#especially with everything he’s been through for his | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shaiyasstuff · 2 days ago

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side effects may include: marriage, blushing, and one shirtless husband. | zayne

synopsis : You never planned on getting married straight out of college—especially not to a broody, absurdly attractive cardiac surgeon with the emotional range of a paperweight. But one wine-infused chocolate, a half-unbuttoned shirt, and an accidental kiss later, you’re rethinking everything.

content : arranged marriage!au, pure fluff, comedy, writer on crack

writer’s note : yay! the arranged marriage au’s have come full circle.

The letter in your hand crumples with the weight of betrayal as you wave it in front of your mother’s face like a white flag soaked in passive-aggression. “What is this?”

She barely glances up from her tea. “Your marriage agreement,” she says, taking a sip as if she hadn’t just casually handed your freedom over like a lunchbox.

“Why didn’t I know about this?!” you exclaim, arms flailing like you’re directing traffic in a thunderstorm.

“Because you wouldn’t have agreed,” she replies smoothly, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

Which, apparently, to her, it is.

“Mom, I literally just graduated,” you groan, dragging your hands down your face.

She raises a perfectly plucked brow. “I married your father before I even finished.”

You let out another groan, louder this time, before collapsing face-first onto the designer couch like a Victorian heroine with a Wi-Fi addiction.

It probably doesn’t help that your family owns one of the biggest tech companies in the country.

Wealthy, yes.

Emotionally prepared for an arranged marriage? Absolutely not.

“I don’t even know the guy!” you practically shout, sounding one emotional notch away from launching yourself into a soap opera.

“I do,” your mother says, flipping open her book like this conversation is just background noise. “He’s a very charming young man.”

You grab the nearest pillow and dramatically smother yourself with it. “I’m not doing it,” you declare, voice muffled and full of angst.

“It’s already been decided.”

You fling the pillow aside like it personally betrayed you. “No!”

Somewhere in the distance, a rich person’s violinist probably sighed in sympathy.

“You can’t make me do this!” you cry, pointing an accusatory finger at her like you’re about to cast a spell of teenage rebellion.

“You will move into the new house in a week. Pack your things,” she replies, turning the page of her book without even looking at you, as if she’s ordering takeout instead of destroying your life.

You gape at her. “I’m not going to prison, Mom. I’m just trying to live my mediocre post-grad life in peace!”

She sips her tea. “And now you’ll do it as a married woman. Congratulations.”

You consider packing alright—packing your bags and running to a country where arranged marriages are considered ancient history.

Except, here you were—one week, three tantrums, and a very dramatic attempt to fake your own death later—standing in front of your husband.

Tall. Towering. Probably sculpted by ancient gods who had nothing better to do.

In your new marital home.

You blink up at him, still hoping this was an elaborate prank and Ashton Kutcher was going to leap out from behind a curtain with a camera crew.

No such luck.

Your new husband just stood there, looking like he stepped out of a magazine and into your worst-case scenario.

“I’m Zayne,” he says calmly, like you’re meeting at a networking event and not at the start of your forced domestic partnership.

You stare. Tall, brooding, buttoned-up like he’s allergic to joy.

Of course his name is Zayne—the kind of name that comes with a tragic backstory and an impressive skincare routine.

A shudder runs through you.

You’re married to that?

Somewhere in the background, the universe probably gave you a thumbs-up and whispered, “Good luck, sweetheart.”

You gulp, trying to summon the dignity your pajama-clad soul clearly lacks. “I’m Y/N.”

He nods. Nods. No handshake, no smile, no “Nice to meet you, fellow victim of our parents’ power trip.”

And then—he just turns and walks away.

Walks. Away.

You’re left standing there, blinking like a Wi-Fi signal trying to reconnect.

Married. To a man who treats introductions like optional software updates.

—•

“This is what Mom called charming?” you grumble, side-eyeing the empty hallway like it personally offended you.

You replay the interaction in your head—“I’m Zayne”—and resist the urge to punch a pillow just to feel something.

Naturally, you do what any responsible adult in a forced marriage would do.

You begin a full-scale reconnaissance mission.

Operation? Figure Out Who the Heck I Married.

You start with the basics—tracking his schedule, observing his comings and goings like an underpaid spy in a bad rom-com.

The man has the consistency of a German train schedule, the emotional availability of a stone wall, and the mystery level of a locked diary in a teenager’s room.

You have no idea what he does for work. He leaves in crisp suits and comes home even more pressed. He talks to no one. He reads thick books with no covers. You’ve yet to catch him watching a single cat video.

So, naturally, you conclude he must be a rich heir. Or a prince. Or some exiled monarch trying to lay low until his kingdom is restored.

It helps that he’s unfairly attractive—black hair that falls just right, piercing eyes that could probably see through walls, and a jawline that could cut glass.

Yep. Definitely a prince.

A very emotionally constipated, tragically handsome prince.

“I know you’re there,” he says, voice smooth and unbothered—of course he does, because apparently your espionage skills rank somewhere between amateur squirrel and nosy neighbor.

He doesn’t even look up from his book at first. Just turns a page calmly, as if catching his new wife spying on him is an everyday occurrence.

Then, slowly, he tilts his head and meets your eyes.

Oh no.

That look is lethal—cool, unreadable, and annoyingly attractive. He sets the book down with a soft thud and takes off his glasses like he’s about to lecture you, interrogate you, or casually ruin your life with a single sentence.

“Come in,” he says, and somehow it sounds less like an invitation and more like a challenge.

You briefly consider fleeing the country.

But your legs move anyway.

You let out an awkward laugh, the kind that sounds more like a hiccup caught mid-lie. “I was just… trying to see what you do.”

Zayne arches a brow, amused. “And lurking behind walls was the most effective method?”

You shrug, stepping inside, the door clicking softly shut behind you. “I considered asking. But you don’t exactly give off ‘share your feelings over coffee’ vibes.”

He leans back slightly in his chair, arms folding as he studies you—like you’re a puzzle he didn’t ask for but now can’t resist solving. “And what have you learned from your mission?”

“That you read a lot of intimidating books and might secretly be a prince,” you mutter, eyeing the hardcover he’d set down. “Or an assassin with excellent taste in eyewear.”

That earns you the ghost of a smile. Barely there—but it softens something in his expression.

“You’re not entirely wrong,” he says, and somehow, that doesn’t help.

You step closer, cautiously. “So… what do you do?”

Zayne tilts his head slightly. “Why? Interested now?”

“Trying to decide if I should be impressed… or mildly concerned for my safety.”

He chuckles under his breath—quiet and low, like he’s not used to laughing, but might want to try. “Maybe both.”

And for a moment, just a flicker, the air between you shifts. Less awkward, more curious. Like two strangers on the edge of something not quite comfortable, but not cold either.

“Well,” you say, fiddling with a stray thread on your sleeve, “I figured if I’m going to be married to a mystery man, I should at least get to know the mystery.”

Zayne watches you for a beat longer, then gestures to the seat across from him.

“Then stay,” he says. “Ask your questions properly this time.”

And you do.

You sit down across from him, suddenly hyper-aware of how your knees almost brush beneath the table.

His gaze is steady—too steady—and you gulp like you’ve just asked for his hand in courtship instead of mild information.

“So… what do you do?” you ask, trying to sound casual. It comes out more like a nervous frog asking a favor.

Zayne doesn’t answer right away. He leans back slightly, arms still folded, one brow lifting like he’s debating how much to reveal—or maybe just how much fun he’ll have watching you squirm.

“I’m a cardiac surgeon,” he finally says, voice low and even.

You blink.

“I—what?”

“I operate on hearts,” he says, like he’s talking about changing a lightbulb.

You stare at him. This whole time you thought he was brooding over world domination or writing dark poetry about rain. Heart surgeon was not on your bingo card.

“Wait, seriously? Like… actual hearts? With… scalpels?”

He tilts his head, clearly amused. “Is there another kind?”

Your jaw drops slightly. “Wow. I was prepared for ‘billionaire with a tragic past,’ not Grey’s Anatomy.”

“I assure you, there’s still a tragic past,” he deadpans, and for a second you’re not sure if he’s joking.

He doesn’t elaborate—but something in his eyes flickers. Quiet. Guarded.

You lean back, blinking slowly. “Okay… that’s kind of hot.”

That gets him. His lips twitch, just a little. “Are you flirting with your husband?”

You pretend to examine the ceiling. “I’m just saying, it makes the whole mysterious-silent-guy thing slightly more tolerable.”

He lets out a soft laugh—barely audible, but it’s real.

And suddenly, sitting across from him doesn’t feel so heavy.

He stands up suddenly, the chair sliding back with a soft scrape against the floor. You jolt slightly, halfway through processing his laugh, and blink up at him.

His expression has shifted—still calm, but there’s something else now. A hint of gravity in the way he looks at you.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, catching you off guard. “For the suddenness of all this.”

You sit up straighter, unsure what to say. It’s the first time he’s acknowledged the whole arranged-marriage-against-your-will situation out loud.

Before you can respond, he steps closer, extending a hand—not forceful, just open. “Let me show you why.”

Your heart skips. “Why what?”

“Why our parents thought this could work,” he says, and for the first time, there’s no teasing in his tone—just sincerity. Gentle, but certain.

You stare at his hand. His fingers are long, precise. A surgeon’s hands. Hands that fix hearts.

And here he was, offering them to you.

So, slowly, hesitantly, you place your hand in his.

And just like that, something shifts again. Less awkward. A little warmer. A little more real.

He guides you out to his car—a sleek, polished thing that looks like it probably knows more about taxes than you do. He opens the passenger door for you, which is either chivalrous or unsettling, you’re not sure yet.

You slide in, still trying to wrap your head around this whole situation, when he leans in unexpectedly close—and reaches across you.

Your breath catches.

Then—click—he fastens your seatbelt.

You blink at him, flustered. Not because it was romantic. It wasn’t. It was clinical. Efficient. Like buckling you in was a task on his daily checklist.

Still, your brain short-circuits a little.

“Thanks,” you mumble, confused by how something so unromantic could still make your stomach flutter.

He simply shuts the door and rounds the front of the car, settling into the driver’s seat like he’s done it a hundred times.

You glance over. “So… where are we going?”

He shifts the gear with practiced ease, eyes on the road. “To see my parents.”

You freeze. “Now?”

“Yes.”

“As in—meeting the in-laws now?”

Zayne glances at you, completely calm. “You’re my wife. It’s only natural.”

You groan quietly into your palms. “This day just keeps getting better and better.”

At your dramatic groan, Zayne gives the faintest hint of a smile—so subtle you almost miss it. Just the smallest twitch at the corner of his lips, like your misery is a quiet source of amusement to him.

You narrow your eyes. “Was that a smile?”

“I don’t recall,” he says, cool as ever.

You huff and turn your gaze out the window, resigned to what you assume will be an awkward, overly formal afternoon in a mansion filled with judgmental in-laws and porcelain teacups.

But twenty minutes later, when the car slows to a stop, your sarcasm dies in your throat.

Because this isn’t a mansion.

It’s a cemetery.

Your eyes flick to him, your voice suddenly small. “Zayne…?”

He cuts the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt, his expression unreadable again.

“You said you wanted to know why,” he says, gently. “So I’m showing you.”

And just like that, your earlier words—your groaning, your dramatics, your little internal jokes—feel like they belong to someone else entirely.

Zayne steps out of the car without another word, and you follow, suddenly quiet, your footsteps softer on the gravel. The wind tugs at your sleeves as he leads you up a small hill, the world around you hushed, respectful.

The trees part at the crest, revealing an open clearing.

Two gravestones stand side by side, worn but well-kept, the grass around them neatly trimmed. Fresh flowers rest at their bases—white lilies, carefully arranged.

Your breath catches in your throat.

Zayne slows as he approaches, his hands in his coat pockets. He doesn’t say anything right away, just looks at them for a long moment. When he does speak, his voice is low, quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

“These are my parents.”

Your chest tightens.

You glance at him—his posture still straight, still composed, but there’s something softer now. Something heavy that doesn’t show in his face, but in the silence he carries around it.

“They passed away when I was in my first year of med school,” he says, eyes fixed on the stones. “I visit them every week. I always bring lilies—my mother liked them.”

You stand there beside him, uncertain at first, then quietly fold your arms, the weight of the moment settling on your shoulders.

“I didn’t know,” you murmur.

“I know,” he says, and for once, there’s no edge in his voice. Just truth.

And suddenly, you understand what he meant earlier. Why he said he wanted to show you. Why he apologized.

Because this marriage wasn’t just sudden—it was the first thing in a long time he hadn’t had to face alone.

“My parents made an agreement with yours,” Zayne says, his voice steady as he turns to face you.

There’s no accusation in his tone, no bitterness. Just quiet honesty.

“So in a way,” he continues, meeting your eyes, “we’re both stuck in this predicament. Not just you.”

The word predicament almost makes you laugh—because that’s exactly what it is. A polite, miserable mess you’ve both been handed like a family heirloom no one wanted.

But the way he says it… it’s not cold. It’s not detached.

It’s shared.

For the first time, you see the man behind the silence. Not just the polished stranger with perfect posture and unreadable expressions—but someone who lost his family, who carried grief with clinical grace, who walked into this marriage just as unprepared as you.

You lower your gaze, toeing the earth gently beneath your shoe. “Guess that makes us reluctant allies.”

“Something like that,” he murmurs.

Then, after a pause, he adds, “But I don’t intend to stay strangers with you forever. Not if we’re in this together.”

You feel something small and strange crack open in your chest.

Hope. Maybe. Or just the beginning of something real.

After the quiet moments of prayer—hands clasped, heads bowed, the wind weaving through the stillness—you and Zayne make your way back down the hill in silence. It’s not uncomfortable this time. Just… thoughtful. Like something unspoken has shifted between you.

The ride home is calm, the late afternoon sun casting soft light through the windshield. You glance over at him, watching the way his fingers rest lightly on the steering wheel, the way his profile is bathed in gold.

You hesitate, then ask, voice gentle, “How do you feel about this marriage?”

He doesn’t answer right away. The road stretches ahead, lined with trees and fading light, and you think maybe he won’t answer at all.

But then, a faint smile tugs at the corner of his lips—small, but unmistakable.

“I don’t mind it,” he says, not taking his eyes off the road. “Now that I’ve met you.”

You blink.

It’s not grand or poetic. It’s not a love confession or sweeping gesture. But something about the way he says it—so simple, so sure—makes your heart trip a little in your chest.

You turn back to the window, trying to hide the warmth creeping into your cheeks.

And for the first time, the silence between you feels like something full, not empty.

—•

When you reach home, Zayne unlocks the door with quiet efficiency and steps inside like he’s been doing it for years—even though technically, it’s your first week as reluctant roommates.

He shrugs off his coat and heads straight for the kitchen.

You trail behind him, curious. “What are you doing?”

“Making tea,” he says, already reaching for the kettle.

You arch a brow. “Seriously… did you go to husband-training-school or something?”

He glances at you over his shoulder, eyes just a touch amused. “Is that a thing?”

“It should be,” you say, hopping up onto a stool at the kitchen counter. “You open doors, buckle seatbelts, visit your parents’ graves with fresh flowers, and now you make tea? Either you’re weirdly good at this or you’ve been raised by a very intense etiquette instructor.”

Zayne smirks—an actual smirk this time, not the half-ghost of one. “My mother believed in manners. My father believed in precision.”

You nod sagely. “Ah, so you were raised by royalty.”

He sets two mugs on the counter, then adds, “And I believe in not poisoning my wife with bad tea on day seven of our arranged marriage.”

You lift your hands. “Low bar, but I appreciate it.”

He chuckles quietly as he pours the water, and you watch him, a strange sort of warmth settling in your chest.

Turns out, “reluctant husband” looks a lot like “softly competent tea-making mystery man” when no one’s looking.

You watch him as he carefully stirs the tea, trying to look casual, though there’s an edge to your curiosity. “So, have you got a girlfriend? Before all this…?”

The question hangs in the air, a little awkward, but you can’t help yourself. You’re still trying to figure out who he is outside of this whole marriage thing. You need to know what kind of life he led before it all changed.

Zayne doesn’t answer immediately, his movements slowing for just a moment as if he’s considering the question carefully. His eyes flick to you, then back to the steaming mugs.

“No,” he says after a beat, the word simple but loaded. “I didn’t. Too busy, I suppose.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Too busy for dating? I find that hard to believe.”

He lets out a quiet breath, placing the spoon down with the kind of deliberation that makes you think there’s more behind it. “It’s not that I didn’t have time. I was just… focused on other things.”

“Like saving lives?” you tease, leaning on the counter.

He glances at you, his eyes meeting yours for the briefest moment before he gives a small nod. “Exactly. I never made time for anything else.”

You hum thoughtfully, but there’s something in his voice that makes you stop. Focused on other things. You wonder if that was his way of avoiding other things. Or maybe he just never let anyone close enough.

You catch his gaze again, and this time, there’s a flicker—an unspoken something in the way he holds it. You can’t quite place it, but it’s enough to make your stomach tighten, just slightly.

“Well, now you’ve got me,” you say, trying to keep the tone light. “I guess that makes two of us.”

Zayne’s lips curl into the faintest smile. “Indeed.”

That night, you change into something nice—half-expecting a stiff, high-end restaurant with white tablecloths, six forks, and judgmental lighting.

But when Zayne pulls the car up to a quiet little corner bistro tucked between a flower shop and a bookstore, you blink in surprise.

It’s not fancy. No valet, no sparkling chandeliers, no menus written in French.

It’s… cozy.

Warm lights glow from inside, casting golden puddles on the sidewalk. Through the windows, you spot mismatched chairs, little potted plants on the tables, and the soft flicker of candlelight.

Someone’s playing gentle jazz on a guitar in the corner, and the air smells like garlic and fresh bread.

“This isn’t what I expected,” you murmur as he opens the car door for you.

He raises a brow. “Disappointed?”

You shake your head slowly. “No. Actually… I like it.”

He doesn’t smile, not really—but there’s a flicker in his eyes, like that’s exactly the answer he was hoping for.

Inside, you’re seated at a small table by the window. The waiter greets Zayne like he’s been here before, which surprises you even more. You hadn’t pegged him as the “quiet Italian bistro” type. More like “emotionally distant, espresso-fueled loner.”

But here he is. Ordering your meal with quiet confidence, asking if you want sparkling or still water like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

And somehow, it feels normal.

As you sip your wine and let the warmth of the room settle around you, you realize this whole evening—isn’t part of some obligation or checklist.

He brought you here because he wanted to.

And that realization sits quietly between you, more intimate than candlelight.

“What did you study?” Zayne asks, his tone casual but deliberate.

You pause, fingers tightening slightly around your water glass—not because the question itself is startling, but because he asked it. He, who rarely volunteers anything beyond necessity, is choosing to ask you something personal. Choosing to know you.

And that… that makes your chest feel oddly warm.

“Uhm,” you say, blinking out of your surprise. “I majored in Economics.”

He nods, his gaze steady. “I assume it’s to help your parents, then?”

You smile faintly, setting your glass down. “Yeah. I mean, I was never really pushed into it, but it felt like the logical thing to do. Legacy and all that.”

He hums, clearly understanding. “Pressure has a way of wearing itself like a choice.”

You glance at him, eyebrows raised. “That was poetic.”

He shrugs, unbothered. “It’s true.”

And you find yourself smiling—not the awkward, forced kind you used to wear around him, but a quiet, genuine one.

“Did you always want to be a surgeon?” you ask in return.

He considers for a moment, then says, “No. I wanted to be an architect when I was younger.”

You blink. “Seriously?”

“I liked building things,” he says, eyes flicking to you with a faint glimmer of amusement. “But life had other plans.”

And just like that, you realize you’re not dining with a stranger anymore.

You’re slowly, carefully, getting to know your husband.

You narrow your eyes at him, lips twitching as you lean back in your chair. “You wouldn’t have made a good architect,” you say, your tone teasing.

Zayne glances up from his plate, one brow arching in mock offense. “Oh? And why’s that?”

You shrug, swirling your water like it’s a wine glass. “Too serious. You’d probably design buildings with no windows. Just perfectly symmetrical, intimidating concrete blocks where joy goes to die.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, the corners of his mouth lifting. “I happen to like symmetry.”

“Exactly,” you grin. “You’d build dystopian fortresses and call them modern masterpieces.”

He leans forward slightly, voice lower, a touch playful. “And what would you build? Something inefficient with fairy lights and personality?”

You gasp, hand to your chest. “Yes. And they’d be beloved.”

Zayne smiles, really smiles this time—and for a second, you forget the marriage was arranged. Because god damn, he looks good when he smiles.

—•

Zayne drives you home after dinner, the quiet hum of the engine filling the space between you. The city lights blur softly past the windows, and you catch yourself smiling—again.

Not because of the food.

Not because of the warm, candlelit atmosphere.

But because he smiled at you.

Not a smirk, not a polite twitch of the lips—an actual, honest-to-goodness smile.

And it was for you.

You lean your head against the window, trying to play it cool, but your heart’s doing backflips like it’s auditioning for the Olympics.

Who knew one smile from a broody cardiac surgeon could make you feel like you were in a coming-of-age movie?

When he pulls up to the house and parks, he doesn’t rush out or unbuckle your seatbelt like earlier. He just sits for a moment, hands resting lightly on the steering wheel, glancing at you through the corner of his eye.

“Thank you,” you say softly, turning to him. “For dinner. And… for today.”

His eyes meet yours, steady. “You’re welcome.”

You linger a second longer than necessary, then reach for the door handle.

But before you can step out, he adds quietly, “I’m glad you came.”

Your breath catches, but you manage a soft smile.

“Me too.”

And as you walk up to the front door together, side by side, you realize something strange and terrifying and kind of wonderful:

You might actually be starting to like your husband.

—•

You’re halfway through your bedtime routine—hair tied up, comfy shirt on, emotionally bracing yourself for your nightly existential crisis—when you hear his voice from the living room.

“Y/N. Come sit with me.”

You freeze in the hallway like a startled cat.

Your brain short-circuits.

Come sit with me.

On the couch.

In the living room.

You peek around the corner, and there he is—Zayne, in his neatly rolled-up sleeves, glasses off, looking painfully relaxed and devastatingly unfair with one arm resting along the back of the couch like this is some indie romance movie and not your actual, real-life arranged marriage.

You fight the very real urge to scream.

Because—hello?? Attractive, emotionally reserved doctor asking you to sit beside him in dim lighting?

No. Absolutely not. Husband or not, this is a threat to your mental health and emotional stability.

Still, your feet move traitorously toward him.

You sit at the very edge of the couch, posture stiff, like you’re preparing to be interviewed, not casually sitting with your husband.

He glances at you, amused. “You look tense.”

“I am tense,” you mutter, clutching a throw pillow like it’s a life raft. “This feels like a trap.”

Zayne chuckles under his breath, clearly enjoying your slow descent into chaos. “You’re overthinking.”

“You’re underthinking. Have you seen yourself right now?”

He doesn’t answer—just reaches for the remote and switches on a movie.

And you sit there, slowly melting into the couch, wildly aware of how close he is, and wondering how on earth you’re supposed to survive a husband who smiles at you one moment and invites you to sit with him the next like it’s nothing.

It is very much something.

You shoot up from the couch like you’ve just remembered you left the stove on. “I’m gonna go… look for snacks,” you say, your voice a touch too high-pitched to be innocent.

Zayne turns his head slightly, probably about to say something—maybe to offer help or point out where the cookies are—but you don’t wait. You flee the room with the grace and urgency of someone definitely not running from their feelings.

Out of the corner of your eye, just before you disappear down the hallway, you swear you see it.

A smirk.

That little—

Nope. You’re not thinking about that. You are not spiraling over one stupid, stupid smirk.

You fling open the pantry door with more drama than necessary and scan the shelves like a raccoon on a mission. And then… there it is.

A not-so-suspicious box of chocolate. Sitting there. Unlabeled. Untouched. Almost like it was waiting for you.

Naturally, the logical thing to do is take it.

You snatch it like a gremlin, muttering to yourself, “If this is his secret stash, he shouldn’t have left it where I could find it.”

Because if you’re going to emotionally unravel over a handsome surgeon who asks you to sit with him, you might as well do it with sugar.

You shuffle back into the living room, trying not to look suspicious even though you’re literally holding the loot in both hands.

Zayne glances at the box, one brow lifting ever so slightly.

Without a word, you plop down next to him again—this time slightly closer, because apparently you’re a danger to yourself—and open the lid. You pick one out, hesitate, then hold it out to him.

He looks at it, then at you.

And takes it.

Just like that—without hesitation, without question—like it’s the most natural thing in the world for you to offer him something sweet and for him to accept it.

He pops it in his mouth, casual, like he didn’t just cause your heart to skip a full beat.

You stare at him. “You didn’t even ask what it was.”

He shrugs. “I trust your judgment.”

Great. Now you’re emotionally compromised and flustered.

You quickly shove a chocolate into your own mouth before you say something like “Why are you so attractive when you chew?”

This marriage is going to ruin you.

As the chocolate melts on your tongue, rich and smooth, you frown slightly. There’s something… extra about the flavor. A little too warm. A little too bold.

You squint at the box, lifting it closer to inspect the label. The fancy script mocks you as your eyes land on the fine print.

“Hey, these are infused with—”

You stop mid-sentence, turning to Zayne.

He’s flushed.

Not dramatically—but enough. His ears are a little pink, the tips of his cheeks tinged with color, and he suddenly seems very interested in the pattern on the coffee table.

Your eyes widen.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, holding up the box like a smoking gun. “They’re infused with wine.”

He clears his throat. “Just a little.”

“Zayne.”

“I forgot,” he mutters, and now he won’t meet your eyes.

You blink at him, then at the chocolate, then back at him.

And then you burst into laughter.

“Are you—are you buzzed from one piece of wine chocolate?”

He narrows his eyes at you, but there’s no real heat. “I’m not buzzed.”

“You’re flushed.”

“I run warm.”

You clutch your stomach, giggling. “Oh, this is so going in the mental scrapbook.”

He shakes his head, but you swear you see the corner of his mouth twitch.

And suddenly, the couch doesn’t feel so intimidating. The air between you is warm—not from the chocolate or the wine, but from the quiet, ridiculous comfort of two strangers slowly, awkwardly becoming something more.

But fate, in all its twisted sense of humor, decided to laugh directly in your face.

Because as it turns out, Zayne does not do well with alcohol.

At all.

One wine-infused chocolate later, and he’s leaning back into the couch, flushed like he’s been running laps, and visibly warmer—literally and metaphorically.

You glance over just in time to see him tug at the top button of his shirt.

Then the second.

Then the third.

Your brain short-circuits.

You grip the edge of the sofa like it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality. Do not scream. Do not make a sound. You are strong. You are composed. You are—

He exhales, fingers working at the last button near his collarbone, exposing smooth skin and that maddeningly perfect line of his throat.

“I feel… warm,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

You don’t respond. Because you can’t.

You’re too busy having an internal meltdown.

This is not a movie. This is real life.

Real life where your emotionally-reserved, wine-chocolate-flushed husband is currently undoing his shirt on your shared couch like he doesn’t know what it’s doing to your sanity.

You bite your tongue and stare straight ahead.

This marriage is a trap.

This couch is cursed.

And Zayne, evidently, is dangerous in more ways than one.

You try—truly try—to focus on the TV.

You fixate on the screen like it holds the meaning of life, repeating in your head. Not looking. Not thinking. Muscles aren’t real. Buttons are lies. Stay strong.

But then—

You feel it.

A hand around your wrist. Warm. Firm.

You barely have time to register it before you’re turned toward him—face-to-face with all of him.

Half-unbuttoned shirt. Lean muscles. Broad chest. Collarbone on full display like it paid rent to be there. His eyes, slightly glazed but locked onto yours with an intensity that could melt furniture.

Your breath hitches. “Z-Zayne!”

Your voice comes out embarrassingly high-pitched. Like a cartoon character caught in a romantic ambush.

His hand doesn’t let go.

Neither does his gaze.

“You’re really red,” he says, eyes narrowing slightly, as if you’re the one being strange in this situation.

“I’m red?!” you squeak, trying very hard not to look down. Or up. Or anywhere.

He leans just the tiniest bit closer, and his voice drops, slow and low. “Are you feeling warm too?”

You make a noise. Not a word. Just a sound. Because your brain has left the building and taken all coherent thought with it.

This couch is no longer a piece of furniture.

It’s a battlefield.

His grip on your wrist softens, but he doesn’t let go. His thumb brushes lightly—absently—against your skin as he stares at you like he’s trying to memorize your entire existence.

And then, with absolutely no warning, he slurs softly, “You’re really… pretty… you know that?”

Your soul momentarily evacuates your body.

You blink at him. “I—what?”

“You are,” he says, a little slower, a little sleepier, his words curling lazily like they’re wrapped in velvet. “Your face is nice. Your eyes do this… sparkle thing. Like the stars. But not, cliché stars. Like… classy stars.”

You open your mouth to reply, but absolutely nothing intelligent comes out.

Because here is your emotionally closed-off husband—tipsy from a single chocolate, shirt halfway undone, staring at you like you hung the moon and casually comparing your eyes to classy stars.

This has officially become too much.

You grab the throw pillow beside you and bury your face in it with a muffled, “Zayne, you’re drunk.”

He hums, leaning back slightly, satisfied like he’s just confessed something profound.

“I’m married to a pretty girl,” he mumbles, like it’s the best realization he’s had all day.

And you? You are one slurred compliment away from combusting.

You reach out without thinking, hand aiming straight for his cheek—half to ground yourself, half because you want to see if he’s real and not just a hallucination brought on by wine chocolate and emotional confusion.

But before your fingers make contact, he catches your wrist again.

Gently. Firmly.

And then—he tugs.

You let out a surprised gasp as you stumble forward, barely catching yourself with your free hand against his chest. He’s solid. Warm. Way too warm.

Your heart skips, then trips, then sprints like it’s running late for something.

You barely have time to react before he looks up at you—eyes soft, dazed, and entirely sincere—and asks:

“Can I kiss you?”

It’s not breathy or desperate. Not bold or teasing.

He says it like a gentleman asking for a dance. Like he’s asking your permission to step into something delicate. Something real.

Your breath catches. The world stills. The TV hums in the background, forgotten.

You’re close enough to see the way his lashes rest against flushed skin, close enough to feel his breath brush against your lips.

And now, you have a choice to make.

Because despite the chaos, the circumstance, the wine-infused madness of it all—Zayne just asked you so politely to kiss you.

And god help you…

You kind of want him to.

You open your mouth to reply—maybe to say yes, maybe to question your sanity—but the words never make it out.

Because his lips are already on yours.

Gentle. Soft. Careful, like he’s still half-expecting you to pull away. Like he knows he’s toeing a fragile line and doesn’t want to break it.

Your eyes flutter shut as instinct takes over, and the world tilts slightly.

You can barely taste the chocolate on his lips, a hint of sweetness tangled with something warmer, something that makes your heart thrum unevenly in your chest.

Your mind goes fuzzy. Not from the kiss itself, but from the feeling that comes with it—the quiet kind. The kind that settles in your chest like a secret you hadn’t realized you were keeping.

He doesn’t rush it.

His hand stays on your wrist, thumb brushing softly along your skin, as if even now he’s asking—Is this okay? Are you sure?

And you are.

Somewhere between wine-infused chocolates, teasing banter, and the way he said Can I kiss you? like it meant everything—you became sure.

And so you kiss him back.

Somehow—somehow—you’re still suspended there, caught in that precarious space between balance and disaster, one hand on his chest, the other still held by his.

And then his hands slide to your waist.

Slow. Sure. Steady.

He holds you like he’s anchoring you—like if he let go, you might float away.

And that’s when the kiss deepens.

No more polite hesitation, no more softness at the edges. It’s still gentle, yes—but there’s more now. More pressure. More heat. More intention.

Your fingers curl against his shirt, and it takes every last ounce of self-control not to start undoing the buttons he didn’t already conquer earlier. Because God, you can feel the strength in him—lean muscle under your palm, warmth radiating like it was meant for you, and he’s kissing you like he’s waited a long time to do it.

You gasp softly against his mouth, and he swallows the sound like a secret.

Your mind is a whirlwind. Logic? Gone. Restraint? Dangling by a thread.

You are this close to losing all common sense and just undressing him right here on the couch like your sanity isn’t hanging on by a single, wine-infused thread.

But then he pulls back, just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, breath warm and uneven.

And he whispers, barely audible, “You taste sweet.”

You’re going to combust.

This man is going to ruin you.

The world blurs at the edges, warm and hazy like honeyed sunlight through half-closed curtains. His breath still ghosts against your lips, his hands still resting on your waist like they belong there, like you belong there.

You feel weightless. Drunk, not on wine or chocolate, but on him—the warmth of his skin, the way he kissed you like it was something sacred, the way he looked at you like you were something more than a stranger handed to him by fate.

Everything is soft. Glowing. Surreal.

Too perfect.

And then—

Blink.

The warmth fades. The light shifts.

You’re no longer on the couch.

You’re standing, stiff, in a room full of flowers and polished silence, your fingers cold at your sides.

Zayne stands across from you, buttoned-up, composed, unreadable. No wine in his system. No flushed cheeks. No trace of that kiss.

Just a man you’ve never met.

And the moment of your arranged introduction.

Your breath catches, and for a second, you don’t know what’s real.

But you do know one thing.

Whatever just happened—dream, vision, or cruel trick of the mind—it’s already begun.

#lads #lads x reader #love and deepspace #lnds x reader #love and deepspace x reader #lads zayne #lnds #zayne love and deepspace #l&ds x reader #lnds zayne #l&ds zayne #zayne x you #zayne x reader #l&ds zayne x reader #l&ds fluff #l&ds #lads fluff #lnds fluff #lnds x you

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clockwayswrites · 2 days ago

Text

Fresh Birb! Part 32

masterpost

“Thanks for the excuse to get some fresh air,” Danny said. He sounded grateful enough that Jason felt a little bad for using the ‘stroll around the yard’ as an way to gather some intel.

“Hey, trust me, I get how overwhelming the manor can get,” Jason said, ��and there are a lot of us in house right now. It’s easier in small doses for sure.”

“I could see that,” Danny agreed. “But there’s also something nice about the full house. It’s all very… alive feeling.”

The words were more melancholy than they should be. They were more like how Jason, who knew the feeling of death all too well, might say them. It brought troubling thoughts to mind.

“Yeah, that can be nice about it. Sure is quieter if I’m not here or at Roy’s,” Jason agreed after maybe too long a moment.

“Is Roy that much more talkative when it’s just the two of you?”

“Oh, no. Well, yeah, but it’s more about his little girl, Lian. She’s three and a half and an absolute handful most days. She’s also at that age where she’s pretty much narrating her own life in half understandable babble so there’s just a lot of constant noise.”

Danny chuckled. “I bet. Stayed with a friend for a bit when I was between jobs and stuck there for a few months by a non-complete clause. Her one kid was that age at the time and the oldest five. I didn’t know just how much everything there was when having kids that age. It made me actually feel a little sorry for my parents.”

“You the youngest, oldest, or middle?”

“Youngest. I’ve got one older sister, Jasmine,” Danny said. “You could sorta say there’s a half a sibling too. I basically grew up with my best friend and there were some weeks I spent more time at his house than ours.”

“That close to him?” Jason asked.

“Yeah. That and it was easier, sometimes, to not be at home.”

“Oh.”

That implied some unfortunate things that Jason hadn’t quite been expecting. Danny seemed pretty well adjusted. He was even good at handling Damian, but Jason supposed that maybe part of that was because Danny had been through his own issues.

Danny just shrugged. “I have a life long friend out of it. We don’t see each other in person much these days since we’re on other sides of the country, but we still talk plenty.”

Jason gave a soft hum and, a beat later, asked, “What made you end up in Gotham of all places?”

“Wayne Enterprises, actually,” Danny said. “The rep in the industry as place to work is unparalleled really, especially for what I want to do.”

“And what’s that?”

“Help people,” Danny said, honestly and with a crooked little smile. “Which I know sounds cheesy, but I really wanted to create things that help people. It’s not like I mind making a better cellphone battery or anything, but it’s nice to know that I get to work on things that help not just with the little, everyday issues but also the big, life changing ones. The fact that those things get to help the city I live in too is a real plus.”

“Gotham has a way of getting to you like that,” Jason said.

“Yeah,” Danny replied softly, gaze in the direction of the Gotham sky line.

And then a scream split the air.

Not a human scream, thankfully, but a repeated screech that had both of them starting and looking around for the source. The screech turned to a warbling clucking as Jerry emerged from behind the landscaping. His tail was high and spread, his wing tips brushed the ground, and he was looking almost shockingly colorful.

“A turkey?”

“Damian’s.”

“Damian has a turkey,” Danny said slowly.

“And a cow,” Jason said. “Cat, dog, a few snakes. He tried to keep a rat but Alfred stopped that pretty quickly.”

Danny rubbed at his temple. “This is why he knew how to take care of wings, isn’t it?”

Jason tried not to smile. “That came up, huh?”

“He’s been sending Bruce information about it,” Danny answered.

Jerry made another loud warble and struck what Jason could only describe as a pose.

“So… does he do this often?”

“His name is Jerry, and nope,” Jason said and pulled out his phone.

Jerry strutted closer to Danny, tail feathers shaking.

“Oh… oh,” Danny said with the tone of someone for who horrible realization was dawning. “Can you, ah, talk him down?”

“I’m afraid I’m morally obligated to film this,” Jason said somberly. He couldn’t hold back his smirk any longer.

Danny shot him a withering look and started to back up towards the Manor. “Really.”

“Really. Good luck.”

“Well, fuck,” Danny said and then took off running.

Jerry followed at top speed with a scream.

Jason sent the video to Bruce. ‘You have competition.’

#dp x dc #birdritch #Danny/Bruce #spirit halloween ship

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juleswritesstuff · 3 days ago

Text

The Pillow Contract

James Potter seems to have found the best pillow on earth. You.

james potter x fem!reader

warnings: none

James liked to consider himself a man of simple pleasures.

A good meal ? Heaven. A lazy Sunday spent wrapped in a blanket burrito ? Perfection. A well-timed, sarcastic remark ? Chef’s kiss.

But above all else, there was one thing James had come to love more than anything in the world.

Your chest.

Well, you as a whole, of course. Body and soul alike. He was not a bloody prick, thank you very much.

He loved you for you, not just for the flawless vessel that carried your golden heart and your beautiful mind.

But he couldn't help the way he was especially drawn to the perfection that peeked from your neckline when your shirt hung a little lower than usual.

And he also could not, in good conscience, ignore the life-altering comfort that was that perfection.

Now, to be clear, James wasn’t just some guy obsessed with his girlfriend’s body –okay, maybe he was a little addicted.

But, come on, who could blame him when you were said girlfriend ?

He was supposed to be a bit obsessed with you, right ? That’s what every person in their sane, right and helplessly in love mind would be about their partner, no ?

Was that just him ?

Ok, fine, maybe he was a bit of a simp (read, you had him at your feet). So what ?

He liked it exactly like that. Sue him.

But this ? This was different.

This wasn’t just about attraction or some primal male instinct. No, this was about something sacred.

This was about comfort.

The kind that he’d accidentally stumbled upon one evening when you had curled up next to him on the couch, and his head had somehow –miraculously– ended up resting right on your chest.

That’s when he had discovered it.

The Holy Grail of pillows. The pinnacle of all headrests.

Your chest was perfect.

Warm. Soft. Inviting.

It had been life-changing. Existence-altering. World-stopping.

And in that moment, with his head resting against the softest, most heavenly cushion known to mankind, and your heart beating under his ear like a lullaby, James had made a decision.

He was never going back to regular pillows again.

Ever.

The problem was, he didn’t exactly know how to turn this into a permanent arrangement without looking like an absolute fool.

Which, really, was ironic, because James didn’t mind acting like the biggest dumbass in the world when it came to you. Not even a tiny bit.

The man had zero shame, and zero chill when you were involved.

If he had to beg ? Done.

If he had to bribe you with kisses ? Oh no, how awful.

If he had to declare his undying devotion in front of his friends and suffer their relentless teasing ? Call Sirius and Remus over, he was ready to suffer.

If he had to wear one of those, frankly quite obnoxious --yes, even for him-- ‘I ❤️ My Girlfriend’ shirts in public just because you wanted him to suffer a bit for forgetting the chores ? Consider it his new favorite outfit.

He’d do anything and everything –yes, even sacrificing his dignity in front of Pads and Moony– if it meant putting a smile on your face (and making you agree to be used as a headrest for the rest of your life. But let’s just say that was a teeny, tiny, wonderful bonus if the case ever came to be).

Tonight was his chance, he told himself.

You were already curled up on the couch, wearing one of his hoodies, your legs tucked beneath you as you scrolled through your phone. The dim lighting of the room cast a soft glow over you, and James took a moment to appreciate the scene.

Because, honestly ? You looked really good.

Too good.

Like, unfairly good.

The hoodie –his hoodie, the one he had technically claimed as his favorite, but which spent more time on your body than his closet– was slightly oversized on you, slipping off one shoulder in a way that made his brain short-circuit for a second.

This was his moment.

You were comfortable. The couch was comfortable.

And your chest ? Well, that was a level of bliss he had yet to find anywhere else in the world.

Time to execute: Operation Smothered by Heaven.

Ok, the name was a little ridiculous. But, to his defence, he had been a little distracted while thinking about it –the dress you were wearing mysteriously met the floor not even five minutes after he had taken a glimpse of you– and his brain had refused to work at his full potential.

Something that he absolutely couldn’t let happen now.

Not when the fate of his comfort and sanity was at such a high risk.

That’s why he casually –so casually– stretched like a giant cat just waking up from a nap, letting out an exaggerated yawn before –still ever so nonchalantly, of course– leaning closer.

And would you look at that ? His head, as if drawn by an invisible magnetic force he absolutely had no control on –God forbid– found its way to your chest.

It was seamless.

Flawless execution.

Absolutely fucking nailed that.

He gave himself a mental high five.

Operation Smothered by Heaven: officially successful.

“Wow. Smooth” you blinked down at him, amused.

James grinned but didn’t move. Not even an inch. Nope.

He had claimed his rightful place, and there was no going back now.

“What can I say ? Gravity is a powerful thing” he purred, his voice smug, his eyes half-lidded like a cat who had just found the warmest sunspot in the house.

“Ah, I see. So this is all gravity’s fault, then ?”

“Absolutely” he confirmed, burrowing his face in just a little more “I have no control over it. Pure science”

You snorted, shaking your head, but you didn’t push him away.

Of course you didn’t.

If anything, you shifted slightly, letting your arm drape around his back, your fingers absentmindedly tracing along his spine. He hummed in approval, his whole body melting against yours like ice under the warm sunlight of a summer’s day.

Because the thing James didn’t know –or, at the very least, seemed to forget– was that he wore his heart on his sleeve. Always.

James Potter and secret scheming ? Not a good match.

Not a match at all, actually. But you still liked watching him try.

And with the way he had been ogling you for the past week, it really wasn’t hard to figure out what had been brewing in that ridiculously pretty head of his.

His thoughtful frown, the way his brows scrunched together, his deep-in-thought lip-biting. James had looked like he was trying to crack some highly classified government code.

Except the code in question was you.

Or, more specifically, that area right below your neck that seemed to steal his attention more times then it should've been considered healthy.

Subtle, he was not.

He had been studying you. Analyzing the way your sweaters dipped lower when you leaned forward, the way the fabric of your shirts clung to your curves, the way–

God.

James had the audacity to look like he was pondering the meaning of life when, really, all he was trying to find was an excuse.

Funny how he could’ve just asked.

It wasn’t like you would have refused him.

Hell, you didn’t even think you possessed the ability to refuse him. To refuse him anything, really.

But your smitten and extremely down-bad behavior when it came to your boyfriend was a topic for another time.

James let out a deep, satisfied sigh.

“You know” he murmured, voice slightly muffled as he nuzzled closer “I think I’ve discovered something important”

“Oh ?”

“Mhm” he tilted his head up, his expression dead serious. Like a man delivering a life-changing revelation “Your chest ? Best pillow I’ve ever used”

You raised an eyebrow, a quiet grin making its way onto your mouth. “I should be flattered, I think”

“You should be honored” he corrected, his lips quirking into a lazy smirk “I mean, it’s a very competitive market. But yours ? Easily top-tier”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Is that right ?”

James nodded solemnly.

“Hell yeah, baby. I’d even write a five-star Yelp review if that were a thing”

You let out a soft laugh and slid your fingers into his hair, gently scratching at his scalp.

James immediately melted.

He let out a low, contented hum, eyes slipping shut, the tension in his body dissolving completely. You thought if he was a cat, he would’ve started purring.

“Mmh. Keep doing that, and I might never get up” he mumbled, voice already laced with drowsiness.

“Wouldn’t mind that” you teased.

Because, really, who in their right mind would complain about this ?

No one, that's who.

And surely not you.

James hummed in response, his arms tightening around your waist burying himself further into you. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his body seeping into yours.

His lips brushed absentmindedly against your collarbone –a barely-there press of warmth that sent a quiet shiver down your spine.

This. This was perfection.

Then, because James Potter simply could not help himself, he tilted his head up again.

“So, uh... just out of curiosity. How often do you think I can get away with this ?”

You smirked. “That depends”

“On ?”

“How well you behave”

James’ eyes darkened slightly, though amusement still played at the edges.

“Define behave” his voice dropped, all smooth and teasing, like he could coax an answer out of you if he said it just right.

You arched a brow, pretending to think.

“Well, let’s see. No stealing the blankets at night. No pretending you don’t hear me when I ask you to grab something from the kitchen. And definitely no distracting me when I’m trying to get work done”

James gasped, offended.

“That last one is unreasonable and you know it”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh, is it ?”

“Yes. It is literally part of my rights as your boyfriend to distract you”

You hummed, pretending to ponder your decision.

“Well, if we can do nothing about that…” your hand cupped his cheek, slender fingers applying a gentle pressure to lift his face up from that cocoon of warmth he had nestled himself into.

He blinked. “I-wait. What ?”

Before he could fully register what was happening, you leaned down and captured his lips in a slow, lazy kiss.

James melted.

Like, gone. Out of commission. Absolute goner.

The smug confidence he had a second ago ? Obliterated.

His hands, which had been lazily resting at your waist, tightened, pulling you closer like he never wanted to let go. One of them trailed up your spine, fingers tangling into your hair, holding you there like this was oxygen and he needed it to breathe.

You sighed against his lips, feeling the way James shuddered, the way his grip on you tightened, like he was physically trying to keep himself from falling apart.

Like you had just ruined him.

And maybe you had.

Because when you pulled back just enough to catch your breath, James just blinked at you, dazed and utterly wrecked, lips still parted like he hadn’t quite caught up with reality yet.

You bit back a smirk.

Unbelievable.

How had this man made a full-time career out of turning you into putty, and yet one well-placed kiss had him looking like he’d just been personally blessed by the universe ?

You dragged your fingers lazily through his curls, watching the way his lashes fluttered at the sensation, the slow, dopey grin tugging at his lips.

Completely gone.

You tilted your head, murmuring teasingly against his mouth “Was that up to your standards, Mr. Five-Star Review ?”

James, still grinning –and still absolutely useless– just nodded.

"Five stars ? That was worth the entire Milky Way, baby"

You let out a laugh, and James practically glowed at the sound, his fingers flexing against your waist like he wanted to bottle it.

Then, before you could say anything else, he tilted his head, brushing his nose against yours in that infuriatingly sweet way of his.

"You know-" he murmured, voice all warm and syrupy "-if this is part of my reward system, I promise to be so good"

You smirked, fingers tracing idle patterns into the back of his neck. “Do you now ?”

James nodded solemnly, though the grin he was fighting gave him away.

“The best. Model citizen. Proper gentleman. Will hold doors, carry bags, call you milady unironically if I have to”

You snorted. Loudly.

"Now that, I need to see"

James hummed, tilting his head up like he was about to deliver the most profound statement of his life.

“Mmh. Maybe after another kiss”

Your eyes narrowed playfully. “That so ?”

He nodded again, already leaning in, his lips curling mischievously.

You let your fingers drag slowly down the back of his neck, feeling the way James shivered under your touch.

The moment stretched, thick with something warm and electric, the air between you charged in that intoxicating way it always was whenever you teased him like this.

You leaned in deliberately, lips hovering just over his, close enough that you could feel the ghost of his breath, the heat radiating off his skin.

James, for all his usual smugness, stilled, his lazy smirk faltering into something softer, deeper. His lips parting slightly, his pupils dark and expectant.

Waiting.

Wanting.

You let your gaze drop to his lips, watching as his tongue darted out just once, a quick, unconscious flick, like he was already tasting the kiss before it happened.

And, God, he was beautiful like this.

All that usual bravado stripped down to this, his sharp edges melted, his hands twitching slightly where they rested on your hips, fighting the urge to pull you closer.

His restraint was admirable.

His patience ?

Well. That was something you just had to test.

You leaned in that final inch –only for your lips to land on his cheek instead.

Soft. Chaste. Infuriating.

James let out a dramatic, suffering groan, his head thunking back against the cushions.

“Tease” he mumbled, voice hoarse, his hands finally losing their battle as they gripped your waist, fingers pressing into your sides like he was physically holding back the urge to grab your face and kiss you properly.

You pulled back just enough to grin down at him, impossibly pleased with yourself.

“What ?” you asked innocently, tilting your head “You asked for a kiss. You didn’t specify where, love”

James cracked one eye open, glowering.

“Oh, that’s dirty” he grumbled, before huffing dramatically and rolling onto his back, taking you with him.

You yelped as you landed against his chest, sprawled across him, your laughter cut off when his arms wrapped around you, pinning you against him with the strength of a human vice grip.

“James-”

“Nope” he said, shoving his face into your neck like a petulant child, muffling his words “You’re stuck here now. Actions have consequences”

You laughed, wiggling in his hold, but he just tightened his grip.

“James”

“Mmm. Nope”

“I-”

“Shh. Thinking about my suffering”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself, your fingers naturally finding their way into his curls again, scratching lightly at his scalp.

He made a sound, deep and content, his body practically melting beneath you.

“See ?” you teased, voice softening “That wasn’t so bad”

James exhaled heavily, but his hands had already started skimming over your back again, lazy and unbothered, like he’d completely forgotten why he was fake-pouting in the first place.

“Mmh” he hummed “Don't know. Still feel like you owe me”

You smirked, arching a brow. “Oh ?”

“Yeah” James sighed dramatically, finally tilting his head up again. Looking at you.

That expression.

Soft. Mischievous. A little challenging.

Maybe even a little hopeful.

Like he was just waiting for you to put him out of his misery.

You let the moment stretch for a beat longer, lips quirking.

Then, with a small, amused sigh, you finally gave in.

And kissed him properly.

For a few moments, the two of you just stayed like that, tangled together, basking in the warmth of each other’s touch.

You felt him smile against your lips before he pulled back just enough to murmur “So… hear me out”

“Oh boy” you sighed, already knowing.

James just grinned, completely unbothered by your lack in faith in him.

“What if we made this a permanent arrangement ?”

You let out a soft laugh, tilting your head at him. “A permanent arrangement ?”

“Yeah. Like, an official thing. A contract, even” he lifted his head slightly, hie expression the picture of seriousness “Something binding. A legally recognized agreement that states you will be my official human pillow for the foreseeable future”

You stared at him, an eyebrow quirked in amusement, lips twitiching.

“You want to draft a pillow contract ?”

James nodded, almost professionally.

“For accountability purposes”

You rolled your eyes, a disbelieved chuckle leaving your lips before you could stop it.

“You’re ridiculous”

“But lovable” he pointed out.

You exhaled, shaking your head, your heart betraying you with the sheer amount of fondness you felt for this man.

“Fine” you relented, rolling your eyes as if you weren’t already completely gone for him “You win. You can rest on me whenever you want”

James grinned like he’d just won the lottery, wasting no time in smacking a quick, eager kiss right on your lips.

“But” you added, poking him in the ribs “I reserve the right to move if you start drooling”

“Excuse me ?” James gasped, offended “I do not drool”

You smirked. “That’s not what the couch cushions say”

James gasped again, dramatically this time, like you had personally insulted his honor “That was one time-”

“Oh, it so wasn’t”

James pouted, pulling you even closer and pressing his forehead against yours with a grumble.

“You wound me” he muttered, a mock distraught lilt to his voice.

You grinned, the warmth of him, the smell of him, completely surrounding you as you pressed a kiss to his jaw, lingering just enough to feel the way his breath hitched.

“I think you’ll survive just fine”

James hummed, tilting his head slightly, inviting you to keep going.

So you did.

You let your lips trail along his jawline, slow and lazy, your fingers threading through the curls at the nape of his neck, scratching lightly in a way that made him melt.

“Well” James sighed, voice lower, heavier, the tiniest shiver running through him “If this is how you comfort me, I guess I’ll forgive you”

You laughed against his skin.

“How generous”

James smirked, but there was something else in his eyes now, something wicked, something that sparked just before–

Before the menace shimmied down.

Yes. Shimmied. Like a man with a mission.

“James-”

Your protest was cut off by laughter, because he was determined, wriggling lower and lower with expert precision, slipping out of your hold like a human-sized golden retriever trying to find the perfect spot on the couch.

And then, with a triumphant sigh, his head landed where he had been aiming all along–

Right on your chest.

James let out a deep, satisfied hum, snuggling in, his nose nuzzling into the soft fabric of your shirt like this was some long-lost paradise he had just returned to.

“Now we’re talking” he exhaled in sheer satisfaction, like the heaviest of weights had been lifted from his shoulders, snuggling even deeper, and muttering an appreciative “Mmh. Yep. Definitely five stars”

You blinked down at him, helpless to fight the way your heart swelled, a smile threatening to bloom against your better judgment.

“Should I start charging you for this service ?” you teased.

James hummed, content, his lips brushing absently against the skin just below your collarbone.

“I’d go broke, baby”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, your fingers finding their way back into his hair, your nails scratching lightly at his scalp.

James groaned, pressing his face deeper into your chest, mumbling something incoherent that you were pretty sure translated to never stop doing that.

Before you could fully process how utterly whipped this man was, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss there –just because he could.

You pulled back slightly, blinking down at the mop of messy chocolate strands currently buried between your collarbones.

“Do you make a habit of kissing all your pillows ?” you asked, voice mildly amused despite the unreasonable warmth now flooding your chest.

James, completely unashamed, grinned against you.

“Pillows don’t usually deserve appreciation, but this one ?” his fingers traced slow, lazy patterns against your waist, his voice dropping to a reverent murmur “This one gets special treatment”

A full-body shiver rolled through you.

And James, that absolute menace, felt it.

His smirk was obnoxiously satisfied as he nuzzled in even deeper, practically purring as he molded himself further against you.

You rolled your eyes, trying –truly trying– to ignore the overwhelming affection clawing at your ribcage. And utterly failing.

“Jamie, you’re gonna choke like this” you warned playfully, fighting against yourself not to let out the endeared laugh threatening to spill.

James made a noncommittal noise, fully unbothered.

“Best way to go, honestly”

And that was it.

Not one beat missed. Not a single ounce of shame registered in his voice.

You stared wide-eyed at the mop of untamable chocolate curls right below your chin, completely bewildered by the words that had just come out of your boyfriend’s mouth.

Did this man, the actual lover of your life, just casually declare that he would willingly –no, gladly– perish via boob-related asphyxiation ?

Because that was what it sounded like.

Was that a normal thing for a person to say ?

No. No, it wasn’t.

And yet—here you were.

"James"

“Mmm ?”

"James, get up"

"No"

You sighed, trying to nudge him off, but it was useless.

Because this man –this grown, six-foot, sport-trained, annoyingly fit man– was currently clinging to you like a koala experiencing its first-ever existential crisis.

And you knew –you knew– that there was no reasoning with a man who had just fully committed to making your chest his final resting place.

"James-"

"No"

"You cannot suffocate yourself on my–"

"I can and I will"

"You will not"

James lifted his head just enough to look at you with actual betrayal.

"How dare you harm a man in his final moments ?"

A stunned laugh escaped before you could stop it.

“Oh my god, you’re ridiculous”

James smirked triumphantly.

“And yet-” he murmured smugly “-you don’t seem to mind it”

He barely gave you a second to respond before he nuzzled right back in, burrowing into your chest like you were some long-lost paradise he had finally returned to.

You stared at the ceiling, dead inside.

How was this your life ?

You used to have dignity.

You used to be a strong, independent person.

And yet, somehow –somehow– you had become a glorified human mattress for your very large and very needy boyfriend.

And the worst part ?

You didn’t even mind.

You sighed deeply, fingers slipping into his hair against your better judgment. James melted immediately, exhaling in a way that was obscenely pleased. Like if he were any more relaxed, he'd have dissolved into a puddle of mushy, lovesick goo.

Then, with the solemnity of a man about to deliver a groundbreaking presidential address, he cleared his throat.

You barely had time to register the shift before he–

“Ladies” James began, his voice smooth, reverent “It’s always a pleasure”

Your mouth fell open.

Did he just–

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“I just wanted to take a moment to express my deepest gratitude” he continued talking to your breasts, completely ignoring the look of utter disbelief and sheer horror plastered on your face and sighing dramatically “For your service. For your warmth. For providing me with the best naps of my life”

Your soul, quite frankly, left your body, just straight-up abandoned you.

“James–”

He shushed you.

Shushed you.

“I’m having a moment with my girls, baby” he whispered, like he was delivering a speech at fucking Buckingham Palace.

You gaped at him. “You are not-”

“I am” he placed a hand over his heart “They deserve it”

You had never contemplated murder so seriously in your life.

James, completely unbothered, pressed on.

“I promise to treat you with the respect and admiration you deserve. To appreciate your softness in all its glory. To-” he paused, tilting his head “Actually, I feel like I should name you”

“For the love of God, James. Don’t you dare-”

James gasped.

Gasped.

“That’s a brilliant idea. Baby, why haven’t we named them ?”

You smacked his arm, your eyes so wide they threatened to fall out of your skull. “Because they are literally attached to my body ?!”

But he wasn’t listening. No, the absolute menace was thinking, brows furrowed in deep concentration.

“They deserve names that reflect their greatness. Something regal. Something powerful”

He snapped his fingers. “Got it. Thelma and Louise”

You groaned. “Absolutely fucking not”

James ignored you.

“Or maybe Hall and Oates ?”

“I- What- Aren’t they both men ?”

“Gender’s nothing but a social construct, darling”

“Ok-”

A sudden gasp interrupted you, as if he had just discovered the meaning of life itself.

"Baby- Baby, I’ve got it"

You sighed, already regretting everything. "James, no"

"Yes" he insisted, eyes alight with the thrill of an idiot about to say something profoundly stupid "Bonnie and Clyde"

You blinked. Once. Twice.

"You want to name ‘your girls’ after two actual criminals ?"

James nodded solemnly, as if he were making the most reasonable suggestion in the world. "Iconic criminals. Star-crossed lovers. Thrill-seekers. Just like us, babe"

"Just like us ?" you repeated, incredulous "James, they literally died in a hail of bullets"

"Tragic, right ?" he sighed dramatically, resting his cheek against your chest. "Just two outlaws against the world. Inseparable. Madly in love. Probably great at robbing banks"

You stared at him, completely dead inside. "Are you about to compare my chest to a highly coordinated armed robbery ?"

James lifted his head just enough to grin at you.

"Well” he mused, eyes twinkling “they did steal my heart"

You were done. So done, in fact, that you just gave up entirely.

"I cannot believe this is my life" you muttered, shoving your hands over your face.

James, the absolute menace, took this as encouragement and nuzzled back in, pressing obnoxiously reverent kisses between his newly christened 'Bonnie and Clyde'.

"Rest easy, my loves" he murmured dramatically "Your legacy shall live on"

"James-"

"Shhh" he hushed, patting your side "They're outlaws, baby. They don’t play by the rules"

At that point, you seriously considered pushing him off the couch. Or out the window.

Maybe both.

You shook your head, defeated, completely annihilated by your boyfriend’s questionable choices.

James grinned, entirely too pleased with himself.

“Oh, come on. I’m just having a bit of fun” he chuckled lightheartedly, turning his attention back to your chest with the solemnity of a man who had just finished writing a best-selling novel “Well, ladies, whatever your names may be, just know –you have my eternal devotion”

And then, as if he hadn’t just committed the most embarrassing crime against you, he nestled back in with a satisfied hum.

You stared down at him, deadpan.

“You’re an actual menace”

“And yet, despite that, you love me” he mumbled, already half-asleep.

You sighed, your fingers automatically sliding into his hair once again. It took him less than two seconds to turn into a puddle, his entire body going limp as he exhaled in the most ridiculously pleased way possible, like he had just been given an award for the best nap ever.

“Unfortunately” you muttered, your heart melting just a little bit too, because, yes, he was a ridiculous man, but he was your ridiculous man.

And, as much as you complained, you couldn’t deny it --having James like this, warm and completely wrapped around you, was its own kind of perfect.

The Pillow Contract (Unofficially Signed & Approved)

Clause 1: James gets unlimited chest pillow privileges.

Clause 2: Y/n reserves the right to kick James off if he drools in his sleep.

Clause 3: Cuddles are mandatory.

Clause 4: James won't ever refer to Y/n's chest as ‘Bonnie and Clyde’ again. Penalty: annulment of Clause 1.

Hello beautiful people 💗

I have no idea of where this thing spouted from. It popped in my head, and I had to bring it to the world 😂.

This is my first attempt at a more humorous type of fic. I had so much fun writing it, and I really hope it didn't downright suck, and you had a good time reading it, too.

Let me know what you think!

Thank you for reading, and I'll catch you in the next one <3

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awardenandacrow · 19 hours ago

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It is 12:14 and I should be sleeping but I miss Naimy.

NOTE: I’m tired and that generally means I swear more. TW/CW strong language.

1. Naimeryn has a secret stash of plushies. She hides them in the console table behind the couch and sleeps with them if it’s been a really bad day. Hee favorite is an incredibly dirty and hardly-holding-it-together patchwork bunny in frilly overalls.

2. Harding gave her some plant clippings. They’re living, but it’s unclear if Naimeryn can actually claim any responsibility for that. She took care of the mousers at Weisshaupt, and especially that one kitchen cat, so a pet she could probably handle. Given her childhood, she doubts very much she has the tools necessary to care for and raise a child.

3. “You know about Lucanis and me? Uh… I mean, he’s perfect. Right? He’s so thoughtful. About everyone, I mean, not just me. He notices what you like and what you need and then just sort of… quietly makes it happen. He’s the sweetest.” *cue blushing and idiotic grinning and happy feet kicks*

4. Naimy doesn’t own much red, and generally the color reminds her of her mother, so she avoids it. Lucanis generally isn’t nuts about red (all that Venatori fighting, probably), but he’ll answer this question with a resounding “YES.” As will Spite. The two may have conspired to go back to Gabriela for the red dress, we may never know.

5. It’ll be the shortest speech you’ve ever heard, and it will absolutely give the credit to everyone else. And then she will go hide under the covers of her bed for a year.

6. Emmrich. He’s basically her dad, and he knows what’s up. On the other hand, Illario. That fuckin’ idiot 🤦🏻‍♀️

7. Resilient, resourceful, and kind. “Uh, me? I guess… clumsy? Awkward, and… yeah I’ll take resourceful let’s go with that.”

8. “Fuck. Puzzles!”

9. Naimeryn spent years teaching herself to painstakingly re-bind a large percentage of the books in Weisshaupt’s library. She also keeps her secret plushie stash well-repaired with her embroidery skills, also self taught. So, yes.

10. She’s pretty happy with her current age. Most of her younger years kind of sucked. She’s looking forward to being older, but living in the now is working out pretty great despite the looming threat of her own damn gods.

11. Naimeryn would not have any idea what to do with all that money. Lucanis would take her on a shopping spree, but end up buying everything for her. So then Teia would have to round up Neve, Harding, and Taash for a ✨proper✨ shopping spree.

12. Naimeryn enjoyed Varric’s books, but didn’t actively seek out the romance genre until she learned it was an interest of Lucanis’s… and realized she needed to do some research.

13. The people you love most, may not be the people who love ✨you✨ the most.

14. Naimeryn isn’t guilty. It’s food. Especially trying *new* food.

15. Doing something you don’t enjoy for the benefit of people who don’t appreciate it (e.g. laundry was a waste of time in the magister’s house, but doing it for the team was an act of service everyone noticed, and therefore not a waste of time).

16. Just, *new* clothes when the old ones get wore out.

17. Naimeryn ✨does✨ like kids. She’s a little uncomfortable around them, but she enjoys seeing them happy and thriving, and is actually really good with them. I have this image in my head of her slinging spells with a baby in a wrap carrier on her back like a badass but I dunno, guess we’ll see…

18. Yes, please.

19. Obsessively. She was so nervous about her final project for Lucienne (the spinning magic orb thing) that she started studying the enchantments and mechanisms a full year before Lucienne actually assigned it to her.

20. Sloshing through literally any and all water sources. Barefoot, preferably.

21. He’d have to totally abandon who he is. Become cruel and unthinking. Leave his principles behind. Chest on her, probably. If a stranger stood where Lucanis does now, that would be the end of it for her, but she’d cling to Lucanis until the last shred of him was gone before giving up.

22. Once she finally learns what “Mia fiamma” means, she’s going to be obsessed with being called a pet name. People are going to start thinking “Fiamma” is her given name. She plays with some for Lucanis but nothing fits and she feels awkward using them.

23. A mix of both. The stability of Weisshaupt was suffocating. The novelty of adventuring wears on the body and the soul. Something in the middle might be nice, next.

24. Honesty, but tactful and gentle delivery are important. Lies are lies, no matter how well-intended.

25. There’s plenty of possibility in safety. Safe is good. Safe allows for many more things to be possible.

26. “Well, shit, neither did me much good, so who the hell knows.” 😅

27. Case by case basis. Naimeryn wanted vengeance in the cases of both Illario and Solas, but in both cases forgiveness was more important for someone she cared about, and so she chose forgiveness. If the circumstances were right, though, and it wouldn’t negatively effect anyone she loved, she could probably go the vengeance route if she felt someone deserved it (cough, cough, Calivan, Anaris, Zara, Aelia, The Dragon King…)

28. Does Lucanis count?

29. Blight dreams (cos she’s a Warden). Will these persist after-game? We shall see…

30. Being given forgiveness is not the same as deserving it. Naimeryn endeavors not to do things that will require forgiveness in the first place.

I hope y’all enjoyed this! Let me know if you’d like me to expand on any of these.

oc asks that reveal more than you think

Do they sleep with a stuffed animal? If they have multiple, who’s the favorite?

Can they take care of a plant? What about a pet? What about a child?

Ask them to describe their love interest.

Do they look good in red?

Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech! Will they give one, and what about?

Who will they take advice from, no matter what it is? Who won’t they take advice from, no matter what it is?

Describe them in three words. Now let them describe themself in three words.

Do complex puzzles intrigue or frustrate them?

Do they empathize with non-sentient things (dolls, plants, books…)?

What age do they most want to be right now?

They’ve won the lottery. Spend, or save?

Do they like romance in the books they read (or in the book they’re in)?

Name one thing their parents taught them.

Would they agree with the term ‘guilty pleasure’? Do they have any?

What would they consider a waste of time– other than school or work?

If money wasn’t a limit, what would they wear?

Do they like children?

Kissing: tongue or no tongue?

Do they study before tests? Practice before job interviews?

What do they like that nobody else does?

What would it take for them to break up with someone? What would be the last straw?

Do they like being called pet names? Do they call other people pet names? What’s their go-to?

Stability or novelty?

Honesty or charity?

Safety or possibility?

Talent or effort?

Forgiveness or vengeance (or…)?

Would they date a fixer-upper?

What recurring dreams do they have?

What would they do if they knew it would be forgiven?

#ask game #oc asks #writeblr #ask meme #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age #Naimeryn Thorne #a warden and a crow #about my rook #my rook #rook ask game #grey warden rook #rook thorne

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fireinmoonshot · 2 days ago

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Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Reader Summary: You're away for a few days for a work trip and even on the first night, Joaquin is making sure you know how much he misses you. Warnings: Mentions of food. Word Count: 1k A/N: I've wanted to write something regarding Joaquin + facetiming before and then I got this as a request the other day so it was perfect. I think Joaquin would be so cute in this scenario... 🥹 I adore him, my sweet angel boy.

You’re in line at the grocery store getting some things to take back to your hotel room when your phone starts buzzing. The photo on the screen, a selfie of your boyfriend that he’d taken on your phone, shows that Joaquin is trying to Facetime you. You cancel the call and quickly type out a message to him before putting your stuff up on the counter.

Sorry, baby, I can’t answer right now – in line at the grocery store xo ❤️

The phone buzzes again just as the cashier starts scanning your items and asks you how your day is going. Once you’ve paid, you check the message, smiling as you read it.

Ok…🙁

You’re away for four nights on a work trip and Joaquin is clearly already struggling having the house to himself. At first, you thought he’d enjoy the freedom of being alone… but now that you think about it, it sounds like his worst nightmare.

You reach your rental car and unlock it, climbing into the drivers seat and putting your groceries and bag on the passenger seat. Pulling your phone out from your bag, you send Joaquin another quick text to check in before heading back to your hotel.

I’m in the car now, I can call on my way to my hotel? The car has hands free.

A message from Joaquin appears seconds later. No, too dangerous. Call when u are in ur room pls, I miss u ❤️😢

You can’t help but smile at the message, sending a quick okay back to him before putting your phone in your bag, putting your seatbelt on and starting up the car. The entire drive back to the hotel, you hear your phone going off every minute or so. He says it’s too dangerous to call you via hands free but will distract you by texting you every minute… yeah, makes complete sense…

Despite your desire to check it after you park, you wait till you’re in your hotel room before getting your phone out of your bag. It would’ve been a hassle to try and read and reply to his messages while navigating the elevator and trying not to lose your room key card.

You almost laugh as you see why your phone was going off so often.

Joaquin has sent you a detailed list of everything he did today while you were gone – ever since he dropped you off at the airport at 9am right up until now at 7pm. He’s even included pictures – a variety of zoomed in photos and a couple selfies. You save them all to your camera roll. Your favourites are the one where he’s giving a thumbs up to the camera after successfully doing grocery shopping alone, another one blowing a kiss to you because he misses you and, probably the best one of all, him flipping off the microwave because it didn’t properly heat up his lunch.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you text him back.

Why did you send all of these? 😂 I mean, so cute, but are we not about to Facetime so you can tell me all about your day anyway, baby?

Unsurprisingly, his reply comes through instantly.

In case I had to go before u got back.

Go where? I thought you were staying in tonight.

Yea but what if Sam called and I had to go and help him save the world. 🦸🏽‍♂️

You can’t not laugh at that. Especially with the little superhero emoji. He’s adorable – so utterly adorable – and you miss him even more upon reading his words. You climb back up onto the bed so you can sit properly on it and hit the Facetime button, immediately calling Joaquin.

He answers straight away.

“Angel,” he drags out the word as his face appears on the screen, a pout on his lips.

“Hi baby,” you chuckle, smiling down at his face on your phone screen. “I’m glad Sam hasn’t called and asked you to come help him save the world yet.”

He grins. Through the screen, you can see that he’s laying on your bed, his face a little smushed into the pillow. He looks sleepy and you wish you were with him. “Me too,” he replies. “I miss you… how am I meant to sleep alone for four more nights? I’ve started a countdown on the fridge. I made it with post it notes. I should’ve sent a photo of it… I’ll take one tomorrow. I’m too comfy to get up right now. Did you see the photo about the microwave? I think I need to go buy a new one. It’s not working properly. And Fred, our neighbour, threw his dogs shit over our fence again earlier, so I had to go and ask him politely to stop doing it. Oh, and I did the washing but I think I pressed a button wrong cause it said it’d be three hours before it was done and I think that’s a bit too long. And–”

“Joaquin.”

You interrupt him, a smile on your face from listening to him ramble on about everything that had happened today. He blinks, his eyes focusing on the screen where your face is again. A sleepy smile makes its way onto his own face.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly.

“Don’t be,” you shake your head. “I miss you too, baby. But it’s only four nights. I’ll be home before you know it. But I’m going to hate sleeping without you too.”

He squishes his face into the pillow a little more. “It should be illegal to separate us,” he huffs.

“I doubt that they’d make that a law, baby.”

He groans into the pillow before sitting up a little so his face is a little more visible. “You know what should be illegal though? Microwaves that don’t heat up all your food… I mean, seriously, I put it in for like six minutes and it was still cold on the inside! It’s gotta be faulty, right, angel? Do you think I should go get another one tomorrow? Maybe ours is still under warranty. I’ll have to try and find the paperwork. Do you know where it is?”

Amused, you continue to listen to him waffle on about the microwave and several other things that had happened to him today… if this is what’s in store for your next few nights away… you’ll definitely have your hands full…

––––

Joaquín Torres Tag List (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!)

@sidkneeeee @dead-inside-but-happy @lay-lay-5 @marchingicenotes7 @phucboy @davinashifts333 @lomlbuckybarnes @laurenjbb @chansburgah @blackwidownat2814 @mischiefmanaged71 @madzlovez @marvelwitchergilmore @brittnicki @rheas-ripley @bcystar @victorsbathroomstall @giona45-5 @voodoo-tofu @happypopcornprincess

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #marvel x reader #marvel #mcu #mcu x reader #falcon #captain america brave new world #danny ramirez

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cherienymphe · 20 hours ago

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Teenage Dirtbag XVII

JJ Maybank x Reader x Rafe Cameron

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, abusive relationship, domestic violence, mentions of violence (+ gun violence), gun kink, dacryphilia, attempted murder, blood, semi public sex, jealousy, manipulation, infidelity, underage drinking, drug use, canon ages, kook!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ series masterlist

summary: You’re charmingly spoiled. You’re too kind for your own good. You’re the princess of Figure 8 …and you’re way out of JJ Maybank’s league, but when he realizes that Rafe Cameron’s pride and joy is actually a bruised and battered damsel, he’s determined to save you.

Your rescue just comes with a price.

⭑

You hadn’t seen nor talked to JJ in three weeks.

That hadn’t been your goal, having every intention of seeing him again after that day at The Wreck—even if only to officially break it off between you. Things hadn’t worked out that way though and before you knew it, a week went by and then another and another. It was a combination of things really—Rafe being around a lot more above all else—but you also didn’t think you had it in you to look JJ in the eyes and reject him again.

The day at The Wreck had been hard enough, and you’d only succeeded then because you were so overwhelmed by Kie’s words, desperate to get away and think. She hadn’t said anything untrue, anything wrong, and that’s what made her words sting the most. Sure, JJ talked a big game about figuring out a way to safely get you away from Rafe…but in practice…? You’d been with Rafe for over two years and still hadn’t been able to come up with a scenario that wouldn’t come back to bite you.

JJ wanted to save you, and you wanted to let him, but it was unrealistic. The only chance you had would be to move halfway across the world and even then… Rafe could be scarily determined to see something through, and it wasn’t like he lacked the means and resources to simply follow you. He hated to lose.

Sometimes you wondered if JJ really understood just how dangerous Rafe was.

…or if he simply enjoyed sneaking around with his girlfriend more.

Such a thought seemed so unfair to you—especially since there was no doubt in your mind that JJ cared about you—but you’d told him the same thing before all of this even started. You’d had no problem telling him that you dating Rafe Cameron had a hand in his aggressive pursuit of you. You still believed that actually, and it wasn’t like you minded all that much because you were getting something out of this too and JJ was making you feel things you hadn’t felt in a long time.

…but Kie was right.

She was so right. You either had to leave Rafe or put an end to your ‘relationship’ with JJ. Anything outside of that wasn’t up for consideration, and between you and JJ, only one of you had what it took to do the right—and smart—thing. So, you hadn’t seen JJ in weeks…and it hurt.

You didn’t know why, but you hadn’t expected it to hurt this much.

This person who had become this cliche bright light in an otherwise dark life was no longer there. You didn’t look forward to the following day anymore nor anticipate hearing from someone who never failed to put a smile on your face. The nights that Rafe spent with his father or at home were no longer filled with a familiar presence to keep you company. When Rafe left the other side of your bed empty…it stayed that way.

…and against your will, you found yourself crying a lot more these days.

“Sweetheart, you really need to get more sleep,” your mother cooed as she gently touched your face. “Everything okay…?”

You nodded at her as you stirred your creamer into your coffee.

“Yeah,” you assured her. “Just having trouble sleeping lately.”

She hummed at that, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I’m going to give you something for that,” she told you, rubbing your shoulder. “...and something for those bags under your eyes too. It’s making you look ill.”

You didn’t have a response for that other than a soft ‘thanks’. She hummed at you before your father pulled her attention away, both of them getting caught up in a conversation about the broken garbage disposal. Their voices faded to the background as you continued to stir your coffee, even when it had long blended into an even toffee color. You only stopped when your name was called.

Your parents were looking at you expectantly when you glanced up.

“Sorry?”

Your mother chuckled, albeit throwing you an odd look while doing so.

“I said you’ve gotten a dress for Rafe’s party, right? It’s the big twenty-one, and you can’t go wearing something you already have,” she said, sounding like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world.

You swallowed at the mention of his birthday, unable to forget about its approach even if you wanted to.

“Rafe bought a dress for me months ago.”

Your mother’s smile made your stomach turn.

“Of course, he did,” she commented, gently squeezing your arm. “He’s always so sweet to you.”

You weren’t able to keep looking at her as a fondness settled on her features as she thought about your relationship.

“I’d ask to see it, but I want to be surprised, and plus he never disappoints,” she chuckled. “He always knows just what to pick, and you look so radiant every time.”

Her parting words made you sigh, and for the umpteenth time, you imagined how they’d react if they ever knew the true nature of your relationship with Rafe. They doted on him because he seemingly doted on you. Like any decent parents, they were skeptical of him until he proved himself, and now years later—after he’d long started putting his hands on you—they still thought you two were the best thing to ever happen to each other.

If they knew the truth, you had no doubt it would break their hearts for more reasons than one.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised to see you…”

Sarah’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you were forced to pull your gaze away from the picture they had on the wall. You didn’t doubt that it was some piece Rose had brought into the house.

“It’s Rafe’s birthday, so, of course you’re going to be here, but I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks…”

She hadn’t seen you in weeks, and just like with JJ, it hadn’t been intentional, but you still felt bad. In an effort to distance yourself from the younger blond, you’d pulled away from anything that had to do with him. You didn’t know if you just didn’t want to chance seeing him or hearing about him, but that had included making yourself scarce around Sarah too. Considering that you were dating her brother, it was almost an impressive feat.

“Are you okay? Because as I’m saying this I realize it has been weeks since I’ve seen you, and when Pope asked about you the other day, I realized I couldn’t tell him how you were because I don’t know myself.”

You didn’t know how to respond, unable to tell Sarah that you felt like you were constantly outside of your own body, experiencing everything indirectly since you’d unofficially broken things off with one of her best friends. You missed him—more than you thought you would—and you were back to the reality of what your life was like—and would forever be like—without JJ in it.

So, you simply said:

“I’m fine.”

Sarah didn’t look like she believed you, and you watched as she pulled her lip between her teeth.

“None of us did anything, right?” you were already shaking your head. “...because everything seemed fine and then-.”

“No, of course not,” you said with a light chuckle, trying to reassure her. “It’s just stuff at home that I’ve been handling. Nothing serious, but it’s kept me really busy lately.”

The younger girl slowly nodded at that, still looking unsure.

“If you say so,” she commented. “We’re still down whenever you can pull yourself away.”

It was a very basic gesture, but it both warmed your heart and made your stomach sink. You knew that you’d either have to man up and face the possibility of running into JJ despite the fact that you were now over, or tell Sarah you didn’t want to be friends anymore, and the latter you couldn’t ever bring yourself to do. You enjoyed being around her and her friends, and one could argue that you should be taking advantage of your new free time now that you were no longer seeing JJ.

…but the thought of facing him so soon after essentially ghosting him made your chest hurt. You were self aware enough to admit that you didn't think you were strong enough to face him and walk away again. With JJ out of the picture, you were quickly reminded of just how awful your life was before he decided to kiss you that night, and it was so easy to just let yourself go back to what made you happy.

You were afraid that your resolve would crumble with just one look.

How easy it would be to tell yourself that you deserved this and that your relationship with Rafe was hardly a relationship, at all. It wasn’t a hard argument to make either. Rafe had beat you and threatened to kill you and even put you into the hospital. Anyone in their right mind wouldn’t blame you for what you’d done, but it wasn’t just a matter of right and wrong and who considers what's classified as either of those things.

Rafe would kill you.

That was something you knew for a fact. He’d threatened to do so on several occasions, but you knew that if Rafe ever found out about you and JJ—even in a sense of past tense—there would be nothing to talk about. He would kill you and more than likely JJ too. Sneaking around with JJ just for the hell of it—with no actual foolproof plan to safely get away from Rafe for good—was a death wish.

It was beyond foolish, unfair to JJ, and dangerous for you both.

It was why you greeted Rafe with a gentle smile when he finally found you some time later, reaching for you and threading his fingers through yours. Keeping him happy would keep you safe. You knew that, and somewhere along the way, you’d gotten comfortable and allowed JJ to make you forget that. Your only viable options were Rafe…or death, and anything in between was just a longer and complicated way to achieve the latter.

“I figured I’d find you gossiping with Sarah,” he drawled, tone light-hearted.

You attributed his good mood to this day—and party—being entirely focused on him. You smoothed down the eggshell dress he bought for you, relieved that it was still blemish free. You grimaced as you recalled the last dress you’d spilled some wine on while attending yet another party his parents had thrown.

Rafe took note of the action, and he paused to admire you.

You watched as his blue eyes roamed over your frame, drinking in everything from your perfectly styled hair to the baby pink polish on your toes. The house held that moderate hum that came with a full guest list, but Rafe was entirely focused on you. It felt like one of those rare moments when he was genuinely happy with you, and the look on his face was reminiscent of when you both were eighteen and in love and he was sweeping you off of your feet.

Rafe moved closer and fingered an errant piece of hair before putting it back in place. That seemed to satisfy him, and you watched as the corner of his lips curved upwards just the slightest. His fingers fell to your chin where he gently grazed your skin, and Rafe straightened, looking you over again.

“You look perfect.”

The way in which he said it broke the spell, and suddenly the look in his eyes was so clear. You felt shiny all of a sudden—metallic and heavy and like you belonged on a shelf. Your heart sank, and you didn’t know why because you knew that. You’d long accepted that to Rafe, you were some prize, molded perfectly into his ideal girlfriend who would never dare leave him or speak out against him, and who’d be his support no matter what.

For a split second, you’d really forgotten that, and you gave him a small smile.

“I’m wearing a perfect dress.”

Rafe only smiled at that before pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips, pulling you along.

Everyone was moving outside to cut the cake and lavish Rafe with even more attention. You held his hand tight as they did, playing your role and thinking about the many years to come in which you’d have to do this. You’d long resigned yourself to it, but for some reason it was getting to you today more than usual. Perhaps it was because you could see it.

All over their faces.

They all looked at you and Rafe with such fondness and hope and happiness. They saw Ward Cameron’s only son with your father’s only daughter and pictured the future generations of Figure 8 and who would start it. They looked at you two and saw two sons and two daughters and a white picket fence and maybe even a dog. It caused a shiver to travel down your spine, and just when you considered excusing yourself, your boyfriend spoke.

Everyone quieted down as he gently tapped a glass, and you were forced to remain exactly where you were.

Rafe stared into the glass for a moment before leisurely setting it aside. You knew that this was his typical speech in which he thanked everyone for coming and showed endless gratitude to Ward and even briefly mentioned you, but there was a look that passed over his face that you couldn’t name. He looked happy—as expected—but there was a hint of haughtiness in that smile.

“I’m thankful that all of you came to support my family and I to not only celebrate my birthday, but to usher in this new era as I officially join my father’s business as well…”

Hums of appreciation and congratulations reached your ears, and you threw Rafe a smile when he glanced at you.

“I pretty much have everything I want, so…” he waved his hand around. “...gifts and all that typically don’t mean anything to me at this age.”

You kept your eyes on him, wondering what direction this speech was going in.

“However…” Rafe’s smile grew. “There is one gift I’m hoping my wonderful girlfriend will give to me…”

The gasps and commotion around you sounded more horrifying to your ears than exciting as Rafe turned to you and lowered himself to the ground. He was on one knee and reaching into his pocket, and despite the fact that you knew what that meant, you were in complete denial—frozen where you stood—up until he said the words.

“...by telling me ‘yes’ when I ask her to marry me.”

You heard your mother cry out behind you, and if there was any thought that she knew about this, it was quickly gone. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Rose covering her mouth in excitement, and you wanted to look around to see if anyone felt as horrified as you felt, but you knew the answer.

If you dared to look around, everyone would be smiling and looking on in awe and anticipation as they watched Rafe Cameron propose to you. You were sure that if you were met with the sight, it would terrify you, making you feel like you were knee deep in an episode of The Twilight Zone. You glanced up anyway, and only confirmed your suspicions, and you had the sudden urge to cry.

Why was everyone so happy? Why wasn’t anyone else petrified?

It took you an embarrassingly long time to realize it was because no one else knew. No one else knew that Rafe choked you when he felt you were getting too smart with him. No one else knew that the man on one knee before you was also the very same to break your nose and put you in the hospital. No one knew that the man proposing to you had once put the barrel of a gun in your mouth and threatened to kill you.

None of them knew that, and the one person who did didn’t look nearly as horrified as you felt.

You felt like you’d been in your head forever, but in reality, it was probably only a few seconds. Rafe was still knelt before you with that haughty smile and satisfied gleam in his eye, and you knew it was because he knew he’d won. You wouldn’t dare tell him no in front of your families and their friends and put a crack in the perfect picture you two had created.

The ring was a marquise solitaire with a yellow gold band, and if you were guessing correctly, you knew it was at least 3 carats. Tears spilled over as you looked at it, recalling a time where you’d told Rafe that was your dream engagement ring, but that was back then when Rafe was your dream man, and you were in your dream relationship. Both him and the relationship were a nightmare, now, and being presented with that ring of all rings made you sob.

When those blue eyes of his dimmed just a tad, in an effort to protect yourself, your mouth spoke before your brain could catch up, desperately telling him what you knew he wanted to hear.

“Yes.”

The word came out of your mouth and was said in your voice, but you didn’t approve of it, and you broke down again as cheers erupted from around you. Your vision was blurry as Rafe slid the ring onto your finger—a perfect fit—and he was quick to stand and pull you against him. Someone was loudly crying, and it sounded a lot like your mother, but the both of you were crying for entirely different reasons.

Rafe wrapped his arms around you, burying his face into your hair as he rocked you both from side to side. You could feel yourselves being closed in on, everyone wanting to come and personally congratulate you, and you shrunk in on yourself, wanting to be as far away from here as possible.

Rafe’s lips grazed your ear.

“You just made me the happiest man on earth.”

You turned away from your bruised reflection, thinking that the evolution of your relationship seemed to bring out a side of Rafe that even scared him a little. You thought that he couldn’t keep his hands off of you before, but it was nothing in comparison to now that he could call you his fiancee. It rolled off of his tongue whenever he was inside of you, and it made it impossible to disassociate and try not to live in the moment of what your life had become.

You didn’t know if he was excited because he was so close to tying you to him forever, or if the ring on your finger increased the sense of ownership that he felt he had over you, but too many times had Rafe left you a little more battered and bruised every time he got you into bed as of late. Thinking about the harsh feel of his teeth on your back only days ago brought tears to your eyes, and you reminded yourself that you knew the trajectory of this journey the day you lied to the police.

After the successful proposal, the party had gone on for another two hours, every individual guest wanting their own solo moment to congratulate the happy couple. Rose and your mother endlessly fawned over the ring, and when you finally got a moment alone with your father, you discovered that he’d known for weeks.

After all, it was weeks ago that Rafe had formally asked for his permission.

“I don’t think any man will ever be good enough for you,” he’d said. “...but he treats you right and respected me enough to come to me.”

The tears in your normally stoic father’s eyes only served to remind you that everyone else was living in an entirely different reality with an alternate version of your relationship. You were feeling more trapped and cornered than ever, and everyone else around you was…elated.

All except one.

“Oh my God,” Sarah had said the moment she'd been able to get a moment with you.

She took your hand and just stared at the ring, and you hadn’t needed to be a genius to know that she wasn’t as over the moon as everyone else. It was all over her face, but despite that, she attempted to be happy for you, and you appreciated the gesture.

“You’re getting married,” she breathed. “To my brother.”

You’d pulled your hand away, swallowing, and beyond all of the overwhelming emotions you were feeling, you still remembered someone whose face you hadn’t seen in weeks.

“Can you…can you not tell anyone else, please?”

She’d looked at you like you were crazy, an incredulous scoff escaping her.

“All of Figure 8 will know by tomorrow morning, you can’t be serious,” she shook her head at you with wide and confused eyes.

“Yes, but we both knew there isn’t really anyone from this side of the island you could possibly tell…”

Sarah seemed to understand that you didn’t want her friends knowing, and although you could see she wanted to know why, she eventually nodded.

“...okay. Sure,” she whispered, tilting her head at you. “Are you happy?”

You had opened and closed your mouth, prepared to lie when she continued.

“You just…don’t seem all that happy.”

“Of course, I am,” you’d said with a deep breath. “Rafe and I are getting married. Why wouldn’t I be?”

It was a loaded question, one you hoped you would never have to answer honestly.

With the heaviness of the ring on your finger and Rafe’s suffocating presence and your mother’s choking enthusiasm about the eventual wedding, you took full advantage the next time Rafe and Ward went out of town, telling Sarah you’d love to come over and hang out with her and Cleo and Kie. You desperately needed a break from the constant reminder that the rest of your life was about to begin.

You had left the ring in your bedroom because you just wanted one night without thinking about it, but you appreciated your decision all the more when the boys had unexpectedly shown up. Nevermind the fact that you weren’t quite ready to face JJ, but you really weren't ready to face him with a huge rock on your finger, and the words on your tongue explaining to him what it meant.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Cleo had half heartedly apologized when she answered the door, pressing a kiss to Pope’s cheek. “...but the house is empty, yeah?”

It was true.

Wheezie was staying with a friend and Rose was on an overnight girls’ trip. You couldn’t even find it in you to be nervous about being around the guys with Rafe none the wiser. You were at his house, and it would take nothing to just drive home, but most importantly, oddly enough, you were more concerned with being face to face with JJ again, at the moment.

Like a coward, you were unable to look him in the eye when you heard his voice for the first time in a month, and you were thankful that too much was going on for your uncharacteristic silence to be noticeable. You felt his gaze on you though, goosebumps erupting over your skin and feeling much hotter, but your eyes remained on your lap.

You only looked up just in time to see him brush past Kie to find a seat, and your brows furrowed as you looked between them. You had never known JJ to be cold, it just wasn’t like him, but there was no doubt about it that he was giving Kie the cold shoulder. The dark-haired girl saw your frown, and she merely shook her head.

“I feel like we haven’t seen you in years,” Pope said to you, reaching out for a high-five.

“Sure feels that way, don’t it.”

JJ’s comment made you grimace, and when you dared to look over at him, his gaze was already on you.

Coming face to face with him after what felt like forever made your heart skip a beat, and you struggled to look away.

“Sorry,” you eventually apologized to Pope, ignoring JJ’s comment. “Rafe and family stuff just took up so much time.”

He waved off your apology, assuring you that he was joking, but you knew that JJ wasn’t, and when the blond got up to get a drink, you impulsively followed. The rest of them—sans Kie—were none the wiser, and you briefly glanced over your shoulder before going into the kitchen. JJ was standing in the fridge, and it was only hitting you in that moment that you hadn’t seen nor talked to him in weeks.

You already knew that you missed him, but it was hitting you much harder as you stood so close to him while being unable to touch him. He looked like he was doing okay, and his hair was just as blond, and when he straightened, you were reminded of what it felt like to have those arms wrapped around you. You missed the feeling, and you missed running your hands through his hair and falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat whenever you had the chance.

In this moment, it was very hard to remember why you had left him. However, you reminded yourself that you hadn’t followed him to talk about you two. There was no ‘you two’ anymore.

There was just you, and there was just JJ.

“Why are you treating Kie like that?”

JJ didn’t respond at first, merely turning to you and staring you down for a few moments before a mocking smirk graced his pink lips.

“That’s all you have to say to me…?”

You didn’t respond to that, and when it became clear that you simply wouldn’t, JJ scoffed. He shook his head, opening a beer that was meant for Ward, no doubt, before leaning his back against the counter.

“You know why,” was what he said with a straight face.

Now, it was your turn to scoff.

“It’s not her fault,” you defended, continuing when he started to shake his head. “She didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, anything that we didn’t already know. We were just choosing to ignore it.”

“You told me you weren’t going to let what she said get to you. You nodded, you assured me of that, and then I don’t hear from you for a month.”

He’d dropped the cavalier facade, and you could see the anger and hurt passing over his features.

“You don’t answer my calls, you don’t answer my texts, and if it wasn’t for Sarah, I wouldn’t have even known you were alive.”

“JJ-.”

“We were happy-.”

“We were delusional,” you quietly hissed. “Kie was right. Don’t hate her for something that was inevitable.”

That word seemed to bother JJ, and you watched as his features hardened. Your former lover stared at you for what felt like a long time before glancing away. You watched him press his tongue to the inside of his cheek, and you didn’t like the look he fixed you with.

“Did you forget the deal we made…?”

When you frowned at him, he continued.

“That I would keep quiet about Rafe so long as you let me be there for you?”

You shifted your feet, feeling uncomfortable at the mention of that. You didn’t say anything, not wanting to acknowledge that, but JJ merely nodded with a hum. He took another swig of beer, and you really hated the look he fixed you with then.

“If you’re not going to hold up your end of the deal then why should I hold up mine?”

Your heart sank to your gut at that, and you blinked at JJ in disbelief, unable to believe that even he believed he was capable of what he was insinuating. Not only that, but it was such a cruel thing to even bluff about, and you let out a dry chuckle.

“JJ…that’s… No,” you mumbled, shaking your head. “What is wrong with you?”

He didn’t answer your question, choosing to gesture to the living room.

“What’s to stop me from pulling Sarah aside and telling her exactly why you hardly have a life outside of your relationship with her brother?”

Your lips parted, and you just stared at him…unable to believe what you were hearing.

“You won’t let me be there for you,” he spat out with a shrug. “...and someone has to be.”

You finally found your voice, and you blinked back tears.

“That’s not your decision to make,” you quietly bit out.

“...and I disagree,” he argued, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head. “We’re not talking about the typical asshole boyfriend here. Your life is in danger every time you’re around him.”

You furiously blinked, looking towards the ceiling.

“As long as he’s happy…I’m safe,” you breathed, lips trembling as you looked at JJ again. “I just have to-.”

“...and when Ward pisses him off again? When you’re not as cold as you should be to some strange man? When he decides Topper was a bit too nice to you? Then what?”

JJ moved closer with every question, a sneer on his lips as he stared you down.

“There’s no way to keep a guy like that happy.”

You flinched, leaning away from JJ as he leaned in. He looked between your tearful eyes, and while yes he was angry and hurt over how you decided to end things, you could see clear as day that JJ was also scared. He was scared for you and whatever future was available to you now that you’d decided to completely submit to Rafe and what he wanted for you both.

His face softened the longer he stared at you, and just as he lifted his hand, footsteps reached your ears.

You were in front of the open fridge just as John B. came in, handing him a drink when he asked for one. You stared at the food in front of you while you attempted to fix your face and get your emotions in check. Your heart was racing in your chest, and you wondered if you were just about to fall back into old habits had it not been for the brunette. You slipped out of the kitchen while John B. brought up something from the other day with JJ, and your smile was half hearted as Cleo pulled you to sit beside her.

You tried to engage with them, but it was hard. You couldn’t get JJ’s words out of your mind and how right they were despite your denial of them. Keeping Rafe happy and discouraging him from hurting you would only work for so long at a time. Eventually a day would come where Ward pissed him off and he’d take it out on your body in some form or another. It was inevitable that Topper or Kelce or some other guy would slip and dare to treat you like a human being, something that Rafe would no doubt interpret as a line being crossed.

It made your heart sink to think about.

So caught up in your thoughts, you paid no mind to JJ and John B. returning from the kitchen until you felt liquid spilling all over you and the part of the couch you were sitting on. It smelled too strong to be anything other than beer, and you heard everyone scold JJ just as you jumped to your feet.

“Why were you trying to carry so many?” Sarah loudly tore into him, alternating between looking over you and looking over the stained couch. “Now Y/N has to change, and you have to fix this couch.”

They briefly went back and forth while you tried to keep your shirt from sticking to you, assuring Sarah it was fine before making your way upstairs to do just as she said you would. You hurried into Rafe’s room, peeling off your shirt and your shorts the moment you were through the threshold. Your skin was already feeling sticky, and if he’d gotten beer on more than just your back and shoulders and arm, then you would’ve admitted defeat and hopped in the shower.

You were half dressed and wiping off the last of it when you heard Sarah’s voice in the hall.

“You have clothes here, right?”

“Yeah,” you called, grabbing one of the many shirts you kept in Rafe’s drawers.

“Okay, because JJ felt bad and wanted to be sure you had something to change into, and then that made me unsure-.”

You were facing her and fully dressed the moment she cut herself off, swallowing the rest of her words. She was just inside of Rafe’s room, hand still on the door handle as she stared at you. Something passed over her face that you’d never seen before, and her brows knitted together as she gave you a strange look.

“What was that?”

Now, it was your turn to frown.

“What was what?”

Her mouth opened and closed—like she was doubting herself—before she tucked some hair behind her ear.

“On your back.”

You felt your skin grow cold at her words, heart sinking as you quickly realized what she was referring to. Now, your mouth opened and closed as you struggled to respond. Your genuine confusion had quickly morphed into something that you normally only felt around Rafe—fear.

Giving her a soft hum, you pulled on your shirt and twisted around.

“Nothing. The shirt’s clean,” you told her.

Sarah gave a soft chuckle, but sounded off—uncomfortable.

“No, under your shirt…”

You stepped away when she reached for you, and the blonde took notice, that frown returning. It deepened the longer she stared at you, and you attempted to lighten the mood.

“It was probably just the lighting, my back’s fine,” you assured her.

She rolled her eyes at you.

“That didn’t look like a shadow. I know what a shadow looks like-.”

“Sarah, come on, my back is fine,” you waved her off, moving out of her reach. “Let’s just go back downstairs.”

Your attempt to get past her was successful, but your efforts to leave the room were halted when Sarah pulled up on the end of your shirt.

The gasp that she let out was loud—horrified—and when you hurried to turn your back away from her, she had both of her hands over her mouth. Her wide eyes were frozen exactly where your back just was, and it took her a few moments to lift her gaze. All the while, your heart was threatening to jump out of your chest. You stared at her and she stared at you, both of you silent—her with horror and you with fear.

“What the hell is that?” she whispered when she finally uncovered her mouth.

“Sarah, it’s nothing-.”

“That doesn’t look like nothing,” she breathed. “There are bruises—that was a bite mark!”

You worriedly looked over your shoulder, scared her voice would carry.

“Where did that come from? Did Rafe do that?”

“It’s not what you think-!”

“Then what is it? Tell me what it is since it’s not what I think,” she spat.

You struggled to come up with an answer, resigned to admit that the truth—while bad—was the best thing you had up your sleeve.

“Things get a little rough sometimes in bed-.”

Sarah cut you off with a scoff, shaking her head at you.

“I don’t believe that,” she cried. “Even if I did, that looks disgusting and painful!”

She hurried to get past you, and you struggled to stop her.

“What are you doing?” you asked her, voice panicked.

“What do you think I’m doing? I’m calling our father-.”

“Sarah, stop!”

She twisted out of your grip, and you chased her down the hall. Your mingled voices were loud as you argued, bouncing off of the walls as you chased her down the stairs. You didn’t pay any mind to her friends and what they were witnessing, only concerned with stopping Sarah from picking up her phone. You could feel their eyes on you as you grabbed her again, Sarah fighting to get you off of her.

“Woah, woah, hey!” John B. yelled, jumping in to separate you two.

“Sarah, leave it-!”

“Are you crazy? You expect me to just-.”

She was cut off as John B. successfully pulled her away from you, a hand on your own arm pulling you away. The problem arose again when John B. let her go, and you pushed your hand against the person behind you to get to her phone before she did. You both fought over it, you on top of her on the couch as you tried to yank it out of her hands.

You could feel several pairs of hands between you, attempting to separate you again and keep it that way. JJ’s voice was in your ear as he pulled you off of her, your legs kicking out as you pointed at her phone.

“JJ, stop her,” you tearfully spat. “She’s trying to call Ward.”

When he made you face him, his own was twisted into confusion, and he kept his arms wrapped around you.

“What are you talking about? Why is she trying to call Ward?”

“Okay, both of you calm down,” Cleo spoke up, and when you looked over you saw that she was holding Sarah’s phone up and out of reach. “What’s going on?”

“She’s hurt! It’s all over her back,” Sarah choked out, chest heaving and face distressed.

At those words, JJ tensed against you, and you gave him a pleading look when his eyes finally met yours again.

“She tried to give me some bullshit story, but I don’t believe it,” the words tumbled out of Sarah’s mouth, and JJ let you go. “JJ, she-.”

“I know,” he said as he neared her, Sarah speaking to him the moment she noticed his approach.

“No, you don’t know. There are bruises all over her back…” you felt several pairs of eyes on you at that. “...and…and…”

“Sarah, I know-.”

“No, you don’t understand-!”

“Sarah, I know,” JJ finally screamed, taking her shoulders and gently shaking her.

The entire house was quiet as his words lingered in the air, and you swore that you could hear a needle drop. Your entire body was trembling for so many reasons, and you wrapped your arms around yourself as Sarah’s eyes widened, her gaze never breaking from JJ’s. So many emotions passed over her features—confusion, understanding, shock, betrayal—before finally settling on two.

Sarah was horrified…and angry.

“You know?” she whispered. “What…? What does that even mean?”

She looked between you two, and you weren’t able to hold her gaze, your eyes landing on the floor. You were the center of attention at the moment, and you certainly felt it.

“H-how long have you…?”

JJ didn’t answer her unfinished question right away, sighing.

“I found out months ago…”

He trailed off at the audible reaction he got, and when you looked up, Sarah’s lips were parted. John B. was behind her, and he was looking between you and JJ with an expression that rivaled his girlfriend’s.

“Months?”

Sarah turned her gaze to you again.

“Months?” she choked out. “Months…”

She repeated it like she couldn’t believe it, and JJ took advantage of her shock to get his point across.

“Sarah, you cannot call Ward,” JJ slowly told her.

“Why the hell not?” John B. wondered, and you were sure you’d never heard him sound so angry.

“...because he’s with Rafe.”

Kie whispered it, coming to the same conclusion and realization that you and JJ were trying to lead Sarah to. The blonde girl in question looked at Kie in shock as if she herself just realized that, and she furiously blinked, shaking her head.

“Kie’s right, okay? He’s with Rafe, and you cannot call him about this. Not now, not ever…”

Only you and JJ knew that Ward was well aware of his son’s nature, and neither of you seemed eager to break that news to Sarah who was so sure her father would be the person to call because he’d do what was right.

“I don’t believe this,” she shakily whispered, twisting a hand into the hair at the top of her head. “He’s hurting you, and I’m just expected to-.”

“Yes,” JJ snapped at her. “You don’t understand-.”

“You’re right, I don’t understand!” they were in each other’s faces. “I don’t understand how Rafe has been hurting her for months apparently and I’ve been in the complete dark about it. I don’t understand how you knew and didn’t say anything!”

JJ sharply inhaled.

“I don’t understand how you’re standing here and telling me not to pick up the phone, and she’s agreeing. I don’t understand any of this,” Sarah tearfully said, shoving JJ.

You stumbled back before turning away and searching for your purse. The sight of them arguing—because of you—and the feeling of everyone staring at you and knowing the truth was making you lightheaded and nauseous all at once, and you desperately wanted to be anywhere but here.

Kie called your name first, and then Pope, but you were already at the door when JJ finally chased after you. You could hear Sarah and Kie going back and forth as you stepped outside, and your vision was blurry when JJ finally caught up with you.

“They’re going to talk to her, okay?”

You sniffed, hurrying towards your car.

“She’s confused and scared and mad, right now, so she doesn’t get it, but she will,” JJ assured you. “We’re gonna talk to her.”

JJ’s hand was on your arm as you reached your car, and you stared at your reflections in the window for a few moments before a sob escaped you. JJ pulled you into his arms, gently shushing you as you cried into his shoulder. He didn’t offer any words of encouragement because this was an unprecedented situation, and neither of you knew what was going to happen from here. Nobody else was ever supposed to know.

…but especially Sarah.

JJ held you for the longest time, and resolute in your decision to end things with him, you allowed yourself to bask in the feeling. You deeply inhaled and relaxed at the familiar scent that was JJ Maybank. You allowed yourself to find comfort in the warmth of his arms, and you could feel JJ doing the same.

When he started to pull away, he kept his arms around you, and when you glanced up, your eyes met his. He looked sad for you and scared for you but above all, he looked like he missed you, and when JJ started to lean in, you swallowed.

“Rafe asked me to marry him…”

The blond froze.

“...and I said yes.”

Your lips brushed his as you spoke, and he remained there for a moment or two before finally leaning back to look you in the eyes. If you thought JJ looked horrified before, it was nothing in comparison to how he looked after hearing that you and Rafe were getting married.

“...and if I asked you not to?”

You gave a humorless chuckle.

“I’d say that a girl can dream.”

JJ softly said your name, and you shrugged.

“I wanted you to hear it from me,” you whispered. “He asked me in front of our families and all of their friends, so it’s not like I could say no.”

You watched as JJ’s expression hardened.

“This was never fair to you,” you said to him.”Please, stop hating Kie for pointing that out.”

“I can make my own damn decisions,” JJ threw out, and you swallowed down a sigh. “...and right now, I’m telling you that I’m not letting you marry him.”

It was a good thing that you didn’t know how to respond to that, because JJ continued.

“I’m not letting that happen,” he sneered. “The thought of you marrying that asshole makes me sick.”

You moved away from him, pushing his hands away when he reached for you.

“JJ, it’s over. I’m actually saying out loud this time,” you sadly told him. “Stop calling me, stop texting me, and… I won’t stop you from staying in the pool house, but I told you that my father-.”

“I’m not abandoning you. You can’t make me,” he cut you off, and you swallowed as he looked between your eyes. “This isn’t what you want, and I’m not gonna let you do this.”

“JJ, it’s done,” you firmly said to him. “Rafe and I are engaged. He asked my father’s permission, my mother is beside herself planning the whole wedding…and you and I are over.”

You looked between his eyes.

“That’s how things are supposed to be.”

The silence that stretched between you was thick and tense, and you swallowed at the way JJ ran his gaze over you. When he reached behind you to open your door, you sharply inhaled, moving closer to him to allow him to widen it. The blond leaned in then and pressed his lips to your forehead, lingering there for a few seconds. You closed your eyes, and he breathed you in.

“I’ll talk to Sarah.”

He assured you of that when you slid into the driver’s seat, but he didn’t acknowledge anything you said, and that made you nervous. He shut your door for you, and as you started your car, you were having a hard time believing your own words when you told him that you were over.

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #dark!rafe cameron #dark!jj may bank #obx #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #obx fanfiction #obx imagine #outer banks imagine #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fanfiction #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank fanfiction

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22ayla21 · 2 days ago

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A Royal Evening with a Bold Accent

Many times Leona reminded himself that he had chosen not just a woman, but a fire that could scorch anyone who offended her husband.

The vast hall of the royal palace was flooded with the soft light of chandeliers, reflecting off the polished marble floors. Gold, velvet, crystal—everything screamed of luxury, but the air was filled not only with solemnity but also with hidden tension.

Leona, as always, looked as if he wanted to escape at the first opportunity. He lazily sipped wine from his glass, standing away from the crowd. Beside him was she—the only reason he had come to this evening at all. Her hand rested on his forearm, her presence keeping him from complete indifference.

But no royal evening was complete without trouble.

"As always, Prince Leona plays the role of his elder brother's shadow," someone's venomous voice rang out.

Leona didn't even turn around. He knew who it was. The same nobles who had been trying to provoke him for years, hoping for a reaction. But he simply stretched lazily, as if he hadn't noticed them.

She tensed.

"Frankly, I'm surprised someone accompanies him," one of the offenders continued, tilting his head mockingly. "You're out of luck, dear. You could have chosen someone... more worthy."

Leona barely audibly exhaled and was about to retort, but before he could open his mouth, she stepped forward.

"You know," her voice was soft, but there was steel in it, "I've always wondered how easily people judge others without understanding what they're talking about."

She took a step forward, her gaze cold, but her smile serene.

"You consider Leona unworthy?" she tilted her head coquettishly, making her interlocutors stumble. "Then tell me, on what is your 'worthiness' based? On a loud name? On a legacy you did nothing to earn? Leona, unlike you, knows the value of strength, the value of independence."

She smirked, seeing her interlocutors' lips twitch.

"Oh, did I accidentally bruise your egos?" her voice was full of false regret. "How awkward."

Silence fell over the hall. Some guests pretended not to eavesdrop. Leona, tired of this performance, merely smirked.

But she wasn't finished.

"You don't understand why I chose Leona?" she took a step back, but instead of simply returning to him, she grabbed his tie and pulled him down.

And before anyone realized what was happening, she pressed her lips to his in a confident, bold kiss.

The crowd gasped. Ladies theatrically covered their mouths with fans. Someone coughed nervously.

Leona froze, then smirked through the kiss. Now that was a blow to the inflated egos of the pompous aristocrats (and a blow to Leona's heart).

When she pulled away, her eyes sparkled with challenge.

"That's why," she whispered loud enough for everyone to hear. Leona straightened up, lazily adjusted his tie, and hummed, looking at his speechless opponents.

"Well, is it clear now?" he smirked.

The nobles, red with anger and humiliation, chose to leave, while the crowd began to whisper. She shrugged and, taking Leona's arm, led him away.

"I think they'll leave you alone now," she said with a satisfied smile. Leona laughed.

"You just enjoyed that, didn't you?"

"Well, let's just say the cherry on top was especially sweet." And he agreed.

Bonus

Farena stood aside, arms crossed, enjoying the spectacle. Beside him, his wife covered her mouth with her hand, trying not to laugh.

"Darling, are you seeing this?" Farena whispered, unable to hide his amusement. "It's a masterpiece!"

"Look how stunned he is," his wife nudged him with her elbow, barely holding back laughter. "Did you think you'd see someone tame your brother?"

"He looks like he doesn't understand how he ended up in that kiss!" Farena bit his lip to keep from bursting out laughing, but his shoulders shook with laughter.

Meanwhile, the nobles had left, and Leona was recovering from the sudden display of affection. Farena nodded approvingly, as if watching his favorite show.

"That's drama!"

His wife giggled. "I bet ten thousand he'll claim he planned it all along by the end of the evening."

"I won't take that bet, it's obvious."

And they continued to enjoy the show, watching Leona, trying to maintain his dignity, adjust his tie, while his beloved led him away, pleased with the effect.

Farena smirked. "I pity anyone who tries to mess with her."

"I'd say I pity Leona."

"Oh, he's thrilled."

And indeed, even with his usual lazy grin, Leona didn't look displeased. Quite the opposite.

#twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland leona #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar #leona x reader

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delugyu · 3 days ago

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i preface this with an apology for how long my reaction is… you’re gonna click read more and go DAMNNNN 😭

DIVING RIGHT IN!!! i always say this but you seriously do write so well, and you paint such a good image of your scenes. i could feel how hollow and fake that wedding was for mc, and how no one’s heart was really in it. also soobin is such a sweetheart and i’m so glad she had him as some sort of saving grace

the whole school sequence of mc constantly being beomgyu’s hero meanwhile he doesn’t even know shows so much about her character 😖 i love her so much omg she deserves better.

“The next time you see him is on your wedding day.” DAMN. honestly at this point in the fic i can’t really blame beomgyu too much, and i don’t hate him for being resentful for the position he’s forced to be in. he had someone else he wanted to be with but instead had to enter a marriage with someone he barely knew. but poor mc my god 😭 she’ll be stuck feeling like the other woman for the rest of her life, like she’ll never be good enough for beomgyu. it especially stings when you remember that she was pretty much groomed into this idea that her whole future is just being a wife, and how that had to be her ultimate goal in life.

goddd it’s so haunting how isolated and alone mc was in preparing the wedding… this whole section is just leaving me with a pit in my stomach. AND THE PARALLEL BETWEEN GYU AND MC FIRST MEETING VS THEIR WEDDING.. beomgyu bringing mc to soobin when they were kids being the start of it all, and then beomgyu leaving mc to cry to soobin on their wedding day feeling like the end of all things. you genius omg come here and kiss me.

“Someday, you'll have children, and your child will give you a new purpose.” i smell foreshadowing 😇 also mc picturing her imaginary child across from her to keep her company is actually gut wrenching. i feel for her so much

beomgyu thinking about mc if only for a second before getting interrupted by jiwon. NOOOOOO 😭 wait but why do i kinda feel bad for jiwon omg. her asking if gyu thinks they’d be married by now… there’s such heartbreak in that question. all these characters are so three dimensional and well-developed, kudos to you on that 👏

when he wanted to see her face while they were fucking ACKKKK i got butterflies but also it was so sad that she was literally sobbing cause she couldn’t separate physical intimacy from emotional intimacy like beomgyu could. and then beomgyu feeling so bad abt it afterwards omg

GYU BRINGING MC TO HER BED AFTER SHE FELL ASLEEP IN THE COUCH!!!! unless i’m crazy and i just jumped to that conclusion out of nowhere. either way my heart is fluttering 🙈 “A wave of nausea rushes through you, sharp and sudden.” omg is she pregnant. he came inside her. FAWKKKK “untouched box of tampons” OH MY GODDDD. beomgyu getting jealous about the flowers is making me heat up ngl. i’m such a whore for jealousy i can’t help it

ryujin calling mc pretty girl and spoiling her with gifts… they should scissor lowkey omg who said that. LMFAO but i love ryujin so much, i always ALWAYS love it in a fic when the mc has a girl best friend to go to hehe

sooo glad mc is finally getting to voice out her thoughts with beomgyu! she’s been bottling everything up for so long and she deserves to let him know how his apathy has been hurting her. “You can feel his eyes on you, and it's your turn to refuse to meet them. You’re done searching his face for answers that will never come.” QUEENNN

ACK i can feel beomgyu’s panic so well in the scene where mc has her bag packed and ready to go. him feeling hurt by her taking off the ring omgggg. mc crying into soobin’s shoulder becoming a common theme… 🥲 i’m glad she has him and yeonjun though. and ryujin. shit’s hard but that support system will help u power through!!

“He had to see you. Alive. Breathing. Anything less would destroy him.” AHHHHHH

OMG YEONJUN AND GYU GETTING INTO IT… beomgyu getting defensive over her n calling her his wife, this has me kicking my feet. omg yeonjun’s really handing it to him, deserved honestly like get him again! beomgyu feeling kind of threatened by yeonjun is everything sorry i love jealousy 😭😭😭

“‘Yeonjun…’ she starts hesitantly. ‘You’re not… in love with her or something, are you?’ Her words made Yeonjun’s head snap up. His eyes meet hers, and for the first time, Ryu-jin sees it—really sees it. The glassy sheen in his eyes, the way his lips part but no words come out. The heartbreak painted so clearly on his face that it makes her chest ache. ‘You idiot,’ she whispers, her voice soft with pity.” omg i try not to copy and paste whole paragraphs but this one i just couldn’t help myself… this whole part is so perfect.

WHEN BEOMGYU CALLED HER BABY AFTER SEEING HER AGAIN… i died i actually died. HIM SAYING I LOVE YOU??? ack if only it didn’t take him so long to realize, hope this isn’t a too little too late moment 😣

this little fantasy world where they’re happily married and talking about what their kids will be like… ughhh mourning what could have been. if only gyu realized he was in love sooner. then mc waking up from her coma and not even thinking about or mentioning beomgyu at all, the heartbreak of losing a child conquers all ☹️ i feel so bad for her. she’d been looking so much forward to having a child one day too

godddd beomgyu being worried sick about mc and not even being able to see her in the hospital… “But by night, when the world quiets, he’s left with nothing but his tears, falling asleep with the weight of your absence pressing down on his heart.” go fight for herrrr gyu!!! need to see him pathetic and begging for her back.

my wish came true like two scenes later YAYYY him drunk texting her asking for another chance THIS IS WHAT WE LIKE TO SEE!!! and then the whole jiwon call leading to her booking a flight far away… i mean honestly good for her. she’s been living her whole life letting her obsessions and jealousy take over, she needs a fresh start away from everything. i like the window of opportunity she’s given there to grow hehe

“He doesn’t make a scene or beg to be let in. He just waits, bouquet in hand, a fragile hope flickering in his eyes.” FUCK MY LIFEEE this is so fucking AGHHHHHH i need him. OH MY GOD literally a few paragraphs later THE DIVORCE PAPERS?? HELLO?? my life is over

beomgyu sleeping in her bed. my mind is spinning. this is poetic levels of patheticness <3 HIM BEGGING NOW EEK THIS IS EVERYTHING. i feel insane sorry i’m just so obsessed with desperate men as u know by now 😭 him asking DO YOU NOT LOVE ME ANYMOREEEE gawd gyu is just pulling out all the stops i luv it. and then how he can’t take the ring from her im literally so obsessed u don’t get it

“He won’t take the ring, so he takes your hand and pulled you to him, kissing your lips fervently and enduring the slam of your fists against his body and chest. It was all him; it was all his fault. He is an emotional wreck who doesn’t know what to do and how to contain his feelings.” AHHHSJJSHDJJSJV here i go quoting a whole paragraph again but this is literally rewiring my brain i’m short circuiting

omg this is everything a smut scene should be: desperate, needy, raunchy, sensual, steamyyyy whew thank u raya this scene’s gonna be in the back of my mind for a few weeks. the divorce papers being forgotten hell yeahhhh fuck her so good she forgets why she wanted to leave you 🔥🔥🔥

wait i feel kinda bad for yeonjun omg when mc kisses him on the cheek and he’s like “anything for you.” like i just realized he has to live his whole life in love with her while she’s in love with someone else 😭 beomgyu and soobin getting along like brothers now ack my heart is warmed.

raya you did your thing with this one. seriously this was insane im telepathically kissing u so hard rn. ur writing is so stunning and i just adore your creativity. this was an amazing read i love you so much

THE SLOW SURRENDER

Pairing: chaebol husband choi beomgyu x wife chaebol fem!reader

summary: The fear that you’re losing something you never truly had. Your own ring, now too heavy in your palm. A ring that should have meant forever.

Your deepest fear. Your husband.

warnings: reader discretion is advised. infidelity, arranged marriage, slow-burn, angst, toxic dynamics, emotional attachment, miscarriage!, misunderstandings, lovelorn, alcohol!consumption, guilt, repentance, rectification, accident, DUI(pls don't), anxiety!, panic-attack, implication of postpartum!depression, used different idols as ocs. if any of the warnings above might be triggering for you, please step back. let me know if I missed anything.

smut-warnings: MDNI, dubcon, explicit!descriptions, different smut-scenes. guilt-ridden!smut,beomgyu begging and crying while doing"it".

wc: 24k — playlist here.

notes: may this story tear you apart, and somehow, when it’s over, stitch you back together piece by piece.

a big thank you to @killa-1009 for beta reading. ilysm.

How is it that your own wedding makes you want to flee?

"To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

His voice is strangely distant—the words belong to someone else, rehearsed and repeated.

The ring slips onto your finger, its cold touch startling against your skin. You can’t tell if it’s the chill of the metal that makes you shiver—or the way his voice carries an indifference that seems to sit deep in your chest, pulling your breath with it.

The wedding dress—tailored from the finest silk, adorned with labyrinthine details—feels like something borrowed. Isn’t this supposed to be every girl’s dream? The happiest day of your life? The moment where everything begins—the start of your own family, your own story?

None of it feels like it. Not when he hasn’t said a single word to you since you arrived. It plagues your mind. And all you want to do is kick off the heels that bite into your feet, rip off the tiara that feels like a crown of lead, and run.

You let out a shaky exhale, the breath trembling in your chest when the ring settles on your finger. Your hands slip from his grasp, falling limply to your sides. The vows are done, the words spoken, but all you feel is an overwhelming urge to escape.

Your head turns, seeking the one person who feels safe. Your unsteady gaze finds Soobin, his worried eyes already fixed on you. He gives you a small, almost imperceptible nod, the kind only he would know how to give. All you want is to fall apart—to let the tears come, to crumble into the silent comfort of his eyes, whispering it’s okay.

The pastor’s voice pulls you back, and your soon-to-be husband cups your face with a tenderness that feels reluctance, almost calculated. Hands warm but the eyes that meet yours, cold.

He leans in, and you close your eyes. His lips brush yours, soft, landing just shy of your bottom lip.

“And now, I pronounce you husband and wife,” the pastor declares, the words echoing hollowly in your ears.

Everyone claps.

It's official.

He is now your husband.

"Can you at least smile?" your mother’s sharp voice cuts, gaze fixed on you with her usual expectation. Her lips press together in disapproval. "I don’t want you embarrassing us, honey," she adds, eyes narrowing.

You force a small, strained smile as another guest offers their congratulations. The words feel hollow, and meaningless.

"Mother." Soobin’s voice interrupts, his equally sharp gaze lands on her, and without waiting for her permission, he steps closer, hand brushing your elbow. "We have friends over there. I’ll take Y/N for a bit."

Your mother opens her mouth, distaste printed on her face. "I could go with her—"

"It’s just our friends, Mother," Soobin interjects, his words clipped but polite enough to stop her in her tracks. "Nothing that requires your attention. Besides, I believe Miss Park was trying to get your attention earlier."

Before she can argue further, Soobin’s hand slips into yours, and he gently tugs you away. The grip is reassuring, steady—something to anchor you in this mess.

The crowd seems endless. More congratulations, more empty smiles. Your eyes wander, scanning the room, searching for the one person who should be at your side. But he isn’t there. He isn't… here.

Your husband is nowhere to be found. He vanished as soon as the ceremony ended.

Soobin doesn’t say anything as he leads you into a quiet, empty room. Once inside, he shuts the door firmly behind you, sealing out the noise of the party.

The second the door clicks, his hands are on your face, cradling you like you might break. And you do.

"Soobin," you choke out, your voice trembling. Hot tears stream down your face, and he pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

"Shh," he murmurs, his voice shaky, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your back. "It’s okay. Let it out."

The tears come in waves, carrying with them all the weight you’ve been holding in—every forced smile, every empty thank yous, every aching reminder of your husband. That today isn’t what it should be.

"It hurts me," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "It hurts me that my dearest, sister had to go through with this." His words tremble, just like his hands that hold you tightly.

You can’t bring yourself to reply. Instead, you cling to him, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his jacket—making his heart clench. "Where the fuck is he anyway?" his voice betrays his frustration.

"I don’t—I don’t know," you whisper through your sobs. "How am I supposed to do this, Soobin? He wouldn’t even look at me." And beneath it all, the deeper truth haunts you. It isn’t just his absence or his coldness that hurts.

It’s the undeniable, unspoken reality that settles into your bones and refuses to leave: Choi Beomgyu doesn’t love you—not the way you love him.

The echoes of your wedding vows dance in your ears. For better or worse, you hear. For richer or poorer. In sickness and in health.

Until death do us part.

Three families—known as the Choi Enterprises—dominate the landscape of your country.

Names synonymous with power, wealth, and control. Together, they form an empire that touches nearly every facet of life, businesses towering over the economy like unshakable pillars.

Untouchable.

The first family commands the skies. They own the nation’s largest airline, a fleet that spans lands, with Choi Yeonjun, the celebrated heir, poised to inherit it all.

The second family shapes the skyline with their sprawling malls, and colossal structures that symbolize luxury and excess. Choi Beomgyu, their only son, is the face of it.

And then there’s your family, the architects of indulgence. You own the most prestigious hotels in the country, five-star havens that host the rich, the famous, and the powerful. Your brother, Choi Soobin—the prodigy, the golden child who has been groomed for this role his entire life.

And then there’s you. The second child. Since young, you were conditioned, moulded—not to lead, not to build, but to belong to someone else. To be a wife. One whose marriage would serve a purpose, a bargaining chip in a deal that you have no voice to protest.

Every day since you came of age felt like walking on thin ice, never knowing when it would crack beneath you. You lived with the constant dread that your father could announce your engagement at any last moment. If you were lucky, perhaps it would be someone whose face you recognized, or someone whose name didn’t sound foreign on your lips.

The three families have stood side by side for decades, their ties intertwined by history and convenience. With the heirs of each family so close in age, it was inevitable that you all ended up in the same place: a ridiculously expensive university your families could buy their way into.

It was no surprise that you had known Choi Beomgyu since you were children. And that you've loved him since.

Though you could never quite pinpoint when it began.

Your nine-year-old eyes scanned the room, overwhelmed by the sea of adults towering over you. Too many big, tall people, too many unfamiliar faces. It was the first time your dad had brought you along, always choosing your older brother instead. Never you.

“Would you like something to eat, Y/N?” your nanny asked. You shook your head, distracted. You were trying to find your brother, the one you’d begged to follow today, only to lose him. You had thought this place would be exciting, but now, you would have preferred serving tea to your dolls.

This place wasn’t fun at all.

When your nanny got busy with a conversation, you seized the chance to slip away. You weaved through the crowd, ducking under tables when the adults became too dense. You spotted Soobin ahead, standing with his friend—Yeonja? No, Yeonjun. The one who teased you mercilessly whenever he visited your house. They were too far away.

Giggling with excitement, you ran towards them, eager to finally reach your brother. But your foot caught on the edge of a rug, and you fell hard. “Ow.” You whimpered, face smacking the floor. A sharp, stinging pain in your mouth made your eyes well up. You wiped at your lips and froze when your fingers brushed against something small and hard.

Your front tooth had come out. “No. Soobin, Daddy!” you wailed, embarrassment creeping in as people started to stare. You were about to shout again when a boy appeared, no taller than you, holding out a handkerchief.

“Use this,” he said.

“No,” you mumbled.

“Huh?”

“I said I don’t want it.”

He raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Do you want everyone to think you’re ugly?” His words made you pause, his brown eyes studying you with a mix of curiosity and something else—something protective. The way he stood, it was as if he was shielding you from the judgmental eyes around you. “If you keep crying like that, everyone will think you are.”

The bluntness startled you, and it worked. Your mommy doesn't like it whenever you're crying anyway. She says it's unsightly. You grabbed the handkerchief, sniffling as you dabbed at your mouth. He watched you stand wobbly, one brow raised in quiet observation.

“Soobin?” he asked, recognizing your brother’s name.

You nodded, surprised that he knew.

He nodded back, taking your pinkie in his small hand and leading you across the yard, toward your brother safely.

That day was the day you first met your husband.

"Hey, have you heard? Choi Beomgyu and Park Ji-won broke up for the fourth time this semester," Jake, one of your batchmates, announces with a grin, his voice cutting through the chatter of your little group. The names make you freeze mid-conversation. "It’s hilarious, bro. Ji-won was literally stomping her feet like a kid."

"You little scandalmonger," Ryu-jin quips from beside you, rolling her eyes. "Why are you so invested in them? They’re a batch ahead of us. We don’t even cross paths with them."

You won’t encounter Choi Beomgyu often. The last time you had a proper, civil conversation—one forced by your parents—was when you were fifteen, and even then, your brother had been there too. That was five years ago.

During your first year, Choi Beomgyu was in the second. He got a girlfriend, Park Ji-won, the queen bee of their batch. Beomgyu was already famous, and their relationship quickly gained a reputation of its own, known for its ups and downs, the drama playing out like a spectacle for everyone to watch.

“Uh, h-hi, Y/N.” A boy stammers nervously in front of you. You look up, surprised to see him holding out a small box of chocolates. “I… I made these for you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

A soft smile forms on your lips as you reach out to take it. “Thank you, Hanbin.”

The way his name rolls so easily off your tongue catches him off guard. His eyes widen, and his face flushes a deep shade of red. He stammers out something that might be “you’re welcome” before ducking his head in a quick bow and practically fleeing the scene.

As he disappears into the crowd, Ryu-jin lets out a low whistle, her grin mischievous. “Oh-ho, my ever-charming and impossibly kind Y/N,” she teases, pinching your cheek in a way that makes you laugh and bat her hand away.

You hold the box of chocolates out to her, and without missing a beat, she takes it with a delighted, “Don’t mind if I do!”

“Why do you always know everyone’s names?” Jake asks, leaning over to snag a piece of chocolate before Ryu-jin can stop him. He pops it into his mouth, then gives you a mock incredulous look. “There are way too many people trying to win you over. If I were you, I wouldn’t even bother keeping track.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I don’t really try to memorize their names, Jake,” you explain, your voice softening. “But when someone puts themselves out there like that—when they go out of their way to do something kind for me—even if I don’t feel the same, the least I can do is acknowledge it. Knowing their name… it’s just part of respecting the effort they made.”

Jake leans back, arms crossed, pretending to look unimpressed. “You’re way too nice for your own good, you know that?”

The rest of the conversation became a blur. The details didn’t matter—they never really did. Choi Beomgyu had gotten back together with her again. That’s how it always went, didn’t it? Still, your mind dawdled on him, as it often did, bonded to a memory from so long ago: the boy with sceptic eyes and a hand who had guided you safely to your brother.

You couldn’t explain it fully, this quiet pull you felt toward him.

Maybe it was the way he kept to himself at gatherings, speaking only when necessary. His words always carried a weight your mother would later describe as "intelligent," her tone laced with rare approval. It could’ve been his eyes, dark and warm, matching the soft chaos of his hair. Or perhaps it was his low voice, that left a faint shiver dancing along your spine without warning.

Life had always been laid out for you, each piece polished and placed neatly on a silver platter. Nothing ever seemed truly exciting, not when you could have anything you wanted with minimal effort. You’d never been particularly interested in dating, either. Why chase something when the pursuit itself felt dull?

Choi Beomgyu was… different. He wasn’t even someone you could simply talk to. Maybe that’s why he fascinated you so much.

He's impossible to ignore.

"He's sick again�� ugh."

The words grated on your nerves, cutting through the hallway like nails on a chalkboard. You were at your locker, minding your own business, stacking books into your bag. Ji-won’s loud voice, drew the attention of everyone within earshot.

You were ready to walk away from the nauseating cheap fog of their perfume, when her next words stopped you cold.

"Beomgyu's sick," she continued, tossing her hair back like it was some grand inconvenience to her. "We went shopping yesterday, and he lent me his umbrella when it rained. Now he's sick. Honestly, such an idiot move."

How could she talk about him like that? Here, in front of all these people, where anyone could hear?

"And I told him not to play basketball today," Ji-won added with a careless shrug. "I mean, it's not like some game is more important than my plans."

Some game? The basketball match wasn’t just some game—it was one of the biggest events of the year, something their team had poured weeks of practice into. And she expected him to ditch it for her whims?

The sharp clang of your locker shutting ripped through the air, louder than you intended when you closed it. The hallway fell silent. Ji-won flinched, startled by the sound, then turned, ready to snap at whoever dared interrupt her. But when her eyes met yours, the words died in her throat.

Your stare pinned her in place, unwavering. The entire hallway seemed to hold its breath, watching, waiting. Everyone knew better than to cross you—Choi trinity’s princess.

After a few long seconds, you broke eye contact, turned on your heel and walked away, each step of your Valentino sandals echoing with you.

As much as you wanted to speak, as much as the words burned at the back of your throat, you couldn’t. Because no matter how much Ji-won infuriated you, no matter how carelessly she spoke about him, this wasn’t your battle to fight.

You had no right to.

Beomgyu wasn’t yours to defend.

You body moved without thinking, pulling your phone out to call your driver. Medicine. Ingredients for a recovery soup. You listed everything quickly, your voice brisk to mask the slight shake in it.

Cooking had always been something you loved. There was a comfort in its simplicity—a recipe was just steps to follow, a methodical course that brought things to life. You liked how it could make someone happy, how it could bring warmth, even when words couldn’t.

When the ingredients arrived, you made your way to the university’s cooking room. It was meant for culinary students, but a single request to the club president had granted you access.

You tied your hair back, rolled up your sleeves and got to work. The familiar motions of chopping, stirring, and seasoning steadied you. The savoury aroma filled the room, spilling over into your senses. When the soup was done, you ladled it into a glass container, the warmth radiating through your hands. Perfect for the chilly wind outside.

It's no surprise that he got sick.

You packed it carefully, along with the medicine, into a small bag, and made your way toward his classroom. Sunghoon had told you where Beomgyu’s seat was, promising to keep it quiet. No one could know about this.

Not even Beomgyu himself.

The classroom was empty when you arrived, just as you’d hoped. Rows of desks stretched before you, soaked in the soft, dim light of late afternoon. Your steps faltered when you unexpectedly spotted him. You were about to turn around when you noticed he was asleep.

There he was, slumped over his desk, his head resting on folded arms. His chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths, his face flushed with fever.

You swallowed hard, the sight tugging at something deep inside you. His eyelashes, dark and delicate, brushed against his cheeks, and for a moment, he looked so unguarded, so unlike the version of him you were used to seeing.

Slowly, you approached, placing the bag on the desk beside him with the utmost care, as if any sound might disturb him. But as much as you tried to stay quiet, the pounding of your heart seemed impossibly loud in the silence.

You stood there longer than you should have, your gaze lingering on the soft lines of his face. His fever-reddened cheeks, his slightly parted lips—he looked so vulnerable, so human in a way that made your chest ache.

Your breath caught as you turned to leave. It was hard to breathe in this room, hard to ignore the charm he had on you, even now. With one last glance at his sleeping form, you turned and walked out.

It felt like you were leaving your heart with him.

Beomgyu stirs awake, his body aching and cold, as if the chill had seeped into his skin. His head feels heavy, but a faint warmth near him pulls him in. He blinks sluggishly, there's—a container of soup resting on his desk. Soup?

Confused but drawn to it, he sits up slowly, the movement making his head spin. His fingers tremble slightly as he uncaps the container, and the smell that greets him is like a hug he didn’t know he needed. His stomach rumbles in response.

His gaze drops to the items beside it: medicine, utensils, carefully placed. Whoever left this thought of everything.

He picks up the spoon, dipping it into the golden broth. Bringing it to his lips, he tastes it. His eyes widen, a soft sound escaping him—surprised. It’s incredible.

It reminds him of his mother’s cooking, back when she still had time to make him meals. A strange fullness settles in his chest as he takes another spoonful, the warmth spreading, chasing away the numbness. He can’t stop eating—it’s too good.

“Babe?”

The sound of Ji-won’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He looks up as she walks in, holding two water bottles. Her eyes land on the container in his hands, her expression flickering with something unreadable.

“Oh,” she says casually, stepping closer.

Beomgyu smiles, his lips curving softly, his voice lighter than it’s been all day. “Did you make this?” he asks, hope threading through his tone. “It’s amazing. Seriously, it’s… it’s so good. Fucking delicious.”

Ji-won blinks, startled by his enthusiasm. He was grumpy and on edge all day because of his fever. Who left this? she wonders, panic flickering beneath her composed exterior, her gaze darts to the container again, then back to Beomgyu, who’s looking at her expectantly.

“Oh, yeah—yeah!” she blurts, forcing a bright smile. “Of course, I made it.”

Beomgyu tilts his head, surprised. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Anything for my boyfriend,” Ji-won replies, stepping closer as she places the water bottles on his desk. Her smile feels tight, but she pushes through. “That’s how much I love you.”

He chuckles softly, eating a spoonful again. “Well, I love it. Thank you for this. It made me feel so much better.”

That wasn’t the last time.

You told yourself it would be. Swore it, even. No more going out of your way for him. No more small, secret gestures. But every time you thought it was over, you found yourself pulled back in, like some invisible thread tying you to him.

It started with the soup. The day after you left it, you saw him. His face, pale and tired the day before, was flushed with warmth again, life returning to his features. Sunghoon mentioned, almost offhandedly, how Beomgyu wouldn’t stop bragging about the meal, how he raved about it like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

And something about that stuck with you.

From then on, it became quite a bad habit. Throughout college, whenever you heard he was sick, you found yourself leaving small comforts behind. A bottle of tea on his desk, sweets slipped into his lockers during a lecture. And it didn’t stop there.

One time, Beomgyu forgot something important—a book, a charger, you don’t even remember now. You lent yours to Sunghoon, pretending you didn’t care, pretending it wasn’t just another way to help Beomgyu without him knowing.

Because you didn't want anything back.

When rumors spread about him sneaking around with his girlfriend, you stepped in before it escalated. His father will be angry about it, so you talked to that person who caught him, not for his sake but for your own, because the thought of his world unraveling in front of him was something you couldn’t bear to witness.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

It wasn’t for him. It couldn’t be.

It was for you.

The way your eyes scanned every room at social gatherings, always searching for his familiar face in the crowd. The way you couldn’t relax until you caught sight of him or the way your heart jumped whenever you spotted him, even if he didn’t notice you.

It was an addiction. One you couldn’t seem to break, no matter how many times you promised yourself you’d let go.

Were you in love with him for those four years? Or was it more than that?

"As you already know, this is Y/N, son," Beomgyu's mother announces, her perfectly manicured hands resting lightly on your shoulders. Beomgyu’s gaze meets yours. His hair is longer now, sitting at the edges of his sharp jawline, almost to his shoulders—much different to how you remember him last, on his graduation day. A whole year has passed since then. And you've graduated now too.

His suit—a dark blue so deep it could pass for black—fits him perfectly, exuding quiet sophistication. In contrast, your white Balmain dress feels almost too bright, too bold, clinging to you in a way that leaves no room for subtlety. You feel exposed under his probing eyes.

This morning, your mother had insisted—no, demanded—that you wear an elegant dress. You hadn’t understood why, but now the reason stands clear.

Beside you, your brother Soobin sits rigid, yet observing. He’s always been offensive, and tonight is no exception.

The two Choi family heads are deep in conversation, their voices low but purposeful, like they’re planning something big. It’s just the two families here tonight, seated at an impossibly long table in an equally expensive restaurant. The grandeur of the setting only amplifies it—the entire floor of this lavish place reserved just for this dinner, the emptiness around you making it feel more like a stage than a private meal.

“Your marriage will take place at the end of the year,” Beomgyu’s father declares. The words snap you out of your daze, and your head jerks toward him in shock. A soft gasp escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“What?” Beomgyu’s voice is sharp. His jaw tightens when he leans forward, composure beginning to crack. “You made me end things with Ji-won last week, and now you’re telling me I’m engaged?” He practically spits the words, hands curl into fists on the table. “To someone I don’t even know?”

Ji-won. You flinch involuntarily, hands dropping to your lap. You start picking at your nailbeds. The air feels thick—too thick to breathe.

“Who is that?” Beomgyu’s father demands, his tone filled with disdain. “I told you not to mention that whore again.” His words are venomous, and you barely have time to register the insult before the sound of Beomgyu’s chair scraping against the polished floor reverberates through the room.

Everyone flinches as he rises, his movements full of suppressed fury. Your heart pounds. He stands there seething, glaring at his father, everyone staring, daring for him to do something before he turns on his heel.

You bite your bottom lip, trying to hold yourself together. The sting in your chest is undeniable. Disappointment wells up, as Beomgyu's actions fill the silence you can’t bear to break, your gaze fixed anywhere but the head table. Soobin’s hand suddenly moves into your line of sight, prying yours apart gently—stopping you from further tormenting your hands. His fingers curl around yours, tight.

Beomgyu's retreating footsteps echo, each one louder than the last, leaving a charged silence in their wake.

The next time you see him is on your wedding day.

You didn’t think it would happen like this. You truly didn’t. You’d clung to the faint hope that he’d at least show up before the ceremony—just once. You went to the fittings alone, picked out the rings by yourself, and stood in bakeries surrounded by couples, as you chose the cake flavour on your own. A conversation, even a brief one, might have eased the unease that had settled in your chest like a stone.

Maybe, when the time comes, you’ll work up the courage to ask him if he can at least try to be casual with you.

But every assurance came from his parents—empty promises that fell on ears too tired to process anymore. Your parents clung to those words, desperate for this union. A necessary marriage, they said. A solution.

None of it reassured you. How could it, when the groom himself was nowhere to be found? You never saw him. It was as though you were preparing to marry a ghost.

When he finally sees you, it’s as you walk down the aisle, dressed in a gown that feels heavier than it should. His gaze lands on you, a one-second glance that’s gone before you can even register it. He doesn’t look at you again. Not during the vows, not during the ceremony, not even as you both stand side by side, bound by words you barely believe.

And now, instead of his arms around you, you find yourself sobbing into your brother’s shoulder. Soobin holds you tightly. The irony was funny—it was Soobin, the whole reason to why Beomgyu was introduced to you all those years ago.

Beomgyu, the boy who returned you safely to your brother that night, the one who left a permanent mark so indelible it stayed for years. The same mark that now hurts you, refusing to fade no matter how many years passed.

It's cruel.

Happy 26th birthday baby girl! xoxo

You smiled faintly at Ryujin's text as you stirred the pancake batter you'd made from scratch. The comforting smell of vanilla and butter filled the kitchen—your kitchen.

As much as you endured your parents' endless whims, you had to admit, you loved the simplicity of domesticity. There was something grounding about it. It made you feel useful, capable—like you could create something perfect, even in a life that often felt far from it.

"Y/N." The sound of your name broke your focus. You looked up, catching Beomgyu standing at the doorway. He was already dressed in his usual impeccably tailored suit, his fingers fiddling with the knot of his tie. "I'm heading to the office early today,"

"Again?" Your voice was softer than you'd intended. "At least have breakfast before you go. I can finish this quickly."

"Thank you," he dismissed, gaze shifting away. Avoiding yours. Reminding you the line that's stretched between you cannot ever cross. "But I'll eat at the office. I don't want to be late. I might be back for dinner later. Maybe."

He adjusted his tie one last time, nodded in your direction, and walked out without another word. The soft click of it closing behind him felt louder than it should have.

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. It was fine. You were used to this. Not because he left early again, but because it was an important day for you. A day you’d spend, once again, without him. Another day spent in the quiet of this too-big penthouse, with no one but yourself for company.

Two years into your marriage, you had learned to temper your expectations. Love was never meant to be part of the deal, and you had told yourself, over and over, that you didn’t need it. But no amount of reason could stop your heart from aching, from yearning—for Beomgyu to see you. Not as a piece of some agreement or a cog in the machinery of alliances, but as a person. As you.

Maybe even as a friend.

He wasn’t unkind. Not once had he raised his voice or shown you disrespect. But in some ways, his indifference stung more. He was here, yet not here—like a shadow that lived in the same space but never touched yours.

And sometimes, you wished that he would be mean to you, he would shout at you or he would hurt you—at least then, there would be something to feel. You hate that you gave him power over yourself.

You told your mother about it—you never saw your parents love each other, not in a way that felt real, not in front of you. She offered one thing that made sense to you.

Someday, you'll have children, and your child will give you a new purpose. You wanted to push back, to argue, but the next words stopped you cold—“Because if being an invisible wife isn’t enough, your children will see you.” You didn’t want to bring a child into this—into a life painted in shades of grey. An innocent child shouldn’t have to bear it. A child born not out of love? The thought made your chest tighten.

And yet, in the darkest, most desperate corners of your mind, another voice whispered something wicked. A voice that insisted maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

You sighed, finding the courage to pick up the spoon to eat, imagining a child sitting across from you, soft brown eyes mirroring his.

Alone, but somehow, it felt a little less lonely.

"Boss, there's a party later. It's Mr. Yoon's farewell dinner."

Beomgyu glanced up from his laptop, his secretary’s voice pulling him from the post-meeting haze. Mr. Yoon—one of his father’s most loyal employees, someone who had been with the company for years. Letting this occasion go unnoticed wasn’t an option, not for someone like him.

Later that evening, Beomgyu arrived at the resto-bar, the space already alive with the hum of laughter and conversation. As soon as he stepped inside, heads turned. Employees greeted him with a mix of respect and warmth, but his smile, though polite, didn’t reach his eyes. It was business, like always. When someone announced that the night’s tab was on him, a wave of cheers erupted, but Beomgyu barely reacted. He offered only a nod before grabbing a beer and retreating into his thoughts. Are you asleep—

"Omg, Beomgyu?"

The familiar voice jolted him. He turned his head sharply, and there she was—Ji-won. Her platinum blonde bleached hair gleamed under the bar lights, her lips curved into a playful smile. She looked almost the same, except more polished. She hadn’t changed much, down to the way her manicured fingers grazed her cheek as she tucked her hair behind her ears.

"It's you! I haven't seen you in what, two years? Almost?" she said, her tone bright, her lashes fluttering in the way she knew he once liked.

"Yeah," Beomgyu replied curtly, his voice neutral. "Nice to see you here." He grabbed his beer and took a long sip. Her laugh rang out, light and infectious, the same laugh that used to feel like heaven to him. She knew exactly what to do, exactly how to pull him in.

Beomgyu raised his beer and took a long sip again, letting the alcohol burn its way down. He probably should go now. Her friends surrounded them, teasing and nudging, playful comments flying back and forth. He stayed composed, answering in clipped sentences, trying to keep his distance. He just needs to find the time to excuse himself.

But at some point, her friends drifted away, leaving her behind—drunk and alone, leaning heavily against the table. Beomgyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. He could have left her there. Maybe he should have. But instead, he found himself walking over.

"Come on," he said quietly, offering his hand. "Let me take you home."

She looked up at him, her eyes glassy but soft, and smiled. It was a smile that used to mean so much more.

Her warm hands envelop his.

The drive to her address was heavy with silence. Ji-won kept glancing at him, her eyes longing, but Beomgyu stayed focused on the road. Her address glowed faintly from his phone’s GPS. When they arrived, he got out, rounding the car to help her. She wobbled slightly, her drunken state evident, but he steadied her without a word and walked her to her door. She didn’t let go of his arm.

As they reached her doorstep, she turned to him, her voice trembling, raw. “Did you forget all about me already?” she asked, her voice breaking slightly. “Because… because I haven’t. It's still you, Beomgyu. I still love you.”

The words stopped him cold. He looked at her then—really looked at her. The faint blush on her cheeks, the way her hair fell messily over her shoulders, and that familiar scent of her perfume. Memories flashed. The way she’d cried when he said goodbye. The way she’d begged him to stay, her arms wrapped around him like she could keep him forever. He remembered the way he had talked to his father—looking for any chance. Only to be met with a no. A hard, unrelenting no.

It was too much. She's too familiar. He's too close.

And then, she leaned in.

Her lips touched his, soft just like they used to be. He shouldn’t. But when the small of her hands gripped the lapels of his suit, pulling him closer, he kissed her back.

It wasn’t gentle—it was desperate, messy, like trying to reclaim something lost. Her body pressed against his, and the sound of her soft moan made him grip her arms. He presses her against the door. Her hands tried to open the front door for them to go inside. It felt like a reunion, a fleeting taste of something they weren’t supposed to have.

But then she whispered against his lips, “Do you think we’d be married now if your father hadn’t stopped us?”

The word married—hit him, made him open his eyes, freezing in place.

He pulled away, his breath ragged, staring at her. His lips still burned with the sin of hers. What the hell was he doing?

Ji-won stared at him, her expression a mix of confusion and hurt. “Beomgyu—” she started, but he shook his head, taking another step back.

“I… I can’t,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

Without waiting for her response, he turned and walked away, his steps hurried and uneven. She reached for him—called his name, voice crying, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

All he could see was your face.

At home. Waiting for him. Leaning to the countertop with your stupidly sweet unnecessary smile. The crinkle by your eyes. It flashes over and over, drowning out everyone, and everything else.

Beomgyu gets into his car, his hands trembling as he fumbles with the keys. The engine roars to life with an urgency that matches his racing thoughts.

His grip tightens on the wheel as the image of Ji-won flashes in his mind. Her words. Her touch. The kiss. His stomach churns. What the hell was he thinking? Did he still love her?

The elevator ride to your floor feels agonizingly slow, every second stretching endlessly. He can barely hear his own breathing over the pounding of his heart. When the doors open, he steps out hesitantly, his footsteps dragging as he approaches the front door.

He pauses in the entryway, his eyes scanning the room until they land on you.

He sees you.

You're curled up on the couch, your head resting on a pillow, a blanket draped loosely over your legs. His eyes dart on the kitchen, there sits a plate of untouched food, now cold. Dinner.

His chest tightens. You waited for him. Despite everything—despite the fact that he’d made no promises, despite the countless nights like this—you still waited.

How? he thinks, his mind reeling. How could you wait for him, when he hadn't given you anything to hold on to?

He glances at the clock on the wall. 6 a.m. His jaw clenches. He hadn’t even noticed the time had passed. He’d been so caught up at the party, so lost in the haze of old memories and poor decisions, that he’d forgotten about you entirely.

He steps closer, his gaze softening as it falls on your face. You look peaceful, your breathing even, your features illuminated by the dim light filtering in from the window. There’s something unfamiliar stirring in his chest.

The urge to reach out, to touch you, is overwhelming. But as his eyes fall to your lips, a shameful reminder washes over him—he knows that his lips had been with someone else only minutes ago.

It would be cruel to let it stain the divine of your skin.

“Come here,” Beomgyu spoke, which made you look at him through the mirror for a couple of seconds before seeing him beckon you over. You walked towards him, about to sit on the edge of the bed, when he grabbed your arm and sat you between his thighs.

“What is it?” you asked softly. You felt his arms tighten slightly around you, his fingers brushing the fabric of your robe. He hadn’t spoken to you all day, hadn’t so much as looked at you too. You just got out of your shower when you saw him sitting in your bed. And now, here he was—unexpected, yet demanding this closeness.

He didn’t answer. Instead, his lips pressed against the curve of your shoulder. You could feel his breath, warm against your skin. His hand slid slowly from your waist to your side, tracing the outline of your frame. You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening. You knew what this was. What he wanted. What he was about to do.

This was the pattern you had grown to recognise. The times he came to you like this, seeking the comfort your body could offer. The way his touch made you feel seen. And when morning came, like always, he would retreat—pulling away, storms behind his eye, leaving you to wrestle with the hollow ache in your chest.

Nights like this made it hurt more.

“Nothing.” He says. You felt his hand caress your thigh as he kisses your shoulder. He turns you around. He licked his lips before letting it explore the inside of your mouth, making you moan. He grunts in your mouth as his hand snakes to the inside of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh.

He pushes his clothed crotch to your heat. He removes the top part of your robe, his lips easily finding themselves on your nipple, kissing around it before hungrily latching his mouth on it. The feeling of his wet tongue circling your bead and the growing tent on his pants rubbing on you made your body heat up.

You should push him away.

But then he looked up into your eyes, almost begging. It's soft, glassy which makes you wonder if you're ever going to see it other than like this. At that moment, the truth hit you: this was all he could offer. This collision, the press of his skin against yours—this was all you’d ever have of him. The pain intensified. He goes up and captures your lips again.

“I want to be inside you,” he murmured against your kisses. Fine, you thought. Just this once more—one last time. You placed your hands on his chest, pushing him back gently, turned around and got on all fours. You arched your back, pressing your head onto the mattress. Your ass was in the air, and you were exposed to him. Hearing him move behind you made you close your eyes.

Beomgyu was shocked. For you to offer yourself like this, so quickly, caught him off guard. He blinked, taking in the curve of your back, and the way you presented yourself.

You felt his tip rub against your folds and swollen clit, making you whine. He pulled your legs farther apart before plunging two fingers to make sure you were ready to take him.

You moaned, feeling his long fingers massage your walls. Your wetness trickled on his hand, and it only made him harder. He sucked his fingers when he pulled out. You felt every inch, his cock reaching places that made your body arch instinctively beneath.

It burns, and it burns so good.

“You're always fucking tight.” He kneads your ass cheeks, thrusting slowly at first before gradually increasing in speed. You felt so full as he pushed into you. He reached for your clit as you buried your face into the pillow. “Y/N…” His hard cock reaches the deepest parts of you. Beomgyu flipped your body without warning, and your arm immediately flew to your face. You turned your face away from him, not knowing that he’s been observing you.

You’ve been hiding your face the whole time as much as you can. Seeing his eyes felt unbearable. Because meeting his eyes will make you want him. To want him more than this. Something he will never be able to give.

“Y/N…I want to see your face.” He grabbed your hand to move them away, and Beomgyu felt a pang in his chest when he saw your swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks. You were sobbing underneath him.

“Please…” Your voice cracked, barely a whisper. “Just make me cum. Okay?”

You were breaking your own heart, chasing his own. And as he stared down at you, his indifference, the wall he’d built so carefully around himself, was killing you.

“What's wrong?” He urges you. His thrusts are unceasing as tears continue to fall down from your eyes. “Y/N…” Your orgasm hits you hard. Your toes curled as you cried out his name. Your walls were squeezing his cock. He grunts at how tight you feel around him. His hands were gripping the back of your knees as his hips stuttered, about to reach his own climax.

Even as he continued to move, his pace sloppy and desperate, your quiet sobs filled the room, uncontrollable. Beomgyu stilled above you, his heart twisting painfully at the sound. He hated himself—hated the way he’d reduced you to this.

You feel his hot cum inside you. When he finally pulled away, he collapsed beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. His unsure eyes drifted to you, curled up in the blankets, your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle your cries. You moved your whole body under the sheets, clung to the fabric like it was the only thing holding you together.

Hiding. Hiding from the one who was supposed to be your other half.

The sight of you like this made his throat tighten, his chest heavy with something he couldn’t put into words. He had never wanted to hurt you, yet here you were.

That night, Beomgyu lay unable to find sleep, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling of your bedroom walls. You were an angel, one he had broken with his own hands.

You wake up, heart racing.

Your hands instinctively move to your face. It’s that dream again. The same one that’s haunted you night after night. The memory of him. That night. The last time Beomgyu touched you. It’s been just over four weeks.

Even in sleep, he doesn’t let you go.

You blinked, your surroundings blurry in the faint light of your room. How did you get here? You were sure you’d fallen asleep on the couch. The question barely settles before an uneasy twist in your stomach pulls you back to the present. A wave of nausea rushes through you, sharp and sudden.

Your hand flies to your mouth as you scramble out of bed, your legs barely keeping up as you dart to the bathroom. You made it just in time, collapsing onto your knees as your body seized itself forward. The bitter taste burned your throat, each heave leaving you weaker than the last. You sat there, gripping the cool edge of the toilet, tears slipping silently down your cheeks.

You pushed yourself up, legs still shaky, and made your way to the sink. The cold water was a welcome distraction, splashing against your skin and dripping down in rivulets. You scrubbed at your face harder than you needed to, as if the water could somehow rinse away more than just the sweat clinging to your skin.

Grabbing a towel, you patted your face dry, letting your gaze drift to the untouched box of tampons sitting quietly on the shelf.

“Y/N?” The knock on your door startled you. Tossing the towel aside, you stepped out of the small bathroom and crossed the room to open the door.

There he stood, his dark eyes locking onto yours the second the door opened. He scanned your face. “Are… are you okay? I heard a loud thump.” His voice was uneven, like he wasn’t sure he should even be asking.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly. You moved to step past him, but the moment you did, he took a cautious step back, his body shifting as though he couldn’t bear to be too close.

It stung, but you didn’t let it show. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No,” he replies, eyes darting to the vases on the table. “You got flowers?” Beomgyu’s stares on your face. The way your face softens at the mention of them—he notices it instantly. He doesn’t like it—not one bit.

“They were given to me.”

“Two dozen?” he presses, “By who?”

“Soobin,”

“And?” he asks again, though there’s no need. He already knows who.

“Yeonjun,” The name lands heavy between you.

His jaw tightens. “He dropped them off here yesterday? Why did—” His words tumble out quickly, too quickly.

Because it's your birthday.

“He was with Soobin, Beomgyu,” you interrupt, brushing past him toward the refrigerator. Your steps feel heavier than they should Blinking, you try to push the swelling emotions back down. Normally, you’d brush this off. So why does it feel so different today? Why are you getting emotional? You pull out a bottle of water, taking a long sip to steady yourself before asking, “What time did you come home yesterday?”

Silence.

You drink slowly, giving him time to answer, but he doesn’t. The room feels stifling in the stillness, the hum of the refrigerator suddenly too loud. You set your empty glass on the table with a dull thud, your eyes drifting back to him.

He’s standing there in his usual morning look—white shirt hanging loose, black pyjama pants slightly wrinkled. His hair is a mess from sleep, and his skin looks paler in the soft light. There’s something about how vulnerable he looks in the mornings that always catches you off guard.

He's painfully beautiful.

“Around the morning,” He's hesitant. He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t meet your eyes, and the tightness in your chest only grows. There’s an ugly nagging feeling at the edges of your thoughts.

“I’ll go get ready for work,” he says, shutting the conversation before it even has a chance to go further.

It doesn't surprise you anymore.

You step into the opulent glow of the five-star Skyline Restaurant, the clink of fine china and hushed laughter swirled around. Fingers gripping your white Dior purse, you scan the room, heels clicking against the polished marble floor. Your eyes sweep over faces until a familiar one stops you in your tracks.

“Pretty girl.” Ryujin’s voice called out, smooth and warm. She raises a hand in a poised wave, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. You mirror her expression, weaving your way toward her. Heads turn as you pass, your perfume—delicate yet potent.

“How are you?” she asks as you reach her, gaze soft yet probing.

“I’m okay,” you reply, sinking into the plush couch across from her. The tension in your shoulders eases, if only slightly. “Thank you for the gifts, by the way. And I’m sorry I couldn’t meet up with you yesterday, like you wanted.”

“I understand.” Her reply is casual, but her eyes betray her. They flicker to the dark crescents under yours, the ones you’ve tried to conceal but can never quite hide. “It’s always him, isn’t it? At the end of the day.”

Your fingers wrap around the porcelain cup in front of you. The tea is hot against your palms, and you take a tentative sip. It tasted faintly of jasmine, soothing and bittersweet. The silence between you stretches.

“Y/N.” Her voice pulls you back, insistent. Your eyes meet hers, and for a moment, you can’t look away. “He’s the reason you’re like this. It doesn't have to be, but he made it this way. You see that, don’t you?”

"I know."

Ryujin’s eyes flickered with hesitation, the way someone falters before delivering a blow. Eyes darting between you and the untouched tea in front of her. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” she began, her voice soft but unsteady. “But I… I heard something.”

Her words made your heart clench. “What is it?”

“I mean, I’m not completely sure, but it came from someone I trust and—”

“Ryujin,” you snapped, sharper than you intended. Your chest tightened as dread crept in. “Tell me.”

She hesitated, her lips parting slightly before closing again. “Did he spend the night with you yesterday?”

You felt the world shift under your feet. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Your silence was enough.

He wasn't.

Ryujin’s expression softened, pity creeping into her features, “I—there was a party,” she said, her voice quieter now, hesitant. “One with Beomgyu and Ji-won.”

The name made your stomach drop.

“They were together all night,” she said, her words rushed, like she wanted to get them out before she lost her nerve. “And someone… someone saw them. Beomgyu practically carried her into his car. They left together.”

Your vision blurred for a second, the edges of the room fading as her words registered. You forced yourself to blink, to breathe. “Oh,” you whispered.

Ryujin stood abruptly and moved to sit beside you, taking your trembling hands into hers. “Confront him,” she urged. “Find out if it’s true.” She squeezed your hands. “I’m so tired of seeing you like this. Always giving and giving while he takes whatever’s left of you.” Her voice cracked. “Loving him silently. Loving him so hard isn’t going to make him love you back.”

You didn’t even realise you were crying until the tears started dripping onto your lap, soaking into the fabric of your dress. Ryujin hated it. She remembered you in college—how you laughed so freely, how your eyes sparkled. But now, that light she admired so much was dimming, as if someone had reached inside you and quietly stolen it piece by piece.

Ryujin swallowed hard, blinking back her own tears as she watched yours fall. How hurt must you be to cry like this—without a sound, without even a gasp? Just the quiet, stream of tears slipping down your face, carving paths of pain?

She hated seeing you like this—hated how one person had managed to turn the full-bloomed, radiant version of you into a shadow of yourself, a bud closed off to the world. That someone can easily break you, when you spent years building yourself.

You're waiting.

It's 10 p.m. The hours have crawled by since you drove back here. You look around. This space, where you are supposed to build a family, where love is supposed to be—is nothing but a cold place to you.

You're sitting on the couch, the same couch you’ve spent countless nights on, staring at the clock, waiting for him. Your hands rest in your lap, trembling slightly, though you don’t realise it. With nothing but fear, the fear that you’re losing something you never truly had.

Your phone buzzes again. Two names alternate, calling over and over. You don’t pick up. You don’t even look. You can’t.

Because the truth is, you don’t know if you’ll make it through the night without hearing from him. Your husband.

The elevator dings softly, and Beomgyu steps into the penthouse. His tie hangs loose around his neck, his hair tousled and far from his usual pristine self. He looks tired, distracted—like he’s been anywhere but here. His eyes met yours.

"Why are you still awake—"

"Do you think I don’t know what you’ve done?" Your voice cuts, trembling. You see his eyes widen, just a fraction. It’s so small you almost missed it.

"Ji-won." Her name burns as it leaves your mouth, bitter. His eyes flicker toward you for just a second—a split second, just long enough to know that he heard—but there is nothing in them. Nothing.

He moves with calculated slowness, setting his bag down on the table, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. Time ticked. He doesn’t even try to explain. Doesn’t even look at you long enough for you to find a trace of the man you once thought you knew. His thumb brushes over his ring like it’s something he’s forgotten. A ring that should have meant forever.

"I can handle it all, Choi Beomgyu," you say, your voice firmer now, though your hands tremble at your sides. "I’ve handled it all, haven’t I? I didn’t say anything when you kept talking about her—days after we got married—on our honeymoon, or right in front of your family."

His back stiffens, his hands gripping the edge of the countertop. Beomgyu swallows the lump in his throat.

"Not once in these two years did I tell you how small you made me feel, how you made me feel like I didn’t belong in your world. Like I was a stranger in my own marriage." Your voice cracks, but you keep going. "I stayed silent, And after all of that—after everything—I stayed. I stayed because I thought… maybe it was enough. And yet, you still chose to cheat on me?"

You’re shaking now, and your voice rises despite your best efforts to keep it steady. "If you had just come to me and said you didn’t want this anymore, I would’ve let you go. I would’ve walked away, Beomgyu. Because everything I’ve done—every single thing—has been for you. For this marriage. For our families."

His head finally lifts, and his eyes meet yours. You hate how you feel small under his gaze, how his silence feels like a condemnation of your own vulnerability.

Beomgyu swallows hard, his jaw tightening. "That’s not what happened, Y/N."

"That you didn’t go home with her? That you weren’t with her on my fucking birthday?"

Your words hit him like a punch, and his eyes widen, the crack in his composure visible now.

"What?"

"You heard me." The burden festering inside you for so long is finally out. It feels small, inadequate even, but you don’t care anymore. You can’t. You can feel his eyes on you, and it's your turn to refuse to meet them. You’re done searching his face for answers that will never come.

You rise from the couch, your movements sharp, fueled by hurt and exhaustion. Steps are quick, your breaths are shallow as you reach your room. The door slams shut behind you with a force that echoes behind. Your hands tremble as you swipe on your phone. Tears blur your vision, falling onto the screen as you scroll, fingers fumbling to find the number you need.

You don’t think. You can’t. The tears are hot and relentless, burning tracks down your cheeks as you press the call button.

The line clicks immediately.

Outside your room, Beomgyu stands in the hallway, pacing back and forth. His footsteps are uneven, restless. The truth is, he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t even know where to begin. Every time he tries to form the words in his head, they fall apart before they can leave his lips.

How can he explain it? How can he make you understand? He never thought it would come to this—never thought he’d have to say it out loud. He’d always believed he could keep it buried, that you’d never find out.

He presses a hand to his forehead, exhaling sharply. He hasn’t spoken to Ji-won since that night. Not once. She tried to reach out—texts, calls, even showing up unannounced—but he shut it all down. He shut her out.

The irony isn’t lost on him. He, who once was hopelessly in love with her had turned his back on her entirely. What surprised him the most was how easy it was. All it took was thinking of you.

And the sight of your tears now terrifies him.

Beomgyu has always been a confident man. He was raised to be one. It’s who he was taught to be—the man who could command a room, close deals, deliver speeches without a stutter. But none of that matters now. Standing here, in front of your door, he feels small. Helpless. Negotiating with the world is one thing; facing the pain in your eyes is another.

He sighs, dragging his hands through his hair in frustration. His chest feels tight, his mind racing. He should knock. He knows he should try—should say something, anything.

He lifts his hand to knock, but the door swings open before he can. Your eyes meet his—red, swollen, glassy with unshed tears—and it feels like the air is knocked out of him. Beomgyu's chest tightens painfully, and then his gaze falls to the suitcase in your hand,"Where are you going?"

You don’t answer. Instead, you step past him, avoiding even the smallest brush against him. The sound of your suitcase wheels echoes in the hall. His heart stutters, his feet frozen in place.

"Y/N," he pleads, reaching for your wrist. His eyes flicker down to your hand, and the absence of your ring feels like a blow he wasn’t ready for.

"Beomgyu," you say quietly, pulling your hand away from his grasp."I’m going to stay with my brother for a while."

You don’t wait for his response. You can’t. If you stop now—if you meet his eyes again—you might change your mind. You walk toward the elevator, heart pounding, and breaking, but you don’t look back. When he doesn’t follow, when he doesn’t try to stop you, it cracks a little more.

The elevator doors begin to close, you think that’s it.This is the end. But then, his hand darts between the doors, forcing them open. You glance up in surprise. You've never seen him this unsure, or nervous before.

"At least let me see you out," he says softly. "Please,"

He stares at you. You nod, stepping aside to make room for him. Neither of you speaks, and the distance between you feels impossibly wide, even in the small space.

"Call me if you ever want to talk again," he finally breaks the silence, eyes fixed on the ground, "I’ll wait for you," You don’t respond, your throat tightening as you stare straight ahead, willing yourself not to cry.

Perhaps, it is his turn to wait for you.

It’s the longest elevator ride of your life.

In the parking lot, your brother is the first thing you see—tall and imposing, his glasses doing nothing to soften the sharp frown etched across his face. His eyes sweep over you, landing on the suitcase in your hand before darting behind you. The worry darkens instantly into anger when he sees Beomgyu trailing a few steps behind.

"You fucker," Soobin spits, brushing past you to square off with him. His voice is cold and furious. Beomgyu doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down, even as your brother towers over him.

"I gave you the benefit of the doubt," Soobin growls. "I thought, at the very least, you’d treat my sister with the respect she deserves. But you—"

"Soobin, stop!" You step forward, your hands desperately reaching out to hold your brother’s fists clenched at his sides. "Please, let’s just go."

He hesitates, jaw tightening as he swallows his anger. With a final, scathing glare at Beomgyu, Soobin turns away. He reached for your suitcase, grabbed it without a word and shoved it into the trunk of his car. Then he opens the passenger door, his expression softening ever so slightly as he looks at you. "Get inside."

You slide into the car, your hands trembling as you clutch them in your lap. Soobin slams the door shut behind you, the sound shouting in the empty parking lot like a final warning.

Beomgyu stands there eyes never leaving your form, unmoving, as the car engine roars to life. His chest feels like it’s caving in as he watches Soobin pull away, the tyres screeching against the pavement. It’s almost insulting, the way the sound seems to echo his own turmoil.

His eyes follow the car until it vanishes from sight, leaving nothing but silence and the crushing weight of knowing you’re gone.

Beomgyu steps back, dragging his feet to somehow delay the reality settling in around him. Every few steps, he glances over his shoulder, the faintest flicker of hope burning in his chest. Maybe you’d be there. Maybe you’d come back.

Maybe this was just a nightmare he hadn’t woken up from yet.

But you didn't.

The elevator doors slide open, and he strides inside, his mind blank and racing all at once. He walks, heading straight to the kitchen for water—something to soothe the dryness in his throat, the tightness in his chest. But as he passes the living room, his eyes catch on the portrait hanging above the mantel.

The wedding photo.

It hangs on there, just as it always has, but tonight it feels unbearable. His eyes lock on your face, and he falters. How could he have missed it? The slight redness in your eyes, the way your smile looks stretched too thin. How can a bride look so unhappy? How did it take him this long to realise how beautiful you looked that day—despite everything? How could he have failed to tell you?

How could he have been so blind?

He wasn’t the only one hurting that day. You had to stand there, dressed in white, while he grieved for someone else. On the day that was supposed to be yours, his mind had been somewhere else, tangled in memories of a woman who wasn’t you. And he never talked to you about it—not once. He never told you what you needed to hear. That it wasn’t your fault. That none of it was your fault.

He blinks hard, his vision blurring. The cracks were always there, weren’t they? Small at first, almost invisible, but they spread, creeping through everything until you were barely holding on. And he didn’t see it. He didn’t see you. Now, he stares at the picture like it might give him some kind of answer, some kind of clue to undo it all, but all it does is make the ache in his chest grow sharper.

He wished he had known. He wished he had known that the hurt consuming him would fade. He wished he could’ve said it all sooner, when the chance was still there. To tell you the truth. That he indeed had kissed her. That it was a mistake. He should have fallen to his knees and begged you to forgive him.

Would it have made a difference? Could one moment of honesty, one action, one choice have been enough to hold you here, to make you stay?

"Fuck," His voice was unsteady, tears stinging his eyes—tears he didn’t even know he was capable of. He can’t remember the last time he cried. Maybe he never has. He never cried. His hand moves on instinct, reaching for the cabinet, but instead of a glass, his fingers close around the neck of the whisky bottle. Water won’t cut it tonight. He twists the cap off, letting it fall to the counter with a hollow clink, and takes a long, burning sip.

It doesn't dull anything. Not yet. So he drinks.

It’s only been an hour—barely even that—since you left, but it feels like his world is already collapsing.

You wake up groggy, your head spinning and eyes feeling heavy. You can’t remember when you fell asleep or even how. You shift on the bed—Soobin must have carried you here.

Right. You’re at his place now.

"Y/N, you awake?" your brother’s voice carries down the hall, accompanied by the mouthwatering smell of bacon. Your stomach growls unexpectedly. You drag yourself out of bed, splash water on your face in the bathroom, and head out of the room.

“Good morning,” you mumble, stepping into the kitchen. The sight of Soobin setting down a plate of pancakes and Yeonjun grinning at you makes your chest feel warm.

Yeonjun stands and strides over, wrapping you in a tight hug. His hugs are always the warmest. He’s your brother’s best friend, someone who’s been in your life long enough to feel like family. He's known you since you were children, and you see him as your own brother.

He rests his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to the table as the corners of your lips tug into a soft smile you can’t seem to hold back. You sit down, and Soobin begins piling food onto your plate.

"Do you have any plans today?" Soobin asks casually, his focus still on divvying up breakfast.

“None, really,” you reply, your attention entirely on the bacon in front of you. Your stomach practically growls in anticipation, and without waiting, you dig in.

A little too eagerly, apparently. You choke, coughing as you try to swallow too quickly.

Yeonjun’s reaction is immediate—he’s already filling a glass of water before you even finish coughing. He places it in front of you and grabs a few napkins, sliding them your way with a concerned look. “Slow down, Y/N,” he says, his tone gentle but firm.

“Sorry,” you croak out, taking a sip of water to soothe your throat.

Last night, when you arrived, your brother didn’t ask for explanations. He didn’t push, didn’t pry. Instead, he pulled you into a hug, letting you collapse into him, tears soaking into his shirt as you broke down.

You heard him curse, his voice tight with restrained anger, but he didn’t say anything else. He just let you cry. His hands rested firmly on your back.

He didn’t ask because he knew. He knew that words wouldn’t help—not now. And maybe, he was afraid that asking would only deepen the pain already spreading through you.

It’s the reason Soobin hasn’t married yet. He’s had plenty of offers—proposals that would benefit his business, alliances that would make sense on paper. But none of it feels right. Not when he knows what you’ve endured.

He can't forget the look on your face on the day of your wedding. He keeps his distance, telling himself he has no right to fall in love or build a life of his own. How could he, knowing the choice was never yours? How could he allow himself to stand in the light of his own happiness, knowing it would only cast a longer shadow over you?

It would be unfair. Unfair to chase his own happiness.

He’s afraid. Afraid that loving someone, finding joy in his own marriage, would feel like betrayal or it would mean abandoning you to face your burdens alone.

"How are you?" Yeonjun asks, his gaze lingering on the dark circles under your eyes. His frown deepens.

"I'm… better," you say, the words catching in your throat as you force them out. It’s a lie, and you both know it. You’re far from better. Not when the image of Beomgyu standing in the parking lot, staring at you as you left, keeps haunting you. He looked… You shake your head, forcing the thought away.

You can’t go there—not now.

“There’s a party this weekend,” Yeonjun says, trying to sound lighthearted as he takes a bite of his food. “Some kind of school reunion. I think it’s three batches combined. You should come with us.”

"Yeah," you mumble, poking at your plate. "Ryu-jin’s been bugging me about it. Since Jakey won’t be able to make it—he’s overseas right now."

But the words falter on your lips as the thought you’ve been trying to avoid pushes its way forward. You don’t have to say it out loud; it’s already there, written on your face. Beomgyu. He might be there.

"He won’t be," Soobin says firmly, it's almost as if he read your thoughts. "I made sure of it. And if, by some chance, he shows up, I’ll stick by your side all night."

Your eyes flick over to Yeonjun, and he gives you a slight nod, his expression softening. "I’ll be there too,"

The days pass in a haze, each one blurring into the next, but this time, you’re not navigating them by yourself. You lean on your brother more than you ever thought you would, and somehow, he never seems to mind.

Soobin, who skips work without a second thought, pulling you out of the house when he sees you sinking too deep into yourself. He drags you to museums, to quiet cafés, or even just for drives with no destination.

And then there’s Yeonjun. No matter how busy his life is, he keeps... showing up. When Soobin’s tied up, Yeonjun is there, knocking on your door with his humor pulling reluctant smiles from you when you least expect it.

It’s not perfect—it’s still hard. Some days, you still lock your doors and don't come out no matter how many times they knock. There are days you don't even utter a single word. But they’re there, both of them, holding you up when you can’t do it yourself.

For the first time in two years, you don't feel alone.

“He’s not on the list, don’t worry,” Ryu-jin’s voice crackles through the speaker of your phone. You grip the steering wheel a little tighter, your eyes fixed on the road ahead. Soobin’s car leads in the lane in front of you.

"It's fine," you say, "It's not like I'm going for him, anyway."

"Okay. See you there," Ryu-jin replies before hanging up. You swallow hard, trying to push down yet another nausea rising in your throat. You focus on the road.

When you arrive, you walk alongside Soobin toward the entrance. Heads turn, whispers ripple through the crowd. The two of you—the university’s so-called power siblings—command attention without even trying. People smile, greet you, and their eyes linger on your Dior dress, but you barely notice.

“You’re finally here,” Yeonjun’s familiar voice calls out as he approaches, his warm smile cutting the tension in your chest. He grabs your arm gently, pulling you closer. “I’m glad you came,” he says softly, his eyes holding yours before focusing on Soobin.

"You're early." Soobin exchanges a quick greeting with him, heading off briefly to grab drinks for the three of you.

“Y/N!” Ryu-jin throws her arms around you, grinning as her eyes sweep over you. “Why do you always have to look this good?” she teases playfully. You laugh softly, a flicker of warmth in an otherwise heavy evening. The four of you settle at a table, waiting for the event to begin.

The night feels… okay. Not great, not life-changing, but okay. A simple glimpse of normalcy.

The week leading up to tonight lingers in your mind. Beomgyu’s messages. The flowers left at Soobin’s door. The missed calls that filled your screen, each one a reminder of everything you’ve been trying to forget.

You ignored them all. You had to.

Even now, standing here among friends, the memories creep in when you least expect them. Every time you close your eyes, you see them. You see her. And you see him.

And all the things that could’ve happened between them.

No matter how hard you try, the ghosts cling to you, refusing to let go.

You scrub your hands under the cold stream of water, the scent of soap mingling with the sterile air. The sound of the bathroom door creaking open doesn’t register at first—not until you hear her voice.

“Hi, Y/N.” You freeze, your stomach twisting before you even turn around. Through the mirror, her face appears behind you—Ji-won. The last person you wanted to see.

“What do you want?” Your reflection betrays the tension in your jaw. Your stomach twists violently. You don’t want to do this. Not here. Not now.

“Look, I just… I just wanted to say I’m sorry. About what happened between you and Beomgyu.” Her words falter, her tone weak, as if that soft voice could somehow soften the blow. “I—I didn’t mean for it to happen,” she continues, “It just… it just happened. We didn’t mean it.”

You know what hurts more than being cheated on? It’s the sickening realization that the person they chose is better than you in every way. Prettier. Maybe even smarter. More… everything.

Your throat tightens, but you force yourself to speak, “Stop, Ji-won.” You glance at her through the mirror, your chest tightening painfully. “I get it. I can see why.”

She looks startled, her brows drawing together. “Y/N, I’m really sorry. I know you know we had… unfinished business—”

“Unfinished business?” You spin around to face her, and the words tumble out before you can stop them, “With someone else’s husband?”

“That’s why I came to apologize,”

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head as your chest burns with a mixture of anger and pain. “Well, I don’t need it. Did you expect me to hug you?” You let out another laugh, this one harsher.

“Congratulations, I guess.” You step closer, each word laced with venom. “But don’t you ever come near me again. If you do, I’ll press charges. It will be really ugly. Do you understand?”

Ji-won nods stiffly, her expression crumbling under the weight of your stare. Without another glance, you turn on your heel and walk out of the bathroom, your steps hurried, the adrenaline rushing through your veins.

By the time you’re in the hallway, your breath is coming in short gasps. Your chest feels tight, constricted, like you’re drowning in your own emotions. You press a hand to your chest, forcing yourself to keep walking, but your vision blurs with unshed tears.

You can’t breathe.

The alcohol should’ve been enough. You thought it would drown everything out—the ache, the gnawing in your gut, the weight pressing down on your shoulders. But the pain is relentless, carving its way through you, burning and cold.

It starts in your chest, spreading like wildfire, suffocating your lungs, and crawling up your spine until it feels like you’re being pulled apart from the inside. It’s sharp, chaotic, like a bullet ricocheting through your body, tearing apart every fragile piece it touches.

You hear Ryu-jin’s voice calling your name, faint and distant, but you don’t turn around. You can’t. No. The crowd around you feels stifling, every laugh and every cheer scraping against your raw nerves. You’re barely holding it together, and you know that if you stay even a second longer, you’ll shatter in front of everyone.

You just need to go. To get away. Anywhere but here. Because right now, in the middle of this party, you feel like an open wound, with no place to hide.

“Where the hell did she go?” Ryu-jin muttered under her breath, panic creeping into her voice as she scanned the hallway outside the bathroom. She had only stepped away for a minute, grabbed what she needed, and when she came back—you were gone.

She storms back to the table, her heart racing. “Soobin, did you see Y/N?”

Soobin looked up immediately, concern flashing across his face. “She was with you, wasn’t she?”

“I lost her,” Ryu-jin admits, held up her phone, frustrated. “I’ve been trying to call, but her phone’s not connecting.” The worry on Soobin’s face mirrors her own, and for a moment, neither of them speaks.

“I’ll check outside,” Soobin says, already rising to his feet, his determination written all over his face. Yeonjun appears at the table just as Soobin leaves. “I’ll go with him.”

“Ryu-jin? Hey, long time no see.”

She turned to see Jay standing there, his familiar easygoing smile not quite registering in the chaos of her mind. “Jay,” she said, forcing a tight smile. “Hey. Yeah. Long time.”

Jay tilted his head. “Surprising. Where’s Choi’s golden girl? Isn’t she usually glued to your side?”

Ryu-jin hesitated, her smile faltering. “They… stepped out for a bit,” she lied, tone distracted.

Her gaze drifted across the room, and that’s when she saw her. Ji-won. Sitting with her group of friends, laughing, carefree, as if she hadn’t done enough damage already. The sight of her felt like a slap to the face. “The audacity…” Ryu-jin muttered under her breath.

Jay follows her line of sight, his eyebrows raising when he spots her. “That’s Ji-won, right?” he asks, his tone laced with something between curiosity and disdain. “The one who’s always been weirdly obsessed with Y/N?”

Ryu-jin’s head snapped toward him. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean,” Jay continues, shrugging, “back in college, she had this… thing. Like, she couldn’t stand it whenever someone said Y/N was pretty, which was often. It was kind of insane, honestly. Everyone knew Y/N was the prettiest girl back then, and Ji-won hated it. Like, visibly hated it.”

Ryu-jin chokes on her drink, coughing as she shakes her head in disbelief. Her fingers twitch with the urge to march over to Ji-won and give her a piece of her mind, but before she can act on the intrusive thought, Soobin reappears. His face is pale.

“She’s been in an accident,”

You got into an accident.

Beomgyu was sitting in his office when the call came. Everything around him blurred, the world spinning out of focus. It felt as if time had stopped for him, while the Earth kept spinning mercilessly. His body froze, but his mind was spiralling.

Y/N. Accident. The words replayed on a loop in his head, loud and cruel. He couldn't process them, couldn't let them sink in, because doing so would mean accepting that something terrible had happened to you.

You got into a car accident. Something terrible happened.

His throat tightened as he gripped the phone with trembling hands. "Wh-where… which hospital?" he stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear. His heart pounded so hard it felt like it might shatter.

The answer came, muffled like it was coming from underwater. The call ended before he could fully react. The phone slipped from his hand onto the desk as he staggered to his feet, his legs shaky beneath him.

Somehow, he made it to his car, though he couldn’t remember how. His chest heaved. With shaking fingers, he dialled another number, desperate for more answers.

“Don’t bother coming here, Choi Beomgyu.” Soobin’s voice was sharp and breathless when he answered. It sounded strained, furious even, and it only made Beomgyu’s heart sink further.

“Is she okay?” Beomgyu whispered, his voice barely audible. The question felt like it would break him. His chest felt like it was caving in, the pain clawing at him as he braced himself for the answer. He bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood, his free hand digging into his hair as he fought to stay grounded.

“She’s…” Soobin’s voice faltered, and that hesitation was enough to send Beomgyu spiraling further. “They’re trying. The doctors are doing everything they can.”

It wasn’t enough. Those words, those pitiful attempts at reassurance, did nothing to quiet the storm raging inside him. His hands tightened around the steering wheel as panic surged through him. If Soobin couldn’t say you were okay, it meant you weren’t.

Beomgyu floored the gas pedal.

His mind raced as fast as the car, every thought more horrifying than the last. What if he was too late? What if he never got to see you again? His breath hitched at the thought. His hands gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles pale.

He had to see you. Alive. Breathing.

Anything less would destroy him.

Beomgyu bursts into the hospital, his heart pounding so loudly it drowns out the sterile beeping and muffled voices around him. He barely registers the nurse’s directions to your room. All he knows is that he has to see you. His feet carry him faster than his thoughts, and when he spots the door, he doesn’t expect the two familiar figures standing outside.

Ryu-jin sits on a chair, her face buried in her hands as her shoulders shake with sobs. Yeonjun is pacing, his expression tight with worry, his hands clenched into fists.

The moment Yeonjun sees Beomgyu, he stops dead in his tracks. His gaze hardens, sharp and unyielding, as he steps forward and blocks the door with his arm.

“She wouldn’t want to see you,” Yeonjun snaps, his voice low and venomous. “Get the fuck out of here, you piece of shit.”

Beomgyu freezes for half a second before anger flares in his chest, red-hot and uncontrollable. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he shouts, shoving Yeonjun hard enough to make him stumble back a step. “I’m going to see my wife!”

Yeonjun doesn’t back down. If anything, he looks even angrier.

“Stop it! Both of you!” Ryu-jin’s voice cracks as she looks up, mascara streaked down her tear-stained cheeks. She doesn’t bother wiping it away. Her hands tremble as she points at the door. “Visitors aren’t allowed until tomorrow. She’s in surgery, Beomgyu. And it’s not… it’s not a minor one.”

Those words hit him like a freight train. The fight drains out of him, leaving only fear in its place. He stumbles back a step, his hands running through his hair as he struggles to breathe. “Surgery?” he whispers, his voice breaking. “What kind of surgery?”

Yeonjun glares at him, unmoving. “And now you come running,” he spits, his tone bitter. “After all this time? Now you care?”

Beomgyu clenches his jaw, meeting Yeonjun’s fiery gaze but saying nothing. Because he knows Yeonjun’s right.

Yeonjun’s shoulders sag, and his voice softens, “You don’t even know,” he says, eyes on the floor. “You don’t know what a fucking queen your wife is.”

The unexpected shift in tone stops Beomgyu in his tracks. He stares at Yeonjun. His words—they're spoken with such devastation that it leaves him frozen. He sees the sullen look on Yeonjun's face. After all, Yeonjun has always been soft when it comes to you.

So soft that it terrifies Beomgyu.

"Beomgyu." Soobin's voice cuts through the heavy silence, pulling Beomgyu out of his spiralling thoughts. He turns toward him, barely able to focus. "Let's talk here."

Beomgyu nods silently and walks over, his legs feeling heavier with every step. He follows without a word, leaving Yeonjun and Ryu-jin standing alone near the door.

Ryu-jin watches Yeonjun out of the corner of her eye. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t said a single word since his last bitter remark to Beomgyu. He stands there, staring at the floor. His hands clasped together.

The silence stretches uncomfortably, and she can’t help herself. “Yeonjun…” she starts hesitantly. “You’re not… in love with her or something, are you?”

Her words made Yeonjun’s head snap up. His eyes meet hers, and for the first time, Ryu-jin sees it—really sees it. The glassy sheen in his eyes, the way his lips part but no words come out. The heartbreak painted so clearly on his face that it makes her chest ache. “You idiot,” she whispers, her voice soft with pity.

Yeonjun lets out a shaky breath, his gaze dropping again as if he can’t bear the weight of her sympathy. “She’s… my best friend’s little sister,” he murmurs, his voice raw and quiet. “I didn’t think it was possible. Not for me. Not for her.” He doesn’t answer directly. He doesn’t need to. It’s all over his face.

Yeonjun was in love with you, ever since he first saw you.

Beomgyu sat across from Soobin, his hands clenched tightly in his lap as he listened. Soobin’s voice was calm but firm as he explained what the doctors had said—stress was the last thing you could handle right now. “I’ll let you know if it’s okay for you to see her."

The words didn’t settle easily. Beomgyu didn’t understand why no one would tell him anything about your condition, why every detail was kept from him. But knowing you were stable, even for the moment, was enough. He swallowed his frustration and nodded, agreeing to Soobin’s terms.

Still, he couldn’t help himself. As Soobin turned to leave, Beomgyu’s voice cracked, raw with desperation. “Please,” he begged, “Let me see her. Just once… before I go.”

Beomgyu felt like his heart was clawing its way out of his chest, beating so erratically it left him breathless. It begged to escape, just as he begged silently to be allowed into the ICU. His hands trembled, numb and unsteady. He flexed his fingers, forcing a crack to echo through his knuckles, before gripping the cold metal of the doorknob.

On the other side of this door was you—the woman he hurt.

The thought made him pause, the ache in his chest spreading to his throat, tightening it like a noose. He wasn’t sure he could face you—not like this. But he couldn’t stay away, not anymore.

The door creaked softly as it opened, and his heart stuttered at the sight of you. Your face was pale but peaceful, your eyes closed, your breaths slow and steady. The sound of the machines around you was the only thing keeping him grounded.

He stepped closer, each movement hesitant, his guilt weighing heavier with every inch he bridged between you. When he finally reached your bedside, he froze, staring down at your hand—fragile and adorned with IV needles. Slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours. They were soft. Warm. And just that small, simple touch made him breathe again—really breathe—for the first time in days.

“Baby,” he whispered, the word breaking in his throat.

He sank to his knees beside you, clutching your hand to his face. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over before he could stop them. They fell onto your skin, warm and unrelenting, a silent apology for every mistake he had made. He pressed his lips to your hand, shoulders shook as he cried.

The past few days without you had been unbearable. If he ever had doubts, or worries, if he ever hesitated—those thoughts were gone now. It's you. He’d thought about every little thing you did that he had taken for granted. All of it. And he realized, how much it all mattered.

How much you mattered to him.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, whispers to your skin as he continue to kiss your palm. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

The tears wouldn’t stop, and neither would the words pouring out of him. “You mean everything to me. I didn’t see it before, but I see it now. I love you. God, I love you so much.”

He squeezed your hand, hoping—praying—that somehow you could feel him. That even in this fragile, unconscious state, you could hear the desperate beating of his heart, could feel the truth in his touch. “I’ll do better,” he whispered, “I’ll be better. If you’ll just… if you’ll just give me another chance. Please.”

He didn’t know if you could hear him. He didn’t know if you’d ever forgive him. And he hates himself how it took him this long to figure it out.

Beomgyu’s heart was in his hands now, fully exposed and vulnerable, waiting—you could somehow feel it. He rested his forehead against your hand, tears pooling on the stark white sheets. If you gave him the chance, he’d spend the rest of his life proving that his love is real. He was finally here, standing in the world where you had once stood so heartbreakingly alone. And that his heart was yours, completely yours.

He would spend forever making up for what he had done. Even if it kills him.

“Where were you?” you asked, reaching over to grab the strawberry from the basket on the kitchen table. Beomgyu’s chuckle filled the room. “I went drinking with Taehyun. Just a light drink,” he said casually, his hand brushing your shoulder as he passed behind you to grab a plate.

“Why? Did you miss your husband?” he teased, carefully plating the food before setting it down in front of you. You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You wish.”

He chuckled, handing you a spoon and fork before moving around the kitchen. A tall glass appeared on the table next to your plate and he poured you water.

“Did he miss me too?” Beomgyu’s voice was soft, almost tentative, drawing your gaze upward. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you were caught in the tenderness there. It made your heart ache in that way only he could.

“He?” You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at your lips as you swallowed. “What makes you so sure it's a boy?” Your hand instinctively brushed over your stomach as a quiet smile softened your face. The thought of your little one—boy or girl—filled you with a warmth you couldn’t quite put into words.

“I just feel it,” A small smile flickered across his lips, “What if we get twins?”

You looked down, your thoughts wandering to tiny clothes, little shoes scattered across the floor, and pastel-painted walls filled with light and laughter. “That would be… amazing,” you murmured.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Beomgyu pulling out the chair beside you. He sat down at first, but then, almost as if drawn closer by some unseen force, he shifted. You felt his gaze before you saw him—soft, unwavering, and filled with a kind of awe that made your chest tighten.

“That sounds nice, two little you running around.” he breathed, his voice almost a whisper. His hand reached out slowly, brushing against your stomach. You set down your utensils, giving him a soft nod as you shifted slightly, allowing him more access.

Beomgyu lowered himself onto his knees in front of you, his large hands resting gently on either side of your growing belly. He glanced up at you, his eyes searching yours for a brief moment before he let out a long, steady breath. Then, with a tenderness that made your throat tighten, he leaned closer, pressing his forehead gently against your stomach.

“Mommy and Daddy love you,” he whispered, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. He sounded so vulnerable, so small—like all the pain he had been carrying had finally spilled over. His lips pressed softly against your stomach. And then, without a word, he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face against you.

Your hand moved instinctively, threading through his soft hair with slow, soothing strokes. He pulled you closer, as though being near you could quiet the storm in his heart. Your fingers trailed down the back of his neck, over his shoulders, and down his back.

And then—it shifted.

In your dream, you were cradling a baby to your chest, its tiny body safe in your arms. Beomgyu leaned down, smiling widely as you do.

You woke up, panting.

You were dreaming. It shattered as reality came rushing back. Pain coursed through you, sharp and unrelenting, pulling a small, involuntary sound from your lips.

The memory hit next, as vivid as the moment it happened. Driving through the night with tears blurring your vision, your hands trembling on the wheel. The sound of your ragged breathing, the pounding of your heart. You were speeding, desperate to outrun the ache inside. Then the impact—another car colliding into yours, the violent spin before your vision went black.

“Hnn,” you whimpered, barely able to get the sound out. Your throat was dry, parched, and every part of you ached. You needed water.

"Y/N," a voice broke through the haze of your awakening. You turned your head to see your brother, Soobin. His face paled as he dropped whatever he was holding and rushed to your side. “I—I—”

“Water. Please,” you rasped, your throat dry and raw.

Soobin nodded quickly, his hands trembling as he reached for the water bottle on the nearby table. He uncapped it, holding it to your lips as you drank. Relief was fleeting; the ache in your chest outweighed the dryness in your throat.

“What happened?” you asked, your voice a little stronger now, though your hands still shook.

“You got into an accident,” he said, settling into the chair beside you. His voice was low, almost fragile. “A surgery was performed. You’ve been unconscious for three days.”

You nodded, trying to process his words, but his silence that followed unsettled you. ou looked at him, noticing the way his eyes darted away from yours, how his lips pressed together like he was holding back something he didn’t know how to say.

“What is it?” you pressed, your chest tightening with dread.

Soobin hesitated, his hands fidgeting in his lap before he reached out to take yours. “Let me call the nurse first, okay?” You nodded, though the fear in his voice made it hard to breathe.

You nodded, your anxiety growing as he stepped out. Moments later, the nurse arrived, and then the doctor, their voices calm and professional as they began explaining the details of your condition. But their words blurred together—a haze of medical jargon that barely registered—until one sentence shattered everything.

“You were in your first trimester when the accident occurred. The baby didn’t survive. I’m so sorry for your loss.” Your world tilted. Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, it felt like your heart had stopped.

“A baby?” you whispered, the word foreign and fragile on your lips.

The nurse and doctor offered their condolences before quietly excusing themselves, leaving you alone with Soobin. Your hands trembled as they instinctively moved to your stomach. “I was pregnant?” Your voice cracked, disbelief and anguish bleeding into every word. "Soobin?"

“Y/N…” Soobin’s voice was choked with emotion.

“I mean… they’re saying I was…” You stopped, the reality sinking in with a force so cruel. “Oh.”

“I didn’t even know,” Tears blurred your vision as the enormity of it all crashed down on you. You lost a baby. A life you didn’t even know you were carrying. A piece of you that was gone before you ever had the chance to feel it, to know it, to love it.

Did you have to lose your child too?

The sobs came hard and fast, wracking your body until you could barely breathe. Your hands covered your mouth, trying to hold in the grief that spilled over anyway. “I didn’t even know I was pregnant.” you choked out, your voice breaking. “And now… they’re gone.” Your hands clutched at your stomach as if trying to hold on to something that was no longer there. "It's all my fault."

Soobin wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest as your cries tore the room. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice shaking. He held you tightly. The only thing that kept you from falling out.

Your cries grew louder, as the loss consumed you. The one you saw in your dream, so warm in your arms. You had held them, hadn’t you? You could still feel the weight of their tiny body in your arms.

Your baby.

All you could do was mourn for the life that had slipped away before you even knew it existed.

It’s been a week since Soobin made his last call to Beomgyu. A week since you opened your eyes in the hospital. And yet, Beomgyu has heard nothing.

Every day, he drags himself to the hospital. But every time, the answer is the same: no. On the fourth day, he arrived—you’d been discharged. You were gone.

Still, every morning, Beomgyu wakes up with that same aching hope that refuses to let go no matter how much it hurts. He gets through the day somehow, clutching at the thought of seeing your face again. But by night, when the world quiets, he’s left with nothing but his tears, falling asleep with the weight of your absence pressing down on his heart.

He’s distracted, eyes fixed on the same line of text glowing on his computer screen. It’s been minutes, maybe longer, and he still hasn’t moved past the first sentence. His mind is elsewhere—adrift—when a knock on the office door pulls him back.

His secretary peeks in, face filled with cautious expression. “Sir, I’ve been calling your phone. Someone’s here to see you—Park Sunghoon.”

Beomgyu blinked, confused. Sunghoon? His old batchmate, someone he’d shared classes with years ago. They hadn’t talked in forever. He nodded slowly, signalling her to let him in.

The door opens fully, and Sunghoon strides in. His pale complexion contrasts starkly with the black polo shirt he’s wearing, and Beomgyu notices the glasses perched on his nose—something he didn't have before. Sunghoon doesn’t look quite the same as Beomgyu remembers.

“Beomgyu,” Sunghoon said with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How’ve you been, man?”

“Sunghoon,” Beomgyu responds, sitting up straighter in his chair. “What brings you here?” He gestures toward the seat across the desk, and Sunghoon takes it. The frown etched into his brow didn’t escape Beomgyu’s notice. “Is everything okay?”

Sunghoon exhales, leaning forward and clasping his hands together on his knees. “You know I’m close with Jay, right?”

Beomgyu narrows his eyes, unsure where this is heading, but he nods. “Yeah. And?”

“Well…” Sunghoon hesitates, the words seemingly heavy in his throat before he finally speaks. “I heard about Y/N. That she got into an accident recently.” The sound of your name halts Beomgyu.

“I couldn’t ignore it anymore,” Sunghoon continues, voice quieter. “I made promises to her, you know? But lately… I don’t know. It’s been eating me alive.”

Beomgyu runs his hand to his hair, "Sunghoon…”

"I didn’t think it was my place to say this," Sunghoon begins, "When I heard you two got married, I thought maybe she’d tell you. Maybe you already know. But I came here personally, just in case. Because you deserve to know. And if I don’t tell you now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life."

He exhales deeply before continuing. “Do you remember how you used to talk about Ji-won? How you’d brag about her cooking for you, leaving little things for you—sweets, medicine, hot packs. Or the cold water she’d always leave at your bench during those grueling practices under the sun? Do you remember how she saved your ass that time you forgot your assignment, staying up late just to finish it for you? You told us all those things, over and over, like she a gem.” Beomgyu feels his chest tighten as Sunghoon meets his nervous gaze.

“All of that, Beomgyu… it wasn’t Ji-won,” Sunghoon says carefully, “It was Y/N. Every single one of those things. I know because… she asked me to help her sometimes. She didn’t want you to know. She didn’t do it for recognition or because she wanted anything back. She just cared about you. I even told her once—maybe she should tell you how she felt, and even if you didn’t feel the same, at least it’d help her move on. But she wouldn’t. She told me… her love for you wasn’t about getting something back. It wasn’t about her. It wasn’t selfish.”

Beomgyu’s hand trembles under the table, his knuckles white as he clenches his fists. His throat feels tight, each word hitting his ears.

“At first, I couldn’t understand her decision—I even judged her for it, thinking she was only making... things harder on herself,” Sunghoon admits, voice softening. “But over time, I realized—none of us have the right to judge someone else’s pain. You can’t measure someone else’s actions by your own standards. What might seem small or insignificant to one person could be earth-shattering to someone else.”

Beomgyu had been in love with the idea of Ji-won all along.

Those moments—the little gestures, the care, the comfort—they had become the foundation of his attachment to her. How he remembered her. They were the memories he clung to, the ones burned so deeply into his mind that letting her go had felt impossible. She was, in his mind, someone who cared for him. Someone who truly knew him.

But it wasn’t her. It was you. It had been you all along.

He thinks about Ji-won, the girl he once believed was willing to stand by him no matter what. She made him think about defying his parents, about running away from everything—his responsibilities, his future, his entire life. Ji-won was the one who fueled his anger, who stood beside him as he cursed the world and everyone in it.

And then there was you.

You, who never let him go too far. You didn’t encourage his anger—you challenged it. Even when it meant standing against him, because you wanted him to understand—not everything could be run from. It was you who reminded him that his obligations weren’t a prison but a part of him, something he couldn’t just abandon. It was you who helped him rebuild the bridge to his parents when he didn’t even realise it had been burned.

It’s suffocating now, the truth. To realise that the very actions that made him fall for Ji-won—the moments he thought defined her love for him—were never hers. They were yours.

Ji-won had been nothing but a mirror to his rebellion. This truth, made him want to see you more.

“Pour me another,” Beomgyu muttered to the bartender he leaned heavily on his forearm. The man hesitated, his concern written all over his face. Beomgyu noticed but didn’t care. “I said, pour me another one.”

With a reluctant nod, the bartender slid another drink in front of him. Beomgyu downed it in one go, the burn in his throat doing nothing to drown out the ache in his chest. He fumbled for his phone, the screen glaring back at him as he typed out messages he knew you’d never read.

I miss you, baby. Can I see you? Let’s talk, please. Are you not going to see me? Forever? Ok. I understand. I don’t deserve forgiveness. No. Please. Give me a chance. Just one chance to see you. To talk to you, please. I can’t go on another day without you. Please Y/N.

The messages sat there, unanswered.

Stumbling out of the bar, his legs unsteady and his vision blurred, he barely noticed the bartender calling his driver. He collapsed onto the pavement outside, his head in his hands, phone still clutched in his trembling fingers.

As he opened it again, ready to type another desperate plea, his screen lit up with an incoming call. His heart skipped, hope flickering briefly before seeing another unfamiliar number.

“When are you going to stop calling me, Ji-won?” he shouted into the phone, his voice hoarse with frustration and alcohol. “I’ve said it more than once—we don’t need to talk. Not ever again.”

“I just wanted to know how you’re—”

“Please!” he cut her off, his voice breaking as tears streamed freely down his face. He was shaking now, his words spilling out in a desperate sob. “Please, Ji-won… I know everything. I know what you did. You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You… you destroyed it.”

He pressed his palm against his mouth, trying to muffle the sound of his own cries. “Please,” he whispered, the word barely audible through his tears. “Just let me be.”

The line ends.

Ji-won freezes, her fingers trembling as the line goes dead. You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You… you destroyed it.

She exhales shakily, forcing air into her lungs that suddenly feel too tight. Her phone slips from her hand, landing softly on the bedspread. Hot tears well in her eyes, blurring the room around her. She had let herself believe—naively, foolishly—that Choi Beomgyu could still be hers.

Even after everything, she had convinced herself that there was still a piece of him that belonged to her. But now, hearing his words, she knew. She had already lost him.

The tears came harder as her mind betrayed her, pulling her back to the moment it all began. The moment her hatred for you took root.

“Beomgyu,” she had chirped, plopping down beside him on the couch. He had been immersed in a book, his brow furrowed in concentration, but she didn’t care. She wanted his attention, his reassurance. She always did. “There’s this talk going around about… Y/N,” she said, the name leaving a sour taste on her tongue. “People are saying she’s the prettiest girl on campus.” Her voice dropped, tinged with an edge of insecurity.

“But that’s not true, right? She’s not that… pretty.” She trailed off, squeezing his hand, her smile faltering as she waited for the words she longed to hear. She wanted him to say, there was no competition—that she was the most beautiful girl in his eyes.

Beomgyu was half hearing her words because he was engrossed in the book he was reading. So instead, he looked up, his eyes meeting hers with a hint of confusion. “What do you mean?” he asked simply, his tone matter-of-fact. “It's true. I think she’s beautiful.”

It was on that day Ji-won began to hate you with every fiber of her being.

The kind of hatred that wasn’t born overnight, but nurtured by her insecurities, fed by the way you walked through the world without a care—dragging every boy’s eyes in your wake as if it were effortless. And the worst part? You didn’t even seem to notice. You didn’t have to notice.

Jealousy festered in her chest, growing heavier each time she caught a glimpse of you. It didn’t help that you and Beomgyu—her Beomgyu—shared a world she could never truly enter. The Chois. The big families. A legacy. Something she wasn’t, something she could never be.

The announcement of your engagement felt like the final blow. She couldn’t understand how the universe could be so evil. You, the girl she couldn’t stand, were being handed the one thing she clung to the hardest. It wasn’t fair. And as jealousy morphed into bitterness, she let herself simmer in the injustice of it all, until it burned hot enough to ignite a plan.

Ji-won thought of everything. She knew Beomgyu would be there at the party, and she knew what she had to do. She chose the kind of dress he used to love. She styled her hair the way he used to run his fingers through, practised the words he used to adore hearing spill from her lips. She even reached for the used perfume he once said he liked.

It wasn’t an accident. None of it was. Ji-won walked into that room not as a guest, but as someone determined to remind him of what they once had. It didn’t matter that he was married.

You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You destroyed it. Please, just let me be.

She swallows hard, the lump in her throat refusing to go away. The realization settles over her like a heavy fog, a fog that turns clear—she is nothing more than a wall. A futile obstacle standing in the way of two souls who are meant to be together.

She opens her phone, booking a flight—any flight—to anywhere but here.

“It’s here,” Soobin says softly, his hand resting gently on your back as he guides you forward. His finger points to the glass grave in front of you.

Gone, but forever in our hearts. Moon.

Your Moon. The name you gave your baby—a name as delicate and luminous as the child who never got to see the world. You thought long and hard about it. It had to be beautiful, just like him. A name worthy of all the love you poured into his short, fleeting existence.

You pull out your handkerchief, wiping at the thin layer of dust that has settled on the outside of the glass. Your fingers tremble as you do, as though clearing the smudges could make it hurt less. But it doesn’t. It never does. Your brow furrows as you fight the ache swelling in your chest. He’s in there—inside that small, delicate bottle. And this is all you can do for him now.

“Hi, baby,” you whisper, your voice cracking as the words leave your lips. Soobin stands beside you, his smile soft but heavy with sadness. “Do you think I would’ve been a good uncle?” he asks, his voice barely louder than the wind.

You glance at him, your heart aching at the question. He kneels to place the small flowers you’d brought together, arranging them with the utmost care. There's an unfamiliar flower resting beside it. Someone must have wrongly placed it.

“Yes,” you manage to say, your throat tight with emotion. “I think the two of you would’ve been close.” You force a smile, though it wavers, your words choking you as they come out.

He reaches up and smooths your hair, a comforting gesture that almost makes you break. “He’s up there,” Soobin murmurs, his eyes lifting to the sky. “With no pain. Watching over you.”

You nod, swallowing hard, willing your tears to stay back. You can’t cry. Not here. Not now. If you cry, your baby might worry. You’ve convinced yourself of that, even if it doesn’t make sense.

The week after your discharge was unbearable.

You clung to Soobin like a lifeline, your hands gripping his. Your parents moved you back into their house without question, simply knowing you needed them.

Your mother—the strongest woman you’d ever known, the one who never faltered—cried with you when you broke the news. She held you in her arms like you were a child again, her tears falling silently against your hair as you sobbed into her chest. Your father walked with you every day, leading you to the garden where you could sit in the sunlight, as if the warmth could somehow seep into the cracks inside you. They cooked your meals, cleaned your space, and did everything you couldn’t bring yourself to do.

Tonight, you find yourself staring blankly at the walls of your old room.

The quiet feels suffocating, pressing against your chest. Sleep won’t come, and before you even realise it, tears are slipping down your cheeks. You didn’t even notice you were crying until the dampness touches your skin. You sit up abruptly, your chest heaving as if the air refuses to fill your lungs. The stillness of the bed feels unbearable, so you push yourself off it, your feet meeting the cool floor.

Pacing back and forth, you feel the tears come harder now, unchecked and unexplainable. You don’t even know why you’re crying. It’s just there—this ache, this heaviness. You were about to go out, to get Soobin or your parents.

But then your eyes caught the window.

It glows. The moon.

It’s full tonight, impossibly bright, casting a soft, silvery glow across the room. It feels like it’s staring back at you. You stand there, frozen, the phone slipping from your hand. The moon’s reflection shimmers faintly in your tear-filled eyes, and for a moment, you forget the heaviness pressing against your chest. It’s as if the moon is speaking to you, telling you to breathe, to let go, to just be.

Your breathing steadies. You stand there, bathed in its light, feeling the faintest glimmer of peace. And the storm inside you begins to calm.

It’s been six months since you woke up.

Six months since you returned to your parents’ house, where the familiar walls offered some sense of safety. Ryu-jin and Yeonjun visit almost every weekend, their presence a small comfort. Soobin stays, too, refusing to leave your side.

It’s been almost seven months since you last saw Choi Beomgyu.

Seven months since everything fell apart.

Choi Beomgyu, who, for six months now, has spent every single day driving two hours to your parents’ house. He shows up like clockwork, no matter the weather, no matter the time. After work, he makes the trip, arriving at the big gated doors with a bouquet of white roses in his hands. Every single day.

He doesn’t make a scene or beg to be let in. He just waits, bouquet in hand, a fragile hope flickering in his eyes. White roses. Always white roses. They used to be your favourite.

His parents send gifts, too. Packages and handwritten letters arrive, carefully chosen and delicately worded, but you can’t bring yourself to open them.

And every day, you hear the knock at the gate. Every day, you peek from the upstairs window, watching him wait, white roses clutched in his hands like a lifeline. And every day, you stay hidden behind the curtains, your feet stay rooted to the floor, your heart too bruised to carry you to him.

But today is different. Today, it has to be.

The papers are in your hands. Unsigned divorce papers. You tell yourself it’s just paper, just ink, but the trembling in your hands betrays the truth.

You walk to the building you once called home, each step echoing in your chest. The elevator hums softly as you press the button, your reflection in the mirrored doors a stranger to you. When it finally dings open, you step out into the hallway that once smelled of comfort and familiarity. Now it feels like a mausoleum.

Your hand hovers over the doorbell of your home—no, his home. The space you used to share feels distant. The ring in your other hand feels impossibly heavy, its cool metal biting into your palm.

You’ve tried to get rid of it before. Once, you even threw it in the trash, convincing yourself it was the right thing to do. But then came the panic. You tore through the garbage, hands shaking, the stench clinging to you as you clawed through. It didn’t matter that you ruined your clothes or that your mom’s voice cracked as she begged you to stop.

You just couldn’t let it go. Maybe, you should return it properly.

You take a breath and press the button. And then you wait.

When the door swung open, Beomgyu’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, everything froze. His eyes widened in shock, his lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came out. You felt your chest tighten painfully, the sight of him unravelling something inside you. He looked… so different. His hair, longer now, fell to his shoulders in messy waves, unkempt like he hadn’t bothered to comb it. His skin was pale, almost sickly, and his eyes were rimmed with red, like he’d been crying—or hadn’t slept in days.

“Y/N,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand gripped the edge of the door like he needed something to steady him, his heart hammering so loudly he swore you could hear it. Was this real? Were you really standing there? He let his gaze trail over you, taking in your thinner frame, the hollow tiredness etched into your face. He wanted to say something, to invite you in, but the words caught in his throat.

You didn’t say a word. Instead, you stepped past him, the sharp click of your heels against the floor filling the suffocating silence. Each step echoed like a countdown, louder in his ears than it should have been. Beomgyu turned to watch you, his hand hovering uselessly at his side, aching to reach out but too afraid to try.

He closed the door softly behind you.

Your eyes scan the room, and it hits you all at once—everything’s a mess. Clothes are strewn carelessly over the couch, an empty chip bag crumpled on the kitchen counter, dishes piling up in the sink. The air feels heavy, stagnant, like the windows haven’t been opened in weeks.

And then your gaze shifts—to the open door on the right. Your room.

Your breath catches as you take it in. The bed is unmade, the sheets tangled in a way that’s unmistakable.

He’s been sleeping there. Beomgyu. In your room. In your bed.

"Uh," Beomgyu starts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry, it's… kind of a mess."

You nod stiffly, not meeting his eyes. "It's okay."

The sound of your voice makes him freeze. It’s been so long since he’s heard it—too long. His chest tightens, but before he can savor it, your next words come like a knife to his heart. "I'm not going to be here for long anyway."

His brows furrow, panic flashing across his face. "Wh-why?" he stammers, his voice breaking. "I mean—"

You cut him off, extending the envelope toward him with trembling hands. "Let’s…" You swallow hard, forcing the words out despite the lump in your throat. "Let’s get a divorce."

Beomgyu stares at you, his mind reeling. The hope that had bloomed in his chest when he saw you standing at his door clashes violently with the reality of your words. His lips part, but no sound comes at first. Finally, he whispers, "Why?"

He can’t stop himself. The panic is overwhelming. "I went to your house every day," he says, his voice breaking. "Every single day, Y/N. I wanted to make this work. I—I sent you messages, I tried everything. Do you…" He swallows hard, his throat tight. "Do you not love me anymore?" He knows he sounds pathetic, but he doesn’t care. The speeches he’d rehearsed in his head dissolve into nothing, overtaken by the fright clawing at him.

Your breath hitches, and when you speak, your voice is cold, trembling with barely contained emotion. "I don’t care if I love you, Beomgyu. I don’t care if it feels like my heart is being ripped out of my chest, or if it feels like I’m dying inside." You take a shaky breath, your grip tightening on the envelope. "I want a divorce. And when it’s done, you’ll never see me again."

Beomgyu flinches like you’ve struck him, his knees nearly buckling. He shifts uncomfortably, his hands shaking at his sides. "Is this still about Ji-won?" he asks hesitantly, and the way you flinch answers him before your words can.

He swallows hard, his voice growing more frantic. "It’s true, Y/N. It’s true, that I cheated. I kissed her, but as soon as it happened, I pushed her away." He presses a trembling hand to his chest. "It didn’t mean anything—it was a mistake, a horrible mistake, and I hate myself for it every single day. But please…" His voice cracks, tears spilling down his cheeks. "Please, give me a chance."

You shake your head, a sob breaking free despite how hard you’re trying to hold it together. "It’s too late, Beomgyu," you whisper, your voice trembling as your hands shake. You open your hands, and try to give the ring back. "Too much has happened. We can’t go back."

Beomgyu doesn’t take it. He just stands there, staring at the ring in your palm, tears streaming down his face. He knows. If he takes it, it’s over. If he takes it, you’ll be gone for good, out of his life forever.

"I can’t," he whispers, his voice broken. "I can’t take it."

He won’t take the ring, so he takes your hand and pulled you to him, kissing your lips fervently and enduring the slam of your fists against his body and chest. It was all him; it was all his fault. He is an emotional wreck who doesn’t know what to do and how to contain his feelings.

“Beomgyu—” you gasped, your voice breaking as you pushed at his chest. He didn’t let go, his hands cupping your face, fingers brushing against your jaw like you were something fragile and sacred. His touch was shaky, his breathing uneven as his hands slid to the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly closer.

His movements were hurried, frantic, as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he let go. In one swift motion, he lifted you, his steps unsteady as he carried you to the bedroom. Your bedroom. The air felt heavy as he laid you down on the mattress—his mattress now, the one that carried his scent.

“Wait—,” you said weakly, your hands clutching at his shirt, your voice trembling as much as your resolve. But even as you pushed against him, your lips didn’t stop moving from kissing him back. His hands moved to your shoulders, then slid down to your waist, pulling you to him. You never knew that lips could talk without uttering a word until he declared his love for you through kisses. You let yourself melt under his touch.

Your hands, which had been pushing him away moments before, now found his shoulders for balance as he pressed you back into the bed. The mattress creaked beneath you, and you hated how your body still remembered him—how it responded to him like no time had passed at all.

His breaths were ragged, syncing with your every moan as his tongue tangled with yours, hungry and desperate. You had missed him—every part of him. That truth burned inside you as your fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer, urging him on. His body pressed against yours, grinding to yours, while his hands roamed over your skin, igniting every nerve he touched. His lips trailed downward, leaving soft kisses that melted into your flesh, a path leading straight to your core.

He stripped you of every barrier, leaving you bare under his gaze. His eyes shimmered with something between adoration and hunger as they traced your body. You hadn’t realized how powerless you were against him until your legs parted, welcoming him. He looked at you like you were sacred, like you were his entire world.

“Don’t leave me…” he whispered between kisses, his voice breaking in a way that made your heart ache. Tears pricked your eyes because you wanted to believe him. You needed to believe him. His hands explored further, his fingers reaching for your clit, pinching softly then roughly, coaxing sounds from your lips that you didn’t know you were capable of. You trembled beneath him, gasping and crying out as he whispered confessions into your skin.

His mouth was poetry, speaking without syllables. His kisses, his touch—every movement of his lips and tongue—proclaimed what he hadn’t said out loud. Your body gave in, melting under the weight of his devotion, your mind consumed by him.

“Don’t leave me again, please,” he murmured as he positioned himself, slowly sliding into you. A low, guttural sound escaped him as he felt you, tight and warm, pulling him deeper. He missed you so much that he's sure he'll come right there and then. His face buried itself in the curve of your neck, and his words spilled out—apologies, regrets.

"Please," His touch was gentle, even as his thrusts inside you grew more desperate. He cradled your head, kissed away your tears, and pressed his lips to your cheek. “I’m in love with you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It’s always been you.”

“I love you…” he murmured, capturing your lips in a desperate kiss as you both unravelled together, bodies trembling in unison. Your thighs clenched tightly around his waist, and he repeated the words softly into your ear, like a prayer he needed you to hear.

"Beomgyu," You whispered his name and it made tears well up in his eyes. His hand gently pushed the damp strands of hair from your face, and he pressed tender kisses along your cheeks, your temple, and your jaw. When he noticed your tears, he wiped them away without hesitation, his touch careful and soothing.

“Shh, angel,” he whispered, pulling you against his chest, holding you like he was afraid you’d slip away. His lips brushed the crown of your head, and his hand moved in calming strokes up and down your back. “I’m sorry… for everything.”

You had come here to end it. To finally say the words that would close this chapter for good. You’d rehearsed it in your mind, telling yourself you’d leave with your head held high.

But all of that clarity blurred with every kiss he gave you, every whisper of your name that fell from his lips. Every I love you, over and over again, spoken like a spell meant to undo you. And it did. The walls you had worked so hard to build these past seven months—brick by painstaking brick—began to crack and crumble.

And when he pulled you closer, his arms tightening around you like he couldn’t bear to let go, you felt yourself falter completely. Because no matter how much resolve you thought you had, it was never enough when it came to him.

Two fractured bodies came together, love-making to each other to chase away all the scars and time passed.

The papers meant to sever—to declare the ending—lay discarded on the floor, forgotten.

The brightness of the room stings your eyes as they flutter open. You blink, disoriented, your chest tightening with a familiar weight. Panic creeps up, sharp and unforgiving. He must have left. He must have slipped out of bed again, leaving you to wake up alone.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Beomgyu’s voice is soft, tinged with concern as he gently cradles your face in his hands. He had woken up before you, the morning light spilling across the room, but leaving the bed felt impossible. Not when you were curled so closely against him, your bodies still tangled under the warmth of the sheets.

He stayed, wrapping himself around you, his chest pressed to your back, his arms holding you. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling the faint scent that now feels like home. It was quiet—so quiet—until he felt the faint tremble on your body. His grip tightened instinctively, his voice barely above a whisper as he called out to you again. “Y/N,"

You blinked, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. Turning your head, your eyes met his—heavy-lidded and soft with sleep. His arms tightened around your waist. A shaky breath escaped your lips, your chest tight as tears welled in your eyes. You tried to hold them back, but they came anyway.

Beomgyu’s thumb brushed against your cheek, catching the first tear as it slipped down. He didn’t miss a thing. His gaze traced every flicker of emotion on your face. He opened his mouth, ready to ask what was wrong again, but you spoke first,

“You finally stayed.”

Your words made him froze. Guilt settled heavy in his chest, as he pulled you impossibly closer. His forehead pressed against yours, lips hovered so close to yours.

“I won’t ever leave. Every day, you’ll wake up, and I’ll be here. Right by your side.”

Beomgyu was different—so different it made your heart ache in the best way.

He was there, every single step, helping you out of bed like it was second nature. You had to practically fight for the simple dignity of showering alone, and even then, he lingered just outside the door, making sure you were okay.

And when it was his turn to ask for something, “Please cook for me again,” he’d said, his voice begging.

So you did. You made the soup—the very first one you’d ever cooked for him back in college. As the soup simmered, Beomgyu started to talk. He told you about Ji-won, about his unexpected interaction with Sunghoon, and how he’d rejected Ji-won long before he even knew the full truth. He spoke with an honesty that left no room for doubt, his words meant only for you.

When your mind wandered, when your eyes drifted away, Beomgyu noticed. He always noticed. His fingers would gently close around yours, pulling you back to him. He’d press soft kisses to your palms, his touch saying more than words ever could: Stay with me. I’m here.

“This is too good,” Beomgyu groaned after his first sip of the soup, you know see his face lighting up like what Sunghoon told you about. His hands cradled the bowl, and you couldn’t help but notice the glint of his ring—the one he refused to take off. It made you looked down at your own hand, there it was—your ring, the one Beomgyu fought for last night.

You took a small sip, letting the warmth spread through you. But it did little to settle the weight in your stomach. There was still something left unsaid, something you hadn’t found the courage to tell him yet. “Beomgyu,”

He squeezes your hand—the one he hasn’t let go of, even while eating. His arm stretches across the table to hold yours, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hmm?” he hums.

“Back in the hospital…” you begin, your voice trembling with of what you’re about to say. You feel his gaze shift to you, “I had a… I had a miscarriage.” You swallow hard, forcing yourself to continue. “I lost our child.”

The silence that follows is unbearable. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, your eyes fixed on the half-eaten soup in front of you. The warmth in his hand disappears, and your heart sinks. When you hear the sound of his chair scraping against the floor, dread floods your chest. He’s walking away.

But then he’s there—beside you. He pulls out the chair next to yours and sits down. When he leans forward to pull you into his arms, it’s like the air returns to your lungs. He guides your face to rest against his shoulder. His arms come around you, holding you close.

“I know,” he whispers, “Soobin told me.”

Your breath catches, and your chest feels both heavy and light at the same time. “I went to him every day, you know,” he continues, his hand running soothing circles on your back. “It’s hard not to. I couldn’t stay away. He… he got me.”

You exhale shakily, your body relaxing into his. The faint memory of flowers on your baby's grave—ones you couldn’t remember bringing yourself—floats to the surface. It all makes sense now. Beomgyu had been there, mourning as you did.

Your hand never leaves Beomgyu’s as he drives.

The road feels both too short and too long, leading you to the place you’ve come to know too well. It’s green here—peaceful and impossibly beautiful in a way that feels both comforting and heartbreaking. He parks the car, steps out, and circles around to open your door. His hand finds yours again as you step out, and together, you walk the path you’ve walked before.

In your other hand, you hold the small bouquet—a gift for the little one who rests here now, your little angel. You kneel gently, placing the flowers at the grave. Beomgyu crouches beside you, his gaze fixed on the name etched into the stone.

Beomgyu’s voice breaks the silence, trembling as he whispers, “Daddy’s here with Mommy now, just like I promised you.” His words catch in his throat, and he pauses, his head bowing slightly as he tries to gather himself. “I told you I could do it,” he continues, his voice shaking, raw with emotion. “Daddy’s so sorry for everything. I promise I’ll take care of your Mommy. I’ll take care of her, I swear. You just play up there, okay? Don’t worry about us. Mommy and Daddy love you more than anything.”

Your heart aches at his words, and you press closer to his side. His arm finds its way around your shoulders, holding you tight. You cling to him just as fiercely, your bodies leaning into one another, trying not to fall apart in front of the greatest what-if of your lives.

I can’t wait to see you, wife. Almost there. I love you.

The corners of your lips tugged into a smile as you read your husband’s text. It had been a week since you decided to reconcile. And in those seven days, he had kept every promise, showing you with quiet consistency that he meant every word.

Reaching for your perfume, you lightly spritzed it onto your pulse points. You glanced at yourself in the mirror, smoothing the fabric of your dress, a small flutter of nerves in your chest.

The past still lingered—it wasn’t something that could just disappear. There were nights you woke up gasping, caught in the grip of nightmares. But the smoke always seemed to lift the moment you heard his voice, the way he whispered comfort like he could chase away the darkness with nothing but his presence. It was a start.

You spent the weekend at your parents’ house. When you told them you were giving your marriage another chance, their eyes had softened, and they gave you their support. And now, here you were, waiting for him—your husband—who was on his way to take you on your first date.

Married for almost three years, and are going out for your first date. The date he’d practically begged for, pouting for hours until you finally agreed, because he said he wanted it.

A beginning.

You make your way down the stairs. When you reach the bottom, your eyes land on Yeonjun, lounging on the couch, his fingers absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. He doesn’t notice you at first, but the moment he does, he sets it down without hesitation.

Walking over to him, you don’t give him a chance to say anything. Your hands gently cup his face, and before he can react, you press a quick kiss to his forehead. “Yeonjun,” you say softly, standing in front of him now, your gaze grateful. “Thank you. For everything.”

Your words seem to light him up. A smile spreads across his face, and he attempts one of his signature winks—a clumsy one at that. It’s so bad it makes you both break into laughter, the sound echoing warmly in the room. “Anything for you, Y/N,” he replies, he stands up and asks for another hug from you.

"Take care, always, okay?" You nod to his shoulders. Grateful to this man who did things for you, without asking anything back.

After saying your goodbyes to Yeonjun, you step outside, your eyes sweeping across the open space in front of the large doors.

Beomgyu leans casually against his sleek black velvet car, the deep color almost absorbing the light, while Soobin stands beside him, mid-conversation. There’s a quiet ease between them, the kind that makes you pause. When they notice you approaching, Soobin pats Beomgyu’s back, their exchange winding down as they mutter their farewells.

They look like... brothers.

The sight tugs at your heart. When you told Soobin about Beomgyu’s promises, you weren’t sure how he’d react, but it felt like he already knew. “He’s the only one who doesn’t realise how much he loves you,” Soobin had said, his voice certain. “I saw it—starting back at the hospital. It was all over his face.”

Now, as you reach him, you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug that speaks more than words ever could. “I love you, Soobin.” you say, the words soft but full of conviction.

Soobin holds you for a beat longer than usual, his hand resting lightly on your back. He feels nothing but peace in his chest.

Maybe now, he can start chasing his own happiness too.

Beomgyu watches silently as you pull away from Soobin, his gaze never leaving you. When your eyes meet his and a soft smile spreads across your lips, his chest tightens. You’re beautiful. So achingly beautiful that it feels like his heart might splinter under your stare.

When you reach him, he leans down without a word, brushing a quick kiss against your lips. He knows he needs this. He knows he needs you.

Because without you, there’s no him.

The day felt like stepping back in time, a snapshot of a younger, simpler you.

It started with the movies, where Beomgyu would lean in for quick, stolen kisses during the darker scenes, his grin impossible to resist. Then came the arcade—a chaotic mix of flashing lights and laughter. He was relentless in his mission to win you a comically oversized teddy bear, to the point of nearly bribing the poor guy running the booth. When he finally succeeded, he held it up like a trophy, his smile as wide as the bear itself. For a moment, it felt like you were back in college, like this could’ve been one of your carefree dates from those days.

Now, you’re crammed into a photo booth together, squishing shoulder to shoulder as the timer counts down. Two grown, married adults pulling silly faces at the camera like teenagers. The faint hum of the machine is drowned out by your shared giggles, and you can feel the curious stares of actual teenagers nearby. They’re probably imagining your life is perfect, the kind of love they dream about. If only they knew how far from perfect it’s been—how much work it’s taken to get here.

When the photo strip finally slides out, Beomgyu grabs it first, holding it up with a burst of laughter. “Look at you, sweetheart,” he says, pointing to one particularly goofy expression you made. His laughter is infectious, and soon you’re both doubled over, bumping to each other as you cackle uncontrollably.

Beomgyu—who always seems so composed, so maddeningly serious—looks nothing like that version of himself when he laughs. He’s wide-eyed and carefree, his joy as pure as a child’s, and it’s beautiful. It heals you. Every day with him feels like this—a discovery, a new layer to peel back, something new to fall in love with.

“God, I love you,” he says suddenly, making your heart flutter.

“I love you too,” you whisper, the smile on your face softening as he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek. The squeals from the teenagers outside are instant, and you roll your eyes, laughing as you glance at them—your accidental audience, swooning over the two of you like you’re straight out of a rom-com, like they’ve just witnessed something magical.

And maybe they have.

It doesn’t matter if it’s slow, or if it took longer than it should have. Life isn’t perfect, and neither are people. Everyone deserves a second chance—just like the one you gave your marriage. Just like the one it deserved. It may have started off messy in ways you couldn’t imagine fixing, but that didn’t mean it had to end the same way.

The road ahead still feels long, but you’re learning to let go. Of the doubt that whispered you’d never make it. Of the pain. Of the mistakes and the past that clings to you. Even the scars—the ones you thought would never fade. Letting them go is the only way forward, the only way to move on. Only then can you begin again.

You glance at Beomgyu, his fingers laced with yours, his grip gentle as he leads you out of this place. His head tilts slightly as he looks back at you, and there it is—that boyish, cheeky smile that has the power to make your heart skip. All you have to do is surrender.

This surrender—is not in defeat, but in trust. Trust in him. Trust with his promises. Trust in the hope of something better. Trust in yourself.

You’ll be okay.

THE END.

taglist: I love you @beombunni @lovingbeomgyudayone @virtaideen @hyukascampfire @fancypeacepersona @bamgeutori @lilbrorufr @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @soobinbunnie5 @pagelets @yoseicour @baekberrie @blossommi @younbeanz @soohashits @brrytears @shycreationdreamland @notevenheretbh1

#fic recs #i’m obsessed with this #you are the best person on earth #my wife made this btw for all the folks at home #isn’t she so talented and lovely

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acosmicbee · 3 days ago

Text

Rehabilitation

Your father wasn't a villain. At least, he wasn't one in your eyes. He'd always been your hero, making sure you had enough and keeping you safe. Those hypocritical heroes had no right to have stolen him from you.

Ever since a hero team had been elected into power, everything had changed. Even the slightest bit of vigilante-ism was declared as villainous activity and hero teams were allowed to use lethal force if they felt it necessary.

You refused to give in to the brain washing, especially now that you had no one. The only reason you attended school was because your government mandated family made you. The only reason you were with a governmentally mandated family was because the police somehow found out you were living by yourself.

That didn't stop you from trying to continue on your dad's legacy. You refused to let his name and all he'd done for you die with him. The first step, in your mind, was to get revenge on the hero team you felt was most responsible for his death.

˗ˏˋ 🌩️⚡️🌩️ ˎˊ˗

Of course nothing could ever go your way. It felt like the universe had a personal vendetta against you. Fixing up some of your dad's old gear, just some simple stun guns which were kind of outdated, had taken more time than you were expecting. On top of that, you'd spent the last few months in daily detentions for refusing to praise your 'heroic' overlords.

Because of this, the warm weather you'd based your plan around had left and winter had taken it's place with the weather to match. Not to mention that one of the heroes you were getting revenge on had some sort of ice power that only grew stronger in the winter.

All in all, you probably should've waited a little longer. Should've bided your time and held out at least until Spring. But the hatred you felt overwhelmed you. It was what led you to bundling up, hiding your makeshift weapons in your coat pockets as you snuck out through a window.

Your tried to look as casual as possible as you boarded a train for the area you knew that hero team liked to work. You tried to stay under the radar.

It worked until it didn't.

While in warm weather you could search for an extended period of time as long as you had a big water bottle, it was so cold you were worried your fingers would fall off. On top of that, the incoming blizzard was said to be harsh and bring even colder weather on top of the ridiculous amount of snow.

Even your burning hatred wasn't hot enough to bring the feeling back to your fingers so you finally decided to take shelter in a nearby cafe. At least until you could feel your fingers and toes again.

By the time you finished a warm drink and snack the state of weather had only deteriorated. On top of that, you were feeling extra miserable due to your lack of success, so you decided to head back to the train.

You were minding your own business as you walked, glaring at the ground. You only looked up when a pair of fancy looking snow boots were blocking your path. Looking up your mood worsened, seeing the exact same ice hero you'd been worried about running into, Ice Blade. Except now, instead of fighting, all you wanted to do was go home.

"Hey kid, where are your parents?" He asked cheerily. You glared at him, stepping around him and continuing on your way. Almost instinctively your hand found your dad's old stun gun in your pocket. You made it midway down the block before he caught up to you, blocking your path once again.

"That's a little rude don't you think?" He said, with a fake pout. You went to side step him but he moved in front of you. "You look familiar though. Have I saved you before?"

"You have never saved me. Leave me alone." You grit out, continuing on down the block. Apparently heroes didn't know how to take hints because he followed after you.

"Wow, you sound really angry. Why don't I walk you wherever you're going! A kid your age shouldn't be out alone in this weather."

You carefully removed one of the stun guns from your pocket, holding it at your side. If he got too close you'd shock him, consequences be damned. Not just for your father anymore, but also because he was annoying you to an astronomical degree.

You were about to strike when someone's hand gripped your wrist, forcing you to drop your weapon. Whipping around with a pissed off growl you were even more pissed to find the other four members of his team standing there.

"We leave you alone for five minutes and you almost get attacked by a child?" The leader, a hero who went by Gaea, asked in disbelief. You glared at her, trying to wrench your arm out of her grip.

"But look at them! Aren't they just the most adorable thing ever? I know it's bad, but I had to let them feel accomplished! I could've taken a small shock." Ice Blade whined.

"You're going to hurt them, Gaea." Another one of the teammates said. He was the group's healer and you weren't sure what exactly his code name was.

"Gaea, that's a kid. Obviously Blade was making them uncomfortable." The last male in the group said. He was a fire hero who went by Inferno.

"Thats good and everything but where would a kid acquire something like that?" Gaea asked, using her free hand to point towards your discarded stun gun. The last member of the group, a hero who went by Tide, picked it up.

"These look like the ones that vigilante used to use. What was his name? Strike or something?" She asked. Not only had these heroes killed him but they couldn't even be bothered to remember who he was?

"His name was Shock!" You hissed, finally pulling free of Gaea's grip. From the sidelines Ice Blade snapped his fingers grinning.

"Thats where I recognize you from! You were part of his civilian life, Y/N, right?"

"Don't you dare talk about my father!" You yelled.

"Father?! Why didn't you mention this to anyone, Blade?!" Gaea demanded, turning to face Ice Blade for a second.

You took advantage of the moment, using your remaining stun gun on Tide. The second she crumpled your grabbed the one she'd been holding and took off running down the street. No matter what they decided to do with you now that they knew your father, you wouldn't go down without a fight.

˗ˏˋ 🌩️⚡️🌩️ ˎˊ˗

Another part of your plan you'd drastically underestimated was the fact that you, a fourteen year old, was supposed to somehow outrun five fully grown adults. Five adults who were trained to catch villains and did so on a daily basis.

Despite that, you were somehow still running. They were obviously still following you. It had started to snow and now that the sun was setting it was getting even colder. You were even more miserable as you gripped onto your stun gun.

You were freezing, tired and overall pissed off. You had been ready to go home but the stupid heroes had to ruin everything per usual.

You were almost ready to just attempt to face them head on when a few factors suddenly combined to make your day even worse. One, Ice Blade froze the ground under your feet. Two, the loss of friction caused you to slip. Three, you landed hard on your right wrist. Four, the pain in your wrist made you press down on the stun gun's power button and you accidentally shocked yourself through your jacket.

"Blade! Look what you did!" Gaea hissed. You glared at them, trying to regain your footing as the medic tried approaching you.

"Hey there kid. Can I take a look at your wrist?"

You slid backwards, using a nearby street light to hoist yourself off the ground. Your breath was coming out in staggering puffs, visible in the cold air. Your wrist and side burned and you felt done with everything.

"Woah there. You shouldn't be trying to stand! You could be hurt really badly!" The medic tried again. You held out one of your stun guns in your uninjured hand.

"Back. Off. Don't touch me." You growled. Your entire body was shaking, both from the pain and from the cold. Your state was deteriorating by the second.

"Woah there kid. Dan's right, you're clearly not doing too hot." Inferno said. "Look, soon the blizzard will get worse and then we'll all be stuck here. So either you wear yourself out or you let us get you somewhere warm. Either way, you're coming with us."

"No! I'm not going anywhere with any of you!" Your words were a lot more hollow when a sudden gust of wind sent you stumbling. At this point your hand was shaking so much you weren't sure you could press the activation button if you wanted to.

"This is getting out of hand." Tide said, striding forward. She had fully recovered from her earlier shock and, despite your best attempts, she disarmed you easily, tossing the stun gun over to Inferno who tucked it away. The second she stuck her hand into your pocket and retrieved the second one your entire body went limp.

The cold was penetrating into the very fibre of your being, your coat and boots useless to stop it from overwhelming you. You could barely make out arms reaching for you and muffled cursing before your knees hit the ground and your vision went dark.

˗ˏˋ 🌩️⚡️🌩️ ˎˊ˗

"We need to report them to the higher ups. They should've been put somewhere secure considering who they are and their history." Gaea said. They had just barely managed to make it back to their team headquarters before everything got snowed in. Now, they were trying to figure out what to do with you.

"Aww, I do kinda feel bad though. They're so young and didn't even really do anything." Blade pouted.

"Speak for yourself! That stun gun hurt way worse than when Shock used it." Tide said. At the name of the fallen vigilante a silence fell over them.

"You know... Shock wasn't really that bad..." Dan said, peeking out of the room you'd been placed in. You were still unconscious and Inferno was with you, trying to help raise your internal temperature.

"I'm not saying we give up on the kid." Gaea clarified. "I think all of us have our own thoughts about Shock and how everything played out that day. Since they didn't inflict any permanent damage maybe the higher ups will let us keep them here."

"Like a rehabilitation program? I suppose that could work. It could open a new window for younger vigilantes and villains." Dan said.

"That sounds so fun!" Ice Blade smiled.

"They seem okay. I probably would've reacted the same way in their situation." Tide admitted, though she still rubbed her side where you'd managed to shock her.

"I'm alright with it. They're stable, by the way." Inferno said, emerging from your room.

"Then its decided. I'll call the higher ups now and see what we can do." Gaea announced. With that their team meeting dispersed. By the time you woke up the next day, your new life would already have been decided for you.

˗ˏˋ 🌩️⚡️🌩️ ˎˊ˗

"I refuse!" Ever since you'd woken up in an unfamiliar bedroom, you'd been surrounded by the same heroes who had ruined your life. In fact, Gaea had just explained that you wouldn't be allowed to leave until they had 'fixed you' and deemed you 'non-dangerous to yourself and others'. On top of that, you had been handcuffed to the bed you were laying on so you couldn't even do anything.

"Well you don't get a say." Inferno said, crossing his arms. He sat at your bedside, literally radiating warmth, to help combat the mild hypothermia you'd contracted.

"You should be happy. We saved you from being sent to jail and ruining your life." Ice Blade said, frowning.

"Blade, you can't just say that!" Tide hissed, smacking him in the back of the head. The two of them began quietly bickering but you were too busy glaring at Gaea to be entertained.

"I'd rather go back to my governmentally mandated family then stay here." You said, which was an insult in your book because you hated your governmentally mandated family.

"That's too bad. Here, we need to keep your temperature up." Dan said, offering you a steaming cup of herbal tea. You refused to take it, eyeing him skeptically.

"They aren't going to take it. Let's just leave them be for now." Gaea said, grabbing Tide and Blade by their costumes and dragging them out of the room. Dan set the tea on a small bedside table while Inferno stayed at your side.

˗ˏˋ 🌩️⚡️🌩️ ˎˊ˗

"I'm not eating that."

Gaea looked like she was about to have a brain aneurysm and Dan looked disappointed. They'd been attempting to feed you dinner, seeing as you were still handcuffed to the bed.

"I can't believe I have to tell you this. Eat your vegetables." Gaea said. She was smiling, but you could feel the anger radiating off of her.

"What if I was allergic?" You asked.

"We were sent your file, which includes all your records. You are not allergic to vegetables." Dan sighed, holding out the fork.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I want them. You're not my mom." You huffed, turning to face the wall.

"Dan? Remind me of their age."

"Fourteen, why?"

"Because I could've sworn we were dealing with a toddler for a second." Gaea groaned. You smiled to yourself as you heard the two of them leave the room. If you could just annoy them enough then maybe they'd give up on you and let you leave.

"Y/N!" You groaned, attempting to smother yourself with the provided pillow as Ice Blade burst into the room. "Dan let me see you!"

"I really wish he hadn't." You muttered.

"Hey! That's not nice!" You could practically hear the pout in his voice. It didn't take long for him to plop down onto the bed and attempt to rouse you.

"Leave me alone." You glared at him, almost daring him to try something.

"Nope! Dan said we aren't allowed to leave you completely alone until your actual room is finished, because this one is just temporary! I hope it's next to mine! I've never had a baby sibling before!"

"Don't call me that!" You hissed, throwing your pillow at him. He caught it, thanks to hero training or whatever, but his smile never faltered.

"Wow. I leave you alone for two minutes and they look more murderous then before." Gaea said from the doorway. She was holding a smoothie that she placed on your bedside.

"Now, this smoothie is for you. It has some nutrient powder and fruit. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. The easy way is you drink it all right now and we can get on with our days. The hard way is we leave you here until you're so hungry you beg for whatever scraps we may have to give you." You could tell from her tone that she wasn't joking. Seems you'd finally hit your limit. Still it was either smoothie or Ice Blade...

You swallowed your pride and drank the stupid smoothie, looking miserable the entire time. It wasn't fair that it didn't taste bad either. You hated it here and it hadn't even been a day.

˗ˏˋ 🌩️⚡️🌩️ ˎˊ˗

You were finally being let outside, which was rather humiliating to admit. Ever since your kidnapping, or 'rehoming' as they called it, you'd been stuck in their hero agency while they worked on fixing up a room for you and alternating patrols. However, none of them had clothes for a 14 year old, and you refused to wear anything of theirs so they'd been rewashing your clothes every day.

Therefore you were being taken shopping... with three babysitters. During the week or so you'd been trapped here you'd started to work out the dynamics between the five of them. Gaea and Dan were the exasperated parents who were stuck with a bunch of kids.

Inferno was the emo son who was convinced that dying his hair black wasn't a phase. Tide was the middle child who got away with everything. Ice Blade was the youngest who annoyed everyone and was barely tolerated because there wasn't another choice.

Or maybe you were the youngest now... You really hoped they weren't getting attached to you, because you were still plotting ways to escape.

Right now you were being forced to hold Gaea's hand like you were a child as you waited to leave. Inferno, Blake was his civilian name, was standing to the side on his phone and Tide, Phoebe, was looking for her coat. Gaea had just insisted you call her 'mother' while out and hadn't given you her civilian name.

You refused and just decided you would never address her while outside.

"Phoebe, just wear a different coat!" Inferno, or Blake you guessed you should call him, yelled.

"I want my red coat!" She yelled back. It took her five minutes more before Gaea handed you over to Blake and found the coat in 0.2 seconds.

"Now lets go. Y/N, absolutely no funny business." Gaea said, her eyes narrowed.

˗ˏˋ 🌩️⚡️🌩️ ˎˊ˗

Shopping was just as boring as you remembered it to be. Gaea dragged you to different clothing stores, and forced you to pick out some items from each. There were also some clothes she added to the cart that you hadn't picked.

Finally, you'd put your foot down on any more clothes shopping, so you'd been dragged to some sort of home decor place to pick out some things for your room. You were begrudgingly looking at some sheet sets, while Blake and Phoebe added unnecessary commentary.

"Ezekiel's being annoying." Phoebe said, looking at her phone. Ezekiel being Ice Blade's civilian name. You tried to wander away but Blake stopped you, redirecting you towards the sheets.

"Y/N, no. Gia said to pick at least one." Blake said to you before turning to answer Phoebe. "He's the same in and out of costume. You know that."

"No. I don't like any of them." You said. You really wanted the sheets from the apartment you had shared with your dad. Having to get all of this new stuff was off putting and overwhelming. You also took note of the fact that Gaea's civilian name was apparently Gia.

"You need to pick one." Blake repeated. You shook your head.

"No! None of them are right! I don't want any of them!" You yelled. You didn't want to start crying but your eyes burned. You couldn't explain why everything felt so wrong but you needed them to listen.

"Y/N. You are fourteen. Please do not act like a child right now." Gia said, walking down the aisle. You shook your head, trying to back away but being stopped by Blake and Phoebe.

"Fine. Then I'll pick but I don't want to hear you complain later." Gia sighed, walking over to the sheet sets and picking one up.

You just silently stood there, glaring at the ground as tears ran down your face. You tried your best to tune out the world around you, ignoring Gia's questions about whether the set was good enough. Blake and Phoebe's whispers became a quiet white noise as your ears started to ring.

You weren't sure why it was hitting you so hard now. You'd never had this kind of emotional response when you'd been placed with your governmentally mandated family. Then again, they hadn't taken you shopping, just set you up with stuff they already had. Maybe it was the fact that you were being forced to make a choice you didn't want that had finally pushed you over the edge.

You wordlessly let yourself be dragged to each section, not answering anything that was asked of you. You didn't care about blankets or sheets or decor. It wouldn't be the same as it was at your dads. It wouldn't be as perfect as it was at your dads.

"How about this?" Phoebe asked you, handing you a fuzzy blanket. You didn't react but she placed it into the cart anyway. Blake did the same when it came to a few decorative pillows. By the time you were done 'shopping' it was nearing lunch time and you were dragged to the food court to pick out something.

Blake ordered for you when you still hadn't snapped out of your mental prison, but you barely took a few bites. Food just made you nauseous and the thought of these monsters trying to replace your dad made everything worse.

You wanted nothing more than to have this all be a bad dream you would wake up from.

˗ˏˋ 🌩️⚡️🌩️ ˎˊ˗

By the time you'd been dragged back to their base, you were still retreated into your mind. The mug of tea Dan had handed you when you stepped through the door had cooled in your hands. Even Ice Blade's annoying existence, Ezekiel because he was in his civilian getup, had become nothing to you.

You hadn't eaten much at the mall, or even for breakfast, but you weren't hungry. Instead you had curled up on an armchair, because Gia was busy making your new bed 'the right way'. You wanted nothing more than to disappear beneath the sheets, even if they were wrong in the worst ways, and pretend you were a kid again, waiting for your dad to come home.

You barely registered Dan sadly prying the cold and untouched mug from your hands. To you the entire world was going in slow motion. You didn't pick up on anything, much less the conversation happening in whispers right in front of you.

"They didn't even touch the tea... When did they start acting this detached?" Dan asked Phoebe.

"After Gia made them pick out some sheets. They had some sort of breakdown and well..." Phoebe gestured to your detached state. Dan let out a worried hum.

"That's worrying... I don't think they had a record of depressive episodes. Then again, the family they were assigned to after the death of their father did admit they didn't spend much time with them. Maybe they just never noticed?" Dan was frowning deeper, staring at you sympathetically.

"Well, they've got Blake stress baking so at least they'll be something to eat when they do wake up." Ezekiel said, joining the conversation with a freshly baked muffin in hand. It looked to be chocolate chip.

"Everything is set up. Is Blake in the kitchen again?" Gia asked, exiting the room that they had decided would be yours.

"When is he not? Plus, the kid is really stressing him out." Phoebe said, despite her own worried look.

"Want a muffin?" Ezekiel asked, offering his own half eaten muffin. Gia gave him a look and pushed his arm away.

"I don't understand why they're acting like this. They were perfectly fine this morning."

"I might have an idea." Blake said, emerging from the kitchen with a plate of muffins. He placed the plate beside you before moving over to the others. "It could be that it made them remember their dad."

"That's why they were saying it was wrong. It wasn't just going shopping with us that was wrong, it was the sheets themself." Phoebe said.

Suddenly, everything seemed to click into place for all of them. Every sorrow tied back to your father. Your father, who meant everything to you. Your father who they'd found dying in an alleyway from a stab wound. Your father who they hadn't managed to save. Your father, who they gotten the credit for 'taking another vigilante off the streets'. Your father, who they never tried to correct the press or government about his cause of death.

That night had sat with all of them in different ways. Some of them had been brand new to the group, tagging along with their more seasoned peers. Some of them had just been trying to get through another patrol without incident. The truth behind that night had never left the five of them.

"Their old apartment... is there anyway to access it?" Gia asked.

"I doubt it. It's likely been sold with all the old stuff thrown out." Dan said, his tone somber.

"I think we should at least look into it." Ezekiel said, finishing his muffin. "There could be something."

"We can at least try... for Y/N."

˗ˏˋ 🌩️⚡️🌩️ ˎˊ˗

It had taken you a day or two to finally return to feeling in control of your body. Despite that, you still obviously not okay. You refused to touch the bed you'd been given, and barely even entered what was supposed to be your room.

You'd crash on the living room couch or armchair when you did sleep and it was never for long. Usually you'd get three or four hours before waking up from some sort of nightmare. Then you'd spend the rest of the night watching something quietly on the communal TV or playing around on your phone until you passed out again.

It was often for Ezekiel, surprisingly the early riser of the team, to find you curled up wherever you decide to sleep in the morning. He'd learned the hard way, with you punching him in the face and leaving him with a nasty bruise, not to wake you up.

It was clear to the whole team that you weren't doing well. There were permanent bags under your eyes and you always seemed half asleep. You couldn't even muster up the sarcasm they'd gotten used to from you.

It had gotten to the point where Dan had dragged you out to buy some laundry detergent and dryer sheets with him so you could pick out something familiar. It helped a little, but you still refused to touch 'your' bed.

Until one day, Gia announced that she had a surprise for you. So you, and the rest of the team, had been unceremoniously shoved into her surprisingly large car for a drive to some mystery location.

Phoebe was complaining over how you'd gotten shotgun, Ezekiel was begging you to play his playlist because you were closest to the aux cord. Blake and Dan were having some debate based on some show they'd watched. Gia was yelling at everyone to shut up, yet still driving perfectly and you were wishing you had a pair of noise cancelling headphones.

"Alright. Everyone except Y/N out of the car." Gia demanded once she'd stopped in front of a small cafe.

"Huh? Then where are you going and why'd we have to come?" Ezekiel asked with a pout.

"Me and Y/N are doing something special. I didn't want anyone, but especially you, to destroy the base while we're gone. Have some drinks and pastries and I'll pick you up in a bit." It still took a harsh glare from her to make everyone leave the car. You watched them entering the cafe through the rearview mirror as she sped off again.

˗ˏˋ 🌩️⚡️🌩️ ˎˊ˗

You were staring out the window, lost in thought, when you realized the buildings were beginning to look more and more familiar. This was your old neighborhood, the one you grew up in.

You turned to Gia, who didn't react. Instead she kept her eyes on the road, only occasionally glancing at the GPS. It was silent save for the low hum of the car. Slowly the car came closer and closer to your old apartment building.

"When I was barely eight years old," Gia started, "my parents were killed by a villain."

You stared at her as she parked the car outside of your old building. Her face had a sad expression on it as she looked at you, attempting a weak smile.

"This was in the older days, before the new government and rise of heroes. The villain escaped and wasn't caught for another three years. I remember in that time wondering what I, or my parents, had ever done to deserve that. I wanted to find that villain so bad, to avenge my parents. I tried sneaking out multiple times to hunt him down."

Your brain was trying to soak up the new information she was telling you. It was hard to imagine the uptight and serious Gia trying to sneak out to do something so dangerous. Something so similar to what you had done.

"The only reason I didn't was because the family I was placed with made sure I never did that to myself. They made sure I was safe, and encouraged me to process my feelings in less harmful ways. When it was discovered I had powers I was offered to train under some of the top heroes and I took it. I interned under the top hero team for a long time, far before they were elected to power. After that, I took over as a leader within the new generation of hero teams." Gia paused, taking a deep breath.

"What I'm trying to say is, I can understand where you're coming from. But eventually, you will need to learn to move forward. We, all of us, want to help you with that. You're destroying yourself right now. You barely eat or sleep and you're always on edge. Hopefully, what we're here for will help a little, but I need you to try your best to start to heal."

With that Gia opened her door and climbed out of the car, you following silently. You trailed behind her as she pulled out a key and led you to your old apartment.

"I called the landlord the other day. No one has rented the place yet, seeing as a lot of the people who lived here are moving towards downtown and their jobs. Because of that, the stuff you left here hasn't been touched. I want you to take what you need to feel comfortable." She said, unlocking the door.

It looked just the way you had left it, albeit more dusty. The sight brought tears to your eyes. Photos of you, some with your dad, lined the walls. You hesitantly stepped into the apartment, tears filling your eyes as memories replayed in your head. On autopilot you walked over to your old room.

It was just as you'd left it. Your dresser was open from when you'd been forced to pack light to be moved in with the family you'd been placed with. Your bed was still half made. Nothing had changed, like the room had been frozen in time. Slowly you walked back out into the hallway and made your way to your dad's room.

His clothes were just as he left them, neatly folded on his bed waiting to be put away. His bed was neatly made, just the way he liked it. On his nightstand was a picture of you on your ninth birthday, smiling with a plastic crown on your head. You sunk to the floor, feeling around for a lose floorboard which you pried up. Under it lay the remnants of his vigilante gear. Some grappling hooks and a spare mask.

Picking up the mask was what made you finally break down. You sobbed, holding onto it like a lifeline. You could only hope your father was happy wherever he was right now.

˗ˏˋ 🌩️⚡️🌩️ ˎˊ˗

Gia drove silently, her hands firm on the wheel as she kept glancing over at you. You'd fallen asleep the second you'd finished packing what you wanted to bring with you. That included a couple of sheet sets as well as a bunch of photos and clothes.

When she picked up the rest of the team from where she'd dumped them, not one of them had made more noise then necessary, very aware that you needed the sleep.

Back at the base Gia quietly instructed the others to grab the things you'd wanted while she went to gently lift you out of the car. She froze when you wrapped your arms around her neck, groaning at the light.

With a smile she carried you inside to the couch. Laying you down and covering you with a fluffy blanket. Within seconds you'd fallen back into a deep sleep, completely at peace. In a few hours, all the laundry would be done and you'd finally have what you needed to feel comfortable there.

Soon you'd trust them more. Then, you'd begin to talk to them and you'd stop trying to be unnecessarily difficult. You'd have a family again and you'd never want for anything again. Not if they could help it.

After all, once the higher ups saw that rehabilitation was a successful option, she'd petition for permanent custody. Then you'd legally be a part of their patchwork family for good.

#platonic yandere #yandere platonic #yandere #yandere oc x reader #yandere x reader #platonic #yandere ocs #parental yandere

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