#but just know that the emotional angst is HEAVY

[kathaelipwse]

If Only You Could See Yourself | Bang chan

Synopsis: You’ve never seen yourself the way Chan does—where he sees beauty, you see flaws. Every time he calls you beautiful, you dismiss it, unable to believe. But one night, as your doubts consume you, Chan refuses to let you fade into them. With gentle words and unwavering patience, he holds you together, determined to make you see what he’s always seen. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll start to believe him.

Warnings: self-hate, honestly just angst, comfort

Word Count: 1.1k

Author's Note: This might trigger a few readers. I am going through a turmoil and honestly chan is my comfort person so yeah..

It was a day off, you and chan have been dating since 4 years now, though he was busy he never really failed to make time for you and compliment you every now and then.

The first time Chan called you beautiful, you laughed. Not out of joy, but because the word felt foreign—misplaced, even. You thought he was joking. Maybe being playful, the way he always was. But when you turned to see the sincerity in his eyes, something inside you twisted. Uncomfortable. Unfamiliar. You brushed it off.

The second time, you just shook your head. A soft, almost involuntary reaction, like swatting away a fly. You didn’t want to argue, didn’t want to make it a thing. But Chan noticed. He always did. He let it go that time, but the way his brows furrowed told you he was thinking about it.

The third time, you flinched.

That was when Chan really started paying attention.

Tonight, the weight in your chest is heavier than usual. You don’t know why—maybe you do, but it’s easier to pretend you don’t. It’s just another night, another round of existing in a body that doesn’t feel like yours, in a mind that never stops whispering cruel things.

Chan sits on the couch beside you, his arm draped lazily over the backrest. The room is warm, cozy, filled with the soft hum of background noise from the TV. You should feel safe here. But that voice in your head is louder than the comfort of his presence.

��You okay?” Chan’s voice is soft, careful.

You nod automatically. “Yeah. Just tired.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either. You don’t look at him when you say it. Instead, you focus on the way your fingers pick at the hem of your sleeves.

Chan shifts, turning to face you more fully. “You sure? You’ve been quiet all night.”

You shrug. “Just one of those days.”

His gaze lingers on you, searching. You know he wants to press, but he doesn’t. Instead, he offers you a small smile and says, “You’re still beautiful, you know.”

You freeze. The air in the room changes. The words hang between you, heavy and unbearable.

Your stomach twists violently. Your throat tightens. Something inside you snaps, raw and unfiltered. Before you can stop yourself, the words spill out.

“I don’t get it,” you whisper.

Chan blinks. “What?”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling beneath your skin. “Why do you keep saying things like that?”

He tilts his head, brows knitting together. “Because they’re true.”

You laugh, but it’s hollow. “No, they’re not. You just—” You take a shaky breath. “You see me through rose-colored glasses, Chan. You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

Chan stares at you, something unreadable flashing in his expression. “You think I’m lying?”

You swallow hard, unable to meet his gaze. “I think… I think you’re wrong.”

His voice is quieter now, more careful. “Wrong about what?”

“About me,” you say, finally looking at him. “About everything you think I am.”

Chan’s jaw tightens. He shifts forward, closing the distance between you. His hands reach out, hesitating for only a moment before cupping your face, thumbs grazing your cheekbones. His touch is warm, grounding.

“Look at me,” he murmurs.

You do. And it’s a mistake, because the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the most precious thing in the world—makes your chest ache.

“I don’t see you through rose-colored glasses,” he says, voice steady but thick with emotion. “I see you exactly as you are.”

Your lip trembles. “Then you must be looking at the wrong person.”

Chan exhales sharply, shaking his head. “No,” he says firmly. “No, I see you. The real you. I see the way you care about people more than yourself. I see the way you laugh when you think no one’s listening. I see the way you light up when you talk about the things you love. I see every little thing that makes you you—and you have no idea how fucking beautiful that is.”

Tears blur your vision. “Stop.”

“I won’t,” he says, voice cracking. “Because I wish—God, I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”

Your breath catches. The words hit something deep, something you didn’t know was still soft inside you. A sob escapes before you can swallow it down, and then the dam breaks.

Chan pulls you into his arms before you can collapse. His embrace is strong, unshakable, as if he’s trying to hold together all the pieces of you that are falling apart. He strokes your hair, whispering soothing things you can’t make out over the sound of your own broken cries.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “I’m right here. I’ve always been right here.”

You clutch onto him, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt like he’s the only thing tethering you to this world.

For the first time, you let yourself believe him.

Later, when your breathing evens out and the tears have dried, you’re still curled against him. He hasn’t let go, hasn’t loosened his grip even once.

Chan presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “You don’t have to believe me yet,” he says quietly. “But let me prove it to you. Let me remind you every day until you do.”

You close your eyes, exhaling shakily. “Okay.”

And for now, that’s enough.

That night, Chan doesn’t let you sleep alone. When you hesitate, standing by your bedroom door as he prepares to leave, he simply tilts his head. “Do you want me to stay?”

You don’t answer right away, but the way you tug at your sleeves gives you away.

Chan sighs softly, stepping forward. “I’ll stay as long as you need.”

So he does.

You lie in bed, facing away from him at first, trying to keep space between you. But the storm in your head doesn’t quiet, even with him near. After a while, your body moves on its own, shifting closer, until your back is pressed lightly against his chest.

Chan doesn’t say anything. He just wraps an arm around you, securing you in place like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re safe,” he whispers into your hair. “You’re enough. Always.”

You don’t know if you believe him yet, but you let his warmth chase away the cold. Just for tonight.

The next morning, you wake up to soft sunlight filtering through your curtains. Chan is still there, one arm draped protectively over your waist. His slow, even breaths brush against the back of your neck.

You shift slightly, and he stirs. “Morning,” he murmurs sleepily.

You swallow thickly. “Morning.”

Chan tightens his hold just a little. “How are you feeling?”

You don’t have an answer. Not yet. But for the first time in a long time, the weight in your chest feels a little lighter.

So you settle for the truth.

“I think… I think I’m okay.”

Chan smiles against your skin, kissing your forehead and says. “Good.”

---

[honeyhae-svt]

(🧸ྀི)🖇 ༘ ⋆"My Brother's Bestfriend"

' ╰┈ 'who would've thought you'd end up in a tangled mess with your brother's bestfriend?'

' .☘︎ ݁˖' '원우 x f!reader

🎧ྀི 'ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Home (Seventeen) ♫⋆₊˚ ﾟ. 'ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ genre / tags: fluff, light angst, smut, established relationship, doting!boyfriend wonwoo, slightly possessive!wonwoo, light comedy, soft but intense makeout sessions, lap-sitting & straddling, emotional intimacy, domestic sweetness, wonwoo being obsessed with reader™, mild tension but nothing too serious, clingy!wonwoo (unintentionally), wonwoo official lipstick tester & lip plumper ੈ✩‧₊˚ warnings: NSFW WARNINGS UNDER THE CUT ! wonwoo being so whipped it's unfair, excessive cuteness & boyfriend material behavior, a little bit of yearning ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ nsfw warnings: oral (f!receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, overstimulation, semi-public sex, reader doesn't get pregnant, heavy & passionate makeout sessions, straddling wonwoo’s lap, deep kissing, light grinding, soft!but still kind of desperate!wonwoo, possessive whispers, needy touches, some lip biting, breathy moans, heated tension but still very loving ੈ✩‧₊˚ wc: 11,809 ੈ♡ a/n: i'm never going to shut up about wonwoo fics. i love this one and yeah, it's my favorite now. i don't even know if i want to end it, so i made a part two cause i love this way too much. if you don't like it, DON'T READ>>>don't steal my happiness.

It was a Friday—a perfect day to go outside, breathe in the fresh air, and maybe even touch some grass. But Wonwoo? He was planted in his chair, fingers flying over his keyboard, eyes locked on his screen as he dove deeper into his game. Sunlight streamed through his window, but he barely noticed. His entire focus was on his mission.

Then, of course, his phone rang.

The sudden vibration made him flinch, just in time for his in-game character to take a fatal hit. A sigh slipped past his lips, long and resigned, as the screen dimmed to black. Game over.

Annoyed, he reached for his phone without checking the caller ID. "What."

"Hey, Wonwoo!" Mingyu's voice rang through, far too cheerful for his liking. "You remember that money you owe me?"

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple. "I paid you back."

"Yeah, like, half. You still owe me ₩103,000."

Wonwoo scowled. "What do you want, Mingyu?"

"I'll cancel the debt if you pick up my sister from her hagwon."

Wonwoo blinked. He could practically see Mingyu's smug face through the phone. "...Are you serious?"

"Dead serious. Think of it as a fair trade. You get out of debt, and I don't have to leave my photoshoot early. Win-win, right?"

Wonwoo exhaled sharply, glancing at the gaming laptop he had been saving up for. A hundred thousand won wasn't something he could just brush off. And really, what was so hard about picking someone up? He'd just drive there, wait, and drop her off. No big deal.

"Fine. Send me the details."

"Knew I could count on you!" Mingyu cackled before promptly hanging up.

Wonwoo stared at his phone, regretting everything.

Later that evening, Wonwoo pulled up in front of the hagwon (cram school), resting his arm on the window frame as he scrolled mindlessly through his phone. The street was packed—students flooding out, parents calling names, engines revving. He ignored all of it, his attention on the notifications lighting up his screen.

A knock on the window pulled him out of his trance. He looked up.

There you were, bright-eyed and smiling. Mingyu's sister. You had the same features as him, Mingyu was handsome, there was no second guessing you'd be really pretty as well.

It really runs on the family huh, but your energy was a complete contrast. Where Mingyu was overbearing, you seemed naturally lighthearted.

Wonwoo unlocked the door, watching as you slipped inside. "Hey, thanks for picking me up! I could've taken the bus, but this is definitely an upgrade."

He put his phone down and shifted into drive. "Mingyu made me."

"Obviously." You laughed, buckling your seatbelt. "If it were up to you, you'd rather be home playing some game, right?"

Wonwoo glanced at you briefly before focusing back on the road. "...Something like that."

You stretched out in the passenger seat, completely unfazed by his short responses. "Figures. My brother said you never leave your house unless it's life or death."

"He exaggerates. I go out when I need to."

"Mmm-hmm. Like now?"

"Like now."

You laughed again, shaking your head. "Unbelievable."

You both drove in silence for a bit, though it wasn't uncomfortable. You hummed softly to whatever song played on the radio, while Wonwoo kept his eyes on the road, appreciating the fact that you weren't forcing conversation.

Then, after a few minutes, you turned to him. "So, what's the real reason Mingyu couldn't pick me up?"

"I told you. Photoshoot."

You raised a brow. "And you believe that?"

Wonwoo hesitated, then shrugged. "Not really, but it's not my problem."

You grinned. "Smart man."

He smirked slightly but didn't comment.

When you pulled up in front of your house, you unbuckled your seatbelt and turned to him with an easygoing smile. "Thanks again, Wonwoo. I owe you one."

"No, you don't. Mingyu does."

You laughed. "True. But still, I appreciate it."

Wonwoo just gave a small nod. "It's fine."

As you stepped out of the car, you waved. "See you around!"

He didn't respond, but after you disappeared into the house, he lingered for a second longer than necessary before finally driving off.

Maybe the day hadn't been a total waste after all.

A couple of days later, Mingyu called Wonwoo again, but this time it wasn't for any money or favor. Instead, he was inviting him over to his apartment for a casual hangout.

"Yo, you coming? I'm having a few friends over tonight, including Joshua, Seungkwan, Vernon, and Minghao. It's nothing special, just wanted to hang out."

Wonwoo was about to decline—he had a ton of work to do—but then Mingyu dropped the one detail that made him reconsider.

"Oh, and my sister will be here too. She's staying with me for the weekend, so I figured you could catch up with her."

Wonwoo didn't immediately respond. It wasn't the idea of seeing Mingyu's sister that stopped him—it was more the fact that he wasn't entirely sure how to act around you yet. The two of you hadn't really had a chance to talk much after that brief car ride. He had no idea what you'd be like outside of that moment, and Mingyu always had a way of making everything a little awkward when it came to his little sister.

"...Fine," Wonwoo finally relented, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll stop by."

When Wonwoo arrived at Mingyu's apartment, the atmosphere was relaxed. Joshua was already lounging on the couch, casually scrolling through his phone, and a few other friends were scattered around, chatting. Mingyu was in the kitchen, preparing snacks—probably to feed his giant appetite. The usual loud energy that always accompanied Mingyu's presence was alive in the air.

But there was no sign of you.

Wonwoo made his way to the living room, greeting Joshua with a nod, but the silence between them was noticeable. Joshua shot him a playful glance, but before they could talk much more, Mingyu called out from the kitchen.

"Yo, Wonwoo! Help me with these drinks!"

Wonwoo reluctantly walked into the kitchen, but as soon as he stepped through the doorway, he froze.

There, standing at the counter, was you—completely at ease, casually chopping vegetables as if you'd been there the whole time. You looked up at him, your eyes lighting up in surprise.

"Oh, you're here!" you exclaimed with a smile, your hands still busy at the cutting board. "I didn't think you'd be the first one to show up."

Wonwoo blinked, a bit caught off guard. He hadn't expected to see you in the kitchen, especially not so comfortable.

"You're... here?" he said, unsure of how to react. "I thought you were... uh, I don't know... staying in your room or something."

You let out a small laugh, your eyes sparkling with amusement. "I was, but then Mingyu didn't have enough snacks. He asked me to help out." You gestured to the plates you had already prepped, your movements smooth and confident, as though you'd done this a thousand times. "I figured you'd all be hungry."

Wonwoo was honestly impressed. The last time he saw you, you were cheerful and talkative, but he didn't expect this... domestic side of you. He felt a little out of place in the kitchen, but he didn't want to act awkward.

"I'm sure Mingyu can handle it," he replied, trying to mask his surprise with a nonchalant tone.

You smirked, clearly catching onto his tone. "Yeah, but I'm sure he'll make a mess of it. You know how he is." You shook your head, looking back at your brother as Mingyu popped his head around the corner, grinning.

"I heard that!" Mingyu called, sticking his tongue out before retreating back to the living room.

You chuckled at his antics before focusing back on the food you were preparing. "Anyway, I'm glad you made it. I figured we'd finally have some time to talk," you said, your voice light and welcoming, making it clear you weren't bothered by the sudden interruption.

Wonwoo nodded, still trying to shake off the initial surprise. "Yeah, I guess we never really got to chat much." He leaned against the kitchen counter, unsure of where to go from there.

"You're a bit of a man of few words, huh?" you asked with a teasing grin, raising an eyebrow as you slid the plate of veggies aside. "Mingyu always talks about how you're so quiet, but I didn't realize it was this bad."

Wonwoo gave you a half-smile, feeling slightly embarrassed. "I don't talk much unless I have to," he said, his usual dry tone creeping through.

You just laughed, the sound easy and warm, making him feel less self-conscious. "Well, I'll make sure to fill the silence then," you said cheerfully, as if you were on a mission to make him feel comfortable. "You're kind of a hard nut to crack, but I think I can manage."

The tension that had been there earlier started to melt away, and Wonwoo found himself talking a little more than he usually did. You asked him questions, talked about school, and even joked about how overprotective Mingyu could be at times. As the minutes passed, he realized how much easier it was to talk to you than he initially thought.

By the time he moved back into the living room with the snacks, there was no awkwardness between the two of you anymore. You had succeeded in doing what few could—making Wonwoo feel at ease.

A few days later, Wonwoo had stayed at Mingyu's apartment, slacking off on the sofa while playing some horror games on Mingyu's television.

"You're really bad at Identity V, Mingyu," Wonwoo teased, getting a little frustrated at how Mingyu had to be revived multiple times.

"Just switch the game already, this one's boring," Mingyu groaned, throwing the controller to the side.

Wonwoo just chuckled, not even pausing the game.

Then, the doorbell rang.

Mingyu groaned, dragging himself off the couch. "Ah, right. I forgot—my sister was dropping off some kimchi from Mom before she heads to cram school."

When you stepped inside, you flashed Mingyu a quick smile before handing him the containers. "Mom said to eat it while it's fresh."

Mingyu took them with a nod, already peeking inside. "Smells good." Then, without looking up, he asked, "You want me to drop you off at cram school?"

You shook your head. "Nah, I'll just take the bus. It's not that far."

Wonwoo, who had been watching from the couch, found himself unexpectedly... disappointed? He wasn't sure why, but he had kind of looked forward to talking to you again. You were easy to be around—bubbly, charming, and not at all fazed by his quiet nature. Not many people could handle his silence so effortlessly.

Mingyu, meanwhile, was still leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. "You sure? It's getting late."

"I'll be fine," you insisted, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. "It's just cram school, not a different planet."

Wonwoo hesitated for a second before speaking up. "Hey."

You turned toward him, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

He cleared his throat, feeling a little out of place but saying it anyway. "I can walk you."

You blinked, clearly surprised. "Oh? Why, so you can chat me up again?" you teased with a wink.

Mingyu snorted, looking between the two of you. "Since when do you offer to walk people places, Wonwoo?"

Wonwoo shot him a look but didn't bother responding. Instead, he turned back to you, waiting for your answer.

You grinned, clearly amused by the whole situation. "Alright, alright. But no awkward silences, got it?"

Wonwoo nodded, grabbing his jacket as he followed you out the door. Mingyu watched the two of you leave, shaking his head with a grin. "Well, that's new."

Mingyu leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching the scene with growing amusement. Wonwoo wasn't the type to jump at social interactions, especially not when it came to people outside their usual circle. And yet, here he was, offering to walk you to hagwon like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Mingyu's brows furrowed, suspicion creeping in.

No way. Does Wonwoo... like my sister?

The thought nearly made him laugh out loud. He knew Wonwoo well—too well, in fact. His best friend wasn't the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve, let alone make some grand romantic gesture. But still, the way he lingered, the way his gaze flickered toward you, even the fact that he was putting in the effort to talk—something was definitely up.

Mingyu smirked, but he kept his mouth shut. For now.

"So," he drawled, pushing off the doorway, "you two gonna be alright?"

Wonwoo shot him a look, equal parts unimpressed and knowing. Meanwhile, you just rolled your eyes. "We'll survive, Gyu."

Mingyu chuckled. "Alright, alright. Have fun, lovebirds."

"Bye, Mingyu," you deadpanned, grabbing Wonwoo's wrist and tugging him down the hallway before your brother could say anything else. Wonwoo barely had time to process it before he was matching your pace, hands stuffed into his pockets.

The air between you was light, easy. You glanced up at him with a grin. "Didn't think I'd ever get you to walk me to hagwon. Kinda fun, huh?"

Wonwoo huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Not what I expected to be doing today, that's for sure."

You nudged him lightly. "What, hanging out with me is that bad?"

He glanced at you—really looked this time. You were different from Mingyu's usual crowd. Where his friends were loud and chaotic, you had this effortless energy that didn't demand anything from him. You just... talked, and somehow, he found himself talking back. It was weird, but not in a bad way.

"You're different," you mused, tilting your head. "I mean, I knew you were quiet, but you're not as... closed off as I thought you'd be."

Wonwoo smirked slightly, gaze forward. "I'm still quiet."

"Mm, not with me," you pointed out, eyes twinkling. "Why's that?"

Wonwoo hesitated, not because he didn't have an answer, but because he wasn't sure how to say it. Instead, he settled for the truth, plain and simple. "I don't feel like I have to try so hard with you."

Your steps slowed just slightly, your expression softening. "Huh. That's kinda nice."

He exhaled a small chuckle. "Guess you're a special case."

"Ooo, so I'm special?" you teased.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," he muttered, but the faint smile on his face gave him away.

The conversation drifted into easier topics, laughter and playful jabs exchanged as the hagwon came into view. Wonwoo still didn't know what exactly made him want to be around you, but he didn't mind figuring it out along the way.

Meanwhile, back at the apartment, Mingyu leaned against the window, watching the two of you disappear into the distance.

Yeah, something was definitely up.

And as your older brother, he was gonna keep an eye on it.

A few days after that walk, Wonwoo found himself running into you more often than he expected. At first, it was innocent enough—quick encounters while he was out running errands or grabbing coffee with Mingyu. But soon, those moments stretched longer, turning into something he actually started looking forward to.

It didn't help that teasing you had become his new favorite pastime.

You'd be minding your own business, walking down the hallway in Mingyu's apartment building, when suddenly, you'd sense a presence behind you. Turning around, you'd find Wonwoo leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a smirk playing at his lips.

"Going somewhere, princess?"

The nickname never failed to make you flush, though you'd gotten better at rolling your eyes in response. Still, it was the way he said it—so effortlessly teasing—that made your stomach flip, like you were missing the punchline to some inside joke.

At first, you chalked it up to friendly chatter. But the more it happened, the harder it became to tell if he was just being playful or if there was something else beneath it.

Then came the café incident.

You were sitting with your friends, chatting about classes, when one of them suddenly perked up, nodding toward the entrance. "Hey, isn't that your boyfriend?"

You blinked in confusion, following their gaze—only for your breath to catch slightly when you saw Wonwoo stepping inside, exuding that quiet, effortless confidence he always carried.

"What? No way," you sputtered, your voice catching as you waved off the idea.

Your friends exchanged knowing looks. "Come on, we've seen you two together all the time lately," one of them pointed out. "And let's be real, you'd make a cute couple."

Your face went hot. "He's not my boyfriend!"

"Then why do you look so guilty?" Another friend smirked.

Before you could form a coherent response, Wonwoo approached the table, sliding into the seat next to you as if he belonged there. "What's all this talk about me?" he asked, his deep voice laced with amusement.

"Nothing!" You nearly choked on the word, sitting up straighter.

Your friends weren't buying it. "We were just saying how cute you two look together," one of them supplied, grinning mischievously.

Wonwoo, the absolute menace, didn't even flinch. Instead, he leaned back lazily, his lips curving into that smirk that made your heart stutter. "Cute, huh?" he mused. Then, with a glance in your direction, he added, "She's already shy around me. You think she'd survive being my girlfriend?"

You gawked at him. "Wonwoo!"

He chuckled, clearly enjoying the way you flustered so easily. "Relax," he murmured, leaning in slightly, just enough to send your brain into overdrive. "I'm just helping you out. You should be thanking me for making you so popular."

You shot him a glare, but your friends were eating it up, laughing as they nudged each other. "Honestly, you two are like an old married couple already."

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, half-expecting the ground to swallow you whole. Meanwhile, Wonwoo looked way too pleased with himself, the playful glint in his eyes only growing stronger.

And from that day on, it only got worse.

Every time he ran into you, your friends' words echoed in your mind, making you hyperaware of every smirk, every lingering glance, every low chuckle. You weren't sure if it was all just a joke to him, but the real problem was—you were starting to hope it wasn't.

Because, teasing aside, there was something about the way he looked at you lately. Something softer, something unreadable. And that? That was the most confusing part of all.

Over the next few days, it became a pattern—these little run-ins, the teasing, the way Wonwoo always seemed to appear right when you thought you'd get a break from his smug remarks. If you were being honest, it was starting to feel less like coincidence and more like... something else.

Like right now.

You had just finished your class at the hagwon and were walking home when you heard footsteps behind you. At first, you didn't think much of it. But then—

"Hey, princess."

You nearly tripped over your own feet. Whipping around, you found Wonwoo standing there, hands in his pockets, looking entirely too smug.

"Seriously?" you huffed. "Do you have a tracker on me or something?"

He chuckled, falling into step beside you. "Nah. Just good timing."

"Suspicious timing," you muttered under your breath.

He grinned. "What, you don't like seeing me?"

You opened your mouth, ready to give a snarky reply, but the words stuck in your throat. Because, truthfully, you did like seeing him. You liked how he always managed to sneak into your day, turning normal moments into something else—something charged with a kind of tension you weren't sure how to handle yet.

But you weren't about to admit that.

"Did you just happen to be in the area, or are you stalking me now?" you teased instead, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

Wonwoo made a thoughtful sound, tilting his head. "Hmm. I guess I should start charging for my services if I'm going to be your personal bodyguard."

You rolled your eyes. "Bodyguard? Please. What are you protecting me from? My own two feet?"

He smirked. "You almost tripped earlier. Maybe you do need me."

Your mouth opened, then closed. He had a point, but you weren't going to let him have the satisfaction of winning this round. Instead, you crossed your arms and shot him a playful glare.

"You're insufferable, you know that?"

"And yet, here we are," he mused, his voice low, almost amused. "Walking home together. Again."

You faltered. There was something about the way he said it—like he was reminding you that these weren't just coincidences anymore. That maybe, just maybe, he was seeking you out just as much as you were looking forward to seeing him.

The thought made warmth creep up your neck.

The walk continued, the air between you shifting—still lighthearted, but tinged with something heavier, something unspoken. At some point, you felt the faintest brush of his hand against yours. It was barely anything, just a fleeting touch, but it sent a jolt up your spine.

You glanced at him, half-expecting him to be smirking at your reaction, but instead, Wonwoo was looking ahead, his expression unreadable.

The silence stretched between you for a beat too long.

"You're quieter than usual," you finally said, your voice softer now.

Wonwoo hummed, glancing at you. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

He hesitated, then shrugged. "You."

Your breath hitched. You blinked, caught completely off guard by the casual way he said it—like it wasn't something that would send your heart into a tailspin.

He must've noticed your reaction because his lips twitched into something close to a smirk. "Surprised?"

You scoffed, desperate to regain some control over the conversation. "You say that like I should just expect it."

"Maybe you should," he said, voice smooth, teasing, but with a weight behind it that made your stomach flip.

And just like that, the game between you shifted. It wasn't just harmless teasing anymore. It was charged, loaded with something more than just playful.

You were in trouble.

And worse? You weren't sure you minded.

Wonwoo should've seen it coming.

He was halfway through his iced americano when Mingyu—who had been rambling about his fantasy basketball team for the past fifteen minutes—suddenly leaned forward with a serious look. The shift in his tone was so abrupt that Wonwoo nearly choked on his drink.

"Don't date my sister."

Wonwoo blinked. "...Huh?"

Mingyu crossed his arms, leveling him with a look that was rare for him—stern, like he wasn't just joking around. "I'm serious. I know how you are, Wonwoo."

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance. "How am I?"

"You don't do relationships," Mingyu shot back. "You flirt, you have fun, and then—poof—you're gone."

"That's not true," Wonwoo muttered, looking away.

"Dude. Jiwoo? Jiekyo? Mijin?" Mingyu listed off names, counting on his fingers. "You get bored too easily. My sister's not just some girl you can play around with."

That one stung.

Wonwoo clicked his tongue, tapping his fingers against his coffee cup. "You make me sound like some heartless asshole."

Mingyu exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I'm not saying you're a bad guy. I know you, Wonwoo. You just... don't take these things seriously. And I don't want her getting hurt because she thinks you do."

Wonwoo didn't answer. He could argue—say that things were different this time, that maybe he didn't know why, but the usual rules didn't seem to apply whenever you were involved. But he also knew Mingyu had a point.

Did he even know what he was doing?

Mingyu must've taken his silence as agreement because he nodded, looking satisfied. "Good. I just wanted to clear that up."

And that should've been the end of it.

Except... you had other plans.

The problem was, you were very aware of Wonwoo's usual avoidance tactics. And yet, despite Mingyu's warning (which you totally overheard, thank you very much), you weren't about to back off. If anything, it made things more fun.

So, naturally, you decided to corner Wonwoo after one of his gym sessions.

You found him outside, sitting on a bench, scrolling through his phone like he wasn't sweating buckets from lifting weights for an hour.

"Hey," you greeted, plopping down beside him.

He glanced at you, then back at his phone. "Hey."

Silence.

You smirked. "You're avoiding me."

His thumb hovered over the screen. "No, I'm not."

"You so are." You leaned in, trying to peek at his phone. "What, are you texting my brother to report my suspicious activities?"

He sighed, locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket. "Your brother would kill me if he knew we were talking right now."

You tilted your head. "Funny, I don't see Mingyu around."

He shot you a flat look. "That's not the point."

"You're acting like he owns me or something," you teased, nudging his arm with your shoulder. "What, are you scared of him?"

Wonwoo exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "It's not about that—"

"Then what's it about?"

He paused.

You took the chance to scoot closer. "Let me guess," you hummed, tapping your chin dramatically. "You think you'll break my heart? That you'll flirt, we'll have fun, and then poof—you're gone?"

Wonwoo visibly stiffened.

Bingo.

You grinned. "What if I told you I like a little risk?"

He groaned. "Don't say stuff like that."

"Why? Is it making things harder for you?"

He looked at you then, really looked at you—like he was trying to figure out if you were messing with him or if you actually meant it. And that's when you knew you had him.

"Relax, Wonwoo," you said, leaning back with a smug smile. "I just wanna grab coffee. Not a wedding ring."

He exhaled, shaking his head, but you caught the small smirk tugging at his lips. "You're impossible."

"And you are running out of excuses."

He stared at you for another beat before groaning, rubbing his face like you were the biggest headache of his life. Then—finally—he let out a short laugh, shaking his head.

"Fine," he muttered. "One coffee."

Your grin widened. "I knew you liked me."

"Shut up."

And just like that, the game was back on.

You should've known.

One coffee turned into another. Then into late-night calls. Then into hanging out at Wonwoo's apartment, always under the pretense of studying or just chilling.

Which was a huge lie. Because, really, what kind of studying involved Wonwoo's knee pressed against yours, his fingers grazing yours every few minutes, and him murmuring things in that low voice that made your brain short-circuit?

The worst part? He knew what he was doing.

And the proof?

Right now.

You were hanging out at his place after a long day, claiming his couch like it was yours while he sat beside you. Some dumb multiplayer game was on the screen, and you were so sure you were winning.

Until Wonwoo conveniently lost at the very last second.

"You're so bad at this," you teased, laughing as you nudged his arm.

Wonwoo, who had been sitting back lazily just seconds ago, suddenly leaned forward. "You made me lose on purpose."

You gasped dramatically. "How dare you accuse me—"

Before you could finish, he moved.

Fast.

One second you were playfully bickering, and the next? You were flat on your back, pressed against the couch, with Wonwoo hovering above you—his hands trapping you on either side of your head.

Your brain short-circuited.

"W-Wait—"

Wonwoo's knee nudged between your thighs, pressing down just enough to make you hyperaware of every single point of contact between you. The air shifted, playful teasing melting into something heavier.

Something that made your skin burn.

The way he looked at you—half-lidded eyes roaming over your face, his smirk growing as he took in your reaction—made your stomach twist into knots.

The corner of his lips curled. "What's wrong?"

Your throat was so dry. "You're—you're too close."

He hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Am I?"

And then—because this man had no mercy—he dipped even lower, his nose brushing against yours as he whispered against your lips,

"You started this."

A second later, his lips crashed onto yours.

Soft but demanding, like he had been holding himself back for too long. His hands slipped down, gripping your waist, fingers digging into your sides as he pulled you impossibly close. The kiss was slow at first—just a gentle press of lips—but then Wonwoo tilted his head, deepening it, his mouth moving against yours with a languid, intoxicating rhythm.

You melted.

Your hands, which had been gripping onto his hoodie for dear life, moved on their own—one slipping into his hair, tugging slightly. The groan he let out against your lips sent a shockwave down your spine.

Wonwoo's hands moved lower, resting on your thighs before effortlessly pulling you up onto his lap.

The sudden shift made you gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself. But before you could even think, his lips found yours again, this time more urgent, more needy.

And you?

You couldn't even pretend to fight it.

Because Wonwoo kissed like he meant it. Like he was making up for all the stolen glances, the teasing touches, the lingering tension that had built up between you for weeks.

And you let him.

Because, honestly?

You wanted it just as much.

From that night on, it was impossible to pretend you weren't completely wrapped around each other's fingers.

Sure, Mingyu didn't know yet, but Wonwoo made it really hard to act normal.

Like when he'd pick you up from hagwon (cram school) at night, leaning against his car like some effortlessly hot drama lead, hands in his pockets, waiting for you. And when you walked up, flustered and mumbling about how someone might see?

He'd just smirk and lean down, murmuring, "Let them."

Or when he'd help you study at the library but deliberately lean in too close—his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, "You're not focusing."

As if he was helping??

And the worst part? He loved seeing you flustered.

Like the time he casually pulled you into an empty library aisle, tilted your chin up, and kissed you right then and there.

"You keep getting distracted," he murmured against your lips, eyes gleaming with amusement.

And you?? You just stood there, clutching your book like your life depended on it.

But hey. What Mingyu doesn't know won't kill him, right?

...Right?

---

Honestly, you and Wonwoo had been too good at sneaking around.

The stolen kisses in empty library aisles. The late-night study sessions that turned into him pulling you onto his lap just to mess with you. The way he'd casually lean against his car outside your cram school, hands shoved into his hoodie, waiting like some effortlessly cool drama lead.

Y'all really thought you were slick.

Until one night.

You were saying your goodbyes outside your house, the streetlights casting a golden glow over the both of you. Wonwoo had driven you home like always, but this time, instead of the usual quick peck and see you later, he leaned in, his hands resting on your waist, his breath warm against your lips.

"You're so cute when you're nervous," he murmured before pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, tilting his head just right so you felt it all the way down to your toes.

And that was the moment your soul left your body.

Because the second Wonwoo pulled away—both of you breathless, smiling like lovesick idiots—you heard it.

A slow. Dramatic. Clap.

You froze. Wonwoo froze.

And then—

"Well, well, well. Look what we have here."

Your blood ran cold.

You turned around so slowly you swore time slowed down.

And there, standing in front of the house, arms crossed, wearing the most betrayed expression you'd ever seen, was Kim Mingyu.

"Oh, shit," Wonwoo muttered under his breath.

"OH SHIT IS RIGHT, JEON WONWOO," Mingyu roared, stalking forward like an older brother about to ruin your entire existence.

You instinctively stepped in front of Wonwoo like that was gonna protect him from the absolute storm that was about to hit. "Mingyu, listen, before you freak out—"

"BEFORE I FREAK OUT???" Mingyu's voice cracked, eyes darting between you and Wonwoo. "YOU'RE KISSING MY BEST FRIEND ON OUR FRONT PORCH LIKE IT'S A K-DRAMA AND YOU WANT ME TO STAY CALM???"

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Looked at Wonwoo for help.

Wonwoo: 😬

You: 😭

Mingyu let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning to Wonwoo with the deadliest glare known to man.

"You. Follow me. NOW."

Wonwoo shot you a look—part this is it, I'm gonna die and part I regret nothing. And then he followed Mingyu inside like a man walking to his execution.

You just stood there, hands on your head, wondering if you should start preparing a eulogy.

Because one thing was certain.

Kim Mingyu was about to ruin your entire love life.

You had never paced so much in your entire life.

Standing outside your front door, you tried to listen in—tried being the keyword. But Mingyu's voice was booming from inside the house, and you could already tell from his tone that he was about to make Wonwoo regret all his life choices.

You pressed your ear against the door.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Oop. You winced. That was not a good start.

"Mingyu, calm down—" Wonwoo started, but Mingyu was having NONE of it.

"CALM DOWN? OH, SORRY, SHOULD I THROW YOU A PARTY INSTEAD? CONGRATS, YOU'RE DATING MY BABY SISTER??? BRO, I TRUSTED YOU!"

There was a pause. A deep sigh. Then:

"I told you to break up with her."

WHAT.

You slammed the door open so hard it bounced off the wall.

"EXCUSE ME??"

Both of them turned to you like deer caught in headlights.

"YOU WHAT???" you yelled, pointing at Mingyu like he'd just confessed to murder.

Mingyu blinked at you like he just realized what he said. "Uh—wait. No, that's not what I—"

Wonwoo was dying. You could see it. He was looking between the two of you, lips pressed together, trying so hard not to laugh.

You turned to Wonwoo, still pointing at Mingyu. "DID YOU KNOW THIS?"

Wonwoo immediately held his hands up. "Nope. No idea. But honestly, this is the best plot twist I've ever witnessed."

"Mingyu," you hissed, grinning like an absolute menace. "Wonwoo's a great guy. Make him break up with me and I'll never talk to you again."

Mingyu let out the loudest groan, dragging his hands down his face. "I DIDN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT. I meant—I don't know! I just didn't want you dating Wonwoo of all people!"

"Wow. Okay. Ouch," Wonwoo muttered, actually offended.

Mingyu whirled on him. "I'M SORRY, BUT DO YOU KNOW YOUR OWN HISTORY? YOU'RE A HEARTBREAKER, BRO. I'M NOT LETTING YOU BREAK MY SISTER'S HEART."

Wonwoo's face immediately darkened. "Mingyu," he said, voice low.

And just like that, the room shifted.

Because that tone? That was not Wonwoo the sarcastic asshole. That was Wonwoo the serious guy who doesn't mess around when it comes to things that matter.

Mingyu must've felt it too, because his whole demeanor changed.

"I'm not playing around with her," Wonwoo said, steady and clear. "I'm not screwing this up." His gaze flickered to you—soft, almost apologetic, like he hated that this conversation was happening in front of you.

"I like her," he continued, voice quieter now. "A lot. More than I probably should." He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "And I get it. You're looking out for her. But Mingyu, you have to know—I wouldn't start something with her if I wasn't serious about it."

...

DEAD. SILENCE.

You held your breath, watching Mingyu's expression shift.

He looked at you. Then back at Wonwoo.

Then back at you.

And then—he sighed the biggest sigh of his life.

"Ugh. Fine." He dragged a hand through his hair, groaning. "Fine. If you two wanna make out and be disgusting, whatever. But," he said, suddenly deadly serious, "if you hurt her, Wonwoo, I swear on my life—"

"I know," Wonwoo cut in, smirking. "You'll kill me."

"No," Mingyu said. "I'll make you wish I did."

WELL.

You weren't sure whether to be relieved or terrified.

But at least you and Wonwoo weren't hiding anymore.

And the best part?

Mingyu would never find out just how much sneaking around you two had already done.

Mingyu had no idea what he had just unleashed.

Because the second he begrudgingly gave his approval, Wonwoo had decided on a new mission in life:

Make. You. Flustered.

And he was very good at it.

---

EXHIBIT A: THE COUCH INCIDENT

Mingyu was in the kitchen, completely unaware of what was happening in the living room.

You were sitting cross-legged on the couch, a controller in hand, fully focused on the game—or at least, you were trying to be.

Wonwoo, on the other hand?

Oh, he was definitely not focused on the game.

He was watching you. Studying you like a predator stalking its prey.

And the moment you made a mistake in the game, he pounced.

"HAH—GOTCHA," he laughed, tackling you onto the couch.

You yelped, the controller flying out of your hands as Wonwoo pinned you down, his arms caging you in.

"W-Wonwoo—!" you stammered, wide-eyed.

"Cheaters don't deserve to win," he teased, leaning closer. His weight was warm, his cologne intoxicating, and his smirk was nothing short of sinful.

And just when you were about to absolutely combust, he dipped his head—

And kissed you.

Deep. Slow. Lingering.

Your hands fisted his hoodie, a helpless whimper slipping from your lips as he tilted his head, kissing you deeper.

His lips moved against yours like he had all the time in the world. Like this was something he'd wanted to do for so, so long.

And then—

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FU—"

MINGYU.

Mingyu. Was. Here.

You froze.

Wonwoo froze.

Mingyu's scream could have shattered glass.

"WONWOO, GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF MY SISTER RIGHT NOW."

But Wonwoo?

Wonwoo smirked.

And he didn't move.

Instead, he pressed another slow, deliberate kiss to your lips—just to spite Mingyu.

"OH MY GOD, YOU—YOU—"

You didn't even know who moved first—Wonwoo scrambling off you or Mingyu lunging at him like a wild animal.

All you knew was you were absolutely dying of embarrassment.

EXHIBIT B: THE STUDY SESSION FROM HELL

You should've known studying with Wonwoo was a terrible idea.

Not because he wasn't helpful—he was. Very helpful.

But his idea of helping you study was apparently making you flustered as hell.

You sat across from each other in the library, a pile of textbooks between you. Wonwoo was supposed to be quizzing you, but instead—

Instead, his foot nudged yours under the table.

You ignored it.

Then his foot slid up your calf.

Your breath hitched.

And when you finally looked up at him, the bastard was smirking.

"W-what?" you stammered, gripping your pen so tight you thought it would snap.

Wonwoo propped his chin on his hand, voice low and teasing.

"Nothing," he murmured. "Just wondering how long you can focus before I distract you."

Oh. Oh.

You gulped.

And then—you felt a shadow loom over you.

MINGYU.

Again. AGAIN.

His arms were crossed. His expression? A mix of pure disgust and betrayal.

"...Am I interrupting something?" he asked flatly.

You and Wonwoo both jumped apart like you'd been electrocuted.

"N-no!" you squeaked.

Mingyu's eyes narrowed.

"...Are you two seriously making out in the LIBRARY???"

Wonwoo, without missing a beat: "Wouldn't be the first time."

Mingyu died on the spot.

Mingyu was 100% sure he was living in his own personal hell.

Because every time he turned around, Wonwoo was doing something to make his little sister blush like crazy.

A hand on her waist. A whisper in her ear. A kiss on the cheek.

AND IT WAS DRIVING MINGYU INSANE.

He started setting rules.

"NO KISSING IN FRONT OF ME."

But then, Wonwoo would smirk and kiss you on the forehead instead.

"NO TOUCHING."

So Wonwoo would lace your fingers together behind his back, out of Mingyu's sight.

"NO SECRET GLANCES—OH MY GOD, I SAW THAT, YOU THINK I CAN'T SEE YOU TWO STARING AT EACH OTHER??? STOP IT. STOP IT RIGHT NOW."

Wonwoo, grinning like a menace: "I don't know what you're talking about."

Mingyu was this close to throwing himself off a cliff.

The moment Wonwoo got you alone in his apartment, there was no hesitation. The second the door clicked shut, his hands were already on you—warm, firm, desperate in a way that sent shivers up your spine. His fingers trailed along your waist, pulling you flush against him before he backed you up against the kitchen counter, his dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with something dangerous—something hungry.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he murmured, voice low and rough, the heat of his breath fanning over your lips.

Before you could answer, his lips crashed onto yours, devouring, claiming, stealing every last ounce of air from your lungs. His hands roamed, fingers sliding down the curve of your back, gripping, exploring, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. Your knees nearly buckled from the intensity, the sheer heat of it all, but Wonwoo held you firm, like he'd never let you go.

His lips trailed down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your neck, sucking lightly until you whimpered—until he had you melting for him, hands gripping onto his shirt like you needed something to hold onto or else you'd fall apart.

"Wonwoo," you gasped when he suddenly hoisted you up onto the counter with ease, spreading your thighs so he could step between them, his hands sliding under your dress, fingers tracing the sensitive skin along the inside of your thighs.

You barely had time to react before he tilted your chin up with his fingers, his lips brushing yours as he whispered, "Tell me to stop."

But you didn't. You couldn't. Instead, you pulled him in, kissing him with all the desperation you felt in your body.

He groaned into your mouth, deep and guttural, and suddenly, the warmth of his hands was gone—but only so he could hook his fingers around your dress and unzip it, painfully slow.

The fabric slid off your shoulders, pooling around your waist as Wonwoo's eyes darkened. His fingers traced down your bare skin, mapping out every inch of you, as if memorizing the way you shivered under his touch.

Then, in one swift motion, he lifted you off the counter with ease, his lips never leaving yours as he carried you through the apartment—straight to his neatly arranged bedroom.

You barely had time to take in your surroundings before Wonwoo pinned you onto the bed, hovering over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his eyes burning into yours.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted this," he muttered against your lips before kissing you senseless— deep, slow, and thorough, like he was savoring every second.

His lips trailed lower, down your neck, your collarbone, his hands exploring, teasing, making you squirm under his touch.

He was taking his time, driving you insane, and when his fingers finally dipped lower, teasing at the edge of your underwear, you let out a shaky breath.

"Wonwoo," you pleaded.

He smirked, dragging his lips back up to your ear. "Patience, princess."

But patience was the last thing on your mind when he finally, finally touched you.

The second his fingers slipped past the band of your underwear, featherlight but deliberate, you shivered beneath him. Wonwoo took his time, tracing along your soaked heat with the slightest pressure—just enough to make you tremble, but not enough to satisfy the aching need building in your core.

He was cruel like that.

His lips brushed against your ear, his voice low, deep, and intoxicating.

"Look at you..." he murmured, dragging a single finger down your slick folds before circling your entrance—just barely pushing in. "So wet already. Is this all for me?"

Your breath hitched, your fingers tightening in his shirt.

"Wonwoo, please—"

A sharp gasp left your lips when he suddenly pushed in one finger, slow and deliberate, letting you feel every inch before curling it just right, pressing against that sensitive spot inside you.

"Please what, baby?" His smirk was dangerous, his movements even more so as he added a second finger, stretching you, filling you, setting an excruciatingly slow rhythm that made you feel helplessly desperate.

Your hips bucked instinctively, seeking more, but Wonwoo only chuckled, his free hand pressing you down against the mattress.

"Needy little thing," he muttered before dipping down to kiss you again, swallowing every whimper, every broken moan as his fingers moved faster—deeper.

You were barely holding onto reality at this point. The heat, the pleasure, the way his voice sent shivers through your spine—it was too much and not enough all at once.

Then suddenly, he was gone.

You whined at the loss, blinking up at him in frustration, but Wonwoo only chuckled as he pulled his shirt over his head—revealing his lean, toned body, his sharp jaw, his intense gaze locked onto yours like you were the only thing he could see.

"Relax, baby," he whispered, crawling back over you, caging you in beneath him. "I'm not done with you yet."

His lips trailed lower, down your neck, your chest, your stomach�� his tongue and lips teasing, tasting, claiming every inch of your skin until you were gasping beneath him.

By the time he reached your soaked heat, you were already a mess—whimpering, squirming, aching for more.

And when he lowered his head between your thighs, his dark eyes flickering up to meet yours just before his tongue flicked against your most sensitive spot—

You swore you saw stars.

The first stroke of his tongue sent a full-body shudder through you, your fingers immediately tangling in his hair as he dragged the flat of his tongue along your soaked heat.

Wonwoo hummed at the taste, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you still as he set a slow, torturous rhythm—kissing, licking, sucking—his tongue swirling around your sensitive bud before flicking against it in teasing little strokes that left you gasping for air.

Your thighs trembled, threatening to close around his head, but he only chuckled against you, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through your already overwhelmed body.

"Already shaking, baby?" he murmured, lips brushing against your core, voice dripping with amusement and hunger. "Thought you wanted more?"

You barely had time to answer before his tongue plunged inside you, and that was it—your head fell back against the pillow, your back arching off the bed, your grip in his hair tightening as he ate you like he was starving.

Deep, slow strokes. Messy, wet kisses. His nose brushing against your clit just right.

It was filthy. It was heaven.

Wonwoo knew exactly what he was doing, and he was doing it so well it had you a whimpering, moaning mess beneath him, your legs trembling as he took his sweet time ruining you.

The heat in your stomach coiled tighter and tighter, your thighs twitching with every sinful movement of his mouth, until—

"Wonwoo—I'm—"

He didn't stop. If anything, he devoured you harder, one hand reaching up to lace his fingers with yours while the other pinned you down as you cried out, your orgasm crashing over you so hard your vision went white.

Your whole body tensed, shook, melted all at once as he licked you through it, riding out your high until you were twitching from oversensitivity.

Only then did he finally pull away, lips and chin glistening, looking up at you with dark, satisfied eyes.

"You taste so fucking good," he muttered, crawling back up, his body hot and solid against yours as he captured your lips in a messy, heated kiss—letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

And just when you thought you couldn't handle any more, you felt it.

The hard press of his cock against your thigh. Heavy. Hot. Desperate.

Wonwoo groaned against your lips, his hips grinding against you in slow, torturous drags.

"I need you, baby," he whispered against your lips, his voice wrecked with hunger, want, need.

He reached down, gripping himself, lining up against your still-throbbing heat—

"Tell me you want this."

His voice was gravelly, deep, wrecked, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot against your lips.

You exhaled, still dizzy, still trembling, but you knew exactly what you wanted.

"Wonwoo..." You cupped his face, brushing your lips against his, meeting his dark, burning gaze.

"I want you. All of you."

That was all he needed.

With a low, guttural groan, he pushed in—

The stretch of him had you gasping—a slow, deliberate push that filled you inch by inch, his cock dragging along your walls so deep, so hot that your nails dug into his shoulders.

Wonwoo groaned against your throat, his breath ragged as he stilled inside you for a moment—his fingers gripping your thighs tightly, almost trembling.

"Fuck—you're so tight, baby," he muttered, voice wrecked, strained, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck as he bottomed out.

The feeling was overwhelming. The stretch. The heat. The way his hips were pressed flush against yours, his cock pulsing inside you.

"You okay?" he whispered, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips.

You barely had time to answer before he rolled his hips, dragging himself out before pushing back in with a slow, deep thrust that had you moaning into his mouth.

And then he did it again. And again.

Slow. Deep. Hard.

His hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you against him with every thrust, burying himself so deep you felt him everywhere.

"You feel so fucking good," he groaned, forehead pressed against yours as his pace quickened, the slow drag of his cock turning into harder, deeper strokes.

Your body arched beneath him, chasing the friction, your legs wrapping around his waist as you gasped, whimpered, moaned, nails raking down his back as he thrust into you harder.

The room was filled with the sound of skin against skin, of breathless gasps, of desperate moans.

The pleasure built fast and hot, your body tightening around him, your thighs trembling as his movements turned desperate, hungry.

"Wonwoo—" you moaned his name, voice wrecked, needy, broken.

His pace stuttered at that—his grip on your hips tightening as he buried himself deeper, faster, harder, hips snapping against yours in deep, punishing thrusts.

"Say it again," he growled against your lips, his hand slipping between your bodies, fingers pressing against your sensitive clit, rubbing tight, slow circles.

"Wonwoo—oh my god—"

The heat coiled tighter, your body tensing, trembling, shattering—

And then you were falling apart.

Your orgasm crashed over you in waves, your body tightening around him as you cried out, gasping his name, trembling beneath him.

Wonwoo groaned, cursing under his breath, his thrusts turning erratic, deeper, rougher as he chased his own high—until with one final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you, his body shuddering as he came, moaning your name against your lips.

For a moment, the room was silent, heavy with heat, with breathless gasps, with the aftershocks of pleasure still running through both of you.

Then, slowly, he pulled out, pressing a lazy, lingering kiss to your lips, his hands still holding your body so close, so tight.

You were dazed, boneless, completely ruined.

And so was he.

Wonwoo chuckled, breathless, tucking your hair behind your ear as he smirked down at you.

"Think Mingyu's gonna kill me if he finds out?"

You groaned, shoving him playfully, but he only laughed, kissing you again, slower this time, softer.

"You're mine now, you know that, right?"

And with the way he was looking at you, you knew there was no going back.

The aftermath was warm, quiet, and dangerously comfortable. Wonwoo was still half on top of you, his body radiating heat, his breath slow and steady against your shoulder. His arm was firm around your waist, keeping you close, like he wasn't ready to let go.

"You good?" he murmured, his voice deep, low, still wrecked from what just happened.

You hummed, nuzzling closer, feeling the soft press of his lips against your forehead.

This was nice.

Too nice.

And then your phone vibrated.

Wonwoo groaned, burying his face in your neck. "Don't answer it."

But you had to. Because when you reached for it, Mingyu's name was staring back at you.

Shit.

You shot up so fast that Wonwoo barely had time to react before you were scrambling for your clothes, your heart pounding.

Wonwoo, still half-naked and looking so effortlessly wrecked, just lay there, watching you in pure amusement.

"Relax," he said, grinning like a menace. "He doesn't know you're here."

You shot him a glare, still clutching your phone like it was a ticking bomb.

"He will if I don't answer," you hissed, and before Wonwoo could make another smart remark, you swiped to pick up the call.

"Mingyu?"

"Where the hell are you?"

You froze. Shit.

Wonwoo was watching you closely now, eyes dark with amusement, but he didn't move—just propped himself up on one elbow, looking like sin itself.

You cleared your throat, desperately trying to sound normal. "I—I'm at the library."

Wonwoo bit his lip, shaking his head.

Liar.

"The library?" Mingyu sounded skeptical. "You never stay this late."

Think. Think.

"Uh, yeah, well—Wonwoo said he'd help me study," you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

The silence on the other end was deafening.

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow.

"Mingyu?" you tried again.

"You're with Wonwoo?"

Your stomach dropped.

Wonwoo, the absolute devil that he was, just grinned, running a hand through his messy hair like he wasn't literally in bed with you.

"You—" Mingyu let out a sharp exhale. "I swear to god, if that bastard tries anything—"

"Relax!" you cut in quickly, forcing out a laugh. "It's just studying."

Wonwoo snorted.

Mingyu sighed. "I don't trust him."

"Gee, thanks, Gyu," Wonwoo said loudly, just to be annoying.

You glared at him, mouthing 'shut up' before turning back to the call. "I'll be home soon, okay?"

Mingyu grumbled something under his breath but eventually let you go.

The moment you hung up, you turned to Wonwoo, scowling.

"You were not helpful."

Wonwoo only smirked, sitting up, the sheets sliding down his torso, revealing even more of his very distracting body.

"Studying, huh?" he teased.

You threw a pillow at him.

"Shut up."

Sneaking around was thrilling.

Maybe it was the risk of getting caught, or maybe it was the way Wonwoo would sneak touches when no one was looking—his fingers grazing your waist, his lips brushing your ear just to whisper the most unnecessary things.

But Mingyu was getting suspicious.

And Wonwoo? He was making it worse on purpose.

Like now.

You were sitting across from Mingyu at a café, trying to act normal, when Wonwoo slid into the seat beside you—so close that your knees bumped under the table.

"Gyu," he greeted casually, stealing a fry from Mingyu's plate.

Mingyu narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

Wonwoo just shrugged, unfazed. "Saw you two and thought I'd join."

Liar.

You knew for a fact that he had been waiting outside the whole time, texting you the filthiest things under the table, just to watch you squirm.

Now, he was acting innocent.

And he was way too close.

So close that you could feel the heat of his thigh against yours, the brush of his fingers as he reached for another fry.

Mingyu was still watching him suspiciously.

And then Wonwoo did it.

His hand, sneaky as hell, slid under the table.

Onto your thigh.

You froze.

Your breath caught in your throat as his fingers pressed against your bare skin, teasing, stroking, inching higher.

You shot him a warning look, trying not to choke on your drink.

He only smirked, looking way too entertained.

Mingyu, completely unaware, was rambling about something—basketball? A movie? You weren't even listening. Because Wonwoo was dragging his fingers along the hem of your skirt, toying with it, barely slipping underneath.

You squeezed your legs shut, but it only trapped his hand there.

His gaze flickered to yours, dark, teasing.

'Relax,' his eyes seemed to say. 'Unless you want him to notice.'

You bit your lip so hard it almost hurt.

Mingyu frowned. "Why do you look weird?"

Shit.

You cleared your throat, forcing a smile. "I—I don't?"

Mingyu narrowed his eyes.

Wonwoo, the absolute menace, just chuckled and leaned back, finally pulling his hand away.

"You should eat more, princess," he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear.

Your entire face burned.

And Mingyu? Oblivious.

For now.

Your voice was barely a whisper, heart pounding as you felt Wonwoo's breath against your ear.

"That's what makes it fun," he murmured, voice low, teasing.

This was dangerous. Reckless, even. But you couldn't stop yourself.

It started as a simple study session. Wonwoo had picked you up after hagwon, claiming he'd "help" you with your assignments.

Total bullshit.

Because now?

You were pressed up against the library bookshelf, the dim glow of the emergency exit light barely illuminating the mischief in his eyes.

Your breath hitched as his lips brushed over your jaw, slow, calculated. "You're so easy to mess with, princess."

You swallowed, trying to act indifferent, but your body betrayed you.

Because his hands were already on your waist, sneaking under your oversized hoodie, fingertips grazing your skin, making you shiver.

"Wonwoo," you warned, voice wobbly. "Someone might see—"

He kissed you.

Cut you off completely, swallowing any argument you might've had. It was deep, consuming, with just enough desperation to make your knees buckle.

And he knew.

He gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, pressing you harder against the shelves. You gasped, wrapping your legs around his waist instinctively.

His lips traveled down to your neck, kissing, sucking—leaving marks in places only he would see.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly, earning a low groan from him.

"You're gonna be the death of me," he murmured against your skin, his voice sending heat straight to your core.

And then, his hand slipped under your skirt.

You gasped, back arching as he dragged his fingers along your soaked panties, teasing.

"Already wet for me?" he whispered, grinning when you squirmed in his grip.

"Wonwoo," you hissed.

"Shh," he hushed, lips finding yours again, muffling your soft whimpers. "Unless you want someone to catch us."

Fuck.

This was so, so wrong.

But god, it felt too good to stop.

His fingers moved against you, slow, deliberate, applying just enough pressure to make you tremble.

And then—

"Hello? Is someone there?"

A voice.

Somewhere in the library.

You froze.

Wonwoo, however?

He didn't stop.

His fingers kept moving, rubbing slow, lazy circles against your clothed heat.

"Wonwoo," you pleaded, voice barely a breath.

He just smirked.

The footsteps got closer.

Your heart pounded as Wonwoo kissed you again, swallowing your gasps as he slipped his fingers past the fabric, stroking your bare heat.

And then—

The footsteps faded.

Whoever it was, they were gone.

And you were falling apart in Wonwoo's arms.

He didn't stop until your body was trembling, until your head fell against his shoulder, until you were gripping onto his sweater like it was the only thing grounding you.

And then, finally, he pulled back.

He grinned, watching you struggle to catch your breath. His fingers—still wet from you—slid up your thigh, leaving a teasing trail.

"You were so loud, princess," he whispered against your ear. "I almost thought you wanted to get caught."

FUCK.

---

There were no fancy words, no grand declarations.

But when Wonwoo loved, he showed it in every little thing he did.

It was the way he kept your water bottle filled when you were too busy studying. The way he brought you warm meals when you forgot to eat. The way he let you borrow his headphones, knowing you liked his playlists better than yours.

Even now, as he sat in his gaming chair, his fingers absentmindedly traced circles on your bare thigh, pulling you closer onto his lap.

"You're too busy for me," you pouted, resting your chin on his shoulder as he adjusted his headset.

Wonwoo smirked, clicking a button on his keyboard. "I just spent two hours helping you study, princess. What do you mean?"

You huffed, nuzzling into his neck. "I mean, you're always playing games or working. I miss you."

His fingers paused on the keyboard.

A moment later, he let out a sigh and removed his headset, turning to face you.

"You're clingy," he teased, but the way his hands slid up your arms, the way his thumb brushed your cheek, said otherwise.

"You like it," you shot back.

He chuckled, pulling you in for a soft kiss. It was lazy, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world for you.

Maybe he did.

Because after that, he turned off his PC.

You blinked. "You're done?"

"Yeah." He stood, effortlessly carrying you to the bed. "I'd rather spend time with you."

Your heart melted.

"But your game—"

"It's just a game," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You're more important."

Fuck.

That did things to you.

You clung to him tighter, burying your face in his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Wonwoo wasn't the type to say 'I love you' a hundred times a day.

But he showed it. In the way he adjusted your blanket at night. In the way he massaged your shoulders after a long study session. In the way he never let you walk on the side of the road.

And in moments like this, where he'd drop everything just to hold you.

"You don't need anything but me, right?" he whispered against your hair, voice warm, teasing.

You smiled, pulling him closer.

"Right."

You were curled up on the couch, drowning in an oversized hoodie that—surprise, surprise—smelled like Wonwoo. The weight of your laptop sat in your lap, screen glowing with the absolute horror that was your unfinished assignment.

Two thousand words. Due tomorrow. You had written ten.

A dramatic sigh left your lips as you flopped onto the cushions, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to life.

Wonwoo, who had been watching you from his desk, barely glanced up from his monitor. "You're sulking."

"You're ignoring me," you shot back, hugging a pillow.

"I'm working," he replied, but there was a teasing lilt in his voice. "And you should be too."

You groaned into the fabric. "I can't. I have no motivation."

Finally, he turned his chair around, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he studied you. His dark eyes flickered with something unreadable—fond amusement, exasperation, love, all tangled into one.

"You're acting like a baby," he murmured, but the way he got up and walked toward you said otherwise.

And then—before you could process it—he was lifting your legs and settling himself between them, pulling you into his lap with ease.

"W-Wonwoo?" you stammered, hands instinctively gripping his shoulders.

"You don't have to ask, princess," he said, voice soft, low, knowing. "I already know what you need."

Your breath hitched.

And then his lips were on your forehead—one slow, lingering kiss.

Then another on your cheek.

Then your temple.

Then your nose.

The kind of kisses that weren't just physical, but something deeper. Like he was pouring everything he felt into them without saying a single word.

Your heart felt like it would burst.

"W-Wonwoo," you whispered again, but this time, it came out softer, more delicate.

"Mm?" He hummed, resting his chin on top of your head.

You swallowed. "You're distracting me."

He let out a soft chuckle. "Good."

You wanted to be mad, but how could you be?

Especially when he wrapped his arms around you tighter, rocking you slightly, like he was trying to comfort you without even realizing it.

Like you were his whole world.

---

Wonwoo didn't like extravagant gestures.

But spoiling you? That was different.

He'd do anything to make your life easier.

Which is why, when you walked into your apartment after a long day, you stopped in your tracks at the sight of takeout containers neatly placed on the table.

Your favorite food. From your favorite restaurant.

And beside them—a brand new necklace, delicate and subtle, but undeniably expensive.

You blinked.

"Wonwoo?"

From the couch, he looked up from his book. "Yeah?"

You pointed at the table. "What is this?"

"Food," he deadpanned. "And a gift."

You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms. "Why?"

He shrugged. "You had a long day."

Your heart faltered.

You took a slow step forward, staring at him. "Wonwoo, I told you not to keep buying me things."

"And I told you to stop acting like you don't love it," he murmured, flipping a page.

You huffed, but your face was already burning. "That's not the point!"

"You're so spoiled, you know that?" he said, tilting his head. "If I don't do this, you sulk."

"I do not."

"You do," he smirked, and before you could argue, he was standing up, taking slow steps toward you.

Your breath caught.

"You like being taken care of," he murmured, stopping just inches away. "And I like taking care of you."

Fuck.

Your pulse skyrocketed.

"Wonwoo," you whispered, and his hands slid up your arms, featherlight, teasing.

"Mm?"

"You're not being fair."

He leaned in, lips brushing your jaw, sending shivers down your spine.

"Neither are you," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

And just like that, you melted.

Wonwoo wasn't a morning person.

But when he woke up to the empty space beside him, his eyes narrowed instantly.

You were supposed to be asleep in his arms, tangled in his sheets, where he could keep you safe and warm.

Instead—

He blinked blearily, pushing the covers off. The faint glow from your laptop illuminated your silhouette, hunched over at the desk.

"Baby?" His voice was gravelly, hoarse from sleep.

You turned, blinking at him. "Did I wake you?"

Wonwoo ran a hand through his hair, eyes flickering between you and the glowing screen.

He didn't say anything. Just stood up, walked over, and gently closed your laptop.

You gasped. "Wonwoo, I need to finish—"

"Later," he murmured, voice low, commanding. Not angry, not strict. Just firm.

You opened your mouth to protest, but then—he was lifting you effortlessly, carrying you back to bed.

"W-Wait—"

"Shh," he whispered, tucking you back under the sheets before crawling in beside you.

Then his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his bare chest, his lips grazing your shoulder.

"Come back to bed," he murmured.

You shivered. "But—"

"You can finish in the morning," he whispered, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your neck. "Just stay with me right now."

And really, how could you say no to that?

"You're exhausted. Just sleep, princess."

The dull ache in your shoulders was killing you.

It had been a long-ass day, and all you wanted to do was collapse.

But your laptop blinked back at you, merciless and taunting, deadlines creeping closer.

Wonwoo watched you silently from across the room, arms crossed, brows furrowed. You could feel his stare, heavy and knowing.

"You need to sleep," he finally murmured.

You didn't even look at him. "I'll sleep after this."

A beat of silence.

Then—before you could react—arms wrapped around you from behind, lifting you with ease.

"W-Wonwoo?! Put me down—!"

"No." Deadpan. Unbothered.

And just like that, you were in bed.

He pressed you into the pillows, throwing the blanket over you like tucking in a child.

"W-Wait—"

"You're exhausted," he muttered, climbing in beside you. "Just sleep, princess."

You tried to fight it. You really did.

But then—his arms tightened around you, his lips ghosted over your forehead, and his warmth melted into your body.

And suddenly... your eyelids were too heavy to keep open.

Damn him.

"Give me your bag, princess."

College was draining you.

You had just finished a three-hour lecture, your brain barely functioning, your bag heavy as hell.

And then—there he was.

Waiting outside, tall and gorgeous in a black hoodie and sweats, hands in his pockets, eyes softening the second he saw you.

Wonwoo, your personal chauffeur.

You sighed in relief, grateful for his presence alone.

Until—he took one look at your slouched shoulders and frowned.

"Give me your bag."

You blinked. "Huh?"

He nodded at your shoulder. "Your bag. Give it."

You clutched it instinctively. "It's not that heavy—"

Wonwoo didn't even let you finish.

He gently pried it from your grip, slinging it over his own shoulder like it weighed nothing.

"Wonwoo—"

"You looked tired, princess," he murmured, taking your hand. "Let me take care of you."

Your heart skipped a beat.

...Yeah. You weren't arguing with that.

"Sit still, princess. Let me take care of you."

You sighed in bliss, eyes fluttering shut as Wonwoo's fingers worked through your damp hair, massaging your scalp.

God, he was good at this.

His touch was gentle, slow, firm—soothing every little knot of tension you didn't even know you had.

"You're going to fall asleep," he murmured, amused.

"Mm," you hummed, barely awake, tilting your head into his hands.

He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You're so easy to please."

You smiled, eyes still closed. "Only when it's you."

Wonwoo paused.

And then—you felt his lips on your neck, slow and deliberate, his voice dropping into that low, teasing drawl.

"I like the way that sounds, princess."

Shit.

Suddenly, you weren't sleepy anymore.

"Stop looking at me like that, princess, or I'll take you right here."

Wonwoo knew what he was doing.

The man had zero shame when it came to making you blush, and he thrived off of it.

Which is why—when you were in the middle of a crowded restaurant, surrounded by people—he had the audacity to run his hands up your thighs under the table.

Your breath hitched.

"W-Wonwoo—"

He smirked, taking a casual sip of his drink. "Something wrong, princess?"

You shot him a glare, but your face was burning.

"I hate you," you muttered under your breath.

"Liar," he whispered back, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on your skin.

You gulped, shifting in your seat. "We're in public."

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

"Stop looking at me like that, princess," he murmured, voice deep, teasing. "Or I'll take you right here."

Your breath caught.

And the worst part? You knew he meant it.

"I missed you, princess."

The night was quiet, the air cool, the city lights glowing softly through the window.

Wonwoo had been away for a few days—a work trip, nothing major—but God, you had missed him.

And apparently—he had missed you too.

Because the second he got back, he grabbed you by the waist, pulled you into his lap, and buried his face in your neck.

"You good?" you laughed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

He didn't answer.

Just... held you.

Long. Deep. Like he was soaking in your warmth, grounding himself in your presence.

And then, after a few moments—he whispered against your skin, voice low, hoarse.

"I missed you, princess."

Your heart melted.

You pressed a kiss to his temple. "I missed you too."

His arms tightened around you.

"I know."

"Stay close to me, princess."

Crowds were overwhelming.

Wonwoo didn't care about them much—he was good at blending into the background, unbothered.

But you? You were a whole different story. One talk with a stranger, you'd be friends with them almost too immediately.

Which is why—his arm was always around your waist, keeping you pressed firmly against him.

"Wonwoo, I can walk by myself, you know," you teased, looking up at him.

He just hummed, pulling you closer. "I know."

You rolled your eyes, but secretly?

You loved it.

Because as long as he was there, holding you like this, you never had to worry.

Not about getting lost.

Not about anything.

The night was warm, suffocating with tension, electric with something neither of you could fight.

It started innocent enough.

A late-night drive. The city lights flashing past. His hand on your thigh, firm, possessive, always touching.

You had been teasing him all night. Unintentionally, of course.

Or maybe not.

Because when you leaned in, whispered something soft, something sweet—

He snapped.

Before you could react, he pulled into a secluded parking lot, turned off the engine, and turned to you with dark, burning eyes.

"Out," he ordered, voice low, rough.

Your breath hitched. "Wonwoo—"

"Now, princess."

You gulped. Obeyed.

The second you stepped outside, he was on you.

He pinned you against the car, one hand in your hair, the other gripping your waist, his lips crashing into yours—hot, desperate, consuming.

"You drive me insane," he growled against your mouth, pressing his body against yours, forcing you to feel just how much you affected him.

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, tugging him closer, chasing his warmth, his touch, his everything.

"I need you," you breathed, and that was all it took.

The world disappeared.

Nothing existed except him—the way his hands roamed your body, the way his lips marked your skin, the way he whispered, 'Mine. All mine.'

And when he finally—finally—gave you what you both needed, it wasn't just lust.

It was love.

Raw. Overwhelming. Unshakable.

And as he held you close, forehead pressed to yours, breath uneven but laced with affection—

You knew.

You would never belong to anyone else.

And neither would he.

Your back hit the cool metal of the car. Wonwoo's body pressed against yours, solid, burning, intoxicating.

"You've been teasing me all night," he murmured, trailing kisses down your jaw, his breath hot against your skin.

Your lips parted, a shaky breath escaping when his hands slipped under your dress, fingers skimming up your thighs.

"I wasn't teasing," you whispered, but your voice betrayed you.

Wonwoo chuckled darkly. "Liar."

His fingers dipped between your legs, pressing against the heat that had been building all night.

You squirmed, gripping his hoodie, your body arching into his touch.

"Wonwoo—"

He swallowed your plea with a kiss, deep and desperate, his tongue sliding against yours, stealing every thought from your head.

"Tell me how much you want me."

Your breath hitched as he pushed your panties aside, his fingers stroking slow, deliberate circles that made your knees buckle.

"I—" You gasped, gripping his shoulders. "I want you. Please."

That was all he needed.

With one swift movement, he spun you around, pressing your front against the car, his hands exploring, teasing, making you beg.

"You love being touched like this, don't you?" he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Needy little thing."

You could barely breathe, let alone answer.

And when he finally—filled you, stretching you with a slow, deep thrust—

You shattered.

Your nails scraped against the car's surface, your moans mixing with the night air, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

Wonwoo didn't stop.

Didn't slow down.

Didn't let you come down from the high before pulling you back against his chest, one hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

"Open your mouth," he murmured.

You obeyed without thinking—and he kissed you, deep and messy, swallowing your moans as he drove you to the edge again.

"Mine."

His voice was a growl, his arms tightening around you, his thrusts turning erratic, desperate.

And when you finally fell apart with him, gasping, trembling, completely undone—

He didn't let you go.

He held you close, pressed kisses against your skin, whispered against your lips—

"I love you."

And for the first time, you realized—this wasn't just desire.

This was obsession.

This was forever.

The night was warm, suffocating with tension, electric with something neither of you could fight.

It started innocent enough.

A late-night drive. The city lights flashing past. His hand on your thigh, firm, possessive, always touching.

You had been teasing him all night. Unintentionally, of course.

Or maybe not.

Because when you leaned in, whispered something soft, something sweet—

He snapped.

Before you could react, he pulled into a secluded parking lot, turned off the engine, and turned to you with dark, burning eyes.

"Out," he ordered, voice low, rough.

Your breath hitched. "Wonwoo—"

"Now, princess."

You gulped. Obeyed.

The second you stepped outside, he was on you.

He pinned you against the car, one hand in your hair, the other gripping your waist, his lips crashing into yours—hot, desperate, consuming.

"You drive me insane," he growled against your mouth, pressing his body against yours, forcing you to feel just how much you affected him.

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, tugging him closer, chasing his warmth, his touch, his everything.

"I need you," you breathed, and that was all it took.

The world disappeared.

Nothing existed except him—the way his hands roamed your body, the way his lips marked your skin, the way he whispered, 'Mine. All mine.'

And when he finally—finally—gave you what you both needed, it wasn't just lust.

It was love.

Raw. Overwhelming. Unshakable.

And as he held you close, forehead pressed to yours, breath uneven but laced with affection—

You knew.

You would never belong to anyone else.

And neither would he.

Your back hit the cool metal of the car. Wonwoo's body pressed against yours, solid, burning, intoxicating.

"You've been teasing me all night," he murmured, trailing kisses down your jaw, his breath hot against your skin.

Your lips parted, a shaky breath escaping when his hands slipped under your dress, fingers skimming up your thighs.

"I wasn't teasing," you whispered, but your voice betrayed you.

Wonwoo chuckled darkly. "Liar."

His fingers dipped between your legs, pressing against the heat that had been building all night.

You squirmed, gripping his hoodie, your body arching into his touch.

"Wonwoo—"

He swallowed your plea with a kiss, deep and desperate, his tongue sliding against yours, stealing every thought from your head.

"Tell me how much you want me."

Your breath hitched as he pushed your panties aside, his fingers stroking slow, deliberate circles that made your knees buckle.

"I—" You gasped, gripping his shoulders. "I want you. Please."

That was all he needed.

With one swift movement, he spun you around, pressing your front against the car, his hands exploring, teasing, making you beg.

"You love being touched like this, don't you?" he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Needy little thing."

You could barely breathe, let alone answer.

And when he finally—filled you, stretching you with a slow, deep thrust—

You shattered.

Your nails scraped against the car's surface, your moans mixing with the night air, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

Wonwoo didn't stop.

Didn't slow down.

Didn't let you come down from the high before pulling you back against his chest, one hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

"Open your mouth," he murmured.

You obeyed without thinking—and he kissed you, deep and messy, swallowing your moans as he drove you to the edge again.

"Mine."

His voice was a growl, his arms tightening around you, his thrusts turning erratic, desperate.

And when you finally fell apart with him, gasping, trembling, completely undone—

He didn't let you go.

He held you close, pressed kisses against your skin, whispered against your lips—

"I love you."

And for the first time, you realized—this wasn't just desire.

This was obsession.

This was forever.

a/n: aeya here ! BELATED HAPPY VALENTINE'S EVERYONE ! i hoped y'all like this because if you did, i already have the part two ready. it's march, and i hope this fanfiction will make up for the long stop i've been. i'm back to being a stranger ig, but hey, count this as a celebration for my 500+ followers. i love yall sm please never stop expressing yourselves from supporting me. also, I PROMISE i will eventually get to y'alls reqs because i love yall too much mwuahhh

[snowysosturn]

Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 22

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: Angst, tension, feeling of betrayal, mentions of loss of appetite, arguments, this ones a looooooong one

The sun is beginning its slow descent by the time I finally drag myself out of bed. My body feels heavy, like I’ve been carrying the weight of the world in my chest. I need something, anything, to ground me, and right now, a cup of tea sounds like the only thing that might help.

That’s the plan. Go to the kitchen, make it, and come straight back up to my room. I’ll sit on my balcony and watch the last bits of sunlight disappear while I think about what to do next.

 But my main goal: avoid Matt.

I slip out of my room, moving as quietly as possible. The last thing I want is to draw attention to myself. The house is silent apart from the distant murmur of voices outside on the patio. I catch a glimpse through the window, figures sitting around, but I can’t make out exactly who. Not that it matters. I’m not stopping to find out.

The only sound that gives away my presence is the low whirl of the kettle. I stand there, staring at it as it heats up, feeling every second drag out like an eternity. I grab a mug and put the tea bag in it so as soon as it clicks off, I can pour the water and milk, moving quickly but carefully. Just get in, get out.

Successfully, I make my tea. 

Mission accomplished. 

Now, I just need to make it back upstairs.

But just as I start up the steps, the sound of the patio door sliding open sends a jolt of panic through me. 

Shit.

I don’t even turn to see who it is, I just pick up my pace, practically going up the steps two at a time.

I reach the top of the stairs and turn the corner, then..

BAM.

I nearly spill my tea everywhere as I slam into someone, my breath catching in my throat. I look up, and my stomach drops.

Matt.

For a split second, time slows. His eyes lock onto mine, searching, but I don’t give him the chance. Like I’m on autopilot, my feet keep moving, my mouth stays shut, and I walk right past him without a single word.

I don’t stop. I don’t hesitate. I reach my room, step inside, and lock the door behind me.

I let out a shaky breath, gripping my mug a little tighter. I try my best to shake it off. It was just a few seconds. Just an unfortunate encounter in a house that now feels way too small.

I know I’m going to have to face him sooner or later. There’s no avoiding it forever. But I’m not ready right now, not for a one on one, not for the inevitable conversation.

So, instead of dwelling on it, I step onto the balcony. The sun is slowly dropping lower, so I sit here and try an appreciate the sky, and for the first time all day, I feel like I can breathe..

Until there's a knock at my door.

I freeze.

No. No, no, no. If this is Matt, I swear to god.

But then I hear a familiar voice from the other side of the door.

“Y/n? It’s me.”

Nick.

Relief washes over me so quickly it almost knocks me over. I exhale, setting my tea down on the small table before walking back inside. I hesitate for just a second before unlocking the door.

Nick steps into the room, his expression soft but searching mine. "How you doing?"

I shrug lightly, forcing a small smile. "I'm okay.. I just made a cup of tea. Was gonna sit out on the balcony while the sun sets."

Nick nods, his eyes flicking toward the open balcony doors. "Mind if I sit with you?"

"Of course not" I say, stepping aside so he can follow me out.

We settle into the chairs. The silence between us is comforting, a huge difference to the chaos of the past twenty four hours.

After a minute, Nick clears his throat. "I ran into Matt coming up the stairs."

My body stiffens, fingers tightening around my mug. "Oh."

“I just asked if he had spoken to you yet, and he said no."

I huff out a breath, looking back toward the view. I take a slow sip of my tea before turning back to Nick. "So, what's your plan for the night?"

He leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. "I'm gonna go meet that guy."

I raise an eyebrow. "That guy? You’ve been talking about him for days, and I still don’t even know his name."

Nick hesitates, his expression shifting slightly. He looks at me like he's bracing for something.

I narrow my eyes. "Nick.. what?"

He winces, rubbing the back of his neck. "His name is.. George."

For a second, we just stare at each other. Then, at the exact same moment, we both burst out laughing.

"George?!" I manage between laughs.

"I know! I know!" Nick groans, covering his face. "I was hoping you wouldn’t ask."

"I'm sorry, but that’s just- " I laugh harder, shaking my head.

Nick grins, finally giving in. "I know I never pictured myself with a George but I swear, the way he is makes up for it though!"

"I'm sure it does.." I say, still giggling. "It's just.. George."

We end our fit of laughter and I don’t bother asking what everyone else’s plans are, especially after overhearing Chris earlier. My guess is he’s going to meet Rachel. Whether Matt tags along to meet Christina too is a different story. I don’t want to know. All I know is that I’m not moving from this room.

Nick doesn’t press the conversation any further, and I appreciate that. Instead, we sit there, laughter lingering in the air between us. I'm glad Nick came into me because suddenly I feel a little bit lighter.

Eventually, he checks his phone and sighs. "I should probably start getting ready."

I nod, still staring at the sunset. "Yeah. Have fun."

Nick hesitates for a second before standing. "You sure you’re good?"

I glance at him, offering a small smile. "Yeah, I’m good." I mean it is a lie, but he doesn’t call me out on it.

He squeezes my shoulder before heading out. I exhale, setting my empty mug down on the table beside me. I know I should eat something, try to distract myself, maybe even attempt to sleep, but I don’t move. I stay curled up in my chair, staring at the fading sky, wondering how everything changed so fast.

When I finally move to my bed, I pull the covers up around me, but even laying here feels weird. The sheets feel awful against me now, tainted with memories that once brought comfort but now only make my stomach churn. My mind spirals, picturing how easily our history could be replicated in his bed, with someone else. The thought makes my chest tighten, and I squeeze my eyes shut, wanting it all to stop.

I take a deep breath, then another, but it doesn’t help. My mind keeps circling back to the same place, the same questions, the same ache in my chest that refuses to go away. How could he do this? Did any of it mean anything? Was I just another passing moment for him?

I need to make it stop.

I turn onto my side, curling into myself, exhausted from it all. Being honest, my eyes hurt that much from crying, I don’t find it hard to fall asleep.

I wake up the next morning determined to be a new woman. I have a shower to wash away all of yesterday's sorrow, before pulling out the smallest blue bikini I could find. I make my way downstairs and throw myself together a small breakfast, considering I haven't eaten in over 24 hours but not forcing myself too much as my appetite still isn't fully back yet.

I take my breakfast outside to the patio and I settle onto a lounger, my plate resting on my lap. The villa is silent. Everyone must still be asleep, sleeping off their drunken choices, their reckless mistakes.

Good. I need the peace.

I take a slow bite of my food, staring out at the water. The pool glistens under the morning light, the water undisturbed. Today is a new day. A fresh start.

I adjust my sunglasses and stretch out after putting my plate under my lounger, determined to soak in the sun and let it warm the parts of me that feel cold and bitter. If anyone sees me out here, I want them to see that I’m unbothered. That I’m fine.

A few minutes pass in silence before I hear the sliding door creak open behind me. I don't turn to look. I don't react.

I realise it’s Nate and Nick coming out, both looking more awake than I expected.

"Morning" they say in unison, and I greet them with a small smile “Morning early birds.”

I turn to Nick first. "Soooo? How was your night with George?"

Nick rubs the back of his neck, and I can tell he’s holding back his excitement for my sake. "It was good" he says simply.

I narrow my eyes at him. "Nick."

He sighs, then finally lets the grin slip through. "Okay, fine. It was great, actually. We got drinks, had a laugh. He’s funny, really easy to talk to."

I smile at him, genuinely happy. "That’s what I like to hear. You deserve a good time."

Nick gives me a look, like he’s checking if I really mean it. I do. Just because my love life is a disaster doesn’t mean I want everyone else to be miserable with me.

I turn to Nate next. "And what about you? What were you up to?"

Nate stretches his arms over his head, looking far too well rested. "Didn’t move from my bed. Best sleep I’ve had in weeks."

I laugh. "Of course you did. You look like you just got back from a spa retreat while the rest of us look like we barely survived the night."

The three of us settle into conversation, and for a moment, I let myself enjoy the lightness of it. But in the back of my mind, I know this moment won’t last. The rest of the villa is still asleep, for now. And soon enough, I’ll have to face the reality I’ve been trying to avoid.

"Is Chris up?" I ask Nate, trying to sound casual.

Nate shakes his head. "Don’t think he even came back here last night."

I swallow hard, nodding slowly. "Oh right"

There's been no sign of Matt either. That tells me everything I need to know.

Guess that means he went out with Chris and stayed with Christina last night again.

I should’ve expected it, but expecting something doesn’t make it hurt any less.

For the rest of the morning, it stays just me, Nick, and Nate chilling outside. The sun climbs higher, and the villa remains quiet, no sign of Chris or Matt. I sip on my water, listening to the distant waves crashing on the shore, slipping in and out of conversation with Nick and Nate as a distraction.

By midday, that peacefulness is interrupted. I hear the sliding door open, followed by the sound of footsteps approaching.

I lift my head slightly, peering through my sunglasses. Chris and Matt step outside together. Just seeing them like this, together, appearing at the same time, only further confirms what I already knew. 

Matt was with Christina last night.

I can feel my heart break over again, but I refuse to let it show.

Without a word, I rest my head back down on the lounger, keeping my sunglasses on, blocking them out. I’m not ready for any type of conversation. Not yet.

Nate and Nick casually greet them, like nothing is out of the ordinary. Chris stretches, rubbing the back of his neck, and asks if anyone’s hungry.

My stomach twists at the thought of food. The second I saw Matt, my appetite vanished again. So I keep my mouth closed.

Nate says he is and disappears inside with them, leaving just me and Nick alone by the pool.

The quiet settles between us for a moment before Nick turns to me. “Are you coming to dinner tonight?” His tone sounds like he wants me to be there, even though he understands If I don’t want to.

I hesitate. The idea of sitting at a table with Matt, pretending everything is fine, feels impossible. I open my mouth to say no, but Nick is already cutting me off.

“You don’t have to talk to him at all” he reassures me. “I’ll be there the whole time.”

I exhale, chewing on my bottom lip. I do feel bad if I don’t go. It’s just dinner, right? I mean, the tension between Matt and I is like old times, nothing I haven’t had to deal with or experience before. The only thing is, the feeling in my chest is a hundred times worse than it ever was before.

“Okay” I finally say. “I’ll come.”

Nick grins, tapping my arm lightly. “We’ll have a good time, I promise.”

I nod, but the weight in my chest doesn’t lift.

By now, it’s nearly 3pm, and the sun has drained me but nowhere near as much as the situation with Matt has. The exhaustion clings to me, both physical and emotional, and I know if I don’t rest now, I’ll be useless later.

“I think I’m gonna go for a nap” I mumble, pushing myself up from the lounger.

Nick gives me a small smile. “Good idea. I’ll wake you if you’re not up in time.”

I nod again, grateful, and make my way inside. The second I hit my bed, the world around me fades.

When I wake up, the air in my room feels heavier, the remnants of my dreams still in my brain. I shake them off and head straight for the shower.

By the time I step out, wrapped in a towel, I feel better. Maybe, tonight won’t be as bad as I think.

I walk out and go to sit at the vanity, but I feel like I need to lift the vibe even more.

A drink and music.

That’s what I need if I have any chance of enjoying myself tonight.

Still in my towel, I make my way downstairs, moving quickly so I don’t run into anyone. I pour myself a vodka lemonade, throwing pieces of ice into the fancy glass.

Running back up to my room, I shut the door, take a sip, and set my speaker on full blast. I turn on It’s ok, i’m ok by Tate McRae, the lyrics hitting a little too close to home. I let the music drown out my thoughts as I start getting ready, determined to feel like myself again, even if it’s just for tonight.

I move through my routine on autopilot, letting the music and the slight buzz from my drink carry me through. I’m not overthinking my outfit, my makeup, or my hair, yet somehow, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I look effortlessly put together. Maybe it’s the lighting, maybe it’s the fact that I’ve just given up on caring, but either way, I feel like this is the best I’ve ever looked.

I pick up my phone and text Nick, asking him to come to my room to take pictures. It barely takes a minute before he’s knocking on my door, slipping inside with an approving grin.

“Damnnnn!” he says, dragging the word out. “You look amazing.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the smile that creeps onto my lips. “You have to say that.”

“I really don’t” he laughs, already pulling his phone out. “We need evidence of this moment.”

We take a few pictures together, Nick hyping me up between shots, making me laugh just enough to keep it natural.

When we’re satisfied with the pictures, I wonder where it is we’re actually going to eat. “So, where are we even going for dinner?”

“Some Italian place Chris booked” Nick says, glancing at his phone. “He said he made the reservation earlier.

I nod, I love italian food, so I’m hoping this whole thing is just easy. I grab my purse, double checking that I have everything, phone, keys to the villa, money. I take a deep breath before heading downstairs with Nick.

The moment we step into the foyer, I see them. Chris, Nate, and Matt are all standing together, talking casually like nothing has changed, like the last few days haven’t flipped my world upside down. Matt looks up first. For the briefest second, our eyes meet, and I swear I see something flash across his face, it’s something, but I can’t make out what. But I don’t let myself dwell on it.

I adjust the strap of my purse on my shoulder, forcing my expression to remain neutral. This is the closest I’ve been to Matt since the nightclub, since everything, but I refuse to let it get to me. Not tonight.

I tilt my chin up slightly, gripping onto my confidence like it’s my lifeline, and step forward like I don’t have a care in the world.

I stay locked in conversation with Nick as we leave the villa to make our way to the restaurant, trying to distract myself from the tension in the air. Chris lingers back slightly, eventually matching my pace as we walk. His presence next to me is quiet at first, almost hesitant, before he finally speaks.

"You okay?" His voice is low, careful, like he already knows the answer but feels the need to ask anyway.

It’s a weird one. I haven't heard from Chris since everything went down. He’s been distant, not in a hostile way, but in a way that tells me he didn’t know how to approach me. And now, here he is, finally asking.

I glance at him briefly, weighing my response before settling on, "I will be."

Chris nods slowly, seeming to accept that answer. “Can we talk later? About everything?”

I exhale softly, not quite ready to dive into whatever everything entails but knowing that it’s overdue. I don’t think there was any malice from him in this situation. And I’m not mad at him at all. I would like to know what his thought process was throughout all this. And maybe, he's actually done me a favour. “Yeah,” I agree. “Later.”

That seems to be enough for now. The group keeps moving, making our way toward the restaurant. When we arrive, the guys step inside ahead of us, but I notice them mumbling amongst themselves, their voices low and almost hurried, like there’s some sort of confusion.

Something about their body language makes me pause, and I follow their line of sight before realizing exactly what has caught their attention.

Rachel and Christina.

They’re seated at a table near the back. Five empty seats are pulled out beside them, waiting.

A sharp, sinking feeling settles in my stomach.

Of course. 

Of course they’re here. It was already bad enough having to see Matt, to sit across from him and pretend I wasn’t still breaking, but now, this?

I don’t even have to look at him to know. I can feel his presence, his hesitation. I wonder if he knew they’d be here. If this was always the plan.

My fingers tighten slightly around the strap of my purse as I will myself to keep my composure.

This night just got a whole lot harder.

Nick squeezes my hand gently, a silent reassurance that he’s here, that I’m not alone in this. “What do you wanna do?” he asks quietly, his voice just for me.

I take a breath, steadying myself. “Sit at the other end” I say, keeping my voice even, refusing to let this shake me any more than it already has.

Without hesitation, Nick follows my lead, guiding me toward the farthest end of the table, away from Rachel and Christina. I slide into my seat, positioning myself as far as I can from them, while Nick sits beside me, his presence like a barrier between me and whatever mess is sitting across the table.

Matt and Chris take their seats. Chris next to Rachel and Matt next to Christina. Whether it was planned or just happened naturally, I don’t know, but it doesn’t make a difference, the damage is done. 

The tension is suffocating. You could cut it with a knife. I never thought at the start of this trip I’d be sitting diagonally across from Matt and another girl.

Nobody speaks at first. There’s an awkward shuffle of menus being picked up, the quiet clinking of silverware as waiters move around us, but no real conversation. 

I keep my gaze down, focused on the menu even though I’m not really reading it. My appetite had started to come back earlier, but now? Completely gone again.

Nick, ever my lifeline in this nightmare, leans in slightly constantly making sure I’m okay. “You good?” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only I can hear.

I nod once, though I’m not sure if I mean it. “Yeah” I lie. “I’m fine.”

But we both know I’m not.

I try to keep my focus on the menu, pretending to be absorbed in the options, but it’s impossible to ignore Christina. She is relentless, shifting in her seat so she’s angled toward Matt, her body language screaming interest. The way she leans forward, the way her fingers reach out casually to graze his forearm as she talks, it’s all so intentional.

“Oh my God, Matt, you look so good tonight” she purrs, tilting her head as she studies him. “Did you do something different? Your hair? A new cologne?”

Matt barely reacts, only offering a tight lipped smile as he glances at her briefly. “Uh, no. Same as always.” he replies, going back to his menu.

But Christina isn’t deterred. She lets out a soft, exaggerated sigh. “God, I can’t believe we’re all in Hawaii together. It feels like such a movie moment, don’t you think?” She flicks her gaze up at him through her lashes. “Like, if this was a movie, we’d be the main characters.”

Matt huffs a small laugh through his nose, shaking his head. “Yeah, I don’t know about that, don’t really take myself as the main character type of guy.” His tone is light, but there’s no real engagement. He’s keeping it neutral.

She’s not giving up, though. She leans in again, dropping her voice to something more sultry. “You know, I had so much fun the other night” she murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear. 

My stomach twists, but I don’t react. I refuse to. Instead, I lift my glass of water to my lips, taking a slow sip as if I’m completely unbothered.

Nick shifts beside me, subtly kicking my foot under the table as if to say don’t react. I know he’s watching me closely, waiting for me to crack, but I won’t.

Chris, who’s been silent this whole time, suddenly clears his throat. “Christina, didn’t you say this was your first time in Hawaii?”

It’s so obviously a distraction tactic, and I can’t tell if he’s doing it to get her off Matt’s back or because he knows I’m sitting here, silently absorbing every word.

Christina finally tears her gaze away from Matt and glances at Chris. “Oh, yeah it is.” she says, waving a hand dismissively. 

Matt doesn’t say anything. He just flips a page of the menu, like none of this is even phasing him. Meanwhile, Rachel is watching me like a hawk, waiting for a reaction.

I meet her eyes for a split second and give her the most nonchalant look I can muster before turning to Nick. “What are you getting?” I ask, my voice steady.

Nick glances at me, eyes scanning my face for any sign of weakness before answering, “Probably the carbonara.”

I nod. “Good choice.”

Nate, ever the sweetheart, seems to pick up on everything, the way I’m keeping my head down, the way Nick keeps a protective presence beside me, the way Matt and Christina’s exchange is unfolding just within earshot. Without missing a beat, he slides into conversation with me and Nick as he’s seated opposite us, as if we’re in our own little bubble, separate from the tension on the other side of the table.

“So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Nate asks, leaning forward with a smile. “I was thinking of heading down to the beach early. Maybe rent a jet ski or something. You two in?”

Nick catches on immediately, grateful for the shift in attention. “Absolutely. I’d love to see you wipe out within the first five minutes.”

Nate pretends to be offended, placing a hand over his chest. “Excuse you, I’m actually a professional. Very experienced!”

I can’t help but smile at their antics, grateful for the distraction. “Professional, huh? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Nate smirks. “Oh, you will. And when I leave you both in my wake, don’t come crying to me.”

Nick scoffs. “Yeah, okay, Nate. Keep dreaming.”

As we laugh, it’s almost easy to forget the rest of the table exists, almost. Because out of the corner of my eye, I see Chris sitting stiffly, glancing between me and the rest of the group, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He hasn’t even touched his menu. He just sits there, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, like he’s caught in the middle of something he never signed up for.

At one point, he opens his mouth like he wants to say something,to me, but then he hesitates, pressing his lips together instead. His fingers drum restlessly against the table. It’s almost like he wants to acknowledge the elephant in the room, but he can’t.

I keep my focus on Nate and Nick as everyone gives their orders, letting them carry me through the moment, keeping me occupied. And for now, that’s all I need.

The food arrives shortly after, and I focus on my meal, keeping my eyes down, keeping my composure. If I just get through dinner, I’ll be fine.

But Christina doesn’t make it easy.

She just doesn’t stop, her voice carrying just loud enough to ensure I hear every flirtatious remark, every exaggerated giggle. It’s all so obvious, the way she leans toward Matt, twirling a piece of her hair around her finger. 

“Oh my God, Matt, you’re so funny” she forces, brushing her fingers against his wrist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He hasn’t even said anything that funny.

“We should totally do something after this!” Christina continues, tilting her head. “Maybe check out that tiki bar? It would be so fun.”

Matt doesn’t commit. “Maybe.”

Maybe.

That single word twists something in my stomach, because it means he hasn’t outright said no. And I know it shouldn’t matter but that doesn’t stop the sting.

As everyone starts discussing where to go next, I stay quiet, already knowing my answer. The only place I want to be right now is home. I only ever agreed to dinner, nothing more. The idea of trailing behind while Christina continues her performance, while Matt does whatever he’s doing, is unbearable.

I lean toward Nick and quietly tell him, “I’m heading back.”

He nods in understanding, not even questioning it. “That’s fair. I’ll go for one drink, then I’ll be home after. We can debrief, I’ll try to get more info.”

I manage a small smile at that. If there’s anyone I can count on to feed me the details later, it’s Nick.

We both stand, and I feel Chris’s eyes on me, but I don’t meet them. If he wants to talk, he can find me when I’m not on the verge of either snapping or crying.

Nick walks me to the taxi rank just outside the restaurant, following behind me as we weave through the crowd. I should want to stay out, to drown out my thoughts with drinks and distractions, but all I want is to be alone.

“You sure you’re okay going back on your own?” Nick asks as we wait for a taxi to pull up.

I let out a breath. “Yeah. Just over it.”

Nick doesn’t push. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way back.”

A taxi pulls up, and he opens the door for me. Before I get in, he squeezes my hand briefly, just a reminder that I’m not alone in all of this.

I nod my thanks, slide into the backseat, and as the car pulls away, I finally let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.

I pull up to the villa and thank the taxi man, paying him for the fare. I step out of the car and as I do one pulls up directly behind me.

I freeze for a second, my stomach tightening as I watch Matt step out of the taxi behind me. Of all people, of all times, it has to be him.

I don’t wait for him to say anything. I turn toward the villa, walking quickly up the steps, my heels clicking against the cobblestone pavement. I take my keys out of my bag, unlocking the front door.

I can hear him behind me, his footsteps unhurried, like he’s debating whether to call my name.

“Wait” Matt’s voice finally breaks the silence, and I feel his presence closer than I expected. “Can we talk?”

I let out a slow breath before turning to face him, the front door slightly open behind me. His eyes search mine, like he’s trying to figure out where my head is at.

“Talk about what, Matt?” My voice is steady, but I can feel the exhaustion creeping in.

He rubs the back of his neck, looking almost.. nervous? “About this. About everything.”

“I’m not too sure what there is to talk about” I say, my voice surprisingly steady. “I’ve seen it all. I saw Christina in your bed. I saw how she was with you tonight.”

Matt’s face falls, and he opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but I don’t let him.

“And now, what? You think you can stand here and make some sorry excuse for your actions? Do you even realize how disrespectful that is?” My voice rises slightly, frustration taking over. “You can’t just act like nothing happened, Matt. You don’t get to do that.”

He sighs, rubbing his hand over his jaw. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"Well, it’s a bit too late for that now.” I say, my voice sharp. 

"I’m sorry." he mutters.

I let out a short laugh. "Yeah. So am I.”

Matt stands there looking at me, almost confused.

“I'm sorry I let you play with me for so long. Sorry I let you in, that I actually believed there was something real between us. But it’s clear now, isn’t it? Whatever tension was there, it was only ever sexual for you."

Matt steps forward, opening his mouth to protest, but I cut him off.

"So what now?" I snap, my voice shaking with anger. "What’s your next move? You feel bad for how you’ve treated me, so you’ll do what? Buy me flowers? But never actually give them to me? Did you ever track down Christina’s ex to get her locket back too? Or was that just a special little stunt for me?"

I let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking my head. "And don’t you dare try to tell me you haven’t been with anyone else since that night in the house. Christina basically spelled out what happened in Vegas to me at the club.”

Then realisation hits me. “It makes sense to me now, the real reason you customised your jacket that way. You didn’t do it because you felt something for me. You did it so if the topic of her in Vegas came up, you had something to sway me from believing it, so you could keep stringing me along.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Can you please listen to me? I didn’t even know they were coming out here” he says quickly, almost desperately, like that one fact will make any of this better.

I scoff, shaking my head. “That doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes a lot” he insists, stepping forward. “Chris was the one that brought them out here, he has a thing with Rachel and probably just-”

"-wants to smash?" I finish for him, my voice sharp. 

"Yeah, Matt, I know. Just like you said before, that Chris only gave me a job because he wants to smash?" I tilt my head, watching as realization dawns on his face. "Yeah. I heard you when you said that."

Matt shifts uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. "I never meant that" he mutters. "I swear, I didn’t mean it like that."

"Oh really?" I fold my arms, my patience running dangerously thin. "How exactly did you mean it then, Matt?" My voice is sharp, no bullshit. "Because it sounded a lot like you were trying to discredit any of the work I do."

Matt exhales sharply, looking away. "It wasn’t about that, okay?" His voice is tight, like he’s struggling to find the right words. "Maybe I was jealous, maybe I was pissed off at the whole situation, maybe I just-" He stops himself, his jaw locking.

"Maybe you just what?" I push, my voice rising slightly.

His silence is louder than anything he could say. And then, it hits me.

I let out a hollow laugh, shaking my head. "Oh my god. It was projection, wasn’t it?" I take a step closer, my words like a slap to the face. "You said Chris only gave me a job because he wanted to smash, but really, that was just you speaking for yourself. You only ever kept me around because that’s what you wanted."

I take a breath, my heart pounding. "And congratulations, Matt. You got it."

Matt’s face falls completely.

"And then you got it from her too, only a matter of hours later." My voice is laced with disgust, and I see the tears welling in Matt's eyes, but I don’t stop. "It’s obvious to me now, you never had feelings for me. You never cared."

I take another step closer, my chest rising and falling with the force of everything I’ve kept inside. "I know you saw me leave the club that night. I know you saw me walk out. And not once did you check on me. Not once did you care enough to see if I was okay. It was like, out of sight, out of mind. I disappeared, and you moved on like I was nothing."

I shake my head, a bitter laugh escaping me. "And then you brought her back here, to the same villa I’m staying in, to rub it in my fucking face? Like this is some sick joke to you?" And then to keep doing it, over and over again, like it wasn’t enough to break me once?" My voice shakes, but not from weakness, from the sheer weight of the betrayal burning inside me. "You didn’t just move on, Matt. You made sure I saw it. You made sure I felt it. Like twisting the knife wasn’t enough, you had to keep pushing it in, again and again."

I shake my head, my breathing uneven. "And for what? To prove a point? To get back at me for something you thought I’ve done? Or was it just fun for you? To watch me fall apart while you played pretend with her?"

Matt’s mouth opens like he wants to say something, to defend himself, but I cut him off before he can even try. "No. Don’t. Because there’s nothing you can say that will make this okay. Nothing you can do that will undo the fact that you chose this. You chose to hurt me. And I’m fucking done." I spit, my chest rising and falling with the force of everything I’ve held back. 

"Because all you’ve ever done is choose to hurt me. Over and over again, like it’s second nature to you." I stop for a second to catch my breath, realising how pointless this all is. "I don’t even understand why you’re standing in front of me right now, when what you want is down at the bar with everyone else. Stop bothering me, and go back down there and get it."

Matt looks at me, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, like he wants to argue. Like he wants to fight his case. But he doesn’t get to, not now. Not after everything.

"In fact" I breathe out a bitter laugh, shaking my head, "don’t ever think of speaking to me again. Because it’s clear now, Matt, we were always better off when we didn’t speak. When we just ignored each other. Maybe that’s what we should’ve stayed."

My heart is hammering in my chest, my entire body shaking from the adrenaline coursing through me. 

I turn around and storm into the villa, slamming the door so hard behind me that the walls seem to shake with the force of it. But he doesn’t follow. He doesn’t even try. Probably heading straight back down to the bar to get exactly what he wants. What he’s always wanted.

My blood is boiling as I march into my room, every step fueled by the sheer rage burning inside me. I feel like a bull, seeing red, ready to destroy everything in my path. But I don’t, because I don’t have time to waste on any of this anymore.

I grab my phone with trembling fingers, my vision blurring from unshed tears as I unlock it.

 I can’t stay here.

I refuse.

I pull up the American Airlines website, my breathing heavy, my chest rising and falling too fast. I don’t even hesitate as I search for the first available flight back home. 

The sooner, the better.

And when I find one, first thing tomorrow morning, I don’t even think twice. I press confirm before I can second guess myself, before the pain can catch up with me.

I’m leaving.

I’m done.

a/n : OOOOF. thats gotta sting.

taglist : @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel  @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @chrisstxrnsaxe @sophand4n4 @vickytaa @marrykisskilled @bxtchboy69 @yourfavsturniologirl @julisturn @sydneyylainn @sophia-77n @trevorsgodmother @sturnslutz @yourmother29 @girl24cherry @astronea @pinkdyit

[arxiwon]

Falling Through the Cracks | sjy

Pairing: Jake Sim x Reader Genre: Angst, Tragedy, Heavy Heartbreak Warnings: Emotional cheating, miscommunication, regret, angst with no comfort, terminal illness, major character death Synopsis: You and Jake were supposed to have forever. But forever was never promised.

The first time you met Jake Sim, he was the boy with the brightest smile and the loudest laugh. He was warm—like the summer sun, like the lingering scent of coffee in the morning, like the feeling of home.

And you loved him for it.

Jake had always been yours, and you had always been his. At least, that’s what you thought.

But love is cruel when it isn’t enough.

It started small—missed calls, late replies, moments where he wasn’t really there even when he was sitting right beside you. At first, you brushed it off. Jake was busy with work, tired from practice, exhausted from always giving so much of himself to everyone.

You told yourself you understood.

Until you saw it.

The way he smiled at her.

It was the same way he used to smile at you.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure if you were his anymore.

“Jake, tell me the truth.”

Your voice wavered as you stood in front of him, your fingers curled into your sleeves to keep them from shaking. Jake was sitting on the couch, his head tilted back against the cushions, but his whole body tensed at your words.

“What do you mean?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

You let out a broken laugh. “You know exactly what I mean.”

Silence.

It stretched between you, an unspoken truth neither of you wanted to say out loud.

Jake swallowed hard, looking down at his hands. “It’s not what you think.”

“Then tell me,” you pleaded, your heart cracking with every second that passed.

He sighed, rubbing his face with both hands. “I… I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

Your stomach twisted. It felt like the floor was crumbling beneath you, like the air had been sucked out of the room.

“So it did happen.”

He didn’t answer.

And that silence told you everything.

Jake never physically cheated on you.

But love isn’t just about the body.

It’s about the heart.

And Jake had given a piece of his heart to someone else.

You knew he still loved you. You could see it in the way he hesitated before leaving, in the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he had the right anymore.

But love alone wasn’t enough.

So you left.

And Jake let you.

A year passed.

You tried to move on. You really did. But there was always something missing—like a phantom limb, like a whisper in the wind, like the ghost of a love that should have lasted a lifetime.

Then, one day, Jake called you.

His voice was hoarse, weaker than you remembered.

“…Can we talk?”

You hesitated. But in the end, you went.

And that’s when you learned the truth.

Jake was sick.

Terminally.

The doctors had given him months.

Your world shattered in an instant.

The love you had tried so hard to bury came rushing back, suffocating you with its weight. Because it didn’t matter how much he had hurt you, how much time you had spent resenting him for breaking your heart—none of that mattered anymore.

Because you were about to lose him.

Forever.

Jake never asked you to stay.

But you did anyway.

Not as his lover, not as his second chance, but as the person who had loved him first and would love him last.

You were there through it all. The doctor visits, the sleepless nights, the pain that left him breathless and exhausted. You held his hand when he was too weak to stand. You ran your fingers through his hair when the weight of it all became too much.

And Jake… he never stopped looking at you like you were his entire world.

Because you were.

And maybe, in another life, he would’ve realized it sooner.

The last time Jake Sim smiled at you, it was different.

It wasn’t the brightest smile in the room. It wasn’t the loudest laugh.

It was soft. Tired. A whisper of what once was.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice barely above a breath.

Tears streamed down your face as you held his hand against your chest. “Don’t.”

He exhaled shakily, his fingers twitching against yours. “If I had more time… I would’ve spent every second proving to you that it was always you. It was only you.”

You bit your lip, choking on a sob. “I know.”

Jake smiled again—just for you.

And then he closed his eyes.

And this time, he didn’t open them again.

You loved Jake Sim with every part of you.

But love wasn’t enough to keep him.

And as you sat there, holding his lifeless hand, you realized—

Jake had always been yours.

And you had always been his.

But forever was never promised.

[noredemptionhere]

no grave can hold my body down—i’ll crawl home to her 𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡

sevika x fem!reader—this is almost 4k words

warnings: heavy angst, blood, fresh wounds and scars, anxiety, mentions of death. reader discretion is advised due to intense emotional and physical themes.

you were exhausted.

it wasn’t just the long hours or the weight of the patients you had to lift. It wasn’t just the smell of disinfectant burned into your clothes, the way dried blood crusted under your fingernails no matter how many times you washed your hands. it was the routine of it all.

the endless cycle of patching people up, only to see them come back worse. stitching the same wounds on the same men who never learned their lesson. holding a stranger’s hand through the haze of a shimmer overdose, knowing they’d be back in the same cot next week—if they were lucky.

you were a clinic nurse in a run-down ward that barely held itself together. the kind of place that treated whoever staggered through its doors: gangsters, factory workers, bar brawlers, chem-baron enforcers. a place where doctors weren’t gentle and medicine wasn’t cheap, where the air was thick with sickness and suffering.

you loved your job—until you didn’t.

you loved it back when you thought you were making a difference.

now? now you just wanted to go home.

home, where there were no screams from the operating table. no blood pooling under flickering clinic lights. no smell of burnt flesh from cauterized wounds.

just quiet. softness. a bed you could sink into.

you barely remembered the walk back—just the dull ache in your feet, the way your shoes stuck to your swollen toes like a second skin. you swore you could still feel the phantom weight of someone’s head against your shoulder, the echo of slurred apologies as you helped a half-conscious man back onto a cot.

you fumbled with the key, pushing open the door with more force than necessary. the apartment was still, the only sound coming from the slow hum of the old ceiling fan. the dim light barely reached the corners of the room, stretching shadows over the floorboards. it was small, but it was yours.

and hers.

your fingers lingered on the doorframe for a second longer than needed, grounding yourself. first—a shower. then food. then maybe—finally—sleep.

you kicked off your shoes, wincing as your bare feet met the cool wood. you were moving slowly, like your body was wading through water. your hands felt too heavy as they reached for the hem of your shirt, peeling away the fabric stiff with dried sweat. you needed the heat of a shower, something to wash away the grime of the day.

but first—you wanted something soft.

the wooden drawer let out a low creak as you pulled it open. your fingers brushed against familiar fabric—thin, worn, but still the prettiest thing you owned. a nightgown, delicate but not fragile, with lace at the hem and a cinched waist that made you feel… lovely.

it was loose and flowing—the kind sevika loved to touch, her fingers always trailing the fabric, toying with it absentmindedly. the kind that made her hum low in her throat when she saw you in it, her hand gripping your hip just a little tighter.

pretty, she called you, sometimes. soft.

you swallowed, shaking the thought away. she wouldn’t be home yet. you had time.

the shower was almost scalding, and still, it didn’t feel hot enough. hou scrubbed hard, watching the water swirl red as it circled the drain. it wasn’t your blood—this time.

steam curled against the small mirror above the sink, blurring your reflection. you barely glanced at it as you pulled on the nightgown, the fabric slipping easily over your skin.

food. you needed to eat. something simple, something warm.

the kitchen was quiet, dimly lit by the single bulb hanging overhead. you reached for a pot, your hands moving through the familiar motions without thought. chop, stir, season—you could do this in your sleep.

maybe you already were.

the soft bubbling of the broth was almost soothing, the first real comfort of the day. you let yourself lean against the counter, eyes fluttering shut for just a second, letting the warmth of the stove seep into your skin.

tomorrow would be easier. it had to be.

at least for tonight, you could pretend things were normal.

and then—the front door slammed open.

blood.

not yours.

but hers.

you frowned, your stomach twisting the moment she stepped through the door. not this shit again.

that familiar, awful feeling slammed into your chest like a hammer—the one you always got when someone came into the clinic looking half-dead, barely holding themselves together. but this? this was worse. this was her.

you watched as sevika trudged into the apartment, her broad shoulders tense, her movements slower than usual. but what made your pulse spike wasn’t the blood on her knuckles or the bruises darkening her skin—it was where she was headed.

not the bathroom to wash up.

not the kitchen for a drink.

not the couch to sit and shake it off.

straight to the bedroom.

that alone told you everything you needed to know. Whatever happened tonight had torn her up so badly she couldn’t even pretend otherwise.

you inhaled sharply, forcing your hands to steady as you turned toward the sink. you washed them quickly, rubbing at your palms like you could scrub away the dread curling in your gut. then, without thinking, you wiped them dry on your nightgown. the soft fabric—your favorite one, the only piece of comfort you had tonight—crumpled under your touch, stained with water.

you hated that.

but you hated the thought of sevika suffering alone even more.

with that, you turned and headed for the bedroom. you were already bracing yourself for a fight, already picturing the scowl on her face, the way she’d tense under your hands, snapping at you to leave it alone.

you pushed open the door. the old wood creaked, cutting through the quiet.

there she was.

sevika was slouched against the headboard, long legs stretched out, cigarillo between her fingers. smoke curled in the air, hazy and slow, but it didn’t hide the exhaustion dragging at her features. she wasn’t even smoking properly—just holding it, staring off at nothing.

then her gaze landed on you.

heavy. tired.

“don’t.”

her voice was rough, low—half a warning, half a plea.

“none of it. not now.”

too bad.

you didn’t listen. you never did when it came to her.

instead, you stepped forward, your bare feet soundless against the wooden floor. the air was thick with smoke, sweat, and something metallic—blood, old and new, the scent of it settling in your throat like an iron weight.

sevika exhaled slow and heavy, tipping her head back against the headboard. she didn’t look at you.

“go to bed, doll.”

your fingers brushed against the edge of the mattress as you sat beside her, your nightgown whispering against your legs. the lace clung to your damp skin, still warm from the shower, still soft and untouched by the grime that covered her.

it was almost laughable. you, clean and careful, sitting next to this—the mess she always brought home, the wreckage of her own body, fresh wounds stacked over old scars, thick and raised and endless. you could map them out from memory at this point. the jagged one on her shoulder. the glowing ones on her cheek. the deep, ugly one near her temple—

your stomach twisted.

that one was new.

too new.

your fingers hovered near it, shaking, inches away from her face. the cut ran dangerously close to her eye, red and angry and swollen. a little deeper, and—

you swallowed hard. the thought made you feel sick.

sevika tensed beneath your touch.

“i said not now,” she muttered.

you didn’t pull away.

you just sat there, staring at her. at the bruises blooming dark against her skin. at the gash on her cheekbone. at the dried blood near her lips.

you should say something.

you should tell her she’s being reckless. that she’s hurting you too. that this isn’t fair. that you’re tired—so tired.

but you didn’t.

you just shifted closer, your thighs pressing against hers as you reached for the medical kit on the nightstand. your hands moved on their own, practiced, steady, wiping away blood, pressing gauze into wounds that shouldn’t be there, dabbing at bruises that shouldn’t exist.

she didn’t make a sound. she never did.

but when you brushed against the cut near her eye, her fingers twitched, her whole body going taut.

you hesitated. just for a second.

then you kept going.

the antiseptic soaked into the cloth, cool against her burning skin. you dabbed carefully, your breathing slow, controlled, even as something inside of you started to splinter.

the scar near her temple.

it was too close.

what if it had been a little deeper? a little worse? what if it had taken her sight? what if it had taken—

your throat tightened.

your hands slowed.

your vision blurred at the edges, hot and stinging, exhaustion pressing down on you like a weight. not just from the long shift, from the hours spent bent over other people’s wounds, scrubbing blood off of your hands, stitching up strangers—

but from this.

from her.

from the knowing. from the waiting. from the unbearable reality that one day, she wouldn’t come home.

your grip on the gauze trembled. your lips parted, but nothing came out.

sevika exhaled through her nose, like she could feel it—the thing in your chest caving in.

“i always come back, don’t i?”

and that was worse.

because you knew, one day, she wouldn’t.

you took a slow, measured breath, hoping the familiar scent of home would calm you—but it was tainted. overwhelmed by the iron tang of blood and the thick, cloying haze of smoke. it sat heavy in your lungs, adding to the weight already pressing against your ribs.

you just needed to get this over with. patch her up, do what needed to be done. then you could slip away, bury yourself under the blankets, and fall apart where she couldn’t see. cry where her burning gaze wouldn’t reach.

but it wasn’t just exhaustion anymore. wasn’t just weariness dragging at your limbs. it was anxiety, curling tight and ugly in the pit of your stomach, whispering in your ear like a demon with endless, gnawing hunger—

“one day, she’ll lose her other arm.”

“one day, she’ll lose her eye—maybe both of them.”

“one day, she’ll injure her spinal cord.”

one day, one day, one day, one day.

the words rattled around your skull, a relentless, sickening rhythm, but you forced your face to stay neutral. or something close to it. you weren’t sevika—you weren’t capable of burying your emotions that deep. you were just an exhausted wife who wanted peace. a wife who gave it to everyone but never seemed to receive it in return.

you kept your hands steady as you worked, though your fingers moved quicker now, urgency creeping into your touch. just get through this. just finish. just get it done. still, despite everything, you tried to be gentle.

even as your hands shook.

sevika grunted when you pressed too hard. your hands jerked back immediately, wide eyes snapping up to meet hers.

she stared at you.

not in anger. not even in warning.

just… staring.

like she could see it. the way your jaw clenched too tight, the way your breathing hitched, the way your whole body screamed for something you couldn’t put into words.

her lips parted. like she was about to say something.

you didn’t let her.

you just shook your head, throat raw, hands trembling as you picked up the last bandage.

you needed to finish this.

you needed to get out of here.

you needed to cry somewhere she couldn’t reach.

you swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in your throat as you secured the last bandage. your fingers barely worked now—shaking, fumbling, weak with the weight of it all.

sevika didn’t say a word. she didn’t wince, didn’t grunt again, didn’t do anything except watch. like she could see through you. through the exhaustion, the silence, the careful way you held yourself together like cracked porcelain.

you couldn’t take it.

the second you finished, you pulled away. didn’t linger, didn’t spare another glance at the mess of bruises and stitches and blood that marked her skin.

your body moved on instinct—standing, gathering the bloodied gauze, cleaning up the supplies with quick, mechanical motions. just moving. just doing something. because if you stopped, if you stood still for even a second, you knew you’d break.

so you didn’t stop. you didn’t give yourself the chance.

you tossed the used bandages in the trash. rinsed your hands, scrubbing at the lingering blood like it burned. And then, without a word, you turned and walked away.

not to the bathroom. not to the kitchen. not even to the bedroom you shared.

another room. one with a door you could close. a door you could lock.

you barely made it before your knees gave out, your breath hitching as you pressed your face into the pillow, swallowing down the sob before it could rip free.

you needed this. just a moment. just a second to breathe.

because if you didn’t, you’d drown.

sevika sat there, silent. the smoke curled from her lips, slow and deliberate, as she listened to the muffled sound of you breaking behind that locked door.

her jaw ticked.

she had seen it. every fucking second of it.

the way your hands trembled against her skin. the way you tried to be gentle, even when your exhaustion made you clumsy. the way your lips pressed too tight, your throat bobbed with unshed words.

and now this.

you, running away.

you, thinking you could lock a door and cry alone like she wouldn’t fucking hear it.

her grip tightened around the cigarillo, nearly snapping it in half. the bandages were snug against her skin, still fresh with the warmth of your touch, but none of that mattered—not when she could still feel the ghost of your fingers shaking against her, feel the weight of your silence suffocating the air in the damn room.

sevika exhaled, slow and deep, before standing.

you weren’t getting away from her.

not tonight.

she didn’t bother knocking. didn’t ask. just wrapped her fingers around the doorknob and turned. the lock didn’t matter. not when she was stronger. not when she had never let a simple thing like a door stop her from getting what she wanted.

the door creaked open.

and there you were.

curled up. small. so fucking soft, trembling against the mattress like you could sink into it and disappear.

sevika’s gaze darkened.

no. that wasn’t happening.

she stepped inside, slow, deliberate. bootsteps heavy against the wooden floor, carrying all the weight of her presence—of her.

“you think I’d let you do this?” her voice was low, rough.

your breath hitched, but you didn’t move. didn’t lift your head. didn’t even try.

she clicked her tongue, shutting the door behind her. the sound was final.

“you’re not fucking running from me.”

the mattress dipped. a strong, calloused hand slid up the curve of your waist, fingers pressing into soft flesh, grounding, taking. a knee nudged between your legs, shifting your balance, making you sink further into the bed as warmth, heavy and all-consuming, pressed against your back.

and then, her hand found your arm. your shoulder. your jaw.

slow. unyielding.

she tipped your face up, forcing you to meet her gaze—teary eyes to hooded ones, broken to something far stronger.

her lips curled. she took her time looking at you, at the way your breath trembled against her fingers, at the way your lips parted with a helpless little sigh.

“cry all you want,” she murmured. “but you do it right here. with me.”

there was no argument. no space to pull away. no air that didn’t smell like her—smoke and sweat and blood, all wrapped up in the warmth of someone who would not, could not, let you go.

her grip on you didn’t waver, but something in her gaze shifted.

sharper. darker.

but you didn’t care. you couldn’t. not with the way everything inside you was breaking, spilling out before you could shove it back down.

“i can’t look at your body anymore,” you choked out. “there are scars everywhere… and they’re so deep, so painful, and some of them—” your voice wavered, cracking against the weight of your own words, “—some of them get infected. you get fevers. you groan in your sleep, sevika, and every time I stitch you up, it feels like someone is stabbing me.”

her hold tightened. “sweetheart—”

“every time a scar is near your beautiful eyes, i imagine if you—” your breath hitched, your fingers tangling in your own hair, gripping too hard, trying to keep yourself from falling apart completely. “if you got blind… sevika, you can’t become blind. who’s going to cook with me? who’s going to do everything with me?”

a thick, unbearable silence filled the space between you.

your chest heaved, air scraping against the inside of your throat as you forced yourself to keep going.

“what if you lost your other arm?” your voice was almost unrecognizable now—raw and wet and shaking under the weight of everything you had been carrying alone. “what am I going to do, sevika? what if someone had to—had to cut something off of you, without anesthesia, like what happened to your left arm?”

your breath stuttered.

your heart pounded.

and then, barely above a whisper—

“what if—”

before you could fall any further, before another broken word could leave your lips—she moved.

strong hands gripped your waist, firm but careful, flipping you onto your back in one swift motion. the gasp barely had time to escape you before her weight settled over you, caging you in, grounding you.

her fingers brushed against your tear-streaked cheek, tracing the heat there, the tremble in your jaw. then, without hesitation, she dipped down and took your lips with hers.

it wasn’t soft. it wasn’t sweet.

it was desperate.

like she needed to silence your fears with something real. like she needed you to feel her—alive, warm, whole.

her grip tightened on your waist, her thumb pressing into your skin, deepening the kiss. her lips moved against yours with purpose, taking, demanding, forcing you out of your spiraling thoughts and back into her.

when she finally pulled back, her forehead pressed against yours, her breath heavy, she spoke—low, rough, final.

“i’m not going anywhere.”

her thumb grazed over your cheek, smearing a stray tear away.

“you hear me, sweetheart?” her voice was steady, but her gaze burned. “i won’t die on you. i swear.”

“no grave can hold me down—i’ll crawl back to you.”

[oopsiedaisydeer]

ʟᴇᴛ ɪᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ

…𝘨𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘣𝘰𝘺!𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦

phone sex, angst, loneliness, mental health struggles, sub!chris?, longing, vulnerability, intimacy, anonymous relationship

word count - 1.9k

The lecture hall hummed with the usual mid-morning buzz. She sat in her usual spot up the back, the dim lighting above her making the world feel like it was happening just a little too far out of reach. Her pen danced across the notebook as the professor spoke, but her thoughts kept wandering. She let her gaze wander too, getting distracted by a group a couple rows in front of her, talking amongst themselves, laughing. One guy in particular stood out, the messy brown hair, the posture and his laugh. It was almost familiar. The boy turned slightly, and she caught a glimpse of his face. Too many emotions hit her all at once as she recognised him.

Chris Sturniolo. 

She hadn’t expected to see him at university. He had only been a year ahead of her, part of a different crowd back in their small town. They weren’t exactly close back then, but she noticed him. Too much, probably. He was handsome, loved by all, a star athlete, and someone she had quietly admired from afar back. She remembered how often she would find herself stealing glances at him in the hallways, her heart fluttering whenever he passed by.

She almost told him once. That one moment, standing at the edge of the bleachers after the final game of his senior season, watching him laugh with his friends. She’d almost spoken up. Almost told him everything. How she felt. But then, she chickened out. The moment passed, and she convinced herself that it was better left unsaid.

And here he was, sitting just a few rows ahead in this university lecture hall, surrounded by friends, completely unaware of the secret she’d carried all those years. She couldn’t stop staring, even if she was doing everything she could to pretend she wasn’t.

She quickly looked down at her notebook, heart pounding in her chest. No way he remembers me, she thought. He probably doesn’t even know I exist.

Later that night, Chris sat in his dimly lit dorm room.

The weight of the day had settled over him like a heavy fog. The typical distractions weren’t helping. Parties? He wasn’t interested. Chasing some girl? Didn’t feel right. He hadn’t felt truly good in a while, not with anything, with anyone. The last few months at university had been lonely, despite being surrounded by people.

He didn’t really know how to be close to anyone anymore, so overwhelmed by the difference between suburban and city life. He found himself longing for stuff but lacking the conviction to make it happen. There were nights where his own hands weren’t enough. Porn lost its appeal months ago.

That’s when he stumbled across it. A hotline. Anonymous, safe, and just what he needed. He wasn’t looking for a relationship or something serious. He just wanted to feel close to someone, even if only for a few minutes. To have a connection without having to expose himself in the ways he wasn’t ready to.

He hesitated, but figured he didn’t have much to lose. With a few quick taps, he dialed the number.

“Hello, this is Daisy,” came the soft voice on the other end, smooth and soothing. Something about it made his pulse pick up.

Chris hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Uh… I don’t really know what I’m doing. I just… needed someone to talk to.”

“That’s okay,” Daisy’s voice was calm, welcoming. “I’m here to listen. Whatever you need.”

Chris swallowed, the easy familiarity of her tone loosening something inside him. “I don’t know… I just feel so... empty, you know? Like there’s something missing.”

There was a brief silence. Chris wasn’t sure if she was just being polite or if she actually understood. But then her voice came back, gentle yet firm.

“Loneliness is tough to carry. But you don’t have to do it alone, not tonight.”

Chris exhaled sharply. She was saying exactly what he needed to hear, and the calm in her voice made him feel like he could let his guard down a little. He felt the weight of his words as they left his mouth.

“Yeah... I don’t know. I just feel like I can’t really... be with anyone. Like I can’t get close. But I need it. I need to feel something.”

“You deserve to feel close to someone. It’s okay to want that, baby.”

The words, followed by the pet name, hit him harder than he expected. Something inside him cracked open, and before he knew it, he was saying things he hadn’t intended. 

“I just... I want to feel like I’m... wanted. Like someone’s here with me. Not just... in the usual way, but like I’m actually... seen. You know?”

Her voice was soft but firm. It was like she could sense the vulnerability behind his words, even though they were both hidden behind the veil of anonymity. 

“I see you. And I can make you feel seen, if you’ll let me.”

Something about that promise stirred something deep inside Chris. It wasn’t just the loneliness anymore; it was the pull of wanting her, wanting to connect in a way that felt both comforting and thrilling at the same time. It stirred something deep in him, and before he knew it, his body was reacting, an instinctual response he couldn’t control.

“Please.” he found himself whining, a bulge already forming. 

“Are you hard, baby?” Daisy’s voice was quieter now, almost teasing.

Chris let out a strained breath. “Mhm.”

“Good.” She let the word hang there, a subtle promise in her voice. “I want you to trace your pretty cock with your fingers. Just the outline of it, on top of your boxers. Lightly, softly. Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah.” Chris murmured, following her instructions. His pulse quickened, and he hesitated for a moment before doing as she asked, the action feeling foreign yet somehow natural in the moment.

“Now, take it out.” Chris groans at Daisy’s words, the soft, teasing lilt to her voice. 

“Just like that,” Daisy’s voice continued, cool and soft. “Lightly, just enough to feel it. I want to hear from you.”

She noticed the way his breaths were picking up, and there was something different in her voice now. The usual professionalism slipped a little, the edge of something more... real, slipping through.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” she said, her words softer. “Say it. Let me take care of you.”

She tried to keep herself focused, tried to not to let the rush of unexpected arousal cloud her thoughts. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to feel this, not for a stranger, not over the phone, and especially not when it was just another job.

She could hear Chris’s breaths, sharp and uneven. He was close, she could tell by the way his words faltered.

“Are you still with me, baby?” Daisy asked softly, the pet name slipping out almost automatically.

Chris’s voice crackled back. “Yeah… just... god, it feels so good.”

Her pulse quickened. It was supposed to be just a call, just a transaction. But his words, the way his voice wavered with need, felt different. Too real. She couldn’t deny the heat creeping up her neck as her mind raced. She had never let herself get this affected before. But there was something about him that stirred her. Something about the rawness in his voice made her wonder what it would be like to have this kind of closeness, not for money, not for a role.

“Good boy,” she whispered again. “Now, keep going. Touch yourself for me. Just like that. I want to hear from you. Let me know how it feels.”

Chris let out a ragged breath, the sound of him following her direction ringing in Daisy’s ears. She pressed her lips together, willing herself to stay professional, to keep the distance that was usually so easy for her when other lonely men called.

But tonight, tonight was different. Her chest tightened with the strange, unfamiliar emotion twisting in her stomach. Maybe it was her loneliness, maybe it was the isolation of the job, or maybe it was just him. His voice, so lost in his own desire, so vulnerable in ways he didn’t realise. 

She bit her lip, suppressing a sigh that threatened to slip out. This was supposed to be about the money.

She had to remind herself of that.

“Tell me what you want,” she said, her voice dipping into something more commanding. It was easier to stay detached when she was in control, when the power was hers. But her pulse raced against her will. “Say it. Let me hear what you need.”

Chris’s breath hitched. “I. God, I just want to feel you. I want to...”

His words trailed off into a groan, and Daisy's breath faltered. She pushed herself to maintain control, to keep the rhythm of the moment. Her fingers tightened around the phone, but she felt the heat in her own body building, her hand edging closer to where she felt the need the most. Unexpected, unwelcome, but undeniable.

Her pulse quickened, but she tried to keep it in check. “You’re close, aren’t you? Let go for me, baby. Let it happen. You’ve earned it, sweet boy.”

Chris let out a groan, his hand moving faster as she encouraged him. He was almost there, and in that moment, it felt like everything in the world was narrowing down to just this. Her voice, his need, the warmth of the call.

When he finally reached his release, it wasn’t just the physical relief. There was something else, something deeper that he didn’t know he was craving. He could hear her breath, soft and steady, as she guided him through it.

Chris’s response came in a guttural groan, and the sound of his release sent a jolt of heat through Daisy’s chest. She instructed him to slow down, to catch his breath, her own chest tightening as she focused on keeping everything in check. She reminded herself that this was just her job, just another call.

But, as she released a breath of her own, something stirred inside her that shouldn’t have. Something warm and soft. She quickly shut it down. She wasn’t supposed to want this. She wasn’t supposed to want him. She had been called by dozens of men, heard dozens of voices, and she’d never felt this way.

“Good boy,” she murmured, not even realizing how tender her voice had become. “You did so well.”

There was a quiet pause as Chris caught his breath on the other end of the line. He didn’t know that Daisy, in some strange way, felt just as affected as he did. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, not knowing if he was thanking her for the physical release or for something else. But Daisy didn’t reply right away. There was a brief silence on the other end of the line.

When she spoke again, her voice was back to its professional calm. “Of course, baby. Take care of yourself tonight.”

But as he hung up, a strange ache settled in her chest. The kind that hadn’t been there before. She couldn’t help it. Maybe it was his voice. Maybe it was the vulnerability he had let slip. Or maybe it was just her own insecurities creeping in. 

As their conversation ended, Chris felt lighter, more peaceful than he had in months. He drifted off to sleep thinking of her, Daisy, the girl that had made him feel so good.

creds to rose @bernardsbendystraws for the dividers !!! <3

a/n: gahhhh i made this too long but whatever! hope u enjoy!

taglist: @applecidersturniolo @throatgoat4u @sturnslutz @desreads @courta13 @kier-with-a-k @bluestriips @sturns-mermaid @ishasturnz @sweetshuga @snoopychris comment to be added/removed from this au's taglist !!

till next time!

[kiszjuli]

・── love or leave .ᐟ (L.TY) ; PART 2

(태용) ; fem!reader x lee taeyong

──in which love has always felt like a risk you're not willing to take. but taeyong was someone who makes it feel safe, maybe even possible. falling for him was never part of the plan, and you don't know how to let him stay.

genre. angst. romance. self sabotage. ; tags. bittersweet romance. slightly suggestive. patient! taeyong x guarded reader. emotional conflict. ; w.c. 2.6k

find part one here .ᐟ

the rain picks up, drenching the street in a sheen of wet reflection, and you can hear the quiet rush of water running along the sidewalk. you keep your eyes focused on the ground, unwilling to meet his gaze. taeyong’s silence presses against you, heavy with unspoken things, until he finally steps forward.

“do you think i’m going to keep waiting around for you?” his voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it now, a quiet frustration that you haven’t heard before. “because i can’t. i won’t. i can’t keep giving you pieces of myself only to watch you pull away when it gets real.”

you blink rapidly, trying to ignore the sharp sting in your chest. the words feel too raw, too honest. you try to brush it off, but it’s there—his confession hanging between you, and you can’t erase it.

“i never asked you to wait,” you murmur, voice cracking despite yourself. “this was never supposed to be anything more. i told you that.”

his laugh is dry and humorless, the sound a harsh contrast to the soft patter of the rain. he runs a hand through his wet hair, clearly frustrated, but there’s a vulnerability in his gaze that cuts through the anger.

“you’re right. you told me it wasn’t supposed to be anything. but that doesn’t mean i’m okay with it. i’ve been patient, i’ve been there when you needed me, and i tried to respect your space. but you can’t keep pushing me away without expecting me to eventually walk away too.”

he pauses, letting the words sink in, and when he speaks again, his tone softens, though the firmness remains. “you don’t get to pull me in and then act like it was nothing. like it doesn’t matter to you. it does matter to me. and if that’s something you can’t handle, then i can’t keep doing this. i can’t keep waiting around for you to change your mind. i’m not going to keep holding onto something that isn’t real to you.”

there’s a long silence between you two, the rain drenching everything around you in a haze. you feel like you’re standing in a storm—both literal and emotional. his words are final, not harsh, but certain. like he’s finally come to a decision he’s been avoiding.

“you have to choose, y/n. whether this is worth it or not. whether i’m worth it. because i can’t keep chasing after you while you run in the other direction. and i’m not going to wait around for you to decide if you want me.”

he takes a deep breath, eyes locking with yours, holding your gaze steady as though searching for something. “maybe i’m not the one you need. maybe i’m not the one who can make you stop running. but if you need space, if you need time, you need to say it. because i need to know if it’s worth sticking around to find out. or if i should just let go.”

his words hang in the air, heavy and sharp, cutting through the space between you both. you know he’s serious, and for the first time, you realize how much he’s been holding in. how much he’s been willing to give to something that you’ve been unwilling to truly take.

you swallow hard, unsure of how to respond. the reality of the situation is pressing down on you, and you can’t pretend anymore. he’s not asking you to give him all of yourself. he’s asking you to be honest. and maybe that’s what scares you the most. the honesty of it all, the vulnerability, and the fear of what it would mean if you let yourself need him.

the rain falls harder now, but you don’t move. you can feel the weight of the decision pushing down on you, the weight of his quiet but unwavering stance, and the silent question in his eyes. do you let him stay, or walk away?

—

the rain continued to fall heavily, soaking through your clothes, a chill creeping into your bones. the world around you is blurred, a mix of gray and shadows, but in this moment, everything seems to center on taeyong. his gaze is unwavering, though you can see the storm inside him—a turmoil that mirrors the storm above.

his lips are pressed in a tight line, his chest rising and falling with each breath. you want to look away, to avoid the weight of his stare, but something about the way he holds himself forces you to stay grounded in the moment. you try to swallow the lump in your throat, but it feels impossible. every word he’s said cuts deeper than you expected, and you can’t help but feel it all. his frustration, his quiet pain, the battle he’s been fighting with himself.

“i can’t keep doing this.” the words are quiet but firm, and they cut through the thick air between you. “i’m not asking for everything. i’m just… asking you to let me know if this—whatever this is—is worth holding onto. or if it’s just me fooling myself. because i’m done pretending i’m okay with how things are.”

your fingers tremble slightly at your sides, but you don’t move. you can’t bring yourself to speak yet, not with the sudden weight of everything crashing down on you. the pressure is unbearable, suffocating even.

“you don’t get it,” you whisper finally, though your voice is small. “i don’t know how to do this… how to be what you need.”

he takes a step closer, his eyes softening just a fraction. “i don’t need anything from you that you’re not ready to give. i just need you to be honest with me. are you going to keep running, or are you going to let me in?” his voice is steady, but there’s a quiet desperation now, an unspoken plea beneath the surface.

a shudder runs through you, not from the cold, but from the fear of it all. the fear of admitting that you’ve let someone this close, that you’re not sure you’re capable of giving back what he’s offering. you’ve been afraid of what it would mean if you did. but standing here, with him so close, with his words echoing in the silence, you can’t ignore it any longer.

“i don’t know how to let go of everything i’ve been guarding,” you murmur, barely audible above the sound of the rain. “i’ve never let anyone in like this. i don’t know how.”

for the briefest moment, his expression softens, and you think you see something—understanding, maybe even a touch of sympathy. but it fades quickly, replaced by the guarded resolve that’s taken its place.

“i get it,” he says, his voice gentle now, almost like he’s trying to soothe you. “but you can’t keep holding onto that forever, y/n. not when there’s something between us. you don’t get to ask for me to keep waiting while you stay in this place where nothing can happen. you can’t shut me out completely and expect me to just be fine with it. i won’t be. not anymore.”

the words hit like a punch to the gut. you feel like you’ve been standing in this downpour forever, but the tension between you two feels like it’s grown years older in mere seconds. he’s laid it all out, his heart in the open, and it’s terrifying in a way you can’t quite explain. the rain is getting harder, and it’s starting to feel like it’s pressing down on you both, filling every silence, every space, with its relentless rhythm.

“i’m not asking for you to have all the answers right now,” he continues, his voice quiet but resolute. “but i need to know if you’re still willing to try. because i’m not going to waste my time waiting for something that you’re not ready to give.” he inhales sharply, the words spilling out before he can stop them. “i’m not asking you to love me, y/n. not yet. but i need to know if you’re willing to take a step towards me. i need to know if you’re still here, or if this is where we end.”

the silence that follows is deafening. you try to hold onto something, anything—an excuse, a reason not to answer, but the words feel stuck in your throat. your chest tightens, and you want to say something, but nothing seems enough. nothing seems right.

taeyong shifts his weight, a quiet sigh escaping him as he rubs his hand across his face, pushing back the frustration threatening to overtake him. his shoulders slump, just slightly, and you know he’s fighting a battle of his own. his eyes flicker back to yours, and this time, there’s no anger, no harshness. just that quiet, searching look—the look of someone who’s giving everything but doesn’t know if it will be enough.

you want to say something, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. the storm inside you feels even more intense now, swirling in your chest, and you don’t know what to do with it. your heart is racing, and yet, there’s a part of you that feels like you’re still frozen, unsure of what comes next.

the rain continues to pour down, the world around you turning into nothing more than a blur of water and sound. you’re not sure how long you stand there, trapped between your own hesitation and taeyong’s quiet resolve, but the tension is thick—unavoidable, suffocating.

and still, you say nothing.

—

the rain is relentless now, your clothes now clinging to your skin like a second weight you can’t shake off. it makes it harder to speak, harder to breathe, but the way taeyong is looking at you—the way he’s standing there, waiting for something.

but your silence stretches too long. his jaw tenses, and his hands curl into fists at his sides before he exhales sharply.

“i get it,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “that’s my answer, isn’t it?”

“no—” you step forward, but he’s already turning away, the rain blurring the edges of his figure.

he’s leaving.

panic flares in your chest, drowning out every hesitation that’s kept you from speaking until now.

“taeyong.”

your voice wavers, barely cutting through the storm, but it’s enough to make him stop. his shoulders stiffen, and for a moment, he doesn’t turn back. you can’t see his face, can’t tell if he’s giving you a last chance or if he’s already decided that this is it.

the rain pounds against the pavement between you, filling the space where words should be. your pulse is hammering. you don’t know if you can say it, don’t know if he’ll even believe you if you do.

but you have to try.

“i love you,” you say, the words spilling out, rough and unsteady.

taeyong turns then, slowly, his expression unreadable beneath the streaks of rain sliding down his face. his dark eyes search yours, but he doesn’t move toward you. “then why do you keep pushing me away?” his voice is quiet, but it cuts through everything. “why do you act like i’m someone you have to be scared of?”

your throat tightens. “because i am scared.”

something flickers across his face, but he doesn’t interrupt.

you swallow hard, forcing yourself to keep going. “i’m scared because i love you, and the last time i loved someone, they broke me.” your voice shakes, your heart beating so fast it physically hurts. “and i don’t know how to trust that you won’t do the same.”

the confession leaves you breathless, like you’ve just opened a wound you spent years trying to patch up. you don’t know what to expect, but taeyong doesn’t look away. he’s fully focused on you, rain dripping from his lashes, his lips slightly parted like he’s trying to find the right words.

and then he exhales, his features softening just enough for you to see it—the understanding, the hurt, the way he’s piecing everything together.

“i’m not them, y/n,” he says, voice steady despite the storm around you. “i would never be them.”

you nod, but the fear is still there, tangled with the love in your chest. “i know,” you whisper. “but that doesn’t make it any easier.”

for a moment, neither of you move. the rain keeps falling, soaking you both to the bone, but it’s like neither of you feel it anymore. it’s just him. just you. and the truth between you.

then, finally, taeyong sighs. he lifts a hand to his hair, pushing back the wet strands clinging to his forehead, and when he looks at you again, there’s something steadier in his gaze.

“you don’t have to have all the answers right now,” he murmurs. “but i need to know—do you want me to stay?”

your chest tightens. “yes.”

his lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to say it so easily. but it’s the truth. it always has been.

slowly, cautiously, taeyong takes a step toward you. his hand lifts, hesitates, then settles gently against your cheek, his palm warm despite the cold. his thumb brushes over your skin, grounding you in a way nothing else has tonight.

“then let me,” he whispers. “let me love you the way you deserve.”

you close your eyes for a second, leaning into his touch, rain slipping between his fingers. and when you open them again, he’s still there. still waiting.

you don’t know if you’re ready. but you know you don’t want to lose him.

so you nod. just enough for him to see it. just enough for him to stay.

and this time, when taeyong pulls you into his arms, you let him.

—

taeyong holds you close, his arms tightening just slightly, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again. you press your forehead against his chest, listening to the unsteady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath the layers of soaked fabric. it’s fast, but steady. just like him.

the rain continues to pour, drenching you both, but neither of you make a move to step away. not yet.

you feel his breath against your hair when he finally speaks. “i’m not gonna say that love isn’t scary.” his voice is low, quiet, but there’s something certain in it. “but i can promise that i won’t leave you to figure it out alone.”

something in your chest cracks open at his words. he’s not asking you to be fearless. he’s just asking you to let him be here—with you, beside you, through it all.

you pull back just enough to meet his gaze. his eyes search yours, patient, waiting. you don’t know what to say, so you just nod.

taeyong exhales, a small, almost disbelieving smile flickering across his lips before he brushes his thumb along your cheek again, wiping away water—rain, maybe tears, you don’t know.

“okay,” he murmurs.

and then, finally, he leans in.

the kiss is slow and careful, like he’s letting you set the pace. his lips are warm despite the cold, the press of his mouth against yours a silent promise that he’s here, that he’s not going anywhere.

and for the first time in a long time, you believe it.

when you finally break apart, the world feels quieter, softer, despite the storm still raging around you. taeyong rests his forehead against yours, his hands still holding you steady.

“let’s go home,” he murmurs, and this time, when he reaches for your hand, you don’t hesitate.

you lace your fingers through his, and together, you step forward—through the rain, into the unknown, into whatever comes next.

but this time, you’re not alone.

—

▸ sorry for the wait !! i got like a jumble of ideas for other fics at the time i started writing this

▸ i hope this is a good enough ending, i kinda lost ideas for it lmao

[aventurineswife]

Reader flinches during an argument😩🤚

You cna make it just flinching or them actually accidentally hurting reader, whatever you're more comfortable with

Characters: Jing Yuan, Aventurine, Dan Heng, Kaveh and Therta (get it? Cuz The Herta can be shortened to Therta... haha... ha)

Trust Reforged in the Quiet

Tags: Jing Yuan x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Kaveh x Reader, The Herta x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, Emotional Vulnerability, Arguments, Flinching Reaction, Apologies, Reconciliation, Romantic Tension, Communication, Soft Moments.

Warnings: Emotional conflict, Raised voices, Accidental intimidation, Mentions of guilt and emotional vulnerability. (No physical harm or abuse.)

A/N: yeah... I totally got it, ahahaha.. ha 🧍‍♀️

The peaceful glow of the Luofu was overshadowed by the tense atmosphere between you and Jing Yuan. The General stood in his study, his eyes fixed on you, frustration flickering behind their usual calm. The argument had started small, but it spiraled into something you hadn’t anticipated.

“You don’t understand the weight of these decisions,” Jing Yuan said, his tone sharper than usual. “Every action has consequences—not just for us, but for the entire Alliance.”

“I’m trying to help you!” you shot back, voice trembling. “But you keep shutting me out like I’m just an outsider!”

Jing Yuan ran a hand through his long hair, visibly exasperated. “It’s not about shutting you out—it’s about protecting you. Don’t you see that?”

When he suddenly stepped closer, his voice louder than before, you instinctively flinched, taking a step back. His eyes widened, his anger evaporating in an instant.

“Wait…” His voice softened. “Did you just flinch?”

You looked down, ashamed. The moment hung heavy in the air. Jing Yuan’s heart ached at the sight of you retreating from him, and he cursed himself for letting his emotions overwhelm his judgment.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently, his hands hovering before dropping to his sides. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He took a step back himself, giving you space. “I would never hurt you.”

You hesitated before nodding, your eyes still wary. Jing Yuan took a deep breath, his usual calm returning. He walked to his desk, retrieved a cup of tea, and set it down in front of you.

“Let’s talk—properly this time,” he said, his voice steady but laced with remorse. “I want to listen to you, truly.”

And for the first time that evening, you felt safe enough to let him in.

The opulent office felt suffocating as Aventurine paced back and forth, his normally suave demeanor unraveling. You had challenged one of his high-stakes decisions, and he hadn’t taken it well.

“You think I didn’t calculate the risks?” he barked, his voice sharp as a blade. “You think I don’t know exactly what I’m doing?”

“I’m saying it’s dangerous, Aventurine!” you shot back, your voice rising to match his. “You can’t keep gambling with people’s lives like this!”

His eyes burned with frustration. “You don’t understand the game I’m playing! Every move I make is—”

When he spun to face you, gesturing emphatically, you flinched, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. The slight recoil stopped Aventurine mid-sentence. His hand, frozen mid-air, dropped to his side.

For a moment, silence reigned. Then, his voice came out softer, almost unsure. “Did I… scare you?”

You didn’t respond immediately, and that was answer enough. Aventurine’s usually confident mask cracked, revealing the guilt underneath. He stepped back, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his tone devoid of its usual bravado. “I let my temper get the better of me.”

You crossed your arms, your voice shaky. “I just want you to see that I care, Aventurine. You don’t have to face everything alone.”

He chuckled dryly, his smile weak but genuine. “It seems I’m the one who needs a reminder of that sometimes.” He reached out hesitantly, his fingers brushing yours. “Can we try this again? No shouting this time.”

You nodded, and as he led you to sit beside him, the gambler seemed determined to show you he was more than just his sharp words and risky strategies.

The gentle hum of the Astral Express felt distant as you and Dan Heng faced off in the library. He rarely raised his voice, but tonight, his frustration was palpable.

“You can’t just rush into danger like that!” Dan Heng exclaimed, his voice uncharacteristically forceful. “Do you have any idea how reckless that was?”

“I was trying to help!” you defended, equally upset. “You always act like I can’t handle myself!”

“Because you don’t see the risks!” He stepped forward, his hand clutching his spear. “What if something had happened to you? Do you think I could—”

When his voice rose further, and his spear clinked against the floor as he adjusted his grip, you flinched, taking a step back. Dan Heng immediately froze, his sharp eyes widening in realization. The air grew heavy with the weight of what had just happened.

“You…” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He set his spear down, his hands shaking slightly. “I didn’t mean to… I would never—”

You looked away, biting your lip. “It’s fine. I just… wasn’t expecting you to—”

“No, it’s not fine,” he interrupted, his voice steady but filled with guilt. “I lost control. That’s on me.”

Dan Heng lowered himself to sit on the edge of the table, his posture uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I don’t want to push you away. I’m just… scared of losing you.”

You hesitated before stepping closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m scared too, but we need to face this together. You don’t have to carry everything on your own.”

He nodded, his usual calm slowly returning. “You’re right. I’ll… do better.”

In that moment, you saw the real Dan Heng—not the stoic guardian, but the man who carried the weight of the past and feared losing the one person who made him feel safe.

The grandiose living room of Alhaitham's home felt oppressive as your argument with Kaveh escalated. He stood in the middle of the room, his expressive eyes alight with frustration. You had challenged one of his decisions, and his idealistic nature didn’t take it lightly.

“You don’t understand what this means to me!” Kaveh exclaimed, his voice shaking. “I worked my entire life to make a difference through my designs! And now you’re questioning that?”

“I’m not questioning your work, Kaveh,” you said, your voice tinged with desperation. “I’m worried about you! You’re pushing yourself too hard, taking on too much—”

“Because I have to!” he shouted, his hands flaring in an animated gesture. “If I don’t, who will? Do you think anyone else cares as much as I do?” He stepped closer, his tone growing sharper as he continued. “Stop acting like you—”

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up. You flinched, taking a small step back as his voice rose and his movements became more animated. The action stopped him in his tracks, the weight of the moment crashing down around him like a crumbling structure.

His arms dropped to his sides, and his face fell. “Did… did I scare you?” he asked, his voice suddenly quiet and laced with regret.

You didn’t reply immediately, your throat tight with emotion. “I—I didn’t mean to—” you started, but Kaveh shook his head, cutting you off.

“No,” he said firmly, his tone filled with self-reproach. “This isn’t on you. I… I shouldn’t have yelled like that.” He took a step back, giving you space, his eyes filled with guilt. “I never meant to make you feel unsafe.”

“Kaveh…” you began, your voice softening.

He turned away briefly, running a hand through his hair. “I let my emotions get the better of me. Again. It’s just… everything feels like it’s falling apart, and I’m trying so hard to hold it together.”

You stepped forward hesitantly, placing a hand on his arm. “I know you’re trying, Kaveh. But you don’t have to do it alone. You don’t have to carry this weight by yourself.”

He looked at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I just… I don’t know how to let go. But I don’t ever want to hurt you, not even by accident.”

“You won’t,” you assured him, squeezing his arm gently. “But you need to let yourself rest, Kaveh. Let yourself breathe.”

He nodded slowly, his usual dramatic flair subdued by the gravity of the moment. “You’re right. I’ll… I’ll try. For you.”

And as the tension eased, you saw in his eyes the vulnerability he often tried to mask with passion and idealism—a man who cared so deeply, it sometimes consumed him.

The sterile halls of Herta’s spaceship echoed with the sharp edge of your argument. Herta stood before her console, her fingers tapping impatiently on its surface as she glared at you.

“Do you even understand the magnitude of what I’m trying to achieve here?” she asked, her tone biting. “This isn’t just some experiment—it’s a breakthrough!”

“I do understand,” you replied, your voice raised. “But you’re so focused on the outcome that you’re ignoring the risks!”

Herta’s eyes narrowed as she whirled around to face you, her movements swift and deliberate. “Risks are inevitable in science! If I stopped every time something was dangerous, we wouldn’t even have the Simulated Universe! You—” She gestured sharply, stepping closer as her voice grew louder.

The suddenness of her movement made you flinch, your shoulders tensing as you instinctively stepped back. The reaction was subtle but unmistakable. Herta froze mid-sentence, her eyes widening in realization.

She stared at you for a long moment, the tension in her posture dissipating. “Wait… did I just… scare you?” she asked, her voice unusually soft.

You looked away, unable to meet her gaze. “It’s fine. I know you didn’t mean to.”

But Herta shook her head, her usual detached demeanor cracking. “No, it’s not fine,” she said, setting her clipboard aside. “I might be a genius, but that doesn’t give me the right to… intimidate you like that.”

You glanced at her, surprised by the remorse in her tone. “Herta…”

She crossed her arms, avoiding your eyes as she spoke. “I get so caught up in my work, I forget about the people around me. I’m sorry.” She sighed, her sharp wit returning slightly. “It seems even I have room for improvement.”

You chuckled softly despite the tension. “You think?”

She smiled faintly, stepping closer but keeping her movements slow and deliberate. “Let me make it up to you. I’ll explain everything properly this time—no yelling, no dramatics.”

You nodded, the knot in your chest loosening. “I’d like that.”

As she guided you to her desk, the usual confidence in her demeanor was tempered by a quiet sincerity. For the first time, you saw the side of Herta that wasn’t just a genius or a scientist, but someone who valued your trust more than any experiment.

[seumyo]

bro wtf is wrong with you?? every time i think i’m safe, you drop another emotional damage bomb like it’s nothing. do you thrive on our suffering??? do you sleep peacefully at night knowing you made us cry??? i swear you enjoy this a little too much. touch some grass. drink some water. go apologize to your stuffed animals for the pain you’ve inflicted on us.

…anyway, malleus angst when? ily ur works pls don’t die broski 😭

to lose malleus draconia against something you could never rival.

ps. based off of my twst oc and his relationship with malleus (male!reader)

You had always known Malleus Draconia belonged to no one.

That was the nature of the dragon fae—too powerful, too eternal, too distant for any one person to truly claim. But you had still thought—hoped, foolishly—that this would end up differently. That after years at Malleus’ side, there would be no room for another. That if Malleus was ever to let someone in, truly in, it would be you.

And yet, here you were. Watching.

The night air was crisp, heavy with the scent of roses from the courtyard garden, the flickering lanterns casting long shadows against the stone paths. It should have been a peaceful night. It should have been yours. How many times had you and Malleus walked these very grounds together, speaking of things that only beings like you could understand? How many times had you stood beneath the same sky, caught between the weight of eternity and the loneliness of it all?

But tonight, Malleus wasn’t beside you.

He was with them.

The human.

You watched as Malleus stood close—too close—to the magicless student who had somehow wormed their way into his life. Malleus was speaking in that slow, deliberate way of his, his voice like a lull of thunder just before the storm. And the human—the human—was laughing.

Bright, open, utterly unafraid.

As if they had any right.

You had been the one to pull Malleus from his solitude, to remind him that regardless what happens, he’ll always have you to turn to when things get rough. You had been the one to stand by him when even other fae hesitated.

You. Not them.

Yet here Malleus was, giving the human a smile that you had never been able to draw from him. A soft one, without the weight of anything to hold him back, without the quiet sadness that always seemed to linger in his gaze.

Malleus looked light.

Your fingers curled at your sides, sharp nails biting into your palms. The sting grounded you, kept you from doing something you would regret—like stepping forward and reminding Malleus just who had been at his side for centuries. Just who had earned the right to stand beside him?

God, you were starting to sound like Sebek.

But then, what would be the point?

You had always known this love was one-sided. You had always known Malleus cared for you, but not in the way you wanted. And knowing that should have been enough to keep you from hurting.

But it wasn’t.

A presence flickered beside you. Lilia. You didn’t look at him, but you could feel the weight of the fae’s knowing gaze.

“You’re brooding,” Lilia observed, his voice laced with quiet amusement. “It’s unlike you to sulk in the shadows. That’s Idia’s job, isn’t it?”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, but you didn’t rise to the bait. You didn’t trust yourself to. Didn’t feel yourself to.

Lilia hummed. “You know, watching from afar won’t change anything.”

You finally turned your head, meeting Lilia’s red eyes with a sharp glare. “And what would you have me do?” Your voice was low, controlled. Strained. “Drag them away from him? Demand that he look at me instead?”

Lilia tilted his head, ever the picture of effortless wisdom. “Would it be so wrong to want him to see you?”

Your throat tightened.

Malleus had always seen you. Hadn’t he?

Hadn’t he?

You turned back to where Malleus stood, the sound of that human’s laughter ringing in your ears. Malleus’ expression was soft, his gaze warm, and you felt something inside you crack. Slow, but not all at once.

You had spent years standing beside Malleus, waiting—perhaps foolishly—for the day that the dragon fae would look at you and understand. That he would realize that you had never left, never wavered, never wanted anyone but him.

But that day would never come, would it?

Because Malleus had looked at someone.

Just not you.

Lilia let out a quiet sigh, as if reading the weight of your thoughts. “Love is a fickle thing, isn’t it?” he mused, voice softer now. “It does not reward patience, nor does it care for history. It goes where it wills.”

You sighed, slumping against the overgrown marble railings of the garden. “Spare me the wisdom.”

Lilia chuckled. “Ah, but it hurts less when you hear it from someone else, doesn’t it?”

You didn’t answer. Because it didn’t hurt less. It hurt more.

The human said something, and Malleus laughed. Not a quiet chuckle, not the polite amusement he often gave others, but something real. Something you had never been able to pull from him. No matter how much effort you put into it.

And in that moment, you knew.

You could never be that for Malleus.

You could be his friend, his most trusted companion, his constant. But you could never be the reason Malleus smiled like that.

Because Malleus had never once looked at you and seen something to long for.

You had always been there. Reliable. Familiar. Expected.

But this human? They were new. They were different. They were something Malleus had never known he could have.

And you—you had always been something Malleus knew he wouldn’t lose.

So you watched.

Because there was nothing else you could do.

And wasn’t that the cruelest part?

-

You hated the rain.

It soaked through your clothes, clung to your body as a literal unshakable feeling, and turned the world into a cold, miserable blur. The water was pooling at your feet, running in rivulets down your cheeks like mock tears—because you refused to cry. Not here. Not for this.

Not for him.

Malleus stood just a few feet away, regal as ever, the rain sliding off him like it dared not touch him. Even now, with you standing before him, drenched and trembling with the weight of everything you had kept locked inside for centuries, Malleus was unmoved.

And that—that was the thing that shattered you the most.

“You—” Your voice came out hoarse, your breath uneven. Your chest ached, a deep, twisting thing that no magic could heal.

“Since when did I lose?”

Malleus blinked, his expression unreadable.

“Lose?”

A sharp, bitter laugh tore out of your throat. You tilted your head back, let the rain sting your skin, let the cold seep into your bones. You should have known. You should have known it would come to this—because you had always been waiting, hadn’t you?

Always standing just behind Malleus, always within reach but never touched, never chosen.

And you had been okay with that for a time.

Because you thought that if you had been patient, if you were loyal, if you stayed, then maybe, just maybe, Malleus would one day turn to you and realize—

But no.

No, because Malleus had turned.

Just not in your direction.

Never in your direction.

“Yes, lose,” you spat, taking a step forward. “Since when was I not enough?”

Malleus’ brows furrowed slightly, as if he did not understand—as if he had not known. “[Name]—”

“No,” you snapped, stepping closer, your voice raw with something you could no longer hold back. “Don’t say my name like that. Like you don’t know. Like you haven’t always known.”

Malleus said nothing, but something in his gaze shifted.

And that was enough.

Enough to confirm what you had feared all along.

Malleus had known.

He had known, and he had still—

You exhaled sharply, a bitter, humorless sound escaping you. Your hands trembled as you ran them through your soaked hair. “I have been by your side for years, Malleus,” you murmured, the words thick with something you couldn’t name. “I have stood with you when others feared you. I have fought for you, bled for you, given you everything—”

Your voice cracked, and you swallowed against the lump rising in your throat.

“I have loved you, Malleus.”

Silence.

The rain poured harder, like the sky itself was mourning for you. It could also be influenced by how the fae in front of you felt. Honestly, you couldn’t care anymore.

Malleus’ lips parted slightly, but he did not speak. He just watched, as if waiting for you to continue, as if he did not realize that you were standing here, breaking yourself open for him—offering your heart on a silver platter, knowing it would never be taken.

You laughed, a sharp, wounded thing. “You don’t even look surprised.”

Malleus inhaled, slow and measured. “[Name]…” His voice was quiet, heavy with something you would rather not hear. “I—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, your voice hoarse. You shook your head, stepping back, suddenly feeling so tired. “Don’t say it.”

Because you knew what was coming.

You are my dearest friend, [Name].

You are important to me.

I never meant to hurt you.

Words that meant nothing.

Words that would only twist the knife deeper.

Malleus’ eyes searched yours, and you hated that. Hated that even now, when you were falling apart, Malleus still looked at you with that quiet, unreadable expression—as if you were a puzzle to be solved instead of someone standing in the ruins of something that had never even begun.

As if he hadn’t known you well enough throughout the years.

The rain continued to fall, each drop heavy against your skin, against your chest, against the gaping wound in your heart that you refused to let bleed any more than it already had.

You let out a shuddering breath. When you spoke again, your voice was quieter. Resigned.

“I can’t force you to love me.” Your throat tightened. “And I wouldn’t want to.”

Malleus’ expression flickered—something almost like pain flashing across his face. But still, he said nothing.

You exhaled shakily, tilting your head up towards the sky. The rain was suffocating, pressing against your skin, drowning you in something you couldn’t escape.

“That’s the worst part, isn’t it?” Your voice dropped to a whisper. “That I understand.”

Because you did.

You understood.

Malleus had chosen.

And it wasn’t you.

You felt something inside you break completely, splintering into a thousand irreparable pieces. And there was nothing left to do—nothing left to say.

Because if Malleus had wanted you, he would have chosen you. There wouldn’t be a reason to choose in the first place.

But you weren’t even an option in the first place, you realize.

What a fool. Naïve, hopeful fool.

And that was enough.

You exhaled one last, trembling breath before taking a step back. Then another. Your boots splashed in the puddles forming beneath you, the water soaking into the hem of your coat.

You glanced at Malleus one last time, committing the image to memory. The prince you had loved your whole life. The man you had given everything to.

You were willing to give the world and back to.

The one who would never be yours.

The rain blurred your vision, but you didn’t blink.

“I hate the rain,” you murmured, more to yourself than anyone else.

Because it reminded you of when Malleus was sad. When you were the one to stick by him as the weather passed by each quiet night in his castle.

Then you turned.

And you walked away.

Because if you stayed—

If you stayed, you would break. More so knowing that you lost Malleus to something that you could never rival.

Genuine, unadulterated love.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[deansbeer]

what's left behind ・ THE WINCHESTERS. ៸៸៸ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ! ♡ library

୨୧ synopsis. after dean's death, sam finds old photos and vhs tapes, reliving childhood memories and breaking down as he mourns his big brother.

୨୧ warning(s). major character death (canon) | sam's pov | grief | mourning | HEAVY angst | flashbacks | childhood nostalgia | john winchester | brief mentions shitty parenting | found footage | emotional breakdown | implied depression.

୨୧ word count. 1241

୨୧ kari notes. i don't know what to say except i'm so sorry <3 this is a result of that damn gif pinterest decided to torture me with today. and yes, tears are falling down my face again.

the bunker feels different now.

sam had always known it was a massive place, but without dean’s presence filling it—his music echoing down the halls, the sound of his boots scuffing against the floor, his voice calling out some dumb joke—now it just felt hollow.

he doesn’t know how long it’s been since he last slept. maybe a day, maybe two. time is a blur, stretching and folding in on itself like it doesn’t matter anymore. because maybe it doesn’t.

the only thing that exists now is the ache in his chest. the weight of grief pressing down so hard it feels like it might break his ribs.

dean’s gone.

and sam’s still here.

he doesn’t know what to do with that.

so he does the only thing he can do—he goes through dean’s things.

it’s not like he means to. he’s just walking, aimless, and somehow his feet take him to dean’s room.

it still smells like him. leather, whiskey, gun oil, aftershave. like home.

sam stands in the doorway for a long time, staring at the unmade bed, at the jacket dean had tossed over the chair, at the half-empty beer bottle still sitting on the nightstand.

his throat tightens.

he forces himself to step inside.

the first thing he finds is the box shoved under dean’s desk.

it’s old, the cardboard edges softened with time. when sam pulls it out and lifts the lid, he’s hit with a wave of nostalgia so strong it nearly knocks the breath out of him.

inside, there are photos. stacks of them.

the first one he picks up is of them as kids, sitting on the hood of the impala, dean’s arm slung around his shoulders, grinning like he didn’t have a care in the world.

sam swallows hard, tracing his thumb over the edge of the picture.

he flips through more—some of them polaroids, some bent at the corners from being stuffed into wallets or baby’s glove compartment.

one of them is from a christmas when they were little. the cheap motel decorations hanging crookedly, dean holding up a present wrapped in newspaper, laughing while sam, maybe five or six years old, looks up at him like he hung the damn moon.

sam presses his lips together, his vision blurring. he sets the photos aside, digging deeper into the box. that’s when he finds the tapes.

old vhs tapes, a few of them, stacked neatly together. none of them are labeled.

his stomach twists.

he doesn’t know what’s on them, but if they were tucked away in dean’s things, they meant something.

he finds an old vcr player in the bunker’s storage rooms, hooks it up to the tv, and slides in the first tape with trembling hands.

the screen flickers, static buzzing for a second before the image comes into focus.

the first thing he sees is dean’s face, filling up the whole screen, his green eyes squinting as he adjusts the camera.

“is this thing on?—oh, shit, it is.”

sam lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh, but it catches in his throat.

on the screen, dean grins, stepping back. he’s younger here, maybe early twenties, standing in some rundown motel room.

“okay, so, sammy’s in the shower right now, which means i got, like, five minutes before he comes out and ruins my fun,” dean says, smirking. “figured i’d document this moment in history—sam winchester actually agreeing to take a night off and not bury his nose in a book.”

sam watches as dean flips the camera around, pointing it at the motel table where a half-eaten burger and a pile of playing cards sit.

“we got burgers, we got poker, and most importantly we got the booze.”

the camera shakes as dean turns it back on himself, winking.

“anyway. just wanted to capture this, ‘cause, y’know… who the hell knows how long we get to do this?”

there’s something in his voice, a weight beneath the teasing. like he already knew, even then.

sam swallows hard.

he watches the rest of the tape in silence. it’s mostly random clips—dean messing around, making faces at the camera, flipping it off. but there are parts of himself too, moments dean had filmed without sam realizing.

one of him, hunched over a book while dean zooms in dramatically, whispering, “nerd alert.”

another of him eating pancakes at some diner, rolling his eyes while dean narrates, “and here we see the elusive sam winchester in his natural habitat—devouring carbs.”

sam doesn’t even realize he’s crying until a tear slips onto his hand.

he wipes at his face roughly, shoving the heels of his palms into his eyes.

but the memories keep coming.

before the hunts, before the bunker, before everything got so damn hard—

they were just kids.

and god, dean had always been there.

he remembers the times when john wasn’t around, when it was just the two of them in some shitty motel, and dean would make up stories to help him sleep.

he does remember the few times john had actually let them be kids, when he’d come back with cheap plastic toys, and they’d play cops and robbers for hours until they passed out on the motel floor.

“gotcha, sammy!” dean would yell, tackling him onto the bed, laughing as he pinned him down.

“not fair, you’re bigger!” sam would whine, squirming.

“sucks to suck, lil’ dude.”

sam lets out a broken breath, gripping the edge of the table like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. he doesn’t know how to do this—how to keep going without dean.

he presses play on another tape.

this one is quieter.

it’s just dean again, sitting on the hood of the impala, the sky dark behind him.

he looks tired.

“so, uh… not really sure why i’m recording this,” dean mutters, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “guess i just… i dunno.”

he exhales, glancing away for a second before looking back at the camera.

“sammy, if you ever find this… sorry, man. for everything.”

sam’s whole body goes rigid.

“i know i don’t say it enough, but… you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, man.”

dean shifts, looking uncomfortable, like the words are hard to say.

“i know dad was… y’know. but we had each other. and i wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

he pauses, then smirks a little.

“even if you are a nerd.”

the tape cuts out.

sam sits there for a long time, staring at the static-filled screen, his hands trembling.

that’s when he breaks.

it’s not graceful. it’s not quiet.

it’s messy, gasping, gut-wrenching sobs that rip through him, his whole body shaking as he folds forward, pressing his hands to his face.

because this isn’t fair.

they were supposed to have more time.

they were supposed to grow old together.

but now dean is gone.

and sam is alone.

the bunker is silent except for the sound of his own cries, the weight of memories pressing down on him like an avalanche.

he doesn’t know how long he stays like that.

but eventually, he lifts his head, wiping at his tear-streaked face, his breath coming in uneven gasps.

he looks at the tapes. at the photos. at the pieces of his brother scattered around him.

dean might be gone.

but he left pieces of himself behind.

and that’s enough to hold onto.

[souyasbabyy]

• pairing: hanma x reader

• summary: he sees you with someone else long after your break up

• genre: angst!!!!!!

• note: i wanted to write angst and wanted to write something with hanma, this might be a little ooc idk

A heavy weight settled in his stomach as his heart sank at the sight of you with someone else, your hand in his while he helps you getting in the car. All this time, he thought he had moved on, that his feelings had disappeared. But now, they all came rushing back, hitting him like a punch in the face. For the next week, you're all he can think about, you and your shared memories, you and your smile. One night, after drinking with his friends, he stares at his phone, your contact looking back at him. He debates whether calling you is a good idea after all this time. His thumb hovers over the call button. Don't do it. He knows it won't change anything, probably make it worse even. But after a long minute he presses it. The phone rings once. Twice. "Hello?" you ask. He doesn't say a word as you repeat yourself "Hello? Hanma?", "Yes" he finally says, hating the way his heart beats fatser at the sound of his name leaving your lips "Are you okay? you inquire. He wants to say yes, act like this was just a casual call but he can't, the words that come out betraying him "I don't know". You sigh, already knowing where this was going, you hesitate, not knowing what to tell him. "Where are you?" you eventually ask "Home" he says. There's another silence, a longer one. "I saw you the other day" he admits, leaning back on his couch "You were with someone", "Is that why you're calling?" you ask him and he nods even though you can't see him. "Hanma you can't do this, you can't call me when you're drunk and-" you cut yourself, sighing loudly "I shouldn't have picked up" you mumble "But you did" he counters "Why?". You don't answer, the silence between you is tense, full of old feelings none of you want to face. "Where is he?" Hanma asks suddenly "The guy" "That's none of your business" you say. He clenches his jaw, wondering if he was in the appartment with you "I stopped seeing him" you then tell him and he's taken aback by the answer. "Why? I swear if he-" "No" you cut him, exhaling loudly "He just- He wasn't you" you add.

For a moment, Hanma says nothing. The words settle deep in his chest, sending a rush of emotions through him. Relief, confusion, something dangerously close to hope. His grip on the phone tightens. He wasn’t you. He wants to hold onto those words, let it mean something."What does that even mean..?" His voice is quieter now. You hesitate. "It means I tried, Hanma. I really did", there's heaviness in your voice, you're as tired as he is "I thought moving on would be easy. That if I found someone else, the memories would fade" A bitter laugh escapes you. "But they didn’t" His breath is unsteady. "Then why aren’t we-" He stops himself, running a hand through his hair. He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to ask. "Because missing you doesn’t change what happened" you say softly. And there it is. The reality he was trying to ignore. The reason this call will never end the way he wants it to. Hanma leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He feels like a fool. Drunk and reckless "So what now?" he murmurs. There’s a long pause before you answer. "Now, we hang up" His chest tightens. "And then what?” he asks, almost desperate. "And then we let each other go" Silence. He doesn’t want to. He really, really doesn’t. But he also knows dragging this out will only hurt more. After what feels like forever, he exhales shakily "Goodbye then", "Goodbye Hanma" and just like that, the call ends. Hanma stares at his phone, the empty screen mocking him. He should feel relieved knowing you still miss him. But somehow, it only makes everything worse. Because it doesn’t matter. You’re still gone.

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Fires of Fire (Jason Todd)

Summary: You confront Jason when you receive damning screenshots of his betrayal.

Warnings: angst, reader being gaslit, jason cheating

WC: 708

Read on AO3!

--

The air in the apartment was suffocating. You stood by the kitchen counter, your phone trembling in your hand. The screen displayed a series of damning text messages—messages Jason had clearly sent to someone else. They were flirty, intimate, and undeniably inappropriate. Your chest ached as if your ribs were caving in the longer you looked at your phone. But you couldn't pull your eyes away, no matter how much you wanted to.

When Jason walked in only moments later, he was casual, his leather jacket slung over one shoulder and his helmet tucked under his arm. His dark hair was damp, probably from the rain, and he smelled faintly of smoke and cologne. He froze when he saw you, your expression a mixture of anger and despair.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice low and calm, but his eyes flicked to the phone in your hand, expression mute with emotion.

You swallowed hard, stepping forward and holding it out. “Who is she?”

He stared at the screen for a moment, his face unreadable. Then he scoffed and tossed his jacket onto the couch. “Are you serious right now?”

“Don’t do that,” you snapped, your voice breaking. “Don’t act like I’m imagining things. I have proof. I need to know who she is to you. Why I'm not good enough for you.”

Jason walked past you, heading to the fridge. He opened it, grabbed a beer, and leaned against the counter with infuriating nonchalance. “Proof of what? That you don’t trust me? Because that’s all I’m seeing here. There's nothing going on.”

Your fingers tightened around the phone. “Don’t turn this around on me! I saw the texts, Jason. They weren’t meant for me, so who were they meant for? Who is she?”

He took a long sip of his beer, his gaze steady and unflinching. “They’re nothing. Just messing around with Damien. We joke like that all the time. You know that.”

Your stomach dropped. “You expect me to believe that? Jason, these are not jokes. You called her ‘babe.’ You told her you missed her.”

“Yeah, because I knew you’d snoop through my phone and blow it out of proportion,” he said, his voice dripping with irritation. “I was messing with you, trying to get a rise out of you. Guess it worked, huh?”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. The audacity of his words left you breathless. “You’re lying. I know you’re lying.”

Jason slammed the bottle onto the counter, the sound making you flinch. His jaw tightened, and his voice dropped to a dangerously low register. “You don’t know anything. You’re making a fool of yourself right now, digging for something that isn’t there. Do you even hear yourself? You're crazy.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “I’m not crazy, Jason.”

His lips curved into a bitter smile. “Could’ve fooled me. You’re so damn insecure, it’s pathetic. Do you seriously think I’d cheat on you? After everything we’ve been through? You know you're the only one for me.”

The words stung like a slap to the face. He wasn’t just denying it; he was making you doubt yourself. Every instinct screamed that he was lying, but the conviction in his voice wavered your certainty.

“I…” You faltered, shaking your head. “I just—those messages—”

“Are meaningless,” he interrupted, stepping closer. His hands landed on your shoulders, heavy and firm. His eyes bore into yours, calm and cold. “You’re overthinking this. You’ve been stressed lately. Maybe you need to take a step back and breathe before you start throwing accusations around.”

Your lip quivered as you looked away. The weight of his words pressed against your chest, making it harder to argue. Maybe… maybe you had jumped to conclusions. Maybe you were imagining things.

“Hey,” he said softly, his thumb brushing your cheek. “I love you. You know that, right?”

You nodded, though the pit in your stomach churned violently. “Yeah… I know.”

Jason smiled, his lips brushing your forehead in what should’ve been a comforting gesture. But as he pulled away, you saw the flicker of something in his eyes. Relief. Satisfaction.

And for the first time, you realized the truth didn’t matter to him. It never did.

--

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[starlightsuffered]

A/N - rework of a very old fic

After the Hard Part

Info - angst, mention of eating problems, mention of sleeping problems

Both of you had tear-stained faces. Timmy looked really awful. His eyes were red and bloodshot. His face was unshaven and his clothes were crinkled. His hair was messy and his hands were shaking. You had also just noticed all the buttons were buttoned wrong on his shirt. Though, it wasn't like you looked much better.

Your skin was almost translucent. Veins stood out on your body like blue rivers branching off in multiple directions. The purple bags under your eyes looked like dark bruises. You hadn't eaten enough in days and you hadn't slept right in weeks.

This had all started when Timothée and you had, had a huge fight. You couldn't remember how it started but you definitely remembered how it ended. You'd accused him of not loving you enough. You knew you were wrong. Timothée, despite his goofy exterior, was actually such a sweet boyfriend. It had all been your own insecurities creeping up. You'd always feared that he'd leave you that one day he'd decide you weren't worth it. This caused you to think thoughts that weren't true in the least. He'd left then. He'd packed his stuff and left your flat.

You'd been a wreck ever since. Everything in your life was laced with him. Not having him around was like losing a limb. Everything had seemed off and nothing had gone well. It'd been a terrible 47 days.

Now he was back and you'd both sobbed your apologies and clung to one another like life rafts in a raging storm. You'd seen him cry for one of the very first times. It turns out neither of you had been eating or sleeping well. You were both weak and overwhelmed with emotions.

Now was the awkward part. Could you just go back to normal? Did he want that? You weren't sure how you stood with him. Of course, you both still loved one another, but what did that mean for him? As for you, all you wanted to do was be in his arms. To wipe the tears from his eyes, and kiss his soft pink lips again and again.

You heard him cracking his knuckles. You shuddered at the weirdness between the two of you. Where there had used to be laughing and kissing there was silence and heavy breathing. He stared up at the clock. You couldn't take it much longer.

You reached for the remote tentatively. You couldn't stand the silence. Doctor Who was on and you both loved that. So you sat in silence as the TV blared the noise of the Tardis.

This awkwardness lasted days. You wouldn't talk. It was odd, usually, you and Timothée usually talked like mad about everything. One thing he would do though was touch you. Never sexually, and it never led to anything, not even kissing, but he would touch you. Absentminded brushes of skin.

Maybe it would be fingers brushing your shoulder as he left a room. Or playing with your hair as you laid in bed together. Sometimes he would even trace your freckles. The touches gave you hope and contentment, but then the both of you would drop back into the desperate heartbreaking silence. You'd stopped eating right again and sleeping was always hard. You didn't have the old Tim back, just a ghost of him. A shell of the man he'd been before. Sometimes you could hear his voice return to normal but in the end, it would always falter. You couldn't stand the feeling his silence gave you.

Currently, you both were sitting on the couch. He was flipping through the channels and you were reading. The silence laid between you like a barrier. An unbroken wall.

Suddenly you felt fingers on your bare thigh. It wasn't a sexual move but your breath still hitched. Timothée was absentmindedly drawing circles on your skin. The feeling gave you such happiness and comfort, but you didn't know how to respond. Now his long fingers had migrated to your arm and he was running them up and down your skin. You almost shivered from the want to snuggle closer to him. This went on a few more minutes until you heard a sniffle and you saw that he was crying.

"Timothée!" You said in alarm, throwing your book down and moving closer. He turned his head away and scrubbed at his eyes. His fingers were still tracing your body lightly.

"Timothée!" You said more sternly grabbing the hand he wasn't using. "What's wrong?" You asked and when he turned, you felt your heart drop. You hated when he was sad.

"I missed you so much," his voice sounded broken. "I can't stop touching you, I need to know your real I just..." You cut him off by moving onto his lap so that you were facing him. You took both his hands and placed them under your shirt and onto your hips.

"Touch me as much as you want, I'm real and I'm not going anywhere," you told him quietly. His eyes filled with a look of relief. You bent down slightly and kissed his lips passionately. You felt his large hands roam your body. It was like he was relearning your curves, your dimples, and your freckles. His hands caressed your body as a man who was blind would feel something foreign. You could feel his breathing steady as he flowed back into his comfort zone. He was home and you wouldn't have it any other way.

@pmak2002 @softhecreator @plutoispurplw @sp1deyyf4ngz @seungcheol17daddy @jesschalamet @vvsdreaming @lovelyrocker @therealbeabodoobee

[bumblebeehug]

I'm starving for nalu angst content. Please feed me?

i shall feed you with some of the best angst i can muster<3 thank @zuzu-fairys-tail for prompting this tihi

For the sake of Love

Summary: Natsu makes a mistake that drives him away from Lucy, but when he returns, he's forced to face the aftermath. Notes: This fic works as a stand-alone, but makes direct references to "Unrequited Love" Part of this series Ao3 - FF.net (original version)

***

Natsu had never thought about love as something he would experience. He had seen other people express it, claiming that their life didn’t start until they met their significant other. He heard them talk about needs, desires, communication and other otherworldly things – otherworldly, he called them, because couldn’t this apply to anyone? Why did it have to be a specific person? Why them?

He once asked Gray about this. He mentioned his relationship with Juvia, how they had been going steady ever since the team got home from the hundred years quest, but that he couldn’t understand where their original relationship had gone. Their yandere-tsundere act, their genuine friendship – had he really given it up for the sake of “love”?

“They cohabit,” was Gray’s curt answer, clearly disgusted having to talk about feelings with an idiot like Natsu.

No matter how much Natsu pressed him after that, Gray wouldn’t elaborate. Cohabit. He asked Levy for a definition, and came to the conclusion that that’s what he and Happy did. Lived together, spent time together, cared for each other. Except, he wouldn’t marry Happy even if he stood at gunpoint, so Gray couldn’t have been serious. He kept the real information for himself, the actual secret behind normal love and romantic love – what they meant and what differentiated them.

Before Natsu met Lucy, he was going through a troubled period in his life. He had spent so much time alone ever since Lisanna died. His home was dusty and empty, any time he spent in Magnolia was spent at the guild hall, and even his time there was limited to when he was between missions. And those missions then – they would last for weeks at a time, and anytime he found a lead on Igneel, he would follow it, resulting in more time spent away. It could go days between his last conversation with humans, though luckily he didn’t go anywhere without his blue furry pal.

Then Lucy entered the picture. If Natsu hadn’t been talking a whole lot before, now he barely got a word in edgewise. Except, he didn’t dislike hearing her chatter away like there was no tomorrow. It filled his brain, the empty space that normally made his loneliness echo throughout the night. Lucy was a breath of fresh air in comparison to speaking to anyone else in the guild. They all knew him for his losses – losing Igneel, losing Lisanna – but here he had a girl who didn’t define him by these things. She valued Natsu for his current self, the one she had met in Hargeon, who was strong, friendly and reliable. He appreciated this – he didn’t have to feel out of place when he entered the guild. Plus, she was easily impressed by all he had to offer. It was almost too good to be true.

After her, the world shifted. He was once again finding joy in the simple things. Jobs became more intricate and engaging, and even when the reward was butchered he’d always leave with a good feeling in his stomach. He enjoyed hearing her explain plants she saw on the way home from the job, and though he never enjoyed trains, he felt at ease knowing she wouldn’t leave him on it. Lucy became his ground pillar, the safety line that kept him from falling. Soon enough he found himself looking towards her every time he outdid himself. He wanted to know that she had seen, that she knew how far he had come. And the best part was that every time he searched for her eyes, she was already looking at him. Her support was unwavering.

At least, that’s what he thought. Lucy was always going to be there, searching for him, aiming all her attention to Natsu. He believed that her door would always be wide open for him, and if it wasn’t, he’d be granted an open window – something that told him that she wanted them to connect. For years, that was true. He had landed in the fact that he loved her presence, and she loved his. That their friendship was beyond just friends – soulmates would be more accurate.

But Natsu felt inadequate. Like he was failing at being a normal human. He had been haunted by the fact that he never was seen as any other guy – he was always a dragon, a demon, or in some cases a dunce. Truthfully, he didn’t want that. So one day he took a look at himself, and at other guys his age, and did a comparison. What was it Natsu did wrong, where did he fail as a human?

It didn’t take long to notice it. Almost every guy his age had been with, or currently was with, a partner. Not in the way Lucy was a partner, though he often referred to her as such, but in a dirtier way. There was jealousy, touching, tasting and biting, not always confined to a private space, seeing as he had noticed all this just in the guild hall. Jet had yet another girlfriend fuming with anger as she ran out of the bar area – she had apparently had enough of being compared to Levy. Natsu didn’t actually crave that sort of love, but he still couldn’t help but search for it.

The day he met her, he was on a solo mission. Happy and Lucy were visiting the Exceeds, but Natsu wanted some extra money for food, so he’d gone alone on a quest to catch some dark wizards before they got their hands on a sacred jewel from the village. It was walking distance, the pay was good, and Natsu would get to let off some steam: it was the perfect mission. What he didn’t know was that within that group of wizards, there’d be a mage with the most captivating looks.

Her light blue hair and fierce, deep green eyes had him captured. Not captured enough to avoid him from defeating the group, but enough to make him feel like he couldn’t help but to try to talk to her. Surely she’d come over to the good side if they had a good heart to heart? Natsu was confident that all she needed was some TLC: a warm shower, a proper conversation, and a soft bed to sleep in.

That night, Natsu did things he’d never done before. She had kissed him, and to his initial surprise, he had kissed her back. The small voice in the back of his mind, worrying about Lucy, was quickly pushed away. This was what he wanted – he had waited for a moment like this for years. A chance to hop on the train to being a normal guy, someone with girlfriends, exes, an emotional life. So under the sheets they went: he believed their activities would come to an end after this, resembling something of a “one night stand” as he’d heard people call it.

Man, was he wrong. The lust that awoke within him suddenly felt untamable: he needed her to satisfy him. It was years of pent up longing, though he still wasn’t sure for who he had longed. She seemed quite satisfied with their relationship though. Their sessions were intense, only lasting a day a month, so whatever they had could be kept a secret. Lucy and Happy didn’t have to know.

But soon enough, the two of them came to talk before and after their meetings. They’d talk about anything at first: the weather, recent news from the area, things that had happened on missions they’d gone to – she had listened to his advice way back then and started up as a novice witch, freelancing her way around while she got used to the good side of the wizarding world. Natsu was thrilled, because now he could share his struggle: they were both equally destructive in their ways. Between sessions they’d find themselves comparing ways they destroyed towns: Natsu still winning by a landslide, though to be fair, they weren’t yet exactly on common ground. She had many years ahead of her to sharpen her tactics – if getting more destructive was part of it, then so be it.

Natsu loved her ways. He found himself thinking this quite often. He loved how she laughed, how she moved, the things she did. Never having felt this before, he quickly got swept away by the intensity. Suddenly he met up with her multiple times a week, not even to do anything dirty – just to talk to her. She seemed to share his sentiment, not really initiating any major sessions unless the mood was really there: she was clearly interested in him back. When Natsu realised this, he thought he’d finally gotten back the good karma he’d collected over the years, that the universe owed him.

Before he could ask her out properly though, he felt like he had to stop this secrecy. He hated not being able to tell Lucy about things, and it felt weird that she knew everything about Lucy, while she knew nothing about her.

The plan was to just kindly drop the ball in Lucy’s lap. He’d tell her about her, keep his description of her short and clean, and then she’d slowly get used to the idea. It’s not like he didn’t know how special their relationship had been lately: they’d kept up the husband-wife act, she allowed him to share her bed, though nowadays he longed for her smell in it (he couldn’t tell Lucy that of course), they ate almost all meals together, and still went on missions. The only difference was that he was starting to like the idea of doing these things with her as well. And even he knew that he couldn’t have both: he couldn’t have his cake and eat it too.

His confession to Lucy hadn’t gone as he’d planned. He had taken her to this diner across Magnolia, made sure they took the long way there so they could enjoy their company a bit before he put his big news out there: in hindsight he realised it must have led her on. When they sat down, Natsu could barely contain himself. As soon as drinks were ordered, he grabbed her hands, sparkled in his eyes, and dropped the bomb.

“Lucy, I think I’m in love.”

As soon as he said it he let everything about her spill out. He couldn’t stop talking, it felt like he was in a daze: it felt so incredibly good being able to talk about this. To Lucy nonetheless. In fact, if you asked him then and there, he’d tell you he was in his version of heaven – and that being said knowing how great sex with her was. This, however, didn’t compare. Him and Lucy, no secrets, and he was in love. He’d be dancing on the table if the establishment was slightly less refined. So he talked and talked, about midday blue hair and eyes green as the forests from his childhood: and he didn’t see the way Lucy pressed her lips into a thin line, how tears threatened to build up in her eyes, or how her heartbeat got heavier. These were all things he would realise once he arrived back home, but wouldn’t be certain if it he’d just imagined or not.

If Natsu could go back in time and change how he had told Lucy, he absolutely would have, without a doubt in his mind. But that was only because in hindsight, he realised that Lucy might have harbored deeper feelings for him. He hadn’t realised it at first, dense as he often could be, but it was apparent once he took his usual trip to Lucy’s apartment just to find her doors locked, her windows closed and her blinds drawn. It was weird, caught Natsu off guard, and left him with a gruelling, dull ache in his chest. Did he prompt her to do this? Not wanting to draw any hasty conclusions, he went back every day the following week. Surely he’d catch her going outside to get groceries one of these days? But to his terror, she didn’t.

When he asked the guild about Lucy’s whereabouts, all he got was curt, dismissive answers. In a way, that answered his question: he was the cause of this. Even Happy had turned against him: he now spent most of his time in Lucy’s apartment. Natsu couldn’t blame him: he hadn’t told him about her until right after he’d gotten home from telling Lucy. Happy was Natsu’s oldest friend, so it was natural he’d hold a grudge if Natsu didn’t tell him about important things in his life. But that he’d be cooping up at Lucy’s place was the thing that set his theory in stone: Lucy must have had a crush on Natsu. There really wasn’t any other explanation. Happy was attached to Lucy, sure, but there had to be some sort of resentment from Natsu not going out with Lucy instead of the girl. Happy could be territorial in that way – he didn’t want new people to come and steal away Natsu’s attention.

For months things were weird in the guild. Natsu never knew how reliant the guild was on his and Lucy’s team: without them all working together as usual, it was like the mood in the guild hall had gone grey and stale. Natsu focused on solo missions, secretly doing them with her so he could get any extra help he might need. Sometimes it bugged him that Lucy wasn’t the one with him, but he brushed it off as just not being used to teaming up with someone who didn’t have the diversity of 15 different celestial spirits close by. Though it happened that he’d feel annoyed when she ignored clear instructions once again, causing double the amount of damage that was necessary for the mission. He suspected he was learning how it must have been working with him all these years.

Natsu couldn’t help but act like a busybody when it came to Lucy. He had promised himself to stay out of her business, but when he heard that she was looking thinner, he worried she didn’t have enough money for both rent and food: soon he started slipping a couple of thousand jewells to her landlady. Just so she’d keep her eye on Lucy for him.

One day he saw her there, in the guild, at the table with Levy and Cana. Before she noticed he was there she looked almost exactly like she used to: radiant, happy, gorgeous. The second she laid her eyes on him, her entire aura changed. With it, her normal appearance seemed to fade away as well. Suddenly he saw every pore in her face, felt her ragged breath in the air, noticed deep under eye bags contrasting the paleness of her skin. Her cheeks were sunken in and her muscles deflated – had he done this to her?

That’s when he started with the sympathy-smiles. He felt as stupid doing them as she probably felt receiving them, but before he could get out of it, it had become a habit. He’d draw the left side of his mouth, his lips pressed together as the corner of his mouth tried to turn into something of a smile, though it’d fail every time before it had a chance to turn upwards. Everytime he did it, he’d hear her swallow hard, smell tears in her eyes, and he’d feel the burning eyes of any fellow dragon slayers in the room – they all blamed him.

Natsu wasn’t sure he enjoyed living life like this. He loved her, without a doubt: they had finally become a couple, enjoying their date nights to the fullest. But even though he considered her a kindred spirit, he felt like something was missing. He wanted some contrast in their relationship. They could talk about something, find a word they didn’t quite understand, and then… silence. Silence where Lucy would kindly take her time and explain the word, its origin and how it was used: often with a couple of synonyms as well. That was how he even knew the word synonym. It was all thanks to Lucy.

Once, when they were thirty minutes into an intimate session, Natsu accidentally called out her name. Not her name, but Lucy’s. A faint whisper, right by her ear, making her jump out of bed quicker than he’d ever seen her move before.

“What did you just say?” She was grasping at her clothes, gathering them from the floor, distraught painted all over her face. “Lucy?”

Natsu fell over in bed, hurrying to cover his goods with the blanket.

“I- I don’t know. I didn’t mean to,” he tried. It was in vain, he realised, as he watched her blue curls swoosh with her very violent shaking of her head.

“No. It’s- it’s too weird, Natsu. I’ve known that you’ve loved her for a really long time, but I was stupid to think I could make you get over her.” She had tears prickling the corners of her eyes, though it looked like she was keeping them in check for now. She’d probably let them out as soon as he was out of sight. She tended to do that. Cover up any sign of weakness in case Natsu’s opinion of her would change. Maybe it would. He wasn’t so sure of himself anymore.

“Love? I don’t- not with her,” Natsu pressed his lips into a thin line, like his mouth had grown accustomed to recently. He never seemed to do his signature grin anymore: there was always something stopping him.

“How couldn’t it be love, Natsu? You always talk about her, you’ve preached to me how she changed your life! You’re one of the most romantic people I’ve ever met, but you were never romantic with me. It wasn’t me who you uprooted a tree for. It wasn’t me you turned into a demon for.” Her bottom lip quivered. “I know you want to love me. Maybe you do. But it will never compare. I’m sorry. Let’s end this here.”

Maybe she was right. Natsu watched her as she pulled on her pants and her shirt. He didn’t feel like stopping her from leaving. He didn’t like seeing her cry, but he wasn’t ready to do anything in his power to stop her. Though, his resolve on crying girls had been weak since some time back, considering that he didn’t drop everything in his life to stop Lucy from doing it. He’d become very similar to guys he had no respect for: he hated this.

When she was almost out the door, she stopped a second. Just a split second, hoping that he’d run forward to stop her. A quick glance over her shoulder: he looked like he was in his own world. She wasn’t sure he had ever really cared about her. In her eyes, they were practically kids, just swept away in the heat of the moment. His short obsession with her had only been a quick infatuation in comparison to what he had with Lucy. Everywhere they went, on every date, every topic: Lucy had seemed like a third party in their relationship. He spoke of her like she was the greatest person in the world, and though she couldn’t help but harbor a tiny bit of resentment for her, she also knew that Lucy must be a pretty amazing girl if she had managed to capture a flighty guy like Natsu.

__________

Natsu stayed at that hotel for a couple of days. He’d only told people he’d be gone for the night, back in the morning again, but they didn’t come looking for him despite his brief disappearance. He still couldn’t completely grasp what he’d done, but with every hour in that bed, the place he’d called out for Lucy instead of her in the depths of his passion, he found himself deeper in his realisations: he had fucked up.

He laid in unrest under the tan covers of the hotel duvet. He’d spent the last six months in his life in a daze, and now everything was rushing back to him in waves of regret, making him feel ill. He didn’t know how to fix this: life had turned upside down. He had messed up so badly, leaving his perfect life with Lucy and the guild, for a brief period to feel like a normal, shitty guy in puberty. Was it worth it? Destroying years of intimate friendship, breaking up the best team Fairy Tail had ever seen, leaving Happy behind to have irresponsible fun with a girl he barely knew?

He appreciated the time he’d gotten to spend with her, he really did, but it didn’t compare. Nothing gave him the sense of satisfaction that he’d reach from succeeding at a really silly prank in Lucy’s house. She didn’t give him the butterflies Lucy had given him when she traced flowers on his shoulder in the dead of night. 

Natsu was still confused. The relationships he’d experienced were so vastly different: but didn’t he do everything right? He gave the nasty love a chance, to save his love for Lucy from the dirtiness. He thought he’d juggled the two of them, one would fill his body’s desires and the other his soul’s. Lucy wouldn’t have to see him as the horrid person he really was behind closed doors. She got to see everything else: his happiness, sadness, everything that made him the person he wanted to be. Surely she wouldn’t accept him if she knew the dirty dreams that would leave his underwear soaked in the morning. He didn’t accept that version of himself: how could she?

When he stood up from his fetal position in his bed, and finally went to the bathroom to wash his face, he didn’t recognise the person looking back at him in the mirror. It was him, technically. Pink hair, sharp, monolid eyes, pointy teeth. But he had wrinkles between his light eyebrows, his mouth couldn’t curl into his normal grin: his eyes didn’t follow his commands. He pulled at his cheek. Those lips had kissed her more times than he could count. They felt dry, and looked pale in the reflection. These weren’t lips allowed to kiss someone as important as Lucy. No, he was completely inadequate. His hair was choppy, after having tried to cut it back to his normal lengths with a pair of kitchen scissors. Cancer wasn’t able to help him with that anymore, but he missed how soft his hair could feel after 5 minutes under Cancer’s care.

His neck looked thin and stretched out, faint marks from passionate kissing the night before, still left on the sides. For some time he’d at least be able to cover it up with his scarf. His eyes continued to scan what the reflection showed him: his bronzy skin had a gray tint, his hair looked duller, and then those eyes. A bit red from not getting any sleep last night, but more importantly: they had completely lost whatever sparkle they had before. He wasn’t sure when he’d last taken a good look at himself – maybe this dullness came from the break up with her, but honestly? Deep down he knew he’d lost it months ago. It was like the horrible actions he’d consistently made had slowly desaturated him, leaving him an empty shell of what he once was. There was a time when he was proud of what he saw: he was righteous, tough and had a fiery determination – where had it gone?

He threw his scarf back on and went back to bed. Could he really deal with Lucy when he came back? Would she let him talk to her? He wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t. But in a way, he thought he owed her at least the truth. He wasn’t completely sure what the truth was yet: if it was his love for Lucy he wanted to convey, or his regret over his past actions.

The thoughts churned in his mind like a storm that refused to settle. He turned in bed, his body refusing to settle. Soon enough the night was there again, coming back to taunt him: keep him up at night and make him reflect on the life that had led him up to this. It was all his fault. He had to gather himself though. Not able to figure out where to start, knowing this couldn’t go on. He owed Lucy something – an apology, a confession, or maybe just the clean cut, yet gory truth about what a mess he had become. Even if she slammed the door in his face, even if she never spoke to him again, he needed to face her. He needed to fix at least one broken thing in his life, even if it wasn’t repairable.

Morning light streamed in through the thin hotel curtains. It painted the room in soft, warm tones that felt at odds with the cold knot in his chest. Natsu sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped tightly together as if trying to stop them from shaking. He’d never felt fear like this – not when he faced dragons, dark guilds, or any of the countless battles he’d endured. No, this was different. This was the fear of standing in front of someone he loved and knowing he had ruined everything.

His scarf felt heavier on his shoulders as he adjusted it. It smelled faintly of ash and campfire – a comforting remnant of the person he used to be. He clung to that thought as he forced himself to his feet. Every step toward the door felt like dragging a mountain, but he kept moving. He didn’t pack anything; there was nothing worth keeping from this place except the lesson it had burned into him.

The guild would notice his return soon enough, and he had no illusions about the reception waiting for him. Anger, disappointment, maybe even indifference – he wasn’t sure which would be worse. But none of it mattered. His focus wasn’t on Fairy Tail, nor on repairing his reputation. He wasn’t coming back to make amends with the guild. He was coming back for Lucy.

As he stepped out into the bustling street, the cool morning air hit his face, and for the first time in days, he took a deep breath. It didn’t cleanse him, not really, but it steadied his steps. He didn’t have a plan, and his words were as jumbled as his thoughts. All he had was the drive to see her, to stand in front of her and let her see what he couldn’t put into words.

Because if there was one person in this world who could look at him, broken and lost, and still see something worth saving, it was Lucy. And for that, he owed her everything.

__________

The streets leading to Lucy’s apartment felt eerily familiar, but every step carried a weight he couldn’t shake. Magnolia was alive as always – shopkeepers setting up for the day, townsfolk chatting – but the world seemed muted to him. His thoughts drowned out the noise, focusing only on the path ahead. He didn’t dare to look up, in case he’d see any familiar faces. The shame and guilt he dragged along him surely made his face look contorted, ugly and fake.

He stopped in front of Lucy’s building and tilted his head up. Her window was closed, curtains drawn. Was she even home? The question almost made him turn around. But his feet refused to move, as if the ground had anchored him there. He couldn’t run anymore.

The staircase felt steeper than usual as he climbed to her door, the wooden railing creaking under his grip. When he finally stood outside her apartment, he stared at the engraved number on the door, a number he’d never thought twice about before. Now it felt like a barrier, daring him to go through with this. 7. The number that had haunted him throughout his life: sometimes as an omen, other times as a sign of luck. He wasn’t sure what it represented today, but he knew he’d been blind for its positive connections for too many years.

His fist hovered near the door. For a moment, he hesitated, his knuckles shaking slightly. What if she didn’t answer? Worse, what if she did? What would he even say?

Natsu gritted his teeth, swallowed the thickness in his throat as his stomach protested in turmoil, and forced the thoughts away. He’d come this far; there was no turning back now. Taking a deep breath, he knocked firmly on the door.

The sound echoed in the narrow hallway, louder than he anticipated. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of his breathing. Then, faint footsteps.

The doorknob turned, and the door opened just enough for Lucy’s face to peek out. Her expression was unreadable—neutral, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of surprise.

“Natsu?” she asked softly, her voice cautious. Her face was tense, like she was forcing away whatever her feelings tried to express through it.

He opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat. Her gaze was steady, and for the first time in months, he felt like the world had stopped moving. He hadn’t seen her face this close in months. He didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry. It was her, his Lucy in the flesh. No, not his Lucy. He couldn’t call her that anymore. He hadn’t been able to for a long time.

“Hey,” he managed to croak out, voice low. He fidgeted with the edge of his scarf, trying to find the courage to say what he’d rehearsed in his head on the way here. “Can we… Can we talk?”

Lucy’s eyes searched his face, and whatever she saw there made her pause. She stepped back slightly, the door opening just a little wider. The air from her apartment leaked out, filling his nose with the wonderful nostalgia of their past life together. His heart ached. He had missed this so much.

“Yeah,” she said, after what felt like an eternity. “Come in.”

Natsu stepped inside, his heart pounding. He looked around, seeing her books stacked in neat piles and her celestial keys resting on the coffee table. Everything was just as he remembered, yet it felt like years had passed since he’d been here. He didn’t see any signs of the life they had lived together in there: the space he’d been given once to put his shoes in the hallway was filled with a pair of her sneakers. He didn’t see his coffee cup anywhere, waiting for him to return for it. The extra chair by the dinner table was gone as well, likely to distract her from the space it held for Natsu.

Lucy closed the door behind him and crossed her arms, leaning against it. “So?” she prompted, her tone guarded but not cold. How was she so calm? No, that wasn’t fair of him. She was probably experiencing the same internal emotional whirlwind that he was: she had just been able to practice hiding it.

Natsu took a deep breath. His fists clenched at his sides as he met her gaze.

“Can… we sit?”

Lucy hesitated for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly, as if trying to decide whether she wanted to let this conversation happen. Finally, with a small nod, she gestured to the couch.

“Sure,” she said, her tone clipped. “Go ahead.”

Natsu moved toward the couch but paused before sitting. The cushions were the same ones he’d sprawled out on countless times, but now they felt alien, like he didn’t belong here anymore. He glanced over his shoulder at Lucy, who had yet to move from the door. She watched him silently, her arms still crossed.

“You can sit too,” he mumbled, his voice faltering.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but after a moment, she pushed off the door and walked over, sitting in the armchair opposite him instead. The distance between them felt vast, and Natsu couldn’t tell if it was the physical space or the emotional wall she had carefully raised.

“So,” Lucy said, breaking the silence. Her tone was sharper now, though not unkind. “What do you want to talk about, Natsu?”

He fidgeted, running his hand through his messy hair and pulling at the fraying ends of his scarf. Words fought to form in his throat, but they all felt wrong, inadequate. He lowered his gaze to the floor, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Lucy let out a soft, humorless laugh. “For what?”

Her response caught him off guard. He looked up, startled, and found her staring at him, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp.

“For… ya’ know… everything,” he said, his tongue feeling thick and clumsy. “How I let our relationship get all… messed up.” His fists clenched on his lap. They felt clammy. “I didn’t know how to deal with stuff, and I – I hurt you. I know I did. And I’m sorry.”

Lucy didn’t respond immediately. She leaned back in the chair, her fingers tracing the armrest as she studied him. He hated how he’d lost the ability to read her. Either he didn’t know how anymore, or she had decided that he wasn’t allowed to: that he would handle her emotions too poorly. He didn’t blame her.

“You’re right,” she said finally, her voice quieter now, tinged with a sadness she couldn’t fully mask. “You did hurt me. I’m embarrassed to admit that, but you… you really did.” She crossed her arms over her stomach, like she was trying to protect it from Natsu, like he’d dig her insides out if left unguarded. “Do you even know what that felt like?”

“I-” His throat tightened, and he looked down again, unable to meet her gaze. “I’m sorry, you gotta understand that I’m bad with words, I-”

“Do I?” She cut in, her voice cutting his heart open. “Do I always have to understand? Because honestly, Natsu? That’s not fair.”

He looked up at her in dismay. She looked like she was fighting tears. Did he really make her feel like this? He wanted to die. Gulping hard, he shook his head.

“N-no. Of course you don’t. That’s…” his voice mellowed out. “... my fault.”

Lucy didn’t answer. She was still waiting for his explanation – why he was here, why he’d found another girl and now didn’t seem to have her in his head anymore. She was still so confused.

“I don’t think I can give you an explanation you want to hear,” he shamefully laid out, observing Lucy’s cautious body language. “I’ll try, but… I’m not even sure where to begin.”

“How- why? Why her? Where did it all come from? Because… back when you still hadn’t met her, I thought the two of us were heading somewhere.” The blush on Lucy’s cheeks could have been from embarrassment or fighting off angry tears: Natsu couldn’t tell. And hearing these questions, he understood that he didn’t have an explanation at all. Because those questions were all without good answers; only words that didn’t carry any weight to them could even begin to describe Natsu’s explanation. Still, he had to give her something.

“I’m not sure when it started, or what got into me.” He felt like a child, trying to face the consequences of his mistakes head on. “I was so happy and content with what we had, it was so perfect. But I… Well, I’m not perfect. I wanted to have an outlet of some sort, and I knew from around the guild that the need I had- or, I guess, still have, is dirty. I couldn’t do that to you.”

Natsu wasn’t sure how Lucy was taking this. He didn’t dare to look at her, in case she was looking disgusted. His eyes were pinpointed to a stain on the coffee table. That’s how he felt: stained and unwanted. Still, he kept talking.

“So when I met her I thought I had the chance to relieve that need. She was nice, pretty and funny, and she seemed to be on board with that initial plan. But I quickly got greedy and thought that I could have you both. Then it got so intense that it all just escalated, and before I knew it there was no turning back. I had a girlfriend and she wasn’t you.”

His ears were making a buzzing sound. There was so much regret inside of him that his senses got dull, and no matter how much he tried to listen for Lucy, he didn’t hear her. She felt out of reach.

“I just… wanted to feel normal,” he concluded. “Everyone else experienced romance, I was… jealous, I think. But I didn’t dare to approach you about it back then. You’re so… perfect. I’m disgusting in comparison. I have impure desires, and I thought that… maybe, just maybe, I could handle those on the side, while still being with you. I never wanted our relationship to change. It’s always been too important, too pure. I didn’t want to jeopardize it.”

Natsu shifted uncomfortably on the couch, his fingers gripping the edge of his scarf like it might hold him together. He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again, glancing down at his hands as he twisted the fabric tighter. He had nothing more to tell her. He’d opened his heart for her, and now his foot tapped against the floor in an uneven rhythm, filling the silence Lucy was yet to break.

“Did…” Her voice cracked. “Did you love her?”

Natsu froze at her question. The air in the room had already felt thick, pressing down on him with all the weight he’d just put out, but now it felt suffocating. He opened his mouth to answer, but the words felt like they were stuck in his chest. Did he love her? He thought he did at the time – hell, he was sure of it. It felt like the right answer, the right thing to say. But now, at this moment, the truth was much harder to pinpoint.

“I-” Natsu’s voice caught, and he slowly shook his head. “I thought I did. I thought I loved her... at first. It felt like... like something real. Something I’d never felt before.”

He finally dared to look up at her, and caught her gaze just as it softened, but her arms remained crossed, as though holding herself together against the uncertainty in his words. 

“But you don’t know now, do you?”

“I... don’t.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration building inside him. “It’s hard to explain. With her, it felt intense, and passionate... like I was... alive, you know? But it wasn’t the same as with you. Not like this.”

Lucy leaned forward slightly, her eyes watching him with careful understanding. “Natsu,” she said gently, “forgive me if I’m wrong, but I think that that wasn’t love. I think… that it was infatuation. Maybe lust. It probably felt intense because it was new, and because you were looking for something you thought was missing. But… I don’t think it was love.”

Natsu stared at her, his chest tight as he absorbed her words. “I... I thought I loved her,” he said quietly, his eyes darting to the floor. “But maybe you’re right. Though… now I don’t even know what love really is.” His voice trailed off.

Lucy exhaled slowly.

“Natsu,” she began, her voice quiet but firm, “I understand you felt something for her. But... lust isn’t something you need to hide or be ashamed of. It doesn’t make you a bad person. But it’s not love.” She paused, her expression unreadable. “Love... love is deeper. It’s not just about attraction, it’s about connection. About seeing the worst of someone and still choosing to be there. I don’t think you understand that yet.”

Natsu’s eyes flickered down, and he clenched his jaw. 

“I know it’s different with you,” he said quietly. “I thought I loved her. I... did love her, I guess. But now... I’m not even sure what that was..” Taking a deep breath didn’t help calm his frustration. Why was this so damn complicated? “With you, I always knew it was different. I knew that what I felt for you wasn’t like what I felt for her. It wasn’t just about the physical stuff. It’s always been… more. But I was scared... that I’d ruin all we had.”

“What left is there to ruin though, Natsu?” She was soft spoken, but frank. Natsu knew she was right: he knew his rendezvous meetings with her had crumbled the relationship that he had hoped he and Lucy could keep. He messed up.

Lucy’s arms tightened across her stomach, her face softening but still distant. “You didn’t need to be perfect, Natsu,” she told him, her voice colder than before. “I never needed that from you. Didn’t you think to ask me what I wanted?”

Before Natsu could stop himself, he felt his eyebrow rise a notch. Lucy cleared her throat.

“I’m going to be honest. I didn’t know you valued purity that high. If I’d known, I’d gladly talk to you about it, help you through it. Lust was never the impure thing: our guild mates were the ones treating it as such.”

Natsu swallowed. He still wasn’t sure he had understood her. Lucy catched on quickly, and continued her explanation.

“Look; sex isn’t beneath me. It isn’t dirty – it’s neutral at the least, wonderful, loving and fulfilling in most cases. I don’t blame you for being confused, but what you did, how you treated both sex and her was wrong. Keeping that up wasn’t fair to her or me. But most importantly,” she reached out and poked on his left pec, “it’s not fair to you.”

That poke had felt like an arrow, killing the voice that had been justifying his actions up until now.

“I know,” he said, voice raw, like every word was a struggle. He didn’t dare to hide his shame. Why hide anything, when the cards were out on the table like this? “I know I screwed up. I just... I couldn’t deal with it. I couldn’t face it.” His fists clenched at his sides, the tension in his shoulders tight.

Lucy’s expression softened slightly, but her eyes were still wary. Instead of removing her hand from him, she softly cupped his face. Already he felt like she was purifying him, her touch holly.

“You’re facing it now though. That’s more than I can say that I’ve done. I’m sorry for not catching… all of this… earlier.” She took an airy breath before she continued. “You haven’t ruined everything though,” she added slowly, her tone quieter. “But if you don’t stop running, I don’t know what’ll be left to fix.”

Natsu’s breath hitched, and for the first time, he felt the weight of her words sink in. He leaned forward slightly, into her hand.

“I’m not perfect, Lucy,” he muttered, voice rough with regret, but there was a determination in his eyes. “But I want to try. If you’ll let me.”

Natsu’s words hit her like a physical blow, but Lucy swallowed the sting before it could show. She tried to steady herself, to push past the tsunami of emotions that was threatening to wash over her, but her chest felt tight. He was so honest, so vulnerable in a way she hadn’t seen in what felt like forever. It was painful, but somehow, it was also… so familiar. It hit her: she had missed him.

“I missed you,” she finally whispered, voice thick as she still held back tears. “But I didn’t just miss you, Natsu.” She hesitated, her hands unconsciously tightening into fists at her sides. “I missed… us. I missed the stupid little things we used to do. And it hurts. God, it hurts. Because every time I saw your face after everything, it felt like... like my heart was pulled in two.”

She looked like she was searching for something in his eyes, something that confirmed that he understood what he’d done. Not until her thumb slowly dried a tear off his face, did he realise that he had started to cry.

“I didn’t know how to keep going without you in my life. And now... I don’t know where we’re supposed to go from here.”

The silence that followed made it ring in Natsu’s ears. He stood still, the guilt in his chest growing heavier with each word. He wanted to speak, to apologize, but nothing felt like it could make up for the emptiness he had left behind. How could he explain to her that he never meant for it to go this far? That he had been terrified of facing what he felt for her?

“Lucy,” he started, taking a shaky breath. He only now realised he’d been holding it. “I messed up, badly. I was scared of... everything. Scared of not being enough for you, scared of being too much, scared of losing what we had. I didn’t know how to deal with what I was feeling, so I... ran. Tried to find it elsewhere. I know that doesn’t excuse anything, but I never wanted to hurt you. I didn’t know things would end up like this.”

Lucy carefully observed him, her expression unreadable for a moment, then she sighed. “Natsu, I get that you were confused,” she said, her voice quieter, more guarded. “But you still chose her. And that’s not something I can just forget. I wanted us to do so many things. But you weren’t there. I know I’m partially to blame, because I didn’t approach you either, but… you weren’t there for me.” Her shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of her own hurt sinking in. “I just... I don’t know if I can go back to that. I don’t know if I can trust that you won’t… replace me again.”

The tension between them thickened, and Natsu swallowed hard, his stomach twisting. He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. He hadn’t known how to be vulnerable before; he didn’t know how to start now, not with the mess he had made of everything.

Lucy continued, her gaze still wary.

“You weren’t perfect. I didn’t need you to be perfect, Natsu. I just needed you to be here. And you weren’t.” She let out a shaky breath, and for the first time, Natsu saw the pure agony in her eyes, the raw exhaustion of someone who had been holding on for too long. “I don’t know if I’m ready to try again. I don’t know if you’re ready, either.”

The words stung more than he’d expected. He had wanted to make it right, to find a way back to her, but he didn’t know if she could ever feel the same way again. For all he knew, this was the end for them. The real end. Still, he wasn’t ready to let go. Not yet.

“I want to try,” he said, his voice low but firm, his eyes never leaving hers. “I’ll prove it to you. Please.”

The silence between them stretched, thick and suffocating, like it was waiting for them to figure out how to breathe again. Natsu’s chest was tight, his heart hammering in his ribcage like it had never known stillness. His hands clenched at his sides, unsure of what to do with all this feeling that had nowhere to go. Lucy’s gaze stayed fixed on him, the distance between them too much, but too little. She didn’t pull away, not physically. But her eyes were guarded, like they always were now, like she was still trying to keep herself safe. Natsu wasn’t sure what he was doing, but the need to reach for her, to close the space, was so overwhelming he could barely think straight.

His breath hitched, and before he could second-guess it, his body moved forward, drawn to her like he had been all those months ago. There was a hesitation in her eyes, a softness to the way she looked at him that he hadn’t seen in so long. It was like she was still here, in a way he hadn’t expected. That didn't make everything okay of course. She was still hurt, still unsure, but there was something flickering in the way her lips parted slightly as he moved closer.

And then he kissed her.

It wasn’t anything spectacular. It wasn’t smooth or fluid or anything that could undo the mess they’d made. It was desperate, almost clumsy, two people trying to find something familiar in a sea of unfamiliarity. His lips brushed against hers, too hesitant at first, like he was afraid he would break her if he pressed too hard. But the feeling was there, just underneath everything, unrefined. The taste of her, the touch of her, something that felt so real it almost made him dizzy. 

Maybe, if he lingered long enough, could he transfer all the words he wanted to say to her, but couldn’t because of a lack of vocabulary; let her feel the emotions he did, as he was more than willing to receive hers. Maybe this kiss could spackle their cracked relationship.

When they pulled away, the world around them still felt heavy to Natsu’s disappointment. Lucy didn’t look at him at first, her gaze somewhere far away. But when she did, her eyes were a mix of things – of confusion, of hurt, of something that looked like relief, all tangled together.

“I’m not... not ready,” she whispered, voice trembling, tears filling her eyes. “I don’t know if I ever will be. But I can’t... I can’t pretend like I don’t feel something, too. I don’t want to let go.”

The words stung, sharper than anything he expected. But it wasn’t rejection. Not really. She wasn’t telling him to leave, to forget everything. She was telling him that they were both still stuck in this. She was still afraid to fall into it, but she wasn’t pushing him away.

Natsu’s throat tightened, and for the hundredth time today, he couldn’t find the words. The guilt of what he had done – of hurting her – was still heavy, suffocating, but at least there was a chance now. A chance to do something different, to prove that he was willing to face whatever came next, no matter how hard it was.

“I don’t know what happens next,” he murmured, his voice rough. “But I’m here. I want to try. I won’t... I won’t give up on us.”

Lucy’s breath caught. There was a flicker in her eyes, a tiny thing that reminded him of the way she used to look at him – soft, but strong, and maybe a little broken. She didn’t know what to say, either, but she could see the sincerity in his eyes, the unwavering determination there, and something in her, something deep inside, softened. She didn’t have all the answers, but she knew one thing: she wanted this.

“I’m not sure either,” she said quietly, her voice calm now, steady. “But I know we can figure it out. We’ll work through it. Together.”

And in that moment, Natsu felt the weight of her words, the promise layed out in front of them. They weren’t whole yet, they weren’t where they used to be, but the foundation was still there – strong, despite everything. They had something real.

And as they sat there, just a little closer than before, Natsu realized that maybe the future wasn’t so uncertain after all. They had a long road ahead of them, sure, but they’d walk it together.

[mbat]

i wish i could just press a button and fixate honestly. i miss fixating

[mssorceressupreme]

Let The World Burn

——— Pairing: Hwang In-Ho (or Young-Il) x reader

Summary: In-Ho would let the world burn for you, developing a huge soft spot and love for you, once you die in his arms, he’s determined to make sure everyone pays for it

Warnings: reader!death, angst, mentions of gunshots, daeho has ptsd, violence, swearing, mentions of blood, deaths

a/n: reader doesn’t know he’s the frontman fyi

———

The arena was a hellscape. The air smelled of gunpowder and fear, screams mingling with the deafening sound of gunfire. Shadows darted in and out of your vision as frantic players pushed past you, some tripping over fallen bodies, others using them as shields.

Every step you took felt like a battle against the tide of selfish desperation.

You clutched the heavy bag of bullets to your chest, your heart pounding wildly. Somewhere out there, Young-il was fighting, orchestrating this mess while holding together the fragile remnants of control.

Dae-ho cowered behind the bunk beds, leaning with his legs to his chest on his bunk bed, his hands trembling as he peeked out.

You’d told him to stay put, and thankfully, he listened. You couldn’t blame him for being terrified—it was every man for himself now, and his fear was written all over his face.

“Stay here,” you had told him, squeezing his shoulder as the fear and panic grew in his eyes. “I’ll find Young-il and Gi-hun. You’ll be okay, alright? I'll come back for you, you just stay put here.” You comforted, he trembled with fear, clutching his legs tighter at every gun shot.

He nodded, wide-eyed, and you’d forced yourself to turn away before the weight of the situation could settle over you. Now, pushing through the chaos, your focus narrowed. You had to find Young-il.

“Young-il!” you screamed, your voice raw as you ran through the area, running up the stairs, dodging bullets and panicked players. “Young-il!” It felt like a never-ending maze of death.

He was there, standing in the midst of the chaos like a storm given human form. His sharp features twisted in determination, his dark eyes scanning the crowd as he dodged bullets and ran from the chaos. You called out to him again, louder, but he didn’t hear you over the deafening sounds of death and desperation.

Before you could reach him, a frantic player shoved you from behind. You stumbled, dropping the bag of ammo and as you bent down to pick it up, a sharp burning pain ripped through your side. BANG! The world spun as your knees buckled. The ground was cold and unforgiving when you hit it, the bullets spilling out of the bag and scattering across the floor.

It was a surreal kind of agony, blinding and consuming. You tried to breathe, but it felt like your lungs had been punched.

Blood was warm against your hands as you pressed them to the wound, your vision blurring as tears welled in your eyes.

You tried again, your voice trembling as you whispered, “Young-il…”

Through the haze, you saw him turn, his eyes landing on you. For a moment, time froze. His face- usually so unreadable, so carefully controlled, cracked with raw emotion. Horror. Rage. Despair. He saw you.

And then he ran.

“Young-il...” you tried to say again, but the sound barely left your lips.

When he reached you, he dropped to his knees, his hands immediately pressing over yours to stem the bleeding.

“No,” he whispered, his voice shaking as his eyes darted across your body, assessing the damage.

“No, no, no! NOT HER!” His voice rose as he turned his fury to the guards, his tone sharper than a blade. “She’s not a target for fucks sake!”

His words carried the weight of command, but the guards hesitated only briefly. Young-il didn’t wait for an answer.

His focus snapped back to you, his hands trembling as he cradled you against his chest.

“Stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “Please, you have to stay with me. I can fix this. Just hold on, okay? Please.”

You blinked up at him, your breaths coming in shallow gasps. “Young-il…” His name was the only thing you could manage, but it was enough to draw his gaze back to you, his dark eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Don’t talk,” he said quickly, his hands pressing harder against your wound. “Save your strength. You’re going to be fine. I promise.”

There was a desperation in his voice that you’d never heard before, a vulnerability that broke through his steely exterior. It was almost enough to make you believe him. Almost.

A small, weak smile tugged at your lips. “You… always so serious,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I wanted… to help.”

“And you did,” he said fiercely, his voice trembling. “You did more than enough. Just stay. Please stay!"

Your hand, slick with blood, reached up to touch his face. He flinched at the contact, but didn’t pull away. “Thank you,” you whispered. “For caring.”

“No, no, no…” His voice cracked as your hand slipped away, falling limply to your side. “Don’t you dare…” His words dissolved into a choked sob as he pulled you closer. "FUCK!" He cried aloud, rocking you gently in his arms.

The chaos around him seemed to fade into nothingness as he held you, now lifeless, his world crumbling in his arms. His tears fell freely now, staining your already bloodied clothes. He pressed his forehead to yours, his breath ragged and uneven. "My Y/N..." he whispered. "My Y/N..."

And then, the grief turned to something darker.

When he finally looked up, his face was a mask of cold fury. He laid you down gently, brushing a hand over your face to close your eyes. Then he rose, his movements slow, deliberate.

The guard who had shot you barely had time to react before Young-il shot bullet which tore through his chest. One shot. Then another. And another. Now limp, the guard fell to the ground, dead.

“Young-il” Gi-hun’s voice called, but it was drowned out by the sound of gunfire as Young-il turned his wrath on the rest. He didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate. For a mere second, you had given him a glimmer of hope, he had reconsidered his actions for a short moment in time. He even thought about ending the games and running away to take care of you, and only you. But no, now, he remembered who he truly was. The man who had once orchestrated the games with calculated precision was gone, replaced by someone unrecognisable—a man consumed by amplified vengeance and grief. A man with no mercy. A man with no heart. Every last bit of empathy, washed away.

“For her,” he muttered under his breath as he fired another shot. “For her.”

Young-il had lost everything before. But losing you? That was a wound that would never heal. For you, he would destroy it all. Let the world burn. Let them all pay.