. So.” He shrugged, like it was nothing, but Trent knew how much effort it must’ve taken to pull all of that together over just last night. Trent let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Wow…” His arms subconsciously tightened around you, like holding you closer could erase all the damage that had been done.

“Yeah…” Jack exhaled, rubbing his face before standing up. “It’s good though, mate." Trent nodded. "Need anything?” He asked. Trent shook his head.

“Nah. Just gonna chill for a bit. See what she feels up to later. Sorry. Hope that’s—” Jack cut him off with a look.

 “Bro, it’s cool.” He said but then paused. His voice softened as he looked at you again. “Thanks for being there for her.” Trent glanced down at you, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. 

“There was never a choice, mate. She’s everything to me.” Trent let out a deep breath, adjusting his grip on you as you stirred slightly in your sleep. His hands, despite their own aches, instinctively resumed their slow, comforting strokes along your back. Jack stood beside the bed, watching the two of you with a mixture of sadness and quiet admiration. “But Jack…” Trent spoke, causing Jack to pause. “You don’t have to thank me for that,” Trent murmured after a moment, shaking his head. “There was no world where I wasn’t going to be there for her.” His voice was firm, unwavering. Jack nodded, rubbing a hand over his jaw, his expression unreadable. 

“I know,” he said simply. “But still.” A beat of silence passed between them, heavy with the weight of the last twenty-four hours. Trent glanced at the ice pack on the nightstand, then at his swollen hand, but he made no move to take it. His priorities were elsewhere. Jack noticed. 

“You should at least put that on for a bit,” he said, nodding toward it. Trent let out a small, humorless chuckle. 

“Hurts like hell, but it’s nothing compared to…” His voice trailed off as he looked down at you, his chest tightening. Jack sighed. 

“Yeah, I get it.” He hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “She’ll be okay, you know.” Trent swallowed hard, his fingers gently tracing soothing circles on your back. 

“I hope so,” he whispered, almost like he was afraid to say it too loudly. Like the thought of you not being okay was too much to bear. Jack looked at him, really looked at him. 

“She will be,” he reassured. “She’s got you.” Trent met Jack’s gaze, something unspoken passing between them—an understanding, a shared promise. Jack had done everything he could to ensure Josh faced the consequences. And now, it felt like it was Trent’s turn to do what he did best—love you, protect you, make sure you never had to feel that kind of fear again. Jack gave Trent’s shoulder a firm squeeze before stepping back. 

“I’ll be downstairs if you need anything,” he said before slipping out of the room, leaving the two of you in the quiet sanctuary of each other. Trent exhaled slowly, shifting just enough to press a lingering kiss to your forehead as he tightened his arms around you.

The cinema room was dimly lit, the only glow coming from the screen in front of you. Trent had managed to convince you to leave the bed, but not much had changed—you were still draped over him, wrapped up in his arms like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. His fingers traced soft, absentminded circles on your back, his lips occasionally pressing against your hair. Then, a quiet voice broke through the silence.

“Hii…” Layla’s whisper sang through the room as she stepped in, careful not to disrupt the fragile peace. She approached with a soft smile, her eyes scanning the way you clung to Trent, how his arms cradled you protectively. She sat down next to you both, reaching out with gentle hands. “Can I have a cuddle too?” she asked, her tone light but full of love. She squeezed your arm gently, and Trent kissed your hair, nudging you ever so slightly, encouraging you to shift toward your best friend. Reluctantly, you lifted your head, sitting up on Trent’s lap and Layla pulled you into her arms, her warmth wrapping around you. You sniffled, your body weak against hers. “Oh babe…” Layla whined, holding you tighter. She hated this—hated how fragile you felt, hated that she could feel the weight of what had happened in your trembling frame.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn’t even know why you were apologizing, but the embarrassment, the shame, it all sat heavy on your chest. Layla sighed softly, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment as she kissed your cheek. She hated that she could feel not only how broken you were emotionally but physically too in her arms. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, yeah?” Her words were firm, but her touch was impossibly gentle. She let you go, letting you settle back down against Trent, his arms immediately reclaiming you, holding you just as tightly as before. Layla wiped her eyes quickly, trying to keep things light.  “Okay, be honest though… better cuddle—me or T?” She sniffled through a teasing smile, nudging your side playfully. You tried—really tried—to laugh, but it wouldn’t come. It felt stuck, like everything else inside you. The pain was still too raw. Trent glanced down at you before looking at Layla, smirking, appreciating her efforts. 

“I might edge you out, you know, Lays.” His voice was soft, teasing but careful. He reached out and gave Layla’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, making sure you didn’t feel like you had to answer.

“Maybe… I am her best friend though.” Layla shot back with a giggle, wiping at her nose. Then she leaned down toward you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “But you’ve got your dream boy now, hmm?” And there, then in that moment, your best friend joking around with your boyfriend, Trent holding you, keeping you safe, Layla kissing you reassuring you, you let out a real giggle, something light bubbled up inside you. Soft, quiet, but real. It was there. Trent felt it more than heard it, the way your body shook ever so slightly with the sound. His chest tightened with relief, his heart aching in the best way. Layla’s eyes softened, glistening with emotion. Trent held you even closer, burying a kiss into your hair. 

“Yeah, you’ve got me. Love my pretty girl so much.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but you felt every word settle deep in your bones. His arms squeezed you, grounding you in the only truth that mattered right now—he was here, Layla was here, and you were safe.

Jack dropped down into one of the seats with a dramatic sigh, stretching his legs out as if he’d been carrying the weight of the world and he might as well have been. 

“I don’t know, Lays, you might get boxed out like me and Noah. Trenty says they’re best friends.” He tossed the words out with a smirk, arms folding across his chest as he gave a pointed glance in your direction. Layla gasped, her mouth falling open in mock offense. 

“Excuse me? And here I was thinking I was special.” She placed a hand over her chest, shaking her head like she’d just been personally betrayed. You could only let out another quiet giggle, hiding your face deeper into Trent’s chest, a small, shy smile pulling at your lips. The warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear—it was the only thing keeping you grounded. You felt his arms tighten around you slightly, his fingers rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“Yeah, best friend… love of my life too, hmm?” Trent hummed, his lips grazing your temple before trailing down to your neck in soft, playful kisses. His voice was teasing, but there was something deeper in it, something so undeniably him—warm, sure, and full of a love so consuming you almost felt overwhelmed by it. You nodded against him, your arms slipping under his to hold him tighter, fingers gripping at the fabric of his shirt like you never wanted to let go. It had been such a hard few days, but in his arms, even with the ache in your chest, you felt safe. Slowly, you lifted your head, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, letting it linger for a moment longer than necessary. When you pulled away, you turned toward Layla, stretching your hand out. She took it instantly, her fingers wrapping around yours in a firm but comforting squeeze.

“I can share,” you murmured softly, eyes filled with the quiet affection that only Layla could truly understand. She softened immediately, squeezing your hand back a few times in silent reassurance. 

“You’re very loveable, babe. Hard to resist.” She giggled. Trent kissed the top of your head again, holding you closer. Layla smirked, shooting a look at Jack before grinning. “Guess Jacky boy will be an okay sub then.” Jack scoffed, shaking his head. 

“Okay sub? Wow, alright then.” He laughed, flicking his gaze between the three of you. “Fine, I’ll take ya.” Without warning, he threw an arm around Layla in a rough, brotherly way, yanking her into his side like an annoying sibling. “Let them be gross together. We’ll survive.” He quipped. Layla groaned dramatically, struggling in his grasp. 

“Oh my God, Jack—you’re crushing me! Get off!” She struggled in his strong arms. Jack only laughed, keeping his grip tight, making it impossible for her to wriggle away. You lips uncontrolled pulled into a soft smile. As ridiculous as they were, these were your people.

“Nah, you said I was a fucking sub. If you’re bringing me in, this is what you get.” He smirked. Trent chuckled, shaking his head as he looked down at you, his grip never loosening. 

“They’re just jealous, baby.” He whispered against your hair, his voice full of playful amusement. You giggled softly, the sound barely audible, but real. It was small, but it was something. And for the first time in days, something inside you felt just a little bit lighter.

The room had been filled with an easy warmth, the kind that only came from the presence of the people who loved you most. Trent’s arms remained securely around you as you laid curled into his chest, his steady heartbeat your grounding rhythm. Jack and Layla sat close by, still exchanging playful jabs, the remnants of your soft laughter lingering in the air. For a brief moment, things almost felt… normal. Almost. But then as Jack was flicking through channels on the tv, he paused on a one, a news update cut through the soft atmosphere like a blade.

“It seems the ruckus of the Liverpool-Manchester United match this season has carried off the pitch and into an exclusive neighborhood of Hale last night. A disturbance call made to a Cheshire luxury home early Sunday ended with one arrest being made, Manchester United’s left winger, Josh Ellington…”

Your body instinctively tensed the moment you heard his name, your breath catching in your throat. Trent felt it immediately. His grip on you tightened, his large hands running soothingly up and down your back, his lips pressing a silent kiss against your hair as if to say, I’ve got you. You’re safe. He can’t touch you anymore. But it didn’t stop the ice-cold shiver that ran down your spine. Jack and Layla had gone completely still, their playful banter vanishing as quickly as it had come. The room, which had been filled with lighthearted teasing just seconds ago, now felt unbearably heavy, like the air had been sucked from it entirely.

“Police reported to a house party after receiving a call about the disturbance. It’s been understood that there were multiple footballers from both clubs in attendance. There is widespread speculation that a row kicked off between the rival clubs’ players…”

The words felt distant, like you were hearing them from underwater. You knew what had happened. You had lived what had happened. This wasn’t speculation to you—it was real. The bruises on your skin, the lingering ache in your ribs, the shattered feeling deep in your chest… all of it was evidence of that night. Josh had been arrested. That should’ve meant relief, right? But all you felt was a deep, aching sadness. Because even though he was behind bars, you were still here, curled into Trent’s arms like a wounded bird, your body still bearing the marks of what he had done. Jack let out a sharp exhale, rubbing a hand over his jaw as he shook his head. 

“Fucking dickhead.” His voice was tight, filled with barely restrained anger. Layla swallowed hard, her gaze flickering to you immediately, her hand reaching out, rubbing your arm in silent comfort. Trent stayed quiet, his chest rising and falling beneath you in deep, controlled breaths. You knew him well enough to know what that meant—he was pissed, trying his hardest to keep himself calm for you. His fingers brushed the side of your arm, tracing slow, deliberate circles over your skin, his way of reminding you he was here. You took in a shaky breath, pressing your face further into his chest, as if you could disappear into him entirely. His warmth, his strength, his love—it was the only thing keeping you from unraveling completely.

“Fuck ‘em honest. He can’t hurt you anymore, baby.” Trent murmured so quietly only you could hear it, his voice thick with emotion. “Never again.” And even though the sadness still clung to you like a second skin, you believed him. Because as long as you were in his arms, as long as he held you this tightly, you knew you were safe.

A while later, Jack strolled into the kitchen, rubbing his face tiredly as he made his way to the fridge. Layla was already there, quietly making tea for you. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched as she moved around, carefully pouring the hot water into a mug.

“I'm glad you came over, Lays. She hadn’t been talking much, so this has been good,” Jack finally said, stepping up beside her. His voice was gentle, as if he knew she was holding onto something fragile. Layla turned her head slightly, and Jack caught the way her eyes filled with tears. She blinked quickly, as if willing them away, but they were there—threatening to spill over.

“I needed to see her, Jack,” she murmured. “That was so scary.” Layla admitted. Jack sighed, leaning back against the counter. 

“Yeah, was a lot.” He ran a hand over his jaw before glancing at her again. “You okay?” He asked. Layla hesitated before exhaling, stirring the tea absently. 

“Yeah… I just…” She trailed off for a moment, her voice quiet. “Honestly, I never knew it was so bad. And even then, I didn’t think anything like that would happen.” She earnestly told him. Jack nodded slowly, his expression darkening. 

“Neither. I can’t wrap my head around it.” He shifted, standing up straighter as he reached for two more mugs. “I’m sorry we didn’t check on you last night, though.” He set them down beside her, his voice laced with sincerity. Layla glanced at him with a small, appreciative smile. 

“Jack, there was a lot going on,” she reassured him, her tone understanding. She turned back to the tea, adding sugar and a splash of milk. “I was fine. Noah took care of me.” Jack stilled. His eyebrows shot up as a slow smirk spread across his face.

“Did he?” He smugly responded too fast. Layla hummed in response, not picking up on his inflection, oblivious at first. 

“Yeah?” She turned toward him just as the tea bags steeped. Jack didn’t say anything at first—just gave her a look. Layla blinked. Then it hit her. “Oh my days—No! Jack! Stop!” She yelped, half-groaning, half-laughing as she shoved his arm. The smile on her face betrayed her, though. No was not the time for Layla to spill anything. Jack held his hands up in mock innocence, grinning. 

“I’ve said absolutely nothing here, Lays. You’re the one reading into things…” He let the sentence hang, watching her squirm, “Unless…” His smirk deepened. “Is there something I should be reading into?” Layla gasped dramatically, pointing at the door. 

“No. No. Just go away. We can’t be best friends anymore. This won’t work. I need Y/N back from T” She teased. Jack cackled, reaching for his drink. 

“Yeah, yeah, keep deflecting.” He joked. Layla rolled her eyes, but the blush creeping up her neck said more than words ever could.

“You alright?” Megan’s soft voice rang through the entryway as Jack let her inside, her arms full of bags. Her presence another addition to the arsenal of people supporting you. Not asked, but offering.

“Yeah, we’re alright,” Jack murmured, his eyes softening the moment he saw her. He reached for her, pulling her into a warm embrace. “You look beautiful, my Meg.” His voice was low, affectionate, as he pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek. Megan sighed into the moment before pulling back with a small smile. 

“Brought her some things.” She held up one of the bags and a bouquet of delicate flowers. “Just gonna put these in her room. Don’t need to make a big deal out of it or anything. But I also brought some food and all sorts of things.” She let out a quiet giggle, trying to lighten the air. Jack, however, didn’t let her slip away just yet. His lips unconsciously pouted, his heart swelling at her thoughtfulness. He pulled her into another embrace, tighter this time, his chin resting on the top of her head.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “Just chilling today, but I’m glad you’re here.” He took the bags from her, one hand still clasping hers as he kissed her temple. They began walking further into the house, but before they could step fully into the living room, Megan hesitated. Her fingers curled around his, pulling him back gently. Jack turned to her with a questioning look, but her gaze was cast downward. He felt the tension in her shoulders before she even spoke.

“Jack… I… I’m so sorry,” Megan whispered, her voice unsteady.  “I feel so at fault.” Jack’s brows furrowed. 

“Meg…” His voice was careful. “This is no one but Josh’s fault.” Jack explained.  

“I know… I know.” She exhaled shakily, wringing her hands together. “But it’s also…” She hesitated, her throat tightening, as if saying the name would make it more real. “Jess's” The name came out barely above a breath. “I’m sorry.” Jack’s jaw clenched at the mention of her. The weight of it all was still settling, but Megan’s guilt? He wouldn’t have that.

“Hey, my Meg…” His voice softened, and he stepped closer, cupping her cheek so she would look at him. “You’re not her, are ya?” Megan shook her head quickly, a quiet sniffle escaping her lips. Jack brushed his thumb over her cheek, leaning down to rest his forehead against hers for a moment. “Then don’t take this on. Not for a second.” His voice was gentle but firm, the conviction in his words wrapping around her like a safety net. Megan let out a shaky breath, nodding slightly. Jack pressed another kiss to her temple, lingering there for just a second longer. “You’re good, Meg. And you’re here. That’s what matters.”

They walked into the kitchen together, Megan placing the flowers down carefully before slowly unpacking the bags she had brought. The rustle of paper and plastic filled the quiet space as she moved around the kitchen island with ease, knowing exactly where everything belonged. Jack, perched on a stool, watched her with a lazy smile, his chin resting in his palm. Without looking up admist her swift movements, Megan reached out and pinched his side.

“Aye!” Jack yelped, jolting upright with a cheeky grin. Megan giggled, her eyes twinkling as she opened a bag of Percy Pigs she’d brought over, popping one into her mouth before turning to him with another between her fingers. She stepped closer, pushing it toward his lips. Jack caught her wrist gently, holding it still. Instead of just taking the sweet, he pulled her hand closer, slipping the gummy into his mouth while keeping his eyes locked on hers. And before she could react, he kissed her fingers softly. Megan let out a breathy giggle, her cheeks heating under his touch. Jack smirked at her, but the lightheartedness of the moment only distracted him for a second. If he was honest with himself, there was a part of him that was scared—scared of letting another woman into his life, one that wasn’t you or, more frankly, your mum. He had spent so long keeping people at a distance, afraid of the hurt that came when they left. A linger aftereffect of the pain of loosing your mum. He knew you wouldn’t leave. But seeing you hurt, seeing what Josh had done to you, had shaken him more than he ever thought possible. And right now, watching Megan show up—not just for you, but for him—when he never even asked, terrified him. Yet, it also meant everything.

"Meg?" Jack's voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. She turned back to him, and he reached out, gently pulling her between his legs as he sat on the stool. His hands found her waist instinctively, his thumbs grazing her sides in slow, soothing strokes.

"You okay?" she asked, offering him a sad smile. Jack exhaled, his fingers flexing slightly against her hips. 

"I just... you know I care about you." Megan nodded without hesitation. "And you know I love you." His voice was steady, but there was something deeper behind it— something vulnerable. Megan swallowed, her breath catching in her throat. He had told her before, but it had been in fleeting moments, in passing, when emotions were high. She had never been fully sure if he meant it in the quiet, in the stillness. 

"And you're sure about that?" she whispered. Jack didn't even blink. 

"More sure than l've ever been about anything." He rescinded immediately. Megan's lips parted slightly, her heart thudding in her chest. "It's been a little mad lately," Jack continued, his thumbs still running absentminded circles against her, grounding himself in the feeling of her beneath his hands. "And I just wanted you to know I want you." He paused, searching her eyes. "And I'd want you to maybe be my girlfriend when it's mad and..." His voice softened, "even when it's not."

"Jack..." Megan whimpered, emotion pooling in her chest, threatening to spill over. Her hands ran over his chest, feeling the warmth of him beneath her palms. "I can be yours, always. Mad or not." She giggled nervously, biting her lip. Jack smiled, but there was something cautious behind it. He tilted his head slightly, exhaling before murmuring, 

"It's just... once you're here, you're here for me, you know?" The weight of what he was saying lingered between them. His fear of being left coming in with a force.  She hummed in understanding, her fingers curling into his hoodie. 

"Okay," she said simply, her voice steady. "And I'm here." Jack closed his eyes for a moment, like he was letting it sink in. 

"Thank you for understanding." He whispered.  Megan smiled up at him. 

"So... am I your girlfriend, Jacky?" she teased, her voice light but full of meaning. Jack huffed out a bashful laugh, rolling his head to the side for a second before standing up, wrapping her in his arms, and pulling her against his chest. He hummed, swaying her back and forth in his embrace, his lips pressing into her hair.

"Yeah," he whispered with a happy chuckle. "My Meg."

In the days following, Trent’s arms wrapped snugly around your waist as he stood behind you, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder. His warm brown eyes met yours in the mirror, filled with soft adoration.

“What do you think about getting out with me today, baby?” Trent asked sweetly, his voice low and coaxing.

“Out?” You pouted, barely entertaining the idea. The comfort of being wrapped up with him felt too good to leave behind.

“Pleaase.” He grinned, pressing soft, rapid kisses along your cheek, one after the other, until you finally gave in with a quiet giggle. “C’mon, pretty girl,” he murmured against your skin. “For me? Please let me take the most beautiful girl in the world to go get some…” He trailed off, his eyes flickering back to yours in the mirror, waiting for you to fill in the blank. 

“Coffee?” You sighed playfully before mumbling. Trent nodded immediately, kissing your cheek again. 

“Yeah, baby. Whatever you want.” He told you. You hesitated for a moment.

“Can I shower first?” You asked softly. A small, sad smile tugged at your lips. Trent’s smirk was slow and teasing as he met your gaze in the reflection. 

“Can I…?” His tone was full of mischief, his hands tightening slightly on your waist. You giggled, nodding as he pulled you back against his chest, wrapping his arms tighter around you. His lips brushed your neck, lingering with playful kisses. “C’mere, baby,” he murmured, making it clear that, coffee or not, he had no intention of letting you go just yet.

The steam curled around you both as Trent guided you gently into the ensuite, his hands never leaving your skin. He undressed you slowly, his fingertips trailing over every inch of you as if he were handling something delicate, something sacred. The soft hum of the shower filled the air as he turned on the water, and the moment the warmth hit your skin, it felt like the weight of the past few days was being washed away. The hot water cascaded down your bodies, you found yourself drawn to him, your hands reaching out to trace the contours of his golden skin. Trent's muscular frame glistened with moisture, his tanned skin a stark contrast to the tiles surrounding you. You couldn't resist him; your fingers itched to explore every inch of his body. Trent pressed his lips to your forehead, lingering there for a beat before his kisses trailed down your temple, along your jaw, and finally to your neck. His touch was tender, reverent, but even still, you could feel the tension in his body, the restraint he was forcing himself to hold. Your hands moved over him, tracing the planes of his skin, desperate to pull him closer. He shivered under your touch, his body responding instinctively even as his mind told him to slow down. You pressed yourself into him, tilting your head to kiss his neck, your hands gripping at his back, his shoulders, his waist—anywhere you could reach. You needed to feel him, to remind yourself that you were safe, wanted, that you were his, that he was yours. Trent let out a breath, hesitating for just a moment before his hands found your waist, holding you gently but firmly. 

"Nah, baby, please," he murmured against your ear, kissing just behind it. His voice was hoarse, filled with longing, but there was something else there too-concern. "Maybe let's slow down, yeah?" But you didn't want slow. You wanted to feel. You wanted to drown in him. Leaning forward, you grabbed his shoulders, pulling him closer. Your lips sought his neck, kissing and sucking gently, leaving a trail of wetness on his warm skin. He tasted like the essence of desire, and you craved more. Your hands roamed over his broad back, feeling his muscles beneath your fingertips.

"T, I need you," you whispered, your voice hoarse with need. "I just want to feel how much you love me again." you whispered, your voice desperate as you began to sink to your knees in front of him.

"Nah, nah, stop, baby," Trent's voice was firm as his hands cupped your face, guiding you back up. His deep brown eyes searched yours, his thumbs stroking gently over your wet cheeks. You tried your hardest to not be offended but he spoke again before your thoughts could spiral that far. "You promise you want to feel how much I love you... like this?" His voice was thick, serious, grounding. Your breath caught, and you nodded, biting down on your bottom lip. The heat between you was unmistakable, and the ache in your core had nothing to do with the warm water cascading around you. Trent exhaled slowly, letting his hands glide down your back, feeling the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips. "Alright," he murmured, his touch sending a shiver through you. "But you know this is because I love who you are, yeah?" His voice was low, a whisper meant just for you.

"Yeah," you whined, your hands grasping at him, needing him closer, needing him to erase everything but this moment. And then, finally, Trent gave in, pulling you into him like you were the only thing keeping him upright.  You felt your heart beat harder hearing him. You gasped, silently, your voice breathless. The warmth of the water mixed with the heat of Trent's body as he pressed you against the cool tile. His hands roamed your body with purpose, his lips leaving a slow, lingering trail of kisses down your neck. 

"Cause I love you," he murmured, voice thick with emotion. "And I love this body. I love everything inside of it." His words were spoken like a vow, his hands moved to greedily palm your ass, pulling you closer into him. 

"And you like my ass too?" you teased, relishing in the feeling of his hands of you, tilting your head back as his lips grazed over your collarbone. Trent pulled away just enough to meet your eyes, his grin lazy and full of adoration. 

"Absolutely. Like nothing else. Love every inch of you." You let out a breathy laugh between the pleasure, feeling light despite the intensity between you.  Before you could respond, he bent slightly, his strong arms scooping you up effortlessly, hands gripping under your thighs as he pressed you against the cold tiled wall more. Your breath hitched, arms wrapping around his shoulders as your body instinctively molded into his– The contrast of the cold surface against your heated skin sent shivers down your spine. Trent's lips found your neck, his kisses hot and demanding. His hands roamed over your tits, squeezing and kneading, making you arch into his touch. "You're so fucking beautiful," he growled, his voice filled with admiration. "Every fucking inch of you." Your core clenched at his words, the pleasure intensifying with each caress. Trent's fingers found your wetness, stroking and teasing, making you gasp and squirm against him. He was smooth, moving to stroke his cock some before aligning it with your core. Then, with one swift thrust, he filled you completely, his cock sliding deep within your hot, wet core. You cried out, the sensation overwhelming as he stretched and filled you. Trent's hands gripped your thighs again, holding you steady as he began to move, his hips snapping forward with each powerful thrust.

"I love you, T," you whimpered, your voice breathless. His movements were slow at first, deliberate, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered, 'I love you,' 'I love you,' like a prayer against your lips. Every thrust, every touch, was filled with something deeper than just desire. It was devotion, a need to remind you how much he worshipped you, how much he needed you just as much as you needed him.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he grunted, his breath hot against your ear. "So tight and wet for me." You clung to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he pounded into you. The water continued to rain down, mixing with your sweat, making your bodies slick and glistening. Trent's eyes never left yours, holding you captive in an intense gaze as he fucked you with abandon. His love for you was evident in every stroke, every touch, and every kiss.

"You're everything l've ever wanted," you whined, voice breaking as the emotions overwhelmed you. The pleasure built alongside the flood of emotions, your chest heaving as you clung to him. Trent's grip on you tightened, adjusting one hand holding your thigh securely around his waist so the other could slid up, cupping your jaw, tilting your face, making your eyes met his. Your eyes had filled with tears. 

"I'm here with you. Tell me you're here with me, baby," he rasped, his own voice thick with emotion, his dark eyes searching yours.  You nodded, unable to speak, your emotions raw and exposed. He held your face in his hands, forcing you to look into his eyes, the deep brown pools reflecting the love and desire you felt. "You know I’m here?" he asked, his voice filled with concern and adoration. You managed a weak nod again, unable to find the words to express the depth of your feelings. Trent understood, his eyes softening as he held you close. "YN," he called your name, his voice filled with emotion. He held you tightly, his strong arms supporting your weight. Your heart was pounding, and you could feel the tears stinging your eyes. It was an overwhelming mix of emotions—love, passion, and a deep connection that left you breathless. Trent's lips found yours, kissing you softly, gently wiping away the tears that had begun to fall. "I'm here, baby," he whispered against your mouth. "I'm right here with you." The intensity was too much. The way he was looking at you like you were his entire world, the way he was holding you like you were something to be cherished-it broke something open inside you. Tears streamed down your cheeks causing Trent to still, concern flickering across his face. 

"No, baby. Please. Don't stop," you gasped, voice trembling. "I need you." His brows furrowed for just a second before he nodded, his hold on you tightening like he wanted to fuse you to him.

"Okay," he murmured, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your wet cheek. "You've got me." Then he moved again, slow and deep, his forehead pressing against yours, groaning into your skin as he gave himself to you completely. And in that moment, it wasn't just about making love-it was about healing, about holding onto each other in a way that nothing else in the world could touch. As the water continued to wash over you, you realized that this moment was more than just physical pleasure. It was a testament to the powerful bond you had with him. Trent's love for you was evident in every touch, every kiss, and every whispered word. And in that steamy shower, with his strong arms holding you, you knew that you had found something special, something that went beyond mere physical attraction. And so he drove into you again, hitting all the right spots, your climax building. Your body trembled, and your breath came in short gasps. Trent's pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more urgent. "Cum for me, baby," he urged, his voice hoarse. "Let me feel you cum for me. Look so beautiful when you cum f'me." His words were like a trigger, sending you over the edge. You cried out his name as your orgasm washed over you in waves of pleasure. Your inner walls clenched around his shaft, milking him as your body shook. Trent's own release followed, his cock throbbing as he emptied himself deep within you. 

The steam curled around you both, the water cascading down your entwined bodies as you remained wrapped in each other's arms. The remnants of passion, of pain, of everything that had come before, swirled down the drain, disappearing as if they had never existed. It felt baptismal in a way-not in religion, but in renewal. The past, the bruises, the weight of men like Josh, washed away, leaving behind something untouched, something whole. And that something was Trent. It was you, with him. Trent held you close, his breath warm against your temple, his hands steady and grounding against your back. Neither of you spoke for a long moment, just existing in the aftermath, feeling each other's hearts still pounding in sync.

When he finally moved, it was with a gentleness that sent another kind of shiver through you. His strong arms lowered you carefully onto the cool tiles, his hands never leaving your waist, like he was afraid you might slip away from him. His eyes roamed your body, lingering over your damp, glistening skin. His gaze caught on the bruises, the faint scrape marring your décolletage, the reminder of Josh's cruel grip, of the necklace he had torn away. The sight of it made something flicker in Trent's expression-an ache, a silent fury, a desperation to undo what had already been done. Without a word, he dropped his head, his face level with the tender marks. He didn't say anything, but you felt everything in the way he pressed his lips to the bruises, the scrape, the places that hurt. His kisses were reverent, delicate, as though his lips could will the pain away, as though he could rewrite the past with every press of his mouth. He nuzzled his face against your skin, his breath shaky, his hands gripping your hips like he needed to hold onto you just as much as you needed to be held. He took a deep breath, attempting to reign in his own emotions.

"I hate that he hurt you," he murmured, voice thick with something unspoken. "Hate that I wasn't there to stop it." Your fingers slid into his wet curls, tugging gently, grounding him. 

"You came though.” You whispered ,feeling a lump form in your throat making it hard to speak. “And you're here now," you sniffled, feeling the tears come back with force again. He exhaled against your skin, pressing one last lingering kiss over your heart before looking up at you. His eyes were warm, filled with devotion, and something deeper-something unshakable.

"Yeah," he whispered, gripping you tighter. "And I'm never letting go."

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!

Next part - Chapter 29 xx

[icarusflewsworld]

Rhysand & Cassian & Azriel X OC

Hello, here is the chapter 31 of a fanfiction on the world of Acotar where our three favorite Batboys are the mates of a single woman.

I hope you liked it. Feel free to tell me what you thought about it so I can improve because I don't feel like I write very good smut scenes.

The next chapter is Rhysand's smut and will be published on Wednesday, February 5th.

I send you lots of big kisses and thank you again for all your love. Love, ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

! Don't forget to read the previous chapters ! : Here

Chapter 31

"We should get up," Cassian mumbled, stroking the hair of his sleeping soulmate who had landed in Rhysand's arms during the night.

It had been hours since all three of them had been awake while the sun was now high in the sky. But they couldn't bring themselves to leave their soulmate to get up and didn't have the heart to wake her up to take her with them while she was sleeping peacefully.

They just passed her around every hour so they could hold their soul mate close to them equally.

Rhysand, still in the same spot in the bed, turned on his side, his back to Cassian, while taking his soulmate with him. "No, we're good here." He tightened his grip a little more around Luxiana, placing his nose on the top of her head. "The world can wait."

Feeling the blonde's bare chest on his, the lord frowned as he cast a narrowed glance over his shoulder at his brothers. "Wasn't she in a nightie last night?"

Azriel on the other side of the bed smirked. He had his hands behind his head and his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "Yes, but tonight she wanted cookies. I had to keep her busy while they baked."

Cassian, understanding his brother's words, gasped in offense. "You, you bastard. Without us?"

Azriel burst out laughing, "I don't regret anything, it was the best sex of my entire life."

A bitter taste of jealousy electrocuted the other two Illyrians but at the same time, the joy their brother felt was so contagious that they couldn't help but feel happy and smile.

Suddenly, the bedroom door opened with such violence that it smashed against the wall that held it.

All four of them sat up in surprise. Even Luxiana had her eyes wide open and were now fully awake.

"Amren," Rhysand cried, glaring at the fae who had just woken his soulmate again. "That's twice, there won't be a third, I warn you."

“Like you could stop me from doing anything,” Amren replied nonchalantly, not even a little intimidated. “Besides, it wasn’t my idea this time.”

Luxiana looked around. How had she ended up in Rhysand's arms? It didn't matter. She lay back down, dragging the high lord with her to wiggle in his arms while repositioning herself properly.

"It's mine!" Mor shouted at the top of her lungs as she entered the room, smiling. "You must get up!" she demanded, bending down to grab the Illyrians' clothes from the ground and throwing them in their faces. "You have things to do, duties and obligations to fulfill."

Cassian sighed loudly as he lay back down while Azriel groaned as he reluctantly got up to get dressed.

“Where is the book? I have to translate it,” Amren asked, looking around the room.

Rhysand pointed to the leather square on the bedside table before planting his face in Luxiana's neck to breathe in the scent of his soulmate deeply.

“Rhys, I said get up,” Mor demanded, grabbing the high lord by the ankle and jerking him out of bed.

He let out a sort of grunt of refusal as he struggled with all his weight to stay in his place.

Luxiana whimpered a sort of sob "Oh no, I don't want to get up."

Rhys' cousin let out a small laugh. "Oh but you can keep sleeping," she assured, "but not them. They have work to do!"

“Oh!” Luxiana said in realization. “Yessssss,” she finally cried out in joy. “I’m going to have the bed all to myself.”

She extracted herself from Rhysand's arms to pass over him and arrive between the lord and Cassian. Then she got on her knees to push the two Illyrians with her hands trying to roll them to the edge but they were too heavy. "Aren’t you ashamed?" she teased them all smiles. "Come on, get up, you have work to do."

Cassian laughed as Luxiana tried with all her might to make him move. He looked her up and down, savoring his soulmate's naked body next to him. Which, of course, awoke his erection even more - which never slept in the presence of the blonde, by the way...

Luxiana, following his gaze, realized that she was naked. She gasped in surprise, covering her breasts with her arms and squeezing her thighs.

She glared accusingly at Azriel -who was smirking- before turning her gaze back to Mor. A wide grin spread across Luxiana’s face as she turned around to stand on the bed, stopping hiding. She put one hand on her hip and the other on the back of her head. "How do you like me, Mor?" she asked, raising her eyebrows repeatedly in a perverted manner. "Please, stroke my ego. Do you find me hot?"

The three Illyrians tensed, freezing and widening their eyes at once, but Mor could see enough before they realize and react. She looked her up and down hungrily, nodding. "You're really hot."

“Luxiana!” Azriel cried sharply, running to the bed and erecting a wall of black shadow between herself and Mor.

"Mor!" Rhysand growled at the same time, leaping onto his two feet to glare at his cousin.

Cassian threw himself at Luxiana to grab her by the hips and pull her towards the bed, pinning her to the mattress in his arms but giving her a dark look.

Luxiana was dying of laughter as the army commander began to wrap her in the bed blanket like a sausage.

Rhysand walked over to his cousin and Amren, pushing them by the shoulders and getting them out of the room. "We're coming, it's okay," he growled before slamming the door in their faces.

Luxiana was still laughing, wrapped in her blanket but she was so warm and comfortable that she eventually calmed down. Her eyelids grew heavy again. "Have a nice day," she said vaguely with a big smile before falling back to sleep.

***

A few hours later, and as Luxiana had woken up alone in bed with a feeling of emptiness and coldness in her heart, realizing that she already missed the three Illyrians. She had then gotten up, showered and dressed in a pretty long dark blue dress with silver sequins.

She had braided her hair, blushing at the memory of the punishment Azriel had given her that night. Although a part of her had been dying to walk around with her hair down every day to receive the Illyrian's punishments, another part of her had been so exhausted by that night -despite the incredible final orgasm- that she wasn't ready to do it again just yet.

She went down the stairs and reached the dining room where she was surprised to see the three Illyrians around the table with serious and worried faces.

Rhysand sat at the head of the table facing an open brown wooden box in front of him and a cold, dull look on his face. Cassian sat next to him with his arms crossed and Azriel was on the other side of Rhys but standing. They all three looked up at her.

“You look like you’ve seen a dead person,” she mocked as she approached. “What is that?” She pointed at the box with her chin as she sat down next to Rhys and Az, facing Cassian.

Rhysand turned the box towards her. "These are Blood Rubies sent by Tarquin declaring us mortal enemies of his court."

Cassian gritted his teeth. "There's five of them, one for each of us. I guess they found out about the book eventually."

Luxiana burst out laughing. "Tarquin sends rubies to his enemies?" She shakes her head, pouting fondly. "He's so adorably cute, I'm dreaming."

The three Illyrians stared at her with dark looks and narrowed eyes.

Luxiana gradually lost her smile as she flicked her pupils between the three. She grimaced. "Ah yes, bad audience, my fault."

Azriel huffed, closing his eyes wearily as he grabbed the bridge of his nose. "That's not cute, that's a death threat. If we set foot in his yard or if he finds us, we're dead. We're in danger now. YOU are in danger now."

Luxiana rolled her eyes with a smile. Was that why they were so worried? They were so cute too. "Oh if you knew the number of death threats I've received or the number of places I risk being executed if I set foot there... I even think there's a price on my head in the Winter Court and that I'm public enemy number 1 in the Autumn Court. Yet, no one has ever sent me a ruby. I assure you, it's cute."

The three of them widened their eyes as their lower jaws nearly dropped. Cassian laughed, "damn, I'll never get used to it."

Luxiana smiled before reaching out for a ruby. She wanted to grab one to study it. It just seemed surreal to her to send a precious stone to his enemies. Was Tarquin so intent on showing off his wealth? She was going to grab one but Azriel grabbed her wrist to stop her as Rhys slammed the box shut with a burst of his power.

“Don’t touch them,” the spymaster ordered, releasing his hand.

“They might be trapped,” Rhys explained, pulling the box back towards him.

Luxiana's heart was beating erratically and forcefully in her chest. "Own, you're too sweet, stop," she whined, placing her palms on her face to hide her blush.

The three males laughed tenderly, but Rhysand suddenly became serious again. "Besides," he hesitated, clearing his throat and casting quick, fearful glances at his two brothers who returned them. "Cass, Az and I were wondering if you might want to stay with us a little longer," he said in a serious voice.

Azriel clenched his teeth and fists as he eyed his soulmate with apprehension and even fear. She was his. She no longer had the right to leave. Not after giving herself to him entirely. She had no right but he was so afraid that she would want to.

Cassian swallowed hard as he looked up at the ceiling. He didn't want to see this and he was forcing himself not to put his hands over his ears and prevent himself from hearing an answer that could break his heart. What would he do if she wanted to leave? He couldn't even breathe properly if she wasn't near him.

Luxiana dropped her arms to her sides, taking on a serious look. She frowned in thought. Stay? What does he mean by 'stay'? They wanted her to stay? Forever? Did she want to stay? But what about Feyre ?

Sensing his confusion, a flash of panic shot through Rhysand. "Until Amren translates the book, I mean. That way we can come up with a plan and tell Feyre everything in one go," he improvised, waving his hands around.

Cassian was tense all over. He uncrossed his arms to rub his palms on his pants. His hands were sweaty. Since when did his hands get sweaty? "We'll take good care of you," he assured her, trying to sound confident with a smirk and winking at her.

Luxiana relaxed a notch as she couldn't help but blush and smile slightly. "Oh," she simply breathed. Was she disappointed? Did she wish they'd asked her to stay longer?

Azriel's jaw was clenched so tightly it hurt as a sort of disappointment and fear washed over him. He could have trembled if he hadn't focused on tensing all his muscles. "So what do you say?" he asked in a dry voice, despite himself.

Luxiana looked down, pursing her lips to think. She shouldn't stay. She was already too attached to them but they made her feel so good. It wouldn't hurt anyone if she stayed a little longer, right? Besides, she was dying to. She raised her pupils shining with determination towards them, "If you still want me, then I'm willing to stay a little longer."

Rhysand closed his eyes, breathing an almost imperceptible sigh of relief.

Cassian took a deep breath, relieved. This woman had too much impact on him.

Azriel leaned toward Luxiana, placing his index finger under her chin and holding her head up toward him. “We will always want you, Luxi. When we tell you that we are yours and you are ours, we mean it.”

Luxiana blushed even more as she smiled at the wave of pleasure that washed over her but Azriel eyed her lips and dimples. His erection woke up in his pants at the memory of what that mouth had done to him that night.

He ran his thumb over his soulmate's bottom lip, growling. He was about to say something, but Rhysand - sensing his brother's excitement - stood up and pushed him by the shoulder. "Okay, no, not now, we have things to do."

The lord took his brother's place in front of Luxiana. "Az and I have... obligations..."

"Like what?" the blonde interrupted him with a curious and innocent face.

Azriel smirked, "Things," he said mysteriously.

“Huuum,” Luxiana complained slowly, almost pouting.

Rhysand laughed as he gave in. With that face, he could tell her anything. "I have some boring high lord stuff to do and Azriel has to check on Hybern's movements with his spies. We'll be back tonight for dinner. In the meantime, you'll spend the afternoon with Cassian, is that okay?"

Luxiana nodded vigorously as she turned to the red siphons Illyrian. "What are we going to do?" she asked in a slow voice with a perverse air.

Cassian raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Oh whatever you want, sweetheart, but know that I have a preference for what you're thinking about."

"No," Rhysand stopped them authoritatively, casting a dark look at Cassian before turning him towards his soulmate. "You're going to spend the afternoon training with him. We need to gauge your fighting skills and know what you're capable of. We need to make sure you can defend yourself."

Luxiana tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. "Why?" Why did he want to make sure she could fight?

Rhysand looked down. "Because it's dangerous to be close to us."

Luxiana tilted her head to the other side, accentuating her expression. "Am I close to you?"

Rhysand only gave a small smile as he leaned down to the blonde and placed a soft kiss on her lips. "You have no idea how much," he whispered before kissing her again. "See you tonight," he straightened up and walked away.

Luxiana was frozen, her mouth hanging open as her heart slammed against her ribs, but Azriel, smirking at the sight, leaned down to kiss her just as chastely as Rhysand. He groaned, closing his eyes. How he loved kissing her. "Have a good afternoon and be careful, princess!"

He smiled even wider at the sight of his soulmate confused and lost then walked away with Rhys.

"Um, I..." Luxiana stuttered, blinking her eyes several times quickly to try to get her thoughts back in order. "What do these kisses mean?" she asked, placing her fingers on her lips, but the two Illyrians didn't stop walking towards the exit of the room. "What are we?"

The three of them burst out laughing but didn't answer and the two continued to walk away.

“But,” Luxiana begged for an answer she didn’t get.

She knelt down on her chair, grabbed the top of it with her hands and shouted to them, blushing and stuttering. "Uh, good afternoon to you too! Good luck! See you tonight!" her whole body and especially her cheeks heated with embarrassment.

"Fuck, she's so cute," Ariel growled through gritted teeth and turned around in order to go back to kissing her soulmate, unable to resist any longer.

But Rhysand grabbed his arm to stop him and pull him with him. "No," he forbade him. "And the sooner we leave, the sooner we come back."

"But look at her!" Azriel shouted, pointing at her. "She's so cute."

Rhysand shook his head. He wasn't going to look at her because if he did, he knew that, like Azriel, he wouldn't be able to resist his soulmate. "I know, I know," he breathed almost in exasperation before teleporting him and his brother away to make things easier, but reluctantly nonetheless.

Luxiana was breathing quickly and her lips were pursed, trying to calm the pleasure that was overwhelming her.

Cassian behind her was dying of laughter and even had to hold his sore abs. He hadn't seen Rhysand and Azriel this close in a long time and it was all thanks to her. And she had wanted to stay with them. She had chosen them for a few more days. She had chosen them instead of her best friend and they were so happy about it.

All three of them were bubbling with such joy that they couldn't help but smile even though they felt like jumping around.

***

Cassian and Luxiana were on the roof of a building called House of Wind where Cassian had flown him and where a training ground was located. The Illyrian was facing his soulmate with narrowed eyes and crossed arms. "I insist, you should change. Put on pants and armor," he said for the eighteenth time since they had decided to come here and Luxiana had refused to change.

The blonde rolled her eyes. She had only answered : 'No' and 'I don't need it' to Cassian but her answers didn't seem to be enough for the Illyrian. "I prefer to fight in dresses," she explained, hoping that it would be enough for him. "Long dresses, like this one, are a bit more problematic, though, they allow me to move my legs more freely than pants. Besides, my mercenary outfit is a short, flared skirt. And for armor..." She smirked pretentiously as she leaned towards Cassian. "I don't need protection. It's not like anyone could manage to reach me. Besides, I'm not afraid of injuries anyway."

Cassian tilted his chin up with a smirk. "One, as much as I'd like to see you in your mercenary outfit, I refuse to let anyone but the three of us see your little pantie while you fight them, even if you kill them afterwards."

Luxiana straightened up with a frown but Cassian grabbed her chin in his hand. "And two, I fear you have injuries."

Luxiana could barely contain her blush. She smiled. "So? What do you propose to protect me, oh my hero?" She raised her hands to the Illyrian's head to pinch both of his cheeks. "You're going to show your beautiful face to my enemies to dissuade them from harming me?" She ran her fingers down his muscular arms to feel them as her hands were barely half the size of his biceps. "Although, your muscles alone could surely deter any enemy."

She licked her lips as she looked him over in one go with lust. “Could you, um,” she cleared her dry throat as she searched for words, “take off your armor real quick, so I can, um, analyze your musculature more closely. You know, to, um, make sure everything’s in its proper place.”

Cassian laughed proudly, his ego hurting right in the heart.

He brought his soulmate's face closer to his but gritted his teeth as he held back from kissing her at the last moment. If he gave in to his urge now and kissed her, he wouldn't be able to stop and he'd want more.

He growled as he pulled away and released her. "You, evil creature who does everything to lead me astray. But I've seen through your little game, you won't escape training that easily."

Luxiana laughed in a soft mockery but Cassian took a step back, his expression serious. "I think Azriel is already working on it but we're going to build you an armor like ours so you'll be better protected. You'll have to wear it all the time."

Luxiana crossed her arms. "All the time? And why would you do that for me?"

Cassian smirked. “You should stop asking questions like that.”

Luxiana pouted. "It's not my fault you treat me like…," she froze, blushing. "Like…," Their girlfriend. Their words, their attentions, their kisses. It was like she was their girlfriend. But that wasn't it, was it? It couldn't be that, not to the three of them… She was probably imagining things.

“As our precious little treasure?” Cassian completed, placing his large hand on her cheek. “Because that’s what you are to us.”

She wanted to ask him 'Why?' but Cassian cut her off by leaning down to place a kiss on her nose. “Stop wondering, Lu.”

Then he straightened up and took a step back to get into a fighting stance, his legs spread on his foot and his fists raised in front of him. "Come on, let's fight. I need to know what you're capable of."

Luxiana was tired of blushing almost every time she was there with them and her heart was exhausted from beating madly like that because of them. She then did not seek more answers to her questions by shaking her head and trying to pull herself together. She smirked as she detailed Cassian's position almost with contempt. She was going to break him in two. She grimaced. "I don't want to hurt you."

Cassian raised an eyebrow at first before bursting into laughter. "I can't wait to see it then, show me."

Luxiana could see that he didn't believe her for a second and that he was even making fun of her. "Are you sure? Because I'm going to tear you to pieces."

Cassian continued to laugh as he motioned for her to come towards him and attack him by opening his hand and moving his fingers back and forth. "Show me, baby. Don't worry I'll go slow."

Luxiana shrugged. "Not me."

She spun around to deliver a spinning kick to his face, which the Illyrian dodged just in time by leaning back.

Cassian's eyes widened as he realized with surprise that she was really fast. She threw several punches and kicks at him that the Illyrian dodged with great difficulty. "You're doing well," he exclaimed a little in astonishment.

"I'm waiting for you to feel confident enough to hit me back," Luxiana chanted pretentiously. "I'm not even at a quarter of my abilities. Fight seriously, and I'll do the same."

Cassian was even more surprised by the serious and cold air filled with confidence and power that remained behind the playful and provocative pupils of his soulmate. He decided to trust him. "Very well."

Without warning, he threw his fist at her ribs - slowly so as not to hurt her too much if she didn't dodge it. He didn't want to hurt her. But Luxiana stopped his fist by catching his wrist with only two fingers.

She gave him a bored, half-lidded look. "Please, make a little effort."

Cassian smirked as he retrieved his arm. Then he started throwing punches at his soulmate again, which she dodged all of them. He was going faster and faster, harder and harder, and his smile became admiring as he began to run out of breath but his soulmate didn't even have a drop of sweat on his forehead.

The Illyrian punched him as fast as he could in the throat and Luxiana dodged it this time narrowly with her forearms, taking the fist there. She smiled at the pain. "Here we are. We're finally going to be able to fight properly."

She began to hit him back and threw punches and kicks at him, dodging the ones the Illyrian threw at her.

As the minutes passed, Cassian's smile grew more and more amazed. She was strong. They were evenly matched.

But they weren’t really. She was much stronger than him. She smiled as she noticed an opening. She grabbed Cassian’s fist to go under his wing and behind his back while taking his arm with her to put him in an armlock. “On your knees,” she ordered in his ear as she stood on her tiptoes. She tapped both creases of his legs with the tip of one of her feet, forcing Cassian to fall heavily onto his shins. She ran her index finger over his throat to mime slicing it. “Boom, you’re dead. I win.”

Cassian's eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and awe as he used all his strength to try and get his arm back but couldn't.

Luxiana leaned over his shoulder to see his face, still not letting go of his arm. "Don't force yourself too hard. I'm turning your strength against you in this position. If you keep struggling, you might break your arm."

Cassian looked up at his soulmate with a bright gaze of adoration and wonder as he stopped struggling. He didn't want to hurt her but he had still given it his all. Yet, she had brought him to his knees. And that, without even hurting him, which told Cassian that she too, had not given her all. If he had been an enemy, he would be dead.

Luxiana, seeing him stop moving, smirked as she ran her index finger under his chin. "Good boy," she congratulated him dominantly.

Cassian raised an eyebrow before raising his free hand to grab her throat and pull her forward, lifting himself up a little to sweep her with his leg.

Luxiana, not wanting to drag Cassian's arm with her and break it, released him with a cry of surprise as she landed on the ground. Cassian's hand was on her throat and he pinned her to the ground with it loosely.

The Illyrian mounted Luxiana, straddling her hips, while immobilizing the blonde's thighs with his shins.

Luxiana grabbed his arm that was holding her throat but Cassian, with his other hand, grabbed both of her wrists and pinned them above her head. "So," he smiled pretentiously, "you can't do anything now?"

Luxiana laughed despite herself as she felt a wave of excitement run through her at their positions. "Oh, I could escape but," she looked him up and down, licking her lips. "I'm quite comfortable here."

The tension between them became palpable. A glow of desire lit in Cassian's eyes as he brought them to his soulmate's lips. He let out a guttural sound as he dropped onto her to kiss her.

She responded to the kiss with her entire body, intertwining her tongue with the Illyrian's. She moaned at the heat of excitement that settled in her lower abdomen and Cassian groaned in response.

Electrified and disturbed by the kiss, he loosened his grip on the blonde's wrists a little, which allowed Luxiana to roll her hands and escape his grip. With a blow of her knuckles in the commander's armpit, she hit a nerve in his arm that made him numb, forcing him to release her.

Cassian groaned in pain as he pulled away from the blonde's mouth to look at her and see what was wrong with her but she gave him another quick jab in the hip that forced him to release his grip on her legs.

She was then able to wrap her shins around the Illyrian's thighs and with a skillful pelvic thrust, made them turn to exchange their position.

Cassian, pleasantly surprised, found himself under Luxiana.

The blonde smiled haughtily at him. "I changed my mind eventually."

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

🚫THERE IS A SMUT SCENE AFTER THOSE WORDS ! DO NOT READ IT IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO, IF YOU ARE UNDER THE LEGAL AGE OR IF YOU ARE JUST NOT ALLOWED TO -> PASS DIRECTLY TO THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER !🚫

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

She ran her hands down the Illyrian's torso to the base of his pants that hid his erection, which she could feel pressing between his legs.

Cassian then possessively grabbed the sides of her throat, his thumbs on her cheeks, to pull the blonde's head towards him and press his mouth to hers.

She returned the kiss with a moan as Cassian dug his fingers into her braid and pressed on the back of her head to deepen the kiss.

With her hands, she hastily undid the laces of the Illyrian's pants. And he released her face to slide his hands under her dress, place them on her thighs and caress them up to her hips.

She lowered his pants and Cassian helped her by lifting his hips. Luxiana lowered his leather to the middle of his thighs and the Illyrian's erection jumped to press against the blonde's crotch, making her shudder.

She stroked Cassian's chest and cursed his armor full of straps that looked like it would be hell to remove. She groaned in frustration but didn't even try before lowering her rest to Cassian's cock to grab it. She began to move her hand back and forth, which tore a raspy breath from the Illyrian, who closed his eyes and opened his mouth, enjoying the feeling of pleasure that spread through his body.

Damn, he couldn't already take it anymore. He grabbed her to switch places and pin her on her stomach, her cheek on the cold floor.

Luxiana moaned at the contrast in temperature of her skin to the ground and the arousal that made her tremble as Cassian hastily pulled her dress up over her buttocks.

He placed the bottom of her dress on her back and put his fingers right in the middle of her wet panties to rip them savagely and make a hole in them.

He positioned himself astride the blonde's thighs, grabbing his cock to position it at his soulmate's entrance.

Luxiana moaned impatiently as she moved her hips as Cassian rubbed his cock up and down her slit to lubricate it with her wetness.

From his knees, Cassian squeezed Luxiana's thighs together and then he inserted himself inside her slowly.

The blonde let out a long sigh as she felt the Illyrian's thick cock stretch her to the end. Cassian swore in a grunt as he closed his eyes. Then without waiting, he began to thrust his pelvis, slowly penetrating Luxiana at first, rolling his hips in such a way and taking his cock so deep, that she felt like she could feel it to her throat.

Luxiana slammed her hands onto the ground trying to hold on to something as she drowned in the molten lava that was pouring into her from her belly.

Cassian lay down fully on top of her, his weight on her back. "Do you like that?" he asked, giving her a rough, deep thrust.

Luxiana let out a small cry of surprise before nodding vigorously. "Yes."

He began to give even more violent and sharp blows, making the blonde jump with each blow. He caught her earlobe between his lips, sucking on it before biting it gently.

But he wanted so much more. He pulled out of her, hooked an arm under her pelvis, and lifted her so that her hips, knees, and breasts formed a triangle with the floor. He was still knelt behind her.

He slid between her legs, spreading them with his knees. He placed his hand on the small of her back, sliding his palm along the blonde's spine. "Arch your back."

Luxiana obey, perfectly revealing her open part to Cassian who groaned at the sight.

He grabbed her hips with both hands and entered her fully and deeply in one go, starting to move in and out of her as fast and deep as he could.

Luxiana could hardly breathe anymore. Her belly was on fire and electrified her entire body, hardening her nipples against the fabric of her dress and making all her skin tingle.

Cassian grabbed his soulmate's braid to wrap it around his fist, gripping it and pulling to raise Luxiana's head.

With her head raised, she moaned even louder, feeling Cassian's cock slide in, out, and deep inside her.

Cassian had his cock throbbing and his heart pounding hard to get pleasure back into his muscles and body.

He growled as he leaned over Luxiana to wrap his arms around her stomach and hold her in place as he pounded into her hard and fast.

He placed his mouth on his soulmate's ear. "Touch yourself, my treasure, make yourself come for me. Cum on my cock, fuck," he demanded in a trembling voice.

Luxiana was almost sobbing under Cassian's powerful hip thrusts that were drowning her in too much pleasure while her heart felt like it was spinning in her chest. She obeyed him without thinking. She slipped her hand under her to touch her clitoris, rubbing it impatiently under the excitement.

The more ecstasy rose within her, the more she arched her back and spread her legs, accentuating the depth of the penetration.

Cassian's cock hit the bottom hard. The pleasure Luxiana felt exploded first from her belly to spread throughout her body and contract her muscles and tightening her walls around Cassian's member as she had a powerful orgasm.

The Illyrian, feeling his cock tightened completely, gave two powerful thrusts before cumming in his soul mate while biting her neck to avoid moaning as he came inside her.

Luxiana's muscles relaxed, letting her slide completely belly down under Cassian's weight on top of her.

The Illyrian released the skin of the blonde's neck from between his teeth to catch his breath but smiled with all his might when he saw the mark of his jaws in her skin. He placed a kiss on the mark before taking his cock out from his soulmate to stand up, dragging her with him. "What an incredible fight," he sneered.

But Luxiana couldn't stand on her feet, her muscles numb. Cassian smiled proudly as he kept her upright and held her close with one hand while he straightened her dress with the other.

Luxiana nodded with a smile. "Indeed, we should fight like this more often," she muttered a little more into the gas.

Cassian groaned. "Fuck, yeah," and he placed his large, warm hand on the blonde's cheek, tilting her head up and looking at her lovingly. He gritted his teeth. He wanted to scream that he was in love with her.

[oh-hamlet]

finally hit hell bent on my capaldi rewatch. I'm in bits.

[bumblingbabooshka]

Processing some things

Also the fact that he's crouching with his hands on his knees is so cute to me for some reason?? He does this in another episode too - the one where Chakotay finds a symbol on an unknown planet...it's just so adorable to me. He could just lean down but no. Also of course his fingers are spread again - GOTTA utilize the whole hand whenever you do ANYTHING (if you're Tuvok)

[neobisexual]

had a very intense semi lucid dream last night where i was the daughter/acolyte of an insane cult leader/my dad who performed non consenual surgery on me and molested and raped me. it inspired me to start writing a lil sci fi novella but also to clean out my closet and find my vibrator cuz i was desperate for it after waking up lmfao

[chisungie]

.

[ieirism]

crybaby.

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

setting: modern au

genre: smut and fluff

contains: brother’s best friend gojo, protective older brother geto, use of pet names (baby, princess, sweetheart), unprotected sex, slightly mean gojo (but he ends up soft and sweet, I promise), dirty talk, overstimulation, mutual pining, dacryphilia, oral (f receiving), cheesy and happy ending <3

summary: satoru had promised suguru that there'd be no funny business while he takes care of his heartbroken baby sister... but he's never been the greatest at keeping promises.

“Stop being so mean to her, Satoru.” Satoru looks over at his best friend, who's clicking his tongue in disapproval, with a nonchalant grin.

“Not my fault she’s such a crybaby, Suguru.”

“Come on.” Suguru shoots him a warning look. “That’s my little sister you're talking about.”

“Hey, hey,” Satoru laughs, raising his hands in mock defense. “You gotta teach her how to grow thicker skin. Not my problem.”

“Every time you come over, she ends up crying.” The black-haired man sighs. “Don’t be a jerk just for one moment, won’t you?”

“Mmh, no promises.” Satoru grins. Sue him, he’s simply too addicted to the way your face scrunches up indignantly whenever he teases you, the futile yet endearing clenching of your small fists at your side, and most of all, the uncontrollable blubbers that leave your lips as tears roll down your cheeks.

Years later, you’re still the same. Just a little crybaby coming apart at the seams, completely at Gojo Satoru’s mercy.

-

“S-Satoru…” The high-pitched whine of his name only elicits a laugh from the man between your legs, sending shock waves of pleasure shooting through your body.

“Baby, you gotta stop movin’ so much.” Satoru’s large hands grip your thighs, holding them firmly in place as he continues to feast on your dripping pussy. “Gotta let me eat you properly.” He punctuates his point with a loud suck on your clit that has you mewling and twitching under his hold.

“T-Too much!” You sob, hands curling into the silky white stands on his head, tugging uselessly. “S’too much, S-Satoru…”

“You wanna take my cock later, princess?” He hums against your cunt, licking a hot stripe up your slit, chuckling as he watches your pussy clench around nothing. His gaze lazily travels upwards, greeted with the sight of you nodding furiously as tears stream down your cheeks.

“Yes,” you plead with wide, teary eyes. “N-need you.” Satoru smirks.

“Then be a good girl and let me prep you,” he coos, before diving right back between your folds, enjoying the broken sob that leaves your lips as he draws zigzags across your swollen clit.

-

“I really don’t understand you,” Suguru bristles, frustration evident by the way his eyebrows furrow as he eyes Satoru.

“Hmm?” Satoru looks at him with feigned innocence. “Whatever could you be talking about, dear Suguru?”

“You’re unbelievable.” He sighs. “Those gifts you bought her… they’re worth almost a million yen. What the hell is wrong with you, really.”

“Well, you told me I made her cry.” The white-haired man shrugged. “I had to make up for it, didn’t I?” Suguru squints suspiciously, at a brief loss for words.

“...You are not normal,” he finally scoffs.

“Of course not,” Satoru agrees, unfazed.

“You can’t keep doing this. You’re gonna end up spoiling her.”

“And what’s so bad about that?”

-

“Gimme another one, baby.” He’s faintly aware that if he makes you cum again, you really might pass out. However, he can’t really bring himself to be too concerned about that, not when he’s quickly becoming addicted to the taste of your dripping cunt and cries of pleasure.

“C-Can’t, I can’t — “ You sob, entire body shaking around his mouth; you’re so sensitive.

“You can,” he insists between hungry slurps, not letting any of your arousal go to waste. “Fuck…” You’re so sweet. Just how did he survive this long without having a taste of you?

“Please…” You’re still shy, trying your best to stifle your cries even as they fall in a steady stream from your trembling lips. Each loud squelch of your sopping pussy still has you cringing a little, not to mention the embarrassment that washes over you every time you catch a glimpse of your juices all over Satoru’s face.

“Don’t hold back anymore, sweetheart.” He reaches up to grab your wrists, pulling them away from your mouth even as you blubber out a weak protest. “Wanna hear you this time, say it loud. Say my name when you cum.” One more combined thrust of his fingers, deep into your hole with a flick of his tongue across your clit has you creaming on his lips for the fourth time.

“S-Satoru!” You’re unable to control the beautifully loud whine of his name as Satoru greets your orgasm eagerly, savoring every last drop of your release on his tongue.

-

“You made her cry again.” Suguru says, rolling his eyes as he approaches his best friend at their meeting spot.

“Huh?” Satoru raises a brow. “Haven’t even seen her since two weeks ago. What’d I do?”

“She’s sad you’re moving away.” Suguru tuts. “Can’t imagine why. Probably because she won’t be able to use you for your wallet anymore.”

“You implyin’ I’m just a wallet to her?” Satoru exclaims, a little offended. The black-haired man shoots him a deadpan glare.

“You know you’re not. But even you’re not enough of an asshole to use that against her.”

“It’s just college,” Satoru muses. “Kid thinks I won’t be back for her?”

“In two years she’ll be going off to college too.” Suguru shrugs. “She’ll get over you.”

“What a cruel thing to say.” Satoru laughs it off, ignoring the small flicker of jealousy that flares to life deep in his chest.

-

Satoru watches as your chest heaves up and down, in your effort to try to recover from the multiple orgasms he had just given you. You’re lying limp on your bed, unable to move save for the periodic twitching of your thighs.

“Sorry, princess, was that too much?” He’s teasing, but there’s a genuine edge of concern to his voice as he cups your cheek in his hand. You nod, a few tears falling down your face. “Aww, forgive me. You’ll forgive me, right?” In response, you tug weakly on his shirt collar, asking him to come closer. He relents, allowing you to drag him down towards you. Satoru’s about to ask what you need, before you suddenly tilt your head upwards to kiss him.

Satoru lets out a small noise of surprise as your soft lips press against his, hesitant at first, but deepening once your fingers find further purchase in his shirt, gripping tightly. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you up into his lap.

You kiss him a little clumsily, still boneless from your release but Satoru doesn’t mind. Doesn’t mind at all, of course, when your lips are so soft against his, and he can swallow every quiet whimper that escapes you.

“Satoru…” Your voice is raspy and small, but your eyes are wild as you cling helplessly to him. “A-Am… Am I ready yet?” His jaw goes slack in awe at the adorable, troubled expression on your face. Your lips are swollen into a permanent pout now as you look up at him with those wide doe eyes that always had him weak.

“...Think you are,” he heaves, realizing that he’s just as fucked out as you are. It takes everything in him to hold back the urge to just take you.

-

“She’s grown up.” Satoru raises his eyebrows in pleasant surprise at the pictures that Suguru shows him. Your family had recently gone on vacation, so Suguru had been gone for an entire week, leaving his best friend and roommate all alone.

“That’s what you’re looking at?” Suguru shoots him an annoyed look.

“Oh,” says Satoru, glancing back at the picture. “Uh, nice waterfall.”

“One of the seven natural wonders of the world and all you can see is my baby sister.” Suguru exhales deeply.

“What? You can’t blame me too much. Kid’s changed,” the white-haired man shoots defensively.

“She’s twenty, not sixteen anymore. Of course, she’s changed.” Suguru pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“I know that, I just…” Satoru pauses, glancing back at the picture. You’re still tiny, only reaching up to your brother’s, and by extension his, chest. Your face has matured, though, baby fat gone from your cheeks. That didn’t stop you from being any less adorable, though — your smile is as radiant as ever. He can’t help but let a small smile of his own slip onto his face.

“Hopeless,” Suguru mutters in disbelief. “Hopeless, the both of you.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

-

Satoru lets you unbutton his shirt, watching in amusement as your eyes narrow with focus as each button pops open, slowly revealing more and more of his skin.

“Um…” You’re nervous. It’s plain as day from the way your lip wobbles as your eyes sweep down the view of his chiseled chest and torso, only to end at the prominent bulge in his slacks.

“You sure you’re okay with this, princess?” He cups your chin in his hand, gently tilting your face to look straight at him. “Need to rest?”

“N-No!” You protest immediately, shaking your head. “I…” You glance back down at his erection, a flicker of desire in your eyes. “I need…” You trail off, unable to say it.

“Okay.” If he was feeling meaner, he would make you tell him exactly what you want. But he wants to be nice today, especially since you’ve already cried so much for him. “Okay, baby. Don’t worry, you’ll have it. Can you unzip me? Can you do that for me?” You hesitate for a moment. Satoru briefly wonders if he’s perhaps pushed you a bit too hard.

But then you’re reaching for him, small hands finding the top of his pants and slowly undoing the button. Your fingers close around his zipper, slowly tugging it down.

“Good girl.” He pecks your forehead. “Take me out of my boxers, alright?” As his angry, swollen cock springs free from his underwear, you can’t contain your gasp.

“Oh…” The soft sound leaves you almost involuntarily as you stare and wonder at how the hell that’s gonna fit in you. He’s thick and long, rock hard and dripping with pre-cum. You slowly wrap your own hand around his cock, lips parting as your fingers fail to meet in the middle. Your own pussy clenches in a combination of fear and excitement.

“See why I needed to prepare you, now?”

-

“Sorry to spring this onto you all of a sudden, especially since you just got into town.” Suguru sighs over the phone.

“Don’t worry about it. If you’re not around to take care of her, duty falls on me,” says Satoru as he reverses his car out of the parking lot, heading to the location Suguru had sent him.

“Let me know when she’s home safe. Tell her I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Yeah, will do.”

A pause.

“And… no funny business, got it?”

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“I’m serious, Satoru. She just confronted her asshole cheater ex. She doesn’t need you drooling all over her right now.”

“Relax, dude. I’m not that desperate.” Satoru rolls his eyes.

“Good. Keep it that way.”

-

His conversation with Suguru lies in the back of his mind, forgotten, as Satoru places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Lay back and relax for me, sweetheart.” You immediately obey, laying yourself down on your bed, heart beating fast in anticipation.

“S’gonna hurt, right?” you ask softly.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ve gotten you ready, see?” Satoru comforts you, brushing his fingers against the wetness still soaking your entrance.

“Oh.” Tears suddenly well in your eyes. “Um, s-sorry, it just always hurt with him…”

“What?” Satoru’s eyes darken, unsure if you mean what he thinks you do.

“He just…” You bite your lip, trying not to let your tears fall. “H-He just p-put it in, y’know?” His heart drops in his stomach. Two years, two whole fucking years with that asshole, and he had never given you proper foreplay? No wonder you were so sensitive and responsive to his touch, your body had never received the attention it’s always deserved.

“Baby.” Satoru squeezes your hand, fighting down the urge to find that asshole and beat him up. That could come later. Right now, he has to focus on you. “It’s not gonna be that way this time. Not with me. Okay?” You nod, squeezing his hand in return.

“O-Okay.”

-

It’s the first time he’s seen you in person in four years, and here you are in the passenger seat of his car, crying your eyes out.

You feel absolutely humiliated. You had called Suguru to ask him to pick you up from your ex-boyfriend’s house after you dumped him, but he had told you he couldn’t.

“I’ll send someone to get you. Hang tight,” he’d said.

You just didn’t know it was going to be Gojo Satoru, who hadn’t returned to your hometown since he graduated high school.

“I’m gonna bring you home,” Satoru had told you, getting out of the driver’s seat to open the car door for you. “Relax, okay? You’re safe now.” He had buckled your seatbelt for you before settling in himself, starting the engine without another word.

The car ride back to your house is silent, save for the continuous sniffles that wrack your body as you try your best to stop your tears. Satoru silently puts a box of tissues in your lap at some point, and your heart stutters at the action.

You’ve known for many years now, that you never got over your first love.

-

Clothes fully discarded, Satoru lowers himself on top of you, enamored with the way you shyly glance down at`his cock, gaze wavering for a moment before slowly looking back up at him, eyes begging for him to do something.

“Tell me if you want to stop.” He brushes his fingers, tender and gentle, across your cheek. You nod, hand curling around his bicep.

“Kiss me,” you request, and he gladly obliges, leaning down to peck your lips.

“M’gonna go slow,” he tells you. “You want me to stop, hit me real hard — “ He smacks his own chest. “ — Right here. Got it?”

“I won’t,” you say bravely, eyes glimmering with determination. “I… I can take it.” Satoru laughs quietly.

“Alright, princess. Don’t act all cute, you’re just rilin’ me up now.” You smile, a little mischievously.

“Oh, you caught me.”

“Fuck…” Satoru groans, pressing his forehead against yours. “You’re gonna kill me.” His fat tip taps against your clit once, twice. You gasp, eyes going glossy as you feel your swollen pussy clench desperately around nothing.

“Satoru,” you plead. “P-Please…”

“I’ll give you what you need. Relax for me…” He aligns his tip with your entrance, prodding between your folds. Inch by inch, he sinks his cock into your warm, throbbing cunt, almost blacking out himself at the sensation of your tight, velvety walls clamping around his cock.

“A-Ah…!” You whine, gripping his bicep and squeezing your eyes shut. The stretch is almost too much, but the delicious sensation of being filled to the brim has you seeing stars.

“You okay?” Satoru pants, willing himself to stop from splitting you open on his cock to check on you.

“Yes,” you whimper. “Yes, a-ah, please k-keep going…” Satoru rests his head in the crook of your neck as he continues to push himself in, enjoying the soft, labored whimpers as you take more and more of him, deep into your sopping hole.

“Almost there,” he coos. “Almost there, princess…” After what feels like an eternity, he finally sheaths the last of him in you, biting at your shoulder as he finally, finally feels exactly the sensation of being one with you.

-

“Drink. You’ll feel better.” Satoru places a glass of water in your hand as he leads you to your living room couch. You stubbornly refuse to look at him, letting the glass sit uselessly in your hand as you stare down at your lap.

He sighs, not sure what he should do. He’s never been good at comforting others, let alone his friends’ kid sisters. He knows you’re not a kid anymore, you’re a full grown adult, but the way you’re sulking and ignoring him says otherwise. Still, his fondness for you wins above all else as he takes the water back and puts it on the coffee table, letting you sit in silence.

”You gonna be okay by yourself?” he asks instead. Satoru doesn’t want to leave you alone, but he’s not sure if his presence will even help. He hasn’t been an active part of your life in years, and he has a feeling that this incredibly vulnerable moment isn’t the best time to barge back in. You don’t reply, twiddling your thumbs.

“Call me if you need anything,” Satoru says hesitantly. “You have my number, right?” No response. “I’m gonna write it down for you.” He finds a spare stack of Post-Its and does just that. You don’t react even when he sticks the note right on top of your forehead, in a shitty attempt to lighten your mood. Your deadpan glare, so much like your brother’s tells him it did not work.

“Suguru’s gonna be back tomorrow,” he tells you, taking the note off and soothing the annoyed crease between your eyebrows. “Go get some rest now, yeah?” You look away. Satoru sighs. Seeing you upset like this hurts him way more than he would like to admit. “M’gonna leave. Get to bed soon.” He pats the top of your head, just like he always used to do, which always made you whine when he messed up your hair. You’re quiet now, not a peep of complaint leaving you.

He really misses hearing your voice.

“Bye, then.” Satoru’s about to turn around and leave, but you do something that seems to shock both of you. Your fingers curl and grab onto the hem of his collared shirt, stopping him in his tracks. He stares down at you in surprise, trying to process the sight of your small, thin fingers holding onto him for dear life.

“Stay.” The one word was enough to crumble his self-control.

-

You’re struggling to adjust to his size; he can tell from the way you’re digging your nails into his arm and the trembling of your thighs around his waist. Satoru stays still, waiting for your permission to go any further, right hand rubbing soothing circles on your hip.

“Don’t stress yourself, baby, just tell me what you want, when you want it,” he murmurs against your neck, waiting patiently, torturously, for permission to move.

You’re so overwhelmed by the sensation of being stuffed full; Satoru is much bigger than your ex-boyfriend and yet, the feeling isn’t painful. It’s so good, a throbbing ache that extends outwards from your core all the way to the top of your head and the tip of your toes. You can hardly form thoughts, let alone words, as your pussy stretches around him, trying to accommodate the sheer size of his cock.

A few more moments pass, and you feel like you’re going crazy. The feeling of being so, so full is one that you’ve never felt before, but you think you’re already addicted. Your thighs flex instinctively, closing tighter around Satoru’s waist and pushing his cock even deeper, pressing right against your sweet spot. You mewl, wrapping your arms around his neck, silently begging to be closer to him.

Satoru leans into the kiss you give him, groaning as your walls suddenly clench once around him, brain filling with nothing but white noise. “Fuck,” he grits out against your lips.  “Fuck, baby, I don’t know how much longer — “

“Move.” Your command is quiet. Satoru almost wonders if he’s misheard you. But one look into your pleading, begging eyes confirms what you want. Unable to hold back any longer, he pulls his hips upwards, snapping right back into you with one long, hard thrust. You cry out, nails sinking into his shoulder blades.“M-More,” you whisper. “Need more.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

-

Satoru’s at a loss for words and actions as you stood on your tiptoes, reaching up and bringing his head down to kiss him. His arms instinctively wrap around your waist to steady you, craning his neck to allow you better access — oh shit, what the hell is he doing?

He lets go of you like he’s touched something on fire, pulling back from the kiss. As your heels land back on the ground with a soft thud, he’s greeted by the sight of you looking like you’re about to cry again. “Wait — “ He reaches for you, but retracts his hand; he’s not sure if he can trust himself to stay in line. His heart is beating so fast, you had just kissed him, completely out of the blue.

Satoru knew about your crush on him when the two of you were younger. You started having feelings for him when you were thirteen and he was fifteen, making it painfully obvious. You followed him and Suguru around like a lost puppy whenever he came over, despite Satoru’s constant teasing.

He thought your actions were funny at first, becoming the root of his continued teasing. Despite still making you cry all the time, you always came right back to greet him with a smile upon his very next visit. After a while, Satoru looked at you with fondness, in the way that one would gaze at a small animal. You were harmless, sweet, and so very adorable.

Satoru didn’t return your feelings at the time. You were just Suguru’s kid sister that he liked to toy with sometimes. You were awfully cute when you were mad.

But now, as you look up at him with desperation and longing, his heart clenches faintly in his chest. You’re so, so beautiful — the pictures Suguru had showed him hadn’t done you justice in the slightest. You somehow look so enchantingly gorgeous at this moment, even with tears glistening in your eyes and rolling down your cheeks.

Would you hit him if he tried to wipe away your tears?

He never gets to find out, because you speak his name softly, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. Satoru leans down to carefully listen to what you have to say. “W-Want you.”

-

“So good, so fuckin’ good for me, princess,” Satoru groans, reveling in the dizzying heat of your pussy as he drags his cock in and out of your walls, fucking you at a steady pace. “You feel me in there? You feel me in your little cunt?”

“Y-Yes,” you manage to sob out between moans, each rough snap of his hips into you melting your brain into jelly just a little more. 

“What a perfect lil pussy,” He chuckles as you squeal after a rather rough thrust, the loud squelch of your hole sucking him in echoing through the room. “No sane person in this world would ever give this up this tight wet cunt.” You whine at his filthy words, drool dripping out of the side of your mouth as Satoru continues to ram into you, faster, harder.

“Satoru!” You’re crying out his name over and over, legs wrapped firmly around his waist, pushing him deeper and deeper. “S-Satoru, I-I — “

“You likin’ this, baby? Tell me how much you like this,” he coos into your ear, hand reaching down to rub at your swollen clit.

“I l-like it s-so much, i-it’s so ahh…! I-it’s so good,” you sob out. You never thought sex could feel like this — you never understood why the people around you were so obsessed with it, especially with the treatment you received from your ex.

Now, though, as each rut of Satoru’s dick into your cunt kisses your sweet spot, you get it. You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to forget this feeling of being filled by cock so brutally sweet.

-

“Hold on.” Satoru had tried to protest, he really had. You’d just broken up with your boyfriend. Like Suguru said, the last thing you needed was any funny business. “Listen — “ He sighs out your name, making your bottom lip wobble. “You have to go rest, don’t be reckless.”

“Please.” You tug at his sleeve, staring at him with that puppy-eyed look that always gets you what you want. He really had spoiled you, hadn’t he?

“Not now,” he tried to reason with you. “You’re still hurting, you’re not in the right mind.” You glare at him.

“Who’re you to say m’not in the right mind?” you whine. “I…” You suddenly seem to lose your confidence, staring down at the floor. “...I only ever wanted you.”

“What?” Satoru stares, wide-eyed, at your confession.

“Know you don’t want me that way,” you continue, voice small. “But I… don’t care.” You sniffle. “Don’t care, Satoru. Just want you.”

And when you tug desperately at his shirt again, this time, Satoru is too far gone.

-

“Fuck, I’m close.” He growls into your neck, his pace picking up as he chases after his release, He coaxes you to join him, thumbing at your clit and cooing for you to “Let go, cum for me, c’mon. Cream all over my cock, princess.”

The only sounds in the room are a symphony of your moans and the slick sounds of his cock pushing in and out of your hole as a coil forms deep in your gut, threatening to snap at any moment. You feel tears stain your cheeks as Satoru’s pace increases, pounding into you so deep you can practically feel him in your throat.

“S-Satoru, I’m g-gonna — !” You cut yourself off with a loud, lewd moan, cunt clenching down hard around him as you come undone for the fifth time just this night. You swear you lose consciousness for a second, lost in the euphoric feeling of your release as your swollen pussy throbs in satisfaction.

“Shit..“ A few quick, shallow thrusts later, Satoru finishes as well, thick ropes of cum splurting into your womb, filling you with a warm sensation.

“A-Ah…” you whimper out, pussy fluttering weakly around his softening cock, which is still fully sheathed inside you. A white ring remains on his dick as he gently pulls himself off of you, cum dripping from your spent pussy onto the sheets. Satoru tuts, placing a pillow under your hips so you won’t leak.

You’re only faintly aware of what he’s doing as he leaves briefly and returns with a warm, wet towel, gently asking you to open your legs for him. You obey, but you’re so exhausted you can’t help it as your eyes droop shut. The last thing you remember before falling asleep is Satoru leaning forward to peck your forehead, praising you for taking him so well.

-

You wake up a few hours later to sunlight streaming through your bedroom window, making you squint a little as you sit up in bed. You immediately gasp at the ache between your legs, and the soreness racing up and down your body.

Memories of the previous night come flooding back as a sleepy groan sounds from next to you. Satoru stirs, awakened by your panicked sound, asking softly, “You okay, baby?”

Oh god. Shit. Fuck. You actually had sex with Gojo Satoru.

“Hmm?” He looks a little concerned at your lack of response, pulling you against him. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? You in pain? Sorry, did my best to clean you up and everything.” Only then do you realize that the place between your thighs is no longer sticky, and that you’re wearing a fresh set of underwear with Satoru’s unbuttoned shirt wrapped around you.

“...What did we do?” You whisper in a muddled mixture of shock and amazement.

“You regret it?” he asks carefully, pulling back a little to gauge your reaction. You shake your head vehemently, snuggling back close to him. You breathe in his scent, eyes fluttering closed. You feel so right at home in his arms.

“No.” You ponder for a bit. “But it’s never gonna happen again, right?” Satoru’s breath catches in his throat.

“What?”

“I know last night might’ve given you the wrong impression.” You swallow hard, trying to contain the feelings bubbling up within you. Satoru just looks so beautiful under the morning sun, his crystal blue eyes glittering in the light. You know you’re not mistaken, you’ve never been so sure about it — you love him. “I don’t… do this. Thank you for being with me for this one night, but…” you trail off.

“Hey, hey.” You’re crying again, and this time, Satoru wipes the tears off your cheek, cupping your face between his hands. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

“Don’t want just this from you,” you continue vaguely, looking away shamefully. “But I don’t… I don’t expect you to want the same.” He stills at your words, trying to decipher them properly.

“You still in love with me?” He deciphered them spot on, but that doesn’t stop a humiliated squeak from leaving you. You’re huffing, face on fire with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment.

“F-Fine, whatever! You know already, so…” You look away, gnawing at your lower lip. “That’s w-why — “

“Don’t really know why you’re so upset, princess,” he cuts you off, pulling you out of the downward spiral he sees you’re about to fall into. “Think…” Satoru pauses to swipe at a tear at the corner of your eyes. “Still such a crybaby,” he can’t help but say, watching with amusement as you scowl at him with all the ferocity of an angry kitten.

“Ugh, jerk! Four years later and you still can’t take me seriously, God, why do I even bo — “ He cuts you off again, this time with a kiss. When he pulls away, he’s smiling gently, chuckling at your dumbfounded expression.

“Think I love you too,” he finishes. “So you’ve got nothing to worry about.” A few moments pass.

“...Are you fucking with me?” You look him dead in the eye.

“Technically, I already did,” he replies cheerfully. You look at him in disbelief. “Okay, sorry, sorry, sweetheart. Let me spell it out for you.” Satoru holds you close to him, tracing slow, comforting circles along your back. “Be my girlfriend?”

You answer him with a kiss of your own.

-

Suguru sighs, fishing in his pocket for his house keys as he approaches the front door. He’s worried about you; although the bastard had cheated on you and deserved to have you dump him, he knows you’re still probably heartbroken.

Or at least a little heartbroken. Suguru’s aware you never really that into your ex, if your drunk phone calls about how much you miss Satoru were enough evidence. Hiding those from his best friend was tough work; he would have to sit in the bathroom or the closet with his headphones and speak as quietly and carefully as possible to not rouse any suspicion.

Either way, he knows you definitely need some cheering up right now. He’s brought you a box of cupcakes from your favorite bakery, hoping it would be enough to at least get you in a talking mood.

Imagine his surprise when he opens the door and the first thing he sees is Gojo Satoru. Not only is Gojo Satoru standing in his kitchen, but he’s wearing Suguru’s apron, a gift from you many Christmases ago. To make things worse, he’s nearly butt naked under it, only wearing a pair of boxers that are — wait a second, are those Suguru’s as well?

“Oh hey, Suguru!” If Satoru is nervous or embarrassed, he plays it off well as he turns around and waves, flashing the stupid, faded picture of Remy from Ratatouille on his apron right in Suguru’s face. “You hungry? Was just makin’ some eggs.”

“What the actual fuck,” Suguru grits out, putting two and two together as you choose that moment to wander out into the kitchen, wearing nothing but an unfamiliar collared button down that reaches down nearly to your knees. Satoru’s.

“S-Sugu.” Your eyes go round, stopping in your tracks. No one speaks for a moment. Satoru’s still happily cooking eggs. Suguru’s expression is stone cold. You’re staring at your brother with embarrassment written all over your face.

“Baby, you ready for food?” Satoru steps away from the stove to wrap an arm around your waist, smooching you on top of your head. You make a stuttered noise under your breath, glancing back at your brother.

Suguru’s smiling now, but not in the traditional sense. He looks almost maniacal as he slowly places the box of cupcakes on the table before locking eyes with Satoru. Finally, the white-haired man has enough shame for his casual grin to falter.

“What happened to no funny business?”

Satoru is forced to abandon the stove, running away from a fuming Suguru chasing after him with the first thing he could find on the dining table — a carrot.

“Sugu, stop, it’s okay — “ Your pleas fall on deaf ears as your brother is hell-bent on finding a way to murder his best friend with a vegetable. You sigh deeply, moving to go after them when you suddenly smell something burning. Your head snaps to where the eggs Satoru was cooking are now sitting blackened over the flame.

Needless to say, the first morning with Gojo Satoru as your official boyfriend was far from perfect.

Thankfully, you would have many, many more mornings with him, each more wonderful than the last, that this one quickly faded from importance.

But not from Suguru’s.

“I still remember,” Suguru says, clearing his throat for dramatic effect. “When I opened the door on that one morning, and you were not only in my house, but you were half-naked wearing my apron and my underwear — “

Satoru groans as the audience bursts into laughter at his best man’s speech, burying his face in your shoulder. You’re giggling right along with them, sparing your new husband a peck on the cheek as his best friend continues to tear him apart.

“Then you had the audacity to pretend nothing was wrong — “

Satoru knew he would never live this down, but he had zero regrets. Not when you’re sitting right next to him in a pretty white dress holding his hand under the table.

“Well.” Suguru looks over at him, raising a brow. “Got anything to say?” Satoru takes the mic from him, face splitting into a shit-eating grin as he says two words:

“Worth it.”

[sturniolosblanket]

texts w/ brothers bsf!matt + drabble

pt. 5

it had been two days since you last talked to matt. you didn’t want to admit the fact that him sleeping with another girl pissed you off. you didn’t want it to mess with you as bad as it did.

with you and matt being apart you realized how much you pained in his absence. how you ached for his touch. you would do anything to hear his voice, his laugh, even his moans and whimpers. you missed everything.

it didn’t take long for nate to notice something was wrong. he wasn’t going to push you, but he didn’t like seeing you like this, so after you came home from class one day he decided to check on you.

“hi.” nate said standing at your door, not moving so he doesn’t strike a nerve.

“uhhh hi?”

“are you um.. like okay?” he leaned against your door frame.

you sat up on your bed and crossed your legs, pulling a pillow to your chest, “i don’t know.”

“you know you can talk to me right?”

“no” you said half joking

“cmon don’t be a smart ass, i’m here for you y/n. you can talk to me about whatever is wrong.” he said tilting his head.

seeing your brother desperate for a reason as to why your acting so off broke your heart. you wanted so badly to tell him, to confess all your actions and sob to him about his horrible friend.

“i..” you start thinking about if you really want to risk matt losing his best friend, and your brother hating you, “i don’t think you wanna hear what’s wrong.”

“what is it a boy?” he asked chuckling

“um yeah actually,” it wasn’t a lie but somehow felt like it.

“oh, well you don’t need a boyfriend anyways.” he said shrugging

“it wasn’t a boyfriend nate,” you said your voice starting to tremble

“you wanted him to be?” he said hesitantly taking a step into your room

you thought about the question for a second. you yourself didn’t know the answer to the question. you knew you had a crush on matt, you had ever since your were little, but a relationship? you had always thought of it more as ‘friends with benefits’ but the more you thought about it, the more you realize how intense your feelings for him were.

“are you like in love or something?” he asked breaking the silence from his previous question.

were you in love with matt?? you didn’t think you were. i mean, he’s a fuckboy and your brothers best friend. sure you guys had amazing sex, you love his dick, the noises he makes, how dominant he is, and how good he was at it. sure he was funny, you loved his corny pick up lines, his stupid jokes, and his laugh. sure he was a good person, you loved how deeply he cares for his brothers, how he would listen to you anytime you were upset, and how well he treated your brother. you loved everything about matt, but you weren’t in love with matt, were you??

“i don’t know” you simply replied to your brother.

“well do you wanna go for a drive?? clear your mind??” nate suggests

“sure. thanks.” you smiled up at him. he just nodded at your turning around to walk out of your room.

“i’ll be in the car.”

matt’s pov

the truth was, being away from her fucking sucked. i wanted to text, but i didn’t want to push her. i only hooked up with another girl to hide my feelings from myself. having feelings for someone wasn’t normal for me. usually i can fuck someone without catching feelings easily, so when i realized i felt something for y/n, i fucking someone else to get her out of my head.

fucking someone else only managed to make things worse. the whole time all i could think about was her. no one felt like her, sounds like her, tastes like her. she was unique. she was herself, and that was what i liked about her.

the past two days i spent trying to get her out of my mind, but everything reminded me of her. something as simple as her favorite show coming on the tv would fuck with my mood. i tried seeing other girls, but i couldn’t bring myself to even touch anyone else. it all felt to weird, weird it wasn’t her i was touching.

nate had told me that she was acting different. that she wasn’t coming out of her room, and wasn’t really talking to anyone. that broke my heart. she’s hurting because of me. i hurt her. i hated that, but what i hated more was i couldn’t bring myself to apologize.

i was seated one the couch of a party, alone. i wasn’t particularly looking for anyone to hook up with, so when a girl came up and planted herself on my lap i thought about turning her away, but i didn’t. it felt weird, almost like i was cheating even though i knew i wasn’t. knowing how bad she was already hurting made it feel like i was doing something wrong, even though i knew i wasnt. but was i?

“you got a girlfriend or something, baby?” she whispered in my ear

“no”

“then touch me.” she said grinding herself on me.

she leaned down placing a kiss on my lips. she deepened the kiss, grazing her tongue on my bottom lip. she pushed her tongue into my mouth, trying to fight for dominance, but i barley reciprocated so she easily won. the only thing i could think of was wishing it was y/n.

“yo yo yo” i heard a familiar voice say. i pulled away searching for nate. i found him greeting our other friends before he spotted me.

“yo what’s up, matt.” he said dabbing me up.

when i looked behind him i saw her. staring at me, staring at the girl on me. she watched her hands explore my body, snaking up into my hair, falling onto my chest. she leaned in to kiss me again, but i swerved her only being able to focus my attention on y/n.

“are you in love with her or something? i thought you didn’t have a girlfriend?” the girl spoke up staring over at y/n

her question hit me like a truck. i never missed a girl this much in my life, i never felt sad over a girls absence, but for some reason i wanted her to come back to me like crazy.

i tried my best to hide these feelings from myself, but i couldn’t. i loved the way her hair smelt, the way her eyes crinkle when she laughs, the way she tenses up under my touch. sure i loved certain things about her, but i wasn’t in love with her. was i?

y/n looked like she had seen a ghost. it was like she snapped out of a trance, and she suddenly booked it for the front door. i pushed the girl off me and ran after her, but by the time i got to the front door, she was no where to be found. she wasn’t outside, in the bathrooms, up stairs, downstairs, gone. fuck

xoxo, isa

a/n: sorry:,( comment ‘❄️’ to be added to my taglist and i’ll add you!🩵

taglist: @matteatmeout @littlefreak-liz @mattsplaything @kayla-hearts4sturniolo @isasflorals @harls-sturn @h3arts4harry @rcklessheavn @chrissysturnzz @rafesapprentice @mattysketchup @imobsessedwithtaylorswift @emely9274 @trvqvoiisee @heartsforsturniolo567 @rafecameronsbitch @annsx03 @slutmattout @trevorsturniolo @h3arts4nat @beersangel @sturniolosluttt @sturnzpro @slutmattout @rainebow333 @nmegamett20 @ivysturnss

dividers by: @bernardsbendystraws

[luv-lock]

⸻ ʟ ɪ ᴛ ᴛ ʟ ᴇ ꜱ ɪ ꜱ ᴛ ᴇ ʀ ⸻

Pairing: Poly Aemon, Baelon and Alyssa x Targaryen Reader

Summary: They were your siblings. They loved you to their bones. They always been there, watching, protecting you, caring for you. It's only fair if they take you first, don't you think?

Warning: +18 contact, Minors DNA, Foursome, Fem on Fem, Targcest.

Notes: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

The heat of the room was stifling, your skin glistening with sweat as you were trapped between your siblings’ bodies. The heady scent of arousal filled the air, a mixture of sweat and sex that made your mind spin. Baelon lay beneath you, his hands gripping your waist, as he thrust his hips between your legs. You were already so stretched and sore, your inner walls fluttering around him as you tried to adjust to the thick length inside of you.

“B-Baelon, it’s... t-too much,” you whimpered, your voice breaking with each desperate breath. Your words were met with a low, guttural laugh from him as he thrust up into you, filling you to the hilt.

Alyssa’s soft, comforting voice was the only tether you had in the whirlwind of sensation. “It’s alright, sweet sister,” she murmured, her fingers gently brushing away the tears that streaked your flushed cheeks. Her mouth was hot against yours, tongue coaxing you into a kiss that was both tender and all-consuming. “We’re here for you... we’ll take such good care of you.”

Your whimpers were muffled as Alyssa’s fingers tangled in your hair, pulling your mouth to her chest. Pinned between them, you were barely able to catch your breath. Alyssa, straddling Baelon’s face, let out soft moans as she ground her hips down, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure. “Don’t worry, darling,” she purred. “Just focus on me. Let them do all the hard work.” She guided your lips to her nipple, her voice soft and soothing as if she were trying to comfort you. “That’s it, good girl… suck on my tits while our brothers take care of you.”

You obediently took her breast into your mouth, your lips closing around the stiff peak as tears welled in your eyes. The sensation of Aemon slowly pushing into your other entrance sent shivers up your spine. His cock was thick, and every inch felt like it was splitting you apart. You gasped against Alyssa’s skin, your muffled cries vibrating through her chest.

Alyssa smiled down at you, cupping your cheek as she looked into your teary eyes. “You’re doing so well for your first time, my sweet,” she whispered. “I know it’s a lot, but you can handle it. We’re all here to take care of you, aren’t we?” Her words were soft, but the glint in her eyes was anything but gentle.

Aemon’s hands tightened around your hips, pressing you further down onto him until he was buried to the hilt inside your tightest hole. “Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he groaned, his voice thick with lust. “Relax, little one… just breathe. I want to feel you loosen up around me.” He reached around to play with your swollen clit, the overstimulation making your back arch and your mouth pull away from Alyssa’s breast as you cried out.

“N-no more,” you sobbed, overwhelmed by the sensations flooding through you. Your entire body was trembling, the pleasure almost too much to bear. “Please… I c-can’t—”

“Hush now,” Baelon interrupted, his voice a low growl as he thrust up into you, his cock hitting that sweet spot that made your vision blur. “You can and you will. We’ve only just started, sweet sister. We’ve waited so long for this… for you.” He punctuated his words with deep, steady thrusts, making you mewl pathetically.

Alyssa’s lips were on yours again, her kiss fervent and possessive as she swallowed your desperate moans. “You’re ours, my love,” she cooed against your mouth, her voice a soft murmur of sweet poison. “Just let go… let us have you.”

Pinned between the relentless thrusts of Baelon beneath you and Aemon behind you, you were utterly helpless. Alyssa’s hands caressed your body, her fingers gently tracing the marks left by her brothers. The sight of you, so thoroughly debauched, sent shivers of delight through her. “Look at you,” she whispered, pressing soft kisses along your jaw. “So beautiful, so perfect for us.”

Aemon’s movements became more urgent, his fingers digging into your hips as he pounded into you from behind. “Gods, you’re so tight… you’re squeezing me like you don’t want to let go,” he groaned, his voice rough with barely contained need. “Do you hear how wet you are? How much you love this?”

Your moans turned to broken sobs as your body betrayed you, every nerve on fire. “I-I can’t… I’m so full, please… I can’t take anymore,” you whimpered, tears streaming down your cheeks. But even as you begged, your body was clamping down on them, your walls spasming around Baelon and Aemon as if desperate to keep them inside.

Alyssa’s fingers gripped your chin, forcing you to look at her through your teary eyes. “Oh, but you can,” she whispered with a smile, her eyes gleaming with delight. “You’re doing so well, little sister… just a bit more. You’ll take everything we give you, won’t you?”

“Yes, y-yes… just please…” Your voice was barely a whisper, broken and pleading as you tried to catch your breath.

Baelon’s thrusts became more erratic, his cock pulsing inside you as he chased his release. “That’s it, take it, take all of it,” he grunted, his grip on your hips bruising as he held you down.

Aemon’s hips slammed into you one last time as he spilled deep inside you, his hot seed filling your already overwhelmed body. You could feel it leaking out even as Baelon followed, his own release flooding your core. Alyssa held you close, her lips brushing your ear as she whispered sweet nothings, her fingers tenderly wiping away your tears.

“There now,” Alyssa cooed, her voice soft and soothing as your trembling body tried to recover from the onslaught. “See? You did it, my sweet. You were perfect.”

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ

[suhtorus]

mama's day. gojo satoru

fluff. ₊˚⊹ ᰔ parents au, non sorcerer au, mom!reader, family fluff, two unnamed sons and one baby girl. a little gift for myself ! ᡣ𐭩

little sunshines au

satoru has a plan for your birthday—a very detailed one.

step one. wake up the nuggets

it takes him less than two minutes to get the oldest out of bed, and there's really no point in waking up his baby girl since there's not much an eight-month-old can do.

the problem is your toddler.

"c'moooon, don't you wanna give mama her gifts?"

satoru's tone grows exasperated the longer his son refuses to cooperate, kicking his legs and throwing his nemo plushie at his face.

"no!"

the five-year-old immediately shushes his baby brother, only making the latter whine even more, tears now running down his chubby cheeks.

satoru feels his face fall upon seeing his son so upset, he should've expected the little ones not to take it too well to be woken up at six in the morning.

"hey," he tries softly this time, caressing the soft blond hairs of his toddler, "I'm sorry, mochi. can you forgive papa? go back to sleep, I'll wake you up when breakfast is ready, okay?"

the sobs end and now there's only small sniffles coming from the sleepy kid.

"oki."

step two. make breakfast

"like this?"

satoru leans down to inspect his son's work, brows furrowing as he tries, and fails, to read whatever gibberish his son tried to spell on top of the freshly made waffles.

with a loud smooch on the kid's cheek, satoru squeezes him in a tight hug, grinning proudly the way a father would. "a masterpiece. mama's gonna love it."

dad and son work surprisingly silent, focused on their own tasks. it doesn't take them long to have plates full of food and fruits, as well as freshly made juice.

"why don't you grab these," satoru hands his son two bags with the names of expensive brands on them, "while I go get your siblings. okay?"

"on it!"

step three. gifts

"happy birthday, mama~"

"ma-ma!"

you wake up with a start, surrounded by four pairs of blue eyes staring down at you.

"happy birthday, love of my life, mother of my kids, my one and only!"

satoru pecks your mouth as your brain processes the beaming faces of your three nuggets. your boys sit next to you, one on each side, while satoru holds the baby in the air right above your face.

your confused face finally eases into one of happiness (and relief).

"thank you, my little babies!" you smile drowsily, urging yourself to blink the sleep away as you smooch the faces of all three of your children. "mwah, mwah, mwahhh–"

your husband can't help but smile upon seeing you smothering the kids with kisses. and with his hold still on his baby girl, satoru tugs her away from you and nods at your lap.

"open your gifts, baby. we got you aaaall of your favorites." he winks at his son and the little one covers his mouth behind his tiny hand, giggling. "and we also made breakfast for mama, right?"

with a pointed look from satoru, your toddler remembers the plate of food on his lap.

"eat waffu, baby." your two-year-old offers you the plate full of waffles, pushing it towards your mouth, insistent. "eat it."

step four. spoil her rotten

your two boys happily run across the gardens while your baby girl crawls on the grass, squealing right behind her brothers.

"liked the surprise?"

your husband's arms wrap around your middle from behind. his hold is the greatest comfort you could've asked for.

"you mean waking up with three of your clones staring down at me while I sleep?" you snort, but there's no real bite in your tone. "I loved it. especially their drawing of me surrounded by blue-eyed mochi."

your eldest had insisted on drawing their little family—with you right in the center—and satoru thought it'd be funny to add the mochi instead of the kids.

"oh, but I'm not done yet, sweetheart." he spins you around in his arms, now grinning at you. "an entire weekend. you and me. what do you say?"

a groan slips past your lips and he immediately frowns, indignation clear on his face.

"c'mon, pretty. it's been a while since it was just the two of us." satoru goes for the puppy eyes, knowing that by doing so he already has a fifty percent of chance of winning. "you're not only a mother, but also a wife. let your doting husband pamper you."

"and who's watching over the kids? the baby??" you try to reason, glancing at your nuggets as they giggle their little hearts out as they play together. "satoru, we can't just leave."

"sweetheart, relaaaaax. ijichi got us covered."

oh, that poor man.

you make a mental note to give nanami a call.

[my-castles-crumbling]

jewel - january 13 - black brothers, jegulus - @black-brothers-microfic - word count: 389

“You look like shit, you know.”

Sirius’s voice made Regulus jump, and he turned quickly from where he was staring at his reflection in the mirror, rolling his eyes.

“Exactly what I wanted to hear on my wedding day,” he murmured, grimacing and adjusting his tie for the millionth time.

“I aim to support you, little brother,” Sirius beamed. Of course, Sirius looked perfect in his own tux. Fucking prick. “Nah, you look perfect. You’re going to knock Prong’s socks off. And only his socks, mind. In my head, you only do as much as hold hands.”

“Yes, we’ll celebrate the union by doing some very suggestive cuddling,” Regulus drawled, snorting. “What are you doing here, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be stopping James from a panic attack?”

“Yes, because your wedding party’s doing such a bang-up job,” Sirius said, rolling his eyes and turning to the balcony, where Barty and Evan were smoking and pretending to push each other over the edge.

“Their stupidity reminds me that I haven’t yet hit rock bottom,” Regulus drawled. 

“Nah, I’m here because I have something for you,” Sirius said, holding up the small box in his hand. “It’s your something old. And something new, I guess. To you.”

Curiosity piqued, Regulus opened the box to find a ring, inlaid with a few jewels, a crest stamped on the front. “Is this-” he asked, shocked.

“Potter family crest. Effie gave it to me on my wedding day. To remind me I have family everywhere, and all that. But...I figured you should have it. Since you’re actually going to be a Potter and all,” Sirius shrugged, grinning, tears forming in his eyes. “I asked her if I could, and she said she loved the idea.. She was planning on giving you one already, but she liked the idea of it coming from me.”

Wordlessly, Regulus put the ring on his middle finger, admiring the way it adjusted to his hand. “I…thank you,” he whispered, heart warming and stomach fluttering with nerves.

“No problem,” Sirius nodded jerkily, pulling him into a quick hug before stepping back, clearing his throat. “Now. No crying until after the pictures! I’ve got makeup on!”

Sirius was, of course, the one crying the loudest throughout the entire ceremony, sobbing about how James and Regulus were perfect for each other.

[f0ofishies]

Don't look back

Being apart of the itoshi family, others might seem you've got lucky being blessed by two superstars of footballers. Now you're not as good as them, but you did used to have the same passion as them. You remembered when you were little— straining your ankle crying like a baby. You remembered vividly on how Sae's arms held you up as Rin was already running up to your parents. "Mama..! she's hurt..!"

"Rin, that hurts..!" Your little whined echoed through out your own bedroom. He was tending to your foot, with some cream to soothe your injured ankle. "But its supposed to be—" Sae couldn't help but sigh, "Let me do it." His voice caught the both of you off guard. "I thought you had school?" Your voice interrupting the silence.

"I skipped." Both you and Rin had widened eyes. "No fair!" Rin taunted as you agreed with him. "Yeah, no fair..!" It wasn't until you both stopped complaining that Sae had bribed you both to play on his Nintendo DS. So the whole day, the three of you were just sucked into the game— both claiming it'll help with the recovery of a sprained ankle... it really wasn't.

Now that was a distant memory, another one you also remembered was when you were waiting for your family in the airport. Before Sae could even board the plane to go to spain— you've unexpectedly ran towards him.. puffed up cheeks, tears streaming down. You crashed into his chest as you sobbed. "Don't leave—!"

A plea came out of your mouth as Sae couldn't help but hug you as tightly as you did to him. Even Rin joined in on the hug, his arms wrapped around the both of you. "I'll come back.." You whined once more, burying your face into his shirt soaking the fabric. "You gotta promise—" You remembered the silly little pinky promise he did to you before he left.

Watching Sae come home from Spain— broke your heart. "Sae..?" You called out to him, he looked cold and that scared the teenager you. "What do you want?" You froze in your place, "Rin is still out late.. can you fetch him?" Your voice low as you watched your oldest brother leave. And that was when Rin came back home, but Sae didn't. "Rin where's—" "I don't want to talk, sis."

It was even worse when Rin got accepted to bluelock. You huffed going out to see Rin practicing near your house, "Rin..! You haven't eaten!" You watched as he ignored your pleas— he was kicking the many footballs aligned to the goals.

"It's getting late, come back inside, please!" One thing led to another, and that was when Rin kicked the ball to your direction as you narrowly dodged it. "What the hell, Rin—"

"Shut up! I don't need your concerns. And I dont need a little sister."

That statement broke you, you've just locked yourself in your own bedroom. Both parents didn't know how to handle the both of you, so when Rin left— their little ray of sunshine daughter was gone. Highschool started, you couldn't balance them at all. Grades failing faster than you could even count the number of days that passed.

You've had it— you couldn't care less what happened to your brothers. The news displaying their names, your parents joyous for their sons while you shut off the news rolling your own eyes. You were going to change, and that was when you saw a college worth going, it even had its own foundation. And now we're back at the present, of where your true life started.

You've fallen in love, made friends, got broken up with, and even moved to another country far from Japan without the support of your own brothers. Rin and Sae weren't on your mind anymore, nor did you even care on checking up on them. It wasn't until someone had said two young men were looking for her.

Opening the dormitory door to see both Rin and Sae, covered in their big puffy jackets. You froze, looking up at them. Before one of them could speak, "Don't." They both were here— why? Did your parents tell them? You wanted to slam the door in front of their faces. "We were worried... how come you didn't ask us to go to your high school graduation?"

You scoffed, "I never had one—" They both froze now, but Rin came forward. "How?" You bit your lip, "I went into foundation before I could graduate, but of course, how could you know? Football was more important." Sae sighed. "You know that's not—" "But it is the truth..! Or are you blind?" Your words echoed in the hallways. Both Itoshi brothers froze at the harsh words.

"You know Blue lock changed my career.." Rin whispered, approaching you, you backed away. "Yeah, and completely wrecked our connection as siblings." Sae interrupted, "And I was busy with the—" "Don't even talk, you have no right.. when you left out of nowhere!" Your voice echoed, it mightve made people heard the commotion going in the dormitory.

"What I want both of you is to leave and never come back because I'm not your little sister anymore." They both looked shocked— how could you say that to them? "But you are our.." You had to push Sae away from you, it was clear they didn't thought things through. They just wanted to see you, their little sister on where she's been.. even going as far to approach her.

"No, she died when you both left and never looked back. Now leave."

[entitled-fangirl]

Indeed, my girl.

Cregan Stark x Velaryon!reader

Summary: The reader is dealing with the grief of losing Luke. Cregan helps in the ways he can.

Warnings: Talks of attempted sa, Threatening, Talks of death, cursing, mental health

Masterlist

................................................................

She hadn't been the same since the death of her younger brother. 

Cregan had noticed it. 

Fewer meals, fewer baths, fewer words, and fewer movements entirely. 

As if the grief was killing her from the inside. 

And he could only watch.

He was a man of action. He'd killed men with his bare heads for far less.

And he could only watch as grief was murdering his wife. 

...

"There's something on your mind," he stated from the doorway of their shared chambers.

She sat on the floor in front of the fireplace. 

When she made no motion to look at him, he walked to her, kneeling down with a hand on her back, "I wish I knew what you think so much about."

She shook her head as she stared at the flames. Her voice was hoarse, "No, you don't."

He tilted his head, "Try me."

She turned and looked at him from over her shoulder. 

Only then did he notice the hollowing of her cheeks. 

The dark circles under her eyes. 

She sniffled, "Does the pain go away?"

He felt his chest tighten. 

The death of his own younger brother. 

His brother had died years ago.

"No."

Her eyes filled with tears.

"You just learn to live with it." He said awkwardly. 

Starks were not made for emotions.

She turned to him completely now, abandoning warmth of the fire, "How?"

"I dunno. It just happens one day." He looked off in thought. "You forget about it for a while. But…" 

She felt herself leaning into every word.

"You still see him in every first snow of the winter. Every pine tree with missing branches." He lets out a strained laugh, "And every fucking rabbit."

She shifted herself closer, wiping at her cheeks. "I… I see him. When I close my eyes."

He nods, "You will. You always will."

"I haven't felt this since," she pauses, "Since… Ser Harwin died."

Ser Harwin Strong.

Her biological father.

"And did that ever go away?" He asked quietly.

She sniffled, "No. But it became easier with time. When…" Her eyes flooded with tears again, "When I forgot what he looked like."

He couldn't help the coo from his throat as he immediately pulled her into his lap.

"What if I forget what he looks like, Cregan?" She asked in horror.

He tucked her face into his neck, "It'll be alright."

"What if… if this was my fault?" She sobbed into him.

"How could it ever be your fault, my girl?" He asked calmly.

Her shoulder shook with hiccups, "Like… with… with Harwin… and I… it's… it's my fault…"

He pulled her away from him to look into her eyes, "What do you mean?"

"I had… and when…" 

"Shh," he immediately cooed. "Tell me when you're ready. " His hands brushed her cheeks gently, catching stray tears as she tried to steady her breathing. 

After a while, she managed it enough to speak, "I was the reason… Harwin was sent away."

His brows furrowed, "I'm not understanding you, sweet girl."

"He was sent away for… for defending us as bastards against Ser Criston. And… Harwin was already mad at Criston because of me."

Cregan hummed, "Alright?"

"I look like him but… I… I looked like my mother then. And… Criston at one point liked my mother very much. And… and in turn, he began to take a liking to me."

Cregan's jaw clenched at the sound of where the story was going. 

"One night, I… I was going to my chambers and… and he pinned me to the wall and… tried to… sully me."

His hands that were on her hips tightened and his eyes darkened, "What?"

"You took my maidenhead, Cregan. You know that."

Her words did little to comfort him. "But how far did he get? I'll fucking kill him myself."

"I'm fine. I got out. And… I told Harwin. He promised to deal with it the next day and… Criston questioned our parentage that day. That day it all happened and he was sent away. To die in that stupid fucking fire." She leaned back, "If I had just kept it to myself, he wouldn't have been so angry-"

"-No. No. Don't even begin to say that," Cregan said firmly as he took her face in his hands again. "You did it all right."

"It doesn't feel like it."

"I know it doesn't."

"Luke looked like him the most."

He pulled her to him again. 

Her voice grew low, "I'll kill them all."

Cregan stared at the flames of the fireplace. 

He was quiet for a while, until his voice came out strong and firm, "The North remembers."

She leaned away, rubbing at the few tears that still laid on her cheeks. "The Greens don't know what they've done."

"Aye. They don't."

Here, in Winterfell, the two lovers began to find solace in each other. 

"You're the only other person that I…"

Cregan hung on every word now. He spoke in a low murmur, "Say it. You can say it to me."

"-I've never told anyone else what happened with Cole. Besides Harwin. Just… you."

He felt a protective feeling surge through him. Nothing was getting through him to her, he'd make sure of that.

"You remind me of him, you know."

He paused, "Who, my girl?"

"Harwin."

His lips parted, "How…. How so?"

Her hands moved his face, caressing his cheeks until they grew firm, "You wouldn't let anything fucking touch me either."

He could've let that smirk grow more on his face, but he kept it suppressed, "I won't let anyone or anything touch you, my girl. I swear it."

She hummed, relaxing, "Much like him. Like home."

Cregan let a smile come across his face, "I'm honored I'm like home to you, sweet Princess."

"He…" She smiled, recalling a memory, "He had taught my brothers the sword. As a girl, I had no luxury. But… in secret, he gave me lessons with throwing knives."

His head tilted, impressed, "He taught you how to throw knives?"

"He was a talented man."

"Aye."

"That's how I did it."

"Did what, pretty?"

She paused, taking a deep breath, "How… I defended myself. Cole, he… he pinned me to the wall. When he was distracted, I pulled my knife on him and threatened him with something… too unladylike to say."

Cregan Stark felt a deep surge of pride flow through his body at her confession. "Tell me."

"Oh, no. It's… it's too crude."

His hands moved to her thighs, "Please, wife. I must know."

"I threatened to… 'take the thing that he thinks with' and... I did not mean his head."

Cregan let out a bark of a laugh, throwing his head back dramatically. 

When he came back to, his smile never left, "My little dragon of a wife. It seems you're just full of fire!"

She smiled, "Is that a bad thing?"

He pulled her closer to him, "Absolutely not." His lips brushed hers, "I'm quite fond of it."

"Good," she whispered. 

Their lips connected in a soft kiss.

"They'll pay. I promise." Cregan said as he pulled away. "Starks don't forget oaths."

"Winter is coming. Isn't it, Cregan?"

He smiled, "Indeed, my girl."

.........................................................................

[solelifauna]

But You Belong to Me (You Belong to Me) - (Yandere Jason Todd x Reader) (Prologue Pt.1)

When (Y/n) (L/n), resident Gotham Prep scholarship student, meets the new son of Bruce Wayne, a friendship like no other is formed. However, maybe what she's feeling is more than just what friends feel for each other. It's too bad that she never gets the chance to tell him before he, Jason, her first real friend (and real love) meets his brutal demise at the hands of the Joker.

Three years later, she finds herself still acquainted with the Bat's nightlives, comfortable monitoring them from her seat in the Batcave. The scars of Jason's death still run deep, yet, just when life starts to become a little normal, a new crime lord pops up out of nowhere.

Insert The Red Hood and his duffle bag full of heads, and he's here to collect what he was promised long ago.

Heavy rain pelts down onto your frame, coveted in all black; what a bleak day it was, but you guessed the weather was befitting the occasion. There are three other people standing next to you also dressed in black. There was a hand on your shoulder (you don't know whose though, and you can't seem to care either), most likely in place to comfort you, or to try at least, but you couldn't focus on anything else but the too small coffin being lowered into the ground.

It was mahogany, a deep brown casket with gold details, something fancy. You knew if Jason were alive to see it, he'd hate it. He likes–liked red, he would have wanted a red one. But no, he was busy being lowered into the ground instead. Tears streamed down your face but you couldn't bring yourself to wipe them. What good would it do you? It was raining anyway.

The funeral comes to a close, although you're not sure when (how) time passed so quickly, leaving Jason, your best friend, the boy you loved, buried six feet under. You don't know what to do, you don't know what you can do. You just stand there, unable to move. He's dead. He’s dead. You’ll never see him again, he’s dead. You'll never sit on the couch with him arguing over his book of the week, he’s dead. You'll never get to stay up and watch the stars with him, he’s dead. You'll never get to tell him how you really feel, he's dead.  

It's only when Bruce, his father, gently tries to guide you to the car you came in, you break. You lash out, twisting away from his hand as you trip over yourself trying to get to Jason’s headstone. Bruce and Dick, Jason’s older brother, exclaim in surprise and then follow after you. You collapse on your knees near the freshly lain dirt, sobbing with your full chest.

You could hear Bruce and Dick stop a couple of feet away from you, unable to comfort you in their own grief. That was fine though, you're not sure what you'd say or do if they tried to. They let you have your time with him, knowing it was just as difficult for you as it was for them, but as time ticks by another hour has passed and you’re still kneeling by his grave, no longer crying, but still unmoving. 

You stared blankly at his headstone, still trying to realize that he wasn't coming back. When you feel someone grab your shoulder this time, you know it's Alfred. And you know what he's going to say to you, the words you’ve been dreading to hear.

“It’s time to go Miss (Y/n).” Alfred says gently, his own voice filled with grief at the loss of his grandson.

You don't say anything, your mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Alfred only sighs, before taking his leave. Good. Nobody was taking you away from here. A couple more minutes pass when you hear another pair of footsteps headed towards you. Bruce.

“(Y/n),” Bruce calls softly, yet voice still rough and raw from his own sorrow, “It’s–It's time to go now sweetie.”

You don't even turn around from where you were sitting. “No.” You say firmly.

Bruce and Alfred exchange a look. 

“Miss (Y/n),” Alfred starts, “ you’ve been sitting out in the rain all day. Wouldn't you like a change of–”

“No!” You shout out this time. You flinch back from the sound of your own voice, and you could tell Alfred and Bruce were taken aback by your behavior as well. 

With a sigh, Bruce decides that he'd come get you himself, any longer out here and you'd be sick for a week. His hands come around to grab you, to pull you up and you scream, kicking and fighting your way out of his hold.

“No! No, I wont leave him! I'm not gonna leave him! Let me go!” You cry, banging your punny fists against Bruce’s chest. He doesn't even flinch, he just holds you and lets you cry, kick, and scream. 

“Please let me go! He–he doesn't like being alone, I promised him–I promised I'd never let him be alone.” You cry out again, your voice fizzling into another sob as your fussing stops. You just stand there, slumping into Bruce’s arms, sobbing once more.

He doesn't say another word, he just brushes your tears away and leads you towards the limo where Dick was already situated. Alfred sits you down into the limo, making his way to the driver's seat. Bruce slides in next, eyes aghast and tired, clearly haunted by the loss of his youngest. Dick is turned away from the rest of you in a similar state. The car starts, heading towards the manor.

It was a silent and short ride over, nobody daring or having the strength to say anything. The vehicle comes to a stop, everyone numbly piling out the door and into the Manor. Dinner would be forgotten tonight as everyone went to their own respective places to continue grieving. Bruce, to the Batcave; Alfred, to the Library; Dick, to patrolling the streets of Gotham (knowing that if he stayed in the manor, he’d end up breaking something); and you, to Jason's room.

You crumpled onto the maroon carpet, gazing around his room, hoping that you'd see him pop up and tell you it was all a joke. But he wouldn't. You saw his mangled body. You knew that he was never coming back. What's even worse, is that you could still see Jason’s unfinished math homework lying on his desk, the paper slightly crumpled from when he would undoubtedly grip and erase out of frustration. Mrs. Delaurier’s algebra II homework would forever remain unfinished.

You promptly break into tears once more.

~~~~~~

(3 years earlier)

Chilly air swept through the halls of Gotham Prep, but you, (Y/n) (L/n),  hardly noticed as you rushed to your next class. As a scholarship student among Gotham's elite, you had learned to keep your head down, focus on your studies, and ignore the gossip that buzzed in every corner of the prestigious school.

“Crap, crap, crap!” You huffed under your breath, picking up speed to reach your next class. 

You were late, incredibly so by at least seven minutes. Sure, it isn't that crazy of an offense if you really think about it, but at Gotham Prep? As a scholarship student, you'd be crucified. Okay, maybe you were exaggerating a bit, but still, the point was there. You’re forced to break out of your thoughts when the familiar door of Mrs. Banfield’s 7th grade English class comes into view.

Practically sliding into a halt, you nervously open the door, ready for the earful and cruel laughter  you were sure to receive. You walk in, ready for the heat of Mrs. Banfield’s rage, only to find her standing at the front of the class, a boy with black hair standing right next to her. It seems you’ve actually interrupted her speaking, whoops. Everyone turns to you as you give your teacher a sheepish smile.

“Miss (L/n), so glad of you to finally join us.” She scorns, “Now please take a seat, we don't have time for dilly-dallying today.”

You just let out a meek “Yes ma’am.” and “Sorry ma’am.” as you take your seat near the windows. The desk pushed up next to you on your right remains empty, nobody in their right mind wants to sit next to the “charity case”. Well whatever, it was their loss anyway, you were awesome.

“Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” Mrs. Banfield says giving you a pointed look. You just shrink back into your seat, “We have a new student joining us today, please welcome Jason Wayne-Todd.” She continues. 

The class breaks out into excited clamor as everyone says their own rendition of a “welcome”. Of course, just what you needed, another stuck-up brat to put up with, and a Wayne too at that–god knows how far there's a stick shoved up his ass. 

“Hello everyone, I'm glad to join y’all this school year.” Jason says, giving a nice wave to the class. 

Others smile back, however, you could see their true intentions, they were only after his money and name. Your teacher says some more thing which you drown out, only to be pulled out of your day dream when you hear a mention of your name. 

“Jason, your seat will be over there by (Y/n). (Y/n) please put your hand up!” She all but yells, glaring in your direction. 

You tiredly put your hand up as Jason makes his way to you. He puts his backpack on the bag hook attached to the desk before sitting right next to you. He gives you a one off glance before he pulls out his notebook and turns his attention to the front. You glare at him. 

‘How rude.’ You think to yourself, before you do the same show of pulling out your supplies. He didn't even bother talking to you, let alone acknowledge you. What a jerk.

You huffed quietly under your breath and focused on the lesson, but the boy sitting next to you lingered in your thoughts. So that was Jason Wayne-Todd—the son of Bruce Wayne. Another rich kid who’d probably never give you a second thought, just like everyone else at Gotham Prep. You convinced yourself that it didn’t matter. He was just another asshole.

But then, a few days later, everything changed.

It was lunch period, and as usual, you sat alone. Not that you minded, really. It was quieter that way, less drama to deal with. You had found a nice spot beneath a tree, away from the main courtyard, where you could enjoy your food in peace.

You were halfway through a sandwich when you heard footsteps crunching on the gravel. You glanced up and there he was again, Jason Todd. He stood there for a moment, looking at you like he was sizing you up. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes, something curious.

“You always sit alone?” he asked, his voice casual but direct.

You blinked in surprise. "Uh, yeah. So?"

He shrugged and then, to your utter shock, sat down next to you without asking for permission. “Guess I’ll join you then.”

You stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out what his angle was. Jason Todd didn’t seem like the type to care about someone like you—someone who wasn’t from the same world as the rest of these privileged kids. But there he was, sitting with you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Why?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. “I mean, don’t you have other people to sit with?”

Jason raised an eyebrow, popping open a juice box with a smirk. “Maybe. But they’re all boring and stuck up rich kids”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Aren't you a—how'd you put it? A boring, stuck-up rich kid too?” You say, quoting him.

He just looks into you with his blue eyes(Jesus, how were they so blue?), confusion swimming on his face.

“I'm adopted?” He says, all but a question. How did you not know that? It's like the only thing the news and everyone at school are talking about.

“Oh,” You blank, “but you look just like him?”

“Yeah, I get that a lot, it's kinda scary how similar we look.” Is all he says.

“So you’re not just some rich asshole with a stick up his ass?”

He stares at you, expression neutral before he erupts into laughter.

“No, no, god no! I'm from Crime Alley!” He exclaims through laughter.

Your jaw nearly drops at his words. Crime Alley? The notorious part of Gotham, where crime and poverty thrived like the weeds in the cracks of forgotten streets? Jason Todd, the new Wayne, adopted into Gotham’s wealthiest family, was from Crime Alley?

Jason noticed your reaction and grinned, amused at the disbelief on your face. “Yeah, don’t look so shocked. Not all of us were born into the lap of luxury,” he said, leaning back against the tree, his juice box still in hand.

You blinked, trying to process the unexpected revelation. “I didn’t realize,” you said, more quietly now. “I just assumed—”

“That I was like all the other rich kids?” he finished for you, raising an eyebrow.

You nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Jason chuckled and shook his head. “Don’t be. I get it. It’s Gotham Prep—it’s all about money and status. But I’m not like them. Never will be.”

You couldn’t help but feel intrigued by him now. He wasn’t what you thought—far from it. There was depth to Jason, a complexity that set him apart from the rest of the students. Maybe that’s why he chose to sit with you, the ‘charity case.’ He didn’t fit in either.

“You’re not like them,” you murmured, meeting his gaze. “Neither of us are.”

Jason’s smirk softened into something more genuine as he studied you for a moment. Then, he shrugged and took a sip of his juice. “Guess that makes us both the odd ones out.”

You shared a small smile with him, a strange warmth blooming in your chest. For the first time since you’d arrived at Gotham Prep, you didn’t feel so alone. Jason might’ve been the new kid, but somehow, sitting next to him, you felt a connection. Like he understood what it was like to be on the outside looking in.

And from that day on, Jason Todd became your closest friend. The two of you spent nearly every lunch together after that, sharing sandwiches and laughing at the ridiculousness of the rich kids around you. He introduced you to his world, the one he came from, telling you stories about life in Crime Alley that were equal parts heartbreaking and hilarious.

 He told you stories about Bruce Wayne, about how nice he was and about his brother Dick Grayson, who doesn't really like him that much. You frowned at that. How could anyone not like Jason? With his pretty blue eyes and warm smile, his rambunctious laughter and humor, his kindness and—What the hell was wrong with you?

Anyways, you in turn told him about your family. How you were an only child, how you used to have a pet dog named Pudgy, how both your parents worked all day and every day, leaving you with enormous amounts of free time. They weren't neglectful, or at least they weren't on purpose, but they needed to make money. Your family wasn't living in poverty, but you would be if your parents didn't take on the crazy hours they did.

So you understood. Sure it sucked, but what could you do? Besides, it wasn't all that terrible; when your parents did have free time you’d spend the day laughing in the kitchen with your mom or fixing something in the garage with your dad. You knew they loved you, and that was all that mattered. 

Over time, Jason slowly introduced the idea of you hanging out at his house. The first time he asked, you refused, saying how you didn't want to intrude or be a bother (much to Jason’s dismay and Alfred’s amusement when Jason would complain about your stubborn behavior). But of course, there were only so many times you could refuse Jason's begging and puppy-dog eyes, and before you knew it, you were being picked up by Alfred Pennyworth in an expensive limo that you didn't even know the name of.

That first ride in the limo was surreal. You had tried to focus on anything but the fact that Alfred Pennyworth was sitting just a few feet away from you, his calm, dignified presence making the luxurious car feel even more intimidating. Your heart pounded in your chest as the car wove through Gotham’s bustling streets, and you found yourself fidgeting nervously with your hands.

“Are you all right, Miss (L/n)?” Alfred asked, glancing at you in the rearview mirror.

You startled at the sound of his voice, managing a small, sheepish smile. “Y-Yeah, I’m just not used to all this. I’ve never been in a limo before.”

Alfred’s expression softened, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, I assure you, Master Jason and Master Bruce will be pleased to have you. No need to be nervous.”

But how could you not be nervous? You were about to step foot inside Wayne Manor. The home of Gotham’s most powerful, wealthy family.

What if you broke something?

What if Bruce didn't like you?

What if he doesn't like you so much that he tells Jason he can't be your friend anymore? Your thoughts continue to devolve into frantic “what ifs” as the drive continues.

When the car finally pulled up to the massive iron gates, your stomach twisted into knots. You stared out the window as the gates opened slowly, revealing a grand driveway that led up to the imposing structure of Wayne Manor itself. It was bigger than you’d imagined—an intimidating, sprawling mansion that looked more like a castle than a home.

You swallowed hard. Jason lived here?

Alfred parked the limo and got out to open your door. You stepped out slowly, feeling incredibly small as you gazed up at the manor. Before you could fully comprehend your surroundings, the front doors of the manor burst open, and there he was, Jason, running toward you with that infectious grin on his face.

“You finally made it!” Jason called out, his voice filled with excitement as he approached. He grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the house, practically dragging you up the steps. “Come on, I’ve got so much to show you.”

“Jason, slow down!” you laughed, feeling your nerves start to ease a little in the face of his enthusiasm. He always had a way of making you feel comfortable, even in situations as intimidating as this.

As you crossed the threshold into Wayne Manor, you were struck by just how massive it was inside. The ceilings seemed to stretch endlessly above you, the halls adorned with intricate chandeliers and elegant artwork. It was the epitome of wealth and luxury, but it didn’t feel cold or lifeless. There was warmth here, in the way the soft light filtered through the grand windows, and in the way Jason moved through the space like it was his own.

“Whoa,” you breathed out as you took it all in. “This place is huge.”

Jason laughed. “Yeah, it’s a bit much, huh? I didn’t know what to do with myself when I first got here. But you get used to it. Come on, I’ll show you my room.”

You let him lead you through the grand corridors, trying to keep your awe in check. As you passed by one of the doors, you spotted a tall, dark-haired man walking by—Bruce Wayne himself. Your eyes widened, and you froze for a moment.

Bruce glanced your way and offered a small, warm smile. “You must be (Y/n) (L/n),” He says, reaching his hand out for a handshake. You nervously reach out and shake his hand. “ Jason’s talked a lot about you.”

You blinked, stunned. “H-He has?”

Bruce nodded, his expression becoming one of amusement as Jason blubbered behind you. “Oh yes, he never really stops actually. So it’s nice to finally meet the person who–”

“Okay! That's enough dad, we’ll see you later!” 

You could see a tint of red on Jason's cheeks, clearly embarrassed by his dad, as he dragged you towards his room.

Finally, you reached Jason’s room. It was more modest compared to the rest of the house, filled with a mix of personal items that spoke to his life before and after Wayne Manor. Posters of action movies and comic books adorned the walls, and his bed was piled high with mismatched pillows and blankets. It wasn’t neat, but it was cozy. It felt like him—chaotic, comfortable, and completely unpretentious.

“Welcome to my domain,” Jason announced with a grin, flopping onto his bed and patting the space beside him.

You sat down next to him, finally letting out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. The day continues like it was normal, with you and Jason playing games of hide-and-seek, tag (much to Alfred’s displeasure), and some video games in the playroom. The day comes to a close as Jason drags you down for dinner, saying how “There's no better cooking than what Alfie makes.” 

You’re bound to disagree until you take your first bite of food. You turn to Jason, fork halfway in your mouth, with a look of pure bliss in your eyes. He meets your gaze with a smudge expression of “I told you so.” Bruce just watches fondly, glad that Jason is adjusting and glad that he has a friend he is comfortable with. You were a sweet girl, Bruce concurred, and with what Jason told him about your family’s situation, he was more than happy to have you around. 

Soon, you were parting ways with the Waynes for the night, Jason giving you a big hug whilst Bruce relayed to you that you were welcome over any time. On the drive back to your house, Alfred tells you how thankful he was that someone “as kind” and “lovely” as you had come into Jason's life. A blush blooms on your face as you squeak out an embarrassed “No problem Mr. Pennyworth.”

The months continue on as you and Jason head into 8th grade, finally having more classes together in your schedules. The days were seemingly normal as you continued to spend time at Wayne manor, now becoming more comfortable with Bruce and Alfred; you spend time in the ginormous library as Jason helps you with your English homework and you help him with math or simply chill in Jason's room or by the pool. 

Things take a weird turn one day when Jason comes to school more tired than usual. He looks like he's been run ragged, a couple of purple bruises on his arms. You worriedly fret over him as he laughs saying he just fell down the stairs. Your jaw drops as you turn on him for being so stupid.

However, the bruises never stop. But that's not the only new thing, Jason looks bigger. He's got new muscles and everything and he's also gained more inches over you. As much as his new physique makes you blush, it worries you that he continues to come to school for the next three months, tired and aching, continually avoiding all your questions and being secretive. You hate to admit that his secrecy hurts more than you wanted to realize. 

In the far back of your mind, your suspicions lead to Bruce. You liked Bruce, he was fun, he was nice, and you really couldn't imagine him doing something like this to Jason. He loved Jason. So, you let the thought fade. You knew Bruce would rather kill himself than ever lay a hand on Jason. But still, something was going on. Not long after, big news spread through Gotham. Headlines like “Return of Robin!” or “Batman’s New Sidekick!” are all the rage. You never cared much for the vigilante stuff, but even you had to admit Batman was cool, but his new Robin? Well–

Jason casually brings it up on day during one of your regular dinners. You’re busy shoveling noodles into your mouth when Jason asks you something.

“So (Y/n), I never really got to ask, but who's your favorite superhero?”

Unbeknownst to you, Bruce and Alfred share a knowing look before turning their attention to you. Yes, Bruce was curious too.

You think for a minute before coming up with your answer.

“Hmmm, if i had to pick, I’d say Batman.” 

Bruce grins in a silent victory whilst Jason scowls.

“What!? Why him?!” He all but yells.

“Well don't you think it's cool that he still fights even though he has no powers? Plus, he dresses up as a bat, I like bats, they’re cute.” You say.

Bruce just lets out a small, thoughtful “huh” as he continues eating.

“But seriously, Batman??” Jason questions incredulously.

“Well, if you want me to be completely honest, Batman isn't my actual favorite. My real favorite superhero, well, everyone says that he doesn't count ‘cause he's a sidekick, so.”

“Well pray tell, who is your real favorite Miss (Y/n)?” Alfred now asks as he picks up some empty dishes.

“It's Robin of course!” You say smiling. Jason proceeds to spit out his water and Bruce chuckles.

You glance worriedly at Jason.

“Are you alright Jay?”

“Y–yup! Now what was that about m–Robin?”

“Oh yeah, he's super cool bro! He fights side by side with Batman, and he took down Ivy all by himself, and he’s super cute too.” You gush, unable to help yourself.

Jason’s face bursts into red as he stammers about how he's suddenly full. Bruce continues to smile like a cat that just caught a canary.

After you head home, Bruce continues to tease Jason, resulting in a multitude of pillows being thrown at Bruce's face. 

~~~~~~

You only come to discover Jason's secret about five months later, completely by accident by the way. It was a school event, a student showcase. The halls of the venue were filled with kiosks and booths where parents could see and celebrate the accomplishments of their children. Yet again, you found yourself at your section alone, standing in front of a painting you had made.

It had won second place, a blue ribbon tapped to its side and you were so proud of yourself. You knew your parents were too, they had told you themselves, but unfortunately, they wouldn't be able to make it. That's okay though, you knew they were working their tails off so that they could provide for you. A missed school showcase was the last thing they needed to worry or feel guilty about. Besides, it wasn't like you’d be completely alone, Jason, Bruce, and Alfred would be here soon.

With that, you continued thanking the random people who congratulated you on your placement, waiting for Jason and his family to show up. Of course, that's when disaster struck. An explosion goes off in the cafeteria as you get thrown back from its force. Your ears ring as you hear muffled screaming and cries, smoke making your vision blurry with tears.

You cough, trying to pick yourself off of the ground, a burning pain shooting through your leg as you do so. You sluggishly look down (god your head hurts) only to be met with blood all over your right leg. Jesus, that was a lot of blood. So much in fact, you couldn't even really make out what your injury looked like.

Tears flow down your face at the pain. God, everything hurt, but you needed to get out of here. Wait–oh no, Jason! You didn't know where he was! You pray that he was still on the way over when the explosions went off. With a sharp cry, you begin limping towards an exit, trying to stay conscious and on your feet with all the chaos going on around you. People push and shove, trying to get out but you just grit your teeth and fight to stay standing because you knew that if you went down, you weren't too sure if you'd be able to get back up. 

Through the cacophony of screams and explosions, you realize that a fight is happening. You see the familiar figures of Batman and Robin battling with the ever terrifying Joker. Another explosion rocked the venue, shaking you out of your thoughts as debris fell around you. You barely managed to avoid a chunk of falling concrete, throwing yourself against the nearest wall, the pain in your leg intensifying as you cried out. You needed to get out of here. 

You try to move, you really do, but you can't get your leg to work. You collapse near a wall, clutching your leg in pain trying to get the bleeding to stop. Someone help me. Someone–anyone.

You’re crying now, your sobs being buried under the chaos of the battle. You sit there for god knows how long, praying that it ends, the screaming, the explosions, the carnage. You want it all to stop. And it does. The Joker is caught and shipped off to Arkham Asylum as Batman, Robin, the police, and paramedics start sweeping through the rubble. However, right now, there's only one thing running through Robin’s mind.

He has your location pulled up, thank god he gave you that bracelet with a tracker. He knew it’d lead him to you, you always wore it. He could hear Batman telling him to slow down but he couldn't bother to listen. He has to find you. 

When he does, his heart breaks. You were curled up against a crumbling wall, hands and legs covered in blood as tears marred your now grime and dust ridden face. His mind went blank, panic rising in his chest as he sprinted toward you, the world around him fading into background noise. Nothing else mattered right now—only you.

He fell to his knees beside you, his hands shaking as they hovered over your body, unsure where to touch, where to help without hurting you more. You blinked up at him, eyes unfocused and wet with tears.

“Robin…” Your voice was weak, barely above a whisper, but the relief in your tone was unmistakable. You reached out, your hand trembling as it found his. 

“My friend…I have a friend, Jason–Jason Todd. Find him please–he's still out–” You’re unable to finish as you break out into a coughing fit.

Jason’s heart stopped at the sound of his own name leaving your lips. Here you were, injured and bleeding, worrying about someone else. His chest tightened as he watched you struggle, your blood-stained hand trembling in his grasp, pleading for help that he had already given. He wanted to tell you—needed to tell you—but now wasn’t the time.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice cracking despite the mask. “I’m right here.”

You blinked through the haze of pain, your brow furrowing in confusion. “No... I meant Jason, he—he’s still out there—”

Wait a minute, that voice–you knew that voice. You’ve heard it a thousand times, every day. Jason. That was Jason's voice. You don't care if you were probably concussed, you knew his voice.

“J–Jay?” You slurred out, trying to get closer to him. Robin freezes, Jason freezes. You recognized him.

[All right folks, that's it for part 1 of the prologue. I hope you guys enjoyed it, expect part 2 soon! I want to preface two things though: 1.) The reader is not adopted/going to be adopted by Bruce 2.) The 2nd part of the prologue will still be taking place as a flashback. You won't get into the actual main plot till chapter 1.]

[bluem1lls]

(srry for anon😭) id love to see a se-mi smut fic with the brothers best friend trope… obviously only if ur comfy w it!!! im literally taking se-mi crumbs rn but i adore ur fics !

✧₊⁺ i can see you (makes me want you even more)

se-mi x fem!reader

✦ synopsis: don't ever fall for your brother's best friend. but when she kisses you like that, when she fucks you like that, how could you not?

content: minors DNI, brother's best friend! se-mi x younger sister reader, smut, fingering/oral (r!receiving), spanking, daddy kink, squirt, choking, angst, se-mi is 24 here x reader is 22, fluff at the end!

authors note: hiii omg im so sorry for the weekend, i was exhausted!! but i made this, gathering these three requests together so i hope you love it!

"no"

"yes- it's not even a question! she's coming!"

"you lied to me! you said she wasn't!"

"you wouldn't have come if i told you!"

i sighed as i smacked him. he quickly hit me back.

"if she bothers me, i'll punch her. i'm not kidding."

"fine, whatever" my brother, nam-gyu, rolled his eyes.

he's been insisting that i came to this trip for like a year, saying he missed me. i haven't seen the gang for a whole year. we all used to get along just fine, except se-mi and i.

she used to make fun of me for being nam-gyu's little sister. ever since they became friends (when i was 12 and they were 14), she's been a bitch to me. i argued more with her than with my own brother, but somehow, she always found a way to fix it at night.

when her and her girlfriend mocked me for my pjs at 16, making me cry, she waited till midnight to sneak into my room, laying in bed besides me as we watched my favorite tv show.

"i'm sorry. i really like these. don't ever take them off"

and when i was 18, she told the entire group i was the most annoying girl she knew. but once they all left, she set up a pillowfort downstairs along with my favorite snacks. we played videogames there all night.

"i'm sorry. it wasn't true. you're the coolest girl i know"

and when i turned 20, me and nam-gyu had a big fight. she took his side while i sobbed. but when everyone went to bed, she came to my room and hold me as i sobbed on her chest until i fell asleep on her.

"you're so stubborn.. but we-..b-but he loves you so much. he's trying to take care of you"

and with time, i started to fell in love with her. the feelings growing more and more each year.

she was my first love. my first not reciprocated love.

"hurry up, min-su said they're outside!"

"i'm coming" i yelled at him as i grabbed my suitcase, checking if i packed everything.

as we left the house and said goodbye to our parents, my brother carried my luggage to the trunk.

thanos switched from driver to the passenger seat to leave nam-gyu. se-mi was sitting in the backseat, looking by the window from the left side. min-su was in the middle and i was supposed to sit on the right side of the window seat.

i opened the car door and got in as the three stared at me up and down.

"look who's finally here" thanos turned around to smirk at me as he spoke. "holy shit you look so much older! the last time we saw you you were like 21, how old are you now?"

"you don't say that to a girl! and it's been only a year!" i smacked his head as he winced.

"we missed you! even se-mi missed you!" i hugged min-su as i rolled my eyes at his comment while se-mi snorted.

"how could i not miss the princess of the group?" she said in a low voice. our eyes met after one year as she scanned my face.

here we go again.

"hey. we will have a peaceful trip to the cabin. did the four of you heard me?" my brother said, getting in as he started the car.

"can we go get something to eat?" i whined.

"you just finished the entire bag of pretzels all by yourself, and you're still hungry?" min-su said, not even looking at me as the four of them were rotting on the couch, playing with the ps4 dad installed last summer.

"i swear i'll start crying, i'm starving! and i've also been wanting to play all afternoon but none of you-" i said as the doorbell interrupted my big speech. se-mi quickly got up and threw the controller to me as i lifted one brow.

"take it, got more important shit to do than to hear you whine" she said, running to open the door.

i could hear a feminine voice talking as se-mi chuckled and moved aside, letting her in.

"come in pretty, so, this is the entire gang and that's nam-gyu's annoying little sister" she said introducing us, as i stared offended.

the girl stood behind her. she had long black hair and soft eyes, she looked just like one of se-mi's perfect victims.

the guys said a quick 'hey', without even taking their eyes off the screen.

"but let's go upstairs, i'll show you my room" se-mi said, grabbing her hand while pulling her upstairs.

once they disappeared, i let out a furious scoff.

"seriously?"

"you know how she is; we don't even try anymore. she has more game than we do" thanos mumbled as he eliminated my brother from the game, celebrating on his face.

"don't start any-" nam-gyu said as i cut him.

"if i hear any moans, i swear to god-"

and of course, not even 20 minutes later, we could all hear the loud moans and screams coming out of se-mi's room.

i swear, fuck her.

i checked the time as i left my comfortable bed. i read the clock's display, 2:30 am.

i put on one of my brother's big shirts that i stole from him as i got downstairs to get a midnight snack and some water.

i turned on the kitchen lights to find se-mi, with a green shirt and some grey sweatpants leaned against the counter, hair on her face as she scrolled through her phone. she lifted her gaze, smirking when she found my face.

"apparently i can't even get some water without you being around" i mumbled, passing by her side and going straight to the fridge to grab the water bottle and a glass from the shelves as she chuckled.

"weird, because if i remember correctly, the last time we saw each other you were saying something entirely different."

i closed my eyes at the memories of last time in the cabin. a year ago, when she lifted me and took me upstairs to her room. her hands were in my hair while she kissed me. my lips red and swollen. her hands teasing my folds over-

i close the fridge as i straighten myself, looking at her.

"a mistake, remember?" i said, sarcastically smirking, quoting her words from last time.

"this-this was a mistake. if nam gyu finds out, we're both fucking dead. this never happened." she said, putting on her jeans and looking for her shirt.

i should've kept my mouth shut.

but the words slipped out as she kissed my neck, her fingers inside of me.

"i love you, se-mi"

i covered my naked body with a sheet, ashamed. "i'm in love with you" my stare lost in a blank point.

she stopped changing as she stared at me, her eyes wide.

"you don't. i'm just older than you and you think you're in love-"

"i know i am!" i shouted as she shushed me, getting close to me.

"you're not. and i definitely know i'm not. we know better. you like fucking around and i do too, that's all this was." she said, grabbing my face to meet hers. she scanned my watery eyes as she wiped the tears.

"we know better than to fall in love just because a night of good sex" she said

"and then i never saw you again after that. you suddenly were 'too busy hanging out' everytime i was in your house." she said. the memories hitting us both like a trainwreck.

"i didn't wanted to see your face again"

"i wanted to see yours" she said, slowly moving closer to me. her hands gripping my waist, holding me against the wall.

"why? to tell me once again how it was just one night of good sex and that's all?"

her eyes trailed all over my face, one of her hands left my waist to cup my face, her thumb gently caressing my cheek.

she sighed, pressing her forehead against mine.

"i'm so weak for you" she murmur, making me sigh.

"don't do this se-mi.." i closed my eyes as i felt my heart flutter.

as i open my mouth to speak again, a soft feminine voice interrumpted us from upstairs.

"se-mi? did you get the water? i'm thirsty"

of course. i should've seen it coming.

i scoffed as i pushed her off. she also seemed to regain consciousness as she quickly grabbed a glass of water and filled it up without saying a word. she stared at me with a hint of.. guilt? before making her way upstairs with the girl.

pretending to hate eachother was the healthiest thing we could've done.

i stopped partying every night once i hit 22, but sometimes, i missed it. mostly, my old version. the one who used to fuck around, who wasn't afraid, the life of the party and most importantly;

i miss the old me, who wasn't completely in love with se-mi.

so yeah, maybe i wasn't in my right mind when we started taking a few shots with the guys before the anual party they threw in the cabin everytime they did their summer trip.

and maybe i wasn't in my right mind when i called my ex fling to come to the party because well... what could go wrong?

i layed a few oufit options in my bed as i prepped the shower, feeling a bit tipsy as i choose the skirt and top that most went with my style.

i got out the shower, wrapping myself in a towel as i started applying my hair products. i felt the door open as se-mi walked in and closed it behind her.

"the guys want to know if you're done already because we want to start shower-" she stop mid-sentence, taking in my naked framed wrapped with just one towel.

her eyes lingered on me like a pervert, making me roll my eyes.

"yes, is that all?" i said, she roamed my body like she was trying to undress me.

she hummed while stepping closer to me, grabbing the little towel knot that stopped it from unwrapping me.

"you gonna get all dolled up for me?" she said, her other hand went to my hip.

"not for you" i slapped her hand as she chuckled. she grabbed me from my arm, pulling me against her.

"you're such a brat. bet you love knowing the effect you have on me hm?" her breath fanning against my neck made me shiver, she let out soft chuckle. "if my hand lowers a little more, i can even feel how soaked it makes you. isn't that right princess?" she said, placing a kiss on my neck, making me feel uneasy.

"you need my fingers? like last time?" she whispered on my ear, kissing and licking my neck as i tried to suppress a moan.

"why yours, if i could get more skillfulled ones?" i said, pushing her away. i grabbed my hairbrush to focus on something else as she scoffed at my statement.

"yeah? they have you clenching, dripping down your thighs like i did?"

"oh yes! i remember my last hookup, she had me begging for more. i even remember calling her dadd-" her hand quickly wrapped around my throat, my back against her chest.

she tightened her grip while choking me, making my cunt throb for more as she made me look at myself in the mirror.

"if i hear you say something like that again i swear-"

"se-mi? stop making my sister mad and come help with the drinks" nam-gyu's voice could be heard from downstairs, breaking the moment. she lose her grip and step away, shouting back. "coming!"

she turned around one more time before leaving my room.

"we're not done princess. if you wanna be a brat, you'll get punished like one"

i left my room with my makeup, hair and outfit done. i locked the door so one got in as i took a quick look at the house. it seemed pretty full even though the party was just getting started.

as i got downstairs, i could see my brother with thanos, min-su and se-mi with a girl on her lap. they were smoking and drinking on the couch.

"look who finally finished getting ready!" thanos said, whistling as he took a look at my outfit.

"that is so short" nam-gyu tried to pull my skirt down as i slapped his hand.

"stop it! i like it that way" i said.

se-mi's eyes didn't leave my body, not even as she squeezed the girl's waist tighter. her stare was glued on my thighs as the short skirt left little to the imagination. i could see her gaze darkening with desire. she hummed in agreement with nam-gyu.

se-mi lifted an eyebrow as a pair of arms wrapped around my waist. i turned around to see no-eul.

"look who's finally here! you invite me yet you don't even wait for me at the door, rude"

my ex.. fling? all the guys knew her. and se-mi did too, of course.

i leave a kiss on the corner of her mouth, as she said a quick hello to my friends. i dragged her to a corner more far away from se-mi and my brother as i heard the group laughing, all except for her.

i could feel her cold stare follow my moves as i headed to the kitchen with no-eul. i grabbed a bottle and poured a shot for her and another for me.

"so, what brings you back?" she said, her arms possesively going around my waist as i drank.

"nothing important, as always" i chuckled, staring at her. "happy to see me?" i said as she nods, cupping my face.

"always" her reply makes me smirk.

as she gets closer to place a kiss, i feel a soft push, breaking us from the moment.

"can i grab the bottle or?" a low voice said, making me face right just to meet se-mi's annoyed gaze.

i handle the bottle as she leans against the counter, staying right besides us.

"you look so pretty tonight" no-eul said as i could see se-mi rolling her eyes from the corner.

"yeah? all for you" i bit my lip as i slid her hand to guide her to my waist. i heard the brunette besides me mumbling something as she kept staring at us.

"you have a problem?" no-eul turned to face se-mi, with an annoyed expression.

se-mi drank a shot, her eyes taking my face.

"oh sorry, it's just that when i had her upstairs with my fingers wrapped around her throat, she didn't seemed to be 'all pretty just for you' " she snickered, making no-eul clench her jaw as she gazed at me.

"are you for real?"

"no! she's a fucking liar, wait-" i cupped her face as she got rid of my grip.

"i'll go get something to smoke, excuse me" she said, disappearing in the crowd.

i turned to se-mi as i punched her arm and she winced.

"you're a fucking jealous cunt and-"

"and you're making me go insane with that little skirt." she said, stopping my rant mid-sentence as i stared at her. "and if you don't stop flirting, i'll have to bend you over against this counter, move your pretty panties aside and insert two fingers on that pretty cunt so everyone can see who's the only one that can do it" she said, pressing our bodies together. she turned around to see if any of the guys could see or hear us, but they were too busy with some girls.

i stood there frozen.

fuck it.

i grabbed the nape of her neck, pulling her towards me, her lips meeting mine with a harsh and desesperate kiss. she quickly returned it.

after a few minutes she softly pushed me, grabbing my hand to drag us to the nereast bathroom. as we got in, she locked the door behind us.

she quickly pushed me against the door, grabbing my thighs to lift me up, making me wrap my legs around her as she kissed me for a second time tonight.

i grabbed her neck, making the kiss more intense. our tongues fought for dominance as we both moaned.

her lips broke with mine to deposit open-mouthed kisses on my neck, biting and licking as i leaned my head aside, giving her better access.

"w-wait se-mi" i said as she kept kissing me. "no, stop"

she stopped the kisses. her eyes were almost black from lust, her lips red and her face filled with a confused expression as she let me down on my feet again.

"i don't get it se-mi. 'this was a mistake', but your eyes want to undress me everytime we're together. and we 'can't date', but everytime i try to move on to forget about you, you're always there to make sure i don't" i raised my voice, that couldn't even be heard right because of the loud music coming from outside.

her hands rubbed her face in frustration as she took a deep breath. she grabbed my hand again, pulling me upstairs and leading into my room. she closed the door behind her as she turned to look at me.

"do you know what nam-gyu would say? he would kick my ass for dating his little sister, i can't do that to my best friend!"

"you can't do that to your best friend so you choose to break my heart instead?"

"that's never what i wanted!"

"well that's what you did when you left me naked in bed, crying my eyes out while you moved on, fucking any girl you could to forget about me because i know damn well you liked me too!" i said, almost screaming. my breathing getting heavier as i took a step towards her.

"doll, i can't-"

"if you can't, then stop messing with my life! if you don't want to date me because you're too afraid then let me fuck with whoever i want! i'm sick of you controlling every interaction i have with someone. either you decide to get serious with me or back off and leave me alone" i said, anger could be heard in every word i said.

she froze at my words. her eyes widen and her lip trembled.

"i guess you're right" she stepped away from me, turning to leave. "i don't deserve you. i- i know you'll find someone better to fall in love with." she said, watching my teary eyes as she left my room, closing the door behind her as i finally let my tears fall.

i lowered my shoulders as i sat in bed, letting out a choked sob. i felt so...pathetic.

i stared at the ceiling for 5 minutes, cursing her in every language i knew while i kept crying.

suddenly, i felt the doorknob moving as the door opened.

and there she was, standing there. she bit her lip piercing as she re-entered my room, closing the door and leaning against it while she stared at me. my eyes wide as i open my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"i know i don't deserve you but.. i'd rather change to be the person you need than letting you go with someone else." she came towards me, her hands cupping my face. "i'll be damned if i see anyone laying their hands on my girl." she said, smashing her lips against mine as i moaned in surprise.

she was leaning since i was in bed, so i grabbed her shirt and pulled her, making her fall on top of me. our lips never breaking the kiss.

i sneaked my arms around her neck, pulling her deeper as she bite my lower lip, making me whimper.

"my pretty girl" she said as her knee got in between my legs, pressing against my center, making me whimper. "i'm keeping that skirt i swear to god. you're such a tease. i wanted to lift it and fuck you right there and then"

"w-wore it just for you, daddy" i hiccuped as her knee made my clit twitch and my cunt throb.

she let out a low groan as she heard my words. her hand wrapped around my throat, leaving me with little to no air as her tongue entered my mouth.

"did anyone ever fucked you the way i did baby? did anyone ever made you squirt like i did that night?" she said, breaking the kiss with a possessive tone as her grip tightened.

i shook my head no, my brain feeling fuzzy from lust and desire.

she lifted my skirt, giving a harsh slap at my pussy, making me let out a choked moan.

"use your words like the big girl you are" she said in a low tone.

"no one e-ever touched me like you did"

her hands roamed through my body, harshly pulling down my top, letting my tits out as i didn't had a bra on. she took one nipple on her mouth, while her hand sneaked to my covered cunt, softly spreading with her fingers the wet patch that formed in my panties, pressing at my clit. i couldn't stop moaning from the sensation.

she separated her mouth of my tits with a loud 'pop'. her fingers pushed my thong aside, spreading the wetness all over my cunt and using it as lube to get two fingers inside of me as her other hand left my throat and flew to my mouth.

"sh, sh, we don't want anyone hearing those pretty moans" she cooed, making my eyes watery from pleasure as her fingers thrusted harsh and quick inside of me.

she lowered to get her face in between my legs, one hand holding my panties aside as the other one kept thrusting. she spit on my cunt, spreading the glob with her tongue around my aching clit.

i chanted her name as her fingers hit the spongy spot inside of me, making my walls clench around her as she moaned, making vibrations hit my clit. my eyes rolled back as i gripped the bedsheets.

as she felt me getting closer and closer, her fingers suddenly left my inside, making me sob.

she moved me around to place me in all fours and slowly began to remove my damp panties. the sight from my mirror was pornographic. the mascara tears running down my cheeks, my tits hanging from the top, my panties now pooled around my knees as the skirt revealed my drooling pussy underneath it.

se-mi gave a few harsh slaps, spanking me. the red print of her hand on my ass felt warm. her fingers gathered my slickness as i felt her breath against me. she licked a fat strip of my pussy from behind, making me moan loudly.

"such a whore. you were this desesperate for me to fuck you again?" she said teasingly as i nodded. "my needy girl"

"please, please daddy" i sobbed as i felt her fingers tease my entrance. my cunt clenching around nothing, waiting for her.

she hummed as her two fingers entered inside of me again, making me whimper as a few tears slipped.

"so pretty on your knees. just for me"

she trusted ruthless as my hand sneaked to circle my clit, clenching around her.

all i could heard was the music downstairs and the wet squelching sounds my cunt made, all wet for her. i couldn't stop moaning louder and louder everytime she hit that spot.

"f-fuck. gonna. cum" i whimpered as the circles on my clit got sloppier and her moves got deeper and quicker. "daddy- i'm gonna squirt all your fingers" i said as she moaned, her fingers going at a faster pace at my words.

while she kept fucking me, her other hand went to my hair, pulling it as she gave one more thrust. the tingle from the harsh pain and her fingers inside made the heat on my lower tummy snap as i could feel myself squirting all over her fingers, wetting the sheets underneath as my body collapsed in bed.

her thrusts got slower until they stopped completely. she removed her fingers from inside of me and placed them on my mouth as i licked them clean with my tongue. she bite her lip and kissed me one last time before getting up.

she came back with a small towel to clean me and then got rid of her clothes, laying besides me.

she hugged me as my head positioned on her chest.

"there wasn't a time in where i wasn't in love with you" she whispered. it felt so intimate, only for me to hear.

"when we were younger, when you got mad at me, the first time we kiss, when we hooked up, i was always head over heels for you, princess". she said. her hand softly caressing my hair, making my eyes close. "i kept trying to forget about you all the time but the feelings were always there, reminding me that i'll never stop loving you. and if, us being together, means we'll have to tell your annoying brother who will probably murder me after, i'll still do it for you"

i smiled and softly chuckled. my heart fluttering from happiness, and god, butterflies were small in comparison to what she made me feel.

"i never stopped loving you either" i replied, feeling a kiss on my temple.

and this time felt different. the cold feeling i had before, when she left me alone in bed, was no longer there.

it felt warm now, with her body besides mine, her love-filled gaze. i knew this time was going to be different.