#don’t get me where the first one came from

[mywritersmind]

DO NOT DISTURB - LN4

summary : In which an early morning surprise comes in the form of Max Verstappen staring at his little sister in his rivals jacket.

listen up : swearing! maxverstappenssister!reader

words : 982

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The constant banging on the door woke me up with a groan. I didn’t think before slipping out of bed, rubbing my eyes and slumping my way to the door to see dare bother me so early. I put the do not disturb on last night!

I twisted the handle, running a hand through my hair and peak my head out. Now, you know that feeling when your stomach drops on a rollarcoater? When you’re driving a little too fast and slam your foot on the break because you are not going to make that light? That feeling that you get when you get caught.

I immediately regret it.

I immediately regret it because my brother is staring at me, his mouth open and his eyes wide. I try to slam the door shut because in my groggy haze, I forgot that i’m not in my room.

The feeling of Lando’s jacket on me suddenly takes over as I scream and push my back against the door. Max fights back instantly, not letting it close as I struggle to hold him off.

“What the fuck!?” He bangs on the door, “Y/n!?”

My eyes go to the bed where a lazy figure sits up, clearly confused until Max pushes the door open, my heels dragging on the floor in a last ditch attempt to stop him.

“Shit.” Is all Lando says, practically falling out of bed and standing up. He’s in pajama pants only and normally I would grin stupidly at his naked chest but i’m pretty sure i’m about to be murdered.

“Yeah, Shit!” Max slams the door behind him as I back away quickly, “Someone better start talking!”

See, I didn’t mean to start hooking up with my brother's rival/friend! But Lando Norris had his eyes set on me and even though at the time I thought it was just for bragging rights or a one night stand, he kept coming back.

“Um…” Lando’s voice is still scratchy from sleep as he looks at me, panicked.

“We’re dating!” I say quickly as Lando’s eyes get wide and he takes a step back. Max steps forward, something new that i’ve never seen on his face. He seems to try to find words, opening and closing his mouth a hundred times with hand gestures to match.

He stops, slapping his hand against his mouth, “I told you to stay away you little-” He screams at Lando and I suddenly wonder if he’s woken up the whole floor.

“I tried but your sisters hot, mate…” This gets Lando slammed up against the wall with a bloody grin on his face.

“Lando!” I scream, not because I'm scared for him, but because he’s being a little shit about it.

He’s wanted to tell Max for months and at times, I did too! Most of our friends our suspicious or completely know but Max is my brother. And a very protective one at that.

Hence, my boyfriend slammed against a wall.

“I will fucking destroy you, Norris.”

“Go ahead, Max. But when you do I want you to imagine me coming home to a Verstappen who really likes and pittys me.” Fucking hell he’s a complete cunt and I have to pretend it’s not hot as hell.

“Will you two stop!?” Is all I say when I see Max genuinely raise a fist! He backs away from Lando and starts pacing. I look at my curly haired who has a cheeky grin on his face. “Shut it.” I mumble and come closer to my brother.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” He looks at me and it’s the first time I realize he might be genuinely hurt.

“I knew you’d react like this.” I cross my arms, getting embarrassed that my big brother is disappointed in me.

“No, I reacted like this because I came to my friend's hotel room only to find my baby sister in his clothes!” Okay so maybe I should have told him earlier…

“It’s my fault, I didn’t want to tell.” Lando cuts in.

“No, don’t.” I groan, hating taking responsibility for my own actions, “Lando wanted to tell you. He did, actually! You both may have been piss drunk but still, he really wanted to.”

“Like me more now?” I can hear the smile in Lando’s voice as my brother blinks.

“No.”

“Anyway!” I eye Lando, “We’re dating. And I know I should have told you and you’re probably pissed-”

“Definitely pissed!” Max cuts in.

“But, I really like him.” I'm actually in love with him but I think that would make Max have a heart attack.

“You.” Max points to Lando who’s eyes widen, “You ever hurt her, Please remember that we have the same job, with the same danger, except i’ve been doing this a lot longer than you. I can play anything off as a track accident.”

Lando’s face drops as he looks to me, “Did he just threaten to kill me?” I smile and nod, “You Verstappens…”

“You threaten him before?”

I nod, “All the time.”

“Good.” Max lets out a dry laugh, walking towards the door. “I’m still pissed so don’t get any ideas about PDA around me, ever!” He pointedly says to Lando. “Ugh ew, I hate you both.”

“Love you too, Maxie.” I say with a smile and a sigh of relief.

“Hey, Max.” Lando walks up behind me and I'm already worried. My brother turns, his hand on the door, “While we’re here… we have another surprise.” Lando slips his hands over his jacket, holding my stomach. I slam my foot on his as he laughs and my brother looks at us with murder in his eyes.

I can’t help but laugh, leaning back into Lando as he holds me tighter. “Go back to your room, he’s a dick, I know!”

Then, Max does something I completely didn’t expect. He smiles.

[beloveds-embrace]

AND ALSO POLY!141

joking around and calling them your brothers and they go deathly silent because what do you mean tou don’t see them romantically? doesn’t matter if they’re already involved with each other they want you to be just as involved too.

also this is toxic but threatening your various dates, stalking them and taking them out (not in the romantic way) so they have an excuse to hold you close. you get comforted, and they get to embrace your warmth #win-win

Friendzoned? Nah, it’s bro-zoned now 😭

The one good thing about grueling and long missions- were the post-missions.

Without fail, each time, you’d be invited to their house where Price would grill up something delicious and juicy on the barbecue, and everyone would be able to unwind. You enjoyed that time, spending it and relaxing with them.

The dynamic you all shared was easy, comfortable, and fun- at least for you.

You rolled your eyes and tossed a fry at Johnny, who caught it in his mouth with a proud grin and wagged his eyebrows, daring you to try again. “You’re like an annoying big brother, you know that?” you huffed at last, a matching grin on your face.

Johnny froze mid-chew, but you didn’t notice, too busy thinking. “Actually… all of you are like annoying big brothers, now that I think about it.”

You chuckles at your own thought, grabbing another fry from your plate and popping it into your mouth without once realizing the shift in the atmosphere. You didn’t catch the way Soap’s grin had vanished completely or how Price’s hand tightened around the armrest of his chair. Gaz’s usual easy smile was gone, replaced with a cold, unreadable expression, and Ghost… well, Ghost’s dark stare had become a touch more menacing.

The silence hung heavy, but you were blissfully unaware, waving your hand dismissively when no one responded. Your focus was on your phone, scrolling through your social medias. “What? You all went quiet on me.”

Soap cleared his throat, but it came out strained, his voice low. “Brother, huh?”

You hummed absently. “Yeah, you know- family. You guys are my family. Like brothers, watching each other’s backs and all that.”

Price exhaled slowly, sitting back in his chair and running a hand over his beard. “Family.” He repeated, almost under his breath, his voice calm but tight.

Gaz tapped his fingers against the table once, then twice, before stopping abruptly. “Is that all we are to you?” he asked casually enough, though his tone carried an edge you didn’t catch.

“Of course,” you replied with a shrug, not bothering to look up from your food and phone. “I mean, it’d be weird to think of you any other way. You’re my team, my brothers-in-arms.”

You missed the way Ghost’s hands curled into fists on the table, his knuckles white, or the way Soap’s jaw clenched, demeanor replaced with something far darker. Price exchanged a look with Gaz, silent communication passing between them while you obliviously chewed on your steak, still oblivious to the storm brewing around you.

If you’d glanced up, even for a second, you might’ve noticed the way their gazes lingered on you- too intense, too sharp. But you didn’t. And they weren’t about to correct you.

Not yet, anyways.

The first time it happened, you didn’t connect the dots.

Your date, some charming guy you met at a café off base, canceled on you last minute, claiming he “didn’t feel safe” after someone left a threatening note on his car windshield. You shrugged it off as a weird coincidence- maybe it was the universe looking out for you, even. You didn’t want to be dragged into whatever that guy was stuck in.

The second time, a woman from the gym you’d been chatting with stopped replying to your texts entirely after she mentioned being followed home one night. You’d honestly tried to call and check on her, but she just… blocked you. Weird.

By the third time, when a guy you’d met on a dating app ghosted you entirely after his apartment was mysteriously broken into, you started to suspect something was up.

You mentioned it offhandedly to the team one evening, voice tinged with frustration. “I don’t know what’s going on, but every time I try to date someone, something weird happens. It’s like the universe doesn’t want me to find someone!”

Soap hummed, a little too casually, but you simply discarded that thought. “Maybe the universe knows what’s best for you, bonnie.”

Gaz leaned back in his chair, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Or maybe these people weren’t good enough for you anyway.”

“You’ve got us to look after you. Don’t need anyone else mucking things up.” Even Price added in his own two cents, making you pause.

You laughed, thinking they were joking, but Ghost’s silence was unsettling- actually, none of them were laughing. He just stared at you, his eyes glinting in a way that made your stomach twist. But that was normal for your L.T… even if it’s been quite a long while since he’s made you feel like that.

The fourth time, it wasn’t just a weird incident. It was a full-on assault.

You were on another date- though even you had to admit this one was just… not going well. He was too dismissive, too loud, and the first thing he’d said before you even sat down was that you’d split the bill, and then he made a comment about you eating too much.

You’d sent a simple text to the team groupchat, telling them you really weren’t enjoying this one, and they’d left you on read. Bastards.

But then you date had been walking you to your car when someone stepped out of the shadows- a big, familiar hulking figure in a balaclava. Your date didn’t even have time to react before they were on the ground, unconscious.

“Come on,” Simon said, gently but firmly clasping his hand around yours. You were too shocked to even say anything- what the fuck? “Let’s get you home.”

You didn’t argue. Your heart was pounding too hard, and Simon took advantage of that to guide you to his car.

“Simon-“

“No.”

And thus the silence continued.

When you got back to their house, the others were waiting for you. Price immediately pulled you into a hug before you could demand answers, his hands firm but gentle on your lower back. “You’re safe now.” He murmured, as if soothing an angry kitten lashing out at him from fear. Despite your confusion and the flurry of emotions swirling in your chest, the tension in your body began to melt anyways, always so trusting of your Captain.

Gaz’s hand brushed against yours as he handed you a steaming cup of tea immediately once Price let go of you. His smile was kind, but his eyes seemed… off. Too sharp. “Drink this, yeah? It’ll help.” He said, his fingers lingering a second too long before retreating.

Before you could question the strange atmosphere, Soap tugged you down to sit beside him on the couch. His arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you close as though you were on the verge of breaking. “You’ll be alright,” he murmured, tone light yet firm. “We’ve got you.”

Simon remained silent, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed. His presence loomed heavy in the room, his gaze never straying from you. It wasn’t comforting exactly- more like being caught in the sights of a predator lying in wait. Is this what the enemy soldiers thought and felt? You pitied them- but more than that you pitied yourself.

Your hands tightened around the warm mug, your confusion bubbling up like a shaken-up fizzy drink. “Okay, what the hell is going on?” You glanced between them, searching for answers. “Simon knocked out my date! What if he presses charges? And what’s with all this- this hovering?”

“Hovering?” Soap echoed, his arm tightening ever so slightly. “We’re making sure you’re alright, bonnie. That’s all. You said your date wasn’t good, no?”

Price leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he spoke calmly, like he was explaining something obvious to a stubborn recruit. “That man wasn’t worth your time. None of your dates have been. They can’t protect you- not the way we can.”

“What are you even talking about?” you demanded, finally pulling away from Soap’s hold. Yet the feeling of being a bleeding sheep surrounded by wolves didn’t abate. “You’ve been acting so weird lately- ever since I mentioned dating. If there’s something you’re not telling me, just spit it out!”

Gaz sighed, his tone carrying a note of exasperation as he leaned against the couch. “We’re trying to keep you safe, love. Every time you step out with someone, you’re putting yourself at risk. You don’t know these people like we do.”

Your stomach churned. “What do you mean-?”

Gaz chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it, and you did not laugh. “Do you think we’d let you go out with someone without knowing everything about them first? Their names, their jobs, their pasts…” His voice dropped, a edge bleeding into his words. “How to get rid of them.”

Your blood ran cold, and you stared between them. They were dead serious, you realized. “That’s… You’re joking, right? Tell me you’re joking.”

No one answered.

Simon pushed off the wall, his massive frame closing the distance between you in just a few steps. He crouched down in front of you, his dark eyes locking onto yours. You were essentially boxed in from all sides. “We’re not joking. You don’t need anyone else. You’ve got us.”

“…This isn’t normal.” You whispered, your voice shaky as you tried to process what you were hearing. “This- I don’t-“

“It is normal,” Price’s voice was steady and calm, eyes dark. “For us. For the people who care about you most.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as the implications of their words sank in. They weren’t just being overprotective or overbearing. They were sabotaging your dates, controlling who could get close to you, and now- God, had they hurt people? How many had they hurt? All those people- you-

Your hands trembled, though you braved on even if bravery was the last thing you felt. “You can’t just decide this for me. I’m not some possession you can keep to yourselves.”

“We’re not keeping you from anything you need,” Gaz spoke so softly, you could trick yourself into believing he was saying you could leave and this was all just a mean prank. “We’re protecting you from what you don’t.”

“You should be thanking us,” Proce sighed, pulling out a cigar to smoke. Yet his eyes did not leave you even once, not even for a single second. “We’re the reason you’ve been safe so far.”

Simon’s gloved hands rested on your knees, pinning you down to the couch. “We’ll take care of you,” he said, his voice low and almost soothing. “Always.”

You wanted to argue, to push them away, but the realization- the full weight of what they had done hit you like a freight train. You stood abruptly, pushing past Simon and cutting through the tense silence in the room. Their eyes followed your every move, like predators watching prey.

“I can’t… I can’t do this,” you stammered, stepping back toward the door. “This isn’t normal. None of this is normal. You can’t just- control my life like this!”

“Sit down, love.” Price said, his voice calm, but the edge in it was unmistakable.

“No, no,” you shot back, shaking your head as you took another step toward the door. “I’m leaving. I need some space. This- this is insane.”

Gaz rose from his chair, moving to block your path to the exit. His expression was so deceptively soft, but his stance was firm, unyielding. “You’re not thinking clearly, love.” He said, low. “Just sit down. We’ll talk it through.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you snapped, your voice rising with panic. “You’ve been stalking me- sabotaging my life! That’s not protection. That’s obsession!”

Soap stood then, and his expression made you flinch. He stepped closer, effectively boxing you in again as he joined Gaz. “We’re not letting you walk out that door.” He said simply, but his words were anything but.

You turned toward the only other way out, but Simon was already there, his massive frame looming in the doorway to the hall. He didn’t say a word, just stared, his presence alone enough to make your stomach twist.

Your breathing quickened as you turned back to Price, the only one still seated, though his gaze was sharp and calculating. “You can’t keep me here, Price,” you said, your voice trembling but still clinging to the traces of defiance. “You don’t have the right-“

“We do have the right,” Price interrupted, standing slowly. The sheer authority- the sheer finality in his voice made your knees weak. “Because we’re the only ones who care about you the way we do. The only ones who’ll keep you safe. Your team, remember, darling?”

“This isn’t safety,” you hissed, backing toward the wall. “This is prison.”

Price mouthed the word, then huffed a humorless laugh. “We’re not locking you up. But we will stop you from running into danger. Even if you don’t understand it now, you’ll thank us later.”

“You can’t just-“

“Enough,” Simon cut in, sharp and blunt, his voice cutting through your protests like a knife. “You’re not leaving. Not now. Not ever.”

Your back hit the wall, your escape routes blocked on all sides. Your chest heaved as you looked at each of them, searching for even a sliver of remorse. But all you saw was determination, faces set in stone…

Much like your fate.

[sophism84]

Don’t be mad but I feel so horrible but I hate my parents my dad is evil. I HATE THEM I HATE THEM!!! My mom after Aaron had twisted my arm behind my back and told me I was staying with him they both held my hand on either side of me. I felt so trapped I didn’t know how with both of them I would ever be free. That’s like tryin to ask which hell is worse? I have to support both of them and they just tell me how crazy I am one beats me one shoves pills down my throat and takes me to the mental hospital all the time.

Yeah you came home and we had knives ready I was ready for you to come home.

but you told them I was crazy and took me to the mental hospital I the lasy told me the only reason I kept my kids was because of you. I was trying to get us away from all of you. But I had to financially support you.

You trained this into me. You threw cold water on me, laughed at my pain, abused us all. Did we really need all that cough medicine? Or did you just keep us dosed up??

Huh??

What kid chooses their nightly cough syrup?

You told me my rape was my fault. You blamed me for my own abuse. You kept me being abused. You kept us being abused. Aaron drugged and raped me. Beat me w my baby in my arms, and hold twist my leg and the laugh when I would cry in pain.

I wish I fought back harder. I wish I had been stronger than him and not paralyzed in fear. And even when I did cal the police about being pregnant and assaulted they didn’t arrest him! They never arrested him!

Top security clearance?? Why would you ever trust such a man???

They don’t deserve to walk the earth.

I’m so sorry I let them beat me down over time. And isolate me from everyone that actually loved me.

I’m sorry I wasn’t better. I’m sorry.

I was afraid for you when I was showing up everyday. I was worrried. I called everyday they just told me to eat but how do you eat when you’re worrreid?

I needed to get them away from him.

But I’m just always crazy. Or paralyzed w fear. I was so weak.

I’m so sorry I didn’t do better. I should’ve just killed them when I had the chance. I held a knife to my mom’s neck when I was little but I couldn’t do it. I chickened out. I wanted my mom to love me. Why? Was she like this?

Your greatest influences are those that are closest to you.

I hate you all! You lied to me. Told me I was crazy. Shoved pills down my throat and stole my diaries. I lost myself. Because I had to return to what broke me the first time.

You’re all just evil I hate you

I hate Aaron’s parents too. You made him into what he was and paraded me around your living room. Well you sure tore me down the first chance you got! I wish I could scream and you would all cease to exist! I hate you forever and always don’t forget that!

I will not defend you or help you or ever see you ever again unless I’m dragging your body into a fire. Where you belong

[greengoblinswifey]

Making Hwang In-ho work for your pussy.

From the moment you and In-ho met, it was clear he wasn’t used to waiting for what he wanted—especially not when it came to intimacy. Yet, here he was, two months into a relationship with you, frustrated but captivated.

You’d been upfront from the start. “I don’t do casual, and I don’t rush into things. If that’s a problem, you can leave now,” you’d said on your first date, holding his gaze with unwavering confidence.

In-ho, used to a world where his power and wealth cleared every hurdle, had been taken aback. But instead of walking away, he’d leaned back in his chair, a smirk on his lips. “Challenge accepted.”

And a challenge it had been.

He’d tried everything to win you over, lavish gifts, private dinners at the most exclusive restaurants, bouquets of flowers that seemed to appear at your doorstep almost daily. He wasn’t just trying to impress you, he was trying to prove he could play by your rules.

“You’re making me work harder than anyone ever has,” he said one evening over champagne at a rooftop restaurant he’d rented out just for the two of you.

“You don’t have to,” you replied with a sly smile. “But you do if you want me.”

And he did. Oh, he wanted you. Needed you.

In-ho found himself doing things he never imagined. Like taking time off from overseeing the games, something unheard of for him—just to spend an afternoon with you at an art exhibit you’d mentioned wanting to see. Or the time he drove across the city to find a specific book you’d been searching for, presenting it to you like it was a trophy.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you said one night as he handed you a pair of diamond earrings.

“I wanted to,” he replied simply. But in truth, he was growing more frustrated by the day. Every lingering kiss, every time your hands wandered but stopped just short of crossing the line, left him aching for more.

Still, he waited. Because as much as he craved you, he found himself liking you more with each passing day, your wit, your intelligence, the way you held your ground. You were unlike anyone he’d ever met.

When the night finally came, it wasn’t planned. You were at his home, sharing wine and laughter on the couch. His hand brushed against yours, and when your eyes met, there was something different in your eyes, something softer, inviting.

“In-ho,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes?” His voice was calm, but his body tensed, like a predator sensing its moment.

“I think I’m ready.”

His eyes darkened, and his hand moved to cup your cheek. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “Yes. I want you to fuck me. I want you.”

It was all the encouragement he needed. He kissed you deeply, his hands sliding over your body, memorizing every curve. He carried you to his bedroom, laying you down on the silk sheets as if you were something precious.

“You’ve been driving me fucking crazy for months,” he murmured against your skin as he kissed down your neck.

“I know,” you teased, threading your fingers through his hair.

“I’m going to make this worth the wait,” he promised, and he did.

He worshipped you that night, his touch both rough and tender, his words a mixture of praise and moans of your name. It was as if he were trying to make up for all the time he’d spent wanting you, showing you just how much he’d been holding back.

He started slow, savoring every moment, every taste of your pussy, every clench of your walls around his cock. Until, he remembered this was the first of many times he’d be fucking you. Until he remembered how long you made him wait to have you. After this realization, he fucked you like no one had ever done before.

He gave you long, deep strokes, stretching and filling you to the brim. His hands trailed all over your body, touching you as though you would slip away. His lips never left you, whether it be on your lips or tits. He worked hard for your pussy, and he’d get all that it was worth.

“Made me wait so fucking long for this tight pussy,” he grunted in your ear, pounding into you. “You’re lucky you feel good.”

His hands wrapped around your neck as he rolled his hips harshly against you and that did it. The past two months of restraint and underlying tension finally built over and you both came undone with you absolutely soaking his cock and the sheets below. You were just as deprived as him.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured against your ear, his voice hoarse. “So worth it.”

In the quiet aftermath, as you lay tangled together, he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’d wait all over again for you,” he said softly.

You smiled, your head against his chest. “Good. Because you’re not going anywhere.”

[starryylies]

What about Si with a reader who's giving him the silent treatment? I feel like at first he'd be like "fine whatever" but after like 10 minutes he begs his princess to talk to him

Silent treatment and Simon

Hii thank you sm for the ask! I loved writing it <33

Sorry if it got a bit self indulgent though.

It’s heavy on comfort so hope you enjoy!

You’ve been ‘off’ Simon could tell something’s going on but he couldn’t pin point why it’s going wrong.

Youve been ignoring him since he came home that night after his deployment, giving him short and curt greetings and replies a contrast to your sweet and elaborated ones.

He thought he’d let you deal with whatever you’re going through without butting in.

But no,

Just no

He couldn’t stand there and watch his baby look so down,

He couldn’t stand not hearing your sweet voice echo in the room.

He couldn’t stand the thought that you’re getting tired of him.

He was an overthinking wreck,

All possible ideas came to his mind as to why you’re ignoring him.

“Maybe she’s tired of me, ‘m a fucking mess aren’t I.”

“Maybe she found someone else, someone her own age. Nah fuck no, she wouldn’t do that. Would she..?”

His mind was going on overdrive and he broke down.

And now he found himself marching up to your shared room where you sat on your bed watching a movie.

He turned off the movie and put you on his lap.

“Love what’s happenin’ whys my baby ignoring me huh? Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

“Are ya tired of me?”

He croaked out the last question, tears welling up in his eyes.

You looked at Simon as if you’d seen a ghost

“You really think I’ll be tired of you? I’m here thinking yr’ gonna be tired of me” you confessed with tears welling up in your eyes now.

“It’s just that, I know I can be a piece of work sometimes. I probably just make life harder for ya so I thought maybe keeping my mouth shut wouldn’t annoy ya like I annoy others.”

Simon is hurt to hear you say that, how could you think you annoy him. He fights to come home so he can listen to your sweet voice and look at that pretty face.

And who the fuck told you you’re annoying?

He holds it in him to ask that later because he doesn’t want to stray from the conversation going on but he makes a mental note to give them a personal visit when you’re done

“I don’t even know why you’re with me there’s so many people out there who are better, prettier, more competent.”

“I’m nothing si,I’m not the girl you make me out to be. I’m so scared of the day you start seeing me the way I see myself”

Simon felt his heart break in pieces when he heard you say such cruel things about yourself.

How could he feel okay when the love of his life thought so badly about herself

How could he show you you’re the prettiest and the only woman that matters in his life

“Ya fucking stupid?”

He asked curtly, regretting his harsh words the second he spit them out.

“Excuse me?”

“No genuinely are ya fucking stupid, you fucking think I’ll get tired of you- the first and the only thing that’s ever mattered to me?”

“Fuckin’ hell lovie you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve seen and yr’ important person in my life.”

“Ya think you make life tougher for me? Ever since you’ve come in my life you’ve made it liveable, you made life seem something worth experiencing, I was just blood and guns before I met you, now I’m a person”

“Fuck id kill for you, die for you, do anything for you. You seriously believe I’ll ever get tired of ya? Because if you do I’m sorry to say you’re a fuckin’ idiot”

Tears prickle down your face as you hear his confession,

You’ve been feeling so insecure, so incapable and so unlovable these past months when simon was away, you’d forgotten how much he loves you.

You cried into his chest, gripping onto him and nestling yourself in his arms.

His beefy arms rubbed your back as he cood at you, telling you how much he loves ya and how he will never get tired of you.

[thewoollyviking]

Yes, Rose fucked up. She fucked up interpersonally with the gems and with Greg. And those choices were hers. She should be judged by those actions.

But why exactly do you think she kept those secrets? You think it’s because she’s some manipulative monsters or selfish coward?

No, it’s because she grew up under a living hell under the Diamonds.

Lemme give you some context here, friend;

According to the art books, all four Diamonds are rough around 20,000 years old. To give you an idea how old that is compared to irl history…

There are figures early humans carved from mammoth ivory and spear tip of flint that were made when the bottom of the North Sea was still a mammoth steppe in Doggerland.

Subtract the time Rose spent on Earth after the war (give or take a few centuries) and assuming the craptastic treatment she endured under the Diamonds has pretty much been the norm for all that time, and she had been abused for roughly 10-12,000 years. Rose’s pain predates written language and agriculture.

I. Do not. Give. A single. Chicken. Fried. Fuck. How sad the Diamonds think they were after losing Rose.

Oooooh booo fucking hooo Blue sulked in the middle of a human zoo Rose never even wanted in the first place.

Yellow knew she wanted to spare Earth and wanted to blow it up.

And White’s first action seeing “Pink” return was to send a mind controlled version of her original Pearl to greet her as a power move. To remind her what happens when she doesn’t control her power.

They didn’t mourn Rose. They mourned the person they wanted her to be.

And that’s made all the more clear once they realize Steven isn’t Rose. No moment to think about how Rose being gone was actually their own fault, not the act of some outside gem. Not moment to think about why Rose was so desperate to run away.

“Aww Pink’s gone? Gee that sucks. Welp, time to find a new pink!”

Fuck dude, some people mourn Healthcare CEOs more than the Diamonds actually mourned Rose.

And yet they get that nice fairy tale happy ending where they can be quirky space grandmas who think what they’re doing will ever hope to make up for the suffering they caused.

Meanwhile, Rose’s own loved ones feel like they have to apologize for daring to mention her in a positive light and say they’re making excuses for her.

Steven by the time of Future isn’t facing any gems that are actually a threat (bluebird is a joke character she don’t fucking count). He’s spent 5 seasons demonstrating why it’s better to talk about your feelings and the gems offer to help him at pretty much every turn and yet Steven chooses to forego that in favor of taking everything out on Rose.

The Diamonds have been the instigators who make every worse without fail. They’re the reason Rose came out as such a broken fucking person and yet we’re asked to pass more judgement on her for not being enough of a perfect fucking princess to solve things Steven’s way?

Rose spent her entire goddamn life clawing her way out of that pit of misery but we’re supposed to scoff at her for getting mud on her dress along the way?

What the fuck was the point in showing that Rose spent that lifetime trying to be better to just end it with “maybe her family would be better off if they just stopped thinking about her altogether.”

There’s a fucking reason this stupid fucking fandom took glee in harassing me and friends of mine for not joining them in burning Rose at the stake and it’s because of how Future, either due to time constraints or genuine creative decisions, completely dropped the ball on her.

I still love this show. But I cannot and will not ever watch Future. And if Rose ain’t there to heal, than at least let me take comfort in making the Diamonds hurt.

Sometimes I think about how and why some people had such a *bad* reaction to the end of Steven Universe, specifically in regards to the Diamonds living.

Even though they no longer are causing harm to others and are able to actually undo some of their previous harm by living, some folks reacted as though this ending was somehow morally suspect. Morally bankrupt, even.

And I think it might be because so many of us were raised on a very specific kind of kids media trope:

They all fall to their deaths.

Disney loves chucking their bad guys off cliffs. And it makes sense- in a moral framework where villains *must* be punished (regardless of whether their death will actually prevent further harm or not), but killing of any kind is morally bad for the hero, the narrative must find a way to kill the villain without the protagonists doing a murder.

It's a moral assumption that a person can *deserve* to die, that it is cosmically just for them to die, that them dying is evidence that the story itself is morally good and correct. Scar *deserves* to die, but it would be bad for Simba to kill him. So....cliff. (edit: yes, cliff then hyenas. But cliff first. Lol.)

Steven Universe, whatever else it's faults, took a step back and said "but if killing people is bad, then people dying is bad", and instead of dropping White Diamond off a cliff, asked "what would actual *restorative*, not punitive, justice look like? What would actual reparations mean here? If the goal is to heal, not just to punish, how do we handle those who have done harm?" And then did that.

Which I think is interesting, and that there was pushback against it is interesting.

It also reminds me of the folks who get very weird about Aang not killing Ozai at the end of Avatar. And like, Ozai still gets chucked in prison, so it doesn't even push back on our cultural ideas of punitive justice *that much.* and still, I've seen people get real mad that the child monk who is the last survivor of a genocide that wiped out his entire pacifist culture didn't do a murder.

[gpcwsl]

Katie McCabe x irland headcoach reader

Anything you want to write really, can be fluff, angsty etc

Warnings: coach and player (but no age-gap), kissing.

Katie McCabe x Coach!Reader

- Underneath the emerald sky -

MasterList

The sharp sound of a whistle pierced the crisp Dublin air, cutting through the chatter on the training pitch. “Katie, shift left!” Your voice carried across the field, authoritative and clipped. The Ireland women’s team was preparing for their Nations League final, and every second of practice mattered.

Katie McCabe didn’t move. Not right away, at least. She stood rooted, the ball at her feet, her jaw set as her sharp blue eyes locked onto yours.

“Shift left,” you repeated, your tone hardening.

She complied this time, reluctantly, sliding into position with a flick of her wrist as if to say, Happy now?

The tension was palpable, and you didn’t miss the sidelong glances from the rest of the squad. Everyone knew you and Katie had history—though no one dared to bring it up.

After practice, you retreated to the office in the training facility, hoping to find solace in the glow of your laptop. The game plan wasn’t going to finalize itself, and you needed to put distance between yourself and Katie before the inevitable confrontation.

It didn’t work.

The door slammed shut behind her, and you didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“What the hell was that?” she demanded.

“What was what?” you replied coolly, keeping your eyes on the screen.

“You’re nitpicking every single thing I do out there. What’s your problem with me?”

You finally looked up, meeting her glare with a calm facade you didn’t quite feel. “I don’t have a problem with you, Katie. I have a problem with a captain who doesn’t listen.”

Her laugh was bitter, tinged with disbelief. “Right, because this is about football and not… whatever this is.” She gestured vaguely between the two of you.

“There is no this,” you said firmly, though the words felt like a lie even as they left your mouth.

Katie stepped closer, her voice dropping to something softer, more dangerous. “We both know that’s not true.”

The first time you met Katie, she was everything you’d heard she’d be—passionate, stubborn, and unapologetically herself. She challenged your authority from day one, questioning tactics and pushing boundaries in ways that were both infuriating and, secretly, impressive.

You’d been warned about her fiery personality, but nothing could have prepared you for the way she consumed every room she walked into. Or the way she looked at you that night on the beach.

It was after a tough loss in the qualifiers, and the team had dispersed to lick their wounds in private. Katie found you sitting alone on the sand, staring out at the waves.

“You’re not as tough as you pretend to be, are you?” she said, dropping down beside you.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re always so… composed. Like nothing gets to you. But I see it. You care.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you said nothing. The silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

That night, under the blanket of stars, she kissed you for the first time. It was impulsive, electric, and utterly wrong. But you kissed her back anyway.

The problem with falling for someone like Katie McCabe was that loving her felt like trying to hold onto a flame—it was beautiful, but it burned.

The relationship was doomed from the start. Your roles—her as captain, you as head coach—created an imbalance neither of you could ignore. Arguments about tactics bled into personal fights, and before long, the lines between professional and personal were so blurred you didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

The breaking point came during a friendly against England. A miscommunication on the pitch led to a shouting match in the locker room, with Katie accusing you of undermining her leadership and you firing back that she was too reckless to be trusted.

You broke it off that night, telling her it was for the good of the team. She didn’t fight you on it, but the look in her eyes haunted you for weeks.

Back in the present, things reached a boiling point after a hard-fought victory in the semi-finals. The media had been speculating about your relationship with Katie, and a journalist’s pointed question during a press conference sent you spiraling.

“Coach, there’s been some chatter about tension between you and your captain, Katie McCabe. Is that affecting the team dynamic?”

Katie was seated beside you, her expression unreadable. You forced a tight smile. “Katie and I are both professionals. Our focus is on winning the Nations League, and that’s all there is to it.”

The lie tasted bitter, and Katie’s sharp inhale didn’t go unnoticed.

Later that night, she showed up at your door.

“You’re a coward,” she said, her voice trembling with anger.

“And you’re impossible!” you shot back. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep this team together with you constantly questioning me?”

Her laughter was cold and humorless. “This isn’t about the team, and you know it. You’re scared. Scared of what people will think, scared of losing control, scared of me.”

“I’m not scared of you,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

She stepped closer, her gaze boring into yours. “Then prove it.”

The night before the final, Katie found you alone in the stands of the empty stadium. She sat beside you in silence, the weight of everything unsaid settling between you.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “For everything. I just… I don’t know how to separate what I feel for you from what I do out there.”

You looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself be honest. “I’m scared, Katie. Not of you. Of losing this—losing us.”

Her hand found yours, her grip firm and steady. “You’re not going to lose me. No matter what happens tomorrow, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

That night, you returned to the beach where it all began. Under the same sky, you found each other again—not as coach and captain, but as two people who loved fiercely, even when it hurt.

The Nations League final was a battle to the very end, but when the final whistle blew, Ireland stood victorious. The stadium erupted in cheers, and the team swarmed the pitch in celebration.

Amid the chaos, Katie found you. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t care about the cameras or the eyes watching. She pulled you in and kissed you, her smile against your lips brighter than the stadium lights.

For the first time, you didn’t care either.

Underneath the emerald skies, you stood together, ready to face whatever came next.

[dpr-moni]

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (afab, she/her)

Genre: angst, friends-to-almost-lovers?

Summary: No matter what you do, no matter what he does, you can't not love Namjoon. His girlfriend can't stop it, his baby, a thousand miles between you, your fiancé. Nothing makes it any less painful. Nothing makes it go away and nothing can give you the happily ever after you both want.

Word count: 20.7k

Content: INFIDELITY, pregnancy, baby, marriage, divorce, morning after pill, mild smut, lots of angst, not a happy ending, member pov

A/N: for @kkaetnipjeon who likes to hurt Namjoon as much as I do. unbeta'd * * *

Namjoon was late. 

“I really should go,” he said, taking his phone from the table and slipping into his pocket. 

You laughed. 

“Yeah, you said that twenty minutes ago.” 

“Oh, well, sorry for enjoying your company. Fuck me, I guess.” 

“Exactly. It’s all your own fault.” 

It was. When it came to you, time went out the window. Even when he told himself he only had an hour, or two, or times when he actually had somewhere to be, you were just more fun. He tried to leave. He really did. Always said, up front, he had to be gone by 2 or 4 or 7. Always pushed it a little. ‘No, I’ve got a little more time,’ he always said. He always had a little extra time for you it seemed.  

Today, he was only going home to his girlfriend; it wasn’t a hard deadline which made it all the harder to enforce.  

He pulled himself up from his chair, thanked you for the coffee that you had paid for, and made it home. 

* 

“Joon?” Hayeon called as soon as he’d shut the door behind him. “Can you get that please? I have my hands full!” 

Somewhere in the apartment, her phone was ringing. There was no contact information on the caller screen, just a number he didn’t recognise. 

“Hello?” Namjoon said into the phone. 

“Oh, uh...” 

The pause went on for long enough that Namjoon was halfway to hanging up when the man on the other line spoke again. 

“I’m calling for Hayeon?”  

As if it were a question. 

“She has her hands full right now; I can take a message.” 

Another long pause.  

“No, no, that’s ok.” 

“Shall I tell her you called?” 

“No, no thanks. Bye.” 

They hung up first. Namjoon shrugged and carried the phone into the kitchen, where Hayeon was up to her elbows in washing up. He put it on the counter beside the sink and gave her a quick kiss on the temple. 

“I’ll dry,” he said. 

“Who was calling?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. Some guy-” 

And Namjoon hadn’t thought anything of it. Would probably have forgotten all about it, except that Hayeon paused, just for a second, her body frozen with tension before she shrugged it off herself.  

“He didn’t want to leave a message or anything,” Namjoon finished, watching his girlfriend a little more closely. 

“Weird.”  

“Yeah, weird.” 

And he would have forgotten it. In truth, had forgotten about it, but then he got out of the shower and heard Hayeon speaking on the phone. 

“-ere you thinking? Why would you call this phone?” she hissed viciously, her voice quiet but her anger clear. 

She had her hand cupped around her mouth, shoulders rounded—defensive, protective—as she stood, leaning against the fridge, her back to Namjoon.  

Namjoon was not interested in spying on his girlfriend. He turned into their bedroom and got dressed, content to ignore whatever that was. 

As he lay in bed, though, he found he couldn’t ignore it. It was one thing to get a call from someone you didn’t know – spam, voice phishing, a genuine wrong number – but those people didn’t usually ask for someone by name, by first name alone, as if they knew you. The way Hayeon froze when Namjoon said it was a guy. Whatever secret conversation she was having when she knew he wouldn’t be able to hear it.  

He was not a suspicious man. Had no reason to be. He and Hayeon had been together for so long, the thought of there being anyone else was inconceivable. They were Hayeon and Namjoon; they came as a pair. Never one without the other. It just was. So there was no way, he concluded, that she would be cheating on him. Yet he could think of no other reason for her behaviour.  

He took Hayeon’s phone from her bedside table and pressed his thumb against it to unlock. It didn’t. He tried again. And again. He tried enough times that the phone refused biometric unlocking entirely and prompted him for a passcode. Well, he knew that, too, so he typed the numbers in—incorrect. When had Hayeon changed her passcode? Had she removed his thumb print? They’d always had—and almost never needed or wanted to use—access to each other’s phones. Now he did not.  

He looked down at Hayeon, sleeping peacefully, face squished into the pillow, lips pouting. He rolled his eyes: she wasn’t cheating. It was an absurd conclusion to come to on the scant evidence he had. Evidence! It wasn’t evidence. It was nothing. He kissed her carefully on the forehead, and settled down to sleep. He would forget all about it.  

* 

It came into his head when he got a call himself from an unrecognised number (it turned out to be someone offering him a new credit card). He remembered it again weeks later when Hayeon asked him to change the music on her phone and he, once again, couldn’t unlock it. 

“Oh, it’s been doing that to me, lately,” she said, when his thumb was denied entry. “I think it’s the screen protector or something.” 

She came over and unlocked the phone herself—worked first time.  

But, for the most part, he forgot about it. 

* 

Spring was meekly peeking from behind the curtains of winter and it was the first day warm enough to allow eating lunch outside. So Namjoon took himself out of his desk chair and walked to the nearest green space with a bench. They called it a park though it wasn’t really, but it was enough for Namjoon. It had been trapped for too long in construction, with scaffolding at all sides, precluding entry, but late last year, the buildings surrounding it were finally complete and the park was free to enter again. This had come as quite a relief to Namjoon, who loved the city, but loved nature, too. A relief it was to have green grass under his feet, sun on his face, nature’s fractals everywhere he looked. He liked it all the more for its contrast to the beige-grey buildings, the chrome, the chaos of the city. The traffic noise was loud and unceasing but the birds sang, too.  

He was halfway through his sandwich when he spotted Hayeon. He reached into his pocket for his phone, to call her, to say ‘I see you!’ and watch her look around herself in confusion until she saw him. Until she smiled and came over and they had lunch together. He abandoned that idea when he saw a man come up behind her. He touched her lightly on the lower back and they walked together.  

Probably nothing, he said.  

Then he remembered the phone call.  

Probably nothing, he repeated to himself. Still, he watched them until they were out of sight, out of the park, probably finishing their own lunch breaks, heading back to their own desks. 

* 

Namjoon had decided that he had to ask. He had to find out because he’d started adding things up and, well, he was usually very good at maths but he didn’t like the answer he’d arrived at. 

The phone call. The way his thumb no longer unlocked her phone. Her changed passcode. That guy. The way she was always on her phone these days, but jumpy about it. Her increasing disinterest in him; how much quicker she was to anger; how things that had always playfully infuriated her now genuinely pissed her off. She had claimed work stress, having started a new job last autumn. Was it? 

He couldn’t go in half-cocked. If he was going to confront her, he needed better ammunition.  

That was why he was digging around at the backs of drawers, rooting around in every bag she owned, hunting for some unidentified smoking gun. Something that would confirm everything.  

The bedroom carefully ransacked, he was still empty-handed. She had told him she would be working late that evening, so he decided to do the good-boyfriendly thing and take her dinner. That is what he would say, anyway, assuming that he would find her there. 

* 

“Hayeon? She’s already left for the day,” the receptionist told him. 

“Oh, really? Do you know what time she left?” 

“Mm, one second.”  

There were security gates just three feet from the desk, into and out of which everyone who entered the building would swipe their access cards. The computer would know, down to the minutes and seconds, when she left. He had familiarity on his side—people knew him, knew he was Hayeon’s boyfriend, would share this sort of information with him. He was lucky.  

“It was 5:15. Early today,” she said.  

“Right, ok, thank you. Must have got our wires crossed.” 

He pulled out his phone and checked his messages. 

[13:04]  Hayeon: remember I'm working late today, babe. Have dinner without me! 😘 

Not a smoking gun, but getting warmer. 

* 

He checked bank statements—his, hers, their joint account. Nothing really seemed off. Nothing jumped out at him, but he kept looking, whittling down anything he could twist into infidelity until he was left with only a handful of transactions.  

The nails. True, she’d only started having them done recently. She and Namjoon had been together for years and she’d never gone to the expense or effort. Also true, her salary increased, which meant her disposable income had increased. It was a popular thing to do. Didn’t necessarily mean anything. 

Some expensive perfume. See above. 

A store name he didn’t recognise until he searched online and discovered they sold lingerie—amongst other things. He tried to remember the last time Hayeon had worn anything sexy. He couldn’t. A piece of information was trying to float to the surface of his brain, and without being conscious of it, he followed it into their bedroom and her underwear drawer. He’d fished around in here not long ago, looking for something like a burner phone, or condoms (that they hadn’t used for a long time, since Hayeon switched to hormonal birth control). He hadn’t been looking for lace or satin so hadn’t seen it, but there it was. Lingerie. That he’d never seen before, though she’d had plenty of opportunities to wear it since she bought it: Christmas, New Year, Seollal, Valentine’s day, White Day just passed.  

It wasn’t a smoking gun, but he was getting hot.  

* 

He might not have gone to any effort at all, in the end. Looking back on it, he had had to laugh. She must have been trying to get caught. After months of hiding it all so successfully, maybe she had got complacent.  

Namjoon had arrived home to an empty apartment—Hayeon was away for the weekend with some friends. That was what she had said. Namjoon ordered dinner and lounged in front of the TV. He luxuriated in the space and the silence. The world was his own. Unshared. There weren’t many moments like this. 

His phone buzzed. 

Jang Yijeong: Hey, man hope youre good 

Jang Yijeong: idk if this is weird and i might be totally mistaken, i only met her a couple of times but 

Jang Yijeong: im in jinhae with my girlfriend and  

Jang Yijeong: is this your girlfriend? 

Jang Yijeong: [attached a picture] 

Well, it certainly looked like Hayeon.  

Namjoon’s screen was interrupted with more messages. 

Jang Yijeong: my girlfriend says its weird for me to take photos and shes probably right and im way off and this is just a weird thing to do! 

Jang Yijeong: maybe im mistaken! Hope so, dude, but thought you should know if not. i know id want to know 

Namjoon stared at the photo and then at the second one Yijeong sent. It was her. Undoubtedly. He would know her face in twenty pixels but the photos were clear as day. Hayeon holding some other man’s hand. Hayeon posing for a photo, kissing his cheek.  

A third arrived. Well, he’d wanted a smoking gun. They didn’t get much more smoking than a video of your girlfriend kissing another man. All this time that he’d been actively searching for evidence of this and now, here it was, presented to him on a platter. All this time, he’d been looking for something that—he realised now—he didn’t want to find.  

He was furious. Livid. Could feel the vein in his temple pulse as adrenalin coursed through him.  A smoking gun. A man kissing his girlfriend. His girlfriend kissing a man who wasn’t him. 

He sent a text back before he could forget. 

Namjoon: that’s her. Thanks man 

He put his shoes on and went straight out. Hayeon didn’t know he knew. Namjoon decided, through a red haze of rage, that there was about to be a lot more than Hayeon wouldn’t know.  

* 

“Are you ok?” you asked, opening the door to Namjoon, who had shown up unannounced, sounding agitated.  

Everyone had always told him you liked him. Liked him. They said it was obvious. They told him to be sensitive when they thought he’d overstepped in some way—with you, with Hayeon in front of you. He had never been sure if he believed them. You and he were just friends. Had always just been friends. You’d never said a word to him of anything different. Now, he was going to find out for sure. 

“What would you do if I kissed you?” he asked. 

He didn’t wait for an answer. Before your face had rearranged itself from shock to confusion, he was kissing you. He half-expected you to slap him, push him off, ask him if he was crazy (he just might have been at that moment), but you didn’t. You kissed him back. Snaked your arms around his neck, opened your mouth when he brushed his tongue against your lips. More, you pulled him forward, into your apartment, so he could kick your front door shut, so he could follow you into your bedroom.  

Namjoon didn’t stop to ask questions. Neither did you. He put his hands on a new body for the first time in almost a decade; for the first time, touching someone who was not Hayeon. He learnt that your skin was soft and your mouth was sweet. He discovered the pitch to which your voice raised when he found just the right motion. He found his own body responded to yours with swift alacrity. He discovered different things that other people did, that you did, which Hayeon did not. Found that he preferred them. With adrenalin surging through him, he found the newness exciting; he was hungry for it, desperate to learn how to use your body, how to make you tick, how to time the implosion carefully so that you came as he sank his teeth into the soft skin around your nipple.  

He did not forget, in all this rage, in all this lust, to use a condom.  

Spent, but not in any way sated, Namjoon lay for two seconds on his back next to you, before rising to clean up the evidence. 

“I’m sorry,” was what he said to you when he sat down on the edge of the bed, his back to you. 

“It’s ok,” was what you said back. 

It wasn’t what you wanted to say. You wanted to say that it wasn’t ok. You wanted to have said no back at the front door. To have not let him kiss you, not let him into your house, into your body. You wanted to be the sort of person who would have said those things.  

But you loved Namjoon. Had loved him as long as you’d known him. Had known also all that time that he would never leave his girlfriend for you. Would never leave his girlfriend full stop. Sometimes you were at peace with that. Found that it was ok, really, didn’t much bother you. Other times, you ached with it, burnt with it, cried from it. And he had shown up at your front door, asked to kiss you, kissed you and what else could you have done?  

You would have liked to have been a better person, but there he was, finally doing the thing you had wished he would more times than you could count. So you didn’t say no and you didn’t ask questions. You just kissed him back, poured as much of your love as you could from your mouth to his, your body to his.  

Did he know? How you really felt? He must have known. Why else would he have come? Why else would he be apologising to you now?  

“Hayeon is cheating on me.” 

You closed your eyes, tried to swallow the tears that pricked in your eyes. Of course, it wasn’t about you. You weren’t suddenly the object of his affections; you were subject to his hurt, wounded pride, betrayal, anger, what else? When he fucked you, just now, on the bed where you still lay, was he thinking of her? Of course, he was.  

Was it not also true, though, that you knew that? That you knew, when he was kissing you, that it wasn’t about you. Couldn’t have been about you because you and Namjoon had been friends for years and he’d never once as much as hinted that he might have wanted to kiss you—as much as everyone knew that you wanted him to. Did you let him touch you, did you touch him, thinking that it meant something? Or did you take your scraps eagerly, desperately, like a stray dog, not asking what they were or where they came from, just eating hungrily, quickly, until they were gone? 

“I’m sorry,” you offered him. “That sucks.” 

Namjoon stood and redressed. You lay still on the bed, watching him. Waiting. For something. Anything.  

Before he turned to leave, he inclined his head slightly towards you (not looking, not looking at you, naked still, uncovered, for his eyes).  

“Could you-... I mean... would i-” 

“Relax, Namjoon. I won’t tell anyone.” 

The relief washed out of his body on a sigh. He nodded. 

“Thank you.” 

* 

If you had been a better person, you wouldn’t have let him kiss you even once. Definitely would not have let him fuck you whilst he was still in the maelstrom of reacting to finding out his girlfriend of nine years was cheating on him.  

Definitely definitely would not have let it happen again. And again. And again.  

Because it kept happening. He kept coming. To you. He said it was only you. You had no choice but to believe him because you wanted him to come again. Even as the door shut behind him on his way out, you wanted him to come back. 

You told no one, as you had said you wouldn’t. You betrayed nothing, except all your morals and principles, except Hayeon (who was kind of your friend, too). You found it hard to look at yourself in the mirror: hair messy; purpling bruises on your breasts from his teeth, yellow and green bruises on your thighs from him in times before; still flushed, heartrate still high, skin still warm, sticky with drying sweat.  

You never told yourself that it would be the last time. That this time you would put your foot down. You knew you wouldn’t. Couldn't. You had opened the floodgates and here was the deluge: the feelings you had known you had done your best to hide from now dancing in the spotlight. You loved him. Oh, you loved him. Would have done anything for him. Including and not limited to fucking him behind his girlfriend’s back and keeping it a secret. 

He never spoke about her. Never once said he was going to leave her, was thinking of leaving her, wanted to leave her. You knew he never would. They had grown up together: all the way through school, spinning in the same orbit. When they got to taste independence and adult life at university, their friendship had become something more. Then her parents had died in a car crash that almost killed her, too, and Namjoon knew he would never leave her. That was how the story went, how his friends told it.  

So you kept your mouth shut and your legs open. Told yourself you a thousand lies to make yourself feel like maybe you weren’t the worst person in the world for it.  

Namjoon would have told the story a little differently. Hayeon had almost died in a car crash that almost killed her, too, and that was when he knew he could never leave her. He was the only family she had left. She was the only love he had ever known; he her only love. He would not, could not, abandon her. Even if he wanted to. Even when he wanted to.  

He told himself this was why he hadn’t confronted her about cheating yet (that, and of course, he had gone and done the very same thing. Done it over and over again, so many times that he didn’t even think of Hayeon when he was with you anymore. That it wasn’t about her anymore). Because, despite how they may have appeared, despite what anyone might have said about them as a couple, they weren’t perfect for each other. She wasn’t his soulmate. He couldn’t blame her for cheating when, frankly, if he’d been honest with himself, he wanted out, too. He wanted out but couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger, to be the bad guy, to break her heart when he was the one who had to put it back together all that time ago. There was tragedy between them that would last forever; to Namjoon, that meant they had to, too.  

You were something entirely different. All his friends’ words resounded in his head after the first time. How much you cared for him. How sad it was, how well you bore it, this unrequited, doomed, desperate love for him. He had expected this to make you weak, somehow, to make you feel too soft, too pliable, too malleable under his hands.  He felt bad the first time, for using you, for burning you up in his roaring rage, but then he came back to you and you opened the door as if you knew exactly what he wanted—because you did know exactly what he wanted—and let him in. He had expected to feel as if he was taking advantage of you, of your weakness for him, but he didn’t. You weren’t pliable and malleable and pathetic. You didn’t get on your knees and prostrate yourself, offer yourself up on a platter for his delectation.  

He loved the taste of your moans in his mouth. He loved the smell of your lotion, faintly lingering on your skin as he kissed, licked, and bit his way across your body. He loved the hot, wet slip of your tongue, the tight, slippery clutch of your cunt. He even loved the way you were careful, dug your nails into his back, into his thighs for a microsecond before releasing him, leaving no marks. Sucked on his skin so his eyes fluttered closed and his breath caught, but not so that the tell-tale bloom of burgundy and purple would give you away.  

“I should go,” he said quietly, lying naked on your bed, sweat dry, heart rate steady.  

“Yeah, you said that,” you replied gently, naked next to him, on your side, head propped on your hand, watching him, taking him in, the man you loved and could never have outside of these moments.  

He turned to look at you, eyes catching his, and he felt desperate suddenly. Desperate not to leave. Not to go back to his house made of straw, house made of lies, to a girlfriend who maybe didn’t love him anymore. To a girlfriend he didn’t love, whom he hadn’t loved—he was sure—for some time. To a girlfriend he wouldn’t leave.  

So he left you. Returned home, with heavy feet and a heavier heart. Returned, angry, frustrated, all his old fury bubbling up again, a rolling boil threatening the edge of the pan.  

“We need to talk,” he said in greeting to Hayeon, who was making tea in the kitchen. 

“Yeah, we do.” 

His surprise made him pause for a second—was she about to confess everything? 

“I know we haven’t really talked about the future much recently,” she began, leaning with her back against the counter as the kettle rumbled slowly to a boil. “Things have been crazy with work and I feel like we’ve just been kind of missing each other, y’know? But that’s why I think this will be great. This is a good thing. A really good thing.” 

“What is?” 

And nothing could have prepared him for the words that followed. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

A cloud of steam rose from the kettle beside Hayeon, the noise of the water roiling inside grew louder. So did Namjoon’s rage. So did he sense of betrayal. The injustice (of what? He couldn’t have said, could barely manage conscious thought). The inescapability of a child. His child. His anger surprised him, the strength of it, the speed and ease with which it rose inside him. He bit down on his tongue to stop all of his worst instincts taking control of it. He reminded himself this was as much his fault as hers. Then he wondered if it was. 

He did his best to school his features into neutrality, to keep his voice level when he spoke. 

“How do you know it’s mine?” 

To her credit, Hayeon did not immediately launch into a wounded, defensive howl. She did not cry big, fat crocodile tears. She flinched, swallowed, opened her mouth and closed it again. She took a deep breath, eyes shut, and looked at him again, nodding silently to herself, but she didn’t lie. She knew Namjoon too well for that. Knew him well enough to know that he knew. And that was when it crystallised inside him: the knowledge that their relationship was fucked. Was fucking over.  

“How long have you known?” she asked. 

“How do you know the baby is mine?” 

A crease flashed across her face – concern? Anger? – and was gone again in a second. Part of Namjoon wanted to have this fight. To force a showdown and make her confess everything she’d done and who she’d done them with. Maybe he would confess, too; maybe he’d tell her all the things you did to him, all the things he did to you; maybe he’d tell her just how much you wanted him.  

He didn’t, because most of him just wanted this to be over. 

“You’re the only person I’ve slept with without protection.”  

Her voice was small, eyes downcast, her fingers picked at her fingernails, at the skin around them. Namjoon was furious at himself for the tiny spark of pride that ignited within him at her words. Sure, he was being cheated on but that guy never got to fuck his girlfriend raw.  

He was pathetic. Pathetic, too, the way he thought of you, of what you would do or say. Would you end it all? Refuse to see him again? Would this change things? A sliver of panic slid down his spine at the thought, his fingers grasping air when trying to grab the life rope. 

“You’re definitely pregnant?” 

She took three pregnancy tests from her pocket. All different brands, all positive. 

“I took three more at work earlier,” she said. “False positives are extremely rare, apparently.” 

Namjoon looked at the tests, unseeing. What he was seeing instead was a closing door, a lid on a coffin, a baby growing inside his girlfriend that neither of them had planned, neither of them had expected. Neither of them had wanted.  

Namjoon didn’t come over for a while. You saw him, socially, as you saw your other friends, and he seemed tense. There was something hiding behind his smile that you were sure everyone else could see, too; it couldn’t just be you that noticed that it didn’t quite reach his eyes, didn’t last quite long enough to be genuine. That noticed that he was checked out of conversations. That noticed his jaw tense, just a little, when Hayeon was around, when someone mentioned her name.  

You hadn’t seen him, one-on-one for a couple of weeks when he messaged you. 

[20:31]  Namjoon: can i come over? 

As if you had ever said or would ever say no.  

He had fire in his eyes again, when you opened the door to him, but it wasn’t blazing, raging, out of control. This was a rich, deep smoulder; darker, burnished light glinting at you. He didn’t ask any questions, just took your face in his hands and kissed you, far more softly than you’d expected. More slowly. He shut the door behind him, but he didn’t drag you to the bedroom; he wrapped his arms around your body and held you close to him; he rolled his tongue into your mouth and gave a quiet, contented hum when it met yours.  

It wasn’t always urgent and hurried with Namjoon. It wasn’t always needy and aggressive and high-geared. It often was, but not always. Never, though, had it been like this. Slow. Intense. Your bodies pressed together; fingers twined in fingers, twined in hair; lips brushing lips, brushing skin. It was indulgent. Wanton, with his mouth between your thighs as you whined, as your breath caught in your throat; with his head clamped between your legs as you writhed, squirming as you came, your body contorted with pleasure and your face the perfect picture of ecstasy. And later, with his length stuffed down the wet tunnel of your throat, when he was lost for words and could only moan, could only utter slurred vowels that sounded like your name. When he came for the first time and whispered quiet praise to you. When he came for the second and held you so close you could feel his heart pound. It was the kind of sex people had when they had all the time in the world and nowhere else to be—no one else to go home to. The kind of sex that made you fall in love—as if you hadn’t already. The kind of sex you assumed he had with Hayeon, had assumed before now that he would never have with you.  

When he came for the final time—sitting against the headboard with your backside in his hands, with his hair in yours, with his tongue in your mouth—and you moved to get off him, he held you tight against his chest. Whispered, ‘just give me a minute’. He cradled your head as it rested against his shoulder. He rubbed your back. He sighed heavily, closed his eyes. 

“Hayeon’s pregnant.” 

“Fucking hell!” 

You sat up with a start. You had known there was something. You had never imagined it would be this. Namjoon smiled grimly. 

“Uh, congratulat-... um-” and you didn’t know how to continue, how to ask the question on the tip of your tongue, but you didn’t need to because Namjoon had already heard it, seen it coming. 

“She says it’s mine-” 

“You asked?” 

He nodded.  

“So... she knows you know.” 

Nodded again.  

“And...” 

“And she’s pregnant,” he repeated with a shrug that looked effortfully casual. “She’s agreed to a paternity test, though she says I’m the only one who...”  

He cleared his throat, as though this was awkward, as though you weren’t sitting with his cock, soft now and still inside you.  

“She’s on birth control, so we don’t use other protection.”  

You stood, trying to understand how you felt. Trying to understand how Namjoon might feel. He moved, too, disposing of the used condom, cleaning up, pulling his boxers back up his legs.  

“You’ve always wanted to have a kid,” you offered, not knowing if he wanted this kid, at this time, with this girlfriend. 

“Yeah,” he said, but he was still facing away from you, so you couldn’t see his face, couldn’t tell what myriad things his one word might be saying.  

“Is that why...” 

But you didn’t finish the question because you didn’t need to ask it. Of course, that was why he hadn’t come to you for weeks. Of course, this would change things. It already had. It was a child—there was no question of keeping it or not, you knew that—and they would be a family.  

Namjoon sat at the edge of your bed and spoke the words you were thinking. 

“What about this?” 

“This?” 

“Us?” 

You laughed. Laughed because tears pricked in your eyes and the only other alternative was crying.  

“Is there an us?” 

And he couldn’t answer because he knew as well as you did that there wasn’t. That, whatever you were, it wasn’t real, wasn’t lasting, wasn’t love. Not for him.  

“Why do you let me come?” he asked, sounding as sad as you had ever heard him, no hint of recrimination, accusation.  

You laughed again, weaker, wetter, tears on your waterline.  

“You know why,” you answered thickly. “You know and everyone else knows, too. You know how I feel about you, Namjoon. Beggars can’t be choosers. They can be pathetic and cruel and selfish and wrong, but they can’t be choosers. I don’t get to choose, Namjoon. To love you or not love, to be with you or not be with you. I'll always say yes.” 

You bit your bottom lip as it wobbled, as the tears made tracks down your cheeks.  

“Doesn’t it hurt?” his voice a mere whisper. 

“Of course it hurts,” you whispered back. “It hurts you too, doesn’t it?” 

Namjoon was a father. 

A baby boy, 7lbs 7oz, born (unlike most babies) on his exact due date, in the final days before Christmas. Namjoon laid his eyes on the bloody, screaming gargoyle that was his son and his fate was sealed. A love the likes of which he had never known burst his heart apart. That was his son and he found he had no interest in a paternity test. Biology wouldn’t take anything away from him, couldn’t change what he knew he felt. The request for a paternity test was in Hayeon’s medical notes and it was done without anyone having to mention it. Two days later, results confirmed that the probability of Namjoon being the father stood at 99.9999%. He threw the letter in the bin. 

He had tried to tell himself throughout the pregnancy that he’d stop. He’d put an end to it for everyone’s sake. To see you was equal parts joy and heartbreak. To have you, knowing you weren’t truly his. To love you, without telling you. He kept so much from you during that time because you were his friend but you were so much more than that now and you didn’t deserve to hear him talk about the baby his girlfriend was carrying. You didn’t deserve to see his excitement, despite everything, his wonder and awe and anxiety. You deserved far more than he could give you.  

So he told himself, after the baby was born, he’d end it. It would be a fresh start, a clean slate. The baby, brand new, didn’t have to know anything of his father’s sins, his flaws, his shame.  

* 

Namjoon ushered you into the apartment with the baby asleep in his arms.  

“Ohh,” you cooed, almost silently. “He’s so cute.” 

“You don’t have to whisper,” Namjoon told you, his voice loud in the silence. “He’s out like a light.” 

You followed him to the sofa and sat next to him, staring down at his son.  

“I didn’t really know they were so small,” you said. “So much smaller than I was expecting.” 

“Right?” Namjoon smiled, couldn’t stop himself. “He’s light, too. It’s almost like there’s nothing there at all.” 

“Yeah, they lose weight after being born, don’t they?” 

Namjoon blinked, exhaustion slowing his brain, so that he took a few seconds to process the question. He didn’t know you knew anything about babies.  

“Yeah, about 10%,” he answered, watching you carefully, trying to gauge what you felt about this child and balance it against what he thought you felt about children as a concept. “He’s 5 days old now so he’s stopped losing weight but it can take a few weeks to gain it back. Want to hold him?” 

You looked surprised then but nodded tentatively. Namjoon still wasn’t used to this manoeuvre; he and Hayeon hadn’t quite nailed the transfer yet but he was getting better. Slipped his son into your waiting arms without too much physical awkwardness. You were quiet as you watched him sleep; Namjoon watched you watch him, felt his heart drop into his guts and those guts start to churn.  

“His name is Hajoon,” he told you. 

You were the first of his friends to be told. He saw the moment of tension in your body, the bob of your throat as you swallowed. You smiled, unable to tear your gaze away from the baby, so he couldn’t see your face properly, couldn’t look you in the eye and see into your soul.  

“Hajoon. Kim Hajoon, nice to meet you,” you whispered.  

Namjoon let his head drop, not sleeping but not quite awake. Minutes passed, he couldn’t have guessed how many. Then he felt your hand on his leg and he opened his eyes. 

“How are you?” you asked with a grin. “You must be pretty wrecked.” 

He nodded. 

“Hayeon is so jacked up on hormones that she’s fine. She’s sleeping right now but she said she honestly doesn’t feel tired most of the time. She feels normal. Whereas I am the most tired I have ever been. I don’t know if I will ever feel normal again.” 

“I expect you won’t. Everything’s changed now, hasn’t it?” 

You turned back to his son and Namjoon saw your smile drop, saw it twist into some kind of sad resignation. He didn’t argue that it hadn’t changed.  

“I have news, too,” you announced quietly, Hajoon still snoozing. 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, I got a new job.” 

“Oh, that’s great!” 

“In Hong Kong.” 

“What?” 

“I’m moving to Hong Kong.” 

“Why? 

“I got a job.” 

Thinking for Namjoon was like swimming through molasses; he was sure he had somehow misunderstood.  

“You’re moving to Hong Kong?” 

“Yeah.” 

“When?” 

“Just after the new year.” 

“Shit.” 

You laughed and it was generous of you. Words wouldn’t come to Namjoon. He knew he should be saying things like: congratulations! That’s amazing! What a great opportunity! I’m so happy for you! He could only think things like: don’t go. What about me? I’ll miss you. Please don’t leave. 

“Obviously I wanted to meet Hajoon first and, y’know, let you know. I’m going to tell everyone else at drinks tonight.” 

“Right... Yeah...”  

“It’s a really good opportunity for me.” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

“I think I’ve been coasting at work here; it was time for something new.” 

And Namjoon didn’t know if you were trying to convince him or yourself. He didn’t care. He didn’t care how great an opportunity it was; any opportunity that put a thousand miles between the two of you was not worth it. Not for him. 

He knew he wasn’t allowed to think that. He didn’t get a say. He didn’t get the privilege of being heartbroken by this. Not after everything he had done. Not after deciding that he was going to end things himself anyway.  

But he did think it. And he was heartbroken. He could feel it, cracking in his chest, trying to contort itself around this new knowledge, your approaching absence. He could feel it, fighting with his resolve, losing. His heart, so full, fit to burst, overflowing with love and gratitude because his son had arrived safely in the world; his heart, torn in two, slivers and shreds of it going with you to Hong Kong... Would they ever return? 

He opened his mouth to say something he shouldn’t. He hadn’t planned what but if this was the last time he was going to see you (and it probably would be because you were leaving in a week and he had a newborn baby), he couldn’t let you go with everything unsaid like this.  

Hayeon opened the bedroom door and walked out, rubbing her eyes, looking a little dozy, hair mussed and face pillow-creased. 

“Oh hi,” she said with a smile, seeing you on the sofa.  

“Hi,” you returned, standing. “Congratulations. He’s beautiful.” 

“Thank you, we certainly like to think so.” 

“I was just heading off.” 

“You were?” 

“You were?” 

Namjoon and Hayeon simultaneously; Hayeon politely curious, Namjoon urgent, panicked. 

“Yeah, you know how it is this time of year. Lots to plan for.” 

“Of course. It was nice to see you; thanks for coming.” 

Hayeon approached and took Hajoon from you, turning back towards the kitchen, while Namjoon stood by and wondered how he could stop you leaving. His apartment, Korea, his life. 

“Well,” you began. “I guess I’ll go. Congratulations on the baby, really. I’m really, really happy for you. You’re going to be a wonderful dad.” 

It was testament to his exhaustion that tears stang in Namjoon’s eyes. He wasn’t really a crier. Certainly not in front of other people. But he couldn’t swallow down the lump in his throat—the lump of words stuck there, that he wouldn’t say, couldn’t say; the words he wished he could transmit to you without saying them aloud.  

You stepped closer with your arms out and he enveloped you, crushing, too tight, too hard, too long. The smell of your hair, the lingering scent of perfume on your neck, your fingers lightly gripping the hair at the nape of his neck the way you always did, the slight overbalance of your weight against his as you rose onto your toes.  

Then, too soon, far too quickly, you pulled back; you said goodbye; you walked out of his apartment and his life. 

* 

Namjoon heard Hajoon stir before the crying started because he wasn’t asleep anyway. He should have been but he didn’t want to go to sleep and wake up in a Seoul that didn’t have you. Even though you had already gone. Had left this afternoon after a raucous bottomless brunch that Namjoon saw the photos from but hadn’t been able to attend. If he didn’t sleep, the world wouldn’t settle into its new formation; the city wouldn’t bend and twist to cover the gap you had left. If he didn’t sleep, he would go mad enough to truly believe it hadn’t happened. 

So he heard his son and went to his cot in the nursery, picked him up, checked if he needed changing, held him close to his chest as he looked out of the window at the city, newly empty or so it seemed.  

Hajoon began to cry, a sweet little mewling racing into full-bodied screams. Namjoon prepared a bottle, one-handed, as he had already learnt to do, but Hajoon didn’t want it. He wanted to kick and scream and Namjoon couldn’t blame him.  

“Don’t worry, baby,” he said quietly, his own voice breaking, tears rolling down his cheek. “We can cry it out together.” 

Namjoon sat in the outrageously expensive rocking chair they had bought but not, at that point, yet used, and he and his son cried their hearts out.  

Hajoon settled before Namjoon did, crying himself back to a newborn’s dead sleep while Namjoon’s breath still shook, came in snatches, tears dropping from his cheeks onto Hajoon’s swaddle. He didn’t put him back into the cot; he rocked, slowly, gently, intent on spending the rest of the night there.  

Hayeon crept in just as Namjoon’s eyelids were dropping.  

“Hey, why are you awake?” he asked, voice thick and groggy.  

“I had to pee. Thought I’d check on him. And you.”  

“We’re fine. Go enjoy some sleep.” 

“Ok.” 

She hesitated at the door and Namjoon wondered what she’d heard, what she’d been woken by but he was too tired to follow the thought to its end, to worry what she might know or suspect. He rested his head back against the chair and closed his eyes, sleep coming swiftly this time. 

* 

The next morning, Namjoon handed Hajoon to Hayeon for his second breakfast, and was stopped in his tracks on the way to the bathroom when she asked him, 

“Did you love her?” 

Like a punch in the gut. ‘Did’ was the wrong question. He had loved her and loved her still. There was nothing past about it; it was all too present, all too painful.  

Could he tell her that? He hadn’t known that Hayeon had known about you, but it didn’t surprise him. It didn’t surprise him that she knew and didn’t confront him about it, that she was willing to let it all be swept under the rug for the sake of their family. Guilt ate at him, suddenly, sharply. Maybe they could both benefit from a little bit of honesty. 

“Yes.” 

“Hi.” 

“Hi.” 

It had been almost two years. Two really good years: you thrived at your job, had made good friends, had established a real, proper life for yourself. And had hardly missed Namjoon at all. That was your story and you were sticking to it.  

His social media were rarely updated—the occasional story of his son, ‘now listening’ songs that you did your best to ignore when you were doing well, that you did your best to decode when you weren’t. It made things easier that he wasn’t there every time you picked up your phone. It made things harder, gave you all sorts of space to imagine his happiness. You knew the big facts: he was happy; his son was beautiful; he and Hayeon were still together. As they would ever be.  

Her instagram was busier. Hajoon. Namjoon. Friends. Family holidays. Hajoon. Namjoon. Namjoon. Hajoon. Namjoon.  

You couldn’t unfollow her; you were supposed to be friends still. So you prodded your bruises, picked at your scabs, looked so closely at photos of him you could have recreated them, pixel for pixel.  

Now he was here in front of you and you had to face the devastating reality that he had the same effect on you as he ever had. You had never seen Namjoon and not loved him.  

“You finally made it back here.” 

That surprised you and you wondered how it was possible that no one had told him. Of course you’d been back to Seoul before now. You just hadn’t seen him, hadn’t wanted him to know while you were here. You hadn’t expected your friends to keep their mouths shut. You were grateful that they had.  

You shrugged.  

“Guess so... Happy birthday.” 

It was pure rotten luck that meant your visit for Chuseok coincided with this. That gave you no excuse at all to not attend. Whilst Namjoon was the birthday boy, it didn’t mean you had to spend any time with him. He was popular and there were more than enough people filling the space; you could avoid him easily. You’d ripped off the plaster, seen him again, said hello and acknowledged him. That was enough.  

You thought. He was somehow always in your line of sight. Somehow waiting for the bathroom at the same moment you needed to go. At the bar buying another drink as you stood there, emptying yours. With every encounter, you grew surer that this had been a mistake. You shouldn’t have come. You should have pretended to be stuck in Hong Kong, pretended your family were visiting you instead, pretended you’d died, who cared? You just needed to get away from him.  

How had the bar become so crowded? Why were there so many people and why were they all in your way? You forgot your manners, left them somewhere on the bar, and pushed, feeling claustrophobic in their presence, in the clinging love and pain that was suffocating you again.  

“Woah, hey!” 

An arm grabbed at you; you struggled, pulled back. 

“Let me go!” 

“Where are you going?” 

Jimin. Interfering. 

“I’m going home. Let me go.” 

“What’s going on? Are you ok?” 

“I’m going home! Don’t try to make me stay.” 

“Good lord, girl, I'm just asking if you’re alright.” 

“No! I’m not! This was a stupid fucking idea! Now let me go!” 

He did. You ran. Ran into him, Namjoon, literally; the force of your body against his sent his drink sloshing over the rim, soaking you and he both. Namjoon laughed. 

“Someone’s keen.” 

Was this funny? Could he really laugh? You thought later of all the witty putdowns you might have thrown his way, something cutting and sharp that would show him just how over him you were, how unbothered, that he had no effect on you whatsoever. In the moment, you just looked at him pleadingly, trapped, unable to look away, to move, to continue your trajectory out of the bar, out of the city, out of the country, back to Hong Kong, where you were safe, where Namjoon was not.  

“Are you ok?” 

No. God no. Was it that obvious?  

Namjoon took you by the arm and steered you to the back, outside where it was dark but still close and muggy. Where there were fewer people. Where you could be alone. You covered your face with your hands, regretting whatever number of drinks it was you’d had that night.  

Namjoon said your name, soft and sweet and concerned, his hand on your arm.  

“How’s Hajoon?” you asked, abruptly, anything to avoid a real conversation.  

Namjoon could not stop the smile that stretched his face wide. You were happy for him, you really were. Happiness was all you’d ever wanted for him so you’d got your wish. If only you had been more specific. 

“He’s so funny,” Namjoon began. “Kid never sits down for a minute. He’s really into tools at the moment—tries to hammer anything long and thin into anything wide and flat. He’s making a mockery of our deposit.”  

“Can’t believe he’s going to be two soon.” 

“It’s scary how quickly the time goes. It feels like yesterday he was brand new.” 

It felt like yesterday to you, too. How raw you felt, how fresh the wounds you’d moved a thousand miles to lick.  

“I’ve missed you,” he said and you physically wilted.  

“Have you?” 

His face fell, softened. He looked at you for a long time, a tiny crease between his eyebrows, a tiny twitch in his jaw.  

“You know I have.” 

“Do I?” 

“Don’t you?” 

“I don’t know, Namjoon.”  

You looked at each other. You wanted him to say something, to fix this, to do something that would mean you could stop loving him, stop missing him. You wanted him to throw his entire life away and kiss you, then and there, onlookers be damned. You expected he wanted no such thing.  

“Hong Kong is treating you well?”  

“Yes, it is.” 

“Good. I’m glad.” 

You didn’t want him to be glad. You wanted him to be cut to ribbons. You wanted him to feel skin-stripped and naked.  

“I was on my way out,” you said, when no more words passed between you, when you were standing in an endless silence. “I really should go.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes, I have to go.”  

“It was good to see you again. Don’t leave it so long next time, yeah?” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

And you stumbled away from him, through and out of the bar, walking as fast as your feet could carry you back to the subway.  

* 

You made it back to your parents’ house, took your make-up off, and brushed your teeth. You made it all the way back to the bed you slept in when you were still a child. Then you cried. Then you curled yourself up in a ball and cursed yourself for this. For being this way. For not letting him go. For somehow still being in love with a man who had never been yours and never would be. For all the things you did two years ago, for how many times you did them, for every opportunity to be the better person you didn’t take.  

It was close to midnight when your phone began to buzz. You stretched yourself across the bed and checked.  

Namjoon. 

You put your phone back down. It continued to buzz. Then it stopped. Then it started again. On and on and on, even when you shoved it under the spare pillow to stop it juddering against the wood.  

It stopped. Two short bursts followed: a message. 

[23:58]  Namjoon: please pick up. I'm outside 

You did not pick up. You exchanged your sleep shorts and vest for a T-shirt and joggers, slipped your feet into slides, and snuck out.  

He was waiting underneath the lamppost three metres away.  

“What are you doing here? Did you get the last train? How are you going to get back?” 

He shrugged. 

“I had to see you.” 

“Why?” 

He almost laughed in his surprise.  

“Why? Because two years ago, you moved a thousand miles away, and you’ve been back here so many times but this is the first time I’ve got to see you. You’ve been avoiding me even from Hong Kong. You were avoiding me all night; every time I tried to talk to y-” 

“We talked.” 

“No, we didn’t. Not really. Not properly.” 

“Well, what do you want to say to me? What’s so important that you came all the way here to tell me?” 

He looked lost, maybe even hurt. You fought the urge to push on his bruises, too. It would only make you feel worse.  

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.  

“I have missed you.” 

He took a few steps closer to you, within arms’ reach now. He lifted a hand, brushed your cheek with his thumb.  

You took a step back. 

“Namjoon.” 

Plea or warning, you weren’t sure.  

He returned your name, closed the gap between you. Before you could move back again, he held your arms, held you still.  

“I have missed you,” he repeated as if it meant anything. “Of course, I’ve fucking missed you—Jesus, I...”  

He moved closer, cupped your cheek in his hand.  

“You just fucking left,” he whispered. “Just like that. Dropped the bomb and didn’t stick around to observe the wreckage-” 

“Namjoo-” 

“I was a wreck. I think I cried more than Hajoon did! One second you were there, and then you weren’t. You didn’t even warn me. I didn’t know you were looking for jobs in fucking Hong Kong!” 

“So what if I had told you? What would you have done? Would you have stopped me?” 

“Maybe!” 

“Namj-” 

“Maybe I would have stopped you! Or at least I would’ve tried.” 

“For what? To what end? Were you going to leave her? Leave your newborn baby? Drop your own bomb and destroy your whole life? You know you weren’t going to. I knew you weren’t going to.” 

“Bu-” 

“Have you left her, Namjoon? Hayeon? Did you leave her?” 

“No,” he answered and you could taste the reluctance in it, the bitterness, see it in the way he refused to meet your eye. 

“Still together?” 

“Yes.” 

“See? We were never going to make it out alive. For all intents and purposes, we never were. Never were anything at all. We existed and left no mark. Move on.” 

“No mark? No mark? Is that why you’ve all but cut me out of your life? Is that why you had our friends – my friends – lie to me whenever you visited? Because it’s left no mark on you? What we were?” 

“What we were was nothing!” 

You were trying not to shout on this quiet residential street, where houselights were off and traffic noise was no more than the sound of water rushing.  

“You’re not going to leave her, Namjoon. You and I both know it. You’re never going to leave her. That means there is nothing for us. We aren’t an ‘us’. Never were. There’s nothing between us. Understand that.” 

A beat passed. 

“What would you do if I kissed you?”  

His name was on your tongue but before it could make its way out, he did just that. Kissed you as he had done two and a half years ago, without waiting for an answer. And just like that day two years ago, you wished you could have said no, wished you could have done something other than kiss him back, than uncross your arms and wrap them around his neck. Your chest felt as though it would cave in, your heart collapsing in on itself—too heavy, too full, too wounded to sustain itself.  

He tasted a little drunk; you could still smell the beer that you had made him spill on himself earlier that evening; his hair was shorter now, short even, nothing to grab at the nape of his neck like you always used to.  

“See?” he asked, a little breathless, lips still touching yours. “How can you say there is nothing? It’s not nothing. This isn’t nothing.”  

“Namjoon.” 

You hated yourself for the way your voice broke. You pushed him away, extricated yourself from his arms, scrubbed a hand over your face.  

“No,” you said, sounding surer than you felt. “No, god, no, we can’t do this.”  

You shook your arms, paced in a tight circle, tried to blow away all the Namjoon-sized, Namjoon-shaped, Namjoon-scented cobwebs in your heart and mind. 

“Namjoon, in about one minute’s time, you’ll be going back to your girlfriend and your son; in four days’ time, I’ll be going back to Hong Kong. Can’t we just leave it at that? Please.” 

“I don’t want to.” 

“There isn’t any other option and you know it. Go home, Namjoon.” 

You turned around and did just that, shutting and locking the door behind you, shutting and locking the door on your heart that housed your love for him, too.  

You didn’t know how you would be able to come back again. This had taken everything you had. 

Namjoon married her. Hayeon. His mother’s taunts had moved from ‘when are you going to make an honest woman of her?’ to ‘when are you going to give Hajoon a little brother or sister?’ so he’d married her just to put it all off, to stop people asking. They’d organised it quickly—there was nothing like a spring wedding in Korea. Cherry blossom everywhere, warmer weather, unlocking as he locked himself down. 

He did it a little to convince himself, too: that they were happy. That he was happy. That they were a perfect family unit, the stuff happily-ever-afters were made of.  

He wasn’t unhappy. He loved his son more than anything in the world and got no greater pleasure than the moments when he would stretch up his tiny arms to be lifted, to wrap them around Namjoon’s neck and cling to him like a koala. The pride he felt when Hajoon learnt something new, when he finally said a word correctly, when Namjoon saw him do something he had no idea he’d learnt already—applying lip balm like his mum, reading a book (albeit upside-down) in his dad’s reading chair.  

Hajoon had started going to nursery. He would begin going full-time next term and everyone kept telling him that it must be great having his time back. Having his freedom back. 

Free? Was that what he was supposed to feel? Free, knowing that his son was in the care of other people, people he didn’t know; free, worrying about whether his son was making friends or being bullied or learning enough; free, sending his baby into the world, watching that world expand around him, watching his baby understand that there was so much more than Mummy, and Daddy, and their little house? Free?  

He’d never felt more trapped.  

He set a timer on instagram on his phone and, every few days, would ignore it a hundred times just so he could look at you. Now you were free. Free to travel (most recently, Malaysia, but also the Philippines, Australia, Fiji, amongst others). Free to love (your boyfriend, Namjoon had suspected from your stories, and then had it confirmed by his friends). Free to be anything but his.  

* 

“Congratulations,” you said, with a smile that looked too big to be insincere. “I’m sorry I missed the wedding. You didn’t really give me much notice, though, so that’s on you.” 

Namjoon tried to return the smile.  

“Yeah, sorry about that. We just kind of decided, wanted to do it quickly, y’know? It was pretty overdue.” 

He watched you carefully, desperately hunting for clues, sure that he used to be able to read you much better than this.  

“Of course. You had perfect weather for it, too. The pictures were beautiful.” 

“Thank you... Your boyfriend seems... nice.” 

He knew that that smile was genuine. He had watched you, with him, in the minutes since you’d arrived at the restaurant and sat down opposite him, and you really did seem happy. He really did seem like a nice guy, which made Namjoon hate him. Made him hate himself a little, too. Because he had locked himself into a loveless marriage. Because he couldn’t have you. Because of everything that he had done to you.  

“Yeah, he is. I’m really happy.” 

“Good.”  

And then Namjoon felt like he needed another drink, though the first courses hadn’t arrived yet.  

* 

He stumbled outside, onto the roof terrace of the obnoxiously lit, trendy bar the group had chosen. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go anywhere but home. He wanted to go back three years ago, more than that now, and make different decisions. So many different decisions. He wondered just when exactly it was that his life had started spinning out of control. It wasn’t you. Wasn’t Hajoon. Wasn’t even Hayeon cheating on him. Did it go all the way back to the accident? The one that he was convinced had tied him forever to Hayeon, had made him family, an exclusive club of one.  

He had loved her. He absolutely had loved her. She was his first love. He knew that they had been happy once. Once. For a long time. He had never confronted Hayeon about her cheating, as she had never confronted him. When she was pregnant, Namjoon assumed that, whatever sort of affair it had been, it was over; she’d never given him any cause to think otherwise, nor any cause to think something new had started in its place. A blip. Maybe that’s what it was.  

It wasn’t over for him, though, was it? It wasn’t a blip for him. It was the sharpness he felt in his chest when he saw you. The low swoop of his stomach when he pictured you, all those miles away, happy without him. It was the way his brain automatically turned on the fantasy of his life with you whenever he stopped, even for a second. What you could be. What you could have. He knew it was a fantasy, but when he saw you, in person, when you were right there in front of him, radiant and fresh and just as beautiful as you had always been, he knew it could be real, too.  

“I’m the search party,” you said in way of greeting, sitting on the stool opposite him. “Jin went to search the toilets, too.” 

“Found me.” 

“Are you ok? Just wanted some air?” 

Namjoon laughed. Air was the least of his concerns.  

“Are you happy?” he asked, demanded.  

“Yes.” 

“Are you sure?” 

He saw you put your guard up, saw the way it fell across your face just as it was starting to look sad, concerned. Saw it turn that face neutral, suspicious. 

“Yes, Namjoon, I’m sure. Are you happy?” 

He tipped his head back and sighed at the sky. 

“No.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” 

He scoffed.  

“Fuck that.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re sorry to hear that? What are we, coworkers? Surely you have more to say than that.” 

He wanted you to be happy that he was miserable. He wanted you to understand. He wanted you to take him in your arms and make him not miserable.  

You bristled beside him, sat a little straighter. 

“What do you want me to say, then?” 

He felt desperate when he looked at you, dead in the eye, your eyes doing their best to keep him out.  

“You want me to tell you to leave her,” you continued. “You want me to say, do it, Namjoon. Leave your wife and be with me. Come and be happy with me... I’m not going to do that. You know I’m not going to do that.” 

“Why not?” 

You laughed. It hurt. 

“There are a hundred and one reasons, Namjoon. First and foremost: you don’t actually want to be with me-”  

You held your hand up, pre-empting his interruption, holding it there until he shut his mouth, until he gave you the slightest nod to say fine, ok, he’d be told off. He’d take his lashings. 

“You never wanted to be with me, Namjoon. Be honest. That first time, when you found out Hayeon had cheated on you and you came to my house? I could have been anyone. It wasn’t about me at all. It’s still not about me. Do you know what that does to a person? 

“I’m not blameless: I let you. Sat myself at your feet and ate the food you dropped. I knew it wasn’t about me and I let you have it anyway but do you not understand what that did to me? How hard it has been to build myself back up? How difficult it was to love you when you were my friend and how much more difficult once you were more than that? How much it hurt me every single day? Reduced me to nothing. No self-respect, no self-esteem, just a gaping wound where my heart should have been because, every time you came, I ripped it out and handed it to you.  

“Why do you think I left? You must know. You knew how I felt about you and you knew you didn’t love me and then I come back here and you try to open it all up again. You knew why I had been avoiding you, so why did you follow me? Why? Why do you sit there, indulging in your misery, and try to drag me down too?  

“I’m not doing it, Namjoon. I've spent too much fucking time getting over you. It’s not fair for you to do this to me.” 

He sat. He took it. With his head down, empty glass in hand, he acknowledged the truth of almost everything you said, felt his shame outgrow his pride, felt tears (that were always too close to the surface these days) burn in his eyes.  

“I love you,” he said, lifting his head to look at you. “I love you.” 

“No, you don’-” 

“I do. You’re right, I’ll admit it: to start with, it wasn’t about you. You couldn’t have been anyone but it wasn’t about you. Until it was. It wasn’t about Hayeon; it wasn’t about anything but you and it’s been you ever since. I loved you then and I love you now.” 

You covered your face with your hands, fingers pressing into your eyes. You shook your head. 

“You can’t say that to me, Namjoon.” 

“Why not?” 

“Becaus-”  

You stopped, tears spilling down your cheeks, lips pressed tight to stop the wobble.  

“Because I’m over you, ok? I have a boyfriend.” 

“And I had a girlfriend. I have a wife.” 

“Exactly! GOD-” 

You stood, started pacing in front of him, hands shaking at your sides. 

“You have a wife, Namjoon! And a son! What are you doing? You can’t say this shit to me, ok? You can’t. I won’t let you; I don’t have to listen to this.” 

His hand had wrapped around your arm before you’d taken your first step. He turned you to face him, held you too tight, held you still. There had to be something he could say that would at least make you stay to talk a bit longer. There had to be some way he could get through to you. That he could convince you he loved you, if nothing else. You turned your head away, closed your eyes, face tight as if anticipating impact. Your hands still shook. 

Namjoon saw your fear and instantly his hands fell back to his side. You tentatively opened one eye, swivelled it to look at him, not asking permission but checking if it was safe. You took a big step back from him. 

“Uh, guys?” 

Both of your heads whipped around: Tian was standing in the doorway, looking a little surprised, like he’d walked in on something he shouldn’t have.  

He had. 

“Um, the group is ready to head to another place; I was sent to round you up. Everything ok?” 

You nodded, turned quickly to swipe the tears from your eyes, and then smiled at your boyfriend, walking with a skip back to him. 

“Of course!” you answered, suddenly perky. “Where to next?” 

Namjoon sent a text to Hayeon. He was going to go home early and relieve the babysitter. He had a headache. 

You had been determined to pretend it had never happened. You took your boyfriend’s arm and smiled at him, rejoined the group, and walked to the next bar, aware of Namjoon’s sudden absence. You didn’t want the entire night ruined because of him. 

Your efforts were in vain. You excused yourself to the toilet once your order had been placed and tried some deep breaths. Tried some grounding techniques. Tried to will your heart to slow, your tears to stop pricking behind your squeezed-shut eyelids.  

It should not have been like this. You had been sure. Confident. Smug, even. Tian was a great boyfriend and you liked him a lot. Loved him, even. You had looked at Namjoon’s wedding photos with a pit in your stomach but then you had gone to dinner with Tian and had a lovely time and reminded yourself that there were people in the world (at least, there was one person) who wanted you around, who was prepared to say it, to live it, to love you out loud in front of everyone. You deserved that, you reminded yourself. You were happy.  

But your heart still raced and your stomach still churned and your heart still called for Namjoon: wanted to check if he was ok, wanted to run to him, wanted to tell him to leave his wife. That was the worst part: you wanted to do all the things you’d said you wouldn’t, all the things he wanted. Instead, you had to go back out to your boyfriend and your friends and pretend you were fine. That you were where you wanted to be. 

* 

Because Tian was a good boyfriend (he was and it hurt you all the more now that you knew you weren’t over Namjoon. Might never be), he picked up on your mood, asked if you would mind going home a little early, because he felt tired.  

“It was Namjoon, right?” he asked, as he shut your hotel room door and slipped off his shoes. 

“What?” 

You sat down heavily, not ready for the rigmarole of getting ready for bed. 

“You said you left Seoul because of a bad relationship.” 

You had said that. Had told Tian that you needed to take things slowly because you weren’t confident you’d glued yourself back together securely enough. So he had taken things slow, really slow, with you, because he was kind and patient and deserving of a far better love than you could give him.  

Your body sagged. You nodded.  

“Are you ok?” 

You held your arms open to him and he pulled you up into a hug. He stroked your hair and rubbed your back. 

“Yeah.” 

Pressed so close to him, you could feel the tension build in his body. 

“I was talking to Hayeon; she said they’ve been together since university.” 

“Yeah.” 

You felt him nod and he said nothing more for a few minutes; he just held you close and you finally found your heart begin to slow, your panic subside. 

“I’m going to wash up,” he whispered, pressing a kiss into your hair.  

You undressed, put pyjamas on, and swore to yourself that this was an end to it. No more. No more Namjoon. It was done. There was a man in the bathroom who accepted you, loved you, didn’t cheat on you (hadn’t cheated on anyone), and you loved him. Namjoon was in the past; Namjoon didn’t even live in the same country as you; this didn’t have to be hard (though making these declarations in his absence felt easy, easier than holding to them in his presence). 

It wasn’t long before you were back in Seoul again. Namjoon found excuses not to see you. He knew the things you said were right. He didn’t want to know it. Didn’t want to face it.  

Had not wanted to face anything difficult in his life for a long time, he realised.  

Then, one day, he checked your instagram and there it was: an engagement post. A diamond ring on your finger. Two smiling faces.  

* 

He carried the heartbreak around as rage, impatience, irritability. Scolded his son for making a mess (as if that weren’t what kids were for), snapped at Hayeon so many times, she snapped back. It wasn’t their fault. It was his. All of it, his. 

* 

“I’ve been thinking,” Hayeon began, sliding into bed next to him. “Hajoon is almost four now-” 

And Namjoon thought it was going to be about school or extra-curriculars or maybe she was just being very efficient about planning for his birthday. The moment she said the words ‘little brother or sister’, he stopped hearing anything at all. A light-headedness rushed through him, roaring in his ears.  

“I want a divorce,” he said, cutting her off mid-sentence. 

* 

And that was how it was. Long talks. Lots of tears. A better understanding of one another than they had had for years. An easing. A settling. No longer the feeling of walking on eggshells. No longer the weariness, the misery, the emptiness of their relationship echoing in their bed.  

They were polite and civil and organised. Agreed the splitting of the assets. Agreed 50-50 shared custody of Hajoon, who didn’t understand and found the transition, when Namjoon first moved out, difficult but adjusted quickly (as children are wont to do) and continued to thrive. There were still legal things to be finalised, a long process made longer by paperwork, but the practical things were achieved quickly and their separate lives began. 

Namjoon, sitting in his new apartment, much smaller than the old one, much neater, quieter, cried. He cried a lot. Some of it was sheer relief. Some of it was terror of something he had never known. Some of it was regret that it had taken him this long. Some of it was heartbreak. Some of it was because he didn’t know what else to do now. Didn’t know if he could fix it. Didn’t know if there was anything left to fix.  

Because it wasn’t about you. Not really. Or not entirely. It was about Namjoon doing what he should have done years ago. It was swallowing a bitter pill to cure his ills. Not just his, but Hayeon’s too, and Hajoon though he was too young to have them yet – preventing his future ills, making it so he didn’t grow up with a fucked-up view of what a relationship was, what it was supposed to be.  

It was better for everyone. It was. After the initial surprise, everyone else agreed, too. His friends finally confessed that they’d wanted to ask him for years, was he happy? Did he want this? When he had got a little too drunk and said things they didn’t know how to take and they had just let them drop, should they have picked him up on them? Had they done badly by Namjoon for not pushing the issue? He wanted to be angry with them. To say, ‘why didn’t you tell me?! Why didn’t you make me leave?!’. But it wasn’t their fault and, if they had said those things, he’d have hurt them, too. So he reassured them; it wasn’t their fault and they couldn’t have fixed anything. It was Namjoon’s problem and he had to be the one to realise it, to do it. That it had taken him so long was his own fault and no one else could have made it happen any quicker. 

“I left Hayeon, did you hear?” 

And you didn’t know what you had done to deserve this. Didn’t know quite how it always ended up you and Namjoon alone. You and Namjoon having this conversation. Namjoon digging up the past, expecting to find life in it, expecting to find what he had convinced himself it was, not what it had actually been.  

“Yeah, I heard.” 

You moved away from him, out of the room, without a backward glance. 

You had heard: a message coming in whilst you flicked through a bridal magazine. You were getting married and you shouldn’t have cared. It should not have opened a crevasse inside your heart. It should not have seen a tiny butterfly of hope flit from that deep wound. It should not, in turn, have made your blood boil. You should not have put the magazine down, hands shaking with rage. You should not have cared. 

You did.  

It made you furious: that he’d finally left her when it was too late; that your reaction to the news was hope. That, after all this time, since the moment you fucking met him, he had this hold on you, this choking grip that would not let go. You’d moved a thousand miles but it stretched across the ocean, eternal, endless. You decided to make your fury endless, too. 

* 

“How are things with you? How’s the wedding planning?” 

“Leave me alone, Namjoon.” 

* 

Your name. You ignored it. 

Your name again. You left the room. 

* 

“Are you just never going to speak to me again, is that it?” 

“No, Namjoon, that’s not it.” 

“Then what?” 

You turned to face him, exasperated, terrified. 

“Then what do you want me to say? I know you and Hayeon are getting divorced. Of course, I know that and you know that I know it, so why ask?” 

His face twitched, in surprise, confusion, irritation. 

“Well, don’t you want to say anything?” 

“No, I don’t. Enjoy your divorce. Goodbye.” 

* 

Then, weeks later, a letter arrived for you. It languished in your postbox for almost a fortnight, because you received post so infrequently that you almost never checked it. Somewhere underneath piles of leaflets and advertising was a handwritten letter addressed to you. You didn’t recognise the handwriting but it didn’t matter because you knew who it would be from. Knew it in your guts.  

You were grateful that Tian was out, that you had time to sit and read it properly.  

You may want to burn this, it began, but please at least read it first. I have a lot to say and I know you won’t let me say it to your face—I may not be brave enough to say it to your face after all this time—so I have written it down. I wrote it once and scrapped it, wrote it a second time and tried to make myself sound resolved and wise and like I knew, at any point, that I knew what I was doing, but I can’t hide from you and you already know all my worst traits, every bad thing I've ever done, so I’m just going to state things plainly and show myself as I am.  

I love you. I’m not sorry for it. I’m sorry for all sorts of things but I won’t apologise for loving you, not now, not ever.  

You were right, when I came to you that first time, it wasn’t about you. It was about Hayeon and my own ego and a destructive need to fuck things up (I’m good at this, as you already know). It was not about you but I need you to believe that it couldn’t have been just anybody. I came to you because I was wounded and hurt and angry and I knew you would ease that pain. I liked you and trusted you; you were my friend.  

I hadn’t known what I was going to do. I didn't have a plan. I don’t think you will believe that, but it’s true. Everything I had, everything I was, as a person, a human, a half of that whole, was tied up with Hayeon; we had been together for so long, even before we were together-together, and I felt as though she had spat in the face of that. She had. She had denigrated and undermined the foundation of our lives—hers, mine, ours. I was angry and I wanted to do something I couldn’t take back. I wanted something that was mine and mine alone. I wanted something that had nothing to do with her (though, of course, unavoidably, it was to do with her, that reaction in me, that impulse). I felt I would never forget the images of her with another man and I wanted something that I could think about, when that image came to me, something that would replace it, would remind me that I had something of my own, too. I had something special with someone special. You.  

So you see it could never have been anyone. I am glad that it was you. Looking back on it, it feels inevitable, that I came to you and that you let me in. I am grateful to you. Despite everything that I have done and you have done, everything we’ve said, I am grateful. Even if you rip up this letter, if you burn it, tear it to shreds and soak it in water, I am grateful to you.  

I have done everything wrong. I see that now. I have done wrong by everyone: me, Hayeon, you, even Hajoon, though he is still so young and understands so little, I hope it doesn’t affect his future. I am sorry for that. Please believe me: I am sorry.  

In my first draft of this letter, here I wrote all the things I wish I had done or said. There were a lot of them. I won’t do that in this one, though, because it doesn’t matter now, does it? I can’t take any of it back. I can’t make better choices in the past. I can only make better choices for the future.  

So I separated from Hayeon, a thing I should have done many, many years ago. We are both much happier now. She has a boyfriend, I don’t know if you know. He is a good man and he is kind to Hajoon and I thought I would be jealous, would be inclined to find fault where there was none, but I haven’t. Hayeon and I get on better now than ever. Co-parenting is sometimes hard and often complicated, but we are better parents because of it. We are able to be better people because of it. And Hajoon gets to see his parents happier than they were; Hayeon and Minho can show him what a happy relationship is like.  

I know you are happy. I am as happy for you as I can be, though I am also sad and lonely and I miss you more than I have any right to. I know and I accept that I have done so many things wrong and I have hurt you, not just once but repeatedly, and I am sorry for that. Truly, deeply, eternally sorry. I love you. I will always be here for you if you ever need anything, even from a thousand miles away.  

Now this letter is in your hands, to be dealt with however you wish. So am I. 

Yours always,  

Namjoon. 

It took you a long time to read. Because you hesitated over reading it, unsure if you really wanted to know what he had to say. Because your eyes were blurry with tears. Because there were never enough nails in this coffin. Namjoon, wherever he was, whatever he did, you loved him. Had never stopped, not for a second since you started. Since you met. Since your heart fell at his feet. You’d done everything you could to fight it, to hide from it, to kill it. It would not be suppressed. 

* 

Namjoon never received a reply from you. What would you have said? What could you have said? There was nothing in the letter you hadn’t really already known. He knew everything you could say, too. So you hid the letter in a diary and tried to forget its existence. 

Minho had proposed to Hayeon. She had said yes. They were planning a wedding—a proper one this time, a big event with everyone they knew in attendance, not the tiny, family-only, rushed job that she’d had with Namjoon. Namjoon tried, in his worse moments, not to be happy for them, but there was no denying that they were a beautiful couple and Minho was great with Hajoon (as were his parents, who didn’t seem to care that their son was marrying a divorcée with a kid). In the absence of a father, Hayeon had asked Namjoon if he would walk her down the aisle; he had been unexpectedly touched and was genuinely looking forward to it. He loved her, in a sweeter and deeper way than he had before, and he was so glad that, whatever he might have done wrong, she had this happiness now.  

You had been invited. You had RSVP’d yes. That had surprised Namjoon because, according to everyone else, you had fallen off the grid. Responding to messages vaguely and intermittently, socials all dead. Despite the fact that you were supposed to be planning your own wedding. He tried not to worry. Tried and failed. Tried and failed, too, not to be anxious about seeing you again.  

Would you be happy? Would you want to speak to him? Would you still be angry? Would you ignore him and walk away as you had done before? How had his letter been received? He still didn’t know. As far as you were concerned, it seemed, Namjoon did not exist, but you wouldn’t be able to avoid him at the wedding.  

* 

 “Look at you,” Namjoon cooed, beaming at Hayeon, in her dress and veil, clutching her flowers tightly.  

“Do I look alright?” 

“You look beautiful.”  

“I’m really nervous, is that weird?” 

“I don’t think so.” 

“I don’t remember being nervous when we did this.” 

Namjoon laughed. 

“We didn’t exactly do this. A quick trip to the district office isn’t really a wedding.” 

Hayeon smiled but didn’t laugh. 

“It felt like a wedding at the time, though. I liked it.” 

Namjoon nodded, knowing that he couldn’t lie and that she would see through it if he did. 

“I’m really happy for you,” he said instead. “Minho is a good guy and I’m glad you found him.” 

Her eyes sparkled with tears she tried to blink back, tipping her head as if to tip them back inside. 

“Thank you,” she replied, her voice watery, too. “We’ve been through a lot and I’m so grateful to you for everything, especially Hajoon, and divorcing me, and being friendly to Minho. You know I could never have said yes to him if I didn’t know you would be supportive. You’re still my family and I love you.” 

They hugged, careful not to smudge make-up, not to step on her dress. 

“I love you, too,” Namjoon said, a lump forming in his own throat, grateful that something good had come from all his mistakes, that they hadn’t ruined her the way they had him. “Ok, shall we do this?” 

* 

He looked for you as he walked down the aisle. Waved back at Hajoon waving from the front row, but scanned the crowd for you. Couldn’t pick you out on the short walk to the altar. Tried not to be obviously distracted as he stood at the front, next to Hayeon, handed her off to Minho, who looked as handsome and happy as he ever had.  

He spotted you, towards the back, eyes determinedly forward while everyone else let their gazes roam: Hayeon, Minho, the flowers, the other guests, the gardens outside. His heart squeezed. It was a wedding, for fuck’s sake. If he didn’t take this opportunity, on this of all days, he would be a bigger idiot than he thought. 

* 

You weren’t easy to catch, though. He knew you were doing it deliberately. Maybe that should have stopped him. It didn’t. 

It was long into the night, booze flowing, disco dancing, when he finally caught you, waiting for the bathroom.  

“Can we talk?” he asked, cutting through the niceties, which would only have given you a greater opportunity to tell him to go fuck himself. 

“No. I have to pee.” 

“Ok, you can use the bathroom in my room.” 

You scoffed. 

“Nice line.” 

“It’s not a line. I want to talk to you.” 

“No.” 

And you stalked off, apparently no longer in need of a bathroom. 

* 

He caught you again, outside this time, leaning against the wall, looking up at the sky.  

“Wondering when is an acceptable time to leave?” he asked, not sure if he was joking or being kind of a dick. 

“Oh, I’m long past that, no worries. Not that anyone would have missed me even if I’d left early.” 

“I’d miss you.” 

“Don’t start.” 

Namjoon moved closer, touched your arm with just his fingertips. Spoke softly, tried not to sound as desperate as he felt. 

“Please can we talk?” 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Then you said yes. Well- 

“Ok, you talk,” is what you said. “What is it you have to say to me, Namjoon? Got some magic words that’ll fix my life? Because that’s pretty much all I want to hear. If you’ve got some other shit to say, I’m not sure I’m interested.”  

“How’s Tian?”  

He thought he was treading lightly on safe territory but you whipped your head around to face him with rage in your eyes. 

“Are you fucking joking?”  

Your voice was strained with anger.  

“What?” 

“Fuck off, Namjoon!” you shouted. “Just fuck off!! Forever!!! Ok? Fucking leave me alone!!” 

But he wouldn’t. Should have. Might have on a different day, if he were completely sober, if he were a different person. 

“No.” 

And you looked angrier still.  

“You can shout at me if you want,” he continued. “And kick and scream and whatever, but you can’t just avoid me and ignore me for the rest of time. Even if you live in Hong Kong, you have family and friends here and we’re going to fucking work this shit out. Ok?” 

He couldn’t read the look on your face, then, but you weren’t arguing or walking away, so he took you by the hand and waited for you to pull it back. When you didn’t, he wasted no more time and led you back inside, up the stairs to his hotel room, where you could kick and scream to your heart’s delight and it wouldn’t ruin the party.  

When he shut the door and turned to you, your face had settled into something mean. 

“You know I don’t live in Hong Kong anymore, right?” 

No, he did not know.  

“Uh, no.” 

“You know whose fault that is?” 

He felt like it was probably his, though he wasn’t sure why. 

“No.” 

“Of course you don’t! Because it couldn’t possibly be your fault, could it? Couldn't possibly have anything to do with you! Because nothing is your fault! You’re just a fucking bleeding heart, aren’t you, Namjoon?” 

He didn’t really know, now, what he had been expecting. Could see that maybe his hopes had clouded his judgement. He had told you you could kick and scream but he hadn’t realised that you really were going to. You weren’t usually this angry and he had no idea what you meant: not living in Hong Kong? Then where? Seoul? And he didn’t know, hadn’t known; no one had told him? 

“That’s not what I think at all,” he answered, voice calm, trying not to respond in kind, not to let the strength of his own feelings escalate this. “Lots of it is my fault but I didn’t even know you had moved back here—when? When did that happen?” 

“As if you fucking care!” 

“Of course I care! I love yo-” 

“DON’T!” 

With a finger raised against him, shaking lightly. 

“Don’t you fucking dare with that shit, ok? Stop fucking lying to m-” 

“It’s not a lie! Why would I lie?” 

“Because you can’t love me! Don’t you get it? We were nothing! Nothing! A fucking distraction for you and nothing m-” 

“Now you don’t.”  

Namjoon could feel his blood heat, feel the anger rising in him. He didn’t want to be angry with you; he didn’t want to have this argument but how could you still be saying this? Still be saying that what you had with him was nothing? It wasn’t nothing to him and he knew it wasn’t nothing to you.  

“Who’s the one lying now?” he asked. “You know it’s not nothing. If it were nothing, you wouldn’t be here spitting fucking feathers at me! Tell me: why are you back?” 

“Why do you think?! Because I fucked it, Namjoon! Because of you! Because it’s always fucking you! Jesus Christ, I moved a thousand miles away and it’s still you! Still you that I let fuck up my entire life over and over again like some insane moron! And you stand there, have the fucking gall to ask me why? How? What happened? You happened, Namjoon! You fucking existed and we met and then it was all fucked!”  

“Sorry.” 

You wiped your eyes, forgetting about your make-up, smudging it, smearing it—remembering too late to be delicate, swiping a finger carefully beneath your lashes.  

“I really fucking hate you sometimes.” 

“Yeah, I hate myself sometimes, too.”  

“I don’t want that.” 

“I don’t know what you want.” 

You didn’t answer that. Namjoon didn’t expect you to, not really.  

“Can I talk?” he asked.  

You shrugged, staring into the floor as if it might serve answers. 

“Ok, well, I’m sorry you’re back, I guess.” 

You scoffed, no heat in it. 

“Ok, maybe I’m not that sorry, I don’t know. I’m sorry you’re miserable; I'm sorry you hate me. I’m sorry that Hong Kong didn’t work out. Did... Is Tian with you here?” 

“What do you fucking think?” 

“Ok, well, sorry for that, too, I guess. Or not sorry, not really, because we’re both here now, aren’t we?” 

“Don’t, Namjoon-” 

“Don’t what?” 

“Don’t suggest we get ‘back together’. We’ve never been together. There isn’t anything for us to go back to.” 

“I don’t know why you keep saying this! Why are you trying to deny what we had?” 

“NAMJOON!”  

Angry again, arms raised, a resurgence of energy.  

“For fuck’s sake, STOP!” you continued. “We had a-, god, I don’t know, an affair? We didn’t have a relationship. Did we date, Namjoon? Did we tell our friends? Do they even know now?!” 

It hadn’t really occurred to Namjoon to ask. At the beginning, he had assumed they did not know because that is what he wanted to believe. Now, he assumed they knew—surely they did? Could they not have known? They were always a little skittish when it came to you; were they the same when they talked to you about him? They had to know. How could this thing, which had dominated more than five years of his life, have passed them by unnoticed?  

“So we weren’t anything,” you continued. “It was all a mistake. A mistake that I’ve somehow let ruin everything. I think I'm worse off than I was when I left for Hong Kong in the first place.” 

You looked up at him. 

“Do you ever wish you never met me?” 

“No, never.” 

“Oh.” 

Namjoon chose to assume that those words were just anger, not a reflection of what you really felt.  

“I’m not sorry we met. I can’t be. Even if I’m sorry that you’re miserable, that I’ve caused you pain, that I’ve fucked so many things up for you. I'm sorry for those things but I’m not sorry we met, I’m not sorry I love you.” 

“Stop it, Namjoon. You don’t love me and I’m going to tell you why.” 

You steered him into a chair, sat him down, sighed heavily. You sagged, all your energy wiped in an instant. You looked tired. Looked older than the bright, young thing you had been when all this started—which of course you were. You both were. Older but not necessarily wiser, Namjoon thought. 

“Before any of this started, I was in love with you. We all know that, right? I loved you and couldn’t have you and that was fine. Not fine but it’s how it was. Then you caught Hayeon cheating and you needed to do something destructive, isn’t that what you said? Something you couldn’t take back. Me. And then it kept happening because, despite appearances, you and Hayeon weren’t meant to be but you were too much of a fucking coward to ever leave her and then she got pregnant and there was no way you would leave your kid. So you trapped yourself in a relationship you hadn’t wanted for a long time and I became your escape. 

“You can say it was about me or it became about me or whatever else you want to but that’s not true. It was about me being not-Hayeon. It was about you having something that she didn’t know about and couldn’t touch. Having something that was just yours. Something that made you feel like less of a trapped fucking loser.  

“Then I, for once, did the right thing and I left and you had all the time in the world to idealise and fantasise about what we had and what we could have had if only everything were different. And it took you so long to leave Hayeon that now, when you could have been dating and looking for someone who would make you happy, all you have to cling to is me. Memories and fantasies of me. Because you’re still a fucking coward, Namjoon. You don’t want to meet someone else because it’s horrible and scary. You want me to say yes so you can welcome me into this fantasy life you’ve created for us. Except that it doesn’t exist. I’m not a fantasy! None of this is! It’s not real! You don’t love me; you love the idea of me that you’ve concocted! You love the dream life that you have spent years perfecting! 

“But that’s not real! That’s why I keep telling you we’re nothing! Because we are! Dreams are nothing, fantasy is nothing, we are nothing!” 

“What would you do if I kissed you right now?” 

“NAMJOON! FUCK!” 

“Answer the question.” 

You might have been right, at least partly, but you were also partly wrong. You appeared to have forgotten that, before anything sexual happened between the two of you, you were friends. Good friends. You enjoyed each other’s company, made each other laugh, lent a shoulder or a helping hand when needed. Maybe Namjoon had spent a little too much time thinking about you but he would never, ever accept that you were nothing.  

Death by a thousand cuts. You felt shredded. Slashed to ribbons. Somehow still so raw after all this time: wounds where there should have been scar tissue, rough and ugly but stronger than it was. It beggared belief that you could still feel like this. That you managed to fall in love with another man, that you agreed to marry him, and then still let it all be ruined by the thought, the possibility, the memory of Namjoon.  

It hurt that he kept insisting you were something more than a fling. Because if it were true, why didn’t he leave her? Why did he stay? For all that time? Why did he let you go? If he cared so much now, why not then? Why was it not worth the leap, the fear, the risk? Why were you not worth it?  

Now it was easy. He was single and he knew you. Too well. Knew that, even after all this time, there was space in your heart for him. You hated it. You loved him. You knew if he kissed you, there would be no pushing him away. You had put a thousand miles and five years between you and it hadn’t worked.  

You took a deep breath, attempted to steel yourself for the thousandth time, feeling wrung out, brittle and fragile. 

“You don’t get to ask me that, Namjoon. You don’t get to kiss me. Not anymore.” 

He ducked his head—you weren’t sure if it was a nod—and then he looked at you, thoughtful, for a moment. 

“Ok. I understand.” 

He stood and when he took your hands in his, you didn’t have the heart to snatch them back. His hands were warm—always were—and having let him hold them, you had to fight the urge to squeeze. 

“I love you and you don’t believe that. I get it. If you’re back now, back in Seoul for good, I would like the opportunity to prove to you that I do love you and that there is something worth having here. Can I do that?”  

* 

You stood in your hotel room, trying to breathe deeply, trying not to lose it. Because what had you come back for, if not this? Namjoon at your feet. If you were being honest with yourself, wasn’t that why? Why you called off your wedding, left your fiancé, left the country, and came running back? Because Namjoon was single now and telling you he loved you and wasn’t that what you had always wanted to hear?  

When he was in front of you, right there in your presence, you couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand him being there, not being yours, not being so close to you you couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t stand that you couldn’t stand it. Felt every fibre of your being tight and twisted with the effort of refusal.  

When he wasn’t in front of you, his absence clung like cobwebs. Sticky, piling up immediately after you’ve brushed them away. When it was just you and your broken heart and your confusion and your hurt, you wanted him. As much as you ever had. But you couldn’t let him.  

You took off your make-up and stood under the shower, letting the water wash over you, trying to let it relax you, but your brain wouldn’t stop. Your brain wouldn’t stop asking questions and your heart wouldn’t stop telling you to just let him. To go back to him.  

You wondered if coming back was a mistake. If you should have just married Tian and stayed in Hong Kong. If you should have broken up with Tian anyway but stayed in Hong Kong. Because if you had stayed, you wouldn’t be here. If you hadn’t come back- 

Who were you kidding? If you hadn’t come back, you would still have been wrestling with this. It wasn’t over. Hadn’t been over. You ran away to avoid a messy ending but it also meant you avoided a conclusion. Closure.  

What if you didn’t want closure?  

As you stepped into your pyjamas and drew back the bed covers, you asked yourself: if you have come back for Namjoon, why are you pushing him away? If It's not over, why can’t you let it be something? 

You were asking yourself why he wasn’t willing to take a risk, to have taken it so long ago, but there you were, not taking the risk for him. Was he worth it or was he not? If he was worth leaving your fiancé for, was he not worth the risk now? Worth breaking down the walls you’d carefully constructed around his place in your heart? 

And maybe you were tired. Maybe it was watching his ex-wife marry the man she loved—a thing you hadn’t been able to do. Maybe it was foolishness or maybe it was you finally doing the right thing.  

You slipped your feet into slippers and padded back to Namjoon’s room. You knocked. Waited. Knocked again. Were sure he wasn’t going to answer, were turning away from the door, when it opened.  

He looked like he had been sleeping, eyes small and squinting in the light, door only half-opened, half-hiding his almost nakedness. He looked surprised and then confused.  

You didn’t let yourself stop to speak, to explain yourself. You pushed gently against the door so he would stand back, so you could reach out and take his face in your hands, so you could lean up onto your tiptoes and kiss him.  

He didn’t resist, didn’t pull back, didn’t stop to ask the questions you were sure he wanted to. He wrapped his arms around you, pulled you closer, let the door close as he walked you both carefully into the room.  

It reminded you of the beginning of the end. When he had come to you and said nothing but kissed you deeply and slowly and fucked you like there was no one else, could never be anyone else. Fucked you like he had never fucked you before and then told you that Hayeon was pregnant.  

This felt like that. Slow and full and heavy with the weight of things unspoken, years of unexpressed pain, joy, love, pleasure. It felt like a dream, like a memory hazy with age, like a veil drawn between you and reality, because that was all it had been for so long: remembered, dreamt, imagined. Now real, now warm, flushed in your hands, soft beneath them. Now everything you had wanted and tried not to want, yours for the taking.  

* 

When it was over, when you lay in his arms, when you felt his breath shift, about to speak, you tensed. 

“Don’t,” you asked quietly. “Please don’t say anything.” 

A pause. 

“Ok.” 

He kissed your head and you felt it anyway: everything he wanted to say. I love you and what does this mean and are you ok and what happens now. You didn’t have any answers for him, didn’t want the questions asked. You just wanted to stay there, warm and sticky and sleepy and with him. Safe, in the dawn hours, from the world, from the daylight, from the morning after.  

* 

You woke to the sound of knocking at the door. For a second, disorientated, then immediately overfull. Namjoon slipped out of bed and tied a hotel robe around himself.  

“Daddy!” 

“Joonie!” 

His son. 

A gasp you tried to hide beneath the covers. Heat in your face: fury, embarrassment, shame. You’d never wanted kids; had always taken the relevant precautions to avoid it. Until last night. Over-tired, over-wrought, whatever the excuse, you cringed silently to yourself, trying to feel disbelief that you would be so careless. Trying because, well, it was Namjoon and when did you ever do the right thing, the sensible thing when it came to him?  

Not ever. 

You listened to their conversation, grateful that Namjoon was keeping him at the door, with a growing sense of panic. There was still time, but the sooner the better, which meant you had to get out, get home, get to a women’s clinic. Your head was swimming, heart hammering. The second you heard the door close, you jumped out of bed, gathering your clothes, hastily putting them on, tripping over your pyjama trousers, crashing into Namjoon. 

“Whoa- hey, what’s going on?” 

“I have to go. I have to go.” 

And you left with no more explanation, running to your own hotel room, throwing everything haphazardly into a bag, throwing your key card at the reception desk on your way out.  

* 

You considered, for a second, if pregnancy might not have been the easier option. You lay on your floor, breathing carefully, eyes closed, trying desperately not to hurl. It had been more than a couple of hours since you’d taken the requisite pill, so you could be sick reasonably safely, but you weren’t sure you’d make it to the bathroom in time. The cramps were unlike any you’d experienced before. Breathing was about all you could manage.  

You had told Namjoon, as you sat anxiously on the subway, that you would explain later. You had left him on read when he asked if he could come over. You didn’t have the headspace to think about the conversation that would ensue if he did. Could only think about the possibility of pregnancy; swore you could feel it already happening inside you; could not stop the horrifying fantasy of what it would mean if you were pregnant, if you had to carry a baby, raise a child.  

There were worse people to do it with than Namjoon, but you didn’t want to do it with anyone. Ever. So now you were useless on the floor, sicker than a dog, listening to the insistent buzz of your phone on the coffee table. You knew it would be him, weren’t deliberately ignoring him, just couldn’t move enough to pick up.  

* 

Still prone, still cramping, slightly less nauseous than you were, you stretched to grab your phone that had buzzed itself to the edge of the table. You called Namjoon. 

“What the fuck, dude?”  

You probably deserved worse than that. 

“I’m literally on my way to your apartment right now. Jimin gave me your new address. Are you even going to let me in?” 

You took a careful breath, focused hard on speaking, slowly and evenly. 

“I’m not... deliberately ignoring you... I just haven’t... been able to get to... my phone, ok?” 

“Are you ok?” 

“No.” 

“Shit. Uh-” 

“It’s fine... I’ll text you... so you can let... yourself in.” 

“Do you want me to bring you anything?” 

“No, thanks.” 

“Ok, I’ll be over as quickly as I can.” 

“Ok.” 

* 

Namjoon’s footsteps across your apartment were heavy and loud but his arms were strong and he lifted you onto the sofa, pressed a hand against your forehead. 

“What’s going on?” 

“I’m stupid.” 

“Ok, sure, but what’s going on? Why did you bolt? Are you dying?” 

“All good questions.”  

You wanted to answer, to explain, but you were too distracted by trying to ignore the pain—the cramps, the headache, the nausea that was returning again as your stomach started to hunger.  

“Sorry... I just... It’s bad.” 

“What’s bad?” 

You gestured to the coffee table, where you had left the box and its prescription.  

“Oh.” 

You had closed your eyes, couldn’t see Namjoon’s reaction, see what he was expecting from you.  

“So you’re not... And we didn’t... Right.” 

“Sorry... I just... I just forgot... I wasn’-” 

“Yeah, no, it's fine. It’s not like I brought it up either. Guess we both should’ve been a little more careful.” 

You heard him sit in the armchair perpendicular to yours. 

“Didn’t help being woken by Hajoon either.” 

“Actually, that was what made me realise.” 

He laughed. 

“I can’t have another kid by accident. People will start thinking I’m some kind of stupid.” 

“Start?” 

You heard the quiet snort of breath, saw in your mind his rolled eyes. 

“That’s why you ran out though? No other reason?” 

“As soon as I realised... I couldn’t think of anything else... I panicked. I'm sorry.” 

Namjoon didn’t respond and you were happy not to talk, grateful that he wasn’t forcing a difficult conversation on you.  

After a minute or two, you heard him stand, start opening cupboards, moving about your apartment. 

“What are you doing?” you called as loudly as you could manage. 

“One sec.” 

He moved around. He boiled the kettle. He gently lifted your t-shirt and lay a hot water bottle across your abdomen. You sighed. 

“Oh, that’s nice... How did you know?” 

“You know I was married.” 

“Oh shit, really? ... Had no idea.” 

“I suppose now isn’t a good time to talk.” 

You shook your head.  

“Do you want me to go?” 

You shook your head. 

You wanted a lot of things. Were surer now than you had been before that you couldn’t have them.  

Because if there’s one thing a potential pregnancy scare can do for you, it’s making it really clear to you whether or not you want kids. You hadn’t had any doubt about that before now, but you had forgotten to account for Hajoon. The light of Namjoon’s life. His child. His and Hayeon’s son and now Minho’s step-son. You didn’t want to be a step-mother, not a mother of any kind. Didn’t want to worry about the school run, moving to the catchment area of a better school, the germs and illnesses kids brought with them, the homework, the patience required, the eternity of it, the endlessness, the life that will never again be just yours. 

You knew Namjoon wanted kids. Not one kid. Kids. Wanted Hajoon to have siblings. Wanted to be a dad more than just once. Wanted a great, big brood of them.  

You knew, too, that he knew you didn’t want that. Any of it. You didn’t know if he had accounted for that. If all his fantasies had included babies anyway. If he thought you would change your mind. You knew you wouldn’t, not even for him.  

* 

Namjoon stayed for the remainder of the afternoon. He made you rice porridge (the Namjoon you had known wouldn't have even known where to start). He refreshed your hot water bottle. He rubbed your back. He sounded sad when he said he had to go. 

“I have to go and get Hajoon from Hayeon’s parents. They’ve had him since yesterday and it’s getting late for his dinner.” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

Namjoon wished he had said more. Maybe you couldn’t have talked but maybe you could have listened. He had thought long and hard about what he’d say, though most of it flew out the window once he realised why you’d left in such a rush. He was surprised you’d taken the risk; frustrated with himself for not having checked, for being reckless. He’d done that before and it had cost him you last time, too.  

He knew you didn’t want kids—and it wasn’t exactly how he’d have chosen to have another one, either—but he was surprised by the strength of his hope, impossible as it was, and of his disappointment. He thought about Hajoon, the single greatest joy in his life. You would be an amazing mother to him, to any child, if you wanted to be.  

You didn’t want to be. 

As he sat in your apartment, watching you rest, watching the sickly pallor of your face be replaced by its usual glow, he thought about the future and everything you said last night. About his fantasising, about how unreal it all was.  

He was so sure. Had been so sure. About all of it. You. Him. How right you would be, were. How easy it would be. How happy you would be. Now it felt like a house of cards. He didn’t want to ask, anymore. Didn’t want to hear you say that his son was the reason you couldn’t go through with this. Didn’t want to feel the twinge in his chest that said he wouldn’t choose—as if choice would even come into it. Between his son and anyone else, there was no choice. Hajoon always.  

Maybe you were right, because in his fantasies, he would never have to choose. In his fantasies, sure, you didn’t want more kids, but you loved the one he had already. Hajoon with four loving parents. Overflowing with love.  

He thought about you doing it reluctantly. Saying yeah ok, we’ll be together, I guess I can be a step-mum, if I have to. If you have to. If you have to. It made him sadder than he had words to express. 

* 

It was days before he found the courage to contact you. He noticed that you hadn’t contacted him either but he was grateful for it, because he wouldn’t have been ready to have this conversation. He wasn’t sure that he was ready, but it had to happen. Sooner or later. Might as well be now. Before anything else could be said. Before he saw you again and faltered, his weakness overpowering his strength. 

“Hi,” he greeted you simply, opening the door to let you in. 

“Hi.” 

It was awkward, though much less strained than it had been in years past.  

He offered you a seat and you took it. He took the one next to you. Neither of you started. You looked at each other. Namjoon took the time to study your face, as if it were the last time he’d see it: the slope of your nose; the swell of your lips; the tiny mole underneath your right eye; the slight dampness at your hairline because Korea was as hot and humid as it had ever been; your eyes, looking sorry, looking sad. Eyes that had been so often angry with him, sad, frustrated, guarded, now open and soft and sparkling.  

He loved you. As much as he ever had. Maybe more now because it was ending, because all of his dreaming couldn’t save it. Because it had taken this long; he had thought you were inevitable, but he could see now that this was. That heartbreak was. That it had taken him so long to get his shit together that he hadn’t seen this coming. He had spent all his time pretending to be happy in a relationship that wasn’t, then wishing for you, waiting for you. He had spent no time preparing for this. Preparing for the possibility that there would be no you. That this could end in a way that wasn’t the two of you together, forever.  

He couldn’t bring himself to say it. The things that needed to be said. But you weren’t saying them either. He swallowed, fidgeted, preparing to say something, though he didn’t know what. 

“We both know, right?” you asked, voice quiet.  

You didn’t need an answer. You knew. He knew. The world knew. 

“It’s Hajoon, isn’t it?” he asked. 

You physically recoiled, eyebrows drawing close. 

“Namjoon... It’s not... Don’t put it like that. It’s not Hajoon; Hajoon is great, cute, wonderful. It’s all kids. It’s that you want lots of them and I want none.” 

“I don’t have to have lots-” 

“Namjoon, you want lots. Aren’t we past denying ourselves what we want?” 

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”  

“Not in the long-run. Look at what happened with you and Hayeon. You denied that you wanted out and look how long it took for you both to be happ-” 

“I’m not happy. I’m not happy right now. This isn’t what I want.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

He ran his hands through his hair, swore through gritted teeth. When he looked back at you, your eyes reflected the tears in his. 

“But I love you.” 

You nodded, looked down. 

“I love you, too.”  

It was the first time you’d said it. Namjoon wished he could have been happy to hear it. Not heartbroken.  

“And there’s no way-” 

“You know there isn’t.” 

You laughed to stop yourself from crying, because he knew you and he knew that was what it was.  

“Just think if we’d actually stopped to fucking think about this at any point in the last five years, we’d have saved ourselves this mess!” 

Namjoon couldn’t laugh, couldn’t raise a smile.  

“I don’t... I don’t want this to be over.” 

“Well, it barely started so-” 

“You think that makes this easier? Is it easy for you?” 

You scoffed, your breath hitching. 

“Does it look like it’s easy for me, Namjoon? I’ve actually been in this a lot longer than you have, don’t you forget.” 

As if he could. As if he had ever forgotten that there were years of friendship behind you, friendship that could have been more. If only he had seen. If only he had had the guts to end things with Hayeon before he did. Before any of this.  

Though it wouldn’t have changed this ending, would it? At some point, you’d have ended up here. Inevitable, the word resounded in his head and he hated it. Hated that it was true. Hated that he could roll the die a thousand times and it would never show your number. That he could shake this magic eight ball a thousand ways from Sunday and it would never show ‘yes’. 

You had been so close. He couldn’t decide if he was grateful or not, that you had one last night. That he had fresh memories stinging in the fresh wounds of his heart. Was he grateful that it had come to this: you, giving in; you, letting him in; you, loving him, letting him love you, only for it to fall to pieces? Would he have rather you kept pushing him away, acting as if you didn’t love him, as if he couldn’t love you? Would that have been easier? Would he always have wondered? Would he have let it ruin the next ten years of his life?  

“We can’t-” you said, wiping tears from your cheeks, blinking hard. “We’re toast.”  

“Well, when you put it like that, sure, it’s easy. Not sure I’m that bothered.”  

And he hated himself for the sarcasm but he couldn’t bring himself to be sincere. Sincere was the tears on his water line, the embarrassing break in his voice.  

“Namjoon.” 

You stood, arms wide, welcoming. Like you hadn’t done for so many years. He went to you, wrapped you up, held you close, for the last time—it would be the last time like this he knew. He hiccupped, breath trapped in his throat. He tried to breathe you in, remember every tiny detail: the exact shade of every strand of hair, the notes of your perfume, the exact weight of your body against his, the slight tug of the hair at the back of his neck; he swore to himself that he would commit this to memory, never forget it. 

You drew back and took his face in your hands, rested your forehead against his nose, kissed him. One last time. If he could have frozen the moment, trapped it in amber, kept you just like this: sweet and soft and warm and his.  

The beep of Namjoon’s door lock sounded, followed by the whir of unlocking. 

“Dad!” Hajoon cried, thumping his bag down, throwing off his shoes.  

He was supposed to be at a sleepover, out for the night. 

“Changho got sick so I had to come home!” 

You sprang apart, both wiping tears, sniffling, trying to look presentable. 

“He got sick?” Namjoon asked, voice thick. 

“Yeah! His dad made me come home.” 

“Oh, that’s too bad, buddy.” 

Namjoon knelt towards his son, picked him up and placed him on his knee. He saw you turn away, collect yourself. Saw you, as Hajoon recounted the glorious story of what happened when a kid ate too many sweets and then went too fast on the roundabout, gesture towards the door, move towards it without a word. He heard the lock let you out, then lock you out. Could do nothing to stop you with his son on his knee.  

[midnightanxietytm]

Midnight visit

Author's Notes: I wrote this in one afternoon. It's a bit shitty but oh well. I just wanted to see MC match Caleb's freak and then double it because I know that girl is equally freaky and possessive.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Possessive behavior, mutually unhealthy relationship, self-awareness, mc being a freak, mc uses 'gege' to refer to Caleb once, manipulation.

Sometimes in the dead of night, you wonder if you should feel some sort of guilt over it.

But then morning comes, and there he is; making breakfast, teasing you sweetly, kissing your cheeks tenderly and telling you there’s nothing to worry about, that you two will be together forever and he will never leave you again. 

And when night falls, you wait for him to get home on the living room couch, just to pretend to be asleep by the time he gets home and have him carry you to bed...

When you had first reunited, you commented that he was different and he refuted; “What if I told you I was always like this?” And this got to you. It made you think back to your youth under a different light…

You remember that he’d put your shoes on for you every morning, that he’d walk you to all the way to your classroom, that he wouldn’t let you go out with any boys, even Zayne, unless he was present.

You also remember casually leaving your valentines day cards on the dinner table, pretending to be too sleepy so he’d put on your shoes for you, and flaunting to your colleagues that, yes, the upperclassman who came every day with you was your best friend. 

Maybe neither of you changed that much. Maybe you were both possessive and unhealthy.

“Caleb.” You call him in a whisper that night, after he’s set your ‘sleeping’ form on your bed and was ready to leave your room, acting as if you’d just woken up. 

Immediately, his eyes are on you again, and his smile is back on his lips. You reach out a hand and softly caress his face. “You’ve been coming home so late.” You whine softly. Your fingers tracing the small crease between his eyebrows. “I miss you.” 

You can see the moment your words hit him; his pupils dilate even more, the faint light coming from the windows would no longer be a good excuse for that, his breathing shakes just for a moment. Anyone else would have missed it, but you know Caleb. You know he’s softening.

“I’m sorry, pipsqueak.” He whispers, carefully holding your hand with his gloved one and planting a kiss in your palm. “It will be over soon.” He tries reassuring you, but unfortunately for him, you are spoiled, and you don’t take it well when he denies you things.

You frown and pout up at him. “I know about the professor.” A low blow. He flinches, his eyes widening, but you hold him by the collar and force him to stay right where he was, where he belongs. “You shouldn’t hide those things from me, gege.” An even lower blow. ‘Gege’ is too soft, too meek, it doesn’t match the cold tone that seeps into your voice. “We’ll deal with it together, allright?”

A protest begins to form in his mouth, but you cut it by sliding your hand back to his cheek, thumb softly pressing his lips. “You said we could rebuild our old house, right? We’ll do it, but you have to help me, alright? Let me help you.”

Pushing yourself into a more seated position, your other hand comes up to cradle his face. “How-” He swallows hard. You watch his adam's apple tremble with laser-focused eyes. “How much do you know?”

“Not everything, don’t worry. We’ll deal with it, and once it’s over you’ll never have to leave my side again.” A sickly sweet smile sneaks itself into your lips, your thumbs slowly caressing his lips.

Caleb’s breathing is shaky, his eyes dart across your face, clearly shocked at your sudden possessiveness and demanding attitude. You decide that it’s enough now, and slowly fall back into the comforting innocence and pliancy he’s come to expect of you. “Sleep with me tonight?” you ask.

Caleb shudders on your hands, but nods with a smile after it. “Okay.” He whispers. “I’ll change out of uniform.”

He kisses your palm again, and stands to leave the room.

A/N: Is it really a toxic relationship if they are both toxic? I thought they cancelled each other out! /s /j

[crowsofdarkness]

Soldat: Chapter One

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Agent! Reader. Slight Steve Rogers x Female Agent! Reader

Content Warnings: language, 18 + implied smut, angst, fluff, kidnapping, violence.

Summary: Agent Y/N has worked alongside Steve Rogers at SHIELD for some time all while keeping a dark secret from everyone. Until one day that darkness faces her head on and she's forced to make a choice. Continue fighting along side Captain America? Or find her home once again with Soldat?

Authors Note: This was originally published on my old blog as a trilogy so I will be in the slow process of adding it to this blog. This is the first of the trilogy and will take place during The Winter Soldier. If anyone is interested in being tagged, let me know!

A soft breeze came through the curtains in my living room as my eyes scanned the same sentence in the book that was placed in my lap. The sentence that I had reread four times now. Closing the book with a groan, I set it on the other end of the couch and grabbed my phone from the coffee table in front of me. 

No new messages. 

I pocketed my phone while pulling my bottom lip between my teeth. Worry etched in my bones as I realized that I hadn’t heard from Steve in over 48 hours. He never went that long without sending some kind of message back to me. It was supposed to be a simple “save the hostages from a ship in the middle of the ocean. It’ll take a day tops.” Steve words. So here I was, two days later wondering what the hell went wrong. 

“Stupid ankle,” I cursed my sprained ankle as it was the reason I couldn’t go on the current mission. 

I had tweaked it a few weeks back and Steve wanted to make sure it was 100% before going back in the field. No matter how hard I tried to convince him I was fine, Steve could tell in the small limp that I was lying. 

I’d been on Team Captain America for almost a year now, Nick recruiting me because of my background. Three years on New York Swat and almost five as a secret agent for the FBI. There was more to my past, which helped mold me into the agent I was today but that was a part of my life that I kept hidden from everyone, including Steve. There was a time in my life where I was at my lowest and darkest; however, as much as that moment in my life caused me many emotional and permanent scars, I don’t think I would be where I was today. 

My finger ran over a small scar on my wrist as I thought back to that time, years ago, and my skin quivered as those memories came back. A dark, cold room with only one bed and the looming fear of when the next time would be when I would see him; would it also be the last time? Would my end be near?

“Christ, I haven’t thought of him in years.” I shuttered, pushing those thoughts away and tried to think of Steve.

In the year that I had been working side by side with him, Steve and I had become incredibly close. Soft touches, hushed conversions just between the two of us, and stares that never went unnoticed. We weren’t official, afraid of it getting in the way of work so we would never make it past first base; hell we never even made it close to first base.

Tired eyes read the clock that hung above the fireplace and a soft sigh left my lips. Calling him would be a waste of time because I knew he never kept his phone on him while on the field, it always stayed on the jet, so I decided to send him a text. 

I should have figured it would take you longer than a day without me.-Y/N. 

I didn’t even have a chance to set my phone down because a few seconds later it was buzzing and Steve’s face appeared on my screen, indicating he was face timing me. 

“Thank god I actually look somewhat decent,” I muttered before hitting the green button, accepting the call. 

Steve’s bright smile warmed my heart as I took in his appearance. Soot covered his forehead and chin, his typically styled hair was a mess, almost falling in his eyes as those tired blue eyes stared at me. 

“Hi,” I breathed. 

“Hey yourself. What time is it there?” Steve questioned. 

I looked at the clock before my gaze rested back on Steve. “Just past 6 in the morning. How’d the mission go?” 

Steve leaned back in the chair of the jet and ran a hand over his face, unbeknownst to him smearing the soot over his face. I suppressed a giggle, not wanting to let him know. 

“You’re cleared to go back on duty. Starting three days ago.” 

“I told you! We could have been finished days ago and you wouldn’t have needed me to water your plants.” I joked.

Steve shot up. “You have been watering them, right?” 

The seriousness in his voice made me roll my eyes. 

“Oh my god, grandpa. Yes, I did water your plants. You know, I forget that you’re 95 years old then you act like that and suddenly it all comes back.” I said with a small smile. 

“You love me,” Steve gave me a smug smile. 

My heart flipped. You have no idea. 

“So when are you going to be back?” I changed the subject. 

“The jet is landing at SHIELD in a few hours. I have to do a few errands but then I’m all yours,” the softness in his smile warmed my heart. 

“The usual?” I asked. 

“I’ve called in the pizza. It should be ready to go by seven.” 

“I’ll bring the beers then,” I smiled 

Every time we complete a mission, Steve and I would meet at his place for pizza and beers. It had been our tradition for the past year, no one else from the team joining. 

Just us. 

Steve’s lips moved as he was about to say something but a certain redhead appeared from behind him, coming into view. 

“NAT!” I yelled, “I miss you!” 

Her smile mirrored my own. 

“You are forbidden from ever taking leave again. This one almost forgot his shield.” Natasha pointed at Steve. 

“I did not!” He defended. 

“Oh Stevie, what would you do without me?” I cooed and noticed his cheeks burned red. 

We stared at each other for a few seconds and if feeling some type of tension between us, Nat shook her head before ruffling Steve’s hair. 

“You’ve got something on your face.” 

Steve looked closer into his phone and I swore, his cheeks were a deep crimson now. 

“You let me talk to you like this the entire time?” Steve questioned, quietly thanking Nat who gave him a towel. 

I shrugged. “I thought it was a cute look.” 

“Maybe if you stopped giving Y/N bedroom eyes, you would have noticed how dirty you were,” Natasha teased. 

“Nat!” I scoffed, feeling some warmth spread to my stomach. 

“What?” She shrugged, “Someone has to call him out."

Shaking my head with a laugh, I gave them a small wave goodbye and told Steve I would see him later. 

I ended the phone call with a sigh and felt excitement spread through my veins as the thought of being alone with Steve kept creeping in the back of my mind. 

“Where the hell are you Rogers,” I grumbled as I checked my phone for the fifth time since arriving at his apartment twenty minutes ago. 

I had called and texted him wondering when he would be home but was met with silence. My fingers slid over his door frame before peaking under the doormat hoping to find a spare key but nothing. 

“You’re damn lucky you’re cute,” I cursed when I checked my phone yet again. 

“Talking to yourself?” 

Spinning on my heels towards the voice, my heart leaped when I saw Steve ascend the staircase, wearing the brown leather jacket that looked so good on him. He had the box of pizza in one hand and was messing with his keys in the other.

“I left my spare key at home. You should really leave another one somewhere.” I noted. 

“I do,” he nodded towards his neighbor across the hall, “Kate has one.” 

“Oh,” I sighed. 

As if the Gods’ wanted to torture me more with the thought of Steve’s neighbor across the hall, she came out from her apartment. Adjusting the laundry basket on her hip, she smiled towards Steve. 

Jealous eyes watched as they chatted, Steve flirting almost effortlessly with her. She giggled at a lame joke he told and I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. My shoulders slouched in anger when Steve invited her over to join us. 

“I don’t want to impose,” she looked between Steve and I. 

Steve quickly shook his head. “No, we’re just friends.” 

My heart dropped to my stomach. “Yeah, friends.” 

“Maybe next time. I’ve got a load in the wash.” 

Steve agreed the next time and I had to turn away as he hugged Kate. 

“You could have been a little nicer to her,” Steve asked as he leaned against his door. 

“I’ve been waiting almost a half hour for you. I’m tired and hungry so sorry I didn’t feel like being friendly,” I snapped but immediately apologized when I saw the hurt flash across his face. 

“It’s been a really long day,” I sighed while pinching my eyes shut. 

“Hey, it’s alright.” Steve pulled me into his chest and left a soft kiss to the top of my head. “I’m sorry I’m late. I was visiting a friend at the V.A center.” 

My brows rose. “The V.A center?” 

Steve nodded. “Yeah, Sam. I met him a few days ago. He’s nice, I can set you up with him if you want?” 

“No thanks,” I scrunch my face, “I can find a guy by myself.” 

“How’s that working out for you?” Steve joked. 

Scoffing, I gave him a slight push and I nodded towards the door. “My pizza is getting cold.” 

He laughed but his body froze leaning an ear against the door. 

“What?” I questioned. 

“My record player is on.” Steve glanced over to me. 

I leaned my ear against the door but shook my head, “I don’t hear anything.”

“You don’t have super soldier hearing,” Steve teased. “Did you leave it on?”

“I swear I turned it off when I left the other day.” I promised. 

Getting into Captain America mode, Steve shielded me as he slowly unlocked the door, pushing it open. I slipped my knife out of my boot as I followed close behind. The music vibrated off the walls as Steve grabbed his shield from its place on the wall. The knife flipped in my fingers with ease as we reached the living room and saw the slouched figure sitting in the chair. 

Nick Furry.

“I don’t remember giving you a key,” Steve sighed while leaning against the wall.

“Did you really think I would need one?,” Nick defended while sitting up, “My wife kicked me out.”

“I didn’t know you were married,” I admitted. 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Nick admitted.

“I know, Nick. That’s the problem,” Steve declared while turning on the light.

Goosebumps pricked my skin when I took in Nick’s appearance. He had a giant gash to the side of his head and blood was dripping down onto Steve’s chair. I wanted to ask what happened but he held up a finger to silence me while he turned off the light. Nick typed a message into his phone before showing us. 

Ears everywhere.

Steve and I shared a look before our eyes glanced around the apartment. Steve tensed up next to me, the anger of being watched rose from within and he cursed under his breath. All of his private moments suddenly weren’t so private anymore. 

“I’m sorry to do this but I had no other place to crash,” Nick showed us a new message on his phone. 

Shield Compromised.

“What the fuck,” I cursed. 

“Who else knows about your wife?” Steve continued to play along, in case it was true that his apartment was bugged. 

Nick stood with a groan and limped over to us, clutching his side. “Just my friends.”

Just us. The new message on his phone read. 

Steve scoffed. “Is that what we are, Nick?” 

“Steve,” I warned, “Now isn’t the time for whatever beef you have with him.” 

“That’s up to you,” Nick admitted. 

The floor beneath our feet shook as a scream erupted from my throat when the wall behind Nick exploded in gunfire. Steve grabbed my waist and pulled me into his chest as we watched in horror as Nick’s limp body fell to the ground. 

“What the fuck?!” I yelled. 

“Get away from the window!” Steve demanded, pulling Nick’s body in the hallway with us. 

He went to look out the window to see if he was able to see the shooter but Nick grasped his arm stopping him. 

He opened his hand and a hard drive sparkled from the light outside. 

“Don’t. Trust. Anyone.” Nick sputtered before passing out. 

“Steve, what the hell is going on?” My voice quivered with fear. 

Before Steve could answer, his front door busted open and Kate walked in, gun armed and aimed. 

“Captain Rogers, I’m Agent 13, Shield Special Service.” Kate said, walking further into Steve’s apartment. 

“Kate? What the hell are you doing here?” I questioned. 

“I’ve been assigned to protect Steve,” She defended. 

“On whose order?” Steve snapped. 

Kate set her gun down before nodding towards Nick. “His.” 

Steve and I shared a look and giving him a slight nod, I turned my attention towards Kate. “You should call it in, Agent.”

“Foxtrot is down and unresponsive. I need EMT’S.” Kate ignored me as she talked into the radio. 

“Do we have a twenty on the shooter?”

Steve peaked around the corner and grabbed my hand, pulling me with him. “Tell them we’re in pursuit.” 

Not asking any questions, I let Steve wrap his arm around my waist as we ran through the window, literally, and felt the ground vanish beneath our feet. Glass shattered around us as we landed hard on the floor of the building across the street. 

“Ow, that’s gonna leave a mark,” I groaned, rising to my feet taking off in a chase after the shooter.

Steve was just a few paces ahead of me while the shooter was on the roof above us, his heavy footsteps echoing through the empty offices. Steve busted through doors and glass windows, making it easier for me to keep up with him.

“There has to be a staircase to the roof somewhere!” I yelled before I watched through the window in front of us as the shooter jumped down onto the roof of the building in front.

“We’re going through the window, aren't we?” I semi whined. 

“Yup!” 

Suddenly, Steve barreled his way through the window rolling onto his knees and threw his shield at the shooter. The broken glass crunched beneath my boots as I came to a sudden halt when my eyes landed on the man who had caught Captain America’s shield mid throw. 

Long brown locks. 

Blue eyes. 

A metal arm. 

My mouth ran dry while my hands shook, unable to move out of the way as the shield came flying back towards me. Ears rang in silence as the blood drained from my face, memories of that same metal arm slamming into me like a brick wall. The same man that I thought of earlier for the first time in years was standing right in front of me, in the flesh. 

“Y/N!” 

Steve’s voice brought me back as I fell to the ground with his body on mine. With the shield gripped tight in one hand, his other gently cupped my cheek. Steve pulled my face to look into his eyes; however, I couldn’t focus. I ignored the feeling that took over my body when Steve pressed his hips into mine, unknowingly, and licked my dry lips. 

My past life had just barreled into me; a private part of my life that absolutely no one knew about and suddenly, I was very terrified of them finding out. 

[echo-riot]

jealous ambessa x gf reader. ambessa treats reader rude & cold because of jealousy and the reader doesn't understand why and gets sad. thanks :3

✞⛧ The Storm Beneath (Ambessa X Reader) ✞⛧

Warnings: Emotional tension and miscommunication, Angst with a comforting resolution.

Ambessa Medarda was a woman of great composure. A Noxian General, a tactician, and a force of nature who could command a battlefield without breaking a sweat. But in the confines of your shared life, that composure seemed to crumble whenever a particular emotion clawed its way to the surface: jealousy.

At first, you didn’t notice. Ambessa had always been a little reserved with her affection in public, her sharp eyes constantly scanning the room, calculating. So when her demeanor toward you shifted from warmth to something cold and curt, you chalked it up to her having a bad day.

“Are you all right?” you asked her one evening as she sat at the dining table, her focus locked on the drink in her hand instead of you.

“I’m fine,” she replied, her tone clipped.

You frowned, tilting your head. “Are you sure? You’ve been distant lately.”

Her golden eyes flicked to you, unreadable and sharp. “Not everything is about you,” she said flatly before rising from the table and leaving the room without another word.

The sting of her words settled deep in your chest. Ambessa was never one for flowery declarations of love, but she’d always treated you with respect, even in moments of frustration. This coldness was new, and you couldn’t understand where it was coming from.

The days that followed were no better. Conversations were short and strained, her responses curt and dismissive. When you reached for her hand, she would pull away under the guise of being “busy.” The distance between you grew, and no matter how hard you tried to bridge it, she seemed determined to keep you at arm’s length.

One evening, after yet another cold interaction, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Ambessa, what is going on with you?”

She barely looked up from the papers she was reading, her expression impassive. “Nothing is going on.”

“That’s a lie,” you said, your voice trembling with frustration. “You’ve been cold, distant, and—frankly—rude. Did I do something to upset you? If I did, just tell me.”

Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought she might actually answer. But instead, she stood, gathering her papers. “I don’t have time for this.”

And just like that, she walked away, leaving you standing in the middle of the room, your heart sinking under the weight of her indifference.

The breaking point came a week later. You were out at a gathering, one of Ambessa’s political obligations that she insisted you accompany her to. The room was filled with important faces and hushed conversations, but you couldn’t shake the tension radiating from your partner.

You’d been speaking with a diplomat—a kind, older gentleman who’d taken an interest in your thoughts on trade routes. The conversation was light and pleasant, and for a moment, you felt at ease.

But when you turned to find Ambessa, her expression was like thunderclouds. She was watching you from across the room, her jaw clenched, her hand gripping her glass tightly.

When you approached her, the frost in her gaze sent a chill down your spine. “Having fun?” she asked, her tone laced with sarcasm.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, frowning.

She shrugged, her lips curling into a humorless smile. “You seemed rather engrossed in your conversation. Didn’t want to interrupt.”

The insinuation in her words hit you like a slap. “Are you… jealous?”

Ambessa scoffed, her voice low and venomous. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Her words cut deep, and for the first time in your relationship, you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t understand what I’ve done to make you treat me like this,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ambessa didn’t respond. Instead, she turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, feeling small and hurt in a room full of strangers.

The drive home was silent. Ambessa sat rigidly in the driver’s seat, her hands gripping the wheel tightly. You stared out the window, your reflection a pale ghost against the dark glass.

When you arrived home, you couldn’t take it anymore. As soon as the door closed behind you, you turned to her. “Why are you doing this?”

She froze, her back to you. “Doing what?”

“This,” you said, gesturing helplessly. “Being cold, distant, and—” Your voice cracked. “And making me feel like I’m not enough for you.”

Ambessa turned slowly, her expression a mix of anger and something else—something softer, almost vulnerable. “You think you’re not enough for me?”

“What else am I supposed to think?” you said, tears streaming down your face now. “You’ve been treating me like I’m a burden, like I’m not worth your time. I don’t understand why.”

For a moment, she just stood there, her broad shoulders tense, her hands clenched at her sides. Then she let out a long, shaky breath and ran a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice low and rough

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden apology. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, her golden eyes meeting yours. “I’ve been unfair to you.”

“Why?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Why have you been acting like this?”

Ambessa hesitated, the unshakable general suddenly looking unsure of herself. “Because I was jealous,” she admitted finally.

Your heart twisted at the admission. “Jealous? Of what?”

“Of the way people look at you,” she said, her voice tight. “The way they talk to you, like they’re trying to steal you away from me. I know it’s irrational, but I couldn’t stop it. And instead of talking to you about it, I… lashed out.”

You stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in. “Ambessa, no one could ever take me away from you,” you said softly. “I love you. Only you.”

Her shoulders sagged, and for the first time in weeks, the tension seemed to leave her body. “I know,” she said, stepping closer. “But I let my fear get the better of me. And in doing so, I hurt you. That’s the last thing I ever wanted.”

You reached for her, your hands resting on her chest as you looked up into her eyes. “I just want you to talk to me,” you said. “Don’t push me away when you’re feeling like that. I want to help you, not fight with you.”

Ambessa’s hands came up to cup your face, her thumbs brushing away the tears on your cheeks. “I promise,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I’ll do better. I’ll talk to you next time. No more walls.”

You nodded, leaning into her touch. “Good. Because I can’t stand this distance between us.”

She pulled you into her arms, holding you tightly as if she could physically erase the pain she’d caused. “Neither can I,” she murmured into your hair.

For the first time in weeks, you felt like you had your Ambessa back—the strong, steady presence who loved you fiercely, even if she didn’t always know how to show it. And as you stood there, wrapped in her arms, you knew that whatever storms came your way, you’d weather them together.

[kaynanarie]

Eyes of Gold (Part 12)

(A WukongxReader story inspired by Beauty and the Beast and Lutung Kasarung.) (First) (Prev)

            “Where are you? Please come out?”

           The whispers of a familiar voice roused you from a restless sleep. You yawned and blearily squinted around you, trying to remember where you were. The shadowy silhouettes and dust tickling your nose brought back memories of a storage room. It had been daylight when you first hid but now, night had shrouded you in disorienting darkness. You sat curled up in the corner, wondering how much time had passed and if it was safe to finally leave.

           A quiet creak startled you as the door swung open. You watched a shadow silently creep in, slow and low to the floor. As you grew more accustomed to the dark, the form of a small monkey took shape. A familiar monkey with glowing, golden eyes.

           “Peaches, are you in here?”

           You sat up from your hiding spot in surprise. “Shihou?”

           As soon as he saw you, Shihou dashed across the room and flung himself onto you. He clung to your shoulder and patting your face with his tiny paws. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

            “I’m fine,” you assured the monkey, wrapping your cloak around him in a warm hug. “What are you doing here? Won’t you get in trouble?”

            “I was worried.” Concern, relief, and disapproval flashed across his face when he met your eyes. “You didn’t return to the mountain after the demons left.”

            “I guess you heard about the attack, then?”

           “Yes.” His frown pulled into a scowl, teeth bared as he glowered at the floor. “If I had known Bull Demon King was here, I never would have let you leave alone.”

            You ran a hand through his fur, feeling him relax under your soothing touch. “It’s okay, you didn’t know.”

           “Why didn’t you come back?”

             “I was helping the villagers,” you said, sitting back down with Shihou perching on your lap. “Thankfully, no one was hurt; just some damaged buildings. But when my sister heard the demons were gone, she came to see for herself. Elder Gran sent me to hide until she left but I guess I fell asleep.” Gentle brushes smoothed his agitated fur back into place. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

            Shihou sighed and nuzzled against your shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

            “Thanks to your hair.” Shihou suddenly looked worried when he met your gaze. You quickly explained to calm his concern. “It protected me when the bull tried to attack. Sorry I lost it. I think Sun Wukong took it with him…” you trailed off with a yawn.

            “Don’t worry about it. As long as you’re safe, that’s all that matters,” the monkey said with a relieved smile. “You should get some rest. We can return to the mountain in the morning.”

            Shaking your head, you forced yourself to stand, keeping Shihou balanced on your shoulder. “No, we should leave now while everyone else is asleep. I’ve already stayed too long and my sister might catch us trying to leave it we wait.”

            “If you insist,” Shihou agreed hesitantly. “There were guards posted around the village when I snuck in. I can guide you around them but we’ll still have to be careful.”

            You nodded. “Okay. Let’s get going.” Pulling your cloak close and Shihou closer, you slipped out of the storage room and through the empty house with careful steps. At the front door, you paused to peek out.

            Tilting his head, Shihou listened and pointed down a side street. “No guards for now. That should be the fastest route out of town. Once we’re outside the village, I can take you the rest of the way.”

            With a final glance, you hurried down the alley and into the shadows. The night was thankfully empty, the rest of the village sleeping off a stressful day. Only moonlight and icy wind filled the streets as you weaved between buildings. Distant voices on the winter breeze occasionally floated by. Each time, you would freeze and Shihou would listen but the guards were too far and too distracted to be of concern.

            It took longer than expected and exhaustion was quickly catching up. Your steps were clumsy, your body weary, and yawns plagued you with every other breath. Even your eyes were fighting to slip close between heavy blinks.

            Soon, you reached the edge of the village, shivering from bitter cold and fatigue. You almost cried seeing the great stretch of field and looming mountain still left to traverse.

            “I’ve got it from here,” Shihou said, nimbly flipping off your shoulder. In a puff of smoke, he transformed and landed in his taller demon form. You weren’t sure if it was your own tired mind or the moonlight softening his features but his figure seemed more striking than usual. It was only made worse when he smiled at you; warm, golden eyes brightening his handsome face. “Come on, up you get.”

            You were still recovering from your drowsy admirations when Shihou turned and knelt away from you. “What?”

            “I said I would carry you before and this will get us back to the mountain faster.” He grabbed your hand and tugged you forward so you were flush against him. Looping your arms around his neck, he held your knees and stood, easily hoisting you onto his back. “Ready?”

           Too tired to protest, you only nodded and nestled against his warm shoulder. “Yeah, let’s go home,” you mumbled sleepily.

           Shihou startled and stumbled a bit but quickly recovered with a brisk pace. “Sure thing, Peaches. You get some rest; we’ll be there in no time.”

            You closed your eyes and drifted off, only half aware of your surroundings. Shihou’s rhythmic steps, quick and sure; his hold never faltering. Winter chill shifting to a summery heat, chasing away your lingering shivers. The quiet ambiance of the slumbering jungle settling around you as the mountain welcomed you back. It was comforting and familiar and gently lulled you to sleep.

            The next thing you knew, Shihou was setting you down amongst plush blankets and fluffy pillows. As he turned to leave, you caught his hand and clung to it. “Stay?” you asked, smiling soft and sweet. Your half open eyes caught his flustered face but he didn’t shy away. Instead, you felt him shuffle into bed next to you, hugging you against him in a comforting embrace. Warm fur tickled your cheek, carrying his soothing scent of peaches and stone. You snuggled closer as you felt the tug of sleep pulling you back under.

            “Goodnight, Shihou,” you whispered.

            The last thing you remembered was his purred, “Goodnight, my Peach,” and the gentle press of lips to your brow.

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~🍑 Peach Friends 🍑~

@joyfulllittlething @iluxurycruisedthatship @drspecialhell @moondrop39-dovewing70 @happycarp @chibifox88 @rutabaga-menace

(If you would like to join the tag list, let me know!)

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Something fluffy and cute with the return of Shihou! Just to share the vision of the soft boi, he's absolutely inspired by various artworks I saw of the 1996 Journey to the West. Thank you so much for reading, all the wonder feedback has kept me motivated! Until next time!

You can also find this story on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60643669

[in1-nutshell]

Can I request tfp Megatron having a bot buddy for a son who unlike Ophelia is ruthless and is loyal to the deception cause? And leads the deceptions when Megatron is absent, he is also friends with dreading and breakdown, also at times says says puns when the opportunity arrives, and he would do anything to see cybertron be born a new.

Adding another child on Megatron's list of kids I see.

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy who is Megatron's son

SFW, Platonic, Angst, Mention of injuries, Cybertronian reader

TFP

Megatronus met Buddy under less than likely circumstances.

The gladiator was waiting for his usual medics to come and fix him up.

Noticing the medic being much later than usual, he asked a drone where the medic was.

The drone said nothing and continued doing his work.

The door soon swung open with a youngling struggling to carry his med kit.

Megatronus blinked a bit, not sure if the loss of energon was making him see things. The youngling happily walked up the monstrous size of a mech. Buddy: “Hi! I’m Buddy! Big fan of your work Megatronus!” The gladiator winced a bit at the loudness in the younglings voice. The youngling noticed and gave him a sheepish smile. Buddy: “Sorry! Its just an honor to be even here, much more helping you get back on your pedes.” He quickly started work on the battered frame, and quite efficiently too. Megatronus: “Aren’t you a bit too young to be here in the Pits?” Buddy: “With the prices of energon going up, this was the only job I could get without much background check. Yeah, they pay a bit cheaper and there’s plenty of mechs that love to push a small bot like me around, but at least its better than working in the waste pits!” Megatronus: “Waste pits?” Buddy: “Yeah, hot, steamy, and smells horrific. Its much better up here! Oh! What do you call a computer that showed up late to work? A hard drive!” Megatronus: “…What—” Buddy: “Don’t worry I got a whole bunch more!”

Megatronus didn’t think he would see the youngling again.

But low and behold the next time he was sent to the med bay, the youngling was sitting there with a big grin.

Buddy always seemed to go on and on about the most random things during his repairs.

Megatronus didn’t mind it too much.

It was annoying at first, but he soon saw an extremely passionate youngling.

The gladiator asked where he knew how to repair a bot.

Buddy bashfully mentioned having watched and spied on a medic in one of the run down clinic for a while.

Soon enough his servos were moving just as fast as the medics and he was able to study some old medical data pads.

The rest came from patching up many of his friends in the alleys.

At the mention of alley’s Megatronus offered to share his living quarters with Buddy.

A proposal that surprised him and Buddy.

The youngling accepted after a couple of days, claiming it would be better to stay so he could get to work early.

Both mechs know it was a lie but said nothing about it.

Soon enough the small medic, the youngling who barely came up to Megatronus’s knee, began following him around the gladiators’ quarters.

There was a bit of a ruckus amongst some of the other fighters, mainly with the ones who thought it was a good idea to mess with the youngling.

Megatronus made sure to take care of that problem.

The other fighters soon found themselves caring for the young medic as well.

Of course, it was just because he could patch them up after hours and nothing more.

Yeah, nothing more…

Megatronus: “Soundwave, have you seen Buddy?” He pauses seeing Buddy sitting on the gladiator’s shoulder. Buddy: “Hey Megatronus! I got a new joke! What did the sparkling call his father? Data!” Megatronus: “…” Soundwave: “…” Soundwave starts running with Buddy. Megatronus: “Soundwave you already have the minicons, bring back Buddy!” Soundwave: “Never!” Buddy: “WWWEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!”

Yes, Uncle Soundwave was one of Buddy’s favorite uncles amongst the new gladiator family forming.

He was the one who finally persuaded Megatronus to finally give Buddy some tips on self-defense.

Both gladiators were surprised with how quickly the youngling took to fighting and steely determination to finish a fight.

But Buddy’s favorite Uncles had to be Orion Pax.

He just loved being in the archives with him whenever he was able to go out.

Orion loved seeing the light shine in Buddy’s optics when he would read out loud.

Orion: “Buddy, this is a dear friend of mine.” Ratchet walks through the door making Buddy’s optics go wide. Buddy: “You’re that medic in deadend!” Ratchet: “Um, how do you know—” Buddy: “I used to watch you all the time!” Optimus and Ratchet: “…” Buddy: “… I should have phrased that better…”

Ratchet was a bit touched and creeped out that this youngling saw him at practice and decided to heal bots as well.

Gave Buddy a new med kit on one visit, neither he or Orion were aware that a youngling could practically pour out joy.

Megatronus wasn’t jealous.

Not at all…

It was an unspoken thing between Buddy and Megatronus.

The gladiator did his best to protect the youngling and provide, while Buddy looked up to him as a role model.

… then came that fateful day at the Senate.

Buddy tried sneaking into the building, but there was just too much security to rick it.

He remembered Megatronus storming out of the building with a fire in his optics that he had never seen before.

The youngling followed closely behind.

Soon enough the war had started.

Conisidentially, it was around this time Buddy had a growth spurt.

Almost overnight, Buddy went from about Megatron’s knee, to skyrocketing to being a helm shorter than him.

A bit of an insult if you asked Buddy.

He was the same height as his Uncl—as Optimus Prime.

Something that Megatron noticed as well.

His training only increased since the start of the war.

No more were the days of the purpose being for self-defense, now being taught to mercilessly offline a bot.

The youngling medic was no more.

Now replaced with a Decepticon who haunted the nightmares of many Autobot who ever came across his path.

He hated the look of fear in their optics.

He hated it, just as much as he hated training days.

Megatron did not hold back during ‘training’, if he could call it that anymore.

At this point Buddy was just another punching bag for his father to use.

Something he gladly took on.

If Buddy, the next heir for the Decepticon’s, couldn’t handle a few punches, what message would that send out to everyone else?

Besides, someone had to take the hits, and he refused to have a teammate take the brunt.

They have their burdens to carry, this was simply his too bare.

Buddy barely manages to stand up right. Today’s training was rougher than usual. Dreadwing and Skyquake turn around the corner. Buddy tries standing up straighter. Buddy: “Greetings Dreadwing. You just got back?” Dreadwing: “Buddy you’re hurt.” The blue and green mech go to the younger cons side and help him stand. Buddy: “Just got back from fighting, nothing to worry about.” Skyquake: “This doesn’t look like nothing.” The twins begin to walk Buddy to the med bay. Buddy: “I can walk there by myself.” Dreadwing: “Tell me that the next time you have a hole near your tanks.” Buddy: “… Hey Dreadwing… why did the computer go to the doctor?” Dreadwing: “Buddy not now—” Buddy: “It had a bad case of ‘data’ entry.” Dreadwing and Skyquake try smothering a chuckle and opt to bringing their friend to the med bay.

Of course, at that time, not many cons knew about the extensive training.

Not until Buddy was permanently stationed to be a part of the Nemesis crew.

While Buddy rarely screamed or yelled anymore, the harsh sounds of metal on metal still rung through the ship.

Training that often-left Buddy barely crawling on the floor.

Soundwave and Breakdown soon became accustomed to helping the younger con back to the med bay.

Soundwave hated this.

Starscream was just waiting for Megatron to offline Buddy to eliminate the competition.

Once Buddy became temporary Leader of the Decepticon’s, the first thing he did was call back all offensive troops.

Something controversial, but there was not much those mechs could do but complain.

Buddy had the final word.

Soon enough, he tried to contact Optimus Prime to do peace negotiations.

Buddy had enough of this year’s long war and was sure that the bots were tired as well.

He never received anything back before Megatron came back.

Buddy: “Welcome back father.” Megatron: “Buddy.” Megatron turns to Starscream. Megatron: “Starscream, show me what has become of my army.” Buddy: “father I am more than qualified to—” Megatron: “Did I ask for your thoughts?” Buddy quiets a bit. Buddy: “… No sir.” Megatron: “You may speak when I tell you to.” Megatron walks away with Starscream. The Second in Command sneaking in a satisfactory grin before paying full attention to his Lord. Breakdown and Knockout come to Buddy’s side. Breakdown: “You okay kid?” The Ex-Wrecker gently pries Buddy’s clenched servo open. Buddy vents deeply. Buddy: “I’m fine Breakdown… everything will be fine…” He forces a smile. Buddy: “Breakdown, why did the computer start squeaking?” Knockout: “Buddy no—” Breakdown: “Why?” Buddy: “Because someone was stepping on its mouse.” Breakdown: “What’s a mouse?”

[poetic-vulgarity]

ᎮᎥᏖᎩ ᎮᏗᏒᏖᎩ - Kim Minjeong x Reader

Word count: ~5K

Prompt: When Minjeong transferred to an elite school, she didn't expect to catch the attention of Y/N, the golden girl. Then again, she also didn't expect Y/N to be the root of all her misery.

Tags: slow burn; angst; drama; high school! AU; richgirl!Y/N; happy ending (?)

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

Ask any student out there how they feel about school, and you'll get the same answer.

It's shit.

There was no way around it, especially not for someone like Minjeong.

Shy, quiet, reserved.

She was a walking billboard that practically screamed "bully me."

And bullied she was. Ever since high school began, she'd been their favorite target. They scrawled insults on her desk, threw food at her, and even stuffed her into a locker once.

Minjeong thought it was just the way life worked. Some people were born unlucky.

Then Taeyu came along. Messy, reckless, the kind of girl who could (and would) fight anyone. For reasons Minjeong never fully understood, Taeyu liked her. And the bullying stopped.

They became best friends. Two years passed, and things weren't perfect, but Minjeong started to believe she could survive.

She wished Taeyu was there now.

If she had Taeyu by her side, all the stupid kids wouldn't be staring at her as she made her way through the doors of her new school. 

The towering entrance of Elite Open School Korea loomed before her. The glossy floors, the spotless hallways, the sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows—it was the kind of school where the rich ate up success like it was their birthright.

Minjeong didn’t belong there.

But she didn’t need to belong. She just needed to graduate. The full scholarship had been her ticket there, and she wasn’t planning to waste it. Screw fitting in. She’d keep her head down, study hard, and get the diploma.

Still, as she stepped inside, her confidence wavered. The air was heavy and she could feel the weight of all the judgmental eyes on her. She held her bag tighter and pulled out her crumpled schedule, her eyebrows knitting together as she tried to make sense of it.

The school was massive. Minjeong had no idea where to start.

"You’re with me."

Startled, Minjeong looked up and found herself face-to-face with a stunning girl who radiated confidence.

"I’m Jimin, student president. I’m supposed to take you to your class," the girl said, her tone light and warm.

Relief washed over Minjeong. She nodded, exhaling a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Jimin didn’t wait for a response before turning and heading down the hallway, her polished shoes clicking softly against the floor.

Minjeong hurried to follow, her school bag thumping awkwardly against her back. "I'm Minjeong." 

Jimin looked over her shoulder, a few loose strands of hair brushing her face as she smiled. "I know who you are; I was the one who made your schedule." Jimin replied with a soft chuckle. "Had to fit you and the other new students into the system."

Minjeong blinked, processing her words. "That... explains a lot, actually."

Her schedule was a mess: classes from 7 a.m. to 4 p.m., a long break, and then another class that ran until 10 p.m. She wasn’t sure if it was legal to keep students in school that long but they were all rich there. Who cared if they were breaking rules?

Jimin grimaced. "Yeah, sorry about that. In my defense, though, you signed up for a lot of extracurriculars."

Minjeong’s lips twitched into a small smile. "Don’t apologize. It’s fine."

"It’ll be cool; we have a few classes together," Jimin added with a grin.

When they reached the classroom, Jimin stopped and turned to her. "Here we are. All your classes today are on this floor, so you shouldn't get too lost. But if you do, text me. My number's on the schedule I sent you."

Minjeong nodded, her cheeks flushing faintly. "Thank you, Jimin."

"Of course. Have a good first day, okay?" With a wave, Jimin disappeared down the hall, leaving Minjeong standing at the door, alone.

It wasn’t as bad as she’d feared.

Sure, a few students glanced her way as she walked in, their gazes sharp and appraising. Most of them didn’t bother hiding their curiosity—or their judgment. The guys wore designer shoes and watches, while the girls carried handbags that probably cost more than her family’s car.

Minjeong ignored them and scanned the room for a seat. She spotted one near the back and made her way over.

"That seat’s taken."

The voice was cold and cutting, and Minjeong froze mid-sit.

The girl who spoke was staring at her, eyes narrowed, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Minjeong swallowed and stood up, looking around for another desk. She wasn’t there to make a scene.

"That one’s taken too," the girl said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness.

"Why don’t you show her to her seat, Lee?"

The new voice came from the front of the room. Minjeong turned and saw another girl leaning back lazily in her chair.

She was stunning, easily the prettiest girl in the room, with an air of casual arrogance that made her seem untouchable. Her uniform was pristine, not a single hair out of place, and her expression was unreadable.

Lee, the first girl, faltered. "I—uh..."

"Go on," the pretty girl said, her tone light but commanding. "Since every seat is taken, show her one that isn’t."

Lee clenched her jaw but got up with a huff, flipping her long black hair over her shoulder. "Fine. Follow me."

Minjeong glanced at the pretty girl again before trailing behind Lee, her head bowed.

"This one," Lee said, motioning to an empty desk.

"No," the other girl called out, her voice calm. "Not that one. She won’t be able to see the board properly."

Minjeong’s grip on her bag tightened. The room felt suffocating, every set of eyes burning into her as Lee led her to another seat.

"Here?"

"Still not good," the girl said, her tone almost playful.

Minjeong clenched her jaw, frustrated at the situation. This was all a game, and she was the entertainment.

Finally, the pretty girl tilted her head. "Tell you what. She’ll just take your seat, Lee."

Lee stiffened but didn’t argue. Her eyes flashed with anger as she grabbed her bag and stomped off.

Minjeong hesitated. She didn’t want to take Lee’s spot, didn’t want to make things worse. But when the girl raised an eyebrow and her eyes darted from her to her new assigned seat, Minjeong sighed and sat down.

She kept her head down, rummaging through her pencil case, her eyes fixed on the desk in front of her.

An awkward silence loomed over the classroom, broken only by the sound of students chatting and the occasional burst of laughter.

Minjeong’s eyes shifted to Lee, noticing the way she kept a sharp eye on her former seat. A part of her felt bad for taking it, but it was already done.

She took out her notebook, pen, and highlighter from her bag and placed them on the desk. Her hands went up to brush her short hair back behind her ears.

Minjeong’s eyes darted up to the front, looking for the teacher. Instead, she noticed the pretty girl from before standing in front of her.

Minjeong tilted her head up, keeping her shock and awkwardness from showing on her face. The girl was stunning—her features soft, her lashes long, and her lips plump.

The girl gave her a small smile. "The view okay?"

Minjeong’s head spun at the words. Her cheeks instantly flared up with embarrassment. She hadn’t meant to stare. She didn’t even realize she was staring in the first place.

"Sorry," she responded hastily. Her eyes darted around the room, desperate to look anywhere but at the stranger.

The girl chuckled lightly. "I meant the board."

"Oh."

Minjeong felt like her soul left her body out of sheer embarrassment. She couldn’t stop staring at the stranger earlier, and now she’d somehow made it worse for herself.

"Yes, it’s a great view," she mumbled, her voice small. She forced a smile, hoping to salvage the situation.

Minjeong tried to focus elsewhere, her eyes shifting to the window and the students outside, chatting with their friends and enjoying lunch—blissfully unaware of her predicament.

The girl smiled wider, clearly amused.

She extended her hand, drawing it towards Minjeong. "I’m Y/N."

Minjeong hesitated for a moment before reaching out her own hand to shake Y/N’s. "Minjeong," she replied, the handshake lasting a beat longer than necessary before she quickly pulled away.

Y/N was… a lot. Minjeong wasn’t sure what her intentions were. Was she just messing with her, or did she genuinely want to be friends?

"Pleasure to meet you," Y/N said with a nod.

Minjeong blinked. What high schooler said "pleasure to meet you"?

"You too," she muttered, her voice barely audible.

A tense silence stretched between them as the two of them stared at each other. Minjeong wanted to look away, to dig into her bag for something to distract herself, but her eyes kept finding their way back to Y/N.

"Welcome to the school. I’m sure you’ll fit in well." With that final comment, Y/N turned on her heel and walked back to her seat.

Minjeong let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Y/N was intimidating. She was too pretty and confident for her own good, and Minjeong didn’t know what to make of her.

All she wanted was to get through the day without any more trouble.

And, for the most part, she did.

During lunch hour, Minjeong hid in the library. Her other classes went by without much ruckus.

Throughout her first week, she realized that she shared a lot of classes with Y/N. She saw the popular girl almost every day. Correction: she noticed the small smiles Y/N sent her between classes—almost every day.

It was… weird.

Y/N had a cool friend group and a perfect reputation around the school. She had no reason to even notice Minjeong.

“You need to leave the newbie alone. Her friends died. Have a little compassion.”

Y/N turned to glare at Yeonjun. It was Friday, and the group was eating lunch together. Since Monday, Y/N hadn’t seen Minjeong set foot in the cafeteria.

“You could be a bit more respectful about it, no?”

Yeonjun pouted dramatically. “Chill, I was joking.”

“Our Y/N is protective over the newbie,” Aeri teased, nudging Y/N’s side playfully, trying to get a reaction out of her.

“Why would I be protective over anyone?” Y/N huffed, picking at her food as if it were playdough. Her eyes lingered on the unopened sandwich she’d bought that morning.

“Well, you keep looking for her,” Chaewon pointed out, raising an eyebrow as she sat down beside Yeonjun with a knowing smile. “In class and now here.”

Y/N felt cornered. She usually didn’t show this much interest in anyone, and her friends had noticed. It was irritating.

Before she could mutter an excuse for her behavior, her phone rang. Her friends immediately knew who was calling by the look on her face.

“I’ll see you guys later.” She grabbed her belongings and stood up, phone already raised to her ear. “Yes, Dad?”

The call only lasted a minute or two, but it gave Y/N the perfect excuse to slip away. She wandered into the library, her curious eyes scanning the room for one person in particular.

“Lunch is important, you know?”

Minjeong jumped at the sudden voice, her wide eyes snapping up to see Y/N standing in front of her, hands on her hips.

“Are you stalking me?” The words slipped from Minjeong’s mouth before she could stop herself.

Her heart pounded, anxiety clawing at her throat. She had no idea why Y/N was taking an interest in her—why she kept showing up, insisting on toying with her.

Y/N was surprised, to say the least.

Minjeong had some bite. It wasn’t what Y/N expected from the shy girl she’d met on the first day.

“I guess,” Y/N said with a soft hum, casually pulling a chair out and sitting beside her. She reached into her bag, pulling out the sandwich she hadn’t eaten earlier, and handed it to Minjeong. “Eat.”

Minjeong stared at the sandwich, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “I already ate,” she said flatly, not reaching for it.

Y/N’s eyes flicked down to Minjeong’s half-open bag. An apple and a small carton of orange juice sat inside—it was all Minjeong ever brought, and she usually saved it for her late 10 PM class.

“No, you haven’t.”

Minjeong’s shoulders slumped slightly. Y/N was far more observant than she had anticipated.

Minjeong looked down at the sandwich again, conflicted. She wasn’t a fan of being told what to do, but Y/N had clearly gone out of her way to give it to her. Refusing would make her feel bad.

Slowly, she reached out and took the sandwich, giving a small nod.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” Y/N said casually.

It didn’t take long for Minjeong to finish it.

“So, what are you reading?” Y/N was usually good at making conversation, but with Minjeong, she couldn’t help feeling a little nervous.

Minjeong blinked, snapping out of her food-induced daze. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she finished the sandwich. Now that it was gone, her body slumped back in the chair, heavy with fatigue.

Her gaze shifted to the half-read book on the table, her fingers brushing over the cover. She avoided looking at Y/N, knowing how easily she got flustered.

“A book,” she responded plainly, hoping Y/N would get the hint.

Y/N nodded, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Very informative.”

Minjeong sighed, unable to come up with a retort. The silence between them grew, awkward and heavy. She wasn’t used to this—having someone like Y/N hover around her. They were opposites in almost every way, and Minjeong couldn’t fathom why Y/N was even there.

Her eyes lifted briefly from the book, just to check if Y/N was still looking. Their gazes met, and Minjeong’s breath caught. Her cheeks burned, and she quickly looked away quickly.

Y/N cleared her throat, the confidence in her voice softening. She fiddled with her fingers, her usual ease replaced with hesitation. “I’m... sorry about what happened. At your last school.”

Minjeong froze, her eyes widening. A lump formed in her throat as she tried to think of something to say.

She hadn’t expected an apology—least of all from Y/N. But even if she had, she wouldn’t have known how to respond.

Her body tensed, her knee bouncing beneath the table. “I’m sure it hasn’t been easy,” Y/N continued, her voice gentle. “Especially with all the idiots making fun of it.”

‘Cancer school.’

The cruel nickname flashed through Minjeong’s mind.

It wasn’t far from the truth.

Several students had suddenly passed away at her old school and it didn't take long for investigators to find out that the building materials used for the school were highly toxic—cancerous, in fact. Minjeong was one of the lucky ones, spared from any trouble. She had survived unscathed, physically at least, and had been granted a scholarship to transfer elsewhere—a quiet bribe to keep her mouth shut. 

Taeyu hadn’t been so lucky.

Minjeong’s hands trembled as the memories clawed their way to the surface. She had buried them so deeply, refusing to confront them, but they always left a bitter taste when they resurfaced.

She swallowed hard, her eyes darting around the library. Despite knowing Y/N’s words came from a place of kindness, Minjeong felt a pang of irritation.

“Thank you.” Her voice was hollow, mouth dry. She wanted to be anywhere but there. Her cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment, emotions she couldn’t quite control.

She stuffed her jacket into her bag, voice shaky as she muttered, “I appreciate it.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, alarm flashing across her face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep—”

“Save it.” Minjeong snapped, cutting her off. She didn’t meet Y/N’s gaze as she shoved her things into her bag and walked away.

She wasn’t sure who she was angry at—Y/N, for bringing it up, or herself, for not being able to let it go.

The wound still felt raw. She wasn’t ready to face it, and all she wanted was to forget.

But after a few days, the sting of her reaction dulled and guilt creped in. 

Y/N had only been trying to be kind, and Minjeong had been rude.

After debating with herself for days, Minjeong decided to swallow her pride and apologise. 

Before one of their shared classes, Minjeong watched as Y/N walked into the room, making her way to her usual seat.

Now or never.

Her heart pounded as she stood, each step toward Y/N feeling heavier than the last. Minjeong didn’t want to be there, she didn’t want to apologize. Admitting she felt bad was almost worse than snapping in the first place.

But the guilt wouldn’t leave her alone, and she knew it wouldn’t until she said something.

“Y/N?”

Y/N looked up from her notebook, her face lighting up when she saw Minjeong. “There you are,” she said, rummaging through her bag. She pulled out a neatly wrapped sandwich—the same kind she’d given Minjeong in the library. “I’ve been eating these all week, and I hate cheese.”

Without hesitation, Y/N extended the sandwich toward Minjeong.

Minjeong stared at it, swallowing hard. She didn’t need pity or charity. That wasn’t why she’d come over.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you the other day,” she said, ignoring the food.

Y/N’s eyes softened, her expression gentle.

Minjeong forced herself to turn away, eager to retreat to her seat. Her conscience was clear now, and she didn’t owe Y/N anything more.

But before she could take another step, a hand caught her wrist.

Y/N’s touch was firm yet delicate, her grip just enough to stop Minjeong without making her feel trapped.

Minjeong turned slowly, pulse quickening as her eyes met Y/N’s.

Y/N smiled, her voice warm and sincere. “I’m the charity act here, not you.” She nodded toward the sandwich still in her hand. “I genuinely hate these sandwiches.”

Minjeong froze for a second... was she that easy to read?

"Why do you keep buying them then?" Minjeong asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Y/N shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I'm allergic to salmon, and they like to serve it at the cafeteria, so I bring it just in case."

A little white lie never hurt anyone, right?

But Minjeong was insistent, "I don't see how that's my problem."

"It's your problem because I want to get to know you," Y/N admitted without hesitation. "And the sandwich was just the perfect excuse for it."

Minjeong wanted to ask why Y/N didn't just buy something she actually liked, but she had a feeling Y/N would have an excuse for that too.

So, she sighed and finally took the food, giving a small nod.

"You're eating this if I ever see salmon being served at the cafeteria," Minjeong added.

Y/N smiled, her eyes lingering on Minjeong. "Deal."

Minjeong could feel her face heating up at how casually Y/N agreed to her request.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. Even though she was still uncomfortable with how Y/N was so interested in her, she couldn’t deny that she was beginning to understand why everyone talked about her.

Y/N was kind, sweet, and charming. It was almost impossible to resist her, but Minjeong knew she had to keep her distance.

She kept her distance.

For a few hours.

Later that day, when Y/N asked her to go out for coffee, Minjeong found herself accepting the offer.

Just like she accepted Y/N’s offer to give her her number a few days later.

Minjeong had no control over it. She was just pulled in.

For a while, she tried to fight it, but in the end, she couldn’t.

It felt nice to be liked. Y/N would take her out for lunch and dinner whenever Minjeong was free, always doing whatever it took to make her feel special.

Minjeong hated how addictive it was, getting attention from someone like Y/N. It made it that much harder to ignore her growing attraction.

"We could go to your house, if you'd like?" Y/N asked, leaning against Minjeong’s desk, her eyes carefully gauging Minjeong’s reaction.

They had a group project to do, and thankfully, the teacher let them choose their own partners.

Minjeong shrugged, her eyes drawn to her notebook as she finished her exercise. "I don't know, honestly."

Y/N nodded, her eyes intense. "My house?"

Minjeong paused for a moment to consider the proposition. They’d gone out together before, hung out during breaks, and after school. But being in Y/N’s house felt somehow more personal.

She nodded slowly, “Yeah, sure.”

Y/N's eyes brightened up as a smile took over her face.

It still felt like a double-edged sword. Like Minjeong had a price to pay to be hanging out with Y/N.

"Cool, I'll wait for you by your locker at the end of the day."

Y/N started to walk away, but Minjeong reached out for her hand. "I only finish classes at 10 today."

They had been hanging out four two months by then, Y/N knew Minjeong's schedule by heart.

Y/N couldn’t stop herself. Before she knew what she was doing, she reached out and brushed a strand of Minjeong's hair behind her ear. "Don't worry about it."

By the time she reached her table, Y/N had already cursed herself out at least twenty times.

She needed to get a hold of herself.

Still, she couldn't help the excitement that took over her body. She was getting there. Slowly but surely, she was winning over Minjeong.

Y/N's classes ended at 5 PM that day, so she hung out around school while she waited. She went to the library, finished her homework, and even started on the group project. Who knows? Maybe if Minjeong saw that the project was well advanced, she'd agree to watch a movie. Or just talk.

By the time 10 PM came around, Y/N was wrapped up in her long coat, hands stuck in her pockets as she waited for Minjeong.

Minjeong arrived at 10:10, accompanied by a figure that had Y/N freezing up.

Jimin.

The student council president.

Her ex-girlfriend.

An ex-girlfriend that also seemed surprised at seeing Y/N.

"Oh, hi." Jimin tried to smile, turning to Minjeong with a gulp. "You didn't tell me your friend was her."

Minjeong stood there, hands in her hoodie pocket as she looked between Y/N and Jimin in confusion. "You two know each other?"

Jimin and Y/N's history was complicated, and Y/N hated thinking or talking about it. But it happened. She was her first love.

"Yeah," Jimin responded, her eyes glued on Y/N. "We were toge-"

"-It's a small school." Y/N barely looked back at Jimin. "Should we get going? It's a little late already."

Minjeong wasn't oblivious to the way Jimin and Y/N looked at each other. The air was thick with tension, and Y/N seemed oddly uncomfortable the whole time, her body language closed off.

Something was definitely going on, Minjeong couldn’t shake that feeling all the way to Y/N's house.

Once they reached their destination, Minjeong looked around curiously. Y/N didn’t mention that she was well off, but it was almost expected of her.

Popular girl at an elite school.

Minjeong wasn't surprised to be led to a mansion in Gangnam-gu.

It was lavish and spacious. Minjeong felt like she had to pay a tax just to look at the furniture.

"Your parents already sleeping?"

Y/N shook her head, leading the way upstairs to her room.

"My parents live in Dobong. I live with a few employees."

"Oh," Minjeong was surprised, but it seemed normal for Y/N. Was that a normal thing for rich people? "Why is that?"

Minjeong caught the way Y/N's shoulders tensed up for just a second. "For work."

She decided to not touch the subject again as they finally arrived at Y/N's room.

It was a tidy space. The bedroom was nice, cozy, and chic. Minjeong couldn’t help but wonder if it was even a room made for a teenager, though. It looked like the rooms Minjeong had seen at IKEA.

"I didn't know you were friends with Jimin," Y/N let out quietly, taking off her blazer and loosening her tie. She looked at Minjeong with soft but darker eyes than usual.

Minjeong was caught off guard, to say the least.

Her eyes followed Y/N's figure—she had never seen her without the blazer.

Y/N undid the top of her button-up shirt, and suddenly, Minjeong felt the need to look away.

"I- yeah. I eat and have a few classes with her sometimes. Met her on my first day at school."

Y/N nodded slowly, eyes following Minjeong as the short-haired girl looked around her room. 

She sat on her bed almost unmoving, back tensely upright. "Do you like her?"

Minjeong blinked at the question, her brain processing the words.

Did she like Jimin? She supposed she did. The other girl was nice and always helpful, plus she didn’t tease Minjeong about her past either.

She wasn't sure what prompted Y/N to ask, but Minjeong answered honestly.

"Yeah, she's nice. Why?"

"Nice in a way that makes you want to date her?"

The question had Minjeong's head snapping to Y/N, eyes wide.

"I- uh-" Minjeong swallowed hard, her cheeks heating up at the insinuation.

"We're just friends," she blurted out. "Why do you ask?"

Y/N let out a hum, eyes fixed on Minjeong, "Because I like you."

Minjeong's breath hitched when Y/N said those words. That was not what she’d been expecting to hear.

Her heart pounded in her ears, so loud it almost drowned out every other sound. She just stood there staring at Y/N, eyes wide.

After a few painfully silent moments, Minjeong found the voice to ask, "You what?"

Y/N looked down at her hands, fingers playing with each other as she gathered her words.

"I know we've only known each other for a few months, but I like you. I was wondering if you'd let me get to know you even better. Maybe get closer?"

"You...you want to date me?"

The words were barely a whisper, the disbelief evident in Minjeong's face and the way she looked at Y/N.

She was torn on what to say. Minjeong didn't want to get her hopes up again, but Y/N made her feel something.

Her body was screaming at her to say yes, but her mind was telling her to refuse.

Things had been awkward with Jimin. Minjeong was sure Y/N was hiding something from her. She was Y/N. No one like Y/N would ever want anything to do with Minjeong. There had to be another reason for all this.

Y/N smiled, "Well, yes, eventually. I'm not very traditional, but I would like to court you first, if you'd let me."

Minjeong's eyes dropped back down to her hands, her mind whirling with a multitude of possible outcomes.

What if it didn't work out? What if things exploded in their face and they couldn't even be friends anymore?

Did it matter?

It was just dating. It wasn't like Minjeong was agreeing to marry Y/N. If things went sideways, they could always break up and go back to being friends.

"I- could you give me a little time to think about it?"

Minjeong inwardly chastised herself as soon as the words escaped her mouth.

She had just rejected the most popular girl in school.

She had just rejected Y/N.

Well, sort of rejected, right?

Things weren't over. Minjeong just needed to think things over.

Y/N smiled as gently as always, "Of course. You have all the time in the world, Minjeong. I don't want to rush anything."

Minjeong felt like she could breathe so much easier after Y/N said that, as if a boulder had been lifted from her chest. She'd half expected Y/N to be mad or angry at her, but she was still smiling softly.

Not that Minjeong would know how to handle Y/N when she was angry. She couldn't even imagine it.

"Thank you," Minjeong whispered, her voice barely audible in Y/N's room but still loud enough to be heard. "I promise to get back to you soon."

It was Y/N's turn to feel her chest lightening up.

Things weren't ruined.

She hadn't ruined anything.

Minjeong just needed her time, and Y/N would give it to her.

She had been patient from the start, why wouldn't she be now?

"I appreciate that," Y/N patted the bed at her side. "Come here, let me show you the ideas I had for our project."

Minjeong didn't hesitate to indeed go sit by Y/N's side.

She still felt a little tense but it didn't take long for her to fully relax again.

After a good two hours of work, Minjeong turned around in Y/N's bed, eyes falling on a framed picture on the bedside table. It was Friday so they had all the time in the world to be lazy. Didn't matter how late it was. 

"You looked cute as a baby, you know?"

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise, and she glanced at the direction Minjeong was staring.

There was a picture of her as a toddler, grinning at the camera with a cute and wide smile that showed off the four teeth she had at the time.

"Oh," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper and a soft smile on her face as she looked at the picture. "Did I?"

She was feeling embarrassed that Minjeong was looking at it. "I don't have many pictures with them, so I keep that one there."

Minjeong nodded quietly, her eyes never leaving Y/N's framed picture. She looked a lot different now, but Minjeong supposed that was true for everyone.

"You looked adorable," she added softly, her eyes glued to the toddler in the photo. It was a little strange to think how much had changed in Y/N's life since then, but Minjeong didn't dwell on it much.

"Do you miss them?" She finally asked, tilting her head to the side slightly as her eyes turned to Y/N.

"Sometimes," Y/N shrugged. It's not like they were dead, she just didn't see them a lot. "It gets harder during the holidays. I was close to my mother, but she's been very... involved in my father's work, so yeah."

"That must be hard..." Minjeong sighed, her eyebrows furrowing in thought.

She couldn't fathom the idea of being away from her own parents.

Withdrawing her eyes from the picture frame, Minjeong scooted a little closer to Y/N. "You know," she spoke softly, "You can always come hang out at my house during the holidays."

"I couldn't possibly bother you... or your family," Y/N shook her head, a small smile rising to her face.

The truth was that Y/N didn't really have a family, and as cold and impersonal as her parents were, they had always given her everything she would need or ask for.

She couldn't complain about anything, but at the same time, she couldn't help but wonder sometimes what it would feel like to have a cozy, warm house instead of a huge empty mansion. Not having to eat alone during Christmas morning.

The idea of Y/N spending the holidays with her was a strange one. Minjeong was just starting to get used to the idea of dating. Her heart beat faster at the mere thought of bringing Y/N around her family.

She'd just have to talk to them first. It wouldn't be too hard, her mother had been asking about Y/N ever since Minjeong first brought her up.

But Minjeong didn't want to get ahead of herself. She was still trying to decide how to respond to Y/N's confession.

Still, she did feel good about the idea of having Y/N around.

"Are you kidding me? My parents would love you more than they love me. I can already picture them serving you first and leaving my siblings and I for last."

Y/N rolled her eyes softly, knowing that Minjeong was just teasing her.

"We'll see where things go and maybe I'll drop by to bring your parents a Christmas gift."

Christmas wasn't that far away, but Minjeong hadn't expected Y/N to even think about buying her family anything. She didn't even know them.

"Oh wow, you're getting my parents a gift but not me?"

A teasing smile appeared on Y/N's face, "They're the ones I want to impress."

Minjeong gasped at Y/N's teasing. She playfully hit the other girl, her own teasing smile on her face. "Are you saying my opinion doesn't matter?" she asked in mock hurt.

Minjeong couldn't deny that it did make her happy.

Y/N didn't have to like her family, but she was still going out of her way to do something nice. Minjeong appreciated it a lot, even if Y/N had a tendency to make her flustered.

"I'm saying their opinion matters more."

Minjeong laughed at that, her eyes crinkling up as she did. "I'm sure they'll like you as much as I do," she said sincerely without thinking about the words.

A beat after the words left her mouth, Minjeong froze. "I just mean..." She cleared her throat. "That you're cool and nice."

"Oh..." Y/N pretended to be flattered. "I'm cool and nice. Who would've thought?"

"I didn't realize you could make jokes," Minjeong shot back teasingly.

"Hilarious."

She liked this, the playful back and forth. She felt comfortable, talking about anything and everything with Y/N.

But there was always the hint in the back of her mind, telling her that there was more to it.

So, she decided to get to the end of the story and brought the topic up during lunch with Jimin, only a few days later. 

"So, what really happened between you and Y/N?"

That caught everyone's attention.

Ning was quick to gulp, eyes drawn on Jimin, and Yunjin almost spat her food out.

Minjeong wasn't expecting that reaction. 

Was the question that bad?

She hesitated, turning to Jimin with a look that screamed 'you don't have to answer if you don't want to'. 

After recollecting her thoughts, Jimin cleared her throat and spoke up. "We dated for two years. Broke up four months ago."

"They were like- the IT couple of the school. It was kind of funny." Ning shook her head, eyes soft and sad as she looked down at the table. 

The group missed Y/N, Aeri, and Chaewon. They had separated from each other after the breakup. Sides were taken. Mistakes were made.

Minjeong wasn’t sure what answer she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this.

Two years. That was a long time, longer than she had imagined. And the fact that they’d only broken up four months ago? It seemed...recent.

Minjeong felt her heart tighten as she listened intently to Jimin. She had a lot of questions, and now that the topic was brought up, might as well ask. "Why'd you two break up?"

The curiosity was getting the better of her. Minjeong had no intention whatsoever of being involved in a love triangle drama. That was the last thing she needed to be associated with.

"Well, I realised I just couldn't associate myself with people like her or her family. It was a moral thing." Jimin spoke about it in a light way, but something about her expression told Minjeong she was still grieving her relationship.

Minjeong nodded at the answer, unsure of how to respond. She glanced over at her friends seated around her, her gaze falling back on Jimin with an uneasy smile. "What's wrong with Y/N and her family?"

"You know, I didn't want to be the one telling you this, but I think it's only fair to you." Jimin sighed. She knew Minjeong went to Y/N's house the other day- being honest was the right thing to do. "Y/N's father is the mayor of Seoul. Those rumors about him being in charge of building your last school are true. Him and his family are just doing their very best to bury the scandal since he's going to run for presidency next year."

"My last school?" Minjeong's voice was soft, throat suddenly dry.

The cheaper but toxic materials used to build the school. The deaths of her friends. Taeyu.

That was all because of Y/N's father.

...and Y/N knew.

Y/N knew all along, didn't she?

All the attention.

All the gifts.

The stupid sandwiches Y/N gave her.

Y/N being nice to her when she didn’t really need to.

It all played back in her mind, over and over again.

Minjeong felt like the biggest fool in the world.

What was she?

Some sort of pity project to Y/N? Was she just being made fun of all along?

Her chest tightened painfully, and she felt the overwhelming need to get away.

Minjeong cleared her throat and stood up from her seat, her chair scraping against the floor. “Excuse me,” she said quietly. 

She didn’t wait for a response.

[melwsnt]

BIRTHDAY BOY; DEAN WINCHESTER

summary. It’s dean’s birthday, and you know he’s never been celebrated the way he deserves to be.

—Dean being cute.. a baby girl, if you’d like. He’s so sweet in this I’m weeping

a/n. If you’re reading this THANK YOU! thought it was only fair I’d write something since it’s my man’s birthday. He deserves to be celebrated in every lifetime even the one’s where he’s not real. Don’t hesitate to interact with this as much as you can that’d be lovely x Sam and Bellamy imagines are coming soon👀

You knew it was hard for Dean to admit- well pretty much anything. He didn’t talk about his feelings whether they were physical, in terms of friendships and even worse if it came to a woman.

You knew he loved you- you knew he loved Sam. He didn’t have many people left to love- to be honest. Most were dead- but he’d say that’s just because life’s a bitch.

And maybe he’d be right. Life is a bitch. But this mindset wasn’t a good look on him. You wanted him to feel- to let you in, to just tell you he felt the same way you did even though you knew he did. Everybody knew. You figured it was a matter of time before he’d confess, after all these years of tension, pining, acting like a married couple who bickered every single day over stupid stuff.. he’d get tired of it eventually. He’d want you to be his.

You’d been with the brothers for as long as you remembered. Sure you’d celebrated his birthday by bringing a pie, two to be honest. One for him to eat alone, and the other for you and Sam to share- because baby came first- pie came second- and then you guessed maybe you and Sam came third. At least you hoped you’d made the rank alongside Sam.

But you also knew that he didn’t like being celebrated. He didn’t think he deserved it- and he sure as hell wasn’t used to it. You don’t even think he’s ever had a birthday party thrown for him. Ever.

The bunker was quiet. It was just you, trying not to fall on your face putting up the decorations.

The food was on the table, all ready to be devoured but the two men- you knew they wouldn’t last long and you’d even saved a piece of cake and a piece of pie for you- since you were the reason they were there anyway.

The creak of the bunker’s door startled you, as you jumped from the chair, ready to greet the boys. Sam knew- and was an accomplice. He was supposed to get Dean outside, go to the library to study on some books they apparently didn’t have in the bunker- which took Dean a little bit of time to not call bullshit.

You could hear them descending the stairs as you stood in the middle of the kitchen- frankly looking like a clown. You were excited, although a little bit scared- not of Dean himself- but you didn’t want him to feel obligated. You hoped he wouldn’t hate it.

‘So what do you think? Wendi-’ Dean’s question was cut short when he entered the kitchen and laid eyes on you.

‘Woah. What the hell is this?’ He asked, looking around.

‘You’re the birthday boy, aren’t you?’ You smiled sweetly at him, trying to catch a glimpse of reaction from him.

‘You- this is for me?’ Dean looked starstruck. That wasn’t a usual look on him. You’d never seen him look so- hopeful. His eyes almost glistened as to say thank you for this. He couldn’t believe you’d done this for him.

Sam chuckled as Dean threw a look over his shoulder.

‘You were a part of this? Damn it, Sam.’

Your smile flattered. You thought this was it- he wasn’t happy about it. You were better off just never celebrating the man he was.

You were about to apologize- but he cut you off.

‘You guys are insane, you know that? Thank you. Was that your idea?’ He looked over at you, his eyes still glistening. He looked emotional, you weren’t used to seeing him like this.

‘Yeah. I figured you deserved it. We’ve never done it like this before.. I’m sorry if this is too much.’

Dean stepped closer to you, nodding his head.

‘No. This is great. At least he didn’t blow the surprise.’ Dean snickered throwing a look at Sam.

‘I gotta go change. I’ll leave you two a minute.’ Sam said as he made his way out the kitchen. Before he stepped out of it, he put his thumb up. Encouraging you.

‘Did you do that all by yourself?’ Dean asked- though the answer was obvious- because he and Sam were out, he still couldn’t believe you had.

‘Yeah. I’ve been at it for 2 hours. I wanted the pie to be perfect, you know..’

‘You cooked that?’

‘Yeah. Like I said, I wanted it to be perfect. You always say the one’s we buy at the store are always too soggy. I figured it was your birthday so you should have a good pie.’

His heart skipped a beat. He figured maybe it was time. Time to let go, time to let you in, time to finally have the woman he’d been wanting and dreaming of all these years.

‘You know, if you’re in love with me, you can just say so, sweetheart.’ He didn’t mean it to come out like that. It’s not like he’d ever confessed his love before- this was new. He figured making light of the situation was his way of maybe crawling towards confessing after.

‘You’re an asshole you know that?’ You laughed as you hit his chest and started turning around.

Before your body could turn away from his, he grabbed your arm.

‘I meant it, earlier. Thank you. This is the nicest thing someone’s ever done for me.’ His serious look was back. He felt like he had to get everything out, or he’d burst.

‘You deserve it, Dean. Seriously. It’s not fair that we don’t celebrate birthdays in this life. Everybody deserves to be celebrated. Including you-Especially you.’ Your eyes softened as you decided to look anywhere but in his eyes. He was scary intimidating- you hated that sometimes.

‘I don’t deserve you, you know that? You’ve been putting up with me for way too long. It’s not fair to you.’ Dean’s hand was still on your arm- he was now tracing circles on it. You weren’t sure he even noticed he was doing it.

‘What do you mean? You guys mean the world to me. Of course I’m putting up with you.’ You knew what he meant. You figured maybe this was finally the time he’d tell you how he felt. Knowing it was good. But hearing it was better.

‘I mean- you know what I mean. I know you do.’ He felt like a 15 year old. He was giddy, nervous, felt like his knees were going to give away under his weight. He couldn’t get it out.

‘I do. I want to hear you say it, Dean. Please. I need this.’ You finally found the courage to look at him. His eyes were sweet, they looked at you like you were the most important thing in the world. In his world.

‘Do you remember that hunt we had last month with the vampires?’

‘Yeah. I almost died, of course i do.’

You knew where he was going.

‘Exactly. I almost lost you then. It wasn’t the first time, and it probably won’t be the last. You scared me. And I can’t have that. I can’t lose you, I mean it. I just- I can’t imagine doing this without you. I wouldn’t know how to do it.’ His eyes glistened with more than hope this time. He was truly scared of losing you. He couldn’t imagine a world where you weren’t with him. Where you weren’t his other partner in crime. Where you weren’t answering his questions with questions and sass. He couldn’t have that.

The knot in your stomach tightened.

Hesitantly, you put your hands on each side of his face.

‘I’m not going anywhere, Dean. You know damn well it’s gonna take more than a few vampires to take me out. You’re not getting rid of me. ‘

His left hand positioned itself on top of yours. His other one made its way to your hip.

‘Good. I don’t wanna. You really want me to say it, don’t you?’

‘I do. But I don’t want you to feel pressured. You don’t have to say it, I understand.’ Your eyes still looked in his.

‘No. I know I have to let you in. It scares me, but you’re it. I’ve- I’ve been in love with you since you started tagging along. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to never tell you. It’s just been unspoken since then. I didn’t know how to tell you.’

‘Don’t go soft on me, Dean. Plus, it was obvious. I know you do. I’ve known for a while. It was just hard navigating this without really talking about it, you know? I feel the same. I’m glad you finally told me.’ You smiled at him as his usual smirk found its way to his face again.

‘This is nice. I still can’t believe you threw me a birthday party.’

‘I think there’s still something missing here, birthday boy.’ Your hands moved to be around his neck. His hands now on your waist.

‘Oh yeah? What’s that?’

‘Well, I think you forgot to kiss the girl.’

Dean smiled, and didn’t hesitate to put his lips on yours.

It was sweet. He was sweet. The kiss wasn’t like you imagined it would be. It was slow, like he was taking it all in, like you were fragile and he didn’t want to break you.

He tasted like cigarettes, and mint. His tongue found its way into your mouth, as he hovered over you, your knees going weak.

That’s all you’d ever wanted.

‘Thank god for that damn birthday party.‘

[lucimaaie]

calling ✧.* spiderwoman au

pairings - ellie williams x fem!reader

summary - you finally take ellie to meet your parents.

warnings - "your mom" gets used a lot, awkward ellie cause i love her that way, 3k word count, a bit of angst

playlist | spidey masterlist

With Ellie feeling better, things had gotten to be a new sort of normal. As normal as they could be considering. Yeah, you still woke up at night haunted by the sinister reminders of her getting hurt and she still snuck off in the wee hours of the morning to do ‘research.’ Neither of you wanted to talk about it. Other than that, your relationship was as good as can be. 

So good that you had decided to call up your parents again and set a date to have dinner with them at the end of the week, along with Ellie of course. Insert minor anxiety that climbed its way into your mind and spread like a bad virus. How would they react to her? Would they ask about the injury? You could imagine the embarrassment when your dad shamelessly went into his passionate rant about how high the crime rates were these days. 

Despite your anticipated unease, you had laid out your and Ellie’s clothes days before, bought at least something to not come up empty handed, and ran down your list of no-no topics at least twice. You knew your constant reminders were starting to annoy Ellie, but you wanted everything to be perfect. If not perfect, at least peaceful. 

"The air's gonna be blasting. You're gonna thank me for this." You were knee deep in the front closet you'd stacked up boxes neither of you wanted to deal with. That was including puffy ass jackets that caused you overheat even in winter and others you have no what demon compelled you to buy. 

"Who wears a jacket inside in the summer?" Ellie yelled from the kitchen. 

"People who have lived in a glorified icebox all their life..so me!" You yelled, thoughtlessly ripping through boxes to rummage through them in seconds. Nothing came up. You groaned, pushing them back to as much a neat state as you could, when the sound of a heavy clatter made your head snap in the direction of it. 

The luminescent blue made your limbs stiff as you started to remember where you’d seen it before. That glow that lit up the whole hallway in spite of its small size made your stomach churn in recognition. You didn’t want to think about that night, so you hastily reached for the orb and threw it into the first open box you saw, shutting the closet door behind you. 

“Bad news.” You came around the corner in what you hoped was a composed stroll.  “You might have to freeze your ass off.”

"Oh no, how will we survive in 70 degree weather?" Ellie murmured from the other side of the living room, using the window’s reflection to button up her shirt all the way up to the collar. She gnawed on her lip, brows furrowed in concentration, allowing you to sneak up on her. Or at least try. She always seemed to have a sense around these things. 

You placed your head on her shoulder, taking in the scent of her. Her natural smell was easy to pick out even under the sweet, citrusy lotion she had stolen from you. You took in a dramatic whiff and nosed at her ticklish neck just to hear her try to hold herself back from laughing. As expected, Ellie’s shoulder came up to shut your head out.  “Alright, alright.” You leaned your head on her back instead, wrapping your arms around her waist. 

“You ready to go?” 

“Ready is generous.” She talked through a deep sigh, swatting off imaginary dirt off her shirt in an attempt to make herself look presentable. She could fuss with her shirt for hours if you let her. If you had been tossing and turning, she had been grinding her teeth in and out of her sleep. 

Your hands came up to grab her wrists. “I don’t think choking one a button on is gonna get you outta this.” Your hands on her shoulders turned around to face you. A grin came to your lips as you undid a button or two, adjusting her collar so that it looked natural. One look at her confirmed she was indeed ready to meet the tough pair you’d been raised by. “You’re ready.” Before she could protest, you subdued her with a peck and keys in her hand. 

Ellie opened her mouth, starting to come up with a reply to your blind confidence in her, but she came up with nothing. She’d let you have your way this time. 

The modest stature of your childhood home gave no justice to the bustling energy on the inside. Ellie’s eyes searched the exterior, taking in all the signs that a family had been here: a worn porch swing, a wreath with artificial bright yellow flowers, cracked paint on the door, light shining through every window. 

The scrambling behind the door at your knock kickstarted a wave of anxiety through her body. She hadn’t even realized it was that noticeable until you squeezed her hand and began drawing tiny circles on the inside of her wrist. Before she could squeeze back the door opened, revealing your mom.

“Hi, Ma.” She’d never seen the woman, but she could feel the quiet grace ruminating from her serious face. The moment she laid her eyes on you, her features softened into a smile that resembled yours. She dragged the two of you in before wrapping her arms around you tight. “God, I was wondering if I’d have to get you a police escort to make you come down here.”

“It hasn’t been that long.” You were sheepish as you set down a container of rolls. They were store bought rolls and weren’t fooling anybody, but you were taught to never come up empty handed and you’d rather save yourself a mountain of questions from your mom. 

Your strong willed energy being nerfed by your mother almost made Ellie snort until the attention was placed on her. “And this is Ellie.” Your mom’s voice was filled with awe and interest Ellie didn’t know what to do with. She let herself be pulled into a hug as tight as the one she shared with you. “And how are you, Ellie? With the injury and everything?” Your mom dragged her to the living room, probably to seat her and start the interrogation. 

“Uh, I’m alright. I’m healing.” Ellie glanced between the fireplace and the woman’s warm eyes. It’s not that she hated it, the opposite actually, she just had no idea how she should feel. She hoped the wringing of her hands was subtle. 

“That’s good. I actually have something that might help—“

“You don’t have to—“ Your hand on her shoulder cut her off. She resisted the urge to sigh in relief at your presence, though she was glad you hadn’t left her to the wolves. And glad she hadn’t said that out loud. 

“It’s better if you just let her get it.” You sat next to her handing her a glass of water, leaning back against the couch with ease. 

“Get what?” The hairs on Ellie’s neck seemed to stand up when she recognized the deep, stern voice of your father who had appeared from the hallway like he was gunning to catch her doing something she shouldn’t. While she felt she should straighten up and put some respectful space between you, you hadn’t moved an inch. 

Intimidation was nowhere near your face as the man wrapped his arms around you and placed a kiss on your forehead. “Hi Dad,” You mumbled into his arm, unaware of your girlfriend’s internal debate just feet from you. 

Her eyes widened when his focus was now centered on her. Her mind was chaotic deciding what she should do in his presence. Should she stand up? Hug him? God, no. What was she even supposed to talk about, work? She was pulled from her thoughts as he held out his hand. She quickly took it and returned both his firm grip and eye contact.  “Alive and well,” 

“That’s me.” She pressed her lips together in an attempt to look like she wasn’t shitting her pants trying to figure out how to impress your parents. She relaxed when he sat down and followed suit. 

There was a lull in conversation as Ellie sat there, not quite sure what to talk about for the millionth time this evening. She looked as stiff as a board, trying not to touch you (for once.) You’d have busted out laughing if she wasn’t so nervous. Instead, you slipped your arm around hers and filled the silence before your dad’s attention was gone to the TV.  “So, dad’s what’s for dinner?”

“Let’s see,” He leaned forward, grabbing the towel that was about to fall off his shoulder. “Mashed potatoes, broccoli rice casserole, baked chicken–” And just like you got him talking. About food, but still it was progress. You knew that quietness was only to save himself the air he needed to drill questions at Ellie later. “Actually, lemme go check on the casserole.”

“How’d I do?” Ellie whispered as soon as he left the room. 

In the interest of making her feel better–and not spitting out your water– you held in the urge to laugh at her paranoid behavior. “Just fine, hun.” You intertwined your fingers with hers, something you’d probably be doing the whole night just to get her not to run, and kissed her knuckles. “They’re not serial killers, I promise,”

“Your dad’s probably checking for the gun right now.” She mumbled, tracing the natural lines in your palm. For a while, you stayed like that and it wasn’t bad at all. Ellie had been looking around in search of signs you grew up here and each one made her want to squeeze you and never let go. 

“Dinner’s ready.” Your mom appeared from the kitchen, ushering the both of you to the dining room. The table was small, only having the space for the four of you and maybe one other person if you had a sibling or a friend. Four steaming plates were set around a small bowl of pinecones that were inexplicably never out of season in your house. 

Ellie had been sure to make some effort to eat throughout the dinner, but the lingering anxiety sitting in her stomach hadn’t exactly gifted her with an appetite. Her focus stayed on your hands linked under the table and endless amounts of questions from your parents. One part was gentle on your mom’s part and the other firm though your dad tried to bring it down a notch by you and your mother’s instruction. Both of them wanted to know her life story up until the moment she met you which was sweet and slightly if not very overwhelming.

Somehow she had gotten wrapped into a conversation about the job industry just from a question about what she wanted to do when she graduated. “And now they’ve got this AI stuff they’re using and that’s only the start. Soon enough-” Ellie was trying her best to keep up with your dad’s passionate rants about the future of the job industry and all, but she started to zone out.

“Dad, I think we’ll be okay for now.” Your attempts to calm him wouldn’t get him off his high horse. Once he started talking, it could be an hour long lecture. You had been on the receiving end of them enough to know. 

“But you use it for homework, don’t you?” He wiped his mouth with a napkin, having finished his food a long time ago. 

“You’d get a call from Dean if I did.” 

“Enough of the AI talk, I think we all get the point, babe.” Your mom came to the rescue. “Why don’t you tell Ellie about your job instead of why you might lose it–which you won’t.”

Your dad leaned back in his chair, stomach practically poking out from all the seconds he’d had between his rants. “Alright,” He wiped his hands once more and then leaned forward as if he was giving a statement on TV. She glanced at you for help that she very well may need later if your dad got as passionate about his job too. “I’m the police captain, which essentially means I’ve worked this precinct enough years to boss anyone around.”

“Which means you don’t do any work.” You mumbled as you tore apart your third roll in the past hour, grinning at the deadpan look you’d earned from your father. 

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that.” He turned his attention back to Ellie. “That’s what happens when you stick it out in one job long enough. You get to make some of the decisions. You keep that in mind when you graduate.” 

“Uh, I will.” Ellie cleared her throat, squeezing your hand. She had become somewhat comfortable during dinner, but she was still on guard with the amount of part of lectures your dad had administered throughout the night. That didn’t stop her from sharing a few snickerd with you when he wasn’t looking. 

“I think you’ve imparted enough advice on us for the year.” 

“I gotta deal with bug theme vigilantes, but at least I’m getting paid for it.” 

“You mean the, uh..what’s her name? Spider..Spiderwoman. That’s her name.” Ellie seemed to perk up at the mention of her alter ego. She hadn’t even needed to glance at you to know this was one of the topics you hoped wouldn’t come up. 

“Yeah, that’s her.” Your dad’s voice was full of disdain. The same disdain you had to listen to whenever you called home and simply asked about work or the news. It stopped when they had developed something of a working relationship now destroyed by Ellie’s absence these past few weeks. “The great hero of New York. Where is she now?” He grumbled. 

Tenseness swept over half of the table at the mention, the topic a soft spot in both you and Ellie. No one knew how much she yearned to wear the suit again, how restless she was starting to feel without the very thing she had devoted herself to for more than half a decade. 

Ellie had tried to be subtle in her exit, making up some excuse about needing a refill in her cup. Your parents pointed her to the direction of the kitchen without another thought about it. Though you couldn’t read her mind, it was obvious the spontaneous mention shook her. You grabbed your plate, about to excuse yourself until your dad took the plate from your hands and stacked it on his. There goes your excuse. 

Ellie had been zoning out a while, lost in her head when your dad walked in and set the plates in the sink. She found herself on edge, readying herself for another rant about how much of a coward she was. To her surprise, that wasn’t his intention at all. 

“I was told not to give you a talk, so I’ll keep this short.”

Her eyes flicked up to your father, then to the tile for a few seconds just to return to him again. She hadn’t seemed to process what he said until he tilted his head, searching for something. She had no idea what he was looking for and it only made her more nervous, if that was possible. She seemed to be nothing more than a big ball of nerves tonight. Your parents were nice people and she was grateful you allowed them to meet her, but she couldn’t ignore the big red and blue elephant in the room. You knew. They didn’t. 

“You know, she was worried sick when we came. We could barely get her to take a nap or eat.” It didn’t take a genius to know what he was referring to. The fact that he brought it up was making her feel any better either. 

“I know.” Ellie shifted on her feet, pulling her arms over her torso. She couldn’t focus on finding the right balance of eye contact or not looking how she felt. Her mind was working overtime to try to find what to say. It was enough to struggle to get you to trust she was safe, she hadn’t thought about your parents. Though an apology felt inadequate at this moment. 

“What I’m trying to say is she cares for you. A lot.” Your dad wrung out the towel and placed it over the counter, turning around to mirror Ellie’s position against the counter. “I mean, you’re the first one she’s brought home.” Something of a smile crossed your dad’s face. It shouldn’t have been such a strange thing to notice. No matter how tough he made himself out to be, at the end of the day, he was nothing but a dad protective of his daughter. She could never be mad at that. There’s nothing she wouldn’t give to experience that again. 

“Don’t mess it up.” His sternness came back to snap her out of her mind. 

She pushed herself off the counter. I’ll try my best, she thought. No, that wasn’t good enough for you. “I won’t.” 

“I will be holding you to that–”

“Dad! Ellie!” Your voice boomed from the living room. The confused pair moved fast past the abandoned dining table to the TV. The set up of panels from the news were familiar save for the live feed of the demon masked assailants wreaking havoc on a traffic-infested road in the middle of the city. And just to add to the chaos, a significant prison transfer was taking place on the same road. 

Ellie had been too focused on the screen to realize your dad had already grabbed his gun and his car keys on the way to the door. He was the police captain, of course he was on his way to the danger. Her only problem was working up the excuse to get there herself. Her eyes came to yours, somewhat asking for permission. Her heart ached at the visible stress in your body, the way you squeezed your hands together. 

“I’m gonna go–” 

“Ellie’s gotta run to the lab,” You blurted, surprised yourself by the words that came out your mouth. There was no amount of regret that could take the acceptance back. Why would you when there were people in those cars, praying they don’t lose their life to today’s batch superpowered criminals? That’d be selfish, would it? Thought that justification did nothing to soothe your worries. 

“I’m coming back, I promise.”

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